THE WHITEHOUSE EFFECT

Bad news, friends. According to satellite imagery, the Greenland Ice cap is melting far faster than anyone had predicted it would. Twice as much ice is dropping into the ocean today as just five years ago. It’s a dramatic trend environmental scientists fear could have major impact on the world climate.

And do you know what’s REALLY scary? The folks in Washington don’t want you to know about it.

The Bush Administration originally dismissed the concerns as “fuzzy science,” but has since announced the development of a “roadmap” to environmental wellness called “No ice left behind.” The 600-page proposal, which has not been made public yet, is said to be littered with practical, if less-than-helpful, suggestions on how to deal with the global warming, like moving away from the beach. The ambitious initiative also includes a plan to counter rising temperatures by enforcing a one-week period every year during which every home and business in the world with air conditioning must jam their unit on high with their doors and windows open. According to a section of the report released to the media on Friday, “The collective effort of all those cooling systems blasting at once should be sufficient to reverse the trends we’ve been seeing. And if we need to run a few fans, too, that can’t hurt either.”

All joking aside, the Bush Administration actually tried to prevent a NASA scientist from making these reports public. Jim Hansen is the director of the NASA Goddard Institute for Space Studies in New York, and President George Bush's top climate modeler. When he approached the administration with this news, they more or less told him to put a sock in it. Here’s a quick link to the article for your reference.

On the other side of the spectrum, hard core environmentalists are now predicting all of humanity will be under water within the next 72 hours. RUH-ROH!

The truth, as always, is neither here nor there.

YOU LOVE ME

You love me not.

You love me.

You love me not.

You love me.

You love me not.

You love me.

You love me not.

You love me not?

What?

No. I don't think so. Don't lie.

You know you love me.

ASS TRAFFIC

I work at a small marketing firm, and our office is located on the top floor of a renovated loft building in Chicago’s West Loop Warehouse District. Our office bathroom, for your reference, is situated just outside our main office in a common hallway. While the hallway is common, our agency bathroom is not. Or, at least it’s not supposed to be.

All week we’ve been noticing an awful lot of traffic out in that hallway and yesterday morning our worst fears were realized. It turns out folks from the office next door have been john-hopping – descending upon our throne whenever theirs is occupied!

Late yesterday, one of the partners here decided to casually bring it up to it up to one of the partners next door, who was quick to apologize for the extra business they’ve been sending our way. According to our neighbor, their architecture firm has been on a hiring spree of late and, with only one bathroom in their office, there’s been a lot of crapper traffic. Because we possess the only other commode of transpooptation on the floor, we’ve been catching their daily overflow. To make matters worse, the increase in activity has been occurring at particularly busy times, between 9-10:30am (after morning coffee), then again between 1-2:30pm (after lunch). In the business world, these time slots are also known as Flush Hour.

Since it is OUR private bathroom, and stocked with OUR private supplies, we politely asked if they would be able to keep their bathroom activities to their own bathroom. They apologized and agreed to stink to their own side. As I am sure you have already guessed by now, it was not long before they reneged.

This morning, after taking a visual audit of office occupants, I scampered off to use the restroom – confident it was vacant. But it was not! I tried the handle twice to be sure and it was locked. I was not pleased. To let the occupant know how surprised I was to find it locked, I rammed my shoulder into the door forcefully as if to bust it open. The offending occupant uttered meekly, “Just a mo-ment!” The tone in his voice assured me I had scared the shit out of him…literally perhaps.

I immediately retreated to my desk, bursting at the seams in more ways than one. My first instinct was to walk into the office next door, drop my pants, and dangle a hearty russet coil all over their nicely-buffed wooden floor. But that’s always my first instinct when surrounded by architects. My second instinct was to urinate in a plastic cup and – honestly, it’s really not important. The important thing is what I actually did, which was my 6th instinct.

I lifted a sheet of blank white paper from the printer tray and uncapped a Sharpie. The marker squeaked loudly as I scrawled a note in large CAPITAL LETTERS:

ENOUGH ASSHOLES USE THIS BATHROOM ALREADY – WE DON’T NEED YOU IN HERE, TOO.

I marched back out into the hallway and slid it under the bathroom door.

I’m hoping the unwelcome crapper got the message. If not, I am going to have to resort to plan B.

Plan B: The door handle has one of those small holes in the center, so to unlock it, all one needs is a toothpick or a needle. If our john gets raided again tomorrow, I am going to pick the lock, swing the door open, snap a photo, and disappear into the stairwell. I will then wallpaper the neighborhood with fliers featuring that photo:

“WANTED: Suspect known only as the “Turd Burglar” has been reported breaking into the bathrooms of area businesses to steal unflushed excrement. The suspect should be considered armed and pungent. Please avoid direct contact and always keep a clean bowl."

VICE PRESIDENTS OF MASS DESTRUCTION

Vice President Dick Cheney inadvertently made a case for stronger gun control this week when he “accidentally” shot a hunting buddy firing at a rising covey of quail. The victim was an acquaintance and contributor who thought Cheney meant something entirely different when he said the Republican Party needed a “shot in the arm” prior to upcoming mid-term elections. Initially outraged, most Americans were quick to forgive the Vice President upon learning that the man he shot was a lawyer.

The news got a little worse for Cheney when it was later reported the victim had suffered a minor heart attack thanks to some birdshot that had penetrated his internal organs. THEN today it was revealed that Dick had sucked down a beer at lunch that fateful afternoon. Tomorrow I'm expecting they will announce that Cheney has been legally blind for over a decade.

President Bush has remained out of the spotlight over the course of this drama, but unconditional support for the Veep has been implicit in his Foreign Policy philosophy: Shoot first and ask questions later.

Some have expressed concern over Cheney's admission to drinking a single beer at lunch, as everyone knows that one beer means at least three. Ask any state patrol officer who's ever pulled over a DUI suspect. They've got a cheat sheet for assessing true consumption levels based on admission:



If they admit to..........Then they likely had...
1 beer........................3-4 beers
2 beers......................5-8 beers
A few beers................No fewer than 9 beers
4 or 5 beers...............12 beers and several shots
6+ beers....................A controlled substance of some kind

According to administrators at the event, a small situation developed after the hunt when, on the way back to the parking lot, Dick asked, "Who wants shotgun?" and everyone within earshot scrambled for cover.

Want to try your hand at a little quail hunting Dick Cheney style? Click here. Be sure to check out the featured article after you take your best shot – it's a fucking scream.

A White House Story: "I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!"

Don't be silly, Dick. You'll shoot a contributor's eye out!



*******************************************


Get yours today! Hot off the presses...a bright orange “Duck! Cheney” T-shirt.

You know you want one.

BROKEBACK TO THE FUTURE

McFly is open! Check out this nicely crafted trailer for the upcoming movie starring Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd called Brokeback to the Future.

What’s up, doc?

OINK AND CLICK

I never knew how much a simple drawing of a pig could reveal about my personality! According to this Draw a Pig Personality Test, I’ve got a great sex life. Sweet! Of course, I didn’t need to draw a pig on a computer to know that. The alarming rate at which I lose underwear is testimony enough. But enough about makin’ bacon – go draw a pig and find out what it says about you!

Besides, naturally, the fact that you have too much time on your hands.

HAPPY V-D!

Something about that doesn't sound quite right.

TRAFFIC JAM

Stacy Keibler naked. Stacy Keebler naked. Stacy Kiebler naked. Stacey Keebler naked. Stacey Keibler naked. Stacey Keebler naked. Stacy Kebler naked. Stacy Keibler pics. Stacy Keebler pics. Stacy Kiebler pics. Stacey Keebler pics. Stacey Keibler pics. Evangeline Lilly nude. Evangeline Lily nude. Evangeline Lilly naked. Evangeline Lily naked. Evangeline Lilly pics. Evangeline Lily pics. Stacey Keebler pics. Stacy Kebler pics. Stacy Keibler nude. Stacy Keebler nude. Stacy Kiebler nude. Stacey Keebler nude. Stacey Keibler nude. Stacey Keebler nude. Stacy Kebler nude.

Don’t mind me – just an experiment to see if this drums up a few more web hits.

From what I understand about Search Engine Optimization, people searching for naked celebrities will be directed to visit AYNtK. They might consider it misleading of me to advertise naked pics of celebrities in this way, but I call it fate.

If you are reading this post because you came here looking for naked pictures of celebrities, don’t be discouraged. You were meant to find AYNtK. I am fate’s monkey, and I type what you are thinking. I am here to tell you that looking at photographs of naked women is not what you need to be doing right now. You need to be getting back to work – you ARE the President of the United States, after all. I would have expected this search string out of Bill, but not YOU!

DECORATIVE TOPOGRAPHY

Some close friends of ours just had a beautiful baby girl, so Geri and I drove out to meet their newest edition over the weekend. During the drive out, Geri’s 5-year-old (the H-man) initiated a very interesting discussion on breasts. In the question-and-answer session that followed, Geri carefully explained to the H-man that girls have boobs so they can feed their babies. The H-man was noticeably perplexed upon learning this interesting factoid, so Geri asked him, “Why did you THINK girls have boobs?”

“I don’t know,” he wondered aloud, “For decoration?” It is clear that the H-man is wise beyond his years.

“Well…” I chimed in with a laugh, “That’s not entirely untrue.” Geri could not disagree as we both admired his profound insight. Hard to fight the logic of a 5-year-old when there’s an entire cosmetic enhancement market thriving on the concept of decorative topography.

