I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking: “Hey! “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience” is coming out. I wonder if it is possible to purchase ADVANCE tickets to this historical concert event.”
Well, let me just go right ahead and answer that for you…..Yes. In fact, it is. AND, if you’re lucky enough, you may just get to sit next to ME!!!
I used to go to movies all the time. I love movies. I love going to them, I love watching them, I love getting mad at the annoying people who insist on talking on their cell phones, softly, because they assume that no one else will care. I consider it to be a total entertainment experience. I love watching movies so much that I actually watched the original “Halloween,” ON THE PHONE, with a person who was watching it some 30 miles away. It’s a fond memory.
Sadly, the reckless days of youth are out of my reach. The last “big boy” movie that I got to go see was the last “National Treasure” movie. That was, what? A year and a half ago?
Nope. My world has changed. There was a time that I saw almost every movie interest that got released. I mean EVERYTHING. I lived in Los Angeles, and virtually every movie that comes out, will show up somewhere out there. Did you ever hear of a movie, starring Phil Collins (Yes. THAT Phil Collins,) called “Freaks?”
It was released in ONE movie theater, for ONE week. Then, it vanished into thin air.
I saw it……IN the one movie theater it was released in. Better still, I saw it OPENING NIGHT!! My friend John and I were the only two people in the theater. It was a bad movie. Strike that. It was a REALLY bad movie. It’s about a guy (Phil Collins. Again, THAT Phil Collins,) who was teased as a child by some guys. Roughly 30 years later, he lures them into this big, freaky house that he lives in, and tries to harass them, and I think kill them. It was never made clear, by chasing them all around this big funhouse, which has rides, and laughing maniacally, while riding in a little car. He eventually gets them to go down a slide, that leads to a pool, that is filled with water AND little squeaky toys. Then, they get out of the house, and nothing else happens. The end. I know. A classic.
“Inside Monkey Zetterland?” Saw that, too. It’s about a former child star (the aforementioned Monkey Zetterland,) who travels around Hollywood, while nothing happens. He’s sad, though. Throughout the movie he runs into such icons as Ricki Lake, and Sophia Coppola (BEFORE she became talented.) Then, at the very end of the movie, NOTHING continues to happen, but Monkey gets happy. The end. Again, classic. That would be a good name for a band, though. “Monkey Gets Happy.” You can go ahead and use that.
“My Life Is In Turnaround?” Yup. Saw it. This one is about two guys in New York (so, you know they are cool,) who have no talent, but somehow manage to get a movie deal. One of them is the “funny” one. The other one is trying to figure out his life, and whether or not he wants love now, or later. Their movie, which is about nothing, as near as I could tell, but takes place IN New York (so, you know that IT is cool, too) gets put into “turnaround.” It’s an industry term which means, basically, that the money people are going to reevaluate whether or not they want to go forward. The “funny” one flips. But, the one who is in love uses this as an opportunity to put his own life in “turnaround,” and decides that he wants both love AND his movie. In the end, his is kissing a girl on the set of their movie, as both is life and the film are no longer in “turnaround.” The film, of course, being set on the very cool streets of NYC. On a side note, the two guys that stared in this movie BRIEFLY had a TV show, on FOX, called “Too Something.” This is of special note, to me, because I was briefly the network voice for this show.
You don’t remember the show, “Too Something?”
Probably because it was about as good as the movie “My Life Is In Turnaround.”
Finally, “Bound and Gagged: A Love Story.” I’m a little sketchy on this one. But, as near as I can remember, this guy catches his wife cheating. So, he shoots himself in the head. He survives, but doesn’t say much after that. He can. He just doesn’t. He hooks up with his best friend, a lesbian, and they abduct HER mistress, who is married to an abusive man, and head off on a road trip of sorts. The whole time, the guy keeps thinking about his wife cheating on him, while the lesbian tries to convince her girlfriend that they are in love, and she should leave her husband. With me? Wait, it gets better. THEN, the girlfriend’s abusive husband sets out after them, and the chase is on. As I recall, the husband eventually catches up with them, and gets abusive. So, the guy who no longer talks kills him. The lesbians decide that they are in love, and are not at all phased by the dead husband, AND the quiet guy is happy, and starts talking again. This film is notable for the fact that it starred adult film actress Ginger Lynn in her first mainstream role. And I was there. I saw it. I have that. You don’t. Nyah!!
My point here is that I have broad tastes in the types of movies that I will go see. Some of them are even good. I’ve seen “Citizen Kane” IN the movie theater, AND “Gone With The Wind.” It’s not all about “Monkey Zetterland!” (Which would also be a good name for a band.)
These days?
Yeah, I’m like every other parent on the face of the planet. I get unnaturally excited whenever a new Pixar movie comes out, because they tend to be the only ones that are worth a damn. Oh, sure, when a “big boy” movie commercial comes on, I will say something stupid like, “I’d like to see that.” Or, “We should go see that.” But, I know it’s never going to happen.
Not me.
That chapter of my life is over.
