Monday, May 31, 2010

How to Immortalize Yourself

On a walk through NW Portland the other day, I came across an alley. Unlike most alleys, this one had a name, “Robert Edwards Memorial Alley.” This got me thinking. Perhaps I a setting my sights too high, expecting to have a national holiday or sovereign country named after me. I should aspire to be immortalized with an alley.

How does one go about getting an alley named after him or her? I suppose I could petition the city government, but who wants to rely on the slow churning of the gears of government to get things done? Adopting the DIY attitude that Portland is famous for, I decided to take on this project myself.

A trip to the hardware store netted some metal sheeting, two signposts, fasteners, a post shovel, some cement, an orange vest, and a hardhat. I have a friend who works in the printing business who was able to cut the sheet metal down to size and print my alley’s name in green and white. Then one warm spring day I dawned the vest and hardhat, went out to the alley between SE Boise and SE Holgate just east of SE 63rd, and installed my signs. An owner of one of the houses smoked a cigarette and observed my handiwork without asking a question.

I then went on Wikipedia where I made up an article about a fake Portland civic group that decided to rechristen the clumsily named “SE 64th Ave-SE 63rd Ave Alley” to “Will Divide Alley.” Portland’s City government empowered the civic group to name alleys in honor of leading citizens. I was honored for excellence in literature.

On this Memorial Day, whether you’re a veteran or not, for $137.81 and a lie on Wikipedia you too can immortalize yourself with your own alley.

Friday, May 28, 2010

16 Facts About Will Divide

1. Will Divide once worked for the phone company on their phonebooks. The Yellow Pages won the Pulitzer that year.
2. The Royal Portuguese Literary Society named Will Divide as the best Portuguese writer of all time. Will Divide does not speak Portuguese.
3. Someone once transcribed Will Divides stomach gurgling. It’s currently on top of the New York Times Bestseller List.
4. Will Divide rented out the city of Salem, Oregon to hold all of his literary awards.
5. Will Divide chops up his lines of coke into a beautiful haiku before snorting.
6. The movie “Shaft” is based on the autobiography Will Divide wrote when he was three.
7. Will Divide once wrote an entire novel only using the letters “w,” “y,” and “r.” It’s very popular in Wales.
8. A friend once asked Will Divide to write a suicide note for her. The friend liked the note so much that she didn’t kill herself.
9. Maya Angelo said that most of her work is just something Will Divide wrote put in her own voice.
10. When Will Divide eats alphabet soup, his shit contains sonnets worthy of Shakespeare.
11. Those Dos Equis commercials about the most interesting man in the world are really about Will Divide.
12. Will Divide was named one of People Magazine’s 50 most beautiful people, despite the fact that none of the editors have ever seen him.
13. Both Biggie Smalls and Tupac have claimed that Will Divide is their main influence.
14. The best selling iPhone app is the one that lets you read Will Divide’s blog.
15. The cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul are so enraptured by his writing that they decided to unify and call the new city Will Divide.
16. Will Divide makes stuff up.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

The Holding Cell

There are few things worse in life than waking up in a holding cell with no recollection of how you got there. That’s how this morning started. I found this particularly confounding considering that the last thing I remember was doing something heroic.

My favorite bar The Powder Keg has theme parties a couple of times each year. I’m notorious at these events for my great costumes. At jungle night, I came dressed from head to toe in zebra stripes (and managed to hook up with a hot lion that night). For the Superbowl party, I decided to be a pretentious Superbowl commercial director, complete with a silky shirt, poofy pants, knee-high boots, and one of those scopes directors look through, shouting to everyone, “money is no object!” Last night was 70s night, and I was Elton John in a purple sequined jacket, blue silk pants, and treble-clef sunglasses. After eight rounds of a drink the bar was calling “liquid Quaaludes” it was time to walk home.

My walk home has me crossing Powell, which is a major street. Near the intersection, I saw a dog huddled in a heap. Apparently it had been hit by a car. It was a terrible sight; that dog is probably someone’s pet. I’d read somewhere that you can give dogs CPR, so that’s what I did. That’s the last thing I remember.

