I know, I know, you minions have waited long enough for the coveted Dumb ass of the week Award. It certainly has been a while since the award has been given out, and not for a lack of dumb asses I must say. Because let's be honest, this thing could practically have a two hour special on ABC and we still wouldn't have enough to go around. Between Congress, our cockamamie president, celebrities, Wall Street, and Clay Aiken (was that even necessary?), there are more than enough award recipients. Tempting as it might have been to hastily bestow this award on any one of the aforementioned nitwits, I think there is an organization that is even more deserving. Okay, so maybe not $700 billion dollar bailout kind of deserving, but equally so. . . . in principal.
And the award goes to, [overly dramatic digitally enhanced surround sound drum roll] the Federal Bureau of Investigation. That's right people, I'm calling out the Bureau. As this article explains, A Wells Fargo bank branch in California got robbed not once, but twice. In the same day. Three hours apart. And they were robbed by none other than the infamous "Chatty Bandit" and "Hard-Hat Bandit". The Chatty-bandit? Are you serious? This is the best nickname they can come up with for an outlaw that has robbed 9 banks at gunpoint without getting caught? Of all the distinguishable characteristics that are pertinent to the case, is this fugitive of the law properly summed up as chatty? I find it difficult to believe that with all the specific training they receive on profiling and studying the criminal mind, that chatty was deemed the most befitting description for this miscreant. And how the hell do they even know that? You would think that a bank robber that stood around for a long time making idle conversation with a bank teller would have been caught by now, no?
You! Fill this bag with money or I'll shoot you in the face! Yeah, so, I'm only really doing this because I'm considerably tired of these gas prices and I really wanted some excitement in my life. I just hope that my family understands when they see it on the news, because that would really be disheartening to not have them understand the amount of stress I'm under to make a better world. I would tell them at Aunt Jenny's BBQ next week, but at this rate, I may be entirely too busy to even show up. I mean really, 9 banks is a lot for only starting less than 6 months ago don't you think? I might have to hire a few assistants or even start a corporation. Does this mask make me look fat? So, how long have you worked here? Don't worry about what I said earlier about shooting you in the face, I really didn't mean that. I would totally like get you in the leg or something. Wow, what a beautiful necklace is that gold?
I'm sure that the FBI, in all their infinite investigative wisdom can conjure a more appropriate sobriquet for this bandit than chatty. Who the hell is in charge of making this shit up anyway? Johnson! Yes Captain. What do we have so far? Uh, well nothing so far sir, we're still interrogating all the witness. Anything concrete yet? Well, no sir, but we do have one teller that is exceptionally chatty, she just keeps ranting about . . . . . Johnson that's it. That's brilliant! The chatty-bandit! Excellent work Johnson, carry on.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Boiler Room
Top Ten clues that I'm going to have a difficult client:
1) They are checking e-mails or talking on their cell phone in the "Relaxation Room".
Seriously?
2) They are built like a Mac truck . . . . .
"Hey, anybody want my three o'clock? I think I'm getting a cramp!"
3) They have diarrhea of the mouth from the second I greet them. . . . .
Do NOT ear rape me. I don't get paid enough.
4) The first words the client says are, "My psychiatrist recommended. . . . ."
So, I guess getting rubbed with hot oil by a sexy man in a dark room whilst naked is suppose to help with that huh?
5) When they have more hair than Beyonce. . . . .
Don't act like you didn't know your crow's nest would get all up in my way. You better tie that shit up girl.
6) When they have more body hair than a Silver Back Gorilla. . . . .
For Pete's sake, get that shit waxed, or lasered. Damn ladies.
7) When they've self diagnosed injuries and refuse to see a doctor. . . . .
I hurt my lower back a few months ago and I think I have a bulging disc, or a herniated disc, or a pinched nerve. Uhuh, and what website told you this?
8) When they want me to fix them the same day they injured themselves. . . . .
"Yeah, I just fell off a ladder a few hours ago and can barely walk, think you can dig in there?" No dumbass, a massage will probably only make it worse, besides why don't you use this money for your co-pay?. . . . retard.
9) When they say, "Do I need to take my bra off?". . . . .
Well, no of course not. As a matter of fact why don't you just leave the whole fucking robe on. I'm sure it will feel crazy awesome.
10) When a client wants me to focus extra attention on more than just a few areas. . . . .
