The world's first analyst/therapist.....an analrapist

Due to illness last week, I did not post anything (and if a tree falls in the forest and kills the entire cast of Dynasty, who cares? I know, I know). And by illness, yes I do mean actual illness...congestion, sore throat, coughing, sneezing....all bad stuff. It turns out that I actually had strep throat and a sinus infection. Which makes me raise this question to my immune system: Is my apathy towards my job really a reason for you to not fight off infection and illness? Seriously now, whities (that is how I affectionately refer to my white blood cells) and lymphies (lymph nodes) I know you guys better than this, and you are skilled at staving off actual illness. So the next time I take a sick day from work, or two, as was the case last week, just let it be because I am choosing to do so because work is stupid, not so I actually can lay around all day feeling like dookie. Really guys, step it up a notch.

Of course right now is the time of year referred to in the accounting world (not be confused with other cool worlds like the Underworld, The World According to Garp, or one of the best, Sake World....world is a really weird word too) as "tax season". Henceforth known to me as "Time of Year where my co-workers run around like chickens with their heads cut off, I have to show up for work on Saturdays, and my job function does not change at all since I am not an accountant, nor do I do taxes". So work is even more fun right now, as these socially inept people respond inappropriately to stress by being mean to me and giving me actual work tasks. And when Logan and I showed up at 9 the day after the Super Bowl, we got a speech that included words like "swamped" and "on time" and "lots of work"...I think, I just sort of zoned out for most of it though.

I currently have a watch on which the battery died several months ago. The time the watch is currently displaying, and will continue to do so until I get a new battery, is 3:40. I have been making a very aware attempt for the last few weeks to throw on the watch around 3:40 everyday, just in case anyone should ask me what time it is. No one ever does, sadly, and the watch remains generally useless.

As promised when I last wrote, I would respond to any questions put forth by the general readership in a mailbag Q and A style section this week. Luckily my readership is either: a)illetirate b)as apathetic as my immune system is to my work apathy situation c)developed mentally disabled d)lacking any curiosity in to how I would wittily respond to your questions. So, I was able to pull one question from one person, and the other I will make up, this week. If I request questions for next week will my request simply fall on deaf ears (or blind eyes I guess, since I am not talking to anyone) again? Really guys, step it up a notch.

Q) (Bryce, Chicago, IL) Tim, do they still really only want you for your pimp juice...or is it something more?

A) First of all, let us turn to philosopher/rapper Nelly for a definition of what exactly pimp juice is:

Nelly defined pimp juice as:

"Now your pimp juice is anything/attract the opposite sex/It could be money, fame, or straight intellect/It don't MATTER!/ Bitches got the pimp juice too/Come to think about it dirty, they got more than we do/They got mo'...juice in they talk,/ got mo' juice in they walk/They got mo'...juice in they pants, OOH GODDAMN!/I tell you man it's a cryin shame.... /how people use, the juice in vain/ - you hear me mayne (man)/Pimp juice is color blind/You find it work on all color, creeds, and kinds/From ages 50 right down to 9

And after reading that I am still not really sure what it is aside from something used to woo the opposite sex, and evidently women have more of it. However, Nelly also expresses a sentiment in the song that he has a problem with women only desiring him due to this pimp-y type juice. I used to display a similar sign in my dorm room, and I do feel they still do desire me only due to this juice, but if you cut to the core of it, it is the only reason for desirous actions in the first place, since it is anything that attracts the opposite sex, and my flaws do not have the same effect.

Q)Who would win in a fight, a velociraptor, or Carl Winslow?

A)The velociraptor, while fear inducing, would be no match for the moral, and armed Carl Winslow. This is not really even that hard of a question.

CAUTION: EXPLICIT LYRICS

Unfortunately, whenever I come with an idea for a sure-to-be Number One, cross-generational, romantic ballad pop hit, I can never keep the idea to myself, even if for a few days, and therefore many of you already know about this future hit. (okay so this is my first time ever coming up with an idea for such a song, but I can blame the "establishment" since the closest I have ever been to a music legend is when I drive on that stretch of I-65 iutside Indianaplois dedicated to Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds. More exposure= Me being a songwriting guru by the age of 9, even maybe me being the sole male member of TLC)

So far all I have for this song is a title, and even more romantically, I came up with it on Valentine's Day. I envision this ballad to have a nice slow bass line, a romantic chorus, and a soulful delivery like what Usher might provide. So, the name of this song, you ask?

"I Want to Do You in the Butt, P.S. I Love You"

Tell me that one's not selling. It will become the top hit played as first dances at a wedding, the last song at 7th grade mixers, and the first song played by desperate 38 year old virginal men bringing a hooker home for the first time.

If you want to help me out with this, whether it be penning the lyrics, coming up with a melody, or getting it to Usher without having a restraining order placed on me, PLEASE let me know.

I have recently discovered something that I hate and that actually disgusts me, and I am not really sure why as I generally try to be open-minded and not judge others all that harshly (except when they are really dumb. just stop being so dumb. or bad at driving. please improve your driving). With all due respect, I hate watching old people eat. It reminds me of watching my former pet turtle, King Tut, try and gum all his food down. They no longer either have sharp teeth or teeth at all, and just rip off pieces of their food and deliberately chew it. And when you couple this with the fact that some of them smell like cat excrement, I am not really sure what their place is in public venues where others might be eating/drinking/trying to not be disgusted. All apologies old folk. But grandma, if I sit next to you when we are eating a meal, you will know why. (Luckily the g-unit does not read this. And last time I ate with her, I really did sit next to her).

