Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Happy Halloween!

I hope you have a great Halloween! Here is my Nacho Libre outfit. I'll post more pics once the wife dresses up as the hot nun.

Here's me in my Monk garb (sans mustache).


Aaaaand here's me mostly naked and sexy.


Here's me practicing to fight the ladies away.


Um... here's me at work.


Nacho Libre doing some work with Sid.


Secret identity exposed!


Here's a video that Crankston uploaded to YouTube. I didn't know he was filming, otherwise I would have stuffed my pants with a sock / cucumber.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Honk if You're Honky

Today somebody cut me off on the way to work, and while usually it doesn't bother me, today it did.

What irked me the most about this encounter was that there was nothing I could do about it. Sure, I could honk my horn, but my car's horn really blows (no pun intended). I need a new horn, preferably one that will cause the victim of my horn blast to lose control of his bowels and maybe crack his rear view window, so he can't identify me later.

I realize that I could have always run the guy off the road, and probably could have gotten away with it, as nobody in Baton Rouge wants to end up being dragged to court to testify - we're all too busy for that. My suped-up Corolla invokes fear in most other cars, except of course for those who cut me off. But I didn't want to risk any scrapes on the paint. Plus I wasn't wearing clean underwear, and couldn't risk an accident. Also, I wasn't angry enough to do something like that, all thanks to Sirius Satellite Radio.

You see, my penchant for road rage has declined since I've gotten Sirius Satellite Radio. It's the Love station - I just can't get enough of that sweet melodious groove. It puts me into a groovy state of mind. So even if someone squeezes into the 10 feet between me and the car in front of me, it's really hard to get riled up. Unless we're talking about a different kind of riled, in which case, rrrRRROOORRRrrr!

If I had a horn that hit the brown note, though, I think I'd be in good shape. As long as I wasn't hit by the shock waves, money is no object for setting up a monster death horn.

And just for the record, what's the point of wearing clean underwear solely for preparation for if you get in an accident? If someone gets in a wreck, chances are they'll be so scared that they'll ruin that fresh clean pair of undies anyway. So really, it makes sense to just turn the pair that you've worn for the last week inside-out, and you've got another full 5 days of worry-free driving ahead of you. Save on money, save on embarrassment - old undies, your key to success!

If you have any thoughts on horns, the brown note, bad drivers or clean underwear, please drop me a line.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Going for Shipbroke

Wedding receptions are a great place to socialize, and the bar is the best place to meet new people. Sure, the dance floor is a great place to bump and grind against one of the bridesmaids, but the chances of getting your ass kicked by a bridesmaid's boyfriend / father / lesbian lover is lowered exponentially if you stick to the bar.

During one of our bar runs, my wife and I met a shipbroker named Harland, and Harland's lady-friend Michelle. We discussed shipbrokering over a mint martini and a Tom Collins.

Shipbrokering is an interesting business. I don't really remember the details, as my BAC level was .4 at this time, but I'm sure it was interesting, as it sticks out as the most memorable conversation of the night.

At another bar I got to chat with my old friend Jim. Beverages involved were white wine, Budweiser Jr. and Seven & Seven. Jim and I were roomies at Boy's State, and since Jim was our city's mayor, I got to abuse all of our city's rules. Good times!

So you see, wedding receptions give you the chance to meet new friends and catch up with old ones, and also give you a chance to test drive many different types of beverages. If you are getting married and need to fill up your side of the aisle, and if there will be an open bar at your reception, please send me an invitation. I need all the socializing practice I can get.

Bear Skin Rug

My friend Brad is known for his banana hands. Seriously, he can palm two basketballs with one hand. Keep this important fact in mind, because it will come into play later in this post.

Last night we went to a wedding for my friend Wendy. Wendy is the sister of my good friend Jimmy, and Jimmy's family is like an extension of my own family.

Since we're family, we took it upon ourselves to test out all of the food and alcohol, to make sure that everything was A-OK. Can't take any chances!

Each of us agreed to eat and drink in moderation. Doing something in moderation just means that somebody has to moderate, so I moderated the food, my wife moderated the drinks, my brother moderated the dancing and my brother's wife moderated the drive home.

I think my wife moderated the drinks too well, as now I have to type extra quietly otherwise each keystroke is like a jackhammer pounding away at her head.

While I was moderating the food, I saw Wendy's new husband, who goes by the nickname "Bear." Since technically we're family now, I took it upon myself to show Bear the blunt object that I would use to beat him senseless if the need arises, like if he upsets Wendy in any way.

I also pointed Bear to Brad's direction. Conveniently, Brad was grasping several plates between his massive banana hands, and demonstrated my point of Brad being able to crush Bear's head in a single squeeze.

So welcome to the family, Bear! And thanks again, Wendy, for the invitation!

Friday, October 27, 2006

Bobbylicious

I was listening to my life-changing Sirius Satellite Radio, rockin' out in the Baton Rouge traffic, when all of a sudden on comes one of the worst songs I've ever heard IN MY LIFE. It was so bad that I knew it must be extremely popular with today's youth.

It was a song called London Bridge, by Fergie, who is the white girl in the Black Eyed Peas.

Anyway, here are some lyrics to London Bridge:

How come everytime you come around,
My London, London bridge wanna go down


I don't know about you, but it sounds like Fergie has a serious medical condition. What exactly is her London Bridge, and why is it going down when I come around? Should I be flattered, or should I just spray myself with penicillin?

A little later, another Fergie song came on, this one called Fergalicious. I guess this is supposed to be like Beyonce's song Bootylicious. After Bootylicious came out, everyone started using this word in their songs. For instance, the Beatles remade Imagine to now say, "Imagine there's no Heaven, it's easy if you try. No Hell below us, above us only a bootylicious sky." I don't know if I can take Fergalicious being used in this manner.

I figured I had no reason to complain if I didn't change the channel. But after flipping around and hearing, respectively, "Looks Like We Made It" by Barry Manilow, "We Built This City" by Starship, "Achy Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus, and "Rock Star" by Nickelback, I figured I was safer with Fergie than anyone else.

Singular Sensation

What's in a name? Sure, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. But if a rose was called the Death Petal then I wouldn't go near it, and would definitely not send a bouquet of them to my wife.

Everyone has a nickname. For instance, if your name is Charles, you're also Chuck. If you're James, you're Jimmy; if you're Theodore then you're Teddy. Richard? Dick.

My name is Robert, so most people call me Bobby. Some of my friends, however, call me Boobies.

Now I'm perfectly fine with the nickname Boobies. Some people have even gone so far as to call me Boobies Tittories. I'm okay with that, too. I like how they've fleshed out my name with the theme - my friends are very creative.

But my gripe comes in when people call me the singular Booby or Boobie.

I strive for greatness. I want to be all that I can be. So if I'm going to be a rack, then dammit I'm going to be a full rack! I demand that you, if you so choose to call me a nickname of mammarial proportions, use the plural form of a beautiful pair of breasts.

This issue recently cropped up when I created the Facebook group, " I know it was Chuck Bowie that clogged the tub w/ TP during Spring Break 01," and the accused Chuck Bowie responded in kind, referencing me as the singular Booby. Now it's war.

