I'd love to help you move rant

Sure!
I'd love to help you move out of your 2 bedroom apartment.
Let me guess?
Your on the 4th floor with no elevator?
And we'll be hauling cheap disposable Ikea furniture that falls apart when your try to move it?
And is it safe to assume that when I show up, instead of neatly packed, the apartment will look like a junk yard was sodomised by a category 5 tornado?
AWESOME!
When you said: "Just helping out with the big stuff?"
Did you mean: Helping organise, pack and move every possession you've ever owned, including your massive collection of 1980s era troll keychains, none of which are packed of course, but are instead scattered around the house like bits of multicoloured pubic hair?
FANTASTIC!!
Did you keep every book you've ever read?
GREAT!!!
I love moving 100lb boxes of Dean Koontz novels from place to place just so that you can proudly display them on your bookshelf and show house guests how intellectual you are.
I asked: "How many people are coming to help?"
To which you replied "A whole bunch!"
By a "whole bunch" am I assuming you mean myself plus that flakey friend of yours which would be about as much help as an asthmatic ant with shopping?
PERFECT!!!
Whats that you say? You'll buy me a beer??? Holy slavery Batman! A 1 euro value for 11 hours work - What a deal!!!
While we are at it, do you want to attach a halter and reins to my mouth so I can pull a plough for you?
No? Do any of your family members need burying? I ask because I'm also quite talented at moving large boulders into shapes of gigantic desert pyramids.
I'm cool at picking cotton too - just let me know.
You move apartment every single year always claiming your landlord is a dick!
After so many landlords I'm beginning to suspect that they arent that bad.
you simply suck at occupying a space which belongs to someone else!!!
Youre like a Spanish conquistador but instead of bringing smallpox you bring Scandinavian furniture, property damage, cat urine and irresponsibility!!
Saturday at 10 am???
Sure... What are friends for???

How I hate cold calls and fake surveys

Ok, there is nothing new about cold calls, despite the fact we all hate them, despite the fact we are rude to the callers they still keep calling. It's a fact of life and that's that. What upsets me is the lack of inventiveness to the callers these days
for example the
"Helloooooo, we are doing a survey"
yeeess
"don't worry we are not selling anything"
uhhuh
"I just wanted to ask 2 simple questions"
ahhhhh
"As an incentive you may win a FREE gift voucher"
Ooooooo - ok then, go ahead
"Do you own your own home?"
Errrrrrrr - yes (It's a vanity thing, you have to admit it, don't you?)
"Great! Now, second question, if you could replace your kitchen, bathroom for FREE which would you pick..........?

Recognise the trap? It won't be for free and it will mean follow ups very soon. Now what do you do?
My usual one to this question has been "none of them, we have just replaced the lot".
Needless to say they pack up at that point and you don't get your FREE voucher!!

So, what are the follow ups to this type of call? Answer the question with "I would probably choose a kitchen" and you will win the "voucher" with the benefit of a follow up call at a later date starting.............
"Helloooooo, you answered a survey a while ago saying you would like to replace your kitchen and we have estimators in your area so we would like the opportunity to give you a FREE estimate for a luxury designer kitchen?"
I don't need an estimate, they told me how much it would cost.
"Really? Oh, errrrr, so you have had an estimate?"
No, I don't need an estimate, they told me how much it would cost and you can come and fit the kitchen on Monday please.
"Errrr, I'm a bit confused here, can you confirm the cost they gave you?"
Yes, it was FREE. The question was "if you could replace your kitchen or bathroom for FREE which would you pick" So, I'll have the FREE kitchen please, is Monday ok with you?
Oh, and while you are on the phone can I order my FREE bathroom too? Make that Tuesday please, we don't want the workmen getting in each others way.
"I think you misunderstood Sir, it's not FREE but of course you don't have to pay the full price because you won the FREE gift voucher which knocks a huge 10% off the price!!!"
Ahhhhhhhh,, ok this may be a strange question but when you do the survey why don't you say "If you could replace your kitchen or bathroom for several thousand Euros, which would you pick"
"I don't think that would work from a marketing perspective, I have a feeling most people would just say "no" or hang up"
NO?!
REALLY?! .......................click

