Get it???
Here's the part about post-thanksgiving that no on really wants to talk about: the poo. After embibing somewhere between 2,000 to 4,ooo calories in a single day which consists mostly of sitting around, it's all gotta come out somehow.
I tend to hold a little ceremony. It's a huge undertaking to dispell such a load, so I don't think it's blowing it out of proportion to take some special care before you blow out your digested portions. I wake up, do some sit ups, light a vanilla scented candle, drop my pants and let gravity take over. It's really a special moment.
It might seem a bit graphic, but I haven't really even gone in to detail... and I don't really even plan to! Kids might read this, you perverts! The putrid thoughts and inevitable sense of relief you must be feeling through sake of association is all in your head, bub.
So this post-thanksgiving day, I ask for you to take a minute before you reach for that toilet handle. Take a look down at what once was, and feel no regrets as your past memories of savory food, family fun, and thanksgiving feelings spiral downward in a clockwise motion...
Bird bird bird, bird is the turd...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Happy Spanksgiving
Well it's the turkey-est of holidays and I'm trying to force out a ripe loaf and I can't help but reflect on this joyous occasion...
My uncle, my aunt, and their three nephews had to bail on coming to visit at the last second because of some unforseen events. This isn't a huge deal, aside from the fact that my mama bought a 21 lb turkey. Also, my brother has decided he's above meat again, so that leaves 21 lbs of delicious flightless bird for my mom, my dad, and myself. If you include the 30,000 sides that we also had planned out, we probably don't have to shop again for the next year. Shit, I'm praying that some sort of natural disaster hits at this point b/c we are STACKED. I'm going to be eating so much turkey that it's going to start gobbling through my veins.
The odd part about thanksgiving this year was that I seem to have it down to a science. I literally could run through the whole holiday mechanically because I know exactly what I'm going to do, exactly when and how I'm going to do it, exactly what I'm going to eat, blah-yadda- so-on... Somehow the routine never gets old though. The timelessness of this holiday exists on the fact that you can piddle around and gorge yourself guiltlessly, so long as it's with good friends and/or family and then collapse in to a pile of gluttony with no negative connotations.
It also signifies the beginning of the Christmas season, possibly one of the greatest times of every year (aside from football and anything else that sustains revelry and fragrantly scented candles). I've already busted out the, "Charlie Brown Christmas Album" and I'm contemplating going to the mall to harass the fake Santa tomorrow, all in the Spirit of the holidays.
I hope that everyone is on the same page as I am about this fantastic time of year, and I'll wrap this one up despite the fact that it's scattered and none-to-entertaining because it's time to go force some pecan pie down in to the semi-nonexistent corners of my stomach. I just wanted to pay some homage to this celebratory time of year, but I've got some good sauce to lay out there tomorrow.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
My uncle, my aunt, and their three nephews had to bail on coming to visit at the last second because of some unforseen events. This isn't a huge deal, aside from the fact that my mama bought a 21 lb turkey. Also, my brother has decided he's above meat again, so that leaves 21 lbs of delicious flightless bird for my mom, my dad, and myself. If you include the 30,000 sides that we also had planned out, we probably don't have to shop again for the next year. Shit, I'm praying that some sort of natural disaster hits at this point b/c we are STACKED. I'm going to be eating so much turkey that it's going to start gobbling through my veins.
The odd part about thanksgiving this year was that I seem to have it down to a science. I literally could run through the whole holiday mechanically because I know exactly what I'm going to do, exactly when and how I'm going to do it, exactly what I'm going to eat, blah-yadda- so-on... Somehow the routine never gets old though. The timelessness of this holiday exists on the fact that you can piddle around and gorge yourself guiltlessly, so long as it's with good friends and/or family and then collapse in to a pile of gluttony with no negative connotations.
It also signifies the beginning of the Christmas season, possibly one of the greatest times of every year (aside from football and anything else that sustains revelry and fragrantly scented candles). I've already busted out the, "Charlie Brown Christmas Album" and I'm contemplating going to the mall to harass the fake Santa tomorrow, all in the Spirit of the holidays.
