The Blood Test

Wow, four tubes for blood. And there's the needle, time to turn my head and look away...

...Think Shaquille O'Neal entering Carl...wait, big black bitch splitter sounds too painful, Carl entering Shaq - yeah, no pain there, like driving a Mini into a black hole...

...Deep breaths now, breathe...

(Prick)

This isn't so bad...

"You're blood is coming out really slowly."

Is that really a bad thing? I'm happy that my blood has grown fond of my body. I'd die if my blood was in a rush to part ways with my body. Literally...

Whew...it's over. Nothing could be worse than this except Christmas shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year, awww son of a bitch...

"Before you leave, we need to take a urine sample from you."

What?!

Breathe...

Relax...

OMG, I can't pee! I'm not claustrophobic, but the walls of this washroom certainly seem like they are caving in on me. Of all the things, I'm going to fail this freaking urine test!

Come on, bladder... (In Rob Schneider Waterboy voice:) You can do it!

Oh yeah, just let it all out. OK, you can stop now. Now you really need to stop. I said stop dammit!

What a relief. Peeing never felt so good!

A Visit to the Doctor's

Hickory dickory fu-ock, I went to see the doc. The monthlong buildup for what turned out to be a 30 minute getting to know you sesssion. And I had no idea he was a celebrity! It cost me $20 for the one-on-one meet-and-greet. Overall, very anticlimactic...

...Not to change the subject, but is it me or was Blade III really an 1.5+ hour-long IPOD infomercial?

Back to the doctor's...I had to smile a little answering a question on the medical history form that asked about being sexually active. When I think of the phrase "sexually active," I think of volcanic activity. I think it's because, like a volcano, my eruptions are few and far between (yes, I know what you're thinking: "Poor Fez". So I wonder how my doctor would react if I responded to the question with, "No, right now I'm sexually dormant. But if the circumstances are right I could explode at anytime!"

I handed in the form and a few minutes later a nurse opens a door halfway and calls my name. I think a pre-requesite for this person's line of work has to be previous work experience as a dominatrix. She just called out my name and I knew to come to her. Not another word. And the fact that she opened the door halfway leads me to believe that she probably had a whip in the one hand I couldn't see just in case I didn't understand her unspoken command to follow her at the call of my name. She took me to a special room, put her stick in my mouth and told me to bite. Kinky, kinky...

The nurse had her way with me and then led me to another special room - the "Examination Room" where the doctor was to see me. I waited there patiently. And finally the doctor came! Then he shook my hand. Hee hee...

After a month of waiting, you'd figure I'd be prepared to tell him everything that was wrong with me. But my mind was elsewhere. Besides being stuck in the gutter, I was thinking that right at that moment of how I saw the doctor and the doctor said, "Ooh-ee-ooh-ah-ah, ting-tang-walla-walla-bing-bang, Ooh-ee-ooh-ah-ah," and then he shrunk my head. But he didn't. Instead, he told me to get some tests done, and that we'd go over the results in a few weeks.

And that's it. The End.

The Great Chicago Fire of December 6, 2004

So how 'bout that fire in the middle of Chicago's financial district? I didn't find out about it until a concerned Chosen One's father called to ask if I was safe. Interesting how someone over 1,700 miles away knew about what was going on, when I, being less than 17 miles away, did not. As usual, Erwin is the last to know, and in this case, the last to know the 4-1-1 on the 9-1-1 in the 3-1-2 at the 1-3-5 where there was a major 5-11 at 6-30 on 12-6...

And now some observations surrounding the event:

1. Fire starts with an "F" and so does Female. And like a female, it will do anything for attention, i.e. preventing men from watching any sport on TV. So when Monday Night Football was interrupted for what seemed like the entire game for fire coverage, all I could think of was another word that started with "F": FUCK!

2. When I get my own place, a fireplace will need to be a must. The 3 hours I spent watching the fire was more entertaining than anything I had seen on TV in a really long time. Now if only I could have gotten marshmallows to roast by simply waving them in front of the TV, I'd be set.

3. I really have to wonder how many takes reporters have to do for their taped news pieces to be deemed good enough to air on TV. They must cringe when they have to do live breaking news stories because they show to the world how really air-headed they are. There should have only been one station that should have been allowed to do the live reporting coverage. All the other stations could have just shown the live footage of the fire with "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" playing in the background.

4. Tourists are not people. They are obstacles in the path to reaching point B from point A. Since we do not consider these things to be people, we should have the right to push them into the middle of oncoming traffic when they walk slow, stop or make an effort to stare at the building with a black smoke band around it. Hell, we should push these people things into oncoming traffic anyways because it's our duty as law-abiding citizens. What law says we should push stupid ass clowns into the middle of the street for the sake of humanity you ask? It's called Survival of the Fittest.

As the Cookie Crumbles

Hey, doesn't that sound like a catchy title to some new reality TV series? Okay, maybe not, but at least it sounds more original than The Real Gilligan's Island. Is the original Gilligan's Island going to be renamed The More Real Gilligan's Island or The Original Gilligan's Island? And about this so-called Real Gilligan's Island...if memory serves me correctly, the original crew of the SS Minnow was rescued, but then managed to get themselves stranded on the anonymous "island" again...so why aren't they given a chance to compete on this show? The perfect but abrupt ending to the show would be the revelation that the original cast, after eating all the coconuts on the island, have become savages and cannibalize the Gilligan's Island castaway wannabe's. We've already had a reality show called Dog Eat Dog, why not Human Eat Human? That would make for awesome ratings!

Oh man, I've got myself started:

And why do they call reality tv shows that? Those shows are so far from reality it's not even funny. Where in reality do I get to be stranded on some tropical paradise and talk shit about everyone else behind their backs? Or totally whore myself out to a bunch of women who say they want to marry me out of love knowing that whether or not the relationship works out, there's certainly gotta be some type of cash prize involved somewhere?

And about the contestants...the filming of these shows seem to take place over a lengthy period of time. What do these people tell their bosses about leaving work? "Mr. or Ms. Boss person, I am loyal to the company and I really do love what I do, but I have aspiring dreams to become a reality TV show actor or actress, and I feel this is the one and only shot I have to achieve it"?

Could you imagine what the world would be like without these stupid, pointless shows?

I Actually Have Time To Think

For some reason, two conversations I've had with other people (as opposed to myself or with something other than human, which occur more frequently these days) over the past week are still lingering in my brain. Guess they want to come out for me to share, eh?

Here it goes...so last weekend I helped The Chosen One study for her exam that, if passed, would allow her to enroll in Teaching School (I digress, isn't the phrase "School of Education" redundant?). We were going over the answers to the grammar portion of a test exam when I revealed something to her I had long forgotten about:

The Chosen One: Erwin, you're such a smartee.
The Chooser of the One: Nah, I had fun doing this grammar stuff...if med school and becoming a doctor didn't work out, I wanted to try journalism.
The Chosen One: But you're in business-ag?
The Chooser of the One: Yep, I know...

Funny how things work out that way. I never thought I'd be doing what I am doing today (getting reamed without the lube). So much for reaching for the stars and achieving my dreams, which leads me to conversation #2....

I heard that a person who is similar to me in age and has a great career in front of him is starting up a new business as the owner of a nail salon which doubles as an art studio. Holy crap, add this along with the fact that he goes to school and just purchased a house, this person's got a lot going for him...and he's around my age!!! Then I think about myself. Yes, I too have a pretty good career, and I also do some computer repair and upgrade sidework, and I'm looking into possibly opening an investment club in the near future, but that's it. What more can I possibly do? Try E-Bay? I don't have enough Lance Armstrong bracelets to auction off. Sell porn? I'd be my best customer. Donate sperm? Seeing how this would fall in line with my plot to conquer the world, I'd do it for free...

It's really all the WWE's fault. I felt pretty accomplished until they gave the World Championship to a 24 year old. That makes me feel pretty shitty. Thanks, WWE. I love you anyways.

All Is Well Again

Yes, all is well again with "us," but I'm not quite sure about "me." Take for instance CD shopping and while picking up the new Eminem, also picking up the greatest hits CD of Toby Keith. Although the milestone of actually buying a CD is pretty significant, it was dwarfed by the fact that history was made as Erwin purchased his first country CD ever. Wow, country...whoever thought I'd be jamming to "Beer for my Horses"?

My Weekend - The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

The Good
Chinese food for breakfast
Running into WWE wrestler Lance Storm and getting his autograph
Dropping everything to comfort and support someone I care about

The Bad
Airport Chinese food for breakfast
Looking like a complete jackass fawning over Lance Storm like he was Britney Spears
Getting shit on, betrayed and blindsided by someone I care about

The Ugly
Coming into work in a really crappy mood. The fact that it's month-end isn't helping...
Reliving the good and the bad of this weekend and suffering today's ugliness to the theme of The Barbie Song...

Suddenly, living in a world made of plastic doesn't sound so bad anymore...

Let's Play "Rhymes with..."

..."Hair"...

“My hair, my hair, where is my hair?”
I say to myself in pity and stare
What was once full is now bare
My head feels naked now in the cold air

I’m getting a migraine, where’s the bottle of Bayer?
Feeling better I reminisce, now and then I compare,
It was really nothing special, nothing debonair
It wasn’t even that long, still the length was fair
And now all that’s left is a very thin layer

I had a bad feeling walking to that barber’s chair
Apprehension over a haircut for me is so rare
But not listening to me he asked his friend for a square
Then he proceeded to shave my head without a care
And with that screwup there would be or could be no repair

My traumatic experience with you I now share
What was once full is now bare
I say to myself in pity and stare,
“My hair, my hair, where is my hair?”

