Monthly Archives: June 2010

I like long walks on the virtual beach and romantic candlelit dinners via the interwebs…

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As it was painted in a previous post, the world of online dating is a crapshoot. I mean this in the literal sense: people are literally shooting crap at you via the intertubes. After dodging surly looking foreign men in their 40s looking for love in all the wrong places (and possibly a green card) I’ve developed my own criteria for profiles that should get red flags.

The picture I need a magnifying glass for


What a lovely picture of you…in the forest…behind a tree…in a ravine…in a fucking rainstorm.

If your goal is to eventually meet another person face to face and you can’t even show me what your face looks like then you are already batting below .500. And if you hate your picture, get a friend or a relative to take one for you. If they’re really your friend then they’ll want to help you. I just need to know that people can take pictures outside their master bathroom mirror.


Attention ladies…I like to cuddle

While putting “F*&% CUDDLING” on your profile won’t exactly get you any call backs, writing that you have a strong affinity for cuddling can be equally damaging.

Before I explain further, let me say first that you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re above cuddling. Everyone does…unless you’re a robot. Robots clearly get a pass because they’re emotionless beings (unlike this one) and their figures are not designed for spooning.


Due to an electrical malfunction in his front panel, Ellen will have to be the big spoon.


Like I said, everyone likes to cuddle, but the action should go without saying. When you lay it out there in black and white it takes on another meaning. Sure there might be some who use it as a cheap way to pick up bonus points with potential dates but if you make it a point to mention this, does that imply you’re some type of hardcore cuddler?

Basically, am I going to flip the channel to NBC and see this guy tell you to "have a seat"?

“My self-summary: Dancing, Travelling, figure skarting and Ice Sharting” (Grammar Jesus Saves)

In case you’re wondering, that is a REAL response from a person who messaged me on an online dating site.

Don’t bother Google searching “ice sharting” either. You’re wasting your time. And if you want to know what slang authority UrbanDictionary thought…

If you don't mind, I'll let you look up "assjaculate" on your own time.

Now that I successfully gave you a mental image of someone ice sharting, I want to stress the importance of running your shit through a word processor spell check before sending it out there for the world to see. No more unnecessary capitalization. No more third person narratives. And for the love of GOD complete a sentence. I’m serious. I know some people hate grammar snobs but I assure you if any reasonable person saw the profiles I’ve seen their brain fluid would leak through their ear canal and onto a nearby pavement.

Now let us pray that guy meant ice skating because I don’t even want to know what ice sharting is.


Date Lab: He had an insatiable sweet tooth. Too bad it wasn’t for his date.

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Tuesday June 22, 2010


Mama Bear: I was running a little late when I got to Hundred Acre Wood around 8:15 p.m. Finding a sitter out here in the middle of nowhere is a challenge. I arrived to find a tree stump covered in red and white checker-pattern linen and a vase of daisies and honeysuckle—but no date. The honeysuckle, in my opinion was a little strange. Most people consider honeysuckle to be an invasive species but it was pleasant to smell and took on a different light inside the vase.

Pooh: There was a blowout sale on gallon honey jugs at the neighborhood store so I was behind schedule. I rushed to the tree stump to find her there. My first thought was that maybe she could have taken the time to not look like she just came fresh off the Aunt Jemima pancake box but she was cute in the face at least.

Mama Bear: I wasn’t terribly impressed with his attire. His shirt was obviously too small for his frame and bits of his fur were mashed together with what looked like dried honey. The “no pants” thing was also quite distracting but then I reserved judgment. There may not be pants tailor made for a bear of his girth.

Pooh: The menu came out and we went to town on it. We picked a honey glazed ham, a watercress salad covered in honeycomb shavings, beignets covered in honey marmalade and roasted bumblebees on skewers. She was kind of quiet during the ordering process so I guess she’s the shy type.

Mama Bear: He picked out every meal before I could even get a word in. I’m a diabetic so I can’t handle that much sugar. I barely touched any of it besides the salad.

Pooh: The conversation flowed nicely but we didn’t have much in common—especially food since she barely ate any of hers. She was a recent divorcee with two kids. I was a bachelor on the prowl with a successful career as an outdoor explorer. She was asking a bunch of questions about my career so at least she was intrigued.

Mama Bear: I’ve never heard of anyone claiming “outdoor explorer” as a career so I asked him what he did each day. Basically, he follows around a rabbit, a donkey and a pig—whom he is sure has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder—through the woods all day long. I doubt he does much exploring unless it’s to find more food to force down his gullet.

Pooh: It was clear after an hour that the conversation was getting kind of stagnant so I asked for the check and walked her to the end of the woods. I leaned in for a goodnight peck on her cheek. I’d give the date a 3.4 out of 5. She wasn’t a looker but I had an okay time.

Mama Bear: His lips were still glistening with honey and ham juice as he leaned in for a greasy smooch on my cheek. Even the most absorbent tissue couldn’t get the shine off. I’ll give it a 2.5 out of 5. Very minimal good conversation and I’m  hesitant to bring him around my children.

UPDATE: Do you really have to ask if they met again?

