Wednesday, November 29, 2006

A Mini-Mini-Horse

My sister loves mini-horses, but I think I've found something even cuter:

A dwarf mini-horse.

This mini-me of a mini-horse is only 17 inches tall. Her name is Thumbelina.

Thumbelina is the world's smallest horse, and, just for the record, could whup My Little Pony's ass. (By "ass" I mean "donkey.")

Yes, this horse is cute, and no, sis, you can't have one.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Humans, Wolves and Ogres, Oh My!

Last night I finished a book called "Soldier of Sidon," by my favorite author, Gene Wolfe. After I finished the book I started to Google it to see if anyone was talking about it. Yes, I'm a nerd like that.

Suck it, Koontz!

In my semi-exhaustive search for Soldier of Sidon material, I came across the blog of the art director for Tor/Forge books, who published Soldier of Sidon.

Now, I've had a nagging question in the back of my mind for some time, unrelated to Soldier of Sidon but very much related to one of Wolfe's other books, "The Wizard." (Not the 80's version of The Wizard, starring a kid who plays Mario Bros. with the power glove - another Wizard.)

I posed the following question to Tor's art director (and got a response!), and now I will ask you:

"Is it just me or does the giant in the background [of The Wizard] look like Gene Wolfe?"

You decide. Here is a link to the book's cover, and below I have created my own little artwork, which those at Tor/Forge books are free to use in their next collection of the most awesome fan art in the known universe.

Click for in-depth analysis of this useless but fascinating subject.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Working in the Coal Mine

I've Christmasified my blog, which means I'm officially in the Christmas spirit. We might cover some minor holidays, like birthdays, etc, but there's no official colors for birthdays so you'll just have to make do with a Wintery landscape.

I openly and honestly really love this time of the year, as opposed to being a closet Christmas-lover. It's not just because of the presents, food, trips, family, spiked eggnog.... Actually, I love this time of year because it finally gets cold enough to kill off those friggin mosquitoes.

Well okay, maybe it is the spiked eggnog.

What is eggnog? What is nog, for that matter? Regardless, it sounds delicious!

And I guess we can't leave egg nog out for Santa, first because it has eggs in it and it would curdle, and secondly because I've heard that Santa is lactose-intolerant. I may be wrong but that's the word on the street.

I wonder how Santa brings all that coal around for the bad kids. Think about it: the coal must either get every other present really dirty, or the coal has to be in its own container. And with his sleigh going in and out of the troposphere, there's a good chance that lightning could spark his coals and make children sad for all eternity by blowing Santa right out of the sky.

Since bad children get coal for Christmas, do bad elves mine the coal? Or has Santa's army overtaken the land of the trolls and forced them to dig in the mines? I bet Santa is hardcore about slave labor - he gives all those toys away for free, and kids these days want some expensive toys.

Does Rudolph's nose give off radiation? Does it poison the other reindeer? Does it make Rudolph see only red? I bet Rudolph is pretty popular with the ladies.

We'll have to explore these topics later on this month, because Monday Night Football is on right now.

Aaiieee 7

I was uninstalling some stuff from my computer at work, and noticed this little gem in the "Add / Remove Programs" box:

Windows Internet Explorer's file size is listed as 2.7 MB - click for picture

(You may need to click the picture in order to see the entire image.)

Okay, let's be realistic here: it takes 30 minutes to install IE7 once you download it from the Windows Update site, it's supposedly more secure and has more features - all this and only 2.7 MB? That's like 10 MB smaller than IE6!

FileForum and FreeWR, two out of the many web sites where IE7 was available for download, shows the installation file as 14.8 MB. Something is amiss.

While searching for some info about IE7's actual installed file size, I came across something that made me laugh out loud, or LOL in technical terms:

pic of Google search for IE7 brings up, a site for FireFox

Talk about great marketing skillz!

Sunday, November 26, 2006

The Saints are Martian

Why does everyone keep saying that the Saints are Martian? Do they know something that I don't know?

Not to be racist or speciesist or whatever it would be called if I hated Martians, but my experiences with Martians are limited and I really don't know if I want to cheer for Martians. (No offense to Hillary Clinton.)

One reason why I don't like Martians is that we know so little of them, but they seem to know everything about us. Take this article by a Martian Anthropologist who wants to impeach Bush. I think world leaders should stick to political issues on their own planets.

And it makes perfect sense to me that Martians would infiltrate the NFL in order to spy on Earth. The NFL is a multi-billion dollar industry, owns most of the world's greatest athletes, and occasionally shows the pierced and disfigured genitalia of has-been superstars / sisters of pedophiles. It's everything the Martians want and more.

The Saints also make a great team for aliens to infiltrate, since there is a lot of confusion seeing as how the Saints have a new coach, a new quarterback, are still recovering from Hurricane Katrina and, well, let's face it - if you've ever been to Bourbon Street in New Orleans, you've seen more than one alien flashing for beads.

I guess we can just be on the lookout for Martians in our midst. And since we can't beat them, I'll join'm: The Saints Are Martian!

Saturday, November 25, 2006

How To Do Your Own Bathroom Report

I have been asked several times about the Tanory Tantrum's criteria and standards when writing a bathroom report, by people interested in examining bathrooms for fun.

I'm sorry to say that I am contractually obligated to not disclose this type of "intellectual information." You'll have to figure out how to rate bathrooms by yourself. Tough crap - no pun intended.

However, I will point you to a great article that I found on Craig's List while surfing the web for pictures of toilet paper in order to make fun of my friend Chuck Bowie, who I allege clogged the bath tub of the Sandman in Destin, FL, on Spring Break '01 with toilet paper.

