Shaved legs on women are something we sometimes take for granted. They're sexy. Silky smooth and touchable. Mmmm....shaved legs are hot!
Shaved legs on men....are just as sexy! Unbelievably so, but true! How do I know? Well, I just shaved my legs yesterday, and ooh, they're hottt! I just want to rub my hands all over them all day long. And boy, do I feel aerodynamic now. I jumped on my bike and was like "whooahhh!!! I can't stop! I'm flying here! Holy crap!" Then when they get all sweaty in the middle of a workout, they glisten and shimmer, and you can see the veins popping out & stuff. I finally feel like I fit in. With...uh...my crowd of leg-shaving men, of course
I'm pretty well aware that most of the readers of this blog are probably cyclists anyway, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume that there may possibly be some non-cyclists out there. I forgive you, but get on that fucking bike NOW .I don't know how many times I have to reiterate that there won't be any oil after the apocalypse, so if you want to survive, you best get on two wheels, damnit.
Anyway, my legs are dead sexy right now. And ladies, jesus christ, shaving your legs is a pain in the ass. It took me for freakin' ever to do this. Maybe it was because each and every hair was half an inch long or something - they kept on clogging up my razor, and it wasn't shaving anything. Maybe it's easier the next time, when I'm just shaving whatever grows in. Although by that point, my legs might be pretty disgusting. As it is, I missed spots all over the place. Like on the knees and stuff. Are there any tips you can share from the secret brotherhood of women? Or..uh...I guess that would be a sisterhood then. Seriously. The payoff (super-sexy aerodynamism) is worth it, but it certainly was a pain in the ass to get there.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Some more white people just moved in across the street.
As I rode back to my Crown Heights apartment today, I saw a dude and his chick bringing their stuff into the building across the street. This is a great threat to my "only white kid on the block" status. It is a status I prize highly. Used to be that you could go out on the street, yell "HEY CRACKA", and moments later I'd open the window and say "what?". Now? Ozzie & Harriet over here might pop out the window, and Ward & June over there might come out to the stoop..... Things have changed. This neighborhood is not going to be the same.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
If only Miles Davis were more hardcore
If only he & Gil Evans got together and threw some double bass drum and thundering guitar riffs, Sketches of Spain would be the perfect way to drown out all of this crap around me that I wish I could pretend wasn't here. As it is, Sketches of Spain brings me to this relaxing, bucolic space...but there's too much *silence* in it. Miles and his damn *silence*!!! Dude needs to learn how to rip it up!!! I can still hear the footsteps of people walking by! I can still hear the creak and spin of my supervisor's swivel chair! I can still hear his goddamn cellphone ring tone, although I'll give him credit for turning it down ever since that day I hung up on whoever it was that was calling when he was out of the room. I can still hear the guys working on the front door of our office down the hall. Now, while I'm glad they're finally working on the front door, the fact is that we didn't have a front door - at all - for a week or two, is aggravating. We were *this* close to having a pretty glass door (which wasn't quite the iris-style "hatch" I was hoping for, but I can't have everything, usually). They installed the pretty new glass door. Then at the end of the day, they sealed it with drywall. Because no one checked to see if everything else was up to spec. It wasn't. Apparently, you need a sprinkler system in front of doors like that. There wasn't one. But the guys who built the door weren't told this until they''d completely finished the door. So at the end of the day, when they're done, they had to cover all their work up with drywall and come back two weeks later to do more work. It's the knowledge that someone somewhere doesn't have enough oxygen in their brains to plan ahead that I'm trying to drown out with Sketches of Spain. And while it makes me feel all nice inside, it's not like Slayer. Slayer destroys all.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Whoever read this book before me probably didn't do well on their paper
I'm reading Camus right now, because I'm smarter than you. The Plague, specifically. Now, I'm no genius (I mean come on...GIRLS can beat me at Connect-Four for god's sake. Yes, that's a lower case "g" there. That was intentional. Actually, it wasn't intentional. Either way, I don't know if it would've made sense in the context of Existentialism & Absurdism anyway.) So, I'm no genius, but one thing I DO often do is buy the used books from Amazon.com. Apparently, so does my sister. It was one of her Christmas gifts to me. I asked for a bunch of books last year. Why? Because I'm smarter than you, moron. I can READ. That, and I knew I was going to get everyone else shitty presents, so I didn't ask for the flatscreen 72" plasma TV that I *really* wanted. Thanks for getting it for me anyway, you bastards. (That's sarcasm. I don't have a TV. I sit at home watching a fucking record player. And reading. Fucking READING.)
Anyway, I'm reading the Plague right now. Not particularly uplifting. Or is it? (If I were writing a paper on it, that'd be my thesis statement. And there'd be a dramatic sound cue and zoom in to my inquisitive glare. BLACKOUT. Commercial Break)
But I'm not writing a paper. The guy who read this book before me, on the other hand, probably was. Things are underlined, notes are in the margins, uh...that's about it. Oh! Highlights! Things were highlighted, too. The funny part is that it sometimes seems like things are only underlined or highlighted in every other chapter. And there's much more underlining in the first half of the book. It kinda trails off after that. Someone got lazy, it looks. Also, someone's kinda dumb to be in college. I'm assuming this was a college read. Do kids read this in high school? Anyway, here's my judgemental evidence: (It's all about WHAT's underlined. Very telling. Very telling. I'll probably find out this was MY book in college, and I was stoned. Which would explain why I don't even remember reading it). Being stoned might also explain why he (let's call him Brian)...why Brian had to underline things like "laxity" and jot down "relaxed, slack, careless" in the margin, or underline "innoculations" and write "injection". It gets better.
