Harvard to Settle Question of God's Existence

Officials at Harvard University today announced a bold experiment designed to settle once and for all the question of God's existence.

Recently Harvard has come under fire for rejecting a recommendation that all undergraduates be required to take a class in religion. Critics argue that religion is a fundamental aspect of what it means to be a human being, and that by allowing its students to avoid studying religion Harvard is producing graduates who are ignorant of one of the key psychological and sociological forces that has shaped human history.

Now the university has released a statement that attempts to clear up the confusion regarding the policy. In the statement Dr. Harold Emmets, the Harvard Dean of Reason and Objectivity, states: "At Harvard we value the principles of Science and Reason. When we are faced with an unproven proposition that is believed by billions of people, it isn't our job to simply dismiss it outright. That would be a clear sign that we're being just as biased and irrational as those religious wackos (not that there's anything wrong with that)." Emmets goes on to clarify the intention behind Harvard's policy.

"Our motivation is quite simply to test scientifically the hypothesis of God's existence. The plan is to remove all vestiges of religion from Harvard and see if God goes medieval on our asses in retribution. If the campus is subjected to a series of disastrous plagues, we'll know that there is a God after all. Once it is agreed by the executive committee that the hypothesis has been confirmed, we will repent of the evil that is in our hearts and institute mandatory religious indoctrination for all students.

"If, however, Harvard continues to remain plague-free, we will require all students to take a class called "'Why Harvard is More Powerful than God.'"

Either way, Emmet notes, once the experiment is complete all students will be required to take a class dealing with religion.

In response, fundamentalist leader Pat Robertson immediately called for all "true Christians" to begin praying for the immediate and gruesome destruction of Harvard. "Break out your weenies," Robertson told a cheering crowd of several hundred enthusiastic listeners who had camped out just off-campus, "Because there's gonna be a fire."

Robertson said that God told him the exact time and date of Harvard's destruction, as well as the method the Almighty would use. "I think He said He was going to send a ball of fire from the pits of Gehenna. But He might have said 'boys choir from the city of Vienna.' Unfortunately, my hearing hasn't been so great since God visited His retribution upon me for listening to Pat Boone on my iPod a few weeks ago."

Despite the lack of certainty regarding the exact manner of grotesque punishment God would use, the crowd was on the verge of ecstasy anticipating the imminent destruction of the belligerently secular university.

One spectator who was particularly excited was Josh Beeman, an Atlanta businessman and real estate mogul. "When the fire goes out and the German kids leave, I'm going to rush in and plant this on Harvard yard," Beeman said, holding a small flagpole bearing a hand-made flag with felt pictures of Jesus, the cross, and the Bible glued to it. "Once the land has been reclaimed for God," we're going to open a theme park called Conversion Land. We're going to have a swimming pool that can handle five hundred baptisms at a time and an authentic working replica of Heaven."

Harvard officials seemed frightened and confused regarding the gathering. "What do they want?" asked a bewildered physics professor. "Should we give them food?"

Visiting anthropology professor Jamaresh Hwarindi theorized that perhaps the protesters were "realizing the manifestation of the meta-societal dialectical process expressed in the collective recognition of the existential threat of the other."

In an uncanny parallel to Hwarindi's statement, Robertson suggested the Harvard faculty were "possessed by a legion of demons from the blackest pit of hell."

Hwarindi admitted that he was puzzled by the protesters' behavior. "I just can't figure out what's motivating them," he said. "All of their material needs seem to be met, and yet they are clearly angered by something. Man, it's times like this that I wish I had taken a class in that, whatayacallit, re-li-jun."

As of midnight Eastern time, the two sides had made no progress in the stalemate. Their only point of agreement was that neither side should make any attempt to directly engage the other in meaningful dialogue. Protesters burned copies of Harvard's statement without even reading it. "You don't need to lift the manhole cover to know the sewer stinks," said one.

In stark contrast, a statement by the protesters was greeted by the Harvard faculty with great enthusiasm. First the statement was ridiculed for its poor grammar and usage, then deconstructed in the light of a feminist Marxian framework, and finally recycled into rolling paper.

One department chair, who asked to remain anonymous, was heard to exclaim, "Whoah, that's good dogma."


Listed on humor-blogs.com

Again with the Snarking?

Yes, I'm at the Snark again, so head over there if you want to know why the Oscars suck.

If you're visiting from the Snark, welcome! There are Go-Gurts and half a 2-liter bottle of flat root beer in the fridge. Stay as long as you want.

And if you want to vote for me for Best New Weblog, you can't! But you can vote for our very own Anita Bath from Say No to Crack!

Congratulations on Your New Testicles!

Congratulations!

You've just purchased a pair of novelty testicles for your truck, SUV or other vehicle.

With the purchase of this fine product you have joined the informal fraternity of novelty nutsack owners -- the three million men (and possibly women, although we doubt it) whose vehicles already bear the unmistakable mark of supreme manliness. Yes, you've joined our proud brotherhood at the peak of its popularity, and whatever your reason for waiting so long, we're glad to have you aboard.


Frequently Asked Questions:

Q: I hear people making remarks about "compensating for some shortcoming." What does that mean?
A: These people are jealous. There is no documented evidence that novelty testicle owners suffer from any sort of physical inadequacy. In fact, during a recent door-to-door survey most novelty testicles owners reported having genitalia as large or larger than the national average.

Q: Some people roll their eyes and/or shake their heads when they see my testicles. Why?
These people don't "get it."

Q: The women I know tell me my testicles are stupid and lame.
A: They're lying. Women love novelty testicles. When they are in the bathroom together they talk about which guy has the biggest novelty testicles and try to figure how they can get that guy to have sex with them. A very small percentage of women really do think your testicles are lame. These women are college professors who think they're too good for you, or lesbians. Often they are both.

