My wife, stepson and myself just got back from vacay in the Florida Keys this past week. It started out normal enough – we landed in Fort Lauderdale & hung out with my wife’s family in a really loud bar. Which was fortunate, because I had a lot of gas. So I was farting the whole time, but you couldn’t hear them. So it was like they never even happened, except that they kinda stunk. But that only bothered people who had to inhale, so no harm done. My wife’s brother kept on shooting her these weird looks, but that was probably unrelated.
Anyway. On the way down to Key West, we stopped off at the Dolphin Research Center, where you can see dolphins, swim with dolphins, and have a t-shirt painted by a dolphin. Seriously. Someone sticks a paintbrush in their mouth or nostril or whatever and they spin around in the water while you hold a clipboard with a shirt pinned to it above them.
“I’m not wearing pants either.”
The shirts were $55 a pop, a bit steep when you consider that the “art” that the dolphins made kinda sucked.
See? Not exactly a Picasso.
I mean, I could totally do what they did if I was drunk and someone put a brush in my mouth or nostril and held a shirt up to my face & I spun around & I didn’t puke.
I thought that dolphins were supposed to be all sorts of intelligent, but, after seeing the way that they paint, I guess they’re not. Not unless they’re trying to rip people off; if that’s the case, then they’re goddamn geniuses.
The other day, while mindlessly surfing the web, I came across a site showcasing the Mr. T Chia Pet.
(Wha…?)
Now, I thought I was sort of an expert on pop-cultural riff-raff. However, I’ve never, EVER heard about this thing.
Some snaps of the man himself demonstrating this lovely addition to any home:
Huh
”I PITY THE FOOL WHO DON’T BUY MR. T’S CHIA PET!!”
This is such a logical product for him to sell. What better way for kids everywhere to display their manliness and toughness than to have a chia pet that sprouts a green mohawk?
Mr. T went on TV and not only showed off his chia pet, but also a Mr. T air freshener. What appears below is a transcript of that show (brought to you courtesy of Fusion Anomaly):
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“What the Mr. T air freshener does, is this… it gives you that sweet smell… but when the smell wears off after a few months, this is what it does… someone trying to steal your car, they look through the window and see Mr. T, then run off because the car is protected by the Mr. T air freshener.”
This past weekend I went shopping for underpants, and found out that they now sell pantyhose for men. Call it “mantyhose”. Here’s a shot of a guy wearing it -
It just oozes macho manly manliness, doesn’t it?
Actually, it’s probably perfect for the dude that want’s to look like Robin Hood’s gay brother. Not quite my cup of oolong, though.
Anywho, after my little underwear shopping excursion, I went out to the parking lot to get into my car when I came across this lovely vehicle.
It’s SNOT-GREEN. Obviously, a total chick magnet. It also means that you could sneeze on it & not worry about boogers showing up against the paint ’cause they’d BLEND RIGHT IN. Which just rocks. (Or maybe not.) Ugh.
Just looking at this thing makes me want to puke up big chunks. And I mean that in the nicest, most disgusting way possible. I bet the owner must be color blind. Or just blind.
So I was going for a jog this morning in my co-op apartment complex, when I happened to pass our friendly neighborhood newspaper vending machine.
Note the classy rusting mailbox. Very posh.
The vending machine caught my eye, because plastered on the front page of the paper inside was the following headline:
Which I thought was interesting & sort of cool, as the wedding took place this past Saturday. Apparently, this wedding was so big that buzz is still building for it. You know you’ve got something amazing going on when people are still anticipating it and it’s already happened.
Then I noticed that the date on the paper was July 11th. Today is August 2nd.
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(It’s a little blurry, but this is the actual paper in the newspaper machine this morning. Behind my actual iPod touch. Which is giving us the actual date.)
I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach – had the world ended three weeks ago, but I was so preoccupied with my sweet, sweet iPod that I hadn’t noticed? But I soon dismissed that idea as completely retarded because Chelsea had actually had her wedding. Also, that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach? Just gas.
Speaking about Chelsea’s wedding, I totally crashed it. And by “totally crashed it”, I mean that I completely avoided it and totally drove in the opposite direction. Why? Because I’m ALL ABOUT big-ass celebrity weddings.
As far as the newspaper machine is concerned – it’s very comforting to know that, right outside our front door, we can get the absolute latest in three-week-old news. Also comforting: knowing that the newspaper machine is updated so frequently.
