Wednesday, December 26, 2007

An apology

I realize I may have hurt some feelings with my post about PT Cruisers. I have no doubt that they are a practical, attractive, responsible, and fun vehicle to drive. And as far as their ability to be customized, I give this video. Very impressive car, very impressive driver.

twin turbo pt cruiser power shifting drive it like you stole it~

Thursday, December 20, 2007



It's even funny to dinosaurs.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007


Well it made me feel inadequate, that's for sure. 2.4lb/chub? That's fairly impressive, I think; especially for lean chubs. Can't say I've weighed my wang recently, but I'd guess these have me beat by an order of magnitude, at least.
Obligatory jokes:

-can't beat that meat (price)
-nice package
-and that's boneless!
-why are there two in your package
-you couldn't even afford to throw a sausagefest?
-those would be good in tacos

Feel free to continue.

Lamest car show ever

Perhaps you've figured out I am just dumping random images gleaned from my phone's camera onto the intarwebz for your enjoyment.

This was pathetic.

No, putting roof racks on and washing your car does not merit 'custom' status.

Plus, you must hate driving if you actually choose to own one of these.


I took these within 4 blocks of one another.

Folks just treat the curb as if it's a gentle suggestion of where to place their vehicle. Pretty soon I'm sure they'll clip me on the sidewalk, maybe because they need to veer around the asshole in front of them that stopped to let the handicapped guy cross the street, and the roadway is not sufficiently wide to allow for this maneuver.

Friday, December 7, 2007

If you say so

Since I'm in the groove of posting random pictures, here's a situation where the marketing is solid, but the execution...
we'll just say it leaves a little to be desired, and leave it at that.

That and the fact that the 'neighborhood' to speak of consists primarily of highway overpasses, subway tunnels, train platforms and two parking garages. I'm sure the community appreciates the effort.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Monday, December 3, 2007

Happy Holidays

This might be the best thing anyone does for you this holiday season:

Listen to the song in its entirety (probably with headphones, though feel free to share).

Thanks, Steve.

Saturday, December 1, 2007


I got a present today courtesy of L's company, and the cooperation of some of her colleagues. I like to recognize those who provide me with cake, so :
I had a little seizure and went into diabetic shock but I'm ok now.

For future reference, cake is an easy way to be immortalized on the intarwebz.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.30

Ooh, last picture I think. Well, of the animals at this zoo. For this visit. And it's a crappy photo, what with the glare and everything. I've had enough of an upturn in visitors (holy crap - i got 15 one day - new record FYI) that I might just post everyday. Quantity > quality, especially when there was always a chronic shortage of the latter.

About the animal though: My one gripe about this exhibit was that there was no sand. How in the hell is an ostrich supposed to stick its head in the sand, when there is none? ANSWER ME THAT, ZOOPEOPLE. (incidentally, the zoopeople was an interesting exhibit on its own, but there was no photography allowed). That said, the ostrich is a frightening animal. I can imagine it running up to me (apparently at up to 40mph; tell me this website isn't a little fascinating) and pecking the shit out of my face, and then kicking me like 4 miles.

I guess the summary of the zoo is that I am glad for the person who invented cages. Good job.


I'll give you a break (until like 5:15 when I get bored and want to post another zoo picture) from the picture of the day, because I just had an interesting (to me) thought:

How long would it take for me to be found in the bathroom if I collapsed and died in the handicapped stall? Assuming my body couldn't be seen from outside the stall (hence the selection of the larger, handicapped venue), I think it takes up to 36 hours, and possibly more if it's a weekend. Maybe until I start to smell, and even then, who knows?

If the stall door is closed, it's occupied, right? And one doesn't typically chat, or check in for a status update with a bathroom buddy. Add to that there are two separate bathrooms in this office (halving the possible number of body-finders, after it's already been cropped down to only the male employees - unless I made a silly mistake in selecting a bathroom, but either way it's one sex only I think).

Add to that no one would really miss me at my desk; they might wonder briefly where I'd gone, but I could have gone home, or out of the office for any number of reasons.

Add this inconvenient delay in discovery to the fact that it would probably be horrifically embarrassing to be found dead with your pants down, and I think I've found the most humiliating way to die.

Which means it's exactly what's going to happen to me.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.29

The king of the jungle. Or, king of the lion exhibit in this case. This gentle creature would occasionally roar and I would occasionally piss myself a little. The two events were unrelated, though concurrent multiple times. In this photo he's staring at this couple's baby in a stroller. It was pretty funny to me, but I can imagine fairly terrifying for the couple/baby and fairly frustrating for the lion. The equivalent of blueballing, I'd guess. They really should throw a baby in there occasionally.

Also, manes are ridiculous. The animal kingdom equivalent of a neck beard. I don't blame them though, they have limited access to razors and cosmetologists in animal jails i mean zoos. Just kidding, I heart animals in captivity. They're easier to hit with spare change.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.28

Isn't this an oddly proportioned animal? I looked around for other photos but apparently no one has captured pictures of this elusive animal in the wild. I think it has stubby little legs. Or a beer gut. Either way it's ridiculous. And those stripes? Everyone says that's camouflage but it's also the pattern some prison inmates wear, and I doubt anyone would want to camouflage an inmate. The only conclusion I can reach is that somehow, the animal kingdom has found a way to mark offending horse/donkey types for committing crimes. I wonder what sorts of crime. Also, I wonder if other animals commit crimes, and if so, why don't we see similarly marked lions, elephants, etc?

That's because lions are badasses, that's why. And elephants are too friggin' huge to mark. Smaller, pussier animals I can't explain. Maybe horses are the only animals dumb enough to get caught.

Don't worry, these zoo entries will end soon.

Zoo picture of the day 11.27

Ah, and here we are at the miscellaneous animal pen. If I were a zoo tenant, here is where I would reside. Just look at the complete ambivalence exhibited by that youngster. It's good that this was one of our last stops on our tour, it's resoundingly underwhelming. The kangaroo, in its defense, is a dwarf version or something, so a real one would probably be cooler (and able to jump this puny fence and roundhouse you in the face before you could say 'throw another shrimp on the barbie, mate' in that crappy Australian accent you do). The emu with it (and the random sheep in the background - hey, buddy) are pretty uninteresting. I guess at night they do a pretty cool laser light show where they blow up a few of the animals, and I would have liked to stay for that but I really had to pee and they wouldn't let me go on any of the animals. It's really a bizarre line the zoo draws about what you can and can not do; I mean, there's an interactive bestiality exhibit, but I can't piss on an emu? Seriously?

