Do you know what this means?!

Well, I've done it. The scientific search is over. I have finally achieved the elusive solution to our energy crisis thanks to the inspiration of George W. Bush and Sarah Palin. They have seen the future, and I was being too damn obtuse realize it. The answer has been there the past eight years in every press conference, and most recently in the vice-presidential debate. I have discovered nucular energy.

Through the formerly mysterious (read: non-existent) reaction called "fizzyun", I have unleashed nucular energy into the world. It's simple, really. Through the combination of some perfect samples of Funyuns and exact amounts of Faygo Red Pop, I have done it. I'll explain...

First, you pick the best Funyuns you can find. It must be one of these tasty snacks in the shape of a Möbius strip. After 72 bags and countless cases of heartburn, I finally found three that would work.

Next, you need eight ounces of Faygo Red Pop. I haven't yet discovered the qualities of the beverage that make it the catalyst, but I'm sure it is in the red dye or the crack-like addictive chemicals it contains.

You take the beaker of Red Pop and drop in a Mentos mint, mostly just because it's a cool freaking effect. Bubbles rule. Then you submerge the Funyun into the beaker. After a certain amount of time (variable depending on the atmospheric conditions) the Funyun will split. It must only split into segments that measure relatively equal lengths, within a margin of error identical to the number of calories in the Funyun ring itself.

The resulting nuggets of fake onion ring are thus ionized and ready for receiving the suspended receptor molecules in the Red Pop. These nuggets must go immediately into a microwave for exactly 1 minute and 37 seconds, or however long it takes you to drain your bladder from the three Red Pops you've consumed to this point. Coincidence? I think not.

The Funyun segments are now ready for action. They have achieved an unstable state which emit approximately the same amount of Geiger units of a 14 ounce stick of U-238. Whatever that means, it was enough to propel my cat, Schrödinger, across the kitchen when I dropped one of the searing hot pieces of Funyun on his tail. It didn't kill him, but I'm not sure. I wish I knew probability, dammit. I put him in a box just in case.

This is it, folks. The end of our energy crisis. Our dependence on fossil fuels is waning. This is the greatest discovery since Jesus discovered dinosaurs co-existed with Adam and Eve. To all you naysayers, nucular energy IS real. I smell a Nobel prize, bitches....and some singed cat hair.

Just Palin Stupid

As I witness the political process at work in the final four weeks before Election Day, I can't help but think: What the hell is Sarah Palin doing as the Vice Presidential candidate?

This is a woman whose foreign policy is predicated on her ability to see a foreign country from her backyard. (Shame on you, Katie Couric for being so brutal.) By that logic, if you gave her a rope she'd also be able to claim she was a cowgirl. Seriously, it's that sad. She'd probably have to ask someone to tie a lasso for her.

As a "maverick", McCain could have done better choosing a running mate himself. Yes, you know he didn't choose her, but his staff did. It was like a bunch of out-of-touch visitors choosing what to put on the TV in his hospice room. "You say you want The Dirty Dozen, Mr. McCain? Well here's Ishtar. Enjoy."

The more Palin talks about McCain being a "maverick", the more I think she really believes she's talking about a fighter pilot from an 80s movie. According to her script at the VP debate, she's extremely happy to be a part of the GOP ticket. And she's looking forward to taking on the big D.C. machine as an outsider. Truth be told, she's so out of touch with U.S. politics, she may as well be an ensign in the Canadian Navy. (Apologies to the Canadian Navy.)

They say her folksy demeanor makes her connect with the average soccer/hockey mom. And her steep slant on family values makes her a darling with the conservative set. When did being a mother of a pregnant teen make you a spokesperson for family values? I bet her daughter, Juneau, is more knowledgeable on the facts than she is. I mean, for crying out loud, she couldn't even name more than one of the big Supreme Court cases in history other than Roe vs Wade. Did "Brown vs Board of Education" ever make the papers in Alaska? Oh that's right, you may not have read that one. You're not even sure what sources you've read to prepare yourself for the Vice Presidential race. Here's a hint: If you're a GOP member, and you're faced with such a tough question, all you have to do is blurt out "Fox News".

Ms. Palin, at least you know you're still brighter than the current President. If you mention you have an infant with Downs Syndrome, he'll probably ask you why he's depressed. He's just that stupid. Don't get me wrong, people, there's nothing funny about this genetic condition. I'm just demonstrating how dumb this current administration is. They still think Iraq is the world center of terrorism. Newsflash: Afghanistan harbored more terrorists than Iraq ever did. But if you believe oil prospects equals terrorism then I guess you'd be correct.

Do you see what you've done here, Ms. Palin? You and your band of morons have driven me to wax political. I don't like it. But you just kept pushing and I was liable to break. The American public is not stupid. We're just easily swayed by cutesy ladies who don't know squat and prop up geriatric leaders who are on the verge of wearing diapers. How else do you explain why McCain is so close to Obama in the polls? Wake up, America.

