Honestly, the Vaginal Discharge Jokes Write Themselves

It's time for another sinus infection, and having procured yet another batch of prescription medication, I decided that just for fun I would actually read the little insert my pharmacist put into the bag instead of tossing it like I usually do. This, like most things I do, has led to some unusual thoughts. The thing that really got to me was in the section possible side effects.

Seek medical attention right away if any of these SEVERE side effects occur when using Amoxicillin/Clavulanate:

Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); bloody stools; confusion; dark urine; fever, chills, or persistent sore throat; red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; seizures; severe diarrhea; stomach pain or cramps; unusual bruising or bleeding; vaginal discharge or irritation; yellowing of the skin or eyes.

These, as you know, are always my favorite part. I love the idea that I would need to be told to seek medical attention for some of this stuff. What say we break that list down?

• Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue)
  Duh


• bloody stools
  Ewwwwww...and "duh"


• confusion
  So I'm supposed to contact my doctor if I'm taking this and I watch Donnie Darko?
  


• dark urine
  What, like color, or prone to writing bad poetry and listening to Bauhaus?


• fever, chills, or persistent sore throat
  Dude, I'm sick - why do you think I'm on this to begin with?


• red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin
  Okay, so spontaneous combustion is out so long as I'm on this stuff.


• seizures
  Not sure what the police taking my hard drive has to do with anything, but I guess I can tell me doctor. The pictures were of his wife after all.


• severe diarrhea
  Okay, define "severe". I'm not in the habit of rating my diarrhea (cha cha cha). Should I be going with book length, and maybe most Stephen King is okay but The Stand warrants a hospital stay?


• stomach pain or cramps
  Well, alright, but why my doctor wants to know about me eating an entire bag of Habanero Doritos is beyond me. Actually, this might apply to the last item as well.


• unusual bruising or bleeding
  As opposed to the usual stuff.


• vaginal discharge or irritation
  Yes, if I discharge a vagoo I'll let someone know. The other is more difficult, as vaginas are notoriously polite and might not mention it if I irritate them, no matter how much they abhor the term "vagoo".


• yellowing of the skin or eyes
  Hopefully, no one in Springfield will ever have need of this particular medication.
  

Of course I shouldn't mock. This will inevitably lead to me someday perishing from a severe reaction. I'll be left to die a swollen, peeling, confused, bloated, bruised, bleeding wreck of a man, lying in my own filth and mysteriously discharging vaguely irritated vaginas.

It'll make one hell of an obituary though, don't you think?

Although That Venomous Duck Thing Is Tempting

So, a guy was mauled to death by a bear in Russia, which in and of itself would not be newsworthy, what with the fact that Russia is lousy with bears. What makes it newsworthy is that the guy was mauled to death by a bear wearing figure skates. No, not the guy - the bear. While this is a tragedy to be sure, it didn't happen to me or anyone I know, so it has now inspired a new feature:

Horrible ways to die that would look awesome in an obituary

• Mauled to death by a figure skating bear (duh)


• Dismembered by rabid fans


• Spontaneously combusted during a tour of a popcorn factory (a firework factory would work too)


• Poisoned by a venomous duck


• Sexed to death


• Devoured by an escalator


• Eaten by a grue


• Trampled during the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade during a particularly spirited edition of Dancing Queen played by the Kennesaw Mountain High School marching band



• Beheaded by group of misguided teens and their dog when mistaken for for Old Man Jenkins wearing a mask


• Zombie Apocalypse: Patient Zero


• Killed during a high speed buggy chase across Amish country

Me, I'm sticking with "died peacefully in bed surrounded by loved ones at the age of 127 years old", but hey, you guys are welcome to any of these.

The Shopping List As Performance Art

A conversation on Facebook has awakened a new creative outlet in me. I have decided that my new favorite activity is coming up with shopping lists for our local superstore (Meijer, in my case) that are designed to invoke a narrative for the poor cashier who would otherwise have nothing notable to talk about his or her day besides screaming toddlers and furious debates over the price of Spam. The key here is that I know for certain I can get each of these items in the same store. As such, I present to you the first of these lists:

• 1.75 Liter Cheap Whiskey


• Machete


• Party hats


• Tampons


• Duct tape


• The Best of Tiny Tim CD (If they don't have that, anything by Abba will do.)