The other day I was speaking with my Mom on the phone, and she had recently let me know that possibly our whole family will be here over Easter weekend, and will be preparing dinner at my house. I asked when Easter was and answered myself by saying "40 days from next Wednesday?" I continued by joking around and saying that I referred to all things in biblical time (where everything happens in 40's, 7's, or 3's...it seems). This is when I came up with the best haughty religious time frame reference that can be used to express never. Let me explain:

From my Catholic grade school experiences and Catholic upbringing (who am I kidding? it has only to do with my schooling and not my upbringing that I know this) I learned some Biblical facts, and one of them was that Methuselah was one of the oldest men in recorded history, reaching an age of 969. So, if you ever want to say that something will never occur, just state that it will occur in a "Methuselan lifetime". Don't want to hang out with someone ever again? Tell them you will see them in a Methuselan lifetime. You think you will quit your job before you finish that big project for the boss, let him know it will be done in a Methuselan lifetime.

Someone, I am not sure whom, left a comment on my last blog requesting an entire section devoted to the anti-gloriness of bosses, and since comments have become few and far between, I am more than willing to oblige with this bit of meter:

Ode to a Craptastic Boss

You suck at giving orders
and make me wish to break at Borders

Your every forwarded e-mail "joke" causes
In my laughter, mucho pauses

Your team building exercises, crap
What would help far more, a nap

You took all the credit for that work
You are a real jerk

8:15 is not that late
Especially for someone of my wage rate

Your criticism sucks
I really couldn't give two fucks

Worst of all you smell,
And you shop at sweater hell

But thanks for the paycheck.


Finally, if it is at all possible, for the next "blog", I would like it to be a mailbag of sorts. Ask me questions, either posted as comments, or sent to my e-mail (tradway@hotmail.com), and I will answer any and all. AMEN HOLLA.

The details of my life are rather inconsequential. But funny at times.

The past couple of months could best be described as sluggish. Nothing has been bad, nothing all that great, nothing too exciting, not all that mundane either. Even with the fun times and people I know, life has returned to a grand schedule. Work 8 hours a day, work out, go home, sit around. Do it again. And now that I work on Saturday mornings, unless I am feeling quite adventurous, Friday nights turn into just another night as well. Luckily this whole work on Saturday thing only lasts through mid-April and this job only lasts as long as I deem necessary before I do whatever it is I feel I want to do. And that, my friends, is quite exciting. And do not be surprised when I do something radical, as Radways, due to our name with the word Rad in it, have been linked since about 1990, with the rise of the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" and "Bill and Ted", to all things radical.

My cell phone, like so many others, is one equipped with picture taking abilities. However, it seperates itself from others (I think) due to the fact that if you hold a button down on the side while the phone is closed, you engage the camera and by pressing the button again, you take pictures. Since I am not snooty about my phone and do not have one of those middle-aged-men-look-at-my-cell-phone-clips/"leather cases", I just carry my phone in my pocket. Which has led to one of the best photo galleries, one that would make Matthew Brady and Ansel Adams wish to be better men, a gallery I would display at a museum exhibit (only at the Hirshorn in DC probably) entitled "Photos of my Pockets". The pure abscence of light, shape, and figures would please the existentialist community at large, as well as such sure-to-be purchasers like Stevie Wonder, and ummm...other bilnd people (I googled "famous blind people" and I think many were dead and others I had not heard of....and I am the king of Googling. I'll Google anything, at any time, and as long as I am not semi retarded that day, will get some results). For once I feel my inadequate writing style can capture the essence of these pictures: They are tiny, completely black squares, completely ensconced in darkness. Brilliance.

I think Shakira's popularity is tied directly to the fact that she sounds like Miss Piggy. And while no one ever really liked Miss Piggy, she is tied to the youth of whatever the hell they are calling our generation. So someone needs to launch a career sounding like all the muppets.


Saga of Xyience
If anyone recalls, during the Summer of Tim, there was one drunken evening (I believe it was the night of the dreaded nine and nine (nine beers, nine hot dogs, nine inning baseball game. it is difficult and disgusting) when watching some UFC (Ultimate Fighting), I drunkenly ordered a bunch of nutritional supplement that is one of the main sponsors of UFC, a company called Xyience. I bought a recovery product called NOX CG3, it turns out all it does is help your muscles recover faster after a workout. Anyways, I keep this stuff at work, and if I remember, I mix some of this white powder with water and drink it before I go workout. So today I was mixing some up, and some of the white powder remained on my desk. My boss then asked me about this white powder, as if I was doing lines off my desk. I calmly explained that it was a nutritional supplement but he was not so easily convinced. So, I showed him the container, mixed some with water (at which point it turns red) and he seemed slightly convinced.

A few things:
1)He knows how much I get paid, and how much rent I pay (since we rent our house from him). Where would the money for a blow habit come from?
2)If I did have such a habit, would I keep it in a desk at work? Retard.

That is all. Hallelujah holla back.