Like Father, Like Son, Like Uncle Who Might Be Your Son
Thought up:  9.07.03 – 4:04pm
Written: 9.9.03 - 3:45 pm
#20

This past weekend I went to the opening day game for the Seattle Seahawks.  The game was blacked-out because it wasn’t sold out, so nobody could watch it on television.  Everyone had to go to the game to see it if they wanted.  I’d say it was about 60,000 people strong that made the trek.  We had a decent parking place, and a good walk to the stadium through countless trailers and motor homes littered with beer cans and cigarette butts.  I’m sure these people had a very nice time before the game, would maybe pick up a littering violation or two, but in the end, leave the confines of Seahawks Stadium happy with the victory.

I got to thinking on the way there though, what kind of people do the Seahawks appeal to?  Not just the Seahawks, but football in general is a game that doesn’t really appeal to all groups of people.  It’s more a party crowd.  You don’t usually see the average middle-aged woman go to a football game without a male with her, let alone a GROUP of women going together.  There’s just no lure in that for women.  It’s like getting a group of vegetarians to hit up Tony Roma’s for all-you-can-eat ribs night.  It just doesn’t happen.
I went to this game and got seats up in the nose-bleed section, but there really aren’t any bad seats in the stadium.  So I was sitting there with just my friend Travis next to me, and 5 seats in either direction open except for a family of 4 in front and to the left of us.  They were a nice looking family with a daughter and a son maybe around 5 or 6.  About 10 minutes into the game, a bald guy with tattoos up the back of his neck, chew grains on his lips, and a Seahawks towel around his neck (like a Superman cape), came and sat down.  NOT in any of the 35 seats around us that had nobody near him, but RIGHT next to the family of four out to the game.  He proceeded to spit his cud down near his feet, and scream at the top of his lungs that the Seahawks, “RULED THE WORLD AND THE STADIUM OF FOOTBALL!”  I thought to myself,
“Yes, I assume they do buddy, do you have any idea what the hell you’re talking about?  Do you think you might have mixed up your words in there somewhere?  Are you speaking English or Dumbass-ese?”
Not 5-minutes after the guy sat down, the little girl next to him told her mother that the man spit on her shoe.  The lady confronted the guy and the guy denied it, at which point the family moved, and found better seating a few sections over.  At this point, the guy beckons his harem of morons from across the way to come over and grab his newfound seats.  Now, I’m not kidding when I say that this group of gentlemen was the scariest bunch of people I may have ever laid my eyes on, excluding of course:

1.    The Elephant Man
2.    Elton John
3.    Hunchback of Notre Dame
4.    Gary Busey
5.    Prince
6.    A stegosaurus
7.    The Elephant Man riding Elton John, making-out with Gary Busey riding a stegosaurus.

The first guy that rolled up had no shirt on, no shoes on, no HAIR on, but a HUGE beard.  He could have hidden a good 5 or 6 small tuna sandwiches in that beard!  The second fella that came over must have been the dentist in the group, because he had the shiniest, greenest pair of teeth I have ever seen!  The third guy had a handkerchief on his head that claimed the New Orleans Saints “Sucked Monster Ass!”

“Way to go Cletus!  Did you make that all by yourself!  You spelled all those words right!  Those Saints are gonna be so mad at you!”

Then Darrell, his brother Darrell, and his other brother Darrell rolled in with matching denim jackets and shorts, double-fisting beers.  But the prize of them all was last in line.  I would consider this guy the crème de la crème!  Cut-off denim jacket, wispy crustache, high-top shoes with no socks, and the sweetest mullet you’ll ever have the chance to taste; in this lifetime, or the next.  Not only did he have the L.I.B. (Long In Back) working, but he had the S.O.T. (Short On Top) combed to perfection.  The S.O.T. stopped perfectly behind the cowlick of everyone’s scalp, spiked up in all it’s glory, and two-feet of glistening dirty-blonde mane.