• Rubber hose (Good catch, Adam. I would have forgotten this one.)


• You-Mix Concrete

I like this list especially because in my case I follow up by asking the cashier if the industrial building up the road was still abandoned. Nice.

DLOG Presents: Public Speaking Tips

In my never ending efforts to bring my extensive experience and knowledge to you, good readers, today I continue my series of educational posts. Among my many talents, I happen to be an expert public speaker. Calling on that talent, today we provide:

DLOG Presents: Public Speaking Tips

• Familiarize yourself with the space you will be speaking in. This will help you become more at ease. It will also make you familiar with the exits in case the audience turns against you and becomes violent, which could happen if you suck.


• Try not to suck.


• Visualize yourself giving the speech ahead of time. Picture yourself expressing your ideas, your voice loud and confident, the audience being impressed with your knowledge, the thunderous applause after your finished, clothing being thrown onto the stage as they rush to you, your own outfit being ripped asunder as each tries to physically express how moved they were through deviant acts of...wait, what was I talking about again?


• It's important to remain relaxed as possible during a long speech. Sometimes it helps to have something to drink nearby so when your nerves are getting the best of you, you can pause and take a sip while reminding yourself to relax. I find either either gin or vodka look enough like water to avoid arousing suspicion.


• It never hurts to prepare notes to refer to at various points in your speech. Try to make them specific enough to be helpful though. "Tell them about that thing with the clams." is probably not going to help you in your time of need.
  


• Make sure you know the audience you'll be speaking to. This helps tailor your speech to those who will be receiving it, making it more effective, as well as allowing you to choose appropriate minorities or fringe groups to mock without offending the crowd. One should not go into a furry convention expecting their best Chip and Dale material to kill. In fact, one should not to to a furry convention at all. %#$@ing freaks.


• Sometimes when you're nervous, you can try to imagine the audience in their underwear. If that doesn't work, try to imagine them naked. If that still doesn't work, try to imagine them picturing you naked. If you're still having trouble at that point, you're probably visibly aroused and should just get off the stage before someone calls the police.

Now get out there and do some public speaking - remember, no one has ever started a war giving a speech. Well, almost no one. I'm sure you'll be fine.

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.

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.

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!

Because Really, With a New Baby What Else Are People Going To Spend Money On

Today, as of roughly 12:19 AM, I became an uncle. Now, I just came off of a big birthday weekend, what with the Princess turning seven yesterday and having not one but two parties, so I'm in a birthday mindset. The thing is, I realized that they make all kinds of birthday card except one. So once again, it's up to me to state the obvious, million-dollar idea, and then count on the kindness of others (not to mention the ever present threat of litigation) to keep it safe: actual birth day cards.



Why not cards for the actual day of your birth? Why wait for a year to pass when you could start celebrating right freaking now? So, here are a few ideas I've been tossing around for actual birth day cards:

[Front] We welcome you to the world, a being of complete purity and innocence who can not even concieve of judgment
[Inside] Which is good, because just between us your mom and dad aren't going to know what the Hell they're doing for a while.

[Front] We welcome a new American to the land where you can be anything you want to be.
[Inside] Now when can you start? We've got a lot of old people to feed.

[Front] Happy birthday, little baby. I can't wait to teach you all sorts of games...
[Inside] Which you need, because that last hour of labor? Worst game of peek-a-boo ever.

[Front] Happy birthday! Enjoy this time when all your needs will be taken care of without question.
[Inside] Seriously, when you're grown up you have to pay extra if you want a diaper change, and even then they'll give you looks.

[Front] I will have the image of the first time I saw your sweet face forever burned into my memory.
[Inside] Now if only it didn't involve your sweet face pushing through your mom's vagoo.

Remember folks, you see one of these in a Hallmark, you let me know and we'll share the settlement.

I Promise I'll Only Use My New Hosing Powers For Good. Mostly.

