Well, he has a brother, Jeff. 
That is all; you can go back to your Christmas shopping now.
12.20.2008
The Brothers Cole
Remember my Good Ol' Reliable Father? 
Well, he has a brother, Jeff. 
That is all; you can go back to your Christmas shopping now.
Well, he has a brother, Jeff. That is all; you can go back to your Christmas shopping now.
12.19.2008
Christmas at the Cole House
Every family has its own holiday traditions. One of ours happens to be getting together to decorate the house and the tree for Christmas. Each of us has a special stocking that we hang from the fire place. My mom needle-pointed mine, and Louie's. My brother made my dad's. Here it is:
Aside from the misspelling of our father's name, Steve, please note the Tie Fighter.
And, in keeping with the Star Wars theme, here is my favorite ornament on the tree:
Well, almost my favorite. Because our tree wouldn't be complete without ...
...The Christmas Ballsack, courtesy of Louis & Dad:
Aside from the misspelling of our father's name, Steve, please note the Tie Fighter.
And, in keeping with the Star Wars theme, here is my favorite ornament on the tree:
Well, almost my favorite. Because our tree wouldn't be complete without ...
...The Christmas Ballsack, courtesy of Louis & Dad:
12.16.2008
FriendPoll: What Is Hell To You?
I posed this question to a few friends: "What is Hell to you?" and encouraged them to include an explanation or anecdote, if they felt so inclined (in the case of Brian, that may have been a mistake). Here are their answers:
Gina: "A world with no ice cream trucks."
David: "I think being in a Pinto, going cross-country with Vince, from ShamWow , no air conditioning, the windows rattle and won't roll down, and the radio's stuck on an AM Banjo station. The seat is stuck upright and won't tilt back, and the seatbelt is too small and digs into my belly. And a cat had peed in the backseat and it smells."
Jody: "My idea of hell is working at a certain place where I was referred to as 'Girl PA,' and was so terrible that I wish diarrhea at an inconvenient time on almost everyone there."
Joe F: "A common interpretation of Purgatory has always been a veritable Waiting Room for Heaven...hanging out, hoping that the the people you have left behind pray for you enough that your number gets called, deli-counter style. I think Hell is sitting in that room holding a number that won't ever be called, but you don't know that. All you know is that some skinny bitch who just got here had her number called three days later and the speaker won't stop playing REM's Everybody Hurts."
Brian: "Hell is an idea that exists in many cultures as a way to balance out the injustices of the world. Both as a means to control people and prevent wrong behavior. And secondly for peace of mind, to believe that all injustices will ultimately be righted. So I believe it is a cultural invention of humankind for disciplinary and comfort purposes. I think the Buddhist hell makes more sense than the Christian one, as rehabilitation or a term of penance, rather than the eternal useless vengeance of Satan's bidness. The ancient Greek hades was interesting because it wasn't necessarily a reward or a punishment, but instead a dreary but necessary next step. Says something about their culture."
(Can someone give Brian a hug and make him watch some cartoons?)
Brandon: "A childproof lock, and I am a child."
Feldman: "Being force fed opera and classical music on a dirty, earthy smelling, outdoors hike with my parents stopping every possible moment to admire the nature." ...30 Minutes later.. "How rude of me not to ask, what is your hell? Something involving massive amounts of vomit?"
Oh, Feldman. You know me so well.
Gina: "A world with no ice cream trucks."
David: "I think being in a Pinto, going cross-country with Vince, from ShamWow , no air conditioning, the windows rattle and won't roll down, and the radio's stuck on an AM Banjo station. The seat is stuck upright and won't tilt back, and the seatbelt is too small and digs into my belly. And a cat had peed in the backseat and it smells."
Jody: "My idea of hell is working at a certain place where I was referred to as 'Girl PA,' and was so terrible that I wish diarrhea at an inconvenient time on almost everyone there."
Joe F: "A common interpretation of Purgatory has always been a veritable Waiting Room for Heaven...hanging out, hoping that the the people you have left behind pray for you enough that your number gets called, deli-counter style. I think Hell is sitting in that room holding a number that won't ever be called, but you don't know that. All you know is that some skinny bitch who just got here had her number called three days later and the speaker won't stop playing REM's Everybody Hurts."
Brian: "Hell is an idea that exists in many cultures as a way to balance out the injustices of the world. Both as a means to control people and prevent wrong behavior. And secondly for peace of mind, to believe that all injustices will ultimately be righted. So I believe it is a cultural invention of humankind for disciplinary and comfort purposes. I think the Buddhist hell makes more sense than the Christian one, as rehabilitation or a term of penance, rather than the eternal useless vengeance of Satan's bidness. The ancient Greek hades was interesting because it wasn't necessarily a reward or a punishment, but instead a dreary but necessary next step. Says something about their culture."
(Can someone give Brian a hug and make him watch some cartoons?)
Brandon: "A childproof lock, and I am a child."
Feldman: "Being force fed opera and classical music on a dirty, earthy smelling, outdoors hike with my parents stopping every possible moment to admire the nature." ...30 Minutes later.. "How rude of me not to ask, what is your hell? Something involving massive amounts of vomit?"
Oh, Feldman. You know me so well.
12.10.2008
Chef Liz in: "Steer Clear of Steer"
The weather's finally starting to cool down out here in Los Angeles. And when that happens, it's time for heartier food. Soups, stews, casseroles. So, today I'm going to pass along a glorious recipe: Scalloped Potatoes & Tongue.
Of course, I use the word "glorious" the same way I use the word "magnificent" to describe the bombing of Hiroshima.
Gaze in wonder at the recipe card:
The first step is to "Wash tongue well." At first I thought this referred to the diner's tongue, and would have made more sense at the end of the recipe, after the steps "Ingest" and "Regurgitate." But it appears the recipe is talking about beef tongue.
After washing, you boil the tongue, and then it gets really terrible, instructing you to "skim foam" from the boiling water. Pardon? Am I to understand that preparation for tonight's delicious meal involves a step that can be described as skimming beef foam from boiling tongue water?
Hey! Have you seen a cow's tongue? No? Well here you go:
I'd like to move on now, please.
The rest of the recipe is fairly unoffensive, a basic scalloped potato recipe (albeit with the inclusion of an unappealing bovine muscle). But, have you read the suggested menu items? Zucchini salad, glazed carrots, finished off with a strawberry sundae- not too bad. You may be able to get around eating the entree at all. Unless you are a guest- then it would be rude, so you must force down a full plate of this culinary monstrosity. And what will your host, ever-faithful to the recipe card's plan, select as the beverage for this evening? What will be at your disposal when you need desperately to wash down the tongue juices and white sauce?
Ah, yes. Tomato Juice. Thanks, Host. Nothing helps quench a thirst brought on by 2.5 pounds of lingual meat like watered down pizza sauce.
So, remember, this fall, when you're looking for a delicious, substantial recipe... This isn't it.
Of course, I use the word "glorious" the same way I use the word "magnificent" to describe the bombing of Hiroshima.
Gaze in wonder at the recipe card:
The first step is to "Wash tongue well." At first I thought this referred to the diner's tongue, and would have made more sense at the end of the recipe, after the steps "Ingest" and "Regurgitate." But it appears the recipe is talking about beef tongue.
