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.

There’s nothing on my horizon except everything. Everything is on my horizon.

The other day I went to the local dining establishment of Portillo's, a local chain that pretty much offers nothing that would not be enjoyable to eat on the menu, and stuff Midwesterners love- hot dogs, beef sandwiches, Italian sausage- all of it prepared in the least healthy manner, but, the main this is that when you order your food, the person taking the order speaks it into a microphone, to evidently no one in particular. And, to describe certain foods prepared in certain manners or without certain ingredients, there seems to be a secret language used. Not totally unlike the fashion used at its Southern cousin, health food option The Waffle House. If you were to listen to the people yell out orders, the ordinary person might, even if given all the ingredients, make some bizarre dishes. If one were "to dirty up" a hot dog, you or I might drop it on the ground, not knowing the customer did not want a filthy hot dog, but instead, chili.

This whole secret language ordering thing got me to thinking how I would like to open a chain of restaurants and develop a nearly indecipherable language which would be used to communicate orders. A language so secretive, humorous, and skilled that even the Navajo would have a tough time with it. Here are just some idea examples for secret language:

"Give me a stinky wallaby, coat it in ny quill cherry and play lacrosse with it" -This would be some sort of fish sandwich with ketchup and diced onions

"Tango for two, Ken Griffey Jr. hamstring injury it, and throw some Rob Van Winkle on top"- two brownies, taken out of the over a little early with some vanilla ice cream on top.

Alright, so I guess it would be far easier to come up with a menu first, then the language, but I cannot imagine this place failing. And imagine the pride that would come with working there and learning the language? Wow.

Brian is currently working on coming up with the events for the Manlympics. A number of men will compete, and will evidently be placed on a scale ranging from 1 (Men who cry a lot) to 10 (Chuck Norris). I am quite excited about this and the smack talk going on already has been crazy. Just the other day Brian called me a "Level 3 Man", while he is evidently a Level 8. Soon after this we were driving near my house and the giant manmade sledding hill. I offered up "How funny would it be if I went up there by the people sledding, rolled down the hill, and came back like nothing had happened?" Brian then challenged my manhood, saying I lacked the testicular fortitude to do as such, and that I was also a "pussy". Luckily (or rather very unfortunately for me, I react to these words like when Marty McFly in Back to the Future got called yellow. I will do pretty much anything. Like sophomore year in college when I shaved all the hair off my body because Joe told me I did not have the balls to do it. ) when someone says something like that to me, it always makes me partake in the "challenge". So, I walked up the giant hill, where there were people sledding with their children, turned to them and said, "I'm going to roll," laid down, and rolled down the hill. And yes, there is video of this event. (if you have a phone that plays videos I can forward to you what I have). Brian also said I gained three levels on man for this event. How I got to Level 3 in the first place I do not really know. Hopefully these Manlympics occur soon enough and we can really gauge some manliness.

That's all for now. Back to storming around the office frustrated. For no reason other than looking busy. You heard it here first.

I often tell people my celebrity look-alike is John Goodman

And when I tell people my celebrity look-alike is John Goodman, I get a number of varied reactions: "Really? I just don't see it." or (Laughter)...."Really?" or "You are not getting out of this Vietnamese Prison Camp that easily Mr. Goodman...err..Mr. Radway....wait, wait can you just act out that one scene from Raising Arizona where you just got climbed out of all that mud? Yeah, I guess you do look like him." Telling people you look like John Goodman is also a good way to avoid saying something ridiculous, like a funny looking girl saying that she has "gotten Carmen Electra once or twice." No, no you haven't, unless it was from some man at a bar planning to take you home that night, after he had consumed approximately 7,359 beers. Or the weird looking guy saying something like, "I occasionally get Matt Damon." No buddy, you look more like Screech. I do wish I would get the occasional Patrick Swayze comparison, mainly his character from Roadhouse, or even someone very manly like Chuck Norris. But, John Goodman will have to do.

I know I have been venturing into the area of sports a lot lately, but, what can I say, I watch a lot of sports. This past weekend I was fortunate enough to watch the Super Bowl earning victories of both the Chicago Bears and the Indianapolis Colts. I like the Colts, which is a real problem seeing that I live in Chicago and everyone here loves the Bears. But, I am not talking about that. I just hope the Super Bowl is a good game and people can get good and sloppy without promulgating hatred of one another, nor do I hope to make my '07 ER Trip so early this year (although last year was 02/06/06...fingers crossed it is later this year...and don't worry I budgeted funds for it this year. No more saying that it was unexpected) due to being on the wrong end of an angry mob beatdown.

Rather I wish to discuss one change I would love to see made with the red challenge flags NFL coaches throw on the field when they wish to challenge a play. Too often the coaches are indecisive and then many seem to possess the arm of a 7 year old girl (and not one of those seven year old girls that has her hair cut like a boys and plays with the boys Little League team, rather a seven year old girl that still views gift requests like ponies or a fairy godmother as realistic requests) and the flag falls meekly on the sideline and then there is hoopla about whether or not they did in fact throw the flag before the next play. One easy two pronged solution is that: 1)Instead of a pansy flag, there is a challenge javelin. Yes the javelin thing from the Olympics that looks like a spear. and 2)There is a designated thrower of this challenge javelin. I know it sounds unsafe, and more than likely is, but just think how much more excitement this adds to the game and could add to the broadcast of the game if you had fear that a player was going to be maimed or killed as a result of a challenge...wow. Please NFL, do what you can.

Today as I got my once a week coffee fix (it makes me shake and jittery and rapid when I have this coffee...to demonstrate I am currently typing about 945 words a minute, and unfortunately backspacing just as quickly since I really suck at typing) I noted some sort of "Roastmaster's Blend" which was described as having "Pear and almond undertones, and the slight aftertaste of white pepper." Gross. I am glad I do not possess these ultra sensitive tastebuds where I can taste all sorts of weird shit when I drink something as innocuous as coffee. Seriously, thank God. I am glad I do not bite into some chicken and think "Blackberry undertones, and a hint of OFF bugspray...how exquisite...and the aftertaste of the smell of a cedar closet. Wow."

A few months back I mentioned how someone had used the phrase "I am not ready to drink the Kool-Aid on this guy quite yet," which is a reference to a cult led by Jim Jones where everyone drank some sort of cyanide laced Kool Aid, and obviously died. Now the phrase is everywhere, and strangely appearing most prolifically in sports related columns like this comment made by Baltimore Ravens offensive coordinator Rick Neuheisel in an espn.com column:

"I had Vince Young as my top guy last year but I also wrote down that you have to drink the Kool-Aid. You can't put him in a [Matt] Leinart or [Jay] Cutler offense. You can't say that he's going to be the same. If you design the offense around him, I think you're going to have a freak. I think that's going to bear out. "

How weird is that? I have not heard any other weird references basically referring to "needing to commit to killing yourself with a large cult group" lately. Are there even any other possibilities? "You have to be willing to sentence him to death by crucifixion"? "I'm not ready to get involved with a shootout at my Branch Davidian complex with the FBI with this guy"? (David Koresh). Weirdness.