The officer watching over the holding cell noticed that I woke up and approached me. I frantically asked him what I was doing here.

“We got a report that a transvestite was making out with a dead deer by the side of Powell last night,” the officer said. “Amazingly, that report turned out to be true. You’re being held on public intoxication charges.”

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Letter to Sharon Lane, Manager of Megan Fox

Dear Ms. Lane,

I am hoping you can send this note to Megan Fox.

For years I have been down on my luck. After getting out of prison, the trailer hitch business my brother and I started failed, and my hopes moving out of Mom’s trailer were dashed. I was feeling so low that I actually considered dealing meth again.

Then Mom’s black neighbor introduced me to this book called “The Secret.” The author tells you how to get what you want by wishing for it real hard. I first wished for a job at the meatpacking plant. It took a while, but after the Feds rounded up all the illegal Mexicans from the place, they were practically giving jobs away. I now work five graveyard shifts each week cutting meat and should have my restitution paid off by next year. That next slab of tasty ribs you enjoy may have been cut by me!

Figuring that success breeds success, I started wishing for my next thing – that Megan Fox would live with me and be my wife. I even made a collage of Ms. Fox’s pictures to help me in the wishing process. (For the record, I only masturbate to the collage about half of the times that I’m wishing for her to marry me.)

The way I see it, with Ms. Fox as my wife, we could use her Hollywood money to move out of Mom’s trailer into our own double-wide with a deck and satellite TV where the naked tit channels aren’t scrambled. Then we’d start having kids. With Ms. Fox’s good looks, I’m sure our kids would win all those Little Miss beauty contests.

Please reply to this letter and help fulfill Ms. Fox’s destiny.

Sincerely,

Wayne Doober

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Solutions to the BP Oil Disaster, By Will Divide Jr., Age 9

The oil company British Petroleum was drilling for oil in the Gulf of Mexico. Apparently their drill broke and caused the Gulf of Mexico to fill with oil, in much the same way the land filled with oil after Jed Clampett shot a hole in the ground in the beginning of The Beverly Hillbillies. Birds, fish, and trees can’t eat oil, so they die. Ms. Macey asked my class to come up with ways to stop and clean up the oil. Here is my solution.

Last year, my dad gave me some old baseball cards. This guy named Julio Cruz used to play for the Houston Astros. Back then, the Astros played in a place called “The Astrodome.” (People were a lot less creative with their names back then.) I saw on the internet that the Astrodome is still there, but no one is using it. We should take the Astrodome and put it over the leak to stop it. Since Houston is on the Gulf of Mexico, they wouldn’t have to take it far.

My mom has this bath sponge that used to live in the sea. When I asked her why the sponge didn’t soak up the ocean, she said that the sponge needs to be dead to soak up stuff. Since the oil is killing all living things, it’s killing sponges too, which should be able to soak up the oil. Of course there may not be enough sponges in the Gulf to get all of the oil, so we may need to add some more. Since it is my week to clean the bathroom, I have no problem giving all of the sponges in the house to the cause. My dad says that mom’s new boyfriend is a sponge. He can go in the Gulf too.

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Last Meal

Like many Americans, I eat to deal with stress. When Brenda unceremoniously dumped me last year, Carls Jr. was there to comfort me. That, combined with physical inactivity brought on by newly-single malaise, has combined to give me a paunch. I can’t go back to dating looking as though I have a case of early-onset male pregnancy. Something has to change.

Over the weekend, I bought vegetables, brown rice, tofu, and lean chicken and fish. I managed to clear off the crap from my treadmill in the spare bedroom and got the dumbbell set out of the garage. If I wake up at 5:00 AM every day, I can get a good hour of exercise in before work.

My plan was to start the healthy living program on Monday. Since I was going to be giving up some of the foods that I love, I decided to give myself a last meal. It started with a shrimp cocktail and artichoke spinach dip with tortilla chips. Then the main course, which consisted of a 24 oz. t-bone steak, corn, and a baked potato (with butter, sour cream, cheese, and bacon). For desert, I had two pieces of turtle cheesecake.

