Saturday, March 31, 2007

More True Dog Tales

I'm an unsupervised bear this weekend as Wife is at the Spa with her girlfriends. So I have The Hound to watch full time.

While he contemplates whether he'll ever get a job and why we're poisoning all his puppy pals, he suggests that I just feed him steak sandwiches while we wait for this whole pet food scare to blow over.

Our first tale comes from this morning when I was trying to go the bathroom. As I did my business without exclamations of "Good Boy" or "Potty Time," a wet black nose inched the bathroom door open. Soon I was looking at some hazel eyes looking back at me with interest.

"This is only fair," I said to Guiness the Wonder Dog. "After all, I've been watching you poop for three weeks."

Apparently, Guiness didn't think it was that funny as he just stared back at me.

Our second tale just happened. I had dropped The Hound at Pets Rule Your Life. He was getting groomed as he was smelling a bit doggy and his dreads were looking a bit unkempt.

They called to let me know that "Genius" was ready to be picked up. Who would name their dog Genius? We're talking about an animal that greets others of his species with a hearty anal sniff and would willingly spend the entire day licking himself. Yup, sounds like a genius to me. Maybe I'll start calling that store PetNotSoSmart.

In any event, Guinness the Wonder Dog is bathed and groomed and puffy. They even put one of those queer bandanas on him. I'll leave it on for Wife, but all the other dogs are going to make fun of him.

This is his cheesecake pose by the way. You can just see the lame bandana.

Down girls, he's neutered.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Bag Man

If you're in Spartanburg, South Carolina, you might want to check out the new purses. That's right, Jenifer Steller has created something called the Bravura. It's a purse made out of a recycled bra.

Now I've known women who occasionally tucked a buck there, but never used their whole bra for a bag.

Don't loan your Bravura to your husband. He'll never be able to get it open.

Now I couldn't find a slogan for the Bravura anywhere. So of course, I took it upon myself to make up a few:
  • Snuggle up with our bags
  • Show off your Bravuras
  • Gravity defying bags
  • Let your Bravuras free
  • Don't let anyone else hold your Bravura
  • The best support purse ever
  • Bravura lifts and separates
  • The other fun bag
  • Bravura is beautiful
  • The clasp is in the front
  • The second base bag
  • No one will snatch this purse
  • Recycle, Restrain, Rejoice
  • Don't let your Grandma's Bravura drag on the ground

Feel free to play along at home, kids.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Hot Chicks

Gary Baja has a problem. It's his restaurant. He can't find a name for it.

Gary owns a chicken restaurant that's been through 4 names in just three years. He started with Mother Cluckers. Shut yo mouth. Hey, I'm just talking 'bout Gary.

His landlord thought that was a little racy. So Gary switched to C.R. Smokin' Chicks. Too bad people thought it was a strip club. A strip club where all the dancers smell like chicken? That'd make a bunch of money in this state.

So Gary got rid of the C.R. and just went with Smokin' Chix. Which was fine until he got sued by a Missouri restaurant with the same name.

Then Gary added ribs to the menu and renamed it Smokin' Ribs and Chicks. Unfortunately, the trademark office turned down the name because it too close to another Missouri restaurant.

So now Gary is a man without a name. Well you now we swell interweb types can't put up with that. So here you go, Gary. This is what scheduled spontaneous creativity will do for you.
  • Tastes Like Rattlesnake
  • The Breading Beneath My Wings
  • Hot Thighs Check Them and See
  • Southern Fried Chicks
  • Finger Lickin' Chicks
  • Chix Marks the Spot
  • Nibblelicious
  • Sir Clucks a Lot
  • Suicide Chix
  • Chick 'N Jive
  • Not Cleavacious Breasts
  • Mason Dixie Chicks
  • Poultry Pantry
  • Wings and Things
  • Fry Like An Eagle

Okay, I'll shut up now.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Gotta Keep Em Separated

When did the guy from The Crying Game have time to record all those songs?

I don't see it.

He has a lot more delicate features than she does.

Separated At Birth

I'm amazed how well that guy from The Crying Game has been playing in the NCAA tournament.

He didn't seem to have those kind of mad athletic skills in Stargate.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

About Damn Time

It's good to see that a true hero is finally getting the respect she deserves. Yes, Samantha Fox is getting a life size statue in Cacak, Sarajevo.

And you'd better buy something from her web site. Because it doesn't look like that poor girl has enough money to afford a shirt in most of her pictures.

