It's mayhem...

Sometimes people ask me if all this fame coming from quiet-ramblings.com has gone to my head.  I think by now we all know that sugar coating and beating around the bush isn't really my style.  So I look said fans and/or jealous counter parts right in the face and reply, "absolutely".  Then I show them a map that plots the locations of my global followers and I say, "smoke this".

I can't help it that I was genetically reconfigured with ninja DNA.  Did I choose to be a lab rat for the CIA the day after I was circumcised?  OK, you got me, I probably did.  I was laying there while the doc did his deed with no analgesics, gazing across the nursery at all the other crying babies.  So I didn't see what all the fuss was about.  Apparently the CIA was recruiting that day (I can't be sure the details still remain fuzzy to this day, plus after every briefing the
Image by DonkeyHotey via Flickragents would say, "this never happened,"  to which I had to reply, "what never happened,")  It was all very covert.  Surely sometime around age four I was kidnapped by the secret order of the Shaolin Ninja Dynasty somewhere in Japan, at which point I retrained aging ninjas.  Look that's all I can say, my point is: How could someone judge me for being the bad ass that I am.

Now that we've got all the sponsor mandated self promotion taken care, I'd like to move to a subject of great importance.  Some of you may not be aware, but I want you to know that there is no known immunity to the video/social/computer game epidemic.  Think about it Mr. "I control my own destiny", what were you saying the last time you played Words With Friends.  I bet it was, "Just a couple more rounds than I'm going to bed."  We all know that you were up til 3AM trying to shake the demons.  I bet you're playing right now.  When you finally put your foot down and called it a night, Was the sun up?  Did you have enough time to empty a bladder that you've been ignoring for hours?  If you're fortunate to be sober, I warn you, do not jump on the next gaming wagon.  It could be your last.

Writer's block...

Image via WikipediaOk folks, it's time to come clean.  Lately I've been running in strict improv mode.  You see being a student again has given me a daily live venue to debate all the moral dilemmas that we face as Americans.  And get this, there's no principal's office.  Apparently I'm supposed to be mature and understand how to behave during class.  Seriously?  Don't people know that I'm not capable of such nonsense?  So my loving classmates are now the privileged recipients of the overflowing pools of knowledge that can not be contained in my head.  When I say "can not", I honestly mean I don't have a choice.  Apparently when my brain was being manufactured in the "mind factory" some tweaker on the assembly line, who's in charge of installing the part of our brain that filters out innappropriate comments in social situations, was coming down off a three day high and fell asleep.  Well, there was probably a new guy or a fill-in running quality control too, because I got passed there undetected as well.  Anyways with an open venue to discuss mind blowing subjects such as anatomy and nursing theory (...zzzzzz), I arrive home at night pretty spent.  

So here I am left to question my own awesomeness.  Don't get confused it is not a question of awesomeness, it is more like--where do I stand?  Am I at level: super awesome or inconceiveably awesome to the 10th power.  You see, I thought that there was an endless fountain of knowledge and incredibly lucid quips constantly flowing from my mind.  It appears that economists may be on to something when they all agree that even on this great earth raw materials are limited.  Although I'd love to support "common belief" and be just another sheep in the herd, I prefer the lonely road.  Could it be, that maybe there is no deficit of knowledge and maybe there is a filter?  Maybe the filter just needs to be delved from bellow the layers of white matter (that's the quick part of the brainage).

Now I'm just confusing myself.  I just want my little soldiers to know that the revolution is still very much alive.  Unfortunately, my mad skills are being used up on sexual innuendos during talk of reproductive organs...

la verdad es que....

Image via Wikipedia
Sometimes your just too busy to release the thundering words of encouragement, that are carefully threaded through each majestic blog post.  People left and right are offering me hundreds and thousands of dollars to bleed out another post.  To this I reply, "I realize that my superfluous lyrics are engraved upon your hearts, but the only reward I can accept is the joy of seeing more and more people boycotting Subarus; that we're no longer pulling over for policeman during rush hour (for they damn well know better than to further inhibit the flow of comerce); and that we as a unit have set the revolution is motion."  I can understand the sorrow that may come each day for the many who currently have this url set as their homepage and fire up their computer to find nothing but another old post.

Let's think about this police canandrum for a minute here.  Having to commute to work or school alongside thousands of others, who no doubt hate whatever working enviornment lays before them, is painful enough.  To further twist the knife there are individuals known as police officers, that have the gall to issue citations for driving over the speed limit.  Seriously Officers?  You can't even break the speed limit during rush hour.  For the few people that magically manage to break the speed limit, I think a reward is necessary.  Rather than pull them over and further slow up every other individual, why not clear the road for people willing to drive at a decent rate.

All I'm saying is quit ruining my day...

Don't P in my bucket...

Image via WikipediaWell it seems as though I've been able to hush the voices in my head lately, because they haven't highjacked my body and brought me to my venue in a while.  I've actually been hiding all week.  I was really counting on the world to end last week, as predicted.  So I had to perform a few illegal activities in order to check off items on my bucket list.

The first problem with my bucket list: it is designed based on the assumption that I will one day be rich and successful.  I seem to have dominated every critical aspect, with the exception of wealth.  I've come to grips with the fact that every lucrative idea, that I choose to harbor, turns out to be quite the opposite.  People tell me that money doesn't grow on trees, to which I reply–B.S..  Isn't money maid from trees?  I don't want to overanalyze here.

My Point is: in order to meet the demands of a demanding bucket list, I had to come up with some money quick.

FYI-Robbing a 7-11 is a bad idea.  It takes them forever to get out a five dollar bill.  Of course I've realized this once or twice before.  It seems I always get stuck in line behind the one idiot who has to have the exact package of cigarettes, 20 different lotto tickets, and doesn't realize that there're 5 people lined up to kick him in the nuts.

Eventually I made ends meet.  Let's just say I don't have a fool-proof alibi for how I attained the Ferrari in my driveway.

Moral:  Don't wait to start on that bucket list.  If some moron has miscalculated the exact day the world will end, he might screw-up the math again.

another fork in the road...

