A while back I promised I'd post a photo up of myself. I'm not exactly willing to do so, but I said I would, so I will. One of the people in the following photo is me. more...

Posted by: shank at 11:29 AM | Comments (23) | Add Comment
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The early morning is my favorite part of the day. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a summer afternoon or a really exciting late night; but the morning is by far the best.

I was coming home from a friend's house yesterday morning about 7am. The air was that brisk, clean temperature; maybe 50 degrees. Windows down, sunroof open, just getting the wind in my hair.

There's hardly anyone out on the roads at that time of the morning on a Saturday. It's almost like you get to enjoy the city before it's swarmed by humanity. Before the intersections are chocked with cars, honking horns and trudging down the streets like a herd of braying cattle.

The sunshine on a cloudless morning is amazing too. It just sprays out onto the world, it almost makes a sound. The low angle at that hour of the day also allows the light to come crashing through windows and doors, the brightness splashing into the corners of houses that only see sunlight once a day.

Posted by: shank at 09:39 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Friday blogging is not something many folks do. Traffic dies on Fridays, people start their weekends, the social aspect of the week begins that blogging satisfies during the droll work week.

Well, I like to blog on Fridays, and will continue to do so. Consider it the yardsale of the blogosphere. Hey, some of it might be junk, but some of it is just what folks are looking for. So sneak a peak every so often over here on Friday's, there just might be something for you.

Today - Normal vs Abnormal

Masturbation - Normal. Granted, I guess not everyone does it, but the majority of people do, making it normal.
Watching yourself in the mirror whilst doing so - Admittedly abnormal. I mean come on; what kind of narcissistic prick gets off on watching themselves at the apex of passion? No wonder you're single!


Conflict - Normal.
Seeking out Conflict - Abnormal. If you go around picking fights, you've obviously got some pent up anger from a conflict you didn't resolve (seek out?) in the past. Quit picking stupid fights and pick the one that matters

Idiots - Normal. As we all know, idiots are a part of life. Most people see them as a burden; we feel like we have to take care of idiots since they're too stupid to take care of themselves. I say, idiot's are God's comic relief for the rest of humanity. I say, fuck the stupid. We carry on and have them make their own way. That way, we can laugh, point, and hope they learn the rules of the game.
Geniuses - Abnormal. For some reason though, everyone seems to either 1) be one or 2) think they know one. This can't possibly be the case, because if there were that many geniuses in the world we would have half as many politicians.

Heterosexual - Normal.
Homosexual - Abnormal. Don't misunderstand me here. I'm not homophobe, nor am I in any fucking way someone who judges folks on their sexual orientation. I'm just saying it's a completey abnormal condition in natural history. Yes, given obtuse environmental conditions some species will become asexual or hemaphroditic. However, this is the exception to the exception to the rule; and we can't ignore the amazingly high incidence of homosexuality in the human species versus all other species in the world. It's absolutely staggering. It's a biological miracle (for those who believe homosexuality is a biological trait).

As always, this isn't about me putting shit out there to convince people or trying to assert my view on others. I'm just trying to encourage discussion. Think about all the things you think are normal, and then try to describe what it is that makes them normal. And don't give me this "Nothing's normal maaaan, it's all relative." I had a hippie friend in college that said that at least twice a week, and everytime he did so I'd piss on his toothbrush that very night. It's a cop-out for people who've given up on understanding the way they think. Anyways, if you really contemplate what it is that you and others consider normal, and then try to figure out how all that became accepted as normal, all this other shit comes out in the wash. It's like cutting a shark's stomach open and finding, amidst the fish bits and detritus, a hubcap from a '72 Granada.

Posted by: shank at 05:36 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Last night, at like 3:30am, my stomach started killing me. It was that gassy type of pain, really sharp and burning, right about your navel. God, I thought that fucking critter from Alien was going to pop out of my stomach.
"Aarrrarraaaa!"
"Jesus, and I thought it was just a 48-hour bug..."
"Argrawr? Raaaawwawrrrr..."
"Sweetheart, will you go get the Raid? I think the strain has mutated..."

