Happy new year or something

Sucks that I have to work tonight. I hope everybody else has a good time, though. (not really). Sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I had several drafts of a post about the guy who dressed up as santa and then barged into his former in-laws' party and killed some people. He killed eight, I think and also shot a little girl in the face. There was a good bit of fucked up humor in that, but my conscious got the best of me for once and I decided to scrap it.

Anyway, I'm working on a super group of bloggers. We started a new blog here. Check it out and maybe throw some encouragement out there 'cause we're all kinda lazy fucks in our own way. It may not look like much now, but it's going to be amazing. I promise. This isn't like the 400 others I made and promptly deleted. Two more people are supposed to join, but one is in Rhode Island, and apparently they don't have computers there or some shit. The other is busy making sure people don't die. I can't respect that, I guess. Also, he's probably using Netscape Navigator on Windows '95 or something.

Pip, I've failed you...

My follow-up visit with the angel in scrubs didn't go exactly as I planned. The day before I went, I decided to take Pip's advice and I talked myself into asking her out. It was going to happen and it was going to be great. A strange feeling came over me. I searched the internet for this feeling, and after several hours on wikipedia, I determined it's called "confidence." Weird.

I figured we'd go out to some nice restaurant. The finest Nacogdoches has to offer (Arby's), and we'd have great conversations. She tell me about how she was a doctor and stuff, and I'd tell her about that one time on the Sims when my dude reached the top of the medical career track. We'd high five and probably make out not long after that. (After we ate our beef and cheddar sandwiches, of course.)

After our delightful dinner, we'd come back to my place and relax on my man-mat. Things would probably get pretty hot. She'd show me where babies came from, and I'd pretend to have already known where they came from. As we drifted off to sleep, shed whisper, "Dale, I can only sleep if Tool is quietly playing in the background." I'd turn slightly to the side as I walked to my computer to conceal the giant bo-bo in my pants which no doubt arose from the fact that a naked woman mentioned the greatest band ever assembled. We'd fall asleep in each others arms to the gentle tones of "Prison Sex." Maybe she'd get some ideas from it. Maybe she wouldn't. Either way it would be the best day ever.

I had this all planned out. The most amazing day was coming up and I was excited.

That morning in the shower, I carefully groomed and scrubbed the ol' triplets like they were baby penguins after an oil spill. If they were to make another appearance, I wanted them to not only be impressive, I wanted them to sparkle!

I got to the doctor's office and went to the back almost immediately. I depantsified myself and put on my super-sweet gown to await the arrival of my delicate chrysanthemum. A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked the beautiful snowflake with big boobs that is my knee doctor.

She went right to work, making small talk as she gently caressed my wounded knee (Ha! Like the Indians! What happened there anyway? Like a peace treaty or something?) I had a brief mental conversation with my penis. "Stay put," I said. "She's not ready for your magnificence. Not yet." He complied and didn't cause a scene.

As I was trying to think of some hilariously witty remark about the fact that I wasn't wearing pants, I looked down and saw the mountain of a ring that was on her left hand. Holy shit. I think at least a hundred immigrant workers died during the construction of that ring. It was massive.

"So stupid!" I thought to myself. How could I have missed another wedding ring? I'm so bad at this.

I sat there, dejected as she finished her doctorly duties. Her diagnosis was that my knee was still slightly sprained and I should take it easy for a few more days. My diagnosis? A broken heart.

I guess it's for the best. I didn't want her to feel like a trophy girlfriend/wife. It's easy for women to feel that way when they're with me. I don't wanna brag or anything, but I am pulling down wal-mart truck unloader money.

I've since moved on to other unobtainable girls, but there will always be a special place in my heart for Dr. Whateverhernamewas. We'll always have that time she saw my balls, and no one can ever take that away.

Crazy dreams

I had a dream a couple days ago that I met a sexy journalist at...wait for it...a party at Angela Lansbury's house. I dunno why I was dreaming about Angela Lansbury. My mom is a big "Murder She Wrote" fan, and I've probably seen more than my fair share of episodes, but other than that and the occasional "change of pace" masturbation, I haven't even acknowledged Angela Lansbury's existence in a while. So I dunno what's up with that. It was a nice house, though. Apparently she's been doing well.

The journalist lady was there to write a story on this party. I was there to apparently show her around because for some reason, I knew the nooks and crannies of the Lansbury Estate.

I think some lucid dreaming kicked in in this dream. I noticed that the hot journalist had a wedding ring on, but I somehow made it disappear. How sad is that? That I even dream about being attracted to women in relationships.

So in the dream we all sat down to dinner. This is when I was going to make my move. What my "move" was, I'm not quite sure, but I remember thinking that this is when I was going to make it. Everything was going well until I looked across the table and saw Jerry Seinfeld. Not sure why I was dreaming about him either. Anyway, every time I tried to talk to the journalist, he would interrupt and basically talk shit to me. At one point, he was making fun of me for not knowing how to use a tiny fork that looked like a garden rake. Finally I stood up and said, "Your show was stupid and FUCK YOU!" Then I woke up.

So what does this say about me?

Issues with being ridiculously attracted to unobtainable women (more on that later...maybe)? Anger issues? A tiny fork fetish? I dunno.

I think the worst part of being crazy is the fact that I know I'm crazy.

Thoughts?

Richard wins

I posted awhile back about the space above our fireplace and how it needed to be filled with some sort of decoration. Well, Richard saw to that. Here it is. It's his take on the Stepbrothers movie poster.

It's some pretty funny shit and will probably make anyone who enters our apartment immediately think we're homos. We're not, though, ladies. Straight as an extra-straight arrow.

The Blogger Dilemma

Every blogger comes to the point where they must make a tough decision: To post or not to post. Most of the funny things that happen to me are the result of my own frequent and sometimes self-induced misfortune. For example, the events of yesterday, after the sting of rejection goes away, will be pretty hilarious. But do I post it? People who read this blog were involved and I don't want anybody to be mad at me or embarrassed. Then again, do I really care? Comedy is comedy. It's this dilemma that made me a shitty journalist. I don't want to hurt feelings or upset people in any way.

So what do you do in these situations? I almost scrapped this blog this morning and started an anonymous one, but I don't have the energy for that.

For no reason at all, my new favorite site: Explosm.net

I think I'm in love

The other night at work, I was pulling a heavy ass pallet of fire logs when some 800-year-old lady decided it would be a good idea to just go on ahead and walk out in front of me. I tried to drop the pallet really fast, but of course the handle was broken, so I had to try to stop it myself. I'm pretty sure the pallet was well over 1,000 lbs, so needless to say I didn't do a very good job. Basically the only way to do it is to try to push it back the other way. When my left foot planted and I absorbed most of the weight, I felt/heard a popping sound in my knee. Then it swelled up to about the size of a softball. Being the super awesome manly man that I am, I went ahead and worked for another two and a half hours until I finally decided I should report it just in case I really fucked myself up.

So the next day, I went to the company's (it rhymes with schmall-schmart) doctor. They set me up with an appointment for this morning with a physician's assistant named Amanda. Since it was my knee, I had a pretty good feeling that I'd have to take my pants off at some point during the exam. I was excited.

For some reason, I expected Amanda to be the same old lady that saw me the day before to give me my drug test. She was not. She was pretty hot. Sorta looked like a brunette Kellie Pickler with an adorable beauty mark on her cheek. She had a pretty awesome southern accent. Not a dirty, Texas accent, but one that you would associate with Georgia or something. She didn't say "lack" instead of "like" like most girls from Texas do. That was a good thing.

