Ew. I just got some blog on me.

Today, I got this in e-mail:

From: I'm not going to embarass them further
Sent: Friday, July 29, 2005 11:43 AM
To: undisclosed-recipients
Subject: Please read.

Folks: Please take a couple minutes to read this warning about Gas Pumping Handles.

Warning: Look at the gas pump handle BEFORE you pump your gas. Please read and forward to anyone you know who drives a car.

My name is Captain Abraham Sands of the Jacksonville, Florida, Police Department. I have been asked by state and local authorities to write this email in order to get the word out to car drivers of a very dangerous prank that is occurring in numerous states. Some person or persons have been affixing hypodermic needles to the underside of gas pump handles! These needles appear to be infected with HIV positive blood. In the Jacksonville area alone, there have been 17 cases of people being stuck by these needles over the past five (5) months. We have verified reports of at least 12 others in various states around the country. It is believed that these may be copycat incident ts due to someone reading about the crimes or seeing them report! ed on te levision. At this point no one has been arrested and catching the perpetrator(s) has become our top priority. Shockingly, of the 17 people who where stuck, 8 have tested HIV positive and because of the nature of the disease, the others could test positive in a couple years.
Evidently the consumers go to fill their car with gas, and when picking up the pump handle get stuck with the infected needle. IT IS IMPERATIVE TO CAREFULLY CHECK THE HANDLE of the gas pump each time you use one. LOOK AT EVERY SURFACE YOUR HAND MAY TOUCH, INCLUDING UNDER THE HANDLE! If you do find a needle affixed to one, immediately contact your local police department so they can collect the evidence.
PLEASE HELP US BY MAINTAINING A VIGILANCE, AND BY FORWARDING THIS EMAIL TO ANYONE YOU KNOW WHO DRIVES. THE MORE PEOPLE WHO KNOW OF THIS, THE BETTER PROT ECTED WE CAN ALL BE.
-------------------------------------------------




My first thought: Hoax.

In 30 seconds, I find this...

(from http://hoaxbusters.ciac.org/HBUrbanMyths.shtml)





-------------------------------------------------
Needles on Gas Pump Handles

JUNE 2000

And another example of one of the Hidden Needles legends.

***********DANGEROUS PRANK:***************** >
Please read and forward to anyone you know who
drives.
My name is Captain Abraham Sands of the Jacksonville,
Florida Police Department. I have been asked by
state and local authorities to write this email in order
to get the word out to car drivers of a very
dangerous prank that is occurring in
numerous states. Some person or persons have been affixing
hypodermic needles to the underside of gas pump
handles. These needles appear to be
infected with HIV positive blood. In the
Jacksonville area alone there have been 17 cases of
people being stuck by these needles over the past
five months. We have verified reports of at least
12 others in various states around the country.
It is believed that these may be copycat
incidents due to someone reading about the crimes
or seeing them reported on the television. At
this point no one has been arrested and
catching the perpetrator(s) has become our top priority.
Shockingly, of the 17 people who where stuck, eight have
tested HIV positive and because of the nature of the disease,
the others could test positive in a couple
years. Evidently the consumers go to fill
their car with gas, and when picking up
the pump handle get stuck with the infected needle.
IT IS IMPERATIVE TO CAREFULLY CHECK
THE HANDLE of the gas pump each time you use one.
LOOK AT EVERY SURFACE YOUR HAND MAY TOUCH,
INCLUDING UNDER THE HANDLE. If you do find
a needle affixed to one, immediately contact
your local police department so they can collect
the evidence.
************PLEASE HELP US BY MAINTAINING
A VIGILANCE AND BY FORWARDING THIS EMAIL TO
ANYONE YOU KNOW WHO DRIVES. THE MORE PEOPLE
WHO KNOW OF THIS THE BETTER PROTECTED WE CAN
ALL BE.
-------------------------------------------------

That was noted in June of 2000.

5 years ago.