HOLLA

Do not mess with us, you'll totally get shot with a gun

Go to this link, and watch this clip. While some that I have steered this direction already have maligned its humor, I am in the opposite camp. By a lot. Blizzard Man is, in fact, my new hero:

http://www.pistolwimp.com/media/54518/

This past week there was nearly some breach in the universe, when Paul and I almost collided with ourselves from the future. And by breach, I mean awesome-party-fun-time. Let me explain. This past Saturday evening we were driving to the Naperville area to meet at a friend's house, and when we arrived, I noticed no more than ten feet away a car that bore a near exact (read: it was nothing like it at all, except for the same model) resemblance to Paul's car that we were driving in. I immediately panicked and turned to Paul and said, "Oh no, what if future us are already here?" All I can imagine is that if we ran into future us, many high fives would be exchanged and then when we went out to the bar we would get rowdy. Since we would all be trying to push ourselves to push, well, ourselves to better levels...and more high fiving, and self adoration would occur.

And now, I know what you are thinking, "What kind of ridiculous ideas are tossed around amongst you and your friends?" Well, this kind of idea, obviously. Just to inform you, our future selves stayed one step ahead of us the whole night (thank goodness) and continued the chicanery into the next morning, at which point they coated every car parked outdoors in ice just so we would have a tough time opening our doors.

This past weekend in watching many football games as well as many sporting events, I have a couple of problems with the aonnouncing that occurs, and many of these are similar gripes that nearly every sports fan shares.

1)"Al Michaels Syndrome"

Renowned sportscaster Al Michaels is the man I believe we can place the blame on for the recent trend of injured athletes being "out with a body part". For instance, let us say that Kobe Bryant has a torn ACL. To Al Michaelfy it you would say "out with a knee". If Tiger Woods has a strained neck- "Tiger Woods is out with a neck". And all too recently every sportscaster everywhere is saying this crap. Personally if I an injury, say a broken finger, I say "I have a broken finger", and not merely "I have a finger". The only thing we can hope for is an injury to an intimate area of anatomy that would make this form of injury announcing seem so obviously flawed...like if a female athlete should sadly develop some sort of uterus condition, would Michaels go so far as to say she was "out with a uterus"?

2)Sportscasters acting like some sort of confused nine year old.

When I was nine, I went through a "What if" phase of my life. Every situation or anything I saw was not immune to these awful questions. At its worst, I was at the Space Museum in Huntsville, Alabama and every rocket we would walk past I would ask, "What if this rocket ignited right now when we stood by it?" Well obviously, dumb Tim, we would all be burned to a fine crisp.

And this is the same thing sportscasters are doing. Instead of talking about the actual action on the field, they are "making up" an additional 5-10 interceptions a game, an additional made 7-10 free throws a game, and what if-ing the whole f-ing game. Well here's the thing sports guys- they did not intercept the ball or make those free throws, or make whatever key play you suggested they might have made....deal with it.

I had a talk with the big bossman yesterday and all he asked of me was to stick around until April-ish. So I feel like I sort have been released from an oppression of some sort, even though I know, oppression features no paycheck or benefits and lacks this high speed internet access and little work demand. So, something will become of me soon, no longer wasting away waiting for something grand to happen to me. Even crazy ideas are not so crazy now. "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got". HOLLA

This is a fantasy. Vehicles cannot drive on buildings.

All too much lately the auto industry has been spewing visual crap in my direction. Their commercials are getting more and more ridiculous, and not in the sense that would make me want to run out and purchase their automobile. Prior to the past six months, there was a certain formula for a car commercial; someone driving the car very fast and making rapid turns (and throw down at the bottom in tiny print "Professional Driver on a Closed Course") only to reveal at the end of the ad that it was merely a middle class Mom on her way home from the grocery store. For some reason recently, the auto industry has decided that this was not selling enough cars (as a side rant, people generally feel a NEED for cars, and will do their own research into what they want and like. never would someone see an auto dealer and say something like, "What, Ford makes cars? Why did they not advertise so I might have known this before I purchased my Kia?") and every company hired a team of peyote and meth fueled think tanks to invent new advertisements that would better market the product. Let me highlight a few of my least favorite:

1)Some sort of large new Ford vehicle is driving around on the side of buildings. That is from where the title this week was derived, and I must admit, the first time I read, "This is a fantasy. Vehicles cannot drive on buildings." I had to have a little chuckle. But, I was not in anyway compelled to remember the name of this car nor to run out and trade in my car for this one. Now, on the other hand had they actually made a car with side of the building driving abilities...now we are talking.

2)There is yet another large vehicle, maybe made by Nissan? Anyways it is dropped off a crane, is so tough and heavy that it falls all the way through the center of the Earth, which is evidently inhabited by some sort of strange race I think was last seen on the Fraggles, and the vehicle ends up in China. Thanks Nissan, but after Lexington Road in Louisville caved in a few years ago, I don't want a vehicle that could fall all the way through the Earth.

3)Kia has an ad out where some of their "salesmen" are singing that "So Long, Farewell" song from the Sound of Music. Logically they are singing bye to cars and not bidding farewell to the Austrian and Nazi dinner guests at their home. This is a ridiculous concept and as several of my friends have mentioned, "If I walked into an auto dealer and they were standing around singing like that...I would be out like a fat kid in dodgeball." There is some valid truthiness to that statement.

4)Some other large Nissan vehicle, driving to the beginning of the song Ironman through some abandoned warehouse filled with odd piles of dirt. The text on the screen then reads something like "In the old days a man would break his leg"....."And only be out for one play" I am calling your bluff Nissan..maybe in the old days men would not have pansy injuries like turf toe or pulled hamstrings...but broken legs will sideline anyone.

Social networking website myspace, through some sponsership from some film, now allows users to post up to 300 pictures. The day anyone I know has this many pictures on their page is the day I am done with myspace. I said it, and I will do it.

So, my motto sort of thing for 2007 is something like "Don't just talk about it, be about it." You know, don't just talk about doing stuff, do stuff. You want to go skydiving? Pick up the phone and schedule it. You want to go buy something you've had your eye on? Go buy it. Do stuff. Make shit happen. I know it is not a big deal, but I had been talking about buying a couple new rugs for the casa, so the other day, I just went and did it. No more talk. Just action. So I have also decided to make some stuff happen with my life. In some sort of order here are the plans for 2007:

1)After January, look for a new job, if the new job kicks it hardcore, the law school thing can sit back a bit...who knows maybe even at night with tuition reimbursement from the company?

2) Study for the LSAT, take the LSAT in June. Apply to a few law schools in the Chicago area, as well as the University of Louisville. If I suck too much to get good scholarships to schools up here, I will move home to reestablish residency and go to law school there (unless my parents charge as much rent as I pay here, which would make my idea of living at home for less moot). I am leery of this idea because I would basically become a stranger to my Chicago friends. Even if they say I wouldn't. Ask Dave Prak about how this works.

So that is the plan. If anything I am trying to make something happen. Even though I get the idea that being a lawyer even would not be the best cutout for me. I need to be a homeless predicter of the future at a bus stop or something. My wit would be best used then. If anything the crazy path I am setting out on now will make my E! True Hollywood Story very intriguing..."Tim after working at an accounting firm for three years, set out and obtained a law degree...it was not until after that when he became one of the biggest stars...and saddest tales that SNL has ever seen....on tonight's E! True Hollywood Story"

I finally was able to get my iPod shuffle up and fully functional and after a couple weeks of usage, although it may be early and rather presumptive...I am in love with this device. It holds mucho songs, charges by way of my computer, the sound quality is great, and even though while running I could still hear the music, I have been convinced at least three times that the tiny device had been lost. Good work iPod.