Given his new understanding of the biological purpose for breasts, the H-Man went on to make several brilliant observations, including: “So girls with big boobs don’t have babies, because if they did then they wouldn’t have the big boobs. They need babies,” he said, sure of himself. Or attention, we mumbled to each other. And then, of course, came the question that was sure to follow.

"Why do boys have boobs?"

Walking him through the mysteries of gender differentiation from Asexuality to Zygote would not have been a good use of time, so we defaulted to your standard blow-off-the-child-with-too-many-questions-phrase and offered only: "I don't know, dude. That's a good question."

In related news, a team of researchers studying the possible causes of homosexuality have identified one of the first signs a male child might be gay, illustrated in this photograph (removed). Results of the study are not expected to be final for another 14-18 years.

WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

I'm not going to stop pestering you until you push a pin in my Guestmap, dammit. Do it now!

(Unless you already have, in which case you can expect the winds of change to carry good fortune your way.)

DEAR AYNtK...

Thanks to Stevie Wetnap for sharing this bit of pop hilarium. Click on the image to enlarge.

Congratulations on the new bay-bee. Try and keep her off the tequila til she's at least 2, would ya?

OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN!

There are a lot of signs I am getting older, but the most disturbing, by far, is that I’ve noticed myself breaking wind in public without even noticing it. It just happened at the water cooler. I was filling up my ceramic mug with hot water to stir up an afternoon cup of hot cocoa when I suddenly caught wind of something dreadful. That’s when it dawned on me that I had just loosed a gaseous ass beast. I fled the scene of the crime immediately, but was followed closely by the persistent brute for a good minute or so before finally losing the stinky bastard out on the fire escape.

When did I get so old I stopped noticing that I was farting? It’s something I remember my sister and I giggling about when we were kids – our great grandmother shuffling about the house, farting noisily and entirely unaware of it. And here *I* am – much younger, and outside the comfort of my own home – letting slip heinous air biscuits as carelessly as I might sniffle or clear my throat.

Maybe it’s got nothing at all to do with age. Maybe I’m just losing my mind. I’ve clearly let down my guard where social embarrassment is concerned, recklessly polluting the air with utter disregard for any humiliation it might cause me. I wonder how many times I've been trapped in an elevator wondering who farted, when all along the guilty farty was me. There it is again! That smell! I think I need to call the gas company because I've definitely got a leak.

****

On a separate note, someone just informed me that the Olympics have started. I had no idea the Olympics were so near. Did you? Aren’t those marathon runners going to get cold trekking about in all this cold weather?

What's that? Winter games? Oh.

I knew that.

FREEDOM OF INFORMATION

Here's a rumor so outlandish I had to check it out on Snopes. Turns out it's TRUE.

Instead of dialing 411 and paying $1.00 or more for information through your phone company, you can call 1-800-FREE-411 and get information for free.

Something about this didn't sound right to me, so I investigated. Turns out there are nearly 6 billion information calls are placed every year, and most of them are assessed a hefty service fee by the service provider. But 1-800-FREE-411 has taken a different tack. They receive your request just like 411, but while they're looking up your information, instead of having a live operator burp salami into the line on the other end, they run a few seconds of an ad. Unless you have a cocaine habit, the difference in the amount of time spent on the phone is negligible...and they'll even offer to connect you for free, just like 411.

I haven't had the opportunity to try this bad boy out yet, but sounds like a great way to avoid all of those expensive service charge add-ons my phone company likes to pile on every month. Next time you need a little 411, remember to dial 1-800-FREE-411 and let me know what you think!

FREE EXPRESSION OR PROPHETEERING?

Not since South Park has a cartoon managed to offend so many people so fast.

Last September, a Danish newspaper asked cartoonists for submissions on the subject of the censorship of Muslim issues. They published 12 of the drawings they received featuring the Muslim prophet Mohammed. Some of the drawings, it has been suggested, were not done in great taste. When word of the “blasphemous” cartoons got out, Muslim protest ensued.

As you know, nothing draws a crowd like a crowd, and with protest came curiosity. Folks around the world wanted to understand WHY there was such public outrage over a few fucking cartoon drawings. Since they’d become such a hot topic, a number of other European newspapers decided to publish the cartoons – an editorial decision which, in hindsight, served to both educate the curious masses and enrage angry Muslim protesters from Baghdad to Bangladesh.

Apologies were demanded. But instead of apologies, Western newspapers and governments defended their publication of the cartoons as free press and expression. That institutions of the West would defend blasphemous caricatures of the revered prophet Mohammed further infuriated the nation of Islam. And, as Jim Croce astutely observed, "You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the old lone ranger and you don't infuriate Muslims." The gauntlet was officially thrown down.

One of the newspapers in France that published the cartoons had to evacuate after receiving bomb threats. Protesters threw firebombs and rocks at the Austrian Embassy in Iran. The Danish Consulate’s building in Lebanon was torched. Muslims around the world, from Afghanistan to Pakistan to Indonesia, have been protesting pretty much around the clock. Rioters are throwing stones and knives as they attempt to gain entry to Western embassies and air bases. Police have fired upon crowds, inciting further violence. Sales of American flags skyrocketed as eager rioters rush to burn the stars and stripes. [Sidenote: If I were a flag manufacturer, I'd be focusing my distribution efforts on foreign markets. Think about it. Old Glory can last 20 years or more flying from a flagpole in Flagstaff, but won't last ten minutes out of the plastic in Fallujah.]

The most extreme government protest came from Iran, which fanned the flames of this controversy by cutting off all trade ties with Denmark. Then the President (of Iran, silly!) announced a government-sponsored cartoon contest soliciting drawings that mocked the holocaust. Yes, really. He said he would be curious to see how the Western media would treat such “freedom of expression.” Not to be outdone, an online vendor here in the States (Metrospy) has announced it is now selling T-shirts with one of the offending drawings on it. The scary thing is that it's quickly become their biggest selling item.

So by now you've got to be wondering: Where the hell can I find these horrible cartoons? I would post them here for you but that I have little desire to become any more of a walking target than I already am. Instead, I’ll just refer you to the fearless folks at the Brussels Journal. Click here and judge the controversy for yourself. They're all posted at the bottom of the page for your review.

Much ado about nothing if you ask me.

ME-OW!

Have you seen the addictive Flash game Kitty Cannon? You basically have to see how far you can launch a cat using a kitty cannon. Warning: Like Sudoku, once you start it's hard to stop. I must have blasted that pussy for a good two hours last night.

Need a little incentive? Until you top 1477, you are my beotch!

PROCRASTINATION STATION

Need a little break in the middle of your day? That’s what I thought. Check out this fun diversion. Keep your cursor away from the meanie for as long as you can. He’s got a few tricks up his sleeve, so watch out! Oh yeah, and you have to stay on the blue mat or your time will reset. Enjoy!

Warning: This guy is a persistent bastard.

CREATIVE BRIEF

It's okay...we can stop talking about the Super Bowl commercials now. Really. It's the same shit every year. Everybody gets super excited to watch the commercials because we don't give a rat's ass who wins the fucking game - and then all we hear about the next day is how shitty the commercials were. Every year. People need to lower their expectations just a tad. Not every :30 TV ad can be a staggering work of genius. Here's why:

CREATIVE BRIEF
11:47 a.m.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar, I am in advertising. Creative advertising. Direct marketing. Persuasive communications. In fact, if you do any kind of marketing at all, you should e-mail me – I guarantee I can improve your marketing ROI. But enough sales – today I want to tell you about how creative advertising gets done in the real world.

Every once in a while I’m sure you see or hear an ad you really like – a cute outdoor board, a clever television spot, a funny radio ad, etc. But what you don’t get to see are all the good ideas that never made it. In fact, most of the best creative work gets shit-canned before the client even sees it. Really. All my best ideas end up in the recycling bin, literally.

What happens, typically, is a client calls with a particular need. A new logo. A web site. A direct mail package. An integrated marketing campaign: signage, take-ones, splash URL, postcard mailings, fulfillment DM - you name it. The need could be anything in the realm of marketing communications – from basic strategy decks to pretty PowerPoint presentations. Sometimes a client doesn’t even know what they need other than to get more people to buy their stuff, so they ask us to provide a little guidance – which we are always more than happy to do because we're in the business of getting people to buy things they don't need with money they either don't have or ought to be saving for social security's inevitable insolvency.

After the needs discovery phase, creative deliverables are itemized and a completely unreasonable schedule is drawn up. That’s because most people looking for creative marketing don’t understand the triangle principle.

...............^
...........GOOD
........./...............CHEAP.....FAST


In the world of advertising, and indeed in most business endeavors, the triangle principle is the golden rule. Simply put, you can choose any two sides you want - but ONLY TWO. So you can get your marketing good and fast, but it won’t be cheap. You can get it good and cheap, but it will take forever. Or you can get it cheap and fast, but it won’t be any good. Sorry, that's the way of the world. Economists call it opportunity cost. Everything comes at the expense of something else. Quality for speed. Speed for price. Price for quality. Etc.

Unfortunately, as I stated earlier, most people looking for creative marketing don’t understand the triangle principle – they come in looking for, and expecting, all three sides! So it then becomes the agency's challenge to deliver on the illusion that we are good, fast, AND cheap – when the fact of the matter is I'd have better luck getting a sponge bath from Stacy Keibler than hitting that improbable Trifecta.

So how is “creative” work actually created?

Basically, once a job has been “kicked off,” it ends up in the hands of a creative lead – someone whose job it is to ensure the job is completed on time, on strategy, and within budget. That would be me, and sometimes we actually achieve one of those basic objectives.

