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Friday, March 31, 2006

3 in every 1 homeless men

Did you know that 3 in every 1 homeless men suffer from schizophrenia?

That's not a typo. I am making fun of homeless people and schizophrenia in one quick insensitive remark over the internet.

Good night!

(Bed.)

Fun fact: Schizophrenia is not the same as multiple personality disorder. Schizophrenia is paranoia and hearing voices; multiple personality disorder is when one person has different personalities, but only uses one at a time.

Funner fact: Confusing the two really pisses off psych majors.

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Thursday, March 30, 2006

Vampire conspiracy email

I've made a huge mistake.

Yesterday I received word that my cog psy lab has been apparently burning people with the EEG. In response to this, my daring professor offered his own head up for experimentation by volunteering to get connected to the EEG.

Because I missed lab meeting on Monday, I sent Prof Gehring an email with my thoughts on the issue:
'My theory is that the gray goo we put on the caps is made with holy water and that our subjects have been vampires. They put on the caps, then oh no, their flesh is burning, and they blame US? WE aren't undead beings that walk the earth and feed on the blood of the living. I think those bat-people need to take their complaints elsewhere.'

This man is an esteemed cognitive psychologist and I emailed him about about Draculas. I have a feeling I'm going to be officially kicked out of science very soon.

(class.)

If you think that if you pioneer your own cognitive theory that you're incapable of receiving vampire conspiracy emails, then you are wrong.

For those of you nerds who watch movies with director's commentary, here is an alternate ending for that away message:

'But until then, I'm going to my class where we learn about video games and piss our parents off for wasting tuition money on Pac Man academics.

(Waka waka waka.)'

And, like an alternate ending, it is boring. Still, the fact remains that my mom fucking hates the fact that I have a class on video games this semester. Well, I hate the fact that she dated my 7th grade math teacher, so I guess we're even now, aren't we?

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Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Macs vs PCs

I think one reason why Macs aren't very appealing to the unwashed masses if the fact that they're kinda feminine. Smooth, white, shiny, endorsed by techno artist/sensitive male Moby.

You take a look at PC towers and they're big, they're loud, they emit a blue glow. Men, they're just cyber-extensions of our dongs (admit it; you want a big blue glowing dong). Ladies, you just don't know any better. PCs have been the standard for so long that sure, you got one so you could type into the fancy technology box and check your emails all day. But did you know that if you got a Mac you wouldn't need me to get all the goddamn spyware off your computer? You'd get less popups and more shine. So ladies, get a Mac: because did you ever really want something electric, black, and noisy in your room that didn't live in your sock drawer? (I am, of course, referencing your PC and your gigantic vibrator, you sluts).

(Work.)

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Tuesday, March 28, 2006

To succeed in life, fill some bags with newspaper

This weekend Amy and I went out for ice cream. While waiting, this guy started talking to me about his revolutionary ideas about business. He told me that he'd started 14 companies and that hard work doesn't pay off after all. And wow, was he right! He had like 10 shopping bags with him, so obviously he was rich.

Then he bade me farewell and told me to go to his website, thewowfactor.com, where I could buy his book. He picked up his bags and left.

On our way out, Amy and I saw that he had left his bags near the door, and they were all filled with newspaper. And when we got home we discovered that his website did not exist.

And that settles it: all you need is a bunch of shopping bags and a sales pitch and people will assume you're successful. At least until they see that you're full of shit and your fancy Lord & Taylor bags are full of garbage.

(PowerPoint.)

I felt like such a chump when I saw the bags and bags of old newspaper in the exit of the ice cream shop. He said he had a list of 25 false assumptions people had about life, the first of which being 'hard work pays off.' Apparently the second item on that list was 'carry trash with you.'

Up until his website 404'd, I thought he had a business empire. Turns out, he probably doesn't even have a place to live! LOL!

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Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Changing campus, one turd at a time

Just 2.5 more hours of voting for MSA. Don't vote for Students 4 Michigan, because they misuse numbers and they have a very pro-obvious stance. Imagine if a political group called Americans Savoring the Inhabitation of America, or ASIA for short. ASIA is just like S4M. And would you want ASIA to run America? Fuck no. We're all members of ASIA, so don't put an ASIA man in American office.

