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The 6th! Annual Retelling of the Real Story of the 4th! of July Story Story

Posted on July 4, 2010

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Now! Even more accurate accuracy with Amazing Accurate Additions!


    There are those who believe that we as a society have lost track of what’s important in life; further, those say, we’ve have lost sight of what made us what we are. And ‘those’ are a quartet of elderly ladies I stood behind at the drug store this morning, sharing the cost of a paper between them and ruefully wagging their heads at the 4th of July iconography. It is in their honor that I begin this, my 6th annual retelling of the True Story of the 4th of July story story.

     On the 4th of July in 1776 America declared independence from its oppressive colonial masters. The surviving humans of the North American slave colony of New Jersey discovered, with the help of Ben Franklin and the then time-traveling Theodore Roosevelt, the fatal weakness of our alien masters, the D’Aret Krang.

     Ben Franklin’s research had revealed that the D’Aret Krang, a race of beings so genetically pure that they shared a single set of chromosomes, collectively suffered from a genetic propensity for epileptic seizures when exposed to bright, flashing lights. His rudimentary experimentation with electricity had failed to yield reproducible results, so Theodore Roosevelt was summoned from his time crypt once again to assist in finding a weaponizable source for blinky-blinkies.

     Unfortunately, Theodore Roosevelt’s time-travel machine had only one seat and this, combined with Thomas Edison’s homophobic fear of sitting on the manly lap of the massive Roosevelt, led the rebels to conclude that Edison could not be a part of the solution this time. Without Edison there was scant technology available to the desperate slaves of the time to take advantage of the newly discovered weakness.

     Fortunately Dolly Madison had an extensive collection of aesthetically pleasing incendiary devices gathered during her youthful journeys in the orient as a silk-trading ninja. A deployment of this technology was quickly organized by Paul Revere and El Quakerudo*, one which culminated in the simultaneous detonation of approximately 50 metric tons of saltpeter, gunpowder, and ‘fireworks.’

     The D’Aret Krang fell as one to the ground in a jiggly, hooting mass of alien flesh. George Washington and Nathaniel Hawthorn led bands of men in dragging our quivering former-masters into the very space craft that brought us our hateful overlords. They then programmed the ships to dive into the sun and America celebrated as the fleet of invaders burnt itself to cinders in the heliosphere if our favorite star, Sol.

     So join us in celebrating our victory, planet Earth! Thanks to our American forefathers (and a time-traveling Teddy) humans have been free to oppress themselves in peace ever since.

FREEDOM IS OURS! -peace out.

* Quakerudo is a musical group made up of youthful Quakers. As they discover their degenerate suxuality** they are replaced with fresh-faced and prepubescent replacements. There are always more fresh-faced and prepubescent replacements…

** I know what I said.

Sports

Posted on June 16, 2010

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    Its common knowledge that someday an element of fatal force or weaponry will be added to one of our socially acceptable sport pursuits.
    Soon after that the newly endeadlified* sport will become a replacement for war and international diplomacy**.

    Until then, I’m going to continue to be that dick you know who finds the idea of watching sports to be unfathomable and tedious.

    I can understand the enjoyment of actually playing a sport, though I tend to get carried away and hurt myself or others when I try to participate. But seeing a gaggle of overpaid meat-heads run around on the same patch of dirt for an hour or three when the outcome will surely do me neither harm nor good is a waste of video-game time. Fact***.

    But, sadly, this is not a view shared by my lovely wife. Heather has always loved hockey, and I’ve gotten used to the months of hockey games taking up our evenings and influencing our schedules. I consoled myself with the fact that Hockey would end come spring-time and we would get our nights back.

    In recent years she’s added baseball to her body of interest, night games of which now extend the sports season in our house through the summer months. I’m ok with that, too.

    But now we have this world cup stuff going on and, while such occasions passed without note in years past, I now find myself watching still more wealthy men running around a patch of dirt for hours. Only now it is all while plastic trumpets blare their hornet calls through our screen door to passing bugs. The insects are incapable of playing soccer/football.

    Speaking of which, I found a fish fly on a front window. Reminds me of my early years in St Claire Shores, where the harmless nuisances would die their little deaths all over your car at a moments notice.


* Adjectives are like Legos, there’s no wrong way to build one.
** I’m hoping for Ultra Ping Pong or Maxi-Mini Golf
*** Subjective fact, possibly.

D-Bag training tips

Posted on June 10, 2010

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    IN the interest of generating an easy and natural sense of empathy toward your fellow humans who happen to have chosen douche-baggary as a lifestyle, I now give you a few exercises you can perform that may help you understand just how difficult life as a douche can be, and how seductively powerful the just-douched feeling can provide. Hopefully, when you are done you’ll be able to interact with douche bags with the respect they deserve.

