Sunday, November 30, 2008

Those Damn Kids

Here is a defining moment in my life. If my parents didn't want me to be as "nutty" as I am they might have wanted to nip it in the bud the second I stuck my butt in a fake alligator's mouth.

Instead they took a picture. Thank you parents...for letting me be me.

Furthermore, what the hell were people thinking in the 80's? What is that dude all the way on the left wearing? I would say he has absolutely no fashion sense but there was probably no alternatives at the store.

Nice hot pants me!
"Dammit man, the Doobie Brothers broke up! Shit! When did that happen?" -Romancing the Stone

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Last Supper


I request the following for my last meal:

One cheesy Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell with lots of hot sauce, a corn-dog with mustard (one of those giant carnival corn-dogs is what I'm talkin about), a vanilla shake from Micky-D's, a gyro with green tabasco sauce from Miami Subs, beef wellington just cause I ain't never had it, an italian sub with a shitload of mayonnaise, a shrimp tempura roll (didn't think I was cultured did ya warden?), and a pint of ben and jerry's cookie dough ice cream.


Prisoner #479313974

"I'm the first to admit we took this country from the indians but what were they doing with it anyway; shooting off bows and arrows and using seashells for money." -The Last Supper

Friday, November 28, 2008

Camaro Story


My dad and three friends used to drive from Connecticut to Miami on 72 hour passes (academy speak) in his 1969 Camaro Super Sport. They would drive for 24 hours, party in Miami for 24 hours, and then drive back. Don't ask me why. Miami is "the shit" after all.

This was back when I-95 was only two lanes, one coming and one going. On one occasion they were passing through a very small town in Georgia about 40 miles from the Florida border. It was 1 a.m., and as they passed through the town my dad noticed that the speed limit had been reduced to 30 mph.

He was traveling at 95 mph.

Of course a police car pulled out behind him with lights flashing. Now this is the part of the story that my dad waited till after I graduated from college to tell me.

"I don't know why," my dad said, "but I hit the gas."

For the next 15 minutes my dad led this cop on a chase through the Georgia country side. Finally, he saw the sign for the Florida border in the distance. On the other side of the border sat a Florida State Trooper. Just before he hit the border my dad hit the brakes and skidded into Florida at a "legal" 55 miles per hour. He pulled his car over to the shoulder, turned it off, and waited to see what would happen.

The Georgia Trooper came across the border and parked behind the Florida Trooper. He got out of his car and walked over to the Florida Trooper's car and spoke to him for about a minute. When he was finished the Florida State trooper pulled out and drove away.

"Shit," my dad was thinking, "what the hell was that about?"

The Georgia trooper walked over to my dad's car and with the thickest southern accent you could possibly imagine had the following conversation:

"Son," the trooper said, "do you have any idea how fast you was goin?"

"Well sir, my speedometer only goes up to 120," my dad said.

"Yeah, well, my speedometer only goes up to 120 too," said the trooper, "but I clocked you with the radar while we was drivin and you was drivin at 140 miles per hour."

My dad stared at the trooper as he continued to speak.

"I've never been 140 miles per hour before," said the trooper, "and since you have provided me with an experience that I never had before.......I'm gonna let you go.......but if you ever come through this part of Georgia're going to jail."
"That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten." -Pulp Fiction

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Merry Turkey Day!

Things I am thankful for on Thanksgiving:

1. That I did not burn my house down while frying my turkey.
2. That I wasn't born in America in the 1600's, because that would have totally sucked. Plus I'm pretty sure they were burning those witches because they were the best looking women in the town. This is totally not cool.
3. Preservatives.
4. Shaving utensils.
5. Two showers a day.
6. The Office.
7. Bendy straws.
8. Penicillin.
9. Sporks.
"Those aren't pillows!" -Planes, Trains, & Automobiles

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Moments In My Life That Ended At The Pisser

1. I ask the person assigned to watch me urinate into a cup (who is standing way too close) during a random drug test if they would like to in fact "hold it for me".

2. After receiving an email that states: "If your last name begins with 'Mc', please report for random drug urinalysis," I informed the collector that they had racially profiled the Irish.

