I love Les Schwab.

Not the man (is he even alive anymore?) but his tire stores.

When you buy tires from Les Schwab, it's a full-service affair. Everybody there is busting their ass to ensure you get the absolute best service possible. Buy their tires? Free mounting. Get a flat tire? They'll fix it for free. Need to have your tires rotated? Free. Just want to have your tire pressure checked? Also free. No appointment necessary, and they're motto is "if we can't guarantee it, we won't sell it."

And nobody at Les Schwab ever walks anywhere... they run to service their customers. "May I help you sir?" they say, after having sprinted up to you at Olympic speed.

Now let's contrast my impeccable experience at Schwab for tire rotation today with my experience at the local Radio Shack thirty minutes later...

I walk in and notice they've remodeled the store. Not wanting to waste my time, I decide to ask for help at the counter. "I'm looking for a CD storage binder" I say. "It's over there" the Radio Shack minion replies as he waves his hand in a non-specific direction. So "over there" I go. But I don't find them. "Hey, all I find over there are CD sleeves, I'm looking for a binder" I say. "Then you didn't get it here. Try Office Depot" the minion responds. "But I DID get it here" I insist... "it is a Radio Shack branded binder!" Without even looking up from the paper he's reading, the guy tells me "well I guess we don't have them then!"

Well thanks for your "help", f#@%er!

The guy never left the counter, and wouldn't even acknowledge I exist until I talked to him. No running to serve me. No helping me look. He didn't even bother to check his computer to see if it could be ordered. He just didn't give a shit.

I hate that.

I mean, it's not like I'm walking in wanting to get blown or anything... I just want reasonable assistance when I shop in your f#@%ing store. Is it really too much to ask for you to put down your newspaper, haul your ass around the corner, and at least TRY to help me out?

No wonder I buy everything online.

After receiving not one, but TWO emails from Memoirs of a Geisha fans railing on me for my less than flattering review of the crappy book and soulless film adaptation, my mind turned to happier times. Times where I feel safe. Times where I felt unthreatened. Times where I am in control of my own destiny in a world gone mad....

Times spent wiping my ass.

And from there it was only a small leap to the horrifying realization that I am nearly out of toilet paper and will soon have to be making a trip to Target to re-stock up on critical household supplies.

Now, as I have mentioned here many, many times... I loathe shopping. Totally can't stand it. And to avoid shopping for as long as possible, I always buy in bulk. When I need a new pair of jeans, I don't just buy the one pair, I buy five. When I need ketchup, I buy three jumbo bottles to be sure I won't have to buy ketchup again any time soon. When I crave a Tootsie Pop, I buy an entire 100-count carton... I just don't mess around when I am forced to shop.

So understand that when I buy toilet paper, I am looking for maximum wipe-age. And when you want maximum wipe-age, there's only one thing to do... buy the Charmin Mega-Roll Mega Six-Pack...

It's the Cadillac of toilet paper. And I must admit that when I saw the words "CHANGE THE ROLL LESS OFTEN" on the package, I broke down in tears of happiness. It's a dream come true for non-shoppers everywhere.

But there is a problem.

Target doesn't have a shopping bag big enough to hold a Charmin Mega-Roll Mega Six-Pack.

When you make your purchase, you have to walk out the door with this big-ass package of toilet paper where everybody can see you holding it. And that's when you realize it...

EVERYBODY IS GOING TO KNOW THAT YOU WIPE YOUR ASS!

And that bothers me for some reason.

What are people thinking when they see me walking through the parking lot with this Mega Six-Pack of toilet paper I wonder. "Boy that guy sure wipes his ass a lot!" Or perhaps "That dude has serious bowel issues!" Or maybe "Whoa, he must look at a lot of porn!"

I dunno. I don't want to know.

But it does kind of freak me out seeing all these condescending glances as I make my way to my car. "I JUST DON'T LIKE TO SHOP!" I want to scream at them. "DON'T JUDGE ME, LOVE ME!" I want to cry.

Why does buying toilet paper have to be such a traumatic experience? Shouldn't you be PROUD that you wipe your ass? I mean, it is a good thing compared to the alternative of NOT wiping your ass, isn't it?

Maybe it's just me. Perhaps I have wiping issues or something.

It never ceases to amaze me how people approach random conversation with strangers. Some people make inconsequential chit-chat with random questions like "What do you think of this weather we're having?" and "how about that game last night?" It's boring, mindless stuff, but fully appropriate when speaking to somebody you don't know.

And then there are the people who pull such bizarre questions out of their ass that you have to doubt their sanity. For example...

A while ago, I was meeting with a prospective client. This happens all the time, and I'm not really bothered by it. I enjoy meeting new people and have pretty good schmoozing skills. But this time, the potential client brought his "spiritual advisor" with him. Well, I don't know if that's what he was actually called, but he had no business input whatsoever, so I assumed that he was some kind of spiritual or ethical advisor. This didn't bother me much either, as I have dealt with a wide variety of people from all kinds of different backgrounds, beliefs, and walks of life. The more the merrier.

Except this time was different...

Prospective Client: So how would you approach a reworking of our image?
   
Dave: Well, from the brief overview I've had of your company, there are many positive strengths we could draw on to better position you in the market. In particular, the quality of your products is very high compared to your competition, yet your current marketing strategy doesn't seem to leverage this as a reason to purchase your merchandise. Your price point is higher, which can sometimes imply quality, but you should definitely be more overt in stating it to your consumer base.
   
Prospective Client: I see. Yes. I agree totally that this is something we need to do.
   
Spiritual Advisor: Tell me Dave, have you ever killed anybody?

Seriously, WTF? How do you answer this question? Do you play it for humor and say "well, not today" or get all serious and say "absolutely not!" As I sat there in stunned silence, a million things were running through my head...
"Is this guy serious?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"Is this one of those questions where they don't expect an answer, but want to see how I react to it?"
"Hey... HAVE I ever killed anybody? I don't think so."
"Wow... you don't think that they are wanting to hire me to kill somebody... do you?"
"Oh crap! The longer I wait to answer, the less credible I am going to be when I say no!"
"HOLY SHIT... THESE GUYS ARE GOING TO THINK I AM A HOMICIDAL MANIAC!!"

In the end, I realized that I simply had to say something...

Dave: Uhhhh... no?

Which sounded incredibly stupid, but it was all I had. The Spiritual Advisor just said "hmmm..." and shook his head in agreement. Then, as the meeting continued, he would randomly insert other bizarre questions like "If you had to choose between wanting something tangible or wishing for something idealized, which would you choose?" and "Do you feel that we as a society are ready for where technology is taking us?" And each time I answered he would simply nod his head and we would move on to actual business again.

I didn't get the job.

I can only guess that it was due to my ethical failings (or whatever the Spiritual Advisor was judging me on), because my concepts were killer, and the person they chose instead of me did incredibly shitty work for them.

And this morning I found out that the company went out of business.

Despite the fact that I didn't get any work from them, I am still sad when I hear of somebody's business failing. That was somebody's hopes and dreams... somebody's hard work and ambition... somebody's life. I take no joy in it at all.

But deep down I know I could have made a difference. Maybe they still would have gone under... maybe there were problems so deep that nothing I could have done would have helped... but I certainly would have given them a better shot as success than what they went with. Of that much, I am certain.

But now I am left with the question of whether I respect them MORE because they stuck to their guns and hired somebody who was more compatible with their beliefs and philosophies... or respect them LESS because they were so thoughtless as to hire somebody who "fit" but did a crappy job.

I don't know.

But I'm still relatively sure I haven't ever killed anybody.

Despite desperately needing to go into work today, I decided to stay at home and clean up the six months of neglect that has been accumulating.

It's pretty terrible. I've already managed to haul out five giant bags of garbage, and will undoubtedly haul out another five before the day is over. I have no idea how I manage to accumulate so much crap, but it's everywhere. Piled in the closet, stacked in corners, covering my desk... and all the stuff that I don't throw away has to be organized somehow.

Out of all of it, it's the photographs that bother me the most. Everything before 2001 is a hopeless mess, scattered around in dozens of boxes. Even if I took the time to organize and label my photos, it's still inconvenient to access them. Unlike everything from 2001 onwards, which was shot digitally, and is neatly indexed in iPhoto...

So now I'm faced with either having to buy a high-quality scanner and manually converting everything to digital... or paying a company to do it for me. The cost is about equal. But if I buy a scanner then I've got to do all the work myself, and that takes a lot of time I don't have. Oh well... it's not like I'd have a lot of use for the scanner afterwards anyway.

Wow. Some of these photos are kind of embarrassing. If I send them off to be scanned, I wonder what the chances are that they'll end up on the internet somewhere?

Society will eventually turn me into a psychotic killer.

Though, in the event that the District Attorney should ever question you about my mental state, I'd appreciate it greatly if you would keep that to yourself. If I ever DO go on trial for murder, I think that I should like to go free so I could kill again.

Because I hear that once you've tried killing, you really get a taste for it.

And speaking of taste, do parents teach their kids eating manners anymore? Little things like...

• Chew with your mouth closed.
• Don't talk with your mouth full.
• Take small bites so it fits in your mouth
• etc. etc. etc.

Anybody? Because it seems that everywhere I go, there's at least one person with positively appalling manners. I am getting really grossed out at having to listen to people smack away at their food while watching them chew with their mouths wide open, or having them spit food at me while they're talking...

Last week a work contact called me on the phone and I had to listen to her chomping away in my ear because she was too stupid to understand that it's RUDE to eat lunch while talking on the phone.

      It made me want to kill her.

Then yesterday I went to a bagel shop that's not really a bagel shop because the gummy crap they serve tastes nothing like a real bagel (so few "bagels" outside of New York City actually do), and had to wait for my take-out order next to somebody who was totally incapable of chewing with their mouth closed.

      He deserved to die quite badly.

And it's all because manners are getting to be a thing of the past. I guess people don't know any better, and probably wouldn't care if they did. Rude eaters should warn you of their bad behavior before inviting you to lunch... or, at the very least, ask permission first. I'm all for permission-based behavior...

• Do you mind if I smoke?
• Do you mind if I order an alcoholic beverage?
• Do you mind if I fart?
• Do you mind if I clip my fingernails?
• Do you mind if I chew with my mouth open?
• Do you mind if I spit food at you while I talk?
• Do you mind if I take that taco and shove it up your ass so I don't have to watch you eat it?

I don't want to become a killer... honestly I don't. But can I really be blamed if society makes me a murdering psycho? Then it wouldn't be my fault, right... you'd forgive me?

Anyway...

Wanna do lunch sometime?

Despite the fact that I live in an apartment complex filled with mostly elderly deaf people, there is one thing that will still get their attention.

Car alarms.

Nothing pisses off old people quite like a car alarm going off. It's only happened to me once here, but that one time was enough to have the neighbors talking for weeks after. "WAS THAT YOUR CAR ALARM I HEARD GOING OFF YESTERDAY?" they scream as I walk by. "IS YOUR ALARM BROKEN? HA HA HA!" they yell. It's as if their lack of hearing completely dissipates while the alarm is sounding, then they go back to being deaf the instant it stops. So when I heard a car alarm going off this morning, I was understandably in a panic.

I went tearing down the stairs with my key-fob in hand, madly pressing the alarm shut-off as I went.

Only to find out that it wasn't my car, and all I did was manage to turn on my alarm as well.

And just as I turned my alarm off, I realize that I am wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts, a T-shirt, and slippers.

The good news is that the coalition of decrepit neighbors who showed up completely forgot about the car alarm fiasco... "GOT CAUGHT WITH YOUR PANTS DOWN DID YA? HA HA HA!

Yeah, this is going to be an interesting week.

BLOGOGRAPHY FLASHBACK ENTRY: Suffrage
BLOGDATE: February 15, 2005
   
In which Dave analyzes the past, present, and future of male/female relations... using a comic book. Bring on the super-bitches!
Click here to go back in time...

The blogosphere is abuzz with the story of how the government wants Google to hand over search records so they can see how often porn is returned in the search results. Apparently having this information will protect kids from internet porn, which is much like trying to protect orange juice from being the color orange. Of course Google is going to sometimes return porn in search results because 90% of the internet IS PORN! Oh well, it's not like we've got health care and unemployment problems to worry about. Watching people's kids so parents don't have to bother is so much more important.

But after the government gets a look at the porn we're searching for... what's next?

I worry that Homeland Security will start wanting Google search records next. Not because I have anything to hide, but because search records are not always what they seem.

For example. I LOATHE Jared Fogle the Subway Sandwich whore.

Every time I hear how Jared "inspires people to eat better and lose weight with Subway Sandwiches" I want him dead. Because all he really does is inspire sales of Subway Sandwiches from people too stupid to understand what a fraud he is. Do you know why he chose Subway when he decided to try and lose weight? Because it was next door to his apartment. It was convenient. It's not like he went out and did a bunch of restaurant research for his diet. He was a lazy turd that ate at Subway because it was closest to where he lived.

He could have had salads at McDonalds and lost weight. He could have had sandwiches at Quiznos and lost weight. He could have eaten ANYWHERE and lost weight if he made healthier menu choices. There is nothing magical about Subways... it was because he decided to stop eating mass quantities of high-fat foods that he lost the weight. I could go into Subway twice a day and order up a sandwich loaded with extra cheese and a bunch of sauces and mayonnaise and GAIN weight. But you won't see a commercial for that. Does it really take Jared the Subway whore to tell people that eating a veggie sandwich with no cheese instead of three Big Macs will make you lose weight? Well, DUH! It's just common sense! When are people going to realize that Jared is not this altruistic prophet here to help you... HE'S JUST A WHORE SELLING SANDWICHES FOR MONEY! It's his JOB.

So that's why when I see commercials with Jared comparing a veggie sandwich with no cheese to a Big Mac, and telling people that they should eat at Subways because it's so much healthier... I want him dead. Why not compare a veggie sandwich to an Arby's SALAD you stupid f#@%?

And because I loathe Jared so badly, much of my free time is spent fantasizing of ways the whore can die. Sometimes it's pretty basic... I just walk up to the dumbass with a gun and shoot him or something...

Jared says: "I am such a whore that even I hate me!"

But on days where he is really pissing me off (like he comes out with a new idiotic Subways commercial), just shooting him isn't good enough. I want something much more elaborate and painful.

And that takes a lot of Google research.

Because it's not like I know how much battery acid it takes to melt somebody's head... I have to Google it. And when I need to know if it's possible to drown somebody in low-fat mustard... I have to Google it. If I am curious as to how many volts it takes to electrocute somebody through their testicles... I have to Google it. All this stuff has to be researched.

And what happens if Homeland Security sees this stuff that I'm Googling, decides that I'm some kind of sadistic terrorist, and then ships me off to have MY testicles electrocuted??

That would be bad.

Not to mention grossly unfair, because getting rid of Jared is more like a public service than an act of terrorism.

Anyway, that's why I think that Google shouldn't have to hand over any records. It can only lead to innocent people like me being shocked in their balls.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find out if low-fat turkey slices are still flammable once they've been shoved up somebody's ass.

My chapped lips rub roughly against the blanket as I awake with too little sleep yet again. From under the covers my arm reaches out to the night-stand, groping blindly for Chapstick. In darkness the lip balm burns with a kiss of peppermint, but my eyes have yet to open. I lay there clutching the small tube because it's too cold to return it to the night-stand. My mind goes cloudy and I start to drift. It's warm under the blankets and I'm in no hurry to leave them...

RRRRRRRRING! RRRRRRRRING! RRRRRRRRING!

F#@%ing telemarketers.

While the number of calls I get have dropped drastically since the "National No-Call List" was enacted, they have not stopped completely. This time it was a travel club offer or some kind of crap like that. I don't really remember, because I was screaming "PUT ME ON YOUR DO-NOT CALL LIST AND NEVER, EVER CALL ME AGAIN!!" at the top of my lungs.

I spent the rest of my morning wishing that it were possible to shoot a gun into the phone and have an explosion come out the other end, just like in Bugs Bunny cartoons...

Maybe not a gun, that's kind of violent, but you should at least be able to bitch-slap somebody through the phone.

Although if you could shoot into your computer and have it come out and explode all over a spammer, I would definitely do that. The only thing I loathe more than telemarketers is spammers.

In better news, MRK over at Itch & Be Merry has finally figured out why I keep getting Google search referrals for "penis salad" out of the UK. Apparently the phrase was used in some kind of risque sitcom. At least I think it was a sitcom. The video clip MRK found was a bit vague, but I would certainly hope that any use of "penis salad" would be for comedic effect.

Eww... what if it was a reality TV show??

I don't really care about football because I'm more of a baseball kind of guy with an occasional basketball infatuation (college ball only, because pro basketball doesn't seem to be about basketball anymore). But even then, it's just entertainment and not a reason to go insane.

And yet if you live anywhere in the vicinity of the Pacific Northwest, odds are you are going out of your freakin' mind right now because the Seahawks have finally managed to make it to the SuperBowl. It's a pretty big deal here, or so I gather.

All I know is that every time I turn on a local television station lately, I've got to watch everyday citizens dressed up like clowns and acting like obnoxious douchebags...

People with blue hair. People with green hair. People with painted faces. People yelling and screaming... "WE'RE NUMBER ONE!!" and "STEELERS SUCK!!" — It's kind of like what I envision armageddon is going to be like.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like I have anything against people being all excited and having team spirit for fun... but the idiots that they're always showing on television act like rabid freaks who are in desperate need of therapy. I'll be very glad when football is over, though a bit frightened at the possibility of Seattle losing. I envision the Space Needle on fire and the city engulfed in chaos... the WTO riot of '99 is still fresh in my mind.

Anyway, for the sake of all my fellow Washingtonians who are dying to win the SuperBowl, I'll shout out my obligatory "Go Seahawks!" for the Showdown in Motown.

That's about all I can do, considering that winter storms have caused multiple avalanches on the mountain passes, and westward routes to Seattle are closed until further notice.

In even more disturbing news... whilst flicking through channels last night, I noticed that sicko pervert Pat O'Brien is back to hosting one of those boring Hollywood gossip shows. It is impossible for me to even look at the freak without having those disgusting drunken answering machine tapes playing in my head.

Was it too much to ask that he quietly disappear after being released from rehab?? As annoying as he was before all this, he's just plain creepy-scary now.

In other words, he's perfect for politics.

At some point in my childhood past, I had come to the conclusion that I was going to be a doctor.

But then I quickly realized that there is no way I could be a doctor because I didn't have the balls for it.

And when I say "balls" I am not trying to be all metaphorical... I am talking literal "balls". As in my testicles. Because any time I so much as hear somebody talking about blood or injuries or surgery or anything like that... my balls shrivel up and disappear. I think they're allergic to blood and gore or something. In any event, my testicles killed my medical vocation before I even got started. And you can just imagine how traumatizing it is for me to watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy, Nip/Tuck, or CSI.

But just because I abandoned my otherwise promising career as a doctor, I'm still not out of danger.

For instance, my mother had to call and drop this little bomb on me: "I sliced open my finger and had to go to the doctor to get stitches.

GAAAAAAAH!

To understand how this simple sentence affects me... let's take a little field trip to Dyersville, Iowa, home of the Field of Dreams movie site. For the sake of this demonstration (and to avoid being tagged as a porn site), the role of my testicles will be played by these two baseballs in a GLAD brand jumbo-sized food storage bag (with the "yellow and blue make green" zipper closure, so you KNOW it's closed!)...

Once I hear the words "sliced my finger", my baseballs start shivering...

And once I hear the words "stitches", my GLAD brand jumbo-sized food storage bag starts to shrink in horror, taking my baseballs with it...

This leaves me with a pair of baseballs the size of marbles...

Obviously this affliction is a major inconvenience. Doctors have to look at blood and gore all the time, which would traumatize my balls quite badly. So badly that I would worry about them disappearing permanently. And as any guy will tell you (or, if you are a guy, you'd tell yourself) having something happen to your balls is a frightening prospect indeed.

Oh well. This is not the first time that my testicles have made a decision for me.

I'm relatively certain it won't be the last.

Anyway, speaking of balls (you just knew there was going to be a point to all this, didn't you?)...

How big of balls does it take to sell an episode of the TV show Survivor for $1.99... but then have the episode expire after 24 hours? For the answer, let's take a look at what Larry Kramer, President of CBS Digital Media, has hanging...

Yep! Those are some enormously huge balls! They'd have to be huge, considering that the $1.99 episodes you buy from Apple at the iTunes Music Store don't have an idiotic "self-destruct mechanism" that will destroy your purchases the day after you buy them. Once again, clueless people are making stupid decisions that will turn potential customers into criminals. Seriously... who is dumb enough to want to BUY a video that's only good for 24 hours when you can download the Bit Torrent off the internet for FREE that will last forever? The entire point of selling your show legally is to give honest people an alternative to illegal downloading... not ripping them off! Classic.

Congratulations Larry, my hat is off to you and your huge, huge balls!

This entry will self-destruct in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

Since our poor planet has entered such a horrifying state of affairs, I have decided to trade-up.

Instead of wasting time in this violent, polluted, hateful place... I will instead be spending the rest of my days surrounded by beautiful scenery and wonderful sights. A world of opportunity and adventure. A land where I won't have to worry about getting knifed on my way to work or having my car shot up. A country where the people are kind, decent, and hard working...

...well, not actual people, but animals that kind of act like people. Kind of.

I am talking, of course, about the world of Animal Crossing inside my Nintendo DS...

Animal Crossing is an awesome "life simulation" where you can work, explore, shop, make friends, grow fruit, go fishing, catch bugs, build a home, experiment with feng shui, celebrate holidays, collect furniture, patronize a museum, hunt for treasure, design clothes, create art, and all the other things that make life so great. All tax and disease-free!

I am seriously addicted, even though I don't have much time to play it. But that's okay, because even when I'm not playing, I'm thinking about it. Right now I have my heart set on earning enough money to expand my house so I can decorate it with pirate furniture and some cool skull-and-crossbones wallpaper I made.

It' a fun place to waste time. And nice to look at too, thanks to the sweet graphics...

Probably the coolest thing about the game is that it is wi-fi enabled so you can invite people to your town over the internet. That way, they can come take a look at what you've done, and even trade stuff or give gifts! For example, my town had all pear trees... but thanks to somebody playing in New Jersey who visited me, I was able to trade for some peaches, plant them, and so now I have peach trees growing as well. Now I need to find somebody who has apples, oranges, coconuts, and cherries so I can add a little variety to the landscape.

If you have a Nintendo DS, it's a game well worth picking up. To learn more about Animal Crossing, you can visit the Official Nintendo Site, Animal Crossing Ahead, or Animal Crossing Community.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've decided to blow-off work today so I can go hunt for buried treasure!

I f#@%ing hate jury duty.

Mostly because I get summoned more than anybody I know. The last time I was called was just a little over two years ago. Meanwhile, there are people I know who have never been called, or been called only once or twice. And, as if it weren't enough that jury summons are so unfairly distributed, the entire system is so stupid, that even if I desired to serve, I would never want to go through the shit they put you through.

First of all, your period of potential service is TWO WEEKS. And since I don't even get to take that much VACATION each year, having to block-out my time for something so lame as jury duty really chaps my ass. I summed it up pretty well the last time I got summoned...

What the f#@%?? Excuse me, but apparently the Washington State Justice System has me confused with some loser that has nothing better to do than wait by the phone while they try to find some criminal that needs hanging. I realize that Washington has one of the highest unemployment rates in the nation, but unless you want me to lose my job and become another unemployment statistic, you'd better re-think things. Do you really expect people to put their lives on hold for TWO WEEKS why you make up your mind as to whether I am going to be called in with only one day's notice? How am I supposed to plan for that? This isn't Little House on the F#@%ing Prairie where people had nothing to do...

Second of all, no excuse is good enough for the dumbass judges that determine if you can be excused. One year, I had to call in to be released because I was going to be studying for final exams at college. The judge yelled at me for five solid minutes and then chastised me for avoiding my "civic duty". The next year I received another summons that landed in the middle of a trip to Europe. Rather than get yelled at by some ass-wipe judge, I actually changed my travel plans.

