The Tupperware Club

Nic is funny

2008-03-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

My guess is no one ever visits this blog anymore. But this is my friend Nic that none of you know or will ever know. Unless you're Brad he's funnier than you. If you are Brad, it's equal.

I make an appearance.

Everett, WA

2007-12-21T17:56:00.000-08:00

Dear blog,

Right now I'm sitting threesies in Carp's truck with Carp and Mary. We're sitting in heavy traffic.

This morning I woke up in a Comfort Inn in Canada! Can you imagine?!?!

Anyways, we had Tim Hortons for breakfast and then grilled cheese for lunch.

I might be bored right now.

Bye for now!

Living a Lie

2006-10-16T18:39:00.000-07:00

There are three stories about my childhood that my mom loves to tell people. I've always been a little embarrased of them, but in recent months I've begun to embrace them. I realize that I've been living a lie, and I'd prefer if everyone found out about these stories from me.

1. I nursed till I was three. Most people are shocked when they hear this. All I can say is, it was the early 80's, that's sort of what people did back then. I'd don't see why people embraced glam rock and jean jackets, and business people could do blow in the bathroom during lunch, but for some reason my nursing raises eyebrows. I did a little research on Wikipedia and it turns out that Denzel Washington, Ron Jeremy, and the Dali Lama all nursed till they were three, and I think that list speaks for itself.

2. I used to be terrified of the wind. I grew up watching the Neverending Story and in the end the Nothing comes along and destroys Fantasia. One scene of that movie that has burned itself into my mind is the scene where Atreju is desperately clinging onto a tree as the Nothing rips him away. Yeah, I'm still a little scared of the wind.

3. When I was four year old I thought I had a vagina, so I ran into my mom’s room and told her the big news. She was shocked and asked where I thought my vagina was located. I sat down on the floor, rolled back and pointed to my taint. I know this is weird, but in my defense I grew up with three sisters and I guess I felt left out. The taint can be a confusing thing to discover at such a young age. Many of its secret and mysteries are yet to be released. I read an article once that said the average man only uses 3 to 4 percent of their taint, so maybe I was onto something, I just didn’t know how to interpret it.

Chalking it up to Chapped Lips.

2006-03-30T15:13:00.000-08:00

I go to Pete's in the morning. They give me coffee for $1.70. I put a Splenda and some cream in it. I drink it on the way to work while listening to NPR. I finish my coffee around 10:00 AM and reluctantly work until the sun goes down. I drive past Pete's again on my drive home. Repeat.

At Pete's there is a tall young employee with whom I engage in almost daily verbal battles. He is unaware that he's verbally jousting with me, but he doesn't have to know for me to verbally joust with him. (I'm going to say that clever phrase once more, because as I repeat it in my mind it begins to lose its meaning 'verbal joust, verbal joust, verbaljoust, herbalbloust, blerbalgoust, etc.')

Today I ordered my usual beverage in the usual way "Medium coffee with room for cream please." The employee responds "alrighty a coffee with room, would you like any delicious pastries with your coffee?" He gestures towards the pastry shelf.

(Judges in Brad's head: Excessive use of the term 'delicious' one point for the employee.)

I needed something to respond with, "No thank you, I just finished my delicious soy smoothie."

(Judges in Brad's head: A 'delicious' cancels a 'delicious' employee is back to zero points.)

The employee returns with my cup of coffee "alrighty, here's your coffee and I left you a little room for dancing."

Touche' Motherfucker.

Blog

2006-03-28T22:51:00.000-08:00

This is a blog entry. In this line I am making a quirky joke and giving you a general idea of the theme of today’s blog. In this line I am making a very strong joke, this joke serves a dual purpose; it makes you laugh and also confirms your suspicions of what this blog will be about. This is the thesis of my blog. Now I have a very weak joke, you and I both think I should have gone straight into the defense of my thesis instead of extending the thesis paragraph.

Now I begin the defense of the slightly outrageous premise set up by my thesis statement. This defense will probably take one to two paragraphs. There is an outstanding joke here; it contains shock value and cleverness. You don’t even notice this sentence because the joke in the previous sentence was so strong. This sentence was directly related to the sentence that preceded it, you have to go back and reread the sentence you missed. While you do, you think about the joke again. On the third try, you realize that the sentences you missed weren’t that important as the point of the blog is to amuse you and not really to defend an indefensible premise. Here I make a sharp point that reinforces the outrageous claim that I’ve made in my thesis. Amazing joke happens here. Great follow up joke (with a bonus joke in parentheses). You’re really amused now and I spend little time on my transition sentence.

In this paragraph I begin running out of steam. I should have left my blog entry as a two paragraph thing. I say something here, but what you realize is that sometimes the problem with a premise is it sounds good when you talk about it out loud, but when you see it in practice it can lose some steam. I try desperately to maintain what I’m doing. I misspell a word in this sentence, I’m clearly getting lazy. I weakly end this paragraph with a quite corny pun; it is the only pun I will use in this blog.

Except for the pun I decide to use to open the conclusion paragraph, it is worse than the first pun I used, you hate it. I make another weak joke. Here, I repeat my thesis. I have nothing else to say, but I squeeze off one more joke. The grammar in this sentence is horrible.

I sign off with something that I think is clever, followed by a comma,

My Name

Tired of Lies

2006-03-01T12:07:00.000-08:00

It’s time to come clean. Rocky IV is a better movie than Star Wars. Rocky IV is a better movie than Empire Strikes Back. Rocky IV is a better movie than Return of the Jedi. If you took the best elements of the original three Star Wars movies and made them into a cohesive piece of cinema, Rocky IV would be better. I said it, and I’ll say something else too. Rocky IV is better than a lot of movies, but we all knew that. The one thing that needs to be said is this: the Star Wars films just aren’t that good. This is not something I’ve always felt. When I was a kid I loved Star Wars. When I was a teen, I would talk about how when I was a kid I loved Star Wars. When I was a young adult, I would talk about how I loved Star Wars (the teenage me didn’t want to appear to be uncool). But now I realize that I don’t think Star Wars is good. If you gave me the choice of watching any of the Star Wars movies or Rocky IV, I’d take Rocky IV, every single day of the week, and I’ll tell you something. It feels good. Most people would now dissect this opinion, talk about why they have an unpopular opinion. They would present a thesis, they would make an argument, but I’m not going to, I’m just going to make the statement and rest easy in the knowledge that I didn’t work that hard.

The New Me

2006-02-27T13:59:00.001-08:00

I’ll preface by saying that there are two mes (Is that how you’d spell the plural for me?). There is the old me and the new me. The old me was of the opinion that I should always be nice to girls because you never knew when they might decide to let you do physical things with them (hooray!). The new me, is very mean to girls, because all those years of being nice never really paid off. I now understand that being mean won’t necessarily help me sleep with anyone, but at least it’s my choice. I’m in control. The old me didn’t get laid because he was an ugly nerd who couldn’t talk to a beautiful woman because he was scared of farting. The new me doesn’t get laid because he’s an asshole.

