Zeroth First for a Second

War of the Words

2011-09-04T21:52:00.003-04:00

Hello friend -

This blog will be back with regular updates soon but in the meantime my energy is focused on another creative endeavor you're sure to enjoy. Please do check it out.

www.war-of-the-words.org

Last cigarette

2011-04-19T21:08:00.001-04:00

I take a hard seat on a wooden bench just outside the front door, a cup for the day's first customer in my right hand, an unlit cigarette in my left. I don't know what time it is exactly but it's evidently a minute or two past whenever most coffee shops open. While a quick glance at my watch could settle the matter, I can't muster the energy. A dozen blocks behind me is the hospital, my wife and our newborn baby. A dozen blocks in front is our two-year-old, at home, waiting with the sitter. I do nothing for about four seconds - just sit there - holding my coffee and my smoke with my mouth no doubt hanging open just enough, my eyelids the perfect amount of heavy, to paint the picture of a man going on no sleep. When my hard-earned four seconds of rest have passed I proceed to spring into action and light the cigarette in a deliberate, almost ceremonial fashion, one strange to anyone who may have been watching this, up until now, lethargic man from across the street. I take a drag and allow my back to find the bench behind me. . .

I am the father of two little girls. More than anything else that's what I am. In terms of what I do and how I do it, although I may not even be conscious of it while I do it, it's done largely for the little girls. Goals, aspirations, not to mention the inevitable twists and turns that are life, remain, but it's safe to say whatever can be dubbed my legacy is set with these little girls. And today that's a notion that's more fortunate than tragic.

So I am blessed. The last cigarette tastes good and for that I am blessed as well. She had to know. Coming home from work making sure the pack was shoved deep inside the coat pocket, always conscious of the smell on the nights I dared a kiss hello. She knew and she held her tongue - perhaps waiting for the perfect moment of accusation, or perhaps resigning to her husband's supposedly secret vice. Likely the former, but nevertheless I got to hand it to her. She held her tongue because I am a good father, a good husband. Because that's what we do. We hold our tongues. And today that's a notion more fortunate than tragic.

So I am lucky. And this last cigarette tastes fantastic and for that I am lucky as well. For what is a final smoke if not one of whole satisfaction - from suck to blow. Shit. I could have been hit by a car any one of a number of times, from the day long ago when I first dared crossing a street, to the walk from the hospital to this very bench where I've crossed twelve streets if I've crossed one. The cars have all spared me. Death has spared me and led me to this day, this day where I celebrate my little girls with this last cigarette.

I wipe tired tears from my face and stand up. I stretch my neck, my back, close my eyes to the sun and force myself to fight the sleep and open them again. A final look at the smoldering butt in my hand before I let it fall to the sidewalk and kill it with the bottom of my shoe. I debate leaving the rest of the pack on the bench where someone else can claim it but choose the finality that is the gesture of flipping $5 worth of nicotine into the trash can on the corner. As I resume my journey home to tell my daughter that she's a big sister my lungs compensate for the sudden jolt back into action and I can't help but notice that my breaths already feel bigger, cleaner. They puff my chest as I cross the street and I text my wife that I love her and that we are making it on our own.

Shaking babies

2011-02-21T08:42:00.006-05:00

It's no surprise that the first several hours after a man's first child is born are a whirlwind of sorts. In retrospect, it's really nothing more than a lot of standing, worrying, not sleeping, and attempting to cherish; but at the time, there's this overarching trepidation that you should be doing more - that you should be able to assist with the breast feeding somehow, that there should be an intelligent question you have for the nurse, that you are currently fucking this up big time and you should know better not to be.

This feeling of utter inadequacy lasts until you get your new family out of the hospital and back to your place - away from the doctors and nurses who have witnessed the bumbling husband a thousand times to the stronghold you've spent months creating; with safety gates strategically placed in the doorways you felt would be both effective and convenient, with the crib you built using your brand new socket wrench.

Of course, before you get back to home base, you don't know this. The hours before wife and baby are discharged are fading fast and you still feel as helpless as the kid whose life depends on you. Luckily there's an instructional video or sorts they make all first time parents watch that has the unintended effect of assuring you things aren't as dire as they seem.

The video is about ten minutes long and can be summed up as follows; DO NOT SHAKE YOUR BABY. It shows a variety of poorly performed reenactments of frustrated fathers ill-equipped to deal with crying newborns. With no other foreseeable course of action they feel compelled to shake their babies until they shut up, presumably via broken necks or irreparable brain damage. As alternatives to attempted murder the video offers numerous suggestions for dealing with impending rage, ranging from exercising to watching television. Perhaps it's because you're sleep deprived, but you'll find this video more hilarious than educational. Hilarious in the same way that a tense situation can be diffused with the perfect inappropriate comment. You may find yourself laughing out loud as all of the sudden the wide spectrum of daddy skills becomes evident and you know for the first time you're not going to totally suck at it. Because while you may very well be in over your head a bit with the breast pumps, blanket wrapping techniques, and the bottle temperature wrist test, at least you're not the guy in the video frantically doing push-ups in front of a blaring television why his newborn daughter screams nearby, in need of a diaper change.

At least not today.

The vial (video)

2011-02-18T17:27:00.005-05:00

The vial

2011-02-13T09:33:00.014-05:00

[Man hands over small wrapped box across candlelit dinner table]

MAN: Happy Valentines' Day.

WIFE: Why thank you, sweetheart!

M: Open it.

[Wife opens gift]

W: It's beautiful! What is it?

M: Why it's a necklace of course. Do you like it?

W: It's very pretty. What's this at the bottom though?

M: That's what makes it so special. It's a small vial.

W: A vial?

M: Yeah, there's a few tiny drops of my blood in there. You know, to symbolize how we're one, how we're with each other wherever we go. One heart. One blood. Something like that. I got the idea from Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie.

W: Uh huh. But it's not real blood, is it?

M: Of course it is. A little bit of bona fide B positive from your loving husband. Because I love you so much.

W: What did you do? Prick your finger or something?

M: Umm. . . No. . . That didn't occur to me at the time. I suppose that would've been a lot easier than the route I took. Anyway, what do you think? Try it on!

W: I don't know.

M: What? Don't be silly. Strap that bad boy on! Let's see how it looks!

W: Don't get me wrong. I think it's a beautiful sentiment. And I love you. But don't you think it's a tad bit, I don't know. . . unsanitary. . . wearing a vial of blood around my neck throughout the day? I mean, I teach kindergarten. There are health codes. Kids are inquisitive.

M: C'mon. It's not AIDS blood from some random guy off the street. It's the life force of your husband, the man you love, the man you've been doing a lot more unsanitary things with for over ten years.

W: [speechless]

M: I mean doinking. . . or sex. . . or whatever. I mean, my point is we've been screwing for a long time and all I'm saying is one might conceivably construe that the act of coitus itself is far more unsanitary than wearing a small, tightly sealed, vial of blood around one's neck.

W: (sarcastically) Oh! Great! So draping myself in blood is slightly less disgusting than sleeping with my husband. Sense you put in that way, can you help me with the clasp?

M: So you're not going to try it on?

W: No. I don't think I am. It's creepy.

M: (angry now) Well that's just great. I guess I'll just take them both back then. Hopefully I still have the receipt. I'll exchange them for the old V-day standbys; a fucking pair of slippers or a gift certificate for a god damned back massage. Pardon me for trying to spice things up.

W: What do you mean 'take them both back'?

M: I got a matching one, OK? I thought it would be cool if we both had cute little vial of blood necklaces. You know, the ultimate expression of unity or some shit.

W: But why would you wear your own blood around your neck?

M: I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not. You wear my blood and I wear yours.

W: Wait. Where did you get my blood?

[long awkward pause]

M: I don't see what that has to do with anything.

W: Oh my god. This isn't happening.

M: You know what? Forget it. I can see now this was a bad idea. I'll just put both the blood vials back in my pocket here and we'll pretend it never happened. Let's just get some dessert, finish our wine, and head home.

W: I'm not hungry.

M: Fine. I'll get the check. . . We're still on for sex tonight though, right?

Top 21 available domain names* / Sandra Dong

2011-01-23T12:36:00.007-05:00

*each available for the low low price of $11.99 a year per godaddy.com (as of 1/23/2011)

sharkhawk.com - the online home for proponents of a shark/hawk animal combo.

mypelvisfeelsfine.com - for those who are currently having zero issues with their pelvis or have a friend or family member whose pelvis is fully functional.

websitefortheblind.com - the only internet haven exclusively for those who cannot experience the internet.

getasmallerdick.com - for those of us who have tried the alternative, got A LOT bigger, but still had little to no luck with the ladies.

mynameisbelinda.com - where Belindas across the globe can finally come together.

willsellthisurlfor1000dollars.com - self-explanatory.

caniborrowyoureyeglassrepairkit.com - you're in desperate need of an eyeglass repair kit but refuse to invest your hard-earned cash in one.

kamasutraforlosers.com - the best place for exotic sex tips for people who lack the self-confidence to perform them.

meredithbaxterbirneyrocks.com - if you are a fan of Meredith Baxter-Birney.

meredithbaxterbirneyblows.com - if you dislike Meredith Baxter-Birney.

meredithbaxterbirney.com - if you are Meredith Baxter-Birney.

iheartusinghearts.com - a unique online community catered to those that prefer using 'heart' as a verb.

sex129.com - because sex1.com through sex128.com are already taken.

freeuselesscrap.com - like overstock.com but a little cheaper!

iwillmarryyourdog.com - the internet's sole database for both those that want to get married to a dog as well as those who'd like to act as an officiate in a wedding involving a dog.

roadhousethemovie.com - the best place for all things Road House.

peopleenjoymycompany.com - if you happen to be someone who people tend to enjoy keeping company with and feel a need to express it through means of a website.

pleasedonotclickhere.com - for online professionals adverse to the burdens of high traffic.

thiswilldestroyyourharddrive.com - a viable alternative once pleasedonotclickhere.com has been claimed.

bigimportantwebsite.com - if you own a big and important wesbite but are terrible with names.

wayoverpricedbread.com - the online destination for those that aren't afraid to pay A LOT more for their bread.

The coin case / Lonnie Banderson

2011-01-17T09:10:00.010-05:00

At my folks' place over the holidays I noticed a wooden case sitting on the bookshelf in the family room. It immediately caught my eye, partly due to its shiny mahogany finish and partly because the bookshelf's prior arrangement of Time Life materials, outdated encyclopedia set, and photo albums hadn't been altered in over 20 years. It was a display case, one for coins, with a glass top, and it didn't have much of anything in it. My mom, who has the habit of lingering no more than four feet from me whenever I come to visit, began to offer an explanation before I had a chance to ask for one.