He alone could have the heart of every woman in the stadium I’m sure, but his attention was set on the football game for now!  The lust of every female would have to wait another day to have an opportunity like this.  From this point forward, I had no desire to watch the football game.  I had a new focus.  I cared nothing for the grid-iron any longer.  I could watch football any day of the week, but an opportunity like this only comes along once in a lifetime!  This is like seeing The Pope hanging out with Saddam Hussein and Ron Jeremy busting piñatas of bacon grease and red wine in Martha Stewart’s living room!

A Kansas man recently called the local sheriff department to report that “something was wrong with his girlfriend.” This is quite an understatement.

Seems the wife had been sitting on the toilet for the past two years because she had a phobia of leaving the bathroom (WTF). She had been there so long the toilet seat had fused with her skin (gross).

“Authorities said they did not know if she was mentally or physically disabled.”

Um, she had a phobia of leaving the bathroom and atrophied legs with a toilet seat growing out of her ass; I think it is safe to answer yes to both.

Sweaty Basketball Guy
Thought up:  8.28.03 – 12:00pm
Written: 9.3.03 - 7:07 pm
#19

Growing up I always was into sports.  I was weaned on baseball, basketball and fishing.  Pops was a 3-sport athlete in his high school days, and he taught those things to me.  Granted, I could practiced them a little more than I did, but nonetheless, I would say I had a fine athletic career when I was growing up.

I was a late bloomer, graduating with a stellar 150 pounds under my belt, and nearly 5’9” tall.  Needless to say, I didn’t have to shave until I started to grow a little patch on my right cheek.  Picture getting a piece of scotch tape about 2 inches long, dragging it along the top of a dusty book shelf, for maybe 2 feet, and then putting that on your right jaw bone.  Yea, that was me.  I kept those 14 hairs nice and trim all through school; never having to worry about shaving like those other guys that had full beards or, what seemed to be, entire Chia pets under their arms.  No sir, not me.

I was skinny and hairless until college, and that’s what scared me the most in high school.  How can so many of these guys be so damn big?  I tried eating wheelbarrows full of food for about a week one time, and drinking entire cow udders full of milk five or six times.  Nothing seemed to help me put on any weight.  I thought about lifting weights, but all that does is make you tired.  That didn’t sound like fun.  Weights were too heavy anyway.  I didn’t really let it bother me unless I was involved in some sort of contact sport, like basketball.

Now, like I said, I wasn’t really the kid in school that needed the “Jared Subway sandwich plan” by any means, but there were a few kids that did.  They’d come out and play basketball, and I guarantee, the perspiration that would come off some of these guys was enough to drown me in my 150 pound frame, and for some God-awful reason, I would always be stuck guarding them!  I’d remember back to all my coaches telling me to stay up on them, keep a hand in their face, and don’t let them touch the ball.  But me doing that, meant me sticking my 5’7” face right in their 5’7” armpit.

I didn’t smell bad in high school, I didn’t have the hormones to make the sweat yet I figured, but these guys I was guarding, I tell you what, they didn’t even realize that they were trying to smuggle dead gophers out of the gym in their underarms!  Now, I’m not talking dead-gophers-that-have-been-left-out-for-a-week-armpits, I’m talking ‘bout dead-gophers-that-died-from-eating-a-dead-moldy-cheese-laden-rabbit-head-found-in-the-port a pottie-armpit!  I hated coming home all the time stinking of fat-guy sweat, but I’d always be the one to guard him/her (Yes, there were nasty smelling ladies too).  Someone would yell, “Get up on him!  Guard him close!  He’s a good shooter!”  I’d think to myself, “Are you kidding me?  I know this guy has the nation’s only fart-preserve up in that pit-hair somewhere!  You get up on him, get a whiff of that, and I guarantee I’ll be more useful than you when you’re passed-out on the damn court floor!  This kid was certainly setting himself up to be one of the premier Garbage Pail Kids of the future!  He could have been:  Pukepits Peter.  But good ol’ Peter was just one in a long line of distinguished grade school Garbage Pail Wannabes…