This weekend the new me went to a bar. It was a crowded bar that smelled like sweat. It was unpleasant. A friend of mine was having a “going away” party so I was obligated to stay at this bar. I bought an expensive beer and reclused myself to a booth with a couple of good friends. We were talking, enjoying ourselves thoroughly, despite the sweaty smell and the popped collars that were prevalent. Then I decided to take a bathroom break

When I returned to our table, two ladies had joined us. I was introduced to them by my friend. Girl #1, we’ll call her Christine (could be her real name, could not be her real name, I’m not telling), shook my hand, smiled, looked me in the eye and said something along the lines of: “nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you too,” I replied. So far I liked Christine. She seemed nice. Then I shook Jen’s hand (that is definitely her real name). Jen shook my hand (sort of), looked me in the eye (wait, no she didn’t she looked at the table), and said, “Uh-huh.” “Nice to meet you too,” I replied. I did not like Jen so far, but I decided to give her a little leeway. Turns out Christine was a friend of my buddies from college, but I did not know it at the time.

Christine seemed to be pretty enraptured by my buddy so I tried to strike up a little conversation. I knew that Christine and Jen had a pre-existing connection to my friends, but I did not know what it was.

“So, Jen, how do we know you? What’s the connection?” queries myself.

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t fucking worry about it, fuck you. Don’t fucking worry about it.”

Wow. I had no idea what to say to Jen on this one. At this point, I recognized that Jen was going to be a bitch. Nothing was going to change that fact. Old me would have pressed further, Jen was pretty. Old me would have prayed that if I just kept being nice to her she would relent and kiss me, or possibly let me feel her lovely lady lumps (yay Black Eyed Peas!). But new me, knew that there was no hope for kissing Jen. New me didn’t even want to kiss Jen. New me wanted to make Jen have the worst night of her life. New me wanted Jen to hate me for real reasons as opposed to whatever arbitrary reason she had selected.

“Wow, you suck.”

“What?”

“You clearly suck. You’re rude and mean. I bet no one likes you.”

This was fun.

Jen was leveled. She muttered a sullen fuck you, but barely audible. Jen pulled out her cell phone and began blackberrying or whatever it is you do, when you’re in a bar and having a bad time. Ordinarily, I would’ve let up, I would’ve just enjoyed watching Jen do her blackberry crap. But Jen had been so randomly mean to me that I could not rest. I asked her if she was having the worst night of her life. “Fuck you,” was the reply. Sounded like a yes to me. As Jen walked away from the table I caught her out of the corner of my eye giving me the middle finger.

“You’re flipping me off, Jen! You’re the meanest person I’ve ever met!”

At this point, I was the bad guy. Jen’s attitude had now been earned. Jen was being a bitch to me because I was being an asshole to her. As the night wore on, I pressed her. I was a gigantic cocksucker. It felt great.

At the end of the night I turned to Christine. I asked her, “Christine, do you think I have a chance with Jen?”

Without hesitation she replied, “No.”

Fuck, I was really hoping she’d come around.

SPAM.

2006-02-24T18:10:00.000-08:00

Remember the days before the do-not-call list, when our home phone lines were constantly bombarded with telemarketers. I remember when a telemarketer would call during dinner and ask for my Dad, my Mom would always tell them he's dead. She thought that the emotional turmoil she was potentially causing the unwelcome caller was an adequate punishment for the disturbance.

We live in a more sophisticated time now, with do-not-call lists protecting our phones and spam filters protecting our e-mail, mass marketing is being forced to adapt.

Inevitably though a prescription drug e-mail or penis enlargement e-mail finds its way through. Today I received this little gem in my g-mail account. Before you read just ask yourself, what the hell are they advertising? I had no clue spam could be so poetic.

Subject: SAD TO HAVE SHORT D1CCK, BIGGER 2" NOW AT LOW human

Window did arms pride black use. Reference reading evening hard. You allow bought leader news we? Happened companion thats? Raise she fascinate added. Young nothing wanted find immediate? Goes steps rich social reply studied, reference taught profession. Young promised similar anything. Pretty end leader not disappoint raise? Taught young whom again anything motor.

Oscar Season Part 2!!!

2006-02-23T17:46:00.000-08:00

Hey Kids, it's time for more Oscar movie reviews(not reviews by Oscar, reviews about movies that are nominated for Oscars). It's Joe's reviews of movies nominated for Oscars, but more accurately, it's summaries of movies...oh, whatever.

This weeks selection...Capote.

SPLIT SCREEN -
Brad and Joe are on the phone. Joe is sitting in his room comparing his arms. He is trying to figure out if one arm is more tan than the other because he drives South to get to work in the morning. Brad is shaving with the Gilette Fusion.

Joe: What are you up to?

Brad: Shaving with the Fewsh.

Joe: The Fewsh?

Brad: The Gilette Fusion, brah, six blades, brah.

Joe: How's the shave?

Brad: Delish.

Joe: Umm...Hey, have you seen Capote?

Brad: Nope.

Joe: Me either. Do you want to go see it?

Brad: How do you think it is?

Joe: Pretty good.

Brad: Cool. You want to go today?

Joe: Not today, maybe tomorrow?

Brad: I'm busy tomorrow.

Joe: Ok. Cool. Maybe some other time.

Brad: Yeah, whenever.

Joe: Have you ever noticed whether or not one of my arms is more tan than the other?

Brad has finished shaving.

Brad: Bro, my face is so smooth right now.

THE END

More to come, kids. Or not, we'll see.

Xerox.

2006-02-15T09:26:00.000-08:00

Every time Xerox, Kinkos, or some other office supply or IT company comes out with a new product that increases employee productivity, the commercial seems to always be some guy in a suit doing cartwheels or running out of the office tossing papers in the air in jubilant exaltation.

I know they are just trying to make a point that we, as employees, should be excited about some new product that will save us valuable work time. In reality I find it hard to get excited about anything relating to work. The last time I even attempted a cartwheel in excitement was when I got a Gameboy for Christmas back in 1990.

If my office were to get a new fancy copier I can predict my reaction exactly. I would walk over to the machine, push a few buttons, nod my head slowly in approval, walk back to my desk and chew a celebratory piece of Citrus Burst Trident gum, but that wouldn't make a very good commercial.

The Unconscious Menace.

2006-02-14T10:29:00.000-08:00

The last time it happened I was twelve years old, right in the midst of puberty, and I can remember it vividly. It was my first and unfortunately last wet dream. Several times in high school and even college I came close. I would have dreams where I was alone in a dark room with a girl, just hanging out, but for some inexplicable reason I could never seal the deal. I was like the fat kid who got a taste of chocolate only to have it taken away by an overly health conscious mother, and now I fear that I am too old to revisit my unconscious sexual playground.

Last night I fell asleep exhausted from work, trying to discard the mental images from a jellyfish documentary I had reluctantly just watched on the National Geographic channel.

Once asleep I found myself inside of a good friend's apartment, I was watching television as he threw paper plates at bikers on the sidewalk outside of his patio. He came back into the room and tried to show me a catalogue of gazebos and lawn furniture from which he intended to make a purchase. I told him to leave me alone cause I was watching television.

Next thing I know my girlfriend came into the apartment with some cooking supplies and a suitcase full of antique books. She sat down next to me on the couch and we started watching a show about jellyfish, which had mysteriously appeared on the screen. We started to make out, then she asked me to put on a special suit. It resembled the uniforms that speed skaters wear in the Olympics, I was simultaneously delighted and confused. We started to make out again.

Without warning, my friend burst back into the room dressed as a general and told us we had to leave.

I awoke soon after defeated once more, realizing I had dropped to a new low. This time I had actually been cock-blocked by a friend in my wet dream.

Oscar Season!!!!!