"It's your father's. It's a display case for his state quarters."

"How come there are only three quarters in there?"

To this she sighed, then hesitated, as if debating whether or not to attempt to defend him.

"He ordered it a couple months ago. You get a new gold-plated state park quarter every week in the mail."

"OK."

"He decided after the first few quarters came that he couldn't afford it so he canceled the thing."

"But he already paid for the display case?"

"Yes. I suppose you had to pay for that upfront. He said he decided it wasn't worth it."

"So now you're going to keep this display case on the bookshelf with only three quarters in it?"

"Well. . ."

"Well what?"

"I told him that was ridiculous - that if he ordered it in the first place he should keep the thing going until he gets all the quarters. He said he didn't care - that it cost too much money and he never should have ordered it in the first place. He was done with it. . . So I called the number the other day and restarted the delivery or whatever. We should start getting the rest of the coins next week."

"So he canceled it and you re-ordered it?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell Dad that you did that?"

"Yes. Let's just say he's not very happy about it."

zeroth life lesson: There can be no better bitter reminder of one's own perpetual stinginess, indecisiveness, and wife's constant undermining than a full set of gold-plated state quarters permanently on display on one's bookshelf under glass in a gorgeous mahogany case.

A great new game I made up / Krystal Pepsy

2010-12-23T09:06:00.002-05:00

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

2010-12-05T09:16:00.013-05:00

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

2010-11-05T16:17:00.004-04:00

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

2010-10-31T09:18:00.008-04:00

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

2010-10-17T10:18:00.005-04:00

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

2010-10-07T10:32:00.006-04:00

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

2010-09-27T09:32:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-20T17:01:00.005-04:00

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

2010-09-03T17:17:00.008-04:00

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

2010-09-01T14:02:00.004-04:00

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

2010-08-29T10:17:00.009-04:00

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

2010-08-19T12:55:00.000-04:00

[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.

Excerpt from the Sistinass Sessions: Pop's thoughts on writing / Tory Toppart

2010-08-16T18:03:00.001-04:00

So Dad, what makes good writing in your opinion?

Well to me, good writing needs to keep your interest. There are a lot of times when I read a book and, I don’t know, it seems to go into too much detail explaining things that aren’t that important. That’s one reason I like textbooks. They get right to the point. Lately I’ve been looking through my old calculus text book from college. Trying to work through some of those problems to keep my mind sharp. Man, some of that stuff gets pretty hard. I like those Suduko puzzles too. Some of those can get pretty difficult too though. Sometimes I just have to give up on them.

OK. But Sudoku puzzles really don’t qualify as literature. What other types of things do you like to read?

I like reading about war. I’m telling you what those guys went through in World War II or the Korean War or Vietnam? It was something else. Those stories really make you appreciate - I mean war is so much different nowadays. I don’t think soldiers now have to make their way through jungles with viet cong waiting in the trees. I mean those guys were completely out of their element. The Americans I mean. I used to get these Time Life books but after a while it just got too expensive and the books weren’t as good. Sometimes the best things about them were the pictures really. I don’t know how they ever got some of those photographs. They were right in the action. They were unbelievable. I think some of those pictures even won some awards.

Do you have a favorite author?

Jerry Kramer wrote a book about the 1967 Green Bay Packers called ‘Instant Replay’. That book has to be one of my favorites. It was all about the players back then and coach Lombardi. I tell you what, Vince Lombardi knew how to motivate those guys. What a coach! I don’t think they’ll ever be another coach like that. And the things those guys got away with. There were some pretty funny stories about players sneaking out of their rooms at night and going to bars and meeting up with ladies and stuff. I don’t know if Lombardi ever really found out about that but if he did I’m sure he’d give them a good talking to. Ha!

Did Jerry Kramer write any other books?

I don’t think so. He was a speaker at our high school my senior year. He was a real nice guy. He was a hell of a player too. He played right guard I think. And when he played the Packers had one of the best running games in the NFL. They had this play called the power sweep and it was almost unstoppable. I don’t know if Jerry Kramer made the NFL Hall of Fame or not but he should if you ask me. I mean, he was something else.

Thanks for your time.

Top ten ways I cheated death / Guy Effart

2010-08-08T06:13:00.002-04:00

August 14, 2005:

Waiting for a subway at Spring Street, an A train speeds past as a complete stranger stands behind me who very easily could have pushed me onto the tracks moments before.

May 18, 2009:

Drilled a hole in the ceiling of my kitchen to hang a pot rack without first consulting the fuse box or checking for any sort of wiring that may be lurking above.

April 3, 1998:

While visiting a friend in Chicago I use his shower even though there is no non slip floor coating or mat in the tub and the nearby sick has relatively sharp edges.

December 22, 2002:

I board an aircraft that's about to travel 500 mph 30 thousand feet in the air without ever having spoken to the pilot regarding his/her training, mental state, or current sobriety.

February 8, 1978:

Tried to eat a whole grape.

July 4, 2001:

At a friend's barbecue when a bee landed on the paper plate near my left arm without me having any idea whether or not I'm one of those people that die real quick from bee stings.

October 18, 1997:

Had sex without some girl named either Andrea or Tamara or something.

August 8, 1995:

Drove a car over 50 miles per hour on a highway that allowed for traffic in both directions not knowing if any of the drivers of the the oncoming vehicles had a death wish.

November 12, 1994:

Went squirrel hunting with my Dad and uncle and was coaxed into carrying a shot gun without knowing how to properly carry it and without adequate footwear to navigate the woodsy, uneven terrain.

April 8, 2001:

Came home from work and noticed a strong gas smell coming from the kitchen but proceeded to take a nap anyway.

The grocery list / Ramona Hornblowa

2010-08-02T20:28:00.004-04:00

Here's another video I created at xtranormal.com. The original script was a prior blog post that can be read here.

Exerpt from page 80,561 of the longest book ever written / Lars Bumperpool

2010-07-25T08:58:00.000-04:00

He picked up the fork from the sink and noticed remnants of the prior night's eggplant parmesan. A tad of marina and bread crumbs clung to the void between the third and fourth prong. A simple second and a half rinse under the faucet would surely clear the utensil of the stubborn food but he'd recently adopted the principle of being adamant over not washing the dishes before washing the dishes and this was his first opportunity to exercise it. He would not give this fork the pleasure of being subjected to a sink rinse. Not today goddammit.

The fork represented one ninety-sixth of the dinnerware / tableware set they'd received as a wedding gift 7 years ago, a fourth of which consisted of various sized forks. What one couple needed with twenty-four forks he couldn't imagine. They kept twenty of them in the original box, packed somewhere downstairs, waiting to be unleashed in the event of some major entertaining or the birth of sextuplets, whichever came first. Whether or not four forks was truly enough for the two of them was a topic he'd considered bringing up on multiple occasions only to eventually dismiss it because A: there had to be something better to talk about at the time, right? and B: if she happened to agree that the four forks weren't enough he'd find himself in the precarious position of having to find the extra forks buried in the basement somewhere amidst and underneath boxes of empty CD cases and camping gear. That, quite simply, was out of the question. They'd have to make due with only four forks.

Spoons were an entirely different story. For some reason they kept eight spoons, four "big" ones and four "little" ones. A gun placed to the head couldn't guarantee a sound explanation to the purpose of one sized spoon versus the other but if he had to venture a guess he supposed the "big" spoons were meant for hearty soups and the "small" spoons were intended for desserts. At any rate, they used them interchangeably, paying no regard to spoon scoop size. As a result, they often found themselves in the situation of having to use spoons instead of forks - the previous night's eggplant parmesan episode being no exception. His wife used the last clean fork, the fork he currently held over the sink, and he used one of the "big" spoons. So, because either he or his wife (if only he could remember!) made the, at the time seemingly arbitrary, decision to keep only four forks in the primary silverware drawer and keep the rest under what might as well be twelve tons of boxes on a whole different floor of their home, they often ran out of clean forks and he had to display his chivalry time and time again by offering his wife use of the final clean fork and subject himself to eating numerous fork intended meals such as meat loaf, lasagna, salmon, taco salad, and eggplant parmesan with a fucking spoon.

With that he put the dirty, eggplant parm encrusted fork into the plastic bin on the bottom rack and slammed shut the dishwasher.

50 Grand / Lois Mooreless

2010-07-22T23:29:00.006-04:00

I took one of my old posts and used xtranormal.com to turn it into a little movie type deal. I think it worked out all right.

Enjoy.

Guy walking in the marathon / Bryn Lifticket

2010-07-14T12:17:00.016-04:00

Oh hi!

I'm that guy walking in the marathon.

'What the hell is his deal?', you're probably wondering.

Ha!

Looks as if I'm either woefully unprepared for these 26.2 miles or I'm some sort of psycho who gets off on having thousands of people cheer for him as he goes on a leisurely but long Sunday stroll. It's tough to gauge because the evasive look on my face falls right in that sweet spot between pure stupidity or pure ambivalence.

I mean, it seems pretty unlikely that I'm already exhausted. The type of people that sign up to run in these things typically prepare in advance, ensuring that they can make it more than 4 miles without having to ease up to a pace where they can comfortably place their hands on their hips.

Perhaps I slightly pulled a hammy in the first mile and refuse to call it quits.

Maybe I'm not even in the marathon and just got caught up in the thing on my way to get some pancake mix at the bodega across the street.

Hmmm. You wonder.

If a guy's going to blow his opportunity to run a marathon by walking the whole time he might as well be bouncing a basketball or wearing a chicken suit or something, right? Or at the very least be wearing a t-shirt promoting some sort of cause like beating breast cancer or the release of the new Insane Clown Posse album.

The fact that I'm wearing cargo shorts doesn't help clear things up either.

It's a bit maddening, isn't it? How the simple site of a kinda pudgy guy nonchalantly walking amongst thousands of determined runners fulfilling life goals can put a damper on what should be an uplifting experience.

I'm sorry about that.

I promise you that wasn't my intention.

I'm just a guy walking in the middle of a goddamned marathon is all.

Thanks for cheering for me.

Up, and how not to give it / Wes Brushy

2010-07-11T06:52:00.002-04:00

No one remembers the moment they gave up on their dream. If you ask them they'll tell you it was a gradual thing, that the desire and drive just sort of petered out over time as other priorities such as money or children or other things often categorized as "life" slowly overtook the part of the brain that had previously held the schematics for the next big invention or business idea or song lyrics or what have you. That's convenient and that's bullshit.