You can find this great article, written by S. F. Bayarea, here:

The article mentioned above was written in 2004. That just goes to show you, great writing and wonderful advice never go out of style.

Friday, November 24, 2006

You Suck, Dick!

The Friday after Thanksgiving is known as Black Friday. In years past it was named Black Friday because stores across the nation would have an all-out retail war to draw in the most Christmas shoppers.

This year, it was Black Friday for the Arkansas Razorbacks.

Casey Dick and Whats-his-face McFaggen of the Arkansas Razorbacks got their asses handed to them by LSU's Fighting Tigers on Friday. The Razorbacks are still going to play for the SEC championship, but LSU now gets to sleep with all the Razorback cheerleaders. Such is life.

I thoroughly enjoyed watching Arkansas' quarterback, Casey Dick, get smacked around in the game. Dick really got spanked. On one play, LSU jammed Dick right into the ground and just kept beating him. Needless to say, Dick is going to be sore tomorrow.

I also enjoyed watching Les Miles give Houston Nutt the shocker at the end of the game. You might have missed it - it happened so fast - but Miles really busted Nutt after the game.

LSU may now go to a bowl game. I hope they play someplace fun, like California, Florida or Wewoka, Oklahoma, because we need to start trying restaurants in different parts of the country since I think the Tanory Tantrum Food Club has exhausted all of Baton Rouge's culinary gems.

Monking Around

I can't help but to point out to you - especially those faithful readers in med school - the recent article about a monk, a machete, and his manliness.

Well, let's just say, any article that has this in it is worth reading:

(Insert doctor's name here) "declined to comment on the monk's erection."

Oh, and maybe this:

"The 35-year-old monk, whose name was withheld for privacy reasons, allowed medical staff at Maharaj hospital, 780 km (480 miles) south of Bangkok to dress his wound, but refused reattachment."

Is it just me, or is the fact that this journalist chose to reference Bangkok seem all the more appropriate?

For the full story, click here.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Today I am Thankful for Zippers

Thanksgiving is the only day that it's acceptable to unzip your pants in front of your family. For that alone, Thanksgiving is in my top 5 holidays.

My favorite holiday is Halloween, of course. There are only two days a year when it's acceptable to dress up as a cow and hide your udders under a shirt, then flash passerbys on the street: Mardi Gras and Halloween. But whereas you may get harrassed by the N.O.P.D. during Mardi Gras, nobody bugs you on Halloween, except for kids looking for candy, of course.

Christmas is also in my top 5. I love presents, and I love to give presents - especially when I can get a present for my wife that we can both use. And by "we" I mean "me." Unless "we" means "wii." Is that a subtle enough hint for you, wifey? }:E

My birthday is also a good day. Good? I mean GREAT. Planets align, clouds dissipate, and small puppies find good homes. I do what I can.

I've already mentioned Mardi Gras. That's a great holiday. It also happens to be my wife's lunar birthday, so I have to mention it as one of the greatest holidays or I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Last but not least, Thanksgiving. There's nothing like having all of your family around you, eating a delicious meal, dining and chatting. Especially once you unzip your pants.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

The Kelly Ripa / Gay Aiken Scandal

Today I found out that Kelly Ripa apparently offended some people in the gay community when she told Clay Aiken, who was co-hosting "Live with Regis and Kelly," that she didn't "know where that hand's been" when Clay put his hand over Kelly's mouth to get her to shut up during an interview segment.

Rosie O'Donnell apparently accused Ripa of making a gay-bashing remark, and that she was offended. She also went on to say that Kelly wouldn't have said the same thing if a handsome, non-gay person put his hand over Kelly's mouth, shoulder or mammarial region.

I'm only weighing in on this because, as you may or may not know, we took a trip to NYC over the summer and went to "Live with Regis and Kelly," only Regis wasn't there - Carson Kressley, the gayest of the gay team "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," was the co-host.

And Kelly was great.

Carson was great, too.

There were no issues. There was no gay bashing from Kelly. Carson tried to tie a lot of stuff into being gay, but he was great about it. He was entertaining, interacted very well with the audience, and was really a lot better than what we expected.

So I don't think Kelly is a gay basher. I think Rosie O'Donnell just needs to tie her mullet back and calm the fudge down.

Okay, something else:

Why does everyone need Clay Aiken to come out of the closet and admit that he's gay? Can't you just look at him and tell?

I went through this with my family with Rosie O'Donnell and Ellen Degeneres. I have no issues with either one of them - they're both funny and entertaining (well, Rosie used to be, before she grew a mullet). But until they publicly admitted it, none of the women in my family would believe me.

Now don't get me wrong - I don't claim to have gaydar. I'm just saying, you don't always need a signed confession to observe gayness. I personally don't care that Clay is gay - I wouldn't see him in concert even if he was straight, which, for the record, he's not.

Turkey Cake

My wife made a Turkey Cake. Here it is in all its glory. BOW DOWN TO MY WIFE'S CAKE!

click for turkey cake pic

She used a wishbone instead of toothpicks to keep the cake together.

I tried to sabotage the cake so she wouldn't be able to show it in public, hence I would get to eat it all myself. But the part that I sabotaged was already in the plans to be lopped off from the rest, much like the turkey's head is separated from its body. But without the gushing blood.

I can't wait for Thanksgiving dinner. Afterwards I get Turkey Cake.

I call the gizzard.

Tenacious D in: the Pick of Destiny

We just saw Tenacious D in: the Pick of Destiny. It was, my friends, everything I thought it could be and more.

First off, if you don't know who Tenacious D is, the movie is the perfect thing for you: it explains their history and gives you ample awesomeness to take with you later.