That's enough. I'm out.

Lennon: Just Imagine for a Second

Here we are 27 years, 7 months, and 28 days after a moment that changed lives, and we still are feeling the impact. John Lennon was gunned down in a senseless act of cold blood outside of his apartment building. The loss was so monumental it still resonates today even with many who were not even old enough to understand its significance, including myself. I was five years old at the time.

Even at age 5, I sensed there was a gravity that descended on that day, the significance of which I am still struggling to understand. The world lost a voice that we had once known for its songs that helped sculpt a generation of song writers and countless artists to come. Lennon was a vital part of the most prolific song writing duo in history and a member of a band that brought the world together. That feat seems so foreign today in a music industry that seems so fickle and full of bands du jour. The Beatles' and Lennon's music showed the power of music as a uniting force the use of guitars and creativity instead of bombs and fear. All you need is love.

That fateful day, the world also lost a dreamer who preached the importance of peace and understanding. This was perhaps the one thing about Lennon that caused the greatest amount of cynicism from the media and government. Why was it so preposterous for a man to be so idealistic? President Nixon's administration went as far as to try and have John Lennon deported citing he was an undermining force that could lose him the 1972 presidential election. Why was human equality, something Lennon believed to be a crucial tenet of society, such a threatening concept? Despite the successful deportation of Lennon in 1973, their attempts to usurp the power of a dreamer ultimately failed. The order was lifted in 1975.

In the end, it was not any government that silenced the voice of a generation however. Four bullets from a gun in the hand of a crazed fan ended John Lennon's life on this mortal Earth. Four gunshots turned John Lennon into an eternally revered idol. He was taken from us too soon, but in his 40 years with us he contributed an entire lifetime of ideals and music that will live on.

I invite you to take a moment and imagine, if you will. The man is gone, but the ideals all live within us. Peace. Love. Understanding. There's nothing wrong with any of those. Even in the darkest days of a world fraught with conflict and struggles idealism will not solve the world's problems, but it is a foundation we can all build upon to begin making it a better place to live. If not in the name of John Lennon, then do it in the name of humanity, for dreamer's sake.

Dream on.

¡Muera Viagra!

OK, I finally reached a point where I need to say something about the ri-damn-diculous Viagra commercials. You know the ones. They all feature that "Viva Viagra" song (a take-off of Elvis Presley's "Viva Las Vegas"). Two in particular strike me as odd. I don't suffer from E.D. so maybe the plight of the flaccid man is lost on me. Perhaps this resonates with these afflicted fellas. Frankly, the thought of some of these older guys like Bob Dole talking about having sex at all leaves me kind limp. Mmmm, Bob and Elizabeth Dole getting freaky all hopped up on fake boner pills....so hot.

The first commercial shows a bunch of guys hanging out in a studio, presumably in Nashville, singing the song and all sharing a chuckle. Yeah, I'm laughing. Nothing says "I suffer from erectile dysfunction" like hanging out in a country recording studio with eight other guys. Where are the ladies? They're hanging out with Kid Rock and Scott Stapp on a tour bus, that's where. I think we saw that video a couple of years ago. So these bonerless musicians are left to hang out together late at night singing about the fact they can now sport wood at home alone. Their dog died. Their truck got repossessed. And they can now pitch a tent after they get kicked out of their homes. Kinda seems like a pretty small ego-booster considering everything else. Here's a thought: maybe after the jam session these guys all have a sausage fest comparing sizes and hanging hats on their revived manhoods. Jesus Harold and Maude.

Let's talk about another one I've seen. It shows a guy pulling into his driveway everyday in his nice sub-compact car. (You can see it here by clicking on the video called "Breakaway".) His wife forces a smile, knowing she just bought some "lady implements" from a recent sex toy party with her girlfriends. So, she's covered. Then one day, the husband pulls into the driveway in a motorcycle. Yeah, way to mix it up, asshat. Brilliant idea considering things are probably strained at home already, you go and blow $20,000 on a hog. Viva Affair! That's what the wife should be thinking. So you both can now ride around the countryside with the wind in our hair dreaming about having sex. But NO! He just discovered Viagra! He took some, and realized maybe he needed something to compensate for the moped in his pants.

These commercials can't be worse than the innuendo-laden Enzyte male enhancement commercials featuring the creepy Bob character. At least Viagra is more subtle. I guess the Viva Viagra commercials could be worse by featuring paraplegic midgets learning how to walk or clowns making huge balloon animals. You see the symbolism? I hope so. Don't make me explain it.

PS - You can see all of the Viagra commercials here. Enjoy.