Lastly, the results of serving on a jury are always unsatisfying. My last term on jury duty had all of us believing that the guy on trial was probably guilty, but we were forced to proclaim him "not guilty" because of gross incompetence by the prosecution. A total waste of my time (not to mention taxpayer dollars).

So you can imagine my reaction when I checked my mail this morning and saw this...

What could possibly be worse? Let's turn it over and see...

That's right, my first call-in lands on my birthday!

Awww, you shouldn't have!

Seriously, you shouldn't have. I will probably still be drunk when my term starts on the 27th.

I wonder if they'll let me play with my Nintendo during the trial?

I honestly try not to repeat myself whenever it comes time to write something new... but every once in a while, I just can't help it.

Such is the case with the idiot in Louisiana who is suing Apple because "listening to an iPod with the volume too loud can cause hearing loss". I've already ranted about it, but the story keeps coming up in the news and, every time it does, I just keep getting more and more furious. The fact that somebody can sue over something so incredibly stupid causes my blood to boil, and I cannot let it go. I want very badly to bitch-slap somebody, but society has made stupid shit like this acceptable, so what can you do? I mean, if a woman can be awarded millions of dollars because she wasn't careful with a scalding-hot cup of coffee, then nothing surprises me.

Pretty soon, everything is going to be plastered with disclaimers and those little "NO" illustrations, which I like to call "DUMBASS PROTECTION". You know, those little pictures with the slash through them that you see everywhere...

And why stop there? I mean, if you don't know any better than to not play the volume on your iPod too loud... then other sublimely obvious crap is going to need Dumbass Protection as well...

And the list goes on and on.

Just take a look around the room you're in, select an item, come up with something insanely stupid to do with it that might result in injury, then SUE LIKE A MUTHA-F#@%A!! Apparently, it's the American way: baseball, apple pie, and frivolous lawsuits.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have legal proceedings to file against Ticonderoga, Fiskars, and Zippo. Blogography: Your class-action lawsuit clearing house!

BLOGOGRAPHY FLASHBACK ENTRY: All-American Booty Call
BLOGDATE: July 4, 2003
   
In which Dave questions how 6 grams of fat on some daft bitch's ass could possibly be worth fifty million dollars.
Click here to go back in time...

This morning as I was leaving my apartment, I heard what sounded like a hairdryer running. Outside.

Since I live in an apartment complex with some wacky elderly people, I wasn't surprised when I saw that it was, in fact, actually a hairdryer. A woman had run an extension cord out of her apartment and was using a hairdryer to melt a patch of ice on the sidewalk, then mopping it up with a wad of paper towels. I can only guess that she must have slipped on it while taking out the garbage and decided to take care of the problem in her own way.

I pretty much have to guess because I wasn't about to ask her what was really going on. The truth is probably far more bizarre, and I am fairly certain that I am better off not knowing.

And speaking of bizarre... every time I see a hairdryer, I am taken back to a rather interesting story.

Well, not so much "interesting" as it is "wacky and insane".

And when I say "wacky and insane", I am actually referring to my friend Robert.

Robert (who long-time Blogography readers will better recognize from his comments here as "Bad Robert") is a very different individual, and quite proud of it. He's the type of guy that will call me at midnight on a Tuesday just to tell me that he's discovered a new word that I should know about called "shart" (which is what happens when you fart and accidentally end up shitting your pants). But, on the other hand, he's also the kind of guy who would give me his last dollar if I asked for it, which makes him a good friend and all-around nice guy to know.

(As a side-note: once gay marriage is legalized in Washington, I'll be giving some serious thought to Robert as a life-partner candidate).

Anyway...

One weekend this past summer I was over at Robert's place watching either Blues Clues or Girls Gone Wild when his Super-Deluxe Girlfriend walked into the room...

Super-Deluxe Girlfriend: I'm going to the store to pick up some groceries and a new hairdryer. Do you need anything?
   
Bad Robert: Oooh... when you get the hairdryer, make sure there's a blue balls button!
   
Dave: WHAT?!?
   
Super-Deluxe Girlfriend: WHAT?!?
   
Bad Robert: Yeah, you know... that blue button so that cool air comes out.
   
Dave: And you call this the "blue balls" button?
   
Bad Robert: No. Not "blue balls" button... blue "balls button"... as in the "balls button" is blue. It's so you can blow-dry your nuts without roasting them.
   
Dave: WHAT?!?
   
Super-Deluxe Girlfriend: WHAT?!?
   
Bad Robert: Well, yeah... testicular moisture can lead to jock itch. Baby, you should be glad that I'm into preventative maintenance... you wouldn't want to sleep with a guy who had jock itch would you?
   
Super-Deluxe Girlfriend: I don't know Robert. Right now I'm trying to decide if I want to sleep with a guy who blow-dries his testicles.
   
After she leaves...
   
Dave: Please don't ever tell me how your old hairdryer got broken.

Yep, Robert's Super-Deluxe Girlfriend has to be the bravest woman I've ever met.

D'oh! I just realized that I lost a dare from Naomi. But, in my defense, I must say that my thoughts are only a reflection of our balls-obsessed society, and not a personal obsession of yours truly. Oh well. If it makes you feel any better Naomi, I will resist the urge to draw a cartoon of me blow-drying my testicles... that should count for something.

UPDATE: It would seem that Robert is actually a lot smarter than people give him credit for. Read the follow-up for this entry.

Well this is odd. After poking fun at Bad Robert yesterday for his "cool balls" button... I awoke to four emails, all telling me that this is actually a good idea.

Apparently, using a blow dryer to prevent (or even cure) jock itch has been highly recommended for years by mens health magazines, doctors, and clinical researchers. This includes famous TV and radio personality Dr. Drew. There a number of reasons for this...

1) It is a natural way to take care of jock itch (as opposed to having to buy expensive ointments and creams), and actually works (just be sure to use a no-heat setting, as Robert had said).

2) Talcum powder is a controversial subject. Research shows that it is nasty, nasty stuff, and probably shouldn't be going anywhere near you genitals... male or female. One reader provided me with numerous warnings tying talc to everything including cancer. I had never heard this before, but a quick Google search confirms this with something like 80,000 results, including this one from the Prevent Cancer Coalition. Everybody is encouraged to make sure that talc is not listed in the ingredients of any powders they may be using.

3) Even powders other than talc (like corn starch-based remedies) can still cause problems for some people. In addition to drying up excess moisture, it can also rob skin of the natural moisture needed to stay healthy.

So there you have it. It would seem that Robert is totally vindicated here, and a hairdryer with a "cool balls" setting is actually a smart idea. I rarely blow-dry my hair, but after digging my hairdryer out from under the bathroom sink counter I see that, sure enough, it has a magical blue button.

Who knew?

Yet another helpful tip from your friends here at Blogography!

Most everything I buy now-a-days is purchased online. And one of my most favorite places to shop is Buy.com.

They're a solid, reliable company with a huge selection at very good prices. I like that they make it easy to manage my orders. Their shopping cart is great. They accept PayPal for payment. They ship quickly. Their policies are fair, and most of the time I can count on everything going smoothly when I place an order.

All-in-all, Buy.com is a great place to buy stuff.

Unless something goes wrong.

Because if something goes wrong, you will inevitably have to contact Customer Service. And Buy.com Customer Service sucks ass. Every single time I have had to deal with them, I end up so enraged that I want to kill somebody. If you ever hear in the news that I've gone on a murderous rampage and then locked myself in a donut shop somewhere, it's Buy.com Customer Service that's probably the cause of it.

And the reason for this is because the only thing they ever seem to do to service their customers is to send out piece-of-shit generic responses that usually have nothing to do with the question you asked. I've come to the conclusion that there can be two reasons for this...

A) They don't have actual people in their Customer Service Department, but instead have a big machine that automatically generates these stupid generic responses to your emails...

B) Their entire Customer Service Department is staffed by monkeys with PCs...

Because, seriously, there is no way that real-live people could be responsible for the shitty service you get. Real-dead people maybe, but I'm pretty sure it's illegal to employ the deceased.

Take for example my efforts to pre-order a copy of Pauly's new book: The Lost Blogs.

The book is offered for pre-order at Buy.com for the bargain-basement price of $10.04. They tell you to "place your order today and be one of the first to receive this product when it arrives!" I just love being first, and so I did. I placed my pre-order, then marked May 1st on my calendar with a happy face, because that's the day my book would ship.

Except Buy.com cancels my order after a week with some generic email telling me that they can't get the item from the publisher in a timely manner. Well no shit! It says right on the site that it's not available for three months! I knew this when I placed the order!

I send an email asking why they would ask me to place a pre-order, then cancel because the item isn't available.

They write back with another dumbass generic response that just tells me the exact same thing they told me in the cancellation notice email. I respond with my question re-phrased to make it clear what I am asking, but never get a response.

Thinking perhaps there was a release date change and it's some kind of error, I place ANOTHER ORDER.

Only to have it cancelled AGAIN.

And so AGAIN I write to Buy.com Customer Service asking why the f#@% they even bother to accept pre-orders if they are going to f#@%ing cancel them before the release date even arrives.

Another idiotic generic response about the item not being available. WELL NO SHIT YOU MORON!! THAT'S WHAT A PRE-ORDER IS FOR!!

So I finally take a difference approach and fire off a fresh email asking if the reason my order keeps getting cancelled is because I am paying with PayPal. I theorize that there is probably a time-frame that companies are obligated to ship the product when they take your money, and perhaps this is the reason? Is that why? Can they just delay processing the payment until the item is available... just like they don't charge your credit card until something ships?

Same f#@%ing generic response that in NO WAY even comes CLOSE to answering my question.

Ergo, nobody reads any emails that you send to Buy.com Customer Service. It's either a machine or monkeys. And it's not that I have a problem with companies using generic responses... IF THEY ANSWER THE F#@%ING QUESTION, but how the f#@% can you possible call this kind of treatment "Customer Service?" It's more like "Customer Torture".

And so now every time I need to buy something, I have to ask myself if Buy.com is someplace I really want to shop. Sure it's great when everything works out, but heaven-help you if it doesn't. If this is the price of saving money on things I want, I'd rather pay the extra and know that I'll be taken care of when things go wrong.

When you design stuff for a living, people automatically assume that you have one of the most funnest jobs ever. Probably because when you're a kid, drawing crappy pictures to put on the refrigerator is loads of big fun. But alas, like so many things, once something becomes work... well, the fun is kind of sucked out of it. The pressure to be creative under a deadline is probably one of the more stressful jobs you can have.

I'd put it right up there with neurosurgeon and bomb squad technician.

Basically, if you mess up in our line of work, somebody is going to die.

Anyway... because everybody thinks that drawing pretty pictures all day is like a non-stop party, they feel that they are doing you a big favor when they call up and say "hey, I need you to design something for me". And because I'm a sucker nice guy, I usually go ahead and do it if I can find the time. I design menus and invitations. I draw birthday banners and CD covers. I create posters and advertising. It's an endless parade of little projects which everybody tells me "will only take a few minutes" (ha ha ha ha).

The latest trend is people asking me to design their tattoos, like this one I drew up yesterday...

This is particularly painful for me, because I've always wanted a bad-ass tattoo of my own. Unfortunately, I could never manage to pull-off being "bad-ass". This is about as "bad-ass" as I can get...

Needless to say, having a cool flaming demon skull tattoo is not an option when you look like Gumby.

And so I have to continue to draw awesome tattoos for everybody but me.

Except I still want one.

So my option here is to try and come up with something that my boyish charm can pull-off. Something totally lacking in hostility. Something that is bad-ass, but in a "non-threatening" kind of way. I'm thinking that it will end up being something like one of these...

My other tattoo is a flaming demon skull. This one is pretty self-explanatory. It gives me the ability to imply that although the tattoo you are currently looking at is fairly reserved, somewhere else on my body is another one that's truly bad-ass. My only fear is that somebody will then be inclined to go looking for it.

Cartoon Skull. Though there is no way I can pull-off a realistic-looking skull and crossbones, I'm fairly certain that a cartoon version could work for me. It says "I'm bad-ass", but not so bad-ass that I have to worry about somebody mistaking me for an ass-kicking tough-guy, and want to fight me.

Bad Monkey. Because, well, you know... everybody just loves a monkey.

Garden Snake & Flaming Heart with Liz. This tattoo kind of covers all the bases. Since a scary serpent would be difficult for me to wear convincingly, I settled for a harmless garden snake. The flaming heart is a tattoo classic, but by making it look like something out of Hello Kitty, I don't risk anybody thinking that I want to rip their heart out and set it on fire. And lastly, I've got "Liz" in there so I can proclaim my love of Elizabeth Hurley and impress her with my dedication once fate brings us together.

Now if only I could decide where I want to put it after I pick the design...

It was a beautiful day.

At least it started that way.

When I left for Seattle the air was crisp and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I was marveling in all of creation as I drove Highway 2, being careful not to tailgate the truck ahead of me...

And then 10 minutes later I was pulled over by the Highway Patrol.

At first I thought he was after somebody else, and so I pulled over to let him pass.

But he didn't pass. He decided to pull me over for going 64 in a 60mph zone. I know, because I looked to make sure the needle was under the 65 mark, and it was.

The ensuing conversation went like this...

Johnny Law: YOU WERE SPEEDING!!
   
Dave: Sorry... I was just following the car ahead of me and didn't notice I was over.
   
Johnny Law: I DIDN'T STOP YOU TO ARGUE!!! I PULLED YOU OVER BECAUSE YOU WERE SPEEDING. I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE FOLLOWING ONE CAR OR A HUNDRED CARS!!!!!
   
Dave: Uhhh... okay...

After that, I just shut the f#@% up, because obviously the man had it in for me. He claimed I was going 66 (which I'm fairly certain I wasn't)... but even so, that's within 10% of the limit, and hardly a grievous offense that was worth being pulled over for (let alone being yelled at). I mean, shit! Give me a break... would you rather people keep their eyes on the road and occasionally check their speed... or just stare at the f#@%ing speedometer and ignore everything else? Minor pops over the limit are bound to happen, even with the best drivers... ESPECIALLY with the best drivers.

What I don't get is that I was following five other cars... IN THE SLOW LANE!! Why me?? Did somebody spray-paint "F#@% ALL COPS" on the side of my car? I mean, it's not like I was blowing past everybody going 70 in the passing lane, so WTF?!?

The guy let me off with a written warning, so I guess he wasn't so bad after all... but whatever. If he would have ticketed me, I would have actually showed up in court with my flawless driving record to fight that one.

After dropping my car off at the dealership, the rest of my day went something like this...

That's Jäger Bomber #6, after which I was cut-off.

At least until the shift change when I was able to get two more from our new and improved waitress. It was at this time my friend noted that one's ability to play darts well is tied to alcohol consumption along a sine-wave curve. Sure enough, this seems to be true... at least until you start to descend the back-side...

It would appear to go like this...

As you are just completing that first drink, your skills start to improve. Right after you finish drink #2, you enter "THE ZONE" where your mad dart skills are on fire. Things just keep getting better after drinks #3 and #4. At that point, you inevitably put your drinking on pause for just a bit, so you can ride that "dart high" of being able to totally kill at the game. But then you start to lose your edge and have to drink #5 and #6 to maximize your "ZONE" hang-time. Right around drink #7 is when things start to go terribly wrong. You don't just leave "THE ZONE", you plummet out of it... no longer are you "on fire" but you bypass the "sweet" phase and drop directly down to "suckage".

At that point, all you can do is leave the bar, then go back to your friend's house and start queuing up a few more Jäger Bombers to finish out the evening.

Naturally, when you drink twelve shots of Jägermeister dropped in glasses of Red Bull Energy Drink throughout day, getting to sleep is something that proves to be a bit of a challenge (but somewhat less critical than not puking your guts out). It was a rough night, but I did forget all about being pulled over by the cops so I guess it's all relative.

Life is hardest when it's self-inflicted.

The boy looked very small against the vast expanse of the horizon. As he made his way along the rocky scrub, he sheltered his eyes from a sky so bright that he couldn't bear to look at it. He was all alone now, which was nothing new. He had been alone and ignored most of his life. But now he knew he was alone, and the weight of it was not an easy burden to carry for one so young.

The breeze was picking up, but it did nothing to relieve the heat of the noonday sun. Instead it tore across the boy's skin as a blast from a furnace, adding to his misery. Had his spirit not been broken long ago, he might have dreamt of water. But all he could think of now was the never-ending horrors of his life that pushed him onward. Ahead of him was the promise of escape, and it was enough to keep him moving when even a grown man would have faltered.

Suddenly, the small child came to a stop.

He had reached the edge of a deep chasm that spread before him for as far as he could see.

The brightness of the sun brought tears to his eyes, but they had gone before he had a chance to wipe them away. Their moisture consumed by the unforgiving heat. With nowhere left to go, the boy just stood there looking for his future in the painted landscape.

Alas, no future could be found, and so the boy sat down and shuddered with quiet sobs of defeat. Not able to continue, not willing to return, the boy felt all his hopes drift away into the desert as he began wishing that he were dead.

"What's the problem here?" Inquired the desert mouse as he wandered up to the sobbing youth, his fur covered in dust...

I have no idea what I want to write about today. Usually when I have time to blog, I sit down and at least one topic comes to mind. Today there's nothing... just a bunch of random crap that nobody is going to care about. Ordinarily, I'd work on it a bit until something struck me, but today I am completely lacking in ambition. So totally random crap it is!!

Hey, you should feel lucky I'm bothering at all...

GAMES: Last year, a friend of mine got pretty sick, and so I miniaturized a few board games and sent them to her to help pass the time with her visitors. I had forgotten all about it until yesterday when I accidentally ran across the files I used to make the games and all the pieces. My favorite of the lot was always "Daveopoly" in which I recreated absolutely everything in a Monopoly box to be "Dave-ified." All the streets have been renamed in my image ("Davetucky Avenue," "Davelantic Avenue," and "Davewalk" for example). But I didn't stop there, I put my face on all the money and re-drew every last "Community Chest" and "Chance" card (my favorite being the "Get out of pound-you-in-the-ass prison free" card). Drawing all that wasn't really difficult, but cutting it all out and putting it together was sure a pain. Next time she's getting a deck of cards.

LIZ: A totally crappy episode of Project Catwalk greeted me after spending a couple hours downloading the torrent to episode #6. There wasn't much Elizabeth Hurley this time, and instead we had to look at some freaky guy with tattoos who is apparently a famous British designer. HELPFUL HINT TO SKY ONE BROADCASTING: Nobody gives a flying f#@% if some idiot can make a shitty-looking dress out of a shower curtain... PEOPLE ARE WATCHING YOUR SHOW TO SEE LIZ!

Next season, hire an editor that understands the true power of Elizabeth Hurley's breasts! Dumbasses.

TWO-POINT-NO: I still haven't made my way through all the email that piled up while I was gone over the weekend, but I did dig deep enough to find one from some douche wanting me to sign up for a "Web 2.0 Conference". HELPFUL HINT TO ANYBODY SENDING ME EMAIL: Any time I see the words "Web 2.0" in an email, I delete the stupid shit immediately. Do not pass spam filter. Do not collect conference fees. If ever there was a marketing hype term that was as useless as a bow on a turd, this is it. The web is evolving, and always has been. Assigning "Web 2.0" to some arbitrary technology so you can sucker people into thinking that Javascript and DOM is something new is just stupid. Are you the same moron who was declaring Flash as "Web 2.0" five years ago? Yeah, that's what I thought. Anybody pushing "Web 2.0" is trying to sell you something.

BETTY: Running to the other edge of the "remarkable woman spectrum" comes the news that Betty White has been honored for her work on behalf of animal rights by the Los Angeles Zoo. She is now an official "Ambassador to the Animals" which sounds cool, even if I don't know what that means. I just hope it doesn't interfere with her acting, because her recent appearances on Boston Legal have been GOLD. Giving Betty a gun and having her rob convenience stores was genius.

T-SHIRTS: Well, the weather seems to be clearing up, so everybody who has a Blogography T-Shirt from the Artificial Duck Store will be happy to know that I've got another order going in tomorrow morning. With luck, I'll be shipping orders at the end of the month! Sorry for the wait.

OLYMPIC: Seriously, does anybody give a crap about the Olympics anymore? It seems to be less about an athletic competition, and more about a competition to make money. They're always adding new events in order to capture public interest, and half the crap doesn't make any sense. I swear, if this trend continues, they're going to have Wet T-Shirt Competition as an Olympic sport. Besides, it's too heartbreaking watching some guy from a poor nation who works two jobs in order to pay for his training compete against wealthier nations that spend millions on their athletes. "Going for the Gold" has an entirely different meaning now that we're actually talking about networks "Going for the advertising dollars Gold."

GROMIT: Well, that's all folks... my copy of Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit arrived today!

Looks like my weekend project is going to be kidney stones. Nothing like spending agonizing hours at a hospital on a Friday morning.

Will somebody please explain why The Flying Spaghetti Monster would build something so incredibly painful into His "Intelligent Design?!?" Back to screaming...

And so the doctor says...

"Well, I have some good news and I have some bad news. The good news is that your stone is very close to being passed, and you should be clear sometime today. The bad news is that the CAT-scan reveals you have another stone lodged up in your kidney. It won't cause any pain until it comes loose and passes through... but that could be 10 minutes from now or 10 years from now. We really have no way of knowing."

And Dave says...

"Uhhh... thanks?"

As fun as this was, I really have no desire to ever do it again, but there you have it. I'm holding on to my drugs, so at least I can medicate myself through this crap when it happens again.

Though I am having a hard time deciding whether the nausea and vomiting that the pain medication causes is worse than the actual pain.

In other news: Little Debbie Chocolate Cupcakes are just as delicious coming up as they are going down!

Any minute now...

This has been the strangest weekend ever.

Sure the agonizing torture of kidney stones is something new, and entailed my very first visit to the Emergency Room, but the bigger picture is that I haven't done anything all weekend. It seems all I can manage to do is to take drugs and sleep. The good news is that I think my body must be getting accustomed to the medication, because I've been able to start eating again in small amounts. I can only hope that this means I'll be able to go to work tomorrow, because all this "nothing" is killing me. If this keeps up, I'm pretty sure I am going to go insane.

Sigh. And I had such big plans. Primary of which was to get the BloggerPeeps site up and running, but I haven't been able to make much progress on that at all...

Oh well. It's not like the world is going to end or anything, but still... it's kind of depressing that three days have been utterly wasted.

I wonder how much longer until I am de-stoned?

One interesting side note is how quickly that spammers act on new entries now-a-days. I had two comments from two different companies spamming with an "all natural kidney stones cure" when I woke up this morning. As if the actual kidney stones aren't enough pain, I've got dumbass spammers wailing on me too. Why is there no death penalty for these idiots yet?

Bleh. Time for another pill and my sixth nap of the day. Being sick sucks ass! Now I know why I do it so rarely.

Well, that was probably one of the most horrible experiences of my life, and I can't imagine anything that could be much worse.

I mean, I suppose that I could get my foot torn off in a freak accident involving a bear and explosives... or maybe some kind of torture where my teeth are ripped out with pliers... or perhaps something involving my testicles and a baseball bat... but it really is hard to think of anything that could top kidney stones. Kidney stones suck ass!

Anyway, it's a happy day after all...

I'm assuming my kidney stone is a girl, because the only pain that ever came close to this was dealt me by a woman.

Kind of funny that something so tiny can cause such mind-blowing agony. Usually, you have to read an Ann Coulter book in order to experience suffering of this magnitude.

This will be my last entry at Blogography. This morning I got an offer to write material at a commercial blog FOR MONEY and, since I am barely capable of writing one thing each day, I'm afraid that Blogography will be shut down for the foreseeable future.

