Five tips (I hate the overused “Life Hacks” phrase, but life hacks, if you prefer) to make your relationships better and longer-lasting. I’m not a professional counselor and this is probably the worst advice you’ll ever hear, but, hey, you’ve tried everything else and Match.com has banned all four of your profiles. So if you were rejected from eHarmony for answering their preliminary question “What do you want in a woman?” with “MY PENIS!!!1!!”, then you might as well give this brief video a listen.
Tag: funny
Geometrically Challenged Bumper Puppets
I see it every day. You wannabe bumper puppets wandering cluelessly through parking lots are at the top of my Death-Race-2000, 100-bonus-points, see-how-high-you-ricotche-off-my-bumper list. Why do you think the rules of crossing the street don’t apply in parking lots? If you were crossing a highway, you’d walk purposefully and directly from one corner to the other at a right angle to the traffic. But put that street inside a parking lot and suddenly it’s a geometric challenge to all pedestrians. Right angles no longer apply. The only 10th-grade geometry you can now remember is “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line” from the door to my car. Traffic be damned!
And that purposeful walk suddenly becomes an aimless amble as you walk down the middle of the traffic lane. God forbid, you pull out your cell phone. Now you’re not only geometrically challenged, your head is in a cell-phone fog. Your tunnel-vision has narrowed 97%. If the driver who has been creeping behind you as you show no hope of actually getting out of the lane dares tap their horn in a friendly, “Hey, asshole, try actually crossing the street before I mount the curb,” gesture, you prepare your best stink-eye for a glare in their direction.
The last leg of my morning commute is the long walk from a section of parking lot that, frankly, could use a tram running every five minutes. I see the abhorrent lane-danglers there, too. These are otherwise brilliant people. Some are even rocket scientist, literally. Most ignore the thoughtfully installed sidewalk. God forbid I invite them to trade the asphalt for concrete. I get the extra-smelly stink-eye and my lunch stolen from the break-room fridge.
I’ve struggled with these feelings for far too long. Though, as these paragraphs witness, I haven’t completely come to terms with my geometrical demons, I have resigned myself to trusting in Darwinian evolution to do its job. Let the herd be thinned by metal and plastic flinging the mindlessly self-absorbed into light post and bushes! At least I can enjoy my lunch secure in the knowledge there will be an open parking space closer to the door tomorrow.
The Ancient Hulking Man
It was my wife’s flawlessly executed plan that turned me into the malodorous, shamble of a man I’ve become. She has slowly turned me into a passable, but barely socially acceptable simian. It took me years to figure out why she did this, but I share my knowledge freely with all men so you can avoid this dastardly plot that all wives are planning.
Here are the signs to look for. One day, she stopped objecting to my desire to eat onions. Next she told me the disgusting, medicated shampoo really smelled good. Then she waited for me to get sick. After several sick days without shaving, she mentioned how sexy my patchy, scruffy beard looked, so i kept it. She also suggested I try the place that gives $5 haircuts and said it was the most flattering coiffure I’d every sported. Then she brought the kids into her plot by getting them to buy the most foul-smelling, drug-store cologne for Father’s Day. She promised it smelled great on me. Then she slowly replaced my entire wardrobe with Khakis, plaid short-sleeve shirts, white socks and sandals.
Why would she turn me into this hairy, smelly, fashion disaster? Only one reason: after 30 years, she’s decided she is pretty much stuck with me, so she made me repugnant to the opposite sex. Not that I was looking or really had a chance for that matter. After 30, I’ve decided she’s the one for me, too. She did this to simplify her life. Me running off with some 24-year-old bimbo is now nothing she has to worry about. I couldn’t even get a 70-year-old bimbo to turn her head save in pity. All women know the mark.
The only positive side-effect is if I stand in one place too long, complete strangers start giving me spare change. At least I have lunch money now. So guys, watch for these signs. Don’t let your woman turn you into the devolved man like I’ve become. Now if I can figure out how my wife is slipping me the saltpeter, I’d be all set.
Fear and Loathing in the Medicine Cabinet
What’s in your medicine cabinet that strikes fear in your heart? What is that family cure that is worse than the disease? Is it something you only hang onto because your grandma swore by it?
