Summer’s back. I usually comes once a year and with it comes all the usual summer activities. My least favorite summer activity is lying in bed at night, wrapped in a sweaty sheet, struggling to sleep in the oppressive nighttime heat. It’s damn near impossible to get a good night’s sleep, but when I do, I have some strange dreams. Allow me to share the most recent:
The dream began with me sitting at my school desk, getting my learn on. Like many dreams, I happened to not be wearing pants, but that wasn’t much trouble because I didn’t really feel the need put on three pairs of pants over my six legs. That would have just impeded flying.
It was the middle of a hot summer day the Fourth of July (sense a theme here?) in fact, and friends and I were chilling out in school, avoiding the heat. You might find it odd that I’d be in school in the summer, especially on such a prestigious holiday, but with a pupal stage of around two days and a lifespan of a few months if I’m lucky, I don’t have the luxury of missing out on my education.
But the day was just too beautiful, I was itching to get outside and enjoy it. Beyond the teacher’s droning on about the dangers of diethyl-meta-toluamide and picaridin, I could hear sounds as if in a joyous celebration. And the delightful smell of carbon dioxide mixed with delicious foods wafted by my proboscis, enticing me and daring me fly outside as soon as the teacher’s thorax was turned.
As her lecture on citronella and nepetalactone continued, I saw my chance and made a break for the door.
When I flew outside my senses were immediately assaulted by smells, sounds and sights beyond my comprehension. People everywhere! Barbeque grills! Food! Condiments! Picnic tables that gave unsuspecting sitters inch-long splinters! Frisbees! Red, White and Blue streamers! It was truly a Fourth of July celebration for the ages, and I couldn’t wait to be a part of it!
With a weight of under 2 milligrams, all it takes is a breeze of around 1 mile an hour to send me flying off in the wrong direction, luckily, I was flying with the wind and had little trouble approaching the picnic unseen.
I alighted on a branch and saw a few friends of mine, Hana and Chrissy, hanging out and watching the people mill around. Since they were females, Hana and Chrissy were both about twice my size, with long, slender, sexy legs and big, juicy-looking, swollen abdomens. Gorgeous!
The ladies had also smelled the picnic and were making plans to get their feast on. So we got together and decided on a course of action. I’d go in first and be a source of distraction while the girls would go in and get as much food as they could before we were all discovered and chased away.
It was all going well until Hana was slapped by a big drunk redneck with a tattoo of the American flag on his forearm. She would have made it away, but his blood was so loaded with alcohol that she could barely fly in a straight line. She didn’t have a chance.
When Chrissy saw what happened she started to make her way over to her friend, but barely made it a foot before she was assaulted from behind by a generous spray of Off! She instantly became disoriented and dropped to the ground, where she was killed when a bunch of people stepped on her repeatedly, in a blood-thirsty rage.
With both females dead I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was attacked by these drunken 4th of July celebrants. And I was right. They suddenly sprang at me in a group, prepared to rend me limb from limb (from limb from limb from limb from limb!) for the simple crime of trespassing on their cook out. The horror!
I dodged and weaved as best I could, trying to stay out of their grasp, but it was no use, my small, scaled wings could only keep me aloft for so long and I had already been flying for two hours. I was tired and getting sloppy and they knew it.
With my last bit of energy, I resigned myself to the inevitable and went over to the picnic table in a last ditch effort to maybe have some kool aid before the end came. I walked up to the glistening, cool, pitcher of grape kool aid, ready for some of that sweet, sweet nectar, when a shadow descended upon me. The last thing I saw with my compound eyes was a giant hand blot out the sun as it rushed down to smack the table, with me caught in its path. I tensed my tiny mosquito body for the impact....
…Which is when I woke up. Weird, eh? I’m going to lay off that Iraqi cuisine before I go to bed from now on.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
American History 101: Mr. 4th of July Contest Entry
How do everybody? I have been nominated in a blog writing contest run by Just Jaynie, a Myspace personality. I am in competition to be Mr. 4th of July! I don’t really know what that means, but as long as it involves the word “mister” in the title, I’m in!
For the first round of the competition, I have to write why I think I should be crowned Mr. 4th of July. That’s an easy one. When I think 4th of July, I think American history, something I happen to be very keen on. So, I felt that to show my all-consuming desire to be Mr. 4th of July, it would be best appreciated with a history lesson on that very special day in our great nation’s past.
After a little research in Dr. Gooch’s Guide to American Pastification, (a well respected tome on United States history) I now present you, (the reader) with the history of the Fourth of July:
The Fourth of July, 1776
The Fourth of July will forever be known in American history as the day that the Continental Congress got together to have a have a light, but filling breakfast, between 6 and 9 am, of various fruits, muffins, bagels, assorted cereals, perhaps some bacon or sausage and their choice of orange juice, apple juice, milk or coffee. This breakfast became so popular that it was later named after them.
