The Olympics: Thoughts and Observations

Not having much to do besides not playing video games, I've tuned in to this years Olympics more than ever before. So far, here are my thoughts, numbered for my own convenience.
1. Go 'Merica.
2. Geographically speaking, England is such a miserable place that their best beaches are indoors. Team USA has a player that looks like Lex Luthors gawkier younger brother. And why the hell is beach volleyball in the Olympics to begin with?
3. On that note, there are some sports that do not deserve to be in the Olympics. This is literally the fourth American Volleyball team that I've seen. Maybe pare that down to two. 
4. Mitt Romney was at the opening ceremonies because he owns a horse that's in an equestrian event. Think about that when it's voting time.
5. Why are we so fascinated with swimming? The difference between winning a gold in 100m freestyle and winning a gold in 200m freestyle is very little. Just because someone wins 8 of them, some relay style, does not make him or her (it's a him) the greatest Olympian ever. First off, thats Zeus. And second, he's not winning gold in swimming, sprinting and gymnastics.
6. Speaking of gymnastics, I have two main thoughts. The first is damn, that is some cool Spiderman stuff. The second is more disturbing.
Little girls are in very tiny onesies that are so tight and sparkly, you can tell which of the girls has flowered into a woman. Of course the answer is none because they're gymnasts. The point is that their uniform really does border on naked in places. I understand it needs to be tight and that does not bother me. What bothers me is the 15 year-old in panties flipping around the tv. Pedophiles everywhere are glued to their tvs. 
The men don't have it much easier. They might be able to cover up their upper thighs and butts, but their uniforms are so tight you can see who's circumcised. I'm pretty sure one guy on the German team has three balls. 


Keep watching the Olympics, god knows somebody has too.

Youtube Monday: Learn To Fly

It's Youtube Monday and I don't give a damn about the Olympics. Honestly, there are no sports at the Olympics that I watch and enjoy. So here's an unrelated video today. I hope you enjoy Learn To Fly by the Foo Fighters.

I'm personally fond of it for the cameos by Tenacious D. Gotta love the multiple Dave Grohls.:

Death Is A Cool Guy, Part Five

Not a lot from me this week, I know. It's somehow been a very busy week. But I present to you the fifth and final part of my story Death Is A Cool Guy. Still need to change that title. Hope you enjoy it.

We had been sitting in silence for what seemed like hours. It was hard to if the ambiguity of time was due to the event we just shared or the pot we smoked to try to forget it. It didn’t work. I knew there would be no forgetting this.

                Ted Greenfield. That was the dead mans name. I saw it on some mail on the way out. I’m not sure how we got back to my couch, things were kind of a blur. I kept seeing the fear in Teds eyes. If his heart could beat, I’m sure it would have been racing. There was something else that was bothering me but it was hard to put my finger on it.

                It took a few more minutes for it to hit me. We were standing in Teds apartment for almost five minutes before he saw us. We were standing not six feet from him, talking to each other. Yet Ted had no idea that we were there until his heart stopped. The question was just in front of me but I was still forming it, still trying to figure out what the question was.

                “Hey Death, can I ask you something?” I finally spoke. I honestly had no idea how long the silence had lasted.

                “You just did.” It was funny but I felt like he knew the question I wanted to ask and was avoiding it. “No, I’m just kidding, go ahead.”

                “Well, that guy couldn’t see us until his heart stopped. But I can see you. I see you all the time.” I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to notice the oddness of my situation.

                “That wasn’t really a question but I see what you’re getting at. Usually people can only see me when they’re close to death. That instant between when they die and when I collect their soul. But we’ve been hanging out for a couple weeks now” 

                For some reason I got the feeling Death was holding something back. Up to this moment I had never imagined Death as being able to lie, outside of telling a joke. I had to call him on it. This is my life we’re dealing with.

                “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked him.

                “Are you sure you want to know?” He asked in return. This is not the first time he’s asked me this. I thought for a moment about the gravity of that situation. Did I really want to know this time? I paused to think about it but I knew my curiosity wouldn’t be able to not know.

