It’s Like ADD
Man. I have been meaning to post about a hundo different things but you know what I do instead? I refresh stale web pages, check my mail, or go play video games. I am constantly under the impression that there is not nearly enough time for me to do everything I want to do, but little do I know how simple it is to prioritize!
Pat and I have started millions of projects and left them half finished, or even 1/12th finished. It’s a pretty bad state of affairs. But no longer! We have put our brains together (with the help of that thatnight chick) to begin a new project. Ultimately it will fail, just like our plan to learn to write left handed.
For an example of something I’ve done but then did not keep doing: Future Dog. It’s my brother’s character but I stole him and wrote a story for him. I completely forgot about it until now BUT now I feel like I might start that up again. We’ll see how long that last for. But boy does it feel good to get a post out.
Perhaps, like the great Ben Franklin suggested, I should wake up every morning and make a to-do list. Maybe I’ll do that here. Maybe Pat will post something again? MAYBE.
A Hobo Thanksgiving
Maxwell burped and declared the dinner done
While stuffing his stomach with stuffing was fun,
He felt that he might burst at the sound of a gun
Looking to his left, and then to his right,
His comrades were all out like a light
Filled to the brim with turkey and moonshine,
Betty, Mac and Jim were done being a swine
But no one was close to reaching the door
All they could do was sleep on the floor
Before they could leave they had to devour some pie
Pie that was sent to them from Eric the Spy
Eric was a spy living in the world of sweets
He learned how to make pies, and even how to make quiche
The pie sat on the table with a menacing grin
Maxwell would have to eat the pie himself, for the win.
The pie in front of him was filled with cherries, pumpkin and spices
It was so large it could be cut into 15 slices
Yet, Maxwell was alone on his quest
Luckily, he was wearing his pie eating vest
Maxwell grabbed the fork of his father
Or was it something he stole from his brother?
Regardless, Maxwell took a few bites of the pie concoction
For a moment he thought about putting this pie up for auction
But he could not forsake his turkey day tradition
Though, eating with a full stomach was not optimal conditions.
He chewed slowly, lacking conviction
Boy did he wish this was all just fiction
He felt sleep creep upon him
Him finishing the feast was looking quite grim.
Forkful upon forkful he put down his throat
He was trying so hard he almost did choke
Finally, his fork fell out of his hand
This was not part of his Thanksgiving day plan
He reached his limit and was about to burst
Soon he would be heading to the toilet headfirst
The fork fell to the table with a bang
And Maxwell, with shame, his head did hang
For the first Thanksgiving in his lifetime
He failed to finish his pie and to him, this was a crime
Tears ran down Maxwell’s face
As he knew he would be a disgrace
But as he turned to go to the bathroom
His thanksgiving legacy was doomed
But then, Mac began to awake
Maxwell thought it was fake, and thus, did a double take
Mac had a second wind inside of his soul
He was kind of hungry, and could probably eat a troll
He grabbed Maxwell by his scarf and said to his face
“You better get eating. Or you’ll be a disgrace”
And thus, Mac, collapsed like a stump
And Maxwell took a deep breath and decided to prove he was not a schmup
He grabbed his fork with renewed vigor
And took a bite out of the pie equivalent of a tiger
The pumpkin, cherry and spices mixed in his belly
Soon, his arms felt like jelly
Maxwell’s hobo heart skipped some beats
And then his stomach accepted defeat
His body reached a limit it did not know
And for that, he began to stare at the ground below
His world grew as dark as an alley
And he collapsed to the table as a finale
Along the table the four hobos slept
Content and happy no one wept
They tried their best to eat all the food
But seriously, they’re only dudes
Let this be a lesson to you thanksgiving feasters
If you try to eat too much you’ll collapse on your keaster
There’s no shame in having leftovers
You can pass them out to all the people that ride land rovers
Cheerleaders and their Hypnotic Demon powers
Recently, I attended a pretty cool Pitt Basketball game. The only downside to going to a live game is that there are “Media Timeouts” which take place every four minutes of game time. It’s kind of frustrating that the media has their hand in so many pockets just sucking the life out of things but that’s not today’s topic. During these time outs the crowd is treated to the cheerleaders doing what they do best; holding up colorful signs giving a crash course in cheering to, what must be, a nearly autistic crowd. They try their best to hold their attention but after the second stirring rendition of “P-I-T-T Let’s Go Pitt!” no one seems to be paying attention. To gain back the audience’s attention they flip high into the air and scream at us like we were a puppy who was running away with a pair of their prized underwear.