The “Hannah Montana” concert movie?
Seen it.
“Chicken Little?”
Yup.
“Underdog?”
That was me, in the theater.
“Madagascar.”
“Valiant.”
“The Chipmunk Movie.”
“Horton Hears A Who.”
“Wall-E.” (Which was excellent)
“Kung-Fu Panda”
“College Road Trip.”
“Hotel For Dogs.”
I……WAS…….THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Slumdog Millionare?”
Nope.
“Milk?”
I couldn’t. My daughter had a basketball game.
“The Wrestler?”
Nuh-uh. Though, I hear Marisa Tomei was naked in it, a lot. I think that’s a good thing. But, I didn’t get to go. There were girl scout cookies to deliver.
This is only sad, because I enjoy movies so very much. NOT because I don’t enjoy being a dad. I enjoy that a WHOLE lot more.
Would you like to know what the REALLY sad part is? The part that you WILL make fun of me for?
I’m going to see “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience,” AND I’m looking forward to it.
Even sadder? The new Pixar movie is called “Up!” I know the EXACT DATE that it comes out.
If you see the old me, tell him I said hi. Then, if you would be so kind, punch him in the mouth. Just ‘cuz.
Casey
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Just A Quick Blog, As Everyone Around Me Is Dying
This will be a short item. I don’t have much time. You see, “the infected” are here, and they are getting restless.
My wife and son are both sick. There is some 24 hour “thing” going around, and they were both unfortunate enough to get it. My daughter and I, as of right now, are fine. But, my wife and son have various fluids coming out of every orifice on their bodies.
It ain’t pretty.
As the dutiful, and supportive husband I am……..STAYING AS FAR AWAY AS I FREAKING CAN!!!!!!!!!!!
ARE YOU CRAZY!!?!!!
I DON’T WANNA GET THAT!!!
My God!! They are both writhing around on the floor, making noises that I haven’t heard since the last zombie flick I saw. It’s depressing, is what it is.
It’s not that I’m not helping. I am. Well, at least as much as I can. I don’t have to bring them food, because neither one of them can keep anything down. That’s probably best. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be able to keep down anything that I might cook, anyway. Outside of that, I will take a deep breath, hold it, run in a couple of water bottles, and then make a quick dash back out of the room. Then, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the scalding hot water, and attempt to decontaminate myself.
It’s not that I’m being insensitive. I’m not. But, if I get sick, that leaves my 8 year old daughter to take care of us. We would all be doomed, for certain. It’s not because she wouldn’t TRY to take care of us. The exact opposite is true, in fact. She would try. It is through these attempts that she would kill us all.
She THINKS she can cook….She can’t. She watches Rachel Ray throw a bunch of things in a pot, and make something that tastes good. She thinks that’s how it’s done. You just throw a bunch of things a pot, and magic happens. So, she will just start randomly throwing things in a pot, probably end up with a crude form of mustard gas, and my entire neighborhood would be wiped out.
(YIKES!!!! My son just projectile vomited!!! I gotta go clean that up….It smells like “hot sick” in my house. Gross.)
So, the farther I stay away from all the sick people, the safer it is for EVERYONE.
It would also be worse for the world if I did contract this horrid virus. You see, I am very much a stereotypical male, when it comes to getting sick. In short, I’m a big baby when I get the sniffles.
I moan.
I shake all over.
I roll my eyes back in my head. (Even if they don’t need to be rolled back. I just like the affect.)
I convince myself that I’m going to die.
Basically, I milk it for all it’s worth.
Now, I REALLY AM sick when I do this. I never just fake it. But, the way I play it up, you would think there were awards, with cash prizes, for the most pathetic sick person, and I’m nominated in all the major categories.
(more vomit….I’ll be right back.)
So, when you say your prayers tonight, pray that I don’t catch this, for two reasons, really. First, so that my daughter doesn’t kill us ALL, by trying to help. Second, because we don’t need all the drama, from a 39 year old man/child, who’s convinced he’s walking into the light due to a little stomach bug. It’s not a pretty thing.
Okay, on a side note, I’m working toward starting my own website, which will contain things like the blog, but in one central location. My problem is that I have not the first clue of how to do this. I’m working on gathering information. So, if anyone has any, I’d appreciate any help you could give. I’m not necessarily looking for someone to do it for me, for free. I just need to know what to do. I’m not a patient person, and if I have to figure it all out for myself it will take a WHOLE lot longer. Plus, computers hate me, and when I try to do the work I will become frustrated, and throw the thing out the window. So, any help, would be just super terrific.
Also, you may remember a couple of months back I wrote a short story called “The Becoming.” It was a zombie story. I like that kind of stuff, though I don’t post much of it, here. If you want to look back in the archives and read it, I believe the post was titled “Something Different.” Let me know if you can’t find it. I’ll re-post it. Anyway, I’m working on another one. The working title is “Ed.” If there is interest in reading this, let me know. It’s in the horror genre, and is nothing like the normal blogs that I write. Just reference the other story. Many people have asked me if I was going to write another story like “The Becoming.” But, I know that it’s not for everyone. So, I’m wondering if you would like to see it posted, here. If not, I can find another way to get it to the people who would like to read it. So, leave me a comment, and let me know.