The Great Beyond

I've always watched NASA's voyages into space with complete wonder and awe. The human race's ability to venture into a completely unforgiving environment just boggles my mind. Our current missions are built upon decades of research and the guile of men and women who have blazed these trails for 50 years. Some have paid the ultimate price and others have achieved feats once only dreamed about and found in science-fiction films.

I just finished watching the final episode of a Discovery Channel mini-series called The NASA Missions: When We Left Earth. A stunning 6 hours documenting our humble beginning in the space race with the Soviets all the way through our most recent missions to further assemble the International Space Station. I remember the first time I saw the film The Right Stuff. It sparked my interest in following our adventures to the astral frontiers. Hitting theaters in 1983, it was only 3 years from one of the most tragic moments in the world's quest for our new manifest destiny. In 1967, during a launch training exercise, Virgil "Gus" Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee were all killed when their Apollo 1 capsule exploded into flames. Truly a tragic event, with all due respect to those who were lost. However, 1986 was smack-dab in my formative years as a fan of space. It sticks with me today and is still chilling to see the event recapped.

When We Left Earth thoroughly provided a view into the events that unfolded leading up to the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster on January 28, 1986. It was a major event for me, a 5th grader at the time. It featured a widely publicized civilian to be launched into space, teacher Christa McAuliffe. Sadly, only 70 or so seconds after launch the orbiter exploded into flame and left nothing more than an enormous cloud of smoke and two rocket boosters spinning out of control in the sky. Leaving only a 50,000 foot fork piercing the heavens, the shuttle Challenger and its crew were gone. As the documentary replayed this footage, I felt like I was seeing it for the first time. Breathless, I watched. And then they shared a bit of information that I had only understood was legend until now. Based on data from NASA mission logs, three of the crew members actually survived the explosion and jettisoned from the vehicle only to be knocked unconscious. As their momentum carried them close to 70,000 feet above the Earth's surface, they hurtled lifeless and unaware of their impending doom down toward the deep blue ocean below. It was chilling to hear these individuals recount the events and this grisly mental image of these three crew members. It was the first major event in my life where everything seemed to stop at school, at home...everywhere. Eyes were glued to the televisions as we learned more about the disaster and those aboard. President Reagan addressed the nation and it served as some sort of official closure. I'm not a religious man, but his words were touching and provided solace that these brave adventurers were at peace.

Since then we've seen another shuttle (Columbia - February 1, 2003) claim the lives of its crew. We've also witnessed the gaffes with the Hubble Telescope nearly end the NASA program, although less of a human tragedy it was a major mark on the space program. NASA has still pressed on, looking into our universal past and looking to firmly plot out our future in space. I highly recommend seeing this documentary mini-series. For anyone who may be even marginally interested in our space program, it is a beautiful testament to our accomplishments and failures as we, the human race, seek the great beyond.

Yeah, I'm a hooligan...

The other day I was shamed while getting my hourly refill of caffeine at work. The office matriarch offered one of those backhanded comments that sounded harmless, but really was probably meant to make you feel like shit. She is the office matriarch only because she is the only woman in the office with false teeth and woman parts that dried up during the Truman administration.

I innocently (as I usually do everything...hehe) walked over to the coffee area and began smelling which pot was NOT hazelnut -- because nut or fruit flavored coffee is only for demons and coffeehouse douches. Ask Denis Leary. As I'm ready to pour the first drops of French Roast goodness, she nicely mentions that she doesn't "understand why anyone would drink that dirty water." I froze and looked around for someone drinking piss water out of a spittoon...as I suspected, no one was doing that here in the IT break area. Just me and her. She must be talking to me, I thought. The only thought I could muster was, "Huh?" "That coffee," she said, "it's nothing but dirty water." I force a chuckle, nervously. Guilt starts to set in, like I'm watching porn and I was busted by my grandma. "Naw, it's good stuff," I say. "Well, I liken it to drinking and smoking." I sigh to myself and pour my cup of sin. It was good, and I felt naughty drinking it.

Call It Multi-Tasking

So, I bought these new keyboard trousers. vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

They're perfect. I can bbbbbbbbbbvvvvvvnnnnnn type while I do "other things". Maybe fire off a few knuckle children in the process. vvvvnnnnbbbbbbmmmgggggg.

And you can hardly even vnmbvmnbvmnbvmnbv tell I'm multi-tasking.

Trouble is, I had to buy a few pairs. ccccccvvvvvbbbbbnnnnnnnn

They keep getting soiled.

That was the most enjoyable blog post yet.

Operators Are Standing...Bye!

I wish I could be paid to act like a total retard for a living. I do. Instead I do it for free on this blog, but that's beside the point. Have you ever seen those commercials that advertise one of those "as seen on TV" product? The formula is pretty consistent: introduce the product, explain the benefits, then show average people trying to live their lives without it, splash a toll free number on the screen and voilà! I want to be one of those average people in the commercials.

