Morty, the Undead Lobster

I'm still pretty busy with work, so all I can offer you today is this little anecdote from my youth. On the plus side, I think I've convinced Grundir to come out of hiding and fill in for me on Wednesday. I think he's up to something. Anyway, here's the story of Morty the undead lobster. Enjoy.

For simple cheap entertainment, few activities can top messing with drunk people.

I’ve never been a big drinker, and in college my smartass friends and I used to amuse ourselves by going to parties and talking over the heads of our inebriated fellows. I guess it made us feel superior, making fun of people to their faces without them realizing what we were doing. Kind of a stupid way to entertain yourself when it comes down to it, but at least you don’t end the evening puking in some stranger’s wastebasket.

My all time favorite experience of garnering amusement at the expense of drunken partiers happened a few years back, when I went on a snorkeling trip with a college friend in Florida. After a few days of swimming and snorkeling, we drove down to Key West on Labor Day weekend.

Key West is a strange place any day of the year, and on Labor Day it’s like a miniature Mardi Gras. Throngs of drunks fill the streets, drinking and smoking God-knows-what and generally wreaking havoc. My friend and I found a nice restaurant where we could get some steak and lobster and enjoy a few beers. We were seated in a crowded patio area, right up against a picket fence that ran along the sidewalk of the main avenue through town. The drunken throngs milled past only inches from our table, which was a cheap plastic thing with a half-dollar-sized hole in the middle where an umbrella could be placed.

My friend, whom I’ll call X, ordered the lobster. Part of the fun of getting a lobster is, of course, moving its little claws and antennae about and pretending to make it talk. Hi there, I’m Morty the Lobster! How you doin’? That sort of thing.

X discovered that if he put his fork under the table and stuck it up through the umbrella hole, he could, with just a slight movement of his wrist, make the lobster’s antenna wave wildly. Seeing the potential for entertainment in the situation, he situated Morty so that from the street it was impossible to see the hole in the table.

We sat there, sipping our beers and chatting as people milled past. Suddenly the dead lobster’s antenna jerked spastically to life.

Two young women, having seen the antenna twitch, stopped abruptly at our table. “Oh my god, did you see that?” One of them said. “Your lobster moved!”

By this time X had gracefully pulled his hand out from under the table, and sat there with both hands in view, regarding the women skeptically. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“Seriously, I saw it move.”

X poked at the lobster, which had clearly been boiled and mostly eaten. It didn’t move.

“You ladies been drinking?” I asked.

They erupted in nervous giggles.

“You must have imagined it,” X said.

They kept eyeing poor dead Morty, expecting at any moment that he would spring to life, but he never did. He just lay there, lifeless, in a pool of butter. Eventually they gave up, shaking their heads. “I could have sworn….”

After a few minutes we tried it again, hooking another victim. And another. And another. We must have sat there for close to two hours, messing with the heads of dozens of befuddled partiers. We were merciless, insisting that there was absolutely no way they had seen what they claimed to have seen. We never let on, and nobody ever figured it out.

The funniest thing was how differently men reacted from women. Usually only one person in a group would notice the lobster’s unnatural movement, so the noticer could take the safe option by pretending not to have seen anything, or they could risk being embarrassed in front of the group by claiming to have seen a dead lobster move.

The women, God bless ‘em, generally did a double-take and then stopped dead in their tracks while they tried to sort out the mystery of the undead lobster. I don’t know if they were oblivious to the fact that they were about to be mortified (ha!), or if they just didn’t care as much about being embarrassed, or if they were just naturally more curious than the men.

The men, on the other hand, tended to do a double-take, maybe slow down for a second – and then keep right on walking. Were they less gullible than the women? Did they assume that it was some kind of prank? Maybe, but that’s not the impression I got. To me, it looked like they were just as stunned as the women, but they were damned if they were going to claim to have seen an undead lobster in front of their drinking buddies.

You couldn’t help but admire the women (and occasional man) who stood there insisting in the face of logic and our stubborn and condescending denials that they had seen a dead lobster move. I could tell that some of them walked away still convinced of the reality of what they had seen. Maybe some of them still secretly ponder the day they saw the undead lobster of Key West.

Drunk people are fun.

Being boiled alive has never stopped humor-blogs.com.

Congrats to Renal Failure!

Renal Failure wins this week, taking home the coveted In Your Face award:



Seriously, stop coveting it, people. It's in the Bible.

R.F. also gets a copy of my book, Antisocial Commentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police. R.F., send me an email with your address so's I can ship it to you.

Newcomer Avitable came in second, with:

Diesel slowly works up the nerve to ask for the number of the Boleyn Brother.

And Jay took third, with:

Diesel: "Wait... Let me try one more time. Spock makes this look so easy."

Good job, people. Take the rest of the week off, starting at 5pm today.

I'll be back on Monday with a brand new post that probably won't be good enough to make up for what a crappy job I've done this week.

Humor-blogs.com is up to its chin in neck.

Pandora's Box

As a compromise between listening to the same songs in my iTunes library over and over and hearing the Daughtry song of the moment sixteen times a day on the local radio station, lately I've been spending a lot of time on Pandora.

Pandora is a sort of customizable radio station that plays songs based on your personal preferences. For example, I told it that I like My Chemical Romance and Pearl Jam, so it assumes that I also enjoy Green Day -- a completely understandable, and entirely erroneous assumption.

You tell Pandora what you like with a simple thumbs up/thumbs down control, which isn't the most precise system. You can give a thumbs up to Def Leppard's "Armageddon It" and give a thumbs down to Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll," but there's no way to say, "Yeah, this Counting Crows song is ok, but I don't really need to hear any more in the next 3 hours."

