Originally posted March 1, 2007...
Holy crap indeed! Last week I was making my traditional early-morning oatmeal at the office, and one of the tree hugger-types came by and made a comment about my using a stryofoam cup to do it. I shot back a snide remark about probably using another cup later in the day to make my hot chocolate, and it hit me...I'm being an eco-asshole!
Now I realize that these days all of the Hollywood crazies are hyping eco-friendly cars like the (shudder) Prius, and that we're all pretty sick and tired of them preaching to us about protecting the environment, studying Kaballah, etc., since they don't really live in the real world. BUT...I'm starting to think they may have a point when it comes to protecting the environment and limiting the amount of crapola that we put back into the Earth. It hit me today as yet again I made my morning oatmeal in a styrofoam cup. I looked around the office and saw about a zillion other cups of the same type and realized that by next week they'd be rotting in some landfill and taking 300 years to decompose (or whatever they take these days). Now I feel like a douche because I can only imagine how many other cups just like this will be thrown away today alone, not to mention over the next 20 years. God almighty...by the time my kids have kids, they'll be playing "King of the Crap Heap" instead of "King of the Mountain."
I'm not sure how to do anything real about this, but I'm going to stop using these cups today...right after my hot chocolate...and start using real bowls and coffee cups. Wonder if I can convince anyone to join me on my little crusade...??
Monday, June 23, 2008
Hanakwanzamas Tree?
Originally posted December 13, 2006...
So I was flipping through CNN.com today, and found a hilarious article by Lou Dobbs that made me reflect on my rantings of a year ago. Just for poops and giggles, I thought I'd copy his article for your enjoyment here, as well as re-post my holiday bitch-fest from last year for a few additional giggles (and their associated poops). Enjoy!
NEW YORK (CNN) -- Merry Christmas! That's right, Merry Christmas. Whether you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, agnostic, pagan, barbarian or whatever, Merry Christmas! It's what most of us say in this country come this time of year. It's about who we are, where we are and where we've been. And all the namby-pamby, little sensitive darlings among us who can't handle this verbal assault on their delicate senses should immediately begin seeking emergency psychiatric care.
This week we were treated to the spectacle of an easily offended and highly offensive rabbi who walked into an airport, gazed upon Christmas trees all around him and suddenly was overwhelmed with an immense, and apparently irresistible, urge to sue the management of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport because nowhere among all the Christmas trees was a single menorah. Rabbi Elazar Bogomilsky of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement of Seattle even delivered to the airport's management a draft of a lawsuit he would file if they didn't sprinkle menorahs around the Christmas trees.
Political correctness in this country reached an entirely new level of absurdity some years ago. But occasionally, and the situation at Sea-Tac is just such an occasion, we exceed ourselves. The militant fundamentalist rabbi so flummoxed Sea-Tac management with his threat and their perceived obligation to be "politically correct" that, rather than think rationally or simply tell him to stuff it, they started hacking away at all those artificial Christmas trees and quickly descended into a public relations nightmare in which they managed to offend reason, cultural values and the vast majority of Americans.
As CNN senior legal analyst Jeffrey Toobin told me, "The Supreme Court has held since 1984, the famous 'Reindeer Rule,' that if a symbol of Christmas is mostly secular, like a reindeer or a Christmas tree or Santa Claus, that is not a violation of the separation of church and state." The irony that escaped the rabid rabbi and the timid Sea-Tac management team is that the Christmas tree's likely origin dates back to pre-Christian pagan cultures. The Christmas tree is not by any means a religious symbol, and when we're honest about it, the tree's become a purely commercial symbol more closely associated with shopping, roasting chestnuts and guzzling eggnog than a nativity scene with baby Jesus.
And hang on, Christians, because you're in 21st Century America, and our culture celebrates your holiest day of the year with such insensitive gusto that our economy would suffer a serious setback if your religious sensibilities were as easily offended as those of the litigious rabbi. More than 140 million shoppers spent an average of about $360 on Black Friday alone, the day after Thanksgiving and the unofficial kickoff to the Christmas shopping season, according to the National Retail Federation. And all those Christmas shoppers are expected to spend nearly a half-trillion dollars this shopping season.
Now if I were a fundamentalist Christian, that might strike me as a little politically incorrect. And I think all of you folks should think about suing somebody. You know, get in the spirit of the season.
This mindless movement of political correctness at all costs is one of the most un-American and crazy twists in our culture as anything we've witnessed. Remember, we're Americans, and we have freedom of speech, that whole life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness thing. Or at least we did.
And I hope you'll celebrate the Christmas season by offending someone. If you're Jewish, how about a hearty "Happy Hanukkah" to a good Christian? If they're offended you've revealed a fool, not such a good Christian and someone you shouldn't waste your expression of good will upon. But get ready for a few robust "Merry Christmas" calls to be thrown your way as well. The operators of the Seattle-Tacoma airport quickly righted a potentially dreadful wrong. The rabbi decided not to file a suit, Christmas trees have sprung back up throughout the concourse, and no, not a single menorah has been spotted. I can only hope this is the beginning of a major movement in America, one that regards thinking as paramount to phony feelings and heightened self-centered sensitivities. Common sense and judgment should always reign supreme over political correctness, no matter what the current trend.
And, my gosh, even Wal-Mart this year has abandoned its generic, politically correct "Happy Holidays" greeting in favor of "Merry Christmas." I'm starting to think this may be the season to be jolly after all. Ho, ho, ho. To all, a Merry Christmas. OK, and a Happy Hanukkah, too.
And here's mine...
Welcome to holiday season, 2005! It's time once again for the annual "What do I call my tree?" festival! All over the news this season you're bound to see stories about government buildings and their employees' quagmire...Are they holiday trees? Christmas trees? Happy Hanakwanzamas trees? Non-denominational festival of pine-scented artificial trees trees?Isn't it about time that we started calling them what they are? These are CHRISTMAS TREES ladies and gentlemen! Now I know what you're going to say..."But there are millions of people in America who don't celebrate Christmas, aren't Christian, or just flat don't believe that the government should force the holiday down their throats!" I say, BULLSHIT! While I'm certainly sympathetic to the fact that not everyone celebrates Christmas, the simple fact is that there are a lot of people who DO! The fact that not everyone celebrates the season is no reason to keep ANYONE from celebrating it. That's like saying I can't have cake on my birthday because you feel left out that it's not YOUR birthday!But wait...what about that whole pesky "separation of Church and State" issue? Pretty simple, really. The founding fathers created the separation of Church and State in an effort to snuff out any attempts to create a theocratic government. I'm fairly certain, however, that they did NOT intend to snuff out any and all religious leanings within the people running the show! Plainly put, the lighting of a Christmas tree at city hall is NOT a precursor to some sort of overthrow of the government by God's footsoldiers. It's simply a pleasant reminder that there are in fact people who celebrate Christmas. Time to let go of the anger here, people. Please feel free to celebrate whatever holiday you celebrate when it's time. If you want the government buildings in your area to plant a giant chick pea plant in celebration of Garbonzo Bean Awareness Month or something, it's your responsibility to bring that idea up. The trees are there because the constituency made their voices heard and elected individuals who believe in the Christmas holiday. It's that simple.Have a nice day...