Following breakfast, the congress all got together in the VIP room in the back of Ben Franklin’s pub ( motto: Come for the 4 pm “Early to Bed” Happy Hour!) to sign the Declaration of Something or Other. One of the most important documents in American history, (right behind The Devil Wears Prada.)
But what many people don’t realize is that congress didn’t sign anything on that specific date. In fact, they had signed the declaration back in early May, but decided to hold off on announcing the event until the middle of summer when they could take a day off to have a nice BBQ and maybe play a little flag football.
The Declaration of Whozits was important because it was a statement by the fledgling American government to the British Monarchy that Americans would refuse to ever have some messed up looking teeth like the Brits. Here’s a quick rundown of other declarations made in the document. We the American people:
• Promise to never boil meats or give our food confusing and inappropriate names like “spotted dick,” “bubble and squeak,” “fitless cock,” “flummery,” “priddy oggies” and “toad-in-the-hole.”
• Think that driving on the left side of the street is really dumb, so we’re not gonna do it.
• Refuse to pay taxes to England anymore on lottery tickets or lap dances.
• Don’t want our lawyers to have to wear those ugly wigs while they’re in court, they look really itchy and uncomfortable.
• Reserve the right to call flats apartments, lorries trucks, loos bathrooms and not pronounce the h in herbs.
• Think British accents can be sexy.
• If we get around to it, want to have a president and a system of checks and balances, instead of a monarchy, or whatever. But, you know, it’s not that big of a deal.
England wasn’t too happy with this declaration, so they decided to go to war with America. A bunch of soldiers, (like a hundred or something) wearing the famous periwinkle-colored coats that marked them as professionals on the battlefield, hopped onto three ships, the Nina, Pinta and Apollo 13, and sailed their way to America, in the mistaken hope that they’d whoop some ass.
Unfortunately for them, they arrived on July 4th, 1778 and found all the military bases closed for the national holiday. Dejected, the soldiers went back home to their bland food and lousy weather, where they all got syphilis from Whitechapel hookers and died. Setting America free to invent three-storey buildings and do experiments with electricity and cable television.
So next time it’s the Fourth of July and you’re enjoying a hot dog made of leftover scraps from slaughterhouses while watching a drunk guy get his hand blown off from fireworks; take a moment to reflect on what those old, dead, white Americans had to endure to be able to provide a free country for you to grow, get plastic surgery before you hit your teens, be diagnosed with ADHD and medicated at the age of two, pay $8 for a gallon of gasoline, have IQ-destroying reality TV and write goofy and factually inaccurate blogs.
God Bless America!
For the first round of the competition, I have to write why I think I should be crowned Mr. 4th of July. That’s an easy one. When I think 4th of July, I think American history, something I happen to be very keen on. So, I felt that to show my all-consuming desire to be Mr. 4th of July, it would be best appreciated with a history lesson on that very special day in our great nation’s past.
After a little research in Dr. Gooch’s Guide to American Pastification, (a well respected tome on United States history) I now present you, (the reader) with the history of the Fourth of July:
The Fourth of July, 1776
The Fourth of July will forever be known in American history as the day that the Continental Congress got together to have a have a light, but filling breakfast, between 6 and 9 am, of various fruits, muffins, bagels, assorted cereals, perhaps some bacon or sausage and their choice of orange juice, apple juice, milk or coffee. This breakfast became so popular that it was later named after them.
Following breakfast, the congress all got together in the VIP room in the back of Ben Franklin’s pub ( motto: Come for the 4 pm “Early to Bed” Happy Hour!) to sign the Declaration of Something or Other. One of the most important documents in American history, (right behind The Devil Wears Prada.)
But what many people don’t realize is that congress didn’t sign anything on that specific date. In fact, they had signed the declaration back in early May, but decided to hold off on announcing the event until the middle of summer when they could take a day off to have a nice BBQ and maybe play a little flag football.
The Declaration of Whozits was important because it was a statement by the fledgling American government to the British Monarchy that Americans would refuse to ever have some messed up looking teeth like the Brits. Here’s a quick rundown of other declarations made in the document. We the American people:
• Promise to never boil meats or give our food confusing and inappropriate names like “spotted dick,” “bubble and squeak,” “fitless cock,” “flummery,” “priddy oggies” and “toad-in-the-hole.”
• Think that driving on the left side of the street is really dumb, so we’re not gonna do it.
• Refuse to pay taxes to England anymore on lottery tickets or lap dances.
• Don’t want our lawyers to have to wear those ugly wigs while they’re in court, they look really itchy and uncomfortable.
• Reserve the right to call flats apartments, lorries trucks, loos bathrooms and not pronounce the h in herbs.
• Think British accents can be sexy.
• If we get around to it, want to have a president and a system of checks and balances, instead of a monarchy, or whatever. But, you know, it’s not that big of a deal.
