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October 31, 2006

FrivoList: Reasons Why I'm A Hack: #47 - I Post Lists of Movies

Not without shame, I am posting my list of favorite Halloween-ish movies.  These are flicks that either 1) turned me inside-out with fear as a young fella, or 2) thoroughly amuse me now. Here goes...

Pants Soiled in the Back:
Angel Heart
Evil Dead
Jacob's Ladder
Carrie (1974)
The Hitcher 

Pants Soiled in the Front:
Donnie Darko
Army of Darkness
Dawn of the Dead (2004)
Shaun of the Dead
Tremors

Hopefully this list will inspire you to turn me on to some cool movies that slipped under my radar.  And by "under my radar," I mean the kind of vast expanse that would give a country of border jumpers raging hard-ons.

Happy Halloween, tool bags!  And remember, a Halloween night that is safe and fun for everyone means no ass play.  Or is it horse play?  Eh, probably some combination of the two.

October 30, 2006

Daily Splatter: My Way or Subway

There has always been some concern that this website would be responsible for surfacing my thinly submersed neurosis.   Once I got all the big stuff out of the way and started digging, it would become readily apparent that my issues are not universal.  In answer to the question, I'm afraid the response will come, "Yes, it is just you."

Today will be the first test:  I really, really, really hate it when the Sandwich Artist ("I said extra pickles, Picasso!") at Subway does not add my toppings in the order that I request them.  It's not that I must have everything in perfect order. (I once knew a guy who could only eat his French fries if they were lined up on the table by length, from longest to shortest.  If you stole one, he would lose his fucking mind.  It was hilarious.  I think he's in jail now for cutting out someone's liver and wearing it as a hat.)  It's just that it always causes me to an internal dialogue that goes something like this:

Good Me:  "Did she hear me ask for lettuce?"

Bad Me: "Stupid bitch, put on the goddamn lettuce already."

Good Me: ""Be nice. She probably makes six dollars an hour."

Bad Me: "Not my problem.  I'd like to take a shit today, so get some fucking fiber on that puppy, pronto."

Good Me: "Maybe she always puts the lettuce on last."

Bad Me:  "Why, because it's an expression of her artistic talents?"

Good Me:  "Let's just quietly wait and see."

Bad Me:  "You pussy.  If I wasn't so constipated, I'd take a dump in your pants right now."

Good Me: "You're disgusting and I'm not going to listen to...HEY!  That had better been a fart!"

Bad Me: (snickering and holding my nose)

 

I guess there's always Taco Bell.

October 27, 2006

Daily Splatter: Passing Win

Nerdy Squirrel, Esq. finally got her bar exam results this morning.   For some sadistic reason, the Ohio Bar Association makes hopeful lawyers wait nearly four months before announcing the results of the exam (that reason is, I suppose, because the OBA is run by lawyers). 

Therefore, anyone who took a job after graduation has been living with the possibility of it all coming crashing down today, October 27, 2006 at 7:00AM - the scheduled time for the bar exam results to be posted on the OBA website.  Somewhere in Ohio, roughly 300 people are going to spend their weekend checking the classified ads and lingering in front of their medicine cabinets.

But let's get back to me.  Since July, Nerdy Squirrel, Esq. has been torturing herself and everyone around her with agonizing bouts of self-doubt.  It began culminating this week when her alter ego, Meltdown Mary, decided to show up and run things for a while.  Mary likes to suddenly burst into tears, scream inappropriately and has a searing case of anxiety farts (I'm afraid we're going to have to burn the curtains).  In other words, she sucks.

Well, this morning Meltdown Mary caught the 7:01AM bus out of town.  Nerdy Squirrel, Esq. passed the bar and all is right with the world...except, of course, for the fact that there are too many fucking lawyers. 

October 25, 2006

Daily Splatter: Open Yawn

I don't know what is it with bumper stickers and me lately.  Today I saw one that said "Gas Prices Stink."  That's it.  No call to action.  No blame.  Just an obvious, innocuous statement.

