It's Still Informative Though

It's cop out week here at DLOG, as I am home with my lovely children, so instead of me trying to be funny, I'll point you to other people being funny. Today, I give you Sheldon, a comic by Dave Kellett about a boy, his grandpa, and his duck. It's clean, and it's made me laugh out loud more than once.

http://www.sheldoncomics.com

The last one that made me laugh loud enough to be self conscious.

Of Course Heavy Medication Isn't Out Of The Question

I've mentioned in the past that I have what you might call an odd memory. I remember things that happened to me in my life, but I remember most of them the way other people remember something they read in a book once. I remember them factually, with no emotional connection to them. This leads to an almost total lack of nostalgia for damned near anything.

The reason I'm thinking about this now is that someone asked if I ever wished I was back in high school, and I answered honestly, "No". Well, it wasn't totally honestly, as my initial reaction was something along the lines of "Aw Hell no. I'd rather volunteer to be Rush Limbaugh's proctologist for a day that spend one minute as a teenager again". Still, when I think back to high school, it's like anything else in my life - there were a lot of things I liked about it and a lot of things that sucked about it. There wasn't anything particularly magical about that time of my life.

What's funny is that I think a lot of people tend to forget about some of the more rotten parts of high school, most of which involved being a teenager. Being a teenager has a lot of drawbacks. You think you know everything, but no one wants to listen to you. You're pumped full of enough hormones to make lawn furniture vaguely attractive. They make you sit in class all day and read the most depressing literature ever put to paper. As if it wasn't bad enough dealing with heartbreak, rejection and social pressures, I had to read The Jungle. The Jungle for God's sake!

That's just cruel.

Now there were a lot of cool things about being a teenager too (the ability to consume my own weight in Mancino's meatball subs and Mountain Dew comes to mind), but I'm careful not to glamorize them, especially now that I have kids. Some day, they're going to be teenagers, a thought that sends a chill down my spine. I don't want to be the parent who remembers that as being awesome and thus doesn't comprehend why the Princess is in tears over something someone else wore to school or why the Moose has taken to brooding and won't talk to me for a week. I need to remember what it was to go through that pain, those feelings of being alone and frustrated and knowing that no one will ever truly understand you.

I need to remember, because it's probably going to be the only way I can tolerate it without heavy medication.

I Just Said I Love You. I Think.

I have once again been banished from my own bedroom, forced to drag a mattress out in the basement and sleep there all by my lonesome. This punishment is not due to some slight of communication betwixt my lovely wife and myself causing undue strife in our marriage, nor is it because of a burrito-induced Dutch oven incident. I am not, in fact, in any kind of trouble. Rather I have moved to the basement because of something I cannot control.

Apparently, when I'm sleeping, I click.

At first when my wife told me this, I was reasonably incredulous. I mean, why would I be clicking? I'm pretty sure I'm not a cyborg, so the odds of her hearing some kind of mechanical process within me is unlikely. (I say pretty sure because I did go through some medical enhancements while a secret agent, not all of which were fully disclosed to me. And no, they weren't those kind of enhancements. Dammit.) Still, my wife doesn't usually lie to me about anything other than her disappointment in prior medical enhancement choices, so I took her at her word but didn't worry much about it.



As time went on, this would recur, with her telling me that I had woken her up in the night with it. Finally, I actually woke myself up. For whatever reason, I start clicking at the back of my throat when I inhale. It's not like I'm snoring (although apparently I've picked that habit back up as well, backing the argument for my new sleeping arrangements). It's just one click as in inhale. Bizarre.

Well, at my wife's request I moved out so that she can at least get a few good nights of sleep. Hopefully I can figure out why it's happening without involving my doctor. Perhaps I have discovered a new type of hyper-efficient snoring, whereby I take a long drawn out snore and compress it into one big click, and just losing a few pounds will rid me of it. I guess it's possible, but it's not my favorite theory.

I prefer to think I'm talking in my sleep, and she just doesn't realize it because she doesn't speak Zulu.

As a Former Ninja, This Disgusts Me

I do my best not to be too quick to judge someone else's job performance. I'm sure we all have experiences that mold how we approach a task, and who am I to say which ideas are better than others. Nevertheless, once in a while I do see something that forces me to ask just what the hell someone was thinking. Today is such a day.