After the initial checkup, she said, "ok, take your pants off, put this gown on and hop up on that table for me." The most romantic words I've ever heard. She left the room while I depantsed myself. I hopped up on the table, but something didn't feel right. There was a draft. I looked under my robe and noticed that the ol' triplets were kinda hanging out. No matter how I adjusted by boxers, there they were. Just hanging out. I couldn't really get off the table 'cause I figured it'd hurt like a bitch if I landed wrong on my leg. I just had to go with it.

So every time she bent down to look at my knee, I'm sure she saw snap, crackle and steve staring back at her. If I would have known that they'd be making an appearance, I would have done something different with their hair. Maybe parted it or something.

As I was leaving, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm really concerned about your blood pressure. You don't want the problems associated with this. You're too young for that." Hand on my shoulder! That's what we in the biz call "kino." Wink!

So anyway, my knee isn't that bad. It's sprained and I strained my left calf muscle. Other than that and my 190 over 110 blood pressure, I'm healthy as a horse. The good news is that I get four days off. The bad news is that I have to be a people greeter for a week until I'm cleared to go back to doing grunt work. I guess it could be worse. Well, not really.

Hi

This Thanksgiving will be the first one I won't be able to spend with my family. It's looking like Christmas will be that way too. I'm pretty bummed about it, but I guess that's what happens when you're an adult. The unhappiness did spawn a pretty emo blog post that I decided to just leave as a draft, though.

I have a question to which I can't find the answer. I know there's a word for it, but I'm not even sure how to look for it. It's the feeling of unfamiliarity you feel when you see a person/thing away from where you would normally expect to see them. For example: You see one of your teachers at the grocery store away from school and the role that you normally associate with him/her. It's been bothering me. I know there's a word for it. Help a brotha out. (Can you imagine how white I sound saying that irl?)

I need another writer maybe...oh, and a vagina and an overblown sense of self-importance

Somebody write "advice" shit with me so we can be like these two c-bags. All the stuff in that article is complete bullshit, but of course I read it.

Do you... assume you're going to strike out? The Secret said it once but we'll say it again: In a lot of ways, you manifest your own destiny. So, if you have lots of thoughts about being unlucky in love, you may be pushing people away in ways you may not even know. If you assume the worst of the world and yourself, spend a few minutes before your date making a mental list of why you're looking for a relationship and why you are an incredible a catch.


What a load of shit. I've met some pretty pathetic dudes who stumbled into pretty great relationships. I also know some pretty cool guys who are single (me!) And trimming your toenails? Give me a fucking break. Basically, these two can eat a dick. (Except you, Elycia. You call me. *wink*)

On an unrelated note, Mini-Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Mini-Thanksgiving is what the Pilgrims would have celebrated if they all had to go home for real Thanksgiving a week later. The good thing is that there won't be any unattached girls here this year for me to drunkenly hit on. The bad thing is that there won't be any unattached girls here this year for me to drunkenly hit on. I'll try to post pics if I remember.

Now you can pretend he's a policeman instead of a slobbering retard

Man, I wish they would have had cool shit like this when I was a kid. The closest I got to a cool helmet was that plastic grocery bag that my mom swore smelled like cherries if I kept it over my head long enough.

I should get one of these now. I'd be all, "Woooooo...wooooo! Ma'am, do you know why I pulled you over today? 'Cause in the state of Texas it's a misdemeanor to give me a boner. *wink*"

(GBC, that post I alluded to in the comments of my last post isn't this one.)

Tagged

The plumpy white guy got tagged by the groovy black chick. Is plumpy a word? It should be.

I have to share seven random things about myself. I'm not very interesting, but here goes. I'm even going to include pictures like she did to zazz it up a little.

1. First and foremost, possibly the source of my super powers...the third ball. Testicle, if you will. I'm kinda like a bizarro Lance Armstrong. It's been there as long as I can remember. A doctor looked at it when I was in sixth grade. Well, he said he was a doctor. Doctors drive windowless vans and don't wear shirts, right? He said it probably wasn't anything to worry about. That was a long time ago and I'm still alive, so I guess he was right. Either that or cancer has been festering inside my sack all these years. Who knows...I just wish he would have at least called me afterwards. I read somewhere that I should check myself often to make sure no more abnormalities develop. I'm pretty sure none have developed. I've been "checking myself" since I was like 13.



2. I've always wanted to keep bees. I'm not really sure why since I'm not particularly fond of getting stung and I think honey tastes like sticky shit. I just like the idea of it, I guess. Bees, not sticky shit.

(Amanda, is this us? It's amazing the random shit you can find on the internet. This doesn't look like the Buzz I came to know and love. )

3. Speaking of shit, if I had one super power, it would be the ability to make others shit themselves with my MIND! I was getting mildly chewed out by a boss the other night at work and my only thought at the time was, "man, I wish I could make her shit herself right now." It just seems like it would be a problem solver. Also hilarious.



4. If I could always be drunk, I think I would. I don't really have anything else to add to that.

5. I'm a sucker for Goth girls. Not like the drink your blood ones, but the slightly Goth ones. There's just something about a girl who is paler than me.

6. I bludgeoned a homeless man to death in Austin back in '91.

I'm kidding, I'm kidding. (It was El Paso.)
(I don't have a picture for that one.)

7. I made a new blog. It's here.

Well, that's it. Hopefully at least one of those was interesting. If not, just watch the lady pooping in the hot tub again.

Which song would be creepier...

...to sing to a girl I just met.

1. Tyler by the Toadies

or

2. Please Forgive Me by Bryan Adams


Not that I'm going to. Just curious.


Discuss!

Done with my break, I guess

So I was thinking about giving up blogging to work on my crazy. (And by "crazy," I mean drinking and moping.) I decided it'd be best if I came back, though.

I was going to wait until I felt better to make my triumphant return to blogging, but I dunno when that's ever going to be. I've been taking the doctor prescribed placebo vitamins, but I still feel like a huge pile of ass. I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. I'm also starting to feel a little weird and flaky again, but maybe blogging will help me get away from that (Ha!). I thought about calling it quits, but without me writing on here the internet would have a little less pointless shit. I can't let that happen.

Anyway, I'm going to open today's blog up to questions from my 2's of fans. Anything you want to ask. About anything. I'm just bored and looking for a good transition back into blogging.

Or don't. But whatever you do, make sure you vote! (Hahahaha...I'm kidding.)

Edit: I just read the phrase "prolapsed asshole" and it made me smile.

Extended break

I'm going to be away from the blog world a little longer than I expected, so if you're stopping by and checking for updates, you should evaluate your life be warned that there won't be any for awhile.

I don't have diabetes, though. The doctor said that I was iron anemic and that could be a reason I was tired all the time. He also said that lugging around my gigantic dong all day might have something to do with it. If I had a dollar for every time I used that joke...

If I'm ever famous...

And they ask me to be on "Dancing With the Stars," I'm going to have to choose a partner besides Julianne Hough. It would be fairly difficult for either of us to dance with my gigantic, perma-boner.

...and this little piggy didn't say shit 'cause it was a warning sign of peripheral vascular disease

For a while now, both my big toes have felt kinda weird. They've been and felt like they were asleep most of the time. I didn't think much about it. I walk a lot at work and my feet usually hurt after I get home. Also, I sleep on a "bed" that some homeless people wouldn't even consider sleeping on (believe me. I've asked.) I usually wake up with a crick in something. I just figured my toe numbness was somehow related to one of those two factors.

On Sunday, I was admiring my stunning Wilford Brimley physique in the mirror after I got out of the shower. I somehow bumped my toe on the bottom of the cabinet, and it hurt way more than it should have for such a tiny bump. I thought back to when I first noticed that my big toes were numb and realized they'd been like that for about a week and a half.

