Thursday, October 27, 2005
The Nation's Largest Rapist
It isn't even human but it should still be a crime. Exxon Mobile, the Nation's largest publicly traded oil company, announced a quarterly profit of $9.9 billion. This is $1.58 per share, up from $.88 per share from last year. It is amazing that this company is posting such a large profit while people are paying what they are paying at the pumps. You would think that they easily could have lowered the prices a tad more to alleviate distress on the consumer. I LOVE CORPORATE AMERICA!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Size Doesn't Matter
Yes, this post has everything to do with the size of the male organ. I'll get there, just bear with me.
Have you ever gone to a circus and watched an elephant take a crap? It is like watching mud getting dumped from a dump truck. Carnivals/circuses have people that walk around with snow shovels and 50 gallon trash cans specifically to clean up pacoderm feces. I couldn't figure out why people were walking under a tent with snow shovels until I put my daughter on the back of an elephant for an elephant ride. Good Lord. Willa Wonka has nothing on this "chocolate factory." If an elephant ate corn, would the pieces adapt to their large environment and come out looking like yellow VW bugs? If a goldfish can grow in a big tank, just imagine. Ok, so same thing goes with urine. I would imagine you could attach a hose to the elephant and wander up the mountains extinguishing every forest fire that has devastated acres and acres of forest land. Its almost as if a water tower fell over, and the splash radius of the piss hitting the ground is large enough to compare to Gallagher smashing a watermelon from 100 yards away. if you do not know who Gallagher is, then maybe you should get out more.
So, sitting in the stall in the men's bathroom at work this morning, I was alone and going about my business when I heard the door open. In walks...an elephant. Pretend you are blind, OK? Close your eyes, hear the door opening, feet shuffling, zipper....and then a gush of fluid that dwarfs Niagara Falls going into the toilet. I was taken aback by the noise level. Its like there was a 5-gallon plastic bucket full of water being poured into a swimming pool. I was scared. I mean, the only thing close, in my eyes, to that volume was watching an elephant piss out of a third leg. I imagined a Sequoia pissing next to me. This guy just went about his business, oblivious to the fact he pissed like Paul Bunyan. I honestly feared for my life. I have heard that every 60 seconds, the standard shower head puts out 7 gallons of water. Ok, well the bin in a urinal holds, what? A quart of water, displaced by a waxy hockey puck made to smell like the Redwoods Retirement Facility? Yes, grandma pissed herself and then bathed in rose oil....get over it. Not sure how there was no over flow, but he was in and out in about a minute.
I thought that it was too bad I didn't have a barrel to over the falls in, but I decided that work was more important. Let that be a lesson to you...size doesn't matter. Unless you want to become the 8th wonder of the world. Ladies, I can get the guys phone number if you want.
Have you ever gone to a circus and watched an elephant take a crap? It is like watching mud getting dumped from a dump truck. Carnivals/circuses have people that walk around with snow shovels and 50 gallon trash cans specifically to clean up pacoderm feces. I couldn't figure out why people were walking under a tent with snow shovels until I put my daughter on the back of an elephant for an elephant ride. Good Lord. Willa Wonka has nothing on this "chocolate factory." If an elephant ate corn, would the pieces adapt to their large environment and come out looking like yellow VW bugs? If a goldfish can grow in a big tank, just imagine. Ok, so same thing goes with urine. I would imagine you could attach a hose to the elephant and wander up the mountains extinguishing every forest fire that has devastated acres and acres of forest land. Its almost as if a water tower fell over, and the splash radius of the piss hitting the ground is large enough to compare to Gallagher smashing a watermelon from 100 yards away. if you do not know who Gallagher is, then maybe you should get out more.
So, sitting in the stall in the men's bathroom at work this morning, I was alone and going about my business when I heard the door open. In walks...an elephant. Pretend you are blind, OK? Close your eyes, hear the door opening, feet shuffling, zipper....and then a gush of fluid that dwarfs Niagara Falls going into the toilet. I was taken aback by the noise level. Its like there was a 5-gallon plastic bucket full of water being poured into a swimming pool. I was scared. I mean, the only thing close, in my eyes, to that volume was watching an elephant piss out of a third leg. I imagined a Sequoia pissing next to me. This guy just went about his business, oblivious to the fact he pissed like Paul Bunyan. I honestly feared for my life. I have heard that every 60 seconds, the standard shower head puts out 7 gallons of water. Ok, well the bin in a urinal holds, what? A quart of water, displaced by a waxy hockey puck made to smell like the Redwoods Retirement Facility? Yes, grandma pissed herself and then bathed in rose oil....get over it. Not sure how there was no over flow, but he was in and out in about a minute.
I thought that it was too bad I didn't have a barrel to over the falls in, but I decided that work was more important. Let that be a lesson to you...size doesn't matter. Unless you want to become the 8th wonder of the world. Ladies, I can get the guys phone number if you want.
Monday, October 24, 2005
My Dog is Human
If you don't know what a Weimaraner is, go to www.nevergetthisbreedifyouthinktheyaredumblapdogs.com. I always seem to be adding my wife in these blogs and picking on her about this or that. I do this, well, mostly because it helps me come to terms with things. I love my dog, OK. I think the fact that he has a penis definitely helps us click. I don't have to bark out commands, I just give a little look in his direction. Typically, that would be enough to make him stop doing whatever it is that is making my wife go into labor. For example, dog takes something out of daughter's hand that was just given to said daughter. My wife yells his name, "TAUPE!!" I laugh, mostly because her yelling his name regardless of the volume is accentuating the fact that, yes, the dog knows its name. I, frankly, would not drop it either. He just walks away from the noise because, no doubt, it is hurting his ears.
So then my wife, huffing and puffing, gets off the couch and chases him around the kitchen table trying to get this chewed up piece of fabric (called a 'doll' I believe) out of his mouth. I laugh. Yes, I am laughing at this point because he is toying with her. He is saying, "Oh, you want this here in my mouth? Come over and take it....but do it on THIS side of the table because I am the boss of you and I DECIDE where my punishment will or will not take place." Then he changes is mind, mostly due to the fact he hears heavier breathing. "Over here instead," as he non-chalantly goes under the table and through the woods.
At this point, I have to peak up over the half-wall to see this comedy unravel. I know it is sad, but I am the Alpha male. My wife knows this, and the dog SURE AS HELL knows it. As soon as he came home at 7 weeks, he knew that I ran things. I told my wife that she had better tell him that he is 3rd in charge or else she was in trouble. That didn't happen, and now she is paying the penalty. He doesn't listen because he knows that she will just say whatever it is he is doing wrong again.
"TAUPE, PUT DOWN THAT DOLL.
(No)..
GOD DAMMIT TAUPE PUT IT DOWN...
(ummmmmmmmm...still no)
I SWEAR TO GOD TAUPE IF YOU DON'T PUT THAT DOWN I AM GOING TO...
(What, exactly?)
TAUPE, LEAVE IT!!
(make me)
LEAVEEEEE ITTTTT!!!!!
(maybe tomorrow, but now this is more fun)
HONEY, CAN YOU MAKE YOUR DOG LEAVE THIS DOLL ALONE?!?!?!
**BLOP** (out comes the item not allowed to be teething fodder. Wife looks at me as I sit down behind the half wall.)
I SWEAR, I DON'T KNOW WHY HE LISTENS TO YOU AND NOT ME.
Well, lovey, for the same reason Peyton (almost 3-years old) does, because I don't give her the choice. I am not perfect, I know. My dog will not sit on command for everyone, just for the people he respects....or know how to treat a dog. No matter who comes in the house, he is #2 in charge. If he is around me, he knows that the minute he is out of line, **WHACK**. I belive it is called the FEAR OF GOD. As kids, we only really feared our father's. Peyton doesn't fear me, but she knows I mean business. Same thing goes for the dog. I knew all about Weims before we got him. Therefore, I established the ground rules. It may be too late for the wife, though. She says Taupe needs puppy school. I told her that she should be the one to take him.
So then my wife, huffing and puffing, gets off the couch and chases him around the kitchen table trying to get this chewed up piece of fabric (called a 'doll' I believe) out of his mouth. I laugh. Yes, I am laughing at this point because he is toying with her. He is saying, "Oh, you want this here in my mouth? Come over and take it....but do it on THIS side of the table because I am the boss of you and I DECIDE where my punishment will or will not take place." Then he changes is mind, mostly due to the fact he hears heavier breathing. "Over here instead," as he non-chalantly goes under the table and through the woods.
At this point, I have to peak up over the half-wall to see this comedy unravel. I know it is sad, but I am the Alpha male. My wife knows this, and the dog SURE AS HELL knows it. As soon as he came home at 7 weeks, he knew that I ran things. I told my wife that she had better tell him that he is 3rd in charge or else she was in trouble. That didn't happen, and now she is paying the penalty. He doesn't listen because he knows that she will just say whatever it is he is doing wrong again.
"TAUPE, PUT DOWN THAT DOLL.
(No)..
GOD DAMMIT TAUPE PUT IT DOWN...
(ummmmmmmmm...still no)
I SWEAR TO GOD TAUPE IF YOU DON'T PUT THAT DOWN I AM GOING TO...