If you do know who Tenacious D is, then you may be interested in listening to the movie's soundtrack online and for free, with no RIAA ass-rapage. (This includes if you are a 12 year-old girl - we know how the RIAA likes to drink the blood of children and push old people into the street.) Thanks to MTV's The Leak for hosting the soundtrack, and for not generally sucking like the rest of MTV.

A lot of the movie was based on, but not the same as, their HBO series. What, didn't know the D had an HBO series? Have no fear, you can watch them all when you buy or rent Tenacious D: The Complete Masterworks.

It is a very wholesome movie and is entirely suitable for children. But since it's rated R, you may have to buy tickets to see Happy Feet and then sneak into Tenacious D.

Rock on, my friends. Rock on.

Happy Turkey Day!

Happy Turkey Day!

It's a White House custom for the president to spare the turkey's life. But not in my house. In fact, our tradition is that we throw the youngest Tanory into a pen with a wild turkey, strap a pointed stick to the turkey's beak and wrap electric wire over the pen's metallic surface. It's like a death match, only we get to eat the turkey after it is mutilated.

If the turkey loses, that is. But that's another story for a different post.

For those of you actively involved with PETA, please let me say that we only use a turkey that has had no lasting effect on society, has not held down a steady job for years, and has not been able to mate with any hens or whatever fashionable name female turkeys are calling themselves this year, even after we soak the hen's food in GHB.

It has been said that Ben Franklin wanted our nation's bird to be the turkey. But I think what Ben Franklin really wanted was for our nation's drink of choice to be Wild Turkey. That's why I take a shot of it before all the family comes over - because that's what our nation's baby daddies would have wanted.

In honor of my family and to thank my parents for all of their hard work raising me (and the much harder work of raising my siblings - I was a perfect angel), I'm taking them to see Tenacious D in: The Pick of Destiny. Spending time with family is my top priority.

So Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Monday, November 20, 2006

Michael Richards Goes to Hollywood

Michael Richards, the guy who played Cosmo Kramer on Seinfeld, got heckled at a night club and went on a berserk, dash-ridden tirade against the African-Americans hecklers.

The hecklers heckled like so: "You are not funny!"

They may or may not have heckled the following lines: "You suck!"

Richards then responded: "Shut up! Fifty years ago we'd have you upside down with a f------ fork up your a--."

Then Richards said: "You can talk, you can talk, you're brave now mother------. Throw his a-- out. He's a n-----!" Richards shouts before repeating the racial epithet over and over again.

The dashes in the quote above can be verbally spoken by making clicking noises with your tongue.

He said a lot more. You can view the video here (thanks,!):

Jerry Seinfeld issued a statement saying he was "just sick" over everything. It is important to note that it is flu season.

The series "Seinfeld" was never popular with the African-American community. It will probably be less popular now.

David Duke will be playing Michael Richards in the made-for-tv-movie, "Heckled: The Michael Richards Story."

High and Mighty

Why do babies and infants get to have all the fun?

For example, why are there no high chairs for adults? I'm short, I could probably fit in one. Then I wouldn't spill on my pants.

My friend John once told me, when your kid wants something, he wants it right then and there. The kid will say, "Daddy, I want some juice." Then you'll say, "Okay, son, just give me a second." Then the kid will say, "Ok." Two seconds later, "DADDY I WANT SOME JUUUIIIICE!!!"

This seems to get the desired result.

So now I'm going to try it: I WANT A HIGH CHAIR!

If the high chair's table tray could unfold into a laptop, that would really be great. Gotta learn'm young!

I also demand other things as well. First and foremost, I want underoos for men. There is no logical reason why my underwear cannot have Superman, SpongeBob or Transformers on them, and to be honest, I'm getting tired of re-drawing these cartoons on my undies after every wash.

Secondly, I want someone to puree my food for me, so I can drink pizza through a straw. I'm tired of chewing. Plus I don't want to chance choking. I have TMJ, so I think this is reasonable.

Last, I want someone to push me around in a stroller. I'm not talking about a wheelchair or anything like that - I want a stroller. I want to be able to kick my feet up, get a bottle of IBC root beer, and rock out in my jammies. I have experience modifying shopping carts - that would work just as well.

Ah, the good life.

I realize that someone else will have to push me around in my stroller, put me in my high chair and puree my food for me. But I'm willing to reciprocate - you push me around and feed me, and then I'll share my toys with you. It's a symbiosis.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

When Showers Attack

It's common knowledge that "showering," "bathing," and "using soap" are good for your hygiene. But sometimes, showers attack.

Consider the following scenario:

A man is showering. He is using soap. Water is involved somewhat. Suddenly, in a moment of insanity, the man soaps up the bottom of his feet.

Now I know what you're saying: No real man soaps up his feet; we just let the soap run off our body and hope it cleanses between our toes. That is, if we even decide to use soap. That's what men do, and we like it that way.

When the foot in question is placed back on the tub's surface, there may or may not be a no-slip bath mat. If not, the man might slip. And fall. And break one or more ribs.

This actually happened in Houston over the weekend. A male member of my family, who was not myself or my brother, nor nephew, uncle, second-cousin or any in-law, fell in the shower while soaping up his feet.

I partly blame it on the uber-gravity in Houston. With so many people in such a small place, plus the fact that Houston sucks extra hard to begin with, it was only a matter of time.

The moral of the story? Shower at your own risk.

As a non-conformist, I take a different approach to cleanliness. Once every day or so I just dive into a vat of Purell gel, then dry myself off with Purell wipes. Sure, it sounds expensive, but I figure that the Purell should kill any germs that touch it, so you really only have to change the Purell gel every month or so. It kills 99% of germs, plus makes bathing fun.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Houston, We Have a Problem

Thank God I'm out of the car!

