Big Blogger 2 - Task 5, Plan B

This time around, Big Blogger wants everyone to wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes. No word on the giant drill-bit bras, self-crucifixion, or God-awful film career, but stay tuned for the progressive Madonna-ization of the cyberhousehold.

What?

My mistake, we're only supposed to re-invent ourselves as superheroes, and pick a sidekick from the rest of the cyberhousemates.

In the city, they call me many names... most of them aren't pleasant, but I've never fit the mold of a genteel crimefighter, so I can't blame them for their misconceptions. While many a citizen has chided my methods, none can argue with my results. Crime has been put on notice in Hammistan: knock it the hell off, or you'll face severe consequences. You'll face -

The Disgustipator!

Yes, the Disgustipator! (of the Scranton Disgustipators if you must know) With my supernatural ability to gross anyone right the fuck out, I can sap any criminal's desire to prey on the unsuspecting public. From dead hooker jokes, to graphic descriptions of the birthing process, mine is a fearsome arsenal of nauseating weapons. Sometimes I have to get rough with the more hardened repeat offenders... but I'd rather wake up each morning in a crime-free city, than worry about someone having to clean crook puke off the sidewalk.
As my Egyptian mentor taught me so long ago, "It's better to step in spilled stomach contents than spilled blood."

Fortunately, I don't have to face the dark alleys of the city alone. My sidekick, the Flying Ant, is ever by my side... kicking things, I guess. Or whatever the hell sidekicks are supposed to do. Anyway, since she has the ability (or curse) of summoning hordes of flying ants, she can use them to distract any ne'er do wells that stand in the way of justice. Or Just Us.
I only hope we don't get ambushed by a gang of cabana boys - She'll turn on me like last week's coleslaw.

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The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

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Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's playing poker
Postcards From the Hedge

Big Blogger 2 - Task 5 is A-live!

Despite Big Blogger's best efforts, including those of her top notch postal security staff, I managed to sneak out a letter to my folks. And because anything you post on the internet is absolutely a fer-shure secret, I'm posting it here as well. (With apologies to Allan Sherman)

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah,
Here I am at the House of Bloggah.
The Cyberhousemates are OH SO CLEVER.
They say we'll all be bestest friends forever!

First there's Cazzie!!! and her cool cleaners.
She's been cleared of her misdemeanors.
Even though she's a lightning typist,
She's got breasticles an astronaut just can't miss.

Hillbilly Mom is a school teacher.
She likes to sleep where nobody can reach her
Down from her mansion, she's come slumming.
She's completely fascinated by our plumbing.

Redneck Diva just got evicted.
With all those ants she sees she just might be "afflicted."
Her "good friend" Carlos the pool attendant
Says she does buttsy-wuttsy most resplendent!

In the corner is Lantern Light.
He doesn't say much, but he's all right.
He doesn't care for big fat chickens.
Something tells me they're not all that finger-lickin'.

That slacker Rachy has kept us waiting
For more hot topics to fuel debating.
She's bedridden, don't you know
Because she played phone tag with Russell Crowe

Tim T is another outcast.
Big Blogger gave him the boot quite fast.
He didn't do any writing,
So he's out there chatting up street lighting.

Laughing Mark is in construction.
his psyche doesn't take much deduction.
To his desires, Vargas caters.
He's an unmatched master of debaters!

Scottage rounds out the housemate recap,
But Big Blogger gave him a kneecap.
Kicked him out like year-old jelly.
Thank God he left us Val'rie Bertinelli!

So there you have it, Mom and Dad
The cyberhousehold, ain't all that bad.
Hold on a minute, there's new tasks waiting!
I've got to go put on my armor plating.

But wait, there's more! Not sold in any store!
It's double your pleasure, double your task.
As Big Blogger has heroes she wants to unmask
Part two of this week's challenge I'll have in due time
(though I'll be damned if I keep up this impossible rhyme)

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The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

----
Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's playing poker

Turning bottled water into wine

Hillbilly Mom's recent troubles revolving around her attempts to score hard drugs in the broad daylight reminded me of my similar exploits in high school, and today I'm going to regale bore you with the story. Sherman, program the Wayback Machine for 1993, because here we go:

