I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately. I know, I know, “guilt” and “regret” are the two most futile emotions in the universe. I’ve basically been good, you know, I’ve discarded all the naughty nights for niceness and I give upwards of $9 to charities when I have it. Yet, here I am feeling guilty about making fun of the girls at Wells Fargo.
And why those girls? There are a plethora of girls in Richfield who actually deserve to be ridiculed, what with the hair and the clothes... But the Well Fargo girls? They’ve always been there for me. Always. I guess it started a few months back.
I went in to Wells Fargo one Friday. I asked for $20 out of my account. A nice girl said I did not have $20, rather I only had $14.82. “Wow,” I said embarrassingly. “I thought I had more than that. I guess no single malt scotch for me. I’ll have to buy the blended stuff.” She just smiled and said, “We can’t have that now, can we?” She reached in to her drawer and pulled out a few twenties, threw them on my $14, and whispered, “Here. Have a good weekend.” They do that all the time now.
Or there was the time I sold my soul to the devil. Long story short, I sold my soul for the ability to write hilarious e-mails. I was going to just pawn my soul but the guy at Cedar Post Pawn was being kind of a dick. Anyway, like most people who sell their soul to the devil, I just forgot all about it. Well, one night there was a knock-knock-knock at the door. It was Satan. He looked scary! I mean, no big surprise, I knew he would, but we’re talking really scary! Ozzie Osbourne doesn’t do this guy justice! Anyway, he came in and said it was time for me to go. I didn’t want to go, obviously, but I am the one who just had to have the gift of writing really funny e-mails. It was my own doing. There was no one to blame but me. Just as I lowered my head and started to follow him down to the dark netherworld, I heard voices say, “Not so fast Mephistopheles!” It was the Wells Fargo girls! They were coming to save me! I must have blacked out, because I woke up safe, in my bed, and with my soul intact.
There’s also the re-occurring dream I have almost every night. I’m in a car wreck (again) and I’m laying there in a pool of blood. I keep bleeding, I keep, keep, bleeding and I think this is the end. Just as I am about to surrender to unconsciousness, I hear voices. Females voices. It’s the Wells Fargo girls! “Don’t go toward the light, Don! Stay away from the light!” Then I wake up.
The Wells Fargo girls are aces. You couldn’t ask for a better set of gals. They’re pretty, smart and moral. The Wells Fargo girls always favor an embargo over an air strike. They would only do nudity if it was A: tastefully done, and B: necessary to the story. They’re the best. When I’m sick, who comes over and makes chicken soup? The Wells Fargo girls. When I got out of the hospital, who put Vitamin E on my scars? The Wells Fargo girls. When I ignored Dave Madden’s advice and I totally did it with Jessica Alba and I did, in fact, get bugs, who went to the pharmacy to get that special shampoo because I was too embarrassed? The Wells Fargo girls.
When I die, and stay dead this time, I fully expect to be welcomed by angels and the Wells Fargo girls. What the hell’s the matter with me? I don’t even think I can show my face in there anymore. I don’t even deserve them. I’m just saying…
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Boob "Jobs"
So I have a friend, a girl, who got a boob job. Just by me saying that, you know what I mean, right? That’s all you have to say. Everyone just goes, “…oh, bigger now, huh?” It’s understood. It’s such a blue collar phrase: “boob job.” Almost has a work ethic attached to it. Boob “job.”
Conversely, men cannot do this. If I said, “Yeah, Dave just got a wienie job.” You’d think WTF? Is he okay? Is he getting something fixed? Is it medical? Is it cosmetic? Is he trying to be like that lady who keeps getting plastic surgery trying to look more and more like her cats?
But women? It’s pretty much known that a boob job is getting them bigger. There’s 5,519 things you can do with boobs, but a “boob job” is making them bigger.
Making them smaller? A breast reduction. But men have a hard time saying this. They’ll usually whisper the last part. For example, a man would say, “You know Lisa? In accounting? Dude, she had a breast reduction. Seriously.” The word “reduction” is usually barely audible. The word “seriously” is because men think that no one would ever, ever believe this.
I find funny the girls who’ll disagree with anyone that they’ve had work done. They deny, deny, deny, like Bill Clinton at a lingerie party. You call them on it, and of course they say something that tries to force a compliment. They say, “You think I had a boob job? Really? Why?” That’s when I burst their bubble. I say, “Because Friday, at 5:00 when you left work, you looked like Kansas. Now you look like… well, a state with really, really big boobs.