Houston was very congested today. It took us 30 minutes to move the 5 miles from our position on I-10 to our exit on Eldredge. Maybe it was because people were swarming to meet the head blogger of one of the most famous blogs in the history of blogs.

Or maybe it was because it was 7 pm on Friday night.

Or maybe it was because I was driving 10 mph down the interstate.

And even though there was construction down 200 miles of I-10 in Texas, traffic still moved better than in Baton Rouge, where we have a whopping 1.5 miles of construction. In Baton Rouge it would have taken me 30 minutes to move 2.5 miles.

That doesn't mean that Texas is better. It also doesn't mean that Houston is better. It just means that Houstonians are better drivers than Baton Rougeans. Although I hear there are a lot of LSU people in Houston.

We saw several accidents, one of which stalled traffic for at least 10 minutes. In a moment like this, I think most people go through certain stages: first you just hope that everyone is okay and you withhold your anger, but after you find out it was caused by a woman putting on makeup in the car while talking on the phone, you suddenly are very happy that Texas executes more people than any other state.

In a nutshell, I'm happy to be out of the car. Now if I can just find out how to get to my brother's or sister's places, we'll be in good shape.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


This weekend I am traveling to Houston to visit my traitorous siblings. I will be packing up some of my sister's things for the journey, as she just got a new job over there. Some of her possessions may or may not be left at a gas station somewhere in Beaumont.

I've created an itinerary for my trip. Since we'll be on I-10 the entire way, I call it my "I-10-erary." Haha.

Lame. Just like Houston.

Here is my I-10-erary, in all it's glory:

  1. Drive to parents' house.

  2. Pack up sister's crap.

  3. Drive towards Houston.

  4. Stop at a gas station in Beaumont, throw sister's stuff into a trash can, fuel car, soak trash can in gasoline, grab a diet coke, pay cashier, light trash can on fire

  5. Finish driving to Houston.

  6. Unload what's left of sister's crap.

  7. Make excuses for the missing items.

You may have won the battle, Houston, but I'll protest until the war ends and YOU LOSE.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

No More Reading

I'm done with reading.

I've been actively reading since I was in the 7th grade (when I learned how - thanks, public school!). I try to read at least one book a week. Sometimes I read books just to pass the time, and I can probably finish two or three a week. Sometimes I read in-depth or difficult books, and I can maybe get through a tough one in a month or so.

But no longer.

The world doesn't place value on the written word anymore. Everything has a graphical user interface or is voiced-over by a celebrity.

In fact, my friends in med school claim to not have any time to read because they're studying or carving out spleens and such. To them I say, good job - do something more worthwhile than read. Reading is so last year.

Maybe it's time for me to stop writing the blog as well. Don't worry, I'll still post stuff, but the posts will just consist of pictures. Here is an example of me telling you about my day, with only pictures. (If you're on the email list, this might be a good time for you to actually go to the blog, aka,

My Day in Pictures, by Bob the non-reader

get out of bed

nature calls

eating some grub

drive to work, la la la

work work work

eat lunch

fall asleep at one or more meetings

combine computer work with coffee

send emails and instant messages to my coworkers, who happen to be sitting right by me

time to leave

watch tv and zone out on the couch

used to read, will replace this activity with something else from now on, like staring at the wall

extracurricular activities

write the worst blog post ever

go to sleep

The End

Hmm... okay, maybe I'll still write the blog, but I'm not reading it!

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

A Soup Called Stew

I found this great Tenacious D-like band online last night:

A Soup Named Stew

Check out their website, at It's done in MS Paint, so you know it's good.

They have a lot of free music downloads on their NOISE link. You can hear their rendition of the Reading Rainbow song, or their hit song, Penguins, or Monkeys, or even The Lawn Chair Song. Classic. Check'm out!

Apparently this band won LSU's Battle of the Bands in '05. I would have known that sooner, were it not for the fact that I am such an old, pathetic loser now.

Rock on! But not too hard - I don't want to break a hip.

Fry Me a River

Some people think that only eating one type of food from the food pyramid is bad for you. But look at the Atkins diet: it seems to work.

And as the world will always be full of fat people looking for a way to lose weight without actually excersing or eating sensibly (like me!), I want in on the next diet craze.

Here is my idea: Eat only fried food.

Now I know what you're going to say: Bob, you can't only eat fried food. Well, you may have not been able to before my diet was published, but now you can, with this delicious and sensible medley of various fried slices of heaven.

The Tanory Tantrum's Double-Fried Diet

  • Fried PB & J sandwiches: cut into fourths for extra surface area fryage.

  • Double-fried chicken: fry it once, fry it twice, makes the chicken extra nice.

  • Fried game-day jambalaya: mash it up into a ball, maybe using white beans or just lard as a congealing agent, then fry that whole sucker to oblivion.

  • Fried pizza: bake first, fry later. Cut it into slices and you've got yourself a healthy and delicious snack.

  • Fried bananas: even fruit needs to be scalded in boiling oil sometimes.

  • Fried smoothies: you can fry anything if it's pureed. Add yogurt, fresh fruit, or a shot of your choice of immune booster.

  • Fried grilled cheese: make sure to use extra butter on top of the bread before you grill.

  • Friend mac & cheese: for kids!

  • Fried popcorn: this might already exist, who knows. But if not, fried flavored popcorn will work, too.

  • Fried baked chicken: Enjoy a healthy baked chicken, deep fried to perfection.

  • Fried cake: makes a great dessert even better. You can put the icing on before or after - the fried diet is flexible.

  • Fried salad: 'cause that's the only way I'm eating it.

