Thoughts, Observations, and Solutions:

Word of the Decade: ANTITRUST.

Pixar's UP is now available on DVD and Blu-Ray. When I saw it in the theater, I thought it was a triumph in filmmaking. Beautiful, funny, and heart-rending. It deserves serious consideration for Best Picture. However, I do have one interesting observation about it. For those who are familiar with the film, it is one of Disney's most unabashedly real family films. Absolute tragedy strikes in the film's [masterful] first 10 minutes, with death a looming theme. In fact, everything is going south for poor old Carl until the first instance of fantasy about 25 minutes in, in which he makes his house float like a blimp using hundreds of helium-inflated balloons. Using that plot device, UP does a complete 180.

From tragic to uplifting. No pun intended!

Without that departure from reality, he would probably have died... sad and alone. A burnt out shell of his once-youthful self. I think this is a great example of augmented reality helping out a storyline, but there are other interpretations as well. For example, did Carl really make his house float with balloons protruding from his fireplace? It should be noted that this tired old fart gets nimbler as the movie progresses, to the point of being a borderline action hero. There's so much feel-good wish fulfillment in this movie that upon leaving the theater, I was convinced that the dying Carl dreamed the whole thing up. Flying houses, Carl's now-centurian childhero hero alive and living in the mountains, a nearly crippled old man fulfilling his wife's last wishes by traveling across the world in an aeronautical Victorian... talking dogs! I'm amazed that I haven't heard this theory anywhere else on the internet.

Ultimately, it makes me wish that we could inject some fantasy into the lives of real nursing home occupants. A chance to give them one last adventure and a way to make things right, even if it's all in their heads. Perhaps virtual reality will one day provide such an escape. In any event, I intend to live my life right the first time.

Pranks You Shouldn't Pull: Replacing somebody's entire stash of personal lubricant with Frank's RedHot.

Solution: Y'ever have a fart that rubs you just the right way? I call that a fartgasm. It's a pleasurable experience, much like pushing a 32oz sirloin through your bowels and past your G-spot. As lumbersome as a 12-pack of ping pong balls or a pint of cement, but significantly less dangerous! Personally, I'd love to use a Snickers bar to massage my prostate... but that'd create a startling visual ambiguity that I'm not prepared for.

Another thing: As an earthy, tactile person, I like to liven up my masturbation. For years I've looked to the internet, as its Pornography Tree bears much fruit. Money doesn't grow on trees, true, but pr0n does... and that tree is on Interweb Hill. Here's what I like to do. To really set the scene for POV videos, I keep a bowl of fresh fish nearby. Preferably flounder. Just the smell of that underwater denizen puts me right in the moment. If I'm watching a slightly more rotund woman getting reamed, a quick and easy form of Smell-o-Vision can be achieved by simply giving myself a shit mustache. Nothing says realism like the rank odor of somebody's sphincter, up close and personal!

Observation: Jazz Apples™. Maybe I'm daft, but this company may be the first I've seen using infidelity as a marketing device.

"Fool around on your fries!" "Cheat on your chocolate!"

Admittedly, it's cute. I'm just a concerned about the future of monogamy if even mainstream advertising is beginning to accept alternatives. I love polyamory, I do... but what's next? Mickey Mouse eating out Daisy Duck while Minnie is at work? Prince Charming finding a good lay that'll stay over past midnight? Aladdin sneaking out on Jasmine at 3AM to pound some gypsy under the moonlight? We can only hope.

Thought: A fling is a little like a test drive. Or a trial subscription.

"Ah, you can try 1 or 2 body parts out tonight...

...Oh, you know what? Why don't I just give you a free trial?"

Observation: It's 15 degrees, windy, and the Salvation Army guy is standing 5 feet outside of Shaw's, ringing a fucking bell for pocket change. There is a lot of wrong happening here. First of all, it's the 21st century. Hell, the noughties are over. Why the bell? Second thing, why can't this poor bastard stand inside the building? As it stands, he's basically a glorified street beggar.

Thought: A few weeks ago, I informed y'all that I'm working for a financial company now. I'm a customer service representive for a mutual fund settlement administration. Basically, a shareholder gets a court settlement check in the mail, and I have to tell them what to do with it. Fun shit. Notably because most of the callers are either geriatric, or yuppies so far up their own ass that they can't breathe properly. It hasn't been all bad, though, as occasionally I get really entertaining callers. They fall into one of two categories:

A. Belligerent, misinformed whorebags. Typically I have nothing but "bad" news for them, and thus they're pissed to high heaven and there's not a thing that their dead god can do for them. Yet they continue to whine and moan, while I'm obligated to maintain a professional tone over the phone. You learn early on in training for the CSR position to "kill customers with kindness." Well... killing is fun.