Have a great weekend.
There is more vomit to clean up, and I’m just the man to do it!!!
Casey
My wife and son are both sick. There is some 24 hour “thing” going around, and they were both unfortunate enough to get it. My daughter and I, as of right now, are fine. But, my wife and son have various fluids coming out of every orifice on their bodies.
It ain’t pretty.
As the dutiful, and supportive husband I am……..STAYING AS FAR AWAY AS I FREAKING CAN!!!!!!!!!!!
ARE YOU CRAZY!!?!!!
I DON’T WANNA GET THAT!!!
My God!! They are both writhing around on the floor, making noises that I haven’t heard since the last zombie flick I saw. It’s depressing, is what it is.
It’s not that I’m not helping. I am. Well, at least as much as I can. I don’t have to bring them food, because neither one of them can keep anything down. That’s probably best. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be able to keep down anything that I might cook, anyway. Outside of that, I will take a deep breath, hold it, run in a couple of water bottles, and then make a quick dash back out of the room. Then, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the scalding hot water, and attempt to decontaminate myself.
It’s not that I’m being insensitive. I’m not. But, if I get sick, that leaves my 8 year old daughter to take care of us. We would all be doomed, for certain. It’s not because she wouldn’t TRY to take care of us. The exact opposite is true, in fact. She would try. It is through these attempts that she would kill us all.
She THINKS she can cook….She can’t. She watches Rachel Ray throw a bunch of things in a pot, and make something that tastes good. She thinks that’s how it’s done. You just throw a bunch of things a pot, and magic happens. So, she will just start randomly throwing things in a pot, probably end up with a crude form of mustard gas, and my entire neighborhood would be wiped out.
(YIKES!!!! My son just projectile vomited!!! I gotta go clean that up….It smells like “hot sick” in my house. Gross.)
So, the farther I stay away from all the sick people, the safer it is for EVERYONE.
It would also be worse for the world if I did contract this horrid virus. You see, I am very much a stereotypical male, when it comes to getting sick. In short, I’m a big baby when I get the sniffles.
I moan.
I shake all over.
I roll my eyes back in my head. (Even if they don’t need to be rolled back. I just like the affect.)
I convince myself that I’m going to die.
Basically, I milk it for all it’s worth.
Now, I REALLY AM sick when I do this. I never just fake it. But, the way I play it up, you would think there were awards, with cash prizes, for the most pathetic sick person, and I’m nominated in all the major categories.
(more vomit….I’ll be right back.)
So, when you say your prayers tonight, pray that I don’t catch this, for two reasons, really. First, so that my daughter doesn’t kill us ALL, by trying to help. Second, because we don’t need all the drama, from a 39 year old man/child, who’s convinced he’s walking into the light due to a little stomach bug. It’s not a pretty thing.
Okay, on a side note, I’m working toward starting my own website, which will contain things like the blog, but in one central location. My problem is that I have not the first clue of how to do this. I’m working on gathering information. So, if anyone has any, I’d appreciate any help you could give. I’m not necessarily looking for someone to do it for me, for free. I just need to know what to do. I’m not a patient person, and if I have to figure it all out for myself it will take a WHOLE lot longer. Plus, computers hate me, and when I try to do the work I will become frustrated, and throw the thing out the window. So, any help, would be just super terrific.
Also, you may remember a couple of months back I wrote a short story called “The Becoming.” It was a zombie story. I like that kind of stuff, though I don’t post much of it, here. If you want to look back in the archives and read it, I believe the post was titled “Something Different.” Let me know if you can’t find it. I’ll re-post it. Anyway, I’m working on another one. The working title is “Ed.” If there is interest in reading this, let me know. It’s in the horror genre, and is nothing like the normal blogs that I write. Just reference the other story. Many people have asked me if I was going to write another story like “The Becoming.” But, I know that it’s not for everyone. So, I’m wondering if you would like to see it posted, here. If not, I can find another way to get it to the people who would like to read it. So, leave me a comment, and let me know.
Have a great weekend.
There is more vomit to clean up, and I’m just the man to do it!!!
Casey
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Proper Care And Feeding Of Demonically Possessed Hamsters
So, for Christmas we bought my daughter a hamster. For two years we had been promising to buy her a hamster, and never did. You see, like most parents, we were lying to her about buying her a hamster, for two years. Finally, she got wise to us. In a move that can only be described as “evil genius,” she informed us that she was going to go over our heads, and ask Santa.
Check and mate.
Game: Spenser.
Well played, little girl. Well played.
Our hands were now tied. So, on Christmas morning, she opened up a plastic, hamster dungeon, and some sort of “tube” thing, with a book about the care and feeding of the little rat. Then, the next day, we went down the store, and got the little guy.
