$3 Flip Flop Fiasco

Blueberry Poptarts

Okay I realize that it has been WAY to long since I last posted, but to my defense I’ve been busy, very busy, doing some stuff that involves a bunch of people and we all wear the same thing.  I started a new job that came with a promotion of sorts and since I can’t really say what it is I do and who it is that I work for and all I can say really, is that I’m busy.  And contrary to popular belief I’m not dead, at least I don’t think so and if I am I never got the memo, which proves to you the effectiveness of my own bureaucracy.  And seeing as I didn’t get the memo I was in charge of writing about myself, I must say I’m not very good at running me, I may just have to fire me and look for someone else, maybe I’ll ask me to write me a good reference.  But I think not, I’m kind of lazy. 

Moving right along.  If you’re like me and I hope your not cause as you see we’re not that good of a typist and why do we have to read our own thoughts?  Alright stop we’re not going to do this anymore.  Really, stop the shenanigans! 

Since we’re on the topic of shenanigans, let’s dispel some of those shenanigans right now.  For starters my Ipod really likes Pink Floyd!  No matter how many of their songs I delete and no matter how many songs I have on there LEGALLY (for all you record companies out there), Mr. Ipod (for the record if I don’t call my Ipod “Mr.” he gets all sassy, he’s in to manners), Mr. Ipod always seems to play Pink Floyd.  I have like…hold on I’m looking…13 G’s worth of music which is about 3K songs.  And every 5th song is by Pink Floyd.  Its so bad someone came up to me the other day and asked if I was “depressed or high”, then I said “no” on both accounts, then they reply “is it because you not high”!  Seriously, I’m not making this up!  Then I retorted with “why do you think I’m depressed and or tinkering with illegal substances?”  “Well because people who listen to a lot of Pink Floyd are often depressed or high all the time.  Do you have the munchies?”  “For starters I didn’t decide to play all this Pink Floyd, Mr. Ipod did and yes I am hungry.”

Then this guy gives me a blueberry poptart and walks off!  I wish I made this up because I could morally justify what happened as pure fiction, but I can’t and for starters NO ONE gives out blueberry Poptarts to people they like, no one.  Blueberry Poptarts are reserved for an arch nemesis of some kind or for people in prison.  Blueberry Poptarts are on the bottom totem pole of the manufactured foods, bellow Twinkies, below fruit cake, and WAY bellow those things…Peeps!  Fatty chicken heart attack shaped lumps of sugar!  I’m pretty sure Blueberry Poptarts and Peeps are what they serve in hell.  At first you like “ah it’s not that bad, for hell”.  Then you learn the truth that Blueberry Poptarts are made from all the left over pieces and parts from the legitimate Poptarts, the ones people actually like.  So they’re the lips and hooves of processed foods!  Wars have been fought over who had to eat the Blueberry Poptarts, you ever heard of the War of the Roses.  It was fought way back in the day in England, well it wasn’t over a misunderstanding between the House of Lancaster and the House of York, no no no!  Blueberry Poptarts!  Yup, for starters those of you who just read that are like “Dawm, Pho Shizzle! Medieval hiztory up in this hizzy!”  Yeah, that’s how I role, you laugh, then you learn something or you just stop reading! 

Secondly, I believe that Blueberries are the most hated berry in all the land!  Name one berry that you don’t get super sick just waking around and eating where ever you find them!  You can’t because all other berries are like “Hey bro, I’m here for you, eat me I’m delicious!  Now go wash your hands, I was on the sidewalk.”  See wasn’t that nice.  The Blueberry is like “OH HELL NO!  Don’t put me in your mouth, you better stop!  Ah well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  Blueberries are only good in one thing muffins!  Yes, they have to be surrounded by warmth and goodness to taste good and even then you still know some where in yourself subconscious that something is wrong.  You just can’t put your finger on it, but it’s the Blueberries!  They’re the little daemon smurf beasts of the berry world.  So remember that before you reach for the lips and hooves of the poptart world, because sure they’re filled with what you think is good wholesome Smurfyness, but it’s actually something else…something worse.  (Shudder)

Booty Insurance and Spelling Bees

As is the tradition here I will say something, hopefully with the written word since language doesn’t go very far via the internet.  So here we go; if you know me you know I have some mildly bad tastes in things.  Such as bad music, bad movies, bland food and generally being physically uncomfortable all the time.  I like Hootie and the Blowfish, a lot, my favorite movie is so bad I can’t even watch it a bunch (it’s a 80’s B movie called Flash Gordon, terrible! But I love it).  In high school I didn’t mind the cafeteria food that much and Army food while considered extremely horrible by the general populous, in my opinion is really not that bad. 

I do love music, all kinds, types and generas, from Hootie to Jay-Z to Bobby Marley to Elvis Costello; I pretty much like anyone who puts forth a decent effort.  I can go, “Hhmm while its making the majority of the audience’s ears bleed, I can see that someone spend some undisclosed amount of time putting this all together, so way to go! Or that sounds like crap, he’s just not trying.” 