So I was flipping through CNN.com today, and found a hilarious article by Lou Dobbs that made me reflect on my rantings of a year ago. Just for poops and giggles, I thought I'd copy his article for your enjoyment here, as well as re-post my holiday bitch-fest from last year for a few additional giggles (and their associated poops). Enjoy!
NEW YORK (CNN) -- Merry Christmas! That's right, Merry Christmas. Whether you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, agnostic, pagan, barbarian or whatever, Merry Christmas! It's what most of us say in this country come this time of year. It's about who we are, where we are and where we've been. And all the namby-pamby, little sensitive darlings among us who can't handle this verbal assault on their delicate senses should immediately begin seeking emergency psychiatric care.
This week we were treated to the spectacle of an easily offended and highly offensive rabbi who walked into an airport, gazed upon Christmas trees all around him and suddenly was overwhelmed with an immense, and apparently irresistible, urge to sue the management of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport because nowhere among all the Christmas trees was a single menorah. Rabbi Elazar Bogomilsky of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement of Seattle even delivered to the airport's management a draft of a lawsuit he would file if they didn't sprinkle menorahs around the Christmas trees.
Political correctness in this country reached an entirely new level of absurdity some years ago. But occasionally, and the situation at Sea-Tac is just such an occasion, we exceed ourselves. The militant fundamentalist rabbi so flummoxed Sea-Tac management with his threat and their perceived obligation to be "politically correct" that, rather than think rationally or simply tell him to stuff it, they started hacking away at all those artificial Christmas trees and quickly descended into a public relations nightmare in which they managed to offend reason, cultural values and the vast majority of Americans.
As CNN senior legal analyst Jeffrey Toobin told me, "The Supreme Court has held since 1984, the famous 'Reindeer Rule,' that if a symbol of Christmas is mostly secular, like a reindeer or a Christmas tree or Santa Claus, that is not a violation of the separation of church and state." The irony that escaped the rabid rabbi and the timid Sea-Tac management team is that the Christmas tree's likely origin dates back to pre-Christian pagan cultures. The Christmas tree is not by any means a religious symbol, and when we're honest about it, the tree's become a purely commercial symbol more closely associated with shopping, roasting chestnuts and guzzling eggnog than a nativity scene with baby Jesus.
And hang on, Christians, because you're in 21st Century America, and our culture celebrates your holiest day of the year with such insensitive gusto that our economy would suffer a serious setback if your religious sensibilities were as easily offended as those of the litigious rabbi. More than 140 million shoppers spent an average of about $360 on Black Friday alone, the day after Thanksgiving and the unofficial kickoff to the Christmas shopping season, according to the National Retail Federation. And all those Christmas shoppers are expected to spend nearly a half-trillion dollars this shopping season.
Now if I were a fundamentalist Christian, that might strike me as a little politically incorrect. And I think all of you folks should think about suing somebody. You know, get in the spirit of the season.
This mindless movement of political correctness at all costs is one of the most un-American and crazy twists in our culture as anything we've witnessed. Remember, we're Americans, and we have freedom of speech, that whole life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness thing. Or at least we did.
And I hope you'll celebrate the Christmas season by offending someone. If you're Jewish, how about a hearty "Happy Hanukkah" to a good Christian? If they're offended you've revealed a fool, not such a good Christian and someone you shouldn't waste your expression of good will upon. But get ready for a few robust "Merry Christmas" calls to be thrown your way as well. The operators of the Seattle-Tacoma airport quickly righted a potentially dreadful wrong. The rabbi decided not to file a suit, Christmas trees have sprung back up throughout the concourse, and no, not a single menorah has been spotted. I can only hope this is the beginning of a major movement in America, one that regards thinking as paramount to phony feelings and heightened self-centered sensitivities. Common sense and judgment should always reign supreme over political correctness, no matter what the current trend.
And, my gosh, even Wal-Mart this year has abandoned its generic, politically correct "Happy Holidays" greeting in favor of "Merry Christmas." I'm starting to think this may be the season to be jolly after all. Ho, ho, ho. To all, a Merry Christmas. OK, and a Happy Hanukkah, too.
And here's mine...
Welcome to holiday season, 2005! It's time once again for the annual "What do I call my tree?" festival! All over the news this season you're bound to see stories about government buildings and their employees' quagmire...Are they holiday trees? Christmas trees? Happy Hanakwanzamas trees? Non-denominational festival of pine-scented artificial trees trees?Isn't it about time that we started calling them what they are? These are CHRISTMAS TREES ladies and gentlemen! Now I know what you're going to say..."But there are millions of people in America who don't celebrate Christmas, aren't Christian, or just flat don't believe that the government should force the holiday down their throats!" I say, BULLSHIT! While I'm certainly sympathetic to the fact that not everyone celebrates Christmas, the simple fact is that there are a lot of people who DO! The fact that not everyone celebrates the season is no reason to keep ANYONE from celebrating it. That's like saying I can't have cake on my birthday because you feel left out that it's not YOUR birthday!But wait...what about that whole pesky "separation of Church and State" issue? Pretty simple, really. The founding fathers created the separation of Church and State in an effort to snuff out any attempts to create a theocratic government. I'm fairly certain, however, that they did NOT intend to snuff out any and all religious leanings within the people running the show! Plainly put, the lighting of a Christmas tree at city hall is NOT a precursor to some sort of overthrow of the government by God's footsoldiers. It's simply a pleasant reminder that there are in fact people who celebrate Christmas. Time to let go of the anger here, people. Please feel free to celebrate whatever holiday you celebrate when it's time. If you want the government buildings in your area to plant a giant chick pea plant in celebration of Garbonzo Bean Awareness Month or something, it's your responsibility to bring that idea up. The trees are there because the constituency made their voices heard and elected individuals who believe in the Christmas holiday. It's that simple.Have a nice day...
Dirty Little Monkeys
Originally posted March 30, 2006...
So a buddy of mine recently hooked me up with a sitemeter for this blog so I could find out if anyone actually cared. As it turns out, at least 28 people have cared in the past week.
Very cool...until I found out what it was that drove a majority of them to my site. In the past, I have blogged about Pee Holes and The Shocker. While I was familiar with why The Shocker might cause some interest, I was a little confused by the Pee Hole constituency.
I couldn't understand why so many people were interested in what I considered to be a very benign topic...until I Googled "pee holes." HOLY SHIT! I couldn't believe some of the things I was reading, let alone the pictures that came along with them! The first link that popped up was for someone's "pee hole stretching story," and how they'd come to love the act of stretching out a considerably sensitive area.
Now, I consider myself pretty open-minded, but seriously people...you are REALLY whacked out if you're into this kind of stuff! What is it exactly that drives people to:
So a buddy of mine recently hooked me up with a sitemeter for this blog so I could find out if anyone actually cared. As it turns out, at least 28 people have cared in the past week.
Very cool...until I found out what it was that drove a majority of them to my site. In the past, I have blogged about Pee Holes and The Shocker. While I was familiar with why The Shocker might cause some interest, I was a little confused by the Pee Hole constituency.
I couldn't understand why so many people were interested in what I considered to be a very benign topic...until I Googled "pee holes." HOLY SHIT! I couldn't believe some of the things I was reading, let alone the pictures that came along with them! The first link that popped up was for someone's "pee hole stretching story," and how they'd come to love the act of stretching out a considerably sensitive area.