                “Tell me”

                “You shouldn’t have been able to see me that first time. I could see that you were coming close though. It was still too early for you to be able to see me. But you seemed cool with it so I figured we could hang out before you…”

                “Died” I finished. I was furious. I considered Death a friend and he seemed to do the same. How could my friend lie to me about this? What an asshole.

                I suddenly realized I was calling the Grim Reaper an asshole for keeping this secret from me. I was mad at Death for jeopardizing our friendship. Then I saw Death for the first time, fully. His head was held down a bit and he was avoiding my face. His body language is screaming shame. This wasn’t a physical anthropomorphic representation of death, this was a lonely man looking for a friend. I felt a flash of power, knowing that I could hurt Death. Then immediately it was replaced by guilt because he’s my friend.

                I started laughing at the absurdity of my situation. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Death looked surprised at first and then joined in the laughing. I’m not sure if he knew what it was I found so funny, but given that he could read minds, I’d say there’s a good bet.

                After a solid five minutes of laughing, I finally wiped my eyes and casually asked “So how much longer do I have?”

                “Hard to say exactly” If he was surprised at my sudden question, he hid it well.

                “Will I get to say goodbye to my wife?”

                “I’m pretty sure. I’d say you have at least another week. Are you going to tell her?”

                I opened my mouth to answer and nothing came out. I honestly wasn’t sure. I love my wife and I wanted to spare her from the pain of that knowledge. But she’s my wife, she deserved to know. How do I tell her? How do I explain that I found out I’m dying because I’m friends with Death? Every question led to two more questions. It was like a hydra of anxiety was attacking my mind.

                “I don’t know” I finally squeaked out.

                “I can’t offer any advice on that. But ask yourself these two questions: Would you want to know? And secondly, Do you have the time?”

                Without thinking I glanced at the clock. It was 5:26 pm. I turned my head back to Death to answer him but he was gone. Beyond the void he left on the couch, I could see the door. The knob turned and my wife came through the now open door.

                “Hi babe” She greeted me with a smile, despite her long day at work.

China Is The Leading Manufacturer of Sex Toys

Just when I think China can't get any more ridiculous, they go and prove me wrong. Last week, 18 police officers in Shandong, China spent more than an hour rescuing a woman from the river. It was only upon pulling her out that they discovered it was an inflatable sex doll.

Apparently nobody stopped to wonder why the naked white woman with the expressionless face wasn't responding to their calls. They probably just assumed she couldn't speak Chinese. It would seem that Shandong is a big producer of sex toys for export. Usually they put them in boxes and ship them via mail or cargo ship. They must have been trying a new means of local delivery.
This comes off the heels of last months reporter who mistook a male masturbation toy for a large and rare mushroom (warning: the images on the link cannot be unseen). The young female reporter poked and prodded the toy, noting that one end has a hole and the other looked like a mouth.
After her colleagues at the station realized her mistake (and stopped laughing), they issued a statement of apology, saying that she was young and didn't know the ways of the world. I'm not exactly young anymore, but even I don't know that way of the world.
So todays theme is China's sex toy mistakes and the hilarity it causes. How is it they became the most populous country on Earth with such a poor understanding of sex?

Youtube Monday: Cal Johnson

Damn those weekends go by fast. Instead of boring you with part 5 of my story, I'm going with the regular Youtube Monday. Todays selection is one of my favorites. It's a skit taken from Seth and Alexs Almost Live Comedy Show. Who are Seth and Alex? Well that would be Seth McFarlane and Alex Borstein of Family Guy. The titular Cal Johnson is played by Family Guy regular Patrick Warburton. Without further ado, enjoy.

The sound isn't so great on it, I know. So as a favor, here are the lyrics:

There was a man who shot the man who was the man who shot the man, Cal Johnson.
He wore a hat, his favorite hat, he loved that hat, he hated hats, Cal Johnson.
He was a dad to zero kids and yet he fathered five,
Got shot dead a year ago and yet he's still alive,
He's rich beyond his wildest dreams yet never had a dime, 
A lawman to very end, he led a life of crime. 
In all his years of life on Earth he never fired a gun,
But when it came to Chinese men, he shot down every one.
He had a horse named Bandit and the horses name was Clyde.
Cal Johnson was born the day he died.


