I got bitten by a spider, or some multi-legged creature, this past weekend.
So, you are probably wondering how my super powers are coming along.
Not so good.
I still have to wear glasses.
My body mass is still, shall we say, squishy....at best.
My web making abilities are taking a little longer to come in than I had hoped.
When I was working in my basement, instead of being able to SEE the boxes starting to fall and being able to leap out of harms way, they just sort of fell on my head.
I am not climbing any walls.
AND, Kirsten Dunst has not returned a single one of my phone calls. In fact, based on some certified letters I have received, I don't think she'll be coming over anytime soon, and being forced to stay 500 feet away is NOT conducive to making out.
I'll begin saving the world as soon as everything kicks in. As much as I can, anyway. Seriously, if he was really that big of a pain in the ass, to villains, why didn't they just shoot him? He wasn't bulletproof. Sure, he has spider senses. But, I imagine that's only really effective against one, maybe two guns. If he's right there, just get a bunch of guys with machine guns to blow him away. Done. Now you can get back to your evil doing ways.
If you think about it, guns would really solve most of your basic superhero problems.
The Green Lantern?
Basically, just a guy with a ring. A ring that has to be charged. When he puts his ring on the charger, BAM. Done. No more Green Lantern.
Aquaman?
We've been over this one. He's barely a superhero as it is. Honestly, I might save the bullet. But, if you have to do it, wait until he's out of the water. He's useless. Kind of like me, if you need anything physical done. BAM. No more Aquaman.
Batman?
This one creates a problem for some. Apparently, his biggest power is that he's REALLY smart. So, yeah...He's smart....Can he think a bullet away? No? Really? Didn't think so. What's that you say? The suit? He doesn't always wear the suit. Sometimes he's Bruce Wayne. BAM. No more Bruce Wayne equals no more Batman.
The Flash creates a problem. As soon as he heard the gun cock, he'd run like the tights-wearing-sissy that he is. But, really, is that a problem?
Bad Guy #1: Now, we'll launch our master plan to take over the world!!!!!
Bad Guy #2: Yeah. The governments will kneel before us.....Oh no.....The Flash is here!!!
Bad Guy #1: What's he doing?
Bad Guy #2: Just.....sort of.....running around, really.
Bad Guy #1: Oh....Well....Granted, that's a little annoying. But, I don't think that should stop us.
Bad Guy #2: Agreed.
Bad Guy #1: Can we shoot him?
Bad Guy #2: I think he's too fast.
Bad Guy #1: Okay......Whatever.....Let's do this thing.
Superman, of course, creates a problem. He's bulletproof. You can shoot at him all day, and he'll just get bored. Luckily, every boneheaded criminal on the planet seems to be able to get their hands on kryptonite. The common flaw is that they ALL do something stupid.
Bad Guy #1: Where'd you get the kryptonite?
Bad Guy #2: Ebay. I outbid this guy from a comic book store in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
Bad Guy #1: Good job.
Bad Guy #2: Thanks. It was more than I wanted to pay. But, I figured that, since we were trying to take over the world, it would be a good thing to kill Superman.
Bad Guy #1: Yep. Well, I guess we should go and get started.
Bad Guy #2: Are you sure? I don't think he's dead yet.
Bad Guy #1: Oh, he's mostly dead.
Bad Guy #2: Shouldn't we make sure he's ALL dead? I mean, he IS Superman.
Bad Guy #1: No....Come on....I wanna get this started. Make sure you take the kryptonite off him, too.
Bad Guy #2: Why don't we just leave it on him, and make sure he dies? I mean, we don't have to be here for that.
Bad Guy #1: Why do you argue with me? It makes PERFECT sense to take the kryptonite, which we can do NOTHING with, off of him when we leave......I swear.....Sometimes I think I'm the only one here who WANTS to take over the world.
Bad Guy #2: No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll take the kryptonite, which we can't use for anything else, off of the MOSTLY dead superhero, and we can go. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
Bad Guy #1: Thank you. I'm sorry I snapped.