I went to bed early to ensure I was rested for the early wake-up, but I didn’t sleep. Instead, I spent most of the evening in the bathroom with excruciating abdominal cramps interspersed with periods of diarrhea. By 5:00 AM, I was still too ill to work out. In fact, I was too sick to go to work on Monday.

There’s too much planning and psyche-up to start dieting during the week. I can’t do it next week because of the holiday, and the week after, I’m headed to Tulsa for business. But I will start this diet soon. I swear.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Music to Screw By

I like to have sex with music on, but not for the reason most people do. People use music to drown out the noise of squeaky beds and ecstatic moans. Some use it to set the right mood. I use it to help me figure out how long I’ve been doing the deed. After four decent-length songs, it’s time to consider busting a nutt.

What music is appropriate to accompany lovemaking? Marvin Gaye, Billie Holliday, and Barry White are good for setting the right ambiance. Basically, any pre-1980 music from a black singer that sings about male/female relations qualifies. Although not necessarily romantic, just about any music that isn’t gabba techno, math rock, or loud, moody orchestral music will do.

The other night, Janelle and I are in bed and feeling amorous. I put on the album “Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone” by The Unicorns. Although it isn’t romantic music, I love the album, and it won’t do anything to kill the mood. Janelle and I spent a lot of time squeezing, rubbing, and fondling, so that by the time we actually started screwing, we were listening to the song Les Os, which is the second-to-last song on the album. The album finished, and iTunes went to the next song - the Urge Overkill song from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. The thrusting continued.

When the next dong came on, we had to stop. I think it’s physically impossible for non-hearing-impaired people to have sex to “We Are the World” by USA for Africa. Instead of orgasmic and post-coital bliss I laid with Janelle pointing out the Huey Lewis and Bob Dylan parts of the song while watching my hard on subside.

iTunes needs some sort of “Kill the Mood” to help prevent moments like this.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Opposite Day

Seinfeld was one of those shows that inspired imitation. In addition to the countless TV shows that stole the idea of doing “nothing,.” some members of the viewing public have taken to imitating Seinfeld episodes in their regular life. Throughout the world, people actually celebrate Festivus. There must be countless people who have made masturbatory-avoidance wagers among friends. Phrases like “no soup for you,” “sponge-worthy,” “yadda yadda,” and “I haven’t got a square to spare” have become fixtures of English vernacular.

The Seinfeld-ism that is easily the most tempting to imitate is the one where George, in an attempt to change his sorry life, does the opposite of what he would normally do. Of course, this tact is successful – the sexy woman agrees to date him, and George gets a job with the Yankees.

The problem with trying to do the opposite of what you normally do in everyday situations is that your life is not scripted by professional comedic writers. Here are some things that would be detrimental for you if you did the opposite of them.

• If I get pulled over, I am deferential and don’t tell the cop to fuck off and leave me alone.
• When I see a woman with a really great ass, I refrain from giving it a good squeeze.
• Even though the explosion would be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, I try not to smoke at gas stations.
• Usually, if I’m in an elevator and have to fart, I wait until I reach my destination.
• When Jay Cutler throws an interception in the red zone, it takes all of my strength not to throw my beer at the TV.
• Normally, when I have to take a dump, I go to the bathroom.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Lawsuit

Dear Mr. Lafferty,

I saw your advertisement on a bench in the park and figured that you may be able to help me with a legal matter. I am homeless and do not have any money to pay you right now, but as you will soon see, I will be coming into a lot of money (with your help), and will be able to compensate you handsomely from the restitution.

Yesterday, the Portland police threw me off of a Max commuter train. I am a 67 year old veteran with two arthritic knees, so getting up is very painful for me. Luckily I was able to board the next train without police harassment. I hesitate to think what state I would be in if I had to walk back to the shelter.

For this transgression, I want to sue the police department for $10 billion. Of this settlement, I would gladly be wiling to pay you $5,000 plus expenses.