(What, exactly?)
TAUPE, LEAVE IT!!
(make me)
LEAVEEEEE ITTTTT!!!!!
(maybe tomorrow, but now this is more fun)
HONEY, CAN YOU MAKE YOUR DOG LEAVE THIS DOLL ALONE?!?!?!
**BLOP** (out comes the item not allowed to be teething fodder. Wife looks at me as I sit down behind the half wall.)
I SWEAR, I DON'T KNOW WHY HE LISTENS TO YOU AND NOT ME.
Well, lovey, for the same reason Peyton (almost 3-years old) does, because I don't give her the choice. I am not perfect, I know. My dog will not sit on command for everyone, just for the people he respects....or know how to treat a dog. No matter who comes in the house, he is #2 in charge. If he is around me, he knows that the minute he is out of line, **WHACK**. I belive it is called the FEAR OF GOD. As kids, we only really feared our father's. Peyton doesn't fear me, but she knows I mean business. Same thing goes for the dog. I knew all about Weims before we got him. Therefore, I established the ground rules. It may be too late for the wife, though. She says Taupe needs puppy school. I told her that she should be the one to take him.
I Wish People Were More Like Me
Public rest-rooms are just that....public. Everyone can use them, not just certain individuals. That being said, when an individual shits in the toilet, uses 6 rolls of toilet paper to clean their ass, and then LEAVES without flushing in fear it will over flow....FUCK YOU! Next to the toilet, there is this item, with a funny looking rubber thing attached to a stick. That is a plunger, used to stop overflowing toilets. Use it. Also, maybe you should go home and nurse the tapeworm in your own space and stop polluting the rest-room with your Hepatitis laden shit. We will greatly appreciate it, you assbag.
I understand the concept of the "little metal box" attached to the bathroom wall, used for disposing used feminine pads and tampons. I get it, OK. Fine. Have your tin box. I remember seeing them back in the day when, if it was not in the stall, a woman would have to walk out of the stall, into VIEW, hauling a bloody wad of toilet paper (also referred to as the "rumor blob") and throw it away in the trash can. However, in an asexual bathroom, one that is both suitable for/used by both men AND women....throw your period in the trash can that is IN that bathroom. Don't use the box. In fact, I might remove that box so that people will use common sense. Face it, men are not the smartest animals in the world. We want to know what everything is, and where it is stored. We see a box, we open the box, and when we see a bloody mess in the box, we are liable to vomit. Men don't like vomiting, unless we have had alcohol. Use the can, don't peak our curiosity.
If you, male or female, wipe your ass and get crap on your hand....and then go BACK to the roll and get crap on it, LEAVE IT for the next person to see or touch...please, go jump off a fucking bridge. Courtesy. I don't come shit on your chest while you sleep. So, don't leave me to find your feces on the next sheet of paper on the roll. It's rude.
Compact cars go in parking spaces labeled "COMPACT." Other vehicles go...well, somewhere else. Frankly, not next to two compact cars. When you get out of your GMC Gargantuan, and ding my car, I will kill you because you are a retard and should be dead anyway. The note that says, "Thanks for leaving all this space for me to get in my car. I love you. Oh, and LEAVE A FUCKING CAN OPENER NEXT TIME, SHIT-FOR-BRAINS," I left that. **kisses** Come find me, and I will gladly kill your remaining brain cells.
For the piece of shit asshole that is in my office, digging in the breakroom fridge, sifting through hundreds of Albertson's bags, finding MINE (which I strategically placed under Jimmy Hoffa's body for safety) and eating my food.....
That's it for now....but the afternoon is young.....
I understand the concept of the "little metal box" attached to the bathroom wall, used for disposing used feminine pads and tampons. I get it, OK. Fine. Have your tin box. I remember seeing them back in the day when, if it was not in the stall, a woman would have to walk out of the stall, into VIEW, hauling a bloody wad of toilet paper (also referred to as the "rumor blob") and throw it away in the trash can. However, in an asexual bathroom, one that is both suitable for/used by both men AND women....throw your period in the trash can that is IN that bathroom. Don't use the box. In fact, I might remove that box so that people will use common sense. Face it, men are not the smartest animals in the world. We want to know what everything is, and where it is stored. We see a box, we open the box, and when we see a bloody mess in the box, we are liable to vomit. Men don't like vomiting, unless we have had alcohol. Use the can, don't peak our curiosity.
If you, male or female, wipe your ass and get crap on your hand....and then go BACK to the roll and get crap on it, LEAVE IT for the next person to see or touch...please, go jump off a fucking bridge. Courtesy. I don't come shit on your chest while you sleep. So, don't leave me to find your feces on the next sheet of paper on the roll. It's rude.
Compact cars go in parking spaces labeled "COMPACT." Other vehicles go...well, somewhere else. Frankly, not next to two compact cars. When you get out of your GMC Gargantuan, and ding my car, I will kill you because you are a retard and should be dead anyway. The note that says, "Thanks for leaving all this space for me to get in my car. I love you. Oh, and LEAVE A FUCKING CAN OPENER NEXT TIME, SHIT-FOR-BRAINS," I left that. **kisses** Come find me, and I will gladly kill your remaining brain cells.
For the piece of shit asshole that is in my office, digging in the breakroom fridge, sifting through hundreds of Albertson's bags, finding MINE (which I strategically placed under Jimmy Hoffa's body for safety) and eating my food.....
That's it for now....but the afternoon is young.....
KIDS are EXPENSIVE! Even before they start TALKING!
From time to time, it occurs to me that having kids is expensive. You always hear people say that it is the doctor's appointments, clothing, and/or food that is expensive. I disagree. I find the nonessentials to be spendy. OK, actually, the essentials are spendy too. Here, let me give a few examples.
Diapers - I had to run and get diapers last night. My wife said, "Just get the cheap kind." Had the store not been closing, I would still be there looking for the "cheap" diapers. To me, cheap SHOULD be defined as I could walk out of the store without paying and people would only wave. In the baby aisle, painted in gold, everything is marked "you wish" where the price normally would be. I thought buying tampons was difficult. THESE ARE DIAPERS! They catch shit and piss. Why do I have to donate plasma so that I have a sturdy shit catcher??? I think the biggest corporate scandal that has gone unnoticed is the rape center known as PAMPERS!
Wipes - These are really not expensive, but the variety is insane. I guess it is like toilet paper to us adults. Scented, unscented, quilted, 2-ply, 8-ply, 30 grit....and the list could go on. Remember, before purchasing wipes, make sure you consider that it is going in an ass....and stop trying to determine which scent would be better. Babies DO have a nice smell. Babies who has just shit themselves will still smell like shit regardless of the Spring Fresh baby wipe you put in their ass crack.
Frozen food pacifier - I don't even know if that is what it is called, but we own one after a trip to Toys R Us this past weekend. It is a plastic handle with a mesh bag at the end of it. It reminded me more of a useless condom than a child accessory. $5 to have a tool in which a frozen banana can be sucked on by an infant to relieve teething pain. What the hell? Why set a precedent of purchasing useless garbage? Children don't know of any alleviation to the pain. As far as they know, it hurts until it doesn't. Anbesol my ass! Give them a shot of brandy and call it good. Oh yeah, we also got a set of replacement bags for another $5 just in case the first bag becomes "tattered." Isn't the whole premise of mesh to BE tattered, therefore maintaining its mesh-like features? Babies piss me off.
Nipples - The disposable nipples now have different flow rates. When they are little, they have slow flow. When they get older, the flow begins to increase, and by the time they are 17, they graduate to a forty-ounce bottle of Old English. When I was a kid, there was one nipple. I mean that in every possible sense, and the liquid came out at the same speed. I had to either suck harder or longer to get nourishment. It is my belief that we are starting way too early on these kids in making their lives easier. The faster the flow, the more you pay. $7.99 for two fast flow nipples. Little bastards.
Burp rags - This is the king of violators. Spend $13 to catch spit up on my shoulder? It is justified by the statement, "you don't want to get your shirt dirty, do you?" Oh yes, you are right. I never want to wash this shirt anyway. WHO CARES???? It is going to get washed, at some point in it's life, why do I need to have a decorative piece of fabric covering my deltoid to prevent spit up from touching my skin? I think people often forget the secretions absorbed during the conception of their children.
Shoes - HOLY COW...$30 for shoes that my infant can have a set of pictures taken in and will grow out of in 17 minutes?? Are you kidding me? Watching feet on my son grow is a lot like watching the sunrise in a time lapse format. They just inch out a little here and there like Pinnochio's nose. I think kids should wear onesies and moccasins until the end of their growth spurts. They might be embarrassed but who really gives a rip? We are paying for everything. My money. My rules. Go put on your burlap nightgown and hit the slab...err...sheets.
Formula - I don't mind spending money on food for my kids. I do mind however, that my 2-year old asks for things she doesn't eat. Do you want for dinner? YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, she will say, as if I just told her that Barney was moving in with us forever. The food gets put in front of her and she looks at it in disgust. On the thought of formula. $19.99 per week is about what we spend just on the formula. My son downs a bottle of formula like a small manatee. GULP...gone. Then the tapeworm takes over and gets pissed at no solid food, so I have to do it again in a couple of hours. You know how when people offer to help out with a newborn? Clothes, food, diapers, etc.? Advice...never offer to purchase formula for parents of a bottle-fed baby and expect them to deny your offer. They will take you up on it weekly.