I did a quick google search of "toe numbness" and it came back with peripheral vascular disease, diabetes and frostbite. I didn't know what the first one was, so I ruled that out. I live in Texas, so the last one was out, too.

So I texted Jimmy*. I figured with all that fancy nursing school he would see that it was nothing to worry about and tell me something to put my mind at ease.

"It might be diabetes," he replied.

Diabetes has always scared the shit out of me. Anything that could bring down Nell Carter is not something I want to tangle with. Being the fatass that I've always been, I always figured I'd eat myself into some diabetes one of these days. It always seemed like a disease I'd always get. Well, that and goat herpes.

I just did a quick wikipedia search of diabetes and it says the symptoms are: excessive urine production, resulting compensatory thirst and increased fluid intake, blurred vision, unexplained weight loss, lethargy, and changes in energy metabolism.

Well, I pee a lot, drink a ton of water and have lost over 40 lbs since May. I'm not so sure about the lethargy. Lethargy - Noun - the quality or state of being drowsy and dull, listless and unenergetic, or indifferent and lazy; apathetic or sluggish inactivity. Sigh...

I should probably go to the doctor and get this checked out. Being that I'm an uninsured dreg of society, I don't know when that's going to be, though. If it's still bad by this weekend, I guess I'll go see one because, all kidding aside, I'm actually starting to get a little worried.

On a lighter note, do you guys think I could pull off wearing this shirt? I really want to buy it.

*.gif courtesy of my roommate, Jon. A fatter version of me is waddling around in the background like a hungry tapir at the zoo.

My own worst enemy

I entered the wonderful world of Match.com again. Jeez...every time I acknowledge that, my stomach hurts a little.

I got an email from a girl who said I seem "genuine, real and there's nothing wrong with teddy bears." In my reply, I closed with, "It's good to know that there are people out there who are ok with teddy bears. Well, unless you have some sort of weird teddy bear fetish, I guess. ;-)"

Why do I do this? I basically take a gigantic dump on 95% of the first impressions I make. While funny to me and maybe a couple people like Jon and Chase, this probably isn't going to "win the heart" of any woman. Sigh...

My second match.com interaction of the day involved a cute girl who has a kid. She talks about being a mother in her profile and how it's a pretty important part of her life. I sent her an email and opened with, "Holy crap, I'm a mom, too! What a small world. But seriously..." See, that's not even all that funny to me. I don't know why I did it. It just seemed like the thing to do.

Also, I don't know about the whole kid thing. Not that she's even acknowledged me, let alone thought about dating me. I'm not a big fan of kids. I think kids should be sent off to a camp somewhere until they aren't stupid and annoying anymore. On the first sims game before you could make kids grow up, I'd just send them to the pool. After awhile, they'd be like, "What the fuck? Where'd the ladder go? I'm sleepy." Problem solved. I know. I'm a nerd...and creepy. It's who I am.

Speaking of the sims, I've been playing the Sims 2: Apartment Life a lot lately. It's a pretty awesome game, but I feel that the simple act of playing it pretty much ensures that I'll never touch a female boob again. (The first time was a fluke. Freeze tag, third grade.)

Onto an unrelated topic. Do you ever think you're good at something only to find someone doing the exact same thing as you, only like a bajillion times better? That's how I felt when Laurie turned me on (!) to Bad News Hughes. This guy is like the Jesus of hilarious blogging. After I read about three of his entries, I didn't want to write anymore. He's disgusting and hilarious all at the same time. Basically my hero. Anyway, I bought his book and just got it in the mail today. I highly recommend you all buy this. I've only read one entry so far (I had some Madden to play.) It was about a buttplug. I lol'd the entire time.

Speaking of digusting and funny, I am the proud recipient of the Kick Ass Blogger award from my good friend "Amelia" at Writing Quiets the Voices in my Head. It's the second one she's given me. I was too lazy to post about the last one. Not that it wasn't meaningful. I'm just really lazy. Apparently she thinks that, "DB over at The Medium Bus for being the only blogger that can make me laugh and puke at the same time.He's just talented like that." Aww...isn't she sweet? If she wasn't married, I would have so awkwardly hit on her by now.

Is it just me or does this award kinda look like a penis?

I made an award for her. (Click to enlarge, ldo.)

I know what you're all saying. "Dale, you should be some sort of graphic designer!" I know, I know.

Be careful what you pretend wish for

I received a comment notification via email earlier. It was from a comment on my old blog about a post which I had forgotten about. It was about a New Kids on the Block reunion. Turns out, I was on the right track. I should wish for more stupid things to happen. Here's the post.

I thought you had the right stuff, Donnie Wahlberg. I guess I was mistaken.

You sit and ask yourself, "what does American need?" Maybe a lower unemployment rate? To rid our great country of poverty? Lower gas prices? Sure, all of those are nice, but what does it really neeeeed? Six simple words, my friends: New Kids on the Block Reunion! And God bless VH1 for trying to make this happen. On their series, "Bands Reunited," Aamer Haleem tried his best to get the former pop MEGA stars back together.

First was Jordan Knight. That guy was excited. "No more dogfood for this guy," he must have thought. Not so fast, Jordan. There are still four other guys that have to agree.

Next was that guy that supposedly had stage fright. Jonathan, I think. (I say "I think" to try to make it seem like I don't have New Kids trading cards, lunch boxes, kleenexes, action figures, hats, autographs and tattoo.) He was asked if he missed the old days. He said he did, but he didn't miss all the girls surrounding his house whenever he'd mow the lawn. Yeah...that musta sucked, I guess, if you were gay or had a vagina. What a douche. Despite his douchebaggery, he was on board. (Side note: in his IMDB profile under "nicknames," it lists "Jizz" as one of his nicknames. I had the nickname "cheeseburger" 'cause I ate a lot of them. I wonder if he got his kinda the same way.)

Next, well, I missed the next guy because I was making guacamole, but what I gathered was that they went to Miami to meet him, but the security guard at his apartment complex wouldn't let them talk to him.

Next was Joey McIntyre. He said that he didn't mind getting together for one last show, but it "had to be on New Kids' terms." Ha...I bet he watched the tape afterwards and saw how gay he looked when he said that. He said he wants to focus on his acting career. That's cute. He was a no, but he had a look in his eye that said, "don't you give up on me, Aamerr." And Aamer didn't. He was determined to get the other members to sign on and convince Joey.

At this point, I looked at the clock and noticed that the show was only on for eight more minutes. "This is insane! You can't convince Donnie Wahlberg and that other guy in eight minutes," I said out loud 'cause I'm the only one home and I get lonely sometimes.

Back to Miami they go to stake out what's his name as he came home from dropping his kids off at school. Good job, VH1. Nothing persuades a person more than jumping them in their driveway in the morning. He said no and also wouldn't appear on camera.

There was one last shot. The star of "Dreamcatcher" himself, Mr. Donnie Wahlberg. Donnie declined to be on camera and said through his management (probably his mom) that he was also a no.

This brought an end to any hope I ever had of seeing them again. I felt empty. I hung my head as a single tear rolled down my cheek and came to rest on my New Kids on the Block footie pajamas. I can only hope that Color Me Bad isn't as stubborn.

Some bullshit? Yes.

I decided to check out humor-blogs.com to see where the ol' Medium Bus stood. I'm #669! 6fucking69! That's ridiculous. I know I'm not the funniest man alive (kidding. I totally am.) but 669? I'm that not funny? There are 668 people who joined this site who are funnier than me? So I'm putting this widget on my page. It's the humor blogs one. If you think I'm funny at all, click that thing. I'm kinda pissed about this. I mean 669 is an acceptable IQ for me, but not humor ranking. Shit, my banner alone has to be funnier than some blogs, right?

