Y tu mama tambien

A few weeks back I was flipping through the channels, trying to find something good. What I did find was a little gem on MTV entitled "Your Mother." I'm sorry, that should read "Yo Momma." What I initially assumed to be a wonderful tongue-in-cheek look at the world of genealogy turned out to be an insult contest. From Wikipedia:

Yo Momma is an American reality television game show created, executive produced and hosted by Wilmer Valderrama...based on "the dozens"

The dozens, eh? Tell me more, Wikipedia:

The dozens is an African American oral tradition in which two people go head to head in a contest of often good-natured, ribald "trash-talk". They take turns insulting; "burning," "cracking," "heating," "ranking," "sparking," "sunning," "janking," "snapping," "checking," "riding," or even "projectoring" — on one another, their adversary's mother, or other family member until one of them has no comeback.

I have to admire the excess use of synonyms and quotes, as well as the use of the term "ribald." But on the other hand, having the words "Wilmer" and "Valderrama" are the first two strikes against this show.

I tried watching it and it was essentially unbearable, mostly because of the uninspired janks. One gentleman said that the other gentleman's mother had two pots on her shoulders, so she flips like this (he proceeds to do a half-assed cartwheel). It didn't make any sense, but fortunately the other lads boo'd him...though they might have been saying Boo-urns.

Some were a little better. One fellow made light of a woman's† obvious poverty by stating that her shoe, which had come apart at the front making it look like a duck bill, was about to say "Aflac." And some were just clever. Why, one gent actually murdered another! Brilliant! Ultimate projectoring!

Do you see how ridiculous the jokes are when written in plain English? It's all in the presentation, which these yutes were severely lacking. I had to turn it off after one round. 80% of the jokes could be classified as either old or stupid, 5% were chuckle-worthy, and 15% were straight-up racist. The whole time, I just kept thinking that I could do better*. So here I go:

Actually, before I start let me just say I'll do my best to make the insults general rather than directed at one specific person. Mostly because they would all be aimed at D-Rock's promiscuous, overweight, uneducated, unwashed mother. It's just too easy. A better show might be placing these guys in front of D-Rock's momma and seeing who can resist ranking her the longest. Anyway, here I go:

Your mother's hygiene is so bad, she smells like Belgian cheese.

Your mother is so ugly that her face inspired episode 62 of Star Trek: The Orginal Series - "Is There In Truth No Beauty?"

Your mother is so unpleasant to be around that even the French refer to her as "Impoli."

Your mother is such an alcoholic, she makes out with hobos for the fumes. This also indicates that she is promiscuous.

Your mother is so ignorant that she believed Ayi Kwei Armah's "Two Thousand Seasons" was a cookbook.

Your mother's diet is so poor that her cholesterol is higher than her credit score. I assume you to be ignorant, so allow me to point out that this statement also implies that she has horrible credit.

D-Rock's mother has slept with literally thousands of men and she's got every STD known in medicine, some of which are (typically) only found in certain barn animals. Damn, couldn't resist.

That's how it's done, bitches.

† the women were by far the worst competitors on the show. They got the Boo-urns every time.
* probably not true.

If you live in Arizona, vote no on Prop 107

Please.


Sorry to be political again. I'll be more lighthearted next time.

Foley's Follies

I didn't want to comment on Rep. Mark Foley (R-FL), but no amount of Brangelina stories seem to knock him out of the news. So, being a blogger, I have to comment on the situation. First off, let me get this out of the way:

Mark Foley looks like:
a) a chameleon

b) a shih tzu puppy

c) actor Creed Bratton playing Creed Bratton on the US version of The Office

d) All of the above

The correct answer is "d) all of the above." Mostly it's in the eyes. He's a funny looking guy...he probably has FLG Syndrome. He doesn't make me a little horny. Not at all.

I'd like to badmouth this guy and rant about what a twisted hypocrite he is, but the truth is I like him. Why do I like him? Because he makes the Republican Party look bad. Sure he's an ephebophile, but who isn't? As long as he humiliates republicans whilst attempting to sexually assault minors, I think things balance out. Getting rid of our horrible domestic and foreign policy in exchange for some delicious teenage boy touching. Fair trade.