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Self-checkout machines are a godsend when I come back from work really late at night and haven’t eaten food since noon. But sometimes I get home during rush hour when everyone else is still figuring out what to eat for dinner. It is here where I’m left at the mercy of who ever is in front of me in the self-checkout line. Because I am a slave to the supermarket I’ve come up with a short list of weekly–sometimes daily depending on how much of a fatass I am that week–observations that I’d like to call…

What you shouldn’t bring to the self-check out:

The entire supermarket

Apparently every day is snomageddon for the person with this cart and the closest line is always the 15 items or less one. Nine times out of ten it’s filled with meat from the parts of the chicken nobody wants–such as chicken spleens–and supremely marked down Swanson TV dinner failures like frozen pea bisque.

Despite the surge of self-checkout machines replacing real jobs, the cart that is full of everything imaginable is the reason why we still need a human being behind the cashier. No doubt there’s going to be a problem item in that avalanche of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Clorox bleach that the self-checkout machine isn’t going to be able to diagnose in five seconds.

Complete ineptitude

If you’ve never tried a self-checkout machine before then after work during rush hour is not the time to become the Dora The Explorer of Giant Food. The self checkout machine has a mind of its own and it will openly mock you in a crowd of people with its flashing help lights–which are embarrassing even if you do use one on a regular basis.

Personal health items

Have you heard the volume on a self-checkout machine? That shit is LOUD. I don’t really need everyone waiting in line behind me to know I just save 50 cents on a jar of Vlasic pickles but I damn sure don’t need anyone to know I saved $3 on mouthwash and deodorant. Now imagine something much worse than that being broadcast for everyone to hear.

I'm sure that's a conversation you weren't ready to have with little Johnny standing there

my eyes see what they want to see

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This is your brain...

This is your brain after a #5 order of pho. Any questions?

Your brown cow wandered into 7-11!

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I associate Slurpees with nice weather, happiness and temporary forehead nerve paralysis. What I *don’t* want to associate my Slurpee with are wayward virtual bovines.

The good people at 7-Eleven decided to capitalize on what they believe is a popular trend and completely whore out their Slurpee cups to FarmVille and its counterpart, YoVille. Getting 1,001 requests to play FarmVille, which I vented about in a previous post, can be annoying but I never thought I had to worry about it escaping the confines of Facebook.

Invitations to these games are useless because I’m a lost cause when it comes to virtual simulation games. I’m only focused for about 5 minutes before I relive my childhood memories of Sim City 2000 and start unleashing natural disasters and mutant spiders on unsuspecting residents.

You mean some new friends he can gore to death and a new home to destroy and leave massive dumps in? Go pawn your demon bull on someone else.

My friends and I refused to dispense Slurpees into these cups on principle but the cups were not the only products that were tainted:

Artificial flavors? I thought you guys lived on a damn farm.

If I were a Slurpee–which would seal my extinction because I would be too busy drinking my frosty innards–I would be insulted. Get this crap off of me, I would say. Well…I guess if I were a Slurpee I would die soon enough but at least I could die with some dignity.

By the way if I’m being asked to save a bull in FarmVille then what the hell goes wandering off in YoVille and needs immediate retrieval?

Click. Click. Pass. Exhale.

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Memorial Day weekend for many means a trip to the beach and a fun game to get everyone in a party mode is “Catchphrase.” It’s played in teams of two and you pass around a disc with digital text seen below:

Catchphrase is for people who enjoy charades but can do without that “getting off your behind and moving” part and have just about had it with the limitations that come with a game of Taboo.


For Catchphrase, you press the gray start button and a random word or phrase will appear on the screen from categories such as “History Buff” and “Entertainment.” You have to get the people on your team to guess it as quickly as possible without saying the word or a word in the phrase. Meanwhile a beeping timer speeds up and suddenly the thing becomes a hot potato–if you’re the last person left holding the disk when the buzzer goes off then one point goes to the opposing team. First team to 7 points wins.

I think the ad execs at Wal-Mart and Target are missing out on a prime opportunity to package Catchphrase with a prescription dosage of Xanax. I’m about to have an anxiety attack by the time the disc is handed to me because the beeping sound is at a full sprint and the buzzer is just about to go off. And of course by the time it’s handed to you all the easy answers are gone and you’re left with something like the clue below:
There is a “Skip” button if you absolutely cannot answer but skipping it only makes the beeping go faster. Plus there is no guarantee you’ll get anything easier to work with and you’ll more than likely wind up with this:

^Wtf. Is this a children’s movie? A popular phrase? THEY STILL MAKE FIDDLE FADDLE? CAN I GET SOME NOW?

By the time you feign a horrible impression of a cat disinterested in a bowl of Fancy Feast the buzzer goes off. The other team gets a point and you look like a bumbling stumbling idiot. Then after you pass it to the opposition for the next round this is the clue he or she gets:

Opposing Team Member: “We breathe this”
Opposing Team Members (+you because you’re an idiot and forgot whose team you’re on): “Air”

It finally comes back to you again. This time life cuts you a break and you get a pretty easy one:

It looks easy enough except instead of you being the bumbling stumbling idiot you have now reversed roles with your teammates:

You: This is a character on Sesame Street
Teammate #1: Elmo!
You: He’s blue. He likes to eat baked goods
Teammate #2: Grover!
You: No Grover is like navy blue. This one’s lighter.
Teammate #3: Big Bird!
You: Big Bird is yellow. This one is blue.
Teammate #1: Sam The Eagle!

Most of the time you’re too busy laughing at each other to properly keep score.

Hmm I guess if I were to have a panic attack over something I’d rather it be this than a PowerPoint presentation due the next day at work.