Even Davy Crockett Would Have Laughed

That's not a spoon.....

We wrapped up at swimming lessons and decided to go out to eat. We decided to go to one of the local restaurants we haven’t been to yet. This particular establishment happened to be a western themed pizza joint. We walked into lobby and were shown to our table by the hostess. We were getting the kids situated and trying to figure out what to order. I was reading the menu and my three year old daughter pointed at the wall and yelled out “Look! A fuzzy spoon!” I just about shot pop out my nose. After swallowing my drink I looked at her and said “What are you talking about?” She pointed to the wall and retorted “That thing on the wall is a fuzzy spoon. How did they get all of that fuzz to stick to it?” I looked at the wall and laughed. There was a coon-skin cap hanging on the wall with the tail hanging down. I have to admit, it did resemble a fuzzy spoon with the way it was hung on the wall. I looked at her and said “No, that’s not a fuzzy spoon. That’s a coon-skin cap. That’s what people used to wear when exploring the land before our country was the size it is today.” She looked at me with a look of confusion and amazement. I proceeded to tell her it was made from the fur on a raccoon. She responded “Yuk!” That was the end of the conversation.

Just Like a Bird Hitting a Window

If the door is shut.....
Leave me alone!

I was on an important conference call one morning when one of my interns showed up at my office door dancing around like there was a major issue. I pointed to my phone and held my hand to my ear making the universal “I’m on the phone” gesture. He kept dancing around like my 3 year old daughter when she has to pee. He wouldn’t go away so I put the call on mute and waved him in. I didn’t realize that I had locked my door when I shut it for the meeting, so I expected him to walk in. He reached for the handle and “BAM!” His face hit the door window and left a huge face grease mark on the glass. I immediately burst into laughter. I knew it had to hurt but it was so frickin funny. He must have thought that he didn’t turn the knob enough before trying to open the door so “BAM!” He did it again! I started laughing harder. He glared through the window with a look of confusion as to why the door wouldn’t open. I walked to the door and let him in. It turned out all the hub-bub was just to ask me to leave early that day. So we chatted for a second. I put him in his place and explained what warranted interrupting me when my office door was shut. I thought he understood what we talked about but apparently message didn’t fully sink in. One week later he once again planted his kisser right smack in the middle of my door and all I could do was laugh. Little did he know he helped me discover my anti-interruption technique that I enjoy to employ to this day. Every time I’m on a call or having a private conversation I shut my office door and lock it. Every time someone shows up and needs to interrupt things I give them the wave to come on in. Every time it ends up in “BAM!” Thank you for the entertainment! What’s your emergency?  Every Friday, I break out the Windex and clean the face schmootz off the door before leaving work in preparation and anticipation for the next week’s face plants. It is cruel, mean, and asshole-ish, but maybe someday people will figure out if my office door is shut I don’t want to be interrupted.

I'm a Clock.....Get it?

Tick-tock.....

My wife and I were doing our best couch potato impressions one evening. As we sat watching some horrible excuse for a sitcom, my six year old son came running into the room. He stopped between us and the TV, blocking a portion of the picture with his mass, or lack thereof. He had run upstairs to show us his new costume that he had just created to pay homage to our grandfather clock. He had put a lot of time into his latest creation and was very proud of his Picaso-esqe work of art. We sat there looking at him, astonished with the detail. He had done a very good job using construction paper, markers, and a roll of scotch tape. He donned a clock face mask and a conspicuously placed pendulum. He was looking for some praise of his masterpiece, and all we could do was laugh. Yes, I know this is bad parenting…..but it was just plain funny. He taped the pendulum to the fly of his jeans and was swinging it back and forth. “Look! I’m a clock! Get it? Here is my face, my hands, and here is my pendulum. Watch it swing!” The funniest part of the whole thing was the resemblance of the pendulum to a specific part of the male anatomy. I could only wonder what he was thinking when making the costume. It was all in innocent fun but just looked a little off. It never crossed my mind, but I guess we do have a well-endowed grandfather clock. It just took looking at it through my son’s eyes to realize it.

If You Call Yourself a Fan You Need to Dress the Part

If you call yourself a fan you
 need to dress the part.....

I am amazed at how many so called fans go to their favorite sporting events inappropriately dressed. By inappropriately dressed I mean not wearing their team colors or even on some occasions, wearing the colors of the opposing team in complete and utter ignorance. To call yourself a fan of a college or professional team you need to dress the part. Spend a few bucks and buy a hat or jersey, Carhartts and flannel is not an option, especially for a football game in late September. 
 