Image via WikipediaLately I've been distracted by school and whatever other "extremely important" matters have crossed my path.  This last term I got four As and one B.  Even though that one B was in Microbiology (keep in mind that all my performance in all previous Biology classes provoked school and government mandated testing to see if was in need of "special attention", after which all signs pointed to--he's just a lazy no good [bleep x5]), I was still pissed that I got a B.  I should also mention getting a 3.0 was like some unachievable mystery to me that involved a level of concentration and will that would simply not be granted to me in this life.  I really wanted all As just to say I did it (what I mean there, is shove it in everybody's face.  I mean cram it in their face while prancing around shouting--who's your daddy?).

Anyways with all that extra attention geared towards learning, I've neglected what I was sent her to do.  You see shortly after I married my most excellent wife, I noticed that my decrease in physical activity became evident in a belly that I hadn't seen in years.  I hated that belly, because it was equipped with stringy arms and perfect target for ridicule.  Let's just clarify that I have nothing against ridicule, I just don't like to see it aimed in my direction.  So shortly after marriage, I decided to partake in a Forrest Gump like lifestyle- "and from that day forth, I was a running."  I enjoyed the fact that, probably just like Forrest, it made me feel less retarded.  It was my very passion towards running that led me to start my first blog (I started it about 3 years ago and it has a solid 2-3 posts total).  My problem, I guess, is that I haven't learned how to intertwine being a smartass and a runner.

Either way, my running activity has been slipping.  It also so happens, that I'm planning on running my 6th marathon this summer.  So once again, I will regain power and hope to use my running blog as my fuel to keep me going.  If you have the stomach to follow me on that blog as well I welcome you and your sharp criticism: hamstringspasm.blogspot.com

I'm also in the works of creating a blog dedicated to the field of nursing, as I will be entering.  It is at a very rough development, but should be promising.  nursesandmurses.blogspot.com Of course, we all know that the thought of me keeping all these current would require a performance beyond miraculous.

We'll see...

You can do it...

Wifey has received some sort of supernatural strength, that pushed her into another manic chapter of life.  She started by bouncing around the house on Saturday  morning, doing all kinds of--who knows what--while I'm trying to figure out why someone is up so early.  I saw her posting up some kind of strange messages throughout the room.  I couldn't read half of them due to the fact that my glasses weren't on and the font color was impossibly bright.  I soon discovered that she had been filling the walls with positive affirmations.  Normally I would take this opportunity to discuss this affirmations in a very sarcastic tone.  What I chose to do instead is make some positive affirmations of my own.  Once I realized the brilliance in these one liners and the new positive zest that it brought to my life, I felt the need to share.  I'm pretty sure that the rules for this type of motivation shouldn't include negative words such as not or no, but seeing how Wifey broke the rules I figured I can to.  So here's my top ten (feel free to use them when you're reaching for that untapped motivation):

1.  I am strong like bull
2.  I my male identifiers are at the very least close to average size
3.  Mediocre is not last place
4.  IQ does not measure such factors like: # of friends on facebook, how big the lenses are on my sun glasses, and ninja skills.
Image via Wikipedia5.  At least my IQ qualifies me for all kinds of freebies from the government, some people have to walk around expos all day long to get free stuff.  All I have to do is misbehave in public.
6.  I could probably beat up most handicapped people, as long as blindside them.
7.  People at the top are always subject to negative publicity.  Who wants all that bad attention anyways? (Trump?)

Image via Wikipedia

8.  When the going gets tough, find something that you don't suck at.
9.  You do not make mistakes, everything you do is on purpose.  The free market can't tell the difference anyways.
10.  When people call you quitter, horse's ass, pathetic, waste of oxygen molecules, etc., they're probably either jealous or using some terms of endearment that haven't quite caught on yet.

and if none of those work:

11.  I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and da gone it people likes me.

a day day...

I'm not one to give others a chance in the spotlight, but lately I've been seeing good things on youtube that I just couldn't pass up.  This particular video totally applies to this blog.  So pop up the corn and sit back.

Hey ma-by-law...

Dear Lil' Mama,

From Mom to Damn-ma, thanks for being all that you can be... and then some.  I'm sorry that you had to wait to get a son-in-law to finally feel like you have a decent child.  I'm also sorry that your second son-in-law is such a disappointment.  I tried my best to show strong objection, but I fear it only reinforced negative behavior.  When it gets tough, try doing what I do when someone asks me if I have a brother-in-law on my wife's side, and say NO.

Thanks for all your help around our house, watching the kids, and noticing the little things that I do to try to get under your skin.  When you specifically go out of your way to mess with someone and they don't even notice, it can be very frustrating.  Sometimes I come home tired and grumpy, but then Nikole will tell me how you were over and something I did around the house provoked an anti-male rant, and it turns that frown right upside down.

Thanks for being an awesome Mom.  I could only imagine the difficulty of mothering 3 girls along side a man who clearly displays at least 16 mental disorders, that I'm aware of.  I hope you have a great day.

Love,
Your humble, full of grace son-in-law--Lee

BTW--I heard you finally got an iPhone.  Talk about irony, once I decided to order you an iPhone for mother's day through your Verizon account, you go and get your own.  Oh well I'll just have them attach it to my number.  Happy Mother's Day!

Hey ma, happy day...

Dearest Mother, who carried me in her belly for 9 months and assumed full legal responsibility of me clear until the age of 18 (hopefully the 9 months part is true, otherwise I think it's time to confirm my speculations),

Thank you for raising me and laughing at all my jokes, even when they weren't that funny and didn't make any sense.  I also appreciate having someone to go to, that actually falls for my "I'm a martyr routine".  You've done good, except of course with the youngest, but we don't even know how he showed up in our family.  I'm not trying to start any rumors but seriously, could we see some solid DNA evidence? It's not easy taking care of 6 kids, and even more so since none of them could be more like me.  Thanks for challenging me and never telling my siblings that I'm your only REAL favorite.  It would have caused a lot of unnecessary drama had they known.  Thanks for helping my wife and I to continue to be students for life, even though our degrees will clearly NOT represent the countless hours of schooling.  I'm sure it's tough telling people, "yeah, my sons in school again, and no, he's not a doctor.  He's not even in grad school."  It could be worse though, I could have been a dentist.  All that schooling, yet they appear to gain no knowledge.  Sometimes I swear that it is common procedure to give all dental patients a lobotomy.