Diapers - I had to run and get diapers last night. My wife said, "Just get the cheap kind." Had the store not been closing, I would still be there looking for the "cheap" diapers. To me, cheap SHOULD be defined as I could walk out of the store without paying and people would only wave. In the baby aisle, painted in gold, everything is marked "you wish" where the price normally would be. I thought buying tampons was difficult. THESE ARE DIAPERS! They catch shit and piss. Why do I have to donate plasma so that I have a sturdy shit catcher??? I think the biggest corporate scandal that has gone unnoticed is the rape center known as PAMPERS!
Wipes - These are really not expensive, but the variety is insane. I guess it is like toilet paper to us adults. Scented, unscented, quilted, 2-ply, 8-ply, 30 grit....and the list could go on. Remember, before purchasing wipes, make sure you consider that it is going in an ass....and stop trying to determine which scent would be better. Babies DO have a nice smell. Babies who has just shit themselves will still smell like shit regardless of the Spring Fresh baby wipe you put in their ass crack.
Frozen food pacifier - I don't even know if that is what it is called, but we own one after a trip to Toys R Us this past weekend. It is a plastic handle with a mesh bag at the end of it. It reminded me more of a useless condom than a child accessory. $5 to have a tool in which a frozen banana can be sucked on by an infant to relieve teething pain. What the hell? Why set a precedent of purchasing useless garbage? Children don't know of any alleviation to the pain. As far as they know, it hurts until it doesn't. Anbesol my ass! Give them a shot of brandy and call it good. Oh yeah, we also got a set of replacement bags for another $5 just in case the first bag becomes "tattered." Isn't the whole premise of mesh to BE tattered, therefore maintaining its mesh-like features? Babies piss me off.
Nipples - The disposable nipples now have different flow rates. When they are little, they have slow flow. When they get older, the flow begins to increase, and by the time they are 17, they graduate to a forty-ounce bottle of Old English. When I was a kid, there was one nipple. I mean that in every possible sense, and the liquid came out at the same speed. I had to either suck harder or longer to get nourishment. It is my belief that we are starting way too early on these kids in making their lives easier. The faster the flow, the more you pay. $7.99 for two fast flow nipples. Little bastards.
Burp rags - This is the king of violators. Spend $13 to catch spit up on my shoulder? It is justified by the statement, "you don't want to get your shirt dirty, do you?" Oh yes, you are right. I never want to wash this shirt anyway. WHO CARES???? It is going to get washed, at some point in it's life, why do I need to have a decorative piece of fabric covering my deltoid to prevent spit up from touching my skin? I think people often forget the secretions absorbed during the conception of their children.
Shoes - HOLY COW...$30 for shoes that my infant can have a set of pictures taken in and will grow out of in 17 minutes?? Are you kidding me? Watching feet on my son grow is a lot like watching the sunrise in a time lapse format. They just inch out a little here and there like Pinnochio's nose. I think kids should wear onesies and moccasins until the end of their growth spurts. They might be embarrassed but who really gives a rip? We are paying for everything. My money. My rules. Go put on your burlap nightgown and hit the slab...err...sheets.
Formula - I don't mind spending money on food for my kids. I do mind however, that my 2-year old asks for things she doesn't eat. Do you want
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO KNOW EVERYTHING...SO STOP THINKING YOU DO!
I deal with people every day. Yes, my candor on this site has a lot left to be desired, but if I do not vent some of my frustrations out in this place, then I am liable to kill someone. In my profession, a mortgage loan officer, I deal with people that think they are smart, but Grandma can take them in a Knowledge Bowl competition. Most, if not all, have purchased some sort of real estate investment program and have all of a sudden become braniacs. They ask all the right questions, in their own minds, but they are usually WAY off.
For example, people in the real estate field work heavily off referrals. It is truly a relationship business. This sucks, mostly because I am subject to kissing realtor ass. Today, it came to a point where I told a realtor, not in so many words, to fuck off. It is bad enough customers think they know what I do, but then throw a realtor in there, that makes more money than God (offer on Heaven pending), thinking that they are looking out for their clients best interest. Some of the things I hear on a regular basis are as follows:
"I can get this deal any where, but I figured I would give you guys a chance to earn my business." - a classic threat, this buyer typically hasn't been anywhere else other than right here in front of me. I have said as much on some occasions, depending on the type of attitude represented by the buyer. If you can get the deal, asswipe, go get it somewhere else. I am busy. I think the honor in working with my company lies strictly with you....that is, if you are worthy.
"I already have a loan with you guys and I don't want to pay any more fees to refinance it somewhere else." - so you want the shit for free? Here, why not lube me up and fuck me in the ass? I don't work for free, and neither does anyone else you will go visit. Instead of finding it an inconvenience that we service your loan, why not thank us for being considerate in fielding all of your stupid fucked up questions in our service department? This loan will cost a lot....sign here.
"I am currently unemployed and looking to refinance my home. Can you help?"- This one is easy. No. They always ask why, but it comes down to the ability to repay the loan we LENT to you. I sometimes have to convince people that the mortgage truly is BORROWED funds, requiring repayment, and since you have not the mentality nor the capacity to REPAY the loan...hit the road.
"Do you guys lend money for manufactured homes?" - ahhh yes...meth labs. No, we don't, and since we are on the topic of buying the only piece of real estate that does NOT appreciate, BUY A STICK BUILT HOUSE! For the love of God, if your home was parked on your lot, it is not worth keeping! I am afraid if I lent the money, then you might tow my security away!This one is the last...and my favorite!
"My credit is pretty good...I don't have any debt." - Yeah, that is because you filed a Chapter 7 bankruptcy 6 months ago, dumb ass. The trustee told your creditors they ain't gettin' shit, just like I am about ready to tell you. Go back to 8 Mile and live with Momma, boy.
Yes, buyers are liars and people are stupid. Sometimes, I wish I could open a lemonade stand and sell Mike's Hard lemonade in it!
For example, people in the real estate field work heavily off referrals. It is truly a relationship business. This sucks, mostly because I am subject to kissing realtor ass. Today, it came to a point where I told a realtor, not in so many words, to fuck off. It is bad enough customers think they know what I do, but then throw a realtor in there, that makes more money than God (offer on Heaven pending), thinking that they are looking out for their clients best interest. Some of the things I hear on a regular basis are as follows:
"I can get this deal any where, but I figured I would give you guys a chance to earn my business." - a classic threat, this buyer typically hasn't been anywhere else other than right here in front of me. I have said as much on some occasions, depending on the type of attitude represented by the buyer. If you can get the deal, asswipe, go get it somewhere else. I am busy. I think the honor in working with my company lies strictly with you....that is, if you are worthy.
"I already have a loan with you guys and I don't want to pay any more fees to refinance it somewhere else." - so you want the shit for free? Here
"I am currently unemployed and looking to refinance my home. Can you help?"- This one is easy. No. They always ask why, but it comes down to the ability to repay the loan we LENT to you. I sometimes have to convince people that the mortgage truly is BORROWED funds, requiring repayment, and since you have not the mentality nor the capacity to REPAY the loan...hit the road.
"Do you guys lend money for manufactured homes?" - ahhh yes...meth labs. No, we don't, and since we are on the topic of buying the only piece of real estate that does NOT appreciate, BUY A STICK BUILT HOUSE! For the love of God, if your home was parked on your lot, it is not worth keeping! I am afraid if I lent the money, then you might tow my security away!This one is the last...and my favorite!
"My credit is pretty good...I don't have any debt." - Yeah, that is because you filed a Chapter 7 bankruptcy 6 months ago, dumb ass. The trustee told your creditors they ain't gettin' shit, just like I am about ready to tell you. Go back to 8 Mile and live with Momma, boy.
Yes, buyers are liars and people are stupid. Sometimes, I wish I could open a lemonade stand and sell Mike's Hard lemonade in it!
Neighbors Suck
I have said before, I think anyway, that if I had the choice, I would want to live out in the country somewhere so that I did not have to put up with neighbors. I hate neighbors. They always want to talk about anything and everything. Even if my body language indicates I have no desire to speak to you....there you are, smiling like a Downs syndrome kid, waiting for my attention.My neighbors came home from their two week vacation yesterday afternoon, just about the time my wife, mother in law and two children pulled up to the garage door. Oh how outstanding. Not only are the hands full with Wendy's, wipes and , there are now geriatric zombies roaming toward the car, inquiring about such important things as, "Whatcha doin?" HEY FUCKTARD....my hands are full and I have to feed my children!!! "Oh, well, let me tell you all about my vacation." Listen pops, that is as important to me as me telling YOU all about my bowel movement full of corn....piss off! Thank God I was still at work, lest I would be in jail for murder.
Everyone apparently made it inside, but absence does not make the zombies go away. The doorbell rings, just about the time the dog gets let out of his kennel. So now he is barking, Peyton is whining, Jacob is WAKING, and Sandy (mother-in-law) is wondering who is at the door. It is Elwood, wanting his key back. By himself, Elwood knows when he is not wanted. I have proven that by shutting my garage door in his face, like an upper lip closing during an ELWOOD windstorm. He gets his key, and leaves. My wife thinks this is about done.
