It's Been a Long Time, E. E. Cummings.

Photo Courtesy of alaska-in-pictures.com

I just flew in, and boy does everything suck about flying. It's not enough that they force me to have to buy my airline tickets from a middleman with worse customer service than Comcast. Airline companies and the FAA/TSA these days want to make sure that every single thing about your flying experience is insufferable in every way, down to the -eenth detail.

From the moment you are first dropped off at the airport by a friend whom is almost immediately threatened by a rent-a-cop for illegally "parking" in the drop-off area, to the molestation of someone's little girl you had to witness as you were taking off all of your clothing in attempt to prevent your own molestation, all the way up until you are sarcastically and almost conspiratorially "thanked" for flying with Total Bastard Airlines, everything about the modern day flying experience is very much like how I imagine bondage would be.

If you're the type of person who is into paying a substantial fee to be poked, prodded, spoken down to, disrespected, and forced to perform awkward and embarrassing tasks in front of an audience, then, much like a visit to your local dominatrix, I HIGHLY recommend you taking a plane ride to somewhere in the near future.

I guess the days of rock stars hiding cucumbers wrapped in aluminum foil down their trousers when going through airport security are officially over. I highly doubt Chris Martin (he's the lead singer for Cold Play; the most prolific band of the new millennium, but whom have been the unfortunate recipients of a "gay by association" pop-culture myth of late. He's also married to the single most overrated, and third most self-absorbed woman in all of Hollywood, Gwyneth Paltrow) wants the uncomfortable media attention that would come as a result of a cucumber being shoved up his daughter's ass by airport officials in the middle of a crowded airport, because you know the TSA now has the right to enforce that immediate punishment to all foil-wrapped cucumber stuffers.

Here's a true story. The last time I flew, I had to throw out the bottle of water I paid $12 for at the "Doodie Free" shop because, though fewer than 4 oz. of liquid remained, it was capable of holding more than 4 oz. of liquid. However, when they pulled my carry-on out of the metal detector to further inspect what had made the alarm go off, and they discovered that I was carrying-on a stainless steel shower head, with a 6', flexible, stainless steel hose, they said, "Oh, it's just a 6 lb. stainless steel shower head, and 6', flexible, stainless steel hose. Let this guy through!"

First of all, I could blow up the entire FAA and TSA with 1/10 of an ounce of liquid.

B, and I don't need to tell you this, but I'm gonna anyway; I could sneak up behind each flight attendant, and bash them over the head with my 6lb. shower head, before entering the cock pit and choking the remaining flight crew to death with my 6', flexible, stainless steel hose. No wait...nah, nevermind. I'd be far too thirsty to put forth that kind of effort. No wait...I'd just steal all the drinks from the flight attendants I killed with my 6lb. shower head. Okay, I'm back on board. But shit! Now I'm drunk. There's no way I can high a fly-jacked plane while under the alchyfluence of inkyhol. Why did I even do this in the first place?

Oh yeah, THEY MOLESTED MY DAUGHTER! That's right. I wouldn't normally be this angry and vengeful a person. Normally, I'd leave this sort of behavior for the pilot-trained, professional terrorists of the world; fighting for some holy cause. But there's only so much that a sane man can tolerate before he finds himself passed out drunk behind the joystick of a high-jacked 757 . Planes are steered with joysticks, right?

Today is the day to consider taking the long road. As much as you want for that to be today's horoscope, I mean it in the most literal sense possible. Drive there instead of flying. No matter what the distance, the exorbitant price of gasoline compounded with the number of hours/days longer it will take is nothing in comparison to the amount of mental torment and anguish you will spare your already readily failing mind.

This one you can take both literally AND metaphorically, if you so wish: If there's not already a road between where you are, and where you are going, build one. Start by writing to your Congressperson asking them to support any piece of legislation that promotes the building of bridges across all major oceans, as I have done here:

from	A Realistist
to		hank.johnson@house.gov
date		Fri, Jul 14, 2011 at 2:36 PM
subject		I see no other way out...
mailed-by		realistism.blogspot.com

Dear Hank,

I've seen you in public exactly one time. It was at a Campus Film Festival. You were an honorary guest speaker. You had the floor for all of three minutes. During that time you made hilariously inappropriate jokes with regard to the legalization of marijuana and your chronic use of such. I found this to be one of the most amazing feats of "Realistism" I've ever witnessed from a politician.

