My daughter just turned 9 years old. Which, of course, means that I am 9 years older, too. When she is 10, I’ll be 40. When she is 20, I’ll be 50. When she is 39, I’ll be 69!!! And, just for fun, when she is 242, I’LL be 272 YEARS OLD!!!
OH MY GOD!!!!!!
I’M GOING TO DIE!!!!
How many people do YOU know who made it to 272? Not many, I’m guessing. Which has caused me to reaccess my life. Being that I am only 39, and a very young 39 at that, this simple chart will illustrate how I have spent my time on this earth:
WHAT CASEY DID WHILE HE WAS SUCKING BACK AIR ON THIS ROCK:
30% - Watching "Monty Python"
30% - Watching "Mystery Science Theater 3000"
22% - Sleeping
17.3% - Ate Food And Food Related Things
.07% - Had Sex (With/Without Partner)
As you can clearly see, my time has not been wasted. However, I can’t help but get this nagging feeling that I should be doing more. I mean, have you SEEN Mother Teresa’s chart? You’d probably be shocked to find that SHE has spent next to no time watching Monty Python. I shudder to think about what the researchers discovered when they checked the “MST3K” section of her brain. Honestly, she probably didn’t even HAVE an “MST3K” portion of her brain. Which leads one to wonder, “Why was God punishing her?” I mean, she seemed like such a good person.
A basic viewing of the chart below will show you how little time SHE spent being dealing with the truly important aspects of life.
Yes, I’m talking about Monty Python…..
And, “MST3K”…..
And, yes, you probably aren’t going to want to stand too close to me after viewing said chart, as I will probably be struck down by lighting, or become inflicted with some sort of horrible plague, once you do. But, damn it, I was blogging. You would think that God would understand something as important as a blog, wouldn’t you?
WHAT MOTHER TERESA DID WHILE SHE WAS SUCKING BACK AIR ON THIS ROCK:
44% - Thought About The Poor
42% - Worked With The Actual Poor
11% - Raised Money For The Poor
3% - Watched "American Idol"
Now, I am fairly certain that she was only watching “Idol” after all the poor people were fed and cared for. But, I have no evidence of this.
Mother Teresa is ALREADY in Heaven, though. What about me? I’m the one who’s dying, here.
Now, I COULD spend more of my time helping mankind. There’s only one, tiny problem with that. I don’t much care for mankind, as a whole. In fact, there are several members of mankind that I would not necessarily care if they lost their gravitational pull to the earth, and floated out into the atmosphere. I’m assuming that they would disintegrate at some point, and I would consider this to be a good thing.
In fact, I have a list of people I would not mind seeing burst into flame, upon leaving the relative safety of planet earth. However, helping to make that happen would be wrong. At least, this is what my lawyer tells me whenever I bring it up.
So, helping my fellow mankind is out, since most of them suck.
What else could I do?
To answer this question, I went to my newly minted 9 year old daughter. I read somewhere, once, that “a child shall lead them,” or some crap like that. I think it was on a t-shirt. Maybe a bumper sticker. It was definitely someplace where you would read something philosophical.
So, I asked my daughter.
Me: Sweetie, daddy is dying. What should I do to help be a better person?
Spenser: You’re DYING!?!!
Me: Well, yeah, sort of…
Spenser (starting to cry): But, I don’t want you to die….
Me: Well, I’m not REALLY dying,….
Spenser (sniffling): You aren’t?
Me: Well, I mean, yes, I AM dying, but….
Spenser (crying): But, I don’t WANT you to die….
Me: Honey, it’s okay. We’re ALL dying…
Spenser (sniffling): I’m dying, too?
Me: Well, yes, of course you are.
Spenser (crying loudly): BUT I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!!
Me: This really didn’t go the way I was hoping….
Spenser (still crying loudly): WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My Wife: Way to go, Genius.
Me: But, it’s true.
Spenser (continuing to cry loudly): WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!
My Wife: Casey, get in the basement…..NOW!!!!
So, I had to come up with a way to be a better person, on my own, without the help of my now traumatized daughter. The answer, of course, came from Harrison Ford.
Yes, THAT Harrison Ford.
I happened to be watching TV, and I saw a commercial featuring old Harrison talking about the environment. I didn’t catch the entire message. But, as near as I could tell, the way the rainforests were being destroyed was the EXACT same way that it would be if Harrison Ford got his chest waxed.
I swear to GOD…….
So, Harrison Ford talked about the rainforest, a little bit, and he looked VERY serious. Then, in order to make his point, he had a young woman apply wax to his chest hair, and YANK IT OUT, really fast.
This did not make Harrison happy. He gave the young woman a VERY terse look.
What is the message?
Well, it is PERFECTLY obvious.
If Harrison Ford continues to lose chest hair, at his current rate, then the world is doomed. Diseases that have long been dormant will come back to life and kill us all. The world will lose its oxygen supply, and many of the planet’s most endangered species will cease to exist.
It’s frightening, if you really stop and think about it.
So, I know what I need to do. I’m going to make it my personal mission to protect, and preserve Harrison Ford’s chest hair. Honestly, I had never really understood how important it was. I don’t think most of us did. If we had, I don’t know how he EVER would have been able to get insurance for ANY of his movies.
Had you realized that, if that giant rock had rolled over him in “Raiders Of The Lost Ark,” that the entire planet could have died? I doubt it. You self-serving, materialistic FOOL!!!!
So, please, join me in my goal to protect Harrison Ford, and his chest hair, at all costs. If you don’t, I’m not going to be held responsible for what happens. Our time on this planet is short, and Harrison only has a limited amount of hair left.
The clock is ticking. Remember, when my daughter is 372, I’LL be 402 years old.
I know. Scary, isn’t it?
Casey
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
My Son: The Zombie
My 10 month old son is a virus infected, flesh hungry, moaning zombie, who crawls the floors of my home, seeking innocent victims.
There.
I said it.
It's out there, now.
I feel better.
I fear that I may be partially to blame for this. You see, I have an affection for zombies, and zombie-related films, and such. My wife does not share this, and she will not watch them with me. I guess that makes her the innocent victim, here. She birthed the undead. Kinda cool if you think about it, though. However, I doubt she shares my enthusiasm.
