Saturday, September 1, 2007

A person can be dumb, too

That title in reference to the quote, "A person is smart, people are dumb."

Here is the link if you haven't seen it:

Question: “Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?”

Miss Teen South Carolina, Lauren Caitlin Upton's Answer: “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps. And I believe that our education, like such as, South Africa and the Iraq, everywhere, like such as. And I believe that they should... our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., or should help South Africa, and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our (children).”

Honestly, I really can't find any compelling fault in that answer. Maybe you could say that the Asian countries are on par or even slightly more advanced in their education and don't need our help, but that is a stretch by any reasonable man's estimation. Certainly, I would not make that claim. Some pedantic philospher-historians have questioned Ms. Upton's use of "the Iraq," but just the other day I was talking with a friend about Iraq, and about fifteen minutes in we realized that he was talking about pre-XBOX360 Iraq and I was talking about post-raped-by-America Iraq (funny story, really--everyone was laughing). Well, clearly TWO very different Iraq's, obviously needing differentiation. And if I understand Ms. Upton correctly--and who doesn't--my Iraq is "the Iraq."

Maybe you agree with Ms. Upton's answer, maybe you don't. In either case, one thing is clear to me: if only all U.S. Americans, like such as South Africa and the Asian countries, would provide maps to some people out there in our nation, then our education over here in the U.S. would finally be able to help the U.S., like such as building up the future for our children and for the Iraq.

Monday, August 20, 2007

A story for the archives

This one happened a few weeks back now--okay, maybe a couple months--but it's worth it (I think). My team from work and I went to the ballpark to catch a half-priced day game. Afterwards, by that I mean after six to eight beers, some friends got the bright idea that we should go out on the town for a happy hour--after all, the ballpark is located in San Diego's lustrious gas lamp/ booze quarter. So we hit a few bars, wander around looking for a hookah bar, and eventally make our way to dinner at an trendy Aussie restarant bar (after all, we didn't want to stray from our bar-themed evening). After dinner, my drunk posse is staggering around looking for more, and I remind them that our game ticket stubs get us ten buffalo wings at Hooters since the Pads scored more than ten runs in their win--final score was 11-0 (ouch). Don't know why I suggested this since we had just eaten dinner, but it seemed like a good idea at the time--yeah, I know, famous last words. Drunk as we were, I recall their in-unison, slurred reply, "Hell yeah, I want some wings!" So off we go.

We get to Hooters; at this point it is Sabo, Mel, Mike (Sabo's bro) and yo. First thing that happens is some one tells me ask if we get free wings with our stubs. I reply, "Won't we still drink here even if we don't get free wings." "Hell no, we wouldn't. I hate to break it to you, but we most certainly would not." Though, actually, I am pretty much done drinking for the night, so I am not sure why I even asked. I ask about the free wings, they say yes, and we are seated. Jizzelle or Jordana (some obvious "stage-named" waitress) comes by to take our orders. She's very cute: about 5'3, dark, straight hair, great hooters, pretty face. "So how many wings can we get with these?," I ask as I lay down three ticket stubs. "Thirty." Score. Everone's eyes get big. "Can I take your guys' drink and dinner orders?" "Just water for me." "Water," says Sabo, who is sitting across from me. "Water," says Mel. "Diet Pepsi." Fuckin' Mike. Once the waitress leaves, "Mike, why you gotta break the rhythm--we were all getting waters with our free wings." Turns out Mike didn't even bring money.

As we are waiting for our wings, Jordana is wiping the table behind us, and Sabo begins muttering in a deep voice, "Wings, wings, wings." Of course Jordana can hear. "Guys, your wings will be up in just a short bit." And without even a hint of sarcasm (I'm stunned), "Can I get you guys some more water?" Bless her heart, and sugary tits, how do you deliver that without sarcasm? Obviously she knows how to get a good tip--and I mean monetary tip, not penis, dip shit--though I'm sure she know how to get both, in retrospect. A deep sense of reality hits me as I realize I would never make much in tips as a waiter--aah, I probably would, actually, people are too nice and no one who's not expecting it ever get my sense of humour, any way. Probably could have left out that "not expecting it" part.

I bet Sabo 20 bills to ask the waitress, "Where's our free wings, bitch!?" "Actually," I say, "better leave out the 'bitch' part. Just say, 'Where's our goddamn free wings?!' " Yes, that's better. Sabo declines.

Our wings come. Oh, glorious day! We each eat one wing. We stare at the plate of twenty-six remaining wings. Then back at each other. I break the silence, "You know, I'm not really all that hungry." I see a moment of clarity in Sabo's eyes. "You know, I'm not hungry either--we ate quite a bit at dinner." "Okay, who here IS hungry?," I ask. No one. No one is hungry.

Me: "Well, should we just leave a tip and leave? I think that would be hillarious, personally. All that trouble, and we leave our nearly uneaten plate of wings just sitting here." Sabo turns to an adjacent table, "Hey, guys, you want some wings." Of course they don't, jerk. Jordanna comes by after a bit. "Can I get you guys anything else? More water?" Still no sarcasm. (How?) "Maybe a box for the wings." Though, in truth, no one wants these wings, tasty as they are, but I suggest, "Maybe we can give them to a homeless person." "Should we put some ranch dressing in the box?," Sabo asks. "Well, yes," I say. "Would you take free wings if you were homeless knowing full well there was no dipping sauce. I think not. Hell, I can just picture the trasaction now: 'Sir, would you like some chicken wings.' 'Wait a minute, what type of dipping sauce, ranch or blue cheese.' 'Er, um, er, we didn't get any sauce to-go.' 'Fuck you damn kids and your charity. You make baby Jesus weep.' " The fantasy homeless man is right. We part ways with Jordana and Hooters. I leave a generaous tip and enough to help cover the Pepsi. Fucking Mike.

