2/26/2007

Whoa! Even more bullet-ins

*When people wish to learn the sex of a strange dog, the first thing they do is look at the genitals. Sickos! I first check the name tag. Usually you luck out and the dog has a gender-specific name, like Chet or Buster or Princess. I estimate that I've forgone looking at 5 to 10 less doggie dirty parts by having the foresight to check the name tag first.

*There are two kinds of political leaders: those who want to ban things, and those who want to promote things. Banning and promoting, always. As a rule, politicians aren't “don't-fix-it-if-it-ain't-broken” kind of people. They're too ambitious. They like to fix things, even if they have to break them first.

*If I could travel back in time, I'd pat the Japanese kamikaze pilots on their backs and tell them, “The bad news is, you lost the war anyway. The good news is, we named a drink after you.”

*Anybody who thinks we're not making progress wasn't around when there were no cell phones and no debit cards. Nowadays, as long as you have those two items, you can reach anybody and buy anything. Using both together, you can talk to an attractive, anonymous whore for $2.99 per minute. Progress.

*Some animals have two legs. Others have four. Some have six. Some even have eight. Then the next animal in the progression, the centipede, has like a hundred legs. What happen to all the even numbers between 10 and 98? Also, you'll notice that the less legs an animal has, the more sophisticated and evolved it is; e.g., bees are more complex than spiders. One can surmise that amputees are the highest evolved creatures on the planet. No wonder we're being overrun with handicapped parking.

*Everybody's heard the adage, “Don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry.” But many of us could profit from the lesser known maxim, “Don't go spouse shopping when you're horny.”

*One of my hobbies is singing the songs of gay musicians who wrote songs before anybody knew they were gay, and then laughing at the lyrics in retrospect. For example, Elton John once sang, “...rolling like thunder, under the covers...” Ha ha ha! Takes on a whole new meaning, doesn't it? This also works with George Michael: “Wake me up, before you go-go, don't leave me hanging on my boyfriend's yo-yo.” Aw, Jeez! Remember all those teeny-bob girls dancing to “I want your sex...” Sorry darling. All George wanted from you was to borrow that blouse.

*I'm no animal rights activists, but I do feel sorry for chickens. Not only do we eat them, but we devour their unborn children, whether scrambled or sunny side-up.”

*Feminists have just discovered that BET music videos are "potentially degrading to women." They're a little behind the curve on this one, no pun intended. I've got a newsflash for feminists everywhere: music videos have been degrading to women since video killed the fuckin' radio star. I saw (I'm not making this up) a video on BET in which a male rap celebrity places a cocktail on a bikini-clad chick's ass! The woman in this video wasn't just a sex object; she was gangsta's coaster! This is art. Yet I can't tell a woman her new haircut looks nice without somebody handing my a pamphlet.

*Have you heard somebody place the word “make” on the end of a sentence? Example: “The ability to change a tire does not a mechanic make.” I respond to these nitwits something like this: “The fuck why there the verb did you place?”

*I don't like Ikea anymore. Comparing things to Nazism is trite, but with Ikea, the analogy fits so well. On the surface, Ikea is this hip, European alternative shopping experience. But underneath, it's just a big concentration camp. They actually have a path denoted with arrows that you must follow through the entire store. Deviate from the path and a minimum-wage stormtrooper sneers at you. By the end of the trip I feared the path would conclude in a Swedish gas chamber, or perhaps a post-modern convection oven. And don't even think about taking an item from the shelf. And don't make the same mistake I did where you take the item's tag. That tag is your own personal Star of David. “Excuse me, sir. Do you want to buy that product?” (Everybody knows that “sir” is employee-speak for subhuman bastard) “Don't pull the tag. Write down the number.” Evidently, you have to rummage through the warehouse dungeon at the end of the store and find your shit. Plus, everything's too small at Ikea. Yea, it's sleek and cool and fashionable, but too small – much like David Spade.

