Rambling World

Free Thought is Overrated

2012-02-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

I woke up this afternoon and threw my p90x dvd on. After about a 1/2 hour through Cardio X, I fell asleep (even watching that stuff is a workout!). When I woke up, the dvd player had turned off sometime during my 12 hour nap and the morning news was blaring on the TV.

While I normally would have switched the channel immediately (who needs the news when you can read the Farmer's Almanac?), I decided to sit and watch, as the batteries in the remote were dead.

For once (other than the 'what does this smell like?' segments) the news was informative. Donald Trump (billionaire and suit in the card game 'Pitch' that outranks all other hands) endorsed a Republican presidential nominee. It was either Mitt Romney or the guy named after the little girl character from Aliens. Not sure which, but you can safely assume it was an old white guy.

The significance of this? Donald Trump (why hasn't his hairstyle become a fad yet?) did us a solid by telling us who we should vote for...if we were a middle-aged white person (ie member of the Republican party).

This is significant because the regular guy or Joe the Plumber (as Sarah Palin would say in her testicle-retreating-into-my-abdomen accent), working his job as an electrician or carpenter or exotic animal groomer, can't be - shouldn't be - bothered with having to come up with his own opinion. For example, if I'm a factory line worker in a urinal cake producing facility, I'm busy making sure the urinal cakes I produce - which will be used by hundreds of people to urinate upon - adhere to quality in smell, sight and taste. That's a big job and when I come home at the end of the day, the last thing I want to do (other than taste another minty urinal cake) is come up with an original opinion.

Up until I was fifteen years old, I was told what to think and do. 'Don't touch the stove', 'Eat your food', 'Go to the bathroom, constrict your urethra and produce urine'. And it was the best time of my life because I could concentrate my focus on other things like breathing and intestinal peristalsis.

The key is picking the right person's opinion to copy. Donald Trump is a great choice because he's rich, he has an amazing coif (thank you thesaurus) and he fired that no good Omarosa on Celebrity Apprentice. Some of my other favorites are new anchors. Their opinions are significant because they read the news to us off of teleprompters (and even sometimes off of sheets of actual paper) in an intelligent sounding voice.

Another form of endorsement, Celebrity/important person/weight loss show winner product endorsement, may be the single most important function in our society. As a biped, I need to be told what is good for me. Why would I purchase generic brand oats when Wilfred Brimley is telling me to buy Quaker Oats? He must know something because he's got a cool mustache, he was in John Carpenter's The Thing, and he pronounces diabetes as 'diabeetus'. If Wilfred Brimley is telling me I should eat Quaker Oats, there has to be a reason. My thought: generic oats kill.

I won't buy anything that's not endorsed by someone significant. I regularly buy Guavane Pills from Mexico. They're supposed to increase energy and extend lifespan by 20-30 years. They're all natural and made from cranberries, jalapenos and horse extract. And even though the FDA has banned it for consumption by anything with a central nervous system, I'm a loyal ingestor because 1) the FDA contains no famous people and thus, their anti-endorsement means nothing and 2) Carlosita Rodriguez, who stars in the Mexican soap opera El Amor y el oso Hormiguero, has endorsed it.

Not all of us can be newsmen, billionaires, transgender Mexican soap opera stars or people who pronounce diabetes 'diabeetus'. And for those that can't, we thankfully have their endorsements.

Current State of Politics

2012-02-07T03:51:00.000-08:00

People are clamoring to know my take on the current state of, what I call, the juego de la política (game of politics for the English speaking crowd).

Though the difference between me and someone passably knowledgeable about politics is about the same as the the difference between an elephant and an isosceles triangle, I do have my opinions and - like herpes simplex - everyone's got one/it. And as I've learned from watching Fox News, the louder and angrier you convey your opinion, the more valid and factual it becomes.

So pretend that I'm relaying the following opinion at the decibel level of a jet engine while punching the living daylights out of a clown.

Right now we're in the midst of the Republicans - you know, mostly stodgy old white guys who turn their garden hoses on the kids who come to their house looking for candy on Halloween - trying to choose someone to oppose the incumbent Obama (O-O-O-O-Obama, yo no soy marinero, you no soy marinero, soy capitan, soy capitan, soy capitan).

Obama has been president for like a couple years or something, and coming soon we have to choose a new president. What I don't get is this: why won't the cream the doctor gave me clear up the rash on my 'undercarriage' and, more pertinent to this discussion, why is the president's term in office so short? I mean, we just elected this guy didn't we? Who came up with this timeframe?

Perhaps it's a matter of how long it takes people to get bored with the president. Jimmy Carter (forgive me as I mash Horshack and Freddie 'Boom Boom' Washington signature lines : 'ooh! ooh! ooh! Mr. Cart-hair') was a one termer. I'm guessing this was because he was a fairly normal guy and his speeches, marked by an IQ sucking southern drawl, had the ability to put highly caffeinated children with ADHD to sleep. On the other hand, George W. Bush was a complete train wreck and, like my cousin Skylar who lives in a trailer park and has eight kids by nine different fathers, was immensely watchable and thus a two termer (George - not my cousin Skylar).