Oh... wait a minute... I got that backwards. I REFUSED the offer because I am barely able to write one thing each day, and I am not ready to give up my blog just yet. Yes... yes, I'm sure that's how it went. But still, that's kind of flattering isn't it? Somebody found my crappy blog entertaining enough to want to pay me actual money to write stuff. Strange.

Anyway, the latest Project Catwalk finally hit, and Liz was her usual brutally hot self. A double-vision in magenta...

On the way to work in the rain this morning I needed to stop at the mini mart to pick up some cheese popcorn. Hey, I woke up craving cheese popcorn and far be it for me to deny myself anything. When I arrived, there was a guy in a dirty coat standing soaking-wet in the middle of the parking area. As I pulled up and got out of my car, the guy came right up to me and without hesitation said: "I really need a drink, do you have a couple of bucks?"

The reason I don't hand out money has already been documented (here, in a very special episode of Blogography), so I told him that while I cannot give cash, I'd be happy to buy him a breakfast burrito and a coffee if he was hungry. "Burrito? I don't want a burrito! I need a drink!" After explaining that this wasn't going to happen, I fully expected that he would take me up on my offer, but instead he said "aaaah, keep your damn burrito!" and walked off into the rain.

If only I had the discipline to become a wandering alcoholic. I mean, I always have such a great time while drunk, so it must be like a non-stop party (at least until you run out of booze money like that poor bastard). Meagan called once I had bought my cheese popcorn and, after I told her about my random encounter, had to remind me that being drunk in public is not the best career move for me...

Years ago while she was still living in Portland, I had gone down for work and we hooked up for a night on the town with her brother and his partner. Many alcoholic beverages were consumed before we finally decided to go to the movies. It was one of these weepy drama flicks that only women and gay men can enjoy, but I was totally drunk and didn't care what they wanted to watch. Turns out that was a mistake, because I was bored... bored... bored.

So bored that I did something bad.

There was this dramatic scene in the film where some daft bitch wasn't watching her daughter and the little girl wandered off and got trapped somehow. The woman struggled valiantly to reach the girl, but she couldn't. There were all these dramatic close-up shots of their hands almost touching, but not quite.

The woman in the movie cried.

The little girl in the movie cried.

The audience cried.

I just screamed "USE THE FORCE, BITCH!!"

In my defense, it did work for Luke when that abominable snow monster hung him up-side-down in the ice cave and he could almost touch his light saber.

There were a couple of big laughs in the audience (presumably those few straight guys who had been forced to watch this pile of crap by their girlfriends), but overall my helpful comment was not well-received by my fellow movie-goers. I really don't blame them. I hate it when some dumbass ruins the film for everybody... it just so happens that this time the dumbass was me.

When a woman left the theater, I knew she was going to get the manager, so I told my posse I was going back to the bar before I got tossed out and they could just come get me after the movie was over. Much to my surprise, they actually did come and get me.

So perhaps Meagan is right. If social drinking is this difficult for me, maybe this isn't a good career move?

Oooh, look! It's another picture of Elizabeth Hurley!!

Oh yeah, speaking of The Force... my fellow Lego Star Wars video game lovers will be happy to know that IGN is running a production diary for the sequel over at their site. How cool is that? I guess it's time I renew my IGN Insider membership. All I know is that I cannot WAIT for this game to be released...

Awww... isn't little Lego Darth Vader cute as he chokes that little Lego Rebel Alliance soldier?

There are choices that define you. Choices that let the world know who you are... what you're about. Everything from what you choose to wear to what you choose to drive is analyzed by everybody you meet. Make the wrong choice, and you can give a very wrong impression.

And there is nothing more harshly analyzed than what bank checks you choose.

It used to be that checks were all the same. You opened a checking account and got some kind of blue or green pattern and that was the end of it. There was no choice... your bank had already made it for you. But now things are very different. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of check blanks you can choose from. I don't write checks very often because I use an electronic billing service and a debit card, but every once in a while I need to write one. And I am down to two left, so now it's time to choose.

The checks I loathe most are the cute ones. Puppies and rainbows and all that happy crap. When I am writing a check, I am generally not happy. And I don't want the people to whom I am giving the check to be happy either. Kittens are the worst. Nothing more horrible than a cute kitten on a check. Unless it's a kitten cartoon...

Or maybe babies dressed up as angels is the worst, I can't decide...

So then I start looking for things I dislike. Things that make me very unhappy. And right at the top of the list is country music. I loathe country music with a passion usually reserved for child molesters and Ann Coulter. And there are plenty of country music checks to choose from. Like Kenny Chesney, for example. A design like this is guaranteed to piss me off whenever it came time to write a check...

But that's pretty gay. Okay, it's a LOT gay. And with my gayness rating hovering at 20%, I cannot afford to add the kind of gay points that Kenny Chesney checks would give me. I need something more butch...

But that's kind of lame, because checks with chicks just look like you're compensating for something... they say "I am so not butch that I give you this sexy chick in the hopes that it will fool you into thinking that I am a total stud". So instead, I thought I'd head in another direction and look for something totally macho. Something that would make that babe at the checkout counter totally "get" me. Something that shows I am a bad-ass that doesn't take any crap and knows how to handle a woman. Something like these policeman checks...

But passing out checks with guns to people is a little scary now-a-days. I don't even know if airport security would let me on a plane carrying something like that. So maybe there is a more heroic choice? Something that screams "I am the very definition of masculinity and manly vigor". Something like these firefighter checks...

Except the only thing more lame than checks with chicks has got to be trying to explain why you are carrying firefighter checks when you're not a firefighter.

So then I go looking through sports checks... cartoon character checks... patriotic checks... designer pattern checks... check after check after check. And nothing even remotely says "THIS IS ME!"

Until I found these totally awesome Rob Zombie checks...

That aught to scare the crap out of the little old lady at the rental storage company!

Now go find your own check bliss.

I finally got around to finishing up the last hour of VH1's I Love Toys show and have to say I am monumentally disappointed. THE HULA-HOOP IS THE #1 TOY OF ALL TIME?!? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. The Hula-Hoop was a fad... not a great toy at all.

But the show was great fun, and did remind me of my favorite toys from over the years. With nothing better to do, I decided to come up with my own list of top ten best...

1. Lego. Easily the greatest toy ever created, there is not a time in my life that I can recall Lego not being in it. In the early days, all you had were bricks... if you wanted to have a Lego figure, you drew a smiley face on a yellow piece and that was it. But now Lego is cooler than ever, with little pirate and ninja mini-figures to populate your self-created universe. Lego kicks ass!
2. Atari 2600. I shudder to think how many wasted hours were spent staring at the television playing Atari. My favorite games were always of the explorer/RPG type genre (not that you could have much of an RPG back then)... those games that had a purpose. My favorites being "Adventure" and "Superman".
3. Six Million Dollar Man. My Steve Austin action figure was beyond cool. He had a hole in his head so you could look through his bionic eye, and had fake skin on his arm you could roll up to get to the bionic "parts" inside. You could also get Steve's space capsule (which turned into a bionic repair center), and other action figures like Oscar Goldman and Fembots!!
4. GameBoy. I am pretty sure that I've owned each of the GameBoy models that have been released over the years... from the original Black & White... to the GameBoy Color... to the Advance... to the Nintendo DS. Being able to "game on the go" is almost too good to be true, and Nintendo has always been there to make mobile gaming cool.
5. Micronauts. This very retro toy was a big favorite back in the day. You started out with the little transparent "Time Traveler" dude, then added other nifty characters like the evil "Acroyear" and "Pharoid". Everybody had holes on them so you could plug them into bitchin' vehicles like the "Mobile Exploration Lab". If you are a fellow Micronaut fan, you need to visit the Micro-Outpost!
6. Hot Wheels. There were too many days spent running Hot Wheels track through my childhood home, then racing cars through the twists, turns, and loops. Keeping up with the latest hot cars was a big status symbol in my neighborhood. I also played around with Matchbox cars, but they never captured my imagination like Hot Wheels.
7. Erector Set. A real building toy for real men made with real metal. Oh yeah! Erector Sets let you get pretty creative in terms of what you could build, and you were able to order extra parts from the Erector company in order to create exactly what you had in mind. Any toy that comes with a wrench is entirely too sweet.
8. Viewmaster. Back before the VCR and DVD the only way you could travel the world and watch big-name entertainment at home was with a Viewmaster. In some ways, it's still superior technology than what we have today because it was in awesome 3-D!!
9. G.I. Joe. Yeah, like every other kid in my generation, G.I. Joe was a huge favorite growing up. My favorite was always the Joe that had "real" fuzzy hair and beard, along with Kung-Fu Grip and a bad-ass scar on his cheek. In many ways, G.I. Joe was even more of a vain toy than Barbie, because there were all these clothes and accessories you had to collect to make sure that your "Joe" was the coolest on the block. Eventually the 12-inch Joe was replaced by these pussy 3-inch models that weren't nearly as fun.
10. Tinker Toys. I was really into building toys growing up, and started out with Tinker Toys. Then moved on to Lincoln Logs. Then Erector Sets. Then Lego. Sure Tinker Toys were always kind of limited in what you could create, but it was the first, and I do remember having a lot of fun with them when I was young.

Speaking of toys... Boing Boing had a link a while back as to how you can make photos look like tiny little models. I gave it a try and ended up with this shot of Toy Shanghai...

Nifty!

Am I the only one who delights in the misfortune of dumbasses?

I don't know what's wrong with me, because my Buddhist leanings are all about love and respect for my fellow humans, yet I just can't seem to feel badly for stupid people when they do stupid things. Can't do it. Maybe my sympathy gene was misplaced somehow?

Or perhaps it's just because I am pure evil...

This morning I had to provide chauffeur services for somebody needing a ride. After dropping them off, it was still early, and I was hungry enough to eat breakfast at McDonalds while I waited. Sure the food will kill you, but I'm facing 40 and am totally ready to die.

So there I am just pulling into the McDonalds parking area, when I see this car entering from the opposite side of the lot. Much to my surprise, they all of a sudden floor it, and come screaming across the pavement in my direction. At first I thought that I had somehow been transported into the movie Death Race 2000, but then I realized that they were just trying to beat me to the drive-through.

Except I wasn't going to the drive-through.

But they didn't know that, and decided to race me for it...

... and ended up ramming their spiffy new truck right into the curb because they were going too fast and couldn't stop in time.

Oops.

After parking my car, I noticed that the driver had gotten out of his truck to inspect the damage, and it looked like one of his rims took a bit of a beating. This made him mad. Very mad. Very, very mad. He was saying words that I don't think were intended to be said at McDonalds.

I'm sure he probably blames me for this somehow... dumbasses always do.

I thought it was funny, so I just laughed at him as I went to buy an Egg McMuffin (sans ham).

Evil, I tell you.

I've written ad nauseam about my profound disappointment in the United States Government to provide adequate health care for its citizens, but it's never been written from personal experience. It's always been an observation of other people struggling... elderly people who can't afford to buy medicine... people who can't afford to go to the doctor when they get sick... things like that.

Until today.

Because today I received my medical bill from the little trip I took to the emergency room for kidney stones a couple weeks ago. The grand total? $2762.77, which is about the price of a brand new, top-of-the-line Apple Power Mac G5.

The good part (if you really look for it) is that I have health insurance to help out. Unfortunately, my deductible means I have to pay $1250 before my insurance actually kicks in, which is about the price of a new Apple iMac.

In order to help people like me with that deductible, the government is generously allowing its citizens to create "Health Savings Accounts", where you are allowed to put in your deductible amount each year, and not pay taxes on it. So I go to open up my HSA at the bank today, only to find that any account with a balance under $2500 will have a monthly service fee of $2.50. And since my account will have a balance of $0 after I pay out for my expenses, I will be effectively paying $30.00 a year to save any money on my taxes.

What a brilliant f#@%&ing idea.

Seriously, when are people going to get sick of this shit and start rioting in the streets? How much worse does it really have to get?

American citizens have to pay huge insurance premiums that still result in huge bills... but not huge enough to deduct from your taxes (unless said expenses exceed 7.5% of your income). Bad enough that the wealthiest nation on the planet makes us pay for all this shit in the first place... but to tax you on top of it? WHAT THE F#@&?!?

If the government is going to make me pay my own medical expenses so I can stay healthy, thus be able to work, thus be able to pay taxes on what I actually earn... why should I have to pay taxes on ANY medical expense? Would they rather we just not go to the doctor and die? How can you collect taxes from somebody who's DEAD you dumbass f#@%ers?!? Are you trying to encourage people to not earn any money so they can go on welfare and get their medical care that way? Stupid. Stupid. STUPID!!

Does this make sense to anybody? Anybody at all?

You shouldn't need to pay a bank $30 to save a minimal amount on your taxes if you need medical attention... you should be able to claim ANY medical expenses on your taxes as a deduction simply by saving a receipt. This is the least... the absolute VERY LEAST... our government can do for the people they are f#@%ing over.

Happy f#@%ing St. Patrick's Day.

Argh. My plan was to spend my birthday in Cabo San Lucas for four glorious days... but my friend can't get her schedule changed, and I'm too buried in work, so we're postponing things. I'm still going to Seattle to goof off this weekend, but boy was I looking forward to drunken adventures in Cabo.

It was just one of several disappointments facing me as I started the week. Unfortunately, it wasn't even the worst thing to happen. No, that would be the old woman who was shouting at me as I drove through the parking lot this morning. I'm getting used to old people yelling and shaking their fist at me, though I can never figure out exactly why they do it. I used to stop and roll down my window so I could find out what their problem was (they're my neighbors, after all) but eventually gave up, because I always ended up more confused than when I started.

So I just give a quick wave and continue on my merry way.

Except she was having none of that. She decided to come after me.

Waving her cane with a righteous fury, she hobbles off the sidewalk and shuffles toward my car. Slowly. Figuring that something could be wrong, I stopped the car, got out, and walked back to her.

Turns out it was a case of mistaken identity... she thought that I was supposed to be driving her to an appointment because my "car looked the same". This was a huge relief to me because the last thing I needed was to have an old lady beat my ass with a cane. I deposited her back on the curb so she wouldn't be run over and said my goodbyes.

Then, just as I was heading back to my auto, somebody pulled up in a beat-to-shit car that looked nothing like mine and started screaming at the poor old woman to get in or they would be late. So once again the old lady hobbles off the curb and then tries to open the car door. When I notice she is having trouble, and the bitch behind the wheel has no intention of helping her, I once again ran back so I can assist her into the car.

My reward is to have the bitch driver then scream at me for blocking the exit.

And yet if I were to strangle the white-trash piece of shit, I WOULD END UP BEING THE ONE SENT TO A POUND-YOU-IN-THE-ASS PENITENTIARY!

This kind of pushed me past the "disappointment" stage and sent me right into "rage" mode. It took every bit of strength I had to not curse the bitch out and, if the old lady hadn't been there, I most certainly would have. AAAAARRRRGGGHH!!

A canceled trip to Cabo. Screaming white-trash bitches. And NO Elizabeth Hurley Project Catwalk torrent yet. THIS is how I am starting my week?!?

I. Want. Out. Of. Here.

Today I am forty years old.

That's a lot of years. Where did it all go?

Still, I can't complain. I've done a lot of things in my life, am fortunate to have seen a bit of the world, am relatively healthy, and have terrific friends and family to get me through the day. I guess that makes me a lucky guy (if I believed in luck, which I don't).

But forty... wow. A pity that I still act like a 12-year-old, but everybody has their issues.

Anyway, I guess I'm ready to die now.

Not that I want to die, I'm just saying... if it happens, I'm okay with it.

And if I get to choose how I'm going to die, I think it would go something like this...

The good news is that being dead gives me a terrific new DaveToon to draw...

And just for the record, Bad Monkey did not die from a marathon love-making session with Elizabeth Hurley. He died from an overdose of Coke with Lime.

Uhhhh... yeah.

Happy birthday to me.

I love a good map.

Historical maps, world maps, city maps, street maps... it doesn't matter. I just think that maps are cool to look at, and I've accumulated quite a few of them over the years. Mostly from places I've been, but also from places I want to go (like the Aegean) and places I will probably never go (like the planet Mars). I even like these newfangled internet maps like MapQuest and Google Maps. Sometimes I wish I had a GPS so I could see myself on a map wherever I am. Because that's how much I love maps.

My map passion began in a very unlikely place... an album cover.

In 1984 one of my favorite bands of the day, The Thompson Twins, released their latest work titled Into The Gap. In addition to unforgettable 80's musical favorites like Hold Me Now and Doctor! Doctor!, the back of the album cover had a very cool treatment of the Thompson Twins logo by the artist Satori...

He had turned it into a map! And then he put the album credits as cities on the map!

This fascinated me. I had never thought of maps as art before, but here was an incredibly cool artistic statement that inspired me to take a look at "real" maps. And I was hooked. From that moment onward, I was a cartography whore.

So much so, that I started creating my own maps. Sometimes of real places, like this map of the Hard Rock Cafe run Perry and I took...

Other times I make maps of fake places, or of fake places that should be real. Like the sovereign nation of Davenia...

I drew this map back in 1998 for the relauch of "DaveWorld", which never happened (close-ups of the map can be found in an extended entry).

So what's all this leading up to? Glad you asked...

One of the greatest map inventions of the 20th century was the laminated roadmap. And the best of these was "FastMap", which was manufactured by the HM Gousha Company. These fantastic travel companions are always in my car, ready for use at a moment's notice. They are low-profile, single panel height, accordion-style maps that are brilliant both in execution and design. And, because they're laminated, they wear well and don't rip apart like paper maps. Eventually, map giant Rand McNally came out with their own laminated maps, but they were pale imitations that folded out to HUGE dimensions and were difficult to use in a car. The leaner, meaner FastMap was a much better choice.

So can you guess what happened next?

Rand McNally bought out the HM Gousha Company in 1996. This was a smart move, because now Rand McNally could have access to the wonderful FastMap catalog, and release this superior product under the Rand McNally name!

But I think we all know that's not what happened. Rand McNally promptly discontinued FastMaps in favor of their own INCREDIBLY CRAPPY AND PRACTICALLY WORTHLESS PIECE-OF-SHIT laminated maps. This means that my beloved FastMaps, which are now falling apart, cannot be replaced thanks to the dumbass bastards at Rand McNally (whose web site has sections that are not Mac-compatible, by the way).

Needless to say, I am not happy about this. And, to add insult to injury here, I couldn't buy a new Washington State map from Rand McNally even if I wanted to... they're out of stock. Somebody at Rand McNally needs a serious bitch-slapping.

Anyway, more Davenia maps are in an extended entry, if things like that interest you...

You know... just when you think things can't get any shittier, that's usually when they do.

Thanks to a lot of hard work and the kindness of one incredibly generous person, I am very close to climbing out of the nightmare of getting my blog re-hosted. It has been a totally crappy four days, but it's almost over. Then BLAM! I get f#@%ed by PayPal!

This lovely piece of email lands in my inbox...

PayPal is committed to maintaining a safe environment for its community of buyers and sellers. Our team employs the most advanced systems in the world to protect the security of your account.
During a recent review of our system, we determined that you received funds from an account that reportedly has been associated with possible unauthorized use. In accordance with PayPal's Seller Protection Policy, the following transaction has been reversed...

WTF?!?

THEY accepted the charge, and yet it's MY problem?

And what kind of bullshit is "POSSIBLE unauthorized use"??

It's POSSIBLE that aliens have replaced world leaders with pod people. It's POSSIBLE that Elvis is still alive. It's POSSIBLE that PayPal is a giant scam. It's POSSIBLE that diamonds might shoot out of my ass...

So PayPal steals MY F#@&ING MONEY because of a "possible" problem. No proof is offered. I'm just supposed to take their word for it. No mention on whether they will reinstate my money if the charge is proved to be valid. No mention on me getting any evidence whatsoever as to this ALLEGED claim of "unauthorized use".

This is bullshit.

I wrote and asked for the evidence that this is, IN FACT, an unauthorized charge. Who knows if I will ever see it. I'm probably just f#@%ed, which is fantastic. Not only am I going to be out $12.90... I'm also out $4.05 in shipping... and $7.95 in shirt and materials.

I just had to pay hundreds of dollars to host my blog, and now T-shirts that I sell at near-cost out of the goodness of my heart, have just screwed me out of $25.

What's coming next?

UPDATE: I got an email from somebody saying: "If somebody stole YOUR credit card and bought a shirt don't you think that you should get your money back? Being ripped off by credit card thieves is part of owning a business and you need to grow up". First of all... the person who bought the shirt has no idea why the transaction was flagged as "possible unauthorized use" - NEITHER OF US DO! Even better, the buyer didn't even know that there was a problem until I wrote and told them! PayPal never bothered to contact them! So basically, PayPal says there is a "possible problem" but there is NO evidence provided to either buyer OR seller, and THAT is what I am upset about. And this is not an email scam, because the reversal of the money credit is showing up in my PayPal account. Second of all... Even if there IS fraud, "my business" WAS NOT THE ONE WHO TOOK THE CREDIT CARD! PayPal accepted the credit card! And they aren't doing it for FREE, I get billed fees every time. I mean, seriously... if I was the one who took the card and the charge was bogus... is it fair that I turn around and bill the company who printed the shirts for my loss?? No. In any event PayPal needs to provide evidence that there is wrong-doing OR GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!!

LINK OF THE YEAR: I keep forgetting to mention THE TRUTH. This is where I get all my news... Ze does the thinking, so I don't have to. Somebody give him a correspondent gig on The Daily Show ASAP.

If you hadn't already guessed, I am a very self-centered person. The entire world revolves around me, and if something doesn't affect me, I really don't care about it. In order to understand the New World Order, I have made these helpful illustrations to explain it to you...

It's quite simple, really. Some people might call me a narcissist, but I prefer to think of it as "reality". Unfortunately, not everybody understands how reality is supposed to work.

Here's an example...

I am terrible at remembering dates. I can barely remember when my own birthday is, let alone somebody else's birthday. This can be quite embarrassing with my friends, and so I've come up with a way to fix it. What I do is go to the Hallmark Card Shop at the beginning of every year and buy about thirty "Happy Belated Birthday" cards. I fill them all out for my friends and stick them in my sock drawer. Then, when I find out that it's my birthday, I realize that other people have birthdays too, and so I go to my sock drawer and mail the belated birthday wished to all my friends.

It's not a perfect system, but I've been doing it for years and it works for me.

Except this year I even forgot about the cards, so they didn't get mailed until a week ago.

Then this morning I get a phone call...

Mobile Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
   
Dave: Hello.
   
Meagan: YOU ASSHOLE! IT'S BAD ENOUGH THAT YOU FORGET MY BIRTHDAY EVERY YEAR AND SEND ME THIS BELATED SHIT... BUT NOW YOU ARE SENDING BELATED-BELATED BIRTHDAY CARDS?!? WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO WORK THE CALENDAR IN YOUR COMPUTER?!? IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT YOU TYPE MY F#@%ING NAME IN SO THAT I ACTUALLY GET A BIRTHDAY CARD ON MY BIRTHDAY? WHAT THE F#@%?!?!
   
Dave: Uhhhh. Okay. When is your birthday again?
   
Meagan: AGAIN?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN "AGAIN"?? YOU NEVER KNEW IT IN THE FIRST PLACE! MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW ASSHOLE!! EVERY YEAR YOU SEND ME A BELATED CARD 330 DAYS LATE, BUT THIS YEAR YOU ACTUALLY SENT IT ON TIME, BUT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT, AND SO HERE I AM GETTING THIS BELATED SHIT!!
   
Dave: Yes. I can see how you might be upset about that...
   
Meagan: UPSET?!? UPSET?!?! DO I EVER F#@%ING FORGET YOUR F#@%ING BIRTHDAY? NO! AND DO YOU KNOW WHY?!? BECAUSE I KNOW HOW TO USE A F#@%ING CALENDAR!!
   
Dave: That is pretty bad. Hey, did you watch Veronica Mars last night?
   
Meagan: Oh yeah... can you believe that XXXX totally XXXX to XXXX and got him XXXX in that stadium? How cool was that?*

(* mad-libbed to prevent spoilerage)

I think I'm safe.