England wasn’t too happy with this declaration, so they decided to go to war with America. A bunch of soldiers, (like a hundred or something) wearing the famous periwinkle-colored coats that marked them as professionals on the battlefield, hopped onto three ships, the Nina, Pinta and Apollo 13, and sailed their way to America, in the mistaken hope that they’d whoop some ass.
Unfortunately for them, they arrived on July 4th, 1778 and found all the military bases closed for the national holiday. Dejected, the soldiers went back home to their bland food and lousy weather, where they all got syphilis from Whitechapel hookers and died. Setting America free to invent three-storey buildings and do experiments with electricity and cable television.
So next time it’s the Fourth of July and you’re enjoying a hot dog made of leftover scraps from slaughterhouses while watching a drunk guy get his hand blown off from fireworks; take a moment to reflect on what those old, dead, white Americans had to endure to be able to provide a free country for you to grow, get plastic surgery before you hit your teens, be diagnosed with ADHD and medicated at the age of two, pay $8 for a gallon of gasoline, have IQ-destroying reality TV and write goofy and factually inaccurate blogs.
God Bless America!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
A little insight into the mind of a genius
Barbara Walters, Larry King, Oprah and Geraldo. All of them have contacted me in the past, in the vain attempt to gain knowledge of how I can constantly come up with such insightful, witty and mind-bendingly intelligent Eighty-Four Glyde entries on a regular basis.
But I always send them away with a stern look and a shake of my head. For they are not capable of asking the proper questions to gain access to the inner workings of my incredibly complex and deep mind. Nor do they possess the cognitive capacity to understand the words of truth that would flow from my mind like a massively churning river of knowledge and wisdom.
So my mind remained a locked vault, inaccessible to the Great Unwashed. Which is a pity, because people could learn so much from me, and peace would reign throughout the land.
Until now.
I have discovered a person worthy of interviewing me with five questions of amazing depth. His name is Marc(o) Porno and these are his questions. Read on ye mortals and prepare to be awakened to higher levels of consciousness.
1. What's the craziest sexual experience you've ever had? (Typical question from me...)
Well, since my parents and sister read Eighty-Four Glyde, I guess I would have to say that I’m still a virgin, waiting for marriage to give myself unto a woman. Because that is the right and proper thing to do.
If my family didn’t read this, then I’d say that my craziest sexual experience would probably be the time…hmmm…now that I think about it, I’ve had a lot of crazy experiences. Geez, I’m kinda slutty. Well, there was this one time when a girlfriend and I decided to do it at a popular D. C. nightclub. Not in the bathroom or an alley behind it mind you, but right there in front of everybody while sitting on a bench. We thought we were slick about it and that nobody could tell what we were doing (she was wearing a skirt so no clothes had to be cast aside or anything), but that proved to be false, because this chick came up and sat next to us to get a better view. She told us as much and attempted to have a conversation with me about the times she’d engaged in similar activities, as the act continued. She seemed to be a little too into it, so we stopped and she wandered away sullen. That might or might not be the craziest sexual experience, but it was the first thing I thought of. And since it’s an ex girlfriend, I don’t have to feel bad about dropping dimes, cause I won’t get in trouble.
2. What are your future plans after your career in the military?
That’s a good question. Answering it is hard because I have lofty goals and if things don’t go down the way I write them, people are gonna wonder what kind of loser I am. Let’s just say that the endstate of things is that I plan on being super famous and ridiculously rich in the future. At which point I will rub it in the face of everybody on my Jerk List. (oh, there’s a list alright. Be afraid!)
My more immediate goal is to go back to college and finish my English major, (creative writing to be more specific). Thanks to the Montgomery G.I. Bill I’ll only pay a billion dollars instead of a trillion. Thanks government! Since I have wanderlust, my hope is to go to school in another country. I’d like to go to Australia, but anywhere (other than the majority of Europe) is fine with me. Failing that, somewhere really random in America, like Barren Wasteland University, or Frozen Tundra Tech.
3. Why do you write blogs?
I write for a few reasons. I started Eighty-Four Glyde to impress a chick, (didn’t work. In fact I have yet to acquire a single Glyde Groupie. How pathetic is that?! Share with me your secrets Tucker Max!)
Another reason I write is because for every newspaper and magazine I’ve worked for I’ve written a humor column. The internet, and Myspace in particular) seemed like the next logical medium to continue writing a humor column, but this time with more freedom. Without the stifling hand of an editor to alter the content and words I use, I get to write what I want to, how I want to. Sometimes I succeed in making people laugh, sometimes I fail horribly. But at least it’s because of me and my desire to experiment with writing styles and topics. Having nobody to blame but yourself is refreshing.
But the biggest reason is because I write. I may not be good at it, (and no, saying that isn’t me trying to get my ego soothed by people) but that doesn’t matter because I enjoy doing it and a person’s love for something should outweigh and bring more pleasure than their level of skill in it. I think I’m somewhat talented at writing and always strive to write. That’s why I wrote for my college paper, why I became an English major, why I am a journalist in the army and why I write Eighty-Four Glyde. (Though the occasional groupie or two wouldn’t hurt.)