The girls that DO admit to having work done try and make it sound official and necessary. They either say that they had a “breast enlargement” or a “breast augmentation.” If you say, “Can you define “augment”? They say, “Um… no. That’s just what it says on my Amex bill…” Yeah, like they paid for the boobs. Probably some poor guy with the same outside chance as Ron Paul, who has a few thousand that he wouldn’t mind investing on futures.
What I love are the reasons why women get a boob job. Sometimes they’re honest and they say, “I’m sick of losing jobs to illegals!” Well, they don’t say that exactly, but that’s what they mean. Or, the self-important girls, the corporate girls, might say, “It gave me a lot of self-confidence.” Really? You’re saying, “Man, I could totally crunch the numbers and do this proposal for my colleagues if only my boobs were just a little bit bigger…” They’re so stupid.
To give you an idea of how stupid it sounds, think of the new trend sweeping Hollywood. Vaginal Rejuvenation. I swear. I don’t know what’s involved in this procedure. Look it up. All of the big name trixies are doing it. But how unintelligent are these women going to sound when they get the rejuvenation and their defense is, “It gave me a lot of self-confidence?”
Boob jobs. I used to be against the proposed power plant in Sigurd, but hey, the proponents keep saying, “It’ll create jobs.” Just what kind of jobs are we talkin’?
No one wants to get old. And you can tell, just go to the market. There’s hair dye, teeth whitener, facial scrub, Viagra, staving off the inevitable, vitamins, dieting, eye contacts, saving the planet (Earth), Rogaine, impending prostates problems and menopause.
But do me a favor. Just don’t develop a personality. Find some product or surgery to stave off the inevitable. Just don’t rely on you individuality. That’s the last thing we need. I’m just saying…
Conversely, men cannot do this. If I said, “Yeah, Dave just got a wienie job.” You’d think WTF? Is he okay? Is he getting something fixed? Is it medical? Is it cosmetic? Is he trying to be like that lady who keeps getting plastic surgery trying to look more and more like her cats?
But women? It’s pretty much known that a boob job is getting them bigger. There’s 5,519 things you can do with boobs, but a “boob job” is making them bigger.
Making them smaller? A breast reduction. But men have a hard time saying this. They’ll usually whisper the last part. For example, a man would say, “You know Lisa? In accounting? Dude, she had a breast reduction. Seriously.” The word “reduction” is usually barely audible. The word “seriously” is because men think that no one would ever, ever believe this.
I find funny the girls who’ll disagree with anyone that they’ve had work done. They deny, deny, deny, like Bill Clinton at a lingerie party. You call them on it, and of course they say something that tries to force a compliment. They say, “You think I had a boob job? Really? Why?” That’s when I burst their bubble. I say, “Because Friday, at 5:00 when you left work, you looked like Kansas. Now you look like… well, a state with really, really big boobs.
The girls that DO admit to having work done try and make it sound official and necessary. They either say that they had a “breast enlargement” or a “breast augmentation.” If you say, “Can you define “augment”? They say, “Um… no. That’s just what it says on my Amex bill…” Yeah, like they paid for the boobs. Probably some poor guy with the same outside chance as Ron Paul, who has a few thousand that he wouldn’t mind investing on futures.
What I love are the reasons why women get a boob job. Sometimes they’re honest and they say, “I’m sick of losing jobs to illegals!” Well, they don’t say that exactly, but that’s what they mean. Or, the self-important girls, the corporate girls, might say, “It gave me a lot of self-confidence.” Really? You’re saying, “Man, I could totally crunch the numbers and do this proposal for my colleagues if only my boobs were just a little bit bigger…” They’re so stupid.
To give you an idea of how stupid it sounds, think of the new trend sweeping Hollywood. Vaginal Rejuvenation. I swear. I don’t know what’s involved in this procedure. Look it up. All of the big name trixies are doing it. But how unintelligent are these women going to sound when they get the rejuvenation and their defense is, “It gave me a lot of self-confidence?”
Boob jobs. I used to be against the proposed power plant in Sigurd, but hey, the proponents keep saying, “It’ll create jobs.” Just what kind of jobs are we talkin’?
No one wants to get old. And you can tell, just go to the market. There’s hair dye, teeth whitener, facial scrub, Viagra, staving off the inevitable, vitamins, dieting, eye contacts, saving the planet (Earth), Rogaine, impending prostates problems and menopause.