To the blonde MILF jogging in the park on Sunday

Dear Blonde MILF

I hope you realize that my perving was directed at you and only you, and absolutely no part of it was meant for your young daughter (niece? juvenile jogging companion?).
As implied, I enjoy the perks of jogging in the park, and one of those is a bit of ogling on the sly. It helps me forget that it's been too long since I was jogging regularly (of course), and I usually wear sunglasses to keep my baser proclivities to myself.
You are stacked and I mean stacked, Jeez! You couldn´t fit a baby´s finger in between that sports bra but hey, you are welcome to prove me wrong and show me some day!
I like blondes, NAY love blondes! They have always been my weakness and downfall and will constantly fall victim to them. There is no other basic instinct in me that reacts with such a force as when a blonde walks past. I mean help! I have betrayed girlfriends, missed dates, forgotten friends just because a blonde smiled as she walked past and I ended up spending the day, afternoon or night with them. (Obviously depending on the type of lady involved!!!)

But on Sunday my sunglasses were missing...you see where this is going, right???
Anyway, I must congratulate you on getting your young companion to to run completely concealed behind you, only to emerge at what was, for me, the worst possible time. Do you practice that? It must be the best ogle-stopper in the business. I swear, when she popped out from behind you, my libido panicked and imploded in about a nanosecond, and it took effort not to loose a cry of "Dirty perv!!!" Well played, MILF.

Anyway, I am sorry if the young lady was hit with creep-shrapnel. That really isn't my thing. I apologize if my perusing of your goods was offensive, too. But next time, lose the young one and go solo for a while... If not for the kids innocence then at least for my health. I have a serious medical dissorder in which I need to perv or my balls will explode!!!

See you around?


Location: Costa de Caparica, Portugal.

Paintball Pallet Wars

Report

Date: 16/10/2010

Area: Negrais undisputed war zone

Report:
On Saturday 16th October 2010 at around 9am, the green forces engaged in combat with the blacks team in a violent confrontation of paint for the supremacy of Negrais.


This day would mark the return of some old vets to the paintball field, specially myself who had not seen a war since entering Portugal. It has been 5 odd years of doing nothing but sitting in front of a computer and smoking way too many cigarettes. (Truth be told, just about the only excercise I´ve engaged with during that time frame would be getting up from the couch to go sit down for a meal and squirrel stalking (but thats another story!!!!!)

But enough about my slacker days, on with the show!!!!!!!!!!!!

An enormous, tremendous, overwhelming number of things took place this weekend and the only way that I can do the event and the happenings any justice is to break it all up into a multiplicity of individual reports (unless you’d all rather spend the next five days reading War and Peace 2, the longer version of the day after)

So forthwith, I will now provide you all with a summary:

The Paintball event was partnered mainly with work staff from Estefania.  The facility itself at Negrais has been in use for a few years now but this was the first time any of us had a chance to play on said field.

One major change was evident from the multiple fields I have played in the UK:  the playing fields were a lot smaller, which meant that the games would have to be played with little tactics and loads of guts Or more like run around like a lunatic, scream like your on a mixture of Repnol heart racer and Sudnil stay awake pills!! (basically about fifteen bottles of Vodka and Red Bull!!!)

We played out games and had a great time (I hope I’m not being overly modest by saying that it only took me three games to get my game back), but the majority of the fun and the overall experience was getting together with folks that I’ve not seen or played with/or against before.

I’ll get the lists of vets out of the way first. YES, thats myself, Emanuel and Dave who have been hauling paint out in the field before. (that means we have been through the wars before, in paintballing slang!). Judging by the dropped jaws and the information that all three of us were to stay in the same team seemed to tremble some knees but even though all three of us have had some paintball history under our belts but have not fired paint in a while should have consolled them. It was a pleasure to be able to be around people who knew something of the sport rather than
screaming American teanagers that just ran around like headless chickens.

