Better Off Read

Shit I Likes #1 - The Pancakes Edition with Bonus Haiku

2009-06-20T17:32:00.001-07:00

This will be another one of those things that I pretend to update you on every now and then. First things first. Pancakes are some badass shit. Love me some pancakes. Take some butter and smack it up, flip it, rub it down all over them golden brown 'cakes and pour syrup all over it like it was water on a buxom 20 year old co-eds white t-shirt. Yeah, that's the ticket. I will also accept some powdered sugar sprinkled on top for added effect or cinnamon sprinkled into the batter. Hot damn, I'm hungry.

Some people call them flapjacks, some call them hotcakes, but it's all the same to me. The perfect pancake can be the greatest breakfast treat known to mankind. They're even great for "brinner", though, I skip all the sides at night. I go straight pancakes at that point. As long as them badboys ain't overcooked or burnt, you've got money. No wonder they sell like...uh...hotcakes at the wafflehouse.

In fact, I love me some pancakes so much, I wrote a haiku about them. Anyone who knows me knows that anything that's worth being written about or loved can be condensed into a haiku; the Japanese poem consisting of three lines with the first and third line containing five syllables and the second having seven.

Anyway, here's a little haiku I wrote for you my beloved pancakes:

Warm, golden, tasty.
Breakfast, dinner, whenever.
Need pancake love now.

Hell yeah. Pancakes.

How Silver Spoons Ruined My Life

2009-05-12T15:34:00.000-07:00

So, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about arcade video game cabinets, slot machines, etc. and somehow it made me think of the old 80's show, Silver Spoons starring (then) Ricky Schroeder as the spoiled rich kid, Alfonso Ribeiro as the token black friend and Erin Gray as the hot future step-mom. Anyway, if you're not familiar with the show, I'll try to jiggle your memory. It was about a rich kid and his dad, who ran some toy company and thusly had all kinds of badass toys and gadgetry in their home. One of their badass toys was this miniature train that ran through their house that they would ride from one room to the next, if that doesn't tip you off then you just have no clue what I'm talking about. (Here's some Youtube clips) It had an awesome theme song. Anyway, they had this kickass layout in their family room with arcade cabinets and pinball machines along the wall, he had a fucking racecar bed before they were made out of plastic and available at retailers everywhere, and of course the icing on the cake was that damn train.

So, how did that ruin my life you ask? Well, shit imagine a five or six year old me, or any boy for that matter. Who didn't want any of that stuff. Hell, I'm 31 now and I would give your left testicle for the stuff that kid had. So, now I still aspire to have this stuff and it's just not happening. The worst part was that they never (or rarely) even used those things on the show. If you're not going to use them, why even bother having them? Give them to some poor, young, deserving boy whose parents can't afford to buy him a decent pair of pants; someone like me.

So, yeah that show ruined my life because it set up all these false hopes and aspirations that could only be fulfilled by a handful of people. By default, if you ever watched that show and envied little Ricky Schroeder's spoiled lifestyle, you were destined for failure. Maybe it's the reason I am the way I am today. Refusing to grow up, videogame collection in the hundreds, toys all up in the den (in complete packaging mind you to preserve their minty freshness), and the overall maturity of an eleven year old. I mean, I still laugh when I hear people discussing history and how before paper it was all passed down orally. Or how about this inappropriate time, when I used to sit in my Administration of Justice class and they would discuss the penal code. Yeah, eleven year old, might be giving myself too much credit.

Guys and Straws

2009-05-05T16:41:00.000-07:00

So, I've got this theory that works two-fold. It involves men and straws.

First off, you can't be a tough guy and keep that tough look while you're sucking down Diet Pepsi through a straw. It's nigh impossible, nay, it is impossible. Imagine the toughest looking guy you know from TV or movies whether that's Mr. T, Charles Bronson, Chuck Norris, or whoever. Now imagine them drinking a soda through a straw. That's pure goofiness, I tell you! No, the tough guy always pops the lid off and drinks straight from the mouth of the cup. Not only that, but when he's done he chews on the ice just to let you know who is the boss. That's manly.

