I think that, if there were REALLY superheroes, that they would be bored. There just wouldn’t be that much for them to do. Oh, sure, there’s always the random, major catastrophe where it would be nice if there was someone with super strength, or super speed, or super stretchy body parts. But, day in and day out, I think they would get bored.
Of course we would summon Spiderman IF there were a giant, killer, sand monster roaming the streets, tearing down buildings. In fact, I think he would be the FIRST guy we would call. But, honestly, the first thing we would do with our phones is take a picture, and forward it to all our friends, so that they would think that we were cool, because we were the FIRST one to see the giant, killer, sand monster.
But, right after that, we would call Spidey……Actually, we would call Peter Parker. We’d have to, because he’s the only one who knows how to get a hold of Spiderman. But, no one should assume that he IS Spiderman, just because he’s the same height, weight, age, has the exact same voice, knows all the same people, AND is the only one who knows how to reach him. That would just be silly.
So, if we did have superheroes (barring attacks from giant sand sculptures), I think they would have to find ways to fill their days.
AQUAMAN:
We’ve discussed Aquaman, before. He’s not much of a “superhero” to begin with. He breathes underwater, and talks to fish. This isn’t exactly the kind of thing that strikes fear into the hearts of your average villain. Or, the average 3rd grader, for that matter. But, he does possess a certain skill set, that could be utilized in the “normal” world.
Supervisor: Uh…Aquaman, could I speak to you for a moment.
Aquaman: Sure, chief. What’s up?
Supervisor: Well, you know we hired you, here, at the community pool, because we thought it would make it a little safer for our patrons.
Aquaman: Yeah.
Supervisor: And, you know, that whole “breathing underwater” thing. Well, we thought that would be a big plus, when it came to water safety.
Aquaman: Uh-huh.
Supervisor: But, well, we’ve been getting some complaints.
Aquaman: What!?!!
Supervisor: It..uh..It seems that some of our female guests have been complaining that you’ve been spending a little too much time underwater.
Aquaman: It’s not MY fault. It’s all those damn kids. They keep throwing coins into the water, and making me find them. That sort of thing can clog the drain, you know.
Supervisor: I see….
Aquaman: And maybe, JUST MAYBE, they like it when I stay underwater. Why else do wear their thong bikinis…..
Supervisor: Uhm….Okay…..
Aquaman: Just because I’m a fish-man, doesn’t mean I don’t have urges, you know!!!
Supervisor: Well, some of the men have been complaining, too.
Aquaman: Oh…..uhhhh…..I think I wanna talk to my union rep…..
FLASH:
Again, another marginal superhero, at best. But, for some reason, people love him. How come when he goes “super fast” everybody cheers him on. But, when I do it, I have to make a bunch of rambling excuses about “being under a lot of stress,” or “taking some allergy medication?” It doesn’t seem fair. In the real world, he would not be nearly as cool.
Guy: So, what do we do, now?
Flash: I think I deserve to be paid.
Guy: Well, that ad says that the pizza will be here in :30 seconds, or less. Correct me if I’m wrong, but :31 seconds IS NOT :30 seconds, is it?
Flash: But, it’s all the way across town, and there was cat stuck in a tree….I mean, it literally took me an extra second….
Guy: And this is my problem, how?
BATMAN:
You know, sometimes I sit around, and I think about what I would do if I won the lottery. There would be woman, trips to Disneyworld, and some sort of Yoo-Hoo waterfall right in my master bedroom (chicks would dig that, I think.) NEVER ONCE have I thought about buying a heavy, rubber suit, and roaming the streets of a dangerous city. But, I guess it takes all kinds, doesn’t it?
Bruce Wayne: What’s going on in the city, tonight, Alfred? Poisonous gas? Nuclear bombs? Acid in the water supply? Whatever it is, I’m ready!!!
Alfred: Uh…Not much of anything, really, Master Bruce.
Bruce Wayne: Really? Did you check the computer?
Alfred: Yes. I checked the computer, and I looked up in the sky for the signal, and watched the news, and there was nothing. Just like last night, and the night before that, and the night before that.
Bruce Wayne: Hmmmmm…..It could be a diabolical plot, by the Joker, to try and lull me into a sense of complacency.
Alfred: Yeah. Could be that. Or, it could be that you are wasting your life away, in moldy cave, wearing a rubber suit, and NOT using your money and looks to meet women. THAT’S a thought, too, you know.
Bruce Wayne: I….uh…..Can’t……meet a woman, tonight….I….uh…..took some allergy medication. So…….
Alfred: Uh-huh….And, another thing….Why do I have to call you MASTER Bruce, anyway. With all your “super smarts,” did you ever come across any stories about a guy named Lincoln? I’m done calling you master.
Wonder Woman:
I have to confess that I’m not even a hundred percent certain of what Wonder Woman’s powers are. I know she’s strong, has an invisible plane, a magic lasso, those bracelets, and looks HOT. But, beyond that, there’s not much, is there? It must be the “amazon” thing. I know that it works, for me. I guess I have a thing for amazons.
Club Manager: Why did you throw that guy through the window?
Wonder Woman: It looked like he was planning an evil deed!!
Club Manager: Look, we’ve been over this. It’s a “gentleman’s club.” EVERYBODY in here is planning an evil deed.
Wonder Woman: Alright.
Club Manager: So, just shaker your goodies, swing around the poll a few times, and if they pay you an extra hundred, tie ‘em up with the lasso, and make ‘em tell you the truth. But, stop breaking the furniture.
SUPERMAN:
I don’t wish to offend ANY comic book types, out there. But, if there was a guy who was all powerful, could fly, and almost nothing could stop him, what do YOU think would happen? Do you think he would “serve” mankind, and try and make sure all of OUR lives were wonderful?
Of course not.
Don’t be stupid.
He would kill half of us, just because he could. Then, he would enslave the rest of us, and we would go along with it because WE wouldn’t want to be killed. There would be statues of him, all over the place, and we would all spend our days trying to think of ways NOT to make him mad.
Do you think we could rise up against him?
FOOL!!!!!
HE’S GOT SUPER HEARING, TOO!!!!!
Even we even so much as whispered about an uprising he would swoop in, snap our pathetic little necks, and then fly back to his pad where all the hot “earth chicks” (Salma Hayek, Carrie Underwood, Kate Hudson, and any woman whose ever been on a Spanish soap opera), would be waiting to do his bidding.
Now, would I want to BE Superman?
Without question.
If I were, would I act like a giant boy scout, and do the bidding of a couple billion “lower beings?”
No. I would not do that.
I would kill half of you, enslave the other half, and get all the aforementioned women together, in one place, to do my bidding.
It’s nothing personal. But, what else am I gonna do? There’s not a giant, killer, sand monster out there, every day, you know.
Casey
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Watch What You Sing....
Like many of you, I have a deep, ingrained fear that the government is watching me and plans to use every embarrassing fact that they learn about me against me, and force me to become an unwilling participant in their continuing efforts to trample the constitution, and destroy this country as we know it.
You DO have that fear, too, right?
It’s not just me, is it?
Good. For a minute I thought I was being paranoid……Did you hear that?
So, like you, I have many dirty little secrets that I would just as soon NOBODY found out about. Most of these secrets manifest themselves while I’m innocently riding down the road, in my car, without a care in the world.
WHAT A FOOL I AM!!!!!
THAT’S WHEN THEY GET YOU!!!
It is for this reason alone that I will never understand why people would ever purchase a car with OnStar.
For those of you who don’t know, OnStar, while marketed as a non-threatening, automotive feature that could potentially save your life, is actually a sophisticated, government-supported, behavioral modification device.
Don’t believe me?
Why else do you think the government was so quick to bailout the auto industry?
EXACTLY!!!!!
WHO’S PARANOID NOW!?!!!!.......Seriously, did you hear something?
Think about the way it’s marketed. Usually, something bad has happened to an innocent civilian, and the disembodied OnStar voice is there to save the day.
(CAR CRASHES!!!)
OnStar Voice: Hello. This is OnStar. My high-tech, highly intrusive computer system has just informed me that you’ve been in a wreck. Are you okay?
Driver: I don’t know. I can’t feel my lower extremities.
OnStar: Is there anyone else with you?
Driver: Yes. I was driving a group of orphans to a park, so they could meet some wealthy people who might adopt them. I think some of them are hurt.
OnStar: Damn it!! No one told me I was gonna have to play God, today!!!
Driver: Please hurry.