The reason I bring this up is that I saw a Jay-Lo Video on the internet and I was thinking, when you have dancers that are shaken “it” very fast with much intensity, how many dancing related injuries happen on the video set.  When there is like twelve dancers shaken “it” at the speed of sound and say they lose control of “it” and “it” goes flying off in a random unexpected direction injuring a camera man or the guy scratching your favorite records, is there insurance that covers that sort of thing?  I mean if I had to sell insurance for a living I’d sell booty insurance!  I think it’s a good concept, you’ve got some back up dancers who hang out with you and are part of your entourage; you’ve got to provide them with benefits don’t you?  I mean hanging out and being really, really ridiculously good looking is okay and all, but even Zoolander needs to plan for the future.  Think about it you’re a dancer in the latest Beyounce video and you get a lower back injury because you’re shaken “it” hard enough to make seismographs register some sort of reading and in your hustle and bustle you dislocate all your widgets.  Then you’ve got to have a plan!  The doctor bills start piling up, the only work you can get is some sort of Swanson’s TV Dinner Commercial, where you’re dancing around the cherry cobbler, come on, and no one wants to live like that, no one.  Not me anyway!

Another thing I’ve noticed about a lot of music now, not just R&B/Rap, I mean Rock and everything.  There is a lot of spelling!  What is up with all the spelling?  I thought public education had failed society only to find out that the academic subject Pop culture as a whole embraced was spelling!  I wish I could grasp good spelling skills as easily.  I didn’t think famous people cared about that sort of thing, but they support it, which is good of course.  Matt Daymond sponsoring a foundation promoting good spelling skills and a full grasp on the letters D, O, R and K, way to go Matt.  But of course there is probably a dark side to Pop culture spelling. 

You can only imagine in back alleys of America a bunch of kids standing around in a circle rap spelling!  Instead of rap battles, break dance fighting or the not so popular river dance duels, you’ll end up with the youngsters of America Spell Slapping each other. 

“Dude, kick this guy’s consonants in the face!  He probably can’t spell the difference between prestidigitation and constipation!  AHHHAAAHAHAHAHA!!”  Kids can be so cruel. 

Next thing you know the kids will be to afraid to bring their English books to class because last week Bobby McGee got shot behind the school house because some one said he didn’t know the “K” was silent!  Police frisking people looking for spelling flash cards and dictionaries.  “Where did you get this Thesaurus?  Tell us who your dealer is!  You know you can get 5 years for a code 13 or an A,E,I,O,U and sometimes Y!  You have no R-E-S-P-E-C-T for the law, none!” 

Suddenly Webster is public enemy number one.  Then you’ve got metal detectors at Spelling Bees and English teachers who have to wear bullet proof vests in class.  Rehabilitation centers for kids hooked on the vowels!  It’s a dark, D-A-R-K, dark future my friends. 

Mosquitoes and Cursing

I’m being eaten alive! One thing I’ve noticed while being here is the Tetradactyle sized mosquitoes cannot be stopped! I have every technical marvel in the known universe at destroying or simply deterring these retched beasts! I’ve got this sticky, yellow tube type fly paper thing that hangs from my ceiling that is supposed to attract and stick them to this thing and I have a blue lighted bug light. Plus I’m wearing about a gallon of Off. I think the deet will do something to me in future, probably get cancer of the big toe or I’ll be impotent, either of which I know will be unpleasant.  Plus I think that all this does is identify me better to them.  “You guys smell the deet?  Over there, by the yellow tube thing.  Yeah him, the one illuminated by the blue light! GET HIM!”

I JUST smacked one out of the air that was the size of pelican, stepped on it and it just got up, brushed himself off, gave me the finger and went about its marry day flying over me trying to find a parking spot for the buffet. I’m sure it’s going to bit me where it will be the most socially crippling place to be bitten, like the upper thigh, eye lid or ear lobe. The thigh really was uncalled for, I mean really! When you starch it looks like I’m picking at nature’s stadium cushion and that isn’t cool, because you have to explain to people what’s going on and no one ever believes you.

EEEWWWW!

No, No, No I was bitten by a mosquito!

Sure you were! Go wash your hands Sick-o!

Thanks Iraq, I’ll probably end up with a new strand of West Nile Virus and my lower torso will just fall off. Great there goes my dodge ball career.

Another thing you’ve noticed is that I’ve changed the look of the blog. I really didn’t want to but everyone complained about the 5 foot, 1 eyed purplie people eater scheme I had going on that I thought enough was enough I’ll change it, but not really. I changed it, but either I’m stupid or this software is pure evil sensing my every move because I can’t change it back to the way things used to be, so it now looks like it belongs in a fishing store.

Another thing I’ve felt like bringing up is that you’ll probably notice now that my entries have been PG rated, meaning that I’ve refrained from throwing a lot of curse words around. This is in fact because my mom, wife and assortment of other people I try on a daily basis to convince I’m not a heathen are reading this or at least going, “huh, Chi Tea, great well I just wasted 5 minutes of my life I’ll never get back”. So I'm, in no way trying to damage my street credit or anything, but I just haven’t come to a place in the blog where an F-Bomb would be appropriate. And when, one day when I’m old and I buy it, and my kids or relatives reflect on my inner most thoughts, they’ll find this junk in the vortex that is the internet, I’d hate for them to go, “37 consecutive sentences where F*(&$ appears, classy!”

Saying four letter words is far different than typing them, even though there are human emotions that four letter words express more deeply. For example, you are making a sandwich and try to cut a tomato and your finger tries to stop everything because he and the tomato hang out. So then the finger is critically wounded (BLEEPEN Finger!) and this may now constitute a trip to the ER and there is blood on my sandwich. This is something I’ve campaigned for years, why is the F-Bomb a curse word? Who decided this and why were we not consulted?

I think we should blame the English!  If you think about it the English have taken cursing to a new level. They have taken foul language and transcended it to another plain of existence. I watched a couple of English movies or talk to the English (which happens more than you think) half the time I’m like “What’s a Wanker?” Really! What is it? Why is Bloody Hell such a bad thing to say? Half the time I think they’re just free styling when it comes to cursing, which is kind of cool, in a vulgar way.