4. I know your excitement about the summer movies you'll see when you come home. If you could see the best movie ever, that hasn't been made yet, what would it be?
I’m a bit of a movie fan. Okay, a big movie fan. I prefer bad movies because those are the most fun, but I’ve seen enough films to think that I could come out with a great movie. Maybe not the best for everybody, but it’d do it for me. It would combine (steal) things from movies and books that I’ve absorbed to be something old and new at the same time. I would have John Woo-style gun battles, violent ballets of blood and bullets. I’d throw in some Jackie Chan-like fight scenes (none of that fighting people do on wires where they seem to float all over the place) mixed with a little of Tony Jaa stunts and moves. It’d have many layers to it, so you could watch it and enjoy it as a teen and then watch it 20 years later and discover a whole new side to the movie that you never noticed. It’d be an adventure. Indiana Jonesesque treasure hunts are always fun. It’d have a realistic ending too, maybe the hero will die, but probably not. Gotta set up that sequel!
5. Ever sniff the paper after wiping?
Much like Prince Akeem, I have wipers who do the dirty work for me. What they do afterward, I haven’t the slightest clue. I’m waiting for the day when scientists invent a pill that eliminates any of that, so there are no clingons or residual waste. That would totally eliminate, like, 20 minutes from my allotted toilet time.
I’d like to thank Marc(o) for those excellent questions and I hope you all learned something interesting. And now let me share the wealth and wow you with my interviewing skills. I shall pay it forward. TTFN.
Here's the "rules" as they were sent to me:
How to Play:
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog (so you have to have a blog) with a post containing your answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
But I always send them away with a stern look and a shake of my head. For they are not capable of asking the proper questions to gain access to the inner workings of my incredibly complex and deep mind. Nor do they possess the cognitive capacity to understand the words of truth that would flow from my mind like a massively churning river of knowledge and wisdom.
So my mind remained a locked vault, inaccessible to the Great Unwashed. Which is a pity, because people could learn so much from me, and peace would reign throughout the land.
Until now.
I have discovered a person worthy of interviewing me with five questions of amazing depth. His name is Marc(o) Porno and these are his questions. Read on ye mortals and prepare to be awakened to higher levels of consciousness.
1. What's the craziest sexual experience you've ever had? (Typical question from me...)
Well, since my parents and sister read Eighty-Four Glyde, I guess I would have to say that I’m still a virgin, waiting for marriage to give myself unto a woman. Because that is the right and proper thing to do.
If my family didn’t read this, then I’d say that my craziest sexual experience would probably be the time…hmmm…now that I think about it, I’ve had a lot of crazy experiences. Geez, I’m kinda slutty. Well, there was this one time when a girlfriend and I decided to do it at a popular D. C. nightclub. Not in the bathroom or an alley behind it mind you, but right there in front of everybody while sitting on a bench. We thought we were slick about it and that nobody could tell what we were doing (she was wearing a skirt so no clothes had to be cast aside or anything), but that proved to be false, because this chick came up and sat next to us to get a better view. She told us as much and attempted to have a conversation with me about the times she’d engaged in similar activities, as the act continued. She seemed to be a little too into it, so we stopped and she wandered away sullen. That might or might not be the craziest sexual experience, but it was the first thing I thought of. And since it’s an ex girlfriend, I don’t have to feel bad about dropping dimes, cause I won’t get in trouble.
2. What are your future plans after your career in the military?
That’s a good question. Answering it is hard because I have lofty goals and if things don’t go down the way I write them, people are gonna wonder what kind of loser I am. Let’s just say that the endstate of things is that I plan on being super famous and ridiculously rich in the future. At which point I will rub it in the face of everybody on my Jerk List. (oh, there’s a list alright. Be afraid!)
My more immediate goal is to go back to college and finish my English major, (creative writing to be more specific). Thanks to the Montgomery G.I. Bill I’ll only pay a billion dollars instead of a trillion. Thanks government! Since I have wanderlust, my hope is to go to school in another country. I’d like to go to Australia, but anywhere (other than the majority of Europe) is fine with me. Failing that, somewhere really random in America, like Barren Wasteland University, or Frozen Tundra Tech.
3. Why do you write blogs?
I write for a few reasons. I started Eighty-Four Glyde to impress a chick, (didn’t work. In fact I have yet to acquire a single Glyde Groupie. How pathetic is that?! Share with me your secrets Tucker Max!)
Another reason I write is because for every newspaper and magazine I’ve worked for I’ve written a humor column. The internet, and Myspace in particular) seemed like the next logical medium to continue writing a humor column, but this time with more freedom. Without the stifling hand of an editor to alter the content and words I use, I get to write what I want to, how I want to. Sometimes I succeed in making people laugh, sometimes I fail horribly. But at least it’s because of me and my desire to experiment with writing styles and topics. Having nobody to blame but yourself is refreshing.