It took me 30 seconds to track this down...about the same amount of time as it would take someone to forward the hoax to everyone they know.

I tried not to send an e-mail back with the wrath and anger I feel when I get these stupid things. I know they mean well, but Je-SUS...

For a second, believe that your brain might actually work faster than your forward button if you'd just use it...

Please be considerate of your friends, neighbors, and co-workers, and consider doing a bit of research before filling inboxes with unecessary hype and fear, particularly since it's not even true.

That's my PSA for today.

Corporate Tip of the Day: If you want to make your workers happier, buy fuckin' toilet paper that doesn't suck.

I get the thought of cost cutting, but if there's one thing I would never go cheap on, it's something that touches my balloon-knot.

What the hell do they make that cheap-ass TP out of? It feels as though I'm in 3rd grade, making a paper mache tribal mask (uh, because it teaches us culture or something), and then when I'm done and it dries, spreading my ass-cheeks and rubbing my new creation on my brown-eye.

I feel even worse for the women in my office. Surely THAT can't feel good. And they have to wipe EVERY time, not just when they poop.

Ouch.

Give me cheap paper towels, unfiltered drinking water, and have Top Ramen cater our next Christmas Party, but for all that is good and decent in this world, leave my ass out of this!

Random, "this has nothing to do with the real part of the post" post: Go see "The Island". Excellent movie. Really rather intense, compared to what I expected. Once you figure out what's going on, the ending is really predictable, but it truly is a resolution.

There are many reasons to shower. The ones I'd like to delve into today involve having to shower again. Immediately.
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Item #1. "Ooh...you smell so clean...and, hey! You're already naked!"

- Immediate post-shower sex is a lot of fun. Now, if either of you are the "Ew. You need to shower before I'll touch that thing" type, we will not get along. However, spontaneous sex is always a good and necessary thing, and post-shower is no exception. There was a whole purpose, though, as to why you showered in the first place, and now it must be repeated.

Item #2. "Whoops! That's not the right bath product!"

- Whether you used liquid soap instead of lotion, or hairspray instead of spray deodorant, sometimes you're just too tired to think straight, and it's not until you make the mess that you realize your error.

Item #3. "Did a wet dog just take a shit in here?!"

- Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes...a body can make a fart so bad, you need to literally wash it off of you.

Shower farts are the worst...especially at the end of the shower process. You've just gotten yourself all nice and clean. You now smell like lilacs and pears, and other goofy crap they pretend is shampoo and body wash. What the fuck ever happened to soap, anyway?!

Now, as you feel a gurgle, you recall what you had for dinner the night before. Whatever it was, it must not have been dead when it entered your body, and it proceeded to die a most horrendous death somewhere along your intestinal tract.

You think, "Hey. I'm clean. Nothing can mess THIS up."

Really?

As this newly dead item proceeds to leak out of your body, the realization hits you. This will NOT be pleasant.

On this rarest of occasions, you must now wash everything again, if for no other reason than to replace the smell that's making the dog tilt his head and make the "what the fuck was that?" look.
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I'm sure there are more items for this list. These three are my most recent reasons, and frankly, the only ones coming to mind right now.

Read. Rinse. Repeat.

Don't get offended yet. Read on...

I've lived in my share of filth. Not, like, "I'm an addict and spend all my money on smack," filth, but that kind that only a guy can appreciate. The, "Uh...I'll just get to that later," filth.

I've gotten considerably better at it. Having a VERY clean roommate for a number of years in college helped me learn better habits (thanks, Eric). I now clean my house pretty much weekly. It's not perfect, but it tends to impress most when they find out I live by myself.

Well...then there's the bathroom. I don't know that it can be classified as "filthy", but "not kept up in the cleanliness department" would definitely be appropriate.

I'm not sure what it is...perhaps I just don't spend enough time in there to justify it.

That said, there IS a magic factor that can kick my cleanliness into gear: Women.

With the prospect of a new woman in the fold, it's interesting to find how quickly having a clean bathroom has raised its level of importance.