And then of course it ends with the slow head turn.

Death Is A Cool Guy, Part 4

Part 4. I don't mean to diverge from my usual so much, but I've really enjoyed writing this story. I like viewing Death anthropomorphically. Anyway, here ya go.

                I stood at the door fixated on the dull bronze nine. The world had faded into gray fog and all I could see was that nine, thinking that once I’d stepped through the door, a man would die. I didn’t know him, and never would, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty.

                “It’s time” I heard Deaths ethereal voice drift through the fog. I had put it off long enough, I couldn’t keep messing with the course of nature. I nodded silently and Death put his hand on my shoulder. Together we stepped through the closed door. I had momentarily forgotten that we would be walking through it rather than opening it. It felt like walking through a waterfall, thin but heavy with the evenings rain. I closed my eyes.

                When I opened my eyes I was standing inside the mans apartment. The layout was identical to my own, but the furnishings were all wrong. The TV was on the opposite wall and there was no couch, only a Barka lounger with an overweight man sitting in it. The Spartan nature of his home only underscored his ultimate loneliness.

                “Don’t worry, he can’t see or hear us. Not yet” Death said to me, noticing my anxiety at being caught.

                “What do you mean not yet?”

                “He’ll have to see us once I collect him. I’ll try to make it quick.”

                I looked at the TV. Teri Bauer was tied to a chair. I had seen this episode many times so I knew what was coming shortly. The scene cut to Jack Bauer searching the hallways furiously. I glanced at the man. He was riveted.

                “How old is he?” I finally asked. Looking at the man, I guessed he was in his late forties.

                “He’s 51” I was close, “It’s actually a miracle he made it this long. His heart is in bad condition. He doesn’t know it but that small twinge of pain he just felt was the hole in his heart finally rupturing. He’s only got a few minutes now”

                Jack Bauer was cradling his dead wife, grief and vengeance in his eyes. The man in the chair was now grasping his chest. He had a pained look on his face. I couldn’t help but stare. I knew I should turn away but I was entranced by the sight of a mans life draining from his face. My morbid curiosity was locked on to his eyes.

                There was a look of bewilderment in his eyes. He had no idea what has happening, only that it hurt and wanted it to end. Suddenly, a wash of terror flooded across his eyes. He knew what was happening. He knew it was his end. Then his eyes crept slowly up to lock on the two figures standing in front of him. The sudden realization that he wasn’t alone was quickly overcome by more fear when he locked eyes on Death.

                My eyes followed his. Even though there was no expression on the face of Death, I could tell he was hurt. I found myself sympathizing more with this grotesque skeletal figure in black than the man who was dying. And that’s when it hit me. I finally understood why Death kept coming back to me. He needed a friend.

                “This has gone on long enough” Death said as he reached his hand forward. The loose sleeves on his robes receded as he stretched further. He laid his bony hand on the mans forehead. The room grew brighter than a thousand fluorescent bulbs. When I was finished rubbing the spots from my eyes, the scene had returned to normal.

                The man on the Barka lounger was slumped slightly to the side, his right hand fallen from the spot on his chest it was grabbing. His eyes were open but he saw nothing. He was clearly dead. I looked at Death and caught a quick sigh. I said nothing, this was not the time for words.

                “Come on, let’s go do some bong hits” Death finally said with a hint of resignation in his voice.

                Jack Bauer was collapsed outside, crying into his hands. 

Death Is A Cool Guy, Part 3

What's this, part 3? I'm enjoying writing this story and I hope you're enjoying reading it. I still need a better title though.

                I drink a lot. I don’t mean to say that I’m an alcoholic, I mean that I literally drink a lot of liquids. Thanks to some prescription medications, I’m left with permanent dry mouth so I always have a drink in my hand, be it tea or soda or water. I was just finished evacuating the mornings coffee when I returned to the living room to find I had lost my seat.

                “Don’t you ever knock?”

                “No, I just walk through walls.” Death replied as he casually flipped through the channels, looking for something worth watching.

