Farewell Harry (aka Old Guy Office Mate)

It's been a little over 3 years of working together. We became pretty good friends during that time. I am really gonna miss Harry. I know he enjoyed all the shit I gave him. Afterall, he kept coming back for more all that time.

Harry, you been a friend and a father figure to me. I love ya buddy.
Farewell Brother! Hope you get to sleep in everyday, have lots of sexytimes with your new lady, and have fun spending all your money.

FYI Friday: Stealing Is Wrong

Some people say, “Imitation is the best form of flattery.”

I prefer the version offered by Jim Carrey: “Imitation is the best form of plagiarism.”

First, Scoman and Princess of Sarcasm steal my STICKMAN concept.

Then,

Adrienzgirl copies my idea of asking stupid questions that no one really gives a flip about.

This, from a supposed “friend”.

Et tu, brute?*

At least the first two violators gave me some credit.

My lawyers will be contacting you soon, Ms. Think Tank Momma.

Regardless, I am throwing out another idea that I am sure someone will “borrow”.

FYI Fridays

Here goes:

FYI: Tree huggers do not take their jobs seriously. You never hear of one dying in a forest fire.

FYI: Fingernails do not make good building materials. AND are a bitch to hammer when actually trying to.

FYI: Wednesday is not called Hump Day for the reasons you think. It is not a license to hump the leg of every female you pass by at work. (At least according to the nice people in HR, who think they know everything. Next, they’ll tell me “TGI Friday” doesn’t really stand for “Touch, Grab, & Intercourse Friday.”)

FYI: Telling your boss you are really bi-racial, because you are black from the waist down, might be considered sexual harassment.

FYI(Guys): When the doctor says he wants to check your PSA, he doesn’t mean Public Service Announcement.

FYI: Not every guy who comes to your house wearing a brown shirt and driving a truck works for UPS. Sometimes garbage men wear brown shirts. And sometimes your packages end up at the dump.

FYI: When a retiring coworker jokes that the next time you see them will most likely be at their funeral, it might be taken the wrong way if you reply, “I hope to see you soon then.”


*I might have just copied using latin-y type words in a post from Vita Brevis. (SEE BRANDEE! That’s how you give proper credit!)

P.S. Stay tuned for Old Guy Office Mate special farewell retirement vlogging.

Something About Nothing

Ever have one of those days where all you want to do is nothing?

Wait.

IS doing “nothing” …doing… something?

If so, how would you DO it then?

And how would you describe doing it?

“Nothing” has been described as “THAT which rocks dream about.”

Which makes me wonder….What would you call THAT “nothing” when it rains?

And if doing “nothing” is REALLY nothing, then you say you’re “not doing anything”.

You wouldn’t say “NOT doing nothing”, because that’s a double negative.

Which in Math would make a positive when multiplying, but this isn’t math.

Is it "multiplying" or "timesing"?

Because I say "timesing".

Regardless, everybody knows that negative numbers really stand for nothing.

Geez, Math is still working its way into my conversations.

Nice going Math!

You’re such an asshole!

Anyway…

What was I saying?

Oh yeah.

Nothing.

Farewell Old Fart!

I had a Memoir Monday post ready for today.

Then I came into work and found out I was losing Old Guy.

Not “losing” like he is terminally ill.

Or even “losing” like that time at the mall when his Alzheimer’s kicked in.

Friday is Old Guy’s last day at the VA.

After 45 years of service to this great nation, both military and public service, the Old Guy is finally calling it a career.

I really expected him to work here until they planted him in the yard outback.

Guess I finally pushed him to the breaking point.

Either that, or the thought of sitting at home with his new girlfriend for the equivalent of half months pay seemed like too good a deal to pass up.

Regardless, I’m going to miss the Old Guy.

Now, I’ll have to find someone else at work to give shit too constantly.

Any ideas for a going away party/gift/blog idea????

Friday Funnies: More Crazy Questions And Crap

Shouldn’t a guys underwear be called a ballpark?

Ever wonder why you never see a Mexican working at Borders?

Ever wonder why it’s called a Drive-in when you aren’t actually going in? Shouldn’t it be called what it is? If you are watching a movie outside, shouldn't it be called a “watch-out”? If you are eating outside the resturant, shouldn't it be called an “eat-out”? Or a “foreplay”? That would probably work for the movie also.

Does breast milk count as fast food? Sounds like a Happy Meal to me.

Shouldn’t Jiffy Lube be required to sell K-Y?

Doesn’t “microwave” sound like something that happens in a stadium full of midgets?

Shouldn’t “birthday” only apply to the very first one, and all the others be called “You’re Still Alive Day!”?

Why is there a subtraction button on an adding machine?

