I'm All Man, Lady!

A good friend once told me that everybody has a superpower. As I have never taken classes at the Xavier Mansion, retreated to a Fortress of Solitude nor slung webs in New York City, I was hesitant to believe him. Recent events, however, have stirred within me the desire to construct a costume and secret identity for myself.

Quite simply, I have the power to cause people near me to make out with each other.

Before you all start commenting on how f-in' awesome that is, consider the following shortcomings of this gift.

1. It has not influenced others to lock lips with me.
2. It causes my bar patrons to wear out their welcome as they fondle each other well past last call.
3. It has not yet been successful in influencing girl-on-girl action.

I simply must learn to control this power. Only by harnessing my raw sexual energy can I ever hope to save the cheerleader . . . and also the world.

Course of Life

I've decided it's time to update my résumé. One simple change will move my CV [that's curriculum vitae for you non-Brits] from the "No Way in Hell" pile to the "Give This Guy the Company" pile. Under special skills, I have added three simple words.

Raw. Sexual. Energy.

I even added the periods to the skills list, as they provide a much needed sense of emphasis to an otherwise boring résumé.

I figure this phrase will come in handy in non-résumé-requesting job interviews as well.

• Interviewer: "What three words would you use to describe yourself?"
• Me: "Raw. Sexual. Energy."

I'll be sure to use an upcoming craft day to create a shirt with the aforementioned phrase emblazoned on the front.

C+C Music Factory

Let's play a little game I like to call, "Guess the Celebrity!"

The rules are simple. By looking to the right at my drawing, all you have to do is [as the title implies] guess the celebrity.

Ready? Set? Go.

I'm No Superman

As a [self-proclaimed] great writer, I often have millions of blog ideas floating around my head at once. Instead of boring you all with a post for each of these thoughts, I'll just summarize them in a list entitled, "Things I Heart at the Moment."

• the Minnesota Twins - If it were biologically possible, I would bear the children of each and every member of this team . . . at the same time.
• Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip - I missed Matthew Perry.
• sweatpants - They're not just for depressed fat people anymore.
• the impending season of Lost - I wish someone would erect [tee-hee] a giant four-toed statue in my honor.
  
• wool socks - They're like sweaters for my feet.
• Scrubs in syndication - I often narrate my own life as well. Random strangers do not appreciate this.
  
• making bulleted lists - They look so professional and PowerPoint-esque.

I would have included parallelism in that list, but the humor of its addition would have been a tad dry . . . even for my taste.

UMass Gymnastics Championship

Yes, I actually showed up to an airing of the "Today" show with a sign in hand that read, "And Then I Met Al Roker."

Unfortunately, that morning only one girl woke up next to me . . . and it was my sister.

Does In?

Has it really been 12 days since my last post? As I really have no excuse for such a ridiculously long absence (besides drinking myself stupid on Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale), I'll make some up instead.

• I was busy eating one egg a day until the carton was empty.
• I was writing biographies of each of the actors portraying the 12 jurors in 1957's 12 Angry Men.
• I was playing "What's Your Sign Bingo." Each night was dedicated to meeting somebody at the bar with a different Zodiac sign.
• I was keeping tally of the primates in 12 Monkeys.
• I was reenacting the labors of Heracles.
• I was trying to figure out who the twelfth was in Ocean's Twelve.

For those of you readers who were loyal enough to go on a hunger strike until I posted again [I'm looking at you, Nicole Richie], enjoy your dinner tonight.

You Look So . . . Right . . .

Continuing my award-winning "Signs of the Times" series, I present this doozy, which was found outside a store in New York City.

Following in this company's "let's make outlandish claims and hope they're true" footsteps, I will now propose the following.

• I'm probably the coolest person ever.
• My blog is probably the most read on the Internet.
• Women probably want me, and men probably want to be me.
  

It's nice to see that mom and pop stores are still putting forth that extra effort needed to overtake the corporate monolith.

Text Speak for London

As Labor Day has come and gone, it's safe to say that the good times are over. Summer has ended, and the only thing left to do to ring in the autumn months is to name "The Feel Good Song of the Summer." The rules are simple.

1. The song should make you feel good.
2. It should probably have been released on the radio sometime during the past summer.
   
