GOOD.

I don't know if I ever posted this, but this is one of my favorite jokes.

ERROR

We recently found a place near our office that has $.99 draft beer. Now, if you still live in Michigan or any other place aside from NYC, you might not find this amazing. But here, $.99 beers are unheard of. It makes you think that perhaps it will come in a very small glass, or that it will be root beer. To our delight, it was not. The bar serves normal Miller Light in a plastic cup. Now, of course, your fist instinct is that this is terrible beer. You might even liken it to drinking piss. Which is why I thought it was so funny to find looking out from the bar that someone had scrawled the word "pee" over the glass of beer.




It was only moments later that I realized that no one had written "pee" in marker on this, but it was actually what 99-cents looked like backwards. Unknowingly, this bar was telling patrons who were inside drinking that the $.99 beer was piss.




Almost the funniest thing I've ever noticed.

Stabbing.

BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS.

XTRANORMAL

Recently, via a friend's gmail status, I found a website (xtranormal.com) that allows you to make short animated films by merely typing in a script and using some pretty simple director's tools. So until I get bored of it, I'm going to make little films instead of writing blogs here. Here are the first three.

Mercy:


Thickness:


Business Opportunity:

THE BEST EMAIL TODAY.

This is an e-mail I got today regarding a script I wrote:

Subject: question

Body:

Is carnie a negative term?

Everyone loves the manifesto but that one word caused quite a stir.

NHL HAS GONE SOFT.

The NHL. Home of some of the world's toughest guys. The only team sport to allow fist fights. And now, a league that is sending its players to charm school. Sean Avery, defenseman for the Dallas Stars, made this statement in a pre-game interview a few days ago:

"I am really happy to be back in Calgary, I love Canada," he said. "I just want to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don't know what that's about. Enjoy the game tonight."

Avery has since been thrashed for his candor. Not only thrashed, but suspended--indefinitely. What? Are you serious? For referring to an ex as his "sloppy seconds"? I can see suspending him if it was some sort of racial slur, but not for making a little joke about some girl you used to date. And it's barely a personal attack on anyone. All he did was state "I used to date her" in different words.

As if the NHL didn't have enough trouble earning the interest and respect of sports fans. Hockey is a great sport. Home of the last true warriors. Guys who really do play for the love of the game. Guys who get stitched up on the bench and lose teeth like loose pocket change. And apparently now, guys who aren't allowed to make jokes. Ridiculous.

WRITING FOR LETTERMAN.

I was reorganizing my computer and I came across a file that's sort of interesting. About four years ago, my old boss told me he would try to get me some freelance work doing some writing for The David Letterman Show. Of course I was excited. The first step in the process, he said, was to write Top Ten lists for two standard topics: Top Ten Signs Your Gym Teacher Is Crazy & Top Ten Ways The World Would Be Different If A Dog Were President. Here are the lists I put together before narrowing it down to ten:

Top Ten Signs Your Gym Teacher Is Crazy

1. Instead of a whistle, he uses a kazoo
2. Two words: moon-boots
3. While you’re playing basketball, he’s in the corner playing with dolls
4. Keeps screaming “Snakes!” and running out of class
5. Promises relay race winners “a place in heaven”
6. Constantly mumbles “I coulda been a contender”
7. Some days he wears lipstick
8. Puts kids’ bag lunches in blender to make “health shakes”
9. He insists that tether-ball is the “Nazi’s game”
10. Keeps calling you soldier and ordering you drop and give him twenty
11. Coaches you to hit tennis ball with that “giant fly swatter”
12. Thinks hula-hoop is a sport
13. Once a month you dissect frogs
14. Instead of balls, you play dodge-ball with kittens
15. Drinks Capri Suns for breakfast—a lot of them
16. Proclaims those who reach the top of the rope are of a higher order
17. Refuses to wear shirt because it slows him down
18. Forces you to learn mores-code whistle blowing instructions
19. Eats handfuls of dirt from softball field
20. Wears shoe polish under eyes to reduce glare from gym lights
21. Brags about ability to blow whistle without using mouth
22. Makes kids shower before, half-way through and after class
23. Claims human athletic ability determined by alien ruler
24. Instead of a sweat suit, he wears a straightjacket