Yeah, so there I am, praying for death or explosive diarreah or anything to relieve the stabbing pain in my abdomen; and it happens. I mean, it was the most amazing event of its kind that I've ever been a party to, or even heard of. I floated one of the most amazing air biscuits in the history of air biscuitry. I'm no stranger to farting, as I come from a long and voluminous line of Norweigan farters and burpers. But this thing was amazing. It sounded like 5.1 Dolby Surround, I mean, I could swear someone had plugged a subwoofer jack into my asshole and turned that mother up to '11'.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEERRRRRRRRP.

The window panes shook in their frames, the bedspread flapped, the touch-lamp on the bedside table went through two three-stage cycles. The fiancee stirs: "Who the fuck is knocking on our door?"
"No one babe; but you just ripped horrendous ass." Evil grin.

Then the stench hit. No, it...swallowed us with the sorce of a tsunami. Smell 'o vision on steroids. Like so much landfill acreage, raw sewage, that sour smell of dead animals, the burning smell of propane, bad eggs, and spoiled bean soup. It was horrible, but totally amazing. I thought the woman was going to cry; I was doing all I could to keep from laughing (it would have given me away).

I woke up this morning feeling like a new man. I think The Fart was just the virus's death rattle. Not nearly deadly, but much more than a rattle; I can assure you that.

Posted by: shank at 05:06 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Jeff Goldstein's Pinocchio, identity politics and the importance of rhetoric, has just turned into a real boy thanks to a few Democrats. Some serious background here on Jeff's views of identity politics and rhetoric, and a post that really wraps a lot of these issues up into a nice little package. It's an issue that Jeff's been floating for quite a while that deals with everything from affirmative action, to how a person's language can be hyjacked by those who never spoke it. Of course, until recently it was sort of an idea, a logical underpinning of certain views or positions that was never openly addressed. Whether it was because proponents of issues like affirmative action didn't realize it, or do realize it and think no one notices, is up for grabs I suppose.

I swear, he's the only person that speaks on the issue of identity politics, and how some people are allowing external conditions, nee forcing them, to define everything from who we are to what we say - regardless of who we are or what we're saying.

For instance, Goldstein asserts that what Lisa Gladden means when she says "party trumps race" and what Steve Gilliard is saying when he throws racial epithets at someone is that:


Please, lavish compliments upon my graphic arts skills. Really though. I don't own Photoshop, so that image was a pain in the ass.

Posted by: shank at 05:20 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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It's true. Pam likes me best!

Oh, you don't think so? Well then Mister Smarty Pants why don't you just show us some of the cow porn she's sent you lately?

Yeah. Didn't think so.

Posted by: Jim at 09:24 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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I woke up at about 3am covered in sweat. Had to go towel off, then change the damn sheets. The fiancee and I took the soiled sheets off, and she went to go get some more. She came back with a fitted sheet that, ironically, did not fit. Mildly exasperated, she went to fetch another. As it turns out, we own only one set of sheets that fits our bed. Great. So we grabbed a flat sheet and just made do. Talk about a pair of grumpy people.

I got up about 30 minutes ago and made myself a cup of tea. I decided to crush one of my Men's One-A-Day's into it. I don't know why, it just seems bettr than regular old tea. Well, the reason that shit is in pill form is because it tastes horrible. This sucks. When will it end? What if I have the avian flu or something? I'll be the first blogger to blog my death. Stay tuned.

Posted by: shank at 08:38 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I just threw up last night's buffalo wings. I'd like to mention that Frank's Redhot is actually spicier coming up than it is going down. Halfway through the barfing, my nose got so congested that I could only breathe through my mouth. So there I was barfing and gasping for air. It was quite the scene. My uvula is a swollen, burning mass in the back of my throat, reminding me every time I swallow that existence is pain.

Posted by: shank at 07:49 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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So we have a closet at work; well, it's a small room; that we keep office supplies in. It also houses our refrigerator, coffee maker and associated items, and boxes of...shit I guess. I have no idea what's in them.

In this closet, peculiarly, is a telephone. I'm not talking stored, I'm saying the phone is plugged into the wall and gets a dialtone. Now, I've never seen anyone answer it, or check the voice mailbox; but occasionally the fucker will ring. Of course, me being a curious little monkey, I'm always tempted to answer it:
"Hello, you've reached the closet."
Or maybe:
"This is shank, I'm in the closet. How may I help you?"
I've asked people if it used to be someone's office or something; but the consensus is that the space has in fact been utilized as a closet since the beginning of time. I mean, if it's always been a closet, it seems odd for a phone to be there; hence the intense curiosity about who may be on the other side of the ring.