“Creative” department folks like to stroll in late, surf the web, suck down a shitload of coffee, and come up with pages full of rockin’ ideas only we think are brilliant. We loaf around until somebody calls a meeting during which everyone sits around in a highly agitated state and argues for really bad ideas. These are called brainstorming sessions – but they should be called ass-storming sessions considering all of the crap that gets thrown around. Still, submersed in all of that crap is usually a gem of an idea or two. I can usually spot that gem right away - but you've sometimes got to wait a while before other people come around to it. The trick to getting good ideas produced is to avoid ramming them through, but instead let people think they discovered them on their own. Sometimes that means patting someone else on the back for your stroke of genius.

Eventually, the creative team will come to a consensus on a kick-ass idea we all think has legs. Ten minutes later we all let loose a collective sigh when we realize the client would never go for it. That’s usually when I stand up and suggest we show the client our idea anyhow since we all think it's the best one in the room. Everyone chuckles at the absurdity of the notion as though it were offered in jest, and I walk off to get another cup of coffee comfortable in having spoken my peace. The best idea is officially killed and we move on.

By meeting's end, we typically wind up settling on the third or fourth best concepts which we then comp up for client review.

The gate-keeping account folks on the client side reflexively second-guess pretty much anything in those concepts that might be even accidentally considered offensive (otherwise known as "entertaining") and have us tone the creative down. So we tone it down and send back a mere shadow of the original concept, which is then passed around again where about a dozen different people (consulted randomly in the hallway) drop their pants and pee all over it because everybody's a fucking ad wizard. The disheartened, dispirited creative team then must sift through a damp list of comments reeking of irrelevant criticism and inane suggestions.

The final route of the concept is shattered and reassembled chinese menu style, where everyone's comments are incorporated so that the resulting creative work pleases no one. Although everyone agrees it could be much better, this is what gets "approved." At this point it gets sent to the client's legal department where the copy is modified further to remove anything that might be mistaken as humorous or insightful, and a litany of legal disclosures are added.

The resulting piece of shit is produced and THAT'S what you end up seeing, reading, or hearing. So let's cut the ad folks some slack. We're doing our best to rock your world - we just have a hard time convincing everyone else in the chain to roll with it.

I HOPE THAT SOMEONE GETS MY...

55-year-old Harvey Bennett was a curious boat captain. Not bi-curious in a “I wonder what that would feel like” kind of way. But more like, “I wonder what would happen if I let sail five plastic bottles in the ocean off the coast of Long Island, NY.” Just your average, everyday curiosity about life and the world around him.

So last August, Harvey did just that – he let sail 5 plastic bottles in the ocean off the coast of Long Island, NY. And inside each bottle he included a message along with his address, asking for a reply.

Last month, believe it or not, Harvey actually got one! It was a letter sent all the way from England. Here’s what it read:

“I recently found your bottle while taking a scenic walk on the beach by Poole Harbour. While you may consider this some profound experiment on the path and speed of oceanic currents, I have another name for it, litter. You Americans don't seem to be happy unless you are mucking about somewhere.”

The letter was signed by Henry Biggelsworth of Bournemouth, Dorset. A fucking prick if ever a fucking prick there were.

“I kind of felt like no good deed goes unpunished,” said Harvey. It’s true, Harvey – not that your relatively harmless act of curiosity could be considered a good deed. Still, it certainly deserved a better reception than the venomous reply you received in the post. We have another name for uninspired cynics bent on ruining memorable life experiences for other people: asshole. That he took the time to scold you, and all Americans, in a thoughtfully crafted reply is a sad reflection of his dreary life.

If I were you, I’d return to your spot off the coast of Long island with a truckload of empty bottles, stuff them with cigarette butts and fast food wrappers, and send them off to your “friend” beyond the sea to thank him for his reply. “I recently received your reply and wanted to send along a token of my appreciation – several hundred glass castaways you can shove up your fucking ass, you cheeky bastard. Your friend, Harvey.”

CHUCK THIS OUT

Let’s face it, Chuck Norris is the man. Always will be. And if the list of Norrisian facts I posted a few weeks ago wasn’t enough to prove it, here’s a link you need to check out. It’s a compilation of little known facts about the legendary American assbeater. Read it. Study it. Memorize it. There may be a quiz, and it may be administered by Chuck Norris.

Failure to recognize Chuck’s power may result in your swift expiration. Consider yourself warned.

Your guide to everything Chuck

NOT SUCH A BAD IDEA AFTER ALL

Idiots of the world prosper! Some would call this idea brilliant...but only in hindsight. Who would have predicted so many advertisers would have rushed to get their name on this guy's Internet ad board?

It’s called the Million Dollar Homepage and it's a single web page on which you will find a massive mosaic of advertisements. Apparently, this guy started selling pixel space on his “billboard” and the concept caught on fast after he managed a little press. SO many people came to check out the site, more and more companies wanted to get in on the action.

Now it’s the ultimate opportunity for online advertisers to get noticed.

It's a fun place to find niche advertisers - move your cursor around the screen a bit and read what some of these sites have to offer. Then go fuck yourself. Sorry, my monkey got a hold of my keyboard again. BAD monkey!

THAT'S LIFE

I was hanging out at the pharmacy this morning, as I like to do on Friday mornings, and I noticed an advertisement on the counter. It asked I felt distracted. Trouble focusing? Restless? Disorganized? Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Then it suggested I may have something called Adult ADD.

Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. Can you believe that shit? And guess what…there’s a drug to help with it! Can you imagine the luck??

There’s another name for Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. It’s called LIFE.

Listen…there’s a lot of shit going on in the world and trying to keep track of it all is not easy. All the gadgets and devices and technology invented to make our lives easier really only make things more complicated by giving us more things to keep track of.

Remember how nice it used to be before cell phones? If someone needed to reach you, they called you at home and left a fucking message. Today, everyone you know has direct access to your person at all times. And the shit you have to pay for now? There are cable bills, Internet cable bills, cell phone bills, and countless other niche services out there nickling and diming us to death. There’s IPOD and Blackberry and BlueTooth – and warranties and rebates to keep on top of for all of that shit. Pagers and PDA’s and phones that play video. Plasma televisions, LCD monitors, DVD recorders. And technology changes so frequently you’re always upgrading something to keep up with the times. A new television. A new computer. A new MP3 player. A new digital camera. A new car. A new satellite radio. How many big-ticket electronics did you buy over the past couple years? Growing up I had a single Atari 2600 system, television was FREE, and I shared a telephone with three other people. We didn't even have an answering machine until the mid-80's, so if nobody was home, you had to call back. Those were the days. People actually had time to spend and money to save.

Shit ain’t like that today. Folks are always on the go. Gotta stay connected. And with so much information at our disposal, it’s no wonder we feel overwhelmed. It’s not Adult Attention Deficit Disorder...it’s Busy Fucking World Disorder. More shit to buy = more shit to keep track of = less time for family = less money in the bank = A.D.D.


I’d like to update the classic Hasbro board game “The Game of Life” to be relevant to the times. There’d be plenty of new squares out there:






Try crystal meth – Lose 10 turns and $10,000

Your identity was stolen! – Lose 5 turns and $5,000

Your spouse runs off with a foreign artist – You’re single again!

Health care costs increase again – Pay $2,500

Child molested by Catholic priest – Pay $2000 in counseling for 5 turns

Insurance company refuses to pay claim on technicality – Pay $4,500

New home in suburbs much farther from work – Pay $100 per turn in gas

Hit and run drunk driver puts you in hospital – Lose 4 turns and pay $15,000

Your oldest son is an addict – Put him back in your car and pay $250 for 3 turns

Alcohol becomes a permanent part of your life – Pay $150 per turn

You’ve got Chlamydia! Wash your hands before every turn

Car towed again – Pay $50

Paternity test reveals you ARE on the father! – Pay $20000 per turn for 18 turns

Corporate scandal wipes out your 401K – Lose your entire savings

You’ve got lung cancer! – Skip ahead to House of Reckoning

War in Middle East takes the lives of half your children

Arrested committing armed robbery to feed family – Lose 20 turns, spouse, and kids

Move to Utah – Add 4 spouses and 22 children

You’ve been sued! – Hand all of your money to the lawyer on your right

Plastic surgery goes bad – Lose spouse and $20,000

Spouse has child out of wedlock – Lose spouse or pay $2500 per turn to raise child

New season of Survivor hooks you – Lose one turn

Hurricane blows through – Lose home, one child, 8 turns, and $50,000

Get hooked on designer drug to treat Adult A.D.D. - Lose $100 per turn and your sanity

CHECKING I.D.

There was an article in the paper earlier this week in which an individual who claimed to be one of the principal and primary architects of the concept of Intelligent Design defended the base of the belief. Essentially, as I'm sure you must all well know by now, the claim is that life is too complex to be attributable to chance. These people obviously managed to attain their sheepskins without ever having had to master math or statistics. Seriously, how arrogant is it for us to think that we are too wonderful to be the products of fortuna, even across billions of years (and perhaps billions upon billions)? Are we even sure this is the first universe ever? Given how little we really know, is it not possible that, prior to the Big Bang, there were 10 other or 100 or 1000 others?

Further, to that....why is it not every bit as conceivable to say: "Hey, this universe has been around roughly 15 billion years...and has 250 billion galaxies, each with millions of planets...it was BOUND to happen, sooner or later!"


OPEN LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE DALLAS NEWS:


Subject: Sunday, January 29, 2006: Stephen C. Meyer: "Signs of
intelligence"

Date: Sun, 29 Jan 2006 22:34:27 -0600

How ironic that an article titled "Signs of Intelligence" would be so completely devoid of any.