After washing, you boil the tongue, and then it gets really terrible, instructing you to "skim foam" from the boiling water. Pardon? Am I to understand that preparation for tonight's delicious meal involves a step that can be described as skimming beef foam from boiling tongue water?
Hey! Have you seen a cow's tongue? No? Well here you go:
I'd like to move on now, please.
The rest of the recipe is fairly unoffensive, a basic scalloped potato recipe (albeit with the inclusion of an unappealing bovine muscle). But, have you read the suggested menu items? Zucchini salad, glazed carrots, finished off with a strawberry sundae- not too bad. You may be able to get around eating the entree at all. Unless you are a guest- then it would be rude, so you must force down a full plate of this culinary monstrosity. And what will your host, ever-faithful to the recipe card's plan, select as the beverage for this evening? What will be at your disposal when you need desperately to wash down the tongue juices and white sauce?
Ah, yes. Tomato Juice. Thanks, Host. Nothing helps quench a thirst brought on by 2.5 pounds of lingual meat like watered down pizza sauce.So, remember, this fall, when you're looking for a delicious, substantial recipe... This isn't it.
12.08.2008
Last One, I Swear
Here's Louie's arrangement of the jazz classic "It Don't Mean a Thing." It perfectly shows why he is my favorite person in the universe.
11.05.2008
Hollywood Mourns Loss of Progressive, Go-To Archetype
By LIZ COLE
Los Angeles, CA- It was a morose scene at the office of hit show 24 executive producer Howard Gordon last night. Gordon, also a writer for the show, had, moments earlier, been rejoicing over Barack Obama's victory. However, the reality of what the election of a black man to the presidency meant to the entertainment industry quickly dawned on him. "We had an African American president on our show way before anyone had even heard of Obama," he said, referring to actor Dennis Haysbert 
who played president David Palmer for five seasons. "This is great news for America, but what are the writers supposed to do now?"
For years, the Black President character, officially called Archetype 6D, provided valuable information about a script's story. "The idea that our country was being led by an African American was such a far off concept that it really let us set the tone [of the story]," says Deep Impact scribe Michael Tolkin. "It was such an easy character to pull from the shelf and sell the idea that, okay, this movie is going to be purely fictional, almost futuristic." Now, with Barack Obama in the Oval Office, writers are going to need to find another way to show their story takes place in a more idealistic version of America.
But help is on the way, according to WGA president Patric Verrone: "We're doing what we can to find a replacement for Archetype 6D. We've called our reps at the major studios and shows and, some time next week, we'll all meet for a big brainstorming session." He wouldn't expand on their plans, but there have been a lot of rumors circulating on literary message boards about the possible use of the Robot President archetype (6H) in future productions. "I don't know, though," said My Name Is Earl assistant coordinator Darren Wilner. "The possibility of a robotic leader of the free world may not be far enough off for us to get good mileage out of the archetype. I'd say, if the WGA wants to endorse anything at all, it should think seriously about Archetype 6L, Grizzly Bear President."
Los Angeles, CA- It was a morose scene at the office of hit show 24 executive producer Howard Gordon last night. Gordon, also a writer for the show, had, moments earlier, been rejoicing over Barack Obama's victory. However, the reality of what the election of a black man to the presidency meant to the entertainment industry quickly dawned on him. "We had an African American president on our show way before anyone had even heard of Obama," he said, referring to actor Dennis Haysbert 
who played president David Palmer for five seasons. "This is great news for America, but what are the writers supposed to do now?"For years, the Black President character, officially called Archetype 6D, provided valuable information about a script's story. "The idea that our country was being led by an African American was such a far off concept that it really let us set the tone [of the story]," says Deep Impact scribe Michael Tolkin. "It was such an easy character to pull from the shelf and sell the idea that, okay, this movie is going to be purely fictional, almost futuristic." Now, with Barack Obama in the Oval Office, writers are going to need to find another way to show their story takes place in a more idealistic version of America.
But help is on the way, according to WGA president Patric Verrone: "We're doing what we can to find a replacement for Archetype 6D. We've called our reps at the major studios and shows and, some time next week, we'll all meet for a big brainstorming session." He wouldn't expand on their plans, but there have been a lot of rumors circulating on literary message boards about the possible use of the Robot President archetype (6H) in future productions. "I don't know, though," said My Name Is Earl assistant coordinator Darren Wilner. "The possibility of a robotic leader of the free world may not be far enough off for us to get good mileage out of the archetype. I'd say, if the WGA wants to endorse anything at all, it should think seriously about Archetype 6L, Grizzly Bear President."
10.31.2008
Overdue Apologies- Halloween Edition
Dear Louis,I know I already offered an apology for the whole bath tub water incident. But I feel I owe you another for Halloween of 1998.
You see, my friend Lauren and I were very concerned with getting our costumes ready. I can't remember what the hell I was going as. But it was of the utmost importance that we discuss it behind closed doors. That day, you were your normal, bouncy, 12-year old self, excited at the prospect of a sackful of candy, and looking forward to donning your latest army-surplus getup. Your pre-sugar madness brought you, uninvited, into my room.
So I yelled at you to leave. This had the opposite effect. It was a classic case of moody teenager versus pre-teen wise-ass. I pushed you out, you stuck your arms and legs in the doorway. I kicked at you, you just laughed. I rolled my eyes at Lauren, pushing the door as hard as I could, as you tried with all your might to push the it back open. I gave one final shove, and you were out.
But something was wrong with what should have been a routine exiling. I was holding the door closed, yet it didn't want to stay flush with its frame. And then you let out a cry. You were in real pain. I quickly opened the door again, and freed your finger.
As I replay this in my head, I want to run over to you and hug you and say I'm sorry and tell you that when I'm older I will write you $500 checks every month to make up for this. But, I was 14, and a jerk and so as you stood holding your hand and howling in the hallway, I shut the door again and went back to costume planning. My face felt hot from guilt.
Dad came to my door about 20 minutes later. "You broke the tip of his finger. He is in a lot of pain. I had to to give him a shot to numb it, and now his finger's going to be in a splint while he trick-or-treats." He didn't ground me, or yell. I think he knew that just telling me about Louie's situation calmly would be painful enough. It was.
Lauren and I went down to the end of my driveway and sat by the mailbox. I looked at my feet, and played with a roly-poly bug in the dirt. As it curled and uncurled slowly, I told Lauren that I felt like crap. I probably had a more miserable time than you did that evening, worrying that you weren't enjoying yourself because of what I had done. But, judging by your confectionery haul, you were able to have a good, long trick-or-treating session with your pals.
Later, when we got home, and you and I dumped all of our candy out onto the floor as was customary, I wanted to make it up to you some how. So, staring at your bandaged finger while you sorted your candy into piles, I'm sure I probably gave you some pretty great candy trades.
10.23.2008
All Ho's Eve
Everyone is talking about Halloween (Actually, everyone is talking about the dismal stock market situation, but let me just have this one, okay?) and I couldn't be more excited!
Being the organized and on-top-of-it individual that I am, I'm still deciding on my Halloween costume. I have a week to figure it out. Actually, given my work schedule, I only have this weekend to figure it out. So, what better way to spend my down time at work than surfing the internet for costume ideas? (My psychiatrist said to use my free time to learn a foreign language or better myself intellectually somehow, but what the hell does he know?)
Google "Women's Halloween costumes." G'head. I dare you.