Now, I consider myself pretty open-minded, but seriously people...you are REALLY whacked out if you're into this kind of stuff! What is it exactly that drives people to:
- Even think about how to achieve this kind of activity
- Not think to themselves...that would be pretty F-ed up
- Do it anyway
- Write about it and post it on the WORLD WIDE WEB?!?
Was That You?
Originally posted March 15, 2006...
So here's a thought that I had the other day while taking a whiz... There's another guy in there at the same time, and he's taking a massive dump, the size of which would make an elephant proud. The stench is burning my nose hairs, and the first thing that comes to mind is...I've gotta' get the hell out of here!
The second thing that crosses my mind is this...what would have happened if he'd finished his crapola and left before I had the chance to finish my whiz? I pictured myself walking out of the bathroom at the same time someone else was walking in, and facing the awkward moment where the stench hits them full in the face while they try to put a face to the stink.
Is he really going to believe that it WASN'T me? There's no way to convince him otherwise, so I figure I'm pretty much screwed. 'Course, it could be an awful lot of fun to take credit for the ass-stank, too. Guess it just depends where you work.
Either way, I always wondered what the appropriate protocol is for something like that. Do you ignore it like an awkward moment at a party, or do you stand tall and proclaim, "DAMN! Ol' Steve sure lit one up in there, didn't he? Stinky bastard!"? Think I'll test that one out sometime and see how it goes...
So here's a thought that I had the other day while taking a whiz... There's another guy in there at the same time, and he's taking a massive dump, the size of which would make an elephant proud. The stench is burning my nose hairs, and the first thing that comes to mind is...I've gotta' get the hell out of here!
The second thing that crosses my mind is this...what would have happened if he'd finished his crapola and left before I had the chance to finish my whiz? I pictured myself walking out of the bathroom at the same time someone else was walking in, and facing the awkward moment where the stench hits them full in the face while they try to put a face to the stink.
Is he really going to believe that it WASN'T me? There's no way to convince him otherwise, so I figure I'm pretty much screwed. 'Course, it could be an awful lot of fun to take credit for the ass-stank, too. Guess it just depends where you work.
Either way, I always wondered what the appropriate protocol is for something like that. Do you ignore it like an awkward moment at a party, or do you stand tall and proclaim, "DAMN! Ol' Steve sure lit one up in there, didn't he? Stinky bastard!"? Think I'll test that one out sometime and see how it goes...
Previously Enjoyed
Originally posted February 23, 2006...
I heard an absolutely hysterical ad this morning, and felt compelled to share it. The ad was for a car dealership offering great deals on "previously enjoyed" cars.
I'm officially calling bullshit here. I mean, exactly how many different ways can we call something "used" and still get away with it. Calling a car used means that it is exactly that...a vehicle that someone else has used in the past to get from point A to point B. What/whom else they did in the car is really secondary to the vehicle's ability to maintain is functional use. What exactly was the previous owner enjoying while driving this car? Cheeseburgers? Littering? Road head? Who knows?
Since it's simply a method of conveyance, a car really does not deserve the "enjoyed" moniker. But it does beg the question...what does deserve the title? Leftover pizza? Movies purchased from the rental store? Hookers? I can hear it now... "Billionaire heiress Paris Hilton today received a much needed revirginization of her previously enjoyed beav."
Maybe I'm just reading too much into this and getting a bit off topic, but seriously...let's just called Paris Hilton what she is...used up!
I heard an absolutely hysterical ad this morning, and felt compelled to share it. The ad was for a car dealership offering great deals on "previously enjoyed" cars.
I'm officially calling bullshit here. I mean, exactly how many different ways can we call something "used" and still get away with it. Calling a car used means that it is exactly that...a vehicle that someone else has used in the past to get from point A to point B. What/whom else they did in the car is really secondary to the vehicle's ability to maintain is functional use. What exactly was the previous owner enjoying while driving this car? Cheeseburgers? Littering? Road head? Who knows?
Since it's simply a method of conveyance, a car really does not deserve the "enjoyed" moniker. But it does beg the question...what does deserve the title? Leftover pizza? Movies purchased from the rental store? Hookers? I can hear it now... "Billionaire heiress Paris Hilton today received a much needed revirginization of her previously enjoyed beav."
Maybe I'm just reading too much into this and getting a bit off topic, but seriously...let's just called Paris Hilton what she is...used up!
One Size Fits...Most?
Originally posted January 30, 2006...
I discovered an interesting label on a hat today, and felt compelled to write something about it. The label in question read, "One Size Fits Most." This struck me as odd, as I recalled the good old days of "one size fits all." But it begged the question...when exactly did we lose the "all" part of the equation? I read recently that somewhere near 50% of the US populace is officially considered overweight, but all that means is that being overweight is now considered average. Congratulations if you're trying to be "average," Mr. Fat Man...you've made it! But I digress...
The point I'm getting at is that there are freaks amongst us whose noggins simply will not fit a traditionally-sized hat. Which begs another question...where does someone like this find appropriate headgear? Are there stores out there who, in the tradition of big and tall fashionistas, cater to the melon-headed? If so, what are they called, and where do we find them? Texas has always been a bastion of large-scale people, products, etc., so I'm assuming such a store would exist there. Where else could we get the notion of the 10-gallon hat?
Maybe I'm just rambling here, but there's an image I can't get out of my head after reading that label...South Park's Mr. Mackey (mmmkay?). King of the larger than life cranium, this guy would DEFINITELY benefit from the Texas-sized hat emporium (King Cranium's? Hydrocephalics 'R' Us? Big Head Todd & The Monsters?)!
Just realized that I've made absolutely no sense here, so I'll close for now. Thanks for reading...
The Pissgasm (Revisited)
Originally posted January 9, 2006...
A few months ago my buddy Dave blogged about a unique phenomenon that he nicknamed "The Pissgasm." The phenomenon occurs when you've been holding back a whiz for waaaaaaay longer than you should, resulting in an almost orgasmic rush of urine when you finally let fly. An interesting occurrence, no doubt.
So...being extremely busy and yet more than capable of chugging down a giant Dr. Pepper chased with about a gallon of water, I found myself in the excruciating position of reeeeeally needing to make a pit stop today. Flashing back to the Pissgasm blog, I was really looking forward to this particular trip in spite of the stalking cleaning lady. So in I go to visit ol' john, and things occur as normal...AS NORMAL! How pissed off (pun COMPLETELY intended here) was I to NOT experience the promised Pissgasm?
In what can only be described as a case of urinary blue balls, I retreated to the relative comfort of my cubicle dazed, confused and a little bit sad. My question is this...we all know the various methods of relieving blue balls, but what do we do in this particular situation? Do we chug more and more water, hold it in as long as possible, and pray for blessed release? Do we curse the urinal gods for the cruel hand they've dealt us, or do we curse Dave for putting this idea in our heads in the first place?
Perhaps there is no right or wrong answer, but one thing's for sure...blue balls suck regardless of the source!
A few months ago my buddy Dave blogged about a unique phenomenon that he nicknamed "The Pissgasm." The phenomenon occurs when you've been holding back a whiz for waaaaaaay longer than you should, resulting in an almost orgasmic rush of urine when you finally let fly. An interesting occurrence, no doubt.