And what do you know, just as we leave, there is a bum just sitting there outside of the building next to Hooters. Mel appraches, "Sir would you like some Buffalo wings." "No, I already got me some!," he points to a take-out box sitting beside him. Rejected by the bum, just like I had forseen. Sabo then gets the brilliant idea to offer the wings to every, and I mean every, passerby. Drunk fool. He then proceeds to offer the wings to a mailbox, a lamp post, and a bicycle. No luck, surprisingly. Though he did get a phone number from the lamp post in the process, some how. In fact, I think they are still seeing each other. We end up leaving the wings next to a trash can. And we part ways. Sabo has a designated driver (thank God), and I walk Mel most of the way back to her car. So ends the story of the best buffalo wing (singular) I ever had.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Long weekends rock!

This past extended weekend has really been a series of comical conversations, which by themselves, pretty much sum everything up pretty nicely.

Tom and I discussing a National Guard commercial playing prior to the Transformers movie...
Woman National Guardsman: We were sent out on a mission to rescue flood victims. We rescued this pregnant woman who I could see was extremely scared. I gave her a comforting smile. That was a great moment and a reason why I am in the National Guard.
Me (whispering to Tom in the movie theater): So, did the pregnant woman live or die?
Tom (matter-of-fact-ly): Oh, she died. But... she got a comforting smile before she died.

After the movie...
Me: So the robots with the red, beady eyes were bad guys?

Tom: They were shameless with the setup for a sequel.
Me: Really? How so?
Tom: Oh, the way Optimus calls all the Transformers to Earth. And how Starscream escaped and flew off the planet.
Me: The premise for the movie was that they were fighting over the flash cube, which in the end was destroyed. They have nothing to fight over now.
Tom: I'm sure they'll find something.
Me: What, like, "Optimus Prime, you owe me five dollars, bee-yotch!" "No, Megatron, I will not pay you five dollars. Further, I will pit the Autobots and all of humanity against you in an epic struggle, lasting approximately 120 minutes, over the five dollars you speak of!"
Tom: Sadly, that would actually make a better plot that what we just watched.

And wine tasting on Monday...
April (being poured the final taste from a nearly-empty bottle): He finished it off on me.
Tom (to himself): Whoa!

Tom (to me as I wrap my take-home glass): You really packed it tight there, Paul.
Me: Just like always.
April: I got that! I heard you, and I got that! (April is now apparently our friend after this. We find out that April and the guy she is with apparently own their own corporation [whatever that means]. We gather that they are pretty rich, seeing as how they are riding around in a huge limo [just the two of them], buying mad quantities of wine [including a bottle for their limo driver, which I can only assume is for later and not "on-the-go"], and are on vacation from one of the nicer parts of the East coast. They follow us to the next winery. I accuse them of stalking us.)

Jaime (defending her taste in books): Hey, I like Dickens.
Tom: Jaime likes dickin's.
Me: Did you say "Dickens" or "dickings"?
Jaime: I like both.
Tom: Whoa! At the same time?

Okay, there's more (including Megan telling people that I am her Gyno), but there's only so much time and space, and you pretty much get the gist of it.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Making fun of others is fun!

Remember how I said that if you tuned in to this blog because you wanted to learn more about Snoop Dogg or the Care Bears, and so on, that you would ultimately be disappointed. Well, actually, that was the truth. What I forgot to add, really, was that I am almost guaranteed to disappoint no matter what. So, might as well talk about the Care Bears, right?. Indirectly, at least.

Searching for words and phrases contained in my blog, like "Care Bear," using Google's blog search, I found (gasp) a blog even sadder than mine. At the time I was searching for blogs similar to mine--and though I found this huge douche rather than my identical twin, it still made my day. Hmm, now that I consider it, maybe, in a cosmic flash of irony, I DID find my twin and I'm really a huge douche, like this man. All this introspection has really made me want to rethink my life. Borat: Pause NOT!

Here's some excerpts from this man's blog, mind you, a self-proclaimed "writer"--my parenthetical remarks follow...

"The saddening part about all this is the fact that the Care Bear’s message about friendship and caring is something rarely heard of today." (Truly very sad. You idiot.)

"The animation for Care Bears is pretty good considering that it is only a tv series intended for kids." (And apparently retards.)

"I will never outgrow my love for 'care bears'. They will always be close to my heart." (If the Care Bears were alive today, they would have a restraining order against you.)

That's all for now. Stay tuned for my next column of "Making fun of others" when I go after the old and mentally handicapped.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

And another thing!

Alright. I think I will also use the blog to document actual conversations from the day that are worthy of recording for posterity. And by worthy, I mean really not all that worthy.

Me: So you just wake up in the morning without the alarm even going off?
Cort: Don't get me wrong, I usually have to talk myself into getting out of bed.
Me: Yeah, I have an inner dialogue that goes on before I get up, too. But it's more like, "Hit the buzzer, asshole!" And that's after the alarm has been going off for like five minutes already.

Dude! Sweet!

Okay, first, an apology to those misdirected here thinking I would for some reason be writing about (a) Cliff's Notes to rap music, (b) Care Bears, (c) something coherent. What you'll probably find instead are (a) stuff I am doing, (b) stuff I just finished doing, (c) stuff I will be doing. GOD, this is so boring already!, you are thinking. Correctly.

In an attempt to keep the blog somewhat engaging--actually--f*ck you and your imaginary demands! I'll write whatever the hell I want. And now for the quote of the day:

"My Engrish is better than you!" --Yu Chen yelling something (?) at me