Top Ten Ways The World Would Be Different If A Dog Were President


1. State of the Union address would be a whole lot cuter.
2. Spaying and neutering…outlawed
3. Fetch finally recognized as national sport
4. All trees cut down to put squirrels on “level playing field”
5. Cats added to axis of terror
6. Year is now 12006, as years are converted to dog years
7. White house carpet cleaning bills—way up
8. US borders lined with invisible fence
9. Giant dog army is mobilized, saving US billions
10. First lady really would be a bitch
11. Lassie appointed attorney general
12. No more interns needed, since President can “service himself”
13. Cabinet consists of the Kibbles and Bits dogs.
14. International posturing reduced to a form of growling
15. Lobbyists do a lot more “back scratching”
16. People who eat grass are now socially accepted
17. Secret service to take new course in chasing cars
18. Public urination-no longer a crime
19. Sniffing asses no longer taboo
20. All fire hydrants declared public restrooms
21. All Korean restaurants…closed
22. Fetch “fake-outs” considered acts of treason
23. Blind dogs given “seeing eye-people”

Somewhere there's a file with my final ten, which he supposedly submitted. I never heard anything back, so here I am, not writing for Letterman. Still, it was fun making the lists.

VIRGINITY FOR SALE.

So awhile ago that story came out about the girl selling her virginity to pay for grad school. And I just realized what I should do about this:

I want to purchase her virginity and then not have sex with her.

Since there would have to be some sort of binding legal contract proclaiming me the owner of said virginity, I would remain the owner until I personally had sex with her. Which means I could put that virginity in the bank and wait five years, ten years, or maybe forever. I could leave her virginity to my children in a will, which would probably not be very valuable, considering by the time I die she'll be old and rotten.

One flaw in this plan is my lack of self control. If there's beer in the fridge, I drink it. On the rare occasions that I have pot, I smoke it until it's gone. So if I owned some virginity, I would definitely use it up.

The other flaw is that I just plain don't have $250,000. Perhaps a church will buy her virginity and ensure she remains pure, which would save her soul from eternal damnation. They can pass around the collection basket, taking donations to the congregation, who would all be part owners of that girl's virginity.

I WANT TO LIKE DEXTER.

I want to like Dexter, I really do. But it sucks. Aside from the premise, which I think is interesting and could yield a great show, nothing about Dexter is really all that great. The story-line is okay and I guess it's enough to keep me coming back, but the acting is repulsive. I hate virtually all of the actors and actresses.

The sister is by far the worst. The whole "I want my shield to make daddy proud" routine has been beat beyond recognition. Is it a dead horse? Is it a dead cow? Is it a dead great dane? I just can't tell, it's so badly beaten.

And Dexter's inner monologue is painfully redundant. Oh, your dad made you this monster, oh you're soooo conflicted, ohhh, the code, oh you're in a tight spot. We get it. It's gotten to the point now that I DVR episodes so that I can fast forward through half of the show. I don't really want to hear them talk or see any of the acting, I just want a snapshot of the story.

I guess the silver lining to all of this sucking is that it only takes me about 30 minutes to watch each episode.

IF JOHN MCCAIN IS ELECTED...

Can they fix his little arms? Please?

I bet they want to punch one another's faces. Debates make me feel sick to my stomach for some reason.

DAVID BLAINE: WORST PERSON

"Illusionist" David Blaine has pulled another weak stunt. Apparently, he used to do magic. He could take the head off of a chicken and put it back on. He had some sweet card tricks. And now, he has a publicist, financial backing, and terrible decision making skills.

First, his attempt to hang upside-down for sixty hours straight is mildly intriguing at best. The fact that he was "required" to get down every so often for "medical checks" entirely defeats the purpose of even trying. The whole attraction of these stunts is that he might die. So monitoring him to ensure that won't happen, while also getting him out of his position, completely ruins what was already a pretty lame stunt. How about this for a stunt: David Blaine will never be seen again, ever. That's a stunt I can get behind.

Then, after the weakest "magic" the world has ever seen, he was set to attempt his "dive of death." This sounded more interesting. There was a real chance he could hit the pavement, which people want to see. There was also a real chance for him to use some sort of masterful trickery to regain some of his illusionist mystique. And what happened? He jumped off some scaffolding wearing a harness connected to a wire. Dive of death, indeed. It wasn't even a well-concealed wire. The crowd booed, as they should have. Then the wire lifted Blaine off into the sky, hopefully to begin his next stunt: Never being seen again.

HEAD PETTING.

This morning I stopped at a barbershop in my new neighborhood. I was in need of a haircut, and since I don't require anything fancy, I like your classic-type barbershop. Sel's seemed to fit the bill--old fashioned chairs, faux wood walls decorated with odd pictures, worn linoleum floors, and an old Italian man who speaks broken English and has that perma-coffee-and-cigarette odor.

So everything seemed to be in order. Then the haircut began. First, Sel cuts hair dry. He doesn't wet you down at all. So your hair doesn't so much fall to the floor as it does blow everywhere and get in your ears. But that was of little concern.