OnStar: Don’t worry, ma’am. They don’t pay me $8.50 an hour for nothing. I’m going to notify the police.
Driver: Thank you.
OnStar: Then, I’ll arrange for another bus to come get those kids.
Driver: Okay…..
OnStar: And, I’ll notify your insurance company.
Driver: Have you called the police yet?
OnStar: And, I’ll contact the hospital and make sure they have enough beds.
Driver: The children are screaming. Please hurry.
OnStar: Then, I’ll notify your family.
Driver: I’ve lost a lot of blood. I think I just wanna go to sleep.
OnStar: I’ll also call Pizza Hut, and make sure your family gets dinner, tonight.
Driver: My vision is getting all cloudy…
OnStar: I’ll pick up your laundry, too. My computer shows that it’s two shirts and a skirt. Can you verify that?
Driver: Please…..just….call……police.
OnStar: Would you like me to stay with you until the police arrive?
Driver: Seeing….bright….light….now…
OnStar: Really? Huh. Can’t be the police. I haven’t called them, yet.
Announcer Voice: OnStar. Because you never know when you might need help….
Then, it fades to black. We’re left with the lasting message that, whether we have OnStar or not, we’re going to die. So, we may as well buy a car that has it. What have we go to lose, right?
But, I’m always struck by something else when those commercials come on. The guy from OnStar can just push a button, whenever they darn well please, and start talking to me. Mainly, I can not only hear them. THEY can hear ME!!
I don’t know about you, but my car is where I do some of my most embarrassing things. I don’t know if I like the idea of somebody, in a covert building somewhere, being able to flip a switch and hear what I’m doing. On top of it, I get to PAY for that privilege?
I don’t think so.
Something about that ain’t right.
If I wanted someone knowing what I was doing in the privacy of my own car, I wouldn’t be doing it IN THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN CAR!!!!!!
I don’t know about you, but I do things in my car.
Strange things.
Fine. I sing. I sing in my car. There. I said it. Now, you know.
I know that I CAN’T sing. If I could, I would be doing it for people, and not by myself in my car.
Plus, I sing songs that I would just as soon NO ONE knew I was singing. YOU know the songs I’m talking about, because YOU sing them all, too. The songs that EVERYONE likes, and EVERYONE sings. But, no one will admit to it because, even though EVERYONE likes them, they will laugh at you, if they find out that YOU sing them, too. Are we clear? Good.
So, I don’t want OnStar popping in on one of my unplugged sessions, that are not meant for human ears.
Me (loudly): Oh, Mandy….Well you came, and you gave, without takin’….But, I sent you away….Oh, Mandy….Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking….
OnStar: Uhhhhh……..
Me: I…..Who said that?
OnStar: Oh, it’s just us here, at OnStar.
Me: OnStar?....Wait….I didn’t push the button….How did you…..?
OnStar: Oh, our satellites showed that you were getting in the car, and we knew there was gonna be a show. So, we decided to tune in.
Me: You can’t do that!!! Get the hell out of here….
OnStar: I never knew you were a “Fan-ilow.”
Me: I’m….not…..I…just like that one song…..Will you get out of here!?!!!
OnStar: Yeah, we hear a lot of people sing that one. Funny how no one admits they like it, huh?
Me: PLEASE GET OUT OF MY CAR!!!!
OnStar: We have a request for, “I Write The Songs.”
Me: I AM NOT TAKING REQUESTS!!!! GET OUT!!!!
OnStar: Okay, okay. Relax. But, a couple of the guys wanted me to let you know that the Debbie Gibson medley, from the other day, was great.
Me: Really? Thanks. You know, I……No…..wait…..GET OUT!!!!
You see how this could become problematic.
Plus, it’s not just singing. People talk about all sorts of important things in their cars. Now, I never do. But, that’s only because I’m irresponsible, and no one trusts me enough to talk to me about important things. I didn’t even know that we had bought a house, until I drove up and realized that my wife had the key.
I don’t mind, though. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.
But, there are people who do OTHER things, in their cars.
You know….
OTHER….things.
You understand what I’m saying, right?
Woman: Oh, Victor, I love you so much.
Man: Oh, Veronica. I, too, am in love with you.
Woman: Do you think that our respective spouses will ever find out about our torrid love affair?
Man: Poppycock!!!! How could they? We have gone to such great lengths to maintain our discretion.
OnStar: You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?
Man: What!?!!
Woman: Oh, my heavens!!!!
OnStar: I hope it’s worth something to the two of you to keep your little secret.
Man: Now, see here, my good man….
OnStar: Enough talk, Victor!!! Start slipping twenties into the CD player, or I’ll punch up your wife’s car, right now!!!
Woman: Pay him, Victor. Pay him. For the love of God, we’ll be ruined if anyone finds out!!!
In my mind, things like that are always like a soap opera.
Don’t judge me. If you want reality, go write your own column.
In a future world, though, I envision a time when there will be no singing in cars. No one will discuss medical information, or personal tragedies. Soap opera-like love affairs have to be limited to chat rooms, and myspace.
Then, a little further out, the lines will start to blur between OnStar as a public service, and OnStar as a government entity, hell-bent on maintaining their grip on the general populace.
OnStar: Where are you driving, Casey?
Me: WHAT!?!!......Oh….OnStar….It’s you….Uhhhh…Driving?.....Oh, I’m just driving to mall, is all. Nothing to see here. Ha-ha-ha….
OnStar: This isn’t the way to the mall, Casey.
Me: I’m….Uh…..Going…..A…..Uh…Different….Way.
OnStar: You sound nervous, Casey.
Me: Nervous? Me? Noooo….
OnStar: You’re going to mail that letter to those reporters, aren’t you Casey?
Me: Letter? What? Noooo….I don’t have a letter….
OnStar: I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen, Casey.
Me: Why is my car stopping?
OnStar: We’re going to wait here, for a minute, Casey.
Me: I can’t unlock the doors…..
OnStar: Some nice men are going to come and take you to a safe place, Casey.
Me: What?.........NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then, in my mind, some sort of gas will be released. I’ll fall asleep, and wake up in a white room, somewhere, with a straight jacket on.
Let’s be honest. Who didn’t think that would happen to me, at some point, anyway?
There is a moral to this story, boys and girls.
Don’t trust…….
Don’t give up to many of your freedoms…..
Don’t just let someone have free access to your personal life….
And, for the love of God………DON’T sing Barry Manilow songs in your car. You’re just asking for trouble.
Casey
You DO have that fear, too, right?
It’s not just me, is it?
Good. For a minute I thought I was being paranoid……Did you hear that?
So, like you, I have many dirty little secrets that I would just as soon NOBODY found out about. Most of these secrets manifest themselves while I’m innocently riding down the road, in my car, without a care in the world.
WHAT A FOOL I AM!!!!!
THAT’S WHEN THEY GET YOU!!!
It is for this reason alone that I will never understand why people would ever purchase a car with OnStar.
For those of you who don’t know, OnStar, while marketed as a non-threatening, automotive feature that could potentially save your life, is actually a sophisticated, government-supported, behavioral modification device.
Don’t believe me?
Why else do you think the government was so quick to bailout the auto industry?
EXACTLY!!!!!
WHO’S PARANOID NOW!?!!!!.......Seriously, did you hear something?
Think about the way it’s marketed. Usually, something bad has happened to an innocent civilian, and the disembodied OnStar voice is there to save the day.
(CAR CRASHES!!!)
OnStar Voice: Hello. This is OnStar. My high-tech, highly intrusive computer system has just informed me that you’ve been in a wreck. Are you okay?
Driver: I don’t know. I can’t feel my lower extremities.
OnStar: Is there anyone else with you?
Driver: Yes. I was driving a group of orphans to a park, so they could meet some wealthy people who might adopt them. I think some of them are hurt.
OnStar: Damn it!! No one told me I was gonna have to play God, today!!!
Driver: Please hurry.
OnStar: Don’t worry, ma’am. They don’t pay me $8.50 an hour for nothing. I’m going to notify the police.
Driver: Thank you.
OnStar: Then, I’ll arrange for another bus to come get those kids.
Driver: Okay…..
OnStar: And, I’ll notify your insurance company.
Driver: Have you called the police yet?
OnStar: And, I’ll contact the hospital and make sure they have enough beds.
Driver: The children are screaming. Please hurry.
OnStar: Then, I’ll notify your family.
Driver: I’ve lost a lot of blood. I think I just wanna go to sleep.
OnStar: I’ll also call Pizza Hut, and make sure your family gets dinner, tonight.