Part two of the theory is that the absolute hunkiest dude you've ever seen looks like a complete dork sucking down a tasty beverage through a straw. I mean, really how cool can a guy look when he's trying to get that last bit of Fanta out of the cup and he's making that slurping sound. Let alone if he's drinking a thick milkshake and he's struggling? Face turning slightly blue, cheeks sunken in, eyes crossing from the suction. Oh, yeah David Beckham, Brad Pitt, and George Clooney would all look like the kids from high school that had classes in an isolated wing at school so they wouldn't mix in with the general population. You know they would, don't you dare deny it.

So, that's the theory. Just think about it, picture it in your minds eye, and get back to me. I'll be waiting drinking a juice box and eating animal crackers.

Wait...Why Am I Apologizing Again?

2009-04-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'm a really bitter guy, or maybe I'm just jaded. Hell, maybe I've just been listening to too much Adam Carolla, but why is it that I've got to apologize for every little piece of crap even when it's not my fault. Or how about when I've got to say that whatever you did that might have offended me is "cool" or I say "don't worry about it". Look, if I didn't do anything wrong I ain't gonna apologize. For some reason I think this happens a bunch with significant others. One person gets all butt-hurt because they took something the wrong way and the other person then has to say that they're sorry because they misconstrued whatever it was they said. Why? Screw that, if you didn't understand what I meant when I said it, why should I be sorry? You're the one who should be apologizing to me for flying off the handle and making me go way in depth into what I actually meant and you still didn't get it, until finally half an hour later it took hold. By which time that person had been yelling their head off for quite some time. And oh, by the way, they don't apologize because they don't need to. They did nothing wrong...Well, except for asking for an apology 46 times in twelve minutes.

I Hate Your Phones Ringtone

2009-04-11T16:04:00.000-07:00

I do. I really do. No, seriously. I truly do. It's not even for effect or for satire, but because I just think that your ringtone sucks sweaty gorilla sack after he's just mated and smothered feces on it. Yeah, that much. I guess I should explain, I mean, I could technically just leave it at that and in and of itself I guess it would probably be funnier that way, but then what would be the point in it? Look, the truth is that if you're just too lazy to change your factory set ringtone then by extension, I can't stand it. When a phone rings and three or four people have to look down and see whether it's their phone or not then you're not doing a good enough job to distinguish yourself from the other sheep. Look, at the very least change it to one of the other six retarded ringtones that your phone came with. Now, contrary to that if you've got one of those custom ringtones that you clearly paid $2.99 for from your retarded cell phone company then you're annoying me equally. You know, whatever it is that is the rap/pop/country/ranchero hit of the moment. That shit sucks, too. You've clearly not progressed far enough technologically to figure out how to custom make your own ringtones.

I know, this leaves a very fine line for you to select a ringtone, but that's ok. Your shit sucks anyway, you need to realize this, you need to be told the truth. Justin Timberlake's "Bringing Sexy Back" as a ringtone isn't going to do anything, but embarrass you when you're around a group of strangers. I swear it will. So, how about your just put your phone on vibrate and call it a day.

The weird thing is that it's always the crappy free phones and the really high end phones that offend the most. The rest of us fall in between. Now, if you'd excuse me I've got to go make myself some more custom ringtones and no I won't tell you what ringtones I have, I'm way too embarrassed. *sigh* Actually, it's custom for everyone who calls me. Everyone of my contacts who calls me on any sort of consistent basis has their own ringtone, so that I can differentiate who is calling me and whether I even want to pick it up to begin with.

Oh, and I'll almost excuse you if you've got video game music in there, as long as when I look at you I see cool nerd and not just total dumbass douche. The more 8-bit the better. At this point, though, that excludes the Super Mario Bros. theme song because everyone and their mom has used that one up like penicillin after hooking up with Colin Ferrell.