Q: I'm concerned that my novelty testicles may soon go "out of style."
A: There is no need to worry. Novelty testicles, like the mullet and decals of a little boy peeing on things, never get old.

Q: People with small children glare at me as they drive past. Am I doing something wrong?
No. You're not the problem here. This happens because little Brittany in the back seat has just asked, "Mommy, what are those?" Brittany has to learn some day, so it might as well be when she's in first grade.

Q: How do I keep people from stealing my novelty testicles?
A: We recommend coating your testicles with rancid bacon grease. This will also help prevent corrosion.

Q: I think my girlfriend is envious of my testicles. Do you have any products geared more toward women?
A: Absolutely! We are constantly adding new items to our Scrotowear collection. What better gift could there be than a genuine leather Scrotowear purse?



And for those really special occasions, break out a Scrotowear pendant or earrings!



Order them for her today. You know she wants it!

Mattress Tags: humor

Listed on humor-blogs.com

Shocking Truth Behind Dinosaur Hoax Revealed

At first it seemed like a harmless joke: A 10 foot long model of a dinosaur which, despite being constructed entirely of dirt, was convincing enough to fool a veteran paleontologist who had twice won the Kenmore Silver Star Award for most microwaves sold over a 3 month period.

Now, however, investigators have learned that the faux dinosaur was part of a sinister plot to wreak havoc on downtown Ripon, California. The mastermind behind the plot appears to be a local seven year old boy who has long eluded capture. Authorities would not release his name but have been referring to him as "Climber" because of his affinity for climbing trees and other tall objects. He was abetted in his schemes by his five year old sister, known only as Speed Pony. Investigators found the children's hideout after a lucky break: Their mother, a former runway model and nuclear physicist, was arrested on Wednesday on charges of hunting zombies without a license. Unable to face the prospect of incarceration at a facility lacking a Starbucks and regular access to sudoku puzzles, she confessed that she had been harboring the pint-sized plotters.



"This dinosaur was just a model," said Albert Binocci of the Ripon Police Department. "The kid was planning on building a 180 foot tall robotic dinosaur made of K-Nex, Legos and Floam." Authorities retrieved several thousand pounds of the dinosaur-making paraphernalia from the children's bedroom.

Joan Limnets, an eldery woman who lived nearby, expressed disbelief at the revelations about the diminutive evildoers. "They seemed like such nice children," Limnets said. "Climber in particular. Such a polite boy. He always said 'please' and 'thank you.' Although to be honest, Speed Pony scared me a bit."



Investigators also found a frighteningly realistic model of downtown Ripon, complete with the house and the hotel. It was built from left over styrofoam packing material.



It is believed that Climber was the primary instigator of the plot. Speed Pony's role seems to have been limited to comic relief and distracting suspicious observers from Climber's sinister doings. Investigators believe that it was only a matter of time, however, before she followed in her brother's footsteps. As the pair was hauled away, Climber could be heard shouting, "She won't stop copying me!"



Today the diabolical duo is incarcerated at a maximum security facility in Modesto, awaiting trial. If convicted of attempted mayhem they will each be sentenced to spend the next twelve to fourteen years having their creativity systematically worn down by repeated exposure to dull textbooks and meaningless, repetitive task assignments.

You Think This is Funny?

If you're like me, you're pretty tired of all the shameless traffic-building gimmicks that I employ on this blog to attract more readers. If you wanted to be bombarded by ads and other annoying crap, you'd be using MySpace, right? Right.

So I'm working on a little side project that will hopefully allow me to continue to blatantly shill for this site and some of my other favorite humor blogs while maintaining the pristine snarky integrity of the Mattress Police. The project is a little something called humor-blogs.com.

humor-blogs.com is sort of a running "best-of" collection from several funny blogs. The idea is for humor-blogs.com to be sort of a gateway site that acts as an introduction to these blogs. Initially these four blogs are participating:






If you have a funny blog that you would like added to the humor-blogs.com sidebar, let me know by posting a comment here or emailing me at diesel -at- mattresspolice.com. I'll be happy to include your blog; all I ask is that you add a link to humor-blogs.com from your site in return. Your link to humor-blogs.com can be a simple text link or you can use one of the banners on the site.

I'm going to try to be pretty liberal (despite my notorious conservatism) in what blogs I add. However, I reserve the right to reject blogs that are gratuitously offensive or just not funny in any sense of the word. And let's try to keep it PG-13, if not PG.

Let me know if you would also like excerpts from your blog posts to appear on the main humor-blogs.com page. I will gradually be adding more blogs to the page feed over the next few weeks, and who knows? Fate might smile on you.

And of course you are welcome to link to humor-blogs.com if you have a "serious" site as well. Think of the kittens, won't you?

Mattress Tags: humor blog directories funny blogs

Signs and Wonders

Just a note to let you know that yesterday I guest posted at Crummy Church Signs, so if you want a quick fix of snarkiness, head over there. I tried my best to provide the same level of withering sarcasm that Joel does on a regular basis, but he's a tough act to follow. Seriously, I think Crummy Church Signs has the highest laugh:word count ratio of any site I've come across. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff these churches put on their signs.

In other news, I'm probably going to discontinue the Dispatches in their current form. I think I'm going to try to implement some kind of "thought of the day" like Wolfe's Random Quote. By the way, if you ever wonder what I would blog about if I wasn't crippled by the inability to take anything seriously, head over to Wolfe's Musings. His blog pretty much reflects my thoughts on politics, current events, etc., but he's a little more in touch with reality than I am.

Oh, and I'm hoping to make another Important Announcement very soon. Like maybe later today. Check back soon.