And now, an excerpt from that book I have been working on (which I am going to finish in 2007 even if it means my untimely death)

"This is when all the chicanery of having two children very close in age to one another finally began to show itself. We used to play tricks on our parents, elaborate schemes boiled up with the help of the neighborhood homeless and the local fireworks distributors. Ahhhh…. those were the days. Our parents, being new at the whole parenting thing, were unsure how to punish us, and were so lax, we would often commit petty misdemeanors and receive as punishment something as light as not receiving every gift we wanted for Arbor Day (yes my family was really big on Arbor Day. We would gather around the chainsaw in the living room ((I meant extremely Anti Arbor Day…we fuckin hate trees, son)) and hand out our gifts that were brought by Ashy, the forest burning not well put out cigarette mascot of ours…you always had a long list of stuff you wanted and most of the time would get it, unless of course, you were being punished) which would always seem like a big deal at the time, and we would throw our fits and proclaim that we “loved trees” and “the Earth”…only to cause our parents to warn us that Ashy would hear us and never bring gifts again. And of course we were not idiots, we would logically cry until our parents rescinded their comments and showered us with more gifts and affection."

HOLLA

It's like playing a ukulele

Thoughts scribbled on 17 cocktail napkins for some reason in my pocket (and for stranger reasons I wrote on them)(and for even stranger reasons you believe that I actually a)had 17 napkins in my pocket and b)wrote on them))

So, today is December the 26th, in the 2006th year since that crazy Jesus character was supposedly born. All I know is, on his birthday, many people in the world, rather than get him anything, exchange gifts with one another, as well as receiving gifts from a certain "Santa Claus". This "Santa Claus" character was very good to me this year, in part due to the fact that when my youngest sister put out Santa's requisite "Milk and Cookies" (and cheese, since there was one of those "behold the power of cheese" commercials with Santa in it a few years back, and Nora really gets down with some cheese), I added a shot of whiskey and some lines of corn starch to give Santa the impression he was getting some fine nose candy to help him through his evening (out of kindness I also rolled a dollar bill for ease of use).

Santa took the whiskey and the corn starch, although surely sans cocaine like effect, was moved around.

Then the gift opening began. One after the other Santa got me some of the most ballin ass gifts that I had wanted. Among them:

-One of those new iPod shuffles
-A fancy grown ass man work coat (which makes me feel like either a classical pianist or a Matrix character...two strange dreams of any man)
-New running shoes
-A sweet ass tennis racket

So, if you want to know the trick, give Santa some fake weasel dust (or Aunt Nora, Big Bloke, Coca, frisky powder...don't worry I looked these all up....I am not that up on my cocaine terminology....besides I only like my blow in mountainous form...hahaha) and a shot of whiskey. (Or have a well defined not too gaudy list and generous awesome parents...one or the other)

This weeks subject was from a decree I made on Saturday evening while my family and I had the "joy" of dining with my 90-some odd old grandmother at her retirement home community. The phrase "it's like riding a bike" used to signify that something, once learned, is easily repeated even if a duration of time has passed is henceforth replaced by "it's like playing a ukulele". There is a back story behind this, but alas I do not feel like telling it.

In last year's just before New Year's blog, I suggested a couple of grandiose New Year's Eve speeches (they follow in italics, and they still could work for this year...or maybe I just crack me up)

A New Year's Eve toast should alienate at least three people you are with, or lead everyone you are with to believe they are a part of an elaborate Ashton Kutcher/Alan Funt hidden camera trick.

For example:"As we enter this new year, everyone raise your glass and drink if you don't have at least six STD's" (After everyone drinks (since no one wants to own up to this) randomly then say three people's names and something like "and BLAH, BLAH, and BLAH are liars" (then pause for laughter) then say, "No, I'm serious, those guys have been around more than the first merry go round" (pause for laughter again, then put in video you borrowed from the library about the perils of STD's and make everyone watch)
or

"To all of my friends and family who have used the restroom tonight...you just got PUNKD!!! And also, the drinks have all been non-alcoholic so (fill in blank), you can stop acting like that."

Wow, it is hard to believe I was just as funny one year ago...pause...NOT. In keeping with the rules of a fine New Year's Eve speech, here is a new one, which brilliantly combines a Candid Camera situation with the absolute mockery and "scarlet letterification" (booyah that is a good word) of three people.

"As we get ready to leave this one year behind us, and enter the new year, there are three special people who have already begun this transition as a new cohesive team unit (at this point you should produce a shoddily made fake tape with three people in it who resemble any three people you wish to shame, the three people should either be involved in some sort of lurid sexual situation or strange cult like situation....your call). As we watch this video, let us too remember to be more open next year and permitting or new chances and people in our lives. (The just crack up because you are drunk and hopefully a room full of people are standing with their mouths open while three scramble to stop the tape)...Salut"

So that might be quite a bit of work, but no one said entertaining was simple, aside from that Martha Stewart freak possibly. Good 2006 to you, and an even better 2007.

I thank for things after 97% of the year, not at Thankgiving

It hit me today, all of a sudden, much like a moving vehicle strikes a blind pedestrian sans walking stick thingy, "Holy shit self, Christmas is next week! And then New Year's is right after that...where in the hoodad did 2006 go? And also food goes in your mouth, not your eye, self. Silly man creature."

So yes, I checked my cellular telephone device and confirmed that today was in fact the 19th of December. Which means the holiday many celebrate known as Christmas (literally derived from "Chri" meaning "orangutan fallopian tube" and "Stmas" which means "I would not smell that if I were you") is less then a week away. And the holiday many more celebrate known as Kwanzaa is pretty damn close too. Which is a whole other story altogether (but very short: I once declared I was celebrating Kwanzaa to try and avoid going to church on Christmas). Anyways, all leapfrogging aside, a year has nearly passed and in some sort of quasi-serious manner, I need to act confused, as if this was Thanksgiving, and say what I have been thankful for in 2006. What can I say? I follow many rules, but not the one of cornily being thankful for things in mid-November....what if you find something new to be thankful for in December? Tell me you would even remember it next November when you are high on tryptophan, ludes, and vicodin.


Family- These people always come first. It helps I guess that I have pretty much the awesomest family around. They don't smell too bad, they occasionally help out with stuff, they have not racially profiled anyone they do not know, and best of all, my Mom makes some good Chex Mix. No really in all seriousness, my family has been great this year, helping me out when I needed help or someone to talk to, putting up with my various antics and ridiculousness (and maybe even buying me an ethnic slur billboard? ((fingers crossed)) I am sure at times people could wonder how one would ever want to go about crossing someone in our family seeing as I can envision my Dad cooly throwing a molotov cocktail into a car then walking away like nothing happened. The whole family is awesome. Trust me on this.

Friends- I also happen to have the most baller ass friends in the world. I know you are thinking how did one man luck out to have the nest family AND friends? Well, I pay my friends and my family has yet to figure out how to change their residence without me finding it. My friends are the most ragtag collection of people that combine to be able to put up with me and my moodiness, vile stench, and dragon adoptions. Ok, ok being serious again, my friends really are awesome. They have helped me through some nonsense this year, made me laugh, made me think, introduced me to people who are newer friends, and consumed liquor with me to make sure I was not doing that all by my lonesome. Even if I am an asshole most of the time, I do value your friendship.

Sandwiches- People might think I am joking about my love of sandwiches, but I am not even close to playing. Without sandwiches, suddenly 75% of my meals are gone. I love you ham and provolone, peanut butter and jelly, turkey and cheddar, peanut butter and bugles (alright so that was a drunken invention last week when I was very low on groceries...and I am not even sure I liked it all that much) and all your other friendly combos. Thank you for your presence in my life.