2006-02-14T10:03:00.000-08:00

Hey kids, it's Oscar season, and you know what that means!!! That's right, NOTHING!!! Oscars are stupid! I haven't watched them in years, but I do try to see movies that get critical acclaim and I know that we don't all have time to go see every movie that Oscar might bless this year. So, we've decided to do some summaries. We'll start with Best Picture and go from there(translate: probably stop there). I will not summarize Good Night and Good Luck as it's the second best movie I saw this year(asterix) and you should spend your fucking money you lazy fucking assholes.

CRASH

by: Paul Haggis

The movie opens with a shot of Los Angeles.

Scene:
Two people of the same race are in a room.

Guy: I'm not racist.

Guy2: Me either

A different race person comes in.

Guy: Oh no, a Mexican!....oh my god, I guess I am a racist.

Mexican Guy: Man, that guy was a racist, I wish there wasn't so much racism.

The mexican guy leaves. We follow him into the street. He sees a black guy.

Mexican Guy: Hey, F you, black guy.

Black guy: You racist.

Mexican Guy: Oh my god, I thought that I didn't have anything wrong with me, but I do.

Black Guy: Man, I hate racial stereotypes.

Black guy carjacks rich people.

Rich people: Stupid black guy.

The rich people go home. The rich lady doesn't like her maid because her maid is mexican and that reminds her of the black guy. The rich lady falls on her stairs and her maid helps her.

Rich Lady: Wow, I guess Mexicans really can be helpful.

Meanwhile, the black guy that carjacked the rich people sells the car and then hangs out with his other friend and they talk like black people.

We see a shot of Los Angeles.
The End

Whenever I think about this movie I think of that MTV diaries show. The one where some ridiculous pop star takes you through a day in their life. And the catch phrase is: "you think you know, but you have no idea." And these poor pop stars are forced to look into the camera and say this, but the thing is they don't think of themselves as "poor pop stars" they think that it's a really cool thing to say. So all of a sudden Pink is on your television screen saying 'you think you know, but you have no idea' and she's acting really hard, and like she really is giving you some sort of revelation and all you can think about is how retarded she sounds. That's what Crash was like for me. Just a guy on my television screen saying: You think you know, but you have no idea...and I can tell that he thinks he's sounding really cool and hard and knowledgable, but really he sounds like Pink.

(asterix) first best was Squid and the Whale, please apply aggressive statement about seeing this movie here.

The Best a Man Can Get

2006-02-14T08:40:00.000-08:00

I've been shaving with a Mach 3 razor since I was old enough to grow thin layer of peach fuzz on my upper lip, which was around the seventh grade. The Mach 3 has treated me right all these years, and I haven't been on the market for a new razor. Although, recently I've been craving something more. I think when Schick Quattro hit the market I was a little jealous of the four blade technology even though deep down I knew it was unnecessary.

Yesterday in Ralph's I saw something that gave my beard an erection, the Gillette Fusion. It seems my brand of choice was merely laying dormant, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike with a five blade surprise. Just think of it! Five blades licking my face clean every morning.

I would love to have been a witness to the Gillette meeting when they decided to go with a five blade counter-strike to the Quattro.

Scientist: Well Sir, Schick finally responded to the Mach 3. They came out with a four blade design called the Quattro.
Boss: Four blades! That's absurd. Nobody needs four blades.
Scientist: How would you like to respond?
Boss: Can't we have the Mach 3 secrete a soothing face gel or something.
Scientist: Norelco already has the soothing face cream secretion market cornered.
Boss: Why don't we make the blade spin or something?
Scientist: There could be some serious liability issues there sir.
Boss: OK, Fuck it! Let's do five blades!
Scientist: Five blades, what should we call it?
Boss: How about 'Reaction'?
Scientist: Better yet, how about 'Fission'?
Boss: Fission is nice but I'm looking for something with more of a snap. What's that thing that the sun does...that's it 'Fusion'!

A Bit of the Bubbly

2006-01-26T09:47:00.000-08:00

I've tried unsuccessfully for most of my life to have sophisticated tastes. Regardless of the amount of attempts I've realized that I cannot enjoy the luxuries that an older sophisticated man is supposed to enjoy such as bourbon, cigars, or even champagne. Countless times I've been forced to choke down a warm glass of whiskey because sophisticated whiskey drinkers like it 'neat'. The few times I've been offered a Cuban cigar I didn't dare admit that it tasted just like all the other cigars I've had throughout my life, and all of them have tasted like shit warmed over and dipped in a smoke bbq sauce.

The worst of all sophisticated beverages has always been champagne. I'm convinced that it is the one beverage that tastes worse the more expensive it is. If I was forced to choose between a bottle of Dom Perignon and a three dollar bottle of Cooks, I'd go with the Cooks every time.

I know it's cool these days for hip-hop stars to sit in their booths at the club and spray all the hot girls who pass by with expensive champagne. Before I dedicated any real thought to this, I was under the impression that the stars did this to display a nonchalant attitude toward spending exorbitant amounts of money. Wasting expensive champagne was their way of saying, "I'm so rich, I don't care about a $500 dollar bottle of champagne."

I realize now this has never been the case. The stars order the Cristal because it's the most expensive bottle on the menu, but as soon as they take a sip they realize it tastes like shit. Similar to taking a swig of bad milk, the hip-hop star spits out the Cristal and tries to pour out the remainder of the bottle. Although the champagne, being the overly carbonated beverage that it is, gets all over the place.

My Dream

2006-01-15T14:46:00.000-08:00

I know that writing about dreams is gay and retarded. I also know that it is technically not ok to describe something as gay or retarded, however I'll use the defense that instantly relieves me of any wrongdoing. This simple phrase has saved many a man while he was being culturally insensitive.

I have lots of black friends.

Now that I have been absolved I will continue. I know that writing about dreams is gay and retarded. When people decide to prattle on about their dreams, most of us just check out. After all the meaning of these dreams is often thick and cloudy. But every once in a while a dream is worth hearing about. Martin Luther King had a dream, technically he had lots of dreams, but only one of them was worth hearing about. That dream had something to do with driving a car and his mother and the owner of the local butcher shop were backseat driving and then the car started to fly. It was weird to hear him talk about, but he thought it was a metaphor for how he was lonely as a child.

Recently I had a dream that I feel is worth sharing. I dreamt about being a professional baseball player. I had fulfilled the dream. There I was with a big league ball club. I was the starting right fielder for the San Diego Padres. This is a glorious scenario. Most boys dream of becoming professional baseball players. I say 'most' because some boys do not have this dream. These boys have no souls. But in my dream I had become what I always wanted to be as a child. I was a big leaguer.

There was one problem...in this dream I wasn't Joe-who-can-play-baseball. I was Joe-who-is-tall-awkward-and-has-no-coordination. It was as if I was placed in the big leagues purely by accident. I couldn't hit, field, run...I even forgot my glove in my car. I was terrified the ball would be hit to me, I was terrified to stand in the batter's box. I was terrified of fans throwing things at me. I was miserable. I finally woke up and it was clear that I hadn't been sleeping well. I was sweating, my muscles were tense and I was breathing quickly. The dream of playing professional baseball had morphed into a nightmare.