Women appreciate clean bathrooms. Theirs tend to be MUCH cleaner (though I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with how much time they spend in there) by rule.

When a new woman is going to possibly enter your home, first impressions count. Could I be daringly charming, only to be thwarted by a dirty tub? Hell, no!

So you see, I need a woman to clean my bathroom.

Bet you read that sentence wrong the first time, didn't ya? ;)

I'm a big fan of HDTV. To me, it's revolutionized how I watch. Before, it was all about the show or movie. Now, it's about what's IN HD.

Anything. Discovery Channel. Live Concerts. Ultimate Fighting Championship. Great Canadian Rivers. World Series of Poker. If it's in HD, I may very well watch it, regardless of interest level.

It's tough to rationalize it to those who haven't ever seen HD, so I won't try.

The only reason why I bring this up is because as I search through my TV listings last night, looking for HD things to record and watch later, I come across "Lord of the G-Strings".

How funny. Surely it's not a play on...wait. What does the description of the program say?

"A band of Throbbits must travel on an adventure to destroy an ancient artifact."

Yup. Just as I thought. They've made a "Lord of the Rings" porn-parody, and it's in muthafuckin' HD.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0323108/

We have truly arrived in the digital age.

So, I went to go see "Wedding Crashers" last night. EXCELLENT movie. Hilarious from beginning to end, and some pleasantly surprising cameos.

It was the kind of movie that made me want to post something. The weird part is not really being able to identify with anything in the movie. I've never crashed a wedding, nor have I been married. I've been to plenty, though.

I'm not sure if there are a lot of folks who actually crash weddings, but if there are, I have a huge, newfound respect for them. It takes some serious balls to fake your way through family trees. As much of a jackass as I'm capable of being, I don't see myself being able to come up with enough back-story to pull something like that off. Perhaps I underestimate my abilities.

Like I said, there's not really much of a post here. "Wedding Crashers" didn't suddenly make me think of some story from my past that I had to share. Really, if you take nothing else away from today, simply take my advice to see the movie. Laugh-out-loud funny.

On a side note, the Monday Night Movie Bunch is growing steadily. It's interesting how telling people you're going to a movie doesn't get them out as often as telling them you're going to a movie in a place that serves booze in the theater and happens to have 2-for-1's on Monday nights. Go figure.

We're up from the usual two or three all the way to seven last night. 5 came for the movie, and two just to drink.

Ahhhhhh, Mondays.

8pm - Last Wednesday night.

A friend of mine from St. Louis surprises me and visits.

Last time we drank together, I walked around a casino and airport trying to convince people I had been drugged, because there was no POSSIBLE way I could still be as drunk as I was.

After a $250 dinner (uh, with a LOT of drinks, of course), we moved on to a little bar near my house, called Finn's. We progressed from, "Hey let's get a beer," to, "Hey, that bottle looks cool. Make us a shot with that one, barkeep!"

That was another $150.

Now it's time to hit the clubs. We depart for the newly remodeled America's Pub, get VIPed, and make our way to our little VIP perch-on-high. It's taking a while for the waitresses to make their way to us in a timely fashion, so we must make amends.

Ah. Shot girl.

Oh ho ho. Not just any shots, my friend. Jell-O Shots.

"Um, how many would you like?"

"Fuck it! We'll take the whole tray!"

The night winds down. The lights come up. I tell my friends that I'll meet them outside, as I have a few folks I'd like to say goodbye to. In what felt like 30 seconds (but more likely was 30 minutes), I made my way outside, only to find that my friends weren't there.

I call my friend from the STL, and make sure he made it home OK. No problem. He's at the hotel safe and sound.

That's the last thing I remember. And this is where the true gem of the story begins.

8:30 - Thursday morning.

My alarm goes off (never mind how impressive it is that I even set it). I roll to my left to shut it off. I roll to my right and look at what I can describe to be a face I literally have never seen in my life. Ev-er.