Vote MPP, because the angrier campus gets, the happier I am. S4M would get all mad and start crying, and MPP is new and may leave campus in shambles (or get something accomplished). So whether we get a Taco Bell on campus or have rioters tear down the Chem Building, voting MPP is a surefire way to be awesome.

VOTE MPP
(computers.)

No one is actually sure what MSA is. The Michigan Student Assembly gets quoted in the Michigan Daily a lot, but that's all the public seems to know. So that's MSA: a quote machine. And not to blow my own bagpipes, but I think I'd make a dandy MSA president. I think a thoughtful paragraph about the possibilities presented by future technologies is much more important than having an opinion on some issue that cannot be affected by the winner of some yearly popularity contest. The raise in minimum wage, the conflict in the Middle East, what minorities think about stuff. You can't change these things, and opinions are just like heavy bowel movements: everybody has them, but taking them with you doesn't do you any good, so don't rub them in my face.

However, if you have some kind of turd-in-the-face fetish, start reading the student newspaper, 'cause hey! Turds ahoy!

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Students 4 Michigan, Students Against Cancer

What the hell kind of political party is called Students 4 Michigan, anyway? First of all, you're not campaigning in an AOL chat room, so spell out the word 'for.' Second, are there any Michigan students against Michigan? Were these the same idiots who came up with Students Against Cancer? No shit, guys. I'm sure you're all on the pro-oxygen-breathing platform, and you're all opposed to that bill going around in favor of pain and suffering. Ooooh, how bold, guys.

I urge you all to vote. Get S4M out of office. Vote Michigan Progressive Party. Having S4M in office makes us look like assholes.
'Hey UM students, that party in MSA...what do they support?'
'Michigan, duh.'

(work.)

For the record, I'm not against the name "Students Against Cancer", because cancer sucks (and osteoperosis rules!). It's just that by saying you're against it, you're implying that there are people who are for it. Sure, there are people who are for cancer -- smokers, cell phone users, people who roll around in asbestos every morning -- but cancer isn't a debate. It's a disease. So say you're in favor of a cure or prevention or a 5k Fun Run every weekend. Otherwise, people are going to think you're assholes. And the last thing we need on campus is a group opposing this group calling themselves Students Against Students Against Cancer.

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Vote for the level 60 orc mage

I'm sure all my fellow U of Mers have had their inbox filled to the gills with MSA election spam, and you may be burned out on the idea of voting. Well, I have news for you: 1) your inbox has gills because it's a fish. Electronic messages go in your fish. Deal with it. and 2)

VOTE MPP (and Dan Ray) IN THE MSA ELECTIONS!

I know Dan in real life. So if you want some shit done, I can always bitch to Dan about it and he'll get it done. He's very capable. He's a level 60 orc mage.

Dan actually doesn't play World of Warcraft, either. And he's only an orc on his father's side. What was I saying? Oh yeah, VOTE MPP. Click here to vote.
(bed.)

I heard a statistic that only something between 8% and 12% of UM students vote in MSA elections. Which is pretty incredible, because I'm pretty sure less than 2% of UM students know what MSA does.

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Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Consistent references to meals

Nothing says, 'I'm ready to present stuff to the class and turn in important papers' like a general feeling of nausea, 4 hours of sleep, and stomach full of reheated sausage and mac 'n cheese.

Who remembers the sausage and mac 'n cheese from earlier? I wrote about that a while ago. Regular readers feel more up to speed at this point, because they remember what I ate for dinner last night. That's the kind of continuity I can promise with my away messages: consistent references to meals.

Well, now that I've wasted everybody's time, I suppose I'll go get ready for my impending doom. Maybe drink a can of V8. Whatever.

(Class, presentation, panic attack, resuscitation, video games screening, home, bed.)

