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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

The infinite shame of the pink princess pen

Today, at a work picnic, someone had laid out trinkets and other chintzy crap on every table. I found a pink pen adorned with fuzz and a princess on top.

I thought, 'This belongs in the Fishbowl, because nobody would ever steal this clown garbage,' so I put it in my pocket for future delivery.

Tonight at a meeting everyone had to fill out raffle tickets, so I took out the princess pen and wrote my name as discreetly as possible.

The guy next to me asked if he could use my pen, so I handed it to him. He looked at me like I was fucking with him, but I explained it was for the computer lab. 'YOU BOUGHT THIS?!' No, dude, I got it for free. You know, I've got the hookup on homosexual writing utensils, man.

Oh, and the pen lights up, so when the guy wrote his name, the princess glowed red and the guy glared at me.

But on the upside, he didn't steal the pen.

(bed.)

I think the only writing utensil more embarrassing than that pink princess pen would have been a purple dildo dipped in paint. "Here, guy next to me. It writes really big, so be careful."

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Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Street preacher sucks at the internet

Today the homophobic screaming preacher should be out on the Diag. This guy's 'on tour', hitting UofM as only one of many college campuses that will get harassed in the name of God.

However, my biggest problem with him isn't his homophobia or his assholish tenacity. Oh no, check out his website.

Mike Venyah condemns college kids for sinning, but come on, man. 3d word art on a red background over poorly-compressed jpegs? You're the sinner here, buddy, not me.

Page titles include: "Do you have BLOODY HANDS?", "Why Rap music will send you 2 HELL!", and "What kind of fireman are you?" All of these pages seem compelling, but it's hard to read them because the links to them go to somebody's D: drive.

So before that guy on the Diag yells at you and makes you feel bad for drinking, smoking, and engaging in lots and lots of sodomy, keep in mind that he sucks at the internet.

(work.)

If you're in Ann Arbor and you see this guy stomping around the Diag and he says you're going to hell, counter that with "Oh yeah? Your website is poorly designed." That'll show him!

This guy wears shirts that say, "NO HOMOS GO TO HEAVEN!" My buddy Danny also pointed out that he had to make those shirts himself because regular t-shirt screeners probably wouldn't make them. What this means is that while he's a loud, mean man, he's also a t-shirt screener using his powers for evil.

Next time you see this guy yelling at innocent passersby, picture him making t-shirts for hours and hours. Seems a lot less menacing now, doesn't he?

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Monday, September 25, 2006

Jeff Lewis: rebel, lawyer, inmate

Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to Jeff Lewis, a guy in my 7th grade class who was later bumped up to 8th grade because the principal was afraid of him.

Jeff was big for his age. Maybe he matured early or maybe he was held back years ago. Either way, he was big and got into a lot of fights, so our principal moved him up to 8th grade so he'd be out of school faster.

Basically he scared our school's administration, so they said, 'You're huge, so we're moving you up a grade.'

There's a chance Jeff got to high school and his teachers thought, 'Damn, he's big and violent, let's just pass him and be done with it.' In a couple weeks, he's got a high school degree.

Then he applies to college and the dean sends him a letter saying, 'Please don't beat me up. Enclosed is your diploma.'

Yep, life sure could be funny for this guy, though he's more likely to be in prison for beating a man with a shovel.

(Best buy.)

To continue the story:
Jeff applies to law school and he gets a letter back saying, 'Don't bother coming here. We pulled some strings and you passed the Bar. Leave us alone.'

Jeff goes to court and the judge immediately says, 'Jeff wins, so this guy's guilty and getting executed. You can leave the courtroom, Jeff. Don't hit me.'

On to Real Life Jeff Lewis news:
My buddy Darryl pointed out that a couple years ago he saw Jeff's brother at a park. Apparently Jeff played bass and sang in a hardcore band. Good for him, I say.

