Huffing made easy.

I can honestly say that I have never thought of sucking on a can of computer duster, but whatever floats your boat, I guess. What happened to the good old days when people would just "Spark the Owl", "Smoke a Bowl", "Torch a Fatty", or "Dance with Mary Jane"?
New druggies really give good, old fashioned, stoners a bad name. Check it out. This was a compilation from a reality intervention show. Enjoy the freak show.

Filthy Desk

Clean it up! I live in a sea of grey cubicles, no windows, fluorescent hazy lights, and the soft glow of computer monitors staring at me from every angle. The environment sucks bad enough naturally. I don’t need to look at and smell your filthy garbage too. Engineers are disgusting. Most of us share cubicles and have about as much work space as a those Asian kids making linens for Martha Stuart. 2000 thread count sheets don't sew themselves.

Even the most tidy of our ilk have the problem of space, so keeping complete order is difficult. However, exacerbating the problem with your four day old Starbucks cups, 32oz Wendy’s carafe from lunch, and no less than six empty diet Mt. Dew cans, is simply unacceptable. With these tight quarters, your space IS my space so give me a break and throw out some of that crap.

What’s worse is the fact that we take care of our own trash where I work, so those that choose to throw away their wrappers and banana peels often do so under their desk. That doesn’t help when you don’t dump your garbage until the bin is overflowing. The remaining half of Monday’s tuna sub is smoldering from hot CPU sitting next to your trash creating a make-shift kiln. I’m holding back the bile over here. So here are a few rules.

No wet or decomposing garbage in the waste baskets under your desk.

Replacement policy: if you get a new drink, the old one must be removed from your desk and disposed of in the proper place. Go dump out that flat, watered-down Dr. Pepper in the drinking fountain if you must. At least it gets cleaned.

No tuna at your desk – ever. I used to break this rule, but now know better. I’m here to spread the word.

Recognize proximity – If you can smell your food/drink, I can smell it. We are literally 3 feet from one another.

Empty your trash – Do this once a week whether you think you need to or not. Bread molds, milk sours, and the Chinese take-out carton stinks more than ever. I wouldn’t have to give you this rule if you would have followed Rule 1.

If your houses are anything like your desks, please don’t invite me over for dinner. I’m not coming. Again, I am amazed at the number of educated, inconsiderate slobs I encounter everywhere….and they complain that I am a clean freak. Call me what you will, but at least you won’t be smelling any old apple cores or last-night’s goulash coming from my side of the room. If anything, you will get the soothing aromatic waft of some watermelon hand sanitizer, and for that, I say “You’re welcome.”

Karma is a Be-otch

I finally got my due. I was busted for fireworks this year. The ironic thing is, I didn’t break any laws, I thought.

My wife and kids were out of town the week before the 4^th. They were supposed to be home by Wed. but an airline issue prevented that, so they had stay until Sunday. The 4^th was Friday night. My kids are 3 and 8 and were really excited about doing fireworks so I told them I would buy some and we would let them off when they got home. They were instantly happy, as was I. My kids are awesome and I love to see them get excited and enjoy these types of things.

Friday, the 4^th : I head to a stand and buy a meager amount of miscellaneous fireworks. I get some smoke bombs and snakes, ground bloom flowers and sparklers, and about 5 cones. I told the guy I wanted no screamers, because they scare the kids. So I don’t have much at all. That night, on the phone, I relay that the mission was accomplished and they wouldn’t miss a thing. They were thrilled.

Sunday rolls around and they fly in. Everything was pretty hectic so I tell them we should wait until Monday night so they can enjoy them.

So it is Monday night, 9:30pm. It isn’t quite dark yet, but I tell them we should get started so we don’t break the noise ordinance that goes into effect at 10pm. My wife and kids come out on the front lawn and we start our 10 min. worth of kiddie-works. Pop, fizzle…ooohh. Doesn’t matter, the kids love it. 8 min. in, a robust elderly lady rounds the corner swaddling a dog like a nursing child. Being considerate, I stop lighting off charges and wait for her to pass. I didn’t want to scare the puppy. She doesn’t pass. She stops and then instantly starts yelling at me. She barks “It is illegal to set off fireworks after the 4^th and it’s the 7^th so the 4^th is long over. My dog has to be sedated every night because of the noise. Someone is lighting off firecrackers. I have had to put up with so much of this crap.” And on and on and on and on and on. Now at first, I apologized and explained that I literally had only one cone left and we were done and that I was only doing this because of my kids missing the 4^th. I also explain that I have nothing illegal and only have these little kid fireworks, which I show to her. I’m keeping my cool in front of my kids because I know I’m not doing anything wrong. I just let her keep ranting… but she won’t stop. I understand I may be bothering you, but finish saying your piece and go. She started in again, “I don’t care anything about your kids, you stop, now. I can have the police here in no time.” So right before I black out, I just quietly say “Then go call them.” She takes my house number and walks away in a huff.

