We're Not On Speaking Terms

I'd like to think I'm on at least a couple people's good lists. In fact, I'll be bold enough and say I am on a few (few being more than three). However, that being said, I would like to talk about someone who I am not on speaking terms with. Unfortunately it has been this way for a while.

I am no longer on speaking terms with Santa Claus. I stopped writing him years ago, and, he hasn't really reached out much since then. Come to think of it, Santa Claus has been somewhat of a mute in my life. And, even when we used to have some sort of correspondence (letters and lists from me, and gifts from him), our communication was always a bit strained.

He was considerate from time to time, making sure I was scurvy free every year by placing an orange in the bottom of my stocking, however, there will always remain one distinct communication failure that set the us reeling in different directions.

It was the late eighties. It was the age of He-Man, Thundercats, Ninja Turtles, and of course Power Wheels. It was this last one that I wanted more than anything. As soon as I saw other little kids grinning from ear to ear, flying by on the TV commercials at a blistering 5 miles per hour, I knew I needed one. It was the holy grail of kids toys.

So, every year I would put it on my list at the very top. And every year, without fail, I would get that orange, but the Power Wheels truck eluded me. This continued until the mid-nineties even when I had things that were supposedly better and faster than the Power Wheels truck. But that wasn't the point. For me, it was the principle of the thing. Santa had let me down. And it hurt. To me he has lost his luster. Was he really a Saint? Did he really even visit Africa? Or was it all talk? I just couldn't trust him anymore.

It didn't help that my stocking stuffers got more and more random. It started with innocent trinkets like tic tacs, mini staplers, and the occasional opera CD. Then I started getting random things like midget books (one 5-30 pages long about leprechauns, complete with a little leprechaun figurine), dental hygiene samples, and just staples (apparently he figured one mini stapler was enough).

I guess what really gets me is that my friends have told me they are still on speaking terms with him. One of my buddies went fishing with him last week. He said they talked about me. I feigned apathy as he spoke of his Papa Noel bonding time. I mean I see pictures of the guy all the time doing lewd things online and hanging out with the wrong crowd, so I don't know if I want to get back in touch, but at the same time I want to make amends. My friend said those pictures aren't really him, but are just impostors. I don't know what to believe. I get friend requests from all sorts of creepy Santa types under different aliases like Popo Gigio, Kris Kringle, and "that guy who starred in the Miracle on 34th Street" on facebook, but I just can't pull the trigger.

What's he looking at? She's smashed to his face.

What? I'm not on the list? Well, you were going 37 in a 25 Mr. Kringle.

Where is Mrs. Claus?

So the rest of the A Team are his elves?

If I get a Power Wheels truck this year I might just add one of them.

Bashing the Pencil.

I think it's about time someone told you the truth about pencils.

They're lame.

You want an explanation? Try writing with one. We're talking endless sharpening, graphite on your hands (if you write a lot, and especially if you're a lefty), and splinters if you try to sharpen it without a legitimate sharpener (teeth usually are not, but every mouth is different). Now, I'd like to remind you that I'm only speaking of regular pencils. Don't even get me started on mechanical pencils (worst invention since the solar-powered flashlight). Remember these inventions?

(Yes, these are chocolates in the shape of pencils)

You might think I'm being harsh on pencils, but that's life. And, they're friggin' pencils. They can take it. And, they're not going anywhere any time soon. It's just that I ran out of writing implements the other day so I had to use a pencil, and it was like having the guy with the world's longest fingernails rasp on the roughest chalkboard ever made each stroke I took.

(What the heck is this? Seriously.)

And yes I know there are people who will come to the pencil's defense. Some people use them exclusively for their art. Some people use them to make science projects, obstacle courses, projectiles, and even use them as jewelry. Well, I am not one of those freaks. You might say I'm a different type of freak. The variety that doesn't care for pencils. I'm not an anti-pencilite. I just would rather use a pen. Or maybe a keyboard. And there you have it.

Go ahead pencilites. Convince me to join the ranks of your devoted graphite and wooden cult.

I don't even know what this is.

This however, is obvious.

Beware the Wrath of TJ

You know it. I know it. They know it. But who are "they"? And why do they know it? That's not important. We must face the facts. Two dollar bills aren't really that cool.

Yeah sure, they serve as currency when you're stupid/smart enough to forget that they're collectibles and can possibly get you two things out of the vending machine at the same time, but they have the least flattering portrait ever made of Thomas Jefferson on the front. Couple that with the wrenching guilt you feel whenever you run out of cash and are left with only a two dollar bill, and want to spend it, but at the same time know you will be the laughing stock of the town for years to come if you do. It's a lose lose. If you don't spend the bill, TJ wins. He's laughing at you with that smug little "I hate sitting for portraits" grin. If you do spend it, you also fail - at life.

The only way to avoid being in the clutches of an annoying paper icon that really isn't worth much, but that for some reason you think is worth something, is to run whenever you see a two dollar bill. Run faster than Usain Bolt and that guy from the movie who could run faster than a cheetah. Two dollar bills are a plague. You don't want the plague. I don't want the plague...and they certainly don't want the plague. So do us a favor. Don't touch two dollar bills. It's healthier to sniff glue or rub yourself down with pigeons. Just saying.

Asinine.

Asinine.

It just works. On the one hand it has an obvious audible bite to it when you say it, yet on the other hand it's a cultured way of saying something is absurd without using words you'd rather not. It's not distasteful, yet it seeps with you own sentiments of distaste.

I'm a fan. I'm also a fan of taboule.

Random.

Here's a non-related picture:

Or is it related?

