Boner from Growing Pains committed suicide last week, and that left me sad. More important, it made me remember that I used to watch that show religiously, and spent a great deal of my childhood imaging that I was Mike Seaver. There was one episode where Carol brings home some new friend: a smoking hot blonde chick. Well, turns out the smoking hot blonde chick is only friends with Carol so that she can get closer to Mike. And so, when Carol isn't looking, Mike and the hot chick totally hook up. I thought this was the hottest thing ever, and spent countless nights imagining that chick was trying to hook up with me. Pillows were kissed. I was a very lonely young man. To the letters:
I'm sitting here studying for some BS test and I realize that when I write, there are certain letters that I get an immense sense of satisfaction from when executed flawlessly. This is probably largely subjective, but when I CRUSH an upper case R, P, D, or G, I fucking go apeshit internally. Some letters, depending on handwriting style, are just more difficult to pull off than others. But, when crafted to perfection, it totally (if only momentarily) inflates my self worth. Because of the fact that I am so conscious of this, I expect that when people read my shit they say to themselves, "Damn, dude knows his way around a pen."
I only wish I could experience the same sense of satisfaction. Alas, my handwriting is so poor I rarely get to experience it. A doctor's signature is more legible than my retard chicken scratch.
This is largely due to sloppiness. I am, unsurprisingly, a very sloppy person. But, once in a while, I will bear down and try really hard to craft attractive, symmetrical letters by hand, like if I'm spelling my kid's name on the Doodle Pad for her. I put everything I have into making those letters look presentable, and sometimes I get one or two that look really splendid. The lines are straight. No bumps in the curves. Just a really nice letter. Of course, the rest of the word looks like it was written by an epileptic cat, but at least I nailed one letter!
This was an even more gratifying experience in grade school, when they taught cursive. Some of the cursive letters are a real bitch, like capital G, Z, F, and J. Most of the time, I ended up with some horribly mangled version of those letters. Looked like a fucking snowman by the time I was done. But sometimes, I would fucking NAIL the big Z, and as Ocho says, that was a great feeling. I'd sit back and marvel at my handiwork. "Fucking look at that. That could be in the Magna Carta, it's so perfect." The rest of my word would be fucked, but that one cursive letter would provide some solace.
I admire people with nice handwriting. My wife got a thank you note from a friend once, and I swear to God, the writing looked like a fucking font. Complete uniformity of letters. And all on the same plane. When I write, the letters bob up and down all over the place, like buoys. There's no imaginary line they're all sitting on.
I have only one exception to my bad writing, and that is when I write dirty words in the sand with my foot at the beach. I can carve a COCK! in the sand that looks completely professional. People would be impressed, if they didn't think there was something wrong with me.
Which would you rather have: Harry Potter's powers knowing that you would have to go to school for 7 years and probable training after you are done with school, or the Force where you just have the abilities in you if you do rather than try. Between my friends its split almost 50-50 having the Force would be awesome and we feel like you could get more snatch with the Force, but magic has it's advantages too like seeing Hermione in a school girl outfit every day.
Wizard powers. Not even close. You think the Force doesn't require training? You have to fly to the Dagobah System, run through the jungle with Yoda on your back, lift spaceships out of swamps, confront your evil father, and do all kinds of crazy shit. Plus, your parents would still send you to school anyway, to be a well rounded person. Luke never even got to go to the Toshi station to get some power converters.
Whereas if you have Harry Potter powers, you get to go to the awesomest boarding school ever. Secret passage galore. Butterbeer in abundance. And your powers are far more diverse than the Force. The Force means you can fly, manipulate matter, and shoot lightning bolts out of your fingers. Well, wizards can do that, but they can also order pots to wash themselves, turn invisible, turn people into rabbits, and all kinds of other crazy shit. The only downside is that you get a wand instead of a light saber. But I'll be honest, I don't mind the wand. I would like a wand. When I was in choir in school, the teacher had a conducting baton. I used that thing as a wand all the fucking time. Wands are more fun than they get credit for. Even today, I'll pick up a drumstick or one of my kid's play wands and cast imaginary spells with it. BECAUSE I'M A FUCKING WIZARD.
Whenever my wife takes me into Victoria's Secret I get a stiffy just from looking at the lingerie on the mannequins. It happens without fail. (I guess I'm not a head or leg man.) Tell me I'm not the only one.