The same way Tom Hanks can look back and pinpoint that audition or meeting or phone call that ultimately cleared the thorny brush blocking the path toward whatever it is he is today, Dom Fanks can look back and zero in on the day he didn't follow up on that connection, or didn't bother to do the math to see if he could afford veterinarian school, or canceled that last gig because what was the point anymore. The key is to be ultra aware of these moments because they are sneaky little bitches. They come disguised as seemingly easy decisions wrapped in common sense. It's easy to spend more time with the family or pay the heating bill as opposed to pursuing something more self fulfilling and selfish. It's easy because common sense tells you it's easy. Well common sense it just that, common.

So be selfish, do the wrong thing, be irresponsible, because the people who don't and who aren't are the same people who forgot the moment they gave up.

Good luck.

Incurred charges of the deceased / Ursula Mandress

2010-07-06T14:41:00.002-04:00

Customer Service Representative: Thank you for calling DD billing services. How may I help you today?

Linda: I'm sorry. Who is this?

CSR: Double D billing services. The world leader in discreet charging, packaging, and shipping.

Linda: I'm calling about credit card charges I'm seeing here. Can you tell me what these are for?

CSR: Do you have the account number?

Linda: I'm sorry I don't.

CSR: The account holder's name?

Linda: David Charles.

CSR: And who am I speaking to?

Linda: This is Linda Charles, David's wife.

CSR: OK Mrs. Charles. I'm afraid I can't give you any account information over the phone. That can only be given to the account holder, David Charles.

Linda: Unfortunately that's not possible. I can provide you with any personal information of his - like credit card number, billing address, social security number. . .

CSR: I'm sorry but it's company policy that I can only provide account information to the account holder himself.

Linda: Can I please just cancel the account then?

CSR: Only David Charles can do that.

Linda: David Charles is dead. He died last month. In an attempt to move on in life I'm trying to get our family's financial affairs in order. I came across mysterious monthly charges on my late husband's credit card statements. I'm calling you to clarify what these charges are for and decide if they are warranted and worth continuing. Since you are refusing to do so I'd like to cancel the account all together seeing as I don't know what it's even for.

CSR: Please hold.

[Phil Collin's 'Sussudio' plays for 1 minute 47 seconds]

Presumed Manager of some sort: Double D Billing, the world leader in discreet billing, packaging, and shipping. How may I help you?

Linda: Hello. My husband, David Charles, has an account with you guys that's been incurring monthly charges on his credit card. I need to either be notified what these charges are for or cancel the account.

PMOSS: I see. And is Mr. Charles available to confirm this request?

Linda: No. He is dead.

[Pause]

PMOSS: My condolences. Do you know the password to the account?

Linda: I don't.

PMOSS: I'm going to ask you a series of questions that David Charles provided answers for in the event of a forgotten password.

Linda: This is absurd. Go ahead.

PMOSS: City of birth?

Linda: Charleston

PMOSS: Mother's maiden name?

Linda: Flinch

PMOSS: Jailbait or Milfs?

Linda: Excuse me?

PMOSS: Do you prefer jailbait or milfs?

Linda: I don't even know what that means.

PMOSS: It was a question for your husband. Did he prefer underage girls or sexually attractive mothers?

Linda: What are you implying?

PMOSS: It's just a question I need you to answer to gain access to the account.

Linda: Young girls I guess.

PMOSS: I'm sorry, that's incorrect. David Charles preferred Milfs.

Linda: What kind of place is this? I demand you cancel the account now! I'm sure the better business bureau would like to hear about the questions you are asking a recent widow about her husband.

PMOSS: Please hold.

[REM's 'Everybody Hurts' plays for 1 minute 18 seconds]

PMOSS: Hello Mrs. Charles. Due to the extenuating circumstances surrounding the account we're going to make an exception and allow you to cancel.

Linda: Thank you.

PMOSS: OK I'm canceling the account now. . . I see here that you've been a loyal customer for several years. We'd like to offer you a one time offer off unlimited access to all of our sites for only $7.99 per month.

Linda: And what sites are those?

PMOSS: Unlimited access to all our award winning sites such as Public Rim Jobs, Upskirt Central, Hairy Ballz, Aged to Purrfucktion, & Dorothy's Secret Penis.

Linda: Absolutely not!

PMOSS: We'll throw in the live video bathroom cam chat for free. I see that's a feature you've enjoyed in the past.

Linda: [sobbing]

PMOSS: I'll simply proceed with the cancelation then. One last thing. Your custom designed, rubber vagina / asshole combo molded from Cynthia Poke's Plaster of Paris crotch dip was returned to our shipping dock yesterday as no one signed for it at the provided shipping address, which I assume was your late husband's place of business. Seeing as he's dead and no longer employed there I just wanted to confirm that we have a valid alternate shipping address.

[Linda hangs up]

The reach ratio / Wilbur Fernbot

2010-07-04T13:15:00.008-04:00

The best thing about time, distance, amounts, and really any unit of measure is the brief interval between 1/3 and 1/2. Because if you think about it, 1/3 isn't very much. I mean if you take any whole entire thing, say a foot or a song or an elephant, and chop it into 3 equal pieces and then consider just one of those pieces your really not talking about a lot in the grand scheme of things. I mean that's something anybody can handle. 1/3. Even the most daunting of entities such as demons or torture or helping a friend move, when broken into thirds, suddenly seem quite manageable.

And 1/2 is the real milestone if you think about it. That's what you're shooting for. Once you hit that halfway point it's all gravy from there. Once you hit .5 all you need to do is add another millimeter, another ounce, another hundredth of a second, another .00001 of anything and all the sudden you're OVER half way through/done/complete/there and that's something special. In that precise moment the future becomes easier than the past. The proverbial scale has tipped in your favor.

The difference between 1/3 and 1/2 is only 1/6. 0.166666 repeating. That's nothing! You just did 1/6 of something reading this sentence. So if we've established that 1/3 of anything isn't anything to fret over and 1/2 of something is the ultimate threshold one needs to attain, and 1/6 (the difference between the two) is barely more than zero then any task or aspiration set before you is magically within reach.

I call it the Reach Ratio.

2010 War of the Words: Winning Word Revealed

2010-06-15T20:34:00.004-04:00

2010 War of the Words: Grand Champion / Andre Blerk

2010-06-15T11:00:00.001-04:00

stupefy

Main Entry: stu·pe·fy

Pronunciation: \ˈstü-pə-ˌfī, ˈstyü-\

Function: transitive verb

Inflected Form(s): stu·pe·fied; stu·pe·fy·ing

Etymology: Middle English stupifien, modification of Latin stupefacere, fromstupēre to be astonished + facere to make, do

Date: 15th century

1 : to make stupid, groggy, or insensible

2 : astonish, astound

2010 War of the Words: Championship / Kip Winger

2010-06-14T20:30:00.001-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

5 letters or less WINNER

(1) melee

6 - 7 letter WINNER

(6) stupefy

(6) stupefy

(1) palpable

8 - 9 letter WINNER

(1) palpable

10 letter + WINNER

(4) protuberance

2010 War of the Words: Final Four / Dov Sortov

2010-06-13T22:23:00.010-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

5 letters or less

1 melee
3 lard

6 - 7 letters

16 mongrel
6 stupefy

1 melee

6 stupefy

palpable 1

protuberance 4

8 - 9 letters

palpable 1
repugnant 6

10 letters +

protuberance 4
cataclysmic 2

2010 War of the Words: Elite Eight / Sidney Surely

2010-06-12T09:18:00.011-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

5 letters or less

1 melee
4 kiosk

3 lard
10 spilt

6 - 7 letter

16 mongrel
12 dullard

6 stupefy
2 pilfer

1 melee

3 lard

16 mongrel

6 stupefy

palpable 1

repugnant 6

protuberance 1

cataclysmic 2

8 - 9 letter

palpable 1
derelict 5

repugnant 6
rigmarole 7

10 + letters

preposterous 1
protuberance 4

abomination 3
cataclysmic 2

2010 War of the Words: The Sweet Sixteen / Jonah Glessings

2010-06-10T21:49:00.001-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

5 letter or less

1 melee
4 kiosk

3 lard
2 spilt

6 - 7 letter

16 mongrel
12 dullard

6 stupefy
2 pilfer

________

________

________

________

8 - 9 letter

palpable 1
derelict 5

repugnant 6
rigmarole 7

10 letter +

preposterous 1
protuberance 4

abomination 6
cataclysmic 2

2010 War of the Words: 10 letter + Region / Adelle Neppelbuns

2010-06-08T21:31:00.008-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

10 letter + Region

1 preposterous
16 laceration

8 torrential
9 meticulous

5 rambunctious
12 monstrosity

4 protuberance
13 extemporaneous

6 bombardment
11 exacerbate

3 abomination
14 concoction

7 debauchery
10 colloquial

2 cataclysmic
15 loquacious

1 preposterous
9 meticulous

12 monstrosity
4 protuberance

6 bombardment
3 abomination

7 debauchery
2 cataclysmic

1 preposterous
4 protuberance

3 abomination
2 cataclysmic

_________
_______
_________

2010 War of the Words: 8 - 9 letter Region / Dale Lib

2010-06-08T21:21:00.005-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

8 - 9 letter Region

1 palpable
16 misnomer

8 succinct
9 percolate

5 derelict
12 titillate

4 galvanize
13 perturbed

6 repugnant
11 skedaddle

3 charlatan
14 buoyancy

7 rigmarole
10 bombastic

2 saboteur
15 abhorrent

1 palpable
8 succinct

5 derelict
4 galvanize

6 repugnant
3 charlatan

7 rigmarole
2 saboteur

1 palpable
5 derelict

6 repugnant
7 rigmarole

_________
_______
_________

2010 War of the Words: 6 - 7 letter Region / Gladys Hindrance

2010-06-08T21:01:00.010-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

6 - 7 letter Region

1 lavish
16 mongrel

8 placebo
9 loathe

5 crinkle
12 dullard

4 bullion
13 quarry

6 stupefy
11 caveat

3 unitard
14 dubious

7 fathom
10 seethe

2 pilfer
15 cloaked

16 mongrel
9 loathe

12 dullard
4 bullion

6 stupefy
3 unitard

10 seethe
2 pilfer

16 mongrel
12 dullard

6 stupefy
2 pilfer

_________
_______
_________

2010 War of the Words: 5 letters or less Region / Dinah Horn

2010-06-08T20:50:00.005-04:00

Live scores, updates, and other mirth and mayhem on W.o.W.'s Facebook page. Become a fan today.

5 letters or less Region

1 melee
16 duct

8 mire
9 muck

5 feign
12 pithy

4 kiosk
13 gaudy

6 slew
11 delve

3 lard
14 gourd

7 gruel
10 spilt

2 dank
15 ilk

1 melee
9 muck

5 feign
4 kiosk

11 delve
3 lard

10 spilt
2 dank

1 melee
4 kiosk

3 lard
10 spilt

_________
_______
_________

Sealing / Hiding of the Official 2010 W.o.W. Results

2010-06-03T07:36:00.002-04:00

Thoughts on the '10 letters plus' Region* / Denny Limp

2010-06-02T19:56:00.012-04:00

The below is expert commentary pertaining to the 2010 War of the Words tournament which begins noon EST, Thursday, June 3rd. It's not too late to play.

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

________________________________________________________

Biggest sleeper: monstrosity

Lucky to be here: loquacious

Most likely to succeed: cataclysmic

Most overrated: rambunctious

Biggest questions surrounding point guard depth: preposterous

Owes me $15: exacerbate

Has a really bad rash: colloquial

Fell off a four story balcony one time but amazingly only broke a collar bone but now won't ever shut up about it even though it was like 11 years ago: torrential

Biggest dong: protuberance

Cries itself to sleep every night despite publicly displaying an air of confidence, especially when using chop sticks and laser pointers: extemporaneous

Secretly can't spell (but can jump very far): bombardment

Most likely to have lied about seeing the movie 'The Transporter" for some reason: debauchery

Is currently dating 'concoction' and thinking about moving in together: abomination

Most convincing wig: laceration

Still has a Facebook status of single: concoction

*The views and opinions expressed in this analysis are solely those of the individual referenced in the post title** and in do not necessarily reflect those of the W.o.W. Commissioner. Any use of the aforementioned views and opinions to assist W.o.W. participants in making bracket selections should be undertaken at their own risk.

**Denny Limp

The skinny on the '8 - 9 letter' Region* / Lyle Alzado

2010-06-02T09:00:00.001-04:00

The below is expert commentary pertaining to the 2010 War of the Words tournament which begins noon EST, Thursday, June 3rd. It's not too late to play.

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

________________________________________________________

'Saboteur' will win. Easy. That word means like to sneak up on someone and blow up their blind side. How you going to beat a word like that? What are they a 2 seed? Please. That's a joke. What's 'palpable' got that my man 'saboteur' doesn't? A couple extra p's and that's about it. 'Palpable'. Sounds like something you'd say when you're stuttering and asking for your daddy.

Stuttering like a little bitch.

'Derelict' and 'charlatan' sound like little bitches too. Little bitches wearing silly hats and smoking on fancy pipes. What else we got here? 'Perturbed' and 'skedaddle' remind me of farts for some reason. I'm just being honest with you. 'Titillate' and 'buoyancy' remind of something else if you know what I'm saying. Ha ha ha. I'd like to succinct on some buoyancy titillates if you catch my drift. I know that you do!

I think I had a rigmarole for lunch.

All right all right let's get serious. I like 'saboteur' and 'repugnant' coming from the bottom there and 'percolate' and 'galvanize' from the top.

I'll tell you what. The more I think about it the only other word I respect in that region is 'galvanize'. That's a man's word. I was galvanizing my quads just before you shoved this piece of shit piece of paper in my face. I'll galvanize your whole world. How'd you like that?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

**Lyle Alzado

Analysis of the '6-7 letter' Region* / Ethel Heavho

2010-06-01T17:01:00.002-04:00

The below is expert commentary pertaining to the 2010 War of the Words tournament which begins noon EST, Thursday, June 3rd. It's not too late to play.

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

________________________________________________________

What do the numbers mean again? Oh. . . Seeds you say? Oh I see. Well someone doesn't like 'mongrel' much then. 'Crinkle' is a good word. Better than most others I'm seeing here. Ohh I like 'bullion' too. I used the last of the chicken bullion last night to make that soup you like so much. You can freeze the leftovers and they last for months. I'll thaw some out next time you come to visit. Very tasty. Should I make some rolls too?

Oh right, the words. Let's see. 'Placebo' kind of scares me. I don't know what I'd do if Dr. Ludvich switched my back pills for some fake ones. That's nothing to take lightly in my opinion. 'Pilfer' is another word for stealing, right? 'Loathe' and 'seethe' aren't very nice words either. Whoever put this together must've gotten up on the wrong side of the bed or something. They should take a long hard look in the mirror and ask themselves why they think they are such a wise guy. Maybe then they'd start to see they weren't so smart after all. . .

Also it's never nice to make fun of unitards so I don't know if that's some sort of joke or something but it's not funny.

**Ethel Heavho

Breaking down the '5 letters or less' Region* / Will Medogdye

2010-05-31T11:00:00.012-04:00

The below is expert commentary pertaining to the 2010 War of the Words tournament which begins noon EST, Thursday, June 3rd. It's not too late to play.

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

________________________________________________________

There are a couple match-ups here that are especially intriguing, Phil.

First off, the 8/9 match-up of 'muck' vs. 'mire' should settle bragging rights once and for all for these two bubble words that just can't seem to establish an identity of their own without being paired with each other. With 'melee' likely waiting for the winner I see both words pulling out all the stops here.

'Feign' / 'pithy' could be a closer contest than it should be. All depends if 'feign' decides to show up. They are clearly the more talented word but have been known to disappear in big games.

Looking down the rest of the region here. . . 'Kiosk' is what it is. It may roll off the tongue but at the end of the day it sits there at the corner letting dogs piss all over it. I'm shocked it got a 4 seed. Shocked!! If it happens to make it by 'gaudy' I see the 'feign' / 'pithy' winner easily handling their round two opponent on their way to the sweet sixteen.

A few of my colleagues have 'gourd' as a sexy upset pick over 'lard'. I don't see it. 'Gourd's' sheer seasonality will be it's downfall. This ain't November. 'Lard' is just getting hot.

Many experts initially questioned 10 seed spilt's eligibility citing 'spilled' as the more valid and more widely used past tense form of 'spill'. Count 'gruel' in that camp as I expect them to make short work of the underdog, leaving them crying over milk of some sort.

'Slew' and 'delve' have a bit of a history, coming from the same conference they've already played each other twice this year and split both meetings. Don't let the 6/11 seeding disparity throw you. These words are very familiar with each other and are evenly matched. The big question in this game is whether 'slew's' deep bench can overcome 'delve's' superior preparation.

When all is said and done I see 'melee' as one of the more vulnerable #1 seeds in the tournament. I envision an epic battle in round 3 between 'lard' and 'dank', the winner making their way to the final four.

Back to you, Phil.

**Will Medogdye

2010 War of the Words: Field of 64 / Graham Hench

2010-05-24T09:37:00.001-04:00

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

5 letters or less
REGION

1 melee
16 duct

8 mire
9 muck

5 feign
12 pithy

4 kiosk
13 gaudy

6 slew
11 delve

3 lard
14 gourd

7 gruel
10 spilt

2 dank
15 ilk

6 - 7 letters
REGION

1 lavish
16 mongrel

8 placebo
9 loathe

5 crinkle
12 dullard

4 bullion
13 quarry

6 stupefy
11 caveat

3 unitard
14 dubious

7 fathom
10 seethe

2 pilfer
15 cloaked

______
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______
____
______
____
______
____
______
____
______
____
______
____
______

______
____
______
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______
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______
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______
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______
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8 - 9 letters

REGION

palpable 1
misnomer 16

succinct 8
percolate 9

derelict 5
titillate 12

galvanize 4
perturbed 13

repugnant 6
skedaddle 11

charlatan 3
buoyancy 14

rigmarole 7
bombastic 10

saboteur 2
abhorrent 15

10 letters & up
REGION

preposterous 1
laceration 16

torrential 8
meticulous 9

rambunctious 5
monstrosity 12

protuberance 4
extemporaneous 13

bombardment 6
exacerbate 11

abomination 3
concoction 14

debauchery 7
colloquial 10

cataclysmic 2
loquacious 15

Enter in your picks today. Go here and click 'Predict It!'.

Follow the action on Facebook for live updates and results here.

911 @ 2347 / Hector Smithereen

2010-05-13T11:19:00.000-04:00

911 what is your emergency?

I've. . . I've taken a bad spill. I need an ambulance.

Where are you sir?

Send them to 2347 Lake Street.

We'll send someone right away. Can you describe your injuries?

My legs are broken. My. . . My. . .

It's OK sir. Can you tell me how you fell?

I was in the basement. I needed to go downstairs to use the phone.

So you fell down the stairs on your way to the basement to make a phone call?

No. No. I was already in the basement.

So you tripped going up the stairs?

No. Down.

I'm sorry sir. Just trying to understand. So there's a level lower than your basement?

Ahhhh!!! Oh God it hurts! Are they on their way?

Sure sure sure. First I just need you to help me understand where you are in the house. You said you were in your basement and fell downstairs, right?

(unintelligible)

Is is like a secret chamber or something?

Wha- What?

Below your basement. Is it like a hidden -

I think I'm going to pass out?

Stay with me sir. It's all going to be OK but I need you to hang on. Try taking a deep breath. . . Are you there?

(barely audible) Yeah.

Now there's some more information I'm going to need to gather. This secret vault or chamber or whathaveyou - you said you were on your way down there to use the phone?

Right.

So you must've just landed right next to it after you fell then. I mean you're obviously near a phone now.

I'm calling you. . . from a phonyphone.

I'm sorry what?

A phonyphone. It's a phone that can only call other phones.

I don't understand.

Arrgghh!!! Dear God the pain! I'm really fucked here. My legs are pointing ways that nature never intended.

I'm sure you'll be fine. So you have a phone that calls other phones. How is that different than any other phone?

No. It's different. It's not its own line or anything. It just hijacks the fiber optic signals of other phones.

So can it receive calls?

(in obvious agony) Only local calls and only if the digitized current is successfully intercepted.

(long pause). . . Well I don't get it.

How far away is that ambulance?

So you've got your crazy underground lair with your high tech phonyphone there. I gotta hand it to you - sounds like things are working out pretty sweet for you.

Oh Christ! I see marrow!!

Shit. That's right. Your ambulance. You said 4327 Lake Street, right?

Huh? No! 2347 Lake.

You got it. The paramedics have been dispatched.

Just now? We've been on the phone for-

Sorry about that. That was my bad. Got a little carried away with your basement situation. So I assume once the paramedics have entered the residence they should head down to your dungeon deal thingy, right? Any crazy fake books to pull on or any levers to activate or anything?

Listen to me. I'm not actually at 2347 Lake Street.

Umm. OK.

I'm not there but that's where I need the ambulance to go because that's the nearest access point.

Access point to what?

To where my mangled body currently resides. . . When they get there they'll see a tube.

A tube?

Yes. The tube will lead them to me.

Will they be able to fit through this tube?

The whole ambulance will fit.

