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April 30, 2006

Daily Splatter: Doing Shots

I'm such a hypocrite.  There is nothing I hate more than when I'm in a situation that requires close proximity to another person and they use me as a captive audience on which to unload their crap (i.e. in airplanes, on line at the DMV, after sex).  Yet give me a situation where someone is forced to interact with me (cashiers, waitresses, people I'm paying to have sex with me), and watch the jokey banter spew out like so much tepid bile.

What's even worse about this behavior is that I typically do it to people who would risk losing something if they tell me to shut my pie hole.  Want to take my order? Why sure, but first it's time for the Crunchy Blue Commando Show, starring me, Crunchy Blue!

In my mind, I am the ray of light that is making their miserable job more lively and entertaining.  

"There now, didn't my little joke about pubic hair nets make serving me a Whopper with Cheese a more enjoyable and gratifying experience?"

Last week I finally realized that this was not the case when, arriving for my bi-monthly allergy shot, one of the regular nurses saw me come in and nearly rolled her eyes out of her head.  That's when I sat down and came up with the following lists:

Lame Wisecracks That I Have Overused With the Nurses During My Bi-Monthly Allergy Shot Visits:

"If I don't cry, do I get a piece of candy?"

"Sadly, this is the best part of my day."

"If this gets scratchy, can I itch it? Get it?"

(Rolling up my sleeve and flexing) "I hope those needles are made of titanium." 

(Whispering) "Psst. Can I get some of the good stuff this time?"

(Carrying in a grossly outdated magazine from the lobby) "Do you mind if I read while you do this?  Apparently there's been a terrible hurricane in New Orleans and I want to find out what happened.

While annoying, these comments didn't seem to be so bad as to provoke disdain for my mere appearance.  That's when I dug a little deeper and came up with this next list.

Inappropriate Wisecracks That Have Not In Any Way Amused the Nurses During My Bi-Monthly Allergy Shot Visits: 

"If I don't cry, do I get a piece of candy? Yeah? What time does Candy get here?" 

"How about using a clean needle this time?"

"Hey, just for fun, do me in the butt this time." 

"Wait, wait, I'm not ready yet...(deep breath)...OK, I'm ready... No, give me a second...(deep breath)...Alright, go ahead...No, wait..."

"So, how bad did you tank the MCAT?"

"Usually when I pay someone to poke me, it's behind a dumpster in a seedy part of town."

I guess there's always Sudafed.

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 09:17 PM | | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

April 28, 2006

GBU: Week of 4-28-06

GOOD

The Peevery
Genuine and comically mundane. Plus, you've gotta love a site with "Suck It" as its tagline.   

Gas Prices
(Soapbox Alert)  In the land that invented the all-you-can-eat buffet, we've forgotten how to push back from the table.  Fortunately, the only thing we like stuffing as much as our face is our wallet.  Having to pay to play is the only way we will ever take energy consumption seriously.  Who cares if a few oil company CEO's get fat (fatter) in the process?  Call it an education subsidy. 


BAD

Jennifer Aniston
This one trick pony has the acting range of SCUD missile.  Dud after dud, poor heart-broken Jen has apparently become Hollywood's favorite charity case.  Note to Nerdy Squirrel: No more Rachel  flicks.

Me

Guilty for secretly appreciating an unseasonably warm April in Cleveland that I know is most likely the result of global warming.  Goodbye frostbite, hello melanoma. 

Battery-Operated Devices
First, get your mind out of the gutter.  Second, my name is Crunchy, and I'm a junkie.
I spend 2-3 days a week rummaging around airports, hotel rooms and coffee shops, wild-eyed and desperately jonesing for an outlet in which to re-charge my computer/cell phone/iPod.  My toys make traveling to places like Grand Rapids a little more bearable, but the need for juice is a relentless monkey on my back. 

GFAs
Those Goddamn Fucking Assholes who wait in line for 20 minutes to get up to the security checkpoint at the airport and then, THEN decide to start checking their pockets and unloading their crap.  It's like they're suddenly surprised to be there.  "Hey asshole, I I've got a plane to catch!" Please tell me it's OK to begin executing these fuckers. 


UGLY 

 

The New Cars
With no Ric Ocasek and no Benjamin Orr, this is basically Todd Rundgren fronting a cover band (the same guy who was the cover dad for Liv Tyler for so many years).  Why on earth would anybody give a rat's ass?
 
Normally, this would just be BAD, but whatever sin (greed, pride, vanity, etc.) it is that has compelled TR to do this just seems UGLY to me.  Why Don't Cha Stop?


P.S.
Things I should have done this week but didn't:

Tell the knucklehead across from me on the plane that his headphones weren't plugged all the way in to his laptop, so instead tolerated the tinny soundtrack to some movie he was watching.
 
Go to physical therapy.  I just hate having to listen to anyone who wears a sweatsuit to work.  Walking is overrated anyway.
 
Raise holy hell with the front desk staff at the Kansas City Radisson when, arriving back after a 14 hour day (capped off by an extremely contentious four hour meeting), was told that the bar and restaurant closed at 11:00PM (ELEVEN O'CLOCK!) and there was no place in the hotel to get a drink. 
 
Learn how to use Movable Type (this blog software).  I'm beginning to feel like a passenger flying the plane.   