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.26

Did you ever read the story of the ugly duckling? It's raised by ducks and gets ridiculed by everyone for being so weird looking, and then when it grows up it's a beautiful swan? One detail the book left out was the swan was black.
So even though it is a beautiful bird, it gets discriminated against all over the place. Out of frame here is a sign that says 'black only' over the little pool of water. Zoos are really backwards in terms of civil rights. But the times, they are a changin'. Signs of civil unrest are visible all over the zoo, from sit-ins at the petting area, to pseudo-organized protests by the gorillas and zebras. They can't really get the zoo-wide involvement that they'd like because they're caged for the most parts (like ANIMALS!!), but they're hoping to get some concessions.

There was no comment from the albino animals' representative when I tried to ask him some questions. He's a dwarf rabbit so mostly he chewed and pooped while I asked, but you could see the hate burning in those red eyes of his. Frightening, really. More so if he weighed more than 6 pounds, but still.

Zoo picture of the day 11.25

To be honest, I think this kid deserved to get thrown into the habitat, see how long he holds out there. There he is, banging away at the glass. Asshole. Lucky for him the gorilla was all hopped up (or down) on barbiturates and couldn't feel a thing. Substance abuse is a serious issue for the zoo, especially for the exhibits where multiple animals are in contact. The zookeepers get bored and try out new prescriptions on the animals, the animals are addicted and become violent when they don't get their fix. The problem is compounded when the animals share the goods and things get ugly. That's how you get animals like birdzillas.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.24

This photo is actually fake. I made a little gorilla biome with paper mache and threw an action figure gorilla in there.

hahahahah just kidding guys, seriously, haha.

This picture actually makes me a little angry because it perpetuates gorilla stereotypes. For example, look at the rope in the photo. It just assumes the gorilla is going to climb all around instead of using the stairs or Seqway that the zoo provided. I think it's terrible. They don't put Lucky Charms in the
Leprechaun exhibit for crying out loud.

Zoo picture of the day 11.23

This little guy was free to roam all around the little bird enclosure, as it was either able to escape the zoo defenses (consisting primarily of a 3 foot high fence - not exactly Alcatraz-esque for a bird with flight capabilities) or has earned the trust of the zookeepers. Regardless, it had blood on its beak and there was a little kid's hat on the ground nearby.

We kept our distance.

Zoo picture of the day 11.22

Today's picture:
These are camels. Apparently, in the desert, their humps are used to store fat for long trips, so they don't die when they encounter nothing but sand and cacti for days on end. However, in captivity, the humps serve a very different function, and that is storing zoo employee drugs. A small incision in the hump is made, excess fat is removed (sort of a camel liposuction) and all manner of illicit drugs can be stored with minimal impact on the camels. Of course the drugs need to be stored in plastic bags or else some is lost to the camel, which can also result in erratic behavior. This is why camels are the most dangerous animal at the zoo.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.21

This is an interesting selection, as it gives a peek into zoo life behind the scenes:
While everyone (I hope) realizes that human babies are not delivered by storks, zoo babies actually ARE!!! Of course they aren't normal storks, they're optimized for carrying and are mostly mechanical (that's right, your fears about flying cyborgs was justified. hope they never fly out of remote control range). As you can see, antelope babies are a little larger than your average human child. Another interesting aspect of this sign is that Isabel has a 1/2 sister. While in human society this would point to a child sharing only one parent, in the animal kingdom it actually indicates a partial animal. And sure enough, in the exhibit was an antelope with only two legs. The cruel part was that it was the front and rear left legs only, so each attempt to stand was a hopeless failure. Luckily the poor animal only attempted to stand for a few hours before breaking several ribs, going into shock and losing consciousness.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Zoo picture of the day 11.20

You were waiting with bated breath, and I know it. This is a bird that only eats things in the rough shape/size of a human head. At the time of this picture, the zoo had settled on tossing a small pumpkin in. That only fools the birds for a few days however, before their bloodlust returns. If you bring an annoying child to the zoo, the lion notices and alerts this bird, who waits for the aforementioned youth to pass in front of the cage (located adjacent the lion's). The bird, thought to be flightless and thusly located behind a fence with no cage above, swoops in and plucks the offending youngster from whatever transport they're located in. It quickly plucks the eyes from the skull. After this, a few choice portions of the brain are sampled by the sharp beak before the bird's craving is satiated. After this, the symbiotic relationship with the lion is completed via transport of the still living child through a tunnel between the cages, where the lion finishes the meal.

Source - National Geographic, November 1846

Monday, November 19, 2007

Zoo picture of the day

I went to the zoo like two weeks ago. It was pretty awesome. But I don't feel like writing about it, but I will give you a zoo picture of the day for the next week or so. I don't know what I'll do around Thanksgiving, but you don't get to complain.

Here's a lion I killed.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Waffled for my pleasure

I spent a good chunk of my morning scraping dog poo off my doc martens. I say martens because it was on both shoes. I must have had a lucky couple of steps, or perhaps this particular canine launched his/her salvo from afar, resulting in a larger spray pattern. I just don't know. What I do know, now, is that shoes soles are typically textured not for traction (as treacherous as the average sidewalk is, I'm fairly sure I'd survive with a somewhat less aggressive tread) but to retain particles of fecal matter in which the wearer is unlucky enough to have trodden. So if you're looking to give yourself a really awful (and I purposely avoided a pun there, which if I see it in the comments section I will delete and punch you in the face) start to your day, I'd recommend scraping dog shit out of your shoe for 10 minutes or so. That should do it. There's really nothing more humbling that cleaning someone/thing else's fecal matter off your shoe. Plus I have no good excuse why I smell like ass today.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Google ads redux

I really really really like reading the ads on the side of my email. I think google's a little hive of geniuses, if only for the unintentional comedy of the ads. A sampling from today:

Coffee Exposed
A shocking secret coffee co's don't want you to know

What might that be? It's overpriced filtered water? Yowzers!

