This Is What Happens When The Money Runs Out

As we all know, Oprah’s talk show is coming to an end in the near future.  And by “near future”, I mean 2 years.  That gives us plenty of time to change the channel, and I’m pushing for sooner rather than later.  Since announcing her show will end in the year 2391, there have been a few interesting developments.  I’ve scoured the Internet for the Oprah news you won’t find anywhere else.

From an online article dated 11/30/09 – “. . . it appears that negotiations have broken down recently in Oprah’s attempt to buy, for $12.5 Billion, her soul back from the devil.”

From the Guinness Book of World Records comes this new record for Oprah – “Since launching her own magazine in April 2002, Oprah has now dethroned Mickey Mouse as ‘America’s Most Recognizable Religious Figure’.”

As reported by Court TV – “In a landmark ruling, the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals has ordered Oprah Winfrey to repay each Oprah viewer fifteen years of wasted time.  This is expected to have far-reaching ramifications than many experts believe will set a historic precedent.  I’m thinking here specifically of those same viewers who watch Dr. Phil, Jerry Springer, and Grey’s Anatomy.”

The most important question of all remains unanswered, which is: What will stupid people watch now?

Do not fear; Oprah is in the beginning stages of starting the Oprah Winfrey Network, or OWN.  As in, “I own you now”.  The 24-hour network will feature lifestyle programs and human-interest pieces that will surely delight and slowly degrade your brain in a cool lump of porridge.

Who could possibly replace the Queen of Daytime Talk?  I submit that no one could possibly fill the meaningful void other than, perhaps, a German Shepherd on roller skates.

If the Oprah Winfrey Network happens to fail miserably, which I believe it will, what would happen to Oprah?  When Oprah is penniless and struggling to pay the mortgage on her mansion, to what lengths will she go to make a fast buck?  Would Stedman, God forbid, finally have to get a job?

Let’s take a look back at what other stars have done to keep their solid-gold bathtubs just one more month.

Most recently, Creed has come out of a much-deserved and way-too-short retirement.  Like any good movie monster that won’t stay dead no matter how much the vast majority of the population wants it to, Creed has released a nary-anticipated sequel of new music.  (I am using the word “music” very loosely here.)

The only difference, of course, is that Creed’s members are not trying to make the payment on their mansions for another month.  No, sir.  Mansions are classy.  It’s my guess that Creed’s individual members are actually trying to pay $40 in back rent so they don’t get kicked their parents’ trailers.  What happened when Creed’s money ran out?  THIS:

I doubt you were able to hold back the bile from backing up into your mouth.  If you made it a minute in (and if so, I applaud you), you would have heard the inherently deep and thought-provoking lyric, “I’m entitled to overcome”.  If it were just a bit more of a piece of utter tripe, it might one day be featured on OWN.

The Scam

I have absolutely no idea why I fell for it.  After all, I am a college-educated individual.  A state college, sure (and Missouri at that), but I should have known better.  No, I did not fall victim to the classic e-mail scam: “Please to send monies for orfanige in Africka.  I have many dollars in millions to gives you, kind freinde.”  It was more subtle than that.  (No, it wasn’t.)

I fell for the classic “Order these magazines for a dollar, and receive them for a year!  No questions asked!  Come around the back of the warehouse and ask for Slippy!” scam.  The worst part of the scam: I ordered TIME Magazine.  Or, more correctly, TIME “Magazine”.  It was more like reading a political pamphlet that also happened to discuss whether or not spanking your kids would prevent them from playing the oboe well.  The copies of TIME made great filler material for other junk mail I took out in the trash weekly.  I only paid the dollar the first year, and I caught it today before I was charged an exorbitant amount.

In addition, I also received copies of Sports Illustrated, a year-long diary devoted to the failures of Kansas City’s teams (in all major sports).  You have to hand it to Kansas City, though.  At least we’re not Detroit.  I’ll admit SI was a worthwhile magazine.  I passed many a bowel movement reading the complexities of introducing instant replay into Major League Baseball.  My final opinion on the matter: I should not eat so much Taco Bell.

Thank God I was checking my account balance tonight before Christmas shopping, or else I would not have caught the charges to my account.  So when you open your gift from me, be proud that it helped me not to get scammed this year.  Also be proud that you’ll be the only person on your block to received thrift store underwear.  (Motto: the stains give it character!)