Ok, I'll admit this ain't my best work, but I'll pretend to update this every now and again.

I Want To Be That Liar Guy...

2008-05-24T17:23:00.000-07:00

I think at this stage in your life, you've met that one guy (or girl) who just has this thing for being a habitual liar. You know the guy who claims something like Michael Jackson once stopped and used his bathroom, or that he used to date Scarlet Johanssen before she was famous, or that he once made out with the hot French teacher. I think you know that guy. I used to work with one. I'm not sure which comes first whether it's the lying or the job, but they probably end up in sales maybe at used car lots? This guy would tell you a 20 inch TV would bake a potato for you while you showered even if you hadn't bought potatoes in like three months if it meant him making a few bucks out of it.

So, I want to be that guy. I want to tell you about how I grew up in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico and lived there until I was 5, then moved to French Lick, Indiana and went to elementary school while my father a professional wrestler made a name for himself. After that it was a life on the road. From Climax, Colorado to Beaver Lick, Kentucky to Meat Camp, North Carolina I've lived in all kinds of cities with weird names, some even moreso than the last.

Then when I was all grown up and able to go to school and get a job, I majored in Liberal Arts with a minor in Archaeological Digsites of Ancient Mesopotamia. (Of course, what else would I do?) What did that get me? Well, for two years I did research and fact checking for Jeopardy! After that I parlayed that gig into a two year stint on the Cornelia Marie now featured on the Discovery Channel hit show "Deadliest Catch" of course this was all prior to the TV show, so I missed my shot at fame. I did an episode of Blind Date that never aired because I showed up drunk to my dates house and got into a verbal confrontation which then escalated and ended up instead as an episode of Cops. I never served any time, though.

Anyway, I guess that's not really a job. Since then I served as a creative consultant on TLC's "While you were out" where I dated Teresa Strasser, who is now on the Adam Carolla Show and on the TV Guide Channels "TV Water Cooler" or something like that. It was shortly after that when I met her soon to be future boyfriend, Brian Dunkelman, who went on to co-host American Idol. He got me a job as a Production Assistant, but I only lasted one season because I decided to leave with my boy "Dunk" because he thought we could move on to greener pasteurs together. That never happened, so then I became a pitch guy for TV Shows, I had this crazy idea for a giant scavenger hunt that took place across the entire Earth. They said it would never work and then mysteriously came "The Amazing Race". I'm still pissed about that. I also pitched some other ideas that didn't get picked up in any shape for or fashion.

For the last two years I've been living at my parents house. Only coming out when the shadows grow long. On occasion I come out and entertain the parents with a little Truffle Shuffle, but only when I'm in the mood. I'm currently trying to pitch an idea about a baker who makes custom flavored pies for people, but the Food Network is passing on that idea because they've already got something similar to it. A pox on them. Maybe it's time for me to do some archaeological digs in ancient Mesopotamia, you know it's the cradle of life. At least that's what I remember from the Tomb Raider movie.

Yeah, I want to be that guy. Of course everything you just read is all true. Except the part where I did any of this.

-Red

Hot Chicks Don't Poop, Do They?

2008-02-29T20:42:00.000-08:00

(If you click the title you will be taken to the post or wait for the end to find the link) This is something I wrote over at Don't Doodle Me during some down time. As is my style of writing, it's absolute crap, it's also about mathematical theorems and formulations that I made up all by myself. I think it's relevant to nothing, but I don't care because I am at the firm understanding that Hot Chicks, indeed, do not poop.

Imitation. Turns Out It's Not the Sincerest Form of Flattery (NSFW?)