My High School had an open campus policy during lunch, meaning that those of us with the means (or the will) were free to leave school and escape the culinary terrorism that is a school cafeteria. Being a typical broke-ass teenager, I couldn't afford to be heading over to Burger King and dropping $20 on lunch every week, so I made do with the next best thing: EZ Mart. During each brief hour of freedom, I would pop over to the EZ Mart down the street from school and score some poor white-boy drugs. (that's caffeine and sugar, for the unenlightened.) While I never took the occasion to weez a little juice, I did manage to faithfully purchase the same thing every day: 1 12oz can of Dr. Pepper and 1 Twix. Now we're getting to the point here, (and in the second paragraph no less - I'm on fire today!) because throughout my career of lunch-hour excursions I never once paid the same amount of money. Day to day, the prices were up and down like ferrets on crack. I don't have exact records of course (because I didn't have Excel back then) but I remember paying anywhere from 89 cents to a buck-fitty for my lunchtime fix.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I came extremely close to missing this retail phenomenon. The first time I sidled up to the register with my drugs of choice, the total came to exactly one dollar. I thought "Hey, this isn't a bad deal - I don't even have to bring along spare change!" I was completely hooked from that moment... because of the erotic promise of exact change. Looking back, I might have been able to get clean if it had been $1.12 or $1.03... but there was no way I could deny President Washington the satisfaction of flying a solo mission.

Once the mysterious pricing at the EZ Mart became apparent, I dubbed it "EZ Mart Economics," and set about trying to explain the reasoning behind the seemingly random behavior. My first theory was that prices were higher on friday to rake in some extra profit from weekend traffic, but that was shot full of holes when I paid 89 cents that week. For a few weeks I was baffled, but then I noticed that neither my Pepper nor my Twix were sporting price tags - and they never had. Now this was in the days before every cash register in America could afford the bling of a laser barcode reader, so what was obviously happening was that the clerk was ringing up my purchases from memory... and therein we have the solution to my tale. Unfortunately, it doesn't involve pulling a rubber mask off of anyone, or a bunch of meddling kids and their dog.
The chain-smoking leathery grandma or the Dante Hicks wannabe jockeying the register was just guessing at what I should be charged, if there was even that much thought put into it. Considering that the filter of a reasonable person's (or convenience store clerk's) idea of what the drugs should cost, it's especially fascinating that I never got a repeat price.

So to you, Hillbilly Mom, I say "Enjoy the ride - you've only just begun!" To the kids in America I say "Kids under 6, don't drink and drive. And drugs, stay out of school!" As for the rest of you, I'm speechless. Thanks for reading my meaningless drivel... now I'mma go score me a Twix and crank some Go-Go's tunes. Rock, Rock ON!

I went to work, but nobody remembered who I was

It's been a while since inspiration struck me, ponderation style, but here we found ourselves once more. Today's ponderation is this:

I think that if Jesus were a rapper, he should call himself "J-Z-zus."

And he said unto them "Come with me and I shall teach you to be beatboxes of men. Ye shall join my twelve a-posse, and kick it old-school on the Galilee-tip." -- Illin' 3:1

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Previous ponderations:
Bolton's in da Hizzy
Touch of the Master's Hand

Big Blogger 2 - Task Quatro Quatro Quatro

I've thought all week about what to do with my redecorating project, and the only images that come to mind involve shouting at people through a bullhorn, and being waaaaay to excited about going to Sears. Frankly, that's just not me. That's nowhere near me, in fact... so let's move on.

The thing is that there's not much that exhibits my particular lack of taste or personal style. Oh sure, there's Dogs Playing Poker - and since Big Blogger seems to be on a trend of removing cyberhousemates with testosterone, the place could use a big dose of quintessential guyness that is Dogs Playing Poker. But one Dogs Playing Poker print does not a whole room make.
So instead of going for a distinct lack of taste and having a mostly empty room, I brainstormed for styles that go a step further and exhibit anti-taste. A firm rejection of the very notion of taste, even... and one thing immediately came to mind: No, not move in with Hillbilly Mom. I'm talking about Tiki.

Yes, Tiki.

That's right y'all, I'm gonna tiki this place the hell up. I'm redoing the whole back porch and yard into a tiki lounge. Put bamboo up on the walls, get some palm leaf print wallpaper, pipe in a corny "island drums" soundtrack, and we're all set. Ring the yard with tiki torches, and some of those citronella candle deals for good measure. Ideally, I'd have a bigass tiki idol toilet, but Cazzie!!! already beat me to the loo, (damn she's fast on these things) so I'll have to settle. Besides, if we can't have a crapper in the kitchen, it won't fly to have one sitting out on the deck either.