Darryl ripped Jeff's band's CD and sent me a couple mp3s. It was your typical hardcore music, though the band's collective education seemed to be lacking, as evidenced by the lyric:

"BURN THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE!"

...

No, seriously.

Here's wikipedia's summary of the Declaration of Independence:
"The Declaration of Independence is the document in which the Thirteen Colonies in North America declared themselves independent of the Kingdom of Great Britain and explained their justifications for doing so."

Yeah, burn that fucker, Jeff! America sucks! Being a collection of separately chartered and governed British colonies is fucking awesome, man!

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Saturday, September 23, 2006

Hi, I'm Nuggets

Before I'd met Amy's father, she told him my last name was Birdseye (like the frozen food company my great grandfather founded) so he started calling me Niblets. At the time, I had no clue what niblets were because that is a stupid word and I would not want to use it regularly. (Niblets are bits of corn, I think. If a niblet expert can help me out here, that'd be appreciated.)

Before I met her father, I asked Amy what he called me. 'Nuggets,' I think. So when I introduced myself to Amy's dad, I said 'Hi, I'm Nuggets.' Then he asked me if I was nuggets with or without the sauce and we proceeded to exchange some really bad dialogue about nuggets.

Later, as we were walking away from her dad, I asked Amy, 'You sure he called me Nuggets? Now that I think about it, that has nothing to do with frozen food the name Birdseye.'
'Oh shit, he called you Niblets.'
'So I just introduced myself as Nuggets for nothing?'
'Yep.'
'Damn.'

(Tally Hall.)

As soon as Amy's dad asked me if I was Nuggets with or without sauce, I felt sick. He wanted to run with the nickname I'd just accidentally given myself. I felt like an idiot talking about whether I had sauce. "Hey Nuggets, do you have sauce?" No matter whether I said, "Yes, I have sauce," or "No, I don't need sauce," I would have hated myself for contributing to this conversation. Running with the "Henry is Nuggets" line of thought made me cringe, but I had to run with it because I didn't want to make a bad impression with Amy's father.

Had I refused the sauce conversation and run with my instincts, things would have gone something like this:
"You're Nuggets, huh? Are those the nuggets with sauce?"
"Hold on just a sec. I'm going to go drown myself in the restroom."
"Take your time, Nuggets."
(pause)
(a toilet flushes, and I am no more)

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Wednesday, September 20, 2006

To live, you must hit a dude with a forklift

Today at the FedEx receiving building I saw a sign that said '147 days without an accident, 19 without an injury.' Immediately I assumed that accidents caused injuries. Someone drops a box on another guy's foot - an accident - and he has to get a prosthetic leg - an injury. That makes sense, right? Also the prosthetic leg can shoot lasers.

However, because the numbers are uneven, to me, it meant only one thing: People in there were getting hurt on purpose. It's only been 19 days since an injury, but 141 days since an accident, so clearly some warehouse dude hit another warehouse did with a forklift on purpose. The boss asked him, 'Dave, did you hit Charlie with the forklift?' and Dave says, 'Yes, it was on purpose,' and the boss says, 'Well, he's been fatally injured, but on the upside, at least it wasn't an accident.'

That kind of reasoning happened automatically when I saw that sign, but I think it's because I've always wanted to hit somebody with a forklift.

(bed.)

There comes a time in a man's life where he must seek a forklift and run somebody over, just to get it out of his system. In the olden days, people believed that if one was not acting upon his primal urges at least once, he was not truly living. Using this belief I just made up and referenced, you have not truly lived until you have hit a dude with a forklift.

However, I'm pretty sure "accidents" just means "car accidents" and not "injuries lacking deliberation," so chances are those FedEx employees haven't really killed a man with a forklift.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Sensitivity toward Hebrews, necrotechnophilia

I am currently resurrecting my old computer from the dead.

People would say I'm playing God if my computer were a human or a very smart dog, but since it's just a computer, we have nothing to worry about.