Why not have curse words that actually stand for something you detest? Say you get cut off in traffic “AH Jennifer Lopez!” or your break the TV during a Desperate Housewives Marathon “Holy Herpes!” you stub your toe “Fruit Caken Foot!” Really, that way people could get to know you better, “Well we know Tom hates the French, pants, Hippies, and stairs; he must be from the south!” I don’t know just an idea.

The Riot Grandma Started

This entry is sort of…well its me just complaining about things. So here we go fasten your seatbelts and go to the bathroom; why I don’t know it sounds like good advice. I mean really every situation in life could use one or both of these perils of wisdom. Think about it. I just realize this is a bad intro for what I’m about to say, but never the less, here we go.

Why won’t anyone listen to me?!? I mean really, have you ever had the right answer to something so seemingly obvious that it should be as easy for everyone else to figure out? Well I have and let me tell you that these situations frustrate the absolute crap out of me! For instance you’ve got a friend; this friend is fond of nature and the little beasties and creepy crawlies that exist in the wilds of the world. The type of guy who is one step removed from being a dirty hippy, I mean Birkenstocks, hackie sacks, the Discovery Channel, Betty Crocker, the whole nine yards. Well this friend of yours sees a highly dangerous and venomous snake and you say “Hey there is a highly dangerous and venomous snake, lets bi-pass this scaly puppy”. AND DOES HE? NO! Instead he picks it up and not only does it bite the absolute nonsense out of him, it tags him right in the nose. Right where the cartilage of the nose meets the lip, you know what I’m talking about. So he’s left walking around with a pair of snake holes in his face and it looks like he’s some obscure tribesman with a large gourd glued to the end of his beak! Now not only does he look ridiculous because the end of this nose is swollen the size of one of those mini b-balls you win at the fair, but you’re to blame! “Dude why didn’t you warn me?” “Your right, silly me, I’m a bad friend!” I don’t know about you but I find no joy in the phrase “I told you so”. Now some people do and maybe you're one of them, but not me. It just frustrates me to the same level of being conscience during a seizure, there you go that's how I feel. On some level I feel responsible for you (not you, but the general you, man your sensitive) being stupid, like your dad should have thrown you in a burlap bag and tossed you in a river when you were young. “No honey, some day Junior here will be in a situation where the right thing to do is so seemingly obvious everyone but him will see it. He’ll not see it, then he’ll look stupid and I can’t do that to the world!” So basically if everyone listened to me when it mattered I’d be happier and probably live longer.

So the frustration never ends! My grandmother sends me a care package, which in and of itself is spectacular! I mean she sends enough stuff to feed an Army! And coincidentally there is one here. One of her prizes she sends is one of her home made pound cakes. If you’ve never had any, you never will, I refuse to do that to someone, because you’ll realize that every pastry and dessert will not beat the pure joy in cake form that is grandma’s pound cake. So basically by me letting you have some, I’d be somehow removing your will to live, because of the disappointment the rest of your life will hold. It is so good, that it is the pinnacle of happiness here on Earth, the birds will cease to sing and flowers will lose their pleasant smell once you have a piece. The rest of your life will be devoted to getting some more pound cake. Seriously it’s that good.

Now this is the third of all pound cakes she’s sent and I should have learned from what happened from the first two, but I didn’t. So what happened is similar to what happened to Indiana Jones at the beginning of “The Last Crusade” one that Sean Connery is in. You know in the beginning where he’s at his school, trying to get into his office and being mauled by all those female students. He can’t even get into his room and eventually has to escape out the window. Remember now? No, well go to Blockbuster or make some sort of effort here I mean really. Yeah that happened to me and instead of females; it was dudes, hungry dudes! There all like “DUDE GRANDMA’S POUND CAKE!” There are no “pleases” or “may I have a piece” it was like waking through a drug rehab center with a big crack necklace! It was the closest a grown man can get to any sort of zombie situation. Where human language, logic and reason can not serve to protect you, but a chainsaw or a ninja sword would, even some kind of blunt object. Its just blind fury and a sea of outstretched arms, moaning, drooling and DAM IT zombies are bitters! Instead of brains or people, they want Grandma’s pound cake and they will stop at nothing to obtain it. There was no war going on outside the wallsthat day my friend, but there was one in my room. It was like being in the epicenter of a riot! As soon as I said, “No” to someone, the natives then got really pissed off! There were cars overturned, darkness, chaos, buildings on fire, some lady screaming, babies crying and gangs of people carrying clubs and pitch forks. It was awful. I mean I hardly got any last time and that thing was huge! There really was no one asking, just a mob of dudes and lots of disorder. Oh and it really didn’t end there either. Oh no! I had guys breaking into my room to get at this stuff! Bribes, corruption, you name it I experienced it!

When it was all said and done, I was left with a box of empty crumbs, NO CAKE, tattered and burnt rages, and confusion, but I felt lucky to have my life. I think the feeling would be similar to being only guy to survive the apocalypse. You just sort of stand there for a few minutes in shock, not really aware of what just happened. You got smoke emitting from your clothing, your hair is all charred and you’re missing a shoe. Then you slowly start to remember and the horror of the situation sets in. Then you do the only thing you can, just collapse where you’re standing and start crying. “WHY GOD, WHY?!?” Or maybe a long “NNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Either would be appropriate.