Another good thing about Foleygate is the possibility for amusing headlines:
U.S. House Speaker Dennis Hastert meets ethics committee for Foley probe - giggle
’Hot Boys’ Topped Republican Mark Foley’s Agenda - snicker
Mark Foley exposed via the Internet - I bet he did

But the thing that amuses me most about this whole ordeal is the fact that he got busted using text messages. always think of texting as a young peron phenomenon†, but apparently the elderly are involved as well. And that amuses me to know end. Especially when it's a political figure.

Do they use the same bad grammar and spelling so prevalent in the youth? Do they use the abbreviations? It's fun to think about. Here's a conversation between Bush and Cheney, over phone text:

Dick Cheney: chavez said u smell lik sulfur lol
George Bush: can i bom him???
Dick Cheney: not yet, roflmao
George Bush: dang. he sux
Dick Cheney: i hate mexicans
George Bush: me 2

Neither of them realize that Hugo Chavez is really from Venezuela. They actually refer to all "brown people" as mexican. They're horribly racist. Also, Dubya doesn't actually know how to spell anyway, text message or not. And he can only write in crayon.

Class is almost over. Time for me to end this post. It was a little political for me, eh? Maybe next time I'll talk about MTV to balance things out...

†do doo do do do

The other white meat

It seems that a relatively minor and seemingly innocuous comment from my post yesterday sparked a bit of discussion. Namely, my suggestion that babies be used as a resource. To stem further controversy, I feel the need to comment on this idea: it's brilliant.

Babies are so young and so full of potential. The potential to become scientists, doctors, lawyers, athletes, politicians, heroes and (with a little help) a renewable natural resource. With our population recently topping 300 million, I think now is the perfect time to implement "The Montgomery Plan."

Think of the possibilities: baby food, baby aspirin, baby shampoo, even baby oil. By using babies to fuel our cars and heat our homes, we'd end countless international conflicts and provide cheap heat to impoverished peoples. No blood for oil? Ha! I think that's exactly what we need.

Some of you might be outraged and disgusted right now. That's fine, keep up the charade. But I know you've all been secretly thinking it your whole lives. How many times have you heard somebody say to a baby, "you're adorable! I could just eat you up." Creepy expression of adoration, or subtle clue? It's like everybody is hinting at it but nobody is willing to actually suggest it. It's the giant squid in the room that everybody wants to be brought up, but nobody wants to bring up.

Here's a little example. There's an urban legend that when Gerber baby foods were introduced in Africa, the African people were shocked and appalled since they believed that the baby on the jar meant that the contents were made of baby. According to Snopes, the legend "is cultural prejudice at its worst; an apocryphal anecdote based on the premise of a whole society of illiterates who don't know what baby food is are credulous enough to believe that someone would sell ground-up babies as food." You tell 'em, Urban Legends Reference Page.

But here's the real truth: they did believe the jars contained baby, but they responded not with horror but hope. They thought that Gerber company finally made the dream a reality - finally babies were being used for the greater good. That first year, Gerber sales reached a record high entirely because of Africa. But they quickly learned the truth and created this "legend" to cover up the revelation of their true feelings.

But this isn't a social thing, it's universal. Present a similar mistake in any culture and they would've responded the same way. Everybody wants to use babies as food, fuel and various sundries but nobody will admit it. Until now.

You might be saying, "But Montgomery, this seems to be a contradiction of past statements. Haven't you said that aging is 'the slow process of converting your own body into food?'" Very true, but think of the logistics. A fresh crop of the elderly takes upwards of 55 years to produce, and we want to start now. To implement a decent sized yield, it would take at least that long. Babies take 9 months, tops. We'd be feasting like Kings* within a year.

Of course we wouldn't use every baby - we'd quickly go extinct. But I think most people have observed at some point that the people least capable of raising children (for financial, environmental or psychological reasons) are the ones who have the most children. I quote famed explorer and sociologist, Harvey Danger:

[I've] Been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding. The cretins cloning and feeding

But we can't just tell people they can't have any kids. Nobody likes to be told they can't do something. So I suggest we institute a 2 child maximum; all subsequent children will be shipped off to the Soylent Corporation. This will maintain the population at roughly its current level and it will provide for that population. "But why would they have more kids if they knew they'd be converted to food??" Because it would be legally required. Everybody likes to be told they have to do something.