Maybe it's God; and he just wants to say he loves us. Maybe it's the Commissioner, looking for Batman but accidentally transposing a few numbers. Maybe it's the internal complaint line. Me personally? I think it's a portal in and out of the Matrix. One day, when I have my affairs in order and I'm ready to take the red pill, I will answer the phone and bravely plunge myself into the truth. I hope I get to be The One.

Posted by: shank at 04:24 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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What do nudists do about butt sweat?

I'm not talking about olestra-esque anal seepage or other such nastiness. I'm talking about standard everyday butt sweat. The juicy crack syndrome that occurs on hot days or during intense bouts of physical exercise. Butt sweat hits everybody, old and young, man or woman*. Nudists certainly aren't immune.

For us regular clothes wearing types it can be taken care of with a strategic self administered semi-wedgie. Care being taken, of course, to avoid excessive depth and the track marks that could thereby result. A surreptitious crack swipe followed by a demure cheek shake to release the cotton is all that we norms require. What are the nudists doing?

When it comes down to it they must either embrace the butt sweat or use an alternate means of dealing with it. I can't imagine the first. I mean really - if you ignore the dewy gorge long enough the misting will eventually become genuine precipitation. I can't imagine anybody who could long tolerate butt sweat trickling into their coochie or dripping off their sack of balls like some twisted Japanese water torture. For nudists this would be even worse. Every time they sat down they'd leave a Rorschach test.

So if we eliminate the first option, the second must be true. Nudists are handling the butt sweat with some sort of wedgie alternative**. Do they have towels lying around with needlepoint messages like "Butt Sweat Only" and "If You Only Knew Where I've Been"? Do they make constant trips to the loo? Perhaps they carry around a personal nappy for just this occurrence?

It's mysteries like this that will forever keep nudists as strange and exotic creatures to mundanes like me.

* Don't try to deny it, ladies. If women didn't have butt sweat used panties wouldn't sell for $50 on eBay.
** "Alternative Wedgie" would be an excellent name for a rock band.

Posted by: Jim at 06:03 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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I am so incredibly worn out. With all the developments in my personal and professional life lately, I feel like I've aged 10 years in the past ten months. School'll be over in May though; but it seems like an almost uphill battle until then. I did get quite the upper at work today when my director sideled up to me and said "Your promotion is in the works as. We. Speak." If I'd anything in me I'd have passed the fuck out. So, and I hate to bank on it here, it seems that things should work themselves out here in the immediate future. Hmm. I guess once you get the good job, and get married, and finish school - it seems to spool faster and faster. Cuz then there's a house, kids, bigger workload at the office, schools, etc., etc. Holy shit. And I'm already tired.

Posted by: shank at 09:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I don't get personal too often, but I'm going to now.
(I shortened this up, because it was more than I wanted to share)

All you motherfuckers that gave my family shit over the years; can suck my dick. Look where we're at now, and look at you; you fucking broken, dispicable, shams of families. Fucking facades is all you are. And you had the gall to tell us we were doing shit wrong!

We did it our own way, with honesty, and arguing, and ultimately LOVE. You fuckers spent your time and money on keeping up appearances and coddling delinquents. Fuck you. I'm so glad that I can now; freely and without rebuke say to you "Fuck. Off." It's the American dream bitches, and I'm living it.

Posted by: shank at 12:55 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Wedding Party Entry - 'When I'm 64' by the Beatles
Cake - 'Sugar Sugar' by whoever the fuck that fifties band was
Garter - 'Idiot Boyfriend' by Jimmy Fallon
First Dance - 'All I Ask of You' - Phantom of the Opera Soundtrack (Sarah Brightman version)
Bouqet Toss - 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' by Cyndi Lauper
Mother/Son Dance - 'Simple Man' by Lynyrd Skynyrd or Shinedown (I haven't decided yet)
Last Song - 'Margaritaville' by Jimmy Buffet, or 'Forever Young' by Rod Stewart. Still up in the air.