See, I was expecting a package from UPS, and according to the tracking information, it was sent out today. I was a little nervous, because the package I was expecting was large, and I was afraid they might not leave it, as they tend to leave things under our welcome mat and this was definitely not going to fit. I saw that it had been delivered and, as it was kind of a pricey thing to leave on the front step, went home to retrieve it. As I walked out, I joked with my coworkers about how it would probably be under the welcome mat. Well, when I got home, this is what I found:



I'm not sure just what his intention was with this one. Is he welcoming someone to steal my package? Is this an instance of hiding something in plain sight? Or is he perhaps an ex-agent of the Wolfenstien academy of subterfuge and he really believes that, under the guise of an innocent welcome mat, no one will notice the huge freaking four-foot box.



One thing is for sure - his future with the espionage community is done for.

I Really Thought the Little Clown Costumes Would Have Done It

I'm a cat person for a few reasons. Cats are (mostly) dignified. They're small. I'm pretty sure I could take one in a fair fight. Mostly though, owning a cat doesn't rely on me following my pet around with a plastic bag on my hand waiting for something awful to occur.

Now I know, however, that the alternatives are much worse.

Specifically, I'm referring to PooTrap, a new fangled device used to skip the whole "picking it up" step. I'm not going to describe the product when they have been gracious enough to supply an ad. Watch it. You'll thank me.



I think my favorite part of this product is the way they have cunningly combined all the charm of a diaper with the tastefulness of a gimp suit. I also enjoy some of their specific decisions, like not supplying opaque bags, thus allowing everyone to fully view the transaction taking place, or the fact that removal of the bag involves tugging on your dogs rear end (here's hoping it never gets stuck, forcing you to give it a really good pull). You really have to admire the amount of work these people have put towards accomplishing something that I thought was completely impossible.

One way or another, they're going to find a way to humiliate a dog.

Fine, Eat the Steak, But That Tie. Have You No Decency?

When becoming a vegetarian, you learn all sorts of interesting and disturbing things about food. More interesting than this though is what you learn about people. Specifically, I have noticed trends in how people react to learning that I am a vegetarian, some of which completely baffle me. I've found that most people react in one of three ways.

Conspiratorially
This first group only comes up when I comment that something with meat in it smells good. They mistake the paying of a compliment with a desire to eat the thing, which I do not have, so they respond with, "You can have some - I won't tell anyone". I still remember eating and enjoying some meat products, but I don't want to eat them anymore. More to the point, however, is that they are suggesting that I am answering to some higher power on my eating habits (presumable my lovely wife), which is not the case. The voices in my head suggest all sorts of things, but they know enough to stay out of the kitchen.

Apologetic
The second group are the ones who apologize for eating meat in front of you. It's considerate I suppose, but the fact is that unless your eating something I knew personally, I don't really care what you eat. Go on with your bad self and pack away that bacon burger. If, on the other hand, a large component of your meal is, say, Grandma, then yes, by all means apologize. And no, I still don't want any, even if you promise not to tell.

Confrontational
These are the ones that totally lose me. They find out you're a vegetarian, and the reaction is an exposition on how much they like meat. They're never going to give up meat. Bacon is the best thing ever. Tonight they're going to go home and eat a steak the size of their own head, and they want it so rare you can still hear it moo. What I don't understand is why the think I care. The only reason I ever talk about being a vegetarian is if someone asks or offers me food I'm not going to eat because of it so they don't think I'm rude. Again, if you wanna shave a goat and call it dinner, have at it. If you want to shave a goat and call it Susan...well, then I might question your judgment. (I mean really, who ever heard of a goat called Susan? Myrtle maybe, but Susan? That's just silly.)



I guess what I'm surprised by is that these reactions are common, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps they're used to the far more obnoxious militant vegan who goes about spouting that meat is murder and whatnot. I guess it makes sense that people are afraid that I'm judging them for their eating habits when they find out I've decided to eat differently, which is totally not the case. I couldn't care less how they eat.

I'm judging them on their dress or their lack of pop culture knowledge.

The 1812 Overture Would Totally Work As Well

Here's a suggestion to businesses. I understand that you want people to be relaxed and happy when they are there, and as such you might choose relaxing music to pipe into the place. The problem is that you have the one sound system typically, so whatever is playing in the main area is also playing in the restrooms. This needs to change. Lionel Ritchie or Micheal Bolton is fine if I'm there to relax over dinner (I guess), but it's not doing anything to cover the end results of the guy in the next stall winning the "who can eat the most jalapeno poppers" contest. I'm thinking something by Metallica or AC/DC would be more appropriate.

Thunderstruck seems fitting.