5 Reasons for Belly Fat
Why you struggle with stomach fat. Learn 5 tricks to lose it.

How...How did you know about my belly? Where are you?

Is Your Belly Fat & Ugly?

Well, I wouldn't say it's ideal, but that's a little presumptuous, wouldn't you say?

Want Massive Shoulders?

I know You Do
See Why I'm the Man and You're Not

Well, I can already tell it's probably an issue of self confidence, but I'm intimidated already. And I AM the man, anyway. A little at least, I think. No? OK.

I'm a little shaken by the brazenness of the ads, but I have to tell you - Google KNOWS me, and more importantly, what's best for me. Pardon me, I have some shoulder exercises to do.

My Hero

Actual email today to everyone in the office:

If your license plate number is 42xxxx please give me a call when you are leaving my parking space #13 that way I can move my car into my space.

Holy poop. I tip my hat to you sir; I consider myself a professional passive aggressive, but you put me to shame. I can just see this guy's car idling for 7 hours waiting for this spot. You can envision the next email:

Hi, if you're currently in my house, could you let me know when you're done looting because I need some things, if you didn't take them.

And then, probably finally:

Hi, if you're currently on the sidewalk, please let me know when you've moved so I use that spot to arrest my 30 story fall.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Phlegm on my Phace

So sometimes I go running at lunch. It makes me feel a little better, even though I'm gasping like emphysema patient by the end of my loop (that wasn't nice - I'm sure those folks are breathing much easier than me, what with their BOTTLED OXYGEN), and when the weather's nice it's a chance to get outside. Anyway, I was about halfway through the other day, when I realized I needed to get rid of, shall we say, a loogy. This typically happens when I haven't had much to drink in the mornings, and I end up with this really sticky, viscous spit. It's pleasant.

So I find a clear place, where I won't a) spit on someone or b) be seen spitting, and I let fly. 94% of the projectile takes the intended path onto the grass adjacent the path. The other 6% elects to get separation anxiety and cling oh so sweetly to my right cheek. Meanwhile, other runners/walkers/personal hygiene inspectors are approaching. I try to wipe away the offending saliva, but I only succeed in smearing it across my face and into my nose. So now I can smell my own drool, and I also look like a member of an inbred royal family to most of the people around me.

I try to ignore it until I can wipe my face with my shirt (you know, so as not to draw attention to it) but I can tell they see. And they judge.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

To Whom It May Concern

A dialog to/from the bank refinancing our house:

Dear PeopleWiththeMoney,
I left you a message yesterday but I'm not sure if you've received it. Apparently the daily limit on the debit card is $700, but I've called my bank and changed the limit to cover the charge for your fee and interest rate fee. It should have been effective 10 minutes or so after I called my bank, and so the charge should go through this time. If for some reason this doesn't work (everything should be all set now) I would be happy to give you a different credit card number to expedite this process. Thanks,


Dear L,
We have tried your card several times, and the transaction is not being approved. I hope you understand, but we're not going to process any more transactions. Please overnight a check. Thanks,



Dear dumbcuntbitch,

While I appreciate being treated like a deadbeat loan customer who is overdue for their snowmobile payment, I'd appreciate a little more professionalism on your part next time. I understand that it takes a valuable 15 seconds from your day to walk your fat ass over to the tellers' desk and hand them the note with the credit card numbers, but it'd be neat if you could try one more time. Otherwise, I understand you want us to spend $17.00 to overnight a check to your bank, in order to PAY YOUR BANK for the services you might render if you approve us for this loan. Oh, after you have an appraisal done on the house (paid for by yours truly), which can't be done until we get a driveway in, which won't happen until November 1st. So if you're soooooo imapatient to get your greedy, sausagelike fingers on our money, it'd be neat if you'd accommodate our request to do it electronically, instead of looking down your Mary Kay encrusted nose at our puny incomes. Also, if you could remove the giant hair from your ass before speaking to me again, it'd be appreciated.

Anyway, we're going to go ahead and use another bank that doesn't treat us like 8 year olds taking out a loan for some BubbleTape despite recommendations from our financial advisor/teddy bear.

We hope you understand.


Drunken blog time

Some thoughts from a near-Halloween evening here in Salem:

-Saw a film at CinemaSalem tonight (yes, all merged together like some megacorporation. We saw Michael Clayton with 7 other people). A little confusing, as if we walked in about a half hour late, but entertaining nonetheless. I invent the backstory I don't know. Anyway, there was a woman two rows in front of us. She was maybe the most irritating co-viewer I've seen in awhile. There were 4 people total in the th
eater when she arrived. She elected to sit one seat away from two other moviegoers. I can imagine their displeasure, especially as she itched her way through the previews. During the trivia shown before the film, she insisted on announcing her answers (e.g. question: "Who was the first person to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel?" Annoyer's answer (loudly): "George Bush", followed by a super annoying snicker.) Sometimes I wish I carried a SuperSoaker filled with mayonnaise all the time. I drank my way past how annoying she was. No word on how annoyed the rest of the crowd was listening to me awkwardly opening multiple delicious Natural Lights. I'll check my comment cards.

-In the afternoon, I managed to clog the toilet. With my poop. And maybe some G.I. Joes that got reassigned to the Navy SEALS. Anyway, we didn't bring our plunger along with us when we moved. Thus, it was either go shoulder-deep in my own dung or go purchase a new plunger. As I have a sensitive gag reflex (insert gay joke here) I elected to visit our local Walgreens to pick up a new plunger. After
the purchase, I was walking home amongst the Halloween revelers. Never have I felt older than walking between Captain Jack Sparrow, a pimp and two slutty witches with a SuperPlunger in hand. I'm almost officially a member of the AARP at 25. I'm also the uncontested lamest person in America.

-40 oz of Steel Reserve = almost guaranteed miserable Sunday. I'll keep you posted.


Two beers:

For two queers:
Other candidate: 2 40s for $4.40 (coincidence? I think not.)

Monday, October 22, 2007

Something Good

I had the good fortune to obtain tickets to game 7 of the ALCS on Sunday. I had the good fortune to get a ride in with my dad, whom I like. We got tickets through some connection with my aunt and the only catch (besides paying for them) was that we had to drop off two tickets (there were four total) to the people who would be our seatmates for the game. No big deal, you're bound to sit next to some jerk anyway, might as well know what you're up against.