The adware infesting my computer is gone, so I can now blog more often now, right? NOT! Stupid cold will keep me away from my computer and force me to stay in bed. So why is my stupid cold stupid then? Yo no se...

The Things You Do For Love

The Things You Do For Love #1 Flew out to Spokane, WA last weekend to visit my Love (yes, cyber Erwin has a girlfriend - a real one!). If it's September and you don't have a future fiancee to visit, then I wonder why you would want to be in this part of the state. Imagine a nice sunny day, blue skies and rolling hills...that are piss yellow. It's like the entire state of Washington took every single dog in the state and gave each dog an acre of eastern Washington from Spokane to Pullman to piss on. Amber waves of grain? America the Beauiful? I think not...

The Things You Do For Love #2 While having dinner with aforementioned Love and her roomate, the subject of airplane meals was brought up. Apparently, being served pop and peanuts does not constitute a meal because it was brought to my attention that some flights do serve (two finger quotes) "real" food. Then on the flight coming home, I was excited that in the duration, I was going to sample my first (two finger quotes) "real" airplane meal. Yippee skippee, a (two finger quotes) "Spanish" omelette! Next time I get offered a so-called real airplane meal, I won't yippee but more like skippee on it. In classic Linda Richards Coffee Talk fashion, I think I'm feeling a bit verklempt, I'll give you a topic:

In an airplane meal, a "Spanish" omelette is neither Spanish nor an omelette, but rather an icebreaker when introducing yourself to the mile-high port-a-potty.

Now talk amongst yourselves (at least until my next post).

Adware has infected my computer. I guess protection does keep away unnecessary bugs. Here's more to ponder about while I'm on hiatus ...

So Much for Free Love

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) - Having sex with corpses is now officially illegal in California after Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed a bill barring necrophilia, a spokeswoman said on Friday. The new legislation marks the culmination of a two-year drive to outlaw necrophilia in the state and will help prosecutors who have been stymied by the lack of an official ban on the practice, according to experts. "Nobody knows the full extent of the problem. ... But a handful of instances over the past decade is frequent enough to have a bill concerning it," said Tyler Ochoa, a professor at Santa Clara University School of Law who has studied California cases involving allegations of necrophilia. "Prosecutors didn't have anything to charge these people with other than breaking and entering. But if they worked in a mortuary in the first place, prosecutors couldn't even charge them with that," Ochoa said. The state's first attempt to outlaw necrophilia, in response to a case of a man charged with having sex with the corpse of a 4-year-old girl in Southern California, stalled last year in a legislative committee. Lawmakers revived the bill this year after an unsuccessful prosecution of a man found in a San Francisco funeral home drunk and passed out on top of an elderly woman's corpse. The new law makes sex with a corpse a felony punishable by up to eight years in prison.

Fun With Weed!

While "serious" card players are "all in" the middle of this Texas Hold'em craze, there's a small but growing group of people who want to mess with Weed! ... the card game. The game is just as addictive as the medicinal herb, just without the contact high (so I've heard).

Us laid back people aren't interested in the money, because there's no money to be won. We're more interested in farming our crops and making sure that our garden isn't affected by dandelions, po-leece busts or even worse, the very dangerous Potzilla, a monster that threatens to take all our plants.

As their new card game spokesperson, I say, "Get Weed! and chill, dude."

Here We Go Again

Another August trip to Washington kicks off the end of my summer and the return of da blog. What the hell happened to Blogger? All these changes and new toys to tinker with makes me feel like an old geezer who can't cope with technology.

As for my most recent vacation, one word can sum it up - waiting. Case in point: waiting for my 3.5 hour plane ride ordeal of hearing an over-the-hill man miserably fail at hitting on the (much younger) girl sitting next to him to end. I knew not being around annoying people wouldn't last...

A Moment of Silence for this Patient, Please
 
 
Crazed surgeon amputates patient's penis, chops it up
 
BUCHAREST (AFP) - A Romanian surgeon who underwent a fit of madness while operating on a man's testicles proceeded to amputate his penis and cut it into three pieces.   The surgeon, Naum Ciomu, was said to be a senior member of the hospital staff and a professor of anatomy.   He had been operating on a 34-year-old man for a testicular malformation when he committed the act, hospital officials said Friday.   "We are shocked by what has happened. It is the first time we have had such a case," said Sorin Oprescu, head of the Bucharest emergency hospital where the operation took place.   Doctor Ciomu had been banned from entering an operating theatre for two months pending the results of an investigation by the medical council, Oprescu said.   Meanwhile the wife of the unfortunate patient said she was suing Dr. Ciomu.

Holy Crap, Three Posts In One Week?!

Even though she says my posts are getting more and more boring, Work Wifey is still being a faithful Work Wifey and still continues to read my posts on a regular basis, which is more than I can say for the rest of you people who have lives (geez, as if boring posts weren't enough, I'm trying to lose readers by complimenting the millions of non-readers out there who have better things to do right now).

In my defense, there just hasn't been much going on for me lately except work. Sure, I could talk about how I got these blue fuzzy computer monitor monster things with feet and antennae that have "Information Security is Everyone's Responsibility" on what looks to be a trail of toilet paper coming out of their ass. Or I could talk about how I courageously and single-handedly slayed the Ice Chomping Man and made him look for other things to chomp on (cucumbers, potato chips, tin canspretzels).

But who wants to read about that stuff anyways? It's not easy being creative, especially when you're sitting in front of a computer stuck at work at 8 PM while my non-readers are out on a warm and beautiful Friday night...

You Know I Had to Blog This

Judge Suspected of Masturbating in Court

OKLAHOMA CITY (Reuters) - An Oklahoma state judge frequently masturbated and used a device for enhancing erections while his court was in session, charges a petition by the state's attorney general seeking his removal. Oklahoma Attorney General Drew Edmondson filed the petition on Wednesday with state judicial authorities seeking the ouster of Sapulpa District Judge Donald Thompson, 57, for "conduct constituting an offense involving moral turpitude in violation of the Oklahoma Constitution," Edmondson's spokesman said on Thursday. The judge flatly denies the charges made in the petition, his lawyer, Clark Brewster, said on Thursday. He said the judge received a penis pump for his 50th birthday as a gag gift, which became a source of a running joke in the courthouse. In the petition, the attorney general charged Thompson used a penis pump, a device billed as providing sexual pleasure and promising better erections and larger penis size, during trials and exposed himself to a court reporter several times while masturbating on the bench. "On one occasion, Ms. (Lisa) Foster (Thompson's court reporter for 15 years), saw Judge Thompson holding his penis up and shaving underneath it with a disposable razor while on the bench," the petition reads. Several witnesses, including jurors in Thompson's court and police officers called to testify in trials, said in the petition they heard the "swooshing" sound of a penis pump during trials and saw the judge slumped in his chair, with his elbows on his knees, working the device. The witnesses said the pump sounded like a blood pressure cuff being pumped up. According to the petition, Thompson admitted he had a penis pump under the bench during a murder trial but he told investigators it was a gag gift from a friend...

...Sure it was just a gag gift. Taking a page from Austin (another Austin Powers reference): "It's not mine, really it's not."

Just goes to show that mixing business with pleasure gets you in trouble.

Coffee Talk

Having changed work hours, the coffee mug has welcomed me back with open arms, errr handle. Yes, Dunkin' Donuts' stock has risen since I personally re-introduced the return of my imaginary trademarked coffee, the X-tra large coffee X-tra sugar X-tra cream, or the "X-X-X." I've become quite the celebrity as its gotten to the point where I walk in and out of my favorite Indian restaraunt (next to Subway and Seven Eleven) without uttering a single word. Yeah, it's the ESP psychic telepath kinetic link we share. Or it might be that I am probably one of the most predicatable people on this planet. My money's on the latter...

And Starbucks. That evil amoeba of a corporation which has engulfed practically all local mom and pop coffee shops. Not to fear for they cannot avoid my coffee wrath. Coffee bitches (a.k.a. baristas) cringe as they have to take my custom-made-to-order-not-on-the-menu frappucino. Since the amount I'd ideally like to pay for lunch is the amount I'm spending on my overpriced coffee drink, at least give me the satisfaction that my green apron wearing servants are suffering in hell for selling their soul to the evil greedy corporation based in Seattle's Space Needle (perfectly depicted in the 2nd Austin Powers).

Where's the Justice?

Man Commits Suicide After Sex with Hen

LUSAKA (Reuters) - A 50-year-old Zambian man has hanged himself after his wife found him having sex with a hen, police said Friday. The woman caught him in the act when she rushed into their house to investigate a noise. "He attempted to kill her but she managed to escape," a police spokesman said. The man from the town of Chongwe, about 50 km (30 miles) east of Lusaka, killed himself after being admonished by other villagers.
The hen was slaughtered after the incident.

OK...Man gets his jollies...Woman's life is spared...So why is it that the hen is the only one being punished?...

And how do you have sex with a chicken? Carl, having lived on a farm in Wisconsin and no doubt being quite the stud with farm animals, please share...

The Bare Minimum

Did you know:

* There is over 250,000 words in the English language.

* About 170,000 words are used somehow in everyday language.

* Approximately 50,000 words are considered obsolete.

* The remaining 30,000 words are words derived from other words.