Not That I Don't Value Your Opinion, Internet

As is often the case, this morning I faced the conundrum of clothing. I've discussed that one of the great benefits of being a computer programmer is that it allows me to dress like a high schooler. My concern is that as often as not, I take advantage of that opportunity. Thus, the nice dress shirt I ironed this morning got thrown over a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The only reason this concerns me is that I have a history of having my own style, a history that is both rich and varied, and I'm afraid that as I get older, I'm going to start taking on the appearance of someone who is resisting his age.

Don't get the idea that I'm afraid I won't age gracefully. I can't flip a pancake gracefully, so any concern I put into aging gracefully would most likely backfire. Besides, this kind of pretty should only improve with age.

Rather, I don't want to be that guy that people look at with that sad, "Oh look, he thinks he's still twenty" gaze. I know how old I am, and I'm cool with it. The issue is that I still have these urges. Occasionally, I want to put in the earrings, although they always look wrong now, and I never actually make it out of the bathroom without removing them. Still, I go to grab a pair of dress pants and a button-down shirt, and it always turns into my jeans, tucking be damned.

And my hair. My hair just wants to be long.

Of course, I resist the urge to regrow my hair for the simple reason that no one likes it that way but me (dammit), but the rest I'm not sure about. I mean, what are the alternatives? Put on a suit every day? Shine my shoes? Wrap a brightly colored noose around my neck and pretend it's comfortable?

Sweater vests?

Not a chance. All that stuff is fine for special occasions (well, not the sweater vests, but the rest is okay), but it's just not me. So hopefully I can go on as I have without the misunderstanding that I'm trying to cling to my youth. Frankly, I'm a lot happier now than I was in my youth. I just like to be comfortable and wear watches with bands that are too wide. Is that so wrong?

On second thought, don't answer that.

DLOG Presents: Debate Tips

Once in a while, I like to offer a little bit of the wisdom I've gathered through the years on this site. I was recently reminded of my prowess where public debates are concerned, and have decided that you good people could benefit from my experience. So, without further ado, I present:

Dangerously Low On Grog's Debate Tips

• Always start by researching your topic well. Try to use encyclopedias, professional journals, or books on the subject. Avoid using less reputable information sources such a Wikipedia, your cousin Ray Ray, or Fox News.
  


• Never let the exchange devolve into personal attacks unless the attacks directly relate to the debate. (Who could forget the great Lincoln-Douglas "Does Stephan Douglas have the biggest damned head in the world?" debate in which Lincoln famously said "A house divided, not unlike Douglas buckling under the crippling weight of his ponderous cranium, cannot stand"?)
  
  


• Try and not fart. If you do fart, attempt to maintain composure. No one ever won a debate while hiding behind their note cards, red faced and giggling like an idiot.
  


• Stay on topic, addressing your opponents points in a direct and straightforward manner. If you find you cannot contend any point directly, shoryukun.
  
  


• Like any public speaking occasion, don't be afraid to use your whole body when presenting your case. This is especially true for debate, where a particularly important point can be emphasized by the all important "jazz hands".
  


• Gentlemen, remember that a debate is meant to be an exchanging of ideas. Do not set out to prove that you are the better man. As such, it is never considered an appropriate response to put it on the table and look at your opponent, saying, "You got anything to say about that? Yeah, I didn't think so". (Incidentally, this is what cost me a win during high school forensics. On the bright side, he really didn't have anything to say about it, so it was still a moral victory.)
  

Follow these tips, and you too can become a master debater like myself.

It's An Upgrade!

Because the search functionality remains spotty, I've added a label menu so you can find some of my favorite posts by topic. That way, those that come here for the bathroom humor and zombie advice can skip all the other stuff. Enjoy!

Just Don't Bring Up The Environment And Your Golden

Assuming you haven't been living under a rock for the past few weeks, you've probably caught wind of the brouhaha that has been the health care protests. Essentially, town hall meetings all over the country are being disrupted by loud protesters who are touting claims of "death councils" and painting swastikas on public buildings. Unfortunately, this is now the cynosure of the national coverage, rather than the points being made on the other side of the debate, and today I realized why.

Conservatives, I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to come right out with it: you guys suck at protests.

It's not your fault. While protesting has been a hallmark of the American experience since the Boston Tea Party, for the last sixty or seventy years all the really good protest topics seem to have fallen on the liberals side. War protests. Equality protests. Workers' rights protests. The fact is, you guys are totally out of training for this sort of thing.