Now my kids are stressed, they don’t understand what was wrong. My three year old little boy was jumping up and down clapping a minute earlier and now we are all looking at each other and I have that heart pounding, someone is going to die feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wait for her to round the corner and light off the last cone, which none of us enjoy, and we head inside. It is now 9:45pm.

We get the kids in bed, I have my 5^th snack for the night, and then at 10:45pm I get a knock at the door. The police are there and ask me outside. They explain that they are sick of getting calls like this and start to reprimand me. I tell them that I was just looking on the internet and I can’t find any law that says you can’t light legal fireworks off on any day but the 4^th. He assures me it is illegal I the county although not technically the city and I can get a fine of up to $1000. I tell him that I kept all the spent fireworks and took the two cops around the side of my house where I had exactly 5 mini cones and a couple of spent ground bloom flowers. He looks at them and says “This is all you had?” “Well are you done?” I tell him that I was done 15min before 10pm so that I wouldn’t bug my neighbors. He says he is not going to waste any more time on this and apologized for wasting my time and disturbing me. Then he left. No fine.

Here is the irony, for probably 15 years, I not only purchased illegal fireworks, but put on displays that rivaled the Statue of Liberty show. I’ve blown up everything in the world and never been bugged by anyone. I’ve done more dry ice bombs, mortars, and m80s than the National Guard. I did stop this once I had kids…and was investigated by the ATF and OSHA, but that is another story.

I also spent the first 3 years in this house in agony because of barking dogs. They disturbed me constantly, barking all night, every night, but I never called the cops. The first time, ever, I disturb one of these bastard’s dogs…I have a cop show up. I realize she is old and lonely and isn’t happy unless she knows that one more person in this world hates her every single day. I know that she is so atrocious to live with that she even has to sedate her dog to get him to stay. I fully understand that she is a miserable person with nothing else to do, hence she stands at the window waiting for someone to bitch at. So why does she bother carrying on? Grab a hearty handful of the pill of your choice and….bottoms up.

I need to move to the country and move soon, because if I see that woman and her dog again, I can’t promise I won’t be wearing a suit made from her skin with a nice poodle pelt collar the next time you see me. The only question I will ask as she drifts off in her eternal sleep is “Was it really worth it?”

So Karma caught up with me, finally. I hope my kids don’t really have to continue to pay for the sins of the father, because if they do…my kids are in for a hell of a ride.

You Can't Handle the Truth!

You want answers? You want the truth? Well then here it is. Here are some lies that all men tell. You asked for it. And men, whether directly or by omission, you are guilty, my brothers.

1)I beat Mike Tyson on Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. You lying sack. You didn’t last through the first round, because nobody lasts through the first round.

2) I used to bench 300. Unless you have lifted for quite some time, you have no concept of how much 300lbs actually weighs. I know you look at a little guy like me and say, if he pushed it, I must bench 500lbs. Go to the gym and be humbled, 99.999% of you were never even close.

3) I wasn’t in band in high school. Yes you were. I am the only person that didn’t subject themselves to band. You lugged that tuba for four years, quit denying it.

4) I don’t cheat on my Taxes. Oh ya, what about those internet purchases that you are supposed to claim for state sales tax?

5) I’ve never crapped my pants (as an adult). The average guy breaks wind about 15 times a day. Over 365 days a year, that’s 5,475 bombs a year. One of those bad boys pulled a little liquid from the rim. Besides, why else were you throwing those tidy not-so-whiteys into the dumpster outside the break room? Because they won’t flush, that’s why.

6) I don’t pee in the shower. We all pee in the shower. It saves 2 gal of water and is the “green” thing to do.

7) The condom broke. Your girlfriend didn’t get prego because of a faulty condom. They test those things with two gallons of water. I’m afraid your little “release” didn’t even fill the reservoir tip. You barebacked it, just admit it.

