and the record remains unblemished; i've yet to meet a drunk guy i've liked.

marty asked me if i would rather be shockingly beautiful and a little dim or super smart and a little dumpy. after refusing to answer her question until she agreed that i already had both looks and smarts i said that it was a no-brainer and really a bit of a non-question. i, as all people, would of course take the brains over the braun. who wouldn't? marty then explained that in a nationwide poll,...

a girl i used to work with once sat in our office and audibly pondered why her dog kept tearing up her underwear. "why would a dog want to mess with someone's dirty underwear, i mean how gross is that?"

i don't know what's worse; that i know why or that she doesn't.

my dad was selling a car on autoTrader.com. he quickly got an inquiry from a guy in africa saying he wanted to buy it. the guy said he was going to send my dad a check for more than double the cost of the car and asked that my father forward the excess funds to the company that was going to ship the car to africa. while a bit of a pain in the ass, my dad agreed happy to get a buyer. so africa-guy sent a cashier's check for $8,000 (4k over the cost of the car) and asked my dad to wire the extra jack to the delivery people. now something i failed to mention is that every time dad talked to this guy he (the guy) used one of those operator assistance services where he types his messages and a third party voices them to the other person. the guy cited a speech impediment in explaining the reason, a touch bizarre, but not a deal-breaker. my dad agreed and the cashier's check came but looked a little off in ways i won't get into, it just looked wierd. but it was a cashiers check all the same, essentially legal tender, so pops deposited it but asked the bank to notify him after it cleared because it looked kinda funky. they called two days later and said it was a fraudulent document.

dad spoke to the fraud units of the fbi and secret service to report the situation. they asked him to forward any further correspondence their way. so my dad, emailed the guy, said he got the check and what should he do next. the guy replied and said to wire the extra jack to such and such company in atlanta or somewhere. my dad said he would do it the next day by 3pm and then forwarded all of this information to the coppers.

the authorities did not do anything with the information in the window my dad gave them (3pm next day). my father obviously didn't wire the cash and was working towards getting the car re-listed and for the most part forgot about it. forgot until he got a call at 2:30 in the morning from the guy (sans his operator assistance) asking where his money was. after taking a moment to ponder the gargantuan balls on the dude my father asked him where a cashable check was. the guy then got haughty with my dad who simply cut him off to ask what happened to his debilitating speech impediment and hung up.

my father later asked the feds why they didn't do anything with the information he sent them and they apologized for the lack of response but unfortunately get thousands of these a day and don't get to all of them. thousands a day. amazing. abso-bloody-lutely amazing.

the closing argument in my 'saying it doesn't make it so' campaign came today when i saw an airline stewardess bumper sticker on the back of a crappy mini-van which stated:

stewardesses: we're here to save lives, not to kiss your ass.

yeah, well in-between saving all those lives get me another bag of peanuts and coke ... with extra ice. and, you're not as puckered up as i like to see my lifesaving sky waitress-help so can i see a little more pout behind the bombay red lip gloss. and, would i be way out on a limb to guess that the newly founded hooters air isn't doing your cause any favors.

question, if you stood every stewardess in a long line, in plain clothes, and then had to guess what occupation they were in would you think seasoned paramedic or people who used to work at j crew.

and, in response to this spin project, i'm representing my own interest with the following bumper sticker:



there. respect me now. really, i insist.

ok, this one here's for all the ladies out there. i'm going to let you in on a little secret. ready. ok. here goes. there is no such thing as blue balls. never has been. you know how i know. well, a couple of reasons. first, i own a set and they've been through all kinds of trauma and abuse and they have never, ever taken on such a jaundiced hue. second, i've seen every In Search Of ever made and nimoy never tackled this mythic beast which pretty much confirms the veracity of the whole deal for me.

now we know all kinds of guys are going to come crawling out of the morass saying i'm wrong and that they've had them or their cousin had them or this guy up in canada got em once and how they were wicked terrible and ached so. it's bullshit. don't believe a word of it. it is a male-wide conspiracy to dupe women into granting favors of the flesh that they may otherwise be disinclined to provide. i mean believe me, i've been tormented, turned down, and left in quite a state by an inordinate number of ladies all over the planet and my sack has never gone through such permutations.

now here's the deal, should a guy try to work this con on you, ask them what the remedy is. when they say it is to get some relief, bust one or flush the tanks, tell them that they are probably more qualified to address the issue than yourself and they should go to the john or behind the bushes and handle their bidnez. because, you see, even if there was such an affliction no one ever said that a woman had to be the one to extract the demons. hell, i know a doctor that will give you a a prostate massage to the point of climax. send them there and see if the mere thought of a gloved hand two feet up their ass corrects their mood.

and since i believe in being thorough, let's say the above tactic doesn't take. tell the guy you'll help him out but that you are a little trepidatious given the colony of warts on your hands, the chancre sores in your mouth and the odoriferous yellow-green discharge your girlfriend said you should have checked out by a professional. if they're still game after that, run. run like hell. don't stop, don't look back. just run.

the bar scene. this is something i don't do a whole lot. correction, this is something i don't do at all. i used to but was broken by the spouse of one of marty's high school girlfriends. you've yet to meet the guy who could tell more stories about being smashed, hammered and wasted in a single sitting. he was your all-too typical card-carrying, ankle-tatooed, window-decaled, bulky sweatshirted fr...

ok, let's say you get picked up by a spaceship or approached on the street by an alien and they ask you what is the difference between men and women. reproductive and physical traits aside, what would you tell them? and let's say you want to keep it brief, given that they're an alien and all and possibly freaking you out a bit. i think a lot of people would jump on the horndog factor. the visceral, do-anything nature of men. or perhaps the power gene or the slob factor or their incessant need for new, young and shiny things.

while any of those work, they are relatively singular in nature. i would shoot for something fresh and more impactful, something that dug into the embarrassingly few layers of the male psyche, something that would concisely reveal the true nature of men in comparison to women. i've actually been thinking on this much longer than i'm comfortable telling you but i've finally concluded my search. the answer is underwear.

how weird is it that men dig womens' underwear as much as they do. clean, soiled, no matter. for men, a pair of delicate delicates is such a _thing_. if obtained it is a prize to be coveted and shown only to those with such backstage passes to their personal life. the appointed owner will touch them softly, smell them (say what you want but you're preaching to the wrong cat here), then fold or rumple them neatly and steal them away into some secret place specially picked out for such valued possessions.

now flip this. can you imagine giving as a present or some affectionate token, a pair of your tighty whitey's or printed boxers to a lady-friend. and forget about the soiled variety. if they're clean you're at the least going to get an "Oh my God!" and should you place a pair of your seasoned, bacon-striped, thin-where-you-scratch-most pair of undershorts in her unsuspecting and outstretched hand you just may get a merciless ass-beating. you may as well reach into the murk of a johnny-on-the-spot and let the sludgy residue slide into the powdered palm of her hand.

i was just thinking that that is what i would tell an alien race is the difference between men and women should they ask me. men like womens' underwear and nobody likes mens.

i don't make bets very often. the few times i do, i'm certain i will win (exept where e-love is concerned). yesterday i was presented with such an opportunity. the bet: if you put a dime on the floor beneath the urinal in the men's bathroom, would it still be there an hour later. the wager: lunch. my position: yes, it would absolutely still be there one hour later, one day later, one lifetime later (barring the janitorial process).

all men should know where i'm coming from but women may not so allow me take just a moment to explain this rationale. i'm sure you ladies have possible notions of how a male attends to his liquid business but there is minutia involved that most wouldn't be privy to. now i know those that are married or co-habitating have a semblance of understanding because there are drops and smatterings of your partner around your own lavatory. you may on occasion marvel at the quantity or the distance it traveled from the commode but assuming you're only living with one guy at a time, these thoughts are still wildly deficient. now what i need you to do is imagine the mayhem created by 100 men sharing one urinal over a span of 9 hours. furthermore, consider a man's attention to such matters in their own home and then project how their nature may change in a public forum where they are not solely responsible or held accountable for the cumulative effect.

for instance, in the morning when the bathroom is pristine from the night's cleaning, men just step up and do their deed. as early as ten am you may have to move anywhere from 6-12 inches back as to not stand in the shiny pool beginning to form under the urinal as brought about by the hapless shakes and miscalculations of previous patrons. by 3pm you may find yourself a full two feet away with legs apart as not to be standing in this accumulated swill.

so given this you can imagine my certainty when someone said they were going to set a dime in the epicenter of this mayhem at 2:30pm and that it would still be there come 3:30. i know, sheer madness. but this fella was confident as was i, so the dime was dropped at the appointed hour. for obvious reasons we could not stand watch over the urinal so i cannot say if the silver lucre lasted 10 or 55 minutes, all i can report is that it did not last the full 60. i repeat, it did not last the full 60.

shocked and staggered and now uncertain of the far-reaching ramifications of this study, i will buy this lunch but i will buy it with paper currency. and i will accept only paper currency in return, as my change in that from this day forward coin will never again touch the hand of troy lane dearmitt. never!

and oh yeah, everyman submissions are due tonight by midnight.

a favorite pastime of mine is to get people talking about, in public, things they ordinarily would not talk about in public. over time i have found a few topics which make even the most stalwart squeamish, but conciliatory all the same. i'm not sure how this came to be. i think in that people seem more authentic (not to mention interesting) when you can get them off of their typical and canned con...

i don't like most holidays. i like getting the day off but many times i don't even know what the day of the hour is. thanksgiving is different though. it is one of my more serious holidays. i mean once you get past the fact that it represents the beginning of the end for those pesky indians (*) the base tenet of thanksgiving is pretty cool, and highly needed. as a practice i take some time to think on what i have to be thankful for through the past year. typically the list is short and probably, if compared to someone else's list, a little backwards. i tend to keep it pretty lean, not because there isn't a lot for me to pay homage to but because one statement can usually wrap up the kind of year i had.

for instance this year's item of note is that i'm thankful that the worst experience so far has been the batteries in my gameboy running out twice in the same week. they usually last longer but bella likes the noises the games make and sometimes walks around with the gameboy like it was a portable boom box doing little flutter dances here and there. one such time she left it on and drained the rechargeables. this is bad because i have sadly become addicted to playing gameboy on the john and if i don't have this digital heroin, well let's just say that things don't go as swimmingly as one may like. enough said? hope so. if not, drop me a line and we'll talk, probably for much longer than you you will be comfortable with.

another positive indicator of my life is that when a colleague asked me on wednesday if i would be in on friday i was able to say, "Oh. Friday? I wasn't aware Friday was even a workday."

life is good.

* don't hate me for being facetious, hate me if you don't know what facetious means, but don't hate me for being it.

so Thin When Tan Girl came over for dinner last night with her new special friend whom marty casually refers to, when speaking to me, as big boob-ed brian. it's not that brian himself has a significant rack or anything. it's just that i consistently couldn't remember if his name was ryan or brian. since marty volunteered this easy memory tool, i shockingly am not so confounded.

given Thin When Tan Girl's apprehension about the meeting, i agreed to not talk about circumcision, masturbation or defecation with the big boob-ed one given the maiden meeting, something about first impressions or the like.

i failed miserably.

somewhat on the sly i asked if he was born in america. yes. so you're cut. uhhm, yes. yeah, me too.

then upon learning that he went to an essentially all-male college i intuited, correctly might i add, that he's about a once a day guy.

and we commiserated about the fact that we each had a bowel-challenged coworker in our office who defiled just about every aspect of the clean air act. and each of our guys had fans, conveniently blowing their Pigpen like swill out of their cube into the common areas we are all forced to share. what's with these guys and those damn under the desk oscillating fans. i can't wear a halter top to work but the guy on the pure taco bell diet can install an exhaust fan the size of an boeing plane engine beneath his desk? it just ain't right.

but, it was nice meeting you mammary man and i can assure you that our discourse will become more stimulating once i get to know you better.

i took part in a conversation over the weekend about the fact that, yes, men do pull their pants all the way down to their ankles when making number two and girls only to their knees, or above their knees to be precise. the boys and girls eyed one another conspiratorially, certain that the other gender was misleading them.

and, just when you thought you had it all figured out, life throws your a squirrelly pitch.

political parties for me are much like religion. i agree with the fundamental tenets and the majority of their principles, but cannot eat it skin, meat and bones. i think there are plenty of people like me, but i'm startled by the number of folks who can claim straight democrat or republican or green party for that matter. there's just a lot to accept in such a declaration and i'm afraid i'm a lit...

just in case anyone hasn't yet heard about this guy at the Calgary hockey game who stripped naked and jumped on the ice, slipped and knocked himself out, i thought i'd share the following photo from the event.

it is possibly one of the best shots of this ilk i've seen in some time, capturing the mood of a moment. the range of expressions from the people looking on is astounding. and how the supports for the glass obstruct the guys package is also perfect.

i've also included an account from someone who was supposedly sitting next to the guy.

thanks for the forward bomber.

so bookpimp was moaning the other day about this.

for me this is is not a sign of the apocalypse but rather simply a long overdue measure. to me, eating the crust on bread is like eating the rind of an orange or the wrapper of a candy bar. just cuz it's there doesn't necessarily dictate that it's meant to be ingested.

now something i do hate is our society's neurosis about convenience because if truly analyzed it is not so much about time saving as it is about sheer laziness. from yogurt in a tube to peanut butter and jelly mixed in a squeeze bottle there just seems to be no end. and given this i'm wondering why the hell i'm still asked to apply my salt separately from my pepper.

the sad thing is you know some greedy-ass company somewhere has actually looked at this. can you in any way imagine dedicating your professional life to creating a vehicle that would allow the morton folks to combine the salt and pepper together. although challenges would exist because the very fine salt keeps moving to the bottom, damn it and then when you tip it to shake something out you get mostly pepper but when upside down that wily salt races to the top and when it gets there comes out more rapidly than the pepper. damn the constantly moving salt. i'd love to be that guy. after reporting that it looked like it just wasn't going to work because the salt is finer and heavier and my boss would fly into a rage. "dammit dearmitt, cannot is not an option. won't work is unacceptable. you WILL figure out how to make our Sepper product work. we cannot expect people to just continue to pass salt AND pepper shakers up and down the dinner table. it's un-american. and i won't have it. not on my watch by god and so help us and get back to work dearmitt you sniveling little nay-sayer!"

i'd quit that job quick and start working on my own dream-child; the odorless bowel movement in a tube for when you just don't have to go. and you know i'm all about co-branding this with the handi-wipe folks and while i'm at it i'll hit up those waterless hand-cleanser people and i'm sure someone could figure out how to package it all up in a convenient, pocket sized, recyclable aerodynamic piece of belt-wear.

so friday was the grand opening of the new super mall for saint louis. wanna know how big a deal it was? vern from trading spaces was making an appearance.

saturday morning was the big unveiling our very own apple store in said mall. you know what there is a big difference between? soccer moms who make an event of going to the new super mall and geeks who go to pay homage to a particular brand of computer the day there first local store opens.

earlier in the week man who screams like woman (MWSLW) asked if i was going. sure. you want to go together? sure. ok, i'll meet you at 6. for those not reading the news, this would be four full hours before the doors were to be opened. but, if you wanted a shirt (to the first 1000) you best get their at 6.

since i could make my very own shirt in the same 4 hours, i elected to not join MWSLW. when i arrived shortly before they opened the doors there was a line. there was a line so long that it went down the mall and wrapped around multiple potted trees and lengths of glass handrails blocking the way of the hustling mall-goers. in trying to get through the mass they would anxiously ask what all the ruckus was about. new apple store. what's an apple store? apple is a computer company. hmm, what are they giving away. well, shirts, but that's not why everyone is standing in line. well why then. ... there's a reason these two groups of people don't mix by choice. by the end of my wait i was simply saying "if you gotta ask, i can't explain."

and, by the way, i did get a shirt. i'm wearing it right now. have been since i got it. the next time you see me, i'll still be wearing it. i shower in my new shirt. i mean, i did wait in line and talk to all those silly humans after all. i earned this shirt.

last night as marty and i were reading to bella before bed, eight F-14's rock and rolled over our home. we get occasional fly-by's given a nearby air base, but never anything like this. usually these supercharged jets float by at a modest clip. you know they just went by but that's about it. last night it began as a low rumble and culminated in four powerful booms which rattled our windows and felt like they were about to fly into our home. as marty and i looked at one another and bella pointed at the ceiling, we heard two more go by followed by yet another two.

someone once told me that if those jets ever really opened it up near occupied areas, they'd blow out windows. i didn't believe that then, but now do. it was a very eerie experience and one that brought people out of their homes, all standing on the sidewalk and looking up even though we all knew they were long gone.

times they are a changing.

given that no two individuals are identical in belief or opinion i find it astounding that we as a people have made it this far in history. the fact that the whole planet doesn't just break out into a massive gang fight at any given moment is kind of a marvel.

i wear glasses. my glasses cost more that every sock, pant, shirt and short that i own. some may think i'm using these overblown descriptors to simply add import thus emphasizing the point, but i'm not. if this were barker's showcase showdown my specs would be valued higher than my entire wardrobe. although, this info is for those who have never met me, because those that have, know this, tell me this and sadly shake their heads at this routinely.

let me tell you a story. my mother has one hobby: collecting pictures and then finding and placing them in frilly frames all valued under 7.99. for my wedding, she made two photo assortments of marty and i crammed with grainy shots of us growing up. at the reception while walking past some people hunched over these curiosities i overheard the following hushed conversation in reference to my seventh grade school picture:

man: why is he wearing shop glasses.
woman: those aren't shop glasses, those are his regular glasses.
man: oh, damn.

oh damn is right. and as i was saying, my current glasses cost more than all of my clothes combined. but it wasn't just this experience that moved me so. childhood trauma aside, i've simply never understood (some) people's logic in regard to their face hardware versus their wardrobe. assuming you are one who requires eye wear, you are wearing them daily. daily! as in everyday! and unless you are me, that super-rad sweater-vest you got from old navy or the gap or af or the other place where everyone seems to buy their clothes, it may get worn once, maybe twice and on a good day thrice a month and that's of course only seasonal wear. so in summary, many people, perhaps not you, will spend more money on five sweaters which they may, may collectively wear 30 times in a year than they would on something hanging off their face, something people actually look at, each and every day of the year. sometimes i just don't get folks. i love the differences in 'em, don't try corn-holing me here, i just don't get 'em.

and no, i will not be posting the picture in question anytime soon. i'm not that hard-up for readers just yet.

i recently passed a guy wearing a motorcycle helmet ... while driving a car. after secretly mocking him (it's a habit) it occurred to me that maybe i'm the stooge here. i mean someone had to be the first to put on a seatbelt, wear bike headgear and don a cup before stepping up to the plate. and, considering the growing number of prophylactic measures in place around us I think we're about three hallway collisions short of wearing protective paraphernalia while simply walking around. as if I don't look skewed enough already.

did i mention that the driving helmet guy's car was totally covered in bumper stickers. this may be an important point while thinking this through.

the last several years has witnessed significant innovations in audio technology, especially as it relates to film. however, dolby surround, dts or even the latest digital systems are impotent to compensate for a single oaf with a large bag of popcorn and a 64 ounce soda. didn't your mother ever tell you to chew your food with your damn mouth shut? i swear. and as far as getting the popcorn out of the tub, what the hell are you doing? it sounds as though your trying to catch a live rat in a cellophane bag with your bare hand. you were given an opposable thumb for a reason, if even by accident, so do us all a favor and try using it.

and, while we are on the topic of mothers and the most mundane of things you should have been taught as a youngling, kicking the back of my seat falls on like ground. and don't worry, i'm kicking myself plenty for sitting anywhere near your loud and hyper-active self.

simply count yourself lucky that our society has not yet implemented the sorely needed Respect Police.

i do not acknowledge valentine's day, as readers of this site must know by now. and after a brief discussion and concession from marty, i do not celebrate father's or mother's day either. conversely, in a discussion with a friend who recently adopted an infant boy, he said he became a parent for one reason; to receive gifts, really cool and numerous gifts. i obviously chortled at this immodest and...

carrie fisher (actress, writer)

the south is the only place i've ever been/lived where they think that mexico is up north. you see, to a hard-core southerner, there is the south and everything that is not in the south is up north. colorado is up north. the queen of england is a yankee from up north up there in merry and fairy old europe. even florida is up north to a native.

now that i think about it, i guess if you start heading north, from the south, all the way to the north pole and kept going, you'd then be traveling south, until you got to the south pole where you would then again, technically, be traveling north until you finally and ultimately run into mexico. wait a minute, given that track i think they may be right. holy general lee batman i think that mexico is north of the south. i stand corrected.