* The vocabulary of an average person is 5,000 - 6,000 words.

So isn't it kinda strange how you can keep a conversation going with certain people for a long period of time just by using the same 7 words (Yay, yup, ok, uh-huh, really, right, cool) over and over? For example (and cookies for you if you know who "Anonymous" is):

Anonymous: You're gay
Me: Yay
Anonymous: Yay for the gay
Me: Yup
Anonymous: I've got somethin' to tell ya
Me: OK
Anonymous: Ramble, ramble, ramble, blah, blah, blah
Me: Uh-huh
Anonymous: Ramble, ramble, blah, blah, ramble, blah
Me: Right
Anonymous: Ramble, blah, blah, ramble, ramble, blah
Me: Really? Cool <---- (Extra points for using a multiple word combo)

This continued on for a good 20-30 minutes. So why bother with 250,000 or 170,000 or even 5,000 words when we really only need these 7?

A Week in Minnesota

Hmmmm, I really should be doing a formal write-up for my superiors to read aboot (damn Minnesota accent), but before I do that, maybe I should tell the real story (yes, for only a modest fee, there really are privileges to being a member of my po-...whoops wrong site)...

***Begin exclusive***

Sunday: Ominous beginning as shuttle bus driver tries to convince me that his other job is going to take off any day now and that I should join his network marketing campaign. I kindly decline and he says something to the extent of me regretting my decision to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Just great, held hostage by a Minnesota shuttle bus driver.

As I settle into my hotel room, I begin to realize that I am hungry. From my hotel room vantage point, I see a Denny's and another restaraunt called Cattle Country. Cattle Country. That has got to be the 3rd worst name to name a restaurant (Al's Fun in the Bun is tops, with Booby's a close second). Only one problem with Denny's: it's on the other side of the highway. To the left, highway. To the right, more highway. I have no car. Don't want to deal with evil shuttle bus driver again. Taking a cab to Denny's is ridiculous. So how the hell do you get to the other side? I tried to think of the punchline to "Why did the chicken cross the road?" for a clue to no avail. Settled for Cattle Country which was only across the street. After two 32-ounce beers, my Sunday in Minnesota was finally over.

Monday: Woke up wondering why the room I got didn't come with a fridge. Janet and Quinn had fridges in their respective rooms, why didn't I? Not only did I not have a fridge, turns out that I got a room especially designed for handicapped people. The toilet was unusally high so that the wheelchair-confined could easily scoot from their wheelchairs to the toilet and vice versa. The shower had 3 railings for the disabled to cling onto. And there was no showerhead. Just one of those mobile spray hose thingy's that you could clamp except there was nothing to clamp since the clamp thingy was broken off. Was someone trying to tell me something? No worries, my slight anger subsided after drinking at least 7 beers (I stopped counting at 5) that night.

Tuesday: Today I learned, among other things, that we are the inventors of McDonald's breakfast burrito. To show my pride, I decided to take a break from beer tonight and do something more productive, so I went to the casino (which did not serve alcohol, thus the beer-free night). To prevent myself from losing a lot of mon-ay, I pondered whether or not shuttle bus driver (a different one) really slipped and "accidentally" gave me his home number. Ughhh, and I wasn't acting "happy" this time either.

Wednesday: Spent much of my day playing with a cool light pen I received that had fiber optic filaments which allowed it to change different colors when pressing a button. Sometimes it would even change colors on its own. I came into Minnesota looking for answers, but halfway through the week I have nothing but additional questions: How does the cool light pen change colors on its own? How do you get to the Denny's across the highway? Why did the chicken cross the road?

Celebrated Cinco de Mayo with my fellow work friends at a bar in the Mall of America. People were amazed at how fast I can drink a beer. And I was on TV!!! My 5 seconds of fame on TV was spent saying, "Go Timberwolves!" (because the TV guy told us to). Oh btw - lesson learned - don't spend Cinco de Mayo in Minnesota.

Thursday: Because I never received an answer to my "How do you get to Denny's?" question, I went to Cattle Country for dinner where I literally ate all alone as everyone was home watching the final Friends episode. To celebrate the final episode, more beer...

Friday: Stupid taxi driver thought he was ripping me off when he took the long way driving me back to the airport. Then I pulled out the corporate card. Stupid driver, you aren't ripping me off, you're ripping my company off. Hah hah, now I get the last laugh. Mu-hah-hah-hah...

***End exclusive***

Am I Wrong?

First off, thanks to work wifey Michelle for confirming what I have been hearing in my head over the last few months - BORING. Yah, Brain Droppings has gone pretty stale since the onset of WrestleMania depression back in March. WrestleMania depression must have set in for Carl and Eric too; though they aren't wrasslin' fans, the thought of missing an opportunity to see oily, grown-up men grabbing and attempting to pin each other has caused both to become truly "happy," which must be the reason why neither queer has posted anything lately on their respective blogs...

...Back to moi...I don't typically buy clothes* unless it's on an as-needed basis, but since I'm travelling to Minneapolis for the week, I thought it would be a good idea to wear some genuinely fresh work clothes (i.e. not Febreze'd and not specially designated "the one" for the day because it was the shirt or pants with the least amount of wrinkles). And since I don't typically buy clothes, I went to a store that I deemed "work clothes worthy": JC Penney's. And since I don't typically buy clothes, buying almost $400 worth of clothes for only about $250 because everything I picked up was on sale so majorly kicked ass....

And since I don't typically buy clothes, what I did when picking out clothes was find a style that I thought was OK (because any guy that "likes" a style is not a guy), and pick up a couple clothes of that style, just in different colors. So, when all was said and done, I bought 3 pairs of the same style pants in different colors, 2 crew neck shirts in different colors, 2 polos in different colors and 2 button-up shirts in different colors. I know this is a pretty "happy" question to ask, but is this clothing taboo in a way similar to Avi wearing dark colored pants with white gym socks? Just asking...

*As opposed to renting clothes, which I have never done in the past, nor plan on doing in the future

Know Your Role and Shut Your Mouth

Better Left Unknown you've done it; you have successfully gotten me to devote my worthless time to replying to your comment from a few posts ago. But instead of "proving myself" to you, I'm going to go one step farther and prove to everyone who reads this that I'm not dellusional - fucktards really do exist...and you are an example of one.

If there's two things I can't stand, it's naivety and ignorance. Naivety is forgivable; I pity the fact that you live a very sheltered life. It's sad that you can't relate to things that go beyond your personal experiences. It's also sad that you have just enough brain cells to formulate a single sentence and can't articulate any farther. I'd like to know why you said what you said and discuss it, but I think it's pretty obvious that all you want to do is trash talk like a little whiny bitch (and yes, that was harsh).

And then there's your ignorance. If you're going to rip on someone, at least know what you're talking about. Uneducated one, there's a difference between ethnicity and nationality. I'm Filipino American. That's my nationality, and that's what I'm proud to identify myself as. Ethnicity is a class of people. Since you never go out, you probably have never filled out a form asking for your ETHNICITY. Since I attempt to interact with society (although usually not willingly), I have filled out many forms with this question and respond with Asian/Pacific Islander. However, there are a few differences that differentiate Asians and Pacific Islanders. And because of those differences, I identify myself as being more Pac Islander than Asian. "Fucktard" needs to be added on to the choices because your class of people is growing at an alarming rate.

This whole ethnicity vs. nationality issue doesn't even bug me. What does bug me is why you choose to focus on what I am rather than who I am. (Cena 5-knuckle shuffle) You don't know me! While I'm all for being proud of your origins, it's disturbing to me that people outwardly show their pride in a way that puts other people down. I live in a city where practically every nationality has a day to celebrate their pride. Even though traffic sucks, I'm fine with it. Some people choose to make their day-long celebration a week-long one, however, and that is not cool with me. Other people will take it the wrong way, intentional or not.

Stop being selfish and think of other people, it's a simple concept. Even Carl takes the rainbow cock off his coffee table when it's not gay pride day =)

The Simple Life

So yah, Friday was my birthday (much thanks to Cathy for reminding me of that). Birthdays, for me, aren't so hard to take. There's really only 3 ages in life - can't drink (before 21), can drink (after 21), and can drink some more (retirement). I think I'm going through a mid-life crisis because at the "can drink" age, I found myself celebrating in "can't drink" ways. Here's the rundown on the birthday festivities (which always seems to be a days-long celebration):

Friday
-Basketball
-Miniature golf
-Mitty's, a local bar

Saturday
-Cubs game
-Batting cages
-Mike's Ale House, my new favorite bar
-Bowling

Sunday
-Picnic at the Little Red School House
-Ice cream at Plush Horse
-Dinner with family at China Chef

So for my birthday, I'm thankful once again for not being a celebrity. Thank goodness birthdays only occur once a year. Now I can crawl back into my hole and resume the life of a hermit once again....I wish...

I Need Your Help

Over the last few months I have been in self-denial over the realization that I guess everyone around me pretty much knew. Throughout the backlash, I've held my head high through all the criticism, telling myself that I am a decent person, and that I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me. But sometimes the truth hurts, and it's about time that I come clean, so here it goes....folks....I'm....sexually frustrated cinematically challenged.

Yes, I am the movie deprived one. I am the "not everyone" person in a conversing group of people in the statement, "Sorry cool people of the world, we can't discuss this cool movie because 'not everyone' has seen it."