So...being extremely busy and yet more than capable of chugging down a giant Dr. Pepper chased with about a gallon of water, I found myself in the excruciating position of reeeeeally needing to make a pit stop today. Flashing back to the Pissgasm blog, I was really looking forward to this particular trip in spite of the stalking cleaning lady. So in I go to visit ol' john, and things occur as normal...AS NORMAL! How pissed off (pun COMPLETELY intended here) was I to NOT experience the promised Pissgasm?
In what can only be described as a case of urinary blue balls, I retreated to the relative comfort of my cubicle dazed, confused and a little bit sad. My question is this...we all know the various methods of relieving blue balls, but what do we do in this particular situation? Do we chug more and more water, hold it in as long as possible, and pray for blessed release? Do we curse the urinal gods for the cruel hand they've dealt us, or do we curse Dave for putting this idea in our heads in the first place?
Perhaps there is no right or wrong answer, but one thing's for sure...blue balls suck regardless of the source!
No Iran, Those are MY Missiles!
Originally posted January 3, 2006...
Has anyone else ever wondered why it is that the US and its allies are the only ones allowed to have nuclear ("It's pronounced NEW-kyuh-ler." - Homer Simpson) weapons anymore? I was watching the news during lunch today, and one of the headline stories was that Iran was looking to re-up their nuclear program.
How dare they? Don't they know that W has strictly forbidden even the slightest THOUGHT of nuclear research by so-called "rogue nations?" What the hell is that about, anyway? That's like the neighborhood bully saying that you're not allowed to have hands because you might be able to fight back against him if/when he decides he's going to kick your ass. Sure, you might be willing to use those same hands for seemingly mindless tasks such as eating, grasping needed objects, etc., but all he sees is the imminent threat.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of the notion that Oomgallah bin Waddy Mow Mow may have access to the most destructive force known to man, but it hardly seems fair for anyone to tell him he can't. You know what we did when the British told us we couldn't have arms, tea, or voting rights of our own? That's right...we told 'em to go fuck themselves! Then we doled out a big 'ol helping of 18th century Whoopass and went our merry little way.
The way I see it, these "rogue nations" are a lot like a two-year old. They want what you tell them they can't have. And they'll do everything in their power to prove to you that they can handle whatever it is you tell them they can't have...even if it's something that can kill them and every other living thing on the planet.
The fact is, the Iranians most likely ARE thinking of using nuclear technology for weapons development in the long run, but it's going to be in the interest of self-preservation and deterrance. If we know they have the Bomb, says their logic, we'll leave them pretty much alone in much the same way we did with the former Soviet Union. Ever see the movie War Games (http://imdb.com/title/tt0086567/) with Matthew Broderick? He teaches some wise-ass computer that the only way to win the game of global thermonuclear war is "not to play." Same thing here, really.
So, Oomgallah bin Waddy Mow Mow, go ahead and do your nuclear research. Just know that Uncle Sam is pissed as all Hell about it, and that you'd better not make weapons-grade material out of it. We've all seen what happens when we think someone has weapons of mass destruction hiding out somewhere...
Has anyone else ever wondered why it is that the US and its allies are the only ones allowed to have nuclear ("It's pronounced NEW-kyuh-ler." - Homer Simpson) weapons anymore? I was watching the news during lunch today, and one of the headline stories was that Iran was looking to re-up their nuclear program.
How dare they? Don't they know that W has strictly forbidden even the slightest THOUGHT of nuclear research by so-called "rogue nations?" What the hell is that about, anyway? That's like the neighborhood bully saying that you're not allowed to have hands because you might be able to fight back against him if/when he decides he's going to kick your ass. Sure, you might be willing to use those same hands for seemingly mindless tasks such as eating, grasping needed objects, etc., but all he sees is the imminent threat.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of the notion that Oomgallah bin Waddy Mow Mow may have access to the most destructive force known to man, but it hardly seems fair for anyone to tell him he can't. You know what we did when the British told us we couldn't have arms, tea, or voting rights of our own? That's right...we told 'em to go fuck themselves! Then we doled out a big 'ol helping of 18th century Whoopass and went our merry little way.
The way I see it, these "rogue nations" are a lot like a two-year old. They want what you tell them they can't have. And they'll do everything in their power to prove to you that they can handle whatever it is you tell them they can't have...even if it's something that can kill them and every other living thing on the planet.
The fact is, the Iranians most likely ARE thinking of using nuclear technology for weapons development in the long run, but it's going to be in the interest of self-preservation and deterrance. If we know they have the Bomb, says their logic, we'll leave them pretty much alone in much the same way we did with the former Soviet Union. Ever see the movie War Games (http://imdb.com/title/tt0086567/) with Matthew Broderick? He teaches some wise-ass computer that the only way to win the game of global thermonuclear war is "not to play." Same thing here, really.
So, Oomgallah bin Waddy Mow Mow, go ahead and do your nuclear research. Just know that Uncle Sam is pissed as all Hell about it, and that you'd better not make weapons-grade material out of it. We've all seen what happens when we think someone has weapons of mass destruction hiding out somewhere...
The Cleaning Lady is Stalking Me
Originally posted January 3, 2006...
So my office has one of those full-time cleaning people whose job is to go around cleaning up after us slobbish oafs. She's phenomenally quick at picking up on any little mess, and indeed seems to have some kind of radar for detecting them. She has a lovely little conveyance that carries her trash cans, brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and the like; you can usually hear her coming a mile away with this contraption. The familiar CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE of her cart's approach lets you know that you're not safe anywhere...she could be coming to clean your desk RIGHT NOW!
The problem with this particular individual is that she has a knack for knowing EXACTLY when I have to use the restroom. Here's how the process usually goes: I'll be sitting at my desk minding my own business when suddenly nature calls. I calmly arise from my desk and stroll leisurely towards the nearest restroom (conveniently located about a country MILE from my desk!). I arrive in the restroom and commence the flow, when suddenly (but not suprisingly) I hear that old familiar sound...CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE. "Please let her go to the ladies room first," I think to myself, "and let me whiz in peace for once!" No sooner has this thought crossed my nimble little mind, however, than I hear yet another old familiar sound. In what can only be described as a Tommy Boy-esque scene (remember the old "Housekeeping?" gag?), there is a gentle rap at the door. Never accompanied by any verbal warning, the door swings open ever so slightly to reveal...not a face just yet, but rather a blue feather duster indicating an intention to clean the restroom. I jump ever so slightly (just enough to get a tell-tale dab of whiz on the old pantaloons), and shout out "There's someone in here!" The feather duster beats a hasty retreat, presumably to the ladies room, and I'm left to tend to my whiz-soaked trousers and fragile sense of privacy.
I know what you're thinking...she's got to be on some kind of cleaning schedule, and my dirty little business just happens to coincide with her timing, right? EH EH. As nature is wont to do, the timing of these little episodes varies greatly depending on myriad factors (water intake, work load, conference calls, etc.), and there's never any telling what time I'll be able to arise. The only thing I'm certain of is that three seconds into my flow I'll hear the old battle cry..."CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE."
I'm still trying to decide whether this is just a coincidence, or whether the big urinal in the sky has some greater plan that is drawing our paths to one another. Either way, I'm sure of this... if I ever whiz all over the wall/floor/ceiling/whatever, I'm CERTAIN that there will be a wise old feather duster-wielding sage to clean up after me.