Our pals, we'll just say their names were A and B, were at Game On, next to Fenway. This is an establishment where alcoholic beverages are sold, and Sunday I believe most of them were sold to our friends A and B. Needless to say, they were very friendly when we dropped off the tickets. We shared an awkward meeting/exchange and went into the park ahead of them. I purchased two delicious Miller Lites and gave one to my dad. We both drank them and eagerly awaited the start of the game.

A showed up about 1 minute before the first pitch, and was in great spirits. High fives were had by all, and smiles abounded. B was nowhere to be found, and A was calling and texting in a valiant effort to reunite with his buddy. Eventually, B shows up, making lots of friends in our section despite falling all over them in his inebriated walk to his seat. Everyone loves a happy drunk.

The game is fun, lots of cheering in the early innings, the Sox scored a single run in each of the first three frames. Matsuzaka was pitching well (no doubt due to the fact that I was wearing his jersey tshirt) and things were good.

After the third inning, B stops being so animated and jovial, and starts sitting with his head in his lap. He does not look good; in fact, he looks like I'd imagine someone looks when they are seasick. His demeanor and body language begin to alert those in the crowd around us that we may have a vomit situation approaching.
Nobody likes a pukey drunk. There are various words, I wouldn't say of encouragement, but of recommendations that B move on, or at least not contaminate our seating area with his dinner. After a few minutes of nervous observation by most of us in section 95, rows NN-QQ, B stands up (no small feat) and heads for what I assumed was the restroom. The rest of the section, visibly relieved, turned its attention back to the game, where the Sox were busy returning their 3 run lead.

Now A begins behaving unusually. He is either convulsing gently, or crying, or maybe just hiccuping. He is no longer engaged in the game, and while standing, exhibits a gentle swaying behavior typically associated with people at a Yanni concert, or maybe someone who's about to pass out on their feet.

My dad, concerned parent that he always was and will be, asks A if he's ok. A assures us, in slurred speech, that he's fine. Worst lie since Santa Claus. Regardless, A lasts only another 10 minutes or so before he excuses himself by passing through what must have seemed to him to be an impassable gauntlet of seats, feet, and empty beer cups. Through the grace of God or the Sox insurance agency, he makes it to the lower level, where there are only ramps to roll down.

Our unusual seatmates gone with an anticlimactic finish (though I can't speak for what may or may not have happened either in the bathroom or at their hotel room (one double bed + two drunk dudes = ??)), Pops and I are left to enjoy the game. Pedroia, Okajima, Papelbon, and finally a terrific catch by Coco treated us to this:

Fenway likes winners from Sam on Vimeo.

Dirty Water. See you back in Fenway, Wednesday night.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

F*ck you, and Welcome to Massachusetts

Today, I went to the Registry of Motor Vehicles. It's the next step in my becoming integrated into the utopia that is the New England state with the longest name. In preparation for this event, L and I have completed the following tasks:

-Cancelled old insurance. Couldn't renew, because GEICO will not insure cars in MA. Only state in the union they won't insure cars in. Hmm, maybe they were onto something?

-Searched for a new insurance carrier. Turns out AAA will not only tow your car and give you neat shiny stickers, they'll also parasitically sell you insurance. Oh you're a member? Here's a coupon for a $0.32 discount - every six months!

-L spent some time on the phone with an agent, and then later in that week in person to get all the forms filled out. Oh - no, sorry, she can't buy insurance for the car because I'm on the registration. Thank you Massachusetts, otherwise people would be out buying each other insurance willy nilly. And then where would that leave us? In chaos.

-L and I set out one morning to get the insurance process complete. We visited the AAA office in Peabody and were told it was going to be 'at least an hour and then that guy's in front of you'.

-We visit the Saugus branch instead. A nice lady named Maria helped us out. The process took about two hours, I ended up somehow renewing my AAA membership so that it expires earlier than it would have had I not renewed, I think I lost a kidney and I'm getting lots more telemarketer calls now. But we have a policy. For our car. In Massachusetts. We are told to register the car in the state within 7 days, get an insurance inspection within 7 days, and a safety inspection within 10 days. That's right, two different inspections. But don't worry, says Maria, there are places that will do BOTH! Yes, there are two of those places, one's in the whale tank at the aquarium and the other is located on a randomly selected subway car or bus, changed daily.

-Moving on. The closest RMV to my work is in Chinatown. I had no idea how far away this was for real, but luckily it is located on the T. Neat for me. They have really convenient hours for the working man/woman, from 10am to 11:15am on Wednesday.

-I set out to accomplish the registration during my lunch hour. I figured it would take a little longer, but I could make up the time (writing this blog entry). I managed to find the building, discovering in the process that the orange line runs approximately once an hour. Convenient. My tax dollars at work. I had already filled out the MVU-29 form (waiver for sales tax - sidenote - what the hell? when during this process did a purchase anything? assholes. /sidenote) and the insurance lady filled out the RMV-1 (proof of insurance, and you know it's important 'cause it's #1), I had my ME registration and the title number for my car, which technically the bank still owns.

-I am helped within 5 minutes of arriving. I use the term 'helped' looselyas loose as the twat's cunt that helped me. I'm
pleasantly surprised by the alacrity of service. Within 30 seconds of my arrival, my enthusiasm wanes. Actual conversation:

Bitch behind counter: Why does the registration only say you, but the form says you and L?
Bitch in front of counter (that's me): I don't know. I think because I went by myself to register it in Maine.
BBC: Well we can't do that.
BFC: Can't do what?
BBC: Process this.
BFC: Why?
BBC: The names aren't the same.
BFC: I see that. But I can't change the old registration.
BBC: Then you'll have to have the insurance company change the form.
BFC: But she's a co-owner and the primary driver.
BBC: She's not on the form.

At this point the whore customer service representative goes to find her supervisor. I figure I can find out why they need this stuff to match, and if I can't just provide some proof of whatever it is they need.

BBC2: The names need to match.
BFC: Well I can't change the registration.
BBC2: Then you need to change the form, or provide proof of ownership for the second name.