Chuck is probably going to be a brain surgeon - he's that smart - so if he says he didn't do it then he is probably right. But, in my opinion, you really can't trust brain surgeons, especially ones who join a group that accuses them of clogging a bathtub with toilet paper. That would be like a brain surgeon leaving a rag in a patient's brain, joining the lawsuit against him, then denying it ever happened.

So remember, be respectful of your piers, and keep in mind that there is more to a name than just letters.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Halloweening in Style

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I get to dress up (or down), run around and scare children, and go to work with a cape and spandex.

Last year I wore my Burger King outfit, and I think that parents were more scared of the King than the kids. Aaron and I went to Burger King while I was dressed as the king, and I got some free chicken fries.

I wonder if Taco Bell will give me some free nachos if I wear my Nacho Libre outfit there. There's only way to find out!

!Nachoooooooo!

I also love all the Halloween themes for various activities. I even have a favorite FireFox theme for Halloween called, surprisingly, "Halloween." If you have FireFox, go out and get the Halloween theme. You can find it here:

https://addons.mozilla.org/firefox/1360/

Click on the "Install Now" link thingy, and that will install your theme. Then, on your toolbar, go to Tools / Add-ons (or Tools / Extensions if you haven't upgraded to FireFox 2.0), click on Themes, then select the Halloween theme.

Last Halloween, I used the older version of the Halloween theme well past Christmas. I think that was about the time that I found PimpZilla.

(I've found that if you have the TabBrowser Preferences extension, it will screw up the look of your tabs. So just disable TabBrowser Preferences if you have it and you're good to go.)

I might start working on my own theme. Maybe I'll make a pizza one, because I love pizza. It can have pepperonis and hearts. (Hearts are tasty.)

Or maybe I'll do a Nacho Libre theme. There's always room for stretchy pants.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Poetry to my Ears

I'm a regular reader of Scott Adams' blog. Scott Adams is the creator of the comic strip Dilbert, and his writing is just as hilarious as the comic.

But one of the things that I didn't know about Adams, mainly because I'm still trying to catch up with all of his posts, is that he lost his voice over a year ago in a bout of Spasmodic Dysphonia. Spasmodic Dysphonia is a neurological disorder that affects speech - it's like a part of the brain just stops sending signals to the vocal chords, and it usually happens with older people who lose their voice due to laryngitis, etc.

Adams says that he can still get up in front of people and give speeches, but he can't speak well in person or over the phone. He also said that he can sing or rhyme with no issues, and his voice is fully functional during these activities.

I stutter, so I can identify with a lot of the characteristics of his issue. I don't claim to be a great public speaker, but I find that 9 times out of 10, my voice is going to actually work when I'm standing in front of a crowd than when I'm on the phone or speaking face-to-face. I also don't stutter when I sing (but really, you'd probably rather me stutter than sing, my singing is that bad), and I'm like the Flava Flav of nursery rhymes.

But what really fascinated me about Scott Adams' post was his explanation of his self-therapy. He said that he noticed that he could speak fluently and normally when saying nursery rhymes, and so he figured that he would continue practicing speaking with rhymes until his brain "remapped." Apparently during one of his rhyming sessions, his braind did remap.

Adams says that he could feel it when his brain remapped. I've had some of those feelings before, and let me tell you, it's a great feeling. For a few fleeting moments, I'm able to talk so much and so fluently that everyone around me gets sick of hearing me talk.

There's got to be something to this. My Uncle Jim told me that he stuttered when he was younger, and his therapist had him repeat nursery rhymes over and over, and one day his stuttering just went away. James Earl Jones used to stutter - in fact he stuttered so much that he just stopped talking - but his teacher told him that his poetry was so good that he needed to read it aloud to his class. Now James Earl Jones has arguably the most recognizable voice in the world.

Maybe there's something to this poetry / rhyming thing.

I know that most of my brain works, as again, I can sing, rhyme and grand-stand in front of a crowd, so I've been practicing rhymes at home every night (so far it's just been one night, but that counts as every night up to this moment). Of course, my brain might be beyond repair because all of the other ridiculous things I do during the course of a normal day really points to me being severely retarded. Such is life.

Anyway, I'm trying to find some good poetry to read to help with my speech. I'd like something that rhymes. I'm going to pull out my old Shel Silverstein books, as Shel is the man. Other than that, if you have any suggestions for good poetry, please drop me a line.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Big Pimpin with FireFox 2.0

I started comparing the beta / release candidates for FireFox 2.0 with the beta for IE7 a couple of months ago, and now that both are out in their final releases, I'd like to give my opinion on the matter.

FireFox 2.0 is the shizzle.

Okay, so IE7 stole a lot of the best things about FireFox. No biggy. FireFox stole some stuff from Opera. And like they say on the street, "they both paid off they ho debts, so it's all good."

What makes FF 2 the best of the best is the theme, PimpZilla.

PimpZilla in action


Until the PimpZilla 3.0 theme is updated on the Themes page, you can get the latest version from www.pimpzilla.nl then clicking on "PimpZilla 3.35 (b├Ęta for Bon Echo)" in the footer. You may have to allow this site to install stuff on your computer, but no worries, you can trust PimpZilla.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Check Me Out!

On Monday I hit up the P-ville Wal-Mart. I only picked up two items, and I was rushing to get to the P-ville Post Office so I could hurry up and wait, so I figured I could handle the mundane task of checking myself out.

Wrong.

I hate the self-checkout line. Apparently everyone else does too, as the line is always empty. I have a sneaking suspicion that the self-checkout scanners and cash registers are more complicated and less reliable than the ones the Professional Wal-Martians use, in order to make the pros look like they have some actual skillz.

All I had were super glue and envelopes. I scanned in the super glue first, and the register beeped on the first try. Yatzee!

Then I moved the envelope box over the scanner. I heard no beep. So I tried again. Still nothing.

I then examined the envelope box from top to bottom to make sure that the barcode I was trying to scan was in fact the only barcode on the box.

Then I looked up at the monitor, which said, in legible Wal-Mart font, "Please see manager for age verification."

Age verification!? What do they think I'm buying, wine? Beer? Gigli on DVD?

So then I'm stuck in the self-checkout line, looking like a moron because I can't get my TWO items to scan in. I'm a computer scientist, for crying out loud!

A manager must have not approved of me kneeing the cash register, because she came to assist me. I seem to always need help when I'm in the self-checkout line - another reason to avoid it. This manager told me that the offending item was not the envelopes, as I suspected, but the super glue.

Apparently kids today sniff everything, like hi-lighters, liquid papers, super glue, their butts.... I can't wait for my kids to beat the living crap out of these other kids. I'll be one proud parent as my youngest son full-nelsons some slacker kid down the road, while I fondly yell, "remember the toe spin, son!"

Anyway, the moral of the story is that you can't buy super glue without age verification. I didn't know this. I didn't know that super glue was so dangerous.

Oh, and some bitch in a Lexus tried to leave her shopping cart behind my car. She was parked next to me, and the parking space designated as a cart holder was RIGHT NEXT TO HER CAR. I pushed it back behind her car, and when she rolled down her window to start yelling at me, I unwrapped my super glue and let her have it.

It's all starting to make sense now....

That's One Bad Mother!

I wonder if ants, termites, etc, give off heat. If so, I'd like to determine if they give off enough heat to be picked up by infared equipment.