Humor- I have begun to realize that one of my main goals in life is to consistently be laughing at something, whether it is something I am reading, something I am watching, or looking at (like a weird picture I decided to take on my phone). I guess this is slightly problematic at times to be trying to laugh at everything, like at work meetings, but I can always just pass it off as genetic juvenile dementia. Actually no one would probably think that was very funny aside from me.

Beer and Liquor- I am not extremely thankful for these two guys as much as I am for the other things on my list, but they have been a big part of my 2006. At times, maybe a little too big (like when people are accusing you of your "life spiraling out of control"...it did not happen to me, but to a guy I know...and if it was in fact "spiraling" it was a weak ass spiral...I continued, I mean the guy continued working 40 hours a week, paying his bills, all that good stuff), but when needed it definitely helped to provide some fun situations. So hops, barley, yeast, and whatever the hell most liquors are made of, thanks. But come around a tad less in 2007, ok?

To be honest I had no idea what I was going to speak about when I sat down and began typing. So, I am definitely thankful for more things, and definitely more important things than the five listed above (especially with number 3 being sandwiches...my priorities are not that out of wack). Yes, but happy 2007. And I will probably write something next week, maybe advertising a chance to get a New Year's kiss from me.....how fuckin creepy.

Manliness Exudes

My friend Eric Proctor, while never having spoken to me directly about this, has several times mentioned that when he wakes up in the morning his goal and plan for the day is to "exist as a man". And right now you are probably thinking, well what the hell is he going to exist as that day...a guppy? an albino crocodile? a homeless transgendered individual who is from Houston (Aside: I have been noticing a great number of people in the Chicagoland area with cardboard signs stating that they need to return to Houston. So, either the people of Houston have a proclivity for purchasing one way tickets here and then lacking the funds to return, or the great people of Texas are sending their worst our way, which makes them not so great)? But as I have come to adopt "Manism" as part of my life philosohy (other than one time when I said my life philosophy was that of a "Liver" in an impromptu speech in speech class, obviously not thinking ahead and saying that my life philsophy was that of an internal organ....I really meant I just live...duh) I have come to realize it is much more than just being. Existing as a man has certain qualities that can make everyday more manly. And existing as a man is key.

HOW TO BE EXTREMELY INVOLVED IN MANLY EXISTENCE:
If you want to be 100% sure you are existing as a man, combine the following five ingredients.

1)Spicy Chicken Products
-If you are consuming some spicy chicken products, you are more than likely existing as a man. Women also consume these products, but not at such great rates as men, nor at such spicyness.

2)Beer
-If you are drinking beer with your spicy chicken products, you are deeply involved in existence as a man. While women can still combine these two, they are more than likely "cooler" than other women.

3)Football
-If combining the first two ingredients with football, we have now begun to define and shape existence as a man. These three together are very mantastic.

4)Other men to partake in the first three with you
-If you are with other men eating spicy chicken, drinking beer, and watching football, congrats you are existing as a man, but since some women can still do all of these, we must add our key 5th ingredient.

5)Have male anatomy
-If you are a woman with male anatomy, you also might be existing as a man. Sorry about that (Jamie Lee Curtis)

While the above 5 ingredients guarantee existence as a man, you do not need to have all of them everyday in order to exist as a man. But it is important to have a mindset as if you WERE partaking in at least the first three everyday. So while eating other foods, think back to that glorious spicy chicken product you consumed. While watching TV, remember a key football play. While sipping on that water, use visualization and taste memory to remember that glorious beer.

And please, if trying to replicate the five ingredients, substiture when necessary but never woman up the ingredients. You cannot eat quiche instead of spicy chicken products and still exist as a man. You cannot substitute a fine Merlot instead of beer. You cann watch a girly sport like diving or gymnastics. And you should not hang out with your grandmother's knitting circle.

If you are to make substitues, try and make them more manly to ensure you are still, in fact, existing as a man. No spicy chicken? Eat one of those giant turkey legs. Out of beer? Drink shots of whiskey. No football on? Watch some ultimate fighting. No men available to watch the game with? Find some of those "cooler" women who have some notions of manly existence.

The following are great men who were precursors to Manism:
-Chuck Norris
-Bill Brasky
-Ving Rhames
-Mr. T
-Patrick Swayze in "Roadhouse"

That is all. Thank you for your time.

If at first you don't succeed, skydiving's not for you

I am going to skip the foreplay this week of an opening paragraph filled with the not so whimsical details of recent events of my mundane life and get right down to the quasi-humor that you come here to read. Well actually maybe you really enjoy my opening paragraphs and find the rest of the "blog" content to be trite and unimportant, filled with lackluster drivel and unfulfilled promises. (Unfulfilled promises? What am I even talking about? You'd think I was writing this for my admiring cult followers....but I am not ready to drink the juice on that notion yet) Oh well. You're here, you're queer, get used to it.

Deal breakers. Every person probably has an internal set of these that they apply to the opposite sex (or same sex if that's how they get down) whenever searching for some sort of amorous connection. If you don't know what a deal breaker is, I will save you the shame of having to ask your children/co-workers/friends/parole officer. According to urbandictionary.com:


deal breaker:

A deal breaker is ‘the catch’ that a particular individual cannot overlook and ultimately outweighs any redeeming quality the individual may possess.

Example:
The deal breaker was that she was married with kids and I don't condone adultery.

This example was just the one from the website, not necessarily one of mine. Even though it probably should be since I am an upstanding individual with morals and ethics and no desire to break up a happy home with the phenomenalness that is Tim. Thanks be to God.

Anywho, I came up with some of my deal breakers. And maybe you share some of them. In fact, I would love if everyone who read this would list of their own unique reasons to hate on someone.

1)Smoking
I do not smoke. I find it gross. Mildly offensive. And plus I have no desire to makeout with a tobacco leaf (that was an awkward phase of my life, driving down to the tobacco fields of eastern KY and practicing making out with tobacco leaves....I cannot bear to be reminded) not now, or later, or really ever. So get the patch, drop the cancer stick, and let me know...unless of course you also have...

2)Perpetual "spinach tooth"
This does not necessarily mean the girl always has literal spinach stuck in her teeth, but she always has some food that can get stuck in there, stuck in there. Poppy seeds, spinach, random chunks of meat...they always have one around. Rather than humiliate them publicly by giving them a roll of dental floss (Glide, for those hard to reach places) or telling them they have crap in their teeth, I will probably instead make up a tale about my family in Cameroon to let this girl down easy.

3)A not bad, but odd smell
There are certain members of society, like the homeless, sewer workers, sanitation engineers, drifters, and prostitutes who just smell bad most of the time. Then there are those people that do not smell bad, but those girls who think that their curry-cherry perfume smells great. If you make me want to eat Indian food when I am around you, no thanks. Get a normal perfume, even if thousands of other women wear it...at least you know it works.

4)Bench presses more than me
I am not the manliest of men, nor the strongest, but if a female is lifting a greater amount of weight then me, she must be either a)gigantic, b)on steroids, or c)Nick Mangold's little sister. This would both deflate my ego and gross me out. And plus she might not fit into my strict height restrictions of 5'3" to 5'10"..those will never change. Sorry short or tall women of the world....although I guess love could overcome this height issue...but I am really tall and tiny little women make me feel like Shrek or something...and then the tall ones make me feel less mantastic

5)Her favorite restaurant is Old Country Buffet
Really anyone who would name this as their favorite place to eat concerns me as a human. Especially if they reference this place as somewhere to get a "good ________"....no you are wrong you CANNOT get a good teak there. I need someone more sophisticated than this.

