Vending Machine Anxiety

Oh, the vending machine...one of life's little treats. Just when you think that you will go without food or drink for a long time because you're at the office or nodding off in an emergency waiting room, you come across a big rectangle machine filled with treats.

Although the potato chips are in smaller bags, the chewing gum is stale and everything seems to be grossly overpriced, everyone seems to be okay with those flaws and just accepts it for what it is. Kind of like what society does with Robert Downey Jr.

With that said, I will go on to tell you about a disorder that I have called Vending Machine Anxiety.

A couple of years ago, I was poor (and by poor, i mean lower middle class). I did not have money for lunch one day so i scraped up some change to get a nice bag of lays potato chips out of my office vending machine. I believe I may have even borrowed a nickel from my boss because unknowingly, due to the economy, vending machine chips went from 50 cents a bag to 55 cents. (Damn you Bush!).

I took my three dimes and 5 nickels down to the VM and excitedly put the money in the coin slot as my belly growled with hunger. I hit the letter B and the numbers 2 and 6 which was vending machine code for LAYS POTATO CHIPS. Anxiously awaiting, I watched the little plastic spirals pushing forward the "chosen" bag. Then....they stopped. The potato chip bag held on for dear life. I shook the machine with all my might while tears began to build up and make my eyes swell. Nothing. That bag wasn't going anywhere.

I was livid. I started to talk out loud at this point and kick the machine. "Stop being a little bitch and go down!" I yelled. Later on, I learned that those same words were used in a court
testimony quoting Kobe Bryant.

I then tried to reason with it. "Please just drop, i'll never yell at you again and I'll always bring some extra money just in case you don't drop with the first round of coins". Still that bag just hung there like...well...a bag that is stuck on a vending machine plastic spiral thing. (What?! I'm out of metaphors.)

That day, my friends, I went without. I had a new understanding and respect for homeless people that can't afford food. And, also midgets (because they can't reach the vending machine buttons).

From that day forward, every time I put coins into a vending machine I have Vending Machine Anxiety. My heart races, I begin to sweat, my chest hurts and on the few occasions after where the tasty treat did not fall again, I shit myself.

QuitchaBitchin

Most people believe America's favorite past time is baseball...others believe it is letting our children gnaw on some newly painted toys made from China. I'm here to prove those theories wrong by listing evidence based on facts...that I've most likely made up. America's favorite past time is BITCHING. Or as they say in England, America's favourite past time is BITCHING.

Of course, it is something we all do from time to time. You get home and bitch a little about work, about traffic, about the weather...hell, I'm bitching about "bitchers" right now. (how ironic.) This time of year seems to bring out more of "the bitching" because everyone is stressed around the holidays.

As of today...I've heard 14 people complain that they are playing Christmas music on the radio too early this year. Who the hell cares. Turn the channel. Everyone knows they are, so why do we have to verbalize it a thousand times a day? That is more annoying than hearing it on the radio, but a little less annoying than people that smell of patchouli.

Another thing people constantly bitch about is the weather. No matter what temperature it is, people love to bitch about the weather. The slightest imperfection gives people the chance to let all their "bitchings" out. It could be 75 degrees, not a cloud in the sky and a slight breeze will blow towards "the bitcher"...and all of a sudden they blurt out, "it would be perfect if it wasn't so breezy". On a similar note, people also like to bitch about how the weather man is always wrong. (Well he is!)

When it's cold, we want it hot. When it's hot, we want it cold. When it's snowing we want to kill ourselves and when it doesn't snow on Christmas, we want to bash our heads against the wall.
And, If I hear one more person so much as even mention the outrageous prices of gasoline, I am going to march outside into this crappy weather and blast Christmas music the day before Thanksgiving while giving a phony 5 day forecast.

Default Open Mouth

There are various types of people in this world. Some are old, some are young, some are hairy, some are cannibals and some are just gay. I am going to talk about a certain type of person that I would like to refer to as someone with Default Open Mouth Syndrome or DOM's.

Recently, my wife came into contact with a DOM and I just saw one walking down the street which inspired me to write about them. I feel as though two sightings of anything that bizarre should be documented. (so if another rappers mom dies while getting cosmetic surgery this week...I will write about that as well. too soon?)

Most people when returning to their default facial position have their mouths closed. DOM's are people who in their natural state have their mouth open. I am not sure what causes this, but it is perplexing. I have questions that need answers people!

