Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Economic Disaster Part 2: The Solution

I have astutely identified that there may be a slight problem with our economy.  So, how do we really fix it?  Of course I have an answer.  It's simple and excellent:  Rejoin the world economy.  Not all that is good comes from America.  We've reclused ourselves more than an agoraphobic celebrity.  Except for when we felt like going out and launching some wars on third-world nations (those are the best!)--of course who doesn't like picking on people weaker than us?

First of all, we'll have to get some help from the United Kingdom.  Only with Europeans in office will we realize that maybe the map of international trade expands beyond the contiguous United States...

The second thing we do is import a legion of Frenchmen and put them on hundreds of thousands of little treadmills.  It shouldn't be hard, the population of France (which as we all know is entirely homosexual) has exploded because of the male's confusion caused by the fact that French women have mustaches.  I'm sure they will trade their extra people for faster military vehicles equipped with a good rearview mirror so they can see whichever war they're "participating" in.  Meanwhile the Frenchmen will power our country through their treadmills.  We can avoid constitutional difficulties because it states that only people have unalienable rights.

Next, we commission Japan to make an army of advanced super-robots to police the Frenchmen.  As a bonus package, we can get a model that also performs other useful tasks such as finding reasonable alternative energy sources.  It would probably take the Japanese less time to make an army of robots that can figure it out than it would take us to realize that hey....maybe wasting all of a nonrenewable resource is perhaps not such a super idea?

With less dependency on fuel, we can sell off Alaska to Russia.  For some reason it's filled with endangered animals that we're tired of trying to take care of and it's dark half the time anyway and always cold.  They can build a bridge to it or something.

To fill the vacant slot for the 50th state, we induct the Middle East (sorry Puerto Rico).  It would solve so many problems if they just became Americans.  I mean, come on!  Being un-American they have to keep bowing down towards a rock a bunch of times a day and they have to hide their faces behind bed sheets or surprisingly unattractive beards that have got to itch in that desert sun.  They can't watch good ol' porn or drink their problems's no wonder they blow themselves up!  The solution is assimilation.  Resistance is futile.

Speaking of futile, we can pretty much ignore the Canadians.  Nobody cares about them anyway and they don't really have an effect on the world economy.

But one country already deeply tied to our economy is India.  We've seriously been outsourcing the wrong jobs to these people.  Tech support?  Really?  I make a call regarding a computer program of mine and his response is scarcely discernable against his strong Kwik-E-Mart accent, "Is your computer plugged in?"  Yes it's plugged in, that's how I got to the program I'm having trouble with!  "Is your computer powered on?"  YES IT'S ON, IT'S RUNNING.  "Is the operator of the computer, by chance, Hellen Keller?"  No, I answer.  "Well, then we will not be able to assist you today.  Thank you, come again."  Click.  What we need to do is get the real jobs back and outsource education.  Instead of learning symmetry in middle school like we do here in America, they can already be through basic calculus and discreet mathematics, moving onto quantum mechanics.  Of course the Indian teachers will require an American assistant to keep them from pressing the power button on and off repeatedly, wondering if maybe there's something more to working their computers?

By outlawing alcohol again, we can give Mexico something useful to do:  Illegally importing alcohol instead of wetbacks.

Finally, when all of that is done and we once again become financially stable, we can ship our extraterrestrial remnants we have inconveniently hidden away in the desert to China, where they can reverse-engineer the technology (like they've done with every American invention) and we'll finally be ready to take our place in the intergalactic trade route.

That is my solution.

Quote of the Day:  "Don't make me stop this car and cut myself!"

Monday, November 24, 2008

Economic Disaster Part 1: The Problem

Striking us at the end of an eight-year-long crisis known as the Dubya Administration is a storm that may out-storm all others:  Economic Devastation.  I'll admit that I was startlingly unaware that we were having a money problem, largely because I have no money myself and I'm not used to worrying about it.  But I have little else to worry about today so instead of sitting around being content, I'll throw a fit about this.

The government has been observing the downfall of our economy for some time, though they seem to have little power to prevent it.  Why you ask?  BECAUSE THEY'RE STUPID.  There you go, I said it.  They're probably already on their way to "take care of me" now...

So, let's look at the roots of this problem:  Abnormal concentrations of human stupidity.  I'll go ahead and agree with Al Gore in putting my faith in the fact that if we weren't globally warming our planet then this wouldn't have happened.  But it did, and what did our government do to try and save us?  They sent us Economic Stimulation Checks that almost didn't even come close to the income taxes they've robbed from us.  And what did they do a week before sending us checks?  They spent over forty million dollars to send us mail inserts telling us that our check will be mailed in a week.  Seriously?  Yes.

It's boggling to think about how many people it took for such a grand act of stupidity to be approved...and yet it was.  After all, what else could they have possibly used the forty million plus for?  Surely not returning back to the taxpayers.  Better to use it on sending useless bureaucratic notifications.  It makes them feel more important.  This is what we get for allowing Republicans to run our country.

So, we've identified the problem, but now how to fix it?  Like all other financial problems, the solution is investment.  It has been revealed that American debts in our card-charging society have exceeded the total wealth of the world.  So, if there's not enough money to invest on this planet, we'll have to begin looking at other ones (unfortunately, aliens probably use the Euro too).  We know that they're out there, we've kept all that they've left behind hidden in Area 51, far out of the reach of any beneficial use.