And then some that need no explanation:
-Is not a Russian mail order bride
-likes hockey
-Has a Jesus fish on her car
-Bathes in parsnips
-Enjoys Adam Sandler's first film
-Has political views on par with Jack Kemp

So I am sure that I have many more reasons that I quantify as real reasons to stop liking/not like/avoid like she has the plague but I cannot think of them now. List some of your own. I will wittily banter with you about them.

Good day, good sir.

"Right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train"

The Chicago Cubs have hit the offseason with a boom, making such huge free agent signings as Alfonso Soriano, a man who, even though his actual birth certificate will reveal him to be currently 56 years old soon, is the top player available. This gives me confidence that Cubs general manager Jim Hendry might have finally collected if not all, at least a portion of his marbles, and might make some more logical moves before the season. So that Mr. Hendry does not have to focus on all aspects of baseball operations and acquisitions, I have some non player related suggestions to help him out:

1) I think, even with the classical feel of Wrigley Field and the Cubs, we need a mascot. So either just go ahead and appoint Ronnie Woo-Woo full time or acquire some sort of actual bear. Yes, I think this would put some bite into the team if we had a however the hell much they weigh Kodiak bear snarling somewhere by the opposing bullpen. Maybe even feed it live prey during the 7th inning stretch.

2)While Cubs fans have at times had decent heckling abilities (like the time the Dodgers bullpen got into a fight with the surrounding fans), we need to lure some of the top hecklers away from their teams. Like Spike Lee, would you like to be a Cubs fan? Sure you might taunt Albert Pujols and cause him to hit 5 homers in one game, but the long term effects ought to be better than that. (Also the Cubs should sign Ron Artest for the grounds crew or something...he would be great to have around in an on field brawl)

3)From time to time, the Cubs offer silly little promotions, like a free chance to win a jersey to the first 10,000 fans. Decent, yes, but how about some crazy stuff to really get people there early and spending money. Like, "First 5,000 fans Get Entered for a Chance to Pitch the 8th Day"...with all this offensive pop we could handle it. or " Chance to Win a Date with a Player's Wife of Your Choosing Day" I'd be all about that.

So, up until this past Sunday I had a growth of facial hair on my face for the last three weeks, and it was coming along pretty nicely but I must say that I felt rather grizzly and may have in fact been becoming quiter in the mornings like some sort of lumberjack, and I was also growing increasingly aware of the chance to lose things and get things stuck in this hair growth. So then I shaved and was then accused of looking very young. Facial hair does not promote a 12-15 year swing in appearance I don't think. Am I wrong on this? Does long hair make people look older? Not really. Or the worst one I get sometimes from clients trying to guess my age, is that they thought I was older because of my height. Goofballs. It is always funny when they give me a little bag of candy around Halloween and tell me to take it home to my "wife and kids". If by that they mean Paul and Logan for the two of them to eat when they get drunk, then that is what I do.

Good day.

I hate the way you smell after you take a tomato juice bath

Shut the hell up. Seriously just sometimes it is better to just shut the hell up. I am referring, of course, (that of course makes no sense whatsoever, because it implies some sort of logical segue I am going to make, when I have established no precedent for one....this is what is going on in my head whenever I write something....and now, you, the reader, ((or I should just say Mom since she is my most loyal follower)) are thinking the logical segue might have to do with the voice in my head shutting up....and now that thought has crossed my mind too, but no) the numerous taunting phone calls I received after the University of Louisville football team had its national title hopes dashed last night at the hands of Rutgers. This taunting is dumb and silly. Think about it: 1)you know I am not going to be happy c)you know I love Louisville sports #$%)I am like a hornet's nest at times, and especially when drinking and my team lost. So don't do this. Sure, I want a double standard here, and still wish to be at liberty to call you when your team has suffered an awful defeat, so let us just respect that.

The suburbs of Chicago hate children. There is no way to put a positive spin on that. Let me explain (even though I think this paragraph would be more effective if I offered no explanation): One of my favorite memories of being a child, three years ago, would be when my Dad had raked all the mold-infested, slimy, wet leaves that had fallen off the trees in our rustic Kentucky backyard farm (hahaha lying) and we children would then run and jump in the pile, and using or homemade shivs we had produced earlier with Grandma, then try and violently stab one another. So much laughter, blood, and screams. Just kidding, we just used to jump in the leaves, I was trying to sensationalize things a little bit.

Getting back to the point of children and hate mongering in the Chicago suburbs, the people here all rake their leaves into the streets. Which makes it stupid for driving, and dangerous and nearly unthinkable for children to play in these piles. I, personally always used to love hiding completely in the leaves, pretending it was my personal dead-moldy leaf sandy beach. Which is weird because I hate sand. But if a kid hides in the leaves here, they will be run over by a car, driven by me.

What an election we just had. I love election time. And due to my special story fabrication abilities, and previous political experience (student council president in 8th grade, student senator freshmen year in college ((where I got the ping pong table I promised))) I am throwing my name in the ring for the next round of House elections...in six years. Damnit.

Unicorns and the People that Believe in Their Existence

Hopefully you were not enticed to read this particular entry to read of my views of unicorns and the people that believe in them (let me just say, those people are 95% of the time FREAKS...unless they are for some reason some really hot, crazy girl with a unicorn tattoo on her back....that would be sweet....because hot/crazy girls are the best...for conversations that have no real rhyme or reason) because you are sure to be sorely disappointed. Although, if you really hoped for dialogue on that subject, send me a message or comment or something, and I'll see what we can do. Also I was watching some old SNL and that Kevin Nealon character "Mr.Subliminal" was on, and I forgot how funny that guy was...he would always just say random things under his breath while speaking as a way to work subliminal thoughts into people's minds...I am not sure it will work at all written, but at the very least I can be amused.

As we move from the month long saturnalia known as Oktoberfest into the dismally cold and dreary Hungovember I feel the need (to eat cheese) to address what I have failed to notice has always been one of my favorite holidays: Halloween. It offers the opportunity to (see girls dressed scandalously) wear a costume, eat some candy., shamelessly frighten people until they urinate on their pants, and maybe even throw an egg at someone if they frighten you while you are making your annual Halloween omelette (you weirdo, who eats an annual omelette for Halloween?). As I said, I (think you should remove your pants) really enjoy Halloween. Now, we can delve into the history books for a series called "The Halloween Costumes I Have Been that I Can Remember at my Advanced Age".

Age 3 - I think I was a ghost. Evidently my parents had not nurtured me creatively yet, or maybe I was slow and still unable to speak and thus it was more of a "throw a sheet on that dumb child of ours and hope no one notices the drool" than anything else.

Age 4- I had made a pact with the (United Arab Emirates) Devil that allowed me to be awesome at all times, and therefore dressed up as the Devil....it was pretty cool.

Age 5- Ummmm......did you have a question?

Age 6- My parents made a phenomenal skeleton costume for me, if I recall, even staying up late the night before Halloween so that the glow in the dark paint they used would dry before I wore it in to school the next day. Imagine me, much smaller, no front teeth, extremely curly hair, wearing a little full body skeleton costume with little gloves and little booties to cover my feet....I used to be cute at some point.

Age 7- I was a genie. It was pretty awesome but some of the tired (you are sleepy) lines I heard from my fellow second graders were, well, tiring. "Do I get a wish?" "Go back in your lamp douchebag." "Enough with the racial slurs." Tiring.