B. Really cool, down-to-earth folks. It makes sense, doesn't it? But sometimes they go the extra mile, and keep you smiling for the duration of the call. Like the couple that wanted to have their payment check reissued, but unfortunately needed authorization from the woman's ex-husband. The same ex-husband that apparently never forwards his ex-wife's mail when he receives it, regardless of the importance. The very same man that pisses on his ex's flowers every time he is in the neighborhood, including the time he flung an entire gallon of urine at her front porch on Thanksgiving. I think his name was Roberto Gonzalez.

Roberto, where ever you are... thanks.

Solution: Christmas is over, but here's a helpful tip for next year that I've employed time and time again. Don't know what to get your loved ones? Before that big family gathering, hit up Whole Foods and grab a fistful of gift cards! Make sure to include multiple retailers in random denominations, whatever you can afford. When it's time to unwrap the presents, just shuffle and deal 'em like playing cards! If you're adept at doing tricks, even better. This way you won't be stressed over holiday shopping, and you'll be seen as charming and spontaneous.

Thus everybody's happy! I know my cousin Tom loved his $50 gift certificate at Forever 21.

Thoughts and Observations:

My Uncle Bill is a swell guy. You wouldn't know it if you looked at him, but Uncle Bill? He's lived enough to fill several lifetimes! In his 53 years... he's slept with over 3,000 women (despite being in a monogamous marriage for the past 25 years!) had 50 different girlfriends during his army tour in Korea, spoke candidly to Paul McCartney on the phone during the recording of Abbey Road, owned 30 cats (one at a time!) and broken countless promises to his nieces and nephews! It's OK, Uncle Bill, I didn't want that moped, go-kart, treehouse, and fully restored 1967 Chevrolet Camaro anyway! Helpful Tip: Don't let Uncle Bill know if you're gay! If you do he'll call you a cock-sucking faggot for 2 minutes, right before he tears your face off with a dinner fork!

Observation: Why are actors and musicians so alluring, notably on stage? I think it's because they're in their element. How often do you get to meet a potential new love interest having already seen them at the peak of their powers, effortlessly showcasing their craft? Ideally, a performer embodies confidence on a stick. Is that gonna be a turn-on? Absolutely.

Thought: Farting when you get out of the shower defeats the entire purpose. You need to get all of the dirty stuff out of the way before cleaning up. That way, you're able to savor complete cleanliness for a little while longer. Otherwise, you're just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Plus, there's nothing worse than a wet fart. Dry farts spatter less.

Words: "duress" and "distress." I know that they have slightly different meanings in the dictionary, but they're almost identical. They even have similar spelling! Why do we need two? Another minor quibble I have is when people use the word "grouping" as a noun. It's not a grouping, Mr.Wizard, it's a group. Stop needlessly expanding words.

Thought: I could play a vampire on TV. Going by pop culture's standard of what a human leech looks like... I've got the complexion, the facial structure, the haircut, the physique, and even the style! Absolutely. I am a vampire. Helpful Tip: Women love it when you go down on them during their period!

Observation: Y'ever say something to compliment somebody, but accidentally put the words just a little out of order and the meaning is somehow completely reversed? It happens more often than you think. Isn't the English language great?

Helpful Tip: Men everywhere, put down your razors! In the quest to shave your crotch, Nair is your most trusted companion. It's much easier, and the chances of you digging a blade into your johnson drop significantly. I just Naired my ballsack this morning! Now it's so smooth that I feel an uncanny urge to suck on it myself. If only that were possible.

People That Need to Get Laid:

1. Straight women that "marry" their girlfriends on Facebook.
2. Pretty much anybody that works at a pharmacy.
3. Everybody in the Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcasting community.

Helpful Tip: This is for the guys. Y'ever notice how when you have to take a dump, things seem more fun and interesting? Or how you get a mild orgasm when you drop a few Lincoln logs in the ol' water closet? It's all about your prostate, gentlemen. Remember, it's not just for getting cancer! Now, you can use this information to your advantage if you'd like. One suggestion I have is to hold a big load in your ass whenever you're doing something terribly unfun... like clothes shopping with the Misses! The only problem you'd face is that if you had the runs and accidentally let loose while you were trying on some new trousers. Still, the whole experience would be a lot more invigorating, and you could always just put the soiled garment back on the shelf with the other pants. Inject a little spice into the day of the next person to try 'em on! Right? Right.

