My Halloween

Myself along with some friends dressed as the cast of its Always Sunny in Philadelphia for Halloween.

You wish you was this rad!

Now here's the pics from the party. Click it!

Chapter 3

"Get back below!" Captain Stewart yelled from the bridge.

Paul stood in the doorway of the cabin, afraid and unable to will his legs to move. It was almost pitch black out but he could see that much of the boat's railings had been torn away and the ocean was starting to creep over the sides.

"Get below! Now!" the Captain screamed. The boats engines roared to life and the Captain threw the throttle to full.

"Captain?" was all Paul could muster before one of the other fishermen pushed him back into the cabin and slammed the door behind him.

"Oh god. Oh fuck," said the fisherman.

"What was that? What hit the ship?" Paul rummaged through his belongings, looking for his cell phone.

"It, it was...oh fuck it couldn't be."

"Couldn't be what? Where's the others?"

"They're all gone. It took them!"

"God damnit! What took them?" Paul found his cell phone and powered it on.

"A kraken."

They stared at each other, neither one able to believe what was just said. Paul's phone let out a small chirp indicating it was on and had found a signal. He checked the screen and the phone showed one signal bar.

"Is it working?" The fisherman made his way to the cabin entrance and peered through the small window on the door.

"There's a signal, but it's weak."

"Call someone, anyone. Try to get some help."

Paul dialed his wife. If he wasn't going to survive, he wanted to let her know that he love her. The phone rang twice and then the call dropped. He checked the screen again, no signal. "Fuck. It's gone."

"We're dead. We made it angry and now its going to tear the ship apart," said the fisherman. He grabbed a knife from the tackle box on his bunk. "I'd get a weapon if I were you."

"I don't have a fucking weapon. Are you kidding me? What did you do that this thing wants to kill us?"

"I didn't do it. One of the other guys, he hooked a fish, a big yellow tail, and started reeling it in. The fish put up a fight for a couple minute but then it stopped. He'd thought he lost the fish so he started taking in the rest of his line but then he felt a tug and the line start spooling out real fast. Faster than any yellow tail should be able to take the line. So he fought back. Fuck, he should have just let it go. Next thing we knew, the line stopped spooling out and we saw a huge mass in the water heading right for the ship."

Paul's cell phone rang startling them both. It had picked up a faint signal. Paul looked at the screen. It was his wife call back. He answered the phone.

"Hi honey, saw that you call. You back on dry land already?" asked his wife.

"I don't have a good signal so I need you to listen. We're still out and something attacked the boat. One of the other fishermen thinks its a kraken. I think the captain is trying to get the ship back but it pretty fucked up. I'm not sure if we're going to make it back." Paul began to cry. "I love you."

"Honey? You're bre - what's happ - a krak -"

The phone lost the signal. Again, Paul couldn't move. It took him a moment before he realized the fisherman had left the cabin and the ship's engines had stopped. He looked down and water was beginning to pool on the cabin floor.

Chapter 2

Paul awoke to the captain yelling above deck. He looked over and noticed the gentlemen that was in the bunk across from him was gone. Paul threw on his clothes and borrowed shoes and climbed the ladder up to the deck. The sun had just come up and several of the other fishermen were already fishing off the port side. The rolling swells were more intense than the previous night when the boat set out onto the high seas. So intense that Paul was immediately seasick and he vomited over the side.

"When you're done chumming the water, grab you pole," Captain Stewart said. "I tied off that fancy new lure for you."

Paul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt better, same as he did the previous night when got seasick and threw up over the side. "Thank you." He took his fishing pole from the rack and found a spot on the railing a little ways from the other fishermen. He cast out his line but it didn't go far. He reeled the line back in and tried again. It went a little farther this time, but not by much.

"You're letting off the line too late. Reel it in and try it again." The Captain was leaning against the side of the ship's cabin. Paul tried it, letting off the line sooner and sure enough, the line flew much farther than before. "Good," said the Captain. "Now do that off the other side with the other fishermen. That's where the fish are."