                “No I mean, wait a minute can you really walk through walls?” Curiosity about Death is infectious. Half the time I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Walking through walls seemed plausible enough.

                “Yup. I can also levitate and move things with my mind, among other things. You have any chips?”

                I did so I grabbed the bag of Price Chopper brand potato chips and sat down next to Death. At this point, I was getting less and less creeped out by him. The more we talked, the more I got to know Death as a hard-working, sardonic individual who just happened to usher souls into the afterlife.

                “Not that I don’t mind you stopping by, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped surprising me like this. If I hadn’t just done it, I would have pissed my pants”

                “Ok, but I don’t have a cell phone” I wasn’t sure why this surprised me.

                “What brings you by today?” I asked, sure that he was saying hello after collecting a soul.

                “There’s a soul to collect and I’m here a bit early” I was so close “A guy in building 4 has a heart condition and is spending the day marathon watching the first season of 24.”

                “Good show” I added.

                “It is a good show. Anyway, he’s not gonna take Teri Bauers death too well. To be fair though, he is out of shape and a heavy smoker. He might quit smoking if he knew about the hole in his heart.” He said all this with a hint of regret, as if he didn’t want to collect his soul. “It’s a shame, he could avoid seeing me if only his doctor had found the defect.”

                I was struck by the emotion in his voice. It was subtle, but he clearly felt for this man. I started to suspect that Death didn’t enjoy his job as much he let on.

                “So how does it usually go down? The soul collecting I mean.” I finally asked. The question had been rattling around my head for days. I had been looking for an opportunity to ask and had finally found it.

                “Do you really want to know?” I nodded yes, of course I wanted to know “It’s never exactly the same but it’s usually pretty peaceful. Most people are aware of their impending death. When you’re laying in a hospital bed with tubes keeping you alive, even if you’re in a coma, you know what’s coming. Every now and then I meet someone who  greets me with a smile and asks what took me so long. But most of the time there’s just a lot of crying. Then there are the fighters”

                “Fighters?” I asked.

                “Some people just aren’t ready and want to keep living. They get angry at me, like it’s my fault. You’d be surprised how many of them take a swing at me. Funny story, I was the one who collected Bruce Lee. I was sweating bullets, not literally cause I don’t have skin. I was so scared that he was going to open up on me. I’d seen Enter The Dragon, who hadn’t? So I got ready, I limbered up, took a few shadow punches, and went to him. He was the nicest guy I’d ever met until that point. I have never seen anyone take their death with such peace and grace. He even taught me a bit about Jeet Kun Do.”

                “So you’re saying Bruce Lee taught you Jeet Kun Do?” Of all he had just said, that was the first thing I asked. I felt like an idiot.

                “Yes. The Living lost a good one with him. But for every Bruce Lee, there’s a thousand Neros. He kept going on and on that he was immortal and the Caesar couldn’t die. Even challenged me to a fiddle contest”

                “Really” Again, not sure if he was joking or not.

                “No, I’m just messing with you. I love that song though.”

                It was a good song. Suddenly my mind was flooded with Charlie Daniels Band when I was hit with the ultimate question. I wasn’t sure I sure ask but my curiosity was too much to ignore.

                “Can, can I come with you for the next one?” My heart was beating so fast I was sure Death could hear it.

                “Are you sure you want to? It’s not easy for everybody.” I heard a hint of concern in his voice. This only poked at my curiosity more.

                “I do. I think I need to”

                “Very well, it’s about time anyway.” Death rose and reached out his hand. For the first time I was actually touching Death. I felt the bones in his hand. They were lighter than air, yet felt strong enough to bend steel. If he was so inclined, Death could have crushed my hand with no effort. I took a deep breath. This was going to change me and I knew it.

Youtube Monday: We Miss You Orson

Somebody recently told me it's Youtube Monday. I thought we'd go with something classic today.  Orson Welles is widely regarded as one of the most brilliant, groundbreaking filmmakers of all time. His magnus opus, Citizen Kane still sets the standard for drama and was responsible for pioneering many filmmaking techniques.
As the years went by, Orson Welles got fatter and drunker, something to be expected from someone named Orson. Eventually he started doing commercials and voice-overs. Here we see Orson trying to nail a take for Paul Masson Wine. Nobody told him that he's not supposed to actually drink anything while filming.

At one point, post-take he fell off his chair and broke the floor. No I'm kidding, he didn't fall. But he did break the floor with his pounding ponderous footsteps and low pitched cries for frozen peas. His only joy that day, besides being wasted, was when he found a chicken wing in his beard.

Death Is A Cool Guy, Part 2

Well, here is part two of my short story "Death Is A Cool Guy". I still haven't come up with another title, nor have I decided how far I want to take this.

When you’re unemployed, the days run together. The only reason I ever look forward to the weekend is because my wife will be home and I won’t have to spend my days alone with the dog. The weekend when by quicker than others, perhaps because I kept wondering about the night I talked to Death. I still wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not.

                Before I knew it, it was Monday and I was alone again. I woke up late, close to noon. There was no point in getting up early when the biggest part of my day was making dinner. I had just finished watching yet another repeat of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. It was the one in which Detective Stabler imprinted his own children upon a victim and got really aggressive towards the suspect. I was feeling hungry so I decided to heat up some leftover pasta.

                I was shoulders deep into the refridgerator, smelling the pasta to make sure it was still good. It wasn’t. I closed the fridge door, resigned to peanut butter sandwich I was forced to eat. When I stood up I saw him. It startled the crap out of me. So much so that I dropped the peanut butter, popping the top off. The dog ignored the tall figure in the black robes and went straight for the exposed Skippy.

                “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you” His voice seemed to echo through my head. He looked down at the dog lapping at the peanut butter. “I hope you weren’t planning anything untoward with that”

                It took me a moment to get his meaning. I half cringed and half laughed. “Well, it’s how I usually get my wife to do it”. Death seemed to chuckle at this. It was hard to tell. “Who are you here for this time?”

                “Nobody. I just found that chair very comfortable and it’s been a long few days. Did you hear about that plane crash off Martha’s Vineyard?”

                I had. “Yeah, I heard there were no survivors.”

                “At least not when I was done with them. You got any more of those Qingdaos?”

                I chuckled “No, sorry man. I have some pot if you want to hit it” It took a minute to hit me that I was offering to smoke weed with the anthropomorphic personification of Death. 

                “Hmm, I haven’t smoked pot in ages. Why not?”

                Thirty minutes later we were both on the couch, surrounded by a thin haze, watching another episode of Law and Order: SVU. This was the episode where Det. Benson almost gets raped but doesn’t. The dog still hadn’t acknowledged Death’s presence. It was as if Death had no image. No smell, no voice. But the dog clearly felt a little comforted by his presence.

                “Is it weird that I’m finding Detective Benson very attractive?” Death hadn’t spoken in about 10 minutes, absorbed as he was by this gripping network cop drama. The words took a minute to make their way through the smoke in the air. When they arrived at my ear, the words were trailing smoke.

                “That depends” I eventually answered, “Do you have a penis?” All of a sudden my curiosity was very piqued.

                “I certainly have a bone for her” I was started to learn that Death could be quite raunchy. But it was honestly too funny not to laugh at. We ended up giggling so hard that my eyes teared up. I couldn’t tell if Deaths eyes were as red as mine. I still couldn’t tell if he had eyes.

                “You know, you seem to have a lot of free time for the Grim Reaper” I blurted out after we had recovering from our giggle fit.

                “A Grim Reaper”

                “Pardon?”

                “I’m A Grim Reaper, not The Grim Reaper. There are a lot of us. Come on, there are almost seven billion people on this planet, one Reaper isn’t enough.”

                “So there are a whole group of Grim Reapers? Is there a Grim Reaper HR Department?” I said with an equal mix or sarcasm and curiosity.

                “Yeah, there’s a whole Administration. But we call our HR Department something else. We call it Collections” He looked at me slowly, waiting for me to get his joke. It took me a minute and, like most things with Death, I wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not. “Seriously though, Soul Collection is a big Administration. There are thousands of Reapers”

                I couldn’t help but picture a big office building, shining brightly from the reflections off its glass walls. Cubicles were packed tightly onto the floors with the wide open design intended to stimulate workers. The cubicles are filled with skeletons, some in slacks and polos and other in sundresses because it’s Casual Friday. Skeleton interns were making copies and rushing between the cubicle aisles. The picture made me start giggling again. This made Death start giggling as well.

                We spent the next hour on the couch playing Call of Duty. It turns out Death plays all the time and is even in a league with some of his coworkers. I was sure to get his Gamertag before he left.

Too Creepy To Title

Oh my. NASCAR is finally the creepiest "sport" in America. Linda Chase of Jackson, Michigan kept her roommates body for over a year. She said she would watch NASCAR with Charles Ziglers dead body. I'll give you a minute to go throw up.

I feel like I'm missing a joke about a NASCAR zombie starving.
Get it, cause they eat brains.

Back with me? Good. Ms. Chase (yes, I'm assuming she's not married) said she kept him because she was sick of being alone and he was the only person who was nice to her. The only thing sadder than that would be if she was a puppy with a limp. It's getting hard to see the screen through the tears in my eyes. Never has pathos been stronger.
It keeps getting sadder when you take into account that Mr. Zigler died 18 months ago and his family didn't bother calling to check on him until recently. Ms. Chase says that Mr. Zigler died peacefully in his sleep.
Is this an indictment of NASCARs boredom factor or its appeal. On the one hand, the events are so dull that they are literally making people bored to death. On the other hand, it's viewership is so loyal that they keep watching after death. Does this define the phrase "die-hard fan"?

Is All Politics Like This?

Here is the most interesting thing to happen to Jordanian politics since well, ever since Jordanian politics don't interest me. I barely care about American politics. But when political interview shows are this exciting, I'd give it a chance.
Earlier this week, member of parliament Mohammed Shawabka was on with Jordanian Wolf Blitzer. Opposite him was activist and journalist (?) Monsour Sayf al-Din Murad. If your interest isn't already piqued, then check your pulse. The two men started arguing until Shawabka takes it to the next level.

Kojak gets political

First he takes off his shoe and throws it at Murad. In the Arabic parts of the world, throwing a shoe or hitting someone with a shoe is considered one of the greatest insults. It's on par with the American idea of teabagging.
Having missed with the shoe, Shawabka took out his gun. I'd like to say that a Matrix-style gun battle ensued while the participants yelled politically relevant arguments at each other. Instead the host, Jordanian Wolf Blitzer intervened and got Shawabka to put the gun away. The credits then rolled, presumably followed by the above-mentioned gun battle.
I would totally watch Meet The Press if there was a chance of Arianna Huffington pulling a knife on Sean Hannity. I don't know what satellite network I have to get to watch Jordanian Parliamentary Debate Show #29, but I'm willing to switch to Dish for this kind of entertainment.

The Booby Bandit: Followup

You know what I love? I love self-referential humor. It creates a feeling of consistency and continuity of humor. I also love boobs. Today, we're covering both. Last week I told you about Australias best robber, the Buxom Bandit. Well she has reportedly turned herself in.
Her name is Tonee Walker, which apparently passes for a name in Australia. She says she put her boobs on display so that the people she was robbing had "something to look at". What a thoughtful thief she is. I know when I rob gas stations, I like to leave one of my balls hanging out for the same reason.

Yeah, this doesn't look like it's off her own amateur porn site.
Not that I know what amateur porn sites look like.

No word yet on why she robbed the gas station but I'm guessing it was to get bra money. It's still undetermined if she she is indeed the Buxom Bandit since she turned herself in. There's just as good a chance of it being a random attention whore trying to kick start an acting career.
This is part of the Paris Hilton/Kim Kardashian school of marketing; show your boobs (and more) and you'll be famous for it leading to a career where you make millions traveling the world while demonstrating why we as a species are dead inside. All that said though, boobs are awesome.

By the way, tomorrows post will be late if it comes at all. I'm heading to my brother-in-laws and I have no idea when I'll be home.