You would think that this would be an easy decision. But, you would be wrong. You clearly haven’t met my daughter. While I am in no way, shape, or form suggesting that ALL women are like this, my daughter is the type of girl who CANNOT make a decision…..Not unlike her mother. If she reaches her goal of being President, we are ALL in trouble.
Defense Secretary: Madame President, the Canadians have launched a full-scale nuclear assault. What are your orders?
My Daughter: Hmmmmm……
Defense Secretary: Shall we try and shoot them down with the satellite lasers?
My Daughter: Uhhhhhh……hmmmm….Satellite lasers……uhhhhmmmmm…..
Defense Secretary: Or, should I activate the giant bio-dome, that will cover the entire country?
My Daughter: Oooooooo…..Yeah…..Hmmmm….The Bio-dome……Weeeeelllllll…..uhhhh…..
Defense Secretary: MADAME PRESIDENT!!!!! WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!!!
My Daughter: Okay, you know what? This is not an easy decision, and your yelling at me isn’t helping matters. Why don’t we just take a second and…..
BOOM!!!!!!
Then, we would all be dead. Or, under Canadian rule. I can’t decide which is worse.
Frankly, I don’t know why all of you voted for her, to begin with. Must have been all that talk about “change.”
But, along those lines, there are about 8 billion different types of hamster that you can buy, and the giant, non-descript, monolithic, pet box store has ALL of them. Put an 8 year old, who cannot decide which spoon to eat her yogurt with, in front of THAT display case, and I’m a little surprised we made it home before 2010.
There are Syrian hamsters, Dwarf Winter White Russian hamsters, Dwarf Campbell’s Russian hamsters, Chinese hamsters, Roborovski hamsters, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey- Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamsters-Of-Doom, and many others to choose from.
After what felt like several days of deliberation, we decided to go with a cute, fuzzy, black and white, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey-Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamster-Of-Doom.
His name is Oreo.
Cute.
Our first clue should have been that, while there were several of every other type of hamster, in all the other cases, Oreo was alone. He had a hamster case all to himself. There were no other “Death Hamsters” in his cage. Just Oreo. Looking back, it’s probably because he ate all the other hamsters. At the time, though, my daughter had convinced herself that it was just because he was so cute, and all the other “Death Hamsters” must have been equally as cute. Therefore, she deduced, she was LUCKY to be getting THE VERY LAST ONE!!!!
When the “Hamster Wrangler” went into the cage to get him, he stood up, and opened his mouth, showing us his horrible, hamster teeth.
“That means he’s mad,” she said. “When they stand up, they are not happy, and may bite.”
Oreo is ALWAYS standing up.
When she reached in, to pick him up, he bit her. Hard. You could tell it hurt.
“Do you still want this one?” I asked my daughter. “He bites.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said. “THAT’S Oreo.”
“Of course,” I replied. “What WAS I thinking?”
So, we picked up Oreo, and all the stuff he would need to exist in our home. Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve stopped by the church and picked up some holy water, too.
We got home, and got the cage set up. My wife reached into the little box that we brought him home in, picked him up. He bit her, on the finger, hard. She screamed, and put him back down in the box. When I looked at her finger, it didn’t just have a little bite, with a little bit of blood. It had a huge chunk, with blood literally flowing out of it.
I thought I saw Oreo smile, and lick his face.
Gross.
We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t want to hurt him, by just dumping him in the cage. Plus, no one else wanted to touch him. So, I went to the garage and got my big, thick, snow gloves, and put one of them on. Then, I reached into the box, and picked up Oreo. The whole time I was holding him, he was trying to bite me through my big, thick, snow glove, AND I COULD FEEL HIS DAGGER LIKE JAWS!!!
I put him down, and we quickly shut the cage.
After that, every time we went into the cage, he would stand up and open his mouth to show us his evil teeth. My wife thought that this meant that he was not happy. Her solution was to buy him another little tube to crawl around in.
I didn’t think this was a good idea. When you have an enemy boxed in, you don’t try to increase his territory, thus empowering him. But, as with most things in my house, I got overruled. So, Oreo/Satan got a new tube.
Unfortunately, when my wife attached said tube, she forgot to close it, and Oreo got out.
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!
OREO GOT OUT!!!!!!!
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!
All I could think about was this freaky, death hamster wandering around my house, at night, and crawling up onto my bed to go after my jugular. I would die, and he would lap up my blood, laughing his maniacal hamster laugh.
Death by hamster was NOT the way I wanted to go. So, I ran up to the room, and prepared to have to hunt him down.
Now, when you go into the room you’d expect most hamster to scurry away, and try to elude me. Do you wanna know what THIS little rat was doing, when I burst into the room? He stood right up, opened his jaws, and started lunging at me.
And, I got scared!!!
Not my proudest moment. I had 170 pounds, and almost 6 feet on him, and HE intimidated ME!!
I composed myself. I walked over, with him not backing off one bit, picked him up in a towel, which he bit, and put him back in his cage.
We had 14 days to return Oreo, back to the depths of Hell. But, each time I offered, my daughter declined.