The officers may claim that they kicked me off of the train because I did not pay. While this is technically true, I do not feel that I am responsible for paying for a ticket since I am an employee of TriMet and am working every time I am aboard a TriMet train, bus, or streetcar. Many young women ride public transportation unescorted, and it is my responsibility to ensure that they reach their destination without being raped or harassed. This is a self-appointed position. You can tell that I am doing a good job, since no one has been raped on public transit since I moved from Houston in 2005.

If you need to contact me, you can call me at the Salvation Army Shelter. When calling, please ask for Mad Dog.

Sincerely,

Eddie Jones, Jr.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

New Sexual Thrills

There’s this great song by King Missile called Gary and Melissa. The protagonists of the song have an active and adventurous sex life, incorporating bowling balls, commemorative Statuettes of Liberty, and eventually friends into the lovemaking experience.

I can sympathize with Gary and Melissa. I tend to get bored with sex and need to try new things. I’ve done it with women and men. I’ve slept with prostitutes. I’ve had threesomes, foursomes, and one night an 11-some. I’ve had sex at work, in a public park, and in the housewares section of Walmart. My wife and I have tried every position in the Kama Sutra that we can physically contort ourselves into. I’ve cheated on my wife with a mistress. I cheated on my mistress with another mistress. And yet, I still feel as though I’m missing something.

Then I read in the paper this morning that US Representative Mike Souder is retiring after it was disclosed that he had an affair with a staffer. That’s nothing new. What struck me about this story is that Souder was one of Congress’ strongest advocates for family values, abstinence, and traditional marriage. As if that isn’t bad enough, the staffer apparently worked on abstinence issues with him. You can just see them talking about how giving condoms away in schools encourages promiscuity before lustily mashing faces together. That’s hot.

I figured out what I’ve been missing – hypocrisy sex. After reading the paper, I went to the office of the local chapter of Focus on the Family. I donated money and offered my services as a precinct captain and youth mentor. The woman who signed me up is a Baptist and a married mother of three. She has very pretty eyes. I can’t wait to fuck her brains out.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Trying New Drugs

As the son of alcoholic parents, I’ve always felt it was necessary to consume every drug ever presented to me. Nothing gets you through a blisteringly-cold Midwestern winter weekend better than a three-day meth binge. Feeling lonely and unloved? Pop a hit of ecstasy or two and everyone in the room is your new soulmate. Shit, if the government wanted to control violent crime, all they’d have to do is add Xanax to the water supply.

My girlfriend Jan has been pressuring me to try this new thing, telling me that it will totally trip me out. Normally I’ll try anything once (or 17 times in a weekend), but I was apprehensive. I’ve put a lot of things in me, but I won’t do cyanide or arsenic. That’s suicide, and no drug’s so good that you’ll never do anything else ever again. Jan wasn’t asking me to kill myself, but you can never be sure how you’ll react to something new. (Len Bias died the first time he ever did coke; luckily, I can’t say the same thing.)

Well, I’ve been on it for three days, and it’s totally amazing. The visuals are incredible. Everything’s so crisp and sharp, as if the world suddenly upgraded to HD. I can taste and smell things I never knew existed. (I now know why people love blue cheese.) My head feels like it’s been rinsed with pure spring water. I finally get the music from the band Rush. Previously I thought they were whiney and noodly, but I can now appreciate their technical prowess.

I never thought I would say this, but I may just stick with this and never do another drug ever again. Sobriety is beautiful.

Friday, May 14, 2010

The Good Old Days

I loathe the phrase “back in my day…” Society is constantly evolving. The only thing that remains consistent is that people will remain in awe of change, as if the world is supposed to stand still to reflect the time you were 18. I’m 37 now, and I’ve become what I hate.

The other day, I got a friend request from Dave on Facebook. Dave and I were close when I was in college. Dave reminded me of my first “big” porn experience. No, not the first time I saw a naked boob in Playboy or even the first time I saw people having sex on VHS.