8) I’ve never tried on a women’s underwear. They are silky and sexy and feel wonderful. You had to try it..you know you did.

9) I have never seen porn, it’s gross. Ya, all those hot naked women performing acts we all dream about with lots of other naked hot women just make me sick. Who do you think you are talking to?

10) I’ve never pleasured myself. I have a friend at work that is over 40 and claims never, ever, not even once, ever, even accidently have a misfire. He said, and I quote “I don’t even think I would know how to do it.” Shut your filthy lying mouth. I’ve been set-off by a bumpy car ride…and you have too.

11) I don’t drink and drive. Every one of you SOBs that drink, drink and drive. Designated driver my ass.

12) Honey, your pet ran away. Nope, it died. You just didn’t want to tell the kiddies. You buried it, flushed it, put it in a baggy and stuffed it in the trash, either way..you were an accessory.

13) I’ve never sniffed panties. I have never done this, but I know you have….Sicko.

14) I’ve never tucked my penis back between my legs to see what I would look like as a girl. We all saw Silence of the Lambs and stood in front of a mirror in the days following and pulled the old tuck and roll. If you put on lipstick while doing it, you need to be in a hospital.

15) I’ve never cut up an old pillow case to make it into a makeshift loin cloth and then after everyone left the house tore off all of my clothes, put on the loin cloth, and run around with an invisible hatchet attacking the imaginary villagers. Come on…fess up.

Seven Habits

Stephen R. Covey’s book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People outlines some great methods of bettering one’s self. I’ve found that, for the general population, we need to start a little more basic. So, here are my 7 habits of somewhat effective people, also known as, things you should have learned by the time you were four, but didn’t.

1. Check your head – After you have a meal, flip down the mirror in your car or drop by the rest room on your way back to work and give yourself a once over. Check the teeth and your face for residue and sauce. If you douse your shirt in marinara, you’re stuck with a crappy day ahead. If you have a Bloomin’ Onion wedged betwixt your Chiclets, a little fingernail slide may have just saved you a ton embarrassment. I know several people that routinely spend the second half of their day with mustard stuck to their beard and white clumps at the corners of their mouth. Damn that’s nasty.

2. Check your fly – Standard protocol as you leave the restroom. Pretend you are adjusting your shirt and slip an index finger across the tangs ensuring the breezeway is locked down.

3. <Check your eyes and nose for stray boogs – I won’t say much here, but please just try a little head tilt and nasal check in the morning. Who knows what grew in the night? Also, pay attention to those inner corners of the eyes, they are easily overlooked and a nesting ground for some rank debris.

4. Refrain from the “Burp and blow” – You think you are being polite by stifling the noise and bearing down on that belch, but when you blow it out the corner of your mouth, you’re killing me. Worse than the smoker that tries to blow out their smoke up and away or to the side, we have no visible cues here and get land blasted with a wave of stank that could still set off the fire alarm.

5. Wear a belt – This is for men and women, pull up your damn pants and wear a belt to hold them there. The last couple of years have shown me more crack and undies than “Skinny Marie”. (Pretty woman reference that only my sister will get) If your pants rest under the cheeks of your ass, you probably aren’t in the running for head cashier at Arby’s.

6. Say “Excuse me” – I know you are all in a hurry as you barrel down the halls of work and the isles at the store, but when you give me the forearm shiver and crack one of my ribs, at least have the courtesy to say “excuse me.” If you open the door to the bathroom and almost knock me over because you are trying to unzip and shuffle toward the urinal at the same time, throw a “pardon me” my way. If you are talking to someone on your cell phone, while carrying on a conversation with someone you’re walking with, and checking your pager, and stumble into me even though I am pressed firmly against the wall trying to get out of your inconsiderate wake, how about a “perdona me’”? (Spanish for Pardon me)

7. Help a Brother Out – If you see a friend that has any of these problems, take them to a private setting and let them know. I don’t want to go through the day with spinach on my face, if I miss it, tell me. If your friend knocks over people walking down the hall because they are oblivious to the pregnant woman they just hit shoulders with, tell them. If they have a peaked white head, Mt. Vesuvius style, pulsing on their forehead, let them know. A red crustoid beats a white pearl any day. Then again, if you just know them and don’t really like them, let them continue to look like a moron and laugh behind their backs.

