Thursday, March 27, 2008

Why You Suck (2)

This week's edition of Why You Suck is brought to you by the retard in the cubicle four down from you. Let's call him...Bob.


Bob: HELLO!?!!?

Wife: Hi, it's me!


Bob: HI! HOW'S YOUR DAY GOING? MINE'S FINE. I HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO. BUT BEFORE I GET TO ANY OF IT, TELL ME EVERYTHING THAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU IN THE TWO HOURS SINCE I'VE SEEN YOU.

Wife: Well, ok...Do you wan't to talk about all the crap that can probably wait until eight hours from now when I see you again?

Bob: OF COURSE. WHY WOULDN'T WE TALK ABOUT THAT?


***Fifty-eight minutes later***

Bob: HOLD ON, DEAR, MY CELLPHONE IS RINGING. I'LL CALL YOU BACK.

Wife: Ok, I love you!

Bob: I LOVE YOU TOO! TALK TO YOU SOON!


Molly (name has been changed): Hi Dad!

Bob: HI! HOW'S YOUR DAY GOING???

Molly: OMG! (Continues to spill guts)

***Thirty-three minutes later***

Bob: OK, HONEY, I HAVE TO GO GET SOME WORK DONE. I'LL TALK TO YOU IN SIX HOURS WHEN I GET HOME.

(Dials number on office phone)

Wife: Hello?


Bob: HI, IT'S ME AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Wife: Oh, hi honey.


Bob: SO LISTEN TO HOW MUCH MOLLY IS SCREWING UP.


***Hour passes***


Bob: AND DOESN'T SHE HAVE DANCE LESSONS TODAY? LET'S TALK ABOUT HER COLLEGE OPTIONS. AND HER COMMUNITY SERVICE IS ALMOST DONE WITH...

Repeat at least twice daily. Take cyanide as needed.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Birdman Checks in Wit Ya's


Birdman here, checkin' in wit ya's. Welp, we're in da depths of another offseason. I'm home more and my wife gets beat less. She says she breaks even, whatever da hell that means.

It's lookin' good for Da Iggles dis year. Like ya didn't fuckin' know, we picked up Asante Samuels. Good get, Birds. Up'pere wit Lito and Brian? SHUT DOWN. Now if we can draft a good reciever, it looks like another NFC Championship year. Of course, we're gonna do it without recievers, anyways. Cause were Da Birds.

I got dat goin' for me, dat and my season tickets should be coming in da mail soon. I had to take out a second mortgage on da house, but if da Birdman ain't at da games, what da hell are da Iggles gon' do? Dey NEED me! If only my wife appreciated me as much as da udder Iggles fans. Speakin' of which, where is dat bitch? Da kids need picked up from school and Birdman needs dinner, and he ain't about ta put pants on ta do eeder a doze.

Dis is Birdman, signing off. GO BIRDS!!!

Political Minute

In the spirit of the 2008 presidential elections, I’m giving you an inside-the-beltway look at the secret lives and accomplishments of past presidents to get you geared up for November.

William Howard Taft (1909-13) was both the 27th president of the United States and the 10th chief justice of the United States, the only man to ever hold both offices.

But it was his innate curiosity and work with fluid mechanics – most notably his discovery of displacement – that history has, regrettably, forgotten.

See the man was fat. Orca fat. But Taft and all his largesse existed in a pre-modern era -- before the modern photograph, before moving pictures, even before magnetic resonance imaging. There was no way to measure BMI.

And what a BMI it must have been. Taft’s military advisors joked that Taft was "too young to fight in the Civil War and too fat to take part in the Spanish War." Even his own mother wrote in a letter, a few weeks after William was born, that the baby “is very large of his age and grows fat every day."

Prophetic.

Taft got stuck in the White House bathtub and it took four men to remove him. After that incident, a new oversized bathtub was installed that was 7 feet long and 3.5 feet wide. After it was manufactured, four men fit inside the tub for a photograph.

Author Andrew Tully recalled the bathroom for a May 1952 issue of The Plumbing News: "Our President's tub was a good seven feet long---the kind in which a man can stretch out in when he comes home from the office, all tired out from working over a hot Republican."

It was in this oversized basin – which was nicknamed the “Fountain of Time” (no lie) where Taft discovered – among other things -- that displacement occurs when an object (in this case, Taft) is immersed in a fluid, pushing water out of the way and taking its place.

He figured (correctly) that the volume of the fluid displaced could then be measured and from this, the volume of the immersed object (again, Taft) can be deduced, thus changing the landscape of junior high science forever.

Bonus: a woodcarving of the actual moment where Taft discovered displacement.



Since Taft lived in a simpler time, before photography, artists who sketched the president were able to liberally improve the president’s image, which is why he looks so ripped in this woodcarving.