It makes me wonder if there is a whole industry making bumper stickers for people who want to 1) make some sort of public declaration, and 2) avoid offending every living person.  If so, here are my suggestions:

Raw Sewage Is Unpleasant

Vote For Your Favorite Candidate '06

Keep Your Dirty Diapers Out Of My Breakfast
(I don't really know what this means, but you can't argue with it)

Terrorism Usually Sucks

Abortion is A Serious Issue

Education Is Important.  I Mean It!

Nobody Likes Cancer

Go Team!

October 24, 2006

Daily Splatter: Tough Skinny

Lately, I can't help but want to fight a motherfucker.  Cut me off in your car, ogle my wife or pester me for my weekly TPS report and I just might punch your lights out.  Never mind that I'm a middle-aged man with ear hair and erectile issues (it happens to everyone, you know).  Let's go.  You and me.  Outside.  Now, bitch!

Most of my life I have avoided physical conflict.  Not that I run away from fights.  It's just that I've always felt the need to explain my side of the issue.  As a result of my compulsive blathering, most adversaries have either figured I was a coward or simply got bored.  It was a kind of unintentional pacifism through self-importance.

No more.  These days I would just as soon elbow a stranger in the face as excuse him for blocking my view of the New Releases shelf at Blockbuster.  Doddering old fools.

Why the change?  It's not bravado.  I generally hate people and suffer absolutely no need to impress them.  It's also not some internal need to prove my masculinity.  Having competed in various forms of kickboxing and karate for over a decade, I'm quite comfortable with my ability to whip a little ass if called upon.

Maybe the answer can be seen in the one incidence where this behavior has manifested itself.  Last summer my wife and I went to a Cleveland Indians games with some colleagues from her summer internship with a Federal Appeals Court Judge.  During the game a couple of drunks were dicking around in the bleacher section where we were sitting.  During a late inning they came walking through our row.  While passing in front of us, one of them acted like he lost he balance and "fell" into my wife - in my opinion, a blatant attempt to cop a feel.  Without thinking, I snatched him up by the jacket and, cursing like a madman, threatened all sorts of bodily harm while shoving him down the row.  I mean, I fucking LOST IT.  It's worth noting that these two guys were bigger than me and could've easily stomped my ass had they so chosen.

It seems this illustration offers two possible explanations.  One is now that I'm a family man, my primal intuition compels me to physically act without thinking in order to protect my clan.  The other is now that I'm a family man, I'm actively seeking out opportunities to end my life.  Either way, it might be best not to fuck with me for a while.

October 23, 2006

FrivoList: More Appropriate Band Names For "Supernova" - The Musical Group Featuring Tommy Lee, Gilby Clark and Jason Newsted From The Television Show "Rock Star" Where They Search For A Lead Singer.

Metallic B-List

Motley Thru

Guns-N-Posers

Van Halen

October 22, 2006

Daily Splatter: A Block Off The Old Chip

Nerdy Squirrel, Esq.* and I met my father at Denny's for breakfast this morning.  Midway through our casual conversation, he mentioned that he and his lady friend went out to dinner and a movie last night.

NSE*: "So what did you guys see?"

Dad: "I'd rather not say."

Me: (whispering to NSE*) "Old people porn."

NSE*: "Come on, Dad.  What did you see?"

Dad: (sheepishly) "Jackass Two."

Me: (again, whispering to NSE*) "I was close."

NSE*: "Oh my god!  Why did you pick that?"

Me: "Because the first Jackass movie left so many unanswered questions?"

Dad: "We just picked that one. We didn't know what it was."

My father is a 75 year-old, retired boiler operator.  He is a no-nonsense man and his lady friend is a decorous woman.  Jackass, for those for you who don't know, is the most adolescent, vulgar, cringe-inducing tripe ever to disgrace the screen (I am a huge fan, by the way).  The very idea of Dad and Lady Friend sitting in a theatre watching Steve-O projectile vomit into the glass diver's helmet on his head because another guy has crapped into his air hose is almost too much to take.  In my personal universe, this is the Big Bang of worlds colliding.  Nothing will ever be the same.