Needless to say, I did not vote for you, nor would I ever, as I found your banter at the dismissal of the illegalities of a "dangerous drug" such as marijuana entirely inappropriate for an audience full of weak-minded college kids. Especially when I consider the fact that the government to whom you are an active, salaried employee, recently decided to raise the interest rate of the loans many of those college students are using to put themselves through school, instead of implementing a higher tax penalty on corporations whom are found guilty of misappropriation of funds and/or tax evasion.

Nevertheless, I write to you today in hopes that you have the potential to, on rare occasions, take some aspect of your job seriously.

You see, the other day, I was on a plane, and, well, after I watched the TSA forcibly insert a cucumber wrapped in aluminum foil into the anus of an 8-year-old American girl, I was offered a bag of stale peanuts by a foul smelling flight attendant. And that's when it dawned on me that I wanted to brutally murder the entire flight crew with my 6lb, stainless steel shower head, and 6', flexible, stainless steel hose before drinking myself half to death and crashing the hi-jacked plane into the nearest mountain range.

Then I thought, nope. I have a better idea. Why don't I get Hank Johnson to get Congress to build me a fucking bridge all the way to Europe (or wherever the fuck else I might want to go before I die) from the United States, so that I don't have to fucking board an airplane ever again as long as I live.

Can you fucking do that for me, Hank?

Either way, I still won't be voting for you in the next election, but mostly because I'll never research enough about politics to even know when the next election will be held. I have a headache just from looking up your e-mail address on the house of representatives website.

Sincerely,

M. Lono

P.S. - Have you ever watched C-Span? Have you seen how boring your job is? I'd smoke pot all day long too if I had to sit through that shit! You're welcome for me giving you something to do for a change.

Chart Courtesy of boardingarea.com

People who live in glass houses...

Image Courtesy of http://www.simmons.com

You can't please all of the people, all of the time. Mostly because all of these people are idiots. When dealing with the idiots in your life, I find it best to always take the high road, and make yourself purposefully look like the bigger idiot. This is effective for a multitude of reasons, but I mostly use it for getting through the work day.

Wow, I literally just had one of those "let's repeat that back to you and spell everything out, making sure to say a word that starts with each letter" people call me while I was typing this blog about morons just like him. I couldn't feel any better about today's subject matter now.

He got to the letter 'V' in his read back, and there was this long pause before he finally said, "as in Visco". I shit thee not. He should have just finished the whole statement and said, "V, as in Visco-Elastic Memory Foam." Then I would've known he was putting me on, trying to take the high road as the bigger idiot as I am suggesting in this very blog. But no. He just said Visco. And he hesitated in doing so, as if to say, "shit, what's a word that starts with 'V'", and "Visco" was the first thing that came to mind. He knows he's heard it somewhere before, but has no idea what it means. Now, he could've meant "disco" or "cisco" or any other number of similar words. But what he said was "visco". And THAT, makes him an actual idiot, and not just playing a fun little game with me to make his day go by more quickly.

Here's my suggestion. Be the bigger idiot first. Own your own intelligence FAIL, long before it ever comes to fruition. Whether you're a "let's repeat that back to you and spell everything out, making sure to say a word that starts with each letter" person or not, become one. And while you're reading back the entire message, letter by letter, word by word, use words that are as fucked up as "visco", and/or, the real nut kicker, say the letter, and then say a word that starts with a completely different letter altogether (i.e.: 'b' as in 'olfactory'). If the person at the other end of the phone asks you to repeat that, because obviously he/she heard that you said "'b' as in 'olfactory'", use a word other than olfactory this time. Just make sure it doesn't start with a 'b', or anything even close to a 'b' sound.

Now, if you're on the receiving end of a "let's repeat that back to you and spell everything out, making sure to say a word that starts with each letter" person's phone call, as I just was, wait until the person starts their read back, and interrupt them whenever you see fit, but well before the end, and just say, "No, that's 'I' as in, "I know you'd like me to sit here and listen to you read me back this message that I gave you, but I'm not going to." Then hang up.

"Phone's ringing dude."

"Thank you, Donnie!"

Image Courtesy of http://www.hollywooddormont.com

Hell Hath No Fury...