And what happens in what my uncle, Harvey Donut, calls the 'SK-INternet Age'? Attention spans are rapidly growing shorter, like my wang after 'happy time'. Will we get bored with presidents even quicker? And will the end of a president's term be relayed to him/her with a text message? 'sup! omfg U suk. turn ^ d beds & git d hell out of d white house mf'er! LOL! xoxo :)'

The Republican field this year is heavy on old white dudes. A couple of the most interesting candidates - Herman Cain (because he's black) and Michelle Bachmann (because she has crazy eyes that say 'get to know me - and I'll show you the bodies I have encased in cement in my basement') - have already dropped out.

1) Mitt Romney: Mitt is zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

whoops sorry just dozed off for two days. Just the thought of the guy causes death to insomnia. I have to give him one thing though - he's got a unique first name for a Caucasian. Mitt. Is that short for something? Mitt-ichlorians? And how many times during his life has this statement caused confusion - 'don't touch the oven, Mitt'? Wait hold on a sec - 'don't touch the oven, Mitt' or 'don't touch the oven mitt'?

2) Newt Gingrich: I'm having a fit of OCD and I need to write this NOW 'Newt. My name's Newt. Nobody calls me Rebecca, except my brother'. Ahhhh I feel much better. I noticed something significant about Newt (the politician, not the character from Aliens) recently: I bet if you put a wig on him - and with the ruddy complexion and warmly endearing double chin - he'd look like a pudgy, kindly grandmother (not my grandmother, who was evil and would buy me stiff collared shirts for Christmas). And for that reason I say 'We'd better get back, 'cause it'll be dark soon, and they mostly come at night... mostly'. I love the movie Aliens.

3) Ron Paul: he's got the Ross Perot thing going on - disturbing looking little old man who says a bunch of crazy funny stuff. Just my kind of candidate. Change your name to a character from Aliens (may I suggest Hicks?) and you've got my vote, crazy old man.

4) Rick Santorum: wasn't his name in a song by Sublime? 'I don't practice Rick Santorum, I ain't got no crystal ball...'. His last name sounds like something a hall filled with monks would chant. The weirdest thing is he's 53 yrs old, but looks like he could be my kid and I'm 20 (give or take 20 years). Taking his age defying visage (thank you thesaurus) into account and with a last name like Santorum, it's clear he's practicing black magic. And I admire that. If Crazy Ron Paul doesn't change his name to a character from Aliens, this guy has my vote.

And that's my take on politics...for now.

dun...dun...DUNNNN!

My Next Door Neighbor

2012-02-06T05:52:00.001-08:00

The animosity between my next door neighbor, Mr. Samuelson, and I has escalated once again. We've always had a somewhat strained relationship (much like the one a belt has with Oprah's gut) since I was a kid.

It all started to go bad when I was ten. Mamootz and Pepe had just gifted me a telescope for Arbor Day. Like a busy beaver (note: my favorite word EVER), I quickly brought the new-fangled device to my room and, after 8 weeks of assembly, I was ready to go.

Mr. Samuelson's house is right next to ours' and my bedroom window looks directly onto his abode (thank you thesaurus). In order to calibrate my new toy, I had to focus it on something. So, I trained the telescope on his house, specifically through the window of his master bathroom.

Calibration worked well as I was able to adjust focus while aiming the lens at Mrs. Samuelson's expansive bare back as she showered.

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Samuelson was busy working in his vegetable garden at the time (yep, the same one I pooped in every day after school) and he happened to glance up to see me using his naked wife's rotund body to focus my telescope.

Apparently, as my parents relayed to me afterward, this was a 'socially unacceptable' thing to do. I tried to tell them that I was merely a fledgling astronomer focusing my telescope on what I mistook to be the enormous Milky Way Galaxy, but that didn't fly. After promising to never do it again, my parents gave the telescope back to me.

I lost the telescope for good 15 minutes later when I trained it's lens on Mr. Samuelson's master bedroom window. Much to my chagrin, I happened to catch them wrestling with no clothes on (I think they were wrestling as Mr. Samuelson had Mrs. Samuelson pinned)...and they in turn caught me calibrating my telescope again.

When I was sixteen years old, Pepe had begun to teach me how to drive.

One day, Pepe and Mamootz were across the street speaking with Mr. Johnson. Speaking isn't the right word really as they were smoothing things over with him after I had inadvertently hit a golf ball through his picture window when I was practicing hitting drives over his house.

With Pepe and Mamootz gone I figured I'd use the time to continue my driving studies. I grabbed the car keys and hopped into the Pinto.