You're probably wondering why I think my son crawls the earth, craving brains. It's a legitimate concern. Plus, even if you aren't wondering, I'm going to tell you anyway. So deal with it.
The other day, the boy was crawling around the house, like he does. Actually, he doesn't really crawl. He refuses to use his legs. He just kinda pulls himself along, with his arms, and drags his lifeless body behind him. While he does this, he moans. Creepy moans, too. "UhhhhhhhhhhOhhhhhhhhOoooooooooooo......." This goes on until he gets to his destination, at which point he says, "Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....."
On this particular day, I happened to be his destination. So, he was pulling himself around, making his creepy noises, and he gets to my leg. He pulls himself up to a standing position, looks right at me, says, "Ehhhhhhhhhh....," and then bites me in the leg......HARD.........And it hurt.
How could it hurt?
He only has 2 teeth!!!
Then he laughed.
I yelped.
"YELP!!" I said.
I could have written the whole thing off as something cute, that a small child was doing.
But he did it again.
TWICE.
IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY!!!!!!
HE'S TRYING TO EAT ME!!!!!!
AND HE'S LAUGHING ABOUT IT!!!
That ain't right.
I'm his father. I don't know that it's written down anywhere, but I'm pretty sure that it is some kind of fauzx pas to eat your parents. Unless, of course, you are a zombie baby.
I swear to you that, if the boy could reach up to my skull, he would crack it open and start feasting on the caramel, brain, goodness that resides inside my skull......Yes, I believe my brain is full of caramel. I mean, there's gotta be something in there, right? God knows that it's not filled with "brain stuff."
Anyway, the time change is having an affect on "zombie baby." He can't sleep, at night, very well. As luck would have it, I don't sleep very well, either. I have "night terrors" that keep me awake. These are REALLY scary nightmares, that seem REALLY realistic, and make me want to stay awake rather than have them. So, rather than have dreams about people I love being murdered, in unspeakable ways, I lay awake.
This is NOT GOOD when the Prince of The Undead is occupying the crib 30 feet away.
I can hear him.
He's moaning his undead moans......
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....Ooooooooooooooooooooo...."
I'm not certain, but I think last night I heard him say:
"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddyyyyyyyyyy.....I'm going to eat your brrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnsssss.......Want caraaaaaammmmmmmeeeeellllll."
I kinda freaked me out.
My wife, of course, does not believe me. She thinks it's cute.
"Oh, look," she'll say. "Max is trying to rip the flesh off your calf, with his teeth.....I'll go get the camera."
Must be nice not to have to live with the threat of "baby zombie" attack, every night. I wish that were me.
But, it's not.
The boy is already standing up in his crib. So, it's only a matter of time. Eventually, he'll be able to crawl over the side. Then, he'll pull his body down the hallway. He'll pass my daughter's room. He'll go around my wife. He'll pull himself up, on my side of the bed. Then, he'll dig his teeth....BOTH of them...into my skull, and all I'll feel is the gentle dripping of caramel, down the side of my head.
A sticky death, at the hands of my zombie son.
Casey
There.
I said it.
It's out there, now.
I feel better.
I fear that I may be partially to blame for this. You see, I have an affection for zombies, and zombie-related films, and such. My wife does not share this, and she will not watch them with me. I guess that makes her the innocent victim, here. She birthed the undead. Kinda cool if you think about it, though. However, I doubt she shares my enthusiasm.
You're probably wondering why I think my son crawls the earth, craving brains. It's a legitimate concern. Plus, even if you aren't wondering, I'm going to tell you anyway. So deal with it.
The other day, the boy was crawling around the house, like he does. Actually, he doesn't really crawl. He refuses to use his legs. He just kinda pulls himself along, with his arms, and drags his lifeless body behind him. While he does this, he moans. Creepy moans, too. "UhhhhhhhhhhOhhhhhhhhOoooooooooooo......." This goes on until he gets to his destination, at which point he says, "Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....."
On this particular day, I happened to be his destination. So, he was pulling himself around, making his creepy noises, and he gets to my leg. He pulls himself up to a standing position, looks right at me, says, "Ehhhhhhhhhh....," and then bites me in the leg......HARD.........And it hurt.
How could it hurt?
He only has 2 teeth!!!
Then he laughed.
I yelped.
"YELP!!" I said.
I could have written the whole thing off as something cute, that a small child was doing.
But he did it again.
TWICE.
IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY!!!!!!
HE'S TRYING TO EAT ME!!!!!!
AND HE'S LAUGHING ABOUT IT!!!
That ain't right.
I'm his father. I don't know that it's written down anywhere, but I'm pretty sure that it is some kind of fauzx pas to eat your parents. Unless, of course, you are a zombie baby.
I swear to you that, if the boy could reach up to my skull, he would crack it open and start feasting on the caramel, brain, goodness that resides inside my skull......Yes, I believe my brain is full of caramel. I mean, there's gotta be something in there, right? God knows that it's not filled with "brain stuff."
Anyway, the time change is having an affect on "zombie baby." He can't sleep, at night, very well. As luck would have it, I don't sleep very well, either. I have "night terrors" that keep me awake. These are REALLY scary nightmares, that seem REALLY realistic, and make me want to stay awake rather than have them. So, rather than have dreams about people I love being murdered, in unspeakable ways, I lay awake.
This is NOT GOOD when the Prince of The Undead is occupying the crib 30 feet away.
I can hear him.
He's moaning his undead moans......
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....Ooooooooooooooooooooo...."
I'm not certain, but I think last night I heard him say:
"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddyyyyyyyyyy.....I'm going to eat your brrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnsssss.......Want caraaaaaammmmmmmeeeeellllll."
I kinda freaked me out.
My wife, of course, does not believe me. She thinks it's cute.
"Oh, look," she'll say. "Max is trying to rip the flesh off your calf, with his teeth.....I'll go get the camera."
Must be nice not to have to live with the threat of "baby zombie" attack, every night. I wish that were me.
But, it's not.
The boy is already standing up in his crib. So, it's only a matter of time. Eventually, he'll be able to crawl over the side. Then, he'll pull his body down the hallway. He'll pass my daughter's room. He'll go around my wife. He'll pull himself up, on my side of the bed. Then, he'll dig his teeth....BOTH of them...into my skull, and all I'll feel is the gentle dripping of caramel, down the side of my head.