It would be great to be able to put on some infared goggles and find the Queen Ant or Queen Termite. Then we could just zap'm.

If I had a company that could do this, I'd call it something fancy like "Bugs-B-Blazed: We Bugger the Bugs," or "Queen Crushers: Queen for a Day, Dead for a Lifetime." I'd get uniforms by Cintas, the Uniform People, with cool titles for all of my employees like "Queen Termite Radiation Expert II" and "Annihilation Equipment Manager Supervisor III."

Scorpions glow when you shine UV light at them. I wonder if ants or termites light up under certain circumstances.

Ants are pretty primitive. They follow each other by pheremones. I remember watching a video of a scientist drawing a line on a wall with the chemical that ants follow, and they all lined up and followed it. I just need to get my hands on that, then I could be the pied piper of ants, leading the ants from my yard to my neighbor's.

Well, at least we know that Paris Hilton glows under night light, so that's one pest that we'll be able to find if she tries to invade your house.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Couch Potaters

What kinds of behavior are considered excessive when shopping for a new couch? Is taking your shoes off and laying down on the couch an acceptable way of deciding on one? What about cuddling with your spouse to make sure there is room enough for two?

What about you or your spouse faux-cuddling with someone a lot fatter than you, so you can make sure that you'll have room for two when you're older and fatter? I think that's fair. You've got to have long-term goals.

Okay, but what about pretending like you're watching a great game and somebody just scored, and so now you've GOT to test out jumping up and down on the couch, taking your clothes off and launching yourself off the couch onto the $299 ottoman? If I can't do this in a furniture store, then I can't make an educated decision.

Earlier today my wife and I went furniture shopping. We think we've found a couch that fits our needs, but I am writing up a list of things to test out before we make our final decision. If you have any suggestions on ways to really test out the suitability of new furniture, please drop me a line.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

The Legend of the Arkansas Handshake

I've always wondered if the legend of the "Arkansas Handshake" was true. But I spoke to one of my friends Wesley, who now lives in Little Rock, AR, and he didn't know what it is. So I guess it's not true, otherwise he'd know.

Oh yeah, he'd know.

The Arkansas Handshake is like Bigfoot, the Lochness Monster or an efficient post office - there are rumors of its existence, but as of yet it hasn't been verified. And the people who have come back with stories of the Arkansas Handshake are not to be trusted, because nobody goes to Arkansas if they can help it.

Then again, maybe Wes just isn't in "the know." I don't know how you get in "the know" in Arkansas. I only know why you'd want to be in "the know," and that's to get to know what the Arkansas Handshake is like.

If you or someone you know is a firm believer in the Arkansas Handshake, please leave a comment.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

F You-ston

I hate you, City of Houston, TX. Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you. I'm not scared of your state's death penalty laws, your overgrown scorpions and tarantulas, or your illegal immigration problem. And just what are you gonna do about it?

You, Houston, with your blue jeans and blazers when you go out to clubs at night. Lame.

You, Houston, with your lack of road signs indicating where to get onto the interstate downtown.

You, Houston, with your stupid state full of steers and queers. And just for the record, you don't much look like a steer to me.

You, Houston, who have already stolen one of my family members and are now trying to grasp another in your fungoid, festering, toll-booth-like talons. (You can keep the first one, but we want the second family member back!)

Okay, so you have decent public schools. You may even have a governor who is competent, although as a Louisianian I pride myself on not knowing who your governor is or what he or she has done. You might have a larger tax pool, your own NFL football team and a baseball team that has done pretty well the last few seasons.

But you, Houston, still blow! You put the turd in turducken. You put the ass in prairie grasslands. And you put the dic in ridiculous.

Suck it, Houston! And gimme back my family!

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Kings of Comedy Central

I get all of my news from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. They're the only people I feel that I can trust anymore.

What I like most about these programs is their interviews with politicians and authors. If an author goes on The Colbert Report, I'll get to hear about a book in an entertaining yet educational fashion, and it makes me want to read it. I bought "The J Curve" by Ian Bremmer after watching Mr. Bremmer on Colbert. I haven't read it yet, but I've bought it. I am easily manipulated.

If a politician goes onto The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, I know that the politician is opening him/herself up for attack, and there's no escape from being humiliated if they don't answer the questions in a realistic and open manner. After watching Jon Stewart interview John Ashcroft on The Daily Show, I realized that, if Ashcroft would have been on The Daily Show during his administration as US Attorney General, I would have liked him just a tad instead of despising him to the core of my being. I'm shallow like that.

And no, I'm not planning on watching Man of the Year with Robin Williams, at least until it comes out on video. And by video, I mean BitTorrent.

In conclusion, if you are running for office this November, please remember that I'm a shallow, easily-manipulated media whore, and focus your campaign towards that demographic.

Great Scott!

After waiting patiently for several months, I've finally received my American Cornhole Association membership ID in the mail. Now I can start playing Cornhole - the game where you throw a sack filled with corn through a hole - and rise through the ranks of the ACA like a hot sack filled with corn through a buttery hole.

I've conveniently given myself the great alias of "Scott Benjamin." Scott is one of my co-workers, and I can't wait to make his name famous by rising through the American Cornhole Association ranks.



Don't worry, Scott, I'll make you proud. I've already submitted several scores to the ACA, so your name should be on the top of the member rankings any day now.

Monday, October 16, 2006

An Ode to TJ, the Greatest Dog in the World

Some of my wife's family and their dog, TJ, came to stay at our house for a week or two after Hurricane Katrina. I became really attached to TJ, because, as you may know, my wife won't let me have a dog of my own. TJ and I got along great, because we both knew the same tricks - sit, play dead, eat, pee on the carpet.

One of TJ's most enduring aspects was that she would hump her teddy all day, every day.

TJ is my hero.

I would like to take this time to honor TJ, the greatest dog in the world, as well as her lover-boy teddy bear. Thank you for all the memories. Come back soon!

The Laces Were In!

I just watched Neil Racker, field goal kicker for the Arizona Cardinals, shank a 40-yard field goal with 40 seconds left during Monday Night Football, which cost the Cardinals the game. Da Bears came back from 20 points down to win (no thanks to their offense), and Racker's kick could have changed the outcome of the game. This big Shank You from Racker completed the large sucking sound that NAFTA started in the 90's.

So Neil Racker is out of a job. And I think I know a good replacement kicker:

Me.

Let's face it, being a professional field goal kicker is my line of work. As a kicker, you work at most 30 full seconds a game. You don't have to tackle, and if you get hit then that's a bonus for your team. You get to travel to new and exciting destinations, party with all of the trophy wives, and maybe someone famous will put you on their fantasy football team. I would get paid enough to have an EFT account set up in at least one pizza parlor in every city on my Away Game schedule, so that's at least 8 Tanory Tantrum Food Outings right there!

And as a computer programmer, I'm used to being a socially inept and outcast member of society. This would make me totally cool under pressure, because if I miss a kick then I'd feel exactly as I do now - alone and craving attention. So you can count on me to not choke - I didn't get into the shape I'm in by choking.

I think I would dig Arizona. It's a dry heat.

In conclusion, I would like to offer my services to the Arizona Cardinals as their field goal kicker, but I do have one stipulation: I only kick in my underpants.

I Wanna Dance!