The presentation went well, but the V8 on the way out was kind of gross. If it's supposed to be so good for you, then why do they pack it so full of salt that you have to chew it? It's the Guinness of vegetable drinks. Healthy my ass. Give me a healthy drink I can drink.

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Slather my naked body in honey

I'm not very good at getting stuff done ahead of time. I can't start a long paper until the night before it's due. If it's a short paper, I start it a couple hours before it's due. This is a terrible idea.

That's like saying, 'Well, I'm not good at jogging, so I'm going to slather my naked body in honey and wait for a bear to chase me until I get in shape.' Every time I wait until the last minute, that's just another handful of honey being rubbed into my chest as I walk toward the woods to die.

I'm getting up at 5am to finish a presentation and a final draft. If I don't make it, the first 10 people to comment on this away message get a toenail off my dead body.

(Bed.)

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Monday, March 20, 2006

Confusing pregnancy with having puppies

You ever IM ShoppingBuddy? He apparently confuses human pregnancy with having puppies.



I'm in a computer lab, doing a day's worth of work in a couple hours. Or not sleeping. We'll see.

(Word and PowerPoint.)

All I did was go into a computer lab, look at a couple of old PowerPoints, check my email, and go back home. I suck at college. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

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Bruce Willis is dead the whole time

Every time I get frustrated, I'm going to ruin a movie for somebody. Granted, today was fine, but if tomorrow sucks, you know what you're going to see?

IN THE SIXTH SENSE, BRUCE WILLIS IS DEAD THE WHOLE TIME.

And I won't stop with movies, either. I can also ruin Harry Potters, the Bible, and movies that haven't even come out yet. Did you know that Larry the Cable Guy: Health Inspector is going to cater to the stupid person crowd? Or that Little Man will be one of the worst movies of all time? Well, I just ruined it for you.

(Bed.)

I wanted to say that I could spoil real life, too, but little facts like, "Girls only judge you by your car. Your personality never even mattered," are best learned on their own, after it's far too late to trade in your wit for a shiny new Hummer H3.

Also, apparently there's a time in your life when you can swap your personality for a car. I didn't know that, but I guess it's true because I just said it.

Also also, watch the trailer for Little Man. If that doesn't make part of you die (your kidneys, pancreas, etc.), then another part of you found it funny (your stupid brain), and for that, I hate you.

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Sausage in the mac 'n cheese

Putting the sausage in the macaroni and cheese.

That is not a sex innuendo. Sure, sausage could be the boy parts, but macaroni and cheese is not a vagina.

If Interrobang?! ever goes on tour, they will have an album called 'Macaroni and cheese is not a vagina.'

(Sausage and girl parts for dinner.)

Interrobang?! is a band name I've wanted to use I learned what the word meant in creative writing last semester. I've mentioned the fictional band both here and here. If I could make music, I'd have the coolest band t-shirts.

Whenever I have a really inappropriate away message like this one up, I always want the next one to be clean so first time viewers don't think I'm a terrible person. But then the next one is about pooping or the human taint and I still look like a filth monger.

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Sunday, March 19, 2006

80,000 kiloboobs

So my slave drive is officially dead. This means I am out 200 gigs of movies, music, and pornography. That's about 10 hours of cinema, 50 hours of music, and about 80,000 kiloboobs.

If I told my mom that my slave drive died, she'd get all concerned and think her son runs a slave trade. But if I ran a slave trade, do you think I'd be so broke all the time? Of course not. Slaves = big business.

Men may read this and think, 'hey, I could use someone to do my pyramid-building homework.'

Women, however, know better than to buy someone they can confine for all eternity. Oh no, they can just get married.

Well, I've referenced ancient Egypt and insulted the institution of marriage. I can go eat now.

(Dinner.)

If Maxtor, the brand of my dead hard drive, had a mouth, I'd tell it to eat cockroaches, because it is a jerk.

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Friday, March 17, 2006

St. Patrick's Day is to Ireland...

I have no idea why people are so okay with drinking beer all morning. You ever try getting drunk during the day? The sunlight just crawls into your eyes and dropkicks your brain. You feel like a vampire, hissing at the sun and squinting.

