10 things about me

Care to learn a little about me? Read on! Don't give a hoot? Shove off!

1. I can perform several yoyo tricks; the Smothers Brothers inspired me. The Duncan Butterfly is my favorite yoyo. Screw those transaxle shits, that's cheating.


2. I taught myself to juggle (poorly) standing on the side of the highway using a bunch of rocks. Not very smart for numerous reasons but it worked.


3. I only kill spiders if situations necessitate it. We've got a real 'live and let live' thing going.


4. 'Unsafe' heights exhilarate/scare the bejeezus outta me. 'Unsafe' refers not to scenarios like rollercoasters or airplanes where one is secured, but to things like ferris wheels and tall escalators. Watching suspension-bridge workers on TV makes my stomach churn and chest cave in. A hot air balloon ride would give me either the biggest thrill of my life or a humongous coronary.


5. I haven't ruled out the possibility of mass homicide as a means to secure my legacy. Not that I really consider it but what if one day at the tail end of my life I'm reading the obits and see a bunch of those generic ones that list no personal info, just funeral home directions. I might panic!! Now, if legacies actually interested me I might be disturbed by this. Luckily, I don't rightly care.


6. I don't trust my professional skills enough to have another's life depend on them. One reason I didn't pursue my engineering career upon graduation? A class lecture by a man involved with the space shuttle Challenger's O-rings and its cost/risk analyses scared the crap out of me. I'm not simpatico with managers debating the value of human lives via bar graphs. This mindset seems to contradict my previous one but I've sort of reconciled the two (sort of).


7. I goddamned hate asparagus!


8. It was many a long, un-Mary Poppins-like years, before I learned how to keep a kite in the air. I was quite the Charlie Brown for a decade or two.


9. I love those old Abbott & Costello, Three Stooges type shows.


10. I believe I fractured my wrist trying to do 180°s during my first snowboarding excursion. I never got it examined and it seems ok these days, minus certain aches and crackles. My tailbone barely survived. Next time wristguards and padded-butt pants are a must!

smoking chimpanzee

Trying to change a mother or father's bad habits is not unlike trying to civilize a mountain gorilla. You spend plenty of time teaching him to communicate via gestures and phrases. You start believing you've made progress. But turn your back for a moment and when next you look, he's standing there eating a handful of his own shit and you realize you're basically still at square one. And I haven't the time to even begin discussing the gorilla...

Worst TV commentator in the world

Kevin Harlan probably owns that title. He is the asinine catchphrase NBA play-by-play announcer on the cable channel TNT. When someone ferociously dunks the ball he seems quite proud of this following brain-fart: "Ohhh!! He just sucked the gravity right out of the building!!!" I can't even begin to comprehend what that ejaculation means. Anyone know of others who might challenge for the crown?

Cereal review: Can one go wrong with Rice Krispies? Sadly, yes. But it'd take some effort. So don't be adding kielbasa, peanut butter, & pickles in there.

PAFJIPs

Attention: In accordance with the passage of Bush's new No Child Shall Be Maligned policy, "bullies" may no longer be referred to as such for fear of stigmatizing said individuals. That, in turn, may lead to stunted emotional development which, as reported in the American Journal of Medicine, has been directly linked to cases of "seriously fucked up adults". As of April 20, 2005 "bullies" must now be referred to as "pituitarily advantaged, forceful juvenile influence peddlers (PAFJIPs)". Bush recently held a press conference at a college campus in Fort Worth, TX to announce the passage of this bill. He began by stating, "Children are not bullies. Bullies are terrorists. That means they like to "terrorize" people with stuff like nukular bombs because they hate freedom. They love terror." At that moment he accidentally dropped Tom DeLay off the balcony when he spotted Booger & Lamar carrying a home-built robot towards their dormitory room. He and Ogre began chanting "nerds! nerds! nerds!" between mouthfuls of beer.

Whu?

It should be a daily given that people have moments of paralysis where they are just flummoxed by mind boggling concepts like black holes. I mean, c'mon. Gravity so strong even light can't escape?! That's ludicrous! (or ludacrithp as Mike Tyson might say) Light is something people take for granted and assume as instantaneous. To quantize it, put a finite limit to its speed, and then to say it is not fast enough to escape the grasp of these singular points in space??
Or to ponder that some starlight, which did make it to our night sky and we are now seeing, was generated by a celestial body that died millions of years ago? What the fuck is that!?!! But I suppose that time is better spent discussing mergers & acquisitions and who will partner up with that Hilton bitch for another tv show. Rod Stewart's kid I hear! I might go vomit out some IPOs.