I hope that everyone is on the same page as I am about this fantastic time of year, and I'll wrap this one up despite the fact that it's scattered and none-to-entertaining because it's time to go force some pecan pie down in to the semi-nonexistent corners of my stomach. I just wanted to pay some homage to this celebratory time of year, but I've got some good sauce to lay out there tomorrow.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The BOOM BOOM Walk, or "The day I practiced to be a terrorist bomber"
One of the many reasons that inspired me to start this blog was because of my excess of free time due to lack of occupation. I am in this predicament by my own accord, but for the last 2 months I have been searching for something to bring home some bread. Well, the durn economic crisis is really nippin at muh haunches and I haven't had much luck finding work... until today.
Today I had my first day of work in several months and it isn't exactly run of the mill. I was called one of the various temp agencies I've groveled at called and asked me to fulfill a very peculiar position...
"So Rick, are you interested in being a mock-suicide bomber?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you kind of strap on these vests and then you walk around and this machine takes some readings. It's not very difficult and it will be more clear when you get there."
"What's the pay?"
"12 dollars an hour"
"How often could I get paid 12 dollars an hour to be suicide bomber and then be able to spend the paycheck after the fact, right? (awkward pause) Yeah, sign me up."
I arrived at Quantico base at the predetermined time to find 3 very cold looking people operating a strange looking device that was overlooking a field filled with a large triangle of cones. The cones were set apart in an isocolean manner (nerds, you totally know what that is too, don't you?!?) in increments of about 100 yards by 100 yards 20 yards.
"So what exactly are we doing today?" I asked.
"Well, we're going to put fake varieties of mock-suicide bomb vests and conceal them under your clothing. Then you're going to walk from cone to cone so the machine can get an accurate reading and detect whether or not you're strapped."
'Sounds easy enough,' I thought to myself... AND HOW! Monkeys could've done this, but then again, I doubt monkeys would've known what to do with the 40 dollars they would've made after the fact so maybe it was better off I continue to thwart the primate labor unions. We literally spent an hour and a half walking around this large, coneular triangle with a lovely variety of silicone based and shrapnel laden mock-bombs. I wasn't allowed to carry my ipod or my cell phone while we were doing the simulation because apparently those waves can disrupt the readings for the radar machine. I think it's ridiculous to pre-suppose that a suicide bomber wouldn't be bumpin some tunes before you blew himself to the heavens, but rules are rules so I had to abide. Anyhow, the walking was cold but brief, and when I had done my fair share of low-intensity, gentle impact bombing, I was free to go.
I couldn't help but wonder that if you were going to be a real suicide bomber that the training program would be a bit more rigorous, but then again I guess if they limit you to just being a walker and not a runner you'll be even fatter, thereby creating much more blubbery debris to litter the country side for your explosive cause.
I also started thinking about what it would be like to be a middle-eastern trying to peddle a jacket full of verizon phones past a check point that was equipped with one of these machines. I bet it would set that radar off and he would get lit up like a Christmas tree.
The point of this story is that our economy is dragging so low that I had to result to being a suicide bomber for 12 dollars an hour like a common hooker. A common, explosive hooker, damnit! Things better shape up soon or i'm going to have to start taking on jobs as mock torpedoes, and I don't know how long I can hold my breath anymore!
It was a typically weird day, so please, I promise not to use what I now know to blow you up, but only if you can find me a real job. Thanks friends!
Come back again if you want to get blasted
Today I had my first day of work in several months and it isn't exactly run of the mill. I was called one of the various temp agencies I've groveled at called and asked me to fulfill a very peculiar position...
"So Rick, are you interested in being a mock-suicide bomber?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you kind of strap on these vests and then you walk around and this machine takes some readings. It's not very difficult and it will be more clear when you get there."
"What's the pay?"
"12 dollars an hour"
"How often could I get paid 12 dollars an hour to be suicide bomber and then be able to spend the paycheck after the fact, right? (awkward pause) Yeah, sign me up."
I arrived at Quantico base at the predetermined time to find 3 very cold looking people operating a strange looking device that was overlooking a field filled with a large triangle of cones. The cones were set apart in an isocolean manner (nerds, you totally know what that is too, don't you?!?) in increments of about 100 yards by 100 yards 20 yards.
"So what exactly are we doing today?" I asked.
"Well, we're going to put fake varieties of mock-suicide bomb vests and conceal them under your clothing. Then you're going to walk from cone to cone so the machine can get an accurate reading and detect whether or not you're strapped."