Witchs, pirates, cops, ladybugs, NUNS- They've found a way to make everything hyper-sexy. Yet, the men's costumes are pretty tame. Priest, psycho butcher, Batman, Julius Caesar. How come, if a girl wants to dress up for Halloween, she's gotta be a skeevy mass of cleavage and leg? Do you know how many people would actually look appealing in those outfits? The nine people they hired to model the clothes in the first place. That's how many.
This isn't a new phenomenon to me. I went to school in Malibu for lord's sake. I recall in the 8th grade a girl in my class (I'm not going to name names because we just became friends on Facebook and I really don't want to screw that up) wore a Nurse costume to school on Halloween. Aww, how cute, you're probably saying. What a wholesome and Florence Nightingale-y costume!
WRONG.
Have you ever been to Hollywood Boulevard? Have you ever a passed a store called Bed Behavior? I believe that is where the girl got her costume. I think the only part of this chick I couldn't see were her lungs. I learned more about the female body on Halloween '97 than I did in my freaking college anatomy class. So, she strutted around all day, twirling her plastic stethascope, driving all the other girls to feelings of utter inadequacy.
Meanwhile, I too had given into the pressure to dress at a sexiness level far outside of my comfort zone and was dressed as a "Sorceress." You better believe I was wearing what I considered a low-cut dress, with a fancy steel-reinforced brassiere. PLUS- a headband made from glow-in-the-dark bones and tusks, a feather boa, AND a custom-coiffed Barbie head with a safety pin stuck through it hanging from a chain around my neck. (I later donned that Barbie head every day for several months in the 10th grade as part of my "Bite me- I'm weird and proud of it" phase. That's a whole other blog.) Needless to say, I looked freaking awesome. Awesome enough that - OMG! - the most popular boy in school told me I looked "rad." (Cleverly, I rolled my eyes at him, and as a result, didn't ever have a real boyfriend until 12th grade.)
But I couldn't compete with The Naughty Pre-Teen Nurse. It just doesn't seem fair that a guy can get away with smearing red tempra paint on his shirt and calling it a costume, and the other half of us have to wear skirts so short you can see our "parts." I just can't ever seem to make it to that level of Skank. Sure, once I was Tinker Bell On A Bender, complete with hip flask and crooked fairy wings. But I was completely out-sexied by the scads of Slutty Waitresses and Skeevey Bank Tellers.
Of course, I'm still going to give it the old college try and go as some boob-tastic version of a beloved childrens' book character or something. Though I still haven't decided on an actual costume, I have purchased a FANTASTIC bra, so I've got a pretty good chance of fitting in this year.
Being the organized and on-top-of-it individual that I am, I'm still deciding on my Halloween costume. I have a week to figure it out. Actually, given my work schedule, I only have this weekend to figure it out. So, what better way to spend my down time at work than surfing the internet for costume ideas? (My psychiatrist said to use my free time to learn a foreign language or better myself intellectually somehow, but what the hell does he know?)
Google "Women's Halloween costumes." G'head. I dare you.
Witchs, pirates, cops, ladybugs, NUNS- They've found a way to make everything hyper-sexy. Yet, the men's costumes are pretty tame. Priest, psycho butcher, Batman, Julius Caesar. How come, if a girl wants to dress up for Halloween, she's gotta be a skeevy mass of cleavage and leg? Do you know how many people would actually look appealing in those outfits? The nine people they hired to model the clothes in the first place. That's how many.
This isn't a new phenomenon to me. I went to school in Malibu for lord's sake. I recall in the 8th grade a girl in my class (I'm not going to name names because we just became friends on Facebook and I really don't want to screw that up) wore a Nurse costume to school on Halloween. Aww, how cute, you're probably saying. What a wholesome and Florence Nightingale-y costume!
WRONG.
Have you ever been to Hollywood Boulevard? Have you ever a passed a store called Bed Behavior? I believe that is where the girl got her costume. I think the only part of this chick I couldn't see were her lungs. I learned more about the female body on Halloween '97 than I did in my freaking college anatomy class. So, she strutted around all day, twirling her plastic stethascope, driving all the other girls to feelings of utter inadequacy.
Meanwhile, I too had given into the pressure to dress at a sexiness level far outside of my comfort zone and was dressed as a "Sorceress." You better believe I was wearing what I considered a low-cut dress, with a fancy steel-reinforced brassiere. PLUS- a headband made from glow-in-the-dark bones and tusks, a feather boa, AND a custom-coiffed Barbie head with a safety pin stuck through it hanging from a chain around my neck. (I later donned that Barbie head every day for several months in the 10th grade as part of my "Bite me- I'm weird and proud of it" phase. That's a whole other blog.) Needless to say, I looked freaking awesome. Awesome enough that - OMG! - the most popular boy in school told me I looked "rad." (Cleverly, I rolled my eyes at him, and as a result, didn't ever have a real boyfriend until 12th grade.)
But I couldn't compete with The Naughty Pre-Teen Nurse. It just doesn't seem fair that a guy can get away with smearing red tempra paint on his shirt and calling it a costume, and the other half of us have to wear skirts so short you can see our "parts." I just can't ever seem to make it to that level of Skank. Sure, once I was Tinker Bell On A Bender, complete with hip flask and crooked fairy wings. But I was completely out-sexied by the scads of Slutty Waitresses and Skeevey Bank Tellers.
Of course, I'm still going to give it the old college try and go as some boob-tastic version of a beloved childrens' book character or something. Though I still haven't decided on an actual costume, I have purchased a FANTASTIC bra, so I've got a pretty good chance of fitting in this year.
10.06.2008
Avoid Sudden Movements
A Fact About Me: I find shows about beekeeping fascinating. There is a show on RFD, the farming channel (Yeah. I watch it. So?) that comes on about once a year. It features Dr. Keith Delaplane, who may or may not have a hidden stash of dead wives buried underneath his porch. Keith teaches you all you need to know about beekeeping.
But once a year is not enough to satiate my hunger for apiological
programming. Thank god for YouTube, and this guy. I love him. Aside from his vast knowledge of bees, he is completely amusing and wacky. To see my favorite video of his, click here. If you need to see more of Crazy Bee Guy, search "ExpertVillage" on YouTube. He has TONS of videos. 9.09.2008
Dude- I sing in Portuguese now
So, this weekend, I totally sang in Portuguese. My dad played piano, my brother played drums (and recorded) and our friend Hans played bass. The song is called "É Com Esse Que Eu Vou" by Pedro Caetano, and it's probably my favorite song.
I hope you like it!
8.21.2008
My Yearbook Photos
I have lived in my apartment for over a year, but yet I am still unpacking. I was going through a box the other night and found my old yearbooks. I thought I'd share them here with you. (Scroll down slowly, so you don't ruin any surprises!)
Oh man. Remember this hair trend? Yikes! Also, I was high out of my mind (sorry, Mom!) And this was my senior photo! Mortifying...
Here's when I was in eighth grade. Look how young I am! Kids used to say I looked just like my father...
Wow, 11th grade! I had a really bad hickey on my neck for picture day (thanks a lot, Random Boy From Fresno!), which is why my collar is buttoned all the way up...
Aww! 9th grade! I was a little freaked out that day... first day of high school and all. My mom spent hours on my hair do that morning, and I fell asleep on the bus ride to school and mashed the back of it to hell. Oh well! It's still a really nice photo...