I realize this is a risky endeavor, so I'm fully willing to take any credit and/or blame that must be assigned. I could go down in history as a monster worse than those responsible for the Holocaust...the Nazis. Or I could be regarded as a hero on par with those responsible for pioneering the use of sulfonamide as an antibiotic...the Nazis. I should've come up with a better example.

Listen, I love babies as much as the next guy. Probably more than the next guy, provided the next guy isn't Mark Foley. Babies are adorable and fun. Just seeing one makes me smile. But I'm also a realist and a problem-solver. "The Montgomery Plan" will solve no less than 8 global crises in one fell swoop. Just think about it...

*specifically Stephen King. Don't act surprised.

News from the Front

I feel like I've been spending lots of time with my preceptor at the pediatric clinic. I haven't actually been spending that much time, I just feel like it. Here are some random Observations and Anecdotes (which happens to be the name of my forthcoming spoken word album):

The lighting in exam rooms casts shadows across the foreheads of kids with spiky hair. I believed the kids were using really runny hair dye no less than three times yesterday. And twice I believed their heads were melting (Belloq's Syndrome). They weren't actually melting.

The healthiest people are aged 14-16. We get lots of patients from 0-13 years, and quite a few at 17 years. But none at 14-16. Maybe it's just not cool to hang out with the pediatrician. 6 year olds are possibly the most sick.

I saw a 6 year old pulling a tiny little oxygen tank and my first thought was, "That's adorable." But that thought quickly disappeared when the reality of the situation hit me, and I started crying.

I've learned to yawn through my nose. It feels weird.

We saw a girl who was so tall she was literally off the charts. We tried to mark her height in her file and the little dot was in the Name/DOB/Info section of the chart. I'm wiriting a screenplay about her now - "Attack of the 5'8'' Girl"

The slow process of losing cuteness begins when kids start to talk. They're still cute for quite some time after that, but the peak occurs right before speach. Which is why I recommend we de-bark children. They'll stay cuter, longer.

Parents are obsessed with their children's poo. So many complaints are about the consistency/frequency of poop, it boggles the mind. I feel like they just wait for poop to happen so they can look at and analyze it. When I become a parent, will I spend my days staring at my child's butt chanting, "Come on...come on..."? And you can ask the parent of any child up to the age of about 5 and they'll know everything about the kids bowel movements without even having to stop and think. Sure poop is funny, but come on.

Speaking of poop, there was a different 6 year old with constipation. The docs wanted to give him a rectal to see if there was a hard chunk of poo blocking the fecal stream. My first thought was, "Awesome, I've never seen a rectal." My second thought was, "What the hell is wrong with me?" But it didn't matter - the kid raised holy hell. And can you blame him? They went with x-ray instead.

Kids these days...I tell ya.

Chubby babies look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But I already knew that.

The pediatric clinic is not the right place for "that's what she said" jokes. The kids don't get it, the parents don't appreciate it, the doctors don't approve it and the nurses...well, my lawyer says I can't talk about them until the trial is over.

Also, tossing a hand up for a High Five and shouting "Hit me up top" usually frightens the children more than it amuses them.

Babies are our nations largest untapped resource. I wonder how many miles/infant my car would get. It's a modest proposal. If you drive a Hummer you probably just thought, "I like the way this guy thinks."


I'll try to think of more good stories, these are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. Virology is making my brain freeze itself so it can unthaw fresh and rested in several hours.

The Ultimate Pog!

This weekend I was shopping for birthday gifts to give to Legal Counsel's nieces, who I affectionately refer to as Big and Little. Big just turned 7 and Little just turned 3. They're cute, but cunning. Watch your back.

We were walking through the "What the hell are we doing to Children" section, aka Bratz, and turned a corner to see something totally unexpected. More unexpected than 11 year old dolls dressed like low- to medium-priced prostitutes. More unexpected than toys for 3 year olds with more computing power than is owned by some small governments. More unexpected than Dubya being re-elected. What I saw...were pogs.

I couldn't believe it! I still can't believe it! The addictive as crack, spreading like the plague, banned as gambling hobby from my youth is making a comeback! I've been joking about it pogs for a few weeks and suddenly they're actually back. I thought I was going to have a joy-gasm.

