TANcast

I walked along the beach last week,
and exposed my soul to the women I met there.

Now my karma has a sunburn.

When someone gives Jack Bauer a birthday cake, he takes it to a dark room and cuts it slowly to extract information.

On a related note, Survivor has taught me that ladies appearing on the show need to wear sports bras. And maybe leave the house once in a while before appearing on a show that takes place in the outdoors and lasts for 5 weeks. I’m just saying, you know exactly where you are going and for how long…

On a related note, I was skimming through the American Idol “tryouts” episodes looking for Slappy in a Superman costume and I was reminded that lots of people who should never, ever sing never, ever get told so by the people near them. I suspect that this is because the people near them are also tone deaf and thus are not driven away by the awful singing. My theory is that there is a selection bias at work, where the people left nearby won’t inform the singer of their lack of talent because they are actually unable to be aware of it. Everyone who isn’t tone deaf leaves before the song ends.

On a related note, people on Survivor also need to be aware of this bias and not assume they should start singing to their tribemates.

He hasn’t collected much in the way of armor and we haven’t seen him cast any obvious spells (except perhaps “Turn Smoke-Monster”), but he does have that

Jesus Stick of +5 Beating!

This is a “blast from the past” post from time-traveling Andy.  I’ve pre-dated it to a time when I was asleep in a ca. 1973 beater RV in my uncle’s driveway in Chula Vista, CA in order to post about a play I saw a few weeks prior to that with the fiancee’s parents. I didn’t travel all the way to the night we saw the play because I like how the RV smells.

So, we were at this play put on by a local (and excellent) theater (theatre?) troupe (troop?) when I began to fear for my life. It was a stage presentation of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (Disney seems to insist on it’s name being part of the play’s name) but, I swear to Buddha, I thought it must have been Outbreak: The Musical.

It has been a long, long time since I have heard so many rude sons of bitches coughing loudly during slow or quiet parts of a play. I know winter is cold season, but in a house that seats maybe 350 or 400 patrons of the arts I wouldn’t expect dozens of them to have whooping cough at the same time.

Then it hit me:

The dead don’t cough.

Last night I took my fiancee to see Keith Urban at the Shark Tank for her Chrismahanukwanzakah present. He’s on her list, so we had a deal: if she left with him I was allowed to leave with Nicole…

We had third row seats, because I am that awesome. We didn’t have first row, because even my awesomeness is limited.

We were so close I could smell the sweat of Keith Urban’s balls, and it was the most wholesome, refreshing thing I have ever smelled. It was like the scent of a baby’s head mixed with the sweetness of honey.

Aw, shit. Now I’m hungry…

So I was hearing yesterday about how Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner just popped out a new larval Affleck. There was, however, no indication of what appellation the slavering masses would be screeching in their adoration of this newly minted fountain of famous.

That all got me thinking of the weird fucking names that celebrities saddle their children with. I love Kevin Smith‘s work, but “Harley Quinn” is pretty borderline. It might sound reasonable, but she is named after a comic book sidekick. Penn Jillette may be one hell of a showman and his show Bullshit puts him on my All Time Heroes List, but calling his daughter “Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette”? That is over the line. Travolta named a son “Jett” because <TardVoice>he likes to fly jets and he loves his son that much</TardVoice>.

Celebrities get away with this shit because they are famous and they want their children to also be famous, even if it means being total asshats and picking a name nobody else is using BECAUSE IT IS FREAKING RIDICULOUS.

Once I came to that conclusion, I decided that if I was a movie star, I would name my first daughter “Snot”. Why? Because I could. If she didn’t like it, I’d take my 13 chromosomes and famous last name back.

That would show the little bitch.

(Sung to the tune of “Creep” by Radiohead)

It was seven years this fall
That I lived with this guy.
It was no fucking picnic.
The smell’d make you cry.

People thought we were lovers,
But I swear I’m not gay.
Just because women hate him,
Please…
Don’t think I swing that way!

So Tim’s a freak.
He’s a weirdo.
He had a wall covered with Harrison Ford.
He makes fun of my mother.

When his shit doesn’t work,
He loses his soul.
He bashed up his walkman,
And four remote controls.

He want’s to be noticed,
So he’ll dress like Britney Spears.
He’s always been like this,
And I know,
‘Cause I’ve known him for FOURTEEN YEARS!

But Tim don’t drink.
He’s no wino.
He looks just like Michael Jackson
Had an affair with Jim Carey.

Oh… Oh…

He’s the only karaoke addict on Earth.
If you lived with him, you’d cry, cry, and want to die.
I hate this guy!

He says “Call me Slappy”…
Whatever that means.
People think that he’s special,
Like “Short School Bus” special.

So Tim’s a freak.
He’s real weird now.
Why the hell did I live with him?
I need a new place…

Is there room at your place?

… DELICIOUS on a salad.

I think I can sum myself up pretty concisely:

I liven up all the boring bits and talk over the interesting ones.

That is all. Please resume your regularly scheduled masturbation.

For the 4th time in about 18 months, a specific Carl’s Jr. franchise has messed up my exceedingly simple order. Each time, I requested a “Western” burger and each time I got a “Standard” burger instead.

Four instances may sound insignificant, but it means that between 5% and 10% the time I don’t get what I ordered. I then have to either make do (if I’m too busy to leave work again) or drive back to the “restaurant” (that word doesn’t seem like it should be associated with fast food, but I am unable to locate a better one) and wait while my order is corrected. I do not, for the record, like having my hamburgers covered in salad and mayonnaise. I do, in fact, hate it.

I don’t think I’ll be going back to that restaurant again. I’m tired of the hassle for what should be “convenience food”.

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