"Make sure you get my right shoulder, there are tons of knots in there. My left knee's been acting up and I sprained my left ankle a few weeks ago. The right side of my neck is a little messed up, I think I slept on it wrong. Oh, could you dig into my hamstrings, they're really tight. You know, my sciatica has really been acting up too. Don't touch my hair please I just got it done, but definitely save some time for my face. Oh my God, I almost forgot, I looooove getting my feet rubbed. By the way, I'm so sorry but I forgot to shave my legs. And one last thing, I've been playing a lot of tennis lately and my elbow's been giving me some problems. I think I have tennis elbow, but don't worry about that so much, I'd much prefer you get my lower back." Um, you do realize that this is a 50 minute massage right?
1) They are checking e-mails or talking on their cell phone in the "Relaxation Room".
Seriously?
2) They are built like a Mac truck . . . . .
"Hey, anybody want my three o'clock? I think I'm getting a cramp!"
3) They have diarrhea of the mouth from the second I greet them. . . . .
Do NOT ear rape me. I don't get paid enough.
4) The first words the client says are, "My psychiatrist recommended. . . . ."
So, I guess getting rubbed with hot oil by a sexy man in a dark room whilst naked is suppose to help with that huh?
5) When they have more hair than Beyonce. . . . .
Don't act like you didn't know your crow's nest would get all up in my way. You better tie that shit up girl.
6) When they have more body hair than a Silver Back Gorilla. . . . .
For Pete's sake, get that shit waxed, or lasered. Damn ladies.
7) When they've self diagnosed injuries and refuse to see a doctor. . . . .
I hurt my lower back a few months ago and I think I have a bulging disc, or a herniated disc, or a pinched nerve. Uhuh, and what website told you this?
8) When they want me to fix them the same day they injured themselves. . . . .
"Yeah, I just fell off a ladder a few hours ago and can barely walk, think you can dig in there?" No dumbass, a massage will probably only make it worse, besides why don't you use this money for your co-pay?. . . . retard.
9) When they say, "Do I need to take my bra off?". . . . .
Well, no of course not. As a matter of fact why don't you just leave the whole fucking robe on. I'm sure it will feel crazy awesome.
10) When a client wants me to focus extra attention on more than just a few areas. . . . .
"Make sure you get my right shoulder, there are tons of knots in there. My left knee's been acting up and I sprained my left ankle a few weeks ago. The right side of my neck is a little messed up, I think I slept on it wrong. Oh, could you dig into my hamstrings, they're really tight. You know, my sciatica has really been acting up too. Don't touch my hair please I just got it done, but definitely save some time for my face. Oh my God, I almost forgot, I looooove getting my feet rubbed. By the way, I'm so sorry but I forgot to shave my legs. And one last thing, I've been playing a lot of tennis lately and my elbow's been giving me some problems. I think I have tennis elbow, but don't worry about that so much, I'd much prefer you get my lower back." Um, you do realize that this is a 50 minute massage right?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Burn After Reading
I think I have a problem. I just read a book in three days. TH-REEEEEE days! Once I start I just can't stop. I want to know what happens. No. I need to know what happens! I just went to a little book store on the edge of town, as if it were a crack house, to stock up for the coming weeks. And when I want to encourage children to read I tell them it's just like crack. "You'll love it!" I say. "Well, not the crack, I mean you'll love that too, but it's not good for you. So, uh, stick to the books, because reading is fun. Well, probably not as fun as crack, technically, but much, much safer. And although stealing money from mommy's purse might seem like a good idea, getting her to just buy you some books would be a lot easier. You'll probably get more books than you would crack for the same amount of money anyway, if you bargain your little ass off. And when you run out of money, you can always check books out from the library, where unfortunately, you can't do that with crack. Although, I would imagine that you could probably get through a lot more library books if you were on crack, but that's just speculatory." Here is a short recap of the books I've recently left in the wake of my insatiable crack-reading tornado:
I just finished Water for Elephants. Great historical novel, quick read obviously, but cleverly written. It's about a young veterinary student from Cornell University that runs off to join the circus after tragedy strikes his life during the Great Depression. It's mainly told as a series of memories from the main character who is presently a 90 yr old, or a 93 yr old resident at a nursing home.