No laughing please! I'm actually really embarrassed about this last photo, which is from the 10th grade, when I was in my "Ted Danson" phase...
I hope you all enjoyed this indulgent walk down memory lane as much as I did!
*Thanks to Hartwick Hanson for showing me the website that made this possible. www.yearbookyourself.com.
IF YOU USE THE SITE, PLEASE SEND ME YOUR BEST YEARBOOK PHOTO AND I WILL POST IT HERE!
Oh man. Remember this hair trend? Yikes! Also, I was high out of my mind (sorry, Mom!) And this was my senior photo! Mortifying...
Here's when I was in eighth grade. Look how young I am! Kids used to say I looked just like my father...
Wow, 11th grade! I had a really bad hickey on my neck for picture day (thanks a lot, Random Boy From Fresno!), which is why my collar is buttoned all the way up...
Aww! 9th grade! I was a little freaked out that day... first day of high school and all. My mom spent hours on my hair do that morning, and I fell asleep on the bus ride to school and mashed the back of it to hell. Oh well! It's still a really nice photo...
No laughing please! I'm actually really embarrassed about this last photo, which is from the 10th grade, when I was in my "Ted Danson" phase...
I hope you all enjoyed this indulgent walk down memory lane as much as I did!
*Thanks to Hartwick Hanson for showing me the website that made this possible. www.yearbookyourself.com.
IF YOU USE THE SITE, PLEASE SEND ME YOUR BEST YEARBOOK PHOTO AND I WILL POST IT HERE!
Althea Parker, Why Do You Look So Sad?
Goodness me, I love the internet. I especially enjoy websites that cater to the desires of people with weird, expensive interests. One of these websites is the Gentleman's Emporium, which has a vast collection of ridiculous Victorian and Edwardian outfits for both genders. I like this website better than other costume websites because not only do they sell the pieces separately for ease of mixing and matching, but they bring the outfits to life with the name and title of the fictitious person who may have worn such a thing. PLUS- Backstories!
Why, look! Here is Phoebe Robinson, Stenographer:
She's a widow!
Her husband died in what the website refers to as "the great fire of three years ago." That was 2005, so I'm pretty sure they are referring to the big fires in Simi Valley. Also, she is fond of hats that look like a giant potpourri sachet exploded on her head.
Next up is Professor Babcock, Man of Science:
His entire outfit costs over $500! It is also extremely flammable and may, at any moment be ignited by a bunsen burner! It's a good thing that, as the site mentions, he spends a lot of time giving lectures "at the esteemed Institute of Technology!" How the Victorians love being vague!
And then we have the perseverant and puffy Caroline Sullivan, Pioneer. Caroline's backstory features:
*Surviving "a bout of the ague!"
*Surviving an "Indian attack!"
*Surviving the birth of five children!
*Surviving on a farm without her husband!
*An actual quote by Ms. Sullivan about her arrival in town after surviving the long journey!
And take a look at this asshole, Baron von Frohmann, Aeronaut:
In his unbelievable hat, he builds dirigibles. Also, he doesn't believe in Bernoulli's principles. The website's creators were lucky enough to find a quote from the Baron on the subject. He said that the flights of heavier craft were "mere parlor tricks, no more interesting to the scientist than the ballistic flight of a well-shot cannonball." It should be noted that he hails from the fictional land of "Frohmann."
And last, there is Althea Parker, Victorian Lady:
Althea! Why so glum? Your husband is the well known Dr. Calvin Parker! You have three boys! You started the public library, and were the school's superintendent! Chin up, Althea! Put on a more brightly colored snood and smile!!
*Special thanks to David Malloy, Burbank Gentleman, for finding this site!
Why, look! Here is Phoebe Robinson, Stenographer:
She's a widow!
Her husband died in what the website refers to as "the great fire of three years ago." That was 2005, so I'm pretty sure they are referring to the big fires in Simi Valley. Also, she is fond of hats that look like a giant potpourri sachet exploded on her head.
Next up is Professor Babcock, Man of Science:
His entire outfit costs over $500! It is also extremely flammable and may, at any moment be ignited by a bunsen burner! It's a good thing that, as the site mentions, he spends a lot of time giving lectures "at the esteemed Institute of Technology!" How the Victorians love being vague!
And then we have the perseverant and puffy Caroline Sullivan, Pioneer. Caroline's backstory features:
*Surviving "a bout of the ague!"
*Surviving an "Indian attack!"
*Surviving the birth of five children!
*Surviving on a farm without her husband!
*An actual quote by Ms. Sullivan about her arrival in town after surviving the long journey!
And take a look at this asshole, Baron von Frohmann, Aeronaut:In his unbelievable hat, he builds dirigibles. Also, he doesn't believe in Bernoulli's principles. The website's creators were lucky enough to find a quote from the Baron on the subject. He said that the flights of heavier craft were "mere parlor tricks, no more interesting to the scientist than the ballistic flight of a well-shot cannonball." It should be noted that he hails from the fictional land of "Frohmann."
And last, there is Althea Parker, Victorian Lady:
Althea! Why so glum? Your husband is the well known Dr. Calvin Parker! You have three boys! You started the public library, and were the school's superintendent! Chin up, Althea! Put on a more brightly colored snood and smile!!
*Special thanks to David Malloy, Burbank Gentleman, for finding this site!
8.20.2008
8.14.2008
Am I Right, Girls?
I've noticed a trend in commercials for any food product geared toward woman. They always feature a woman indulging in their product, seriously and solitarily. Take Dove chocolate for example. In a typical commercial, a sun dress-clad woman can often be found sitting in a well-appointed bedroom or living room, alone, in a comfortable chair. After a few moments of looking smugly relaxed, she'll reach for a solitary piece of Dove chocolate and, eyes closed, bite a third of it off, a smile creeping across her lips.
Now, I'm not usually one to go for the "You ladies know what I'm talking about" humor, but seriously. These commercials are crap, and YOU LADIES KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Have you ever had Dove chocolate? Or any chocolate for that matter? Of course you have. The only time it's ever eaten timidly and slowly is in the presence of royalty, or a new boyfriend. Otherwise, if you're a chick, having a relaxing day at home alone, you're in sweatpants, lying on the couch watching Iron Chef. It is inevitable that you will go for the chocolate, but there is no way that you slowly bite into a single piece. Hell no. You tear into an entire bag of chocolates and cram 'em in, nine at a time, until they're gone.
While writing this post, I was poking around YouTube to try and find an example of one of these commercials. All I could really find were a few ads from China. I've posted one on here that I find particularly weird.
Let's discuss it, shall we?
First, there appears to be some suggestive material here. The young waiter sees the woman, clearly taken with her beauty. Then, seconds later, we see what can only be described as implied sexual imagery.
Gross!
The weirdest part, though, is when she bites into the candy, this strange, chocolaty satin monster appears out of nowhere, wrapping itself around her body, preventing her from breathing properly. It encases her, and then moves on to attack the poor young man.
Upon further analysis, however, I have deduced that this silken horror has actually been summoned by the girl to rid her relaxing day of
the perverted waiter. Because, if you're going to have some quality "Me Time," the last thing you want is some guy watching you chow down on your chocolate.
You ladies know what I'm talking about.