And how long is this tube?

No more than a few tenths of a second.

No sir. I mean how long is it in distance. Like how many feet.

You don't understand. The tube can only be measured in time.

. . . . I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around this.

Fuck it.

Don't hang up sir. Help is on the way.

(unintelligible. . . fumbling with phonyphone)

[LOUD SOUND OF FEEDBACK]

What was that!? Sir are you OK?

Just had to adjust the coordinates.

I've just gotten word from the paramedics. They're not seeing anything resembling a tube at 2347 Lake Street.

Look under your desk.

Wow! Well I'll be. Isn't that something. Your legs really are fucked.

Face time / Martha Plimpton

2010-05-05T23:30:00.005-04:00

Question: Who has seen* my face the most? Me, my mom, or my wife?

*Pictures / photographs do not count. Must be live viewing of actual face or reflection of face e.g. mirror.

____________________________________________

Analysis:

Me:

1. Bathroom mirror time

a. standard bathroom breaks

average of 7 seconds per bathroom trip (average of 5 trips per day) = 35 seconds per day.

11,898 days (current age) - 2,555 days (first 7 years of life where I really didn't look in the mirror after using the restroom) = 9,343 days X 35 seconds per day = 327,005 seconds I've seen my own face in the mirror after using the restroom.

b. morning preparation & tooth brushing

(hair styling)

current average time each morning styling hair = 16 seconds X 5.5 days per week (each week day 25% of weekend days (I often wear hats on weekends)) X 49 weeks per year (big fan of hats on vacations) X 9.5 years of my professional working career = 40,964 seconds.

average time each morning styling hair prior to my professional working career = 35 seconds per day (went through a crazy gel and mousse stage) X 5.75 days per week (was not quite as big a fan of hats) X 52 weeks per year (no vacations) X 15 years (from age 9 to 23) = 156,975 seconds.

40,964 + 156,975 = 197,939 seconds seeing my own face while styling hair.

(tooth brushing (morning))

average of 120 seconds per tooth brushing session X 19% of brushing time actually looking in the mirror (I like to wander around while brushing) X 6.7 days per week (I've been known to skip a morning now and then) X 52 weeks per year X 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) = 238,306 seconds.

(tooth brushing (evening))

average of 120 seconds per tooth brushing session X 28% of brushing time actually looking in the mirror (I tend to look in the mirror more at night) X 5.7 days per week (I've been known to skip an evening now and then) X 52 weeks per year X 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) = 298,771 seconds.

197,939 seconds styling hair + 238,306 seconds brushing teeth (morning) +298,771 seconds brushing teeth (evening) = 735,016 seconds I've seen my face in the mirror during morning prep and brush time.

c. general preening

pre-puberty; average of 10 seconds per day X 4,745 days (first 13 years of life) = 47,450 seconds.

puberty to marriage; average of 240 seconds per day X 5,840 days (age 13 to age 29 (age I got married)) = 1,401,600 seconds.

post marriage; average of 27 seconds per day X 1,384 (days I've been married) = 37,368 seconds.

47,450 seconds (before age of 13) + 1,401,600 seconds (between ages of 13 and 7/21/2006 (marriage date)) + 37,368 seconds (marriage date to 5/05/2010)= 1,486,418 seconds I've seen my face in the mirror during general preening.

2. Other reflection sightings (besides bathroom mirrors)

average of 0.87 seconds per day seeing own reflection in store/building windows, lakes, large puddles, rear view mirrors, and turned off TV screens X 11,898 days (current age) = 10,351 seconds I've seen my face in other reflections.

327,005 seconds of mirror time after using the restroom

735,016 seconds mirror time during morning prep and teeth brushing

1,486,418 seconds of mirror time during general preening

10,351 seconds seeing reflection in non-bathroom mirror surfaces

2,558,790 = 42,647 minutes = 710.8 hours = 29.62 days I have seen my own face.

____________________________________________

My Mother:

1. Prior to kindergarten

a. First three months of my life

average of 4 hours (14,400 seconds) per day looking at my face X 90 days = 1,296,000 seconds.

b. Months 4 - 12 (the rest of year 1)

average of 1.5 hours (5,400 seconds) per day looking at my face X 275 days = 1,485,000 seconds.

c. Ages 1 -5

average of 45 minutes (2,700 seconds) per day looking at my face X 1,460 days (4 years) = 3,942,000 seconds.

1,296,000 seconds during the first three months + 1,485,000 seconds during months 4 - 12 of year one + 3,942,000 seconds during ages 1 - 5 = 6,723,000 seconds my mother saw my face prior to kindergarten.

2. Kindergarten through High School

average of 11 minutes (660 seconds) per day looking at my face X 5,110 days (14 years) = 3,372,600 seconds my mother saw my face from kindergarten through high school.

3. College years

a. during school

average of 5 minutes per month (300 seconds) looking at my face X 40.5 months (9 months of school per year for 4.5 years of college) = 12,150 seconds.

b. during holiday breaks

average of 6 minutes per day (360 seconds) looking at my face X 63 days (14 days of holiday breaks (7 for X-mas + 4 for Thanksgiving + 3 for homecoming) X 4.5 years of college))= 22,680 seconds.

c. during summers spent at home

average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) looking at my face X 180 days (2 summers spent at home = 90 days (3 months) X 2) = 43,200 seconds.

12,150 seconds (during school) + 22,680 seconds (during school visits) + 43,200 seconds (during holiday breaks when back home) = 78,030 seconds my mother saw my face during my college years.

4. Post college

a. visits to New York by Mom

average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X 8 days per year (2 visits per year averaging 4 days each) X 9.5 years = 68,400 seconds.

b. visits to Mom during the holidays

average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X 6.5 days per year (2 visits per year averaging 3.25 days each) X 9.5 years = 55,575 seconds.

68,400 seconds (New York visits) + 55,575 seconds (trips back home) = 123,975 seconds my mother saw my face since moving to New York after college.

6,723,000 seconds looking at my face prior to kindergarten

3,372,600 seconds looking at my face from kindergarten through high school

78,030 seconds looking at my face during college years

123,975 seconds looking at my face since moving to New York

10,297,605 seconds = 171,627 minutes = 2,860 hours = 119.2 days my mom has seen my face.

____________________________________________

My Wife:

1. The courting phase

a. week days

-conversation

average of 27.5 minutes per week (1,650 seconds (10 minutes per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night))) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 211,200 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 2 minutes per week (120 seconds (43.6 seconds per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night))) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 15,360 seconds.

-random glances

average of 22 seconds per week (8 seconds per day X 2.75 days per week (did not see each other every week night)) for 128 weeks (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 2,816 seconds.

b. weekends

-conversation

average of 170 minutes per weekend (10,200 seconds (85 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 1,305,600 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 6 minutes per weekend (360 seconds (3 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 46,080 seconds.

-random glances

average of 1 minute per weekend (60 seconds (30 minutes per day X 2 days per week (Friday night to Sunday night))) for 128 weekends (873 days between the day we met (10/10/2001) and the day we moved into together (3/1/2004)) = 7,680 seconds.

211,200 weekday seconds conversing + 15,360 weekday seconds staring/admiring + 2,816 weekday seconds of random glances + 1,305,600 weekend seconds conversing + 46,080 weekend seconds staring/admiring + 7,680 weekend seconds of random glances = 1,588,736 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'courting' phase.

2. Moving in together phase

- conversation

average of 8 minutes per day (480 seconds) for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 418,560 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 1.5 minutes per day (90 seconds) for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 78,480 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 872 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 21,800 seconds.

418,560 seconds conversing + 78,480 seconds staring/admiring + 21,800 seconds of random glances = 518,840 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'moving in together' phase.

3. Marriage phase

- conversation

average of 5 minutes per day (300 seconds) for 642 days (period from date we were married (7/21/2006) to date our daughter was born (4/23/2008)) = 192,600 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 11 seconds per day for 642 days (period from date we were married (7/21/2006) to date our daughter was born (4/23/2008)) = 7,062 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 642 days (period from date we moved in together (3/3/2004) to date we were married (7/21/2006)) = 16,050 seconds.

192,600 seconds conversing + 7,062 seconds staring/admiring + 16,050 seconds of random glances = 215,712 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'marriage' phase.

4. Since the birth of our child phase

- conversation

average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 178,080 seconds.

-staring/admiring

average of 2.5 seconds per day for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 1,855 seconds.

-random glances

average of 25 seconds per day for 742 days (period from date our first child was born (4/23/2008) to today (5/05/2010)) = 18,550 seconds.

178,080 seconds conversing + 1,855 seconds staring/admiring + 18,550 seconds of random glances = 198,485 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'since the birth of our child' phase.

1,588,736 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'courting' phase
+
518,840 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'moving in together' phase.
+
215,712 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'marriage' phase.
+
198,485 seconds of my wife seeing my face during our 'since the birth of our child' phase.
=
2,521,773 seconds = 42,030 minutes = 700.5 hours = 29.19 days my wife has seen my face.
____________________________________________

Results**:

1st place - My mother (119.2 days)
2nd place - Me (29.62 days)
3rd place - My wife (29.19 days)

Current pacing is as follows:

My mother: average of 15 minutes per day (900 seconds) X average of 14.5 days per year (8 days of her coming to New York + 6.5 days of me traveling home) = 12,600 seconds per year / 365 days in a year = average of 35.5 seconds per day.

Me: average of 35 seconds per day after bathroom trips + 11.8 seconds hair styling (40,964 total seconds / 9.5 years of professional working career / 365 days) + 21.8 seconds tooth brushing (morning)(238,306 total seconds / 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) / 365 days) + 27.3 seconds tooth brushing (evening) (298,771 total seconds / 30 years (didn't start brushing teeth in front of mirror until I was 2) / 365 days) + 27 seconds per day preening + 0.87 seconds per day seeing own reflection in store/building windows, lakes, large puddles, rear view mirrors, and turned off TV screens = average of 123.8 seconds per day.

My Wife: average of 4 minutes per day (240 seconds) in conversation + 2.5 seconds per day staring/admiring + 25 seconds per day of random glances = average of 267.5 seconds per day.
____________________________________________

Conclusions:

I trail my mother in total face time by 7,738,815 seconds. Each day I catch up by an average of 88.3 seconds. If I ever hope to catch and surpass her and move into first place (assuming my mother lives to the current life expectancy of an American female of 80.1 years (after which time I'll be catching up by an average of 123.8 seconds per day)) I'll need to maintain my current pacing of 123.8 seconds per day for another 64,424 days (6,673 days (number of day between today (5/5/2010) and my mother's calculated demise (8/11/2028) of outpacing my mother by 88.3 seconds per day + 57,751 days of outpacing my mother by 123.8 seconds per day) or 176.5 years. This would happen on Saturday, September 23, 2186.