One night when we were 19, Dave, Ed, Ricky and I drove from Waukegan across the boarder to Kenosha, Wisconsin to go to the porn store. It was overwhelming. There were rubber, plastic, and glass “toys” of every size for every orifice. Shelf after shelf featured videos to satisfy every fetish – big butts, big tits, black women, Asian women, old, young, gay, bi, and on and on. And all the magazines. We spent over an hour there (it was tough to get Ricky to leave), and although we didn’t buy anything, I’ll never forget it.

What struck me most was the volume of fetishes out there and the number of women doing pornography. Kids these days only need to do a little Google search to learn these things. They don’t have to gather the boys together and drive across the border to some sleazy store. They get a nearly unlimited supply of porn without having a lecherous truck driver looking over their shoulder.

Kids today don’t know how good they’ve got it. I yearn for a simpler time.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Craigslist Ad - M4W - The Catch - 27 - South Waterfront

I’m beginning to understand how this dating thing is supposed to work, and under these rules I’m quite a catch. I’m 27, 6’1”, 180 lbs., with a head full of dark hair, chiseled facial features, and the body of an aerobics instructor. I own my own condo and have a job as a director in a small engineering firm. I dress impeccably, can pick out the right wine for any meal, read Emily Bronte and Willa Cather, and prefer movies with a plot to movies with explosions.

I’m not looking for anything unusual, just a woman who will love me and be patient with me.

If you’re reading this thinking that there’s got to be a catch, you’re right. Up until recently, I considered myself to be gay. I had boyfriends, went to gay bars, and even had a vacation in Fort Lauderdale that, if written about in a letter, would be rejected by Gay Penthouse for being too outrageous (if Gay Penthouse existed).

A couple of months ago, my parents told me that if I do not take a gay conversion class, they would disown me. I didn’t want to lose my parents, so I agreed. I now realize that my gay feelings were selfish and driven by lust. God has a different plan for me, which is apparently to marry a woman and make babies. I don’t want to be selfish, and that’s why I’ve placed this ad. I should point out that I am not attracted to women in any way, don’t think I can fall in love with a woman, and may relapse and have sex with men. This should change over time, though.

What do you say? Are you willing to take a chance on a catch with a catch?

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Modern Art is Stupid

Modern art is stupid. Taking garbage you find and arranging it in piles on the floor does not constitute art; instead, it’s making more work for the janitor. And those paintings with straight black lines and colored boxes on a white background are ridiculous. No, it does not symbolize man’s eternal struggle with a slowly-adapting natural world; it demonstrates the artist’s competent use of a t-square.

Recently, a local gallery was having a modern art showing of some local artists. I convinced the owner to include three pieces by the great up-and-coming artist Alséa. She has a flashy website and a long list of credentials. Allegedly, Alséa is all the talk in Prague and is on the short list to have a showing at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. In reality, Alséa is Lisa, my four year old niece, and the art is stuff she did in a class at the YMCA.

At the gallery, I installed a hidden camera and microphone to capture people’s response to Alséa’s art. Here’s a sample what the hoity-toity critics had to say about the new phenom:

“These pieces don’t seem to follow any sort of structure. It’s like the artist just put some paint on a page.”

“It reminds me of art that an elephant or gorilla produced. Very amateurish.”

“This is crap. Doesn’t this gallery have standards anymore?”

“I hope no one expects us to like this piece. I think my five year old daughter could do better than that.”

“I wish people would stop putting their kids’ art in these exhibits trying to show how dumb we all are. I’m a professional. I can tell real art from just splotches on a page.”


Stupid art critics. I’ve pulled one over on you!

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

How to Disseminate Propaganda

The Simpsons hasn’t been vital since the Clinton administration, but it still beats anything on CBS. One recurring joke in the show is the ambiguity over what state Springfield is in. In last Sunday’s episode, Moe mentions that the Zip Code for Springfield spells “BOOBS.” “Ah-ha,” I thought. “Springfield is finally revealed!”