Misc. genres: Beatles, Bluegrass, Big Band, Jack johnson, O.A.R., Semisonic, Club Jazz.

Posted by: shank at 11:01 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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So I have to give a toast at the wedding right, since I'm the groom. My first instinct was "Fuck it. Ceremonial crap is empty." But then it hit me - I will be able to talk, and 150 people will have to listen. Saweeet. So I started formulating a story, a soliloquy, a dirty fucking laundry list of shit that I've wanted to say to people for a long time. I'd say bits and peices of it outloud to the mirror while brushing my teeth or knotting a necktie. I'd lay in bed spending that quietness before my eyes shut running sections of it through my mind. It was to be my masterwork: pithy, funny, poignant, smart.

We were sitting around one day and someone said something like "Damn, the motherfucker really gets on my nerves" about a mutual friend.
"Yeah, I know. I'm so telling him that during my toast too."
"For real?"
"Yeah. Hell yeah. I talk, they listen; if they don't like it they can leave early and spare me the expense of finger sandwiches and beer for one more person at $18 a head."
"Damn. Balls on this one."
The old lady got wind of my plans to hand out peices of my mind while streamlining our wedding budget. She said I shouldn't do that: It was rude, and it would ruin the reception. Unfortunately for me, she was right. And yet, I still feel like I should say something important while I have all that attention. Surely there's something relevant to most or all of those people there, that I can share or say and still be pithy, funny, poignant, smart. I suppose I could adapt one of Paul's legendary shit stories, but then I run the risk of being recognized as a phony, given the number of people who've heard of Paul's shit.

I'm wondering if maybe I should just keep a peice of paper folded up in my pocket, and scribble notes on it as they pop into my head over the coming months. It would come off a little disjointed, sure; but I'm not exactly the world's greatest writer, so it would probably be shoddy no matter what.

What if I write the toast, and then just keep it in my pocket over the next few months and edit it when I have spare time? Maybe that would work better. Jesus, I'm already overextended on the planning phase of this thing anyways. I should just hire some jackass to do it for me.

Posted by: shank at 05:13 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Don't you hate it when people bother you about shit that doesn't matter? My mom sends me this little notice saying maybe I should be taking in more iodine. It's good for my thyroid.

Firstly, my thyroid is fine. I'll start worrying when I get a goiter or something. Is that even what happens; or is that the pituitary? See - it doesn't matter, because if I woke up without the fucker tomorrow, I wouldn't even know.

Secondly, I've had plenty of iodine in my day. I'm old enough that when I was a kid, people put iodine drops on your fucking scrapes. God, it was like being branded. The pain from iodine was all the encouragement a kid needed to wear skateboard pads. Furthermore, I used it to sterilize water on many a long-term backpacking trip. You'd put a few drops in a bottle of stream water, let it sit in the sun for a few hours, and wa-la; no micro-organisms would be waiting in your water to give you a two-week long bout of the shits. The downside to that is that iodine tastes like 80 different kinds of ass.

Thirdly, before iodine deficiency rots my thyroid away (to some unknown/not-cared-about consequence) I'm sure I will have drank my liver into oblivion, smoked my lungs blacker than tar, been hit by a drunk driver, had my body devoured by some form of cancer, been shot by a lunatic, and maybe - maybe - eaten by a shark. I don't know what the top ten killers in America are, but I bet none of them is a crapped out thyroid.

So Ma, I appreciate the concern, but my dick is going to fall off from beating it too much before my thyroid shits out because I'm not eating enough iodine.

Shank out.

Posted by: shank at 08:02 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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So, still busier than a motherfucker. I did, however, manage to come across something interesting today about Mr. George Galloway. You might remember the British politician and colossal jackass from such hits as 'Even the Labour Party Doesn't Aant My Crazy Ass', "It's All a Pack of Lies", and most recently, 'Okay, So Maybe It Wasn't All A Pack of Lies, But I Dare You to Try Me for Perjury!'. He's also written a book, aptly titled "I'm Not the Only One". I swear to you, that book is real, that's not a joke.

I assume the forward is written by Kofi Annan. Those fuckers. I'mma go get some beer and be right back. WOO!

update: My Rouge Dead Guy Ale, a movie buff if there ever was one, has just informed me that Galloway has signed on to star in a new production this summer; temporarily titled "I'm Going Upstate to Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison." Word has it, he'll be co-starring along side Saddam Hussein and "Punk'd" host Aston Kutcher. The latter of whom is apparently "Just along for the free ass-play".

