I can only imagine the glee in the eyes of the individual that invented the automated handicapped door.  Not because of the ease in which the elderly and disabled can open and shuffle through the doors, but because of the awkwardness that is created when the average Joe approaches the door.

It’s a constant judgment game if some one has recently opened the door prior to your arrival.  Your body goes into panic mode, wondering when and if the door is going to jerk shut as you walk through.

Because nothing makes you look more like an idiot than flinching at an emergency door for the disabled. When the timer in that trap door goes off that door whips pretty fast. But seriously it’s like being frightened by a walker or any other implement that aids the elderly.  Of course, that being said, there is nothing wrong with being frightened by bedpans, catheters, and old people in general.

As far as this robotic door, I liken it to an older brother that fakes a punch that lands merely centimeters short of your face.  It doesn’t hit you, but you have indeed ruined your shorts.  

I can only imagine the havoc this deathtrap causes the elderly.  I bet it scares the holy hell out of them, just like cars, the Internet, and Doritos.  It’s going to be a shame, and even more ironic, when Stella is crushed to death by a door that was supposed to help her.

But if the individual that invented said door is anything like me, they take comfort in knowing that almost every person that walks through has a really good shot of taking it in the face, or being forced into the door jamb when the door hits them in the buttocks.

Also, is it wrong to press the button to open a handicapped door when you’re not handicapped?  What if you press the button to open the door when someone is reaching for the door on the other side, for the sole purpose of slamming the door into them?

Technorati Tags: handicap, handicap doors, Doritos, automatic doors

As the regular season of football comes to a close in the next three weeks, I’ve come to some startling discoveries:

I can always see the field better than the quarterback.  I can also throw better than him.  I can see when a sack is coming, and I would never throw an interception.  In fact, I’m actually better than every player on the field in every position.  I am a superstar.  What qualifies me to be such a master of the grid iron?  I sit on a couch and shout at the screen.  And, I occasionally watch ESPN. 

No other time while watching TV, do I alternate so frequently between sitting and standing.  I’m up and down more times than my uncle, and he has prostate problems.  He’s goes to the bathroom every two minutes.

Swearing can become commonplace during the course of a football game.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re winning or losing.  It is however, important to stop swearing when the game ends.  My grandma called, I was drunk, and although I don’t remember totally, I think I said some pretty bad things.  I’m almost positive that I blamed her for the loss.

Most football players don’t want to hear from you, even if you are their fantasy coach.  I had a problem with Julius Jones, and his effort.  I approached him about it, and told him that if he didn’t step it up, the Dane Co. Jobbers would never make it into the playoffs.  I felt relieved to get that off my chest, but like the prima donna he is, he refused to discuss anything.  I received my restraining order yesterday.  This could really hurt contract negotiations for next year.

Technorati Tags: football, ESPN, quarterback, lineman, fantasy football, Julius Jones, playoffs

I got something for my birthday that is both glorious and repulsive.  My parents got me a deep fryer.  I know what your thinking, and yes it it the greatest gift ever.   Unfortunately, there are just as many cons as there are pros in this debate.  Let’s start with the cons.  

One, I’m cooking all my food in fat.  Yep, fat.  I’m no doctor, but from I understand this probably isn’t the healthiest thing in the world.  My poor heart feels like it’s trying to squeeze the last chunk of toothpaste out.  I’ve also noticed that when I cut myself, I don’t bleed anymore.  

Two, I’m cooking all my food in fat.

Three,  I’ve found myself taking deep breaths after every bite.  I never knew that eating could be so strenuous.  I feel like I’ve run a mile, but I’m only pounding down my forth piece of chicken.  I guess I’m just a lightweight, and can no longer hold my grease.  Although my face seams to be picking up the slack.  

Now on to the good.

I cook all my food in fat.  It tastes so good.  There’s nothing better than melting an animal’s wasted energy and using it to cook other stuff.  Basically, some cow was lazy so I could cook with him.  I applaud that.  I only wish that all my laziness could be used.   Maybe when people die we should stop donating to science and start donating to restaurants.  You could be a fat donor.  Besides, figuring out the best place to put a breast implant, what have scientists done for us lately?  Bird Flu is upon us dicks, hop to it.

