Underpants On The Outside

If there’s one thing I’ve learned while stereotyping old people, it’s that as they get older they tend to become more and more afraid of death and more and more fond of cats.  So I imagine the folks in a certain nursing home in Providence, R.I., feel awfully conflicted whenever Oscar the Cat comes around, seeing as how he’s death incarnate.

According to this article, staff members at the nursing home have noticed that whenever Oscar cuddles up to someone, within four hours that person is usually dead. 

“He doesn’t make too many mistakes. He seems to understand when patients are about to die,”

says…A DOCTOR.  This cat amazes them, even though they work in a place where people’s children have left them to die.  I bet I could wow the shit out of them by sitting all the old folks around my “Twister Spinner of Doooooooooooom.” (“Left Foot Green…Say your goodbyes, Ira.  Hey, I see you trying to inch to your left, pal.  That’s not going to work; the board says you’re next.  C’mon, it’s not all bad - you get the next spin!”) 

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In its continued efforts to control everything in its immediate vicinity, China recently announced that it would be using rockets to prevent rain clouds before the 2008 Summer Olympics. Sweet. Nothing goes with an international gathering of goodwill better than rockets.

There are so many things to enjoy about this article. Such as:

China has already guaranteed perfect weather for the August 2008 Games, but until now had not said how it would make sure its forecast comes true.

Clearly China suffers from the same bizarre cleanliness-based insecurities as my mother, who would rush around the house, shouting that company was coming over so for God’s sake someone make sure the lint trap in the dryer was clean. Either that or the U.N. must be like high school. It rains on China’s Olympics, then the next thing you know France and the U.S. are snickering behind its back and India is sitting in China’s seat at the cool kids’ table that is the Security Council. Come to think of it, swap out rain for “menstrual bleeding” and you’ve got the beginning of Carrie. (You KNOW Russia is over there screaming, “They’re all going to laugh at you!!!”) Note to current presidential administration: should there be any unfortunate meteorological occurrences during the Olympics, please do not tease China. Yes, it would be funny to play “Make it Rain” the next time the ambassador comes over, or to pour a bucket of rain water on his head, but it’s just not worth the risk of the entire nation suddenly developing telekinetic powers.

Also, everyone knows the bit where you see a mosquito land on your buddy, so you punch that mosquito as hard as you can. It’s funny because you can punch your friend, and ultimately he has to thank you for it. I can just see it:

China: Hey, Taiwan – you guys still going on about that whole “independence” thing?
Taiwan: Of course we are. We demand that you respect our rights as a sovereign- [BOOM!] What the hell was that???
China: Oh man, that was close! That cloud was just about to land on you! You’re lucky I was here to shoot it.
Taiwan: What? What cloud? I don’t see any cloud…
China: How did you not see it!? It was huge! I didn’t get a great look, but it might have even been a cumulo nimbus. I can’t believe you missed it. Anyway, you were saying?
Taiwan: Ah, yes. I was saying that we see ourselves as a foreign entity, under forced rule by the People’s Repub- [BOOM!]
China: There it goes again!

I also like the idea of some public relations official guaranteeing nice weather while dozens of government scientists turn to each other asking, “Can we do that? I don’t think we can do that. Who told him we can do that?” It’s like a grand-scale, real-life Dilbert strip.

All in all, don’t the Chinese realize they are blatantly tempting the gods here? It doesn’t tend to work out well. Greece has quite a bit of literature on the subject. (Please refer to Odyssey, The) So to all of our Olympians: please don’t forget your umbrellas.

P.S. Z’s bad joke of the post: Beijing sure Beijinxed themselves on this one.

First of all, as you read this you’ll see why the title is such an awful joke. My bad.

Recently I came across this article. Several members of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders went tandem skydiving with members of the Army Golden Knights, an elite paratrooper unit. And while I know those guys have a very dangerous job and train incredibly hard…well, I’m sure no one had a tough time getting out of bed that morning.

The thing about the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders is that they’re a lot like nurses, stewardesses and Hooters waitresses. They’re not as hot as they used to be, but there’s still a sexual mystique about them, a holdover from the generations that remember WWII. What I mean is that if an American male ever has the chance to have sex with one, he sort of feels compelled to, because his father would be incredibly proud. And jealous. It’s all very Oedipal.

In any case, no matter what these cheerleaders looked like, those guys were working on ‘em (as they should have). Then I started thinking of skydiving-based pickup lines they might have used I would have used in that situation, like, “Have you ever felt the earth move from ten thousand feet above it?” Then I kicked it up a notch in terms of planning and creepiness, and the following is how the orientation speech would have gone that morning if I was running it and it wasn’t for things like subtlety and the women’s rights movement.

———–

Good morning, ladies. I’m Lieutenant Z, and on behalf of the rest of the Golden Knights I’d like to welcome you to Fort Worth. As you know, today you will be doing a tandem skydive from a height of 13,500 feet. It’s actually only ten thousand feet, but we tell the ladies it’s longer – ha ha, that’s a little paratrooper humor for you.

Now, before we get started, let me ask you all a question: who wants to join the two and a half mile high club? I have to warn you, by the time you officially join, it may be more like the mile, mile and a quarter club. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But seriously, if you’re interested, please see Corporal Thompson over to my right, he has some waivers you’ll need to sign.