*I throw the term “douchebag” around a lot, but I've never seen an actual douchebag, nor do I know what one looks like. So I did a Google Image search on “douchebag.” The third image from the left had a picture of Ryan Seacrest.

*People complain about car emissions destroying the planet. Why do I have to think of all the solutions? Just do what I do. Plug the hole. There's a tailpipe through which all the bad stuff spits out. Plug it up with some cotton balls, a kitchen rag, some chewing gum, whatever you have lying around. Bingo, no more emissions. Speaking of cars, nowadays when I drive I get these awful dizzy spells. Then I soil myself and forget my own name for a day or two.

2/19/2007

Even more Bullet-ins.

*We trust our local banks to balance our accounts accurate to the penny. But have you ever seen a bank sign with the correct time or temperature? My local bank sign read the temperature at 131 degrees last summer. What the hell? Did I accidentally drive to Death Valley? And the time on the bank's clock is usually closer to Bangkok, China, then my home town. It's not fair. If I overdraft a nickel my bank whacks me for a fee. I think every time their digital clock makes me late for work, I should be able to tap them for 30 bucks!

*My gas gage must have a logarithmic scale. I drive 200 miles before the needle dips below "F." I drive 100 more and it slips to half a tank, which can't be accurate. Then I drive 50 more miles, and the needle plunges below "E." This is more confusing than that nine-tenths thing at the gas pump. Also confusing: the cruise control. How does the car know how fast it's going? It doesn't even know how much goddamn gas is in the tank! And if it can control the speed, why can't it steer, too? That way I could get some sleep on my way to work.

*Remember the good ole days when Yoga was known as "stretching?" Plus, the people who stretched out weren't so flaky.

*I'm hooked on this video game called SOCOM 3. It's a giant, 3-D war simulator. It's a megaton of fun. Anyway, after getting my ass kicked sideways for 3 weeks straight, I flipped through the game's instruction booklet. I noticed they have a copy of instructions in French. That must mean there's a French version of the war game. I wonder where the SURRENDER button is on the Sony PlayStation. Seriously, try to say the phrase "French elite commando unit" without cracking a smile.

*Why does the catcher on a baseball team get his own special mitt? Aren't all the players "catchers?" They're all trying to catch the same ball, but they all have different mitts. There should only be one mitt: the one that best catches the freakin' ball. I know what you're saying right now: "LBB, the other guys aren't catchers. They're fielders." So then give them pitchforks and lawnmowers. Most of them are from Central America, anyway. Might as well have them tending the lawn while they're out there. Earn that green card, Pedro.

*People enjoy camping because the elements (fresh air, the night sky, campfires, serene waterfalls, hiking, etc) reconcile humans with their ancient ancestry. Camping is basically a biological nostalgia. We make contact with our lineage from 50,000 years ago. I don't like camping. It's too primitive. I prefer connecting with the past of 60 years ago. I hide the TV and computer. I find a good rocking chair, make a phone call from an antique, rotary phone, read a Mark Twain book, and live a puritan lifestyle for a day or two. Oh yeah, I also renew my hatred for Germans and gooks.

*Everybody hears about the atrocities in the American prison system. I know how we can fix them: free enterprise. Let the prisoners choose which prison to go to. Give them prison vouchers. Then the prisons would have to compete for business. Come to Pinal Country Prison, where the guard beatings are minimal and shower sex assaults are a thing of the past. Color-coded cells identify Black Panthers, Arian Nation Skin Heads, and embezzling tax accountants. Tattoo artist on duty. Sorry, no shanks allowed.

*You know all those barbwire tattoos you see? Usually they're around a guy's upper arm. I think these guys should be even more macho. Put the barbwire around your butt cheeks. Then, tattoo a "Keep Out" sign over your butt hole. Maybe a junkyard dog, too. Let the world see how non-gay you are, gayboy.