But the biggest reason is because I write. I may not be good at it, (and no, saying that isn’t me trying to get my ego soothed by people) but that doesn’t matter because I enjoy doing it and a person’s love for something should outweigh and bring more pleasure than their level of skill in it. I think I’m somewhat talented at writing and always strive to write. That’s why I wrote for my college paper, why I became an English major, why I am a journalist in the army and why I write Eighty-Four Glyde. (Though the occasional groupie or two wouldn’t hurt.)
4. I know your excitement about the summer movies you'll see when you come home. If you could see the best movie ever, that hasn't been made yet, what would it be?
I’m a bit of a movie fan. Okay, a big movie fan. I prefer bad movies because those are the most fun, but I’ve seen enough films to think that I could come out with a great movie. Maybe not the best for everybody, but it’d do it for me. It would combine (steal) things from movies and books that I’ve absorbed to be something old and new at the same time. I would have John Woo-style gun battles, violent ballets of blood and bullets. I’d throw in some Jackie Chan-like fight scenes (none of that fighting people do on wires where they seem to float all over the place) mixed with a little of Tony Jaa stunts and moves. It’d have many layers to it, so you could watch it and enjoy it as a teen and then watch it 20 years later and discover a whole new side to the movie that you never noticed. It’d be an adventure. Indiana Jonesesque treasure hunts are always fun. It’d have a realistic ending too, maybe the hero will die, but probably not. Gotta set up that sequel!
5. Ever sniff the paper after wiping?
Much like Prince Akeem, I have wipers who do the dirty work for me. What they do afterward, I haven’t the slightest clue. I’m waiting for the day when scientists invent a pill that eliminates any of that, so there are no clingons or residual waste. That would totally eliminate, like, 20 minutes from my allotted toilet time.
I’d like to thank Marc(o) for those excellent questions and I hope you all learned something interesting. And now let me share the wealth and wow you with my interviewing skills. I shall pay it forward. TTFN.
Here's the "rules" as they were sent to me:
How to Play:
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog (so you have to have a blog) with a post containing your answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Salt House Chronicles I
I’ve alluded to my former abode a few times before. But most of you have never been formally introduced to my degenerate old domicile.
At the end of my second year at the old alma matter, Wittenberg University (Motto: The home for WPs who wear Birkenstocks and socks in the February snow.) a few friends and I were in a predicament. We had to find some kind of off-campus housing for the next year. Being the lazy slobs that we were, we dragged our feet and enjoyed several cases of beer while our responsible peers went out and acquired themselves affordable apartments with plenty of square footage in convenient locations, probably with breakfast nooks (I’ve always wanted one of those) and doormats.
With the school year drawing to a close, my friends and I (henceforth to be referred to by our better known name: Tha Crew) put down our various implements of whatever and beer bottles and got our shit together enough to stumble out of the dorm into the harsh daylight to look for our new home.
I don’t know who saw it first; perhaps we all saw it at the same time. For sure none of us really reacted the first time we saw it. The “it” in question being a “For Rent” sign, residing in the overgrown lawn of a dilapidated old house on the main street that we passed every time we drove to and from other appointments to see apartments. It wasn’t our first choice, because the lawn in question belonged to a building that looked to have been constructed back when people believed in burning witches at the stake and drilling holes in heads to let out evil spirits*. So we weren’t too anxious to call the number on the For Rent sign. After all, the person on the other end of the line could have been Hannibal Lecter, eager to show us how much crawlspace the house has for storing bodies.
Besides the obvious antediluvian properties of the house, another curious feature was a sign nailed to the front that simply said “Salt House”, cryptic, to say the least.
After calling the rental number, we met the guy trying to offload the property on some ignorant college saps (Tha Crew fit the bill quite nicely) and he told us about the house during the tour.
It seems that the large place used to house a Christian fraternity. They were a pious lot who didn’t take the best care of the place. The walls needed painting, the rugs needed vacuuming, the floors needed sweeping, the kitchen needed delousing and the whole place needed an exorcism.
Hell, there were still gas outlets on the walls from where the original inhabitants would hang their lamps for light before electricity was discovered!!!!**
The basement was the scariest part. The electricity didn’t work and it was filled with old, abandoned furniture. Tables, chairs, desks and the like. I guess that after a day of regular school learnin’ the frat would get together at the Salt House for compulsory religious learnin’. The walls of the basement were all very old stone. It looked as though the Hebrews had practiced construction by building the basement of the Salt House before they went on to create all those pyramids in Egypt.*** One wall had tumbled, revealing the dank earth behind it. Quite unsettling. Naturally, we spent as little time as possible down there. And when we did go we always brought a flash light and traveled in twos, with ropes tied around our waists as so not to be dragged off into the dark by some ill-conceived creature from out of a poorly written Stephen King novel, (the guy’s a hack people! His stories don’t frighten so much put people to sleep by their sheer length.)