I’ve also found that you can deep fry anything, and it will taste delicious.  My hamster Betty died while giving birth a week ago, I fried her.  No seriously, and it was delicious.  I just deep fried a steak, some cereal, a copy of TV Guide, and a bath towel.  They all tasted fantastic.  I’ve started trying new batters too.  The TV Guide was coated with hair gel.  It was the perfect deep fried dessert.  

Another plus, I never dirty other pans.  Besides I don’t have time to be taking pans three feet to the dishwasher.  I’m a busy guy and sometimes you have to cut out some of the extraneous activity in your day.  I’ve also stopped bathing, but I can cook while I go tinkle.

I think I like this deep frying thing.  I love the food, even if it may be unhealthy.  You have to live sometimes though.  So what if I put on a couple pounds?  I’m going to recycle my fat and give it to Bennigan’s.  If I can do it while I’m dead, why can’t lipo-suctioned people donate?  Hmm.  I’ll have to ask the doctor about it tonight, when I go in to take care of all these burns.

Technorati Tags: deep fryer, fat, overeating, eating healthy, deep frying, fatty foods

Well, I might as well tell everyone.  I’ve been keeping it in for a while and it’s hurting.  Real bad.   I haven’t told my parents yet, and I’m pretty sure that my brothers don’t know.   

I’ve struggled with it for years, trying to hide it, but it’s been difficult.  I’m sure some people might have suspected something, but I’ve never told anyone flat out, that I’m…. uh…. let’s just say that the amount of awkward positions I’ve been put in because of this is staggering.  

On the whole it’s been rough, but I struggled through it and tried to make the best of it.  I mean, I’ve been through some stuff, but I’m not going down that road.  I’m not always proud of this, but it’s who I am and I can’t change that.  Some people might say that I’m dirty or disgusting, but I just know me as me.  I try to bathe regularly, but that really has nothing to do with this.  Alright,  I’m just going to say it.  

It’s true, I’m a generic brand foods buyer.  

Ok, there, I said it.  I buy Mountain Thunder instead of Mountain Dew.  I drink Bubba Cola instead of Coca Cola.  And yes, I’ve even eaten potato chips from a yellow bag that said “POTATO CHIPS” in black letters.  The bag was so inexpensive that they couldn’t afford to print the nutritional facts on it.  I’ve had breakfast from a cereal BAG that contained no prizes.  

So there you have it.  Judge me if you want.  You can sit there with your Frosted Flakes and think that what you’re doing is right, and that’s fine, just don’t bother me.  I’ll be eating my Frosted Flicks.  
I don’t know maybe it’s genetic or maybe I’m an attention seeker.  I don’t know.  I do know that it feels better to be out.  I could shout it from a mountain top, or any structure that rises above eye level.  I’m happy and relieved.  

I can sleep without fear of another Doritos Nightmare, just because I prefer Nacho Cheese Tortilla Chips (Yellow Bag).  So the next time, you come over I’ll be wearing my bell bottom pants, glitter and we’ll be eating Hydrox cookies.  

I’m sorry Mom and Dad, but this is how God made me.  I’m confident that you’ll still love me, and I hope people don’t start talking back home.  I would hate for this to tarnish your good name.   Anyway, I’m out about it and I’m happy.

Technorati Tags: generic food, Mountain Dew, Coca Cola, Frosted Flakes, Doritos, cheap food, cereal in a bag

I wanted to get healthy, so I started running everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  I run from my bedroom to the bathroom.   I run from my car into the office.  

Unlike Forrest Gump though, I’ve taken the time to shave and bathe.  People still don’t hang around me though.  I think they’re starting to get annoyed when I say, “race you to the bathroom,” and dart off.

Unfortunately, running is not something I enjoy doing.  Surprisingly it’s a hassle.  I try to set aside some time everyday to run, but I often don’t have the two hours it takes to get into my wind resistant spandex suit.  

There’s no doubt that I look great when I run with my socks on the outside of my spandex and my headband on, but I just don’t enjoy it.  