I've decided to lose a crap-load of weight so I won't look as silly in my Nacho Libre Halloween costume. How will I do this, you ask?

By dancing!

I've broken out my Dance Dance Revolution pad and Mario mix for the GameCube, and let me tell you, I'm like a 14 year-old Japanese kid stuck in an old man's body.

The results are already showing, too. I lost an entire roll of fat just setting this bad boy up.

The only thing working against me is the pumpkin muffins. They say that you are what you eat, so I don't want to eat too many pumpkin muffins otherwise I'll turn into one. Pumpkins are round; muffins are round-ish. Put them together, and you have a very oddly-shaped Nacho Libre wannabe.

Instead, I hope to eat pizza thrice a day, every day, until Halloween so I'll have a much more streamlined shape.

It's all about the stretchy pants.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

The Muffin Man

My wife made some muffins on Sunday. These muffins were extra-delicious, as they had choco-chips in them. Mmmm! Choco-muffins!

I ate several of these muffins. By "several," I mean like ten. I make no excuses - I didn't get in the shape I'm in by not eating.

I noticed, prior to gorging myself on choco-muffs, that these muffins had an orange tint to them. I filed this fact away for grokking at a later time. I am an egg.

Later on I found out that my wife had put pumpkins into these muffins. The horror... the horror!

These orange pumpkin choco-muffins are either festive because of Halloween or festive because of Fall Harvest, depending on whether you are a heathen blasphemer or a fundamentalist freakazoid.

Now, I ask you, dear reader, should I be angry at my wife for tricking me into eating a healthy, nutritious snack, or proud of her for helping me kill veggies?

(I just found out, by researching pumpkins, that pumpkins are indeed fruits, and not veggies. Lots of things that I thought were veggies - onions, pumpkins, cattle - are really fruits. But this doesn't matter as much anymore now that I have declared war on fruits as well as veggies.)

Grapes of Wrath

I'm adding fruits to my list of things to destroy.

I was trying to be healthy, choosing to munch on some grapes instead of ice cream, and this is what I get:

click to see the picture of the grape

A blatantly horny grape.

The grape-to-grape-genitalia ratio here is ridiculous. This grape must have been popular with the bunch. But now it is dead. Such is life.

I tried to rationalize this disgusting display of testosterone by saying maybe, just maybe, these grapes were siamese twins and were connected right above the stem. But because my external brain was in the other room, I couldn't ask her for a decision on this critical matter.

I couldn't decide whether or not to eat it whole or to slice the appendage off from the body, so I just threw it out. You can never be too careful about these things.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Cleaning the Pipes

In today's modern society, people who smoke cigarettes, tobacco pipes, etc, are considered evil, yet there is a growing movement to legalize marijuana. Thus is the paradox of our time.

But I would argue that tobacco, besides being a staple crop, has done a lot for us and our children. The best example of what tobacco has given America is the pipe cleaner.

Pipe cleaners are used in all sorts of crafts. You can make a Pipe-cleanosaurus, a pipe cleaner teddy, or a pipe cleaner insect farm. The possibilities are endless.

And industrial pipe cleaners are used for colonoscopies. Someone in my family, who will not be named, but who was not my mother, brother, sister, wife, myself, or the in-laws, recently had a colonoscopy. I don't think they'll be using that particular pipe cleaner to make a pipe-cleanosaurus anytime soon.

The point is, pipe cleaners are awesome, and they are a direct result of tobacco. So the next time someone yells at you for smoking at the park or gym, just say, HEY! My cancerous lungs have led to your ass getting cleansed, so BEAT IT!

Hoberman Spheres

One of my favorite toys growing up was the Hoberman sphere. The Hoberman sphere was able to be compressed into a tiny sphere-like object, then expanded out to be 10x the size. Not only was it fun and colorful, but it also was an engineering masterpiece and an amazing piece of technology.

But I've just learned something distressing, which has ruined the glossy images of my youth:

The Hoberman sphere is not a sphere at all. It's an icosidodecahedron.

Why would you lie to me, Mr. Hoberman? Do you like making a grown man cry at the loss of his childhood?

Not that it matters, I guess, now that I have stopped doing anything that requires physical activity. Expanding the alleged "sphere" would only spend countles calories that I need in order to properly fill in my Nacho Libre Halloween costume.

Friday, October 13, 2006

It's Electric!

I always learn something new. Today I learned that the word "electricity" derives from "amber." Here is how I found that out:

The recent shootings in an Amish school house led me to research the Amish. Some questions I wanted answered were as follows:

What does it mean to be Amish? When did the Amish migrate to Pennsylvania? Do Amish people really have to wear sweater vests?

I knew that the Amish shun modern technology, but didn't know how modern was "modern." It turns out that "modern" in this case refers to anything discovered or created after the mid-1500's. So it's perfectly fine for an Amish person to use a wheel or a donkey, as the donkey was invented in the fourth centry BC, but not okay to use a Sprint cell phone, which is a recent invention and is less reliable than ol' Bessie.

The Amish also don't use telephones, however, the Mennonite Historical Society has a telephone number as well as a web site, which I think is cheating. (The Amish split from the Mennonites, duh! Don't you know anything?)

The Amish also shun electricity. I had an inkling that the Amish just didn't like electricity because that could lead to using machines and modern conveniences, which would lead to the devil possessing one's soul and thus the sodomization of a farmhand. Also, nothing invented in the mid-1500's could run on electricity, so it's kind of a moot point with those crazy Amish.

Anyway, I eventually got off-track and became more interested in finding out about the history of electricity than about the Amish.

Eletricity was explained by Ben Franklin, who, as only a drunk would do, flew a kite in a thunderstorm and lived to tell about it. Franklin was trying to build off of Dr. William Gilbert's experiments with amber and magnets in the early 1600's that caused sparks, which Gilbert named "electric." Shocking?

How did Gilbert know to put amber close to magnets to cause sparks, you ask? Well, the Greek found that rubbing a cloth against straw would make the particles of straw attracted to the cloth, kind of like when you rub a balloon against your hair and it makes your hair bend towards the balloon. So static electricity was discovered by the Greek. But nobody understood it until Gilbert rubbed one off.

The Greeks called the piece of amber an "electron." So that's why electricity is named after amber.

Off the Record

You didn't hear this from me, but I've been reading a lot of articles where the journalist gets a story from an anonymouse source that is not authorized to speak about a particular issue.

Take North Korea's nuclear bomb test for example. Did N. Korea really detonate a nuke? According to some shadowy figure that won't reveal his true identity, there is no radiation in N. Korea's air that would indicate that they did. You can bet that this won't stop the UN from writing an angry letter to the North.

I started wondering why nobody who is able to speak about the issues actually does, and I came up with this answer:

Journalists are bastards.

It's no secret that the left-wing American media is going to, in at least one sentence, misspell your name. You'll be lucky if they put quotes around all of your key phrases, or if they don't attach a really dumb quote to your name to make you look bad. Who wants that kind of baggage? Certainly not nameless, shadowy figures.

But this raises an even more pertitent question: Can we really trust the answers we get from someone not authorized to speak on a topic?

I guess that kind of shadowy, ethereal info can't be any worse than the opaque info what we get from official speakers.

