Wow - A Monumental Adventure Of Thrilling Magnitude

Free points

Eric, an insurance claim adjuster, was having a tough time adjusting to claims that he wasn't as good at tennis as he thought he was. 

'What do you mean?' He asked, when it was first mooted. 

'Look it doesn't matter, just I wouldn't boast about it so much, is all' replied Kevin, his regular tennis opponent, and recent recipient of a twenty minute reenactment of how Eric had recently pipped him for his third straight win'.

'No tell me, I'm dying to know, how is three straight wins not a sign of my burgeoning brilliance?'

'Well, let's just say that sometimes your serves go long and I call them in because it's more fun to have a rally than call double fault. And on that note, double faults are actually when you miss only two serves in a row, it's not "when you miss two it means you get only one more" like we've been playing, which I made up so you wouldn't just double fault almost every bloody point. Oh and technically you don't get twice the points for playing double-handled backhands, I just made that up because when you go one handed you ALWAYS hit it into the net. Oh and you know the rule where the first person on to the court that yells "honey-dew melon" gets to hit it within the doubles lines and have it still be in, that you always seem to manage to say first, that's technically not in the rule books. Oh and you know how I'm a left handed tennis player, have you noticed I'm right handed in every other way?'

'So basically you've just been bending all the rules this this whole time?'

'Well yeah'.

'So I'm playing with YOUR rules and STILL winning! THREE IN A ROW, THREE IN A ROW, THREE IN A ROW!'

Kevin, Eric's regular tennis opponent had just learned a valuable lesson, the 'free' six million dollars that he'd been able to steal from Eric's insurance company using information he'd slowly gotten off Eric over three months of tennis matches had turned out to come at a cost after all. 

The compliment

Malcolm, a plumber from San Jose, is a cumaugerous asshole. He was well aware of this and had no interest in changing, but since the growth in online review websites, he was discovering reviews for his work like this one:

'Excellent plumber, but he sure is a cumaugerous asshole'.

It was starting to affect his business. 

'Maybe I could TRY saying compliment to someone one day' he began to think from time to time. But he didn't know where to start. So he kept putting it off. And his work continued to slow. 

But then...

'Those are pretty shoes' he found himself saying one day, as he looked up at a lady whose sink he was working under.

'Where the hell did that come from' he thought 'who cares, you're doing it, just keep going'

'They're pink. Not sure if I've ever seen pink shoes before. Not that I pay much attention to ladies shoes, you know because of how stupid they are, not that you're stupid, just heels in general, you know because they look like they hurt, which is literally the opposite intended use of footwear, so that's stupid'

Malcolm's compliment had begun to go south. Which is a saying thats insulting to everyone who lives in the Southern Hemisphere, you know, just half the fucking world! (Depending on where India is?)

'You can do this Malcolm' he thought 'this is your first compliment, keep it going'.

'But brave too! Like it takes bravery to give into stereotypical ideals of beauty even when they are stupid. I couldn't do it. I'm too proud to do things just because they're popular, no matter how dumb and even painful they are. So good for you. And hey, I don't know, if you were ever afraid of minor, minor heights you seem to have gotten over it. And that would have been pathetic, so hey, no longer pathetic. I once got over a fear. I used to fear my fathers drunken beatings, but then one day I flung a beer bottle into his face. I felt guilty after though. Cause I threw it real hard, it smashed, and he lost his left eye. I ended up punishing myself for years after that. Is that what your doing? Did you ever take out one of your parents eyes and now you're punishing yourself with painful feat? That makes sense. Oh plus, I just realized, they're bright pink, which draws the eye away from your face, which is truly hideous!'

'Get out of my house' replied the lady. 

Malcolm packed up his stuff, and as he was leaving muttered 'Wow, that's bullshit, I'm never fucking being nice again'. 

When he got home he discovered that India is entirely in the Northern Hemisphere.

'And people wonder why I'm a cumaugerous asshole?' He thought. 

Two Friends

Two friends sat next to each other.

'I bet you'll get eaten out this morning' said one to the other one. 

'No I bet YOU'LL get eaten out this morning' said the other one to the first one. 

