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Moron Attacks Penguin
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1/31/2006
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Last Saturday I got to see the Georgia Aquarium as a tourist for the first time, and this time I brought my camera. That should thrill those of you who hate to read but love my wacky antics.
The Skirt and I had been warned by people that it got crowded and was tough to see everything. After you hear the same warning over and over, it takes on a life of its own and you end up overreacting. We practiced our elbow drops and submission holds for the anticipated fight for starfish viewing rights. We had satellite photos and maps and two way radios and stuff in case we got separated.
"Okay, as soon as we get there, we have to run- I mean SPRINT to the season pass area so we can get our pictures taken for our passes. Then we'll rappel down the wave wall to the Scuba Adventure. On my mark, we will blow the locks on the maintenance doors so we can crawl past the busload of ankle biters who are going to try to monopolize the touch tank..."
Surprisingly it was very manageable when we got there. We pretty much had the run of the place for most of an hour. Of course we still ran around and shimmied over things since we had put so much time into the plan.
First stop was the penguin display. The Skirt says she loves me, but I have a feeling she'd leave me for a suitably creative penguin. The best part of the display is that you can poke your head up into a viewing capsule and act like you are part of the penguin society.
I first tried to fit in, preening my plumage. The movement of the camera made me look like I had Trump hair.
Then I figured as long as this penguin wasn't paying attention, I'd freak him out when he turned around.
I don't think penguins and morons are natural enemies, so he really didn't care. The Skirt asked me to "act normal" (whatever that is), so I tried making friends with the penguin.
Then I tried to get The Skirt into the capsule, but she is claustrophobic so I used the life-size cardboard cut-out I keep in my wallet.
Next stop- Giant Octopus
As it turns out, the words "giant" and "octopus" are relative. This was the third time I had seen him and he still looked like something that fell out of an ox's nose. I'm sure I got there right after he finished juggling, painting, solving a rubik's cube, and writing an opera at the same time. I didn't get a picture of him because flash photography converts giant octopi into pure energy. There was a sign on the wall and everything.
We headed toward the Georgia coast exhibit, our eyes gleaming in anticipation of aquatic opossum. Outside the exhibit was an open top habitat where people were holding their kids near the water so they could pet whatever was swimming around inside.
There is something about seeing a parent hold their four year old kid over a tank full of stingrays and sharks that just isn't right. It's even a little weird to force yourself to put your own hand in the water. Sting rays feel like neurotoxin flavored Jell-o. Sharks feel like they are made of cat tongues. They very well may be, for all I know.
I figured if there was a stingray petting tank outside the Georgia coast exhibit, there was probably an interactive fire ant feeding display inside.
In reality, it was more of a playground. There were slides, ladders, and a tank with some shrimp in it that you could fondle if you were so inclined. The Skirt said when we come back we should bring a cup of cocktail sauce and set it on the edge of the tank just to mess with their shrimpy minds. I wanted to go down a slide but I didn't bring it up because The Skirt has been living with a mild form of 24-hour embarrassment since we met almost a year ago, and I probably shouldn't push my luck.
A few minutes later we passed the Beluga whales. These guys are a little too human. They swim right up to the glass and look you in the eye as if to say "Ya savvy?" This one was totally hamming it up for this kid, smiling for the cameras and everything.
We decided that a few of the belugas are real. However, this one and maybe one other one are actually whale suits with a dude inside.
As you progress through the main exhibit with the eighty hundred billion gallon tank, things go like this: "neato", "oohh", "cool", and "Holy sweet baby Jesus in a car seat."
And that's not even the best part. I won't ruin the surprise.
Oddly, I found jellyfish to be more interesting than I expected. Plus I took this killer picture. I don't know how they made the water so blue, but the picture doesn't do it justice. It's a mind numbing bright blue that makes your eyelids sweat.
Seeing a species of fish that was named after a condiment made us both hungry, so we left the aquarium and went out for sushi.
The End.
