Thursday, November 16, 2006

New blog

This blog is no more, but I have a new one located here.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Art of the Fart

It's my one day off in between 8 days of working, but I'm taking some time to post because I want to get this blog going again. So without further delay . . . . . . .

I am not shy about farting. I don't try to hold it in, and I don't pretend it wasn't me when it was. Frankly, I really don't see the point of worrying about it. If you gotta fart, then fart! When, you're around friends, fart. When you're around acquaintances, fart. When you're meeting someone for the first time, fart! In fact, the best possible situation is when introducing yourself, when someone says something like, "Hi, I'm Betsy," you rip a loud one. Then say, "Hi, I'm Brad, and I just farted." There is no greater icebreaker. Imagine if someone did that to you. You wouldn't care. You'd probably laugh your ass off. There's such a stigma around farting. It's time for us to lift it. So next time you feel one coming on, don't slink away to a corner. Go up to your friends or family, put your arm around them and say "Guys, I love ya." And let one rip.

Another thing people are shy about? Masturbation. Now I'm not suggesting that when you meet someone for the first time that you pull out your pud and bust a nut in their eye. That would be a tad over the line, even for my standards. But you need to stop pretending like you're not doing it. I see all you people with your away messages on instant messenger. At work. At the rec center. In the shower. Eating dinner. Watching television. Yet not once have I seen one that said, "masturbating." Come on, folks. You tell the world every other event of your day, but when it comes to fireman time you shy away? Your friends will appreciate it. In fact, they may not even realize you're serious. Of course, for some of you, they will. Either way, it'll be funny.

The way I see it, there are two reasons to stare at somebody: if they're incredibly attractive, or incredibly ugly. I work at American Color Graphics. The ugly to attractive ratio there is somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 to 1. In fact, I would venture to say that there are more non-smokers there like me than there are attractive people. I never got to see this part of the world when I was in college. I mean, sure, there are some ugly people at college, in fact we were recently recounting a story of a time I was at a party and I had to be pulled away from an especially bad one, but the scale is tipped way in the favor of attractive ones. But when you get into the working class segment of the population, the true colors of the human race start to show, and they aren't pretty. So, I'm surrounded by ugly people all night, every night. And I find myself staring at them, pondering their hideousness. I wonder if they know. Do ugly people know they're ugly? How do you know if you're ugly? Maybe I'm ugly. What would I do if I looked like that. Would I have made it to that age, or would I have killed myself by my mid-20s. But then I remember that the only people who consider themselves ugly are not really ugly at all - at least according to the movies, and the movies are what I go by. But at a monotonous, boring job like mine, I find myself spacing out and having trains of thought like this often, sometimes while I'm staring at one my ugly co-workers. And then, inevitably that person will eventually look at me and see me looking at them. I snap out of it and quickly look away, but the damage has been done. And now I'm scared to death that about 8 women I work with think I am attracted to them because I was staring at them. But ugly people are like a fatal car wreck. Yes it looks bad, turns your stomach, even makes you want to cry - but you can't look away.

Some people can do something about it though. That is, some people are ugly by choice. I know I've harped on the "fat people wearing tight clothes" thing before, but I believe we have an epidemic on our hands. As I was walking out of a store today, I saw a woman walking in whose thighs/buttocks each weighed as much as I do, and appeared to be pulverized with a meat tenderizer. This woman's ass was so big and stuck out so much that you could have put a drink on top of it and it would not have spilled. Her ass was SO BIG that if she layed supine on the floor she would have needed a stack of about 5 phone books under her back just to keep her body level. Her ass was SOOOO BIG that she could not have crawled on her stomach under the 9'6'' clearance at a McDonald's. Ok maybe that one was a little exaggerated, but you get the idea. She was wearing shorts. SHORTS! It was not even like it was that hot out today. At the time, which was about 9 pm, it was probably only about 60 degrees out. And these shorts were tight as hell. Then again, I can't imagine a pair of shorts big enough to be loose on her. Anyway, my point is that I see stuff like this way too often. I mean, you don't see me walking around in a muscle shirt and spandex pants. I would never pain the eyes of the tax-paying citizens of this country with that scene. So my idea is to have a national system of garment choosing. Every store should have special sections sorted out by height and weight. When you walk in, you step on a scale and up against a ruler, and are given the appropriate shock collar. If you attempt to access a height/weight department that you are not authorized for, you're hit with 100 volts of juice. No exceptions should be made for people buying gifts - there could be cheating. Under this system, that woman would never have had access to the shorts she was wearing. When she walked into her neighborhood Kohl's store, the area of the store in which she had access to would have been stocked with muumuus and muumuus only.

I'm BACK. Again.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Another new job

I've been at my new job at American Color Graphics for about a week now, and here are some factoids, observations, concerns, et cetera, about what I've witnessed thus far.
  • 80% of what I do is the same thing - feeding papers into a machine - over and over and over and over and over and over. The almost unbearable repetitiveness leaves a lot of time for spacing out and thinking off-the-wall thoughts, some of which will appear in my next blog entry.
  • I give myself about three months on the "How long until he snaps and jams his hands into a moving machine just so he never has to handle another Sun Newspaper?" office pool. When I worked at Target, I took four months on the "How long until he snaps and swan dives off the top shelf?" office pool - but, alas, I only worked there for three.
  • Why can't they have robots that stack the papers and feed the pockets? Then I could just operate one with a little joystick. That would be easier.
  • In China, this kind of job is done by hundreds of child laborers, rather than a few uneducated stiffs and many large pieces of machinery.
  • My co-workers are impressed by things that should not be impressive and attribute all of my intelligence to me having gone to college. When I happen to know something that they don't, they will call me "college boy," even when the thing in question was not learned in college and should be known to anyone.
  • I have only been called "hun" once thus far, and by a woman significantly older than myself. That is actually very impressive considering the, ehrm, quality of the workforce.
  • On my first night, the guy who was training me asked me if I smoked. When I told him no, he told me that I should start. Actually what he said was that smoking was "something to consider" if I'm going to be working the 6 pm to 6 am shift. What that has to do with smoking, I have no idea. HOWEVER, it must have something to do with it because EVERYBODY smokes. When I was at Target, I put my co-worker smoke rate at around 70-75%. At ACG, it has got to be pushing 90%.
  • Everyone there calls it the "backbone" of the paper instead of the "spine." Am I missing something? Isn't spine the more appropriate/common word to use? I have heard backbone said there probably fifty times by 7 or 8 different people, and not a single mention of spine. I didn't realize that anatomical terms for things were replaceable with other, less scientific and less appropriate words for the same piece of anatomy.
  • There is a large, man-like rat that walks around. He's covered in tattoos, and he never really does a whole lot. He just wanders around, very slowly. Every once in a while you'll see him pushing a paper bin or something. And every once in a while he'll come close to getting run over by one of the many tow motors driving around the place. Every break, he goes up and sits in the break room in the same spot in the same position - one leg on the floor and the other one up on the bench. There is one thing that this man-like rat does a lot of - nose picking. He picks his nose all the time. The first time I saw him pick his nose, I thought it was just by chance - but then I saw him do it again . . . and again. I think he spends more time picking his nose than doing any real, actual work. Hell, I spend more time picking MY nose than he does doing any real, actual work. Also, I hear from a co-worker that he has a blow-up doll that he's pretty fond of. Not sure how people know that - either he brought it to work or he talks about it at work. My question is, is it a blow-up human or a blow-up rat?

Monday, February 13, 2006

Cheney bags a big one

I'm sure that you've heard by now, but how can I not write about this? During a hunting outing in Texas over the weekend, the Vice-President of the United States, Dick Cheney, shot a 78 year-old friend. With a shotgun. And he is not a tortoise or anything like that. He's a human. Apparently the gentlemen had fallen behind the other hunters and was coming up behind them when Cheney turned to follow a quail in flight and fired, apparently missing the quail, but hitting the larger game, Harry Whittington, a lawyer and prominent Republican from Texas, in the face, shoulder and chest. According to the owner of the property upon which they were hunting, Whittington was "peppered pretty good" by the shot discharged from the Vice-President's gun. Well, as we can can see, this is hilarious. But what's even funnier is the reaction, or lack thereof, from the White House about this incident, and the delicate way that it is being handled. This incident happened on Saturday, but was not reported until Sunday, and not by the White House or by the Vice-President's office, but by a local journalist in Corpus Christi, Texas, who spoke with the owner of the ranch. Also, it is being said that Whittington was hit by "pellets," rather than that he was shot by a shotgun, making it sound like he was hit with a couple pops from a bb gun or air pistol.