But do me a favor. Just don’t develop a personality. Find some product or surgery to stave off the inevitable. Just don’t rely on you individuality. That’s the last thing we need. I’m just saying…
Those Satanists Are Very Persistant
So I was enjoying a DVD yesterday (The 40 year Old Virgin) and there was a knock at the door. Cool. Company!
Not cool, two people with pamphlets. Probably Jehovah's Witnesses. Turns out I was wrong.
They were Satanists. I didn't know they went door to door. They seemed sincere, I guess. They asked, "May we take a few minutes of your time to speak with you about the word of the devil?"
WTF?
Now I know almost every religion, for lack of a better word, sends people door-to-door to try and get enough sponsors so they can win the trip to the Bahamas or whatever, but Satanists? What would they have to offer? "You know, we're only on this earth for a short while and then it's eternal damnation and fire and brimstone." I'm not sold.
I made an excuse... I think I told them my colostomy bag just broke or something. They left, of course. I just hope I didn't miss out on anything. I guess I should have heard them out. Would I get special powers? Could I put a curse on people? Could I get tickets to a sold out Ozzy concert? Could I light shit on fire with just a wave of a hand?
I really should have heard them out. Evil powers would really kill the boredom of Daylight Savings Time.
Then again, I don't have any pets or animals. What would I sacrifice? My parents would be SO pissed if I sacrificed any of their animals. They’re kind of attached to their animals. And I don't think your wish comes true unless you have something to sacrifice. For instance, I would guess that sex with Jessica Simpson would require the lives of no less than 80 sheep. Maybe 85. I'll bet after that "Dukes of Hazzard" movie, Satan has been inundated with requests for sex with Jessica Simpson.
But I digress.
I think they'd have a better chance just claiming to be atheists. Sure, evil powers seem cool now, but I kinda hope the afterlife is kinda like "Heaven Can Wait." Just big floating clouds. Kinda like Seattle. But with less coffee.
I guess I'd better make a decision pretty quick. With all of these bloody noses, I'd estimate I've got little time left here. And I’ve already died twice.
Not cool, two people with pamphlets. Probably Jehovah's Witnesses. Turns out I was wrong.
They were Satanists. I didn't know they went door to door. They seemed sincere, I guess. They asked, "May we take a few minutes of your time to speak with you about the word of the devil?"
WTF?
Now I know almost every religion, for lack of a better word, sends people door-to-door to try and get enough sponsors so they can win the trip to the Bahamas or whatever, but Satanists? What would they have to offer? "You know, we're only on this earth for a short while and then it's eternal damnation and fire and brimstone." I'm not sold.
I made an excuse... I think I told them my colostomy bag just broke or something. They left, of course. I just hope I didn't miss out on anything. I guess I should have heard them out. Would I get special powers? Could I put a curse on people? Could I get tickets to a sold out Ozzy concert? Could I light shit on fire with just a wave of a hand?
I really should have heard them out. Evil powers would really kill the boredom of Daylight Savings Time.
Then again, I don't have any pets or animals. What would I sacrifice? My parents would be SO pissed if I sacrificed any of their animals. They’re kind of attached to their animals. And I don't think your wish comes true unless you have something to sacrifice. For instance, I would guess that sex with Jessica Simpson would require the lives of no less than 80 sheep. Maybe 85. I'll bet after that "Dukes of Hazzard" movie, Satan has been inundated with requests for sex with Jessica Simpson.
But I digress.
I think they'd have a better chance just claiming to be atheists. Sure, evil powers seem cool now, but I kinda hope the afterlife is kinda like "Heaven Can Wait." Just big floating clouds. Kinda like Seattle. But with less coffee.
I guess I'd better make a decision pretty quick. With all of these bloody noses, I'd estimate I've got little time left here. And I’ve already died twice.
Alone
I've been sleeping alone lately. Really. Okay, it's more than that. I've been hanging out alone, too. Really. But I don't mind it too bad, though. Kinda.
It's just me and the bottle makes three ...wait... two tonight. Which is fine. I have total say so over the remote and veto power over the channel selection. AND, yes, I'm having that again tonight, and yes, I know that I've had that 3 times this week. It just sounded good. And yes, actually, I am going to have another. And no, I don't think I have a problem, I mean come on; the fridge is right there. A “problem” would be if I didn't have any scotch chilled or perhaps no ice for a cocktail or maybe if I was broke and didn't personally know the owner of the pawn shop.
No, no problem.
