An Apology

In lieu of the usual That’s What She Said Friday I would like to use this time to apologize. You may recall my post on Wednesday in which I referred to karma with a derogatory term. That was a grave mistake that I sincerely apologize for. If I were to give you, my readers, some advice it would be to treat karma with the respect it deserves. Do not temp fate. If you do there will be consequences. For example, let’s say you wrote a blog post and in said post you called karma a bitch, it’s like that less than 2 hours later you will come home from work to find your car windows smashed and all your stuff stolen. Seriously karma? That was cold blooded. It wasn’t even my car. Did you really have to take out my transgressions on my girlfriend’s car just so some bum could steal my stuff? Not cool karma, but I learned my lesson. Again, I apologize for calling you a bitch and now on I will have nothing but the utmost reverence for your awesome power.

That Bitch Got Me Again

On several occasions I have used the plight of our fair cities homeless population as blog fodder. I’m not certain if this makes me a bad person or not, because you can never really know the circumstances of a person’s situation until you talk to them. And I’m rarely in the business of chatting up anyone on the street, much less a homeless man. So I think it might make me a bad person, but really it’s so easy, how often do you see homeless people doing something crazy that you could write 1,000 hilarious words about? It happens to me constantly. Here’s an example: last night I was eating outside at Panera with Leslie, on the corner was a homeless man harassing anyone who walked by. He was really getting in peoples faces, but it was totally working because some guy gave him his leftover PF Chang’s to get him to leave his girlfriend alone. Maybe it’s just me but I would have to be in some real duress to give someone my Chang’s spicy chicken, so I guess his tactics were effective. As he went to hassle someone new he dropped his change cup spilling quarters and nickels everywhere along the sidewalk. The ensuing scramble was one of the saddest things I think I’ve ever seen. The man was pretty frantic to pick up his change and kept trying to get people to stop and help him. I being a bad person found a little amusement out of it though, because the guy was clearly jacked up on some foreign substance. Every time he bent down to pick up a coin he’d wobble and have to brace himself before falling over. Eventually he devised a system where he would spread his legs really wide, then bend over and gather change. Sort of like a tripod, the wider the base the more stable. Ultimately, he recouped his losses and was on his way to enjoy some leftover lettuce wraps and live happily ever after.

The point is normally I would’ve made fun of this guy having no idea whether he deserved it or not. Now though I think karma has jumped up to bite me. You see, as of this week I will be joining the ranks of the homeless I so mercilessly belittle. My lease is up on Sunday, my roommate is moving in with her boyfriend and I am left without a place of my own. Well not really, I’m moving in with a friend who recently bought a house but the room won’t be available for another couple of weeks. So I’m out on the streets. Well not really that either, fortunately I have neither a drug or alcohol problem that has alienated everyone in my life who I could ask for help. I have plenty of friends and a wonderful girlfriend who will keep me from being a total vagrant until I can move in to the new place. But still, I’ll be a nomad living out of a bag for two or the weeks. It’s pretty annoying and it’s definitely my karmic payback for using the homeless for comedic gain. Plus what if this is where it all starts? Maybe this is the beginning of a slippery slope. It starts with me staying in a different house every few days. Then someone says, “Hey why don’t you try some of this crack?” And I’m all, “Sure what’s the worst that can happen?” Then bam, I’m a homeless guy begging for change and getting made fun of by some loser with a blog. That would suck, but at least I’d get some free PF Chang’s every once in a while.

You Have Questions and I Have Answers

To the person who found my blog through the Google search "my knee is swollan and and its all liquid what do i do?" I have to the advice you're looking for. First off I'm going to assume you meant swollen and not some weird slang implying that your knee is swallowing things. It's an easy mistake to make. You're probably experiencing some discomfort that is affecting your typing ability. For starters I'm going to tell you what not to do. Do not go to a doctor. They're totally useless. Only in it for the money. They don't have your best interests at heart like I do. The solution is simple. Just rummage through your junk draw and find that sewing kit you bought a few years ago because the hem came out of your suit pants. Just treat your knee like an abnormally large blister. Take the needle for the sewing kit and pop that bitch. Be careful though, there's probably a lot of pressure built up in there and a small pinhole will cause a pretty powerful spray. If you're worried about staining your shirt and/or wall just use a steak knife instead. You also might want to be on the look out for infections, so you should sterilize your knee stabbing instrument. Simply running it under hot tap water should suffice. After that wrap an ace bandage around that sucker and you should be good to go. You'll playing hockey or wrestling bears or drinking Labatts or whatever else people do in Ontario in no time.