Paul fished for several hours and caught a few fish, none of them spectacular, but he was happy that he caught anything. He got sick over the side again and decided to go below deck for a nap. Paul awoke to the Captain yelling above deck, but something was wrong. He had not been asleep long but when he looked out the cabin door it was dark as night and raining. Sitting on the edge of his bunk he rubber the sleep from his eyes but was knocked to the cabin floor when something hit the side of the ship. He heard more yelling from above and then another booming thud as the ship shook from another hit. Paul hurried up the ladder to the deck just in time to see a massive tentacle drag one of the fishermen off the deck and into the foaming sea.

Chapter 1

The sea breeze was gentle and calm but the salty air stung his eyes and throat. It didn't help that this fall had been unseasonably dry. Paul made his way toward the dock with his borrowed fishing poll, stopping briefly to inspect the brightly colored lures in the tackle shop window. He wasn't sure what, if any advantage one of these lures would provide him on his first deep sea fishing trip, but he would take any advantage he could get.

A bell above the door chimed as Paul entered the tackle shop. The old man behind the counter didn't budge from the morning paper. Paul was overwhelmed by the selection of lures in the display case. He settled on a bright green lure with black stripes and yellow eyes painted on either side. It looked like a lure that would catch the attention of any fish in the sea.

"I'll take this green lure, please."

The old man kept his eyes on his paper. "Naw. You don't want that one," he said.

Paul waited for the old man to offer him a suggestion, but never got one. "What about this pink one. The one that looks like a squid?"

The old man put down his paper and swiveled around on his stool. He pulled a dull lead colored lure from the wall, swiveled back and set it on the counter. "You're fishing for yellow tail, ain't ya?" He pick up his paper and resumed reading. "Color don't matter much to yellow tail. Besides, this one's cheaper."

"Good to know. Thank you," said Paul as he handed his money to the old man. The old man took the money and put it in his pocket, never looking away from his paper.

Making his way towards slip thirty-two, Paul admired the various ships anchored along the way. He'd always dreamed of owning his own sail boat and cruising around the Caribbean. But the idea of becoming independently wealthy enough to do such a thing seem impossible given his current financial state.

"Are you Paul?" A man yell at him from the deck of one of the boats. He was pulling in a line.

"Yes," Paul replied.

"Good. I'm glad I caught you. I'm Captain Stewart. We had to change slips last night and I didn't have any way of contacting you."

"I gave my phone number to the lady taking the reservations. I think her name was Dana."

"I don't have a phone. I figured I could spot you anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Dana told me this was your first trip. Your sandals gave you away. Need shoes on my vessel."

"I may have some back in my car. I'll go check."

"No, no time. You're late as it is. I've got a pair you can use. Get aboard so we can shove off."

Paul handed his fishing pole to the Captain and climbed aboard the ship. "I bought this new lure. I'm not sure how to tie it off to my line."

Captain Stewart, ignoring Paul, placed the pole in a rack with several others and precoded to climb the ladder to the bridge. The ship's engine rumbled to life spewing a healthy puff of diesel exhaust. It stung Paul's eyes and throat far worse than the sea air so he moved to the bow hoping to avoid further aggravation. The boat pulled away from the dock and soon they were on their way.

Prologue

When the recession hit, the country went into shock and people lost their jobs. Paul was one of them. The company he worked for laid him off on a Friday. On Saturday he spent most of the day drinking. His wife thought it amusing at first. He explained to her that he'd received a decent severance package and that he would probably go back to work for his previous employer sooner than later. She accepted that and allowed him this moment of self pity. She also enjoyed the times when he'd had too much to drink as he made a fool of himself and it gave her ammunition to use against him during their next argument.