  • And finally...

  • Fried smores: you can fry them whole, or fry each individual piece (graham cracker, marshmallow, chocolate), then put them together and fry them as a whole again, for extra fried goodness.

I hope you enjoy my diet. I know I will!

Monday, November 13, 2006

Shocking Experiences

The shrieks of unsuspecting people touching metal and getting shocked... the shuffling of socked feet across Berber carpet... the undead zombie mosquitoes lurking in the shadows, slowly being devoured by the cold, but not before feeling the wrath of my electric bug-zapping tennis racquet.


Gotta love it.

When I was a kid, I would wear these fluffy pajama pants to bed and quickly move my legs while under the covers. Seriously, it was like I was running while laying on my side, sort of like a horizontal sprint. I could run the 440 in like 3 seconds flat like that.

This would create random static charges and would cause sparks and crackles. It was fun to watch. For one week during the year, it was cold enough for my body to produce external electricity. I was a superhero, who could shoot electric sparks from my PJs. Only years later did I realize that it was not okay to tell people about the explosions that I created while alone, in my bedroom, under the covers... okay that's not what I meant, sicko!

I guess I stopped this juvenile activity around the "flammable pajama" scare of the late 80's. And by "this juvenile activity," I mean, of course, wearing pants.

But something happened to me during those innocnet years. It was like, after gaining the insight of how to create electricity single-handedly and single-pajama'dly, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I was like a caveman who had just discovered how to make fire, and wrote the instructions down on a wall, then clubbed a girl and drug her by her hair to my underground lair.

The sparks were integrated into my body. My nerves were like, well, a series of tubes that were full of electric signals, blowing past every synapse, dendrite and axon until my brain was aglow with enlightenment.

This is the culmination of my life.

I have solved our energy crisis: give a bunch of people flammable PJs, stick them under a comforter, supe them up with high-fructose corn syrup then let those puppies go.

I have solved our obesity problem: give a bunch of people flammable PJs, stick them under a comforter, supe them up with high-fructose corn syrup then let those puppies go.

I have solved our unemployment problem: give a bunch of people flammable PJs, stick them under a comforter, supe them up with high-fructose corn syrup then let those puppies go.

I try to never stop learning. I am always fascinated at what I learn each day. And what I've learned today is, we can still learn from our past. Thank you, flammable PJs - thank you for saving the world.

Sharks with Friggin Laser Beams!

I'm proud to announce the new product in my line of "Sharks with Laser Beams," the "Sharks with LASERS Beams mug."

I submitted this as a design for our new work logo, but was beaten by a "professional-looking" logo. Psh. Like sharks with laser beams aren't professional.

Sunday, November 12, 2006


Winter only lasts for about two weeks in Louisiana. During this festivus time, people are actually able to go outside and not get eaten alive by mosquitoes.

At least, we used to be able to go outside. Things have taken a turn for the worse.

We had two things going for us during our former Winter escape from the skeeters:

  1. It was cold, so the mosquitoes wouldn't come out as often; and

  2. We wear heavy jackets, hats and Long Johns when the weather drops below 60. These extra clothes are protection from the rest of the skeeters out and about, seeking our delicious hemoglobin.

But now a new mutant strain of mosquitoes has hit Louisiana, and no one is safe anymore.

Consider this:

My wife and I went to a wedding on Saturday. It was an outside wedding - yes, in November - but it was beautiful. And it was cold. So everyone had on extra protection, and the time was right for the skeets to be dead or hibernating, or whatever the hell mosquitoes do when they're not infecting everyone with West Nile.

Yet we all managed to get eaten alive.

Also, on Halloween, as I ran around scaring children and parents alike, the mosquitoes managed to bite me through my cape, mask and stretchy pants.

Is there a new strain of mosquito out there? Are we doomed to move to the North to escape from these mutant, winged mini-vampires? Or should we just do the sensible thing and DDT the place to high heaven?

Thankfully, I'm armed with an electric bug-zapping tennis racquet. Not only can I now kill all sorts of bugs, but I can practice my backhand as well. This is a win-win situation, for all but the bugs. I admit, the tennis raquet was unwieldy at the wedding, but it did the trick.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Gearing up for Turkey Day

I'm so excited for Thanksgiving! I've even Thanksgiving-ized the blog!

I can't wait for the Great Turkey to come down the chimney and bring all us kids presents! I also love the Thanksgiving Carols. Thanksgiving is truly a festivus miracle.

I'm especially excited for the Tanory Tantrum's Thanksgiving Eat-A-Thon. There are people starving in China and Ethiopia, and we're going to spite them by gorging ourselves on as much food as possible. Go team!

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Dem Some!

The Democrats have only been in power for one day and here is the resulting national chaos:

Democrats are also affecting world politics, as seen here:

And of course, the Democrats have affected the rest of the universe:

And you thought the war in Iraq, the Foley scandal, and the NSA spying on you were bad enough!

Reminiscing on the Cat House

Ah... the Cat House.

Aaron and I were the first to arrive. A scantily-clad (from the top-up) waitress led us to our table. We then surmised our surroundings.

The inside of the building was very interesting. One wall and the ceiling were painted in a swamp motif, and the rest were a bland, brownish color. A big, red pipe ran through the ceiling. We felt like we were out at BP's Alaska pipeline, if it were in a swamp, and if someone was giving us food. And if oil wasn't leaking everywhere.

Once Shannon, Wayne, Imad, Fathi and John arrived, we got down to "bidness." I wanted the stuffed eggplant. But seeing as how the eggplant-nazi chefs don't serve the stuffed eggplant until the afternoon, I settled for the fried catfish topped with crawfish etouffee. Oh the humanity!