Fatty Cakes and Pregnant Water Buffaloes

I would like to start off the blog today with a statement that is very much me!  I KNOW WHAT THE KIDS ARE INTO!  That being said I’d like to point out something I noticed the other day while at the gym.  The radio was playing a Pop Song written by a guy named “James Blunt”.  Right now he is kind of a big thing, I think.  Anyway his title song off his album is named “High”.  Now call me old fashioned but I don’t thing a guy with the last name “Blunt” should write a song called “High”!  I don’t know maybe it’s just me and if you saw that coming thank you for being patient. 

So like I said I was at the gym the other day, lifting weights and doing the cardio, because I care about my cardiovascular health.  Plus swimsuit season is quickly approaching and I want to look my best because I like the occasional fatty cake.  I mean who doesn’t and if you don’t you’re lying!  You know what I’m talking about those little oatmeal cookie things filled with that gelatinous ectoplasmic white matter that seems to never move no matter how hard you shake them.  Which I’m sure is packed with enough calories to kill an elephant and enough sugar to power a daycare center for a month.  But the fatty cake lovers of America can’t seem to pack them a way fast enough.  Hence the reason I’m in the gym, plus I got to sculpt my guns every now and then, you understand.   

So there I am in the gym and I’ve noticed that there are a couple of different personalities at the gym, the first is what I am a “grunter”, we’re quite we work out hard and then we leave, modestly and humbly.  We may make some noise from time to time, but that’s to let you know we’re trying hard.  Then there are “hangers”, I hate these people, they’re worse than Barrel People because they just don’t sit there staring at everyone, they do it on the machine I want to use.  Then they get all they’re FUNK on everything!  Just sweating all over the place, oozing vegetable oil or some thick pasty substance that I could handle if it were normal sweat, but no way.  I think they use that stuff to lubricate elevators or something, I shudder every time I have to think about it. 

Then there are the “knuckle draggers”, you know who I’m talking about.  They guys whose only hobby in life is working out and talking about working out.  Now I’m all in favor of people being healthy but come, on read a book or something!  And they never have names either, they are all “Dude, Buddy, or Bro” or some sort of variation there of.  For example here is a sample conversation in which I witnessed just a few hours ago and it all occurred at a volume that I found unacceptable.  This was altered in no way by me; it’s an actual conversation between two grown adults. 

“Dude, Bro Good Set”

“Thanks Bro”

“Dude, Gonna gonna get a Aquafina”

“Buddy, hook it up!”

“No problem Brosif, look out for the air mail!”

(At this point the bottle of water is literally thrown across the gym)… (Oh yeah if you didn’t know Aquafina is a brand of bottle water, little knowledge nugget for you)

“Got Buddninator, thanks!”

“Dudeinski chug it Bro time for another set”

“Would his Dudeness like a spot?”

“ For sure Dude”

“Thanks Buddy”

"DUDE"

"BUDDY"

"BRO"

I would also like to add that there are only two people involved in this conversation, questions of gender I will leave up to your imagination.  I have no real problem with what happened, it just happened at a volume in which I couldn’t help feel like I was some how intimately involved.  I have to admit I’ve been accused of being loud in the past, but good gracious man turn the volume down. 

Plus the two in question are the size of a pair of small commercial refrigerators, the type of guys who’d have to use horse sedatives in order to help them sleep at night.  And they’re always throwing the weights around so they make a ridiculously loud noise.  It’s really a way of letting everyone in the gym know that, “Hey I’m Strong”.  Yeah we figured that out Einstein when you were bench pressing the Pepsi Truck a minute ago.  Still I’m not what the kids call “A Player-Hater” but honestly I soon will be. 

What happened next was completely unnecessary and it happens on a daily basis in every gym across the country.  The problem with knuckle draggers is that when they work out, they just don’t talk loudly, they scream at one another, all the time.  Here is what I mean. 

AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! One. 

(DUDE YOU GOT IT)

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGAAAGAAAGGGGHHhJENNIFERLOPEZaAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!! Two. 

(PUSH IT, PUSH IT) Dude he’s pushing it, can’t you hear him screaming!

And so forth.  Whether or not this is done on purpose I cannot say, but the whole gym stops to watch because it sounds like a couple water buffaloes going into labor!  I actually had to stop what I was doing and go get a first aid kit because I thought someone hurt themselves with all the yelling.  Let me tell you if you never seen two shaved gorillas working out with nothing but those wash cloth esk gym towels that are provided, then the event can be a little unnerving, unless your prepared!  But I’m trying not to hate.  I love to work out, but shut up already and Dude get me an Aquafina!   

The Dark Side…of Boredom

Hello gang!  I have to direct your attention to one of the photo albums “Images that Amuse” View this photo , there is a picture in there of a young man getting kicked in the ‘fun box’!  The story behind this photo is quite weird and it takes you, if your willing, on a fantastical and odd journey into the psyche of boredom.  I was sitting alone by myself (and by myself I mean there is no one around), when this kid comes up to me and goes “Hey you wanna see a cool picture!”  I’m like “Ah YEAH!  Does it involve Kittens?”  Well it didn’t instead it resulted in an utter shock to my system.  A similar reaction would be to surprising someone with pictures of a nude elephant man when they’re fresh out of open heart surgery.  “Hey Jackie, I know your supposed to take it easy, but BAM!”  And the recipient would exclaim “EEEGAD” or “AAAGGGGHH” or maybe a polite “No thank you, I just got out of open heart surgery, I’m not ready to go back in”. 

