Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton officially ended their marriage last Tuesday after it was dissolved in Los Angeles County Superior Court. Their separation came four months after they adopted a baby boy, Maddox, from Cambodia.
I have just one question: WHO THE HELL LET ANGELINA JOLIE AND BILLY BOB THORNTON ADOPT A KID? At the marriage ceremony, half the courtroom snickered at the "until death do you part" section. How did they hoodwink the adoption counselor, by hiding their vials of blood beneath their undershirts? Convenience stores, start adding extra security now. This kid is going to be old enough to drive before you know it.
May 30, 2003
Dear Genetically Mutated Insect,
I thought we had a deal. Last night, when I found your two-inch antennae sweeping my bathroom wall, presumably looking for a human baby you could carry back to your nest, I refrained from screaming. I assure you, my girlish, blood-curdling squeal would have hurt your delicate sense of hearing more than mine.
I also refrained from pounding your skeletal frame into the wall with my shoe. I admit, my decision was not altruistic. I have never seen an insect of your girth and flying ability, and there was some concern that a 9 ½ soccer shoe would irritate you rather than kill you.
So we made a deal. I’ll skip going to the bathroom and I’ll leave the door open, giving you the whole night to leave on an adventure on a new world. You responded by buzzing around the light, indicating that you thought it was a good idea.
Yet when I woke up at 1:00 P.M. today and rushed into the bathroom to clear some logs from the dam, I saw our window blind shake and heard a loud buzzing. It appears in addition to being obscenely large, or perhaps because of the social reaction to your condition, you are agoraphobic.
I’m sorry. I really am. But you have to leave now. My alternate bathroom is five miles away at McDonalds, and if I end up going there, I’m either bringing back an exterminator or a clown with big feet.
Sincerely,
A NORAML-SIZED Human
P.S. The neighbors next door have a 2-year-old child. I left their window open.
I also refrained from pounding your skeletal frame into the wall with my shoe. I admit, my decision was not altruistic. I have never seen an insect of your girth and flying ability, and there was some concern that a 9 ½ soccer shoe would irritate you rather than kill you.
So we made a deal. I’ll skip going to the bathroom and I’ll leave the door open, giving you the whole night to leave on an adventure on a new world. You responded by buzzing around the light, indicating that you thought it was a good idea.
Yet when I woke up at 1:00 P.M. today and rushed into the bathroom to clear some logs from the dam, I saw our window blind shake and heard a loud buzzing. It appears in addition to being obscenely large, or perhaps because of the social reaction to your condition, you are agoraphobic.
I’m sorry. I really am. But you have to leave now. My alternate bathroom is five miles away at McDonalds, and if I end up going there, I’m either bringing back an exterminator or a clown with big feet.
Sincerely,
A NORAML-SIZED Human
P.S. The neighbors next door have a 2-year-old child. I left their window open.
May 29, 2003
Cash
Why must cash always be cold and hard? Why can't it be warn and soft? You know, the way Mom used to make it.
May 28, 2003
I Can't Resist
A suspected serial killer of women in Louisiana was caught today.
Said one of his neighbors who was shocked to find out he was arrested: "He didn't talk about violence," said resident Brenda Jones. "He talked about the Bible a lot. Let me tell you, he knew the Bible."
Signs Your Neighbor Is A Serial Killer
by Brenda Jones
1. Talks about violence. "You know what I'd like to do now? Kill someone." --> SERIAL KILLER!
2. Doesn't talk about the Bible.
EVIL:"Hey, what's up?"
GOOD: "Hey, what's up? Oh wait, I know. It's God."
3. That is it.
Said one of his neighbors who was shocked to find out he was arrested: "He didn't talk about violence," said resident Brenda Jones. "He talked about the Bible a lot. Let me tell you, he knew the Bible."
Signs Your Neighbor Is A Serial Killer
by Brenda Jones
1. Talks about violence. "You know what I'd like to do now? Kill someone." --> SERIAL KILLER!
2. Doesn't talk about the Bible.
EVIL:"Hey, what's up?"
GOOD: "Hey, what's up? Oh wait, I know. It's God."
3. That is it.
May 27, 2003
Positive Self-Talk
I got off to a bad start today—sleeping in to 1:00 P.M., putting off doing any work for the whole day. As I was doing laundry a few minutes ago (an accomplishment by itself), I told myself, “Come on, Jason. You still have time to do the things you need to do. You just have to kick it up a notch.” Then I considered what I said and thought, “I don’t need to kick it up a notch. I need to kick it a notch. It’s 7:00 P.M. and I haven’t showered yet. I’m at zero notches. Forget kicking it old school. Kicking it preschool would be an accomplishment right now.”