By the way, for those of you who are Jewish and cannot read His name, I meant 'playing G-d.' For the dyslexic Jews, I meant 'very smart d-g.'

(what about a very smart g-d?)

I bought a keyboard from woot a while back and, after googling for an hour, visiting three buildings, and driving for over an hour over the course of two days, I got it.

Check out this slideshow, but we warned: Images of this sleek, sexy keyboard may suddenly make you want to have sex with your computer.

If you want to have sex with your computer, but your computer is dead (like mine), are you a necrotechnophiliac? Also, if you Google "necrotechnophiliac" in three months when Google's spiders archive this damn page, will you get my page and my page alone? I sure hope so!

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Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Drink 'til you do Katz

My roommate, Katz, is a really nice guy. Sure, he's not some big, strong man, but he's really nice, even if he's always flipping me off for no reason.

He's a good guy, but he's also single, and I think he deserves a girlfriend. Because of this, whenever a girl's in the apartment, I get excited. Hey! Maybe they'll suddenly fuck!

At parties, when Katz is there, and girls are there, we used to get the girls to play a game called 'Drink 'Til You Do Katz.' To date, no ladies have 'won,' and by 'won' I mean 'gotten blind drunk and made out with my roommate.'

So if you have a friend, ex-girlfriend, or sister that you think Katz should make out with, shoot me an IM, and I'll see if I can rub her face against his until they fall in love (or at least have some sex).

(work.)

Thinking "Maybe they'll suddenly fuck" makes sex seem like a "stop, drop, and roll" kind of thing. "It was just a reflex. The sex alarm went off."

Oh man, if they sell sex alarms, I'm buying one. How can you argue with an alarm? Is it worth jeopardizing your safety by not having sex? It's an alarm, people.

Seriously, though, if anybody knows a respectable lady in the Ann Arbor area, hit me up. We'll arrange a playdate.

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Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Cleaning dried vomit off a Comcast modem

A while back I talked about how, after a ridiculous night of drinking, I ended up barfing on my bedroom floor.

Well, I've long since moved out of that room, but today I returned my old modem and cable box to Comcast and surprise! There was a little puke on the modem.

I figured they'd notice this. 'Excuse me, sir, but there's four-month-old burrito splatter on our modem.' I don't want to explain that.

So instead I used a combination of my index finger and fresh saliva to clean dried vomit off of a modem minutes before I was to return it to a kind old woman working the front desk.

Not my best moment.

(bdubs.)

To answer an inquiry I received, I did not apply the saliva directly to my finger. Rather, I spit on it, then wiped down the modem. Then I handed the spitty modem to an old lady working for a company whose motto is "Comcast - We thank you for choosing us, but we both know we're a monopoly."

And as you may or may not know, the best way to beat a Monopoly is to throw up on it, then give it back to itself.

It's important to note that this tip does not work with the game Monopoly.

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You don't get a Top Eight in prison

Whenever I see a webpage that features someone's picture on the left side and personal information in vertical tables, I usually assume it's a Myspace page.

Imagine my surprise when I view a webpage about a guy from high school on Michigan's prison database and my first instinct is to see who's in his Top Eight.

I scrolled down expecting to see more pictures of people from high school on this guy's 'Myspace page', but instead I found terms like 'Felonious Assault' and 'Asslt w/Int Gr Bod Hrm Less Murder.'

However, I think if you were to embed a Taking Back Sunday mp3 and show this to someone, they'd still assume it was a Myspace page, at least until they saw that this guy was in prison for at least 6 years.

(work.)

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Monday, September 11, 2006

I would have insulted you with girl parts instead

A while ago at a Smash Bros tournament I was trash talking some guy and I said something along the lines of 'YOU WILL EAT BALLS NOW.' Then he said, 'What if I'd like that?' That kinda confused me, but I let it slide.