Edit: Chase's advice to get higher ratings: "Stop sucking so much." Good point.

"Heaven must be missin' a fat ol' angel"

They say that when you're in love, you just know. It's something that nobody can explain. Well, I think I've found the one.



I'm sure a classy lady like this is already spoken for, but I'm holding out hope. I baited a trap with tuna and put it out back. Keep your fingers crossed!

Now if you'll excuse me, somebody has some masturbating to this video to do. (It's me!)

I guess I'm her Ben Stiller

There's a new girl at work who works with us for about two and a half hours a day before she leaves. She's cute and all, but I'm not particularly into her. That's why I don't understand why I'm bothered by this so much, but I fail to make her laugh...ever.

She's quick witted and kinda dirty, both fine qualities in a woman. She's funny. She says funny stuff, so I know she has a good sense of humor. Other people (far less funny than me) say some ridiculously stupid stuff and she laughs, but when I throw pure GOLD out there, I get no reaction.

Now I may not be the strongest, best looking, smartest, most attractive, cleanest, most caring, positive, happiest, in shape, articulate, well-groomed, thoughtful, most normal person out there, but I've never had a problem making people laugh. She won't crack. I've thrown most of my arsenal at her, too. I tried my bread and butter: self-deprecation. I got nothing. I threw some observational humor out there. Nothin'. I made fun of some people. I even went for a little slapstick (although not on purpose. I'm just clumsy.) Still nothing. I even made a damn good Michael J. Fox Parkinson's joke today and didn't even get a smile.

This hurts me.

She also said today that her favorite band was Tool. I was intrigued until she failed to name a single Tool song. Sigh. Maybe she's just here to taunt me. Whatever it is, I'm going to spend the first 2.5 hours of each work day being totally unproductive, but by God she's going to laugh at something eventually.

EDIT: She warmed up to me today when she realized we both spoke sarcasm. Now I all but own her soul. I don't even know what that means. It just popped into my head. I knew it couldn't be me. I mean fuck...I'm amazing. Also, I might be dead by the weekend because apparently there's a hurricane approaching. I'm pretty far north, so probably not. But hey, you never know. Hurricanes are crazy.

Hey, go here and just keep clicking random. Some funny shit in there.

random stuff

Sorry I haven't posted much lately. I'm having focus issues. It's beginning to become a problem. I find myself wandering sometimes at work. Not really off task or anything, but when I stop and think about it, I have no idea what I'd been doing for the past five minutes. It's kinda scary. Probably nothing to worry about, though. Just a brain tumor or something.

The Steelers dominated this weekend. That pretty much makes my week for me. It was also pretty great watching it in a bar full of Texans fans. All that whining was amazing. My favorite quote was, "Nice play, Kubiak. Motherfuckin' piece of shit Aggie!" Texans fans are getting pretty sad these days. It's like they are watching the special olympics or something. They're just happy as long as everybody does their best.

Speaking of said bar, I think God got bored one day and decided to sculpt the greatest, most distracting ass known to man and give it to the waitress who was waiting on the table in front of us. She was pretty hot. Maybe I have a thing for waitresses. Who knows. I missed about 20% of the game, though, due to some totally respectful and not creepy at all staring.

Also at this place, I failed to finish my nachos for the first time in recorded history. It wasn't even like I ate most of them and decided I was full. I ate like 5 and was full. That makes me sad.

It could have something to do with the fact that I've lost over 40 lbs since May. That sounds great and all, but when you start out as a really fat fatass, 40 lbs is just a drop in the lard bucket. I'm working on it, though.

Dear Pink...

Annie Lennox called. She wants her cock back.

Dear Jalapeno Tree Waitress...

I'm sure you remember me. I'm the guy who ordered those quesadillas that one time. What am I saying? Of course you remember me. Anyway, Paige, I believe that's your name, I think we shared a moment. It was pretty obvious. You were all, "do you want more Dr. Pepper?" And guess what. I totally did! It was pretty awesome that we were on the same page. Heh...page. That's like your name. I love you.

This is a real movie!!!

Kirk Cameron is...FIREPROOF! Ya hear that, Satan? Hands off.



Dear Kirk, God called. He wants you to knock it off for a little while. I bet it was hard sticking to his Christian ideals as a kid. Especially with all that sweet Joanna Kerns ass around.

This trailer was on the previews before Tropic Thunder. Everyone in the theater laughed in unison. Good stuff.

HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is all.

Retards apparently don't like being called retards

Ben Stiller's movie, Tropic Thunder, is being widely protested by retar...um...people with "intellectual disabilities" because Stiller plays a character who plays a character who is repeatedly called a "retard." Sigh.

"We are asking people not to go to the movie and hope to bring a consciousness to people about using derogatory words about this population," said Peter Wheeler, spokesman for Special Olympics.

I saw another spokesman for the Special Olympics on Robin Meade's show this morning. He added that there's no reason to "kick these people in the tongue." A few seconds later, he said, "teeth...kick them in the teeth." I guess this retard thing is hitting pretty close to home for him.

I'm sorry people have disabilities, and I don't think they should be made fun of with any kind of malicious intent, but c'mon. It's a fuckin' Ben Stiller movie! A month from now nobody will even remember it. It's not like it's some serious, Oscar-worthy, cinematic masterpiece. Ben Stiller movies are the worst possible movies ever made. I would rather watch a sex tape starring my grandparents than sit through Zoolander again. People are going to watch this one time and move on and probably forget that the word "retard" was ever used. The only thing that protesting does is draw attention to the movie. People are going to want to see it now just to see what all the fuss is about. Jeez...don't retards think these things out?

I heard some protesters chanting "call me by my name, not my label," this morning on tv. This was quite the slobbery mouthful for most of them, but the chants quickly died down as half the crowd ran off after a butterfly and the other half began chanting for ice cream and a hug.

I hate people. Not just retarded people, but all people who get offended by stuff like this. It's a movie about fictional shit. It's all in fun. Hell, Robert Downey Jr. is in blackface. Seems like if you're going to protest something, there ya go. But again, it's a movie! A Ben Stiller movie. Is it really that big of a deal? I don't get offended when people throw around phrases like "unending love machine" and "sedan-sized dong." Lighten up...

So if you're going to boycott this movie, do it simply because it has Ben Stiller in it. It's probably 90 minutes of Stiller and Jack Black trying to out-dumbass each other. The best thing Ben Stiller ever did was to not be in movies that I like. (Mamma Mia)

EDIT: Sigh...I just noticed there was a post very much like this on WWTDD yesterday. Oh well, I guess it's no secret I lack originality.

It's that time of year again...

Much like geese fly south for the winter and salmon swim upstream, I too must migrate...to my tv and 360 for the next few months.

I consider it officially football season starting tonight. It's Madden time!

Madden comes out tonight at midnight, and I have fantasy football drafts and upkeep, not to mention football on tv Saturday, Sunday and Monday night. I'm afraid this blog is going to take a hit and probably won't be updated very much in the next few months. I'm not going to have time for work, Madden and pointlessly keeping up with football stats (both pro and college.) I considered giving up work, but apparently I need money for things so that's out of the question.

If I had a girlfriend, this would be the time of year when she'd break up with me. But you've gotta admit, it's a pretty great time of year. Ah, I can almost smell the deep fried broccoli florets at Bullfrogs.

(I totally gayed up the tone of this post by writing "florets.")

Love you all. Go Steelers...

Here's a pic of me as a pirate from a few years ago to hold you over until my next post. Ladies, feel free to pleasure yourself to it.