Now, I'm not usually one to go for the "You ladies know what I'm talking about" humor, but seriously. These commercials are crap, and YOU LADIES KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Have you ever had Dove chocolate? Or any chocolate for that matter? Of course you have. The only time it's ever eaten timidly and slowly is in the presence of royalty, or a new boyfriend. Otherwise, if you're a chick, having a relaxing day at home alone, you're in sweatpants, lying on the couch watching Iron Chef. It is inevitable that you will go for the chocolate, but there is no way that you slowly bite into a single piece. Hell no. You tear into an entire bag of chocolates and cram 'em in, nine at a time, until they're gone.
While writing this post, I was poking around YouTube to try and find an example of one of these commercials. All I could really find were a few ads from China. I've posted one on here that I find particularly weird.
Let's discuss it, shall we?
First, there appears to be some suggestive material here. The young waiter sees the woman, clearly taken with her beauty. Then, seconds later, we see what can only be described as implied sexual imagery.
Gross!
The weirdest part, though, is when she bites into the candy, this strange, chocolaty satin monster appears out of nowhere, wrapping itself around her body, preventing her from breathing properly. It encases her, and then moves on to attack the poor young man.
Upon further analysis, however, I have deduced that this silken horror has actually been summoned by the girl to rid her relaxing day of
the perverted waiter. Because, if you're going to have some quality "Me Time," the last thing you want is some guy watching you chow down on your chocolate.You ladies know what I'm talking about.
8.08.2008
Happy The Olympics, everyone!
If you're like me, you're going to enjoy the Olympics. But, if you're like the fine fellows at Funbox, you are REALLY going to enjoy the Olympics. Watch below...
8.07.2008
7.31.2008
Välkomnande Till Helvetet
So, I recently bought some new Ikea furniture, and boy are my arms tired.
Seriously, folks. They are freaking tired. Four pieces of furniture were purchased, each box weighing around 80 pounds. I live on the second floor. I am not a body builder. By the time I got them all up the stairs and assembled, I was sweating like Sammy Hagar.
Thankfully, that was a little while ago, and I see the the whole incident as kind of funny now.
Except the part about actually going to Ikea and
buying the stuff.
I showed up at Ikea after a long day at work, so already I was a little cranky. As convenient as self-serve, do-it-yourself furniture may seem, it can be an enormous hassle. One that starts as soon as you walk in the door and are faced with the giant flight of stairs. As you ascend, you pass a giant poster of a hot dog. "50¢!" it declares. Great, you think. Now, all I want are hot dogs.
Then as you fight your enraging, post-work meat craving, you must wind your way through displays of living room sets crowded with scads of obese shoppers who feel it is acceptable to just stop in the middle of the pathway to place a phone call to their roommate about the various wood finishes available. And of course you have to remain aware of the wild children. Some of them, surely, belong to the portly shoppers. But I'm fairly certain many of them are just bred in the kitchen accessories area and left to survive on uneaten meatballs and leftover gobs of Lingonberry jam. They're everywhere, and have no concept of how crowds move. When you eventually come across a satisfactory bookshelf, you have to scramble to find your pathetic golf pencil and scribble down its dimensions and warehouse location.
On this last excursion, when I had safely made it through The Impulse Buy Chamber (or "Markethall" as they call it) to the self-serve warehouse, I found it crawling with customers, but inexplicably devoid of any employees. When I finally found someone wearing the signature
blue and yellow shirt, I asked them where I could find my product. It was called something unreasonably Swedish like Berkshtøg or Käck or Fleenbrex or something like that, and as I tried to pronounce it, the poor fellow, quite understandably, looked at me like I was a sick horse. He feebly pointed to the furthest corner of the warehouse and then abandoned me.
When I arrived at the correct area, I optimistically yanked on the proper box. It didn't move. I yanked again, this time with conviction. I was so close to my hot dog goal; This was the final step. I had to finish. After several more attempts, I looked up. A young be-wifebeatered man was staring at me. "Heh. Looks like that's pretty heavy." "Yes," I said, backing away from the box, expectantly. "Yeah. That shit's heavy." Then he made a terrible sound from the back of his throat, scratched his nutsackular region and walked off.
Miraculously, I made it out of there without needing any pricey chiropractic procedures, and managed to fit the huge boxes into my little German vehicle. But, by the time I'd dropped close to four C's, and had lugged shelves around on a wobbly cart for a half an hour, the cafe was closed, and so I went home without any hot dogs at all.
Seriously, folks. They are freaking tired. Four pieces of furniture were purchased, each box weighing around 80 pounds. I live on the second floor. I am not a body builder. By the time I got them all up the stairs and assembled, I was sweating like Sammy Hagar.
Thankfully, that was a little while ago, and I see the the whole incident as kind of funny now.
Except the part about actually going to Ikea and
buying the stuff.I showed up at Ikea after a long day at work, so already I was a little cranky. As convenient as self-serve, do-it-yourself furniture may seem, it can be an enormous hassle. One that starts as soon as you walk in the door and are faced with the giant flight of stairs. As you ascend, you pass a giant poster of a hot dog. "50¢!" it declares. Great, you think. Now, all I want are hot dogs.
Then as you fight your enraging, post-work meat craving, you must wind your way through displays of living room sets crowded with scads of obese shoppers who feel it is acceptable to just stop in the middle of the pathway to place a phone call to their roommate about the various wood finishes available. And of course you have to remain aware of the wild children. Some of them, surely, belong to the portly shoppers. But I'm fairly certain many of them are just bred in the kitchen accessories area and left to survive on uneaten meatballs and leftover gobs of Lingonberry jam. They're everywhere, and have no concept of how crowds move. When you eventually come across a satisfactory bookshelf, you have to scramble to find your pathetic golf pencil and scribble down its dimensions and warehouse location.
On this last excursion, when I had safely made it through The Impulse Buy Chamber (or "Markethall" as they call it) to the self-serve warehouse, I found it crawling with customers, but inexplicably devoid of any employees. When I finally found someone wearing the signature
blue and yellow shirt, I asked them where I could find my product. It was called something unreasonably Swedish like Berkshtøg or Käck or Fleenbrex or something like that, and as I tried to pronounce it, the poor fellow, quite understandably, looked at me like I was a sick horse. He feebly pointed to the furthest corner of the warehouse and then abandoned me.When I arrived at the correct area, I optimistically yanked on the proper box. It didn't move. I yanked again, this time with conviction. I was so close to my hot dog goal; This was the final step. I had to finish. After several more attempts, I looked up. A young be-wifebeatered man was staring at me. "Heh. Looks like that's pretty heavy." "Yes," I said, backing away from the box, expectantly. "Yeah. That shit's heavy." Then he made a terrible sound from the back of his throat, scratched his nutsackular region and walked off.
Miraculously, I made it out of there without needing any pricey chiropractic procedures, and managed to fit the huge boxes into my little German vehicle. But, by the time I'd dropped close to four C's, and had lugged shelves around on a wobbly cart for a half an hour, the cafe was closed, and so I went home without any hot dogs at all.
7.29.2008
Tuesday
This morning, there was an earthquake. Gina and I decided that was when our day peaked. Here is a graphical representation of our day, based on today's anomaly and data gathered from previous workdays. (Click on graph for a larger view.)
7.28.2008
Spam Asks, I Answer (Part I)
Hello there, BlogFriends!