On Sunday Paul made his plans for the week or at least he thought about it. On Monday he would register to go back to school and then find something, anything, to do for the rest of the week to take his mind off the layoff. At first he he couldn't come up with any decent ideas beyond drinking more and playing video games. There were a number of movies he needed to catch up on, books to read, even writing he could be doing. But none of it seemed that interesting. So Paul decided to do something that he normally wouldn't do. He decided to go fishing. Deep sea fishing.

I'm Just Trying to Piss You Off

1. Kristen Wiig is not funny.

2. Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was a good movie.

3. Same difference.

4. I only shop at Whole Foods.

5. The Cowboys truly are America's Team.

Battle at Linoleum and the Reforging of the Fillet Knife

So as it came to pass that the great and mighty Paul would spend the rest of his days bound to his couch to ponder his lot in life, he found the chance for one last fleeting glimpse of his former conquests. Finding the strength to temporarily break the curse of an entire missed season of Fringe now available on the internet, Paul rose to his feet and boldly made his way to the kitchen in search of his leftovers. He swung the door open wide and immediately spotted them, wrapped in a sensual layer of aluminum foil, his leftovers gleamed like sparkling waters of the Great Ocean he had know as a child. He tore the leftovers for the refrigerator's bosom and spun around it search of a fork. But there was none to be found in the hall of forks.

Waiting, for vengeance!

Paul lashed out at the Sink with all the spite and violence he could muster. For it was the Sink that pilfered the forks. Brandishing the Scrub Brush of Kalithunkillboar he made short work of the wretched Sink returning the forks from wench they came. But the Mighty Paul was proud and his pride often took a boastful form, especially to impress that most heavenly of maidens, Stacey. Seeing the opportunity to boast of rescuing all the wretched items from the Sink's stinking maw, Paul set about cleansing and in minutes had cleansed them all. They were now free to return to their homes, to the Great Lands of the North and the places of their fathers births.

It strikes!

The Sinks vengeance was strong and swift. It set the Scourge of Knifeblock, the deadly Fillet Knife on the unknowing Paul. It hid, using all it's cunning below Paul's fancy dish drying towel, ready to strike. Unsuspecting, Paul gracefully removed the fancy towel from the counter top and in a flash the dastardly Fillet Knife jumped to the ground and stabbed with all it might into heel. But in battle, the Might Paul only knows rage. Quicker than a fox with +8 agility, he removed the blade from his heel and hurled it against the wall, shattering the Fillet Knife into hundreds of pieces.

The fatal wound.

And yet the Fillet Knife had done its damage. The All Powerful Paul collapsed and fell into the Shadow World. There he slept for a thousand years, waiting. Waiting for the time of his rebirth!

There he slept.

Stacey found The Paul; she used her healing powers and made him anew! He rose up and reforged the Fillet and became its master. Its razor sharp blade cut down his enemies and he became Lord of All of Creation.

Remade.

Reforged.

Fine!

I will do it in a minute!

Are you out to lunch?

Laid off

Just got laid off. Weak.

Top 5ive: Lies You'll Tell At Your High School Reunion

What? Wednesday already?

Yes it is. So shut up and get ready for today's Top 5ive!

Today, with the help of my good buddy and guest blogger, Josh, we're exploring the nostalgia inducing event known as the high school reunion. Many dream of getting uber-rich or famous and going back to their high school for a reunion to brag about it and show up that once popular jock who's now an unsuccessful insurance salesman. But for most, things don't always go as planed and you end having an average life like most everyone else at the reunion. But, if there is one constant with most everyone at the reunion, it's that everyone in attendance is lying about some part of their lives in one way or another. Some do it in an attempt to grab that glory they always dreamed of. Other do it to appear more interesting to their ex that said they would never amount to anything. Most do it just to make the event tolerable. So, with out further stalling for time:

Top 5ive: Lies You'll Tell At Your High School Reunion

5. I had a sex change, but the new sexual power went to my head, so I switched back. Good news is that they gave me a few extra inches the second time around.