If you people can’t do a couple of these, there is no reason to buy any other self help books because you are beyond help and are bound for career and social ruin. If you are not sure, try these things for a day or two, people’s general disgust for you will decrease exponentially. Trust me.

Jury Duty

I had Jury Duty last week and was a little apprehensive as I had never done that before. The whole process was pretty interesting and there were several things that I didn’t expect at all. First, I didn’t realize that they called 65 people for a single 12 Juror case. Hence, there was a over 4 hours spent just on the Jury selection. I was number 65, so I didn’t even get any questions asked of me, but rather listened while they asked tons of questions to the first 27. (We were issued numbers when we began).

Let’s backtrack a little bit. The form I had said that I must be in the specified room by 8am sharp. I show up 20 min. early and realize that the lobby doesn’t even open until 8 am. The entrance is tiny and as time passes it fills to the point of bursting with the over 350 called Jurors for the various cases that day. 8:05 rolls around and the crack security squad starts to let us through. I don’t get to the room until 8:20 and when I apologize for being late, she says we don’t even need you until 9am.

Now I am in a room with my 65 peers, so I start sizing up the competition. We were asked to wear respectful clothing for the court. My mind said, button up long sleeve shirt and slacks or Dockers, probably a belt, and some dress shoes. Apparently my “peers” thought it meant cut-off jeans, tank tops, beer logo shirts, and general construction attire. I didn’t realize they still made clothing with burlap. So I sit and look and try to think about who the Lawyers would want and they start up a movie. At a little after 9 am they give us some instruction and hand us a number as we head to the courtroom.

Inside the courtroom we have the Judge, lawyers, court reporter, and the accused. We all sit and then the fun begins. The Judge tells us this is going to be a three day trial at most, so we know what we are dealing with. He then goes through some questions to eliminate any people with conflicts of interest. He starts with anyone that has ever been in a court case and we went one by one hearing the details. This seems benign but this really means that anyone that had ever been accused of a crime had to announce it to this entire group. He further asked for the outcomes in each case and how they felt about it. I’ll highlight a few here…and remember this is just out of the first 27 people.

We had 4 DUIs. We had 1 meth user. We had a person convicted of selling meth, assault and battery, resisting arrest, ….and he stopped there. We had 1 child rape victim. That was very hard to hear about.

We had a woman who said that someone in public mistakenly thought her boyfriend was beating the crap out of her and called the police who then took him to jail. She spent 2 weeks fighting with the prosecutors, who happen to be lying about everything, before she got him out. Oh….and she also just had a cancer tumor removed from her stomach two days before…and she was bawling the whole time…and she didn’t like looking at the lawyers because it was too tough..and she was quickly dismissed. I was sad to see her barely-cover-the–ass-cheek, baby-doll, trailer trash dress leave the courtroom but was surprised at how quickly she recovered, emotionally that is, when the Judge dismissed her.

We had a woman who said “I guess a wife can’t slap her husband across the face anymore without going to jail in this state”. Apparently the “Lying Prosecutors” made her husband change his story and got her 180 days in the slammer. After some other questions, she also had been charged for battery 2 other times, convicted of drug use, convicted of lying about her identity, and I honestly can’t remember the rest.

We had 1 guy charged with assault, "bar fight" he stated proudly. That is all I can remember off the top of my head, but it seemed ridiculous for the number of people questioned, to have this many thugs.

They went through tons of other questions, most about racism, because the woman on trial was originally from Iran, which was all very boring and cliché. Then the Judge asked if there were any special circumstances that would make it impossible for anyone to serve. Almost EVERY hand went up! This is still the first group of 27, as some were dismissed they pulled others into that group. Then it started again.

One woman said she wasn’t good at making decisions, then another woman, hearing this genius said, “Ya, I have a hard time making decisions too.” Several people said that work was too hard to get out of, the best of which was a bowling pro shop where the woman said “If I am not there, no one will be able to do the books…unless I can get someone to cover me.” First, it's bowling. Second, isn’t it obvious, that someone is going to have to cover you in EVERY job? Two other woman said they didn’t like being in court rooms because of previous cases, made them nervous. Then the two people who spoke other languages said they couldn’t understand English. After some questioning we found that one has been working as an RN for 15 years and has been a citizen just as long. She also took her citizenship test in English, 15 years ago. By the way, she was chit-chatting with everyone at the break, funny. The other guy had a similar story, but had only been here 8 years, but also took his test in English, 8 years ago. Frickin’ liars! And the coup de grace, a guy said that he doesn't like to get up before around 2pm, he is a big sleeper, so he wouldn't be very sharp anytime before that. He actually wasted court time giving this as a reason he couldn't serve.