The Day You Were Born Was the Day I Learned to Hate


A very special birthday to Brunswick P. Danforth, my erstwhile constituent. Today marks his 26th birthday, which happens to be March 26th. Some call this a "supersonic" birthday, but to them I say, "puh." Sounds pretty gay.

It is, however, another reason to get wistfully pissed at the local pub. Barkeep! Another snifter of brandy, my good man. And make it stout. Today is this fellow's 26th anniversary of birth!

But in all seriousness, I'm glad Brunswick was born today. Otherwise I'd have nothing else to post.

HMNIG to Wednesday: Fuck You

Wednesday sucks. Sometimes you think it's Thursday, but it's not. Thursday's are Friday's gatekeeper; you have to pay your dues to get to Friday, but once you're there, it's freakin' sweet.

Monday is a unavoidable. Accept it.

Tuesday is the day to get things done, because there's nothing you can do about the fact that it's Tuesday. Friday is so far away it's not even worth thinking about.

But Wednesday is like a tickle on the balls without a handjob. All tease, no substance. At least Thursday has Lost.



And who the hell thought Wednesday should be called "hump day?" I want to pull that person's small intestines out through their nipple hole. Not that it's such a bad idea; a day for humping sounds good to me. But the reality of the expression is it's halfway through the week, hence, getting "over the hump." Like I need one more reminder I'm only halfway through the fucking week.

...

Sorry, I had to stop typing for a minute. I was busy gagging on someone's ill-advised attempt to poison me with office coffee. That shit was corrosive. It burns. I'm convulsing. I'm shivering. I just vomited. The aftertaste is still lingering. It probably will all day. I'm going to kill everyone.

But hey, at least it's hump day.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Friday Love/Hate List

Due to my recent (and until Shamrock Fest, successful) stint in rehab, I wasn't able to create my weekly posts. Well, today begins the Friday Love/Hate list. It's self-explanatory, but you might be a retard. Regardless, I'm not going to explain it.

Love

-St. Patrick's Day. Really, no elaboration needed.

-Along those lines, Shamrock Fest. Smelled pot for the first time since college. Yeah, I'm a square.

-Putting money on NCAA Tourney. Makes me give a fuck about Drake.

-Call of Duty 4, XBox 360. Modern weapons, modern tactics, modern war. Modern geek.

-The Wire on DVD. Never watched when it was on HBO. So bitchin' when you can watch one episode and immediately watch the next. Question of the day: what dude is Omar gonna bang this season?


Hate

-The Day After St. Patrick's Day. Notice no new posts from Tuesday.

-Losing money on NCAA Tourney.

-Getting stage fright when I really do have to piss. Why is it that when dude goes to piss next to me, suddenly my pee pee muscles seize up like C3PO on Tattoine. Investigation to follow.

-Celebrity ANYTHING (see below)

-Buying "Medel of Honor: Airborne" for 50% off at Best Buy, and not being able to play it because "Seriously? You can't think of ANYTHING better to do than sit around and play video games like you're 12?" Honestly, girlfriends just don't understand the finer points of conducting airborne operations deep behind German and Italian lines in order to destroy anti-aircraft or artillery installations which will allow the attack or movement of follow-on forces for the continuation of the invasion of mainland Europe. Maybe you'd like to be speaking German, but me, I got a war to win.

Why You Suck

If only I had the rest of my life to write this. I think I'll make this a new Thursday feature, unless I'm hungover and think it's Thursday but it's actually Tuesday. Lot of similar letters there, easy mistake to make. Just yesterday I thought it was Thursday. That's not even CLOSE to the word "Wednesday." But then, Tuesday was a washout, what with post-St. Pat's armageddon raging in my skull. As was Wednesday. Which, for two hours, was Thursday. After that it was Angryday, otherwise known as when Thursday reverted back to Wednesday. But I digress.

Back to not liking you. This time, it's because you think celebrities are "OMG, soooooo beautiful and awesome and [eyes widening, speech becoming rapid] and talented and interesting and [head exploding]. Because, in reality, no.

Seriously. No.

Recently my breaking point for the amount of this shit I can take was today when, from three different news sources, I heard/read about 1) Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony's twins, 2) Halle Barry's kid, and 3) Brad and Angelina's (OMG, BEST couple EVER!) upcoming twins.

The happy couple

Isn't it enough that every time Britny Spears has an off-colored shit we have to know about? Now we have to know everything about every celebrity's fuck trophies? Dammit.


Why do you care? Really, why? Email me, write me, call me (not really), something, anything. Is there something I'm just not getting? Why do you care what these people's kids look like and what they're doing. There's a 94.7% chance you're kids will be ugly, anyway. And possibly retarded. No need to raise your expectations.

Don't laugh, he's yours

So put down your can of PBR and your Us Magazine, turn off Entertainment Weekly, call Cletus and Marlene in from the landfill and spend some time with your own demon spawn. Stop worrying about people that shouldn't matter to you's kids.