You know you’ve been part of a shady deal if you type “TWX Magazine” into Google, and the first 50 results come up:

TWX*Magazine Complaints: Scam Practices
Ripoff Report: TWX Scam Magazine
Beware TWX Magazines . . .

And so on.

I never did see a link to their actual website, which is probably loaded with more viruses than Paris Hilton.  Hey-oh!  I object, and let that be stricken from the record. (Sustained)

From these helpful websites, I was able to get a hold of the right number to call (1-800-UGOTSCAMMED) to get the transaction refunded and my subscriptions cancelled.  I talked to the VERY friendly automated system (I think she was hitting on me) and went through the exactly eleventy bazillion options to find out how to actually rid myself of the godforsaken magazines.  I now have a confirmation number. Let’s see . . . it’s . . . 12345678.  Darn it.

It’s not too often you can get one over on ol’ Paul.  But if you do, boy do I go for it!

I’d love to continue this diatribe, but I see I have some new e-mails I need to take advantage of to get great deals from Canadian pharmacies, job offers where I can work 1 hour a week and become a millionaire, and a GREAT deal on National Geographic for a year!

Just a Thought . . . Part 2

Here’s 21 more thoughts for your enjoyment:

-They say buying eggs is cheaper by the dozen, but I’ll never find out because I have yet to find a store that will sell me a single egg.

-I’ve become quite good at feigning things recently: interest, joy, talking, love, etc.

-If you try calling one of those “Date Lines”, Stone Phillips gets really angry and hangs up on you.

-I think a really good game show would be one where people spin a wheel to see if they have good fortune.  Oh, wait.  There already is one: The Price Is Right.”

-Some people think pie is “heaven by the slice.”  I think carving pumpkins with a knife fits that description better.  Man, I hate pumpkins.

-I dress how I feel.  It just so happens I feel like a homeless person most of the time.

-I don’t see what the big deal with “Lady Gaga” is.  When I was a kid, we called it “Girl Crazy”.

-Has anyone else had that dream about the talking windmill?  It walked right up to me and said, “I’m your biggest fan.”

-The secret ingredient in your mom’s spaghetti is not “love”.  It’s Mrs. Dash.

-If you were able to combine Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” with Lonestar’s “Amazed”, the sheer overratedness of those songs together would cause the world to implode.

-A headline I wished I had read 10 years ago: “The creator of ‘The Simpsons’ announces: ‘We’re going to quit while we’re ahead.’”

-Just so I can mess with companies on their forms, I am going to legally change my name to “First Name Middle Initial Last Name”.

-My cat is quite smart. He was laying on the bathroom vent because he was cold. That was right after I pulled a few staples out of his mouth that he was eating.

-Is it just me, or does anyone else get the overwhelming urge to post a string of obscenities on my Facebook status, then immediately follow it up with “oh my gosh, someone hacked my account!”?

-Dogs have absolutely no sense of decency. They think it’s OK to walk around completely naked. The nerve!  Put some pants on!

-I’d like to buy the world a Coke. Mostly so its teeth would rot out and it would come crawling on its hands and knees for the cure to the only one who has it: ME.

-I don’t know what I ate, but it does NOT agree with my tapeworm.

-If you think about it, cottage cheese never really goes bad. It just gets cheesier.

-My cats are so cute! I like to look them square in the eye and tell them, “You don’t have a soul and nothing happens when you die.”

-I also want to walk down the street shouting a tyrade of obscenities, then follow up with, “Oh my gosh, someone hacked my account!”

-Babies are so stinking selfish.  GET A JOB.

White People Are CRAZY!

This speaks for itself.

I believe I have just revolutionized the Internet.  Do your part by passing this along to everyone you know who would think this is funny.

Good Job!

In my recent musings to myself, I mused intensely about jobs and their relative pay.  “Surely,” I mused, “there must be some empirical indicators of job pay relating to another variable.”  What were these standards, and why were they consuming my every waking moment until my family held an intervention?

My current research (that is to say, that which I am making up off the top of my head) shows an undeniable relation between salary and another factor.  You must, of course, control for lesser variables, such as:

–Education
–Religious Background
–Hard Work
–Wind
–The GDP of Bangladesh
–Miley Cyrus
–Convection
–The sound of a tree falling in the forest when no one is there to hear it

All those considered, it leaves us with the only indicator that, without fail, holds an inverse relationship with a job’s salary: How tan you will get doing the job.  Think about it.  Let it soak in.  I’ll wait.