Image Courtesy of http://www.penn-olson.com

So it's been a minute since I've posted anything to this blog site, which breaks the cardinal rule of blogging. Of my many excuses (i.e.: I recently moved, I've been busy, I refused to use Comcast for internet and it took AT&T 6 weeks to get DSL working at my new place, the dog ate it, etc.), I have chosen one to be my official statement: I was spending time with my girlfriend. Before you stop reading or think, "hey, that's both a great excuse, and a great way to score some much needed brownie points with the lil' Ms.," let me explain to you why I'm making that my official statement, and why I'm not even lying, and why YOUR girlfriend will never be a forgivable reason to not do more interesting, fun, important things.

The following are the Top 10 Reasons why my girlfriend is cooler than yours:

10.) She has legs.

9.) Her Mom cooks well, doesn't suck as a person, and does a remarkably believable job of pretending to like me, to the point where it's not at all awkward for me to come over and eat her food all the time.

8.) She's a twin.

7.) She's a blogger.

6.) She already had an @google.com e-mail address when we first met.

5.) She can play "Imperial March" on the French Horn

4.) She is half Chinese, and half White, which makes her FULL Hot, like Kristin Kreuk

3.) She drinks beer. Not like Strongbow Cider "beer", but like actual, good beer. Furthermore, she brings some home for me without request.

2.) She fits into a bag that does not have to be checked at the airport. This is good for a multitude of reasons, which I shouldn't even have to explain to you, but obviously since you're girlfriend will never be able to do so, and therefore, aren't ever be as cool, I will. First of all, I can sleep in the middle of the bed, and my 62lb. dog can sleep beside me, and she can still fit next to him. And this bed's only a queen. Secondly, she can fit into a fucking suitcase that would fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane! What are you not understanding about how fucking cool that is?

1.) These words came out of her mouth today: ""...but you know, now that you (finally) have internet (again), on the nights you want to just chull (that's right, as in making fun of they way YOUR girlfriend says the word "chill") and play video games, I can bring over my laptop and blog."

So there you have it. You came here looking for a fortune. Well, here's your fortune: Clearly, indisputably, I win. You lose. Sorry to hear about your loss. Get well soon. Insert other generic, apathetic, and therefore, condescending greeting card gesture here. If you don't like it, break up with your girlfriend, and try to steal mine. Other option (just throwin' it out there): Remember Reason #8. Little warning about that one though, her twin has a boyfriend, too - The Dread Pirate Roberts. 'Nuff said?!

Image (NOT MY GIRLFRIEND) Courtesy of http://www.racerxvt.com

Which Came First...

...The donut, or the donut seat cushion? If it was the donut cushion, then the inventor of the donut did us a great disservice by naming a delectable "anytime pastry" after a disgusting ass planter for people with hemmers. If it was the donut that came before its cushion, then the inventor of the cushion totally effed up the delectability of America's all-time favorite anytime pastry for all of us.

In either case, I'll never bite into a soft, sweet, moist, satisfying donut again without thinking about a giant, hemmer-filled ass cleavage plopping its bloody, blistery, puss-infected purple starfish hole down all over my glaze!

Unless maybe they were both invented by the same person? Makes sense. One leads to the necessity of the other. I mean, how many donuts does it take before you get your first hemmer? It's economics 101: Supply & Demand. It's all about inventing products which create their own demand for another of your products.

Hell, General Motors has been doing that to us for years. By telling us that we should only use Dex-Cool® engine coolant in all their makes and models; going so far as to say, the aluminum radiators will melt under the intense heat of an inferior type of coolant. The only thing truthful about that statement is, "the aluminum radiators will melt" and "inferior type of coolant", and only when you're directing both of those statements at the usage of Dex-Cool coolant itself.

I gotta admit, it's quite a genius marketing strategy actually. You make profit on the sale of the car, the sale of the coolant that goes into the car, and then, when the radiators, intake gaskets, water pumps, head gaskets, and all other parts of your coolant system corrode and become defective as a direct result of the "inferior coolant" you've been making profit on for years (per vehicle sold), you make money on selling the replacement parts for such as well.