Of course I broke my leg a little bit ago, so maybe that has something to do with it.  I wasn’t even running when it happened.  I jumped up when I found out about a “Fraggle Rock” marathon.  I leapt into the air with excitement only to watched my tibia burst through my skin as I landed.  I got very weak and the smell of almonds filled the air.  

This constant pain could be part of my distaste for running, but I’m not sure.  

I think it might have something to do with the fact that I could stop at any moment, but don’t.  I’m wheezing along, barely running with my arms flopping to my side, and I keep thinking to myself, “Why am I doing this?”  I could make this pain stop instantly, but I don’t.   Running for any distance is simply a debate within yourself.  

The two angels duke it out, but these angels aren’t the good and bad angels on your shoulder.  These are the lazy and slightly more lazy angel that try to figure out how long you have to run.  

It’s basically a barometer of how much work you need to do to avoid being pulled out of your house with a giant crane that gets in when they rip down a wall in your bedroom.

I just can’t hack it.  I hate running.  Maybe I could do it if I was the Terminator and could analyze life forms as I go, but who knows?

I guess that’s what separates the boys from the women.  So, I’ll continue to forge ahead running, and maybe someday I’ll be able to make it around the block without stopping for a fifteen minute break.

Technorati Tags: Forrest Gump, running, daily exercise, spandex suit, Fraggle Rock

In an effort to look good, I put on a stylish shirt, a crisp polo.  Its hue was black and from what I’ve heard black is capable of hiding curves. 

I slid into my shirt, only to realize that the fit was a bit snug. 

If you don’t mind, I just need a second to (rustling) take this (more rustling) mother (even more rustling) stupid (loud thump, followed by silence)  and done. 

I apologize.  I was having trouble breathing, much like a fat kid on the second floor straining to reach the ground level. 

While removing my shirt I thought to myself, “Well, I’m never wearing this shirt again.”  In struggle to stay rational, I re- affirm to myself that I will indeed replace my entire wardrobe and recycle a perfectly good shirt, because I’m too lazy to eliminate the five pounds God gave me to keep warm in the upcoming winter months. 

Have I gained and excessive amount of weight?  No.  Do I look like a slob? No.  Do I cry myself to sleep every night? Uh…yes.  Like an alarm clock I start up at 9 o’clock while listening to the song “Feelings”  on repeat. 

The funny thing is, someone told me I should just eat healthier.  Maybe I shouldn’t drink a case of Miller Lite at night.  “Fine!  I’ll drink a case of water every night!”   Suckers, water doesn’t come in cases.  It does?  Where?  Oh, Sam’s Club.  I see. 

Look, I don’t have time to eat healthy and surprisingly I don’t enjoy the rigors of exercising.   I’m not Lance Armstrong. 

So, the fact of the matter is this.  My cotton black polo shirt will no longer be worn, and it’s been forced into an early retirement.  The damage to its seam was extensive and it will probably be replaced with a falsie.  By falsie I mean, a big brown patch placed over the offending area by the family that picks it up from the Salvation Army. 

But before I let him go, I’d like to say a few words.  “It’s true that I haven’t always been there for you, and that I only wore you once or twice a month.  I would rather give you away than sacrifice five minutes of my day or expend any physical energy on your behalf.  I apologize for that.  I want you to be with someone where you’ll be taken care of better than I ever could.  You deserve better than this.  You have dreams, follow those dreams.   Before you go, I ee I ee I will always love you.  Oh, I’m choking up.  Goodnight sweet prince.” 

Black Polo Shirt 2004 - 2005. 

He is survived by a closet of baggier clothes that accentuate weight gain rather than hide it.  He will be remembered for his stainless record, the double header, and his ability to stay unwrinkled.  He will be missed by his partners in crime, Red Boy and The Good Neck Shirt.

Technorati Tags: polo shirt, Feelings, Miller Lite, weight gain, Sam’s Club, Salvation Army

In one hell of a traffic jam, my deepest desires sauntered into my head.   Mostly to look around and to see what I’ve done with the place. 

While my car is pressed ass to ankles on the freeway, I start contemplating my life as a giving being.   After determining that I give very little, I decided to play God.  You heard me, God. 

