The Awkward Moment

February 6, 2012 2 comments

My most recent experience with an office restroom today evoked many emotions: joy, fear, pensive delight. . .

The worst part of public restrooms has got to be the mystery flush. So here I am, walking into the bathroom. As I push the hinged door, I hear a toilet flush. I look directly at the back of the head of someone washing his hands. So many thoughts rush through my mind:

“Does he have a hairy back?”

“Is he looking at me in the mirror? Please, God, don’t let him look me in the eye through the mirror. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, Dean.”

“Which toilet did he use? Is he standing tall, as is the stature of a man who had exercised dominance over a urinal? No, that sounds like a stall. Which stall was it? Man, it stinks in here. Did he use the roomier handicap stall, or the cozier able-bodied stall? Let’s see, he’s wearing a suit and tie, so he probably likes the executive feel of the handicap throne. On the other hand, he’s probably a manager, and can appreciate efficiency, leading him to the small one. I should NOT have stopped at McDonald’s last night. Door Number One or Door Number Two? Haha, I just said ‘Number Two’. Gee-whiz, grow up, self. Oh, now I said ‘whiz’. Where was I? Yes, the stalls. Big one, small one? Left hand, right hand, please god don’t let the seat be warm. Oh (King James Capital) LORD, it feels like the Bahamas on my cheeky nethers.”

Has anyone else gone through this?


All the Things I Wish I Could Say

April 27, 2010 2 comments

Sorry to have so quickly fallen off the blogging wagon after my expressed desire to post at least a little something every day.  I developed an eating disorder on accident after I fell into a bathtub of Slim-Fast.  French Vanilla. I haven’t eaten in a week because I was floating face down in a foot of 50 calories a serving and 26 vitamins and minerals.

Actually, Claire and I have been helping to watch my nephew and 2 nieces while my sister is in the hospital after having her 4th child.  Welcome to the world, baby Brayden!

Now, I’m sure you’re expecting the usual anti-child diatribe associated with the topic.  That will come later.  If I’ve ever said a nice thing on this blog (and I haven’t), it is that, while watching 3 children for a few days has not increased my desire to have children of my own (God forbid), it has greatly increased my desire to spend time with those particular great kids.  There.  Now put your Kleenex away.  I’m not going to say anything else nice, so sit down and shut up.

Now, I bring the reason you all showed up today! . . . I promised free pizza.  Well guess what?  I lied.  While you’re here, though, go ahead and read what’s below.

I said all that to say this: there are lots of things I wish I could say on here, but do not say because they might be a little questionable (and many of them make reference to fecal matter).  Therefore, I will not actually say these things, but I will only go so far as to tell you what I will never say.  That way, we can both have a clean conscience about it.  Begin.

“I can totally respect people who still own and love pit bulls.  You know, more children are taken to the hospital for chihuahua bites than for pit bull bites.  Of course, they still have their faces after a chihuahua bite.”

“Listening to Justin Bieber’s music feels like the devil is clawing his way into my body through my ears, sliding down into my chest, and farting on my soul.”

“I think the reason I like eating veal so much is because I know it grew up in a restrictive cage.  Just like me.”

“I was halfway into a profanity-laced rant when I stopped, looked around, and said to myself, ‘Don’t be so hard on them.  They’re just kindergarteners.'”

“Dave Ramsey must be a very smart guy to be able to help so many millions of people get out of debt!  I only have one question: If you’re so smart, then where’s your hair, Mr. Smart Guy?”

“I think calling the Wii controller attachment a ‘Nunchuk’ is really a misnomer.  It did nothing to protect me from those ninjas.”

“So, if there’s a rabbit that has an unusally high amount of babies, what do other rabbits say it ‘breeds like’?”

Under 500 words. Mission accomplished.

Hard Drive to Format

April 20, 2010 Leave a comment

I’m really going to do it this time!  It’s my goal to tantalize your senses with shorter posts more often.  What I lack in quality, I will more than make up in quantity!  If it can’t be good, gosh-darn it, I’m going to flood the Interspace with nearly-palatable crap.

This is merely an announcement.  I have no intention of writing 500 words or more, as is my custom.

Oh, and somewhere along the way, this blog passed 20,000 views. So, feel free to pat me on the back or send a few lottery tickets my way.

I’ll leave you with a few thoughts:

I think it’s just a matter of time before we find out Cap’n Crunch was never in the U.S. Navy at all.

It’s high time we do something to enforce the Child Labor Laws in the country.  Let’s put these kids to work!

Sometimes, I get the sneaking suspicion that Lady Gaga is not really human, but is, in fact, an otherworldly visitor from the planet Goofballs.

So wait, let me get this straight: Conan O’Brien left NBC because Jay Leno was going to push his show back a half-hour.  Then, TBS signs Conan and pushes George Lopez back an entire hour.  My point is this . . . TBS still exists?  I haven’t seen it in quite a while, but I assume the programming still consists of Matlock for the first 12 hours of the day, followed by 12 hours of Family Matters.  Lather, rinse, repeat.



March 14, 2010 2 comments

I know you missed me!  After 3 months (if you can believe it) off, I’m making my glorious return to the Internet.  All World-Wide Web traffic (as my great-grandmother calls it) has come to a screeching halt and been involved in a 25 car pileup in anticipation of this post. How lucky you are to be seeing this with your eyes!  I’m not sure what else you’d be seeing this with, except maybe a bionic eye that can peer through man’s soul, but you’re still lucky.

I decided I should update you so you can be so inspired to go out and do something meaningful with your life, as I am, instead of eating Cheetos on a recliner watching reruns of “Touched By An Angel”, as I am. Darn it.  I just love Della Reese.  She’s so stinking soulful.

