Sunday, February 26, 2006

Shark chunks

You know that scene at the end of "Jaws" when the shark eats the guy on the boat as he screams and blood goes everywhere? That was what popped on the screen right as I turned the TV on earlier. That was a nice thing to see. A couple minutes later, Roy Scheider threw an oxygen tank in Jaws' mouth. Jaws swam away, came back and Roy shot Jaws. This exploded the oxygen tank sending chucks of bloody shark flying through the air. I've always thought the end of that movie was funny.

Once again, I'm tired and not too articulate tonight.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Did you know 26 of the 50 states have an official state beverage? I didn't. Milk is the overwhelming favorite. However, Alabama went with Conecuh Ridge Alabama Fine Whiskey. That's interesting. It's not even my favorite. That's because the official state beverage of Nebraska is Kool Aid. It was first produced in Nebraska, so it makes sense, but I respect Nebraska a lot more now.

Speaking of Kool Aid, the Kool Aid guy's voice is deeper and less gravely now. It's actually kind of scary.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

If only it were this easy

I've hit my breaking point with the Bush Administration. The unnecessary wars, the spying, the torture, the lies...I can't take it anymore. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to call Keller & Keller. Sure, it's not a personal injury case, but you can bet it would scare them all into resigning.

Bush: Heh, heh, heh, just throw this Mr. Bradley into Gitmo and tell the boys they can do anything they want to him. He's not going to be a problem anymore.
Alberto Gonzales: Yes, well, sir, it's not that easy.
Bush: Whatayou mean it's not that easy? So what? He's in the palms of our hands. We can do anything we want, no questions asked. Who's his lawyer?
Gonzales: It's...Keller & Keller.
(Cue loud instrumental boom, accompanied by Bush spitting his coffee all over the table and peeing his pants.)
Bush: Wha...wha...whaterwe gonna do?
Gonzales: I think we better quit, Mr. President.
Bush: Good idea.
Enter second-rate actor Robert Vaughn as the Keller & Keller strongman: Call the law offices of Keller & Keller and tell abusive government despots Dial 1-800-2-KELLER right now!

Monday, February 20, 2006

I always wanted my own baseball card

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Go away, George Washington. Go far, far away.

You know, I'm not entirely sure how, but over the course of the day Saturday, I collected 16 one-dollar bills. This came after I started the day with one. One of my quirks is that I never like having more than four one-dollar bills on my person at one time. They waste space, and make it uncomfortable to sit down. All they're good for is to buy poisonous food out of the Carousel of Death vending machines at work. I've been trying to figure out how this happened tonight because it's bothering me at this early morning hour. Maybe I can work it out if I time-lapse this sucker.

2:15: Buy two programs at the Purdue game. One for me, and one for a co-worker. They are $4 each, and I gave the seller a $20 bill. In change, I got a $10 and two $1's. (three total)

6:15: Give said program to said co-worker. He thought it would be $2. I say $4. He gives me four $1's. (seven total)

8:30: Here's where it gets fuzzy. I agree with two other guys to chip in $8 for a couple pizzas. When the pizzas arrive, I take out a $10 bill to give to The Pizza Leader. Worker #2 is holding a $20. I'm about to hand my $10 to the Pizza Leader, when Worker #2 takes it out of my hand, gives me his $20, says, "That should make it easier," gives my old $10 to the Pizza Leader, he gets two dollars back, while I stand there with a dumb, confused look on my face because I can't do math, so I hand this $20 to Pizza Leader, and he gives me eight $1's. I stand there with an even dumber and more confused look on my face before walking away to jot some numbers down that add up to the square root derivitive of the Pizza Leader is correct. (18 total)

8:32: I'm still not entirely sure what's going on. I can't fit all my one-dollar bills in my wallet without it looking like I have a tumor on my butt, so I take a few out. Silently, I stew. In my mind, I curse George Washington and cherry trees and my middle school history teachers and the new chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, whatever his name is. I consider approaching anyone who appears to have larger bills, but I remember that this is a newspaper and everyone here is poor.

8:35: I head upstairs, still confused, in search of a drink. One goes into the machine, and I have orange juice. I'm a little more contented, even if this orange juice is overly strong. I like orange juice out of a box, but out of these little bottles, it is way too ripe. Orange juice with pulp is gross, though. (17 total)

10:15: I'm bored and want to go for a walk. I buy a Pepsi, which I never drink. I feel my teeth rotting as I write this. (16 total)

So, I guess that explains it. I have 16 one-dollar bills. It would be a little more impressive if George Washington's dead face were replaced by Benjamin Franklin's dead face, but we deal with what we have. If anyone has change, please help. It's playing with my neuroses.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Drunken tree

And here is a weird story from the San Francisco Chronicle, "Stanford tree mascot fired for drinking at basketball game." If you don't know what the Stanford Tree is, here is a visual...