I just don't want to be Smelly Alex

My freshman year in college, I became aware of possibly the creepiest person on the face of the Earth. I'd heard stories of him before actually meeting him. Most of these stories were from girls. They described their experiences as one might describe an extra terrestrial encounter. It was so disturbing that they weren't even sure it happened.

I first knew him as the "Where's Waldo Guy," either because of his striking resemblance to Waldo or the fact that he was probably creeping around somewhere. You just had to look close. I think there were also sweater-related nicknames. He had quite a bit of visible backhair poking up through the top of his shirt. (Settle down, Greg.)

Smelly Alex creeped like a champ. I'm pretty sure he was 26 or 27 and still living in the dorms, which was creepy in itself. I'm also pretty sure that he did it for the sole purpose of being close to incoming female freshmen. Living in the dorms makes no financial sense at all, so that had to be the reason. I can picture him sitting in a dark room watching the "that's the thing I love about these high school girls..." scene from Dazed and Confused on loop and smiling in agreeance.

Anyway, that became his thing. I didn't know the guy aside from politely saying hi a time or two as we passed in the hall, but I knew that was his thing. He hit on/asked out almost EVERY girl he came across.

I feel like I could turn into Smelly Dale in no time if I'm not careful.

It's just that I feel like I'm missing out on something great by being pathetically single. The six guys I work with are all in relationships and they talk about them all the time. Even the gay guy was talking about a house he and his partner just bought. I thought to myself, "man, that sounds really nice to be in a situation that stable and comfortable." Well, minus the balls and sodomy and stuff. Other than that, it sounded nice. I think a girlfriend is the missing piece of the Dale Awesomeness Puzzle.

Althought I've only technically asked out one girl at work (and almost another), I don't want that to be my "thing." I'm sure there will be at least one more. Maybe I'm making a huge deal out of this, but who knows. I tend to creep myself out more than I do others. I just figure that I need to keep the odds in my favor. If that means asking out like um...a thousand girls to find "the one," then so be it. I mean, people usually buy lottery tickets in bulk, right? Same principle.

It kinda makes me sad that I've thrown out most of my standards. Before, there was no way I would ever date a smoker. Now? Eh, I'll carry around her oxygen tank in our old age. Yep, I've lost most standards. I'm sure I've used this analogy before, but a woman could be sauteeing a baby in front of me and I'd think, "Oh shit...she likes to cook? Me too!"

I guess he got tired of getting busy living...

Morgan Freeman was involved in an accident Monday. The thoughts and prayers of themediumbus go out to him and his family. *giggle*

Hang in there, Morgan. March of the Penguins II isn't going to narrate itself.

Some random things

Tonight in the store, a guy in a wheelchair asked me to reach something for him. He didn't ask in a nice way, though. He was pretty pissed off. "You should have stuff on lower shelves so people like me can reach them!" Sigh...Wheelies. What are you gonna do? I wanted to say, "Sir, is it the wheelchair that makes you smell that way, or is that your own doing?" I didn't though. I smiled and nodded and got him his fucking whateverthehell it was. He's right, though. We really should have more stores with two-foot tall shelves. That'd probably go over great. I should have danced a jig around him and then said, "See that? I didn't even enjoy doing that. That was boring to me. Oh well..."

Also at work tonight, I found a woman's drivers license laying on the floor. I was kinda busy, so I put it in my pocket fully intending to give it to somebody important. Well, I remembered I had it about 20 minutes after I got home. So now I have this drivers license laying on my desk, which makes me look pretty creepy. Don't worry. She's old...and not an organ donor.

I sometimes pumice my feet. Does that make me less of a man? I can't remember if I've asked this before. I've been doing it for awhile. I mean, I'm on my feet walking around all day and it takes its toll. If I don't do it, my feet look pretty gross. Kenny, does your mom pumice her knees? You know, 'cause of all the blowjobs she gives on a daily basis? Speaking of which, tell her I'm going to have to cancel this week. I've gotta start saving my quarters for laundry. Also, I'm going to call you Sunday, so answer your phone. We have business to discuss. I've found the perfect blog enemy for you. Maybe this is the one for Michael, though. I'm not sure, but one of you definitely needs to pick this up.

I watched "Lars and the Real Girl" earlier. You should all watch this movie. I'm not really sure why, but it was pretty good despite the fact that Ryan Gosling was in it. Speaking of which, I think David Arquette would have been pretty badass in the same roll. He kinda looked like him and David Arquette could have probably used the work. Well, unless he's shooting for "Scream X." Jon thought the movie was dumb, but he also thought a movie with David Schwimmer would be good. What I'm trying to say is that he's not exactly a fucking film critic.

That's all for now. Enjoy your weekend, you fuckers. I have to work.

Almost forgot...
When I don't reply in the comments, does that make people not want to read anymore? Like I'm not paying attention? I'm just really lazy. It's nothing personal. Well, I don't like some of you. It's personal then. But the rest of you, totally not personal.

If only a test existed that could tell me if I'm a huge pussy. Oh wait! There totally is!

I saw this personality quiz over at Amelia's blog (that's not her real name, but I think it should be.) I figured I'd go ahead and confirm what we all know.

I scored a 17 out of 100 (it's like the SATs all over again.)

You seem to be far from having a Type A personality. Your attitude to life is more of the "smell the roses" kind. You know how and when to relax. The hostile, aggressive and competitive part of you surfaces rarely. You are easy to be around, and people tend to feel relaxed and comfortable in your presence. It's a very healthy attitude towards life. Just make sure you don't miss important opportunities because of being too cool and relaxed. Picking up a challenge and competing a little bit for your place in the sun can add some spice to your life.

This is pretty much what I figured would happen. I'm type B all the way. Type B makes me sound like kind of a poon, but it could also mean that I'm a sensitive lover...ladies. *wink*

So I think you guys need to take this. I think I can call most of your personalities, though. Let's try.

Jon - A&B mix
Cory - B
Richard - A
Kluntzy - I dunno. I kinda see you as a B, but definitely some A in there.
Stacy - Super A? Does that exist?
Kenny "the rev" - A for asshole (I've seen you yell at old ladies for no reason.)
Michael - Probably an A.
Jimmy - Hmm...probably a B.
Chase - A

The rest of you, I don't really know well enough to make a judgment. So yeah, take that test and let me know if I'm right.

On a related note, I kicked ass on the depression test:

You show some mild symptoms of depression. Although you are generally able to cope, your feelings of sadness and pessimism may sometimes interfere with your ability to function in a healthy way - holding you back from doing necessary things, putting a damper on experiences that have the potential to be wonderful, or causing some problems in your relationships. It may not be serious but there is the possibility that your occasional "down times" could create a snowball effect and become more harmful. You may well benefit from a few counseling sessions. Counseling may help get to the root of your low feelings.

Sadness and pessimism? Um, I think you've got the wrong guy, quiz.

EDIT: SteeleShape, did you come here to compare abs?

Reader participation day

Write whatever you want in the comments. Questions, statements, things like that. I'm having one of those "I need to post something" moments, but I wrote about three different things and they aren't really that well thought out. So write something. It'll be fun maybe.

My priorities lie in a sad, yet expected place...

I was at a local Chinese buffet the other day with some friends from work. As I walked up to fill my belly with MSG and delicately roasted cat morsels, I noticed something different among the General Tsao's chicken and what may or may not be bbq pork. It was a cockroach about the size of a pencil eraser crawling on the bowls by the sweet and sour sauce.