Mr Meyer, a Cambridge PhD, no less, would have us believe that biological systems within our world are so complex that the only feasible explanation is Intelligent Design. Mr. Darwin first published his landmark and controversial theory in 1853, the same year in which:

The population of the 31 United States was 20 Million Free Persons and 2 Million Slaves.

Franklin Pierce took over the presidency from Millard Filmore.

Singer just applied for a patent for his new sewing machine.

The Crimean War was being fought.

"Around the World in 80 Days" was still 20 years off!

In the succeeding 150 years, we've established international air flight, envisioned and built the Internet, been to the moon, discovered and conquered disease (remember, in 1853, Louis Pasteur was still trying to convince people to wash their hands prior to sawing people open, and we used leeches in an earnest attempt to cure bullet wounds to our President 10 years later), and have opened our eyes to our universe which is presently estimated to house 250 Billion galaxies. In all that time, though, our only proposal to advance Mr. Darwin's theory is to say:

"It's just too complicated for Darwin's framework. Must have been done by a greater intelligence than our own."

How about this? There are 250 Billion galaxies, each with millions upon millions of stars. The universe is roughly 13 Billion years old. That's a lot of time and a lot of places for incredibly complex things to come about of their own accord. And that's only in our universe. Many scientists postulate that this universe is only one of multiple dimensions. Still others question if universes have been created and destroyed, ad infinitum, for all of time.

That's a lot of gray area to eat into the certitude of attributing all life to a divine intervention. Look how much our own world has changed in 150 years. Isn't it a bit small-minded to rule out the inumerable possible machinations of billions of locations across billions of years?

SOMETIMES YOU GET MORE THAN WHAT YOU PAY FOR

The Nike "swoosh" logo was created by a design student who received $35 for the effort.

Quite possibly the steal of the last millenium.

FATE OF THE UNION?

President Bush delivered his State of the Union address last night, but making headlines was an episode involving Senator Hillary Clinton in which she was heard uttering an endless stream of obscenities. According to reports, one of the electronic components in her central nervous circuit board shorted out, resulting in a motor malfunction. Witnesses say she shook and vibrated uncontrollably for 22 seconds, repeating the phrase: "That asshole can suck my dick" over and over until a handler was able to repair the shorted wiring. Hillary is seen in this AP photo stuttering on the word "dick." There has been no official word on whether or not she actually has one, a mystery insiders say is best left unsolved.

SPAM HUMOR FOR YOU

A little boy goes to his father and asks, "What is Politics?"

Dad says, "Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I'm the head of the family, so call me The President. Your mother is the administrator of the money, so we call her the Government. We're here to take care of your needs, so we'll call you the People. The nanny, we'll consider her the Working Class. And your baby brother, we'll call him the Future. Now think about that and see if it makes sense."

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said.

Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his diaper. So the little boy goes to his parent's room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny's room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy say's to his father, "Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now." The father says, "Good, son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about."

The little boy replies, "The President is screwing the Working Class while the Government is sound asleep. The People are being ignored and the Future is in deep shit."

CHIMPANZEE-MAIL

Thanks to Lainey for passing along this viral marketing gem. Have fun customizing monkeys like me and sending voice greetings to everyone you know! Try out the different voices - and when you type in your personal greeting, think phonetically to make sure the computer pronounces it right. Hours of mindless fun, my friends.

Without further ado, I give you Monk-e-mail.

ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW

Just wanted to let everyone know that I just looked down and noticed I am wearing plain white socks with my black dress shoes and gray wool pants. So if you've ever felt entertained, informed, or mildly amused by something you've read here, you should know that it was the work of a man who can't even dress himself. That is all - please go back to work, you slacker.

MAPQUEST

"Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography."

- Paul Rodriguez

JOY IN MUDDVILLE

Today, the Exxon Mobil Corporation posted record profits. Again.

And not just record profits for Exxon, but record profits for any U.S. company. I should further qualify that. Today, Exxon posted record profits for ANY U.S. company EVER in the history of our great nation. I don't know about you, but it sure makes me proud to be an American. HAY'LL YEAH! Fill me up, baby. I'm living the dream of making men in expensive suits filthy fucking rich. And do you know what? They deserve every cent for providing me the luxury of transportation. Thanks to their product, I don't have to live next to the place I work. I can live miles and miles away in a nice neighborhood and still get to work every day, whether I choose to drive, cab, or take the bus. Thanks to refined oil, I can see my parents whenever I want, which I would do more but for the high price of gas. Thanks to gasoline, I can go wherever I want whenever I want - even pick you up on the way! Yeah - gasoline rules.

The last time they posted record profits (last quarter, I believe), I was a little hard on those bastards. I've had some time to think about it since then and I've since come to the conclusion that they have every right to charge whatever they want for gas. I just want them to be honest about it. Don't tell us gas is expensive because of the war in Iraq or the high price of crude or a shortage in the world's oil reserves. Tell us gas is expensive because they're running their business as any publicly traded company should be run - with shareholder interests in mind. Record profits = stock price goes up.

It's just too bad that consumers didn't have the vision to see how so many areas of our lives would become dependent on a single resource provided by an alarmingly few companies - not to mention how dangerous that is. We keep moving further away from our jobs and our friends and our loved ones to get into bigger and better houses - and now we must pay the ferrymen if we want to remain connected. I can't complain anymore - where I live and what I do are choices I make. I can always move.

The surest way to save on gas is to use less of it.

WANNA GET AWAY?

Here's a real-life Southwest Airlines commercial from Cambridge, England.

According to reports, a visitor to the Fitzwilliam Museum tripped on his own shoelace at the top of a flight of stairs, took a tumble down them and crashed into a window sill - bringing down three Qing dynasty Chinese vases from the late 17th century. Oops. Wanna get away??

One good trip deserves another.

The vases had been donated to The Fitzwilliam Museum in the city of Cambridge back in 1948, and were among the best-known artifacts in the museum's collection. They had been safe on their window sill perch for 40 years before crashing to the floor. The museum director was kind in the wake of the accident: "It was a most unfortunate and regrettable accident, but we are glad that the visitor involved was able to leave the museum unharmed."

The Museum has reported intentions to put the Qingty dumpty collection back together again, despite its many fragments.

SPAM I AM

To all of my well-intended friends who continue to send me warnings year after year that my cell phone number is about to be released to a plundering horde of telemarketers, please visit this link.

This recurring SPAM nightmare is not true, yet continues to live despite my numerous attempts to kill it with heavily promoted doses of the truth. Please share this message with your friends so they will sleep better at night. The only people authorized to call your cell phone number are the people you have given it to. Or the people who found it scribbled in pen on the bathroom wall.

That's all you need to know about that.

TODAY IS THE DAY

They're gonna throw it back to you.

MICROSOFT OFFICE SWEET

AMERICAN IDOLS

Israel has ruled out peace talks with the Palestinian government now that it is controlled by the radical Islamist group Hamas. Ruling out peace talks, incidentally, is a strategy that has never once in the history of mankind led to peace. And with Iran ramping up their nuclear program, it’s really only a matter of time before there’s all out nuclear war in the Middle East. The Doomsday Machine is warming up…so if there's anything you'd like to do in your life, do it now. You've probably only got a few years left before WWIII.

Meanwhile, back here in the States, we’re more concerned with things like gay cowboys and washed-up celebrity dance-offs. And did you hear that Reese Witherspoon was given the same dress to wear for this year’s Golden Globe Awards as Kirsten Dunst three years ago? Of course you did – it was big NEWS.

There’s bigger news out there. Like the president’s support for warrantless surveillance. Two years ago he said it was illegal and not something his administration supported. Now he’s saying it’s a necessary evil in the war on terror. What changed between then and now? He got caught doing it – that’s what changed. Privacy and freedom are being painted over one small presidential stroke at a time. But who can argue if it’s all in the name of home security?

“They that would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety."

Contrary to popular belief, these words do not belong to Benji F. They were included in a book he helped publish, but Ben did not write them. That doesn't make them any less powerful or relevant, however. Our Commander in Chief is making sure he has absolute authority on all matters of security in order to be effective in the war on terror, when absoulte authority clearly conflicts with the ideals that make our country great. Consider Russia. They've always gone about things a little differently, censoring the media, spying on citizens, etc., and they've been no more successful combatting the Islamic Chechen rebels than we were at preventing a handful of religious zealots from thrusting a fiery blade into our gut and altering the course of history. Making us less free does not necessarily make us more safe.

If anything, it makes us more scared. Not only do we fear the terrorists, we come to distrust and resent the people we presume are protecting us from them.

But this is just one of many topics of discussion I'd suggest is more relevant to our lives than whose party Paris Hilton ended up at last weekend, as newsworthy as that is.

You know what else is news? There’s a man about to be confirmed for the Supreme Court who many believe will attempt to overturn Roe v. Wade. Democrats oppose the decidedly conservative Alito, while Republicans support him. Ho hum...what else is new? And because the Republicans are in control of Congress, Alito will be confirmed next Tuesday. Why is this news? Because this guy's his rulings, like all of the Supreme Court’s rulings, will have the power to change America - and, more importantly, your life. But never mind that – did you see American Idol this week? Yeah - that was some funny shit.

I wonder what those three would have to say about Alito.

Randy: “You scare me, dude. I mean, all that stuff you talk and your record and stuff. Dog – I don’t know.”

Simon: “Paula?”

Paula: “I don’t know. I kinda like his look. It’s hip. The glasses are cute. And you seem like a genuine well-intended individual.”