Even more genius than that: GM has still managed to find a way to go almost complete bankrupt, in spite of their little coolant "supply & demand" scheme. Now, after completely discontinuing more than half of their various lines, they've made a valiant attempt to come back strong in 2010; launching an advertising campaign with a catchy, confident slogan: "May the best car win."

Well GM, we've been putting your cars to the test "against all other vehicles" for years now, and the verdict is in: YOU STILL MAKE THE SHITTIEST CARS ON THE PLANET. You lose. Now, before you go spending what little money you have left of what the United States government gave to bail you out on more high-dollar advertising, why don't you pay out the some 20 million people to whom you owe money as a result of this class action lawsuit: http://www.aftermarketnews.com/Item/30144/ruling_is_near_on_gm_engine_coolant_class_action_sought_over_dexcool.aspx

If you, or someone you know, or someone that someone you know knows, knows anyone who works at General Motors today, the fact that he or she hasn't already lost their job there is pretty much the lucky equivalent to you having already won the lottery. Which is bad news for you, and whomever you know, because it means all your luck has already run out, and without the satisfaction and financial independence generally associated with having actually won the lottery. Therefore, today...not so good for you, my fiend. Yes, there isn't an 'R' there on purpose. Look it up. You're so conceited.

There's more than one way to cook a potato...

Image Courtesy of recipes.howstuffworks.com

French fries are hot. I mean this in both the Paris Hilton sense, as well as the temperature sense. I know I vowed never to so much as mention Paris Hilton on my blog, but I thought it was important to clarify my meaning in that opening statement, and being that she does own a legal copyright on the term when used as a synonym for "popular", and the last thing I ever want to do (besides sleep with her) is owe Paris Hilton money (for sleeping with her), I am merely covering all my legal bases here.

So anyway, french fries are hot. But french fries are also gross when cold. Therefore, we all suffer through the burning, singeing pockets of shooting grease that ooze out into our raw mouths as we devour them by the horde. And better yet, we all make very different and unique faces when doing so.

For example, there is the "quick blower" face. The eyes of the quick blower gives he or she their trademark: bugged, protruding, focused, and persistent. If the quick blower's eyes had the ability to cool down their french fries, they would have much more success in so doing than the two or three quick, deep breaths (of around 98.6 degree wind) they blow on them.

Similar, but certainly not the same, you have the "slow blower" face. Slow blowers, much like the quick blowers, obviously get their name from blowing on their fries in order to cool them down. However, the slow blower uses the one, long, slow, deep breath method to attempt to cool their fries. A slightly more effective technique (achieving a lower breath temperature of around 90 degrees by the end), however, the tendancy of the slow blower is to not carry out their technique long enough to adequately reduce the scalding temperature of the interior of their fries, leaving their mouths inevitably charred, blackened, burned, and blistered after consumption.

The eyes of the slow blower, unlike those of the quick blower, are less bulging, more relaxed and patient; as if to say, "I've got all day to blow on my fries if I have to, but I'm gonna eat them ridiculously too hot anyway."

The third, and final classification of the fry blower species, is the "inner-mouth blower." Mostly self-explanatory, and almost entirely dirty sounding, the inner-mouth blower has no time to wait for their stanky breath to cool down their fries at all. Instead, the inner-mouth blower uses their tongue, gums, uvula, teeth, and esophagus to absorb the blistering heat that the fry injects into their oral cavity. Their name comes from the passing of the tolerable pain threshold (which happens almost instantaneously), causing them to attempt the quick blower technique once the fry is already inside their mouth.

The eyes of the inner-mouth blower, are similar to those of the quick blower, but with more tears. The mouth is 20% more agape than is safe and sustainable for their jaw bones. The heads are usually turned down, back toward their plates, so that any excess food, blood, fiery tissue, skin, enamel lava, etc. that may fall out, will do so back into a controlled and entirely edible environment.

So if you want success drenched over you like ketchup on your insanely hot plate of french fried potatoes today, heed to what I say: "Order the potato salad. Chew with your mouth closed, and your eyes safely and comfortably in their sockets. And for Fonzie's sake, remember the Realistist Rule!"

I choose not to even say where I got this picture from. Sue me if you must.

Gotta Pay the Piper...