You know who I'm talking about. The lady who obliterates paper towels trying to scrub carpet. The guy who just can't seem to figure out how to drain pasta without getting third-degree burns. The drunk bitch at the party that spills a whole goblet of Riunite Lambrusco on your new, plush white carpeting. I can do all of those things. Well thank god there are products on TV that can prevent all of these acts of ineptitude.

Here's an example. This one features the same creepy bearded guy you'll see on OxiClean™ commercials, Billy Mays. Are you just too damn tired of walking five feet to the light switch? Or are you a demential geriatric who forgets to turn the lights off while you're sitting next to them downstairs? Well you're in luck, lazy fuckers.

HandySwitch™
Note the complete look of defeat on grandma's face when she actually has to get out of bed to turn the light off at night four feet away. Oh the horror.

Are you dumber than a hoe? (No, not the ones who hang out on your street corner.) Does your shovel beat you in Jeopardy every night? Then you need a tool that will have you ditching those uppity garden tools so you can once again be the smartest monkey in your garden. You need one of these!

Awesome Auger™
Note: If using your hoe is causing you physical pain, then you're doing it wrong, dude.

How about when you just need to make a couple gross of meatballs and you can't remember how to shape them? I submit to you this craptastic product. Goodbye, meat dodecahedrons! Hello, meat spheres!

Meatball Magic™
There's no video with this, but imagine Corky getting ready for the Life Goes On cast party. Uh oh, big trouble!

Of course, there are alternatives that will save you money. Use Bounty® paper towels or a cloth, for Jebus sake. Learn how to use a colander, ass wad. And don't host a wine party in your newly remodeled living room with white carpet. Or even better, don't invite Sheila the drunken idiot. And if your kids are absolute hellions that color on walls or throw food, two words: military school.

On the other hand, Billy Mays, give me a call if you have any openings. I'll fuck up your white carpet quicker than drunken Sheila at a colostomy bag party. Did somebody say Zorbeez™? Let's face it. For some stains a good barrel of napalm is the only way to go.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

Lately I've become re-obsessed with a phenomenon that still puzzles me to this day. It puzzles because you see it and have to ask yourself, "What the fuck is this? Why did you send me this? And where is my gun?" It is a phenomenon known as the "Rickroll".

First I drop the knowledge on you. What is a Rickroll? Urban Dictionary defines it as:

"Tricking someone on the internet into watching "Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up" via links through the internet." --as defined by Moop77, Urban Dictionary

But why Rick Astley? Why not a "Stryper-roll"? Or "Yoko-roll"? Or, even worse, "ColorMeBadd-roll"? I shudder at the thought. I suspect it has to do with the hidden power of Mr. Astley's 1987 hit "Never Gonna Give You Up"...the power to infiltrate your brain and play incessantly in your subconscious PA system like a broken record. It sticks in your head, kids. I've been Rickrolled in the evening and then woke up the next morning with that damn song rattling around in my skull. As I type, it's working its way in there again. Also, it is the embarrassing eighties style visuals of the lanky red-haired Astley doing the dances in the video. He looks like a pastier red-head version of Doogie Howser with an itchy asshole he just can't scratch in public, so he gyrates his ass around to mask the fact. But he dances a lot like me, so who am I to judge?

Rickrolling your friends is a classic prank. You hate it when it happens to you, but you can't wait to pass that link along to another unsuspecting friend as soon as possible. Of course, along with sharing the joy of a Rickroll comes loss of trust and anger. I'm close to losing all of my already depleted cred within a circle of friends because I've sent three separate Rickrolls to them in the past week. They love me right about now.

How can you get in on the action? There are several Rickrolls out there on the interweb. Well here are some of the best Rickroll links, in my opinion:

The Original YouTube Rickroll - This is the video that purportedly started it all.

Getting Rickrolled by the Muppets - Nicely hidden behind a Muppets guise.

The most devious Rickroll EVER - Like a dog humping your leg, you just have to let it finish. Or you kill the browser session with Task Manager. EVIL, like the fruits of the devil.

And if you want to be even trickier with the delivery, you can mask the URL behind a TinyUrl link. Or you can take it offline and do what some guys did in one of the most creative and epic Rickrolls on record. They took boomboxes and blasted "Never Gonna Give You Up" at the Church of Scientology. Yes, they Rickrolled Scientology. That is incredible on so many levels.

What does Rick Astley think of his new found fame? The L.A. Times interviewed Rick about it. "It’s a bit spooky, innit?" You think, Rick?

Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you

Sweet Chocolate Christ! Get it out of my head!

If I had a band...