Before that, Three cups of Tea. The unbelievable recount of a devout climber who attempts to summit the 2nd tallest peak in the world, K2, which is found in the Himalayas. During the descent of this particular endeavor, he is in awe at the hospitality a local tribe shows him. After discovering that the children learn by using sticks to draw in the sand and are devoid of school supplies, much less an actual school, he's inspired to build one for them. For those unfamiliar with that part of the world, this mountain is located in northern Pakistan. Which by the way, borders Afghanistan and Iran. So, sufficed to say, building a school there comes with particular "challenges" for an American. Especially, during the events of 9/11. Anyway, I highly recommend it.
Before that I crushed Eat, Pray, Love, one of the more enjoyable reads I've had in a long, long time. Brilliantly written, fraught with humor, and extraordinary metaphoric references, a writer chronicles her journey of self discovery after an extremely excruciating divorce. She travels to Italy, India, and Bali, meeting people, learning languages, and finding that one person we all wish to connect with. Anyway, Fantastic book. Read it already!
Prior to that, I read The Life of Pi, which at first is difficult to get through, but the pay off is deliciously worth it. It's about an Indian boy who's parents own a zoo and decide to move to Canada. He Ends up shipwrecked at sea, the lone human survivor, along with a few animal characters; one being a ferocious Bengal tiger. Very intriguing story that makes you want to read it again, just for good measure.
The Power of Now, a magnificent story of enlightenment and Marley and Me, a dog lover must, were also superb books. I would tell you what else I've been reading, but I think you should mind your own business. Besides, you have some catching up to do . . . .
I just finished Water for Elephants. Great historical novel, quick read obviously, but cleverly written. It's about a young veterinary student from Cornell University that runs off to join the circus after tragedy strikes his life during the Great Depression. It's mainly told as a series of memories from the main character who is presently a 90 yr old, or a 93 yr old resident at a nursing home.
Before that, Three cups of Tea. The unbelievable recount of a devout climber who attempts to summit the 2nd tallest peak in the world, K2, which is found in the Himalayas. During the descent of this particular endeavor, he is in awe at the hospitality a local tribe shows him. After discovering that the children learn by using sticks to draw in the sand and are devoid of school supplies, much less an actual school, he's inspired to build one for them. For those unfamiliar with that part of the world, this mountain is located in northern Pakistan. Which by the way, borders Afghanistan and Iran. So, sufficed to say, building a school there comes with particular "challenges" for an American. Especially, during the events of 9/11. Anyway, I highly recommend it.
Before that I crushed Eat, Pray, Love, one of the more enjoyable reads I've had in a long, long time. Brilliantly written, fraught with humor, and extraordinary metaphoric references, a writer chronicles her journey of self discovery after an extremely excruciating divorce. She travels to Italy, India, and Bali, meeting people, learning languages, and finding that one person we all wish to connect with. Anyway, Fantastic book. Read it already!
Prior to that, I read The Life of Pi, which at first is difficult to get through, but the pay off is deliciously worth it. It's about an Indian boy who's parents own a zoo and decide to move to Canada. He Ends up shipwrecked at sea, the lone human survivor, along with a few animal characters; one being a ferocious Bengal tiger. Very intriguing story that makes you want to read it again, just for good measure.
The Power of Now, a magnificent story of enlightenment and Marley and Me, a dog lover must, were also superb books. I would tell you what else I've been reading, but I think you should mind your own business. Besides, you have some catching up to do . . . .
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Far and Away
So, my Dad calls me this morning about wanting to share some sort of poem. Like an eager child exacting his parent's attention before showing them how he can jump off the diving board, he says, "Brown, listen to this:"
I used to rule the world,
Seas would rise when I gave the word.
Now in the morning I sleep alone,
sweep the streets that I used to own.
Apparently, after the disastrous week in the stock market and the fall of a few Wall Street behemoths, he had some epiphanous moment of poetic justice, and couldn't wait to tell me more. As if climbing back out of the pool with excitement and again approaching the diving board with unwavering focus, he continued on . . . . .
I used to roll the dice,
see the fear in my enemy's eyes.
Listen as the crowd would sing,
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the King!"
Now, being that I am a poet and have many memorized, I immediately started scanning through the sheaf of files in my mind's library, much the way a reporter would flip through streaming sheets of old articles stored on micro-fiche. As he continued talking, I easily began eliminating poets. Cummings, Dickinson, Frost, Blake, Browning . . . . .definitely not Chaucer. . . . .