After a short drive up the block, I turned around and headed back. When I was just about home, something unexpected and unfortunate happened. I was going forty to fifty miles an hour over the speed limit as I approached the house and when I swerved to avoid a mother duck and her ducklings who were crossing the road (my effort was in vain as I flattened them all right in a row - Thwump-dun-dun-dun-dun), I lost control of the Pinto.

I hit and killed Mr. Samuelson's pet schnauzer, which happened to be outside at the time...in his fenced in backyard. Most unfortunately, when the Pinto hit the dog, it burst into flames.

Thankfully, I was able to get free of the vehicle before it incinerated the dog's body, Mr. Samuelson's shed and house and the house behind Mr. Samuelson's.

A year later when the Samuelson's moved back into their rebuilt house, they made in clear to my parents that they never wanted me near their property again. I found this to be incredibly insulting and it certainly made me lose the guilt I harbored for having removed some of the support beams from the frame of their new house as it was being built and using them for my skateboard ramp.

The back and forth continued for the next few years. A dirty look here, A BB gun shot to the ass there. However, nothing needing police intervention...until a couple of weeks ago.

The Samuelson's had purchased three plane tickets (1 for Mr. Samuelson, 2 for Mrs. Samuelson) for a two week Mexican vacation.

And, as happy coincidences go, the day the Samuelson's left, Big Lou was released from jail on his plant molestation charge and needed a place to stay. Rather than waste a vacant house, I had the frugal idea of having Big Lou stay at the Samuleson's place until they got back.

Big Lou and I easily found the house key that had been carelessly hidden under the doormat outside the rear entrance of the garage, and at 3am the next morning, we moved him in.

Fortunately, Big Lou traveled lightly, opting to keep many of his belongings in the 5x5 shipping container he had been living in prior to the arrest.

Big Lou was a very quiet and respectful neighbor and I had nearly forgotten he was living next door when the police showed up.

You see, I had planned on moving Big Lou out of the house before the Samuelson's got back from their vacation but it slipped my mind. Though I did eventually remember at noon the day before their return, it was a tad too cool outside for my tastes to be moving someone and frankly I was too absorbed in a marathon of 'Keeping up with the Kardashians' on TV to make an effort.

I saw the police officers escorting a handcuffed Big Lou from the house wearing what appeared to be a tarp. Turns out it was one of Mrs. Samuelson's dresses. Since he had brought no clothes of his own, Big Lou had made good use of her wardrobe (though most of the clothing was far too large for his 450 lb frame).

From what I read in the paper, Big Lou had caused quite a bit of damage to the house. He had broken up half of the furniture and used it as firewood (it was a tad cool after all). The other half he sold in exchange for a box of Crazy Burgers (triple cheese hamburgers served on a doughnut bun). Many of the walls had large holes in them, which were later found to have been made by Big Lou's ass when he bent over to pick things up. The second floor guest bathroom was covered in a translucent grayish material that scientists are still trying to identify.

Sadly, Mrs. Samuelson suffered a mild nervous breakdown a few days later when she opened the cover of the hot tub and found it brimming with bull semen.

As luck would have it, the Samuelson's blame me for this whole incident. Apparently when you fist bump the perpetrator of the crime as he's being taken away in handcuffs and say 'hope you enjoyed your stay', it's 'suspicious'.

Go figure.

Exclusive Oscar Picks!

2012-02-06T05:52:00.000-08:00

Like most sentient life forms, I love the Oscars. It is a major event in my life akin to the birth of a child or a pandemic outbreak of smallpox.

The Oscars provide us a moment where we can put aside the things that don't matter, like the economy, jobs and the housing market and concentrate on the things that do, like which shoes will Angelina Jolie wear on the Red Carpet and why is there no award for Best Best Boy.

It is a wondrous event filled with glitz and glamour where stars walk the red carpet wearing clothing that dazzles and delights and costs more than your house.

**Though I sorely miss the Barbara Walters pre-Oscar interview special, I understand that it was necessary that she be placed in cryogenic suspension until the technology was developed to generate better useless questions for her to ask the rich and famous.

Some of my hopes for this years ceremony:

1) George Clooney forgoes the top designers and wears an Izod shirt and a pair of Haynes pull string sweat pants on the red carpet.

2) To speed the ceremony along, the band starts playing before the winner even starts reading their acceptance speech.

3) Brad Pitt and Gary Oldman tie for Best Actor. New Oscar rule requires that they fence to the death. Oldman impales Pitt for the win.

4) Meryl Streep flashes her tits after winning Best Actress.

5) One of the best actor/actress winners uses their speech to publicize the cause of providing faux diamond brooches to the world's poor in support of increasing the number of tax havens for the world's rich.

Predictions:

Best Picture: The Artist, The Descendants, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, The Help, Hugo, Midnight in Paris, Moneyball, The Tree of Life, War Horse

My take: It's an excellent field, though I can honestly say I haven't seen any of the films. I am saddened by the omission of Mega Python vs. Gatoroid - though I'm not surprised since, in lieu of a theatrical release, the film went straight to VHS.