I'm tired of the same but feigned response: "YOU haven't seen the movie?" (like the movie was written, directed and produced just for me). Or how 'bout this truly classic response:

"You haven't seen the movie? It's OK. You're Asian." Now that statement is so wrong. For the record, I am NOT Asian. I am a Pacific Islander (because Hawaiian is not an ethnicity). There is a difference.

So now that I've come clean, I need your help (which is pretty much anyone remaining after the extermination of pretty much my entire reader base over the last month). By hook or by crook, I will become cinematically learned...

...And with my DVD burner and Blockbuster Rewards membership, I don't think I'm choosing "by hook"...

Now if you can just provide me with a few movie titles, I'll be well on my way to overcome this brutal handicap of mine.

Thank you for your support.

Happy Easter

Yet another story from the "Back in My Day" files" for your reading enjoyment:

FLINT, Michigan (AP) -- A group of children hunting for Easter eggs Saturday during a church event found two loaded handguns outside an elementary school. Flint police said officers were called to the scene and also recovered a BB gun and a broken toy gun on the grounds of Gundry Elementary School. No one was injured, Sgt. Michael Coote said. One of the guns discharged when it was dropped, according to a police report, but it was unclear who dropped it. The pastor of Ruth Street Baptist Church told WJRT-TV that one of the handguns had a bullet in the chamber, and the other handgun's clip had bullets in it. "It's terrible that something like this has happened," Pastor Namon Marshall told the station. Coote said he did not know how long the guns had been in the park. Police opened an investigation after confiscating the weapons.

Ummm, yeah....I wasn't fortunate enough to ever participate in an Easter egg hunt as a child, but I know that "back in my day," finding a gun in the middle of a kiddie game just wouldn't happen. Where's the innocence in today's world? It amazes me that we live in a world where the rapid advancement of technology is supposed to make our lives better, yet we still find ways to make our lives more stressful, and thus seemingly less worthwhile. Even worse, we expose our youth to the reality that with life, there is also death. Whether they realize it or not, our youth then learn that death is inevitable, so they fear it. This fear of death becomes a growing anger and hatred for that which, perceived, is out to get them. If adults young and old can't even understand the relationship that exists between death, anger and hatred, how do we expect our growing future to even comprehend? The answer is, "They can't."

Ice Breakers

Contrary to popular belief, I am a shy person when it comes to meeting new people. Yes, I do give people working the toll booths more attention (in a non-sexual way) than the common driver. And yes, I reward restaraunt servers well for the (cough, cough, non-sexual) services I make them do for me. But as anyone who has visited the old form of my website (version 2.0) and remembers my emotional "Ode to the Busboy," people fail to realize that the individuals doing these important tasks are people too, and probably don't get the appreciation they rightfully deserve...

Enough warm and pointless attention to those losers, back to me...so yeah, I'm a shy guy. And to at least one person who shall remain nameless, I'm a boring one at that. BTW, I hope the wrath of Erwin hasn't hit you hard...yet, Becky. Feel better...while you still can =)

Well, I have to thank two wonderful individuals for helping to overcome my shy and boring state at Mrs. Kulash-Welling-Bloom- (and if lesbian marriages become legal in Illinois) Garner's gala event over the weekend. While the celebrity hostess was busy giving tours of her mansion, these two made me feel welcome, like I was right at home. Although the center of conversations, they were willing to give me some attention. One even made me dinner!

Much appreciation goes out to the charcoal grill and beer keg. They rock!

Donde Esta?

Where did I go? Where did everyone else go? Wow, a startling revelation: Less people visit my blog when I do not post as often. What's up with that?

Lately I've spent a lot of my time working at home on my computer. Since I've been geeking in, I haven't gone out. And since I haven't done anything interesting as of late, there just hasn't been very much going on that I would deem blogworthy.

Oh well, summer is quickly approaching and things will be going again like a styrofoam cup on a paper plate on a snowy day. I will leave you with something to ponder...

Question of the Day: Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. And whoever knows it, wants it not. What is it?

My, Have Times Changed

(AP) -- Police in Miami say it wasn't oregano that a five-year-old brought to school and sprinkled over a friend's lasagna -- it was marijuana.

A monitor intervened, and the food was confiscated before the other boy had a chance to eat it. Police say it's unclear whether the kindergartner even knew what it was, although they say he tried to hide the bag when a cafeteria monitor approached.

Authorities are investigating the boy's family.

Meantime, there's a similar case in Indianapolis. Authorities say a four-year-old showed crack cocaine to his pre-school classmates, saying it was flour.

Police say the drugs are worth up to ten-thousand dollars. They're still searching for the child's parents, who both have criminal records.

Man, I must be getting really old because I find myself saying the phrase, "Back in the day..." more and more. Back in the day, trading sandwiches with a fellow classmate was the thing to do when you didn't like your lunch. Nowadays, kids are settling for their own lunches, but are offering their special home herbs to friends with less tasty lunches. Is school cafeteria food so terrible that mind-altering drugs are needed to make them taste better? I guess dousing all my meals with ketchup or A1 steak sauce just doesn't cut it anymore...

...And show-'n-tell? Back in the day kids used to oogle and ogle at the brightest, shiniest toys brought to school. Bringing a bag of booger sugar to school? What's so cool about that?

An Observation in Cynicism

Why can't we all take things for what they're worth? Yes, that sounds pretty hypocritical coming from my mouth since I have a tendency to read between the lines and search for deeper meanings that may or may not exist (usually the latter). Some things are just meant to be simply because they are. And sometimes no reason is needed because it simply is not necessary. What it is is what it is (sometimes)...

Case in point: Eric and I drove to a Chicago Rush arena football game today without tickets. We were planning on getting tickets at the arena's box office or finding some scalper who had decent seats. As we were approaching the box office line, we noticed a scalper at the back of the line trying to sell off some tickets. And as the scalper was about to make a deal, out of nowhere comes a guy passing out tickets for free. Not only were the tickets free, but they were also for pretty good seats. And after this courteous gesture by some angel sent down by the arena football god, some dumbassess still had the audacity to question the sincerity of the whole thing.

"Just take the tickets man," was my response. Don't search for hidden agendas because there simply are none. What is it with people (especially in Chicago) second-guessing the obvious? Ignorance is bliss, but it doesn't apply to naive twits that sadly make up a majority of the world population...

Here's two questions for ya (think fast):

1. (From the last post) You are participating in a race. You overtake the second person. What position are you in?

2. You are participating in a race. If you overtake the last person, then you are...?

Murphy's Erwin's Law

To the person who first recommended that one should be at the airport at least two hours before his or her flight, you are a freakin' genius. I have decided to devote the rest of my life to spread awareness of the evils of not being at the airport at least two hours prior. Here's why:

1. 99% of the driving population can't drive. "Hey there ma, there's a truck on dem dere side of the road. It may not be roadkill but it sure is ex-sah-ting to see the poor trucker fella's blinkers go off. Yee dawg-ee" (Having worked retail for 5 years, I'm well-versed in hick). State governments need to add an extra section to the driving exam to test for common sense. It can even be one question, but you only have 2 seconds to answer:

You are participating in a race. You overtake the second person. What position are you in?

2. More on common sense, who the freakin' hell does road construction in the middle of morning rush hour? Following in the example of Chicago, that's the time construction crews are on break. Of course, they're also on break for pre-breakfast, breakfast, pre-lunch, lunch, pre-dinner, dinner, dessert and the afternoon rush hour. They may work like hobbits (including the pipeweed smoking), but they sure do get paid damn well for it. Everywhere else take note.

3. So I made it to the airport with an hour left before my flight. I checked my bag in with no problems. I'm in the clear right? Too bad there was a line as long as Shaquille O' Neal's big black bitch splitter just to search the carry-ons. It took about 45 minutes to get to the front of the line, which is probably the amount of time to climb Mount Shaq, isn't that right Carl???

4. 15 minutes left before my flight leaves and I'm finally a few persons away from getting my carry-on checked out. The gameplan now is simple - be really easy going with the friendly security people so as to not attract suspicious attention for an additional search and then dart like a deranged lunatic to my plane which started boarding 20 minutes ago. I somehow failed to factor in the 70+ year old fogey standing at the front of the line who to me conveniently collapsed on the floor. All security halted checking bags to give the guy medical attention, and while everyone was like, "OMG! OMG! Is he OK?", I was like, "OMG!, OMG! I'm going to miss my freakin plane!" Luckily, he got up after a minute and security resumed checking bags as normal. Rather than a heart attack, it turns out that old geezer man's peg leg wasn't put on right and gave out on him.

I was able to make my plane as they were closing it's hatch. This wasn't before being included on a conversation with a bunch of 50-something flight attendants talking about how they were wearing green thongs in honor of St. Patrick's Day though. Welcome to my world...

I Need a Vacation...

...And so it is granted...
This is a swerve
We are all mortals. Our bodies, though strong, cannot defy time. One day, we will die... What matters most is the legacy we leave behind....

Did we become all that we are capable of becoming?

Did we make the difference we came here to make?

Did we pursue our dreams when all around us thought we were chasing illusions?

Only those who dare to rise are able to lift themselves above horizons...

Only those bold enough to chase dreams are the ones who catch them...

WrestleMania: The Showcase of the Immortals

WrestleMania XX...New York City...Madison Square Garden...Where it all begins, again

When the dead return to the living, then so shall I (I like this cryptic ambiguity)...

What Has This World Come To?

Instead of going forward, human civilization is pulling a Santy and going in the wrong direction. Is it really possible to de-evolve? The way things are going, in a few years, brain cells are going to officially become endangered spieces (they're already endangered, but we're too stupid to realize it). We're all eventually going to become amoebas. Unfortunately, some people are already blobs, like Carl, the single-celled asexual.