You have to think that the thought went through Cheneys head to shoot the man again to make sure he was dead, then turn to the other members of his hunting party and the secret service agents present and say, "It was a suicide - you all saw it, right?" while still holding his weapon, a la Jayson Williams after killing his limo driver. Either that, or yelling, "It's every man for himself!" and then shooting at the rest of his companions. All in all, I'd say it's the second-best vice-presidential shooting ever - after the Aaron Burr-Alexander Hamilton incident.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

What a city

Something was brought to my attention yesterday that sounded so ridiculous I just had to share it. Unless you've been living under a sports-free rock recently, you know that Jerome Bettis of the Pittsburgh Steelers is returning to his hometown of Detroit to play in the Superbowl this Sunday. Well, as a token of appreciation for his years of service in the league and being an ambassador for the city, the mayor of Detroit bestowed upon Jerome the "key to the city." It's an honorary gesture but a prestigious one at that. And with that distinction, Jerome certainly enters into some prestigious company, joining the likes of Louis Farrakhan, the rock band KISS, and perhaps most impressively of all, Saddam Hussein. That's right, folks. Saddam Hussein has a key to the city of Detroit. Apparently, a couple of decades before he was crawling out of a spider hole, he was donating hundreds of thousands of dollars to a church in the city. So then-mayor Coleman Young decided that this Saddam is a pretty good guy and deserved a reward for his generosity. Solid choice there, Coleman. Think you might want to have a do-over on that one? THIS JUST IN. Here are the other recipients of the key to the city of Detroit:
Joe Piscopo
Richard Simmons
Jake "The Snake" Roberts
Captain Janeway
Pol Pot
Marshall Applewhite
Jesse Katsopolis

Some other things that have been on my mind:

You know who I hate? Little kids with glasses. I just want to punch them in the face. All of them. Even the retarded ones. Also, adults with no teeth. They're lucky they don't have any teeth because if they did I would knock them out. Of course if they had teeth, I wouldn't be punching them in the first place because the reason I hate them is because they have no teeth. GRRRRR. If there were only a way to knock somebody with no teeth's teeth out. GRRRRR.

I will be starting a new, more lucrative job soon. Now don't be too proud of me, more lucrative is a relative term. Walking around town checking the coin return slots in pay phones and vending machines would be more lucrative than working at Target. But this job will be lucrative enough that it will allow me to purchase a new car in the near future. But this has me in quite a dilemma, because I HATE new car smell. I know a lot of people love it, but it makes me want to puke my guts out. Hell, I'd rather smell puke than new car smell. Maybe somebody can answer this for me - when you buy a used car, does it have new car smell? Like, do they recondition it and get that smell back in somehow? God, I hope not, or I will become a motorcyle rider very shortly.

I have never, not once, found a southern accent charming. Any kind of southern accent - Texas, Georgia, Virginia, whatever. It's all fingernails on the chalkboard to me. You know what? I'd rather listen to a roundtable discussion between a Scotsman, a Newfoundlander, a Bostonian, a Buffalonian, a Bronxite and a guy from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan than hear one damn person say younguns, ya reckon, puddin, plum tuckered, much obliged, y'all, swayt tay or chitlins.

Butterfingers. You ever eat them? I do, sometimes. But I'll tell you what, I don't get them at all. I mean, they're supposed to be peanut butter. But they're so damn hard! That has got to be the hardest peanut butter produced in the world. How can they even call it butter? They're tagline is "crispety, crunchety, peanut-buttery!" But peanut butter is neither "crispety" nor "crunchety." So why did they make the candy bar that way? Reese's cup? Nutrageous? Fast break? Fifth Avenue? Those products are of the appropriate consistency. I'm just waiting for the day that they start advertising products as "smoothety, creamety, potato chippety!"

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so here is my admission. Ever since I saw the movie Phone Booth a few years ago, I've been calling up strangers and, in my best Kiefer Sutherland, saying, "If you hang up, I will kill you." They always hang up.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

a model blog post

You've seen them, but you probably don't really think about them. But when you go into a store like Target, they're everywhere. Who are they? They're models, and they appear on posters and walls all throughout the store. They come in all different shapes, sizes, ages and colors - but they all have one thing in common: they're gigantic losers. Firstly, none of them are ever portrayed doing an activity that you would see anywhere in the real world. They're seen riding on shopping carts, kicking their legs out, or are shown as just a giant head, modeling no merchandise whatsoever but perhaps the collar of a shirt. Upon the top of one shelf in Target there is a picture of a young boy modeling a polo shirt, the collar of which is popped up. I want to strangle this boy. But alas, he is only a poster.

But even worse than the models who appear on posters in the store, are models who appear on products, such as pillow boxes, underwear, cleaning agents, and hair care products. But the biggest offender of all of these is a certain woman. She stands on a beach, a sweater tied around her neck, her wavy hair flowing in the wind. That's right, she's the woman who appears on a box of douche. In some states, that is an alternative to the death penalty for female convicts. "Ms. Morris, you have been convicted of four counts of murder in the first degree for drowning your children in the bathtub. As per the jury's recommendation, I hereby sentence you to death. You have the choice of death by the electric chair or lethal injection, or you can appear on a douche box." "I'll take the chair."

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Will you open this for me?

Working in the stock room at Target, I get to have a look at nearly every product that comes through the store. And I gotta tell you, some of the stuff we sell is beyond ridiculous. But that, for once, is not Target's fault. Target only sells what people will buy. And the stuff people waste their money on is absolutely unbelievable. For example, we carry a handy litttle device called an automatic jar opener. That's right. It's an appliance that only has one use - opening jars. If you've ever spent money on an automatic jar opener, kill yourself. There's no way that anybody who's under 100 who should EVER have one of these devices. I don't care if you're a retard - the machine has got to be more complicated than the jar. And I don't care if you have arthritis - takes some goddamn Advil and suck it up. It's just a jar. You should be donating that money to charity if you're just going to throw it away like that. And who are these people that are opening so many jars that getting an automated device is worthwhile? What even comes in jars? Pickles, and that's pretty much it. So unless you're wolfing down about 10 jars of gherkins a day, get a life. So, the only people I can think of that would really buy an automatic jar opener are those buying them as gifts. But I can tell you this right now: if I ever, EVER got an automatic jar opener as a gift, I would throw it right back into the face the person who gave it to me, and I would say, "Luke, you are a goddamn moron!"

Also, how many different kinds of laundry detergent do there really need to be? I don't mean different brands, I mean different varieties of the same brand. I mean, there has got to be like twenty different types of Tide. But what pisses me off even more than that is all the different products there are to freshen the smell of the air in your home. I mean, was there ever a bigger waste of time? WHO BUYS THIS SHIT???? I know you've seen the commercials all over the television, but you have to be around this crap every day to truly appreciate how stupid it is. There are about 200,000,000 different products to make your house smell like something it's not supposed to. How about this Scent Stories thing? Have you seen this? It's this big electronic device that you put scent "discs" into, and it "plays" different smells. It has got to be the stupidest product on the market. How about you don't smear shit all over the walls of your house? I think that would be more effective in keeping it smelling nice. How are you supposed to explain that thing away to your guests? "Hey, Judy, what is this big thing taking up your entire end table?" "Oh, Bonnie, that's just my Scent Stories player. It's like a stereo, but it plays smells instead of music. One minute I'm frolicking a field of fresh flowers, the next I'm swirling and twirling through fresh laundry hanging on the clothesline in the back yard, and the next I'm standing next to the window where mom's apple pie is cooling on the ledge." "Uh, Judy . . . I'm out of here, you crazy bitch." So, in conclusion, to any of you who may be reading this, next time you go to the store, make sure a product is not the stupidest goddamn thing you've ever seen before you purchase it.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

driving in my car

Some thoughts I had while driving home from the new year's celebration:

If I can't see my headlights reflecting in the back of your car when I'm behind you, your car is too damn dirty. Get a freakin' car wash. This is where my invention, the electronic bumper sticker, would come in very handy. Pass them, pull in front of them, and program your bumper sticker to say "CAR NEEDS A WASH."

Hey, remember that time I was driving and we were next to that van with the family in it, and the woman in the passenger's seat had her feet up on the dashboard so I put my foot up on the dashboard too, then she flicked me off and she had a car full of kids? Remember that? Man that was awesome. How about that time we were stuck at that stop light in Lancaster and we were across from Long John Silver's and I asked that kid who was walking in to bring me a hush puppy? That was awesome, too.

