What really happened...

Off the Wall, Rock with You, PYT, Billie Jean all seminal MJ before that fateful day of 01-27-84, the day the pepsi ad execs decided to pull the ultimate snafu in marketing history, combining MJ's highly volatile jheri curls with pyro-technics.

You see, when MJ's afro went ablaze, the news media failed to uncover the true story of what became of the king of pop following his being whisked away in the ambulance.

They would have you believe that he only suffered horrific burns when the fact of the matter is that the real MJ perished on route to the burn center.

Knowing the consequences of loosing their cash cow (anyone remember Captain EO from the Epcot center?), experts from Disney were brought in immediately to see what could be done. While technologically primitive at the time, the folks from the magic kingdom were no strangers to animatronics and they decided to rebuild MJ as a cyborg.

A famous sociologist once said that society is the acculmulation of unintended consequences and here is a most blatant example. You see, Disney programmers have always geared their products towards a very specific audience, children. Their animatronics crew was no exception. The under the surface of the new bionic MJ resided circuitry with a a single focus, children.

No one could foresee the inevitability that has become the current MJ, nor that the magic of Beat It or Thriller could be mechanically replicated, nor that shoddy 80s material used in the construction would rapidly deteriorate in the 90s. It is a little known fact that MJ's nose was constructed out of Shrinkee dinks and Hubba Bubba chewing gum, hence its subsequent shrinkage.

So sad it is when man attempts to play god.

Guess what happened 3 days and 12 years ago?

This.

The aforelinked (I may have just coined a term there) has implications like you wouldn't believe. I will write about them later this evening.

Until then enjoy this bit-o-irony from the Egypt trip...

While shopping in the local bazaar, I found Cairo's equivalent to Victoria's Secret. It was a stall-shop stocked with scanty lingerie. The lady who owned the shop was dressed in a burka (that's the head-to-toe robe where you can only see the eyes of the wearer).

Burn in Germantown, hell.

You're probably thinking "Don't you mean, 'Burn in hell, Germantown?' in the title," right?

No, I standfast behind my original title. Dig around in the archives to the late August/September timeframe and you will find my 3/4 serious: 1/4 tongue-n-cheek tirade on moving out of that forsaken place.

Now, I am starting to believe that Germantown is not at parity with hell, but in fact, a much worse place.

Here I sit at my hotel in Egypt, far far away from the United States as a collective, much less its smaller municipalities. Here I scan the headlines of the Egyptian gazette which has been largely focused on the African World Cup Soccer Tournament currently being held in Cairo. Here I rub my eyes in disbelief, pinch myself twice and call the front desk to see if I am dreaming as Germantown makes the front page of the Egyptian Gazette newspaper for a day care centre shooting.

So please, if you go to review my previous article on the exodus out of the big Germ, please disregard the aforementioned recipe of 3/4 serious, and replace with 110% serious.


In other news, Michael Jackson was spotted in Bahrain dressed like a woman.

In other other news, a man from Bogota employed an unconventional cure for his nephew's hiccups. He shot him. According to witnesses he was only trying to scare him. The uncle then "scared" himself because he felt so distraught.

I'm pretty sure that's a first...

So the other day, me and meladyfriend crawled down a laundry-shoot sized shaft into the center chamber of the Red Pyramid in Dashur. The air was ripe with anominia-esque musk of guano. It was eeirly quiet. That is until I bellowed out "ANDIE! YOU GOONIE!"

I couldn't help myself cause based on visual inspection of the interior, I was pretty much convinced that's where they shot the well scene. The acoustic qualities of my voice echoing throughout the chamber only confirmed my hypothesis.

So, what else have I been up to?

I've come close to being run down like forrest gump on average 3.2 times per day. Traffic patterns here are much like Calcutta, only with better roads. The guide book describes it as the chariot scene from Ben Hur only with Fiats, Ladas, and Skodas (those are common egyptian cars).

I made a trip to the Egyptian museum and saw King Tut's booty. Let me clarify, I saw King Tut's treasure, not his ass. They charge extra for that.

I had a can of "Batman Blast" soda which tasted unnaturally gross.

For lunch I went to Felfela. As far as reviews go, the jury is out on that place as to whether it is a tourist trap or good Egyptian eats. Honestly, it's a little of both, and personally, I think it's good to be on the safe side with the food. I had Fuul (think of refried beans --before they were refried doused with oil, onions and garlic), Tahina (paste made from sesame seeds and spices), Shammy (pita bread) and Ta'amiya (a fried patty of mashed fava beans). The jury is still out on my breath after a meal like that. I think it can either cure cancer or perhaps cause it.

Well I am going to go watch the Oliver Giessen Show. It's like Jerry Springer, but in German.

Later tonight a once in a lifetime boat ride on the Nile.