Okay, there may be a bit of a problem. I think I know what it is. I am so sick of me! I'm just around ALL THE TIME! Really, it's getting to the point where I can't stand myself. Oh, I think everything I think or say is soooo funny. What, am I supposed to laugh at that? I've heard it more than a few times. Oh, and I think that I know everything! Really. Am I watching Jeopardy because I like the show or because I'm trying to show myself how much I know?
I am really pushing it with me, I'll tell you that much. I've had it up to here with me!
And don't get me started about the Johnnie Walker Red. Did I at least save some for me!? Looks like "no." I am so damn selfish sometimes! All I ever think about is me. It's hard to be around me sometimes. I swear…
I know what you're thinking. All this time alone, I'll bet it's masturbation time! No. Not so much, not any more. The thing is, I have to be attracted to the person I'm with, and I definitely can't be fed up with whom I'm having physical relations. I just can't. I'm not built that way. I always think I'm SO funny and SO smart, but I find that SO unattractive. Seriously, I could take or leave me. I always say stupid things that I think are funny, but they're not. It's like I am desperate. And I have no time for people like that. No sir! I hate needy people. So here I am, naked and vulnerable and cracking dumb jokes and that is so unattractive! Sometimes it's like I don't even respect myself. And I just can't be with someone I don't respect.
But, being alone has its perks. For instance, no social diseases. Think about it. When's the last time you heard of someone who hasn't had female companionship in the last 3 years, but just got the clap? Never. It can't happen! You can't get a social disease by yourself. Can't be done. Although I'm screwed if they come up with some sexual hermit disease…
"You've been alone for how many years? Mmm hmm. Okay, I think I know what it is. Take these for a month and try and go out and meet some people. And for crying out loud, don't try and be funny. You're not that funny. You try too hard. That's what ruined things between you and yourself in the first place."
It's just me and the bottle makes three ...wait... two tonight. Which is fine. I have total say so over the remote and veto power over the channel selection. AND, yes, I'm having that again tonight, and yes, I know that I've had that 3 times this week. It just sounded good. And yes, actually, I am going to have another. And no, I don't think I have a problem, I mean come on; the fridge is right there. A “problem” would be if I didn't have any scotch chilled or perhaps no ice for a cocktail or maybe if I was broke and didn't personally know the owner of the pawn shop.
No, no problem.
Okay, there may be a bit of a problem. I think I know what it is. I am so sick of me! I'm just around ALL THE TIME! Really, it's getting to the point where I can't stand myself. Oh, I think everything I think or say is soooo funny. What, am I supposed to laugh at that? I've heard it more than a few times. Oh, and I think that I know everything! Really. Am I watching Jeopardy because I like the show or because I'm trying to show myself how much I know?
I am really pushing it with me, I'll tell you that much. I've had it up to here with me!
And don't get me started about the Johnnie Walker Red. Did I at least save some for me!? Looks like "no." I am so damn selfish sometimes! All I ever think about is me. It's hard to be around me sometimes. I swear…
I know what you're thinking. All this time alone, I'll bet it's masturbation time! No. Not so much, not any more. The thing is, I have to be attracted to the person I'm with, and I definitely can't be fed up with whom I'm having physical relations. I just can't. I'm not built that way. I always think I'm SO funny and SO smart, but I find that SO unattractive. Seriously, I could take or leave me. I always say stupid things that I think are funny, but they're not. It's like I am desperate. And I have no time for people like that. No sir! I hate needy people. So here I am, naked and vulnerable and cracking dumb jokes and that is so unattractive! Sometimes it's like I don't even respect myself. And I just can't be with someone I don't respect.
But, being alone has its perks. For instance, no social diseases. Think about it. When's the last time you heard of someone who hasn't had female companionship in the last 3 years, but just got the clap? Never. It can't happen! You can't get a social disease by yourself. Can't be done. Although I'm screwed if they come up with some sexual hermit disease…
"You've been alone for how many years? Mmm hmm. Okay, I think I know what it is. Take these for a month and try and go out and meet some people. And for crying out loud, don't try and be funny. You're not that funny. You try too hard. That's what ruined things between you and yourself in the first place."
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Ban Brokeback Mountain!
As you may have heard, Utah Jazz owner Larry Miller has refused to show the movie Brokeback Mountain in any of his theaters. I, for one, applaud this.
I know what you’re thinking: Don, you’re usually pretty liberal about these things. Not this time. I think the whole premise of the movie is, in fact, immoral. If you think it’s morally acceptable for two men to be cowboys, then you are dead wrong. Dead wrong! I don’t mean to sound ultra-conservative, but I do not believe that cowboys have a place in our society.