When I'm driving in my car down the highway, I just can't keep my finger out of my nose. Even when the mine has been tapped dry, I just start picking away at the walls. There's nothing I can do. You ever try to pick your nose and drive with the same hand? It's pretty tough. You gotta put your face way up by the steering wheel, then when you wanna turn you have to move your whole head, and if you have to make a really sharp turn you could end up upside-down, pressing the pedals with your other hand and navigating by your ass.

I better die before all my friends do. What if I live till I'm like 90 or 100? That would suck. Then that means I would have had to go to all of my friends' funerals. Hell, there's probably a 5 to 10 year period in there where I'd be going to funerals at least once a month. Then when I die last, there will be nobody at my funeral who I actually knew when I was "alive," or at least when I was the good part of alive. Do you know how much work it would be to go to all those funerals? I mean, damn, I'm not made of money. Yeah, I need to die first - all my friends will have to come to MY funeral. You get chauffeured around the whole time, then everybody comes to see you - you don't have to move a damn inch. I mean, if I die when I'm 100, who's gonna give my eulogy? My nursing home attendant? Give me a break. Even if I had kids, which I won't, they're probably all dead already anyway.

When are they finally gonna have these automated highways like they've been talking about for years? I have things to do when I'm in the car, and driving makes them really hard. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drive and bite your toenails at the same time? Very. You know what else would be a good idea? A seat with a built-in toilet.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

the guest is always right

Ignorance is bliss. Truer words were never spoken. I truly envy your typical Joe. He's the kind of guy who just goes about his business, and doesn't pay more attention to anything than is necessary. Why? Because Joe doesn't get irritated with things like I do, because he doesn't notice them. I try to relax. I try to worry only about the things I can control. But I can't help myself. Things just annoy the hell out of me. I wish I could stop it from happening, but clearly I can't. So I might as well write about it.

I've been working at Target for about 7 weeks now and I've noticed some things that I just can't keep quiet about anymore. Remember my blog entry where I made fun of Wal-Mart for calling its employees "associates." If you don't, go read it. It's down there somewhere. Well at Target, they call employees, "team members." And managers are not managers, but "team leaders." I would not be shocked at all if there were no CEO or President of the company, but just an Executive Team Leader or something of that nature. You see, Target is an extremly pretentious company. It prides itself on being different and better than your typical huge retail store, when really it's no better at all, and in all likelihood is much worse. I liken it to putting a jar of potpourri in a room full of feces. The potpourri is supposed to cover up the foul odor of the feces, but mixes with it to create something even more foul. Not to mention, it is the most transparent gesture imaginable.

We, as Target Team Members, are not to refer to customers as customers, but rather we are to call them guests, as they are guests in our humble establishment and it is our job to make them as comfortable as possible. The jargon of the Target Team member is filled with so much verbiage it's almost beyond description. For example, over the walkie-talkies (which we use at Target, in case you've never noticed), when you want to know where someone is, you are to say "What is your location?" rather than a simple "Where are you?" or the even simpler preference of mine, "Where y'at?" It's obvious to me that the point of all this is to make low-level shelf-stocking scum like me, but especially like my co-workers, feel more important and more professional than they actually are. But unfortunately, it makes intelligent individuals like myself, or perhaps just myself for whatever reason, vomit in disgust.

In case you didn't know, the Target Corporation has copyrighted the phrase, "Can I help you find something?" It's the dumbest thing you've ever heard, I know. We even have to answer the phone like that. "Thank you for calling Target, this is Brad, can I help you find something?" Thank god I am never near a phone. Also, obviously, you are supposed to say it to any customer, err . . . guest you run into. From time to time, my store even holds contests to see who can say it the most times. I don't know about any of you, but I HATE it when I'm in a store and employees come up to me and ask me if I need any help. I'll find it myself, and if I have a problem then I'll ask somebody, but I don't like to be bothered. It's one thing if I'm making a major purchase at a store, and there are actually sales personnel there who work on commission. But this is Target. Give me a goddamn break.

But this is not to say that the customer is without blame in the retail store world. There are three customers that really irritate the hell out of me. The first is Mr. Can't Find Anything On His Own. This one is always a guy. He walks into a store, and he looks like an Alzheimer's patient who just walked into a neurology convention being conducted in Afrikaans. I see this guy in the grocery store the other day - typical Mr. Can't Find Anything On His Own - he's gotta talk to his wife on his cell phone the whole time he's there because not only can he not find anything, he can't remember the list either. Partial transcript of his end of the conversation: "Crispix . . . Crispix . . . Crispix, where would the Crispix be . . . oh, here we go, cereal aisle. (Paces up and down aisle a couple times). I can't find them. I don't think they have them. What are they called? Crispix? What are those? Nope, I don't see them. Crispix . . . Crispix . . . . . . How is that spelled? Oh, HERE they are. CRISPIX."

Actually, the particular instance of Mr. Can't Find Anything On His Own mentioned above is also an example of the second customer that really burns my ass. And that is Talks Too Loud On His Cellphone In The Store Guy. This one is usually a guy as well, although it is more likely to be a female than the first one. This is the guy who becomes oblivious to the world around him when his cell phone rings (and rings extremely loudly by the way). He forgets he's in a store and thinks he's standing in a crowded bus. He talks so loudly, you can have no trouble hearing him several aisles over. Also, he has no problems using curse words during his conversation. He, apparently, also has no problem conducting business meetings while looking for pretzels.

The third and final aggravating customer I'd like to talk about is Mrs. Always Pays With A Check. This is ALWAYS a woman. Mrs. Always Pays With A Check does not realize that there are other forms of payment available to her. She's never heard of cash or credit cards. She does not realize there is such a thing as a debit card, a card that functions just like a check, but is faster and involves no writing. No, the writing is what makes the shopping experience fun for Mrs. Always Pays With A Check. She doesn't care if she's holding you up, she's busting out that check book whether you like it or not. And it doesn't matter how large her order is either. One hundred dollars or one dollar, a check is a bill available in any amount.

Certainly there are other irritating retail consumers I didn't get to. There's Mrs. Lets Two Kids Ride In The Cart, Hits Her Kids In The Store Lady, Mrs. Can't Keep Her Kids Quiet, and even Fat Old Bastard On A Scooter. Feel free to add your own in the comments. But please. I'm asking any of you who might be reading this. If you ever see me in a store, and I'm 65 years old, weighing 400 pounds, wearing a muumu and driving a scooter around a store, please shoot me in the head. The scooter should be reserved for people with no legs, not people who are too fat to support their body weight.

Saturday, December 10, 2005


God damn, I hate Christmas. Everybody knows it. I don't really feel like explaining why I hate it so much, because it just puts me in a bad mood. But what I will do is talk about the one thing I like about it. Yes, that's right, there is one fantastic aspect of Christmas that people seem not to notice. But if you do, it can really brighten up your day. I'm not talking about Christmas spirit, or togetherness, or getting presents, or any of that crap. What am I talking about? Commercials.

I love commercials around Christmas time - either on the radio or on TV. They're all fantastic. Why? Because every company tries to promote its product or service as though it would be the PERFECT Christmas gift. Hell, they'll tell you to buy one for everybody on your list! The funny part is that most of the crap they're selling would make an absolutely terrible gift. But it's impossible to promote a product around Christmas time without claiming it would be a great gift because that's all people are interested in buying. I've heard and seen commercials claiming that these, among other things, would make great gifts for everybody on your list: Cars, cellular phones (you gonna pay my bill too, buddy?), and INSURANCE POLICIES (the gift that keeps on taking). You could also name a star after everybody on your list. A more worthless gift I cannot imagine. At least give me an asteroid or something, so that way maybe one day something carrying my name could be responsible for destroying the world.

Anyway, the only thing that I really haven't heard advertised as being a great Christmas gift are these CD sets that rich guys sell telling you all their money-making secrets. You've heard the commercials on the radio. "I teach you all of my secrets to financial success." Then you have a couple people say how the system worked for them. So this is my idea for next year: sell my own "Secrets to Wealth" CD set. It will have 6 different CDs and it will sell for $100. And it will be the PERFECT Christmas gift. You should buy one for everybody on your list. On each CD there will be only one track. Pop in the first CD and hear my voice say. "What is my secret to wealth? Selling these CDs to losers like you." That's it. Then the next CD will say, "What you thought I was joking?" Then the next one will say, "Nope, wasn't joking." Then the next one will say, "Come on that's funny." Then, "Sure, I bilked you out of $100, but can you really put a price on a good laugh?" Then the last one will say, "I can. $100. HAHAHAHAHA."