2008-05-02T07:20:00.000-07:00

It's true. It's not. At least not anymore. Do you want to know why? Because it's been supplanted by masturbation. Yup. Think about it, seriously. What could possibly be more sincere than someone thinking about you and performing an act of self-love with you in mind (and in hand)? Sure, I guess you could get all self-conscious and think it's disgusting, or maybe you're religious, or whatever. But that person thinking about you in just such a way that it gets them to perform an act of "shame" on themselves, doesn't that flatter you in any way at all? I mean, I think I would be flattered if a chick told me that she was at home, all alone (hell it'd be more flattering if she wasn't!), thinking of me and she just decided to go all Divinyls on me. I would think it was awesome. Maybe it's just me. Well, me and all the Playboy models, eh? I don't know I just think that if someone takes the time to take a mental picture of me for ol' the "spank bank" it's not a bad thing. There are worse things they could do in all reality. Maybe I change my mind if a dude tells me he was wang-chunging with me in mind, though, I guess it's still a compliment, even if it is a little back-handed...Sorry, had to do that.

So, you see, imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery, not in 2008 because acts of self-love have moved in. I think it's only that much more flattering that they would think of you in that way, I mean, it's an intimate act between you and whatever you wish was the other person, whether it's some sort of device, old school handy action, or a "Sally" (a term I once heard Tracy Morgan use to describe a sandwich bag full of lube tucked in between the couch cushions, which would also include a warm towel and a guy's junk, you go ahead and put two and two together now), whatever your method it's all good. See it any way that you want to. Personally, I'm flattered. Oh, and no, I'm not sending you any pictures of me. I do appreciate the offer, though. I also appreciate your comments if you disagree.

An Open Letter To My Best Friend (Circa 1984-1985)

2008-05-23T17:51:00.000-07:00

The following really and truly happened. Seriously.

Dear Bestest Friend from 1984 or 1985 (or whatever year that was when we were best friends),

Hey, I haven't seen you in years. It's been a long time, I don't even know what name you're going by today since you've Americanized yourself. Back then we were a couple of kids running loose around the block. There's something that I need to tell you. For that matter it's something I probably should've told you when it happened, but I was young, I didn't know any better. Heck, I probably still don't know any better, but I'm just going to go ahead and spit it out anyway. There was a day that I was at your house, I wandered around looking for you. You weren't in the living room or the kitchen. You weren't in your bedroom. I then walked down the hallway, mayhaps you were in your parents room? The door was open I figured I'd just look in and see if you were in there, what I saw was definitely unexpected to say the least. Apparently your mom was changing or had just come out of the shower. She had no top on. She was topless. She was wearing no shirt. She was letting it all hang loose. She was throwing caution to the wind. She was a girl gone wild. Look, what I'm trying to say is that I saw your mom's boobs. There I said it. Now, I'm telling you that I'm sorry. Whew. I feel so much better. A heavy weight lifted. By the way I saw your grandma, too. But I think you already knew that one, she always hung out in the backyard letting them babies air out or sunning them or whatever the hell she did when she was back there. *blech* Anyway, sorry about that, I'd apologize to your face, but you moved away long ago. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in the past two decades, though, I did see your older sister in high school. I heard she really busted out, I almost regret not seeing her the time I walked into her room. So, yeah. I hope you accept my apology, I didn't mean to see your mom topless. She should've closed the door, though. Yup.

Sincerely,
Red

No One Ever Says...

2008-04-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

It's weird because people never really say things like:

"I'm looking for a high maintenance boyfriend/girlfriend."

I guess you just end up with one.

Girls never say the things guys say like:

"He's a little overweight, but he's got a cute face."

They're just as shallow as guys, if not more, apparently.

Then again, guys never say:

"I like my women the same way I like my peanut butter...chunky."

Well, some do. I take that back.

True Story

2008-04-17T08:26:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about something stupid I said once, this morning and went off on my own thought tangent and remembered this story, so I think I'll relate it to you here.

I just graduated from high school and I decided that I was going to dye my hair, so I bought a box of blond hair dye and decided to give it a try. Mind you that this was in the mid 90's, so it was cool back then. Try it now and you just end up looking like a douche.