Previously on DLOG, I discussed that we were going to replace the patio and considered some of the interesting things we might find when we dig up the current one. Well, we're making appointments and talking to landscapers, which means this is going to go down fairly soon, and I've accepted the fact that what we're most likely to find under the patio is dirt.

Once this new patio is built, however, I get to enter into an exciting new world of furniture purchases. Having never had a patio before, we are obviously lacking in anything to sit upon one. So now we get to figure out just what kind of stuff we want on our new space. I've been giving this some thought, and in addition to the standard umbrella-covered table, I have some suggestions:

• Comfortable chair for reading and playing PSP


• Patio cooler (this one has everything but a cabana boy)


• A cabana boy


• Patio-mounted Super-Soaker capable of knocking a full grown adult of a bike


• High quality telescope (good for both educational purposes and neighbors who live more than a block away)


• Mounted cannons (I suppose replicas would do, but fakes won't help ward off zombies now will they?)


• Bat signal with interchangeable symbols (Batman is great, but who wouldn't want to use low cloud cover to remind everyone to have a nice day?)


• A moat with a drawbridge (I'd add sharks, but I would just have to clean up after them)


• Stone gargoyles (but only because I don't think my lovely wife will ever let me put them on the roof)


• Nice flag posts (for showing patriotism/declaring war on the neighborhood/displaying current zombie alert levels)

I'm sure I'll think of more (plus my lovely wife probably has some ideas as well), but I think that would be a good start anyway, plus I've got other things to worry about. Having resigned myself to the idea that nothing of interest will be found upon digging up the current patio, I feel it is my responsibility to take this opportunity to bury something myself in an effort to keep future generations as weird as I can. My current favorite idea: a box containing a fully-intact frog skeleton, complete with tiny top hat and cane.



Hello my baby indeed.

Someplace To Sit and Think While Plotting and Laughing Maniacally

We're talking about replacing our patio with something that's less...falling apart I guess. Our current patio is a homebrew not of our making, and while I like the style (big, flat stones), in its current form it's an ususable hazard. As such, we've talked to at least one person about suggestions for replacing it, and he said that what I should do is take out a couple of stones and start digging to see how far down the construction-type filler used to hold the stones in place goes to see if I could just rebuild it correctly. Then my lovely wife pointed out that during a previous discussion with a neighbor, it was revealed that there was once a concrete patio, and that there is a chance that the concrete one is still under there.

Unfortunately, these things got into my brain, as things tend to do, and I started wondering what else I might find as I dig this thing out. I've come up with the following list of things I hope I find when I start digging out my current patio:

• A dinosaur skeleton (those things sell for plenty)


• Aincient ruins (preferrably with a throne room, as I'm having trouble convincing my lovely wife that I need to add one onto the house)


• The Ark of the Covenant (I promise I won't open it)


• A missile silo (hopefully without deep crows)


• A nice underground lair that includes a fully outfitted laboratory (see throne room explanation above)


• A treasure chest full of swag (no swag means no grog, and we're getting...well, you know the rest)

Similarly, I've been forced to consider things I'd rather not find:

• That they only moved the headstones. THEY ONLY MOVED THE HEADSTONES!


• Oil (I don't need anyone invading my yard on a "peace keeping mission", thank you very much)


• Cheese


• That we have a backup septic system


• An underground entrance to anything not mentioned above (I simply don't have time for adventuring right now)


• An actual concrete patio that would have to be destroyed and removed

So there you have it. I know that the most likely scenario is that what I find will lead to the loss of more money, time, and effort on my part, but hey, you can't blame a guy for hoping. Maybe I'll let you know when I'm going to do it so you can combine your powers of hope to help me find what I want.

Come on underground lair!

Taste the Nightlife

As we all know, I have an issue with snack foods. Specifically, Doritos, and their habit of rolling out freaky flavors. My unnatural interest in such things has led to me getting burned before, so I've at least learned to stop trying them (well, usually anyway). Still, their marketing carries on, and their new attempts at catching the eyes of America has my attention: Doritos Late Night.