The other problem is that Pandora only allows you to skip so many songs. That means you have to use your skips wisely, because if you skip some dull but tolerable Goo Goo Dolls song, you may end up having to listen to all 4 hours and 26 minutes of John Cougar Mellencamp's "Jack and Diane."

The result of my reluctance to either skip or "thumbs-down" bland, inoffensive songs is that recently I've been listening to an ungodly amount of Genesis. I haven't "thumbs-upped" any Genesis songs, but I can't bring myself to "thumbs-down" them either. I mean, what Genesis song would I give a thumbs down to? How do you pick? It's like having to randomly pick one puppy out of a litter to drown in the river. They're all cute and fuzzy, and equally capable of entertaining me for three minutes.

Because of my failure to take decisive action in this matter, Pandora has decided that I am the biggest closet Genesis fan on the planet. "It's ok," Pandora whispers to me, as the synthesized chords of "Abacab" commence. "I understand. There is no need to speak of your forbidden love."



Compounding the problem, Pandora seems to be programmed to play several songs in a particular genre in a row, so that a Genesis song is often followed up with three or four songs from the combined catalogs of Peter Gabriel, Phil Collins and Mike + the Mechanics. Sometimes I get the impression that Pandora is just showing off. Yes, Pandora, we're all terribly impressed that you know that Mike Rutherford was the bassist for Genesis. Now play some freaking Whitesnake before I slip into a coma, would you?

My suspicion that Pandora is screwing with me is reinforced by the fact that not once has it ever played "In the Air Tonight." I mean, if there's one song that I'm secretly hoping to hear at the end of a Genesis-themed medley, it's "In the Air Tonight." The first thought that pops into anyone's head at the beginning of any Phil Collins song other than "In the Air Tonight," is "Damn, it's too bad they didn't play 'In the Air Tonight.' That song is freaking SWEET.' Plus, I can totally air-drum to it."

But I know the reason why you keep this silence up
No you don't fool me
The hurt doesn't show
but the pain still grows
It's no stranger to you and me
duh-DOO duh-DOO duh-DOO duh-DOO-DOO-DOO!

Nor has it ever played Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer." What is up with that? It's played other songs from So, but never that one. Look, I'm not saying "Sledgehammer" is the best Peter Gabriel song ever.

Actually, yes I am. "Sledgehammer" is the best Peter Gabriel song ever. What do I have to do to get it to play? If I thumbs up other Peter Gabriel songs, it will think it was right all along in spurning "Sledgehammer." If I give them the thumbs down, it might stop playing Peter Gabriel altogether. So I'm stuck paging through the songs it's already played, trying to find something else that sounds like "Sledgehammer" so I can thumbs up it. Or alternately, I need to find a song that's diametrically opposed to "Sledgehammer" and thumbs down it. That's an interesting theoretical question. What's the opposite of "Sledgehammer?" I think it's Katrina and the Waves' "Walking on Sunshine," but I could be wrong.



I eventually did figure out that you can specify particular songs that you like as well as artists. I put in "Sledgehammer," and the next song that played was "You Can Call Me Al," by Paul Simon. I wouldn't call that a five-point match, but it's in the ballpark. So then I put in "Urgent" by Foreigner, and it came up with the Tubes' "She's a Beauty." I can't argue with that either.

There's still the problem of genre overkill though. For example, I just sat through a 20 minute 80s hair band mix featuring Van Halen, the Scorpions, Poison, Bon Jovi, and then Van Halen again. I love spandex rock as much as the next child of the 80s, but at some point enough is enough. Pandora really needs to have some kind of safe word that you can use to tell it that things have gotten out of hand. Something intuitive and easy to remember, like "Nirvana."

Ah, and now we're back to "Easy Lover," by Phil Collins featuring Phil Bailey.

Pandora knows me so well.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: The Rhythm of Love | Rock Me Amadeus! | Bringing Snarky Back Humor-blogs.com was there and it saw what you did.

Vote!

If I keep posting later and later in the day, eventually I'll be posting really early the next day, so you have that to look forward to.

The picture kind of sucked this week too. Usually I do the picture the day before, so that I can look at it fresh before posting it. That gives me a chance to catch things that don't look quite right, like my complete lack of a neck. I was too rushed to do it right this time, but hey, that gave you one more thing to make fun of me for.

Mrs. Diesel picked the finalists this week, so at least you can't blame me for that.

And remember, this week the winner gets a copy of my book, Antisocial Commentary, just for funsies. So that should make up for me being such a lame-ass, right? Right.

Vote for your favorite below. I'll post the winner on Friday.



Fold My Laundry Please said...

Diesel laments the fact that Natalie could not afford to have shoulders sewn on
her dress.


renalfailure said...

Diesel caresses that which he has always desired: an actual neck.


Mark Jabo said...

"I don't know, I've never done LXIX before..."


sarah said...

Diesel thinks to himself - Is this the Boleyn girl or the other Boleyn girl?


Jay said...

Diesel: "Wait... Let me try one more time. Spock makes this look so easy."


ArmadilloTrader said...

One step closer to fulfilling his Bride of Frankenstein fantasy, Diesel says to
himself "and the bolts will go right about here."


Wendy said...

Donning his prototype of the first ever transition glasses, King Diesel
realized too late he groped the wrong sister.


Avitable said...

Diesel slowly works up the nerve to ask for the number of the Boleyn Brother.


stushie said...

By eliminating the competition, Diesel was crowned Prom Queen of 1536.


red mojo said...

