Let's not make a big deal out of this

But I'm going to start wasting my time with this blarging crap again.

I apologize to all those foolish enough to bookmark this page...

My latest fascination...

Fucking wine with snakes in it.



Okay, first off, don't think it's as simple as just putting a snake into a bottle of rice wine. You've got to gut the snake first (but don't forget, the heart goes back into the bottle, not in the scrap bucket).

See:


Two notes about the video:
1.) It creeped me the fuck out.
2.) I found it by typing in to google, I swear to god, "snake wine what the fuck".

Apparently this very, very manly intoxicant isn't just for looks; drinking it supposedly helps cure everything from diabetes to down syndrome (that's in addition to increasing your sexual prowess- because seriously, it wouldn't be a weird Asian custom if it didn't, now would it?).

But who cares why anyone would make it, the real question is how does it taste?

"It would best be described as a combination of Japanese Sake and cheap tequila with subtle tones of formaldehyde and fish jerky."

Another taster described it as:

"The taste was mysteriously bland, like licking envelope flaps or stamps. Oh, and the bottle I bought listed "ethanol" as its main ingredient.**

Personally, I give the first description much more merit; any bottle of snake wine with a list of ingredients is definitely not the real deal. Plus the second quote came from a guy who writes for The Washington Post, and you'd have to be some kind of pussy to write for the The Washington Post.

Apparently the more poisonous the snake, the more badass the wine is (don't worry, the poison is broken down chemically by the alcohol).

Here's the best part of snake wine- you never run out; once you drink the bottle down you're supposed to just put more rice wine in and let it age a few months. BAM! More snake wine. It's like what Jesus did with the fish and the loaves of bread.

But, if you're re-using one bottle for an extended period of time, be careful. If you shake the bottle, the dead, gutless reptile you're storing in a bottle of something you plan on later drinking will shed its scales. And that would be gross.

*http://alanabdine.blogspot.com/2005/10/snake-wine-shooters-on-li-river.html
**http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/20/AR2007042000638.html

Darth Efficient, Sith Lord of Homework

I'm in the middle of an historic procrastination session, and I dare say I may have outdone myself this time. And I'm no slouch in this area, in fact I'm an expert. As far as not doing homework goes, I'm world class. I still haven't turned in my Spanish 3 final; it was due at the end of the hour four years ago.

Anyway,
I'll be up all nite writing a stupid paper that probably won't even ever get read (and certainly not by me), so entertain me.

And I know, I know, worst post ever. Beat you to it.

GET THAT MOTHERFUCKING SNAKE OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING BABY!!

seriously, though, cheapest nanny ever.




my favorite part is that the parents (or best older siblings ever, seriously don't tell mom and dad what they did) who filmed it can afford a video camera, but can't afford baby pants.

"Hit a Worker, $10,000" *

*actual sign I saw on the Interstate in Oklahoma.

Yes, normally the word "fine" is up there somewhere, but apparently in the land of red dirt brevity is king. My first thought after seeing it, other than "damn, I wish I could get a picture of that, was "But what if I don't wanna hit a worker? Is there any other way I can get the money?" And my second thought was "Miles Roby would give me ten points for this."

On a related note, I saw these two seemingly unrelated news items (see photo below) in two separate papers today. Intentional? perhaps. Hilarious? definitely.

So you think you can date?

It's November; you're lonely, single, and desperate. You know that when you go back home for Christmas you're going to run into some of your old friends. You know the ones; the ones you can't stand to be around anymore. And you know they're going to ask you...

"How ya' been, what are ya' up to these days?"

But your job sucks. Your apartment sucks. Your friends suck. Your lovelife is non-existent. And know that after so-and-so asks you about your pathetic life, she's going to show you her big stupid diamond engagement ring.

This cannot happen. Again. We all remember your crying session from last year after you ran into that pimply girl who sat behind you in English class at the grocery store, the one who's pretty, rich, and happy now. How could that have happened? She was soooo pimply.

You must have a relationship by Christmas; or at least something that you can fake as a relationship.

So, in a moment of wine-induced strength you take that first step. Like Indiana Jones when he had to step onto the invisible bridge at the end of Last Crusade (spoiler alert: there's an invisible bridge).

You set up an online dating profile.

And before you know it, you've got five suitors filling up your inbox.

But there's only enough time in your schedule to go on two dates before the holidays; so pick two fellers to accompany you on a wild nite on the town...


Below, I've placed five personal ad profiles; some taken from a popular dating website, and some from the FBI's most wanted list. All the information is straight from the respective web site (I changed the wording only, never the content).