So move over circle and square. I’m taking a shower and washing my hair.
So move over circle and square. I’m taking a shower and washing my hair.
The Washington Post Meets Mad Magazine
My copy of today's Post had a crease in it. Under the shaky auspices of serendipity and other big words I'm using to mask my childish glee, I thought I'd share this section that caught my eye.
[tee hee hee hee] Ahem. Sometimes I wonder why I bother to pretend being an adult.
[tee hee hee hee] Ahem. Sometimes I wonder why I bother to pretend being an adult.
May 24, 2003
The Future
According to my stereotypical view of the 50s, one of the anticipated devices the wondrous future would bring would be pills that contain whole meals. Was food really that bad back then? There must have been a lot of chefs with hurt feelings when the scientists announced that one. And along the same lines, although teachers today are underpaid and even more under-appreciated, at least no one is suggesting we replace them with robots. In fact, if I were a superintendent of a school system, I would carry around a poster of the robot in Forbidden Planet and tap it with my ruler every time a teacher complains about her pay or the students. Those fleshpods will get the message.
May 21, 2003
The Host Would Be Chuck Woolery
I had my annual car wash yesterday. "Ha!" you may be thinking. "You're exaggerating for comedic effect." Yeah. Ha ha.
I should have taped myself and sent it to The Game Show Network as a potential show, "What's That Stain?" The pollen is a no-brainer. It could be the "Are you illiterate or crazy?" question on the applicant questionnaire. The salt stains on the undercarriage would screen out a lot of duds though.
You see, if it were winter, the answer would be obvious but I don't think a lot of people would expect a memento from a snow storm five months after the fact. I could see a potential contestant hunched over, staring at the salt stains in front of the show's producers and director. Contestant 142, a mom from Sacramento, CA with four rambunctious kids who bashfully signed up for the audition after seeing a three-line ad in the 'Ramento Weekly, unconsciously twists the silk blouse she bought the night before. The head producer, Helen...Belen, yeah, Helen Belen, gives a nasty glance to the goateed director tapping his foot. "Do you give up?" she politely asks.
Contestant 142's dreams of sending her first two kids to college are fading faster than a pee stain on a carpet. "Cla-cla-cla-clunk." The noise Uncle Harold's muffler made when pulled up to her house last winter bubbled up from the deep. Harold's eyes were bloodshot, his clothes were wrinkled, and he held on to the wall to stop teetering. He drove 42 straight hours from Minnesota after stumbling on his wife making love to a teenager he hired yesterday to shovel his snow. He wouldn't speak about how he got the blood stains on his blue flannel shirt. Why was this memory coming up now?
"Ma'am?" said Helen Belen. Helen hated being mean but there was a long line of contestants. "Okay," says the contestant, "I--" Winter. Snow shoveling. "I got it!" screams the contestant. "They're salt stains from the snow. And my name isn't Contestant 142. It's Mary, Mary Madision!"
Helen stretched her lips and smiled. "That's right. Thank you for coming. We'll get in touch if we need you." Mary skipped out of the room and Helen shook her head. Another nut.
I should have taped myself and sent it to The Game Show Network as a potential show, "What's That Stain?" The pollen is a no-brainer. It could be the "Are you illiterate or crazy?" question on the applicant questionnaire. The salt stains on the undercarriage would screen out a lot of duds though.
You see, if it were winter, the answer would be obvious but I don't think a lot of people would expect a memento from a snow storm five months after the fact. I could see a potential contestant hunched over, staring at the salt stains in front of the show's producers and director. Contestant 142, a mom from Sacramento, CA with four rambunctious kids who bashfully signed up for the audition after seeing a three-line ad in the 'Ramento Weekly, unconsciously twists the silk blouse she bought the night before. The head producer, Helen...Belen, yeah, Helen Belen, gives a nasty glance to the goateed director tapping his foot. "Do you give up?" she politely asks.
Contestant 142's dreams of sending her first two kids to college are fading faster than a pee stain on a carpet. "Cla-cla-cla-clunk." The noise Uncle Harold's muffler made when pulled up to her house last winter bubbled up from the deep. Harold's eyes were bloodshot, his clothes were wrinkled, and he held on to the wall to stop teetering. He drove 42 straight hours from Minnesota after stumbling on his wife making love to a teenager he hired yesterday to shovel his snow. He wouldn't speak about how he got the blood stains on his blue flannel shirt. Why was this memory coming up now?