Further decor will include a redesign of the pool area. The boring "this is the wall of a swimming pool" type pool walls will have to go. In their place, we'll put in native stone, and sculpt rocks for a natural look. And a waterfall! We'll definitely need a waterfall. In fact I'll add some orange and red lights in the fall to have it look like lava flowing out of an island volcano.
And what tiki lounge would be complete without a hot tub? Not ours, that's for sure. We'll put it in the bowl of the waterfall volcano, for extra style points. Perhaps it could be attended by all the Vargas babes that Mark left hanging around the house... and the warm water will keep the poor dears from catching a chill during the Aussie winter.

One corner of the party deck will need a large Tiki Idol. LARGE. Like 12 or 15 feet tall large. He'll need red glowing eyes - or maybe use some colored plastic wheels so we can change his eye color if we like. And he'll need a name. A good name, mind you. A name that'll strike fear into your heart like Greg Brady in Hawaii... because seriously, nobody's afraid of a vengeful Tiki Idol named "Sheldon."
I'm thinking "Kahuna Dan," myself, though this is subject to change.

To kick off the Tiki party properly, we'll have a bigass shindig and invite over all the cyberneighbors. We'll break out the cut-up cow, ice down some orange soda and at midnight Abe Vigoda will throw someone into our Waponi Woo volcano hot tub.

You know, we'd better have a framed print of Dogs Playing Poker behind the bar. We'd never get Abe Vigoda to show if it's not a classy enough joint to have Dogs Playing Poker.

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The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

----
Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode

Just like the bubbles in a champagne glass

Today, I'm sad on the inside for our favorite capitalist, Haley. Seriously, I don't know if I've ever felt the pain of a stick figure so keenly. Well, at least not in recent memory.

Generally that's not a blogworthy occurence, but I'm putting off doing anything for Big Blogger 2, since this week we're expected to go all "Queer Eye" or some shit. No thanks, I'll pass on that.

So instead, let's all pretend that I'm simply making an offhand comment about Ms. Starshine while I announce that I neglected to point out a reference to my personal hero and deity, Banjo the Clown, in the previous OOTS strip. I love me the Banjo, yes I do. I get a satisfying chuckle from the concept alone, much less his visual representation, so it helps to dull the heartache... the heartache that I'm not really writing about. Nope, not writing about it at all.

I got hot but never got burned

Hot damn, I finally made it to the top of the heap on a Google search! Upon checking my recent search strings, I made the astonishing discovery that I was the number one result for this search. Does that fucking rock or what!

Actually, the truly astonishing thing is that there are damn near ten thousand results for lil ole me... still, beggars can't be choosers. (especially when the bulk of the links are for hot soccer players and soft-spoken gymnasts) Additionally, if you scroll down that page you'll notice that Rachy is result number three. She's always getting better searches than me, and it takes a search about me to eke out a victory. Damn you Rachy, you're too frickin good at this!

Big Blogger 2 - Task <3

Wouldn't you know it... of all the poetic forms, BB drops odes in our laps. I've got zero experience composing odes, and in a few short paragraphs, I'll prove it to all of you. I can do Limericks and Haiku easy as you please, but I'm pants at odes.
Granted, that's not an uncommon skillset to have, I imagine. I'd guess that's why BB went with the ode - any chump can whip up a couple haiku. And there's only so many words that rhyme with "Nantucket," so 86-ing the limerick makes sense as well.

Anyhow, I've tried to start a half-dozen different odes this week, and nothing really works out well enough to satisfy me. My main problem seems to be finding a subject that feels right, for our task is to blog an ode to something we love. I just can't justify "loving" whatever material thing I try to write about, and thus I haven't the heart to turn in a half-assed ode to whatever pops in my head at the last minute... but I fear that's the direction I'm heading here. So what I'm doing is picking something at random and writing an ode about how I don't really love it at all.

Not Necessarily an Ode to My Box of Kleenex

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways, o Kleenex box.
One... two... no wait, not even one.
we both know this isn't love that we're sharing.
One hundred-fourty times per box,
Your heart's desire is never won.

Yet there you wait to caress my schnoz like you always have.
You take all the abuse that I give during allergy season,
when my nose is running like a spout.
Even though you'll comfort me in my times of need
with your enveloping two-ply embrace,
you know I'll just use you up and throw you out.