Youtube Monday: The Stars Wars That I Used To Know

It seems it's Youtube Monday once again. And just in time for Monday too. You may notice that todays post is super early for me. That's because I made a deal with my Good Lady Wife during a game of Monopoly to spend all day doing laundry. Ultimately, it wasn't worth it because I still ended up losing the game.
Anyway this weeks entry is a fun cover of Gotye's Somebody That I Used To Know. Who the hell is Gotye? Give it another couple months, nobody will remember. This song has been blasted from everything with a speaker. If you haven't gotten sick of it yet, trust me, you will. But this is a good parody about Star Wars. Enjoy.

Take that George Lucas! Stop ruining our beloved movies! Han will always shoot first!

Death Is A Cool Guy, Part 1

         I thought I'd take a break from the norm today and present something a little different. I started writing a short story and decided to share the first part of it with you. I hope you enjoy it. I'd also love to hear your feedback. It is currently titled "Death Is A Cool Guy"

       I don’t even remember what we were fighting about. I guess that’s how most arguments go. We were laying in bed talking about what jobs I applied for that day. It had been almost nine months since I lost my job. Well to be fair, I didn’t lose it. I still know where it is, it just isn’t mine anymore. Unemployment benefits had run out and I was officially contributing nothing to the household. Nine months without a job had taken its toll on me. To say I was depressed was too obvious.

                I was constantly on edge and the more we talked about my job situation, the angrier I got. In retrospect, I was probably out of line. So it was no surprise to her when I grabbed my pillow and headed for the couch. I laid on the couch stewing for about an hour before I finally drifted off into an angry sleep.

                It was around 3:30 when I awoke to the sound of the fridge opening. From my spot on the couch I could see the warm glow of the refridgerator light illuminating a figure. It wasn’t like my wife to get up during the night for any reason so I kept an eye open out of curiosity. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when I saw a tall gaunt figure in a long black robe emerge from the kitchen with my last Qingdao in his bony hand.

                The figure sat down on Uncle Rays chair, the orange one that the dog usually sleeps on. I was always a bit hesitant to sit in it because Uncle Ray reportedly died in it. As comfortable as it is, and despite the fact that I think my wife told me that to mess with me, I always thought twice before sitting in it.

                At this point both of my eyes were wide open and my heart was beating faster than an marathon runner on the 21^st mile. There was just enough light coming through the venetian blinds from the streetlight outside to reveal the strangers face. I suddenly became sure I was dreaming. His face, I assumed it was a “he”, was hard, literally hard. I could see from eight feet away that it was just exposed bone with a sinister permanent smile. Somehow, the thought that I was dreaming calmed me down.

                “You’re not dreaming” the figure said, causing my heart to speed up again. How did he know what I was thinking?

                “Among other things, I’m telepathic” he said. Now I was starting to freak out. The more he talked, the better look I got at him. He was an especially bony figure in an oversized black robe that fell down to his feet. Sitting as he was, however, I could see his feet. They were almost transparent. I could see the bones within as the skin seemed to flicker in and out.

                “Are you the Grim Reaper” I managed to squeak out.

                “I’m A Grim Reaper” His voice was strange. It was so deep I felt in it in my chest before I heard it. But at the same time, it had a lyrical quality, almost relaxing.

                “Are you here for me?” I asked, almost a bit hopeful.

                “No”

                My mind raced as panic set in. I was still mad at her, but not enough to wish her any harm. She was still my wife after all, the love of my life. My eyes darted to the bedroom wall.

                “No. Not her, take me instead”

                “Relax, I’m not here for her either. And no, I’m not here for the dog. I came for the old lady in apartment 9. Figured I’d stop in for a beer. I haven’t had Qingdao in years”

                I was confused. Very confused. “I’m confused” I admitted.

                “Well the only other choice in brew was Bud Light. I might be a walking skeleton caught between life and death with no tongue to speak of, but even I have standards. Besides, something drew me here” He took another swig of beer.

                “Yeah, I’m guessing the dead lady is what drew you here” Did I just make a glib joke to the Grim Reaper?

