It's good to be square

You remember those puzzles when you were a kid where you'd try to guess what an object was from a zoomed in snapshot? If you don't, you're a communist. For those of you wholesome folk out there, here's one for you:

Disgusting, I know, but you can do it. Look closer. Look at it! You give up, quitter? Here's a zoomed in clue:

That makes things a lot easier, eh? As you have probably guess, it's a hamburger. But not just any hamburger - it's the Wendy's Classic Quintuple:

To give you a good size comparison, I had a young urban stereotype stand next to it. His name is Perico and he is average guy height:

As you can see, this sandwich is a good 12 feet tall, 16 feet wide.

This abomination came about as a result of a Wendy's commercial. Who says advertising doesn't work? The commercial showed Wendy's burgers growing and shrinking, mimicking sound level bars on a stereo. J-bone decided to see if they would actually make a burger that big. Why did he do that? Because he's a sick, sick man. They don't actually show a five layer burger in the commercial, but apparently they can make one as big as you'd like. Wendy's might be the reason the world hates America. Their new slogan should be, "We cater to any manner of food-related deathwish." The CDC should list "Living within 2 miles of a Wendy's" as the highest risk factor for colon cancer.

This thing was horrible. As you can see in the pictures, it is glistening with grease. Enough grease to make the best Slip-n-Slide EVER, I'd guess. As a medical student, I wouldn't even recommend you look at this thing, let alone eat it. If you have to look at it, I'd advise that you use your periphal vision to prevent beef-induced blindness. It does have several practical ses, though. You can put it in your yard to prevent vegetarians from congregating. It can also single-handedly put an end to Burning Man. It's also a faster way to butcher cattle: one look and the cow will keel over dead, then fracture into its component meats.

Costing J-Bone the princely sum of $6, this monstrosity weighs in at an impressive 517g, or 1.14 pounds of pure artery-cloggin' goodness. For those of you keeping score at home, here are the facts:

Calories: 1260
Calories from Fat: 700
Grams of fat: 75
Sodium: 1.94 grams

Impressive. Get a meal goin' with fries and a drink and you've got:

Calories: 1890
Calories from Fat: 910
Grams of fat: 99
Sodium: 2.42 grams

I'll admit to being a little disappointed that it didn't crack the 100 grams of fat mark. But otherwise, it's a pretty decent appetizer. It'll be sending business my way in a few years. And maybe some work for Legal Counsel, too, if litigation continues the way it has been. And she decides to visit the bottom of the barrel. Who cares about personal responsibility, right?

Rest assured, nobody ate the mammoth. I'm not even sure if anybody directly touched it. It would probably creep over your whole body like the mirror scene in The Matrix. I can't imagine having this culinary abortion squish between my teeth. Jibbly.

Bonus
Here's the telegraph that would have been sent had this thing been discovered during a routine military expedition to the Arizona Territory, November 1878 (with picture printed in the Tombstone Epitaph):

Gen Asboth stop/
Unnatural horror discovered stop/ Pvt Baker chanced on it, now stricken with vapors stop/ Must be destroyed stop/Send reinforcements stop/Alert Pres Hayes stop/
Sgt Ketchum end

Santa Slayer

I'm curious like a cat. That's why they call me Whiskers. This weekend, I let my inquisitiveness get the best of me.

Do you ever become so curious about something that you need to investigate? You start inventing your own idea of something: a highly glorified, awesome version of the target of your interest. Usually involving unicorns. It starts consuming you, and nothing can stop you from probind deeper. Not even a $23 dollar admission fee, discovered after paying a $5 parking fee. Even though you know that sating your curiosity will destroy your dream forever, you have to do it.

In this case, the target of my affection was located just south of Phoenix, adjacent to the I-10 at Firebird International Raceway. For weeks, I've seen something being built on my many trips northside. It started out as non-descript, shanty-style frames. Because of the proximity to FIR, I guessed it was some cool background for a go-cart track. Later, they started putting up big, conical structures and tinsel. "Of course," I thought, "It's a Christmas go-cart track."

I was close. It was actually a Christmas-themed theme park. I was just jaded by my love of go-carts. The love is unrequited, however, as go-carts will never help me win against Legal Counsel. I'm too much bigger than her, so she'll always win. That and her mad driving skillz. Speaking of Legal Counsel, she suggested that we visit this theme park after TurkeyGiving. And that was all the motivation I needed to explore this glorious Xanadu.

Upon reaching the parking lot, we were immediately greeted by Christmas Cheer. If by "Christmas Cheer" you mean a five dollar parking fee. Before paying, I aksed about prices to make sure we really wanted to go in. She listed the adult prices, kid prices and senior prices despite the fact that only Legal Counsel and I were in the car (although she looks young and I look old, so it makes sense). I don't know why I asked the prices, however, since I was going to go in no matter what. she could have said $500 and your soul, and I would have responded with "Rock on, show me the way!"

So we parked in the Comet Lot, meaning we got shafted on the reindeer named lots. I would even take Dancer over Comet. Rudolph, of course, is the most favorite parking lot of all. We started walking to the ticket booth, aka "The Rip-Off Zone," and we could immediately tell that something wasn't right. As exhibit A, I submit that there were inflatable palm trees at the entrance:


As you can see, Legal Counsel was just as confused as me. Hey, that rhymed! This was the first indicator of the park's real theme: not being able to stick to a theme.

We bought tickets and went into the place, the entrance of which was an epilepsy-inducing tunnel of flashing lights. Immediately, we were accosted by photographers taking our picture to sell to us later, probably for $375. I half expected Saul to be there. I might have been tempted by their photo sales, but the photog really jumped the gun on the picture, giving us no warning at all. I was stuck half way into a smile. So we took our own picture for free - take that, commercialism.

As we walked down the initial stretch of Santaland, the two most common sights were dioramas and sales booths - the two most iconic Christmas sights. I mostly ignored the booths. I was pleased to learn that the park was geared toward Christmas, not Christ-mas. Only one nativity scene, and no other religious areas. Score. The other dioramas really didn't have their act together. Most of them were Santa-centric, but then there were some Alice in Wonderland dioramas for no real reason. Exhibit B in the unfocused nature of the park. There was a Santa there for pictures, which cost a mind-melting $20. It just made me think that it takes a special kind of creepy-guy to play Santa. Perverts...