3. Random bubblegum pop songs from random artists generally beat out songs from mainstream performers.

The 2006 recipient of this award will join the prestigious ranks of the following songs.

• 2003 - "Move Your Feet" by Junior Senior
• 2004 - [no award given]
• 2005 - "Haven't Found" by Pras

As decided by me, "The 2006 Feel Good Song of the Summer" is none other than "LDN" by Lily Allen. Sadly, this song is an import from across the pond [i.e., the UK], so many of you have probably not heard it played. Thus, this year I will also present the stateside award to Christina Aguilera's "Ain't No Other Man."

Ms. Allen and Ms. Aguilera, as this is a live program, you will be required to limit your acceptance speeches to two minutes.

Fishing in Repulsion

It's about that time.

"What time?" you ask.

"Time to coin a new phrase," I reply.

Although the grammatical community is still reeling in disgust from my previous contributions to the English language, I feel the need to throw another one in their general direction. Consider the following.

"Holy Lord. When slash if you come out to visit, open a new credit card because there is crazy shopping here."

That text message was sent by me on Monday, August 14, 2006 at 6:27 pm. Mark that on your calendars as the date and time when I coined the typing of "slash" instead of "/" when texting somebody. It will soon become all the rage in Milan.

Mr. President

Well, folks, it's been exactly one year since I started this li'l ole blog, so I figured some sort of birthday celebration was in order. What better way to fuel my ego than to bask in the glory of my ten favorite finger exercises. I do enjoy a top ten list that is pretty much a salute to myself. So, without any further ado, I present "My Top 10 Favorite Blog Postings of the Last Year."

10. Underneath My Blood Is Blue -- I truly have some ridiculous life goals.
9. A Cup Might Prevent That -- The raving reviews still crack me up.
8. It's Just Me out There -- Robert Goulet impressions will never not be funny.
7. A Me Sandwich -- Maybe I should email this to the "Today" show.
6. Can I Be Your Ice King? -- She's gorgeous.
5. Hometown Travel Agency -- I love/miss the college days of yore.
4. And Now It's Copyrighted to Me -- Coining the phrase "I heart" is my greatest gift to mankind.
3. Be Still Mon Coeur -- To use my own coined phrase, I heart this commercial.
2. Mr. Wheelchair Crackhead of Hennepin Avenue -- I only wish I had an actual picture of a wheelchair crackhead of Hennepin Avenue.
1. And Also in Space -- "The Jesus Bandwagon" is the greatest picture I have ever created.

Here's to many more years of you loyal blog visitors reading my incoherent ramblings that should probably never have been allowed to be published.

Head in a Vice

This past weekend I hit up the casino for the first time in years. Given my lack of gambling experience, I consider it a great feat that I came out with 67% more money than when I entered.

If my chemistry degree has taught me anything, it's that you can never have enough useless charts and graphs to illustrate your point. Thus, I present a bar graph of this monumental money increase.

Notice the staggering amount by which the "Final" column eclipses the "Initial" column. It's truly mind-boggling.

Of course, all this actually means is that I put 75¢ in a slot machine and got $1.25 back. After that I stopped gambling.

Rhapsody in Blue

Today, the bar at which I work smelled like an airplane cabin.

After much deliberation, I decided that an airplane's distinct odor is the combination of the glorious smell of coffee and the hideous stench of a nursing home. It's nice to see the two scents of such polar opposites -- one seeks to keep you awake during your busy life, while the other seeks to calm you during your march towards impending death -- living together so harmoniously.

Makin' the Rockin' World go 'Round

Over the past couple days, I have felt like an unnecessary amalgam of two of my most hated people in the world -- the obese and the elderly. Seriously, all that I've accomplished is sweating and farting.

I suppose that if I had wanted to further embody these two worthless types of people I could have taken up more than one seat on the bus and then ambled at an ungodly slow pace through Target while attempting to pay for adult diapers with exact change that is buried at the bottom of a purse the size of a horse's feedbag.

That may have been the longest sentence I've ever written.

Will Robinson

I'm thinking of getting boxers with this sign screenprinted on the backside. Only toilet paper would be given the required permit.

I would also think that, given the chance, this sign could become the best prison tattoo ever -- especially since tattoos don't wash off in the shower.