Five minutes later, the Mrs. comes over to talk. Apparently, the people she lives with have tuned her out. All the occupants of MY house want at this point is to feed whiny kids and get the dog under control. Nah, fuck that idea.**DING DONG DING DONG**There is Kerol, a humanoid blabber monster. Good God. If anyone needed assisted suicide, it's her. I'll be happy to assist. For five minutes, I guess, she talked about all the boring shit they can do for 3 weeks in a different state. They are California transplants. I usually could care less if they "invade Idaho," as others have put it, but frankly, I want them to go back, BADLY. They went here, they went there, all the while, the dog wants to smell 120 year old cooch like there is no tomorrow, Peyton is crying, Jake is now fully awake and the food that was once warm, is now cooling off. I have said many times that the people that come over to our house that we care about just come in. So, if someone is using the door, I don't care about them.
If it is Ed Macmahon, then I am going to kick his ass in my front lawn and stick the oversized check up his ass. If you ever move next door to me, I apologize in advance for pissing the word "ASSFACE" on your lawn.
Everyone apparently made it inside, but absence does not make the zombies go away. The doorbell rings, just about the time the dog gets let out of his kennel. So now he is barking, Peyton is whining, Jacob is WAKING, and Sandy (mother-in-law) is wondering who is at the door. It is Elwood, wanting his key back. By himself, Elwood knows when he is not wanted. I have proven that by shutting my garage door in his face, like an upper lip closing during an ELWOOD windstorm. He gets his key, and leaves. My wife thinks this is about done.
Five minutes later, the Mrs. comes over to talk. Apparently, the people she lives with have tuned her out. All the occupants of MY house want at this point is to feed whiny kids and get the dog under control. Nah, fuck that idea.**DING DONG DING DONG**There is Kerol, a humanoid blabber monster. Good God. If anyone needed assisted suicide, it's her. I'll be happy to assist. For five minutes, I guess, she talked about all the boring shit they can do for 3 weeks in a different state. They are California transplants. I usually could care less if they "invade Idaho," as others have put it, but frankly, I want them to go back, BADLY. They went here, they went there, all the while, the dog wants to smell 120 year old cooch like there is no tomorrow, Peyton is crying, Jake is now fully awake and the food that was once warm, is now cooling off. I have said many times that the people that come over to our house that we care about just come in. So, if someone is using the door, I don't care about them.
If it is Ed Macmahon, then I am going to kick his ass in my front lawn and stick the oversized check up his ass. If you ever move next door to me, I apologize in advance for pissing the word "ASSFACE" on your lawn.
Tax Dollars Well Spent...
Before I go on, I actually Googled the phrase, "what can $333 million dollars buy," and came up with this link....http://www.newstimeslive.com/cgi-bin/forum...&sb=5&o=7&part=
I would hate to think someone thought I was PLAGERIZING someone's ideas.
This is the amount of money spent to smash a NASA probe into a comet. This was done, according to researchers, to determine how the universe was formed some 4.5 billion years ago. This data would prove relevant to the modern world because....why exactly? This is worse than hearing the Olympics were in London. Who cares? In a billion years or so, the sun will explode anyway. There are some bigger problems to deal with than finding out that the Big Bang theory is simply a title to a Ron Jeremy flick. Been down south lately? I was in South Carolina and Georgia about 10 years ago. I think $333 million could be better spent building some homes for the people sleeping in boxes. If it was invested in the US Postal Service, I could use my $.37 stamp to mail two letters. Gas would be cheaper because the $200 billion spent in Iraq has only made crude oil rise. Better schools? Maybe then I can feel comfortable putting my kids on a bus knowing that they just might come home smarter.
$333 million? That is like spending money on a study to find out how people become obese. Here....F.D.A.....send me the money and, pay attention, this is why people are obese. THEY EAT TOO FUCKING MUCH! There....when can I expect my grant check? It is almost as bad as the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) spending countless man hours to come to this whopper of a conclusion. "NTSB study finds plane flying too low just before crash." Ya think? Most planes that crash usually are flying too low, dumbshits. Or "NTSB claims plane inadvertently flew into mountain." Wow...let's see....$85,000 a year times 345 employees needed to do study equals MY TAX DOLLARS BURNED IN OVEN! I seriously doubt the pilot was playing chicken thinking the mountain would give first.
Pilot - C'mon chicken....move....
Co-Pilot - Ummm...Bob, that is a mountain. You are going to hit the mountain if you don't move.
Pilot - I saw this in Nam once. It will move....gotta have faith. C’mon you dirty bastard.....move.
Every two weeks, 38% of my check is gone....BOOM...just like that. Then come April 15, the government wants me to check and see if I have paid enough taxes. PAID??? To quote Chris Rock....I don't pay taxes, they TAKE taxes. That is a JACK! Thank God I do pay taxes and I get to see the wealth of information coming from what I help pay for......
I would hate to think someone thought I was PLAGERIZING someone's ideas.
This is the amount of money spent to smash a NASA probe into a comet. This was done, according to researchers, to determine how the universe was formed some 4.5 billion years ago. This data would prove relevant to the modern world because....why exactly? This is worse than hearing the Olympics were in London. Who cares? In a billion years or so, the sun will explode anyway. There are some bigger problems to deal with than finding out that the Big Bang theory is simply a title to a Ron Jeremy flick. Been down south lately? I was in South Carolina and Georgia about 10 years ago. I think $333 million could be better spent building some homes for the people sleeping in boxes. If it was invested in the US Postal Service, I could use my $.37 stamp to mail two letters. Gas would be cheaper because the $200 billion spent in Iraq has only made crude oil rise. Better schools? Maybe then I can feel comfortable putting my kids on a bus knowing that they just might come home smarter.
$333 million? That is like spending money on a study to find out how people become obese. Here....F.D.A.....send me the money and, pay attention, this is why people are obese. THEY EAT TOO FUCKING MUCH! There....when can I expect my grant check? It is almost as bad as the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) spending countless man hours to come to this whopper of a conclusion. "NTSB study finds plane flying too low just before crash." Ya think? Most planes that crash usually are flying too low, dumbshits. Or "NTSB claims plane inadvertently flew into mountain." Wow...let's see....$85,000 a year times 345 employees needed to do study equals MY TAX DOLLARS BURNED IN OVEN! I seriously doubt the pilot was playing chicken thinking the mountain would give first.
Pilot - C'mon chicken....move....
Co-Pilot - Ummm...Bob, that is a mountain. You are going to hit the mountain if you don't move.
Pilot - I saw this in Nam once. It will move....gotta have faith. C’mon you dirty bastard.....move.
Every two weeks, 38% of my check is gone....BOOM...just like that. Then come April 15, the government wants me to check and see if I have paid enough taxes. PAID??? To quote Chris Rock....I don't pay taxes, they TAKE taxes. That is a JACK! Thank God I do pay taxes and I get to see the wealth of information coming from what I help pay for......
Carnies
I love carnies. I think they should have their own kingdom. I witnessed a wagon train of carnies the other day that I thought would be worth mentioning. I remember as a kid I was terrified of this creature because they always looked so mean. Back when I was seven, toothless, greasy, and smoking meant mean.
For those of you that have been under a rock your whole lives, a carny is a nomad, a gypsy, that travels place to place, erecting large death traps, and making sure little Johnny is THAT tall so he can ride the skull crusher. I mean that in a literal sense as spinning around in a circle at 664 miles per hour has a tendency to crush bone. In other words, a carny is the person that stands by the ride, and makes sure he has smoked enough cigarettes to displace the Queen Anne, foregoing your child's safety, at any of the local carnivals that come into town once a week. Carnies take your tickets. You don't hand them your ticket, and say thank you. They take it from you, pissed off that their dental plan cannot keep up with the rate and/or degree of tooth loss. There is no thank you. It goes beyond the mono-syllabic vocabulary of a carny. How do you become a carny? Well, there are specific things king carnies look for in an underling, least of which is a bar of soap. Heartbeats are vital to becoming a carny. However, in the same stank breath, you must smoke 6 cartons of filter less cigarettes a day. To a carny, filters create a challenge for the cancer cells to raid their bodies. If carnies are nothing, they are accommodating.
You must own clothes that are tattered beyond recognition. If a prospective carny's clothes are too new, I would suggest running them over with a John Deere a few times. This includes the jeans. You must also bathe in motor oil and allow the oil to air dry. Yes, it may take several weeks for the oil to evaporate, but I can assure you, the lasting effect will guarantee you a job at the carnival. A carny must own only one pair of footwear. This can be any size, shape and color, but they must be the same shoes you grew up in. This always means that the toes of the shoes are gone, and their feet have grown beyond the end of the shoe, exposing what most would hope are either NO socks, or tattered socks. Please read above on how one can tatter their clothing.
No toiletries are allowed while being a carny, so if you are being groomed to be a carny (IE an ex-felon that cannot get a job, owe back taxes and want to be paid under the table, or any other varying felonious activities have prevented you from holding a real job), then stop showering, brushing your teeth, using toilet paper, and remain diligent on your strict diet of methamphetamine, coffee, and Camels. In six months, once the molars have deteriorated, you can rest assured that your new carny career will skyrocket like the X10.