--editor's note- I'm condensing TWO visits to the counter into one, for whatever brevity is left--

BFC: But here's the loan information, she's on that.
BBC2: We don't care about that. We need to see the title.
BFC: Can you have it faxed to you?
BBC2: YOU can have it faxed.

At this point, really, I'm seeing mostly red. It has seriously been a two week process to get here, and obviously I've wasted my time. Not to mention the valuable time of the exemplary public servants at the RMV, who could have been using the time to berate some other tax payer. I attempt to get the title faxed, but the office where the title is located is closed Wednesdays at 1pm for the day. (By the way, it's 1:30pm) Surprisingly, no luck here.

This is a long, and annoying, post, so I'd like to summarize a number of things that made me most angry:

-The disconnect between the people who create the forms/procedures, etc. and the people who execute them. No one could tell me why the state needs to know who registered the car previously. Obviously, they've been instructed that all their paperwork should be THIS WAY, and not to accept anything else. Even if some other documentation can be shown to prove the same thing. There's no room for alternate methods.
-The website has no indication that any sort of title information (besides the number and lienholder) is required.
-The reps were rude. I realize the reason they acted as if they just wanted me to go away was because, well, they just wanted me to go away, but I thought they were providing a service to the public. If it's required that we do certain things, the people who assist in that capacity should be interested in helping you complete the thing. I was probably a little rude back, but screw it. They're probably writing their own blog entry at
-There was no consideration for the fact that I wasted about two hours of my time. Mother effers. I wish I worked in some field where our paths would cross, and I could be really petty and send them on a wild goose chase for about 6 months. Screw it, I'll just flatten all their car tires.

Anyway, I have to get a copy of the title and do this all over again tomorrow. So far I'm 0-2 at registering the car, let's hope I can pick it up and go 1-3. If I don't succeed, there will be a neat segment on Fox News about rising license plate theft on the North Shore. Are your plates safe?

Friday, October 5, 2007

I'll settle this

I know there's been a lot written and discussed about the United States' differences with North Korea, and specifically with Kim Jong Il. I've devised a way to take care of it. Il has recently stated that he's an internet expert, which, incidentally, I also claim.

We're going to have an internet-off. Sam vs. Kim. Winner gets to do what they want with their nuclear weapons, and loser has to turn off electricity in their country. Rules to be determined.

So Kim, you up for it, or are you feeling Il? hahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahaha.

See you on the information superhighway, bitch.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Age Appropriate snacks

Twelve pack of peanut butter crackers, individually wrapped: $3.99
One banana : $0.29
Half gallon chocolate milk, 1% : $2.29

The chester behind me in line at the grocery store believing he's found the holy grail of enticing 8 year olds back to his 1987 Econoline van :


By the way dude, bananas are gross. Get some skittles or something.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

T shirt fodder

Our new home in Salem has lots of interesting new places nearby. Some are restaurants, some are Tarot card reading places, some are liquor stores. My favorite (which is coincidentally the closest) is Bunghole Liquors. Now, the bunghole has several different definitions. According to, it is a hole in a cask through which it is filled. However, urban dictionary has a different take: 1)Rectum, brown eye, poop chute. I probably don't have to say which one makes me giggle.

Anyway, BL makes their own booze:
Three guesses as to how much this 750mL bottle cost: $7.99 (<---highlight for answer) They also provide the final piece to my Steel Reserve collection:The anticipation is killing you, isn't it?Mmm. That's right, enough alcohol in one package (under $2) to kill a small child. Not that you'd give this to a child, or course. They'd probably just throw it up, anyway. Anyway, that led to this:Which, incidentally, led to some of the worst next day beer farts in history. Sorry, neighbors and visiting Mormons.

You bet your ass we are

Made a trip up to Maine last weekend, primarily to clean out the house to ready it for its new tenants, but also to spend some time with some good people and have an excuse to binge drink, socially. I originally intended to barbecue at the house, but then I moved everything necessary to barbecue with. So unless people wanted to eat food cooked over an asphalt shingle fire, I thought perhaps we should just go to a bar/restaurant, eat some food, drink some beers, and then play beirut at the empty house. Because I did have a sheet of plywood, cups, ping pong balls, beer, and a budding cirrhosis of the liver (tricky spelling on that - I clearly would not have placed well in med school spelling bee). I suggested Binga's, because they have good wings. And I like wings. And it's all about me.

Apparently (as I would find out in more detail later in the day), Binga's is a popular hangout for the local women's rugby team, and whomever they happen to play that week. This week, it was some lovely ladies from Worcester. Not only did they fill the bar (which wouldn't have taken that many of them anyway, as most were, um, of healthy girth), but they offered up some songs. Here's what I learned from my favorite, which I titled 'Is Everybody Happy':

Monday - Titty Day
Tuesday - day for unnnnnnnnnnghhhhhhhh (which was accompanied by simulated oral sex to both sexes. As you can imagine, there were probably women there who would argue the merits of either choice strenuously, before ripping your arm off and chugging the beer still clutched in the fingers)
Wednesday - Dancing Day
Thursday - Practice (or Fucking Practice day, depending on the verse. I feel like there was some room for improvisation in this tune)
Friday - Fucking Day
Saturday - Game Day (which explains the post-game celebration perfectly)
Sunday - The Lord's Day

Each verse ended with the semi-rhetorical question 'Is everybody happy?' and the entire bar (minus our tiny party) answers said question with 'You bet your ass we are', which is typically how I answer that same question. Other quality selections from the lesbian explosion in that bar were:
'Why Are We Waiting (We Could be Masturbating)' and
'Jesus Doesn't Play Rugby' (due to reasons such as 'The Jews won't pay his dues', 'His headgear is illegal', and 'The goalposts give him flashbacks'.

There was a great deal of audience interaction during these songs, and sadly, we were not able to participate because we didn't know most of the songs. That'll change next week though, I'll show up ready.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Odds and Ends

- For whatever reason, it seems like a good idea to some unknown culprit to urinate in the commuter rail cars. And, from the smell of it, in EACH AND EVERY car. It's either that, or 90% of the population of metro Boston smells like hobos.

Or maybe just I do? Quick, someone smell me.