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:20 AM | | Comments (3)

April 27, 2006

Daily Splatter: The Artist Formerly Known As...

I think it's time for a name change.  Like Prince (minus the talent, sexuality and height), I feel the need to reinvent myself.  Or invent myself.  Or get so wrapped up in constant change that I don't have time to confront the fact that I have no idea who I am.  Whatever.  Fuck you.
 
The point is this: I Like Monkeys was originally a nickname for the Nerdy Squirrel.  It started as something I would say to her whenever she said something obvious or pedestrian (which, being the very verbal creature she is, happens A LOT).  For example, if she innocently said in passing conversation, "I like this pizza," I'd mock her in my best retarded-sounding voice by saying, "I like monkeys."   Yes, I can be a total dick and it probably sucks living with me, except for the fact that I fix shit and not only know how to turn on the vacuum, but am not afraid to use it.
 
Anyway, "I like monkeys" turned into a running joke between us whenever one of us did something obvious or stupid.  I even made her a (totally crappy iron-on) t-shirt with the phrase on it.   So ILM has always had a borrowed feeling to it.  It isn't a name, as much as a process for us to cope with each other's stupidity without resorting to hand puppets or blunt trauma.
 
Plus, I like nicknames.  As a redheaded kid in a neighborhood full of evil little bastards, I was never given a cool nickname.  It was always something like "Howdy Doody," "Ralph Mouth," "Danny Partridge," or "Hey you, ugly kid with the flaming red hair. Yeah, you." 
 
Fortunately the Internet is the one place where you can get away with giving yourself a nickname without appearing like a self-absorbed douche bag.  That is unless, of course, you write about changing your nickname as if people could remotely give a shit. (In my defense, Puff Daddy had a complete media campaign surrounding his name change to P. Diddy, including a national press conference and a round on the talk-show circuit.  Of course, he's a famous rapper and I'm a shut-in with DSL, but still.)
 
So, given my post last week, I have decided to change my screen name to Crunchy Blue Commando.  Now all I have to do is find my superpower and design a costume and I can finally teach those little bastards a lesson.
 
 
P.S. Is someone who goes out of his way to walk on a moving walkway that is broken (i.e. not actually moving) just a little retarded or am I way too literal?

I have a photo of this taken with my crappy camera phone that is so crappy (dare I say, "ultracrappy") that legally it should have to be called a fuzzy image phone.  Anyway Sprint wants to charge me $5.00 to offload this photo, so here's a drawing instead.

 

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:09 AM | | Comments (7)

April 26, 2006

FrivoList: Lesser Known Competitors of the "For Dummies" and "The Complete Idiot's Guide" Series of Instructional Books

The People Magazine Subscriber's Guide to...
 
The Academically Gifted But Wildly Unpopular Student's Guide to...
 
The Civil War Re-Enactor's Guide to...
 
The Optimistic Clearinghouse Sweepstakes Entrant's Guide to...
 
The Celebrity Fan Club President's Guide to...
 
The Cretin's (Look It Up, Dumbass) Guide to...
 
The Fourth-Of-July Emergency Room Patient's Guide to...
 
The Man, You Are One Stupid Motherfucker's Guide to...
 
The "Please Click Below To Update Your Banking Information" Email Respondent's Guide to...

  
Please use COMMENTS to add your own.

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 01:08 AM | | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

April 25, 2006

News To Me: No Pain, No Gain

 

 

With the recent news that Duke lacrosse merchandise sales have quadrupled as a result of the sexual assault accusation, one college bookstore manager has decided to seize upon what appears to him as an opportunity.
 
Ron Kintera, manager of the Ohio Western University bookstore, has created a contest that he believes will help boost his school's sagging merchandise sales.  The contest, which has not been officially endorsed by the university's administration, will award $1,000 to any student who engages in shockingly inappropriate or illegal behavior and receives national press coverage as a result.
 
"What we're looking for is creativity," Kintera said.  "Duke's already done rape, so that's out.  We want students to think outside the box.  You know, freak out a little." 
 
Kintera's primary goal is too get free publicity for the bookstore.  "After that," he said, "if the student can parlay their infamy into a reality show role or something, then more power to them.  I'll only ask for the industry-standard 15% finder's fee."
 
To enter the contest, students must submit before/after photos or video of the activity.  Verbal accounts will also be considered, but only when accompanied by damning evidence.  In those cases, "We want to see the body," Kintera said.  "I don't want to be appearing on Oprah with our winning student only to find out on live TV that the victim's lash wounds or whatever were Photoshop'd." Kintera paused before continuing, "Remember what she did to that writer guy who lied on her show?  Christ, that was uncomfortable for everyone."
 
Kintera, a former district manager of a national fast food chain, took over duties at the bookstore earlier this year.  "Hamburger franchises are all paint by numbers," Kintera said. "I never had the chance to express my creativity the way I do here."
 
The contest, titled "Extreme Fear Factory," has created quite a bit of controversy on campus.  When asked about possible legal concerns, Kintera kind of missed the point, "Yeah, after inventing the initial contest name I began getting worried about lawsuits.  So I came up with adding the 'y' to 'factor,' which was really a stroke of genius."  He continued, "You know, I'd hate to see a great idea get derailed by some silly copyright issue."
 