If I had a band, we'd find our origins in a shady laundromat. I'd be out of quarters, but let my damp whites stay in the dryer a bit longer anyway. Because I've got my keytar, it goes with me everywhere. The drummer, Sven, would be an immigrant from Laos who learned percussion from the local temple as a boy. He's stuck with two sticks and a washing machine lid. It sounds magical, like a tiger mauling in a Vegas show. We're solid.

We'd graduate to bigger venues, of course. Next door to the laundromat, the Italian deli. That's where we'd meet the guitarist/glockenspiel player, Benito. He's not bad, but we don't want a showboat to steal the show. The early songs would be based on our common disdain for Kathy Griffith and fruit-flavored beer...two of the worst things in the world. The angst wreaks like Old Spice, and you would dig it.

While my keytar gently weeps, Sven keeps the beat and Benito fills the spaces. The buzz builds and we'd be signed by a shady guy who claims to make records out of the trunk of his Buick. Likely the same place he kept his second wife before she disappeared. We don't care. It gives us some cred.

Our name would be "Butt Pie" or "Midget Armpit". Benito would leave the band over the decision. We hated that asshole anyway. We're a two-man show and that's how it stays. Sven is the Don Juan of the group. He lands at least one groupie per show. It's the same chick every time, but he's still "the man". I remain the creative-type without any time for a lady or life.

Things grow nicely. We're selling at least one or two hundred records per year when we finally make it to the radio. Dr. Demento puts us at #8 on his countdown. We are now legit and demanding more money. Our manager threatens to beat us senseless. He wins. We can't sell out anyway. Good call, Charlie.

Benito begins bugging us since he now knows he missed a big fucking boat to stardom. We tell him to eat it. We tour the seedy part of town. On tour, Sven catches an STD from a toilet seat. He loses his right arm in the ordeal. He's never quite the same after that. One armed drummers can't be trusted so I fire him and go solo. I'm a legend at this point, anyway.

I write my swan song about the entire history of our band. It's called "Dirty Laundry in a Midget's Armpit." You will have heard of it and love it. It's remixed by DangerMouse many years later. I put out a Greatest Hits EP to fund my LSD habit. Next step, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

It's a sure fire plan, I just need to find a keytar and kill my washing machine here at home.

Search Engine Obfuscation

I have to share this. I was just perusing my Google Analytics for this blog. It's amazing to see how people reach this thing. Particularly via Google.

I've covered a fairly wide range of topics in the short amount of posts here. And in writing those, I never imagined the combination of search terms that would lead readers to this kick ass blog. Yeah, that's right. Kick ass blog. I dare you, commenter dudes, to disagree.

I know people hit Google with some crazy ass searches. People with monkey fart fetishes need somewhere to go, right? I know I do. Even Ann Coulter has to let down her bitch facade every now and again. When she does, she takes solace in the fact that she can find a million other people out there with a taste for Simeon flatulence. Mmmmm, bananas.

Here are a few of my favorite Google searches that have landed readers to this blog:

gay cowboy big lebowski
"stephen hawking" "ladies man"
gay baseball players touching nuts

What in the world of Hee Haw are you doing looking for, people? And why are two of my top five referring Google searches about gay cowboys and baseball players touching nuts?

I realize as I'm writing that I'm now only helping my cause by getting myself ranked higher by mentioning all of these terms together in a single post. A fella has to strive for greatness somehow, right?

I might also mention that if you review this post you may also see the following Google searches land people here.

"monkey farts"
Ann Coulter flatulence
gay Simeon big nuts

Awesome. SEO folks would be proud.

Thank You Fantasy News Guys!

Every day in baseball, from the first crack of a bat in Spring Training to the final out of the World Series, you have guys getting injured. Pitchers with tight forearms or sore elbows, fleet-footed base thieves with sore groins or quad muscles, nearly half of them suffer from some sort of malady throughout the season. It's commonplace. In fact, it's turned the athletic trainer position into a science. Well, it is a science technically, but it's more advanced now than ever. Is that better?

A good trainer knows how to get you fixed and back out on the field in a flash. The key is, not missing any starts if you're a player. And if you're a former Mets trainer, you're also running a lucrative steroid business behind the scenes. And saving used syringes for use in Congressional hearings years from now. Sick fucker. But this is all beside the point. The trainer is there to mend the player and get him back in the lineup.

As a competitor in as many as three fantasy baseball leagues every season, injuries are on my mind. You watch the wire to see who may have pulled up lame or been replaced early in the game. Why did the manager bench him? Is he going on the Disabled List? Shit! As stressful as it may be, it is a fact of life. Injuries happen a lot. What you don't see very often, though, are players being sidelined with injuries like hemorrhoids. What?! Are you serious? I thought those were reserved for middle-aged guys who try too hard to "drop the kids off at the pool" when they are irregular? This is not something you expect to see your second baseman sidelined for...yet I just did.