At first I was disgusted. Who wouldn't be? Nobody wants to see a roach crawling across something they are about to pour delicious sweet and sour sauce into to help them better enjoy their sesame chicken balls. Then another thought popped into my head. What if somebody else saw this bug? What if somebody important saw this bug? I had a brief flashback to the day I heard they closed down my beloved China Wok. So much crying...so much crying. I can still hear the lady saying, "China Wok, how may I help youuuuuuuuu," whenever I called to place my order. I remember the smiling Asian man who would bring me my food, and how that smile would quickly fade when I shittily tipped him. Oh how I miss that place.

I wasn't about to let this happen again. I swallowed my pride (and probably an antenna or two), and when I was sure nobody was looking, I thumped the roach to the ground and stomped on it.

I don't know what I'd do if this place closed down. I think the nearest Chinese buffet is in Lufkin. LUFKIN! That's like 15 miles from here. I'm too lazy to drive 15 miles to eat. I don't even like walking across the room to go to the bathroom (but the corner is getting pretty full, so I have to.)

I don't need many things in this life. Water, air, shelter, and a Chinese buffet within five miles. This restaurant is the bamboo to my giant panda.

God didn't want me to poop there

The summer after my 12th birthday looked like it was going to be a pretty miserable one. Both of my parents worked weird hours and my sister had decided to stay at college to take summer classes. A young DB, who was only 12 and couldn't drive anywhere and who also had not yet discovered the time and soul killing practice of masturbation, was looking at a couple months of boredom. (This was pre internet!)

"Why don't you go to church camp?" my mother suggested. "Some of your friends are going. You might have a good time." My mom knew this was a lie. She's well aware that I'm incapable of having a good time.

I decided I'd give it a chance. I had been a regular church attender in the past, but had slacked off a little bit ever since my sister had moved away. I was by no means pious, but I had a healthy respect for religion. I just wasn't sure if it was for me. I have never been a big fan of people trying to tell me what I should or shouldn't believe, and religion was something I was still on the fence about. I thought that maybe a week of nothing but religion and religious-related activities might give me a better idea of what was going on and help me better form an opinion, so I tossed the ol' Bible into my bag and headed off to Lake Some Indian Name That I Forgot.

Imagine the most boring thing you can possibly think of. Now multiply it by some number that's higher than you can count. That was this camp. I was bored by the fact that most of the activities involved water, and I couldn't swim. We could play basketball, but no defense and you had to stand in one spot. Pretty fuckin' fun. I also remember being pulled aside and talked to after I unsuccessfully tried to hold back a laugh when a fellow camper said that he'd especially like to thank Jesus for his new four-wheeler. I get Jesus and Santa confused sometimes too!

We would split off in groups and, on a voluntary basis, explain our relationship with God. I would pass. I started to get the "why are you even here" looks from the other people in my group. If they had actually asked me, I probably would have replied "the eggs." They had the best scrambled eggs I have ever eaten, and I literally ate mounds of them, which makes this story even more miraculous.

The content of this camp didn't prove to help me with my religious questions. I was at a weird point in my life. My thoughts had become strange. Half the time I was thinking how sweet it would be to have a pet dinosaur, but also wondering what a boob felt like. Wondering if the Ninja Turtles really could beat up Shredder and really hoping that my solitary pube would decide that he liked the place and invite some friends. Needless to say, I wasn't in a place to fill my head with all this religion stuff. The toolish camp counselors dancing and singing didn't help much either. I was already pretty sure I was a nerd. This didn't look like it was going to help.

The first night of camp we had a big sing/tell stories/camp crap thing in the meeting hall. It wasn't too bad. Towards the end, some of the counselors asked if any of us were ready to be saved. Hey, why not? A friend of mine went first. A while later, he came back and it was obvious that he'd been crying, which freaked me out a little. The counselor asked me next if I'd like to go. "Mmmm...no thanks," I replied. I remember thinking that maybe that shit hurt. I wanted to part of it. Looking back, maybe he was raped. Who really knows...

That night when we got back to our cabin and right before we all went to sleep, I felt the urge to um...poop. I glanced over at the toilet. I could see it from my bunk because it happened to be in the corner of the room. No door, no curtain. Just open space and you. It was like a retarded kid on the bench of a little league baseball game. You didn't want to use it, but you knew you eventually had to. I really didn't want to take a dump as 30 guys watched. I'm not Kenny's mom.

That night, I prayed. I said something along the lines of, "if I can make it this whole week without pooping, I'm on board with this whole "faith" thing." Anybody who knows me knows that I'm an ardent and prolific pooper. This wasn't going to be easy, especially with those delicious, buttery eggs.

I kept busy by gluing beans on crosses and other artsy/craftsy church camp shit, as well as becoming a pretty badass defenseless basketball player. I think I played immobile forward. Maybe stationary guard. I forget. Anyway, the last day of camp rolled around and I had yet to take Big Brown to the Derby and my mind was made up.

I probably made God cry a little when I got home that day as I took a dump that could have probably smothered a small to medium sized Asian village. The important thing was that I made it a week without having to use the disgusting voyeur toilet.

It's strange to think about how you arrive at major life decisions. In this case, I think my butt getting plugged for a week by God made my decision for me. Wait...

Estelle Getty: 1692-2008

Guess I'll never have the chance to get my dick dry...

(Get it? 'Cause she was so old and it was probably like a powdered donut down there?)

Did I miss something?

I know this isn't a new movie, but I just saw it this morning. Anybody else seen this? Like it? I thought it was a ridiculous piece of shit. Maybe I missed something, though. It wasn't all the colon imagery. I saw all that. I also saw what happens when you blow a tree...

So enlighten me. Did I miss the point?

Update: Sigh

So I pounced. My approach? Stellar. My delivery? Equally stellar. Her response? Very substellar.

I finally grew some balls (five now,) and I talked to her. We made some small talk about how it sucks that she has to work by herself and doesn't have anybody to talk to. I made a lame joke and she gave the mandatory pity laugh. Then I asked her the totally not vague question of "would you like to do something sometime?" Her answer kinda puzzled me. She said, "As friends or like a date?" As friends? Really? C'mon, ladies. I'm some random guy asking if you'd like to do something. Chances are I'm not asking because we could really use a bass player for Rock Band (Although Jon and I could use a goalie for our NHL '08 franchise...)

Before I could answer she said, "'cause I have a boyfriend." I kinda figured she did because she was way too cute not to. That makes sense in my head. I made another lame joke to try to save whatever pea-sized amount of dignity I had left, but it fell well short. Oh well. At least I have awkwardness to look forward to at work today. Hooray!

I guess the ocelot turned out to be an oceNOT!!! You see what I did there? Now where'd I put my drinkin' drain-o...

Probably going to do something dumb today

I think I'm going to ask this girl out at work tomorrow. We don't exactly know each other, so that may be a problem. I've decided I'm just going to kinda spring it on her. In my head, this sounds pretty suave, but in reality, it's probably going to be pretty fucking creepy.

This approach kinda worked once before. Then she blew me off several times until I finally gave up (which was a lot of times.) I'm glad things didn't work out, though. She looked like a beetle. I'm talking about the burrowing in dung kind, not the "I wanna hold your haaaaaaaaand" kind. I'm not really sure how she looked like a beetle, but looking back, she definitely did. What does that say about me? Standards have lowered? It sure does.

So tomorrow I'm just going to randomly pounce like an ocelot of love onto her marmoset of indifference until it's fully digested and made into a turd of unity.

So yeah. I figure what the hell? I'm just going to go for it. What the worst that could happen? It could go badly? Ha! It usually goes badly when I do stuff like this, but I guess I can't be a huge, flapping poon for the rest of my life. I pray she has low expectations!

