A great new game I made up / Krystal Pepsy

Here's how you play!

1. Scroll through all the contacts in your phone and find people who you've either A: lost touch with or B: talk to very very infrequently.

2. Send each of these people a text message that appears as if it was meant for someone else and contains odd information that begs for further clarification (see examples below).

3. Await their reply. Nine times out of ten it will something along the lines of "Huh?" or "???".

4. Reply with something like, "Sorry, that text was meant for someone else" or "Sent to the wrong person. Kindly disregard."

5. Ignore all further inquiries regarding the nature or circumstances surrounding the message.

6. Relish in the fact that this old acquantience is now, no doubt, enamored with your mysterious doings and can't help but think you lead a life far more interesting than theirs.

Examples:

Case Study #1: Text sent to "Glen" (former roommate - no correspondence in the past 4 months)

Me: But once they hosed off the blood it looked like a legitimate skating rink.
Glen: What?
Me: Sorry. Must've hit a wrong button. Texted wrong person. Crazt smart phones. lol!

{ - }

Case Study #2: Text sent to "Kim" (girl I used to have a crush on - no correspondence in 3+ years)

Me: Sort of. Try flipping over and pumping from on top.

Kim: WTF?

Me: Whoops. That text wasn't meant for you.

Kim: I figured that. How have you been?

{ - }

Case Study #3: Text sent to "Ron" (guy I used to do stand-up comedy with - no correspondence in past 3 month)

Me: So I told her my last name was Davenport. She wrote me a check for 5 hundy before the eulogy was even over.

Ron: OK

Me: Sorry dude. That was sent to the wrong person.

Ron: Well I really enjoyed it!

{ - }

Case Study #4: Text sent to "Paul" (old friend from high school - no correspondence in 5+ years).

Me: I swear. She was a bonafide Eskimo. Wholly snatch and all.
Paul: Huh?
Me: Sorry. That was meant for someone else.
Paul: Who could that possibly have been meant for?
Me: Sorry. Doesn't concern you.
Paul: It concerns me now. Now I want to know about the Eskimo.

{ - }

Case Study #5: Text sent to "Mary" (sister of friend - last correspondence unknown)

Me: Two dolphin calves, a barrel full of carp, and a female manatee. They didn't even check my bag. Where should I keep them?

Mary: ???

Me: Whoopsie. That text wasn't meant for you. Do me a favor and kindly keep this under your hat.

{ - }

Case Study #6: Text sent to "Beth" (friend from college who I heard just had a baby - no correspondence in 2+ years)

Me: So with no other obvious options we hid the body in the garage. We call her Carol to this day.

Beth: Huh?

Me: Whoopsie. That was supposed to do to someone else. Congrats on the new addition!!

{ - }

Case Study #7: Text sent to "Tim" (cousin I haven't spoken to since last Christmas)

Me: It couldn't have been me. I haven't been to that particular massage parlor in weeks. It was probably Doug. He has a mask of me.

Tim: Is this Rich? Who is Doug? Mask of you? WTF?

Me: Sorry man. Sent that to the wrong person. See you soon. Say hi to your mom and dad.

{ - }

Case Study #8: Text sent to "Bob" (guy I used to work with 5 years ago)

Me: And that's why we call him Date Rape Charlie.

Bob: Huh?

Me: Sorry Bob. Texting error. Please disregard. Hope all is well!

{ - }

Case Study #9: Text sent to "Joe" (high school buddy haven't talked to in several years)

Me: I didn't have the heart to tell me the peanuts had been jizzed on.

Joe: Whoa. I'm confused dude.

Me: Sorry. That was meant for someone else. Kindly disregard.

Joe: Wait a second. I need an explanation. Holiday party? Sugar coated cocktail peanuts? Or did you really jizz in a nut bowl?

Me: Let's just say it was a long night : )

{ - }

Case Study #10: Text sent to "Ben" (former college roommate - no correspondence really ever - not sure why I even have his number)

Me: Call me asap. She's still breathing and she won't stop mumbling your fucking name.

Ben: [no response]
Me: Hold that thought. She's breathing but she has no recollection of the Knicks game. Please advise.

Ben: [no response]

Me: Whoops. Wrong number. Disregard.

Ben: Rich? Rich Zeroth?

Self-sabotage, the ally of obstacle / Merle Tangerine

Gather round gentlemen. . . Take a knee.

I don’t need to tell you who is waiting out there. Their reputation is no secret. You’ve no doubt read about them in the papers and heard the whispers in the hallways in between classes. They’re the best in the state - bar-fucking-none. Their quarterback is on pace to break every passing record this side of the Rio Grande. Their defense is good enough to line up on Sunday afternoons. And as much as I’d like to tell you different, it’s all true.

But here’s the thing, gentlemen. Fact is, we are blessed tonight. Blessed to be presented with such a challenge on this glorious Friday night. Getting ready for school today you might have been worried that you were running a bit late, that you might not have time for a wholesome breakfast, that you hadn’t studied enough for your sixth period social studies exam, or that you didn’t get invited to Sally SweetPanties after-game party.

[some muffled laughter]

It is funny. It’s god damned comical is what it is! Why? Because that’s stupid shit to worry about. Life is hard, ladies, let no one tell you different, but anyone tempted to nod their head in approval better lock their necks and fix their eyes on me because you don’t know what hard is. But you’re about to.

No use keeping it a secret any longer. I had a nice long talk with the officials tonight and arrangements have been made to spot our opponents with a two touchdown lead. That’s right. When we step onto that field in a few minutes we’ll be down 14 – 0 without so much as taking a single snap. Now I don’t want that to get you down. That there is a motivational tactic to get this team in the mindset to line up and achieve despite the odds. I can see by the look on your faces that while a little confused, you are up to that challenge. And that makes me proud.