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 4:14 PM |
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One Bag of Murder Jerky and a Painsicle
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1/24/2006
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When did the makers of snack foods decide that the dangerous image was the way to sell their product? While walking through a convenience store, I was assaulted by all manner of kickass potato chips and gangster gummy bears. I guess the marketing team decided one day that the guy buying the cool ranch corn chips would buy 2% more if they called it "Raging Ranch" and included a cartoon of a corn chip-shaped cowboy riding a bucking bowl of dressing- the kind of untamed ranch dressing that is only found in vast herds, roaming the open plains of the west.
I always figured selling snack foods was like selling any other thing people can't live without. In the words of Dennis Leary, "You could call cigarettes 'Tumors' and people would line up around the block to buy them." Likewise, a "Roll O' Shitrags" would sell just fine without being called "Bathroom Tissue" because people have asses and eat things like Raging Ranch corn chips.
I saw a guy buying an industrial size bag of Cheetos and noticed that they weren't your average Cheetos...these were "dangerously cheesy." The scientists at Cheeto just kept adding cheese until their Creed CD began to play backward, sounding vaguely like Don Johnson's debut album. Then they just had to keep pushing.
"STILL NOT ENOUGH!" One scientist shouted.
"B-but sir...Any more cheese would be a violation of the Geneva Convention! Think about what you are doing!" another young scientist pleaded.
"THIS IS TO BE MY OPUS!" he screamed, pouring still more orange powder into the vat.
"Have you gone MAAAADD?!"
When they reached maximum density, there came a blinding flash of light, David Hasselhoff remained famous, and the Creed CD became a Nickelback CD. The cheese absolute had been attained.
I find it suspect that the Cheetah will scoff at the life-threatening danger of so much cheese, but still wears a faggy helmet when he rides his bike. You're either dangerous, or you're not. Trying to pull off this "dangerous but still responsible enough to avoid head trauma" shtick is not selling me any Cheetos.
I thought the guy was taking a risk buying a whole bag of pure danger, and then he turned around and it made sense. Rear-Admiral Riskypants was wearing a Star Wars shirt (tucked in) and had three pagers and a cell phone on his belt. Somewhere in the Atlanta area, someone's mom's basement was missing its dungeon master.
He also had a sixer of Mountain Dew CODE RED, so I held the door for him. I don't want any trouble. We all know Mountain Dew drinkers are totally into skydiving and surfing river rapids and stuff. The CODE RED folks? Well, let's just say things get pretty goddamned real when the World of Warcraft Server heats up and someone has to step up and out-dork everyone else with their enchanted broadsword of No-Plans-To-Ever-See-A-Live-Human-Female-Naked. Have you ever had a slapfight over the internet? I didn't think so, poser.
I was delighted to discover that they actually found a rapper who was so desperate to buy rims for his Tercel that he was willing to put his face on any product they put in front of him.
You know how sometimes you are just rapping? Just bustin' a stank ass rhyme, and you think, "man, I'd love a snack, but I don't have time to stop rapping"?
Behold, the pork rind that will just as soon pop a cap in your ass as look at you:
Chopper, one of thirty five failures from P Diddy's "Making the Band" reality show (not including the show itself), decided it was in his best interest to add a little Gangsta' to fried pork skins. The ham flavor appeals to people on the popular redundant foods diet.
I didn't buy any of these because I was afraid I might try to eat one, so this is the best image I could come up with. I actually went back to get a bag, but was disappointed to see that they had either a) been discontinued due to lack of interest, or b) sold out. Pretty likely that someone came in and bought every last delicious bag.
What happens when a young ear of corn says "fuck the system and all those who reside within it" and starts fights, getting kicked out of the crop at a young age? What happens when that ear of corn makes its way through life on the mean streets of rural Kansas, fighting just to avoid being creamed or popped and ends up in a bushel of trouble? What happens when CORN goes WRONG? Only one thing happens, bitches...
"Hardcore Corn snack" likes to hang out with "Badass yellow Mittens," "Bloodthirsty Marshmallow," and "Wicked Rapist Kitten" in an exclusive club for phrases that are only used once.