So my office has one of those full-time cleaning people whose job is to go around cleaning up after us slobbish oafs. She's phenomenally quick at picking up on any little mess, and indeed seems to have some kind of radar for detecting them. She has a lovely little conveyance that carries her trash cans, brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and the like; you can usually hear her coming a mile away with this contraption. The familiar CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE of her cart's approach lets you know that you're not safe anywhere...she could be coming to clean your desk RIGHT NOW!
The problem with this particular individual is that she has a knack for knowing EXACTLY when I have to use the restroom. Here's how the process usually goes: I'll be sitting at my desk minding my own business when suddenly nature calls. I calmly arise from my desk and stroll leisurely towards the nearest restroom (conveniently located about a country MILE from my desk!). I arrive in the restroom and commence the flow, when suddenly (but not suprisingly) I hear that old familiar sound...CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE. "Please let her go to the ladies room first," I think to myself, "and let me whiz in peace for once!" No sooner has this thought crossed my nimble little mind, however, than I hear yet another old familiar sound. In what can only be described as a Tommy Boy-esque scene (remember the old "Housekeeping?" gag?), there is a gentle rap at the door. Never accompanied by any verbal warning, the door swings open ever so slightly to reveal...not a face just yet, but rather a blue feather duster indicating an intention to clean the restroom. I jump ever so slightly (just enough to get a tell-tale dab of whiz on the old pantaloons), and shout out "There's someone in here!" The feather duster beats a hasty retreat, presumably to the ladies room, and I'm left to tend to my whiz-soaked trousers and fragile sense of privacy.
I know what you're thinking...she's got to be on some kind of cleaning schedule, and my dirty little business just happens to coincide with her timing, right? EH EH. As nature is wont to do, the timing of these little episodes varies greatly depending on myriad factors (water intake, work load, conference calls, etc.), and there's never any telling what time I'll be able to arise. The only thing I'm certain of is that three seconds into my flow I'll hear the old battle cry..."CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE."
I'm still trying to decide whether this is just a coincidence, or whether the big urinal in the sky has some greater plan that is drawing our paths to one another. Either way, I'm sure of this... if I ever whiz all over the wall/floor/ceiling/whatever, I'm CERTAIN that there will be a wise old feather duster-wielding sage to clean up after me.
Reply to All
Originally posted January 3, 2006...
What the hell is the deal with people who hit the "reply to all" button when replying to an e-mail? Here I take the good time to be perfectly lazy and send out a blanket message to a group of people, and I expect individualized responses. Not happening, though... These self-centered bastards figure that EVERYONE must certainly care about their response. As such, they decide to share it with the world.
This is much worse in the workplace, as e-mails frequently get forwarded. Now, not only do people have to sift through my original e-mail to get the information they need, they have to sit through 40 pages of other people's bullshit just to get there!
Just a couple of quick thoughts to those of you who are guilty of this:
- If you're going to reply to all, at least have the decency to erase the other hooplah that comes along with your e-mail (ie, original mailing lists, your personal stationery, etc.)
- You're taking up other people's valuable time by being a douche...time that could easily be spent/wasted in other ways (ie, internet porn, hijacking music, etc.)
- Please just STOP!
Say Bob, What Kind of Tree is That?
Originally posted December 8, 2005...
Welcome to holiday season, 2005! It's time once again for the annual "What do I call my tree?" festival! All over the news this season you're bound to see stories about government buildings and their employees' quagmire...
Are they holiday trees? Christmas trees? Happy Hanakwanzamas trees? Non-denominational festival of pine-scented artificial trees trees?
Isn't it about time that we started calling them what they are? These are CHRISTMAS TREES ladies and gentlemen! Now I know what you're going to say..."But there are millions of people in America who don't celebrate Christmas, aren't Christian, or just flat don't believe that the government should force the holiday down their throats!" I say, BULLSHIT! While I'm certainly sympathetic to the fact that not everyone celebrates Christmas, the simple fact is that there are a lot of people who DO! The fact that not everyone celebrates the season is no reason to keep ANYONE from celebrating it. That's like saying I can't have cake on my birthday because you feel left out that it's not YOUR birthday!
But wait...what about that whole pesky "separation of Church and State" issue? Pretty simple, really. The founding fathers created the separation of Church and State in an effort to snuff out any attempts to create a theocratic government. I'm fairly certain, however, that they did NOT intend to snuff out any and all religious leanings within the people running the show! Plainly put, the lighting of a Christmas tree at city hall is NOT a precursor to some sort of overthrow of the government by God's footsoldiers. It's simply a pleasant reminder that there are in fact people who celebrate Christmas.
Time to let go of the anger here, people. Please feel free to celebrate whatever holiday you celebrate when it's time. If you want the government buildings in your area to plant a giant chick pea plant in celebration of Garbonzo Bean Awareness Month or something, it's your responsibility to bring that idea up. The trees are there because the constituency made their voices heard and elected individuals who believe in the Christmas holiday. It's that simple.
Have a nice day...
Suicidal Assholes!
Originally posted December 7, 2005...
In yet another fine example of what Darwin would call survival of the fittest, some asshole recently boarded an airplane in Miami claiming to have a bomb in his bag. He was subesquently shot and killed by federal air marshalls.
A couple of quick thoughts on this: 1. This guy absolutely deserved what he got...what an asshole! 2. The media will go absolutely apeshit over this during the coming weeks.
Point number one really speaks for itself, I think. I mean, really...what an asshole! Not only was he too weak to pull the trigger/pop the pills/string the rope himself, but he inconvenienced an entire PLANE full of people as well. Now all 180 passengers (if the flight was full) have to sit in the plane while they wait for it to be searched etc., all while the people who are waiting for them to arrive have to sit around with their thums in their butts while they wait even longer. To say nothing of the other incoming/outgoing flights that will be delayed by this ignorant boob!
This runs along the same lines as the douchebags who intentionally get pulled over by the police, only to pull a plastic cap gun or something on the officer, leading to their inevitable "assisted suicide." Ladies and gentlemen, if you're too lazy to kill yourself, please just do the rest of us a favor and lay around on your couch until you starve to death or something. Making your suicide a matter of public delay and interruption just makes world hate you more than you already thought it did.
Moral of the story...don't be a douche. If you want to kill yourself...fine. Just leave the rest of us out of it.
Have a nice day...
There's An Evil Monkey Living in My Closet!
Originally posted December 1, 2005...
Not really, but I have to say that the evil monkey living in Chris's closet on Family Guy is quite possibly the funniest thing ever commited to film (or cartoon, or whatever...). The ridiculous thing about this guy is that he never utters a word; he just sits there pointing and grimmacing violently in Chris's direction. No point here, really. He's just fucking hysterical! Have a nice day...
The Pee Hole
Originally posted November 22, 2005...
So I'm in the bathroom the other day, minding my own business, and what do I see? Some big fat guy with his pants practically around his frickin' ANKLES standing at the urinal taking a leak! What the hell is this all about?
The last time I checked, pants came with a zipper. Along these same lines, the majority of undergarments come fully equipped with a "pee hole," a nicely stitched zone that conveniently opens to allow passage of one's johnson. By simply applying the "unzip and flip" method of pulling one's sausage through the pee hole and subsequent zipper hole, any normal adult male can pretty much take care of things without needing to share the spectacle of his ass cheeks unceremoniously flapping in the breeze.
What the hell was this guy thinking? I couldn't begin to say... What I CAN say is that it's time for this particular gentleman (and others like him) to progress beyond the pre-school "rip 'em down and whip it out" methodolgy. There's a new school, fellas, and it's time you picked up the book and pulled up your pants!