Market Forces

I love false advertising. It's one thing when a company does it, but it's just as funny when an individual does it. For instance, I could write in to a Singles ad site that I'm a tall, handsome, incredibly rich and single guy looking for love from a hot legal female human, but that would be false advertising because I'm not single. Or tall. Or rich. Or looking for love.

Handsome is a subjective term, so I'll keep that one on my official stats.

I really just love the blatant disregard for the truth. Advertisers can send their product out to Walter-Mart with a label that says, "Non-Free" when it clearly has fat, and someone says, ah, I'll get this because it is non-fat. In your face, gullible consumer peon!

And now we find out (again) that decaf coffee has caffeine. (In case you didn't know, "decaffeinated" is not same as "caffeine-free.")

The US has a couple of different agencies that are supposed to "do" stuff. We have the RIAA, whose job is to sue 12 year-old girls for downloading Ashlee Simpson mp3s, and we have the Food and Drug Administration that is supposed to handle such matters as food and drugs. They administer anything over a dime-bag.

So my question is, what good is the FDA if it can't even test for caffeine in decaffeinated drinks? Are products actually going through the FDA or are our tax dollars only going to fund UFO research and pay pages to be molested by Congress?

We can't just have people saying things that are false, like a specific kind of coffee does not contain caffeine or that Saddam had nukes. We owe it to ourselves and to our community to thoroughly investigate and enforce laws so that we don't ingest something that is bad for us, like spinach.

By the way, thanks for reading the Greatest Blog in the World, with more readers than every other web page combined, and is also safe to eat.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

The Wall of Death

I started thinking about all of the people who have left our project at work, regardless of whether or not they left for personal or professional reasons or were just flat-out fired, and came up with a rather large number. In the past year and a half, we've lost over 40 people.

In order to truly appreciate their work and contributions to our project, I looked up all of their pictures from our shared drives and past photoshops. Then I cut out their faces and stuck them on my cabinet.

I call it the "Wall of Death."

Someone asked me why call it the wall of "Death?" Why not the wall of "Rememberance" or the wall of "People No Longer Working Here?"

Because they are dead to me, that's why. Dead to me!

I then started a contest called "The Fallen." I sent out a submission slip where contestants can enter up to three names for who will be the next face on the Wall of Death.

The best part about all of this is that it doesn't take into account if people left because they were interns, or traveling too much and missing their families, or assigned to another project within the same company, etc. They're all dead to me, regardless of their reasons.

If you or someone you know no longer works with our project group and would like a more flattering picture on the Wall of Death, please send'm to me! Otherwise, I'm not afraid to use my bow-hunting skillz, nunchuck skillz, or especially my MS Paint skillz.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Virtual Insanity

It's amazing what passes for news these days. One guy decides to not use his MySpace and Facebook accounts, and journalists around the country make a huge deal about it. These journalists put the dic in ridiculous!

Gabe Henderson wrote a column in the student newspaper at Iowa State University, and he had this to say about ending his MySpace account: "The superficial emptiness clouded the excitement I had once felt. It seems we have lost, to some degree, that special depth that true friendship entails."

Well I've never had a MySpace account. Anybody want to interview me? No?

Hypocrites.

(I am a Facebook whore, though. I'll just make sure that Gabe Henderson isn't my Facebook friend. Booyah!)

And I'm not superficially empty. I'm realistically empty. Looks like I've got the upper hand, Gabe Henderson.

Henderson then goes on to say how whiney he is that none of his friends want to talk to him face to face anymore. Yet some of his friends cite his "garlic breath" and not a lack of social interaction as the real reason for not making more personal visits.

Some of Henderson's friends are actually happier now that Henderson is offline. "He used to send me all kinds of spam mail," says one of his buds, T. Ferguson. "And he really sucked at Halo 2. We liked it at first because we could kill him easily and raise our frag rates, but then it got kind of pathetic."

The ironic thing about all of this is that I noticed this article on Yahoo! news, which happens to be online. Henderson may not even know that everyone thinks he's a loser, because he's discontinued his Internet access.

"The Internet is a series of tubes," explains Senator Ted Stephens, R-Alaska. "All you have to do is plug up those tubes, and then you can't send any information down them. I'll demonstrate the concept to you on this toilet."

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Jesus Christ! (of Latter Day Saints)

Some time in August, the FBI swarmed on Warren Steed Jeffs, one of the FBI's most wanted fugitives, on a highway in Las Vegas. Jeffs was then held without bond, and I haven't really bothered to keep up with the case after that. Probably he was gang-raped, but the conspiring liberal media won't give us the facts.

Jeffs was the leader of a Polygamist sect of Mormons, called the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Surprisingly, this church was not based in Utah, but in Arizona. But we all know how crazy those "fundamentalists" are.

Jeffs arranged the marriages of hundreds of underage girls, some as young as 13, as well as marrying several himself. He sent young men away from their homes so there would be less competition for brides.

Less competition? Sounds like Socialism!

So it definitley sounds like the FBI was right to send him to a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison.

But in reality, 13 is not much younger than the minimum age that most states require a person to be before getting married without parental consent. In Louisiana, you can get married if you're 16 - 18 if both sets of parents agree, or with a court order if one person is under 16. In Arkansas, you can marry your first cousin at any age as long as she's hot, as is the tradition.

And marrying for love is a relatively new concept. Many countries, such as India, still have arranged marriages in many cases. And although the United States doesn't have a lot of arranged marriages, a person's family will make it a living hell for any "new member" of the family if they don't like him or her.

So this brings up an interesting question:

What's the difference between polygamy in the Mormon sense, and marrying / divorcing / cheating on several wives in the traditional sense?

For instance, a man can marry a woman but still physically have a child with another woman. The man is then required by law to tend to the child, at least with Child Support. So that's kind of like marriage.

And what's to stop a Mormon who wants to have several wives from just marrying one, divorcing her and giving her the house, having a child at some point before or after this occurs, then rinsing and repeating with another woman? Technically, the women will now own the houses and be paid by the man for Child Support. Who says each of these houses can't be on the same street?

I'm not agreeing with polygamy. I'm just saying that Polygamy laws just seem very difficult to enforce.

But still, I agree that any polygamists, especially polygamist leaders, should be wrassled up, hog-tied and thrown into Angola, because anybody crazy enough to marry more than one woman at a time needs to be taken off the street.

I Just Chytoria'd in my Pants

By now you've probably heard of Chytoria. No, not the sexually-transmitted disease, the other Chytoria: the black woman who assaulted her boyfriend with her 4 week-old baby.

Chytoria is classy. You've probably already figured this out.

The parents - I assume the live-in boyfriend is the father, but you never know with a person named Chytoria - went out and came back around 3:30 am.

The baby had been left alone while the parents were out, of course. And the parents were drunk when they got home. Of course.

The parents then began to fight. Verbal fighting led to physical fighting, and that led to the baby being swung in the air by the feet.

If the baby doesn't die, it will probably be mentally and/or physically handicapped. Poor thing... first it is born to a mother named Chytoria, then this.

Seriously, who the hell names their child CHYTORIA???

But don't worry, there is good news in this story as well: Chytoria got a punch to the face. I'm not encouraging violence against women, but this bitch had it coming.

I think I just chytoria'd in my pants.