And even though "life sized" is only 5'1" for the divine Ms. Fox, I'm sure her likeness will be quite striking.

As one fan put it:

"We are also aware that her most famous attributes may require special treatment, so we are planning on using the best quality marble only."

Hmmm, what's the best kind of marble to capture clumsy dancing? There's a reason there was a garbage can featured so prominently in that video.

I kid, Sam, I kid. Because I care.

Unfortunately, the big story doesn't say what the plaque on the statue is going to read. So let me suggest the following:
  • Do Ya, Do Ya (Wanna Sculpt Me)
  • Naughty Girls Need Marble Too
  • All About the Music
  • I Can't Get No (Exploitation)
  • I Only Wanna Be Photographed By You
  • Sculpt Me, Sculpt Me (But the Pants Stay On)
  • I Surrender (to the Pigeons)
  • Nothings Gonna Sculpt Me Now

Okay, I can't take any more of this. This music is making me queasy.

Feel free to play along at home kids.

Friday, March 23, 2007

With Apologies to Warren Zevon

If you're in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, watch yourself. They've got a werewolf there. Werewolf? There, wolf. Okay, it's actually someone who claims he is a werewolf after he broke into a woman's apartment.

If you don't believe in werewolves, just ask Dwight Schrute. Dwight says, "I shot a werewolf once. But by the time I got to him, he had changed back into my neighbor's dog."

A woman in Fond du Lac (where fondue was actually invented) called police at 3:00 am to report a man breaking into her house. Why do these things always happen then at 3:00 am? Because that's when the bars close.

The man actually broke through the deadbolt on the door. Sure, he's got the strength of 10 men as a werewolf.

Two men in the house grabbed the alleged werewolf and stopped him until the police arrived. Those guys must have been armed with silver bullets or something. I wonder if the werewolf just wanted to hop up on the couch?

As a public service announcement, if a werewolf tries to enter your home, roll up a newspaper and firmly say, "No" in a steady voice. Do not raise your voice. A high pitched tone will only excite the werewolf and perhaps cause him to mark his territory. And you won't have a plastic bag on hand big enough to pick that up.

If the werewolf was really smart, he'd have just transmogrified and pretended to be the lady's dog when the cops got there. Did the cops take him to jail or to the pound?

The man had been drinking heavily (what a surprise) and was eventually charged with criminal trespassing, criminal damage to property, disorderly conduct and possession of marijuana. Who saw that coming? There's nothing worse than a werewolf with the munchies. Hide all the Snausages.

Oh, and he wasn't on a leash and wasn't wearing his tags.

Happy Friday, kids. Try not to let any werewolves bite you this weekend. Even if she does look like Christina Ricci.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Best Dog Joke Ever

Guinness the Wonder Dog says, "Hi." Oh, and he wants a steak sandwich.

He's so smart that he learned to shake in just one day. In fact, he's such a quick study that he doesn't even wait for you to say "shake." He just puts his paw on you to signal that he's ready for more food.

But he did tell me this really great dog joke:

A guy was looking at the classified ads in Florida and saw a ad that says "Talking Dog $20." So he goes to the house listed in the ad and asks the owner what the deal was with the talking dog. The owner said he was in the back bedroom.

Sitting on a bed with a tv remote in hand, the dog looks up and says, "Hey, how you doing?"

The guy is flabbergasted, "You're really a talking dog! What heck are you doing here in Florida?"
"Well," the dog says, "let me tell you."

"I was at Ground Zero on 9/11 and helped save people who were buried in the debris. Then I was in the Gulf War for a while bringing medicine to injured soldiers. Then I helped sniff for terrorist bombs at the JFK. Then I was on Broadway in Riverdance. Then I helped patrol the border and sniff out drug runners before my partner got shot. It all just got to be too much. So I retired down here."

The guy goes out into the other room and says, "This is amazing. How can you sell a dog like that for only twenty dollars?"

The owner replies loud enough for the dog in the other room to hear, "Cause he's a BIG LIAR!"

Yeah, I thought a joke telling dog was amazing too. But he stole that joke from Rob Haney.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Erin go braughless

Happy St. Paddy's, kids. I don't know what's put me on such a lyrical drinking bent, but here's another one that never fails to make me smile.

This is from the crazy hep cats of DaVinci's Notebook and is called "Another Irish Drinking Song." If you want to hear it in all it's four part harmonious glory, try the link here. Oh, and Enormous Penis is there as well which is so good it can't even be played on the radio now.