"conscription": "draft";
"apathy": "lack of feeling, emotion";
"makeshift": "N. Something adopted as a temp. contrivance in an emergency; adj. having character of".
There's more, but I don't feel like finding it.
Dude, just look it up once and remember it. Are you retarded? Yes. You are. Am I judgemental? Yes. But when one defines "prophylactic" in the margins as "preventative", I would hope one wouldn't have to do it AGAIN twenty pages later! I can understand looking things up if you're not smart. That's OK. I sometimes have to look things up myself. Like your Mom's pager number. She keeps on changing it because she's trying to dodge the cops to beat that prostitution rap that she's so obviously guilty of. Am I judgemental? Yes, which is ironic, considering this not-underlined quote:
" ..... "
...........uh. shit. I can't find it. But it was something like "Poor [county magistrate] M. Othon! But can you really feel bad for a judge?" (His son had just died from the Plague, and they're all like "noooo, nooo, he didn't suffer at all, it was real quick. real quick" when in actuality, the passage of him dying is one of the most harrowing, drawn out, and torturous memories of the book) It's all about who gets to decide who lives and who dies. Or something. The quote was pretty good. But I didn't underline it.
Anyway, I'm reading the Plague right now. Not particularly uplifting. Or is it? (If I were writing a paper on it, that'd be my thesis statement. And there'd be a dramatic sound cue and zoom in to my inquisitive glare. BLACKOUT. Commercial Break)
But I'm not writing a paper. The guy who read this book before me, on the other hand, probably was. Things are underlined, notes are in the margins, uh...that's about it. Oh! Highlights! Things were highlighted, too. The funny part is that it sometimes seems like things are only underlined or highlighted in every other chapter. And there's much more underlining in the first half of the book. It kinda trails off after that. Someone got lazy, it looks. Also, someone's kinda dumb to be in college. I'm assuming this was a college read. Do kids read this in high school? Anyway, here's my judgemental evidence: (It's all about WHAT's underlined. Very telling. Very telling. I'll probably find out this was MY book in college, and I was stoned. Which would explain why I don't even remember reading it). Being stoned might also explain why he (let's call him Brian)...why Brian had to underline things like "laxity" and jot down "relaxed, slack, careless" in the margin, or underline "innoculations" and write "injection". It gets better.
"conscription": "draft";
"apathy": "lack of feeling, emotion";
"makeshift": "N. Something adopted as a temp. contrivance in an emergency; adj. having character of".
There's more, but I don't feel like finding it.
Dude, just look it up once and remember it. Are you retarded? Yes. You are. Am I judgemental? Yes. But when one defines "prophylactic" in the margins as "preventative", I would hope one wouldn't have to do it AGAIN twenty pages later! I can understand looking things up if you're not smart. That's OK. I sometimes have to look things up myself. Like your Mom's pager number. She keeps on changing it because she's trying to dodge the cops to beat that prostitution rap that she's so obviously guilty of. Am I judgemental? Yes, which is ironic, considering this not-underlined quote:
" ..... "
...........uh. shit. I can't find it. But it was something like "Poor [county magistrate] M. Othon! But can you really feel bad for a judge?" (His son had just died from the Plague, and they're all like "noooo, nooo, he didn't suffer at all, it was real quick. real quick" when in actuality, the passage of him dying is one of the most harrowing, drawn out, and torturous memories of the book) It's all about who gets to decide who lives and who dies. Or something. The quote was pretty good. But I didn't underline it.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Poop Break
It's important to multitask your work distractions. For example, I just took an afternoon dump, but instead of just dumping, I played Tetris on my cell phone for 6 or 7 minutes. Am I the only one who does this? As a matter of fact, I barely had to take a crap at all. Just a few little droplets. Still, I sat there until I had enough of those long pieces - tetris pieces - to get me out of the jam I was in back when I misplaced that "T" shaped piece. I'm pretty glad I spent the $7 for that cellphone game last time I was in the waiting room at my doctor's office. It was purchased for the express reason of killing time while waiting for the doctor, but I've found it's also very helpful when straining to pinch a loaf. This is my advice to you.
Monday, May 01, 2006
My change purse can kick your pocket's ass
Just think about that next time you tell me you haven't seen one of those since you were at the beach in 1983 and your mom was wearing this wretched floral print one-piece and your Dad had a moustache. You ARE your mom and dad at this point, suckas! Get a change purse! It's hip. Proof? No one else has one.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Cupcakes
My cupcakes rule. Orange flavored cake mix + Dark Chocolate icing. Beat that, assholes. I bet you wish you had some right now. Well too bad. They went to my sister and a certain special lady friend. Who ARE two separate people, by the way.