Immediately, I jump out of bed. Not a brisk "oh-I'm-late-for-work" get out of bed. More of a "the-only-thing-that-could-get-me-out-of-bed-faster-would-be-fire" get out of bed.

"Don't want you to take this the wrong way, but who...the fuck...are you?"

After a brief, albeit intensely awkward conversation, here's what I've been able to deduce:

Apparently, I picked this girl up AFTER I blacked out. I can't even imagine what I said to her that would've made coming over to my house even remotely appetizing, but whatever it was, it worked.

We made our way to my house, and after a little bit of conversation, she excused herself to my bathroom. It turns out that's all the time I needed to slip into a coma on my bed. According to her, there was "nothing she could do to wake me up."

I guess that would explain why I was still in the same clothes from the night before.

Wow.

Now's the time to politely usher her out of my house, as I now have 30 minutes to make my way to work. After tripping over several things, including my cat, it now occurs to me how incredibly drunk I still am from the night before.

Making the end of this long story short, it took until about 11am for the drunkenness to wear off (made it through two meetings...woohoo!). The rest of the day can only be described as excruciating. I had to go work out that day just to get the poison out.

For days, I felt as though I had just gotten back from Vegas. Only there would a story this uncommon come to light. Not so.

It's either my proudest moment, or my most embarrassing. I'll leave it up to you to decide.

I can't even stare at the screen long enough to type the EXTREMELY entertaining story I have from Wednesday night/Thursday morning. I wouldn't be doing it justice by trying to write it today.

If you do nothing Monday, check back here for the scoop. I haven't decided if the story I have to share is my proudest moment, or my most embarassing.

Stay tuned...

When you walk into a bathroom, particularly one at work, there are things you expect to see, and things you don't.

As I walked into the Men's Room at my office, I notice an odd sign. Actually, two of them. They said:

"DO NOT USE THE HOT WATER"

Wha?

First of all, why? Second...that's like telling a 5 year old not to touch the stove.

For fuck's sake...it's not even MY bathroom. So what if I fuck it up to the point where they have to evacuate the building.

Turns out, the hot water heater was broken (a pipe had burst), and unholy things were entering the hot water line. Picture a nice dirty river...coming out of the faucet.

Too bad. I was kinda hoping for evacuation and the afternoon off.

There's a weird obsession with driving the wrong way down a one way street where I live. Over the course of the 2.5+ years I've lived here, I've lost count of the times people drive West on East-bound-only 1st St.

The most bizarre part is how little they seem to care. Me, if I were to do it, I'd do everything I could to get turned the eff around and go the correct way.

As, what I deem, a service, I stay to the right, politely honk at the offenders, and mouth the words, "ONE WAY". And, in true dumbass-driver form, they proceed to flip me off and look at me like I'M the idiot. Priceless.

So, raise your glass today to the lovely woman driving West on 1st St this morning at about 8:50am. And fuck us for being in her way.

Beware.

Part one of this is very "G" rated.

Part two is very...uh...not.

Pt. 1

As we get older, it's easier to find oneself enjoying things more suited to, well, our parents. Take melodramas, for example. My friend Tara is in one, so true to form, Dennis and I found ourselves as the "gay duo" for the evening and went.

Melodramas, for those who aren't familiar, are similar to a regular musical or play, but normally are a spoof of sorts, and those which encourage audience participation. Depending on the character, one can find themselves uttering many an exclaimation, such as, "Oooh, Aaah," or, "Boo, Hiss."

Neat.

It's not unusual that I'd take pleasure in such an event. I have a bit of a theater background, and hell, my friend's in it. That should be enough, right?

The weird thing is how comfortable you feel in places like this when you're surrounded by people your parents' age. Well...that's not including the 11-year old who seemed more like a semi-mentally-retarded-cheerleader. He was only two tables down. As we get older, these kinds of things start to make sense. Except the part about coveting the 17 year old sister of the 11 year old semi-mentally-retarded-cheerleader. She was hot, but now just thinking about it makes me feel like a dirty old man. Hell, if I would've started humping at 11, she could be my daughter!