*Lots of movies feature a plot twist. To set the trap, the movie gets you to assume something in the beginning that isn't true later on, like the fact that the movie was worth $8.50 in the first place. Whoa, turns out this movie really sucks. Didn't see that twist coming, honey. Did you?

2/14/2007

LBB for kids

I just realized that I have a contingent of young readers. I'd like to dedicate a post to the kids who read my blog. Following is a collection of age-appropriate bullet-ins for my elementary school readers. Enjoy!
  • Here's a great idea for a television show: a legal comedy-drama starring only dogs. No human actors – all dogs. And the dogs would have human voices like in that one movie, Babe. The name of the show? Boston Beagle.
  • The best-tasting foods are colorful. That's why those darn crayons are so tempting. When Crayola names a crayon “Butterscotch Delight,” you almost have to bite into it. Can I get an Amen?
  • All the problem regions of the world just need a good snowstorm. That's probably why they're so bad – no snow. That would drive me crazy, too. The Middle East wouldn't have so many terrorists if it snowed there. They wouldn't be able to shoot their guns or press the detonation buttons so easily if their fingers were numb from making snowballs. Osama Been Sleddin'. Africa needs snow, too. The warriors would have to trade in their machetes for shovels. Plus, everybody would have to wear clothing and that would help control the population growth (you'll understand that last part in a few years, junior).
  • Sometimes I think Santa Claus is just a myth. Parents tell you Santa is watching you all year long to manipulate you into behaving. If that's true, I give them credit for contriving such an elaborate scheme. You have to admit it's more effective than threatening to hold your breath until you get your way. That gig never works. You know what might work? Threatening to tell the pastor all the swear words mom and dad say Monday through Saturday. Or else, trifling with the pistol dad keeps hidden in the closet.
  • Adults go to work and make all this money. But then they spend the money on bills and save and invest it and stuff like that. What a waste! When I grow up and get a job and all that money, I'm going to live in a candy house and drive a rocket car. Plus I'll have my own arcade room with all the games ever made. I figure I'll be able to afford it all, too, because I'm not getting married. That's gross.
  • I hate how my lunch has only a few cookies in it. That's bullcrap. I always tell my mom, Hey mom – just pack the whole bag of cookies. I'll bring home what I can't eat. My mom tells me I need a “balanced meal.” That's bullcrap, too. No matter what you eat, it all turns into the same poo.
  • My friend Cody taped playing cards onto his bicycle wheels so that when he rides, it sounds like a motorcycle. He wishes. It just sounds like an hour-long fart.