Driver: My vision is getting all cloudy…
OnStar: I’ll pick up your laundry, too. My computer shows that it’s two shirts and a skirt. Can you verify that?
Driver: Please…..just….call……police.
OnStar: Would you like me to stay with you until the police arrive?
Driver: Seeing….bright….light….now…
OnStar: Really? Huh. Can’t be the police. I haven’t called them, yet.
Announcer Voice: OnStar. Because you never know when you might need help….
Then, it fades to black. We’re left with the lasting message that, whether we have OnStar or not, we’re going to die. So, we may as well buy a car that has it. What have we go to lose, right?
But, I’m always struck by something else when those commercials come on. The guy from OnStar can just push a button, whenever they darn well please, and start talking to me. Mainly, I can not only hear them. THEY can hear ME!!
I don’t know about you, but my car is where I do some of my most embarrassing things. I don’t know if I like the idea of somebody, in a covert building somewhere, being able to flip a switch and hear what I’m doing. On top of it, I get to PAY for that privilege?
I don’t think so.
Something about that ain’t right.
If I wanted someone knowing what I was doing in the privacy of my own car, I wouldn’t be doing it IN THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN CAR!!!!!!
I don’t know about you, but I do things in my car.
Strange things.
Fine. I sing. I sing in my car. There. I said it. Now, you know.
I know that I CAN’T sing. If I could, I would be doing it for people, and not by myself in my car.
Plus, I sing songs that I would just as soon NO ONE knew I was singing. YOU know the songs I’m talking about, because YOU sing them all, too. The songs that EVERYONE likes, and EVERYONE sings. But, no one will admit to it because, even though EVERYONE likes them, they will laugh at you, if they find out that YOU sing them, too. Are we clear? Good.
So, I don’t want OnStar popping in on one of my unplugged sessions, that are not meant for human ears.
Me (loudly): Oh, Mandy….Well you came, and you gave, without takin’….But, I sent you away….Oh, Mandy….Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking….
OnStar: Uhhhhh……..
Me: I…..Who said that?
OnStar: Oh, it’s just us here, at OnStar.
Me: OnStar?....Wait….I didn’t push the button….How did you…..?
OnStar: Oh, our satellites showed that you were getting in the car, and we knew there was gonna be a show. So, we decided to tune in.
Me: You can’t do that!!! Get the hell out of here….
OnStar: I never knew you were a “Fan-ilow.”
Me: I’m….not…..I…just like that one song…..Will you get out of here!?!!!
OnStar: Yeah, we hear a lot of people sing that one. Funny how no one admits they like it, huh?
Me: PLEASE GET OUT OF MY CAR!!!!
OnStar: We have a request for, “I Write The Songs.”
Me: I AM NOT TAKING REQUESTS!!!! GET OUT!!!!
OnStar: Okay, okay. Relax. But, a couple of the guys wanted me to let you know that the Debbie Gibson medley, from the other day, was great.
Me: Really? Thanks. You know, I……No…..wait…..GET OUT!!!!
You see how this could become problematic.
Plus, it’s not just singing. People talk about all sorts of important things in their cars. Now, I never do. But, that’s only because I’m irresponsible, and no one trusts me enough to talk to me about important things. I didn’t even know that we had bought a house, until I drove up and realized that my wife had the key.
I don’t mind, though. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.
But, there are people who do OTHER things, in their cars.
You know….
OTHER….things.
You understand what I’m saying, right?
Woman: Oh, Victor, I love you so much.
Man: Oh, Veronica. I, too, am in love with you.
Woman: Do you think that our respective spouses will ever find out about our torrid love affair?
Man: Poppycock!!!! How could they? We have gone to such great lengths to maintain our discretion.
OnStar: You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?
Man: What!?!!
Woman: Oh, my heavens!!!!
OnStar: I hope it’s worth something to the two of you to keep your little secret.
Man: Now, see here, my good man….
OnStar: Enough talk, Victor!!! Start slipping twenties into the CD player, or I’ll punch up your wife’s car, right now!!!
Woman: Pay him, Victor. Pay him. For the love of God, we’ll be ruined if anyone finds out!!!
In my mind, things like that are always like a soap opera.
Don’t judge me. If you want reality, go write your own column.
In a future world, though, I envision a time when there will be no singing in cars. No one will discuss medical information, or personal tragedies. Soap opera-like love affairs have to be limited to chat rooms, and myspace.
Then, a little further out, the lines will start to blur between OnStar as a public service, and OnStar as a government entity, hell-bent on maintaining their grip on the general populace.
OnStar: Where are you driving, Casey?
Me: WHAT!?!!......Oh….OnStar….It’s you….Uhhhh…Driving?.....Oh, I’m just driving to mall, is all. Nothing to see here. Ha-ha-ha….
OnStar: This isn’t the way to the mall, Casey.
Me: I’m….Uh…..Going…..A…..Uh…Different….Way.
OnStar: You sound nervous, Casey.
Me: Nervous? Me? Noooo….
OnStar: You’re going to mail that letter to those reporters, aren’t you Casey?
Me: Letter? What? Noooo….I don’t have a letter….
OnStar: I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen, Casey.
Me: Why is my car stopping?
OnStar: We’re going to wait here, for a minute, Casey.
Me: I can’t unlock the doors…..
OnStar: Some nice men are going to come and take you to a safe place, Casey.
Me: What?.........NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then, in my mind, some sort of gas will be released. I’ll fall asleep, and wake up in a white room, somewhere, with a straight jacket on.
Let’s be honest. Who didn’t think that would happen to me, at some point, anyway?
There is a moral to this story, boys and girls.
Don’t trust…….
Don’t give up to many of your freedoms…..
Don’t just let someone have free access to your personal life….
And, for the love of God………DON’T sing Barry Manilow songs in your car. You’re just asking for trouble.
Casey
Monday, January 26, 2009
All Rise For Pope Zombie King: Ruler Of The Undead
In my continuing quest for absolute power, which grows increasingly less likely each day as there is NO ONE on ebay selling a “Weather Controlling Machine,” I have decided that there are only two ways I’m going to be able to achieve this. One, I will have to be elected President of These United States of America. The other, I will have to be elected Pope.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: Casey, both of these sound very plausible, and highly likely. How are you EVER going to decide which one to pursue?
It’s been bothering me, too. Especially when you realize that either one is a virtual slam dunk for me.
Consider this:
When someone is running for President, they generally carry the state that they live in, and many of the states that they spent some time visiting. Using this rock solid, scientific data, I’m kind of a sure thing, for President. I’ve lived in California, Florida, New Jersey, Michigan, South Carolina, and Missouri. In the electoral college, that’s 133 votes RIGHT THERE. Now, when you consider that I have also spent a good deal of time in Arizona, Nevada, Texas, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Massachusetts, AND New York, that gives me roughly 309 votes. You only need 270 to win. Considering that, I’m frankly surprised that either party hasn’t contacted me, yet. Could I be TOO perfect? Yeah. That might be it.
As for becoming Pope, I went to catholic school for 10 years of my life. I have the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Mind you, the fact that I am not catholic may factor in, here. But, like with most things these days, I’m sure it’s just a quick internet application, along with a small processing fee. Something I could get out of the way in a few minutes, really. So, as far as Pope goes, I’m solid.
So, in an effort to try and decide which of these positions I will accept when (not if) it is offered, I thought it would be a good idea to make a list. Usually, lists are things that people make so that they can spend several hours trying to come to the same conclusion they would have come to without making a list.
Hmmmm….
They say.
Should I take that high paying job, that has the huge potential for career advancement, and will allow me to pay for all my children to go to college, even though it’s in a large city, far away, and I will have to uproot everyone? Or, should I stay in the small, family-like company, in which I now work. Sure, things will be tight, and I may not get a new car every 3-5 years. But, my children will grow up surrounded by family, and there’s something to be said for not having to lock your doors at night. Plus, the air is so fresh and clean, here. I simply don’t know what to do. Perhaps I should make a list!!
Then, they will spend the next 12-16 hours making a list about the pros and cons of each job, and will make the very same decision they would have made if they had not made a list......OF COURSE you take the high paying job. Wanna know why? Simple. Money can, in fact, buy happiness. I don’t care what that t-shirt says.
But, this decision is more important. This isn’t about some fantasy job, that they weren’t going to offer you, anyway. This is about the future. Our future. You and me….And….The world, and stuff. So, a list it shall be.