Despite the incredibly obvious and disastrous consequences such a contest could produce, Kintera seemed oblivious.  When pressed on the question of what possible good could come from something like this, Kintera twinkled, "If rape can quadruple Duke's sales, imagine what, oh, I don't know, say, a little cannibalism would do for OWU (wink, wink)."

Asked whether or not he thought the Duke students were guilty of the heinous crime to which they have been accused, Kintera responded, "What?  Why would you ask...who cares?"  Kintera then sided up next to this reporter and tapped my note pad with his finger.  "What IS important is that they are indirectly responsible for my inspiration, and for that I, Ron Kintera, sincerely thank them."

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:04 AM | | Comments (1)

April 23, 2006

Crunchy Blue Commando

 

As a species, we are generally predisposed to categorization.  Whether it's the result of latent tribal instincts or the human brain's method for processing vast amounts of information, we like things neatly stacked in our minds. 
 
We do this with animals, vegetables and minerals, but mostly we do it with people. You go here.  She goes there.  Him, he goes way the hell over there with the other assholes.
 
I don't think the intent here is necessarily bad - after all, who's got time to get to know everyone they come across as the unique and interesting individual that they assuredly think they are- but it often ends up making us seem insensitive, obtuse or even racist.  Ironically, as a result, most people generally shy away from these types of discussions to avoid being unfavorably categorized themselves.
 
I think this is why we enjoy the parlor game version of population categorization.  These things come up all the time:  Boxers vs. Briefs (42% vs. 36%, the rest, I guess, choosing to "Go Commando"); Creamy vs. Crunchy (60% vs. 40% with regional variations); Red State vs. Blue State. 
 
What got me thinking about this was a discussion the Nerdy Squirrel and I had regarding our taxes.  She likes getting a refund, while I like it when the government doesn't hold my money then decide to give back to me at some later, unspecified date if I behave properly.  Fuck you.  You want my money, come and get it.  I don't need a federal, non-interest-bearing Christmas Club account.  
 
- Sorry, I didn't mean to go all Waco and shit, but I just wrote a big fat check to the IRS and the wound hasn't quite healed yet.  (Mommy, Uncle Sam touched me in a bad place!) -
 
Anyway, I think a new version of this game should be Tax Refund vs. Lower Tax (Nerdy Squirrel, budding lawyer that she is, adamantly argues that it should actually be called Lower Tax Withheld.  Technically, she says, we're all paying the same tax.  She is, of course, right.  But this is, of course, just a fucking game.  Save the Johnny Cochran routine for my DUI defense.)  This, to me, leads to a far more interesting discussion of what kind of person you are.  Here are the general assumptions based on the people I know:
 
Tax Refund
Tend to be spontaneous and creative
Knows the name of the neighbor's dog
Gives themselves presents (and occasionally wraps them - admit it!)
Eats string cheese
Has a balance on at least one credit card
Watches "Gray's Anatomy"
 
Lower Tax
Tends to be linear and analytical
Knows the current interest rates
Has cursing issues
Eats fiber bars
Watches "South Park"
Buys lottery tickets (I know the chances are one in a million, but so is getting struck by lightening.  If I have to take the bad chance, why not take the good one as well?)
 
Let's take a poll and tell me which one you are.  Of course this won't be scientific and, considering the brief commenting history of this site, the results will probably come out 1 to 1 (assuming I vote).  At least for those of you who vote, I'll know whether to put you here or way the hell over there with the other assholes.

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:00 AM | | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

April 21, 2006

Good, Bad & Ugly: Week of 4-21-06

 

GOOD 

www.factcheck.org
For these folks, calling "Bullshit!" is a full-time job.  Plus, you can't even make a donation to them.  How cool is that?  
 
Morningwood - Jetsetter
While the video is marginal (and who cares, really?), I have been totally digging this song all week.  Can't wait for my Amazon shipment to arrive.  (Wow.  That last sentence just sent a shiver up my spine.  I think I'm in serious danger of becoming a shut-in.)
 
The Who - Who Are You
Every few years (OK, decades) I re-discover some old music that I haven't paid any attention to in a while.  I used to listen to this on vinyl with my prized Emerson Stereo System complete with phonograph, 8-track and AM/FM radio.  The folks wouldn't tolerate any loud music, so I would put a speaker on each side of my pillow and lie there for hours thinking about brassieres (touching, not wearing).  
 
Nicolemart
A very fun site and the first blog to link to www.throwingpoo.com.  I can practically hear her regret swelling...

BAD

Scott McClellan
Bye, bye Scottie.  Every lying liar eventually runs out of lies to lie about.  Sure, he'll get a fat book deal, but Jim Carrey already did the movie. 
  
Easter Candy
Can't stop eating.  Please.  Make it go away.  I'm begging you.
 

UGLY 

Even though it's been out for a while, I have to say that the commercial where they show the M&Ms and the chocolate bar in a cheesy, romantic setting to insinuate they are about to have sex and birth the M-Azing Bar disturbs me.  Being forced to imagine the coital fluid exchange between snack foods just isn't very appetizing, never mind the conception, gestation and delivery of their offspring.  At the very best, they're saying, "Here, eat our children."  No thanks. I'll just have a safe, abstinent Snickers bar.