Simon: “Paula, you’re being too kind. Listen to what he’s saying. He’s an absolute disaster of a nominee. Alito – you have zero judicial talent. You’re not even qualified to decide what to eat for lunch. I’ve heard enough. Randy what do you say?”

Randy: “Sorry dog. I’m just not feeling ya.”

Simon: “Paula?”

Paula: “You know…I think you’ve got a lot of heart, but I’m just not sure if you’re right for this country right now. Keep practicing though.”

Simon: “Okay then. Thanks for coming in. Are we going to get any real nominees in here today?”

A PAIN IN THE ASTERISK

Are you fine with the fine print? I'm not. I'm in advertising - I love hiding shit in the fine print. Exclusions, limitations, and restrictions all live in the fine print. Dates and dollar amounts like to lurk down there as well. Unfortunately, the fine print is giving asterisks a bad name. Any time you see an asterisk or a little cross next to a word in sales copy you immediately assume a scam is afoot. It's just not fair to the asterisk, who is only trying to be helpful.

Let's consider rebates for a moment. I fucking hate rebates. HATE rebates. Hate hate hate hate hate hate rebates. Fucking just give me the damn thing at the sale price already instead of making me work to get money back. That's a load of camel crap. Yet you find rebates all over the fucking place - most often on high-ticket items like cars, cell phones, and computers. And it's no secret why - they're great for driving sales. Rebates from “factory incentives” to “manufacturer discounts” let retailers advertise their products at drastically reduced prices so people think they're getting a bargain. What you’re really getting is shafted at the register, then sucked into an abyss of dubious details and pointless paperwork.

"If this computer is advertised for $899, why do I have to give you $1099? Oh – I need to send in a rebate for $200? Okay, that’s fine. What do you mean I can’t do it until after I’ve registered the product online – that could take a while since I’m not wired for service yet. And when I finally am registered, I need what? A copy of the UPC code from the box, the original receipt, a shipping invoice, a copy of my birth certificate, updated credit report, my SAT verbal score, and a note from my mother? What the fuck. Keep the $200 – I’ve got a life to live here, you fucking bastards." Rebates fucking blow.

Look in the Sunday paper at all of the bargains “after rebate.” You can get cell phones and cable modems for FREE if you’re willing to take the rebate challenge. What’s the rebate challenge? The rebate challenge is the series of hoops you’ve got to jump through to get YOUR money back. And the hoops are made intentionally difficult - to promote what folks in the retail piracy industry call “breakage.”

That there's a name for it should tell you all you need to know.

Breakage is the term used to describe the failure of busy folks like you and me to apply and qualify for rebates. Most industry estimates put breakage rates at 40 fucking percent! Yes, rebates have become all the rage for the simple reason that people are lazy. We don’t like collecting and filling out paperwork and mailing stuff in. And the more time that expires after your purchase, or the lower the rebate amount, the less likely you are to respond to the rebate offer. So that extreme value you got on your notebook computer wasn’t really a bargain at all. Not if you threw away the box it came in. Not if you can’t find your receipt. Not if you failed to apply for your rebate before the expiration date. It's all in the fine print.

I don't know about you, but I can think of nothing more inviting than the thought of curling up on a Friday night in front of a raging fireplace with a hot cup of cocoa and a long-winded rebate form.
















Did you know that 50,000 of TiVo’s 104,000 new subscribers never redeemed their mail-in rebate offers. That’s a jackpot for the genius who designed the offer. Here’s another note of caution for you. Rebate checks can take MONTHS to arrive. You need to stay diligent and check on the status of your rebate. Sometimes these companies will “forget” to send you your money. And when they do send it, it’s typically disguised as “junk” mail in the hope that you’ll discard it. The industry word for uncashed rebate checkes is “slippage.” Again, good to know that it happens so frequently there is a name for it. Not to mention mathematical models that calculate its projected profitability.

Geri just got a “free” modem for ordering Comcast high-speed Internet service. Her “free” modem cost $80. She can get that money back, however, if she responds to two separate rebate offers. As if one rebate wasn't going to be difficult enough. Each rebate has a separate form that needs to be completed...paperwork I imagine is immediately shredded upon receipt. The rebates also require copies of the purchase receipt and shipping invoice as proof of purchase. There’s a transaction order number that must be submitted. Each offer must be sent separately and the redemption forms are only available ONLINE. Remember - she’s getting a cable modem here, so she's not even set up to get online yet. Here’s the part I love. Not only does she need to download the forms off the website, but they also want proof that she has paid for a month's worth of Comcast Internet service. To prove this, she’s required to include a copy of every page of her first statement – which of course wouldn't arrive for a month after she ordered the service. Someone doesn't want Geri to get her money back.

Last night she got online to print out the rebate form and - lo and behold - it wasn’t available any longer! They’d replaced it with another rebate form for another offer with different qualification dates. All of this crap you have to go through to get fucking $80 back - $80 she shouldn’t have had to spend in the first place since the damn cable modem was advertised as fucking FREE!

It’s all in that little asterisk, my friends. I don’t know about you – but I am not fine with the fine print. Unfortunately, the only way we’ll ever get rid of rebate offers is to follow them through to completion. We have the power to reduce breakage so that it’s no longer profitable for companies to lure you in with deceptively low “final” prices. If the retailer wants to negotiate a deal with the manufacturer on their own time, I'm all for it. Leave me out of all that crap and just give me the damn sale price.

With all of this slipping and breaking, we're really not saving anything.

HAMASIDE BOMBERS

According to officials, the Islamic militant group Hamas has won a landslide victory in the Palestinian parliamentary election. The forecast for Israel is continued bloodshed with frequent periods of suicide bombings. I think the UN should step in and take Israel away from both sides. If they can't play nicely together, they can't keep it. Maybe we can get Trump to invest and turn the holy land into a massive 1,000 hole golf course. Jerusalem Lakes Country Club. The Glen at Bethlehem. Palestine's Par Three. Putt Putt's Dead Sea Mini G.

LET'S HAVE A TOAST

EAR'S TO YOU!

I REPEAT

I just found out that when people use the phrase, "You can say that again," they don't actually want you to say whatever it was over again.

I wish someone had told me this a long time ago. And here I thought people were calling me "Short Bus" because of my height.

CRASH!

Here's something I bet you didn't know. The collision capital of the world is Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. Believe it or not, more cars are wrecked there per capita than anywhere else on the planet. It's so bad, most folks don't bother performing any routine maintenance on their cars because most cars don't last longer than a year!

SMELLY FARTADO

I’m like a turd – I wanna float away
I don’t know where my bowl is
I don’t know where my throne is
I’m like a turd – I’m gonna float away
I don’t know where my bowl is
I don’t know where my throne is

THINGS I WONDER

Why are left-handed folks called Southpaws? Shouldn't it be Westpaw or Eastpaw? Are right-handed people considered Northpaws? Maybe Southpaw is supposed to be a polite way to say "the other hand," since we wouldn't want to say folks are either right-handed or wrong-handed. There's just something about using the word Southpaw to describe lefties that doesn't work for me. Southpaw sounds like a guy who's always got his hand down his pants...which I guess would make me a southpaw. I think that would make all guys southpaws, since hand-in-lap-nesting is a genetically encoded trait common to all men.

I don't know. Maybe it's time we rethink the "southpaw" misnomer.

SPOILED CHILDREN BECOME ROTTEN ADULTS

Sometimes you gotta be firm. Thanks to Karen & Randy for this inspiring pic!

LONG LIVE THE KING

At 7:45 a.m. Eastern Time the incredible happened. I don't know why I am giving you Eastern Time when I live in the Midwest, but bear with me. It's been a long day.

Were the mysteries surrounding the universe to thank for this anomalous occurrence, or had Mother Nature simply hiccupped? I really cannot say. Have I been witness to the next stage in human evolution and development? Again, I cannot say. All I know for certain is that this morning’s freakish incident was the strangest thing to have ever happened to me in all the years I’ve been alive.

I need a moment to think about this.

Our government is constantly working on top-secret projects involving stealth technologies. Folks at the Pentagon have spent billions developing an array of highly destructive weapons possessing signatures so small no radar can detect them – yet these munitions, and the remarkably swift vehicles designed to deliver them, remain hopelessly visible to the naked eye. Are there any among us who can testify to having witnessed firsthand a sparrow carve up the firmament at mach 2? I would presume not.

Today, by the Gods, I perfected a technology.

At 7:45 a.m. Eastern Time, from the comfort of my bathroom, I unwittingly perfected the physics of stealth technology. My prototype possessed no signature. Long into existence, it’s physical composition and location remained unknown. Here is what I remember.

Having completed a satisfying strain over my commode, I readied a wad of Charmin to mark the event’s conclusion. As I reached back and looked down, I made a startling discovery. The bowl was empty. I immediately stood up, turned around and inspected the porcelain depository. I studied it from every angle, but saw only my ghost in its reflection. There was nothing there – nothing at all. Yes – I had produced the world’s first documented case of invisible poo.

Now, for background, you should know that I've produced a varied collection of colonic products over my many years, but never anything like this. It was as though I had conducted my own private Philadelphia Experiment in the laboratory of my tiny, one-bedroom apartment. Doug Henning would have been proud.

In retrospect, I’m hoping this was not just a one shot deal. I've since taken care to catalogue every edible consumed in the hours leading up to that fateful event in an attempt to reproduce the transparent stool. If there is a formula, it must be documented for science. The implications of a discovery like this on the hope and future of mankind are monumental.

I understand there will be dissenters among you. Proof of an invisible turd is not easy to come by – I couldn't very well ask a neighbor to fish around in my toilet for independent verification of the discovery. At least not while I wasn’t willing to do perform that “doo” diligence myself.