2/08/2007

Bullet-ins

  • The politically correct term for a prostitute is "sex worker." Yeah, they're calling prostitutes "sex workers" now. Does that make a pimp a "sex broker?" If the prostitute just gives handjobs, is she a "manual laborer?"
  • I'm not sure what my favorite word is, but swashbuckling is definitely in the top 10.
  • Whenever another person and I have a conflict, I like to take a few deep breaths, relax, drink a 40 oz malt liquor, and contemplate whether I'm going to meet him in the parking lot with a deadly weapon or whether I'll just pay someone else to cause him pain.
  • Smart is sexy. But witty can still get you a blowjob if you play it right.
  • Life offers many metaphysical threats to my sense of competence. The one presently coming to mind is the Ziplock Baggie. People, I have a confession to make. I'm 35 years old and still can't figure out how to operate a Ziplock Baggie. I always wind up with some half-way, kind-of-stuck together situation that I think is closed until I lift the bag and it spreads open. After I fumble with the bag a few more times and fail, I roll and wad the opening up and hope for the best as I place the Trophy of My Ineptitude in the fridge. Some people can dismiss a foible like this, but I don't have that kind of brain. I tend to obsess. I'll ask myself, If I can't handle a Ziplock fuckin' Baggie, what the hell can I do?
  • I dined at an In-and-Out Burger recently. I was surprised to learn they had booths. Furthermore, I was welcome to stay and enjoy the ambiance as long as I pleased. Regarding the peculiar name of this fine establishment, how fortunate they don't sell wieners.
  • So I guess chest hair is no longer sexy. Can somebody please call Kip Winger and give him the bad news?
  • You're not an addict until you're a jerk. That's the precise definition of "addict." It's a more palatable word for jerk. You can drink as much as a Kennedy; you're not addicted to alcohol until you start beating your family members, terrorizing your neighbors and disturbing the peace at local bars and sporting events. Then you're a jerk, so everybody tells you you're addicted to alcohol. Same with gambling. Until he starts hitting you up for money, gambling is just his "hobby." But once he starts asking to borrow money, it's suddenly "Hey, I think you've got a problem, man." Until brawlers in jogging suits show up at your work and kick the crap out of you, you're not addicted to gambling. You're just a "sports fan."
  • You know who I hate? Those motorcycle enthusiasts who tweak their bikes until they're as loud as Cindy Sheehan in a bear trap. You know what I'm talking about - those motorcycles that are as loud as jet engines. Even from a football field's distance, you can still feel the rumble in your chest. Every time one of those Harley Davidson closet homos rips by and jolts me from my state of tranquility, I exalt the knowledge that I'm only a pothole or an oil slick away from justice; namely, the rider getting a face full of asphalt. Put the muffler back on that thing, jerkoff. And it's ironic. I can't throw a gum wrapper out my car window without incurring $500 fines and possible jail time, but these motorcycle fucks can pollute thousands of square miles with their vroom vroom bullshit with impunity.
  • The auto mechanic always wants to "show you something." That's their sales pitch. You bring your car in for reasonably priced maintenance, and after they've had a look under the hood, they come back and ask, "Hey, can I show you something?" I always respond with "It's not a rash on your penis, is it? Just stop masturbating with Lava hand soap. Now go rotate my tires."
  • That Evanescence girl remorsefully sings "You never call me when you're sober." In this guy's defense, she's probably not nearly as attractive to him when he's sober. She should be buying him shots, not whining about his sobriety.

2/06/2007

WalMart doesn't have a leg to stand on

Last week I shopped at WalMart where I saw the oddest sight. This guy walked past me. Rather, he rolled past me -- in a WalMart Shopping cart. He was sitting in the cart's child seat. You may be wondering how a grown man could fit in such a small niche. It's because he had no legs! He was just a human stump propped up in a shopping cart. At first I thought he was one of those Slam-Man punching dummies from sporting goods. But once I saw the arms moving, I surmised it was a real person. I figured things out in a nick of time, too, because I was fixing on throwing a quick jab followed by a devastating right cross. Imagine how that police report would have read! Man sucker-punches double amputee in WalMart. Felony charges pending.

I don't begrudge the man his handicap. Having no legs is fine. Think of how much money one would save on pants and shoes! Furthermore, you'd win every pull-up contest you entered. What struck me odd was his means of ambulation, namely, a WalMart shopping cart. He couldn't roll it himself, unless he had an oar or a pogo stick or something. His family was pushing him along. In a shopping cart. How weird. Hey, you know what would have been great? If the amputee's name was Cartman. Odds are a million to one, but imagine that. Anyway, one would think a guy with no legs would have his own custom wheelchair, something more dignified than a wire basket with wheels. He's in a WalMart, after all (Incidentally, WalMart is the only place you'd see something like this; it's a cinch you won't find this guy rolling through Macy's). Why didn't he visit the toy aisle and pick out a red wagon or a skateboard? Maybe he could drive a kids' toy 4x4 jeep. Some naked lady mudflaps, a handicap sign for parking, a couple 6-volt batteries – he'd be all set. Just because you're handicapped doesn't mean you shouldn't put your best foot forward, if you're fortunate enough to have at least one.

But along he rolled in a shopping cart while several family tugged him this way and that. This oddity had me up wondering most of the night.

2/02/2007

Global Warming Manifesto

My Global Warming Manifesto

or

How I learned to stop worrying about the most ambitious socialist plot ever conceived and joined the "consensus."