Thanks for all you do!  The kids are grateful too.  And I'm grateful that they're grateful, because it makes it that much easier to dump them on you.

Love ya,

Your greatest son ever--Lee

Querida wifey feliz dia de madre...

Image via WikipediaDear Wife and Mother (of at least 3 of my children.  Hopefully that's all I have, and hopefully they're all mine.  I can handle the truth, because if I found out that I was puttin' up with drama from somebody else's kitten, it would be the opposite of good.),

Just to clear the air and confirm the speculation, I do love it when you call me big pappa.  I also love it when you wave your hands in the air like you just don't cur.

As I sit here staring at you peacefully sleeping on the couch (mild snore, regular breathing pattern), I can't help but look down the long journey we've taken.  As I look I think--what were we thinking and why didn't anybody talk us out of it?  Of course I'm referring to the three young "princesses" that run around the house with red pitchforks and pointy red ears, and not our marriage.  It's been T-riffic watching you put up with me.  Thanks for keepin' on with the keepin' on.  You're one cool mama with an attitude all full of spiciness.  If it wasn't for you our children would run all over me.  Sometimes I feel like an old person being scammed by a salesman, then you swoop in and remind me that our children have a very elaborate MO.  Let's just face it, if it wasn't for you vigilance and Hi Def 3-D vision, they'd be a hurtin'.  You've watched over them like a hawk ready to take on Tony the Tiger, if necessary.  And with Tony's sadist smile on that cereal box, it's always necessary.  "Grrrrrreat", he says.  What's so great about you Tony?  Did you go through 9 months of incoherent speech and bipolar like symptoms, only to be ended be a long excruciating labor?

Thanks for being such a great nurturer to our children, and constantly reminding me how to check and see if I'm still breathing.  Hold up... yep, still 48 bpms.  All seriousness aside, I love you approximately 78% more than Romeo loved that one chick he was after, who also happened to have a crazy extended family.  Anybody who acts surprised by that remark, might be the direct recipient.

Anyways, Happy Mother's Day.  We love you (speaking for myself and the children that are believed to be ours).  I hope you don't ever wise up some day and chirp them tires, leaving me and the kiddos to point fingers.  (They always gang up on me.  You can't out ninja Tha Ninja.)  Love you much.

Con besos y pesos (porque ya no tengo dolares... soy pobre, que hago?),

Your breathtakingly sexy husband.

You can't handle the truth...

Image via WikipediaThe whole world wants to know if Bin Laden is really dead.  Then they're wondering if there was any intent to take him alive.  Let's think about this for a minute.  First of all, how many special trained ninja navy seal operatives were craving this opportunity?  Imagine them cruising the world like Jason Bourne and the other members of Treadstone project.  For once, the spies are sending texts to their bosses saying, "pick me, pick me, pleeeeease pick me."  They're all giddy sitting in their hideouts polishing their guns 50 times and manufacturing their own bullets, that could take down a 100 year old oak tree in one round.  Do you really think that the few who got the chance to go were thinking "capture alive"?  No sir, they certainly were not.  I'm guessing that after they busted in there, they thought their guns couldn't fire fast enough.  Reloading clip after clip, "we just want to make sure".  Typical cake and fat kid scenario, all impulse.

Of course, if you've ever seen the movie Salt or Tomb Raider or Assassins, you might have envisioned a more plausible scenario.  Like, Angelina Jolie (tight black leather for aerodynamics and stealth) cruising on a Honda crotch rocket (all black).  Takes out 15 guards on the way to the gate, back flip of the bike, perfect Olympic gymnastic landing, the bike hits the gate and explodes.  She comes out of the flames into the courtyard with that serious yet seductive look.  Takes out 10 more militants, 8 by gun, 2 by ninja kick after a boost off the wall.  She disappears into the shadows, chaos everywhere.  Works her way up to Numb Nuts royal bedroom (mind you Pakistani government is completely unaware of this palace--I get where this could cause confusion given that his suite alone is a city block).  She pimp slaps the two guards at the door, kicks them in the groin, seductive grin at the security camera, scissor kick to ceiling camera, fuzzy screen.  Bin Laden's stupid grin turns to Oh S#!* to the 5th power.  AJ fakes out Bin Laden by entering from the ceiling (he's currently waiting at the door with a safety padding of a handful of wives), AJ lands in a crouched position with missile lock in her eyes.  Tak
Cover via Amazones out 5 wives, clean shot to the forehead.  Osama (I'll have to double check the spelling with Fox News) craps his pants.  His hands are shaking so bad he drops his gun--dumbstruck.  He realizes the "Evil West" is done playing games (we pulled out the AJ, since the Taliban alone isn't really blockbuster material).   AJ- double front flip with a 180, snags a conveniently placed pull-up bar.  Swings over his shoulder from behind, ninja leg squeeze.  Osama drops to the floor, time of death--who cares.  AJ-reverse stealth out of there, rides in the back of an old truck smiling, as the sun begins to rise.  Navy seals arrive emptying clips on B Lad.  AJ- tropical beach.  Ship with B Lad sets sail and the lights in the ship cut out.  Autopsy moved to main deck.  Drinking game leads to truth or dare.  Dare- throw B Lad into the deep blue, after removal of his head (there Navy Seals, just because they're heavily intoxicated doesn't mean they're too irresponsible to save the head for testing).

I'm not saying I was there, but I've seen enough movies to know how this stuff goes down.