 


 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:15 AM | | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

April 20, 2006

Today's Leftover Lunch

Working from home has its benefits.  Leftover lunch isn't always one of them.  Today's serving:

 

Slice of wheat bread with peanut butter

The last three pieces peppered beef jerky

One stuffed grape leaf

Four spoonfuls of cold lentil soup

A granny smith apple

Handful of Easter candy

 

Each thing looked good until it was all together on one plate.  I wonder what my afternoon daydream will be like?

 

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 11:16 AM | | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Can't Buy You Love

It’s hard to complain about being a white man in America.  Majorities generally don’t get to complain about the state of things.  There just aren’t many issues we can point to and publicly cry foul.  If you did, your guy friends would call you a big pussy and take turns kicking your ass.  Who needs it?

When issues of inequity do come up, it is usually easier to just ignore them then risk being labeled a racist or a misogynist.  As a result, men’s issues seem to be limited to erectile dysfunction and male pattern baldness.  But trouble is brewing my club-swinging brethren.  Trouble indeed.

My wife showed me a recent article on law.com  that says as any as 38 states require men to pay child support even in cases where the DNA tests exclude them as fathers of the children.   I’ll give you a moment to re-read that last part.

WTF?  I mean, WT fucking F?!  Apparently this is based on some ancient Anglo law that states a man is legally presumed to be the father of any child born during the marriage.  I mean, sure, that made perfect sense back when the world was still flat, but now ? 

Anyway, let’s say you decide to meet to surprise your wife at her office and take her to lunch.  You sneak up and, turning the handle to her office door, leap in and yell “Surprise!”  Oh boy, is she surprised!  As is the intern whose lap she is sitting on.  Guess what, if you live in 76% of America, it’s time to open up a tuition savings plan for little Brody Jr.

How is it that men are not united in outrage against something like this?  OK, I guess I kind of answered this at the beginning.  Plus, most men I know like nothing better than to see some other guy get totally screwed (it’s kind of a porno thing).  

Well then, where are all the women who are fighting for equal rights?  Or does equal rights really just mean women’s rights?

I’m not in any way suggesting a return to the good old days when women cooked our dinner and did our chores.  All I’m saying is that fair is fair regardless of which gender is on the receiving end.  And if my wife ever happens to be on the receiving end of some other guy’s junk, I’m not flipping the bill. 

Will they call me a hero? A defender of freedom?  A beacon of equality?

Nope.  They’ll call me a deadbeat dad.

 

(um...yeah, I kinda had a bad day.)

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 07:30 AM | | Comments (3)

April 19, 2006

FrivoList: When Cross-Pollination of Movie Genres Goes Too Far: Kung Fu Musicals

 

Far East Side Story

Paint Your Dragon

My Fair Lady of Death

Crouching Guys, Hidden Dolls

Seven Brides for Seven Samurai

Fiddler of Fury

Annie Get Your Nunchucks

 

Please use COMMENTS to add your own.

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:30 AM | | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

April 18, 2006

News To Me: Bush List Found

Fifty-nine years into his life and well into his second term as President, George W. Bush is nearing the end of the “To Do” list that has served as both the summary and driving force of his ambitions.  A recently obtained copy of the list and countless subsequent interviews with White House staffers, politicos and Beltway insiders begins to paint a portrait of a calculating and methodical man who has built his life upon a specific blueprint instead of what most people have seen as a random series of unpredictable, reckless and just plain stupid decisions.

In the shape of a paper airplane with the words “ Mission Accomplished” written across the wings, the list was discovered by a reporter in the leaves of a rubber tree plant in a West Wing conference room.  A White House aide who refused to be identified said that the conference room often served as a place where the president bounced ideas as well as paper airplanes off his staff.   

A full-size photocopy of the list is available by clicking here.  Several scientific analysts were consulted and verified the handwriting and dried saliva stains as belonging to Bush.   The list appears to have been originally written in the 1970’s and then edited in subsequent years.

 

 

 

While many of the items seem self-explanatory, further investigation of each one begins to form a window, albeit a tinted one, into the heart of the 47th President. 

The first item (“1. Play guitar with Allman Brothers”) gives us the hint that the list was originally created before 1971, the year that Duane Allman died.  Subsequent entries demonstrate one of two things about the younger Bush: 1) the uncanny ability to admire musicians destined to die untimely deaths due to flying accidents, or 2) everything he touches turns to shit.  While this reporter cannot speculate which of the two possibilities is true, he can only wish that if it happened to be the second, the president had not lost hope and taken subsequent interests in the Georgia Satellites and Nickelback.

The second item (“2. Quit drinking”) shows the president as his former playboy self, possibly beginning to seriously consider the path his life was taking and want something more for himself.  This is later contradicted in item four (“4. Develop a partnership with Jesus”).  Despite the seemingly obvious connection to the President’s prominent Christian belief, former friends say that this item actually referred to Jesus Martinez, a Midland cocaine dealer who is currently serving a 20-year sentence in Texas State Prison. 

List item five (“5. Get dad’s job – the good one”) shows a George W. Bush growing in ambition.  We can only speculate that “the good one” is referring to the President of the United States and not the Director of the CIA. 