“Daddy,” she would say. “He’s Oreo.”
“Of course,” I would say back. “What WAS I thinking?”
So, we are stuck with him. Part of me was hoping that one of our two, worthless cats would accidently “get” him. But, I think they may have already had words.
Since we got Oreo, the cats don’t go anywhere near my daughter’s room. They may be smarter than I give them credit for.
I went in, the other night, and he literally started biting at the air when he saw me.
Just last night my wife went in, and he lunged at the plastic door, on the cage. HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK HER!!!
I’m not a religious man, but I’ve found myself saying a little prayer before I go to bed. It mostly has to do with asking God to NOT let me wake up, with a hamster attached to my neck.
It’s gonna be this way for the next 18 months. At least, it’s supposed to be. That’s how long Oreo is supposed to live. Though, I would not be surprised if he outlived all of us.
Until then, my nightly routine has been altered. Now, I check the doors, check the garage, turn off all the lights, and make sure the damn hamster cage is locked.
I’m not taking any chances.
Casey
Check and mate.
Game: Spenser.
Well played, little girl. Well played.
Our hands were now tied. So, on Christmas morning, she opened up a plastic, hamster dungeon, and some sort of “tube” thing, with a book about the care and feeding of the little rat. Then, the next day, we went down the store, and got the little guy.
You would think that this would be an easy decision. But, you would be wrong. You clearly haven’t met my daughter. While I am in no way, shape, or form suggesting that ALL women are like this, my daughter is the type of girl who CANNOT make a decision…..Not unlike her mother. If she reaches her goal of being President, we are ALL in trouble.
Defense Secretary: Madame President, the Canadians have launched a full-scale nuclear assault. What are your orders?
My Daughter: Hmmmmm……
Defense Secretary: Shall we try and shoot them down with the satellite lasers?
My Daughter: Uhhhhhh……hmmmm….Satellite lasers……uhhhhmmmmm…..
Defense Secretary: Or, should I activate the giant bio-dome, that will cover the entire country?
My Daughter: Oooooooo…..Yeah…..Hmmmm….The Bio-dome……Weeeeelllllll…..uhhhh…..
Defense Secretary: MADAME PRESIDENT!!!!! WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!!!
My Daughter: Okay, you know what? This is not an easy decision, and your yelling at me isn’t helping matters. Why don’t we just take a second and…..
BOOM!!!!!!
Then, we would all be dead. Or, under Canadian rule. I can’t decide which is worse.
Frankly, I don’t know why all of you voted for her, to begin with. Must have been all that talk about “change.”
But, along those lines, there are about 8 billion different types of hamster that you can buy, and the giant, non-descript, monolithic, pet box store has ALL of them. Put an 8 year old, who cannot decide which spoon to eat her yogurt with, in front of THAT display case, and I’m a little surprised we made it home before 2010.
There are Syrian hamsters, Dwarf Winter White Russian hamsters, Dwarf Campbell’s Russian hamsters, Chinese hamsters, Roborovski hamsters, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey- Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamsters-Of-Doom, and many others to choose from.
After what felt like several days of deliberation, we decided to go with a cute, fuzzy, black and white, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey-Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamster-Of-Doom.
His name is Oreo.
Cute.
Our first clue should have been that, while there were several of every other type of hamster, in all the other cases, Oreo was alone. He had a hamster case all to himself. There were no other “Death Hamsters” in his cage. Just Oreo. Looking back, it’s probably because he ate all the other hamsters. At the time, though, my daughter had convinced herself that it was just because he was so cute, and all the other “Death Hamsters” must have been equally as cute. Therefore, she deduced, she was LUCKY to be getting THE VERY LAST ONE!!!!
When the “Hamster Wrangler” went into the cage to get him, he stood up, and opened his mouth, showing us his horrible, hamster teeth.
“That means he’s mad,” she said. “When they stand up, they are not happy, and may bite.”
Oreo is ALWAYS standing up.
When she reached in, to pick him up, he bit her. Hard. You could tell it hurt.
“Do you still want this one?” I asked my daughter. “He bites.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said. “THAT’S Oreo.”
“Of course,” I replied. “What WAS I thinking?”
So, we picked up Oreo, and all the stuff he would need to exist in our home. Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve stopped by the church and picked up some holy water, too.
We got home, and got the cage set up. My wife reached into the little box that we brought him home in, picked him up. He bit her, on the finger, hard. She screamed, and put him back down in the box. When I looked at her finger, it didn’t just have a little bite, with a little bit of blood. It had a huge chunk, with blood literally flowing out of it.
I thought I saw Oreo smile, and lick his face.
Gross.
We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t want to hurt him, by just dumping him in the cage. Plus, no one else wanted to touch him. So, I went to the garage and got my big, thick, snow gloves, and put one of them on. Then, I reached into the box, and picked up Oreo. The whole time I was holding him, he was trying to bite me through my big, thick, snow glove, AND I COULD FEEL HIS DAGGER LIKE JAWS!!!
I put him down, and we quickly shut the cage.