You are not. I'm very impressed with the progress made in mannequin design over the years. They've gotten highly bangable, with real curves and everything. None of them turns into Kim Cattrall, but that's nitpicking.
I was at the mall this weekend and I walked by a Bebe store (Bebe: official apparel provider of your slutty sister), and the mannequins were fucking smoking hot. Tight skirts. Push up bras. I could barely tear myself away. If I were a single man, I bang the SHIT out of a Bebe mannequin.
Just came back from taking the kids to McDonalds for the germ infested fun they call the playplace. But on to my question. What is the phenomena that makes a fry cook/cashier believe they have become a Treasury agent any time you hand them a $50?
Oh, where they hold it up to the light and search for a watermark and everything? Hey look, they're stuck working at a fucking McDonald's. Give them the fantasy of pretending they may be on the verge of busting a Yakuza-run international counterfeiting syndicate. GRANT'S BEARD IS TOO SHORT ON THIS BILL!
As a current college sophomore who is currently typing this e-mail in my Latin American Culture and Politics class, which takes place from 4:15-7 every Monday afternoon, I've noticed that a laptop on the desk is a clear indication of a student who is doing absolutely jack squat in class. As I type this, three other students are, like me, sitting in the back row on their laptops. As a matter of fact, as I glanced over, a fellow laptop user gave me a nod as if we were passing truckers on a freeway. In less technologically advanced times, what did college students do to pass time during class?
You fucking lucky sons of bitches. I've wanted to bring this topic up for a while now, because a lot of people have written in saying they read Deadspin in class. Here's my question: what shithead professor lets you keep an open laptop in class? Are they fucking stupid? What student with a laptop will actually use it to take notes, or get a crucial document from the school intranet? None of them. Ever. If I were a college professor, I'd seize any open laptop or iPhone whipped out in class and wipe a booger on it. Then I'd fucking FAIL the offender. FAIL!!! You can take your fucking notes by hand, young man!
I went to college juuuust before the Internet exploded and WiFi became omnipresent on college campuses. And that makes me feel so fucking old, you have no idea. There was only one thing to do in class back then, and that was to fantasize about banging your classmates. ALL THE TIME. I never stopped. I thought about sex in class so often that there were times when I had to run to the john and go beat off, such was my erectile discomfort. Some of the bathrooms at my college were single occupancy. It was a nice perk.
Going to the bathroom, period, was also something I did to pass the time in class. Sometimes, I go to take a shit and then, just to extend my break, I'd walk around the hall, doing nothing. Just to avoid going back in.
Save that, all that was left for me to do in class was doodle. I drew only the following items: Rocketships, dicks, the Vikings logo, and the Metallica logo. Oh, and pentagrams. Because pentagrams are so easy to draw. It's one of the great lures of Satanism.
My favorite artificial flavor is orange. I'm gay for orange gatorade, starburst, popsicle, ghetto soda, flavor-ice. If someone I know likes to eat all the pink starburst or pink skittles, I think they're soft.
I go for red. I ignore all the orange and yellow Starburst in the bag. I have long felt that orange and lemon Starburst are far too prevalent in the bag, as opposed to cherry red. Why is Starburst holding out on the cherry? Is it more expensive to produce? Will it give me cancer? FUCK YOU PEOPLE. GIVE ME MORE RED. If it doesn't denote cherry, it denotes fruit punch, and that makes me happy. That's how I take my slurpees, Jolly Ranchers, snow cones, and other assorted treats. This is how I would personally rank artificial flavors:
3. Blue (blue raspberry)
4. Green (apple or lime)
5. Pink (strawberry or watermelon)
I avoid black candy like AIDS.
Going to school in the Midwest we had tornado drills every Spring. Basically, everyone goes into the hallway and crouches down. In my fantasy, the school is actually hit by a tornado, the roof is ripped up and the girl I had a crush on is lifted into the swirling vortex. Summoning all the strength that my spaghetti-like arms could muster and defying all laws of physics, I'm able to reach up in time to grab her and pull her back down to safety. It worked on two levels because not only did I save the girl, the school was destroyed in the process. So, ultimate 4th grade win-win situation?
Yes. Storm fantasies like that are perfect for grade school. HANG ON! DON'T LET GO! You can save the chick, and maybe even her dog. Then you can steal a car (in any fantasy emergency situation, commandeering a car is a must) and outrun the tornado.