For those of you not familiar with Pogs, let me give a little explanation. Pogs started as a way for companies to market garbage to children. You stack milk-caps and try to flip them with heavier milk-caps. Then they started printing pogs with pictures of cartoons, movies and OJ Simpson. I swear I once saw a pog which had his face and it read, "The Juice is Loose." I love the early/mid 90s. I bet if you looked hard enough you could find a pair of Menendez Pogs. I also got a bunch of free Salt River Project pogs at the AZ State Fair. Score.

It was a really simple, stupid game and I loved it. I was a dumb kid. Hell, I'm a dumb adult; if somebody had pogs I'd totally play and be happy as Mark Foley speaking at a high school graduation. Wait, that doesn't sound right...middle school graduation, yeah that works. But as much as people joke about pogs, I don't think they'd actually play. They don't take my loves seriously...sniffle.

I used to have huge tubes full of pogs and metal slammers. It was suh-weet. And as quickly I started playing, I stopped. It just ended. The schools started banning pogs as a form of gambling (you'd get to keep the flipped caps). It disappeared like a fart in the wind. Sunk into the ocean like Atlantis, only to resurface yesterday. I need to bring those moldy old pogs out of storage and start hanging out at the elementary school. More than I already do. I really want to see the TV news start doing reports on pogs again, another fond youth memory. Why does the news like to report on stupid ass kid trends? Probably the same reason I'm doing it now - they're awesome.

I get to cross off another item on my "Childhood Memories which need to return":

• Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
• War with Iraq
• Pogs
• Slap bracelets
• OJ Simpson
• Skip It

Late Night Look-a-Like™

I made this discovery whilst watching The Colbert Report. We'll start with my personal hero, UA CoM Associate Dean of Student Affairs - the Huggy Bear:

Looking a might sun-burned in this pic, I must say. Now check out everybody's favorite can't-leave-well-enough-alone movie producer/director, Egroeg Sacul†:

Uncanny. Same rugged good looks, same touch of wisdom and class in the hair, same love-em-and-leave-em stare. But I'll be honest with you: whenever I think of Huggy Bear, I always imagine him as the world's greatest Care Bear Cousin, Mr. Brave Heart Lion:
But that's probably just a byproduct of my hero worship. Swoon...



†obscure Disneyland reference

I don't want to hear it, Freud

Ever since Legal Counsel and I obtained a juicer we've been juice crazy. I think I've consumed more fruit in the last few months than the rest of my life combined. This might be related to the fact that my mom referred to fruit as "the devil's testicles" and refused to let me eat them. We got Fruit Roll-Ups and Kool-Aid instead. Oh yeah! Check out our rig:

That's a lot of fruit! It's like we decapitated Carmen Miranda. Yes...just like that...

The beauty of the juicer is that it requires a minimum of preparation. If it's small enough to fit in the entry hole, just toss it in. That's actually my motto in many facets of life, now that I think about it. Got an apple? Toss it in. Kiwi? Down the hole. Grapes? Juice town. Human brains? Make yourself some zombie juice. Vodka? No! No liquids in the juicer! Just add it later. Also, no bananas. Sorry, Gwen Stefani.

The one major exception to the rule is fruit with a peel. You can juice the peel, but it'll make your juice bitter. More bitter than my ex-wife. Most of the fruit we use is peel-less, except for the large amounts of orange we juice. So much orange juice...drool. I've peeled a lot of oranges lately, like a pirate fighting scurvy. Yarr.

It's during this peeling that I discovered my secret love: pulling that little bit of peel from the inside of the orange. You know what I'm talking about? That little shoot of white peel that protrudes through the center of the orange? It gives me some kind of sick thrill to pull that thing out of the center, still attached to the out peel. It makes me happy and I have no idea why.

But I realized it doesn't end there. There are other pulling-something-from-another-thing actions that give me that warm, fuzzy feeling. First off is pulling weeds out by the root. *grin* When I pull weeds, I get a little turned on by the sight of the glistening white root. I feel so proud and, dare I say, virile?

The last one I can think of off the top of my head (with suggestion from Orang) is pulling crab meat from the shell. Drool... When you rip the flesh from those little arthropod bastards, it feels amazing to get a solid chunk of meat from the leg. You can't really do it in the claw or body, but the long part of the leg is the money shot.