Step 1. pretend you're a pathetic girl (if you aren't one already)
Step 2. for each suitor, pretend you're the age that would date him
Step 3. pick two hunky beaus to buy you dinner
Step 4. try not to pick an axe murderer

Contestant No. 1
HistoryBuff_in_the_buff_420_69

Contestant number 1 is in his later years, seeking an older female to share his interests with. He is an avid reader who prefers historical nonfiction. He can often be found in the local library, or traveling to famous American historic sites. He enjoys walking, either in the park or at one of the nearby beaches. Extensively traveled throughout North America and Europe.

Contestant No. 2
NiceGuy_LastPlace_420_69

Contestant number 2 loves going out to dinner and catching a movie, going to book stores, coffee shops, garage sales, taking short road trips, and traveling. Also enjoys playing new golf courses around the country.

Contestant No. 3
Self/motivated_self/starter_420_69

Contestant number three is an eager self starter that has had to work for everything he has. He enjoys spending time on the lake, or just a night in with close friends.

Contestant No. 4
Bi_Party_Guy_420_69

This fine gentlemen is fluent in French has a Master's Degree in International Finance. He spends his time golfing, snowboarding, and clubbing. He's into fast cars, fast women, and curious boys. Serious inquiries only, please.

Contestant No. 5
Rowdyboy_420_69

Our final contestant is a good ole' boy who is a former fireman and current respiratory therapist. He likes to spend his time outdoors, whether it be hunting, fishing, or horseback riding with a special someone.



Answer key

Car Shopping

I've been on ebay looking for a deal on a used car (one of my head lights went out and I'd rather trade it in than fix it), and I've fallen in love. With a car. A car that's a hooker. It's just like Pretty Woman crossed with Herbie the Lovebug.

The object of my affections? A 1995 Ford Escort. What do I love about it? Well, it's not the "ice cold" air conditioning, not the a.m./f.m. cassette player, and not the douchebag-green exterior; it's the name.

Most people think that the worst name ever given to a car was the Chevy "Nova." Sounds like "supernova," bad ass, right? Yeah. But it also sounds like "no va," which means "doesn't go" in Spanish (which it turns out was surprisingly accurate).

But there's a car with a worse (better) name: The Ford Escort. Naming your line of compact cars after hookers... that's a ballsy move, Mr. Ford. I wonder if maybe your great-grandfather actually wanted to name his first car the "Topless Model-A."

Who cares about gas mileage;
I want a car named after a call girl.
I want a car that charges money for sex.
I want a car I'm embarrassed to bring home to meet my parents.
I want a Ford Escort.

And I want it in the worst way.

The Carroll County Accident

In addition to being an enigmatic classic country song, "The Carroll County Accident" is what I call the girl who sits in front of me during one of my bullshit classes.

I can't stand her. She's a real piece of work. Or shit. Whatever. I'm going to try to describe her. But it's going to be hard for me to do- if I'm going to write about her I have to think about her, and if I have to think about her I have to keep throwing up.

Her name is Carroll. Like a song you sing at christmas. Except instead of being jolly and merry, she makes you want to die.

I guess the first thing you should know is that she's tall, very tall. Like the world trade center before it fell down. And oddly shaped. Like an hourglass, only the opposite. I could compare her hips to a wildebeest, but I won't. But I will compare her feet to hog hooves. Even though a more accurate description would be to say that her feet are each a whole hog. And she wears a lot of open-toed shoes. Maybe I should say "open-toad shoes." Have you ever seen a cane toad? They're disgusting. And that's what she walks on. Or if we were to maintain the swine analogy I'd say each foot looks like a pig in a pen that's way too small for it. If this girl could somehow impale two piglets onto her stumps, well, that's what we're dealing with.

And her hair, my god her hair. Until I heard her voice, I didn't think anything above her neck could be worse than her hair. It looks like a beaver tail. If beaver tails were made of birds' nests. Her voice is beyond nasally, like if fran drescher and Alvin the Chipmunk procreated (which would explain the hair).

Anyway, I hate her. And the other day she was talking to the guy who sits next to her (he must have done some real fucked up stuff in a past life) and she was telling him how she loves beauty pageants. She saw the miss america bullshit live last year. And she sometimes competes. She told him more about it, but at this point it was every man for himself and I left the room.

What the fuck.

Also, this is what her feet look like in her fancy high heels:

The O.J. Simpsons Movie

You can tell how old someone is by what they know about O.J. Simpson. People under twenty-five know him as the famous guy from the murder trial their teachers wouldn't stop yakking about when they were in middle school. People over twenty-five know him as the guy from the Naked Gun movies, and also, of course, the murder trial. And to people older than that he's the great football star, who was later accused of murder.