When I was a kid, I always imagined a tornado or hurricane coming, and then swooping me up in the air, allowing me to fly like a bird before it eventually set me back down gently on the ground. I assumed, if I were in the proper flying position, that I could make this happen. I never got that chance.
Can we find a way to measure strength by how many grocery bags we can carry? I would say I have average strength. But when it comes to carrying in grocery bags, there are never too many bags to take in one trip. It's probably because I'm too lazy to take more than one trip from the kitchen to the car, but I love the challenge of trying to carry every bag, and I swear even if I can only bench 180, I could EASILY bench 225 if it was in grocery bags.
Like you, I take every fucking bag in the trunk in my hands to prevent making a second trip to the car. The best part is when the wife looks at me, surprised at how many I'm carrying. "Really? That many bags?" OH, YES. BEHOLD MY ABILITY TO CARRY TWO MILK JUGS AND SIX BOTTLES OF SELTZER AT ONCE, WOMAN.
We have reusable grocery bags that we bring to the store. My wife likes these because they save the plant, or something. I like them because you can cram more shit into them, and because the handles are gentler on my delicate hands. It allows for even bigger hauling loads. Ever do one bicep curl with all the bags, just to see if you can? I have. I'm a fucking tool.
There are really only a handful of items from the store that will trip me up and prevent me from bringing everything in one trip. Those giant fucking packs of paper towels and TP will ruin me. So light, yet so very cumbersome. Also, twelve and 30-packs of beer or any canned fluid. Ever carry a twelve pack in a grocery bag? Agony. Boxes of diapers too. Fucking diapers.
One last thing about carrying groceries: I often fail to do a quick scan of which bags are holding which items, and so I'll often end up with an unbalanced load. In my right hand are all the cereal boxes, which weigh about a pound. In the other are the milk and canned goods, which weigh 5,000 lbs. You get scoliosis this way. Always check the bags before loading up.
Do you think that the reason humans have evolved so much is cause our meat tastes bad? Like if cows weren't delicious, they would be ruling the world and eating human burgers and afraid of another mad person disease.
Oh, you SO wrote that while stoned.
There's no reason human flesh couldn't be tasty if prepared correctly. Famed Mexican muralist Diego Rivera once experimented in cannibalism. According to this, he once recommended, "women's brains in vinaigrette." Women's brains? But that would be such a small portion! HEY OOOOOOO!!!
Seriously though, I have had the whole Alive fantasy where I'm stranded somewhere and forced to eat others. I've always wondered what I would do if I actually ended up LIKING the taste of human flesh. Wouldn't that torture you with guilt forever? You had to eat your best friend in an excruciating moment, and it turned out he was fucking DELICIOUS. I don't think I could handle that.
And you could never compliment the food openly in that scenario. You couldn't be sitting around the fire, eating dead sailor, and pipe up, "Hey! This thigh is actually pretty tasty!" That would be fucked.
I take my post-lunch deuce at the same time every day, 1:45 in the afternoon. For the past few weeks, some fucker has been coming into the bathroom, taking a leak in the urinal, and then shutting the fucking bathroom lights off on his way out. The first couple of times this happened, I was willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, and I actually started making my presence known by coughing, flushing the toilet, or doing anything to make just enough noise that any non-brain dead person would know there's somebody else in the fucking bathroom. Yet he still keeps turning the lights off. What the fuck? I'm thinking about finishing the deuce quickly next time and then setting a trap for him, and right when he turns the lights off, I run out of the stall and tackle him Terry "Office Linebacker" Tate style. Does he deserve it?
Yes. Turning off the lights when someone is still on the shitter is a move reserved strictly for best friends to do to one another. "God dammit, Daulerio!" Moreover, anyone who turns off the lights in a public bathroom is a fucking asshole, regardless of whether or not the bathroom is still occupied. Public bathrooms should remain lit 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It may waste energy, but it's well worth it to ensure that I don't walk into a public bathroom, realize the lights are off, and quickly think that A) I've walked into a janitor's closet by accident, or B) Someone is in that bathroom waiting to fucking kill me. Plus, the switch is not always so easy to find. I've been known to spend a solid 10 minutes looking for a bathroom light switch.
Is this you, Drew?
You go to Hell.
Have you ever had a blood orange? I had my first yesterday, and instead of delicately separating the wedges like I usually do with a standard orange, I just dove right into the thing. The way the dark little sacs dripped as I tore through it, I couldn't help but feel like a zombie feasting on human flesh.