1. Do they often get soar throats?

2. How many bugs do they swallow on an annual basis?

3. Are they as stupid as they look? (Because they look stupid)

4. How is the government involved?

5. If one DOM marries another DOM, do they have DOM babies?

6. What is the cause of this annoying abnormality?

7. If supposedly an average person swallows eight spiders a year in their sleep, then...well you know the rest of the question

8. Why did the movie Premonition look really cool and then totally suck?

If you don't know what I'm talking about and have never come across a DOM before, do me a favor. Look in the mirror, slightly open your mouth, after about ten seconds press your lips together slowly to swallow, but after swallowing, return back to the slightly opened mouth position (and try not to drool)

Hmm...now don't you look stupid. Don't be a Dumb DOM like this baby.

Rhythm Nation 2007

A lot of people consider the weekends a time to kick back, relax, have a few adult beverages and maybe go out for a night on the town. Last Friday night was no different. A bunch of my friends got together to go out for a few drinks and have a bunch of fun. Little did we know our night was going to have a bit of drama added to it.

Note: Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

As we sat in the bar, drinking buckets of alcohol, it started off as a typical night out for us. We drank through really long straws, we pissed off the people sitting at the table behind us, we performed a social experiment which involved seeing the reactions of people towards an extremely drunk girl walking to the bathroom, only to have the same girl walk soberly back to her seat...and we stole a caldron. I mean, it really WAS a normal Friday night to start off.

Although we were having fun, the time came where we had to move on to a bar with a dance floor. We gathered the crew and we headed off to the 80's....uh..I mean...the bar with a dance floor. A girl...(we will call her Janet)...started the tab on her debit card and we headed out to the dance floor. It wasn't too busy in there, so we pretty much had the dance floor to ourselves. We brought out some chairs on the dance floor since no one was around and thought it would be fun to dance on them (it's always more fun to be higher off the ground while your dancing).

I had a great idea! Remember the video Rhythm Nation by Janet Jackson? Well, what if I got on top of the chair and did that cool move that she does by putting her foot on the back of the chair...and stepping down with the chair to the floor. (Best Idea EVER!). As I tried to position my foot to do this, my cousin-in-law (we'll call him Master Half) told me that it wasn't the best idea ever, but in fact, it was probably the WORST idea ever. I tried one more time later in the evening to do it, only to be caught again by Master Half and I had to abort the dance mission.

At "the bar with the dance floor" there is a separate lounge. I was in their with my pal (we'll call her Dunny) and her phone rang. She said that we had to leave. Angrily, I tried to finish my deep conversation with two nice strangers about Britney Spears. Dunny said that she would buy me a drink at the other bar...so of course...I stopped in mid sentence and booked it out of there.

Apparently, Janet, attempted to do the "Rhythm Nation" move (which she nailed by the way), but the momentum sent her crashing through the window which surrounded the dance floor. The window goes from the floor to the ceiling and surrounds 3/4's of the dancing room.

CRASSSSHHHH SMASSSHHHH SHAATTTTERRR!

Let's just take a moment to let that image sink in.
Ok. Has it sunk in? Then, let me continue.

As Janet lay on the payment with minimal injuries, she got up, brushed herself off and thought to herself, "GO!". She was out of there faster than a University of Florida student can yell "Don't Tase Me Bro".

Before she took off, she noticed someone in a car outside who had just witnessed her (from the outside) crash through a window. The girl sat their staring with her mouth hanging open, so Janet decided to take off in the other direction.

One of our friends (we'll call her Ivy), found Janet and brought her back to the bar. She tied her hair back, put on a black jacket and as far as anyone knew...her new name was Jane. We all had a few more drinks...paid the tab...and left.

It was time to go and our lives will never be the same.

Best Quote of the Night: "Please tell me that she Janet Jackson'ed her way through that window!" - Master Half

Redneck Softball

I went to New Hampshire this past weekend to play in a Co-Ed Softball tournament that my brother-in-law signed us up for. The tournament was cancelled, but my wife and I got to play in a men's tournament that was being put on in Rumney, NH. Never heard of Rumney? If you asked me last week I would have told you it was northwest of Laconia, but now that I've been there I am pretty sure it's right outside of Corbin, Kentucky.

