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.