This past spring I was lucky enough to “win” the opportunity to buy two tickets to an Ohio State home football game in the alumni ticket lottery. The unlucky part was that the game I got was against Colorado, who this particular season was expected to be about as good as their mascot Ralphie’s crap.  I ordered the tickets and waited until September for my annual golden tickets. The tickets finally arrived and I took a peak in the envelope. I looked excitedly until I saw where our seats were. Not only were the tickets for a crappy game, they were way up in the clouds by the airplanes and birds.

The big day rolled around and we headed to Columbus. We got to the game early to watch the pre-game activities and be entertained by the drunken student sections. The stands were pretty empty as kick-off approached. The day was crisp and clear, breezy, blue skies, low 70’s…..just a great day for football. We looked out over the stadium walls from our “nosebleed, we needed a helicopter to get to up here to the upper stratosphere" seats and could see for miles. Columbus to the south, Crew Stadium to the east and “The Schott” to the North.

I was surprised at the lack of fans in the crowd. It was supposed to be a bad season but I was still amazed at the amount of empty seats seeing that OSU football tickets are so hard to come by. Needless to say I was a little happy with the room to spread out. Being a larger guy, extra space was always good. At ten minutes until kickoff something strange caught my attention from the corner of my eye. We were sitting on the far right of our section on the aisle. From the far left side of the aisle came a Grizzly- Adams-esque hillbilly wearing a puke orange and green flannel shirt covered by a heavy winter Carhartt jacket.

The backwoods football fan made his way down our row and sat on my wife, not next to my wife, on my wife. There was plenty of room but somehow he still managed to plop his ass down on part of my wife’s left leg. We slid the opposite direction to alleviate the cluster that was just created. Then in broken redneck speak with an overtone of hillbilly, we heard “These seats are a little small. I hope there is room for my wife.” My wife looked down the aisle and “Holy crap! Look what’s coming our way.” I leaned forward and peaked down the aisle. The hillbilly’s better half, more like better three quarters was making her way to her seat. She had to have the biggest tank ass badonkadonk we’ve ever seen. She looked like a Weeble-Wobble as she bumped into the people in our row and the people in the row in front of us. She plopped down, her husband slid over touching my wife even more, and me, being on the end of the aisle, suddenly felt my right butt cheek slide off the bleacher.

The sun came out from behind the clouds just as it was time for kickoff. The game was just about to start. Our seats were cramped and my pregnant wife was reaching her fill of the unwanted space invader. He had his elbow in her belly and her head was practically buried in his armpit. A moment later he stood up to take off his jacket and WHOOSH! Out came a stench that words cannot describe. It smelled like the dude didn’t shower for weeks. Some of the worst B-O I have ever smelled (and I played high school football so I’ve smelled bad B-O) came rolling from under his coat. My wife gagged and turned her head the opposite direction. We weren’t sure when bath day was for this guy but it definitely wasn’t this week. Maybe he was going to have a victory bath after the game. All I know is this Billy-Bob, Cletus-Ray, Jethro-Junior, epitome of a Wally-World shopper was ripe! I wasn’t going to spend $160 for two tickets to sit by the stench on our bench for the entire game. I scoped out the open seats around us and found an open pair about twenty rows down. We left the great wall of stink and moved to a less-polluted section.

After our relocation to fairer smelling lands we found ourselves in the middle of the band parent section. The game started and all was good. At halftime Sir Stinksalot went to get a snack at the concession stand. We got a good wiff of him as he walked down the steps. The stench of his stinky-ness  was no match for winds blowing through the stadium. Things aired out and we could breathe once again. The band came up to our section throughout the game and the Buckeyes won. It turned out to be a great day even with the air pollution in section 7C.

There are essential things to remember when going to a game like tickets and the appropriate attire. I never thought I’d add a pre-game shower to the list. After our experience with the odoriferous emanating redneck I will never go to sporting event without showering ever again. Please remember D-O for your B-O before you go to see your favorite team play. Let the teams be offensive, not your personal hygiene.

Goodness Exclusion Principle (There can be no Goodness without Badness)

Pauli didn't know the half of it.....

As a father of 2 small children I have come to experience what I have deemed the Goodness Exclusion Principle. When my kids are in the same vicinity both of them cannot be good. It is frickin impossible. When one is good; the other is bad. It’s like they have to bring balance to the force. There can be no yin without the yang…..no Cheech without Chong…..no Luke Skywalker without Darth Vader…..no poop without pee (but pee without poop)…..you get the picture. Pauli didn’t know the half of it with his exclusion principle, maybe he didn’t have children.

The Goodness Exclusion Principle defined: If two small children occupy the same space at the same time only one can be good, the other has to behave badly.

If you have children I am sure you have experienced this phenomenon first hand. Your best bet is to keep them as far apart from each other if at all possible. The closer the kids get to each other the more this principle holds true.