Who allowed such a burden to be placed on my shoulders?  The Madison Metropolitan Department of Transportation and the various subcontractors who thought that a mere three lanes of traffic would suffice.  So, here I sit. 

You may ask yourself, “How was he playing God?”  Maybe you should be a little patient, what is this twenty questions? 

I first realized that I was in control of life when I glanced down at my white gabardine suit.  Uh… God wears white.  It’s in the Bible, possibly the book of Ruth.  In my suit, on the crowded highway, I now had complete control of who gets on and off. 

Take a number baby!  I’ll let you go lady because you’re are hot.  I will not let you pass lady, because I’m not sure if you are a lady. 

And to the guy on the bike, Who are you kidding?  You may be beating traffic now, but in three weeks you’ll be in the ICU.  Not so brilliant smart guy!  It doesn’t matter how much reflective clothing you wear someone will eventually hunt you down, probably an old white man with cataracts that’s addicted to medicinal alcohol. 

I, alone, am the gatekeeper to the highway.  Are you Gozer? 

I only have two minutes, so I’ve got to act quick.  I let a car in, being the nice guy that I am.  Then, I turn into a complete jerk and refuse to allow others on.  I found myself drunk with power and actually thinking to myself, “Look I’ve done my good deed for the day.  What?  Am I just supposed to let everyone on?  I’ll never get home!” 

Then it hit me, with great power comes great responsibility.  I am no God.  I am the jerk that lets one car in, and thinks he’s done his civic duty.  I’m also the idiot that just rammed into a rusty Volvo.

You’ve won this round God!

Technorati Tags: traffic jam, rush hour, gatekeeper, Gozer, Ghostbusters, Volvo, God

I felt like crap yesterday.  You know, sick.  It came on rather suddenly, and it hurt.  Being sick is like getting a nice hard uppercut from Mike Tyson when you really want him to bite off your nose, in hopes of helping out your sinuses. 

Illnesses are scary, and so are body sized boxes.  So, in order to help myself, I developed a strict regiment to getting healthy.  Now, because I care, I’m gonna pass this advice out for free. 

Step one, pretend that you are in so much pain and discomfort that you appear to be a standing invalid.  This will ensure plenty of sad looks and good treatment.  You’re on your way to a healthy recovery! 

It is important to be specific when your sick.  For example, tell people exactly what you want no matter how labor intensive it might be.  It’ll happen.  Besides, you’re in no position to be taking yourself to the bathroom. 

On the contrast, however, you must always remain vague when diagnosing of yourself.  Always point in a circular manner when saying something hurts, and try to cover as much body mass as  possible.  You don’t want to get stuck answering the more difficult questions like, “do you have a headache?”  Stay away from specifics.  You can really get into trouble there. 

If the questions become to intense you can always say, “well, I’m not a doctor.”  This will eliminate all additional questions from non-licensed medical practitioners, such as a spouse.  WARNING:  Never say that to an actual doctor!  They quite simply can respond by saying, “well, I am,” and continue with the uncomfortable questioning.  Then, my friend, you are on the highway to the danger zone and I cannot help you. 

Another important step in faking sick…. ah being sick, is to establish a clear boundary on what you  can and can’t do.  It must be clear that you can play football outside comfortably, but it doesn’t feel good when you do anything else, like saying hello to your daughter. 

Lastly, video games and television are this era’s chicken soup and rest.  It’s a necessity.  So you’re gonna need to get eight to ten hours of that a day. 

As you can see, being sick doesn’t have to be a drag anymore.  If you follow my simple guide, you’ll be better in no time.   I’ve only had my cold for five years now and I feel great.  It’s a long road to recovery, but every step is worth it.

Technorati Tags: Mike Tyson, Nick Nolte, sick, illness, staying home, taking advantage, recovery

There seems to be a new trend in the videotaping of births.  I, for one, find this act to be reprehensible.  I just don’t get the purpose of the average joe taping a birth.

Scientists tape births, for educational reasons.   It would appear to me that every day man is filming births for recreational reasons?