The strange thing was that as part of the haircut, Sel pets your head. He mats down the hair every few snips to see how it's turning out. Which is weird, but not the weirdest. The weirdest part takes place when he pets down the hair in the front and doesn't stop where the hair stops. He pets right down onto your face.

The first few pets made me feel uncomfortable. But at that point, I was in the middle of a haircut and Sel was armed with scissors. I wasn't about to ask him to stop or bring up the strangeness of the face petting. So I let him finish. Then about six or seven pets in, I sort of started to like it. It was soothing.

Now I'm confused.

I don't think I can go back to Sel, but now I sit at work, petting my face all day long. Plus, the haircut kind of sucks.

IPHONE PICTURE PAGE.

Look at all of those ducks!



Seriously, we get it. You're a nurse. Go home and change out of those pajamas, bitch.



The NFL Sunday Ticket + two televisions = perfect Sunday. Except for the whole HD situation, which I can't really talk about right now.



I took a picture of this, not because I love Dr. Pepper, but rather because I was going to write a blog about it on irateads.com. What a stupid idea. If anyone in the world actually collects this "limited edition" can, they are perhaps the saddest person. I might still write that blog.





These are various pictures of New York sights. On a street at sunset, from a roof at night, and one of a horse and buggy going by in the strange neighborhood where I work.



This was going to be a blog entry about how much I love being an adult and how hard it is for me to pick any cereal I want. I can have anything! On this particular day I bought Trix, even though I'm aware they're for kids. Today I actually bought Froot Loops. Trix are better.



I believe this is a jar of chicken fat you can pour on your food, found at Sammy's Romanian Steakhouse.



This was an instructional illustration I found outside a bathroom at Gowanas Yacht Club. For those of you not familiar with this place, it's an outdoor bar that is about three blocks from a dirty canal. It has nothing to do with yachts. However, they do appear to have strict regulations for their bathroom. Pee, yes. Poop, sure. Fuck from behind while pulling hair, no.

FIRE ALARMS, WORTHLESS.

If you work in a building, you've probably had experience with the worthlessness of fire alarms. Of all the times I've had a fire alarm go off in my building, I don't think there's ever been an actual fire. And I've worked in some terrible, really flammable buildings. Buildings that probably should be burned.

Once you've been through enough false alarms, you start to dismiss them altogether. They're crying wolf. But what happens if there really is a wolf? A wolf who breathes fire and sets your building on fire? What then?

The answer is a smoke alarm. Not an alarm that senses smoke, but an alarm that pumps out smoke. In the case of a real fire, the smoke alarms would start pumping thick, black smoke onto all the floors. If you hear the fire alarm and see smoke in your building, you'd probably get the hell out. Because everyone knows, where there's smoke, there's fire. And wa-la, I just saved you from a terrible burning death.

Smoking Smoke Alarm. Patented 09.04.08.

CHASE LICKS BALLS

This morning I went to deposit some checks at my friendly neighborhood Chase bank. In the lobby I was greeted by a giant cardboard sign in front of the counter where the deposit slips are normally kept. It proclaimed "NO HASSLE DEPOSITS!" The sign went on to say that you didn't need to fill out a form or use an envelope. Simply go to the ATM, log in, and slide your money (or checks) into the machine.

Perfect. I hate forms and don't really care much for envelopes.

So to the machine I went. I logged in and selected deposit, at which point the loud beeping and flashing lights directed me to slide my checks into a strange machine mouth. The machine quickly ate my checks, then after 20 more seconds of beeping and flashing, returned to the greeting/not logged in screen. No receipt. No acknowledgement that my checks had been received.

At this point, since the machine was apparently done with me, I had to go inside and see customer service. After waiting in line for five minutes, I was informed I could call a hotline and file a claim. Great. At work, I called the hotline, filed the claim and apparently everything is going to be taken care of.

But I'm not satisfied. I think after work I'm going to stop by and demand they take down that sign. Because to me, having a machine eat your checks, forcing you to wait in line--only to talk to someone who makes you call a hotline where you'll be put on hold is not really "HASSLE FREE." Not hassle free at all.

REVOKING MY FAVRE FANDOM.

Months ago, when Brett Favre finally retired I came out as a fan. Despite being an avid Lions fan (thus programmed to hate Green Bay and Chicago), I couldn't help but admire the passion and grit with which Favre played.