WWLCS…..Three Little Words Sum It Up

"Oh F!@# It!"

WWLCS you may ask? What Would Lee Corso Say? He has lots to say but some things are more memorable than others. Out of all of Lee Corso’s famous words of wisdom, one phrase stands out above them all in my mind. Each week I look forward to watching College Game Day on ESPN to see my favorite team’s chances of winning or suffering an embarrassing defeat to opponents the like of Purdue broken down by Chris Fowler, Kirk Herbstreit, some guy from Meeeshigan, and Lee Corso.

Lee, the elder of the bunch, always puts his own quirky spin on the day’s big games. He is like the Mel Brooks of the college football universe. As most college football fans know, Mr. Corso likes to dawn the mascot headgear of the team he believes will win the big game of the day. This particular Saturday I watched the end of Game Day to see what Corso-driven madness was about to ensue. He seemed to be struggling with which team mascot to pick when “Oh F#!@ It” came flying out of his mouth clear as a bell as he made his big decision. The headgear went on and the rest of the Game Day crew lost it and laughed uncontrollably. I thought to myself “Did he say what I thought he just said? Oh yes his did!”

I am sure that some of the viewing audience was appalled by the foul language they just heard on live television. I was amused and in awe. His short three word drop of the F-bomb really put things in perspective. There are so many trivial decisions in life that we are faced with that seem to cause a lot of headaches. We tend to dwell on the irrelevant and often overlook the important decisions and events in life. Lee’s little slip up gave me some words of wisdom to help me make the trivial decisions a little easier. It is so simple yet so effective. I think “Oh F!@# It!” should be added as one of the answers in a Magic 8 Ball. If Corso ever gets a statue in his honor, the plaque should say “Oh F!@# It!” The next time you are perplexed by a trivial decision, remember WWLCS…..What Would Lee Corso Say?.....“Oh F!@# It!” Make your decision and move on.

Wal-Mart Scares the Crap Out of Me

Welcome to Wal-Mart.....Have a nice day!

I ran to the local Wally-World one Sunday morning to pick up some things for breakfast. I jumped in the car, drove on the “highway to hell,” aka the road to Wal-Mart, and pulled in the parking lot. I hadn’t pooped for two days leading up to the IQ-dropping excursion and my stomach was starting to hurt. I walked up to the door and “Welcome to Wal-Mart” came from behind a row of carts in the entrance way. From behind the carts, the real life personification of the school bus driver from South Park garbed in a blue Wal-Mart vest popped up and waved and smiled as I walked in. The ambush made me jump. I muttered my usual cocktail of curses, grabbed a cart, and moved on. As I set foot across the threshold to ignorance and stupidity, I felt something move in the nether-regions of my stomach and had the uncontrollable urge to drop a deuce. I high-tailed it to the restroom, made my deposit, and continued on my morning adventure. I made it through the store in record time and got the heck out of Dodge without any significant loss of brain power. Wal-Mart figuratively scares the crap out of some people…..it literally scares the crap out of me.

Zoo Whiz

Birds of a feather often pee together.

Some of my family was in town for the weekend. We decided to take them to the zoo for the annual Halloween festivities and do something to entertain my two kids and nephew. We paid ten bucks a kid and got a couple handfuls of Tootsie Rolls coupled with minimal access to the zoo attractions. The kids were able to dress up and trick-or-treat around the grounds. We took them from stop to stop for a total of nine treat stations…..to my dismay there were no tricks. Most of the animals were packed away for the winter but for some reason the zoo was overrun with peacocks. They were every-frickin-where! There were peacock feathers and peacock poop all over the place. We were heading out and I had to take a leak. I walked in the men’s room, did my business, zipped up, and turned around. As I turned my head, something uber-colorful caught my eye. I turned around and holy-feathered-shit! There was a peacock with feathers fully fanned out in the men’s room. The bird was blocking the door and I wasn’t sure what the heck to do. I barked at it, whistled, stomped my foot, walked toward it, and all it did was defiantly push up its chest in protest. I started to clap my hands together as loud as I could and it started to turn around. The fanned feathers went down and the peacock walked out of the restroom. I walked out behind it and caught up with the rest of the family. I think peacock is misspelled after the pee-house odeal. The spelling should be peecock…..it still sounds the same but is more representative of the bird I ran into in the zoo men’s room. 

Dude, Just Use Your Hand!

Sometimes you just have to go
back to the old stand-by.