Bush Fiddles While Moon Deteriorates

In a ritual that is becoming all too familiar, scientists have once again announced troubling news from outer space. Despite repeated assurances from the Bush administration regarding prospects for long term lunar stability, it appears that the moon continues to disintegrate.

"At this point there seems to be little we can do," said Hans VerHoeven, director of the non-profit Council on Lunar-American Relations. After millenia of being pounded by meteors, VerHoeven noted, the moon finally appears near total collapse. "Yet the Bush administration insists that we must 'stay the course' with regard to the moon," VerHoeven added. "It's insane."

Terran Imperialism

Critics on both sides of the aisle have roundly criticized the Bush plan to require the Moon to continue to orbit the Earth at its present distance and velocity. "Release Earth's grip on the moon NOW!" read signs at a recent protest march which inexplicably occurred at a Taco Bell outside Redding, California. Denouncing "Terran imperialism" has become a favorite rallying cry of the those who sympathize with the suffering of the uninhabited sphere.

"First we send probes there looking for water," said Susan Jarvis, an unemployed Redding resident who attended the rally with her three unemployed children. "Well, guess what? There's no water. It was all lies. At least no planets disintegrated when Clinton lied about the Alpha Centaurians telling him to shag Gennifer Flowers."

An American flag now waves unnaturally over the previously pristine surface of the Moon, a harsh reminder of Earth's past meddling in the region's politics. The nonexistent locals, who might once have welcomed Earth's superior technology in their fight against the constant barrage of space debris, are now strangely silent. The schools are empty, lacking even buildings to signify their presence. The playgrounds are indistinguishable from the nearby cornfields, in which no corn grows. And every square foot of the benighted satellite bears the scars of billions of years of neglect and an atmosphere even thinner than Earth's tired promises to "send another expedition" some day.

Not everyone blames Earth for the Moon's problems, however. Ted Barnett, a student at Chico State University, was angered by the protesters. "Everybody talks about how much light we get from the Moon," he said. "Nobody bothers to mention how light the Moon gets from us. Anyway, get out of my way so I can get a f---ing gordita, for f---'s sake."

If You Are Indifferent to Something, Set It Free

The Bush administration has belatedly announced a plan to allow the Moon to slip 1.6 inches further away from the Earth per year, letting Earth's rotation slow gradually over the next 5 billion years. Critics argue that this is "too little, too late," and point out that the plan has to be renewed by Congress every four years. Democrats are worried that if they lose control over the House of Representatives at any time over the next five billion years, conservative Republicans will attempt to reassert Terran supremacy over the Moon.

"We've learned that you can't trust these lunocons," said Jarvis. "We've wasted enough of our gravity trying to hold onto a Moon that doesn't want our help. It's the same old story."

Is The Tide Turning?

Jarvis' own story goes deeper, however. It turns out that her son was Joseph "Woogie" Jarvis, a surfer who disappeared in a massive wave off Maui. She bristles at the idea that she is protesting out of anger at her son's Moon-related death. "My son's death was tragic," she says, "But the bigger issue here is why is the Moon in our gravitational sphere in the first place?"

Like an increasing number of disillusioned citizens, Jarvis drives a car bearing a bumper sticker that reads "Support the Surfers -- Release the Moon." She dismisses the contention that the moon might disintegrate even more rapidly if it is released from the Earth's gravity.

"That's a lie promoted by the Moon-mongers at Haliburton," Jarvis argues. Haliburton, the profiteering firm formerly run by Dick Cheney, has recently come under fire for rumors that it is building a gigantic evil base on the dark side of the moon, where it will be free from international scrutiny, heavy corporate taxes and five sixths of its current weight.

The Dark Side of Moon Policy

"Of course Haliburton doesn't want to let the Moon go," said Jarvis. "They'd like nothing more than to chop the Moon up into little pieces and sell it to Earthlings as moon rocks. And then they'd chop the Earth into pieces and sell it back to the Moon. That's just how evil they are."

The Terran public seems to agree. In a recent opinion poll, 58% of respondents agreed with the statement "Haliburton is an evil company," while 36% agreed with the statement that "Haliburton is an evil, fire-breathing lizard." 7% thought that Haliburton was "a small rodent indigenous to Guatemala, which subsists entirely on discarded cell phone batteries and coca beans." 76% said that they would buy Haliburton stock if they had the chance.

Jarvis and several dozen of her unemployed friends are coordinating another rally next week in Stockton. They are planning an aerial photo of the protesters, arranged in a crescent formation, simultaneously bearing their posteriors. The photo will be sent to the White House with the caption, "We've got your Moon right here!"

Meanwhile, the desolate Moon soldiers on, powerless to change course as it hurtles toward its inevitable doom.

Mattress Tags: humor Moon George W. Bush
Listed on humor-blogs.com

If It's Tuesday I Must Be At the Snark

...so head over there to read my thoughts on how the U.S. can retain its cinematic supremacy.

I've decided to kill the Psych-Geist. It was kind of fun creating dummy posts to frustrate visitors looking for Playboy centerfolds and the USC Song Girl Ass, but the unruly bastards drank all my beer and left the place in a shambles. Also, it made me feel kind of dirty. Damn, here they come again.

For those of you visiting from the Snark, skip over this lame post and read about my recent encounter with Zombies or Kenny Skywalker's pitiful attempts to secure gainful employment.

Also feel free to catch up on my reading log at Central Booking. I've finished Fast Food Nation and I'm moving on to The Kite Runner. And it's not too late to suggest a book for me to read.

Make sure you check back soon, as there is going to be some cool stuff going down with Crummy Church Signs and some of your other favorite funny bloggers.

And tomorrow? Learn what the Bush administration doesn't want you to know about the Moon.