For all its cryptic insight, item six (“6. Own an IROC”) on the list has created the most controversy.   Taken literally, the young Bush is expressing his desire to own a Camero IROC-Z, a popular muscle car of the 1980’s (hence the “vroom, vroom!”).  However, there are no records of the President ever owning such a car and neither current nor former friends have any recollection of such a car.  So why would this item checked off with an exclamatory “Yeah, Baby!”?  

One surfacing theory is that over the past 30 plus years in which George W. Bush has been referring to this list, some items may have lost their original meaning.  Further, some items might have even been mis-read by Bush himself.  If that is possible, could it be that the “IROC” he wanted to own came to be interpreted by the 47th President as Iraq?  Given the nearly identical pronunciation, this reporter can only wonder.

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:03 AM | | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

April 17, 2006

The Waiting...

Anyone who says they enjoy business travel has never traveled for business.  What these people are doing is confusing the need to travel for business with taking a vacation.

I spend an average of 2-3 days a week on the road.  For me, business travel is an exhausting anxiety that begins the night before and plays out something like this:  

Phase One (deep breath): pack my bag(s); worry about waking up on time; sleep restlessly; wake up tired; rush to the airport; find a parking space; wait in line to check a bag; wait in line to go through security; wait in line to pay $3 for a bottle of water; hope the plane is not delayed; hustle to my gate while weaving in and out of the inconsiderate numbskulls who mill around in the airport aisles (i.e. vacationers); wait in line to get on the plane; hope I get an open seat next to me; try to identify the fat/smelly/obnoxious people in line who I hope don’t sit next to me; wait forever for the old man in front of me to put his coat in the overhead bin and take his damn seat already; hope there is still some overhead space for my carry-on bag and suit jacket; store my gear and take my seat; avoid eye contact so no one will want to sit next to me (even though seats are assigned); try not to get pissed off when some asshole crushes my suit jacket by carelessly stuffing his carry-on bag into MY overhead bin;  let the fat/smelly/obnoxious guy into the seat next to me; quickly put on headphones and pretend to read/sleep so he won’t talk to me;  pray the plane doesn’t get delayed (now that I’m on it next to a fat/smelly/obnoxious guy and there’s no getting off), wait for a lousy cup of coffee and, if I’m lucky, a muffin-ette; wait in line to pee; wait to get off the plane; feel nauseas from breathing a cocktail of airborne germs and stale farts for the past 1-5 hours; wait for my bag; hope my bag didn’t get lost; wait some more for my bag; do a quick mental inventory of my bags contents and realize that I forgot workout clothes/cell phone/important files/etc.; wait for a cab; wonder if the cab driver is going to try to rip me off; teach the cab driver the English pronunciation of my destination; act like I’m familiar with the area so the cab driver won’t try to rip me off; suddenly doubt that I have enough cash to pay for the cab and tear through my bag to check; wonder if my clothes are going to smell like cigarettes and ass after I get out of the cab; arrive for work.

Break here for 8-10 hours of work followed by dinner with someone who I’m expected to entertain despite my growing hatred of them. 

Phase Two (deep breath): finish dinner; wait for a cab to the hotel; wonder if the cab driver is going to try to rip me off; act like I’m familiar with the area so the cab driver won’t try to rip me off; suddenly doubt that I have enough cash to pay for the cab and check my wallet in a panic; hope the hotel didn’t fuck up my reservation; arrive at the hotel and argue futilely that I had reserved a non-smoking king and had a guaranteed late arrival; hope I didn’t piss of the manager and get assigned to the room they reserve for “special” guests; unpack my clothes; shower off all the acquired stink of the day; hope my neighbor doesn’t plan to watch porn all night at high volume; watch porn at low volume; sleep restlessly; wake up wondering where the hell I am. 

Work and repeat Phase Two for 1-2 more days.  Repeat Phase One.  Arrive back at Cleveland Hopkins Airport and realize I forgot where I parked my car. 

To summarize using a food analogy, vacationing is a filet mignon; business travel is liquid protein pumped in through a feeding tube.  I’m contemplating a hunger strike.

 

 

 

 
 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:30 AM | | Comments (4)

April 14, 2006

GBU of the Week

GOOD:

Music: Kaiser Chiefs, Employment - Way cool (it's not new, but its new to me).

Movies: Thank You For Smoking The funniest thing I've seen in months.  J.K. Simmons (J. Jonah Jamerson from Spiderman) RULES!

 

BAD:

Politics: Donald Rumsfeld A growing line of generals and now even Newt is bashing him.  It's time for him to go - the beach isn't going to metal-detect itself. 

 

UGLY:

DIY: The wall of my office where I've been banging my head all week trying to figure out Movable Type (this blog software).  Maybe I should stick to crayons and paper.

Faces: All politics aside, forget for a moment that you know who Tom Delay is.  How quickly would you cancel your dinner plans if the babysitting service sent this guy to your house? 

 

 

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 12:59 PM | | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

News To Me: Money Shot

Scientists announced today that they are one step closer to developing a male contraceptive.  The method comes (leave it) in the form of a reversible, immunocontraceptive injection of a protein that coats the sperm rendering it incapable of fertilizing an egg.  The injection does not, however, render the sperm incapable of staining your mother’s nice guest towels.   