If being a carny is for you, please visit the carny headhunting site at www.ilostmyvirginitytomyauntatagesix.com for an application package. Please allow 7-22 years for processing. Our Cro-Magnon staff is working hard to make sure that all applications are processed in a speedy manner
For those of you that have been under a rock your whole lives, a carny is a nomad, a gypsy, that travels place to place, erecting large death traps, and making sure little Johnny is THAT tall so he can ride the skull crusher. I mean that in a literal sense as spinning around in a circle at 664 miles per hour has a tendency to crush bone. In other words, a carny is the person that stands by the ride, and makes sure he has smoked enough cigarettes to displace the Queen Anne, foregoing your child's safety, at any of the local carnivals that come into town once a week. Carnies take your tickets. You don't hand them your ticket, and say thank you. They take it from you, pissed off that their dental plan cannot keep up with the rate and/or degree of tooth loss. There is no thank you. It goes beyond the mono-syllabic vocabulary of a carny. How do you become a carny? Well, there are specific things king carnies look for in an underling, least of which is a bar of soap. Heartbeats are vital to becoming a carny. However, in the same stank breath, you must smoke 6 cartons of filter less cigarettes a day. To a carny, filters create a challenge for the cancer cells to raid their bodies. If carnies are nothing, they are accommodating.
You must own clothes that are tattered beyond recognition. If a prospective carny's clothes are too new, I would suggest running them over with a John Deere a few times. This includes the jeans. You must also bathe in motor oil and allow the oil to air dry. Yes, it may take several weeks for the oil to evaporate, but I can assure you, the lasting effect will guarantee you a job at the carnival. A carny must own only one pair of footwear. This can be any size, shape and color, but they must be the same shoes you grew up in. This always means that the toes of the shoes are gone, and their feet have grown beyond the end of the shoe, exposing what most would hope are either NO socks, or tattered socks. Please read above on how one can tatter their clothing.
No toiletries are allowed while being a carny, so if you are being groomed to be a carny (IE an ex-felon that cannot get a job, owe back taxes and want to be paid under the table, or any other varying felonious activities have prevented you from holding a real job), then stop showering, brushing your teeth, using toilet paper, and remain diligent on your strict diet of methamphetamine, coffee, and Camels. In six months, once the molars have deteriorated, you can rest assured that your new carny career will skyrocket like the X10.
If being a carny is for you, please visit the carny headhunting site at www.ilostmyvirginitytomyauntatagesix.com for an application package. Please allow 7-22 years for processing. Our Cro-Magnon staff is working hard to make sure that all applications are processed in a speedy manner
A Complaint that was read on a local radio station
Listener email segment...gotta love the chance to hear your words on the radio....
I have a complaint. I know, it may fall on a lot of deaf ears, but I think it is worth venting about. It is difficult to keep this clean as I am sure neither Mike NOR Kate can edit in this in mid-read so I will do my best.
FYI....gas is over $2.00 a gallon. It is bad enough you go from light to light at mach 2, but try and remember your 1997 F350 only gets 4 miles to the gallon. I am sure I am going to get someone telling me, "Ya'll are dumb, my truck gets TIN miles to the gallon!" Great, but last I checked, "tin" surrounded your "on the way home" beverage.
Stop passing me on the shoulder so you can be the first to the stop sign.
Stop peaking around the long line of traffic to see if there really IS a line waiting for the light to turn green. I am organized, but not organized enough to talk to 70 strangers on the way to work to pull a trick on you.
Put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house and preferably not when you are on your cell phone asking your friend who you went home with last night.
CONVENIENCE STORE CLERKS : STOP ASKING ME IF I HAVE GAS WHEN I COME UP TO THE COUNTER WITH A BOTTLE OF COKE. It is none of your business. I may ask you a personal question pretty soon and I can assure you it will be more embarrassing than your inquiry about my flatulence.
If you see someone in front of me, let alone SEVERAL cars in front of me going slow, that does not mean it is OK to tailgate me. It won't make me go any faster. In fact, I just might forget to push on the gas pedal and idol along my way.
That's all for now. I think I have a Boy Scout at my door selling me bookmarks! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.....=)
I have a complaint. I know, it may fall on a lot of deaf ears, but I think it is worth venting about. It is difficult to keep this clean as I am sure neither Mike NOR Kate can edit in this in mid-read so I will do my best.
FYI....gas is over $2.00 a gallon. It is bad enough you go from light to light at mach 2, but try and remember your 1997 F350 only gets 4 miles to the gallon. I am sure I am going to get someone telling me, "Ya'll are dumb, my truck gets TIN miles to the gallon!" Great, but last I checked, "tin" surrounded your "on the way home" beverage.
Stop passing me on the shoulder so you can be the first to the stop sign.
Stop peaking around the long line of traffic to see if there really IS a line waiting for the light to turn green. I am organized, but not organized enough to talk to 70 strangers on the way to work to pull a trick on you.
Put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house and preferably not when you are on your cell phone asking your friend who you went home with last night.
CONVENIENCE STORE CLERKS : STOP ASKING ME IF I HAVE GAS WHEN I COME UP TO THE COUNTER WITH A BOTTLE OF COKE. It is none of your business. I may ask you a personal question pretty soon and I can assure you it will be more embarrassing than your inquiry about my flatulence.
If you see someone in front of me, let alone SEVERAL cars in front of me going slow, that does not mean it is OK to tailgate me. It won't make me go any faster. In fact, I just might forget to push on the gas pedal and idol along my way.
That's all for now. I think I have a Boy Scout at my door selling me bookmarks! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.....=)
BABY FOOD
The most striking thing about baby food is the extreme duality of quality. There's no such thing as an okay jar of baby food. The beef and carrot medley is vomitous. The applesauce is masterful. Why doesn't grownup applesauce taste like this? Why are they saving the good applesauce for the only people on the planet who won't remember how it tastes? No matter what it is, it is either the shittiest thing you have ever had, or you want to go out and purchase vats of the stuff.
Honestly, babies eat better than most 3rd world countries. I had no idea that puréed beef and vegetables could be the culinary equivalent of mixed cement. Zwieback toast? This is to help babies cut teeth, right? In my opinion, it helps babies cut GUMS, not teeth. If the Titanic was laced with Zwieback toast, the ship would be in harbor somewhere accepting tourists and Irish peasants as stewards. Formula? This is infant Slim Fast, with 0% of the flavor. Parents wonder why infants cry as they begin to suckle on the nipple containing bile. As new parents are enthralled with testing everything baby eats to see what HE tastes, I can assure you of a few things:
Breast milk is for the baby, not you. As erotic as it might seem to suck on a engorged, lactating breast, don't. If post-partum has not set in yet, the scene of you running to vomit in the bathroom after affectionately making out with your wife's breast will surely send her into a tail spin.
Formula is a substitute of the above, and also has the same distaste. Even if you think it looks like a warm vanilla milkshake, it isn't. It is more like luke-warm Elmer's glue. Some of you may have found this to be an elementary delicacy (pun intended), however, like a child learning to love vegetable as they get older, the opposite is true of formula. It tasted like ass as an infant, and now you recognize the ass taste. Save yourself the trouble. Drink beer.
Don't think that infant poop is relative to the size of the baby. It comes out in volumes, and I don't mean ounces, I mean barrels. If baby crap could be packaged and sold as an alternative to gasoline, Earth Watch hippies would be irrelevant, greenhorns could climb out of the Redwoods, and the Democratic Party would be obsolete. Oh yeah, and it stinks.....BAD! You think OTHER people's babies stink? Think what they say about your offspring's feces. The odor magnifies, too, when it comes in contact with a 3rd party's hand, IE, YOUR hand, and it takes a skunk to make the smell go away.
Sleeping like a baby is a bullshit term. Babies don't sleep, ever. They only nap for about the first 18 years. A real 8 hour night of sleep comes for parents when they go on vacation. Odd how grown ups spend thousands of dollars to go to the Caribbean, only packing sleepwear. Those who say, "Ohhhhhh gonna have some love makin this week," obviously don't have kids. Magellan, these boxers are to sleep in, that nighty is for HER to sleep in, and we will come back refreshed.
Nothing like going to the dentist for a root canal, just to get laughing gas......
Honestly, babies eat better than most 3rd world countries. I had no idea that puréed beef and vegetables could be the culinary equivalent of mixed cement. Zwieback toast? This is to help babies cut teeth, right? In my opinion, it helps babies cut GUMS, not teeth. If the Titanic was laced with Zwieback toast, the ship would be in harbor somewhere accepting tourists and Irish peasants as stewards. Formula? This is infant Slim Fast, with 0% of the flavor. Parents wonder why infants cry as they begin to suckle on the nipple containing bile. As new parents are enthralled with testing everything baby eats to see what HE tastes, I can assure you of a few things:
Breast milk is for the baby, not you. As erotic as it might seem to suck on a engorged, lactating breast, don't. If post-partum has not set in yet, the scene of you running to vomit in the bathroom after affectionately making out with your wife's breast will surely send her into a tail spin.