Kaz Matsui is the starting second baseman for the Houston Astros. He's my backup 2B, and I spent a draft pick on him. He can steal bases and hit for a pretty decent average. But he seems to have a nagging case of the 'roids. No, not steroids, either. This is the second season he's been benched for any amount of time due to the inflamed blood vessels around his anal sphincter. This year, the docs have even gone as far as to diagnose him with anal fissures. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. What the hell are those? According to MayoClinic.com...

"An anal fissure is a small tear in the lining of the anal canal. Common in infants ages 6 to 24 months, anal fissures are less likely to develop in older children. Adults may develop anal fissures as a result of passing hard or large stools during bowel movements."

Holy hole in the anal canal, Batman. That sounds painful. No wonder it is causing Kaz to miss playing time in Spring Training. Well, at least he can feel at ease that this is something the trainer will keep in the clubhouse. No need for anyone outside to know why he is ailing, right? I mean, all they need to know is, he's out of the lineup. Dear, Kaz. Please do not visit any fantasy baseball sites...ever.

"Joseph Duarte, of The Houston Chronicle, reports Houston Astros 2B Kazuo Matsui (gluteus) is expected to miss four or five days after being diagnosed with a condition known as anal fissure. Matsui will go through individual workouts at the team facility but will not play until at least March 14. Doctors have prescribed a different medication to help alleviate the problem." --as reported by KFFL.com, March 11, 2008

Oh shit. How embarrassing is that? Since the inception of fantasy news, nearly everything goes reported to the community of pasty-faced fantasy geeks, like myself. As a consumer of these news feeds, I can honestly say, I don't need to know that level of it. Seriously, guys. If the dude has a rip in his anus, let him be. Call it a bruised gluteus and leave it at that. It's not as though we're talking about an elbow injury with a pitcher. When you hear that, you automatically start watching to see if it requires surgery. It's a tell-tale sign that the guy may be out a while. How the fuck do you deal with anal fissures as a fantasy team owner? You wait and see, I guess.

Here's to hoping Kaz's ass takes a few days off and heals. And a little more fiber wouldn't hurt either, Kaz. If you're tearing it, dude, you're trying too hard.

The Dude is not in

I'll be out for the next two days. What could possibly tear me away from the Nut Punch? It is the eve before I embark on a journey to Chicago, Illinois. At 8:00pm CST tomorrow, I will be entering the doors to the Portage Theater. It is time for the first Lebowski Fest Chicago.

As an avid fan of the movie, my love of all things Dude is dwarfed by many others I am sure. I look forward to seeing many of them there. Here's the agenda:

8:00 Doors
9:15 The Steepwater Band
10:15 Blue Moon Swamp (Creedence Tribute!)
11:30 The Big Lebowski!

The Steepwater Band opens the night. Never heard of them before, but they sound intriguing. Then what would a Lebowski event be without some Creedence? Blue Moon Swamp intends to provide just that. I hear they're a pretty good Creedence cover band. I can't wait.

At 11:30, it is the pièce de résistance, a screening of an original 35mm print of the film. It is the tenth anniversary of the original theatrical release of The Big Lebowski. (Well, technically, the movie launched on March 6, 1998, so we're a day off. Who cares?) This is the crown jewel, kids.

I'll be using my Twitter account to keep up on the goings on. So, check back here to see the latest posts if you're not regularly following my illustrious daily events through Twitter.com. I'm giddy like a little girl right now. Tee hee. Can't wait. See you cats on the flip side.

Warning: May Cause Irritation

I've been out of commission lately with a pretty wicked head cold. And during that time, I"ve had the opportunity to watch a lot of TV. While doing so, I noticed something that had always bothered me, but never really got around to blurting it out. What the hell is it with television commercials and their ridiculous disclaimers? I'm not talking about the amazing side-effects you could experience by taking a certain drug (though explosive diarrhea is a real bummer). I'm talking about the stuff that warns us not to attempt what we just saw or lets us know that what we just saw, may not be real. Thanks for the vote of confidence, asswipes.

Example: Snapple^® Antioxidant Water (Go figure, the online version doesn't have the disclaimer. So feel free to try whatever and know you may have legal recourse should you get injured.)
Synopsis: Guy cracks open a Snapple Antioxidant Water and discovers that the world is now covered with bubble-wrap for his own protection against the world.
The Key Moment: At the end of the commercial he has the brilliant idea to go jump off a skyscraper because, hey, he'll just bounce right?
The Disclaimer: "Do Not Attempt."

I'm left with the complete disappointment that I, too, cannot jump off of a skyscraper without getting hurt. Damn you, Snapple! Isn't this kind of thing against Darwin's little idea? Aren't we improving the species by losing the idiots that think this is really safe to do? Are the folks at these major companies really afraid they'll be sued by a moron that tries it and gets seriously injured? When did we as a civilization leave the realm of common sense? Somebody answer me, dammit! I just don't get it.