Suffice it to say that after a long time out of the game the old habbits kicked back in and we were all communication with hand signals, even though most of the time it involved the middle finger!

Consider that to be a good thing.

Ok. Enough with the Rod, Emanuel & Dave Show.

Other notable get togethers were: Toni (FI), Hugo (UKI), Sean (UKI), Manuel (UKI), Manu (GK) & Wife and many other players that I will not mention due to the National Secrets Act of 1971.


Apologies to everyone else who I probably ought to be mentioning but have managed to forgot at this point. (Believe me, I know I will be reminded of so-and-so and I WILL be editing this piece to include anyone who ought to have been mentioned.)

Games that we managed to play during the five hours were:

Shoot the president (a game which ended with the Green Teams President being shot in the face within about 5 minutes)

Afghanistan Oil (this was a real leg killer, specially when your going up hill.)
Trust me this hurts!!
Favelas (basically a city slum, very much like Rio or Lisbon)
Speed Ball (Easiest way to explain this is run around trying to find your gun and waste some ammo)
Pallet Slope (Pallet collection anyone?)
Rock Valley (Rocks, rocks everywhere)

It was an absolute blast and I will be returning to the wars with regularity – (Wife willing!!)

Breathless, with lungs and chest ready to explode like an unborn alien we walked off the field at the end of the day still with the same smiles we had walked onto 5 hours earlier.


I still remember that first game at a real, honest-to-goodness paintball field as if I was observing myself from a distance. And I felt that way at the time too though I can’t explain why. I wasn’t excited, I was intrigued. I wasn’t expectant, I was curious. Until the whistle blew. And everything changed. Prior to the game the refs had explained the field for the newcomers and encouraged everyone to take a lot of ground quickly. Not knowing any better I did exactly what they suggested and ran until I realized paintballs were zinging all around me and I threw myself down behind a tree that didn’t come close to offering real cover. Fortunately there was also a depression in the ground on my side of the slim trunk and I pressed my face up into the exposed roots applying the ostrich principle (If I can’t see them they can’t shoot me) for all I was worth as paint continued to whiz by and smack the tree and ground around me. Suddenly paintball became immediate and real, visceral and intensely exciting. I was so excited infact that I heard someone laugh out loud and suddenly realised that it was me! I quickly realized that while I wasn’t a sitting (or laying)duck I wasn’t secure either and that was great, too. It meant I had to do something besides not get shot. (Although being at risk and continuing to survive was a big part of the thrill.) I called out to my teammates and discovered most of them were quite a distance behind me. That first time it didn’t bother me in the least. They were the ones missing out. Slowly the game began to unfold.
I tried to use my forward position to relay information. To spot the opposition’s positions. I worried about being flanked because my depression wouldn’t save me then. I tried to bring my gun to bear but I didn’t try too hard because I didn’t want the game–this first real experience of paintball–to end. I knew I didn’t have the skills to compete and it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to keep playing.
And fourteen years later I’m still hooked though my relationship to the game has evolved pretty dramatically over the years.

Crispy tweets.

It’s two in the morning, and there is a bird in my ventilation system. That isn’t a euphemism, either. Like “man, I had this bird in my ventilation system last night! It was crazy!”

I bet he'll be tasty.
There is an actual, live bird, trapped in my ventilation system. A fowl imprisoned in a silver cage.

I started hearing things a few days ago. Simple things, not enough to attract any actual attention. At first, I thought it was just the house settling at night, or perhaps even a squirrel on the roof, high out of his mind on acorns, chasing imaginary giant nuts!! But as the noise persisted, I knew it could only mean there was a creature inhabiting my vents. The thing is... It´s not just a normal vent. Its the one linked to my water gas heater!

I first thought it was quite possible that a mouse was running amok in my house, rampant with lust for the pizza I had left the night before and perhaps that mouse decided to take refuge in the vent in the kitchen. But I came to this horrible conclusion this morning, when I heard the unmistakable “tweet tweet tweet” that was accompanied by the slight flutter of a pair of wings, futilely attempting to get enough room to fly.