When did the dreams of my youth become nightmares? What the fuck is wrong with me? Honestly this dream should have been better than the dream I had about a girl with three boobs that was REALLY into me. But it was one of the worst nightmares I've had since the one I had about that girl's husband finding us in bed together. Clearly, I've snapped. I've decided to get some help. This dream is a clear indication of how far my mental health has slipped. Apparently I need to change my approach to life. Now every night I go to sleep praying I don't dream about something good happening to me, because my brain will twist this dream and make me not want it anymore.

I will add that I went back to sleep after my baseball nightmare and dreamt that I was playing professional hockey and I was really good at it. What does that mean?

Dear Readers

2006-01-13T12:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,

I think Brad is dead. Really, really dead. That is why he hasn't posted in some time. It's the only possible explanation. He loved this blog more than he loved his parents, but a little less than he loved his physique. So I'd like to dedicate today's post to him. This is for you Brad, my guess is you've got God caught in the charm beam right now.

Love,

Joe

Rest In Peace

test

2006-01-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

Tall Sympathy

2005-12-12T11:30:00.000-08:00

A preface to this story. Most of you already know that I am quite tall. 6'7" to be exact. This is often pointed out to me by complete strangers...

This weekend I went to a holiday party. It was the standard, small apartment, very crowded, a christmas tree that took up some of the most prime real estate, and conversations with pretty girls with boyfriends. I wander into the kitchen to refill my beer and it is VERY crowded. Approximately 7 people in a kitchen that would be better suited for one person, who was the size of half a person. Amongst the people in the kitchen is another tall guy. This man is pretty close to my height. I notice and then think nothing of it. Then all of a sudden one of this guy's friends starts talking:

Tall's Friend: Hey Steve.
(The tall guy looks, thus I conclude his name is Steve.)
Tall's Friend: Steve, we want you to have a tall-off with this guy.
(He points at me)
Tall's Other Friends: Yeah. Who's taller? Yeah. Good idea. Yeah, have a tall off.

Sometimes in life you meet a complete stranger. You look this complete stranger in the eye and you know that you have reached an understanding. As Steve's friends called for us to display our freakishness for their entertainment we met gazes. Steve and I connected and the thing that we both were expressing to each other was this...

My gaze: Hey man.
Steve's Gaze: Sorry about this.
My Gaze: Not your fault.
Steve's Gaze: I hate this.
My Gaze: I know.
Steve's Gaze: If we ignore it they'll stop.
My Gaze: No they won't.
Steve's Gaze: I know.
My Gaze: I'll take care of it.
Steve's Gaze: Thank you...brother.

Knowing that the 'who's taller' torment would never stop, I told everyone that we'd call it a tie. Steve thanked me and offered me a shot of tequila. I accepted.

Disciplinary Lines I Wish my Father Would Have Used:

2005-12-07T09:16:00.001-08:00

Cowritten by Joe and Brad:

1. I brought you into this world, I can take you out......for some frozen yogurt!!!
2. Don't make me pull this car over....at Chuckie Cheese's!!!
3. I'm gonna count to three....FOOD FIGHT!!!
4. You're grounded...in pudding!!!
5. Go to your room...I put a pony in there.
6. I hate you.

Disciplinary Lines I Wish my Father Would Have Used:

2005-12-07T09:16:00.000-08:00

Common Expressions with uncommon endings

2005-11-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Co-written by Brad and Joe:

A penny saved is a penny earned, but in today's economy a penny won't buy anything so you may as well throw it in the trash.

Dont bite the hand that feeds you. Unless it's covered in chocolate.

Never talk to strangers, about your Herpes.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. But Bush was a pretty crappy band and I don't think they have any birds in the band.

Don't bite off more than you can chew. Unless it's pudding, then you don't have to worry about chewing.

Safety First...Danger Second!

Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Unless it has no teeth, then give that shit back.

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well. Except now you're confused.

With age comes wisdom, and death.

Slow and steady wins the race. Unless it's a very short race. Also, if it's a long race you will also probably lose. Pretty much the only thing that will keep you from winning if you're going fast is if you take a lot of breaks.

You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, but I'd rather have waffles

If The Time is Now, I Want to Hit Snooze

2005-11-17T10:26:00.000-08:00

If you haven't read Brad's post below, please do so before continuing with this piece.

I stand before you as the voice of reason. My compatriot would have you throw away your undershirts. He would have you cast them into a dark corner of your closet. He would have you burn them in the streets. I ask you this: have you no decency? Have you no loyalty? Have you no memory of the aid undershirts have provided you over the years?

Remember when you first discovered the undershirt? You were probably 12-14. You were just becoming aware of your body image(you were just becoming aware that bodies had images). You didn't like that image. You were scrawny or you were fat. You were constantly embarrassed. Suddenly like an eagle swooping out of the sky the undershirt came down: "CAW CAW," it cried. "Caw caw, I am an undershirt, fly with me and your body will be covered. You may begin to wear collared shirts and not feel self conscious. Caw Caw!"

I ask you to remember a time when you were sweaty or when you were cold or when you were wet. Did the undershirt not provide protection through these dark times? Did it not wisk sweat away from your body(without revealing itself to the world), did it not make you warmer, did it not provide an extra layer of protection from your body being revealed to the world? These are the things an undershirt can do for you. But it can do so much more.

They are comfortable. They provide a relaxation mode for post-work. But above all they protect you from nipple chafing. Do not abandon our brother. Do not follow that oh so crafty pied piper. Sure, he looks so free and loose and cool. He prances around talking about how free he feels. But this freedom is temporary. Soon he will be left out in the cold, he'll want to take off his fancy-pants dress shirt and relax with a Miller Lite, but he will not be able to. Because his undershirts will be balled in a corner of his closet, being punished for a crime they did not commit.

Vive Le Non Revolution!

The Time is Now!

2005-11-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

Gentlemen, there is a revolutionary in our midst! And like all great revolutionarys his ideas and philosophies have been met with vast objection from the ignorant masses. But he believed in his cause and broke down the walls of ignorance. I was once a non-believer but on Wednesday I opened my heart and was reborn. This man has ushered in a new era of freedom to the office, a new age of control and comfort, he has started Sans Undershirt or "SUS". If you are reading this I'm asking you to become one of us, shed your undershirt in a bold statement of defiance. When you get dressed in the morning cast this unnecessary garment aside and yell "I will not be contained!" It will be the best decision you've ever made.

For the sake of preserving the identity of this revolutionary, for both his protection and ours, I will call him "Jared". Below I have included exerpts of his teachings.

Jared: "Undershirts are a restriction that society puts upon itself – free yourselves my brothers!"

Unbeliever: "Do you use a spritz of cologne or any other scent masker? I'm a little scared, my musk makes women swoon and tends to attract squirrels."
Jared: "Thou shall not be afraid to rock the musk."

Unbeliever: "An undershirt protects your dress shirt from body soil. How do you protect the dress shirt now? Doesn't it hike up the amount of money you spend on laundry?"
Jared: "Thou shall get your dress shirt laundered for a dollar every two sessions."

Unbeliever: "What’s the etiquette on thinner, cotton shirts that are mildly transparent? I have one or two of those and I think my nipples would show through."
Jared: "Haha my brother, Don’t be afraid to let them fly. Be proud of what’s yours"

For those of you who still don't believe I have included a testimony written by a member of our community.