Eventually we reached the "Largest Christmas Tree in America," a title which is dubious at best. I doubt it was the largest, and I doubt it was really a tree. Surrounding the tree were giant paintings of the White House and Capital Building. This further establishes America's Unofficial Slogan, "If you don't like Christmas, you can git out!" Next to the tree was a booth selling sweet corn-on-the-cob. Because nothing says Christmas like corn-on-the-cob:


After the giant tree, the Christmas theme disappeared entirely. It turned into a fair. And not even the state fair - it was the county fair. I guess this is Exhibit 3 in the case against Santaland's theme. It had all the typical fair things: rides, carny games, scary carnies, unhealthy food, scary carnies, unexplained smells. You know, the whole shebang. Here are some highlights:


We watched a show involving trained lions and tigers. Very Christmas-y. I spent the whole time thinking two things: 1) I feel sorry for these poor, degraded animals 2) It would be so sweet if they attacked the trainer


The liger people also had a (hybrid animal) on display for 4 bits a gander. It was an anaconda/python mix, which wouldn't occur in nature since they live in different areas (which is also part of the reason ligers aren't natural, despite being prized for magical abilities). I'd call this thing an anacondathon, which is also what I call it when you watch Anaconda and Anaconda 2: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid back to back.


A little kid ride called The Bear Affair, which is also the name of The Hawk's wet dream. It made me wish Bear was still around, so I could tell him about his ride.


We rode a Ferris Bueller Wheel. I'm afraid of heights. I was gribbing the basket the whole time. The smile in this picture is a smile of relief. There is no way a mobile carnie ferris wheel is safe in any way.


Speaking of unsafe, mobile amusements, this was the highlight of the whole place: The Spinning Coaster. It was a really simple roller coaster which had carts that spun around while following the track. Super fun. Super scary.

I also played the balloon popping game and won a duck for Legal Counsel. I'm a cliche boyfriend. The balloon carnies didn't know any of the screw-your-customer secrets: underinflate the balloons, blunt the darts, space the balloons, punch customers as they throw. So it was really easy.

Overall it was a fun time and I'm glad we went. Not as good as my idealized version (which had unicorns and free presents), but still fun. Overpriced, but I was curious. Hooray for the commercialization of religion!

You can't go home again

Oh, family. Can't live with 'em, can't live with 'em. Or however that phrase goes...

Everybody knows their family is weird. I don't care if your last name is Jones, Curie, Baldwin, Hilton or Busey - your family is an embarrassment. You try to ignore it. you try to justify their behavior. You try to let it slide. "Everybody's got an great-uncle like that" "Grandfathers are just weird" "All moms have embarassing stories" Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Take a moment right now and face facts - you're family is odd and shameful.

But it's not until we bring an outsider into the mix that we truly realize the extent of the Family Madness™. If your wrists feel like they don't have enough scars, you can describe your family to another person. In the process, you try to hide any number of secrets and cringeworthy behavior. When you decide to put the bullet in the chamber and the barrel in your mouth, you bring another person to meet the family. Beforehand, you'll spend a fair amount of time justifying their behavior and trying to give fair warning for all potential behaviors.

But you still do it. I don't know why, but you still do it. At least I do. I can barely stand to spend time with my own extended family - I really don't know why I'd try to subject somebody else to that hell. But I did. This Thanksgiving, I brought Legal Counsel home for a traditional Montgomery Family Holiday. And I now owe her forever.

Here's a quick rundown of all the fun things she was exposed to:

1. No less than two racists
2. A grandfather who appeared out of the walls whenever we even thought of billiards
2a. Who somehow assumed we'd give him a ride home on the other side of Phoenix
3. A 6yo cousin who spent the whole day stalking us, waiting to yell at us for making contact with each other
4. The genius that is having Thanksgiving in a house with 4 big dogs and several small children
5. My mom's self-absorbed, arrogant, asshole friend
6. My elective surgery addicted mom, slowly becoming the aforementioned friend
7. A somehow connected relative with legitimate, no-bullshit mental problems
8. Family members I barely know

And that's just off the top of my head.

The worst part is the racism. Racism is the steering wheel in my underwear - it's driving me nuts. No matter where I go, the subject of Mexicans keeps coming up. If I have one more person badmouth Mexicans in my presence, I'm going to car bomb them. It happened with an old friend in Tucson, and now with family.

We got stuck sitting at a table with the people I'm most distantly related to. I'm talking "the roommate of the daughter of the husband of the mother of the wife of the brother of my mother" here (seriously). Totally Spaceballs. So it was myself, Legal Counsel, my brother and four distant relatives. And somehow those distant relatives start discussing their desire for Mexicans to die in the desert. Sigh.

I turned to Legal Counsel and gave her the "oh god, please kill me" eyes. And she managed to convey Most Awkward Conversation Ever™ to me without drawing attention, which was impressive. We mostly kept our mouths shut, because I didn't want it to turn into an extremely uncomfortable family argument. We later mused that it was weird being the only liberals at the table (except maybe my broham). It was so embarrassing.

If that wasn't bad enough, the subject came back later. Out of the clear blue, my grandfather asked me, "So, do you still like Mexicans?" Seriously. Who the hell does that? I didn't even understand it at first. I had to ask him to repeat it. Eventually I surmised that he takes treating Mexicans as I would any other race (including my own) as "liking mexicans." So I ended up expressing that I have no bias for or against them with respect to any others. Friggin' old people...

So my Thanksgiving meal was tainted by hate and bigotry. Which are no good - they taste like Brussels sprouts (veggies, not soda). By the end of the day, I wanted to fling mashed potaters at people. Or force them to drink down a Jones soda Thanksgiving until they embrace diversity. That'll teach'em. That should be the new slogan: "Jones Soda: The Final Solution for Intolerance."

My family is racist. My old friends are racist. How did I end up the only non-racist? Oh well, at least I don't have to see them very often. And now the Most Awkward Conversation Ever™ has parts 2 and 3, which is nice. Why does the subject keep coming up? I don't get it. Can you see why I'm sick of it? Maybe there's an International Racist Conspiracy working against me. If there is, can somebody let me know?

The only good thing about the weekend was that I got to spend time with Legal Counsel. She made the whole thing bearable. I also got to see my main man, the Larkitect, which was nice. All told, I'm glad to be back in Tucson.

I might have more Thanksgiving stories, but for now I just wanted to share the racism.

My head can’t tolerate this bobbing and pretending

It's good to run into an old high school friend (that is, an old friend from high school rather than a friend from an old high school). You get to reminisce about old times, catch up on more recent developments and have a nice little chat. Yep, it's usually a fun time. Unless it turns into The Most Awkward Conversation Ever™.