Now that we've debriefed and solved most mysteries,  we can count on Trump to close the deal.  Now, can we get back to other matters of importance.  I want to know- is Cappadonna officailly the tenth member of WuTang Clan or not?  I know different members of the clan have made statements to the press informing us that he is in fact a member, but I want to see documentation!  It seemed official on "The W" album, then we had some drama.  If he was reunited, why isn't he pictured with the clan on the "8 diagrams" album.  I don't think Ol' Dirty Bastard is going to come back from the dead to cast his official vote.  Maybe Trump could also get the ball rolling here too?  While we're at it can I vote in Redman?
Cover of Wu-Tang Clan
I think I'm entitled...

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Get in ma belly...

Image via Wikipedia "I got bigger teetees than you do!"
Has anybody ever clicked on these ads on the internet about abs?  You know what I'm talking about, the ones that say--loose 200 lbs. of belly fat by obeying these three age old rules.  Seriously, you think I'm going to buy whatever crap your selling, because some old philosophy?  If this philosophy has been around for so long, then why would I need to pay you to hear about it.  It's amazing though, how it totally plays mind games with the Curious George part of my brain.  I'm sitting here thinking--what are these age old secrets?  Then it becomes an itch that I can't get rid of.

I'm positive that no matter what their "secrets" are, I would never implement them into my non-existent work-out regime.  Still, curiousity has me by the gut (you thought I was going to say balls, didn't you?).  If it didn't involve a committment from my credit card company (on my behalf), I'd probably look further into the matter.  I'm pretty sure after a drum roll goes off in my head, that the page would load and reveal the secrets.  It would probably say something like:  "Doing sit ups three times a day (after each meal) will help you burn all your belly fat".  Then I would think--Damn! I knew it, frickin' sit-ups.  Not a chance am I doing sit-ups.  There is nothing that I hate more than sit-ups.  All that pain in the abs, then they feel like they're on fire.  Laid down, sit back up, lay down (why am I doing this), grudgingly sit back up--No Thanks!  Every time I see someone doing sit-ups, I wonder what they did to piss their own self off soooo bad.  I'm pretty sure sit-ups are the most grueling part of the Opus Dei doctorine.  I'm not confirming this, but it does sound pretty intense.
Image via Wikipedia "What a tool!"
What if you click on that ad, pay the money, and it said--"It has been confirmed by the ancient Mayans that ordering two scoops of chocolate ice cream, with gummy bear and Kit Kat mix-ins at Cold Stone, increases your metabolism by 340-363%"?  I'd be like--sweet, no longer will my shoes be lost in the mysterious land below my belly.  I can finally stop hogging the worlds supply of elastic and share.  I will no longer get laughed at for filling my back pack in the buffet lines!  Who am I kiddin'?  I don't need to see my feet, I can feel them.
Image via Wikipedia

Maybe your a skeptic so you Google Cold Stone to see when their company was founded.  "It just doesn't seem to add up.  The Mayans invented Cold Stone, and we're just barely rediscovering it.  Who's the punk that said--no more Cold Stone, lets do sit-ups."

It just doesn't seem to add up...

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If you don't know, now you know...

Image via WikipediaIt's been another week full of people on each commute to piss me off.  A particular lady really got the best of me this week.  First of all, she was driving way too slow for my comfort and psychological well being.  Sometimes I think that there are people out driving around, with no purpose whatsoever but add to traffic.  Kinda like the movie the Truman Show, when he tries to leave the "island", all kinds of cars just show up to block his way.  Am I the only one who has a fixed destination?  So this particular lady has one of the strangest driving habits I've ever seen.  Keep in mind she's forming what's known as a "Mexican Roadblock" with the adjacent car, with only two lanes to choose from.  So naturally I'm about 3 inches from her bumper in an attempt to give her a clue like, "hey lady get the hell out of my way!"  She didn't get the memo.  What she was doing was swerving as if there was something dangerous in the road.  Due to my limited vision of anything other than the back of her Camry, I was forced to follow suite.  After dodging three, of what must been some type of large animals in the road, my neuro-pathways refused to subscribe to such coincidence.

I backed up enough to see what we were both swerving for; and what I saw was so astonishing that my mind sailed away from all things present in search of a valid explanation for this crazy behavior.  This lady was swerving for manhole covers.  As a general rule I don't swerve for anything other than potholes of a minimum 3" depth or animals that are tall enough to meet my gaze.  Anything else will be absorbed by the engineering of my truck.  But here we have this crazy lady swerving to protect herself from manhole covers.  What fear could possibly enter the human mind creating a need to conciously swerve around all manhole covers?  How could you even live with that type of anxiety?  Is she affraid that the cover will give and her entire car will be engulfed?  So there I was, all day long.  She's the idiot, yet I can not focus for the rest of the day because I can't believe what I just saw.  What I want to know is- why was this not addressed during her driving test?  Surely at some point the person administering the exam would say, "What the hell are you doing lady?"

But nooooo, we give all these idiots licenses.  And you wonder why people go postal...

Easter Bunny...

Tomorrow is Easter.  By some miracle I remembered to get all the crap that the Easter Bunny will get credit for.  Not only is it a miracle that I already got all that stuff, but that I did it because I foresaw that my wife would not be here on Saturday night and there would be no one to watch the kids, while I go to the store at midnight.  There's no specific strategy to going at midnight the night before, that's just when I remember to do it.  I could tell that even on Friday certain Easter products were running low, but you wouldn't believe what the store looks like at midnight the night before Easter or Valentines (pretty much the night before any holiday you can catch me walking into the only place open [Walmart], as I'm swearing at myself the whole time.).  When I roll in at my regular time they act like the holiday has already passed.  They're marking down items and moving them to some clearance isle.  They put up festive crap for the next holiday.  I always feel like people are glaring at me, when they see how much stuff I'm trying to purchase.  Usually at that time, anybody in there is just picking up a few last things.  I'm there to get everything.

At that point I realize that I'm going to have to make a lot of none holiday items look festive.  I also start bargaining with the employees for a markdown on open candy.  I strategically set up three different bartering stations, 2 near the holiday section and one on the other side of the store.  This way I can catch people with stuff in their carts that is sold out.  This part tends to involve creativity and manipulation.  I'm offering people tickets to concerts and sporting events that I don't even have tickets for.  Anything to get them to give up a giant Hersey Kiss or pascal colored M&Ms.  Sometimes we just have a thumb war or arm wrestling, of course there is always that one creeper in a trench coat that asks me to act like a dragon.