Yah, it's gotten pretty bad. Whatever happened to basic social skills? I spent almost 2 hours in a seminar today at work on basically learning to become more appreciative. The sad thing? Right after this meeting on saying "thank you", a co-worker of mine received some recognition for doing a good job - and she couldn't even acknowledge the compliment. It's a friggin common courtesy to say thanks; we shouldn't have to sit through a 2 hour session on how to say it.

Then there's stories like the one below that make me realize that I give ourselves way too much credit. This person wins my fucktard of the day award:

COVINGTON, Ga. - A woman was caught trying to use a fake $1 million bill to buy $1,675 worth of merchandise at a Wal-Mart, and was later found with two more of the bills in her purse, police said. The United States Treasury does not make $1 million bills, but people can buy souvenirs of such a bill at some stores, police said. "It looks real, but of course there's nothing real about this," Covington Police Chief Stacey Cotton said Tuesday. "People do crazy things all the time. I think it's just another example of some odd things that occur."

A clerk at the store immediately noticed the bill was fake when 35-year-old Alice Regina Pike handed it to her on Friday, Cotton said. Pike then tried to use two gift cards with only $2.32 of value on them to buy the merchandise, but when that didn't work she again asked if the clerk could cash the $1 million bill, Cotton said. The store then called police. Pike, of Porterdale, was charged with forgery. There was no listing for her phone number in directory assistance, and she could not be reached for comment Tuesday.

Arrrggghhhh

Downtown Chicago - a business mecca, the second largest financial center in the country. Somewhere in the hoopla of perpetual exchange is yours truly, watching money fly around every which way but into my bank account (that would be money laundering which, until our drug lord buddies from down way way south (farther than Worth, IL) decide to take over, is illegal). Six-figure amounts of money isn't all that much. Seven figures is mediocre. Eight figures and higher? Let's start talking...

On any given day, we're hit for hundreds and even thousands of dollars worth of charges. A $700 charge? Take the hit, it's not even worth arguing over. So why the hell am I pissed off that I lost ten freakin dollars???

Is it the fact that I put $10 on my public transportation fare card and forgot to take it out of the vending machine? Nah, slapping myself across the back of my head for doing dumbass things probably killed more brain cells than I already have, making myself dumbass to the extreme (i.e. Eric a fucktard).

Maybe it's because that $10 could have been put to better use. I mean, if Sally Struthers can convince me that ten cents can purchase a cup of coffee in Ethiopia, think of what $10 can do. Or even better yet, I could go to Starbucks twice instead of once a week and get myself a "venti toffee nut frappucino twice blended with whipped cream" that I crave oh so much. Yah, my humanitarian priorities are in order.

I think the reason why I am so pissed about losing $10 is because the person who ended up getting my card out of the machine was a nice little sweet elderly lady. And when I nicely asked the nice little sweet elderly lady for my card...that fucking withered old hag denied she had it. "Hey, #$%! cunt whore, you were right behind me. Are you like on Alzheimers or something? ***Ghetto Max takes over Erwin's body*** Bitch, you'd better recognize and get those social security collectin' hands back in yo' Ben-Gay smellin' purse and gimme my CTA card befo' I bust a cap in yo' ass foo'!"

OK, maybe I didn't say those things to that extent. It would've sounded good at the time though. Damn me for repressing things.

Me No Feel So Good

I hate to bring up yesterday's news (errr, my last post) up again, but is the fact that my nose hasn't stopped bleeding profusely on a daily basis someone's way of telling me that I have an overabundance of blood in my system and that instead of gobbing it up in clumps of tissue, maybe I should go to a blood bank and donate the excess instead? Or am I really the subject of some alium experiment that is testing a new form of a gradual and less painful death (aliums are wusses; after being subjected to having to listen to William Hung, they're pretty squeamish on human suffering).

Maybe I've finally hit some post pubescent menstrual stage. I mean, the first time my nose bled last week I was in the shower, and when I looked at the shower floor, there was blood everywhere. I freaked out like a little girl getting her first period. Now a week later, when I feel my crimson tide coming, I calmly plug it up, thinking that it will end eventually (although it always seems to end more later than sooner).

Hopefully the end is near. It's bad enough coming into work many times with red eyes (due to lack of sleep) looking half-blown. The fact that I am constantly rubbing my nose like a guy on really bad coke surely isn't helping my drug-free image.

Damn Aliums

Ummm, I think I was abducted by aliums over the weekend. After pulling the book, "Where'd That Anal Probe Come From? How to Tell If You've Been Abducted by Aliums" from my reference library, I found an abduction case called an X-File; these "X-Files" later on apparently became the basis for a TV show that was quite popular in the late '90's with the same name (Yes, the X-Files are true stories, everyone of them).

Reading through this one X-File that occured one cool fall season years ago, I found that there are striking similarities between Dana Scully's alium abduction and my potential alium abduction over the weekend:

Scully: Light-headedness, nausea, unexpected nose bleeds, pregnancy

Me: Light-headeness, nausea, unexpected nose bleeds, pregna... an ever-growing beer gut that looks a lot like a pregnant belly

What's more, Scully had two lumps on the back of her neck...I have two scabs on the knuckles of my index and middle finger on my right hand. I tell people that I got the scabs wall climbing, but is that what really happened or is that just what the aliums programmed me to say???

As for the anal probe, even if the aliums shoved it up my ass dry without putting me under anesthesia or being kind enough to use some lube, I still wouldn't have felt it. The 10-foot wide chasm that was once my asshole was carved out of the ass reaming I'm currently getting at work.
The Truth Is Out There, FUCKTARD
Oh by the way...there is a secret message hidden somewhere in this post. Cookies for you if you find it...

Brew and View Review: The Passion of the Christ

OK, to be honest, I didn't see the movie at an actual brew and view. But I did have a few beers last night and less than 12 hours later, I did see the movie with the alcohol still somewhere circulating throughout my body, so does that count? Eh, I didn't think so either, so much for trying to make ends meet...

If Mel Gibson just read the above, he'd probably go William Wallace on me. Yes, the movie has a serious overtone to it. Moreover though, "The Passion" is a very in-your-face depiction of the last few hours of Jesus the Christ. Mr. Lethal Weapon wants you to not only be fully aware of the harsh reality of the situation, but also do some personal reflection from it as well. And that's the real reason why this movie would never appear in a brew-and-view; to view this movie with distractions all around defeats Mellie Mel's true intentions for creating the movie.

Did I like the movie? Yes...wait, no....wait. There really isn't an answer to that question. The more important question that should be asked is, "Did the movie appeal to human emotion?" And with that, I give a resounding "Yes-sir-ree Bob." To not feel anything during the movie is inhuman. It doesn't matter what your faith or beliefs are; moviegoers witnessed the beating and death of a man. If that isn't disturbing, then you have problems.

I admit, the reason why I wanted to see the movie was out of curiosity. The news media hyped the movie, taglining it as something not suitable for young viewers. The bloodlust in me wanted to see how violent this movie was. Actions, in this movie, truly speak louder than words. I found myself in the movie, wanting to throw in the towel for a man who was beaten and whipped, strips of flesh ripped out, blood spraying everywhere, until close to death. If this was any other movie, I would have thought the violence was fun to watch. But this is reality; seeing welts caused by whips eventually become chunks of flesh removed by spiked chains is not fun to look at. This is what it was really like.

Another thing in the back of my mind before watching the movie was the cry of potential anti-Semitism that this movie might create. I put myself in different viewpoints throughout the movie and failed to see how one group of people could be targeted. The movie does a great job of showing that we as mankind were and still are fully accountable for the death of Jesus. If there is one group of people that could be held at fault, "we" are that group. To those who were able to absorb the movie, however, it doesn't really matter. "We" are given forgiveness for that which we do not know we do.

So that's my take on the movie. I'm not going to rate it because it shouldn't be rated. And I'm not going to recommend it either, because it's really all subjective on each individual perspective (of course, if we all thought like that Roger Ebert wouldn't have a job and therefore die of malnourishment from lack of popcorn butter)...

For anyone closer to my age that's seen the movie: Did you notice how the devil kinda looked like Billy Corgan? I knew there was something evil about that metro-hippie

If They Only Knew

For the un-teenth time in the last few days, I got a call from Loyola (sucks) tonight. They've been calling pretty often recently for what I had suspected to be some kind of solicitation for donations. I don't quite understand the cry for help schools use to target their alumni. As an alumnus of a sucky school, why should I feel obliged to give them money? It's a private university, so how much in need could they possibly be? I'd rather give my money to a worthy cause, or at the very least to someone who actually needs the money...