"Ma'am?" said Helen Belen. Helen hated being mean but there was a long line of contestants. "Okay," says the contestant, "I--" Winter. Snow shoveling. "I got it!" screams the contestant. "They're salt stains from the snow. And my name isn't Contestant 142. It's Mary, Mary Madision!"
Helen stretched her lips and smiled. "That's right. Thank you for coming. We'll get in touch if we need you." Mary skipped out of the room and Helen shook her head. Another nut.
Pronunatin'
A few years ago my stuttering therapist suggested that in addition to stuttering, I may also have a speech disorder called cluttering. Among other signs, people who clutter tend to talk fast (check), revise sentences more than normal when talking or writing (check), and leave out syllables in words (chk).
I was happy to know that I am probably a clutterer because it rhymes with stutterer. It has a kind of cosmic logic to it. I think all disorders, diseases, and quirks should have a buddy:
DOCTOR: "Mr. Jenfry, I have some bad news and some good news. The tests show that you have cancer. But they also show you have a strong genetic disposition to being a dancer. Here are 200 mg of Taxol and a top hat."
MR. JENFRY: "Showtime!"
I mention this because recently, I have become aware that I have been leaving the 'ta' out of 'comfortable'. I'm not sure this is related to cluttering. I just thought that 'comforble' was the correct way to pronounce the word, and everyone else was being a pretentious ass.
To combat this, I have been practicing pro-nun-ci-at-ing the word by bringing it up casually in conversation, like when I was talking to my friend Sean ("Shawn") today.
ME: "My chair is very COM-FOR-TA-BLE."
SEAN: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup, I sure am COM-FOR-TA-BLE right now."
SEAN: "Okay..."
ME: "Hey, let's play a game. I'm thinking for a word that starts with C and means 'relaxed'."
SEAN: "Is it--"
ME: "Give up? It's COM-FOR-TA-BLE."
I'm looking to expand my practicing beyond my circle of friends, as I don't want to annoy them and end up with a dot of friends. That's why I'm trying to get a job as a spokesman for a furniture store.
"Come for the tables! Stay for the sofas."
I was happy to know that I am probably a clutterer because it rhymes with stutterer. It has a kind of cosmic logic to it. I think all disorders, diseases, and quirks should have a buddy:
DOCTOR: "Mr. Jenfry, I have some bad news and some good news. The tests show that you have cancer. But they also show you have a strong genetic disposition to being a dancer. Here are 200 mg of Taxol and a top hat."
MR. JENFRY: "Showtime!"
I mention this because recently, I have become aware that I have been leaving the 'ta' out of 'comfortable'. I'm not sure this is related to cluttering. I just thought that 'comforble' was the correct way to pronounce the word, and everyone else was being a pretentious ass.
To combat this, I have been practicing pro-nun-ci-at-ing the word by bringing it up casually in conversation, like when I was talking to my friend Sean ("Shawn") today.
ME: "My chair is very COM-FOR-TA-BLE."
SEAN: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup, I sure am COM-FOR-TA-BLE right now."
SEAN: "Okay..."
ME: "Hey, let's play a game. I'm thinking for a word that starts with C and means 'relaxed'."
SEAN: "Is it--"
ME: "Give up? It's COM-FOR-TA-BLE."
I'm looking to expand my practicing beyond my circle of friends, as I don't want to annoy them and end up with a dot of friends. That's why I'm trying to get a job as a spokesman for a furniture store.
"Come for the tables! Stay for the sofas."
May 20, 2003
Move Over, Slick Willie
From The New York Times
"On Tuesday, at a speech promoting his economic plan in Indianapolis, White House aides went so far as to ask people in the crowd behind Mr. Bush to take off their ties, WISH-TV in Indianapolis reported, so they would look more like the ordinary folk the president said would benefit from his tax cut."
If there were ever a time for the Democrats to hire 500 fast undressers with nipple rings...
"On Tuesday, at a speech promoting his economic plan in Indianapolis, White House aides went so far as to ask people in the crowd behind Mr. Bush to take off their ties, WISH-TV in Indianapolis reported, so they would look more like the ordinary folk the president said would benefit from his tax cut."
If there were ever a time for the Democrats to hire 500 fast undressers with nipple rings...
May 19, 2003
Stories That Start Off This Way Usually Aren't Very Good
On the toilet today, I had a vision of Carrot Top in court, charged for crimes against comedy. He lost. The judge grabbed his oak gavel, leaned over the bench and said, “Mr. Top, before I sentence you, do you have anything to say for yourself? Carrot Top looked at the gavel and thought, “I could use that in my act. I’ll call it ‘Ghetto pest control’. ” Then he broken down in tears and sobbed, “Oh, god. I need help.” A trail of mascara fell down his cheek. Then I wiped my ass.