Posted by: shank at 06:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This is shank, over. I was BC'd on an email from my director to the VP, copy. Director supports the consideration of a raise for yours truly, over. I'm dug in behind enemy lines, pinned down by a wave of paperwork on the west and an entire night of school on the east, over. I don't know if I'm going to make it out alive. Haven't heard from Paul, and I fear the worst, over. If anyone gets this message, find him first, he blogs better. We can hold our own here on my end for a few more days, but we'll need reinforcements. I'll keep you posted as long as the batteries hold up and we're all here. Shank out.

Posted by: shank at 04:57 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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UPDATE 10/26 (see extended entry)

'Tis the season for spooks and scares, and some good laughs. Anyone out there have a good story they'd like to share about scaring someone, or being scared by someone? Are you the I-don't-scare type that once flipped out in a haunted house when someone grabbed you? Fondly remembering scaring your little sister so much she wet herself? Were you that little sister that grew up and screamed so loudly during a scary movie that your brother and his popcorn went flying off the sofa? Let's hear your stories!

My stepson jumped three feet off the couch and yelled SHIT! when my wife crept behind him and grabbed his shoulder during the final scene of Carrie.

She made ME jump three feet when she let out a piercing shriek (on purpose, mind you) during the scene in The Hand That Rocked The Cradle when the husband's hand came from behind the stairs and grabbed the wife's ankle.

Others?

more...

Posted by: Diamond Dave at 05:35 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Yesterday, while sitting through a meeting that I can only describe as a boredom marathon, I had an epiphany. more...

Posted by: shank at 04:23 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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In the real world, that is, outside of blogging, I get asked for advice quite a bit. ThatÂ’s probably because I give the appearance of a stable, well adjusted person. Not that I am, but I do give the appearance. Since I fear everything IÂ’m always on red alert and that keeps me from making unwise investments, getting involved in ridiculous situations and in general, avoiding the wave of idiocy that many people canÂ’t seem to steer clear of.

Back the point. I often get asked for advice and I rarely dispense it. This makes people crazy. They think I donÂ’t want them to succeed, but thatÂ’s not the case at all. I donÂ’t give advice for two reasons.

1. ItÂ’s rarely, if ever, heeded
2. Most people donÂ’t want advice, they want someone to blame when things donÂ’t pan out

However, IÂ’m in a charitable mood today, and IÂ’ve got nothing else. Therefore, I offer the following pearls of wisdom:

1. Always sit with your back to the wall.

2. Avoid the herd mentality. If large groups of people are doing something, buying something or behaving a certain way, do the exact opposite.

3. DonÂ’t drink rum or any mixed cocktail with high sugar content for extended periods.

4. Have a sense of honor. Your word should be your bond.

5. Nobody likes a mooch.

6. Shut the fuck up. Sometimes itÂ’s best to listen.

7. If you canÂ’t afford to pay cash for something, you definitely canÂ’t afford it at 14% on your credit card.

8. Learn from the experience of others. Learning the hard way is not mandatory.

9. People will fuck you over if you let them.

10. Abusive relationships should be terminated with extreme prejudice.

11. Marriage vows should mean something. Or why bother.

12. If you donÂ’t have the correct tool, donÂ’t start the job.

13. Life is short, have some fun and donÂ’t fuck it up.

14. When driving, donÂ’t lurk in someoneÂ’s blind spot.

15. If you want something done right, be prepared to pay through the nose.

16. If youÂ’ve been getting your hair cut the same way for more than ten years, you probably look like a jackass.

17. Good friends are hard to replace. Preserve those you have.

18. Shitty friends will drag you down with them.

19. Nothing is out of your reach. DonÂ’t be afraid of success.

20. DonÂ’t tailgate others.

21. If in the course of life you make enemies, it is best to keep them near you.

22. If you are severely wronged by someone, the proper payback is at least three times the initial value in cash, pain or inconvenience.

23. Enjoy the arts. Music is good for the soul.

23. Be excellent to each other.

24. Party on dudes!

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:40 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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