Currently, the sub-brand sports only two flavors: "Tacos at Midnight" and "Last Call Jalapeno Poppers". At first I wasn't sure what the target demographic is for these things, as people who actually go out late at night have access to real tacos at midnight and jalapeno poppers. I figure, maybe they're trying to lure in the underage crowd with the mystique of late night shenanigans, but as usual they have been far too tame in their endeavors. It is for this reason that I offer the good people at Frito Lay some additional late night flavor suggestions that they should consider adding to their roster:

Warm Beer and Cigarette (speaks to why the experienced drinker either never puts down his bottle or simply drinks from a glass)

Doritos (it's kind of a meta thing - very high concept)

Bourbon and Disappointment

Denny's Breakfast

Regret (I'm thinking this would be a fruity, girl drink flavor, not unlike Quest Doritos, which is the flavor I most associate with regret)

Donut

Bathroom Floor (really a morning after flavor, but it kind of fits the theme)

White Castle Sliders

Six-Dollar Cola (this may also be the first time a snack chip could incorporate glitter into a flavor)

Strange Flesh (oh it's edgy, but make no mistake, this will sell more than any snack product that has come before it)

Yeah, that ought to bring in the kids.

Why, WikiPedia? Why Do You Do This To Me?

Last night while the Princess read one of my favorite kids books, How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?, something bizarre crossed my mind. In all the years I've been looking at dinosaur pictures, never once have I seen a picture that included a dinosaur's naughty bits. Not that I expect to see such a thing in a children's book, but what about all the museums and scientific literature? Why is there no mention of dino-junk?

At first I figured it was because all we have is bones to go on. Given just a skeleton, perhaps the scientific community was apprehensive to assume what a tyrannosaurus's little rex may look like. That doesn't hold water though, since they seem perfectly comfortable guessing what color they might have been (part of me still wonders if t-rex was not only vicious, but chartreuse and fabulous to boot).

Well, I decided to use my investigative skills to track down some answers. I realized that dinosaurs were basically giant reptiles, so I set about researching reptile reproduction (it's amazing, the things I do to entertain you people). This led to several shocking discoveries. I would warn those who are sensitive to such topics (or eating right now) that they may want to consider veering from this site for the remainder of my post. Go look at Cute Overload or something.

Okay, first, some reptiles don't even have proper junk. They have a cloaca, which is essentially a one-stop-shopping portal for all your excretory needs. All number one and number two comes out of this place, which is charming in and of itself, but the same vent is used for reproduction. As if this isn't gross enough (and it really, really is), when they bump these things together in mating season, it is referred to as a "cloacal kiss". You know, I remember biology being disgusting, but seriously, did this process need a name? I feel like I need to eat a whole pack of Tic Tacs just reading that.

So, now that I'm thoroughly icked out, I read on to discover that some reptiles are actually packing proper male junk that they keep hidden most of the time, thus again giving me hope that perhaps our t-rex had something to make up for those foofy arms of his (Seriously, what purpose did those serve? Waving at dinosaur sailors?). Then it goes on to say that other reptiles are not just packing a piece, but they've got what's called hemepenes. So they actually have a pair of pipers that they can swap between.

I...I don't even know what to say now. Now I've got these images in my head. Velociraptors pushing their bottoms together, accompanied by a loud kissing sound. A triceratops looking at his crotch and yelling "peek-a-boo" every time he makes his thing stick out. An allosaurus shifting from side to side, each time poking out one of his two winkies, while Fatboy Slim's "Weapon of Choice" is playing in the background. Why, why did I have to look this up? Why couldn't I leave it alone? What possible good could come from having this knowledge, these images in my head?

And then I realized the obvious answer: so I could share it all with you.

Sometimes, Aim Is Not Enough

We're not going to talk about Earth Day being today, because let's be honest, Earth is getting plenty of PR. Don't believe me? Go ask someone over the age of four if they know what Earth is. Besides, now Earth has Disney working for it, so really, what more could I add?