Have a nice day...
So I'm in the bathroom the other day, minding my own business, and what do I see? Some big fat guy with his pants practically around his frickin' ANKLES standing at the urinal taking a leak! What the hell is this all about?
The last time I checked, pants came with a zipper. Along these same lines, the majority of undergarments come fully equipped with a "pee hole," a nicely stitched zone that conveniently opens to allow passage of one's johnson. By simply applying the "unzip and flip" method of pulling one's sausage through the pee hole and subsequent zipper hole, any normal adult male can pretty much take care of things without needing to share the spectacle of his ass cheeks unceremoniously flapping in the breeze.
What the hell was this guy thinking? I couldn't begin to say... What I CAN say is that it's time for this particular gentleman (and others like him) to progress beyond the pre-school "rip 'em down and whip it out" methodolgy. There's a new school, fellas, and it's time you picked up the book and pulled up your pants!
Have a nice day...
The Shocker!
Originally posted November 21, 2005...
My wife and I are huge Georgia Bulldog fans. This weekend, we attended the annual "Let's kick Kentucky's ass and laugh at them" game and had a blast. If you're familiar with college football at all, you already know that our quarterback this year is a senior named DJ Shockley. The kid's got talent, and will undoubtedly go far in his professional career. The problem with DJ, though, is his unfortunate surname. Shockley came to prominence just as a new and innovative sexual technique has come (heh heh) to the forefront with those of us whose minds are filthy (http://davidpbrown.net/).
I'm talking about, of course, The Shocker. For the uninitiated, the Shocker is a manuever whereby the male inserts his index and middle fingers into his partner's vagina, while simultaneously inserting his pinkie into her butthole (also known as "Two In The Bush, One In The Tush...thanks Dave!). The "Shocker" portion, of course, is the typical end-result of the maneuver...the young lady's inevitable screech of surprise and subsequent submission. The reason I bring this up is not just to educate, but also to share the following picture. This guy is a GENIUS, and I thank him for sharing with the rest of the world. To you, unknown purveyor of filth and prurient interest, I say "Thank You!" Your contributions to society will not go unnoticed. Have a nice day...
The "Entitlement Generation"
Originally posted August 10, 2005...
The other day I read an article that said people in my generation (early-to-late-twenties) consider themselves to be "entitled" to certain things: jobs, success, prosperity, etc. Apparently this stems from some kind of coddling we received as children, and has led us to believe that we should be handed everything on a silver platter. The issue raised by the article was that many companies and managers don't have the slightest clue how to motivate folks like us, and that the situation is costing millions in turnover, lost productivity and the like.
Here's my philosophy on this: if companies are truly interested in keeping folks happy, they need to realize a few simple truths...
1. People are inherently lazy
Think about it...if you had the choice of spending your entire day doing nothing other than watching TV and scrathching yourself or putting on a shirt and tie, sitting in traffic and then staring at a computer screen all day (which can be essentially like watching TV all day if you do it right)...which would you choose? Until managers learn how to motivate people to overcome this inherent need for Cheetos and nut-scratching, they'll never see a change.
2. People want to make lots and lots of money doing something they enjoy
You'll never hear anyone saying, "You know what I love? I love filling out documents and reports that have no bearing on the future of my company and making peanuts for it." By contrast, you would expect to hear them say, "I love playing this professional sport for a living and getting paid hundreds of millions of dollars for it." Of course, you don't always hear that either, do you? I guess that would be sub-category A...Some people love to bitch about their jobs regardless of the circumstances. It's time to pony up and pay the piper, folks. You simply can't expect people to spend nearly a third of their weekly time on work-related activities and NOT expect to be well-compensated for it. The almighty bottom-line, while certainly important, can NOT be maintained without first maintaining a competent and satisfied work force.
3. People crave positive leadership
When was the last time you heard someone say, "I really wish management would berate me more"? There is a startling trend among managers these days, and it seems to tell them that the way to keep employees going strong is to tell them what they're doing wrong (almost had myself a little rhyme there, but I'll move on...). Instead of focusing on the positive aspects of the business, they would rather prattle on about how everyone should be working harder, doing more with less, etc. Why not take the time to get to know what makes your employees tick, learn about their families and interests, etc.? You'd be AMAZED at the results you can receive from just a little bit of personal touch.
Just sayin'...
The other day I read an article that said people in my generation (early-to-late-twenties) consider themselves to be "entitled" to certain things: jobs, success, prosperity, etc. Apparently this stems from some kind of coddling we received as children, and has led us to believe that we should be handed everything on a silver platter. The issue raised by the article was that many companies and managers don't have the slightest clue how to motivate folks like us, and that the situation is costing millions in turnover, lost productivity and the like.
Here's my philosophy on this: if companies are truly interested in keeping folks happy, they need to realize a few simple truths...
1. People are inherently lazy
Think about it...if you had the choice of spending your entire day doing nothing other than watching TV and scrathching yourself or putting on a shirt and tie, sitting in traffic and then staring at a computer screen all day (which can be essentially like watching TV all day if you do it right)...which would you choose? Until managers learn how to motivate people to overcome this inherent need for Cheetos and nut-scratching, they'll never see a change.
2. People want to make lots and lots of money doing something they enjoy
You'll never hear anyone saying, "You know what I love? I love filling out documents and reports that have no bearing on the future of my company and making peanuts for it." By contrast, you would expect to hear them say, "I love playing this professional sport for a living and getting paid hundreds of millions of dollars for it." Of course, you don't always hear that either, do you? I guess that would be sub-category A...Some people love to bitch about their jobs regardless of the circumstances. It's time to pony up and pay the piper, folks. You simply can't expect people to spend nearly a third of their weekly time on work-related activities and NOT expect to be well-compensated for it. The almighty bottom-line, while certainly important, can NOT be maintained without first maintaining a competent and satisfied work force.
3. People crave positive leadership
When was the last time you heard someone say, "I really wish management would berate me more"? There is a startling trend among managers these days, and it seems to tell them that the way to keep employees going strong is to tell them what they're doing wrong (almost had myself a little rhyme there, but I'll move on...). Instead of focusing on the positive aspects of the business, they would rather prattle on about how everyone should be working harder, doing more with less, etc. Why not take the time to get to know what makes your employees tick, learn about their families and interests, etc.? You'd be AMAZED at the results you can receive from just a little bit of personal touch.
Just sayin'...
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Moo Turns Two II
Here are some great pictures from The Moo's party at CiCi's the other night. Way too cute not to share... :-)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Moo Turns Two!
First off, a little background...
When Matthew was born, our friends decided that it would be cool to call him "The Matthew." Since it sounded pretty cool, it naturally stuck with us and he has been "The Matthew" ever since. Somewhere along the line, though, Holly started calling him "Moo Moo." Was she simply craving milk at this particular time? One too many of the "Got Milk" ads caught her attention? No one's really sure. Regardless, after a while he gradually became "The Moo." Hence the title of this post...
Anyway, I'm pleased to announce that we made it through two wonderful years with The Moo as of last Sunday. Incredible as it may seem, Holly and I have managed to maintain our sanity in the face of TWO toddlers (see previous posts to learn more about how that sanity has been tested!), and we couldn't be happier!