After that, every time we went into the cage, he would stand up and open his mouth to show us his evil teeth. My wife thought that this meant that he was not happy. Her solution was to buy him another little tube to crawl around in.
I didn’t think this was a good idea. When you have an enemy boxed in, you don’t try to increase his territory, thus empowering him. But, as with most things in my house, I got overruled. So, Oreo/Satan got a new tube.
Unfortunately, when my wife attached said tube, she forgot to close it, and Oreo got out.
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!
OREO GOT OUT!!!!!!!
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!
All I could think about was this freaky, death hamster wandering around my house, at night, and crawling up onto my bed to go after my jugular. I would die, and he would lap up my blood, laughing his maniacal hamster laugh.
Death by hamster was NOT the way I wanted to go. So, I ran up to the room, and prepared to have to hunt him down.
Now, when you go into the room you’d expect most hamster to scurry away, and try to elude me. Do you wanna know what THIS little rat was doing, when I burst into the room? He stood right up, opened his jaws, and started lunging at me.
And, I got scared!!!
Not my proudest moment. I had 170 pounds, and almost 6 feet on him, and HE intimidated ME!!
I composed myself. I walked over, with him not backing off one bit, picked him up in a towel, which he bit, and put him back in his cage.
We had 14 days to return Oreo, back to the depths of Hell. But, each time I offered, my daughter declined.
“Daddy,” she would say. “He’s Oreo.”
“Of course,” I would say back. “What WAS I thinking?”
So, we are stuck with him. Part of me was hoping that one of our two, worthless cats would accidently “get” him. But, I think they may have already had words.
Since we got Oreo, the cats don’t go anywhere near my daughter’s room. They may be smarter than I give them credit for.
I went in, the other night, and he literally started biting at the air when he saw me.
Just last night my wife went in, and he lunged at the plastic door, on the cage. HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK HER!!!
I’m not a religious man, but I’ve found myself saying a little prayer before I go to bed. It mostly has to do with asking God to NOT let me wake up, with a hamster attached to my neck.
It’s gonna be this way for the next 18 months. At least, it’s supposed to be. That’s how long Oreo is supposed to live. Though, I would not be surprised if he outlived all of us.
Until then, my nightly routine has been altered. Now, I check the doors, check the garage, turn off all the lights, and make sure the damn hamster cage is locked.
I’m not taking any chances.
Casey
Monday, February 2, 2009
Killer Clowns Are Not Happy Things
It has come to my attention that my 8 month old son’s room is not a “happy” room. Before this, I didn’t even know that rooms could have emotions. But, apparently, this particular room is not happy.
My son, Max, only occasionally sleeps in his actual room. My wife seems to think that this is because the only time he ever goes in his room is to go to sleep. So, this means that the room is not “happy,” and he does not like to be in there. Now, I’m 39, and nobody seems particularly interested that not much, shall we say, “happy” stuff goes on in my bedroom, and I’m expected to suck it up, and sleep in there. Yet, I’m having to go to great lengths to make sure that his room is “happy.” That doesn’t seem fair. But, such is my life.
So, I’m spending a greater than average amount of my day trying to figure out exactly what makes an 8 month old happy. Since he can’t talk, this means that my wife and I having to try and find a common ground as to what WE think will make HIM happy. This means that I am suggesting things and my wife is ignoring me, and will do whatever she wants to, anyway. I think they call this a “communicative marriage.” But, I’m not sure. I stopped listening.
Either way, my boy needs a “happy” room. So, a “happy” room he shall have.
First Challenge: What makes Max happy?
Answer: Pulling cat tails.
We have two “Kitties from Hell.” Mike and Stuart, are their earth names. I’m assuming that the Dark Lord has given them different names, for the underworld. But, here, they’re Mike and Stuart. He gets VERY excited whenever the demon cats come in the room. He shakes, and kicks, and screams, and laughs. It’s pretty cute. But, the cutest thing he does, and it may only be cute because I don’t particularly care for either one of my cats, is pull their tails. Hard. This causes the cats to do that loud, creepy, cat scream that they do.
See?
Cute, right?
It gets better.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a baby. But, babies are unusually strong. They can’t life cars, or anything like that. But, every baby I’ve ever come into contact with has possessed an iron vice, G.I. Joe, kung-fu-like death grip which CANNOT be broken. So, when he grabs the cat’s tail, and the cat screams, this goes on for a little while because Max is laughing, the cat is screaming, and I’m too busy looking for the video camera to stop it.
“America’s Funniest Home Videos,” here I come!!!
Solution: Hang several cat tails from his ceiling, low enough for him to reach, and pipe in the soothing sounds of screaming cats.
I can sense the boy getting happier, already.
Second Challenge: What ELSE makes Max happy?
Answer: I’m glad you asked. Why, it’s eating paper, of course.
Fine. My boy eats paper. I’m not proud of it. But, I love him, and I’m not going to judge him. Years from now, when he brings his family over to the house for Thanksgiving, we’ll have turkey for everyone else, and a ream of copier paper for Max to dig into.