So I Googled “zip code 80085” and clicked on the first link. It took me to the website for Social media SEO where I learned that the Zip Code 80085 is unused. In the write up about the Zip Code, I also found out this interesting tidbit:

The US Federal Government is planning on spending $787 billion of taxpayers’ dollars over the next few years in the interests of “stimulating” the economy? We do know this much: This is the greatest redistribution of wealth in our country since the New Deal.

Whoever posted this found a great way to disseminate propaganda - answer a question that Wikipedia can’t and interject some bloated personal opinion to indoctrinate the masses. I might give that a try.

Google search: songs in united states of tara may 10

Result: The episode of The United States of Tara that aired May 10, 2010 featured the songs “You and Your Folks, Me and My Folks” by Funkadellic and “Hallie and Henry” by Say Hi. Most musicians know that the Unabomber was framed by the timber industry because they wanted the land under the Ted Kaczynski’s cabin.

Google search: supreme court nominee religion

Result: Obama’s most recent Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan is Jewish. The Supreme Court has been covering up the Pope’s homosexuality in hopes that the Vatican can be blackmailed into funding the Greek debt bailout.

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Alien Abduction

I consider myself to be a skeptic. If people have encountered alien life forms, where’s the proof? Why don’t we have samples of alien DNA, alien technology, or even a cell phone picture or two of an alien? Then I was abducted by aliens, and my views changed.

My wife was on business in Houston last week, so I took the alone time as an opportunity to try one of those Vietnamese restaurants on SE 82nd that she would never dare go to. The restaurant was mostly empty, so it didn’t surprise me that the host seemed very happy to see a paying customer. In his broken English, he offered me a free appetizer. I ate some of it, but it tasted chemically, kind of like fishy hairspray.

It was while I was eating Phở soup that everything went white. I felt forces tugging at me, but I couldn’t see them. Although I tried to resist, my body rapidly lost strength. I don’t remember what happened next.

I woke up in a steamy, smelly room with a lot of metallic instruments around. I couldn’t see or feel much, but I could hear the aliens speaking in a strange language. There was one alien close to me grunting and panting. In the distance, I could hear a sizzling noise that I assumed to be the alien spaceship engine. The aliens obviously recognized my burgeoning consciousness, because there was a lot of commotion, something poked me, and I lost consciousness again.

When I awoke, I was propped up against a dumpster behind a hot dog place a few blocks from the restaurant. Despite feeling hung over and having a sore behind from where the aliens probed me, I was alive and healthy.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

The Best Album Ever

Everyone has that one album that touched their lives in a way that only music can. For my mom, that album was Sgt. Peppers. The song “When I’m Sixty-Four” still brings a tear to her eyes. I secretly think she screens all of her boyfriends based on whether she thinks they’ll still love her when she’s in her mid-sixties. She’s in her mid-fifties now, so it isn’t quite the same as a 27 year old Paul McCartney asking the question, but don’t tell my mom that.

For the longest time, I didn’t have an album that struck me so personally. Sure, there are a few albums out there that I like, some that I love, but none of them really spoke to me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at the record store in the mall. They were going out of business and had huge tables of discounted CDs. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend, so this looked like a good way to find something new. I ended up buying two CDs, one I really wanted, and one that I bought as a lark for $.99. Wouldn’t you know it, the album I bought for $.99 is “the one.”

The album blows my mind every time that I listen to it. The rapping is so smooth and effortless. The lyrics really speak to me as a kid growing up in suburban isolation. The production and melody make me feel as though I’m at the greatest summer barbecue the world has ever seen. If I’m in a bad mood, all I have to do is put it on to make me smile.

I am of course talking about “Playing with Fire” by the incomparable Kevin Federline. The best album ever.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Undateable

I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date, although I’m not really sure. The reasons for this are obvious. For starters, I’m not much to look at. While other boys were honing their skills at chatting up girls, I spent my time getting my computer to do weird things.

I work for a small software company developing apps for the iPhone. (You know the app that allows you to exchange personal contact information by bumping phones? I made that.) Although the pay is exceptional, I work at least 70 hours per week. My free time is spent mowing the lawn, vacuuming rugs, and going on adventures with one of my online roll play characters. (Although semi-retired, my warlock is a bit of a legend in World of Warcraft.)