No, instead I'm going to continue yesterday's conversation of awkward things men have to deal with in restrooms that our lady friends do not. Not that the women should all stop reading at this point - you've got fathers, husbands and sons who deal with these issues, and you should know about them, particularly this one, as we are occasionally reprimanded as a result of it. See when a woman approaches a numero uno situation, she is going to sit down. This has predictable results, i.e. you know where everything is headed at the penultimate moment. This means that you never have to face one of the strangest things that can happen to a man.

Once in a while, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, you fire in a completely random direction.

Seriously, it's terrifying. You're stepping up to do your business, and the next thing you know, your shooting a laser beam at a distinct forty-five degree angle to the left, and you have no idea why. You haven't changed your stance, your grip is the same as last time, there's no dramatic variance in pressure, but the result looks like your attempting the maneuver in a hurricane wind. If you're lucky, you quickly correct for the new trajectory and that's the end of it.

Sometimes, however, things go from bad to worse. Again, for reasons typically not apparent, your correction just leads to a radically new direction. A hard left shifts to some combination of right, down, or, in the truly worst case scenario, up. You find yourself squirming around trying to get things under control (for some reason, the idea of stopping typically never crosses the mind - it's too much like stopping to ask for directions perhaps, and besides, the seal's been broken and there's really no turning back that that point) until the mission is complete, hopefully with as little splash damage as possible.

If that isn't weird enough for you, there's the extra special case where you go to do your thing only to discover that the beam is split. Oddly enough, this is nowhere near as harrowing as the other cases. At that point you know you're screwed, so you just have to try and correct for the branch that would cause the most damage and commit to cleaning up afterward.

So yeah, when a man goes to rid himself of that last cup of coffee, there's a slight chance he's about to become the unwitting participant in a brief adventure. Be glad then, female readers, that when you go about your business, you can be fairly confident that the outcome is as predictable as the wardrobe of any movie shown after midnight on Cinemax (Wait, they have to take their clothes off why now?). Perhaps you might even be a little understanding when you find that a man in your life has strayed a bit.

On the bright side, we can still draw pictures in the snow, and that will never cease to be awesome.

You're Eyes Say It All

I was discussing men's restroom decorum with a coworker last week (a topic I think about more than I should). He expressed the opinion that there is never an acceptable topic to broach whilst two men are doing their business. I thought on this for a while, and have determined that, like most statements involving absolutes, it simply isn't accurate.

Admittedly, the topic came up because I was faced with a situation whereby another man and myself stepped up at the same time. I finished first, and had to resists the urge to look at this other person whom I had never met and say, "I won". In hindsight, I'm glad I resisted, as my declaration of victory could have been misunderstood, and I would hate to be responsible for another man questioning his manhood.

Anyway, now I'm trying to figure out just what is an appropriate topic of conversation when two men are performing a transaction. I mean, there are the obvious things, like, "Hey, that's mine. Don't pee on that.". Obviously, the invading of personal space could be discussed, particularly if someone is reaching under your stall. I could even see being able to call someone out if you suspect them of using a camera in the men's room, particularly if the flash keeps going off (pretty big giveaway, and a not uncommon rookie mistake).

But what of less confrontational situations? What if you hear gunshots, or feel an earthquake, but you'll probably be done before it really effect either of you? Do you let that go without comment? Or what happens if you find yourself in a stall without any toilet paper (which shouldn't ever happen, because the experienced man checks first)? Is it permissible to ask, or are you supposed to tough it out or MacGyver some solution out of toilet seat covers?

Just in case, I'm going to start carrying around one of those little packs of tissues in my pocket - one can never be to ready.

An Open Letter To NASA

To Whom It May Concern,

As an unabashed nerd, I try to follow the happenings of NASA. I realize that while perhaps not the most pressing thing our Government is handling right now, there is great importance in what NASA does. The work you do inspires dreams, feeds our desire for continued exploration, and allows us to continue operating under the assumption that eventually man will be exploring space in tremendous star ships, just like Star Trek promised us.

Recently, NASA has received a lot of press over a poll to name the latest node of the International Space Station. I considered this a positive move, as those who are not as invested in the eventual development of the warp drive were now hearing about the latest work that NASA is doing. When Mr. Stephen Colbert began a write in campaign to get it named after himself, I realized that the clause allowing the agency to "ultimately select a name in accordance with the best interests of the agency" would most likely come into play, but again just enjoyed the fact that NASA was getting some good publicity.