I’m also not convinced that this is not normal. I’ve never met a baby who DIDN’T eat paper. They eat all kinds of paper, too. If babies could talk I would ask them if there was a different flavor to different kinds of paper. Did magazine paper taste better than plain paper, because of the pictures? What about wax paper? It seems kind of slick. Does it go down easier? Things like that.
Honestly, I don’t know why anybody bothers with actual baby food, at all. I think it exists just to make parents feel good about themselves. If you provided your average baby with a steady supply of paper, carpet fiber, cat hair, and kibble out of various pet bowls, I think they would do fine. Heck, many of them already do.
If Gerber could find a way to make a baby food that tasted like paper, and cat hair, they wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff on the shelves.
Solution: Buy a paper shredder (what child’s room is complete without one), and spread little bits of paper out, all over the floor.
Are you getting the picture now? Cat tails hanging from the ceiling, screaming cat noises piped in, and delicious paper spread out all over the floor. This is really starting to come together as kind of a “baby paradise.” The corporate boardrooms would have you believe that kids want candy, and balloons, and clowns. But, all they want is your money. Real parents know what real kids want. Paper, and cat tails.
Clowns?
Clowns will kill you. Don’t you EVER watch horror movies? Clowns are killing people all over the place, in horror movies. Have you ever seen a movie about possessed pieces of paper, causing havoc in a small, isolated, college town, stocked with coeds who didn’t have time to change out of their lingerie, and will have sexual relations with any random guy who comes to town?
No. No, you haven’t. It doesn’t exist. I know. I googled it.
So, you can go ahead and put clowns in your kid’s room, and give them horrible nightmares. I’m putting paper in my boy’s room. Who REALLY is the bad parent, here? Exactly.
Third Challenge: Could there possibly be anything else that makes Max happy?
Answer: Yes. My wife. She has to make only one man happy, and she picked my son.
My wife holds him, and feeds him, and bathes him, and puts clothes on him. She sings to him, and reads to him, and has a generally sunnier disposition that I do.
So, while he likes it when daddy juggles, and talks funny, and falls down, and tickles him, he thinks that mommy hung the moon. I’m just a stop gap, for when mommy is not around.
I try. But, I come up short.
I hold him. But, he squirms, and laughs, and tries to flip over, and out of my hands.
I feed him. But, most of it ends up in his nose, and ears. Funny? Yes. Nutritional? Not really, no.
I have bathed him. But, I put too much water in his little tub, and he likes to splash. I also made the mistake of doing it on the counter, where we keep the mail. So, the kid kept splashing, and the bills got all wet, and we had to make a few phone calls to find out what we owed a few people. So, now I’m only allowed to bathe him if someone else is watching. Usually, my 8 year old daughter. It’s a little humiliating.
I put clothes on him. But, if you’ve ever seen the way I dress MYSELF, this usually doesn’t go over too well. My wife used to “accidently” spill something on him, whenever I dressed him. Now, we don’t go through that formality anymore. She just says it’s ugly, and takes it off of him.
I also don’t sing, because I can’t, and it makes people cry.
So, in my son’s mind, the pecking order in the house goes like this:
My wife
My daughter
The cats
The dogs
Strangers that come in, with masks on their faces
Me
Solution: Have my wife go sleep in my son’s room, with him.
Sadly, this will not cause any sort of decrease in my sex life, whatsoever. And, on the plus side, I’ll finally get to control the TV in my bedroom. I think that, in the business world, they call this a win-win.
Let’s recap.
A happy baby’s room consists of the following things:
Cat tails
Screaming cat noises
Delectable paper bits
Mom
Now, go forth and make your children’s room a “happy” place.
And, for the love of God, stay away from the clowns.
Casey
My son, Max, only occasionally sleeps in his actual room. My wife seems to think that this is because the only time he ever goes in his room is to go to sleep. So, this means that the room is not “happy,” and he does not like to be in there. Now, I’m 39, and nobody seems particularly interested that not much, shall we say, “happy” stuff goes on in my bedroom, and I’m expected to suck it up, and sleep in there. Yet, I’m having to go to great lengths to make sure that his room is “happy.” That doesn’t seem fair. But, such is my life.
So, I’m spending a greater than average amount of my day trying to figure out exactly what makes an 8 month old happy. Since he can’t talk, this means that my wife and I having to try and find a common ground as to what WE think will make HIM happy. This means that I am suggesting things and my wife is ignoring me, and will do whatever she wants to, anyway. I think they call this a “communicative marriage.” But, I’m not sure. I stopped listening.
Either way, my boy needs a “happy” room. So, a “happy” room he shall have.
First Challenge: What makes Max happy?
Answer: Pulling cat tails.
We have two “Kitties from Hell.” Mike and Stuart, are their earth names. I’m assuming that the Dark Lord has given them different names, for the underworld. But, here, they’re Mike and Stuart. He gets VERY excited whenever the demon cats come in the room. He shakes, and kicks, and screams, and laughs. It’s pretty cute. But, the cutest thing he does, and it may only be cute because I don’t particularly care for either one of my cats, is pull their tails. Hard. This causes the cats to do that loud, creepy, cat scream that they do.