First Time Millionaire Blogger

Charles Fillmore was a nobody. He lived in his parent's basement. Had a worthless liberal arts degree, and spent most of his time watching ESPN, reading online articles, doing yardwork, working out, and oh yes, blogging. Blogging is a phenomenon of sorts, and has been for several years now (or so they say). There are even terms now like the "blogosphere" and a term for those who live in it: "bloggers".

But what is a blog? Well Charles would tell you, snapping his brand-spanking-new suspenders that it is the short form of the old term "web log", which came about in the latter half of the nineties. And Charles is no shamwow salesman, but he is a millionaire, so I tried as hard as I could not to roll my eyes.

"Well, after several months of trying to get a job I realized my education was pretty much worthless. So I thought, 'Well, what is something I am pretty good at?' Then it came upon me like when I wet my pants during the 3rd grade talent show. I could write about flatulent rodents!"

A star was born. Charles' blog has been a smash success. Apparently people from all over the world are more than amused by his anecdotal expertise on furry, four-legged, farters. He gets somewhere around 40 million unique visitors a month to his site hampsterfart.com. And what does that mean? Ka-ching. Charles rakes in a six-figure salary monthly from online advertising. Granted, his advertisers range from triple X porn sites and chili pepper exfoliation cream to PetCo woodchips, but as Charles told me, "Money is money."

I asked him if he expected it to be this big. His reply was telling:

"I saved the wheel that the favorite hampster of my childhood, Zanzar, used to run around in. I vowed when he died to honor his memory. Now he lives on, and I have subsequently had that wheel dipped in 24K gold."

Maybe I should get into blogging.

Potato Guns Standard Issue with New Defense Budget Plan

Under the new defense plan promulgated by the DoD and Secretary of Defense Gates, the army will be equipped with "more cost-effective, tactical weaponry, over the armageddon scenario type weapons of the past," he said.

Well, he certainly was not mincing words with cost-effectiveness. Witness exhibit A:

Here we have (I can only presume) Captain Stubing, and his new potato gun. Standard issue now.

However, the larger guns are rather cumbersome for close range combat, so the defense plan also put a smaller version into production:

The best part is that you can get, as advertised, "300 shots from one potato". Talk about efficiency. Now, I don't know about you, but if I were Al Qaeda, I'd be wetting my pants right now. F-22s have got nothing on potato guns.

Smells Like John B

What, this blog still exists?

I know, I know. I've been derelict in my blog writing. Well, I was on vacation and no one else wanted to do it. But for the sake of time, let's skip the excuses and the jolt back to life by the Satire Report by the proverbial defibrillator.

I watched this hybrid music video combining the Beach Boy's "Sloop John B" with Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit". Worked pretty well. So you get "Smells like Sloop John B", or, I would call it "Smells like John B." Just has more of a zing to it and possibly offends more people:

Fail Awkward.

Today I share with you some funnies from failblog and awkwardfamilyphotos. Enjoy:

What's wrong? That's how all my faucets are.

This is why I like Beast.

Granny's night job finally caught up with her.

Pig pile!

p.s. - The commentaries are my only legitimate contributions to this post. But, even though I ripped off stuff from some of my favorite blogs, at least I gave you the links and whetted your appetites for random/weird/possibly normal to some/failing hilarity.

Shirking the Blog

Quite often I find myself shirking my blog because I just don't feel like writing. However, that's not entirely true. Sure, sometimes I'd rather be wiling the afternoon away in a hammock with a good book, drinking pineapple juice and listening to the sound of a midsummer rainstorm, but most often I don't write because I just don't want to make the effort. Or I think I might somehow not write up to my readers' expectations. Hopefully, that is always the case. I hope most of my posts are anticlimactic, and a waste of your time. I mean, you don't pay me enough to get A+ effort all the time. What am I saying? You don't pay me.

I just want to put up a thought, blurb, photo, series of photos, a clip, a satirical story, or something entirely random that makes you chuckle, guffaw, shoot milk out your nose, fall out of your chair, get mad, or make you cry yourself to sleep.

Guffawing with milk is not recommended. Neither is chuckling while crying yourself to sleep (that's just messed up). But then again, who are my readers? Maybe I should just make the assumption that they are all just as weird, quirky, and strange as I have a tendency to be on this blog.

Here are some photos:

In the computer.

You know what happens next.

Morbid? Yes. Funny? Yes.

Horses know how to guffaw.

And Peter Griffin knows how to make the most of his milk nose laughter.

Greatest Invention Since the Watering Can!

Throughout the history of mankind there have been great inventions. Man is an innovative, enterprising, clever being. Yet, man has made many silly inventions. Chin rests so you can sleep standing up, glasses with funnels for putting in eye drops, fake breasts for men who also want to nurse their kids, chopsticks with a built in fan to cool your noodles all come to mind.

Great for those long metro rides.

Because I'm too stupid to put them in my eyes directly and I like to waste money on bad eyewear.

He's a natural.

Then the fan fell into her soup spewing the scalding noodles all over her face.

However, as it turns out, today man has made a real breakthrough. Miraclegro in conjunction with Scott's Lawn products and world renowned geneticists are heralding the latest and greatest invention in landscaping since the watering can. Yes, they have invented self-trimming hedges.

These hedges come in all shapes and sizes, and will trim themselves according to your command. They're great for any special event, or just for fun.

Some are concerned that it will take work away from professional landscapers, and will ruin an art form that so many people in Disney World and Country Clubs have cultivated for years. But most are excited. Like me. Trimming the hedges is not that fun. Now they can trim themselves. However, I worry that they might start trimming other things. Like my cat. Little Shop of Horrors comes to mind.