Fie!!!

I'm here to foist my intelligence upon you!! E=mc². Vermeer. El Greco. Counterpoint. Resonance. What light from yonder window breaks. Here me speak of planaria. Floating Point Units. Compton Effect. Ohm's Law. I will crush you with my knowledge of the fibula! Convert atmospheres to millimeters of Mercury 'til you beg for mercy. Oedipus complex. Osmosis. Solve the NJ property tax dilemma. Parles-tu français? Detail a 4-cycle engine until I'm blue in the face behind my windshield. Yet you STILL can't figure out how to merge on a roadway!!!

It smells like you're slathered in Crest toothpaste

My shoulder's injured and all by myself I had to apply BenGay onto that area right below, and between, the shoulder blades. Let me tell you, it was no easy feat but I managed. Alas I hurt my other shoulder in order to do so. A little BenGay oughta fix this right up! And like Conan O'Brien said, it's the best selling product with the word "Gay" in it's name!

Fake Fakt Friday:
A new, occasional 'beginning of the week' feature. We here at GodHasWheels can dish with the worst of 'em. Eat your heart out Joan Rivers! (if it's not some steel-constructed, electronic, surgical implant, in which case your dentures will not be strong enough to penetrate)
Did you know, the new Triple X movie XXX: State of the Union was originally to be released as XXX 2: XXXX (Quadruple X). However a rival faction of marketing execs believed XXX 2: XXXXXX (Sextuple X) was the correct mathematics. Much blood was shed. The opposing sides finally compromised and settled on the current generic name by randomly amalgamating words from film titles in the studio's vaults. I wouldn't say it if it weren't true!

A fine egg cream

Follow these 10 easy steps to carbonated-heaven!

1. No damned Hershey's syrup! Get something like Fox's U-Bet™ instead.


2. Get a bottle of plain seltzer. Be wary of super cheap kinds; sometimes their gas comes out of solution too quickly.


3. Ready a tall glass (the shit will bubble up so a mug won't cut it).


4. What is I'm talkin' bout? I said No Damned Hershey's Syrup!!


5. Squeeze about 1/3 inch of chocolate syrup in the glass.


6. Add about an inch of milk (2% or up. None o' that froo froo skim stuff).


7. Stir the syrup & milk together first, otherwise you get non-chocolately seltzer flavored fizz on top. S'no goot.


8. Add the seltzer until the glass is ~3/4 full.


9. Stir it a bit, watch out for volcanic overflow.


10. Stick a straw in it. You're done.

Church vs. Chicken*

Never has the death of one, who meant so much to so many, meant so little to one (me). Sorry. Trying to be all dramatic and "Churchill-y". Not to sound callous but I'm referring to the pope, who seemed like a decent old fellow. Being raised non-religious I guess I just don't get the hubbub surrounding popes. Are they 'more human than human' or something?
Ok, I've read some things about them and the Church's power/land grabs after the fall of the Romans. And maybe, along with Reagan, JP2 laid low the USSR. And perhaps he told Catholics to stop hatin' on the Jews. And maybe he officially declared that the Church would no longer use war to further their cause, though you'd think SOME pope would've stated this at some time between the Crusades and now, no? The bottom line is, what's this got to do with me? He didn't conveniently package tasty chicken parts for purchase from the supermarket. Baring that fact in mind I'll have to say the death of Frank Perdue probably has a more direct impact on my life.
Those two chaps were about the same age. I have a fun time imagining them competing against each other in some corporate softball tourneys in their younger days. "Frank's got a devilish riseball!!" "Lay off the high ones, Pope!" "mule!" "nag!" or whatever chatter that happens during softball/baseball games (I'm obviously basing this from non-Kevin Costner baseball movies).

If anyone was offended by this post, please direct all angry comments to: gwbush@big-oil.hugegovt.whitehaus.gov (this guy is "punch-in-the-face" worthy)

*No not Church's Chicken the place with the tasty biscuits. If you want delicious fastfood chicken (and seemingly the only place on the east coast that serves horchata) check out Guatemalan sensation: Pollo Campero. Warning: site contains music. An awful/catchy jingle in fact. "todo me gusta, me gusta todo!"

It's my eleventy-first birthday!

Well, not really. But I've just passed my 6 month blogging anniversary.
Thank you all! for the effort in helping out my sister's band. Hopefully it'll lead to something cool and you all can feel good in having chipped in. And if that's not benefit enough I will also "reward" you with a joke!

