Weird Stuff

Of course I panicked a little late about this hurricane, so by the time Silas and I made it to Target yesterday all the good stuff was gone. The store appeared stocked, but a closer look revealed that the bottled water left on the shelves was sparkling and the batteries were all AAAs, and I’m not really concerned about the ability of Arlo’s electronic piggy bank to deliver its best snort throughout the storm. But I also couldn’t leave empty-handed.

It was the largest beet I’d ever seen. They’re listed as “challenging” in the juicing book, which I believe is code for “NO!!!!!” After 20 minutes of prepping, washing, and liquefying pears, carrots, apples and a shrunken mummy head on which Whole Foods placed a sticker that read “beet”,  I had a half-full pitcher of purple liquid that I would clearly have to pour down my gullet at great speed — this was not the kind of juice I wanted to taste.

I drank the liter in around 15 seconds. Two pears, three apples, five carrots, and a hairy Wookie testicle. Continue…

“MEN!  Are you over 40 and lacking the energy you had in your teens? It’s because you have depleted levels of testosterone! All you need is MORE TESTOSTERONE and our medication will trick your body into making more of that magical youth serum so you can start feeling like your virile self again! 50 is the new 18!

I’m assuming you’ve seen the commercials with the sad dumpy middle aged guy who looks like he would love to throw a football but only has enough energy to eat microwaved corn dogs and stink up the seat of his recliner.

We should all dread the day when men over 40 start feeling like they’re 18 again. Continue…

As I understand it, two things can happen this year: The world ends (Mayan prophecy), or everything continues as normal (everyone else’s prophecy). Not a lot of grey area there, but those appear to be the two situations. Keep in mind that I get all my news from magazines at pharmacies. Seems like given those two options, the toy/training facility you see below, might just be the perfect gift.


Let’s say the world ends. Terrible, yes, but bad stuff happens to good planets every day. I’m sure some people will survive, and they better know how to grow some serious crops, right? Continue…

Chicago’s alternative jazz clubs in the early 70′s launched the careers of a few male vocalists. Charles Elton Cheese was not among them. When the scene fizzled in ’75, no mainstream bands had any desire for an avante garde scatman.

With a gig every night, and more drugs and women than he could possibly consume, life seemed almost too grand, but when the gigs and women dried up  he was left with only stories, and needles. By 1976, Charles was living on the streets and eating from the dumpsters of the same clubs where only a year before he was a cult hero. Continue…

I’ve been mildly panicked over the past few days about what to get Lindsay for Christmas. Luckily, this morning, she had a gift epiphany and proclaimed,

“I love snakes! You know what? I want a snake for Christmas, but not one that can strangle me or has teeth.”

Finally, a definitive answer. The pressure’s off now. No more wandering around Anthropologie looking for something “alternative, but not bohemian grandma.” If my beautiful wife – the mother of my amazing children – wants a snake, then goddamn it, she’ll get a snake.

She appears to want a specific kind though, right? I don’t think any snakes have “teeth.” I’m pretty sure they’re called fangs, so I’m off the hook there. Continue…

Why are there reindeer in my town? I don’t need to see an actual reindeer to feel Christmasy. I especially don’t need to see four of them chillin’ on the grassy knoll across the street from the fro-yo shop. No one wants to be reminded that reindeer are real – that instead of sweet little Donners and Blitzens, they’re enormous snout-breathing beasts poised to escape their enclosure and rampage the town.

If we found out that Santa was real, but was a giant arctic barbarian who, instead of a jolly “Ho Ho Ho,” bellowed wolf-toothed chants about whale blubber, we’d all agree to keep him in captivity and stick with the Santa image we’re used to. Continue…

We never hear anything about the toddler Jesus. I’ve never read The Bible, so maybe I’m totally wrong. We hear stuff about the baby Jesus and his manger and animals and frankincense,  but from 1 week old to 20 something, the apostles didn’t have much to say about the savior. The supposed son of God wasn’t born looking like the lead singer of Creed; he learned to walk (first on land and then on water), he probably peed on stuff, sat on the cat, covered his face in hummus and sucked at hide and seek. Like all young kids, he was an adorable pain in the ass to his mom, Mary. Continue…

I think it’s possible to write one of those banal Dora books in about as much time as it takes to read one: 5 minutes.

Starting the timer … now.

Dora Visits Her Homeland

Hola! I’m Dora and I’m going to visit my home country!

Mi Mami and Papi are driving. Do you like to drive with your Mami and Papi?

Can you count how many red cars I can see out my window?

Good! There are 4 red cars!

Here we are. We are at the border to my home country. This is where we will have to show our passports. Continue…

I’m guessing it was a long ride to see the baby Jesus that morning.

Steve (Wise man 1)
You guys have any suggestions where we might find myrrh at this hour?

Gary (Wise man 2)
No idea. I think gold and frankincense are plenty, no?

Robbie (Wise man 3)
We have to have myrrh. I’m not kidding, guys.

Good Lord, Robbie it’s always myrrh with you.

That was my horse, I swear.

What was?

Never mind.

He just blamed a fart on his horse.

I totally did. Sorry. So where are we going exactly?

Bethlehem. Continue…