<Intermission>

For those of you who are mathematically inclined (read: men), we can sum up this relationship using a simple formula:

Σ - π ≠ (√½∞) ≤ Δ ÷ 0

Those of you who caught my little math joke noticed right away I didn’t take into account the coefficient of drag (how efficiently 2 men can wear women’s clothing).  Simplified even further, and a bit dumbed-down if you ask me, the formula means:

The more you get paid to do a job, the less tan you will get doing it.

–Another way of saying that is–

The more tan you get at your job, the less you get paid to do it.

For the simplest evidence, just look at the picture below.

The opposite rings true for lifeguards, who see plenty of the sun, but not much else in their paychecks.  They use their tan, even-toned bodies to regularly rummage through dumpsters looking for apple cores to suck on for sustenance.

I work in an office-type environment, surrounded by fluorescent lighting.  I can literally see sunlight, but none of the sun’s nourishing rays ever reach my pasty skin.  If I were any more pale, I’d be clear.  God help you if you could see through my skin and view what lurks inside.  I have the hardest-working colon is showbiz, folks.

I think my dream job would be the guy who stands next to the road construction and holds the sign that says, “SLOW”.  Oh, the power you wield doing that job!  People have to do what you say AND you don’t have to work as hard as anyone else.  Win-win, baby!

The only job more enjoyable than that would be the guy who has the two-sided sign that has “SLOW” on one side, and “STOP” on the other.  It’s a matter of national security that I never get to hold that sign.  I would be on the highway turning traffic into my own grown-up game of “Red Light, Green Light”.

Probably the most shining example of being simultaneously sickeningly tan and outlandishly underpaid is the girl behind the counter at the tanning salon.  She only gets paid $3.00 an hour, but she gets to tan as much as she wants.  If a tan could be cashed out, she’d be a gazillionaire.  Instead, she’ll look like a snakeskin suitcase by age 20.

I rest my case.  Either that, or I ran out of things to say.  It doesn’t really matter which.

Kyle Baxter Didn’t Start the Fire

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read the previous 3 posts.  I haven’t the time to explain.  Kudos to Nick Riportella for kick-starting this idea that brings back memories of “We Didn’t Start the Fire”.  I have had an evening that lends itself nicely to releasing an assortment of random ideas.  I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

The Everything Song

This is a song for all the random things
Faulty fake IDs that land you in jail
This is the anthem for all the starving children
Buy this CD and add some salt and pepper

I’m not calling for a youth movement
But more reruns of Home Improvement
Tim Taylor was truly the man of the hour
To see a dishwasher and say, “More power!”

Calling all formerly famous sitcom actors
David Schwimmer, Jason Alexander
Dave Coulier, never afraid of a Full House of danger
And that guy who played Balki on Perfect Strangers

Wash the bedsheets and tear open the curtains
Let the sunshine of the moonlight wash over your bald spot
Comb over the strands of piano wire, make music to my ears
You’ll be lost in the ballroom, that’s for certain

I’m not saying we should all get along, good grief
I’m with the old lady asking, “Where’s the beef?”
Until Ronald McDonald put a hit out on her
She was turning the fast-food world upside-down

Calling the used-to-be-somebody corporate spokespeople
Pillsbury Doughboy’s half-baked, Joe Camel’s been deserted
The Gerber Baby is already out of diapers
And the Maytag Man has hung himself out to dry

The terrible twos have come calling
And they want their tantrums back
Let’s make it to three before midnight
And the scene fades now to black

Rosemary, Ted, Louis: all terrible names for pets
Skippy, Howie, Benson: as good as it can get
We specialize in tragic comedy, laugh until you cry
Giggles run down your face without you knowing why

Calling again for the unwashed masses
I think I’ll start looking in France
Greasy old men in horn-rim glasses
Who truly believe they can dance

Where, oh where, can we find Dave Coulier now?

I make no apologies.  This is what it is.  Maybe it’ll be the surprise smash-hit of the summer.

Ballad of the Geriatric Customer

By request, I wrote a song about my experiences with the elderly at the grocery store.  As we all know, the more experienced generation really can be a valuable part of society and are able to care for themselves, but when they get to the grocery store, all that goes out the window.  I personally believe this song will speak directly to your heart, because even if you’ve never worked at a grocery store, you have at some point in your life gotten stuck in line behind one of the people about which I am writing this song.