Mattress Tags: snark

A Slurry of Monsters

As my wife and I were walking through our almond orchard the other day, inspecting the trees for blight, rust and urban sprawl, I caught a glimpse of a distant gathering of undead creatures. At first I thought they were zombies, but they could have been ghouls. They're hard to tell apart at a distance.

Our orchard was planted on top of an Indian burial ground, so it's not uncommon for us to see various flavors of undead roaming amongst the trees in search of human flesh and a place to whizz. Well, technically it isn't so much a burial ground as it is a casino that collapsed due to God's punishment on immorality and a lack of sufficient sheer support. Efforts were made to rescue the trapped gamblers, but when their relatives were informed that the chances of anyone getting out alive were a million to one, they decided to take their chances elsewhere.

Anyway, now our orchard is plagued by the spirits and/or reanimated corpses of several hundred dead gamblers still trying to beat the odds.

I grabbed my wife's arm and whispered, "Look! A bunch of zombies!"

"A bunch of zombies?" She said disdainfully, barely glancing in the direction I pointed.

"Yeah, look! I think they're grazing...or something."

"I'm pretty sure it's not a 'bunch' of zombies," she said. "And zombies don't graze; they scavenge for carrion."

"What do you mean, it's not a bunch of zombies? There are like eight of them."

"No, I mean it's not called a 'bunch.' You know how it's a pride of lions, a parliament of owls, a murder of crows...."

"A trifling of meerkats," I added helpfully.

"Anyway, I think those are ghouls. They're not scavenging; they're menacing. Zombies scavenge; ghouls menace."

"That doesn't sound right," I said.

"Ok, you're the expert. It's not like I'm a fourth grade teacher or anything."

"Ok, ok," I said. "So what do you call a group of zombies?"

She thought for a moment. "A groan, I think."

"A groan of zombies? You're making that up."

"It's a groan of zombies and a chilling of ghouls. I think that's right."

"What about skeletons?"

"A rattle of skeletons."

"Poltegeists?"

"An annoyance of poltergeists."

"Mummies?"

"Tangle."

"Vampires?"

"Fang."

I thought for a while, trying to stump her. My wife's knowledge of the undead and cryptozoology is formidable. Finally I seized on one that I was sure she wouldn't know.

"What about sasquatches?" I said. "Tell me what a group of sasquatches is called, smarty pants."

She sighed and looked bored. "A blur of sasquatches," she said.

Damn, she's good, I thought.

"We should go," she said. "They look like they're menacing in this direction."

"Hey," I said, as they shambled closer. "I think that's just a bunch of drunk teenagers."

"A posse of drunk teenagers," she corrected.

"Still, they're menacing in this direction."

"Yes they are."

"How do you kill drunken teenagers again?" I asked. We didn't get many of those around here.

"Bullet to the brain," She said.

"Thank God," I said. "Beheading is a bitch."

We drew our sidearms and fired.

Mattress Tags: humor

A Bunch of Weird Things About Me

So I had this great idea for a post about how Spider-Man is the Antichrist, but I couldn't come up with any evidence except this:



Which is probably enough for these guys, but I was hoping to find something a little more damning. But let's face it, Spider-Man is just a pretty decent guy.

And then I had this idea for an offshoot of the scrapbooking line Creative Memories called "Painful Memories." There would be themes like "Nobody Understands Me", "Alone Again", and "Don't Take Pictures of Daddy When He's Drinking." I was going to come up with all kinds of depressing backgrounds with barbed wire, broken glass, Edward Gorey prints, etc. But after working on it for an hour, I realized that it was more depressing than funny. Between that, watching 2 hours of Battlestar Galactica and reading three chapters of Fast Food Nation, I had some pretty interesting nightmares that night. So I had to scrap the that idea as well.

Since I'm running short on material, I'm going to post Six Weird Things About Me, despite the fact that no one has tagged me (probably because the last person who tagged me found out I'm not so good at following rules). Speaking of not being able to follow rules, unlike some people whose idea of something weird is "I don't like vegetables," there are so many weird things about me that I found it impossible to limit the list to six.

So without further ado I present A Bunch of Weird Things About Me. You may suspect, after reading some of these, that I have a mild form of Asperger's Syndrome. You may be right.

• By coincidence, I live next door to a guy I went to high school with. Which wouldn't be weird, except that I live in California and went to high school in Michigan.
• I've always been bad at managing finances. I've never balanced a checkbook in my life. I'm also my church's treasurer.
• Both of my parents were English professors. My B.A. is in philosophy. Currently I'm pursuing a master's degree in the humanities. And I've never voted for a Democrat.
  
• When I feel lonely, I get a physical pain in my right hand (insert onanism joke here).
  
• Despite disliking math, never having taken a computer programming class, and majoring in philosophy, I spent the last 8 years as a computer programmer.
• I have a serious aversion to cheap velvet. Real, nice, velvet is ok, but that cheap velour/velveteen/whatever stuff totally gives me the creeps. I can hardly even write about it, it creeps me out so bad.
• I saw a UFO when I was 9. It looked like a profile view of the planet Saturn, but it was glowing orange and moving randomly about the sky. Eventually I got bored with it and went inside.
• I have a habit of calling my wife and children by whatever nickname pops into my head. Bubbles, Giggles, Goober, Bobo, Wuzzles, whatever. Anything except their actual name or something normal, like "honey."
• I got a perfect score on the verbal section of the GRE.
  
• I love imagining things twirling around, like a rock on a piece of string. I like the idea of centrifugal motion.
  
• I often experience sleep paralysis. Sometime I mostly wake up but am unable to move or even open my eyes. With great effort I can manage to move my head and eventually get my eyes open. It's generally pretty terrifying.
  
• I have a recurring nightmare that there was an error with my high school transcript so I have to go back to take one more class. I've had it so many times that at least once I've explained to the principal in the dream, "You don't understand. This is just like a dream that I keep having."
  