Anyways, instead of screening my calls or picking up the phone and pretending I'm someone else, I actually took the call, hoping it would once and for all make them stop calling. It probably won't, but if word spreads about the call tonight, they won't be calling me for a long time. Here's a general condensed version of the phone dialogue:

Loyola Chick: We're calling to see how you've been doing since graduating a few years back. Do you have a few minutes?
Erwin: Umm, I'm watching WWE Smackdown and this huge fat wrassler guy is about to shove his ass in this other wrassler guy's face. I think I can spare a couple minutes.
Loyola Chick: Well, first of all I just wanted to give you an update on the school of business. We're excited about our new business dean. He went to Loyola and received both his degree in business and his MBA there. He comes to Loyola after spending 25 years at Abbott Laboratories.
Erwin: Really? I have a friend who graduated from Loyola who currently works at Abbott Labs.
Loyola Chick: Oh really? What does she do?
Erwin: Umm, I don't know. I think she bends over and takes it up the ass all day.
*Few seconds of stunned silence*
Loyola Chick: Ummmm....O.......K.....Erwin, can you tell me what you're doing nowadays? Are you working?
Erwin: Yep, I work at a futures and options clearinghouse in downtown Chicago.
Loyola Chick: What do you do there?
Erwin: I bend over AND grab my ankles, and proceed to take it up the ass all day.
*Long silence*
Loyola Chick: O...K...Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I'm a freshmen currently majoring in Communications...Can you tell me about your college experience while at Loyola?
Erwin: Do you like your questions being answered with questions?
Loyola Chick: What?
Erwin: Are you aware that a study was published when I attended Loyola that showed that Loyola students were ranked among the least happiest college students in the state of Illinois?
Loyola Chick: No
Erwin: That study was accurate
*Silence yet again*
Loyola Chick: Can you tell me why you chose Loyola's school of business?
Erwin: Business wasn't my first choice, but it was the quick and easy way out. Loyola made me realize that I was there for the degree, not the education.
*I had sensed the conversation was not going as well as she planned*
Loyola Chick: Can you tell me about any internship experiences you had while at Loyola?
Erwin: I interned at the place that evenutally became my first job out of school. It was quite a learning experience. That's where I began to take it up the ass.
*By this time, Loyola Chick had given up on me and went through the worst telemarketing sales spiel I think I have ever heard*
Loyola Chick: ...Would you like to agree to a small contribution of $150 to Loyola's School of Business Alumni Fund?...
Erwin: Are you also aware that another study was published that showed that Loyola students incurred the greatest amount of debt by the time they had graduated of all schools in the state of Illinois?
Loyola Chick: No
Erwin: That study was also accurate. Have a good night.

Yah, it's times like these that make me proud to be a Loyola alumnus

I'm Going to Hell

5:30 PM: Good time to close shop at work today so Erwin can make it to the Ash Wednesday service at his local church. Erwin notices that Karen is struggling through the end of day process so he asks if he can be of any assistance. Karen whines about how everytime she has plans, things at work never go smoothly. Erwin considers taking over and letting Karen leave work because she has plans. Frustrated Karen mentions that she was going to go to her church for Ash Wednesday...

Uh-oh. Sounds like we've got a WWJD dilemma. If Erwin leaves now, he makes it to church, but Karen doesn't and she burns eternally in hell until the next Ash Wednesday as a result. But if Erwin lets Karen go, she makes it to church and Erwin...makes it too, so the two earn church cookies *yummy*. So the answer is simple: "Karen, I gotta go, see you later."

Unfortunately for Karen, Erwin is not Jesus. Jesus always makes things look simple, I think it's those divine powers of His. Erwin is burning in hell for his actions as I speak, errr, type. And you thought he was just referring to himself in the third person.

While Erwin's burning eternally in hell, here's something to ponder about for just as long:

If cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?

Restaraunt Road Rules

Ahhh, a post that expands more on the Restaraunt Road Rules ("RRR"). Basically speaking, there are only two constants to RRR: a starting point (the place where everyone meets) and a destination point (a place that serves food). Other than those two, anything goes; in the car, RRR participants take turns making up rules (i.e. fast food or sit down? left or right side of the street? etc.). Just a few RRR observations:

1. When going towards O'Hare, you are almost guaranteed that Heavenly Bodies inadvertently becomes a realistic possibility.
2. When the rule, "Cannot eat at a restaraunt with a purple car in the parking lot" is in effect, finding a restaraunt without a purple car in the parking lot becomes difficult.
3. When the rule, "Must eat at the restaraunt closest to the sign that has 'tit'" is in effect, silence fills the car because everyone is looking for some tit.
4. Eating at a restaraunt that satisfies the above rule proves that the "perpetual rule" will be used one day. The Perpetual Rule - If you see a man wearing a yellow raincoat with his son, you must ask the man to have dinner at his home.

And after this past Saturday,

5. When Carl bitches about an area (Rush St.), expect to be in this area when RRR are is in effect that night.

Yah, after talking to Carl and hearing from him how last weekend on Rush St. sucked and that he didn't want to do that again, what are the chances that we end up in the same place again? With Carl's luck, pretty high. After deciding that Subway should not be considered a restaraunt through intelligent debate (rocks, paper, scissors), we decided on PJ Clarkes, which was a block down from where we were last week.

What normally would have taken 20 minutes to get to took almost 2 hours. I think we were pretty hungry. So it should come as no surprise that the question of the moment while taking a look at the menu was not what to eat, but rather, "When a bartender quits his/her job, does the restaraunt update the 'Bartender's Favorite Picks" section on their menu to reflect the new bartender's favorite picks?" Our server Caressa couldn't answer the question. And she turned into a ghost when she saw that we actually tried calling the bar on their work phone to get the answer:

Random Thoughts

Once upon a time, when the moon was still young, there was a blog site called Random Thoughts. Random Thoughts eventually evolved into the blog site you currently read today, Brain Droppings. And while the name has changed over time (and will undoubtedly change again eventually) the premise of the names remain the same: this web log is all about the many thoughts, ideas, and experiences that run through my head. What you read is but one of a trillion synapses that is most prevalent at the time of my post. The reason I mention this? While I know some of you are expecting a post of this weekend's activities, it's not going to happen...today. There's something more pressing I need to talk about...

Last Monday, I took my sister out for lunch. We don't talk to each other all that much, so I thought it was a good thing to grab a bite to eat and see how she was doing with life. She had recommended a Thai buffet, which was fine with me since I like love Thai food and was guaranteed to get a full stomach's worth of food. Getting there, I was a little apprehensive about the place since it seemed a bit hole-in-the-wall to me. But I wasn't worried, my sister had their food before. Then walking into the restaraunt I had questioned to myself why we were the only customers they had. But I wasn't worried, my sister had their food before. Then I wondered why there was a guy waiting for what seemed an eternity to get his Thai take-out. But I wasn't worried, their service couldn't be that bad; having eaten their meals before, my sister represents return business. Then I had sampled their Pad Thai noodles and basil chicken; good tasting all-you-can-eat Pad Thai, I was going to make this restaraunt sorry. My negative energies about the place disappeared...mostly...

The guy waiting for his take-out was still waiting and quite some time had passed (I had finished off two full plates of Pad Thai noodles). I could tell he was getting antsy. "How could service be this bad?" I thought. I asked this same question to my sister, whom I previously assumed had eaten at this establishment before, and her response: "I don't know, this is my first time here." All the worries I had of the place returned and some more worries popped up. I went over to our server, who seemed MIA for a long time and asked for more water. As she gave me the glasses, she pointed to the guy and whispered to me, "That guy, health inspector, surprise inspection."

By the way all the other workers were acting, I was under the impression that this surprise inspection wasn't going to go so well. I guzzled my glass of water hoping to dilute the food potentially made in unsanitary conditions. Our server saw this and came over to our table filling my glass with bad food dilutant again. She had told us that everything was fine and to get more food. I had never been so scared to get another plate of buffet food in my life. Even more intimidating was the health inspector testing the buffet area as I got my third plate of food.

Needless to say, my sister and I got out of there in a hurry. We might have even gotten out of there just in time. If my sister and I waited a few minutes later, we might have been trapped in the restaraunt forever, the doors locked by huge orange stickers that say "Restaraunt close due to unsanitary conditions by order of health inspector." I wonder if that place on Touhy and California is still open. Oh well, it's not like I'll be going there ever again.

The moral of the story - Don't eat food at restaraunts recommended by starving college students. They'll eat anything.

To make certain people happy, here's a prelude to a post about this weekend:



(Eric, Caressa, Me and Carl at PJ Clarkes - Restaraunt Road Rules Destination Point)

Homework

No time for a decent post today, working on my boss' performance review. I love the whole idea of 360 degree performance feedback. Doesn't HR know they're setting up a situation very similar to that one Simpsons episode where the Simpsons go for group shock therapy and end up beating the crap out of each other? Wait a minute, there is a method to their madness; by kicking the shiznitt out of everyone else we weed out the weak and hopeless (i.e. twit genocide). And since there's nothing more fun than brutalizing the fucktards of the world, we achieve a more fun and vibrant workplace, which is a companywide objective.

Still, this review is taking a lot longer to do than I thought. Since this is my boss' review and she will ultimately end up seeing what I write, I have to be really prim and proper with my words. Here are a few examples of what I have so far:

"Laura's ability to think “out of the box” gives those who are heavily involved with day-to-day operations alternative points of view when dealing with issues."

Translation: Like hel-lo? My name is Laura and I'm like, your arm chair quarterback and backseat driver rolled up into one or something. Cha, that was like so easy. Duh...


"There have been instances where there was lack of guidance because Laura was not as familiar with certain work processes."

Translation: Laura knows crap about what anyone else does. Take me for example:

Laura: Erwin, what are your primary responsibilities?
Erwin: FNX in the morning and open issues in the afternoon.
Laura: Just those two?
Erwin: Mmm Hmm
Laura: *pauses*That's it?
Erwin: Yup
Laura: O....K....

"Laura’s teamwork skills are good; Laura always looks to involve appropriate individuals when encountering issues she cannot resolve on her own."