Monday, November 14, 2005

five o'clock world

I've worked at Target for four days now, and I already want to kill myself - even more than usual that is. The only thing that keeps me sane is knowing that I will be getting a paycheck every couple of weeks, something that I have not gotten in nearly a year. But I use the word paycheck loosely. At $6.50 an hour, I could probably make just as much money walking around town checking the coin returns in pay phones and vending machines. But if I must have a job, I may as well use it as fodder for my blog so at least some good (besides the pocket change I'll be making) can come out of it. So here we go . . . .

After my orientation on Thursday, I find out that I am scheduled to come in at 5 am Friday morning. As I arrive, the "leader on duty," as she is called, has a meeting of all "team members," as we are called, to discuss the plan for the day. She introduces me to this group of approximately 25 employees, and they all give me a big "HI BRAD!" at her bidding. I can tell that a fantastic day is starting. She points me in the direction of two ladies with whom I will be working. As the meeting breaks, the fatter one, named Julia, tells me to follow her to the stock room, and as we arrive she informs me that I am going to "hate it" working there - a great way to break in new employees I'm sure. Needless to say, my outlook for the next eight hours was not too sunny. Julia is one of these women who can't go five minutes without talking about how she needs a cigarette. You know the kind. It's one thing to be so weak as to be a smoker, but it's completely another to be so addicted that one must advertise that addiction to the entire world at every opportunity. Anyway, this woman insists upon calling me "honey," even though it's obvious that she's not more than 35 years old. I feel there there must be at least at 25 year age difference between the honey-er and the honey-ee in order for that to fly. It's also fairly obvious that she spends at least half of her income from this extremely low-paying job on cigarettes. So she begins to explain to me, as briefly as possible, how to use the mystical "PDT," a fairly complex little gadget without which Target stockroom work would be but the fevered dream of a madman. However, professor Lena Myers was better at explaining social inequality than Julia was at explaining the PDT. Imagine trying to learn sign language from Koko the monkey. Sure, Koko knows sign language - it was a long and painful process to teach it to her, spanning years - but you're never going to learn shit from her. That's the only thing I can compare to trying to learn the functions of the PDT from Julia. I eventually figure it out enough from talking to somebody else to do the task at hand. Finally my immediate supervisor Jon comes in. Jon reminds me of an older me. Not much older, mind you - perhaps even a couple of years . . . younger. Julia proceeds to explain to Jon several complaints she has about her co-workers, and about her work schedule and how it will conflict with her far more important schedule of cigarette smoking. I can tell that it's taking Jon all the willpower he has to keep from crushing Julia's head with his fists like that guy they used to show at the end of the Daily Show when Craig Kilborn was still the host. You know what I'm talking about. By this time I have walked past the dog food section of the stock room at least a dozen times, and I determine that, based on the smell, dog food has got to taste like a combination of rat feces and mothballs. I theorize that If I were a dog I would be forced to eat my owners just to get some fresh food. Plus they deserve it for feeding me that crap. A while later I find myself at the top of some 20-foot shelves removing boxes to be pushed to the sales floor. I wonder if I should take a tumble whether I would be able to claim workman's compensation. I curse the fact that I didn't read through the fine print on my contract and decide that it's not worth risking a spinal cord injury for money that I may not even get. Eventually the day ends with my life, my $52 in pre-tax earnings and my suicidal thoughts intact.

We listened to KISS 96.5 WAKS on the radio the entire day, and I realized that they essentially play the same 10 or 15 songs in a loop all day long. At least I think they do, or that could have just been my brain taping over itself. Also, "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas has got to be one of the stupidest songs ever made - and I had to listen to it at least 4 times that day.

Also, I would like to point out that during my three work shifts I have had thus far, I have already taken two dumps. 21 hours of work, two dumps. That's a 1:10.5 dump to work hour ratio. I'm definitely on pace to eclipse the 1:18 that I posted at the Career Center and blow the 1:32 from Hawkins out of the water. Plus I took a dump while I was at home during my lunch break my first day, so had my bowels functioned slightly differently we'd be looking at possibly a 1:7 ratio, which would be more than one dump per full work day - quite a feat if you ask me.

Monday, November 07, 2005

it's a wonderful life

I'm back again after a long layoff. I'm going to try to post at least once a week, hopefully more, now that it looks like I probably have a job. But I just thought I'd share with you what I've been doing during my excruciatingly long layoff. So right now, let me lay out for you a typical day for me and the activities therein.

9 AM - Wake up, then fall back to sleep for an hour after realizing that there's not really anything to do once I am up.
10 AM - Finally make it out of bed, and out of the basement, up to the dining room table to read the sports sections of both the Plain Dealer and the Beacon Journal. Also, do the jumble. But not the Wuzzles. Wuzzles suck.
10:30 AM - Daydream for a while about a fictional episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent in which Goren, having just gotten the suspect to confess to a crime even though the police had little incriminating evidence by knowing exactly how to push the suspect's buttons, sits back in his chair, looks over at Eames and says "BODY MASSAGE." Also think about how Eames is played by Kathryn Erbe, who also played Richard Dreyfuss's daughter in What About Bob? Baby step to four o'clock. Baby step to four o'clock!
11:30 AM - Take a shower, during which I sing "Under the Boardwalk" at least four times.
12 PM - Eat lunch. Banquet chicken nuggets. De-lish.
12:30 PM - Check my email, which usually includes something from the NFL, something from MLB, and a email or two from Blogger, telling me I have a new comment on my blog from a fine young gentleman advertising his very own blog for penis enlargement.
1 PM - Look for jobs on the internet and become extremely tempted to sign up for one of these "work from home" deals with a guaranteed 100,000 a year payoff.
2 PM - Go up to Tops and buy my (frozen) meals for the next few days. Meatloaf. Turkey. Pizza bagels. Sliced beef meal. Chicken fried steak meal. Refuse to get a bonus card once again, even though it would probably save me quite a bit of money, because it just seems like a pain in the ass. By the way, I'm pretty sure Banquet mashed potatoes are nothing more than crushed ice and dandruff, and maybe a little farina too.
3 PM - Play in a free online poker tournament, because that's all I can afford anymore. Maybe win fifty cents or so.
4 PM - Daydream a while longer about a hypothetical world in which a person never needs to take a dump and therefore has no butthole. Also about how butthole is an extremely underrated insult. Butthole. You know, it really should have been called Beavis and Butthole.
5 PM - Pass out from all the excitement.
6 PM - Eat dinner. Alphabet soup (one of the few things I'll eat that doesn't come straight out of the freezer and have a sodium content that would make even Luke run for the hills).
7 PM - Begin watching television, perhaps a sports program, perhaps CI or SVU.
10 PM - Go into my room and begin watching Futurama episodes that I illegally downloaded about 2 years ago and neglected to delete. Realize that I have now seen each episode 5-10 (and in some cases more) times and probably now know the show better than Seinfeld, which is a sad, sad state of affairs.
11 PM - Listen to Lewis Black's White Album or Mitch Hedberg's Strategic Grill Locations.
12 AM - Play in my second free poker tournament of the day, this time pretending that I'm really going to try to play well, and that I care when I lose chips. Of course this has no real effect, and I still call an all-in with QJ off-suit.
1 AM - Go to bed while listening to an extremely garbled repeat of The Jim Rome Show on WKNR on my clock radio. Wonder if tomorrow will be any different, and upon realizing that it won't, hit myself in the head with said radio.

So there you have it. That's the life I've been living for the past 4-5 months.

A side note - Remember that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine failed a drug test because she ate poppyseeds? Well, I have to take a drug test today for the job that I am trying to get, and I just realized that I ate some poppyseed muffins yesterday. So I may not have a job after all.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Carson Daly

There are a lot of people who are on television. Some of them deserve to be there, and some of them don't. But how do the ones that don't belong end up on TV anyway? Well, the answer is simple. Sucking dicks. That has to be it, because it is the only explanation I can come up with that can show why Carson Daly, and people of his ilk (including one Mr. David Holmes, whom I had previously complained about) get to have shows on television. Think about it. What does Carson Daly really bring to the table? Is he funny? No. Is he sharp and quick-witted? No. Is he entertaining at all? NO! Is he boring? Quite. He is a no-talent hack. He is a bum. He is a bum with a television show for no apparent reason. Folks who host late night television shows are supposed to have redeeming, entertaining qualities that make people want to watch - you know, charisma, sense of humor, and those such things. Letterman, Leno, O'Brien, Ferguson, Kimmel, Stewart - they all have talent. They have qualities about them that make people interested. Carson Daly does not. He is bland. He's vanilla. Hell, he's not even vanilla. He's flavorless. He's tap water. Yet he has his own television program.

