The Iron Stomach

I’m looking to get a new nickname.  Based on the video you will soon see, I’m thinking one of these:

–The Iron Stomach

–The Garbage Disposal

–Mexfoodicus, the Destroyer of Tacos

This will replace my current nickname, “Sewerbreath”.  Not my favorite name, but that’s what happens when you let an ex-girlfriend name you.  After you dump her.  For someone better-looking.  On her birthday.  In front of her parents.  By text message.

I realize this video clocks in at just over 7 minutes.  I wanted to warn you up front, but also let you know it is totally worth the time.  Use the bathroom, pull up a chair, grab a beverage and a snack, and watch the effortless conversation take place.  I’d like to thank DeWayne and Mike for helping me capture such great video, as well as providing great material for me to play off of.

Well, here’s the setup: De Wayne and I have been going to Dixon’s Famous Chili for about 6 years now because of the all-you-can-eat taco special they have every day.  The first time we went was Thanksgiving 2003, because I was bored and needed to feed my food addiction prior to attending 2 dinners.  I stopped at 10 tacos that day because, hey, a guy has to save room for dinner.  Ever since then, I’ve done my best to topple my personal record.  My previous best is 15 tacos, which not very many people have touched.

You may be asking, “What is your secret to overeating?”  It’s simple.  I’ve done it so many times that I’ve learned to live with feeling uncomfortable.  When you feel the rush of having fresh tacos piling up in your esophagus, you are starting to feel my discomfort.  When you gauge how full you are by whether or not you have food resting against your trachea from the inside, you can truly understand who I am.  I am that boa constrictor you see on the Discovery Channel unhinging its jaw to swallow an antelope whole.

I began Saturday by prepping my body for maximum food overload.  I took full advantage of my bathroom beforehand, followed by a strict liquid diet of a 24 ounce can of Arizona Tea to open my stomach without using actual food.  The rest is history.

Let’s just say I didn’t eat another meal that day.

Any more name suggestions based on this video?

Just a Thought . . . Part 1

You may or may not have noticed, but on the right side of my blog, you will notice a blurb that says “Just a Thought . . .”  I don’t want to lose the spur-of-the-moment random sayings that have been birthed out of my boredom.  Thus, I have compiled them and posted a bunch of them at once, after having posted them one at a time.  Here is the first offering of “Just a Thought . . .”

–It is obvious to me that Paula Abdul is perpetually on powerful stimulants and horse tranquilizers simultaneously.  Does anyone else notice this?

–Now, honestly, who doesn’t flush after using a urinal?  The idea of urinating on some else’s urine is quite unsettling.

–How scary would the world be if a person’s place in society were directly proportional to the number of tattoos on their bodies?

–If he walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, you’d better get him in to see a specialist before he falls too far behind at school.

–Don’t blame me; I voted for Walter Mondale.

–If Monopoly money doesn’t pay for things like real money, then why does it TASTE like real money?

–If an old lady falls down the stairs, and I’m not there to laugh, did it really hurt?

–Some people say shoplifting is a victimless crime, like calling in fake pledges to PBS or burning down an orphanage.

–I reject Jimmy Fallon.

–The NCAA Tournament is over, prompting many Americans like myself to say, “So what?”

–I hope you took a moment this Passover weekend to remember all the famous Jews, like Steven Spielberg, Barbara Streisand, Adam Sandler, and Whoopi Goldberg.

–When the moon is full and the tide is at its highest, Pat Sajak comes out of his cave to search for food.

–After all, isn’t cottage cheese really just “cheese cereal”?

–If you think about it, SPAM is the plywood of potted meats.  The whole pig is tossed into a grinder, and reconstituted into a slimy and delicious cake.

–So, Paula Abdul is quitting American Idol, eh? I’ll miss her barbiturate-induced antics most of all.

–Urinals without dividers are for heathens.  I simply can’t muster the courage.

So apparently, I’m consumed with both Paula Abdul and urinals.  I can’t figure out the connection, except for similar scores on IQ tests.  Let me know if this was a bust, and I’ll never do this again.  However, if you love this and can’t wait to get more, I’d love to hear it.