By the way, stop assuming something dirty ok. These friends happen to be nearly empty boxes of cereal ok. Not dirty at all. Clean your minds. 

They're boxes of cereal who happened to be owned by a guy who loves given oral sex to cardboard. 

Ohh, it's a double twist! 

Proof Of Hope And Happy Endings

'Oh no'

I thought as I was coming out of my evening slumber. 

I could feel it in my upper left temple.

It was coming.

It was imminent. 

It was horrible. 

A zit was brewing. 

And based on the size of the sore area this was going to be a monster. 

'Will it fit under a hat?' I pleaded.

But no, it was too far down my face.

'I could start leaving my fringe over my forehead?' I reasoned.

But no, I find that mildly annoying. 

It was hopeless. 

I was destined to be a stupid zit head once more. 

Left to scourge the dark alleys to hide my shame. 

But then.

Like a ray of brilliant warming light.

It basked upon me. 

'Oh that's right, late last night while trying to turn on the bathroom light, I friggin' head-butted the corner of the medicine cabinet'

It hurt a lot.

This isn't a zit growing. 

It's just a full on dong smashing my face into furniture bruise. 

And in that moment, my stupid bruised face said it all - hope is there for us all! 

The Dangers of Ponytails

The dangers of ponytails 

I was sitting behind a guy on the train today. Because I don't discriminate when it comes to who I sit behind. Men, women, children, monkeys, I'll sit behind anyone. And judge them. Cause I'm a nice guy. 

This particularly guy had two specific things that I noticed. 

1. A t-shirt supporting the conservation boat The Sea Shepard. 

2. A long ponytail. 

The t-shirt had printed on the back the mission statement of the Sea Shepherd. 

Which read: 

Our mission is to end the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world’s oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.

Although this guys ponytail happened to fall in a way completely covering up the words 'to end'. 

So to anyone reading it said:

Our mission is the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world’s oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.

You ponytailed animal slaughtering asshole!!!

The point is clear - Yeah, ok, I'll admit it, if I was a professional goat herder then yes I WOULD be pissed that shepherds get all the respect, because that's bullshit, goats are WAY more temperamental than sheep - they'll eat a metal can if they find one for fuck sake, you ever see the hell a goat goes through shitting that out? So yeah, fuck off shepherds, plus why are there always monkeys on trains. 

Things I learned trying to think of Rhymes for Frosted Flakes

Cornflakes - they've been a staple of human existence for hundreds of years. They've been eaten by everyone from Kings to peasants, Princes and Paupers, and Presidents to people who didn't vote for that particular president and are bitter about it. They're tasty, and hearty, and value for money, and calling someone 'corny' originally meant that there were someone who made intelligent and well thought out breakfast cereal decisions.

It's no surprise that songwriters throughout the ages have, in a delicious bowl of Cornflakes, found a beautiful, inspirational and occasionally even erotic muse.

I'm talking about:

Cornflake Girl by Tori Amos

Flake Shake by Dr Dre

Orange Mornings By Cheap Trick

Crunch Mouth By Metallica

Box Of Love By the Bee Gees

Breakfast Romance By Dean Martin

Last Spoonful By The Beatles

Milk On Top By Miles Davis

Without My Bowl by Hank Williams

Deep In My Mouth by Bing Crosby

And

Overture For The Golden Crunchy Corn Flakes by Mozart

Yes Cornflakes, truly wonderful cereal, and extremely exceptional muse.

There's only one problem, I DONT LIKE CORNFLAKES. I actually prefer Frosted Flakes, cause Frosted Flakes are Cornflakes with frosted stuff, and that frosted stuff is yum.

But there are NO songs about Frosted Flakes. I get none of that joy of eating a cereal while listening to quality music inspired by that very same cereal that Cornflake eaters take for granted every morning. It's a miserable existence.

But I today, while attempting to remedy this situation, I believe I discovered why – it’s hard to think of good Rhymes for ‘Frosted Flakes’.

So here are things I learned while attempting to think of rhymes for Frosted Flakes:

- It's hard to think of rhymes for frosted flakes.

- 'Crusted Snake' is terrible.