I urge you people. Watch his show a couple times. See if you can find anything entertaining at all that was actually something of Carson's doing. You won't. Because there isn't anything. I would rather watch Nancy and Jan filling paint tubes or vacuum-saving strawberries on an infomercial than watch Daly's show. Hence, I come to my conclusion. He's a dick-sucker. He's in some gay executive's pants and that keeps him on the air. So, if there are any serial killers out there, or anyone who's thinking about becoming a murderer, or anybody who just feels really motivated by my complaints, please add "Kill Carson Daly" to your to-do list. Thank you. Goodnight now.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

channel flipping

I'm sure this has happened to all of us. You're sitting alone one evening, flipping through the channels to find something to watch. Eventually, you come across one of those "I'll watch it if it's on" movies on TBS or some similar channel. It's a halfway decent movie, but nothing too special. Say, for example, Speed. So you're sitting there watching it for, oh, ten minutes or so, starting to get into it, and you see that it's going to commercial. You think to yourself, "That's fine, it'll be back on in a couple minutes." But, OH NO. It's NOT going to commercial. It's going to some goddamn television studio. Oh shit--it's your worst nightmare. Dave Holmes walks out onto your television screen. Yes, the same Dave Holmes who was too much of a dork even for that channel of losers, MTV (which is the second worst channel on television, next to VH1, but that's a story for another entry). He begins to explain how they accomplished the stunts in the subway scene, and you begin to bawl uncontrollably. This is the worst thing that could possibly happened, short of seeing RuPaul. You think to yourself, "Why?? Why must they do this to me?" You would rather put your testicles in a vise than listen to Dave Holmes speak (or the equivalent pain if you're a female, whatever that may be).

Is there anybody on the PLANET that would rather watch this movie with Dave Holmes butting in every ten minutes to explain some stupid crap about the movie you don't care about and he knows nothing about? Is there anybody out there who says "Oh damn, I gotta watch that Dave Holmes Interruption movie tonight. Normally I wouldn't watch it, but that Dave Holmes is so interesting and insightful, and he's not a huge dork at all."

This is not a knock on Dave Holmes. Well, yes it is. But it is more a knock on television stations that find it necessary to insert hosts and stupid gimmicks into otherwise-fine movies to make them nearly unbearable. There are other such shows, like Dinner and a Movie, or Makeover and a Movie, etc. etc. etc. They all make you contemplate suicide. Memo to TBS and every other channel that does this shit: the movies are better without your garbage. If that crap actually improved the movie, they would put it in the theatrical release. I can't imagine Movie Voiceover Guy ever doing a trailer that sounds like this: "From Director John Singleton - On the streets of Los Angeles, crime is a way of life. Murder happens everyday. But after the drive-by shooting of his son, one man is fighting back. And he is fighting any way he can. And while he is, another man is teaching you how to make a southwestern omelet. Wesley Snipes. Ice Cube. Dave Holmes. COME GET YA OMELET. Rated R. Starts Friday at theaters everywhere."

Sunday, September 04, 2005

I'm back, baby

I'm back. This is my first post in well over a month. Why have I been gone? Well, I haven't really been busy, as I am still jobless. I've officially crossed the hazy line between "taking a break" and "unemployed." I am now a bum, living in my parents' basement. That said, I should have had plenty of time to write blog entries. In addition to that, I have had plenty of ideas. I think of things and say, "wow, that would make a great blog entry." I do stand-up comedy routines in my head, and ad-lib as I go along, to hilarious effect - in my own mind, anyway. But I don't write any of it on here. Why? Because it just seems like a waste of time, frankly. I mean, nobody reads this. My readership has dwindled significantly, unless a whole lot of people are reading and not commenting at all. So I ask of you, if you read this, comment so I know whether to go on or not. I mean, what's the point of relaying all this great material to you if YOU is just the vacuum of the internet. But even at this blog's peak, I had maybe 10 people reading it. And I just feel like it's worth more than that. There are a lot of blogs on the internet waaaay worse than this one that get a lot more readership. But I don't have the time, nor the inclination to go to the ends of the earth to try to get people to read my blog. Maybe I just think it's a lot better than it really is. I was hoping it would spread like a chain reaction from friends to friends, and I would have a few dozen readers by now. But it just hasn't happened. Either that, or they are the quietest readers ever. I mean, I get that there might be a dud entry every now and again, but I think the overall quality of my work is quite good. Better than yours at least. And it is only because I believe in myself that I will renew my efforts and continue on with this blog, for now at least.

That said, I have some thoughts on things.

Normally when a stand-up comedian comes onto the stage, he might ask how the audience is. "How's everybody doing tonight?!" And the audience responds with applause. But the way I see it is, that's not really an answer to the question. So one day I want to go to a comedy club and do the following: when the comedian asks, "How's everybody doing tonight?" I want to stand up and yell, "WELL, NOT TOO GOOD, (INSERT COMEDIAN'S NAME HERE). LAST NIGHT I POPPED A BLOOD VESSEL IN MY HEAD TRYING TO FORCE OUT A HUGE DUMP. PLUS LAST WEEK I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH TESTICULAR CANCER."

Testicular cancer. That's gotta suck. Having a testicle removed. Eww. I can think of about 286 parts of my body I would rather lose than my balls - including several lobes of the brain. Hell, just give me one hand and my cock 'n' balls and I'll be fine, you know what I'm saying? I think all the guys that have had to have a ball removed should form a club - Tom Green, Lance Armstrong, John Kruk, all of them - and their logo should be a can of tennis balls with just one ball in it.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Body Massage

The Goonies would be a lot better with some nudity.

Kentucky Fried Chicken is really sort of a lie, because if it was all fried in Kentucky, it would take quite a while to get the chicken to restaurants in Alaska, and it probably wouldn't taste too good by the time it got there.

OREO Speedwagon would be a great name for a band.

People look at you funny when you order "half a pound of human" at the deli.

I really really really wish I had a peg leg.

If I could buy the world a Coke . . . . . . . everyone would only get like a five hundred millionth of an ounce. Plus by the time it got passed around to everyone, it would probably be pretty flat.

Kimmy Gibbler is one ugly skank. I'd like to jab her eye out with my peg leg.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Kids do the darndest things

"PADUCAH, Ky. (AP) - The youngest Kentucky child to be charged with murder in decades likely will receive counseling and therapy in a setting away from a state juvenile jail, experts say. The 7-year-old boy is charged with killing his mother's boyfriend on June 27."

This whole story has really gotten me choked up. But that's not because a man was murdered. It's because I am just now realizing that I completely wasted my childhood. If only someone had told me when I was 5 that I couldn't be tried as an adult and that the only punishment I would get would be some counesling sessions or mental therapy, I would have been going through the hills on a killing spree, I'll tell you what. It would have been the funniest killing spree ever, I think. I would have worn some dress clothes, and nice shoes, and combed my hair really nice. I would have looked like it was picture day at school. And I would have carried around my Transformers lunch box. And when I happened upon a suitable target, I would have struck up a conversation with them. Eventually, the following exchange would take place:

Me: Do you like my lunch box? It's Transformers.
Target: Yeah, kid. That's a cool lunch box.
Me: Wanna know what I'm having for lunch?
Target: Sure, kid.
Me: [opening box to reveal gun] You, bitch.

Click, click, boom.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

I shall call you . . . EDUARDO.

Some people are gay. But why are they gay? Some say it's a choice. Others say it's for genetic reasons. Still others say that it's a product of their environments. Well, I don't claim to know all the answers. But I am here to offer at least a partial explanation. If you're gay, there's a good chance that it's at least partially your parents' fault. How? It's not because of the way they treated you, or because your mom accidentally bought you culottes and made you wear them when you were a kid because she thought they were shorts. And it's not because of all those bananas and bomb pops they made you eat. It's because of the name they gave you. That's right. I'm a firm believer that a name can carry great weight when it comes to determining sexual orientation. For example, if your parents name you Chris, you're probably quite a well-adjusted person. But if your parents named you Kris, with a K, that might cause your life to be somewhat altered. When parents take the liberty of adjusting the spelling of an otherwise normal name, they may unwittingly be wreaking havoc on that child's future. At age 15, Kris writes in his diary (because Kris needs a diary, and yes a diary, not a journal): "Dear Diary, I've been going through some issues lately. Why, oh, why did my parents name me Kris with a K? I don't understand it. How could they do something like that to me? On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED note, I brought my new "friend" home from school today to meet mother. His name is Robbi with an i. He's on the soccer team. Today in gym, I accidentally hit him in the butt with a ball and the teacher made me hold an ice pack on there until the swelling went down. It didn't go down for a loooong time . . . ." You see, parents? That name can make all the difference. There are certain names that you just need to stay away from. Another example would be the name Brayden. Come on, folks. If you name your kid Brayden, you may as well as name him Gay-den. You know what I'm saying? Just watch what you're doing, parents. Unless you want your kid to turn out gay . . . not that there's anything wrong with that.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

What you can buy with $25

"PITTSBURGH (AP) - A T-ball coach allegedly paid one of his players $25 to hurt an 8-year-old mentally disabled teammate so he wouldn't have to put the boy in the game, police said Friday."

Hmm . . . This is the first time I've ever seen anything about a children's sports coach doing anything inappropriate at all. Ordinarily, those coaches and parents are extremely well behaved, right? There have never been any incidents involving adult misbehavior at a kids' sporting event that I can recall hearing about.

Coach, coach coach. Come on now. Didn't you read my rules about making fun of retarded people. And if you're not allowed to make fun of them, you're sure as hell not allowed to injure them, or pay off a "hit boy" to do it either. And you had him hit him in the head and in the groin? The head, ok, that's one thing. He's dumb already, probably not gonna make much difference there. That's kinda like pissing in the ocean. Ain't gonna make much of a splash. But the groin? Come on, coach. That's all this kid has left. What if you ruined his chances of ever becoming one of those retarded fathers they sometimes show on daytime talk shows - you know, the ones who always hug their children just a little bit too long.

You know, I don't blame that kid who actually threw the ball at the retard at all. That coach gave him $25 to do it! Hell, when I was eight years old, I would have done pretty much anything for that much money. Do you know how many baseball cards you could buy with that kind of cash? Shit, I would have sat on his head and farted until he passed out. Hey, I'm just a kid. I don't know any better. I'm blinded by Andrew Jackson and Abraham Lincoln dancing around in my head.

Friday, July 15, 2005

You're a wizard, Harry.

As much as I hate to promote other people's material, as mine is generally superior, I must point your attention toward this dandy by Jim Caple from's Page 2. He has "acquired a copy" of the newest Harry Potter book before its release, and shares a passage with us. Hilarious stuff.

Frankly my dear, AFI's list sucks.

So here it is. Finally. THE list. The Top 100 Movie Quotes of All Time According to Brad. Before I begin with the quotes, I offer you some insight as to the qualifications for making the list. Firstly, I have to have seen the movie. I've seen a lot of movies, but I'm not a movie buff, or a film critic, or anything like that. Most of them are too much of a waste of time (and this blog isn't?). So chances are there are some good quotes out there that I just am not aware of, and for that I apologize. Secondly, I am not limiting the quotes to one line, or one character. If necessary, it may be a dialogue, or a speech. I could shorten some of the longer ones, but I want you to understand the context for most of them. Of course, with some of them I won't be able to give you the context, so unless you've seen the movie, you probably won't get it. But if you haven't seen any of these movies, you should watch them anyway. Thirdly, there is no specific genre of movie I'm focusing on, although it'll be clear that most of the quotes on the list come from comedy movies. I think that when AFI released their list, comedies were significantly underrepresented. The best quotes are the ones that evoke the biggest responses from the viewer, and in my book there's no better response than laughter. Also, these are not necessarily the typical quotes that you might hear people say from these movies, but the typical ones are not always the best ones. This is a list of the BEST quotes, not the most repeated or anything like that. Lastly, I want you to understand the many hours of free time I gave up to make this list. So you sure as hell better read it. Thank you. Here's the list.


101. (This quote actually belongs higher up on the list, but I completely forgot about it when I made the list, so I just added it at the end because it's way too much of a pain in the ass to change all the numbers. But consider this in the 15-20 range.) "Tastes funny . . . tastes like paint . . . and wood." - Mr. Wilson
(Dennis the Menace)

100. "Mr Kimble! Mr. Kimble! I have to go to the bathroom and I can't get these things off." - Emma
(Kindergarten Cop)

99. "What would Brian Boitano do?" - The South Park kids
(South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut)

98. Joseph Dunn: Do you think you could beat up Bruce Lee?
David Dunn: No, Joseph.
Joseph Dunn: Even if he wasn't allowed to kick, and you were really mad at him?

97. "KHAAAAAAAAN!" - Captain James T. Kirk
(Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)

96. Ricky Fitts: Excuse me for speaking so bluntly, sir, but those fags make me want to puke my fucking guts out.
Col. Frank Fitts: . . . Well, me too son. Me too.
(American Beauty)

95. "You have a toit body. Yesh, I see that from your toit pants. Yesh, you are toit like a toiger!." - Goldmember
(Austin Powers in Goldmember)

94."I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to an area, and you multiply, and multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet, you are a plague, and we are the cure." - Agent Smith
(The Matrix)

93. "Shomer Shabbos." - Walter Sobchak
(The Big Lebowski)

92. "Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John. Hello John." - John Hammond
(Jurassic Park)

91. "I have to admit, you know, I did the fair bit of masturbating when I was younger. I used to call it stroking the salami, yeah, you know, pounding the old pud. I never did it with baked goods, but you know your uncle Mort, he pets the one-eyed snaked 5-6 times a day." - Jim's Dad
(American Pie)

90."You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize." - Mr. White
(Reservoir Dogs)

89. "Great googa-mooga!" - Harry Block

88. "Oh man, I shot Marvin in the face!" - Vincent Vega
(Pulp Fiction)

87. "A toll is a toll, and a roll is a roll, and if we don't get no tolls, then we don't eat no rolls." - Little John
(Robin Hood: Men in Tights)

86. "You have the ring, and I see your Schwartz is as big as mine." - Dark Helmet

85. "Bingo." - Frank Drebin
(The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!)

84. "Gambling is illegal at Bushwood, sir, and I NEVER slice." - Judge Smails

83. Paul Smecker: What are you doing?
Hojo: I just wanted to cuddle.
Paul Smecker: Cuddle? What a fag.
(The Boondock Saints)

82. Chief Grady: Ah, waiter. I will have the enchilada platter with two tacos and no guacamoles. Mike?
Officer Smy: Yeah, chief, I'll have a CHINCHILLA!
(Super Troopers)

81."We were just talking about our ability to move forward in time." - Rudy Mackenzie
(The Jacket)

80. "Mom says we're moving to Boston." - Max
(Liar, Liar)

79. "Easy, peasy, Japanesey." - Brooks
(The Shawshank Redemption)

78. "May I have ten thousand marbles, please?" - Flounder
(Animal House)

77. "Everything. OK! I'll talk! In third grade, I cheated on my history exam. In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max's toupee and I glued it on my face when I was Moses in my Hebrew School play. In fifth grade, I knocked my sister Edie down the stairs and I blamed it on the dog . . . When my mom sent me to the summer camp for fat kids and then they served lunch I got nuts and I pigged out and they kicked me out . . . But the worst thing I ever done - I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa - and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life." - Chunk
(The Goonies)

76. "Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today!" - Phil Connors
(Groundhog Day)

75. "Excuse me while I whip this out." - Bart
(Blazing Saddles)

74. "And the Lord spake, saying, "First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it." - Brother Maynard's Brother
(Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

73. "Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Whose gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to. " - Col. Nathan Jessep
(A Few Good Men)

72. "My name is Master Chief Billy Sunday. There was a preacher by the same name who cleaned up Chicago of all the whoring spics, drunken wops and motherfucking niggers that was making that place unfit for decent white folks to live. The only difference between me and that old preacher is that he worked for God, and I AM God!" - Master Chief Billy Sunday
(Men of Honor)

71. "Also, Dude, Chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature. Asian-American, please." - Walter Sobchak
(The Big Lebowski)

70. "What the fuck is the internet?" - Jay
(Jay and Silet Bob Strike Back)

69. "Is this some sort of radical new therapy?" - Bob Wiley
(What About Bob?)