One minute I held the key,
the next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand,
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.
Dammit, I know this, I kept thinking to myself. It sounds so familiar. Hughes, Poe, Wilde . . . . could definitely be Whitman . . . . or even Yeats. Yeah, I'm definitely leaning towards Yeats, but the title eludes me. . . . . .
I hear Jerusalem's bells a ringing,
Roman Calvary choirs are singing.
Be my mirror, my sword, my shield,
My missionaries in a foreign field.
Wait a second . . . . . is this even a . . . . "Brown, have you ever heard of Viva La Vida?" he interjects. "Uh, no" . . . came my defeated reply. "It's a song from these people named Cold Play", he says. "They're very good". "Ah, of course it is", I say, the realization striking me like an anvil being dropped from an overhead window. Being almost 3,000 miles away, he doesn't have the advantage of hearing them on the radio like we do, so on some things he can be a few weeks behind. He finishes his lyrical rhetoric illuminating the connection with the government's current events and topping things off with an insightful thought of irony, about how both McCain and Bush were initially against government regulations that my have circumvented these very financial travesties.
Having once been a teacher, my Dad is exceptionally computer savvy for a scholar his age. He continues telling me how he downloaded the song and even watched the video on You Tube. I never thought in a million years, that I would ever be discussing You Tube with my Father. Which actually, is kind of cool when you think about it. Although he comes from a very different generation, (you know, the one that had to walk miles in the snow to get to school) he's remarkably perceptive when it comes to today's generational paradigm. I love having these conversation with him now that he's retired and has the time. As long as he doesn't call me later to share Lil Wayne's, "I got Money", or tell me that he pimped his ride, I couldn't be happier.
I used to rule the world,
Seas would rise when I gave the word.
Now in the morning I sleep alone,
sweep the streets that I used to own.
Apparently, after the disastrous week in the stock market and the fall of a few Wall Street behemoths, he had some epiphanous moment of poetic justice, and couldn't wait to tell me more. As if climbing back out of the pool with excitement and again approaching the diving board with unwavering focus, he continued on . . . . .
I used to roll the dice,
see the fear in my enemy's eyes.
Listen as the crowd would sing,
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the King!"
Now, being that I am a poet and have many memorized, I immediately started scanning through the sheaf of files in my mind's library, much the way a reporter would flip through streaming sheets of old articles stored on micro-fiche. As he continued talking, I easily began eliminating poets. Cummings, Dickinson, Frost, Blake, Browning . . . . .definitely not Chaucer. . . . .
One minute I held the key,
the next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand,
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.
Dammit, I know this, I kept thinking to myself. It sounds so familiar. Hughes, Poe, Wilde . . . . could definitely be Whitman . . . . or even Yeats. Yeah, I'm definitely leaning towards Yeats, but the title eludes me. . . . . .
I hear Jerusalem's bells a ringing,
Roman Calvary choirs are singing.
Be my mirror, my sword, my shield,
My missionaries in a foreign field.
Wait a second . . . . . is this even a . . . . "Brown, have you ever heard of Viva La Vida?" he interjects. "Uh, no" . . . came my defeated reply. "It's a song from these people named Cold Play", he says. "They're very good". "Ah, of course it is", I say, the realization striking me like an anvil being dropped from an overhead window. Being almost 3,000 miles away, he doesn't have the advantage of hearing them on the radio like we do, so on some things he can be a few weeks behind. He finishes his lyrical rhetoric illuminating the connection with the government's current events and topping things off with an insightful thought of irony, about how both McCain and Bush were initially against government regulations that my have circumvented these very financial travesties.
Having once been a teacher, my Dad is exceptionally computer savvy for a scholar his age. He continues telling me how he downloaded the song and even watched the video on You Tube. I never thought in a million years, that I would ever be discussing You Tube with my Father. Which actually, is kind of cool when you think about it. Although he comes from a very different generation, (you know, the one that had to walk miles in the snow to get to school) he's remarkably perceptive when it comes to today's generational paradigm. I love having these conversation with him now that he's retired and has the time. As long as he doesn't call me later to share Lil Wayne's, "I got Money", or tell me that he pimped his ride, I couldn't be happier.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Patriot
Although I should be bringing this up next month, since technically October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, I just got so excited thinking about breasts that I couldn't wait to talk about those lovely mammary mounds of joy. Surely at this point I don’t have to expend a single breathe expressing my wholehearted devotion to the preservation of breasts and my indefatigable vow to support the research for a breast cancer cure, even if that means the arduous task of single handedly inspecting each one of them myself. That’s my level of commitment. That's how I roll.