Girls Cheat
This can be the only explanation for my 0-for-3 Connect Four losing streak. Girls fucking cheat. I am a Connect Four master, and challenge any of you to a tournament. Extra caution will be taken if you're a girl, because I know you're all wily and cunning. I'm not sure how it was pulled off. Maybe the girl took advantage of my slight inebriation to swap the red checkers for the black checkers. Maybe she batted her eyes a few too many times and I went all stupid-like and totally didn't see that diagonal there. All I know is it was not a fair, honest win. Girls Cheat.
Or...or maybe I was right....maybe girls strike me dumb. Maybe their charm and beauty renders me too mentally incapacitated to succeed at children's games. Usually I can win Connect Four with an image-blurring inebriation. But not with girls. They're all like faeries. Evil Faeries. Or Sirens, you know? With their distracting siren song. Fuckers.
It seems like every time I play a girl, they win. Except that time with your Mom. I totally kicked her ass. But she was high anyway, so maybe that doesn't count. Then again, I was high off the crack that she sold me, too. Come to think of it, who even knows if your Mom is a girl anyway? She's got a pretty hairy back.
Or...or maybe I was right....maybe girls strike me dumb. Maybe their charm and beauty renders me too mentally incapacitated to succeed at children's games. Usually I can win Connect Four with an image-blurring inebriation. But not with girls. They're all like faeries. Evil Faeries. Or Sirens, you know? With their distracting siren song. Fuckers.
It seems like every time I play a girl, they win. Except that time with your Mom. I totally kicked her ass. But she was high anyway, so maybe that doesn't count. Then again, I was high off the crack that she sold me, too. Come to think of it, who even knows if your Mom is a girl anyway? She's got a pretty hairy back.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Bored out of my fucking skull
zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
snnxxxxxxxxzzzzzzzzzzzghhmmffhhh.....hefff....
snxxxzzzzzzzzzzzzz...............
gaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhggnnnn....ffff.
Christ, work is bullshit.
It's so boring, I've been drawing in my sketchbook. And taking hour and a half lunches at least 4 times a week. If only I could justify another hour and a half break an hour later. That would really split up the day. As it is, my guilt complex always leads me back to the petri dish to stare at my monitor for the next few hours, opening & closing my iTunes window to make it look like I'm doing something.
The 9 to 5 office job is inhumane, if you ask me. It's not natural for people to be cooped up inside like this all the time, especially with no fucking windows, like me.
Anyone have any good time wasters? I might read a book. Seriously. I kinda like the idea of sitting in my desk chair, my screensaver flashing neon goobers in front of me, legs propped up on the desk, reading. That'd be awesome. I'd rather not be staring at a monitor to kill the 8 hours of my day called "work", but if there's something time consuming and awesome/hilarious out there, I'd love to know what it is.
Alright, I'm going back to sleep. Fuck this.
snnxxxxxxxxzzzzzzzzzzzghhmmffhhh.....hefff....
snxxxzzzzzzzzzzzzz...............
gaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhggnnnn....ffff.
Christ, work is bullshit.
It's so boring, I've been drawing in my sketchbook. And taking hour and a half lunches at least 4 times a week. If only I could justify another hour and a half break an hour later. That would really split up the day. As it is, my guilt complex always leads me back to the petri dish to stare at my monitor for the next few hours, opening & closing my iTunes window to make it look like I'm doing something.
The 9 to 5 office job is inhumane, if you ask me. It's not natural for people to be cooped up inside like this all the time, especially with no fucking windows, like me.
Anyone have any good time wasters? I might read a book. Seriously. I kinda like the idea of sitting in my desk chair, my screensaver flashing neon goobers in front of me, legs propped up on the desk, reading. That'd be awesome. I'd rather not be staring at a monitor to kill the 8 hours of my day called "work", but if there's something time consuming and awesome/hilarious out there, I'd love to know what it is.
Alright, I'm going back to sleep. Fuck this.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Two New Superimportant links
The links themselves aren't superimportant. Only superimportant is superimportant, obviously. However, the world is a boring fucking place, and superimportant things can't possibly happen all the time. In fact, they only happen once or twice a week, if you think about it. While you're waiting for superimportance, the superimportant staff suggests the quality links to your right. The newest additions are New In My Apartment, and To Be Blunt. Both are review sites for things new to this dude's apartment. The only apparent difference is that To Be Blunt reviews things in one sentence or less. The Superimportant staff would like to remind you that anything on any page you may link to from this site is NOT superimportant news, so do not take it as such. The only place to find out anything important about anything is from superimportant.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Something I ate gave me really bad gas
It's a damn good thing I live alone, huh? It's a pretty bad thing I work in a small, semi-enclosed, poorly ventilated, germ infested space though. (We call it the petri dish. At least, that's what I call it. I don't know if anyone else really finds it funny. But that's never really my concern). If any of my coworkers are reading this, yeah, that was me. Sorry about that.
So let's see. What could it be? Let's start at say...the beginning of yesterday. Tuesday.
I left late for work and didn't have breakfast at home, so I got a Carrot Muffin with some coffee at the Unitarian coffee shop next to work. They seemed disappointed that I hadn't been coming in there recently. Maybe because I was on to their creep-ass Unitarian brainwashing plans. Fucking psychos.