Observation: I've noticed that when most people assume they're about to be hit by something, their first instinct is to close their eyes and brace for impact. Isn't that a little sad? I'm surprised that more people don't think to dodge. Ah, we're used to laying down and taking a beating in today's America. Maybe it's not such a surprise.

Tips For Dating:

1. Never lie about your cock size to a potential sex partner. "Wait, hold on... stop... stop. This isn't 9 inches... I don't want a liar cumming inside me!" "TOO LATE, BABY."

2. In online dating, usually your potential dates will be using what they believe is the best picture they have available to represent themselves. So if that picture looks like an aborted whale fetus, well... you should probably keep moving.

3. You got a woman's phone number. Score! But now it's time to schedule your first real date, and there's a world of errors to be made here. My suggestions for avoiding them: no movies, no extremely loud bars, no inviting/meeting friends, and no daytime dates! If you want your penis to shrivel up like a newborn pug, try going on a date at 2PM.

Observation: Pedestrians have no speed regulations. There are no sidewalk lanes, signs, or signal lights to hinder things... but everybody walking in front of you is always just a bit too slow anyway. Innit great?

Gift Registries. A great idea that's been implemented very well. I only have one giant suggestion: buy early while the selection is good! Otherwise, you're gonna be stuck bringing a gift-wrapped box of spoons to somebody's wedding shower. The only possible upside? You'll have cause to ask the bride-to-be, "Wanna spoon?" The sad part is that people will actually laugh at that.

Thought: Cities are great. I live near a major city and as such I tend to spend most of my nightlife there. Unfortunately, cities always have more homeless people. Good fucking grief. You can't walk 3 feet in historic Cambridge, MA without a filthy bum begging you for a couple of coins. But ah, good news! I've solved this little dilemma. How? By telling 'em God's honest truth! "I'm sorry sir, but we're in the debit card renaissance. If there's any other way I can help, I want you to know I'm here for you." Then I slam him over the head with an Obama '08 campaign sign and continue on my way. An eye for an eye.

Canadian Geese: I started a new job this past week with a major financial institution. On Tuesday, I was driving through their parking lot and happened to notice a car stopped in the right lane. I looked more closely and saw that the driver was waiting for a whole flock of Canadian geese to cross the street. Majestic, majestic creatures. It was around this moment that my car suddenly jerked and my wheel began thumping loudly. God damned speed bumps. It sounded like my rotor had been knocked loose. Fuck! So I'm driving to my parking spot, wheel still thumping, and for some reason everybody's staring at me. I'm very pretty, so it's not completely unexpected. I had a fun day of operations training, and a delicious cranberry walnut chicken salad for lunch. Mmm mmm good. When I returned to my vehicle later that afternoon, I found a damned near unrecognizable goose carcass wedged tightly in my wheelwell. Forty-five pounds of dried blood, flesh, bone fragments, and just the most delicate feathers I've ever seen... smattered all over the front-left side of the car. Thankfully, I was able to extract most of the goose's skeleton from my brakes with a simple tree branch, and the Bubble Circus Car Wash handled the rest.

I'm so glad my rotor is OK.

Pet Peeves:

Sarah Palin. What the fuck, OK? She destroyed an old man's dream of becoming president, and now her supporters want to reward her. First, the book deal; either they hired a talented ghostwriter or it's a piece of scat. Critics seem to be leaning toward the latter. There have been rumblings about a talk show for a while, too. Doesn't that involve public speaking? Isn't that how she got in trouble in the first place? I think she should stick to her element and go back to a non-verbal medium, like modeling. Look at the bright side, sweetie... men nationwide still want to ejaculate all over your face. That's more than we can say about Joe Biden, right?

While we're on the subject of ejaculation, I'm getting really tired of overproduced porn. Ask most men and they'll tell you that "pr0n" (as internet users love to call it) is their substitute for sex. Now, is sex the cleanest act you can think of? No! In fact, I'm going to wager 3 vibrating eggs and a double-pronged pink dildo that one big appeal of sex for most people is to escape the hyper-sterilized world we live in. With this in mind, why do so many pornos contain women that appear to be plastic? I've seen assholes so clean that you could eat a fruit salad out of there without getting pinkeye! Is this realistic? No! Personally, I prefer my fantasies to emulate reality as closely as possible... lest they become too far-fetched. However, it goes both ways. Y'ever watch a porno so unflinchingly gross that it turned you off of sex for a month? I've been a victim. On an entirely unrelated note: ladies, please... lay off the seafood before anal sex. A helpful tip from a helpful person.