My pick: I think movies that start with 'The' generally win. So, that narrows it down to The Help, The Artist, The Descendants and The Tree of Life. I'm going to go with alphabetical order and pick The Artist.

Best Director:Woody Allen, Michel Haza...blah...blah, Terrence Malick, Alexander Payne, Martin Scorsese

My take: All great choices although, once again, didn't see a single one of the movies. There's no Mary Lambert of Mega Python vs. Gatoroid fame, so I guess I gotta choose someone else.

My pick: Martin Scorsese. I choose him just for his performance in Goodfellas with the whole 'do I amuse you?' scene. I think that was him. Maybe it was another Italian.

Best Actress: Glenn Close, Viola Davis, Rooney Mara, Meryl Streep, Michelle Williams

My take: Glenn Close was in a movie called Albert Nobbs. First thing that comes to mind? Albert 'Polishes The' Nobbs. No idea what this movie is about, though I hope it's not a heartfelt movie about someone with a terrible disease or something like that because I'd feel bad for making fun of it.

My pick: Meryl Streep. Show us those titties!

Best Actor: Demián Bichir, George Clooney, Jean Dujardin, Gary Oldman, Brad Pitt

My take: Tight race with actors from movies I will never see.

My pick: Oldman beats Pitt via impalement.

Best Supporting Actor: Nick Nolte, Kenneth Branagh, Jonah Hill, Christopher Plummer, Max von Sydow.

My take: So many options. Nick Nolte has the cool mug shot. Max von Sydow has a " von " in his name.

My pick: I can't resist - Christopher Plummer " 's ass ".

Best Supporting Actress: Berenice Bejo, Jessica Chastain, Melissa McCarthy, Janet McTeer, Octavia Spencer

My take: If someone had handed me a list of 10 names (which included these names) and said pick the 5 women who earned supporting actress nominations this year, I never in the half life of plutonium-244 would have picked these names.

My pick: Berenice Bejo - for alliteration's sake.

Best Song: Muppets and something else.

My take: This category stirs up many memories for me. It was the year of Titanic when Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' was nominated. I think it ended up winning against Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back' from Up Yo Ass. Anyway, anytime I'd hear that song ('My Heart Will Go On' not 'Baby Got Back'), I would immediately burst into tears and collapse to my knees, much like the time I took a Nolan Ryan fastball to the junk (Apparently Mr. Ryan doesn't tolerate someone - who happens to be high on cat tranquilizer - standing next to his mother and father at a Rangers game yelling repeatedly 'Nolan sucks donkeys!'). One day, I was driving along in my souped up Fiat and 'My Heart Will Go On' came on the radio (coincidentally right after 'Baby Got Back'). I was overcome with grief and lost control of the vehicle. For the entire four minute and twenty-three second running time of the song, I was unresponsive. I ran fourteen traffic lights, side swiped a man on a unicycle, and plowed into a marching band (thankfully I only killed the tuba player). It's certainly not a memory I cherish, though it has made me a stronger person and I thank the heavens everyday that I was able to rid the world of a tuba player.

My pick: The one that's not The Muppets because the coin landed on heads.

So there are my picks for 2012, and here's hoping that the Academy gets their act together and starts recognizing some of those amazing Best Boy performances in 2013. Here - here!

I'm a Millionaire!

2012-02-06T05:24:00.001-08:00

HAHA!!!! I'm a millionaire now, bitches! HAHAHA!!!! You need proof?! Well, look at the message in italics below!!

This is the best day of my life! No more writing this stupid blog in hopes of someone reading it and making me rich and famous like Debbie Lee Carrington (of Garbage Pail Kids Movie fame)! I'll buy everyone! I'll buy everyone and sell them at a discount to the lowest bidder! I'll buy the Internet, shut it down and then laugh when everyone has to go back to using the United States Postal Service!

Oh the things I'll do! I've already come up with a list - and you're gonna read it because what I say now just became that much more important because...I gots money!

1) Start getting sprinkles on my hot fudge sundaes

2) Buy upgraded Fiat with air conditioning

3) Invest heavily in promising Advanced Treadmill Technology (ADTT) and FingerNEW (makers of prosthetic fingernails)

4) Have Olympic sized pool installed in my backyard. Add pod of dolphins

5) Buy several Great White sharks. Add them to Olympic sized pool filled with dolphins. Watch resulting aquatic battle. Repeat if necessary.

6) Provide funds to my uncle, Harvey Donut, to use his existing designs to create his 'wish' machine. Use machine to create a cure for Recurrent Hook Toe Syndrom and to end plaid on planet Earth.

7) Buy the love of the three Kardashian sisters. Marry Kim and Kourtney. Sell Khloe into slavery.