It is way too labor intensive.  I thought that if I took my kids to the movie Hop, they could realize that the Easter Bunny isn't real.  It was the perfect plan.  I'd act just as surprised as them, then I wouldn't get blamed for breaking the news.  Not only did it not crush the myth, it encouraged them.  I had to sit through that crap for 90 minutes.  Very disappointed...

Hanna...

Tonight Wifey and I managed to pull off date night.  Thanks to our support group (the in-laws), the children were cared for so that we could go out and pretend that we know how to get down.  Despite the fact that we've become super-lame when it comes to date night, we somehow managed to schedule the night, so that we could squeeze in a movie.  We usually show up to the theatre totally clueless and realize that there's not a single movie showing for an other hour and a half.  Our marriage is built to last but one and a half idle hours without a tour guide is like trying to see how many miles you can get out of a single oil change.  You might fold at 9,000 before the engine seizes, but the car is unhappy and severly worn out. I think you catch my drift.

Wifey wanted to go to some movie with the following genre: drama and romance.  Seriously?  I've put up with a lot of chick flicks, (mainly because I possess the ability to become temporarily deaf to all pitches of the Female voice [except for Whoopi unforturnately] and they'll throw in a Vince Vaughn or Owen Wilson and a few laughs), but if you think I'm going to something that is drama (serious) and romantic (logical fallacy) you must be crazy.  Luckily lil' sis was around to ask Wifey: "haven't you already seen that movie?"  That gave me the upper hand, so I put my foot down like a true Man!  I said NO and it felt great.

I had only heard enough about the movie Hanna to know that it was about some little spy-ninja chick and lots of kickin' booty.  So naturally I was inclined to have a looksy.  Besides, there is nothing in the theaters right now.  Seriously, walk up to a theater and read the movie titles; they may as well be written in Farsi or some other extremely foreign language.

So we went to Hanna thinking it was a Bourne type of movie.  What I wasn't prepared for was the acid trip  of a storyline that would make any sober person present (I being one), inspect their snacks and beverages for tampering.  I only slept about an hour last night because I was studying my brains out.  So when I sat in the theater waiting for the movie to not enter the creepy European modern art seen, I could have sworn someone was playing the prank on me.  I was marginally coherent.  The fight scenes were awesome and the story was unique; but the circus characters, disco lights, and techno-freakshow music was a little intense.  When I left the theater I was so disoriented that I had to have an usher walk me to my car.  Then the idea helps me struggle into the driver's seat and tells me, "have a safe drive".  Really?  How safe could this be?

I didn't see it coming...

hand in the cookie jar...

Image via WikipediaWell folks, I just want to let you know that this amazing source of information has now been viewed over 2,000 times.  Yes I'm talking about this blog.

Many thankses are due to the four of you who have spent countless hours running from computer to computer in the library and visiting my site.  I also want to thank my Mother-In-Law who will tie down anyone she can, to read them my blog.  She's getting desperate to prove that her daughter did not marry a total loser (boy does she have an odd strategy to back that claim, fortunately I don't have much for competition!).  I got caught snagging a pound of bacon out of her deep freeze.  That only made her more determined.  This was all after my wife gets on my case.  I explain to Wifey that the deep freeze and garage fridge are communal storage space (Mom knows this which is why she's cool with it, as long as I don't take all of her specially crushed ice that she gets at Sonic.  Sometimes that's the only thing she's allowed to have on whatever diet she's after).  I know at least once every 2 to 3 months I put a 24-pack of Diet Pepsi in that fridge; and I'm at least 96% sure that I only drink 22 of them.  With everybody on those insane diets around that house, they don't need bacon calling screaming from the garage at 5 am--"Let me out of this freezer.  I'll sizzle for you.  I'm juicy in all the right places."  No wonder they're always starting a new diet.  Man, that's good of me to take on that burden for them.

You've heard of "leave a penny take a penny", right?
Well that's new to me, I always heard it as "leave a penny take a dollar".  That just makes more "cents".  Why would anyone trade a penny for another?  Unless they're some kind of freak coin collector.  And I am no coin collector, I throw that crap out unless it's a quarter.  Coins are for people of a class sooo low that the thought of it makes me feel like I should ring my butler and have him fan me for an hour, just so that I can remember what someone of that class looks like.  (Funny thing is I don't even have a butler but when I'm too good to carry around coins, I feel like I could afford one.)  Besides, I have a hard enough time keeping my pants up, I don't need any insignificant coinage weighing me down.  How many more notches do I have to make in my belt, before it wraps around me twice?

My question is how many people are waiting anxiously each day for my latest blog post, but aren't sharing it with your friends?
So it's not just that the in-laws give freely of their bacon, or their Lexus SUVs for some 4-by when they're out of town (I can't believe that superglue has held the bumper on this long!), or their country club membership when I want to go somewhere where I can feel like a pimp and slap around the staff with my golf gloves (I feel like a true nobleman), or Ol' man's golf clubs (I knew that glue wouldn't hold, but Ol' Man gets pissed and throws his clubs so much that they're bound to brake soon), or their basement to host chicken fights (Silly Michael Vick used his own place--what a tool!), or their condo for hosting raves and charging $20 a head (It's so cute when Mom pretends that she doesn't know why she's getting a $2,000 cleaning charge.  I hope they never turn on a black light in that place), or their "missing" furniture that I'm constantly selling on craigslist (I tell people that it was owned by some movie star--suckers!)...
...it's that Mom reads my blog and shares the love--that's what counts.  That's how she wins over my heart, every day.

So for the rest of you, that have been taking well over a dollars worth of advise, who are you to not spread the love?  I bet you don't even have your membership to the quiet-ramblings.com fan-site in your will.  Don't you want to leave your offspring a gift that keeps on giving?

Pass it on, so I don't have to enter another self-promotion campaign...