Chytoria. Do you think it's pronounced Chy-tor-ee-ah, Shy-tor-ee-ah, or Shit-tor-ee-ah? I have my own opinion on this one.

Chytoria claims that she didn't mean to throw the baby, and that while she was in a mad rage and was just throwing random things, she just happened to pick up her 4 week-old baby and toss it at the boyfriend. But I wasn't born yesterday, Chytoria. There's no way you can convince me that you mistook your child for a plastic K-mart vase, even if you do have a name that sounds like venerial disease.

Maybe the boyfriend hit both Chytoria and the baby. But I'm siding against Chytoria on this one, based solely on her name. That's how we roll at the Tanory Tantrum.

Either way, I think that if there's ever been a case for a pay-per-view execution, we've found our main event.

Rebooting Computer Terminology

Football has so many great terms. You play on the "gridiron." You pass the "pigskin." You make out with "cheerleaders."

But in the computer biz, we have crappy terms. For comparison purposes, would you rather want to form a nickel defense or ping a server? I thought so.

I would argue that, since all of our social, work and personal information is now stored digitally, the level of crappiness of computer terms is leading to the decline of civilization itself. We must abort / retry / ignore this practice.

Technology changes about once every three years, and it's time our terminology did, too. So let's look at a few computer terms and we'll examine why they suck.

Mouse: The mouse was so named because of its shape, and because the cable looked like a tail. But the super mice of today are wireless, plus they shoot lasers out of their stomaches. The term "mouse" should be replaced by "lasers-shooting scarab beetle," which I think is much cooler and more accurate.

Keyboard: It's not a keyboard; a keyboard makes music. It's not typewriter or a keypad. It's a cryptonomicon, and you need to start calling it that.

Monitor: I liked the early term for a monitor better - a terminal. That implies death and destruction. But let's be realistic about it, monitors are not going to rain enough radiation down your face to kill you, at least until the 36" screens get a little cheaper. But they may maim you a little, especially if you play on the computer a lot in the dark (doing God-knows-what). So let's call them "radiation projectors," since they project radiated crap at 5,852,160 pixels.

Pixels: I hate the word "pixels." It reminds me of pixies. Pixies are fairies, and that is lame (unless you are a 3 year-old girl, in which case, fairies rock!). We should call pixies "tiny balls of exploding gas and light." Doesn't that sound cooler? "How many tiny balls of exploding gas and light does this radiation projector have? 5,852,160? Oh, snap!"

Elegant: You may have not heard this if you are not a software developer, but I always read books (okay, sentences) where the author says that the code was or was not "elegant." Being elegant is for Emily Post. Being "badass" is for hardcore developers. So the next time you see some code that is elegant, you may now blurt, "that code is badass! Yeeeaaa boiiii!"

That's all for now, but I'm sure you can think of some more.

A Portrait of a Midget Wrestler as a Young Man

I have a dream. It's not a big dream. In fact, it's a rather tiny dream.

I want to become a midget wrestler.

Ye of little faith may say that I cannot be a midget wrestler, first because I am not a midget, and secondly, but most importantly, because I am a complete wuss. But I disagree; you can do anything you put your mind to, especially if you have a mind as warped and twisted as my own. Plus, nobody said I was going to go for the title.

And what makes this all possible is the fact that Science has once again come through for me, this time in the form of soft drinks.

Scientists say that drinking a butt-load of soft drinks will give you osteoporosis. This makes your bones brittle, and brittle bones leads to shrinkage. So by drinking a lot of soft drinks, I will shrink. I will continue drinking soft drinks until I am of welter-weight midget wrestling caliber.

But shrinking and brittle bones sounds painful. That is why I will be drunk when I drink, so I won't feel pain as easily. Plus, mixing alcohol with diet drinks has been shown to get you drunker, quicker. So I'll kill two birds with one stone; four birds if you count my kidneys. I've always been a big fan of Seven and Diet Dr. Thunder anyway.

God, as the saying goes, protects drunks and fools, so if I become both then I should have extra protection. I like to think ahead.

Once I am of maximum midget fighting height, I will invest heavily in drinking milk, taking calcium tablets and practicing my patented toe-spin. It's the perfect crime!

I will also buy stock in the soft drink of my choice, that way I'll make money every time I buy a new case of Diet Dr. Thunder.

The only thing I need now is a midgie-mullet and a stache, some spandex and a cool nickname, and we're in business! See you at the arena!

Monday, October 09, 2006

Flowers for Algernon, But Not in Louisiana

Let's say you have to take a test. This test will determine your ability to obtain a job, make a living and feed your kids. This particular test is four hours long, you have four projects to complete during this time, and you will be judged on the fly by the people comprising the ranks of which you wish to join.

Sounds like the the ACT or SAT, but it's not. It's also not your run-of-the-mill Microsoft certification exam. And I know you think it's Angola's premiere rectal exam, but I once against must tell you no.

It's Louisiana's flower arrangement law.

That's right! Imagine a stampede of rampaging unlicensed florists, selling you displays whose colors might really be saying, "I do not fancy you in that way" instead of "I love you long time!" The horror... the horror! Thankfully, there is a law against this heathenry.

Does this sound dumb? Over-the-top? Idiotic to the 1st degree? It does to me.

In fact, this stunning display of dumbness occurs in only one state, and that is our great state of Louisiana. Two other states have certifications, but these certifications are not required to sell flowers.

New Orleans, prior to Katrina, had the nation's highest per-capita murder rate. But lucky for us, Louisiana's law against the selling of flowers by unlicensed florists is here to save the day. Do flowers count as a veggie? If so, I would like to proudly announce, Die, Veggies, if you are being sold by an unlicensed florist!

We can't even get lights out here in Ascension Parish, and Baton Rouge is testing, licensing and fining people in relation to flowers. Now that's progress!

Maybe people were hiding shotguns in flower arrangements, like on the Godfather. I don't know how stopping "unlicensed" florists from selling flowers would help this situation, but that's just a great scene and I thought I'd mention it.

Later this month I will be the Occupation Specialist for the Baton Rouge School of Computers accreditation examination. I will do my best to help to ensure that this school is providing the best education it can provide, because I want to make sure that this school, unlike my own, will actually teach something worthwhile. If it passes, it passes. If it fails, then it will work harder to ensure it meets the requirements - it's a business, afterall, and failing is bad for business.

But if I owned my own software business and thought that these people would take away my own business later on in life, I would do my best to crush them and their little accrediation test. Bwahaha! Die, peons!

Of course, this being Louisiana, and there being no computer jobs, I have no worries. Good luck in Texas, folks, where I know you all will be moving. I hear Austin is booming.

The "florist exam" pits florists-wannabes against people who are already licensed, and implements a $250 penalty for selling flowers if the seller is unlicensed. A person should not be charged $250 for selling flowers, especially if the person is using the purple Anacamptis pyramidalis with the gold Iris pseudacorus. Sure, I hated my school's curriculum, teachers, parking and administration, but I can still route for their sports teams, can't I?

Oh I forgot to mention the best part of this law, which is that any business wishing to sell flowers must have a licensed florist on staff 40 hours a week. As most small business owners work more than 40 hours a week, but work countless hours doing different jobs such as Accountant, Supplier, Clerk, and yes, occasionally, Florist, it's difficult to say that a single person is working one specific job 40 hours of the week.

Why don't we let the public decide? Ah, yes, now I remember: because it's Louisiana. Maybe next week we'll do something else that is equally useless, like ban Harry Potter from our libraries.

Reminiscing on Bellue's Cajun Cuisine

On Monday we had our monthly Tanory Tantrum Food Outing, this time to Bellue's Cajun Cuisine. The food group consisted of myself, my wife and her fam, Naveen, Ramesh, John, Eric and Crankston.

I'm trying to watch my weight so I got the fried shrimp and fried fish combo, with french fries, broccoli and rice casserole and corn. My wife and I also split a smoked and a fried boudin link. I also sampled a hush puppy from the counter. Gotta try it all when you've got the chance!

Being from Lafayette, I'm a boudin snob. (There's not much that I can be snobby about, so I have to pick my battles.) That being said, the boudin from Bellue's didn't live up to the hype. But the rest of the food was dee-lish!

My wife got one of the specials, which had pork stuffed with rice dressing. The other dishes tasted this trip were the shrimp poboy and crawfish bisque.

I knew that Bellue's also sold packaged food, such as boudin, etouffee, beans and shrimp, but I was expecting a set-up more like Anthony's Italian Deli or Central Grocery. I was very surprised at the great use of space in Bellue's, where all of the packaged food was basically in a grocery store frozen food display. This facilitated my imagination and creativity by allowing me to draw "Tanory Rules" with my fingers on one of the windows.

Wayne didn't make it to today's outing, so I had to do the bathroom report myself. I won't try to mimic his style, as such greatness cannot be mimicked.

The bathroom was spacious. While only a single toilet sat alone in this room, a stall or two could have easily fit. This provided for a lot of privacy, and also as a sound barrier in case of extreme toileting. The walls were painted gold with a purple fleur de lis pattern, which gave a feeling of support to both LSU and the Saints. This made me happy and reduced stage fright (even though nobody was present, there is always the fear of knocking), but also made me angry at LSU for sucking so much this weekend.

There was no auto-flush, auto-sink, auto-soap or auto-paper towel, so I couldn't use my Jedi powers today. But there were two soap containers and an extra package of TP, as well as two different types of fresheners, so I was pleased that I could use an entire roll of paper towels, two roles of TP, spray all of the scented freshener and let the bathroom overflow with water, all at the same time. I give it 9 wipes out of 10.


That's it for this month's food outing adventure! Stay tuned for next month's outing, restaurant TBD.

Angola Rodeo was Great, No Bull!

This weekend my wife and in-laws hit the Angola Rodeo, the greatest show this side of the electric fence. It was a blast! Luckily, no inmates escaped.

I've always liked the word "inmate," specifically because it has the word "mate" in it. Maybe that's why there is so much man-love going on in those places. I've also noticed that people from England call each other "mate." Hmm....

The contestants started out by trying to ride a buckin' bronco for 8 seconds. A couple of guys made it, but one man's horse ran into the fence, smashing the guy along with it. Rock! The horses start bucking because a rope is tied to their nads, then yanked right before it's let loose. If you have HBO, you've probably seen something similar on there late at night.

One of the more entertaining events was the Wild Cow Milking, where inmates chased cows around the arena trying to get some milk. Another event, called Bull Dogging, had two men trying to wrestle a calf to the ground.

One of my favorite events was Convict Poker, where four guys sit at a poker table while a bull charges, and the last guy sitting wins. One man was skewered in the heiny, but I'm pretty sure that this wasn't the first time this particular convict had a spike up his ass.

Another of my favorite events was Guts and Glory. A poker chip is tied to a bull's head, then the bull is then shocked in the rear and sent out to kill some inmates. The inmate who grabs the poker chip wins a lot of money, and a horn to the butt. The prize this week was $1,000, which is a large sum of money considering the inmates make 4 cents an hour doing regular labor.

All of this might sound kind of mean to the bulls, but don't worry, only one bull was gang-raped in this week's rodeo.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Gone Daddy Gone with the Wind

My wife and I are trying to watch all of the "greatest movies ever made." So far we've seen Citizen Kane, Cramer vs. Cramer, Casablanca and Pootie Tang. All have lived up to the hype!

We are currently watching "Gone with the Wind." It's actually more entertaining than I thought it would be, which is good because the movie is longer than Braveheart.

Hollywood has been remaking movies lately, just as the music industry has been recording a lot of covers, so I think that Hollywood could pull off remaking "Gone with the Wind."

For the role of Scarlett O'Hara, I would suggest Paris Hilton. Scarlett loves this one guy, who conveniently has a chick's name, but Scarlett whores herself around after he marries someone else. This guy, whose name is Ashley, marries his cousin. Gotta love the South. This also wouldn't be a stretch for Paris Hilton.

For the character of Rhett Bulter, played by Clark Gable, I would suggest anyone except Jake Gayhall or Heath Ledger. Anything with either one of those guys sucks a fat one, no pun intended.

We're only 40 minutes into the movie, so I don't really have any other good parts lined up yet. But I do know that the famous line, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," will have to be updated to be something edgy.

Here are three lines that could replace this most famous line:

"Frankly, my dear, I don't want gonorrhea."
"My dear, my name is Frank, and I don't give a rat's ass, you ugly skank."
"Frank and beans! How do you turn on the night-vision on this thing?"

Friday, October 06, 2006

Locks of Love

My wife cut her hair off this week and is donating it to Locks of Love. I offered to grow mine out and donate it after a couple of years, but she told me no. As she is my external brain, I must obey.

However, I must say that I would look great with long hair. I would either put a lot of oil in it and slick it back, or I would rub a balloon all over my head to build a static charge, which, when combined with my already powerful static-charged brain waves, would cause streetlights all over town to sporadically asplode. Rock!

Actually, I would probably just join a rock band and buy some black spandex outfits. Sometimes men wear stretchy pants. (It's for fun.)

Speaking of hair, our cousin from DC told us that some kids in her classes have blue mohawks, and she's only in the 4th grade! Kids today grow up too fast... I didn't have my first mohawk until the 8th grade! I blame first-person shooter video games like Barbie Dream House.

But back to my main point: It was very nice of my wife to donate her hair. Plus she looks hot with short hair. Yowsah!

If I were to donate something, I would want to donate something other than head hair. Let's face it, men go bald, and it's not such a big deal for us. Bald men look mature. I might go shave my head right now just for the hell of it, because I'm a man, and that's what men do. But for those of us manly men with a mustache or beard, that would be terrible to lose.

I would definitely be willing to grow a handlebar mustache for purposes of donation. I would lovingly feed and water my mustache, beard and sideburns if it would benefit at least one person in this cruel world. My luscious nose hairs would once again be the pride and joy of the Tanory household. Hopefully my recipient would be able to get back into the swing of things soon, and then donate my beautiful flowing lip mane down to another worthy person.

But I would not donate hair solely for a "soul patch." You know what a soul patch is - the hair right below the bottom lip. Some people just grow out a large tuft of hair right there and think that's cool. Some people have even referred to this as a "flavor saver." Unfortunately, the real name for this type of hair is "ball tickler."

So here's to all of our friends who have suffered through chemo, and to those who help others in need. May you look as hot as my wife does, with or without your real hair.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Can't Brain Today... I Have the Dumb

Sometimes I am unable to think. I just zone out - I don't mean to! I don't put my head down or close my eyes, I just simply stop being responsive.