'Sounds easy enough,' I thought to myself... AND HOW! Monkeys could've done this, but then again, I doubt monkeys would've known what to do with the 40 dollars they would've made after the fact so maybe it was better off I continue to thwart the primate labor unions. We literally spent an hour and a half walking around this large, coneular triangle with a lovely variety of silicone based and shrapnel laden mock-bombs. I wasn't allowed to carry my ipod or my cell phone while we were doing the simulation because apparently those waves can disrupt the readings for the radar machine. I think it's ridiculous to pre-suppose that a suicide bomber wouldn't be bumpin some tunes before you blew himself to the heavens, but rules are rules so I had to abide. Anyhow, the walking was cold but brief, and when I had done my fair share of low-intensity, gentle impact bombing, I was free to go.
I couldn't help but wonder that if you were going to be a real suicide bomber that the training program would be a bit more rigorous, but then again I guess if they limit you to just being a walker and not a runner you'll be even fatter, thereby creating much more blubbery debris to litter the country side for your explosive cause.
I also started thinking about what it would be like to be a middle-eastern trying to peddle a jacket full of verizon phones past a check point that was equipped with one of these machines. I bet it would set that radar off and he would get lit up like a Christmas tree.
The point of this story is that our economy is dragging so low that I had to result to being a suicide bomber for 12 dollars an hour like a common hooker. A common, explosive hooker, damnit! Things better shape up soon or i'm going to have to start taking on jobs as mock torpedoes, and I don't know how long I can hold my breath anymore!
It was a typically weird day, so please, I promise not to use what I now know to blow you up, but only if you can find me a real job. Thanks friends!
Come back again if you want to get blasted
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Unmessing the muck in my bloggy mind...
So i've realized that it's been far too long since I've done anything remotely fun and/or creative so I'm starting this blog to keep myself, and perhaps others, entertained. This is immediately going against my better judgement as I despise the word, "blog" and have thereby had a deep-seeded hatred for it for sometime. Upon consultation of wikipedia, it turns out that "blog" merely stands for "web long" in the abbreviated sense, so I guess now that I understand it I can come to terms with it, embrace it, and then ravage it with all that is word-ly.
I plan on keeping this initial post a short one because I tend to ramble enough as it is. I'm 24, living at home in the classic re-nest situation, drinking somewhat excessively, job hunting in a proverbial state of sweat-pants and 11 am wake-ups, and somehow still managing to be in the prime of my life. Jealousy would normally consume a lesser person who comes across a situation such as mine, but I'm going to assume that i can pride myself on having only the highest caliber of readers.
I also think that a clotted build-up of creativity is ready to be forced from the bottleneck within my head and spewed out in a kablooey of bloggish, clanks, booms, and various other onomatopoeia. This fact coupled with my excess of free time spent searching for jobs and picking up shifts at my local outfitter giving back-country fashion advice should allow for plenty of absurd and hilarious posts.
I've lived an interesting life up to this point with no shortage of stories, but I'll let those unfold as time dictates. I hope this experiment of re-visitation to my more literary side proves to be a fun one, but in the mean time I'll just sit on my crossed fingers hoping that this overview has lubed and prepped everyone's mind for one hell of a ride through my own. If you're already feeling in over your head, you should probably stay out of mine...
Stay tuned...
I plan on keeping this initial post a short one because I tend to ramble enough as it is. I'm 24, living at home in the classic re-nest situation, drinking somewhat excessively, job hunting in a proverbial state of sweat-pants and 11 am wake-ups, and somehow still managing to be in the prime of my life. Jealousy would normally consume a lesser person who comes across a situation such as mine, but I'm going to assume that i can pride myself on having only the highest caliber of readers.
I also think that a clotted build-up of creativity is ready to be forced from the bottleneck within my head and spewed out in a kablooey of bloggish, clanks, booms, and various other onomatopoeia. This fact coupled with my excess of free time spent searching for jobs and picking up shifts at my local outfitter giving back-country fashion advice should allow for plenty of absurd and hilarious posts.
I've lived an interesting life up to this point with no shortage of stories, but I'll let those unfold as time dictates. I hope this experiment of re-visitation to my more literary side proves to be a fun one, but in the mean time I'll just sit on my crossed fingers hoping that this overview has lubed and prepped everyone's mind for one hell of a ride through my own. If you're already feeling in over your head, you should probably stay out of mine...
Stay tuned...
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