Live bloggin reading Zack's blog

My friend Zack just moved his blog to a new host and changed to a funnier name. Last week he live blogged the last sip of a hot chocolate. I was going to live blog my reaction to his pictures, but instead I'll just show you the pictures I would have used.

What's going on here? I am intrigued...

Oh my god, will he enjoy this sip?
Will he burn his tongue? Oh my god!

Relief! My friend pretty much enjoyed
his hot chocolate, plus did not get burned.
Enjoy your day friend.

Read his website on the internet. It is funnier and more frequently updated than mine.

Happy New Year

I think this is funny.

Via Wikipedia, this is a list of the charges against Richard Reid (aka Shoe-bomber aka world-class asshole and Al-Qaeda operative). See if you can find the funny one:

I. Attempted Use of Weapon of Mass Destruction
II. Attempted Homicide
III. Placing an Explosive Device on Aircraft
IV. Attempted Murder
V. Interference with Flight Crew and Attendants
VI. Attempted Destruction of an Aircraft
VII. Using a Destructive Device During and in Relation to a Crime of Violence
VIII. Attempted Wrecking of a Mass Transportation Vehicle

He was found guilty of all charges and sentenced to life in a super maximum security prison. So. Yes. 12.5% of the reason that the infamous shoe-bomber, enemy of freedom and would-be destroyer of human life, is imprisoned for life, is that his actions got in the way of the work of flight attendants.

The fact that they even bothered with this charge in the face of everything else he did and planned really made me laugh. There is very little else to say about this.

Drag Racing

Whenever drag racing comes up, I get angry because I think it is a stupid thing to watch and care about. It seems absolutely arbitrary and is the antithesis of sport.

Then I read this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drag_racing

Not only did it fail to enlighten what might be redeeming about drag racing, it added to my theory of arbitrariness. I don't think anyone really knows why one car goes faster than another. There is something about "sticky tires" and something about "nitrous tanks". But really, does it matter how sticky your fucking tires are if the guy next to you has twice as must nitrous in his tank? Even the restrictions I'm sure are in place are arbitrary. "That much nitrous would make this race ridiculous. Don't even go there, drag racers."

I guess what I really dislike about it is the fact that it is a sport between two drag racers. It should really just be more of a scientific endeavor - who can build the fastest damn car ever? Not, who can consistently do the best wind sprints in a car that goes faster than a spaceship?

Stupid.

A conversation.

"He's a growing boy, he needs his protein!" said the anthropomorphic cartoon jar of peanut butter, emphasizing his point by slapping his anthropomorphic cartoon bottle of jelly across the face again. He was justifying his place of dominance in their sandwiches.

For the fifth time this month, the bottle of jelly secretly vowed to leave her abusive husband, but the truth was that she had a tough psychological life which made her more sexually attracted to him the more brutal he was. The sandwiches they made were just too good to leave him. But she made empty threats anyway.

"I know about you and that young anthropomorphic cartoon plastic squeeze bottle of strawberry jam from your office, why don't you go off and made your easy sandwiches together you bastard!"

"Maybe I will!" said the jar of peanut butter, who then stormed out the door and slammed it behind him.

"He'll be back," she whispered. "Grape jelly is the best thing for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." Even though it was true, it rang false in her ears and as she sobbed herself to sleep in their anthropomorphic cartoon pantry-house, she could envision of the sounds of strawberry jam being spread over her husband's body by a tired housewife before her children went to school.

The end

NOTE Domestic violence is not funny unless it's done by anthropomorphic cartoon food. Also, what the hell is wrong with me?

LeVar Burton

I was thinking of doing a joke about LeVar Burton's career, like "Mr. Burton, you've been in at least 2 tv shows. Which 2 roles would you like to be remembered for?" Then he'd say "Star Trek and Reading Rainbow." This was a joke on how he was only in 2 things. Then I saw that he was basically the main guy in "Roots" back in the day, and I felt like an asshole. Sorry, LeVar. Your career has some credibility.

Misunderstood?

A daytime story.

(Ed. Apologies to feminists for assuming gender. It makes this story easier.)

Today I was working and I heard a rustling like paper bags in the bedroom. I turn off the music and listen. There it is again! I go check out the bedroom, look inside, take a scan of the room, and see nothi.....oh wait. That's a sparrow. Perching on a shoebox. Inside my apartment.

Two questions hit me at this point - how did this bird get inside my completely-blocked-to-the-outside-world-I-mean-not-even-a-window-open apartment, and now how do I get it out. On a suggestion from the father-in-law, I put the cat in the bathroom, throw open the front and back doors, and try to scare the poor little guy the fuck out of my apartment.

Using a box (I use logic in crisis, not a "broom"), I managed to scare it directly into my closet, where it promptly got squished between a plastic bag full of stuff and the back wall. I tried to use the box to trap the bird and the bag at once, but I guess I moved the bag around a little too much and the bugger went under the bed. This is where I lost him for 5 minutes. After a bunch of snooping around with a flashlight, I found him sitting quietly (he was extremely petrified) next to Jess' bedside table. I proceed to take a candle out of our hurricane glassware, and scoop his little hollow-boned ass into his temporary cage. This is what he looked like:



So I dumped him outback, where he fluttered around for a little while, then settled down in a puddle of dirty water, where he has been sitting ever since, completely in shock, unable to face the world.


Goodbye forever, bird.

what if

what if being in a band was like being on a major league baseball team, and instead of having to book your own shows and beg and scrape to get new people to show up, a multi-billion dollar organization designed a yearly schedule for you and, on your worst nights, 8,000 would come see you dick around in a huge stadium.