-On the subject of trains, I rode on a train with some kids, I'd estimate their age at about 12-14. This is funny, because they were unattended, and they made it to their stop with no problems. Yesterday, I rode halfway to Lowell before I realized I was on the wrong train. No worries, just an hour of my life, gone and unrecoverable. I wish I could sue the MBCR for my stupidity. Although I think our courts are backed up enough as it is, I'd have a case list 40,000 long (that's what she said) if it was allowed.

-If you listen to iTunes, please turn off the Backstreet Boys anthology and tune into ABF clubbing, under radio/international. You're doing yourself a favor, although your neighbors will not enjoy your lightstick performance.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Peace out, ME

Due to someone's inability to find honest employment in The Great State of Maine, we found it necessary to relocate outside the Pine Tree State. So last Saturday, we spent the day packing up all our belongings, in order to clutter up a new place of residence. I made a feeble attempt to enact policy which would require all new possessions to be procured, but the motion did not gain any support in our bicameral legislature. I needed 51% of the vote and could summon only 50. So it goes.

While packing, we came across some unique items, including a fancy Samsonite fanny pack (which I used to keep my most important belongings in for the duration of the move), and someone's spare cat. Here I am, taking a break with both.

After minimal (relatively speaking) difficulties clearing the house, we took to the road in a beautiful steel steed.She only had 22,000 miles on the clock, most of which were accumulated between the local Goodwill store and the urine factory, judging from the smell. No worries, at this point I hadn't showered in three days and was riding in the truck alone (L said it had nothing to do with my personal hygiene - looking back I think maybe that was a little white lie).

I managed to take the truck the 90 or so miles to our new location in Salem, MA (no i haven't seen any witches, ha ha ha ha), where we brought all our newly modularized possessions into the apartment, where they still sit today. Unpacking is overrated anyway. I think we can work the boxes into an IKEA-like efficient storage system. Many homeless use a similar strategy with dramatic effect. They have nicer boxes to work with though, like appliance ones. Lucky, lucky folks, those homeless.

I'll miss the old place though, there won't be nearly enough room for my new performance art exhibit. You can look for it in a few months; it's under development. I'll have to find some new space for rehearsal, but here's a sneak preview:

A Positive Blue Ball Experience from Sam on Vimeo..
Needless to say, I'm very proud of it.

Monday, September 10, 2007


Our newest edition!
Salamander: small, slimy, taste similar to chicken. Serve with steamed vegetable (i.e. spinach). Mildly toxic.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

He chose...poorly

So I have this myspace page. It isn't much, and I didn't even create it, but it's mine. And sometimes, one of my 12 (seriously) friends puts up a bulletin. I like to think of these as fishing for attention. It's a message that all your friends can see, whether they want to or not. According to myspace, after you read these bulletins, there are two courses of action (sort of like a choose your own adventure, just with relationships with real people) to take: 1) You can reply to the bulletin: Hi friend, I enjoyed your message. Thanks!, or 2)You can delete your friend. Bye!I like this polarization - make a choice, and don't screw up. It's like if you're asked what you want to eat at a local restaurant, and if you choose to get sour cream on your burrito, they punch you in the face. And it forces you to reevaluate your relationship every time your friend decides to be needy. At least this way you have recourse.

Typical example:
You: 'Sorry, but you had to send that one last 856 question survey, so we're not friends anymore.'
Former best friend: 'OK, but why did you send me a pipe bomb?'

I guess the third option is ignoring the bulletin, but that is so not the point.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Yes I will do the dishes.

We removed the wood stove from the living room over the weekend. It was resting on some stone pavers. Lauren took care of them.
I hope you notice the clean break. She later broke the neighbor's kids in half.

I've heard of 'the walls have eyes'

But my house has LUNGS. Well technically, it's a hannaford grocery bag, and it's singular, but still - LUNG.


I guess it's somewhat comforting to know that the stove had some draft happening. Chalk that up as the first thing to work properly in the house since we've lived there.

Work Hazard

Contrary to my previous post, it appears my workplace is not concerned with my safety. My walk to my car previously presented only a couple obstacles; namely, employees whose name I've forgotten/never learned, and potentially rabid squirrels. Now I have bridge deterioration to deal with:

I haven't decided if spending the day in the creek 20 feet below would be better or worse than a day at the office. More research may be needed.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Steve Jobs is doing stuff to my computer

And not good stuff, either. He's sneaking shit on there. Like this song on iTunes. I didn't put this there, and unless my company has a night shift that I haven't been informed about, and my nocturnal counterpart has just a tiny hankering for modern blues, this crap arrived without my consent. What's next, allowing Apple to subliminally advertise, just because they happen to have the prettiest media player?

The way this site handles images might be second on today's shitlist. I'll get to that later, I have a bunch of albums I have to buy for some reason.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Da na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na....

Had a visitor last night at oh say about 1am. I didn't invite him, but I'm not convinced he didn't have an inside connection. I was just drifting off to beautiful solace when I'm rudely awoken. L is convinced there's something in or around the room. I try and reassure her that, clearly, nothing can be wrong because I'm about to fall asleep. She persists, real annoying like, and I'm forced to contemplate the possibility that something (someone?) has penetrated the fortress that is Casa De Sam.

While I'm thinking up that clever phrase, something (someone?) catches my eye, orbiting the room. I no longer think it's a human (unless it's stupid Gulliver during his travels when he's mini) and I have a strong inkling that it is batlike. I suggest that L leave, as she is not fond of animals. She leaves, and shuts the door behind her. Which is fine, except I'm left in the room with the angry, cornered, batlike creature.

I leave the room as well.

Now outside, I decide to turn the light on in the room. Now, if it's a vampire, it should vaporize. Or is that just daylight? Well we use those CFL bulbs so that's gotta be close enough. It continues to orbit the room.

I gather my batcatching equipment. Mostly, this consists of me putting a shirt on, and getting a towel. Now, I just have to go in the room, and catch the damn thing. Oh, and pray it's not like an owl or something. It only takes me like 8 minutes to summon the courage to go into the room. During that time, I nearly urinated myself 6 times, I tried to figure out if maybe the bat would just leave if I left it alone long enough (conclusion - yes but with smelly carcass to deal with + on my bed = not acceptable), thought maybe L would deal with it if I got her drunk enough (conclusion yes but not enough booze in house) and finally, just opened the door and did a half roll (ok I tripped a little) and assessed the situation.