The Ize Have It:For 24 hours, every time you find yourself using a verb ending in “ate” or “y”, change the ending to “ize.
    Nullify = nullifize, gravitate = gravitize.
Also, randomly add “ize” to common nouns to turn them into verbs.
    Tator Tot = Tator Totize, Pencil = Pencilize
Conversely, you should replace the ending of any verb that naturally would end in “ize” with “ate”. (Do not use “y”, as it is too short and doesn’t sound quite so self-important and douchey.)
    “Democratize” should now be “Democratize” and “illiminate” becomes “illuminize.”

Soup Talker: For one week, eat lunch at Panera Bread. Halfway through eating, carry on a loud, obnoxious, business related conversation with your soup. Gesticulate** using your spoon when making self-important points so that hapless passersby will be sure to be impressed with your awesome intellect.

Omniscient Interruptor: For a period of time no less than eight hours, do not allow anyone you speak with to complete a declarative statement. Interrupt at around the half-way mark of any sentence you hear by stating “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was talking about..,” and then follow with an anecdote that can’t be easily applied to the discussion at hand.

Bob: “And we decided that Dad had to go into a home because Judy can’t possibly-”
You: “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was talking about with Chad yesterday when he told me he didn’t want to pay for the premium kennel to take care of Kratos when he went to Houston. It’s gotta be hard, man.

Opinion Contrarian For 48.5 hours, any time someone begins to tell you about something they like or love, take the earliest opportunity to tell them that you are not into it, and the reason you are not into it is because you tried it once, and concluded that only a tasteless philistine would be fool enough to get into it.

Bob: “I don’t think I’ve ever missed an episode of “Enigma 2000,” that show just really gets under my skin.”
You: “Yeah, I watched an episode. I thought it was way too derivative and, really, poorly written. I pretty much just drink spring water and read Cigar magazine during that timeslot.”

Bob:”I drive a Volkswagon Golf. Just picked it up, and it’s a load of fun to drive.”
You:”I test drove one of those during a sneak-peek at the Troy Motor Mall. It was OK, I guess, if you like rattles and don’t care about quality car audio. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure its fine for you, but it just isn’t my kind of car.”

Popped polo collar: Pop your polo collar.

While these may all seem pretty tough, they represent some of the few exercises* a lay-person can easily perform without having properly prepared his or herself for douche-baggery. Just imagine the mental gymnastics a real douche-bag must go through in order to maintain all the douche-mannarisms necessary to maintain their

* Exercate?
** Gesticulize

Meat Board

Posted on April 3, 2010

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so it seems I’ve been invited to attend my 20th high school reunion this summer, and I’ve been asked to speak in my official capacity as a member of the Meat Advisory Board.

(sigh) So… I’m being dragged back into the life I’ve worked so hard to escape; Meat.

I thought I’d left Meat far behind, and these days I hardly ever think about my Big Meat lifestyle anymore, but I knew this day would come.

So I climbed into my attic and opened that old box, and took out the advisory binders, the pamphlets, the cattlemen branded rolodex cardfiler…

There it was, same as it was so long ago. safe handling guidelines, cooking directions, storage strictures, phone numbers of questionable people who I’d once used as sources of rare flavorings and tenderizers. Even a soft plush Meatie doll, which could easily double as a pink pillow if it weren’t for the Styrofoam tray and cellophane wrapping.

I carried them all down and lay them out upon the bed next to the invitation to my reunion.

I’ll admit my heart raced at the chance to once again speak before a crowd on the dangers of cross-contamination and the virtues of steak and pork tenderloin. I paced back and forth for minutes, crossing and uncrossing my arms, imagining cold animal flesh draped across my open and willing palms. I reorganized the binders, half-planning my agenda, but….

No.

No, I will not do it again. I made my peace long ago, and I’d vowed I would never lose another friend to Meat; I’d go as a civilian if I went at all.

In no time I’d tossed all my Meat paraphernalia back into the box from whence it had come, closd the attic and went downstairs to eat dinner with my family.

As I looked across the table at my little girls, I happily considered that they would have no memories of their father the Meat man, that they’d never know the fear that Daddy might not make it home tonight because he’s out on a dangerous speaking engagement.

My knife sliced through the breaded pork chop, and I dipped another fork-full into the apple sauce.

Try after sometime

Posted on March 25, 2010

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SomeTime
    Sometime is always a day away.
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