TMI Thursday (NOT REALLY): Why I Could Never Be A Squirrel

I could never be a squirrel.

I realize this post might open me up to all kinds of lewd comments, because you guys are pervs.

That’s partly why I love you so much.

That and the whole sending me cash thing you do. *hint,hint*

But seriously, I couldn’t be a squirrel.

Not because of the furry tail and crazy behavior.

Or because of their inability to look both ways before crossing the street.

It’s because of the nuts.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE nuts. (pervs)

They just don’t love me.

But I don’t care, because I am addicted.

I can’t stop eating nuts. (Not in the crack whore way, either. Or the way that Veggie does. Same difference.)

Seriously, whether its almonds, cashews, peanuts, pecans, walnuts, pissasschios, whatever…doesn’t matter.

I can’t get enough of their nutty goodness.

I’ll have them in my ice cream, candy bars, in plain or mixed fashion, in my peanut butter, even floating in a coke on rare occasion (it’s a southern thing learned from my hillbilly parents.)

They are fairly healthy for you, too. As long as they haven’t been cooked in gobs of fatty oils or covered in high carb sugars.

My issue is stopping.

I can sit done with a bag of nuts (not the same as the bag of nuts I always sit down with), and polish off the whole bag. Or can. Or jar.

THEN…

Intestinal death occurs for the next 24 hrs.

Like if I had eaten an entire wheelbarrow full of sharp gravel.

I'm pretty sure nuts are racist against my digestion tract.

The pain. The cramping. And don’t even get me started on the exiting.

Afterwards, my poor bunghole probably resembles Moooog’s after his last prison stint.

And yet…

I still can’t say no.

Just like Mooooog...(ZING)

Wacky Weird Wednesday

It been awhile since I’ve done one of these posts.

Not cause there hasn’t been any weird news.

I’m just lazy.

Shocker, I know.

But, I do love weird news stories. Yahoo’s Odd News section and their weekly “News Of The Weird” are my favorites.

Real life can be so funny sometimes. Just look around.

Or in the mirror
.
It’s hilarious!

Onward…

A female African track athlete has been in the news recently.

She’s such a good runner that competitors and officials are claiming that she’s really a man.

She has been forced to undergo genetic testing in order to continue competing.

I guess pulling her pants down wasn’t good enough.

Seriously?

She’s African!

If she was a dude, you'd know it!
_______________________________________________________________________

Some old lady in Michigan got a 2 lb box of weed in the mail.

Supposedly by mistake.

I’m guessing the mistake was her thinking cataracts and glacoma were close enough for legal use.

The cops said the return address was bogus and that someone probably planned to snatch it from the lady’s mailbox before she got it.

They shipped it using USPS.

United States Pot Service.
_____________________________________________________________________

Also, another lady in Austria had to prove to her utility company that she wasn’t really dead.

Evidently, the company MAILED HER A LETTER asking her if she was alive.

“Hello. I got your letter. Enough said!”

How dumb are Austrian companies?

They said they heard from her bank that she had died.

Guess they operate on hearsay over there.

She should have said, “Well, since you’re trusting what my bank says, they also told me that you already received payment for my bill. For the next 6 months!”

Instead, she called, emailed, and faxed the company. And STILL had to go down in person to prove she was alive.

What?!

Did they have her picture hanging in the lobby?
_____________________________________________________________

And Finally…

A lightening storm in Ohio destroyed a large carved-stone statue of Jesus.

Meanwhile, it completely missed the large Hustler Store Billboard right next door.

No, this does not mean God likes his porn.

Just that he wants a bigger statue.

Or he’s an art critic.

Tuesday Quickies

I am covering for someone at the Ft. Wayne VA all this week.

Have been since last Friday.

The person I am covering for is in training and I am using her office.

And she must like frogs. Like really, REALLY, really like.

I doubt there are this many frogs in a swamp.

Seriously, there are frogs and plants EVERYWHERE!

I’m waiting for some Louisiana boys with no teeth and banjos to walk–in and start playing Deliverance music any second now.

I squeal for NO man!

But I might consider it if he offered me some fried frog legs.
___________________________________________________________________

Ladies!

What is with the drawing on of the eyebrows?

I understand the need for proper grooming and a nice manicured look.

Everybody appreciates when you take time to pluck the unibrow into individual caterpillars.

I even get the need for some pencil work to enhance the appearance of lighter colored hairs, or filling in for better symmetry.

What I don’t get is the ladies who completely wax/pluck/shave the brows and then attempt to pencil in replacements.

Especially when most of these people haven’t had an art class since elementary.

Often, they don’t even line up with the brow ridge!

Just a couple of Maybelline lines floating in the middle of your forehead, like some wayward McDonald’s arches!