Turns out the situation hadn't really changed. Still a bat (now definitely a bat) and still flying drunkenly around the room. Now, I should mention this was not my first (bat) rodeo. I had caught a bat in similar scenario at an apartment I lived in. Of course, my landlord was there too so I had the fake macho courage to propel me into the house. Plus, it was daytime and I had all my clothes on. This, obviously, was the big time.

I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye - my adversary was hurtling towards me at breakneck (approx. 4 mph) speeds. I flail, real awkward 9 year old girl like, with the towel at the tiny death machine. I slam the towel on the floor, and notice, miraculously, there is no more little rabid flying mouse noise in the room. I carefully try and find the little bastard in the folds of the towel (because, for some reason, I'm concerned about the health of this little piece of organic trash). I finally locate him, and pin him as he tries to worm his way out. He begins to emit little sonar noises continuously. Pretty irritating and impolite if you ask me. He's also baring his little fangs at me and swiping at me with his stupid wing. I squeeze a little tighter and this nonsense calms down. Time for freedom you little shit.

I bring Mr. Batwhore down the stairs and out the front door. (I maybe took some photos on the way) I try and gracefully fan out the towel to provide an opportunity for him to soar away gracefully, but instead, he falls into the plantings in front of the house. Very disappointing, and I make a note to re-evaluate our relationship as he is taking without giving to this point. I think maybe he's dead. I shine the flashlight on him, try and hit him with the towel, shout encouraging words to him. He makes some pathetic little noises, but doesn't appear able to fly. I feel bad, again, for some reason. I walk next to him to try and pick him up for a relaunch, but he falls out of my grasp and disappears into some weeds.

At this point, I think I've exercised due diligence in trying to save this creature's life, especially when he invaded MY house. Plus, I'm sleepy. I check in the morning, but he's gone. He either a) wised up and flew away, b)got eaten by our friend Stinky, or c) turned on the bat signal and got some pals to come help him. Yes, there are more options but how realistic is it that the bat won cab fare by playing dice behind our garage?

Now, I have to go patch the likely entrance for bats and other creatures in the closet, and wash my towel. I think the assclown pissed on mine.Hi. I'm not your friend.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Gone but not forgotten

It's not everyday you drive down the street and see a giant penis painted there. When it's drawn on someone's street who really appreciates it, you know you have something special. Fellow blogger T-Money had this little treat awaiting her on her last days in Maine. We should all be so lucky.
In the interest of due diligence, I've been scouring the city for the corresponding vagina. No luck so far. I will probably make some creepy rebirthing post if I find one though, don't worry.

You should read Trina's page. It offers everything you wish this one had, like coherent sentences, logical paragraphs, and humor. I read it EVERY DAY. Soon, I'll start poaching ideas from her and you won't even have to read this page. *sigh*

Stupid drunk ant

Actually, I coated that wire and the ant with Raid. Ha. Had you going though, I'm sure.


Last week marked the return of everyone's favorite backyard friend, Stinky the Skunk. Stinky, not being the brightest, nor the most thoughtful of creatures, done got himself caught in my hav-a-hart trap. That made me hav-a-shit-fit. ha. He also ate my bait, which was not intended for him. Delicious wilted lettuce, wasted.
Hello, friend.

And back to the story. This is the 3rd skunk I've caught in this trap ('Sam,' you ask
, 'why do you continue to set the trap if you know you're going to catch skunks?'. Well, grasshopper, I changed the bait from graham crackers with peanut butter - mostly because I kept eating it - to lettuce to attract groundhogs and not skunks. Unfortunately, some skunks, like some bloggers, are just too damn stupid.) The method I've devised for releasing the skunks is a complex one involving an impermeable barrier (in this case a trash bag), a stick to prop open the door, and legs to propel me far, far away when the skunk makes its exit. The theory being a skunk won't spray in a confined space (hence the trashbag), the hav-a-hart won't stay open without the stick, and I won't smell as nice if I don't run away.

So I try and implement the plan.

Except Stinky won't leave. His ass is hanging halfway out the door, and yet, he will not leave. Perhaps he, too, felt the bond between captor and captive. My own little smelly Stockholm Syndrome example.

Leave, for reals.

As you can surmise from the proximity of the photos, I'm not too worried about Stinky spraying me anymore. I'm more worried he's going to die in that cage and I'll have to figure out what to do with his carcass. So I implement a more aggressive forced egress approach.

Untitled from Sam and Vimeo.

Like you with that video,I eventually lost interest and just left him alone for like a half hour. He left. Also left a nice surprise outside last night. See where kindness to animals gets you? Nowhere.

Oh, if you were wondering, I didn't have any means for transporting Stinky elsewhere instead of letting him back into my yard. If only I had a pickup.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

That's what friends are for

New site mascot. Interesting aside, I do actually own this outfit.

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit

Courtesy of a coworker. Unfortunately, he also shared it with most of the rest of the office. All that hard earned respect - gone.

Almost fooled myself with that. I'm actually the office doormat, and just tickled about it.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007


I was driving home the other day, half listening to the radio, when something came on that caught my attention, and has subsequently changed my life. Eli Jaxon Bear (yes, that's his real name, don't you judge) was talking about awakening, and how one only realizes themselves when they realize that 'everything that is born and dies is not real, and everything that has no beginning or end is real'. Listen! (1:01 in) Isn't that INCREDIBLE? Don't worry about it not making sense, it's going to change who you are - or should I say, who you THOUGHT you were. Eh? That's what I thought.

*update* - It has since come to my attention that Eli is not who I thought he was. I'm beginning to think he doesn't really know who, or what, he is, and as a result, my faith is shattered. I'm sorry but I can no longer follow blindly behind a leader like this. Plus, you heard him talk. Everything's dying. He's right. So.....Orwellian.

What a douche.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Since most of my readers are on the team


I had to contact my doctor yesterday, because approximately 65% of my body is a rash. It's become a distraction at work because most of the day is consumed writhing, shirtless, on the floor to relieve the itching. It's a difficult thing to explain and retain your coworkers' respect. I haven't yet succeeded in initially gaining that respect, but someday this could become a problem.

