Tongs

Yesterday I was fixing up a ham sandwich. White bread. Swiss cheese. Tomatoe.

Now here's the problem. I have to assemble all of those crucial ingredients, with plastic tongs.

Whenever I'm using tongs I always think, "This would be much easier if I just used my fingers". The ham always gets folded up and gross, the cheese is hard to peel apart, and the tomatoe always gets mangled. Why?

Tongs.

I declare, this day, is anti-tong day. Cast down your tongs. Shout and make signs. Use your fingers.

Die Flipper

There is a certain fish who missed out on the meaning of THANKSgiving.

Joe- my roomate- took Flipper home with him for the holiday. Sources say that the damn fish just yapped about how unhappy he was. How awful I am. How he wants plush toys.

How is bowl isn't pristine.

How the poker chips- that I gave him- were too slimy.

How I neglect him and don't play with him.

How I don't give him gourmet treats.

How my breath stinks in the morning.

How my face looks.

He's still living at Joe's house, where I hope he'll suffer. I don't want to see his filth anymore. I talked to my lawyers about a restraining order. I even said hateful things. I turned my face away. You'll never see him here, ever again.

Good riddance.

Sabre Teef

A few of my friends are getting their wisdom teeth out during Christmas break.

Mine were extracted this summer. I was told horror stories. The pain, the agony, the blood, the gauze, ice. Not to mention stitches.

The icing on the cake was a video they showed me during the "evaluation appointment". Imagine a doctor, with jaws like a saber tooth tiger, outlining side effects of the operation: "Including but not limited to nausea, hiccupping, lock jaw, and mild death".

I was apprehensive and shaken. I wasn't comforted either when the doc comes in and talks casually about last night's popular reality show.

Let me tell you. The entire experience was enjoyable and painless. In one moment I'm sitting in the chair, in the next I'm giggling and sipping a vanilla milk shake. I go home, recline in bed and drift off, a happy subject to the miracles of anethesia.

It was a great time. Absolutely fantastic. Except there was the 3 hour spell of hiccups. I threw a temper-tantrum.

Rest easy, 'cause the euthanasia, I mean, the anethesia fairy is coming to visit. Enjoy the ride.

The Latest Project

You may be wondering why I have been bad about posting lately.

Well wonder no more.

I've been working for you all this time, so save yourself postage and stop the hatemail.

This is the latest project- my buddy Sam's idea. Please spread the word, tell your friends.

http://www.geocities.com/pandamysteries

Rise and Shine

I woke up at 2:30 PM.

I went to go see the new Harry Potter.



Hermione.

Food

I've had some recent experiences with food, and I'd like to share them with you.

Grab a log and toast a marshy.

Last night I was busy filming shows, and I missed dinner. Even worse, I had not had lunch because I was busy learning about verbs.

I remembered the stash of Cup O' Noodles I had under my bed. I tend to use these rations as a last resort. I discovered that when I eat them before I go to bed, I wake up with a cranium crunching, MSG hang over.

I do not have a microwave.

I thought to myself. There it was. My cup-at-a-time coffee maker, perfect for a Cup O' Noodles.

As I found out the hard way, I put too much water in. I reached under the boiling drip and scalded the "jesus, mary and josephhhhh fu*k me that burns" out of my hand.

Well now boiling water is dripping everywhere, so I sloppily set the Cup O' Noodles on my desk, where it teetered for a moment, and spilled partially on my laptop.

I managed to get a cup under the drip, and I caught my fish flipping me the bird. Well you know what? He's not getting fed anymore. Ungrateful son of a pet store.

-

In the end, the situation worked out fantasticly. Everytime I boot up my computer, I'm treated to the smell of warm noodles simmering in chicken broth. And now I don't have to spend thousands on gourmet food for an aquatic whore.

Vroom

It's now that time in the show where we talk about my truck.

I have a 1989 Nissan truck, 2 door, manual. No handle for passenger door. Gas gauge? Nope. Power Steering? Nope. Radio? Nope. How many speeds for your wipers? Two.

I discovered another little glitch today.

I'm driving North on I-95, minding my own business. There is a heap of dirty laundry in the passenger seat, and my trusty laptop is attempting to blare tunes over the whine of a V4 attempting highway speed. I'm headed home for the weekend.

It's approxiamately 8:00pm. I'm in the right lane, cruising along, and spilling scalding Cinnabon coffee on my crotch. I look in my rear view, and see a car right on my ass. So I, being a gentleman, pulled into the left lane to allow this person to pass.

This person followed me into the left lane, and for a few moments I remember thinking, "Ooh a friend."

Blues.

Siren.

My friend pulls me over, and decides that he'd like to see my license and registration. He informs me that I was traveling at 85 mph- thats miles per hour for my Canadian readers.

Well I just happened to be checking my speedometer, and according to that instrument, I was traveling at 70. Well I found out the hard way that the needle gets STUCK ON 70.

But here's what I love. As I'm explaining to him the joys of driving a shitty vehicle, he gets a call on his radio.

"10-83, possibly heading towards your position. Please respond."

And in the next moment, my friend was gone.

I love my truck.

Weights

If you lift weights, read the next sentence. If not, ignore it.

Well heres your medal. Go take a celebratory lap while I consult the sane folks.

Lifting weights. Why? I don't get it. Why lift artificial heavy things, when you can go outside, and lift a log. There are logs everywhere. Live in New York City? Go find something else to lift thats heavy. Like an Olsen twin.

Feel the need to lift objects to make your appendages swell? Do me a favor. Get a log. Or no. You know what? Go pay a poke gym so you can get buff, when nature gives you options for free.

Balls.

Diapers

Today I found myself in the diaper aisle of the grocery store. Its funny how I tend to "find myself" in these places.

I kind of stumbled a bit after I realized I was surrounded by mounds of diapers. Think about what the aliens think: "The earthlings require several thousand brands and styles of shit catchers."

I casually leaned in and checked the price tag. Do you realize? $11-$20 for ultra absorbant shit catchers. Yeah thats fair. I'll tell you what, my kids aren't getting Huggies.

No. Little Randolphffpf can go shit on the lawn for free. Fertilize my grass. Everyone's happy. He's even got the dog to teach him.

Bathroom Humor 4EVER

My Dad showed up today, unannounced, as I was headed out to do a ghost hunt. Home is 4 hours away, but Dad was on a business trip.

It was great, even though our ghost hunt has been post-poned. I showed him around campus.

He used the bathroom, commenting that he didn't get a chance to "have a good shit this morning".

Well Dad, I haven't had a good shit in months. I can't even rest my cheeks on porcelain without worrying about lingering STD's.

The real joy is squatting above an automatic flusher. Flush. Flush. Flush. --- Why'd it stop? Flush. There it is.

You wonder why I appear strung out, on edge, jittery? Wipe your ass with TP the equivalent to sand paper and tell me how you feel.

Cheese

This evening I caught myself in one of those "What the hell am I doing" moments.

I took a trip to Wal-Mart solely for the purpose of buying cheese dip.

This realization hit me as I was speaking with the cashier. I informed her that I "needed the cheese", when she retorted "swipe your debit card to the left please".

And then as I'm walking out the door, I caught myself staring, completely transfixed by the lights of the claw game. I'm writing FocusFactor a letter.