A sticky death, at the hands of my zombie son.
Casey
Monday, March 9, 2009
A Random Collection Of Thoughts....
I felt that I should blog.
I don’t know why. There are those who pressure me to blog, but I generally ignore them. However, I was sitting here, and I had a few free minutes, and I thought I would jot some things down.
Jot? I jot? I never knew I jotted. Damn. Sometimes, when I’m all alone and no one is bothering me, I fancy myself a writer. Not a jotter. Sounds lame.
Wait……I fancy?
Crap.
I’m growing the beard back. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. The beard has been back for a while. So, technically, I’m continuing to grow the beard. I would love it if I could get it nice and long, like the guys from ZZ Top. Sadly, I don’t think that will happen. I don’t have that kind of support system. I good beard needs a solid support system. Mostly, what I get is, “When are you gonna shave that stupid thing off?” So, I don’t see myself goin’ the way of the “Sharp Dressed Man” anytime soon. Would be nice, though.
I’ve got rock salt all over the front of my house. When we got that big snow, last week, I shoveled really late. So, most of it was snow. Lest the precious snowflakes who walk past my house on the way to school slip and fall, I put down a bunch of salt. Then, it got warm. Now, I have rock salt. Now, I’m waiting for it to rain, and wash all the rock salt away. I could go sweep it up. But, I don’t have time for that. Actually, I do have time for that, I just don’t wanna do it. There are things I like to make time for, and things I don’t. Sadly, the things I like to make time for don’t seem to have the time for me, at this moment. However, this in no way, shape, or form makes me want to go sweep up rock salt. Maybe I can just leave it there until the next snow. Probably next year. I don’t think it works like that, does it?
Speaking of that, there is rock salt residue all over my car. I have to go get it washed. Every other place I have ever lived there were stand alone car washes at all the gas stations. You’d buy your gas, pay for a wash at the same time, then drive over to the car wash and get your it done. It took about 5 minutes, total. I only know of one of these such machines, in New Jersey, and it hardly ever works. There are a lot of things like that. Things that work everywhere else on the planet, but fail to work in New Jersey. Why is that? Is New Jersey some sort of Bermuda Triangle? I’ll have to think on that one.
I’m too busy thinking of other things, these days. I’m working on a book proposal, which takes almost as long as writing an actual book. Plus, I’m getting the feeling that it needs to be better than the actual book. I suppose, though, that if I can’t write a good proposal than I have no business writing a book. So, I’m dealing with that. I’m also working on a new zombie story. I’ve been working on it for a while, and it keeps changing. I think it might be pretty good. I dunno, though. It’s hard to tell, when you’re writing it. I’m also thinking of using the blog as an online novel. I’ve talked about that, before. I might just do that. I actually have several chapters of that already written. This would help when you put in my personal “lazy factor.”
I’m also still working on those websites. I’ve got the names. I’ve even got them registered. Pulling the trigger on it is proving more difficult than I had planned. This, too, is my fault due to the time factor. That keeps coming up. The time factor. I wish I could stop time, when I wanted to, and freeze everyone else in place. Then I could get all my work done, and start time back up again. I’d actually be ahead, for once. I don’t know who I’m kidding, though. I wouldn’t work. I’d go around and look at naked women. Sadly, I know myself too well. I don’t get to see enough naked women. Hell, I don’t get to see ANY naked women. There was a “Twilight Zone” episode about that. Not seeing naked women. It was about stopping time. As I recall, THAT guy used his time stopping ability to steal money, not look at naked women. I’m sure he eventually got to that, though, because he broke the watch that allowed him to stop time, and everyone else got frozen, forever. After a while, I’m sure he looked at some naked women. I’ll try not to do that. Meaning, I’ll try not to break my time stopping watch. Wouldn’t want you all to get frozen. That would suck.
Anyway, I’m working on websites, too.
I’m also working on a few audio things, with a buddy of mine, that may end up airing in other countries. We’ll have to see about that. One issue that has come up is that I’m an American. So, I have an American accent. I guess the Australians were concerned about that. They must think we talk funny, here. I like Australian accents, though. I wonder why they hate me.
I just downloaded the Yellow pages App onto my blackberry. Why do I tell you this? Because I like saying App, that’s why……..App.
By the way, writing this is NOT getting my book proposal done. It’s also not getting my zombie story done. My websites? They aren’t done, yet, either. Life is hard.
My wife never kisses me goodnight, anymore. Maybe I should start brushing my teeth before I go to bed.
I rode bikes with my daughter, over the weekend. It was fun. We rode over and got ice cream, afterwards. It was the least amount of stress I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. I should do more of that. I have a girls bike, though, damn it. Why did I buy a girls bike? Hell, it’s not even a girl’s bike. It’s an old woman’s bike. Why did I buy an old woman’s bike? It was probably on sale. I swear to God, I will spend any amount of money on anyone else. But, when it comes to me, I get cheap. Is it because I hate myself? I wonder. Maybe I hate myself because I buy myself such cheap things. Hmmmm….I could ask my therapist that. But, I don’t have a therapist. I was going to go to one. I even made an appointment. But, they were really expensive. Plus, I don’t know if I trust them. I think they only talk to people, because it makes their lives seem better. Plus, people are far more interesting when they are all, shall we say, f*&#ed up than when they are happy. You never see a therapist telling a happy person to come back. But, you will never see them turn away someone who is good and screwed up. It’s because happy people are boring. Messed up people are interesting. Maybe I should become I therapist. I thought about doing that, once, but someone told me I wasn’t smart enough. They were probably right. Still, I like to hear about messed up people. I’ll make a note.
Yes, in fact, I DO like Yoo-Hoo THAT much.