Maybe now I can finally tell him about this website.


* Not yet licensed to practice law in the state of Ohio

October 21, 2006

FrivoList: Reasons I Should Have Died In A Horrible Crash While Driving Home From Grand Rapids, Michigan After Missing My Flight

Part of the "It's Funny Because It's True" series of posts

Unable to stop due to the empty water bottle (and other random trash) that got lodged behind the brake pedal

Veered off the road while using laptop in the passenger seat to check directions

Unable to hear traffic because I was listening to my iPod with noise-reducing headphones

Lack of visibility due to changing my shirt while driving

Steering with my knees while writing this list

All of the above + talking on my cell phone and eating beef jerky

After a week in Grand Rapids, it just seemed like a good idea

 

October 17, 2006

Daily Splatter: VP HATR

Sanity is a measure of degree.  For the most part, I believe I'm a highly reasonable person.  There are times, though, when my reaction (or, more accurately, my overreaction) to something very small and innocuous makes me question the balance of my brain chemistry.  Vanity plates are one of those things.

The mere sight of a vanity plate soaks me with hatred.  The idea is so, well, vain.  And don't give me that "it's just cute" or "it's just funny" crap.  If you're going to publicly express yourself, then I've got the right to judge you. 

Why would anyone even want a vanity plate in the first place? Ask yourself - is there one single, poorly abbreviated word that sums you up a person?  If so, do you really want to be openly celebrating your one-dimensionality?  And if so, what makes you think the rest of us give a fuck?

Generally speaking, I dislike people.  While I'm quite capable of putting on a good party face in social situations, deep down, if I don't already know you, I don't want to know you.  So to me, vanity plates feel like someone is shoving their personal information down my unwilling throat.  Now, that might seem awfully rich coming from a douchebag with a personal blog, but you aren't forced to read this simply because there is a bus blocking the goddamn passing lane.

All of this brings me to my point (kind of): on the way to the airport this evening, I saw a car with a window sticker that said "I Love Porn."  This was not a rusted-out AMC Pacer with expired temporary tags being driven by a maniacal Harry Dean Stanton.  It was a younger man in new Ford Taurus with a woman in the passenger seat.  What's more interesting to me is the fact that there were no other signs or stickers on the car.  "I Love Porn" is the only thing he wants the world to know.

After having a good laugh, I began feeling a little envious.  Not because he probably has a killer collection of the finest adult movies (OK, maybe just a tiny bit).  Here is a man who proudly announces to the world that he personifies a minor deviance that most would find offensive if not downright heinous. 

I will never know that kind of freedom.  I'm too vain to ignore what other people think.

P.S. Nerdy Squirrel, Esq., has been after me for months to tell everyone that my abundant references to pornography usage are just jokes that in no way reflect my real behavior.  It's true.  I do not own or condone pornography.  I have a good imagination and a telescope.

October 16, 2006

Daily Splatter: Empty Calories

The thing about having a blog is this: whenever you get lazy and your brain turns to mush, everybody knows it.  Well, everyone who reads your site.  OK, so in my case two people know.  You don't always have to be cruel about it, do you?

Twelve straight days of working finally caught up with me last weekend.  When Saturday rolled around, I crashed and burned like JFK Junior on an imported beer run.  Instead of writing posts, I spent the weekend flattening out my ass on the couch.  It felt really good at the time, but this morning regret and self-loathing - my old familiar friends - showed up on my doorstep.  And they always want to play.

To make matters worse, my iTunes crashed, I have a viable new business idea and I still have not decided on a Halloween costume.  All of these things are successfully conspiring to fuck up my ability to focus.  When that happens, you, dear reader, you are the one that suffers. (Just so you know, writing that last line made me throw up in my mouth a little).

The good news is that, starting tomorrow, I will be traveling for the next four days.  That means more wretched tales from the road.  More stale airports, more squalid accommodations, more revolting hayseeds, more personal misery. 

And my misery absolutely loves your company.

October 12, 2006

Frivolist: Employment Ads I'd Like To Read

Wanted: Cake Hole Shutter
Burly self-starter needed to make people shut the fuck up during regularly scheduled movie showings.  Proficient with burying nightsticks in bodily orafices.  Sharp-shooting skills a must.  Min. 2-3 years experience enforcing zero-tolerance policies.  LAPD experience a definite plus.  Salary plus tips.
Send resume and/or rap sheet to AMC, Regal and Cinemark Cinemas.

Wanted: An Honest Man
Independent-minded individual needed to represent people.  Min. 10+ years experience at being a decent human being.  Common sense and ability to turn down contributions-for-access a must.  Child-diddlers need not apply.
Send resume to: U.S. House of Representatives

Wanted:  Quality Control Inspector - Porn and Pie Industries
Unskilled individual needed to review adult movies and taste home-baked pies for quality assurance.  Must be 42 years old and live in Cleveland, Ohio.  Experience writing a crappy blog required.  Ass pimples a definite plus.  Salary in the high six figures.
Send resume to: Quit Daydreaming, Inc.

Wanted: Vice President
Needed to manage a highly-capable and witty employee in Cleveland regional office as well as others.  Ability to make decisions and motivate staff required.  Experienced in not being a completely useless bag of shit.  Rudimentary personal hygiene skills a plus.  Minimum I.Q. of 65.
Send resume to (my current employer)

October 10, 2006

Daily Splatter: Hello, Weiner!

People always tend to get a little weird about holidays.  Some they love, some they hate.  Forgetting all the horrific negative-association stories ("One year, daddy dressed up like the Easter Bunny and was dragged away by a pack of wolves.  To this day I can't eat an omelet without crying."), there rarely ever seems to be a good reason for their preference.

For me, Christmas is cool.  Easter forgettable.  New Year's Eve is a complete bust.  But the party starts and ends with Halloween.  Unlike any other holiday, I start getting excited about Halloween months before the leaves begin to fall.

As an adult, I don't get nightmares and rarely get frightened.  Besides symptoms of male pattern baldness, natural gas prices, and that mischievous little Lolita next door, there aren't many things that can make me pee my pants in fear (procrastination is a frequent culprit, but fear typically isn't involved).  That was not always the case - the fear, I mean. The peeing has always been a bit of a problem. 

As a kid, I lived in a perpetual state of scared shitless.  It wasn't simply imaginary monsters and horror movies.  Everything frightened me.  Closets, dark spaces, the mere mention of anything remotely ominous would send my heart racing. The regular task of fetching an item from the basement for my mother was for me, nothing less than a survival run - my continued existence suddenly and entirely dependent on the speed and agility with which I was able to snatch and deliver a can of green beans.

One night when I was maybe seven or eight, I went to sleep over a neighbor friend's house.  After an evening of goofing around, we went up to his bedroom to sleep.  There, right in his room, he showed me the door that led up to their attic.  It wrecked me.  Halfway through the night, unable to sleep for fear of certain death, I simply got up, packed my stuff, left his house and walked home.  It was years before I was allowed to sleep over a friend's house again - not that I was invited.

I couldn't be exposed to the slightest bit of horror without turning me into a trembling insomniac for the next week.  Once, during an elementary school book fair, I walked past a table of paperbacks and noticed the cover of a horror novel illustrating a decrepit hand jutting up from a fresh grave.  The mere sight of it gave me nightmares for months.  It is one of only a few vivid childhood memories. 

I've never been able to figure out why I was such a pansy.  Nor do I have any idea why I got over it. 

Maybe Halloween is my subconscious celebration of getting past irrational fear.  Maybe I like being reminded of a time when life still felt thrilling and mysterious, if not downright scary.  Then again, maybe I just like wearing a mask so that no one knows who the guy is with the water stains on his trousers.

