What's In A Word?

Of course it's not.

Well, I’ll tell ya.

A lot.

I know what you’re thinkin’. I’m about to go off on profanity laced rant about profanity. Well, I’m not. I think. I’m kinda just typing as I go.

All while watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Thank you USA!

The network. Not the country. Although it was made in the US. I think. Oh hell, I don’t care.

All franchise films need a Temple of Doom. Terminator: And The Temple of Doom. Lord of the Rings: And the Temple of Doom. Diary of a Wimpy Kid: And the Temple of Doom. It all makes sense.

Back to the point. What’s in a word?

I have two words I’d like to talk about right now.

#1: THE

That’s right. The word “the”. Here’s why it’s so important.

You meet somebody at a party. You’re getting drunk. No, wait, you’re getting hammered. You meet Jay Leno. Hold on… Jay Leno? THE Jay Leno? No? Just Jay Eustace Leno. Yes, he is Jay Leno. Just not THE Jay Leno.

See how “the” works? Even when hammered, you know the difference between Jay Leno and THE Jay Leno. I am SO sorry THE Jay Leno.

Actually… no I’m not. If I met you at a party, I’d probably be getting hammered and asking you if you were “the” Jay Leno. Over and over. My memory ain’t so good when I’ve been drinking. Actually, it ain’t so good when I haven’t which may account for why I yammer on constantly about things I’ve already talked about when I’ve been drinking. Or so I’m told.

Let’s involve profanity now. I’m going to use the word “shit”. Not really a bad word. Really.

“Wow, Honey. Your cooking is shit.” Not a nice thing to say.

“Wow, Honey. Your cooking is the shit.” Nice thing to say.

I have seen exactly two movies with Kate Capshaw in it. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Space Camp. That’s it.

I get distracted easily.

Heh. Her character’s name in Doom is Wille. Heh.

#2: DRINKING (I know what you’re thinking and shut up.)

Talk about a powerful word. More powerful than “the”. Seriously.

If I said, “I’ve been drinking a lot lately.” The implication is that I’ve been hitting the bottle. And those of you who know me might assume that I’m becoming an alcoholic. I’m a homebrewer, so it’s pretty rare that I’m out of beer. And I likes the whisky. Mmmm, whiskey.

The simple truth is I’m drinking a lot of Crystal Light. Stephanie bought 900 single packets and I’m going through them like Halloween candy. So, I’m drinking a lot lately. Of water. Lotsa water. Flavored with Crystal Light. I think the marketing term is “enhanced”.

Someone says: “I quit drinking.” Obviously they mean they quit drinking alcohol. If they quit drinking EVERYTHING they’d die. Even if it was Crystal Light. Why would anyone quit drinking Crystal Light? I ask you.

How many roller coasters were based on the mine car chase in Doom? I wonder. Probably a bunch. Six Flags had a ride, as I recall. It was better if you had been drinking.

Then it was the shit.

She quit drinking. Obviously.

2012 Bitch

"Philosophy is the shit, dude." - Socrates

That’s right! In case you didn’t know.

Last Thursday we had our park day with one of the homeschool groups we belong too. This is a good group because it is small, and for the most part all girls my girls’ age.

One of the moms there, Andrea, bought a neat lesson course. It’s philosophy for young elementary aged kids. She wanted to give it a try in a small group and since we met once a week for the park day anyway, it was worth a shot.

We met up at the top of the hill, very scenic, in a large wooden gazebo. The weather was perfect. The ladies and I sat quietly after gathering the children onto a red blanket. Of course the kids are used to running around and generally going nuts on park day, so a took a while to settle them down.

When they finally stopped jumping around like electrons Andrea started the lesson.

Andrea: “Ok. Did your mom or dad tell you what we are doing today?”

Zoey: “No.”

Me: “Yes I did!”

Andrea: “Well, we’re going to read a short story and then talk about it. Is that ok?”

Zoey: “2012 bitch!”

And she said it like she had just dunked over Shaquille O’Neal. Of course all eyes are on me.