This song is part of the Kyle Baxter Project promotion, “Kyle Baxter Will Write A Song About Anything”.  I like this promotion very much because it gives you, the reader, a chance to see your suggestions come to life.  Most of all, I like this because I can punch out one of these posts in about 30 minutes.  It’s a time-saver, and it enables me to give you something to read more often.  That’s a good thing, right?  Again, anyone who can turn this into a song on YouTube, complete with music, wins a fantastic prize: my respect.  “Fantastic” is in the eye of the beholder, obviously.  Thanks to Josh Webb for suggesting this song idea.

Ballad of the Geriatric Customer

You totter in with the enthusiasm of a funeral procession
A pocket full of change and butterscotch discs in your possession
Geritol and Dulcolax are both on the list
And to hassle the cashier about the sale you just missed

Brown polyester pants and a button-up shirt to match
Velcro shoes with argyle socks, you’re quite a catch
You’ve got a cane and fedora, but no tuxedo
Prune juice in hand, you’re coming into my line, oh no

And you said . . .

Four dollars, ninety-nine cents
Hold on, I think I have that in change
Don’t care about the people in line behind
Can’t even see them, cataracts have left me blind

A  danger in the aisles in your motorized cart
Parked in the middle, no one can get around
Reading a label on a box of Cheerios
“I don’t think I like this sugary cereal”

And you said . . .

Put it in paper inside of plastic
Then inside of paper, I know that will take forever
Don’t care about the people in line behind
Can’t even see them, cataracts have left me blind

The street is no longer safe for women and children
They just want to cross the parking lot in peace
God help us, we’re trying not to get run over
Your dangerous driving has us all running for cover

And you said . . .

I’m eighty-three years old, getting older by the day
I’ve lived long enough I deserve the right of way
Don’t care about the people in front
Don’t notice the children until I hear the *thump*

Please don’t come out for groceries, we’ll deliver
If you visit our business, who will deliver us from you?

And you said . . .

Thanks, everybody!  If you have a great suggestion for a song idea you’d love to see me write, leave me a comment!  Wouldn’t it be great to see your idea posted on a blog seen by the entire world (20 people by my count)?  Otherwise, feel free to leave a comment stroking my ego and telling me how great a writer I am.

Kyle Baxter Wrote Some Songs About Anything

I’ve decided to bring you a series of short posts of songs I have written.  By popular demand, I am now writing some songs about anything.  I wish I had the musical prowess to make a video (and it may be yet to come), but for now, I must settle for being a passable lyricist.  Enjoy the following rhymes.  Feel free to write the music in your head.  Eleventy billion cool points to whoever makes a video (with music) out of my lyrics.  First up, “Billy Bigfoot Goes to the Moon”.  My sincere thanks to David Belich for suggesting this theme.  It’s wacky and a GREAT way to start off this promotion.

Billy Bigfoot Goes to the Moon

Winter feelings bloom to summer love
Billy Bigfoot is on Cloud Nine now
Sally Sasquatch sent from up above
He’s got to tell her somehow

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Courage, don’t you fail Billy this time
Heart beating, this love is truly sublime
Handful of flowers wilting today
As you pointed, laughed, and turned away

Billy wants to fly to the moon
But he don’t need no rocket to fly . . .

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Three, two, one, blast-off
I’m sorry, Earth, I can’t stay
Love makes us do crazy things
Especially when you’re covered with hair

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Please take a moment to wipe the single tear from your eye.  I get a little wistful, too, when pondering the circumstances of a “Harry and the Hendersons” kind of love.  I do believe we just had “a moment”.  You’re welcome.

Check back often for new songs based on the ideas you send in!  Keep them coming!

Kyle Baxter Will Write A Song About Anything

My reading public, you have a great chance to be a part of the action on the Kyle Baxter Project!  I am opening up this forum to ideas from you, the great unwashed masses, about songs I should write.  I will accept nearly any topic.  The more specific, the better, but general works, too, if it’s a universal theme.  Please try to keep it family-friendly.  If anyone will cross the lines of good taste, it’ll be me, buddy.

I still haven’t decided whether or not to just write lyrics (for you to set your own music to), or if I should make it a whole video production, complete with my melodious voice and backing percussion (spoons).  Should I make full-fledged videos of my songs?  I’d like your opinion, please.  I realize I’m taking a leap here by opening up this part of the Kyle Baxter Project to you.  Fortunately, I trust you, I trust the comment system, and most of all, I trust the delete button works if you send me a stupid idea.

If I receive a deluge of song ideas, I may have to pick and choose, so get your ideas in early, and get creative!  Check back often to see if your topic gets chosen!  Begin.