Maybe that's an exaggeration - it wasn't the most awkward ever. But it was pretty damn uncomfortable. I was at the jerk Starbucks, studying with Legal Counsel. And by "studying" I mean "trying to study but spending most of my time staring at her pretty face." And being assaulted by the constant blender noise; I swear, every drink they make must be blended. Can't somebody just have a mocha and be happy?

I was innocently pretending to learn about the liver and the reasons why I'll need a new one soon enough and a friend of mine from high school strolled up. I won't say her name because I try to limit my use of real names on here (Montgomery, Legal counsel, etc). I also won't use it so she doesn't get hate mail, letter bombs and Rabid-Puppy-Grams (or the less common Singing-Rabid-Puppy-Grams). I don't know what category of friend she would fall under. We hung out in band freshman/sophomore years of high school but not outside class, and I hung out with her a few times freshman year of college. Friends but not "good" friends, I suppose.

So there we were, shooting the shit (literally). At some point she informs me that she wants to get out of Tucson. I'm used to this. It seems like everybody (except me) from Phoenix who comes to UA bitches about Tucson and how bad it is. They come in with a bias and won't let it go. It works the other way, too - Tucsonans always complain about Phoenix and how it is just a featureless big city. I like both cities, so I ask why she wishes to leave Tucson.

I was ready for any of a whole spectrum of responses. I've heard them all. "Tucson is dirty" "Tucson is too small" "The traffic is horrible" "My hair is on fire" "There are no In n Outs" "You can't make as much money." Anybody in Arizona has probably heard all those things, so i was just waiting for any number of stock responses. But i didn't get a stock response. Not at all.

The answer I was given? "There are too many Mexicans." It totally blew me out of the water. I was sitting there preparing for a bear attack and a ninja snuck up right behind me and hit me with a burning cross. How do you respond to that?? If you're Montgomery, you stammer out something like, "Um...okay." Legal Counsel later informed me that upon hearing the racism, my eyes started rolling around in my skull. I had no idea how to respond - normally I'd chide/mock/steal the kidneys of the person, but it was a friend I hadn't seen in a while.

She acknowledged that she has become a racist, not that it makes anything better. She said it is because of all the rude Mexican customers where she works. But she then described all the rude non-Mexican customers she has. It doesn't make any sense, but I suppose that's the nature of racism. I really felt uncomfortable for the rest of the conversation and kind of just coasted through the rest. Needless to say it ruined my perception of her forever. I guess I can appreciate the candor, but come on. Who says that to somebody that haven't seen in three or four years? It would be amusing if it wasn't so sad...

At the end, she gave me a hug. I don't think I've ever been hugged by a racist before. Is it contagious? It just added to the whole uncomfortable situation. I didn't really return the hug, partially because of the conversation and partially because I never know what to do when hugged by a lady friend. Legal Counsel commented on it as soon as my friend was gone. I've just been accustomed to girls hugging me as the leave. I figured it was a girl thing to do, since I never initiate and neither do my guy friends. But Legal Counsel says she doesn't hug her guy friends, and I'm much more inclined to believe she represents "normal" human behavior. What does everybody else think: girls hugging guys - normal or not?


When I was talking with my racist friend, her working boyfriend threw a rolled up napkin at her. My guess is that he was getting jealous that she was talking to a boy. Hilarious. i wonder if he's a racist too? Can you have a racist/non-racist relationship?

You guys give up yet? Or are you thirsty for more?

What have I started?

C&C Music Factory came over to Chez Scooby and they brought a little gift. Generous and kind, right? Yes and no. The gift they brought over was the Regional version of the Jones Soda Holiday Pack (containing the flavors: Turkey & Gravy, Broccoli Casserole, Smoked Salmon Pate, Corn on the Cob and Pecan Pie). This is a purchase I considered making, but I was scared. A double dose of Holiday Pack can be lethal. My knowledge of medicine led me to believe that drinking the second holiday pack would turn my body inside out. Gastro-intestinal suicide. The digestive equivalent of bare-knuckle boxing the ghost of Kaiser Wilhelm II.

So we drank it and it wasn't as bad as I had predicted. Don't get me wrong, it was godawful. Carbonated Ipecac. I think the whole experience was dulled by the fact that I had survived Brussels Sprout soda. The regional flavors were horrible, but un/fortunately they didn't approach BSS. I wanted one of the flavors to top it just to see if it was possible, but I also wouldn't want to drink a concoction that bad. As a result, this blog entry isn't as grandiose as the last Jones entry. But I'll provide some commentary.

Turkey & Gravy
The only repeat flavor in the pack. I want to say it was just as bad as last time, but that would be a lie. It was worse. I don't know how, but it got worse. I guess that really isn't saying much. It's like going from "you've got necrotizing fasciitis" to "you've got necrotizing fasciitis and an ear infection." No candy corn flavor this time, which is nice...I guess. I still wouldn't recommend it. Except to Saul.

Corn on the Cob
Awful. Again. Coree hit the nail ight on the head when she said it tastes like a buttered popcorn Jelly Belly. It was liquid buttered popcorn Jelly Belly and it was horrible. And the weird thing is, I like buttered popcorn Jelly Bellies. Well, maybe not anymore. Of the five flavors, it's probably the second best. I still don't know why they call it "Corn on the Cob." Being a liquid makes it as far off the cob as you can get.

Broccoli Casserole
Bad, but not as bad as you'd expect. I had a preconceived judgement based on the previous green vegetable beverage. But this was nowhere near as bad. It had a weird pecan taste/aftertaste. I'd say that some of the pecan pie batch leaked in, but the pecan pie didn't taste this much like pecans. Ironic, don't you think?

Smoked Salmon Pate
This should be called WTF soda. I don't know why somebody had the idea to make it or why they acted on that idea. This stuff is the worst of the regional pack, and probably takes over as the second worst thing I've ever tasted. The smell is vomitous. To me it smelled like dry dog food with a little water mixed in (so it makes its own gravy). And I'll say right now that dog food is my all-time worst smell (followed by the smell created by a lab group in my chemistry class trapping cigarette smoke for an experiment - pure concentrated cancer). I only dry-heaved once upon drinking, which is nice. It probably tastes like mung. Or the juice which collects in the bottom of our cadaver bin. It makes the baby Jesus cry...

The worst part? Legal Counsel and I had sushi earlier, which included salmon. Blargh...

