by Jon Waldrep
More Random Randomness
A postal worker in Florida got busted for running in numerous marathons after going on worker’s comp for a back injury. Ironically, her race times actually improved after she went out on her fake claim. Not so ironically, it still takes me 45 minutes at the post office to mail a couple of things and buy a book of stamps.
I'm not big on leftover refried beans or, as I call them, re-refried beans.
I’m sorry, but your password must contain an uppercase letter, a number, a symbol, a rare blood type, a haiku, a roman numeral and the name of your first pet in Esperanto.
I want to get a dog and name it Karma. That way, when it does something it shouldn't, I can say, "Bad Karma!"
Do you think a rat ever started eating something and then thought, "Whoa! Studies have proven this stuff kills humans!"
Sometimes, I have this dream that I'm a big league baseball player, and when I come up to bat, the PA system plays “Muskrat Love” (Captain and Tennille version) as my song. What can that possibly mean?
Twenty-one people at an event hosted by motivational speaker Tony Robbins suffered second and third degree burns while walking across hot coals, and three of the injured were treated at hospitals. I am now HIGHLY MOTIVATED to never try a stupid stunt like that.
For the first time playing Wii baseball, I hit a Grand Slam AND an out-of-the-park home run in the same game. Sadly, shortly thereafter I was traded for a nunchuk and a Mii to be named later.
We bought a new fridge today. It’s not big enough to hide a body or anything, but I can see a tuna casserole getting lost in the back for 3 or 4 weeks.
It's official. I now have more flash drives than toes.
I saw a great bumper sticker today when I was driving. I looked over and saw a stunningly good-looking blonde driving past me in a brand new, red convertible with the top down. As she passed, I saw the bumper sticker which simply read: "You wish." Classic.
Instructions? Instructions? I'm a guy. We don't need any instructions. I like to assemble Ikea furniture in a dark room with butter knife, a tuning fork, a roll of double-sided tape and that wrapper from the chalupa I had for lunch.
One of my New Year’s resolutions was to try even harder to pretend I like cats. I just like dogs better, even though I totally don’t understand people who get really small dogs. What’s the point? When your dog looks like a hamster on performance enhancing drugs, that’s just sad (for you and the dog). If you carry around a tiny dog and people mistake it for a keychain, your dog is just too damn small. If you lose your dog in the bottom of your purse between the (curiously strong) tin of Altoids and a pile of Target coupons, then you have a perrito muy chiquito that needs to chow down and bulk up. The only thing that a really small dog is good for is this…you spray them with Pledge furniture polish and slide them under the furniture to collect dust bunnies, OR you buy them a tiny saddle and teach a mouse to ride.
I used to think that Chinese torture methods consisted of slowly dripping water onto a person's forehead, eventually driving the restrained victim insane. But now, I know the truth. The worst form of Chinese torture is untangling miles of made-in-China Christmas lights, spending hours hanging them all up and then finding that one has burned out, making the whole strand useless. TORTURE!
When did disposable razors become so expensive? Granted, I use the one with eight blades that vibrates and plays peaceful mood music as I shave, but it seems a shame that my kids are going to have to go to community college on a scholarship because Daddy doesn't want to grow a Unabomber beard.
Five things we’re going to do with our “massive” tax refund:
1. Kids! New shoe laces for everyone!
2. No more discounted three-day-old sushi for a while.
3. Family trip to the mall for a hot dog on a stick and unlimited escalator rides.
4. Inching ever closer to having enough money to make a down payment on a 1987 Yugo.
5. Massive used underwear purchase at the local Goodwill.
Well, my ‘must-do’ list for today is shot to hell:
1. I did not use the word “dollop” in a charming or urbane way.
2. I did not have a chance to break the record of the World’s Longest Piece of Toilet Paper Stuck to My Shoe event.
3. Finally, I never got around to translating that last chapter of War and Peace into one, simple haiku poem. Bummer!
So, what's weird is that a lot of places that take your credit card now just swipe it and hand you a receipt. Quick and easy. But when you use your debit card, you have to navigate through the banking equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. Is this the correct amount? Do you want it all on one card? Would you like cash back? Would you like to donate $1 to the Save the Snail Darter Foundation? If you could be any kind of a tree...