For my wife’s grandmother it was Campho Phenique. Her family jokes that if you cut your head off, grandma would say, “Just rub some Campho Phenique on it, honey.”
My mother-in-law used to torture…er…cure her children with an old, crusty bottle of Pepto Bismol purchased in 1961. The cap was so encrusted, you couldn’t open it, but the simple presentation of the pink slime was enough to cure every child on the block. School attendence was quite high in that neighborhood.
Now I’ve found something similar that can scare…er…cure (scure? cuare?) the living demons out of you. I was introduced to BioFreeze at a chiropractor’s office and re-introduced to it after a recent massage where I picked up a roll-on version. I decided we’d be using this stuff pretty regularly so I placed a bulk order for 12 roll-ons and 12 spray applicators.
The spray version is my new scure. It so lives up to the brand name with an emphasis on “freeze.” My first application of the spray made the demon inside me confess its name, leap from my body, and run down the street looking for a priest to exercise it. (I’ve since heard, that priest bought that demon a gym membership where he exercises every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.) I also briefly spoke in tongues which, if I translated correctly, meant, “Holy fucking Allah! That shit is colder than Andre 3000 on a snowmobile! Get it off! Make it stop! Rama-lama-ding-dong. We’ve got rhythm,” before passing out from nearly instantaneous hypothermia.
I wasted money buying 12 bottles. I’ll only ever need the one. BioFreeze, the scure for sore muscles, aching limbs, that listless feeling, cardiac arrest, impotence, and demonic possession. Get yours today!
Dealing With Death Statistics
Most car accidents happen within 5 miles of home. That’s why I park my car 6 miles from home and walk the rest of the way.
The most common room of the house to die in is the bathroom. That’s why I built my house without one. I shower under the hose and poop on the lawn. Mysteriously, the neighbors all chipped in to buy me a 10-foot-tall privacy fence.
You are less likely to die from an accidentally firearm discharge than surgical complications. That’s why I hold a gun to my surgeon’s head during all medical procedures. I call this medical quid pro quo. The doctor usually calls the cops.
You’re also more likely to drown than be accidentally shot. That’s why I always swim with a shotgun. I once caught what started out as a 20-pound bass, but it was only 4 pounds of fish flakes by the time I got it to the surface.
You’re more likely to die from renal failure than a motor vehicle accident, but this statistic discounts those suffering from the dreaded “car bumper jammed through your kidney” syndrome.
More car accidents happen the Monday after Day Light Saving Time begins than any other day of the year. That’s why I don’t reset my clocks. I unplug them and take the day off.
Males are twice as likely to commit suicide as women. Remember this next time a guy asks you to dance, ladies. You break our hearts really hard.
The number one cause of death for children ages one to nine is motor vehicle accidents. Who is letting these kids drive?
Suicide is the number three killer of teenagers. This is just proof that emo kids are right. Life sucks. Kill yourself especially if you’re an emo kid.1
In the later teen years, homicide is the number 2 killer. Mostly, this is all the regular kids and disappointed parents killing the emos.
Louisiana has the highest number of firearm deaths each year. Maybe it’s time to reconsider that whole “Sportsman’s Paradise” slogan. I don’t recommend, “Come for the food. Stay for the shotgun blast to the face,” as a replacement slogan, either. However, I would endorse organized emo kid hunts.
Some studies link cigarette smoking to cervix cancer. Really? You’re either smoking that cigarette wrong or you’re doing two shows a night at Bob’s Boobie Bungalow.
The world is a scary place, full of scarier numbers. I try not to let the statistics scare me into paralysis. Sometimes you just have to jam the gears into drive, put your foot on the pedal, and run a few people off the sidewalk. What? Those numbers just don’t make themselves.
1It’s has been pointed out that this article is rather harsh on emo kids. Before you feel any sympathy for emos, read the comments on this YouTube video.
Product Labeling Gone Awry
I just popped something in the microwave oven. While it cooked, I read the instructions on the package. How dumb is the average person? Why is the last line of the heating instructions, “Remove carefully; product will be hot.” Really?! I hope the heck so! I thought that was the point of putting the blasted thing in the microwave.