How could anyone forget:

Scalpy Snowfarmer:  The kid that didn’t seem to understand what the word “shampoo” meant.  I don’t see how someone couldn’t realize that they were letting their kid go to school like this!  This kid used to sit in front of me, and I’d just watch the flies build snow castles on his shoulders.  It was a fine time.
Drippy VonWetseat:  You KNOW that Drippy wasn’t one to ever use the toilet for these types of things.  After all, you’re in the back corner of the classroom, it’s not like anyone is going to hear you doing it, let alone smelling it!  Let ‘er rip bucko!
Snotty Sleeve Steve:  This is the kid that would have everything under the sun on his sleeve.  It was used primarily for the facial fluid leaks, but occasionally for rationing of food to be eaten later that somehow got on there during lunch time when, heaven forbid, there were no napkins DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIM!
Suck-up-Studying-Sam:  This is the kid that never really made any friends, but somehow was extremely good at schoolwork.  You’d be trying to cheat on a damn test, and he’d say, “keep your eyes on your own paper!”  Obviously this kid got shoved into a lot of lockers in his day, but boy did this kid get all the teachers’ attention.  Way to go Sam!  You’re going to grow up to be a huge tard-knocker that’s gonna spend his Saturday nights talking to guys on the internet pretending to be 2 hot lesbians that just LOVE nerds!  Oh that’ll totally happen dude!
Boogie McHonkerSchnoz:  The kid that would blow their nose in the Kleenex just to pick it out later so that they didn’t look disgusting, eating it right in front of you.  “Oh Boogie, don’t worry, I didn’t see you do anything right there.  You must just be eating those leftover cocoa krispies you put in there during lunchtime!  Don’t worry; I don’t suspect one single disgustingly nasty thing!  Carry on!”
I imagine that today Sam is some high-up admin assistant with a good company.  Steve is happily working for a pants company and their new stain-free defenders.  Drippy has made a fortune in the adult diapers industry I’m certain!  Scalpy has made more than a few people rich fighting the snowstorm in his hair!  But Boogie, pooooooooooor Boogie, nobody wants a guy that eats his boogers out of a tissue, honestly Boogie…

This is absolutely real, to the best (or least)of my knowledge [click to enlarge]:

There are some names you hear where you know the dude is a dick. I could have told you before reading this story that a guy named Tripp is a real douche (this coming from the guy named after an African-American hairstyle, what does that say about me?).

The Tripper says, “I want to let everyone know there was neither any malice nor deliberate intent whatsoever to hit or harm the hawk. I was trying to simply scare it into flying away.”

Around shot number four or five, after moving closer to get a better shot, there might have been a little bit of malice and deliberate intent.

It was a one-in-a-million shot.”

Well actually it only took about ten shots, so its more like a on-in-a-ten shot.

On the plus side, Tripp and his family have adopted three cats. Which according to him makes him an animal lover. That’s sort of like telling your wife how much you love her and showing her all the ear rings you bought her, after punching her in the face.

A very oldschool post from the PawPrint (click to enlarge):

So legendary American quarterback Brett Favre announced his retirement yesterday, leaving several Favre fans unable to cope. But are these the people that should be worried? Emotionally yes, but financially, the rest of the world should be concerned!

Below here is a VERY scientific graph I created showing the stock market since Brett Favre was part of the NFL (click to enlarge):

Notice the ups and downs in the graphs associated with specific Favre moments of grandeur and less-than-greatness. And nothing else possibly could have been happening at those times, if they did, it was completely by chance and in no way indicative of the Favre Stock Indexer (FSI).