I'm sure there are more, but those three examples should suffice.

It occurs to me that all three of these actions share a similar theme: pulling a long, thin white thing from a tight space. I, um, I feel a little awkward right now. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with this. But that little man loved him the nose candy, so can we really trust him? Don't listen to his lies, I'm mentally fit as a mental fiddle. Plus, he's dead. And I'll be first in line to put down Zombie Freud - his fascination with the human brain will go from scientific to culinary. That's it, I'm flying to Europe and camping out on his grave with a shotgun and some oranges.

I tried to come up with a medical job which would allow me to employ my particular fetish, but the options are slim. Plucking out human eyes with the optic nerve attached is not a high demand skill, unless you know where Daryl Hannah is hiding. Which I don't. The market for head-and-spine removal is pretty much dominated by Sub-Zero, and I'm not going to challenge his monopoly. I suppose I'll just have to make a career out of bowel resection, which works with my oft mispronounced name. It would be especially fun if I could get my hands on those Shankara Stones...

Das Boot!

After midterms were over, Larkitect and Orang came to town for some good-natured hijinks and shenanigans. Legal Counsel and I played host, which left us with the unfortunate task of coming up with something to do. Coming up with something to do on your own is always easy, but coming up with something to do with others is always difficult. Don't ask me why, it's science.

After much mulling and discussion we consulted the all-powerful entity known as The Internets. The Internets told us about the goings on in Tucson and our decision was made for us. We were going to Octoberfest! I'm sorry...Oktoberfest.

Oktoberfest was being held at a baseball field in Reid Park. It was also being held in September†. And it was being run by a children's charity. Those lost two facts should have been warning enough that we would not be getting what we expected, but we marched onward full of piss and vinegar. At least that's what I hope it is.

What we witnessed was not Oktoberfest. It could barely be considered any kind of fest, except maybe a festering pustule on the face of Germany's proud history of socially accepted alcoholism. If an event of this caliber took place in Poland during late August 1939, a lot of things would be explained.

Maybe I'm exaggerating. I'll just say it was like going to a fair. A county fair. The La Paz county fair. Jibbly. It was a see of booths selling crap, horribly unhealthy food and kitschy entertainment. I had fun, but only in the ironic way.

The Craft Booths
The vast majority of space was taken up by booths selling little crafts. Here's a quick list of things you can purchase at Octoberfest:

• Jars of colored sand
• Inflatable toys
• Various copyright infringed items
• Home-made barbeque sauce (actually tasty)
• Wind chimes
• Marijuana
• Belts
• A sense of superiority over the general population of Arizona

The two best items were in a League of Their Own (with rosie): topless sandals and marshmellow shooters.

Topless sandals are like regular sandals except instead of having straps on top they are coated in adhesive on top which sticks to your foot. It's so brilliant I don't know why they haven't become mainstream already. Oh wait, yes I do. It's probably because they combine the joy of having unbelievably filthy feet and shoes with the thrill of stepping in gum barefoot. You'd have to wash them after every wearing and the glue would disappear within days. At least you could stick them to your car and pretend to be a member of the Foot Clan...

The marshmellow shooter was...well, it was a marshmellow shooter. It was a couple PVC pipes stuck togther used as a blowgun for marshmellows. It was simple and dumb, yet strangely charming. Some lady was going nuts for them. We laughed and wrote it off as some crazy guy's crazy idea. Then we saw them in at least 2-3 other booths. It was like a trend that only Legal Counsel, Larkitect, Orang and myself were unaware of. It's the hillbilly equivalent of Ugg boots, track suits, giant sunglasses or tiny dogs. I wanted one but LC said no, which is probably wise. She'd leave for class and come back to find our walls coated in marshmellows.

The Enterteinment
All we saw were high school bands and clogging. Riveting, eh? It let me learn that "clogging" is just the fancy-pants name for "tap-dancing." There were no wooden shoes...not one! I was very disappointed.

All the cloggers were eligible for AARP membership. And tried to come up with a reason why, and I formulated a theory. Retirement homes make their residents where tap shoes so they know when the old folks are wandering off, and the oldies just made the best of the situation. That's really the only explanation.