Are people really removing items from the microwave with their teeth? Is bobbing for french fries a new fad that I haven’t caught on to yet? I’m sure the CYA of packaging idiocy hasn’t reached its pinnacle. It’s only going to get worse.
Every McDonald’s drive through now as a sticker on the window which reads, “Coffee served extremely hot!” All because some litigious idiot thought she could speed away from the window with the lid off, trying to mix in her cream and sugar while driving with her knees. The only award that this woman deserves is a Darwin Award.
Let’s take a look at some of the more interesting packaging instructions and the purpose behind each.
This gem was found in the toilet at a sports complex: “Recycled flush water unsafe for drinking.” I guess when they’re charging $6.50 for a bottle of water some poor, dehydrated soul might get desperate.
“Shin pads cannot protect any part of the body they do not cover.” This one needs some more instructions. I can see some idiot duct taping shin pads to their head and suing when they do not function adequately as a helmet. Hopefully the person that tries this is already wearing a helmet.
From a cardboard, foldout sun-shield for your car: “Do not drive with sun-shield in place.” But the sun is so bright. The oncoming headlights are blinding. If there is justice, this person is not wearing their seatbelt either. In a perfect world, the person that needs this won’t understand the flashing lights at the railroad crossing.
From a laser printer toner cartridge: “Do not eat toner.” But what if I need to print something on a roll of toilet paper?
On a can of pepper spray: “May irritate eyes.” This goes hand-in-hand with my microwave instructions. I thought that was the point of this product.
On a butcher knife: “Please keep out of children.” This gaff is probably the results of poorly translated instructions from a foreign language, but we’ve all thought about it at one time. It’s the ultimate timeout.
Found on a curling iron: “For external use only!” I don’t even want to get into details on this one. Actually, since this is still in litigation, my lawyer advises me not to comment.
From a helmet-mounted mirror for cyclists: “Remember, objects in the mirror are actually behind you.” This one had me in stitches imagining a rider suddenly shocked at the on-coming traffic in the mirror. This warning was written for the guy who drowned trying to save his reflection in the lake.
On a produce package: “Please store in the cold section of the refrigerator.” As opposed to the section of the refrigerator where you cook?
Found on breath mints: “Not for weight control.” I guess fresh breath can lead to pregnancy.
On a stroller: “Caution: Remove infant before folding for storage.” But it would be so convenient to stow Jr under the bed for the night.
“Do not iron clothes on body.” But it’s cheaper than going to the tattoo parlor.
On a box of hammers: “May be harmful if swallowed.” The obvious joke here is that you have to be dumb as a box of hammers to need this warning.
From a chainsaw manual: “Do not attempt to stop the blade with your hand.” Or leg or neck or dog or neighbor…well neighbor might be alright. Turn that music down!
Nytol sleep aid: “Warning: May cause drowsiness.” So might this article.
Stamped on the barrel of a .22 caliber rifle: “Warning: Misuse may cause injury or death.” Really?! So might regular use. I thought that was the point of using a gun.
From a picture frame: “Not to be used as a personal flotation device.” You deserve to drown.
On a box of fireworks: “Do not put in mouth.” You deserve to die.
From a cordless phone: “Do not put lit candles on phone.” Who did this? Someone was just trying to set the mood for phone sex, I guess.
On a TV remote control: “Not dishwasher safe.” Oh come on now!
From a wristwatch pamphlet: “Warning! This is not underwear! Do not attempt to put in pants.” Now we’ve reached the end of absurdity. A wristwatch as underwear?! How do you even do that? There has to be an emergency room x-ray floating around that explains this.
Thank you corporate lawyers for saving us from ourselves. Greater thanks to the pioneers who paved the way for modern product labeling by burning, scalding, and electrocuting themselves to make the world a safer place. Trees don’t have labels, but I somehow figured out how to cut one down, chop it up, and build a fire without burning down my house. I’ll read the label when my common sense fails.
Fun with Email
When Good Computers Go Bad
originally written Nov 17, 2006 & published at Associated Content. Presented here with minor edits.
Email is the blessing and bane of daily life. Get too much and you can’t get any real work done because you’re just replying to emails. Get none and you start wondering if the pink slip is the next message you will receive. When emails start to drive you mad, take your revenge creatively with these suggestions.