Maximum Occupancy Not to Exceed Around 6 or 3
Thought up: 7.13.03 - 10:13pm
Written: 8.21.03 - 11:14 am
#17

So I was sitting in an International House of Pancakes the other day and I noticed a sign that said, “MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY 104.” 104 what? How do people judge or determine how many people can actually fit into an establishment? I mean, I assume there are standard fire laws that permit only so many people to go through a door at a given time. They’ve probably run the gamut a thousand times on how to set each public building up, and how many people can get through a door. I’m sure they paid some top-ranking firehouse official to go to 15 stores and at each one set it on fire and see who made it out…

Hank: “Alright everyone, welcome to Jimmy’s house of snake skin boots! I’m gonna start by lighting this place on fire, and everyone try to run as fast as they can out of the door before it burns down!”
Sonny: “Are you serious?”
Hank: “Well sonny, your foot is on fire, so I assume that I am, an get running.”

The guy will then walkie-talkie to the guy outside the door to start counting how many people made it out before the entire building was caught on fire. The high ranking fire-marshal would have to go down with his ship, so they’d, odds are, go through a lot of guys for this position. What if at the end of the running, there was one lady that only made it halfway out the door before she fell down of smoke inhalation?

Does that mean that she counts for the “get out alive” side or the “idiots that didn’t” side? Because I’m fairly certain that if I saw a building on fire, I would be the FIRST person out… I guess that’s why they have the MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY sign posted, and why they’ve lit so many buildings on fire as test units.

I think that what they don’t take into account though, is the clientele at these different buildings. For instance, I was at an IHOP. An IHOP that can fit 104 people better have a damn fire exit about every 6 feet, and a fire GARAGE at least every 20 feet! Because I tell you what, the vast majority of people in IHOP are either morbidly “obese” or morbidly “old as hell”. The larger folk aren’t gonna make it out for at least one of the three following reasons:

1. They’re not done with their grub, and “ain’t no fire gonna stop me from downing my $5.99 all-you-can-eat pancakes! I’m only on plate #8!”

2. In a panic, you breathe heavily and fast, and I GUARANTEE some of those people can’t get out of the booths without exhaling every last bit of air in their lungs! I saw one young lady whip out a can of KY Jelly and bathe her friend up in it, so that she could get IN to the booth. I can just imagine her trying to get out, in a fire nonetheless! She’d be busier trying to get out of there than a cat trying to bury a dump on a marble floor! Not gonna happen!

3. I’ve eaten here a couple of times, and each time I felt like I can barely GET to the door, let alone in a timely manner. I can just imagine a 600-pound heifer trying to get to the door. They’d have to let the firemen be the guys that hand off water in the long distance running events. There aren’t pit stops in a burning building. Odds are they’d have to roll these people out special garage doors made just for this reason. ( Picture Violet Beauregard from Willy Wonka when she ate that blueberry gum. Yea, like that.)

AND THE OLD PEOPLE! I don’t even know which aspect of being old to pick on first, let’s try…

1. Hearing—Amidst all the people screaming and writhing in pain from the fire. Old people will just sit quietly and eat their ½ pancake and drink their cup of coffee unbeknownst to the world around them! Everything will be burned down before they actually realize that something has gone awry. Goodbye old people.

2. Blazing speed—God help us all if we ever have a reality show where old people are on it trying to do anything besides watch Price Is Right and Jeopardy.

3. They just don’t care anymore:

Herman: “Well Agnes, it looks like it’s finally our turn. The good Lord has finally come for us!”
Agnes: “Herman, the fire door is right behind you, just get up and walk 5 steps.”
Herman: “No dear, I’ve had enough, look what we’ve been reduced to anyway, I’m old, I have no hair, and no more muscles. My eyesight is horrid. My social security check won’t buy me anything more than these damn pancakes. My bones are so damn rickety that I can’t walk to the kitchen in anything less than 15 minutes! I can’t take a leak without it dripping down my leg for the next 20 minutes! And let’s not even get STARTED with my penis!”
Agnes: “Good points Herman. But you forgot that we smell like old people.”
Herman: “Dear God, this fire isn’t burning fast enough…”

So I deduce that there can’t be any cognitive reasoning why they’d even put a sign like this in a building with such unique patrons. There is certainly no way that they could actually have a test group of old people to team up with a group of rotund folks to have a race to get out the doors safely.