Carrot Muffin
Oh. Then, someone brought in a bunch of Krispy Kreme donuts. Jesus Christ, I love Krispy Kremes.
2 glazed, 1 jelly filled
For lunch, I reheated the Chicken cooked in garlic, lemon juice, leeks, and cilantro that I made the night before.
Then I rode my bike a bunch after work and watched my friend get a ticket for touching an undercover cop car. Mind you, this undercover cop car was in the park after it had been closed to cars, and was slowly driving into our lane as we were riding in it. So my buddy touches the hood at the front of the car to be like, "dude, uh, don't run me over? I'm riding a bike here?" Seconds later, "whooop!" flashing lights, "you got ID?" He ended up getting a summons for "hitting the car and not riding in the bike lane". Cops are fucking douchefags. I'm totally going to court for this guy.
OK, so after that, I made an omelette with Avocados & Bacon. Damn, that was good. And I had a whiskey & coke & passed out.
This morning, I had sliced bananas on toast with peanut butter, as usual.
For lunch, I had a 6" cold cut combo from Subway with spinach, onions, tomatoes, uhhhhhhhhh, black olives, green peppers, mayonaisse, & spicy mustard.
Then I had a cookie.
Then I cooked my sister the same chicken dinner I made monday night & reheated for Tuesday's lunch. I cook dinner for her sometimes on Wednesday nights and we watch L O S T. It's like our family bonding time.
And now it's now. So what's giving me this gas?
Carrot Muffin + coffee?
Chicken w/ garlic, cilantro, lemon juice, & leeks?
Three Krispy Kreme Donuts?
Avocado & Bacon Omelette?
Peanut Butter, Banana, & wheat toast?
Subway Cold Cut Combo with Spinach, Tomato, Onion, Green Pepper, Black Olives, Mayo & Mustard?
Cookie?
Same Chicken thing?
VOTE NOW! NO SPAM, PLEASE!
So let's see. What could it be? Let's start at say...the beginning of yesterday. Tuesday.
I left late for work and didn't have breakfast at home, so I got a Carrot Muffin with some coffee at the Unitarian coffee shop next to work. They seemed disappointed that I hadn't been coming in there recently. Maybe because I was on to their creep-ass Unitarian brainwashing plans. Fucking psychos.
Carrot Muffin
Oh. Then, someone brought in a bunch of Krispy Kreme donuts. Jesus Christ, I love Krispy Kremes.
2 glazed, 1 jelly filled
For lunch, I reheated the Chicken cooked in garlic, lemon juice, leeks, and cilantro that I made the night before.
Then I rode my bike a bunch after work and watched my friend get a ticket for touching an undercover cop car. Mind you, this undercover cop car was in the park after it had been closed to cars, and was slowly driving into our lane as we were riding in it. So my buddy touches the hood at the front of the car to be like, "dude, uh, don't run me over? I'm riding a bike here?" Seconds later, "whooop!" flashing lights, "you got ID?" He ended up getting a summons for "hitting the car and not riding in the bike lane". Cops are fucking douchefags. I'm totally going to court for this guy.
OK, so after that, I made an omelette with Avocados & Bacon. Damn, that was good. And I had a whiskey & coke & passed out.
This morning, I had sliced bananas on toast with peanut butter, as usual.
For lunch, I had a 6" cold cut combo from Subway with spinach, onions, tomatoes, uhhhhhhhhh, black olives, green peppers, mayonaisse, & spicy mustard.
Then I had a cookie.
Then I cooked my sister the same chicken dinner I made monday night & reheated for Tuesday's lunch. I cook dinner for her sometimes on Wednesday nights and we watch L O S T. It's like our family bonding time.
And now it's now. So what's giving me this gas?
Carrot Muffin + coffee?
Chicken w/ garlic, cilantro, lemon juice, & leeks?
Three Krispy Kreme Donuts?
Avocado & Bacon Omelette?
Peanut Butter, Banana, & wheat toast?
Subway Cold Cut Combo with Spinach, Tomato, Onion, Green Pepper, Black Olives, Mayo & Mustard?
Cookie?
Same Chicken thing?
VOTE NOW! NO SPAM, PLEASE!
Friday, April 07, 2006
thewse new glovces are awesomes
some people might be maklinmgf fdun of me fore buyng my weintedrt gfloves from QVC, but you giuys have no ideaw./ tyhy're completelyu waztrerproof!!@!@ i gusrsanteer it! AAND, they're rtelqwtively easy to tyupe with! Don't hgouy think sdop?
But really, trust m e on this oine. Comfortrmp gloves from QWVC are wasterPROOF. Hold 'em nder a faucet if hyou dont bel;ieve me. You could ride asround all; day liong in the pourin g rain, thn e hacve a snowball, foght, and your hjasnds will NEV ER get wewt1! And they're warm. great fgor wim ter ridimgf. The worst days in winter are when it's asbovce freerzinmg, but sdnowng anywasy. Snow just meltsx on you thjen. it;s miserble. Therse glovcces makle it m,uich morte tyolereabler.