• I obsessively count in my head to time myself when I'm feeling impatient with a routine task, like walking to my car or washing my hands.
• I'm ridiculously healthy. I've had fewer than one cold per year for the last five years.
  
• There are certain phrases that I automatically use as a sort of mantra to distract myself whenever my mind drifts to an unpleasant or embarrassing memory. I seem to use the same phrase for several years in a row. Currently the phrase is "Let's say I've got fifty grand and I drop twenty."
• I find it very difficult to work without music playing. I generally listen to music all day every day.
  
• I dislike what I call "purposeless" physical contact. Hugs, kisses, and handshakes are fine, but I have a hard time sitting right next to someone on a couch. I absolutely cannot "spoon." Well, I could, but I'd be awake all night.
  
• I can hold my breath for 4 minutes.
• At 6' 2", I'm the shortest of my parents' three children. None of us can play basketball worth a darn.
• I wear size 13 shoes.
• I have a hard time focusing on what someone is saying for more than about 12 seconds. My mind automatically starts thinking about something else when someone talks. Despite this, I can generally remember the main points of a sermon or lecture better than most people. I just can't remember details, like when I'm supposed to take the roast out of the freezer.
  
• I can draw superheroes really well. Unfortunately, that's about all I can draw.
• I can do impressions of Kermit the Frog, Ernie from Sesame Street, and Sean Connery.
  
• My first, middle and last names each have six letters. 6-6-6, just like Ronald Wilson Reagan.
• I believe that there are very few foods that can't be improved by adding either raisins or bacon. I add raisins to my ham and cheese sandwiches.
• I've never left North America.
• Despite being known for my sense of humor and inability to take anything seriously, I've suffered from fairly severe depression since about the fifth grade. I'm fine now; I'm on medication. Thanks for asking.
• I have a very low threshold for breaking into tears. This trait is exaggerated by my depression, but it seems to be a separate physiological phenomena. I've never known another man who cries as easily as I do. It's kind of a pain in the ass, to tell you the truth.
• I seem to trigger false alarms with those theft-protection devices at stores at an unusually high rate. It's gotten to the point where I walk in a store, the alarm goes off, and I state loudly, "It's just me!" It could be my cell phone or something, but my wife has the same phone and it doesn't seem to happen to her.

Weird enough for you?

Mattress Tags: Six Weird Things

Ripon Man Discovers New Dinosaur Species

RIPON, January 18 — Paleontologists stunned the world today by announcing the discovery of a new species of dinosaur. The first known specimen of akathasaurus was found on a ten acre parcel of land owned by Ripon resident Rob Kroese. Kroese found the perfectly preserved fossil while excavating for an addition to his house.

"I was trenching for the septic lines when I found it," Kroese said. "At first I thought it was just a mound of dirt, but when I took a closer look it definitely resembled some sort of reptilian creature."



Kroese wasn't sure what to make of the odd looking specimen, so he called the Sacramento Paleontology Hotline. Dr. Simon Halbertson was there to take the call.

"It was a slow day," Halbertson called. "I had just gotten back from my only other call of the day. A farmer in Lodi thought he had found the knuckle of a pterodactyl, but it turned out to be the badly bleached head of Boba Fett. The guy was charging $20 a head to see it." When Halbertson told the man that carbon dating indicated that Boba Fett was younger than Barney, he had to cut his admission fee in half.

"You ruin a lot of lives in a this job," Halbertson said, obviously still troubled by the experience.

Halberston is convinced that the akathasaurus is the real deal.

"Akathasaurus means 'dirt lizard' in Latin," he said, to the chagrin of a reporter for the Vatican Times and a nearby vagrant who had majored in classical languages. Upon being corrected, Halbertson added, "And by Latin, I of course mean Greek."

He theorizes that akathasaurus subsisted on a meager diet of dirt and water, and perhaps mud when it was available. "Mud," Halbertson said, "was a luxury that few akathasauri could afford." When prompted, Halbertson conceded that he was pretty much making that last part up.



Despite Halbertson's stern warnings, Kroese insisted on poking the specimen with a stick.

"I think it's made of dirt," Kroese said. "I'm wondering if one of my kids built it."

Halbertson sneered at this suggestion. "Unless your kids were around six billion years ago, I highly doubt it," he sneered.

Kroese mentioned to Halbertson that he was pretty sure dinosaurs weren't around six billion years ago either.

Halbertson sneered once again. "I think carbon dating will settle this," he said.

"I doubt it," Kroese replied. "As I recall, carbon dating only works on things that are up to about 60,000 years old. After that, all the carbon-14 has disintegrated."

After hemming and hawing for a bit, Halbertson sheepishly admitted that he was just trying to pick up carbon-based life forms.

"Are you even a real paleontologist?" Kroese asked.

"Of course I am," Halbertson replied. "Paleontologist is Latin for 'appliance salesman', right?"


UPDATE 1/27/07: Shocking Truth Behind Dinosaur Hoax Revealed!


Mattress Tags: Ripon Dinosaur Humor
Listed on humor-blogs.com

The Top 10 U.S. Presidents - Now 100% Context Free!

I generally shy away from politics on this blog, but the other day I saw a bumper sticker that really made me think, as bumper stickers often do to thoughtful people like myself. It read:



Well that hit me like a ton of bricks. How true! I mean, unless you count the death of the credibility of the feminist movement, which I don't.

For those of you who aren't as "up" on politics as I am, the bumper sticker was, of course, comparing the innocuous perjury and finger-wagging self-righteousness of Bill Clinton to FDR's devious maneuvers designed to get the U.S. into World War II. Until the day I encountered this bit of wisdom (wisdom = truth that rhymes), I had always figured that FDR's omissions and exaggerations were justified by the defeat of Nazism and Japanese imperialism, but that bumper sticker awoke me from the untroubled slumber of the credulous. To me, those five little words contained more truth than all of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Abridged edition).

