If I Were a Girl
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If I were a girl going to the OBGYN would always be exciting. I was thinking the other day about how much fun you could have screwing around (hehehe) at the doctors office. Now, I know all girls hate going for their routine checkups, and its not a fun experience in the least (especially if the duck is cold), but it could turn into fun if you started to play some games with your doctor.
Game #1: The Lady Gillette Sculpt-off
This Duck is Not Wearing a Jacket!
Unless you star in 1980s porno or live in Poland, it is imperative that lady (and man) bush be kept under control. What better time to thresh your love patch into something creative and exciting than check-up time! Remember that scene from Edward Scissor Hands where he sculpts the trees in his yard into dinosaurs and animals? Imagine the delight you could bring to your doctor’s office with a tiny Pubeasauras Rex popping out down there:
“AHH!”
“It’s ok, don’t be frightened, it’s not a real dinosaur. Sheesh doctors are so touchy”
Game #2: The Carey Grant Game
Now some of you might look at the above and think that it’s not fair. Maybe you’ve already accepted it is the year 2000 and have shorn your lady-garden to more of a lady-manicured-putting-green. Don’t feel left out, why not grab a Sharpie and draw yourself a super sexy, super cool, Tom Sellack mustachio for your bits.
Maybe if you’re feeling rebellious you could go full out and adorn a southern hemisphere Guy Fawkes for your exam. Nothing will reflect your dislike for cold duck like a rousing re-enactment of the 5th of November. Bonus points if you break into Ra Ra Rasputin by Boney M.
Game #3: The Diorama
The pièce de résistance, the game that wins every time: The Diorama. In this game you pretend that everything is normal until the doctor takes a peek inside and finds a meticulously detailed Diorama built up inside the walls of your love cave.
Maybe one month it’s an homage to March of the Penguins with a little plastic penguin searching high and low for food to feed it’s family. NOTE: It is probably unwise to use a real penguin. Funbarn cannot warrantee live penguins in captivity.
Perhaps the next time it is a social commentary on the state of our economy. Simply insert a few chips from the Bellagio and yell out “YOU ALWAYS DOUBLE DOWN ON ELEVEN!” as soon as the exam begins. Maybe one month you just fill yourself up entirely with miniature plastic spiders and watch your doctors reaction. I dont know, the sky is the limit! Go crazy!
I would.
Bread Box
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< HurrBot> you sir have onion on the brain >:(
Know What I Mean
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I’ve come across an interesting type of person. The person that says “Do you know what I mean” as a suffix to pretty much everything she says. No matter what the occasion, no matter how basic the statement, it is immediately followed up with “Do you know what I mean”.
Even things that are the most obvious shit in the world, or a personal opinion which no one can really refute:
“This place is only 5 minutes from my house, so I can get ready at home! Do you know what I mean?”
Naturally I take a minute to pause, calculate, and carefully decipher this enigma
“You mean, this place is only 5 minutes from your house, and thus you can get ready at home?”
“YES! Exactly!”
“I… uh…”
This same scenario happens for every single sentence she utters.
“I prefer the curtains open, when the sun is shining. Do you know what I mean?”
“No”
“Oh because the sun really brightens things up in here”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Got it thanks for clarifying”
“I don’t mind clarifying. Do you know what I mean?”
“Kill me”
Seriously…
WE FUCKING KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN JESUS CHRIST ALREADY YOU DON’T HAVE TO KEEP ASKING RAAAAAAAAAARG
Wedding Songs
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I was playing guitar the other day thinking about how it would be cool to perform a song at my buddy Stevie’s wedding coming up in July. I figure I have enough time to practice that it might be possible. As far as I see it there are two problems with making this happen:
1) I can barely sing, I can’t remember any lyrics to songs, and I can in no way shape or form sing and play guitar at the same time. Like at all.
I have no idea how musicians do it, but I’m missing the part of the brain that allows me to have 2 different things happening at once. At least musically. Couple that with my horrible memory for words and you get some off key muttering layered over a slowly descending tempo as I butcher Hit Me Baby One More Time harder and faster than Britney tanked her career. Maybe if I crash my Mercedes into a tree I can get some talent. Wait that was the other one.
2) I only know songs that are about breaking up, killing things, sadness, or about how Bitches Ain’t Shit.
I was looking through the little notebook I have with all the songs I sort of know how to play and there aren’t any at all that would be appropriate for a wedding. Do I woo bridal party with a heartfelt, deeply meaningful and possibly metaphoric, rendition of Let it Die by Foo Fighters?
What about Wayne Gretzky by Goldfinger? Nothing says romance and solidifies the fact that Stevie and hsi fiance will be committed to each other forever, like a song about how Darren Pheiffer wants to fuck Wayne Gretzky. I wonder what he looks like naked.
Or maybe Every Rose has a Thorn? Naturally in this one, Steve would be the rose. The thorn would be me, ruining the wedding with just a few strums of Cadd9 and some off key wailing. Cry me a River by JT? All minor keys and rain as an instrument. Maybe if I rented a fog machine and got myself a guyliner makeover. I bet I could find someone to make me a cape.