Another Irish Drinking Song

Gather 'round, ye lads and lasses, set ye for a while,
And harken to me mournful tale about the Emerald Isle.
Let's all raise our glasses high to friends and family gone
And lift our voices in another Irish drinking song.

Consumption took me mother and me father got the pox.
Me brother drank the whiskey 'til he wound up in a box.
My other brother in the Troubles met with his demise.
My sister has forever closed her smiling Irish eyes.

Now everybody's died.
So until our tears are dried,
We'll drink and drink and drink and drink,
And then we'll drink some more.
We'll dance and sing and fight
Until the early morning light.
Then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up,
And then go drinking once again.

Kenny was killed in Kilkenny and Claire, she died in Clare.
Tip from Tipperary died out in the Derry air.
Shannon jumped into the River Shannon back in June
Ernie fell into the Erne, and Tom is in the tomb.

"Cleanliness is godliness" me Uncle Pat would sing.
He broke his neck a'slippin' on a bar of Irish Spring.
O'Grady, he was 80 though his bride was just a pup,
He died upon the honeymoon when she got his Irish up.

Now everybody's died.
So until our tears are dried,
We'll drink and drink and drink and drink,
and then we'll drink some more.
We'll dance and sing and fight
Until the early morning light
Then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up,
And then go drinking once again.

Joe Murphy fought with Reilly near the cliffs of old Doneen.
He took out his shillelagh and he stabbed him in the spleen.
Crazy Uncle Mike believed he was a leprechaun.
In fact he's just a leper and his arms and legs are gone.

When Timmy Johnson broke his neck it was a cryin' shame.
He wasn't really Irish, but he went to Notre Dame.
McNamara crossed the street and by a bus was hit
But he was just a Scotsman, so no one gave a shit.

Now everybody's died.
So until our tears are dried,
We'll drink and drink and drink and drink,
And then we'll drink some more.
We'll dance and sing and fight
Until the early morning light.
Then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up,
And then go drinking once again,

Me drunken Uncle Brendan tried to drive home from the bar.
The road rose up to meet him when he fell out of his car.
Irony was what befell my great-grand Uncle Sam.
He choked upon the very last potato in the land.

Conor lived in Ulster town, he used to smuggle arms.
Until the British kjilled him and cut off his lucky charms.
And dear old Father Flanagan, who left the lord's employ,
Drunk on sacramental wine, beneath the altar boy.

Now everybody's died.
So until our tears are dried,
We'll drink and drink and drink and drink,
and then we'll drink some more.
We'll dance and sing and fight
Until the early morning light.
Then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up,
And then go drinking once again.

Someday soon I'll leave this world of pain and toil and sin.
The Lord will take me by the hand to join all of me kin.
Me only wish is when the Savior comes for me and you,
He kills the cast of Riverdance, and Michael Flatley too.

Wife and I will probably just have a Guinness. Well, another Guinness, watch The Matchmaker and hope for a win from the Good Guys in Green.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Beware the Ides of March

As both Hoop Hysteria and St. Patrick's Day (what I like to call Amateur's Night) is descending upon us, I wanted to remind us of the dangerous of the season. In Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, the Soothsayer warns Julie-baby to Beware the Ides of March. Essentially, don't go out on the 15th of March or you'll get a stabbing.

So in that vein, I present the genius of Pat Dailey who warns of the perils of imbibing in his classic Out Drinkin'.

You should have seen me last night
When I fell down laughing
And I stumbled down a flight
Of metal stairs.

I went crashing through the window
At the VFW hall
Tumbled over a pile
Of metal chairs.

Then I cussed out my girlfriend
Tried to feel up her Mom
I wrecked my car
I think I bruised my spine

Oh, you ought to go with me
When I go out drinkin'
Always have myself
A real good time.

I got drunk and stole this boat
Out of the Edgewater Yacht Club
Doing 90 miles an hour
Up to the Bay

I sank her out by Buckeye Point
Walked on into town
Tore up someone's flowers
On my way

Then I barged into the Crew's Nest
And I threw up on the rug
I slapped that hostess
On her big behind

Oh, you ought to go with me
When I go out drinkin'
Always have myself
A real good time

I talk dirty to the waitress
And I never ever leave her no tip
Leave her all my roaches
In the guacamole dip

Oh you ought to go with me
When I go out drinking
Always have myself
A real good time

So I'm going out tonight
And I'm gonna tie on a good one
Does anybody here
Want to go out drinking with me?