4. I'm working on a stage adaptation of the comic strip, The Family Circus.

3. I retired early after I made a fortune in the Juice Boom of the late 90's. Luckily I got out before the Juice Market collapsed.

2. I'm writing a novel about how mean you were in high school to that one kid who killed herself. Oh, you didn't hear she killed herself? Surprise, Surprise.

1. It's so great to see you!

Wait till they find out he's not really a rich oil baron.

The Plane! The Plane!

This morning, a friend pointed out an interesting phenomenon taking place in the NFL, more specifically with its players. All across the league, NFL players are taking a great interest in modern aeronautics and plane spotting. Watch any game on a Sunday and you'll see that many players bring this new hobby with them on the field. It's easy to catch them plane spotting. Usually after a player makes a decent play, he looks up at the sky and points to a passing aircraft. More than likely these players are taking a greater interest in the science of aeronautics because they themselves have recently purchased a new personal jet or, more than likely, are planning to purchase one soon. Why else would they indiscriminately point at flying vessels AFTER they make a big play? Because those big plays earn them the extra income necessary to get that plane they've always wanted and they can't help but be excited about it.

Hey look! The new Learjet 40 XR.

Three more touchdowns and it's mine.

While it's great to see that NFL players are expanding their horizons with the science of aeronautics, these players are inadvertently revealing a massive security threat. As I stated before, this growing interest is occurring all across the league. Watch any game taking place in any city and you'll see players pointing at passing aircraft multiple times during a game. So the question is: Why is every NFL stadium built right under the flight paths of most of the air traffic in the United States? Didn't the NFL see the danger in building stadiums that house tens of thousands of people right below the path of aircraft that could accidentally crash into said stadiums or, worse yet, aircraft that could be hijacked by terrorists and willfully crashed into the stadiums? Thousands would be killed in the plane crash and surely many more would be injured in the ensuing stampede to exit the stadium. A plane crash in a stadium would be a devastating attack. And yet the NFL, in all their wisdom, has given the terrorists a direct and open path to do just that. So I call on the NFL, in the name of saving lives, to pick up every stadium in the United States and move it about five or ten miles down the road. That should fix the problem or at the very least, gentrify a new area of every major US city, thus increasing tax revenue and solving our economic crisis. It's a win either way.

 

Does any one else see how low that plane is?

In Favor of Robot Slaves

I recently purchased a Roomba robotic vacuum and I'm going to come right out and say how awesome it is.

My new Roomba is AWESOME.

There. Now that that's out of the way, I can tell you that the experience has made me a pro robotic slavery activist. Everyone should have a robot that does their bidding, especially when it comes to cleaning the floors. Let the robot crawl around on its belly, sweeping up your filth. In turn your should drink a martini and hurl insults at it.

Finally, here's a cat riding on a Roomba, thus proving that even cats are pro robotic slavery.

Top 5ive: Olde Timey Transportation

Wednesday means it's Top 5ive time. In today's list we'll be looking at forms of transportation who's times have come and gone due to advancements in technology or changes in society's class structure or shear ridiculousness. So, without further stalling for time:

Top 5ive: Olde Timey Transportations

5. Handcar or Pump Trolley

Still faster than taking the train

4. Zeppelin

 Oh the humanity!

3. Slave-Powered Row Boats

The Charlton Heston models were recalled due to constant uprisings

2. The Penny-Farthing Bicycle

Impossible to not look ridiculous

1. Litter or Sedan Chair

 

No longer in use do to lack of Chinamen

Heard at the State Fair

Mother to her child: "Oh look sweetie. They're whittling."

She motions to a group of older people making small, wooden, animal statues.

Old Lady (with disdain): "We're CARVING, not whittling. Whittling is when old men shave the end of a stick into a point. We're carving."

Mother: "Oh. Sorry. Come on sweetie. Let's go."

 

We'll whittle a tune while you whittle that stick.

You don't whittle, you say? We don't take kindly to your types round here.