I feel bad for them. It’s not their fault the audience is not into screaming as much as they are. Perhaps we lack the cheer leader’s belief in free will and the idea that we can shape the future with our actions. After a game I picture the cheer leaders in their locker room (maybe showering and snapping towels at each other?) discussing what went wrong. “I knew we should have flung Katy up higher in the first half” “Our pom-poms are shiny enough. And can we cut our skirts shorter? No one is drooling over me like they use to. I fear they have become desensitized…” At this realiztion that they must continue to top their perfomances week after week that an over worked over stressed Melissa falls to the ground in tears. “Why won’t they just follow along with the signs. It’s one word. They aren’t doing anything else except maybe eating popcorn. I just want them to cheer with us. Don’t they want us to win?” Melissa would sob uncontrollably and then handed a warm cup of tea and carried out of the room. She was bad for morale.
Was there a time when sporting events were complete chaos? Anarchy must have run through the stands as people stood up at inappropriate parts of the wave, contributed random lyrics to cheers, and clapped without rhythm or real motives. Finally, one day a young lady stood up and said “Hey guys! Let’s go team! Let’s go team!” in a hypnotic fashion and soon people were following her like zombies. That, or the Pied Piper transferred his crazy magic music powers to the dress of a girl and whatever she did everyone had to follow.
A Note from Gramsters
My grandma has an infiniety for writing me notes. These notes are often mundane and consist of things like “Hey. I’m doing laundry.” or “I went out with Aunt Joan” or sometimes it’s just scrawl that is in some sort of old people language. These notes are her way of trying to always let me know where she is which is like one of two places (up stairs, down stairs). Since she likes to avalanche me with all of her position updates (if she knew what Twitter was it would be so much easier) she always wants to know where I am.
Every morning it’s the same ol’ stuff. “Where are you going?” “When do you work?” “Where do you work?” “Can you take me to the Doctor’s?” and I’m like “Hey, I’m doing the same thing I do everyday. Smell yas.” And she’s like “Don’t work too hard.”
It’s maddening but she is just worrisome like that. Anyways, the other day I just left while she was still asleep and came home at 6 pm to find a crazy note. Let me transcribe it for you:
Dan,
Meat Loaf.
In the Ref. It bakes 1 1/4 hr at 350 degrees.
If I am not up.
-Grama
You can have rice with it.
-Gram
P.S. I don’t know where you went. You went to work?
(over)
Please put the ironing board away.
Excuse the writing.
Breakfast of Monte Cristo
Who’s god damn idea was it to create the Monte Cristo sandwich? It’s a vile creation that even the most obese would think twice about eating. Basically, some mad man read “The Count of Monte Cristo” then probably beat his wife then screamed at until he a) was coughing up blood or b) she made him a sandwich that would satisfy his urge to die.
So the lady, fearing for her life, started cooking like a lady who’s life depended on it. She got some ham, some eggs, some turkey, some bacon, and made some French toast for good measure. Oh wait, she then decided to deep fry the French toast then sandwich the other materials in the middle. Holy. Hell.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever had one before. I’ve made it 22 years of my life and have only seen it eaten once (by Pat no less). But to be honest, part of the allure is that this sandwich sounds reasonable on paper. Like a door to door salesman who is selling covers for your steps. It sounds genius, but let’s be honest with ourselves, no one is going to enjoy that.
This sandwich was brought to me covered in powdered sugar and fried stuff. I was kind of excited at first since it seemed like the king of breakfast sandwiches but then I took I bite and was very confused. My taste buds thought they were at some trashy carnival. It was like eating funnel cake covered in eggs, syrup, and ham. Like, why.