Someone asked me if I was going to announce the Roller Derby, again. I don't know. I haven't been asked. If I am, I probably will. I didn't know if I'd like the sport, and I did. Fast paced, and fun to watch. I don't know why they'd ask me. I wasn't very good at it. I mostly just stood there and said, "Ohhhhhh...." Stuff like that. I announced women's college softball for a whole season, and wasn't very good at that, either. I only did that to meet girls, though, when I was in college. I went out with a bunch of them. But, they only went out with me so that they could get on the radio. I only got to second base with one of them. Ironically, it was the second basemen. I swear to God, I am not making that up. She stopped seeing me when I found that VERY funny. My mouth has cost me a lot of relationships. If I had a finger that was causing me that kind of problem, I'd have it cut off. I don't think that you can cut off a mouth. If anything, it would just make the hole bigger. I would think a bigger hole, would just cause me greater problems. That could not be good. I could sew it shut, but I gotta eat. Either way, if I tried to get to second base with a derby chick, I think she'd deck me. Maybe that's why they haven't asked me back. Hmmmmm.....
I'm in a "not happy" state. I wish that would end. Maybe when the new "Hannah Montana" movie comes out in a few weeks, that will perk me up......Crap....There's a "Hannah Montana" movie coming out in a few weeks, and I'm probably going to go see it. That's depressing........Wait......I perk, too? What the hell!?!!
My book proposal, zombie story, and websites are still not done..........
Maybe I should go......
Casey
I don’t know why. There are those who pressure me to blog, but I generally ignore them. However, I was sitting here, and I had a few free minutes, and I thought I would jot some things down.
Jot? I jot? I never knew I jotted. Damn. Sometimes, when I’m all alone and no one is bothering me, I fancy myself a writer. Not a jotter. Sounds lame.
Wait……I fancy?
Crap.
I’m growing the beard back. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. The beard has been back for a while. So, technically, I’m continuing to grow the beard. I would love it if I could get it nice and long, like the guys from ZZ Top. Sadly, I don’t think that will happen. I don’t have that kind of support system. I good beard needs a solid support system. Mostly, what I get is, “When are you gonna shave that stupid thing off?” So, I don’t see myself goin’ the way of the “Sharp Dressed Man” anytime soon. Would be nice, though.
I’ve got rock salt all over the front of my house. When we got that big snow, last week, I shoveled really late. So, most of it was snow. Lest the precious snowflakes who walk past my house on the way to school slip and fall, I put down a bunch of salt. Then, it got warm. Now, I have rock salt. Now, I’m waiting for it to rain, and wash all the rock salt away. I could go sweep it up. But, I don’t have time for that. Actually, I do have time for that, I just don’t wanna do it. There are things I like to make time for, and things I don’t. Sadly, the things I like to make time for don’t seem to have the time for me, at this moment. However, this in no way, shape, or form makes me want to go sweep up rock salt. Maybe I can just leave it there until the next snow. Probably next year. I don’t think it works like that, does it?
Speaking of that, there is rock salt residue all over my car. I have to go get it washed. Every other place I have ever lived there were stand alone car washes at all the gas stations. You’d buy your gas, pay for a wash at the same time, then drive over to the car wash and get your it done. It took about 5 minutes, total. I only know of one of these such machines, in New Jersey, and it hardly ever works. There are a lot of things like that. Things that work everywhere else on the planet, but fail to work in New Jersey. Why is that? Is New Jersey some sort of Bermuda Triangle? I’ll have to think on that one.
I’m too busy thinking of other things, these days. I’m working on a book proposal, which takes almost as long as writing an actual book. Plus, I’m getting the feeling that it needs to be better than the actual book. I suppose, though, that if I can’t write a good proposal than I have no business writing a book. So, I’m dealing with that. I’m also working on a new zombie story. I’ve been working on it for a while, and it keeps changing. I think it might be pretty good. I dunno, though. It’s hard to tell, when you’re writing it. I’m also thinking of using the blog as an online novel. I’ve talked about that, before. I might just do that. I actually have several chapters of that already written. This would help when you put in my personal “lazy factor.”
I’m also still working on those websites. I’ve got the names. I’ve even got them registered. Pulling the trigger on it is proving more difficult than I had planned. This, too, is my fault due to the time factor. That keeps coming up. The time factor. I wish I could stop time, when I wanted to, and freeze everyone else in place. Then I could get all my work done, and start time back up again. I’d actually be ahead, for once. I don’t know who I’m kidding, though. I wouldn’t work. I’d go around and look at naked women. Sadly, I know myself too well. I don’t get to see enough naked women. Hell, I don’t get to see ANY naked women. There was a “Twilight Zone” episode about that. Not seeing naked women. It was about stopping time. As I recall, THAT guy used his time stopping ability to steal money, not look at naked women. I’m sure he eventually got to that, though, because he broke the watch that allowed him to stop time, and everyone else got frozen, forever. After a while, I’m sure he looked at some naked women. I’ll try not to do that. Meaning, I’ll try not to break my time stopping watch. Wouldn’t want you all to get frozen. That would suck.
Anyway, I’m working on websites, too.
I’m also working on a few audio things, with a buddy of mine, that may end up airing in other countries. We’ll have to see about that. One issue that has come up is that I’m an American. So, I have an American accent. I guess the Australians were concerned about that. They must think we talk funny, here. I like Australian accents, though. I wonder why they hate me.
I just downloaded the Yellow pages App onto my blackberry. Why do I tell you this? Because I like saying App, that’s why……..App.
By the way, writing this is NOT getting my book proposal done. It’s also not getting my zombie story done. My websites? They aren’t done, yet, either. Life is hard.
My wife never kisses me goodnight, anymore. Maybe I should start brushing my teeth before I go to bed.
I rode bikes with my daughter, over the weekend. It was fun. We rode over and got ice cream, afterwards. It was the least amount of stress I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. I should do more of that. I have a girls bike, though, damn it. Why did I buy a girls bike? Hell, it’s not even a girl’s bike. It’s an old woman’s bike. Why did I buy an old woman’s bike? It was probably on sale. I swear to God, I will spend any amount of money on anyone else. But, when it comes to me, I get cheap. Is it because I hate myself? I wonder. Maybe I hate myself because I buy myself such cheap things. Hmmmm….I could ask my therapist that. But, I don’t have a therapist. I was going to go to one. I even made an appointment. But, they were really expensive. Plus, I don’t know if I trust them. I think they only talk to people, because it makes their lives seem better. Plus, people are far more interesting when they are all, shall we say, f*&#ed up than when they are happy. You never see a therapist telling a happy person to come back. But, you will never see them turn away someone who is good and screwed up. It’s because happy people are boring. Messed up people are interesting. Maybe I should become I therapist. I thought about doing that, once, but someone told me I wasn’t smart enough. They were probably right. Still, I like to hear about messed up people. I’ll make a note.