Image Courtesy of www.binarymoon.co.uk

It has been said that plumbing is the worst profession, except for Coprophagia Web Design. Recently, I discovered that hemorrhoids, which will forever now be known by all humankind as, "hemmers", are an all too common occurrence. Just a dash of research will tell you that hemmers are most commonly caused from straining while pooping (official terminology). Other contributing factors could be, but are not limited to: stress, sitting for long periods of time on hard surfaces, chronic diarrhea (don't think it's the actual diarrhea on this one, but more the act of having to chronically wipe. See item #5 in my blog post from 08/21/09 here, for my solution to this issue), and of course, trusty ol' anal sex. Whatever the cause of you hemmers may be, I CANNOT bring myself to look at them.

I'm serious, I cannot do it. I can't even look at a picture of a nameless, faceless humanoid ass that, only allegedly, has hemmers. I certainly cannot look at my OWN hemmers, and not just because of the angle, I mean, if really wanted to, they do make mirrors with handles you know? Which brings me to my next point: I think we should start referring to all handled-mirrors as, "hemmermirrors". (Trust me, I thought about that like, 6 times before I wrote it, and all one word looks WAY better.)

Let us take a moment to reflect back on what you've learned today. (1.) Coprophagia is the official terminology for a demented pervert who likes people to crap all over them, sexually. (2.) No one says "hemorrhoids" anymore, unless they want to look like a fat idiot in front of their friends. "Hemmers" is the preferred nomenclature. (3.) Hemmers can be caused by a number of various factors, including: eating, and therefore pooping, like a fat kid; unnecessary emotional withholding toward the most trivial things in life, about which we can do nothing; laziness; drinking too damn much, too damn often; and of course, trusty ol' anal sex. (4.) I have no idea what a hemmer looks like, and most likely never will because I have an intense, psychological problem which prohibits my eyes from ever being able to focus on one, even with the use of a hemmermirror. (4.) Oh yeah, mirrors with handles are now known as "hemmermirrors."

The plumber's job is to make sure the shit passes through the pipe, making it obvious as to what the pipe's job is. I recommend being the plumber today, rather than the pipe. If your job is Coprophagia Web Design, I'd say you're more or less....the pipe.

Image Courtesy of http://i188.photobucket.com

The Golden Rule of Tom Thumb...

Image Courtesy of www.old-picture.com

It's the end of the world as we know it. On this "magical 9's day", everything you thought you knew is about to change. Prepare yourself as the proverbial rug is pulled out from under you. I have adopted a new quote (said by me, of course) which best describes life, and more importantly, my life. I am starting a movement to pass this quote as a rule. Passing a quote as a rule works kinda like how a bill becomes a law, only without all the disgustingly rich geriatrics in suits and bullshit red tape. Nope, turning a quote into a rule is as simple as me declaring it so.

Once I have made my quote into a rule, I will start a movement to replace the Golden Rule with my rule, known hereby as the Realistist Rule. The text of the Realistist Rule is as follows:

"Just do what you're supposed to."

Done.

That being said, I hereby declare this quote be forevermore revered as "The Realstist Rule".

And now that I have successfully turned my quote into a rule, let the movement to replace the Golden Rule with the Realistist Rule begin. In order to accomplish this seemingly overwhelming (to some, perhaps) feat, I must first develop a comparison chart listing all the pros and cons of each rule. And so I have done:

	The Golden Rule	The Realistist Rule
Easy to remember the actual text verbatim
Easy to actually follow
Easy to pronounce
Probable that people will actually follow
Taught by Jesus, and other religious figures
Taught by someone who doesn't believe that religion is an excuse to break it and obtain forgiveness
Delicious sounding (as in, also applicable to pastry baking)
When adhered to, helps you get laid
Looks good on a bumper sticker
Looks good on a t-shirt
Unique, original, trend-setting

As you can clearly see, it was a close comparison, but the results don't lie. The Realistist Rule clearly edges out the Golden Rule in a 7-6 victory, making the Realistist Rule now the single most important thing to remember in the entire Universe, at all times, and thus accomplishing my mission to with it replace the Golden Rule.

Thank you all for participating in this ever important movement. We couldn't have done it without your diligence and tenacity. Now, go back to working or whatever it is you're supposed to be doing right now instead of fucking off on the internet all day, reading my blog.

I mean seriously, there's a fucking Eskimo opposite you! What the fuck? Instantaneous Realistist Rule FAIL!