Those are a few of the highlights but my point is, the person on trial was amongst her peers as they seemed to all be lying, whining, mountain trash, thugs. Yup, she was guilty, I could tell by lookin’ at her. If these were our average citizens, then I weep for their children and our court system. Amazingly sad.

One of the Worst Things I Ever Did

I lived in a somewhat rural area when I was of high school age. My best buddy and I were hunters and we killed everything we legally could. With our Ruger 10-22s in hand and a belt full of 50 round banana clips, we hit the desert in the Toyota pick-up and slew the masses.

I think it was my Junior year in high school when the farmers had an infestation of rabbits. Again, I worked at the auto parts store and the farmers would come in and beg us to come thin the herd. We would spotlight and kill hundreds of them, they were everywhere. The gore was outrageous.

One night, four of us jumped into the truck, grabbed the one million candle power spotlight, Rugers, pistols, and even a few shotguns and headed for the desert just outside a group of farms. One person driving and three rednecks in the back blasting anything that moved; ya, we were asking for trouble. Now Jack rabbits are big ugly things that were rodents to the farmers, so they were our main target. Cottontails, on the other hand, are small, fluffy, and cute, and aren’t nearly as fast, but were still abundant. We generally wouldn’t shoot them. I know you anti-hunters argument, “it’s ok to kill ugly things…”

Anyhow, I was in the back with the two other guys and a rabbit ran out. One guy has the spotlight and me and another guy are doing the shooting. We take a few shots and he yells “I’m out”. I’ve got a few more rounds in my rifle but the rabbit is getting out of range and darting away from the road. Without thinking, I jump out of the back and sprint after it. Suddenly the bunny turns on me so I stop. I’m standing in a clearing with the spotlight’s pencil beam illuminating me and the rabbit. Everything else is pitch black, like this moment is fixed on a stage and the rabbit and I are the only players. It doesn’t stop, it comes right at me so I raise my rifle to shoot and “click”, I’m out too.

Still the little fella comes until he finally stops two feet from my shoe. He looks up at me and I can see the bewildered expression in its eyes. It is a baby cottontail, probably separated from its mother in all the commotion. I see its little pink nose twitch and for a second....time stood still. From then on it is a little bit of a blur. I pull a 22 cal. revolver from my holster and fire a single shot directly into its head at point blank range. Its head went back, and to the left….back, and to the left, and then it lies twitching a few final kicks before it dies.

I holster my gun and jog back to the truck. There, I see three high school friends staring at me speechless. My best friend has a tear rolling down his left cheek and he whispers “That is the coldest thing I have ever seen.” I giggle a little at first and then realize he is dead serious. The other two guys sit down in the back and don’t say a word. My buddy puts the rig in gear and we drive off silently, done with the slaughter. You have to understand, my friends were cold blooded, damn killers. We gutted animals while eating sandwiches. We had no feelings. Our mantra, “God kills indiscriminately…and so shall we”.

To this day, they reference that event with disgust and amazement. They are certain that I am devoid of a soul. I don’t hunt much anymore, and when I do, I rarely take game. Some say I’ve gone soft, some say I’m just a poor shot. Either way, I regret killing that little bunny and I know he is going to be standing there on Judgment Day. I’m sorry little buck (a male rabbit is a buck)…I’m sorry.

Whale Tail.

You people need to understand a few things when it comes to clothing choices. First, fashion is not universal, what looks good on one rarely, if ever, looks good on the masses. Second, less is not always more, especially if you are trying to act sexy. Third, have someone take a picture of you from the back or side, so you get true view of what you have to work with. Then, deal with reality, not fantasy.

Admittedly, I dress horribly in out of date clothes, so I am not speaking to trends at all. I am only talking about certain clothes on certain body types and being honest with yourself about what you can and cannot pull off.

The major type of clothing that seems to confuse people is the sexy wear, so I’ll address that here. I am a man, so I think I’m the one you are trying to impress which makes my opinion worth something. Plus, I’ve talked to enough guys to know that these feelings are somewhat universal. Here are a few categories of what you think you look like and what you really look like.