King Diesel, preferring this much softer skin to that of his betrothed, began to ponder the possiblility of swapping their heads.

Opinion Polls & Market Research

Listed on humor-blogs.com.

This Should Only Take a Minute

So I'm nearing a major deadline at work, and I can tell my boss is concerned that I'm going to be stressed out and working long hours this week. We were talking about another upcoming project, and I mentioned that I thought I would be able to handle it on top of what I already had scheduled. She kind of laughed, and I said, "Yeah, I have no sense of my own limitations."

"Not when it comes to time estimates," she said.

It's true, I don't. Everything takes more time than I expect it to. It's a weird sort of cognitive deficiency I have.

It doesn't seem to help that I'm aware of the problem either. Even when I try to account for my unrealistic expectations by inflating my time estimate, the actual time still ends up being double what I estimated.

One of the ramifications of this failing is that I tend to take on way too many projects at a time. Right now, for example, in addition to maintaining this blog, Humor-Blogs.com and my job, I'm building a house, writing a novel and working on a master's degree. Oh, and I'm the treasurer for our church.

That is, all of those projects are outstanding. I haven't touched the novel in a few weeks, and I'm perennially two classes away from finishing the master's. The house progresses slowly, and only because I'm paying professionals to progress.

And then there's the Clay Pigeon, an online humor magazine that several blogging pals and I started a few weeks ago. I think we produced some of the best humor writing on the web, but the fact is that something has to give. The Pigeon is going to have to go on hiatus for a while. I'm hoping we can bring it back at some point, but if and when we do, it will probably be in a somewhat different format. Maybe a format that is not quite so saturated with my blood and sweat.

The good news is that I'm not going to shut down this blog any time soon. I don't think I could stop writing this crap if I wanted to, so I might as well post it. This might not be my most stellar posting week, what with the work stuff, but I'll be around.

Thanks to all the editors and contributors of the CP, and also everybody who linked to us and posted the CP banners on your site. We appreciate your support.

If you want to read some funny stuff, browse through the Clay Pigeon's archives, or visit one of the contributor's blogs.

Crummy Church Signs
O Mighty Crisis
The Frog Bog
Pistols at Dawn
The Gallivanting Monkey
Izzle Pfaff!
The Reasonable Ego
See Mike Draw
HowToKillPeople.com
Armadillo Trader
Renal Failure
Predator Press
Genuine Ideas

Thanks, guys. You rock.

Caption Contest: The Other Boleyn Girl

I finally settled on The Other Boleyn Girl for this week's caption contest. Sorry for taking so long; my car continues to make my life interesting.

I haven't seen the movie, but I thought this made a pretty good picture.



A little twist this week, to keep things interesting: I'm going to give the winner a copy of my book, Antisocial Commentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police. If the person who wins already has a copy, I'll come up with something else. Maybe a plastic bag of dryer lint.

Submit your captions in the comments. Mrs. Diesel and I will pick our favorites and I'll post the top ten in a poll on Tuesday. Have fun, and good luck!

Listed on humor-blogs.com.

Worst Boss Ever

Sorry for the delay in posting today; it's been another crazy day. I promised you the story of the worst boss I've ever had, so here it is. I'll warn you that it's a little long, and not so much funny as sad. There's no happy ending, except for the fact that I don't work for the ass-hat any more. Unfortunately, people don't always get what they deserve. Sometimes you just have to be content with the knowledge that stupidity is its own punishment.

In September of 2002, I took a job as the webmaster for the government of a nearby city.

My boss, the head of the city’s IT department, was a pony-tailed, marginally competent sad-sack, the kind of guy who spent his life trying to live up to his memories of Woodstock, even though he was only in 3^rd grade at the time. Stoner, as I’ll call him, was the worst boss I’ve ever had.

The day I started, I set out (with Stoner’s blessing) to radically revamp the city’s website. I met with various city managers and other key employees to gather requirements for the site, and then started building out the site.

Most of the project was what you would call a “back-end” redesign; that is, my job was primarily to fix the underlying structure of the site, not to make it pretty. But as you know, I’m also something of a graphics guy, and the site definitely needed a facelift as well. Like it or not, it’s a fundamental fact that people do judge books by their covers – you can tell people about all the wonderful improvements you’ve made to their web site, but they aren’t likely to be impressed unless it looks different. So as part of the project, I also redesigned the look of the site.

As I neared completion on the redesign, I did a demo for Stoner. He was thrilled with the back end changes, but seemed concerned about the look of the site. The problem, he said, was that any significant design changes would have to be approved by the city council.

Ok, I said. So do we have to present it to the council? I’ll be happy to go to the next meeting, if that’s what I need to do. He said he would try to get a demo on the agenda.

A few days later I asked if he had been able to get the web site demo on the agenda. Not this time, he said. Maybe next month. I was a little puzzled by his hesitancy to commit to taking any action, but I figured he just had a lot of other stuff going on.

Around this time I started to become aware of a lot of low grade grumbling about Stoner from the other employees in the IT department. I got the impression that he wasn’t well liked or respected by the people who reported to him. Still, I hadn’t experienced any serious problems myself, so I reserved judgment.

I moved on to another project, meanwhile continuing to occasionally ask Stoner about the status of the council meeting demo. Several weeks past, with city council approval of the design the only thing holding up the site redesign.

Then one day I was meeting with the city’s director of economic development when she asked what was going on with the web site redesign. When I told her about the holdup with the council, she laughed. “The city council has never had anything to do with approving changes to the web site,” she said.

I called another person who attended all the council meetings, and she confirmed what I had been told: it wasn’t the city council’s job to approve design changes, and Stoner knew it. What the hell? Why would he have made up something like that?

I went into Stoner’s office and told him what the economic development director had said. He hemmed and hawed for a bit, and then finally admitted the truth.

“I don’t like the design,” he said.

I was rendered nearly speechless. Stoner had stalled the entire web site project for six weeks with a ridiculous lie because he was afraid to tell me he didn’t like my design work. Now I know I look like a total badass on my blog template, but in real life I’m hardly intimidating. It’s pretty much inconceivable that someone (particularly my manager) would be afraid to give me some criticism on my design work. What did he think I would do? Burst into tears? Walk out? I can’t even imagine what was going through his head.

The thing is, design is inherently subjective. Anyone who has done design work has had the experience of creating what he or she thinks is a fantastic design only to have the client pooh-pooh it because they don’t like that shade of green. If Stoner had just said, “The back end is great, but the design blows,” I would have been disappointed for about 30 seconds and then scrapped the design and started over.

But not after six weeks of unnecessary delays. I don’t like being jerked around and lied to. You had your chance to give me your input on the design, I thought. Screw you. This is the design.

“Ok,” I said. “You don’t like the design. Obviously I do like it. But you and I aren’t the end users. We’re not the ones who really matter. Why don’t we send the design out to all the stakeholders in this project and ask for their feedback?”

He could hardly say no to that. So I wrote up a very diplomatic, even-handed email asking for feedback on the design. The response, as I expected, was overwhelmingly favorable. Everybody liked my design better than the old one. The new web site was launched, complete with my design.

Now a smart manager would have been happy with a win for his department, regardless of whose idea the design was. A particularly cagey manager might even have found a way to take credit for the design that he fought against. In retrospect, I don’t think either of those options even occurred to Stoner. He was too busy seething over the fact that I had made a fool out of him in front of his department. They already didn’t respect him, and now this.

Oblivious to Stoner’s fragile mental state, I continued to work on other projects. I had been meeting with the economic development director about the creation of an interactive web-based map that businesses could use to find office space within the city. This project had languished for over a year with little progress because no one involved had the technical expertise to make it work. Now, after three weeks on the project, I had built a rough prototype of the application. I sent an email to Stoner apprising him of the progress, and included a link to the development copy of the application so that he could see for himself.

Unknown to me, Stoner set up a demo of the application with his manager, a bigwig with a title like manager of city services or something. Now demo-ing a development copy of an application is iffy at best. Demo-ing a development copy of an application without telling the developer what you’re doing is like driving a random car off the blocks at your mechanic’s shop without telling the mechanic. You’d have to be borderline retarded.

Predictably, the application broke during this unplanned demo, and Stoner ended up looking like an idiot in front of his manager. After the meeting, Mr. I’m Afraid to Tell You I Don’t Like The Design stomped up to my desk in a rage, telling me that I had just made a fool of him. “Do you even bother to test your work?” He demanded.

This time I really was speechless. Was he serious? Was it possible for someone to be that stupid? I just sat there, dumbfounded. What did he expect me to do, test the code before I wrote it?

Soon after this outburst, he left for the day. Now as it happened, this was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so the office would be closed until Monday. I stayed at my desk late that evening, fuming about Stoner’s absurd tirade. I should have let it go, but I knew that Stoner’s words would be echoing through my head for the next five days if I didn’t do something.

So I shot off an email to him, noting that I had specifically told him that what I had sent him was a link to a development copy of the application, and that it was unrealistic to expect an early prototype to work perfectly, especially considering that I was working on the code while he was doing the demo. I brought up the fact that under his leadership the project had gone exactly nowhere for over a year, whereas I had made significant progress in only three weeks. I closed the email with the observation that every failure related to this project had a single point of commonality: him.

In hindsight, it should have been clear to me that Stoner was a psychologically unstable individual. I should have known that my email would set him off. I mean, hell, even a well adjusted person doesn’t like being told he’s an idiot. But I foolishly believed that he was, at some level, a rational individual who would act in his own self-interest. With the amount of recognition that Stoner was getting for my efforts, it would have been insane for him to fire me, no matter how much he personally disliked me. I thought he would read the email and think, “Damn, I’ve pissed this guy off. I need to back off or he’s going to quit.”

But here’s the lesson: Stupidity trumps self-interest. If you have a choice between working for a stupid person or an evil person, pick evil. Evil people are predictable. They won’t screw you unless it does them some good to screw you. Stupid people will screw you because they couldn’t figure out what else to do. And stupid people who are paranoid from smoking way too much pot are even worse.

I came in the Monday after the Thanksgiving weekend to find that I had been locked out of my computer. That’s how I discovered I had been fired. Stoner’s door was closed, and he wouldn’t answer when I knocked. Finally, after an hour of sitting at my desk wondering if I should just pack up and go home, he called me into his office.

“I have to let you go,” he said.

“Why?” I said.

“The official reason is ‘no reason,’” he replied. I was still on a probation period, so he could fire me for ‘no reason.’ Presumably firing me for a reason would have caused all sorts of havoc.

“Would this have anything to do with a certain email I sent last Wednesday?”

“It might,” he admitted.

I eventually gathered from his comments that he thought there was a “conspiracy” against him in his department. He couldn’t easily fire any of the other conspirators, but he could get rid of me.

The sad thing is that he was right: There was a conspiracy against him. Unfortunately for him, the conspiracy consisted of everyone who worked for him. His employees had long since tired of his unstable behavior and capricious management style, and had been plotting to get him replaced. As a conscientious employee who did my best to stay out of office politics, I was actually the closest thing that he had to an ally. And he had just fired me.

I’d like to report that Stoner eventually became a victim of his own delusions and got fired. I would have wagered that he’d have been out on his ass within six months. Unfortunately, a Google search reveals that he’s still there, five years later.

So I suppose the real moral of this story is that paranoia and rampant stupidity are no barrier to a long and prosperous career in local government. Go figure.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Human Inertia | Hasta La Vista, Monkeyhands! Humor-blogs.com thinks that all bloggers are out to get it.

Alternating Between Love and Hate

Sorry about yesterday's little rant. I don’t think Grûndir realized that many of you are newer readers, and therefore are not familiar with his terrifying visage. For those who don’t know, Grûndir the Implacable is one of the nine Nazgûl, or ring-wraiths, who once served the dark lord Sauron. Grûndir fell on hard times after Sauron’s fall, taking on various odd jobs until eventually being hired by the Mattress Police to dispatch troublesome memes that I don’t feel like dealing with. He’s also good at rooting out the gophers and hobbits that continuously tear up my lawn.

(See, so now that I’ve explained it, it’s really quite funny, isn’t it? I mean, scrap-booking? Come on!)

And if dealing with the inconsolable Grûndir wasn’t enough, I woke up this morning feeling as if I were in a thick fog. I think it’s because of the translucent plastic sheets that the painters put over the windows yesterday. Still, it’s kind of creepy. I feel like I’m on the wrong side of a Camus novel.

On top of all that, I continue to have car troubles. I picked up my car from the shop yesterday, drove a mile and a half in the direction of Mountain View, and then stalled by the side of the road. Evidently my alternator is bad – which is precisely what, despite having the mechanical aptitude of a seven year old girl, I suspected the last time my car stalled, on the way to work last Thursday. The mechanic supposedly checked the alternator when I brought it in before, but it tested ok. So it works fine as long as the car is in the shop, but quits as soon as I get on the road. I guess that’s why they call it an alternator.

As a result, I haven’t actually been to work since last Thursday, which is pushing it (ha!) even for me. Thankfully my boss is very understanding, and is also quite aware that I’m a complete idiot as far as doing anything concrete and practical like fixing a car or getting somewhere on time. I’m trying to cultivate a sort of rock star image at work, so that people assume that I must be the most phenomenal programmer ever, since I sure as hell can’t do anything else right. Phase one of that plan is right on track.

Did I mention how cool my boss is? She's so cool that she even reads this blog sometimes. Isn't that awesome? I just sent her an email telling her that I won't be in until after 1pm today, because my alternator is in the process of being fixed, and I bet she won't even fire me. Isn't she the coolest?

Okay, so this ended up being kind of a pointless post, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow. In the past I've regaled you with stories of the second and third worst bosses ever, His Excellency Lord Monkeyhands and Human Inertia. And now that I've told you about the best boss ever, I think you're finally ready to hear the story of the worst boss I've ever had.

I'll see you tomorrow, if I'm not stuck on the side of I-580 in Livermore.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: You Shall Tremble Before the Meme-Wraith! | Human Inertia | Hasta La Vista, Monkeyhands! Humor-blogs.com thinks that thing on top of the hill in the picture looks like some kind of creepy ghost-cow, but it's probably just a bush.

First Cursed to Roam the Earth as a Wraith, and Now This?

Eleven comments? Really?

You know, Grundir's mental state was fragile enough when all he had to worry about was coping with an eternal living death and learning the ins and outs of scrap-booking. He makes the effort to do a solid post, taking on two very fierce-looking memes, baring his soul in the process, and you reward him with a meager eleven comments?

How do you think it makes Grundir feel, knowing that my post about giving people the finger got nearly three times as many comments as he did? Dispatching memes has always been a nice outlet for him, but now I'll be lucky if I can get him to come back next week to finish off the rest of them. He's been sulking in the barn since last night. He thinks you're all laughing at him about the Angela's Ashes thing. I'm telling you, he puts on a bold front, but deep down he's a sensitive soul.

I even promised to scalp a hobbit for him (relax, we bludgeon them first), but so far he hasn't shown any interest. It's just not like him. Nazgul can't commit suicide, but he's been listening to Foghat all day, and that's pretty damn close.


Humor-Blogs.com hopes you're pleased with yourselves.

Gather Your Memes and Hobbits About You!

It seems as if every time I darken this blog with my ominous visage, I must first apologize for my long absence. So once again, flesh-bags, I must express my regret that I could not enlighten and terrify you sooner.

Frankly, I grow a bit weary of being employed to kill gophers and the occasional errant hobbit at the Diesel estate, only occasionally being called upon to dispatch a troublesome meme or two. I have over 900 years of slaying experience! Could I not find a more meaningful gig?

True, I have done the occasional guest column over at the Clay Pigeon humor magazine, but even that does not come close to filling the insatiable gnawing pit of blackness that is my soul. I am considering taking up scrap-booking. I've already got one of those neat scissors that cuts the jagged lines, as you could probably guess from my cloak. What other supplies do I need? Glue? What else?

Ah, but I have forgotten why my master summoned me. It seems that the memes have been springing up around this place like Uruk-Hai in spring. And memes, like Saruman's goblin abominations (or "agoblinations," as we call them), reproduce asexually, so they must be dispatched quickly. Memes reproduce through a process that resembles the budding of jellyfish; and Uruk-Hai reproduce in a way that makes one wonder whether J.R.R. Tolkien had any idea where babies come from.

The point is that I must deal with these memes before they get out of hand. So, without further delay:

Six Inconsequential Facts About Myself, courtesy of the Suburban Correspondent and Special Kind of Stupid, which almost rhymes.