Andy Capp used to beat his wife to the amusement of comic strip readers everywhere. I'm not sure if his strip still runs or not and am too lazy to check, but this comic strip hardass has certainly made a name for himself in the salty/repulsive snack market. I have to guess that there is a target demographic called "Men 18-25 who only eat stuff on a dare" because that is the only way to explain the existence of this-
Now that I am 33 and a half, I don't have to be dared to eat things. I consider it a challenge from God himself that I even noticed this product.
As with most challenges from God, I lost because God doesn't play fair. Deep-fried Styrofoam coated with military grade pepper spray would be a slightly more satisfying (and easily digestible) snack food. I don't know what I was expecting from a wife-beating cartoon, but it didn't include diarrhea.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 2:10 AM |
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There's a Spider on my Peter, Beat it Off
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1/16/2006
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I'm not really afraid of insects, snakes, or spiders. I actually find them sort of interesting. I try to stay away from the ones that can cause me harm, and I don't like having them crawl around on my face, but other than that, I leave them alone for the most part. Good thing, because for those of you who don't live in this part of the world, let me tell you, the growing season is long, and the bugs are plentiful, large, and weird. I know people who actually moved to colder climates because of the cockroaches and things that fly around here. Twice in college I got mugged by a palmetto bug. He took my wallet and beat me pretty badly. Then just for psychological effect, he flew into my hair and flapped around for a few seconds to creep me out and force me to shave my head.
I live in an old building with no screens on the windows, so when it is nice outside, I open the windows. The insect and arachnid world loves that and they all come inside and hang out until they die in my window sill or under my sink. It's like Jonestown for bugs.
Yesterday I was all tired and I went home at about 5:00. I smelled awful, so I got in the shower and proceeded to relax and get clean. There are two times you do not want to be startled- when you are relieving yourself, and when you are in the shower. One time at my old place a huge, as-yet-unidentified bug-like thing ran across my foot while I was taking a leak. You never really realize how helpless you are when you are at the toilet until something like this happens. You want to jump around, but at the same time, your instincts are telling you not to spray urine all over the walls. It is a strange situation. I have come up with the following two scientific theories-
1. The degree to which any given thing scares you is inversely and exponentially proportional to how much clothing you have on.
2. There is only one set of circumstances that will cause a man to willingly hit himself in the nuts.
I keep my towel hanging over the shower curtain rod so I don't have to drip water all over the bathroom to get it, and that works fine for me. So after I turn off the shower, I grab the towel and let it fall onto my head and I dry from the top down. It's just how I do it.
Yesterday, I grabbed the edge of the towel and pulled it off, startling the mega-spider that had taken up residence in the warm folds thereof. As the towel is falling toward my face, so was this freakish arachnid. Something like 98% of all species of spiders are non-poisonous, but when you are naked, they are all very deadly. He was running very fast across the towel, which made me make my supremely grossed out noise that I have only made twice before- once when I woke up with a centipede in my hair, and once when I found a roach in a bottle of beer (after I had drunk two-thirds of it and it touched my lip). It's kind of a low-pitched "WHOOHOOHUUH!" followed by an involuntary flailing shiver.
It's not like I live in the insect display at the zoo. I have no idea why they come to me. They just do.
This spider was just over two inches across. I measured him so I wouldn't embellish his size. Of course, what is important is how big he looks as he splays his legs out and runs in midair as he completely fills your field of vision on the way to your face.
My bathtub is small and slippery, and I was naked. Not many options for me at this point, so I backed into the wall as fast as I could. My head hit the tile pretty hard, but I stayed conscious. I really wish I hadn't, because I looked down and saw that my new friend was clinging to my ding-dong.
This caused me to enter a parallel universe; a universe in which it is okay to smash yourself in the balls with your own hand several times in a couple of seconds. In this new dimension you do not feel the pain that you know you are inflicting upon yourself until the perceived danger is gone.
He fell onto my foot, still wiggling and trying to get away almost as much as I was. I almost ripped the shower curtain down, but miraculously never fell. I would imagine that if someone were to walk into my bathroom at that point and you asked them what they thought was going on in the shower, they would guess that someone was raping a muskox.