The eye of a tye-gurrrrh

Image via WikipediaSo you want to put your game face on today?  You want to roll out in the streets and let everybody know--Imma get mine!  Well that's the way to play it.  If you've got the stones to build some crazy hard-core game plan (while you're staring at yourself in the mirror) and you follow through, you might be a force to reckon with.  Every night before I go to bed I have this brilliant game plan for the next day.  No need to write it down--I tell myself.  This is where we come across a few problems.

First, I must explain the current state of the inorganic power house that runs my body.  I'd say on any given day, I eat more candy than 10 "normal" adults.  I know you may be surprised to hear this, but this doesn't really aid in the stability of my blood sugar level.  I'll be working my butt off then without warning, I start shaking and I get real dizzy.  Of course I don't think--if I could get a decent protein right now it would help me out.  To make matters worse, since the beginning of the year there's always someone around me dieting.  I get 175 calories per meal--they say--I'm doing the HCG diet.  To which I reply--you get?  They say it like it's some kind of privilege to only eat a side items worth of a meal.  This isn't some third world country, this is America.  We are the most obese nation.  I hate to break this to you, but in this country food is privilege.

So why should I care if people want to go on outrageous unhealthy diets?  I don't care, but the more you tell me about it the more my belly growls back at you.  You've got me worried about a food surplus.  So now because you can't do your part in society, I have to eat up an extra 2,000 calories.  That's quite a burden for me.  I've got sores in my mouth that may never heal, because I can't quit shoveling down the candy.  Laugh away, but once you're done with your diet and you're craving something good you'll thank me.

That's right, while you're screwing around with our economy I'm keeping a steady supply and demand.  What if one of these days when I remember that my plan is to eat a little healthier?  Not scared yet?  What if I follow through?  Who's going to keep supply and demand in balance?  Keep laughing, right up until you show up for that late night craving and you can't find your Reese's.  Many stores have already taken away my cinnamon bears, how many more candies have to perish before you people learn?

Your diets don't work.  Eat more candy...

I guess it doesn't have to make cents...

Time is a commodity, be careful what you trade it for.  I can't wait until the day that time no longer has meaning, it is a poor measurement.  Does it really matter how many hours are spent in the office?  No my friend it does not and any employer who argues the contrary is an ignorant Stalin impersonator.  How did we become a civilization so desperate for a means to measure productivity, that we completely threw quality into the wind?  Our entire economy has been slowly spinning in a whirlpool right down the toilet.

Look around it didn't fall because we got more lazy physically.  The crapper ate us up, because of our mental laziness.  All because we put everything in a box.  We stopped checking the basics.  It was decided that productivity should have a more comparable unit of measurement.  If you spend 12 hours in the office you must be accomplishing more than you would in 8.  It's that type of reasoning that has landed so many empty headed fools a position of leadership.

So Wall Street decided to put all their crap in a box and mark it "premium".  They decided that trading items of value just didn't seem to make much sense.  So they started to trade theory.  Congress points the finger, but they too have determined theory to be far more valuable than actually doing something.  So while people talk and argue everyone gets to sit and watch the free entertainment.  We're all wondering how this all happened, but we know the truth.  We just didn't care anymore.  The sad part is that it has all evolved into some form of alien excretion, and we don't know what to care about.  

If I sell you some lemonade at 25 cents a cup, is it profitable?  After I pay the neighborhood kids for dodging traffic and swirling signs, then settle my recurring bill at the grocery store, I can see if my net is black or red.  I could work 12 hrs or 12 min, in the end all I care for is profit.

Next time you tell me to hurry, just know I'm not listening.  The rambling above is what's running through my head.  So I'll take my time and do it right.

And that, my friends is your country in a hand-basket.  Where are you going?

tics, phos, and so's...

I try to avoid politics on this blog.  I just don't feel it a worthy cause.  Don't get me wrong, I still try to keep an eye on the latest antics in D.C..  This is no easy feat either.  As many of you know, Corporate America works hard to keep me out of politics.  Right now my mind is so wrapped around the genius behind Mr. Clean that I can't focus on anything else.  I just don't get how he created Magic Erasers.  I'm not completely ignorant, nor am I a skeptic.  I'm fully aware that there is a microfiber-like sponge.  What I don't get is if he filled the sponge with magic potion, or just cast a spell on the sponge.  You judge this thought, but I bet you couldn't explain it.  To have that kind of power to remove unwanted markings, while keeping all other physical items constant--that's magic!  I just didn't know that the authority of witchcraft was going to allow magic to be used commercially for a profit.  Doesn't that kinda cheapen their powers?  If you have that kind of power, why not just create money.  Maybe, it's the slow economy and they don't want their riches to be too obvious.  I guess that's when you know times are rough.  Even the wizards and sorcerers have to set aside their lavish lifestyle, and participate in the free market.  It's all mind boggling...Image via Wikipedia

As for the group with the bad ideas--you seriously think dropping all government activity except for the defense fund is a great idea?  Am I the only one who feels like a character in a George Orwell book?  I'm not talking about the Stalin figure, I'm talking about the rest of the population that buys the crap.  I'm talking about the ones who get crapped on.

To certain cable programs who think this is a sophisticated idea, I salute you--with my middle finger.  This isn't even phisticated, so how could it be so-phisticated?  This just tics me of.  It's ticated.  It's so below logic that I feel like all those congressman aren't even debating.  I think they just go laugh behind doors.  "Oh man, wait til we pitch this crap to the public.  It's gonna be a good laugh", Bohner can barely speak with out rolling on the floor laughing.

Image via Wikipedia

Then some dude with a small conscious (he's really more concerened about what might happen to him) asks, "do you think they'll buy it."

Bohner is still laughing, "they'll believe anything we put on Fox News.  All we have to do is play the audio while we show footage of spring break in Mexico."

Yeah, I said it!  I don't know if I'm more pissed about these morons, or the fact that I allowed such vile nonsense to inhabit space on my blog.

I said it alright...

To infinity...

Dear Humble Followers,

Oh how you've grown in numbers!  Your support has inspired me.  