This couple had an excellent relationship until one day the man came home from work to find his girlfriend packing. He asked her why she was leaving him and she said she had heard awful things about him.
"What could they possibly have said to make you move out?"
"They told me that you were a pedophile."
He replied, "That's an awfully big word for a ten year old."

Ok, that was quite bad but it's not one of my made-up ones. I heard it from somewhere so it's a professional joke.
Ok, back to my 6 mo. celebration. To commemorate, I must pay tribute to the 3 others who originally started me blogging.
The "secret's" out! I am related to my brother. If you're curious about the tale of the inconsiderate ghost of showers past, bother the Monkey King.
If you wish to pontificate on the phenomenon of Latino hospital midgets and other goings on in the medical community, visit Sara.
If you'd rather just see a site that's been stagnated by Christians, go here.
And if you wish to see the combined efforts of us four (also curtailed by Christians) check out this.

Cereal Review:
Kellogg's Smart Start is addictively good. I prefer the Soy Protein variety over the Healthy Heart. However, since they keep changing the names every year or so, just go with the heavier kind; they both cost the same. Oh yeah, and one of them is LOADED with iron so men might want to avoid that type. I don't remember why but I seem to recall too much iron being a bad thing for fellows. Unless you're pumping iron. Pumping lots of it is manly and good! As is eating lotsa protein. Soy protein. Like in that Smart Start cereal! (repeat entire sequence ad nauseum)

The Flying Club

Take a moment from your hectic daily schedule to listen to (and vote for) my sister's band The Flying Club.

The Tale of Wilbur V. Ogilpepper (Heaven Shall Wait)

Wilbur V. Ogilpepper was born in a hardscrabble community on the outskirts of the old industrial city. His mother, a local prostitute, skipped town moments after she popped him out. His father was an ogre dressed in men's clothing whose left hand tightly gripped a whiskey bottle while his right did the same around his son's neck. During Wilbur's early years of school the other children dubbed him "ring around the collar". This was due equal parts to his single filthy shirt and the constant purple bruises circumnavigating his gullet. When his father died one night in a drunken headbutting contest with the neighbor's oxen, Wilbur was collected by a state official and deposited into an orphanage. After a rough several years' stay he was presented with an opportunity to join a well-to-do family that resided in the rich district of the city. They desired a dark-haired son and he was the only available boy who fit that description. However, Wilbur rejected their offer citing his dislike of the man's top hat. So instead he stayed on at the orphanage until he was soon sold to a cruel industrialist and sent to work in the mines.

By now, the dark hues from the scars and contusions circling Wilbur's neck had subsided, but the coal dust he inhaled daily compensated by turning his throat and insides black. The shortness of breath, dizziness, and lungbutter-cough he fostered over the years would plague him 'til the end of his days. One evening Wilbur flew into a rage directed at a co-worker he thought was whistling at him (it was actually the canary). He swung at the man and missed though he connected with the stone wall instead. His fist shattered. His adversary rewarded him by gouging out his left eye. A one-handed, one-eyed cripple had no further business in the mining trade and Wilbur was unceremoniously assisted off the premises by the foreman's boot.

Lacking any real education, Wilbur was forced into the commerce of chamberpot cleaning to earn enough to eat. The sort of food he could afford was hardly distinguishable from the slop he scrubbed every day at work. And yet, through all his difficulties, he met a woman who not only liked him but wished to marry him. She came from a wealthy household who, surprisingly, was willing to embrace Wilbur into their clan. Loralee was kind, sweet, intelligent, and voluptuous. What she saw in the troglodytic Wilbur none other can say yet he spurned her, violently declaring his preference for "skinny harlots". Though Loralee insisted she would lose weight for him (why?), he steadfastly refused and sent her away.

Many more lonely years passed, tons more human waste were cleaned, but the inhalation of so many toxic particulates throughout his life eventually struck Wilbur low with the Consumption. On his deathbed, with no friends or relatives to comfort him, Wilbur was visited by an angel. This angel looked kindly upon him and spoke, "Wilbur, I am an agent of the Almighty. He has taken pity on you. I have been charged with granting a singular request you would make of Him, anything under the stars and Heaven above. What shall it be?" Wilbur thought for a moment then answered, "Well, I have always wished to grow a handlebar mustache". With this utterance the angel disappeared and Wilbur was struck dead by a bolt of lightning. He was immediately sent to the infernal depths for that is where stupid people belong.

The End