Armed with this new paradigm, I was able to see the Nixon administration in a whole new light. What, after all, is the term "constitutional crisis" but a fancy way of saying "wacky hijinks in which no one died"? Yammer all you want about "high crimes" and the loss of faith in government, but I reply with these five words, zen-like in their simplicity: "Nobody died when Nixon lied." Game over, dude. The anti-dying side wins again. Those of you on the pro-dying faction might want to rethink your allegiances.

Really, lying is such a minor offense that it's hardly worth worrying about. As this bumper sticker makes clear, what really matters is whether people die as a result of the lie. In fact, the same could be said of anything someone says, whether it's true or not. If I yell "fire!" in a crowded theater and six people get trampled to death on the way to the exit, then I was probably in the wrong even if I did come up with the correct four letter word for "conflagration."

My point is that we should really focus on whether somebody dies because of something I say, not whether what I say is technically "true" or "false," or what the definition of "is" is. This is particularly true in the case of presidents, who are in a unique position to cause people to die merely by opening their mouths, whether or not they had been eating garlic fries at the time. Now I'm not saying we can determine the relative competence of our leaders simply by counting the number of people who died under their command. That would be a ridiculous oversimplification. To get a truly accurate measurement we would also need to include deaths from tornadoes, earthquakes, Great White concerts and the like. On such fine points I will defer to the historical statisticians, or perhaps statistical historians, who have, over the past 3 decades, outnumbered the former three to one.

I think, however, that comparing the number of combat-related deaths will still give us a pretty good indication of the mettle of each president. Unlike other methods, which take into account nebulous notions of "value," "leadership," and "context," my method has the virtue of being completely objective. After a little quick research, I was able to compile the following 100% objective list of the Best and Worst U.S. presidents.

The Worst Presidents in U.S. History

10. George H.W. Bush
9. George W. Bush
8. William McKinley
7. Dwight D. Eisenhower
6. Abraham Lincoln
5. Richard Nixon
4. Lyndon Johnson
3. Woodrow Wilson
2. Harry S. Truman
1. Franklin D. Roosevelt

The Best Presidents in U.S. History

10. Jimmy Carter
9. Calvin Coolidge
8. Franklin Pierce
7. Chester Arthur
6. Herbert Hoover
5. Andrew Johnson
4. Millard Fillmore
3. John Quincy Adams
2. Zachary Taylor
1. James Garfield

Makes you think, doesn't it? Oh, in case you're wondering what that smell is, that's Pulitzer, baby.


Mattress Tags: humor George W. Bush Bill Clinton

Psych-Geist: Michelle Manhart

Once again I'm guest posting over at Central Snark, so head over there to read my revelations regarding the uncanny synchronicity between Apocalypse Now and the Huey Lewis album Fore! Really.

What? You're still here? Well I guess I need to give you something for your persistence. I had so much fun with my USC Song Girl Ass the last time I filled in over at the Snark that I'm thinking of doing a regular feature called the Psych-Geist. It's like the Google Zeitgeist, but with fewer empty calories.

The search term of the moment seems to be "Michelle Manhart." Who is Michelle Manhart, you ask? Well, she's an Air Force Sergeant who got in trouble for the following picture:



Well, not that picture exactly. The Air Force doesn't want you to see the real picture of Michelle Manhart, because she's not wearing body armor in it. In fact, as you can see, she doesn't even have working fasteners on her combat shorts. I couldn't bear to show you the real picture, because her t-shirt is in even worse shape. It's all torn and sweaty and clearly does not offer adequate support for lifting weights or other Air Force-related duties. It's pathetic. We can pay $15 Billion for an invisible airplane that can vaporize a nickel from outer space, but we can't fork over another whatever it costs for a decent uniform.

Poor Michelle Manhart. Poor, poor Michelle Manhart.

Mattress Tags: Michelle Manhart Playboy

Toilet Humor

I'm guessing that Anita will enjoy this post....

My seven year old son has taken to pasting helpful notes to objects around our house. The other day, for example, he felt that everyone should know that he and his five year old sister had named their bedroom door.



A close-up of the note, in case you can't read it...



...indicating that the door's name is now evidently "Bingo." I didn't bother to ask for an explanation, because my children's answers to such questions tend to be unsatisfying. Why, I might ask, did my daughter christen our swimming pool "The Darkness of Woe?" She has no good answer for that, nor for why our cat is now "The Queen of All Swimming." I've found it's better to just accept these mysterious appellations without insisting on an explanation. Fortunately my son did not feel it was necessary to label the cat.

Sometimes the notes are more instructional in nature. When I woke up Saturday morning, for instance, our pipes were frozen -- a fact I only ascertained after using up our single allotted toilet flush for the morning. I checked the outside thermometer at 6:30 am, and it said 29. The sun was just coming out, and one nice thing about living in Northern California is that even when it gets hella cold at night, the days tend to be relatively warm, even in winter. I went back to bed, figuring that the temp would easily be up to 33 degrees by 7:30.

It wasn't. Apparently there was a cold front moving in or something. So there I sat, at 11:44, obsessively checking the thermometer, which had read 32 so long that at any minute I expected the LCD display to add a little :P or LOL next to the temperature. How can it possibly still be freezing outside? I wondered. And how long until this Venti Carmel Macchiatto kicks in?

Anyway, back to my helpful son, who labeled the toilet thusly:



Again, a close-up:



I'm pretty sure he meant "flush", but you get the idea. Needless to say, I heeded the warning. Fortunately I eventually got the water running so that I never did have to see what lurked beneath that lid.