Anyway, do you know what happens to black hair when you throw blond dye in it for a bit too long? Yup, it turns more orange than blond. I didn't care, I just wanted to color my hair. Anyway, I worked at a place where my job was to sell paint and do you know what teenage kids do when they're bored as hell at work? They eff around with the color matching system. So, of course I throw my head onto the "eye" of the machine set it up and mix up a gallon of paint. Orange. It was nice, but I didn't want a gallon of orange paint, so of course we just pretend it was a messed up gallon and threw it in the clearance aisle with our other experiments and genuine eff-ups.

I know, not tremendously hilarious, but this is the kind of thing that you do when you're just bored as hell at work waiting for action. I've actually got a much better story about working in the paint department at said store, but that's for another day and another time.

Is It King Size Or Not? And The Internet Guide to Real World Sizing

2008-04-13T17:24:00.000-07:00

So, there was a discussion about random stuff on the DreamStation.cc forums and we got to mentioning the greatest chocolate candy known to mankind, the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. I claim it to be God's gift to mankind, which it is undoubtedly. Anyway, my real beef came when I got to thinking about the "King Size" packaging of said, confectionary delights. If you think about the King Size Snickers, it's a candy bar enlarged to epic proportions, but the King Size variety of the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup is nothing more than four individual cups. This is a travesty of justice and should be considered nothing more, and nothing less than false advertising. Sure, they make a "Big Cup" or whatever, but that's not the same and how can it be larger than the King Size version if it's only a "Big Cup". I'm really upset now, I'm working myself into a frenzy here, but I feel like this is falling on deaf ears. By the way, I was at the store recently and I noticed the "King Size" version of Almond Joy was just an extra bar inside a new packaging. Now, I could give a rats ass about Almond Joy because I think coconut sucks butt, so if someone wants to complain about that they can do it on their own blog and on their own time. This is about the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and their blatant disregard for the consumer, but mostly me because I wanted to write something for my peeps (peeps, being a slang term for people, not that disgusting Peeps marshmallow candy that they dust off every year for Easter, it's the equivalent of Candy Corn, but that's a rant for another day) who read this blog, all one of you. You know who you are. In short maybe I'll begin a petition for them to change the name, maybe I won't, I don't know, whatever. If you feel the need to start one, though, I'll consider signing it that's for sure...somewhat.

Edit: I've created the size ratio chart for you to read, so that you can then decide the scales of largeness. This way we avoid any confusion from further occurring and mislabeling things and misjudging sizes.

The Internet's Official Guide to Real World Sizing

Teeny - The smallest size anything can possibly be without the assistance of a microscope.

Tiny - A step larger than teeny, but still pretty small. Generally reserved for describing appetites, bra sizes (or rather what's inside the bras), babies and male body parts according to ex-girlfriends.

Miniature - This one is usually used for small breeds of dogs or toddlers who look exactly like their parents. Also, used for describing peanut butter cups.

Petite - One step larger than miniature, this is usually what big chicks use to describe their average sized friends. It's also used for describing certain vegetables.

Small - Generally used by larger people, smal is a relative term, but in most scenarios it just means that you're smaller than the fat guy next to you. Usually reserved for fast food; as in an order of french fries; Diet Pepsi; pizza; bucket of chicken; etc.

Average - Usually reserved for dating advertisements to describe build, height, weight, looks, etc. If you need to resort to calling yourself average, you may as well come out and say you look like someone's hairy ass minus the assy smell, but with more pimples.

Big - This is a step above average. If you're big, it means you've got some weight to lose or you're a linebacker in the NFL, but since the chances of you being a pro ball player are slim to none, you just need to lose a few lb's. Generally used when discussing your girlfriends friend, the one that keeps bending over in front of you giving you the show you'd rather be getting from the Petite (see above) friend instead.