Now put your helmets on. Do it! Now stand up! Get loose. I said get loose!! Jump up and down, punch a fucking locker, do whatever it is you fucking do to get ready. You feel ready? You feel ready for the challenge that waits outside those doors? I can’t hear you!

[YEAH!!]

That’s what I thought.

Now take those helmets off because you’re not going to need them. Lock ‘em back up in your lockers because tonight’s not about lining up and putting your helmet on one of another color, it’s about the look on your opponents faces when you smack your bare skull against one covered in painted protective polycarbonate. Now off with your shoulder pads. YOU HEARD ME, TAKE ‘EM OFF!! Lock them up with your helmets. Now turn to your right. Look at your teammate. Turn to the left. Look at your teammate. Does he look like he’s ready to play football? I’ll safe you your breath. No, he does not. That team waiting for us on the other side of the field? They are ready to play football tonight. They got their helmets and their shoulder pads and their going to go about their business the same they did last week against Prior Lake and the same they did the week before against Lincoln. And I’m willing to bet they are going to go about their business the exact same fucking way next week against whoever the fuck they happen to play. Week after week after week of preparation and safety precautions and proper stretching so that the challenge placed before them that evening can be bested to the best of their ability. And really, what does that say about them? That they are focused, formidable, successful? BULLSHIT? No one knows what they, least of which themselves, because they have yet to take a good long hard look in the mirror and punch themselves in the face.

Jerseys off. That’s right. Tops and bottoms. Shoes too. I want you standing there in your jocks and socks.

Ha! Now we are getting somewhere! You assholes don’t look ready to play a football game. Do you feel ready?

[some ‘not really’s mixed a few half-hearted ‘yeah’s]

Of course you don’t! That’s the point. I changed my mind, go back and get your helmets. There you go. No, not on your head. Strap your helmet onto your foot. Right or left, whichever feels more awkward. I don’t know, chin strap around the ankle I guess. Figure it out. That’s more like it. Kinda hard to get around, isn’t it. Beautiful. Now we got ourselves a bonafide challenge on our hands. Now, when we take that field, we’ve unevened the playing field to the degree that any minor shred of success can be hoisted high and bragged about till kingdom come while at the same time any shortfall of our ultimate goal will not only be expected, but pitied to a level that might just get you all laid tonight.

[Assistant coach walks in carrying an extra large duffel bag, drops it at Coach’s feet]

[Coach unzips it. It’s full of volleyballs]

I want each of you to take one. Hold on to it. Get used to the feel of it because we’ll be holding on to these the entirety of the game. These volleyballs represent everything we stand for tonight. They are our way of saying ‘fuck you’ to the idea of putting our best foot forward. They are the blindfold to the seeing eye dog. They are the water pistol to the soldier on the front line. They are what make people feel sorry for us. They are our way of taking control of the idea of ‘expectations’. They are what make us special. These volleyballs are life. Now I understand that it’s hard to get into a three-point stance with a volleyball in your hand and a helmet strapped to your foot. I understand it’s damn near impossible to throw or catch a football in one hand with a volleyball in the other. We’ll likely get called for several penalties. Many, if not all, of you will get injured tonight. But each drop of blood spilled, each broken bone endured while still clutching your volleyball will be a testament to the added obstacles we’ve knowingly put in place to make success all the more sweet.

Now if I send you out their tonight naked as the day your momma first laid eyes on you carrying a bunch of volleyballs I WILL lose my job. Make no mistake. I’ll never coach again. But that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make just to get the chance to see you boys do your damndest against a superior opponent using inadequate, not to mention, incorrect equipment, in all your glory. Because while there’s something to be said about a man prepared to face a seemingly insurmountable challenge, I swear to you there will be fucking books written about the men who go out of their way to make themselves woefully unprepared but go out to face that same challenge regardless.

The ally of obstacle is self-sabotage, gentlemen. And the key to success is obliterating all preconceived expectations to such a degree that it can only be defined in your own heart. Do that, and you might actually be able to say to yourself that you won in some way. At least there's really no way people can categorically say you lost.

Go wildcats!

Belated / Grover Difps

Oct. 7th (my birthday):
Hooray for me! What a lucky man I am. A wonderful family who loves me dearly. A roof over my head. A fridge full of food. A damn good dog. What's this? Cards from both my beautiful wife and breath-taking daughter? Not just your run-of-the-mill Hallmark bullshit either. These are handwritten! From the heart. My two-year-old daughter even tried to sign her name. Love that. Gotta catch myself lest I cry here. This is going to be a great birthday.

Oct. 8th (birthday +1):
Odd that I didn't get a gift from my wife yet. I mean the card was nice and all but what husband doesn't get a gift from his wife on his birthday? Things we kind of hectic yesterday. I guess she's just waiting for the right time. That perfect moment. Tomorrow is Saturday. We got nothing going on. I'm sure I'll get my present tomorrow. No need to get worked up.

Oct. 9th (birthday +2):
I know. She must've ordered something online - waited until the last minute. Happens to the best of us. Not to say that springing for express/overnight shipping in order to get it here by my birthday wouldn't have made sense. . . but I guess she decided to save some dough and go with ground. Tough but fair.

Oct. 10th (birthday +3):
No mail today. I'm sure it will arrive tomorrow. Or maybe she plans on taking me shopping today so I can pick out something myself? Yeah, that's it. I'm not the easiest to to shop for after all. I'm sure we'll go this afternoon.