From the story...

The Stanford University tree has been toppled for being drunk on the job.

The student wearing the costume of the legendary mascot was suspended from duty after UC Berkeley police observed her drinking from a flask during a Stanford-Cal basketball game last week, officials said today.

"She was taking drinks inside the tree,'' said Kevin Klintworth, assistant athletic director at Cal. "The officers could see the flask through the costume.''

If you are blessed with the opportunity to be the Stanford Tree, it is not a good thing to throw it away by drinking from a flask while prancing around. I'd like to wear that suit in public, while driving a riding mower and eating a burrito. But no flask.

# # #

Earlier today, it was 60 degrees. Then storms with 60 mph winds swept through, and it is now 27 degrees with 40 mph winds, and it feels like -142. This seems like a good time to go for a walk.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Don't mess with us

We are Daniel's cats. We have taken him hostage. If you would like for him to live, you must send $50 million dollars and seven bags of cat food. You have 24 hours.


Tuesday, February 14, 2006

They let this guy have a gun?

Dick Cheney once shot me, too. I was walking through Circle Center when all of a sudden, streaking out of the women's clothing section at Nordstrom's, came the vice-president shrieking like a screaming banchee. I turned to run, but it was too late. He shot me in the face. You'd think a guy who has had roughly 4,000 heart attacks wouldn't have the speed and agility Cheney has, but he does. Dick Cheney is really quite fast. As I lay on the ground, blood pouring out of my face, Cheney started talking about how he was practicing for both the 400-meter dash and the shotgun competition in the 2008 Olympics. Then he thanked me for my help and ran after some other guy with the purpose of shooting him. I wish him the best of luck, and I wish my wounds would heal.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Way back machine

I was searching around through cabinets in the basement tonight when I found a few of the home videos my mom took when my brother and I were little. My favorite was from October/November 1985. My brother was 15 months old and I was four. I was an awesome four year old. I sang a lot and danced around. One of the strange things about it was that I seemed to like my brother. When he was first born, I didn't enjoy his existence, but I got along with him when the videos were made. There's also one scene in particular of Philip where he is sitting in the middle of the kitchen flooring crying his eyes out, and mom is just standing there recording it. It's amazing.

Nowadays, the brother and I are a little more competitive. You see the water in the background? I made that lake.

Yeah, I poured cup after cup of water into it until, finally, it became a lake. As you can see, I am happy while my brother is not. He lost a bet because he said I couldn't do it. Well, I did. But he should have known better than to bet against me. I have created other natural wonders all by myself. Like Arches National Park, for example.

(Photo: National Park Service)

The way it happened was that one day I was walking through the desert in Utah when I tripped over a dirt pile. It made me mad, and anger usually spawns productivity in me. So, in my rage, I took some dirt, formed it, nurtered it, watered it, fed it, loved it and it turned into Arches National Park. Some people like to claim it's the working of a divine spiritual being, but no, it was just me. You can come visit it sometime.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Storytime with Daniel

There's something I haven't revealed about myself yet: back when I was a wee Daniel, between the ages of two and five, I was a huge grocery bag collector. Yeah, and you know what? I'm not afraid to admit it. Back then, every time my parents and I went to a store, I had to get a bag to add to my collection. I was pretty serious about this. I was known to sit on the floor of my room for hours at a time where I would take one bag, look it over, front and back, inspecting for defects, place it on the floor face down, and then I'd take another bag and do the same thing. This repeated over and over until I tired myself enough to take my nap.

After I woke up, I had a habit of harassing my dad for him to take me to the Preston Safeway store down the street from my old house to get a new bag. The employees over there must have thought I was crazy. Or that I was cute and adorable, but that my dad was using me as a front to hide his own paper bag fetish. But he wasn't. The fetish was all mine. When we got home, dad and I would have a paper bag taping "party." This consisted of my handing him a grocery bag, and he would help me put layers of tape over it. Most cultures would consider me to have had an obsession or maybe a defect. However, dad didn't seem to think anything was wrong with me. Oh, how wrong he was.

My favorite store of all was also down the street. It was called Big E, which was a coincidence considering my favorite letter was E. (The letter W was pretty good, too, but E was No. 1 in my heart. I was also a big fan of the number 8, the color blue, Sesame Street, Huey Lewis and the News, Australia and 1940 Ford Woody's.) Tying all this together was that my favorite paper bag of all came from Big E. Seeing as I was a pretty unoriginal child, I named it Big E, and he came along with me everywhere. Big E got extra-special layers of tape, some of which were necessary to hide the deadly pathogens it collected in its adventures.