But the recent coming out of retirement circus has been an abomination. The Packers, Favre and the media are all to blame. Mostly the media, in my opinion. In what must have been one of the slowest sporting news months in recent memory, the Favre story was on for about 1/4 of every sporting news show. SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT BRETT FAVRE! Speculation on top of speculation. Interviews with people who have nothing to do with Favre, the Packers or his situation. I mean, they asked Tiger Woods about it. You seriously don't have any better questions for arguably the most dominant athlete (within his sport) in the world? That journalist should be fired and Tiger should refuse to answer any more questions about over-the-hill athletes from other sports possibly coming out of retirement.

Favre has to take some responsibility for this. I mean, make up your mind. I understand the desire to play again once the season gets close, but think about your legacy. This has certainly tainted it. You were a legend--no, a God--in Green Bay. You played there your entire career. You could probably feed a whole nursery full of babies to a pit bull, then torture that pit bull and feed it to your infant daughter and nuns in Green Bay would STILL give you a blowjob on the street. But now you're going to play for the Jets? Ugh. Brett, Brett, Brett. You're ruined everything.

Now we just have to wait for the end of season "will Brett retire" talk to begin. It'll probably start tomorrow and last all season.

FROM IRATE ADS: POLITICAL AD

From irateads.com:

jtherkal: In what will become a growing series as November nears, we're going to tackle political ads. For years, political ads have been a stain on our society, littering the airwaves with slanderous accusations, boredom and just plain terribleness. You'd think that candidates would hire professionals to pump out some ads that don't feel like your typical political BS. But to date, few have. We'll start with this gem, which has been a bit of a lightning rod as of late.



It's for John McCain, Republican candidate for president (for the super uninformed). My guess is he has hired some professionals, and those professionals talked him into this outstanding ad. The conversation probably went a little like this:

Ad Guy: So John, the difference between you and Obama is that you're old and crusty. He's young, beloved and hip. Trying to make you seem hip, or Obama seem crusty is a near impossible task. So our angle is this: play up your crustiness and make his popularity seem like a fault.

McCain: Interesting. Can't we just say "McCain is white and will take over the fucking world with guns?"

Ad Guy: No, there's been a bit of a backlash due to all this war crap.

McCain: Oh, continue.

Ad Guy: Well, we start with ominous music. Then we show people chanting "O BA MA! O BA MA!"

McCain: Wait, won't that make him seem popular?

Ad Guy: That's the point, you old bastard. Now shut it and wait for the punchline.

McCain: Sorry.

Ad Guy: So while people are chanting, we show images of celebrities that are idiots. Paris Hilton, Brittany Spears, etc. Then people will think "Obama is a celebrity, Paris is a celebrity, Obama is the same as Paris."

McCain: I like your logic.

Ad Guy: Then we say some of the political bullshit you insist on cramming in my ads, followed by that image of you looking into the light while you say you approve this message.

McCain: Doesn't that clip of me looking into the light make people think of me being old and dying?

Ad Guy: That's the point! We want people to think about how old you are. You're the anti-young. You have so much experience that you're almost dead.

McCain: Brilliant.

Ad Guy: That's why you hired me.

I guess if I have to rate this, I give it a F. The backlash on this has been nothing short of sensational. Paris has even responded with this:



sjbooher: That's it, I'm voting for Paris. That is awesome. How does Paris Hilton have a better campaign ad than McCain? And it also sounds like she already has a better handle on her running mate (Rihanna, potentially) than either of the real candidates! Ha. McCain's ad was lazy and scatterbrained at the same time. FOCUS, MAAAAAAAN. Not to mention he just saved Obama millions of dollars as the backlash is campaign advertising in and of itself. F to the McCain ad, A+ to the Paris ad.

IMPORTANT TOPIC.

Last weekend, after several drinks, I was talking to some friends about a most important topic. The question at hand was: How hot is a dragon's vagina? While there were several different opinions on the matter, the only one that matters in this space is mine. Which is that a dragon's vagina is very, very, immensely hot. The beast can breathe fire from its mouth. The mouth goes inside it, as does the vagina. So it stands to reason that much like the mouth, that dragon pussy is burning hot. Also, it is likely lined with sharp scales, which would feel nice on the way in, but rip your charred dick apart on the way back out.

It just goes to show you, don't fuck a dragon.

CAN I GET SOME?

It happens to everyone. You get some song stuck in your head and you can't stop repeating one chorus, over and over and over and over and over again. In my head, I often get some warped version of the song, where the words are replaced with words that might make sense, might not. Last weekend, I was getting my hair cut and some combination of these items put a song in my head:

-A little boy asking his parents something over and over again in Spanish.
-The song "Damaged" by Danity Kane.
-A hunger and love for pizza.