Modern radio: Like an infected cunt. Yeah, we keep coming back. It's a pussy after all and any man, regardless of orientation... can't resist a good pussy. But! Immediately we realize that it is truly diseased, and leave once again. Me? I'm safe in the comfort of my iPod. My iPod that is 100% free of Kings of Leon, praise Jesus. Here's my beef: the continued celebration of pop stars who do nothing but produce dreck. I'm looking at you, Rob Thomas. Yes, there's a large paycheck involved. So? America's IQ is steadily dropping for a miriad of reasons, and I see no reason to exclude cookie-cutter pop and atrocious "butt rock" from this. True fact: Rock chart-blazer Chris Daughtry names Nickelback's Chad Kroeger as his hero. Enough said.

Another radio pet peeve of mine: rock stations that continue to play the same fucking "classic" songs over and over and over again. Does it matter if the artist is a one-hit wonder? Nah, they're probably better known than the other 90% of musicians that actually produce high-quality, innovative work. Familiarity is comforting, but come on folks! A good example would be Blind Melon, or Bush. Bush was a low-rent ripoff of Nirvana, and yet they still get played every day on rock radio. I can understand classic rock stations playing the same Rolling Stones or Boston or Zeppelin songs every day for 30 years, but that's because those bands accomplished something. Those bands are timeless. The only thing Bush accomplished was its frontman getting in some actress's pants before his candle burnt out. Keep an eye on the tabloids: his relationship with Gwen Stefani is gonna be on deathwatch soon if it isn't already. Like that dopey fuck from the Black Crowes! He ain't tappin' Kate Hudson anymore, surprise surprise.

Toaster Strudel commercials: "It's better than a Pop-Tart!" Same fucking thing, less frosting. Next.

Attention: People who use Facebook solely as a promotional device for their careers! I'm coming to Christmas, and I'm going to light your parents on fire. God, some of these self-promoting and/or boastful status updates make me want bad things to happen. Here's a status update for you: nobody gives a fuck about your status. Kay? The one reprieve I have is Facebook's ever-evolving Hide function. Don't want to hear from somebody? Hide from them! Just like in the real world.

People that use complicated synonyms to get across simple ideas. For one, additional syllables are inefficient. Secondly, it could simply confuse people. Like that time I invited my mother to see a play with me. "I'ma go to the playhouse and watch the thespians do their thing, Ma." She never saw another play with me again! And note that in the case of "thespian" versus "actor," the latter has fewer syllables and its meaning is self-explanatory. I don't need a pretentious cocksucker trying to prove to me that they're smart with seldom-used language that's not universally known. It's elitist and pointless.

Yuppies. Why don't we take these ingrates out of the voting class already?

ATM fees. Didn't the bailout earn these companies enough money? Bank of America doesn't need $3 every time I run into another fuckwad that can't take a debit card. The space between the upper 1% and the rest of us is widening. To stop this travesty, ATM fees need to be the first casualty.

People who talk in the movie theater. Mostly the people that say lines from the movie, either directly after the actor says it... or in some cases beforehand. I just want to vigorously abort their unborn children.

Lukewarm food. Most notably meat during the holidays. It seems that every single Christmas gathering, I have to deal with pork that apparently traveled 35 miles through the snow getting from the stove to my plate. Maybe it's just me, but I like things either hot or cold. Don't give me lukewarm sushi unless you want me to upchuck on your brand-new loafers. Pizza's another good example: fresh out of the oven, it's as if God himself came in my mouth. After a night in the refrigerator, it generates a similar effect. Anywhere in between... I'd rather eat out a homeless man's asshole.

Right To Life. From anti-abortion lobbyists to seatbelt laws, from opponents of suicide to proponents of life support... everybody wants to make law what should be a choice. I'm tired of getting in the car and hearing a ration of shit from some backseat driver about how I should be wearing my God damned seatbelt. Here's the rub, Scruba Dub... it's my life. I decide how I'm going to live it. Seatbelts are uncomfortable and aren't 100% reliable in every situation. It's not a necessary precaution unlike, say, a breathing apparatus during a deep sea dive. If I'm going to be in control of 2 tons of moving death, I should be able to control what's happening inside the vehicle. Especially if it relates to me and only to me. What business is it of the government's if I want to passively risk my health? They haven't outlawed smoking, have they?