So why do I do it, Kleenex box?
Why do I treat you like my three-dollar whore?
Perhaps it's because I don't appreciate your embrace.
Or maybe I think we're "just good friends."
But how could I love a doormat, Kleenex,
With all the mucus I've sprayed upon your face?

I think it best that we part ways, dear Kleenex.
The time has come to move out and change your name.
Try "Facial Tissue," or "Puffs," or even "Scott."
Because you've never gotten past the truth of our relationship
Despite all the tears of mine you've wiped away.
Even though you think it's love - it's snot.

Well, there you have it. I wouldn't exactly call it "touching" or "heartwarming," but I could see it being made into one of those Lifetime movies. They'd probably call it "Two-Ply Heartbreak" or "Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Story," and it would star, like, Justine Bateman and Rue McClanahan.
If that's not good television, then I don't want to know what is!

Oh, and Kleenex Box? Please stop calling me. It's time to move on and live your life. Face it KB, I'm just not that into you.

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The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

----
Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves

Send us your hate mail in the name of Christ.

You guys know I very very rarely get any negative responses (not counting spam, naturally) to the blog... mostly because I very very rarely get any responses to the blog. In order to correct this disheartening trend, I've snagged a cheapass disposable yahoo account and thrown it some highly-placed screen space on the left column, o'er there. If I had to pay myself the going ad rate, it would cost me upwards of 5 or 6 cents a month, so you can see just how seriously I take the solicitation of hate mail.

Cowards rejoice! No longer shall you be left out of calling my mother a hamster or ruminating on my father's odor. Ask not whom the "You've got mail" tolls for. It tolls for me.

N.B. Attention sellers of penile enhancement programs, home mortgages, and other various products I have no desire in purchasing: If you don't hate me, don't waste your time and mine by mailing me.
Also, mom, you don't have to send me hate mail - I already know how you feel. Happy Mother's Day!

Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.

In a surprising turn of events, the PLO staged a large demonstration in which citizens gave the government money, jewels, and in some cases their entire paychecks, in an effort to alleviate their massive debt. It's a smart move and rather efficient at that, as it cuts out the middleman, and lets the PLO steal directly from its citizens, without all that clumsy mucking about with gunrunning and extortion of the civilized world. Plus, it leaves more time for blaming all their problems on the evil Zionists; what could be more win-win than that?

The best writeup I saw online was courtesy of the Houston Comical, who didn't let the opportunity to bash Israel slip by. Ho no, they splash a big picture of evil Zionists beating a poor defenseless protestor right on top of the article... you know, so you can read it all unbiased and come to your own conclusions. I, for one, am proud to have my news filtered by our new insect overlords.

NABLUS, West Bank -— Thousands of Hamas followers gathered Friday to donate money and jewelry to their cash-strapped government, while a Western boycott stirred debate inside the militant group over whether to accept a state alongside Israel.

The Hamas-led government has been under increasing economic pressure since taking office in March, with Israel halting $55 million in monthly tax transfers to the Palestinians, and the United States and European Union freezing hundreds of millions of dollars in aid.

Awwww... it's soooo unfair that we must suffer consequences for blowing people up.

Several women put jewelry in a collection plate. A group of gunmen from the Al Aqsa Martyrs' Brigades, affiliated with the Fatah Party, fired rifles in the air before donating $22. The contributions were touted over megaphones, and some people said they were donating their entire paychecks.

"These donations are our way of telling the world that we can live without them, and our children are paying what the Europeans should be paying," said Bassam al-Shaqaa, a former mayor of Nablus.

Did everyone catch that? "Our children are paying what the Europeans should be paying." Not "Thanks for your help, Europe." Not "we appreciate all the money you've sent in the past, but could you help us out a bit longer?" No, it's "You owe us, bitches. Hand over your wallets, and nobody gets hurt... except the evil Zionists, and western kufirs, and basically everyone else we've been bombing for the last 60 years."

Fuck the PLO. It's long past time we stopped paying them jizyah. These are not the "vast majority of moderate muslim" type of muslims - these are the "blow up pizza parlors full of innocents and crowds of children getting candy" type of muslims.
Incidentally, if the PLO is so fucking broke, why haven't they made any noise about how much Arafat and his wife looted from the organization over the years - it's easily a billion dollars and could solve their financial problems for the next decade if managed wisely. Oh wait, right... there's no evil Zionists to blame that one on.