I know that I should stick up for the home team (that would be men), but I’m sorry – we are pigs. Thousands of public restrooms attest to this. What is so challenging about directing a stream of urine into a urinal the size of a pygmy elephant from eight inches away without doing the Harlem Shuffle at the same time and swabbing the deck for the next unlucky pee-er? The guy at the state fair, who can flawlessly squirt water into a clown’s mouth with laser-like focus, popping his balloon in mere seconds to win a stuffed animal that makes him the envy of every 6-year-old he just beat, is the same guy that pees into a urinal like he’s trying to spell his name in the snow. What is the problem, guys? Your penis is not a swizzle stick, and unless it dog-legs like the sixth hole at Augusta, this should be a fairly straightforward operation. I’m sorry, but there is nothing worse than having to mention over the partition to the pee partner on your left that you and he don’t have the kind of special relationship that makes it OK for him to splatter your shoes. I don’t know what the answer is. Some places have actually put little ‘bulls-eye’ decals strategically on the inside of urinal. That seems to help. Maybe it’s the innate competitive nature of guys that makes many of them channel their inner Robin Hood and attack those bulls-eyes like they are shooting an apple off some restroom attendant’s head. Maybe if we could use our strategically placed urine to play Halo or Call of Duty (there’s a bad pun there) or Madden, we would never misfire again and hit the floor, the wall or some guy from Madison, Wisconsin. Oh, and don’t even get me started on airplane toilets.
Why are people (mostly men) so uptight about the word “vagina?” From the time most guys are about fourteen, the vagina is the holy grail of their existence. Men do incredibly stupid things if they think it will get them just a little bit closer to the magical, mystical, big V. Yet many find the actual word – VAGINA – to be offensive to say. I am going to help the cause. From now on, when saying goodbye to any male friends (OK, not any since I have some friends who are not motivated by any part of the female anatomy), I'm going to say, “See you later! Have a great VAGINA day!” If I don't hear someone clearly, I'm going to say, "I'm sorry...did you say VAGINA?” When I play board games, as soon as someone starts to ask the trivia question like, in the year 1876, who...., I will shout out, "VAGINA!" If I go to a restaurant, I will ask the male server, "So, how's the VAGINA today?" I'm going to start saying to people, “Hey, is that a VAGINA in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" And on Facebook, I'm going to start asking, "Hey! Where can I click to show that I 'like' that vagina?"
One of the top young Scrabble players in the country has been kicked out of the game's national championship tournament in Florida after he was caught hiding blank letter tiles, organizers said Tuesday. Cheating at a Scrabble tournament? Now, this guy is going to be an outcast to the entire nerd community, shunned by the thick glasses and pocket protector crowd forever, relegated to playing Chutes and Ladders in his mom's basement. Oh, the shame!
After decades of existence, the United Nations has failed to come up with a universal popcorn setting for microwave ovens. What are they doing over there?
Listen, I do think your girlfriend is hot. But it's a dry heat.
These are punch lines. I don’t have the actual joke yet, but hey, the hard part is done!
1. Sure, but then you end up with a parrot and a bad haircut!
2. Only once, but in fairness, she didn’t see the chandelier.
3. What? I thought you said watermelon on the grass!
4. So, if anything happens to me, buy that damn monkey a hat!
5. You remembered the Great Dane! You remembered the chandelier! But now you have to go back for the instruction manual?
6. Yes, a monkey in a nice suit with a solar calculator did this…twice!
7. That’s odd because I asked for all the money in the world AND a rotisserie.
8. No big deal? It was hell to get that gecko out in one piece!
Lamborghini, for its 50th anniversary, has created a $4 million car that will be assembled for only three buyers who've already put down their deposits. I tried to put down my deposit, but I was too late. I did, however, manage to reserve the custom keychain that comes with the car, and they gave me 7-year financing so, you know, pretty good deal...