October 08, 2006

Daily Splatter: Guinea Pigs

Despite a growing history of missing the mark, Nerdy Squirrel, Esq. continues to email me an excessive number of news articles that she thinks will make for interesting posts.  Usually I give them a cursory glance before hitting the delete button.  That way, when she asks, I can say that I read it. Yesterday, though, she finally got it right. (Christ, I can actually hear the floodgates crashing open.)

Apparently a biotech company has created a hypoallergenic cat.  These felines, which sell for $4,000 each, do not secrete the protein that causes the allergic reaction in most people.  The idea is that people - apparently a well-hidden yet clamoring mass of them - who 1) must have a pet cat, 2) are highly allergic to cats, and 3) are shut-ins (we must assume), can finally get a kitty of their very own.  I had a similar idea several years ago - it was called "buy a little dog and heavily sedate the fucker."  Mine sold for only $2,999 each, most of which went for Quaaludes.

While I'd like to believe that this scientific development would somehow make the world a better place, I'm afraid that Kitty 2.0 is a harbinger of doom.  This feels like invasive, cavalier research in pursuit of extremely marginal benefits.  The kind that always ends in tears.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not against meddling with Mother Nature to improve the quality of human life.  I just think we ought to set the bar a little higher in terms of the payoff, like with breast implants or string cheese.  So here are some animal improvements that I believe are worth the risk of accidentally creating a vengeful, bloodthirsty and un-housebroken race of living dead pets.

Dogs: Cross them with kangaroos to create a built-in ass-pouch for catching their poop.  Think of all the little plastic bags we'll save.  Let's give them thumbs, too.  Just to see what happens.

Cats:  These pets are already very clean animals. Increase the size of their tongues and build in some sort of craving for linoleum.  Oh, and no more fucking hairballs.  That shit is nasty.

Parrots:  Increase the size of their talons and teach them how to attack on command.  Break into my house and you might escape my dog, but my flying velociraptor is going to fuck you up.  Might as well give them the ability to take digital photos while we're at it.

Hamsters: Genetically enhance their leg muscles, hook those squeaky wheels up to some generators and posthumously award the Nobel Prize for Science to The Little Rascals.  Plus, we might as well de-claw them while we're at it.  What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Turtles: The Osama Bin Ladens of the pet universe, they spend their lives living in caves and occasionally sticking their heads out to try to bite someone.  For some reason, evolution decided to pass on this entirely worthless species.  Let's do Darwin's job for him.  Fuck turtles.

Goldfish:  Implant genes that will allow them to secrete scrubbing bubbles.  Then, when they die a week later, your toilet gets cleaned.

October 05, 2006

Daily Splatter: Senseless Working Overtime

It's only Thursday night and I've already put in 52 hours this week.  I'm also working Saturday and Sunday, so I'll likely top 70 hours in one week.  Since I don't get overtime or comp pay, it truly sucks ass.

I've held twelve interviews for a job opening in our organization in the past two days.  That's twelve hours of repeating the same shit.  Twelve hours of listening to wannabes tell me they are "success-oriented" and describe their "people skills" while the stink of desperation fills the air.  The worst part is that only one of the candidates is worth a second interview.  Either I'm really terrible at screening applicants, or the human race is profoundly disappointing in person.  Both, probably.

Most interviews are like blind dates - you know within the first five minutes whether or not you're going to show this person your package.  Unfortunately, like a blind date, you can't just call it quits after five minutes - unless you're a complete asshole.  In my case, I'd be an asshole with a whole lot of extra time.  I'm thinking I could live with that.

Even if an interviewee is qualified, I sometimes get stuck on their appearance.  Not petty shit like brown socks with black shoes.  I mean stuff like a woman with Predator hair and a fat guy with his bottom shirt button undone, showing off his pink belly.  These people might be great candidates, but I have no fucking idea because I was simply too distracted to listen.       

Anyway, it must be obvious by now that I'm a lousy interviewer.  While that might be disappointing to my employer, they can't say they aren't getting what they paid for.