May 13, 2003
How To Tell If You Are Cool Or Not
Tell your friends that you like David Hasselhoff. See if they laugh.
Sigh
(from the Washington Post)
"Last week, a USA Today/CNN/Gallup poll found that 52 percent of Americans now think the tax cuts are "a good idea," an increase of 10 percentage points in two weeks."
How does this happen? Every newspaper article I've read, whether it uses the word "rich", "affluent", or "well-off", points out the same thing: Bush's tax plan gives most of the benefits to a small group of people who need the money the least. But Bush goes around the country, says anyone criticizing the plan is engaging in class welfare, and people believe him.
And Bush makes these shifts of opinion happen all the time:
(2001)
MOB: "We don't need a tax cut for the rich."
BUSH: "Don't let those fat cats in Washington tell you what you need. You need a tax cut."
MOB: "We need a tax cut!"
FAT CAT: "Slap me some skin, brother."
BUSH: [under breath] "Get off the stage, you idiot."
(2002)
MOB: "Don't invade Iraq without international support!"
BUSH: "Burundi is on our side!"
MOB: "Kick some Al-queda ass!"
If I were Bush, I'd start saying some crazy shit, just to see how much people will buy.
(2003)
BUSH: "The United States Congress has been terrorized by a menace for too long. And that menace is Godzilla."
MOB: "Woo hoo! Give Godzilla a tax cut!"
GODZILLA: "Worked like a charm, brother."
BUSH: [under breath]: "Get off the stage. And where's the fat cat?"
GODZILLA: [burp]
FAT CAT: [from Godzilla's stomach] "It's like an Asian whorehouse in here!"
"Last week, a USA Today/CNN/Gallup poll found that 52 percent of Americans now think the tax cuts are "a good idea," an increase of 10 percentage points in two weeks."
How does this happen? Every newspaper article I've read, whether it uses the word "rich", "affluent", or "well-off", points out the same thing: Bush's tax plan gives most of the benefits to a small group of people who need the money the least. But Bush goes around the country, says anyone criticizing the plan is engaging in class welfare, and people believe him.
And Bush makes these shifts of opinion happen all the time:
(2001)
MOB: "We don't need a tax cut for the rich."
BUSH: "Don't let those fat cats in Washington tell you what you need. You need a tax cut."
MOB: "We need a tax cut!"
FAT CAT: "Slap me some skin, brother."
BUSH: [under breath] "Get off the stage, you idiot."
(2002)
MOB: "Don't invade Iraq without international support!"
BUSH: "Burundi is on our side!"
MOB: "Kick some Al-queda ass!"
If I were Bush, I'd start saying some crazy shit, just to see how much people will buy.
(2003)
BUSH: "The United States Congress has been terrorized by a menace for too long. And that menace is Godzilla."
MOB: "Woo hoo! Give Godzilla a tax cut!"
GODZILLA: "Worked like a charm, brother."
BUSH: [under breath]: "Get off the stage. And where's the fat cat?"
GODZILLA: [burp]
FAT CAT: [from Godzilla's stomach] "It's like an Asian whorehouse in here!"
Extra Headlines for Today's Washington Post
Baghdad Swept by Anarchy
Dustbin of Impatience Full
Charity Suspends Land Sales
Shakes Land Sales Vigorously Until Change Falls Out
Chase for Elusive RoboCup
RoboBeer Surpasses RoboCoke After Hard Day at Work
Senate Faults Spy Agencies
Comments Made By Voinovich While Mumbling in Sleep
May 12, 2003
Mysterious People
Occasionally after I wake up in the morning and go back to sleep, I'll have an extremely vivid dream where I'm aware that I'm dreaming. Today, I watched several dozen people eat in a cafeteria. Every face was a new person: horn-rimmed glasses, a thin, brown mustache, a chin that curved outward like the moon. Every face was a stranger.
How does the mind conjure these faces? Do we secretly have near-photographic memories that absorb every new face in the mall, flag the details as trivial, and then dump them into a trashbin only accessible when we're dreaming and our mind needs to generate a crowd in a flash? Or can we generate faces at will, picking and choosing features from people we do know and assembling them into a new composite? Like if you want to generate a vaguely menacing old man, you'll pick the wrinkled brow from your grandpa, the narrow eyebrows of your physics teacher, and the jowl of Captain Kangaroo when he zones out and has a flashback to his days at Vietnam?