Pecan Pie
Follows the precedent set by Pumpkin Pie: simultaneously bad and not that bad. It tasted like really bad pecan candy, but its liquid nature makes it worse than eating bad candy. And like the pumpkin pie soda, there is a distinct flavor transition between the filling and the crust. After the bad pecan taste, there was a bad crust taste. The same crust taste as pumpkin pie. The best of the five, which isn't saying much. If pressed, I'd say that pumpkin pie is better.

The resulting burps were also terrible. A partially digested mixture of all five flavors, it was disgusting. I'd say it tasted like burping up Thanksgiving, but I've never eaten Smoked Salmon Pate for Thanksgiving (I know, I'm going against the pilgrims initial wishes) and I've never eaten cooking this bad. On a related note, I again considered mixing all the flavors and trying a Thanksgiving Shot. Mmm...reverse peristalsis....

As a whole, this pack might be worse than the national pack. The national pack holds the title for absolute worst flavor, but it has Cranberry sauce to cover up the other flavors. And pumpkin pie wasn't absolutely unbearable. The regional pack, however, was five bad flavors with no mercy. So the overall award for worst pack goes to regional, but the award for worst flavor goes to national.

If you have to buy only one pack, my advice to you is "re-evaluate your life." Why are you in a place where you have to buy one? And why can't you buy both? If you've got a jones for Jones, buy both and enjoy. And take an extra shot for me. But don't pour out "one for your homies" because I don't want to know the consequences of getting this stuff in the ground water. My guess is either zombies or massive plague. I think the Jones Soda Holiday Pack is responsible for the events in Cabin Fever.

A good cop can't sleep because he's missing a piece of the puzzle. And a bad cop can't sleep because his conscience won't let him.

Current Mood: Acetabular

I can't sleep. Hence the oh-so-clever movie reference in the title (why yes, that was sarcasm). I tried warm milk, but the cow almost kicked me in the head. I tried counting sheep, but I have an angular gyrus lesion. And that last sentence should tell you that I've tried studying as a method for rendering myself unconscious (phrasing it that way gives me several new ideas...). It's ironic that trying to learn during the day makes me sleepy, while trying to learn at night wakes me up.

My current method for expediting sleep is watching Scrubs, Season Two on DVD. My wonderful, perfect girlfriend (Legal Counsel) bought it for me as a gift. Jealous? Yeah, you should be. Jealous of the girlfriend, that is, not the DVD. Well, I guess you can be jealous that I have both. It's a little intimidating that she's so good at gift buying. It's probably my worst skill. Aside from knitting.

To let you know how much med school has nerded me up, I'll say I watch each epsiode with bated breath waiting for a word or phrase I recognize. One character mentioned "the nerve that ennervates the muscle which lets you keep your eyes open," and I immediately thought about it (well, them - there's more than one). And I keep noticing that the cardiac shadow is on the wrong side of the x-ray during the intro (it might be correct, but situs inversus is a rare condition). Yep, medicine has geekified me quite well. And I'm glad.

Back to the DVD. I think it might be working...

Technophile

I've become completely dependent on technology. I can admit it. I probably spend 80% of my awake time using or near something electronic. I don't bring paper to class, I just use my laptop. I'll watch television or movies when cold chillin'. I've been slowly replacing all my friends with robot duplicates for years. Oops. If you're not a robot, disregard that - it's not going to happen to you. If you are a robot, you know what I'm talking about - and we'll get those others soon enough...

I've been displaying some symptoms of my addiction. It's a little scary. Here are some examples:

I was driving and saw a new car with no license plate on the back part (it was in the window, which I didn't see). I started thinking, "It's weird that they blur out the license plates on cars like that on TV. They did a good job with this one." Then I realized I was in the real world and felt embarassed. And now I share my shame with you.

I was in class during one of our breaks and as usual I was making fun of somebody. Specifically, I was doing that thing where I talk as though I am that person (i.e. "I'm D-Rock and I'm a big poopy-face"). As I was talking, I made the typing motion with my hands and fingers. I was promptly mocked, and rightfully so.

I was doing some studying - surprising, I know - which involved highlighting. I needed to highlight about three lines of text and the first thing my brain told me was start at the end of the text, then drag straight to the beginning (as though I was highlighting text in Word). I almost did it before realizing it wasn't a computer, and that I needed to highlight each line. Sigh.

Maybe I need to cut back. Then again, I can quit any time I want. Maybe you need to cut back! Or I'll cut you back! Get 'em, robots!



On an unrelated note, I was at Bentley's yesterday grabbing a beverage (Italian cream soda - so delicious) and I saw all the stuff you can mix in: sugar, honey, etc. There was a glass shaker with white powder in it which read, "Not Sugar." That's all it said. So I know it's not sugar, but what is it?? Salt? Parmesan cheese? Cocaine? You can't just say "not sugar" and give no indication of what it actually is. That's just mean. Now it's eating me up inside - I need to know what it is. Maybe there is a product actually called "Not Sugar™©®℗℠" that I don't know about. Can I get a coffee with two scoops of Not Sugar™©®℗℠? Thanks. Sorry, we only have the generic - Nix Carbohydrate.

Righter's Bloque

I've got nothin'. My mind is a blank. If you got topics for me to write on, let me know. Here's some random crap for entertainment:

A painful article to read. Reading it gave me the jibblies. I think Welsh soccer hooligans just stole the title of "Craziest Blighters on Earth" from English soccer hooligans. On a related note, I love English sexual slang. Tackle...teehee

Bomb explodes outside KFC in Karachi. 11 herbs and spices...OF DOOM! Poor The Colonel. I guess Church's have moved beyond bombing just abortion clinics.

I wonder if she tied a balloon to her mailbox as the universal sign for "party over here." As D-Rock put it: whatever happened during my teenage years? The only sex and drug parties I got invited to were in that creepy old guy's van. But those parties were awesome. At least i think they were...I don't really remember what happened. Nowadays, those sex and drug parties are thrown by D-Rock's mom. Except replace "drug" with "disease," and "sex" with "freaky, scary sex." I'm never going to one of those parties.

Disney style. No marital tension there. Nope...not at all...

Japanese robot lost in asteroid mission. Uh oh. I've seen those Japanese movies. When that robot sent near the sun returns, it'll be 100m tall and it will destroy us all. I wonder if it was initially designed to spin around and fire little white dots.

CNN, consider yourself scopped.

Class is starting. We're learning about the naughty bits of ladies. Snicker. This should spark my creativity...

This time I've gone too far...