Likelihood = negligible

The most startling and exciting finding would have to be how close my wife and I are in terms of total viewing time of my face. Since first meeting 8 1/2 years ago my wife is currently trailing me in total Rich face time by only 10 hours, 19 minutes, and 12 seconds (37,152 seconds). She also happens to be outpacing me by 143.7 seconds per day (267.5 - 123.8) so at this rate she will pass me and move into second place in 258.5 days. Sometime around noon on Tuesday, January 18, 2011.

Likelihood = imminent

**Important to note that these results are specific to the author, Rich Zeroth, and are not meant to reflect universal or broad truths and/or application. I encourage readers to conduct their own 'face time' analysis and would strongly recommend interested parties to take special note of unique circumstances in their own life that may yield to vastly different results than mine over time (e.g. having a stay at home mother until the age of 5 (where my mother no doubt built her insurmountable lead), the habit of wandering around when brushing my teeth rather than staring in the mirror (a primary reason why my wife will pass me on 1/18/11), and the ever dwindling rate at which my wife has looked at my face from dating through parenthood (perhaps your wife or husband hasn't displayed the same adverseness to eye contact over the years).

Marking the occasion / "Pipes"

2010-04-23T20:41:00.003-04:00

Born on 4/23/08 @ 9:34 pm

Full week / Beverly Heavenry

2010-04-18T16:08:00.007-04:00

Most days I do just enough to get by. Get up, pick out some pants, go make a living, head home, eat some dinner, relax a bit, then some sleep. On ‘productive’ days I’m able to pepper in a couple bonus items. Maybe I pay some bills, do a load of laundry, or get a haircut. On the rare occasion I drink too much coffee on a rainy Saturday I might even find time to -

_______________________________

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Thanks

Loose change / Karen Carbone Kraut

2010-04-11T10:42:00.018-04:00

He was running a little late if he hoped to stop at the bank and still make it to work on time.

Bounding up the platform stairs, two at a time, the extra weight in his messenger bag became all the more evident. He almost tripped while trying to steady the suddenly swinging pendulum hanging from his shoulder but steadied himself on the hand railing and saved certain disaster before emerging from the subway station into the frosty Manhattan morning.

Double-timing it across 6th avenue despite a traffic signal that suggested otherwise, he headed to the bank. He thought it best to get there early rather than deal with a potential line at lunch. The only thing more depressing than spending an evening meticulously counting loose change would be a chance encounter with a coworker while waiting in line at the bank holding multiple rolls of nickels.

He was planning how he'd properly finance the next three days with just three pounds of change when he heard the first metallic splash behind him. Odd, he thought. Before his mind had a chance to process the immanent tragedy the second splash confirmed the now creeping dread but by then it was too late. He turned around just in time to see the last of the fifty dimes from the first broken paper roll come to rest on the sidewalk some 15 feet behind him. The busted roll of pennies that was the second splash appeared to be salvageable. Perhaps he could escape this rapidly deteriorating scene yet. While examining the messenger bag for the method of the coins' escape the remaining money (two rolls of quarters, a roll of dimes, and a roll of nickels) spilled from the undetected hole in the bottom left corner. Each roll exploded upon impact, creating an ever expanding perimeter of copper, zinc, nickel, and shame.

Now on his hands and knees, he scrambled in futile fashion to complete two opposing tasks - clean the sidewalk of this unsightly, worthless mess and recover as much of his net worth as quickly as possible. His only hope was that the countless shoes he saw walk on by wouldn''t belong to the same people that he'd see at the bank, over lunch, where he hoped to have his pockets filled with $42.50 of uncounted and unrolled, loose change.

Excuses to use McDonald's bathroom without purchase of a meal/ Maurice Hodktd

2010-04-07T20:13:00.000-04:00

-Although I'm not purchasing food here now, the food I currently need to shit was indeed purchased here. I have the receipt.

-Burger King bathroom doesn't have a bidet.

-Where else am I supposed to wash these newborn pups?

-But Steve wrote some exceedingly derogatory remarks about me right above the hand dryer and I just came up with the ideal retort.

-On a scavenger hunt. Need clown feces.

-I'm with the Demon Squad. Your bathroom mirror is suspected to be portal to 5th layer of hell.

-I'm homeless and need somewhere to sleep. This is my absolute low point before my dramatic rebound and eventual climb to national recognition as a 5 time grammy winner for best R&B artist. My story will be made into a movie and this very scene with this very bathroom will be a vital point in the film. I'm offering you the role of yourself and 10% on all T-shirt royalties.

-I think I may have left my baby in there.

Actual straight-faced conversation I had with my wife the other day / Lionel Truthobel

2010-03-31T21:59:00.005-04:00

Me: We got some time before the bus comes. I think I might go and get something we can eat on the way.

Wife: Where are you going to go?

Me: There’s that Quiznos a few blocks down. That work for you?

Wife: Yeah.

Me: What kind of sandwich do you want?

Wife: Do they have veggie?

Me: I would imagine so.

Wife: Then I’ll have that. With whatever veggies they have, mustard and mayo.

Me: What if they don’t have a veggie sandwich?

Wife: Then I guess I’ll have turkey.

Me: And what would you want on the turkey sandwich?

(after a brief moment of consideration)

Wife: I guess whatever veggies they have, mustard and mayo.

Me: On wheat?

Wife: On wheat.

Thoughts as I fall from the roof of a building after slipping on a banana peel / Midge Mayhem

2010-03-29T06:12:00.000-04:00

Well, this is embarrassing.

I guess that's what I get for horsing around on the roof of a 120 floor building.

Although I gotta say the punishment of certain death seems a little extreme.

Wow! This is windier than I expected. Really quite annoying.

Slipping on a banana peel. What a way to go out!

It sure beats dying of cancer or getting stabbed in the gut after being robbed. I mean, at least I get the pleasure of pondering the irony. Both hilarious and tragic!

Who disposes of their banana peel on the roof of a 120 story building anyway?

Sure would like to have a strong word or two with that dick head.

People will probably think I committed suicide.

That's unfortunate. . .

On the other hand it may be preferable to the notion that I simply slipped.

I guess I need to decide if I want my family and friends to think I was really depressed or really stupid.

If there was only a way I could tell them that I slipped on a banana peel. . . I think they'd appreciate that.

I have piece of paper in my back pocket here. I wonder if I have a pen?

[checking coat pocket for pen]

If anyone is watching me fall right now they're probably asking themselves, "Is that guy reaching into his coat pocket looking for something?"

Ha! If only I had a pair of reading glasses I could put on or a cigarette I could try to light.

That would be classic!

I'd be a YouTube sensation. Go all viral and shit!

Well, no pen. Must have left it on my desk. Oh well. So much for that idea.

I wonder if my cheeks are doing that flappy thing?

Coming close to the ground here. I guess I should brace myself?

Hmm. Feet first or head first?

I'll go with head. No need to try to make this look prettier than it's going to be.

Should I yell something?

Maybe "Heads Up!" or "Coming through!"

I guess it should be something more poignant seeing as they'll be the last words I'll utter. . .

Perhaps, "Glory be to Jesus!" or "U.S.A. U.S.A.!"

No. I'm going to go with something that cements my legacy. Something more personal. A quick statement that, when relayed to my friends and family, will result in both the nodding of heads in a solemn fashion as well as faint smiles of respect and deep understanding.

"Tell everyone life is like a banan-"

!!!SPLAT!!!

Feelings toward the park guy / Bryce Meals

2010-03-22T12:17:00.014-04:00

Oh hi!

I'm the guy that just took his shirt off at the park. Judging by frequent glances I see you tossing in this direction I'm guessing you're not quite sure what to make of me. I understand. Take your time.

No doubt your first inclination was to dismiss me as douche bag. Most guys who take their shirts off in parks are. But the fact that I did NOT do so after first standing and stretching and slowly rotating in a self-absorbed display giving all within a fifty foot radius a eyeful whether they wanted one or not surely gives you pause. No, I remained seated on my blanket and disrobed of my top layer in as discreet of method that can be reasonably expected given the surroundings. But not too discreet either. Still confident but not over confident by any stretch of the means. I also did look genuinely hot and uncomfortable so the shirt removal can be deemed as justifiable. Hmm. What to make of me.

I don't have six-pack abs so it's not as if I trying to show off a brilliantly sculpted body. I'm also not one of those "comfortable in my own skin" fat asses who subjects onlookers to a gut so ample it fails to respond to heavy inhal/exhalations with any movement whatsoever. My girth neither fascinates nor repels, yet you can't look away.

Not quite ready to decide yet? OK fair enough. Have you noticed my shorts? No pleating or plaid to speak of so there goes any hope at comfortably dismissing me as a dork or preppy. Even more perplexing is the absence of cargo, frayed or otherwise, so unfortunately I can't be classified as a stoner or meat head. These shorts are indeterminable in terms of brand name, style, and purchase price. For all you know they could be designer shorts fresh off the Milan runway or those of the $5.99 variety I shoplifted from Target.

Pretty much the same story with my shoes.

Even now as I stand to acknowledge the arrival of a female acquaintance you can't seem to peg as a friend, lover, or former lover your feelings towards me remain as allusive as ever. Assuming for a moment that this woman is my girlfriend would that even help? I mean her face is cute enough but her chest is a little underwhelming to say the least. OK ass. Plus you're not seeing a whole lot in terms of affection between me and this mystery woman so perhaps she's just a friend. She's got kind of an annoying laugh to be a close friend though. Maybe she's my sister. Yeah that's probably it. But then again, what do you think about a guy just hanging out in the park with his sister. It's nice I guess but defiantly not awesome or anything.

So where do we stand, you and I? You think I'm cool don't you?

I'm certainly charming enough. At least it appears that way. Even though I'm not within earshot folks nearby seen genuinely amused by my banter. Well there's one guy that looks a little put off but he's wearing linen pants so he's most certainly an asshole. In fact, his disapproval even helps my cause. If assholes hate me then you should like me because you're not an asshole. You hate assholes. Although the fact that I'm talking loudly enough for others to overhear while not wearing a shirt certainly doesn't bode well, regardless of how witty and personable my demeanor may be.

Admit it. You hate me.

Well, looks like it's time for me to go as I put back on my t-shirt at such an angle that it doesn't give you the pleasure of seeing if it happened to promote any band or product that I may have a strong opinion about. Sorry about that. Doesn't look like this is going to get settled today my confused friend. Perhaps next time I'll wear some kick ass sunglasses or a super gay hat that helps tip the scale one way or the other. Until then either loathe or enjoy the periodic visions of my sweat speckled chest, neither toned nor flabby, and the ceaseless second-guessing that comes with it.