Suffice it to say, I know what I accomplished. And should I be fortunate enough to manage an equally untraceable movement again, you can bet I will be bringing this remarkable advance in the development of stealth technology to the attention of the greater science community.

A molecular physicist I am not, but I believe reconstructing this momentous singularity is a de-stinked possibility. And now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to the throne for more research.

GAME ON!

Guess who’s back on the radar?

No, not HIM. Guess again.

No, seriously. Guess again.

Okay, I can see this is going to take awhile. I'll just tell you. That slippery bastard Osama Bin Awfullyquiet! Yeah, really. I was just starting to miss that guy, too.

Apparently the Al-Jizonya network was delivered an audio tape with the voice of O…O Sa-ma.

O…O Sa-ma.

Sorry, just busted into a little Ready For the World there. I couldn’t help it. You know how it is. Anyhow, according to the Chief of Turban Warfare, more death and destruction are in the works…UNLESS…and that’s a BIG unless (which is why I capped it)…UNLESS we take him up on his truce offer. Yes, Osama is offering the United States of Infidelia a truce. The details of the truce are a little bizarre, but no one’s ever accused that Brokeback Fugitive of being conventional. According to the tape, El Terrorino is offering peace with all Muslims in exchange for a pimped out Volkswagen bus, ten crisp two-dollar bills, a garlic-flavored Slurpee named “Hawk” after Bruce Willis’ least memorable role, a carton of Virginia Slims Ultra Lights, and a foot rub from G-Dub himself.

Bush has not officially responded to the truce offer, but insiders say a counter offer is not likely to include the foot rub. Most are guessing it will, on the other hand, include a long hearty chuckle and a big fuck you.

THE NAKED TRUTH

Does anyone else have difficulty urinating naked or is it just me?






Nevermind then. Forget I mentioned it.

MR. CAB DRIVER

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to drive a cab for a living. I imagine a life in traffic, surrounded by people who don’t know where the hell they’re going and driving like they don’t care if they ever get there. I’d spend hours daydreaming of all the things I could do with the time saved not showering.

Yeah – driving a cab would be sweet.

I’d probably want to get a dog to cruise around the city with me, which would mean the front seat would be off-limits for passengers, costing me a fare here and there…but the company of a wind-loving buddy riding shotgun sure would be worth it. Plus, then I could blame the godawful stench in my ride on a canine co-pilot with an unhealthy appetite for unrefrigerated leftovers. Cool. I think the best part, though, would be never having to stop to use the restroom.

Yeah – driving a cab would be the life. Make my own hours. Drive my own route. Take my own sweet time.

Growing up in the city, I think I learned everything I know about driving from cab drivers. I was often in awe watching them slice through traffic, bullying their way through intersections, and actively ignoring the majority of traffic laws. I’ve been working on a number of their moves, but have only perfected one of them – my favorite – the “Fucking Jackass.” It’s a brilliant cut-off maneuver predicated on the understanding that if the front bumper of your car strikes any part of another vehicle, the contact would appear to have been initiated by your failure to yield. It is with this in mind that a cab driver can skillfully jockey for position, darting in from any angle, daringly wedging the front of their cab into the two feet of space between your vehicle and the one in front of you. Once their vehicle is technically in FRONT of yours, you are forced to either brake or make contact.

The move is impossible to counter. You can blow your horn all you want…even speed up to close the distance – but once that cab's bumper is an inch ahead of yours, the game is over. All you can do at that point is declare your frustration with a hand gesture and windshield-muted insult: “Fucking jackass!”

For your amusement, here’s link for anyone who’s ever wanted to be cab driver. Take this poor chap for a spin.

Big fun!

THE TAMING OF THE FOX

Dr. Faber sent me a lead this week, hoping I’d be willing to take on the bull-headed Bill O’Reilly head-to-head. The topic? My choice, actually.

Earlier this week, the popular Fox News Channel talk show blowhard challenged his viewers to debate with him on his nightly program. Scheduled to air February 7, 8, 14, 15, 21, and 22, six winners will have the opportunity to spar with the Big O on the topic of their choice.

Cowboy Bill is not afraid.

“You want a piece of me?” he asked on his show this week. “Would you like to sit on this set right here and let me have it? Of course you would. Now, now that can happen.” The pompous egomaniac went on to warn viewers to be careful what they wish for.

Sorry, Dr. Faber – there are some people you just can’t argue with and O’Reilled Up is one of them. I wouldn’t stand a chance under the heat of all those lights. He's polished and he's got technique. He knows how to berate and belittle his guests, overbearing them with loaded questions while painting his "no spin zone" full of hyperbolic modifiers and descriptors from "ludicrous" to "outrageous" to "insane" to "completely ridiculous." And the irony of the "no spin zone," of course, is that labeling it a "no spin zone" is actually SPINNING the program as a beacon of objectivity in a sea of sugar-coated partiality - when anyone who's ever watched the show can tell you it's about as spin-free as the Fox News Channel is "fair and balanced."

But some folks are gluttons for punishment – so I’m sure O’Reilly will have no problem finding people to “debate” with him. Anyone up for tackling the impossible can enter by e-mailing OreillyContest@foxnews.com.

Generally speaking, debates serve the purpose of sharing perspective with the goal of influencing opinion. But, by and large, most people already have their minds made up beforehand – especially those willing to bring their POV to a worldwide television stage. As a result, there aren’t going to be any epiphanies on the Factor. No one is going to make a point so strong and irrefutable that the other person instantly sees the light and changes his or her mind. It seldom, if ever, happens. The human ego doesn’t work that way. We tend to cling to our beliefs, even when we know we are and have been misled, misinformed, or grossly mistaken. This is ESPECIALLY true when we are making our case in front of a lot of people. It would be hard to imagine a presidential debate during which one candidate stops in the middle of a counterpoint to admit:

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t know why I’ve been arguing against school vouchers. Choice makes far more sense. Pouring money into failing schools is not the answer. Choice encourages competition, which weeds out the weak and improves performance over time. I concede this topic to my opponent. Next question.”

Debates don't work that way. And in party politics, members are told what position to support for unity's sake. Tow the line or get out of the party. Those members particularly popular with the people with have a little more latitude - but not much if they're counting on party money for re-election. Interestingly, those politicians who stray from party lines are the ones who intrigue us most. Senator John McCain, for example, is a Republican who's got a record of challenging his party on major issues. We the people like stand-up personalities like McCain - party stalwarts do not. The issue is credibility. Who has more of it - the pol/pundit who argues each issue independently and on its own merit, or the one who stands in predictable support of the party platform? That's a rhetorical question, please don't strain your brain giving it serious thought.

But parties DO simplify things for people who don't have time to think about important decisions that affect our daily lives. Party affiliation means you can find one or two major issues (usually something socially divisive like abortion, gun control, or capital punishment) that put you in one camp or another and then punch a straight ticket on election day without having to bone up on the consequences of the countless policies your vote is potentially setting into action. Talk about punch drunk.

A part of me wishes we could just vote on the issues via referendum instead of having to elect representatives to vote for us. That would make America a true Democracy instead of a Republic...but true Democracies are equally flawed in that minority opinions are not well represented. Tweaking form of government is risky business with widespread implications, so when I become Lord Supreme I promise not to change things up too dramatically...at least not at first. Sometimes the devil you know does make better company. It's just so hard to find a single public servant representative of your entire body of beliefs. There's always going to be some degree of compromise. That's why I've always been a big fan of the www.selectsmart.com site. It’s a great place to find out which political parties and religious groups would have you as a member.

But now I've rambled on for far too long. Is it lunch time yet?

THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE ABOUT MARY

Here’s a page for the ages. It’s a quick photo quiz featuring head shots of men and women who all look like women. Your job is to spot the she-males!

I am proud to report I scored 15/16 on this – and the one I did miss was intentional because I couldn’t believe I was getting them all correct. I guess I just a have 69th sense for this kind of stuff.

Enjoy!

OEDIPUS RUMSFELD

SHIT

FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. SHIT.

Papercut.

FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. SHIT.

SOW IN THE DARK

Scientists in Taiwan announced today that the've successfully bred three pigs that glow in the dark. This is no joke, people. They claim theirs are the only pigs in the world which are fluorescent green through and through. Technically speaking, the pigs are transgenic, created by adding genetic material from jellyfish into normal pig embryos. I guess the hope is that Christmas ham leftovers will someday double as a nightlight. Or perhaps sausage links will become easy-to-eat glow-in-the-dark treats. They could start serving sausage nibblers at the movies.

This little piggy glowed all the way home.

How the hell is crap like this going on in my world? Unless...NO! Unless it's not my world anymore. Oh shit.

I'd better go feed the meter after all.

WIRELESSTRICITY

I was midway through demolishing the single most fabulous pork taco ever created when I had the latest in what has proven to be an impressively long line of perfectly brilliant ideas. I know – you’re not surprised at all.

Here it is. Think power. Think wireless. Think wireless power.

Everywhere we go we’re bombarded with the word “wireless.” But we’re not wireless at all. Look around you. There are fucking wires everywhere. The fact is, while we’ve weaned ourselves off of wires for transferring coded packets of information, we’re still hopelessly tethered to the wall for power. Sure, that laptop works on a battery – but not for long. Even your cell phone, which has a long battery life relative to the wireless life of a notebook computer, must be plugged in for a recharge every few days.

Beyond those few technological devices we’ve retooled for convenient wireless access, think of all the crap in your home that lives only because it is tied to your wall. Virtually every appliance and light fixture, big and small, requires the power delivered it via direct electricity to function. Now, imagine the freedom of wireless power.