One more thing...

Is it wrong to wish death upon a child?

On the plane ride to Paris, I had the distinct pleasure of sitting about 6 rows away from a 6 year old child who whined incessantly for the 6 hour flight. And not just any ole whining, whining in french. Needless to say sleep was limited at best.

Now anyone programmed from Lost probably picked up on the connection here, but for the less astute...

6 year old child, 6 rows away, 6 hour flight... it was obviously the devil, so while generally wishing death upon a child is not socially acceptable, I think it's ok in this case. Maybe I will give some beggars some money just to be on the safe side.

Besides, you really have to be careful about what you wish on other people. Or at least I do.

There was this onetime in 3rd or 4th grade that we got this new student in class and he was a really uppity prick for being the new kid. One recess he was showboating on the b-ball courts I thought to myself, that kid really needs to be checked. Then WHAM the left wing of a Cessna fell out of the sky and severed his legs. Ok, that didn't happen, but he did miss a pass and got hit in the head with football, fell over, hit his head and lost a tooth.

Then in 6th grade I transferred to a new school. Knowing the consequences of being a new kid and acting up, I tried my best to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, trouble has a habit of finding me. What made matters worse was trouble came in the form of a loud mouthed 5th grader. Can you believe the balls of these kids? A 5th grader talking unprovoked smack to his elders? Well I returneth the smacktalk with a bit of the ole evil eye. Two weeks later he was diagnosed with brain cancer. I shiteth you not.

I think this evil eye power is hereditary. Mostly from my dad's side. A few years ago, well more like five or six years ago, there was a similar experience. I was home for the summer from grad school and working as a mechanics helper. The mechanic had to go away for a few days and I promised to take care of his business in his absence. During this time, I had to deliver the title for a car to an auction for the mechanic's neighbor. I did, but this neighbor wasn't too bright and for some reason thought I didn't do what I promised to do. He called my dad with his panties in a twist and started talking some out-of-pocket shit, grilling him and general being disrespectful. I don't know what my dad said to him, but I do know that a short while later the dude collapsed in his garage and died from some freakish undiscovered tumor.

So, that's all I have to say about that.

A kick in the McNutz

Dammit cubed.

A 2400 meter hike to the closest McDonald's revealed a startling fact...The McFelafel is no longer being made.

My consolation meal was a "McArabia" grilled chicken sandwich.

Mcshit.

Oh well, at least there was a mirage megastore (Virgin megastore with less racy name) nearby according to my map. Guess what? The megastore went the way of the Mcfelafel. I wandered around for 2 hours looking for that son-of-a-bitch like it was platform 14.5 from harry potter.

No luck.

As I made the trek back to the hotel, I had a totally new experience. While crossing a bridge over the Nile a wind kicked up and actually blew dirt off the river onto me. Yes dirt.

Mcnasty.

As a final stop on my Monday excursion, I hit up Drinkie's, the local beer store and snatched up an interesting assortment of beverages which I will spend the rest of the afternoon sampling.

Here's what's on the menu...

1. Stella export Lager Beer (not to be confused with the Stella you are thinking of)

2. Meister Max (twice the punch of that wussy regular meister)

3. Chill Arack Ice (looks interesting, possibly deadly)

4. Chill Margarita (yummy).

I'll report on the findings later.

Fien Mcfelafel?

There's only one way to to deal with the morning after a late night filled with Meister Max swilling and Sheesha dragging...

the search for the elusive McFelafel extra value meal.

All this fried bean goodness for less than the price of a postage stamp.

Sweeet!

I'll let you know how it goes.

Hang in there!

I'll be on international holiday for the next week and a half so updates may or may not occur on a regularly scheduled basis.

Amazing personality Test.

Courtesy of my cousin who works for Miller Brewing...

In the middle of the table is a round food tray with five kinds of Fruits on it.

They are:
>a. Apple
>b. Banana
>c. Strawberry
>d. Peach
>e. Orange

Which fruit will you choose?

Please think VERY carefully and don't rush into it.

This is great, I was astounded!

Your choice reveals a lot about you!

Test results:
Please SCROLL DOWN>>>>>>>>>
If you have chosen:
a. Apple: That means you are a person who loves to eat apples
b. Banana: That means you are a person who loves to eat bananas
c. Strawberry: That means you are a person who loves to eat strawberries
d. Peach: That means you are a person who loves to eat peaches
e. Orange: That means you are a person who loves to eat oranges

And the results..

are in.

Bum Wine Challenge 2k4

Lest any one forget....

Rather than heed the advice found on this site, three colleagues and I sought to recreate the challenge sans the dawg.

We procurred bottles of the Wild I, T-Bird, Night Train, and Cisco along with 2 cases of PBR for good measure and palate cleansing.

Total cost $25.05.

In a measure of further foolishness, we added a time challenge where the first person finished was the "winner." In some rare cases, the winner is actually the loser. Our Wild I challenger finished his bottle of grape/sand flavored libations in record time. He was shortly thereafter found sending obscene messages via email to the cwine (makers of Wild i) website. Eventually he was the first to pass out and claim his prize (a pair of cheezeit sunglasses). Later he served as a chips-n-salsa bar.

The T-bird contestant became wildly out of control, suffering from delusions that he had become a giant pair of breasts. He proceed to slap everyone in sight until passing out. He now eats but can not get full, believing the bird ate a whole in his stomach.

The night train contestant also suffered from a mild case of paranoia and delusions. He was convinced we had robbed him of his poker earnings when in fact he was merely sitting on them.

I had the distinct pleasure of tussling with liquid crack AKA cisco. The makers of this product may be evil, but at least they are honest. I can personally concur, that it is most definitely "NOT A WINE COOLER." I finished last and suffered the punishment of shotgunning a PBR. As far as punishments go, that is the equivalent of giving someone a "time-out" after being beat with a sock full of quarters for 2 and a half hours.

I'd like to say that we all learn from our mistakes, but am inclined to believe that as soon as my friend regrows his stomach, we will be back for the 2nd annual BWC.

Bum Wine Challenge 2006

Say hello to our second run at the Bum Wine Challenge!

For most people, it takes only one experience of touching a hot stove to learn the lesson.

We laugh at most people.

Don't play in traffic today

Happy friday the 13th.

It's the Internet equivalent of suddenly feeling like you want to take a shower

C'mon you know you want to look!

Mr. Pibb + Red Vines <> Crazy Delicious

Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good Parnell freestyle as much as the guy, but for sure that combo is anything but crazy delicious.

Let me break it down for you. Mr Pibb is nothing more than a 2 -cent whore knockoff of the highend call girl Dr. Pepper. And despite the class disparity Dr. Pepper is still a trick. C'mon people it is rumored to be prune soda.

The bottles used to have a 10 a 2 and a 4 on them because that's when you should have a little bit of the doctor to keep things flowing properly. I've also heard that they did research on blood sugar levels and found by supplementing a diet with a can of soda at these times prevents a significant drop in blood sugar levels but that's besides the point.

Perhaps the best evidence of its inherent nastiness comes in the form of the ultimate bootleg, generic Safeway soda and their shot at replicating the Pep...Dr. Popper. This 25 cents per can slush had the tagline "It's the soda with that fruity-nutty cola flavor." I read that (sadly) after finishing a can in 5th grade and threw up a little bit in my mouth.

Fruit and Nuts in cola? I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth just now at the very prospect. The power of the mind people, c'mon!

So basically the bullet point of the presentation thus far would be Mr. Pibb is disgusting.

On to the red vines....

I bought a pack of these at target and asked myself, I wonder how many packages of Red Vines were sold after seeing the Narnia rap? I know that led me to try them for the very first time. I was super excited as the thumbnail into the package test indicated the vines were very fresh, not all old, hard and crusty like something that is old hard and crusty.

I broke them out later that night while watching a movie and was ready to slap the taste out of those damn SNL rappers mouths. The taste buds were expecting something along the lines of twizzlers. The taste buds were greeted with some vile concoction resembling a cross between pepto bismal and moldy bread. With the exception of those chaukly pink candies that taste like pepto bismal, red vines are quite arguably the ass-nastiest candy on the block.


While I have no doubt they belong in the same boat as Mr. Pibb, my contention is in the destination of said boat. Most certainly not Crazy-delicious-ville, more likely Dundalk.

Try it, everybody's doing it

When I bought my Subaru station wagon a little over six months ago, little did I know that I was ahead of the curve.

Now everyone is trying to capitalize on wagon leniency, including Lamborghini...

Yeah, that's right. Stationwagons are the new black.

Not for human consumption

I should totally enter this.

It's a contest for stupid warning labels ala don't store your baby in this box.

Here are a few gems...

A warning label found on a bottle of dried bobcat urine made to keep rodents and other pests away from garden plants says: “Not for human consumption.”

A digital thermometer that can be used to take a person's temperature several different ways warns: "Once used rectally, the thermometer should not be used orally."

A household iron warns users: “Never iron clothes while they are being worn”

A label on a hair dryer reads, “Never use hair dryer while sleeping”

A warning on an electric drill made for carpenters cautions: “This product not intended for use as a dental drill.”

The label on a bottle of drain cleaner warns: “If you do not understand, or cannot read, all directions, cautions and warnings, do not use this product.”
A massage chair warns: “DO NOT use massage chair without clothing... and, Never force any body part into the backrest area while the rollers are moving.”