The old people that sit by the door wouldn’t care that they were gonna get smoked, and the larger individuals couldn’t get to the door on time anyway. I would be the only person that gets out of there in a fire. I take that back; it’d probably be me and the cook that started it, because he was sick of only making $5.15/hr serving pancakes to people that smell bad because they’re old, and to people that smell bad because they can’t actually REACH all the places needed to smell pleasurable…

Top of the Poo’ed chain
Thought up:  8.7.03 – 1:44pm
Written: 8.7.03 – 1:44pm
#15

I don’t know how many times in my life I’ve used a public urinal; for sure a couple hundred.  It’s a nice break from life to be able to get in there and do your business.  Well, for the most part…  I’m not so good with other people hanging out in there.  I mean, it is one of the most private times you have.  So it’s not so uncommon to get a stroke of stage fright when you’re in there.

I’ll admit it, I’m part of that group that has a spot of trouble “draining my manhood” with another taller guy hanging out next to me, gandering down at my untensil!  It’s none of his damn business what I’m doing down there!  They should only have one urinal per fifteen feet.  That makes the most sense I’d say.  More happy customers, less people disgruntled about having their pieces ogled while taking care of business.

I don’t know what it is that leads to this kind of behavior.  It might be something that needs some funding from Duke University or something.  Because I don’t think that it has ANYTHING to do with being bashful or shy.  I’m more than outgoing and extroverted, yet still have troubles when it’s one on one versus the “pee drinker” with spectators.  I can whoop him good when it’s just me and him, and nobody around.  Perhaps I just crack under pressure - can’t come through in the clutch.  Bring in the lefty reserve pee-er.  Fine, no problem.

Anyway, basically, I’m just getting at the fact that people get nervous in the bathroom all the time, mostly because someone is standing there watching them.  But what about the people that are behind closed doors?  People that are in the stalls?  I’ve come to decide that I have NEVER been using one of the urinals and had someone come out of the stalls, EVER!

I just realized this when I was “vacationing” to my local urine depository.  I saw ALL the stalls full of people, and I was in there for maybe 45-60 seconds taking care of my dealings.  I didn’t hear a peep out of anyone in there!  What gives?  How come people get so scared to say or do anything when they’re “dropping the deuce” in a public place?  I can see where it relates when some other dude is looking right at you, but I can’t for the life of my understand what drives a person in the stall to be quiet and not move or make a sound whilst “hitting pay dirt.”  Granted, I’ve done it too.  I’m not gonna lie about it.  Everyone has, but I think this is a Darwinian theory.

I’m going to step out on a limb and say that shy dumpers (S.D.) are failing in life, and are going to be out of jobs before they know it.  Nobody wants a slacker on his or her team.  You think jobs are hard to come by now, well then just take your time “feedin’ the fish.”  Supervisors and managers are going to start noticing who is making quick trips to the restrooms.  They’re going to get the better paying jobs.  They’re going to be getting the good salaries.  They’re going to be the ones that YOU’RE serving fries and shakes to unless you “force the duck to quack” in a tad more timely manner!  Nobody wants that.

I’ve asked around to see if it’s just me that notices this phenomenon and have gotten a few choice replies.  One female colleague states:

Sent: Thursday, August 07, 2003 12:36 PM
To:  Andy
Subject: poop

     No it isn’t just a guy thing.  Women do it too…probably even more so than men. What I find to be funny is when you are in there and you can see their feet but they aren’t poopin’ ,peein’ ,wipin’ or even rollin’ the toilet paper.  They just sit there real quiet pretending like you don’t know they are there.  Ha!

This is a remarkable discovery, which leads to even more heated debate and discussion.  I thought this originally was just a propensity for men to have trouble in there, but upon retrospect; I’ve come to realize that women probably go through this too -tough luck.  Guess it just evens it out, and that everyone has this issue that happens in the toilet tough.  It’s funny to think that the person next to you is going to rip a huge one just so it’ll give you a little time to squeeze one yourself and the person next to you would therefore, be able to “rip” as well.  I guess it’s just somewhat awkward to just be sitting in there and squeak out a “lil’ nasty” while someone is sitting next to you.  If this occurs, it’s best to move your feet over as far as you can to the other side of the stall so that the person can’t identify you later by what shoes you’re wearing.  I’ve done that before.