Staying on the same topic, I'll make this point succinctly: suicide is a viable alternative. Do I want to commit suicide? No. Should somebody with family responsibilities commit suicide? No. But pulling the plug should always be a legal option for a consenting individual.

Dead ends on Google. Scenario: You have a question, and... yes! You find a link to where somebody already asked that question... but they didn't get an answer. And the timestamp is sometime in 2003. Fuck! Another web-related thing that bugs me: sites that refuse to load solely because their sponsors won't properly load. Bleh.

Being called exclusively by my last name in a regular social setting. This is childhood stuff, but back then it had a purpose. If you were on the school football team, your surname was your sole means of visual identification on the field. Look, folks... we're not in grade school anymore. If you want to be my friend, call me Jeff. "Tidwell" is extremely impersonal, and frankly I consider it a light form of antagonism.

Ambiguity and flat-out lying in the dating world... especially when trends start to emerge. Now, I won't lie: over the years I've had a healthy sex life. I enjoy a quality nightlife, a respectable portion of my dates ending in base hits; a solid percentage in which I've slid into home plate. I'm enjoying myself while being respectful towards whoever I'm with... which is more than many people can claim. That said, I am tired of making plans with somebody only to have them cancel last minute. Sometimes I literally have to make plans with several entries in my little black book for the same timeframe in the hopes that one of them will actually go out, and not leave me calling my friends.

Here's what I find the most troubling: specific excuses have become trendy!

1. "I'm getting sick." They often tell me this many days in advance.

2. "I have friends coming in from out of town." I virtually never have friends in from out of town, and if I did, it wouldn't be with alarming consistency. Women sometimes use this excuse 2-3 weekends in a row, clearly diluting its believability and showing just how much they care.

3. "I have a lot of cleaning to do." On a Saturday night.

Look, this goes for both genders: if you're not interested, say you're not interested. The sooner the better, because personally? I always have another 5-10 women lining up to sit on my cock and I don't need you eating up my schedule with bullshit. If you're not that into somebody, don't lead them on. I can't speak for you gals out there... but men get rejected a lot. We can handle it. As I've said in the past, we've formed this culture of nice and it's holding us back as a species. Don't be afraid to tell it like it is. Allow me to lead by example!

"Your teeth look like somebody bashed in a badger's skull, your dye job is the color of a failed Sno-Cone, and I can smell your putrid secretions from here."

...

"What? Look honey, I know I'm acting like a prick. I'm a professional actor. Don't try to compromise my artistic integrity! Oh, and one last thing sweetheart...

You're not 12 anymore. Lose the fucking glitter."

Driving:

Parking tickets are my favorite thing. Aren't meter maids just the most polite people you've ever met? Nah. But sometimes they're real litigious cocksuckers, like the time I got a $115 parking ticket in New York City in a zone where you normally pay $3 for three hours of parking. Why the $112 penalty? Isn't that a bit excessive? Another example would be the time I racked up a $25 ticket in Cambridge, MA in under 2 minutes. The meter maid had to have seen me park, and decided to nail me right there. I appealed the charge to no avail, of course. Another pet peeve in this area would be people that parallel-park with no concept of spacial relations. Anybody that eats parking spaces, especially in a crowded city area with limited parking, can eat me.

Pedestrians are fantastic too. Namely those that seem to think that Red means GO and Green means STOP. I'm about ready to put some of these degenerates in a wheelchair for life. No joke. But! I can't be too vindictive, as we're all pedestrians at some point during the day... and frankly they're not all bad. If you drive around Manhattan, despite the dense population, you'll find that commuters there are very astute. They follow crosswalks, obey traffic laws, and generally regard cars as the 2-ton killing machines that they are. Ah, yes... I travel around in a certifiable weapon. That makes me happy.

Backseat drivers. I'll admit, I enjoy driving. I do. That said, unless I'm explicitly driving for recreational purposes (such as off-road adventuring, racing, or good old-fashioned pedestrian hunting) I prefer to get where I'm going and forgo any further discussion on how I'm getting there. Basically, if you have nothing to say that will improve the quality of our shared driving experience and don't want to drive yourself? You can shut the fuck up. Your life is my hands! I'm already going 50 in a 30 with one hand on my iPod and the other on my cell phone. Do you really think it's wise to distract me right now?