People will argue, “Hey, they’re human. They should have the same rights as you and me.” They might be entitled to the same rights, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. It seems like every parade I watch, there are more and more cowboys. It’s like a spreading virus. As far as “rights” go, you give them an inch and they take a mile. We let them have their poetry and their roping and then what happens? You can’t walk down the street without seeing gun racks in their trucks, belt buckles bigger than CDs, and Skoal.
The fact that they try and promote Brokeback Mountain as a “love story” is preposterous. It’s a cowboy movie, end of story.
Some people who have seen the movie will tell you, “Oh, it’s just a love story. It’s really well done, actually.” Whatever. I’m not against love stories; in fact, I rather like them. But two guys who decide to be cowboys, is against God’s plan. There are many verses in the bible that support the notion that “cowboys” are a metaphor for evil.
And what about our children? Do we want them to think that it’s okay to be a cowboy? Admittedly, I don’t have kids. But suppose one of my nephews decided to come out and announce to the family that he wants to be a cowboy. I don’t know how I’d handle it. I really don’t. And with movies like Brokeback Mountain, he might be inclined to feel like it’s okay.
It seems more and more people are deciding that the cowboy lifestyle is for them. I really don’t know if it’s something they’re born with, or something they learn; all I know is it’s wrong. I’m not perfect and I hate to pass judgment, but it’s just wrong to be a cowboy. I know that a lot of women think it’s “cool” to have cowboy friends – not me!
So the movie won four Golden Globe awards. Does that make it art? Absolutely not. The only thing it did for me was give me a sick feeling in my stomach whenever I see Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Ledger, because now I can only see them as cowboys. They’re typecast as far as I’m concerned.
Look, it’s not like I’m totally unsympathetic to cowboys. I’m not a hater. Maybe they can’t help it. Maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe they just need some help or medication for their disease. I don’t know. I do know that people seeing this immoral movie only supports the pattern of behavior.
Sometimes a society has to stand up and be counted. Let your fellow citizens know how you feel about cowboys. Tell everyone you know: Don’t see Brokeback Mountain!
Thank you and God Bless.
I know what you’re thinking: Don, you’re usually pretty liberal about these things. Not this time. I think the whole premise of the movie is, in fact, immoral. If you think it’s morally acceptable for two men to be cowboys, then you are dead wrong. Dead wrong! I don’t mean to sound ultra-conservative, but I do not believe that cowboys have a place in our society.
People will argue, “Hey, they’re human. They should have the same rights as you and me.” They might be entitled to the same rights, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. It seems like every parade I watch, there are more and more cowboys. It’s like a spreading virus. As far as “rights” go, you give them an inch and they take a mile. We let them have their poetry and their roping and then what happens? You can’t walk down the street without seeing gun racks in their trucks, belt buckles bigger than CDs, and Skoal.
The fact that they try and promote Brokeback Mountain as a “love story” is preposterous. It’s a cowboy movie, end of story.
Some people who have seen the movie will tell you, “Oh, it’s just a love story. It’s really well done, actually.” Whatever. I’m not against love stories; in fact, I rather like them. But two guys who decide to be cowboys, is against God’s plan. There are many verses in the bible that support the notion that “cowboys” are a metaphor for evil.
And what about our children? Do we want them to think that it’s okay to be a cowboy? Admittedly, I don’t have kids. But suppose one of my nephews decided to come out and announce to the family that he wants to be a cowboy. I don’t know how I’d handle it. I really don’t. And with movies like Brokeback Mountain, he might be inclined to feel like it’s okay.
It seems more and more people are deciding that the cowboy lifestyle is for them. I really don’t know if it’s something they’re born with, or something they learn; all I know is it’s wrong. I’m not perfect and I hate to pass judgment, but it’s just wrong to be a cowboy. I know that a lot of women think it’s “cool” to have cowboy friends – not me!
So the movie won four Golden Globe awards. Does that make it art? Absolutely not. The only thing it did for me was give me a sick feeling in my stomach whenever I see Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Ledger, because now I can only see them as cowboys. They’re typecast as far as I’m concerned.
Look, it’s not like I’m totally unsympathetic to cowboys. I’m not a hater. Maybe they can’t help it. Maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe they just need some help or medication for their disease. I don’t know. I do know that people seeing this immoral movie only supports the pattern of behavior.
Sometimes a society has to stand up and be counted. Let your fellow citizens know how you feel about cowboys. Tell everyone you know: Don’t see Brokeback Mountain!
Thank you and God Bless.
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