I’ve seen a dude in there just “toasting up some beef tarts” and he was wearing these penny loafers with one penny the wrong way in the shoe.  I busted out of the bathroom and didn’t stop looking at feet the rest of the day.  It was like I had a lead weight attached to my head the whole rest of the day.  With about 15 minutes left in the day, I found the culprit.  It was this little tiny dude with glasses and a mustache.  I looked at him and knew right away that THIS, my friends, was the mystery “stench monster.”  I looked up at him, gave him a little wink and went on my way.  I’m sure that he had some interesting thoughts running through his head as to what I was doing winking at him and then smirking, but I didn’t care, I found him.

I’m sure a lot of people would get really embarrassed by something like that.  Because if he was on the same page as me, and knew dumping etiquette, he would know that he’s supposed to always look at the shoes of the guy/girl next to you so that you know who to accuse of the “mud blowing” when the accusations start to filter in.  I don’t like being accused of such things, and neither does anyone else.  That’s why it’s always best to just “hit the can” on your own time.  If you need to, take a trip up or down the stairs so that you get into an area where you won’t be seen very easily.  Drop an “ambiguity a-bomb” and be on your way.

That is also a slippery slope, pardon the pun, about “launching a corn canoe” at work.  What if it overflows!  Oh God, help us all!  You KNOW you can’t get out of that one if it happens!  You can try to run out, but what would be more embarrassing:

1.)     You running out of the bathroom while another co-worker is walking in, knowing that there is CLEARLY nobody else in there.  I’m SURE he’d be thinking, “Gee, who could have flooded the bathroom with toilet water and poop?  I have no idea.  Hey Andy, you want to get your other shoe?  It’s stuck right next to the toilet that’s overflowing with mystery poo.”

2.)     You in there trying to clean it all up before anyone else can see.  I can just imagine having to pick up the “poo-pills” before someone got there.  I mean, you’d have to for sure.  You can’t actually just let them sit there, and let someone walk in and be like, “Hey, what’s up? OH MY GOD!!!!  Your “brown roses” are everywhere!

3.)     If this happens to me again ever, I’m just gonna lie down on the floor and let the “stew” flow all over me.  Poop is a lot less disgusting in time of distress.  If you find a person passed out on the pot, or worse yet, on the floor and it’s flooded, there is a lot less chance that you’re gonna be the one to blame for it.  At least this way you could make up a lie about how some guy blasted out of the stall and whacked you in the head with the door and you fell down, and then the flooded started.  That would at least make the person watching you feel better.  And you might even get the day off.

4.)     Tell your co-worker that walks in on you that you were “taking a trip to Atlantic Shitty and just hit the slot machine jackpot.”  Cleary the correct answer.

No really though, I respect a person that can get in there and just get it done.  Though they are few and far between, people can and do bust in “drop the brown hammer” and get out before I’m done unzipping my pants to take a leak, which is braggable.  I’ve never actually seen this happen, but I’ve heard urban legends of such occurrences, and I tip my hat to those people.  They’ll go far in life…

He started in the middle of a conversation.

Back in college there was this guy I knew, who whenever he came up to me he started a conversation like we had been talking for hours. Today, I don’t remember what he looked like or his name, in fact I don’t remember anything else about the guy. I do remember a conversation would start something like this:

That Guy: “Right after Rob puked all over the floor we ended up going out to the Cat’s Paw.”

Me: Oh yeah, that sounds like a good time. (Thinking: Wait a second, what? Who the hell is Rob? Why was he so sick?)

That Guy: “Yeah, not too bad…..”

It was always nice to see that guy in the hall and realize we could skip the formalities and get right to the meat of the conversation.

Entry #1