But instead, the bird sits in my vent, attempting to survive. What a prick. Doesn’t he know that I’m trying to sleep? He can at least have a little respect for those who aren’t facing an imminent death and shut the fuck up.

For now, I need to figure out how to get the bird out of the vent. It would be useful if I knew how the damn thing got in there to begin with. The only reasonable scenario that I can drum up at this early hour relies heavily on the notion of teleportation. Or the chimney.

But that would be ridiculous.

Fed up...

I'm fed up with life. Not only life but work. And driving. And shopping. And eating. And working. Somewhere, somehow, they're different now, none of 'am are the same, they all got chewed up and spit back out, and they don't taste like living anymore! Don't you see what it's like in this deranged Waring Blender of a world?! Every day is an agonizing ordeal, like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt... (hmmmmm) You never forget Uni...

YOU think I'm "sick"? Well the only disease I've got is "Modern Life," a schnutbusting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of let-downs, put-downs, trickle downs, shutouts, freezeouts, sell-outs, numnuts, nincompoops and nimrods, all making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Cherokee Jeep with your tongue, where even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like, say, if some nymphomaniac telephone operators with the muscle control of Rumanian mat-slappers agree to a little Strip Air Hockey, it'll be over before it starts 'cuz some vowel-lacking, feta-reeking cab-jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata spanker from a Santeria cult in Xoacalpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph to make it complete, and even with all this, with ALL THIS, I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day, knowing when it's time to flash the cosmic card key at those Pearly Gates, I won't be in the coffin anyway 'cuz some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas and other assorted Good 'N' Plenty to that same Santeria cult, so does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails while Life dirty-dances on their digits, and is it really any wonder that I seem DERANGED???!!"

But...heh that's probably nothing you haven't heard a hundred times before...

Some suggestions for the Youth of today on how to not be Useless

First of all, PULL UP YOUR FUCKING JEANS!!!
Look, I support your right to express yourselves, I did the whole Rebellious Youth thing when I was in school. But having your jeans hanging down with your underwear sticking out of the back is about the stupidest look you could go for. You look worse than a fucking retard, cause at least the retard was trying to put them on right. Besides, in Prison it means you're already "spoken for" and it's a signal to other cons not to hit on you, because you're someone else's bitch. So unless you take it up the ass from a 300-plus pound, life sentence or more, not-ever-eligible-for-parole murderer on a regular basis, or have to blow him & his buddies whenever he says, pull up your jeans you useless bastards.

Learn the value of respect. For instance, if you don't respect yourself, how in the hell can you expect anyone else to respect you? Years ago, before you could call 999 and have the Child Protection Agency arrest your parents, disrespect earned you an ass-kicking. If you fucked up, you paid the price, simple as that. Respect is better than money in a way, because the more you give to others the more you get in return. An unruly, disruptive, over-indulged little cshit is a useless individual, destined to be nothing more than a burden to society, unless your parents were smart enough to become wealthy. Then you won't be a burden to society but you'll still be a useless fuck head.

Learn the value of money. I don't know why your parents can't say "No" to you whenever you whine for the latest hundred-euro pair of jeans or an expensive gaming console, but just be glad you're not my kid. I started making my own money before I started school by washing windows in the summer and shoveling snow in the winter. There will always be someone willing to pay you to do things for them, if you get off your lazy ass and do it. I would probably pay some neighbourhood kid a 50 to cut my grass, but in an area full of teenagers, there aren't any who would do it. Believe me, it feels way better to pay for something out of your own pocket. That way you don't have to justify it to anyone. My dad caught me smoking when I was 14 and swore he would never give me money for cigs, and was true to his word. But I always had cigs, because I always had money. So knock off your pussy-assed whining and earn your own money, otherwise you're also a useless shit for brains.