Regarding speed zones: in driving class we learned about The Fundamental Speed Law. To refresh some of you, you must follow the posted speed limit unless conditions warrant a different speed. Now, their best example is that when it's snowing you should lower your speed. People tend to disregard the opposite end of the spectrum. If every car on the highway is going 90MPH, you have to go 90MPH! That's how I like to roll.

By the way... y'ever been stuck behind somebody in traffic for so long that you begin to think you recognize their license plate? For an idle moment, you're thinking that "This is familiar! This person must live on my street!" ... despite the fact that it's clearly been registered out-of-state. Total mindfuck. Usually for me it's a Connecticut plate, which may or may not tie into my theory that everybody is somehow originally from Connecticut!

One thing I truly hate is unattentive drivers. Especially the type that are anxious to get to their next destination without planning their trip accordingly. In today's increasingly busy commute, you need to be sharp! Strategic lane choices, alternate route plotting, speed modulating, hazard awareness! I'm including buses under "hazards" because I can't tell you how many cocksuckers seem to willingly get behind a bus only to dangerously pull out into passing traffic because they're "in a hurry." If you're in a hurry, you don't get behind a fucking bus. Hazard awareness is key.

To close this topic, I'd like to "get serious" and talk about something that happens to all of us at some point. Towing. Specifically an incident that occurred only a few months back in which my iPod was stolen by a towing "specialist." I could go into immaculate detail, but I'll spare you... saying only that D&D Towing of South Boston, MA is a [mostly] inconsiderate company that forced me into Small Claims Court because they decided to hire and re-hire a known criminal. The moral of the story: never leave valuables in the car when somebody has unrestricted access to it. No restrictions inevitably lead to corruption, and I've been reading reports from all over the internet about towing companies that damage, steal from, and generally misuse vehicles while taking zero responsibility.

In my case, the driver had an accomplice (which he later denied having) thus forcing me to take public transportation home, given no room in their passenger cab. This is what I call the legal black hole in which one party can be infinitely fucked. Hypothetically they could have emptied my car of every single item, and legally they'd be in the same place: my word against theirs. I enter court in January to dispute this claim. Here's hoping that justice prevails.

Now a joke to lighten the mood,

What do you call a cheap prostitute in Chinatown? Yu-Fuk Fre Li.

Thoughts and Observations:

Words: "Sizeable." When used regularly, it implies that something is large. But at face value, shouldn't it mean that something can be sized? And just because somebody can be sized doesn't mean that it's necessarily huge. "Bob's penis is sizeable, and we've determined that it is a Small!"

Sorry Bob, that's modern English for you. Here's another item of interest.

"Contemplating." Why is this the word people always use in association with suicide? Can't people deliberate over whether or not to commit suicide, or decide, or determine? Couldn't you mull over suicide, or ponder it? How about "I'm thinking about committing suicide!" Simple and direct. Or perhaps you could consider suicide. "I'm considering suicide." Stop giving "contemplating" the graveyard shift already.

Observation: Most women don't deserve me. Yeah, that makes me sound narcissistic... but they know it. I often hear the more religious ones whisper prayers in my presence!

"God, what did I do to deserve this?"

Thought: Men's deodorant and body spray smell like semen. AXE is the worst offender. Don't believe me? Fill your bathroom waste basket with cum-soaked toilet paper after a week of jerking off. The odor will be faintly reminiscent of the fragrance aisle at CVS. Seriously... Old Spice smells like somebody came in a flower. Gentlemen! Let's not get ahead of ourselves, huh?

Good Idea: A retirement home with a funeral parlor located in the North Wing. "Hey Carl, where'd Phil go?" ... "Ah, they transferred him to th' North Wing."

Observation: As far as I can tell, there is only one Baldwin brother. The others are imperfect clones. Daniel is even melting, slowly but surely. His career certainly is, anyway.

Thought: I am starting to get really creeped out by how much Tyler Perry likes to dress up like his grandma. I thought it was a passing phase, but it's not. He doesn't need to be that character anymore, he's proven himself in other areas! For example... his absolutely riotous, Seinfeld-killing sitcoms on TBS. Is it possible that he might have some weird fetish? I'm voting 1 for "yes."

"FUCK ME IN MAH GRAMMY ASS!"

Aesop's Fables. Aesop had a crackerjack concept, you have to admit. He simply took the God out of the Old Testament... and marketed the remaining parables. Just like seedless watermelons. Brilliant.