It’s safe to say I’m going to continue hating on this sandwich for a while. Breakfast is suppose to be a delicate meal, not something unrefined carnival folk would make for their illegitimate elephant calves.
I’m Like Hungover
But I had nothing to drink. I mean, I had four bottles of water yesterday but I feel absolutely HORRIBLE as I type. So horrible that I’m posing two updates in one day. What the fuck is going on.
I did take some sleeping pills. You can follow my rise and fall on twitter (www.twitter.com/woozle). I suspect that those are reason for my sloppiness this morning. Not only am I irritable but there is, what feels like, a handful of fog floating around in my brain. It’s maddening but what should I have expected from a pair of pills that is made to bring you temporary death. They are designed to shut the body down, like brakes on a freight train so of course there is going to be some back lash.
I got eight hours of sleep but what the hell. I was hoping to get addicted to these despite the box’s warning of “non-habit forming”. You can’t tell me what I can and cannot get addicted to, but with this hangover feeling every day I’m not sure I could handle it. Perhaps if I take more I’ll feel better…
Also: I was told to post these videos. LOVE THEM.
Speaking of Holograms
Technology has come a long way from the typewriter. As I speak I’m writing on a computer. It’s crazy, I know. How can a man, such as myself, afford a computer in this day and age? Investing in Cambell’s Soup is what.
Anyways, besides holograms a new innovation I’ve been growing accustom to has been Coffee Cake. It’s new at Caribou Coffee and it’s about time. It’s the perfect combination of cake, and cinnamon, and crumbs. This thing must be held together by glue because basically it’s just a load of crumbs crushed into cube. Impossible to eat this thing without embarrassing yourself. It takes a human of high charisma, charm, good looks, as well as confidence to devour the whole cake and still retain their dignitity.
I just took a bite now. My co-workers starred at me in awe - they’re god damn amazed. Thanks Coffee Cake. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Want to start a blog together? We could call it SureBoutCoffeeCake. I’ll check godaddy for that domain name.
America’s Downfall
Readers, as all of you should be aware, a terrible thing has happened on this historic night. An event that will most certainly change the United States, if not the world, as we know it forever. It is very unfortunate that this chain of events should occur, but it has, and now we all must prepare for what is most certainly a bleak, dark, future. I am talking of course, about holograms.
The first ever hologram was transmitted tonight into the CNN Situation room, and it created quite a situation…in the room. The great Wolf Blitzer was obviously taken by surprise, but was able to pacify this phantom menace for the time being. It is obvious that The Empire has returned, and with it, the terrible technolgy that they have developed. I’m sure it is only a matter of time before the Death Star is operational and the Earth itself is faced with complete annihilation. My prayers go out to the brave X-wing pilots that will be faced with defeating this overpowering force in the months to come. God speed my friends, god speed.
Well, I Forgot
I had something to talk about. But I forgot.
If anyone lives in the South Side of Pittsburgh I’d suggest going down the Big Dog. It’s a coffee place on Sarah street and it’s been open for two weeks. I was there today getting the scoop as well as interviewing the owner, Nikola. I’m not sure if that’s how you spell it but he’s from Bolgaria.
I love these small businesses and I feel so much better spending all my money their instead of a place I know is going to invest their money in tire fires or something. So go and drink coffee. It’s pretty awesome and it’s a neat place with a kind of history. You can all read it when I write my article on that guy.
Fallout
Do you think you could survive a nuclear fallout? Let’s say hypothetically you did have a shelter and that when the bomb fell not EVERYTHING was destroyed, but a decent amount of shit. Like, you wouldn’t want a friend you met on the Internet to visit you afterwards because you’d be so ashamed. “This isn’t like the pictures you sent me” they would say with a scowl. And in what was suppose to be the finest moment of your life vanishes like a banana thrown into the deepest and darkest cave full of monkeys.
But walking around your old town kicking around trash, moving around debris, trading fancy rocks for supplies? How amazing does that sound. Just grab like a roll of toilet paper from your vault, wander out into the fallout and use your amazing wit and charm to convince people that toilet paper is actually “future money” and is worth it’s weight in nuclear gold or whatever.
If that doesn’t convince you maybe this will: