The Post that Explains Everything

The Dark Knight has now made a staggering $442 million. It's poised to overtake Star Wars as the second biggest grossing movie of all time (it'll take a few more weeks to sink Titanic). By contrast, the X-Files movie, released one week later, has made less than $20 million. That means that for every one person who has gone to see The X-Files: I Want to Believe, there are 22 people who have seen The Dark Knight. It's as if every state in the union except Minnesota picked The Dark Knight over the X-Files. This past weekend, six times as many people went to see a movie based on the music of Abba as went to see The X-Files. The legendary Chris Carter just his ass kicked by an aging 70s bubblegum pop act from Sweden. Sweden, people. If you were unlucky enough to wander into a theater showing The X-Files this weekend, you would actually have seen tumbleweeds blow past the screen.

Why is this? Well, because nobody gives a shit about the X-Files any more. Whatever fond memories we had of a quirky little show about a misanthropic FBI agent on a quest to discover the Truth about the paranormal were erased by four years of red herrings and pretentious philosophical discussions as Carter squeezed every last bit of life out of the show. Losing your two principal actors is usually a pretty good sign that it's time to wrap things up, but Carter just kept going. He's the kind of guy you see on Cops who keeps driving after all four of his tires have been torn to shreds by those spike strips, showering the freeway with sparks from the car's bare rims as the police helicopter hovers overhead. Keep going, Chris! You might make it!

This seems to have turned into Movie Week at the Mattress Police, but my point was originally going to be that you can only toy with people so long before they start to resent you. I've been thinking for a while that I really need to do a better job of explaining who I am and what this site is all about, because new readers must be terribly confused and veteran readers must be thinking, "Hey, whatever happened to the Huey Lewis petition / Grundir the Implacable / Diesel's campaign for president / Gibson Praise / Samantha's clone / etc."

As the X-Files entered its death throes, they used to promise that this episode was going to be the one that "explained everything." It never was, of course, and I was left to sit there like Homer Simpson, complaining, "That didn't explain anything." (To be fair, I never saw any of the episodes from the final season, so it's possible that they really did explain everything, long after I no longer cared.)

So here's my attempt to explain (almost) everything.

Why "Mattress Police"?

I like the movie Fletch. Also, the domain was available.

Why "Diesel"?

You'd know this if you read my book. The name started as a joke. When my wife was pregnant with Climber, I used to claim to want to name him "Diesel" because I thought it was the coolest name ever. A few years later I started working at a company where there was already another Rob, who was a real asshole. I would get introduced as "Rob," and I'd quickly clarify that "I'm not the bad Rob." I would then add, diplomatically, that there wasn't necessarily a bad Rob, but if there was, then I wasn't him. Eventually some of my coworkers took pity on me and decided to give me a nickname. They made the mistake of asking me what I wanted to be called, and I said, without a hint of hesitation, "Diesel." They went along with it, and soon everybody, even His Excellency Lord Monkeyhands, was calling me Diesel. You can read a slightly embellished, but more interesting, version of the origin of this name here.

So "Diesel" isn't some sort of blogging persona?

I don't know how to answer this. The question assumes that I have some sort of "real" personality, and that I adopt a different, artificial personality when I blog. The fact is that pretending to be someone else is an integral part of my personality, so if I forced myself not to write facetiously, I'd be doing the very thing I was trying to avoid: putting on an artificial personality. Sure, I can be "serious" when I need to be, but "serious Diesel" isn't any more my "real" personality than "happy Diesel", "depressed Diesel", or "sarcastic Diesel."

Ok, but if you acted the way you write, you'd be... insane, right?

Let me put it this way: In my first meeting with my current employers, I explained that the cougar, mountain lion, and puma were really just different words for the same thing. Not because it had anything to do with what we were talking about, but because I just thought they should know. At the first team meeting that I attended after being hired, I put on a puppet show starring a power cable and a Cat5 cable. Last Thursday I decided to be excessively friendly for about 2 hours. I went around slapping people on the back and saying things like, "Hey, Boss!" A few weeks ago I put a sign up on my office door that reads "Diesel Wellness Center" in giant letters. Beneath that is a small line of text that reads, "Appointments Only." When people ask me about the sign, I ask them if they have an appointment. At my wife's family reunion last week, I got bored so I amused myself by drawing a face on a bottle of bleach and then taking pictures of all of the family members with "Mr. Bleach."

I don't know why I do this stuff. It just makes me happy.

You sometimes joke about taking Prozac so that you won't end up shooting yourself in the head. Isn't that in bad taste?

No, because I take Prozac so that I won't end up shooting myself in the head. Seriously, I have a history of severe depression and if I didn't believe that God has some kind of purpose in mind for me, I'd probably have killed myself long ago. Thankfully, Prozac frees me from having to decide not to kill myself several hundred times a day, so I can focus on other things.

How on earth does your wife put up with you?

Well, it helps that she has an excellent sense of humor. Other than that, I can't really explain it.

What is the point of this blog?

It's good writing practice, I like to make people laugh, and I'm hoping to build my readership to help my odds of getting my novel published. I self-published my first book, a collection of my better blog posts, and I'm thrilled to have sold about 150 copies, but I'm aiming for the big time with the novel.

What is this Humor-Blogs.com thing?

It's frustrating to try to get the word out about a blog like Mattress Police, because search engines return results based on words that other web sites use to link to a site. So someone looking for information on mattresses or diesel engines has a pretty good chance of coming across this blog, but someone searching for funny blog posts will never find it. Humor-Blogs.com was designed to be a conduit that directs people to this blog and other funny blogs. There are other blog directories out there, but frankly they all use pretty crappy ranking algorithms, so the "top ranked blogs" usually aren't even very good. Humor-Blogs.com uses the fairest ranking system I could come up with, which explains why Mattress Police is generally in the top five. Seriously, I'm not cheating. I swear.

So... Are you a programmer? Or a writer? Or a graphic designer?

Yes.

Do you really work at Google?

Yes. I actually work for another company that Google has hired for certain projects, so I'm not a Google employee. I do, however, work on site at Google headquarters in Mountain View, CA.

Are you really the treasurer for your church?

Thankfully, not any longer. I was possibly the worst treasurer in the history of mankind, and that includes Judas.

Who is Grundir the Implacable?

Grundir the Implacable is a Nazgul -- one of the nine ring-wraiths or "dark riders" who once served Sauron, the evil overlord of Middle-Earth. After things started to go badly for Sauron, Grundir came to me looking for work. He keeps my estate free of gophers and hobbits, and dispatches memes for me. He first appeared in a guest post I did for SayNoToCrack over a year ago.

Where is Grundir These Days?

Grundir is starting to annoy me almost as much as the memes he dispatches, so he's been making himself scarce lately. He most recently exercised his meme-dispatching services at Sci Fi Catholic, where he explained the origin of his hatred for hobbits:

My hatred for hobbits precedes my death and transformation into a Nazgul. I hate all diminutive humanoids, truth be told. I think it started with my father, who was an exceedingly cruel man. He was not actually short, but he was always very distant, which made him appear much smaller than he was. He used to urinate into wineskins and then toss them at my head from the roof of a neighboring cottage.

What's going on with your campaign to get Huey Lewis played on classic rock radio stations?

Unfortunately for Huey, I have a short attention span and not much follow-through. Also, I'm not sure what to do with a petition that had, at last count, 75 signatures. Huey deserves better.

So you're serious about liking Huey Lewis?

I find your question insulting.

What is M.I.A.S.M.A.?

M.I.A.S.M.A. is the Mattress Police Institute for the Advancement of Scientific Missions of Awesomeness (the 'P' is silent). Its goal is to improve science by subjecting all scientific theories to a rigorous review by a large number of unqualified individuals. Read about its inception here.

I applied to be a member of M.I.A.S.M.A. but never heard back. Am I in or what?

Sure, why not?

Why don't you respond to my emails?

Either (1) You're annoying me, or (2) You fell victim to my notorious inability to manage details, like responding to emails. It's pretty much 50/50. Send a follow-up email if you're feeling lucky.

What's going on with your campaign for the U.S. presidency?

The important thing to remember here is that I'm running in the 2020 race, so there's plenty of time for this shtick to grow thin. Be patient.


Ok, I think that covers just about everything. Let me know if there's anything else you desperately need to know.

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Close to Ten Tips on Writing a Funny Blog Post

As you know, my Meme-Wraith, Grundir the Implacable, generally dispatches all troublesome rodents and memes that attempt to violate the sanctity of Chez* Diesel. Today, however, Grundir humbly approached me cradling a delicate young meme bearing an insignia resembling a giant malformed spermatozoan.

“Cast it into the Crack of Mount Doom, you fool!” I howled at my Nazgul minion. Then I burst into a fit of giggles, because I can’t say “Crack of Mount Doom” without laughing. Grundir tolerates this with admirable aplomb. Being dead for 900 years gives you a certain amount of patience.

“It’s bears the ominous mark of Brent Diggs, m’lord,” rasped Grundir.

“Ah yes,” I said. “The universally recognized Giant Malformed Spermatazoan of Brent Diggs!”

“I believe it is a comma, sir. An Ominous Comma.”

“I know what a comma looks like!” I snapped. “Why, my gentle wraith, surely you’re aware of my affinity for the comma, the most sublime of punctuation marks, the enabler of superfluous modifiers, the – ”

“Indeed, m'lord. Shall I bury this meme in the orchard with the ditch digger?”

“It’s called a shovel, worm-brain.”

“No, m’lord, I mean…”

“Silence, fool! I must maintain plausible deniability. No, my rotted friend, I shall answer this meme. Read it to me, please. My eyes fail me in this light.”

“As I’ve tried to tell you, m’lord, your perpetually tinted glasses –”

“I’ll perpetually tint you if you don’t start reading, Stiffy.”

“It reads, ‘In my brief foray onto the internet I have –’”

“Good lord, how long is this thing? Cut to the part with Liv Tyler already!”

“He wants you to write something funny and yet educational. To impart some of your wisdom about blogging to the masses, if you will.”

“Brilliant! I shall give the masses Ten Tips on Writing a Funny Blog Post.”

“Excellent, m’lord.”

“Tip number one: Self-reference is always funny.”

“I’m sorry, m'lord. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Yes, take this down: ‘As you know, my Meme-Wraith, Grundir the Implacable, generally dispatches all troublesome rodents and…’ Wait, how many commas is that?”

“Three, m’lord.”

“Ok, good enough. Point number two: Don’t belabor a joke. Stop right before the reader understands what you’re doing. Good readers like to think a little. And bad readers, well, f—k ‘em. Except don’t write ‘f—k.’ Put dashes in the middle or something.”

“Very good, m’lord. What else?”

“Point four: Writing a post in dialog form automatically makes it 43.7% funnier. Oh, and point five: Needless, unjustifiable precision is also funny.
“Point six. Wait, I’m not sure about point three. Strike that one for now. Remind me to come back to it later.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

"Where was I?"

"Point six."

"Right, point six. Sprinkle your post with obscure pop culture references. They'll go over the heads of a lot of your readers, but the real Ainur will eat it up. Point seven. Make fun of yourself, but don’t be too obvious about it. Make yourself out to be a huge ass, even if you’re really a nice guy. Of course, it works better if you really are a huge ass, like me. Am I talking too fast for you, Casper?”

“No, m’lord.”

“Point eight: Give yourself a straight man. Somebody the readers can identify with. But somebody who doesn’t seem very relatable at first glance. Toy with the readers’ expectations a bit.”

“Very good, m’lord. I never could have devised such a brilliant notion.”

“Of course not. You’re a 900 year old medieval jerkwad who sold his soul for something shiny. And finally, point nine: Always leave the reader wanting more. Now slap the Mattress Police seal on that baby and send it back to Diggs. We’ll show him what a real blogging insignia looks like. No sperm for us!”

“Of course not, m’lord.”

“On second thought, throw a little sperm on that baby. Can’t hurt.

“Yes, m’lord.”


For this non-meme, I anoint the following individuals:
1. Dave Barry
2. Sinister Dan
3. Scott Adams
4. Ecstatic Wavelength Lady
5. David Sedaris
6. Sue Piltdown
7. Bill Watterson
8. Leigh (on the condition that she does not offer any boob-related advice or pictures)
9. Voltaire
10. Jocelyn Hergenfliffer

*Pronounced "CHEEZ"

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Tremble Before the Meme Wraith! | Can You Dig It? | Tremble Before My Shovel! Looking for a funny blog?

Down in the Trenches

Hail, soul-husks!

I am Grûndir the Implacable, Nazgûl and meme wraith. You may know me as one of the nine dark riders who once served the Dark Lord Sauron. Since my beloved homeland of Mordor was overrun by hobbits, I have served as the chief meme-dispatcher at the Mattress Police headquarters.

The premises have been quiet of late, as few dare risk my wrath. Recently, however, this blog was tagged by both Claire and Pope Terry with the Six Word Memoir meme. By my accounting, this allots me twelve words with which to pen a memoir covering my nine hundred year existence. That is just over one word per century. It will be difficult to sum up such an eventful and tragic life in only a dozen words, but I shall do my best:

To know the true price of bling
Just give me a ring

You see, I have used the word ‘ring’ to denote two distinct concepts, thereby compressing a greater volume of ideas into fewer words. Also, it rhymes. Fear my poetic virtuosity!

I apologize if I have failed to dispatch any other memes recently. I’m afraid my master Diesel has had me on hobbit detail, so I am not always aware when a meme rears its ugly head.

Truth be told, I have not seen any hobbits for some time, so I am a bit puzzled as to why my master has me patrolling the grounds with my Morgul blade at the ready. I am under order to slay any small, hairy mammals that I come across, but so far I have encountered only gophers – and on one occasion, a confused and frightened teenager digging crooked trenches near my master’s abode. I held high my blade and put forth a challenge.

“Why, oh benighted youth, dost thou dig such crooked trenches?”
“Please, dark one,” responded the youth, “I have been instructed to dig trenches here by Lord Diesel.”
“Surely Lord Diesel instructed you to dig straight trenches?”
“No, your wraithfulness, he did not. He instructed me only to dig a trench from this point here, to that point, over there.”
“I see. So it was of your own volition that you decided to incorporate seventy three other points that the master did not specify?”
“My own vol-what?”
“Hark! A balrog doth approach from the east!”
“A what does what from where?”
“Just look over there.”

At this point a smote the youth on the base of his skull with the pommel of my blade. My expert blow caused him to slump perfectly into the meandering trench. I would have covered him with earth, but oh! how I detest digging. Generally I employee cave trolls or dwarves for such labor.

Having dispatched the callow youth, I noticed a foul stench emanating from a deeper section of the trench. It appeared that the young man had, in the course of his aimless digging, unearthed some ancient and unspeakable evil! It was this:

Sadly, since the fall of Mordor I am unable to access the funds in my Bank of Mordor account, so providing this information to you would be of little use. It occurs to me, however, that... no, I shall not entertain such foolish vanities.

Ah, but now I have piqued your curiosity, and I would be remiss if I did not complete the thought. You see, because of the political situation in Mordor, I am unable to claim the vast treasures stored up in the vaults of Minas Morgul. If, however, (and understand that I am by no means asking for you to do this!), someone outside of Mordor were to request that the treasures be transported to their own account... well, you see where I'm going with this. It's a foolish notion, although I would of course allow anyone assisting me in this manner to keep a large portion of the treasure. I would only need your bank account number, and I would take care of the rest.

While I am on the subject, I am also in possession of a large cache of herbal remedies which are guaranteed to help you maximize the reach of your Morgul blade, if you get my meaning. Email me at Grundir -at- mattresspolice.com if you're interested. If you doubt the efficacy of these remedies, note that I am also the recipient of the Perfect Post Award from Magneto Bold Too!

In addition, the Republic of Iceland has honored me by naming one of their cities after me!



I assume that this is a misguided effort to lure me to Iceland to assist the government with their Hobbit Abatement Program. Still, the gesture is appreciated. Therefore, for all of these memes I tag the Ice Queen, who, judging from her last posting date, may have been trampled by a glacier.

That is all, mortals!

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Tag at Your Peril! | Tremble Before My Shovel! Uncover more unspeakable evils at Humor-blogs.com.

Tag at Your Peril!

Hail, carrion-in-waiting!

I am Grûndir the Implacable, Nazgûl and Meme-Wraith. I serve the dark lord Diesel in the capacity of dispatching troublesome memes from these premises.

It has come to my attention that there has been some scurrilous talk since my last appearance on this blog. Rumor would have it that I have been 'sulking' in Diesel's barn, scrap-booking and listening to Foghat, afraid to show my face because of the lukewarm reception to my last post. Allow me to put these baseless lies to rest.

Imagine, Grûndir the Implacable craving the affirmation of faceless blog readers! The notion is laughable. Mark this, blood-bags: Long after you have withered, fig-like in your graves, I will roam the land in my ceaseless quest to wipe memes and hobbits from the face of the earth.

Yes, thousands of years from now the sages of a future age will pore over records of this era, tracing the origins of the great meme-slaughter, saying to one another, "Truly, Grûndir the Implacable was one bad motherf***er. Does this comprehensive and nicely annotated scrapbook not attest to this fact?"

And I shall sit on my throne, an unquestioned despot, ruling over a golden age free of both memes and unnaturally abbreviated mammals, surveying what I have wrought. Throngs of creatures, both living and undead, shall assemble before me to gaze upon my ominous visage and hear my flawless rendition of "Slow Ride" on Guitar Hero 3.

Anyway, that is the plan. I think those are reasonable goals, but I do not want to over-commit, you know? Maybe I shall decide to raise alpacas instead.

But enough of this talk! On to the matter at hand.

This blog has become a veritable breeding ground for memes of late. Take, for example, the "Excellent Blog Award," granted by both Jeffrey Ellis and Daisy. Tracing the genealogy of this meme, I have determined that it is over ten weeks old. Now if each recipient of this award followed the instructions and tagged ten more blogs, and if each generation in the propagation of this meme takes a week, then after seven weeks this meme will have been awarded to ten billion blogs. And as there are only about 100 million blogs at present, this means that every single blog in existence should have received this award 100 times. I therefore castigate the readers of this blog for your failure to deliver the other 98 Excellent Blog Awards that are due. Your insolence will not be tolerated!

Daisy has also tagged this blog with the most vile meme that I have yet encountered: the innocent-sounding "book meme." One might expect this meme to give one the opportunity to list the six most recent books one has read, but this meme has no such lofty ambitions. It expects us to:

1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people & post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come see.

The purpose of this meme is, in other words, to propagate complete gibberish across the Internet. I cannot express to you how thankful I am that someone has finally taken on that task.

It so happens that the nearest book to me is the scrapbook I have been working on, so here are my sentences:

"Vigorous flailing, while inconvenient, is a sign that you have picked a particularly robust hobbit to torture -- weak, sickly hobbits are easier to manage, but do not provide as much amusement over the long term. Note that if the creature flails wildly and screams for its mother when you pierce its flesh with a sharpened stake, you may have accidentally bagged a boy scout. Look for the telltale kerchief and hairless feet."

Quilly has pawned off the "Message in a Bottle" meme. I am supposed to put a message that means something to me in the bottle. This one is actually hits rather close to home.



I do not expect you to understand.

Kev tagged this blog for the "To Do List" meme, which requires that I list five things on my “to do” list for the week that are not related to work. This one is easy:

1. Set hobbit traps.
2. Check hobbit traps.
3. Torture hobbits.
4. Scrap!
5. Bury hobbits.

For all of these memes, I tag the Rosicrucians, Melanie Griffith, anyone who has seen the Virgin of Guadalupe, Randall "Tex" Cobb, Edith Wharton, Oscar Goldman, Gwen Stacy's clone, the last three people to die in Reservoir Dogs, the man from U.N.C.L.E., Jello Biafra, Wampy, Warren G. Harding, the guy who played Doogie Howser's best friend, and Glacial Spain.

The memes in these parts are getting so out of hand that I have decided to take offensive action against them. I am offering my meme-dispatching services to anyone who requests my assistance. Simply post my meme-protection badge on your blog and I shall take care of any memes that come your way. When someone tags you, let me know (by posting on your blog, submitting a comment here, or sending me electronic mail) and I will dispatch the meme either with a guest post on your blog or a post here. You can contact me via electronic mail at grundir[at]mattresspolice.com.



My lord Diesel has provided the code for the badge here:

<a href="http://www.mattresspolice.com/2008/04/tag-at-your-peril.htm"><img border="0" alt="This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable" src="http://www.mattresspolice.com/images/protected_by_grundir.gif" /></a>

If his duties for the kingdom of Googul permit, my master shall return on Friday for another round of the caption contest. Be here, and have your wits about you!

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Tremble Before My Shovel! | "What's in your bag?" Listed on humor-blogs.com.

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.

Tremble Before My Shovel!

Greetings, wormfood!

I apologize for my long absence. Diesel's estate seems to have developed a bit of a hobbit problem, and my lord insists that I deal with them. He won't admit it, but I suspect that he still feels a little bad about accidentally clubbing that troop of boy scouts to death with a shovel.

I have since taught him a handy rhyme to distinguish boy scouts from hobbits:

If it's helpful and nice, you should look twice
But if the feet are hairy, first whack and then bury

Still, my master remains a bit shovel-shy, so I am left to deal with the matter. Filthy creatures, tearing up our garden and keeping my lord awake at night with their homoerotic pledges of loyalty to each other. I shall slay them all!

Not that there's anything wrong with their being gay. I'm totally ok with their gayness. I hate all small mammals equally, regardless of their color or orientation.

Bah! Enough of this talk of filthy halflings. On to the matter at hand. As you no doubt are aware, I am Grundir the Implacable, Nazgul and meme-wraith. My duties at Diesel's estate, in addition to vermin control, include dealing with any pesky memes that have been inflicted upon this blog. My master's record keeping leaves something to be desired, but as far as I can tell I have three memes to deal with:

First, Red Mojo of Half a Bubble Off has given me the You Make My Day award. This puzzles and enrages me, as I have devoted my existence to destruction and spreading misery. Knowing that I have made your day only increases the torment of my living death. You have made me day as well, Red Mojo. You have made it a LIVING HELL.

An Irrelevant Cheetah has given me a purple lion in a post about baby porcupines. I am predictably confused and enraged by this. Not an animal person.

Zhu from Some Spanish Name asks me what I learned in 2007. What have I learned in 2007? What have I learned? Is it not enough that I am sentenced to an existence of unspeakable torment with no foreseeable end? Now I am expected to learn something every year as well? What is this, high school?

I will tell you what I have learned. I have learned that 2007 is half of 4014. I have learned that it's one fourth of 8028. I have learned that it's one tenth of 20070. I have learned that no matter how many days I suffer, there will always be an endless array of more days waiting for me, each filled with meaninglessness and agony. Oh, and also that cleaning windows with newspaper instead of paper towels prevents streaks. Plus, you're recycling.

For these memes, I tag Gollum, Boromir, Eomer, Theoden and the original lineup of Jefferson Starship. I trust that none of you will disappoint!

That is all for now, mortals. I must go check my hobbit traps. Sometimes when the trap snaps shut, the prongs will miss all of the vital organs and the hobbit will just lie there, screaming for days until it slowly bleeds to death, and I'm afraid that's something I really don't want to miss.

I will see you again when my master next calls upon me. Until then, remember to stand up straight and avoid using words like "elevensies." I bid you farewell.


Humor-blogs.com is littered with dead hobbits.

"What's in your bag?"

Greetings, gristle-monkeys. I am Grundir the Implacable, Nazgul and Meme-Wraith. Shudder in the presence of my stench, for it is the stench of death and feet.

Theresa, the Friesian-Spanish meme-virgin, who should know better, has tagged my master, Diesel, with the "What's in your bag?" meme, and if you're still here after stumbling over all of those commas I tossed in your path (some of them, admittedly, not technically necessary, but I am strangely enamored of the wee blokes), you are an intrepid soul indeed.

You may notice, by the way, that my English has gotten substantially less archaic since my last post. During my hiatus I've been taking Non-Archaic English as a Second Language classes at the local community college. A few more weeks and I will be able to speak just like a normal person. Isn't that sick?

Bah! Let us proceed with this foolishness.

What do I have in my bag? Can there be any question?



Yes, my bag is filled with hobbits who shall suffer the diabolical tortures of the... ah, who am I kidding? That is not a real hobbit. It is merely actor Dominic Monaghan, who, since the untimely death of his perennially befuddled and heroin-addicted character on Lost, is now being sold at a very reasonable price in burlap sacks at Pier 1 Imports. I recently purchased this one as a mantel decoration, but was enraged when my cat urped on it. I was able to replace the head with Sean Astin's, but I haven't a clue how to get cat urp out burlap. Tips?

To the little Brandybuck's credit, he evidently did succeed in getting the others off the island. No, not the Others. The other others. Come to think of it, Doesn't it seem like they should change the name of the show to Found now? Perhaps the castaways will return to the island and open a resort, wherein all manner of wacky hijinks would ensue. Ah, what fun that would be! But only if they can get all of the original cast members back. Let me put it this way: I know Ginger. Ginger was a friend of mine. And you, Judith Baldwin, are no Ginger.

----------------

Interlude: A conversation recently overheard between Diesel and Mrs. Diesel, while listening to "Wonderwall" by Oasis.

Diesel: Whatever happened to these guys?
Mrs. Diesel: Hmmm. Didn't one of them drown trying to get the rest of the group off the island?
Diesel: ---
Mrs. Diesel: What?

End interlude.

----------------

The truth is, hobbits, unlike diminutive character actors, are difficult to catch. The main problem with trying to catch hobbits is the whole depth perception issue.



The other day I was creeping up on a fat little hobbit napping on a log. I thought I had him, but when I reached for my broadsword I bumped into the little bastard and knocked him over. Well, that startled the hell out of both of us, and we both started screaming. He was all like, "What the hell, man? You scared the f--- out of me!" And I was like, "Dude, it's not my fault. I thought you were still like ten feet away!" And he was all like "I'm a halfling, okay? I'm half the size of a normal person. So when it looks like I'm ten feet away, you're actually encroaching rather severely on my personal space. Also, our culture is roughly Germanic, so we're kind of big on the liebensraum concept."

This seemed like an unfair generalization to me, and I was about to say so when he high-tailed it into the woods. Clever little bastards they are. I probably had plenty of time to reached out and smack him, but I was getting a headache trying to figure out how far away he was, and decided to just let him be. I hope he wasn't a female, because they breed like rabbits.

So... what was this post about again? Curse you, Diesel, you have infected me with your gnat-like attention spat and your... something something something...

Anyway, my master bids you return tomorrow to vote on the caption contest finalists.

Oh, and buy his book while you still can, foolish mortal, or it shall be your head in my bag! So unless you want to spend eternity knocking noggins with Elijah Wood, buy it now for the ridiculously low price of $9.95, with free shipping. My master will even sign it for you upside down. What more could you want, other than having it not signed upside down, which isn't an option?

Humor-blogs.com wouldn't be caught dead rolling around in a sack with Elijah Wood.

Thursday Shriek-Out: Humor-Blogs.com

Greetings, flesh-bags! I am Grundir the Implacable, Nazgûl and Meme-Wraith. My master, Diesel, is too busy serving the kingdom of Googûl to deal with the likes of you. Although this site has been largely meme-free for the past several weeks, my lord Diesel has released me from my undisclosed location in his barn in order to deliver the customary Thursday 'shout-out.' As I have no corporeal form, it is difficult for me to shout, so my words tend to come out as a ghastly shriek. Sorry about that.

Bah! Why am I apologizing to you, when you should be cowering in fear of me? That doesn't sound right. Cowering in fear. Of me. Cowering of me. In fear. Prepositions are something I have always had a problem with.

In any case, I am here to urge you to visit Humor-blogs.com. Why? Because you will laugh your corporeal ass off, that's why. Also, my master's site has inexplicably slipped to third place in the rankings, and he needs your help to get back on top of Joel. Er, you know what I mean. It's unseemly for my lord Diesel to be listed third on his own humor blog directory. Every visit to humor-blogs.com will help improve my master's score.

So visit Humor-blogs.com today. And tomorrow. And every day this week. And next week. And on and on, until your quivering flesh lies still, rotting amongst the barrow wights.

My master will return tomorrow with the caption contest winners. Make sure you vote.

Oh, and visit humor-blogs.com.

Bah!

Thursday Shout-Out: Three Scary Monsters

Long time Mattress Police supporter, Humor-Blogs.com member and funny guy Mr. Fabulous is up for the Best Humor Blog award once again. Vote for him here. I know, I know, you want to vote for me, but you can't. I haven't been nominated, and if I had I would just throw all my support to Fab. Because, well, he has a chance to win.

In other news, have you been following the drama at Central Snark? You should be. As you know, my Nazgul minion Grundir the Implacable has been traversing the blogosphere dispatching memes and hobbits with his razor sharp wit and broadsword, respectively. Not content with memicide, he even decimated some Crummy Church Signs. But no amount of violence seems to soothe Grundir's blackened soul, and on Monday he showed up at Central Snark, whining about how hard it is to be neither truly dead nor alive:

What weighs heavily upon me these days is the little things, like the way small children look upon me when I’m at Target. I know, I should not let it trouble me so, but it wears on one, being constantly treated as if I am some sort of monster. Bah! I hear your protests. It is immaterial that I am, in fact, some sort of monster. (Get it, immaterial? I slay me!)

This was evidently more than some people could take. No longer satisfied to borrow Grundir for his own purposes, Joel from Crummy Church Signs hired his own socially inept henchman, a Wookie named Kalfu'ur, to "investigate" the misuse of alter egos throughout the blogosphere. A "quote," from Kalfu-ur, such as it is:

(Unintelligible Wookie War-Bellow)

Kalfu’ur stop silly alternate personas! Kalfu’ur not understand them! They not same as when Chewbacca, Magnificent One (May His Fur Always Be Ruffled) pretended to be prisoner in order infiltrate Death Star. Or when He pretended to be prisoner in order infiltrate Jabba’s Palace. (What can Kalfu’ur say? A good plan is a good plan. He “Magnificent One” for a reason!) There no princess in Inter-net! There no carbonite-encased friends! There no handsome bounty for alternate personas!

(A second unintelligible Wookie War-Bellow)

This led to a heated discussion in which Kalfu'ur was accused of being a prime example of the very thing he was supposed to be stamping out. The argument rapidly devolved into a barrage of vicious insults, with Kalfu'ur accusing Grundir of being unable to defend Mordor against midgets and Grundir suggesting that Kalfu'ur was just grumpy about his dingleberries.

Lampsha (also known as G, Queen of Humor-Blogs Reviews), stepped in to mediate, resulting in a riveting panel discussion between the two creatures. Although they were in agreement that "small, furry creatures are the bane of great evil empires everywhere," the discussion doesn't seem to have done much to improve relations between our minions. The low point was probably when Kalfu'ur quoted REO Speedwagon. Now people are talking about a "cage match," and I just don't know what to do any more. You try to raise your evil minions right, teach them evil from just plain wrong, and listen to their tortured howls of misery and regret, but I guess in the end they have to choose their own path. Read the discussion here and tell me what I should do with Grundir.

Opinion Polls & Market Research

I'll make a decision based on the results and let you know sometime next week.

And be back here tomorrow for the caption contest results. Get your vote in now!

I Shall Cast Your Accursed Memes into the Crack of Mount Doom!

Firstly, let me put to rest the rumors of the Dark Lord Diesel's demise. Although he appreciates your well-wishing, he is not in fact ill. He merely had an abominable headache on Monday, perhaps of the sort caused by the screams of orcs being worked to death in the infernal factories of Mordor, or Celine Dionne records.

My lord would have put the rumors to rest himself, but he has been surprisingly busy of late. Perhaps some day he will tell you of his recent arduous journey to the west, where he visited the fabled stronghold of a vast kingdom that he refers to as "Googul." Yes, it appears that Lord Diesel has been persuaded to come out of retirement by his allegiance to that vast kingdom and his need to pay for a lot of drywall.

While my lord Diesel has been about more pressing matters, memes have been piling up at an alarming rate. As the designated meme-wraith of the Mattress Police, I shall dispatch these nuisances with due haste and hostility.

First, there is the Blogger Reflection Award, foisted upon the Mattress Police by the Ironic Catholic. I must say, this habit of commonfolk bestowing upon each other endless awards disgusts me. Are not awards meant to be granted by an esteemed council of some sort, so that people like Yasser Arafat and Milli Vanilli do not receive them? In the land of Mordor, from whence I hail, only one entity can give awards: The Dark Lord Sauron. There is only one award -- the Award of the All-Seeing Eye -- and every year Sauron awards it to himself, except for that one time that he took pity on Susan Lucci.

I find this Blogger Reflection Award doubly offensive as it seems as if I have already dispatched it once. It turns out, however, that that was the Reflective Blogger Award, which is a completely different thing. If only someone would award me the Award of Blogger Reflection, then I would possess the coveted trinity of reflection-related awards. It is my understanding that this unholy trinity of navel-gazing awards can be redeemed, along with $4.50, for a venti caramel machiatto or a Grammy.

Then there is the torrent of awards vomited in my direction by one Lord Likely, the so-called Aristocratic Adventurer. Sir Likely granted to the Mattress Police the Breakout Blogger Award, the Bodacious Blogger Award, and the Eight Facts meme. His Lordship goes so far as to proclaim that his aim in giving the Mattress Police these awards is to "drive Mr. Diesel CRAZY - with hilarious results!" Sadly for this misguided aristocrat, my lord Diesel will never set eyes on these pathetic memes.

I can only assume that the Breakout Blogger Award is some sort of reference to my master's occasional stress-induced acne flair-ups. I had to consult the sages at Isengard regarding the meaning of the "Bodacious Blogger Award." They inform me that "bodacious" implies a "A full-figured female body shape." Thus this Lord Likely presumably means to call my master a "fat, pimply girl." I assume that such unprecedented insolence could only be prompted by insanity, probably caused by a combination of inbreeding and syphilis. It is only because of his certain madness and probably imminent and painful death that I shall have mercy upon Likely and spare him the taste of my steel.

Now to deal with this "Eight Facts" claptrap:

1. Before becoming a Nazgûl, I was a successful Numenorian king and hedge fund manager. I specialized in precious metals and goblin futures.
2. Despite rumors of secret dalliances with my fellow Nazgûl Vorgul the Terrible, my blade does not, in fact, swing that way (NTTAWWT).
3. I have slain more hobbits than any other Nazgûl. I have slain hobbits for all manner of offense, including speaking ill of the Dark Lord, transporting magical rings across state lines without a permit, and driving through my neighborhood with their godawful hobbit-rap cranked to full volume. The only reason I don't hold the all-time slaying record among the Nazgûl is that the rankings are inexplicably done by weight.
4. Due to the power of the evil rings with which Sauron enslaved us, if you say "knock knock" to a Nazgûl, the Nazgûl is compelled to respond, "Who's there?" A thain of Gondor once held off a Nazgûl assault for three days with an endless stream of insipid knock-knock jokes. Hoarse and hallucinating, he ultimately was unable to devise a suitable response to "Grandma Fish Cracker Who?" and was eviscerated.
5. Between you and I, sometimes the Witch-King of Angmar can be a little clingy.
6. Barrow-wights creep me out.
7. I liked Van Halen better with Sammy Hagar than with David Lee Roth. (What do you want from me, I'm evil, remember?)
8. Bah! I cannot think of an eighth. Be happy with what crumbs I toss your way, fools.

My lord Diesel shall return Monday Friday for another round of the much ballyhooed caption contest.

Update 4:04pm: In my haste to be done with these foul memes, I accidentally said Diesel would be back on Monday. I should have said Friday. May my master forgive my foolishness.

Also, I have been called to perform memicide for several other bloggers. Look for me at a blog near you. If you would like to call upon my services, email me at Grundir@mattresspolice.com. That is all.


None can stand before the terrible might of Humor-blogs.com.

Thursday Shout-Out

Our favorite Nazgul and meme-wraith, Grundir the Implacable, has taken time out of his busy meme-killing schedule to guest post at Crummy Church Signs. Tremble as the mighty Nazgul directs his unbridled fury toward misguided church signs.

Grundir is in much demand for his ability to dispatch memes and hobbits with his razor sharp wit and slightly less sharp broadsword. Look for him at a blog near you. If you would like to ask Grundir to handle a meme for you, email him at grundir@mattresspolice.com.

Chris C. over at Nothing to See Here is starting a new feature called "Humor Bloggers Speak!" I added an exclamation mark because it sounds exciting that way. He's going to be periodically interviewing members of the Humor-Blogs.com community, and guess what? I'm up first! Visit his site and read my brilliant riffs on Hillary Clinton, Arbor Day and non-dairy creamer.

Get your votes in for the caption contest by tonight. I'll be posting the winners tomorrow.

Diesel out.

Thursday Shout-Out: G

No, that's not a typo. I'm giving a shout-out to the letter G. Like on Sesame Street, when they used to say "brought to you by the letters S, B, K and the number 7." Speaking of which, product placement on movies and TV shows has really gotten out of hand. I mean, can you believe all the marketing that the number 5 does? How much do you think it had to pay to have EVERY fake phone number in every show ever start with 555? More than 5, I'll bet.

Well G didn't pay me anything to post this, but she happens to be one of my favorite bloggers. She hasn't been blogging a whole lot lately at her own site, but you can catch her blogging about her latest musical finds every Saturday at Central Snark (under the name "Lampshade Lady" or sometimes "D.J. Lampsha"). She has also been kind enough to fill in for me this week at the Humor-Blogs.com review site. She posted one review today, and she'll be doing two more later this week. If you stop by and tell her how much better her reviews are than mine, I might even be able to get her to do a few more.

If you're wondering what all this Humor-Blogs.com stuff is about, it's basically a community of funny bloggers. I started it a few months back, and now there are nearly 300 blogs participating. We've got some really funny blogs listed, so go check it out. And if you have a humorous blog yourself, go ahead and sign up!

The letter G also stands for our favorite Nazgul and Meme-Wraith, Grundir the Implacable. I can't express how thankful I am to him for dispatching those three memes yesterday. Due to the overwhelming response, I've decided to let Grundir offer his services to other meme-plagued bloggers. If you have been tagged with a meme that you don't feel like doing, please email grundir@mattresspolice.com. He will come to your blog and take care of your meme. Just keep in mind that I have no control over what he does. Nazgul are a temperamental lot, and there is a reason that he is known as Implacable.

I will be back on Friday with another round of the caption contest. See you then!

Diesel out.

You Shall Tremble Before the Meme-Wraith!

Greetings, denizens of cyberspace! I am Grundir the Implacable. You may know me as one of the nine Nazgûl who once served the Dark Lord. You have probably heard by now that things are not going so well for my former master lately. Long story short: The Dark Lord is a twisted, murderous entity who scoffs at the laws of men. Many years ago, he narrowly escaped destruction at the end of a great battle, and he slinked off into the shadows to regain his strength. Recently he returned to wreak his vengeance, but was stopped before his plan came to fruition.