Well I'll take you to this biker bar
Where we can kick some ass
And a gay bar
We'll get our drinks for free

We'll do shooters of tequila
And a case of beer a piece
We'll wash it down with a gallon
Of cheap island wine.

Oh you ought to go with me
When I go out drinkin'
Always have myself
A real good time

I like to shout out loud
And moon the crown
When I'm dancing
on the bar

Then go out in
The parking lot
And piss on
All the cars

Oh you ought to go with me
When I go out drinkin'
I always have myself
A real good time

Oh you ought to go with me
When I go out drinkin'
Give me that wine
Always have myself
I'm feeling pretty fine
Always have myself
A real good time.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

And They Called It Puppy Love

I didn't want to write about this before because I didn't want to jinx it. We've been expecting for a while, but you never know what can go wrong.

That's the BIG SWEETIE (insert dog voice here) Guinness the Wonder Dog, a 40 lb, 4 month old, Australian Labradoodle. I remember when they were just called mutts. He should top out around 90 pounds so I plan to start riding him to work in a few weeks. He's currently sleeping a few feet away but sends his regards.

Now I initially resisted the acquisition of a dependent because it's all I can do to make the drycleaners and the bank in a single day. I'd have been a shitty pioneer.

I figure, I don't currently have to pick up poop in a given day. So any poop that is introduced into our relationship is the Wife's responsibility. And Guinness is so smart, he's already made Wife learn a new trick: "poop picking up."

We've been to one dog training class where Guinness is clearly the valedictorian. Of course we had a chihauhau that just shook the whole class, a chocolate lab that tried to chew everything and a poodle with a serious bipolar disorder. It's kind of like being the Grand Marshall of the Dork Parade.

I really can't believe this guy is a puppy. He may be the reincarnation of Bob Marley. He's really mellow and always hungry. Sounds like a Rasta Man to me. Irie, mon.

Any tips for teaching him how to drive or go fetch a six pack from the store will be appreciated.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

The Brady Bunch

Dear Tom:

It's being alleged you've impregnanted another supermodel. First it was Bridget Moynahan, now it's Giselle Bundchen.

Who do you think you are, an NBA player?

Seriously, Tom. It's the 21st century. I figured you'd be a little more careful "protecting the quarterback" in this day and age. Running a fly pattern to go deep down field apparently isn't the only work out you've been getting lately. You've been splitting way more than just defenses.

If you're frustrated about losing to another quarterback with a laser, rocket arm, you shouldn't work off your anger with unprotected sex. Otherwise your "backup quarterback" is going to shrivel up and fall off.

I know you went to Michigan and not USC, but you might want to think about becoming a Trojan Man. You can't run that naked bootleg play too many times and expect to get away with it.

This wasn't the first time you slipped one into the end zone but it should be your last unplanned one.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Living the Dream, Mickey

While I was being wooed by corporate overlords, I received the following from a friend I know who works for the Walt Disney Company. I wish I knew what the hell I was doing with html beyond just managing projects so I could actually post the image-laden email I received.

Sorry, kids, you'll have to make due with just the text.

And by "dreams," I mean dreaming about being able to afford health insurance and living below the poverty line because the minimum wage is a joke

Email me if you want a forward, because it is freakin' hilarious.....

I Am Disney......

March 12 - 148AM - 5PM

Full-time, part-time and seasonal roles are available throughout the Theme Parks, Water Parks, and Resort Hotels including positions with starting pay rates of
$7.35 to $9.36 an hour
Bus Driver
Character Performer
Front Desk/Concierge
Quick Service Restaurant Host
Disney's PhotoPass® Photographer
Disney's Magical Express Luggage Representative & Airport Representative
Interview opportunities may be available for summer positions.

Cast Members receive Theme Park admission and discounts at select dining, merchandise, and recreation locations. Full-time Cast Members may be eligible for medical, dental, and vision coverage, plus paid vacation and sick leave.

Celebrity Scratch & Sniff

A recent discussion about who was the skeeviest looking and smelling celeb is now completely out of hand.

Celebs are always coming out with their own designer scents. For example, Carlos Santana has a perfume that supposedly smells like bergamont, lavender, mandarin, cinnamon bark, apple, maja accord, sandalwood, cypress wood, patchouli, musk , leather, amber, tonka bean and vanilla.

Now I've not personally smelled Carlos up close and personal, but when I saw him at the Pima County Fair with 5,000 screaming fans crammed into a tent in the Arizona heat, it decidedly did not smell of tonka bean.

So I thought I'd go down to the t2ed labs and do my best to come up with some fragrances for them.