The story behind the photo is that the four guys were bored, so naturally when guys get bored stuff will happen, unnatural, unsettling, weird stuff.  Examples throughout history where boredom has run amuck, leaving guys to their own devices are the Crusades, Fanta Soda, England, Rugby and Funyuns.  Moving on, so they got together and there was the receiver, we’ll call him Jackie.  The other three, the good, bad and ugly, we’ll call Groucho, Marco and Polo.  These three amigos muster up a whopping $25 and present it to Jackie.  The deal was of course that Jackie would get kicked in the Netherlands in exchange for the currency, an obvious and sensible transaction.  Which was probably Groucho’s idea; he is the kicker and by far the most sinister character in this quartet! 

Now I’d like to publicly object to this practice.  I have never, ever, ever, EVER agreed to any contact in an aggressive manner to that region of my planet!  NO SIR!  And not for a messily 25 pesos either, oh no, it have to be at least…more than that, a lot more.  The simple physiological reactions a man goes through when this happens are simply mind boggling!  Nausea, pain, lightheadedness, seeing spots, more pain, whooping cough, a three day rash, some more pain, loss of breath, feelings of depression and abandonment, and YES more pain, but these are but a few of the symptoms.  And if you’re willing to let someone kick you in reproductive organs for a lousy $25, then maybe, just maybe you should not be using them in the first place (Notice that I underlined not, I just wanted that point made crystal clear).  Maybe its Gods way of thinning out the gene pool?  You there!  For the good of humanity kick that man, he shouldn’t reproduce!

Really if you look at the rules there are only a few circumstances where it is okay to kick a fellow there.  Now ladies, behind closed doors and in private places (no pun intended) you are taught how to correctly place a well aimed kick to this geographical area.  I’d just like to add that this is not cool, unless you follow the rules.  Conveniently I’ve included those rules here, so you can review them, analyze them, study them, because there will be a test later.

            

You are only allowed to kick a guy there if….

1.      You’re fighting naked

2.      He out weights you by 150 lbs or if he’s going to cut you

3.      You’ve just been kicked there and are still able to stand, if not you are then void of any right to return the favor at a later date

4.      There is more than 12 of them

5.      A large pot of gold is some how involved

6.      In prison fights where rule #1 may or may not apply

7.      If a large crowd of people are carrying swords, other sharp or blunt objects, then you may find yourself in a Vikingesk Epic Battle, so I’d watch out

If you find yourself in a situation where one or more of these circumstances are in play, then by all means kick away.  If not, please don’t because it sucks.

It’s important that society follows these rules.  It is the very thin line that separates us from the crazies!  Just remember that once you cross the line you are then subject then to the snubbing of other men. 

Punk Rock Orange and Strong Dwarfs

Before you read my rubbish, please realize that this one is kind of long, so if you’ve got an afternoon planned, I’d leave now.  You’ve been warned, thanks for showing up!

People often ask me a ton of question.  Some of my favorites are…“PJ, How do you get your hair to do those wonderful and interesting things?”  “What’s salmon like?”  “Would you ever want to be Batman?”  “Where do babies come from?”  But more interestingly, “What is it like over there?”

Well I’m here to answer all of your questions!  The first couple are, mousse, terrible, WHO WOULDN’T and the cabbage patch.  But as for what is it like being over here I have to say, its not as bad as you think. 

What makes it great and what makes it awful, are the people you are with.  For example!  I work with some of the most interesting; educated, inspiring people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.  They work hard, don’t complain, take orders well, and help others, so they’re basically boy scouts!  Or scout persons, whatever.  In fact I feel boring and lame compared to some of the people.  99% of them are Model Americans, the type everyone should be proud of. 

But of course I get to work intimiately with that 1%, the special bunch, as I call them.  These are the people that I feel would make more interesting commentary.  Before I start, would you like to know how I feel on a daily basis?  Just look to your left.  You see the…DUDE LOOK ALREADY!  Download punk_rock_orange.JPG You see the orange with the stuff sticking out of it.  That is Punk Rock Orange or PRO as I call him.  Yeah it’s true we hang out.  Sometimes I’m like “Hey Pro, you want to go eat some lunch bro?” and he’s like “…you rhymed!  Again!” so I always take that as a no. 

Oranges are not known for their conversation skills, nor are they known for having large appetites.  I’d also like to throw in that Pro is a lover of fine art and “digs”, YES DIGS the occasional cheese doodle!  I mean who doesn’t, Cheese Doodles are the bomb. 

Well Pro looks how I feel at work.  There are screws, pins, bullets (yes there is bullet sticking in him) and other sharp things are sticking into my head at all times and no its not a tumor.  Not because I find my work hard or frustrating, but I feel at times I deal with the dumbest people I’ve ever meet.  I’m not saying that because I’m stuck here with them with no real chance at escape or I’m bitter because my cheerleading career never took off.  Its not like the entire camp sucks, its more like seven people.  And they spend their day walking concentric circles around me, spouting cleaver quips that do nothing but make the hair-falling-out process that’s going on my skull speed up that much faster!  Further more there is some guy out there who's only job in the world is to making sure that these same seven people find me where ever I am!  Oh and it doesn’t help the fact that I have bronchitis.  If you never been me with bronchitis, let me explain it simply, its like having a dwarf stand on your chest wearing steel toed boots, while doing the river dance!  Fun isn’t it!

Okay here are the same personalities I’ve deciphered or what I affectionately call the magnificent seven.  1. The Y-Girl, 2-4. Larry, Darrel and his brother Darrel, 5. The Barrel People, 6. Captain Intensity, and 7. Grumpy Smurf. 

(Before I start I’ll admit I probably resemble one or more of these personalities in some form or fashion and I refuse to apologize for who I am.)