Large - Again, a relative term. Usually used to described appetites, someone named Marge, any food items from Carls' Jr., the pizza you generally order with everything on it or your old Algebra teacher back in high school. Also, used to describe, though, very vaguely, bra size and the size of a guys package until he becomes the ex-boyfriend at which point out of spite, he becomes tiny (see above). Also, used to describe the size of my arms.

King Size - Used to describe something you might find at Burger King or the size of a Snickers bar, but incorrectly used in the case of the Peanut Butter Cup. Also, used to describe the size of an actual King.

Massive -This is a tough one, but you'll know it when you see it. Massive refers to something that is larger than large, but not quite Ginormous (see below). You'd usually call someone or something massive if requires a forklift/or a barge to be maneuvered from one place to the next. In general, you wouldn't be able to wrap your arms around something that is massive. However, the folowing two cases can be exceptions. When used to refer to the size of my biceps, or a toddlers head when it's obviously too big for his or her body.

Ginormous - Bigger than big. In general this is held off from being used unless it's to describe something, um, really big? Like a whale swallowed by an elephant? Yeah, that sounds about right.

Gargantuan - Somewhere in between ginormous and planetoid (see below). I've got nothing, I'm running out of material fast. Quick someone help me out!

Planetoid - This one is obvious, something is planetoid when it can block out the sun. This is usually held off unless describing someone's ego. Usually mine. But planetoid can also be used to describe an actual planet, who knew?

/end rant

Shall I Compare Thee To A Hot Pocket?

2008-04-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a little something I had bugging me for a few days, I fleshed it out and based it (obviously) on the Shakespearean Sonnet "Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?"

Shall I compare thee to a Hot Pocket?
Thou art more lovely and cooler to the touch.
Preservatives do keep you good until May,
And that's a not to short a shelf life.
Sometime too hot your filling gets,
And often is your gold complexion dimm'd,
And every sale from sale price declines,
By chance or nature's changing course at full retail;
But thy eternal tastiness shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that warm, crispy, tender yet flaky crust;
Nor shall Hunger brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines of variety and flavors thou grow'st:
So long as men can eat or mouths can taste,
So long lives the Hot Pocket not a crumb to waste.

I probably could have done better, but then again what do I care, I'm obviously grasping for content.

Things Better Left Unsaid

2008-03-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

You know, if you're late to work you're better off lying about the reason for it. I mean, you don't want to tell your boss the real reason so a traffic accident is always good, but maybe too predictable. You can say there was construction, but if they know the route you come from that's a bad choice as well. Worse off though, this excuse:

Boss: Hey, I noticed you clocked in 10 minutes late, you want to tell me the REAL reason you were late?
Employee: Well, I was flipping through the channels on the television this morning and I hit the Spanish channel, you know Telemundo, and they've got this super hot weathergirl with a big stormfront, if you know what I'm saying. Anyway, I got all hot and bothered and...well...basically, I'm late because I was watching porn.
Boss:...

Yeah, that's a bad decision. You're better off telling them your car got towed and you had to take the bus in. That is of course, provided they can't see your car or don't know what you drive.

By the way, this was inspired a bit by a local TV personality who was told by an executive that the reason the morning news has such good looking weathergirl's (meteorologist title be damned) is so that men could "touch" themselves in the morning while watching the news. I'm inclined to believe this as the level of hotness on the morning news weathergirl's is disproportionate to that of the evening news, when it's mostly a male dominated field. Don't believe me? See for yourself.

Let's Push Something...The Time Fractional Movement

2008-02-26T08:36:00.000-08:00

So, ever ask someone for the time and they responded with a "half past three" or "quarter past two" or "quarter til 9" etc. and so forth? I want to know what happened to the other fractions, so I propose this, that we make a movement (let's push this together) for using some of the unused fractions. I'm going to need your help with this and seeing as how I've got a new blog maybe I'm not exactly in a position to do this, but what do I care? I'm out there, you're obviously strange or else you wouldn't be reading this. Here's what we're gonna do, and mind you, we've got to make a conscientious effort to do this because we're going to start an entire movement across the nation, the next time someone asks you for the time and you can, use thirds, eighths, hell, use tenths or God bless you, twentieths or something even more difficult to decipher.