"Jared, helped me to realize one very important fact. I want to see my own nipples, and that’s all that matters. Going SUS is a statement of ownership of one’s self. People know what I’m about now. Going SUS is more than just comfort and unbelievable cross-ventilation. It’s standing up to the world and saying, 'World, no matter what you throw at me, I’ll be okay…because I’m not wearing an undershirt, and I don’t plan to. So piss off!' That’s what it’s about. It’s about power and more power. Someday you’ll see it." (Carp, 2005)

My Spelling Problem

2005-11-15T16:35:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. I am a spelling Nazi. I don't know why I am like this; I only know that I am. If you send me an e-mail and you misspell a word, odds are I will write back to you and correct your word. Often, I will mock you for misspelling.

For example, recently a friend of mine, Jeremiah, sent a group of people an e-mail talking about how he wanted to teach English in Mexico. In this e-mail he misspelled a word. My reply to him was something along the lines of:

"Maybe you should learn how to spell before you try to teach English to foreigners."

No big deal, right? Just busting a friends balls. Definitely. However, I felt I had to reply to the entire e-mail list. This included his parents(if memory serves me right). I didn't have the decency to subtly let my friend know that he had made a mistake and that he should be careful in the future. I had to tell everyone. I had to be a dick about it. Why? Because misspelled words in an e-mail make me angry.

That's how big of a spelling Nazi I am. It gets under my skin. It makes me livid. If you misspelled enough words in an e-mail to me and I read it right before I went to bed I would probably lose sleep and I would blame you for that lost sleep. I would let you know how awful I was feeling the next day because of your botched e-mail.

Do I proofread my own e-mails? No. Do I know how to punctuate? No.

However, the lesson to be learned here is: Don't misspell shit. It fucking pisses me off.

Hey, at least I'm not a Nazi Nazi. Wait, maybe that would be good. That would mean I'm a Nazi about Nazis. What I meant to say was at least I'm not an actual Nazi.

Vale'vic'torian

2005-11-14T14:20:00.000-08:00

I really hate to out myself as a man who occasionally watches pornography, but I just did so I'll move on. If I sat here and tried to convince you that I really don't watch that much it would just make me seem all the more desperate, and therefore more perverted. Suffice it say that I have viewed pornography. As have all of you. So fuck off. Moving on...

Recently I saw a short film(yes, I said film) in which a young lady, unhappy with her grades, came to her professor to try to get her grade changed. This being a porno there is no need for me to go into the details of what happened next, needless to say she was given a better grade(and she earned it with her mouth and her vagina). Oops, I guess I did go into it.

This is all run of the mill stuff and is not why I'm writing about this. I'm discussing this because during the 'plot' section of this movie the girl had a pretty long monologue about why she couldn't get a 'B.' She explained to her professor(who had a huge dick, by the way) that she couldn't fail because she was trying to become valevictorian of her class.

That's right she said 'valeVICtorian.' She also explained that she was competing with another girl for Valevictorian(setting up a potential three way that never materialized). Why would you say that? Why would you say that you wanted to be valevictorian? First, if you can't say the word you're clearly not going to achieve the status. I'll admit that this was possibly a potential joke, however everything was set up to give us the idea that she was actually smart(she wore glasses, she talked about all the A's that she had gotten in the past). So if this was a joke, it was a joke that distracted from the reality of the scenario(I know it's a porno, but is it too much to ask for continuity? Answer: No, it's not.).

The other notable reason that they shouldn't have used the word valevictorian is that valedictorian has the word DICK in it. THAT'S THE EASIEST PORN JOKE OF ALL TIME. All this girl had to do was enunciate the 'dick' and it would have sent twitters down the spines of 14 year old boys everywhere. How do they miss this? HOW?

Which is why I think that this was an honest mistake. I believe the actress believed the word was with a 'vic,' and that not a single soul on the entire set knew that she was wrong. That ladies and gentleman is the beauty of the porn industry. A bunch of stupid people can get together and make millions of dollars by doing what God intended us to do(and some things that he didn't) and it never matters that for the most part they have the intelligence of a turtle.

That is the beauty of America, and that is what the terrorists are trying to destroy.

The Cowboy Paradox

2005-11-13T18:22:00.001-08:00

Over the years, especially while I lived in Tahoe, I witnessed a friend or two fall victim to the belief that they were a modern day cowboy. The transition is slow and methodical and can be easily diagnosed by the first major symptom, recreational country music listening. It starts out innocently enough, with a Shania Twain CD at a party or a Clint Black poster, but country music is just a gateway. Country music opens the door for users to engage in more high risk behavior such as line dancing, going to the rodeo, yelling 'Yee-Haw', or wrangler wearing. Wranglers can be easily identified by their form fitting style, from a distance it may actually appear as if the user's lower body was dipped into a vat of denim colored paint, modern day cowboys actually think of these wranglers as a form of protective skin.

The modern day cowboy problem goes far beyond their obtrusive behaviors, the very ideology upon which their lifestyle is based is fundamentally flawed. Modern day cowboys are desperately clinging to the idea of the 'frontier'. Unfortunately for them, they haven't realized that the frontier is just a pipe-dream. We live in California, the bitter end of a once vast frontier, and now the closest anybody is going to get to the Wild West is east LA. And trust me, cowboy hats don't fly down there.

On Fruit Gum

2005-11-10T14:21:00.000-08:00

In a bar, if you roll up to a girl with a fresh peice of spearmint gum. The girl automatically thinks, "this guys breath is fresh alright, but I wonder if he's covering something up."

It took me twelve years to realize that mint carries with it a negative stigma, it's a cover up for something. It may seem fresh at first, but it's a false sense of freshness. That is why over the last month I've been driven away to wander the dessert of gum flavors alone. After weeks of searching I've stumbled across the oasis of freshness...fruit flavored gum.

In a bar, if you roll up to a girl with a fresh peice of Tropical Twist Trident gum. The girl thinks, "Wow, this guys breath smells like fresh fruit. I wonder if he just got done eating a fruit bowl or something. If he's eating fruit, he must live a healthy lifestye." Bam! you're in.

Entertainment Industry Protocol

2005-11-10T14:02:00.000-08:00

I've been working in the entertainment industry now for about three months. During this time I've observed a series of social nuances that seemed to have weaved themselves into the social fabric of this industry. The unspoken rules of interaction have formed a sort of protocol that everyone in the business must obey. For the sake of simplicity I'll narrowed everything down to two main groups (i) dress code and (ii) introductions.

Dress Code:
1. A soul patch is always preferable to no facial hair. Rocking the patch makes a person appear edgy and hip.
2. Wearing thick framed black glasses is a must. These type of frames make people think you’re creative, cool, and business oriented all at the same time.
3. Whenever possible rock sunglasses indoors. If it is not possible to rock sunglasses then you must make calls on your cell phone. If you have no one to call, just put your cell phone to your ear and pretend to be talking, incorporating over exaggerated hand motions. If you do not have a cell phone on you, shape your hand like a phone and talk into your hand. Never! I repeat never! Under any circumstances, should you be caught without sunglasses on or a cell phone to your ear.
4. When wearing a dark blazer, you must unbutton you shirt enough to display at least .8 sq ft of chest and/or chest hair. If you are a foreigner, you must have a bright colored handkerchief poking out of the pocket on the right hand side of your blazer. If you are Canadian, you must kick yourself in the balls.
5. Show your blackberry to people every 5 to 10 minutes. Or at least make sure everyone in the room knows you have one. If people aren't noticing, take it out of your pocket and place it on the table, then pick it up like someone is calling you. Say hello into the device a few times like the person on the other end is breaking up, then place it back down on the table and say "I hate these things."