A few long seconds later, I was out of the shower, panting and dripping on the floor, my towel in the bathtub, and the spider was lying in the drain looking dead. I later measured the drain that he was spread across to be sure of his size. I made sure he was washed down into sewerland and proceeded to clean up the mess. I had bent one of my shower curtain rings, my towel was soaked, my bathroom floor was all wet, And I had a sore spot on the back of my head from where I smacked it on the wall.
There is no moral to this story, but reading it has changed your life. You'll never again use a towel without checking for spiders.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 1:36 PM |
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A Shoe Full of Vomit
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1/10/2006
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Right now I would very much like to pay someone to take a chainsaw and cut an arc entering at my eyelids, back through my skull, down along the front edge of my spine, and exiting just below my nipples, effectively removing my entire upper respiratory system. All of that stuff is completely wrecked and I don't think it will ever function properly again.
I don't get sick very often, but when I do, I do it right. I left work early yesterday because every time I stood up I thought I was going to pass out. Figured that was as good a reason as any to go home. When I got home I collapsed on the couch and didn't wake up until 6 pm. That's a five hour nap that I don't usually take, and I woke up even more tired than I was when I got home.
The last thing you want to do when you are sick is cook, so I found some soup in the cabinet and turned on the stove. Shortly after opening the soup, I accidentally touched the stovetop. The resulting jerk of my elbow sent 16 ounces of Progresso Chunky soup spraying across my kitchen.
The last thing you want to do when you are sick is scrub soup out of the tile backsplash above your sink. Finally I settled in for some rest. Just as I was praying to die in my sleep, I heard the damn cat start with the huk-huk-huk noises, indicating she was going to eject the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Since I have concrete floors, I figured I'd leave it and clean it up when I was better able to deal with it. Then I opened my eyes just enough to see that wretched beast heave about 3 quarts of cat fur and partially digested kibble right into my new shoes.
The last thing you want to do when you are sick is clean cat vomit out of your dress shoes. No one should ever have to type that sentence.
Unfortunately, I woke up this morning. I actually felt worse than I did the night before. That's got to be some kind of record. I tried my voice, and I sounded like a cross between Barry White and Julia Child. I felt like them, too, as they have both been dead for some time.
I called to make an appointment to see a doctor and they told me that my primary care doctor had retired in 2004 (like I said, I don't get sick very often) and I had to call my insurance company to declare a new primary physician.
The last thing you want to do when you are sick is call your insurance company.
Of course, the answering system for the world's worst health insurance company was all, "Please say your member number. It is 16 digits and characters and can be found on your insurance card..."
It took me four tries to get the tape recorded lady on the other end to understand it. Finally she got it.
"Please say your date of birth"
"Ten eleven seventy-two"
"Please say your date of birth"
"Sweet feathery Jesus."
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Please say your date of birth."
In my weakened state, I was sure she was making fun of me.
"GODDAMNYOU FUCKINGWHORE"
"Nine. Twenty-two. Eighty-four. If this is correct, press 1."
I started screaming until I was wracked with a coughing fit that made me drop the phone.
A voice came on to tell me that the call was being recorded. So look for it on an internet near you, because it was a good one.
Then, a person answers. After a few minutes I was told that my primary care physician had been changed and I would be covered using the new doctor.
Starting February 6.
"But today is January 10th."
"Yes sir, the changes don't go into effect until next month."
"Mmm...okay. I kind of need to see her today."
"Oh, you're sick right now?"
"..." (I opted not to say anything, as I couldn't think of anything that wasn't abusively sarcastic)
"What about your primary care...?"
"Retired."
After another half hour and a conference call, we got all of that squared away. When I got to the doctor, she told me that it was an upper respiratory viral infection, and although modern science can clone a sheep, split an atom, and provide hundreds of channels of quality television programming, it cannot kill a virus. This malady and I will just have to battle until one of us dies. For the next day or two I'll be watching quality daytime programming. Luckily, Charles just happens to be in charge of my days and my nights.
When I got home I remembered that I had to write this blog.