Translation: Laura is really good at leaving her work for someone else to do. Especially on Fridays. Because she's doesn't work Fridays.


"Laura needs to be more proactive within the department . As head of operations, Laura needs to take more ownership and accountability."

Translation: Laura needs to actually do work during her 4-day work week instead of planning her next weekend vacation (she has every Friday, Saturday and Sunday off). And being proactive does not mean making more personal calls to "pookie," her latchkey child, and "noodle," her husband.


"Laura does let those within the department know that she is always approachable and makes an effort to let them feel open and comfortable when discussing issues."

Translation: Actually, same response as the first translation. Duh!


"It is OK to share my comments with Laura"

Translation: Yeeah, beeotch, you're going to take my comments and you're going to like it dammit. If you had even a single brain cell, you'd realize that I'm insulting you, but since you are the epitome of twitdom, you're just going to sit there, smile and giggle.

Oh well, gotta get back to work. All work and no play for me. Here, play with monkeys in my absence (Requires Macromedia Flash).

The Side Show Bob Show

Saw a Kill Hannah show tonight. To those who don't know, Kill Hannah is an up-and-coming local Chicago band that is starting to make a name for itself mainstream. They sound excellent live and their shows on the whole are really good. As an added bonus, their lead singer kinda looks like Side Show Bob. See?


Side Show Bob, serial killer and Bart Simpson stalker


Mat Devine, lead singer of Kill Hannah

This being the second Kill Hannah show I've seen, I've noticed Mat has a thing for rubbing his stomach when he sings. Not in a "I'm a sexy rock star" sort of way, but more like a "I'm a Starvin' Marvin from Ethiopia, please feed me some cheesy poofs and chicken pot pie" sort of way. Watching Mat subliminally beg for food made me feel guilty about having a burrito before the show, a pre-show tradition inspired by their song, "10 More Minutes With You"...

One day, this tradition will grow as their fan base increases worldwide. Yes, there will come a day when we will no longer have to go into hole-in-the-wall burrito establishments. Instead, little Mexican men will trade in their elotes carts and ice cream buggies for burrito carts to feed the legion of fans waiting in line to see their beloved Kill Hannah band perform, ending once and for all world hunger. And poor Mat will never rub his anorexic tummy again, because if he does, there will be more than enough Kill Hannah burritos to stuff his face with. Long live el burrito

My Friday Night Part II: Self-Destructive Behavior

This is the thrilling finale of Erwin's recount of his Friday night. To recap what has happened so far (Odd Todd would be so proud):

1. Multiple glasses of whis-kay
2. Beck-ay, Buff-ay, Stace-ay and Sush-ay
3. Plot to take over world discover-ay

At this time I still hadn't felt the effects of the above driving from Antarctica back up to the North Pole. But for some friggin reason, I couldn't form any words singing along with the radio in my car. Granted, I don't know the words to very many songs; I usually utter a sound that can be understood as the last word to each line of a song's lyrics. But if people saw my stellar singing performance in the car on Friday, they would think it was downright entertaining...in a comedic, not musical way.

In Carl's house one second and out with the ambiguously gay duo (Carl and Eric) another second. I'm still not feeling the nauseating effects of Becky's wrath. The three of us are having a good time in the car as Carl drives. Still not feeling anything. At this time, I was thinking "Hah, hah, Becky, I am much man for your evil wrath." And then it happened, Becky pushes her wrath button...

I like to think of myself as a patient person who lets things unfold before making a decision. But when you're in the middle of downtown Chicago looking for parking, it's every driver for themself, unless you want to waste all your overpriced gallons of gas driving around in circles. And if you're the drunk passenger in the backseat of a car getting even more car sick because the driver can't find parking, patience is thrown out the window. A split-second decision needs to be made whether to spew in the car or out of it. Luckily for Carl (mainly because the noose he has around his neck would be transferred to around his sac...after the world's strongest magnifying glass is created to find it) , I made the executive decision to calmly exit the car in the middle of an intersection and attempt to exorcise myself along the sidewalk of the whiskey demon that inhabited me.

I wouldn't have had a problem letting it out. But it's disturbing when someone is attempting to photograph you in the middle of the act. It's even more disturbing when you're hunched over a lamp post about to spew when you look across the street and see that it's your friend trying to capture the Kodak moments. Needless to say, I didn't vomit - sorry, Eric, I'm camera shy when it comes to things like that.

Carl eventually found parking and we were on our way to babysitting bar hopping on Rush Street. The cold Chicago weather sobered me up a little, I thought. I thought wrong. We walk into Dublin's and I was pretty gone. I do remember taking this picture though.



I also remember Carl and I talking to the table next to us when we were about to leave. We learned that women pretending to be school teachers aren't allowed to have pictures taken of them at bars for fear that the pics would wind up on some porn site like www.fatalysis.blogspot.com. Go figure.

I was pretty much Bernie from the movie, "Weekend at Bernies" after we left. We ended up going to Bar Chicago to watch Carl stripper dance and Alumni Club to inspect their washrooms. Even though Carl and Eric only had one beer apiece, I do question how sober they were that night. So I stalked a guy selling Valentine's Day balloons for half a city block. But I'm not the one who wanted to hump a taxi cab *cough, Carl* or stumble and fall on our way back to the car when the night finally ended *sneeze, Eric*...

And that concludes the "bad part" of my night, which really wasn't all too bad. Actually, hanging out with Carl and Eric, I would say this is pretty typical. Good times, good times....

(This is the first of a two-part saga known as my Friday Night)

My Friday Night Part I: Conspiracy Theory

For those wondering, this is what I look like when I'm der..deruh...drunk (Bare with me as I'm still learning that word. It's still pretty new to me since I'm not that word often...in a week):



Yah. that's me on Friday night holding a couple bottles of whiskey. In case you were wondering in amazement how I could still be standing and somewhat conscious after two whiskey bottles, no, I didn't guzzle down both bottles in the same night. And no, I didn't guzzle down each bottle by myself. A great majority of the liver homicide was me though. But I have a reason...You didn't know this, but I do freelance work for a newspaper magazine periodical thingy doing weekly reviews of irish whiskey. It all makes sense now right? I mean really, who would be more qualified to review Irish whiskey than a 24-year old Filipino who until last week has never had a single drop of the stuff that burns us *gollum*?

For some schizo reason, I don't think you believe me...Alright, time to fess up. I've been stricken with WOB (Wrath of Becky). Symptoms of WOB include severe paranoia and the need to say "Squee!" Short-term memory loss also occurs as I seem to have forgotten how or why I incurred Becky's wrath in the first place (this forgetfulness could also be attributed to Loyola Dimentia because Loyola sucks).

With Stacey acting as a median host, I was able to finally meet Human Becky (I've met Cyber Becky before, but at times questioned whether Human Becky really existed or if Stacey had the first ever case of cyber dissociative identity disorder). Apparently, however, those who come in contact with Human Becky face the consequence of having their short-term memory altered. This is why she conveniently provided the whiskey; unbeknownst to me, there are agents in the whiskey that cause you to act really stupid when drinking in large quantities *gasps*.

Along with the drinks, we had a fun night ordering take-out and watching a few episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And then it hit me (not the alcohol, that's later): Becky's Wrath? Sushi? Buffy? OK Go? There seems to be a hidden agenda behind all this: Subjecting people to these things, Stacey and Becky are looking to take over the world. Ironically, the second I thought this, Stacey, sensing that I discovered their *evil* plans, abruptly ended the night, claiming that she might have had more of the *evil* poison that was in actuality probably meant for me...

Meeting Becky and hanging out with her and Stacey was good times overall. So ends the "good times" portion of my Friday night. Tomorrow - the "bad times" (stay tuned, the alcohol finally hits).

Before There Was Barney...

Had an interesting discussion at work today...wait a minute...(Begin eye-opening moment) I just realized that the only interesting discussions I have at work are with people I don't even work with. What's more, I think I even socialize more with these people than my fellow co-workers. Given that the preferred mode of communication between us is e-mail, I now see why my gradually increasing silence was a department concern. Don't worry, all's well again; complying with the request to remove the 4-foot high wall of storage boxes that enclosed my cube, thus making me virtually non-existant was my way of saying, "See? No weapons of mass destruction. No Osama Bin Laden either." (End eye-opening moment)

Back to today's interesting discussion...while coming to the conclusion that the MS-Paint Diet was healthier and more effective than the Atkins Diet even though there was a side effect that caused people to turn purple, we came upon the topic of Grimace, that loveable, purple, uhhhh, thing that was one of Ronald McDonald's friends during the "Food, Folks and Fun" McDonald's era.



Grimace was truly the prototype of Barney the Dinosaur. He She It was purple, big, slow and dumb. But something about Grimace quite didn't fit in with the rest of the Mc D friends. People could easily relate Birdie to Chicken McNuggets, Burglar to burgers and the Fry Kids to...French Fries. But what about Grimace? Nothing really. Of course, being a little kid watching these commercial, I really didn't care. Food, folks and fun, man...Rock on, Garth! (This is where you mentally respond a la Wayne's World, but we all know you'll end up saying the appropriate response out loud to yourself)...

Now years later and with a super-sized gut, I re-ask the question, "What about Grimace?" And thanks to Becky and Stacey, I now know the answer, though very dark: Grimace was Ronald's bitch; if Ronald was a priest, Grimace would be his favorite altar boy; if Ronald was Michael Jackson, Grimace would be Macauley Culkin and each and everyone of his brothers that came after him; etc. As Becky intelligently pointed out, that was the reason for Grimace's binge-eating which ultimately resulted in its obtuseness (as pictured). This also explains why Grimace waddled like it had something up its ass.