Introductions:
1. Within the first 5 minutes of a conversation you must name drop at least two people. Preferably a former boss of the person with whom you are speaking. In emergency situations when the name is not recognized you must respond with “Oh, you probably don’t know him personally, he’s pretty high level.”
2. Every conversation is a battle for professional supremacy. You must make the other person qualify themselves to you, not the other way around. In the following example, Clay effectively establishes his professional supremacy:

Clay: Nice to meet you Guthrie, where do you work again?
Guthrie: I work as an agent over at CAA.
Clay: Oh, I’ve never heard of you.
Guthrie: Well I just started, I’m still building my client base.
Clay: Of course you are. (Clay answers his cell phone.)

Superpowers!!!

2005-11-09T10:26:00.000-08:00

A lot of folks have debated a lot of things over the years. But of all these arguments, it seems that the one they always come back to is which Superpower you'd want. Benjamin Franklin wanted to be able to fly an electrified kite. Abraham Lincoln wanted to be able to talk to black people(like aquaman with fish). Tony Gwynn wanted to be able to digest a cheese burger at lightning speed. Here is what Brad and I would want:

Joe: I would want to be able to cry a single tear on command. This would serve as both a great party trick and would allow me to get sympathy from all sorts of beautiful ladies.

Brad: I would like to hang out with a band of semi-popular misfits, when we got into situations that we couldn't resolve individually, like bar fights, we would all band together to form a giant fighting humanoid. Two people would act as the torso, another as the arm and so forth, a lot like a real life Voltron.

There you have it. More important musings to come...

Picture of Bush!!!!(the president)

2005-11-07T21:39:00.000-08:00

I’ll open by saying this: I am not a Bush fan. I would go so far as to say that I dislike him strongly. I’m not going to get deep into my politics. That’s not why I’m here. But, as a Bush unsupporter(my blog, my words, my rules) you must imagine my happiness when I saw this picture:

Look at that picture. There is a man whose politics I despise. Whom I want to believe is purely evil. Evil is the wrong word. I don’t want Bush to be evil, I want him to be an absolute fucking idiot. I want him to be the stupidest man alive. Evil gives him too much credit. At first glance, this picture seems to answer my prayers. Suddenly he goes from the smooth talking(sort of) cowboy to the flummoxed douchebag that I know in my heart he is.

Pictures like this are all over the internet. It seems that at least once a month I get forwarded a picture of George Bush making some face, or doctored into some strange position with a funny look on his face. Its proof to me that others believe the things that I believe. These pictures give me joy because they reach into my lonely castle and let me know that I am not alone. There are others like me. If this were the apocalypse discussed in Stephen King’s ‘The Stand,’ I would be on my way to Boulder right now, confident that when I got there I would find an old black lady and a bunch of people who felt the same way I did. M-O-O-N, that spells obscure reference.

Now, look at his face in that picture. Really study it. Not even a republican can deny that he looks like an absolute idiot. He looks stupider than an Ox that is trying to do mathematics. Are you studying that face? Are you leaned all the way into your monitor? Are you really studying his look? Good. Now, answer quickly, what face are you making right now? Odds are your cheeks aren’t puffed up like a chipmunk, but odds are also that you look like a dunce. Your concentration face probably looks retarded. I make the face that Bush is making five or six times a day. It’s not a sign of stupidity (although I am admittedly stupid) that face is an indication that Bush doesn’t have the same expression at all times. It’s merely an ordinary expression. This is no different then if a picture of him circulated on the toilet. I’d be gleeful, but at the same time, I go to the bathroom too so it’s not exactly like I’d be able to judge him.

That expression gave me such joy the first time I saw it. But now every time I see one of these great Bush photo forwards I’ll just be sad. I’ve realized that there is nothing to that moment. It’s just a picture. It’s just a moment in time. It does not indicate his stupidity. Frankly I’m embarrassed that I didn’t realize this sooner. I took so much false joy from these pictures. I feel like I did when I was a child and I found out there was no Santa Clause(because my Dad had killed him). The only thing I have to do is to sit and wait for a day when I can proudly look at the picture of a democratic president making a stupid face and chide the Republicans for looking for a fault when there isn’t one.

Maybe we should start distributing pictures of Bush in truly revealing moments. If we can get a picture of him shooting a gay guy or reading an intelligence report that says there are no WMD’s or even if we find a picture of him giving the devil a blowjob. Then we’ve got something to go off of. Where are these pictures? We have pictures of him looking bewildered, why can’t we get one of him actually being a douchebag? Until then I will no longer look at these pictures, they provide a false sense of security. I suggest that you stop taking joy from them too.

In Blogness,

Joe

Body Building

2005-11-03T14:28:00.000-08:00

I had a moment of realization this morning. During my typical morning procrastination routine I stumbled across a random thought that inspired me...the perfect body building name.

Oedipus Flex

I now owe it to myself to quit my job and become a professional body builder, for the sake of the name.

My Weekly Annoyances

2005-11-03T09:18:00.000-08:00

Every week I have a new set of annoyances. I'm like an old man in that regard, except I don't wake up in the mornings and do arm circles, or take a handful of pain killers/muscle relaxers with each daily serving of tapioca pudding.

When I originally bought my alarm clock I never bothered to set it to my favorite radio station. Instead I just moved the tuner dial till the next radio station came in clear enough make out the words. So for the last six months I've been waking up to Power 106, blazing hip hop and R&B for Los Angeles. Like most other radio stations Power 106 has a lot of contests and promotions, they are currently giving away 360, X-box 360's to a new caller number 106 every hour. The morning DJ between blocks of songs likes to segway with the same phrase, "What's up? You are listening to Power 106, blazing hip hop and R&B, we're just doing dat thang ("Thing" herein after)." Using the context of this sentence it's difficult for me to know exactly what Thing the DJ is speaking about. Is he talking about DJ'ing? Is he talking about giving away X-boxes? Or is he talking about blazing hip hop? Please be more clear morning DJ, it's early and I don't want to have to figure shit out.

Since I work in Westwood I go to Whole Foods a lot for lunch. Outside of Whole Foods there is typically about three to four people protesting/petitioning mercury pollution. These people are in their mid-twenties and appear to be normal to slightly hippy-ish. (They probably wouldn't change the radio station if a Pink Floyd song came on, but they also wouldn't change the station if a Johnny Mraz song came on either, if you catch my drift.) I think everyone knows my stance on petitions so I'm not going to get into details, but I was just curious how someone gets sucked into the underground-world of mercury pollution protesting. Does it happen suddenly? Was one of these hippy-ish kids just sitting outside eating his burrito when he bit into a big chunk of mercury and thought, "Enough is enough! I can't take it anymore! This mercury problem has got to end!" Or was he just normal hippy-ish twenty-something looking for something to take a stand on. Seeing as how the Iraq war is all mainstream now, he decided to be a non-conformist pick the problem that not a lot of people give a shit about...Mercury pollution. Good job bro! Just a suggestion though, if you want to make the world a safer place for me, maybe you should start by petitioning to have the lead based paint removed from my apartment. Till then, suck my nuts, I'm not signing anything.

Do you hear that sound?