Bad Guy #2: It's okay. I understand. The stress of taking over the world, and all.
Bad Guy #1: Where is The Flash?
Bad Guy #2: Uhhhhhh....Still just, kind of, runnin' around out there.
Bad Guy #1: Okay, good.
That's not how I would do it. I would leave the kryptonite ON Superman, and just let him fade away and die. Then, I would rule the world, and you would ALL be forced to talk like Kermit the Frog, and watch "Mystery Science Theater 3000" for the rest of your lives. Would that be so bad?
Someone just asked me about Wonder Woman, because she has those bracelets. That's simple. She only has 2 bracelets. If I bring 3 guns, I fail to see the problem in taking her out.
I believe that, if I have done nothing else, I have proven that there aren't many superhero-related problems that a gun can't solve. Personally, I don't have a gun. I would shoot myself. Not on purpose, mind you. But, I would play with it, or something, and shoot myself in the head. However, based on today's blog, this may be an improvement.
So, barring that, I will have to depend on my pending super spider powers to save you ALL from evil!!!!
Right now, these powers consist of nothing more than a small, itchy welt on my left arm.
I don't think this will instill fear in the hearts of the bad guys......Even though it's REALLY itchy.
Maybe I'll just buy a gun.
Casey
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Boxing Casey
I'm about to become an amputee.
I know that some people find that sexy. But, I don't think I'm going to lose one of my "sexy" appendages. What are the sexy appendages, anyway? I would think, maybe, the legs? Could be kind of a power trip. With no legs, they can't get away, right? You are in complete control. So, if you're into that sort of thing, I would think you would want someone without legs. But, this is just off the top of my head. I haven't done any actual research. I know there are "fetish" websites, and such. But, I'm too embarrassed to look at them. So, I'll just go with my gut. Legs.
I did see that movie, "Boxing Helana," though. It's nothing I want to pursue, but a Sherilyn Fenn with no arms or legs, dressed in lingerie, and propped up in a box, does have a certain measure of appeal.
Hmmmmmmm........
Perhaps this could be a lesson in how we should not rush to judgement. However, I doubt most amputees look like Sherilyn Fenn. But, again, I don't KNOW this because I don't go to those sites. Maybe I should. Just once. You know. For Research.
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeah.....
I'm about to lose my thumb.
You see, over the weekend, I was attacked by a giant, mutant piece of wood, which launched a splinter deep within the soft, white, underbelly of my left thumb.
I can't get it out.
It is, at this point in time, a nice, bright, glowing hue of red. Which I think means that it is infected.
I tried biting at it, but that did no good. All I accomplished, there, was tasting my own blood. (Kinda salty. In case you were wondering.)
So, I went high-tech. Tweezers. All this allowed me to do was see more of my blood (No. I did not go back for seconds.) After a period of time, I became, to use a medical term, "WOOZY." So, before I passed out, i decided to stop performing medical procedures on myself. This will become more common, if we ever get universal healthcare, where they encourage you to "self diagnose." But, for now, I opted to stop while I still had some feeling in my thumb.
The latest "procedure" that people are suggesting is using a needle. Apparently, in this ultra safe method, you super heat a random sewing needle, with FIRE, and then dig it into your flesh until the offending splinter starts laughing so hard at your stupidity, that it comes shooting out of your body. I'm gonna hold off on this one.
I wouldn't mind, so much, losing my thumb if this had come from a piece of my own wood. It didn't. I was cleaning out the garage, over the weekend, and had to dig through several boxes of other people's stuff, which my wife has forced me to move from house, to house, to house over the years. One can only assume that this was part of her master plan. Hoping that, at some point, I would do something stupid, and one of the pieces of junk would actually kill me. Playing the odds, it's actually not a bad plan. I do many stupid things.
So, from every house we have ever lived in, we have packed the worthless crap that OTHER people were smart enough to leave behind, and brought it with us.
We have a set of ugly curtains, that people have intentionally left behind, from every house we have ever lived in. We don't put them up. They're ugly. That's why the people left them behind.
We have two sets of patio furniture. TWO. Most people don't have one. We have two. One came from Michigan, and the other came from South Carolina. Other people left these behind. We took 'em. Cuz, you know, you NEVER know when you're going to need an extra set of ugly patio furniture.
That's just the tip of the iceburg. We have boxes of crap, that other people didn't want, but HAD to keep. My wife's justification for all of this is a charitable one. When I ask her if we can throw this stuff away, she says no. When I ask why, she says that we will donate it. When my wife says that we will "donate it," this is actually code for "We will keep it, and spend thousands of dollars moving it all over the country, in the hope that it will eventually kill you."
The problem is that it took too long for me to figure this out.
So, Sunday, as I was innocently moving a pile of old shelves, that do not belong to us, I was viscously attacked by a plank of wood.
Now I have a splinter.....
That is throbbing.....
And turning bright red.....
And poisoning my blood.....
And my thumb is, almost literally, dangling by a small thread of flesh, that is barely connected to my hand.
For the rest of my life, I will drop EVERYTHING that I try to pick up with my left hand. Which is probably why a "thumb amputee" is not even remotely sexy.
It's gotta be the legs.
I think I'm gonna go check out some of those websites.
Research purposes only. I swear.
Casey
I know that some people find that sexy. But, I don't think I'm going to lose one of my "sexy" appendages. What are the sexy appendages, anyway? I would think, maybe, the legs? Could be kind of a power trip. With no legs, they can't get away, right? You are in complete control. So, if you're into that sort of thing, I would think you would want someone without legs. But, this is just off the top of my head. I haven't done any actual research. I know there are "fetish" websites, and such. But, I'm too embarrassed to look at them. So, I'll just go with my gut. Legs.
I did see that movie, "Boxing Helana," though. It's nothing I want to pursue, but a Sherilyn Fenn with no arms or legs, dressed in lingerie, and propped up in a box, does have a certain measure of appeal.
Hmmmmmmm........
Perhaps this could be a lesson in how we should not rush to judgement. However, I doubt most amputees look like Sherilyn Fenn. But, again, I don't KNOW this because I don't go to those sites. Maybe I should. Just once. You know. For Research.
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeah.....
I'm about to lose my thumb.
You see, over the weekend, I was attacked by a giant, mutant piece of wood, which launched a splinter deep within the soft, white, underbelly of my left thumb.
I can't get it out.
It is, at this point in time, a nice, bright, glowing hue of red. Which I think means that it is infected.
I tried biting at it, but that did no good. All I accomplished, there, was tasting my own blood. (Kinda salty. In case you were wondering.)
So, I went high-tech. Tweezers. All this allowed me to do was see more of my blood (No. I did not go back for seconds.) After a period of time, I became, to use a medical term, "WOOZY." So, before I passed out, i decided to stop performing medical procedures on myself. This will become more common, if we ever get universal healthcare, where they encourage you to "self diagnose." But, for now, I opted to stop while I still had some feeling in my thumb.
The latest "procedure" that people are suggesting is using a needle. Apparently, in this ultra safe method, you super heat a random sewing needle, with FIRE, and then dig it into your flesh until the offending splinter starts laughing so hard at your stupidity, that it comes shooting out of your body. I'm gonna hold off on this one.
I wouldn't mind, so much, losing my thumb if this had come from a piece of my own wood. It didn't. I was cleaning out the garage, over the weekend, and had to dig through several boxes of other people's stuff, which my wife has forced me to move from house, to house, to house over the years. One can only assume that this was part of her master plan. Hoping that, at some point, I would do something stupid, and one of the pieces of junk would actually kill me. Playing the odds, it's actually not a bad plan. I do many stupid things.
So, from every house we have ever lived in, we have packed the worthless crap that OTHER people were smart enough to leave behind, and brought it with us.
We have a set of ugly curtains, that people have intentionally left behind, from every house we have ever lived in. We don't put them up. They're ugly. That's why the people left them behind.
We have two sets of patio furniture. TWO. Most people don't have one. We have two. One came from Michigan, and the other came from South Carolina. Other people left these behind. We took 'em. Cuz, you know, you NEVER know when you're going to need an extra set of ugly patio furniture.
That's just the tip of the iceburg. We have boxes of crap, that other people didn't want, but HAD to keep. My wife's justification for all of this is a charitable one. When I ask her if we can throw this stuff away, she says no. When I ask why, she says that we will donate it. When my wife says that we will "donate it," this is actually code for "We will keep it, and spend thousands of dollars moving it all over the country, in the hope that it will eventually kill you."
The problem is that it took too long for me to figure this out.
So, Sunday, as I was innocently moving a pile of old shelves, that do not belong to us, I was viscously attacked by a plank of wood.
Now I have a splinter.....
That is throbbing.....
And turning bright red.....
And poisoning my blood.....
And my thumb is, almost literally, dangling by a small thread of flesh, that is barely connected to my hand.
For the rest of my life, I will drop EVERYTHING that I try to pick up with my left hand. Which is probably why a "thumb amputee" is not even remotely sexy.
It's gotta be the legs.
I think I'm gonna go check out some of those websites.
Research purposes only. I swear.
Casey
Friday, August 15, 2008
Well We're Movin' On Up.......To The East Side
Moving is a joy, and I highly recommend it to everybody.
In truth, I feel a little guilty. I mean, YOU haven't been able to experience the orgasmic pleasures that I've been able to engage in over the last several days. Don't be fooled. Some people will tell you that moving is a horrible experience. These people have NO sense of adventure.
Seriously, do you REALLY think that it's NOT exciting to have a small group of illegal immigrants come into your home, and place all your personal goods into cardboard boxes?
You don't?
Well, you're just crazy.
Personally, I have spent sleepless nights, dreaming about the possibility of a slimy, illegal thing handling my underwear. That's just fun is what that is!!!!
Then, when the "quality" individuals come to actually load your things onto a truck, that is a thrill in and of itself.
Me: They had to bring that in through the garage. Are you going to be able to fit it through the door?
Mover Guy: If we can't do it easily, we'll force it.
Me: Well, okay.....Wait.....What?
Mover Guy: We'll force it. You bought the insurance, right?
Me: Insurance? I....Uhhh.....
Mover Guy: You can buff a lot of the scratches right out.
Me: Uhhh....I don't think that's right.
Mover Guy: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a PROFESSIONAL mover, like myself.
Me: Well, no. I talk on the radio.
Mover Guy: Oh....I'm sorry....Were all the heterosexual jobs taken?
Me: Shut up.
Then, after a series of VERY uncomfortable crashes, and scrapings, your stuff is on a large truck!!! Shoved in, good and tight, like the way you used to clean your room by shoving everything into the closet, and slamming the door real quick before it would come exploding out!!!!!
Then the journey REALLY begins.
Me: Well, we'll see you guys in New Jersey.
Mover Guy: (shuffling paperwork) Uhhh.....New Jersey?
Me: Yeah....We're moving to New Jersey.
Mover Guy: New Jersey.....That's......Sort of.....East-ish, right?
Me: East-ish?
Mover Guy: West-ish?
Me: This is gonna go good. I can feel it.
Mover guy: North-ish?
Me: Stop it.
After a stressful two days, with several frantic phone calls from the movers, your stuff arrives at your new home. You aren't a hundred percent certain, but you're pretty sure that the driver had NO idea that he had made it to the right house. Rather, he saw you standing outside your home, recognized you, and slammed on his breaks. Dumb luck. Either way, your stuff is here.
Now, you expect to have 215 boxes, containing most of your life, place in the room where they need to be. But, then you remember that illegal aliens......possibly illegal SPACE aliens......packed your stuff. So, when you look at the boxes, and try to determine which rooms they go in, you realize that they don't have any actual words on them. Rather, it's more of a collection of random letters that don't really mean anything. (Sort of like this blog, only funnier.)
So, because of this, you end up having several conversations with your wife that go like this:
Wife: Do you know which box the Tivo cord is in?
Me: No.
Wife: THE TIVO CORD!
Me: I heard you. I just don't know where it is.
Wife: It's about 3 feet long.
Me: There are 215 boxes, marked with made up words.....You see how this information doesn't help me, don't you?
Wife: It goes to the Tivo!!
Me: I sense that we aren't communicating.
Wife: You're an idiot.
Me: I understood that.
Wife: Well, then we are communicating just fine.
Then, if you are REALLY lucky, you bought a house with a pool. AND, if you are REALLY, super, neo, maxi-zoomed lucky, like me, YOUR DOG decides to take a dip in the pool......Your dog who can't swim......And, since you got out of the "doggie-snuff" film business YEARS ago, you get to jump into the pool, at around midnight, and save your dog. Mind you, this dog would NOT save you. This particular dog would probably bring the bullets to your execution, because it still blames you for putting ear medication in her ears, almost two years ago!! But, you do it. Mainly because your wife would get mad, seeing a dead dog in the pool, and she already hates you. Why pour gas on a fire?
After the movers leave, and you've placed your dog on suicide watch (just to be safe), you settle down. You find solace in the fact that all your stuff is now in one place. You try and close your eyes, and get in a little rest.....
Then, your wife screams from upstairs that you STILL haven't found the Tivo cord.
And you wish someone would pack you in a box, write make believe words on it, and take you someplace else.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go look for the Tivo cord....So I can choke my self with it.
Casey
In truth, I feel a little guilty. I mean, YOU haven't been able to experience the orgasmic pleasures that I've been able to engage in over the last several days. Don't be fooled. Some people will tell you that moving is a horrible experience. These people have NO sense of adventure.
Seriously, do you REALLY think that it's NOT exciting to have a small group of illegal immigrants come into your home, and place all your personal goods into cardboard boxes?
You don't?
Well, you're just crazy.
Personally, I have spent sleepless nights, dreaming about the possibility of a slimy, illegal thing handling my underwear. That's just fun is what that is!!!!
Then, when the "quality" individuals come to actually load your things onto a truck, that is a thrill in and of itself.
Me: They had to bring that in through the garage. Are you going to be able to fit it through the door?
Mover Guy: If we can't do it easily, we'll force it.
Me: Well, okay.....Wait.....What?
Mover Guy: We'll force it. You bought the insurance, right?
Me: Insurance? I....Uhhh.....
Mover Guy: You can buff a lot of the scratches right out.
Me: Uhhh....I don't think that's right.
Mover Guy: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a PROFESSIONAL mover, like myself.
Me: Well, no. I talk on the radio.
Mover Guy: Oh....I'm sorry....Were all the heterosexual jobs taken?
Me: Shut up.
Then, after a series of VERY uncomfortable crashes, and scrapings, your stuff is on a large truck!!! Shoved in, good and tight, like the way you used to clean your room by shoving everything into the closet, and slamming the door real quick before it would come exploding out!!!!!
Then the journey REALLY begins.
Me: Well, we'll see you guys in New Jersey.
Mover Guy: (shuffling paperwork) Uhhh.....New Jersey?
Me: Yeah....We're moving to New Jersey.
Mover Guy: New Jersey.....That's......Sort of.....East-ish, right?
Me: East-ish?
Mover Guy: West-ish?
Me: This is gonna go good. I can feel it.
Mover guy: North-ish?
Me: Stop it.
After a stressful two days, with several frantic phone calls from the movers, your stuff arrives at your new home. You aren't a hundred percent certain, but you're pretty sure that the driver had NO idea that he had made it to the right house. Rather, he saw you standing outside your home, recognized you, and slammed on his breaks. Dumb luck. Either way, your stuff is here.
Now, you expect to have 215 boxes, containing most of your life, place in the room where they need to be. But, then you remember that illegal aliens......possibly illegal SPACE aliens......packed your stuff. So, when you look at the boxes, and try to determine which rooms they go in, you realize that they don't have any actual words on them. Rather, it's more of a collection of random letters that don't really mean anything. (Sort of like this blog, only funnier.)
So, because of this, you end up having several conversations with your wife that go like this:
Wife: Do you know which box the Tivo cord is in?
Me: No.
Wife: THE TIVO CORD!
Me: I heard you. I just don't know where it is.
Wife: It's about 3 feet long.
Me: There are 215 boxes, marked with made up words.....You see how this information doesn't help me, don't you?
Wife: It goes to the Tivo!!
Me: I sense that we aren't communicating.
Wife: You're an idiot.
Me: I understood that.
Wife: Well, then we are communicating just fine.
Then, if you are REALLY lucky, you bought a house with a pool. AND, if you are REALLY, super, neo, maxi-zoomed lucky, like me, YOUR DOG decides to take a dip in the pool......Your dog who can't swim......And, since you got out of the "doggie-snuff" film business YEARS ago, you get to jump into the pool, at around midnight, and save your dog. Mind you, this dog would NOT save you. This particular dog would probably bring the bullets to your execution, because it still blames you for putting ear medication in her ears, almost two years ago!! But, you do it. Mainly because your wife would get mad, seeing a dead dog in the pool, and she already hates you. Why pour gas on a fire?
After the movers leave, and you've placed your dog on suicide watch (just to be safe), you settle down. You find solace in the fact that all your stuff is now in one place. You try and close your eyes, and get in a little rest.....
Then, your wife screams from upstairs that you STILL haven't found the Tivo cord.
And you wish someone would pack you in a box, write make believe words on it, and take you someplace else.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go look for the Tivo cord....So I can choke my self with it.
Casey
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Semi-blog
This doesn't really count as a blog. This is just the first time that I've had access to a computer in close to a week.
My stuff is here, in Mt Laurel. My family is not yet here. It's just me and my father-in-law, right now. He doesn't talk much. Just stares at me, and mutters. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I heard the word "whimp" when I was moving a particularly heavy box. Normally he calls me "blister," because he says I show up when the work is done. I don't think he understands that I don't have a "real" job, where "real" work is done. Every so often he looks at me and says, "Let me get this straight, they pay you to do what?"
Once I am unpacked, I am planning things for the blog. I've had a recent burst of inspiration. There will be the usual cartoon that is my life. But, there will also be an online novel. Plus, something a little more warped. I may even start a seperate website for that. I have to figure out how to do that. People always tell me that it's easy to start a website. Then, they start talking about it. This causes my mind to shut down, and I go to my happy place, which is currently on a couch, watching "Entourage," and weird kids programming. But, I'll get there.
I come back to work on Tuesday. I haven't yelled at anyone in over a week, so I might be a little bit on edge. I would yell at my father-in-law. But, I think he could kill me with his pinky.
See you in a couple of days!!
Casey
My stuff is here, in Mt Laurel. My family is not yet here. It's just me and my father-in-law, right now. He doesn't talk much. Just stares at me, and mutters. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I heard the word "whimp" when I was moving a particularly heavy box. Normally he calls me "blister," because he says I show up when the work is done. I don't think he understands that I don't have a "real" job, where "real" work is done. Every so often he looks at me and says, "Let me get this straight, they pay you to do what?"
Once I am unpacked, I am planning things for the blog. I've had a recent burst of inspiration. There will be the usual cartoon that is my life. But, there will also be an online novel. Plus, something a little more warped. I may even start a seperate website for that. I have to figure out how to do that. People always tell me that it's easy to start a website. Then, they start talking about it. This causes my mind to shut down, and I go to my happy place, which is currently on a couch, watching "Entourage," and weird kids programming. But, I'll get there.
I come back to work on Tuesday. I haven't yelled at anyone in over a week, so I might be a little bit on edge. I would yell at my father-in-law. But, I think he could kill me with his pinky.
See you in a couple of days!!
Casey
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