So I don’t really have time to date. My mom worries that I should be getting out more, but I don’t mind being alone all that much. I get enough human interaction at work and online, and internet porn is abundant. Of course I do miss physical human contact sometimes.

One of the great things about working for a small software company is the benefits. I pay next to nothing for medical insurance and doctors’ visits. Since I have allergies and asthma that causes me to go to the doctor frequently, this is a great savings.

Plus, I love going to my doctor. Dr. Janet Reiser is in her late 30s with long brown hair and an ample chest that you can still make out under her lab coat. Although I’d never tell her, I quiver when she touches my neck to feel my glands. I always leave Dr. Reiser’s office feeling fulfilled.

There’s a rash on my inner thigh. I can’t wait to see Dr. Reiser about it.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Mea Culpa

Dearest Lois,

I know that over the past few months I’ve been a terrible father and husband. It is only recently that I have come to realize the consequences of my actions, and I hope to somehow atone for them.

First off, I’m sorry that I sold naked pictures of you to that website. Understand that I only did it so that I could afford to buy an M-16 Assault Rifle. The guys at the shooting range said that it is the perfect weapon for a woman, and I so much want you to be able participate in the hobby that I enjoy. I now realize that selling the pictures was a violation of your privacy.

I also now understand that buying a prostitute for our son Joey’s 16th birthday was a mistake. I worry that he is becoming gay, and figured that the pleasure he received from a woman would guide him toward a straight path. It is apparent that he is too young for sexual activity, and my actions made him lose self confidence.

Disclosing to you that I am sleeping with your sister on The Jerry Springer Show was also wrong. I should have told you in private rather than in front of a worldwide audience so as not to humiliate you in public. (I am not sorry about sleeping with your sister though, as we both agree that she is a younger, more attractive version of you.)

I’ve come to understand that the source of my abhorrent behavior is drinking. Although I only drink when taking communion at church, I believe the power of the alcohol affects my actions for the entire week. If I stop attending church, I can go back to being the honorable man you married.

Humbly Yours,

Steve

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Four-Alarm Killer Chili

Being a native-born Texan, I’ve participated in a lot of chili cook off competitions. After eating enough chili, most judges will tell you that they all taste the same. To stand out from the crowd, you need to bring the heat and have something distinctive about your chili. With that in mind, I’ve created the following recipe which will both get the eyes to water and get the judges to take notice. I present to you my recipe for Four-Alarm Killer Chili.

  1. Brown ½ pound ground beef and ½ pound of Italian sausage in a large cooking pot and drain the fat.
  2. Add 1 chopped onion, 1 chopped and seeded green pepper, and 2 chopped celery stalks and cook over medium heat for 10 minutes.
  3. Add 6 12 oz. cans of whole, peeled tomatoes that have been crushed, 1 12 oz. can of red kidney beans, and 1 12 oz. can of corn.
  4. Then add 3 tbs. chili powder, ½ tsp. cumin, and 1 tsp. oregano.
  5. Now the fun part. De-seed and dice 2 jalapeno, 1 poblano, 1 serrano, and 2 Scotch bonnet peppers and add them to the pot. Warning: Do not touch your eyes when handling hot peppers. They will burn.
  6. Allow the chili to simmer for 30 minutes.
  7. With 10 minutes of simmering left, add 3 tbs. arsenic to the chili. Mix well. Warning: Do not ingest any arsenic while cooking. Make sure to clean all pots and utensils thoroughly before reuse.

If you are the type of person that likes to witness his or her own notoriety, feel free to stick around until the end of the competition; otherwise, leave the country immediately after serving.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

My Guardian Angel

John Laroquette hosted an episode of Saturday Night Live in the 1980s. In one skit, Laroquette played a guy who died and met his guardian angel. The angel answered any question for him. One query he had was what career was he cut out for. (It turns out he should have been the President.)