3. Being stared at by a Custom's Officer as I attempt to use the head on a merchant ship while more Custom's Officers and their dogs rip apart my room and leave dog hair everywhere.

4. After 19 days at sea and with our fresh water supply dwindling, the Chief Engineer puts up a sign in the lunch room that says: "If it's brown, flush it down. If it's yellow, let it mellow."
"I meant, are you in here for drugs?" -Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Needless To Say

Yesterday, a man who needed to come into my office to sign paperwork left me a message on my voicemail. He said he was extremely sorry and that he was going to be late. He was having his wife drive him to the doctor.

"I have a boil," he said, "in a very unmentionable place."

"Needless to say," he said, "I am having a very hard time sitting right now."

Three Things:

1. I had absolutely no need to know any of this.
2. Saying "unmentionable place" makes the listener assume the very worst.
3. Why must we insist on saying "needless to say" if we are going to just say the thing anyway?

Needless to say, I told everyone...

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

WTF Blockbuster?

You couldn't take the time to give me a decent membership card?

"Here you go sir, half a fucking card, now go fuck yourself, oh by the way we don't have the movies you want to rent and we are going to change our policies about anything and everything at a moments notice...have a nice day!"

Monday, November 24, 2008

Fraternal Order of Police

Me (picking up phone): "Hello......hello........hello?"

Telemarketer with gruff voice: "Hello Kevin, this is the Fraternal Order of Police calling. We are a bit concerned that we have not received your pledge of $20 that you made a couple of months ago."

Me (trying to get off the phone): "Uhhh...I think that must have been the last owner of this house, he also happened to be named Kevin."

Mr. Gruff (semi-angrily): "His name was Kevin McJoseph???"

Me: "Are you a cop or are you just a telemarketer?"

Mr. Gruff: "Uhhhhhhhh..."

Me: -Dial Tone-

Taxicab Confessions

This is one reason why I love my friends, their willingness to share these kinds of stories:

Last night in Manhattan:

Guy gives a cab driver a 5 dollar tip on a $4.60 cab ride........As they get out of the cab:

Girl: "Do you realize you just gave that guy like a 110% tip?"

Guy: "Oh, shit, I did? Oh, wait, yeah I did! Oh shit, damn it!"

Girl: "That's ok. It'll make up for the huge fart I just left in his cab."

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Frank Caliendo

Why is this guy funny? I understand that impressions are funny. But he sucks at impressions. Unless you call doing John Madden an impression. I'm pretty sure any fat guy can do an impression of John Madden.

Speaking of fat, all I can think of when he is doing his show is: "Wait, Al Pacino's not fat. Jack Nicholson's not fat. George Bush is not fat. Robert -fucking- Deniro is not fucking fat."

Putting on Red Sunglasses does not in itself make Jack Nicholson. Dressing in a black suit and speaking loudly does not make you an Al Pacino impersonator. Doing the "I smell something bad and I'm squinting my eyes" face is not all it takes to "do" Rober Deniro.

How the hell does someone sit there and tell this guy he can have his own fucking show and all he has to do is put on a gruff voice and sort of dress like the person is known to dress in order to impersonate them? Meanwhile good fucking shows get cancelled constantly.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Ensign Ricky

Captain Kirk: "We're going down to the planet. Spock, Jim, Ensign Ricky let's go."

Ensign Ricky: "With all due respect Captain, I'm not going."

Kirk: "What do you mean your not going, what is this insubordination?"

Ricky: "Sir, I can't believe you haven't been fired. You've lost over 300 Ensigns since you were promoted to Captain of the Enterprise. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to train a new officer? Have you ever heard of the enlisted?"

Kirk: "But Ricky, our mission is to go where no man has gone before..."

Ricky: "Sir, seriously go fuck yourself. I'm not going to get myself killed by a randomly shot laser just so you can get your dick wet fucking whatever humanoid female alien you happen to come across. Who the fuck pays for all this shit anyway?"

Friday, November 21, 2008

Tina Yothers

Nicole: "I remember right after Tina Yothers committed suicide…"

Me: "Wait…Tina Yothers committed suicide??? I think you mean Dana Plato from Different Strokes."

Nicole (to Doug): "No...didn’t Tina Yothers commit suicide?"