And whyu amn] I shopping at QVC\, ylj ask? Howe didd i know where to find thesde gloves? Well, myu Mom bought them, foer m origimally. Thanksd, Mo-m! Great loves! BVuty I lost one at a Times-Up party a ,month or so ago. I weas pissdedf! These gloves ruled! Watrerpreoofd! SXo ,my buddy Austi n looked 'em up. Firsrt, he called m,y bluffd on the Waterproof cl;aim by running a faucet over them, provcinmg to him too, that COMFORTEMP glovces ARE indeed water-fuckinmfgf-proof! So Austin looked it up, and he wass likwe "QVC, dude". "Well, that makes sene=se," I said. Myu Mom's got his tyhi g for QWVC. She buys stuff threre. whatever though, yuo! Stop hation! COMFOERTEMP RULES! I had top buy anothjer ;pair.
But really, trust m e on this oine. Comfortrmp gloves from QWVC are wasterPROOF. Hold 'em nder a faucet if hyou dont bel;ieve me. You could ride asround all; day liong in the pourin g rain, thn e hacve a snowball, foght, and your hjasnds will NEV ER get wewt1! And they're warm. great fgor wim ter ridimgf. The worst days in winter are when it's asbovce freerzinmg, but sdnowng anywasy. Snow just meltsx on you thjen. it;s miserble. Therse glovcces makle it m,uich morte tyolereabler.
And whyu amn] I shopping at QVC\, ylj ask? Howe didd i know where to find thesde gloves? Well, myu Mom bought them, foer m origimally. Thanksd, Mo-m! Great loves! BVuty I lost one at a Times-Up party a ,month or so ago. I weas pissdedf! These gloves ruled! Watrerpreoofd! SXo ,my buddy Austi n looked 'em up. Firsrt, he called m,y bluffd on the Waterproof cl;aim by running a faucet over them, provcinmg to him too, that COMFORTEMP glovces ARE indeed water-fuckinmfgf-proof! So Austin looked it up, and he wass likwe "QVC, dude". "Well, that makes sene=se," I said. Myu Mom's got his tyhi g for QWVC. She buys stuff threre. whatever though, yuo! Stop hation! COMFOERTEMP RULES! I had top buy anothjer ;pair.
Monday, April 03, 2006
It's opening day!
Baseball season has begun again! I think. Right? I heard something about it on NPR this morning. NPR reporters interviewing people about sports kinda sound like me talking to my Dad about money. I have no idea what's going on, and I can't wait until the conversation changes topic. What the hell is a mortgage anyway?
So it's baseball season again. That means time's freakin' flying. And that's it, as far as I'm concerned. Just keep checking badjocks.com. It's all about sports stars who fuck up. The elevator taught me that. I get most of my news from the elevator in my building. And the most superimportant of it often filters to this blog. You're welcome.
So it's baseball season again. That means time's freakin' flying. And that's it, as far as I'm concerned. Just keep checking badjocks.com. It's all about sports stars who fuck up. The elevator taught me that. I get most of my news from the elevator in my building. And the most superimportant of it often filters to this blog. You're welcome.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Ugh, my taint is killing me!
Bike racing is turning me into an incredible loser. I've got to leave every party I'm at by midnight so I can wake up in time to race at 6 fucking thirty the next morning. Either it's turning me into a loser, or it's merely harboring the inner loser I always was by giving me valid excuses to leave parties early - before I get wasted, say stupid things with excruciatingly slurred speech, make horrendous attempts at picking up women, and ultimately fall over a couple times, pretending that that's just perfectly ok even though I stopped the rapidly approaching floor with my face.
One thing is for certain. My taint hurts. My gooch. My perineum, technically. It's a common problem among cyclists, you know? Seeing as you're sitting there, bouncing up & down on a leather saddle smashing up into your crotch for a few hours. That's why they have those saddles with the slits in the middle. It's to help prevent saddlesore. I think. Or allow you to have babies, which no biker can do, apparently.
OK, OK, I'm gonna take a wild tangent here and point out that while trying to find good medical dictionary links for "perineum", the Google links on medical-dictionary.com were hilarious. Check it out:
1) "EBay.com - Save Money and Buy Perineum On Ebay"
2) "Perineum: 100% Free Adult Dating Site"
and
3) "Find the Best Sites For Perineum With Joltsearch"
I'm not making this up.
Wow. 100% Free Adult Dating? That's definitely what I'm thinking about when my gooch is burning. And Ebay's got them for sale? Holy crap! I think I might've solved all my problems right there. I'm gonna tell the team! If they're cheap enough, maybe we can just buy a ton of spares and swap 'em out after races! This is groundbreaking, really. It's gonna make saddlesore a thing of the past. Yay!
One thing is for certain. My taint hurts. My gooch. My perineum, technically. It's a common problem among cyclists, you know? Seeing as you're sitting there, bouncing up & down on a leather saddle smashing up into your crotch for a few hours. That's why they have those saddles with the slits in the middle. It's to help prevent saddlesore. I think. Or allow you to have babies, which no biker can do, apparently.
OK, OK, I'm gonna take a wild tangent here and point out that while trying to find good medical dictionary links for "perineum", the Google links on medical-dictionary.com were hilarious. Check it out:
1) "EBay.com - Save Money and Buy Perineum On Ebay"
2) "Perineum: 100% Free Adult Dating Site"
and
3) "Find the Best Sites For Perineum With Joltsearch"
I'm not making this up.