For the record the math breaks down like this:

1/3= 20 minutes
2/3= 40 minutes
1/5= 12 minutes
2/5= 24 minutes
3/5= 36 minutes
4/5= 48 minutes
1/6= 10 minutes
2/6 or 1/3= 20 minutes
3/6 or 1/2= 30 minutes
4/6 or 2/3= 40 minutes
5/6= 50 minutes

Obviously I could go on, but I'll just mention some other notable fractions.
1/8= 7.5 minutes
1/10= 6 minutes
1/12= 5 minutes
1/15= 4 minutes
1/20= 3 minutes
1/30= 2 minutes
1/60= 1 minute

Okay, so now I ask you to go forth and fractionalize your time telling. I wish there was a watch that told time in fractions, quick someone make me one and split the profits! Good luck and if you have your own blog post this there and let me know, we'll get this all over the internet.

True Story

2008-02-21T13:37:00.000-08:00

So, a few years ago I found myself in the Los Angeles Convention Center covering my first major press event for the site I write for: www.DreamStation.cc (end shameless plug) and I came across former, well I guess he would've been a "B-list celebrity", but not no more. Anyway, there I was minding my own business walking through the throngs of people, when a small moving crowd starts coming my way. Who is at the center of said crowd? Wait for it...

Actor/Comedian: Sinbad (not the pirate by the way, and definitely not Richard Grieco, former star of 21 Jumpstreet, who played Sinbad in a craptastic reinvention of the old movies with the stop motion photography) there were some hangers on and the like. It was the first celebrity that I spotted that day aside from don't call me "MacGyver", Richard Dean Anderson. (I'll have to dig up the picture I took of him for you one day), but that was part of the show, the guy was propped up on stage, Sinbad (who's not dead contrary to internet rumors) was walking the show floor. Anyway, as he walked by me, I said to myself, "Hey it's Sinbad!" You would've said the same thing, if you saw someone who had formerly starred with Lisa Bonet and your former TV crush Jasmine Guy (I know, I was young, I didn't know better). I immediately snapped a picture as he walked by me, only I was on the move, too and the photo came out all blurry. Needless to say I tried again, but no luck once again. I thought for a minute about going after him and waiting him to stop for a quick picture, but decided against it. Then I looked at the pictures to see how bad they came out, they had that motion blur thing that happens when things are moving. Anyway, I thought about keeping them for a minute and showing everyone that I had seen Sinbad and then I said, "Fuck it, it's just Sinbad."

Seriously. True Story.

Maybe another time I'll tell you about the time Steven Spielberg's bodyguard gave me the old Heisman/you shall not pass/stay the fuck back, no pictures of the "Great Spielberg" hand up in my grill. That's also a true story, maybe I'll tell you about it, maybe I won't depends on how I feel. That's enough name dropping for today, though.

Welcome To Better Off Read!

2008-02-18T22:17:00.000-08:00

w00t! A new blog for you to read, I'm sure you haven't got enough. I guess this will be my place to share rants and thoughts and experiences that most people could care less about. Yet, you're not most people, so that makes you special and me special-er (not to be confused with Special Ed the rapper or Special Ed-ucation). I think you can already see where this is going, it's all downhill from here. Anyway, I was going somewhere with this...

This is the stuff that keeps me up late at night and prevents me from getting a decent night's sleep on a regular basis. Dozens of thoughts go through my head at any given time and I get so far ahead of myself that I can barely hold a conversation without venturing on at least six tangents. You don't know me and I don't even know whether I know you, but we're going to make magic happen on at least a semi-regular basis. I'll try to update this as often as possible, it's easier said than done, you know? I think you'll like it, if you do tell a friend, and if you don't tell your friend how much you hate it and when they tell you that you're an idiot because this stuff here is comedic gold you'll be the one person not able to see the Emperor's New Clothes, you don't want to be that person do you? I didn't think so. Bookmark the page or do whatever it is that brings you back here don't lose it because otherwise you're going to get lost in the sea of other blogs that, while they may be better than my own, aren't my own. I mean, we're friends now, right? That means you're obligated to love me in that non-homoerotic kind of way, or if you're one of the lady types, in the way that you all love Johnny Depp or the sissy kid from N'Sync.