Ages 8-18- I don't really recall the order of my costumes during these ages, but I do recall at least some of them:
-A girl...I was hot
-Frankenstein- still very hot
-A hockey player (I think I was this one just because I wanted to wear my Dad's old shin guards we had down in the basement, since I have never been a hockey fan and have been ice skating a grand total of two times in my life...so...for the love of the game I guess)

Alright, so I guess I only remember three costumes. I could apply thought and whatnot, and I am sure I could contact (the dead) my Mom or something and she would let me know about all those missing years, but this is not a Wikipedia entry or anything.

Age 18- I was a "Dude"...I wore shorts and a t-shirt, a Gilligan style hat that had blonde hair sewn into it (which I had purchased at the beach, for some reason believing it would come in handy), and sunglasses. Not shabby

Age 19- I was Abraham Lincoln. Not sure why at all I picked this one, but all I know is that when I went to Joe's house for their Halloween bash, many little kids were frightened of me...something about the hat made me seem even taller than I am I guess.

Age 20- A very Will Ferrell-esque Spartan cheerleader. This was one was (shut up) sort of fun.

Age 21- A female volleyball player. I was running low on costume ideas, and dating a female volleyball player, so spandex was readily available. Thank goodness I have very sexy legs.

Age 22- Batman who never left his apartment. This Halloween never really got off the ground, and now I lost the head and ear part, so I cannot even wear the costume around the house. How disappointing.

Age 23- Peyton Manning from that Sprint commercial. It was all good and a well enjoyed costume until I lost the mustache and became a drunkard in a wig and Peyton Manning jersey.

So, Halloween=Terrificness.

With the upcoming political elections (go vote, assholes) one cannot help but be inundated by a slew of campaign ads. Watching these with my friend Paul, he pointed out the funniest thing ever. Just listen to the music shifts on these bad boys. When they are harpooning their opposition, the music is low in tone, deep and slow. Then they switch to talking about the candidate and the music is bouncy and light. Quite funny. And the candidates are always doing normal everyday activities in the ads...walking through fields of sunflowers with puppies and babies and feeding the homeless at the same time....how touching.
HOLLA

I'm Tim, and I have all my toes and fingers! Interested?

Calm yourselves minions, the title was not an actual pickup line or anything I have ever used in some feeble attempt to pickup women (for those feeble attempts I usually tell the story about the time I saved puppies and senior citizens from that fire, or show them pictures of Wrigley, or carry around a picture of babies playing with puppies in sunflower fields...or seek Trevor's advice on the situation...ZING!) but rather an example of a line I would use if I was on the MTV dating show NEXT! For those of you not familiar with the bountiful genre of dating shows MTV now offers, prepare to be immersed in a skillet of bubbling oil, greed, and corruption that you'll wish you had never known. Mainly I wish I had never known about these dam catchy shows.

So...NEXT....there is one person who has five people, usually of the opposite sex (although sometimes the same which turns it into the best episodes because then the people on the bus get it on with each other) vying to win their hand for a second date. The five people sit on a bus together, acting like idiots, and the one person if finding unfavor either with the physical appearance or due to sheer boredom or creeped-outedness say NEXT and the next person comes out.

As each of the five introduces themself, they say something totally weird like in the title of this entry. Seriously. This show is very entertaining for that reason alone. Here are some other fun made up ones.

"I'm Tim, and if you ever wondered what Malibu Ken was wearing, just look!"
"I'm Tim, and I always eat EVERYthing that is on my plate."
"I'm Tim, I am afraid of robots, but not of you!"

Very witty stuff here people.

Another fine show in the MTV Family of dating programs is the aptly named "Date My Mom". One guy goes on three dates, with three Moms, and based on that chooses one daughter. What pure comedic trash brilliance. This would be, by far, the hardest show to pick someone based upon because who knows what genes and mannerisms are getting passed down the daughter. Unfortunately, only one time in my viewing of this show have I ever had the fortune of seeing a guy go for the daughter of a Mom who was very attractive to be stuck with her genetically inbred daughter. The look on that guy's face was one of complete bewilderment and fear. Then the girl ate him, so his fears were VERY real.

BUT, although I thoroughly enjoy watching those two shows, my very favorite, yet at the same time the one that really makes me wonder about our society, is one called "Parental Control", which I may haved spoken of in this space before.

The premise of this one is that the parents of the son/daughter have a problem with their child's significant other, and so the obvious route is to bring this to cable TV, where you will have the opportunity for each parent to pick out a "date" for their child, which the parents will then watch video of with the significant other. I mean, duh....it is the only way to get through those times when your kid is going out with someone you do not like....how could a normal conversation ever work? You MUST pick someone new for them and then watch the video feed with the current girlfriend/boyfriend. Sadly (or more obviously then anything else) the child normally sticks with their girlfriend/boyfriend rather then one of the people they had spent an hour with. Humorously, I have a feeling my parents secretly would have loved to have put me on this show when I was going out with my last girlfriend. And I would never end up on this show, parents have a thing for me.

Although these MTV dating shows can provide quite a bit of fodder, real life things go on too, like the other night when I went to see The Killers. Although my sister Eileen suggested, "Try to nail Brandon Flowers in the head with a full bottle of water so he falls down. It would be an awesome story," I kept on the straight and narrow, somehow refraining from hurling any objects at anyone throughout the entire performance. Though I was most tempted when they tried playing some of their new crap rather than songs off their first album that people had actually heard. Please bands, if you just came out with a new album two weeks prior, keep it to the first single. Also, in what I expressed in a joking manner to Brian and Shannon on the way to the show, but very much hoped for, I wished the band would have come out and said "We know you came here to see us tonight, but we want to honor our very favorite band, Smashmouth"...and then they would go right into All-Star, by Smashmouth. I would be happy if they played only Smashmouth (or throw in some random band that would be weird to be covered here) or even this one song, and then told the shocked audience that they were just screwing around. It was a fun time. The Killers did not quite kill, it may have been more of a maiming or ferocious beatdown.

That is all. And unless you comment, kittens die, and I go to bed every night not knowing that you care.

Catapult me to fame, everyone I know (or else you get a knuckle sandwich)

While other blogistas are suffering from creative difficulties (J. Mulgrew, or Jason M. for anonymity purposes as I would never want to tear down a fellow creative mind in this space) I seem to be experiencing a flow of ideas that could only be likened to Niagara Falls, or maybe something profane like the liquid that might flow out of your body after eating White Castle and drinking beer (ewwwwwwwww.....that was so gross...but you get the idea). However, I feel at times that my creative musings are being wasted and falling on deaf ears because people just don't know about me, or about much of anything in general. So here is the game plan for catapulting me to fame. Everyone embrace your role, and once I am famous, I might let you do my yard work or something, with occasional water breaks.

Mom and Dad, you always said if there was ever ANYTHING I needed to let you know. Well what I need from you is to buy a billboard. On the billboard will be only two things: 1)The most vile racial slur/epithet that we can come up with (and you might be saying, but Tim, we are not extreme racists....and I am not either, I'll explain momentarily), and underneath that, the web address to this blog. I want this slur to be so vile that Ed Bradley is doing a story about it on 60 minutes, and then people will wonder, "Is that website one of racism and offensiveness?" and come visit this site, read of my humor, and shortly thereafter wish to feed me grapes and other fruits while I am fanned with palms and whatnot. So thanks Mom and Dad, you guys are the best.

Friends (non-female)- I will need you to let me move in with you and also to provide me with food...and liquor. This should only be for about a year or so, and after that I will pay you back by way of you getting to be in my entourage, which if you don't know much about entourages, they usually are pretty sweet.