In the past 3 months, I have mostly just been working. I’ve put in many hours of overtime, and saved up for my James Bond trunks. Claire and I are going Mexico this summer!  We were able to book our hotel and flights.  The amazing part about the Internet is you are able to put in a request for your particular seat on any given flight.  We specifically asked for the seats behind crying infants and in front of ADD children with sporadic outbursts of violence.  Nothing like a headlock from a 6-year-old with a 30-second attention span.

The James Bond trunks are, in fact, a compromise between Claire and me.  I pushed vehemently for a Speedo®, and she pushed back with similar disdain, and offered a suggestion of board shorts. Though I have knock-knees best reserved for viewing under ankle length board shorts (or in a pinch, a burquini), I came to the realization that I am married.  I don’t have to look good anymore for anyone.  Especially my wife.  She’s supposed to love me, even if I have a belly hanging over my Speedo© that reaches my knee.

That’s the beauty of marriage, friends. I can completely let myself go and have full confidence that my wife will never leave me.  She may opt to sleep in an entirely different room, but we’re still in the same house and, by law, that constitutes a fully operational marriage.  It is my personal recommendation that every person hit the gym, starve yourself thin, and find a reasonably attractive mate that will accept you for who you want them to think you are.  Then, release all bodily responsibility, and give your heart a run for its money with all the bacon grease your can fit into a paper cup.  I’m just kidding!  Of course I don’t expect you to hit the gym. That, however, should not stop you from buying the Speedo™ of your dreams.

If you also would like to drop a cool $138.00 on swim trunks that throw modesty to the wind, please visit *link removed*. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t go looking for them.  They are quite form-fitting and inelegant for those who are not in shape or decidedly French.  I might be just as well-off to purchase a Speedo£.

In the past 3 months, I have also taken to overeating.  This comes as no shock to those of you who have followed this blog for any length of time. Though I bested my personal record with an impressive 19 tacos, I was put to shame by a gentleman who was able to consume 26.  He later died.

This last weekend, I wanted to see if On The Border’s all-you-can-eat enchiladas were really worth the money.  My friends, they were and more.  I recommend you have your stomach pumped, then visit this establishment for the enchilada deal.  Then, promptly have your stomach pumped again.  I’ve heard some hospitals offer a 2-for-1 deal.  I cannot be blamed for any resulting injury or bowel obstruction caused by enchilada overload.

In other news, I still absolutely enjoy my job.  It affords me the personal ego massage that comes with helping people.  I am able to offer more joy than Disneyland, Harry Potter, and Hulu combined.

It comes as a great shock to myself that I can honestly say I have used my experience from my previous employment to better my performance in my current employment.  Bagging groceries is the single greatest job experience one could ask for, apparently.  For instance, when someone has a question I am unable to answer, I simply ask, “Paper or plastic?”  The ensuing confusion gives me enough time to throw my smoke bomb and escape to my Fortress of Solitude.

Finally, my friends, I want to issue an offical apology for being away for so long.  I am so sorry for depriving you of laughter, kindness, and bemoaning Miley Cyrus for 3 long months.  Please know I lived well during my absence and did not forget you.  I just wanted you to miss me.  Is that too much to ask?  (That is a rhetorical question.)  I’m glad that we are together once again.  And don’t forget the most important point of all: there is a sale on Speedo¢∞¼ products at

I Fought the Flu (And the Flu Won)

January 5, 2010 2 comments

Another of life’s little mysteries is how I can get the flu from being in a particular environment while my wife, who was in the same environment, does not get so much as a wet burp.  I experienced this over the weekend.

On Friday, my family was over at my sister and brother-in-law’s house celebrating a belated Christmas on New Year’s Day.  Not only did I receive several awesome gifts and eat WAY too much great food, but I also got thoroughly trounced by a 7-year-old at Wii Tennis and caught the stomach virus from hell.

I thought myself somewhat of a Wii Tennis savant, but I received a sound thrashing from someone who doesn’t even have his two front teeth.  I’m not speaking here of the penalty killing line for the New York Rangers.  Even trying all of my best maneuvers (quick serve, backhand, yelling in his ear, covering his eyes, and pushing him down), I could not overcome his youthful expertise at video games.  Not to be outdone, I quickly challenged him to a rematch.  At arm-wrestling.

You know, that’s the crazy thing about the stomach flu: you go through life as a top-of-the-world man about town, and it suddenly strikes.  All day Saturday, I felt no ill effects.  As I lay slumbering that night, a devilish beast crouched at my stomach’s door.  That was the Taco Bell I had Saturday about 11 PM.  The devilish beast was forthwith chased away barking by a demon monster even more ghoulish than Liza Manelli: the stomach flu.

I awoke the pains of being stabbed in the gut with a thousand fiery knives.  After I chased the flea circus out of my bed, I thought I would sleep soundly.  That is, until I felt my stomach wrenching into knots with a churning I can only describe as “butter-making”.  The Amish would be proud.  With a leap, a bound, a stumble, a mild swear-substitute, a flick of the light switch, and a hobbling, I stumbled aimlessly to the bathroom to retch.

I will leave out the more disturbing details, and leave you with only the mental picture of me face-first above toilet water, spewing orange grease of food-like substance.  16 times I did this.  Not once did I leave my house all day Sunday and Monday.  Thanks for listening.  We should go get Taco Bell together sometime very soon.


Below, you will find a previously “banned” video.  That is, it was forbidden from my wife for me to show this video for ONE YEAR after the video was taken.  The video you are about to watch was filmed Christmas 2008, and it shows Claire’s impression of our cat, Louie, throwing up.  Now that we are past Christmas 2009, I feel safe showing you this video (though I sleep with one eye open).

This Is What Happens When The Money Runs Out

December 15, 2009 1 comment

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

December 8, 2009 Leave a comment

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!