My wife Michele wants to get a new phone, so I was looking online at some cells on Best Buy’s site.
This is the first screen that greets you at their cell-info spot:
What’s interesting is that their blue “Walk Out Working” logo features somebody apparently drinking a glass of milk.
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See?
Which I think is awesome, and something I can totally relate to. Because I often carry a glass of milk with me whenever I’m shambling through the ‘burb. However, I don’t usually think of milk when I go into Best Buy, as they usually just carry the latest hi-tech doodads. Not sure what the reference to “Walk Out Working” is either. Not unless they’re talking about a milk-fueled robot, which would totally make sense. The robot would drink the milk while it’s walking out, and it would be working. At least, until you ran out of milk.
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Maybe Best Buy should have it drinking out of gallon milk jugs. Because that would be a Big-Ass Bowl of Suck if your milk-fueled robot stopped working as soon as you got it into your car, and then it just sat there like a lactose-deprived lump. Or something. Although then one of those Geek Squad dudes could come and fill it up or, if it still wasn’t working, haul its ass back into the store. And then you could get a new milk-powered robot, because it would still be under warranty. I think.
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Update: Someone just pointed out that the image really just depicts a guy talking on a cell phone.
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Best Buy, I’m so dissappointed. I really wanted one of those robots.
I saw this old cereal box cover on the web the other day. Apparently, the idea behind this was: make a tasty, sugar-coated cereal aimed squarely at kids, and then wrap it in a box with a freaky-ass mascot on it to scare them the hell away.
What the…? What was the cereal manufacturer thinking? Did they figure that the Creepy Apple-Head Guy looked cute, or adorable? I think I would’ve screamed like a crazy woman if my mom had put this box in front of me in the morning.
Mom: “Here Kurt, I got you and your sisters a new cereal.”
Me: “AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!”
Kudos to you, Kellogg’s, for giving little kids everywhere yet another reason to poop in their pants.
The cereal above is probably not preferred by people who live near the San Andreas Fault.
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And what the hell is this? “Kaboom”? Does this cereal come with a free grenade or something?
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What does a clown have to do with the word “Kaboom”, anyway? That’s like coming up with a cereal called “Funhouse” and putting a machine gun on the cover. (Which would be awesome, actually.)
My wife and I were hanging out over her brother’s house not too long ago. We were just chillin’ in the living room while his wife was giving their one-year old kid a bath. Before she could strap a diaper to his ass, though, he ran out of the bathroom, ambled over to a corner of the living room, squatted, grunted, and took a tremendous crap on the carpet. (Just like Grandma used to!)
We all dashed to the kitchen to get some paper towels, yet, when we came back, the poop had mysteriously disappeared. Where did it go? get sucked into another dimension? Retract back up his ass? We were all mystified.
Right next to the spot where the crap had been was the family dog, a black Labrador, licking his chops. Which was puzzling, until it suddenly dawned on us: the pooch had eaten the crap.
Now, I never in a bajillion years would have expected a dog to go up to a steamy, stinking fresh pile and think, “OK! Chow time!” Rosie O’ Donnell, maybe, but a dog? Never.
Stunned at the realization of what happened, I promptly sat down. And the dog promptly came over and started licking my face with his poopy-smelling tongue.
Which was great. Because, as we all know, there’s nothing better than getting a dog slobber / fecal matter mixture slathered directly on your face.
You know what’s kooky? Going to the bathroom in public. I don’t mean pooping out in the open in front of everybody, because that’s just gay. No, I’m talking about using those elegant single-person bathrooms like you find in most gas stations. I find that using one is kooky because, when I use one and lock the door so I can do my business in privacy, there’s always some other person trying to get in the bathroom. And I don’t mean just trying to twist the handle once and stopping immediately because the door is obviously locked. I’m talking about those crackheads that continue to try to play with the handle a while past when it should be apparent to all that the room is in use.
I usually make loud, throat-clearing noises in such cases, but the geniuses on the other side invariably start knocking on the door and ask, “is somebody in there?” To which I usually reply, “No, it’s just me, the toilet. I’ve got some phlegm, and that’s why I’m clearing my throat. Also, there’s some guy who’s pooping in my mouth.”
Not sure why, but saying that usually drives them away.