Upon exiting the plane, you will be experiencing sixty seconds of freefall. Many women owe the best sixty seconds of their lives to one of us – some of them have even gone skydiving, too! HI YO! Hopefully someone’s writing these down, because I’m on fire today! But back to freefalling, when you leave that airplane, you’re going to want to arch your back with your arms and legs spread-eagle. We’ll cover this in more detail later, but this will help your partner control your descent. Who knows, maybe he’ll throw in a few exciting rolls or flips…. It will also provide him the chance to double-check your harness, particularly the troublesome buckles in the chest and upper-thigh areas. We care about your safety. That’s our job.

At this time I am legally obligated to read the following statement:

The parachutes we will be using today do not feature two primary rip cords. If you are told any conflicting information by your jump partner, please inform the Officer In Charge, particularly in the case that one of the rip cords is unusually flesh-like in coloration, and you are instructed to ‘be gentle with it.’

Blah blah blah, legal mumbo jumbo…– hey, did you come here for jury duty or to jump out of a plane? There was an isolated incident a long time ago, but let me assure you that all of the guilty parties have been reprimanded. Which actually reminds me, let’s welcome back Sgt. Davis, who has just returned from a six-month unpaid leave of absence – say hi, Charlie!

I bet some of you have questions. One that I hear a lot is, “Hey, Lieutenant Z, can I get pregnant in mid-air?” No, you cannot. It has something to do with air pressure, but don’t ask me to explain it unless you’re also willing to ask your OB-GYN to jump out of a plane in the middle of the night, two miles above enemy territory.

Okay, that’s all the time we have for Q&A. It’s time for us to split up into pairs, but before we do, let me leave you with one final thought. Most of you have probably never seen what a human body looks like after hitting the ground from two and a half miles up. Hopefully you never will, because it’s beyond the power of words to describe. So take my word for it – having sex with your partner is a lot more preferable, if you catch my drift. That even goes for whoever’s stuck with Sgt. “Cease-and-Desist” Davis over there.

Have fun up there ladies, and just so you know, we’re all shipping out tomorrow morning – this could be our last night on Earth.

I like to change my look up every few months (yes, I’ll have that turd gift-wrapped, please). My behavior suggests that I think I’m only an outfit and a haircut away from looking like Johnny Depp, even though I’m limited in what I can actually improve – I have no sense of fashion, no desire to buy new clothes, and my hair is falling out. Changing my look mostly consists of me growing a beard.

Currently I’m going with ol’ reliable: the goatee. I think it adds an element of badassery that I otherwise lack; Wonder Woman thinks that it looks “stupid” and “ugly” and makes my nose “look like a clitoris.” (That last one might not have been her exact wording.)

I counter that I’ve worn my goatee for most of my adult life, and that every time I’ve slept with someone new the goatee was riding upper-lip shotgun*. Then I remember how rare of an occurrence it was for me to sleep with new people; Wonder Woman still doesn’t know why every discussion of my facial hair ends with me crying.

Well, it’s time I settled this once and for all, so like I do with any serious relationship problem, I’m turning to the Internet for solutions. I want you, the reader, to be involved in my Underpants.

The following are photos of my three standard facial hair styles, along with pros and cons of each. Despite the fact that this is one of the most inane polls of all time, please read and vote in the comments section. Female voters may vote on a scale from one to ten, indicating how many times you’d like to do it with me**. Recent appearances in a Victoria’s Secret catalog and/or a ginormous rack will also be taken into consideration, so please make sure to mention either of those.

#1: The Goatee, aka “The Ring of Desire” or “The One Ring to rule them all and in the darkness- ah fuck, I’m a nerd.”

Pros:

• Clearly, I’m popular.
• Bad-assishness – I have never been mugged while wearing a goatee. Then again, that could be related to my tiger repellant, which seems to be working like a charm.
• Razor Burn: minimal
• Previous Vaginas (actualized; see above…I mean what I wrote, not the Asian girl. She had better things to do.)
• Saves Flavors: Tomato-based sauces, cheese-based sauces, soups, vagina (see above. No, still not the Asian girl.)
• No longer need alarm clock; can wake up to girlfriend telling me I look awful.

Cons:

• Girlfriend’s Sexual Desire: minimal
• Unrealized Vaginas: Theoretical, though I’m starting to suspect it’s a significant figure. Like…two…maybe even THREE!
• Insufficient refrigeration for the proper storage of perishable foodstuffs, particularly dairy products.
• Girlfriend does not have snooze button; does not appreciate being poked in the face while I confirm lack of snooze button.

#2: The Mountain Man

Pros:

• Still, obviously, popular.
• People seem to think I know how to fix cars.
• Razor Burn: none
• Girlfriend’s Sexual Desire: moderate; clouds in the afternoon, slight chance of humping.
• Scratching it makes me appear contemplative, therefore smart.

Cons:

• A contemplative appearance is remarkably similar to that of having several contagious rashes.
• I don’t know how to fix cars. When I think about the problem I scratch my beard, then people think I have eczema.

#3: The Baby’s Bottom

Pros:

• If only posing with your arm around someone were equivalent to sex. I’d be a porn star.
• Girlfriend’s Sexual Desire: Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge.
• Allow me to reiterate: we hump like dragons.

Cons:

• I’m not a machine, woman!
• Razor Burn: constant

Let the voting BEGIN!

*There’s been one exception, who likes to remind me of that whenever she’s telling me to shave.

**Note: “I’m tired,” “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” and “Oh, dear God, NO!” are no longer acceptable answers.