Formula is a substitute of the above, and also has the same distaste. Even if you think it looks like a warm vanilla milkshake, it isn't. It is more like luke-warm Elmer's glue. Some of you may have found this to be an elementary delicacy (pun intended), however, like a child learning to love vegetable as they get older, the opposite is true of formula. It tasted like ass as an infant, and now you recognize the ass taste. Save yourself the trouble. Drink beer.
Don't think that infant poop is relative to the size of the baby. It comes out in volumes, and I don't mean ounces, I mean barrels. If baby crap could be packaged and sold as an alternative to gasoline, Earth Watch hippies would be irrelevant, greenhorns could climb out of the Redwoods, and the Democratic Party would be obsolete. Oh yeah, and it stinks.....BAD! You think OTHER people's babies stink? Think what they say about your offspring's feces. The odor magnifies, too, when it comes in contact with a 3rd party's hand, IE, YOUR hand, and it takes a skunk to make the smell go away.
Sleeping like a baby is a bullshit term. Babies don't sleep, ever. They only nap for about the first 18 years. A real 8 hour night of sleep comes for parents when they go on vacation. Odd how grown ups spend thousands of dollars to go to the Caribbean, only packing sleepwear. Those who say, "Ohhhhhh gonna have some love makin this week," obviously don't have kids. Magellan, these boxers are to sleep in, that nighty is for HER to sleep in, and we will come back refreshed.
Nothing like going to the dentist for a root canal, just to get laughing gas......
A post before my son was born...
This one is sort of old, but I had to post it in my blog for, more or less, humor purposes....
Most of you, somewhere around the 98% range, do not have kids. The majority of that percentage should consider maintaining that pattern. Me, on the other hand have two, and another one due sometime in the spring. I have an 8 year old from marriage #1, and an 18 month old from marriage 2, and the 3rd, before you fuckers say, "#3," is from the mother of the 2nd one. Yes she is my wife, thank you. All daughters...yeah I know....fuck off.
About a month ago, we went to the pediatrician, who noticed that she is in the 5th percentile in weight, 50th percentile in height, and 88th percentile in head circumference. Read that again, close your eyes, and see if you also picture a toothpick with an orange on top. I did, and I laughed. She is completely normal looking, but still, that analogy fit the description perfectly. The doc said not to worry and since about 6 teeth were coming in on top, and her molars on the bottom, they suggested to offer food, milk and soft foods, she would come around eventually. Soon, finicky turned into voracious.
**MY POINT** You know how you eat corn and miraculously, it looks whole coming out in your shit and about the only thing missing is the cob? Try chili with and 18 month old. Not 5-alarm chili or spicy chili. Mostly she ate kidney, pinto, northern and black beans, plus some beef. She drank four kid cups of milk. To you braniacs, that equates to about 16 ounces. Mind you, most of her meals in the last two weeks have been rather time consuming. I will just say she is eating like she should, and losing weight should no longer be an issue. However, the following afternoon, she passed the chili. Not graciously OR lady-like. One big push, and I-90 was soon to be re-paved. I wasn't prepared for the stench, nor the girth of this shit, literally. I expected to have her wake up from her nap, smiling as usual, waving and saying, "HIIIIIIII," from the top of her lungs. However, I opened her door, and a back draft of flatulence about knocked me on the floor. She looked at me, pinched her nose and said, "stinky," notably the world's largest understatement to date.
I picked her up, cradling the back of her legs as I always do, yet my arm underneath felt a tad.....damp? Then the smell came again. I placed her on her changing table, knowing that I was about to witness a diaper blowout. I took of her pants, her again telling me it was "stinky," as if the peeling paint wasn't enough of a reminder. I peeled the diaper back to witness that the chili came out the same way it went in.....WHOLE! Kidney beans, black beans, pintos and northerns all there as if they were never chewed, an act I witnessed as I fed her. For the first time in my life, I saw a party in someone else's pants, and I did not want to be invited. My 18-month old shit bigger than a 50-year old on Metamucil.No I did not take pictures....
MORAL - Chew your food? Fuck that idea. Save time and swallow whole. It will all come out in the end....literally.
Most of you, somewhere around the 98% range, do not have kids. The majority of that percentage should consider maintaining that pattern. Me, on the other hand have two, and another one due sometime in the spring. I have an 8 year old from marriage #1, and an 18 month old from marriage 2, and the 3rd, before you fuckers say, "#3," is from the mother of the 2nd one. Yes she is my wife, thank you. All daughters...yeah I know....fuck off.
About a month ago, we went to the pediatrician, who noticed that she is in the 5th percentile in weight, 50th percentile in height, and 88th percentile in head circumference. Read that again, close your eyes, and see if you also picture a toothpick with an orange on top. I did, and I laughed. She is completely normal looking, but still, that analogy fit the description perfectly. The doc said not to worry and since about 6 teeth were coming in on top, and her molars on the bottom, they suggested to offer food, milk and soft foods, she would come around eventually. Soon, finicky turned into voracious.
**MY POINT** You know how you eat corn and miraculously, it looks whole coming out in your shit and about the only thing missing is the cob? Try chili with and 18 month old. Not 5-alarm chili or spicy chili. Mostly she ate kidney, pinto, northern and black beans, plus some beef. She drank four kid cups of milk. To you braniacs, that equates to about 16 ounces. Mind you, most of her meals in the last two weeks have been rather time consuming. I will just say she is eating like she should, and losing weight should no longer be an issue. However, the following afternoon, she passed the chili. Not graciously OR lady-like. One big push, and I-90 was soon to be re-paved. I wasn't prepared for the stench, nor the girth of this shit, literally. I expected to have her wake up from her nap, smiling as usual, waving and saying, "HIIIIIIII," from the top of her lungs. However, I opened her door, and a back draft of flatulence about knocked me on the floor. She looked at me, pinched her nose and said, "stinky," notably the world's largest understatement to date.
I picked her up, cradling the back of her legs as I always do, yet my arm underneath felt a tad.....damp? Then the smell came again. I placed her on her changing table, knowing that I was about to witness a diaper blowout. I took of her pants, her again telling me it was "stinky," as if the peeling paint wasn't enough of a reminder. I peeled the diaper back to witness that the chili came out the same way it went in.....WHOLE! Kidney beans, black beans, pintos and northerns all there as if they were never chewed, an act I witnessed as I fed her. For the first time in my life, I saw a party in someone else's pants, and I did not want to be invited. My 18-month old shit bigger than a 50-year old on Metamucil.No I did not take pictures....
MORAL - Chew your food? Fuck that idea. Save time and swallow whole. It will all come out in the end....literally.
Two things this morning aggravated me driving to work.
First, I was driving behind some asshole in a mini-van taking his kids to school I would imagine, and he flicked his spent cigarette out his window. Why? If I were to ask, I am going to say that he doesn't want to mess up his ashtray. Why the fuck not? Your car smells like ass from the smoke so why worry about some smudges on an instrument designed to take the brunt of extinguishing the material? Are you worried your kids might reek of your bad habit when they go to school? I really wanted to follow the guy home so I knew where he lived. Then, travel from bar to bar filling up trash bags with cigarette butts and dumping them all in his lawn. He would wake up, "fgt" in mouth and see the lawn covered with crap. He would then, no doubt would have the audacity to say, "WHY WOULD SOMEONE PUT THESE THINGS IN MY YARD?" I have followed you for a week, prick, and you left these on the road. Thought you needed them back. Stupid bastard.
A local radio station has this phone number you can call to "Confess" whatever you need to confess. First problem, dumbasses call it. Second problem, they play the shit on the air. Two callers in particular irked me. The first was a man who fucked his girlfriends sister while she was out of town. He had hoped her sister hadn't said anything because, "he didn't want to have her hear it from her sister." Hello dweeb-boy, you're on the air. Right now, you're girlfriend has just spilled hot coffee on a McDonald's patron after hearing you just banged her 16 year old sister you sick asshole. Not only is she humiliated, but her employer is now facing a multi-million dollar lawsuit all because your dipstick went into another oil pan. Similar to the adage, don't dip the pen in company ink....STOP FUCKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S FAMILY! The next caller was a woman, dating the same guy for 6 years. Both her and the previous caller started out by saying, "baby....you know I love you sooooooooooooo much." She, like Freud above, screwed some guy when her boyfriend was out of town. She CLAIMS to have never done something like this...and that she was drunk when it happened. Being drunk and fucking around does not make it any better. You know what you did, you just woke up not only regretting it, but most likely with a splitting headache. Worse part is, the baby in her belly is not her boyfriends. So, kick him in the nuts three times in one phone call. I fucked around, but I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU and oh, the excitement you had when I told you I was pregnant...yeah, this isn't your DNA.... Dumb bitch.
First, I was driving behind some asshole in a mini-van taking his kids to school I would imagine, and he flicked his spent cigarette out his window. Why? If I were to ask, I am going to say that he doesn't want to mess up his ashtray. Why the fuck not? Your car smells like ass from the smoke so why worry about some smudges on an instrument designed to take the brunt of extinguishing the material? Are you worried your kids might reek of your bad habit when they go to school? I really wanted to follow the guy home so I knew where he lived. Then, travel from bar to bar filling up trash bags with cigarette butts and dumping them all in his lawn. He would wake up, "fgt" in mouth and see the lawn covered with crap. He would then, no doubt would have the audacity to say, "WHY WOULD SOMEONE PUT THESE THINGS IN MY YARD?" I have followed you for a week, prick, and you left these on the road. Thought you needed them back. Stupid bastard.