Until my license as High Boob Chancellor has completed its final phase of processing, which will allow me unquestioned and unfettered access to thoroughly inspect any breast anywhere, I will intermittently have to join the common man in the trenches and take a less hands-on approach to do my part. I am taking this opportunity to challenge all of you to take up arms (and legs) and join me in the boldest walk for a cure in mammary history. You can do so by visiting The 3 day website to find out when the 3 day walk for a cure will be in your chest of the woods. Basically, it will be a 3 day 60 mile walk dedicated to finding a cure and raising awareness for breast cancer. You will have refreshments, hot meals, and even entertainment provided for you along the way. It will be held throughout all the major cities in the U.S., and I really can't find a better reason to walk anywhere. So, visit the site, mark your calenders, and prepare to lace 'em up (shoes and bras) and get to steppin'.
Don't forget you can always continue to show support by buying pink-products in stores, where portions of the proceeds go to Cancer Research. Yoplait Yogurts, which are delicioso, donate a dollar per lid when you send them in. Philadelphia cream cheese is on board, and toothbrushes, contact solution, and air fresheners can all be found in pink. My contact case is pink, thanks to one of my sisters, a pink ribbon hangs from my car's rear view mirror, and my favorite cutting board, (thanks Regina!) is also, you guessed it, as pink as a freshly picked areola. From pens and magnets, to shirts that profess your healthy adoration for bosoms of all shapes and sizes, can be found just about anywhere. And although we can't all be respected booby chancellors, at least we can all be ambassadors for breasts. Save the boobies!
Until my license as High Boob Chancellor has completed its final phase of processing, which will allow me unquestioned and unfettered access to thoroughly inspect any breast anywhere, I will intermittently have to join the common man in the trenches and take a less hands-on approach to do my part. I am taking this opportunity to challenge all of you to take up arms (and legs) and join me in the boldest walk for a cure in mammary history. You can do so by visiting The 3 day website to find out when the 3 day walk for a cure will be in your chest of the woods. Basically, it will be a 3 day 60 mile walk dedicated to finding a cure and raising awareness for breast cancer. You will have refreshments, hot meals, and even entertainment provided for you along the way. It will be held throughout all the major cities in the U.S., and I really can't find a better reason to walk anywhere. So, visit the site, mark your calenders, and prepare to lace 'em up (shoes and bras) and get to steppin'.
Don't forget you can always continue to show support by buying pink-products in stores, where portions of the proceeds go to Cancer Research. Yoplait Yogurts, which are delicioso, donate a dollar per lid when you send them in. Philadelphia cream cheese is on board, and toothbrushes, contact solution, and air fresheners can all be found in pink. My contact case is pink, thanks to one of my sisters, a pink ribbon hangs from my car's rear view mirror, and my favorite cutting board, (thanks Regina!) is also, you guessed it, as pink as a freshly picked areola. From pens and magnets, to shirts that profess your healthy adoration for bosoms of all shapes and sizes, can be found just about anywhere. And although we can't all be respected booby chancellors, at least we can all be ambassadors for breasts. Save the boobies!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Pay it Forward
So, I recently read this post from a blogger, (True Tales of a Hair wrecker) that I started following, and was reminded about another pet peeve that really grinds my gears. I absolutely detest people who are impolite and have no sense of common courtesy. I hate them almost as much as I hate one eyed midgets and those stupid cycling helpmets that look like a giant sperm. Almost.
That's right people, learn some freakn' manners. Open the door, get out of the aisle, let someone in your lane, stop for a pedestrian, give up your seat, hold the elevator, and for the love of God, don't you dare stop abruptly when walking in the mall to look at some random shit. I'm right behind you and I may just not feel like putting the breaks on.