In a study at the University of North Carolina, professor M.G. O’Rand tested the injection with nine monkeys.  Seven of nine animals developed an immune response, indicating the vaccine was working.  According to O’Rand, none of the monkeys fathered babies.  Asked how often the monkeys copulated with female monkeys, O’Rand replied, “What?  We don’t have fe…fe…female monkeys?  Wo…wo…wo…women make me ne..ne..nervous.” 

While it is yet to be proven effective with human males, the injection has been successful 78% of the time in trials with primates.  However, two of the seven monkeys remained infertile after the shots stopped and expressed their frustration by throwing poo at everyone who walked by their cages.  On the other hand, the successful monkeys actively celebrated the return of their fertility by throwing poo at everyone who walked by their cages.

Susan Benoff, former president of the Society for Male Reproduction and Urology - and somewhat surprising, not a boy named Sue – suggested that the greater challenge to male contraception could be psychological.  While men might take a pill, most of her male patients are not fond of injections.  Asked if she liked getting injected, Benoff glared. “I get quite enough of that kind of shit at the S.M.R.U., I don’t need to hear it from you, too.”   

“Obviously this is not a method for a gentleman who’s interested in a one night stand,” Benoff said.  Pausing for a moment, she looked around, “Not for the man interested in the one night stand?  What man isn’t interested…exactly who the hell is this for?!”

The other psychological aspect is whether or not women will be willing to trust men to take responsibility for preventing pregnancy.  “If you are the woman,” Benoff says, “you are the one who’s going to be pushing out the 8-pound bowling ball, so you have to trust him.”  Asked if that was a similar trick to the ping-pong ball one I saw in Tijuana last year, Benoff abruptly ended the interview.

 

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:17 AM | | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

April 13, 2006

Italian Trains

My intent is to have new posts up every weekday by 8:30AM EST.  For some reason, the automatic posting function of Moveable Type is not working properly (most likely because of user error).  Until I can figure it out, I will have to post manually so the timing may be a little sporadic due to my travel schedule and fondness of sleep.  Please bear with me. 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 09:30 AM | | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

FrivoList: More Accurately Descriptive Yet Vaguely Unappealing Words Like MELTY That Taco Bell Could Use To Describe Its Products:

Balmy

 

Sobering

 

Yellowy

 

Moist

 

Industrious

 

Drippy

 

Expediting

 

Full of beans

 

Please feel free to add your own in the comments section below.

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 07:30 AM | | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

April 12, 2006

Three Inappropriate Behaviors That Do Not Elicit What I Consider To Be The Requisite Amount of Shame and Embarrassment in Max, My Cat

First, let’s dispense all ubiquitous licking, smelling and dragging of delicate regions.  No surprises here.  I read the package before I made my purchase.

Second, I have searched my mind and cannot pinpoint any influence or positive reinforcement on my part that may have led to these behaviors.  I have had both cats and dogs before and these were not issues.  Therefore, despite any disturbing image the following might create in your mind, I cannot be held responsible (except, of course, for the writing of it, but don’t shoot the messenger). 

The T.I.B.T.D.N.E.W.I.C.T.B.T.R.A.O.S.A.E.I.M.M.C.s are as follows:

1.  Jumping up onto my lap when I am using the bathroom (and no, I do not sit down to pee.  Not since that incident in college.  I’ve put it behind me, so why can’t everyone else?).  This is extremely awkward and, I think, possibly inhumane.  His persistence overwhelms my reluctance, but there would be no explaining it if a Lethal Weapon II situation were to develop. 

2.  Aimlessly loitering in the empty bathtub at all hours of the night and scaring the shit out of me when I get up to pee (again, standing).

3.  Crying outside the bedroom when my wife and I are having sex.  Is he missing what he once had in his pre-neutered existence?  Does he think I’m hurting her (Who’s your daddy!)?  Or is he a just a furry little cock-blocker? 

Of course, he does make up for these behaviors by always greeting me at the door, being a tranquil television companion and beating the shit out of George (our other cat) on a regular basis.  Still, I suppose it’s a good thing he is an indoor cat now.  I’d hate for him to be hanging out with his buddies and innocently mention something only to be cruelly ridiculed.  That’s the kind of stuff that sticks with you.

 

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:30 AM | | Comments (4)

April 11, 2006

Always Finish What You…Never Mind

I have recently developed a sense of urgency to begin completing all those important things in life that I have been putting off.  In other words, I’m getting old.  The good news is that over the years I have been stung by reality enough to recognize that some things simply do not belong on my list anymore.  Training to be the world’s most feared cage fighter, touring with the Rolling Stones, doing two chicks at once – these are the humid dreams of a testosterone-fueled man-child that wears size 32 jeans.  They have no place on the to-do list of an adjustable rate mortgage holder obsessed with the daily pursuit of all things fiber.

Still, the list is daunting.  I once learned is a time management seminar that the best way to get a lot done is to do the thing you are dreading most first.  Even though I didn’t get married until I was 39, I think this is still good advice.  So it was four months ago when I began my quest to read Moby Dick, cover to cover.  Not the cliff notes, not just the chapters about Ahab, every last hard blown word. 