Yes, in fact, I DO like Yoo-Hoo THAT much.
Someone asked me if I was going to announce the Roller Derby, again. I don't know. I haven't been asked. If I am, I probably will. I didn't know if I'd like the sport, and I did. Fast paced, and fun to watch. I don't know why they'd ask me. I wasn't very good at it. I mostly just stood there and said, "Ohhhhhh...." Stuff like that. I announced women's college softball for a whole season, and wasn't very good at that, either. I only did that to meet girls, though, when I was in college. I went out with a bunch of them. But, they only went out with me so that they could get on the radio. I only got to second base with one of them. Ironically, it was the second basemen. I swear to God, I am not making that up. She stopped seeing me when I found that VERY funny. My mouth has cost me a lot of relationships. If I had a finger that was causing me that kind of problem, I'd have it cut off. I don't think that you can cut off a mouth. If anything, it would just make the hole bigger. I would think a bigger hole, would just cause me greater problems. That could not be good. I could sew it shut, but I gotta eat. Either way, if I tried to get to second base with a derby chick, I think she'd deck me. Maybe that's why they haven't asked me back. Hmmmmm.....
I'm in a "not happy" state. I wish that would end. Maybe when the new "Hannah Montana" movie comes out in a few weeks, that will perk me up......Crap....There's a "Hannah Montana" movie coming out in a few weeks, and I'm probably going to go see it. That's depressing........Wait......I perk, too? What the hell!?!!
My book proposal, zombie story, and websites are still not done..........
Maybe I should go......
Casey
Friday, March 6, 2009
Paging Dr. Freud.....
Recently, I posted a picture of myself, with my daughter, on my facebook page. It brought me a barrage of comments, mostly from women, all of which contained the general message, “Awwwwwwwwwwwww……”
The picture was taken moments before Spenser and I left for the annual father/daughter dance. I’m assuming that most of the comments came from adult women, whose fathers NEVER took them to a father/daughter dance.
Have YOU ever been to one?
You’re missing out.
The father/daughter dance, while being a very sweet concept, really has nothing to do with the fathers, or the daughters. It has to do with the aforementioned, adult women who are longing for memories of their own fathers, and don’t want these little girls to have the same, possibly Freudian issues that they have with their dads.
The dance, itself, consists of 3 groups:
The Daughters
The girls will be thrilled to get all dressed up, possibly in a new dress, have their moms put make-up on them, and look as beautiful as they ever have for their “special” evening with dad. They will get their hair and nails done, put on uncomfortable shoes, and smile big for all the pictures that mom will take, before they leave for the big night.
They will arrive at the dance, happily displaying the corsage that their dad bought them (that’s what I did), and wave at all their friends. There will be one, MAYBE two obligatory dance with the old man. Then, they will kick off the shoes, that you just spent $40 on, and run off with all their friends.
The Dads
These “good” men will come home from work, tired after a long day, and get themselves all cleaned up for their “date” with their little princess. They will put on a coat, AND tie, and comb their hair. Some of them will have to call their 67-year-old father, in California, and have him talk them through TYING the actual tie, over the phone. You see, SOME of their fathers never took the time to teach them how to tie an actual tie. So, they will call their dad, who will laugh hysterically at them, and try and talk them through it. Then, they will get mad and hang up on their dad, forcing them to go through their closets, and find a tie that their father tied for them about 8 years ago. It doesn’t REALLY match, but he was tired of getting laughed at by an old man, who lives on a golf course, AND IS GOING TO FIND HIMSELF LIVING IN AN OLD FOLKS HOME, IF HE’S NOT CAREFUL!!!.........
Maybe they need to do father/son dances……..No…….That would be creepy.
Anyway, the dads will do the same, obligatory, one or two dances with their daughters, and then they will be left on the dance floor, alone, trying to make conversation with OTHER fathers, when they aren’t even certain that their kids know each other. The whole time, there will be a “zany” DJ, playing Hannah Montana music too loudly, while he stares at an empty dance floor.
The Moms
This is by far the largest group, AND the group that the father/daughter dance is really for. This is the group of women who now, in their late 30’s/early 40’s, are realizing that they don’t have very many memories of THEIR dads, because THEIR dads really wanted a son. You can tell because a lot of them are named “Toni,” or “Billie,” or “Alex.” You get the idea.
So, since THEY have no positive “daddy” memories, they are going to FORCE you and your daughter to have some, in the delicate manner not seen since Hitler marched across Europe.
Mom: Where is your daughter?
Me: She’s running around with her friends, somewhere.
Mom: WHERE!?!!!
Me: I….I dunno…..
Mom: HOW CAN YOU HAVE FUN, WHEN YOU AREN’T TOGETHER!?!!!
Me: Well, she wanted to go play with her friends. I didn’t want to force her…..
Mom: Did you have a brownie?
Me: No.
Mom: HAVE A BROWNIE!!!!!!
Me: Uh....Okay.....
Mom: Take one for your daughter.
Me: She doesn't actually like....
Mom: TAKE ONE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER!!!! WE'RE HAVING FUN, DAMN IT!!!! WE'RE MAKING MEMORIES!!!!
Me: Okay.......
Mom: Did you get your picture taken with your little girl?
Me: Uh....Well.....No....Actually......
Mom (closing her eyes): Why..........NOT!?!!
Me: Well....uh.....You see, the line was really long.....and.....uh....we just...you know....
Mom (grabbing my tie, and squeezing): You go find your daughter, right f&*#ing now, and get in that f&*#ing line. You will take a f&*#ing picture, and you will smile the biggest f&*#ing smile you have EVER smiled......AND YOU WILL CREATE SOME F*&#ING MEMORIES FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL. DO YOU F*&#ING UNDERSTAND ME!?!!!!
Me: Uhhhhhhh.......Okay........Can you let go of my tie? If it comes untied, I'm screwed.
Mom (softly crying): Thank you...