Me and Josh Gonna Be Rich

Josh: You make me famous yet? No? How about rich? You make daddy rich yet?
me: Yes.
Josh: YAY! Wait -- monetarily rich, right?
me: No. Spiritually.
Josh: Ok. Any chance you could sell that to one of your hippie neighbors? Send me the check?
me: I'll see. But it’s not a sellers market for spirituality right now.
Josh: Ugh.I know. You'd think it would be, in a country so spiritually bankrupt. But I guess we don't have money anymore either. Tell you what; I'll see if the Saudis are interested. What are we talking here, full enlightenment? Mid-level?
me: Well, its about 80% or so pure nirvana so it’s pretty good
Josh: Hmmm. Yeah. Yeah that is pretty good.
me: It will give you a decent soul enlightenment.
Josh: What's the other 20%? Baking soda or lidocaine or something?
me: Yep.
Josh: Ok.
me: I mean, I had to cut it with something if I'm going to make my money back.
Josh: I understand. Wait i got it -- my little brother is up to his gills with self-righteousness right now. If we cut up your nirvana with some cheap, palatable self-righteousness, we could sell it like 6 times over to dipshits in golden gate park.
me: Dude, perfect. That self-righteousness shit is just a quick fix and doesn't last that long. They'll be begging us for more in a week.
Josh: Agreed. I'm gonna find a sari or some Indian-style linens to wear on the street or maybe you should. You've already got the beard. How long is your hair right now?
me: I just got it cut kinda short last night.
Josh: Still got the beard though, right?
me: Nope.
Josh: Shit.
me: Pretty clean cut.
Josh: Ok. Ok. We can still make this work. Send me an old photo of yourself. A beardy one. I'll put it on a pamphlet. I'll buy some sandals. I am already wild-eyed and smelly. I can sell this shit.

 Ommmmmmmmoney

me: Ok, but we need to take caution. The cops are really cracking down lately. Their really pushing that Christian stuff and forcing our more eastern brands off the market.
Josh: Fuuuuuuuuuuuck them and their single god.
me: Dude, I know. The problem is that Christianity is cheap and easy to cook up in a church basement. There's Christianity Labs springing up all over the place. And the worst part is that it makes your rationality fall out. Besides being highly addictive for those that have never had spirituality before.
Josh: Right. Plus they got that guilt hook. Genius.
me: Oh yeah. They cut it with a ton of guilt.
Josh: A TON. And nobody's the wiser. They kinda like it, I think.
me: Naw man. Naw. Nobody likes guilt in their spirituality. They just don't know better. They've never had pure nirvana before.
Josh: Right. So what we're offering, even if it's watered down, is gonna make their brains cum all over their skulls! And their wallets cum all over our hands!
me: Yes. That is exactly what will happen.
Josh: Buy some hand sanitizer, buddy. Cuz you're about to be swimming in that sticky green jizm.

 

The guidebook for spirituality.

The Fantabulous Oil Fields of H.C. Dickey

A lawyer friend of mine found this document while going through the estate paperwork of a client who recently passed. The document is from 1927 and is trying to sell an investment opportunity in a oil field run by a Mr. H.C. Dickey, which could be one of the best names ever created. There is a lot of olde timey language in the document, but the thing I found most interesting is the excessive use of caps. I like to think that back when this was written almost 100 years ago, writing in all caps was a new innovation that actually created a sense of urgency in the reader, instead of being incredibly annoying or a sign of frustration and anger like it does today.

CLICK THE DOCUMENT TO EMBIGGEN (See, you feel real urgency, don't you?)

 

Daniel Plainview would be proud. Or he would be angry and

shoot H.C. Dickey in the head with a freaking Darringer.

Man, that's cold blooded.

Joy, I have been nice to you. But now, I'm coming to the edge.