When the news came down, then, that instead of a module, a treadmill would be named for Colbert, I was unsurprised. In fact, I found it to be a nice compromise. Then I got the point where the actual module name would be Tranquility, and I took pause. Reassuring myself that I was not mistaken, I wandered over to the official voting page and confirmed that the name that received the most votes of the NASA supplied options was, in fact, Serenity. So Colbert received the most votes on the write in, but of the supplied options, Serenity received 70% of the votes. Despite this, you went with Tranquility.

Dear God, what have you done?

Look, having a bit of fun with Mr. Colbert was all well and good, but I don't believe that you understand the wrath that you may have incurred by thumbing your nose at the legion of Joss Whedon fans that voted on this. These people are not your garden variety nerds. Whedon fans (or 'Whedonites' as they are sometimes referred to) are not like the docile Trekkies of yore. These people are rabid. They've been burned by bureaucratic decisions before, and man they are just looking for someone to take down. What with Fox being too powerful (and temporarily culling their favor with Dollhouse), this puts you guys on the short list.

Look, all I'm saying is watch your backs. Hopefully, the new Star Trek movie will be popular enough to bring about a renewed interest in space exploration, but if not, then you may have inadvertently just alienated the current generation of science fiction aficionados, and these people have long memories (at least with regards to anything other than becoming invested in television shows offered by the Fox network). We need them on our side.

Now, quit reading blogs and get back to work on that warp drive.

Sincerely,
The staff at Dangerously Low On Grog

Pumpkin, Can You Run Upstairs and Get Daddy His Machete?

The other day, one of my coworkers handed me this comic I chuckled heartily, and then moved on. It came back into my thoughts today, however, as I was pondering the most judicious use of a Barnes & Noble gift card, being torn between the ever practical The Zombie Survival Guide and the new and enticing Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This thought process has led me to something that I shamefully had not considered previously.

What is the appropriate age to begin teaching my daughter the basics of survival during the pending zombie apocalypse?

Obviously, the coming apocalypse is a topic that is never far from my mind. I have long since resigned myself to the fact that it will be my responsibility to ensure the safety of my family, as my children are young and my lovely wife's squeamish nature makes it difficult to broach such subjects as the proper method of separating an undead terror intent on devouring her brains from its noggin (I don't think she's even seen Night of the Living Dead). It only exacerbates the situation that she doesn't play video games, and thus loses out on one of the most effective opportunities to mentally prepare herself and her reflexes for the inevitable day when we will be forced to take up arms and defend ourselves.

The Princess, on the other hand, has oft expressed interest in joining me in my games. Oh sure, as a responsible gamer dad I have to keep it E for everybody, so she ends up playing Lego Star Wars. Consider, however, the fact that we recently purchased her a Nintendo DS Lite along with Personal Trainer: Math to give her the opportunity to practice life skills while, say, sitting in the backseat on the way to school. Now ask yourself the following question: when the dead start rising, what's more practical, algebra or building up an reflex to aim for the head when being pursued by a ghoul? I'm not saying that she should stop practicing her math. The apocalypse may be years away, and I want to ensure her a successful academic career. I'm just saying it never hurts to include supplemental material. You know, include some life skills in there as well.

Add to this the fact that her taking of gymnastics is making her surprisingly strong, and I think that she will prove to be a useful ally to have by my side when the time comes. Hell, she can climb a rope anyway, something I'm not sure I can do myself right now (ugh...I've got to get this hand healed so I can return to my strength training). Not that I'm going to throw her out into a crowd of zombies to fend for herself. Obviously I'm still counting myself as the family's best defense. If I can start her training soon, however, she will be prepared to back me up, and in the tragic event that I fall in battle or, even worse, become infected myself and have to be taken out, she will have the knowledge to help keep her mom and brother safe.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to write a terse letter to the Children's Television Workshop for never covering this on Sesame Street.

It Happened During An Advanced Coding Session. It's...Complicated.