Now you guys are out of power, and naturally you turn to this established tradition to be heard. You wanted to be heard on the issues of taxes, a perfectly justifiable concern given the agenda of the new President, but a lack of research meant that you allowed the term "teabagging" to be associated with the protests, thus turning a protest movement into an off-color joke. Now you want to stem health care reform, but any real protest is being drowned out by people equating Obama with Hitler, which just makes you all look like kooks. Between this and leaving trails that show some protesters being shills for insurance companies or Republicans (or as it's being referred to now, "Astroturfed"), the protests are losing all of their meaning.

Do the liberals do the same thing? Of course they do - it would be naive to think otherwise. They're just better at it.

So, how do you solve the problem? It's simple - you guys need some hippies. Seriously, who knows more about protests that hippies? Now this is going to be no small task, what with the difficulty in finding conservative hippies, but I'm sure you guys can put your heads together and come up with something. If nothing else, you can offer them lots of money for consulting, or if that fails to sway them offer to build a Whole Foods near them or maybe start a patchouli farm. They eat that stuff up.

So there you go. Get yourself some expert advice, and try this thing again. I'm sure with a little coaching, you guys could be putting together protests that actually sway opinions instead of just supplying MSNBC and Fox News with soundbites and annoying the rest of us. You can do it, you guys! Now get out there and try again.

Oh, and if you follow my advice and get the hippies, stick to your own food unless they bring brownies, but by all means, try the brownies.

Mo' Money, Mo' Problems

Recently, in an effort to stem sales being lost be counterfeiting, Gucci decided to sue credit processing companies for processing payments for fake Gucci products. They claim that the companies "not only supply the necessary marketplace for such transactions, they are full partners in those counterfeiting activities". Therefore it's perfectly reasonable to seek damages from these companies, who some would claim are just providing a service unrelated to the products being sold.

Me personally, I'm glad to see Gucci take this initiative. Too long have we coddled groups that enable criminal activity just because they were "doing their job". I mean, if you're going to provide the means for people to pay for such transactions, then clearly you are complicit in said transactions. In fact, this has inspired me to start a movement to take down he real enablers of criminal activity in this world.

I speak of course, of Government.

Seriously, Government thinks they can print and distribute money with no thought about how that money might be used. New flash: almost all criminal activity directly revolves around money one way or another. Back when people were bartering for chickens, there was a whole lot less mugging going on. If not for all this money the Government has distributed, there wouldn't be nearly the levels of extortion, burglary, theft, drug dealing, etc. Clearly, the Government is the greatest enabler of crime that our time has ever seen.

There will, of course, be naysayers. They'll say that the Government is simply providing a service, and that the Government cannot be held responsible for the fact that some people will abuse the freedom that money offers. Well tough. If those bleeding-heart liberals care more about their ability to pay for a tall latte with a five dollar bill with no concern that the same bill could eventually be used to buy a vial of crack for some kid, then their priorities are far too askew to even consider their opinions valid. Why won't they think of the children? Take the cash out of the equation, and it becomes clear what we have to do.

Crack houses don't take other dealers operating in their turf, and they don't take American Express.

My Family, Now Brought To You By Tampax

Like a lot of people, I've been thinking of ways to bring in more money. I'm not hurting or anything, but a little extra cash is always welcome. Unfortunately, this is difficult because people like money, so no one wants to give me any of theirs, and I don't know anyone about to croak, so inheritance is out. Then I had a brilliant idea.

I can sell advertising on my car.

Seriously, people pay all kinds of money to pay for ads on race cars, and that's a total waste. First, they're all packed with ads, so you don't typically see any of them but the biggest ones. Second, all the cars are covered in ads, so it's not like your ad stands out. Add to that that a lot of people would rather eat their feet than watch cars turn left for hours on end, and you can see that this is not money well spent.

My car, on the other hand, drives all over the place. Well, in lower Michigan anyway. Okay, it's mostly just the school/work/grocery store route, but hey, that could be great for local shops. My car is a bright, attention getting red. I'm a law abiding citizen, so there's no risk of their store being associated with criminal activity. More importantly, I have almost no pride left, so I'm happy advertising any damned thing short of a strip club (sorry, but I drive kids around, and that's just not right). Add to that a built in attractive family just like on TV, and you've got a solid gold premise here.

So, if you're looking for a new and exciting way to get word out about your business, shoot me an email. We'll arrange terms, and next thing you know you'll have a traveling billboard like no one else. Just think of the word of mouth that will be generated at my job, the grocery store, and the local schools when I pull through with your business emblazoned on the side of my car.

Of course I should probably run all of this by my lovely wife first, but what are the odds that she would mind riding in a car that says "Mountain Dew" on the side?