I know. That's not really a joke you can make now, but as years go by, we're going to hit my age of virginity-loss, and thinking of that joke is going to make me vomit.

What's weird is that nights of binge-drinking, drug-use, and mindless sexcapades are now being replaced by melodramas and "hey, let's turn Scategories into a drinking game!"

It's even more ironic that these things actually SOUND more fun on most nights. But hey, at least it's depressing.

Pt. 2

It's been said that women can determine if they would/will sleep with a man in less than 30 seconds. The curiousity that surrounds that and my female friends kills me.

At least they have a filter. Many men don't. Fear not, proud man. I have a solution.

Behold. The Masturbation Test.

Step one. DON'T sleep with them at your first opportunity. There are actually many reasons why this will benefit you, but I won't go into those now.

The trick is to go home. Whup it like you normally would. Make her what you think about during the, uh, deed.

Step two. Right after you're done, think about her. This is the key, for there are no moments more honest...more pure, than a man's immediately after orgasm. After all, it's the only time you're not really thinking about sex.

You'll find that if there is anything you know about this girl that doesn't vibe (i.e. she full of drama, you're really hammered and just looking at her sober will make the cat puke, etc.), you'll remember it then. This will then be an experience that you can take back with you, should you find yourself in the situation with her again.

This is really just a spin on a concept brought to most peoples' attention by the movie "There's Something About Mary."

If they "pass" the test, and the situation presents itself again, carry on soldier. If they don't, beware, for you've been warned, uh, by yourself.

Heh. I just realized something. Now men and women BOTH have a way to determine bone-ability in about 30 seconds. ;)

Sometimes, I wonder if it's even worth saying, "just when I think I've seen everything." Just as I think that, something even more weird pops up.

Take, for instance, the World Wife Carrying Championship in Sonkajarvi, Finland. It's a 253½-meter course (close to three football fields) that includes a meter-deep, 30-foot-long water hazard, a pit of sawdust and two thigh-high barriers.

And "wife carrying" isn't code for something. You literally take your wife, put her on your back, and carry her through the course.

Oh, did I mention that the world record is 55 seconds? Sprinters with none of the crap in the course and no wife-wielding need 30 seconds to go that distance. HUH?!

At least one good thing can come out of this. Now there's a potential excuse to actually utter the phrase, "Honey, you really could stand to lose 10 or 15 pounds," and not be beaten within an inch of our spouse-slinging life.

Cheers.

Just when you think you've seen it all...

Before I get into the Noodle Bong, let me ask a question...what's with "have a SAFE Fourth?"

First of all...duh. Second, I would prefer to have a fun Fourth over a safe one. Maybe that's just me. Personally, I think seeing my drunk friends slip and fall into the *insert body of water here* or get into a Roman Candle fight is WELL worth the price of admission. I'd happily spend a couple of hours in the emergency room if it means avoiding the "What did YOU do? Nothing." conversation that occurs for so many.

Don't get me wrong. If you can have a safe AND fun Fourth, that's the way to go. But, if I have to choose between one or the other...

---------------------------------------------

Now then. Just when I would consider myself a pro at the drinking thing, and one who had the full college experience, and one who feels like he's seen anything, I have found that there are yet untapped resources to enhance one's boring "drink out of the bottle" routine.

Enter, the Noodle Bong.

Ever see those foam noodles that they use as floaties in pools? Well, they make some that have holes in them. The holes are on either end, and run the length of the noodle.

But, of course! Pour booze in the sonofabitch!!

You really haven't quite lived until you see a mother and daughter pour an entire Smirnoff Ice Twisted Raspberry thing into a pool noodle, and, much like "Lady and the Tramp," stick their face on either end and lift up.

Excuse me as I write that one down for future reference.

Hope you had a safe, errrrr, FUN Fourth.