To my beloved reader,
Prepare yourself for the most impure tale ever to spring from the mind of man…

Geoffrey Rush as The Marquis de Sade, Quills

I’m a whore for comedy, I’ll admit it. To know me is to know my eternal quest for mirth. A laugh. A giggle. A chortle. Hell, I’ll even settle for a guffaw. The merriment of others makes me happy. And until this weekend, I thought my addiction was harmless. I’d never stoop to hurting others (physically, at least) just for a laugh. And I’ve never put myself at risk (old friend corrects me in 3,2,1…) just for a chuckle. Until this weekend…

Full of the pioneering American Spirit which has kept this country going, and motivated by a need for new blog material, I made one of the best and worst decisions of my life. Call it brilliant. Call it foolish. Call it what you will. I simply call it Carbonated Manifest Destiny. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

The Jones Soda Holiday Pack

The curiosity had been eating away at me for weeks (much like the soda will be eating away at my digestive tract for weeks). I had to know – is it as bad as it sounds? Is it as bad as others have said? Is it as bad as Battlefield Earth? The answer to those questions, and many more, is yes. A resounding, ear-splitting, earth shattering yes.

For those of you not “in the know,” The Jones Soda Holiday Pack is a special selection of soda flavors released by Jones Soda towards the end of the year (for those of you further “out of the loop,” Jones Soda is the best 0 calorie soda company ever). This years selection includes the following 5 flavors: Turkey & Gravy, Wild Herb Stuffing, Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto, Cranberry Sauce and Pumpkin Pie.

The last two flavors sound good (but aren’t…wait, I’m getting ahead of myself), but the first three sound repellant. Terrible. Ghastly. So bad that I needs to combine several insufficient words: vomitulsivauseating. But dumbass Montgomery needed to know for sure. Legal Counsel tried to dissuade me, and maybe I should have listened. And maybe I should have. She’s smarter than me and always knows what’s best. But on 12 November 2005, I decided to purchase it. So that I might share with many a friend. Here is Legal Counsel’s response:

So we cracked open a few cold ones and passed them around. It was all voluntary. Nobody was coerced. Speaking of which – this stuff would be a powerful weapon in Abu Ghraib, although it is technically a crime against humanity. I suppose the unofficial rules would have been as follows:

1. Only drink the flavors you want
2. Drink as much as you want, as long as there’s enough left for everybody else (this is more of an unofficial formality – there was no risk of running out)
3. Mean people suck, nice people swallow
4. If you’re gonna spew, spew in this

Without further ado, I give the commentary:

Actually, here’s a little more ado. Think about this as you read: this is the best they could come up with. Flavor scientists worked hard to create these abominations, and the results of their endeavors were horrible at best. This is the second place Holy Grail of assignments for a chemist (first is, of course, invisibility potion). And they really dropped the ball. Dr. Jekyll would look at them and say, “You guys made a mistake.”

And think of the poor taste testers – they had to choke down vile after vile (no pun intended) of this rancid witches’ brew and they were never rewarded with some uber-delicious philter at the end. The samples went from suicide-inducing to murder-inducing, never once reaching “meh.” I imagine their comment cards to be filled with drawing of people covered in scorpions and unicorn skeletons.

Anyway, here’s my commentary:

Turkey & Gravy
It tastes like carbonated gravy. Really awful carbonated gravy. Upon first swig, I tasted a hint of candy corn, which was really bizarre. After it made its way around the table, I gve it a second try. This time I swirled it in my mouth like some pretentious wine snob with a 1961 Cheval Blanc, or a wannabe with Pinot Noir. My first thought after that was, “I hate myself.” Then I thought, “No candy corn this time, just pure bicarbonate gravy.”

It was awful. After that second taste I capped it and put it on the counter, never to be tasted again. In retrospect, however, it wasn’t that bad. Compared to the next two, it was a Starbucks Chai Eggnog Latte. Uh oh…I hope referencing that delicious drink in the same paragraph as Turkey & Gravy soda doesn’t ruin it forever.

Wild Herb Stuffing
I don’t know how to describe this one. I really don’t. It didn’t taste like stuffing. It just tasted awful. Even worse than the first. I again gave it the “second taste swirl” and thought “What the fuck is wrong with me?” The best description I can give is, “the sweat which collects inside a prosthetic leg.” Unfortunately, my memory of this flavor is overshadowed by the horror that came next. I’ll add more here later if I remember anything.

Brussels Sprouts with Prosciutto
This is it. This is the one. The stomach-churning money shot of the Jones Soda Holiday Pack. Just smelling it was as bad as drinking the first two. I suppose it did smell like Brussels sprouts. Brussels sprouts left sitting in Horatio Sans’ crotch for a month. The pungent aroma almost dissuaded me from drinking it – and it actually did dissuade some others. But I bit the veggie-soda bullet and drank it.

It was dreadful. Easily the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth – which is saying a lot, since I put myself through college by working the City of Industry. The title was previously held by a pig’s ear consumed in my World History class, sophomore year of high school. And that was more about texture than flavor. I could feel the cartilage grinding between my teeth. Jibbly…

I’m getting distracted. Back to the Brussel Sprout and Prosciutto soda. It did sort of taste like Brussels sprouts, which I hate. And I faintly tasted prosciutto, which is okay. Mixed together, those two things would be gross. But this soda goes far beyond that. I’d say brussels sprout and prosciutto are only the underlying flavors. On top of that was a godawful tang which still causes my tongue to shrivel. Just plain horrible. My best guess is that it tastes like the liquid which collects in the big green garbage bin of a vegan. The result of all these flavors was an experience which caused me to dry heave no less than three times – if I wasn’t a guest in somebody else’s house, I would have juss let it fly.

One of the worst parts was how it offends the palette. Initially, you get the horrible flavors. But as you swallow, it assaults you during the whole trip. It clings to the posterior of your tongue and throat and refuses to let go – I imagine it to be the perfect cranial nerve IX toxin. The concoction settles in the back of your mouth like mustard gas in a World War I trench. And no amount of eating or drinking would speed its dissipation. This drink is not fucking around.

This is Fear Factor soda.

Cranberry Sauce
We quickly moved on to cranberry sauce in a vain effort to combat the BS&P soda residue in our mouths. By comparison, this stuff was ambrosia. This stuff was the panacea which results from the combination of sweat in a Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie love-making session. It was a cool Coke Zero in the middle of the Sahara.