There are many foods good for this sort of fantasizing, but a blood orange has to be the best. I mean shit, BLOOD is right there in the name. And they really are that graphically messy.
Apart from blood oranges, you can also get the same rush from eating a very large turkey leg (it works because it's meat). That will indulge your Diego Rivera-style cannibal fantasies nicely. Basically, any food that is juicy and messy and is eaten by hand, without benefit of a bun or tortilla casing. Watermelon, I find, is also an excellent choice for this. When I eat a big wedge of watermelon, I am sure to do to as loudly as I can, so that it sounds like I'm a wild cannibal tearing through someone's shoulder. There is fun to be had with fruit outside of placing it in human orifices.
On Yahoo right now there's this story about the school shooting in Colorado (it is about that time of the year, kinda like hurricane season) and this math teacher that tackled the gunman while he was reloading after shooting two kids. Being a school teacher, you know this guy had thought that scenario through hundreds of times, so he was ready for it.
That's gotta be a huge plus for any teacher: dreaming of the day when you get to take down some fuckhead kid packing heat. If I were a teacher, I would petition the school to allow me to carry a gun or a bat on me at all times. I watched Lean On Me a lot. You can get a lot done in schools if you carry a bat around.
I remember, right after Columbine happened, I must have visualized being in the middle of that shit a hundred times. And, of course, in the fantasy, I never hid under a desk. No, no. I was the brave teaching assistant who coolly disarmed both kids and then pistol-whipped them into submission. Then I banged the prom queen. I am a fairly self-absorbed person.
Even before Columbine, I remember kids would always talk about some of the weirder kids in school and speculate on if they would ever come to school one day and start shooting the fuck out of people. I wonder if anyone thought I was capable of that. Because I totally wasn't. I mean, sure, sometimes I daydreamed in eighth grade of bringing a sawed-off to school and blowing Dave Miller to kingdom come. But it never got beyond the initial planning stages. Buying a gun is not as easy as some people make it out to be, you know. And that kid was a penis. He totally would have deserved it.
I live alone, and when I'm eating in front of the TV, I tend not to eat during commercials because it seems like a waste. When I'm eating, remote in hand, I am the king, and the king MUST be entertained. I would rather let my Costco pizza become lukewarm than eat it while watching that insufferably perky bitch from Progressive try to sell me car insurance. If I have a movie on, the popcorn or what have you must not be opened until after the movie has begun in earnest (ie after the credits, assuming there's no substantial scene preceding them).
I always try and hold out, like you do, but if I have popcorn and I'm in a movie theater, the fucking bag isn't even making it through the Screen Scramble. It doesn't even make it to the previews. Then the movie starts and I have nothing to eat. When I was a teenager, I thought nothing of going back to the concession stand to buy seconds. That's a huge fat person move. No one gets seconds at the movies besides fat people.
When excavating my nose I really enjoy finding one of those boogers that is crusty and easy to grasp, and while pulling it out discovering that it's about two inches long, requiring me to use delicate but continuous tension on the tug, lest it snap in half and destroy the moment. I then like to form the booger and its accompanying snot into a tiny ball between my thumb and middle finger, rolling it around until it looks like a miniature wad of peanut butter cookie dough. So simple and so satisfying.
Sometimes, particularly in the winter months, I will press the outside of my nostril into my nose, to ascertain if there is a crusty booger inside. And when I know there's one there, YOU TALK ABOUT AN ADRENALINE RUSH.
Conversely, there is no worse feeling than digging in for a great booger and not getting all of it. Total failure. Sometimes, I'll end up pushing the thing further up my nose. WHAT IF THAT BOOGER TOUCHED MY BRAIN? Or worse, the booger will just fucking disappear. I'll look in the mirror, and it's not even visible. Where did it go? Is it in my eyeball? SHOW YOUR FACE.
Ever had a voice from another room that SHOULD be a mood killer but you've told yourself that you're going to jerk off and finish the job like the self-respecting self-pleasurer that you are? That's fucking concentration right there!
Yep. I always finish what I start, no matter the cost. But let's be honest, that's never a very satisfying nut. You may finish, but the damage to your overall sense of pleasure is done.
If you filled up an entire bathtub with meat (I always pictured a tub full of ground beef, like from Taco Bell), and a dog had free reign at that bathtub, would a dog eat itself to death?
No. According to random people on Yahoo! Answers, it would eat to the point of vomiting, and then stop. Like me at Panda Express.