My name is Adam if that helps. I know it doesn't.

S.T.R.A.W. origins / Hugo Eyestay

2010-03-12T11:57:00.018-05:00

[Two guys sitting at a bar]

Tim: Ugh.

Dave: What's the problem, Tim?

Tim: Nothing.

(uncomfortable silence)

Dave: C'mon man. Something's up. Lay it on me.

Tim: It's just. . . I mean. . . Look, we've been coming to this beverage dispenser for a while now.

Dave: (a little to proud of himself) Many many years.

Tim: And we sit at this table, we talk about this, we chat about that, we have a few laughs. . .

Dave: That we do.

Tim: It's just that. . . and I don't mean to complain. . .

Dave: Spit it out man!

Tim: The beverages we drink. The receptacles they reside in. They're so far away from our mouths.

Dave: What do you mean?

Tim: It's like this. So there's the liquid conveyor-

Dave: Ben?

Tim: Yeah Ben, the liquid conveyor.

Dave: I love Ben!

Tim: Yeah Ben's a great guy. I'd fucking take a bullet for Ben. That's not the point. Shut up!

Dave: Sorry. Go on.

Tim: The liquid conveyor. Ben. He's got all the beverages there behind his embankment. His job is to accept our paper and metal coins in exchange for tasty beverages that are ingested into our primary head orifice, right?

Dave: Damn straight.

Tim: OK good. So if his job is to transport the liquid from the primary canisters behind his embankment to our primary head orifice. . .

Dave: Yeah?

Tim: (rubbing his forehead) Then why am I sitting here staring at a secondary beverage canister, containing all the liquid I exchanged my hard earned paper and metal coins for, literally a good foot away from my lips?

Dave: I'm not following.

Tim: It's because you're not properly assessing the current situation. Allow me break it down for you. Let me know if you agree.

Dave: Hold on. This sounds important. Allow me to hoist my secondary canister up towards my primary head orifice so that I may partake of a sizable portion of the liquid, thereby quenching my thirst so that I may fully concentrate on, and appreciate, the self-ascribed poignant words you are about to utter.

Tim: Please do so. It will more effectively illustrate my point.

(Dave takes a big gulp of beer)

Dave: Continue.

Tim: It's like this. The vast majority of beverages, when distributed for purposes of immediate consumption, reside in a receptacle (making a hand gesture towards his glass of beer) that while adequately harboring the liquid and allowing for convenient transportation and eventual placement on any flat surface, require the partaker of the liquid to expel energy in the manner of lifting the vessel to the partaker's mouth and tilting the receptacle at a precise angle that ensures the liquid gently flows across the tongue toward the back of the throat. Any significant variance of the aforementioned angle may result in too much liquid (i.e. spill (i.e. angle too great)) or not enough liquid (i.e. prolonged thirst (i.e. angle too small)) entering the partaker's primary head orifice which, I think we can both agree, can be classified, and this is putting it mildly, as unsatisfactory.

(long pause as Dave ponders)

Dave: OK. . . Can I say something?

Tim: Sure.

Dave: I think you just blew my mind!

Tim: You're fucking with me.

Dave: No, I'm not dude! I totally hear you! Here I am, needlessly extending my upper appendage over and over again in order to move the secondary canister in a direction opposite of that which gravity would have it move when, in fact, it was the liquid distributor's duty, fucking Ben's job, to transport that liquid into my mouth.

Tim: Exactly! You're doing half his job!

Dave: I'm sitting here hoisting shit like a fucking asshole!

Tim: So you're with me!?!

Dave: 110%

Tim: OK then.

(both Tim and Dave take a big drink of beer)

Dave: So Ben's kind of a dick then?

Tim: No. I don't think so. It's not Ben's fault. It's not like Ben can magically transport the frothy beverages directly to our mouths. In order to do that we'd have to relocate our bodies behind the embankment and invert ourselves so that our primary head orifices could receive the liquid via a direct transport from the primary canister.

Dave: Like a keg stand.

Tim: Basically.

Dave: Yeah that's not really feasible. I mean patrons need to be able to partake of their beverages from the various chairs, stools, and tables located throughout the establishment.

Tim: Right. So the problem is not with Ben. We like Ben.

Dave: I'd fucking die for Ben!

Tim: The problem lies within the energy wasted in the act of repeatedly extending out upper appendages toward the secondary canister that's a full 30.48 centimeters away, and then navigating that canister in a direction opposite of which gravity would have to go, all the way to our parched lips.

Dave: It's that distance from our lips to the secondary canister that's the real problem.

Tim: Yep.

Dave: Have you considered reversing gravity?

Tim: I certainly have. Looked into it big time. Did a deep dive. It's not easy. I'll leave it at that.

Dave: Liquid teleportation?

Tim: Equally difficult.

Dave: Shit.

(long pause)

Dave: What about an apparatus?

Tim: How do you mean?

Dave: An apparatus that somehow connects the secondary canister to our primary head orifices thereby alleviating the need to expel precious energy fighting gravity and physically transporting the beverages to our waiting lips.

Tim: That the liquid can travel through.

Dave: Like a tube.

Tim: Yes! Yes! A fucking tube or some sort! Brilliant. . . But wait. . . No. . . No this isn't going to work.

Dave: Sure it will.

Tim: How? With batteries or something? I mean will you have to plug this tube into the wall and walk around the place with an extra long extension cord? Walking around like some jackass with a tube with a cord? I mean the liquid isn't just going to travel from vessel to orifice at our beckoned call. It'll require some sort of machinery and engineering to force the beverage's proverbial hand. If you have to take the time to charge your tube battery or fire up its diesel engine that defeats the whole purpose. It needs to be easier than extending our upper appendage and hoisting the secondary canister, not harder.

Dave: No dude, it won't. Air pressure. Listen. By attempting to inhale more air with your lips wrapped around the apparatus you decrease the air pressure in your primary head orifice which lowers the air pressure at the top of the apparatus. The force of the atmosphere reacts to this by pushing on the liquid in the secondary canister harder than it pushes on the air in the apparatus. As a result the liquid will travel up the apparatus from the secondary canister to our lips.

(Tim & Dave stare at each other, smiling, slowly nodding, in awe)

Tim: I say we call it the anti-gravity beverage booster.

Dave: How about the tongue tunnel?

Ben: I think you should call it the Supplemental Transport Receptacle Apparatus Wand.

Tim & Dave: Ben!!!!!!

Dave: I fucking love this guy!

The immeasurables / Rodney Booksbehind

2010-03-01T10:00:00.001-05:00

Boss: . . . and that's why it's important that we take a step back and reevaluate the whole invoice approval process.

Dave: I absolutely agree.

Tim: Me too. 110%.

Boss: Glad to hear. So Tim, since you seem to be a little more on board with the whole idea I think I'll designate you Team Leader.

Tim: Perfect. I'll promise you'll be pleased with the results. We'll work around the clock and give 120%.

Boss: That's the spirit! OK, next order of business is the Q3 budget.

Dave: Wait a minute. I agreed with everything you said. I think it's a great idea too. Why is Tim Team Leader?

Boss: Well Tim more than agreed with me. He agreed with me plus added another 10% on top of that agreement. You, on the other hand, absolutely agreed with me but stopped there - didn't feel the need to take it to that next level.

Dave: But that's not possible. We both think your idea is exactly what needs to happen. We are even in that regard. If anything I think it makes more sense for me to be Team Leader as I'm more qualified.

Boss: Tim? Thoughts?

Tim: Well Dave is better suited to tackle the project. With that I agree 150%. He's been here longer, he's more familiar with the invoices than I am, and he has a better track record in terms of completing projects in a timely manner that meet your expectations. No argument there. My only question is whether you are looking for the guy who will do exactly what you are asking for in the requested time frame or do you want the guy who will do that AND an additional 25 to 35%?

Boss: An extra 25 - 35% you say? On top of the 100? I gotta be honest with you that sounds even better than the original 110% you promised.

Tim: No, I agreed with you 110%. I promised the team would give 120%. Now I'm saying I'll complete the project within the degree range of 125 to 135%.

Boss: Sounds pretty impressive. Dave, care to counter?

Dave (really agitated now): That doesn't make any sense. Let's say this glass of water here represents all that this project encompasses. The water is the research, the project timeline, the implementation, the trouble-shooting, and the post-launch support. Now I take this glass of water and pour in into this empty glass. I pour every last drop of it. I pour 100% of the water into this new glass. Once all the water is poured the project is complete. There's nothing left to pour. I can't pour more than 100% of the water. As Team Leader I can promise you 100% effort and guarantee 100% completion and ensure 100% satisfaction. Anyone who tells you they can get more than all the water out of the glass is just spouting corporate mumbo jumbo!

Boss: (pondering).

(Tim casually leans across the table and spits into the full glass of water, adding just a little more.)

Tim: 110%.

Boss (pleased): See that there, Dave? It's the small things. The immeasurables. Anyone will tell you that.

Dave: This is ridiculous. Fine. Then let me go on record saying that I disagree with your decision 5000%.

Boss & Tim: Ha Ha Ha.

Boss: Now we all know that's impossible. There's no such thing as 5000% of anything.

Tim: Tops is like 160, 170%.

Boss: Exactly. Which is why I think Tim's our guy for this project. Willing to go that extra mile without being unrealistic. Now onto that Q3 budget. . .

The Initiation of the Termination (the beginning of the end) / Duke Roundhouse

2010-02-24T09:07:00.008-05:00

Soundly overmatched, the terminator lies on a metal grate, face down, badly damaged, reaching for its sawed off shotgun. The technologically superior T-1000 calmly picks up a metal pole, drives it into the terminator’s back, and twists the pole back and forth in a manner one can only assume would wreak maximum possible damage. The terminator reaches back in a futile attempt to stop the attack, metal screeches, the pole passes through the terminator’s solar plexus thereby impaling it on the metal grate walk-way and little lightening bolts shoot amongst and across its leather clad body. The terminator ceases to struggle and goes limp, only inches away from the sawed-off shotgun. It’s exposed mechanical eye, once glowing red, slowly dims and turns off. The T-1000, having disposed of its opponent, leaves to complete its mission: locate and terminate John Conner.

Moments later the terminator’s eye once again begins to glow. The machine is not destroyed. . ____________________________

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Guess this terrible profession / Coddle Poppers

2010-02-20T07:07:00.011-05:00

I spend an inordinate amount of time inches away from a beautiful woman I'm secretly in love with.

I have to listen to the same fucking song 50 times a day.

This woman doesn't love me back but she always smiles at me which makes it easy to think I still have a chance.