So I call the good folks at the doctor's office, and after a lengthy explanation (audible, I'm sure, to the closest 30 people in me office: "No - it's a RASH. No, sometimes I skip bathing. Oh, do you think it could be contagious?") I'm placed on hold. Not unusual, it usually takes 3-5 people before you get to the person that can actually help you. Whether they help you or not is determined by a roll of a 26 sided die. (Note: Letter X is VERY unlucky) While I'm listening to the triumphant hold music, I decide to see how long I wait before speaking to someone. It's 4 minutes when the hold music stops...and starts over again. It's 6 minutes when the music starts and I can hear someone breathing heavily on the line. I move the phone away from my own mouth and still hear it, so I know it's someone else. You never know when you're an annoying breather, and it's good to check.

Me: Hello?
Office employee?: Hello? Are you with Dr. Quackstein?
Me: Yes...(I think they're asking if I'm waiting for someone from that office)
Office employee: Well I'm having a problem...(At this point I realize it's not someone who works in the office, and is instead an elderly man, who sounds a little like those grouchy muppets Statler and Waldorf that bitch and moan from the balcony.)
Me: Um, I don't work for the doctor. I'm a patient as well.
Old Man Winter: Oh, well can you connect me to the doctor's office.
Me: Um, no. I don't know how I'd do that.
OMW: Well, can you send me back to reception?
Me: Ah, no. I think we're both going to have to hang up and call back.
OMW: AHHhhh. *hangs up*

Now, besides being a little concerned my elder phone pal just died on the other end, I'm a little miffed at a few things. First, that he didn't even say goodbye. I thought the older generation valued manners. Apparently not. Second, why would the doctor's office connect two incoming patient calls? Why do they even have that option? Are they sitting there, and some burn victim calls in at the same time someone who ate a whole bunch of aloe vera calls in, and the old lightbulb goes off and the just connect the two so the aloe eater can go induce vomiting on the burned person? Besides being disgusting, and ineffective, I'm pretty sure it's illegal.

Now I wish I'd asked for his social security and bank account numbers. If he asked why I'd just tell him I was a doctor. No one questions that. Just like I never ask why I have to disrobe entirely in the waiting room every time I visit. It must be necessary, OR THEY WOULDN'T ASK.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Overheard at the gym

While I was at the gym (where I go to watch cable), I heard two gentleman having a conversation in the locker room.

Dude 1: Hey, do you take any whey protein?

Dude 2: Not whey, but I take a protein supplement.
Dude 1: How? Like, in a powder or something?
Dude 2: Yeah, 42 grams protein in a little packet. I put it in a shake.

Dude 1: Does it give you, um, digestive problems?

Dude 2: Uh, yeah. Sometimes.

Dude 1: Oh, good. I thought it was just me.

Note to self: empty shopping cart.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

In case you were tempted

I had this whole post written, and it was sorta funny, about a little biographical blurb at the end of an editorial for a local newspaper. I thought it had a typo in it that indicated the writer was planning on hunting his grandkids, which was funny. I started writing the post and found out I misread it, and it actually made sense - "whom he will be encouraging to hunt" instead of "whom he will be encouraged to hunt". Windham Sentinal 1, Sam 0.

Anyhoo, I'll substitute something entirely different and not nearly as funny. The old bait and switch.

Every time I climb the stairs to go to work, I do three things. First, I breathe through my mouth, because the stair tower smells like vomit, and I think always will. Second, I force myself to go to work and stay the whole day. Third, I see this sign. Now I know you're thinking, wow, when was that sign relevant? I'll tell you. 1989 was the last time smoking was allowed in public spaces, and Unionmutual demutualized in 1986. Which I think means they changed their name to something shorter (UNUM). So this sign is at least 21 years old, and yet it remains at its post, day after day, protecting the occupants of the office from second, third, and fourth hand smoke. Which makes it approximately 30 times more productive than me. It does not, however, protect the occupants from being stuck in strangely shaped cube while the roof leaks on their desks. Maybe that's a different sign.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Urine - not that great a solvent

So, as a favor (partly because I'm just a great guy and partly because I made a drunken commitment) I had the pleasure of dogsitting for someone I don't know. As a result, I feel I can freely pass judgment.

There are seven (as in not 1,2,3,4,5 or 6) dogs, and three cats. As a rule, I hate cats. In this case, I love the cats. They require nothing more than filling their bowl (which is often because the gluttonous, savage, retarded dogs eat their food too). I only had to take care of the dogs for a 24 hour period. That involved 4 visits, twice to feed and twice to let them out to pee/poo.

Turns out, they pretty much take care of that part on their own, inside the house, probably around 15 minutes before I got there. Of the four visits, there was piss on the floor 100% of the time. There was shit on the floor 50% of the time. And, during my last visit, the dogs had walked around in the number 1/number 2 blend and spread it on the floor. Thanks, a

So I tried to feed the dogs that are upstairs (a two-tiered storage system is necessary for the little bastards), let the downstairs dogs out, and then reverse after upstairs dogs were done eating. That would have worked nicely, if the upstairs dogs didn't get all pissy I'd let the others out first. So they ignored their food and wanted to go out. Fine. So I let them out, at which point the downstairs dogs came back
inside, up the stairs, and cleaned out the food that was waiting for the upstairs dogs. You can see where this is going. I am fairly sure one dog at 4 times, another twice, and two other dogs got half portions. The others? They might die. Not from starvation, but because I couldn't quite perfect the delicate combinations of medications, proper food and eyedrops required to keep the animals alive. I made a good faith effort to get it right, but if a couple expire I'm sure the neighbors won't complain.

So once the 'feeding' was over, I tried to clean up the excrement slurry. Complicated by the fact that the dogs always think I have a treat in my hand, even when what I actually have is a piece of their shit, wrapped in a blanket of urine-saturated paper towels. Eat up. Of course, their constant traffi
c managed to smear some of the poo on the floor (not carpet - practical choice, heathen dog owners). And I think it was while I concocted the idea that using the pee-soaked towels to wipe up the shit stain is when I decided, maybe I don't like dogs as much as I thought I did.

Or maybe I just don't like people who bring every stray/rescue dog in a 750 mile radius into their home and then rely on other people to take care of them. Who knows. What I do know is the city has this to say about it:

Just sayin'.