As we were following one of our teammates to the field, we noticed that he had a homemade license plate. Now, I don’t know the registration laws of New Hampshire, but I’m pretty sure that is illegal. Another thing that is illegal in northern New Hampshire is tooth brushes. (But we’ll get back to that topic in a minute). The license plate was made out of cardboard and the numbers seemed to be written in pen. You would think that if you WERE going to make a homemade license plate that you would use some sort of dark permanent magic marker, but I guess not. Under the license plate number there was a date written, 7-31-07. Wait a second, isn’t it August? I’m not even lying, the homemade license plate had EXPIRED. I didn’t look at his inspection sticker, but I suspect that it was made out of construction paper taped to the windshield with a bold number 13 smack in the middle of it.

We finally got to the field after passing an airport with a grass runway (just thought I’d throw that in there). In the distance I saw yellow police caution tape, so naturally I thought that Lindsay Lohan had somehow train-wrecked her way into town. Nope, it was the outfield fence. Apparently, that’s what they call a break away fence...because once you break it, you have to throw it away and tape up some more!

As we walked over to the field and the back stop that was made out of wood and chicken wire caught my eye, I thought maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for us girls to be playing on a men’s team in this here town. We watched the game that was before ours from the side lines and most of the other people there just stared at us. I thought that maybe they were staring at us because we were girls, but I soon figured out they were staring at us because we were girls that had a full set of teeth.

The umpire was 212 years old and was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and boots. I believe he is also the sheriff, fire chief and town mason.

Unfortunately we lost the first game (we’ll just blame it on the hangovers). As we were eating redneck burgers to re-fuel for our second game, we heard a gun shot. I noticed that our team was the only team that raised concern about this. We were also the only team that was concerned about the pick-up truck with horns on the front and two official sized confederate flags mounted on the back, blowing in the wind. Do these people NOT realize that they are YANKEES! I swear I heard the driver humming the tune, Dixieland. YOU LIVE IN NEW HAMPSHIRE!

Well, we kicked ass in the second game and the other team was getting mad because the three girls on our team were getting hit after hit and making plays in the field. They were also getting mad because we were the only team who didn’t have to eat steak through a straw.

Have you ever seen the movie The Deliverance? I haven’t either, but I heard people from my team mention it a few times. I think I will rent and watch it before venturing out beyond the suburbs again.

How to Be the Opposite of an Environmentalist While Smoking Pot Like a Dirty Hippy

PREFACE: In previous blogs I've mentioned my nemesis, Tonka. Well, he likes to write about helping the environment once in awhile and he pretends NOT to be a hippy. But, let's face it...he hugs trees, marches to Washington DC (just by himself...not with an activist group or anything) and washes dishes by hand. He also reads books with one word titles just for the dramatic effect, but that isn't because he is an environmentalist. This entry is on the contrary to all of his "green" blogs.

If you would like to be the opposite of an environmentalist while smoking pot like a dirty hippy, the first thing you need to do is buy disposable EVERYTHING. I would start off with the simple stuff...disposable cups, disposable plates, disposable DVD's (they usually have a picture of Ben Affleck or Brendon Frasier on the front), disposable utensils and Mcauley Culkin. Disposable products save you a lot of time and let's face it, time is money. After you buy all of this...spark up a joint.

I would also consider taking longer showers. Wasting water is a myth. The world is mostly water...right? So what is all this crap they feed you about saving water. We have more than enough water. That's like telling someone to "save Paris Hilton headlines". You've worked hard all day at work....you pay the water bill. Don't you think you deserve a half hour in the shower after every meal? You do! You aren't a dirty hippy, you don't want to smell like one. You just want to smoke like one. I suggest after every shower...you fire up some ghanja.

The most important way to avoid being an environmentalist is to drive everywhere. Turn off the porn and start your car up. Make sure to let it run for awhile with the AC on because you don't want to be all sweaty for the first 3 minutes of your ride. Drive to the store, drive to the 7/11, drive to the neighbors house and leave the car running while you go in and smoke a joint with him/her. It's summertime...jam that nozzle into your gas tank and pump. Put the top down and cruise to your vacation destination. You only live once...you owe it to yourself. And, you also owe it to yourself to get high. Two words: Mary Jane.

Other ways to be the opposite of an environmentalist while smoking pot like a dirty hippy:

1. Leave lights on all night...it will appear that you are awake to burglers. Anyway, you don't want anyone stealing your "plants"

2. In the summertime, leave your AC on all day. You don't want to come home to a hot house. And it's a pain to try and figure out how to work the timer thing.

3. Don't overload the dishwasher or washing machine...do as many loads as you want. More room...cleaner items.

4. Smoke pot out of disposable bongs.

5. Most importantly, do not read blogs written by Tonka. It will only ruin your high.

I hope I've helped you on your quest to becomming a non-environmentalist druggy. This may have not been one of my funnier blogs, but you should go back and read it after smoking a dube...it's hillarious.

Save Paris

I like Paris Hilton. Ok, hold on, don't leave this page...hear me out. It's not like I said I like dirty syringes found on playgrounds or people that consider themselves "half Jewish". She is just a girl that everyone seems to hate and therefore I believe someone should be on her side.

I use this fact to annoy people. You should try it...go up to someone and say, "I LOVE PARIS HILTON". You will get the "Are you serious??" phrase yelled at you...or you may even get punched in the face. (that happened to me once when I said it to a priest).

I find it humorous that everyone dislikes her so much and she doesn't do ANYTHING. I mean, literally...she does nothing. She just walks around, sits sometimes, rests her chin over her shoulder to look at the cameras and once in a while, she'll put something in her mouth. So, why is there so much hate floating her way?

Is it because a sex tape of hers was all over the internet? Well, that's why the religious people hate her.

Is it because she is a model? Well, that's why the fat people hate her.

Is it because as a child she was one of the puppets on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood when he visited the "land of make believe"? That's why God hates her.

Well I guess we figured out why 80% of the American population despises my dear Paris, but what about the other 20%? I like to refer to them as the Gay Homosexuals, the Homeless and Sarah Silverman. (low blow by Sarah Silverman on the award show... why doesn't she just go to a second grade class and make fun of Craig, the smelly fat kid that sits in the back)

I just think that people need to focus on better things like...honey bees. They are very important to the ecosystem...or maybe they aren't, I don't know, but someone should look that up.

A Journey To Easthampton

As I think back on all of the time that I spent in Easthampton, I never thought until now how SHITTY of a place it is. Ok, that is a lie, I always new it was a crappy little town. I mean, there are definately more disgusting places like Sudan, New Jersey and Rosie O'Donnells sports bra, but add WEIRD to discusting and you inevitably come up with the small town of Easthampton.

I was driving there one night and was a few miles from getting off the highway. All of a sudden I saw a couch in the middle of the lane that I was in. The couch was a cream color and it was facing me. I quickly put on my blinker and moved into the middle lane to avoid hitting this couch that I saw at the last second. I decided that I didn't want anyone to get hurt so I called Easthampton's Finest. I explained the situation to whoever answered and they acted like I was crazy for calling them. They were acting like I was wasting their time or something. What if it was a coffee table? Would that make it ok to bother them?

The apartment that my girlfriend lived in was placed directly in the middle of a bar and a liquor store. So the neighborhood and streets were FILLED with winners. I was waiting for her to get home one day (it was around noon) and I heard a knock at the door. I answered it and it was some guy I had never met. He asked if he could borrow $1.67. For some reason, I said "sure" and gave him two bucks. I didn't ask what it was for and didn't really care. I was just glad he didn't pull out a knife and ask me to give him all of my money. The joke would have been on him because the two dollars WAS all I had. HA HA.

An hour later, I get another knock at the door. SAME GUY. Yep, you guessed it...asking for another $1.67. (reminds me of the South Park episode with Chef's parents...."TREE FITTY" lol). I told him that I didn't have anymore money. Sue....uh...I mean, my girlfriend informed me later that it was the exact price for a cheap 40oz at the liquor store. The funny thing is, this guys was one of the SANER guys that would stop by her apartment.

Besides the strippers, drug dealers and weirdos that she called neighbors, the service at anyone of the restaurants, stores, video rental places etc etc...was absolutely horrible. Everyone seemed to treat everyone like shit...except for the crazies. The crazies were very grateful to be friends with you as long as you didn't make loud noises or mention the name Mel Gibson.

If you gave me a choice to vacation at Easthampton or Rosie O'Donnells sports bra...I'd choose the sofa that was left on the highway.