- 'Moss Did Great' is ok.

Do you know any songs that were inspired by Frosted Flakes? Want to help me write one? We’ll turn the session into a world wide dominating rock band of extraordinary talent, skill and success if you want, only one rule, when we get to fill out our riders, we always write – NO Cornflakes.

Top Eleven Reasons I Love Butter Knives

11. They are arguably the best knife going around for the spreading of butter.

10. Yes, I know that’s controversial.

9. Yeah, I know, I agree - meat cleavers will typically get MORE butter on your croissant than a butter knife will.

8. Did I ever deny that?

7. That’s right, so you can suck on your friggin’ judgment.

6. I never fucking said that more butter isn’t better than less butter, of course it is, it’s fucking BUTTER, it’s seriously delicious.

5. Because a meat cleaver is hard to get into the tub THAT’s why.

4. Ok smart ass, yes I know about blocks of butter, but even if you do prefer a block of butter over a tub of butter, meat cleavers are also harder to control in terms of a butter distribution which most reflects your personal butter desires and predilections.

3. Croissant, dinner roll, plate of broccoli – I don’t friggin’ care what you’re fucking putting butter on, unless it’s the size of a cow, a butter knife will be BETTER than fucking meat cleaver in terms of delicate, dependable and superior butter distribution.

2. You know what? We may both be butter lovers, but you and I are NOT the same, and frankly I hope you friggin’.. just, you know expire, and hopefully from something completely unrelated to anything we have been discussing here, like blocked arteries, or having some form of huge cutting device imbedded in your head, you obtuse dick.

1. It’s easy to store a bunch of them in your cutlery draw.

That’s butter knives everybody, enjoy them today!

Think about it...

And now - things you'd never think of unless you were trying specifically to think of things to think about thinking about that you'd never previously thought about. Some of these may be thinkers:

- Phone key pads which only work when fueled by raw masculinity. 

- Ginormous sized miniature giant pipsqueaks.

- Iron baseball, just like regular baseball but with all the equipment too heavy to lift, surprisingly resulting in the players really getting to know things about each other, specifically relating to how they react when frustrated about not being able to lift things. 

- Gravy MADE from boats. 

- Hopelessly hoping for hopelessness in the next hopelessness fact finding mission. 

- Fire hoses that when put in reverse can suck up entire buildings, only to be used in the most dire of fire situations OR if it'd be an awesome practical joke. 

- Tiles ... for the ceiling!!!

- A fun anecdote that ends with 'I guess you had to NOT be there'. 

- MargarineWasps. 

- Attempting to blog while doing stair climbs.  

How did you go? Find anything to think about you'd never previously thought about? If not feel free to add your own. 

Thanks for playing, and good chair hiding spoon ripple tide grass miracle shelf night! 

Give It Up For Your Unsung Hero Of The Week

When you come home from a long, long day at work, your boss has been a real prick, your inbox just kept getting higher, and the customers, my god, the customers what assholes, and you reach the front door to your house, with your feet aching and your bladder full, bloated and even a tad leaky, and you want to get into your house as fast as possible, do you....

Reach for your axe to break the door down? 

No you don't. 

Do you reach for your flamethrower to burn a hole into the center of the wood so you can reach through and and open the door from the other side. 

No no you do NOT! 

Do you go to your local tank store and lease a retired Gulf War One era tank, that comes with the with prospect to buy if you become attached, something you doubt will happen, but then again you've never driven a tank, so who knows how much emotional pull they are capable of, and drive it home and shoot your door open with a tank missile? 

No damn it, you do not!

Do you call up your local NFL or Rugby League team and tell them that there is an eighteen year old girl in your house desperate to be gang banged specifically by a bunch of moronic roid munchers, only to have sports cars as SUVs suddenly appear from everywhere so fast it's as if they had been literally hiding in the bushes, only to have them fight to bash down your door, only not actually be the first because let's face it, none of them actually care about the girl, they just want an excuse to bang each other without fear of being labelled gay, and have their boners for each other knock down your door?

No, you absolutely do NOT!

Do you buy a First Class ticket on a plane to the Solomon Islands, and at some point of the flight knock down the door to the cockpit where you suddenly realize that you totally didn't need to fork up and pay for a first class seat to do this, and business class would have been fine, possibly even economy, although with the confined leg space back there, you would have risked leg cramps making kicking down anything a challenge, and then realize that hijacking a plane and flying it into your house to open your door is in poor taste, and then realize you've just kicked down the door to a cockpit which is supposed to be impossible so surely you can kick down your house door, and then realize 'fuck I've got a ticket to the Solomon Islands, I've never been there, this could be cool, plus it's a first class ticket, I'm going to enjoy this! I can get into my house when I get back'.

Say it with me 'NO YOU GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKING DON'T' 

When you get home after a long hard day of work and want to open your goddam door as fast as you possibly can, you reach for your fucking house-keys (or apartment-keys, trailer-keys, camper-van-keys, tent-keys, we're not judgmental here). 

That's why MY, YOUR, and even OUR unsung hero of the week is HOUSE KEYS!!! 

Give it up boys n' girls! 

Yaaaayyyyyy.  

 

Today's message of joyful life enhancement

Today's message of joyful life enhancement 

So I've decided that people who want to die peacefully in their sleep are morons. 

In fact, they're really fucking stupid. Just dumb. Like brain dumb, street dumb, and even book dumb. Less smart than a monkey that lost half its brain in a knife fight with small child who thinks 'mushed carrot will be the best thing I ever taste'. Just the epitome of fucked in the brain stem with a dragon glass dagger. Less of hint of smart than found in your average microscope watched petrie dish showing a man who's been microwaving his testicles now dead sperm. Simply denser than black hole that was swallowed by a mentally challenged jelly-fish. More obtuse than prison warden unwilling to listen to a perfectly believable and frankly intriguing tale of wrongful banker imprisonment. As foolish as a vapid imbecilic, dim-witted, vacuous ignoramus who's doltish like  thickskulled brainless mind can't even work the thesaurus on his phone. And I'll totally tell you why! 

'So, how'd you die?'

Yep. That's the question. Read it again if you'd like. But keep it to a minimum. Cause once you hit the after life that's the question you are going to be asked by every singly person you meet for all of eternity!!!! 

Heaven, hell, purgatory, a different dimension, reincarnated as a pubic hair of a boy band member, becoming a beam of light that's searching for the star it originated from, basically still in your body in its coffin praying someone will grave rob you for a second of company, becoming a floating eyeball in a world full of blind Giants, in doesn't matter which one of the popular after-life likelihood's you are rewarded with, people will want to know how you died, and you better have a good story, because you'll be telling it over and over and over and over for eternity! 

'So how'd you get here' every single person for eternity will ask.

'Peacefully in my sleep' you always thought you wanted to reply. 

Boring. You think that'll get you laid, you think that'll get you invited into the hip poker games? You think that'll make you friends at the next pool party. You think anyone will hear that and say 'let me buy you a beer', or 'you poor thing let me use my magic heaven wand to bless your genitals with endless bliss?'

No it won't! 

So I say die Brutally! Die extraordinarily. Possibly even hilariously! Something like boasting to your friend that you're so bad ass that you can make vending machines give you free soda just by punching them, only to stick your hand through the glass and cut open an artery and then trying to win back cool points by trying to surf on the roof of the ambulance, only to be kicked in the face by a pair of shoes hanging off a power line, and deciding to take revenge by vowing to never wear shoes again and to then stepping on a metal rake and not just having it whack you in the face, but also give you tetanus, that would have easily been dealt with, but you were too embarrassed to go back to your doctor seeing as the last time you went there you mistook her request for a pee sample for her making a pass at you.

That's a story that'll get you invited into all sorts of exciting adventures in heaven. So my question is now, who still wants to die peacefully in their sleep, and who wants to go get me a free coke? 

Sand-eating Sandeater

'Here I am again, back into the non-overthinking mind of a sand-eating sandeater'. Clive said one evening out with friends while ordering dinner without overthinking it. 

Clive had recently invented an animal that he called a 'sand-eating sandeater' and having invented it he was now DETERMINED to have people think it was real and known. So he'd begun to drop as many mentions of them as he could into conversation, and to talk positively yet casually about them just as if they were a real animal. 

'So I was at the beach right, and that's when I saw her, over to my right, on a towel, wearing a one piece swimsuit that somehow was sexier than any bikini, near a small colony of sand-eating sandeaters, her hair wet, but in that beautiful salty, unkept, raw beach way' he'd tell people when asked if he'd ever thought of cheating on his wife. 

'I was at the bar last night, feeling terrible, trying not to bring everyone down, like a big bag of sand stolen from a colony of sand-eating sandeaters, but then we played darts and I felt better' he'd say to people when asked what his life was like now that his wife had left him, apparently because of some story he kept telling people. 

'I was looking out the window melancholily one day, it had been a hard week, my teenage daughter had runaway from home and I found her living with a pimp on the WRONG side of the tracks, I'd discovered that the lump in my left thigh that I'd always thought was an inverted mole was instead an enormous and enormously aggressive tumor, I couldn't pay for medical care because my life savings had been stolen by an aggressively cumaugerous miscreant charlatan and as I'm looking through the glass of the window it occurred to me that glass used to BE sand, that's remarkable, to be glass it had to first avoid the prison of a surfers butt crack, it had to not get swept out to sea and end up the beach of some lame desert island, it had to not get eaten alive by a sand-eating sandeater, and having survived all that, it gets to be magically transformed from a course, granular yellow into a shiny clear glass, and in realizing that I realized I might be ok' he'd respond when people asked if his life was beginning to turn around yet. 

Soon two things began to happen in Clive's life. 

1. People began to worry about Clive's mental health. Yes his teenage daughter did live on the wrong side of the tracks with a pimp, but she didn't run away, Clive WAS that pimp. And he couldn't possibly have a thigh tumor because a pissed off father of one of his girls had chopped his legs off from just above his dick down using a grass eating grass cutter (also known as a lawnmower). And he didn't have windows, he lived in an abandoned submarine that had been washed inland by a recent tsunami. The same tsunami that had completely eradicated all the beaches making his beach story totally implausible.

2. People began to think sand-eating sandeaters were something that Clive had just made up.

3. Which they were.

4. Clive realized he had referred to the sand-eating sand eaters as being not-overthinking, and that had no idea why, making him think that perhaps he HADN'T made them up after all. 

5. Clive was proven wrong about that, plus clearly he'd forgotten how to count.

6. And that ladies and gentleman is the story of how Clive decided to run for president.

7. Oh holy crap, I wrote that thinking it might wrap up this blog, but then I immediately realized that I could not possibly hate this more, fuck you Clive, this is all your fault, you're clearly a fucking asshole anyway. 

A lesson on learning

I think that if I trekked to Lithuania on the back of a donkey with dreams of learning all there is to know about industrial sized scissors, but was forced to come home with my tail between my legs and hardly any more expertise on industrialized scissors than I'd arrived with, what I'd  ultimately realize I actually ended up learning would be the following:

- Lithuania was a stupid place to go learn about scissors.

- Really, really stupid. 

- What the hell was I thinking?

- I truly am a freaking moron.

- And scissors? 

- No no no, 'industrial sized' scissors? 

- For what, like cutting the hair of giants? 

- Those aren't real you dick.

- Unless I counted like Shaq, but he's bald.

- Don't I ever research anything 'before' I jump in.

- I really am a freaking loser.

- They say 'all the gold goes to those who take all the risks' and I followed that, but such a stupid risk.

- And I bet I just fell for that too, that's not a real saying stupid.

- I truly am am a true moron in the truest form. 

- Plus I hate to break it to you idiot, but Lithuania has airports, I didn't have to trek there on the back of a Donkey, I am a stupid dick. Did I really think they didn't have airports? Or roads for cars even? Frankly that's not just stupid, but insulting to the good Lithuanians who have built a perfectly modern and beautiful country that I've just shat all over.

- You stupid dick. 

But I DIDN'T trek by donkey to Lithuania hoping to learn all I could about industrial sized scissors, so instead I now I feel pretty damn good about myself. Travel kicks ass!