1.Y-Girl:  This person is a girl for starters if you didn’t figure out that yet brainiac please leave the blog, because everyone is staring at you.  Any way I have this girl around me who insists on yelling at me all the time, let’s make the distinction that she is not loud.  She simply YELLS ALL THE TIME!  Especially at socially crippling times, like say when I walk into a crowded Chow-Hall (it’s where we eat) and everyone stops like when the music stops and everyone stares in your direction at some party you're attending.  “HI, WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR SHOE?”  “HEY YOU GOT PROMOTED (which I just did) I GUESS THEY’RE REALLY LOWERING THE BAR NOW!”  “WHAT IS THAT SMELL, OH HI PREDDY!”  Now I’m in strict belief that this person only yells at me because either A) my presence gives her a spontaneous inner ear infection or B) she knows it drives me crazy.  I do have proof that she can speak in normal tones, just not when I’m involved. 

2.-4.  Larry, Darrel and his brother Darrel:  These three characters always travel together!  Now no real descriptions can bring to you the kind of angst I feel around these three.  Individually Larry, Darrel and his brother Darrel, are intelligent people with something to contribute to society, other than sitting around banging rocks together.  First impressions suggest they hail from some back woods town, where pair of overalls is given to each citizen, but I think their parents are Harvard scholars or something.  Their presence enacts some law of social physics when they’re powers are combined all your left with is three abnormally stupid individuals.  Three beach balls tied together are smarter than these three.  Basically just a pack of wild monkeys in a Mountain Dew commercial, running around back flipping off buildings, hopped up on the Chi and causing destruction.  If you ever spend any length of time trying to explain something to them when they’re together you have to accept the fact that you could go mad.  We have a couple of cases of this happening.  Now as your words come out of your mouth as simply as God can allow, you can actually see your speech flying toward them.  Ever so slowly, rotating through the air, beautiful.  At the point in which your words should make contact with their ears and at the time in which normal house pets interpret language, you can actually see your words bounce off of them like some sort of invisible force field has engulfed them.  Protecting them from whatever you had to say, like its some sort of gypsy cures.  Take this simple instruction, “Hey would you guys mind getting the door, my arms are full?”  All you’re left with is them hearing something like “I like bread” and then you hear a Bevis and Butthead sort of laugh.  Every time I need help all I get is these three. 

5.  The Barrel People:  Now these people I don’t understand either.  By Barrel People I don’t mean that they’re shaped like barrels, although as it happens and some of them are.  In fact Barrel People come in all forms of shapes, most of them are lumpy though.  The Barrel People have this loose cog in their brains that remove the need for personal space and good hygiene.  So imagine yourself sitting in an office chair doing your thing, then here comes the Barrel People or Barrel Person, they don’t always travel in packs or depending on how politically correct you are, Barrel-Americans.  Anyway there I am working on some terrifically important nothing that has to be done right then and there and it demands every fiber of my being for this nothing to be successful.  Here comes the Barrel People, standing there with their hands in their pockets, crotches within inches of my face, smelling like they crawled out of a barrel of pickles, with nothing to say, just blank stares!  Like I’m supposed to speak their language and read minds or something.  I just stare back for a few minutes, into their dark empty sad eyes; they nod with their blank lifeless stares as if I’ve given them some mountain of personal knowledge and then depart.  And this has yet to stop happening, I react with a statement similar to “WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?  WHY GOD DO YOU SEND ME THESE PEOPLE!  WHY?”  I actually can hear brain cells dying from lack of use, at least Larry, Darrel and his brother Darrel react!  If you look around you there are Barrel-Americans all around!  Oh they’re human, but barley!  You’ll see them, shuffling off, going to and froe, smelling like pickles!

Okay I just realized I’m running a bit long so I’ll wrap it up!

6. Captain Intensity:  He’s a double edge sword!  Full of piss and vinegar!  Wanting to just take over the entire country single handedly!  Like George of the Jungle, only with more coffee and steroids!  His personal sound track is "Crazy Train" by Ozzy and it plays on that station in his head, all the time!  He’s a terrific story teller too, but the instant he speaks you know the embellishment factor is just not in effect, the dawm lever is broken and a repairman is on his way.  Simple tasks like crossing the street and chewing gum result in some epic tale of human triumph!  “I tell you the sea was angry that day my friends!”  What sea?  We’re in a desert!  Puddles last about five minutes here!  WE’RE IN A DESERT!!!  These are typical conversations we have!  I discovered FIRE!  No you didn’t that’s pudding!  He is so emotionally exhausting that I often find myself needing a nap or a good cry after each and every one of our intense yet unfulfilling interactions. 

7.  Grumpy Smurf:  I HATE COMPLAINERS!  This guy could complain about just winning the lottery!  He's always like, "Yeah I'm rich, but who isn't!"  I just realized that complaining is exactly what I’m doing!  So I just wanted you to know that I know that, I’m comfortable with it and I’ve accepted it as part of who I am.  I’ve moved on.  I really don’t need to speak of Grumpy Smurf any more; you get the idea and are probably tired by now.  So am I.  Plus here come the Barrel People, I’ll try and act…AH to late!

The Cart-Wheeling Super Humans of the Future

Before I start you’ve got to go to one of these links; the first one is kind of long (8 minutes), the second one is much shorter (2 minutes), but both are equally worth watching.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=515642196227308929

http://www.guzer.com/videos/amazing_jump_skills.php

The reason I bring this up is that I’ve known that these crazies existed for some time, but I’ve resisted making a public statement about this sect of humanity.  So overcoming this hesitation, I’ve come to a couple of conclusions, and I will share them with you, enjoy.

