Satan Laughing Spreads His Wings

Everyone loves a little Ozzy Osbourne. Except radical fundamentalist Christians, people who inexplicably listen to only country music, people who do not speak English, animal rights groups, people who have been pooed or peed on by the Ozzman himself (unless they are into that), people who earn their livelihood working for another death metal/rock artist, and people who are not fans of Satan or cursing. Like I said, everyone.

The reason I bring this up is that if a man who has bitten the head off a dove, has a nickname like "The Prince of Darkness", has been to rehab umpteen times, and speaks in a incomprehendable voice, can become popular by way of MTV reality programming, I only imagine what such an opportunity could do for myself and my friends.

-None of us have been to rehab (yet)
-None of us have eaten any living creatures (I did swallow a tiny plastic ninja once)
-None of us have Satanic nicknames
-Aside from the occasional drunken slurred speech, we speak audibly and clearly.

Our antics are most certainly reality TV worthy, and I could assure MTV execs would only become better if being entertaining and having fun were our sole foci. For instance, I will mention some of the things that happened last Saturday to Paul and me:

-Went to a party where we knew no one
-Got into a pushup contest in front of the Cubby Bear with a man who played semi-pro basketball in Turkey, thus infuriating him
-Were asked later at the party "if we knew, like, everyone" (the power of nicknames, high fives, and good communication skills with strangers)
-Got kicked out of Taco Bell

All of these things happened sans camera crew, and without the additional push of being paid to be entertaining. Make it happen MTV.

The other day I happened to be on a channel that was showing the weather forecast for this upcoming weekend and as they showed angry, menacing dark clouds with jagged yellow lightning bolts coming out of them, I was immediately filled with distaste for this prediction and changed the channel, acting as if changing the channel would, in fact, affect the outcome of the weather this weekend.

I only wish that this were possible. Imagine the effects: Your favorite team loses a game? Change the channel before the highlight clip is over. The result is bound to be different. So, everyone can thank me for the sunny beauty we are sure to see this weekend.

The other day when I was riding downtown, I was sitting next to a particularly chatty child who was talking to his Mom about his evident prowess in well, everything. The child had to be no more than four years old, and sometimes I wish that word and number understanding, even for adults, would never surpass the logic of a four year old child. Allow me to explain:

-At one point he turned to his Mom, sighing, and said, "We have been riding this train for ten thousand billion minutes. I can run like 700 times faster than this train."

Thus proving that the fictional number of "ten thousand billion" is probably less than "700".

I magine being at work and your boss asks you how long you have been there already that day and you could respond "eight hundred trillion fafillion days"...there's no way he is then not sending you home early.

Another helpful facet of this would be that my accounting job would be totally moot. Jibberish numbers=Very little reason to try and analyze said numbers. Especially when guesstimation and approximation came into play.

Kids are funny, and one could be on our reality show.

Blah Blah Blah....

Some reasons why you should not:

1) Be a sportswriter/caster and give in to using the same stupid cliches as everyone else.
For example, the phrase "drink the kool-aid" that is being used in sports that has been mentioned in this space many times for its sheer oddity/stupidity/general all around weirdness, I have discovered a new phrase that baseball writers have been using to describe pitchers..."bulldogs", as in, "I love Roy Oswalt, he is a real bulldog on the mound."

Let's see what wikipedia says about bulldogs:

"The temperament of the English Bulldog is generally docile, friendly and gregarious..."

"The bulldog is a relatively small but stocky breed, with a compact body and short, sturdy limbs. Its shape results in a waddle-like gait..."

So, what exactly are they saying about these pitchers? Why not just call them "poodles on the mound"?

So, why should you not stick to using these phrases if you are in sports?

a) You begin to sound just like every other idiot using the same phrase. If something like comparing basketball players to classic ballet acts became popular, would everyone do it?
b) At the very least, find a fierce dog to compare your MLB pitchers to, say, a rottweiler. Also find a non cult related non mass suicide to indicate uncertainty about a players future.
c)You just sound dumb. Seriously, I get mad when I read these silly analogies.

2) Tell your Chicago area friends who are Cubs fans you are going to a Sox game/Sit in the same sun exposure within four days:

a)In Chicago people seem to think that the Cubs and Sox are bitter rivals. Funny, because I always thought that the Cubs rivals were the Cardinals and the Sox had their own rivals in the...ummm...someone. The Cubs and Sox began playing 6 (out of 162) games a year 11 years ago...that is not a rivalry. If someone were to call you up and offer the following options:

"Stay at work, indoors, and sober" OR "Sit outside in beautiful weather, drinking beer, watching sports" what is the choice 100% of the time?

My slightly dumb friend Mike said going to a Sox game as a Cubs fan would be akin to a Bears fan cheering for the Packers...once again...they are actual rivals who hate each other and are in the same division.

b)Bryce has recently aquired centerfield season tix for the Sox and due to the exposure it gets during day games, the left side of my neck and face look as if I have been in a tropical locale. So you should try and vary this kind of stuff up to end up with far less of an odd look.

3) Tell people you are moving away: (I mean obviously you should tell people about this, but I have some reasons why not too)

a) People will invariably question your sanity when you tell them of your lack of future planning. Having your sanity questioned gets a little lame after a while.

b) People will invariably then whine about you leaving. While touching, I have to continually explain I am not dying, merely moving away for a little while. I am not going to abandon you like your Dad did when you were three.

c) Everyone then wants to hang out with you a lot more. Not like you have been around for the last six years and had nothing to do plenty of times.

4) Ever eat a burrito place where the name translates to "Good Day Burritos":

a)The next day will not be a good day....for your digestive system.