Below is a video of a kid who's losing his bacon. But look beyond that and you'll see a fairly articulate eight year old with the personality of a used car sales man. This kid is awesome. He make rational arguments, he doesn't pitch a fit, and he knows when to walk away from a deal. And right now, he doesn't want to make any more deals.

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

Top 5ive: Sports from the future

In this week's Top 5ive we're looking at sports...FROM THE FUTURE!!! Yes, these sports are very popular in their time (THE FUTURE!!!). Some of them are used to decide who will be the new Commander of Earth. Others are used to settle blood feuds between waring factions of the Orion Alliance. All are enjoyed as a healthy form of exercise, especially when combined with bionic implants and performance enhancing drugs. Because of the invention of time travel in the year 2213, us folks living in the present can also enjoy them, even though they are missing some of the technology that makes them wildly popular in the times they come from. So, without further stalling for time:

Top 5ive: Sports From the Future and
                the Future Technologies They're Missing

5. Arena Footbal
    Missing: Spiked helmets and razor blade shoulder pads.
    Death taps on the sidelines.
    Neon colors.

4. Racquetball (a.k.a. Future Tennis)
    Missing: Ball made from lasers that makes laser sound effects.
    Walls that flash different colors when struck by the laser ball.
    Player specific reversible gravity.

3. Jai-alai
    Missing:  Ball made from lasers that makes laser sound effects.
    Genetically engineered players with arms that stretch up to
    10 feet.

2. MotoGP
    Missing: Hover motorcycles with front mounted laser cannons.
    Speed boost pads on the track.
    Love.

1. Competitive Eating
    Missing: Genetic modification for adding up to four stomachs.
    Toilets for the contestants to evacuate their bowels while eating.
    Soylent Green Hot Dogs.

P.S. In case you don't know what Jai-alai is, here's a helpful documentary:



And here it is as seen on Miami Vice:

Parrotheads or Why Don't We Get Drunk and Be Huge Douches

Okay, before I even get into this post, let's make one thing clear: Jimmy Buffett's music sucks. He is the Tropical Yani, making the most bland, banal, repetitive music that he can possibly create. That said, I must give the man a great deal of credit for selling his image and ideas better than most musicians of the last fifty years. Most bands would kill to have a fan base as large and dedicated as Buffett's. But then again, most bands would want to make sure their their entire fan base isn't the biggest group of douches ever assembled.

This, dear reader, is a Jimmy Buffett fan, a.k.a. a Parrothead:

I know it's just a computer image but

feel free to punch him in the face.

The Parrothead is a fan of Jimmy Buffett and the life style he sells through his music. If you'd never heard a Buffett song before in your entire life (lucky you), you could take a look at the guy above and you'd probably guess that Buffett writes music about getting drunk, eating too much, acting childish, and making an ass of yourself and doing it all with a faux-tropical attitude. Good guess.

Your average Parrothead falls into one of two major categories of people.  The first type, displayed above, is a middle-aged Baby Boomer Parrothead. More than any other aspect of Buffett's music, the Boomer Parrothead is drawn to the Peter Pan, never grow up mentality. Apparently that involves having the fashion sense of a five year old clown and hitting on co-eds half their age. They like to pretend they "party" by having a couple of beers and dancing poorly. But for them, a couple of beers is the maximum they can handle and by the third they're puking everywhere. Ultimately if they could, they would give it all up and lie on a beach some where, just eating and drinking for the rest of their days. Sounds nice in theory but in the real world that's what's known a worthless, homeless slug.

WARNING: Staring at this image maybe harmful to your dignity.

The second type of Parrothead is the Ultra-Lame Frat Boy (ULFB) Parrothead. Now, I know you're thinking, "But Paul, aren't all frat boys lame?" To a certain extent yes, they are all lame. But the type of frat boy I'm writing about is the goatee sporting, Abercrombie wearing, prematurely balding dude who been accused of date rape several times. This is the type of guy who starts every story with "I was so wasted..." and then calls you "Bro" before slamming a Corona and humping the leg of the next woman they see all while playing Ultimate Frisbee. Much like their Boomer Parrothead counterparts the ULFB Parrothead would prefer to be lazy and contribute nothing except poor taste and to that overwhelming smell of vomit.