My dream of becoming a novelist is underway.  When I say novelist I'm talking famous, I'm talking one book all or nothing.  That's why I'm fine tuning my skills.  Because I don't want to produce that Stephen King thriller crap.  Oh no... one of those paperbacks could barely pay off his yacht.  What I need is something that will integrate every genre into one sensation.  It will rip out the hearts of the young and old, while simultaneously falling to their knees in laughter.  Families will reunite, and world peace will finally be measurable.  People will travel miles to hear a book reading and to get my autograph.  They'll buy hundreds of books and spread them around their house, just to feel the presence of greatness.

And that's the key, sell a googol of books.  Why such high hopes?  So that I can ride that baby all the way to retirement.  Because if there is one thing I've learned about being sick the past few days, it's that there is nothing more satisfying than dominating the TV remote.

So thank you for reading and please don't steal my idea.  Maybe one day we can all come up with creative ways to avoid work.  I'm sure it will lead to an eventual takeover by machines, but they can have it.  World domination is exhausting...

I'll get right on it (that's what she said)...

There're soooo many important things that I should be doing right now.  I wonder what it is like to be a responsible person, who sees due dates for what they are....  You see, my neurological software goes through a series of algorithms when anticipating deadlines.  I hate to drag everyone through the details but I think that it's important for people to know before they ask me to do something.  It's actually a pretty simple equation, pay attention:  (deadline) minus - (amount of time to complete task) equa
Image via Wikipedials = (product delivered on time to smiling faces).  That's the theory anyways.  My OS doesn't take into account a certain contingency or padding, if you will, for possible road blocks.  What my OS does instead, is quite impressive.  Like two dudes at Home Depot my brain literally starts to argue with itself about certain items such as: agility, quickness, efficiency, ability to open eyes under salt water, personal records for competing various rungs up the ladder of the Ninja order, the list goes on like this....   So each new argument shaves off anywhere from 5 minutes to 24 hours (depending on the task).  Eventually a completely subjective, unproven hypothesis becomes doctrine and time has been cut in half.  This is where the clever adjustment comes to the playground.  Rather than agree that I will be done early (not in my vocab, I had to look that word up--its implications exhausted my entire mental apparatus), my brain subtracts that extra time that will be saved, because it says it can be done.  Thus we have:

(Specific Deadline) - (readjusted finish time--after hours of arguing, bragging, then folding) =
(Thanks for screwing me over brain, you gave me worse odds to meet this deadline than the chance of a "good" decision in Las Vegas)

Image via Wikipedia

OK, so it is complicated.  That's why I've been caught walking around talking to myself.  It's hard to just sit back while all that debate is going on up there, and I can't participate.  Sure, I could sit back listen to some distracting angry music and let the unconscious battle it out with the sub-conscious, but I'd get restless after about 14.5 seconds (on average I've only been able to sit still long enough to time myself on 2 occasions).  So I engage.  Sure everybody make fun of the crazy guy talking to himself.  Don't think for a minute that he doesn't notice and you haven't been added to his list of "silly fools who've crossed me... I'll save the last laugh for me".  What's that?  Now you want to be friends?

My wife is well aware of this--my ability to get sidetracked and postpone (I don't like the stigma attached to the word procrastination)--which is why I'm looking over my shoulder every time I'm gettin' my blog on.  She's like my productivity coach, always trying to get me "back on track".  Some people just don't understand the importance of the underground education.

There, I've gone and done it again.  I completely forgot what all those important things were, that needed to get done.

And that's why I have peace over anxiety...

because you have faith...

Dear solid fan base,

There has to be at least 4 or so of you, that are still die hard.  For that I commend you.  You are the people that make this world a better place for all, in fact it is getting just downright wasteful sparing oxygen molecules for the rest of the earthly population.  Do you get as exited about world domination and class separation as I do at this point?  Of course you do, you've probably found yourself speeding and flipping people off a lot more than usual.  Don't be ashamed, you're only human.

A lot of people think that I've been too neglectful towards my supremely important blog.  I just want to clear the air, by reporting that although school has been a challenge, it is not the reason for my decrease in writing activity.  I have my priorities straight.  The real reason for the cut back, has more to do with budgeting and government grants, that I have yet to receive for providing such a quality education.  You see, at times I experience what some people refer to as "passion" or "overzealous-behavior".  Yes, it is true, I have been caught sitting on the couch cursing at the laptop from time to time.  Occasionally, I tense up so much while I'm typing, that I literally press the keys straight through the keyboard.  Exit wound and all.  This is a type of situation, that can't be undone.  When such passion provokes this sort of destruction it becomes very expensive (Especially if you have a laptop and the keyboard, now needing replacement is directly attached to the computer.).

So in order to save product, I've taken to using a keyboard with a 20 foot range.  This way I also avoid punching the screen.  The sad ending here is while trying to reduce destruction to my computer, I've also lowered my level of anger and blood pressure.  I still use up the same untapped energy, only I take it out on a 5 lb. bag of cinnamon bears, or Red Vines.  Not having that anger, to constantly stir up the voices of irrational thought and chaos, leaves me a little short for words in times that they are most needed.  Any psychologist would probably refer to this as a positive outlet.  But how could any of this be positive, when at least 4 people are relying on me?  I've said it before, I'm no martyr or savior, but I am here to offer the best of me.

So I thought about going back to close-range typing.  Once Wifey caught wind of this, it was immediately vetoed.  And because I choose not to type in a dark closet, in order to avoid her all-seeing eyes, I know I need some form of controversy.  So I've devised a plan.  This is going to involve some help from my fans, but I'm sure it will work.  The cure I ask for, to fuel me up is hate mail.  I know my most faithful fans couldn't find it in them to even set their minds in a state of anger or contempt for me, but I'm sure you have friends who could.  So I need you to seek out the people in your lives, that truly detest people like me (You probably don't even have to leave the house to do this.).  Invite these haters to visit my site and comment.  I'm sure that some angry words will really bump up my game.  It will also bump up your game, when you find yourself delivering personal jabs in attempt to defend the website that makes all things clear to you.

It's either hate mail or I skip my meds for a week, but I'm pretty sure that society is not ready for that.

Chase 'em down...

Wait til I'm down, before you start kicking...

It's pretty embarrassing when you walk up to the cashier at Walmart and you ask about a payment plan for a $10 pack of highlighters.  If you're not getting the horrible sensation of this experience, let me rephrase it--You're pretty pathetic if you get embarrassed inside of a Walmart.  Have you ever seen the freak-show that is peopleofwalmart.com?  Outside the store is a different thing.  You don't ever want people to see you walking into Walmart.  That is like publicly admitting that you are mentally and socially off track (kind of like someone who was home-schooled).  Now you're with me.  That's why I always have a "pissed off" look when I enter the store.  Then, people will think I'm going against my will.  It becomes more of a mission, like I'm supporting a cause greater than me.  Always look down at the floor, these people are looking for someone to cling to.  You'll be hangin' with your friends, and they'll approach you saying, "hey dude, I saw you at Walmart this weekend."
You reply,"Like hell you did."  Closed fist aim for his head, the concousion is for his own good.

You can't truly hate the man, when you support the largest non-military pillaging corporation on earth.  Well, you can claim to, but no one will believe you.

The worst part about Walmart for me, is the convenience.  I had the terrible luck to work as a contractor for the big W, remodeling their stores.  So just by looking at the front of the store, my mind automatically drafts an extremely accurate floor plan.  That's very necessary, because finding an associate to show you around is quite a hunt.   The real blow is that when you work for them, that's the only place that you can afford to shop.  Ask any child of an employee about the embarrassment.

Walmart Employee: (Speaking to kids) Get ready to go school shopping...

Kids: (Having already lost hope for destinations such as the mall, in their heads they chant in unison [pleas say Target, Please say Target...]).
Image by Getty Images via @daylife
I haven't been around the rough teenage crowd in a while but I'm pretty sure that when you're hoping for clothes from Target, you my friend are not sitting at the cool table.  Tough luck buddy, don't blame your parents and don't feel like you have to resort to the tight pants wearing, socially-familiarly-mentally repressed kids.  They think they've got something solid, but when you walk around like a duck showing of your polka dot boxers, you look like a clown.  Not the funny clowns, but the creepy ones that little kids are afraid of.

I hate shopping for clothes.  I always feel like I'm being judge.  What, men are not mature enough to share changing rooms with women?  It's not like we shop at Victoria's Secret (although it probably would happen a lot more if men were allowed in the dressing rooms.  That's a pretty solid marketing strategy, Victoria's Secret people, do with it what you will.).  I thought women were all about equal rights anyways.  So, why do we have to part ways at the changing room?  Ask anyone who was involved in the Civil Rights Movement, if separate but equal met their needs.  This is why I'm proud of women trying to make a statement, by taking up such issues about the oppression of making women cover the upper portion of their bodies in public.  Unfortunately, such laws are upheld because the only women actively protesting, look much better with a turtleneck on.

I guess that equal rights is just a bunch of idealistic crap...

Stic to the fun-duh-mentals...-

Please, someone explain to me the thought process encouraging the formulation of a word like fundamental.  Given the erroneous claim of the prefix fun-, I can't help but question--what political mastermind had such need to deceive his people?  You don't follow? Try this: show me just one fundamentalist who actually knows what fun is.  Sure, you'll find someone who claims they have fun, but I guarantee that their explanation will fill you with the same type of confidence that you felt every time George Bush said he would address the public.  Don't you dare tell yourself--maybe I'm the crazy one.
Image via Wikipedia
We need to focus on the cleverly placed suffix, which should actually be the root of the word: -mental.  There now, did that word happen to chime through your head when you heard the latest (or oldest) fundamentalist's definition of fun?  They've distorted so much.  Don't fall for any of it either, it's a mind game that they like to play.  They adhere to ignorance and good old fashioned blah, (with pride--I say) before they'll ever evolve.  In fact the word evolve is synonymous with devil to these people.  Maybe you're uncomfortable with such talk, but I'm only getting started.  You think I'm referring to hyper-gun-toting conspiracy theorists?  I don't need to tell you about them, their story is self-narrated.  In fact I recommend befriending a few of these NRA members, just as an insurance policy.  I'm talking about the people who ban together to ostracize you, for using a drill with a buffer on the end, to wash your kitchen table, walls, chairs, etc.

Fundamentals--they tell you.  "Nothing gets that out like a good old rag and elbow grease. " Nothing makes me want to never clean the table again like elbow grease.  I'm not wasting precious elbow cartilage on this unworthy cause.  You want to judge me and call me lazy, just because I've evolved?  Because I refuse to scrub away while I inhale cleaning fluid, that could send my neurons in some kind of fray?  Well, I'm ready to bring the demons out.  If you have OCD this will now doubt cause you to twitch a little.

Pay attention: I use a sander with a rag on the bottom to wash the table.  I let the tub overflow to wash the bathroom floor, soak for 10 minutes, then remove moisture with a shop-vac.  I'm pretty sure that bleach and 104 degrees Fahrenheit water will reduce the terrorist threat level, to what ever lies below level orange.  If I'm caught kneeling on a hard surface, it's because I'm looking for something really important that my magnetic wand and metal detector failed to locate.  I send my truck through the car wash with the windows open, so I don't have to get Armor All, all up in my pores.  What about vacuuming, you say?  That's why you put in that extra buck for the air dry.  No need for a pine tree here.

So spare me with your curmudgeon rants.  Next time you see me sitting on my front porch with a remote control in my hand, as I watch my lawnmower do everything I tell it to, why not say- "that could save me a lot of time."  If you want to be proud of that sweat pouring down your face as you slave away, move to Houston.  All you have to do is walk to your car to work up a sweat.  The hardest part is finding a close spot, while there are five other people driving around looking for a spot 20 feet closer to the entrance.

All I'm saying is quit demonizing evolution.  No one cares how hard you work anymore, you're probably fudging the facts anyways.  Embrace change...

Yes, you...