The definition of insanity as it relates to underwear: when you continue to wear the same old, ratty, devoid-of-any-remaining-elasticity underwear, even though every time that you do, it inevitably does its best to migrate south, causing you the public shame and humiliation of having to reach into your own pants to give yourself a self-inflicted atomic wedgie.
I know I’m not helping the worldwide diplomatic process, but I just kicked some guy’s ass from Pakistan in online backgammon three times in a row.
Three things I said that DID NOT get me out of jury duty yesterday:
1. “Convicted felons could be reformed if they just had more musical theater in their lives.”
2. “I’m not prejudiced, but I hate Smurfs and believe that they are generally up to no good.”
3. “Sure, I’ll be on the jury as long as I can bring my Kindle, balloon animals and large bag of White Castle burgers every day.”
What is wrong with people? Seriously, why can't a consenting adult legally marry someone from another galaxy? A Centauri and a woman can't marry and start popping out little multi-galactic brats like everybody else? A Logopolitan can't fall in love with the earthling of her dreams? Oh, and for the love of God, whatever you do, don't get down with a Medusoid and have children! They may turn out to be hairy jellyfish with claws, teeth, and a leg? (OK...I can kinda get that one). I just can’t understand why, having come so far, we can't allow two people of age who love each other to form a recognized and legal bond and walk hand in tentacle, or claw or gelatinous appendage, down the aisle like anybody else? Somebody help me out here…
AAA, the American Automobile Association, and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration have said to forget putting your hands at the traditional 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock on the steering wheel (cue Driver Ed flashback). They now saw that having them at 9 and 3 is safer and will help keep your hands from being amputated when the air bag deploys. What the hell? I’m going to stick with the knee at 6 o’clock sharp or one hand at ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.’
The extended warranty gods have smiled upon me. My car battery finally decided that an under-charged life was really not a life worth living and pulled its own plug. I went down to Pep Boys expecting to take in some unwanted butt crack and buy another battery, but when we checked, my warranty was still good for one more day! Hurray for fortuitous timing! While it does not make up for the dozens of times something has broken 30 seconds after the warranty clock struck twelve and turned said object into a lemon, it was a nice reversal of fortunes.
I think that among the other serious problems facing the U.S. today, like unemployment, a terrible drought in much of the country and a less than stellar education system, we need to add something: cracked windshields. I didn't realize the magnitude of this problem until I saw that on virtually every street corner, there is a group of earnest-looking youth standing by and ready to tackle this problem. They're everywhere!
When I was in school, I learned to pass notes without getting caught. Today's kids learn how to text without looking. Damn these technologically sophisticated kids!
It's sad when you add a new phone number to your cell phone just so you know not to answer when that person calls.
So, I have a "four-in-a-line" game on my phone that I NEVER win because the phone is just too good. It bothered me until I started doing Indian leg wrestling with my phone, which I win almost every time.
So, I bought a new smartphone, which, I have to admit, I really like. It’s fast and has a great screen and, honest to God, does everything but adjust my back and remind me to zip up my pants after I pee (and there’s an app for that). The only thing that was making me crazy was the battery life…or lack thereof. I could start out in the morning guns a’ blazing and fully charged, but by mid-morning, my little power bar indicator would start to slide backwards faster than Enron stock. It was like a Hummer’s gas gauge in stop and go traffic. It was like the Italian army fifteen minutes into battle. It was my wimpy-ass battery telling me that if I wanted to do anything other than know what time it was, I was screwed. And it was killing me. I started planning my day around phone charging sessions. My supervisors were used to me storming into their offices and bellowing, “Get the hell out of my way; I need an outlet, stat!” I started spending quality time sitting in my running car in random parking lots just watching my little green bar slowly inch upwards. After twenty minutes of quality idle time, and not unlike an 80-year-old after a couple Red Bulls and a Viagra, my battery had just enough juice to get the job done, but was still nothing you would want to show off in the light of day. So the other day, I broke down and bought an extended life battery. It is truly the sumo wrestler of the smartphone battery world and makes my original battery look like the skinny guy who gets sand kicked in his face at the beach. Because it’s so big and thick, it came with a new back cover for the phone, so my brand-new, sleek and sexy smart phone now has the protruding ass of a baboon in heat. The good news is that my phone lasts all day on a single charge. I have become smug to the point that when I see someone with a similar phone, but with the original 98-pound, weakling battery, I make sure I hold mine in a way so they get a really good look at the junk in my truck. Then, I laugh inside. So, please call me sometime. I may actually answer now.