And Also in Space

Are you a Jew who feels left out around Christmastime? Are you slightly embarrassed by the un-chic nature of wearing a yarmulke? Do you feel the need to jump on the Jesus bandwagon?

Then come on down to Jews for Jesus! We have everything the modern Jew needs to support his or her favorite Christian savior! Whether or not your ancestors may or may not have been responsible for his death, Jesus still loves you!

In all seriousness, this is an actual sign outside an actual building that is an actual two blocks from my actual house. I have no idea what they do, but I'm considering changing the name of my blog to Christians for Krishna, Atheists for Allah or Zoroastrians for Zeus.

. . . in July

While generally considered a Crosby/Kaye/Clooney/Ellen vehicle, White Christmas owes its phenomenal success to one person and one person alone -- Anne Whitfield, the actress who played Susan Waverly.

Let us bask in the glory of all her immortal lines from this classic film.

1. Okay, Mr. Wallace. This way.
2. This will bring business in, Grandpa.
3. Here's the laundry, Emma.
4. All right.
5. Excuse me, Judy. It's for you from Betty. She gave it to Grandpa at the station.
6. Hello. Oh yes.
7. Oh, Grandpa, the battery's dead on the Jeep. It's stuck out . . .
8. Why can't you wear your uniform? Please, Gramps.
9. I hope he comes down, that would be awful if he wouldn't.
10. Grandpa, you look wonderful.
11. No.

Try using them in everyday conversation. My personal favorite is #2, which can be used whenever you see something amazing.

Maybe this Susan Waverly quoting frenzy has already begun, though, because I often hear girls say #11 to me at bars. I'll have to remind them that #4 and #6 are also viable lines to speak.

Mr. Wheelchair Crackhead of Hennepin Avenue

Despite the world-renowned status of my blog, I've not yet let the fame go to my head. I still enjoy perusing reader-posted comments . . . or fan mail, as I like to call it. Thus, given this piece of constructive criticism, I have decided to appease my raving fans by giving them what they want.

Therefore, without further ado, I present a Bud Light salute to wheelchair crackheads of Hennepin Avenue.

Bud Light presents, "Real Men of Genius."
"Real Men of Genius."
Today we salute you, Mr. Wheelchair Crackhead of Hennepin Avenue.
Mr. Wheelchair Crackhead of Hennepin Avenue.
Although you're in a wheelchair, you haven't given up on your legs yet by still letting them drag on the ground as you roll along.
Those boots were made for dragging.
Laughing in the face of danger, you rebelliously ride with your footrests in their improper position.
A modern day James Dean.
You've given up on reaching for the stars and instead keep both feet semi-firmly planted on the ground.
Your life is hopeless.
While others wince at the friction-filled contact between the asphalt and your shoes, you merely smile a mostly-toothless grin and think, "Damn. That's some good crack."
It's a helluva drug.
So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, you waste of taxpayers' money, because you're too good for malt liquor.
Mr. Wheelchair Crackhead of Hennepin Avenue.
Bud Light Beer. Anheuser-Busch. St. Louis, Missouri.

Stay tuned [but not really] for an upcoming salute to Mr. Ridiculously Useless Blog Maker.

Co-Starring in Return to Oz

I bet being in a wheelchair really saves people a lot of money in the shoe budget.

Although, if you're one of those handicapables who drags his or her feet on the ground while rolling [I'm looking at you, wheelchair crackheads of Hennepin Avenue], you would probably find the reverse to be true.

His Luggage Combination

Veronica Wellington celebrated a milestone earlier this week. Her odometer reached the glorious mileage of 123,456.

I threw her a party complete with topless convertibles, cars with junk in their trunks and a few hot foreign models. All in all, it was a huge success.

Not only that, but I also finally learned how to count to six. My previous record was five, which I had learned from watching Spaceballs.

Secondary Characteristic

While browsing pictures on the Facebook the other day, I came to a realization. College boobs now are a lot bigger than college boobs when I went to school. As cleavage is my Kryptonite, I was powerless to stop the further research that would need to be done.

I'd like to quote Joey and say, "Man, there is a lot of porn out there!" Seriously, if you ever have several free hours, just Google "huge college boobs."

My search for the answer to the enlarged bosom question proved fruitless, though. I guess I'll just have to hit up the bars and start interviewing busty coeds.