Me (putting my arm around her): Are you okay?
Mom: I will be....
Me: Okay.
Mom: Can I call you daddy?
Me: No.....No, you can't.
Mom: Why wouldn't he love me?
Me: I have to go, now.
So, what you get are a lot of daughters who would rather be playing with their friends, a lot of dads who don't have anything to say to each other, and A LOT of damaged, adult women, who will kill us all if we don't eat EVERY LAST ONE of the cookies that they spent hours making for their fathers.......I mean, the dance. They made them for the dance. That's what they did.
If you are ever "lucky" enough to go to a father/daughter dance, I highly recomend it. Just dance the one or two dances with your little girl, then let her go have fun. Eat the brownies, and cookies, and take the cheesy poloroid picture. You're going to make some girl very happy.....
Not your daughter. Your daugher will be running around, squealing about something with her friends. I'm talking about the 3 or 4 hundred adult women, who will be wandering around, with plates full of baked goods, crying softly to themselves.
Just be sure to do EXACTLY what you are told. If you don't, you may end up with one of thoe little, plastic knives shoved in your throat. And THAT, my friend, is NEVER good.
Casey
The picture was taken moments before Spenser and I left for the annual father/daughter dance. I’m assuming that most of the comments came from adult women, whose fathers NEVER took them to a father/daughter dance.
Have YOU ever been to one?
You’re missing out.
The father/daughter dance, while being a very sweet concept, really has nothing to do with the fathers, or the daughters. It has to do with the aforementioned, adult women who are longing for memories of their own fathers, and don’t want these little girls to have the same, possibly Freudian issues that they have with their dads.
The dance, itself, consists of 3 groups:
The Daughters
The girls will be thrilled to get all dressed up, possibly in a new dress, have their moms put make-up on them, and look as beautiful as they ever have for their “special” evening with dad. They will get their hair and nails done, put on uncomfortable shoes, and smile big for all the pictures that mom will take, before they leave for the big night.
They will arrive at the dance, happily displaying the corsage that their dad bought them (that’s what I did), and wave at all their friends. There will be one, MAYBE two obligatory dance with the old man. Then, they will kick off the shoes, that you just spent $40 on, and run off with all their friends.
The Dads
These “good” men will come home from work, tired after a long day, and get themselves all cleaned up for their “date” with their little princess. They will put on a coat, AND tie, and comb their hair. Some of them will have to call their 67-year-old father, in California, and have him talk them through TYING the actual tie, over the phone. You see, SOME of their fathers never took the time to teach them how to tie an actual tie. So, they will call their dad, who will laugh hysterically at them, and try and talk them through it. Then, they will get mad and hang up on their dad, forcing them to go through their closets, and find a tie that their father tied for them about 8 years ago. It doesn’t REALLY match, but he was tired of getting laughed at by an old man, who lives on a golf course, AND IS GOING TO FIND HIMSELF LIVING IN AN OLD FOLKS HOME, IF HE’S NOT CAREFUL!!!.........
Maybe they need to do father/son dances……..No…….That would be creepy.
Anyway, the dads will do the same, obligatory, one or two dances with their daughters, and then they will be left on the dance floor, alone, trying to make conversation with OTHER fathers, when they aren’t even certain that their kids know each other. The whole time, there will be a “zany” DJ, playing Hannah Montana music too loudly, while he stares at an empty dance floor.
The Moms
This is by far the largest group, AND the group that the father/daughter dance is really for. This is the group of women who now, in their late 30’s/early 40’s, are realizing that they don’t have very many memories of THEIR dads, because THEIR dads really wanted a son. You can tell because a lot of them are named “Toni,” or “Billie,” or “Alex.” You get the idea.
So, since THEY have no positive “daddy” memories, they are going to FORCE you and your daughter to have some, in the delicate manner not seen since Hitler marched across Europe.
Mom: Where is your daughter?
Me: She’s running around with her friends, somewhere.
Mom: WHERE!?!!!
Me: I….I dunno…..
Mom: HOW CAN YOU HAVE FUN, WHEN YOU AREN’T TOGETHER!?!!!
Me: Well, she wanted to go play with her friends. I didn’t want to force her…..
Mom: Did you have a brownie?
Me: No.
Mom: HAVE A BROWNIE!!!!!!
Me: Uh....Okay.....
Mom: Take one for your daughter.
Me: She doesn't actually like....
Mom: TAKE ONE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER!!!! WE'RE HAVING FUN, DAMN IT!!!! WE'RE MAKING MEMORIES!!!!
Me: Okay.......
Mom: Did you get your picture taken with your little girl?
Me: Uh....Well.....No....Actually......
Mom (closing her eyes): Why..........NOT!?!!
Me: Well....uh.....You see, the line was really long.....and.....uh....we just...you know....
Mom (grabbing my tie, and squeezing): You go find your daughter, right f&*#ing now, and get in that f&*#ing line. You will take a f&*#ing picture, and you will smile the biggest f&*#ing smile you have EVER smiled......AND YOU WILL CREATE SOME F*&#ING MEMORIES FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL. DO YOU F*&#ING UNDERSTAND ME!?!!!!
Me: Uhhhhhhh.......Okay........Can you let go of my tie? If it comes untied, I'm screwed.
Mom (softly crying): Thank you...
Me (putting my arm around her): Are you okay?
Mom: I will be....
Me: Okay.
Mom: Can I call you daddy?
Me: No.....No, you can't.
Mom: Why wouldn't he love me?
Me: I have to go, now.
So, what you get are a lot of daughters who would rather be playing with their friends, a lot of dads who don't have anything to say to each other, and A LOT of damaged, adult women, who will kill us all if we don't eat EVERY LAST ONE of the cookies that they spent hours making for their fathers.......I mean, the dance. They made them for the dance. That's what they did.
If you are ever "lucky" enough to go to a father/daughter dance, I highly recomend it. Just dance the one or two dances with your little girl, then let her go have fun. Eat the brownies, and cookies, and take the cheesy poloroid picture. You're going to make some girl very happy.....
Not your daughter. Your daugher will be running around, squealing about something with her friends. I'm talking about the 3 or 4 hundred adult women, who will be wandering around, with plates full of baked goods, crying softly to themselves.