That was the last thing I wanted to do.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 4:06 PM |
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Home Appliance Repair: Part Duh
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1/03/2006
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A letter to Kenmore-
Dear Sirs,
Imagine the following scenario if you will...you got your secretary pregnant by accident at the office party, and she is in labor. Hurtling along icy roads toward the hospital, you lose control and slam headlong into a pay toilet, totaling your Paseo. When you regain consciousness you realize that the printed text on your airbag is a detailed lesson on stationary object avoidance in slippery conditions and instructions on deploying the non-skid tire spikes. A short ambulance ride and a couple of hours later, your accidental son is miraculously born wearing a suit made of every contraceptive device known to man. Not only that, but a birthmark on his thigh reads, "You got syphilis from my mom- enjoy your descent into madness."
The preceding outlandish hypothetical situation was written to illustrate the following point: Information that could prevent a problem should be available before the problem manifests itself. Furthermore, it relates to an issue I had with one of your products that makes the above scenario seem a bit less far-fetched.
I have been pretty happy with my front-load stacking washer/dryer combo, but one dark day last week the wash cycle was over and I noticed the "door lock" light was still on. This light indicates that the door is mechanically locked, preventing me from opening it while the machine is running. I'm completely in favor of any device that protects me from myself, as I am seemingly on a crusade of self-injury. I am also fairly mechanically inclined, so I figured it just wasn't finished draining and left it alone.
A couple of hours later I remembered that I had wet clothes molding in my washing machine and tried the door again. The light was still on and the door wouldn't budge. Again, logic and reason prevailed, and I guessed something just didn't happen when it should have. I decided to run the wash cycle again and see if that would fix the problem.
Another hour passes, and the door is still locked.
I ran out of patience and alternatives at precisely the same instant, spinning into a realm of anger I haven't seen since the last time I talked to a DMV employee. My only objective was to get my clothes out of their watery prison and into the dryer, and that door was to be on the receiving end of my efforts. I began pulling until I heard something snap. I was sent tumbling into the corner where I called the washer several inappropriate names and threatened to violate it in ways that I am now too ashamed to repeat.
Gathering myself and looking for any parts I might need, I noticed a set of instructions detailing how to manually override the lock mechanism to the washer door. A sticker in plain view, right there ON THE INSIDE OF THE DOOR.
I'm not going to waste a lot of effort here trying to quantify how little sense that makes. I think you understand, and I hope you are sorry for what you did.
Later, I called the service center to see how much the parts would cost to fix the machine. Linda was refreshingly polite and actually seemed to know a lot about the product. For that, I would like to thank whomever deserves thanking and ask you to give her controlling stock in the company.
"I need some parts for my washing machine. A door frame and maybe some other stuff."
"Okay sir, I'll be happy to help you. Model Number?"
"312-xhygoph-443311-01"
"Mmmhmmm...Okay, the door frame is $9,000, and the glass part is $18 billion."
(Hysterical laughter/sobbing)
"Sir?"
"Um, sorry. It's just that my neighbor is selling his washer and dryer together for $75. Wait till I tell him the kind of coin he can make if he sells it for parts. Do they build these things out of crashed alien spacecraft or something?"
"I don't think so. They are pretty expensive, though. What happened to your door?"
"It wouldn't come open, so I had to brutally convince it to do my bidding."
"So the door wouldn't open and you broke it?"
"Actually, I think the door staying locked for most of the day qualifies it as broken, so I like to think of my actions as the first step to repair."
"You know, there is a way to unlock the door manually. Should be printed on a sticker..."
"Actually I do know that. Do you know where that sticker is? I'll give you a hint- completely inaccessible if you can't unlock the door."
"Where...?" *silence...more silence...keyboard clacking...laughter* "Oh, dear. That is a bad place for it..."
"Yeah, pass that along to the sticker guy. I'm going to see if I can buy my neighbor's washer. Thanks for your help- I'll call back if I decide to fix this one."
After further inspection, I realized that the only part that needed replacement was the plastic catch that screws into the door. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the part was only $6 when I called back. The nice lady sent me one and it arrived just two days later. I installed it in 10 minutes and the washer is working fine.
You know, had I elected to put that last sentence at the beginning of this letter, you would have known that my problem required no action on your part without having to read all of this. I did that for a reason.
Thank you for your time,
Dusty Scott
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 4:09 PM |
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