I’ve seen better makeup jobs on a circus clown.

Memoir Monday: My EXP Had More Headjobs Than Me.

It's Memoir Monday Time at Travis'. Read mine, then go check out the others.



Travis wrote a Memoir post today about getting smacked in his first car.

After reading it, I quickly realized that he wasn’t talking about getting high on heroin, and it completely changed my idea of where the story was heading.

Turns out, he was slapped by a girlfriend for cursing in front of her.

Evidently, he was dating his mom.

It was the south.

(Kidding Trav. I know your mom’s a saint)

Anyway, this got me thinking about whether or not I had ever been slapped by a girl when I was younger.

I honestly don’t remember a particular instance.

Oh, I am sure I probably deserved it on occasion.

But I was a pretty nice and shy boy when dealing with the opposite sex. I wasn’t prone to pinching butts or making sexual comments to girls’ faces.

I do remember my first real car though.

One that was specifically bought for me.

It was a solid black ’85 Ford EXP.

It had a 4 speed manual transmission.

It also had an engine that the geniuses at Ford created by pairing a cast iron block with an aluminum head.

So, the iron block would heat to a billion degrees, and the aluminum head would instantly warp.

The head gasket was always blown. Maybe that’s why it was called a “head” gasket.

Helpful tip: Motor oil is NOT supposed to look like Miracle Whip.

I spent more time pushing that car than I did driving it.

It spent for time in the repair shop than on the road.

I’m not sure it ever ran right.

I can’t remember if I ever actually had a girl in that car, but if I did, it was probably to hold the steering wheel straight while I pushed.

I remember a couple times when it was running and drivable.

Like the time me and my buddy, J.T. (he had a Mercury Lynx-basically the same car), raced each other around my yard like it was the Daytona 500.

Not sure how I explained all the oval tracks in the yard encircling the house to my parents, but that may explain the blown gasket problem.

More Crazy Crap From My Demented Brain

Why is it okay to put a sign in your yard that says free puppies or free kittens, but not free babies?

Why is it that if your offer to mow the neighbor yard, that’s considered being neighborly, but if you offer to sleep with his wife, it’s not?

Why do both coffee and farts come from beans?......Could I open a store called Fartbucks?

The more you spend on a new TV, the better the picture gets. Why doesn’t that principle work with mirrors?

Shouldn’t the sticky tape side of a ladies panty liner be called the padlock?

Why aren’t copy machines called plagiarizers?

If I set my clock backwards or forwards an hour for daylight saving time, does that count as time travel?

If I turn my head from side to side while cheering for my favorite team, does that make me an oscillating fan?

If I ask a bunch of questions, why am I a questioner instead of an askerer?

Someone Is Trying To Off My Mom

I get a lot of SPAM, which I usually delete, if my SPAM filter doesn’t catch it first.

But one in particular I get repeatedly.

It’s always titled “A Place For Mom”, and comes from….shockingly…..www.aplaceformom.com.

Regardless of how many times I change the filter settings or put it on the “block” list, it still slips through.

The message says it’s “The Nation’s Largest Free Elder Care Referral Service”.

WTF!

Guess that’s like a talent agent for nursing homes.

Which would make them William-Morris or something.

Who knows?

But, maybe they’re trying to tell me something.

Like they know something I don’t.

Like they threatening to injure my mom.

Maybe they are planning to send the boys out to rough up mom, thereby drumming up new business.

They should be ashamed!

My mom is a wonderful lady.

She is in good health. She lives on her own. She still drives. She works at a job every day. She’s barely even Social Security age.

She’s not ready for an old folks home.

Yet.

Sure, she might eventually need help or someone to care for her.

Then, I might consider letting her move in with me……while I drove her to the nearest nursing home.

But really, I have two older sisters who would make that decision.

I am the FAVORITE, afterall.

THEY could decide whether to let her live with THEM, or send her off to a home.

I'm going to start forwarding them the SPAM.

Just in case.

Memoir Monday: The Time I Took Weed To School

I am hooking up with Travis for a Memoir post. Haven't done one in awhile and I just remembered this. After reading mine, head over and check out the others.




I used to try to do the right thing, but it wouldn’t have me.

Case in point,

(sometime in Elementary school, maybe 1st or 3rd grade, the details are fuzzy)

We must have had the DARE cops come in and give us the drug talk.

“Just say NO!” and “Be cool, stay in school” or whatever…

I just remember them saying “dime bags aren’t a bag full of dimes” and “It will cost you most than a hundred dimes depending on how it’s cut”.

Maybe that was the guy on the corner.

Regardless, I just knew after that point that drugs were bad and I should rid the world of them.

Fast forward to a couple days later.

I’m out playing across the street by the “rich” neighbors house.