Oct. 11th (birthday +4):
What the fuck? What's the grace period for getting a birthday gift from your spouse? It's been 4 days. You'd think she would have at least said something by now. "Sorry hon, didn't get a chance to get you anything yet but I've got something great picked out in my head. Just need to pick it up after work tomorrow." How hard is that?

Oct. 12th (birthday +5):

Not getting a gift on our anniversary was one thing. We had an agreement. Only cards. No need to splurge on gifts so soon after fitting the bill for the back yard landscaping. But this is my fricking birthday, woman. No way she interpreted the one-time-anniversary-no-gift policy as extending to all future holidays/special occasions. That was made perfectly clear.

Oct. 13th (birthday +6):

I remember her asking what I wanted and I said 'I have everything I could possibly need'. Who takes that literally? All dad's say that. It's part of our code. We say we don't want anything and then we get surprised with something. A crappy tool, a tie, a new dress shirt, at least something. Maybe I was supposed to fill out a list like a fucking 8-year-old. Unbelievable.

Oct. 13th (birthday +7):
I need to concede myself to the fact that she has simply forgot. She's got a lot on her plate. She's a pregnant kindergarten teacher with a 2-year-old that attaches herself to her leg the moment she walks in the door. If getting her husband a birthday gift somehow slipped through the cracks in between being a lunch monitor and reading bedtime stories then so be it.

Oct. 14th (birthday +8):
I take it back. This is ridiculous. I should drop a hint or something. Mention how a coworker bought me a new stapler or some shit. That way she'll at least have to address it. At this point I don't even want a birthday present. I just want her to acknowledge that she chose not to buy me one.

Oct. 15th (birthday +9):

Got a package today. . . from my in-laws. New socks. And a card. Well if my wife needed a hint then this is it. Her parents have officially outperformed her in terms of birthday gift offerings. And they won with a pair of socks. If this doesn't jolt her into action, nothing will.

Oct. 16th (birthday +10):

Maybe she's waiting for me to say something. Like it's some weird pregnant woman hormonal thing. She's feeling vulnerable and protective of her immediate surroundings and she needs me to take the initiative, be the leader, blaze all the trails. I will say "Honey, in regards to my birthday and lack of gift thus far due to your fragile state; I will be requiring a box set of 'The Wire' as well as a new messenger bag. We will now sit side by side and order these items on amazon using your credit card." That's just crazy enough to work.

Oct. 17th (birthday +11):

Yeah I can't say that. She'd tear me a new one. This is some bullshit is what this is. I bust my ass everyday at some bullshit job just so I can pay for some bullshit mortgage for a piece of shit apartment not to mention fucking tuition to some bullshit preschool just so my kid can play with blocks all day and I don't even get a god damned birthday present!?!?! Bullshit!!!

Oct. 18th (birthday +12):

What am I, 12? Flipping out over a birthday present? Take a deep breath. It's not that big of a deal. I've had 30 odd some birthdays and I'll have 30 odd some more. A couple weeks from now I won't even remember this. Relax. So I didn't get a birthday present. Big deal. Life goes on.

Oct. 19th (birthday +13):
I will buy myself something. Something great. Something absurd. I will go all out. We'll see how she likes that.
"Are those. . . cowboy boots?"
"Thanks for noticing. That they are. And you know what? They were expensive. Best ones I could find. I think they have real gold on the tips. And you know what else? I'm not even sure I like them. I've always wanted to see if I could pull off being a guy who wears cowboy boots around and I just decided today to fuck it all and buy a pair. Because that's how I roll baby. I see something I think I might want and I fucking buy it! No, I won't be able to wear them to work."

Oct. 20th (birthday +14):

I'm going about this all wrong. The key here is communication. I'm married to this woman. She's my life partner. Through thick and thin. I should simply sit her down and tell her how I feel, like a loving husband should. Tell her that I realize it's just a stupid birthday gift but that it actually means a lot to me. Tell her that not getting a present really hurt my feelings. I'm an adult for cripes sake. A grown man. Time to start acting like one. There's no reason this misunderstanding can't be settled with a civil conversation.

Oct. 21th (birthday +15):
You know what? Her birthday is next month. How exactly am I supposed to handle that? At some point I have to ask her what she wants for her birthday? That's a hard question to ask without sounding condescending given the current circumstances.

Oct. 22th (birthday +16):
Fuck that. I won't even ask her what she wants for her birthday. I just won't buy her anything. Two can play this game. Let's see how she likes counting the days before her "big" day when she'll get her present then finding herself counting the days after her "big" day as they pass without getting a gad damned thing. Check that - I'll buy her a card.

Oct. 23th (birthday +17):
Hold on. Instead of getting her nothing I'll buy her a whole shit load of birthday gifts! Ha!! Spa passes, flowers, new shoes, mani pedi gift cards, a fucking iPad, you name it. That'll show her. You buy me nothing. I buy you EVERYTHING! It'll make her feel like shit. Now who's on top, sister? I AM A GENIUS!!

Oct. 24th (birthday +18):
In the meantime I can totally keep this whole situation in my back pocket. Pull it out next time she asks me to do anything I don't want to. "You know what? I don't think I'll be attending the kindergarten fall craft festival. I think I'll stay here and watch football. We can CONSIDER IT MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT!" "You know what? I think I'll be eating all the leftover Chinese food myself. CONSIDER IT MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT!" Yeah, that's the ticket.

Oct. 25th (birthday +19):
Wow. If there was even a shred a doubt before. . . I mean, it's official. It's been like 3 weeks. My wife did not buy me a birthday present. That is reality. Yet it doesn't seem real. Maybe if I say it out loud. . .
"My wife did not buy me a birthday present."
Wonder if that guy heard me. Weird thing to say out loud to yourself. Yet it had to be done. So I can accept it. And then hopefully move on. Sort of feel like I've entered a new era here where bitter disappointment is the norm. A whole new realm. No turning back now. Bridges have been burned. Lines have been crossed. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Oct. 26th (birthday +20):

What's this? Oh, thanks babe! You shouldn't have. No, no, I like it I like it. My old messenger bag was all beat up so this one is perfect! Yes, I like the color too. That's very sweet of you. I love it! It's just the kind that I wanted! You know you didn't have to get me anything though.
I love you too.

A good lie / Pervis Nessle

Stable marriages are built around small, impenetrable lies. Sad as it may be, it’s a necessary evil to keep both man and wife on the favorable side of the sanity line. This much he was certain of. Whether or not this particular lie qualified as necessary was debatable. In fact, walking into the bar, the exact reasoning behind the lie momentarily escaped him. As he scoped the front room, then back, for the ideal spot to sit, he re-justified his reasoning and once again felt satisfied. He had a need, a right, to take a couple hours tonight for himself. If a well prepared lie was all that stood between him and that, then so be it.

The lie was this: His wife was under the impression that he was obligated to attend an after work function to see off a coworker whose last day was Friday. Some bar in midtown. No, they weren’t great friends but it was important that he make an appearance. Everyone else was going. He wouldn’t stay long, just a couple of drinks. He felt bad that he couldn’t come home straight after work to help out with their daughter. He knew she’d been a handful as of late. If it were any consolation, he could pick up dinner on the way home.

All bullshit.

All except the baby being a handful that is. That part was true and was the primary reason he sought some solace. The rest, a well orchestrated lie. The bar he sat in wasn’t in midtown and didn’t contain any coworkers. He was only a few blocks from home and the place was empty save for a couple guys at the bar watching a soccer game with no volume. He bought a beer and took a seat in the back room, by himself. He took a sip, then another, before setting the glass on the table and triumphantly leaning back in his chair. Damn he was smart. Not only had he managed to steal a few precious hours for himself, but he had a legitimate excuse to get a little drunk and have a cigarette or two. Choosing a bar close to home was an ingenious, last minute wrinkle as it also allowed him the luxury of loosing track of time to a certain degree. If after, say, three beers he got a call from his wife wondering if he was coming home soon he could say "I'm on my way" and still have time for another full beer before he would be expected to make it back all the way from midtown.

He took out a notebook and started jotting down various story ideas and musings that may or may not be brilliant. Most petered out after a few sentences. The few that lingered inched closer and closer to full-out masterpieces a beer and a half later. And that was the whole point, really. To allow himself to feel like a genius for a brief and stolen stint before returning to all his inadequacies, waiting at home.

His phone rang. It was his wife.

The baby was sick. Throwing up every ten minutes. Could he come home right away.

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

. . . Whether that was another lie was now the matter at hand. If he truly was 'on is way' he'd be home in less than ten minutes, an impossible feat if he indeed was coming from midtown. And while his hasty return would be appreciated, it would no doubt raise questions of how he'd made it home that fast. If he was to stick with the plan, he'd have to wait at least a half hour before leaving to maintain his pristine 'coworker after-work party' alibi.

He mindlessly tapped the phone still in his hand. He took another drink with the other.

The sanctity of this lie, and all others to follow, or the immediate welfare of his firstborn? ? ?

- - -

Two beers and forty minutes later he paid his tab and left the bar, head held high, as proud as he'd walked in.

The tomato incident / Eugene Itsokay

Sophomore year of college I lived in a rundown house with seven friends. Not yet blessed with the capacity to purchase groceries at regular intervals we lucked out as the building directly across the street offered a student meal plan. For a parent-fitted monthly fee all we had to do was muster the energy to put on some pants and a fully prepared breakfast, lunch, or dinner was a mere 50 feet away.

The place had a buffet style, all you can eat, punch card policy. Each time you walked in you gave your name, presented your card, and got checked off. It didn't take us too long to figure out that the way to get the most bang for your buck was to make it there for breakfast, stuff your face with eggs and hash browns, then smuggle out food for lunch and/or dinner. Multiple meals for a single card punch was the goal. Since the breakfast bar offered a nice spread of bagels and cold cuts the 'ole "fully loaded bagel sandwich tucked into the hooded sweatshirt" became a daily staple. I took great pride in this sandwich - toasted bagel with turkey, ham, roast beef, mayo, mustard, lettuce, and tomato. Take it home, wrap it in tinfoil, pop it in the fridge, head off to morning classes and come home for lunch to enjoy 'Divorce Court' and my bagel sandwich. It was a daily routine. I had a pretty good thing going.

One day I came home from class, flipped on the TV, and bit into my precious bagel sandwich only to realize something was missing. No tomatoes. I thought back to that morning's breakfast and could swear I added the sliced tomatoes same as I had every other morning for the past several weeks. There'd be no reason I wouldn't have. Some asshole had stolen my tomato slices. On the surface it didn't seem that big of a deal but the fact that one of my roommates took the trouble to carefully unwrap my sandwich, deconstruct it, remove the tomato slices, rebuild it, and rewrap it the same as before hoping I'd never notice bore a level of brashness and entitlement I couldn't leave unexposed.

"Did someone take the tomato slices off of my sandwich?"

The question was answered with guffaws and fierce dismissal. Who the fuck would bother taking a couple soggy tomato slices off your stupid sandwich they said. I was an fucking idiot they said. Shut the fuck up and eat your fucking sandwich they said.

I couldn't let it go. Months later, drunk at some bar I'd routinely pull roommates aside and sequester them. "Look man, about those tomato slices. I know you didn't do it but c'mon. It was Jimmy, right? No? It was Garrett then? Dude, I'm not even mad about it anymore. I just want to know who did it." No one was talking. They grew sick of the interrogations and retaliated with vulgar insults of varying accuracy. I conceded that I'd never find out what happened to those tomatoes.

Ten years since that troubling day I'd all but forgot about the sandwich. It was my wedding day. I was starting a life free from such controversies. 'My' tomato slices were now 'our' tomato slices. I could finally move on. The night was coming to an end. The dj was in the homestretch. Those who weren't dancing to "You Shook Me All Night Long" were busy gathering their suit jackets or heels. I was debating the pros and cons of one more beer when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to receive a heartfelt embrace from Jeremy, a close friend, a trusted confidant, and sophomore year roommate.

"It was me," is all he said. It was all that had to be.

Memorable moments from birthday's past / Greta Yank

33 - 10/7/2010: Steak thawing in the fridge. So far so good. . .
32 - 10/7/2009: Allowed to sleep in and relieved of diaper changing and dog walking duties for the day.
31 - 10/7/2008: New Socks! Some sex.
30 - 10/7/2007: Ice cream cake in conference room B
29 - 10/7/2006: Nice dinner with wife followed by 'Revenge of the Sith' on DVD.
28 - 10/7/2005: Ice cream cake in conference room C
27 - 10/7/2004: Cordial dinner at respectable restaurant with responsible and trusted friends that results in a drunken shit-show nonetheless.
26 - 10/7/2003: Parents come to visit. They buy me some work slacks.
25 - 10/7/2002: Call in sick to work and try to write a movie script. It goes just OK.
24 - 10/7/2001: $15 check from grandma used to roll joint.
23 - 10/7/2000: Fucking Zoology exam
22 - 10/7/1999: Received stack of porn from roommate.
21 - 10/7/1998: Allowed to dj at the after-bar. A lot of Fatboy Slim was played.
20 - 10/7/1997: Denied access to 'Wando's' with a pretty good fake Michigan ID
19 - 10/7/1996: Denied access to 'The Flamingo' with terrible fake Nebraska ID
18 - 10/7/1995: Doolian's parents out of town. Kegger. Wore cool new leather jacket hoping Shelly Fraser would show up. Passed out. Face drawn on. Shelly hooks up with Tod Mayberry. Jacket Lost.
17 - 10/7/1994: Cool Water cologne bitches!!
16 - 10/7/1993: Oh so lame pizza party attended by remaining friends who didn't yet drink. 'Faces of Death 2' rented and watched. Boobs talked about at great length.
15 - 1992: World's greatest pizza party attended by all the coolest guys in school. 'Faces of Death' rented and watched. Boobs talked about at great length.
14 - 10/7/1991: Thanks Mom for the expensive acne medication!
13 - 10/7/1990: Went to my first PG-13 movie without the accompaniment of an adult (Days of Thunder).
12 - 10/7/1989: Got a sweet friendship bracelet from Angela Mindel. She totally wanted me.
11 - 10/7/1988: Traded a '87 Will Clark Donruss for a Topps Bo Jackson rookie
10 - 10/7/1987: Had sleepover where Jeffrey Meyers peed his pants and had to leave early.
9 - 10/7/1986: Pretty pissed off about getting socks from grandma.
8 - 10/7/1985: Asked for Jet Fire. FUCKING RECEIVED JET FIRE!!
7 - 10/7/1984: Too old for Cookie Monster cake. Publicly shamed.
6 - 10/7/1983: Wanted He-Man. Received 3 He-Men. Proceeded to trade extra two for Shipwreck & Man-At-Arms. Win-win.
5 - 10/7/1982: Ant farm sucks
4 - 10/7/1981: Disappointment surrounding new laser gun's lack of actual lasers.
3 - 10/7/1980: I am a cowboy. Seriously. Also balloons are awesome.
2 - 10/7/1979: FROSTING!!
1 - 10/7/1978: STOP LOOKING AT ME!! WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING!!
0 - 10/7/1977: Not a fan of the whole breathing oxygen thing. Also it is cold and not nearly wet enough.

For who am I to judge / Sven Bewb

Whenever I take my daughter to the playground and discover a pile of human excrement left by a homeless person I try to catch myself from rushing to judgement and make it a point to consider that the reason it's so massive is because they had held it in for so long, that squatting underneath the twisty slide was probably a last resort type of thing.

Excerpt from the Sistinass Sessions: 1,000 words / Barnabus Rooblay

One thousand words before I go to sleep (and yes, these words count (that’s why I spelled out the word ‘one thousand’))

There are different ways to go about the whole. . .

It’s no wonder why mankind. . .

Isn’t it about time someone gets the balls to. . .

Say what you will about ‘standard procedure’, I say the only thing standard about it is the procedure itself. Because what is a procedure if it’s not standard? I can only think of one exception to the rule and that would be creating a giraffe out of balloons while high on PCP and wing-walking on a crop dusters chock-full of magic beans flying over the world’s largest two-bean casserole.

I mean, let’s just turn things around in general. How hard can that really be? You take the various things and you firmly applying your hands to both the right and left side simultaneously and lift the whole fucker and give the bastard the ole one eighty and set her back down. Viola! There you are now standing face to face with whatever it was in God’s name that needed turning around in the first place. And I’d argue that that’s exactly where you want it. Looking right at you. Eye to fucking eye. Then you can finally let loose a big “Well fancy seeing you here! I hope you remembered to get your hand stamped because ladies night is over and the two for ones are now zero for threes. I suggest you and I both head to a different establishment down the block, pull up a couple stools to the bar and settle this with an old fashioned game of ‘Hyper Mayhem’. Best out of seven. No tie breakers. U.S. open style. That is, if you’re up for it. Well are you?” Because what’s the things going to say to that? Not jack shit probably. Before you know it you’ll all be slapping each other on the back, laughing so hard little pieces of stale oriental mix will be flying out of your mouths, peppering your nice work trousers with shards of wasabi peas and you’ll forget why it needed turning around to begin with. But then again what the hell do I know. . .

Tell me something I don’t know. At least one word. Throw out a ‘milderon’ or maybe a ‘carphoon’. I don’t know those words. If you can’t do that then why are we wasting out time exchanging letters arranged in common patterns which are then arranged in a familiar order, all in one big structure of redundancy? It’s a travesty of detrimental proportions. I’d even go so far to say that it’s a detriment of travestial proportions. Yes, travestial. See, now we are talking! So how about that weather today?

A common misconception about whales is their sheer size. Don’t get me wrong, those fuckers are big but subjectively speaking they get far too much credence. All they do is mope around, gorge on krill, and blow a few gallons of salt water a couple dozen feet in the air like some pathetic nerd rocket geyser. You call that majestic? Give me a break. Now if you want to talk about size give me a bald eagle carrying a dead grizzly bear any day of the week. You ever see that shit? Me neither. I heard about it first hand though from my uncle Randy who used to squirrel hunt in a fictional land called The Great North Something. One morning he was prepping himself by dousing his hunting cap with fox urine when a grizzly that had to weigh two tons if it stood a foot came lumbering at him from the creek about a stone’s throw to the east. That old bear was muttering something about politics being nothing but good haircuts swapping motivational speaker jargon when it tripped on a stack poorly buried porno magazines and started a perfect barrel roll towards my uncle. Almost too perfect. Or so the story goes. Anyways he loaded his gun while trying to determine the boar’s trajectory (something he could do rather easily due to the surprisingly smooth terrain and stupefying precision that was the bear ball combined with his expertise in kinematics) and just before he pulled the trigger that damned eagle swooped in and knocked off his piss cap before seizing the dizzied beast by the throat, breaking its neck in three places, and hoisting him to the splendor above, never to be seen again. He also said that just then a rainbow appeared but me and the rest of the family pretty much agree that that part had to be bullshit. I mean c’mon.

Hold that thought. Don’t stand there like a scarecrow with it cradled between your two palms while you wait for further instructions. Just hang onto it and go about your normal day to day. Ideally you’ll keep it in one of your hands but I understand that situations arise that may require both thumbs. May I suggest that when such a circumstance rears its head you put the thought in your pocket, but not before cutting a small hole in the fabric so that the thought can maintain contact with your body in some capacity, albeit limited. Because that’s important. For what is a held thought if not lovingly clutched to the holder’s bosom? Totally kidding. No need to maim your good jeans for this little nugget. Play with it. Toss it in the air while you whistle and walk down the street. Better yet, eat it. By the time it’s done its song and dance through the twenty eight feet of tubing you got in your engine there it’s likely to have taken on a deeper meaning. One a tad more sinister sure but then again I am asking you to do me a favor here. As long as I get it back and it’s not “my socks don’t match” we’re cool. Thanks.