Fun with acronyms
Every industry or company has their own language. One of the unfortunate side effects of jargon is that common phrases turn into acronyms. Honestly, most people in the company have no idea what 99% of the acronyms represent. So make some up and put them in the signature of your emails.
I once managed a mailing list of about 300 people that used a particular computer system. Monthly or weekly communications were my responsibility and I would sign every email with “MOBTAS LOAIS” under my name. After 18 months and hundreds of emails, only one lady ever asked me what the acronym meant. Everyone else either ignored it, thought it was some project code, or was too proud to admit they didn’t know. The lady who finally called me on it had a good laugh when I told her it stood for “Master of Both Time and Space. Lord of all I Survey.”
Be creative, but not crude with your acronyms. A wonderful alternative to this is to remove all vowels from your emails completely. Oddly, they remain readable.
Translate before sending
Use a free on-line translation service like Google Translate or Free Translation to translate your text into a foreign language. I like to use Dutch or Norwegian. Don’t use Spanish or French since everyone learned a little of those in high school. Non-Latin alphabet languages don’t work well for this game. You might try sending one to yourself just to check the resulting format and font.
When the bewildered response comes, translate your reply again. When you finally get the inevitable phone call from the befuddle recipient, insist that you are sending plain English and the problem must be on their end. Tell them to check their software settings. Recommend they uninstall and reinstall their email client or operating system. Be adamant that they must have some strange font installed on their computer. When they say, “But it only happens to your emails,” tell them it must be a virus that soon will spread to other emails. Convince them to unplug from the network until help arrives.
Include a recording
Record yourself reading the email text and attach the sound file to the email. This is actually a really helpful tip if the recipient is blind, but it’s fun for the sighted, too. Where does the really fun part come in? Record something other than the email text and attach it.
Imagine an email with very dry, technical, run-of-the-mill facts in the text with a recording of Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening” attached. You might even attach a paranoid, lunatic rant, including Biblical, prophetic citations of the end of the world. Ramble at length about how your dog is stealing your girlfriend and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are tunneling under your house every morning at 3 o’clock.
It really confuses them if you sent a few recordings that match the text and then suddenly attach a recording of Hamlet’s soliloquy to your monthly report. Pairing “fourth quarter sales are up 8%” with a recording of your best falsetto Lady Macbeth’s “out, out damned spot” speech is always a boardroom winner.
Add a Legal Disclaimer
Sign all your emails with a paragraph or twelve of legal jargon in 4 point type. Change the color to a light gray to make it even more illegible. You can reproduce a product warning label or use a software programs “terms of use” text as the source.
I get emails every once in a while with “if you are not the intended recipient…” under the sender’s signature. If I’m not, too late! You shouldn’t have sent it to me. Be more creative than that guy. Make your “terms of use” say:
By reading this email you acknowledge from henceforth and in perpetuity to:
- Wash the sender’s car on alternate odd Saturdays.
- Profess to the world on every Federal holiday, the sender’s genius.
- Love the sender’s dog even when it has the mange.
- Refer to the sender as “Loretta” on Wednesdays.
Wait a few weeks, then call your victim…er…recipient. Tell them Loretta is calling to ask them when they are coming over to wash your car. Threaten them with a breach of contract law suit if they don’t show up by 5PM, Greenwich Mean Time.
One word of caution: if you follow through with these ideas, keep your resume up to date. I can’t be held accountable for your insanity. We all have to find our own, personal madness and make it work harder not smarter.
Fun at the Pharmacy
Little Things You Can Do to Mess with People
originally written & published Nov 12, 2006 on Associated Content
Sorry kiddies. The title of this article was not “Fun with pharmaceuticals.” If you misread, I apologize. These are tips on messing with the pharmacy staff. If they don’t appreciate it, if these don’t brighten their day, you never heard of me.
Face it. Trips to the pharmacy usually follow lengthy doctor’s visits. Your stress level is high and sometimes you are in pain. One of my first AC articles was about my consternation at the pharmacy. I’ve since de-stressed and plotted my revenge the only way I know how, with laughter. Here are some fun things to do when you get your next prescription filled.