Wow. 100% Free Adult Dating? That's definitely what I'm thinking about when my gooch is burning. And Ebay's got them for sale? Holy crap! I think I might've solved all my problems right there. I'm gonna tell the team! If they're cheap enough, maybe we can just buy a ton of spares and swap 'em out after races! This is groundbreaking, really. It's gonna make saddlesore a thing of the past. Yay!
Monday, March 27, 2006
why is Rhode a state, but not Long?
I don't know, but I'm obligated to explain it. It was a text message that I didn't answer sufficiently because the grocery store was about to close and I had to buy mayonaisse for my tuna sandwich that I was gonna make for dinner. When I got home, I had all sorts of plans to find some dope recipe on epicurious and cook something special for myself. Something like Olive Stuffed Chicken, which is great for carnivores. All you vegetarians out there are suckers. Olive Stuffed Chicken with Almonds is fantastic. I highly recommend it. Does this make me a traitor to my company for recommending a recipe from a competitor? Uh, I don't particularly care. I'd rather be a bike messenger than work at martha stewart.Everyone knows that. But if this does make me a traitor, then let me recommend another recipe: Paella for 45 Go for it.
So, Why is Rhode Island a state, but not Long Island? I've never wondered this. But someone has. And they texted it to me. And it got me thinking. Actually, it didn't really get me thinking. But I make these idle promises in jest, then actually follow through on them. Like "yeah, by tomorrow, I'll have a full explanation of why Rhode but not Long is a state."
My first assumption is that it has something to do with the fact that the 5 boroughs, back in the day when Martin Scorcese was recruiting Jack from the Titanic to be some kind of douche in some kind of overlong, overproduced movie about lame period gangs.....the five boroughs were 5 different cities. That's why I don't put New York New York on my return addresses anymore. I put BROOKLYN MOTHERFUCKER, New York on my return addresses. (I'm serious about that, actually. Well, no, I'm not serious about that, but i generally do capitalize BROOKLYN. And just for the fuck of it, I might start adding MOTHERFUCKER to it. Especially on things like resumes. That'll make 'em think, "shit, we should hire this guy or else he'll probably have us killed. ". And I could by the way). Anyway, this is all true. Wikipedia's Brooklyn entry says something about it. This clearly proves that Long Island was, uh.........uh... uh, shit. My theory didn't go much further than the whole 5 borough thing.OK, I'll start over.
According to my quick and extremely unscientific google searching, Long Island has a population of about 1.5 million people, and Rhode Island has a population of about 1.1million people. Maybe even less. Long Island - 1; Rhode Island - 0.
Rhode Island is 1545 Square Miles. Long Island is 1377 Square Miles, but the first google link compares it to the size of an iceberg, so it gets a point for that. Long Island - 2; Rhode Island 1.
In researching the zombie population of both islands...Hey wait the fuck up....Rhode Island isn't even a fucking island! What. The. Fuck. Have I been wasting my time here? This isn't funny. I'm serious. Rhode Island, you fucking lose. That's why you get statehood. Only losers become states. Long Island has more zombies anyway. Have you ever been to the fucking Hamptons? Just look at those people! They're all zombie Lizzie Grubmans, driving their SUV's backwards over other zombies lurching out of the clubs, drinking brains & champaigne.
So there you go. Rhode Island gets to be a state because it's retarted to name yourself "Island" when you're not an island at all. And there aren't enough zombies there. In related news, zombies are the new black. I can't believe the New York Times didnt' quote this blog.
So, Why is Rhode Island a state, but not Long Island? I've never wondered this. But someone has. And they texted it to me. And it got me thinking. Actually, it didn't really get me thinking. But I make these idle promises in jest, then actually follow through on them. Like "yeah, by tomorrow, I'll have a full explanation of why Rhode but not Long is a state."
My first assumption is that it has something to do with the fact that the 5 boroughs, back in the day when Martin Scorcese was recruiting Jack from the Titanic to be some kind of douche in some kind of overlong, overproduced movie about lame period gangs.....the five boroughs were 5 different cities. That's why I don't put New York New York on my return addresses anymore. I put BROOKLYN MOTHERFUCKER, New York on my return addresses. (I'm serious about that, actually. Well, no, I'm not serious about that, but i generally do capitalize BROOKLYN. And just for the fuck of it, I might start adding MOTHERFUCKER to it. Especially on things like resumes. That'll make 'em think, "shit, we should hire this guy or else he'll probably have us killed. ". And I could by the way). Anyway, this is all true. Wikipedia's Brooklyn entry says something about it. This clearly proves that Long Island was, uh.........uh... uh, shit. My theory didn't go much further than the whole 5 borough thing.OK, I'll start over.
According to my quick and extremely unscientific google searching, Long Island has a population of about 1.5 million people, and Rhode Island has a population of about 1.1million people. Maybe even less. Long Island - 1; Rhode Island - 0.
Rhode Island is 1545 Square Miles. Long Island is 1377 Square Miles, but the first google link compares it to the size of an iceberg, so it gets a point for that. Long Island - 2; Rhode Island 1.