Doug: "Who’s Tina Yothers?"


Me: "Doug, did you make the coffee today?"

Doug: "Yeah, why?"

Me: "You made it too light."

Doug: "Light?"

Me: "I can see right through it."

Jermaine: "Doug doesn’t even drink coffee."

Me: "Dude, Doug drinks coffee like a fiend."

Jermaine: "Why’d you have to fuck up the coffee Doug?"

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Dearest Television

Dear Television,

You lost me at "high fructose corn syrup."



Random Conversations: Squirrels

Me: "Hey."

Jermaine (with a bag of almonds): "Want some?"

Me (taking a handful): "You know, you shouldn't eat too many almonds at once."

Jermaine: "Why's that?"

Me: "Fucks you up. Fucks with your stomach."

Jermaine: "Well we're not squirrels."

Wikipedia: The Sarcastic Encyclopedia

House centipedes are nature's horror film. These things are in the building I work in and they are scary as shit. Before I met the house centipede I thought silverfish were the worst insect imaginable. I was wrong. These things eat silverfish. Seriously. I know because I looked
them up on wikipedia. While doing so I found my favorite wiki entry thus far:
"Because they eat household pests, house centipedes are considered among the most beneficial creatures that inhabit human dwellings. Benefits aside, because of their alarming appearance, frightening speed, and worries about their bite, few homeowners are willing to share a home with these creatures.[citation needed]"
Trust me wikipedia, there is no citation needed.
Frightening speed? People can't run that fast.
Alarming appearance? If there is a hell, these thing came from there.
Also I like the one wiki picture (above) that features a house centipede in relation to a house pube.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The Mooning of Nicholas Cage

It's 1999 and I'm a cadet on a merchant ship bound from Los Angeles to Hawaii. We have just left and our ship is approaching the Vincent Thomas Bridge which is used a lot in movies because closing it down is very convenient since there is not a lot of traffic on it.

Outside the wheelhouse the Captain of the ship and the harbor pilot are talking excitedly and pointing up at the bridge. I look up and see hundreds of people, lots of equipment, and a crane that is holding up what looks like a green cardboard cutout of a car suspended in the air. Suddenly I hear someone on a bullhorn yell “Action!” and the people on the bridge start doing stuff. From the right side of the bridge, a helicopter with a camera attached to it swoops down and focuses on the green car cutout. The pilot comes into the wheelhouse and pushes the ships horn button for three long deafening blasts.

“CUT CUT CUT! SON OF A BITCH!”, I hear coming from the bridge.

The helicopter goes away.

The Captain and the Harbor Pilot think this is hilarious. They go back outside the wheelhouse laughing because they have just ruined the shot.

Since they are not going to attempt this shot again until our ship is gone, all of the people on the bridge take a break and go to the side of the bridge to watch the giant ship that ruined their movie pass beneath them.

“Hey Cadet,” I hear the Captain call to me from outside the wheelhouse, “Come out here and moon this movie crew.”

“No problem!” I say and walk outside.

I am wearing coveralls, which is the same thing as overalls with sleeves. Underneath I am only wearing boxers, which means that when I moon these people I will have to take down my coveralls and boxers at the same time and I will be practically naked.

So that’s what I did.

I pull down my coveralls and boxers. I bend over and show my ass to the people on the bridge.

A great cheer rises from the bridge! I hear people exclaiming “Whoo-hoo!” from the bridge, whistles and catcalls adorn over the mass applause.

One of my finer moments I must say.

I pull my clothes back on, turn around and wave to the crowd.


I aim to please. I repeat my offense and the crowd cheers again.

I pull my clothes on once again as the ship goes under the bridge. An hour later we are slipping over the horizon towards Hawaii.

Two weeks later, we are returning to Los Angeles. At the sea buoy the same harbor pilot gets on the ship. He sees me upon entering the wheelhouse.

“Hey, you’re the kid that mooned that movie crew!” he says.

“You remembered,” I say, pleased to have made such an impression on a member of the professional community that I plan to one day enter.

“My daughter was on that movie crew,” he says.

“Oh……sorry…” I say.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I mean,” he says, “do you have any idea who you mooned?”