FINANCIAL:
POPE: Literally has gold robes, gold crowns, gold jewelry, and is surrounded all day long by statues made of gold. I’ll bet he drinks that vodka, with the little gold flecks in it, like it’s water. (Note to self: Should I become Pope, we’ll be serving Yoo-Hoo with little gold flecks. Just ‘cuz.) I’m pretty sure most of his house is made of gold. Plus, every Sunday he gets a new infusion of cash from devoted followers, all over the world. That’s pretty nice, if you ask me.
PRESIDENT: The President of the United States makes an annual salary of $400,000. That’s it. $400k. If you can’t squeak by on $400 grand, a year, than ruling the free world is NOT the job for you. Sunday is just Sunday, if you are the President. There is no fresh infusion of cash. Plus, I’m pretty sure that his suits are not lined with gold. I also bet that the Vice-President would make fun of you if you wore robes. Not that it’s the best look, anyway. They are not flattering. That’s why only fat people wear them, usually. Nope. Gotta go with the suit and tie. Plus, it’s always gotta be dark. You would NEVER see a President wearing a red suit, with thin, royal blue stripes, and a white silk tie. Sharp? Without question. Presidential? Probably not.
EDGE: Pope. You literally have ALL GOD’S MONEY!!! How is that NOT good?
PERSONAL SECURITY:
POPE: The Pope’s personal security are the Swiss Guards. They dress in funny, almost comical uniforms, and are, as near as I can tell, Swiss. I don’t know about you, but I have been in a few violent situations in my life. Heck, I was in Los Angeles during the 1992 riots. There were military people everywhere, and we were warned to stay away from the windows of the building I was in. Do you know what I never heard ANYBODY say? I never heard anybody say: “We’re all doomed, unless we can get some Swiss guys down here, in funny outfits, to save the day!!!”
Now, I’m certain that several people were THINKING it. But, no one ever said it. And, I think that’s very telling. Don’t you?
PRESIDENT: The President, of course, has the Secret Service. Big guys, in dark suits, wearing sunglasses, and things in their ears. Then, if you’re lucky, you will see them talk into their watches, every so often. HOW FREAKING COOL IS THAT!?!! Do YOU have a watch that you can talk into? Me either. But, if I could get my hands on one, you better believe that I would. I don’t know who I would talk to, on it. My wife will not engage in such behaviors, and my so called “friends” think I’m just a “dork” because I would wanna “talk” to them on my super cool “spy watch,” which probably “explains” why I don’t “have” a lot of “friends” to begin with. But, really, if you’re cool enough to have a spy watch, you probably shouldn’t have many friends. You never know who to trust, anyway. Besides, who wants to be bothered by phone calls, and birthday cards……….sigh.
EDGE: This one is simple. Would YOU rather tell people that you were in the Secret Service (and have a cool spy watch), or that you dressed up like a clown, and were in the Swiss Guard? Exactly. This one goes to the President.
AUTOMOTIVE:
POPE: The Pope’s car is made by Volkswagen. It is white, is made by Volkswagen, has security windows all around, is made by Volkswagen, looks like something that Miss Turnip 2009 might be riding in during a parade, is made by Volkswagen, has a CD player, and, oh yeah, IT’S MADE BY VOLKSWAGEN!!!!! You would think that, with all God’s money (literally), he’d be able to swing a nicer ride. I’m just sayin’…..
PRESIDENT: The President’s car is a Cadillac, with 5-inch thick windows, is a Cadillac, it’s painted all black, is a Cadillac, could withstand an attack by a rocket launcher, and IS A FREAKING CADILLAC!!!! This car is so cool that I couldn’t even find out that much about it. I even used the internet. EVERYTHING is on the internet, and it’s all true. Usually, if it’s not on the internet, I simply assume that it does not exist. I know this does, though. I’ve seen it on TV.
EDGE: No one, in the history of mankind, has EVER come down to deciding between a VW and a Cadillac, and actually gone with the VW. We’ll continue that trend, here. Honestly, would you rather drive a Beetle, or an Escalade? Exactly……Unless, of course, you could make the Beetle look like Herbie. That would be kind of cool. But, that aside, I’m going with the President on this one.
NAME:
POPE: The Pope gets to choose his own name. How cool is that!?!! Plus, no matter what he decides to call himself, everyone else has to go along with it. Basically, because HE'S the Pope, and HE said so. That's why. Thus far, though, most of the Popes have chosen pretty lame names. Not lame, in general. Just lame because, well, the sky was the limit!! If you could choose ANY name, would you choose Benedict? Of course not. I rest my case. If it were me, I'd come up with a cool name.
Cardinal: And, what name have you chosen for yourself, your holiness?
Me: I wish to be called "Pope Zombie King: Ruler Of The Undead."
Cardinal: Pope Zombie King?
Me: And, I want you guys to play some of that "Darth Vader-ish" music whenever I walk into the room.
Cardinal: Uhhhhhhhhh........
Me: And, I want you to replace all the communion wine with Yoo-Hoo.
Cardinal: I...don't...think...that would work, actually.....
Me: Be gone!! I wish to roll around in my gold, Pope-ly robes, now.
There must be someone who gives the current Popes a list of names to choose from. Because, if there wasn't, I'll bet the would come up with better stuff.
President: As President you "get" to keep your own name. I mean, that's all good and well. But, President Obama isn't exactly the coolest name I've ever heard. Given his choice, I'm certain he could do better.
Female Newscaster: Today, in Washington, President Vampire Assassin met with congressional leaders to discuss the economic failout package.....
Yes.....Yes He Can!!
EDGE: The Pope......For all the stated reasons, and so much more.
POWER:
POPE: The Pope is in charge of all the world’s Catholics. If they don’t listen to him, though, really nothing happens. Theoretically, I suppose, they will go to Hell. While, you are expected to listen to the Pope, and do what he says, there is no “Pope Squad” that is going to come swooping in, like a SWAT team, if you happen to be sitting there coveting your neighbor’s wife. He doesn’t even have a REAL army. He’s got those Swiss guys. But, seriously, if you have a chance, see if you can find a picture of one of them, online. While they may REPRESENT God, they aren’t putting the FEAR of God into anyone.
PRESIDENT: Two words: Nuclear Missile. The President has them. He has the codes. If he tells someone to “initiate the launch sequence,” they have to do it. Do you know why? Because he’s the President, and he said so. And, who likes Canada, anyway? It’s about time we wiped it out, if you ask me. Not that you were. But, if you had……
Plus, if you don’t do things that the President tells you to do, you won’t find a herd of girly Swiss men, in funny outfits, knocking on your door. You might get the cops, or the marines, or even worse, the IRS. So, if the President says it, you better do it.
EDGE: While he may not be speaking for God, clearly the President has the edge, here. Factor this is, as well. Chicks dig power. While both the Pope and the President have it, only one of them can have it manifest itself into the attention of beautiful women. That would be the President. Being the Pope is the romantic equivalent of a girl telling you that they just want to be friends. In short, the Pope has a nice personality, if you know what I mean.
So, after making my list, it is clear that President is the way to go, for me. The power, the clothes, the respect. It all screams: CASEY. Don’t you think? Me, too.
Now, all I have to do is decide what the best way to become President is. As a radio talk show host, I don’t think I’m any closer than 17th in the line of succession. So, barring some horrible disaster, I don’t see that happening. I could run for the job. But, Obama JUST got there, and he hasn’t had time to screw anything up, yet. Plus, I’d have to wait for four whole years.
What to do?
What to do?
Maybe I should make a list. That might help.
In the meantime, if you hear of any countries who are looking for a President, let me know. I’d even be willing to ride around in a VW, providing I could make it look like Herbie.
I’m not giving up the Yoo-Hoo, though. THAT is a deal breaker.
Casey
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: Casey, both of these sound very plausible, and highly likely. How are you EVER going to decide which one to pursue?
It’s been bothering me, too. Especially when you realize that either one is a virtual slam dunk for me.
Consider this:
When someone is running for President, they generally carry the state that they live in, and many of the states that they spent some time visiting. Using this rock solid, scientific data, I’m kind of a sure thing, for President. I’ve lived in California, Florida, New Jersey, Michigan, South Carolina, and Missouri. In the electoral college, that’s 133 votes RIGHT THERE. Now, when you consider that I have also spent a good deal of time in Arizona, Nevada, Texas, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Massachusetts, AND New York, that gives me roughly 309 votes. You only need 270 to win. Considering that, I’m frankly surprised that either party hasn’t contacted me, yet. Could I be TOO perfect? Yeah. That might be it.