The boys are both just wonderful, and they play together incredibly well now that The Moo is up and running at full speed. Sunday was kind of a wash for us, birthday-wise, with church and tennis taking up a huge amount of the day. Still, we managed to squeeze in some time for Matthew to get his birthday presents: a toy golf set from Chris, and a new bike from Holly and me!
Matthew's bike is so tiny, it almost looks like one of those toy bikes that they have bears ride on at the circus! He's completely cute on it, though, and tries his best to pedal along behind Chris wherever he goes. The problem is that his feet don't quite reach the pedals. Not to be deterred, though, he manages by kicking along on the ground, Flintstones-style. Mom and Dad bought him a helmet, too, so his little noggin will be nice and safe at all times. :-)
Here's a quick video of the birthday boy on his new toy. Enjoy!
When Matthew was born, our friends decided that it would be cool to call him "The Matthew." Since it sounded pretty cool, it naturally stuck with us and he has been "The Matthew" ever since. Somewhere along the line, though, Holly started calling him "Moo Moo." Was she simply craving milk at this particular time? One too many of the "Got Milk" ads caught her attention? No one's really sure. Regardless, after a while he gradually became "The Moo." Hence the title of this post...
Anyway, I'm pleased to announce that we made it through two wonderful years with The Moo as of last Sunday. Incredible as it may seem, Holly and I have managed to maintain our sanity in the face of TWO toddlers (see previous posts to learn more about how that sanity has been tested!), and we couldn't be happier!
The boys are both just wonderful, and they play together incredibly well now that The Moo is up and running at full speed. Sunday was kind of a wash for us, birthday-wise, with church and tennis taking up a huge amount of the day. Still, we managed to squeeze in some time for Matthew to get his birthday presents: a toy golf set from Chris, and a new bike from Holly and me!
Matthew's bike is so tiny, it almost looks like one of those toy bikes that they have bears ride on at the circus! He's completely cute on it, though, and tries his best to pedal along behind Chris wherever he goes. The problem is that his feet don't quite reach the pedals. Not to be deterred, though, he manages by kicking along on the ground, Flintstones-style. Mom and Dad bought him a helmet, too, so his little noggin will be nice and safe at all times. :-)
Here's a quick video of the birthday boy on his new toy. Enjoy!
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Tagged
So my friend Andrea "tagged" me today via blogger call-out. I'm still relatively new to the blogoshpere, so I'm not completely familiar with the phehomenon, but apparently it goes like this...
- Blogger has idea
- Blogger blogs about idea
- Blogger then "tags" other bloggers to respond on their own blogs by publicly calling them out
- "Tagged" blogger replies on his/her own blog, and the cycle either continues or dies out
It's kind of the Internet equivalent of Yo Mama jokes. Someone says something to the effect of "Your mama is so stupid she stared at a can of orange juice for an hour because it said 'concentrate!'" In response, you're required to fire back a similarly witty one-liner, and things carry on until all verbal assaults have been launched.
Why the lengthy discourse on "tagging?" Why the heck not? Anyway...Andrea called me out after blogging about her 6-Word Philosohpy on Life. The idea here is to summarize your philosohpy on life in...you guessed it!...six words. Mine? "Live Well. Laugh Often. Love Much." Totally stolen, I'll grant you, but perfect nonetheless.
Since I don't much feel up to a continued game of tag, I think I'll leave this one for now. Feel free to comment if you've got a good 6-word philosophy, though. You never know who just might tag you next...
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
LB...Little Buddy, or Little B@stard?!?
We've called Chris "Little Buddy" pretty much since Day 1. When Matthew joined the fracas, we naturally came to call him "Littlest Buddy" and "Baby Buddy." In the end, though, we typically call Chris "LB" for short, and Matthew has - somehow - become "The Moo." Not sure where the latter nickname came from, but we'll delve into it in another post at a later time. For now, I'm focusing on LB because it fits a clevery-worded title intended to imply that my kids are, in fact, Little B@stards!
Why, you ask, would a seemingly-loving father of two call out his boys like this? It's pretty simple, really...they're destructive forces of nature who, when put together unsupervised (as they often are on weekend mornings when they've arisen at 6 a.m.) create a "perfect storm" of toddlerhood. Illustrate my point, you say? No problem!
Case #1 -
Saturday, February 23
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
After taking the boys downstairs and feeding them their traditional breakfast of microwaveable pancakes (Yes, I'm lazy...but they're delicious!), I left them in the care of the all-powerful babysitter, Sponge Bob. As an aside here, I LOVE Sponge Bob. It's ridiculous, zany, and hilarious for kids AND adults. Back to the matter at hand, though... I fed the boys, turned on Sponge Bob for them, and headed back upstairs for a few extra minutes of sleep. About 20 minutes later, I realized that things had gotten eerily quiet downstairs. If you're a parent, you know this is NEVER a good thing. Two quiet kids equals two kids who are clearly up to no good and don't want Mom and Dad to know about it.
So...pulse appropriately raised and resolve firmly steeled, I headed back downstairs to see what they were up to. From the upstairs landing, I could already see what I was in for. A trail of papers and destruction led from the living room into the hallway towards the toyroom. And was that my WALLET on the floor next to the couch? Sprinting down the steps two at a time, I arrived next to the couch to find that, indeed, my wallet had been emptied and left for dead. Not good... A quick trip into the toyroom confirmed my fears: the boys had completely emptied not only my wallet, but Holly's purse as well! Papers, receipts, various bric-a-brac, credit cards, etc., all thrown to the four winds. Nice. Needless to say, the boys spent some time in their rooms as a result.
Fast forward to:
Case #2 -
Saturday, March 1
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
On the Saturday in question, Holly was kind enough to let me sleep in since I had worked pretty late the prvious night. Based on what she found when she went downstairs to check on the boys that morning, I'm pretty sure she'll never do that again!
Holly headed downstairs at about 8:30, then promptly returned to our bedroom and said, "Can you come down here, please? I need your help with something." CRAP! Not only was I more or less exhausted, but I knew nothing good could come out of the situation based on her tone of voice. How right I was...
When I left the bedroom, I noticed that the boys' bedroom doors were closed, and I could hear the muffled sound of vaguely-irritated children from behind them. That should've been a clue. So we head downstairs, Holly committed to a tight-lipped persona until we got to the toy room. I turned the corner and almost fell down in shock!
Bottles of ear drops, Children's Tylenol, eye drops, even a spray can of sunscreen (!) littered the toyroom floor. Now, before you accuse us of not sufficiently baby-proofing our medicines to keep them out of the hands of little ones, know this...the aforementioned goodies typically reside in a kitchen cabinet that is about 8 feet off the ground!! Apparently Chris had climbed up on the kitchen counters, opened the cabinet, and reached his way up there to grab these things.
SO...here we have a room full of once-full bottles, and a lot of strangely-shaped and colored spots all over the carpet in the toyroom. And did I smell Pina Coladas?!? Not necessarily. Apparently the boys had chosen to spray suntan lotion all over their toy kitchen! A lovely smell, I'll grant you, but not necessarily one that you anticipate when walking into a children's play room. :-)
I asked Holly if she knew what had happened, and she just started cracking up. Apparently, when she came into the room to check on the kids BOTH of them were stark naked, and Chris was dancing a little jig on top of Holly's stepper (which had been pulled from the hall closet)! I guess kids just aren't content to throw a bunch of liquids around their toyroom anymore. Nope...they've just gotta' be naked!