I think in the end – the only wedding appropriate song I know is Let’s Get it On. Seems appropriate:
“Oh. Hi there, Steve’s Grandma… Pfff don’t act so shocked, you know as soon as they leave here it’s business time.”
I have a sombrero, I could pull this one off. So to speak.
Smoothie
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<HurrBot> you make a smooth transition into seal clubbing jokes!
The Dirty Pretty
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The other day I was driving around in my little black e30, der kleinerpanzer, contemplating if it was time for a new nickname for it. I think that depending on the day, and my mood, it shalt be known henceforth as the original: Der Kleinerpanzer or the new hotness: The Dirty Pretty.
Anyway on that day I was just driving around, minding my own business, when all of a sudden from the back of the car there was a super loud…
KA KLUNK!!!
It was so loud I ducked my head instinctivly, like I had learned from growing up in the hood. When bullets be flyin, ninjas be ducking heads. As if the act of me slightly shrugging my shoulders a few seconds after the incredibly loud bang would have been enough to stop an imminent driveshaft spearing through my skull should it fail and be sent slicing through the cabin of my car.
I pulled over to survey the damage, getting down on my knees to peek under the car. Had the diff exploded? Were there bits of driveshaft all over the place? Did I run over a chain link fence, through a playground and subsequently over the impressionable faces of many small children?
Not so far as I could tell. Everything looked completely normal: nothing leaking, nothing bent, nothing smoking, nothing aflame. Certainly there were no small animals clinging for life to my car’s driveline. Puzzled, I furrowed my brow and squinted.
No amount of furrowing, nor mass amounts of squinting, revealed anything new so I continued on my way home and forgot all about it for a couple weeks.
Cut to today. I’m on my way home from an outdoor meeting when I hear this absolutely unholy, screeching wail coming from the back left of my car. It sounds like what it must sound like if you put a rail road track into a blender and then play a Bjork album on 11 for an audience of cats being boiled. The shear volume came at you like an errant javelin poking at your brain as if to say, “hello, I’m here to make you deaf and kill your whole family.”
Having been in this situation before, I knew exactly what to do: I ducked my head and shrugged my shoulders. Caint no body hold me down. Oh no. Got to keep on moving.
I drove like this all the way home, cutting a path in the normally dull noise of traffic with my 200,000,000 dB metal grinding death parade at the achingly slow pace of 50kph. I was so scared my car was going to break in half, explode an axle into the trunk, or seize up and catch fire. I think I only took 5 breaths total in the 40 minutes it took me to get home.
I made it. Barely.
Once the car had cooled down I took off the wheel to see what was up. I had a flashback to my brother telling me a vague recollection of his that the parking brake on the driver’s side (where the banshee scream was coming from) might be broken. When we had the car inspected this was apparently mentioned by the mechanic. I must have shrugged it off. I mean how could a $650 car, that I pieced back together in a single car garage with only hand tools, be anything less than perfect. Impossible.
I guess this is what happens when you ignore the advice of a professional. As soon as I took the brake rotor off to look at the parking brake shoes, metal dust and pieces of metal that vaguely resembled parking brake parts fell to the ground. I sifted through the debris to find that all the pieces that make up the parking brake were mangled, melted, seized or otherwise completely fucked up beyond any and all hope. Well there’s your porblem.
I gathered the whole mess up in a safeway bag and threw it the fuck out. Problem solved. All parking braking for the Dirty Pretty will now happen on the passenger side, which still features a working parking brake. BMW had a good idea with modular design. On another car I’d have no working brakes in the back and serious work ahead of me. The car is now silent, and working fine. Mostly.
80% car!
Uncreative
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I’ve been feeling it lately. But then I saw the epitome of uncreativeness on Whyte the other day. Some of you cool dear readers out there may have heard about this cupcake store that is all the rage: Flirt. It has a quasi sexual name and is all nuevo and intriguing. I’ve heard it is meh and more hype than delicious. I bet it won’t be around that long. Especially not now that another cupcake stand has opened up on Whyte ave.
It’s merely a few blocks up the same street. It also sells only cupcakes, and it’s name starts with an F: Fuss Cupcakes. Could there be a more blatant rip off? That is a zero effort business venture.
I think the only thing that could save 2 distinct mediocre cupcake joints operating on the same block is a no-holds-barred, thug-lyfe, gangland war the likes of which Compton has never seen.
I want Montague v Cupcakulets blood shed! Little cupcake soldiers with icing cannons destroying each other for world supremacy.
In the end if they both destroy themselves, that’s probably for the best. Make room for more hotdog/slurpee stores.
Bromance
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<HurrBot> meatloaf is a bro
They Smell
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BUT
I’m so excited!
They’re finally here – all the way from Reno Nevada. I got these by doubling down on eleven. You ALWAYS double down on eleven.
I thought I should edit this with a little bit of info about these things.
They’re Kumho XS in 245-40r17, and are supposedly the new IT tire for autox this year. GRM tested them to be faster than both the Bridgestone RE-11 (replacement for the RE-01R that I had last year) and the Dunlop Direzza Z1 Starspec (which has a stupid anime name).
After some quick testing and calculations I have found them to be 2.58970736 × 10^-17 lightyears wide. Fyi.
New Sandals
Now I am
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<HurrBot> now i am a squirrel