Instead, once we had moved in, we spent the majority of our time in the bat-infested attic. There we would lounge about like Supreme Beings of Leisure, (I’ve never heard their music, but that is one of the most ass-kickingest names for a band ever!) watching t.v., hosting legendary parties and fighting bats with golf clubs (we had the golf clubs, not the bats). But that’s another story…
*Alternate jokes about age include saying that it’s as old as your mom, (who’s so old that when God said “let there be light” she flipped the light switch. It’s corny, yet a classic) but I decided to take the high road instead.
**Invented?
***That’s another old joke.
At the end of my second year at the old alma matter, Wittenberg University (Motto: The home for WPs who wear Birkenstocks and socks in the February snow.) a few friends and I were in a predicament. We had to find some kind of off-campus housing for the next year. Being the lazy slobs that we were, we dragged our feet and enjoyed several cases of beer while our responsible peers went out and acquired themselves affordable apartments with plenty of square footage in convenient locations, probably with breakfast nooks (I’ve always wanted one of those) and doormats.
With the school year drawing to a close, my friends and I (henceforth to be referred to by our better known name: Tha Crew) put down our various implements of whatever and beer bottles and got our shit together enough to stumble out of the dorm into the harsh daylight to look for our new home.
I don’t know who saw it first; perhaps we all saw it at the same time. For sure none of us really reacted the first time we saw it. The “it” in question being a “For Rent” sign, residing in the overgrown lawn of a dilapidated old house on the main street that we passed every time we drove to and from other appointments to see apartments. It wasn’t our first choice, because the lawn in question belonged to a building that looked to have been constructed back when people believed in burning witches at the stake and drilling holes in heads to let out evil spirits*. So we weren’t too anxious to call the number on the For Rent sign. After all, the person on the other end of the line could have been Hannibal Lecter, eager to show us how much crawlspace the house has for storing bodies.
Besides the obvious antediluvian properties of the house, another curious feature was a sign nailed to the front that simply said “Salt House”, cryptic, to say the least.
After calling the rental number, we met the guy trying to offload the property on some ignorant college saps (Tha Crew fit the bill quite nicely) and he told us about the house during the tour.
It seems that the large place used to house a Christian fraternity. They were a pious lot who didn’t take the best care of the place. The walls needed painting, the rugs needed vacuuming, the floors needed sweeping, the kitchen needed delousing and the whole place needed an exorcism.
Hell, there were still gas outlets on the walls from where the original inhabitants would hang their lamps for light before electricity was discovered!!!!**
The basement was the scariest part. The electricity didn’t work and it was filled with old, abandoned furniture. Tables, chairs, desks and the like. I guess that after a day of regular school learnin’ the frat would get together at the Salt House for compulsory religious learnin’. The walls of the basement were all very old stone. It looked as though the Hebrews had practiced construction by building the basement of the Salt House before they went on to create all those pyramids in Egypt.*** One wall had tumbled, revealing the dank earth behind it. Quite unsettling. Naturally, we spent as little time as possible down there. And when we did go we always brought a flash light and traveled in twos, with ropes tied around our waists as so not to be dragged off into the dark by some ill-conceived creature from out of a poorly written Stephen King novel, (the guy’s a hack people! His stories don’t frighten so much put people to sleep by their sheer length.)
Instead, once we had moved in, we spent the majority of our time in the bat-infested attic. There we would lounge about like Supreme Beings of Leisure, (I’ve never heard their music, but that is one of the most ass-kickingest names for a band ever!) watching t.v., hosting legendary parties and fighting bats with golf clubs (we had the golf clubs, not the bats). But that’s another story…
*Alternate jokes about age include saying that it’s as old as your mom, (who’s so old that when God said “let there be light” she flipped the light switch. It’s corny, yet a classic) but I decided to take the high road instead.
**Invented?
***That’s another old joke.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Germy, the 8th Dwarf
It seems that the fad with blog writers on the interweb is to run around screaming their heads off and ranting emotionally about the AWARENESS and EDUCATION of some concern of the writers’ that everybody else is already pretty damn aware of.
Blogger: I want to raise awareness of AIDS!
Blog Reader: Why? Has it recently learned out to use a gun? Is it running for office? What new developments have occurred with AIDS that I couldn’t possibly already know?
What a fabulous bandwagon to jump on! I want in on this action!
To this end, I feel that it is my duty as a blogger with delusions of grandeur and a megalomania complex to bring AWARENESS to a problem that we all face. Sure it’s a problem that has been plaguing (literally!) humans for about as long as Joan Rivers has been alive (estimated lifespan: 2,500 years and still going strong. Keep it up Joan!) But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk at length about it to make myself feel like I’m EDUCATING and making a difference in the world! (My motto is: If I’m not making a difference in the world, then I’ll just sit here about pout!).