As for becoming Pope, I went to catholic school for 10 years of my life. I have the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Mind you, the fact that I am not catholic may factor in, here. But, like with most things these days, I’m sure it’s just a quick internet application, along with a small processing fee. Something I could get out of the way in a few minutes, really. So, as far as Pope goes, I’m solid.
So, in an effort to try and decide which of these positions I will accept when (not if) it is offered, I thought it would be a good idea to make a list. Usually, lists are things that people make so that they can spend several hours trying to come to the same conclusion they would have come to without making a list.
Hmmmm….
They say.
Should I take that high paying job, that has the huge potential for career advancement, and will allow me to pay for all my children to go to college, even though it’s in a large city, far away, and I will have to uproot everyone? Or, should I stay in the small, family-like company, in which I now work. Sure, things will be tight, and I may not get a new car every 3-5 years. But, my children will grow up surrounded by family, and there’s something to be said for not having to lock your doors at night. Plus, the air is so fresh and clean, here. I simply don’t know what to do. Perhaps I should make a list!!
Then, they will spend the next 12-16 hours making a list about the pros and cons of each job, and will make the very same decision they would have made if they had not made a list......OF COURSE you take the high paying job. Wanna know why? Simple. Money can, in fact, buy happiness. I don’t care what that t-shirt says.
But, this decision is more important. This isn’t about some fantasy job, that they weren’t going to offer you, anyway. This is about the future. Our future. You and me….And….The world, and stuff. So, a list it shall be.
FINANCIAL:
POPE: Literally has gold robes, gold crowns, gold jewelry, and is surrounded all day long by statues made of gold. I’ll bet he drinks that vodka, with the little gold flecks in it, like it’s water. (Note to self: Should I become Pope, we’ll be serving Yoo-Hoo with little gold flecks. Just ‘cuz.) I’m pretty sure most of his house is made of gold. Plus, every Sunday he gets a new infusion of cash from devoted followers, all over the world. That’s pretty nice, if you ask me.
PRESIDENT: The President of the United States makes an annual salary of $400,000. That’s it. $400k. If you can’t squeak by on $400 grand, a year, than ruling the free world is NOT the job for you. Sunday is just Sunday, if you are the President. There is no fresh infusion of cash. Plus, I’m pretty sure that his suits are not lined with gold. I also bet that the Vice-President would make fun of you if you wore robes. Not that it’s the best look, anyway. They are not flattering. That’s why only fat people wear them, usually. Nope. Gotta go with the suit and tie. Plus, it’s always gotta be dark. You would NEVER see a President wearing a red suit, with thin, royal blue stripes, and a white silk tie. Sharp? Without question. Presidential? Probably not.
EDGE: Pope. You literally have ALL GOD’S MONEY!!! How is that NOT good?
PERSONAL SECURITY:
POPE: The Pope’s personal security are the Swiss Guards. They dress in funny, almost comical uniforms, and are, as near as I can tell, Swiss. I don’t know about you, but I have been in a few violent situations in my life. Heck, I was in Los Angeles during the 1992 riots. There were military people everywhere, and we were warned to stay away from the windows of the building I was in. Do you know what I never heard ANYBODY say? I never heard anybody say: “We’re all doomed, unless we can get some Swiss guys down here, in funny outfits, to save the day!!!”
Now, I’m certain that several people were THINKING it. But, no one ever said it. And, I think that’s very telling. Don’t you?
PRESIDENT: The President, of course, has the Secret Service. Big guys, in dark suits, wearing sunglasses, and things in their ears. Then, if you’re lucky, you will see them talk into their watches, every so often. HOW FREAKING COOL IS THAT!?!! Do YOU have a watch that you can talk into? Me either. But, if I could get my hands on one, you better believe that I would. I don’t know who I would talk to, on it. My wife will not engage in such behaviors, and my so called “friends” think I’m just a “dork” because I would wanna “talk” to them on my super cool “spy watch,” which probably “explains” why I don’t “have” a lot of “friends” to begin with. But, really, if you’re cool enough to have a spy watch, you probably shouldn’t have many friends. You never know who to trust, anyway. Besides, who wants to be bothered by phone calls, and birthday cards……….sigh.
EDGE: This one is simple. Would YOU rather tell people that you were in the Secret Service (and have a cool spy watch), or that you dressed up like a clown, and were in the Swiss Guard? Exactly. This one goes to the President.
AUTOMOTIVE:
POPE: The Pope’s car is made by Volkswagen. It is white, is made by Volkswagen, has security windows all around, is made by Volkswagen, looks like something that Miss Turnip 2009 might be riding in during a parade, is made by Volkswagen, has a CD player, and, oh yeah, IT’S MADE BY VOLKSWAGEN!!!!! You would think that, with all God’s money (literally), he’d be able to swing a nicer ride. I’m just sayin’…..
PRESIDENT: The President’s car is a Cadillac, with 5-inch thick windows, is a Cadillac, it’s painted all black, is a Cadillac, could withstand an attack by a rocket launcher, and IS A FREAKING CADILLAC!!!! This car is so cool that I couldn’t even find out that much about it. I even used the internet. EVERYTHING is on the internet, and it’s all true. Usually, if it’s not on the internet, I simply assume that it does not exist. I know this does, though. I’ve seen it on TV.
EDGE: No one, in the history of mankind, has EVER come down to deciding between a VW and a Cadillac, and actually gone with the VW. We’ll continue that trend, here. Honestly, would you rather drive a Beetle, or an Escalade? Exactly……Unless, of course, you could make the Beetle look like Herbie. That would be kind of cool. But, that aside, I’m going with the President on this one.
NAME:
POPE: The Pope gets to choose his own name. How cool is that!?!! Plus, no matter what he decides to call himself, everyone else has to go along with it. Basically, because HE'S the Pope, and HE said so. That's why. Thus far, though, most of the Popes have chosen pretty lame names. Not lame, in general. Just lame because, well, the sky was the limit!! If you could choose ANY name, would you choose Benedict? Of course not. I rest my case. If it were me, I'd come up with a cool name.
Cardinal: And, what name have you chosen for yourself, your holiness?
Me: I wish to be called "Pope Zombie King: Ruler Of The Undead."
Cardinal: Pope Zombie King?
Me: And, I want you guys to play some of that "Darth Vader-ish" music whenever I walk into the room.
Cardinal: Uhhhhhhhhh........
Me: And, I want you to replace all the communion wine with Yoo-Hoo.
Cardinal: I...don't...think...that would work, actually.....
Me: Be gone!! I wish to roll around in my gold, Pope-ly robes, now.
There must be someone who gives the current Popes a list of names to choose from. Because, if there wasn't, I'll bet the would come up with better stuff.
President: As President you "get" to keep your own name. I mean, that's all good and well. But, President Obama isn't exactly the coolest name I've ever heard. Given his choice, I'm certain he could do better.
Female Newscaster: Today, in Washington, President Vampire Assassin met with congressional leaders to discuss the economic failout package.....
Yes.....Yes He Can!!
EDGE: The Pope......For all the stated reasons, and so much more.
POWER:
POPE: The Pope is in charge of all the world’s Catholics. If they don’t listen to him, though, really nothing happens. Theoretically, I suppose, they will go to Hell. While, you are expected to listen to the Pope, and do what he says, there is no “Pope Squad” that is going to come swooping in, like a SWAT team, if you happen to be sitting there coveting your neighbor’s wife. He doesn’t even have a REAL army. He’s got those Swiss guys. But, seriously, if you have a chance, see if you can find a picture of one of them, online. While they may REPRESENT God, they aren’t putting the FEAR of God into anyone.
PRESIDENT: Two words: Nuclear Missile. The President has them. He has the codes. If he tells someone to “initiate the launch sequence,” they have to do it. Do you know why? Because he’s the President, and he said so. And, who likes Canada, anyway? It’s about time we wiped it out, if you ask me. Not that you were. But, if you had……
Plus, if you don’t do things that the President tells you to do, you won’t find a herd of girly Swiss men, in funny outfits, knocking on your door. You might get the cops, or the marines, or even worse, the IRS. So, if the President says it, you better do it.
EDGE: While he may not be speaking for God, clearly the President has the edge, here. Factor this is, as well. Chicks dig power. While both the Pope and the President have it, only one of them can have it manifest itself into the attention of beautiful women. That would be the President. Being the Pope is the romantic equivalent of a girl telling you that they just want to be friends. In short, the Pope has a nice personality, if you know what I mean.