“Ummm, no,” I say, not knowing what he is implying.

“Well the movie is called ’60 seconds’ or something,” he says, “You mooned Nicholas Cage!”

What the Fuck is That?

Dear God! Get it off me, get it off me, get it off me!

Just when I thought the state of the world couldn't possible get worse, scientists have to go and find something that you can't feed after midnight.

Androids: We're This Close

Excerpt from Forward Army Division 479, Colonel McDonald's personal log circa 2017:

"....that's when I saw the first of them. We thought we were safe, being so far North and at least 100 miles from the nearest power source. It was inevitable that they would design their own Motorized Power Units or MPU's as we later came to call them. This allowed them to charge up at night back before they designed their hybrid solar/nuclear batteries. The droid I saw emerging from the woods was carrying a 9mm Beretta. Of course that didn't worry me. They hadn't yet written code in order to learn how to aim. The most they knew about shooting guns, they had learned from downloading scenes from movies on the internet. They didn't understand yet, that these movies were fiction. Their favorite movie, understandably, was The Matrix and when they shot at you they never hit you. Their attempts at gun play would almost be laughable if they weren't able to just crush your skull in their bare hands. This droid was a Paris Hilton Foodservice Model or as the kids called them a "PH10". I assume the "10" referred to its striking features. It made sense that they would use this model droid to scout us in the woods since its extremely thin frame was useful for hiding behind trees. Fortunately for me, they were stealthy but extremely stupid which is what allowed me to get the jump on it..."

Vanpool: Under My Breath

Mike’s driving. Again, I’m wearing my headphones.

It’s raining…hard. It’s very windy. It’s the middle of the winter, bordering on freezing temperatures and it is very dark.

We are traveling at 85 mph.

Like some insane circus clown, he is driving a van with 11 people in it through the icy rain at 85 mph because we have to get to work…now.

We approach the Severn River Bridge.

“Warning,” the sign next to the bridge would read if the visibility was more than 5 feet, “Bridge Ices Before Road.”

At the moment that the road finishes its curve and begins the bridge our driver decides to fuck with the radio. I say “fuck with” because that is all he is doing, he turns it up he turns it down, he turns it off, he turns the station, all while driving and drinking a large coffee at the same time.

He takes his eyes off the road to turn the radio up as we approach the bridge. I have been watching him this whole time. As if watching him can save my life. We immediately go into a skid. A twelve person passenger van in a skid is, I’m sure, quite a sight.

I calmly put my hand up against the seat in front of me to brace myself. I accept my death. I make my peace with God. I wonder how cold the water will be. I wonder who will be the “sole” survivor. I wonder if we will take any other motorists with us.

By forces unknown, we pull out of the skid, avoid hitting anyone else, and straighten out. Once again I get a little adrenaline shot.

“Fucking bastard,” I say under my breath so no one can hear, “I am never riding in this fucking vanpool again.” I continue to listen to Ron & Fez’s therapeutic voices in my headphones. They calm me down again.

We almost rear-end someone five minutes later. Mike locks up the brakes and the tensile strength of our seatbelts is tested.

Under my breath I say, “Learn how to fucking drive.”

I say, “Slow down.”

I say, “Jesus Christ.”

Under my breath.

We arrive at work and I go for coffee in the cafeteria. Tom (a fellow vanpooler) is there.

“We survived!” he breathes.I laugh and say, “Yeah, you should of heard the comments I was making under my breath.”

Tom smiles and looks at me.

“You weren’t saying them under your breath,” he says.

Vanpool: The Hard Yield

Mike is driving. I’m wearing my headphones.

When Jim drives, we talk. We have nice conversations and make fun of people on the road and in the vanpool.

When Mike drives, I wear my headphones and listen to Ron and Fez. Ron and Fez take me to a place outside of the vanpool where I can think of things other than death.

Every now and then at certain points in our travels I will pay attention because these are the points of possible death. These points of death are the Severn River Bridge, the six lane dash to the HOV lane, the forced merge at the end of the HOV lane, and the HARD YIELD.