Friends (female)- I was reading something about the writing creative process and it turns out it is very helpful to have girls in nurse costumes give the writer a spongebath at least once daily. If you guys do your part that would be great.

(also, you guys can e-mail the link of this website to anyone you know who likes to read funny stuff, that would be helpful too)

Jack Daniels corporation- I am not sure if anyone from this reads this blog, but I really love your whiskey product, and a couple barrels of it would be most helpful. I would even mention your product in my books, movies, and weekly in this spot....free advertising

All others, I really enjoy a fine rhythmic clap, so you can just stand around doing that everytime you see me. It would definitely help with the creative process.

So there, everyone has their roles, carry them out and you should know at least one famous person in no time.

Now some thoughts:

This past week I was out and my friend Melissa told some other guys that I was her best friend, and although we are best friends and I have no problem with it being so, when a girl tells other guys this information, a little known fact is that one of two phrases actually go into their ears:

1)"Tim is gay."

OR

2)"I keep Tim's balls in a jar at home."

This is a little known fact that women do not know about such phrases as this is that men actually have tiny translation devices just outside their eardrums that translate many phrases women say to us. Some others include:

When you say, "I'm really tired tonight, let's just cuddle"

we hear: "Cuddle with me for five minutes and then collect all the sex you want."

When you say, "I love eating pizza, but can we ever go out on a romantic date?"

we hear: "I love pizza too. Maybe later you can collect all the sex you desire."

When you say, "I'd really appreciate it if you would just lose my number and stop calling me at 4am"

we hear: "Call me the next time you are drunk, please....and I think I am in love with you."

If you want anymore translations, let me know.

Lately it seems that rather than a driving test, people should be given some sort of intelligence test. Because people just aren't getting it. I do not wish to share a lane with you on the highway. Unless you have some sort of half plasma car that will shrink down or just mold with the side of my car, if you merge into my lane with me, the results will not be good, and I know this because I had a couple years of physics in high school. Or because some obvious thoughts in my head say, "These extremely large metal heaps moving at 60 mph probably should not touch one another." Also, at 4 way stops, the random order or rolling stops that I have seen employed lately are really stupid. The 4 way stop was not a puzzle created by God to cause mental conundrums for humans. And the next person that rolls to a stop and tries driving out at me when I am still going through the intersection, I will not hesitate to stop my car, get out of my car, and come have a little chat with you. (this is not road rage, and the reason why I took that set of butcher knives out of my car)

I seem to have missed it entirely, and no one really pointed it out either, but this blog recently celebrated its one year anniversary. Ummm....so yes. What a grand achievement.

Thanks and that is all.

People Say the Darndest Things (not just kids)

No I am not going all Bill Cosby on you (but a little would never hurt "The kids, with the Jello, and the pudding pop, and the Pokemon, oh so wacky, with the goofiness") but it seems in the past couple of weeks people have been more and more prone to say ridiculous, dumb, or just straight up weird things to me. Who knows, maybe they aspired to have me write about them in this very popular forum (I think popular means at least 4 people skim your work, so yeah, total popularity going on right here). But really they shouldn't have because they are going to ripped some sort of new orifice (but really in all kindness I hope the new orifice proves useful...I mean the eyes, ears, and nose are all orifices and you don't complain about them...maybe you'll get some new sense...I don't know).

1)This past week at work I used the phrase "jump the shark" which means:

"Jumping the shark is a metaphor used by television critics since the 1990s. The phrase, popularized by Jon Hein on his web site www.jumptheshark.com, is used to describe the moment when a television show or similar episodic medium is in retrospect judged to have passed its "peak" and shows a noticeable decline in quality. Hein also uses the "jumping the shark" concept to describe other areas of pop culture, such as music and celebrities, for whom a drastic change was the beginning of the end. "

So basically it is like saying something is done-zo. And that all I was telling my co-worker (hopefully not telling him that either he or a family member had "jumped the shark" because that seems like it would be a creepy threat) was that something, in my mind, had done this shark jumping activity (I think it was about The Simpsons, a show which has definitely lost its luster). To which he asked me if I knew what it referenced, this whole phrase "jumping the shark". When I told him I did not he told me I could therefore not use the phrase.

First of all, it turned out to be some obscure reference to the TV show Happy Days, a show which was on before my years on this Earth. Secondly, unless I worked, not for Kenny & Kenny, a small accounting firm, but rather for the Oxford English Dictionary, which can tell you the first usage and root of every word, I have no idea why I would have to understand where every word or cliche came from that I ever spoke. If this were the case, I would have a vocabulary (and though it may already seem this way it is not true) limited to about 20 words and 20 phrases...many of which might be viewed as obscene, creepy or bizarre...so F all that noise.

2) Someone told me "You'll get what's coming to you."

Hahaha, I had a fine laugh at this one. What does this even mean? That I am going to get my ass kicked? No. That I have had a curse placed on me by a ninja? A more real, frightening possibility. That disease or natural causes will eventually cause my demise? Alright, yes this must have been what it meant. And if I did not already feel horribly not threatened by it already, it was told to me by way of text message, which for me, pretty much every text message strikes fear into my heart, as I am secretly a time traveler from 1217 and modern technology confuses me sometimes.

3) In watching NFL games the past few weeks, there is a commentator who enjoys saying that wide receivers, rather then merely catch the ball out of the air, prefers saying "capture the ball". He likes to make it sound like the ball is some sort of autonomous, free-willed creature often impervious to such attempts at capture. Newsflash buddy: IT IS A FREAKIN BALL MADE OF DEAD PIG PARTS AND FILLED WITH AIR. NOT A BEAST THAT WR AND TIGHT ENDS LUST AFTER IN ATTEMPTS TO CAPTURE.

4) When I told someone that I was writing some quasi-autobiography that was laced with fiction, they asked me , "Are you writing the made up fiction or the other kind?" No elaboration necessary.

Fun times to all, and to all a good 4:43 in the afternoon.

Don't do me like that. Actually just stay away.

Ahhhhh.....it feels good to be back, writing normal, funny type thoughts; like sliding into an old comfortable chair, what with its' aromas of Lysol, beer, and pasteurized cheese product and familiar spot that your bum just nestles into because you've sat there a time or two before or even passed out in that one time your sister gave you a giant horse pill when you were drinking only to discover the next day the effect was that of a placebo after she stated, "I think it was just a big Advil"..... I'd had enough of the hoo-hah fast paced style of writing that was needed for recapping Vegas. And for those of you that read it, you should not be surprised to learn that as time went by I was only becoming more and more prone to forget, and to forget stuff I scantly remembered in the first place. It was a fun time. Know that much.

That being said, I have been sloppy with my post-it note writing to remind me of the kabillion funny thoughts I have, but I managed to get down a couple that were legible and made sense (since some of these ideas strike me in the middle of the night, and Jerry Seinfeld style, I get up, write them down, sure of their comic qualities which make them like comin crude oil, only to awaken the next day and read a piece of paper that says "chinese food Manute Bol". It is indeed a funny combo, but the correlation would be a stretch....wait....unless they were on an episode of Dr.Phil together...anyways,) (and I know I do not need a comma or a lead in back to writing after a parenthetical phrase, but seriously, shut the fuck up, I do what I want) and they will lend o at the very least, about 7 sentences of brilliant social mockery and verbal punditry.