I'm a believer. And like most believers, I'm going to become an annoying busybody and preach my gospel to everybody unfortunate enough to be within earshot. So here are the facts, people. Here's what the "scientific community" has ordained. This is what politicians and environmental activists expect you to believe, and me too:

1)The scientific community of 30 years ago (which warned the earth was cooling due to human activity) was either stupid or full of crap. So were the scientists who, since the early part of the last century, were at one time warning us about global warming, global cooling, global warming again, then global cooling again, the "population bomb" in which we'd all starve, the current epidemic of obesity, and finally, the detrimental effects of indecisiveness!

2)The computer models that give rise to global warming theory have been perfected and are infallible (they must be running OS X, not Windows!)

3)The scientists, geophysicists and meteorologists who remain skeptical of man-made global warming are all kooks and hacks, or in the pockets of Big Oil. In either event, they don't care whether we're destroying the planet because they're suicidal, misanthropic and hate their posterity.

4)The unusually warm weather in New England is significant, but the unusually frigid weather in the Southwest is not.

5)Hurricane Katrina, which killed about 1800 people, is the product of global warming, while The 1900 Galveston, TX Hurricane, which killed 6,000, wasn't (Incidentally, isn't it sad that among the 1800 precious souls who perished in Katrina, not one of them was Kanye West?).

6)Whatever warming scientists are accurately measuring is definitely not part of a normal weather cycle, an ice age climate pattern, solar activity, volcanic activity, any number of other meteorological forces or geographic changes, or just plain coincidence. (Think about this: Ninety percent of men exaggerate the measurement of their penis length, and that's just for bragging rights. You don't think they'd tack on a few degrees Celsius for an extra 5 million in research grants?).

7)While we've been destroying the planet during our 150-year industrial revolution, and while we'll continue to emit "greenhouse gasses" along with the rest of the industrialized world, if we stop debating and act right now, we can arrest the cataclysmic progress of global warming -- by cutting back some arbitrary amount determined by whatever big-mouth, sanctimonious global warming figurehead attains power. But only if we stop debating right now. Otherwise, it's too late. Not "too late" like it was 15 years ago when, despite knowing better, everybody bought SUVs and revved up factories, construction and manufacturing. Too late for real this time. We can still be saved. Convenient, huh? Why don't these "experts" warn us about something useful, like the tipping point of popularity for the Macarena or reality TV programming?

8)Only American-made greenhouse gasses are detrimental. Chinese, Indian, Russian, Brazilian, Eastern European, Middle-Eastern and Venezuelan greenhouse gasses are inert. In fact, they impart on the atmosphere a crisp, clean refreshing scent reminiscent of Aqua Velva.

9)Global warming skeptics -- scientists and laymen alike -- are modern-day equivalents of holocaust-deniers and "the world is flat" rubes. Furthermore, they may need to suffer criminal and/or civil penalties for their "crimes." I say we force them to listen to NPR broadcasts until they die of boredom.

10)The earth's climate has cycled for 4 billion years and has often been hotter than it is now. But that's nothing to consider. This time around, it's purely man-made (like most of the nice boobs you see).

11)Higher taxes and more government regulation will reduce the distance we drive to work, the amount of energy to power homes, hospitals, schools and factories, and the amount of cow farts sounding on the open range. Excuse yourself, Bossy! Incidentally, any geographic feature that can't withstand cow farts doesn't have a Chinaman's chance, anyway.

12)The ozone hole that disappeared, but that we obsessed about and reproached ourselves for making, in no way discredits the same experts who've now latched on to global warming.


...There you have it - my manifesto on man-made global warming. So, are you ready to be saved? I'm not talking about coming to Jesus. I'm taking science. You, my dear reader, are a sinner. Your way of life is evil. You need to be saved. You need to accept Al Gore into your heart. Ask yourself, What Would Al Gore Do?

Come on! Join The Consensus.