I wish I could ask a guardian angel that questions. Although I would hope the angel would say “supreme overlord of the planet,” I think it would be more realistic for me to be a Hollywood studio executive. I could just see it now…

[Screen goes wavy and image reemerges with me in a designer suit in a large office overlooking the Hollywood Hills.]

Pitchman: We have a great idea for a movie. It’s about a hero who emerges from a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The movie will be written by, directed by, and star Kevin Costner. He had the same roles in Dances with Wolves, so you know he can pull it off. Plus, he learned some valuable lessons about making post-apocalyptic movies from Waterworld. Do we have a deal?

Me
: No.


Pitchman II: Here’s an idea for the CW network. Remember those dramas that were so popular on FOX in the 1990s? We want to put them back on the air again. Our target demographic really liked 90210 and Melrose Place, so they’ll probably watch them again. Plus the actors from the original series can use the work.

Me
: No.


Pitchman III: This movie is going to be a big hit. It’s written by and stars Jenny McCarthy. Carmen Electra is also on board. It’s about…

Me
: Let me stop you right there. No….


[Wavy screen returns to the blog.]

See? It’s the perfect job for me. I should move to LA.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Found in My Spam Folder III

My name is Dr. Vinjay Patel. I have spent 22 years as a clinical psychologist and pharmacological researcher, focusing on relationship counseling. In addition to the three books I have written about relationships, my research has been featured in The Journal of the American Medical Association, The New England Journal of Medicine, Lancet, and 22 other publications.

In my years of work, I have heard lots of complaints form both men and women. Usually, these issues can be resolved through counseling and improved communications. Sometimes, as in the case of male impotency, a drug can prove to be an effective treatment.

Take the case of Mr. and Mrs. Jones (not their real names). Mrs. Jones’ complaint is one of the most common grievances I hear from female patients. Although Mrs. Jones describes the couple’s lovemaking as "good," she still feels unsatisfied. After talking about her feelings over several sessions, we determined that Mrs. Jones’ unsatisfied feelings were the result of Mr. Jones not cuddling with her post-coitus. Instead, Mr. Jones usually went to the living room to watch TV.

To help Mrs. Jones feel more fulfilled, I prescribed the Joneses a new drug Rufidrol, which is now available to the public without a prescription. Rufidrol contains an active ingredient similar to that in Rohypnol (or "roofies"), the same drug unsavory men have been using to rape women for years. Just a 10 mg dose turned Mr. Jones from a darting “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” to a euphoric and docile cuddler. Mrs. Jones now describes the couple’s sexual experience as “spectacular,” and Mr. Jones has never felt more rested. Rufidrol can do the same thing for you and your man.

Don’t have another night of unsatisfying sex. Get Rufidrol for the post-coital cuddle you deserve.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Eating for a Living

I have always had a discerning palate. While most eight year olds want Chucky Cheese pizza for their birthday, I wanted lobster with white truffle oil. This characteristic has proven very beneficial to me. I spend much of the year flying around the world judging cheese and wine competitions.

My day job used to be as a taster for Brach’s Candy. It’s important for large corporations that make food products to have consistency. The Budweiser beer made in January in Jacksonville should taste the same as the beer made in November in St. Louis. Brach’s candies all have their own signature flavor, and it was my job to ensure that each batch of candy met the company’s taste standards. It’s not uncommon for the opinion of a taster (or as we in the industry call them “suckers”) to cause companies to destroy hundreds of thousands of dollars of product.

In the late 1990s, I was at the peak of my profession, and Jelly Belly offered me a six-figure salary to become their taster. I quit my job at Brach’s and moved to Fairfield, California to start my new career. Then Jelly Belly rescinded the job offer. They said it was because the funding evaporated, but I think they didn’t want to hire someone with a notorious name like mine, even if I didn’t do anything to make my name infamous.

It turns out that I didn’t need the money anyway. I’d written an autobiography a few years before then as a diversion on international flights to wine festivals. Suddenly, the book was flying off the shelves. The publisher had a second, then third and fourth printing. Everyone wanted a copy of “The Life of a World Famous Sucker” by Monica Lewinsky.