Sure, sometimes my body will take over and I'll grunt or nod my head at appropriate moments, but people expect that from a software developer so it's not seen as being unusual. But I'm empty inside.

What I need is a good way to tell people that I'm currently "out of the office" in my head, so they won't disclose any urgent information that needs to be resolved ASAP, or tell me about something personal and then hold it against me at a later date, when my brain ramps back up and I have no recollection of this previous conversation.

Have I ever mentioned that my brain gives off a super-charged magnetic field that has the power to turn on and off street lights? It can also turn on Avanti DT501 2-in-1 Toaster Ovens if I hold my right nostril down while I extert my powers over magnetism.

But back to my main point: sometimes I'm dumb. You've probably already figured this out by now.

So I've scoured the Net and found the exact thing that I needed! This Intarweb has everything! And all this time I thought it was just a series of tubes!

This is my happy find: a great shirt that says everything that I can't say when my brain has gone bonkers. It gives the other person a full textual explanation and even gives a great image, just in case the person talking to you is an illiterate moron. Thanks, Intarweb!

braaaaaiiiins!!!

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

The Messiah Complex

I would like to follow up my previous post about "lunatic religious zealots who hate Harry Potter but are fine with Dungeons and Dragons" with a heartwarming classic tale of a friend and his natural writing abilities, who just so happened to write a book about a modern-day messiah.

My friend Toby LeBlanc wrote a book called "The Messiah Complex," which I've already told you is about a modern-day messiah (in case you skimmed that part). It also covers the mental, emotional and social issues someone with those kinds of powers would face in his/her daily life. The Messiah Complex came out in 2004, but it's still relevant all of these two years later. It's got the staying power of "The Iliad." In your face, Homer!

It's obvious that Toby is more of a "New Testament" kind of guy, because his messiah doesn't go "Old Testament" on anyone's crazy ass.

Actually, what I'm hoping for is for Toby to make it big based solely on this blog post, then he'll feel obligated to share some of his hard-earned money with me. Man, I need to write my own book: "How to Get Rich by Extorting Your Friends Over a Blog Post: How Tanory Made It Big and You Can Too!"

Stirring the Potter

It's that time of the year again: the smell of decaying leaves turning brown and floating lifelessly to the ground... the gentle sound of the Jet Stream sending billions of droplets of water careening into the Gulf at 150 mph... the simple yet effective protein shell of influenza making the rounds....

That's right! It's time to once again try to ban Harry Potter from a library!

To be eligible to participate in the yearly "Ban Harry Potter"-thon, you must meet the following criteria:

1. Have no life whatsoever;
2. Be a stuck-up A-hole who thinks the world revolves around you;
3. Feel that the taxpayers at large should have no say in a public library's contents;
4. Have an IQ in the low 40's;
5. Be a complete and total loser; and
6. Have a burning desire to ostracize yourself from your community.

The top contestant in this year's running is Laura Mallory of Atlanta, GA. Mallory told a hearing officer for the Gwinnett County Board of Education on Tuesday that the Harry Potter series is an "evil" attempt to indoctrinate children in the Wicca religion. She also mentioned that she didn't like how Hermoine puts a flying, wooden broomstick between her legs, for obvious sexual connotations, and was angered at Target's inability to sell her one without the need to buy AA batteries.

Mallory also struck back at her critics, saying that Pinnochio should be banned for having a long, phallic-like nose, and that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs should be removed from the library's shelves for encouraging "rampant, promiscuous sexual encounters with comatose or deceased persons of another race." She also accused the character Dopey as being a heroine addict.

It just goes to show you, fundamentalist religious zealots are bastards regardless of their religion.

The winner of this year's "Ban Harry Potter"-thon award will receive their very own Asherah pole that displays a hidden Elven message when held near a heat source. Good luck, and God bless, unless you are a dirty Wiccan!

Stupid Computer Tricks

I usually see at least one mind-boggling prompt every day while working on the computer. From unhelpful error messages to vague help desk tickets, you just have to appreciate these things and accept them as part of life.

Here are some of my favorites of all time. (If you are one of the people who have contributed to these messages being possible, let me be the first to say, congratulations on making the Tantrum!)


  • JD Edwards' Tip of the Day



    I like to think of what the developer was thinking when he wrote this little diddy.


  • Windows Security Alert



    It's nice to see that even Microsoft finally admits that their products are unsafe.


  • Phone Too Loud



    There's actually a logical reason for this issue... but it's still funny. You'll probably have to click on the picture for a better view.


  • Extremely Helpful Error Message



    Even the computer couldn't figure out what the hell I was trying to do.


  • The Microwave



    I'm not sure why this went through our help desk software, but apparently my annual review will cover more than just software development. Names have been removed to protect the innocent.


  • 23 Weeks Overdue



    Doh! I guess I missed that one.



Ah, the joys of error messaging! If anyone deserves to be called an artist, it certainly is the person whose craft involves creating these joyous messages.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Happy National Cyber Security Awareness Month!

A couple of days ago, I turned my blog pink in honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If my neon pink stylings have helped to inspire you to get checked out by a doctor or to just feel yourself up, then I feel some sense of accomplishment.

But now all of a sudden I find out that it's also National Cyber Security Awareness Month! Does that campaign have any official colors as well? And is cyber-crime related to breast cancer in any way? Anything that tries to defile a topic as sacred as breasts is hereby considered an enemy of the Tantrum!

In my search to discover all of the diseases, cancers, security crimes and asexually-reproducing variants of staphylococcus that I should be aware of, I have learned that the following awareness campaigns are also going on this month:

Bone and Joint Decade National Awareness Week
Children's Health Month
Drive Safely Work Week
Eye Injury Prevention Month
Fire Prevention Week
Halloween Safety Month
Healthy Lung Month
Hearing Aid Awareness Week
International Stuttering Awareness Day
Let's Talk Month
Lung Health Day
Lupus Awareness Month
National Celiac Awareness Month
National Child Health Day
National Dental Hygiene Month
National Depression Screening Day
National Down Syndrome Awareness Month
National Disability Employment Awareness Month
National Family Sexuality Education Month
National Health Education Week
National Mammography Day
National Medical Librarians Month
National Orthodontic Health Month
National Physical Therapy Month
National School Lunch Week
National Spina Bifida Awareness Month
Respiratory Care Week
Rett Syndrome Awareness Month
SAVE (Stop America's Violence Everywhere) Today
SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) Awareness Month
"Talk About Prescriptions" Month
World Food Day

And don't think it slipped by me that International Stuttering Awareness Day occurs in the same month as Let's Talk Month! Real funny, a-holes!

Looking over this list, I didn't know what Rett Syndrome was, so I looked it up at www.rettsyndrome.org. You see, I'm already more aware! It's just a shame that I beat up my friend Rhett before looking into this - sorry, bro!

I also take issue with National Family Sexuality Education Month, as I don't think that families should be sexual with each other. This campaign's site also has a way to "donate online" - it just sounds creepy coming from a planned parenthood site.

Anyway, the point is that there is a lot of crap out there to be aware of, and if this scares you, then you may want to visit your doctor on National Depression Screening Day, which is October 5th.