Mattress Tags: humor toilet

A Fitting Tribute

If you're like most people, you probably can't imagine living without me. The fact is, however, that one day I'm not going to be around any more, and you need to be prepared for it. Relax, I'm not planning anything; I just want you to be ready for my eventual demise. By which I mean, of course, that you should be prepared to immortalize me in some suitable way.

I like the idea of an eternal flame, but I don't want that Bangles song ringing in my head for eternity. A bronze statue would be nice, but those things tend to turn green over time and I wouldn't want people to look at it and go, "Whoah, what's up with the giant emaciated Hulk?" There would be less confusion if I didn't insist on being sculpted wearing only a pair of torn purple trousers, but hey, that's the way I want to be remembered.

Sure, for the first 50 years or so the locals would be like, "That's not the Hulk. That's Diesel. You know, the Mattress Police?" But eventually that generation would die off and no one would be left to correct the tourists who insisted on meeting "at the Starbucks across from the Skinny Hulk." And just like that, I'm forgotten.

So I'm thinking T-Shirts. Everbody loves T-Shirts. What's not to love? It's a shirt, but shaped like a letter T, unlike most shirts, with a long vertical part for your body and then two short horizontal bits at the top for your arms. But not your whole arms, just the shoulders and your upper arms. Brilliant. It's functional, and it has the most apropos name since they called those things that broke on the space shuttle 'O-Rings.' You know, because they're round, with a hole in the middle.

Where was I? Oh yeah, T-Shirts! All the famous historical figures are on T-Shirts these days: John Lennon, Bob Marley, Jesus, Chuck Manson.... It's like a who's-who gallery of people who really made a difference. That's where I want to be, not hanging out across from the Starbuck's in my purple pants with tourists putting out cigarettes on my feet. So I've been doing some research, trying to figure out the criteria the T-Shirt people use to determine whether one is T-Shirt material. I've come up with the following guidelines for helping my chances:

1. Be a fictional character. People love Batman, Superman, Mickey Mouse, Pocahontas and other colorful, nonexistent individuals. Unfortunately, my odds of achieving a purely imaginary existence are rapidly dwindling as I continue to incur credit card debt attesting to my corporeality. Oh, I can hear the existentialists out there insisting that any idea of Diesel as a definitive being is fictional in the sense that there are an infinite number of potential Diesels existing at any given moment, no one of them any more or less real than any of the others. But let's face it, none of that is going to turn me into the Tazmanian Devil.

2. Die at a relatively young age. This worked for John Lennon, Jesus, and James Dean, among others. Unfortunately, I'm already older than all of them were when they died. Also, it seems to help to be murdered by Romans or a crazed loner, and I don't know how to go about arranging that. I'd hate to go to the trouble of provoking the residents of the Lombardi Home for the Criminally Insane into offing me only to find out that I missed the age cutoff by six months.

3. Have crazy hair. Crazy hair makes for great T-Shirts. Check out Albert Einstein, Bob Marley, Che Guevara, Jimi Hendrix and countless others. I think I could pull this one off. But very few people make it into the ranks of T-Shirt immortality based solely on their hair. The only one I can think of is Peter Frampton, and I'm not leaving the house looking like that.

3. Kill a lot of people (Charles Manson, Che Guevara, etc.). The problem with this is that I wouldn't know where to start. And I certainly wouldn't know where to stop. Also, I don't want to go to jail.

4. Be a pop star. Unfortunately, I have no talent. Which wouldn't matter except, as I mentioned, I'm old.

5. Be a hot chick. Well, I'm tall and I have great hair. I'm practically Jessica Rabbit. See #1.

Well, that's all I've got. I don't like my odds. I'd better press my purple pants.

Mattress Tags: T-Shirt Che Guevara Charles Manson Humor

Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism...

Before I became a parent, I was frequently amazed at the over-protectiveness of some people regarding their children. I don't mean parents who make their kids wear helmets while riding their bikes or solving a particularly difficult geometry problem; I'm talking about parents who won't let their kids read Harry Potter books or listen to music inspired by the devil. What, I thought to myself, are these parents afraid of exactly? Is there some kind of natural progression from J.K. Rowling fan to goat-worshiping cultist? Where does one turn in one's copy of Black Sabbath's Born Again for a black robe, ceremonial dagger and engram audit? Wait, that last one may be Scientology. I can't keep my evil religions straight any more. Anyway, you get the point. I just couldn't see how kids went from dabbling in occult-inspired media to being full-fledged Satan worshipers. Or hell, even half-fledged. Half-fledged Satan worshipers are almost worse in a way, because they've got a chip on their shoulder and are just itching for a chance to earn their fledge.

Now that I'm a parent, I've realized the necessity of keeping certain books, movies and music away from my children. I don't like the idea of censorship, but no matter how much my kids beg they are not going to be allowed to listen to "Fergilicious" or read Eragon. I'm sorry, but I believe the children are our future.

Neither of my children (aged 5 and 7) have come home toting a Black Sabbath record yet, so I've dodged that bullet so far. But in anticipation of my seven-year-old bookworm eventually asking whether he may read Harry Potter and the Nominative Phrase, I decided to peruse one of these books to determine for myself whether there was any real danger.

I was shocked at what I discovered. In the back of the book was the following ad, reproduced here in its undoctored entirety. Click to enlarge.



I mean, can you believe that? I don't want my kids getting their hands on this. Now where did I put those stamps?


Mattress Tags: Harry Potter Satanism Black Sabbath Humor
Listed on humor-blogs.com

Even a Traffic Whore Has Some Standards

As you all know, I'm a traffic whore. I labor under the delusion that if some day my readers outnumber the teachers who wrote on my report cards "Not meeting his potential," my desperate hunger for approval will at last be sated.