A local radio station has this phone number you can call to "Confess" whatever you need to confess. First problem, dumbasses call it. Second problem, they play the shit on the air. Two callers in particular irked me. The first was a man who fucked his girlfriends sister while she was out of town. He had hoped her sister hadn't said anything because, "he didn't want to have her hear it from her sister." Hello dweeb-boy, you're on the air. Right now, you're girlfriend has just spilled hot coffee on a McDonald's patron after hearing you just banged her 16 year old sister you sick asshole. Not only is she humiliated, but her employer is now facing a multi-million dollar lawsuit all because your dipstick went into another oil pan. Similar to the adage, don't dip the pen in company ink....STOP FUCKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S FAMILY! The next caller was a woman, dating the same guy for 6 years. Both her and the previous caller started out by saying, "baby....you know I love you sooooooooooooo much." She, like Freud above, screwed some guy when her boyfriend was out of town. She CLAIMS to have never done something like this...and that she was drunk when it happened. Being drunk and fucking around does not make it any better. You know what you did, you just woke up not only regretting it, but most likely with a splitting headache. Worse part is, the baby in her belly is not her boyfriends. So, kick him in the nuts three times in one phone call. I fucked around
Not the Time to be Anal
I am currently working with a couple that are building a house. Nice folks, but anal as hell. We started the process in November and have locked the loan with 4 different lenders. Now to the general public, you might say, "ALL HAIL THE ANAL BASTARDS!" To the general public I say, F*** YOU!
When you lock your keys in your car, you can not UNLOCK the door to get to them. You have to jump through a lot of hoops. People may look at you like you are stupid for locking the keys in there, but they don't have any means in which to help you. So, when you LOCK A LOAN, its locked and can not be changed. However, these people seem to think that we can UNDO the already DONE. Nope, go to hell.
We, as brokers, might have access to 100 lenders, but that doesn't mean we USE all of them. Mrs. Customer is a realtor. Mrs. Customer uses many different lenders to get her buyers into homes. She tells me this as if that is some motivating threat to make me do the impossible. Great, I say. F***ING BRAVO! Pat yourself on the ass and move on Junior! Why do I care?
She says to me: "because THEYYYYYYY can get me a lower rate."
Ok, Barney. Go get it then. Go find a lender that (A) we haven't already locked with, and (B) that gives a shit about you and your hubby's professional resume', because I don't care anymore. I won't caudle under your pseudo-pressure. It doesn't work for the IRS, and it ain't gonna work on me.
Fine.
Right fine....go, where shall I send your shit lady?
Well, I just think it's ridiculous that...
That what? You are asking me for a 5th time to change your lender?!?!?! Let me ask you this. Ever heard of get rich quick schemes? Why not you and I go buy a bag of Coleman charcoal and I will start shoving them in your ass and hanging around while your tight-wad beliefs start producing diamonds. How about that?
Well I never...
Never what? Make up your mind? There is an epiphany for you.
Well I am just going to have to take my business elsewhere.
You promise? Don't tease me now. Are you realllly going to go and make someone's life a living hell like you have mine. Free loan, low interest rate...oh yeah, and for a parting gift, here is the f***ing MOON!
So after this conversation I get a phone call from the husband, regurgitating the same shit his wife just said. I just sit and roll my eyes. blah blah...taking business elsewhere...yada yada...threat, threat. So I interrupt him.
Mr. Customer, are you about done?
Yes.
Good because I have heard this already and frankly, the first version was just as bad. That one gave me a headache and your verbal repetition of everything your wife and I already talked about is going to give me an aneurysm.
Ok.
So my thought is, be happy that I haven't called Jimmy "the Bull" to come whack your whiny asses.
Ok.
Stop calling me every day wondering when we are going to close your loan, and then 48 hours prior asking for a new loan and lobbing empty threats of you taking your business elsewhere
You there?
Yeah.
Ok, and last but not least, have your wife ingest enough cotton to shut her up, look under the sink for a mason jar that contains your balls, check your gym bag for your backbone, and for once in your life SAY THANK YOU!
Ok.
And if you can't find your balls, I'll let you use mine while you administer the cotton therapy.
Ok, sorry and thank you so much for your efforts, they are very apprec...
Buyers are liars and people are stupid!
When you lock your keys in your car, you can not UNLOCK the door to get to them. You have to jump through a lot of hoops. People may look at you like you are stupid for locking the keys in there, but they don't have any means in which to help you. So, when you LOCK A LOAN, its locked and can not be changed. However, these people seem to think that we can UNDO the already DONE. Nope, go to hell.
We, as brokers, might have access to 100 lenders, but that doesn't mean we USE all of them. Mrs. Customer is a realtor. Mrs. Customer uses many different lenders to get her buyers into homes. She tells me this as if that is some motivating threat to make me do the impossible. Great, I say. F***ING BRAVO! Pat yourself on the ass and move on Junior! Why do I care?
She says to me: "because THEYYYYYYY can get me a lower rate."
Ok, Barney. Go get it then. Go find a lender that (A) we haven't already locked with, and (B) that gives a shit about you and your hubby's professional resume', because I don't care anymore. I won't caudle under your pseudo-pressure. It doesn't work for the IRS, and it ain't gonna work on me.
Fine.
Right fine....go, where shall I send your shit lady?
Well, I just think it's ridiculous that...
That what? You are asking me for a 5th time to change your lender?!?!?! Let me ask you this. Ever heard of get rich quick schemes? Why not you and I go buy a bag of Coleman charcoal and I will start shoving them in your ass and hanging around while your tight-wad beliefs start producing diamonds. How about that?
Well I never...
Never what? Make up your mind? There is an epiphany for you.
Well I am just going to have to take my business elsewhere.
You promise? Don't tease me now. Are you realllly going to go and make someone's life a living hell like you have mine. Free loan, low interest rate...oh yeah, and for a parting gift, here is the f***ing MOON!
So after this conversation I get a phone call from the husband, regurgitating the same shit his wife just said. I just sit and roll my eyes. blah blah...taking business elsewhere...yada yada...threat, threat. So I interrupt him.
Mr. Customer, are you about done?
Yes.
Good because I have heard this already and frankly, the first version was just as bad. That one gave me a headache and your verbal repetition of everything your wife and I already talked about is going to give me an aneurysm.
Ok.
So my thought is, be happy that I haven't called Jimmy "the Bull" to come whack your whiny asses.
Ok.
Stop calling me every day wondering when we are going to close your loan, and then 48 hours prior asking for a new loan and lobbing empty threats of you taking your business elsewhere
You there?
Yeah.
Ok, and last but not least, have your wife ingest enough cotton to shut her up, look under the sink for a mason jar that contains your balls, check your gym bag for your backbone, and for once in your life SAY THANK YOU!
Ok.
And if you can't find your balls, I'll let you use mine while you administer the cotton therapy.
Ok, sorry and thank you so much for your efforts, they are very apprec...
Buyers are liars and people are stupid!
Pick a Different State to Live In
I saw an article on cnn.com a while back regarding some storms that ripped through the Midwest. The picture, under the headline that read "STORMS TEAR THROUGH MIDWEST," was of a manufactured home. I deal with home buyers on a daily basis. Some want a trailer to live in (not sure why), and well, this story sort of got me going.
The absolute farthest thing from my mind is to own a manufactured home. What is FURTHER from my mind is to move to tornado alley. What, then, would be an absolute travesty is to bring these two things together, owning a mobile home in tornado alley. PSSSSSTTTTTTT...residents of the ENTIRE STATE of Oklahoma. Double wide trailers fly as far as the skimpy single wides when winds approach 300 MPH. DO NOT USE your insurance money from the "last tornado" and GET ANOTHER TRAILER! My advice...take that money and MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE! I do not find it sad when, after a tornado rips through ONLY A TRAILER PARK and people are crying and looking for their screen door, stumbling around incoherent and they look into the camera and start a sentence like, "I remember when this happened the last time...." What the hell? Are you stupid Forrest Gump?
The vortex of a tornado is magnetically attracted to the metal skirting around mobile homes. That has been proven time and time again. The last 2 trillion tornadoes that have hit, well, ANYWHERE have destroyed a mobile home park. It is usually all over the news."Today in Hickville, Okleehoma, a tornado ripped through a trailer park..." blah blah blah...now, insert stumbling old ladies in nightgowns and faces smeared with mud, saying something like, "WHERE IS MY KITTY???? HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY..."I can guarantee since the roof of your house blew by at around 6000 miles an hour, your 4-pound ball of fur is somewhere around Kentucky by now.