Sexy thong vs. Whale Tail

Sexy Back vs. Muffin Top

Belly Shirt vs. I Shouldn’t be wearing a Belly Shirt

Cleavage vs. Dear Lord, put ‘em away

I think you people wear these clothes because you want to look sexier, but you are doing exactly the opposite. You are accentuating the bad and moving from looking sexy to looking like a bowl of raised dough wrapped in rubber bands. Skinny Jeans are for 1% of the population and tube tops are for even fewer. There is something sexy about all women, figure out your asset and flaunt it..but put the rest away. Spandex is a privilege, not a right.

Wii Fit?

The outrage over the Wii fit is awesome. I love how everyone is so concerned about the computer machine telling their pudgy little ones that they are overweight. We have heard for years that you have to be so careful about giving teens and tweens a poor body image. You should never mention that they might need to stop at that third bag of Doritos, if for no other reason than their little cheese crusted digits can’t even open it. Greasy equals slippery.

We have established that I am a hog, but in the early days, back in the 7^th grade, I had no idea. My mommmmy always told me I was skinny even when my waist size exceeded my inseam length by double digits. I was a round mound of rebound and it took a devastating conversation with my brother to turn things around. It worked, through high school anyhow. He basically walked in on his lunch break from work and saw me sitting on the couch double fisting a bag of Cool Ranch for breakfast. Yes breakfast. It was noon, but I just gotten out of bed what with it being summer vacation and all. He called me the fattest little piece of crap he had ever seen and if I didn’t get my lazy ass off the couch, I would never have a date, let alone a girlfriend. Ok, it was brutal and I still cry myself to sleep some nights thinking about it, but it worked. I started running, started lifting, started watching my intake, and high school was a much better place for it.

The obesity rate in kids is epidemic. It makes the anorexia problem almost statistically irrelevant. Childhood Type 2 Diabetes is growing faster than Rosie’s…well, you know. Nintendo just used a BMI calculation for its game. The USA came up with this method to quickly rate your weight. So why are we the ones whining? Everyone knows that the calculation doesn’t work in all cases, but it is a place to start.

I don’t want everyone to have a bad self image, but people need to be realistic and help their kids eat right and get a little exercise. Boycotting the one and only game that might actually get your kid out of his seat and moving might not be the best plan of action. You may save their feelings, but they will likely die of heart disease….fair trade?

For those of you that prefer to drop your Wii in the trash and pursue a workout video for the kiddies, I added one. Low impact and the kids will feel great about themselves.

May I help you?

I really hate to sound like the old grandpa that says “Back in my day people were polite, they believed in hard work, and the customer was always right.” I’m only 32, but wow, grandpa was right. Have you been to a store lately? I am stunned at the lack of customer service everywhere.

Here is a little background info. I worked as a counterman and delivery boy for about 8 years at a couple of different auto part stores. I worked with the public, mechanics, vendors, drivers, etc. This is a few years back, but my wage never exceeded $6.50/hr. so it is not like I made any money. Still, I always tried to help the customer, greeted them, thanked them, and generally tried to do my job.

Flash forward a few years and I walk into Autozone to pick up a generic door handle or something. I am happy to see they carry the same line of accessories that I used to sell, so I know what is available. The shelf is empty so I go to the counter. The two people working the counter are talking with one another and make me wait literally 5 min. until they finish their personal conversation to help me. When I tell them what I want, they tell me which isle to check. I inform them that it isn’t in stock. They look in the computer and say they don’t make it. I ask if they have a catalogue because I know right where it is if they will let me look. They reiterate that the computer shows nothing. I reiterate that I know it is available for special order and I see the book right there behind them. In anger and disgust they tell me I am wrong and say “Sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.” I leave, angry.

