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'.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Chester, Chester, Child Molester...

Soccer team photo, aka the reason I'll never be photographed sober again:
Aww, nice group. Looks like a fun team to be on. Wait a minute, who's that in the corner? Who let them in there?

How old am I?

This is Carlos Tevez, he's a talented soccer player. Can you tell me how old he is?

Based on facial hair alone, I would give an answer of between 35-40.

Based on Hair Grease Coeffecient (HGC), I would guess 30-40.

Highlight for answer: 23

Thanks for playing.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Oh Barristers, How I love thee

Sometimes, I think things are more complicated than they need to be.

Sometimes, I think lawyers are tools.

Sometimes, two of my theories collide into a single pile of ridiculousness.

Say, hypothetically, you're speaking with someone on the telephone. Now, instead of saying, 'I spoke to them on the telephone', put on your retard hat and think of a different way to express that same concept.

If you came up with 'I communicated TELEPHONICALLY' then you win, and I think you're granted admission to the bar.

In the same spirit:
I shall no longer speak french, I will communicate francophonically.
I shall no longer mistake one word for another verbally, I shall be
confused homophonically .
I shall no longer play my favorite instrument, I shall rock out sousaphonically.
I won't feel left out, I'll feel excluded abandonically.
I won't be pro-life, I'll express my beliefs anti-abortionically.
I won't chafe, I'll be hurting frictionically.
I won't have a giant navel, I'll be large bellybuttonically.

I won't enjoy true stories, I'll be inclined nonfictionically.

I won't be angry the neighbor's dog crapped in my yard, I'll retaliate defecationically.
I won't throw away my aerosol spray cans, I'll protest chlorofluorocarbonically.
I won't allow my foreskin to remain, I'll take care of my man-parts circumcisionically.
I won't have a seizure, I'll behave convulsionically.
I didn't let the milk spoil, just lapsed refrigerationically.
No more rowdy college students - a ban on acting defenestrationically.
Ants? Not if I'm proactive fumigationically.
No more worrying about meeting new people, just exude
positivity impressionically.
Not 'too drunk to take that phone call', just inebriated incapacitationically.
No more embarrassment at the clinic, just in a bad way infectionically.
I won't have to explain my favorite subatomic particle, just more positronically prone than neutronically.
Not dizzy, just disposed rotationically.
Not unable to stand up, just indisposed erectionically.

I'm Rick Duffy, and I approve this message.

Friday, July 6, 2007

Coco Crisp is not gangsta

I'm about as white as you can get. So perhaps this post should be taken with a grain of salt (or pepper, I'm no racist). I have noticed a disturbing progression for a certain Red Sox outfielder though. When Coco was acquired in the winter before last season, he looked something like this:
Or maybe it was like this:The point is, it looked a whole lot more likely that he'd appear in some inane advertisement than show up as a guest on Nas' new album. Oh wait, he DID do some advertisements, didn't he? Oh yes, with his dad.
Hi, Coco. No, I do not want to pay $10 to be a member of RSN. Yes, I am sorry your father is unemployed. Anyway, he's just a smiling, happy dude, uber excited to be hawking any and everything for the Sox. Hell, he had a Hood sponsorship like 8 seconds after signing with the Sox, before he'd even played a game. This year though, he stopped talking with the media (probably because he had 36 RBI last YEAR) and stopped taking shit from anyone. Here he is telling Manny to shut up. Kind of passive aggressively though.
Of course, hair changes aren't unprecedented on the Sox. You'll remember this style from Bronson (McCarver don't call me Branden you son of a bitch) Arroyo. Arroyo was traded soon after. Reasons were not given, although this haircut along with a crappy album (seriously? Covering the Bases?) are suspected.

Coco has heated up of late, hitting 4 homers in his last 7 games played, including a grand slam last night in a 15-4 pummeling of the hapless Devil Rays, losers of their last 11 games. I am still mystified how he hits the ball out of the infield without a stride to speak of, but that's neither here nor there. It's like it's the anti-Coco showed up this season, and as a result, I am going to refer to him as Ococ. My new favorite player.

(Photos from, and I apologize for this post. It makes almost no sense.)

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Odds and Ends

- Is this an exchange that should take place between two adults:

F1: Your bangs make you look twelve.
F2: If you don't stop making fun of my hair I'm not going to your birthday party.

I'm inclined to say no. Especially if one of them is your significant other. I don't even want to say which one because there's no good answer. (Maybe it's both - bow chikka wa wow...No, it isn't.)

- Tiger Woods named his kid after me. Except, it's a girl. She is already better than me at every sport I play, and I imagine will have better boobs in a few weeks.

- There is no possible scenario in which the White House would consider pardoning me for any offense I commit. I am convinced if I was older and had a nickname like Scooter, things would be different. Or maybe just a nickname?

- I feel about as old as good ol' Scoot, because Jesus Shuttlesworth is 33 and plays for the Celtics now.

Monday, July 2, 2007

A tip of the cap

Usually, vandalism is not all that attractive. Some kid practicing his 'tag' by painting it 97 times on the same wall. Or one of those clever stickers that go on stop signs urging one to stop doing something with the possible exception of vandalizing street signs.

Sometimes, though, you come across a work so magnificently perfect that you must pay homage to it. And that is the case with the sign for Catwear.

I urge you to take a close look at the clearly delineated anus of the cat. That, friends, was not part of the sign when it was first installed.

Now, I don't know if it's meanspirited defacement, perhaps by a formerly independent and now very dependent woman, or simply an homage to the fact that, yes, cat's asses are funny and poorly hidden. I prefer to believe that it was an inspired moment - divine intervention perhaps, meant to make people point and smile.

Plus, it's kinda smeared so it looks like poop up close.

PETA told me to

In my backyard, there are two distinct factions: The animals, and the people who hate them. I am a member of the latter. I'm currently engaged in an ongoing battle with the groundhogs, but while trying to catch all those varmints, I've accidentally caught two skunks. In a hav-a-hart trap.

Which means they don't die.

Which means you either have to let them out, or kill them. I have no way to kill the skunks without getting close to them. So I let them go, because I'd rather not have a
) a guilty conscience or b)smelly dead skunk carcass rotting in a cage that I'd like to use again. As a result of my mercy, they don't leave my property. That's mostly why I was pleased to find a new treat on my lawn over the weekend. Someone (I like to think God) had taken care of what I wouldn't.
I took the liberty of moving the remains into the hole where the groundhogs live. I'm not sure what will happen there. I imagine a scene of shock and horror as the good 'lil hogs return home from a hard day pillaging to find a skunk carcass blocking their front door. At that point, they pack up and leave, never to return.

Or they relocate inside the house, change the locks and leave me to die.

Not this guy though:

He's been relocated to greener pastures elsewhere. Or at least as long as it takes until he finds his way back.