The hard yield is easily the most frightening portion of our trip. This is an exit, which leads to an on ramp, which leads to the highway. When the exit hits the on ramp there is a yield but if there are cars coming you must stop. Since this yield is not perpendicular to the road, it confuses some drivers into thinking they don’t have to stop. Let me repeat this is not a merge lane. It is basically a stop sign unless nobody is coming.

We enter the exit lane and I immediately snap to attention. Luckily it is winter and I can clearly see through the forest to where the exit lane meets up with the on ramp. I see not one car, but dozens of cars on this on ramp, destined to meet up with us at the same time at the yield sign. I am not worried. Any sane person will softly push the brake at this time. I have nothing to worry about.

Mike guns the gas. Does Mike know something I don’t? Has he calculated this transaction in a different way using alien physics? In the next three seconds I think of dozens of things, starting with the structural integrity of the van, the fact that I am in the front passenger seat, who will die first, where will the van end up. I decide that if I don’t get killed in the collision (which will happen on the opposite end of the van then I am) we will more than likely end up on our side after crashing through the guardrail and down a few feet into a forest. Will the van blow up? How long will it take? Will I have to pull people from the wreckage? Can I lift 300 pounds?

As we approach the yield at (I shit you not) 60 miles per hour. I say in a perfectly calm voice,

“Watch out.”

Mike hits the brakes as we hit the yield line. As I predicted using rudimentary physics, the car on the on ramp is approximately 1 foot from our driver’s door, simultaneously honking his horn and hitting the gas and jerking his wheel to the left. In a split second (because of our slowing down from 60 to 50mph) our van’s front grill is about half a foot from the cars rear bumper. Luckily there are no more cars after that one.

“What an asshole!” Mike says, indicating the law abiding citizen immediately in front of us.

“Yeah,” I say as a small amount of adrenaline washes over me.

I turn my head to look out the back windows in order to help navigate to the HOV lane. As I turn, the owner of the van catches my eye. He looks scared. After all he has just seen the face of death.

“Thank you,” he says.

As we pull into the parking lot at the end of the trip, Mike says, “Well at least I got us here alive.”

Like lemmings, we leap from the vehicle.

Vanpool: The Mike Situation

Usually, Jim drives. Jim drives well. Jim drives responsibly. Jim knows that it is his job to keep the other twelve passengers in the van alive. When Jim isn't in, Mike drives. Mike drives the twelve person van as if it is a Miata. Mike also has ADHD.

Today...Jim is out.

Usually, when I know Jim is going to be out, I make up an excuse of why I am going to drive myself the 80 miles round trip to work and I skip the vanpool all together. On occasion, I don't realize that Jim is out and I end up having to ride to work with Mike driving.

I arrive at the van at 5:35 am and open the sliding door and immediately notice that Mike is driving. I roll my eyes in the dark and proceed to the last row of benches. I sit down and see that Mike has a GPS mapping device suction cupped to the windshield.

There is only one way from Annapolis to Washington, D.C.

We take the same route every single day. It's...the...route.

I immediately start having what I like to call a "Final Destination" moment. You know the movie where the kid foresees his own death down to the last detail.

I often wonder about how many times people have had the thought that they were going to die in a situation. Maybe sitting on a plane for example a passenger who otherwise doesn't have irrational fears might suddenly feel impending doom. Maybe even visualize the plane crashing. Embarrassment or fear takes over, the passenger says nothing, plane takes off, plane crashes, passenger dies.

I am feeling this now. Kind of like a dull panic. If I don’t say something within the next minute, we will leave, and then what?

“Excuse me, you’re driving like an asshole, please let me out on the side of the highway, lest I perish.”

Suddenly it comes to me. I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand and say,

“I must not be getting enough sleep, I forgot that I have to drive to a doctor’s appointment after work and I won’t be able to take the van, I’m sorry.” Even in the dark I can see the envious looks from my fellow passengers. They know now that I have escaped death and that they are powerless to do anything about their own fate.

I get up and open the door to the van and step out. Safe.“You’ll need an extra person with you if you want to travel in the HOV lane,” Joe (a fellow pooler) says as he literally leaps from his seat and out the door without even waiting for a response from me.

He closes the door and the van leaves.

As we sit in my car and I turn the ignition, Joe turns to me and says,

“What the fuck does he need a GPS for?”