(I was disappointed that the Cat House did not actually serve cat. Apparently "cat" is short for catfish. If I would have known that, I wouldn't have gone. I still sprinkled catnip on my food anyway, b/c that's how I roll. Anyway...)

I had a choice of two sides. One of my sides was "field peas." I like field peas because they aren't green. For the record, I will eat veggies, as long as they aren't green - I like field peas, carrots, squash, barley and hopps. I will also eat veggies to rid them from this planet - we've all got to do our part!

Imad got the shrimp poboy, a couple of other people got the catfish, and Aaron just ordered bread pudding. Yes, really, that's all he wanted.

The one noticeable thing about the Cat House was that it took our food a long time to come out. Our busty, tip-minded waitress explained:

"Hey y'all, the reason your food took so long to come out was that, when I grabbed your field peas, they were hot and I ended up spilling it down my shirt. So we had to heat up some more for you."

I feel cheated! I want those field peas!

Our waitress took a lot of abuse from us, as you can imagine. After her explanation of pea-ing herself, we asked for jello, whipped cream, Italian sausage, cucumbers - you name it. Aaron got bread pudding, but that wasn't intended as a joke. Humor is in the eye of the beholder.

And of course there was the mandatory: "Is it cold in here, or are those just field peas in your shirt?"

Now for Wild Wayne's special edition of:

The Bathroom Reporte

Next up the bathroom reporte. We are elite; We are professional; We are the Tanory Tantrum Food Club. As a member of the food club, I have been given the task of reporting on the conditions of the bathrooms of our food club extravaganzas. Today, we ventured to eat at a restaurant called The Cat House. The food was great, but now to why I am blogging, the bathrooms.

Wow, what an experience this was. The food was just ok, but that's not what made the trip awesome. Ah, The Cat House. See the blog master for details. To get to the bathroom you had to pass by the bar, which housed a crazy old man talking to himself, or maybe he was a HAM operator. The bathroom was creepy. It was a single room which allowed for privacy. There was a storage area above the toilet, which could have housed an assailant. It looked like the toilet leaked, or could have been, well you know. But it did smell ok. All in all, I give it 6 out of 10 wipes. Be sure to tune in next week for the bathroom jingle. Here's a sneak peek:

Bathroom, Bathroom, a place where you go to Bloom.

Just a quick note about the Bathroom Report - if it was indeed a radio show host, my apologies to all of the listeners - to be fair, that guy shouldn't have been sitting so close to the bathroom.

Join us for our next Food Club Outing! Field peas!

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Electile Dysfunction

It is a sad fact of life that I am partly responsible for what goes on around me. I am unable to pack my own lunch, pick out my own clothes, or cook up a fish dinner, and yet I am called upon to vote. The balance of power lies in my hands, or more accurately, my finger. Yet nobody will pull it.

I knew that by casting a vote I would be giving an under-educated, over-appreciated response to do something that would affect my fellow Prairievillians. So instead of taking on all of this responsibility, I closed my eyes and randomly pushed buttons that I can only assume were shiny.

I can now say that I have no idea what I voted for. More importantly, I don't know what I didn't vote for, so I can brag that I voted for everything that passed - how would they, or I for that matter, know any difference?

While trying to find election information on the web, I noticed that the most popular article of the day on Yahoo news was that Britney filed for divorce from K-Fed. It's heartening to see that the biggest news of the day wasn't the elections - now I know that regardless of who wins control of the House or the Senate, America will continue to keep on truckin'. God bless America!

Monday, November 06, 2006

Food Club Outing #6: The Cat House

The most sophisticated Food Club this side of Perkins Rowe will once again be hosting a Food Club Outing to test Baton Rouge's culinary landscape. This time we'll be hitting up The Cat House. But keep your dollar bills, it's not what it sounds like.

Place: The Cat House
672 Jefferson Highway
Baton Rouge, LA 70806
(By Government Street)

Date: Thursday, November 9th, 2006
Time: 11:45 AM

The map is on the website. Click on "Map."

We've also gone to the trouble of verifying that our target foodery will actually be open, for those of you who remember the Rama's fiasco. We're always looking to improve our processes! Now if we can just get Wild Wayne to resume his Bathroom Reporte duties, we're all good.

Grigio or Noir?

There are a lot of catchy wine names, like Fat Bastard, Cats Pee on a Gooseberry Bush, Cleavage Creek and Unpronounceable Grape. I buy these wines because they have funny names. I'm an easily manipulated monkey in this respect.

And in this same spirit, I have come up with not only a great wine name, but an entire marketing scheme as well:

Philippino Wine.

There are already a couple of people experimenting with Philippino wine. While this is a good start, the people in charge of these wineries are going about business all wrong, because they lack the proper marketing campaign to really get on the drunken wine map.

If they listen to my sage advice, they'll invest all of their money and time into producing only two types of wine:

Philippino Grigio and Philippino Noir.

These Philippino wines could launch an economic boom in the Philippines. They could then afford to build statues of me in honor of my great marketing campaign. I would even accept a line entered into their national anthem in leiu of a statue.

Wine can be good for you, if drank in moderation. But with names like Philippino Grigio and Philippino Noir, people will drink more of it, which will increase our revenue. This is business - we don't care about people's health.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Yet Another Weekend in N.O. Without Getting Shot!

My wife, sister and I have learned that the key to not getting shot in New Orleans is to stay indoors as much as possible.

When we drove into the Big Sleazy, we went directly to our hotel, Doubletree. We felt the two trees would give us added protection from any gang wars going on down there.

From the hotel we took a cab to Antoine's, where we dined in honor of my wife's aunt's birthday. Happy birthday, Auntie!