Unfortunately, it exploded as a carbonated fountain upon opening. None of the other flavors did, thank god. If the BS&E soda had fizzed out, the house would have to be exorcised and burned down. The prevailing theory regarding the fizz explosion is that my hand was too shaky from my recent near-death experience. And this new brew was loaded with enough red dye 40 to literally paint a town red. It definitely stained my skin, and might have stained the table of our gracious hosts. But it was an Ikea table, so I can buy them a new one for $40.

The amazing thing is, it tastes more like a cranberry garnish than just cranberry sauce/juice. It probably would have been easy to carbonate cranberry juice, but they went the extra mile and made it taste like a cranberry dressing. A horrible, horrible cranberry dressing. After my head cleared from the Brussels Sprout Experience ( a good band name), I realized that this stuff was bad. It was not as tasty as initially thought.

Pumpkin Pie
The final flavor, and the one I had the most hope for. It was bad, of course. Like the others, it had an underlying pumpkin pie taste. But beyond that, it was awful. No good. Avoid it.

What was incredible is the series of flavors. There is a distinct initial offering of pumpkin pie filling (it actually tasted more like just regular pumpkin, though), followed by the taste of pie crust. It was unusual. The flavors were distinct and separate. C&C Music Factory made the frighteningly accurate comparison to the Violet Beauregarde gum from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. You go through a sequence of flavors: pie filling to pie crust to vomit to tears.

And that was that. Here is the aftermath:

5 partially consumed bottles (of course, Brussels Sprout was still the most full) and J-Bone’s J-bone. The whole experience gave us a plethora of emotions: laughter, tears, curiosity, tears, relief, vomit, tears. It was a bonding experience. My advice: try it with a group of friends. If you try it alone, you’ll be locked away with some guy who is locked in an eternal conversation with an imaginary Garret A. Hobart. When will you ever again have the opportunity to try those wonderful flavors? Besides, it’s for charity.

Random facial responses:




The recommended wine list (seriously) and included moist towlette:

(not pictured: the included spork)

Abandoned ideas:

1. Making somebody chug Brussels sprout soda – that’s just too much. You’d probably die.
2. Mixing all the flavors and trying them all together – bad Montgomery, bad!
3. Trying the regional (as opposed to our national) pack – flavors are: broccoli casserole, smoked salmon pate, turkey & gravy, corn on the cob and pecan pie. Maybe some other day…
4. Better living through chemistry – Jelly Bellies have always given me such hope. Tear…

Perineal Favorites

Another day, another set of med school penis jokes:

Big Mac

He compared a histological cross section of the penis to a monkey's face. I thought it looked more like a gas mask. Maybe a monkey in a gas mask...

All of the wang drawings in his slides were yellow. He explained this unusual coloring by saying that it was a drawing of the Grinch's penis.

At the end of the lecture he leaned against the desk and said, "I need a smoke."

Wilson

Freudian Slip: "This opening allows passage of the penis and vagina in women."

She used her body to recreate an erect penis by placing her hands against her side and standing up straight. Then she slowly bent over to recreate flaccidity.

Not really a joke: in anatomy, there is a standard "anatomical position" used to describe relative positions of body parts - arms slightly out, palms forward, etc. Apparently in men the anatomical position means an erect penis. giggle.

And finally, not a penis joke and not from a professor:

"Getting a stroke would suck, man." -Allantois

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore...thank god

From the wonderful state which brought you Brown v. Board of Education, 347 U.S. 482 comes another slap in the face of education.

Apparently creationism is going to be taught in Kansas. Sigh. Hopefully The Flying Spaghetti Monster will come down and destroy them. I love the fact that they are using the ironic name "intelligent design" to disguise the teaching of Christianity in schools. Come on, you know they aren't teaching any other religions. And I'm sure they won't use the objective argument of "something created the Universe" - which is equally asinine, to me.

From the article:

In addition, the board rewrote the definition of science, so that it is no longer limited to the search for natural explanations of phenomena.

Right...The following things are now considered science:

1. Reading tea leaves to predict the future
2. Using sheep's bladders to prevent earthquakes
3. Scientology
4. Eating paprika in the attempt to gain superpowers
5. Biology

Am I the only one who sees how ridiculous this is? They've replaced "science" with "the opinion of any jackass who cares to express it." Let's redefine a few other things while we're at it:

Medicine = placing a sick person in the middle of a candle circle and chanting
Law = shooting those you disagree with
Human life = any cells
Bananas = a long curved fruit that grows in clusters and has a soft pulpy flesh and yellow skin when ripe
Chairs = those bright things in the sky

Can we just kick Kansas out of the union? It can float in the middle of the US as its own country, like Lesotho. At least until they get their shit together.

Stroke victims are hilarious

Well, would you look at that. An angry mob, right here at my blog. Complete with pitchforks and torches and all that jazz. A little cliche, don't you think? Anyway, what seems to be the problem? The title of this post? What's wrong with it? Ohh...I see your problem. Let me explain.

The act of suffering from a stroke is not funny. And I'm not laughing at stroke victims. I'm laughing with them. Today we were learning about language disorders, which are often the result of a stroke (mostly parietal/temporal lobe - middle cerebral artery). So our lecturer brought in three stroke victims to show their symptoms and talk about their lives.

Let me tell you, all three were hilarious. They were cracking wise and had the whole class laughing. Legitimate laughter. Not the "aww, he's still got a sense of humour despite illness" kind of pseudo-pity laughter. They were really funny. And the lecturer even said ahead of time that people with language disorders are funny.

I figured it meant "they retain their humor after the stroke" or "they have a good attitude." Maybe having a stroke in those areas actually creates a sense of humor. We can damage the left hemispheres of large groups of people to create teams of super-comedians! That's a great idea!

Aside from their hilarity, they also had some unusual symptoms (obviously). One guy said he could refer to a friend by their name in casual conversation, but if asked a specific person's name he couldn't say it. Other people just make up words in place of other words without even realizing it (the example given was a woman who said "kleeza" instead of "yes"). Some could answer questions, but not initiate their own conversation. And a lot of them could not repeat words spoken to them, despite being able to talk normally. It was so interesting.

In the spectrum of strokes, I suppose these aren't the worst to get. Little or no motor deficit, normal vital functions. Just crazy language issues. It was really cool to learn about. If I have to get a stroke (like a mad scientist is pointing a stroke machine at me) and I get to choose what kind (like the mad scientist says "choose what kind"), this is definitely the kind for me.