My wife, now a budding lawyer, was a literature major in undergrad, a degree she took quite seriously.  Even today, she will read five books in a week just for fun.  Like a nerdy squirrel, she has books stashed in every corner of our house.  So when I came home one day and showed her my newly acquired copy of Melville’s tome, I was hoping for some enthusiasm and maybe even a little admiration.   

“Ugh,” she cringed.  “You’re not going to read that, are you?” she said, as if she had caught me picking a half-eaten Eskimo Pie out of a dumpster and studying it with intent.  

“It’s Moby Dick,” I explained.   

“It’s god-awful.  The worst.”

“It’s a classic.”   

She reached for the dictionary.  “Hmm, classic.  Let’s see.  Here it is.  Classic – of the highest rank.”  Snapping the book shut with one hand, she continued. “Yep.  Rank is the word I would use.  The highest rank.” 

Unlike most sit-com marriages, my wife and I have a strong mutual respect for each other and, as a result, I tend to win my fair share of arguments.  This is a fact she would readily acknowledge.  Relative success, though, can often create a condition where a person forgets the very specific circumstances that lead to it and begin to think he is smarter than he really is.  So it was when I proceeded to argue books with a lit major/lawyer. 

“Have you ever even read it?” I asked accusingly. 

“I couldn’t get through it!  No one in my class could either.  It’s long-winded and completely self-indulgent.  It’s painful for me to even think about it.”   

Truly surprised by her visceral expression of hatred, I assumed she was just experiencing a moment of irrationality.  Naturally, sensing weakness, I pounced. 

“Maybe you just didn’t get it.  Me, I’m gonna read it.”

She stared at me for a moment and shrugged, the way my dad use to do right before I did something like lick a frozen metal ice cube tray.

“Well then, you’re a better person then me.  Good luck with that.”  She turned and left the room. 

It wasn’t quite the tone I was hoping for.  I stood there for a moment, a little confused, when my shoulder began to ache from the weight of the book.  

Several months later, I’m officially throwing in the towel.  “No mas, no mas.”   The first few weeks I had made a valiant effort.  Page after page I struggled, like I was tunneling out of prison with a spoon.  After a while, I stopped reading altogether and resorted to strategically moving the book from room to room to keep up appearances.  Now I just want it out of my sight so that the taunting inside my head will begin to fade.  The only remnant is a mild curiosity about the possible irony in my inability to finish a book about an all-consuming obsession. 

I look at it this way.  There are the things we want to be and the things we want to do.  I want to be someone who has read Moby Dick but I don’t want to use my time to read Moby Dick.   I guess I’d rather do the things I know I enjoy rather than try to become something that I think I’d enjoy being.  Goodbye Melville, hello Mel Brooks.



 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 09:31 AM | | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

April 10, 2006

Damage Control

My wife was kind enough to point out to me yesterday that the first three entries in this blog are 1) an obtuse, self-indulgent introduction, 2) porno jokes, and 3) an unqualified movie review based on the “f” word.   Taken together with the scatological name, this, she gently queried, might not be the first impression I want to make.

“Hell, honey, it’s not like anyone’s going to read it.  I only know a few people and most of them don’t listen to me when I’m speaking to them in person.”

“Still,” she reminded me, “this is a public expression of your private self.  Plus, you’re not able to gauge reactions like you would in a personal conversation."

If a tree falls in the woods and makes a fart joke on the way down, but no one is there to hear it, well…

But OK.  She is my only reader and the customer is always right.  I will now take a moment to properly introduce the intent of this blog, even though it would be a hell of a lot easier for me to walk across the hall and just explain it to her.  I could just yell it or tie a note to the cat, but I suppose this type of thinking is getting me nowhere.

What I hope to accomplish with this blog is to 1) create a vehicle for daily, uncensored catharsis (I had to yell over to her just now to get a correct spelling for “catharsis”), 2) amuse myself and, if I’m lucky, one or two other people, 3) stop (uh-oh, I hear footsteps) watching so much crappy television, and 4) hopefully become a little less of an asshole through the process (guess who’s helping now). 

It’s not really important to me whether or not anyone reads this.  Given the bizarre yet intuitive URL, I suppose it’s possible that someone might happen across the site. 

Holy shit!   It has only just occurred to me at this late hour what type of non-monkey-liking person might purposely check this web address and what might be on their mind.  Ugh.  Well, I suppose at least the comments section could get interesting.

Anyway, I guess the point is that, fart jokes and “f” words aside, I’m a relatively decent person who wants to wage a little internal war with himself and allow anyone who wishes to be a judge.  Kind of like the Ultimate Fighting Championship without all the external bleeding and latent homosexuality (I hope).

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:32 AM | | Comments (2)

April 09, 2006

FrivoList: Immediate Reactions of Gift Recipients During The Anonymous Gift Exchange At My Company’s Holiday Party (limit $20)

Wow, that’s really fragrant.

Are we going to exchange receipts at the end of this?

Huh.

Do these things ever go bad?

Weren’t we all required to spend $20?

Looks like I’ve got my gift for next year’s exchange.

Yes, Gary. You’ve made it very clear which gift you brought – which, by the way, is against the rules - but I can pick whichever one I want.