Until next year, anyway.

But here's the problem. That card was actually for last year's birthday. And so now I am confused as to what to do. Since her birthday is tomorrow, I could send a new card for this year's birthday, but it would have to be another belated card because it won't get there tomorrow. But if I send a belated card, then that means I have to remember not to send another belated card next year for this year. But if I do that, then forget to send the card the next year, then this year's card should have been for next year's birthday, but it says "belated" when it really isn't.

Crap. Maybe this actually would be a lot easier if I learned how to work my calendar.

Hopefully Veronica Mars will get a third season, because then I can worry about this in 2008 and focus on more important things. Like me.

I finally got a response from PayPal regarding my request for any actual evidence that a shirt payment was, in fact, unauthorized.... "We are not able to disclose any information for an ongoing investigation, Please help us with our investigation by responding to any question we have so we can verify that you are covered for the transactions."

Uhhhh, why are you not able to give me any information? Who's stopping you? I'm not asking for account numbers or any sensitive stuff... just a copy of notice that caused you to reverse the transaction so I can verify it with the bank. Since you are holding ME accountable for this shit, isn't that the very least you can do?

This is great. PayPal can take your money without any explanation. When you ask for an explanation, they won't give you one. Not only that, but they won't tell me if I will get the money back if the charge is found to be authorized. As far as I know, they will be keeping my money no matter what happens.

PayPal has got to be one of the biggest scams ever.

Since they will provide me with no proof, no evidence, and no information... I am just supposed to take their word for it that there is a problem? Well, I'm sorry, but if you won't tell me anything I have no choice but to look at this as theft. PayPal has stolen money from my account.

You steal from me mutha-f#@%er, and you had better run.

Do not make me fly down to San Jose and collect my $12.90. Trust me when I say that you do not want that.

I have been spending my PayPal money as fast as I can before they steal any more of it. Who knows... they might suddenly decide that ALL of my transactions have "possible problems."

What assholes.

Given all the outrageous shit that they do to people on a regular basis, why aren't they under investigation for fraud?

If you have a PayPal account, you might want to start looking for alternatives. This is a very scary company.

When I was younger, I had braces installed by one of the finest orthodontists money could buy. Unfortunately, he was a bit of a quack, and never managed to fix my teeth properly (particularly my lower teeth). I went back years later and he tried again, but his dumbass "solution" to remedy the situation just made everything worse. My teeth are now falling apart because of uneven pressure points. Every once in a while, I bite wrong and pieces of tooth break off that I then have to go get fixed.

It really sucks ass. And, because of all these problems, I hate going to the dentist with a passion.

So can you guess where I got to go first thing this morning?

The only thing worse than the actual work being done is the bill that follows. Argh.

Needless to say, I am not a happy camper today.

And in non-tooth-related news...

I am way behind in reading my email. So totally behind that I probably won't be caught up until Easter. I promise that I am not ignoring those people who are patiently waiting for an reply... but I've just been really busy trying to get all my work done so that my half-day at the dentist doesn't make me have to work the holiday weekend.

Of all the lost bloggers, I've only identified eight (I think). I'm not good at this game at all, but remain surprised that nobody has guessed my historical figure yet. I suppose not everybody looks at things like I do, or expresses themselves like I do, so they are missing the clues? Oh well, since tomorrow is the last day, I'll be revealing just about everything...

Oh yeah, the penultimate "Lost Blogs" entry is now up over at DaveSpace! Click here to read it!

Those of you wanting to make guesses as to my "lost blogger's" identity should send me an email at the address in my sidebar. Comments with guesses will not be approved! Who knows, there might be a prize for the first person to guess correctly! But remember the rules... you only get ONE GUESS... so make sure you're sure about who it is before contacting me, because any subsequent guesses by the same person will be tossed out. Good luck!

If you want to learn more about Pauly's book (or pre-order a copy), visit The Lost Blogs site!

Yesterday on the way home from the dentist I stopped at K-Mart to get a pizza. That sounds strange, I know, but I kind of like the "Little Caesar's Pizza Station" there. It's the best of the worst pizzas in town, and a 14-incher only costs $5. K-Mart is kind of a strange place. Once upon a time, it was the "bargain basement" store in town, and people put up with the low quality, imitation-brand merchandise because it was cheap. But then along comes Wal-Mart, and suddenly K-Mart is caught with their Wrangler's around their ankles. No longer are they the best bargain in town. Wal-Mart has blue-light specials on every item all the time.

So K-Mart hunkers down and retools. They can't really compete with Wal-Mart (who can?) so they start getting exclusives (like Joe Boxer and the Martha Stewart stuff) and tries to serve the middle ground with good merchandise as decent prices. But it's a crowded field, because there are a lot of stores in that arena. I don't shop K-Mart very often because my favorite store in that space is Target (nothing personal, I just prefer their stuff).

So when I get to K-Mart, I order my pizza and then go shopping while I wait for it to cook. Most of the bargain shoppers frequent Wal-Mart, but you still get an occasional penny-pincher.

Like yesterday.

I make my way back to the grocery aisle so I can get some Pop-Tarts on sale (3 for $5) and find an older woman on her hands and knees, spreading out boxes of crackers on the floor. At first I think that she fell while carrying an arm-load of crackers, so I run up to see if I can help. But she waves me away and says that she's "doing fine". This puzzles me greatly, because none of the boxes are marked with prices and there's no special offers printed on any of them. The price is on the shelf. And then I realize what's happening... she is actually looking at the UPC codes and comparing them. At least I think that's what it happening. I guess that she thinks a UPC code with a lower number would be cheaper?

I suppose I should have found a way to explain it to her, but she made it clear that she didn't want my help. I still have no idea what was going through her head. A part of me hopes that wide-scale deployment of RFID technology is a ways off yet, because I can't imagine what this woman is going to do once price tags AND UPC codes aren't used anymore. She won't have anything to look for.

Anyway...

Here it is... the final "Lost Blogs" entry is now up over at DaveSpace! Click here to read it!

Those of you wanting to make guesses as to my "lost blogger's" identity should send me an email at the address in my sidebar. Comments with guesses will not be approved! The "main prize" has already been won, but everybody who sends me a correct guess between now and midnight Seattle time (PST) will be entered in a runner-up prize giveaway for a free Blogography T-shirt. But remember the rules... you only get ONE GUESS... so make sure you're sure about who it is before contacting me, because any subsequent guesses by the same person will be tossed out. Good luck!

If you want to learn more about Pauly's book (or pre-order a copy), visit The Lost Blogs site!

I wish I had a dollar for every time I've dropped the F-Bomb today.

Nothing, and I mean nothing has gone right today. On top of all that, my internet connection has been flakey (at best), so being able to catch up on email and the various blogs I enjoy has been an exercise in futility. At first I was blaming my DSL connection, but now it looks like it must be my piece-of-crap DSL/wireless hub that's the problem.

I am very close to soaking it in gasoline and lighting it on fire... but I'm fairly certain that this would void my warranty.

And so I spend my time swearing instead...

And to top it all off, I get a call from Bad Robert informing me that a friend of ours whom we haven't seen in months had died back in February (isn't it time that they invent a cure for cancer?). He was an incredibly generous and decent human being, and it makes me sad to know that somebody like him is gone from this earth.

Robert then goes on a rant for ten full minutes about how he wishes that he would win a billion dollars so that he could quit his job and devote the rest of his life to hunting down spammers and killing them. It almost makes me wish that I had a billion dollars to give him.

After I hang up the phone, I call another one of our friends to let her know about the death, only to learn that she lost her job last Friday. Her position has been outsourced. This leads me to wonder if there is any job that WON'T be outsourced in the near-future. I picture a day when you pull up to a McDonald's drive-through and somebody from India answers on the speaker-box. Tech-sector jobs (which we were all told would be the future of employment in America) are disappearing at an alarming rate. Pretty soon the only job left will be for lawyers, and then everybody will spend their time suing each other to make a living. Sounds like Utopia to me.

Ack.

Internet connection willing, I hope to have the Artificial Duck Store open again tomorrow night. Then everybody can pre-order their $10-off shirts and be blissfully happy.

Hey, given what happened today, I fully believe "happiness" is an entirely relative term.

Most of my weekend has been spent working.

Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me, but now that good weather has arrived, I really want to pull my motorcycle out of storage. Problem is, it's going to take at least a day to rip her apart, de-winterize her, charge the battery, and clean her up. Unfortunately, I just don't have that kind of time to spare. So instead I worked, washed clothes, ate Pop-Tarts, drank Coke with Lime, and drew a "Pain Chart" for Belinda over at Ninja Poodles.

You see, during a recent visit to the ER for a migraine, Belinda was presented with this pain chart which has these goofy-looking green balloon-heads and says "If you are in pain, let your doctor or nurse know how bad your pain really is". I remember that they had something similar when I visited the ER with my kidney stones incident, but I was screaming so loud that I don't think they bothered to use it. This was surprising, because all the screaming didn't seem to motivate them into giving me any drugs until after an hour and twenty minutes had passed.

Anyway, here's the chart...

Belinda felt this was totally inadequate, and thought it would be better if I redrew it with Bad Monkey instead of a green balloon head. But since monkeys are screeching all the time and it's hard to know if they are in pain or not, I decided to use Cartoon Dave instead....

• NO PAIN: The only time that I am feeling no pain is when I am drunk and happy. This is me being drunk and happy. You can tell that I am happy because I have a smile on my face. Likewise, you can tell I am drunk because I am smiling.
• MILD PAIN: I am in "mild pain" all the time. This is what I look like all the time.
• MODERATE PAIN: When I smash my finger or get a paper cut, it makes me unhappy. This is me being unhappy. You can tell that I am unhappy because I am making a frowny face.
• SEVERE PAIN: I grit my teeth a lot when I am in severe pain, and usually my eye starts twitching as my face gets all scrunchy. The reason I grit my teeth is because it keeps me from saying curse words... well, it doesn't stop me completely, but at least when I say "szeet" and "fookh" people don't have the slightest idea what I am talking about. This is the face that I make when I see a Jarod Subway commercial, accidentally tune into FOX News, or have to watch David Caruso "act".
• WORST PAIN: Yeah, when I get to this point I'm pretty much screaming my head off and yelling F#@%! as loud as I can. Fortunately, I've only been in this kind of pain three or four times. Let's see... there were the kidney stones, President Bush getting elected for a second term, President Bush getting elected for a first term, having my heart broken by a lying sadistic bitch, and watching Mariah Carrey in Glitter. Hmmm... I guess that's five.

After making the pain chart, it got me to wondering what other useful charts there should be...

I was going to do an "Are You a Dumbass" chart, but that would have to be a big-ass chart to truly capture the many shades of dumbass that I run across on a daily basis.

Oh well. Back to work...

I woke up extra early today so I could skip through my TiVo recordings of Veronica Mars in an attempt to figure out how the "big ending" could have come so seemingly out of nowhere. The answer was easy to see, even in the earliest episodes. This was not some random tacked-on hack of an ending... from all appearances, it was carefully planned. I am so very hopeful that there are commentary tracks on the second season DVD release, because having the writers talk about how all the pieces fit together would be sweet!

Anyway...

This morning I had an appointment. Where and why doesn't matter so much as the fact that I had to use their public bathroom while I was waiting. Apparently, to dampen the smell of poop and urine, they apply some kind of harsh orange solvent to every visible surface each morning.

Ordinarily, I like oranges. They are a beautiful, sunny-looking fruit that brings a smile to my face...

See? You're smiling right now, aren't you?

But the orange smell was so overwhelming in this bathroom that my nostrils were burning. I was truly worried about exposing my penis to the toxic air for fear of having it burn my privates. I can honestly say that it was the quickest I have ever peed. I was pushing so hard that I was running a risk of popping a blood vessel or something.

After I made a cursory effort to wash my hands and escape the Chamber of Death, I found somebody so I could ask what in the heck would possess them to create such a hostile environment in which to urinate. I further went on to inquire if they understood that chemical weapons had been outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

The woman laughed and apologized. She then explained that however bad the orange smell was, it had to be better than the smell that was originally there. Apparently somebody had an =ahem= accident. They shit e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. Floor. Walls. Sink. ON the toilet. Everywhere. She said it was as if there was an explosion or something. But worse than that, whoever did the damage didn't tell anybody what had happened. This meant the crap stains had become semi-permanent overnight, and could not be removed easily. So they poured a bunch of concentrated orange cleaner over everything to mask the smell until they could go get a steam-cleaner and remove the fecal redecorating. After that, they poured on another bottle of orange cleaner concentrate to eliminate the stench.

"Well, it certainly worked" I said... "I can't smell anything now".

"I wish I had that problem" she replied... "because everything smells like crap to me".

Sometimes the silver lining of a bad situation is really f#@%ed up.

Today is the last day to order Blogography T-shirts and have them be printed with this month's order. Get em' while you can!

For some reason, I seem to be getting a rash of wrong number calls to my mobile phone. It didn't used to be a problem, but seems to happen several times a week now. All I can guess is that some dumbass has gotten a new phone with similar digits and is mistakenly passing out my number to his friends. Or maybe he's not a dumbass, but he has a lot of dumbass friends who don't know how to dial.

Anyway, early this morning I was awakened by my mobile phone. It's set to vibrate, but still managed to wake me up. Turns out somebody had left me a voice mail hours earlier which went something like this...

"F#@%!! Miguel has been pulled over by the f#@%ing cops, and they won't release the car until he shows them the f#@%ing papers. F#@%ing call me back NOW!!

Fortunately, I wasn't awake when the call came, or I probably would have been a smartass and said something like this.

Sure it's funny, but I'd regret it afterwards.

You'd think that for something involving the police, you'd be a little more careful when dialing your phone. Of course, if the police are involved you might also want to be a bit nicer when you ask somebody to bring you papers in the middle of the night. I can only guess that Miguel and this woman who accidentally called me are now in jail or something. I'd try to feel bad about it, but they did wake me up at 2:47am with their message, so I really don't.

I wish I could say that the wrong number call was the only excitement for the evening, but it wasn't.

As I was going to bed shortly after midnight, all kinds of noise and flashing lights were happening outside. Apparently, the crotchety old people in the mobile home next door tried to burn their home down. Two fire trucks arrived at the scene, so apparently it was pretty serious.

These are the same fighting old people I wrote about last year, so part of me suspects that one of them finally tried to kill the other. Welcome to the redneck wilds of Central Washington.

We? Wheee? Wii??? Whatever, it looks like fun and I want one. I hope that Lego Star Wars comes out for it, because using the wireless wand controller like a lightsaber would kick ass!

In an age when Microsoft and Sony are releasing video game systems costing $500+ and titles so complex that they are more like work than entertainment... it's nice to know that Nintendo is focusing on what really matters... FUN GAME PLAY. If the titles end up being anywhere near the quality in the DS games, it's going to be one cool product.

I have wasps.

Lots of wasps. They built a nest out on the tiny little deck at the back of my apartment. A big one. I didn't want to hurt them but, since I'm paying rent here, they're the ones who are going to have to move. So I whacked the board that the nest was affixed to with a broom handle, causing it to fall down. I figured if the nest was exposed, they would abandon it and go make a new one somewhere else. It was a good plan.

Except they didn't abandon it. Instead they built a sun porch and remodeled the dining room. They're not going anywhere.

And they really hate me now.

I'm kind of afraid to go to sleep at night, thinking that they might find a way inside to seek revenge. I know I certainly would if somebody beat the shit out of my home like that...

And the reason I know all about revenge is because I have decided to start carrying a chain saw in the trunk of my car. There's a lot of times that I have found myself in need of one, so now I'm going to make sure I'm prepared when the situation calls for it. Like this afternoon at the grocery store.

Parking was at a premium. Almost every spot was filled. It was our very first hot day of the season, and everybody and they're dog decided to buy ice cream and have a barbecue. All I wanted was a carton of milk and some eggs, but I couldn't find a spot. Not because there weren't spots to be had... but because people are idiots.

I now present... HOW TO PARK YOUR FRICKIN' CAR!!!

Isn't that nice? They have positioned themselves squarely in the center of the space, leaving free and easy access to the spaces beside them. But not everybody is this smart...

So you see... here is where I have a problem. The person who parked this car is clearly an idiot in desperate need of having their shit ruined.

Hence the chain saw I'll be carrying in my trunk from now on...

The hockey mask is not a requirement, I just think it looks like a fun thing to wear when cutting stuff up with a chain saw.

Anyway.

For the fourth night in a row, I am not able to sleep. I was joking about the wasps keeping me awake, but not about the insomnia. I don't know how I am going to function tomorrow if I can't get at least a few hours rest tonight. But hey, if I wait two minutes, it will be tomorrow, and I'll already have my blog entry done for the day. Go me.

Wait a second... do you hear that buzzing noise??

Great Odin's Raven!

The wasps/bees/hornets/yellow jackets/whatver ARE REBUILDING!!

This morning I whipped back the curtains only to find that they were everywhere. All over the glass... patrolling the deck... AND REBUILDING THEIR NEST!! And they are REBUILDING IT UNDER A TV TRAY!! These little minions of Satan are indeed evil... EVIL TO THE CORE!!

Here is a corner of the old nest that I knocked down...

They are still using it... for something. I can only guess that they have converted the thing into an incubator for some kind of super-mutant-wasp creature meant to destroy me.

All that being said, they are really fascinating creatures to watch. The are very graceful in flight...

And here are the little bastards rebuilding their new ULTRA-SUPER-NEST-OF-DOOM!!

Heaven help me.

I can't really bring myself to kill any creature, so I'm still debating how to handle this. I'm thinking that tonight while they are sleeping I will pitch the old nest into the neighboring field along with the TV tray. I'll then soak down everything and try to make sure there's nothing else for them to build under. If you don't hear from me again, it's because I'm dead. Stung to death by whatever these little hellions are.

In happier news, here is a photo of my Converse Batman All-Star Chuck Taylors that some of you were asking about...

Aren't they totally cool? I'd wear them always but, since you can't buy them anymore, I limit myself to once or twice a year on special occasions. Like the party in Chicago...

WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH... I'M A MURDERER!!!

Okay, I tried really hard to get rid of the wasps that decided to make my home their home. I really did. I knocked down their nest, put water everywhere, threw out anything that made a desirable nesting place... but no matter what I did, they kept coming back. Tonight I noticed that they were rebuilding, FOR THE THIRD TIME, and now they didn't seem to care that it was on the ground instead of hanging protected somewhere.

Obviously drastic measures were required.

So I got some RAID "Wasp & Hornet Spray" to take care of the situation. After shooing away as many as I could, I soaked all the areas they tried building. Some of the buggers were caught in the crossfire, and paid for it with their lives. I now have tiny chemical-soaked wasp carcasses on my deck, which is very sad. But the poison worked almost instantly, so at least they didn't suffer... at least so far as I could tell.

I am hoping that the smell of the spray will keep everybody else away. I don't want to have to kill any more of the little guys.

But it sure does beat the alternative...

And so now I'm wallowing in guilt.

Nothing a few hours of hard work and listening to some Pantera won't cure, I'm sure.

In better news...

• Veronica Mars, THE BEST SHOW ON TELEVISION, was renewed with a full order of 22 episodes (with a reduction to 13 if ratings take a dive).
• After a scary moment where I thought it had been discontinued, my beloved Coke with Lime is showing up in stores again.
• Apple released cool toys today (yesterday?) in the form of their sexy new MacBook which replaces the iBook. But that's not the good news. The GOOD news is that we are one step closer to getting new pro desktop machines.
• Working 16-hour days is actually paying off... it looks like I will be back on schedule before leaving for Seattle next week.
• I have developed the ability to explode things with my mind.

Argh. I had maybe a two-hour nap last night, and hoped for better sleep tonight. But here it is 1:30am, and I am wide awake, AGAIN. How can I be totally exhausted and wide awake at the same time? Insomnia sucks ass.

Well, my wasp problem appears to have abated. Every once in a while, a little guy wanders up, but the hordes of horrifying insects that once occupied my deck have gone. I feel sorry for the wasps which do return only to find the dead bodies of their fallen comrades (and a once beautiful nest soaked with poison chemicals). The can of RAID tells me that the residue left behind can continue to kill for weeks, so I can only hope that the mass destruction and poison smell is enough of a warning for the little fellows to keep away.

I console myself over my insecticidal tendencies by imagining that the surviving wasps went on to find a nice tree somewhere and built a new home.

Self-delusion works for me.

I went to the library post office this afternoon to drop off my latest NetFlix rental (Wimbledon, which is probably great if you like tennis, but I thought it was kind of sappy/boring/lame) and noticed some bitch freaking out in the lobby. Apparently, she dropped her mail on the floor and had to pick it up. But that's not what caused her to lose it... she was crazy-insane because the little subscription cards in her magazines were flying everywhere as she was picking things up.

WHY DO THEY HAVE TO PUT SO MANY F#@%ING CARDS IN MY F#@%ING MAGAZINES!!! THAT'S JUST F#@%ING STUPID!! AND A WASTE OF F#@%ING PAPER!!!! SOMEBODY SHOULD MAKE THESE F#@%ING THINGS F#@%ING ILLEGAL!! AAAAAAAHHHHH... WHY DO THEY F#@%ING DO THAAAAAAAAT!!!!

Ordinarily I wouldn't have cared, but she had her kid with her.

What kind of mother screams this kind of crap in front of their kid? What kind of dumbass makes such a ridiculous public display over magazine subscription cards? Seriously, WTF?!?

As I walked by, I made the mistake of asking her a question...

Dave: Do you really want to know why they stuff those subscription cards in magazines?
   
Bitchy Muther: LET'S HEAR IT SMART GUY!!
   
Dave: It's because they work. Those things cost good money to print and insert, but publishers pay it because the little cards work. If they didn't work, they wouldn't waste the cash.
   
Bitchy Muther: OH YEAH? WELL LET'S SEE HOW WELL THEY WORK WHEN I F#@%ING CANCEL ALL MY F#@%ING SUBSCRIPTIONS!!

Uh huh.

I was going to tell her that her little act of cancellation defiance would be about as effective as screaming at a piece of paper in a post office lobby, but held my peace. I most certainly did not mention that I have designed my share of subscription cards over the years. My self-preservation instinct overruled my smart-ass instinct for some reason.

I also taught myself a lesson.

I frickin' HATE television commercials that feature somebody chewing crunchy foods. It annoys the shit out of me. Potato chip commercials... breakfast cereal commercials... whatever... I HATE THAT CRAP! I don't want to hear it in real-life, why should I have to hear it during entertainment breaks? Aren't the commercials bad enough without having to annoy people too?

I can only guess that advertising agencies do it because it works.

For some reason listening to some idiot smacking away makes for a compelling motivator to buy their stuff. I don't know why... honestly I don't... but it must work or they wouldn't do it.

WELL LET'S SEE HOW WELL THOSE ADVERTISEMENTS WORK WHEN I F#@%ING STOP BUYING THEIR F#@%ING ANNOYING CRAP FOODS!!!

Okay, maybe I didn't teach myself a lesson.

Oh well. Back to work.

I don't feel good.

I woke up this morning and the room was spinning. It was like a hangover, but without the benefit of having gotten drunk the night before. I'm thinking that it might be that avian bird flu that's going 'round. I should have liked to stay in bed all day, but I have a quick trip to get ready for.

Before I leave town, it's customary to back-up my PowerBook just in case somebody should steal it. Now that I have my Mac Mini Server in place, it's a piece of cake. Enjoyable even. Then afterwards, just to be sure everything went okay, I randomly open some files. That's when this DaveToon came up...

I had absolutely no recollection of drawing it or even if I had used it (yep, I had), but it's kind of ironic because this is exactly how I feel today.

If only I had that fifth of Jack Daniels to blame.

Violence is not my way. At least not anymore.