Feel free to play along at home kids.

Tom Cruise: coconut oil and poop
Paris Hilton: money and "man juice"
Jude Law: cigarettes, fog and halitosis
Rosie O'Donnell: Old Spice and jock itch
Donald Trump: money and insecurity
Lindsay HoHan: Rum, french fries and lube
Jay Leno: Motor oil & over-achievement
Heather Mills McCartney: Nikes and Nair
Charlie Sheen: Denise Richards and strippers
Ryan Seacrest: Clay Aikin
Clay Aikin: Simon Cowell and latex
Howard K. Stern: Anna Nicole and ticks
Tom Sizemore: tears, meth and flop
Joan Rivers: death
Peter O'Toole: scotch
Michael Jordan: b.o. and bratwurst
Matthew McConaughey: weed, bongo oil and b.o.
Will Farrell: caramel corn
Colin Ferrell: tuna, cigarettes and b.o.
Beyonce: activator and rubber cement

Feel free to offer a challenge as well.

The lab is in full scale production mode right now.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Throwing My Beret In the Mix

If you haven't heard, some crazy cat broke into Mary Tyler Moore's house in Minneapolis, MN over the weekend.

Okay, it wasn't really Mary's house, but it was the house that was always used for the exterior shot during the credits on her old show.

Police found the 24 year old man asleep with the television on. No word on whether he was watching Nick at Night.

I'll bet Lou Grant would have kicked his ass if he'd have found the scofflaw in Mary's bedroom.

Now if you've been reading this site for more than five minutes, you know I wouldn't go this far without a goofy list. Thanks for playing along kids.

Here are the reasons the burglar broke into Mary's house:
  • Didn't break in, Phyllis let him in
  • Was invited to one of Mary's great parties
  • Wanted to see if she could actually turn the world on with her smile
  • His beret landed on the roof
  • Photo trip gone awry
  • Just trying to sublet 119 N. Weatherly
  • Met Rhoda at a bar
  • Heard that love was all around (track 15)
  • Bad directions from Ted

I can't help it. The phrase "A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down the pants" still makes me smile to this day.

Man, I miss Chuckles the Clown.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Killing Me Softy With His Song

Because the weather currently sux (check local listings), I’ve been tending to delay the inevitable slog to my appointed toil with a swell hot breakfast. This isn't just any kind of shitty weather. Yesterday we had snow, freezing rain, sleet, then snow again. I fully expect a rain of frogs any moment. It's practically biblical.

Okay, the breakfast isn't so swell but at least it with rich, bacony goodness. You know, bacon—the food that is so good that they wrap other food in it. (Thank you, Jim Gaffigan). Like we’d be eating melon balls or water chestnuts without bacon.

I was unaware, however, that swine were endangered in this country. Apparently there’s a pig shortage because restaurants will only give you two pieces of bacon at a time. We're on rations. Maybe because otherwise we’d eat bacon until we exploded. Or just our hearts.

Anyhoo, while I was masticating in public (that only sounds dirty), I was dumbstruck and in awe at the musical goodness they were piping into Slob Evans. Now I don't normally even notice the music in restaurants unless it's really good or really bad. I'm usually too preoccupied trying to read and not eavesdrop on the conversations going on around me. But if you're going to loudly ask your friend whether or not you should be faking your orgasms, you can't act snippy when I snort Diet Coke through my nose. Especially if a guy is asking the question.

So while I'm trying not to eavesdrop, I suddenly notice that whomever selects the music that gets piped in, has got his 80's freak on early in this morning. The mystery dj hits me with:
  • Betty Davis Eyes (Kim Carnes)
  • Jesse's Girl (Rick Springfield)
  • The One that You Love (Air Supply)
  • The Tide is High (Blondie)
  • Let's Get Physical (Olivia Newton John)

These are not crappy muzak remakes. It's the actual songs, my friends. Yes, the dulcet tones of Kim Carnes is a great way to wake up.

Even other diners perked up at the string of crap we had been subjected to. Though only one elderly woman was noticeably seat dancing to Physical.

Yes, I was able to keep my breakfast down..... just barely. Next time I go for a little early morning dining experience, I'll bring my iPod.

Has anyone else ever been subjected to this kind of abuse while in a restaurant? I'm not talking about the time it was gently suggested by a large man that I depart an establishment so I selected That's Amore 12 times on the juke box on my way out just out of spite.

I mean have you ever had this kind of auditory assault on your senses? Just wondering...