The absolute farthest thing from my mind is to own a manufactured home. What is FURTHER from my mind is to move to tornado alley. What, then, would be an absolute travesty is to bring these two things together, owning a mobile home in tornado alley. PSSSSSTTTTTTT...residents of the ENTIRE STATE of Oklahoma. Double wide trailers fly as far as the skimpy single wides when winds approach 300 MPH. DO NOT USE your insurance money from the "last tornado" and GET ANOTHER TRAILER! My advice...take that money and MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE! I do not find it sad when, after a tornado rips through ONLY A TRAILER PARK and people are crying and looking for their screen door, stumbling around incoherent and they look into the camera and start a sentence like, "I remember when this happened the last time...." What the hell? Are you stupid Forrest Gump?
The vortex of a tornado is magnetically attracted to the metal skirting around mobile homes. That has been proven time and time again. The last 2 trillion tornadoes that have hit, well, ANYWHERE have destroyed a mobile home park. It is usually all over the news."Today in Hickville, Okleehoma, a tornado ripped through a trailer park..." blah blah blah...now, insert stumbling old ladies in nightgowns and faces smeared with mud, saying something like, "WHERE IS MY KITTY???? HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY..."I can guarantee since the roof of your house blew by at around 6000 miles an hour, your 4-pound ball of fur is somewhere around Kentucky by now.
PMS
My daughter has PMS. I am sure of it. It has been an affliction that rears its ugly head every morning, every night, and most times in between. She is cranky, impatient, argumentative, whiny, indecisive, combative, resistant, overwhelmed, and lethargic. Now, this is not necessarily an issue as, from time to time, we have all suffered from these ailments, but just not all at once. In the span of five minutes, my daughter will go through this plethora of emotions, in no particular order mind you, leaving both her mother and me baffled as to how to help her. We weren't quite ready for this to happen, as I am sure most parents of little girls aren't. Oh, did I forget to mention the best part? She is not quite three years old.
I came to this PMS conclusion last night when we picked her up from her grandmother's house. Mom and me were both a little tired after a long day. She had not taken a nap at day-care. She kicked some boy in the shin for wanting to sing her a song. She stole another kid's cheese sandwich right of his plate and fed it to the day-care's mascot, a Schnauzer named 'Lucky.' She sat on her nap mat and cried, not able to explain where the nail was that was causing her so much pain. "What is the matter, Peyton?" Rubbing the tears out of her eyes, she stated, mid-cry, "I don't know." I remember hearing that in high school. The only thing missing in Peyton's PMS symptoms is the bloating. She has the irritability down pat. I wonder if they make Midol in a chewable tablet?
When we got home, around 7:30PM, my son had already eaten just before we picked them up. He wanted nothing but bed, so we gave it to him. Peyton wanted juice, but wouldn't drink it when we gave it to her. She wanted to watch a movie, but just not that one we cued up. She was tired but didn't want to sleep. She needed comfort but did not want a hug, kiss or to be held. I searched our junk drawers (yes, plural...we have more than one) to see if the chloroform fairy had answered my prayers. To my dismay, there was none. Memo to the chloroform fairy, I am going to kick your ass. I looked at my wife, with a look that she knew right away was conveying a serious message. If this insanity did not stop, there was going to be someone sleeping in the closet. This look was accompanied by me twirling a roll of duct tape on my fingers. "Bed time," my wife says. Ah hell, might as well have just hit my daughter in the face with a brick. Crying, whaling and tears came willingly, more so than normal. Does a two and half year old ever get the title of queen in any capacity, or is it simply princess? She is quite the drama-something. Peyton fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes,kicking her legs saying, "no bed, no bed, no bedddddddddddd!" My wife picked her up, trying to hold her in her arms as she walked up stairs, Peyton resisting like a hostage in a bed sheet, about ready to be thrown in the trunk of a car. She laid Peyton down, still screaming, and closed her bedroom door. My wife came down after changing her clothes and let out a big sigh and looked at me like her behavior was out of the norm. I said to her, "what?" She replied, "that was weird." What part? All of it was just like yesterday, and the day before.
I can't wait until her hormones kick in and she gets an attitude.
I came to this PMS conclusion last night when we picked her up from her grandmother's house. Mom and me were both a little tired after a long day. She had not taken a nap at day-care. She kicked some boy in the shin for wanting to sing her a song. She stole another kid's cheese sandwich right of his plate and fed it to the day-care's mascot, a Schnauzer named 'Lucky.' She sat on her nap mat and cried, not able to explain where the nail was that was causing her so much pain. "What is the matter, Peyton?" Rubbing the tears out of her eyes, she stated, mid-cry, "I don't know." I remember hearing that in high school. The only thing missing in Peyton's PMS symptoms is the bloating. She has the irritability down pat. I wonder if they make Midol in a chewable tablet?
When we got home, around 7:30PM, my son had already eaten just before we picked them up. He wanted nothing but bed, so we gave it to him. Peyton wanted juice, but wouldn't drink it when we gave it to her. She wanted to watch a movie, but just not that one we cued up. She was tired but didn't want to sleep. She needed comfort but did not want a hug, kiss or to be held. I searched our junk drawers (yes, plural...we have more than one) to see if the chloroform fairy had answered my prayers. To my dismay, there was none. Memo to the chloroform fairy, I am going to kick your ass. I looked at my wife, with a look that she knew right away was conveying a serious message. If this insanity did not stop, there was going to be someone sleeping in the closet. This look was accompanied by me twirling a roll of duct tape on my fingers. "Bed time," my wife says. Ah hell, might as well have just hit my daughter in the face with a brick. Crying, whaling and tears came willingly, more so than normal. Does a two and half year old ever get the title of queen in any capacity, or is it simply princess? She is quite the drama-something. Peyton fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes,kicking her legs saying, "no bed, no bed, no bedddddddddddd!" My wife picked her up, trying to hold her in her arms as she walked up stairs, Peyton resisting like a hostage in a bed sheet, about ready to be thrown in the trunk of a car. She laid Peyton down, still screaming, and closed her bedroom door. My wife came down after changing her clothes and let out a big sigh and looked at me like her behavior was out of the norm. I said to her, "what?" She replied, "that was weird." What part? All of it was just like yesterday, and the day before.
I can't wait until her hormones kick in and she gets an attitude.
Rebel Without a Pause
I heard this phrase last week, referring to puppy training. I thought it was rather fitting for a two and a half year old girl who is quickly forming retorts faster than Tara Reid can slam a Tequila Sunrise. If this was what I have now, I am thinking a 13-year vacation, all expenses paid, to an exclusive Sandals resort, is looking pretty good right about now.
My daughter, with etiquette easily compared to that of most bar patrons, let out a belch this weekend that measured on the Richter scale. Ground zero, according to the local news channel, was our address. Neighbors, whom I love like a cold sore, came to inquire about their foundation shifting. After the fumes had dissipated, I asked her, very nonchalantly and filled with rhetoric, "Did you burp?" Expecting a cowering acknowledgement, followed by the parenting phrase, "what do you say," I got a response from her that, even now, gives me chills. "Yeah, I did," she said, as blatantly as the oral flatulence that was expelled moments earlier. It is almost as if there were no consequences to any defiance in my house. I think, in her quest for independence, she was thinking she could get away with such royal behavior. Testing the waters with a belch is something I should be able to handle. I wasn't aware of how wrong I was.
The mind of a two-year old is rather amazing, if I may say. What motivates independence at such a young age? To me, she has had it pretty easy and has lived her life to this point with a personal valet, a chef, an personal clothing shopper, in-home pediatric care, and a virtual Toys R Us in her closet. She has had an all expenses paid vacation, continuous mind you, for over thirty months. She is unhappy now, thinking it is time for her to make her own decisions. After some serious thought on the validity of this request, my wife had to remind me of her age. Too bad, I thought, as purchasing dinner, consisting of fruit snacks and root beer, would create a serious increase in our operating income. Brackenbury Inc. was looking to free up some capital. However, considering the malnourishment of my child was not an option, so we retained the rights to the in-home chef service....for now.
My daughter, with etiquette easily compared to that of most bar patrons, let out a belch this weekend that measured on the Richter scale. Ground zero, according to the local news channel, was our address. Neighbors, whom I love like a cold sore, came to inquire about their foundation shifting. After the fumes had dissipated, I asked her, very nonchalantly and filled with rhetoric, "Did you burp?" Expecting a cowering acknowledgement, followed by the parenting phrase, "what do you say," I got a response from her that, even now, gives me chills. "Yeah, I did," she said, as blatantly as the oral flatulence that was expelled moments earlier. It is almost as if there were no consequences to any defiance in my house. I think, in her quest for independence, she was thinking she could get away with such royal behavior. Testing the waters with a belch is something I should be able to handle. I wasn't aware of how wrong I was.
The mind of a two-year old is rather amazing, if I may say. What motivates independence at such a young age? To me, she has had it pretty easy and has lived her life to this point with a personal valet, a chef, an personal clothing shopper, in-home pediatric care, and a virtual Toys R Us in her closet. She has had an all expenses paid vacation, continuous mind you, for over thirty months. She is unhappy now, thinking it is time for her to make her own decisions. After some serious thought on the validity of this request, my wife had to remind me of her age. Too bad, I thought, as purchasing dinner, consisting of fruit snacks and root beer, would create a serious increase in our operating income. Brackenbury Inc. was looking to free up some capital. However, considering the malnourishment of my child was not an option, so we retained the rights to the in-home chef service....for now.
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