In researching the zombie population of both islands...Hey wait the fuck up....Rhode Island isn't even a fucking island! What. The. Fuck. Have I been wasting my time here? This isn't funny. I'm serious. Rhode Island, you fucking lose. That's why you get statehood. Only losers become states. Long Island has more zombies anyway. Have you ever been to the fucking Hamptons? Just look at those people! They're all zombie Lizzie Grubmans, driving their SUV's backwards over other zombies lurching out of the clubs, drinking brains & champaigne.
So there you go. Rhode Island gets to be a state because it's retarted to name yourself "Island" when you're not an island at all. And there aren't enough zombies there. In related news, zombies are the new black. I can't believe the New York Times didnt' quote this blog.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
My time machine
There are two things I expect for the future: Matter Transporters, so Haiku Harry can toss houseflies into everything he sends, and a time machine. Oh, and zombie killing farms.
I want a time machine. Not anything that can send me decades into the future or way back into the past so I can give myself little tips & advice as a teenager, like "Kiss Karen Taverna on the Ski Lift. You won't regret it". I always regretted not kissing Karen Taverna on the ski lift. I'd dress up in lots of layers & scarves & ski goggles of course, so teenage Ken doesn't recognize adult Ken and the space-time continuum shatters and I suddenly disappear. Anyway, I don't even want a time machine like that. I just want a short term time machine. A few minutes here, a few minutes there. And I want it to be triggered by my downstairs neighbors alarm clock. And every morning, when my downstairs neighbors alarm clock goes off, I want it to zap me 5 minutes into the future. That's all. Nothing fantastic. Just five minutes.
My downstairs' neighbors alarm plays a CD or something. The same song every day. It goes something like "dmmmm, da dmmm ddmmm dmmm dmmm DMMMmmmmmmm......DMMMMMMM, da-dm dm dm dm DMMMMMM", where "DMMMM, etc" = heavy , repetitive bass line. Every fucking morning. Same song. Just one song though, I've learned. I've learned that it's going to stop after 5 minutes and that I don't necessarily need to wake up every time. Just suffer through it and wait for my own alarm clock to go off 15 minutes later. Fuckers. All I want my time machine to do is reclaim those 5 minutes of morning for myself. It should be easy, I think. Scientists don't have to figure out much....just 5 minutes. Someone get on that, please.
I want a time machine. Not anything that can send me decades into the future or way back into the past so I can give myself little tips & advice as a teenager, like "Kiss Karen Taverna on the Ski Lift. You won't regret it". I always regretted not kissing Karen Taverna on the ski lift. I'd dress up in lots of layers & scarves & ski goggles of course, so teenage Ken doesn't recognize adult Ken and the space-time continuum shatters and I suddenly disappear. Anyway, I don't even want a time machine like that. I just want a short term time machine. A few minutes here, a few minutes there. And I want it to be triggered by my downstairs neighbors alarm clock. And every morning, when my downstairs neighbors alarm clock goes off, I want it to zap me 5 minutes into the future. That's all. Nothing fantastic. Just five minutes.
My downstairs' neighbors alarm plays a CD or something. The same song every day. It goes something like "dmmmm, da dmmm ddmmm dmmm dmmm DMMMmmmmmmm......DMMMMMMM, da-dm dm dm dm DMMMMMM", where "DMMMM, etc" = heavy , repetitive bass line. Every fucking morning. Same song. Just one song though, I've learned. I've learned that it's going to stop after 5 minutes and that I don't necessarily need to wake up every time. Just suffer through it and wait for my own alarm clock to go off 15 minutes later. Fuckers. All I want my time machine to do is reclaim those 5 minutes of morning for myself. It should be easy, I think. Scientists don't have to figure out much....just 5 minutes. Someone get on that, please.
Monday, March 13, 2006
girl scout cookies
Delicious, but deadly.
For serious. Within arms reach are one box each of Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties, Lemon Pastry Cremes, and Caramel deLites. It's hard to decide which is more delicous, though I'm partial to the Caramel deLites. Whichever way you look at it though, their temptation is deadly. Damn girlscouts probably put cocaine in their cookies to keep us coming back for more. Either that, or lots of sugar. Sugar might do it too. I've heard sugar's a big ingredient in cookies. And seeing as I've had a pretty vicious sweet tooth all my life, it might be an indication that the overabundance of sugar in these cute little cookies is what keeps me reaching to that shelf to my right where I've lined up my four boxes of cookies. Damn girl scouts. What did girl scouts ever teach any girl anyway? Valuable hunting skills for the apocalypse? I doubt it. Frankly, I don't know. I didn't even pay attention in Cub Scouts, so how am I supposed to know what the girl scouts learned? The Cub Scout motto was something about pledging your best to help the girl scouts get undressed. How old were we then? Like 8? Already the pressure to take advantage of girls was mounting. And unfortunately for me & those around my age, we went to school when grunge was the big thing, so all the chicks were wearing flannel & baggy pants. ....I still feel ripped off. Now, kids are giving blowjobs in study hall, constantly. Back in my day, I had to sneak into the rafters of the auditorium to beat off during study hall. Not like I did it regularly, but I just did it once or twice because, you know, I could. I know I'm not alone here, right?
Anyway, these girl scout cookies apparently make me think of masturbation. Then again, it's like 6 degrees of masturbation. Give me any topic, and within 6 leaps of logic, I can tie it into spanking the monkey.