1. I once bumped into Larry King at the Howard Johnson's in Provo, Utah. I tried to have a conversation with him, but he seemed to think I was Lyle Lovett. He kept saying, "Hand me some more towels, Lyle! I need more towels!" It got awkward when he asked me about "schtupping" Julia Roberts, so I kicked him in the kneecaps and ran.

2. Angela's Ashes made me cry. The book, not the movie. There was a movie, I think. Right?

3. Hearing the word "riverdance" causes me to fly into a murderous rage.

4. Before I became a Nazgul, I was a summer.

5. I am working on a book about how to avoid being turned into a Nazgul. So far I have completed two chapters: "Just say no to magical rings!" and "Don't skimp on the riboflavin!"

6. Despite having no corporeal form, I find that wool trousers still chafe. Explain that one.

Next up, the puzzlingly named Magnetoboldtoo has given me a virtual kiss, explaining that "nothing is hotter than a faceless man in a black hood that smells like hopelessness and failure. The original Emo."

First, Ms. Magnetoboldtoo, I must assure you that if you had felt the unearthly chill of my presence, you would not make the mistake of calling me "hot." Unless you mean it in a metaphorical sense, in which case, rightbackatcha, babe.

Second, my hood smells like hopelessness, failure and gorgonzola.

Third, I am not in fact "the original Emo," although I will concede that the likeness is striking:

Frightening, isn't it?

I have several more memes to go through, thanks to Special Kind of Stupid and Daisy, but I am aware that as mortal creatures you only have a fleeting amount of time to spend reading this blog before you return to your lives of absurd futility. I shall return next week to dispatch the remainder. Take heed that my master's record-keeping is somewhat sub-standard, so if you have tagged this blog and I have not mentioned your meme here, please leave a comment advising me of such. I shall then dispatch your meme with all due haste.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: You Shall Tremble Before the Meme-Wraith! | Tremble Before My Shovel! Humor-blogs.com is the original Elmo.

Iron Man Caption Contest Winners

In a truly historic turn of events, Brad won the contest two times in a row, for a total of three wins! I even had to make a special banner for him:



In second place was newcomer Jenny, Bloggess, with:

The vasectomy was difficult but a success. There would be no more toaster-related paternity suits in Iron Man's future.

And Barry took third with:

"Hey c'mon Diesel! You said it was just going to be a bit of spanking and back to the script! Hey! Can you hear me? Look I'm using the safety word! Spaghetti!! Spaghetti!!"

I also have to give a special nod to three contestants for Most Obscure Mattress Police Reference. If you get all three of these references, you definitely need to get out more:

carolinebender:

"Frankly, building lawn mowers sounds like a pain in the ass, so how about if I spend an extra three weeks and build a machine that builds lawn mowers?"

stushie:

Sadly, Diesel forgot the fatal difference between building a cyborg, instead of an android.

Deb on the Rocks:

Tentacle porn soon led to more hardcore stuff for the once-innocent lad Diesel.

Thanks for participating, everybody. Have an Ironic end to a Manic week.


Humor-blogs.com is now 99.4% tentacle porn free!

Hey, Thanks!

Just a quick post to say 2 things:

1. To the guy who was honking at me as I was pushing my car up the overpass in Milpitas today: What were you trying to communicate exactly? That I was in the "no pushing lane"? That I wasn't pushing as hard as you thought I should? See, what you probably didn't realize is that I didn't plan on pushing my car up the hill. It was actually running on its own power for most of the way, and then it stopped rather unexpectedly. I was really only pushing it because it didn't seem to want to go any further by itself. You could probably see that I wasn't even wearing my pushing shoes. It was all a rather ad hoc, impromptu affair. So I appreciate you informing me, with repeated taps on your horn, that I wasn't following the proper protocol, but trust me, I was well aware of the awkwardness of the situation. Sometimes things happen that we don't plan. For instance, you probably didn't plan on growing up to be a raging asshole, but there it is.

2. To the folks at AllTop, who have demonstrated their good taste by including this humble blog in their aggregated humor listings, just below The Onion and just above Maddox: Thanks!

I'll be back tomorrow with the caption contest winners. G'night.


Humor-blogs.com pushes its car up hills just for giggles.

You're Number One!

I was thinking about hand signs today.

There are only about seven hand signs that are universally recognized in Western culture, and I find it interesting that one of these is the sign for "F--- you." At least, I think that's what it means. I don't have a translation chart or anything, but in my experience they seem to evoke the same response. Evidently our need to express the sentiment "F--- you" is right up there with "hello" and "OK."

How did that happen exactly? Was there a meeting where cavemen got together and hashed out the half dozen must-have hand signs?

Grog: Ok guys, there's been a lot of confusion about the hand signals we've been using. Just last week Thag misinterpreted a 'stop' signal and got eaten by a sabretooth. We really need to standardize. So what signs do we need? I mean, besides 'stop.'
Ook: Well, we've got to have a 'hello' sign. You know, like a greeting.
Lurg: Yeah, we could use this. (waves)
Grog: Brilliant! Ok, what else do we need?
Ook: Hmmm. How about something to express approval? Like one thumb in the air.
Grog: Nice. We'll call it the 'thumbs-up.' Anything else?
Lurg: Well, we're going to need a 'f--- you' sign.
Ook: Oh yeah. Big time.

I know, that's not really how language works. But these signs had to come from somewhere, right? Somebody had to be the first one to give someone else the finger. And how did the flippee know what the flipper meant? It's not like it's a particularly intuitive sign. Maybe it went more like this:

Viscount Trotsbury: I say, lad, is that John Montagu across yon moor?
Lad: I believe it is, m'lord.
Trotsbury: Sodding beet-licker. Shout something coarse and insulting at him.
Lad: M'lord, I don't believe he would be able to hear me, what with the wind blowing over the moor.
Trotsbury: Blast! I really want to tell that bloody tapestry-nibbler what I think of him. Perhaps an offensive hand gesture of some sort.
Lad: M'lord?
Trotsbury: I don't know, be creative.
Lad: Yes, m'lord.
Trotsbury: No, not that! You can't hold one fist up like that. Now it looks like I'm challenging him to a duel.
Lad: Aren't you?
Trotsbury: No! I don't want to fight him! I want to express my disapproval and contempt, and then high-tail it the other direction. What are you doing now?
Lad: I'm knocking my fists together in a most violent fashion, indicating that although you are not challenging Montagu to a duel, you would very much like to see him get what's coming to him.
Trotsbury: Stop it! It looks like your fists are making love to each other!
Lad: How about this?
Trotsbury: Now it looks like one of your fists is sodomizing the other. We're trying to say "F--- you," not "I want to f--- you." There's a subtle, but important difference.
Lad: How about this?
Trotsbury: What is that supposed to be?
Lad: See how my middle finger looks a little like a penis when I hold it like this?
Trotsbury: Are you trying to tell Montagu that he gives you an erection?
Lad: M'lord, with respect, I think it's clear that I'm expressing your supreme manliness as well as your contempt for Montagu.
Trotsbury: It looks like a bird to me.
Lad: A bird, m'lord? I don't see how you could...
Trotsbury: I suppose it will have to do. Bloody hell, what a lot of work. Get me something to eat.
Lad: Would you like meat or bread?
Trotsbury: Both.
Lad: At the same time?
Trotsbury: Yes, at the same time, you sodding ninny!
Lad: Er, alright then. Here, I've put a slab of meat between two slices of bread so that it will be easier to eat.
Trotsbury: (takes a bite) Zounds, I'm a genius!
Lad: M'lord?
Trotsbury: I've invented an entirely new way of eating! That's two inventions in one day! First the bird gesture, and now this! Soon everyone will be eating their meat between two slices of bread.
Lad: Very good, m'lord. What will you call it?
Trotsbury: It shall be known as the 'trotsbury,' of course. And I shall be revered across the world as its inventor.
Lad: M'lord?
Trotsbury: What is it, lad?
Lad: It's John Montagu, m'lord. He's coming this way. He doesn't look very happy.
Trotsbury: Blast, we should have run when we had the chance. Quick, make him a trotsbury.
Lad: Yes, m'lord.
Montagu: I say, Trotsbury, what was that gesture your lad was making toward me? It looked rather coarse and offensive.
Trotsbury: Not at all, my friend. He was merely "flipping you the bird." It's a sign of respect.
Montague: I should hope so. I've killed men for knocking their fists together in my direction.
Trotsbury: Yes, your dueling prowess is well known.
Montague: And what is that you have there, lad?
Lad: It's a new invention of my master's. We call it the trot --
Trotsbury: The sandwich. We call it the sandwich, in honor of yourself, John Montagu, the Earl of Sandwich. See, my lad has made you one.
Montagu: Excellent! This could catch on, you know. Soon everyone will be eating 'sandwiches.' I'm not sure I quite get the hand gesture, though. Would you mind having your lad 'flip me the bird' one more time?
Trotsbury: Gladly, friend. Gladly.

Humor-blogs.com is knocking its fists together in your general direction.

Vote!

Man, it's getting tough to pick the finalists for these. I did my best. Vote for your favorite below. And don't forget to check out the Clay Pigeon humor magazine when you're done.



Brad said...

Factoring in parts and labor, this was going to be the most expensive date Diesel had ever had.

Barry said...

"Hey c'mon Diesel! You said it was just going to be a bit of spanking and back to the script! Hey! Can you hear me? Look I'm using the safety word! Spaghetti!! Spaghetti!!"

ArmadilloTrader said...

"Diesel, I don't want to be lonely. Don't forget to make 'Iron Dog' when you're done."

Joel Bezaire said...

Dude, why are your hands always so damn cold?!?

.45 said...

"I think I'll give him a little something extra to satisfy the Iron Maiden."

stushie said...

Diesel realized he had drunk one too many when he was caught trying to milk Iron Man.

Jay said...

"Dang it! I never can remember which metric tools correspond with with standard tools. Curse me for buying a foreign car!"

Theresa said...

"You know, if you upgrade to stainless steel you won't keep having all these rust problems."

Jenny, Bloggess said...

The vasectomy was difficult but a success. There would be no more toaster-related paternity suits in Iron Man's future.

Deb on the Rocks said...

Diesel, next time YOU are the naughty cyborg and I'm the tool.

Opinion Polls & Market Research

Listed on humor-blogs.com.

Harry Potter and the Comments of Retardedness

One of my most popular posts ever is Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism. It even made it into my book. The point of the post was to make fun of close-minded people who won't let their kids read Harry Potter books. I wrote:

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 then expressed my shock and outrage at "finding" this signup form in the book (click to enlarge):

I was a young, naive blogger when I wrote that post. It honestly never occurred to me that anyone would take it seriously. I mean, go read the post and tell me how anyone with two brain cells to rub together would think that "signup form" was real. It's impossible, right?

Wrong. People continue to leave comments indicating that they've completely missed the point of the post. "Missed the point" is a generous phrase, in fact: these people were still shoeless at the security gate twenty minutes after the point touched down in Phoenix.

The surprising thing is that these commenters aren't the clueless Fundamentalists that you'd expect. No one has yet left a comment saying, "I KNEW those books were Satanic!!!" They're all people telling me how stupid I am for falling for the "Harry Potter is satanic" line. Two of them mentioned that they thought the signup form was a fake. No, really?!

I thought I'd post some of the favorite comments I've received. I've edited only for length. Trust me, I couldn't make up comments this stupid if I tried.

hmmm maybe it is important to keep certain things from kids at younger agesbuteventually theyre going to findtheyre own path. as a parent could you denyyour childs everlasting happiness just because you and your friends dont "approve". if your child or friend or even yourself find happiness in a less than reputable society but are happy trully being themselves AND DON HURT ANYONE, than how can this be bad? it is ones own pah that they must take into whaevr form ofascention they so choose. thats my opinion anyway.

-david age 16

Hi, David! It's great to hear from one of our younger readers! Did you know that Mozart wrote the opera Lucio Silla at age 16? It's true. Not only that, but by age 19 he knew the difference between their and they're, and by age 26 he had stopped appending his age to his signature to excuse his own stupidity.

you are out of your mind you crazy old bat

-Anonymous

That's redundant, you stupid retarded chicken.

you all are crazy people let the kids have fun and stop recking a good time

- Anonymous

Sorry, I don't recking we will.

I've been reading the potter series since Iwas I was 11 (currently 19),and I can assure you I'm not santanic in any way...and the whole add in the book, so never happened...I own several copies of the books and never seen this...Another point I would like to make is, the book is considered "Fantasy" for a reason...it's not REAL...Kids just don't go out into the yard, pick up a stick, and say Avava Kadvra...and you're worried about the song "Fergalicious"...Maybe you should be worried about other songs from more provocative artist such as Eminem or Trick Daddy...HARRY POTTER RULES

- Whitney

Wait... It's not real?

i think this post is a little ridiculous. i agree that harry potter in curriculum at school is controversial, but it having anything to do with satanism? i don't think it is akin or has anything to do with satan worship. if a kid does end up worshiping satan after reading this book, then it is the parents fault for raising a messed up kid not the books fault. an excellent read. its not about worshipping anything at all. i dont' really believe you people, i'd want my kids to get excited about reading something.

- Anonymous

A little ridiculous? Do you know how hard I worked on that?

Okay, listen here Diesel or Octane or whatever it is you call yourself, the Harry Potter stories are nothing more than stories about friendship and sticking together and learning how to overcome obstacles in one's life. The fact that there happens to be elements of an magical nature is entirely secondary. And furthermore, speaking as a pagan -- a proud to be one for the last 17 years since I began practicing -- I take great offense to having my faith -- yes, FAITH -- being referred to as devil worshipping. I'm all for free dom of speech but if you expect your beliefs to be respected, I suggest you return in kind.

- Jade Hawthorn

Jade or Topaz or whatever it is you call yourself, I'm sorry that I implied that the Harry Potter books had anything to do with your stupid made-up religion.

Fortunately, after Jade put an evil hex on me, I received some encouraging comments from a number of folks in the pharmaceutical industry:

Great Article! Thank You!

- Phentermine

Thanks to author! I like articles like this, very interesting.

- Buy Phentermine

nice blog!Nice information

- buy viagra

:-) ochen\' zaebatyj blog!

- Levitra

And then more from Anonymous...

I have read all the harry potter books and there is nothing wrong with them (like all u ppl think)

- Anonymous

Anonymous, did you read the one where there were some subtle points being made that went right over your head?

if you think harry potter is bad, your fucking stupid. and even if you did get that retarded harry potter 'sign up sheet' from one of their books, the book was a fake. and if you dont believe me.... then blow yourself.

- Anonymous

Anonymous, congratulations on being the dumbest person on the planet. What tipped you off that the sign-up sheet was a fake? Was it the fact that the other graphic in the post was a fake Satanism for Dummies book with the tagline "From the folks who brought you Harry Potter and Cancer?" Was it the part of the post where I said that I make my children wear helmets while doing difficult geometry problems? Was it the address on the bottom of the form that read, "Knights in Satan's Service, attn: Harry Potter Department, 666 Lucifer Way, Las Vegas, Nevada?"

So you think that form was a fake, eh? Anonymous, that wasn't even a real sheet of paper. I was too lazy to print the form out and scan it, so I just dummied something up in Paint Shop Pro. I made the "torn edge" by drawing a zig-zag line with my mouse. But I didn't fool you, did I, Anonymous? You figured out that it was a fake, probably torn from a counterfeit Harry Potter book. That's some solid deductive reasoning there, Sherlock. Do the human race a favor, would you? Go see Jurassic Park and have a fatal heart attack so that you can't reproduce.

Anyway, it's Monday, and you know what that means: A new issue of the Clay Pigeon humor magazine! If you want to read some writing by people who aren't polluting the gene pool, head over there now. Speaking of stupidity, the CP has a special report on which one is dumber, home improvement store employees or shopping carts. Plus, an article from the CP archives that takes us way back to 1990, when we were expressing our doubts about an upstart software company named Microsoft, and our first ever Letter to the Editor. Who knew there was no U.S. Department of Coffee?

And if that doesn't meet your ravenous hunger for humor, check out those wacky Satan-worshipers over at Humor-Blogs.com.

I'll be back tomorrow with the caption contest finalists.

Caption Contest: Iron Man!

In case you're new around here, that's me fiddling around with Iron Man's torso. Submit your captions in the comments. I'll post the best ones in a poll on Tuesday.

Have fun and have a super weeke