So, after making my list, it is clear that President is the way to go, for me. The power, the clothes, the respect. It all screams: CASEY. Don’t you think? Me, too.
Now, all I have to do is decide what the best way to become President is. As a radio talk show host, I don’t think I’m any closer than 17th in the line of succession. So, barring some horrible disaster, I don’t see that happening. I could run for the job. But, Obama JUST got there, and he hasn’t had time to screw anything up, yet. Plus, I’d have to wait for four whole years.
What to do?
What to do?
Maybe I should make a list. That might help.
In the meantime, if you hear of any countries who are looking for a President, let me know. I’d even be willing to ride around in a VW, providing I could make it look like Herbie.
I’m not giving up the Yoo-Hoo, though. THAT is a deal breaker.
Casey
Friday, January 23, 2009
Monkey Boy/Cookie Barron
Everybody always talks about the benefits of being an adult WITHOUT children. You get to go to all the movies (which you never do), you get to go to all the concerts (which you never do), and you get to make wild, monkey love all over the house, no matter what time of day, and not worry about getting caught. (I don't know about you, but I've never done this. Though, I have been told I sounded like a monkey, during sex. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.)
But, you never hear ANYBODY talk about the joys of having the children WITHOUT the parents. The benefits, of course, would be for the rest of us. Not the children themselves. I'm guessing that, without the parents, the kids would starve, and cry, and spend too much time on the internet. There would be inquiries. If society has proven anything to us, it is that inquiries lead to no good.
Now that my daughter is at the age where she spends some of her time in groups, with other children, I am forced to spend some of my time in groups, with their parents.
This, too, often leads to no good.
At her basketball practice, there is one particular bonehead who believes that he is a surogate coach, and offers unsolicited advice to all the parents about how thier kid could be better.
Annoying Father: Spenser needs to keep her hands up.
Me: She's doing okay.
Annoying Father: Like this (as he procedes to put his hands up, as he wants my daughter to do.)
Me: Thanks. We'll work on that.
Annoying Father: She needs to get her legs set, too.
Me: Go away.
Annoying Father: Like this (as he gets his legs set.)
Me: I hate you.
Annoying Father: Then, she needs to slide, side to side.
Me: Die.
Annoying Father: Like this (sliding back and forth in front of me.)
Me: Why did anybody EVER let you reproduce with them.
Annoying Father: I don't sound like a monkey, in bed.
Me: I....Wait....Shut-up.
Then, I get a nice, long lecture about how his daughter (who I pretty sure I saw eat paste) is going for a basketball scholarship (I'm not making that up.)
The girls are 8.
While I'm pretty sure that the NBA is drafting 8 year olds, these days, I'm equally certain that most colleges ARE NOT offering them scholarships.
Most of the time I just think it would be better if all the OTHER parents weren't there. Of course, were that the case, I would probably have to answer a lot of questions about why I was the lone adult, watching a basketball practice, consisting entirely of 8 year old girls. Might be better if I just put on my ipod, and tried to ignore everybody else.
My point is that I never wanted to be one of THOSE parents. I wanted to enjoy watching my little girl do her thing, good or bad, and then be proud of her no matter what. Truth be told, Spenser's biggest concern as far as basketball goes was what color to paint her nails. When she is the home team, her jersey is red. Therefore, the nails must be red. When she is the visiting team, her jersey is white. Therefore, her nails must be....pink.......Don't ask.
Spenser: Are we home or visitors?
Me: It doesn't matter. We're late. Let's go.
Spenser: I have to paint my nails!!!
Me: You can't. We're late.
Spenser: DADDY!!!
Me: WE'RE LATE!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!!
Me: LET'S GO!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!
ME: AAAAAAAAAA!!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!!
Me: HOME!!! RED!!!
Spenser: Thank you.
Me: Don't forget to put your hands up.
Spenser: No. They'll throw me the ball, and scratch my nail polish.
Me: Oh......Right.
Sadly, though, we have reached Girl Scout Cookie season. While I can ignore the OTHER parents, for sports. I cannot allow them to have any sort of cookie superiority. For years, I have not been able, for various reasons, to help the kid out. This year, though, we are going to divide and conquer. I am finding that the Girl Scout parents are every bit as annoying as the basketball parents. For this reason alone, they must be destroyed.
Mother: We're going to sell cookies, this weekend.
Me: Us, too.
Mother (narrowing eyes): Where are you gonna go?
Me (narrwoing eyes back): Oh, here and there. You?
Mother: Same.
Me: What day?
Mother: Sunday. You?
Me: Tonight, tomorrow, AND Sunday.
Mother (dejected): We can't. Our other daughter has dance. God, I hate her.
Me: HA!!!! FACE!!!!!! HAD TO HAVE TWO DAUGHTERS, HUH!?!! HAHAHA!!!! ONE, UNPLANNED MOMENT OF PASSION, AND I AM THE GIRL SCOUT COOKIE KING!!!!!! BWAH-HA-HA-HA!!!!
Mother: I hear you sound like a monkey, in bed.
Me: I.....Wait.....Seriously....Shut-up.....That is so not cool.
So, this weekend, I will be out and about, dragging my daughter behind (green nail polish), and becoming the Girl Scout Cookie King of The East Coast.
You'll know me, if you see me. I sound like a monkey.
Casey
But, you never hear ANYBODY talk about the joys of having the children WITHOUT the parents. The benefits, of course, would be for the rest of us. Not the children themselves. I'm guessing that, without the parents, the kids would starve, and cry, and spend too much time on the internet. There would be inquiries. If society has proven anything to us, it is that inquiries lead to no good.
Now that my daughter is at the age where she spends some of her time in groups, with other children, I am forced to spend some of my time in groups, with their parents.
This, too, often leads to no good.
At her basketball practice, there is one particular bonehead who believes that he is a surogate coach, and offers unsolicited advice to all the parents about how thier kid could be better.
Annoying Father: Spenser needs to keep her hands up.
Me: She's doing okay.
Annoying Father: Like this (as he procedes to put his hands up, as he wants my daughter to do.)
Me: Thanks. We'll work on that.
Annoying Father: She needs to get her legs set, too.
Me: Go away.
Annoying Father: Like this (as he gets his legs set.)
Me: I hate you.
Annoying Father: Then, she needs to slide, side to side.
Me: Die.
Annoying Father: Like this (sliding back and forth in front of me.)
Me: Why did anybody EVER let you reproduce with them.
Annoying Father: I don't sound like a monkey, in bed.
Me: I....Wait....Shut-up.
Then, I get a nice, long lecture about how his daughter (who I pretty sure I saw eat paste) is going for a basketball scholarship (I'm not making that up.)
The girls are 8.
While I'm pretty sure that the NBA is drafting 8 year olds, these days, I'm equally certain that most colleges ARE NOT offering them scholarships.
Most of the time I just think it would be better if all the OTHER parents weren't there. Of course, were that the case, I would probably have to answer a lot of questions about why I was the lone adult, watching a basketball practice, consisting entirely of 8 year old girls. Might be better if I just put on my ipod, and tried to ignore everybody else.
My point is that I never wanted to be one of THOSE parents. I wanted to enjoy watching my little girl do her thing, good or bad, and then be proud of her no matter what. Truth be told, Spenser's biggest concern as far as basketball goes was what color to paint her nails. When she is the home team, her jersey is red. Therefore, the nails must be red. When she is the visiting team, her jersey is white. Therefore, her nails must be....pink.......Don't ask.
Spenser: Are we home or visitors?
Me: It doesn't matter. We're late. Let's go.
Spenser: I have to paint my nails!!!
Me: You can't. We're late.
Spenser: DADDY!!!
Me: WE'RE LATE!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!!
Me: LET'S GO!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!
ME: AAAAAAAAAA!!!!
Spenser: DADDY!!!!
Me: HOME!!! RED!!!
Spenser: Thank you.
Me: Don't forget to put your hands up.
Spenser: No. They'll throw me the ball, and scratch my nail polish.
Me: Oh......Right.
Sadly, though, we have reached Girl Scout Cookie season. While I can ignore the OTHER parents, for sports. I cannot allow them to have any sort of cookie superiority. For years, I have not been able, for various reasons, to help the kid out. This year, though, we are going to divide and conquer. I am finding that the Girl Scout parents are every bit as annoying as the basketball parents. For this reason alone, they must be destroyed.
Mother: We're going to sell cookies, this weekend.
Me: Us, too.
Mother (narrowing eyes): Where are you gonna go?
Me (narrwoing eyes back): Oh, here and there. You?
