I want a fanny pack.  I have a phone, camera, mp3 player, and a pair of sunglasses, but you know what I don’t have?  Big pockets.  I’ve got an over-the-shoulder bag (I really hate calling them “male bags”), but it’s excessive, and then I have to ask my girlfriend to watch my purse while I go to the bathroom. 

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I Do Something Stupid: 2/8/06

I’m writing something that I’d like to get published on some site or another, and I had a print out of it because I wanted to look it over and I had a few minutes during my lunch break.  I’m not going to give away the gist of it away, and keep in mind it’s a humor column, which means it’s 10% exaggeuration, 89% lie, and 1% funny, but the following sentences appear in it:

  •  NOT THINKING ABOUT YOUR HERPES NOW, ARE YOU? (In bold, no less)
  •  “No, I gave you genital warts…you’ll see.”  (Also in bold)
  •  my penis enters a lot of hot skanky vaginas

Now, I’m not sure what my boss saw.  She was only behind my desk for maybe a minute, and her eyesight is not terrific.  All in all though, I think I can rule out Sleeping My Way To The Top.  Guess I have to think of a Plan B.

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Big Brother’s Big Shout-Out

As you might have noticed, Underpants has an AWESOME new banner today that is decidedly less allegedly homosexual than all that came before it, and I owe a big thank-you to Big Brother.

He was the one who pushed me to start a site in the first place, pushed me more when I was slacking on my posting, and he has spent hours dicking around with Photoshop while I’m on the phone asking questions like “Can you make it look… I don’t know… better?”  Even more than that, the guy has been helping me while he’s got a three month-old baby, a wife in medical school, and a business of his own he’s trying to start.  So, y’know, he’s got a lot of spare time.

So let’s all give a big hand to my best friend: BIG BROTHER!

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Last season, I got into 24 quite a bit. Most people I know say it’s the best show on television, and I have to admit, I see their point. I’m mostly impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I’m going to compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day.

Jack’s day, 1-2 PM: There are terrorists with a truck full of nerve gas driving around Los Angeles.  Luckily, our leaders in government plan for situations like this.  From the top down, strong decisive action is in the works, right?  Yep.  Something like that.  Except it sounds more like a girl Jack picked up in the bar last night. 

The President: “Jack, what do we do now?”  

 (Jack mumbles something about letting CTU handle it.)

“Why are you leaving?”

“Uh… I got an early meeting, babe… I’m going to go get some smokes… DAMN, MR PRESIDENT, GIVE ME SOME SPACE!  I CAN’T BE TIED DOWN!”

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On friday nights, I play in a recreational soccer league.  It’s a good time, I get some exercise, and then the league usually goes out for drinks afterwards.  I play goal keeper.  Four weeks ago, after a game in which I did not allow a goal and made several athletic saves, I had a couple beers and got a little… cocky.  I was talking with some players on another team when they asked me “what position do you play?”

“Keeper,” I said.  “And do you know what they call me?  THE DIAPHRAGM, BECAUSE YOU AIN’T NEVER IMPREGNATIN’ THIS!”  To top it off, I did a dance.  Why, oh why the fuck did I do a dance?

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Okay, so his execution wasn’t the best; you still have to admit that the idea sounds AWESOME.

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I do something stupid: 2/2/06

See post below. 

T-minus 9 hours until apology.  (love you baby!)

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Every February, I get a little worried about a certain holiday, wondering how to spend it with my own special someone.

That’s right; today is Groundhog Day.  It’s a tough holiday for me and the girlfriend, because she hates the movie, and more specifically, Bill Murray.  Which means every February 2nd I have to ask myself: I should break up with her over this…right?

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More IT woes

I sit by the IT department, where there is currently a man whistling.  There are three reasons why this is not okay: I don’t work in construction, I’m not in a chain gang, and he’s not a dwarf.

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