A cardboard car sunshield that keeps sun off the dashboard warns, “Do not drive with sunshield in place” *** on a side note, I have done this***

A cartridge for a laser printer warns, “Do not eat toner”

A 13-inch wheel on a wheelbarrow warns: “Not intended for highway use”

A snowblower warns: “Do not use snowthrower on roof.”

A dishwasher carries this warning: “Do not allow children to play in the dishwasher.”

A box of birthday cake candles says: “DO NOT use soft wax as ear plugs or for any other function that involves insertion into a body cavity.”

Monsters in the Closet

When I was just a wee laddie, I had a penchant for spending most nights sleeping on the living room couch. Aesthetically, the couch was 1970s distasteful at best, had all the aromatic qualities of a bus full of old people, and was covered in a material that would make a burlap sack feel like the finest silk. Still I was insistent on sleeping there and did so until I was probably 7 or 8 years of age.

I don't remember why this was the case as much as that it just was the case. Call it a toddler reified belief.

My parents chalked it up to me being a needy child or perhaps having an overactive imagination of monsters in the closet. I can't say I blame them. I was needy and did, in fact, have an invisible (not imaginary mind you) friend named Nivan (pronounced NEYE-VAN like Ivan with an N) that lived in our vacuum cleaner.

Then, just recently, at Christmas dinner, the explanation emerged courtesy of my older sister.

You see, back in those dark ages me and the sister didn't get along at all. In fact, I was pretty much convinced she was the devil. As most older sisters she was often charged with babysitting me. Unlike most older sisters, her definition of babysitting me was to exploit my fear of sharp objects by threatening to stick me with a thumb tack if I didn't sit on the floor quietly while she watched The Osmonds or The Brady Bunch. Heaven forbid I ask to watch the Price is Right. That would result in a call directly to Santa Clause with report of being a bad child. This threat was soon null after she told me there was no Santa and subsequently replaced with a greater threat of calling my step-grandfather who is arguably the meanest whiteman on this side of the Altantic.


But that's all in the past.

So anyhow, somehow the holiday dinner talk wound its way to childhood memories and monsters in closets. And the following exchange took place:


Sister: "Remember how Ben used to always sleep on the couch?"

Family: "Uh-huh, we couldn't figure out what the deal was."

Sister: "Remember how our closets had spooky crawlspaces that connected the bedrooms and there was a hidden door that popped out of the wall in Ben's room?"

Family: "Yes."

Satan: "Yeah well I thought it might be a good idea to sneak through the closet and pop out and scare Ben one night"

Family: "Are you serious?"

Beezlebub: "Yeah, I was wearing a wolf's mask too."

Family: "Did you really?"

Old Scratch: "Sure did. I jumped out and scared him good."

Family: "How old was Ben at the time?"

Lucifer: "Probably 5 or 6."

Family: "That's gonna generate some bad karma!"

El Diablo: "Yeah, probably"

Family: "So then what happened?"

Girl with Horns and pitchfork: "I ran back to my room and pretended to be asleep, but not before hiding the mask."

Family: "- -"

Sister: "I tried not to laugh as I overheard you trying to convince Ben that there were no such things as monsters in his closet as you walked him back into his room."

Family: "Geez. Sorry about that whole giving you a hard time about sleeping on the couch and if you didn't stop you might grow up to be a hobo stuff."

Appie Bithdae Guvness

Sorry for the belated birthday tribute to the one and only bootylicious pegasus but apparently your DOB info was lodged on page 24 of the 50 things you're not supposed to know.

Besides, being on time is sooooooo 2005.

Consider this a fashionably late birthday greeting in a David Letterman top ten fashion.

Ten Reasons why the Governess ownz...

10. Her passionate hatred of brendan fraiser.

9. Used to own the world's worst Volvo and wrote a colorful letter to the owner of said Volvo to prove it.

8. Her bliggity blogging posse got me into bliggety blogging.

7. Has a secret (or not-so-secret) email account under the name "dumpslikeatruck."

5. She invented velcro.

4. She is secretly a super hero. She once sat in battery acid while rescuing a small dog and laughed about it. SHE LAUGHED ABOUT IT!

3. Regularly develops restuarant quality halloween costumes such as the lobster cowboy (which is much like my Nun-pirate-Cowboy concept but in a lobsterific sort of fashion).

2. She can literally dominate a 40 (we'll for the first hour or so).

1. Because that's just how it is.

Big Brother Is Watching

So last year for christmas I got this...

and let me tell you, people have gone to great lengths to withold information from the public.

That's probably not too shocking, however, from the title I fully expected to learn of no less than 50 things that otherwise I would not know.

Evidently someone felt differently...

Yes, in fact, the book just so happens to be missing pages 17 - 32. I guess the title is more truthful than I originally believed. Perhaps the patriot act ate them.

Happy New Years.