Germs. They suck. Bigtime. I hate ‘em. But, much like women, you just can’t get away from them; they seem to be everywhere and love to stick to you and take over your life until you’re nothing but a pathetic, blubbering heap, afraid to get out of bed.
People love to pay germs lip-service, (which would totally be a great name for an escort company. Lip Service: We’re famous for our tongue lashings!) without really doing anything about it. A person will make sure to wash his/her hands before meals, but doesn’t think about washing his/her hands after touching things other people have touched, (like keyboards and t.v. remotes). Or, people make sure to cover their mouths when they cough or sneeze, but use their hands for this purpose and then go on to touch doorknobs and video game controllers, (here’s a hint for everybody, cough or sneeze into the crook of your elbow, that way you’re not spreading germs around like Johnny Bacteriaseed. Dig?)
Germs have been with us forever, they’re not going away. They cause things like flu and diseases, and they’re pretty good at their job. In fact, germs recently must have been hanging out with Roger Clemmens, ‘cause they have bulked up and stepped their game up to ridiculous new levels. Ever heard of MRSA? I hope so, because approximately 19,000 people died of that in America last year. Compare that to the approximately 12,000 people who died from AIDS. Pretty crazy eh?* And yet, not that many people are familiar with this “Superbug.” And it’s just the tip of the germ iceberg, (man, that would be one gross iceberg!)
MRSA, or Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus is a bug that can be picked up almost anywhere, the gym, school, the playground, the opium den, gentlemen’s club, but most commonly at hospitals.
Yes, that’s right. Hospitals are extremely dangerous places to go and should be avoided unless you’re dating a really hot nurse (or doctor, aim high!). You can go in for a small gash on your leg and end up dying two months later because the doctors were sloppy and spread MRSA to you from sheer absent-mindedness. How stupid would you feel if you ended up dying from something you got at the hospital from the very doctors you trusted to save your life!? The answer is: not really, because you’d be dead and beyond the ability to feel much of anything. My advice, in that case, is to become a ghost and haunt the shit out of St. Elsewhere son!
The sad thing is that doctors know better about infection control and contamination, but either don’t have the time, are forgetful or just plain apathetic to do much about it. Don’t believe me? Go visit the waiting room at your friendly neighborhood hospital or free clinic and just watch the doctor go from patient to patient, touching them, poking them, prodding them, sticking fingers into various orifices all while wearing the same pair of gloves, or even worse, no gloves at all. Any nurse who reads Eighty-Four Glyde can attest to this, I’m sure.
Fighting germs is easy and simple to do, (without going overboard like Monk) and can be accomplished without donating any money or time and without me having to host some kind of whack-ass and completely pointless Myspace auction. The most important thing is to wash your hands. Not so much that they’re red and the top two layers of skin are gone, just at certain times: before eating, after working with raw foods, after touching communal objects of “iffy” nature (like porno mags at the sperm bank) and when you’re Pontius Pilot and you don’t want to be blamed for Jesus’ death.
An important thing though, and not often addressed, is that you should wash your hands with just plain soap and water. Antibacterial soap is a no-no because germs just laugh at that shit. Some germs die when you use antibacterial soap, but the rest just get stronger and stronger. Also, if your hands are visibly dirty, (like you just changed the oil in your “green” car with a red ribbon bumper sticker or something on it) then just using antibacterial gel won’t cut it. You’ve got to wash all visible dirt off first, then go with the gel as a dessert, for extra cleanliness.
Man, I sound like a overbearing, know-it-all jerk, don’t I? Sorry, that’s just the price you pay for RASING AWARENESS! and EDUCATING! people. Comes with the territory.
So, in conclusion, next time you feel like jumping on the latest fad disease to eradicate with words and slogans, consider looking into the avoidable things that kill us that aren’t as sexy or a la mode, but which are easier to combat and require less money and time. Most of us work somewhere; why not buy some hand sanitizer and put it around the office? How about some flyers in bathrooms with some facts and figures, encouraging people to do the thing they’ve been taught to do since they were kids? (i.e. wash hands) Why not do something instead of writing about something? It’s pretty damn easy. (Yes, I know I’m writing about something, but this isn’t about me. I’m secure in my OCD tendencies and an ex taught me the value of hand washing. This is about you: John or Jane Nastycuticles).
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sneeze on somebody’s door knob.
*No, I’m not going to cite my sources. Cite deez nutz! I used the internet to look that shit up and you can too. It’s really not that hard.
Blogger: I want to raise awareness of AIDS!
Blog Reader: Why? Has it recently learned out to use a gun? Is it running for office? What new developments have occurred with AIDS that I couldn’t possibly already know?
What a fabulous bandwagon to jump on! I want in on this action!