2005-11-01T11:36:00.000-08:00

Can you hear that sound? That gentle rumbling that comes flying over the hills? You can hear it drawing closer. Navigating the streets of Los Angeles, filling everyone with it's power. It sweeps through their neighborhoods, in Pasadena, in Santa Monica, in Thousand Oaks. It fills them with the same desire that the sound has. For that sound is the sound of the people. After all these years of strife and hardship, hatred and dissonance. Something has finally brought their voices together. They have raised their voices in unison and they are all crying out to be silenced. They want to be satisfied, but I do not have that power. Listen closely. You can just now make out what they are saying. They call out: "Post Brad! Please post and fill our eyes and our hearts and our minds with your gentle wisdoms and harsh truths. Please fulfill us. Make us whole again." If you listen even closer you can hear some of them saying: "Joe, make him post. We need him. We like you, but he completes us. Make him come back to us."

I call out to the people: "Please, be patient. He is a man of many responsibilities, he will come back to us, er, I mean you." I try to sound confident, but my hands are shaking. The doubt creeps into my mind. I want to lead the people, I want to show them that the path is free from brambles and bear traps. But I am not their leader, and everyone knows the truth in that.

I will press on. But I fear that we are all lost.

Listen to the sound Brad. It's the people, and they're calling you.

Uneccessary Abbreviations

2005-10-27T13:53:00.000-07:00

There is a guy who I sit next to at work. I think it's fair to say that most of us sit next to someone at work. Usually people have major problems with said guy. He whistles, he farts, he throws knives, something along those lines. For these reasons, people often hate their working neighbors (although I would argue that what they really hate is their jobs, and therefore themselves, and they are just projecting this hatred on a perfectly normal knife thrower, who is, frankly, getting shafted, by someone elses self loathing). Honestly, I've never met a bad knife thrower. They instill confidence in people. Think about it you really have to trust them.

Back on track. I love my work neighbor. Great guy. We occasionally even hang out on the weekends. But he has one thing that he does that drives me crazy. He abbreviates. He abberviates evertyhing. In fact, he would tell you that he 'abreevs.' By far, the most atrocious of these abbreviations is what he calls Chocolate Chip Cookies. He refers to Chocolate chip cookies as "Triple C's." There are a couple problems with this. One, I see no need to abbreviate "chocolate chip cookies." It's a longer phrase but it's not like it's used so often that one needs to save time. Two, "Triple C" does not immediately make the object of your abbreviation obvious. I hate many other abbreviations very much, for example, LOL. But when you use LOL at least everyone knows what you're talking about(even though people in my office consistently type 'LOL' despite the fact that I am within earshot and I can HEAR that they're not laughing out loud).

I'm not sure if I have a point here, but I felt it was important to express my frustration over the phrase 'Triple C.' When abbreviating in the future please consider the following:
-Is your abbreviation necessary?
-Is your abbrevation stupid?
-Are you being ridiculous?
-Will your abbreviation amuse your friends?

If you answer no to the first three questions and yes to the fourth, please abbreviate to your HC(Heart's content). If no, then refrain.

In blogness,

Joe

5 Seconds Later

2005-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

I've heard before that women decide whether they would sleep with a guy within five seconds of meeting them. Five seconds when put into perspective is surprisingly fast, that's barely enough time for someone to introduce themselves. Come to think of it, I can't even decide what I want to drink at a bar in five seconds, let alone make potentially life changing decisions.

From my perspective, if this whole five seconds thing is true, women must have a lot more faith in their instincts then I have in mine. This is probably because over my 24 years of existence I've slowly learned to defer all major decisions to outside sources, be it situational or even someone else's decision that I just mooch off of. For example, at a restaurant I'll just order whatever the person before me ordered, at a bar I'll order whatever the drink special is, and at the grocery store I buy whatever has the biggest discount on Ralph's club. Which would explain why I went an entire week in September eating only canned tomatoes and Puffins.

So I think the five second decision doesn't really apply for most guys, cause like me, most of those decisions are deferred to an outside source, their loins. At bars most guys can be effectively split into two categories depending on their intoxication level or sleaziness. When guys are really hammered or sleazy they act a lot like water, basically when it comes to girls they just follow the path of least resistance (Fisher, 2002). Other guys, who are less sleazy or hammered, rely upon their groins as a sort of sexual compass or divining rod.

In practice a guy will be talking with a group of girls, unsure of which one he really likes. Instead of forcing himself to make a conscious decision, he will just let the conversation take its course. By the time a decision needs to be made, he will look down, see who his groin is pointing at and that's it! He gets the number and hopes the feeling is mutual.

Contest

2005-10-25T09:23:00.000-07:00

A blog I read on occasion has a daily contest. Because I am desperate for ideas for my own blog, I thought I'd start a contest. The contest is this, please create a caption for the following picture. The winner will be selected at some point in the future and will probably be me. F you guys.

P.S. Don't really submit captions. Caption contests are stupid.

Worth My Wait.

2005-10-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

I've been a commuter in Los Angeles for two years now and I have no soul. If anyone is wondering why I have no soul, it is because the LA traffic has eaten it. LA traffic is an unstoppable beast that destroys everything in its path. For every hour that I sit in traffic the red brake lights borrow deeper into my brain and take small bites at the very core of me, until all that's left is just a shell of a man. When I'm in traffic I have no feeling, no desires, no empathy and no purpose. What have I become?

I had this moment of realization about a month ago when I was sitting in bumper to bumper traffic driving back to LA from San Diego. I just kept thinking to myself how rewarding it would finally be to see the accident that has caused all the delay. The thought started to ruminate and after an hour I decided I really wanted to see something fucked up. I fought the idea at first thinking it was a bit sadistic and out of character for me. But deep down I wanted to know that all the time I wasted sitting in traffic was worth it.

I was disappoint when I drove by a small fender bender with no serious injuries. I was hoping to see some kind of post-apocalyptic battle scene with flipped over cars and people screaming. But no, it was just a fender bender and an hour of my life was wasted cause some douche can't change lanes properly. Do me a favor next time bro, when you get in an accident fuck some people up! Or at the very least cause some serious property damage, for my sake.

Response to Brad's List

2005-10-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

In response to Brad's last list summarazing: "Common Moments of Realization in Mid- to Low-budget Action Adventure Movies." I would like to list Uncommon Moments of Realization in Mid to Low-budget Action Adventure Movies.

1. "We've been carrying the source of it's power the whole time. Everyone discard your swiss made watches, the monster draws it's power from them."

2. "I think we have to kill the toaster."

3. "I am definitely not your father/wife/son/uncle/relative."

4. "I'm hurt very badly and I don't think I can go on."

5. "I'm gay. It's just hitting me right now, but I'm gay."

Breeding Rights.

2005-10-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

(Warning: This post is going to make me sound like an asshole. But I'm ok with that.)

There is a game I play when I'm in public called the "Who Got the Better End of the Deal Game", basically when I see a couple walking in public I look at the attractiveness of the male vs. the attractiveness of the female and I assess who got the better end of the deal in the relationship. I know its a bit shallow, but I find it entertaining. Well, this weekend when I was playing the game there were a few couples that were really too close to call and this got me thinking about some things.

I think the United States should establish the Breeding Rights Oversight Board, which will individually grant breeding rights to couples who apply. Each couple will fill out an application form and depending upon pre-established criterion they will be allotted a certain number of offspring. I know this may sound petty and mean, but there is a nasty truth out there that no one is willing to face, some people just shouldn't have kids. By allowing some people to have kids we are just holding ourselves back, and by 'ourselves' I mean the human race. Breeding has gone on unchecked for too long!