On an unrelated note: I'm going to avoid buying from Schering Plow Pharmaceuticals whenever possible. We had a Radiation Oncology lunch speaker and they provided food. And they purchased Domino's Pizza. With no drinks! Jerks. The last pharmaceutical company to provide food got us box lunches from Jason's Deli with drinks. Yeah, I'm complaining about a free lunch in which I could have eaten a whole pizza if I wanted. What of it? Constant free lunches have spoiled me...

Blahg

I'm not feeling great, I'll be honest. My intestines feel like they're twisting themselves into a novelty rubber-band ball. It sucks. I was tossing and turning all night. So my creativity is not at its peak. As a result, today we get a blast from the past.

Back before my blogging days, I used to write stuff in my AIM profile. It forced me to be more succinct in my ranting, since it had a limited character count. And similar to my blogging, I'd get scolded for not updating regularly. One thing I used to do was take song lyrics and use an online translator (ie Babelfish) to translate into another language, then back again. I know, I'm a simple man. But it's fun for me.

So today I present the "Family Matters" theme, translated from English to Dutch, then back to English.

First in English:

It's a rare condition, this day and age,
to read any good news on the newspaper page.
Love and tradition of the grand design,
some people say it's even harder to find.

Well then there must be some magic clue inside these tearful walls
Cause all I see is a tower of dreams
real love burstin' out of every seam.

As days go by,
we're gonna fill our house with happiness.
The moon may cry,
we're gonna smother the blues with tenderness.

When days go by,
there's room for you,
room for me,
for gentle hearts an opportunity.

As days go by,
it's the bigger love of the family.

Now in English:

It is a rare condition, this day and time,
to read news on the newspaper page no matter which good.
The love and the tradition of the large design,
some people say it still more difficult are find.

Well then must there one or other magical indication within these tearful all wall
cause is I sees a toren of burstin of the dreams
real love is from each seam.

Since the days pass,
we let us be gonna fill our house with luck.
The maan can shout,
is we gonna suffocates the blauw with love.

When the days by to go,
for that space you,
space for me,
for gentle harten a chance.

Since the days pass,
it is the larger love of the family.

Which isn't that bad, actually. Not as amusing as I had hoped. The translators must have gotten a lot better in the last few years. At least you got to reasd the "Family Matters" theme song. Damn Urkel...

Anyway, I predict I'll feel better by noon. Maybe I'll write something real later today.

Level Up!

Well, I moved again this weekend. Where did I move? Into the house of my beautiful, brilliant, sweet girlfriend, Legal Counsel. We've taken it to the next level, which is awesome. Sure we practically lived together already, but now it's official. So cool. I'm so excited. And I just can't hide it.

We've been told that we are living in sin. And they're right - I feel awful about living contrary to a moral code hundreds of years outdated. But allowing Legal Counsel to go to school is considered "living in sin" by those same morals. Get back in the kitchen, Legal Counsel! Oh god...please don't let her know I said that. I can't take the beatings...

A secondary advantage of living with Legal Counsel is not living at Fox Point anymore. That place is full of people with mental problems (yeah, you got mental problems, man). Seriously, I'm not joking. I'm convinced that the apartments are where people with mental problems are sent to start living independently. There are a lot of people with Down's Syndrome, which I don't care about. They're friendly. But one day I saw two women shouting at each other, and I couldn't understand what either one was saying. I've also been advised by Nefarious Nick that those kind of places are also where sex offenders are sent. Thanks but no thanks, Fox Point.

And it amazes me how much crap I accumulate. Empty boxes kept for no reason. Old engineering notes. Dead hookers. Why do I hold on to this stuff?? From now on I'm living with just my clothes, my laptop and a briefcase full of blow. That's all you really need.

Anyway, the moving is done and I'm tired. And Legal Counsel is tired (thanks, Legal Counsel!). And J-Bone is probably tired (thanks, J-Bone!). We just have to unpack and clean up. I started thinking about how often I've moved and it's ridiculous. Here's a list off the top of my head:

1. Phoenix to Graham-Greenlee, August 2001
2. Graham-Greenlee to Phoenix, May 2002
3. North Phoenix to Norther Phoenix, Summer 2002
4. Phoenix to Kaibab-Huachuca, August 2002
5. Kaibab-Huachuca to Phoenix, May 2003
6. Phoenix to Corleone, July 2003
7. Corleone to Phoenix, May 2004
8. Phoenix to Marana, August 2004
9. Marana to Fox Point, April 2005
10. Fox Point to Chez Scooby, November 2005

And that's just me moving my own stuff. I move other people all the time. I much prefer moving others - less thinking required. Here's a list of moving others:

1. Gramps, Summer 2001
2. The Larkitect's Family, Summer 2002(?) - hotter than a Dutch Oven, remember Larkitect?
3. Gramps, Summer 2002(?)
4. Gramps, Summer 2004(?)
5. Legal Counsel, Summer 2005
6. Legal Counsel's Sister, Fall 2005

So in the last 4.25 years, I've moved 10 times. That's ridiculous. I think I officially qualify as a nomad. Or a carny - I do have small hands and smell like cabbage. It's like the mob is after me or something. Hehe...just joking...yes, joking...damn it, here comes another move.

If you include moving others, I've moved 16 times in the last 4.25 years. That's Ludacris. I'm a big dumb animal. If this medicine thing doesn't work out, I've got a bright future as a pack mule.

When Legal Counsel and I are living on our modest doctor/lawyer salaries, I'm going to put an end to this moving nonsense. We'll do one of two things. Option the first: hire movers. Let them deal with the hassle, they sure get paid enough. The advantage of this one is that I can fill an armoire with lead bars, tape it shut and tell them to move it. That'll be good for a laugh. And if when they get a hernia, I can treat it and get some of that money back. Option the second: burn it. Burn it all. Then buy new stuff. This is definitely the more fun option.

Reset move coundown.
New move in: 8 months

Why in God's name would I wanna keep writing about characters whose central preoccupation are weed and dick and fart jokes?

I think one of the best things about attending the University of Arizona is the relaxed atmosphere. I've been told that schools back east and private schools are very uptight. They won't let you refer to professors by nicknames like "T-bone" and "Huggy Bear." They expect you to do ridiculous things like wearing pants. Jerks. At the old UACOM, however, things are chill. Teachers are friendly and approachable, and they make class fun.

As a result of this relaxed atmosphere, the lecturers joke around in class. As I type this, one of my neurology professors (Prof V) is giving his lecture dressed as another neurology professor (Prof N), complete with bald cap. It is probably revenge for Prof N photoshopping Prof V's face into a movie poster for The 40-year Old Virgin and showing it in class. Hilarious.