To this end, I feel that it is my duty as a blogger with delusions of grandeur and a megalomania complex to bring AWARENESS to a problem that we all face. Sure it’s a problem that has been plaguing (literally!) humans for about as long as Joan Rivers has been alive (estimated lifespan: 2,500 years and still going strong. Keep it up Joan!) But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk at length about it to make myself feel like I’m EDUCATING and making a difference in the world! (My motto is: If I’m not making a difference in the world, then I’ll just sit here about pout!).
Germs. They suck. Bigtime. I hate ‘em. But, much like women, you just can’t get away from them; they seem to be everywhere and love to stick to you and take over your life until you’re nothing but a pathetic, blubbering heap, afraid to get out of bed.
People love to pay germs lip-service, (which would totally be a great name for an escort company. Lip Service: We’re famous for our tongue lashings!) without really doing anything about it. A person will make sure to wash his/her hands before meals, but doesn’t think about washing his/her hands after touching things other people have touched, (like keyboards and t.v. remotes). Or, people make sure to cover their mouths when they cough or sneeze, but use their hands for this purpose and then go on to touch doorknobs and video game controllers, (here’s a hint for everybody, cough or sneeze into the crook of your elbow, that way you’re not spreading germs around like Johnny Bacteriaseed. Dig?)
Germs have been with us forever, they’re not going away. They cause things like flu and diseases, and they’re pretty good at their job. In fact, germs recently must have been hanging out with Roger Clemmens, ‘cause they have bulked up and stepped their game up to ridiculous new levels. Ever heard of MRSA? I hope so, because approximately 19,000 people died of that in America last year. Compare that to the approximately 12,000 people who died from AIDS. Pretty crazy eh?* And yet, not that many people are familiar with this “Superbug.” And it’s just the tip of the germ iceberg, (man, that would be one gross iceberg!)
MRSA, or Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus is a bug that can be picked up almost anywhere, the gym, school, the playground, the opium den, gentlemen’s club, but most commonly at hospitals.
Yes, that’s right. Hospitals are extremely dangerous places to go and should be avoided unless you’re dating a really hot nurse (or doctor, aim high!). You can go in for a small gash on your leg and end up dying two months later because the doctors were sloppy and spread MRSA to you from sheer absent-mindedness. How stupid would you feel if you ended up dying from something you got at the hospital from the very doctors you trusted to save your life!? The answer is: not really, because you’d be dead and beyond the ability to feel much of anything. My advice, in that case, is to become a ghost and haunt the shit out of St. Elsewhere son!
The sad thing is that doctors know better about infection control and contamination, but either don’t have the time, are forgetful or just plain apathetic to do much about it. Don’t believe me? Go visit the waiting room at your friendly neighborhood hospital or free clinic and just watch the doctor go from patient to patient, touching them, poking them, prodding them, sticking fingers into various orifices all while wearing the same pair of gloves, or even worse, no gloves at all. Any nurse who reads Eighty-Four Glyde can attest to this, I’m sure.
Fighting germs is easy and simple to do, (without going overboard like Monk) and can be accomplished without donating any money or time and without me having to host some kind of whack-ass and completely pointless Myspace auction. The most important thing is to wash your hands. Not so much that they’re red and the top two layers of skin are gone, just at certain times: before eating, after working with raw foods, after touching communal objects of “iffy” nature (like porno mags at the sperm bank) and when you’re Pontius Pilot and you don’t want to be blamed for Jesus’ death.
An important thing though, and not often addressed, is that you should wash your hands with just plain soap and water. Antibacterial soap is a no-no because germs just laugh at that shit. Some germs die when you use antibacterial soap, but the rest just get stronger and stronger. Also, if your hands are visibly dirty, (like you just changed the oil in your “green” car with a red ribbon bumper sticker or something on it) then just using antibacterial gel won’t cut it. You’ve got to wash all visible dirt off first, then go with the gel as a dessert, for extra cleanliness.
Man, I sound like a overbearing, know-it-all jerk, don’t I? Sorry, that’s just the price you pay for RASING AWARENESS! and EDUCATING! people. Comes with the territory.
So, in conclusion, next time you feel like jumping on the latest fad disease to eradicate with words and slogans, consider looking into the avoidable things that kill us that aren’t as sexy or a la mode, but which are easier to combat and require less money and time. Most of us work somewhere; why not buy some hand sanitizer and put it around the office? How about some flyers in bathrooms with some facts and figures, encouraging people to do the thing they’ve been taught to do since they were kids? (i.e. wash hands) Why not do something instead of writing about something? It’s pretty damn easy. (Yes, I know I’m writing about something, but this isn’t about me. I’m secure in my OCD tendencies and an ex taught me the value of hand washing. This is about you: John or Jane Nastycuticles).
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sneeze on somebody’s door knob.
*No, I’m not going to cite my sources. Cite deez nutz! I used the internet to look that shit up and you can too. It’s really not that hard.
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