Fantasy Ballfoot Rankings: The Top 100 / Rufus Doof

1. Druthers LeDruther - OC, Town City Scent

2. Stretch Hipple - OC, Milfberg Sawdust
3. Cod Meh - OC, Tricksville Manthers
4. Het Setra - HG, Town City Scent
5. Glorthy Pseudolord - OC, Hattiesburg Flip-Flops
6. Aqua Vulva - OC, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
7. Jerboe Jeans - HG, Peppeppolis Pep
8. Opposite Dave Same - HG, Kill Hill Do Nothings
9. Arlo V. Foof - OC, General Area Bystanders
10. Rough Sketch Wrang-Wrang - OC, Someplace Randoms
11. Rim Rones - DD, Biff Town Diggger Takers
12. Eeeen Flub - DD, Sleeziana Belindas
13. Palter Wayton - OC, Landtown Used Furniture
14. &mpersand Jones - DD, New General Area Onlookers
15. Whip Charna - DD, Toot Haven Humdingers
16. Dos-Deuce Doubler II - HG, Someplace Randoms
17. BaBa Sippycup - OC, Purina Heartworm Meds
18. Mark Question - HG, Lake Bay Liquids
19. Q. Q. Piss - HG, Tricksville Manthers
20. Cankle Backfat - DD, Lake Bay Liquids
21. Captain Leadermouth - DD, Kill Hill Do Nothings
22. Indian Guy - TG, General Area Bystanders
23. Tryglicerin Meps - OC, IndeTech Cubicals
24. X’ify Something - OC, Peppeppolis Pep
25. Maker Breaker- OC, Kill Hill Do Nothings
26. Phonetic $ - HG, New General Area Onlookers
27. Johnny Orb - HG, Toot Haven Humdingers
28. Dr. Backwards Somersault - DD, Peppeppolis Pep
29. Maybe Thursday - HG, Milfberg Sawdust
30. Craph Carafeph - DD, IndeTech Cubicals
31. DinDin Dangle - OC, Lake Bay Liquids
32. Lubeneena Testes - OC, Toot Haven Humdingers
33. Flip Turnbuckle - TG, IndeTech Cubicals
34. Kank Titlecock - TG, Toot Haven Humdingers
35. Erb Almighty - OC, New General Area Onlookers
36. Tappy RipNip - DD, Purina Heartworm Meds
37. Eleven 8ty - DD, Landtown Used Furniture
38. Vingker Condor - DD, Someplace Randoms
39. Hose Kink - DD, General Area Bystanders
40. Manlinda Scooner - HG, Biff Town Diggger Takers
41. Splish Dandy - HG, Purina Heartworm Meds
42. Fartunian Harmel - TG, Someplace Randoms
43. Lop Lop Suey - OC, Sleeziana Belindas
44. Nishiss Loo - HG, General Area Bystanders
45. Yal Noof - TG, Tricksville Manthers
46. Nog Phirl - TG, Hattiesburg Flip-Flops
47. Julio Whackass - DD, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
48. Crap Royale - DD, Hattiesburg Flip-Flops
49. Coin Slotty - DD, Tricksville Manthers
50. Finkle McMasters - DD, Milfberg Sawdust
51. Toot Haven Humdingers - EF
52. Gooey Ducks - DD, Town City Scent
53. Someplace Randoms - EF
54. Balance Tulner - TG, Kill Hill Do Nothings
55. Gnash Wrangle - TG, Town City Scent
56. Marsupial Waves - OC, Biff Town Diggger Takers
57. Trap Gnasher - TG, New General Area Onlookers
58. Mustash Musthave - HG, Hattiesburg Flip-Flops
59. Clavical Clark - HG, Landtown Used Furniture
60. Masapeth Chuggins - HG, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
61. General Area Bystanders - EF
62. Olin Bowels - TG, Sleeziana Belindas
63. Ripe Nooble - T, Sleeziana Belindas
64. Orny Whereabouts - HG, IndeTech Cubicals
65. Shakes Sumptin - HG, Sleeziana Belindas
66. Zebit Tenteen - T, Kill Hill Do Nothings
67. Purina Heartworm Meds - EF
68. Peppeppolis Pep - EF
69. Trudge Karlmerg - T, Town City Scent
70. Krinkle Paulson - TG, Purina Heartworm Meds
71. Lefty Tripfoot - TG, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
72. Manimal Feerce - TG, Landtown Used Furniture
73. Whoopsie Johnson - T, Someplace Randoms
74. Ziggle Daftoe - OC, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
75. Almost Williams - OC, Town City Scent
76. Inkwell Mooshee - OC, Peppeppolis Pep
77. Waft Sin - T, New General Area Onlookers
78. Mimothy Sellofane - OC, General Area Bystanders
79. Kill Hill Do Nothings - EF
80. Lake Bay Liquids - EF
81. Missleback Woosh - DD, Toot Haven Humdingers
82. Jonald Plish - TG, Milfberg Sawdust
83. Nerl Flombay - TG, Peppeppolis Pep
84. Peasy Tantrum - OC, Toot Haven Humdingers
85. Zoney McPhoney - OC, Hattiesburg Flip-Flops
86. Pipple Nefters - TG, Biff Town Diggger Takers
87. Shanty Lovelian - TG, Lake Bay Liquids
88. Lundy McBourbon - T, Biff Town Diggger Takers
89. Termuffin X - T, IndeTech Cubicals
90. Thermos Maxwell - T, Hemena Hemena Outbursts
91. Webble Pushpin - T, Lake Bay Liquids
92. Tibble Fonzworthy - T, Milfberg Sawdust
93. Brakus Nutcup - T, Purina Heartworm Meds
94. J. P. Pekensmythe - T, Peppeppolis Pep
95. Sleeziana Belindas - EF
96. Town City Scent - EF
97. Tricksville Manthers - EF
98. Hattiesburg Flip-Flops - EF
99. Tin Coppers - T, Toot Haven Humdingers
100. Loafer Jointpain - T, General Area Bystanders

HG = Hut Guy
OC = Oomph Chug
DD = Darter Dasher
TG = Taut Gnoff
T = Thresher

EF = Effervescence

Excerpt from the Sistinass Sessions: Jail / Chantel Chromodom

Two college roommates stand at the kitchen counter of their apartment. It’s late on a week night. Their other roommates have already gone to bed but these two are wide awake. They are not drunk or high or otherwise under the influence.

Mike: What time is it?

Rich: Two something.

M: So now what?

R: [with more than a hint of frustration] I don’t know man.

M: Watch a movie?

R: No. No. No.

M: Why not?

R: We just did that. We need to be doing something. Something different than this.

M: What then?

R: I’m not sure, but it should be sweet.

M: Right.

R: I’ll tell you what I’d like to do.

M: What’s that?

R: I’d like to go to jail.

M: What? Why?

R: Because that’s the easiest way to get things done and figure things out.

M: What do you mean?

R: It’s like this. Here we are right here, right?

M: Sitting in this apartment.

R: Correct.

M: Looking for something to do.

R: Yes. Searching for an idea.

M: But we got nothing.

R: That’s the thing. We don’t have nothing. We have too many things. Too many options.

M: OK.

R: I mean we could watch a movie. We could still hit up last call and grab a drink somewhere. There’s probably some studying that we should be doing. You could call Jamie what’s her face. I could go into my room and rub one out. It goes on and on.

M: Right. So let’s do something!

R: But none of those things are what we should be doing. We should be figuring life out. Philosophying. Documenting our thoughts and ideas on paper, man! Getting to the bottom of all the bullshit. But we sit here.

M: Like idiots.

R: Yes!!! Like a couple of idiots.

M: So how does jail come into play exactly?