Pimps and drug dealers are not role models, they're pussies. When you call something "Pimp" all it says to me is that it's something overtly tacky and ostentatious (look it up) and cheap. In other words, totally devoid of class and purpose. When you implement the previous suggestions, you will realize that you can't buy class. Just because a suit cost 1,500 doesn't mean it won't make you look like a fucking carnival barker (look that up too). If you drive a chimp around in a limo, it doesn't mean that chimp has class, because he'll still beat off and throw his shit at you. The same is true for people; just because some white trash fuckwit won the Lotto doesn't mean he's a better person, it just means he'll swap his rusted-out 88 piece of shit Ford Capri for a new Escort, and finally buy that second Elvis-on-velvet painting he could never afford before. A pimp makes money by bullying women into giving him money,and any able-bodied grown man who doesn't earn his own living is a useless shit.

I'm sure I'll be putting up similar posts in the future, because I'm far from done.

Unemployed smokers

As people, we occasionally we bear witness to some magnificent event that happens but once in a lifetime. Halley’s Comet, the Aurora Borealis, or Pam Anderson’s first sex tape. Sometimes these things are glorious, mystifying, or just too effed up to that they make you say “Wait, did that just happen?”

What I experienced last week was all three. Here is my story…

Every day during lunch, I take a little stroll around the park area near my office. During these walks, I’m treated to a veritable rogues gallery of citizens: Young professionals enjoying a bite to eat outside, students catching a smoke between class, a handsome young stranger (Oops, that’s just my reflection! I’m so silly.)

My walk nears its end as I make my way out of the park and back to the office building – a convergence of four streets that serve as a conduit to the rest of the city. This is where the action happens. A lot of traffic, both of the rubber and leather variety. (By leather, I mean shoes, not an S&M enthusiast parade.)

In other words, there are a lot of people here. And when you have a lot of people in one area, in the middle of the day, that can only mean one thing: Unemployed jukes with nothing better to do with their time than hang out. And when I say “unemployed,” I don’t mean 30-year-old account executives who were laid off. I mean people who are barely qualified to walk and chew gum at the same time. You dig?

So there are a lot of jukes hanging ’round at noon on a weekday, and as I turn the corner of the home stretch of my daily jaunt, my eyes lock onto one at about 20 yards. For some reason, this juke intrigues me. I’m a people watcher by nature, so I just watched this guy. Maybe it was his bandanna that held his ratty hair back just so, maybe it was the torn denim jacket that appears to have several blood stains (none of them his), or maybe it was the black tracksuit trousers that were tucked into his combat boots – as if to tell the world “Hey, I still use a tape deck – what of it?” Whatever the case may be, this guy reeked of something. This must be what Spiderman feels like when he senses trouble afoot, or when he gets a boner. (Come on, you’re telling me that Peter Parker’s Spidey-senses don’t go off when he is about to get a piece? HA! I said “go off!” That wasn’t even on purpose.)

Anyhow, I knew this guy wasn’t going to let me down. At 15 yards, he slows his pace as he spots something on the pavement. Yes, yes. 10 yards, he bends at the waist and picks something up. Okay…what is it? The cap to a magic marker, a rubber band? 5 yards, he stands upright, the treasure in his hand. You fool, what is it? 3 yards, he opens his hand to reveal…a cigarette. WHAT? A previously lit, used and stepped on. THAT’S GROSS! I don’t mean that it was lit for five seconds and tossed because the smoker couldn’t take it on the bus, I mean that this thing was damn near smoked all the way. All that remained was the filter. And he spotted it from 40 feet, like a nervous eagle who had the shakes.

And it’s not so bad that he picked it up (Wait, yes it is), it’s that he then examined it, smelled it, and put it in his wallet. In front of a dozen other people who were waiting for the bus or just walking by. In the middle of the day. Obviously, he was holding onto it so he can smoke it later, unless this cat just so happened to be some kind of archivist who specializes in half-smoked cigarettes, old lip gloss and used condoms.

But really, well done, sir. Well done.

It’s gross enough that he picked up a used cigarette, but it was lodged in a pavement crack. A crack, mind you, that was probably filled with urine at some point. And feces. And probably vomit. And DEFINITELY semen. These pavements are such filth traps that even the rats avoid them. THE RATS!