First of all, if you are not in tune with the sports world, there is a successful Wang toiling as a starting pitcher for the New York Yankees. And maybe I am juvenile and immature, but I would not say "wong" as it is supposed to be pronounced, I would constantly say wang, as it is a popular slang term for a certain part of the male, hemaphrodite, or transexual anatomy. You can tell someone at ESPN who writes the ticker that goes at the bottom of the screen has some fun with this, writing short blurbs like "Wang out 2-3 days, should not be out so long" or "Wang fined for inappropriate appearance in brawl" or "Wang does six batters in one night with 'sinker' "...and if I were on Sportscenter and had to say his name, shit would be on, son. I can't believe no one has recoginized how successful one Wang has been in propelling people to stardom. By far the most celebrity Wang since at least the reign of Bill Clinton. (what do I mean, reign? what an idiot. and no, I don't backspace...I KEEP'S IT REAL)

I am calling for a boycott of the Old Navy store. First of all, I saw one of their commercials this morning and it was very entertaining for me, and may have even been more so for a CHILD. So, yes, they are brainwashing youth, but with what you ask? They have a new slogan: Old Navy- FASH-ON! Oh, you say, I see nothing wrong with that. But what if I spell it out this way for you? FASC(ISM)-ON? Yes, they are brainwashing the youth of America to be little fascists. Now I will not argue with anyone and say that fascism is totally wrong (screw you, yes I will, I will argue fascism with you, who do you think I am, some non-argumentative son of a B? Have you seen how fascism in past has turned out? Think of the fascist leaders? Do you really think the guy in the $8600 parachute pants is gonna listen to that drivel? COME ON!) but I don't believe the youth culture of our country should be brainwashed into believing this crap. Old Navy? This is just a coy reference to the Russian Navy of yesteryear, back when they OWNED the Black Sea. So, no more Old Navy America...you can keep what you have, but don't buy anything new there (and I am sure no one will mind all that much seeing as it has been decreasing in quality there for a while)

YAH!

I have been living on a diet of Frosted Mini Wheats and beer, so excuse me

If I had a more quiet typing style, or one of those stealth keyboards, I would not feel so bad about doing all this typing at work. For goodness sakes, I work at an accounting firm, and there is just not this much writing involved. I often do say that I am sending e-mails, and I am sure that seems totally plausible. Plausible like believing that Tom Cruise is not totally wacked in the brain, plausible like hearing someone at a bar say they could beat up Michael Clarke Duncan, plausible like Mini-Me's NBA dreams. So, pretty much 100% believable.

The trip to Vegas is upon us. We leave in like 8 hours. This is not the time or the place to recount this epic summer, that could happen next week sometime, assuming I survive this trip. No, really. Actually if you think about it, this Vegas trip is like the Olympics and we have merely been in intense training all summer. Brian, Paul, and myself have to be some of the favorites...for...uhhh...something. Vegas just has that vibe wherein you can sleep for four hours and drink all day and still be ready to go the next day. Then again, evidently so does Forest Park and 742 S. Lombard....wait, wait....is it possible I have fostered a Vegas like environment in my own home? I feel like I just discovered fire. That explains so much.

The moustache (or mustache...I am not really sure about which one is preferred, or that I really care...I guess like British gentlemen have moustaches, and people who watch NASCAR have mustaches, and porn stars have staches...so I guess I have a mustache, because it is more on the NASCAR level, then the classy British gentlemen or Hercule Poirot type) is once again beginning to have its effects on the things I say. Logan first noticed last summer that I was saying creepy and degrading stuff when I was growing it. Like offensive things about women, and those damn Australians. I've noticed it happening again. Which is exactly what is needed this first night in Vegas. Me, with a mustache, being incredibly creepy. Hopefully I can even creep out my friends, but that is more challenging. (although a man to man back rub, and some sweet nothings whispered in the ear could creep anyone out)

It is my pledge to try and make every situation in life funny. I have missed that mark dreadfully with this writing, but luckily I succeed a lot in everyday life. And I am done. Before I say something witty and people enjoy it.

That's amazing, so much love, and also so much information

This upcoming weekend should be an epic one. Not epic like the Odyssey or like anything of any real importance or not even worthy of having a once proud word like epic placed near it. Alright I am not going to lie, I am just pumped up for the fantasy football draft (which people keep referring to as "the fantasy draft", which makes it sound like some sort of fantasy involving a draft, which could really only be a fantasy where you imagine getting picked number 1, going up there in your ugly suit, and shaking hands with the commish while putting on a hat). Fantasy football offers a whole other like 15 hours of things to look at during the work week. And, it also gives me a glimpse of this whole other side I have never known about myself, where I spend hours compiling Excel spreadsheets for the league with weird statistics.
There are a few types of people in a fantasy league, and it is always best to just be the cocky winning kind and not one of the other ones.

The Idiot- This guy sucks. He doesn't even really follow football, but his lack of friends and social interaction time make him want to be in the league. You can usually convince him to do some ridiculous trade, but obviously then everyone else gets angry and it is not allowed.

The Stingy Dude- This guy is like the Billy Beane of fantasy football. He has a shoe string budget and puts together a decent team, but his lack of spending will never propel him to the top. And he complains about the money a lot.

Guy who sets lineups weeks in advance and generally does not care- Not to be confused with the idiot, this guy is like the opposite of the stingy dude. He paid for a good team, paid league fees and that nonsense, but sets his starting lineup through week 9 and does not even check to see if he won. And then you have people like Brian and me keeping track of scores on post it notes dedicatedly. (oooo I am excited)

Guy who drinks too much Beer at the Draft and Makes some ignorant trade like Shaun Alexander for Michael Vick and Lamont Jordan- Unfortunately, this was me last year. I evidently decided my second QB was not good enough and I needed fantasy dickwad Michael Vick (he is always so enticing, but never that good). Fuck me on this one.
So, this year should be phenomenal. I love football season.

The mustache for Vegas is going to be exceptionally creepy this year as I have been growing out the goatee since August 1st. It itches like none other and made someone ask the other day if I was 30. I don't really like it at all, but if I can frighten some women and children with the stache, my life is complete.

My two friends Bryce and Melissa (Melissa, who only seldom reads this) are always being all whiny about not being in the blog. I keep telling them they have to do something funny and even then randomly hope I write about it, since this shit ain't exactly planned. So, I have decided to insert their names and some adjectives into a Mad Lib.....that should make them happy.
Amusement Parks (from some Mad Libs website)
Bryce and Melissa decided to hit up Six Flags. It should be known that an amusement park is always fun to visit on a hot summerhippo vagina. Bryce really does love those hippos, which is weird since he is a human...and Melissa...let's not go there. When you get there, you can rent aLucky Charm Man and go for a swim. Rent? Steal? Abduct? Whatever works. And there are lots of smelly things to eat, since these two smell bad 95% of the time anyway, they can't tell it smells. You can start off with a hot dog ona giraffe with mustard, relish, and moose on it. And their taste in food is not exactly what I would call mouth watering. Then you can have a buttered ear of firehose with a nice grimy slice of watermelon and a big bottle of cold Bacardi 151. Yummm...what alcoholics would not love a nice cold refreshing bottle of Bacardi 151? When you are full, it's time to go on theroller coaster, which should settle your lubricant which they both were a little presumptive in applying anyways...you weirdos. Other amusement park rides are the Dodge-Em which has little negros, that you drive and run into other anal beads, this is really the ride where it is at. And they both get down like that.and the Merry-Go-Round where you can sit on a big turd and try to grab the gold paper as you ride past, which is like the hunt for the Golden Ticket in Willy Wonka gone horribly awry.
I am too funny for my own good.