Sure, you love kids, so you gleefully punched out one, two or even octo-quantities of them. (Hint: Almost as many as a nine-round ammo clip.) But then, like a baby chick a few days after Easter Sunday, they stick around and are always underfoot, demanding attention and care.
It’s not like you can make a chicken-and-egg scrambled omelet with them and viola! Problem deliciously solved! (Although an amazing number of parents do find a way to carry out filicide but that’s decidedly outside the scope of this post.)
Like the vast majority of my blog posts, it all started when I decided to set foot out of my house…
Looking for some dinner my wife and I drove into the parking lot of the divey Chinese restaurant. The lot was amazingly full. What gives? The food must be awesome here, eh?
But when we walked into the dining area, only two tables were occupied. Huh?
That’s when I slapped my head and yelled, “D’oh!” I almost forgot I live in Oregon. That’s where they have a state-run lottery and run a continuous stream of commercials urging the citizenry to go out and gamble because doing so accomplishes “good things.” (Like increasing revenue into state coffers.)
Sure, they simultaneously run anti-gambling ads but that’s only because they like a mixed-up, dazed and confused populace. Let’s blast ’em with a hot mix of pro-gambling and anti-gambling messages … at the same time, they seem to be saying whilst rubbing their hands together in glee. That’ll learn ’em a lesson!
Indeed. What’s not good for the individual is apparently good for the state.
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A lot of people ask me, “Hey, asshole. Where do you get your blogging topics?” Good question. Using today as an example, I had an early morning Facebook chat with mom. Later, I decided to write about it. See? That’s how it’s done. -Ed.
I don’t use the Facebook a lot. It’s mainly for poking. And, way less often, liking. I’ve been patiently waiting for the HATE button. I’d settle for DISLIKE. Maybe then I’d use it more.
For me, the primary purpose of Facebook is that it’s a place to post selfies I’ve taken during urban riots when I’m standing atop overturned police cars that are on fire. With my shirt off.
Other than that I have little use for the thing.
Then there’s mom. You respond to a message from mom at your own peril.
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This is day one of The Dog Days of Summer, a Blogdramedy writing challenge. If you came here looking for quality content you are decidedly barking up the wrong tree. -Ed.
Tom B. Taker
His jowls jiggled as he spoke. There was some spittle.
“I can’t shake it, Doc,” he said. “He haunts me. I see him everywhere I go. I’ve scratched myself raw. I’ve developed a nervous tick. I even ate some poop.”
He paused, glanced around suspiciously then continued in a hushed voice.
“I’ve even, you know. Licked myself.”
Pause. “Down … there.”
I nodded. “I see. How did this make you feel?”
“Like I’m a bad dog!”
“Look, Cujo. It’s not unusual. He may behave like your mom but he can’t really hurt you.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
The door creaked open and there he was. “Yo quiero Taco Bell!”
Blogdramedy’s The Dog Days of Summer writing challenge commands
victims participants to author ten stories, ten days in a row, consisting of exactly 110 words each. All stores are themed based on dogs that she has pre-selected. For more information about the challenge and to view the work of other participants, please click the link. But only if you want stories that have real teeth.
Tonight while channel flipping I happened to catch the last two outs of a game between Boston and Minnesota on ESPN. The first thing that caught my eye was a strike zone graphic. My first thought? “That shit is lame.”
I kept waiting for it to go away. It didn’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with the thing on an instant replay, especially on an interesting pitch, situation, or questionable call from the ump.
But to leave that thing on all the time? It’s grotesque.
ESPN calls it the “K-Zone.” If a pitch “should” have been called a strike, regardless of what the umpire called, the box will briefly turn yellow.
Personally I think ESPN is missing a bit opportunity here. Why not fill that space with a Nike logo or a few Viagra pills? More advertising, baby!
As a matter of fact, why not convert the whole grassy area of the ball park into a giant logo. PETCO Park? The athletes could literally be playing on PETCO field!
Speaking of the athletes, there is way too much unused space on their uniforms for more advertising. Perhaps FOX News could adapt their “crawl” to display there. You could be entertained by baseball, learn about important products and be educated in the myriad of ways that Obama sucks – all at the same time!
Talk about multitasking!
Of course, every three seconds or so a blimp should fly across the screen to remind you that it is time to “grab some Buds.”
A few more ideas:
- Display the position over player’s heads at all time. P for pitcher, C for catcher, 1B for the first baseman, etc. Remember: Fans are idiots.
- On fly balls have a little robot run across the screen and display the odds the fielder will drop the ball.
- Display Lady Gaga videos on the mound during the game, because, oh hell! Where else would she be?
Come on, MLB! Think outside the bun! That reminds me. All the bases should be tacos and home plate should be a chalupa.
Obviously this piece was intended and destined to be a hardrock/pop song. It would be recorded in the style of Disturbed or perhaps Dope. At least that’s how I always envisioned it.
Of course this piece has nothing to do with me. That’s my special gift as a songwriter. Somehow I have the ability to empathetically inhabit the characters and situations that I create.
I sincerely hope you will enjoy this lyrical diversion.
I’m sure it’ll be a big, big hit.
by Tom B. Taker
you made the money
i screwed around
you paid the bills
i slowed you down
you did the work
i wasted time
you bossed me
i lost my mind
i am what you made me
you were responsible
i was a flake
you made decisions
i made mistakes
you were right
i was wrong
you held the cards
i didn’t belong
look where you led me
[angry metal guitar bridge]
see ya around, “mom”
True. The tweet above had absolutely nothing to do with this post. It was actually about me going insane. (A very worthy topic.) But not, alas, the topic for today.