Why on earth would you tape a birth?  Out of all of the movies I can think of  to watch on a Saturday night, “Timothy’s Birth” doesn’t jump to the top.

Outside, of the Tony Danza Show, I can’t think of another tape that would be watched less.   When you make a tape like that you’re really saying, “I don’t really need this tape anymore,  I’ll just set it over here.”  It’s almost like buying ten videotapes and  hiding them.

I hope we never get to a point where people start watching these things, especially in large groups.  I’ll bring the cole slaw!  I fear that in a couple of years family movie night could turn horribly wrong when daddy puts in “Timothy’s Birth,” after making a fresh batch of popcorn and lighting a nice cozy fire.

With the advancements in technology, things can only get worse.  Soon DVD births will be all the rage.  These little wonders will be produced in anamorphic widescreen and riddled with special features.

Soon, kids will be able to watch their very own birth at an IMAX theater in 5.1 Dolby Surround Sound.   With these sound enhancements, it will be possible to hear the assisting nurse whisper to a coworker about how misshaped your head seems to be out of the left surround speaker.  Awesome!.

With births coming to the digital arena, one must speculate, what kind of special features we can expect.  All standard issue DVD’s will most likely contain a making of featurette,  “That Night in the Buick: A Clumsy Husband’s Tale.”  Odds are also pretty strong that the documentary,  “That’s to Squeeze His Head: An In -Depth Look at the Tools Used in the Delivery Room”  will  also be included.   A photo gallery with baby shower and birth photos might make the cut.  Also in as a special easter egg, “Watch Your Dad Cooing At the Wrong Baby in the Maternity Ward:  The Lost Footage.”

I can only speculate that the packaging will be a soft sack, in which the movie can gestate for several months.  No good can come of this.  Although I do think that watching ones own birth could cause serious brain defects and possibly send the universe into a state of flux, I also see dollars signs.

So, for a nominal fee I will forego my utter repulsion of child spawning and tape your next birth.  Please contact for details.

Technorati Tags: birth, videotaping birth, Tony Danza Show, DVD, special features, Dolby, surround sound

In this day of the modern woman, how can women still be fascinated by flowers that have been dried like a piece of beef jerky?

And how much of my grandmother’s perfume are they going to spray on them?  Trust me ladies there’s enough.  I could smell that through a gas mask.  Most american males are highly allergic to this pungent aroma.  It’s almost Kryptonite.

When will the obsession stop?  In researching this topic, I found a heart wrenching story to some and a joyous occasion to most from Deb:

"I live in Nebraska, and there are little brown moths that appear out of nowhere, and they love to feast on dried flowers.  About 5 years ago I had an epidemic.  Has anyone ever experienced this, and if so what did you do to stop the manifestation?  I had to throw everything away.  It was heartbreaking."

I’m sure it was Deb.  It appears that the population of dried flowers is waning thanks to the  work of the friendly invisible moths that “appear out of nowhere.”  If I could  give the head moth a pin for his duties I would, but I’m afraid the pin would just burst through his tiny thorax.  So congratulations to the moth or team of moths that ravaged through Deb’s collection.  Unfortunately, these moths declined to comment in order to keep their anonymity, in the hopes of destroying more dried flowers.

It would seem that the population of women enjoying the horrendous aroma of dried flowers is faltering, but a new epidemic is arising.  Scrap booking.

Scrap booking has now become a multi-dollar business.  For the uninformed, it involves the cutting up of pictures and construction paper to make pretty little designs.  It is most commonly enjoyed by women and very decorative men.  I’m concerned.

Do you know who likes scrap booking?  Kidnappers.  Kidnappers invented scrap booking while figuring out a festive and cute way to present ransom notes.

So what can we do?  It’s almost for certain that women and kidnappers are joining forces and raging a full scale war against the common man.  My biggest fear is that scrap bookers everywhere might get the crazy idea to add dried flowers to their books.   Then where would we be?

I can only hope that a new breed of scrapbook and dried flower eating moths can control the assault and send Deb and her friends back to a state of heartbrokenness.

Technorati Tags: dried flowers, moths, Kryptonite, thorax, scrap booking, ransom notes, kidnappers