Good Idea: Rape contracts! I can't claim credit for this one. I actually encountered a girl with one of these a few years ago. All in all, it can be a pretty safe bet and fun for both partners! You can make them as detailed as you want, though it can get a little hairy with all of the stipulations. "YOU CAN FUCK MY ANUS RAW, BEAT MY FACE TO A THROBBING PULP, AND CUM IN MY EYES... BUT IF YOU CARESS MY NECK, I SWEAR TO GOD..." You don't even need verbal consent in this regard, just make sure everything is stated in the fine print and properly notarized by the lady!

Now, you're probably asking... why would one want to rape somebody? Legally absolved or not? Two reasons. A. A lot of women desire to be raped in a controlled environment. Don't ask. B. It's such a rush, you know? You're clutching a rape contract scribbled in Crayola on a dinner napkin, you're high as a kite on angel dust, and the safe word is "KEEP GOING."

Such a rush.

Oops! Some waiter in Florida came onto a dude's oysters. The poor guy couldn't tell the difference. Nobody knew until the waiter blogged about it.

Pancakes and syrup. Ironically two of the cheapest food components to purchase, and arguably the most delicious. Factoid: Did you know that Aunt Jemima was a slave? Yup! And circa the Emancipation Proclamation, she took her wonderful maple syrup recipe and sold it on her own, becoming a successful entrepreneur. Then her former owner got jealous and shot her in the face with a revolver. His family owns the company to this day.

Helpful Tip: If you're an inmate, lube yourself before you go to bed. In the event that you're assaulted and raped in your sleep, it won't hurt nearly as much. Like the Boy Scout motto says, "Be Prepared." In fact... now that I think of it, a former Boy Scout leader gave me this tip!

Tiger Woods. Why does the public need to be so involved in his personal life? Is it because he's a role model? That begs the question: why is he a role model? Is it because he's an amazing golfer? Is it because he's a black billionaire? I understand that those are in short supply, but look at it this way. Vijay Singh is an amazing golfer and he's black, and nobody gives a fuck.

Are people's personal lives so boring that they need to embellish the shortcomings of a rich person's and then report it ubiquitously to make themselves feel better? Aren't there more important things to talk about than who a billionaire athlete decides to sleep with? If we had focused on how many women Wilt Chamberlain had fucked in the 1960s, I'm positive that he wouldn't be remembered for his basketball legacy. Separate the art from the artist: Tiger is a great golfer. As a family man, he's a miscreant... but it's not my family so it's not my business. The only time I want to see his face in the newspaper is when I flip to the Sports section. Danke.

Sidebar: I'm counting the days until 2009 is over so we can finally close the book on JON AND KATE PLUS 8. A New Year's resolution for television executives: we don't want our TV stars more realistic. If I want to see a couple of miserable commoners and their ugly children, I'll go to the mall. As far as their massive media exposure during the summer was concerned, I have to admit I was a bit perplexed. Since when are a lifeless shitbag and an abrasive cunt news?

I thought that was what being American was all about!

A surprisingly large number of men enter emergency rooms every week with items lodged in their arses. Like, if we're looking national, the number is double-digits. As if that isn't odd enough, almost all of them make up an excuse to tell the doctors when they get there, because otherwise it would be way too embarrassing.

"Well you see, I was taking a shower after a long day and, wouldn't you know it, earlier that day I'd had taco bell for lunch and I had a bad case of swamp ass. So I figure, hey, I'll just empty a whole bottle of shampoo onto my hand and start really lathering up my asshole. You know, because it had been itching me so badly.

"So there I am, my taint coated in a thin film of soap, and all of the sudden I feel a little dizzy. I fall out of the shower, stumble into the livingroom, I fall onto my coffee table, and somehow this commemorative statue of the twin towers got stuck in my rectum. So what do you say, Doc. Can you help me out?"

Long story short, I think it should be a requirement for all ER doctors to keep their hands warm at all times.

What is wrong with the modern American workplace? Let's discuss.

I work a terrible day job. I'm aware of this. I make $12/hour, with no chance of advancement. People that have worked there 20 years haven't advanced. Many due to what appeared to be mild mental warts, but that's beside the point. I do put a fair deal of effort into my work. And, I have a lot of brain-trust. So out of the peons, I am in the upper tier. Magnificent, right?

Thus the "big boss" compliments me, saying that the place would be missing a key ingredient without me around. Then his sub-ordinate, my direct supervisor, quips: "Ah, don't fill his head with compliments. He'll start to think he's got some power. He's just a grunt like the rest of 'em."