The Breeding Right criteria is very important and I have developed the preliminary requirements as listed below:

For Men:
1. Height
5'7'' to 5'9'' = One Child allotment
5'10'' to 6'0'' = Two Child allotment
6'1'' and up = Four Child allotment

2. Common Sense - A simple 'common sense' test will be given to all candidates and graded on a pass/fail basis.

3. Sense of Humor - An independent Humor board will grade candidates on their ability to make the board laugh. No laughs = No Children.

4. Athletic Prowess - A strenuous obstacle course will be run by each candidate. Breeding rights will be distributed according to the candidates performance relative to their age group.

5. No Douche Policy - I'm sorry there is a strict no douche policy. An independent 'You're a Douche Board' will determine each candidates status.

6. Misc. - An extensive background check will be performed to determine if the candidate has ever sported a collar up or fauxhawk. Either offense will result in the immediate revocation of all breeding rights.

For Women:

The criteria for women is identical as the criteria for men, except the height scale is replaced with a simple (-5 to +5) ranking of hotness, as determined by the independent 'Are You Hot' Board.

Additional Information:
Breeding rights will act a lot like Cingular minutes with rollover. All unused breeding rights can be rolled forward from father to son. Also, excess breeding rights can be sold on the open market to the highest bidder. That way, if you're a douche, but still a rich douche with something to offer, you could probably buy yourself some offspring.

Teen Depression

2005-10-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

I have a new theory as to why teens are depressed. I’m not the first to try to solve this age old question, and I’m certain I won’t be the last, but I’ll probably be the most successful. All teens go through an extremely dark time somewhere between the ages of 12 and 17. If you’re still bummed consistently when you’re 18 then you have a mental issue and you should stop reading this blog and see a Doctor. Seriously, stop looking to me for help, I can’t help you and what we did was just for fun. I’m not your Dad, I’m not your boyfriend and I’m definitely not your Doctor. And if you confuse what we did as something that you might do with a doctor, stop going to doctors and don’t talk to people about your past. Just bury it in your soul and don’t let it out.

Digression over. A lot of teens are depressed. Many psychologists claim that this is a direct result of their drug use, drinking and other nefarious activities. I think those psychologists and so-called experts are wrong. Here is my argument.

If nefarious activity is responsible for teen depression then why don’t all teens get depressed? I know plenty of teens that don’t drink, I was one of them(so lame). I was depressed as hell.

What are the things that bring you joy in life? Where do you get your joie de vie? I get mine from exercise, healthy foods and not those two things I just mentioned. Most of the kicks I get out of life come from one of the following:

-Booze
-Girls(nefarious girls(not girlfriends(girlfriends are a different type of happiness(one more parathese)))
-Drugs
-Kicking things that shouldn’t be kicked
-Knocking over temporary fences at little league baseball stadiums

These are the things that teens do, but are forced to feel guilty about. If we let children run wild, if we allowed them to experience the pleasures of being really drunk, wouldn’t we be doing everyone a favor?

Do you know that moment…the moment when you get up to take your first pee of the night. You’ve had a couple beers. You get into the bathroom. Suddenly you’re leaning against the wall or you catch your own eye in the mirror. And you just smile. And everything seems so peaceful…do you know that moment? That’s a great moment and all over the world, teenagers have to feel guilty about that moment. That’s not ok.

In short, our children are being robbed of life's few pleasures. They have to grow up playing tag. I've played tag sober, and I've played tag drunk, and one of those two is vastly superior to the other. Wouldn't playing tag as a child, the time when we truly enjoy a game like that, be so much better if you were a drunken child?

I say we let kids drink. It truly is life’s greatest pleasure. Maybe then the teen suicide rate will go down. The teen happiness rate will go up, and parents all over the world will rejoice.

Not to mention this side effect. If a child has a beer, and he’s going to drink it, legal or not, wouldn’t you rather have this child in the safety of your neighborhood dive bar? If not, he’s going to drink in some field, and he’s going to light it on fire and if he doesn’t die in that fire his friends most certainly will.

In short we’re hurting our children in two ways. 1. We’re depriving them of one of life’s few pure pleasures. 2. We’re putting them in dangerous situations in order to drink without our approval.

Buy a kid a beer. Make the world a better and safer place.

A Fresh New List

2005-10-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

Common Moments of Realization in Mid- to Low-budget Action Adventure Movies:

1. "We aren't hunting them...They are hunting us!"

2. "There is no way out of here!"

3. "We need more guns!"

4. "We are running out of expendable supporting roles for the monster to kill off!"

5. "It's one of us!" (at this point all characters start to treat each other with an increased sense of suspicion.)

An Open Letter to Brad in reference to our new endeavor

2005-10-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

Dearest Brad

Before we get down to the business of awing each other and our close personal friend with our staggering creativity, let us define some parameters. Keep in mind that these parameters are being established with the sole purpose of giving us the opportunity to destroy them with our creative discussions/rantings. After all the beauty of rules is that if you break them you feel very cool. Consider my first post an analysis of our purpose. I recommend that we operate off of a manifesto, a constitution, a handbook and/or a thick rulebook that dictates to us what it is exactly that we are doing. Following is my interpretation or our purpose for you to examine and hopefully comment, edit and amend:

What do we hope to achieve?

When considering what I would like to accomplish with this blog many things come to mind. The first thing that pops into my brain is world domination. In answer to my brain, let me say this, I reject world domination wholly and totally. Attempting to control the world is unoriginal and frankly sort of boring. So many before us have tried and some of them have even come close(Napoleon and Rene Russo come to mind), but even if they had achieved world domination would it have meant anything to them? I think not(especially for Rene Russo). Who cares about world domination? There are plenty of people in this world and plenty of blog readers. If fifty people are entertained by what we write, why do we need some schmuck in Norway to read our translated blog? I’m not saying it wouldn’t be cool. I’m just saying it’s not my number one priority. Others can have the world, my needs are simple.

Following is what I hope to achieve with our blog:
- Entertain you.
- Sleep with one lady as a direct result of my postings.

I would appreciate it if you would take the time to think of some goals. We should also talk about group goals. Here are some potential group goals:

- Be hired to blog professionally as a team.
- Have our blog featured in an on-line Blog review of the greatest blogs ever.
- To have a racially infused spam war take place on our blog message board(Note: this cannot be started by us, it has to happen naturally)
- To increase our readership to 10 hits per day.
- For our blog to hold the clue that unravels a centuries old mystery(preferably a murder).
- To be the first collective to blog from space(NASA has an edge on us, but I think we can do this).

Who is this blog for?

Well obviously it’s for Jared, Fisher, Goldsmith, Jeremiah, hot chicks and others, but I think that you and I agree that our ultimate goal should be to get Carp to become a regular reader. I think we can do this. It will take a concerted effort but his presence in Seattle and thus his absence from my and especially your life should nudge him over the edge.

Why are we doing this?

I think that’s obvious.

In conclusion, this blog will be a place for you and I to masturbate each other and ourselves. I look forward to feeling a gentle stroking in my nethers as I read your posts.

As will become our tradition, I invite your comments and responses.

In Blogness,

Joe

Testing 4...5...6

2005-10-08T12:53:00.000-07:00

Testing 1..2..3

2005-10-08T12:06:00.000-07:00

Testing