I'll stop writing about imaginary girlfriend eventually. I promise.

Fill this space

Dear bloggers, my roommate and I have a problem. We just moved into a new apartment (mostly why I haven't posted in awhile) and we basically have no decorations. I would like this apartment to look like adults actually live here as opposed to our last one. It's a pretty nice place and I think we can probably keep it that way, barring any sink fireworks, money burning or airsoft gun target practice.

Anyway, I'd like to start with this space above the fireplace. Honestly, I don't know how I lived without a fireplace before now. They're pretty much an East Texas must. I'm sure it'll come in really handy during our harsh, 65-degree winters.

Personally, I'd like to go with the Big Ben Godsend poster, but it's probably not for everybody since, despite its awesomeness, it leans a bit to the sacrilegious side. So what should we put here? Maybe a portrait? Richard, I'm going to commission you for this, assuming "commission" doesn't mean "pay."

So I need some ideas. Let's hear it.

Some stuff...

My day started out pretty shitty yesterday. I woke up in the afternoon in a pool of what was mostly my sweat. Thinking it was a little hotter than usual in the apartment, I got up to check the thermostat. It was a cool 97 degrees inside. I knew our AC hadn't been acting that great, but I didn't know it was completely broken. Jon sent me a picture later where the thermostat simply read "01" because, unlike Jon's butthole, it has no place for a third digit. Wait, that kinda made me sound gay, huh?

I kinda felt like an asshole at work for reasons which I probably shouldn't. Jewelry counter girl randomly stopped me and asked what I ended up getting my mom for her birthday. This kinda caught me off guard because I had forgotten about that lie for the most part. It wasn't one of those "we were in the same place at the same time" forced, awkward small talks. She had actually walked past me and turned back around to get my attention. I made up some more shit about how I took my mom out to dinner. I was a little surprised she remembered having this conversation with me (I know...my self-esteem is crazy high.) Truth is, my mom's birthday is in July and I haven't even seen her since mid May, and won't see her again until October.

I guess I felt bad because JCG seemed genuinely interested in what I got my mom. The only reason I talked to her in the first place was because I hoped it was a means to an end which hopefully included her not wearing any pants. I guess I'm a shallow douche and she's a nice person. I guess it's good that she's married.

Tonight I also realized that the best part of my work day is the two minutes JCG comes to the back to throw her trash away. And yes, I realize there's no part of that sentence that's not pathetic and/or creepy. Oh well.

Anyway, have a great rest of the weekend.

Bored...

I'm not feeling too creative right now, so I'll just ask this simple question:

If you could be one inanimate object for three hours, what object would it be? Have at it, pervs! Also, what inanimate object would you least like to be?

Mine would be um...probably the needle that gave Megan Fox her tattoos. I think that would be about the only way there'd be any penetration between Megan Fox and myself. I'm not sure what I'd hate to be. I'll have to give that one some thought.

Have a great day, almost everyone!

Nice guys still finish ahead of the retards, right?

About a week ago I heard I was a "really sweet guy." Tonight, I was told that I was safe and "like a brother." Sigh. Ladies, these are not things a guy wants to hear from people not related to him. I'm like the mayor of the friend zone. Not that I was looking for any romantic anything with either situation (sure...I'll go with that,) but c'mon! I didn't even ask for either of these things to be said. I mean, I guess it's cool that people think I'm nice and sweet and stuff, but those are words used to describe the temperament of a puppy. I'm not a puppy. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm spontaneous. Maybe I'm some kind of crazy, spontaneous badass...but I'm not.

What am I? I'm not real sure. One thing I do know is that I'm a man of limited game. Even on those rare occasions when I show flashes of romantic suavery, it's more sad than it is awesome. I'm kinda like that time the basketball coach in New York put the autistic kid in the game and he proceeded to hit six threes in four minutes. After the game, I'm sure he strapped his helmet back on and went back to being normal. That's me. A romantic novelty. The blind squirrel theory of romance.

So as my good pal Andrea and I watched The Bridge tonight, she explained to me that I'm safe and I don't take any risks. That I'm a nice guy and maybe that's why things aren't happening for me in the lady department. Bluh. I guess I am nice, though. I don't really know how to fix that or if it's even something that need fixing. If I've learned anything from my years of perusing internet porn, it's that all kinds of people like all kinds of things (no matter how disgusting or girls to cup ratio'd.) So there's gotta be a woman out there that thinks it's pretty cool that I played the old NES version of super dodgeball on my computer for about two hours today. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I won the championship...a couple a times. If you aren't impressed by that, well, you just aren't impressible. Maybe there's a woman out there who doesn't mind being awake at 5 a.m. to watch Robin Meade's Morning Express with me, and who won't get pissed when I give a detailed list of reasons why Robin Meade is maybe the most perfect woman. She'll also hold me when I get pissed when Robin is on vacation and that way less hot lady is filling in. There's gotta be somebody out there like that, right? If not, that's cool too. At least I've got my health. Aww...where'd my health go?

And finally, I just want to say that George Carlin will truely be missed. George Carlin taught me how to properly use the word "cunt," and for that I will be forever grateful. Rest in peace, George.

some things...

I hate most animals, but there's a special place in my heart for tiny, orange cats and raccoons. As I was coming home from work tonight, I saw a raccoon run across East College. I stopped and watched as he ran in front of my car to the other side of the street. As I accelerated again, a second raccoon ran out right in front of my car. Those who know me probably wouldn't reply "reflexes" when asked about my best quality. Needless to say, the poor little fella didn't make it. I felt really bad. I had a sick feeling in my stomach for a little while. I guess this is how I know I've kind of grown up. In the old days, I wouldn't usually bat an eye. I'd get out and check to see if anything happened to my car, but wouldn't care much about the furry woodland creature I just smashed. But now I just feel like an ass. I mean, there probably wasn't anything I could have done, but still...

In the store tonight, an Hispanic man walked up to me and, in broken English, inquired about a "camera that take the peeeecture and then one minute peeecture come out." I said, "a polaroid?" "Oh no, no, no. The peeeecture come out of the camera. One minute." "I think those are polaroids." "No, no. You not understand. The PEEEECTURE come out of the CAMERA!" Each time he said this, he took an imaginary picture with an imaginary camera, then pulled the "peeecture" out. Probably one of the most frustrating conversations I've ever had. Finally I said, "Oh! Those! Sorry, I think we're sold out." I wanted to fucking shake him. I'm not one of those "if you come to our country, you should learn English" people. But seriously...learn English if you have to talk to me. Well, unless you're a hot Hispanic chick that says "papi" a lot 'cause, well...that's just hot.

I saw a video of the guy who was riding with Hulk Hogan's kid when he got into that wreck. Wow. That guy is pretty fucked up. The whole front of his head is gone, and he's probably going to be in a coma forever. I don't know why they are keeping him alive. Even if by some miracle he does pull through, he's never going to be close to normal. If I ever get like that, somebody pull the plug. I want it to be an actual plug, though. Kenny, you do the honors.

Welp, that's about all the nonsense I have for tonight. Hope everybody has a good weekend. I hope some people come to terms with their weirdoness and embrace it. I hope I meet a lady down on her luck and low on her standards.

Dear Cowboys fans, I hear mass suicide isn't that bad.

Tonight I was talking to a coworker about football. I have a lot of respect for people who can hold a high-level football conversation with me. I'm kind of a football snob, I guess. Anyway, turns out he's a Cowboys fan. Not a big shocker since I live in Texas, but I would have never pegged him for a Cowboys fan, mostly because he knew what he was talking about and could speak without wiping slobber from his mouth.