But this whole holiday is now mocking what it used to celebrate. St. Patrick's Day is to Ireland what fraternities are to Greece.

Time for beer. Note that it's almost sunset. That's because God did not intend humans to get totally effing sloshed before lunchtime. You think about that, assuming you're not passed out, you stupid drunk reader.

(Shamrock Shakes.)

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Go to the bar at 7am

I don't care what day it is.

If you wake up and go to the bar at 7am, you're an alcoholic.

(Bed.)

People are planning their entire days around binge drinking. That kind of motivation is almost admirable until you actually see it in action. Then you want to start choking people. Or at least I want to start choking people, but then again, I'm just a chokey kinda guy.

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Thursday, March 16, 2006

Stereotyping the Irish once a year

If you think about it, St. Patrick's Day is outrageously offensive toward the Irish. We basically say, 'Hey, I'm Irish, too! And I started drinking green alcohol at 7am because I'm so goddamn festive!'

I'm no world traveler, but I'm guessing this is not the way the real Ireland works. The Xtreme American version of Ireland basically has us reducing Irish heritage to a color and a binge.

We don't do this for any other holidays. 'Hey, it's Martin Luther King Jr. Day so we're eating fried chicken from 7am until we go to bed! Give me a kiss, because I'm a black person!'

I wonder why the real Irish don't complain about our bastardized version of it their culture. Probably because they're too drunk to notice.

(Work, 3-11.)

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Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Exercise, ladies

While making small talk at the Cojum Dip concert on Sunday, it was discovered that a woman there not only went to the Dirty Show in Detroit (an art show dedicated to filthy sex pieces), but that she knew my father, too.

So I told my dad this and he got really excited. 'Wow! A woman knew my name! That's just awesome! What was her name?'
I didn't remember her name, so he asked what she looked like. I waffled around for a couple minutes before settling on the fact that she was kinda fat.

Well, that killed the excitement. 'Oh yeah, I know who that is.' No more questions after that.

The moral of the story is EXERCISE, LADIES (and guys, too, but you're ok if you at least have money).

(Work, class, beer, SMASH BROS TOURNAMENT.)

Also, before you internet strangers go assuming my parents are in some freaky open marriage arrangement, know that they're divorced, which is just about the opposite of freaky.

Also also, you big ladies don't have to exercise. Just get some distinguishing characteristic to take the attention away from your huge ass. This can include: a mole, a bald spot, a wooden tooth, a hump in your back, or a penis.

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Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Fruitcake lady

Fruitcake Lady

You need to watch this old woman. She is a gem.

When you're old, you can say whatever the hell you want, because everyone's afraid you're going to die and nobody wants to call you an idiot right before you pass away. People could look like assholes at your funeral.

'Yeah, Great Aunt Margerie was a sweetheart.'
'Didn't you call her a crazy bitch and then she died?'
'Shit.'
(pause)
'She is going to haunt the shit out of you.'

So keep on telling it like it is, old woman. Screw on the floor, next to the air conditioner.

(Livonia.)

I need to learn how to draw, 'cause webcomics will make a hell of a lot more internet money than text. People don't want to read "she is going to haunt the shit out of you." They want a cartoon character with big anime hair saying it. So when I stay poor, it's not because I don't have ideas. It's because I can't draw anything other than smiley faces and penises.

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Prisoner art gallery

There are art shows where all the paintings on exhibit are done by convicted felons. If I ran one of those art galleries, I'd change it up a bit.

'Oooh, that's the most gorgeous landscape I've ever seen. But what're those words in the corner?'
'That's the artist's name and what he's convicted for.'
'So what'd this guy do?'
'Well, reading the small print on the corner of this painting, we find that this man owned a veal farm and took liberties with the little calves. He's in here for life, as sodomy laws get harsher when it's with baby animals.'
'Oh. Then who painted that ugly little unicorn near over there?'
'Hmmm. Well, this one says the artist's a serial jaywalker.'
'A what?'
'A serial jaywalker. He illegally crossed streets. A lot.'
'Oh, well, when's he get out?'
'Painting says next month.'
'I'll take it!'