Which brings me to my point: Where did society fail this man? This isn’t as simple as “he wasn’t loved enough as a child,” either. This can only be the end result of some aggressive, abusive, mind-effing as a child. We’re talking Menendez brothers meets Joan Crawford meets the guy who jizzed on Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs. Something went very, very wrong with this guy at some point in his life.

And as Thoreau said: The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. Maybe this man was a little too quiet. A little too desperate. Maybe no one heard his cries for help or his pangs of hunger. Like so many of us, he was left in the cold to freeze, alone and naked like a penguin egg without its mother to protect it. And when life finally called to grant him a reprieve from the torment he had suffered, perhaps he chose not to answer it. For a life unearned is a life not worth having. I think that’s something we can all appreciate.

But maybe this guy was just gross, but hey, free cigarettes.

99 Ways To Annoy People

1. Sing the Batman theme incessantly.

2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sensual massage."

3. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."

4. Learn Morse code, and have conversations with friends in public consisting entirely of "Beeeep Bip Bip Beeep Bip..."

5. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.

6. Amuse yourself for endless hours by hooking a camcorder to your TV and then pointing it at the screen. <

7. Speak only in a "robot" voice.

8. Push all the flat Lego pieces together tightly.

9. Start each meal by conspicuously licking all your food, and announce that this is so no one will "swipe your grub".

10. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17 inch paper, 98 copies.

11. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.

12. Sniffle incessantly.

13. Leave your indicators on for fifty miles.

14. Name your dog "Dog."



15. Insist on keeping your car windscreen wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."

16. Reply to everything someone says with "that's what YOU think."

17. Claim that you must always wear a bicycle helmet as part of your "astronaut training."

18. Declare your apartment an independent nation, and sue your neighbours upstairs for "violating your airspace".

19. Forget the punch line to a long joke, but assure the listener it was a "real hoot."

20. Follow a few paces behind someone, spraying everything they touch with chocolate smelling aerosol.

21. Practice making fax and modem noises.

22. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and "cc:" them to your boss.

23. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.

24. Invent nonsense computer jargon in conversations, and see if people play along to avoid the appearance of ignorance.

25. Erect an elaborate network of ropes in your backyard, and tell the neighbours you are a "spider person."

26. Finish all your sentences with the words "in accordance with the prophesy."

27. Wear a special hip holster for your remote control.

28. Do not add any inflection to the end of your sentences, producing awkward silences with the impression that you'll be saying more any moment.

29. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears.

30. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.

31. Give a play-by-play account of a persons every action in a nasal Darlek voice.

32. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.

33. Adjust the tint on your TV so that all the people are green, and insist to others that you "like it that way."

34. Drum on every available surface.

35. Staple papers in the middle of the page.

36. Ask telephone operators for dates.

37. Produce a rental video consisting entirely of dire copyright warnings.

38. Sew anti-theft detector strips into peoples backpacks.

39. Hide dairy products in inaccessible places.

40. Write the surprise ending to a novel on its first page.

41. Set alarms for random times.

42. Order a side of pork rinds with your filet mignon.

43. Invite lots of people to other people's parties.

44. Publicly investigate just how slowly you can make a "croaking" noise.

45. Honk and wave to strangers.

46. Dress only in clothes coloured Hunters Orange.

47. Change channels five minutes before the end of every show.

48. Tape pieces of "last of the summer wine" over climactic parts of rental movies.

49. Wear your jeans backwards.

50. Decline to be seated at a restaurant, and simply eat their complimentary mints by the cash register.

51. Begin all your sentences with "ooh la la!"

52. ONLY TYPE IN UPPERCASE.

53. only type in lowercase.