To this end, I occasionally submit my site to blog directories. I don't think this generates much traffic for me, but I figure it can't hurt, unless the blog directory is called "Blogs That You Should Never Visit Because They Are Hella Lame." And even then, I'd probably submit mine, because how much damage could it really do?

Judging by the number of blog directories out there, somebody must be starting a new blog directory every time a Starbucks opens. Or maybe every time somebody orders a Venti Carmel Macchiatto. I think at this point there are more blog directories than blogs, and since every man, woman and child alive has 12 blogs, that's a lot of blog directories.

Anyway, the other day I ran across a blog directory that didn't list my blog, let's call it Not Another Blog Directory. So I dutifully filled out the submission form and waited for the hit to come rolling in.

Not long after, I received the following email:

Hello diesel,

Your blog has not been added to the Not Another Blog Directory. Due to the amount of submissions, we cannot explain the reasons for each. Most likely it is due to one of the following:

- blog is listed more than once in the directory
- site is not a blog
- blog is offline
- blog is new (must contain 5 posts and be at least 7 days old due to excessive spammers submitting).
- site contains nudity
- site is a shill site intended to simply promote products/affiliates
- site construes something illegal

If you believe your blog should be added, please contact us (be sure to mention what
your blog URL is).

-Not Another Blog Directory Team

This, of course, hurt me deeply. In an effort to mask my pain, I fired off the following email:

Hello Not Another Blog Directory Team,

I don't care. Due to the amount of blog directories, I cannot explain the reasons for not caring about each. Most likely it is due to one of the following:

- Your blog directory differs in no meaningful way from the 17,000 other blog directories.
- Your blog directory contains too many other blogs.
- Some of the other blogs suck.
- Your blog directory still has the price tag on it, and is wrapped in cellophane.
- Your blog directory uses a color scheme which reminds me of the wallpaper in my bedroom during 5th-7th grades. This was a difficult time for me. Thanks for bringing the memories flooding back.
- Your blog directory does not list my blog; ergo it sucks.
- You used the phrase "amount of submissions," when what you really mean is "number of submissions."
- Not a single blog about Jewish race car drivers.
- Tasteful nudity is what separates us from the animals.

If you believe I should care, please contact me (be sure to mention why I should care).

- Mattress Police "Team" (we haven't really been a team since we lost our power forward)

I'd give their real name and a link, but due to the amount of not caring on my part, I don't have the energy.

Mattress Tags:
humor blog directories blog promotion

Superman Returns: The Unreleased Version

In Superman Returns, the Man of Steel reappears on Earth after a mysterious five year absence, during which he supposedly searched in vain for remnants of his home world, Krypton. We are led to believe that he was unable to find anything left of Krypton, but I have learned from highly placed sources at Warner Brothers that this aspect of the film was actually altered drastically during editing to make it shorter and more palatable to viewers. I have gotten my hands on the original script of the movie, which details Superman's trip to Krypton. An unedited excerpt appears below.

EXT. KRYPTON CITY. DAY.

Exotic buildings glitter in the ruddy glow of Krypton's red sun. A SPACE BUS marked "KRYPTON EXPRESS" lands at a SPACE BUS STOP. The doors open and several passengers wearing business suits exit. Among them is SUPERMAN, looking tired after a long journey. The bus takes off and the passengers disperse, leaving Superman standing alone at the bus stop with STEVE, a shabbily dressed homeless Kryptonian.

STEVE

Whoah, what's with the fancy duds, man?

SUPERMAN

Oh, it's sort of a costume. I'm Superman.

STEVE

Nice. I like the black and red.

SUPERMAN

It's actually blue and red. It just looks black in this light.

STEVE

What's "blue"?

SUPERMAN

Forget it. Can you tell me how to get to get to the El residence?

STEVE

You mean Jor-El? Sure, I can tell you how to get there. He's my uncle.

SUPERMAN

Your uncle? Then you must be....

STEVE

I'm Steve-El. Todd-El's kid.

SUPERMAN

Steve! It's me, your cousin Kal!

STEVE

Kal? Holy crap, I haven't seen you since you were a baby! Where the heck have you been?

SUPERMAN

My dad sent me to Earth.

STEVE

Earth? What the heck for?

SUPERMAN

I guess he thought Krypton was going to explode.

STEVE

Explode! That's crazy!

SUPERMAN

He used to watch a lot of the Krypton 700 Club with Pat-Ro.

STEVE

Wow. He always was a little nuts. Lately he's been wandering around in his bathrobe muttering something about "the horror."

SUPERMAN

So nothing here exploded?

STEVE

Just the real estate market. If your dad had bought you a condo in Krypton City instead of a spaceship....

SUPERMAN

I know, I know. Don't remind me.

STEVE

So what were you doing on Earth?

SUPERMAN

Oh, defeating supervillains, reversing the spin of the planet on its axis to turn back time, that sort of thing.

STEVE

Seriously?

SUPERMAN

Oh yeah, I'm kind of a big deal on Earth.

STEVE

How did you manage that?

SUPERMAN

Check this out: On earth Kryptonians have super-powers.

STEVE

No shit?

SUPERMAN

No shit.

STEVE

Like what?

SUPERMAN

Try flight, for starters. That's how I got here. Well, I had to take a bus the last few million miles because of the red sun....

STEVE

The red sun interferes with your powers?

SUPERMAN

Well, I get my powers from a yellow sun.

STEVE

Any yellow sun?

SUPERMAN

Pretty much.

STEVE

And there have got to be...

SUPERMAN

Millions of them, yeah.

STEVE

So if I had been born on basically any other planet than Krypton...?

SUPERMAN

You'd have super-powers, right. Ironic, isn't it? We were born on the one planet where our super-powers don't work.

STEVE