See?
Cute, right?
It gets better.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a baby. But, babies are unusually strong. They can’t life cars, or anything like that. But, every baby I’ve ever come into contact with has possessed an iron vice, G.I. Joe, kung-fu-like death grip which CANNOT be broken. So, when he grabs the cat’s tail, and the cat screams, this goes on for a little while because Max is laughing, the cat is screaming, and I’m too busy looking for the video camera to stop it.
“America’s Funniest Home Videos,” here I come!!!
Solution: Hang several cat tails from his ceiling, low enough for him to reach, and pipe in the soothing sounds of screaming cats.
I can sense the boy getting happier, already.
Second Challenge: What ELSE makes Max happy?
Answer: I’m glad you asked. Why, it’s eating paper, of course.
Fine. My boy eats paper. I’m not proud of it. But, I love him, and I’m not going to judge him. Years from now, when he brings his family over to the house for Thanksgiving, we’ll have turkey for everyone else, and a ream of copier paper for Max to dig into.
I’m also not convinced that this is not normal. I’ve never met a baby who DIDN’T eat paper. They eat all kinds of paper, too. If babies could talk I would ask them if there was a different flavor to different kinds of paper. Did magazine paper taste better than plain paper, because of the pictures? What about wax paper? It seems kind of slick. Does it go down easier? Things like that.
Honestly, I don’t know why anybody bothers with actual baby food, at all. I think it exists just to make parents feel good about themselves. If you provided your average baby with a steady supply of paper, carpet fiber, cat hair, and kibble out of various pet bowls, I think they would do fine. Heck, many of them already do.
If Gerber could find a way to make a baby food that tasted like paper, and cat hair, they wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff on the shelves.
Solution: Buy a paper shredder (what child’s room is complete without one), and spread little bits of paper out, all over the floor.
Are you getting the picture now? Cat tails hanging from the ceiling, screaming cat noises piped in, and delicious paper spread out all over the floor. This is really starting to come together as kind of a “baby paradise.” The corporate boardrooms would have you believe that kids want candy, and balloons, and clowns. But, all they want is your money. Real parents know what real kids want. Paper, and cat tails.
Clowns?
Clowns will kill you. Don’t you EVER watch horror movies? Clowns are killing people all over the place, in horror movies. Have you ever seen a movie about possessed pieces of paper, causing havoc in a small, isolated, college town, stocked with coeds who didn’t have time to change out of their lingerie, and will have sexual relations with any random guy who comes to town?
No. No, you haven’t. It doesn’t exist. I know. I googled it.
So, you can go ahead and put clowns in your kid’s room, and give them horrible nightmares. I’m putting paper in my boy’s room. Who REALLY is the bad parent, here? Exactly.
Third Challenge: Could there possibly be anything else that makes Max happy?
Answer: Yes. My wife. She has to make only one man happy, and she picked my son.
My wife holds him, and feeds him, and bathes him, and puts clothes on him. She sings to him, and reads to him, and has a generally sunnier disposition that I do.
So, while he likes it when daddy juggles, and talks funny, and falls down, and tickles him, he thinks that mommy hung the moon. I’m just a stop gap, for when mommy is not around.
I try. But, I come up short.
I hold him. But, he squirms, and laughs, and tries to flip over, and out of my hands.
I feed him. But, most of it ends up in his nose, and ears. Funny? Yes. Nutritional? Not really, no.
I have bathed him. But, I put too much water in his little tub, and he likes to splash. I also made the mistake of doing it on the counter, where we keep the mail. So, the kid kept splashing, and the bills got all wet, and we had to make a few phone calls to find out what we owed a few people. So, now I’m only allowed to bathe him if someone else is watching. Usually, my 8 year old daughter. It’s a little humiliating.
I put clothes on him. But, if you’ve ever seen the way I dress MYSELF, this usually doesn’t go over too well. My wife used to “accidently” spill something on him, whenever I dressed him. Now, we don’t go through that formality anymore. She just says it’s ugly, and takes it off of him.
I also don’t sing, because I can’t, and it makes people cry.
So, in my son’s mind, the pecking order in the house goes like this:
My wife
My daughter
The cats
The dogs
Strangers that come in, with masks on their faces
Me
Solution: Have my wife go sleep in my son’s room, with him.
Sadly, this will not cause any sort of decrease in my sex life, whatsoever. And, on the plus side, I’ll finally get to control the TV in my bedroom. I think that, in the business world, they call this a win-win.
Let’s recap.
A happy baby’s room consists of the following things:
Cat tails
Screaming cat noises
Delectable paper bits
Mom
Now, go forth and make your children’s room a “happy” place.
And, for the love of God, stay away from the clowns.
Casey
Friday, January 30, 2009
When The Giant, Killer, Sand Monster Attacks
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
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
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
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