"Captain! I can't move! I can't make it over the minefield!"
"I won't leave you behind, soldier. Grab on. We'll jump over the mines together."
How does the mind conjure these faces? Do we secretly have near-photographic memories that absorb every new face in the mall, flag the details as trivial, and then dump them into a trashbin only accessible when we're dreaming and our mind needs to generate a crowd in a flash? Or can we generate faces at will, picking and choosing features from people we do know and assembling them into a new composite? Like if you want to generate a vaguely menacing old man, you'll pick the wrinkled brow from your grandpa, the narrow eyebrows of your physics teacher, and the jowl of Captain Kangaroo when he zones out and has a flashback to his days at Vietnam?
"Captain! I can't move! I can't make it over the minefield!"
"I won't leave you behind, soldier. Grab on. We'll jump over the mines together."
May 11, 2003
First Sign This Date Wasn't Going To Work Out
HIM: [after talking about birds for 5 minutes] "There's this bird that's just like the Blue Warbler but I can't remember its name."
ME: "I believe its official name is the 'Almost Blue Warbler'."
HIM: "Really?"
ME: "Uh, no. Not really."
ME: "I believe its official name is the 'Almost Blue Warbler'."
HIM: "Really?"
ME: "Uh, no. Not really."
May 10, 2003
Signs You're Becoming An Old Man
Someone asks, "If you could be a superhero, what superhero would you be?" and your first thought is The Flash because of all the gas money you could save.
May 08, 2003
This Is Not a Joke. I Repeat. This Is Not a Joke.
Somebody get me the measurements for Ms. South Carolina!
(Thanks[?] to Amy Spizler for the link.)
(Thanks[?] to Amy Spizler for the link.)
May 06, 2003
Wrong Number
Have you ever received a call from someone with a wrong number who seemed particularly desperate to find the person? I've gotten a few calls like this:
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Is Carmen there?
ME: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.
CALLER: She's Spanish.
ME: Okay....you still have the wrong number.
CALLER: She's very beautiful. Are you sure she's not there?
ME: Yeah. Sorry. [click]
[15 seconds later]
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Is Carmen there?
ME: She's still not here.
CALLER: Oh. I thought I might have misdialed. [uncomfortable silence] Did Carmen used to live there?
ME: No. Bye. [click]
[15 seconds later]
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Carmen?
ME: Dude, CARMEN IS NOT HERE.
CALLER: I'm sorry. I just...really need to speak to her.
ME: [sigh] Hold on a minute.......
ME [falsetto]: Hello?
CALLER: Carmen, it's you!
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Is Carmen there?
ME: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.
CALLER: She's Spanish.
ME: Okay....you still have the wrong number.
CALLER: She's very beautiful. Are you sure she's not there?
ME: Yeah. Sorry. [click]
[15 seconds later]
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Is Carmen there?
ME: She's still not here.
CALLER: Oh. I thought I might have misdialed. [uncomfortable silence] Did Carmen used to live there?
ME: No. Bye. [click]
[15 seconds later]
ME: Hello?
CALLER: Carmen?
ME: Dude, CARMEN IS NOT HERE.
CALLER: I'm sorry. I just...really need to speak to her.
ME: [sigh] Hold on a minute.......
ME [falsetto]: Hello?
CALLER: Carmen, it's you!
May 02, 2003
10:17 P.M.
A shirtless jogger at night is one step away from being a crazy person running away from the cops.
May 01, 2003
Night, Night
I've been taking sleeping pills to help readjust my sleeping schedule. I first suspected something was wrong when I was playing on the computer and the sun rose. There is unfortunately nothing simple about Simply Sleep.
"Step 1, Fold", and "Step 2", Pull, were written by a child with no concept of dexterity, failure, and the titanium foil barriers that surround our dreams in life. For instance, there is "Step 1.2, Tab Doesn't Fold", followed by "Step 1.3, Foil Rebuffs Teeth", and then "Step 1.5, Fingernail Pierces Microscopic Hole Near Pill; Pill Laughs".
I usually end up not taking the pill. I just wrestle with it for 15 minutes and pass out exhausted.
"Step 1, Fold", and "Step 2", Pull, were written by a child with no concept of dexterity, failure, and the titanium foil barriers that surround our dreams in life. For instance, there is "Step 1.2, Tab Doesn't Fold", followed by "Step 1.3, Foil Rebuffs Teeth", and then "Step 1.5, Fingernail Pierces Microscopic Hole Near Pill; Pill Laughs".
I usually end up not taking the pill. I just wrestle with it for 15 minutes and pass out exhausted.
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