On our cab ride to Antoine's we met our first of N.O.'s colorful characters, Miro the Bosnian cabbie. Miro was a lot of fun, but after paying him I felt used and empty inside, as is often the case when I go to New Orleans.

Antoine's was great! We dined in the historic 1840 room. Our friends Billy and Allison were able to make it, and since Billy's family owns Antoine's, he was able to give us the grand tour. A couple of rooms are still being renovated, but overall the place looks great. Thanks again, Billy!

After I finished everyone's meal, wine and dessert for them, we hopped in another cab, this one operated by an Iranian - finally! an Iranian cabbie! We were ceremoniously dropped off in front of the House of Blues, where we met my cousin Bo for the Fray concert.

This was my first trip to the HOB. The bar on third floor was pretty incredible - lush couches, groovy carpet, and most importantly, two make-out rooms. Gotta love the HOB!

We ended up getting to the concert right before the Fray took the stage. Since we were so late, we could barely see the band over all of the mutant tall people. That was okay, as we could hear them just fine. There were monitors all over the place, so we could always watch them on the screen.

The greatest moments of the concert were people-watching during the Fray's two singles, "Over My Head" and "How to Save a Life." This one guy apparently loves these songs, and physically let his love be shown during the performance, much to the dismay of the several women that he tried to dance on. Keep on rockin', dude!

But now, to steal one of Wild Wayne's signature items, it's time for the Bathroom Report:

The acoustics in the House of Blue's bathroom were great. Sitting in the stall, you could hear better than if you were outside. Plus there's the whole extra walls on the stall to shield you from gang bullets. 9 out of 10 wipes!

Afterwards we hit up Pat O's for an hour or so. I don't remember anything during this part of the night, but I'm told it was fun.

Finally, we took a cab back to the Doubletree. This cabbie was Middle Eastern and he loved gangsta rap. I was nervous at first, but once I started busting some mad rhymes we were cool.

Basically, we spent more on cabs in one night in N.O. than we did in all of our trip to NY and DC. But it was well worth it - the added security ensured that all were safe. Yet another trip to N.O. without getting shot! But barely!

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Fray and Beyond

Tonight we're going see The Fray at the New Orleans House of Blues. I'm so excited that I've had to change my undies twice already.

To get prepared for the concert, I started listening to their album, "How to Save a Life." But then I thought, if I listen to it too much this close to the concert, I may not enjoy the concert as much. I don't want to get burned out.

So instead I started searching YouTube for some other artists that I could listen to in the meantime. Here are some gems that I found. I wonder when these artists are going to hit the NO HOB.

Denny Blazin Hazen: Average Homeboy Demo

Indian Thriller Tokyo BreakFast

Tori Amos - The Big Picture (her only music video)

Some German Techno Guy - My Hands Are Bananas

David Hasselhoff - Hooked On A Feeling

And of course, what compilation would be complete without Jeremy Jordan. My cousin Ben reminded me that I had the Jeremy Jordan CD ("Try My Love") when I was in the 7th grade. All I can say was, the chicks dug it. Let's just leave it at that.

Jeremy Jordan - Right Kind of Love

Friday, November 03, 2006

Self-Checkout 2, Bobby 0

Once again I have been defeated by Wal-Mart's self-checkout register. The sad thing is, this time I only had one item.

It all started when my workplace decided to have a "Taste Fair" to sell a cookbook that a lot of work peeps contributed to. I contributed my wife's "Ding Dong Cake," which is extra-spectacular.

So Thursday night my wife made a cake. It turned out great, except for one minor cosmetic flaw - we accidentally cut the top of the cake off and couldn't use it. (I say "accidentally," but really I was hoping it would get messed up so I could eat it all later. But alas, my plans fell through.)

Now I know what you're thinking - Ding Dong Cake, cut the top off, John Wayne Bobbitt - believe me, it's not what you think.

Anyway, we eventually created another Ding Dong Cake, but because it was so late when we started, I was in charge of the simple task of mixing powdered sugar, whipped cream and cream cheese together to make a creamy filling while my wife got some sleep - she deals with kids all day, then has to deal with me, so she goes to be pretty early.

But it sounds easy, doesn't it? Keep in mind that I'm retarded.

So anyway, I didn't let the cream cheese get soft enough before mixing it in, so we had little chunks of cream cheese in the mix. Not big chunks - teeny tiny chunks. But chunks, nonetheless.

So when it was time to serve the cakes at work, I dropped by Wal-Mart, escorted by Wild Wayne and Shannon. How many software developers does it take... nevermind.

I grabbed Homemade Vanilla, because that's what I like with my ding dong cake. Screw everyone else. We got in the "Express Lane," which we then left after the cashier couldn't figure out how to work her register. Next we went to the self-checkout lane, figuring I could handle swiping a single item.


It didn't register the first time I swiped it. It must have been all the homemade vanilla goodness. So I swiped it again, and again, and again.

It registered twice.

I clicked delete item. A red light started flashing. A dog barked in the distance.

We moved on to another lane and just waited in line. Waiting in line is okay - it's more time away from work, where we'd just have been asked to set up for the Taste Fair anyway.

Long story short, Wal-Mart Self-Checkout 2, Bobby 0.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Charlotte's Web: The Real Story

I recently read Wicked by Gregory Maguire and it has inspired me to write this little diddy about Charlotte's Web, a children's classic tale of love, redemption and the interspecies love between a grotesque grammar-savant spider and a walking piece of pork.

Charlotte's Web

The Zuckermans lived on a farm, and their niece Fern brought them a pig called Wilbur. Wilbur looked delicious. Uncle Homer Zuckerman wants to eat him because Wilbur is fat, but he has to wait until Wilbur is bigger and fatter.

