Harm Aid
Out looking for a place to live, my wife and I happened upon a quaint little house in the city that we liked. There was a cyclone fence that wrapped around the backyard with an old-fashioned and weathered “beware of dog” sign on the gate. The front yard was grass.
We thought the yard and the fence would come in handy for those times when family stopped by with their dogs. In anticipation of the fun we’d have we even picked up a Chuckit and ball.
At no time were we advised there were plans to change anything about the house. The property management people treated us throughout the entire process like the rental scum that we were.
Finally it was moving day. We rolled into town in our U-haul and arrived at the property. It was so exciting. We hadn’t seen the house in two months.
Surprise. The fence was gone although the gate remained. It was no longer a place for dogs. The lawn had been replaced with raw dirt that would soon be the uber cool and trendy urban front-yard farm.
Sorry, dog. We’ve been victimized by bait-and-switch. There’s no place for a game of catch around here. But I do see a nice place where you can bury your bones. Please, feel free.
LivingSocial Disease
Somehow I got signed up to LivingSocial. How? I don’t know. Maybe I pissed off one of my neighbors and they did it as passive-aggressive revenge. Well played.
Meanwhile, I happen to love me a good Mongolian BBQ. I have many happy memories of loading up bowls and topping them off with bean sprouts piled so high they resembled Marge Simpson’s hair. And onions. Lots and lots of onions.
One time my bowl came up and the lady in front of me grabbed it by mistake. Moments later she returned and said, in disgust, “This isn’t mine! It’s full of … onions!” I said good day, you onion hater. Those are my onions you’re talking about!
Another time I was in a Mongolian BBQ stuffing my face minding my own business and I watched two snot-nosed bubble-launchers kids load up giant bowls with nothing but meat. That’s bad form. Mom and dad watched approvingly. I can only assume they were also redshirting the bastards. Yeah, they were clearly on the right path. Anyway, these kids brought their steaming bowls of meat back to the table, picked at them momentarily, then pushed them away. It was none of my concern but it still pissed me off. Man, what a waste of good meat. And the food went uneaten, too.
The point is, I love me a mean Mongolian BBQ.
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Storage Whores
You can find the profit in human misery if you look for it.
We watched a few episodes of a so-called reality show about people who turn over storage units for a living, like it’s a career or something. It’s like the modern version of treasure hunting. Except it’s not.
One time a friend told me how she had lost a bunch of her possessions. It was mostly junk like furniture and knickknacks that wouldn’t fit at her house but it also included irreplaceable family heirlooms and stuff like family photos.
She stopped paying for the thing and – poof – her stuff was gone. “Why didn’t you tell me,” I cried. “I’d have paid your account so at least you could get the important shit.”
It was too late. The shit was gone. As in forever gone. There had been an auction. They sure didn’t waste any time.
Oh well. Easy come and super easy go.
I decided right then and there that I had to get me one of those shiny storage unit things. But I also had to remain true to myself and my core values. I was going to do this the Tom B. Taker way.
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Twitter 101: Reply vs Mention
Is that a reply or a mention? Either way, I hope I don't step in it!
I really enjoy the Twitter. It’s the special place reserved for most of my … ahem … wit. (If I do say so myself.) If you don’t follow me on Twitter I dare say you are missing a lot of what I have to offer.
I think it’s an art form. The 140-character limit is perfect for bite-sized chunks of humor that wouldn’t justify a full blog post. I think the micro-blogging idea was rather brilliant.
True, there is a lot of bullshit on Twitter. Like location tweets. “I’m at Starbucks.” Well now, goodie for you. I guess we know you are a venti-sized ass. “I’m at the stadium watching XYZ sporting event.” And you’re tweeting about it while you’re still there? I call that a lose-lose. “I’m at Ye Olde Fancy Restaurant.” What? You didn’t include what you’re eating? Loser. “I’m at Walgreens.” Holy shit! Must be time for suppositories?
Twitter. The new way for those who think they are the super-trendy to be seen. At least virtually. Continue reading →
This blog has jumped the shark
Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like little Fonzies here. And what's Fonzie like? He's cool.
I’m too young to remember the day that Kennedy was shot. I have no memory of that day. For those that were old enough I’m told it was a day seared into their minds forever.
But I can still remember the day when Fonzie jumped the shark. It was September 20, 1977.
For some strange reason, though, I can’t even vaguely remember the plot that led to the Fonz donning his trademark leather jacket and jumping a shark on water skies. Was that a flotation belt around his waist? Decidedly uncool. And the shark was confined? Yawn.
You know what? That episode of Happy Days totally jumped the shark, yo.
That scene was so dumb that it eventually led to the phrase “jumping the shark” becoming an idiom in American English.
Idioms are off the hook, yo.
Wikipedia’s page for the phrase “jumping the shark” provides the following bit of illumination:
Jumping the shark is an idiom used to describe the moment of downturn for a previously successful enterprise. The phrase was originally used to denote the point in a television program’s history where the plot spins off into absurd story lines or unlikely characterizations. These changes were often the result of efforts to revive interest in a show whose viewership has begun to decline, usually through the employment of different actors, writers or producers.
I trust by now you see the relevance of this particular phrase to us denizens of the Abyss. Even though we don’t really have any sharks down here. All we’ve got are these bug-eyes albino newts due to the lack of sunlight.
Clearly I’ve lost my edge. It’s time to put this blog out of your misery. In this case it’s pretty clear where things went wrong. The first post. It’s been all downhill since then. Someone grab a fork.
Seriously, you’ve got to give it up for a blog that can jump the shark on the very first post, yo. I mean, it’s not a good sign when your entire existence is behind the “jumping the shark” curve, eh?
Oh wait. I just noticed the words “previously successful enterprise” in the definition. Dammit, jump the shark status denied! My bad.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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