Next, I need a little piece of vacuum hose. Because Autozone hasn’t been the best, I go to a Shuck’s. I walk in with hose in hand and wait for 15min this time for the man to finish with the person in front of me. On at least 5 occasions he looked up at me and what I had in my hand. 15min. later, when it is my turn, I take two steps forward and he says “Nope, dealer item.” Thanks, you could have said that 15 min. earlier. Never-the-less, I ask if I can look at their vacuum hoses, he says nope, we have nothing like that. I say, “You don’t have bulk vacuum hose?” He says, “Well, yes..but not that size.” I point to the exact size that they do have and I need five feet behind him and he angrily goes back to cut me some. Now I am holding a 6 inch piece of hose. He says, how much do you want? I hold up the hose and say “This much”. He says, “Sorry, we can’t sell anything less than one foot”…. and starts to walk back to me like I am going to leave. What the hell? So I say, “Then I guess I will take a foot.” Again, visibly angry, he walks back over, chops off a foot of it and then throws it at me. I go up and pay feeling like a jack ball, an angry jack ball.

So these are just a couple of examples at auto part stores, but it seems to be everywhere. There is no pride in work, no more “Thank you” at the end of transactions, no acknowledgment that a customer is standing two feet away waiting for help. What is going on?

Last week, a lady waited on my wife in Wal-Mart…I know, I know. She was filthy. Stained shirt (new spaghetti over old grime), greasy- uncombed hair, and reeking of cabbage and salted meats. I’m talking worse than disgusting, and she was handling our food. You can be the poorest piece of mountain trash in Boise and still be reasonably clean.

I won’t even go into the customer service at Circuit City, if you have ever walked in those doors, you know.

So, I have a message for all of you people that work with the public daily. I don’t care that you only make minimum wage. I don’t care that you still live at home at the age of 40. I really don’t care that your girlfriend was out with your brother last night and you are in a bad mood. When I pay you, say “Thank you”, for your company’s sake. When I stand next to you with that inquisitive look on my face, say “May I help you?”, and make it sound like you are not frustrated with the question. Finally, when I ask you something you don’t know, ask someone else, don’t feed me a line of crap that you don’t have it because this is frickin’ Wal-Mart. You have everything.

Sorry, but it is true.

Caution: this blog contains some candid language and is a little explicit. It is not for the faint of heart or those unable to truly be honest with themselves. This blog is one of several I plan to write outlining some of my more personal theories that I rarely share with others.

The topic for today: Why all women are really lesbians. Hear me out on this one, I have ample proof. Disclaimer: I am not speaking about any religious beliefs, morality, or any political or social ideals. I am only speaking to raw, innate, sexual attraction.

I’ll illustrate my point by describing a situation and ask that you honestly listen to your visceral reaction before calling me a moron.

You walk into the bedroom and catch a woman in the throws of self-pleasurement. Her smooth body is cradled by the billowy white comforter on which she lays. Candles surround the bed and you detect just a hint of Jasmine floating in the air. Tiny flickers of firelight dance across her alabaster skin. You treasure that moment of her sweet escape as she arches her head back, consumed by the passionate gift she has granted herself.

Scene change:

You walk into the bedroom and catch a man auditioning his finger puppets. He is standing, hunched over, in the corner of the room facing the wall. He assumes this position because he knows that the intersection of these two walls is a place that God’s eyes can’t see. Sweat pours from his acne filled back as he pants loudly while performing “The Rabid Dog”. If he turned now, you would be shocked at the self loathing burned on his cherry red face.

Walking into each of those scenarios, man or woman will both have the same guttural reaction. One will elicit a passionate stir, a sensual beckoning. The other causes just the slightest amount of bile to creep up your esophagus, leaving an alkaline taste in your mouth for weeks, if not years.

I’ll take it a step further. Think of the sexually liberated woman and her buffet of sex toys. Your mind swims and your blood stirs with the possibilities. Reverse the situation where a man has one little exchange with an inflatable, but very lifelike, silicon torso. The neighbors are called and he is put on the police watch list for life. Women and sexuality are sisters (attractive step-sisters); men are only a necessary evil.

Men are hairy assed baboons that are really attractive to no one. Oh…could you imagine his hot, acrid breath on your neck? My stomach is churning. Women are well groomed, clean, tender, and generally free of unkempt body hair. They are sexuality personified and not just to the hulking gender. Women, protest if you will but given the opportunity and no social or religious pressure…every one of you would give Angelina a throw.

Makin' Cizash

A wise man once said “There are two types of people in this world, those who understand interest, and those who pay it.” Well said. I am just barely learning what this guy meant, so I thought I would enlighten you people. I’m not just talking about money either. It is a lifestyle philosophy of when you want to pay, now or later.