For the most part, I hate Cowboys fans. There are a few exceptions, but the majority of them are hardcore dumbasses. Example:

We're having a nice conversation about how we think our teams are going to do this year. He says he thought the Steelers had a good draft (which they did.) I said I thought the Cowboys would win at least 12 games this season. Everything was civil until this old man who I work with decided he wanted to chime in. This guy is like 5'6" maybe. He has some pretty bad little man syndrome and he's always pissed off at something. He looks at me and says, "What are you talking shit about?" Beautiful way to barge into a conversation. The other guy explains to him that I'm a Steelers fan, to which he replies, "Ha! Steelers!" This immediately pissed me off and I asked him what he meant by that. He said that the Steelers weren't going to do shit this year. Then he went on to say that Ben's best years are way behind him and he will have another horrible year like he did last season because he's never recovered from the "motorcycle wreck and women troubles." He added that we needed to win another Superbowl to "catch up with Dallas."

This is why I hate Cowboys fans. They have no idea what the fuck they are talking about half the time. Even about their own team. First of all, Roethlisberger threw for over 3k yards last season (not that that's fantastic), 32 tds and 11 ints. He also had a 65.3 completion % and a qb rating of 109. He made the f'n pro bowl! And he's all of 26 years old, so I'm not sure where the "best years are behind him" thing came from. The motorcycle wreck was before the season before last. And as far as the "women troubles" comment, well, just look at him. I mean, I'm not gay or anything, but c'mon ladies. Am I right?

Meanwhile, Tony Romo, the Jesus of Dallas...
Single-handedly lost a playoff game two years ago when he fumbled a field goal hold against the Seahawks. Mention this to any Cowboys fan and they'll immediately reply with some shit about how the ball was slippery. You know, 'cause this was the first time in the history of the NFL that a ball has been slippery. The next season, he decided to go to Mexico with the dumbest fucking woman in the entire world a week before a playoff game. That's some pretty good focus, right? Then they lost.

So what's my point? I dunno really. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you're a cowboys fan, the next time you have all your friends over to watch the 'boys play, go ahead and lock your doors and set your house on fire. We'll all be better off.

Ladies, are you really this judgemental?

I saw this article on Yahoo earlier. I'm kinda shocked that Yahoo ran an article about ridiculously stupid shit (kidding. I hate Yahoo.) But seriously, do women judge men by what kind of food they eat? This can't be true, right? I mean Jimmy got married, and in the 5+ years of knowing him, I'm pretty sure I've only seen him eat pizza and macaroni & cheese and drink mountain dew.

So what does this say about me? I'm kind of a mixer and matcher when it comes to food. I also prefer some form of chip with every meal, too. What does that say about me? That I'm great? Probably.

And who the fuck orders game? And if a necrophiliac orders dumplings, does that still make him "cute as a dumpling?" I'm asking for a um...friend.

Ugh...

Some days I think there's some giant wheel somewhere that someone spins to determine how my day is going to go. Well, today the needle landed on "zit."

I briefly caught a glimpse of the monstrosity in the mirror before I turned away in horror. It's either a zit or the remnants of a conjoined twin. I'm scared to pop it for fear a femur may come out. I'm pretty tired, too. I guess I used quite a bit of energy building this thing in my sleep. Oh well. Maybe today is the day they replace me at work with robots and I can come back home and take a nap.

Also, a little off topic, but I was watching this guy on tv last night play the violin. He was a badass and all, but I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible to play a violin without looking like an extra-spazzy autistic kid.

Dumbest post ever. HAVE A GREAT DAY!!!

Why am I so bad at this?

Fresh off of the viewing of that guy getting rejected, I realized that it had been awhile since I got brutally shot down. Well, no reason to keep that streak up.

So there's this girl I work with. We'd exchanged pleasantries a time or two and she seemed really nice and my type. And by "my type," I mean any girl who isn't immediately repulsed by me has potential to be "my type." So about a week ago, I decided that I would brighten her day and make all her dreams come true by asking her out.

For some reason, I'm unable to ever ask a girl out like a normal person. I have to plan things out. Things always look good on paper, but never work in reality. I guess I'm kinda like a romantic Wyle E. Coyote if Wyle E. Coyote does that whole crying/masturbating thing that I do whenever he misses the roadrunner. I exaggerate a little. Sometimes I don't cry. (Be honest. You cringed a little when you pictured me masturbating just now, huh? Good...good.)

My buddy Josh has been witness to these awesomely horrible plans ever since we were kids and he's always told me that they're not going to work. This one felt right, though. Step one was just casual conversation. A joke ice breaker, perhaps.

She came back to the back one night to throw some stuff away while I was back there. We talked for a couple minutes and, once again, my "don't say stupid shit" filter failed to work as I made some ridiculous joke about crushing a small child with a pallet jack. Sometimes I wonder why God made me so smooth. She seemed to legitimately laugh and not one of those "I should humor this creepy guy" laughs. Not that I know what those are like. Step one went well.

Step two involved her job at the jewelry counter. Before work the next day, I was going to feign interest in my mom's upcoming birthday (kidding, Mom) and pretend to shop for a nice necklace for her, asking jewelry counter girl's advice...and also learning her name so I didn't have to refer to her as jewelry counter girl.

I went a few minutes before I had to clock in just in case things went badly or I was getting a bad vibe. Things went ok, though. She showed me some nice necklaces that actually had the word "mom" on them. The day I buy my mom something like that is the day she probably disowns me...more. I introduced myself, she introduced herself. Everything was going according to plan. It was kinda scary. "Eat that shit, Josh," I thought to myself. It was almost time to clock in so I told her I'd think about what I wanted to buy and I'd come back on my last break. She said she'd be there until 11.

Time for my last break rolled around, but we still had a shitload of stuff to do, so the guy were like, "eh, let's just go later. Like 11:15 or so." I snuck out around 10:45 to finish my master plan. I wasn't real sure exactly what I was going to say, but sadly, it involved going to the zoo. I realize how lame that sounds, but it was kind of a two birds with one stone thing. I really wanted to ask her out, but I also really wanted to go to the zoo. (They have some kickass white rhinos there.) So I approach the counter and she's just hanging out getting ready to go home. Nobody else is around so I don't have to worry about witnesses to this potential disaster. So I gathered up the residual confidence I had from Jimmy's wedding and headed on over to pretend to buy stuff again.

"You know, I think the stuff that says 'mom' on it is kinda cheesy," I said. She agreed and said that she would never buy her mom anything like that. Then she asked if my mom wore a watch and directed me to the watch display. Never intending to actually purchase anything for my mom, I was kind of caught off guard at this question and I really couldn't remember whether or not she did wear a watch. "Hmm...I don't really know. Is that bad?" I asked. "No. You're a guy. Guys don't notice things like jewelry. It's just something in your makeup." Eerie foreshadowing. "Yeah. I guess you're right." Then just as my mouth opened to probably say something stupid about rhinos, she said, "My husband doesn't pick up on little details sometimes. It's ok."

So that's where my plan ended. I mean, I could have totally stolen her from her husband and all, but I didn't want to be a dick. He's probably a nice guy.

I honestly don't know how I didn't see the wedding ring. Those things should glow or beep or something so I don't look like an idiot. I told her I changed my mind and I'd probably just get my mom a gift card or something 'cause nothing says thanks for all those hours of labor like a gift card. She laughed. We said our goodbyes and I slunk (?) back to the back room.

The universe pooped on me once again. Probably not the universe's fault, though. I was kind of a dumbass on this one. I realized two things, though. One, I'm pretty horrible at this kind of thing and two, hot girls are usually only nice to me when they are married, in a committed relationship, live several states away or mistake me for Drew Carey.