This weekend there is a good chance that I'm going to end up at my in-law's house for Easter. This means two things. First, I'll be eating a lot of junk, which I'm shamefully okay with (hey, I've been pretty good for a long time). Second, since my lovely wife insists on me wearing the bandages my doctor put on just for show (he said it's a red flag for me and others that my hand isn't quite fully healed yet), I'm going to get a lot of people asking me what I did to my hand. Since we've already discussed the fact that the true story blows, I've decided to work on better responses.

So, without further ado, I give you the new and improved responses to "What happened to your hand":

My lawyers have advised me not to comment on it.

You know that thing they do in movies where they fall like three stories and land on one knee and their fist on top of a car? That's way harder in real life.

Let's just say that one should do some research before trying something as advanced as a donkey punch. (If you don't know, do NOT Google that!)

Shoryuken.



Fist bump gone awry.

Homeowners association turf war.

I owe the Princess some money and she sent a couple of her friends to "remind" me.

You know, there are those who can take a pinky swear way too far.

I can't really talk about it. First rule.

It's kind of a funny story really. Apparently there's all sorts of training involved before you attempt to artificially inseminate a horse.

Yeah, that'll probably get me through the Easter egg hunt.

At Least I Never Say "Nana Nana Boo Boo". Well, Almost Never.

Yesterday, while washing my hands in the restroom at work, I stuck my tongue out at myself in the mirror. This is not entirely uncommon, as I have a vast repertoire of funny faces that are considered inappropriate in most settings, and I refuse to let these skills lag (I am going to be an uncle soon after all). Anyway, I'm standing there sticking my tongue out at myself, when it suddenly strikes me what a disturbing appendage a tongue really is.

Seriously, try this. Get thee to a mirror, and stick your tongue out at yourself. Now, and this is key, try and hold it still. You can't do it. Not really anyway. You can point it out and pick a direction, but at that point it's doing its own thing. Try as I might, it continues it endless quivering and pulsating, presumably probing for something to taste. (Sorry for the last sentence causing anyone Googling for erotica to accidentally end up here. If it makes you feel any better, I once Googled "Dorito feet" because it sounded funny, and ended reading one of the most disturbing bits of fiction to grace the internet. Let us speak of this no more.)

What's odd is that the tongue is clearly controlled by the somatic nervous system, as I can stick it out in the first place. Great. But why his odd pulsating, and why can't I stop it? Have you ever thought about this before? Probably not, and this is why you sleep better than I do at night. It's like my tongue has its own agenda. It will follow basic orders, but unlike my arms or legs, once is has done so it feels free to continue probing in search of who knows what. Probably ice cream.

So like I said, next time your in the restroom, try it. Stick your tongue out at yourself (preferably when there aren't coworkers about). Try to hold it still, and wonder at the fact that most likely you will only succeed for a second or two before your tongue gets bored and starts wandering around looking for something delicious in the immediate area.

Actually, between this advice and a previous conversation on warm seats, I'm well on my way to attaining the "blog you think about most often when in the restroom" achievement. Nice.

I Suppose It Could Have Been Vienna

I want to start by saying thanks to those who participated on Friday. My tracking results have actually only further confused me, but that's okay. I have been reassured that at least one person reads this each day, and that's enough to keep me writing it.

Now, onto more pressing matters. Last night something occurred that has left me...unsettled. At approximately 8:45 PM, a woman called my house and asked to speak to me, using my first name. The name on caller ID was blocked, presumably via *67, so the name was "Private Number" (which I think is total bull%#$@, but that's a rant for another day). Since Roomba was doing its thing, my wife wasn't sure what she said and asked her to repeat it. The lady asked to talk to me again, and again she refers to me by my first name.

And then she hung up.