Mother: Same.
Me: What day?
Mother: Sunday. You?
Me: Tonight, tomorrow, AND Sunday.
Mother (dejected): We can't. Our other daughter has dance. God, I hate her.
Me: HA!!!! FACE!!!!!! HAD TO HAVE TWO DAUGHTERS, HUH!?!! HAHAHA!!!! ONE, UNPLANNED MOMENT OF PASSION, AND I AM THE GIRL SCOUT COOKIE KING!!!!!! BWAH-HA-HA-HA!!!!
Mother: I hear you sound like a monkey, in bed.
Me: I.....Wait.....Seriously....Shut-up.....That is so not cool.
So, this weekend, I will be out and about, dragging my daughter behind (green nail polish), and becoming the Girl Scout Cookie King of The East Coast.
You'll know me, if you see me. I sound like a monkey.
Casey
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Kingdom Of The Pink Shirt
Like many of you, I spent my Sunday with a bag of chips, a bottle of beer, and my best friends surrounding me, so that I could watch the football game. Thrusting my fists into the air, and chest bumping those around me, in a primitive, manly display of camaraderie. We watched the various games, and the women folk sat in the kitchen and chatted, only venturing into our “man-cave” to make certain that our beer bottles were full, and our chips were plentiful. It was the way God intended things to be.
It was also a filthy lie.
Not me.
It’s what I would have WANTED to do. But, my friends wives wouldn’t let them come over, and my wife didn’t want a bunch of screaming, crying men over at the house.
So, I watched the games with a box of reduced fat Cheez-Its, and a bottle of diet pepsi. I also had to do it in the room with the smaller TV. You see, there was this HGTV show on, about remodeling your bathroom, and my wife really wanted to watch it. So, you know….I went into the other room. It was still cool, though. If I sat really close, it LOOKED like a big screen. It’s a small victory. But, I’ll take ‘em where I can get ‘em.
I also had to do one other thing, while I was watching the game(s). It’s a small thing, that’s hardly worth mentioning. Honestly, I hesitate to even bring it up…….
I had to fold clothes.
I don’t ever recall my father having to fold clothes while HE was watching the football games. In fact, I don’t recall my father EVER getting off the couch, for ANYTHING.
I’m gonna go ahead and blame women for this. You see, something odd has happened over the years between my dad growing up, and me growing up. Women, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but women got all uppity.
My father has NEVER folded an article of clothing. I doubt he even knows HOW the clothes get folded. He probably thinks it gets done by the “Mystical Clothes Fairy.” Never heard of her? I’m guessing she’s the same one that my dad thinks washes the clothes, because he’s NEVER done that, either.
Not his youngest son.
Nope.
Not only do I wash AND fold clothes, but I have been known to iron them. Though, I have found that an easy way to get out of ironing clothes is to occasionally burn something. While your wife may TELL you that she doesn’t care what you look like when you go out, the truth is that she doesn’t want people knowing that she’s married to some bonehead who A) burns his clothes, and B) wears them, anyway. So, 7 times out of 10, you can get her to iron your shirt.
The problem is not so much that women got “uppity.” As the father of a daughter, I don’t want her scurrying all over the house, obsessed with the cleanliness of her bathroom, and waiting on some schlub, who still thinks that fire is something the gods do when they’re angry. No, I want my daughter to be one of those modern women, and I want whatever Neanderthal she ends up with to worship the ground she walks on. If he doesn’t, he’ll disappear. Poof! Just like that. It’s a big ocean, you know. People get lost. Happens every day. Sad, really. Someone drinks a little too much, decides to go for a swim in the ocean, and nobody ever sees or hears from them, again. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.
But, that’s neither here nor there.
The REAL problem is that, while they were teaching girls that they could be more than just housewives, they forgot to teach us boys how to fold clothes, and do laundry, and iron, and work that big thing in the kitchen that makes stuff hot.
And, let me tell you exactly what happens when you DON'T teach boys how to do these things. You get pink clothes.
Early on in my laundry-doing career, I was unfamiliar with the act of "sorting" clothes. This is where you take clothes of one color, and clothes of another color, and place them into different piles. Then, you wash ONLY ONE of these piles. The other pile, you place in a bag, throw in the trunk of your car, drive 20 miles in any direction, stop at a random house, and ask them if you can wash your bag of clothes in their machine. In this way, you will NEVER run the risk of washing a red shirt with a white shirt, thus creating a pink shirt.
It ain't pretty.
My wife: Why are you wearing a pink shirt?
Me: It used to be a white shirt.
My wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're dumb.
Me: Shut-up.
My Wife: Why are your socks blue?
Me: I washed them with my jeans.
My Wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're......
Me: Shut-up.
Such is my life.
But, then it gets worse. Just when you think you've figured out the complex formula for separating your clothes, they throw you a curve.
Tell me, ANYBODY, exactly WHAT pile does a red and white stripped shirt go into???
I'd really like to know.
AND, how come the red stripes don't turn the white stripes pink, but if I wash it with other white things I get a load of newly pink clothes!?!!!
What the heck!?!!
How do I NOT get a pink and red stripped shirt?
Is this some kind of magic shirt?
It goes against all the laws of physics, and other science-y things.
Look, I'm not saying that I wanna go back to caveman days, where the woman stays in the cave, while I go out and hunt. I'm just saying that, if we're going to teach young girls how to be corporate raiders, we need to start teaching young boys how to keep the reds and the whites away from each other.
If we don't, we're going to have a society filled with very successful, businesswomen. But, it will also be filled with lots of sad looking, overweight men wearing burn marked, pink clothes, with blue socks.
THAT'S the future that I see.....And it's not pretty.
Now, if anyone could get back to me on that whole "striped shirt" thing, I'd appreciate it.
Casey
It was also a filthy lie.
Not me.
It’s what I would have WANTED to do. But, my friends wives wouldn’t let them come over, and my wife didn’t want a bunch of screaming, crying men over at the house.
So, I watched the games with a box of reduced fat Cheez-Its, and a bottle of diet pepsi. I also had to do it in the room with the smaller TV. You see, there was this HGTV show on, about remodeling your bathroom, and my wife really wanted to watch it. So, you know….I went into the other room. It was still cool, though. If I sat really close, it LOOKED like a big screen. It’s a small victory. But, I’ll take ‘em where I can get ‘em.
I also had to do one other thing, while I was watching the game(s). It’s a small thing, that’s hardly worth mentioning. Honestly, I hesitate to even bring it up…….
I had to fold clothes.
I don’t ever recall my father having to fold clothes while HE was watching the football games. In fact, I don’t recall my father EVER getting off the couch, for ANYTHING.
I’m gonna go ahead and blame women for this. You see, something odd has happened over the years between my dad growing up, and me growing up. Women, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but women got all uppity.
My father has NEVER folded an article of clothing. I doubt he even knows HOW the clothes get folded. He probably thinks it gets done by the “Mystical Clothes Fairy.” Never heard of her? I’m guessing she’s the same one that my dad thinks washes the clothes, because he’s NEVER done that, either.
Not his youngest son.
Nope.
Not only do I wash AND fold clothes, but I have been known to iron them. Though, I have found that an easy way to get out of ironing clothes is to occasionally burn something. While your wife may TELL you that she doesn’t care what you look like when you go out, the truth is that she doesn’t want people knowing that she’s married to some bonehead who A) burns his clothes, and B) wears them, anyway. So, 7 times out of 10, you can get her to iron your shirt.
The problem is not so much that women got “uppity.” As the father of a daughter, I don’t want her scurrying all over the house, obsessed with the cleanliness of her bathroom, and waiting on some schlub, who still thinks that fire is something the gods do when they’re angry. No, I want my daughter to be one of those modern women, and I want whatever Neanderthal she ends up with to worship the ground she walks on. If he doesn’t, he’ll disappear. Poof! Just like that. It’s a big ocean, you know. People get lost. Happens every day. Sad, really. Someone drinks a little too much, decides to go for a swim in the ocean, and nobody ever sees or hears from them, again. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.
But, that’s neither here nor there.
The REAL problem is that, while they were teaching girls that they could be more than just housewives, they forgot to teach us boys how to fold clothes, and do laundry, and iron, and work that big thing in the kitchen that makes stuff hot.
And, let me tell you exactly what happens when you DON'T teach boys how to do these things. You get pink clothes.
