The store I work at has a back door. Out the back door, there's a set of four concrete steps leading to the parking lot. And on those stairs... is a trail of splotchy black and white and yellow gunk of some kind. It intrigues me. Well, mainly, it sickens me....at least when I'm walking on it. But also....it intrigues me. See, it's almost certainly bird poop. Which is not so intriguing,

It seems people who have little else to do but whine because people have more time to drop cards than they do, and choose to use Entrecard in a manner they can't, or won't, have convinced Entrecard to limit 600 drops per day per IP address. There is no one, perfect way to use Entrecard. Apparently this tactic is being used to combat splogs and people just setting up "dummy" accounts to earn

Man, is it time to write something again already? Shit. I thought when I moved my blogging schedule from 'every freaking damned day, mostly' to 'every other day, give or take', it would feel like a vacation. Wrong was I. It's not exactly Weekend at Gitmo's, or anything horrific like that....but I'm still amazed at how quickly the calendar turns. Which simply means that I'm damned fucking old.

Well, this has just gone too far. For years now, the beermakers of America and abroad have been warning us to: 'Drink responsibly.' Fine. You make a product, and you want us to use it wisely. I get that. I don't necessarily appreciate not getting the benefit of the doubt on this point, but I get where you're coming from. It's like scissors manufacturers starting a 'Cut with Care' campaign, or

So, as it turns out, there are certain things that you really don't want to say within earshot of your boss. And, as luck and probable mental defect would have it, I think I've said most of those things to one or another boss I've had over the years. I'm just not very bright that way. Or my peripheral vision sucks, maybe. Something. Anyway, you name it, and if it's embarrassing, dangerous and

I used to have a girlfriend (shocking, I know) and we�??d play an interesting little cat-and-mouse game. It wasn�??t 'Who's going to fill the ice trays?', nor was it 'Who gets to be on top this time?' Although we did play those games, too. (And, just for the record: The person who takes the last ice cube fills the tray; and�?� We decided who was on top by... heeeey, wait a minute. You think I'm

All right. I know I just ranted about TV commercials a few weeks ago. At the risk of turning this site into a full-time 'boob tube bitchery', I just can't hold back here. Just one more, and I'll shut up about it for a while, I promise. But holy crap, would somebody tell me whose willy I've got to snap in half to get those damned Enzyte commercials off my television? Just let me know....I'll hop

Scene: A local marginally fancy Italian restaurant. (Isn't Olive Garden considered 'marginally fancy' everywhere?) I'm sitting alone at the bar, drinking a beer and waiting for Emily, who never, ever gets off work on time on a Friday night. A woman in her thirties is standing near the door, alone. Three sips into my beer, she walks over to me. All of that really happened. The rest, below....only

I'm here to help, folks. Really. I find problems, and I make sure they get solved. That's just the swell sort of guy I am. So, when I looked and saw the horrible butchering of the English language going on all around me, I simply had to act. Maybe they've stopped teaching grammar in school. Or maybe folks just need a bit of a refresher. And maybe people are just drooling morons. I don't know,

I�??d like to share a recent experience I've had. It happened a couple of days ago. It was mid-morning, maybe ten or ten-thirty. I was rolling into work, as is my custom. (But no longer my habit....damn this being short-handed at work!) And I stopped to hold the door for a woman walking into the mall behind me. (Yeah, I'm a helluva guy, I know. I'm a regular chivalrous throwback, I am. Knight in

Can someone please explain to me the reasoning behind 'button-fly' pants? Honestly, isn't life hard enough as it is, without adding apparel-related aggravation to the litany of nonsense we deal with? Personally, I like my clothes to be as simple and unobtrusive as possible....give me shoes I can slip into without retying, shirts I can pull over my head without buttoning, and pajamas with those

Is there anything (this side of UPN, anyway) that's quite as exquisitely nauseating as farting... 'in anger', if you know what I'm saying....while you're brushing your teeth? One minute, you're all 'ooh, ooh, minty fresh and clean!', and the next, it's 'holy air biscuits, Batman... whose ass is in my mouth?!' Christ, I almost fainted right into the bathtub. I hate getting up early, dammit....can

Note: In a true example of pure laziness the following entry is a repost from a now defunct blog that I had at another social networking site. Since it really didn't get a lot of exposure there I thought I'd throw it in here. My apologies to anyone who has actually seen it before. _________________________________________________________________ Am I the only one who lets my 'internal monologue

So here we are, in the midst of another weekend, and I�??ve got nothing much cued up. But it�??s been three days since an entry has been posted. So, lists it is. Or 'are'. Whatever. Just have a look, and....if you aren�??t already....enjoy the rest of your weekend. _________________________________________________________________ Selected Excerpts from Employee Evaluations I Have Been Privy To '

Dear Keanu, I know you're out there. I can feel you now. And I know what you must be thinking: 'Hey, I could do that! Whoa, dude!' Well, I'm here to say: 'Whoa, dude, indeed'. Don't go there, my friend. Oh, sure, it looks easy. Make a few silly movies, mug for the cameras, never take yourself too seriously. You know you'll never be a truly respected actor....if you ever hear 'Reeves'

Hey, I've got a great idea for a new invention. And you'll be the first to read about it. Aren't you lucky? (I'd run it past my wife or girlfriend but alas there is no such thing in this household and in my experience all I would hear is how silly it is, and how thirteen different people already have patents that I'd be infringing on. Worse, she'd be right. And if there's anything I hate

I think it's important to know how cool you are. But more importantly, how cool you're not. Unfortunately, most people don't. Just about everyone out there thinks they're a lot cooler....or hipper, or smoother....than they really know how to be. They think they're 'plugged in' and 'hot shit', when really they're 'nice, in a creepy sort of way' or 'trying too hard'. These folks have no idea

If you're like me, you spend an awful lot of time thinking about something besides sex. Which is not at all like simply not thinking about sex. That's easy. You can 'not think about sex' in your sleep. And that's about the only time, if you're one of those sad, perverted souls afflicted with a penis. Like me. (That's 'like me, afflicted', not 'like me, penis'. You may go back to sleep now,

I'd like to tell you about my second most favoritest bathroom graffiti moment ever, which tangentially involves a little girls' room. But no little girls. If there were any little girls involved, then it wouldn't be a 'graffiti story' any more, now would it? Perv. Anyway, I was in high school, and we were having an 'annoying little dweeb' outing to a local eatery of some kind. (And no, at

I've found a cool new relaxation technique. Given that a lot of my readers are a bit on the... um, edgy side, I thought I'd share it with you. I know how tired you get of the deep breathing and counting to ten. So maybe this will help. It doesn't require a lot of fancy equipment or anything like that. You don't need a mat to kneel on, or little tinkly metal balls to work in your hand to