(Exam.)

I don't care how breathtaking a painting of a majestic forest is. Nobody wants it if it's been created by a murderer and/or rapist. Just thought I'd throw that out there in case anybody plans on going on a killing spree and then becoming the next Rembrandt.

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Monday, March 13, 2006

Candy for the scientist

I have a meeting with one of the most respected cognitive psychologists in the country in 15 minutes.

Should I put on cologne or something? Like, I work in his lab already, but that means I do bitch work for his grad students. Would cologne be a good idea? Should I bring him candy? I mean, not wrapped, but keep it in my pocket and then just offer it to him?

'Hey man, science is cool and everything, but do you like Mr. Goodbars? How 'bout a Skittle?'

But you don't offer one of the top professors of cognitive psychology just one Skittle. You bring a whole goddamn bag of 'em. And then you look like an asshole, bringing a dude a big bag of candy for a science meeting.

I guess I just don't get cognitive psych.

(Meeting.)

Bill Gehring is kind of a badass. He's pioneered his own theory. I don't even know what I'm doing next year. I feel like I should eat his brain so I can get his thoughts and be super smart, too. After I get out of prison for eating a man's brains.

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Myspace-lookin' jerks and Cojum Dip

Tonight I saw some of the most myspace-lookin' jerks at the battle of the bands that featured Cojum Dip. One band used the lyrics 'That's right, girl / you're too sweet for me.' And they did so unironically.

The tragedy is that women wanted to bang these dudes. Badly. These guys wore their vaginas on their sleeves and women, instead of saying, 'icky, those leak' were all like 'OMG I crave girly-guy dong.'

When I rise up and destroy the emo kids, there will not only be justice, there will be just us. And it will be awesome.

(Bed.)

Because I love spreading hate like honey on a stripper's ass (I tried Nutella, but it looked like she'd just shat herself), the awful, awful band in question is called The Second Guess, and it is impossible to simultaneously like their music and be able to wipe your own ass. So if you hear this music and start tapping your toe, chances are you're wearing a diaper.

Cojum Dip, on the other hand, is trying new things with music. Sometimes it involves accordions, bagpipes, and the occasional Mega Man III cover; other times, there's a lot of hard metal screaming. Videos of them in action here. Innovation, variety, and Mexican wrestling masks. Rock out.

Unfortunately, The Second Guess placed in the top 3 of the concert because every fat, emo high school chick within 50 miles showed up to sing along to the bad music while silently thinking about hamburgers. Cojum Dip fell 4 votes short of the top 3, which means any of you Ann Arborites reading this need to go to the next Cojum Dip show. And don't give me any of that "but I have homework" crap. Cojum Dip is better than reading. It says so on their t-shirts (or so it should).

EDIT: Due to a fuckup made by the concert staff, the top four bands will move on, meaning Cojum Dip shall ride again. Details later.

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Friday, March 10, 2006

Give the old woman a lapdance

Amy's grandmother is having a birthday tomorrow, and very briefly I thought of a gift that could go from sexy to tragic in mere seconds.

Amy's grandmother likes me. I don't know if it's because I'm a nice guy or because I keep pills in my pockets, but I'd say she digs me. And when a lady digs you, what's the best thing to do for her?

That's right: give her a lapdance.

Well, very briefly, I pictured myself sitting on her lap and then her yelling at me because her legs couldn't support my weight. Then Amy's family would get mad at me for straddling their eldest member and I'd be asked to leave for trying to do something sexy for an old woman's birthday.

Looks like someone's just getting a hug tomorrow.

(Class.)

I don't even know how to give a lapdance. Fortunately, this hypothetical lapdance in my head ended with an old woman getting hurt, so I didn't have to get to that part where I panic because I don't know how to grind someone more than one way.

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Thursday, March 09, 2006

Myspace.com: facebook for dropouts and other folk

The thing about Facebook is that to join, you have to go to college. Doesn't matter if it's a good one. Harvard and Oakland Community College are both on there. Which means that if you're not on Facebook, you didn't go to college.