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 08:19 PM | | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Movie Review: "Slither"

After spending several hardcore hours this morning compiling and re-writing a series of organizational policies, my brain needed its oil changed.  So I skipped out of work and went to the early matinee showing of "Slither." I’m a big fan of B-grade, tongue-in-cheek horror movies, so when I heard it being compared to "Tremors" - as far as I’m concerned, Kevin Bacon will always have street cred for doing this film - I went in expecting vague monsters, buckets of blood, snappy dialogue and maybe some skin.  

While I can’t say that "Slither" slid under my already low expectations (Thank you, good night!), I can say that I haven’t heard the word “fuck” that many times since election night 2004.  Those were mostly “Now we’re really fucked” and “Fuck me,” but I think it still counts.

Anyway, I enjoy a good “fuck” every now and then.  In fact, some people might say I enjoy “fuck” a little too much, evidenced by the fact that our cat is beginning to respond to “little fucker.”  Although I did miss the recent documentary about “fuck” at the Cleveland Film Festival aptly titled "F*CK," I do find as much comfort in the word as, say, macaroni and cheese or an old sweatshirt.  I think that entitles me to my opinion.

So when I actually notice that “fuck” is getting gratuitous airplay, I have to wonder whether or not the decent folk in the room are hemorrhaging from their ears.  And that breaks my cardinal sin for movies, which is this - don’t send me back to my own reality halfway through the fucking movie.  When I pay for my ticket, I want to get completely lost in the action, horror, drama or just plain stupidity of the movie.  Even with a bad flick, I can become completely absorbed in its awfulness (A recent example being the "Ultraviolet" which was described by one reviewer as “ultracrappy,” a word I need to use more often).   My wife cannot understand this.  I guess it’s like getting dunked in a vat of cheese whiz – yeah it’s gross and sticky and smelly and probably leaves permanent stains, but it’s also warm and there is a sense of weightlessness, which can be fun.     

To sum up, "Slither" was gross and shocking and kind of funny, but it also broke rule number one.  It most cases that would mean I couldn’t recommend it, unless there was frontal nudity, which, criminally, there wasn’t.  (NOTE: If this revelation is considered a spoiler for you, then my apologies.  To your family, friends and anyone who comes into contact with you, that is.)  However, one of the actors in Slither is Nathan Fillion who starred in the indecently underpromoted "Serenity," the mere mention of which makes me want to run out and rent it right now.

For that reason alone, I must recommend "Serenity"…I mean "Slither."  Whatever.  Do what you want.  I just really want to see some boobs now right now.  I think I've earned it. 

Honey?  Hey honey?  Can you come for a sec?

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 04:19 PM |

FrivoList: Porn Versions of the Top Ten Grossing Movies of 2005

  1. Episode XXX: Revenge of the Slut
  2. Hairy Putter and the Gobbler for Hire 
  3. The Chronicles of Pornia: The Lion, the Witch, a Donkey and a Midget
  4. Whore of the Worlds
  5. King Dong
  6. Wedding Night Crashers
  7. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
  8. Bat & Balls Man Begins
  9. Madagascar Steamer
  10.  Mr. & Mrs. Smith Check In at the No-Tell Motel

 

Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 03:59 PM |

Opining Remarks

opinion n. 1. A belief held often without positive knowledge or proof.  


Often. Not sometimes or occasionally, but often.  So according to my American Heritage Dictionary, technically speaking, most opinions are just individually conjured whimsy.   Maybe I’m completely naive, but reading this was like learning that there isn’t actually gold in Fort Knox that was backing up the cash in my wallet (all six buck of it).   It is just paper that has value because we collectively decide to believe that it does. 
 

I always liked the phrase, "Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one,” but it only struck me as an indictment of the sheer number, not the quality.  If a person has inherent value, I thought, so must their opinions.  I’m beginning to think I was wrong on both counts. 
 

I suppose it is also the indirect result of our social structure.  In our relentless and utterly futile pursuit of individuality, we’re made to feel as if we should have an opinion on matters of all sorts, regardless of our interest, knowledge or experience with that particular topic. 
 

“What’s your opinion? Certainly, you must have some opinion on this most important of issues? ” 
 

From Supreme Court nominees to the best pizza in town (Pepper’s, by the way), it seems to have become our duty as Americans to have an opinion.  With everybody expecting us to have them and asking us about them, it’s only natural that we would eventually begin considering them vitally important.
 

Over the course of time, people have added weight to the general idea of opinion by referring to their own with misleading statements such as “I think…,” “The way I understand it is..” and “My theory is …” when in fact there is very little thinking, understanding or theorizing going on. 
 

Maybe I’m making too much of this.  Maybe it is simply a matter of semantics.  Maybe if the same word didn’t describe both what I seek from a thoroughly trained, board-licensed physician (or a second one if the first one’s is chlamydia) and every piece of intellectually dishonest, out-of-context bullshit that spills out of Rush Limbaugh’s fat head every day, then it might not bother me so much. 
 

So that’s it then.  I need a new phrase that both accurately describe the assertion    of beliefs without positive knowledge or proof and warns any unsuspecting readers, listeners or innocent bystanders of the composition of what’s coming their way.   “Throwing Poo” is the best thing I have come up with.  Besides, who doesn't like a good fart joke?
 

That said, here’s the windup and the pitch…
 

duck
 
 



Posted by Crunchy Blue Commando at 03:37 PM | | Comments (1)