What if we could, by the same means we transmit signals to enable wireless communication, transmit power from a main power source to a remote power source? Yes, my friends – I’m talking about a truly wireless society.

Did I just give you the chills? I’ll try harder then.

Think about the table lamp you wanted to put in the middle of the room but couldn’t because you’d have to run a long cord under the carpet. In my vision of the future, that same lamp operates on an internal battery cell that is recharged wirelessly. How? I don’t know – my mind doesn’t think in terms of details. I just come up with the big idea and let someone else make all of the money bringing it to life.

But if I had to imagine “how” this would be done, I’m thinking that all of those outlets in your house would make perfect WRT (Wireless Recharging Transmitter) Stations. Instead of having sockets, there would be a flat plate, behind which would be a transmitter capable of – and here’s the part that will require no small amount of research & development – stimulating battery regeneration wirelessly. I’m imagining some kind of electromagnetic reaction inside the battery cell that can be triggered or fueled by a certain kind of wireless signal so that virtually everything can be powered remotely.

Televisions. Computers. Lighting. Fans. Cell phones. Space heaters. Radios. Toasters. Think of all those times you’ve wanted to make toast in the middle of the living room and had to drag out the box of extension cords to make it happen. Okay, so maybe that was just one time. But what about being able to walk from room to room while blowdrying your hair? Or think of how many times you forgot to charge your cellphone and the battery died. In my new world, nothing dies. Everything is fully charged or charging all the time, provided it is within signal reach of a WRT station. And there would be WRT stations everywhere we currently run electricity. So you could bring your laptop to Starbucks, tap into their WiFi network to surf the web, and keep your battery fully charged through their WRT stations.

No more fucking wires, people. That’s what I’m talking about.

No more crap hanging out of the walls. No more restrictions within your living space. Expanded freedom to do the things you want to do without being tied to a socket. No more dead batteries. Wireless power.

I know what you are thinking, and yes, I plan to keep the pork tacos coming.

NATIVE AMERICAN SONG

"We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children."

CHANGE MY GRADE TO A "B" NOW!

Thanks to E for sharing this bad boy. Literally. This little kid is an assbeater of Norrisian proportions.

POINT, CLICK, AND STOP

Since I was a kid I’ve always wanted to write a screenplay about a special remote control that gives people the power to stop time. I’d dream about what I would do with it and how I could change the world if I could start and stop time on a whim. But, like most of you, I am an enormous underachiever and procrastinator, so I am still on page one of that screenplay, at the top of the page, watching a lonely cursor blink and blink and blink.

Recognizing the probability that my screenplay isn’t going to write itself, I suppose I ought to be happy someone got around to writing it for me. You can play the trailer here. The name of the movie is “Click” and it’s scheduled for release in June of 2006.


Despite starring Adam Sandler, it actually looks like it might be good!

NOSY FINGERS

Just been sitting here at work seeing how many nose hairs I can pull out with a single tug. My record so far is 4. As soon as my eyes stop watering I’m going to go for cinco. How do these things keep growing back so quickly? Maybe I need to stop sniffing the Rogaine.

WHERE'S LASSIE WHEN YOU NEED HER?

In case you’ve been sleeping off New Years all week, a dozen miners were trapped in a West Virginia coalmine following an explosion on Monday. After 42 hours, rescue teams finally located the men and news spread of their miraculous survival. Unfortunately, the rescue teams never said they’d located the men ALIVE. This glorious miscommunication, which was irresponsibly broadcast by an eager media all over the country, resulted in much anguish when it was discovered that 11 of the 12 miners were actually dead. It was like the 2000 election all over again – journalists jumping the gun in a mad dash to break the news, more concerned with being first than being accurate.

This is the danger of words. Once uttered, they spread like brushfires and can prove impossible to contain. Reputations get ruined. Hearts get broken. Minds get poisoned. News agencies in particular, because of their ability to influence so many lives so quickly, must find a way to be more responsible with words.

I, on the other hand, have free rein to be as irresponsible with words as I want. I am just a silly monkey.

I poop now.

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE...

Walmart had to apologize this week after its website directed people who bought “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and “Planet of the Apes” DVDs to consider other DVDs with African American themes. Nice. The problem, according to Walmart, was with the company’s cross-selling system that automatically makes recommendations based on themes. Unfortunately, some of the system’s “allegedly” random recommendations were not so well received by shoppers.

How about a cross-selling sytem that tells the TRUTH instead of making every movie sound like the best movie you've never seen:

People who liked "Mr. & Mrs. Smith," also liked these titles:

Boob Raider

Mumbling Pitt & the Mediocre Plot

Gratuitous Skin, Part IV

How to Waste $20 at the Movies

Hype Over Substance

The Chronicles of Ass

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BAD MONKEY!

On the world stage, Israeli Prime Minster Ariel Sharon suffered a stroke and had to undergo emergency brain surgery. Palestinians didn’t know whether to celebrate or panic, as changes in Israeli leadership have always come with a mixed bag of hope, fries, and supersized despair. It is not anticipated Sharon will be able to serve in the same capacity as before the stroke, so the government in flux is expected to settle matters as it always has – with rock, paper, scissors.

In related news, there has been no formal announcement regarding the report NBC television has booked Sharon to host next year’s New Years Eve Countdown. Scheduled to air opposite Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Years, Sharon’s program would be called “2007: The Other Stroke of Midnight.”

I know…I know – hell awaits. In all seriousness, good for Dick. His amazing progress and recovery over such a relatively short period of time is a triumph for us all. My monkey wasn’t aware that he’d suffered a stroke when he posted earlier this week that Dick looked like Gollum in a jacket and tie. That was mean, and my monkey was spanked several times for that insensitive post. Don't bother looking for it, incidentally - it has been removed to comply with self-imposed decency standards. I'm hoping it gets me into first class when my handbasket to hell finally takes off.

“It’s time we ring in the New Year. Ring. Ring. We need to ring in the New Year. Give it to me. Give me the ring! It's so precious!”

If the American cultural icon had simply been old, that kind of mean-spirited humor works. But in light of his medical condition, it was simply cruel. I guess I need to go back to picking on booze-swilling Hollywood starve-lets. It's just not the same! *sigh*

FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT

Here’s another fine jibjab production. Make sure you click around to get the full effect.

GET A LOAD OF THESE PUPPIES

PEACEFUL, EASY FEELING

How do you feel? Are you feeling okay? Do you feel great? Like shit? Tired? Hungry? Disappointed? Sick? Pissed? Bitter? Depressed? Ecstatic? Relieved?

How you are feeling is one of those things you probably don’t consciously think about very often, yet how you feel influences your every waking moment. That’s because how you feel dictates how you behave. If you’re feeling cold, you’ll put on a sweater or brew up a cup of hot tea. If you feel lonely, maybe you’ll make a phone call or turn on the television. If you feel tired, you’ll suck down a Starbucks or squeeze in a nap. If you feel happy, you’ll smile. Feeling is like a real-time performance analysis on living.

So how do you feel right now?

******

I just want to feel good.

So much of our lives is spent trying to feel good. And that’s okay because our forefathers guaranteed us, in writing no less, the right to pursue happiness. Swell guys, those forefathers. Some governments don’t care if you’re miserable from the cradle to the grave so long as you’re contributing to GDP. And in countries like North Korea, feeling good is expressly forbidden and punishable by imprisonment. Speaking of forefathers, incidentally, I've been working on a television pilot for a sitcom called ‘Our Four Fathers.’ It's going to be a show about four kids who all had the same mom but different dads. When the mom dies suddenly in a mysterious cheese grater accident, the four dads decide to bunk up so they can raise the kids together and, as you might imagine, many hijinks ensue. I guess it's sort of like that show “My Two Dads,” but “Our Four Fathers” has, not surprisingly, four dads – so the show is going to be TWICE as funny, which, now that I think about it, isn’t really saying a whole lot. But now I’ve meandered grossly off point.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all feel good all the time? Unfortunately, as I’m sure you know, life is full of pain, disappointment, and frustration. Some of these ills stem from natural causes, such as sickness, disease, and the weather. Other ill feelings are derived from the fact that we are social creatures living in a service society – and interacting with other people, while necessary, isn’t always a pleasurable experience. Ask anyone who works in customer service. The decidedly negative byproducts of human interaction are many: traffic, crime, legal disputes, domestic conflicts, power struggles, physical altercations, manipulation, coercion, competition over resources, and so on.

But in addition to the many identified natural and social sources of pain, disappointment, and frustration, there’s a third source that merits mention: Your mind.

The next time you’re in a bad mood, stop and ask yourself WHY you’re in a bad mood. Chances are it has little to do with the freezing rain, the high school kid who screwed up your order in the drive-thru, or the flake of a friend who cancelled dinner plans AGAIN. No - bad moods are more often products of our minds. We LET things get to us. We LET the weather – something over which we have no control – sour our mood. We LET the behavior of other people, something over which we have dubiously little control, ruin our day. We LET unmet expectations spoil our appetite. Our permission is subconscious, but if we can elevate it to a conscious level, it becomes clear that feelings of ill-content are enabled, and often created, by the mind.

Like most people, I’m quick to blame pain, disappointment, and frustration on external forces – bad luck, bad karma, bad people, bad genes, bad weather, bad vibes – all things over which I have no control. When the truth is that the way I feel is largely a function of my mind. To change my mood, I need to change my mind.

Whenever I feel flustered, upset, or out of control, there’s a phrase I look to for instant solace. It’s simple, but helps me put everything in perspective:

“As long as I’m still breathing, life is good.”