I can't stand when you are walking, whether you are carrying something or not, (more so when you are) and people are conversing in the middle of an aisle, completely and disrespectfully oblivious to on comers, and fail to politely move out of the way to allow unfettered passage. I don't think I can properly convey how much this makes my blood boil. What's even worse is when you say excuse me, and they shoot you a look of complete inconvenience, as if you were asking them to help you dig a trench after they've already given you a kidney. Yeah, go ahead and roll your eyes at me asshole, I'll be sure to do the same when you beg me to remove the duct tape from your mouth before I shove you into the trunk of my car.
My absolute favorite is when, after you've been given the "I can't believe you're going to actually make me move" look, they step only an inch or two forward allowing barely enough space for a cardboard cut out of you to get by. I always make it a point to lead in with my shoulder like a running back trying to gain extra yards for a first down, hopefully knocking them off balance enough to let them know how reprehensible I think they are. If I'm exceptionally irritated, I cough and sneeze like I have the AVIAN flu and watch those inconsiderate miscreants disperse like roaches when the lights come on. They're lucky I'm not blessed with my brother-in-law's talent to fart obnoxiously on command. So, Lindsey, I salute you and all mothers who make it your personal endeavor to properly educate and instill proper courtesy and gallantry in your young men. It will serve them, and the rest of humanity well. Even if only to provide one more dry toilet seat in the restroom.
p.s.
Just as a side note, whenever I do open a door for a female, I think it's rather impolite for them to put their hand on the door as if I were going to let it go. Do people actually do this, open the door for someone to only let it slam on them as they pass through? What would be the point of me opening the door if you are going to practically do it yourself? Don't act like you're too good to accept this small chivalrous gesture from a man either, I'm not doing it because I don't think you're fully capable of doing so. I do it because it's the right thing to do. . . . .and because I need a reason to see your ass as you go by. I'm just saying, staring is rude.
That's right people, learn some freakn' manners. Open the door, get out of the aisle, let someone in your lane, stop for a pedestrian, give up your seat, hold the elevator, and for the love of God, don't you dare stop abruptly when walking in the mall to look at some random shit. I'm right behind you and I may just not feel like putting the breaks on.
I can't stand when you are walking, whether you are carrying something or not, (more so when you are) and people are conversing in the middle of an aisle, completely and disrespectfully oblivious to on comers, and fail to politely move out of the way to allow unfettered passage. I don't think I can properly convey how much this makes my blood boil. What's even worse is when you say excuse me, and they shoot you a look of complete inconvenience, as if you were asking them to help you dig a trench after they've already given you a kidney. Yeah, go ahead and roll your eyes at me asshole, I'll be sure to do the same when you beg me to remove the duct tape from your mouth before I shove you into the trunk of my car.
My absolute favorite is when, after you've been given the "I can't believe you're going to actually make me move" look, they step only an inch or two forward allowing barely enough space for a cardboard cut out of you to get by. I always make it a point to lead in with my shoulder like a running back trying to gain extra yards for a first down, hopefully knocking them off balance enough to let them know how reprehensible I think they are. If I'm exceptionally irritated, I cough and sneeze like I have the AVIAN flu and watch those inconsiderate miscreants disperse like roaches when the lights come on. They're lucky I'm not blessed with my brother-in-law's talent to fart obnoxiously on command. So, Lindsey, I salute you and all mothers who make it your personal endeavor to properly educate and instill proper courtesy and gallantry in your young men. It will serve them, and the rest of humanity well. Even if only to provide one more dry toilet seat in the restroom.
p.s.
Just as a side note, whenever I do open a door for a female, I think it's rather impolite for them to put their hand on the door as if I were going to let it go. Do people actually do this, open the door for someone to only let it slam on them as they pass through? What would be the point of me opening the door if you are going to practically do it yourself? Don't act like you're too good to accept this small chivalrous gesture from a man either, I'm not doing it because I don't think you're fully capable of doing so. I do it because it's the right thing to do. . . . .and because I need a reason to see your ass as you go by. I'm just saying, staring is rude.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Rain Man
In celebration of my infinite wellspring of useless knowledge, I found it appropriate to share a little gadget with you that would simultaneously symbolize my savant-like abilities and help to spread the wisdom of impractical trivia. This bastion of useless information, although not as brilliant as the cuss-o-meter, is equally as adored and hopefully will serve to educate you, or at the very least provide a modicum of inconsequential entertainment. (notice how I'm always looking out for you)
Toodles . . .
Toodles . . .
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