Dunnit sound like dialogue out of a bad syndicated television program? Yes. He actually said that. And all I can think is, "Um. So, wanna drag employee morale through the mud alone or should I help you along?"

"Maybe you'll give me one of those 25-cent raises everybody's always gossiping about."

Innit he a real piece of work? No wonder his employees are the most apathetic workers I've ever encountered. But! I won't drag my boss through the mud. He's a nice, normal guy. I have good enough intuition to notice why he's got this attitude. He has to deal primarily with people that either barely speak English, or won't be working there for that long. This makes the tone of our interactions interesting to say the least. He talks to me in a strange, almost ambivalent way. It's as if... yes. Yes! He can talk to me. I speak his language. You know, English.

Plus! I know the company, I know the job, I know everything I need to. I care. But I'm also very unorthodox and generally avoid getting fucked by insipid policies and procedures. Which makes him want to fire me! Hah. So much for small perks going to high-quality workers.

See, I think outside the box. I subscribe to the universal doctrines that I need to, but I have the mindset that we all view the world differently and thus respond to the stimuli of our environment in different ways. I'm a big proponent of "do as I say, not as I do" when the person stating it has an intimate knowledge of what they're doing. There's more than one way to skin a cat.

What I'm describing is individuality. Having your own identity. This is a troublesome thought for corporate America and their many workplaces. Individuals don't receive a lot of accolades anymore. They used to. These days getting a permanent gig at a job of this kind is rare. They don't hire. In fact, they want to squeeze as much out of you as a temp before they're legally forced to set you free. Without having to pay any additional benefits, of course!

One big thing is that they sincerely don't want a word of advice from the peanut gallery. In fact, I get the distinct sense that the combination of my working this shit job and caring enough to know how badly they're fucking me and having the intellectual means to change things... makes me weird. To them. "Holy shit! He's smart enough to run a company like this! But... he chooses to work on the ground floor for barely over minimum wage. Gotta have a screw loose."

Whenever I rant to my contemporaries, they don't have solutions. They're smart, they just don't care enough. They'll move on to the next low-level temporary job before they care about this one. So sometimes I take my thoughts to my temp agency, or Human Resources. Trust me, they're not that resourceful. They don't want to "handle" anything. They give false, bullshit answers to questions and concerns that they could answer truthfully to stop my ranting faster.

They could deliver satisfactory ends to their employees' problems. Conflict resolution. But instead they weave their way around the issues I have with their inane corporate dogma so that they can preserve my feelings. An attempt to keep me blissfully ignorant of the fact that we're all part of "the machine." Regardless of whose side my temp agency contact is supposed to be on (hint: it's me) they arbitrarily side with the company. On everything. And! If you catch them with their hand in the cookie jar i.e. they make several loosely-connected contradictions to policy in a row... they will talk you in circles to the point of massive awkwardness.

As if I'm impulsively teaching kids about the birds and the bees at an airport terminal when their parents are within earshot. Except instead of a beating from the father, I might get fired. If I'm really as much of a pawn as my superiors indicate... I must be expendable, right?

But wait! They can't fire me. They avoid conflict like the plague. There's a "culture of nice" in this country. People are afraid to deliver bad news, usually because they don't want to damage anybody's feeeeeelings. I see it in the creative world all the time. Some guy makes an awful comic strip and everybody starts sucking his dick to make him feel good. Unbeknown to him, he's the one who really sucks. Shit like this hinders people's development! I can understand holding back when dealing with children, but we're all adults here.

However, I'll admit, I get the sense that Human Resources departments opt to fire people over the phone for a different reason entirely: they don't want to die! That has to be it. This is America, after all, and we love our violence. I betcha that in the back of an employer's mind, every free thinker on-board could potentially have a shotgun hidden in their cubicle. Ready to go in case the boss wants to play a game of...

Who's Gonna Get Terminated First!

But hey, perhaps I'm being too morbid. We can change the subject. So, uh... when I'm brushing my teeth, I usually make it a point to brush my tongue. But sometimes, I brush too far back on the tongue and I activate my gag reflex. When this happens, I may even upchuck a little in my mouth! But you know what? I don't spit it out. Well, not usually. If I'm suddenly tasting something that conjures up the image of a week-old moose placenta dipped in fish oil that's been baking in the car for a few days, I might eject that post-haste! But what if it's chocolate? Sometimes you can squeeze a little more enjoyment out of your dessert by puking it out! And hey, they don't make chocolate toothpaste... do they? A minor setback, but this way you can you make your own!

Gives you a chance to be creative, y'know?