68. Dr. Lester: I'm afraid I have to trust Floris on that one. You see, she's got her doctorate in speech impedimentology from Case Western. I apologize if you can't understand a word I'm saying.
Craig Schwartz: No, I understand perfectly.
Dr. Lester: Well, it's very kind of you to lie. You see, I've been very lonely in my isolated tower of indecipherable speech.
(Being John Malkovich)

67. "Old McDonald had a farm, ee i ee i oh. And on that farm he shot some guys. Bada boom bada bing bang boom." - Michael McManus
(The Usual Suspects)

66.Yakavetta: I'm having a shitty day. I'm depressed. Tell me a funny joke.
Rocco: Now? A joke? Uh . . . um . . . a joke, yeah, all right. There's these three guys, uh, a spic, a white guy, and a black guy.
Yakavetta: Nigger.
Rocco: Yeah, uh, yeah. And they're walking along the beach and they see this pot, and they rub it, and a genie comes out. The genie says, "You can wish for anything you want." So he asks the Mexican what he wants, and he goes "I want all my people in America to be happy and free, and in Mexico." So the genie goes poof. And all the spics are in Mexico. And then asks the black guy. . .
Lapazzi: Nigger.
Rocco: Yeah, that's what I said, goes to the the, uh, nigger, says, "What do you want?" and he goes, "I want all my African- my nigger brothers to be back in Africa, and happy and everything." So the genie goes poof. And all the niggers in America are in Africa. And uh, uh. I'm not funny today, I know, I'm having a hard day. This joke sucks, I know...
Yakavetta: . . . . . . Continue the joke.
Rocco: So the genie says to the white guy, um, "What's your one wish?" And the white guy goes, "you mean to tell me that all the niggers and spics are out of America?" The genie goes yeah, he says well, uh, "I'll have a Coke, then."
(The Boondock Saints)

65. Drill Seargent: GUUUUMP! What's your sole purpose in this army???!!!
Forrest Gump: To do whatever you tell me, Drill Sergeant!
Drill Seargeant: GODDAMNIT GUMP! You're a goddamn genius! That's the most outstanding answer I've ever heard! You must have a goddamn IQ of 160! You are goddamn gifted, Private Gump!
(Forrest Gump)

64. Frank Drebin: Saaaay . . . Nice beaver.
Jane Spencer: Thanks, I just had it stuffed.
(The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!)

63. "King illegal forest to pig wild kill in it a is!" - Mervin, the Sheriff of Rottingham
(Robin Hood: Men in Tights)

62. "Shut the fuck up, Donny." - Walter Sobchak
(The Big Lebowski)

61. Jerry: Great gift, dad!
Fletcher: Thanks, son.
(Liar, Liar)

60. "Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul." - The Principal
(Billy Madison)

59. "Where's your shitter??? I've got a turtle-head poking out." - Fat Bastard
(Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me)

58. "Mary, I desperately want to make love to a schoolboy." - Lloyd Christmas
(Dumb and Dumber)

57.Crash Davis: Relax, all right? Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring. Besides that, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls - it's more democratic.
Nuke LaLoosh: [to himself] What's this guy know about pitching? If he's so good how come he's been in the minors for the last ten years? If he's so good how come Annie wants me instead of him?
Crash Davis: Oh, hey, and another thing, Meat. You don't know shit, all right? If you wanna make it to the bigs, you'll listen to me. Annie only wants you so she can boss you around, got it? So relax! Let's have some fun out here! This game's fun, OK? Fun goddamnit. And don't hold the ball so hard, OK? It's an egg. Hold it like an egg.
(Bull Durham)

56. "Do you see any Teletubbies in here? Do you see a slender plastic tag clipped to my shirt with my name printed on it? Do you see a little Asian child with a blank expression on his face sitting outside on a mechanical helicopter that shakes when you put quarters in it? No? Well, that's what you see at a toy store. And you must think you're in a toy store, because you're here shopping for an infant named Jeb." - Elijah Price

55. "God creates dinosaurs. God destroys dinosaurs. God creates man. Man destroys God. Man creates dinosaurs." - Dr. Ian Malcolm
(Jurassic Park)

54. "Steeeeeeeriiiiiiiiike threeeeeeeheeeeheeeeeeheeeeee!" - Frank Drebin
(The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!)

53. "See if you can guess what I am now? . . . I'm a zit! Get it?" - Bluto
(Animal House)

52. "Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'." - Andy Dufresne
(The Shawshank Redemption)

51. Farva: Do you know what this is?
Rabbit: A chamois cloth?
Farva: Hah. Lucky guess. I just lost a buck . . . to myself.
(Super Troopers)

50. Lotte: I've decided that I'm a transsexual. I know, it's the craziest thing, Craig!
Craig: What, are you fucking nuts?
Lotte: No, it's just that for the first time, everything just felt right. I've got to make sure. But if the feeling is still there, I'm going to talk to Dr. Feldman about sexual reassignment surgery.
Craig: This is absurd! Besides, Feldman is an allergist. If you're going to do something, do it right!! . . . It's just a phase. It's the thrill of seeing through somebody else's eyes, ok? It'll pass.
Lotte: Don't stand in the way of my actualization as a man!
(Being John Malkovich)

49. "Is this a fake hang-up? It's a fake hang-up." - Bob Wiley
(What About Bob?)

48. Achoo: Hey, Blinkin.
Blinkin: Did you say Abe Lincoln?
Achoo: No I did not say Abe Lincoln, I said hey Blinkin.
(Robin Hood: Men in Tights)

47. The Dude: Walter, ya know, its Smokey, so his foot slipped over the line a little, big deal.
Walter Sobchak: Dude, this is a league game, the winner of this gets to progress into the next round robin. Am I wrong? Am I wrong?
Smokey: Yeah but I wasn't over.
Walter Sobchak: [pulls out a gun] Smokey you are about to enter a world of pain.
Smokey: Yeah but . . .
Walter Sobchak: A world of pain.
Smokey: Dude, could you . . .
The Dude: Jesus, Walter, you bring a fucking gun bowling?!
Walter Sobchak: Has the whole world gone crazy? Am I the only one who pays attention to the rules any more?
Smokey: Yeah but . . .
Walter Sobchak: You think I'm fucking around?! I'm not fucking around!
[points gun in Smokey's face]
Walter Sobchak: Mark it zero! Fucking mark it zero.
The Dude: They're calling the cops, man.
Smokey: All right, its fucking zero. Are you happy now, you crazy fuck?
Walter Sobchak: . . . Its a league game Smokey.
(The Big Lebowski)

46. "We got a gopher." - Samuel Gerard
(The Fugitive)

45. "I know kung fu." - Neo
(The Matrix)

44. "No no no, I'm going to leave them alone and not actually witness them dying, I'm just gonna assume it all went to plan. What?" - Dr. Evil
(Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery)

43. "A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. Ffft ffft ffft ffft." - Dr. Hannibal Lecter
(The Silence of the Lambs)

42.Tom Smykowski: It's a "Jump . . . to Conclusions Mat". You see, you have this mat, with different CONCLUSIONS written on it that you could JUMP TO.
Michael Bolton: That is the worst idea I've ever heard.
Samir: Yes, this is horrible, this idea.
(Office Space)

41. "I don't know why he saved my life. Maybe in those last moments he loved life more than he ever had before. Not just his life - anybody's life, my life. All he'd wanted were the same answers the rest of us want. Where did I come from? Where am I going? How long have I got? All I could do was sit there and watch him die." - Rick Deckard
(Blade Runner)

40. Ty Webb: This your place, Carl?
Carl Spackler: Yeah, what do you think?
Ty Webb: It's really . . . really awful.

39. "Are you suggesting that I killed my wife? Are you saying that I crushed her skull and that I shot her? How dare you. When I came home, there was a man in my house. I fought with this man. He had a mechanical arm. You find this man. You find this man." - Dr. Richard Kimble
(The Fugitive)

38. "Violet, you're turning violet, Violet!" - Sam Beauregarde
(Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory)

37. Craig: My name's Craig Schwartz and I have an interview with Dr. Lester.
Floris: Oh, please have a seat, Mr. Juarez.
Craig: Schwartz.
Floris: Pardon?
Craig: Schwartz.
Floris: I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're saying to me right now.
Craig: My name is Schwartz.
Floris: My name is Warts?
[a short time later]
Floris: Mr. Juarez?
Craig: . . . Oh, yes?
Floris: Chest?!
Craig: I said "yes".
Floris: You suggest what? I'm sorry, I have no time for piddling
suggestions from mumbling job applicants.
(Being John Malkovich)

36. "Tic-Tac, sir?" - Lloyd Christmas
(Dumb and Dumber)

35. "Would you like a shmoke and a pancake?" - Goldmember
(Austin Powers in Goldmember)

34. Frank Drebin: It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girl dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.
Jane Spencer: Goodyear?
Frank Drebin: No, the worst.
(The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!)

33. "Is it dead?" - David Della Rocco
(The Boondock Saints)

32. "Alright . . . diving." - Bob Wiley
(What About Bob?)