Ask non-sequitur questions
When the clerk asks, “Do you have any questions?” Ask them something totally off-the-wall like, “Yes. Who was the third President of the United States?” This actually got two clerks into a little debate at my local Publix. Sadly, the pharmacist refused to get involved.
When the young ladies came to the consensus that it was John Adams, I had to inform them that it was Thomas Jefferson. The lady working the register said, “I was never good at history. If you’d asked me about art or graphic design though…”
I immediately interrupted her and asked, “Who painted Thomas Jefferson’s official portrait.” Yet another stumper for the art student.
Ask if it is “buy one, get one free” day
This one works well when the pharmacy is in a grocery store and there is a sale going on. Obviously, drugs are exempt, but don’t let that stop you from asking. If you want to push it, try to give the clerk a coupon. Insist that they should honor the shampoo coupon for your medication.
I think I’ve over-used this one at Publix. The last time I asked a new clerk if it was “buy one, get one free” day, the “Barefoot-experienced” clerk in the background didn’t bat an eye and chimed in with, “Don’t forget to punch his frequent-buyer card.” The newbie was really confused at that point. Especially when I started fishing in my wallet and telling her that it’s a “buy 9, get the 10th free” card and I was up to seven. I thought the other clerk was going to fall down laughing.
Ask for a consult with the pharmacist
The law requires that the pharmacist answer any question you might have about your prescription. Some pharmacies even have a special window or area marked “Consult.” Put on you best game face and be as serious as possible for this.
Treat the consult like a visit to the psychiatrist’s office. Instead of questions about the medicine, start telling a long story about your traumatic childhood. “When I was five, my parents were killed in a car wreck” or “I’m having nightmares about chickens wearing tube socks. Could this be a sign of repressed memories of child abuse?” The look on the pharmacist’s face is worth it. Trust me.
Dance
Use your pill bottles as a rhythm instrument and dance your way out of the store. This works best if you sing along, too. I recommend Jump in the Line by Harry Belafonte. You remember this song from the end of the move Beetlejuice, don’t you? “Shake, shake, shake, Senora.” “Jump in the line, rock your body in time. OK, I believe you!” Nothing? OK, choose your own tune then. Be sure to shake your new maracas.
Here’s to making your next trip to the pharmacy an enjoyable one. Live your life to the fullest, because a day without sunshine is like night. (You were expecting some pearl of wisdom?) Just go have fun. It cost nothing, but offers great return.
You can talk about Cha Cha, Tango, Waltz, or de Rumba.
Senora’s dance has no title. You just jump in the saddle.
Hold on to the bridle!
Top Ten Gift Ideas for Zombies
The Recently Deceased Need Love Too
Originally written & published Nov 18, 2006 at Associated Content
Talk about hard to buy for. Zombies never shop for themselves and depend on the holiday season and your generosity. Here are 10 great suggestions for the special zombie on your holiday list.
Deodorant
That is pretty self-explanatory. Zombies stink. They are rotting flesh after all. Pick up a nice bottle of cologne, too. Go all out with the Old Spice gift set. There’s nothing like getting you brain ripped out by someone who smells like Grandpa.
Sneakers
A zombie’s feet hurt all the time. A good pair of Nikes would do well. They’d stop all that lumbering and stumbling. They might even get in a good run.
Clothes
Zombies never have new clothes. Their wardrobe is rotting as fast as they are. A nice velure track suit would be welcomed by any undead creature. It’s easy to put on over chunks of hanging flesh and very comfortable. It also allows them to blend in at Walmart. A wandering zombie in a track suit is indistinguishable from any other Walmart shopper.
Godiva
Who doesn’t like Godiva chocolate? Wonderful, truffle-filled bites of joy. Grab a box of Godiva’s newest confection, Bits-o-Brain. Chunks of cerebellum covered in dark chocolate with just a hint of pecan. Yum!
iPod
You think zombies just spontaneously break into the Thriller dance? It takes hours of practice. Zombies only spend half their day ambling about eating people. The rest of their day is taken up with dance rehearsal. Give the gift of music so your special zombie won’t be out of step at the next video shoot.