To add further insult to injury, I now theorize the following: To the innocent, Ronald McDonald was known for creating golden arches with his fingers. To the learned and more mature audiences, however, these "golden arches" could be symbolically construed as Ronald producing "golden showers" with an appendage other than his fingers. I therefore theorize that Ronald McDonald was a gay, flaming homosexual. To further support my claim, observe and focus on the shape of Grimace....You're not seeing things, Grimace fits the basic shape of an anal plug. That's why Ronald is so happy to give Grimace a hug. A few minutes after this snapshot was taken, Ronald scaled Mount Butt Plug and impaled himself in a manner similar to a snake engulfing a rat....

Isn't it ironic that we were subjected to this subliminally perverted idea in our youth, yet we all turned out mentally OK? All of us are a bit mental, right?

Cof-fay Talk

I’m feeling a bit verklempt today. I’ll give you a topic: Text messaging is not a convenience but instead an evil work of the devil that must be banished for the good of mankind

Now talk amongst yourselves (preferably in this post’s Comments area)

The Lost Super Bowl Commercial

Backtracking to last week, a majority of the country saw some pretty bad Super Bowl commercials. Companies paid $2.1 million for 30 second spots that wreaked of elephant gas. An anti-smoking commercial aimed at America's youth - sponsored by a tobacco company. An IBM commercial that made no sense except to show how the once lively Muhammad Ali has declined to practically a vegetable. Sorry, corporate America, not all of us are as dumb as you think, so please don't insult our intelligence.

Well, here's some anti-AOL propaganda that they should've aired during the Super Bowl. It's very staight to the point. And we would have done it for only $1 million.

AOL 9.0 With Topspeed Technology Makes Us Sick


(Photo courtesy of Nancy and Dean from Minnesota)

A Disgruntled Reader

Disclaimer: Please note that the views expressed by this editiorial do not reflect in no way, shape or form the views and ideas of the Brain Droppings author....

Dear Erwin:

Hey there asshole. You sanctimonious tyrannical son of a b*tch. For years now, I've been there right with you; I've been there during the highest of your highs. And when you've gone to hell, I've also (sometimes unwillingly) come along for the ride.

What the hell is your f*ckin' problem??? I can handle Mr. Miller G. Draft. Lately though, I feel like your bitch being pimped off to screaming Nazis and some Polish guy whose first name I didn't get; his last name is Zywiec (like you really care). Oh and Charles Shaw...he loves me like I'm some Asian prostitute. One night, I guzzled him down three friggin times. But last night, you drew the line, man. Those Irish go down hard; let's see how you like the burning sensation as Jameson goes down your throat.

I'm writing to let you know I'm through with you. We are over. And do you know what? You're going to be hurting more than me because you need me more than I need you. Remember your birthday a few years ago? Remember being passed out and being carried out of the restaraunt's washroom and then carried into Carl's home? Was I supposed to work that night? I thought that since it was your birthday, you were giving me the holiday off. Oops, my bad....

Let me tell ya, you're in trouble, dude. Take my threat seriously. You've known Homer Simpson for how long? Don't you
remember when you first met him he was able to communicate in complete sentences? Nowadays the most complete thought he can come up with is, "Mmmmmmm, (insert noun here)." Pity, all those brain cells mysteriously gone. Gee I wonder how...

Have a nice day, ass clown.

Sincerely,
Your Liver

Pet Peeve

24 hours ago, I sat in front of my laptop replaying the day's events in my head. I couldn't think of anything that I would deem blogworthy. WTF? An uneventful, quiet day? Huh? I was awake yesterday, right? Thinking about it, I don't think I was; I had this weird dream that I watched an episode of Angel (for some reason the number "100" stands out), something I would never do if I was really awake. Oh, and I watched the show with Stacey...and we were sober. Wait, watching TV with Stacey, sober. That must have really been a dream, because we all know THAT would never happen....

Waking up from this surreal dream, I go to work and I receive an e-mail about how annoying it is for someone to repeat in question form an answer to a question. This is known as Seinfeld rhetoric; the answer tends to be repeated in a whiny Seinfeld tone of voice that most simple twits take as comedic, but is really annoying. Why? Yo no se.

The e-mail triggered a moment yesterday that I seemed to have repressed, probably because the person I was dealing with was so stupid that I just wanted to smack the fuck out of him so that I could liberate whatever existing brain cells he had into a more intelligent medium, like air. Here's a brief, dumbed-down synopsis of the conversation. We'll call him Mark because he's really stupid...and that's what his name is.

Mark: Erwin, can you figure out what I did wrong?
Erwin: Yah, you took "x" into account on day 1, but you didn't take it into account on day 2
Mark: I know. (light bulb turns on) I didn't take "x" into account on day 2, just on day 1
Erwin: (stares at Mark, imagining one huge backhand across the face) Uhhhh, Mark? (grabbing armrest real tight so as to not act out what I'm imagining) That's what I said...

I agree that there is no such thing as a stupid question, just stupid people. If you already know the answer to the question, why even bother to ask? That is a major pet peeve of mine. Damn sycophants....

And following Seinfeld rhetoric, 98% of the population reading this will immediately respond, "Sycophants"???

The ESPN Zone Incident

Why can't things ever be so plain and simple when hanging out with Gay Carl and Eric? Gosh damn, since two of us are pretty busy with work and the other is making sure that the leash he's on isn't strangling him, we don't have the opportunity to hang out all too often. But when we do hang out, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. A few cases in point:

1. Going to the movies - At the last second we decide to go see the movie opening of Cradle 2 The Grave. A few words of advice: Do not let someone who has recently just moved in from another country (Texas) set plans to see a movie. He'll buy tickets in advance (a good thing), but take you to the wrong movie theater (a very bad thing).

2. Going out for dinner - The city of Chicago has tons of restaraunts. So when you have four very hungry people (including Greg) who are starving for food, how long does it take to find a place to eat? About 2 hours and at least 30 miles of driving. Why? It was all about the restaraunt road rules...Finding a restaraunt that was 1) sit-down, not fast-food, 2) on the left side of the street and 3) did not have a black car in the parking lot was not the easiest thing to do.

3. Going bar-hopping - The city of Chicago also has plenty of bars. So we're in the middle of the bar-filled Wicker Park area and who chooses which bar to hit first? The highest mo' fo' in the world, a really cool homeless guy that we met on the corner. Good times....

Which brings me to this past Sunday...Super Bowl Sunday...

So we're driving to ESPN Zone in downtown Chicago and Eric's testing out his Fuji digital



After we find parking, we're walking to ESPN Zone when Carl meets a guy who loves Carl's shoes so much he wanted to clean them...too bad Carl didn't know he had to pay for this stranger's generous service



And then we entered the ESPN Zone where they issued me a new guy card that Stacey mysteriously misplaced



We decided to play a drinking game during the Super Bowl. For every touchdown scored, we each had to take a shot. The shot of choice: the Screaming Nazi (Jagr, Rumple Minze, and Goldschlager). So when the Patriots scored



And when the Panthers scored



Along with the 7 touchdowns scored in the game, our waiter Todd hooked us up with 2 free shots. Add to this the all-you-can-eat buffet and the 2 free beers we were also given, it was a kick-ass night.

And after the shots settled in, we all lived craptacularly ever after....

Weekend Lethargy

Note to self: Erwin, you're not all there. It's 11:53 PM on the night before +1 and you're on many, many shots. Must talk about the Spaghetti Warehouse Incident at a later time, preferably when sober...

Why is it that all week long I look forward to the weekend like it's my savior but when the weekend actually comes along, there's really no need to celebrate? The weekend has come and gone, and I feel the same way I feel every other day of the week when I wake up as of late: blah.

Blah is the feeling I get when I haven't had my morning dose of caffeine during the work week. Blah dictates the length of time I wear my pajamas on the weekend. Blah tells my sub-conscience to be and stay antisocial, no matter how significant the event (i.e. Super Bowl Sunday).

Yes, there is something definitely wrong. The self-proclaimed man of perpetual motion has come to an abrupt and screeching halt. Mr. Spontanaeity seems to be pretty predicatable as of late. Composure right now means indifference and acceptance of the staus quo rather than withstanding the forces against you and waiting for the right moment to attack...

The troops are tired and are losing sight of what they're fighting for. Are they fighting for stability or for freedom? Whether you realize it or not, we are all part of the "rat race," a lifelong race that very few ever finish. Is it me or does it seem like most people are content with going through life just getting by (i.e. stability)? Those stuck in the rat race desire stability so much that they blindly trade their personal freedom to become followers. The so-called choices they make are dictated by reactions as a result of external entities rather than that of personal action.

Those that seek freedom from control, on the other hand, realize that stability is a farce. How can someone possibly claim to live a stable life knowing that at any given time something can drasctically change their life due to circumstances beyond their control? Freedom seekers are leaders rather than followers. And because of that, there is no place for them in the rat race. Instead, they are on a different yet higher plane of existance, one in which the only limits and boundaries that exist are the ones imposed in their head. The world offers us so much to experience. Sadly, very few of us have an open mind and heart to experience those things.

So to summarize:

1. I am not as lethargic as I make myself out to be
2. I become a total philosophical geek when I'm under the influence
3. Stick to being followers and know your role, each and everyone of you, so I can rule all your candy-asses