I thought I'd share some of the more off-color jokes which have been told, categorized by professor. These aren't exact quotes, but you get the idea.

Armageddon

Defecation is facilitated by peristaltic motions in the intestines. The actual time it takes varies, but in men it usually takes the same amount of time as is required to read the sports page.

There is a ring of skeletal muscle around the anal sphincter, which allows some people to use it as a wind instrument.

There is a greater distance between the sphincter in the bladder and the outside of the body in men, leading to the "dribble factor."

(continued from above) However, women lack the ability to pee in the woods.

Big Mac

(describing the testes being receding to compensate for temperature) I come from Pennsylvania. Eons ago, glaciers came and then receded leaving behind spring-fed lakes. These lakes are very cold even at their warmest - around 10-13ºC. Which is about 55ºF. You couldn't really go swimming until the last few weeks of June, and even then the lakes were still very cold. So I'd go with my friends and we'd jump in the lake, then swim back as fast as we could. After I'd get out, I could feel under my jaw (which he then did, in the manner of a doctor feeling lymph nodes), and I could palpate my testes. (I swear half way through this story I thought he was stuck in an old-man tale - "I wore an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time...")

Sperm are lean, mean swimming machines.

(not really a joke: he used his whole body to imitate testicular torsion, which made me laugh and cry at the same time)

This far from complete list has given us: poop jokes, fart jokes, pee jokes, wang jokes, ball jokes and sperm jokes. Don'tcha wish yer classes were fun like mine? Don'tcha?

Rodeo Drive

As I was driving to class this morning, I saw a few oddly dressed people. I know it's ironic for me to call somebody "oddly dressed," but bear with me.

Case the First
This guy was a biker. riding a Harley Chopper. I looked at him, envying his easy riding lifestyle. But his jacket was a little odd. Of course he was wearing a leather jacket - that's mandatory biker armor. It offers protection against road rash and a magnet for ladies...and some dudes. But his jacket was a little off. Rather than the "Hell's Angels"/"Screw Authority"/"I Love Kitties" jacket typical of a biker, he chose a different route.

On his arm in big letters was written the word "Tunes." (D-Rock thinks that is the wrong spelling of "Tunes")And sure enough, Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam, Daffy Duck and friends were prominently displayed across his back. I can only assume "Looney" was written in his other arm. Everything else matched the hardass biker/leather queen look: tight, black jeans, dew rag (which I initially spelled "doo rag" - gross), leather gloves, shades. You know, the whole look.

So now I'm torn. Is this guy a poser, trying to fit in the biker world? Is his mid-life crisis taking the form of the free-wheeling biker life. Except he only has a Looney Tunes jacket, and after blowing his money on the bike, his wife won't let him buy a new one? Or is he the ultimate biker badass, with a jacket practically screaming for a challenge? Some punk kid will mock his style, and before you can blink that kid will be stuck in a palm tree. I may never know...

Case the Second
Sorority girls. Enough said.

But seriously, I look over and see a woman driving a Kia Sorento. She was wearing these massive sunglasses. They looked like tea saucers glued to her face. If it was a dude, I would have guessed it was Tim Burton. But it was a chick. And these wacky sunglasses made her look like a 90-year old woman. These types of sunglasses are popular in two demographics: sorority girls and dangerously old women.

And the Bea Arthur trend isn't limited to UV-blocking facial accessories. Clothing nowadays has an old lady feel, too. I went shopping with Legal Counsel a while back (whip-cracking noise, I know. I had fun, though), and so many of the clothing items looked like things my grandmother used to wear, it was scary. Lots of that ugly 70s brown, pea green and pumpkin orange items all around. I like brown, green and orange, but not these hues. I thought those colors were made illegal during the Dayglo Riots of 1985. Eww...80s colors...talk about doo rags...

I'm not sure who started this fashion style. Probably Paris Hilton or Charro, they're popular these days. I thought it was just my imagination, but Legal Counsel and others have backed me up. I just don't get. And the trend doesn't transfer to dudes. Can I start tucking a white t-shirt into sweat pants then hike up said sweat pants, old man style? Didn't think so. I just don't understand greek fashion, I guess.

Case the Third
I saw an old man, totally naked, singing "Welcome to the Jungle." Wait, there's nothing wrong with that. So cool...

All-Hallow's-Eve Comments

This is just a list of random Halloween thoughts running through my head, now that it's over.

Costume ideas which Legal Counsel has assured guarantee me a spot in hell:

1. Blue/deadguy makeup + masquerade mask = the new Mardi Gras
2. (for the ladies) Straw in mouth = Schiavo
3. I saw a quadriplegic dude wearing a Superman costume, so I instantly thought Christopher Reeves. You did too, admit it. I think he did it on purpose.
4. "Sad" drama mask + suit = I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby

The worst Halloween candy ever is those taffy things wrapped in black or orange paper. So disgusting. I think they use that stuff to fill cracks in the Hoover Dam. Who buys that crap?

All last night I was wondering what the hell is up with Tootsie Rolls. Seriously, what are they? They aren't chocolate, they aren't taffy, they aren't feces and they aren't natural. The company history just calls them a "chocolatey, chewy candy." They don't even know what it is! And why are they rolls? I'll admit that they're tasty, sure. But only if you eat one or two of the tiny ones. After that, they start to get gross. And if you think about what they are while eating them, you'll go insane.

On a related note, Laffy Taffy comes in chocolate form now. Kickass.

A commercial on the radio told me to go to a costume party "Just for the howl of it." If you have a phrase like "for the hell of it," you don't need to spookify it. It already references the final resting place for the souls of sinners. At most, add emphasis to the word "hell." You also don't need to change "nightmare" to "frightmare." Think, people.

Corn mazes are awesome. But they should be called "Maize Mazes."

We're currently learning about the urinary system in class. My professor says she is wearing a Halloween costume, which consists of candy (rolos, mostly) taped all over her body. She says it relates to the urinary system. I don't want to know how. All I can think is "diabetes," since the sugar is escaping the body. And I'm praying she doesn't ask a student to go up and eat the candies off of her. Jibbly...

My mom had surgery on Halloween. That makes it a lot easier to dress as a mummy.

Halloween - Legal Counsel's favorite holiday - is done. Now it's Thanksgiving time - my favorite holiday. Except maybe Guy Fawkes Day...mmm, effigies...