Magazines
A magazine subscription is always nice, but what do zombies read? Any of the supermarket-checkout-worthy publications, of course. Get the zombie on your list a subscription to People, Us, Oprah, The National Enquirer or The Star. Very few of the undead read National Review or The New Republic, but there are some. So know your zombie’s taste. Pass on anything with recipes. Zombies don’t cook.
A Good Book
Luckily for you and the zombie on your list, this is a no-brainer. Grey’s Anatomy is the perfect read for the recently rotten. Not only can it help them keep things together, so to speak, it doubles as a guide to mealtime.
Web subscription
What zombie wouldn’t love to have a Rush 24/7 subscription? Your zombie could join thousands of other zombies and watch the “Ditto Cam.” Rush Limbaugh is obviously the leader of the zombie nation, but how does he stay immune from their endless lust to eat humans? The answer is simple. He has no brain, nothing to trigger the zombie eating instinct. That’s why zombies love Rush Limbaugh.
Air America
A new radio locked on Air America is a great zombie gift. It’s dead. They’re dead. What could be more perfect? For just a few dollars more, Al Franken will come to any zombie convention or blood fest and speak in person. He seems to have a lot of time on his hands nowadays.
PlayStation 3
People were trampled for this? What the frack? Pup tents at Best Buy; stampedes at Walmart; these people are the definition “undead.” They’ve only left their house once in the last 3 years and that was to buy a new game system. This is the ultimate zombie gift. They obviously love video games and they are so addicted, it will keep them off the streets. That’s a win-win if I ever saw one.
Item 7, “A Good Book,” was written especially for this re-release and substituted for the original item “Rachel Ray”.
Is There Intelligent Life Out There and If So, Why Haven’t We Met?
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams begins with, “Space is big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly hugely mindboggingly big it is.” Adams never explains why space is so big, but it’s a question I intend to answer.
I was won over to this theory put forth by my eldest progeny (so you know she’s brilliant). Accepted, there is intelligent life scattered throughout the universe. Therefore, space needs to be so vast so none of the civilizations are within each others light cone.
This is by design to prohibit sentient life forms from finding each other. It’s one of God’s many jokes. It’s like God has all these girlfriends in different cities and he doesn’t want them to find out about each other and compare notes. After all, if God is a god who provides no concrete evidence of his existence, therefore, requiring faith from us, he certainly wouldn’t want us comparing notes with aliens.
Twice, there were phenomenal leaps in our concept of the size of the universe. First, when Max Plank realized the “stars” he was looking at were entire galaxies. Again, when the Hubble telescope’s famous deep field photo showed us the 14-billion-year limit of our currently known boundary. Anyone who’s tried to drive across west Texas can easily grasp the concept of just how long a 14-billion-year trip can take especially without a galactic 7-11 out there for a potty stop.
Once, when I was very young, fascinated with astronomy, dreaming of becoming an astronaut, and my mom was the keeper of all knowledge, I asked her, “Do you think there is life out there?” She answered in a way only maternal wisdom can. “If there is, I know God has provided them a way to salvation, too.” If we could find these aliens and read their sacred text, we might find lizard Jesus or spider Mohammad and then we’d cross reference everything and discover God was cheating on us all along.
Consequently, there would be no need for faith. We’d probably become very disillusioned knowing God was taking his other girlfriends out to better restaurants. When we discovered the world made of pure diamond, we’d get really pissed about that civilization getting better jewelry. Yes, this would all end in tears.
The seemingly eternal emptiness of space between sentient life forms ensures we will never discover each other and God can keep laughing. After all, he’s a funny guy. To prove this, I postulate that the one constant in the universe is not something so simple as hydrogen or helium. It isn’t even gravity. There’s a couple of galaxies where the gravitational constant is a variable just because God finds that hysterical. The speed of light isn’t even constant. There are zones in the universe where light has to pay a congestion tax, slows down, and gets complained about for not being a hybrid fuel source.
The one constant in the universe is the platypus. The platypus exists on all worlds with intelligent life. This provides a nexus of conversation for all alien Darwinist and alien Creationists. Each uses the bizarre animal to support their position that God does or doesn’t exist. And that, my friend, is God’s belly laugh.
The Odd, Little Happy 