I Have the Worst Musical Taste Ever (And I Love It!)

Throughout my day, I receive a lot of feedback from many people.  Most of it is positive, like “Your breath smells less bad today.  Congratulations,” or, “I can see you’ve washed your hair in the last month.  That’s quite the improvement.”  It really builds my self esteem.  Just when I get to this high point of “Your shoes match today.  Good job,” someone has to come along and mock me relentlessly for my taste in music.  Mostly, that someone is my wife, but that’s beside the point.  I do hear it from others as well.

I do not see any problem with my choice of music, but that is mainly because I am tone-deaf and have suspect oral hygiene.  (I’m not sure exactly what my rotting teeth and puffy gums have to do with poor musical taste, but I’ve never been shy about how I let my body fall into neglected, diseased pieces.)  I have complied a short list of bands I like.  You will probably tease me to no end also, but I risk being vulnerable because I love you, my readers, so gosh-darn much.  Here goes:

-U2 (I am, apparently, 40 years old at heart)
-Live (and I appreciate men who sing way too high)
-Linkin Park (I don’t know why, either)
-Good Charlotte (because there’s a little teen angst in all of us)
-Tokio Hotel (strange, because I haven’t worn black nail polish in years. I’m trying to jump on the bandwagon before they get talented)
-God help me, I still don’t mind listening to Creed (everyone needs a little convoluted, watered-down spirituality)

There is a whole host of other musicians I could put on this list, but I believe it’s diverse enough that I can poke fun at them (and myself) for a reasonable amount of time.  Plus, if you don’t understand my criticism of one band, you should be able to for another and be able to laugh along.  I’d like to tackle these bands one at a time, to help you (and me, actually) figure out why in the world I would listen to such drivel when other great bands exist and make relevant, competent music.

U2- Many people can’t figure out why I would listen to a band whose biggest album came out when I was 3, but I can’t help it.  In 2001, I got hooked on the classics U2 put out, and have learned to tolerate the passable garbage they have put out since. Bono, either go to every foreign dignitary in a vain attempt to save the world or sing.  And the world would prefer you do the latter.  Thank you.

Live- Again, this band’s heyday was well before I was of music-appreciating age.  A distinct blend of Eastern symbolism American spirituality (menthol, of course), Live embodied the confused youth of the early 90s (who, coincidentally, wore oversized plaid shirts with torn-up jeans).  Since then, they have put out a string of feel-good, “love everybody” tunes that have not done well anywhere in the world except Australia.  No one likes Australia.  Not even Australia.  They’re like the France of the Southern Hemisphere.

Linkin Park- No one has perfected the “sing quiet, then the other guy raps, then I scream like a pinched toddler” formula quite like LP.  Kudos to them for making so much money that they can take baths in gold doubloons.  You will never find a band that uses the words “pain” and “shut up” in such a formidable way.  Sure, we can mock them, but they laugh all the way to the bank to cash a solid gold check.

Good Charlotte- Yes, we understand, you were picked on in high school.  It’s time to move on and become a member of the tax-paying adult community.  You have a receding hairline and are still writing songs about not getting picked for the junior varsity baseball team, we get it.  That’s all I can say.  They’re really that one-dimensional.

Tokio Hotel- I realize they’re not any good.  Don’t even point that out.  My point is, they will be good. Five years from now, when you’re all wearing their t-shirts, let this serve as a reminder that I posted this on October 11th, 2009.  I just bought the new album, and it’s mostly bad.  Still, it’s ten times better than the previous offering that was vomited from the dregs of “Record Companyland”.  What can you expect?  They’re German.  (No offense to the Germans, though I don’t know why it wouldn’t be offensive.)

Creed- I could never figure out if Creed was singing about God or psychedelic mushrooms.  “Can you take me higher?”  It was always so shrouded in mystery that I had no clue.  I suppose it’s in the eye of the beholder, assuming the beholder is stupid and 14.  I heard they are putting out a new album.  I just (as I am writing this) watched a video of the new single, and I must admit I am ashamed to witness the shameless cashing-in of past glory.  Good for them, ha!

If you loved this, let me know.  If it made no sense and flew completely over your head, let me know in that case as well.  I WILL post something very soon in which I will be writing my own songs.  Plus, I will be needing your input.  Did somebody say “exciting“?  No?  Did anybody at least say, “marginally thought-producing“?  Not that either?  Forget it, then.