Several years back we were expecting our first child. Like most first time parents-to-be we went to a series of birthing classes. The one night in class they showed us a video of the birth of a child. After showing us a little bundle of joy springing forth from some woman’s nether-region and scaring the shit out of most of  us in the room they moved on to talking about having sex after child birth. The instructor proceeded to tell us, by us I mean mostly the men in the crowd, that there would be no hibbidy dibbidy for six weeks after the birth of our child. After the instructor made the comment about the horizontal hula hiatus I heard a male voice from the back of the room say “I wanna have a big family. I don’t know if I can wait six weeks. Honey, we ain’t gonna wait that long.” I turned around to find the epitome of a Wally-World shopper continuing to run his mouth. The instructor informed him that his wife needed time to heal but he kept flapping his jaws and insisted that they couldn’t wait. Then I looked at him and said “Hey buddy! Just use your hand for a while…..you’ll get by.” He just looked at me with a stupefied blank stare and said “Whaaaaaat?” I glared at him and said “Just beat off….that’s what I meant by using your hand. Choke the chicken. Spank the monkey. Flog the dolphin. Tame the one-eyed monster. Rub one out. I don’t care what you call it, just shut up.” The instructor’s mouth dropped. She was shocked by comments but I think she was a little thankful as well. The NASCAR clad moron didn’t say a word the rest of the night and disappeared from our class thereafter. His wife still showed but there was no sign of the horny hillbilly.  

Customer Service is Dead….and it’s Stinking the Place up!

A wise man once said: "Clear you ass and
your mind will follow"

We were having some trouble selling our old home and decided that maybe clean carpets and tile would spiffy it up and help sell it. I called one of the local carpet cleaning companies to set up some time to get the floors cleaned. I talked to the scheduler and got “We have 2 hour appointment windows. I can schedule a 9am – 11am for you tomorrow.” My response was, “I have a job and don’t really want to take time off of work. I can’t just drop everything and be there to let you in. Do you do weekends?” She responded “No, we run from 9am -5pm, Monday through Friday.” I looked at my calendar and said “I can do next Thursday. Is that available and what times do you have?” She acknowledged “Yes, that will work. We have an 11am to 1pm window open.” I replied “Ok, I will put that in my calendar. Can you call me at work 30 minutes before the cleaners arrive so I can meet them at the house to let them in?” She agreed to call and we made arrangements for them to clean 4 carpeted areas and 2 tiled bathrooms.

Thursday rolled around and work was nuts. I was in a meeting until 10:45 then checked my messages…..no call. I stepped out of my office at 10:59. At 11am sharp the phone rang. I got back in my office at 11:05 and checked the new message. A loud voice bellowed from the speaker “Dude, I am at your house to clean your carpets and you are not here. Can you call me and let me know when you will be here?” He didn’t leave a number and hung up. I called the main office and talked to the scheduler from the previous week. I said “Hey, you told me they were going to call around 30 minutes before they would be arriving so I could get to the house to let them in. They called and left me a message that they were at the house and were waiting on me. The guy said to call him back but didn’t leave me a number.” She replied “I don’t remember agreeing to that but let me call them and see if they can stay.” I heard her talking on the other line and then she rebutted “Sir, they will wait for you. When will you be there?” I told her that I would be there in 30 minutes, hung up, and ran out to my car. During the jaunt to my car I felt a rumble down under and things started to loosen up. I soldiered on and put my intestinal fortitude to the test.

I drove to the house in record breaking time. I opened the garage door and jumped out to meet the crew. The leader, at least the one who could make sentences, said “Dude, I’m Curtis and we’ll be cleaning your carpets today.” We walked inside to review what to clean. Curtis then proceeded to rattle off “I have down that we are supposed to clean 6 carpeted areas. Is this right?” I abruptly barked out “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I have 4 carpeted areas and 2 tiled areas to get cleaned. I discussed this with your scheduler on the phone.” Then Curtis looked at me with his stoner eyes and a confused look and said “Dude, we don’t have the tile cleaning machine. You’re going to have to schedule something later. We’re backed up for the next week.” So I walked out to the car to grab my cell phone. I called the main office and explained the situation to the scheduler. She called the crew to get some details. After we literally played the telephone game for 15 minutes she came back with “The cleaners have one more job then they can pick up the tile cleaner and finish up at your house today.” I thanked her and hung up.

I walked into the house to review things with the cleaners. Both of them looked pissed off that they had to come back and started to get a little mouthy. My stomach once again started to growl and the good ship turdy turd was ready to set sail. I was going to be a nice guy and drop a deuce back at work but I had had enough. I walked back to the main bathroom and dropped a deuce so big that it was a deuce-deuce. The smell of death filled the bathroom and began to roll out from under the door. I walked out and turned off the fan. The smell followed me down the hall back to the cleaners. I wrapped things up and left them to simmer in the stench. Needless to say, I got some sick pleasure out of dropping the pile of a lifetime at the house just for the cleaners to put up with. I’m convinced that customer service is dead. I’m just avenging its death in my own special way.