Charlotte, a genius spider with a penchant for spelling words with her butt silk, writes "SOME PIG" in her web so the Zuckermans will not kill and eat Wilbur. Charlotte is secretly waiting for her egg to hatch so her children can eat Wilbur alive.

At this point, the Zuckermans don't really care that they have a spider that can spell, because the Zuckermans are illiterate and didn't know any better. They just think the web is perty. They are distracted by the web and forget to cut Wilbur's neck and let his blood fertilize the soil.

Charlotte then writes "Terrific" on her web. At this point, the Zuckerman's barn is getting more and more attention due to the web's incredible designs. The Zuckermans decide to enter Wilbur in the country fair's talent show, and Charlotte writes "Humble" in her web.

At this point, a drunk fair-goer notices the spider's web.

"Gosh dern, that spider can spell! It's the end of days!" he cries, and runs off to get his shotgun.

By now there is a lot of confusion. People are screaming about sentient spiders, and of killing them before they give birth to mutant uber-spider babies that can spell, talk and communicate with each other. A right-wing conspiracy involving the use of spider webs to throw gang signs is broadcast across the Intarweb. The barn that Charlotte created her web in is burned down, and pesticides are sprayed for a four-mile radius. Neighbors turn on other neighbors, and the police are inundated with phone calls about people harboring alien spiders with impeccable penmanship.

Charlotte makes a run for her life, using a silk parachute to float past the confused and dangerous crowd. Wilbur breaks through the fence and tries to follow her. A rat, Templeton, slowly spreads the ebola virus throughout the community.

Charlotte escapes to the woods, and builds a large web in the branch of a tree. Wilbur finds her and tries to save her, but it's too late: scientists have tracked her down and have trapped her in a glass jar. They will take her back to their lab, kill her, dissect her and try to figure out how she was able to understand and write letters in English, in order to understand how humanity can defeat the evil forces of self-aware, linguistic spiders.

Fern, the girl who discovered Wilbur, sues for custody, but is rejected because she forgot to file the "Petition to Proceed in Forma Pauperis" form.

Wilbur rescues Charlotte with the help of a couple of geese, a duck and a goat. The scientists get distracted by the poultry and start investigating the means of transmitting the bird flu. The goat rams the door and then Wilbur, with Charlotte on his back, flees through the woods.

Charlotte has been knocked unconscious by the scientists' anesthesia, and Wilbur, thinking she is dead, drinks a vial of poison that he bought from the apothecary. Charlotte wakes up and finds Wilbur dead, so climbs atop a tree and hangs herself with her own silk.

The Zuckermans eventually move to Canaima, California, where their past comes back to haunt them years later.

The End

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Never Send a Man to do a Woman's Job

I'm useless, I admit it. We all know it, so there's no reason to deny it anymore. You got me.

But I didn't realize how my wife's level of usefulness was in inverse proportion to my uselessness.

Earlier today I called Wells Fargo, for what I think is the fourth time in three months. We're trying to get rid of our PMI insurance, and we have continuously been told that they've sent us what we need via snail mail, yet we haven't received anything.

I gave Wells Fargo the benefit of the doubt after the Prairieville Post Office "forgot" to put our Entergy bill in the mailbox for three months and instead just sent it back to Entergy. But that's for another post. Let me just say, I HATE the Prairieville Post Office.

Anyway, getting back to the story at hand:

I called Wells Fargo and was once again told, no, they can't fax the info to me; no, they can't email it; and no, they can't send it to a local Wells Fargo branch for me to pick up at my convenience. They can't give me any info over the phone. No, they won't talk in a deep, breathy voice to me. They can only send me the info via snail mail, again. Likely story.

But there was nothing that I could do. Remember, I'm useless.

As soon as I hung up the phone, Betty grabbed it from me and called them back.

And got results.

Here's what happened:

Betty spoke to five different people, three of which were managers, over the course of two hours. She basically treated them like she does her kindergarten students when they do something blatantly wrong. Here are some choice bits from her conversation:

To the first help desk operator: "Why don't you have the last three times we've called logged? When I have someone call me at my work, I have to write it down. Do you really expect me to believe that nobody has typed in that we've been calling for three months, complaining about not getting this information? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

To that person's manager: "If the people working under you aren't logging when we call and request information, then they're not doing their jobs. And that means that YOU are not doing YOUR job. But I have your name, so I'll fix this issue when I speak with your manager."

To the manager of the call center, after she faxed us the information we've requested over four times: "Don't you have something to tell me? No? How about saying 'I'm sorry?' My five year-olds know when to apologize, yet my mortgage company doesn't. Thanks for the great customer service."

Damn! No wonder I try to avoid getting in trouble at home! Can you imagine her mad at YOU?

But she got results. And so now we know that the saying, "You can get further with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word," should really be, "You can get further with an angry wife than with a kind word and a gun." Especially with the mortgage company.

Her next assignment is the damn Prairieville Post Office.

Get Thee to a Nunnery!

As promised, here are the pics of my wife dressed as a hot nun. I tried telling her that I was a sinner and for her to beat me with a ruler, but all she did was forgive me. Nuts!

I'm the guy in the Nacho Libre outfit, in case you forgot.

Anyway, here's me groping this hot nun.
Hot nun! Part 1

This is when she teaches me how perfect the Praying Mantis attack.
Hot nun! Part 2

I wasn't wearing any pants at this point in the night.
Hot nun! Part 3

Also, here's the link for the video that I posted yesterday, as it has been brought to my attention that the video didn't make it to some of the email posts: