Ever take a pee at a public bathroom urinal? A gold star for the ladies who have, for inhuman hoo ha control. The guys of course get nothing, since I know from personal experience that you all miss the target.

So you stand at the urinal to do your business, then you get splashed with tiny droplets of … Ew. Sometimes all the stars will align and the splashing will cause a stray pubic hair to somersault out of the urinal, just missing your left foot as it swan dives toward the floor.

Splashing can occur while you pee, where your own pee is doing the splashing. But that’d be your own fault, because if your wee wee is short and the pee has to travel farther than the recommended distance for a controlled stream, it gathers velocity on its downward trajectory (it’s called “gravity”), hence creating a bigger splash. (Hint for all you splashers: Pee onto the back wall of the urinal, not directly down.)

Splashing also often occurs, though, after you’ve flushed an overzealous urinal with no sense of flow control. I hate it when urinals get emotional like that. They were made to be pee’d on- what do they have to get so upset over?

Either way, you get at least a few tiny little splashes of that nasty urinal water on some part of you, whether it be your thighs, knees, ankles, feet, or toes. This is problematic for shorts-wearers everywhere, if the splashing occurs at knee-height or below.

And don’t even get me started on the gunk on public bathroom floors. It gets on the soles of your shoes and the tips of your shoelaces. Think on that next time you tie your laces.

Then go wash your hands.

tags :: humor : urinal : rant : public bathrooms

To visit an emporium of manufactured goods that perform curiously strange functions, there’s no need to leave the comfort of your living room. All those late night TV commercials sell so many strange things. And in my half-awake state late at night, some of them actually seem worth buying. Good thing I lock up my credit cards.

But for this one, I had to wake my wife up at 3 am and coerce her to relinquish my credit card from her safekeeping (I won’t say how I did it, but it involved splashing her face with cold water until she woke up and started yelling).

Once Operation Credit Card was accomplished, I went and ordered myself The Sauna Belt. Yes, you read it right. It’s a sauna. In a belt. Incroyable, I know. Because (excerpt from ad copy) “Now you won’t need to leave the house to work up a sweat, with Sauna Belt you can just relax in the comfort of your own home.”

I really dislike leaving the house. And I hate doing anything strenuous just to work up a sweat. I would much prefer to sit at home and sweat, with a can of Cheez Whiz within arm’s length. As long as I strap that Sauna Belt on my ass, my ass is gonna look bitchin’. That’s what they show in the picture, so it must be true.

Just think about the possibilities. Finns everywhere in Finland will venture forth into the vast unknown reaches of the un-sauna’d world. Perhaps they’ll pack their Sauna Belts and cross entire oceans to exotic lands where non-Nokia mobile phones abound (*gasp*).

They should come up with a battery-powered version. So that on your next plane flight, you can be flanked by Sauna Belt-wearing passengers, beads of sweat trickling down their faces just inches from your shoulders. Just hope that your fellow passengers didn’t eat anything stinky prior to boarding. Unless you prefer the fine scent of Eau de Garlic, of course.

So when I say “Sauna My Ass”, I’m not being flippant or derogatory. Nor am I implying that The Sauna Belt is not a sauna. I’m saying “please strap a Sauna Belt on my ass”, so I can work up a sweat in the comfort of my home. And sport a bitchin’ ass.

tags :: humor : Sauna Belt : As Seen On TV

Publications like BusinessWeek and Fortune often come up with lists of best companies to work for. P&G, Genentech, whatever. Screw ‘em. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

These are the best jobs to have:

Saab Designer
Design a new car every nine years. Spend the rest of the time fielding a company soccer team to play fellow Swedish car maker Volvo’s company team. Winner gets to make the world’s ugliest car. Loser gets to make the world’s boxiest car.

Comic Strip Writer
Every day you submit three little hand-drawn cells, which get read by millions of people. (shock). (gasp). Like, “Hey, I’m so tired from spending two hours thinking up one joke. And theeeEENN (roll eyes) I had to spend another ten minutes drawing up the three cells. O Gaaawwd I’m gonna take a break and go for a Double-Sized Frappuccino while Ernesto here colors the cells.”

Dude, you can finish all the strips for the entire month in a week and spend the rest of the month in Hawaii. Not a bad gig.

Take a look at my friend Phil’s work. He’s got a few different series, the most popular being Skinny Panda. All of his stuff is hilarious. BUT: One of his series is a bunch of STICK FIGURES! What the Pho? Stick. Figures. In black and white. He doesn’t even draw little bubbles for the dialog!

Whoa. *wipes brow*. That was hard work, coming up with this blog post. Being a blogger is definitely not one of the best jobs to have. Actually, that’s not true. Being a blogger is not a job at all. Cuz it ain’t a job if it don’t pay.

tags :: jokes : humor : blogging : best jobs : comic strip

I’m a movie fan. I really like Star Wars. I even made a feeble attempt to break it down in a previous post. For the most part, though, I am your average summer blockbuster lemming. I go to movies and get wowed by the special effects (”Whoaaaa…them’s la-ZERS!”). Who cares about a plot when they’re blowing s**t up, I say.

I have a friend, though, who is much more intelligent about movies than I am. Pantene loves movies. Loves talking about them, thinking about them, repeating famous lines. I think she even enjoys watching them a little bit.

And I really like Pantene’s criteria for what makes an all-time favorite movie. Her take on it is accessible but not shallow. And it’s for movie watchers, not movie makers or industry types. So I asked her to jot it down and email it to me so I can post it here.

And as to why she’s named after a shampoo: I’m very vague on the the details, but what I heard is that it involves a yellow dress, a raffle ticket, and a wild night at a strip club in White River Junction, Vermont. Perhaps they should make a movie out of that.

Below is Pantene’s take on what makes an all-time classic movie.

Pantene on All-Time Classic Movies

Ok,

There are several elements a movie must have to make it Great; “The Best of the Best”. Can you guess what the following have in common?

The List:

• The Unforgiven
• The Shawshank Redemption
• The Godfather, Part I
• The Godfather, Part II
• The English Patient
• Schindler’s List

A Good Script.
Strong, believable, unpredictable dialogue. I hate it when the writers insult my intelligence.

An Epic-Like Story.
I want to feel completely invested in the whole shebang: the people, the location, the story, the struggle. I also want a little complex “moral imperative”; a little gray.

Good Characters.
When evil is sooooo evil and good is sticky sweet, I get bored. Again, with “insulting my intelligence”. I don’t want cookie-cutter characters. Give me dimension, flaws, humility, honesty, “un-categorizable” people if you will. Let me digress a little here: Take a good look at “The Hunt for Red October” again. Not a phenomenal film, but a great action flick nonetheless. You’ll see that there’s no evil senator, no bad-ass general, etc. It’s a battle of wits so to speak. They forgot about this kind of subtlety when they made “Patriot Games”. Oooo, it’s a mean, volatile, greasy-haired bad Columbian drug lord. Gee, do you think he’s the bad guy?

Good Actors.
That is each and every actor is spot-on no matter the size of their role. They don’t have to scream and yell to make themselves believable. Once again, subtlety is key. That’s why Pacino is so goddamn good in Parts I & II (closing the door in Diane Keaton’s face, twice.) and soooooooo shitty in Part III. Parts I & II were made before Al started screaming all his lines. He should take a page from the Ralph Fiennes book on How to Act. How can we forget the German Commandant Amon Goeth (Schindler’s List)? “Whatcha doing with that rifle, Amon? Um…Amon, why don’t you put the gun down and finish your coffee? Um, you’re not really going to shoot… OH MY GOD!! YOU BASTARD!!” With one swift yet apathetic act Ralph Fiennes’ character was able to epitomize the evil of the Third Reich. More noteworthy performances: The interaction between Gene Hackman and Sir Richard Harris’ characters in The Unforgiven…I suggest watching the jail scene again.

Cinematography.
Need I say more?

Movies that come very very very close-but-no-cigar to meeting ALL these needed elements, that is, movies that I feel still kick-ass but are not going to be included with the above mentioned are listed here in no particular order:

Runners-Up:

• The Searchers
• Dances with Wolves
• Lawrence of Arabia
• Lord of the Rings, Two Towers
• Gone with the Wind (how can you not?)
• Mississippi Burning
• Million Dollar Baby
• Pulp Fiction

And of course there are movies that are great indies (Lost In Translation, Magnolia), great comedies (When Harry Met Sally), great action adventures (Raiders of the Lost Ark), great love stories, (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) great thrillers (Sixth Sense) and great guilty pleasures (Ocean’s Eleven, Showgirls).

Check out AFI’s Top 100 Films. I agree with 95% of their list (That’s ’cause I’ve seen only 95 of the movies listed.) To pull a few of my personal favs:

Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Third Man, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, & Rear Window. I could go on and on and on…To Kill A Mockingbird, The Graduate, The Big Sleep, Alice, Dead Poets Society, Sound of Music, All The President’s Men, Cry Freedom, Stalag 17, Walk the Line, Fish Called Wanda…..

How’s that Jack?

Pantene

tags :: Classic Movies : AFI : Pantene

To protect the guilty who are party to this post (screw the innocent- they’ve got nothing to be arrested for!), names have been redacted, aliases assigned, genders switched, chest hairs glued on, rubber masks donned, and pants stuffed.

Below is a picture of my friend, The Notorious C.N.G. No!- No!- No- torious! (sing it, baby!) is a man of many talents, with a long list of hobbies and preferred activities. Two of his favorites, as you can see, are travel and photography.

Now, the human race for some reason loves to build phallic monuments to itself. Everywhere you go around the world, there are a plethora of giant, skyward-pointing, rock hard (they are made of stone, after all) penises declaring “My country/ religion/ ideology’s horsedick is bigger than your [whatever’s] pencildick. Come stand in the shadow of its erect glory and touch it.”

But The Notorious C.N.G. ain’t buying that! Whenever he travels, he sets aside a few hours to find the local cock-nationale so that he can snap a photograph of himself posing suggestively in front of it.

Part self-mocking and part monu-mocking, The Notorious C.N.G. has many such photos in his personal collection. These monu-mockumentaries are not doctored or Photoshopped in any way, except for the blurring I did of The Notorious C.N.G.’s face (again, to protect the guilty). After all, much of the fun is in getting dirty looks from disapproving strangers while posing for the pictures.

Because what happens in D.C. doesn’t always stay in D.C.

Sometimes it gets stroked and snapped, then splashed on the Internet.

Those of you who have read about my pizza restaurant prank have probably surmised that I, too, enjoy practical jokes. I have been the instigator or victim of many a prank in my lifetime. But every practical joke that I have pulled or been subject to has been a spur-of-the-moment affair, devised and executed in a few short minutes. Cheap laughs for minimal effort- I’m lazy that way.

The Notorious C.N.G., though, is a true practical joke artiste. For The Notorious C.N.G., a good prank is a labor of love, meant to be savored like a fine wine.

When The Notorious C.N.G. started his freshman year in high school, he had a Plan. A Plan that would take four years to execute. The first step was to join the yearbook committee. As a lowly freshman, he helped out on the yearbook staff, but did not have much decision-making power. Following The Plan, he worked his way up the ladder, and by his senior year The Notorious C.N.G. was put in charge of the yearbook Clubs section.

Right where he wanted to be.

To this day, the high school faculty rues the day that The Notorious C.N.G. was made Editor of the Clubs section.

The picture above is a scan of a half-page spread from The Notorious C.N.G.’s senior year yearbook. The club featured is a complete fabrication.

Hard to believe, I know, but there really is no “International Low Budget Jaw Harp Guild and Orchestra” at any high school in Orange County. Especially not one whose members gather to watch B-Movies like The Deadly Art of Rooster Fighting.

The Notorious C.N.G. also took the liberty of adding non-student members to the Jaw Harp Guild. In fact, these members were not real people at all. Because not many parents would name their children Mike Hunt (”my c**t”), Benjamin Dover (”bend over”) or Haywood Jablome (”hey, would you blow me”).

That infamous yearbook was, needless to say, the last to be assembled and published at The Notorious C.N.G.’s high school without close faculty supervision.

tags :: jokes : humor : practical jokes : monuments : high school : yearbook : clubs

Remember the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld? Well, he’s a real guy named Al Yeganeh, and his original soup shop is a real place in New York City. Al has always despised the “Soup Nazi” moniker. He is, however, quite enterprising. In the past year, he has opened over a dozen stores under the brand “The Original SoupMan”, with plans to open a few dozen more this year. Soup Nazi Man also has his packaged soups on grocery store shelves in fourteen states.

Soup Nazi’s penchant for Rules with a capital R is no myth (Move to the left! Have your money ready! No talking!), as one of his new business partners attests: “Al is obviously temperamental…”. Boy, I guess that soup is better than crack, if people keep going back despite the rude service. Or maybe it’s got crack in it. Someone should remind Yeganehnehnehneh that his soup is only “World Renowned” because Nazi joke-totin’ Seinfeld made it so.

Here are a few other very well-known places I have been to or heard about, where the service is famously rude and the food sometimes good.

House of Nanking, San Francisco. This Chinese restaurant is in every San Francisco guide book I’ve ever read. The line is always out the door, populated mainly by tourists patiently waiting for a bit of Nanking magic. It’s a tiny place (hence the line) with old tables and chairs, and the food is served on industrial-style metal plates. I went there once, to see what all the fuss is about.

Waiter: You! Order now!

Jack: OK…I’d like the kung pao chick…

Waiter: [shakes head, cuts me off] BOO HOW!!! [” NO GOOD!” in Chinese] You won shicken! I bling you shicken!!!

He then proceeds to jot down an order for some random chicken dish I didn’t want. O well. The food’s too sweet anyway, so I’ll leave it for the tourists.

One day I will be brave enough to shake my head and wag my finger at the waiter while he’s shaking his own head at me, yelling “BOO HOW!”. Do you think this will enrage him even more?

Wong Kei, London. Like Nanking, this London landmark is notorious for rude service (I am beginning to see a pattern here: What’s up with the rude waiters at Chinese restaurants?). The waiters at Wong Kei rush you to order quickly, throw your food on the table, and shove the bill down your throat so they can clear your table for the next customer. They’ve even been known to spit on the floor in plain view. Gross.

This one I will not mess with. You never mess with a spitting waiter unless it’s after your food is served and you never intend to go back.

Many people swear by Wong Kei, though: It’s good food at a good price, and the place is huge. I prefer Mandarin Kitchen across the street from the Queensway Tube stop. Better food in my opinion, and no sightings of spitting waiters.

Sushi Nozawa, Studio City. This Los Angeles area sushi place often has a line halfway down the block, and many consider it to be the best sushi place in Southern California. Like his soup-ladling counterpart, though, Master Nozawa is jokingly referred to as “The Sushi Nazi”.

If you manage to score a table, do not order a California roll. If the chef suggests something to you, do not say no and order something else. Do not order too much of the daily specials- they need to be rationed out sparingly to all the regulars. Any of these infractions are liable to get you politely excused. At Sushi Nozawa, your meal can sometimes be over before you think it’s over.

One of these days someone with a shaky hand should cut up some blowfish and force feed it to El Maestro until he agrees to make a California roll. (El Maestro- If you are reading this, I’m just kidding. Please please please don’t cut me off. My real name is not Jack anyway. It’s Pooky.)

I wonder why these places are so popular. For some, I guess it’s the quality of the food. But at Nanking, for example, the food isn’t even very good. Perhaps it’s the entertainment value of the rude service that keeps people coming back. Because it’s all fun and games until a waiter spits in your dinner.

tags :: humor : rude service : restaurants : Soup Nazi : Wong Kei : Nanking : Nozawa

Everywhere I go in the Blogosphere this week, I keep hearing about how yesterday, May 25, was Towel Day. Naturally I Googled it, and discovered that Towel Day is a tribute to Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

But given Towel Day’s surprisingly widespread support by bloggers of all stripes and not just sciphiles, they should have named it “Yet Another Excuse for Nerds to Invite More Ass Kickings by Meatheads Named Biff”. Or something like that. (talk like Christian Slater imitating Jack Nicholson in Heathers for the following…it’ll be funnier) Just kidding, bros! It’s all good! I got my own nerd flag right here!

Man, am I the world’s loserest nerd. I have never read Hitchhiker’s, nor any other Douglas Adams book. So please please nerds more nerdy than I, please don’t pelt me with slide rules! They hurt! And if you must, hurl some pocket protectors my way. They don’t hurt as much as slide rules, and I can always imprint a fuzzy Jesus silhouette on them and sell them to superstitious Catholic hackers on eBay.

Not to be outdone, here is where I out-nerd the nerds more nerdy than I. I Googled further and found another Hitchhiker’s nerdifact: the Babel Fish, which is a fish that translates any form of language for your comprehension when you stick it in your ear. A-ha! It all comes together! That’s why AltaVista named their web translation utility BabelFish!

So to get back into the good graces of the towel-wearing, Hitchhikers-reading crowd (which apparently includes a disturbingly large number of mommybloggers), I have translated some of my all-time favorite passages which I just wrote this very minute into French and then back into English, using the Babel Fish translator:

Original Sucky Masterpiece:
People who wear towels to work need to have their heads checked.
BabelFrench:
Peuplez qui les serviettes d’usage pour travailler le besoin d’avoir leurs têtes ont vérifié.
AngloBabel:
Populate which them towels of use to work the need to have their heads checked.

Original Sucky Masterpiece:
Not even I am a big enough nerd to wear a towel to work.
BabelFrench:
Non égal je suis un assez grand ballot pour porter une serviette pour travailler.
AngloBabel:
Nonequal I am a rather large bundle to carry a towel to work.

Original Sucky Masterpiece:
Have a happy Memorial Day weekend my blogging friends. Be careful with those towels near the grill, because one hundred fifty thread count steak tastes like shit.
BabelFrench:
Ayez un week-end heureux de jour commémoratif mes amis blogging. Faites attention avec ces serviettes près du gril, parce que cent biftecks de compte de cinquante fils goûtent comme la merde.
AngloBabel:
Have one happy weekend of commemorative day my friends blogging. Pay attention with these towels close to the grill, because hundred beefsteaks of account of fifty wire taste like the shit.

That last translated translation sounds a lot like the crazy Lebanese guy who’s always cursing at me when I walk by his cardboard box home: “What it is arue you to doing! You to stealing from me the things! The F#%K to you, and the F#$K to your the mother too!”

OK, enough fun for one day. I’d better go exercise now, since BabelFish says that I am a rather large bundle with nonequal.

tags :: jokes : humor : Hitchhiker’s Guide : Towel Day : Babel Fish

It’s incorrect to say that I’m not physically fit. That would imply the lack of fitness. I’m anti-fit. Meaning, the opposite of fitness (see rule 5 in Words to Live By).

I did, though, join a fitness club because I like to swim and shoot basketball for fun, even though I suck at both (that’s me, Jack “Spuds” T, on the right). When I joined, they threw in five sessions with a personal trainer (I drove a hard bargain- the key to negotiating is to not care whether you get it or not, a feeling I surely projected after my initial tour of the facility when I said to the rep “Well, I really don’t care if I sign up or not.”).

Normally, I would not bother with such sessions. Working out is for good-looking people or people who are concerned about their health. I’m neither. I’m all about fun. I find hanging out at the gym working out to be about as fun as watching paint dry. But the only thing that supercedes my aversion to all things fitness-related is my cheapskate nature, so I relented.

My trainer’s name was Ray. Poor Ray.

First Session:
Ray: OK Jack. What are your goals for these sessions?
Jack: I dunno. They were free, and they expire soon. So here I am.
Ray: Well, do you want to get stronger? Do you want to lose weight? Do you want to increase performance at sports?
Jack: I don’t feel any need to be more muscular, skinny or athletic. I’m here because the sessions are free, and they expire soon.
Ray: OK that’s fine. We need a goal though. That’s how the program works. How about we shoot for a little weight loss. That’s generally a common goal.
Jack: Sure. Whatever.
Ray: OK. Good. First, I need you to fill out this questionnaire about your eating habits.

Ray puts in front of me an SAT-like test with four pages of questions in 6-point font asking asinine questions like, “When you eat, do you mostly prefer red meat?” (yes. DUH.). I scan it and see at the bottom a check box saying “I waive the food and nutrition portion of the fitness training program.” I immediately grab the pen, check off the box, and sign it.

Ray: *sigh*. Jack, you know, the food component is very important to the weight loss goal. It’s like 60% diet / 40% exercise in terms of getting results.
Jack: [Thinking: Then why are you here then, Mr. Muscles? I don’t see any degrees in nutrition management on your wall.] I don’t want to do the food thing. I like to eat good stuff. Also I hate vegetables. And I’m allergic to fruit. They make my inner ear and my right pinky toe itch. So I only eat meat and starch. Telling me to eat a lot of broccoli and no red meat is not an achievable goal. I’m all about achievable goals. I learned that while watching a Tony Robbins video. And while we’re at it, how come Tony has inhumanly big gums?
Ray: *sigh* Dude, what am I gonna do with you. OK, then just write down what you eat every day, and the time you eat it.

Second Session (1 week after First Session):
[Ray scans the list of things I ate for the week]
Ray: What time do you wake up every day?
Jack: 7am.
Ray: It looks here like you don’t eat breakfast, and your lunch is usually at 1pm.
Jack: Yes. I get carried away doing work in the morning.
Ray: OK. Well, be sure you eat a meal for breakfast. And eat smaller portions for each of your three meals. And eat a small snack, like a cup of yogurt or a health bar, in between each meal.
Jack: Like, the health bars you sell in that cabinet there?
[Thinking: The ones that look like dried feces squeezed out of someone’s square anus hole? How convenient that they look the same going in as they do coming out. But when you find an unwrapped one lying around, how do you know whether to eat it or flush it? What do you call them, anyway? Mr. Shitbar? ShitKat? Shit Jerky? Shwitx? Three Shitkateers?]
Ray: Well, you can get other ones at the market, but yeah, we recommend our energy bars. So, I noticed you didn’t eat any vegetables all week.
Jack: Yes, I decided to forgo the vegetable portion of the food pyramid last week. And all prior weeks since my birth.

Third Session (1 week after Second Session):
Ray: Let’s go work on some weights. [Hooks me up to some machine with weights.] Now do twenty reps and then pause.
Jack: One…. *grunt*…. Two….. *grunt*….. Three….. *grunt* *grunt*….. Five…..
Ray: Hey! No cheating on the count!
Jack: Why *grunt* do you care! *grunt* I’m only *grunt* cheating on myself! *grunt* No harm no foul! OK I’m tired. *Rubs sore shoulder* Where’s my water.
Ray: Hey! You can’t stop now! Twenty reps, remember? You only did six!
Jack: Ten, by my count, Ray.

Poor Ray, having to put up with me and my blase attitude towards fitness. I should send him a case of Mr. Shitbars. Or hire an Enron exec to teach him to count.

tags :: jokes : humor : exercise : fitness : diet

When I was in college, a friend ran the cable tv feed from outside the building through his window. We plugged it into a signal booster and piped it to our friends’ rooms through the foreign language tv network cabling, and ran cable above the ceiling tiles (so nobody would notice) to connect to our rooms. We enjoyed cable tv for a few years from that little endeavor. Nothing as scandalous as an illegitimate child, but a dirty little secret nonetheless.

There are, of course, much bigger dirty little secrets out there. They’re everywhere. Some are actually spelled out in footnotes somewhere. Others are discoverable if we’d only look hard enough. Many, I’m sure, are very carefully guarded and will never be known to anybody who is not connected to them in some way. Here are a few I can think of:

1. The brand new Korean grocery store down my street offers super fresh produce at ludicrously low prices. Migrant farmers are California grocers’ dirty little secret.
2. Southwest Airlines is the airline industry’s stock market darling. Their financial performance seems to do consistently well while other airlines are toppling like dominos. Are they so much more efficient at operations that they can make money while others lose it hand over fist? Southwest Airlines’ dirty little secret: They locked up fuel prices via long-term contracts a while back. In hindsight, this was a brilliant move that has contributed the most to sustaining their profitability of late, and will really impact them when the contracts expire.
3. Remember Intel’s 386 chip? (yes, back before the Internet). They sold a less expensive version that did not feature a math coprocessor, called the 386SX (back then they tried to make their products SeXy. They’ve since given up). The dirty little secret: 386 and 386SX chips were actually the same- they were all manufactured with the math coprocessor function. Intel simply disabled the coprocessor on the ones they sold under the 386SX name so that they could have two pricing tiers.
4. What do you picture when you think of San Diego, California? Blue skies and ocean breezes with sandy beaches warmed by the sun? Well, San Diego is frequently subject to a gloomy marine layer, which is a blanket of fog-drenched air that is several hundred feet thick and blots out the sun, leaving the area chilly and overcast.
5. Ashlee Simpson is a bad singer. This was a well-known dirty little secret, and she was ultimately outed during an equipment malfunction while performing on Saturday Night Live. She joins Milli Vanili in the Lip-Synch Hall of Fame for Most Embarrassing Career-Ending Performance. Gee, between all the bad singers and fake backup bands that are there for looks and don’t really play the instruments, I guess most of pop music packaging is one big dirty secret.
6. Buy a computer from Dell, then call them asking to return it for a refund. Chances are the operator will look at her computer screen and then offer you some sort of discount if you would be willing to keep the computer. Some MBA or McKinsey consultant told them that it would be cheaper to offer these rebates than to process the returns. My friend who told me about this likes to call this little secret the Dell Special Discount.
7. A majority of people who have ski racks installed on their cars don’t actually use them. They are just there for show. I saw that in a survey somewhere. I guess that’s a lot of people’s dirty little secret.

That’s about all the dirty little secrets I can think of for now. Oh, and I don’t eat vegetables. Don’t tell that to anybody I know. Or to any migrant farmers.
tags :: jokes : humor : rants : secrets

Cylons are the bane of the human race, constantly watching us through their roving red eye, plotting to bring about our extinction and the end of our civilization.

After a bathroom trip at the Portland Airport, I now know the truth.

They are already here. Armageddon is nigh.

Step step step. Good, no janitor sign
Sink. Soap. Paper towels. Check
Open stall. Gross. Bastard didn’t flush. Next
Open stall. No TP. Crap. Next
Open stall. Clean seat. TP. Seat covers. Check
Sweet
Enter. Shut door. Lock
Take off jacket. Hang on hook
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***. Crap!
Roll roll roll. Wipe wipe wipe seat.
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***. Crap!
Roll roll roll. Slowly wipe wipe wipe seat
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Place seat cover. Slowly
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Turn around. drop trow
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***. Crap!
Turn back around. Pull up tighty whiteys
Pants between ankles
Roll roll roll. Slowly wipe wipe wipe seat
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Place seat cover. Slowly
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Turnarounddroptrow! Fast!
Hold breath. No flush! *YES*
Lean in to sit
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***
Seat cover swirls down. Mother f****r!!!
Turn back around. Pull up tighty whiteys
Pants between ankles
Roll roll roll. Slowly wipe wipe wipe seat
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Place seat cover. Slowly
Hold breath. No flush. *sigh*
Turnarounddroptrow! Fast!
Hold breath. No flush! *YES*
Please please please no no no flush
SIT. slowly. carefully
No flush. *YES*
Poop
Roll roll roll
Wipe wipe
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***
Shit. This sucks
Roll roll roll
Wipe
Stand up. Dress. Turn around
No flush
Wave hand over sensor
No flush
Cover sensor with palm. Uncover
No flush
*sigh*. Push button on Cylon head
Wait. Wait
[CLICK!] ***FLUSH***

Damn Cylon terrorists. So this is how you plan to drive the human race insane, to render us defenseless when you finally launch the nukes.

tags :: jokes : humor : toilet : flush : Cylon : Battlestar Galactica