My first instinct was to pretend she wasn’t my kid. My second was to shrug and say, “Well… it is.” Instead I said, “I have no idea…”

But one of the other moms came to my rescue. She pointed out it was written in heavy black marker all over the wooden top beams of the gazebo. I hadn’t seen it because I was wearing sunglasses.

All I can say is she knows how to sound out new words. My girls can read.

I believe we've already answered this question.

Why Do Car Dealers Do This?

Come... look inside... yeah... that's it... just a little closer...

They've got a dozen or so cars out front with their hoods wide open like hippos yawning.

As a child I had always assumed that was so that browsing men could observe and assess the engine because all men were supposed to know what a fine looking engine looked like.

But now that I am a full grown man, and one that has spent more than a few passing moments pulling apart engine parts and putting them back together, if I were to look inside a gaping Camero I quite honestly would't get anything out of it.

I'd be like... so.... that's how the hood opens. Huh.

So, the only conclusion I can think of is that it gives the rookie salesmen something to do at the beginning and end of the day. It's sure to be extremely important. Particularly on rainy days.

And Just Where Have I Been?

It's not like I've been ignoring you. I just haven't felt like blogging.

The fact that I broke my computer really didn't help either.

Sad face is sad.

In either case here I am back at the keyboard.

Today there really isn't much on my mind. Except Santa Claus.

He is such a whore.

Seriously. Have you seen him around? The man sells everything. I see him outside the Citgo everyday now twirling a sign for whatever the hell he sells there.

He's on TV selling Mercedes. And Chevy trucks. And jewelry. And toys and beer and signature blend coffees. He's on the streets selling massages, payday advances, furniture and puppies.

He's been selling Coca-Cola for what? 70+ years now?

Who me? Judge? I saw you selling puppies.

And it all started before Halloween. I started getting mad when retailers thought they needed to start selling Christmas before Thanksgiving. Who wants to hear Dolly Parton crow on mercilessly about a hard candy Christmas while picking up endless supplies for their Thanksgiving dinner?

And now, while yer out shopping for a giant bag of Tootsie rolls, you can purchase fake snow, garden gnome elves, and prancing reindeer frozen in their frolicked state. They are across the aisle from zombie babies, giant wiggly spiders, and other random gimmicky crap.

It still surprises me when somebody says they don't understand how people get so depressed during the holidays.

I'm sure the docs prescribing Zoloft know.

It was this or zombie babies.

Whu...? Bacon?!

Mere moments ago my wife was on the phone with her mother. Still is as a matter of fact.

And here is what I heard.

"What?"

"No. Keep the bacon. We don't want it."

I about had a heart attack. We don't want bacon? Exactly when did this happen?

So I made a slightly disapproving sound to communicate my disagreement.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?! WHHHAAAATTT?! WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO!!!?"

Slightly.

"It's turkey bacon. And my mom."

Oh. Ok.

Never mind.

Not what they were talking about

Psychiatrists Rule

Holy crap snacks. I’ve figured it out.

You know how everyone’s got their own little conspiracy theories about who is controlling the world? I love those movies where it’s a bunch of fat rich white guys, or the Illuminati, or skulls, or some such bullshit.

Like BIG OIL. Some really smart people think the oil industry controls all markets across the world. While their arguments can be convincing, they are wrong.

So so so very wrong.

I have figured it out.

Once upon a time some of those things may have been true. At least to a point.

But not today.

Today all governments, all markets, and all celebrities are controlled by… you are so going to understand this in a moment…

Wait for it…

Psychiatrists.

Worth $10 each on the street.

Think about it. When markets plunge who stands to profit? You don’t see traders jumping outta windows anymore. The shrinks catch and treat them ahead of time. Now think deeper. Not only do the shrinks profit from treating them, but kickbacks from prescribing pharmaceuticals. And what do you think these traders talk to their shrinks about? That’s right. Which stocks are going to crap. Talk about insider trading.

