$3 Flip Flop Fiasco

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!