                “Good one. No I mean something drew me to your apartment. I just had a feeling I’d find something good here. I hope you don’t mind that I took your last Qingdao. Where did you find this anyway?”

                We spent the next hour talking about my time in China, focusing of course on my exploits related to Qingdao Beer. It turns out he had spent some time in China during the 60’s. I didn’t bother asking which century he was referring to. I don’t remember him leaving. The next thing I knew, my wife was waking me up as she prepared to go to work. I chalked it all up to a really lucid dream until I saw the empty Qingdao on the floor next to Uncle Rays chair. Never in my life had I been so sure that I was going insane.

The Booby Bandit

Boobs. That should be enough of a post but I'm told I should expand on my reasons. Several days ago a gas station was robbed in Gold Coast, Australia. Since we're American, who gives a crap. But if you harken back to the first word of this post, you should be able to put two and two together. A woman, who is now being referred to as the "Buxom Bandit" held the gas station up at knife point. 

What you see there is a still from the security camera footage. As you can see the nickname is well earned. She made two major mistakes. First, she didn't wear a mask. Second, having not worn a mask, she should have just not bothered wearing a shirt. That way, nobody would notice that she's not wearing a mask. 

The Buxom Bandit is still at very large (prepare for boob jokes). The gas station was the only thing being held up that day (get it, cause her boobs are bouncing around). She may not left fingerprints, but she certainly left an impression. She reportedly drove into the gas station, no word on if the top was down on her car but I'm guessing it was at least very low. 

I'm trying really hard (giggidy) to come up with more boob jokes but I have to admit that I'm a little distracted. Not by the boobs, but by the clear crime problem in Australia. It's almost as if the country was founded centuries ago by prisoners kicked out of somewhere else. Also boobs. 

Two Dongs Don't Make A Right

I'm starting to get concerned. The zombie apocalypse may be upon us, for real this time. At this point we've all heard about the Miami Zombie. Well it didn't take long for a Chinese rip-off to hit the net. Last week in Wenzhou, a drunk Chinese man attacked a woman and ate part of her face. Hang on a sec while I run to the bathroom to throw up.
Anyway, Mr. Dong (I swear that's his real name) reportedly stumbled into the street where Mrs. Du was driving. She stopped short at which point Dong jumped on the hood of the car and started pounding on the windshield. Mrs. Du got rightfully spooked and tried to jump out of the car and run away. But we all know you can't run from a drunk Dong.
Dong tackled Du and started biting her face. It took several people to pull Dong off of her and when they did, her face was bloody. Doctors so far have stated that she'll need at least 2 surgeries. Dong was apprehended by the police and was captured "alive". I use the term loosely since he will now be known as the Chinese Zombie.
Reports are that he drank almost a liter of baijiu. For those who don't know, baijiu was created by the devil in an attempt to destroy mankind. Unfortunately the Chinese developed a taste for it. It averages 40-60% alcohol and can strip paint off a boat. I know I like to be colorful in my descriptions but baijiu really is as bad as I make it out to be. Anyone who says they like it is either a raging alcoholic or they want people to think they're cool.

Baijiu was involved in the creation of this photo

I have had to be poured into a taxi after drinking a fraction of that much baijiu. Dongs friends (who we shall refer to as Balls) were later found all passed out, a common reaction to baijiu. Dong is currently being held for aggravated assault, but I feel like that's not descriptive enough for him. Attempted Zombification sounds better.
To my reader I tell you this, stock up on clean water and dehydrated foods. Arm yourself but don't rely on guns. Most importantly, stay inside and barricade the doors and windows. It's time.

Youtube Monday: The Puppy and the Crab

It's Youtube Monday and I love puppies so it's officially time to question my sexual orientation! I stumbled across this video originally on The Huffington Post. It's of a 2-year dachsund meeting a little crab on the beach. Adorability ensues.

If you are not watching this, punching your leg and yelling "awwwwww" you have no soul and I feel sorry for your empty existence. Seriously, if this doesn't melt your heart that is because you have none.  The puppy is having the time of his life, as evidenced by the fiercely wagging tail. The poor crab however is terrified for its very existence.
So we have learned that the recipe for cute is curiosity + terror.