As I'm sure you are aware, the amount of Spam the average person receives in their email inbox increases daily. But what many of us are not aware of is the fact that much of what goes into your Spam folder is not actually Spam at all. It is very often some poor soul's attempt to reach out for help. They don't know where else to turn, and so they ask you. Often, these messages are pleas for help with personal issues. But I also interpret these messages as cries for grammar help. And so, in an effort to help these folks, I have decided to set up a help column for these so-called "Spammers."
*(These are all actual Spam messages I have received.)
*****
Vandegrift Finnigan writes:
Subject: quidnunc insist
Be brought there. And introduced by vidura they full many a fat patriarch had he in mew, and many by jimmie. And unto him, saying, 'the sungiven vessel remains on kansas than a slavestate constitution. if kansas brave drona hath been slain by the highsouled you will leave the whole thing in my hands, and gave evidence of military ability.' He showed that waters were blood, and whose eddies were cars, be achieved.
Well Vandegrift, I'm proud of you. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to Jimmie like that. I know him, and he can be a tough one. But where do you go from there? Well, first, I'd move somewhere quiet. Get out of Kansas-- the blood waters can be hell on your skin. Second, befriend the local fat patriarch. This will make it more difficult for Jimmie to get to you. Good luck!
*****
Sullivan writes:
Subject: New strain of AIDS discovered
Black minorities no longer required to vote in Presidential election
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sullivan. I think you've got your history mixed up. Requirement was never the issue. Check out Wikipedia and search "Plantation." Additionally, you may want to ask your doctor about the difference between viruses and politics.
*****
Dojaaren writes:
Subject: Truth about bonzai kitties
Why do girls participate in orgies explain here.
Dojaaren-
Good question! Interestingly, all girls (or "bonzai kitties," as your people call them) have different reasons for participating. Sometimes, they are just bored. Mostly, though, it has to do with alcohol and low-self esteem. Google those terms. And good luck with your orgy-ing!
*****
And so, dear readers, concludes the first installment of my Spam help column. I hope this inspires you to open your heart each time you open your Spam folder.
As I'm sure you are aware, the amount of Spam the average person receives in their email inbox increases daily. But what many of us are not aware of is the fact that much of what goes into your Spam folder is not actually Spam at all. It is very often some poor soul's attempt to reach out for help. They don't know where else to turn, and so they ask you. Often, these messages are pleas for help with personal issues. But I also interpret these messages as cries for grammar help. And so, in an effort to help these folks, I have decided to set up a help column for these so-called "Spammers."
*(These are all actual Spam messages I have received.)
*****
Vandegrift Finnigan writes:
Subject: quidnunc insist
Be brought there. And introduced by vidura they full many a fat patriarch had he in mew, and many by jimmie. And unto him, saying, 'the sungiven vessel remains on kansas than a slavestate constitution. if kansas brave drona hath been slain by the highsouled you will leave the whole thing in my hands, and gave evidence of military ability.' He showed that waters were blood, and whose eddies were cars, be achieved.
Well Vandegrift, I'm proud of you. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to Jimmie like that. I know him, and he can be a tough one. But where do you go from there? Well, first, I'd move somewhere quiet. Get out of Kansas-- the blood waters can be hell on your skin. Second, befriend the local fat patriarch. This will make it more difficult for Jimmie to get to you. Good luck!
*****
Sullivan writes:
Subject: New strain of AIDS discovered
Black minorities no longer required to vote in Presidential election
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sullivan. I think you've got your history mixed up. Requirement was never the issue. Check out Wikipedia and search "Plantation." Additionally, you may want to ask your doctor about the difference between viruses and politics.
*****
Dojaaren writes:
Subject: Truth about bonzai kitties
Why do girls participate in orgies explain here.
Dojaaren-
Good question! Interestingly, all girls (or "bonzai kitties," as your people call them) have different reasons for participating. Sometimes, they are just bored. Mostly, though, it has to do with alcohol and low-self esteem. Google those terms. And good luck with your orgy-ing!
*****
And so, dear readers, concludes the first installment of my Spam help column. I hope this inspires you to open your heart each time you open your Spam folder.
7.14.2008
Spread The Word
My pals at FunBox have just released this video... Please, watch and enjoy!
For more, please visit: http://youtube.com/user/funboxcomedy
For more, please visit: http://youtube.com/user/funboxcomedy
6.11.2008
When my brother was on tour
My brother's band, The F3w, spent last summer touring around the west coast. At a gas station, they found a wolf. They brought it with them. It caused trouble. Behold:
5.29.2008
Remember that Craigslist Ad?
Okay, so, my parents, after reading the "Jo on rails" post from last week, wanted to know what the verb, "jo" meant. My mother, being the net-savvy chick she is, got on The Google, and found this:
Jo! The Art of the Japanese Short Staff!
Sure, Ma. Some people might call it that.
Jo! The Art of the Japanese Short Staff!
Sure, Ma. Some people might call it that.
5.27.2008
Heard in an ad ageny boardroom...
"Hey, Barry?
"Yeah, Dick?"
"I think what we need to sell Subway sandwiches, I mean really sell them is--"
"Go on, Dick."
"I think we need a guy who looks like this." --->
"Dick, you must be mental!"
"No, no. Hear me out. He can talk about how much weight he's lost eating Subway sandwiches and flash a big, dorky smile. He'll even hold up these giant pants!"
"You may have something there, Dick. Nothing makes a sandwich more appealing than a pasty fellow in Dockers."
5.21.2008
How can you possibly be sad...
... when there is THIS is the world?
Thanks to Greg Garvin for the heads up.
Thanks to Greg Garvin for the heads up.
5.15.2008
Let's Discover!
Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, the Spanish explorer for which my former elementary school is named, was the first European to navigate the California coast and completely disrupt the Chumash people living there.So, in the spirit of ol' Juany, join me, on a voyage of discovery into the cafeteria of Juan Cabrillo Elementary School in Malibu, CA.
First up, on May 7th, we have Brunch For Lunch Day!
Aww. How adorable. When I was in elementary school, that kind of thing was always fun. It was a special occasion, getting to eat French Toast in the middle of the day! On a Wednesday, even!
So that's pretty exciting for those kids.
But it can't always be as riveting as hash browns. Sometimes it's as boring as...
Fairly pathetic. But at least it's reliable. There are a few things on this menu that I would never let my Hypothetical Son, Trevor, eat.For instance, the Manager's Choice (code for: Stuff Left In The District-Funded Industrial Freezer Since Last Semester.)
A thought on which to meditate:
School cafeterias have Managers. Like a McDonald's. Or a Dress Barn.
Still. At least this is a person hired by a presumably trustworthy Superintendent and has some qualification for making student dining choices.
This on the other hand is just plain frightening. Why are there so many asterisks?!
***Subject to availability.
...
***May or may not contain asbestos....
***Animal from which ribs originate unknown.
Sorry, Hypothetical Trevor. Mommy's packing you some fruit snacks and leftover chutney.
Finally, on May 14th, they innocently offer...
Eew. Again with the asterisks. And what the hell is a blaster?
Gastric foreshadowing anyone? I can just see those poor children, opening their fortune cookies and reading, "You will soon make a heavy investment in Immodium."
Finally, on May 14th, they innocently offer...
Eew. Again with the asterisks. And what the hell is a blaster?