Then I saw the guy's facebook profile and noticed that he put 'Madonna' under 'favorite music.' I just want to go back in time and say 'Hey man, sorry, didn't know you were gay. You could have just told me you liked Madonna earlier and I would have, ya know, insulted you with pussy instead.'

(bed.)

Now that I think about it, there are probably better reasons to go back in time. I won't tell you what they are. That's for you to decide.

Yesterday I saw a lady with Coke bottle glasses walking down the street screaming at nobody in particular. "I HATE YOU, BEN FRANKLIN," etc. Man, where's her reality show? I could watch her walk around town all day yelling "FUCK YOUR CHEESE, YOU ASSHOLE" or "FUCK YOUR ASSHOLE, YOU CHEESE" at fire hydrants, street signs, and demon spirits. When you're clinically insane, you're a lot more unpredictable than Paris Hilton hilariously doing something wrong for the millionth time, and unpredicitability is what makes reality television so special.
Especially when the star of it craps on a stranger's porch and then steals his mailbox.

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Female anatomical kryptonite location

This morning work starts at 7am. To me, this is straight up masochism. Whatever happens at 7am can probably happen at 9am, too. Starting it at 7am is just punching yourself in the balls.

If you're a girl, it's like... uh... ladies, do you have a weakness? An anatomical kryptonite location? If anything gets close to my balls, I realize the danger and immediately start defending myself with deadly spin kicks. But ladies, what do you have? I certainly can't reach your ovaries, as they are nestled safely within your lower abdomen, leaving me unable to strike a similar location to unleash similar pain.

Long story short, work starts early and I don't know where to punch women.

(work better have coffee.)

My girlfriend was sweet enough to tell me that women get hurt if you punch them in the lower abdomen. So they're not invincible after all!

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Sunday, September 10, 2006

Help me pick out the good stuff

So I've agreed to do standup on Sept 20, in between bands at the final Cojum Dip show.

Now I have no clue what the hell material I should use. As someone who says all sorts of random crap every day, I don't know what's funny anymore. This is where I need YOU to help me:

What away messages do you think have been the funniest and do you think any of them could be turned into standup material? Your input is greatly appreciated.

Browse archived away messages by month by clicking on the options on the right. Leave comments if you have any recommendations.

(around.)

People have been asking when the show is and if they can come, and because you're my friends, I can honestly say that no, you do not want to come. If you want to watch me look like I'm about to faint and/or vomit on my own shirt, you can come over next time I get the stomach flu. I can even hold a microphone if that would make you happy.

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Thursday, September 07, 2006

Friendship level up

Tonight I realized that as soon as someone says "I'll tell you about this when I know you better" I immediately start planning times for me and this person to hang out. I brainstorm movies we should see together, mutual friends we can invite so it's less gay, and great picnic spots.

'What, we're not good enough friends NOW? Then let's ride on a bicycle built for two and THEN we'll see who's good enough friends. You asshole. Let's go ride bikes.'

The very phrase 'when we're better friends' acknowledges that friendship is on many different levels, and at one point, friendships will ascend these levels. I think when they do, there should be a ceremony. Let's say you and a friend go on a backpacking trip. As soon as you save his life by scaring away a bear or sucking venom out of a snakebite, there should be a little fanfare and the words FRIENDSHIP LEVEL UP! should appear above your head.

How exciting would that be? I'd be saving ALL my friends if that happened.

You know, instead of letting them get hurt, which is what I usually do.

(work.)

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Wednesday, September 06, 2006

In the event of rain, ice, or interrogation

Well, it looks like it's going to be rainy today, so bring an umbrella. It'll dip down into the 50s, too, so bring a light coat. And in case it gets really bad, don't forget to bite down on your super secret suicide capsules.

Mine are vanilla-flavored!

Protect your secrets! Die with fresh breath!
JERRY'S SUICIDE CAPSULES
"Tastes like the End."

But seriously, bring an umbrella.

(work, Defcon meeting, long trek home.)

Coming soon: Diet Vanilla Suicide Capsules
"Don't die fat!"