God, I loved that bag. And yes, it went through some battles. Among other things, it got run over by a car, thrown in a trash can at Chuck E. Cheese, nearly misplaced at home and put somewhere where it never would have been found, lost at another restaurant and found at said restaurant when dad went back to get it hours later after it had been thrown in the trash. It also had an unfortunate incident involving a toilet, but we won't discuss that here tonight. When out, I'd show off Big E to people, and usually they didn't know what to say to me. Sometimes, revulsion was their reaction. But what would you say if a three-year old brought to you a folded-over paper bag covered with layers of tape?

This paper bag was my pal. While most kids sleep with teddy bears, Big E kept the night monsters away. That's not to say I didn't have a favorite stuffed animal. I had a stuffed dog named Fluffy. I loved that dog, too. My left hand was my Big E hand, and my right hand was my Fluffy hand. That's how I learned my right and left, and it's how I carried them around. I was probably a year old when I got Fluffy. He's falling apart now. One of his legs is hanging by a thread.

That last part answers a question and poses a few more. Yes, I still have Fluffy and Big E. No, I don't sleep with them. Yes, I know where they are. No, you can't have them. Yes, I was a strange child. No, I don't still ask for an extra grocery bag "for my collection" at Kroger.

For some reason, I have a suspicion that someone will use this post against me someday.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

From the Kansas City Star...

Now that's just wrong, but a little funny in an evil sort of way.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Puppies eating Taco Bell in Montana

There is a place on Earth, a wonderful place, called Hungry Horse, Montana. They have a dam in Hungry Horse.

They also have a newspaper called the Hungry Horse News. It won a Pulitzer Prize in 1965.

Thank you, Internet, for the images. Really, that's all. I just felt like sharing.

# # #

A few days ago, I was eating Taco Bell when I looked at the food, looked up and realized, "I am eating Taco Bell." The revelation caused me to lose my appetite, which is strange considering all the times in my life I have eaten Taco Bell. If I don't feel like cooking, spending more money or if it's late at night on a vacation, the choice has always been Taco Bell. When it was in the C-Club at Butler, I would have a bean burrito with no onions and a hard taco, which was eventually memorized by the workers. If I am buying from any other location, it is two hard tacos, a chicken quesedilla and a chilli cheese burrito. Despite the fact it probably has enough fat and calories to cause seven simultaneous heart attacks, the chili cheese burrito is my single favorite fast food item. They are some states where it is not available, and it is always a let-down. But, for now, I am avoiding Taco Bell. I'm sure this is of the greatest importance in the lives of all the world's people.

# # #

On Animal Planet today, there was a program called "Puppy Bowl II." It consisted of puppies running around on a miniature football field for four hours. At halftime, they switched to kittens. When halftime ended, they dumped a bunch of confetti on the kittens. This terrified them. After the show was over, they repeated it. This went on all day long. It had to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen on TV. It wasn't just the fact that they showed puppies running around for hours at a time, but that they played this same basic music over and over and over again. It became mesmerizing. I could want to walk away, but it was always, "I'll just wait until this song is over. OK...I'll just wait until they stop showing Barry attack the other puppies. I'll just...I'll just sit down in this chair and...and I'll...and...where am I?" What was Animal Planet trying to do? Overwhelm us with an overdose of cuteness? I think the others in this house were starting to worry about me. An intervention was surely being planned behind doors. "We must free Daniel from the forces of the puppies," they probably said. But, alas, it is over. And thank goodness I don't have Tivo.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

The Church of Cat

One of my cats is either a Mormon or a Jehovah's Witness. I haven't decided which yet. Determing a religion for your cat is difficult, but I know it's one of the door-to-door prosteletizing ones. Why is this? Because I'm sitting here trying to relax, but Curley is over there knocking at the basement door. Come on, cat. Please just go to sleep. I have a headache, and your incessant meowing and knocking isn't going to convert me.

My other cat is Catholic. Yeah, definitely Catholic. But my first cat was a far right wing Christian fundamentalist. She was mean and spiteful.

Me? Hail Zeus!

# # #

As the razor companies continue to add blades (Gillette came out with one with five blades and one extra, for some reason, on the back), there will surely be a day when the entire razor covers half of your face, and with two swipes, all done. Of course, with that many blades, you are likely to have lost your face along with the stubble.

Whatever happened to the days of straight razors? Of course with those you were more likely to sever your head while shaving your throat. Either way, I'll stick with my Mach 3. It works fine, and the chopping is minimal.

# # #

With the news last week that Reebok and adidas have joined forces against Nike, it is time to realize that there are no winners in the war over footware. The shoe companies and the prices they charge are inherently evil. It is as if Nazi Germany had declared war on Hell. No one can possibly come out alive.