54. dont use any punctuation either

55. Buy a large quantity of orange traffic cones and reroute whole streets.

56. Pay for your dinner with pennies.

57. Tie jingle bells to all your clothes.

58. Repeat everything someone says, as a question.

59. Write "X - BURIED TREASURE" in random spots on all of someone's roadmaps.

60. Make appointments for the 31st of September.

61. Repeat the following conversation a dozen times: "Do you hear that?" "What?" "Never mind, its gone now."

62. Light road flares on a birthday cake.

63. Wander around a restaurant, asking other diners for their parsley.

64. Leave tips in Bolivian currency.

65. Demand that everyone address you as "Conquistador."

66. At the Laundry, use one dryer for each of your socks.

67. When Christmas carolling, sing "Jingle Bells, Batman smells" until physically restrained.

68. Wear a cape that says "Magnificent One."

69. As much as possible, skip rather than walk.

70. Stand over someone's shoulder, mumbling, as they read.

71. Pretend your computer's mouse is a CB radio, and talk to it.

72. Try playing the William Tell Overture by tapping on the bottom of your chin. When nearly done, announce "no, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.

73. Drive half way down a road and then just get out looking at the sky. Repeat several times.

74. Inform others that they exist only in your imagination.

75. Ask people what gender they are.

76. Lick the filling out of all the Oreos, and place the cookie parts back.

77. Cultivate a Norwegian accent. If Norwegian, affect a Southern drawl.

78. Routinely handcuff yourself to furniture, informing the curious that you don't want to fall off "in case the big one comes".

79. Deliberately hum songs that will remain lodged in co-workers brains, such as "mission impossible", "batman" etc.

80. While making presentations, occasionally bob your head. like a parakeet.

81. Lie obviously about trivial things such as the time of day.

82. Leave your Christmas lights up and lit until September.

83. Change your name to "AaJohn Aaaaasmith" for the great glory of being first in the phone book. Claim it's a Hawaiian name, and demand that people pronounce each "a."

84. Sit in your front yard pointing a hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.

85. Chew on pens that you've borrowed.

86. Wear a LOT of cologne.

87. Listen to 33rpm records at 45rpm speed, and claim the faster speed is necessary because of your "superior mental processing."

88. Sing along at the opera.

89. Mow your lawn with scissors.

90. At a golf tournament, whenever someone swings at the golf ball shout “GO ON MY SON!"

91. Ask the waitress for an extra seat for your "imaginary friend."

92. Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.

93. Ask your co-workers mysterious questions, and then scribble their answers in a notebook. Mutter something
about "psychological profiles."

94. Stare at static on the TV and claim you can see a "magic picture."

95. Select the same song on the jukebox fifty times.

96. Never make eye contact.

97. Never break eye contact.

98. Construct elaborate "crop circles" in your front lawn.

99. Construct your own pretend "tricorder," and "scan" people with it, announcing the results.

Shut Your Mouth, Close Your Legs, and Raise Your Kid

There sure are a lot of fertile women out there. It never ceases to amaze me that some walking sperm bank can continue to pop out kids like it's an Olympic sport, but wouldn't know how to properly raise any of their heathen bastards if Dr. Spock raped them with one of his self-help books.

The moms of this nation have to be stopped! If done properly, raising a child is a full-time job. But lying on your back every night, allowing your husband to violate you any way he can imagine, then popping out another unit every nine months, is not a job. You have to actually put forth some effort and teach the little soul-suckers you've produced. Going out in public with the cast from The Island of Dr Moreau and spending your husbands money on useless crap your kids don't need is not a job. Teaching your children how to function in a society, how to read, write, communicate, and act like they're not being raised by a pack of wolverines, requires actual parenting. If you are not up to the task do us all a favour and have your twat stapled shut so we don't have to put up with any more walking genetic deformities.

If you're not sure if this rant is about you, here's a quick guide:

If you continue to shop while your kids try to re-enact the Rodney King beating in a department store, quit fucking.

If you have to decide which is more important, baby food or alcohol, quit fucking.

If you are only birthing children as an excuse to not work, quit fucking... and kill yourself

If you leave any number of your children in your vehicle unattended because you're only going to be gone 'for a minute', quit fucking.

If you have to go to a bar and insist on using your television or computer as a babysitter, quit fucking.

In short, your children are a direct reflection of your parenting. If you can't be a good parent, your privilege to fuck should be revoked. Do us all a favour and let your man blow his load in your mouth, hair, ass, ear, anywhere but your baby-maker.