. . . And Now For Something Political

I’ve made it this far without taking sides.  I try my best not to be political, as you, the reader, need not peer inside the twisted psyche of a borderline sociopathic maniac.  However, there is such a disturbing trend in this country that has been going on for far too long, and I wish someone would step up and eradicate this threat forever.  I’m of course speaking of:

Skinny Jeans

Who decided skinny jeans were a good idea?  It’s as if your body is trying to say, “Look how simultaneously skinny my ankles are, yet how fit for birthing my hips are!”  Even skinny people don’t look good in skinny jeans.  I’ll bet some fashion designer with a hyphenated last name (such as Pierre Jean-Claude or Ryan Sea-Crest) was just trying to save money on fabric in these tough economic times, so he designed jeans half a leg wide.  He’s laughing at you right now, in fact, because you’re paying more for less.  Congratulations.  He’s chortling ceaselessly while he’s laying in a bathtub full of gold doubloons, smoking cigars lit with $100,000 bills.

And ladies, if your feet are above about a size 2, these skinny jeans will give the world the impression that your feet are actually skis.  Though if you happen by chance to be wearing flip-flops and are being pulled at a high velocity by boat, you very well could ski, if my theory holds true.

Let’s review:

Conclusion: NO.  BAD.

The only way this can get worse is wearing a loose-fitting shirt with these fashion abominations.  Imagine it: a baggy, “trendy” shirt over some ill-conceived skinny jeans.  Seriously think about it for a second.   Given the proportions of the clothing, how would that person’s physique appear under the clothes?  Did the person you imagined look like this?

Don’t even get me started on masks.  Those are so 1926.

I refuse to hear any argument in favor of skinny jeans.  They’re more unflattering than Don Rickles.  *rimshot* (If you were born after 1970, you probably didn’t get that last one.)

Finally, as bad as skinny jeans are, they are made exponentially worse with the addition of excess weight.  Here is what I thought of when I heard the phrase, “big girl, skinny jeans”:

You can disregard that caption, please.  It doesn’t make a lot of sense, unless you say it in a really sarcastic way.

I can’t even begin to explain to you the utter distaste I have for skinny jeans, yet I see women (and God help us, sometimes very confused teenage boys) everywhere in public shaming their wardrobe with such disregard with them.  I wish they would go out of fashion already.  Okay, I’m done.

Opposing View

As with any good political commentary, I would like to include the opposite point of view, this time in support of skinny jeans.

Nope, can’t do it.  They’re stupid.

Discussion?

Twin Bothers

I was thinking to myself the other day, “I’m really glad I’m not a twin, because I would probably annoy myself all the time.”  I mean, I had to seriously think about it.  There’s really only room enough in this world for one of me.  I’d get on my nerves constantly, what with all the manic behavior, insane conspiracy theories, and flatulence.  My parents were wise to stop at one.

Honestly, I can say I don’t really know how people put up with me.  I’m all over the place, as evidenced by everything on this blog.  My wife is actually due for a vote into sainthood.  I recommend that you get your ballot in before the Cardinals vote.  I’m hoping Pujols doesn’t snub her again this year.  On the other hand, she’s living the exciting life every woman dreams of.  Lord knows every day is an adventure.  She never knows for sure if today is going to be the day I set fire to the curtains again.

Just now, I’m wondering what my twin brother’s name would be.  I think most people’s first instinct would be to say “Patrick”, thinking my parents would go with another “P” name.  I disagree.

I just do, and it’s my right.

When I was a child, every day after school, my siblings and I would play “school” (don’t ask me why).  Of course, my sister would be the teacher (turns out she is one now), and my next older brother and I would be the students.  I don’t remember if my oldest brother would also get involved.  He may have just been the Superintendent, checking in periodically to tell us that our budget was being slashed, and the children would all have to trade their textbooks for old newspapers that still had advertisements about how good smoking is for you.

Now you’re really going to think we were crazy, but when we were young, we also held elections for our stuffed animals to hold higher office.  Ted, my oldest brother’s stuffed bear, always won re-election as President.  But, if you ask me, he was running a very suspect smear campaign against Go-Go, my rainbow-colored bunny.  He got a few incriminating photos of Go-Go and ran some really negative ads painting him as a racist.  The Ethics Committee is still out on that one, some 18 years later, due to evidence tampering.

Still, Go-Go got in as the Treasurer most of the time, because my vote was bought.  Since I knew Ted would take the White House, I bargained with my brother to cast his vote for Go-Go to be Treasurer in exchange for a Presidential nod for Ted.  Also, I had to bury a story about Ted getting boozed up and hitting a hotel bellhop with an alarm clock.  It was much closer to real politics than I knew at the time.

I’ll bet you think I’m making this up.  I wish.

Back to the story at hand.  When we would play “school”, I always wanted my name to be Brandon.  To this day, I don’t know why.  Any theories?