I’ll say it, take a deep breath and – wouldn’t you know it? – life IS good. Of course, I’ll still be stuck in traffic, waiting in line, coughing up a lung, or lamenting the loss of my beloved Illini, but I recognize these disappointments and inconveniences for what they are….or rather, for what they aren’t: life-threatening. It doesn’t work all the time, but it definitely moves me one step away from misery. Try it some time. See if it gets you off the ledge and back inside the building.

******

There is a popular saying that, “Misery loves company.” I don’t know that that’s necessarily true. Miserable people just happen to be stuck with other miserable people because happy, well-adjusted folks don’t want anything to do with crabby whiners, bitter complainers, and steamed pouters. Do you know anyone who’s actually PLEASANT to be around when they’re in a bad mood? Besides me, of course. I didn't think so.

Geri told me the other day that one of the million things she loves about her 5-year-old is that he always wakes up in a good mood. Always. That kid wakes up and he’s ready for the world. Singing. Dancing. Laughing. Playing. How many of you approach each new day with that kind of enthusiasm? I know I don’t. I wake up more irritated than Andy Rooney. I’ve got to ease into my day…which requires a long hot shower, a mighty grail of strong coffee, and a trip to the Super Bowl with the Cleveland Browns. Then I can at least tolerate the hypnotic monotony of everyday life.

It seems to me, the older we get, the more misery we collect. Kids are wide-eyed and excited for every day – and why shouldn’t they be? They haven’t lived long enough to experience life’s most daunting ills. By the time we retire, though, we’ll have been through some serious shit. You want to see some misery? Visit an assisted living community. There you’ll find a diverse collection of downtrodden, heartbroken, and woebegone folks who can collectively say they’ve seen it all. From war to illness to natural disasters, misery has a way of sticking with you. If it didn't, retirement homes would more closely resemble dorm floors than hospital wards.

“Here’s your prune juice, Ed – now DRINK mother fucker, DRINK mother fucker, DRINK mother fucker, DRINK! Hell yeah! Who wants to do a body shot? Woo hoo! I am going to kick your ass at Backgammon, Margaret.”

Not only does our misery collect like hair in the tub as we get older, pursuing happiness gets harder, too. Kids are easy – it doesn’t take a whole lot to make their day. When was the last time YOU shrieked and danced around at the mention of the name “Chuck E. Cheese’s”? I admit I got excited about it on Sunday, but I'm a strange bird. For most people, the stuff we got excited about as kids doesn't do it for us anymore. Cardboard boxes. Weekends at grandma's. Pixie Stix. Not so exciting anymore.

Even the stuff we got excited about just a few years ago is old now. But the soul doesn’t stop wanting - it's insatiable. We fill our lives with meaningful experiences, accumulating fond memories along the way, but the more we see and do, the more difficult it seems to become to find happiness. You can only fly on an airplane for the first time once. You can only go skiing for the first time once. You can only go to Hawaii for the first time once. You can only have sex for the first time once. You can only get married for the first time once. You can only have a child for the first time once. You can only drive a Porsche for the first time once. You can only buy your own home for the first time once.

The more you do, the more you’ll have done. And the thrill, as a result, as they say, is soon gone. Meanwhile, your joints get a little stiffer each day. You eyesight gets a little weaker. Your memory gets a little cloudier.

******

So here we are, a bunch of living, breathing organisms constantly seeking comfort and happiness, regularly bombarded by pain and misery, trying to make the best out of our situations given what little we have.

Is there any way to maintain a peaceful, easy feeling?

I was thinking the other day about all of those little things I know make me FEEL good. The idea being, whenever I sense I may be slipping into a funk, for whatever reason, I can take immediate action and thwart the onset of pain, disappointment, and/or frustration. So what do I enjoy? What brings me instant comfort or relief? Here’s an incomplete list of the THINGS I know make me feel good, in no particular order:

Coffee
A nice, long shitbreak
Teaching someone something new
Two beers
Chorizo
A good hug
Making someone laugh
A long, hot shower
Writing something brilliant
Taking a nap
Self-manipulation
Marijuana (Just smelling it, of course)
Three beers
A good back scratch
Sinus medication
Exercising
Eating pizza, tacos, or deep-fried anything
Tequila
Wearing new shoes
Making music
Survivor
Playing games
Crossword puzzles
Watching sports
Cilantro
Getting a haircut
Breaking wind
Hamachi Carpaccio

There are so many other things that bring me joy - and if I wanted to extend this exercise to include PEOPLE, it would quickly grow. Any therapist will tell you that depending on others for your happiness is not a healthy thing, but we all know people who can make us feel good. Close-knit relationships can be powerfully comforting. Lying on the couch with Geri, for example, is far more therapeutic at the end of a frustrating day than any shit, shower, or television show. The important thing is to recognize the things that bring YOU joy...as well as the people, things that you can do and enjoy right now...and people you can call for a laugh, or visit for a nice, long hug. And when you need a little jolt of happiness, pop one like a pill. Now that's chicken soup for the soul.

And don't worry if you're not contributing to GDP - your four fathers won't mind. I promise. I wrote the show.

PLUNGEE JUMPING

For the person who’s got everything, how about a custom plunger? Yes, here’s a site where you can buy custom and novelty plungers. I shit you not. Check out the clear hollow handle plungers and novelty lines. Great shit!

YOUR 2006 HOOTERS CALENDAR IS HERE

Man, these chicks are hot - a bunch of head-turners. Check out the "eyes" on Miss December!

WORD FOR THE DAY

CARDJUMPING: The frantic act of adding your signature to someone else’s greeting card at the last minute because you forgot to buy a card or gift of your own.

One who cardjumps is called a cardjumper.

Think of all those parties you went to but forgot to get a card or didn’t think to bring a gift. So your eyes dart about the room looking for someone who hasn’t sealed their envelope yet so you can quietly ask to jump on their card. It happens all the time. I’ll realize on the way to a social engagement that I forgot to send a card to someone and ask my sister if she wouldn’t mind signing my name to her card. Or someone will catch me on the way into a party and ask if I brought anything, then politely suggest they give me some cash to add their name to the gift because they forgot to get one.

Cardjumping is embarrassing, but it spares you the shame and humiliation of failing to formally acknowledge a baby shower, housewarming, holiday, birthday, wedding, or graduation.

Cardjumping can be blatant, like when someone asks you a week in advance if they can hop on your card – when there clearly remains plenty of time for them to get their own card. Sometimes you’ll try to get out of it by lying, “Oh, I would be happy to – but I haven’t picked up a card yet either.” An experienced cardjumper will not be discouraged, responding, “That’s okay…just remember to add my name to it when you do. Thanks!”

Cardjumping can be desperate, like when you’ve got to steam open an envelope in the bathroom just so you can tack on a Hancock.

Cardjumping requests by immediate family members must be honored – that is a rule.

Cardjumping should not be abused. If you become a chronic cardjumper, people will learn to avoid you prior to social gatherings. Few people mind sharing signature space with a friend or family member every once in a while, but nobody likes a perpetually thoughtless freeloader. Unless, of course, he happens to be your son and lives in your basement. People don’t get any more lovable than that.

Over the holidays I had the opportunity to catch some prime cardjumping in action. On our way to a 50th anniversary party, Geri deftly jockeyed for a spot on a card, calling everyone she could think of at the last minute as we drove to the country club. Two of her sisters had already sealed their envelopes, but a third had not – disaster was averted! Or, at the very least, an impromtu Walgreens run.

One rule of cardjumping etiquette is that you should always ask the cardgiver first. Signing, sealing, and sending in secret is frowned upon. Nobody likes a conniving cardjumper presuming it’s okay to share in the glory of your thoughtfulness.

Personally, I’m done with cards. I prefer hand-scribbled notes that “tell it like it is.” Why waste all that time in the card aisle at the supermarket fishing for the perfect poem when you can write whatever the hell you want on a piece of paper?

“For my dearest George,

I think you can be sweet sometimes. You forget things a lot and don’t always have the most thoughtful things to say, but you make sure the mortgage is always paid on time and walk the dog when it rains. So Happy Valentine’s Day.

Yours truly, Jane

P.S. The garbage stinks…you may want to think about taking it out one of these days”

AUTOMATION NATION

Do you ever wonder how many years of you’ll life you’ll end up navigating automated telephone systems? Neither do I. But I bet it’s at least 5 years. Seems every time you call a customer service number these days a recorded voice prompts you to indicate your intentions with the push of a button. First you’ve got to choose your language of choice, which for some reason always makes me stop and look around to make sure I’m still in America. Then, the call is transferred and the phone rings again and you get another recorded message. This time they want you to enter your account number so they “can service you better.” Then the call transfers again, there’s more ringing, and another machine answers, this time it’s playing music. “Your call is important to us. Please continue holding and your call will be taken in the order it was received.” After a long wait, the phone rings again and another message: This call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes. Sometimes they’ll even ask you if you want to take part in a survey following the call. I always say yes so I can bitch about how long I had to wait for a live person.


Well, my friends – wait no longer! Some guy has posted a list of the quick key commands you can enter to bypass the automated system for a large number of retail and financial industry companies. Now you can get a live person on your first try!

It’s bloody fucking brilliant, and I’m not even close to British.

FOR YOUR INFORMATION

There's no such thing as too much cheese.

A WORD ON COMMITMENT

The problem with shaving your testicles is that when all of the stubble starts growing back, it starts to itch something fierce. Do it once and you’re basically looking at a lifetime of sac waxing.

Sometimes I do not make the best decisions.