And a final reminder, their is no dignity to be found in a Hawaiian shirt.

Sound O' Text!

NNNNEEEEERRRRRRR

PEW PEW PEW

KKKAAAABBBBOOOOMMMMM

Don't waste water. Pee in the shower.

Because you've demanded it, I want to share with you all this commercial from Brazil urging you to conserve water by peeing in the shower.  I also hear that it helps cure athlete's foot:



Or do like our good friend Howard Hughes and store it in jars. Either way its good for the environment.

 

Howard Hughes: Ahead of his time.

Top 5ive: Top Five Lists

Welcome to a new feature of To The Upstairs: Top 5ive (see how five is spelled with the number 5 replacing the letter 'F'? Pretty clever!). I'm going to try to put up a new list every week so be prepared for some good, old fashioned controversy.

This weeks Top 5ive has an interesting theme: the best "Top Five" lists of all time. These lists come from various sources across history such as literature, movies, and the interwebs. I know I'm going to forget someone's favorite Top Five list but I did my best to cover all the classics. So with out further stalling for time:

Top 5ive: Best Top Five Lists of All Time

5. Top Five Most Degrading Ways to Make Your Serfs Toil
    (The Feudal Lords Atlas, 1342)

4. Top Five Hobo Names that Begin with 'Boxcar'
    (Boxcar Willy's Journal, 1922) 

3. Top Five Illnesses Caused by Masturbation
    (Official Papal Decree, 1713) 

2. Top Five Most Hilarious Mammoth Trampling Deaths
    (A cave in what is now the south of France, 10,000 BCE) 

1. Top Five Ways I Would Totally Wreck That Chick at the Bar
    (The now defunct website MadBroSkills.com, 2002)

 Suck it Letterman. I only need five.

Really Brits? Cockney cash machine?

The British do some odd things and their accents are really annoying but this is too much.

Bank Machine, a company that manages ATMs in England has installed a few ATMs that use the Cockney slang language.  Besides being problematic cause it makes no sense to normal people, Cockneys are generally poor and don't have money. So why would they need an ATM in the first place?

 

A wanker withdraws his last Pound so he can see a footy match.

That's all they do in the UK, right?

Article here.

Aquacise!

So I swim laps at a local gym after work most days of the week. I usually swim for about an hour and a half before calling it quits and heading home to the missus. Lately though, my Tuesdays and Thursdays have been rudely interrupted by that last bastion of exercise for the morbidly obese, the very old, and a people who are both those things. I'm talking, of course, about Aquacise. If you're unfamiliar with Aquacise or Water Aerobics, as they are often called, I've provided this video to better aquatint you with the "activity."

Let's watch!

As you can see, the class consists of all they types of people I described above and as an added bonus, a douche and a lecherous old man. The water aerobic activities mostly consist of jumping up and down in the water and using "weights" for added resistance. In theory, this is a great workout for them because its low resistance (broken hip lady) and the water help keeps them buoyant (so overweight that gravity is a nuisance and living on land has become dangerous). And while I don't doubt that this may be marginally helpful for certain people, almost all of the people taking the class are too far gone for this type of "exercise" (oh yeah, sarcastic quotes coming on strong) to help at all.

Now, my problem is that a class that does essentially nothing for these people interrupts my actual workout. Their bouncing creates waves in the pool and these a big people mind you. As such it makes it impossible to breathe properly without swallowing a gallon of water. Being big people, the Aquacisers take up a lot of space so I'm forced to swim around them. Seeing as how swimming is mainly done in straight lines, swimming around is an epic hassle. And to top it all off, they don't shower before the get in the pool. Take a look at the above video again. Notice anything about the color of the water? Yeah, old people can't control their bowels and fat people have food stuck in their fat folds.