Example: Toyota Tacoma Pickup
Synopsis: Hillbillies in the high desert video taping their buddy driving his Toyota Tacoma. In comes a giant meteor and hits the pickup. The pickup survives proving how durable it is.
The Key Moment: Out of the dust and smoke of the meteor impact, you see the pickup survives completely in tact and drives away.
The Disclaimer: Dramatization. Access Cab shown with available TRD Off-Road Package.

So, Mr. Toyota guys, what you're telling me is that you didn't actually have the foresight to predict the time and location of a sizable meteor hitting the Earth? This wasn't real? Or are you telling me that if I don't get the Access Cab with available TRD Off-Road Package, then I'm fucked?

Either way, the fact you had to explain to me that (A) this was not a real scenario and (B) your vehicle is not meteor-proof, is ludicrous. I think if you really want to make this commercial better, you put a Snapple in the driver's hand and bubble-wrap that meteor. And then stop assuming that your entire viewing public is a bunch of booger-eating morons...because in reality, it's more like 13% booger-eating morons. Get rid of the disclaimers and help us lose that 13%. We'll all be better off. Thanks.

Where are we going?

Recently my daughter (she's 4) has been paying attention to the compass on the rear-view mirror in the car. She's always watching it and blurting out "Now we're going North" when the "N" appears. Tonight on our way home from dinner she hadn't mentioned it yet. So I asked her, "Which direction are we going now, babe?" She simply replied, "Forward."

I was struck by this. It was funny as hell for a bit. My wife and I laughed quietly. After a bit though, I really thought about what she said. In a word she provided some sort of innocent reassurance that we are indeed moving forward, both physically and figuratively. She did nothing but provide the simplest possible answer. There was no deeper meaning intended when the word left her lips.

We are all so far beyond such an elementary answer that her perspective is refreshing to hear. I may have eventually come up with the same with some further questioning, I'm sure.

We're headed home.
"N" - we're going North.
We're going forward.

All the details and my ability to maturely analyze situations just flat would have gotten in the way before I ultimately came up with her reply. Yet, it took her little more than a second to utter that simple truth. "Forward."

Kids do indeed say the darndest things. There's always truth in those statements. There are so many things we need to teach children about the world. It's a constant process to equip them with the best possible information to keep them safe as well as foster their inherent curiosity about the world. I want her to see things sometimes as I see them in order to adequately appreciate what she's experiencing. But that education takes a back seat at times. The teacher then becomes the student. She teaches me to appreciate her ability to see things as she sees them, usually on the simplest possible level. And that is something that can keep us all going forward.

G-Rob's What is Up with Tyler Perry?

We all know who Oprah is. Besides being the woman with a million times more "kwan" than Rod Tidwell, she is everywhere. I think I had some Oprah Flakes this morning and followed it with Oprah Roast Coffee. That got the systems going and I ended the morning squat with some Oprah Ply Toilet Paper...that's heavy duty stuff, now. She can take any million dollar idea, slap her name on it, and turn it into a freaking trillion dollar enterprise. Part of it has to do with her lemming fans, but that's another post all together. Point is, no matter where you go, you can't go a day without seeing her name. I personally think she has a complex that makes her do amazing things for people less fortunate, but she gets off on seeing her name and face all over it. There's a clinical name for it, I'm sure, but I just don't know it. The amazing this is, her name has never (to my knowledge) been slapped on a piece of crap or dumb idea.

Then there's Tyler Perry. Who? You know. Tyler Perry. The guy who brought you these corn-riddled turds:

Tyler Perry's House of Payne
Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman
Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married?
Tyler Perry's Madea's Family Reunion
...and many, many more Tyler Perry's craptastic creations

Seriously, Tyler. Whose freaking family reunion is it? Yours or Madea's? Make up your mind. No wait, Tyler Perry is Madea. He tries to be funny by playing the lead female role in the film. That's hilarious. We'll call this movie by the working title, Eddie Murphy's Idea.

Tyler Perry produces crap and slaps his name on it to warn the viewing public that they are about to watch a steaming loaf of human waste. In a way, he is doing us a service. I'm able to avoid eating goodies out of my yard because they have forever been known as "poisonous". Poison mushrooms, poison berries, poison rat poison, etc. Similarly, Tyler lets us know in the title that what you are about to experience may cause nausea and severe vomiting or diarrhea. Thanks, Tyler.

If we could only get more public figures to throw their names on things. It would save us an assload of time and grief. I would not recommend any of these to anyone.