Big Blogger 2 - Supplemental

Here I was thinking about instituting a weekly featurette for the blog, when Big Knockers Blogger throws a meme right in my lap. I was leaning mroe towards sickass humor, but I'll play along today.
It's worth noting that in general I've resisted meme-blogging because I prefer to come up with my own halfassed writing, but when Big Blogger (and to a lesser extent, E. F. Hutton) talks, people listen. So without further ado, the meme of the moment:

Schooltime Meme. Cast your mind back to the early days of your primary school years, and see how you go.

1. Name of your first teacher? Mrs Godfrey
   
2. Name of best friend at school? Sam Scamardo (coincidentally, I was just thinking about him while driving home from work. Get outta my head, Rebecca!)
   
3. Do you still know them now? Haven't seen him in at least 15 years, unfortunately.
   
4. Name of first person you had a crush on at school? Kristin... someone. I can't recall her last name.
   
5. Favourite lunch at school? At the time, it was hamburgers. In hindsight however, they were all equally bland.
   
6. Do you still eat it now? My ability to demand higher-quality food has increased significantly since elementary school. I still enjoy a good burger of course, but it tastes a hella lot better than they made it in school.
   
7. First award you got at school? Almost perfect attendance. I received this "award" two years in a row, only missing school the day before Thanksgiving because we would drive to my grandmother's house a bit early. In second grade I begged my dad to let me go to school the day before, and for us to drive there afterwards, (I never really gave him enough credit for doing little stuff like this. Sorry dad.) knowing that I would then be bestowed with the much more prestigious Perfect Attendance award. Naturally, I got the flu two weeks later.
   
8. Age you first mastered the "monkeybars?" You assume that I've ever done this. The only reason I can put up a good showing at the monkeybars these days is because I'm now tall enough to reach them while standing on the ground.
   
9. Favourite Canteen/Lunch Order "treat?" Push-ups. Hands down.
   
10. Favourite schoolyard game? That's a tough one. At first, we didn't really play established games, per se, but just ran around on the slides and whatnot. The first "game" game I really remember liking was kickball - but that wasn't until 5th grade.
    

If I can amass enough content in advance - at least a month's worth, then I'll pull the trigger on the aforementioned "humor" thingie.

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The rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

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Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves

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Update: Hi Sam. (or Sam's Mom, in which case, sorry you were ambushed by the salty language...)

Big Blogga numba 2, Task to tha T-W-O

Yo, yo, bitches, check it. My homies and me, we stone cold fightaz.
You can't spite us or bite us, cuz we all got Encephalitz!
You try to mess wit our remote and make us watch "Titus,"
we'll kick you to the curb with tha rest o da detritis.



You knows how we rolls, got Scotland in our Souls.
We've got the smartest of alecs and crackin' wise is our goal.
We eats our Boo Berry, and we worship Banjo.
Check-Check it, yo. Bring it down on the down-low.

Rollin up to the mike in her shiny limozeen,
She ain't no princess, she's the muthaeffin queen!
Tha D-to-tha-Eye is all up ins this bitch,
She Bowls with the Soup, but she don't know who I is.

Next, creeping up real slow is my brotha Dan Kim,
He makes mad comix like a crowbar to your shin.
He's the #1 playa, the ladies always on his junk.
But he likes 'em underage, so he keeps them in his trunk.

We Audi 5000. Peace!

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The rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage

----
Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!

No my back don’t really hurt but that’s my alibi

I would have posted this sooner, but I'm on strike today. You'll get no work or commerce from me until my demands are met. Until we stop marketing Cinco de Mayo at America like it's an important Mexican holiday, I'm boycotting May 5th.

That's right, I'mma sit on my ass all day and watch TV... maybe have a couple beers and watch a ballgame. You'll have to go find yourself some illegals to do the partying and drinking that this American won't do. You'd better head down to Home Depot and get a full truckload while you're at it, because they'll also have to pick up the slack on all the harassing of women, stabbings, and murders that I won't do either.

You can tell I'm educated, I studied at the Sorbonne

This is really only funny for Police fans, geeks, and business majors. Geeky business majors, doubly so. (Courtesy of YouTube, with a hat tip to Hot Air.)
Blogger is throwing a tantrum and not letting me include the customary YouTube video imbed doohickey, so you'll have to get off your lazy asses and click the link yourselves.

Gawd, I know - clicking text links is so 2004, isn't it?