They tapped to a song which they claimed southerners refer to as "The National Anthem." It wasn't the national anthem. But I wasn't surprised that Southerners would say that.

Better than the "official" entertainment was our unofficial game: Mullet Hunting. It was a little too easy, actually.

The Food
Hurck....sorry, just threw up a bit at the memory.

They had the typical food: hot dogs, burgers, E. Coli, donuts. Speaking of donuts, we stood there staring at the donut machine for a little too long. At one point I said that the machine was pooping out donuts, and a woman nearby proceeded to repeat "pooping" to her child roughly eight times. It was bizarre.

They didn't really have German food, except maybe some Brats. They did have Irish food, which I have to assume is only because of the Alcohol->Irish connection. Damn stereotyping children's charity. Anyway, there was a booth that had Corned Beef. I was about to make a comment on the box at said booth with the words "Moist & Meaty" emblazoned on the front (I was probably going to make a comparison to my genitalia), when I noticed the label on the box. Purina. There was a box of dog food at the corned beef booth. Disgusting. Why would you do that? It is the absolute worst booth to have a dog food container. But apparently people don't care, since they were still eating it. Sick.

The only thing left to describe was the beer. Or lack thereof. They had maybe 3 kinds of beer. For Oktoberfest, that's pretty bad. Hell, that's really bad for a backyard barbeque. In Utah.


All in all, it was amusing but not for their intended reasons. Greasy food, greasy people, greasy crafts...it was just breathtaking to observe. We ended up leaving without drinking a single beer, which is pathetic. But at least we were able to reinforce Larkitect and Orang's pre-conceived notions of what Tucson is like. I just wished I had brought a camera.

Oh, and it was roughly 107º.


†I realize the actual Oktoberfest takes place in September but just roll with it, will ya?

Remember Alf? He's back! In pog form!

We're starting pharmacology today. For some reason it takes up the last half of the first semester and the first half of the second semester, rather than one full semester. I don't know why; I think somebody was on drugs.

Anyway, the lecturer speaking at this very moment reminds me of a childhood memory. To protect his anonymity, I'll use a psudonym. We'll call him Dr. Freedom. Here he is:

And of course you're all thinking, "Wow! He looks like the crack-smoking*, drunk-driving dad from ALF! Max Wright!" Indeed he does (of course the similarity is much more apparent in person):

But what you might not know is that he also looks like Brendan Sullivan, lawyer for Oliver North during that whole Iran-Contra thing:

We'll have to see if Dr. Freedom also enjoys smoking crack and/or defending people who have sold weapons to Iran to fund Nicaraguan guerillas. I'm going with 40% chance of one, 15% chance of both.


*allegedly

Happy Columbus Day!

3 mini-posts, all rolled into one

I don't know why she's still with me, either
Legal Counsel is a lot of things: beautiful, brilliant, funny, perfect. But most of all, she's patient. Why patient? Because she puts up with my asinine and usually offensive ramblings without leaving and/or murdering me. Here's a snippet of conversation from last night:

Montgomery: No no, I think you misunderstand. I refer to my general under-the-pants area as "Chinatown." I refer to my penis specifically as "The General." Which, I suppose, makes him General Tso. That explains why he's so delicious...

Obviously in this context "conversation" means "Montgomery talking without letting Legal Counsel get a word in edgewise while she suppresses the urge to strangle him." I love you, Legal Counsel!

Car Trouble
I was driving downtown to meet LC for lunch and I had a couple interesting driving experiences. When I was driving on Glenn nearing the entrance to the Albertson's parking lot, I saw an old guy (who I'll call "Jasper") standing at said entrance directing traffic. (I feel it necessary to point out that he was wearing a fanny pack, which gives him some serious street cred and authority) There was no need for the traffic control, he was just doing it. Some car was waiting to make a left turn into the parking lot, so Jasper waved him in. And the car actually did it! Right in front of the oncoming traffic! The truck in front of me driving straight had to slam his brakes to avoid a collision. Apparently Jasper forgot to signal our lane.

After the left turner got into the lot, Jasper then signaled us to stop for no apparent reason. And the truck listened! It was surreal. The closer I got, the more I realized he had no uniform or badge or anything to make him an official. He was just some crazy guy standing on the sidewalk, directing traffic. I don't know who was more bizarre: Jasper directing traffic or the drivers who listened.