First I think this shows the world the next step in human evolution.  Imagine a whole society of people just running around at the mall, doing back flips in to the GAP, silly round house summersaults in line at Chic-fil-A, and folks recklessly jumping off escalators into pants they intend to try on!  Chaos going end over end at high altitudes, all to the tune of your favorite hip-hop songs over played at your local radio station or on your Ipod.

If you had asked scientists years ago which way evolution was going to swing (trust me baby it swings) and what sort of mutations we had to look forward to you’d most likely hear something like “Oh definitely we’re TOTALLY GETTING SIX FINGERS”, “Ten years from now we’ll all look like Cat Stevens” or my personal favorite “Mankind will evolve into forming a natural allergic reaction to corduroy”.  All of these scenarios I was kind of looking forward to, except looking like Cat Stevens, he was a little to “earthy” for me, plus he was a dirty hippy!   But no one saw the back flip gene emerging.  I was surprised, six fingers, yeah I can see that, I hate corduroy and a planet full of ugly hippies.  All of these scenarios the people of the world could handle.  So basically over time we will all turn into ninjas!  Sneaking around, running with scissors, causing destruction! 

Imagine of course the reaction of over protective mothers, in response to the cart-wheeling super humans of the future.  “If all of your friends did a half gainer off a ten story building onto a moving train coated in axle grease, would you too?”  Having to ask questions like “Did you stretch, you better before you go rolling all over those buildings, you don’t want to pull a Hammie” (I know Ma’), “Have you been tossing yourself off the Johnson’s roof again, your father and I didn’t raise a tosser!”  “If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times no more six story balcony hurtles!”  Although dropping the kids off for soccer practice could get a lot more exciting and thusly the babysitting industry will go through some heavy changes. 

Secondly if we all evolve into superheroes, what will this do to law enforcement?  If the first generation of superheroes are obviously going to start off as kids, unless we can evolve straight from childhood into adulthood completely bypassing puberty and being a teenager.  Then cops will never be able to stop or catch the aerial antics of kids today.  Imagine you spend an entire career running down teenagers, then all of the sudden they’re running up and over walls eluding you.  Basically it’d be impossible to stop a race of Spidermen swinging from the roof tops, knocking off 7 elevens left and right.  Depression spreading quickly over the flatfoot community and support groups forming.  “Hi I’m Todd (Hello Todd), I’ve been a Cop for 7 years now and I feel so empty and worthless because I haven’t caught a bad guy in six weeks.”  (It’s okay to cry Todd) No it’s not Todd, get a jump rope or something and get in a gym!  All of these grown men crying and hugging one another, all because of some kids all hopped up on Nike Commercials, leaping tall buildings in a single bound and drinking the Gatorade. 

In addition to changing crime fighting as we know it, it could also bring about a virtual cornucopia of new sitcom ideas!  Remember 21 Jump Street ?  Now throw in the back-flip brothers, that guy from CSI, some beakers of blue and red crime fighting fluid, and BAM instant hit!  Of course there will be the spin offs, CSI Ohio, the not so popular CSI New Hampshire, 21 Jump Avenue “The Rookie Years” and so forth.

Knowing what we know now I’m going to invest a large sum of money into sneakers and knee replacement surgery technology.  I may not be able to understand what the kids are into these days, but at least I can remember the time before all the jumping, people effortlessly rotating their posteriors over their heads, an overly emotional police force, chaos and the what-not. 

Chi High

Chi High!

I’m trying to begin the blogs with something more exciting than statements like “Well I found some quarters today” or “So…Tennis anyone?”  It’s a work in progress I think.  As to give you the ever constant reader (man that’s an egocentric comment) an idea as to what my idea is for this blog is to share my experiences here.  That being said I will omit any experiences that I feel will scare my wife, friends, family or violate any expressed written consent from the National Football League.  If there is anything really cool that happens, I will leave to share over a couple pints at some later date.  So with that said… 

I have discovered Iraqie Tea or “Chi Tea” as they call it.  Well they don’t call it that it’s what we call it but my sandscript buttons for the computer fell off and I couldn’t type it the old fashioned way.  Let me begin on the production of this local delicacy; you start with about ¼ cup of dark Arabian Tea and 12 pounds of SUGAR!  WOW!  It’s like drinking jet fuel!  After a cup and what seems like the rest of your life, everything is at super fast forward, things go by at a blur, and you speak in one word paragraphs.  HowyadoinIamfinethanksforaskingthatsaneatpenyouhaveisithotinhereIworeshoestodayfisharefunnyanimalswasthatadwarf?  Then for about twenty minutes you accomplish every task you have for the entire day.  The other weird part is depending on your mental state or how your spending your day, it is possible (now I haven’t experienced this yet) to run through every conceivable human emotion in thirty seconds.  In short the experience is comparable to building your own house with your bare hands, watching your favorite team win the Super Bowl and watching the scene where little Billy shots Ol’Yellar all at the same time.  These emotions and feelings are so shocking to the system that your first reaction once you’ve come off the Chi High, is that of a wild animal being let loose after a couple of months spent in captivity.  You stagger around for a few moments, sniffing things, your kind of confused and then all you know is that you have to get the hell out of there right that second!  It is not really fare to compare this with lots of Starbucks either.  With coffee you sort of get excited for a while, it gets the engines going, may be get the shakes and the twitches.  The low is comparable to eating a large turkey sandwich the day after thanksgiving, you get all groggy, kind of full, basically nothing that a good nap won’t fix.  But when you’re on the “Chi” or as it’s known on the streets “C-T”, you could be fixed for days!  Unable to eat, sleep, form complex sentences like “No thanks, I’ll eat something that’s not on the floor” and “Sure I’d like some front seat tickets to $3 Flip Flop Fiasco!”  We catch soldiers all the time all hopped up on the Chi, with their good time buddies, turning over cars, looking for kicks.  What it does is create this insatiable appetite for mayhem and makes people the worst kinds of human beings, those who wear sandals and socks together.  I’d publish some pictures of what Chi does to the normal person, but I don’t really want to push the boundaries of good taste, not until the fourth or fifth post to the blog.  Then it’s basically me trying to corrupt