But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try!
Have you ever reached for a cabinet handle without looking and leaned the way it should be opened, only to open up the cabinet right next to it and get pulled in the opposite direction? I love the feeling, but it can't be duplicated if you think about it, which pisses the shit out of me.
It's like when you get on an escalator, and the handrail of the escalator is moving at a faster rate than the escalator itself. Thus, if you hold onto the handrail but remain standing, it gently pulls you forward, like a woman escorting you to the bedroom. It's the little things.
Is it okay for me as an ex-smoker to be a total hypocrite? I did it for years and was an absolute fucker as a smoker. Now that I quit, I've turned into the ex-fuckin-smoking gestapo.
I even bitch out my friends and tell them they can use me as a role model. I'm I an asshole, aren't I?
Nah, you're not a fucker. Everyone who quits smoking for good eventually turns around comes to fucking loathe cigarette smoke, even more so than people who never smoked to begin with. I have no problem with being shitty to smokers, because most smokers spend their time either bitching about where they can't smoke, or accidentally burning bystanders with their fucking butts. They can eat shit. You too, Leitch.
As someone that has no authority to answer this, I figured I'd asked — how much do you think Jeopardy makes on any given episode? Think about it ... the worst-case Ken Jennings-type scenario for producers on any given night is for a contestant to walk away with $50,000 or more. And on average, most people win in the $15,000 - 30,000 range. I'm guessing they do somewhere in the region of 150 - 200 "new" shows per year. And as any normal show, they have to clear enough profit per episode (minus Trebek's contract) to warrant giving away that much cash.
Syndicated shows like Seinfeld can make up to $1 million per episode, so I assume Jeopardy! makes somewhere in that ball park, given that it gets similar, if not better, ratings in network syndication.
The more pressing question is this: Why the fuck do Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune both end, in essence, a good five minutes early? It baffles me. You tune in to Jeopardy! They do the first half of the first round, then go to ads. They finish Round 1, then go to ads. They finish Round 2, then go to ads. They have Final Jeopardy, then they go to ads. At this point, it's like 7:23PM. Then they come back from the last commercial to show Trebek talking with the contestant on the stage while the credits roll and they tell you Alex Trebek's wardrobe was provided by Perry Ellis. What the fuck is that for? They rush through the first two rounds, only to have this dead zone for five minutes at the end of every show. Final Jeopardy should be at the fucking end. I hate this.
Old man strength. Where does it come from? At what age does it start? I would say at least 75% of my friend's dads have old man strength. And I'm not talking about opening a pickle jar. I'm talking about hitting the 2,000-foot high bell at the carnival with a hammer. It's a natural phenomenon. I swear to God that I've seen a 50 year old man pull a 3,000 pound tree out of the back of a truck.
It's particularly apparent during house chores. My father-in-law will limp into the house, looking like he needs a nap. Then you ask him to move a 1,000-pound armoire or pull a screw out of the wall with his teeth, and he turns into fucking Hercules.
And they're shockingly agile, too. They can get into crawlspaces and reach up to fix pipes, contorting themselves into positions that make me wince just fucking looking at them. Should you be doing that, old timer? Won't that hurt your liver or something?
I always assume I'm now at the age where I can kick my dad's ass if we throw down. After all, he's old and shit. But then he'll come up to me on occasion and grab my shoulder or something, in a sign of fatherly affection. And it will fucking HURT. Feels like a robot using his iron claw to throw me against a wall. And I'll be like, "Damn, this fucker has got a GRIP." I dunno if I could beat that fucker now.
What's your opinion on the socially accepted frequency of "adjustments"? In the end, no matter how many times I adjust my junk, it never stays put in the optimal location for an extended period of time.
Do I adjust more or less frequently than the average male? Is my need to adjust my junk directly proportional to my desire to masturbate?
Well look, the socially acceptable number of junk adjustments as deemed by WOMEN is zero. Women think it's disgusting, and can't possibly understand why we're doing it. It has nothing to do with masturbatory tendencies, and is not sexual in any way. But women never understand that. They think we're pre-masturbating. Well, we're NOT. Get your fucking minds out of the gutter. Adjusting oneself is strictly done as a matter of personal comfort and should be welcomed, instead of shunned. You ladies try walking around with a cock and balls and see how long you can go without touching it. You won't last.
I've never seen how long I can go without making an adjustment, but I assume it's a period of no longer than seven minutes.