For serious. Within arms reach are one box each of Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties, Lemon Pastry Cremes, and Caramel deLites. It's hard to decide which is more delicous, though I'm partial to the Caramel deLites. Whichever way you look at it though, their temptation is deadly. Damn girlscouts probably put cocaine in their cookies to keep us coming back for more. Either that, or lots of sugar. Sugar might do it too. I've heard sugar's a big ingredient in cookies. And seeing as I've had a pretty vicious sweet tooth all my life, it might be an indication that the overabundance of sugar in these cute little cookies is what keeps me reaching to that shelf to my right where I've lined up my four boxes of cookies. Damn girl scouts. What did girl scouts ever teach any girl anyway? Valuable hunting skills for the apocalypse? I doubt it. Frankly, I don't know. I didn't even pay attention in Cub Scouts, so how am I supposed to know what the girl scouts learned? The Cub Scout motto was something about pledging your best to help the girl scouts get undressed. How old were we then? Like 8? Already the pressure to take advantage of girls was mounting. And unfortunately for me & those around my age, we went to school when grunge was the big thing, so all the chicks were wearing flannel & baggy pants. ....I still feel ripped off. Now, kids are giving blowjobs in study hall, constantly. Back in my day, I had to sneak into the rafters of the auditorium to beat off during study hall. Not like I did it regularly, but I just did it once or twice because, you know, I could. I know I'm not alone here, right?
Anyway, these girl scout cookies apparently make me think of masturbation. Then again, it's like 6 degrees of masturbation. Give me any topic, and within 6 leaps of logic, I can tie it into spanking the monkey.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
More books in the kitchen
More interesting titles have been popping up in the pantry, resting on top of the microwave for nosy, speculative assholes like me to jump to conclusions about. Today's emotionally addled selections:
"I Do, But I Don't: how to walk down the aisle without losing your mind"
"Separated By Duty, United By Love: Married to the military (or something like that). "
I giggle cruelly to think of the train wreck of a woman who owns these books, and telepathically try to send messages to her future husband to keep his soldier ass in Iraq. The minefields & roadside bombs are less dangerous over there.
"I Do, But I Don't: how to walk down the aisle without losing your mind"
"Separated By Duty, United By Love: Married to the military (or something like that). "
I giggle cruelly to think of the train wreck of a woman who owns these books, and telepathically try to send messages to her future husband to keep his soldier ass in Iraq. The minefields & roadside bombs are less dangerous over there.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
what I think is really in the girls' bathroom
I remain convinced that the girls' bathroom is nothing like the boys' bathroom. This is a long-held belief that is only fed by the several other mysteries of girls.
The girls bathroom has a garden in it. It's all pink and there are fluffy things. It smells like flowers because there are flowers growing in the garden, right next to the stream. There are rocks you can sit on and bathe your feet in the sparkling water. It's fresh water, straight from the mountains. It's really quite amazing that even though architecturally, you'd think the girls room is exactly the same size as the boys room, it has space for a lot more nice stuff. It's always sunny inside, and the grass is always green. The girls wear dresses and take naps on the hills. There aren't any stalls, because girls don't poop. Everyone knows that. The girls room is more for meditation than for going number one or number two.
Everyone knows that the boys room is covered with grafitti, and at least one of the urinals is always running. Plus, there's a bully inside who will steal your lunch money and go back under the bridge for the next billygoat to come along. There's running water in the girls room too, but it's from God. Ours comes from plumbing. If there's an area where grass isn't growing in the girls room, it's covered with flower petals.
The girls room is kept clean and well stocked by faeries who sing, give massages, and apply lotion to your skin.
That's what's in the girls room
The girls bathroom has a garden in it. It's all pink and there are fluffy things. It smells like flowers because there are flowers growing in the garden, right next to the stream. There are rocks you can sit on and bathe your feet in the sparkling water. It's fresh water, straight from the mountains. It's really quite amazing that even though architecturally, you'd think the girls room is exactly the same size as the boys room, it has space for a lot more nice stuff. It's always sunny inside, and the grass is always green. The girls wear dresses and take naps on the hills. There aren't any stalls, because girls don't poop. Everyone knows that. The girls room is more for meditation than for going number one or number two.
Everyone knows that the boys room is covered with grafitti, and at least one of the urinals is always running. Plus, there's a bully inside who will steal your lunch money and go back under the bridge for the next billygoat to come along. There's running water in the girls room too, but it's from God. Ours comes from plumbing. If there's an area where grass isn't growing in the girls room, it's covered with flower petals.
The girls room is kept clean and well stocked by faeries who sing, give massages, and apply lotion to your skin.
That's what's in the girls room
Thursday, February 23, 2006
There's a tank in my overalls!
How did these guys ever let these guys exist? If I were from OKT, I totally woulda gone down to OKBG and been all "we're going to demolish your namby pamby romper room warehouses with our freakin' tanks. You're totally ruining our brand value." For serious. I, for one, will always associate Osh Kosh with B'Gosh and cute overalls. An entire generation or so agrees. And those poor people who make arguably the baddest ass vehicles in the damn world probably get emails from mom's asking how to buy replacement buttons for pants. HAHAHAH. losers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