Then when I was closer to downtown I saw some beat-to-hell red car making a right turn on northbound Stone. As he turned, his driver's side door swung wide open. At first I thought he did it on purpose (more crazy people), but when he accelerated it slammed closed, then bounced open a little again. It was a non-functioning, purely decorative door. Awesome. Awesome to the max. You should buy some bungee cord, guy.

I'm thinking of sea foam! What do you think?
I watch Project Runway. I'm proud to admit that. The show is awesome. I'm less proud to admit that I secretly want to be a fashion designer. Having no sense of fashion makes that dream difficult.

Anyway, I was watching the reunion show last night and I made a connection.

Michael Kors, the designer-bashing, ugly-shoe designing Michael Kors, looks, speaks and acts exactly like Roger the Alien from American Dad!.

Who was in fact based on Paul Lynde.

Christ Almighty, I've never seen anything as terrifying as that giant-ass picture of Paul Lynde. Don't click that picture. Move aside, vampire gazelles*, my nightmares have a new recurring character. Jibbly.

Anyway, those three "people" are actually one and the same. If you're a fan of Project Runway, American Dad and/or drug-abusing 60s/70s TV personalities you should check it out. If you're not a fan of any of those things then you can burn in hell for all eternity.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, baby. You just make me so crazy some times.

*Think about it: enhance a gazelle's natural strength and speed with vampirism then add the fangs and and humanity is doomed. There's no way you're going to outrun that. And it's got horns! Horns! This assumes that they bite humans rather than other gazelles, of course.

Flavor Saver

Well, here it is in all its 2-and-a-half week old glory:
(that's also me doing my best to make the face of a guy with a moustache)

I look good. I mean really good. Hey everyone...come see how good I look!

But no matter how good it looked, it had to go. Not because it scares away the ladies, as the Queen Bitch* of our class felt like stating. I've already got a lady, and she's been scared for almost 21 months. Not because it saves liquids and small bits of food. I consider that a perk. And not because of the 3+ hours of combing I'd put in each night. I'm willing to sacrifice for fashion.

No, the real reason I had to take a blade to it is because moustaches are creepy. Damn creepy. You could toss a whisker broom on the nicest guy on earth and nobody would trust him. A moustachioed Mr. Rogers would have been viewed as a pedophile. The FCC would have thrown a black bar on his upper lip.

And look at the people viewed as the pinnacles of all things good - none of them have moustaches. Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa...no wait, bad examples. But you know what I'm saying. Moustaches are endangered for a reason.

Here's a story to illustrate:

I was waiting in line at Chipotle, minding my own moustached bidniss when I looked down and saw a tiny, tiny person. She was probably 2 years old. She was twirling and dancing and having a good time, so I smiled. Then her mom turned around and saw me. Now she didn't say anything or make a face, but I could tell she was thinking unpleasant thoughts. She didn't trust the furry-lipped gentleman smiling at her child**. It was awkward.

Then when my burrito was almost done the server spit in it, wrapped it up, and said, "Enjoy your burrito, pervert." I did enjoy it. Every last bite. Delicious.

So as you can see, there is some serious moustache hatred going on. And it's probably because of the combined efforts of Hitler and 80s porn stars. In my mind the two should balance each other out, but the rest of the world sees differently. C'est la vie. So that's why I had to shave it.

There is one exception to the "moustaches = creepy" postulate. Namely, The Walrus (see Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Friedrich Nietzsche, Wilford Brimley, and The Lorax). Those things kick ass. But they take some serious time and commitment. Time and commitment I don't have. The pediatric clinic is not a good place for a moustache to go through its larval and pupal stages...


*note: not the David Bowie kind of queen bitch, which might be either a transvestite or a prostitute (I'm not sure). Although I can neither confirm nor deny either of those allegations. And if anybody feels like making "Queen Bitch" her nickname, I won't charge royalties. You all know who I'm talking about.
**the fact that I imagined her anti-moustache thoughts probably indicates my own anti-moustache bias.

EDIT
Legal Counsel wanted me to include this picture:

If you grow a moustache, this is how people will see you. No matter how handsome and smooth you are (which will obviously be nowhere near as handsome and smooth as myself), you will look like a wild-eyed psycho. Just a heads up.