31. "You hear that, Mr. Anderson? That is the sound of inevitability. It is the sound of your death. Goodbye, Mr. Anderson." - Agent Smith
(The Matrix)

30. "Nobody fucks with the Jesus." - Jesus Quintana
(The Big Lebowski)

29. "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries." - French Knight
(Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

28. "Hey you guys!" - Sloth
(The Goonies)

27. "Ah . . . dessert. Chilled monkey brains." - dinner guest
(Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom)

26. "He chose . . . poorly." - The Grail Knight
(Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade)

25. "Oh, Master Robin! You've lost your arms in battle! . . . But you grew some nice boobs!" - Blinkin
(Robin Hood: Men in Tights)

24. "I don't want a largefarva, I want a goddamn literacola." - Rod Farva
(Super Troopers)

23. "The Count of Monte Crisco by Alexandre . . . Dumb-ass. DUMBASS." - Heywood
(The Shawshank Redemption)

22. "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." - Verbal Kint
(The Usual Suspects)

21. "And . . . I made him talk, sort of." - Craig Schwartz
(Being John Malkovich)

20. "You may run like Mays, but you hit like shit." - Lou Brown
(Major League)

19. "GETOUTTATHECAR!" - Dr. Leo Marvin
(What About Bob?)

18. "Does Aunt Jenny have a barn? Maybe we can hold the trial there. I can sew the costumes. Maybe his Uncle Goober can be the judge." - Daniel Kaffee
(A Few Good Men)

17. "Do you want to know what IT is?" - Morpheus
(The Matrix)

16. "Why make trillions when we could make . . . billions?" - Dr. Evil
(Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me)

15. "There's a monster outside my room, can I have a glass of water?" - Bo Hess

14. Lloyd Christmas: Excuse me, Flo . . . What's the soup du jour?
Waitress: It's the "soup of the day."
Lloyd Christmas: Mmm, that sounds good. I'll have that.
(Dumb and Dumber)

13. Bubba: You ever been on a real shrimp boat?
Forrest Gump: No, but I been on a real big boat.
(Forrest Gump)

12. "Like a midget at a urinal, I was going to have to stay on my toes." - Frank Drebin
(The Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult)

11. "We can't stop. It's too dangerous. We have to slow down first." - Colonel Sanders

10. "What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on here? I hired you people to try to get a little track laid, not to jump around like a bunch of Kansas City faggots." - Taggart
(Blazing Saddles)

9. "Do you see what happens, Larry? Do you see what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass?" - Walter Sobchak
(The Big Lebowski)

8. Richard Kimble: I didn't kill my wife!
Samuel Gerard: I don't care!
(The Fugitive)

7. "It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again." - Jame Gumb
(The Silence of the Lambs)

6. "Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come." - Terence Mann
(Field of Dreams)

5. "Shut your fat ass, Rayvie! I can't buy a pack of smokes without runnin' into nine guys you've fucked!" - David Della Rocco
(The Boondock Saints)

4. Thug: Drebin?!
Frank Drebin: Yeah!
Thug: I got a message for you from Vincent Ludwig! Take that you son of a bitch! [fires multiple rounds at Drebin while yelling]
Frank Drebin: I can't hear you! Don't fire the gun while you're talking!
(The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!)

3. "So I jump ship in Hong Kong, and I make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over there in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So I tell ‘em I’m a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald—striking. So I’m on the first tee with him, I give him the driver. He hauls of and whacks one—big hitter, the Lama, long—into a 10,000 foot crevice right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga. Gunga—gunga lagunga. So we finish 18 and he’s gonna stiff me. And I say, “Hey, Lama! Hey! How ‘bout a little something, you know, for the effort, you know?” And he says, “Oh, uh, there won’t be any money. But when you die, on your death bed, you will receive total consciousness.” So I got that going for me, which is nice." - Carl Spackler

2. Bob Slydell: What would you say . . . you DO here?
Tom Smykowski: Well, look, I already told you. I deal with the goddamn customers so the engineers don't have to. I have people skills! I am good at dealing with people! Can't you understand that?! What the hell is wrong with you people?!
(Office Space)

1. "No ticket." - Indiana Jones
(Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade)

Monday, July 11, 2005

4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . and switch

Are you ever flipping around the dial and you come across one of these ridiculous exercise shows? They're on FitTV all day long, unless they're playing either the show with the fat guy cooking low carb food, or the strong guy cooking healthy food who is the worst television host ever and couldn't explain his way out of a wet paper bag. Anyway, on these exercise shows, you'll usually have three to five fit-looking people doing aerobic exercises synchronously, maybe bouncing off of some kind of step-like device which could easily be replaced by a large book or a block of wood and the exercise would be the same and you would save about fifty bucks on that damn step. And the person in the front is always the leader, and he or she will tell everybody else what to do, sometimes using crazy exercise lingo that only gym-heads understand, talking to the home viewing audience from time to time, giving them words of encouragement. And you can almost always hear something like this at least a couple times during one of those shows: "Ok eight more. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . You're doing great! Keep it up! 7 and stop." Trust me exercise person when I say that the people at home are not doing great. They're all laughing at you. A wonderful career choice you've made. What I want to know is, are there really people out there that watch this stuff and try to do the exercises along with them? Is it a spur-of-the-moment thing or is it planned out? Is some woman at home flipping around the channels and comes across this show and says, "Hey, this looks good. I think I'll try it." Then she throws off her shoes and has at it. Or is it more of a regular habit. She's out with her friends when suddenly she realizes what time it is. "Oh no!" she says. "I gotta get home. My favorite show is on soon. I never miss a Bodyshaping. That Gilad is a great encourager." I find it hard to believe that there really are people out there watching that stuff for a reason other than to make fun of it. But I guess there must be. But you know those people look nothing like the people that are exercising on the show. The people at home are fat slobs. No truly fit person would be caught dead exercising to one of those shows. That's why I think that on each one of those shows they should have some fat goof jumping around in the background, trying to keep up with the leader, and being unsuccessful at doing so. Not only would that give those poor chubs at home better self esteem from seeing someone more like themselves try to do the exercises rather than focusing on these unrealistically ideal-looking people, but it would attract a vast new audience of people like me who enjoy laughing at fat people trying to do aerobics.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Kenny Rogers

So I've been hearing about this Kenny Rogers fiasco for the last few days. In case you didn't hear, Rogers (a pitcher for the Texas Rangers) was being videotaped by a news cameraman before a recent game, apparently against his wishes, and attacked two cameramen, throwing (or trying to throw) their cameras to the ground, and causing one of them, Larry Rodriguez, to go to the hospital. The Gambler was fined $50,000 and suspended for 20 days, pending appeal. Seems fair enough. Or so I thought . . . until I got a close-up look at Mr. Rodriguez while he was being interviewed on television. I've got to tell you, he may be the homeliest person I have ever seen. Literally, the first thing I said when I saw this guy was "OH MY GOD!" If James Carville and a rat had a child, his name would be Larry Rodriguez. I tried to find a good picture of him online but couldn't. That's probably good for your sake, because you don't want to see this guy anyway. You wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Anyway, seeing old Lar has really put things into perspective for me. It's clear to me now that Rogers was not going after him because of the camera, but because he was so damn ugly. And who can blame him? I say that Major League Baseball should drop the suspension and fine. Why? Well, who wouldn't attack such a man? I would. To be perfectly clear, yes, I am saying that it is ok to assault somebody based on physical hideousness. I mean come on, there should be a limit on what we're forced to take. Beyond that, and it should be open season, as far as I'm concerned.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Reality TV

Here's the idea. It's a reality television program. It'll be a bunch of people living on an island, or in a house, or wherever. And they'll have to interact with each other and of course have one on one's with the camera. And they'll have to vote each other out of course, and eventually somebody wins. Sounds pretty familiar, right? Here's the catch. They're all retards. You can send me that Emmy whenever you get a chance. I realize that it may offend some people, but I believe that comedy is paramount to everything else, and this just might be the funniest show ever. And it will certainly get people talking. It would have to be the most-watched reality show of all time, right? I mean, even if you are offended, wouldn't you watch it anyway? How could you not? Besides, everyone's always saying that retarded people want to be treated just like everybody else, right? So, why can't they be on a reality tv show just like everybody else? "I am normah, just like you and me."

I can just see it now. Mikey sitting there talking to the camera--"Tommy took my appah. I don't like him." Can you imagine the retards talking bad about each other? I'm imagining how funny it was when that retard called me a retard, think about when they're calling each other retards. A funnier scenario I cannot envision. Oh man, I just had another great idea. Throw one non-retarded guy in there. He should probably be a really uptight, high -strung guy, maybe a former military man. Then watch him as he slowly goes insane. No contact with the outside world, or with any other humans with an IQ above 70. He starts wondering why they put him on the show with a bunch of retards. Is he actually a retard and just doesn't know it? Watch as his grip on reality slips away.

All we have to do now is come up with a name for the show. It's got to have a good name - one that highlights the retard factor, but also that it is a reality show. Maybe something like "Big Special Brother," or "Big Retarded Brother." Or if you want it on an island, maybe "Survivor: Isle of Tards."