Your Welcome,

Eric

TWSS Friday's Triumphant Return

That's What She Said Friday is back! I missed the last two weeks and was pretty thoroughly berated for it. Sorry for having a job that sometimes gets in the way of you being entertained by juvenile humor. I won't let it happen again. Jerks. I wasn't going to do it again this week because caught some sort of deadly virus on a plane this weekend. Or a cold, either way I feel like crap. Airplanes are cess pools of disease by the way. Especially ones flying between Cleveland and Baltimore. Anyway, on with the festivities.

Here's one I stole from Jake:

Went on a SHA golf outing today. Frank, a 55 year old head of the hydro department, picks up a golf ball and slowly reads the label on it aloud, "Noodle... long and soft". Without hesitation, Denny, a 60 some year old highway designer, blurts out "That's what your wife said." I guess that's the old balls way of saying TWSS.

It's nice to see the forefathers of TWSS still have it.

Next:

For some reason Brian thought it would be a good idea to try and sharpen a Twizzler and use it as a pencil. This process is harder than you think. Also it produces a conversation resulting in no less than 5 top notch TWSSs. I only remember one (Don't forget I'm nearly on my deathbed, it may have caused some sort of neurological damage), here's how it went:

Bingo was trying to sharpen the Twizzler himself but was having a harder time operating the manual pencil sharpener and holding the Twizzler firm enough to be sharpened.

Brian: (Now holding the Twizzler) You get it going and I'll stick it in as hard as I can.
Bingo: (Cranking furiously at the pencil sharpener)
Me: That's what he said.

Yes

Hail to the Redskins!
Hail Victory!
Braves on the Warpath!
Fight for old D.C.!
Run or pass and score -- we want a lot more!
Beat 'em, Swamp 'em,
Touchdown! -- Let the points soar!
Fight on, fight on 'Til you have won
Sons of Wash-ing-ton. Rah!, Rah!, Rah!
Hail to the Redskins!
Hail Victory!
Braves on the Warpath!
Fight for old D.C.!


Can I start getting excited yet?

Hell Yeah!

I often get great enjoyment out of seeing the Google searches that send people to this blog. Some people search for some pretty odd things. My most frequent hits come from folks who want to read the writings from people likeminded in their hatred of birds. That and peeing outside. Apparently I’m one of the leading experts on peeing outside. Today though I received a hit from a Google search that could not make me happier, seriously it’s awesome. According to Google I am the world’s #1 authority on “something badass.” That’s right, perform a search for “something badass” and this blog is the first thing you’ll see. I figure this means one of two things:

1. I am the official last word on all things badass. If you need to know if
you or something around you is in fact badass I’m the one to talk. Or…

2. I’m the biggest badass in the world.

You know what? Strike that, it doesn’t mean on of those two, it’s both of those two. If I get final say on what is badass or not then I say I’m the biggest badass in the world. And if I ‘m the biggest badass in the world then who could possibly be more of an expert on what is or isn’t badass? So for future reference if you ever are on the fence as to whether something is badass or not feel free to email me or leave a comment and I’d be more than happy to provide an answer to your query. Or I might just say f you, because I’m badass and I don’t have to answer your stupid questions if I don’t want.