Dear Ed

For this week's reading pleasure (and by pleasure I mean, you might not want to read this unless you are in some way mentally altered, whether by drug, drink, or eating a bunch of frozen hot dogs the past few minutes) I am writing a letter to a family "friend", Ed K, or E. Kithcart (for anonymity purposes) six months from now. Let me give you some Ed 411.

Ed is a man I have known my entire life by virtue of the fact that my Mom has been friends with Ed's wife since they were in grade school. These two women forged a strong bond in their youth by way of various underage illegal activities (drinking, driving, drinking and driving, petty theft, vargrancy, extortion...etc.) and remain friends to this day. Where Ed was found, or in what backwards society he was raised, I really have no answer.

The reason I wish to write Ed this letter, at an imagined six months in the future, is that he is one of the more loathsome people you might get stuck to having a conversation with at a party-ever.

At this past weekends Derby party, he asked me about my upcoming move to LA, then when bidding me farewell, threw out in his gravelly, hick voice "See ya Tim, watch our for them homos."

I heard of another conversation where someone was speaking of having done some sort of acting work in the Louisville area of Shelbyville, and all Ed had to add was, "Do you speak Mexican? Ain't nothin but Mexicans out there."

So this and many other reasons are the reasons for this letter (plus it will be balls out funny...and one other time when I was like 9 we went to their house for dinner, and he made stupid trick hamburgers that actually had cheese, onions, and mushrooms in the middle of them...I hate you for that Ed).


11-10-07

Dear Ed,

How have things been going? Things have been going okay for me out here in L.A., although I wish I would have heeded your warning about the homos out here...they are more numerous than all those goddamn beaners in Shelbyville (don't they know no one understands them???), and more than a couple of times, I have been heterosexually chatting to a lady only for her to try and introduce me to her "male friends". Don't worry, I knew they were homos and not just friendly men. Thanks for your warning again.

That's another thing about L.A., all these people going around speaking Mexican. What did George Washington talk? NOT MEXICAN!!!

Luckily as a hetero male, I have achieved some level of success out here (you might say with all these homos out here, I was guaranteed success...just like a new burrito stand would be in Shelbyville!) and hope to continue this line of success.

That being said, what do you think of Indians (dot or feather, I am open to discussion)?

I am glad to find a like minded individual with whom I can share this open rapport.

Tim

PS: What do you call a little Mexican?

A paragraph, because he's not quite an essay!


Well, hopefully that lends some idea of Ed to the world. My Uncle Chris actually declared that the winner of the May 26th UFC battle between Brian and I gets to beat up Ed next year. Even though, beyond beating up, I have dreams of a locked in a room together convo between Proctor and Ed....a man can dream.

WORD UP

"You just said I live a squishy, soft, Nerf life"

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I spent a great deal of time at the airport last Friday. And I had the "honor" of watching people, and then making casual asinine observations about them and trying to use whatever ability it is that is used to let them know what I am thinking. (Also, yes, work has been a little slow. Who cares? Everyone is the beneficiary the way I see it.)

Here are some of the highlights of my airport waiting experience:

1)Woman, who generally looked bitchy, wearing a black sweatshirt with the simple scrawl on it reading "vegan.". Ok, thanks for letting me know about that you angry, meatless, poultryless woman. If I had should happen to run into some tofu oddly shaped into meat form (think McRib), I'll be sure to toss it your direction. And previously I had thought Vegans were friendly people. And also, I should have asked her where she got her sweatshirt so I could have gotten my "omnivore." sweatshirt. Did you ever notice how people react when they are told that someone is a vegetarian or vegan? Why don't those of us that readily enjoy eating some dead cow get such a reaction? Where is this land? Awww shit, it might be L.A.

2)A man sitting next to me pulled out his laptop, plunked on his glasses, and I was almost sure he was going to be reading something. Instead what does he do? Throws Waterboy in the DVD player and starts laughing away. Don't mistake me, I think Waterboy is a good movie, but I do not think I have ever watched it on purpose with the exception of the very first time I ever saw it. I just would never (first of all, never put on glasses to watch a movie) pull out Waterboy as my DVD of choice to pass time.

3)An old man sitting near me, during the seven hours of waiting, ate not one, but TWO double quarter pounder with cheese meals pre-flight. I said several prayer like incantations (curse words) and luckily this man was not seated anywhere near me in flight. Because I have noticed old people have no regard, or very little, for holding in any explosions of flatulence. And, like babies, it makes them coo and giggle a little bit, but more because it smells like death then due to the fact that they feel relieved.

4)Our gate was directly next to the "Fox Sports Zone". Normally, had I had further money then the meager amount on my person, I would have been there having fun and not at all concerned about time. Instead I sat at the gate. When I walked past the bar at 10:30 am, it was empty. When I walked past at noon, there was a full fledged euro dance party going on. It was pure lunacy. Unfortunately I did not wear my trendy club clothes (all velvet, all the time) to hang out at this bar in the airport. I am such an idiot.

In an earlier e-mail conversation with my friend Mike, he mentioned how his eight month pregnant boss had said some comment about how the doctor had told her to spread her legs, and he had (not so) wittily then thrown out, "Isn't that what got you in this mess in the first place?" So, without further ado, I bring you the Top 5 things to say to a very pregnant woman (if you want to get slapped, or should she be armed, shot)

5) "Maybe if you drink during pregnancy, the baby will actually have a chin, unlike you."

4) "While you're up, wanna grab me something to drink? And maybe move your fatass out of the way of the TV?"

3) "So do you think the baby will represent all of the 60 pounds you have put on? That would be a huge baby."

2) Print out the "babies are stupid" article here. Hand it to her.

http://www.physics.mcgill.ca/~arobic/funny/babies.html

1) "How many episodes of Maury do you think it will take to find the father?"

Thank you, thank you very much. By the way, I noticed my commenter has stopped commenting. Please come back.