And when I'm looking for old friends from elementary school or whatever and I search and they're not on Facebook, you know what I conclude from that?

They're dead. All my friends from 6th grade are dead because they aren't a member of facebook.com. I'm sure they're on Myspace.com, which is like a facebook that includes dumb kids, too. Well, just kids in general. And bands. And celebrities.

Hell, my 12 year old brother is on myspace. For me, if my little brother does anything, that takes it down a few pegs. He better join facebook after high school.

(Class.)


This away message proved to me that my friends are nice enough to correct me about dumb crap like there being a Facebook for high schoolers.

I understand that there's a Facebook for high school kids, but I refuse to acknowledge its existence.

You have to earn Facebook, people. College Facebook is your proof that you got into a place of higher education. Myspace is your proof that you have a working internet connection. Also, could we get more people playing crappy music on their Myspace pages? Because I want bad music to be guaranteed with every page of that damn community so I have good reason to never join.

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Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Mouthful of sadness

If a friend tells you he's eating at a banquet, you think, 'oh, that's something special.' But then you pause and realize they said they were eating something made by Banquet, you think, 'oh, he's just broke.'

The biggest difference between banquet food and Banquet food is about 8,000 grams of sodium per serving. Apparently sodium chloride is the cheapest of the chemical compounds, so Banquet saves you money by swapping out all nutrients with fat and salt, and you don't know the difference because you're poor.

Mmmmm. Every chicken nugget tastes like Dad losing his job all over again.

(Banquet, but not a banquet.)

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Talking to my grandparents while drunk

I talked to my grandparents on the phone today. Now, before you congratulate me for being a good person, know that I was drunk.

To make matters worse, I was at Buffalo Wild Wings, the loudest of local sports bars. So not only was their dear grandson slurring stuff, but my grandparents heard all sorts of yelling and bad music in the background, too. I am so out of the will.

Also, my computer exploded tonight, so one drive isn't working, and for a while my C: drive couldn't find my OS. So if for some reason my computer is turned off EVER AGAIN, you won't hear from me. Real life friends can always call me if I'm not online, but I feel like I should set up an invasive camera in my bathroom so you internet people can continue to secretly keep track of all my shit. Anonymous jerks.

(Bed.)

There is nothing worse than a sick computer. At least when I'm sick, I know that I'll get better, because the human body is awesome and can do that. My computer just makes kind of a sputtering noise and I get blue screens of death.

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Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Pepper spray for Valentine's Day

I got my girlfriend pepper spray for Valentine's Day.

I think that's a thousand times better than flowers or chocolates or anything else that dies or goes to your hips within a couple weeks. Pepper spray says, 'Don't get assaulted, because I love you.' And the 'I love you' part drives it home, taking her mind off the fact that you just gave her a weapon for Valentine's Day

Also, thirty minutes with Photoshop and Google images yielded this sentimental gem.


You know you're loved when you receive a gift that can make a would-be attacker fall to his knees and claw at his own eyes. Beat that, heart-shaped box of chocolates.

(Bed.)

Next holiday she's getting karate lessons.

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Monday, March 06, 2006

Popeye's without the spinach

While in Chicago, I tried Popeye's Chicken. Strangely, there was no spinach in my meal. This bothered me. If your restaurant is called Popeye's, you better be shoving spinach into every entrée, appetizer, and dessert. If there was a restaurant called Garfield's, it'd serve lasagna. Pac-man's? Everyone would eat dots. And ghosts.

You'd expect Popeye's to do me a favor, ya know? Fill my biceps with boat anchors, battleships, nuclear bombs, etc. Instead, I just ate greasy chicken, then opened a pack of cards commemorating the last 11 WrestleManias.

Apparently every meal is a children's meal at Popeye's. Everyone gets cards depicting well-oiled men kicking each other. That's just part of the Popeye's experience, ya know?

Shoulda gone with Taco Bell instead.

(Food, meeting, but sadly, not a food meeting.)

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