Gastric foreshadowing anyone? I can just see those poor children, opening their fortune cookies and reading, "You will soon make a heavy investment in Immodium."
Thank god my mother loved me, and made me eat tuna fish sandwiches out of a Minnie Mouse lunch box every day.
4.25.2008
All Boozed Up With Nowhere To Go
Statistics show that one in every 3 people is an annoying jerk.* So in a group of 5,400 people, for example, we find that 1,800 people are jerks. Therefore, it's likely that, if you encounter 5,400 folks over a certain period of time, you're going to end up having a few run-ins with some pretty obnoxious characters (assuming you yourself are not one of the 1,800).
Now. Let's put these people in one place, with no exits. Like, oh, I dunno, a big, fat cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. And watch the fun begin!
This is what Royal Caribbean has in essence proposed with it's gargantuan Project Genesis ships. The latest is a 5,400-person, 16-deck affair, with a climate-controlled
outdoor garden, casinos (plural!), an indoor ice skating rink, a water park, a boxing ring, and some kind of on-board surfing thing which I can't really figure out. And that's just the stuff I can remember off the top of my head! Oh, right. They also have "cantilevered whirlpools," whatever that means. It sounds great, right?
Recall the Rule of Jerks and realize that, while you're waiting patiently to use one of those self-leveling pool tables you've heard so much about, Bob Dumbass is going to be in front of you, drunk out of his mind, telling the pretty girl with the cue in her hand that, damn, she really knows how to handle that wood. During a quiet skate around the ice rink, Mr. Dumbass will get cocky, come barreling toward you and triple lutz himself right into your knees. And when you're checking out the boxing ring, Bob is going to come up, offer to be your sparring partner and then beat the living hell out of you to impress a group of booze-soaked forty-somethings on a Girl's Only trip.
Yes, this is the trip for you if you've always wanted to hang out with a bunch of loud, pushy people with nowhere to go but mini-golfing.
Aside from jerks, does Royal Caribbean know what it's getting into with all of these on-board balance-centric activities, like ice skating and rock climbing? I mean, what if the ship hits a patch of bad weather? Even though Royal Caribbean probably has that scenario covered, Bob Dumbass is still going to raise a stink when he's told no, he can't go climbing, because it's raining. And what if some unforeseen thing happens to the ship? Like the monster from Cloverfield awakens, or Captain Nemo rams into the hull with the Nautilus... WHAT THEN, ROYAL CARIBBEAN!??! Bob Dumbass will surely tumble to his death!
Maybe that solves the jerk problem, though.
*According to a study by The Institute of Me, Liz Cole.
Now. Let's put these people in one place, with no exits. Like, oh, I dunno, a big, fat cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. And watch the fun begin!
This is what Royal Caribbean has in essence proposed with it's gargantuan Project Genesis ships. The latest is a 5,400-person, 16-deck affair, with a climate-controlled
outdoor garden, casinos (plural!), an indoor ice skating rink, a water park, a boxing ring, and some kind of on-board surfing thing which I can't really figure out. And that's just the stuff I can remember off the top of my head! Oh, right. They also have "cantilevered whirlpools," whatever that means. It sounds great, right? Recall the Rule of Jerks and realize that, while you're waiting patiently to use one of those self-leveling pool tables you've heard so much about, Bob Dumbass is going to be in front of you, drunk out of his mind, telling the pretty girl with the cue in her hand that, damn, she really knows how to handle that wood. During a quiet skate around the ice rink, Mr. Dumbass will get cocky, come barreling toward you and triple lutz himself right into your knees. And when you're checking out the boxing ring, Bob is going to come up, offer to be your sparring partner and then beat the living hell out of you to impress a group of booze-soaked forty-somethings on a Girl's Only trip.
Yes, this is the trip for you if you've always wanted to hang out with a bunch of loud, pushy people with nowhere to go but mini-golfing.
Aside from jerks, does Royal Caribbean know what it's getting into with all of these on-board balance-centric activities, like ice skating and rock climbing? I mean, what if the ship hits a patch of bad weather? Even though Royal Caribbean probably has that scenario covered, Bob Dumbass is still going to raise a stink when he's told no, he can't go climbing, because it's raining. And what if some unforeseen thing happens to the ship? Like the monster from Cloverfield awakens, or Captain Nemo rams into the hull with the Nautilus... WHAT THEN, ROYAL CARIBBEAN!??! Bob Dumbass will surely tumble to his death!
Maybe that solves the jerk problem, though.
*According to a study by The Institute of Me, Liz Cole.
4.10.2008
VOTE FOR FUNBOX COMEDY- ONE MORE TIME!
Hello Friends!!
SO! The guys at FunBox Comedy made it into the Top 10 (out of THOUSANDS of entries) in YouTube's Sketchies II Contest-- and they couldn't have done it without you!!!
For this round, they created a new video called "Astounding Tales of the Hunt," which you can, and should, vote on NOW!
To Vote:
- Go to: http://youtube.com/sketchies2
- Halfway down the page (below the playing video) you will see a box labled "Search for a Video." Type in: funboxcomedy. Click 'Go.'
- A small picture will appear where the search bar was. Click it. Their video "Astounding Tales of the Hunt" should start playing.
- Click the thumbs up button. It should turn green.
That's it! You can vote once a day and voting lasts till April 15th.
Thank you so much for supporting my friends. Winning this contest would be an amazing opportunity for three very talented guys. PLEASE pass this along to anyone you can think of!
SO! The guys at FunBox Comedy made it into the Top 10 (out of THOUSANDS of entries) in YouTube's Sketchies II Contest-- and they couldn't have done it without you!!!
For this round, they created a new video called "Astounding Tales of the Hunt," which you can, and should, vote on NOW!
To Vote:
- Go to: http://youtube.com/sketchies2
- Halfway down the page (below the playing video) you will see a box labled "Search for a Video." Type in: funboxcomedy. Click 'Go.'
- A small picture will appear where the search bar was. Click it. Their video "Astounding Tales of the Hunt" should start playing.
- Click the thumbs up button. It should turn green.
That's it! You can vote once a day and voting lasts till April 15th.
Thank you so much for supporting my friends. Winning this contest would be an amazing opportunity for three very talented guys. PLEASE pass this along to anyone you can think of!
3.24.2008
My Best Pal
Melvin ColeFebruary 18th, 1997 - March 22, 2008
He liked eating, sleeping, dirt, and easy-to-kill wildlife.
I'll miss you, Fathead.
3.13.2008
URGENT: VOTING ROUND 1!!!!
Hello!
Remember that hilarious Bard video by the folks at FunBox that I told you all to watch? (You don't? Well, that's stupid, because it's only two posts below this one, dummy.) Well, guess what!? All of your watching paid off! They're in the TOP TWENTY! That means that now, they need your help! Don't look at me like that- you were warned. I told you they'd likely need your votes at some point in time. NOW IS THAT TIME!!!
HERE'S HOW (And don't wuss out because there are four steps. You all took the SATs. You can figure this out, dammit.)
1. Visit http://www.youtube.com/user
2. In the middle of the right hand of the screen a search box will appear. Type funboxcomedy and press "Go"
3. Click on the video that appears below it. The video should load. It is called "Spring Break Bard."
4. Press the thumbs up button!
That wasn't so hard, was it? Of course not! ColeAhUm Friend, David Malloy, even voted - FIVE TIMES - and said, "It was easy and there was very little blood involved!" SEE?!