UPDATE:
Holy cow, this is a real thing. I guess that's what I get for not researching before I post.

So You Wanna Start a Cult

So, you've decided that you have the charm and charisma stats, and the time is right to start your own cult. You're tempted by the siren song of rabid followers who will do your bidding without question. Who wouldn't be, right? Well, as someone who has his own aspirations of world domination, I'm done some research and I'm here to give you some helpful suggestions when starting this endeavor.

1. No Dress Codes
For some reason, this is the first mistake a lot of cult leaders make. They start out strong with the whole "the beast has shown me the light and told me to share it with the world" pitch, but then move too quickly into whether or not pants are allowed. Most people, for whatever reason, like to dress themselves, and allowing them this freedom will net you more rabid followers. This is doubly true for forcing bad haircuts onto people. Trust me - no one wants to join The Alliance of the Golden Mullet.



2. Don't Advocate Violence
As a cult leader, you really shouldn't be advocating breaking the law in any manner, but for some reason this is another huge mistake a lot of otherwise successful cult leaders make. You get a good sized group of people who heed your every word, and then you get the cockamamie idea of having them hurt someone. This is a terrible idea. I realize that a lot of cult leader wannabes are really rage-filled shells desperate for the love and attention they missed out on by being a fat kid (one wonders how different history would be had the other schoolyard children not referred to him as "Ass The Size Of Branson Manson", but I digress), but really, you need to learn to let that go. These poeple love you now, or think they do anyway, and that should be enough. Besides, people don't usually like to hurt each other, and it irritates the Government, a sure way to lose any tax-free status that you would otherwise enjoy.

3. Don't Ask Anyone To Castrate Themselves
You know, I would think this one could go without saying, but I've been wrong before. It's one thing to convince a group of otherwise reasonable people that the comet that will pass by the Earth in a few weeks is actually an alien craft here to rescue the true believers. A lot of people are stupid, and would jump at the chance to perish in an effort to join these aliens (I'm not sure why everyone seems to assume things would be better with aliens, who last I checked are still best known for probing people without permission). Ending the pitch, however, with "So, you just need a new pair of Nikes, and then you've gotta cut your %#$@s off" is going to lose you a lot of followers. A lot of people are stupid, but not crazy.

So there you go - a few helpful hints to start you on your way. Of course, if you're really that charming and charismatic, maybe you could just go out and make some freinds. Take up bowling perhaps. After all, having a cult is a lot of work and responsibility, and not everyone is up to the challenge. But who knows, with hard work and dedication, you could be the next L. Ron Hubbard.

I figure if I make fun of him enough, I'll at least get the traffic from the Scientologists plotting my demise. Hi Tom!

We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Blog...

Dangerously Low On Grog is taking a brief hiatus while the author staves off an illness and gets his %#@$ together. During this time, we encourage you to browse the extensive archives or look at the posts I like the best. I would suggest the search box, but that's currently broken and hopefully being looked at by our good friends at Google.

Here In The Hall Of Heads

There was this time a few weeks ago where I was having gastrointestinal issues. I dealt with them by taking a couple of laxatives. Then I forgot about it and made lunch, which consisted of a couple of spicy, black bean burgers covered in yellow peppers and hot deli mustard.

Now, thanks to these people, that is no longer the worst idea ever.

The good people at Cremation Solutions have come up with a...novel way of storing your loved ones. They take a photograph of the deceased, put it into a machine, and produce a three-dimensional replica of their head, that you then put their ashes into. If this sounds creepy, believe me when I tell you I'm not doing it justice. This is the actual promotional picture from the linked web site:



Now, there are currently a few kinks to the system. First, they don't do hair, so if the deceased isn't bald, you'll probably want to spring for a wig. Also, if you decide to go this way yourself, you'll probably want to be very specific about what you want done with it and leave it with someone you trust. No one wants to spend the afterlife wondering if the container for their ashes is being decorated in drag queen makeup and donning a "Boob Inspector" cap.

There are benefits, though. I mean, when I went to dad's funeral and saw the box they threw him in, my first thought was that it looked like something you'd keep jewelry in. At least here, there's nothing ambiguous about it. Plus, this way you would get to double as an attractive and effective Halloween decoration, which is cool and a lot easier than my plan of paying some neighborhood kids a couple hundred bucks to go put a plastic arm sticking out of my grave each year after I go (heh). I'm even considering trying to convince my lovely wife that maybe when she passes, this may be the best way to handle the arrangements.

That way, even though she would be gone, I could still admire her bust.