Early on in my laundry-doing career, I was unfamiliar with the act of "sorting" clothes. This is where you take clothes of one color, and clothes of another color, and place them into different piles. Then, you wash ONLY ONE of these piles. The other pile, you place in a bag, throw in the trunk of your car, drive 20 miles in any direction, stop at a random house, and ask them if you can wash your bag of clothes in their machine. In this way, you will NEVER run the risk of washing a red shirt with a white shirt, thus creating a pink shirt.
It ain't pretty.
My wife: Why are you wearing a pink shirt?
Me: It used to be a white shirt.
My wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're dumb.
Me: Shut-up.
My Wife: Why are your socks blue?
Me: I washed them with my jeans.
My Wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're......
Me: Shut-up.
Such is my life.
But, then it gets worse. Just when you think you've figured out the complex formula for separating your clothes, they throw you a curve.
Tell me, ANYBODY, exactly WHAT pile does a red and white stripped shirt go into???
I'd really like to know.
AND, how come the red stripes don't turn the white stripes pink, but if I wash it with other white things I get a load of newly pink clothes!?!!!
What the heck!?!!
How do I NOT get a pink and red stripped shirt?
Is this some kind of magic shirt?
It goes against all the laws of physics, and other science-y things.
Look, I'm not saying that I wanna go back to caveman days, where the woman stays in the cave, while I go out and hunt. I'm just saying that, if we're going to teach young girls how to be corporate raiders, we need to start teaching young boys how to keep the reds and the whites away from each other.
If we don't, we're going to have a society filled with very successful, businesswomen. But, it will also be filled with lots of sad looking, overweight men wearing burn marked, pink clothes, with blue socks.
THAT'S the future that I see.....And it's not pretty.
Now, if anyone could get back to me on that whole "striped shirt" thing, I'd appreciate it.
Casey
Monday, January 5, 2009
Saving Money Is Going To Bankrupt Me
Saving Money Is Going To Bankrupt Me
I like to pride myself on NOT buying into hype, and not getting too excited about things that the media want me to get excited about. This is mainly for two reasons. One, I work in the media and I know how we tend to over dramatize things. Two, it is in my nature to be contrary. It’s why I make a good(ish) talk show host.
So, it is with much embarrassment that I tell you that I went a little crazy, trying to save money, at the grocery store, last night.
Like everyone else, I watch the news and I am now thoroughly convinced that I am A) unemployed, and B) an inner city, welfare mother, addicted to crack, with 4 children from various fathers, whose application for food stamps just got denied because I used them to try and buy cigarettes and beer, while turning to prostitution as my only means of existence.
How did my life turn out like this?
I went to college!!! And I only got kicked out twice!!!
Damn Republicarats!!!!
So, until Barack Obama comes along and waves his magic-economic-twinkle-stick-of-change to fix everything, and we all get puppies and ice cream, it looks like I’m going to have to make some changes.
Like many other people, I have turned to comparison shopping, and coupons. So, like many other people, I waste all the money I would have saved at the store, on gas, as I drive from store to store trying to save .00000000276% on my grocery bill.
I assure you that “obsession” is a fitting word. I found myself wondering around the store, saying things like:
“.79 cents a POUND!?!! Screw that!! It’s only .78 cents a pound at the other store. DO THEY THINK I’M SOME KIND OF FOOL!?!!”
Or:
“$3.98? For THAT!?!! RAT BASTARDS!!!!!”
Of course, many people stared at me because I was both muttering, and yelling at myself, while wondering around a food store, wearing a “Kermit The Frog” hat. Apparently, this behavior has been deemed “odd” by some people. Go figure.
Another interesting thing about my current obsession with saving money, is that it’s actually causing me to spend MORE money.
Yup.
You see, I am broke, because the house that I paid $388,000 (which I did not have) for, is now worth approximately $2.74 (financed over 30 years at 5 ½% FIXED.) So, I have no money. Obviously, this is causing me to spend MORE money.
This is due to the fact that I am now using coupons.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Work is really slow, which is why I have all this extra time to read Casey’s pointless blog.” But, you’re also thinking, “How can this bonehead manage to spend MORE money if he’s using coupons? What an idiot. His mother must have been smoking ground up tire treads when she was pregnant with him.”
I get a lot of that.
Let me explain.
You see, the coupons are forcing me, against my will, to buy things that I don’t actually need, for the simple reason that I HAVE A COUPON FOR THAT!!!!!
So, as I wonder through the store, buying things I don’t need, or like.
I don’t NEED eggs, but I have a coupon. So, I actually lose money, because they sit in my refrigerator, and go bad because I didn’t need them in the first place.
I don’t even LIKE pimento loaf. But, I bought it, because I had a coupon. Now it, too, will sit around and go bad.
I didn’t NEED that 17 year old, Vietnamese girl. But, I HAD A COUPON!!! Now, she’s gonna sit in my cupboard, and go bad.
You get the gist.
Personally, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there are no economic problems. That this was all started by the giant, monolithic, supermarket conglomerates in order to convince us to spend MORE money, by using coupons. Sadly, we have all fallen for it.
So, I end up spending more money on things, because a tiny piece of paper tells me that I can save 30 cents on it. All the money I saved ended up costing me about $40.
For an unemployed, crack addicted, welfare mother this is not a good sign.
I think I need help.
Casey
I like to pride myself on NOT buying into hype, and not getting too excited about things that the media want me to get excited about. This is mainly for two reasons. One, I work in the media and I know how we tend to over dramatize things. Two, it is in my nature to be contrary. It’s why I make a good(ish) talk show host.
So, it is with much embarrassment that I tell you that I went a little crazy, trying to save money, at the grocery store, last night.
Like everyone else, I watch the news and I am now thoroughly convinced that I am A) unemployed, and B) an inner city, welfare mother, addicted to crack, with 4 children from various fathers, whose application for food stamps just got denied because I used them to try and buy cigarettes and beer, while turning to prostitution as my only means of existence.
How did my life turn out like this?
I went to college!!! And I only got kicked out twice!!!
Damn Republicarats!!!!
So, until Barack Obama comes along and waves his magic-economic-twinkle-stick-of-change to fix everything, and we all get puppies and ice cream, it looks like I’m going to have to make some changes.
Like many other people, I have turned to comparison shopping, and coupons. So, like many other people, I waste all the money I would have saved at the store, on gas, as I drive from store to store trying to save .00000000276% on my grocery bill.
I assure you that “obsession” is a fitting word. I found myself wondering around the store, saying things like:
“.79 cents a POUND!?!! Screw that!! It’s only .78 cents a pound at the other store. DO THEY THINK I’M SOME KIND OF FOOL!?!!”
Or:
“$3.98? For THAT!?!! RAT BASTARDS!!!!!”
Of course, many people stared at me because I was both muttering, and yelling at myself, while wondering around a food store, wearing a “Kermit The Frog” hat. Apparently, this behavior has been deemed “odd” by some people. Go figure.
Another interesting thing about my current obsession with saving money, is that it’s actually causing me to spend MORE money.
Yup.
You see, I am broke, because the house that I paid $388,000 (which I did not have) for, is now worth approximately $2.74 (financed over 30 years at 5 ½% FIXED.) So, I have no money. Obviously, this is causing me to spend MORE money.
This is due to the fact that I am now using coupons.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Work is really slow, which is why I have all this extra time to read Casey’s pointless blog.” But, you’re also thinking, “How can this bonehead manage to spend MORE money if he’s using coupons? What an idiot. His mother must have been smoking ground up tire treads when she was pregnant with him.”
I get a lot of that.
Let me explain.
You see, the coupons are forcing me, against my will, to buy things that I don’t actually need, for the simple reason that I HAVE A COUPON FOR THAT!!!!!
So, as I wonder through the store, buying things I don’t need, or like.
I don’t NEED eggs, but I have a coupon. So, I actually lose money, because they sit in my refrigerator, and go bad because I didn’t need them in the first place.
I don’t even LIKE pimento loaf. But, I bought it, because I had a coupon. Now it, too, will sit around and go bad.
I didn’t NEED that 17 year old, Vietnamese girl. But, I HAD A COUPON!!! Now, she’s gonna sit in my cupboard, and go bad.
You get the gist.
Personally, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there are no economic problems. That this was all started by the giant, monolithic, supermarket conglomerates in order to convince us to spend MORE money, by using coupons. Sadly, we have all fallen for it.
So, I end up spending more money on things, because a tiny piece of paper tells me that I can save 30 cents on it. All the money I saved ended up costing me about $40.
For an unemployed, crack addicted, welfare mother this is not a good sign.
I think I need help.
Casey
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