Okay, there are probably rational reasons for this, but here's the thing: with the exception of people I work with, I literally don't communicate regularly with anyone outside of my family. There are people online, but I either know them from school, or have remained relatively anonymous. So, assuming this person didn't get hit by a bus while they were talking to my wife, I'm forced to acknowledge this as being flavored with crazy. (Before any of you think this is a leap, remember that I grew up surrounded by as many flavors of crazy that one can hope for. We were the Baskin Robbins of basket cases.) So, now my mind is trying to come up with reasons for someone calling my home, asking for me and then hanging up on my wife, and here's what I've got so far:

Someone from my past is holding a grudge
Someone with a varied career history such as my own will invariably make enemies. It is this that makes me consider that perhaps one of my old enemies, or worse, one of their relatives, has resurfaces looking for revenge. I must admit that this is pretty far fetched. After all, I've always been nothing but professional, which means that in the past, particularly during my run as a ninja, I was pretty careful to leave no traces of my presence. Still, one must consider all possibilities.

I've picked up a stalker
Again, this is pretty damned far fetched, as in real life I show interest in women who are not my wife only to the extent that I'm being polite if they are between me and the coffee pot. Still, it is the internet age, and I suppose someone could have come across my Facebook picture a la six degrees of Kevin Bacon and upon the mere sight of my digitized pretty become smitten and began building a rich fantasy life around me. (Funny this about rich fantasy lives - no one ever has gas. Not many people realize that.) I suppose that through publicly available information, one might use my full name to acquire my phone number, thus making that awkward phone call only to figure out that I am spoken for. I'm hoping against this one, both because it's really creepy and, as a vegetarian, the idea of a surprise, boiled rabbit doesn't do much for me.

My wife called from the future
Okay, so I'm about to befall some catastrophe, and my lovely wife decides to go against all rules regarding communicating with those in the past and tries to warn me, but upon being forced to speak to her past self panics and hangs up the phone. This one works on a lot of levels. My wife probably wouldn't recognize her own voice, since it's always weird hearing your own voice. Also, my wife takes good care of me, and would probably shirk the temporal authorities to try and prevent some disaster I was/will be involved in. She's cool like that.

So there you have it. My money is on the idea that my wife tried to call me from the future to tell me not to get on that train/not to sign that contract/not to wear those loose fitting pants that are prone to falling down on my national television debut. Assuming that this is an isolated incident and further information does not present itself, I think this is the most plausible explanation.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably send her a nice card or something.

The Low Down

So, I step into the men's room at work one day, and discover one of the two urinals populated. Since using another restroom would have required walking to the next building, an unrealistic option given my coffee intake of the day, I have no choice but to step up to the remaining urinal despite strong social mores against standing toe-to-toe with another fella. This meant that I was using the urinal that hung on the wall substantially lower than the other one, which got me wondering why there was such a height differential in the first place.

I mused (correctly, I might add) that the placement of the low urinal was for accessibility reasons. Furthermore, I decided that the parties being considered were probably the vertically challenged, as the well-hung are grossly underrepresented when such considerations are made (I've heard tell that Johnny Homes himself could nary walk into a public restroom without tearing up at the shame of having to use a full toilet for a minor transaction, but I digress). So now I'm standing there considering the process by which the good people in the Government decided that urinals should be hung "with an elongated rim at a maximum of 17 in (430 mm) above the floor".

Scientist (probably in a white lab coat holding a clipboard): Okay Tiny Pete, please step up to urinal number 2.
Tiny Pete: Don't call me that.
Scientist: Right. Sorry. So, whenever you're ready.
Tiny Pete: (Fires)
Scientist: Okay, we can clearly see an arch required to hit the target. I'm thinking that we're a good three inches too high on this one.
Tiny Pete: Doctor, I can't keep up pressure!
Scientist: Oh lord! We have a breach! Pete, stop!
Tiny Pete: It's too late, doctor! The seal is broken! There's no turning back!
Scientist: Gah! Why didn't they listen to me when I said to start low? Everyone, to high ground! Save your shoes!

I'm sure it went something like that. So now I've got this little vignette playing in my head. The chaos. The shrieks of horror. The scientists cursing themselves for not wearing goggles. It's all there. Fortunately, I managed to stifle a chuckle at all of this (snickering while standing next to another guy at the urinals is generally frowned upon, particularly by the other guy). Still, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall during that particular process.

So long as we're not talking about the urinal wall.