There was a white wood fence that outlined their property.

Imagine my surprise when I found them cultivating their own stash of weed along the fence row.

Sure enough, tiny plants with 5 pointy leaves, just growing like crazy.

Being the vigilant would-be-do-gooder I aspired to be, I gathered up as much of it as I could and raced home.

I placed them in a ziplock baggie and did the only sensible thing.

That’s right…

I took it to school the next day to show my teacher.

After a trip to the office and the police being called, I was asked about where I had acquired such illicit contraband.

I sung like a canary, thinking I was doing my best to rid the world of this THC-filled devil weed, and potentially saving some teenager a life of living in his mom's basement with nothing but a permanent case of Chinese eyes and uncontrollable giggles.

Just thinking that I had single-handedly saved the snack food industry from being molested by dopers with the munchies was reward enough.

Turned out the weed was just….weed.

Supposedly the police had it tested.

But I think really, the principal just tried smoking some.

He did always have Visine on his desk.

Late Night TV Can Make Your Penis Bigger!

So, I’m watching TV the other night and one of those “natural male enhancement” commercials comes one.

At first, I was like… "Where’s that dude that’s always smiling?"

You know, Smiling Bob.

He’s that guy that’s always smiling and getting woman to sit on his lap.

Turns out, that’s Enzyte.

Enzyte is being sued for 2.5 million dollars for saying they could cue erectile dysfunction.

Bob’s not smiling anymore.

No…

This commercial was for Extenze.

The OTHER company with “enz” in its name that sells snakeoil natural male enhancement.

Their commercials talk more about making men “bigger”, and often feature couples with the guy saying, “It made me bigger!”, and the woman saying, “He’s bigger!”

It’s implied by their lack of using midget couples that they are not talking about height. Unless they are all midget couples and the shit works REALLY good.

Congrats buddy! You’re on national television telling everybody you have a tiny penis.

Entenze also likes to point out how they have sold “over a billion capsules”, like it’s cheeseburgers at McDonald’s or something.

But that’s not the best part.

Now they have Extenze for WOMEN!!!

WTF!

If you have something down there that you want to extenze, you’re probably not a woman.

If you are a women, you really shouldn’t be trying to make things “bigger” down there. Especially, if your man is in need of Extenze.

That’s just counterproductive.

(Update: Now they even sell a liquid Extenze energy formula. Like a Viagra+5hr Energy Drink cocktail. Guess Extense makes you so big that you need an extra energy boost to whip it out at the urinal.)

What Is It With Screamers?

What is it with screamers?

Okay

I know what you’re thinking, because I am thinking it too, but this post is not about people who are noisy dance partners while doing the horizontal mambo.

No matter how much we wish it was.

No, I am talking about those people that insist on yelling or screaming stuff from their car as they drive by you.

You could be on a bike, or walking, or maybe just standing peacefully in your yard.

Maybe you’re watering the flowers.

Maybe you’re watering the neighbor’s flowers.

Maybe you’re watering the neighbor's flowers with your piss.

The details are trivial.

My point is, if yelling stuff from a moving vehicle is the only way those people can find courage, what happens when they’re in the woods on foot and see a bear?

Do they sit down and pretend to be driving while they yell obscenities at the bear?

Do they run away quietly because they’re out of their courageous element?

I understand that it makes them feel a sense of freedom to yell curse words out their window and not have to be there to face the consequences of their actions.

Or maybe they do it to try and startle you.

Like “Fuck You!” is the NEW “Booo!”

And you don’t hear the sound of their car, because cars are sneaky.

I’m just saying that they could at least slow down if they want to be heard clearly.

Driving by at 40 mph while yelling “FUCK YOU!” only makes them sound retarded.

All the person they’re yelling at hears is “…uuuUUUUUuuuuucc…” which we can all agree is just missing the drool on the shirt and a padded helmet from earning them a ticket to ride the short bus.

Happy 4th Of July Weekend!

4th of July kicks Canada Day’s ass any holiday.

Our country may be bankrupt. We may have high crime rates. We may have poor education. We may have corrupt politicians. We may be hated by other countries.

But we have our Independence and Freedom.

Everything else hinges on them. They are what make other countries hate us. They might even be what cause some of the other problems we have.

However, they are what make America the best country in the world.

Look at the people that are streaming across our borders every day, risking life and limb to come here, in search of a better life. They have been doing it for centuries.

“Chasing the American dream”. People come here for jobs, schools, medical care, freedom, etc.

If you live in America, you should thank God.

And thank the men and women who fought and died to give and protect your freedoms.

The 4th of July is the day we celebrate our Independence.

We do it with parades, and cookouts, and fireworks.

Then every other day, we just show the world how awesome we are.