See? Yeah. Gross.

Movie Hype and the Nerds That Love It

I want to make sure that everyone knows there is a new Quentin Tarantino out today. I also want to make sure you know that it will be rad. I mean super rad. No, wait, I mean badical, the greatest form of radness that can be achieved!

See what I did there. I hyped up a movie I haven't seen yet. I did so by saying it was going to be "badical" even though I've only seen the trailer and I know that Tarantino makes rockin' movies. In reality, the movie might suck (fat chance, it is a QT Joint), but the great thing about hype is that its a magnifier of excitement, specifically anticipatory excitement. Its the kind of excitement that, at least for the briefest of moments, makes you proud to spend $10 on a ticket.

But hype is a double edge sword and a gamble. Hype sets the bar higher, so much so that once you reach a certain level of hype a movie's quality loses all middle ground. It either blows or blows your mind. There is no more okay, just good, or meh. If you hype a movie and it blows, you feel more than dissatisfied with your purchase - you feel betrayed. How dare it not live up to your over-exaggerated expectations! You spent $10 and this is what you get? What a rip off. But if on the rarest of occasions you hype a movie and it blows your mind, then that movie was better for you then it was for everyone else in the theater who saw it with you. Except for that fat nerd who downed two buckets of popcorn and a giant coke. He's been on the interwebs for weeks, trolling movie sites and forum threads, building up his hype like it was a bad smack habit.

Hopefully, he just got his fix.

So awesome I can't even describe it

cause I haven't even seen how awesome it is.

Happy Birthday Coworker

Is there anything more pathetic and sad then the office birthday party?

No.

Well, maybe the fact that I'm writing a blog entry about it, but let's ignore that for a moment.

The entire office b-day party/charade hinges on the person getting the cake. The fun party hats are never fun, the decorations, if any, are always half-assed, and the ratio of sincere to insincere birthday wishes on the birthday card is heavily weighted towards insincere. So the only really enjoyable part is the cake and even then its enjoyable for only one out of three people (this is the studied and proven percentage of people on this planet who genuinely like cake. Everyone else hates it.).

So my advice for the office party cake:
1. Don't let the fat secretary pick up the cake. I know your instinct is to delegate a menial task like this to your underling. But she will get the kind she loves and you can bet your ass it will be some kind of butter cream monstrosity that's overly sweet.

2. Erotic cakes are only awkward or offensive in an office environment. They are hilarious everywhere else.

3. The smaller the cake the better. If you get a huge cake then that will be the talk of the office for the rest of the day cause people in offices are usually impressed by lame shit like a big cake. "Oh man, did you see the size of Jamie's birthday cake? I had a piece and it went straight to my thighs! AHAHAHA!" PUNCH. "Ouch. Why did you hit me?"

Quickly! To the upstairs!

I'm sure this is how most blogs start, out of boredom. It's how mine is starting and maybe someday yours, if you're bored enough. Until then consider yourself lucky you haven't experienced this level of boredom. A boredom so deep, so maddening, that you turn to putting your thoughts on the interwebs, thinking that some how it will make them more important. I think that's the overarching flaw of blogs, or of the people that write them. Just because its easy for others to read what you wrote doesn't make your ideas an more important than they were when they were swimming through your head. In fact it cheapens them, taints them with the sent of manure, and makes them less important.

But I am the exception.

"But how can this be? My diatribe on the state of celebrity in America was snarky and well informed and used at least two pop culture referenced per sentence!" You ask with a huff and furrowed brow.

I am the exception because I know none of what I say is important, at least not yet. But soon, someone will start following my blog. And then, someone else. And maybe a third person. At this point I will call for my followers to rise up and cast of the shackle of society. Then my words will have meaning and purpose. I will lead you all to the upstairs where we will eat pizza rolls, watch Phil take down GoldenEye, and know what its like to be free.