The result was a warped version of the song, where I imagined the kid was asking his parents "Can we get some pizza?" Pizza. Pizza. By replacing "How you gonna fix it" with "Can I get some pizza?" a song was born. I sang it all weekend long, inspiring a house full of people to sing along with me and to eat pizza. I still can't get rid of it. Here, so you all have to suffer my fate, is "Can I get some?" the music video.



You might have to crank up your volume to hear it. Then again, you might not want to.

CREST PRO HEALTH TOOTHPASTE

My inability to make decisions always comes to the forefront while shopping for personal hygiene products. Shampoo, deodorant, shaving cream and especially toothpaste. I know what I like, just a simple, minty paste. No gel, nothing that feels like sand or burning in my mouth, just the most average joe toothpaste available.

But then I get in the aisle and my brain gets confused. Which is more important to fight, cavities, gingivitis or plaque? Which brand is better? Do I need whitening or not? So many questions. And then, this time, there was an answer. Crest Pro-Health Total Care Toothpaste.


There, seemingly, was the perfect toothpaste. The shiny package claimed that this toothpaste fought every mouth ailment known to man. My decision was suddenly made. So what if it looked like a slightly fancy toothpaste, it does everything. Surely it can't taste that bad, it's mint. But then I used it. Ugh. Awful. Unbelievably bad. And to make sure it was awful, my girlfriend tested and confirmed that Crest Pro-Health was, indeed, terrible. The only way I can describe it is that it leaves you with a minty, rotten-milk aftertaste. If you like your mouth, do not ever buy this toothpaste.

Pirates, Still At It.

Fresh off the internet presses at CNN.com: Pirates take four European tourists hostage

It's good to know that pirates are still hard at work, taking hostages, raiding ships, etc. And it's interesting that they're not referred to as terrorists. Seems like most pirate activities are pretty similar to terrorism, the only difference being that pirates operate on the water. People hate terrorists, but we still have some sort of affinity for those sea loving rascals, the pirates. Arrrrrr.

I'm 30, I guess.

I don't really remember the exact day or year I was born, but according to my parents it was June 18, 1978. Which makes me 30 years old as of last Wednesday. I don't feel much different, but apparently people think it's a "big birthday." The best gift I received was from my girlfriend, who secretly put together a birthday video for me. Not some sort of dirty sex video, as I had hoped, but a touching 30 minute video starring my friends and family. She shipped a Flip around the country, carried out secret gatherings and was all around sneaky to gather as much as she could. The result, while a bit long, was a total surprise and blew me away. Thanks.

And to thank everyone who participated, I used said Flip to put together a little video of my own. It's considerably shorter.

All in all, it was one of the best birthday weeks I've ever had. So far being 30 is awesome. Take that, 20's.

THE ULTIMATE MAN COMPETITION WEEKEND THAT IS ALSO A BACHELOR PARTY FOR JON.

So I've taken a long time off. Mostly due to laziness, partially due to spending time working on irateads.com, partially due to other events in life. So here, to kick off what could be another period of active blogging, is a video I cut together with highlights of a recent weekend trip to Michigan.



Events included:

Manathalon
Start with five pushups, sprint 25 yards, slam a beer, sprint 25 yards, pick up a hatchet, while running, throw the hatchet at a stack of wood (time off your score for sticking it in the wood), sprint to finish line.
Winner: Me

Shooting & Shots
Five cans sit on steps of a ladder, with an air rifle, shoot the cans off of the ladder. You must take a shot of beer before every shot you take. Judged on accuracy.
Winner: Me

Tire Throw
Throw a car tire as far as you can.
Winner: Not me, Jamie possibly.

One Man Canoe Race
Chug a beer, get in canoe, race to the other side of a river, touch a log with your oar, row back.
Winner: Me.

Axe Throw
Throw an axe at a tree from different distances. If the axe sticks you get points, based on how far you are from the tree.

Other Games:

Poker Tournament
Pool Tournament
Hot Dog Eating Contest
Getting the drunkest contest
Various points awarded for other man-like things, such as hitting a bird with your car

Planned Games That Never Got Finished Due To Time & Drunk:

100yd Dash Dragging Log
Wood Chopping
Hole Digging
Fishing

Overall winner: Me. Although I kept score. If you ain't cheatin, you ain't tryin.

IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME.

Last Halloween my friend dressed as one of the greatest songs ever made. The result, finally available on YouTube, is one of the greatest performances in modern history. The best part, to me, is that he just doesn't quit. If the song had gone for 20 minutes, I think he would have danced for 20 minutes. Enjoy.



The original:



And now one featuring my favorite type of mascot. The crazy walkin' inflatable mascot!



This makes my day.