KEEP VOTING OFTEN! And, if you're a really good person, you'll send this to your friends and family and tell them to do the same!
****Semi Finals Voting goes until the 19th SO QUIT WASTING TIME AND START VOTIN'!!!
3.10.2008
3.03.2008
Watch This Video Eight or Nine Times!
My dear friends at FunBox Comedy have entered a VERY IMPORTANT VIDEO CONTEST and NEED YOUR HELP. Please watch this video. Give it some traffic. Direct your pals to the video, too! Post links to it on your blogs! HIRE A PLANE TO WRITE THE URL IN THE SKY!!!!
If the judges like it, we'll all be VOTING FOR THEM, so get ready for that, too! Remember: They'd vote for YOU if YOU ever did anything important!
2.28.2008
Overdue Apologies (Part II)
To my brother Louie:
Please understand: sometimes, when they are five, older siblings just need to experiment with how far they can stretch their power. It does not reflect how much love or respect they may have for their younger siblings. It is purely a matter of wanting to see how their cunning and brute strength compares.
Admittedly, sometimes older siblings are already well aware of how much more powerful they are. Further exercising of said power, especially over a three-year old, is just mean.
I am sure you recall the tale of The Blame And The Bath Water, in which I totally sold you out to mom for having dumped a huge cup of gross, tepid bath water on the already mildew-ridden bathroom floor.
You were just sitting there in the bathtub, finishing up whatever war you'd set up between different factions of Happy Meal toys, and I was standing with my back to the space heater in my towel, shivering. A lot of that evening is a blur of guilt, but I do remember that you looked happy playing in the water, lips blue, curly hair wet and disheveled. So happy, in fact, that I had to ruin it.
"Louie," I most likely said. "Fill that cup up with water and dump it on the floor." I was smooth, sly, convincing. You were naive, happy-go-lucky, easily convinced. You trusted me, your older sister, to teach you to do cool stuff and to invite you to partake only in safe activities. After all, I had taught you how to put on killer performances in the living room. I had taught you how to chew great wads of Big League Chew so you could look like an incredibly manly, nicotine-addicted baseball player with your friends. I had taught you how to expertly skip from couch cushion to couch cushion, avoiding crocodiles, quick sand, lava, and other hazards. So why should you be suspicious of this new activity?
You happily grabbed the cup floating next to you, scooped up some gray water, and brought it to the edge of the tub. "Come on. Do it," I urged. So you did.
The next thing I did was go to the door and yell, "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!! LOUIE DUMPED WATER ALL OVER THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!"
Mom came running up, and scolded you. I'm sure it wasn't a severe scolding, but right now I am remembering it as though she screamed at you for hours. I do remember you trying to explain what had happened. "Lizzy said to! Lizzy said to!" but I somehow managed to beat the system and get off totally unscolded, smugly smiling all the while.
So, Louie. I am sorry. For the bathwater incident, and for any other time I manipulated you into doing my bidding. And while I know all those wrestling lessons I gave you on the front lawn can never make up fully for all the times I was crappy to you, I certainly hope they help.
2.15.2008
So Cute I Could Puke
Ask yourself:
Am I a middle-aged single lady that enjoys pictures of kittens?
If you answered yes, have I got a website for you!!
This website makes me feel like I should be wearing a cable-knit sweater featuring a bear holding a pink balloon.
I'm serious.
Am I a middle-aged single lady that enjoys pictures of kittens?
If you answered yes, have I got a website for you!!
This website makes me feel like I should be wearing a cable-knit sweater featuring a bear holding a pink balloon.
I'm serious.
2.13.2008
I laughed, I cried, I wasted an hour...
Visit http://www.onesentence.org/ for some simple true stories, told in one sentence.
2.04.2008
Scatology 101
Because the guy who used to live in my apartment didn't have his mail properly forwarded, I get the best mis-delivered mail in the world. Aside from catalogs for places that sell only Christmas-themed gourd art, he also gets a Doctor's Alert newsletter. Each installment is designed to sell you an herbal product that will remedy some ailment you didn't even know you had that could totally kill you. Last month it was "You Have Up To Eight Cups of Mucus In Your Nasal Cavity That Is Breeding Bacteria And Trying To Kill You And Leave Your Children Fatherless" brochure. I'm not actually kidding about that, either. They're that serious about your nostril health.
But this time around it was the Doctor's Digestive Health Alert which immediately boasted:
Intrigued, I flipped it over and was delighted by the following:
So, naturally, I committed a felony. I opened that sucker up and turned to page 3. Good thing, too! Because I learned a lot! For instance did you know that...
...? I sure didn't! Look how forlorn this gentleman looks, trying in vain to have an early morning crap, his pajamas surely becoming damp from the sweat and tears brought on by this intense challenge.
Also, they're racist:
The newsletter doesn't even try to make this a kind, gentle warning about the difficulties you could encounter if you continue not to use their product. There are frightening statements like "If your poop is thin and twisted or round and hard, you could have a narrow clogged colon that's strained to a bursting point!" The bursting part isn't what scares me. It's the word "poop," being used in an advertisement that is trying to look like a real science journal.
Things that also shouldn't be used in a faux-medical journal include phrases such as "helps flush away hidden gunk SO YOU CAN POOP IN SECONDS!" and testimonials with nebulous syntax that leave you confused and upset, like:
Now, we can agree that a miracle is in general a good thing. But are we to believe that Agnes obtained relief with this product after twenty years of inconvenience and found it to be miraculous? Or is the miracle that the gastric ailment spanned two delightful decades? If we are to believe the former, did Ms. Pettipaw think to consult a physician during this time at all? Or was she just content to be a slave to the toilet until the right homeopathic cure came along?
Lastly, I object to this photo:
because a pamphlet about poop is no place for a ham sandwich.
But this time around it was the Doctor's Digestive Health Alert which immediately boasted:
Intrigued, I flipped it over and was delighted by the following:
So, naturally, I committed a felony. I opened that sucker up and turned to page 3. Good thing, too! Because I learned a lot! For instance did you know that...
...? I sure didn't! Look how forlorn this gentleman looks, trying in vain to have an early morning crap, his pajamas surely becoming damp from the sweat and tears brought on by this intense challenge.Also, they're racist:
The newsletter doesn't even try to make this a kind, gentle warning about the difficulties you could encounter if you continue not to use their product. There are frightening statements like "If your poop is thin and twisted or round and hard, you could have a narrow clogged colon that's strained to a bursting point!" The bursting part isn't what scares me. It's the word "poop," being used in an advertisement that is trying to look like a real science journal.
Things that also shouldn't be used in a faux-medical journal include phrases such as "helps flush away hidden gunk SO YOU CAN POOP IN SECONDS!" and testimonials with nebulous syntax that leave you confused and upset, like:
Now, we can agree that a miracle is in general a good thing. But are we to believe that Agnes obtained relief with this product after twenty years of inconvenience and found it to be miraculous? Or is the miracle that the gastric ailment spanned two delightful decades? If we are to believe the former, did Ms. Pettipaw think to consult a physician during this time at all? Or was she just content to be a slave to the toilet until the right homeopathic cure came along?Lastly, I object to this photo:
because a pamphlet about poop is no place for a ham sandwich.
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