Whatever...don't forget to tell a friend.

What Is It About...Driving and Nosepicking

2008-02-18T22:44:00.000-08:00

Maybe this will be my schtick, semi-regular postings about whatever it is that bugs me. "What is it about..." Those will be my rants I guess, I don't know. I just know that this idea has been bugging me for the last few days as I contemplated creating this blog in the first place. So, for my inaugural post entitled "What is it about...?" I'm going to talk about driving and the picking of noses. I've got about 4 hours worth of driving when I go to work roundtrip, (don't ask) and I see this all the time. From Pinto's to Benzo's, everyone seems to do it (not me, though, I'm far too upscale and sophisticated to do stuff like that) the poor, the rich, the middle class, everyone with a nose seems to be in full dig-mode when piloting an automobile. So, what is it about drillin' and driving that seem to go hand in hand with one another like teens at the local theme park (they still do that don't they? I mean hold hands and go to theme parks? Most of the kids I see now at the mall have their iPod firmly in place within their ears and they only stick close enough together for me to imagine that they're somehow a couple and not related or bonded by step-parents, but that's another subject for another time), is it because there's nothing better to do? You can perform one act with one hand while simultaneously pulling off the other act with the opposite hand. Is that it? I mean, I don't know the answers, I don't know that there's studies on driving while under the influence of boogers (<==That's a funny word) as I can't imagine there's many people who would confess to the highway patrol that the reason they swerved into oncoming traffic was because they had a fingernail full of green "gold".

Hell, what do I know? Maybe there are studies and I missed them. Anyone work for an auto insurance company out there? Do you have numbers? I'm going to go ahead and say that 13% of accidents are caused by a particularly mean and sticky snot that just wouldn't leave the finger, which, thereby caused the driver to reach across the seat for a tissue of napkin leftover from their last visit to Wendy's (mmm, Wendy's), but it was just so far out of reach that it made them pull on the steering wheel and wreck into some unsuspecting and hopefully, non-nosepicking driver.

By the way keep an eye out for this: When driving and sitting at a stop look around and find that one person who's got their arm out the window and rubbing their index finger and their thumb together trying to get that dried booger off. Just look for it, you're bound to see it and now you're all the wiser for knowing. And, you're welcome.

Things Better Left Unsaid...Part 1

2008-02-18T23:29:00.001-08:00

You know, there are some things that should just remain unsaid, and by some, I mean a lot. Most of the crap that comes out of my mouth in real life should probably go unsaid, but in general it doesn't stop me from actually saying it. Anyway, that's where this helpful guide to things that you shouldn't say in public comes in handy. I want you to go through a less embarrassing life that you already have, so read on about those things that you shouldn't say and learn a lesson.

Here's the situation:

You're coming out of the bathroom at work and that hot chick/guy are about to walk in right after you just gave birth to some brown (or heaven forbid green) babies.

Don't say:

You may want to use the other bathroom down the hall, I had some bad and I had to get rid of it in a hurry.

Instead say:

Whoa! Someone totally effed up the bathroom and stunk it up like cigarette's, wet dog, and hot garbage, I had to hold my breath while I washed my hands.

See how that works? Sure, you did the crime and you deserve the public humiliation or at least the humiliation of his/her circle of friends knowing you took a most heinous crap while on work premises. But, since they can't really pin it on you (hopefully) you don't have to 'fess up to it.

So, let that be a lesson to you. Never take a crap while at work. Always bring it home with you. Lesson learned.