Since applying Buddhist philosophies to my life, I am a much happier person. I'm not saying that Buddhism is for everybody, but it sure has helped me make sense of this insane world we live in. Unfortunately, it can also be a darn nuisance. Mostly because of the whole "non-violence thing". A primary precept of Buddhism is to do no harm. Since this includes not killing people, I spend most of my time being frustrated.

Take today for instance. If it weren't for my Buddhist leanings, this would be the evening headline...

And don't think it's because I enjoy the idea of killing people... I don't.

It's just that some people are too stupid to let live.

And a good chunk of them are Seattle drivers. It never ceases to amaze me how utterly idiotic some of them get when it rains. And since it rains a bit more here than it does in other cities, this is not okay. I spent a lot of time this morning stuck in traffic and blinded with rage at dumbasses who have no business being behind the wheel.

But it's not just drivers. After checking in to my hotel, I ran to the elevator. A woman there had already pressed her floor, and so I pressed mine which was two floors lower. This instantly caused her to get pissed because now she had to make a stop at my floor before getting to her own...

Stupid Bitch: Well I WAS in a hurry.
   
Dave: THEN WHY DON'T YOU GET A ROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO USE THE ELEVATOR THEN?!??
   
Stupid Bitch: What-ever.

Uh huh. The world would definitely be a better place if people like this bitch weren't in it.

But instead of strangling her right there in the elevator, I walk away.

Because violence is not my way. At least not anymore.

This will be a short entry because I am tired. I am tired because I have been working for almost 16 hours now. And when I get tired, my eyes don't want to focus very well... especially on a computer screen, which makes typing into my blog very difficult. It is difficult because I cannot look directly at the screen, but instead have to trick myself into seeing what I type by looking at the screen out of the corner of my eye.

Not only is this a slow and inefficient way to type, but it gives me a headache.

Hence the short entry.

For a dinner break I went to eat at one of my most favorite restaurants ever... Johnny Rockets. I always order a Streamliner Veggie Burger with NO grilled onions and NO mustard. I like these burgers so much that I had the same thing for dinner last night and will probably have the same thing again for dinner tomorrow. I would also have one of these burgers for breakfast in the morning, but Johnny Rockets isn't open for breakfast. I suppose that even if they were open for breakfast, they probably wouldn't be serving Streamliner Veggie Burgers with NO grilled onions and NO mustard on their breakfast menu, so I guess it really doesn't matter if they were open for breakfast or not. Because you can get scrambled eggs and toast anywhere.

After dinner at Johnny Rockets I walked back to my hotel room so I could work some more.

Along the way I saw a guy holding this sign in front of Macy's...

Ninjas killed my family... I need money for kung-fu lessons.

This was funny enough that I sincerely wanted to give him money, but I am not allowed to do that. You see, if I were to give him money, he could then use that money to harm others (by buying a gun and shooting them or something) or harm himself (by buying drugs or something). If he was hungry, I could buy him food... or if he was sick I could buy him medicine (for example)... but giving money is out of the question. Oh well. It was still a cool sign.

As if that weren't interesting enough, I also overheard a disheveled man talking to his equally disheveled friend outside of the Starbucks at Westlake...

"No Man... No Man... It burns when I'm peein' man. There's something wrong up there. There's something wrong".

This was amusing at first, but then it made me sad. It makes me sad that it burns when this man pees and he can't afford to go see a doctor and get it fixed. This being America, one of the wealthiest nations on the face of the earth, I think that everybody should have the right to pee burn-free. How f#@%ed up is it that we can spend billions of dollars blowing shit up half a world away, but this man has to go through life with a penis that feels like it's on fire when he urinates?

This kind of stupid shit drives me insane.

It also makes me want to go to Washington D.C. and bitch-slap every f#@%ing politician in the city.

Well.

This entry has gone on for a lot longer than I thought it would. And now I have a headache. Blargh.

Part of the human condition is the need to feel superior to others. It's kind of sad and petty, but it's built into our wiring somehow, and so I've learned to accept it. But it still doesn't make me very happy when people pull the superiority card on me.

Yesterday as I was heading out of Seattle, I came up to a stop light where I needed to make a right turn. While waiting for a chance to take my free-right, this douchebag on a bicycle comes rolling up along my right side AND LEANS ON MY CAR! Even worse, he's not turning, and so he's effectively blocking me from taking my free-right.

So when traffic opens up, I move forward a little bit so he'll get off my car and I can turn.

This doesn't go over very well with the dumbass bicyclist. He starts smacking my hood and screaming about my "gas guzzling polluter of a car" (which is kind of upsetting because my car actually gets pretty good gas mileage). Apparently, since he's riding a bicycle, he's entitled to do whatever the heck he wants and everybody else is just supposed to kiss his ass. I've just been dealt a superiority card.

And yet if I were to run over this idiot, I would be the one hauled off to jail! Where's the justice in that?

Truth to tell, I'm no better... as a Mac user I feel superior to Windows users, for example... but I would hope that I'm not THIS big of a jerk about it (though I was at the Apple Store today and think the new MacBook kicks serious ass).

Just one week to go...

Woo hoo!

Ugh. Raining buckets in Seattle on a lazy Sunday. I think I'll stay in the city for another day with my friends...

Today is the Memorial Day holiday, which isn't much of a holiday at all when you have to work.

The drive back from Seattle-side was uneventful because I headed out early before there was any traffic on the roads. It was still overcast and drizzling in the city when I left, then poured rain all the way over Stevens Pass. Once I was over the pass, however, everything changed. The skies opened up to a glorious blue and, by the time I made it home, there wasn't a cloud in the sky (really!).

This was nice for the Memorial Day services going on at our local cemetery because they display hundreds of flags (one for each veteran killed in service, I think). If it rains, they can't hang the flags since they have nowhere to dry so many of them. And if the ceremony was cancelled, I'd miss this beautiful site...

With apologies to R.W. (who is wanting a new flag design), I must say that the "Stars and Stripes" sure looks great against that flawless blue sky! If you look closely at the second photo, you can see how they mark each pennant that goes up with somebody's name.

I am not a big fan of the cemetery. For one thing, a good chunk of my family (not to mention my best friend) are buried there, and it's kind of depressing to be reminded that they have gone. When I picture them in my head, I see them as if they're still alive... but here in the cemetery it's hard to see them as anything but dead. I suppose that's why I don't visit very often.

One thing I do find interesting is the mystical symbols that are carved on various tombstones. In particular, the inverted pentagram seems to be a popular choice. I always thought this was a sign of heavy metal music or satan worshipers, and yet here it is all over the place, and always on lady's headstones...

Since heavy metal wasn't around back when these people were alive, I am guessing it means that they are satan worshipers. That woman in the middle must be hard-core, because she's got a hammer on hers as well! But when I look at the names of the people buried under the markers and see "Mae" and "Betty" and "Eleanor" and "Mabel"... well, those don't seem much like the names of satan worshipers does it?

I guess that means they were heavy metal fans after all... just really, really ahead of their time.

Yes, that was really me in The Wall Street Journal today. It should come as no surprise to anybody that such a respectable and upstanding publication is reading Blogography... all the really important people end up here eventually (and doesn't that make you feel special?). All I know is that if I were looking for a "Voice of Authority" for my article, the first person I would seek out would be me... so it all makes perfect sense.

So now I'm famous.

Famous and soon to be rich!

That's because the incomparable Liz over at Everyday Goddess has sent me a "god of wealth" coin. This guy in Japan is sending out coins so people can make a wish for wealth and then pass along to somebody else. Then, at the end of the year, people will return the coins and he'll visit a shrine to offer them to the god of wealth (whose name is Daikoku) so our wishes can be heard. Sweet!

Now... before all the nut-jobs out there decide to send me an email which condemns me to hell for worshiping pagan idols or some crap like that... please repeat after me... IT'S JUST FOR FUN!!

Though, if I were to go shopping for a god, I think anybody branded "the god of wealth" would be at the top of my list.

Flying Horizon Airlines with their myriad of "mechanical difficulties" has me thinking quite a lot about my death.

Not so much about how I will be ascending to a higher plane of existence from which I shall continue to bless my loyal readers... but more about where my earthly remains shall be interned. Something befitting a man of my stature and brilliance. Something with eternal flames... and a gift shop.

After thinking about it during the bumpy ride into Seattle, I finally came up with a rough concept...

I think perhaps a statue monument made out of Italian marble that's around fifty stories tall should do the trick. And it would be hollowed out just like the Statue of Liberty so visitors could climb into my head and observe the surrounding 200,000 acres of pristine wild-lands which surround my eternal resting place (formerly known as Mt. Rainier National Park).

• DAVE TEMPLE: Inside the monument pedestal will be a twenty-story amphitheater where people can gather to sing my praises.
• ETERNAL FLAMES: Four eternal flames will burn 24/7 to pay tribute to my enduring legacy.
• BURIAL HEADSTONE: This massive slab of marble will be engraved with my many achievements for all to pause and reflect over my contributions to all mankind.
• SACRIFICIAL ALTAR: Here is where those who offend me may be offered up for sacrifice... spammers... dumbasses... bad drivers... ABC network television executives...
• DAVE MUSEUM: Located in my pants, this comprehensive museum will contain a complete collection of Dave artifacts and memorabilia.
• REVOLVING RESTAURANT: Located in my belt, a delicious variety of my most favorite foods will be served in a fun and exciting setting that makes a full revolution every hour.
• DAVE-COASTER: Within my chest is a sweet roller coaster ride where visitors can be whisked from arm-to-arm at break-neck speeds!
• OBSERVATION DECK: From out of my eyes, visitors can look out over the landscape and meditate over all that was and will forever be "Dave".
• IMAX THEATER: In the top of my head is an IMAX dome theater where visitors can enjoy Elizabeth Hurley films or watch documentaries of my fascinating life and numerous successes.
• GIFT SHOP: Here you can buy all kinds of Dave merchandise including books, souvenirs, T-shirts, post cards, and even Bad Monkey plush toys!

I'll be setting up a tip jar here so that everybody can do their part to immortalize me in this nifty monument. I am pretty sure that something like this will cost at least a couple of billion dollars, so dig deep... DIG WAAAAAYYY DOWN DEEP... into those pockets for your tax-deductable* contribution.

* At least any donation should be tax-deductable. Write your legislators today!

Zombies have invaded my apartment.

Now that I'm back, I'm doing my best to get T-shirt orders packed up for shipment on Monday. And since I've added ladies T's this time, I've got twice as many shirt stacks to deal with. To expedite matters, I've divided all the shirts by size and style into plastic Rubbermaid tubs and have them piled everywhere. Zombies on the dining table. Zombies on kitchen counters. Zombies on the couch. Zombies on the coffee table. Zombies, zombies, zombies.

And now I'm screwed because the post office stiffed me on the 300 shipping boxes I ordered... I got exactly half that number, which means I'm going to have to see if the local office has any in stock. Must be time for a break.

As I type this, I spy a really cute girl out my window.

Mid-30's with a nice smile and light brown hair that I'm imagining smells like a warm summer day (despite our overcast weather). And just as I am aglow with the thought that she will be moving into my apartment complex... be single... be sane... somehow find me irresistible... and want to be mine for the rest of my days... I realize she's just here visiting her grandmother or something, and some guy is waiting for her out in a car with the motor running.

Typical.

I wonder how many hateful comments and emails I'll get because I've just referred to a grown woman as a "girl". Knowing my luck, some raging feminist will make me the poster-boy for sexist pigs and will hold a bra-burning on the hood of my car.

Which would be kind of nice, actually, because the idea of passionate bra-less women calling for my death while setting my car on fire is kind of a turn-on.

Personally, I don't see anything wrong with referring to the fairer sex as "girls" (though my lack of ovaries will seriously under-mind such a position, I'm sure). Females start out as baby girls, grow into being little girls, then suddenly blossom into little ladies once puberty hits. After puberty they become young women before graduating into real, live actual women once they leave high school and childhood behind. At some point they may pick up a husband which makes them wives or have children which makes them mothers. Then time creeps steadily forward until women become old ladies at the sunset of their lives.

But all along, girls will be girls to me.

Which probably pisses off the ladies... at least until some guy refers to them as their "girl-friend" which is somehow appropriate at any age (and kind of understandable, because "lady-friend" sounds tawdry no matter how innocently you use it).

Maybe it's a single guy thing? Perhaps by referring to ladies/women/chicks/babes as "girls" it is only because we like to imagine the possibility that this "girl" will become "girlfriend"??

Eh, what would I know... I'm just a guy.

What an incredibly crappy day.

Instead of spending my weekend relaxing, goofing off, and playing Xbox... I instead spent all of it working. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me so much, but all this non-stop work is driving me insane. Literally.

Lately I've taken to talking to myself. And I'm not talking about simply reciting things in my head, but having actual conversations with myself. Like last night...

Dave: Oh crap, I have no idea what I want for dinner tonight.
   
Dave: A fried egg sandwich sounds good.
   
Dave: Hey, that does sound tasty! A fried egg sandwich it is then!

Or this morning...

Dave: I miss Chicago. I could so totally live there. Hey! I should move to Chicago!!
   
Dave: You don't want to move to Chicago.
   
Dave: Yeah, I guess you're right.

And just now...

Dave: Now that the season is over, television sucks ass!
   
Dave: Hey, isn't there new Entourage on tonight?
   
Dave: Oooh... I almost forgot about that! Thanks for reminding me!

And so on.

My self-psychoanalysis has diagnosed a mild form of schizophrenia, so I've written myself a prescription for a tablespoon of Pepto Bismol and a cold beer. I am convinced that everything can be cured by Peptol Bismol... but I hate the taste of it (hence the beer chaser). If one day they announce that Pepto Bismol cures cancer I won't be the least bit surprised, because the stuff is a miracle in a bottle. I lived on the stuff in college...

Too bad it makes your poop turn black.

And now I'm off to box up a bunch of T-shirt before bedtime...

I've studied quite a few languages off and on... German, Spanish, Japanese, Portuguese, French, Italian, Thai, and Swedish... to name eight. Out of all of that, only Italian and Japanese really took hold enough for me to offer passable conversation to native speakers. All the others just kind of faded away.

And while all languages are interesting in their own way (and provide a fascinating insight into those who speak it)... German has the word "schadenfreude" which earns it a special place in my heart.

Schadenfreude is "shameful joy" and is used to describe those who find pleasure in the misfortune of others. Like when somebody you don't like breaks their arm and you feel happy about it... that's schadenfreude.

INTERLUDE
   
Every once in a while a local school or college calls me up to ask if a student can "shadow" me for a day or two so they can see what it's like to be a graphic designer. If I have the time, I always say "yes" because heaven only knows I would have loved to have had that opportunity when I was in school.
   
Most of the time, it's okay. The student observing me is grateful to be there. But two years ago I got a guy who already knew everything... he wasn't satisfied with observing, he decided he was going to school me on what's what. Skippy (not his real name) liked to talk a lot about how talented he is, and was very fond of working the words "old school" into the conversation when discussing how I approached my work. I just ignored him, knowing full-well that he had a lot to learn about reality in the graphic design business.
   
END INTERLUDE

So guess who called me today?

Turns out Skippy finished up school and got himself a design job! Unfortunately for Skippy, he found out the hard way that sometimes "old school" isn't such a bad thing. Sometimes "old school" is just another way of saying "time-tested and proven". Sometimes when you cut corners in your work, you aren't being creative or innovative... you're just being sloppy and lazy.

And so now Skippy wants my advice. He's on the verge of tears because he's taken a bunch of short-cuts to finish a project, and everything has gone terribly wrong. Can I tell him what to do? Can I help him out of the jam he's in?

And there it is, that feeling of schadenfreude that has me wanting to say "suck it, fool!"

But, of course, I'm just too nice of guy for that. I ask him to send me the project so I can take a look, and am horrified to see what a mess he's got himself into. There's really nothing I can do. In order to help him out, I'd have to start over from scratch and I just don't have that kind of time.

So I break the bad news to Skippy... he's boned. I offer a few bits of advice, then give him my condolences and hang up the phone.

It's then that I feel really, really bad about the schadenfreude.

But only for a minute.

I am such an old-school bastard.

UPDATE:

I am getting a little bit of "link love" where people are misunderstanding a few things here. Primary of which is that I am "old school" because I don't know how to use the newer tools that are available in "modern" graphic arts programs (like Photoshop and Illustrator). People are assuming that I stubbornly stuck in an "old" way of doing things, and refuse to learn anything new.

This is not the case. I always keep current with new software versions and the magical new features that come with them. The point that I was trying to make is that while these new tools ARE useful for some situations (and obviously I do use them when it makes sense)... sometimes just because you CAN do a thing does not mean you SHOULD do a thing. Sometimes the "old" way of doing things is the best way. If you are interested in some examples, I've put them in an extended entry...

The day started out with me putting both contact lenses in the same eye and only went downhill from there.

I'd go into details, but do you really want to hear it? Suffice to say that today sucked, and just when I thought it couldn't suck any more... IT DID! I don't even want to think about it.

The big news of the day, of course, is Bill Gates stepping down from the day-to-day operations at Microsoft in 2008. Helpful hint to Redmond... HIRE A VISIONARY FROM OUTSIDE THE COMPANY WHO CAN COME IN AND REVIVE YOUR TIRED OLD SHIT!! You need a Steve Jobs at the helm... not monkey-boy Balmer who will just keep you mired in the same old crap. Hire somebody like ME who will put your billions of dollars to good use and get you to innovate your way into something new! No more dumping money into duplicating stuff that's already better than what you can do anyway... I-N-N-O-V-A-T-E!!

Oh yeah. I could definitely put billions of dollars to good use...

THE FLYING DELOREAN: POWERED BY MR. FUSION, BUILT BY DAVE WITH MICROSOFT MONEY, BABY!!

Seriously, who would give a crap about another stupid version of Windows or buggy MS Office update when you can make a flying car?!? Why dump money into another dumbass music service when you could spend it on developing a flying car?!? MSN? MS Publisher? Hotmail? Terraserver? WHATEVER... who really cares about that junk? EVERYBODY LOVES FLYING CARS!!

At the very least, I could have Microsoft discontinue their Windows products and license MacOS X so they could stop embarrassing themselves... they could call it "Macintosh Vista X" and finally sell an operating system that doesn't suck.

My salary requirements for running Microsoft to record profits? ONE MILLION DOLLARS A MONTH!!!

A bargain at twice the price!

Bill, I'll be expecting your call...

I am wondering how many consecutive 16 to 18 hour work-days one can work before it kills them.

And by "them" I mean "me".

Because it's going on two weeks now, and I am almost dead. With at least another week of this yet to go, I'm thinking that my demise is at hand. I need to win a billion dollars in the lotto soon because this sucks ass. Of course this necessitates that I actually buy me some lotto tickets, but that's just details.

A pity that I'm not a detail-oriented person.

Instead all I am is exhausted.

Is there anything worse than having to listen to screaming little girls first thing in the morning?

Apparently the irritating little bitches moved in nearby, because I'm forever hearing them running around screaming in that way that only little girls can. Bad enough I have to listen to this crap in the evenings... but in the morning too? If it wouldn't get me arrested, I'd run out and give them the slapping they so richly deserve.

Hey, if the parents aren't going to take care of it, somebody should.

And speaking of little bitches...

WAAAAAAAAAHH! I finally got to go to bed at 2:00am, and now I am being woken up at 5:30 by screaming girls!! AAAAHHHH! AAAAAAAHH! AAAAAAAAAAH! Kill me. kill me now. Whoa, wait a second... I think they just piled in a car and went screaming into the dawn. And now I am going to have bad karma all day because I was just now hoping they would crash into a tree and explode. And now I feel bad because if they really DO explode, my evil thoughts are probably responsible.

Of course, the up-side of exploding is that I wouldn't be woken up by screaming girls again.

This must be one of those moral dilemmas I've heard about.

Hey... I tried to post this entry and my internet is down! Wow. Karma works fast! Rebooting and all the regular stuff doesn't work, so let's call Verizon!

VERIZON: Welcome to Verizon! You've reached Verizon Internet Services! This call may be monitored for training purposes.
   
DAVE: Hey, thanks baby! You've got a really sexy voice!
   
VERIZON: Para Español, marque dos.
   
DAVE: Uhhh... what if I want English? Numero uno?!?
   
VERIZON: Please say the number on the account you are calling about.
   
DAVE: (says number)... thanks for asking!!
   
VERIZON: Which are you calling about tech support, your account, orders...
   
DAVE: Tech support. Which is a pleasant change from all those times I have to call with billing problems.
   
VERIZON: I'm sorry, I didn't understand. If you are calling for tech suppor...
   
DAVE: TECH SUPPORT!
   
VERIZON: Which kind of problem are you calling about? Connection problems, installation, email, or password reset.
   
DAVE: Connection problems. At least I am guessing it is a connection problem because while I AM connected to your router, I can't get connected to the internet.
   
VERIZON: I'm sorry, I didn't understand. For problems with your conn...
   
DAVE: CONNECTION!
   
VERIZON: I'm sorry, I didn't understand. For problems with your conn...
   
DAVE: CONNECTION YOU BITCH!! CONNECTION! CONNECTION! CONNECTION!!!!
   
VERIZON: Which are you running? Windows, Macintosh, or Another Operating System?
   
DAVE: Macintosh. That's how I am certain it's YOUR fault. If I was on a Windows machine, I'd be calling Microsoft first.
   
VERIZON: Have you tried rebooting your computer and your computer system?
   
DAVE: Yes. I also lit a candle and said a prayer to the internet gods. In a minute, I'm going to start chanting.
   
VERIZON: I'm sorry, I...
   
DAVE: YES!!
   
VERIZON: Okay then, would you like me to test the line for problems at your location?
   
DAVE: Why not. If it will keep me from having to talk to one of your sublimely helpful support personnel, I'm all for it.
   
VERIZON: I'm sorry, I...
   
DAVE: YES!!
   
VERIZON: Please hold while I test your line. This test can take as long as 60 seconds. I am running the test right now. BEEP BOOP BEEP BOOP BOOP BOOP BEEP...
   
DAVE: I haven't heard these kind of cheesy "computer sounds" since watching those old Star Trek episodes! SCOTTY, WE NEED WARP SPEED IN SIXTY SECONDS OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!! -- I CANNA DO IT CAPTAIN! I'M GIVEN YA EVERYTHING SHE'S GOT! -- DAMMIT JIM, I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A BRAIN SURGEON!! WELL, OKAY, I AM A BRAIN SURGEON... I JUST DON'T LIKE STICKING MY FINGERS IN BRAIN!!
   
VERIZON: For technical help, there's a great web site available to assist you: onlinehelp.verizon.net
   
DAVE: I am calling with a CONNECTION PROBLEM! If I could bloody connect to the internet, would I be calling with a CONNECTION PROBLEM you silly bitch?!? And what happened to that line test you were running? Are you even going to bother telling me how that turned out? This is the...
   
VERIZON: Customers in the [SPOKANE, WASHINGTON] area may currently be experiencing problems connecting to the internet. Our engineers are aware of the problem, and are working to resolve it.
   
DAVE: WELL THANKS A LOT YOU DUMBASS!! COULDN'T YOU HAVE TOLD ME THAT WHEN I GAVE YOU MY AREA CODE AT THE VERY BEGINNING?!? I HOPE THAT THIS CALL IS BEING MONITORED SO I CAN TELL YOU HOW F#@%ING STUPID IT IS! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU EVIL VERIZON BITCHES FROM HELL! DIE YOU BASTARDS! DIE! DIIIIIEEEE!
   
VERIZON: I'm connecting you now...

Blargh. Usually you have to call a mobile phone company to get this kind of shitty service! Oh wait... Verizon has mobile too! Hey, at least they're consistent.

There is good news today though...

That's the final 64 T-shirt orders left from my Blogiversary III Celebration. Those in the front are the remaining international orders for which I ran out of Global Priority boxes (hopefully they will be waiting for me at the post office this morning). As happy as these people will be to receive their orders at long last... nobody could be more thrilled than I am that these are finally shipping out.

Well, assuming I ever get internet back so that I can process them.