I'm cold mostly all of the time.

I'm really good at spinning and gliding fast.

I touch this same woman's butt and crotch area repeatedly whenever the aforementioned song is played but not in a sexual way.

I sometimes dress up like a stereotypical indian with tight pants when there are a lot of people watching me.

I'm judged all the time.

If I'm not extra careful at any point I could easily fall and really hurt myself.

I don't know how to do any real cool jumps or anything.

I am an Olympic ice dancer.

Several people trying to look like an elephant / Barney Pildegrass

2010-02-11T20:23:00.000-05:00

Note: The following takes place in a world free from social graces, self consciousness, regularly scheduled meals, and deadlines. In short, a world much different than ours. In long, people in this world barter ideas for goods and services in lieu of any form of currency. They keep detailed records of bowel movements and record them in pocket-sized journals that they customarily share when meeting each other for the first time. In this world glass has yet to be invented. The concept of personal hygiene exists but it focuses on body parts from the waist down rather than the waist up. As a result no one in this world has ever heard of the word "hairdo". Also birthday's are a much bigger deal here. Pretty much everybody has their birthday written down all over the place (did I mention that in this world people have terrible long term memory? No? Sorry, they do). Since people are always forgetting their birthdays they often jot it down on white boards in their offices, write it in their grocery lists, in their bowel movement journals, spray paint it as graffiti in their own homes, and sometimes tattoo the date on their forearms. Since there are no windows (see above concerning glass) it's commonplace for people to paint elaborate scenes on walls, doors, and buildings. Oftentimes these scenes depict what very well may be going on on the other side of the wall or door which makes it all the more puzzling that no one has figured out how to make glass. I mean they have radios and damns and nuclear weapons and have figured out the assembly line and all that - why no glass? It's odd. But I digress. . . In the scene below several people from this world are attempting to make themselves look like an elephant by contorting their bodies and such. This type of thing wouldn't be all that strange to encounter in this world as the person to look the most like an elephant would have a pretty good idea on their hands which could be exchanged for a decent meal or a ride to the airport.

Narl: Not bad but your feet are too close together.

Toon: How about this?

Narl: Better but still not doing it for me.

Deppi: Have you considered using a fake leg?

Toon: The thought crossed my mind but I thought the whole purpose was to was to attempt to look like an elephant without the use of a costume or other props.

Klux: I don't know. I think certain inanimate objects could be used as long they were used in an abstract way with a creative spirit and didn't include pieces from an actual elephant or elephant costume.

Firl: Hey guys! Look at me! Check this out!

Deppi: No Firl. You're doing it all wrong. That's how we were all doing it yesterday but it looks more like an elephant if you use your left arm as a trunk like this. The way you're doing it you look more like an anteater. It's missing a certain 'regalness' that the elephant undoubtedly exudes.

Firl: So you mean like this then.

Narl: No Firl. You're legs are crossed and they shouldn't be.

Klux: Fucking Firl.

Toon: If I use my right arm for a little support I can stick out my butt out like this and provide the illusion of a powerful hindquarters while maintaining the the whole truck idea with my left arm.

Klux: Tilt your head a bit and stick out your tongue. Might even look like tusks.

Toon: (tongue sticking out) Wike Dis?

Deppi: Wow!

Narl: Ho - ly Shit.

Klux: If you squint a little that could almost pass for a bonafide elephant!

Firl: Hold on let me try. . .

Deppi: Again, Firl, not even close.

Klux: It's settled then. I think inventing glass is a super idea. Thanks Toon!

And just like that, this different world became just a little less different.

13 punchlines I've heard where I missed the setup / Hilda Offshoot

2010-02-05T19:49:00.011-05:00

. . . Well if you would've looked in the freezer you could have saved us both!

. . . Now that's what I call a baker's dozen, cousin!

. . . Was that an echo or is God mocking you?

. . . If I would've known you were a midget I would have ordered half.

. . . It was a ball park figure, not Paul Bark's african american friend.

. . . I'd answer the door if I didn't have to touch that damn knob.

. . . That explains why the sheets are made of meat.

. . . If that's a tumor then call me Cancer Jones!

. . . Oh shit! We left Tina in the Dairy Queen!

. . . Nope. Pretty sure they're all dead.

. . . Rob Lowe Job

. . . I'm sorry. I was told there'd be popsicle trousers.

. . . three boob Charlie.

. . . He may be Chinese but he sure as hell ain't from China!

. . . More like the opposite of James Van Der Beek.

A last minute prophesy / Ned Den

2010-02-01T10:19:00.000-05:00

It started out as just an every day excursion, a quick trip to the neighborhood ATM to get some cash. About a half block away from the bank he suddenly got the feeling that something big was about to happen, as if his own fate were reaching down and shaking him awake from his day-to-day stupor through life. His senses were suddenly heightened and he became aware of each step he took, the significant event only a few moments, a few feet, away. Each passerby seemed to do so in slow motion, oblivious to his fast approaching wonderment. Suddenly he could hear far off birds chirping, make out every word of surrounding cell phone chatter, and was cognizant of the sound of tires crunching the gravel on the street. It was seconds away now. He took in a breath through his nose knowing it might be his last as the man he knew. Nothing would ever be the same.

And then it happened.

There, exiting the bank, walking in the opposite direction, was none other than Steve Buscemi.

Larry & Frank / Joan Hype

2010-01-26T11:14:00.005-05:00

INT. DINER – MORNING

LARRY (48, unkempt, wearing an old, beat up coat with mismatched hat and scarf) enters, quickly scans the room, and takes a seat in an empty booth. He lifts the menu in front of his face, engrossed.

FRANK (33, handsome and confident, wearing designer winter attire that’s two sizes too big) enters. He stands just inside the door, scanning the room, referring to an unfolded piece of paper. After a moment he notices LARRY and the empty seat across from him. He approached the booth, removes his jacket, and has just begun to slide into the seat when the WAITRESS approaches.

LARRY: Chicken cacciatore and a bowl of clam chowder.

WAITRESS: And for you?

FRANK: (still shifting in his seat, getting comfortable) Coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin. Thanks.

WAITRESS: You got it.

[WAITRESS leaves]

FRANK: So. . . I obviously got your note. Mind telling me what I’m doing here?

___________________________________________________________

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Braille / Duncan Toots

2010-01-22T10:10:00.005-05:00

The ATM near my apartment has a message near the keypad written in braille and english that states "This atm offers audio assistance for the visually impaired."

And I suppose that's pretty great. It doesn't explain how it works though. I mean, I see no button that activated this feature. There's no retinal scanner that determines whether or not your eyes work. If I'm blind and I walk up to this ATM and read this message with my fingers what exactly am I supposed to do next?

Do I yell "Activate audi assistance" or do I just state, "Hello. I'm blind and I require $60. My secret pin is 55721. No receipt necessary. Thank you kind money machine."

Of course I don't know for a fact that's what it says in braille. I can't read braille. Perhaps in braille it says, "Press any key twelve times in a row and receive a complimentary $100. Consider it reparation for living life without the gift of site or kudos to those who can see but still learned to read braille for some reason."

My dad explaining Avatar to my uncle / Flinch Hindsight

2010-01-15T21:10:00.006-05:00

We saw this movie the other day. Arvantard I think it was. At first I didn't think it would have much of a plot because it was one of those action movies but it turned out to be pretty good. They had these creatures that lived in this, like, fantasy world or something. But the regular people needed their land for gold or some other type of important fuel or treasure. To tell you the truth I don't know what it was they were after but they basically just tore the place to shreds. It was pretty incredible really. Then they had this group of scientists that came up with a way to get into the creatures bodies. They could then control them and try to learn their ways. Well one of these guys was a marine and he ended up becoming their leader basically. The Nabi I think they were called. The creatures I mean. The Nabi. Yeah, I think that was it. Nabi. You know it would be interesting to see if there was an Indian tribe called the Nabi because the whole story was kind of like the Indians here. You know with the land and all that plus they kind of dressed like Indians. They were also really connected to nature. Yeah I remember that. When the Army came and blew up their tree home you could tell that the Nabi were really screwed at that point. Not that we ever did anything that bad to the Indians or anything but the message was pretty clear.

Anyway I thought the movie was really something.

Monk book regret / Hum Neeber

2010-01-08T08:47:00.014-05:00

You should have bought the weird book from that monk guy. What the fuck were you thinking?

Shit.

It's too late now. You said "sorry" and "no thanks" and walked onto the subway leaving the monk guy standing on the platform, smiling.

He didn't seem crazy or anything. And he seemed to really want you to have his book. It all happened so fast it's hard to remember exactly what he said - something along the lines of "you look like a kind person" or "I couldn't help but notice you were an interesting individual". Whatever it was it didn't sound like the typical bullshit you hear from the guy begging for change outside the deli or the guy trying to sell his hip hop cd's. Actually that's not entirely true. The words themselves were the same bullshit but this time, with this guy, it somehow seemed sincere. Then he said his name was Ben or Bret or Andy or something and he was a monk. Then the train started coming. That's what fucked it all up - that fucking train. You looked at the train and he saw you look at the train so then he looked at the train and he knew he had to hurry. He pulls out this book and opens it to a page with a picture of a bunch of people standing in a row holding what looked to be a string of lights. The monk said "we started out here" and pointed to a person standing on the far end of the row. Then he pointed to the other end of the row and said "now we're here". The folks holding the lights might have been naked. You're not sure, you just nodded your head. By then train had arrived and the doors were opening. The monk had run out of time and could explain no more. He offered to give you the book and only asked for a small donation in return. You politely refused.

And now you're here.

And there he goes.

Fuck!

This guy, this book, could have changed everything. I mean it probably wouldn't have but what did you have to lose? All he wanted was a donation to cover the printing costs. That seemed reasonable. I mean this wasn't just a pamphlet or anything. This was a legitimate hard cover book with glossy color pictures. It could have been yours for $5. Fuck that, it could've been yours for $2. He definitely would have sold it for $2. Monks don't haggle. Christ, if you weren't so quick to dismiss him he might have given it to you for free. But no, you let your inherent misgivings of strangers yield the controls once again and you left the monk, his book, and his teachings standing there on the platform. Nice. And here you on your way back to your same old life coming from your tired old job.

Fate brought the monk to you. If you had waited for the next train the monk would've explained that to you. He would've answered your questions about God. You would've said, "Of course!" and "Exactly!" and "It all makes sense now!" Real change could have happened.

But you couldn't give a stranger $2. You couldn't wait for the next train and be a little late for dinner.

You should go back.

He's probably still there - looking for other kind people. That's it. You should totally go back!! . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fuck it. That would take forever.