Example one: you get out of high school and contemplate college. I’m baffled how people think it is easier to kick back for a while, get a job, and veg-out rather than go to more school. Pretty soon, you’ve knocked up your girl friend, have a $400/month Pinto payment, and have traded your dream of being a Marine Biologist for the hope of making assistant manager at Arby’s.. if you work the late shift for another 6 months. Hardly the easy path if you look at the big picture. Four years of college up front probably would have jumped you two tax brackets for the next 40 years.

The problem lies in the fact that when you decide to pay really determines how much you have to pay. That leads us to the distinction between cost and price. Let’s run some numbers. Specifically, let’s talk retirement. When do you want to save, now or later? Suppose you order one Jumbo Grande Late’ per day at the low price of $5. You do that, and in 30 years you would have spent $54,750. That was the price. Though the cost to you at retirement is really $127,030, because that is what you would have stowed away if you had just put that coffee money into savings making 5% annually. I won't even add in the money saved on tooth whitening gel. Try building $127K when you have just 10yrs left to retire, you would have to save over $800/month!

Let’s do another example. You buy a house for $150K at %5 interest. Over 30 years you actually pay $289,883. That was your price. The cost to you at retirement is really $672,759 because that is what you would have if you had saved at the same rate as you paid your mortgage over the same 30 years. So please don’t tell me you made $50K on your house when you sold it for $200K, 10 years after you bought it. You only reduced your cost by $50K.

Ok, this is more than boring so I will spare you the credit card example because you will likely stab yourself in the eye with a fork before I finish. I am just continually surprised at how few people seem to understand the difference between cost and price, and how even fewer really understand the power of interest. That being said, nobody is going to change a thing, including myself, so (if you got this far) you have just lost 3 min. of your life that you ain’t never gettin’ back.

Profound vs. Complex

I am continually amazed at how moronic supposedly intelligent people tend to be. They take a few college classes, post-grad even, and suddenly they think themselves geniuses. The fact that they don’t know they are nothing special is what makes them morons.

Remember that scene in Goodwill Hunting where the Math professor is talking to Matt Damon and says something like “Only a handful of people in the world would be able to tell the difference between you and me.” I want to expand on this idea a little more. I’ve sat through a lot of classes, a lot, and have worked with many intelligent, learned people. However, there is one concept that most don’t quite grasp. The idea of doing something profound vs. something that is only complex. I emphasize only because really it is the basis for my argument. Complex just means a bunch of steps. I don’t know if it is inflated ego or just ignorance, but “The Learned” give themselves much more credit than they deserve. As a matter of fact, so do the observers of “The learned”. For example, take multivariable calculus; if you haven’t had the class, you may think that someone capable of learning this is highly intelligent and/or gifted. Sorry, it’s just a series of somewhat complex steps that, with practice, can be followed as easily as a dot-to-dot. Remember the steps, a couple of formulas, and you're set. This is only complex as is most higher level math. Now, being the one who invented Calculus, the one that thought of shrinking those little rectangles infinitesimally small to calculate that area under a curve; that is profound. This idea extends to more than just Calculus, it applies to almost everything. Laws, proofs, theorems..all memorization of steps and understanding of profound work someone else did, which to you, is nothing but complex. I give all the grads and post grads props for being diligent and working through the steps, but the truth of the matter is, almost none of you have done anything profound. I am absolutely in this category but the difference is, I know it. I am smart, but that’s it. You may consider it arrogant to call yourself smart, but my definition is nothing to brag about. Smart only means you have learned that with time and resources you have the ability to learn someone else’s work. That’s it. I’ve never been clever or inventive and never had any real talent, but I’m smart so I copy really well, like most people with a BS or MS. I’ll leave the Doctors out of it as I would be speaking out of turn.

I work with engineers all day long and they think reciting some random formula or proof demonstrates the significant brain power that they seem to mask with their daily work. Again, idiots; and I’m the worst of them. I actually memorized “The Raven” by Poe for bragging rights. It is really really long and I am really really smart. Again, anyone, anyone with too much time on their hands and the will to do so can recite someone else’s work. The tragedy is when you realize what you are incapable of doing…writing an original, inventing anything of your own, having an original thought. Unlike the high school student that says they just can’t do math, you know better. You know you can learn and think and work through problems and in doing so you also learn that you really have little more to offer than a copy machine. Sorry moms, those genius sons and daughters of yours are far from genius…you just didn’t know any better.