Karma sucks ass!

It's midnight and I am too tired to work another minute. My mind is all fuzzy, which means I'm no good to be on the job anyway. Fortunately, it doesn't require any brainpower to write in my blog, so here we are.

Today (now yesterday) on my third trip to the post office I had to wait in line behind a few people. The guy ahead of me was wearing some very scary comb-over hair that had holes in it. But that's not what made him look astoundingly stupid.

He had one of those ridiculous bluetooth wireless headset thingies for his mobile phone that he was talking into.

LOUDLY!

As he was yacking away I had a hard time deciding if he looked more like a Borg from Star Trek...

Or just a complete dick...

Well, not a COMPLETE dick... because the one shown above is circumcised... but you get the idea.

All I can say for sure is anybody who walks around with one of those things looks like a serious tool, and every time I see somebody wearing one I want to rip it off their head and kick it up their stupid ass.

And then set them on fire.

And then push them into a barrel of gasoline.

That's been topped off with napalm.

And is sitting on top of a pile of dynamite.

Because anybody who doesn't realize how stupid they look while walking out in public with a piece of plastic sticking out their ear needs to be asploded quite badly. Not only for their own sake, but for the betterment of society as a whole. I mean, seriously, I'm pretty sure even Lt. Uhura took that shit out of her ear when she left the bridge of the Enterprise...

What worries me greatly is that if enough assholes keep wearing this crap, pretty soon it will become acceptable to do so (much like polyester suits in the disco era). The day that happens is the day I'm up in a bell tower with a rifle shooting people.

Assuming I could find a bell tower. Do they even make those anymore?

In England they have "happy slapping" where idiots go around slapping people for no reason and filming it with their mobile phones. I say that they should find a purpose in life... instead of slapping randomly, they should focus their attacks on people wearing bluetooth wireless headsets. We could call it "bluetooth slapping", and I think it would kick ass.

I would draw a cartoon of that, but I'm about to fall asleep on my keyboard...

Tonight after work I followed a building contractor's truck which had "Let Us Help You Build Your Dream" stenciled on the back. The guy was going 25 miles per hour in a 35 mile per hour zone. Well MY dream is for people to drive the frickin' speed limit... can you help me with THAT?? Dumbass.

It was the cherry on the ass of my day.

And now, since that seems like it would be a fun thing to draw, I present a visual interpretation of the above sentiment...

Next up: apparently I pulled a boner today.

Do not expect a visual interpretation of that, however, as an explanation is in order...

Out of all 64 T-shirt shipments I sent on Monday, I somehow processed five of them as "label only" - meaning that they did not have postage on them. As I was attempting to exit the post office with an armload of rejected packages, an old man comes running up to hold the door...

Old Man: Hey partner, looks like Christmas came early for you! HA HA HAAAH!
   
Dave: Ah. No, I'm needing to ship these out.
   
Old Man: Then aren't you going the wrong way with those packages? HA HA HAAAH!
   
Dave: Oh. Yeah. I forgot to put postage on them, so I have to go fix that.
   
Old Man: Pulled a boner did ya? HA HA HAAAH!
   
Dave: Uhhh... what?!?
   
Old Man: Good luck partner! HA HA HAAAH!
   
Dave: Uhhh... what?!?

I walked away from that conversation very confused, but fortunately Wikipedia was able to clear things up:

"A small mistake having an amusing effect?" Well, I certainly hope that's what the old guy meant.

Because anything else would be very disturbing indeed.

And I don't want any more cherries on my ass.

This weekend was Founders' Days in the city. It's a rather odd festival that provides an interesting insight into the local culture here. The air is filled with the aroma of barbecue sauce and roasting animal flesh. The sound of a band nobody knows can be heard in the distance. The few local stores that haven't been driven out of business are having discount sales with loads of crap that they haven't been able to get rid of for the past 20 years. A scary array of people have invaded from the surrounding countryside. Antique cars and motorcycles of all varieties cruise the streets. To the uninitiated, it's a scary experience.

Over the years, I've created a lot of free promotional art for the city to use at functions like this. Wandering around town is kind of strange for me, as I get to see what new (and often horrifying) ways my work has been used. Here's the original logo I created for Founders' Days a decade ago (we're the "Early American City" and have faux gas-lamps around town)...

And here's the type of "improvements" you might see...

Sweet! It's like a clip art CD exploded all over everything.

Anyway... my friend Nadine emailed me with the news that August 18-20 is Bats Day at Disneyland! She knows of my secret desire to dress up like a goth for big fun at the Happiest Place on Earth...

About the only thing that would be more fun would be a Pirate Day at Disneyland. Whoa... wait a second... how cool would it be to have GOTH PIRATE DAY AT DISNEYLAND?!?

Of course, as far as I am concerned, EVERY DAY is Goth Pirate Day!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

David Simmer II, 40, noted humanitarian, beloved blogger, graphical design genius, brilliant commentator on world events, originator of the Daveism movement, and founder of the Church of Daveology, died June 27 at his home in Central Washington State. He was worked to death.

Best known for his insanely popular online journal, Blogography, Simmer's fame was far-reaching for his numerous successful ventures including Daveland, his own theme park, and The Dave Resort.

Mr. Simmer was born March 24, 1966, in San Diego, California. His genius was evident very early in life, and he quickly became the foremost authority on dumbass identification and classification. Realizing that most people in the world were complete idiots, Mr. Simmer went on to form a society for those persons of intelligence and innate brilliance. Initially referred to as "Dave Nation", this organization was the eventual cornerstone for the founding of the Church of Daveology.

After his death had been declared, a formal statement was released by the Daveism Advocacy Center...

"We are deeply saddened by the death of our Most Revered Overlord and spiritual leader. The loss to our church, if not the entire world, is incalculable. But as it is said in the Book of Daveism, 'Let all who follow in The Way of Dave know that they will live on forever in His most sublime grace'."

Declaring that any death of so great a man is a crime against nature, the scene of Mr. Simmer's death was secured as a World Heritage Site, and preserved in every detail by local authorities.

Photograph property of the World Heritage Society

Survivors include his millions of Blogography readers and an extended family. Simmer is to be interned in the courtyard of his 50-story tall monument located at the 200,000 acre Dave National Park (formerly known as Mt. Rainier National Park). A formal burial service will be performed by the Church of Daveology's Most Revered Sub-Overlord, Dane Cook. Donations may be sent to the Dave Memorial Fund, c/o The Daveism Advocacy Center at Daveland.

Argh. Two. More. Days. To. Go...

Ask any designer, and they'll tell you that deadlines are the bane of their existence.

It's very difficult to be creative on a schedule. You get used to it, of course, but you never really like it. Except when you've been killing yourself for three weeks and the deadline is the only thing that can put you out of your misery. Tomorrow is D-Day and, as much as I am dreading it from a creative standpoint, I am positively elated on every other level. To be able to sleep more than 2 or 3 hours a night is a luxury that I have all but forgotten. Last night I didn't sleep at all, but instead took a nap for an hour-and-a-half. Tonight will be the same, I'm sure.

This is a bad thing, because lack of sleep and mental exhaustion is making me a bit cranky.

Today I very nearly killed somebody.

As I was pulling into my apartment complex, some bitch was obstructing the driveway because she was trying to read her mail, smoke a cigarette, and drink a Diet Pepsi all at the same time. This kind of multi-tasking was clearly beyond her mental abilities, so she didn't have the sense to get the f#@% out of the way. Instead, she just wandered aimlessly down the middle of the road, blocking me out. EVEN AFTER SHE TURNED AND NOTICED ME WAITING THERE!

And the entire time, all I could think of was how easy it would be to run the stupid bitch down and grind her into the pavement. The part of my brain that would usually be horrified by the thought of such a thing was sleeping, and so it seemed like the perfectly logical thing to do. So there I was ready to kill this dumbass bitch, when I blacked out...

... and then suddenly I was in my parking space.

For a moment, I was terrified that I actually did run her down, but then I looked back and saw her stupid ass still wandering in a daze, and was only partially relieved (apparently THAT part of my brain was asleep as well).

It was then that I sat in my car and thought about how much I love Star Trek.

The ORIGINAL Star Trek. The REAL Star Trek...

Until today, I always thought that my favorite Star Trek character was Spock. I mean, I loved them all, but Mr. Spock was my favorite. Then, all of a sudden, I realize that my REAL favorite character is Scotty, and always had been.

Mr. Scott was always so brilliant under the pressure of ridiculous deadlines. The Captain would get everybody in a big mess, and then scream down at Scotty to do something fast or else the shit was going to hit the fan. Scotty would then say it was going to take an hour to fix whatever was wrong. The Captain then went ape-shit and told Mr. Scott that he had 15 minutes or everybody dies.

And Scotty would somehow pull it off. Every time.

Then we find out that Scotty would always multiply his time estimates by a factor of four so that everybody would think of him as a miracle worker. This, as I have just now realized, was positively brilliant.

I've been doing it wrong all this time.

You can learn a lot by watching Star Trek.

It's over! Oh oh oh ohhhhhhhver!

I have been living in cave for the past few weeks, so I am just now catching up on the news. Much to my surprise (and relief) our Beloved Leader didn't decide to "liberate" any more countries while I was gone. About the only thing I did notice was the flag-burning ban vote, and that was only because I was getting massive traffic to my entry on flag burning. And only part of that traffic was idiots trying to hotlink to my (theoretical) picture of a guy with diarrhea crapping in a G-string (also a pleasant surprise).

In addition to the news, here's some other stuff I've got to catch up with this weekend...

1. Read the 246 unanswered emails piled in my inbox.
2. View the 2032 new entries stuffed in my feed reader.
3. Watch the 17 television shows stacked in my TiVo.
4. Buy groceries.
5. Go through my mail from the past month.
6. Pay my bills from the past month.
7. Sleep.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to skip right down to #7 and get some much-needed rest.

Goodnight!

Last night I had to go to the store so I could buy some more food and snacks. As I was walking in, a woman and her three horrifying children came in behind me... each of them yelling about something. Finally one of the kids wanted to go look at magazines, so the entire brood went running off screaming.

What happens next is not pretty, but it does have me curious...

Okay. Let's say you have three kids. Let's further say that these three kids are going ape-shit in the magazine section. They're throwing magazines at each other. They're spilling magazines on the floor and sliding around on them. They're flinging those little subscription cards everywhere. It's total chaos in the red zone...

So where are you in this scenario?

A) You are over in the cereal aisle screaming at your kids from across the store to behave or else they will be in trouble. But you don't really mean it... it's just an empty threat. Your kids know this, so they completely ignore you. And hey, it's not your magazines being ripped to shreds, so you just don't care.

B) You are all the way across the store in the produce section. You hear your kids raising hell somewhere, but this is your "alone time" so you pretend you don't hear a thing. Why not let the store staff babysit your kids... that's what they're paid for isn't it?

C) You are at the check-out counter flirting like a whore with the guy at the register. To better your chances at scoring, you pretend that the kids going crazy over there aren't yours. Maybe if you ignore them long enough, they'll just go away.

D) You are out in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. Your kids are completely forgotten for the moment... out of sight, out of mind and all that. You contemplate ditching them at the store for a few hours so you can go get a manicure.

Have your answer yet?

Well, if you were any kind of parent at all, you would answer "E) I'm over in the magazine section beating the shit out of my kids and teaching them how to behave in public."

But if you are the bitch that followed me into the store... THE ANSWER IS ALL FOUR, A THROUGH D!!

Yes, you read that right. This bitch let her kids go insane while she was shopping, smoking, and whoring it up. She made a half-hearted effort to scream at them once from the cereal aisle, but then ignored them entirely. When I left, she really was in the parking lot loading up her groceries and having a smoke. I have no idea if she ever went back in and got her kids or what.

And I'm not being sexist here... this could have just as easily been a guy. Bad parenting knows no gender boundaries.

It's times like this I really do wish I had copies of my "Dumbasses Books" to hand out to people...

Instead, my only option is to run up and slap the bitch. But I opted not to, because I have no desire to see what the jail cells look like in rural Wisconsin.

Why, why, why, WHY isn't there an intelligence test required before people are allowed to have kids? From what I have seen, it would cause quite a dip in the population (because most people are really, really stupid and should never have kids) but I would be okay with that.

Dumbasses shouldn't be breeding anyway.

Oooh. Yet another ball-scorching heatwave of a day.

A good day to die.

Which I very nearly did because some dumbass in a pickup truck almost ran me over as I was walking to the bank. He took off from a stop light and never once looked forward. He was instead looking off to one side the entire time. I dunno... maybe he saw something shiny and was distracted? Whatever. All I do know is that he wasn't looking where he should have been, and would have run me down right there in the crosswalk had I not been paying attention. I literally had to jump out of his path to avoid getting splattered.

Why does this keep happening to me?

I really do need to get my Dumbass Books printed, because I would have loved to staple a copy to a brick, throw it through his rear window and imbed it in the back of his stupid head...

Oh how I am getting tired of living in white-trash rural America.

On Sunday I went to the grocery store. On my way back out, I noticed a guy in the passenger seat of a car screaming obscenities to a woman who was getting out of the driver's side... just two spaces down from me. She wasn't taking it lightly, because she was yelling it back as good as she was getting...

CRACKER BOY: STOP BEING A BITCH! JUST GIVE ME THE F#@%ING MONEY SO I CAN GET THE F#@% OUT OF HERE!!
   
CRACKER BITCH: SHUT THE F#@% UP! I'M NOT GIVING YOU SHIT!!
   
CRACKER BOY: F#@%!! F#@% THIS SHIT!!

I slowed down a bit, because I was seriously worried that the guy was going to jump out of the car and start beating on her or something. But, after they screamed for a minute longer, I heard THIS as I was putting my groceries in the trunk and the woman headed off to the store...

CRACKER BOY: MOM! MOM!!! COME ON! GIVE ME THE F#@%ING MONEY!
   
CRACKER BITCH: YOU CAN GET A F#@%ING JOB IF YOU WANT YOUR F#@%ING MONEY!!

I mean, holy crap!

This is how he talks to his mother?!? He looked like he was still in high school!

If I were to have mouthed off like that, my dad would have beat the shit out of me to within an inch of my life.

At least I HOPE he would have.

Parents simply aren't passing out much-needed ass-kickings anymore. I weep for the future.

I have an exceedingly low tolerance for "stupid."

This results in an ever-increasing loathing of stupid people. And I am not saying this to demean anybody who was not blessed with my staggering genius-level intelligence, because there's a huge difference between having below-average brain-power and being just plain stupid. The frightening part is that stupid people can only really attract other stupid people, which results in them mating and breeding new generations of even more dumbasses.

And, given their increasing numbers, I can only suspect that stupidity is the dominant gene.

This does not bode well for humanity.

Because if stupidity truly is the dominant gene, this means that the stupidest person in the breeding will be the one to pass along their intelligence (or lack thereof) to any offspring. The end result is that the human race as a whole will just continue to get more and more stupid.

Dumbasses will inherit the earth.

I mean, look around you. We've got idiots providing our entertainment and news. Morons in political office. Imbeciles roaming the streets. It's dumbasses everywhere you look. We're well on our way already, and I didn't realize it until this morning. That's because I had encountered no less than a dozen totally stupid people by the time I arrived at work. This doesn't even include the dozen more I'd seen in the internet news before I even got out of bed (Mel Gibson? Who knew?). I live in fear that the dumbasses will outnumber the rest of us in my lifetime.

Drastic measures are needed.

Forget stem cell research... locating the gene that causes stupidity should be our top priority.

UPDATE:

As if to prove my point, I've just arrived at my Seattle hotel to witness outrageous stupidity on an entirely new level. Traffic wasn't bad, so I arrived early and have to wait 30 minutes for my room to be ready. This doesn't bother me because the lobby has free wireless so I can check my email and catch up. What DOES bother me is that there is a woman holding some kind of sales pitch for a vitamin supplement. That, in itself is annoying, but it's even worse because she brought her kid. Her whining, screaming, hellion of a kid. And because she's giving some kind of speech, she's just letting the little bastard crawl around the lobby screaming at people, knocking over trash cans, banging on tables, throwing the television remote, and whatever other outlandish crap he can manage. What kind of stupid bitch lets their kid go apeshit in a hotel lobby like this? Anyway, the little demon eventually makes his way over to my table and knocks a chair over. Not willing to put up with this shit, I say (loudly) "STOP DOING THAT!!" This alarms the moronic mother, so she comes dashing over like a drama queen and grabs her kid. This causes the kid to scream. And scream. And scream. She then decided to holler my way "I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY!"

To which I reply "Happy that you finally decided to watch your kid? Yes, I'm THRILLED." This results in her insulting me while she speaks to her little group, but I don't care.

The poor kid doesn't have a chance, does he?

Driving over to Seattle is a two-and-one-half-hour endeavor that I have done so many times that I barely notice it anymore. One minute I'm leaving my driveway, and the next I am pulling into the city... everything that happens in-beween is nothing more than a blur. About the only thing I usually remember are the dumbass drivers that piss me off, but today I didn't even remember much of that. For some reason this time was like the trip wasn't even real. Like a video game perhaps.

And that got me thinking about how cool my life would be if it were a video game all the time.

It would probably start off with Elizabeth Hurley appearing before me in a cloud and giving me some kind of quest to complete...

Then, like most adventure games, I'd be dumped in the middle of a forest with only my monkey companion to keep me company...

But eventually I'd slay a bunch of monsters and find treasure so I could upgrade to a Pirate Warrior...

And then I could battle big-ass boss monsters like Jared the Subway Sandwich Whore...

Then I'd become King of the World and marry Princess Elizabeth...

Yeah, my life as a video game would kick ass!

I'm minty fresh!

One of my most favorite internet phenomena would have to be Where The Hell Is Matt... a guy who got famous for traveling around the world, dancing in exotic locations, and filming it so he could turn his trips into an amazing video. It ended up being such a big hit that the people at Stride Gum decided to sponsor a second world tour so Matt could dance in all new places. This resulted in yet another sweet video, and gave me a scorching desire to support Stride Gum because they were so cool to do this.

So I bought a pack of Peppermint Stride. It's pretty tasty gum and, just like it advertises, the flavor lasts a really long time.

But it reeks.

This tiny pack of gum has a massive stench that infects everything which comes in contact with it.

Yesterday I put it in my backpack which has now been permanently infused with essence of peppermint. It smells like a tube of toothpaste exploded inside. I thought it might be the confined space, so I tossed the gum on my night-stand. Turns out that the minty odor is so strong that it woke me up in the middle of the night! Now my nostrils are burning and my entire apartment smells like somebody farted a pack of breath-mints while drinking mojitos and then tried to cover it up by smashing candy canes into the carpet. It's like a frickin' mint julep jungle in here...

I've since got the gum DOUBLE-SEALED in a plastic baggie. From now on, whenever I want to chew a piece, I'll go outside to open it so as not to completely kill my sense of smell...

I now worry that I won't get my cleaning deposit back because it will take a team of those meth-lab detox workers to disinfect my apartment. They're going to have to rip up the carpet, strip the paint off the walls, and replace all the curtains. They may even have to tear out the doors, because I'm pretty sure the mint smell has soaked into the wood.

All things considered, I've come to the conclusion that Stride's flavor doesn't actually last longer than regular gum... the persistent smell just makes you think it does. I read somewhere that 90% of taste is actually attributed to smell, so the big secret mystery of this miracle gum has been solved! I could chew a pencil eraser right now and it would taste like a fresh piece of Stride.

I'm going to go shove a couple of coffee beans up my nose to mask the mint odor so I can get back to sleep.

Now you know I'm desperate, because I don't even like coffee.

Today was "International Crap on Dave Day" and nobody bothered to tell me in advance.

Instead, everybody just started piling the crap on me until my lovely day was all covered in poo.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't bother me. It seems that "International Crap on Dave Day" comes along at least once a month, so I'm used to it. But today's figurative crap was supplemented with actual crap, which is why I was not okay with it. And I still have no idea what I did or ate that gave me such a bowel-draining case of diarrhea in the first place. All I do know is that it took two hours and a half a box of Imodium before I was able to leave the toilet for more than two minutes at a time. Sure it wasn't the best way to spend my morning, but the up-side is that I beat my high score on Mario Cart DS.

Anyway...

The smoke filled skies that plagued my trip back home yesterday seem to have followed me. This morning things were looking a bit hazy and, by the time I left work tonight, things had gotten much worse. I suspect that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll look out my window and see flames.

Though as long as it's a poo-free day, I'm strangely okay with that...

I fully admit to being a smart-ass bastard.

It's almost impossible for me to be anything but a smart-ass bastard considering how totally brilliant I am. In fact, I'm so smart that I can't even pretend to be a dumbass. I'm just not that good of an actor. Coming to terms with the fact that even my ass is smarter than 95% of the general population has saved me from a lot of heartache and grief. If I didn't have such realization about my talents, I would probably break down and cry every time some idiot decides to berate me for my pointing out their intellectual inadequacies.

Like today.

I was at the mini-mart picking up my Coke with Lime this morning (on sale: Two for Two Dollars!) when some stupid bitch pulls up next to me... IN THE HANDICAP PARKING SPACE!! She doesn't have a handicap parking permit, and obviously doesn't have a physical handicap...

DAVE: It must be mental.
   
STUPID BITCH: Sorry?
   
DAVE: Your handicap... it must be mental.
   
STUPID BITCH: I'm just buying a pack of cigarettes and'll only be a minute so why don't you mind your f#@%ing business! Are you the f#@%ing retard parking police? Who the f#@% are you?
   
DAVE: Oh good, so you you do realize you're parking in the wrong spot then.

Yeah. And knowing that she has the mental capabilities of a piece of navel lint, here is my reaction to her rantings...

Seriously, how else could I possibly react? Like I give a crap about anything this white trash dipshit has to say?

I know people who have to use handicap parking since it's very difficult for them to walk even short distances. When some lazy whore takes the only handicap parking spot because she doesn't feel like walking an extra twenty yards, that means she could be causing physical harm to somebody who needs it more than her lamer ass.

I think it's only right that she be made aware that she's an ill-manered bitch.

Being a smart-ass is such a thankless job.

I did nothing but work today.

I got up in the morning and worked. I took a shower, got dressed, drove to work, and worked. I came home, sat in front of the television, and worked. It's just now 11:00pm and I have at least an hour left to work. In-between all that, nothing even remotely interesting or noteworthy happened. Usually a day like today makes me regret my decision to post an entry at Blogography every single day. Because when nothing really happens, there's nothing really to write about. It's at this point I usually start surfing for some kind of meme or quiz to post, but I just don't have the time.

So instead I'm just going to recite a quick 10-minute story that came to mind this morning...

Nearly a decade ago, I was doing design-for-hire contract work for an agency out of Seattle. It was a fascinating job, because I was always guaranteed a wide variety of assignments. I could be designing a catalog for clothing one day, an advertisement for a shopping mall the next, and a business report for a bank the next. It was a never-ending parade of nifty jobs that I enjoyed very much because it was always something different.

One day I got a call from the head office back on the East Coast. They were having problems assigning a project that nobody wanted, and had to start calling Seattle designers to see if they could find somebody for the job. Immediately intrigued, I said I was interested and asked to know more about it.

Turns out that it was for packaging design WITH matching instruction booklet for some kind of specialty home colonics kit.

I was surprised at first but, never one to back away from a challenge, I took the assignment.

Two days later I received the complete colonics apparatus along with a page of typewritten instructions and the company's current packaging (which, by the way, was a plain brown box with the product name hand-stamped on it). Anxious to get started, I borrowed an anatomy book from the library and set out to sketch some ideas.

Thanks to the miracle of fax machines, my sketches were sent the very next morning along with my notes.

Overall, the client was happy with my ideas and loved the economical approach I took for the new packaging structure, but needed me to adjust the line drawings in the instruction book because they were drawn at too severe an angle. They wanted more of a side-view because they felt the customer would have an easier time understanding how to use it properly. To assist me in understanding the process, they gave me the phone number for their "customer support line" and told me to call for guidance...

CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Hello and thanks for calling! How may I help you?
   
DAVE: Hello, I am a designer working with your product and need some advice on what kind of angle I should be using in the instructions.
   
CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Ah. I can see where you might think the angle is a problem, but usually the real problem is that the tip hasn't been lubricated properly... are you using plenty of lubrication?
   
DAVE: (attempting to be humerous) Uhhh... if I lubricate the tip, I worry that my pencil might slip out of my fingers.
   
CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Excuse me sir, but where exactly are you inserting the unit?!?

And, because of that, I laughed my ass off this morning when I was reading the Q-Tip box and saw this warning: DO NOT INSERT INTO EAR CANAL. The perfect wise-ass response... just nine years too late.

The replacement for my dead Mac Pro arrived today and works flawlessly. This means that my day has been spent setting up the machine, installing software, and not much else.

Oh... except I killed a man.

Sadly, his death wasn't permanent. It was imaginary. The good news is that I am not going to prison for murder, the bad news is that the rude bastard is still alive. I do, however, maintain that anybody who cuts in line at the bakery deserves to die, and I was perfectly within my right to bludgeon him with a baguette until he was dead, DEAD, DEAD!!

Except that there wasn't a baguette at hand, and so I stood there silently trying to burn a hole in the back of his head with my secret mental powers.

And isn't that always the case? There's never seems to be a baguette around when you need one.

Today was not a good day.

My car has recently fallen out of its extended warranty so, naturally, everything has decided to go wrong. But not really. The problems were there BEFORE the warranty expired, but Saturn refused to acknowledge them. I complained about shuddering when I came to a stop. Saturn blamed the tires I bought at Les Schwab... when I went to Les Schwab, they said Saturn was insane because everything was perfectly balanced. Other problems I raised were poo-pooed away like I was a chronic complainer.

So now that I am having to foot the bill, I refuse to give Saturn another dime and took my car to the only shop I trust... Midas. They do exemplary work at reasonable prices, and I feel I can trust my local franchise. It turns out I am not a chronic complainer, my concerns were all real. I guess Saturn just wanted me to wait until my warranty expired so they could charge me for the work.

F#@%ers.

My car has UNDER 50,000 miles on it and is falling apart. Guess I won't be buying another Saturn.

Anyway, Midas does a bunch of work on my front brakes and suddenly my shuddering problem is gone. There's $500 I had to spend that should have been covered by Saturn. Even worse? Midas replaced my air filter because it was horrendously filthy. Never mind that I just had my oil changed a month ago at Saturn, they apparently don't bother to check the simple things like other lube & oil places do.

F#@%ers.

And on Friday I get to take my car back to Midas so they can fix an exhaust problem that I ALSO complained about back when my car was in warranty. There goes another $400 that should have been covered.

F#@%ers.

Oh well. At least Midas offers a lifetime guarantee to their work so I won't have to worry about this crap again. I guess that's more that you can say about the overpriced service at Saturn.

F#@%ers.

When I went home to pick up my forgotten wallet, I was greeted by a small white butterfly. She was randomly flapping around like she was on crack, and I spent the better part of the afternoon trying to imagine what that stupid butterfly was up to. Did she accidentally fly into a window and get mentally damaged? Or was she just in a happy mood and needed to dance around like a fool? I couldn't decide whether I should laugh or feel sorry for her...

I feel the same way when I happen upon really, really, really stupid people stumbling through life like they're on crack. Do I laugh because their ridiculous exploits are mildly entertaining? Or do I feel sorry for them because their lack of smarts is so severe that they're unaware of just how stupid they are?

First it was the idiot who tried to race me to the McDonalds drive-through that I wasn't even going to.

Then is was the moron who let his kid continuously blow a whistle in the middle of a store.

Then it was the nutbag who insisted I send him a photo of myself dressed as Wonder Woman.

Then it was the dickhead screaming into his bluetooth headset at the post office.

And then today I get an email from some daft bitch telling me that my Ask Dave Widget is akin to divination, which is an occultist tool of the devil. Oddly enough, this is not the same woman who told me I was "stealing glory from God" by wanting to build a monument to my greatness.

I think all I can do is laugh.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHHHHH!!

Apparently there are people out there who were issued a driver's license without being educated as to proper procedures and laws of the road.

An example... do you know what to do when you approach an intersection and see a flashing yellow light like this?

If not, here's a f#@%ing clue for you...

FLASHING YELLOW MEANS SLOW DOWN AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

IT DOES NOT MEAN F#@%ING STOP!!

So when I come up behind your idiotic ass and you've stopped at a caution light because you're too f#@%ing stupid to know the difference between red and yellow... well, I'm probably going to lay on my horn until you get the hell moving.

SO DON'T STICK YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE WINDOW AND FLASH ME A DIRTY LOOK WHEN YOU'RE THE F#@%ING DUMBASS. I swear, one of these days I'm going to buy that f#@%ing gun...

I have accepted the fact that I am totally blameless for my road rage, and promise not to feel bad when I f#@% up your shit.

Surely there's a temporary insanity defense for these situations?

How is it that people can live as if they will never grow old?

I'm walking over to the bakery and end up crossing the street opposite an elderly lady who is having a bit of a tough time walking. But, to her credit, she's slowly making her way across the street with a smile on her face. I cannot help but admire her fortitude in bypassing a scooter cart in favor of walking when it's obviously difficult for her (though, given the criminal state of healthcare for the elderly, maybe she can't afford a scooter and has no choice but to walk).

Sadly, not everybody feels the same way.

There at the crosswalk inside a giant redneck pick-up truck is some ass-wipe revving his engine at her.

If it weren't so sad, it might be funny. I mean, she can barely walk... the only way she could possibly move any faster would be if the dumbass were to hop out of his truck and carry her across. But there he is, revving that engine up as if the old lady will suddenly start running to get out of his way.

Out of respect for the woman, I didn't scream obscenities at the f#@%er, toss a garbage can through his front windshield, then slash his tires... but I sure wanted to. A pity I didn't have a knife on me or I definitely would have thought twice about ruining his shit.

And because of all this, I've decided to embrace my Scottish Heritage and start wearing a kilt...

As a descendant from Clan Munro of the Scottish Highlands, I've got my own tartan pattern and even a bad-ass Clan Badge...

Look at that golden eagle... doesn't he look like he's about to kick some ass? And what about that motto... "Dread God"... that's pretty serious (meaning "Fear God"). Clan Munro has some hefty balls to be flashing that around!

But, back to the point, the reason I want to start wearing a kilt is that part of the ceremonial kilt dressing is what's called a "Sgian Dubh" which is Gaelic for "Black Knife." It's a totally sweet pointy dagger with a bitchin' black handle that you tuck in your sock. If I were to start packing that around, I'd always have something handy for slashing the tires of inconsiderate rednecks who rev their engines at old ladies.

As a side-benefit, you also get to have a "Sporran" hanging from your belt to put stuff in. Yeah, it's pretty much just a man-purse... but I figure if you're already wearing a skirt, what have you got to lose? It looks big enough to hold my Nintendo DS and a pack of smokes* along with my wallet!

* Okay, I don't smoke, but anybody who goes around slashing tires of rude bastards should probably at least act like they do. Being a bad-ass tire-slasher looks so much cooler when you have a cigarette hanging from your mouth.

My back got thrown out yesterday, and I'll be darned if I know how.

There I was just walking down the street when all of a sudden my back seizes up and I am in unbearable pain, hobbling along the sidewalk like I'm 90 years old.

It kind of pisses me off. I mean, if my back had been thrown out while I was pushing a car... or climbing Mount Everest... or doing something even remotely interesting... I would be okay with it. But WALKING?!?

So now I am doped up on muscle relaxers and pain killers and don't feel much like blogging.

Instead, I feel like...

SINGING!

A pity that I don't have a podcast, because I am doing an awesome rendition of Madonna's "Holiday" at the top of my lungs right now.

Probably because the song is playing on my television's 80's music channel and I've dropped the remote just out of reach. Maybe it's the painkillers talking, but this song totally rocks.

Lately I've been addicted to the line of 3-in-1 body wash/shampoos from Philosophy. I was given a set when a friend moved away and recently rediscovered them... I then bought a couple of new bottles that arrived this week.

Nothing perks up your morning faster than washing up with yummy flavors like "Hot Chocolate" or "Cinnamon Buns" or "Frozen Lemon Custard". It's also kind of nifty that my first decision of the day gets to be something as entertaining as "do I want to smell like a Key Lime Pie or a Waffle Cone this morning?"

But today, for some strange reason, I couldn't decide on a flavor. Rather than stress about it, I mix-n-matched to create my own. Here's the "Dave Chocolate-Strawberry Ice Cream Cone" I came up with...

It's one part "Strawberry Milkshake" with one part "Hot Chocolate" and two parts "Waffle Cone". Pretty sweet! The smell washes away fairly quickly after the suds disappear, so I don't have to smell like this all day.

This is probably a good thing, because tomorrow I'm going to try out "Dave Fruit Loops" with equal parts "Strawberry Milkshake," "Key Lime Pie," "Frozen Lemon Custard," and "Mimosa".

Sure four flavors are a tricky maneuver to manage while in the shower, but I'll be even more delicious than I usually am!

Blargh!

I don't know if it's because I've been in pain and have had an overwhelming work load or what... but lately I've been wanting to destroy quite a lot of people. It seems that just about everybody I meet is in desperate need of dying and I have no idea what to do about it.

Except kill them, of course.

But, in addition to laws that frown upon such activities, I also try to live my life according to Buddhist principles which are opposed to killing for any reason. Even if the person is incredibly stupid and deserves it. Stewie on The Family Guy always makes death and destruction look like so much fun, so perhaps I should give up my beliefs and get into politics?

Something has to be done.

Because this morning I woke up very early, worked for a while, then decided to take a nap before going into the office. It was a great plan which, unfortunately, was foiled by the dumbass geriatric husband & wife neighbors who like to scream at each other. Usually I can ignore them, but this time they woke me up up and I was furious. I tore open the window and screamed "SHUT THE F#@% UP!" in their direction, hoping that they would at least have the decency to go inside and tear into each other like normal people.

Little did I know that some of my elderly neighbors were observing the mayhem directly under my window.

All of a sudden I was the new topic of conversation, which hasn't happen since my car alarm went off eight months ago. This opens a new can of worms that I really don't want, so I decide to give up on sleeping and hop in the shower before one of them decides to come knocking.

When I leave, the old couple has found something new to yell about, and one of the neighbors is waiting. "Was that you with all the screaming this morning?" she asks. "No ma'am" I reply, "I think you have me confused with our neighbors." This is not the answer she wanted because, of course, she knows it was me but, short of calling me a liar, all she can say is "Well, some people around here need to be watching their mouth!"

Yeah, she needed to die quite badly too.

WARNING: CRANKY PANTS ALERT!! CRANKY PANTS ALERT!!

In an attempt to figure out why I've been plagued with headaches for the past few weeks, I went to the eye doctor today. My vision has been freaky lately, and I'm not sure if it's because of my headaches or if it's the CAUSE of my headaches.

In any event, it involved my eyes getting dilated, so I spent the afternoon like this...

The only thing worse than having your eyes dilated on a sunny day is having to drive home with your eyes dilated on a sunny day. And the only thing worse than that is having to put up with DUMBASS BITCHES while you're driving with dilated eyes on a sunny day.

As you exit the great city of Wenatchee, there is one final stoplight. Just before this stoplight is a Starbucks Drive-Thru. It's the stupidest place in the universe for a drive-thru because you can't get out easily. When the light is green, traffic is flowing heavy with people leaving town and you can't get out. When the light is red, traffic is backed up in front of the Starbucks exit and you can't get out then either. Basically, you can check-in to Starbucks, but you can never leave.

So today I am stopped at this light just before the Starbucks exit. The light turns green and I slowly start to move forward. This causes some bitch who JUST GOT TO THE STARBUCK'S EXIT to lay on the horn (honest, she hadn't even STOPPED yet!). I instantly become enraged because I have a headache, my eyes are dilated, and I don't need some whore WHO WASN'T EVEN WAITING TO EXIT honking at me. If she was in such a big hurry, she shouldn't have stopped for coffee. This is what I scream at her...

I HAVE A GREEN LIGHT AND AM NOT GOING TO BLOCK FIFTY CARS TO LET YOUR COFFEE-DRINKING SHIT OUT, SO WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THAT GRANDE LATTE AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR F#@%ING ASS YOU STUPID BITCH!!!

There's no chance she can hear me. Even with my window down, hers are rolled up AND I'm driving past her as I yell. I know this, but I don't care and decide to yell anyway. It will make me feel better.

But I forgot about the cars in the lane next to me. With their windows down, they can hear me just fine. So when a bunch of people start cheering and honking their horns and waving at me with a "thumbs up" I realize that I am destined to rule the earth. There is no denying that my inspirational words appeal to the masses, and it's only a matter of time before I climb my way to the top... one dumbass coffee-drinking whore at a time.

And because I'm in even a worse mood now that I've had to remember all this crap, it must be time for a meme in an extended entry!

In addition to migraines, vision problems, and the inability to sleep... I've also come down with some kind of cold/flu hybrid that has necessitated that I take a sick day. Usually I go to work when I am sick because I've always got so much going on. I even went to work with kidney stones because I had a project due (it's amazing what you can accomplish in-between screams). But today I feel so terrible that I simply could not get out the door.

I've always romanticized sick days, thinking that it's a great way to get paid while watching television and playing video games. But the only television I even attempted was trying to find the current episode of Martha because Tracy told me my Elizabeth Hurley was going to be on (which is about the ONLY way I would ever watch Martha Stewart in anything). Unfortunately, the show was already over by the time I managed to get out of bed. I was going to try a game of Lego Star Wars, but I ached so bad that all I could mange was to crawl back into bed with the hopes of getting some sleep.

It was a good plan for about fifteen minutes, but then my downstairs neighbor decided to make fifty trips between his car and apartment... slamming the door so hard each time that my teeth came loose. So here I am checking my email, writing in my blog, and praying for death's sweet embrace to take me from my misery...

... but not before I watch VERONICA MARS tonight on the CW Network at 9:00pm (8:00pm central)!!

All bow before the best show on television!!

Fortunately, I have a dual-tuner TiVo so I can watch Veronica Mars while recording The Unit which I became addicted to while watching the first season on DVD. I don't normally go for war movies and combat TV, but The Unit is astoundingly good television, and you should check it out if you have a chance.

And, on that note, my neighbor just drove off (squealing brakes and all) so I am going to make one final attempt at sleep before dragging my disease-infested corpse into work so I can at least grab some work to bring back home with me.

Bah... I can't even do a sick day right. Who else but me would want to work on a sick day??

Being sick has given me an overwhelming desire to help others. At first I thought about starting up a medical practice, but I'm too afraid of blood to be a doctor (and, apparently, you need some kind of license to practice medicine). So then I thought about becoming a mental health consultant... that stupid bitch Dr. Laura doesn't have a doctorate in psychology or psychiatry or anything, and she gets away with it just fine. But then you have to listen to people bitch about their problems and who wants to do that?

So I've decided to create my own line of personal care products, but hesitate to do so without getting endorsements from big-name celebrities. In order to entice these famous people to do my bidding, I've decided to create prototype products so that they can see the quality packaging their image will proudly endorse. Here are just a few samples...

Mark Foley says "stay fresh with the biggest douchebag of them all!"

When you think of an itchy, burning crotch... think David Caruso!

Fight fire with fire... when there's a pain in your ass, reach for Ann Coulter!

I'm still trying to decide if Jared the Subway Sandwich Whore should endorse my "Davepound W" wart remover or my "Davmodium" treatment for diarrhea plus gas. Hmmmm... when you think of Jared, do you think of warts... or diarrhea & gas? These executive decisions are totally harsh...

I read a lot of blogs... according to my feed reader, there's 326 of them. You'd think in all those blogs I'd run into other people who have to deal with the freaky crap I seem to get on a regular basis. You'd be wrong.

Take this morning for instance. The first thing I do each day is grab my laptop and check my email. Much to my surprise, there were around thirty messages from people with subject lines like "TMX Elmo HELP PLS!!" and "want to buy TMX" and "NEED 2 ELMO NOW!"—a further check of my spam filter turned up another dozen or so. "WTF?" I said to myself.

Silly me, I had no idea that there is a ten-year anniversary release of that annoying "Tickle Me Elmo" doll from a decade ago. Apparently, just like the first time, these things are in short supply, and people are going ape-shit trying to find one to buy...

After reading through a few messages, I figured out that somebody had accidentally used an email address from one of my unused domains to try and sell a batch of Elmos. Not knowing what else to do, I wrote a script to automatically reply to any mail I got saying that the guy made a mistake with the address and I don't have any Elmos. Then the message is deleted and I'm not bothered.

Fast forward to this afternoon and I get an email from the guy who placed the ad. He tracked me down by doing a WHOIS domain search, apologizes for the mistake, then asks me to please forward any emails I had received. I write back and explain that the emails are automatically deleted, and I'm sorry I can't do anything to help.

So what does the guy do? He places another ad blaming me for deleting emails that were his "personal property," tells everybody they have to send another email, and then posts my actual email address so people can send complaints!

AND THEY DO!!

Not many people, but enough to piss me off.

WTF?!?

How is any of this my fault? At least I was nice enough to tell people about the mistake. I could have just deleted the emails and said nothing! It takes all my will-power not to write back to these morons and tell them to kiss my ass. If I DID have a stupid Elmo TMX doll, I'd put a video of me tearing into it with a chain-saw on YouTube and send them the URL...

Bitter much? Yes. Yes I am. Any time some dumbass decides to post my email address and then invite people to send me complaints, I get a little upset. I'd return the favor, but he did remove it after I asked him to, so I'd rather just let it go.

I should come up with a "Tickle Me Lil' Dave" that pisses on you when you try to tickle him. I'd sell millions.

Back before I was in High School, my favorite show on television was WKRP in Cincinnati. Mostly because Loni Anderson's magnificent breasts were a star attraction (though, oddly enough, I was always much more attracted to the dorky Bailey Quarters who I thought was much cuter). The primary premise of the show was that each character was an oddball who would never fit in at another radio station, but seemed right at home with the WKRP family. The main radio DJ on the show was "Dr. Johnny Fever" who was fired from his previous job because he had said "booger" on the air.

Now-a-days, of course, "booger" is so inoffensive that children's books use it in their titles but, back in 1978 when WKRP hit the air, I suppose saying it was a plausible offense for getting fired.

The point here (if you can actually call it that) is this... today, after having Adobe Illustrator crash a record 22 times (I'm keeping count) from Apple's latest 10.4.8 Mac OS upgrade patch, I was about to scream "F#@%!" at the top of my lungs... but realized I was in an office full of people, so I bit my tongue and screamed "BOOGER!" instead.

I have no idea why it was that particular word which popped into my head to scream.

I can only guess that I was having some kind of Loni Anderson breasts-induced flashback or something.

And now I get to pack up and go home, praying to the internet gods that Verizon is through dicking around with my DSL. I need to catch up on the hundreds of emails and thousands of blog entries that have undoubtedly piled up since I lost my connection Sunday afternoon. I swear, my DSL goes down more often than Monica Lewinsky in the White House.

Booger.

Lastly... color me shocked.

Not.

About the only thing I want more than for Jeremy Piven's Cupid to be released on DVD is Nintendo's new Wii gaming console. As more and more footage of gameplay with the Wii controller is released, I just get more and more anxious to have one. The only problem being that I will never have time to play it. Case in point: as excited as I was for Lego StarWars 2 to be released a month ago, I've only had the chance to play it once.

Yet, as sad as this is, my enthusiasm is not diminished...

I think that if they were to come out with "Lego Star Wars Light Saber Duel" for Wii, I would probably have to stop working, sell all my possessions, then move into a studio apartment that had nothing more than a couch, a television, TiVo, a DVD player, and Wii.

I guess if you had to say goodbye to your life, that's not a half-bad way of doing it.

Though, to truly make the experience complete, they'd have to come out with "Wii Virtual Hooker." If I had that and Pizza Hut delivery, I'd never have to leave the house again.

Bleh. I need a nap...

This morning a piece of spam somehow managed to get past both my spam service and my local spam filter. This happens every once in a while, but usually not when it has a subject line that reads "Make your penis the happiest penis in the world with Penis Adam & Eve Penis Pump!" I guess that the overuse of the word "penis" must have crashed the system or something.

I don't know which is worse... that spam is intruding on my inbox, or that my penis may be unhappy because I haven't purchased him a penis pump. And since my penis and I stopped speaking months ago, I don't really know how to inquire about that...

But I can't think about my penis just now, because I just retrieved a very disturbing voicemail from my parole officer today.

Apparently, I have 24 hours of community service left to turn in or else I won't be released from probation, and she's going to recommend that my term be extended six months to a year! This upsets me quite a lot because I've been so busy lately, and haven't had time to put in any community service hours. She then goes on to tell me "you need to call me TOMORROW, Jose, or else we won't have time to resolve this before your court date."

Huh? Jose?

My name isn't Jose. It's Dave.

And then I remember that I don't have a parole officer, nor am I under a community service order. I've never been caught for any of my crimes.

I guess I should call Jose's parole officer tomorrow and tell her that she left a message at the wrong number or else Jose is going to be in trouble... errr... going to be in more trouble.

In better news today (not involving my penis or a parole officer) my copy of Depeche Mode's Touring the Angel: Live in Milan arrived. I managed to snag the digipack version which includes a DVD of the concert, CD of selected tracks, and a bonus DVD for $8.79 at Half.com, a total bargain! I then did what I always do when I get a new Depeche Mode DVD... I watched ALL of my DM concert videos in sequence so I can listen to how their performance changes over the years. Touring the Angel is pretty darn good (I went and saw it live in Chicago with Kapgar last year), but not quite as good as 101 and Devotional which are tied for my all-time favorite.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to sit down and have a talk with my penis before retiring for the evening.

I've never had a day go so wrong so quickly.

Things started off well enough this morning... as I was getting ready to leave the apartment, I noticed a little spider on my shoe. "Hello little spider," I said. Then I carefully hopped to the door on one foot, then down the stairs, and shook him off into a nice bush where he could live out his days undisturbed. Killing living creatures is far easier than the alternative, so I always feel happy about little things like this. As I pulled out of my driveway, I was actually in a good mood despite it being a Monday...

Until two minutes later when I got to the three-way stop on the way to work.

As I pulled up, there was a car just leaving to my right. I waited for him to exit the intersection and then pulled out because it was my turn to go.

Except some f#@%ing bitch behind him heard a train whistle and decided that she didn't want to get stuck at the train crossing. Oh no, she's too important for that. She decides she doesn't give a crap that it's MY F#@%ING TURN TO GO, and floors it into the intersection. This means I have to slam on my brakes which, in retrospect, pisses me off. I should have just plowed into her dumb-bitch ass and took the insurance claim. I clearly had the right-of-way, so she'd have to pay for it. Unless I killed her impatient ass, which would have been okay by me... I saved a spider this morning, so that's just balancing my karma.

But instead I rev up on her bumper and lay on my horn. I loathe the "c-word" but I was screaming it at the top of my lungs because the rage had totally blinded me at this point.

F#@%ING BITCH!!

Things just went downhill from there.

One of these days I am going to totally snap. Some asshole is going to pull something like this and I'm just going to go off the deep end. I'll follow them to wherever they're going, wait for them to get out of their car, and then run them down.

THEN BACK UP AND RUN THEM DOWN AGAIN JUST TO BE SURE THEY'RE DEAD!!! TOTALLY D-E-A-D, DEAD!!

It's going to take an entire week of meditation to get this out of my system and restore my wa...

Whereas by "wa" I am referring to that most Japanese of words meaning peace, harmony, balance, and calm.

I am NOT referring to the fact that I wa-wa-wanted to f#@%ing kill that bitch*.