R: In jail it’s all laid out for you. It’s all right there. A bare room, a modest bed, and crapper, and your thoughts. That’s what we need.

M: Then you’ll be able to figure it all out?

R: Yes. Here there are too many options. Too much responsibility. In jail you get the solitary factor going for you so you can easily focus. Like a laser beam. High potential for real productivity.

M: OK. But you’re in jail though.

R: Exactly. It would be perfect.

M: But how would you get in jail?

R: I don’t know. Some petty crime or something.

M: It would have to be serious enough to get you thrown into jail though. It couldn’t be shoplifting or anything like that.

R: Maybe I rob a bank, or I beat a guy up pretty bad or something.

M: Who would you beat up?

R: I don’t know. Paul maybe?

M: Paul Withers?

R: Sure. Why not? That guy is kind a prick. Could use a good ass kicking.

M: So you kick the shit out of Paul Withers, get charged with assault and battery or something, get convicted, get thrown into jail, and then figure out the secret to life.

R: Pretty much, yeah. That's the idea. I’m not necessarily saying I’ll figure out the secret to life or anything. I’m just saying that jail would be the perfect environment for that. Jail is the place to really get stuff done. It would be so much easier.

M: Right. Too many restrictions here in the real world.

R: Yes! Exactly. Now you get it. It’s like we’re in some sort of prison here or something.

M: Uh huh.

R: And I want the freedom that jail provides.

M: [dumbfounded / speechless]

R: Until I get thrown into jail, I’m fucked. It’s all pointless.

M: So. . . You want to go track down Paul Withers?

R: Not tonight. It's too late. Maybe tomorrow.

M: Big Lebowski then?

R: Sure.

Allographs / Vivian Moomph

It don't understand why people covet autographs. I get the whole idea of wanting some sort of keepsake, something tangible that you can keep in the shoe box under your bed or use as proof that the encounter took place, but why ask Tom Hanks to write his own name on a piece of paper? It's the photographic equivalent of asking him to take a picture of himself and then give you the photograph. Seems stupid to me.

I think it would make more sense to ask Tom Hanks to sign your name. That's more of a one-of-a-kind memento. Ideally he'd want to do it right too, so he'd ask you how you handled your capital 'S's, your lowercase 'f's, or how emphatically you crossed your 't's. True artists would want to do it right.

If you were lucky enough to amass a collection you could create a scrapbook of sorts to show off to your friends.

"I don't get it. It looks like your name signed a bunch of times. Most are spelled incorrectly too."

"Yeah but I didn't sign any of these. That one is Jean-Claude Van Damme and this one is Snoop Dogg."

"OK but how do I know that's true? Anybody could have signed these?"

"Check out the pictures."

"But they are all pictures of you."

"Yeah but I didn't take them. Van Damme and Snoop did."

Excerpt from the Sistinass Sessions: Handy chop 3000 / Cecil C. Spenders

[we join professional pitchman Cecil C. Spenders in the midst of a fervent one for the unique attributes of the handy chop 3000]

. . . and the best thing is ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t matter how many times you use the handy chop 3000, how many times you wash it or take it with you on family trips or lend it to a friend in need it will always weigh exactly the same. We can guarantee absolutely no surprises in the weight department.

Here I have a brand new handy chop 3000 I put together just a few moments ago using the step by step color illustrated instructions included free of charge. My lovely assistant Flo here has one she’s owned for quite some time. Flo can you please hand me yours? It looks great by the way. Ever give you any problems? Well of course it’s bound to lose some if its chopping ability. But has the weight ever fluctuated on you? Of course not. But of course, folks, I can’t expect you to take our word for it so let us immerse the proof into that bubbling cauldron of pudding as they say.

Now I’m holding the brand new handy chop here in my right hand and the one Flo has owned for. . How long Flo? 5 months! How about that! I’m holding the one Flo has owned for over 5 months in my left hand and you know what? I can’t tell the difference. They weigh exactly the same. Flo why don’t you give it a try. There you go. Get a feel for it. That’s right. What’s that you say? Well of course they weight the same. Isn’t that amazing!

You can see here that Flo’s handy chop has some wear and tear around the corners and the like. Looks like a number of the blades are bent and the casing is cracked in several places. The colors aren’t as bright and vibrant. Granted, it may not work as well as it did on that first day but, perhaps more important, it weighs exactly the same and takes up the same amount of space in the universe!! Do you want to know why folks? Ha ha I thought that you might. It’s because the brilliant folks at HandyTech Unlimited have devised and patented a revolutionary process they call the law of conservation of mass. No other chopping mechanism on the market today has it. At least not that I'm aware of. It means that the properties of the handy chopper 3000 that cause it to have a weight and gravitational field will remain constant over time. It cannot be changed as a result of any, and I mean any, processes. Now that may sound like a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo so I’ll put it in terms of the layman.

You may be able to smash the handy chop 3000 into several pieces using a hammer or blunt object of some sort. You may be able to melt it or set in on fire using a blowtorch or with the assistance of some sort of flammable liquid or gel. I’m here to tell you that all this will do is rearrange the handy chop 3000 into different types of particles or convert it into alternate forms of energy. At the end of the day these particles or pieces can be regathered, the ashes or fumes can be harnessed into a containment unit of some sort and you will see that, scientifically speaking, the handy chop 3000 categorically cannot be destroyed. The mass of the reactants must equal the mass of the products, folks. I’ll say that again. The mass of the reactants must equal the mass of the products. We have HandyTech Unlimited to thank for that and we can all reap its rewards by buying the handy chop 3000 today!

We’re opening the lines now.

We’re ready to take your orders.