Jobs & Working
I am fundamentally opposed to this entire concept of getting up in the morning, eating a butt-load of high fiber bran bricks and then spending eight or nine hours down at the widget factory (rinse and repeat). This work thing is really cutting into freelance inventor time (don’t freak out, and keep this under your hat, but I’m working on a Chia Pet that only grows sideburns) but as the bumper sticker so eloquently states, “I owe, I owe, so off to work I go.”
So, I was on a conference call today that lasted over an hour. Only a few minutes of the call was regarding the issues at hand, while the rest of the call was idle chit chat, awkward silence and a bunch of BS. Yeah, kind of like sex in high school.
When you think about it, crime does pay. The hours are flexible. You travel a lot. And there’s the opportunity to make a lot of money if you're good at it and work hard.
2:33 AM. Note to self: It does not matter that the energy drinks are 2 for $4.00. DO NOT drink both of them while driving home from work.
So, I had to write up and suspend an employee today. What I said: “Your actions were a clear violation of company policy, and at this time, I am going to suspend you pending a further investigation to determine your job status.” What I wanted to say: “Really? Seriously? What the hell were you thinking? You are so outta here!”
Off to do an interview for a new supervisor. I have my list of company-approved questions, but I think I'm going to mix it up and make up a few questions of my own:
1. What's the weirdest place you have ever been naked?
2. Moldova...your thoughts?
3. Mary Ann, Ginger or the lady
from I dream of Genie?
4. How old do you think I look?
5. Be a mime for the next ten minutes while I watch.
So, I’m cleaning up my resume, and I decided that I have too many old jobs listed. These are the ones I ended up cutting:
1. National Manager of the Save the Snail Darter Foundation
2. Somali pirate (in training)
3. Mannequin whisperer
4. Snuggie model
5. Bovine methane gas analyzer and tester
6. Volunteer for the Unwed Mother Organization (just helping them get their start)
7. Lobbyist for the Flat Earth Society
8. Worm farmer and herder
9. Fried Twinkie-On-A-Stick franchisee
10. West Coast Inventor (edible/inflatable hamsters and dirty word pasta)
11. Hair Club model (before photos)
12. Lead singer for the band, Marsha and the Electrical Crushed Velvet Freeway
13. Butt double for nerd in Go Daddy Superbowl television ads.
I was going through resumes recently for a job we had open, and I was amazed at some of the e-mail names/addresses that people used when applying for a job. Sexysquirrel@... might work if we were looking for someone who looks good climbing trees; otherwise, not so much. BottleofBarcardi@... does not inspire me to hire this person, or let them drive or operate heavy equipment. Reallybigknockers@... while intriguing (did I say that?) this particular attribute is not on the list of skills required to successfully do the job. Plus, I don’t want anyone spending half their day taking and sending out Instagram self-portraits. Sooooobored@... makes me drowsy just reading it. I don’t need Eeyore on Quaaludes or another semi-catatonic clock watcher. Bambikiller@... while I’m not big myself on either guns or hunting, I respect the rights of others to get drunk and kill defenseless animals with high-power, laser-guided, semi-automatic guns in the name of sport. I do draw the line, however, at those who go after fictional, animated, cartoon characters. Needless to say, none of the above got the job. I kept waiting for someone to e-mail me from shortfatmiddleagedbaldguysrock@.... That’s a slam dunk.
