January 2013 Archives


Farooq is one of those immigrants. You know the type. He moved here from his native Pakistan, got married, and raised American kids in America. He has also stubbornly clinged to the ways of his homeland, imposing his preferences and prejudices on his American sons. They must be perfect Muslims, even though they aren't remotely Muslim. They should fast during Ramadan. Not so much as a stick of gum. Pork? Nizzar, please. And god forbid they have a non-Muslim, non-veiled mate.

And Farooq is a dick about it.

He's in the hospital right now. He feels horrible. Doctors are scrambling to find out why. He had a theory, so he called his son. "How old were those cookies?" Farooq asked his baffled son. It turns out the old man had helped himself to some cookies in the son's refrigerator. After some soul-searching, the son decided to admit that his dad had severe marijuana poisoning. "You're supposed to eat one cookie, not a dozen."

Odds of Farooq admitting that he's baked? Nil.

And so he groans on in the hospital, praying five times a day for relief. And that no one thinks to test him for THC.

cavalcade of IMs

Help me decide which staffer's message is the more annoying:

I'm not available because:
1) I'm going for a walk on Venice Beach.
2) I'm taking a shower
3) I'm going to baby-swimming class

or, from Katrina:

4) Amy isn't available because she's at her kid's thing.


Why is it that super-fancy, expensive hotels charge for web access, yet cheapo roach motels throw in web connectivity for free? That's backwards, isn't it?

While I'm at it, how come we consider hotels with a phone next to the toilet to be the classy ones?

equal time

I feel bad. I make fun of gun nuts without allowing them so much as an opportunity to comment. That borders distastefully on self-pleasure. In the interests of fairness, I thought I'd publish a representative counterargument to the call for reasonable gun laws.


Be the first person to like this = hope for mankind

victory lap

I've avoided commenting on the bizarre fake-dead-girlfriend story. Everything that could be said, has been, breathlessly, 17 times per hour on 4000 TV channels. I have but two things to add:

  • I thought to register fakedeadgirlfriend.com mere hours after someone else did.
  • Our silly obsession with this story is proof that the terrorists have lost.
Want more proof? I give you Texas Apartment to Track Dog Poop Offenders Using DNA

remember: his vote is worth as much as yours

Question on Seattle radio just now: "Was Barack Obama born around the same time as Dr. Martin Luther King?"

"Uh, no. They were born about 40 years apart."

"Then how come he acts like he knows so much about him?"

map porn

For reasons I cannot explain, I've always stared at maps. When I was a kid, I would spend hours examining the Rand McNally road atlas, to the point where my older brother once took it away and said "It ain't a centerfold, kid." Indeed it is not. My use for a centerfold was a minute and a half, tops. But maps gave hours of fun.

In adulthood this peculiar interest has flourished, thanks to Google maps. Last night I spent hours exploring the northern extremities of Canada, zooming in to street views of roads I shall never take, looking at users' photos of sights I shall never visit. Sure, I could show you photos of the Northern Lights or belugas or a ghost town. But why?


Distinguished Stank troll and all-around muckraker Marta asks what I think of the NRA calling Obama a hypocrite for being skeptical about armed guards in classrooms while his own daughters have Secret Service protection.

And with that, the NRA has finally abandoned all pretense of logic and sanity.

Do I really need to diagram the speciousness of their analogy? I will if I must, but I have to think this assertion made even the most ardent gun fetishist wince.

i wish i'd stood in bed


self.dɪˈfiː.tɪŋ adj. Stepping out of the shower and into a warm puddle of chunky dog puke.

See also irony, metaphor, canicide

gen-xers' kids, defined

"NO! NO!" the dangling child shrieked as I approached. "You're going to tickle me!"

I stopped short of the monkey bars. I assured the four year old that I would not tickle her, that I merely wanted to spot her. It took many minutes of heated accusations and denials, but finally she let me spot her.

When she got to the other side untickled, I reminded her of her accusations. "Don't you think you owe me an apology?"

She looked confused. "I don't know what that word means," she finally admitted.

if you don't wince, you're the guy on the right


seahoax. seafaux?

A funny thing happens when the Seahawks make the playoffs. Seattle people who never before showed any interest in football suddenly want to talk about football. This includes the local media. Ordinarily, I'll go entire weeks during the season without hearing the Hawks mentioned, but these last two weeks, they've been the lead story. Well, maybe not the Seahawks, but certainly the wonderfulness of their fans.

My housecleaner came on Saturday with her boyfriend, who sometimes helps. He's a pleasantly dumb, 20 year old puppy whose only flaw is a desire to chat me up. On the upside, he's tall enough to fold blankets without dragging them through dog hair on the floor.

When they arrived, I was watching football. I turned it off in favor of putting on her favorite music.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"Oh, he doesn't care about the game," he answered. "It's not the Seahawks!"

Don't say anything, John. Don't make eye contact.

It didn't help. He latched on to me. I wrote down what he said, because I wanted to be sure I got it right: "We don't usually watch football. But now that the Seahawks are in the playoffs, we're huge fans. Otherwise, it's like, you know, what's the point?"

You can't make this stuff up.

tapping new mothers

My business is largely cyclical, and I can't employ more than a couple people year round. Twice a year, though, I have to bulk up the staff quite a bit. It's hard to find people who can work hours like that, let alone qualified people. This has led me to a great untapped resource: new mothers. They're one demographic that looks at sporadic hours as a swell feature.

It also means that I'm forever accommodating unfathomably annoying kid shit. Pony lessons, Teacher Appreciation Day, judo, breastfeeding. You name it, I've had to work extra hours because of it.

This morning, we reached a new low. Her excuse:

"I'm in the middle of a job, but need to go to baby music-appreciation class."
If anything shouts I'm a white person with too much goddamned free time and money, I humbly submit baby music-appreciation class.

wing sauce

There are a lot of perfectly good reasons not to surf. Here's #1 with a bullet, later found on the guy's GoPro camera.


old man smell

I was reading my hometown newspaper when I saw a link: "Local coach arrested."

Please be Micky, please be Micky, please be Micky, I thought. I clicked the link. It was Micky.

• • •

When I was a freshman in high school, Micky ruled the school. He was a senior and the school's undisputed, swaggering king. A football star and a lunkhead, he was also our Biff Tannen. We all hated, feared, and wanted to be him. Why did we want to be him? Because he was boinking the hottest girl in school, Bianca. Oh, how we all wanted her. It was a certainty. Those naughty-pretty looks, that game-show hostess body....pubescent boys were going to be unanimous on Bianca's virtues. She haunted our collective dreams.

This being the midwest, she married Micky right after high school.

• • •

Back to that link. After high school, Micky became a lunkhead health teacher/football coach at a nearby suburb. His arrest was due to alleged mutual domestic violence between him and Bianca a few weeks ago. The article also mentioned that they're getting a divorce. Good stuff.

I went to their Facebook pages to see what else I might find, and that's when I saw it.


I got no sleep that night.

tail-whipped balls

In Dex and Fredo, I have my first dogs of any height that also still have their full tails. Ed, most recently, furiously wiggled a furry little nub at me. Until Dex and Fredo, I had never really given tail-docking much thought. I figured it was for hygiene or something.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.


Let me tell ya, it's hard to keep planning the big Pittsburgh '13 move when the Steelers finished the season sucking bilgewater. It is a test of faith. I am failing.

And it's seemingly increasingly silly to tell people I'll be there "through the playoffs." Hockey playoffs, maybe.

moron taxonomy
stupid church signs
super bowl xl officiating
percy chronicles

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