Just be sure to do EXACTLY what you are told. If you don't, you may end up with one of thoe little, plastic knives shoved in your throat. And THAT, my friend, is NEVER good.
Casey
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Bunny Lovin' Is Wrong
Recently, the British tabloid “The Sun” did a survey to find out who the sexiest cartoon character of all time was. The winner? Jessica Rabbit, from the movie “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” I guess that’s good. I mean, she was drawn to be sexy. So, one could say that the animators hit the mark with that one.
Second place was Betty Boop, who was sexy and scandalous in the early part of the 20th century. I suppose that the most troubling part of the list, aside from the fact that grown men were voting on sexy cartoon characters, is who came in 3rd. It was the Cadbury Caramel (or is it Carmel. I never know) Bunny. That’s right. Grown men voted a furry, woodland creature as the 3rd sexiest cartoon character EVER.
Here’s the problem, in case anyone else hasn’t noticed…..
Jessica Rabbit is a HUMAN, who just happened to be married to a rabbit.
Betty Boop?......HUMAN.
What about the rest of the list?
Cinderella is a human.
Wilma Flintstone is a human.
Daphne (from Scooby-Doo) is also a human.
Snow White is a human, too. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Snow White is something like 14. So, I find it a little disturbing that grown men voted her “sexy.”
But, the Cadbury Caramel (Carmel?) Bunny is an ACTUAL bunny. I did a search, on You Tube, in order to verify it. She’s a rabbit. She has a nice, soothing voice. But, she’s still a rabbit. To find her sexy kinda teeters on beastiality, does it not? I don’t know about you, but I’ve NEVER found an animal to be sexy. I even went to the zoo during the Spring, once, and I didn’t even get a little bit turned on.
Guy: Hey, man. Check out those Flamingos.
Me: They’re just birds.
Guy: Hell yeah, they are. With those long legs, that go ALL THE WAY up.
Me: Wait….What?
Guy: And those silky, pink feathers…..
Me: Uhhhhh…..I’m gonna go ahead and…..you know….GO, now.
Guy: I’ll catch up. I need a minute.
Me: Dude, you’re gross.
Needless to say, animals don’t do it for me.
I did have an unusually large number of crushes on girls who were on TV shows, when I was a kid, though. For whatever reason, the Sid & Marty Kroft shows ALWAYS had at least one girl, who inspired thoughts of PASSIONATE hand holding, when I was a kid.
Don’t know Sid & Marty Kroft? Then you, my friend, are missing out, BIG TIME. Sure, they were probably doing pot, or acid, or mushrooms, or some kind of mind altering drug. But, not unlike The Beatles use of acid to create “Sgt. Peppers,” I believe this alleged use of mind accelerants actually added to their work.
There was “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.” This was a couple of superheroes, who shared an apartment, would put on skin tight outfits, and fight crime. They were reporters, or something, during the day. I had a serious “thing” for Dyna Girl. She had long, straight, dark hair. I like long, straight, dark hair. I liked Dyna Girl. A LOT. I always wanted to write her a letter, but I was too shy. Who knows? She may have wanted to hold MY hand, too. She may have liked guys who talked like Kermit the Frog. She may be sitting, right now, at the “Sid & Marty Kroft Home For Moderately Talented, Former Actors,” wondering what might have been. Sadly, my shyness kept us from being together. Sigh.
Then, there was “Dr. Shrinker.” As the theme song went, he was “A madman, with an evil mind.” That’s right. He was both mad, AND evil. So, it was just plain bad luck when these three older teens crash landed on his island. They survive, make their way to Dr. Shrinker’s house, and he shrinks them. Honestly, what did they think would happen? It’s right there in his name. They probably deserved to get shrunk. But, as usual in these shows, there were two guys ( a hero and comic relief), and a hot girl. Yep, again, I wanted to share my PB&J sandwich with the hot girl. Her name was B.J. Masterson……….Yeah, I know. But, I was 6. It would be YEARS before I had ANY idea. So, put your nasty thoughts aside, and stop trying to ruin the innocence of my youth, damn it. Anyway, she was 6 inches tall, and I wanted one of my very own. A LIVING one. Not a doll. No boy should have a doll named B.J.. Something about that just seems wrong.
The last one I'll mention is "Wonderbug." This was the story of 3 friends (of course), but this one had a twist. One of the friends was black, and he was tragically hip. He said lots of harmless, cool things that made all of us white kids laugh. He was just a sidekick, though, so we never really got to know what made him so hip. Maybe someday there will be a movie that will provide a backstory. But, there were also two white kids. Barry, who was looking for a car, and Susan, who was beautiful and, for some reason, hung out with two losers. Anyway, Barry was looking for a car. So, of course, they went to the junkyard, which is where you ALWAYS go to find a fully functional car that you can just drive home. Duh! The 3 friends found a talking car named Schlepcar. A dunebuggy sort of thing, that was really beat up, and ugly. It was, after all, a junkyard. Susan (looking lovely, even in a junkyard) also found one of those horns, with a squeezy thing on the end. They attatched this to the talking car, squeezed it, and Schlepcar magically became Wonderbug. As wonderbug, he could fly, and he helped the kids, who had never before fought crime, to fight crime. Make sense? Remember, there may have been mushrooms involved. The cool part about this is that, when I was in the 3rd grade, I got to MEET Susan!!!! Not only that, I got to TOUCH Susan. Susan gave me a hug, and pressed her BODY against mine!!! It was the single most glorious moment of my young life. She even signed a picture for my entire class. This picture, which I stole at the end of the school year, provided MUCH for my young mind to ponder.
This was all before Star Wars came out, and I was introduced to Princess Leia. But, it was a start. A wonderful, warm, soft, hugging start.
That was only the beginning, too. There were also female charecters on "Land of The Lost," "The Buggaloos," "The Lost Saucer," and many many more.
Now, is any of this worse than picking Jessica Rabbit as being sexy?
Yes.
Very much so.
For starters, I was 6!!!! The guys who took part in this survey were adults, who were thinking that young princesses, and actual rabbits for that matter, were sexy. That is just wrong on so many levels. Why would you even take part in such a survey? I can only imagine that the answers were given late at night, in their basements, when "normal" adults were asleep.