Later on in the day (after they'd spent some serious time in their rooms for almost killing themselves) I asked Chris why he'd done all that. His response? "Matthew wanted me to do it!" I'll let you ruminate on that one for a while. Remember, this is a kid who's not yet two "telling" his brother he wants to do something. I smell just a little bit of BS in the air...how 'bout you?
Case #3 (the final one...I hope!) -
Saturday, March 8
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
Are you noting a trend here? 8:30 is apparently "The Witching Hour" for my little monkeys, and they're not at all ashamed to take on new and greater chances for destruction. At this point, the stories had already reached to my Grandma in Iowa, who called on Friday the 7th to ask what we thought the boys would be doing on the 8th to destroy the house! Low and behold! The answer came at (you guessed it!) about 8:30 the next morning.
Once again, the boys had dined on a fabulous feast of microwaveable goodness, though this time they enjoyed waffles as opposed to pancakes. The other subtle difference on this particular day is that I went upstairs to do (gasp!) laundry instead of going back to bed. I hadn't been gone more than 5 minutes, and yet when I ventured back downstairs to the toyroom I was greeted with THIS:
That's right...every BIT of wrapping paper that could possibly be fit into the closet was now strewn hither and yon across the toy room. The "LBs" had struck again, and this time in a VERY short time frame. They were organized, and they were getting better...it was time to nip this in the bud. In a frenzy, I resorted to the basest human instinct: threats against all toys, books, friends, and fun.
Why, you ask, would a seemingly-loving father of two call out his boys like this? It's pretty simple, really...they're destructive forces of nature who, when put together unsupervised (as they often are on weekend mornings when they've arisen at 6 a.m.) create a "perfect storm" of toddlerhood. Illustrate my point, you say? No problem!
Case #1 -
Saturday, February 23
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
After taking the boys downstairs and feeding them their traditional breakfast of microwaveable pancakes (Yes, I'm lazy...but they're delicious!), I left them in the care of the all-powerful babysitter, Sponge Bob. As an aside here, I LOVE Sponge Bob. It's ridiculous, zany, and hilarious for kids AND adults. Back to the matter at hand, though... I fed the boys, turned on Sponge Bob for them, and headed back upstairs for a few extra minutes of sleep. About 20 minutes later, I realized that things had gotten eerily quiet downstairs. If you're a parent, you know this is NEVER a good thing. Two quiet kids equals two kids who are clearly up to no good and don't want Mom and Dad to know about it.
So...pulse appropriately raised and resolve firmly steeled, I headed back downstairs to see what they were up to. From the upstairs landing, I could already see what I was in for. A trail of papers and destruction led from the living room into the hallway towards the toyroom. And was that my WALLET on the floor next to the couch? Sprinting down the steps two at a time, I arrived next to the couch to find that, indeed, my wallet had been emptied and left for dead. Not good... A quick trip into the toyroom confirmed my fears: the boys had completely emptied not only my wallet, but Holly's purse as well! Papers, receipts, various bric-a-brac, credit cards, etc., all thrown to the four winds. Nice. Needless to say, the boys spent some time in their rooms as a result.
Fast forward to:
Case #2 -
Saturday, March 1
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
On the Saturday in question, Holly was kind enough to let me sleep in since I had worked pretty late the prvious night. Based on what she found when she went downstairs to check on the boys that morning, I'm pretty sure she'll never do that again!
Holly headed downstairs at about 8:30, then promptly returned to our bedroom and said, "Can you come down here, please? I need your help with something." CRAP! Not only was I more or less exhausted, but I knew nothing good could come out of the situation based on her tone of voice. How right I was...
When I left the bedroom, I noticed that the boys' bedroom doors were closed, and I could hear the muffled sound of vaguely-irritated children from behind them. That should've been a clue. So we head downstairs, Holly committed to a tight-lipped persona until we got to the toy room. I turned the corner and almost fell down in shock!
Bottles of ear drops, Children's Tylenol, eye drops, even a spray can of sunscreen (!) littered the toyroom floor. Now, before you accuse us of not sufficiently baby-proofing our medicines to keep them out of the hands of little ones, know this...the aforementioned goodies typically reside in a kitchen cabinet that is about 8 feet off the ground!! Apparently Chris had climbed up on the kitchen counters, opened the cabinet, and reached his way up there to grab these things.
SO...here we have a room full of once-full bottles, and a lot of strangely-shaped and colored spots all over the carpet in the toyroom. And did I smell Pina Coladas?!? Not necessarily. Apparently the boys had chosen to spray suntan lotion all over their toy kitchen! A lovely smell, I'll grant you, but not necessarily one that you anticipate when walking into a children's play room. :-)
I asked Holly if she knew what had happened, and she just started cracking up. Apparently, when she came into the room to check on the kids BOTH of them were stark naked, and Chris was dancing a little jig on top of Holly's stepper (which had been pulled from the hall closet)! I guess kids just aren't content to throw a bunch of liquids around their toyroom anymore. Nope...they've just gotta' be naked!
Later on in the day (after they'd spent some serious time in their rooms for almost killing themselves) I asked Chris why he'd done all that. His response? "Matthew wanted me to do it!" I'll let you ruminate on that one for a while. Remember, this is a kid who's not yet two "telling" his brother he wants to do something. I smell just a little bit of BS in the air...how 'bout you?
Case #3 (the final one...I hope!) -
Saturday, March 8
Approximately 8:30 a.m.
Are you noting a trend here? 8:30 is apparently "The Witching Hour" for my little monkeys, and they're not at all ashamed to take on new and greater chances for destruction. At this point, the stories had already reached to my Grandma in Iowa, who called on Friday the 7th to ask what we thought the boys would be doing on the 8th to destroy the house! Low and behold! The answer came at (you guessed it!) about 8:30 the next morning.
Once again, the boys had dined on a fabulous feast of microwaveable goodness, though this time they enjoyed waffles as opposed to pancakes. The other subtle difference on this particular day is that I went upstairs to do (gasp!) laundry instead of going back to bed. I hadn't been gone more than 5 minutes, and yet when I ventured back downstairs to the toyroom I was greeted with THIS:
That's right...every BIT of wrapping paper that could possibly be fit into the closet was now strewn hither and yon across the toy room. The "LBs" had struck again, and this time in a VERY short time frame. They were organized, and they were getting better...it was time to nip this in the bud. In a frenzy, I resorted to the basest human instinct: threats against all toys, books, friends, and fun. I told Chris that if anything like this EVER happened again, I would take away all of his toys, books, etc., and that he wouldn't be able to go to Annabeth's birthday party the following day. THAT certainly got his attention! He apologized immediately, and helped me clean up the mess. Why, you ask, had I not attempted this before? Believe it or not, we HAD! In the end, it was the Annabeth threat that worked the best. I guess guys are never too young to stop acting stupid when it means they can impress a girl! :-)
As a side note on this particular episode, Chris later told me that he had trashed the toyroom because he was "mad at Aunt Katie." Aunt Katie, you may recall, is actually Annabeth's mom's sister. How she has become Chris's aunt is a bit beyond us, but she's nevertheless become quite the active family member at our house. I never did figure out why he was mad at her, but Lord knows that threats of not getting to hang out with her niece certainly work!
So, are our "LBs" Little Buddies...or Little B@stards? Only time will tell!
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