8) Buy a toilet that doesn't clog after I've eaten five pounds of Munster cheese, a gallon of heavy cream and fifteen unripened bananas

9) Buy a plexiglass house, throw stones, then laugh when stones are thrown back and house doesn't shatter

10) Develop a line of 3000 carat diamond laced medieval suits of armor

Dear Sir,

I am markson Kamara the only son of late former Director of finance, Chief Vincent R. Kamara of Sierra-Leone diamond and mining corporation. I must confess my agitation is real, and my words are my bond in this proposal. My late father diverted this fund acquired from the over influencing of price of sales/purchasing of raw materials., now he deposited the money with a BANK IN ABIDJAN BY FIXED DEPOSIT FORM, where I am residing under political asylum with my younger sister Juliet who is 17 years old. Now the war in my country is overwith the help of ECOMOG soldiers, the present government of Sierra Leone has revoked the passport of all officers who served under the former regime and now ask countries to expel such person at the same time, freeze their account and confiscate their assets, it is on this note that I am contacting you, all I needed from you is to furnish me with your bank particulars:

1) Bank name
2) Account name
3) Account number
4) Bank address, telephone and fax numbers to enable me transfer this money in your private bank account, the said amount is tweenty Six Million United States Dollars (US$26.000.000.00).

I am compensating you with 20% of the total money amount, now all my hope is banked on you and I really want to invest this money in your country, where there is stability of Government, political and economic welfare. Honestly I want you to believe that this transaction is real and never a joke. My late father Chief Kamara gave me the photocopy of the deposit certificate issued to him by the BANK IN ABIDJAN on the date of deposit, and he called me closer to his bed side before his call to glory (R.I.P) that I should pray to God first, before contacting any foreigner and he warned me strictly not to deal with a greedy and evil minded people since this is the only legacy we are inheriting from him.

Please, for you to be clarified because, I do not expose myself to anybody I see, I believe that you are able to keep this transaction secret for me because this money is the hope of my life, it is important.

Please contact me immediately after you must have gone through my message, and feel free to make it urgent. That is the reason why I offered you 20 % of the total amount, and in case of any other necessary expenses you might incure during this transaction including your telephone calls.

N.B: Try and negotiate for me some profitable blue chip investment opportunities which is risk free that I can invest with this money when it is transferred to your account, and you will be our guardian, personally I am interested in estate management and hotel business, please advise me. Contact me immediately you receive this message for more explanation. And promise me and Juliet my younger sister to be a father considering our situation and not to betray us please.

Thanks and God bless

Best regards

Markson / Juliet Kamara
(markson2@latinmail.com)

Hi guys, how's everything going? Well, it isn't going so well for me. I was celebrating my recent windfall of money when the police showed up at my house. Turns out the neighbors don't find it appealing when you blast your karoaoke system at volume 10 with the speakers pointed out the window and you're singing tracks from Yoko Ono's greatest hits album.

Things really went south when I stumbled to the door - still a bit tipsy from sniffing black magic markers - opened it and saw two police officers and a candy-striped pterodactyl (though the pterodactyl may have been a hallucination) laughing at me.

Apparently seeing someone dressed in a fuchsia bathrobe and bunny slippers was amusing to these immature officers and flying dinosaur from the Jurassic period. I confronted them, screaming and jabbing my faux pink diamond studded karoake microphone into their chests. I even took a swing at the candy-striped pterodactyl, though I missed horribly because it wasn't really there.

Needless to say, they didn't care for this. The surrounding officers swarmed me with an army of glowing tasers. As the thousands of volts coursed through my body, things went from bad to worse. The trial medication I'd been taking to reduce nosehair buildup had apparently caused a great deal of alcohol byproduct to leech into my hair. The electricity, combined with the alcohol, caused my hair to erupt into flames.

As I was losing consciousness, both due to the extreme heat from the fire and the dozens of feet stomping on my head, one thought went through my mind: I really wish I had worn underwear under my housecoat because while I lay prone on the ground with the skin on my head bubbling, I was pretty sure my balls were showing.

When I woke up in the jail cell the next morning, an officer informed me that not only had every one of my neighbors decided to press charges against me and that I was being charged with public lewdness due to my balls showing, but I was a victim of online fraud.

Apparently the email that indicated I had won millions of dollars was not real. They called it spam. My assumption is that this spam is some rare thing on the Internet that some of the unfortunate are exposed to. And here I thought it was just a delicious topping I added to my ice cream.

Sadly, I have not won any money. I have been duped once again, this being as painful as the time I met a woman in a bar, went back to her hotel room, blacked out and woke up the next morning in a tub of ice with one of my kidneys missing.

Oh...and my parents have lost their entire life savings since I provided the spammer with their bank account information. I'm sure they'll blame me for this, like I was the one who took their money.

So, I guess it's back to blogging for me.

Robert

2012-02-06T05:24:00.000-08:00

The secret to life is obvious. It's all about who's better than who (or whom if you prefer proper English).

From an early age, back when I was going to Ms. Porter's School for the Slow and Non-gifted, I knew that it was my destiny to be better than everyone around me. And for the most part I have been marginally successful.

That was until the bane of my existence/ the thorn in my side/ the knee to my junk/ the firework to my ass/ the obstruction to my colon came along: Robert.

My sister married Robert five years ago. They had been together for two years prior to that. The first year I didn't see them much as they were usually traipsing around town and I was in my room masturbating.

It wasn't until the second year, right before they got married, that I knew there was something 'different' about Robert. We were invited to his family's house for Thanksgiving. This was back when I was in my anti-Thanksgiving phase. I couldn't stand a holiday that celebrated Native Americans, people who had invaded our land and were taking over the country I love, one casino at a time.

As was tradition for me, I spent the early part of Thanksgiving Day masturbating and drinking brown shoe polish. By the time we got to Robert's parent's house, I was a bit tipsy.

As we prepared to eat, Robert's mother decided to say a prayer. At that point, with both my hatred for Thanksgiving brewing and my head spinning from possibly being poisoned by the shoe polish, I decided to voice my opinion.

I voiced my displeasure at the way Native Americans had treated people throughout the history of the United States. I let her know how unacceptable it was to desecrate a turkey's body by shoving stuffing up it's ass. I let her know that I refused to eat cranberry sauce that was not plopped out of a can. Who the hell in this constellation makes their own cranberry sauce?!

As I ventured further into my righteous rant, I began to feel a strange sensation in my stomach. Apparently the shoe polish had not mixed well with the eight bags of Mexican hat candy I had eaten earlier and my stomach was now gyrating like my Aunt Bornina's six chins. I paused for a moment and tried to collect myself, but it was of no use. I began spewing brown shoe polish every which way - onto the table, onto the turkey, onto the sacrilegious cranberry sauce, onto the ceiling and even into adjoining rooms.

Once the shoe polish had abated, I took a deep breath and prepared to continue my rant only to be met with a second wave of partially digested Mexican hat candy exploding from my mouth. When this volcanic eruption of sweetness had finished, there was not one spot of furniture, food, people, pets or motorized cart (I was driving one at the time due to my most recent bout with Recurrent Hook Toe) that was not covered in sweet, Mexican candy gooey deliciousness.

Amazingly, this ended Thanksgiving that year immediately. No apologies from Robert's family for having caused me to get worked up enough to spew the contents of my stomach. No 'sorrys' for having presented me with homemade cranberry sauce.

Nothing, just a 'get the hell out of my house and never come back' from Robert's Mom and a 'I will shoot you with my Glock if I ever see you again' from his Dad.

Needless to say, my relationship with Robert has not been the same since. Quite frankly, I resented him for not sticking up for me that day and for not having the decency to permanently exile his parents from his life for having embarrassed me.

After my sister and Robert got married, my resentment grew. This was due to my parents (once again ruining my life) constantly using him to attack me. 'Why can't you be like Robert and get up before noon everyday?', 'why can't you be like Robert and shower more than once every three months?', 'I bet Robert has never urinated on a TV'.

Well Robert ain't that great, Mamootz and Pepe! And here's my proof:

1) Job

Robert - CFO of a multi-national investment firm

Me - Unemployed - though I'm currently involved in a trial for the drug called Nosacodapentburarol. The hope is that this drug can control the growth of nose hair. So far no luck, though I now have frequent eye bleeds and my breasts have grown three cup sizes.

Winner: Me! What guy wouldn't want to have large breasts?! It's a win-win. And being a CFO is boring.

2) Last brush with the law

Robert - Parking ticket at North Beach.

Me - Arrested for punching a mannequin at Sears.

Winner: Come on now. Obviously me. Is there anything lamer than getting a parking ticket? Nope. And tell me you've never wanted to punch out a mannequin. That's what I thought.

3) Children

Robert - Two.

Me - none (that I know of).

Winner: Me. Kids are money pits.

4) Favorite song

Robert - 'Kokomo' by The Beach Boys

Me - 'You Light Up My Life' by Debbie Boone

Winner: Kokomo? Is this a song about a Sumo wrestler? Whoever even heard of The Beach Boys? These guys went nowhere. Yet Debbie Boone's career continues to thrive. Me again!

5) Best Friend

Robert - Carl. A coworker at the investment firm. Carl and Robert have been friends for decades. They also co-coach their sons' baseball team.

Me - Big Lou. Former co-worker at the slaughterhouse. Lou was in charge of large animal gutting. Unfortunately, Big Lou has fallen on hard times once again and has landed back in jail after molesting a ficus.

Winner: This is a close one, but I give the edge to me mainly because Carl's kid sucks at baseball.

As anyone with one/two eyes can see, there is not a shadow of a doubt who the better man is. It's factual (see above analysis). So even though Robert bathes a considerable amount more than me, doesn't eye the neighborhood pets lasciviously or doesn't eat three bags of Oreos in one sitting, I am clearly the winner.

How about these gas prices?!

2012-02-05T08:59:00.000-08:00

So I drive past a gas station yesterday in my souped up Fiat and I notice that gas prices have, once again, spiked to over $3.50 a gallon. Since I'm not a financial mogul like Donald Trump or Debbie Lee Carrington (of Garbage Pail Kids Movie fame), this obviously concerns me.

The first question that came to my mind - "did I forget to put on underwear this morning?" - was completely extraneous, but the next one - "when will we be free of these high gas prices?" - was more on point.

I've thought about this a lot and after a good deal of research I did prior to last nights porn browsing activities, I think I've found the most revolutionary solution to both eliminate our reliance on foreign oil and put the animal kingdom to work for us.

The problem is the electric car is not the solution. We, as earthlings, cannot be limited to a certain 'range'. Per requirement of the law, I live in a remote area and the nearest package store is 50 miles away. What happens if I haven't had a drink in 3 hours, I'm going through the shakes and my car runs out of power before reaching the packy? Do I stumble to someone's door, hide my electronic tracking bracelet and ask that they hand me an extension cord feed from their house? And I will not endure the indignity of plugging in my car like it's a toaster oven. If I could produce the most perfectly toasted waffle with it then maybe, but that ain't happening.

But what IS the solution, you may be asking yourself aloud (or in your internal voice that NEVER stops talking)? Advanced Treadmill Technology (ADTT) courtesy of Ronco. It has been demonstrated that an Olympic athlete running at a 4 minute mile pace on the ADTT can produce enough power in three hours to power a food dehydrator for 1/2 a minute.

Think about that. Now think about this: if an Olympic athlete ran on the ADTT for 300 hours, they could conceivably produce beef jerky. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

Now how does this apply to powering a vehicle? Easy. The good scientists at Ronco have created a beta test unit car with ADTT as the primary energy source. Now all they need is a couple of Olympic athletes per car and the world's oil problems are solved forever, right?

Unfortunately no. Olympic athletes are not a sustainable resource. Sure you could replace the first couple once they died of extreme exhaustion, but they're far too slow a renewable resource. Something else was needed - something stronger than an Olympic athlete - something that had more endurance than an Olympic athlete. And since Lou Ferigno is now on the wrong side of 50, they had to look toward the next most obvious choice: gorillas.

Through the ages, gorillas have really done nothing for us. Sure they entertain us in zoos and on youtube with videos of them putting their fingers in their butts and smelling it, but that's the extent of their use to us. Until now.

The gorilla powered car using ADTT is now a reality. Scientists are now piloting the first, of what is hoped to be many, of these vehicles. Here are some of the details about the vehicle:

1) Can carrying up to 1.5 adults or 4 dwarves

2) Vehicle dimension: 30 feet long, 20 feet wide

3) Curbside weight: 50000 pounds

4) Banana propulsion system

5) Feces removal tank

6) Cruise Control

And the car is completely green! If fact it's so green, it's coming out blue and yellow on the other end.

However, there have been some challenges. The first was the concern that using gorillas could spark a Planet of the Apes-like uprising. This has been addressed by a strategically placed shotgun within the ADTT system. The second - and most important challenge - has been the possible exposure of small children and the elderly to gorilla dong. Due to the transparent nature of the ADTT, the gorillas are completely visible and as such, so are their dongs.

There have been two schools of thought to address the gorilla dong issue. The first was to possibly change the ADTT to be less transparent. But this could add up to $3 (per one-hundred vehicles produced) to the cost of the technology. The second, and most widely accepted fix, would be to dress the gorillas in clown suits. The benefits are twofold: 1) no more gorilla dong and 2) fellow motorists are amused by the site of a gorilla in a clown outfit.

It's an exciting time and as testing progresses the hope is the gorilla powered car will be the end to our dependence on foreign oil.

It's Amazing I'm Normal

2012-02-05T06:11:00.000-08:00

It seems like it's a natural instinct for people to blame others for their failings. It's a flaw in human nature that I find terribly frustrating. It's your life. You're the one in charge. If you don't like it, do something about it!

With that being said, my parents have completely screwed up my life. And as I approach the age of 40, I find these parental trespasses (dating as far back to when I was an impressionable 30 yr old) have left scars that run deep.

My personal trauma began in the quiet little town of Intercourse, PA...

It was around the time of my 30th birthday. I had just lost my job at the local gas station as a pump jockey and I was living back home with my parents. Actually I had never left home because I couldn't find a job after high school and frankly, I couldn't be bothered because there was just too much pot and fun to be had.

In my opinion, Mamootz and Pepe (as I called my parents in those days) had always held a silent, burning grudge against me for this. "You should go to college and get an education", "You're a smart young man, you could go places" - they would taunt as I headed out for the job I eventually held down at the slaughter house as an associate in cow braining and sinew grinding.

Now that I think of it, the beginning signs of what would become their serial abuse had really begun to take hold in my formative late teens/early 20s.

As the years rolled on, the verbal abuse became more and more frequent. "You're still young enough - we REALLY wish you'd go back to college. We'll pay for it!" to my Mamootz's coupe de grace "You need to learn how to wash your own clothes!"

Then my 30th birthday arrived. Pepe and Mamootz wanted to throw me a party but my friend from the slaughterhouse days, Big Lou, had just gotten out of jail and, being the friend that I am, I decided to spend some time and welcome him back to society. That night we headed to a strip joint.

Pepe and Mamootz were inexplicably irate about this decision and when I came home that night a little tipsy with a girl named Misty (a wonderful, middle-aged, tattoed stripper that Big Lou had graciously paid to 'show me a good time') they gave me a completely unnecessary dose of the silent treatment.

The next morning I came downstairs to find my parents stewing at the kitchen table. I had blacked out and, apparently sometime during the night, I had come downstairs and made the honest mistake of thinking the kitchen sink was the toilet. Several burritos mixed with copious amounts of beer from the previous night had not treated my stomach well and the resulting explosion ended up in the sink.

And instead of being happy that I was no longer in abdominal distress, Pepe and Mamootz were livid. And it turns out Misty had left during the night, but not before she had stolen all of Pepe's pain medication. And somehow that was MY fault?

Mamootz and Pepe then gave me the ultimatum that would forever be seared into my brain: either get a job, get back to school...or move out of the house.

It was devastating. Even as I type this, the tears roll down my cheeks, past the blunt hanging out of my mouth and splash gently into my cup of Ovaltine.

So, I buckled down, packed up a nap sack with some clothes and my toothbrush and headed out. Hell, if they were going to ruin my life. I'd rather live on the streets.

That lasted all of 2 hours as I hadn't realized how cold the weather had become and I had neglected to bring a jacket.

With an air of defiance I decided to return home and give my parents exactly what they wanted, but do it on my terms. I took up their offer to go back to school.

I went to a local community college and majored in Ancient Mayan Pottery. Mamootz and Pepe thankfully began to back down from their nazi-like stance with me once I started college.

After seven years of blood, sweat and tears, I achieved a well deserved Associates Degree in Ancient Mayan Pottery. This degree paid dividends immediately as I was able to get a six month stint at the Pottery Shack (I was laid off when they cut back staff with the arrival of Pottery Barn to town).

And though this road I have traveled has been a bumpy one, I've come through it with a only a few bumps and bruises, a couple of STDs and an associates degree.

Perhaps deep down my parents are resentful for having paid the $140K for my associates degree. I wouldn't put it past those two vultures.

But it doesn't matter anymore because I did it my way and I proved I am a survivor.

Monumental Second Post

2012-02-04T12:53:00.000-08:00

Please forgive me a moment as I 'toot my own horn'.

Thank you. Now I feel much better.

As you are no doubt aware (through the right-wing media and various hot dog aficionado blogs), you are currently experiencing the pleasure of reading the monumental second post to the ramblingworld blog.

If you had asked me an hour ago when I first started this blog whether or not we would last, I would have laughed at you. I would have laughed because that's the way I play off a question when I don't quite understand it.

Many in the media (like Debbie Lee Carrington who played Valerie Vomit in the Garbage Pail Kids Movie) have equated this second post as something of a momentous event akin to the invention of electricity or the Snuggy.

Though I find this comparison complimentary, especially coming from an actress who happens to star in my favorite movie of all time, it is a bit over the top (quite like the Sylvester Stallone arm wrestling movie).

I would equate the second post (TM) to something like man's first steps on mars. And though that has not happened yet (disputable - ask my Uncle Harvey Donut), it is the only event I can imagine that would be important enough to be compared to the second post at ramblingworld.

They said we wouldn't last but guess what - here we are! Like Katy Perry and Russell Brand's marriage or Gary Cherone's tenure as Van Halen's lead singer, we are here to stay!

So...it begins...

2012-02-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

I will never be a good blogger. The issue is, I'm kind of dumb.

Up until now I've been able to slide through life and avoid a humiliating death such as drowning in a large vat of melted butter or dying in an unfortunate tooth brushing acident. But I'm quickly coming to the harsh realization that I'm on the wrong side of stupid.

Sure I'd like to blog about politics or current events or the world of finance, but me attempting to do so would be akin to watching a deer trying to climb a tree. It's awkward, embarrassing and should mercifully end with a shotgun blast.

Being that this is a blog, I have to discuss something, don't I? I'm thinking my best bet is to stick with topics that interest me. I like peanut butter sandwiches. I have eleven toes (not really, but that would be cool). I love reality TV (and don't be one of those jerks who say reality TV isn't real. That poor Kim Kardashian married for love and anybody who says contrary is a communist).

So that's what my blog is going to be about. I'm a peanut butter sandwich obsessed, eleven toe exaggerating, reality TV loving dude.