My kid starting grabbing his junk in the tub the other day. My Mrs. was terrified. I assured her it was perfectly normal. I told her a penis is a boy's first toy. She can't even look at me now.
Having attended many NHL games over the years at the Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh, I always imagine myself as Jean-Claude Van Damme fighting a group of terrorists while the crowd (oblivious to their impending doom) watches the game in progress. Every time I see Iceburgh the Penguin, I want to karate kick him. I check the steel rafters for bombs when I go to get a beer. I also imagine myself in the scene where Jean-Claude has to enter the game as a goalie. I just skate out to the goal crease wearing all the gear and not a single person notices that I'm not actually Marc Andre Fleury.
That's a solid daydream because you get to both kill terrorists and participate in a professional sporting event. Whenever I walk into a stadium or large facility, I too check out the rafters, the duct work, and the catwalks and immediately picture having to climb up into them to stage a knife fight with a deadly German criminal mastermind.
In a crowded stadium, it's always fun to sit in the stands and scan the crowd for suspicious characters who could pose a threat. Why is that man NOT cheering? WHAT IS HE HIDING? It's fun to think you're the only person around who knows that SHIT IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN.
I have seen a few bars unveil the urinal goals lately. After a few beers, you can blast the ball into the back of the net like your are Pele himself.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT. I would fly across an ocean to piss in something like that. I'd never leave the bathroom.
Why don't we have futuristic monorails everywhere yet?
I know. It's fucking annoying. No monorails. No flying cars. No hoverboards. No space stations that are home to astounding duty free shopping values. No floating screens. NO WRISTWATCH VIDEOPHONES. I swear to God, we live in the fucking Stone Age.
When I'm eighty, and on my death bed, some fuckhead will invent a hoverboard that runs on cold fusion, and I will be fucking PISSED.
Whenever I go to someone's house who has a knife block, I always imagine like a group of robbers coming in with guns to rob the place, and I develop the ability to throw knifes with force and accuracy like Steven Seagal in Under Siege. "He's just a cook."
Knife blocks are cool because it always feels great to pull a knife out of one. I feel like I'm taking Excalibur out of the stone. CROWN MY ASS. I even pantomime having to pull mightily to draw it out. Only when no one is looking.
Whenever I have a knife in my hand, I always picture stabbing people with it. What if I took this knife to a park and stabbed some jogger with it, then ran off? How long would it take them to catch me? Five seconds? Five years? A MOTIVELESS CRIME IS A PERFECT CRIME. I also become immediately panicked that my wife will come in to give me a surprise hug just as I'm turning around with the knife in my hand, sticking out. GAHHHHHHHH!!!! There's no way that could happen. BUT WHAT IF IT DID?! Holy shit, that would be horrible. I can't point knives downward quickly enough.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
What's the best donut at Dunkin Donuts?
ONLY SOMEONE FROM FACKIN' PEDROIAH NATION CAN ANSWAH THAT QUESTION!!!!
I'm partial to glazed Munchkins. I could eat 500 of them. But hey, that's just my opinion. French crullers are delightful as well.
Even tougher to answer is: what's the best item in the grocery store bakery case? I go to the store at least twice a week, and that bakery case is so goddamn tempting. Apple fritters. Cookies. Krispy Kreme donuts. Muffins as big as your head. Chocolate croissants. Maple pecan long johns. Danishes. I mean, holy Jesus. How do you fight that? You ever buy a grocery store apple fritter, then take it home and nuke it for 30 seconds? You may as well have sex with a hooker bareback, it's so gratifyingly naughty.
Do you ever have those near-death experience dreams? I had one last night and they fuck with me for a week afterwards. The night of is the worst. I'm up all night, tossing and turning knowing the villain from the dream has surely found a portal into the real world and will be looking for me to finish me off.
And the villain is always someone unrecognizable. How did your brain conjure that guy? Was he someone you saw on the bus? Is he someone you've yet to encounter? I always assume people I see in dreams are people I will meet later on. That has yet to occur. Apparently, I am not actually clairvoyant. BUT I COULD BE.
Lately I have been thinking about how if I could change one food item that is bad for you to be healthy what would it be. I live near a KFC and could probably eat fried chicken daily and think I would go with that since it is delicious and would be magically good for me. What would you go with?
Apart from grocery store apple fritters that have been warmed in the microwave? Cookies. All cookies. I fucking hate Panera, but they make a chocolate cookie with nuts and white chocolate chunks that I would stab my aunt to eat.