October 04, 2006

Quality in Quantity

I spent an hour or two today working on a post that, in the end, just seemed like a personal journal entry (read: dull and unfunny).  So instead, I thought I'd just tell you the difference that a day makes (I have a vengeful need to shit on the Quality Inn a little bit more).  Tonight I'm spending the evening at the Mariott Courtyard in Southfield, Michigan.   If you're bored, Google the phone number and give me a call.  Oh, by the way, like most celebrities, I always check in under a sly and salty alias. To be the lucky caller, you'll have to figure that out first (HINT: I've hidden clues in various posts over the past six months.  Good luck!)

Anyway, here is a comparison of my accommodations over the past two nights:

Courtyard  - Free oatmeal cookies
Quality Inn - Free hepatitis

Courtyard - Two large Sony televisions
Quality Inn - Small generic brand chained to the dresser; batteries stolen out of the remote

Courtyard - Free high-speed internet
Quality Inn - Free high on speed (ask Juanita at the front desk)

Courtyard - Room contains a microwave and refrigerator
Quality Inn - Faulty thermostat makes room feel like you're inside either a microwave or a refrigerator

Courtyard - Proper selection of adult movies
Quality Inn - Naked woman screaming in the parking lot

OK, I think I'm finally done with the Quality Inn now.  Thanks for bearing with me.

October 03, 2006

FrivoList: Painfully Accurate Re-Branding Suggestions for the Quality Inn Hotel I Stayed In Last Night Near The Missouri State Line

 

NEW NAME: Depravity Inn
NEW TAGLINE: Our staff of sunken-eyed crackwhores will attend to your every need...usually for about $5.

NEW NAME: Agony Inn
NEW TAGLINE: Now offering the flattest pillows imaginable!
 
NEW NAME: "Quality" Inn
NEW TAGLINE: If you're one of those literal dipshits who thinks that because the word "quality" is in our name you will actually receive a high standard of convenience and comfort, well, have we got a smelly room for you!

NEW NAME: Felony Inn
NEW TAGLINE: Present your fresh stitches at check-in and receive 10% off one night's stay!

NEW NAME: Malady Inn
NEW TAGLINE: Grab a complimentary wet doorknob on the way in and then enjoy a private game of barefoot hopscotch through the heavily stained carpeting in your room.

NEW NAME: Quality Inn Cognito
NEW TAGLINE: If you are looking for quality, you're gonna have to look pretty damn hard.

October 01, 2006

Daily Splatter: Tri-Fucked-A

There is nothing worse than spending your Sunday afternoon staring down the barrel of a shitty workweek.  Instead of creating playlists for parties that I will never be invited to, working on my novel (well, working on the idea of maybe starting a novel someday) or playing a rousing game of grab-ass with the cats, I'm obsessing about work.  Sometimes I hate me.

The old job satisfaction rating has hit a new low.  Starting tomorrow morning, I fly to Iowa for two days, Detroit for three days and then wrap up the week by spending by spending Saturday and Sunday in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.  If I'm lucky, I'll get just enough time on Sunday to watch the Browns lose and wash some dirty underwear (the two are not mutually exclusive) before heading into the office on Monday.  I had just about enough of traveling to midwestern shitholes to explain how to fix problems while people sit there ignoring me. 

The easy answer is to get a new job.  However, the problem is that I expend so much effort doing my job that, at the end of the day, I never have the energy to seriously consider my options.  If I slack off at work in order to try to save up some strength, my underperformance quickly begins to fill me up with self-loathing.  When that happens, I'm of no use to myself or anyone else.  It's a vicious, spinning circle, one that feels like it is rapidly approaching the bottom of the bowl. 

If this continues for too much longer, I'll be retired before I've figured out what the hell it was that I wanted to do with my career. 

Christ, help me.  Des Moines, Detroit and Chippewa Falls.  The corn capital, the murder capital and the...hell, I don't know...probably something to do with cheese...capital - all in one long fucking week.  Tell me that don't suck.