America

as a whole, but let’s leave that for another day.  We’ve found a local Chi dealer on the FOB and we’d kick him out, but he’ll just end up in some other FOB down the block pushing his product.  And I can’t prove it but I’m sure that this addiction reaches the highest pillars of society here.  So if you have the time please email me for the full list of what I’ve developed as a Kick-the-Chi habit kit.  Basically it’s a list of common household items that you can find around the house that can help you or a loved one if you find them in the grip of this terrible addition.  The abridged list contains the following; ¾ wrench, half a gallon of Acidophilus milk, 6 pack of Dr Pepper, beef jerky, posted notes, Styx Greatest Hits and nude pictures of Bee Arthur.  I hope this can help.

Constant Interuptions

Alright the responsibility that goes along with one of these things is to constantly create some cleaver or creative thing that people want to read and keep coming back for more.  Why I have no idea?  My sponsors are happy with my creative content, but since the Blog hit I keep getting all these suggestions and offers.  Steve Buscemie offered to appear on the blog and Letterman won’t leave me alone, but I really want to do my own thing right now.  Jay-Lo wants to do the sound track, which upon hearing this I immediately got sick.   

I have to mention this before I go any further.  If you have ever read on of my emails or had formal correspondence with me you’ll know three things; one I can’t spell to save my life, I just can’t and I accept this as part of my being.  The second is that if you’ll read through any of my letters or emails and during any point in my writing I’m distracted by a strong breeze, a shinny object, or by the fact that my space bar sticks a little, you’ll see that sometimes important words or conjunctions are missing from my sentences.  In my mind they’re there and you just don’t see them, so try a little harder.  Thirdly is that I am the reigning king of run on sentences and using synonyms in the wrong way, carelessly flinging homonyms around as if there play things and propping the uneven ends of my coffee table up with similes.  I think I hurt a kid at camp one year with a hyperbole, I kind of felt bad about assaulting someone with grammar.

Okay enough shenanigans, I had actually written a very boring paragraph here but after being constantly interrupted I lost my train of thought.  And that is just silly, I feel like I have involuntary attention deficit disorder.  So I’ll elaborate on what it’s like to be me at this very point in time.  Imagine having to complete a job that is ridiculously routine, for example putting on pants, chewing your food, or breathing.  Now imagine that same task in the eyes of some people I work with turning the routine into an ultra-emergency.  NOT just any emergency, I used the adjective “ultra”, it’s like watching an ER when all the actors are on a mixture of Red Bull and No-Doze pills, running around with sharp objects bumping into one another and all of them are screaming for some syringe filled with something important.  Just now I was interrupted about absolutely nothing, but that nothing HAD to be discussed right then and there.  This is what happens on a regular basis and I want you to know I was interrupted about talking about being interrupted!  Stop the crazy train, I want to get off!

Blog, Chapter 1

Well here we go people, I've decided to join the 21st Century and try my hand at a Blog.  I'd like to start by explaining "$3 Flip Flop Fiasco", which in my opinion needs no real explanation.  Rather it is a musical adventure Steve, Ben and I decided to take.  I figured with Steve's talents at attachiing poetry to hats, Ben's ability to survive for hours by doing nothing other than "getting ready" and my ability to jam on such instruments as the kazoo, the spoons, the large and small jug, and the radio.  So with all these ingredients you have the makings of a very semi-successful Pop Band!

Alright I'm kidding!  That was only funny to probably three people seeing the ratio of inside jokes to non-inside jokes.  Anyway...

Right now I'm in Baghdad, Iraq, fighting the war on terrorism.  As many of you have asked what my job actually is, here is a brief description of what I do.  I'd like to preface this by saying this is not as exciting I'd like it, but I'm sure my lack of excitement keeps most of you happy.  What my official job title is I'm the "Forward Operating Base (FOB) Deputy Commander", my job title in the company is the "Executive Officer".  What I'm responsible for is the overall operations of the base, what that means in English is that I'm responsible for everything that makes a base work, the chow hall, the vendors who work on the FOB, the repairs and maintenance on the facilities, and the recreation facilities.  Its not what I'd thought I'd be doing, but my seniority and rank have removed me from the leadership positions I used to have, so put simply this is what I get for climbing the ladder!

Right now my days are very long and there is never a shortage of things to do.  Which for the most part is good, I keep busy and it makes the time fly by.  I get to deal a lot with local nationals and the personalities I meet are extremely different than people we encounter.  For starters people here are very polite or they are very outwardly aggressive.  If you are one of those people who do not like to be touched a lot, then this is not the place for you.  It is customary for men who are family or close friends to be hugged and kissed on the cheek.  REALLY good friends even hold hands.  There are a bunch of other neat cultural things I've learned.  It is considered polite to touch your heart after shaking hands with someone, it shows that you are sincere.  Giving the thumbs up is an obscene gesture, along with the "okay" sign, those are bad. 

Well enough for today, I keep getting interrupted so its hard to finish a thought, I'll try and post more later. 

For all of you out there please do not worry things are under control here, I love you guys and will see you soon.

email me about $3 Flip Flop Fiasco merchandise!