*I want that on the record in case I "accidentally" happen to "run into" her tomorrow morning.

Uhhh... yeah. Could not get to an Apple Store to have them check out my PowerBook yet, so last night became a blur of horribly unacceptable behavior that I will be paying for all day today. And probably part of tomorrow.

One does not drink eleven shots of Jagermeister, three beers, and smoke cigarettes for the first time in over a decade and not have something go terribly wrong the next day.

Oh yeah... along the way I lost $150 gambling at the Tulalip Casino, got to see The Retros tear it up with 80's hits, and ate French fries at McDonalds.

It sucks to be me this morning. Or is it afternoon? I don't really know.

As I've said many times, I am not a Democrat or a Republican or a Libertarian or whatever else is out there. I research each candidate or issue and place my vote independently of which party is attached. I've done this for at least a decade, and have probably voted for an equal number of Republicans and Democrats over the years which, in retrospect, is simply a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. In truth, I think both parties are more interested in advancing their agendas than serving the people they represent. I don't know whether that makes me a pessimist or a realist, but it's how I feel so I don't really care.

This election was a little different for me because I am just so frakkin' tired of the continuous stream of shit that's been flowing from politicians lately. Democrat or Republican, it makes no difference... I'm just disgusted to the point of insanity over the mess this country has become. With that in mind, my vote this year was intended to do nothing more than send a message of my complete and total dissatisfaction with how things are being run. Apparently a lot of people felt the same way...

Hopefully he'll get the message eventually.

In the end, I try not to get political on my blog because, well, I don't really have any politics. But I feel it is unfair to be critical of something without offering an opinion as to why. So, if that kind of thing interests you, I've commented on some hot-button issues in an extended entry.

This has been one weird-ass day. It started out with my PowerBook totally dying and my visual identity stolen, then ended up with me running out of butter and nearly strangling a bitch at the market.

Throw in a bottle of Jack Daniels and you've got Christmas.

My PowerBook doesn't want to acknowledge that a power adapter is plugged in, nor does it want to charge the battery. I have to say, compared to my previous PowerBook (the amazing titanium model I love more than life itself) this aluminum PowerBook has been a total piece of crap from day one. Shitty stiff & "chirpy" keyboard, mooshy trackpad button, blotchy screen, aluminum finish improperly anodized and flaking off, a dented case courtesy of The Apple Store Genius Bar, and now a power problem. In my twenty years as a Certified Apple Whore who has owned dozens of Macs, it is the single worst purchase I've made. Hopefully Apple's usually spiffy repair service will fix things up for me, because this sucks ass.

So I drag my sweet titanium PowerBook out of moth-balls so I can check my email and get some work done... only to find out my visual identity had been stolen. It would seem that some dumbass took my photograph and slapped his name on it in a forum of some kind. A girl grabbed the photo, saw that the name of the file was "davehair.jpg" not "Kevin" as she was expecting, so she Googled it and found... me.

Yeah, this time it's really Dave!

So there goes an hour of my life while I get that mess sorted out. Yet it does raise the question... how desperate do you have to be to use MY picture? Sad.

Then, after several productive hours spent working, I decide to make dinner... only to find out I am out of butter. And since you can't make much of anything without sweet, creamy butter, it's off to the market I go. Within two minutes, I've got my butter and am heading to the "12 Items Or Less" lane so I can get home and eat.

Except there was some bitch complaining that she didn't get the right price on items she bought the previous day. This meant that the checkout guy had to run to the back of the store and bring back the sign showing that the "two for one" sale was for the SMALL tub... not the LARGE tub of ricotta cheese she purchased. He tried to explain it to her, but the rude whore was talking on her mobile phone which delayed things even more. To top it all off, she couldn't find her wallet and had to use a credit card for a $3.23 purchase... but had to place yet ANOTHER call to talk to somebody about it. Meanwhile, a line of pissed off people are having to wait on her stupid ass. Something that should have taken two minutes has now stretched out into ten.

And that's the thing about rude bitches... the world revolves around them, no matter how idiotic they may be.

Meh. I should have stopped off on the way home and bought that bottle of Jack Daniels.

Years ago I was with my mother at the check-out lane of our local market, and heard the bag-boy say those classic words for the very first time: "paper or plastic?" It was memorable to me because my mother had thought they were asking if she was paying with cash (paper) or credit card (plastic). Once they explained that they were actually asking whether she wanted a paper or plastic BAG, my mother ended up sticking with the paper sack because it was all she knew. It didn't help that the plastic bags were so thin and flimsy that they looked as if they would fall apart on the way to the car.

And she was not alone.

Nobody wanted the plastic bags.

Every time I went to the store I heard "paper or plastic" again and again, but noticed that the paper sack was always chosen. This must have been depressing to the store, because the plastic sacks were so much cheaper, yet they sat there unused. But one day we went back to the market and there was a display at the checkout counter. They had a plastic bag filled with the heaviest of groceries being suspended from a hook. It was made even more impressive by the fact that they had slashed holes in the bag with groceries poking out everywhere... but it still did not break. So, even though they looked a more fragile than the paper option, the plastic was actually quite a bit tougher.

After that, everybody started asking for the miraculous plastic bags that could effortlessly hold lots of crap (and had convenient handles built-in). Sure there were people who still didn't want the "new-fangled bags" but they were in the minority, because everywhere you looked shoppers were walking around with plastic. The future of shopping had arrived.

Besides, they're fantastically useful. I'll bet there are a million things you can do with plastic shopping bags!

Paper bag manufacturers tried to compete by adding handles, water-proof coating, and other stuff... but it was too late. Plastic had won the war, and there was no going back. Soon it was increasingly rare to see any paper bags at a grocery store. Why bother when everybody is going to want plastic anyway?

It was then that paper bag fans (and manufacturers, I'd imagine) started getting upset. "PLASTIC BAGS ARE BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT!" they would scream. At least they did until studies were released that said plastic bags had a slightly less damaging effect on the environment (surprise!)... but it didn't matter much because BOTH paper and plastic were ultimately a bad thing (environmentally speaking). The best solution is to re-use a cloth bag over and over again (no surprise there). Sadly, hardly anybody bothers to do this. After all, what would they put their garbage in if they didn't get their plastic grocery bags? In Ireland you have to pay a fee every time you use a plastic bag... maybe if that happened here, people would come up with a more eco-friendly solution. Oh well.

Flash-forward to today and paper bags are making a kind of comeback. Upscale markets are using them again not because they are cheaper or better for the environment... but because they're "cool." I suppose the "perceived ecological friendliness" of paper must be a factor as well, which I find kind of funny.

Especially today when I was in line behind some Birkenstock-wearing hippy bitch at the grocery check-out.

"DON'T YOU HAVE PAPER BAGS?!? PLASTIC IS BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT!! she bellowed. The cashier apologized but, alas, he had no paper bags. "WELL THAT'S JUST GREAT!" she yells... her face scrunched into an eternal scowl. She then collected her shopping (which included a gallon of milk in a plastic jug, and various other environmentally-hostile containers) and went stomping out the door...

... WHERE SHE PROCEEDED TO HOP INTO HER OLD BEAT-UP CADILLAC ESCALADE, WHICH PROBABLY ONLY GETS 12 MILES PER GALLON, AND DROVE OFF INTO THE SUNSET!

I guess in this case "hippy" stands for "hypocritical?"

Sigh. Maybe it's the rain, but I really want to bitch-slap just about everybody today.

I don't like to shop. My dislike for shopping only increases as the crowds get bigger, so going to the mall on Black Friday would be the equivalent of torture. Thankfully I had to work today. Because when people call and say "could you pick up something for me while you're out" I'd much rather be able to say "I'm sorry, I'm working today" instead of saying "FRAK OFF AND DIE BECAUSE THERE'S NO F#@%ING WAY I'M PICKING UP ANYTHING FOR YOU ON BLACK FRIDAY WEEKEND!" I dunno. I guess it just sounds nicer.

All that being said, I'd rather be in Bali laying on Kuta Beach...

I'd write about how the occasion arose today where I used the word "frolic" in a totally justifiable context, but it's 11:15pm and and I have to be to work in five hours and forty-five minutes.

Two hours of that will be spent trying to fall asleep.

Shortly after managing to get to sleep last night, I was awakened by a noise so loud that my teeth were rattled. I was all groggy, so at first I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe there had been an accident in the parking lot or something. But just as I was going to get out of bed to see if anybody was in trouble, I heard the sound again and realized that it was a neighbor slamming their apartment door.

It would be easy to assume that they didn't realize throwing their front door closed like that at 1:30am would wake everybody in the entire apartment complex... but I think it's more likely they are just so f#@%ing stupid that they don't know how to properly close a door.

Time to write a new book.

I had no idea such a basic skill required a manual, but I'm here to help.

Thanks to this idiot, I barely managed to get three hours of sleep. This made for a very long day at work and now I'm pretty much dead. It's probably a good thing too, because it means I might actually get some rest tonight.

At least I had better.

If there's another door-slamming incident, somebody is going to get my foot up their ass.

GAH! The roads here are beyond nasty. My car handles fairly well in the winter months, but when you have ice on top of ice on top of ice, it's pretty harsh for driving. Even if your tires grip on the top layer, you slide on the layer beneath. Winter blows.

• Funniest moment of my day...

I decided to watch Law & Order: Criminal Intent off my TiVo when I got home from work. It featured guest appearances by Bob Saget and Catherine Bell as husband and wife. Eventually Bob's character finds out that his wife is having an affair. There's this dramatic pause and then he cries "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!??

I started laughing uncontrollably.

Suddenly I couldn't see these two actors as their characters.

All I wanted to hear her say was "Because I'm CATHERINE F#@%ING BELL and you're just BOB SAGET! That's how!"

I mean seriously...

The episode also featured Bernadette Peters with her Kewpie Doll lips as a tough-talking defense attorney, which was almost as funny. Don't get me wrong, I like Bernadette Peters okay, but she was horribly miscast in this role. If she's going to do television, can't her agent find her something that will play on her strengths?

• Second funniest moment of my day...

I received a spam email with the subject line "A man with a small penis is like a butterfly without wings." This moment of poetic zen was so beautiful that I was very nearly brought to tears. Laughing. I suppose this means a man with NO penis is like a cockroach without a... uhhhh... I dunno. I hate roaches anyway.

• Third and final funniest moment of the day...

After my "Tom Waits Sucks Ass" rant yesterday, a kind reader gifted me his first album "Closing Time" which I thought was some kind of torturous revenge or something. Gritting my teeth I pressed play...

...and my head didn't explode as expected. The album is not really my cup of tea, but it ain't that bad either. It's wholly listenable, and even enjoyable in parts. I have no idea what in the heck happened between this album and his appearance on The Daily Show last night, but I'm guessing it involves being declared legally dead and being brought back to life by a voodoo ritual gone horribly wrong. I find the thought of it funny for some reason.

Yeah, I guess it wasn't a very humorous day after all.

Uhhh... yeah... helpful hint to all would-be-adulterers out there... if you are going to have a sexually explicit instant-messaging session with your mistress on a public computer, you might want to remember to logout and close out the web browser window after you're done. This is especially applicable if you refer to your wife as "that f#@%ing bitch" and go into intimate details as to your next planned sexual encounter with your whore.

On the other hand, it did make for some exciting reading before I got down to the drudgery of printing FedEx labels and checking in for my flight tomorrow morning.

Even if the guy does refer to his penis as "the throbber."

If I were any more despicable than I already am, I would have tracked down the idiot by his screen-name and mailed a transcript of his rather titillating IM session to his wife. I'm sure it would be much-appreciated as she initiated her divorce proceedings.

Hmmm. You know, I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to use the word "titillating" before.

And now for the three funniest things I saw at the Milwaukee Museum of Art yesterday!

A bunny statue made entirely from bottle-caps...

Baby Jesus about to give Mary a wet willy...

This stoner dog statue...

Now that I think about it, I really do need to come up with a nickname for my penis.

Unfortunately, "the throbber" appears to be taken.

I'd call him "the titillater" but I don't think you're allowed to use that word more than once a year...

This morning started with my slipping in the parking lot and busting my ass, which was pretty much indicative of how the rest of my day would go.

Because it's not every day you get stabbed in the face.

I've got some small bumps on my face, which are probably a residual effect of the massive doses of Accutane I was on when I was a kid. They are barely noticeable and don't bother me, so I've just let them be. But a few of them get torn off from time to time when I put on a T-shirt or my motorcycle helmet or whatever, so I finally decided to ask a dermatologist about it...

DOCTOR: Oh, they're not dangerous or anything... I can take care of them in just a few minutes.

DAVE: Uhhh... okay.

DOCTOR: First I'll just stab you in the face a couple times with this giant needle...

DAVE: GAAAH!

DOCTOR: Now I'll fry your face with electricity to burn them off...

DAVE: GAAAH!

DOCTOR: You're going to smell burning flesh and see some smoke now...

DAVE: GAAAH!

DOCTOR: Done! Don't be alarmed when you see the open wounds on your face...

DAVE: GAAAH!

DOCTOR: Or the huge white blotches...

DAVE: GAAAH!

DOCTOR: The blotches will fade in an hour, and everything will be healed up in a couple days. You'll never know they were there.

DAVE: GAAAH! Errr... I mean... really?

And that was that.

I'm feeling pretty good now, considering I lived through one of my worst nightmares during my lunch hour.

Tomorrow at lunch I'm thinking of climbing in a tub filled with live spiders.

But right now I've got two suitcases of laundry to wash, which is almost as scary.

This has not been my week.

And just when I think that I'm back on track, something happens to let me know that this simply is not true... usually first thing in the morning. Yesterday I wandered into the shower and absent-mindedly ripped into my freshly-electrocuted face with Apricot Exfoliating Scrub. You'd think that this is about the worst thing that could happen to you in the shower... but you would be wrong.

This morning I was washing my hair with Philosophy Strawberry Milkshake Shampoo when I decided that my head wasn't bubbly enough, and reached for that big 10-pound bottle to squeeze out some more.

This was a mistake.

I must have still been half-asleep or something, because when I grabbed the bottle it somehow slipped and ended up cracking me right in the balls.

Hard.

The incident ended up looking something like this...

This woke me up very, very quickly.

And now, even though it's almost five hours later, the pain still lingers.

Those of you who have balls know exactly what I mean. Those of you who don't should kick a guy in the nuts sometime and have him explain it to you (but please do not mention my name... the last thing I need is to be chased down the street by a mob of guys with aching balls).

I am beginning to think that this kind of crap happens to me because I have a blog.

Subconsciously, I must be setting myself up for horribly embarrassing tales of woe so that I have something to blog about. No other guys I know have ever mentioned accidentally smacking their own balls* with a big bottle of pink shampoo. Though, now that I think about it, what guy would ever admit to something so stupid like that?

Oh.

Would it help to say that after this incident I shot a grizzly bear, drank a six-pack of beer, then skydived into the Playboy Mansion where I had a three-way with playmates of the year Tiffany Fallon and Kara Monaco?

I have got to find a new hobby.

* Note that I have plenty of stories of guys smacking some OTHER guy's balls with a big bottle of pink shampoo... those post-game locker room celebrations are "c-r-a-z-y" crazy.

Yesterday it finally decided to get serious and snow here. It was a wet, heavy snow that was coming down so fast and so hard that by the time I got the last half of my car cleaned off, the first half was covered again. Driving was a nightmare, because the streets would fill up just as soon as they were plowed.

By the time I got home, it was so nasty out that I was fully prepared to spend the next eight weeks locked in my home with 60 boxes of Pop Tarts and twelve dozen cans of Coke with Lime until the snow subsided...

But when I woke up this morning, my Mac's "Weather Widget" said it was raining. All the snow that had fallen on my car last night had melted away. The roads were clearing up and by 10:00 the sun was shining. But there was still a sloppy mess left behind, with piles of snow heaped everywhere. This sometimes makes parking scarce because all that snow cleared off a parking lot has to go somewhere.

So when I was in Wenatchee picking up some crap at the store, I felt really lucky that I found a relatively close spot. At least I did until this woman (who looked like Ms. Crabtree from South Park) came rolling up and shook her first fist at me then drove off...

"Well that was odd" I said to myself "I wonder what that was all about?"

Fortunately (or unfortunately, as it turns out) I didn't have long to wait. As I was entering the store the woman (who parked across the lot) screams as me "I WAS WAITING FOR THAT SPOT?" Which, of course, was ridiculous. She wasn't even in the lot when I pulled into the spot. But, rather than screaming back to her "YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT!" I just pretended I didn't hear her and went about my business.

People are dumbasses. Snow or no snow, I'm seriously considering locking myself in for eight weeks anyway.

So there I am minding my own business while walking back from the mini-mart... when an underage whore asks me for directions.

When I say "underage" I will fully admit to guessing here, because it wasn't like I got to see her ID or was presented with a birth certificate. And, truth be told, I'm also guessing as to her being a whore, because it's not like she offered me sexual favors in exchange for money or anything like that (she just wanted to know where Pioneer Avenue was).

No, the reason I call her a whore is sheer speculation based on her method of dress and demeanor, all of which was saying "make me an offer." I mean, come on... stiletto-heeled boots and a low-cut blouse with a push-up bra? IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER? Ergo... a whore.

Of course it's so hard to tell, really. Especially when I look at the dolls that girls have now-a-days...

They're called "Bratz" but they might as well be called "Whorez" from what I can see. Sure Barbie may have always been a little bit of a slut, but the worst you can say about her is that she's a classy tease with way too much money on her hands. The Bratz dolls look like strung-out street-walkers by comparison...

Hmmm... Now that I think about it, there was a lot of room for scary misinterpretation here on behalf of the police (had any actually been present). I could have inadvertently been arrested for soliciting sex from an underage whore just for talking to the girl!

Sadly, today's kids don't really have much of a chance. Especially little girls when they have role models like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan (not to mention dolls like Bratz) to learn from.

Usually one has to drink copious amounts of alcohol to have a day like this...

I have no idea what I ate that is causing me such misery, but I think I might die any minute now.

And how was your day?

I do not discuss religion on my blog when at all possible, because I just don't want the headache of dealing with closed-minded individuals who refuse to understand that people are allowed to have beliefs different from their own. The beauty of all humanity is the diversity of the people who comprise it and, in my many travels around the world, I have learned to love this inevitability of the human condition. This is reflected in my personal beliefs, which are colored by the many religions and peoples I've encountered over the years.

The foundation of my own faith is built on the Buddhist precepts of cherishing all life and doing no harm to any living thing. And though I do not consider myself to be a "true" Buddhist, it is the religion with which I most closely identify, and has been since I first studied it in Thailand a dozen years ago. But I've also studied Taoism, Christianity, Islam, Sikhism, Judaism, Hinduism, Mormonism, Shinto, Confucianism, Bahá'í, Scientology, Wicca, and dozens of other belief systems like Native American spirituality, Aboriginal world-view, and even voodoo. My attempts at understanding the people who inhabit this planet inevitably lead to investigating their faith, and it is a passion that does not easily leave you.

Studying religion is no easy task. You have to be willing to immerse yourself enough to truly appreciate it, yet be detached enough to see how it works. But there is beauty everywhere, and the joy of getting lost in The Holy Qur'an or The Bhagavad-Gita or The Holy Bible or The Tao-Te-Ching or any text of profound belief is intoxicating. There's always the desire to keep going deeper and deeper... trying to find new levels of understanding in that which others have devoted their lives to studying, yet admit to never fully understand themselves.

And now, in a time where religion is doing such a marvelous job of dividing us, there is one thing which I still believe is true: as a species, we will forever be more alike than we are different... all beliefs considered. Whether this is enough to save us from ourselves remains uncertain.

But sure I hope so.

Because it's about the only thing that keeps me from choking the ever-loving shit out of all the dumbasses running amok during the holiday shopping season.

I've just turned on the television. The Sound of Music is playing and Julie Andrews is singing about how once a woman is married she becomes her husband's property. This movie must have been filmed back in the good old days when you could own a woman outright. Given most of the women I know today, this is a pretty funny concept.

A foot of snow was unexpectedly dumped on us overnight. I only realized it when I heard a snowplow scraping by at the utterly ridiculous hour of 7:00am. But, by the time I left at 10:00, the sun was shining through a brilliant blue sky...

Sure, the snow makes driving a total disaster, but it sure looks pretty.

Why is it that every time I really want my camera, I've left it at home?

Since I haven't been out of the country for over a year, I didn't realize that my passport had expired until I looked at it this morning. This really sucks ass, because even if you pay the "expedited handling fee" it will still take up to two weeks to get your renewal. Since I am leaving in three weeks, I had to FedEx it out TODAY in case something gets screwed up along the way. This meant a trip to Wenatchee so I could have new photos taken at the AAA.

Because of the recent heavy snowfall, all the snow from Wenatchee's streets is piled up three feet high in the center turn lane. This is kind of a pain in the ass, because any time you want to make a left turn, you have to keep going until you find a plowed intersection, then do a U-turn and backtrack to where you needed to turn. This has been going on for the 20+ years I've been driving, and everybody just deals with it the best they can.

Except one crazy bitch who thought her little Nissan Sentra could break through a wall of snow three feet tall and make that left turn. Needless to say, this wasn't going to happen. Not only did she screw up her front bumper, but she high-centered herself on the snow. Since she was blocking the lane, two guys from a truck ahead of me decided to get out and see if they could push her off. The entire time she was screaming her head off and, when I rolled down my window to listen, this is part of what I heard...

Of course, being the stupid f#@%ing dumbass that she is, she naturally decides to blame everybody except herself. I find clueless morons like this highly entertaining, and I was cursing myself for not having my camera with me because I would have totally posted a photo of the hilarity that was ensuing.

But, after a minute or so, the two guys managed to push her off the snowbank and she sped off... still screaming at nobody in particular, but mad at everybody except herself.

Typical.

Anyway... my new passport photo sucks ass, as usual. I look even more like a terrorist than last time, which is bound to make for some exciting new memories to treasure as I pass through Customs for the next ten years. Of course, like anybody who travels extensively, I'm sure that I've already got a lovely profile on record with Homeland Security. Hopefully it only says nice things about me, because I always try to be nice to everybody when I enter or leave the country.

Of course, if I ever DO get detained, I now know exactly how I should act...

Yes. From what I see on a daily basis, raving like a complete idiot seems to be the American Way now. I can totally do that. US Customs agents would be disappointed if I didn't act like a fool... after all, I'm sure they find clueless morons highly entertaining as well.

Doesn't everybody?

Except clueless morons, of course. They just don't know any better.

Oh how I dread the drive home from work each night. There's just too many idiots on the road. Last night was particularly nasty, because I ran across somebody in the ditch who apparently thought that his 4-wheel drive made him immune to sliding on ice. I stopped to make sure everything was okay, only to find out he had already called somebody with a winch to pull his truck out. "Heh heh... watch out, it's slippery out there" he says.

Uhhhh, yeah. That's what happens when water gets cold.

But before I drove home from work, I put on my gloves and wondered for the millionth time why glove manufacturers are so frickin' stupid that they consistently make the thumb and little finger too long. Every pair of gloves I've ever owned has had an extra inch of fabric flapping around on my "hang loose" digits. Very annoying. I mean, seriously, just LOOK at this lunacy (thanks to the "X-Ray" attachment on my Epson scanner)...

   
GAH! Dumbass glove manufacturers!! Surely I'm not the only one who notices this stuff?

Unless...

HOLY CRAP! It's me, isn't it? I'M A MUTANT!! Somehow my mutant super-power is to have a thumb and little finger shorter than everybody else! THAT'S why gloves never fit me...

   
Or maybe it's my middle fingers that are longer. Who knows. I wonder if this is a good enough mutant super-power to get me into the X-Men? Probably not, but it might get me into a cheap horror movie...

Of course, Lil' Dave only has four fingers.

Not because he's a mutant, but because he's a cartoon.

Oh well. I try not to feel too badly for him... he can still flip-off people who irritate him. That's all that really matters, isn't it?