Michael Bay's Pearl Harbor
Yahoo Serious' Young Einstein
Jewel's Dentist

On second thought, no. The only things you need to put possessive labels on should be your belongings. So grab Tyler Perry's matches and construct a pile of Tyler Perry's wood. Put all Tyler Perry's projects on Tyler Perry's Big New Pile of Wood and set it ablaze. If needed buy some Oprah's Lighter Fluid because I'm not sure how well Tyler Perry's turds burn. Do this and give me a big helping of G-Rob's Satisfaction.

File Under: Why Didn't I Think of That?

Lately, I've not been able to find a tool more useful than TinyUrl. It's simple. You ever have a URL to which you want to refer someone, but you find it is about 300 characters in length? For example, if you've ever gotten a link from Google Maps, you've seen something like this:

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=3+Abbey+
Rd,+London,+NW8+9AY,+United+Kingdom&sll=51.532196,-0.177576
&sspn=0.001176,0.002511&ie=UTF8&ll=51.532073,-0.177332&
spn=0.000588,0.001255&t=h&z=20

Unwieldy and potentially an issue if you email it to someone. (Sometimes email clients tend to word wrap gigantic URLs rendering them useless as a link.) Instead the person is left in copy-paste hell trying to reconstruct the proper URL in a browser -- if they even bother to work with the broken link, that is. Also, if you ever Twitter, you only have 140 characters per post. I'll be damned if I'm using 135 of them for a link. Enter TinyUrl. Paste this enormous URL in and submit it. And it spits out a nice, neat, tiny URL.

http://tinyurl.com/2eznr7

BAM! Clean, concise, and easily fits in any email or Twitter post leaving plenty of room to accompany the link with a brief explanation. You now have a permanent redirect to your URL that is good forever, or at least until Google Maps goes tits up in my example....so effectively, forever.

TinyUrl also offers a browser toolbar to make it even more handy to use. Actually, about the only really, truly awful thing about the service is the fact they link to Ron Paul's official website in the left side navigation. (This would be a good place to insert a contextual link to Congressman Paul's site I realize, but then I too would be part of the problem, you dig?)

The best use of TinyUrl yet is intentionally hiding a URL from the recipient's sight. This is useful for business reasons or just plain old fun.

http://tinyurl.com/2tcnbl

Truth be told, TinyUrl was my second favorite service like this. My favorite was SwiftyUrl. Similar premise, but upon returning a shorter URL for you it also placed that URL into your clipboard. You didn't have to bother highlighting the new URL then copy-pasting the URL anywhere. You're good to go paste it anywhere you want right away. Yeah, may be a bit intrusive for some hard-cores out there having a website insert something into your clipboard, but I found it handy. Also, as a Twitter user, you could follow SwiftyUrl and use them there. Start your post off with @swiftyurl and it would convert any link in that post to a shorter URL. Again, handy.

Now, you educated types can pick up on the past tense here. Something has happened to SwiftyUrl. It's gone from Twitter and the SwiftyUrl website is completely blank. What the hell happened? Perhaps infringing on the TinyUrl premise a bit, not sure. Either way an explanation is due, people. For now, TinyUrl will do nicely.

Get your cup ready, it's back...

October 28, 2006. That was the last date I entered an update to my blog here. As you might imagine I was off gallivanting and seeing the world; opening my eyes to the scenes and experiences that can only be experienced outside of our own country. These are the places from which one draws inspiration. They are foreign lands that offer perspective that allows us to continue to trod down the path of our own "normal" existence with some newfound hope that one day you will return to see them again. And when you do, it will be as though you're visiting old friends in familiar taverns. You are no longer a tourist but a confident visitor no longer needing a map. You are simply there blending in.

If that is what you imagined I was doing over the past year and a half, you're smoking something really good. Mostly it has been time spent with the family and being lazy about penning brilliantly insightful posts to the fine readers of the Nut Punch. Yes, if you imagined any of that, you were gravely mistaken. Since October 1006 I've seen another addition to the family in the form of a little boy. My daughter has nearly turned 5 and is a real whiz. I've gone through three full bearded phases and the gray hairs have easily tripled, but only on the sideburns and beard thankfully. My love of baseball has not waned, though the shadow of performance enhancing drugs has grown larger. My Colts have won a Super Bowl against my second favorite team, the Bears. Yes, some things have changed in the time since my last post, but many things have not.

We're still mired in a dreadful conflict in the Middle East. The country is still run by wankers who still seem to have only their own interests in mind. The Cubs are, well, still the Cubs -- providing hope yet eventually leading to disappointment. Good friends are still good friends. I'm still happily married. In fact, my wife and I are about to complete our tenth year of marriage.

I have been able to approach the Nut Punch with new found interest as of late. I'm ready to get this ball rolling once again. I feel as though I'm prepared to build some momentum and keep it rolling until my next uncalled-for hiatus. Let's just hope that is a long time from now. Ready? OK, good.