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Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Salmon burger and the subsequent vomit geyser

Good Time Charley's, a local watering hole for college kids, needs to fix its advertising before I barf on its waitresses.

A few weeks ago, they were pimping their hot wireless internet, which is great, because who DOESN'T bring a laptop to the bar? Recently, they've taken down the internet ads and put up signs that say the following:

TRY OUR NEW SALMON BURGER!
(picture of sweaty salmon burger in sexy pose)

Charley's is lucky most students become illiterate when they drink, because if people read about fish sandwiches after a few beers, puke would surely burst forth from many mouths like hot water and steam from a geyser.

Go back to the internet ads, please.

(work.)

Read about the other misguided antics of Good Time Charley's here.

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Monday, September 04, 2006

Eating your sandwich face first

Hey Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich! Would you like to watch TV with me and Katz? You would? That's awesome.

Is it OK if I eat you? I'll be nice, and I'll wash you down with milk. That cool?

Ok, good.

I am going to eat you. If you had a face, I'd eat that first so I wouldn't have to hear you scream. I don't know how thin these walls are, so a screaming sandwich just might piss off the neighbors. 'What's all that racket?' and I say 'It's just my living sandwich, screaming in pain because I'm eating it' and they'd say 'well then eat the face first' and I'd say 'I'M TRYING.'

Yup.

(sandwich, face first.)

I don't know why I anthropomorphized my food just to murder it. That'd be like some kids putting a magic hat on Frosty the Snowman and bringing him to life only to scoop away his face to make snow cones. Sure it's delicious, but man, you look like a dick.

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Saturday, September 02, 2006

Amy's family is like Snakes on a Plane

Today I'm meeting Amy's dad's side of the family at a BBQ. I was worrying about what I should wear and whether I should keep my sweet beard or not. Then Amy's mom left me a voicemail that relieved some of the pressure:

'Hey, don't dress up. You don't even have to shower. These people aren't prizes, so don't worry about it.'

I think more stuff should work that way.

'Don't worry about that job interview. The guy asking you questions is a stupid dog fucker, and rumor has it he's legally retarded.'

'That piano recital tonight is going to be cake, man. The audience is fat and tone deaf, and I, your instructor, drown Hurricane Katrina survivors every Thursday. You know, because I'm a terrible person whose opinion should not matter to you. Relax.'

So, less pressure, even if I'm apparently meeting people who suck.

(first impressions.)

Man, now that I've actually met these people, I can safely say that yes, they were all assholes. I should have just rolled out of bed, driven to Amy's house, and started hugging strangers so I could go home sooner.

Nah, just kidding, they were all nice people and I had a good time.

Meeting Amy's dad's side of the family was kind of like seeing Snakes on a Plane. I was told it was going to suck, and then it was pretty good, and that made the whole thing seem great.

Meeting Amy's family was also like Snakes on a Plane because they charged me 8 dollars at the door and then we all sat in the dark for two hours.

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Friday, September 01, 2006

A random conversation at Wendy's

The other day I was at Wendy's ordering breakfast when a large utility worker with small, beady eyes asked me what I was studying.
'Just graduated. Psychology.'
'You should have gone into sign language. This lady I know, she teaches that and makes 100 grand a year, easy. Easy.'
'Wow.'
'Yeah, she teaches driver's ed to foreign people.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah, the other day she had to fail one of those ladies who wears those things on their heads. She couldn't see to the side, so she failed.'
'Hmmm.'
'You shouldn't wear that stuff on your head anyway. Why do you even have pretty hair if you're just going to cover it up?'
'Ah.'

During our conversation (monologue?) I was able to both order and receive my food, while he just stood there and said whatever came to mind. He wasn't even eating at Wendy's that morning.

(Lunch.)

It's possible that every morning he approaches a student and says 'Hey, what are you studying? Because sign language will make you rich and I don't know about other cultures. K bye.'

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