Instead, the word “stream” caught my fancy. Yes, I’ll admit. At first it was in a “don’t stand under this” sort of way. But then my thoughts turned to things like revenue streams and product streams. While in that place, I wrote the following little ditty (sung to the tune of The Streets of Laredo):
As I walked out with my Wall Street Journal
As I walked out with my Journal one day
I spied a rich douchebag with a bad hairpiece
A hairpiece as fake as the the caring I feigned.
I see by your outfit that you are a douchebag
I see by your hairpiece that you’re a douchebag, too
I think we should do business we’d both make a killing
There are lots of dumb marks that we can both screw.
We both love money so much that we eat it
We both use work to avoid our home lives
A partnership formed in our quest for more profits
To chase that worthy dream we’re both willing to lie.
Oh cheat and lie and gray the lies lowly
We’ll giggle and laugh as we roll along
Take it the bank and pull the wool o’er
If wealth is right we don’t ever wanna be wrong.
I’ve got greed in my chest and so I must lie.
This sad story is one about the “free market.” Yeah, that free market. You know the one, right? The one that people on the right love to ejaculate about so much? Yeah, that one. This story will provide a glimpse of insight into how that sucker really works.
It started with a phone call…
“Hello, this is Blowhard.” (That’s my boss! And no, that’s not his real name.)
“Hi, this is Madame X with Acme-Fun-Time Distribution.”
Madame X (not her real name) is a representative with a product distribution company. Blowhard has been courting a business relationship with her for some time. It’s very important to him and he worked very hard to build it up. He milks her for information that she probably shouldn’t share. When they met at the convention in Vegas, she took him out to dinner on the company credit card. When he recently toured their plant, she arranged to have his room paid for and got him the all-you-can eat buffet for free. He was as happy as a pig in shit. His two greatest loves are free and food, and she went and gave him both.
You’d think he’d be nice to her after that, right?
“Hey, Blowhard. I need to ask you a question. Have you ever heard of a company called Decepto International?”
My boss didn’t miss a beat. When lying becomes a way of life, you get real good at it. “Nope. I’ve never heard of them.”
I love it when chickens come home to roost.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s a bit odd. You see, they have the exact same address as you.”
Uh oh!! The jig is up! One of our dummy companies just got busted. It turns out that the boss greedily used the dummy company to sell products on Amazon.com but forgot to use a different address. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Mom was right. When you tell lies, it gets increasingly difficult to keep things straight. Obviously, since my boss was hatched, he never had the opportunity to learn this lesson.
How do you show someone that you respect them and care about them in the world of business? Yup. You lie unabashedly right to their face. Classic.
You see, Blowhard had set up a dummy company to purchase products from Acme-Fun-Time Distribution. He did this after his main company had been blacklisted by certain product manufacturers. He was blacklisted for selling products at prices lower than manufacturers wished. Yes, this cousin of “price fixing” is alive and well here in the United States. For more about this, see my earlier post entitled “Term Stomping” and Wikipedia’s page on “resale price maintenance.”
I guess most people would feel somewhat shamed after getting caught red-handed in a lie like that. Not my boss. Not when money is involved.
I could only chuckle at how he had just taken a major shit on the relationship he had worked so hard to build. Oh, they’ll still do business with us. After all, that puts coin in their pockets. And that’s the way the game is played. You deceive me, I’ll deceive the manufacturer, and we’ll all make money.
And this “free market?” It is one where product manufacturers exert a lot of pressure to maintain prices artificially high. It’s a murky world of blacklisting, contracts, gray markets, and companies ratting each other out. And, I’m willing to bet, most of the players are just like my boss.
It was a dark and stormy night. My wife and I were going to bed. Suddenly, a shot rang out.
This is the true story of last night.
We were fluffing our pillows and on final approach for nitey nite. Then my wife did something that happened to irritate me. No, I don’t remember now what it was. That isn’t germane to this tale. But I do remember quite clearly what I said in response.
“Just for that I’m going to close my eyes and repeat the name ‘Jessica Alba’ over and over again as I drift off to sleep.”
Hey. Never once have I ever claimed to be mature! A little directed dreaming as a method of revenge. What can I say? That’s just the way I roll.
I’m still baffled by what happened next, but this actually seemed to irritate my wife. The next thing I heard was my wife gently and quietly repeating these words as I was falling asleep: “mom … your mother … Beatrice.”
She was trying to push Jessica Alba out of my dream. How rude.
This morning I woke up and realized that I did dream and I actually remember it. It went a little something like this:
I had gone back in time with Kirk and Spock. A terrible future was waiting for us and we had one chance to make things right. It was decided that I would be disguised as a Romulan and would sneak onto a Romulan ship. Meanwhile none of us were aware that Jean-Luc Picard was also planning a trip to the same moment in time, and was about to accidentally interfere with our plans. We were going to have to adapt quickly or it would be the end of the universe…
I’m not making this up. That was the actual dream. I must have woken up because that’s all I remember. I do remember thinking while I was dreaming, though, “I’d better remember this, because this shit is good. This will make an awesome movie!” Then I woke up and I have to admit, it all sounds a bit lame.
So I guess now we know what happens if you compromise between mom and Jessica Alba. Your mind doesn’t know how to cope so it settles on Star Trek as a defense mechanism.
Please enjoy the musical selection that our chef has paired with this article.