Just be careful if you see a grown man glaring at pictures of 14 year old, Disney princesses. That guy needs to register, or something.
Plus, keep your hands off of the live bunnies. I don't care how sexy they are.
Casey
Second place was Betty Boop, who was sexy and scandalous in the early part of the 20th century. I suppose that the most troubling part of the list, aside from the fact that grown men were voting on sexy cartoon characters, is who came in 3rd. It was the Cadbury Caramel (or is it Carmel. I never know) Bunny. That’s right. Grown men voted a furry, woodland creature as the 3rd sexiest cartoon character EVER.
Here’s the problem, in case anyone else hasn’t noticed…..
Jessica Rabbit is a HUMAN, who just happened to be married to a rabbit.
Betty Boop?......HUMAN.
What about the rest of the list?
Cinderella is a human.
Wilma Flintstone is a human.
Daphne (from Scooby-Doo) is also a human.
Snow White is a human, too. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Snow White is something like 14. So, I find it a little disturbing that grown men voted her “sexy.”
But, the Cadbury Caramel (Carmel?) Bunny is an ACTUAL bunny. I did a search, on You Tube, in order to verify it. She’s a rabbit. She has a nice, soothing voice. But, she’s still a rabbit. To find her sexy kinda teeters on beastiality, does it not? I don’t know about you, but I’ve NEVER found an animal to be sexy. I even went to the zoo during the Spring, once, and I didn’t even get a little bit turned on.
Guy: Hey, man. Check out those Flamingos.
Me: They’re just birds.
Guy: Hell yeah, they are. With those long legs, that go ALL THE WAY up.
Me: Wait….What?
Guy: And those silky, pink feathers…..
Me: Uhhhhh…..I’m gonna go ahead and…..you know….GO, now.
Guy: I’ll catch up. I need a minute.
Me: Dude, you’re gross.
Needless to say, animals don’t do it for me.
I did have an unusually large number of crushes on girls who were on TV shows, when I was a kid, though. For whatever reason, the Sid & Marty Kroft shows ALWAYS had at least one girl, who inspired thoughts of PASSIONATE hand holding, when I was a kid.
Don’t know Sid & Marty Kroft? Then you, my friend, are missing out, BIG TIME. Sure, they were probably doing pot, or acid, or mushrooms, or some kind of mind altering drug. But, not unlike The Beatles use of acid to create “Sgt. Peppers,” I believe this alleged use of mind accelerants actually added to their work.
There was “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.” This was a couple of superheroes, who shared an apartment, would put on skin tight outfits, and fight crime. They were reporters, or something, during the day. I had a serious “thing” for Dyna Girl. She had long, straight, dark hair. I like long, straight, dark hair. I liked Dyna Girl. A LOT. I always wanted to write her a letter, but I was too shy. Who knows? She may have wanted to hold MY hand, too. She may have liked guys who talked like Kermit the Frog. She may be sitting, right now, at the “Sid & Marty Kroft Home For Moderately Talented, Former Actors,” wondering what might have been. Sadly, my shyness kept us from being together. Sigh.
Then, there was “Dr. Shrinker.” As the theme song went, he was “A madman, with an evil mind.” That’s right. He was both mad, AND evil. So, it was just plain bad luck when these three older teens crash landed on his island. They survive, make their way to Dr. Shrinker’s house, and he shrinks them. Honestly, what did they think would happen? It’s right there in his name. They probably deserved to get shrunk. But, as usual in these shows, there were two guys ( a hero and comic relief), and a hot girl. Yep, again, I wanted to share my PB&J sandwich with the hot girl. Her name was B.J. Masterson……….Yeah, I know. But, I was 6. It would be YEARS before I had ANY idea. So, put your nasty thoughts aside, and stop trying to ruin the innocence of my youth, damn it. Anyway, she was 6 inches tall, and I wanted one of my very own. A LIVING one. Not a doll. No boy should have a doll named B.J.. Something about that just seems wrong.
The last one I'll mention is "Wonderbug." This was the story of 3 friends (of course), but this one had a twist. One of the friends was black, and he was tragically hip. He said lots of harmless, cool things that made all of us white kids laugh. He was just a sidekick, though, so we never really got to know what made him so hip. Maybe someday there will be a movie that will provide a backstory. But, there were also two white kids. Barry, who was looking for a car, and Susan, who was beautiful and, for some reason, hung out with two losers. Anyway, Barry was looking for a car. So, of course, they went to the junkyard, which is where you ALWAYS go to find a fully functional car that you can just drive home. Duh! The 3 friends found a talking car named Schlepcar. A dunebuggy sort of thing, that was really beat up, and ugly. It was, after all, a junkyard. Susan (looking lovely, even in a junkyard) also found one of those horns, with a squeezy thing on the end. They attatched this to the talking car, squeezed it, and Schlepcar magically became Wonderbug. As wonderbug, he could fly, and he helped the kids, who had never before fought crime, to fight crime. Make sense? Remember, there may have been mushrooms involved. The cool part about this is that, when I was in the 3rd grade, I got to MEET Susan!!!! Not only that, I got to TOUCH Susan. Susan gave me a hug, and pressed her BODY against mine!!! It was the single most glorious moment of my young life. She even signed a picture for my entire class. This picture, which I stole at the end of the school year, provided MUCH for my young mind to ponder.
This was all before Star Wars came out, and I was introduced to Princess Leia. But, it was a start. A wonderful, warm, soft, hugging start.
That was only the beginning, too. There were also female charecters on "Land of The Lost," "The Buggaloos," "The Lost Saucer," and many many more.
Now, is any of this worse than picking Jessica Rabbit as being sexy?
Yes.
Very much so.
For starters, I was 6!!!! The guys who took part in this survey were adults, who were thinking that young princesses, and actual rabbits for that matter, were sexy. That is just wrong on so many levels. Why would you even take part in such a survey? I can only imagine that the answers were given late at night, in their basements, when "normal" adults were asleep.
Just be careful if you see a grown man glaring at pictures of 14 year old, Disney princesses. That guy needs to register, or something.
Plus, keep your hands off of the live bunnies. I don't care how sexy they are.
Casey
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