And while I don't condone his actions (specifically the Naked Gun sequels), I do respect how he keeps managing to reinvent himself so he can stay relevant to subsequent demographics. He's the Madonna of murderers.

Fifty Minutes of Motherfucking

Sometimes just getting out of bed is enough to ruin your whole day. I've been trying to make one of my teachers feel that way each Wednesday. She runs a bullshit discussion group disguised as as a bullshit class.

Every week she starts class by saying "what did you find interesting in the assigned reading?" In case you're wondering, "nothing" is not the right answer; just a little FYI. When she says this the fuck-face students take it as their cue to volunteer some trite observation that doesn't actually answer the question because there's no way in hell that they actually thought anything in the reading was interesting.

But what happens when the professor runs out of asshole volunteers? She randomly picks someone- "You, what did you find interesting?" And she keeps this up until class ends. Or until that last student has finally killed him or herself.

Oh, also this is the class with the carroll county accident in it. It's a real son of a bitch.

Anyway, last week she asked me what I thought was the most interesting thing about the reading. I told her "the typo on page 67."

And I was dead serious.

So I was at the Jewish Center this morning...

...eating blintzes, when all of the sudden United States Congresswoman Nancy Boyda showed up. She stole my chair and then offered me a spot working on her next campaign. I said 'yes', until I realized she wasn't talking about Halo.

Actual sign posted at my gym

Attention Members:
We'd love to keep the jacuzzi open, but the HEALTH DEPARTMENT is making us close it down because SOMEONE keeps SHAVING, WASHING, AND DEFACATING in it. Because of this, there will no longer be a jacuzzi to use.

Okay, so my first thought was "wow, one guy is doing all that stuff?" And my second thought was "I wonder what order he's doing these things in?"

I accidentally bought girl deodorant again

And the scent isn't just slightly feminine, it's fucking girlie. Like Lisa Frank girlie. And delicious. I smell like a million bucks.

Here's the thing, it took me a while to figure out where this beautiful aroma was coming from. I kept wondering why my dirty shirts smelled like a prom dress. And then one night while laying in bed I realized "oh my god, it's me!" I did some Veronica Mars-ing and traced the scent back to my "fresh scent" SURE invisible solid.

If you see me, I'll happily oblige if you ask for a sniff. And it's worth it, believe me.

Hide the milk

What scares me most about an army of undead skeleton warriors rising from the wet earth to take their place at the top of the evolutionary food chain with large swords and three point hats, aside from their viscousness and lack of mercy (much like the reavers from Firefly), is that fact that because they don't have muscle cells to fill with lactic acid, which is the cause of fatigue, they'll never get tired. At least not in the 'weakened' sense of the word, I'm sure they still get sleepy. Hopefully. Oh my god, what if they don't sleep? We're so fucked.

And because they don't have blood, they're immune to attacks from vampires. An onslaught of osteoporosis is our only hope.




God, class is so boring right now.

My Gym (again)

Joining a gym has proven quite useful, if for no other reason that it keeps giving me (boring) blog material.

The latest is this:

Naked Realtor was in the free weight room (clothed). I walk by and say "hey."

He looks at me like I was fucking scum. Motherfucker (clothed) didn't even recognize me from three days ago when he yakked my goddamned ear off (unclothed).

But that wasn't even the highlight of this workout, no the highlight was this:

Morbidly obese man wearing a weight belt to protect his back, spent thirty minutes doing one, yes one, exercise over and over and over (not that it matters but it was a tricep pulldown, which is the sort of thing you'd want to do three sets of, not three hundred).

Astonished that he was still doing it a half hour after I arrived (and lord knows how long he'd been doing it before I showed up), I happened to walk by him only to overhear him say to no one in particular "this is stupid."

Yes it is, Mr Morbidly Obese, yes it is. He's my new favorite gym character, beating out the previous favorite, cat tattoo dyke lady. Yes, I'm not the only one with a cattoo. But she's got no Ptattoo (at least that I"m aware of), so I still win.

This morning I was walking sometimes-commenter Ginny Weasley's dog-like creature

So as part of my dog-sitting duties I walked the dog-substitute around the neighborhood. Whilst doing so, I crossed paths with a bum. He was digging through garbage bins collecting cans.

He sees me walking the dog.

"Mornin'" he says.

"Hi there," I say back. And then I keep walking.

This guy was stealing people's trash, I was walking a dog, but somehow he had the upper hand in the "respectability" category.

While walking away I realized this, so I turned around and yelled "You know, it's not my dog."



It would not be the last time I said that during this walk.


That is all.

It's like Justin Timberlake leaving 'N Sync

Only you know, more boring.

Persnicketiest is so last year. This is the new blog.

My plan is to make three or four posts and then lose interest. This seems like an attainable goal.