Is there a point in life where it's no longer socially acceptable to eat kid's cereals (aka Cap'n Crunch, or Cinnamon Toast Crunch). I live in fear of this day.
When you have kids and they grow old enough to register that CTC is fucking awesome. The second that happened in my house, my wife banished sugary cereals, to ensure the kids wouldn't spend all day begging to eat them (and they do). Thus, no more Cocoa Puffs. These kids can't go to college fast enough. I want my Crunch Berries back.
Some cereals straddle that border between fun kid's cereal and boring adult cereal. Thus, I'm allowed to keep Chocolate Chex around. Same amount of sugar as Cap'n Crunch. Kid won't eat it. VICTORY.
What post-cooking smell lasts the longest? My answer is bacon. If I cook bacon at 7am, my kitchen will smell like bacon till like 1pm.
Women's brains in vinaigrette.
If you could choose one current public figure to be mired in a nasty, Tiger Woods-esque sex scandal, wouldn't you go with Tony Dungy? My god, it would be glorious. You would be able to found a new religion with all the lost self-righteousness.
Pfft. There are bigger fish to fry than Dungy. Why not go with Obama (if you're a Republican) or Sarah Palin/Sean Hannity (if you're a Democrat)? Far more gratifying, depending upon your political stripes.
Or Leno. Or Jeff Zucker. Or Elizabeth Hasselbeck. Or Dick Cheney. Or Oprah. I wish terrible whoring scandals upon them all.
Do you ever look at an area and think, "That would be a great place to have a superhero fight"? I do this all the time. Criteria for an awesome superhero fight setting is how much shit would get destroyed but so that no civilians get hurt (A-Team style). Any site that also has objects that can be used as weapons for those with super strength or other environmental hazards that you can use to vanquish your foe at the last second are a big bonus. Ideal sites have included: half-constructed stadiums, dockyards, oil refineries, and huge warehouses. The best site I've seen is along my train commute to work - on one side of the tracks there's a lumber yard with a freight train station adjacent to it, and on the other side of the tracks is an abandoned sheet metal factory.
Perfect place to have a throw-down of epic proportions for our imagined superhero selves (or even as a spectator watching). Try it if you don't already, as it turns drab settings into their own ThunderDome of ass-kickery.
Don't forget parking lots, empty barns, high school gyms, and high school football stadiums. High school footballs stadiums have lots of metal bleachers, perfect for tearing away with your super strength. Ride any train and you get a virtual tour of excellent superhero fight locales. Rail yards, abandoned factories, condemned homes… all perfect places to have the final throwdown with Galactus.
But all of those places pale in comparison to one: Cathedrals. Cathedrals are awesome for that. I went to Europe once, and I'd walk into one of those really old cathedrals, with the high ceilings and dim lights and reverence, and picture myself battling Satan and his mighty fire whip. And I totally send him through a stained glass window. FUCK AND YES, that is awesome.
My girlfriend and I broke up about five months ago. The only thing I miss about her is her bed. It was like I was sleeping back in the womb. I would call in sick to work and then pretend to be sick in front of her just so I could spend more time in that bed. The amount of crazy I put up with just knowing I could spend a night in that bed is staggering. I almost gave in to her moving in because of that bed. Now that we are broken up, I've spent nearly 3 grand trying to replicate her combination of bed and feather pillow top. I haven't come up with anything that comes close. I'm a moron for not getting the bed manufacturer before we broke up. Would it be too much of a dick move to attempt to get back together for a month (though it probably will stretch into two) just to find out where she got her bed, or should I just resign myself to never sleeping that well again?
Could you email her? Would that be wrong? I slept in some girl's bed at Colby once. I swear it happened. She had a featherbed, an egg crate, and eight comforters and everything. It was like sleeping in Jesus' arms. Good beds are worth going the extra mile.
I went to the Air Force Academy, and any time we had a new peanut butter jar on our table, a freshman was forced to scream something borderline retarded ("I think it was FIRE IN THE HOLE!"), and then smash the jar into his forehead, making an awesome POP sound and launching a PB cumshot across the dining hall. Highly recommended. Although it ruined the fresh jar knifing, it was worth it for the one time I witnessed a kid smashing the bottom of the jar (instead of the side) into his face, nearly knocking himself unconscious. You're in good hands, America.
I couldn't be prouder of our troops right now.