War. Falling markets.  Bailing out banks.  Starving kids in Africa and the corrupt charities claiming to help them. Two parties of US government that are so alike that finding a difference is like looking for Waldo in a candy cane factory, but do they agree on anything? Hunger in America (but the news stories show fat people?).

Nom nom nom nom nom

Texas Rangers vs. St. Louis Cardinals… why did the Cards win? Because if they lost only a few people in Missouri would care. And they are already on about as much medication as they can take. Texas though, huge market of investors looking for a loss, gamblers who don’t think it’s an addiction, a whole stack of people looking for a reasons to eat a bullet.

And let’s not forget the culture of “second opinions” they encourage. I’ve sketched a scenario for you.

Doctor: Ma’am (yes I’m stereotyping… deal with it) I’m afraid you are exhibiting signs of manic depressive disorder. Fortunately it’s a well understood disease and the treatment is dependent on your insurance and how much cash you have in the bank.

Ma’am: Ummm. Are you sure? I mean… I don’t feel , what did you call it?… Sometimes happy… sometimes sad.

Dr: Exactly. Manic Depressive. Classic textbook symptoms. I take American Express, Master

Card and Visa. Please, no Discover cards. They’ll ruin my reputation.

Ma’am: I think I’ll try getting a second opinion.

Dr: Go for it! I strongly recommend getting another Doctor to review your symptoms before deciding on a treatment. A person in your state can’t afford to take any risks.

Time………….

Dr. 2: So, after reviewing your dossier, I mean symptoms, I can’t believe your first doctor even considered Manic Depression.

Ma’am: I’m so relieved! I didn’t think that…

Dr. 2: You’re bipolar.

Ma’am: I am?

Dr. 2: We need to start you on a regimen of medication right away.

Ma’am: Crapsnacks.

After taking these I feel like "blue tie"...

Seriously folks! Think! Who else profits the most from people being bummed out all the time? Therefore the news is full of war, politics, shootings, famines, and failed marriages. Reality shows encourage back stabbing!

It is normal now to start a conversation with, “My doctor just put me on Xanax, so I really shouldn’t have that martini… well, one couldn’t hurt.”

And EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU’LL GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN RESPONSE, “Oh! My doctor put me on Wellburtrin, I have seasonal affective disorder.” To the bartender: “Can I get mine dirty with three olives?”

Thank you Dr. Daniels for showing me the "bright side".

Also, a fear of psychiatrists is the perfect psychosis to have. After all, who do you go to for treatment? That’s right. Dr. Jack Daniels.

Zombie Turduckens

You asked for it.

While it is true that my zombie apocalypse team post did not make number one (as predicted), it is entirely due to some freak of google. From some strange reason my Don’t Worry Be Happy post shot to number one without any effort whatsoever. People are googling the hell outta it. 

Again, I don’t know why.

I consider it a fluke of google, and therefore the ZOMBIE TURDUCKENS ARE LOOSE.

Imagine a sleepy southern California town with ten houses and a shopping mall. It’s Thanksgiving. The Cowboys are playing (this term is used loosely) against… who cares?

John Madden chose this town to retire in. He died.

But the body lived on! To open a small deli stand specializing in baked bird within a bird within a bird treats. And six legs. Can’t forget the six legs. Kinda like a giant roach. All brown and crunchy.

I’d bore you with the details… but since zombification of cooked meat is not an exact science it can’t be boring! John Madden’s body made hundreds of turduckens. And then he took one bite out of each one.

Thunder!

Lightning!

And hundreds of turduckens began wobbling north headed straight for…. Wait for it….

I said WAIT!

CANADA.

But this being America and turduckens are only ever made on Thanksgiving (not so much for the holiday as for consolation after watching the Cowboys lose) the army of crispy deliciousness couldn’t make it as far as Bakersfield before being chased down by Detroit Lions fans and consumed. They even ate the giblets.

Ewwwwwwwwww. Gross.

This is especially disconcerting because there were only eight of them.

You. Asked. For. It.

 

 

I believe he is eating Pat Summerall's pickled brain.