An Open Letter to The Guy Who Cut Me Off In Traffice This Morning

Dear Guy Who Cut Me Off In Traffic This Morning,

Kudos to you sir on your bold maneuvers through the city streets this morning, I must say you caught me completely off guard. When you were in the far left lane of a six lane road with your left turn signal on, and I pulled up in the lane next to you at the stop light I certainly was not expecting that upon the light turning green you would immediately veer right to try and get in my lane totally cutting me off and nearly sideswiping me. You gave me the old okey doke, fake left, go right. That gets me every time. Even more unexpected was your incredulous hand gesture you gave me when I honked my horn to prevent you from driving directly into my fender. Apparently I’m the asshole for be in the path of your insanely erratic driving. I apologize, next time I’ll be sure to yield for people driving diagonally across the flow of traffic. I should’ve known better. It got even better though when you decided you did in fact want to make that desired left turn a few blocks later. The only problem was that it came from the right lane of the intersection thus adding the driver of a large SUV to the list of people who had nearly t-boned you this morning. Unfortunately he made the same mistake as I did in thinking that you were at fault. Although I would have to side with him on this matter. Based on a very small sample size it seems as though 20 out of every 60 seconds you spend on the road you’re being honked at. This should be a sign to you. Perhaps you need to reevaluate things. Maybe take another drivers’ education course. Or take more taxis. It seems to me that the only reason you’re still alive is because of the safe driving of the people around, which obviously you don’t realize because you drive with your eyes closed. I hope you can take my advice to heart, no one to see flying through a windshield one day.

Sincerely,

Eric

Criminals Aren't Smart Sometimes.

Last weekend was somewhat disorienting for me. I guess it was the extra day but really the whole weekend seemed strange. It really feels like it was much longer than three days. Probably because I had a horrendous hangover on Sunday. You know the kind of day when you’re really hung over and you don’t get out of bed until the late afternoon, but that later that night you’re feeling better so you end up doing something and it feels like it was two separate days? That was my whole weekend I think. As a result it’s really thrown me off my blog game. I’m out of sorts. It’s a combination of things: I can’t think of anything to write, I don’t feel like writing about things I could write about (like how I went Maryland State Fair on Friday and it was the trashiest most awful/awesome thing I’ve ever seen, really I highly recommend it), and I don’t really know what day it is.

I decided to troll around my usually news sites this morning to see if there was anything I felt the need to comment on. Luciano Pavarotti died; I figured I could write something funny about that. You know, something along the lines of: What a shocker, didn’t see that one coming blah blah blah. Make a joke about cannolis or meat sauce or something. Basically the standard Pavarotti is fat joke. Then I saw he actually died of pancreatic cancer, not something related to his morbid obesity. Also it’s in poor taste and not that funny to make fun of dead people. Or fat people. Especially internationally beloved dead, fat people. I’m a dick.

I thought I might just give up. Put up a TWSSF post tomorrow and call it a week. Then I ran across this gem. A man shot himself in the leg fleeing the scene of a robbery inside RFK stadium. There are just so many great parts of this story. Apparently when security half-assedly (it’s a word) waves those wands around my crotch their doing absolutely nothing to ensure my safety because this dude didn’t seem to have a problem getting a gun past them. Clearly he isn’t some criminal mastermind who devised an ingenious scheme to get a gun on the premises for the sake of a robbery because he attempted to rob a vendor ON THE FIFTH FLOOR. Seriously, the top floor of the stadium is where you decide to stage this daring raid? Not the first floor so you can run right outside and get away. Not to mention that’s the upper deck. Where the poor people sit. Who’s buying more $9 personal pizzas; the people fighting a nose bleed a mile high in the bleachers or the people in the box seats? I’ll grant you one reprieve, there’s probably less security on that floor, but you still have to run past the security on all the other floors. Although based on their previously stated wanding skills it’s probably not shocking that you managed to make it outside before they caught you. Maybe you thought this out better than I thought robber. I just wish I was there to see the chase. Imagine how hilarious it was watching them wind back and forth down those ramps. It’s like a high speed chase down a spiral staircase.

Now about the gun. Clearly the plan was to ditch it when you were outside the stadium. My advice to you sir, ditch it before shooting yourself in the leg. Running is hard with a gunshot wound.

Here’s another query I have: why travel from Baltimore to robbed a stadium in D.C.? There’s a stadium in Baltimore as well. I’ve been there, it’s nice. Also, you know those security guards they have at RFK pretending to care if you bring a gun in? Well they don’t even have those in Baltimore. Its fool proof, not even the slightest chance getting caught before you pull off the robbery. Plus instead of hopping fences and shooting yourself in the leg you could just run home, kick your feet up, and count your money. All in all I’d say that was a pretty awful plan. My favorite part of this article though was the last sentence. Thanks for mentioning the Nats won, that’s just icing on the cake.