Of course, this is not a viable solution, our planet is much too undesirable for space-faring potential investors.  So what we do is this:  Appoint Harrison Ford as president.  Instead of wasting trillions of dollars on wars and such, use his kick-assery to address foreign policy--that'll free up more resources for being productive.  Replacing our police force with Chuck Norris works for the same reason.  We can save millions on the prison system by having Martha Stewart educate other inmates on how to survive on, and create dashing Thanksgiving centerpieces, out of belly button lint and maximum security toothpaste.

Finally, the most important thing that can get us rolling on a path to fix our planet to make it desirable real estate for extraterrestrials is to fix our crumbling economy.  That's kind of important.  This has basically been an outline of our problem, and I obviously have a solution.  I'm just not telling you.  So there.

Quote of the Day:  "Austin ate my banana, so now I just have a lubricated flashlight."

Friday, November 14, 2008

The Slightly More Complete Guide to Relationships

Well I've already written an Incomplete Guide on this subject. Unfortunately, however, it turns out that I am full of crap. After ignorning many complaints from many important people, I decided not to consider improving it. Then suddenly I changed my mind. Why you ask? Because I'm full of crap.
So here you go, in my infinite teenage-like wisdom I have assembled a slightly more comprehensive guide for relationships for both men and women.

1. If you like a girl, ask her out. Women are too confused and timid to be able to make the "first move" so you must decide when it's time. In tracking your potential mate, you must first observe the woman in her natural habitat unoticed to see what she's really like. For this, I recommend following her to the mall and stalking her as she interacts with her lady friends. Keep in mind that if your target mate seems undesirable in this environment, her lady friends may yet be a better fit for you.
2. It is very important to make a good impression on the first date. Start out by opening her door for her (she will think it's sweet, and women sometimes have difficulty with difficult concepts like "door handles").
3. Always wear your best tie. Wear it with suits, wear it with shorts, even wear it with your wife-beater (contrary to its name, do not beat your wife while wearing's particularly impolite and I very much doubt she'll enjoy it--and besides that's what children are for).
4. The hardest part of a relationship is preparing for the proposal. That is, to get your woman to the point where she'll say yes. This is particularly difficult because, as men, we are full of crap and only women that shouldn't be breeding in the first place will settle for us. So you have to pretend to not be full of crap, take all your feelings emotions and desires and lock it all up in a little box inside of you. If you're not ready to propose, be sure to not let her get pregnant or she'll use it to control the rest of your life. If you think she's spunky, wrap your monkey. Protect yourself down there or end up on welfare.
5. When she does accept your (extravagant) proposal, have a huge wedding. Make it amazing, make it spectacular. And make sure there's plenty of alcohol because marriage is death. After death comes Hell (in the form of children)--and we'll all end up there because we're full of crap.

1. Finding the perfect mate may be difficult. Remember, nice guys finish last. This is crucial to remember--you want men who finish first. Winners. The best of the gene pool. What you really need to be looking for is the recently-released-from-prison, bike-riding, tattooed, puppy-kicking bad boy. Keep in mind that love is the ultimate fantasy. And Four out of Three Doctors agree that putting out is the best way to get love.
2. Once you find him, your lady friends will instantly become jealous, no matter how happy they were before. In their evil deceptions, they will try to poison your relationship by saying things like, "He should treat you better than that, you're more than an object.." and "Really? He does crack AND heroin? He doesn't sound like the perfect guy for you." DON'T LISTEN TO THESE MAD WOMEN.
3. Men are like bedsheets. They get messy and need to be changed. It is important to remember that men are full of crap. Fortunately they are little more than big hairy lumps of clay for your molding. Make sure to tell them to heir face that they are perfect just the way they are (even the morning after they stumble home in the middle of the night drunker than something that is unreasonably drunk). But your innate ability to see his flaws and nitpick them into the open will allow you to slowly change him into the perfect man. Basically the opposite of who he began as. When he's successfully devoid of crap and musters up the ignorance to propose, then you can say yes.
4. If he takes too long to propose, consider your options. And by "consider your options", I mean that you should become pregnant with his baby and trap him into commitment.
5. Make sure to have a huge wedding. Make it amazing, make it spectacular. Make sure there's plenty of alcohol to celebrate the beginning of your life.

Quote of the Day:  "Whatever happened to good old ritual sacrifice?"

Monday, November 3, 2008

One Day I'll Learn...Maybe...

Okay, so, I'm not particularly known for making the best decisions ever. Like the time I was curious to observe the effects of rolling a bowling ball down a flight of stairs and into a glass panel (I concluded that the result was copious ammounts of adult yelling). Or the time that I tested the effects of pulling my Stretch Arm Strong doll from one end of the bathroom to the other (I concluded that the result was also copious ammounts of adult yelling). In fact, most of my finely-tuned childhood experiments resulted in copious ammounts of adult yelling.
A couple of weeks ago, I naively decided to test the effects of informing my mother that I would be traveling to Ohio for a few days and I was met by a rather familiar conclusion. Even before she knew the circumstances of the trip (going to a wedding as my ex's date). She insisted that I was not allowed to travel to that particular state because it would always be accompanied with incredibly negative consequences. It temporarily slipped my mind that my mother is always right. It also temporarily slipped my mind that I tend to have rather bad out-of-state experiences. From the time I almost caught hypothermia in a mud pit on a Canadian island to the time I starved in the mountains of Colorado to the time I was imprisoned in Kansas.

At the airport I always love to peruse the substancially pricey crap. I found it amusing that I was denied entrance to the terminal with my soda bottle because it could possibly be a secret soda bomb disguised as a regular non-explosive soda. So I was forced to discard it and purchase a new freedom soda at the terminals. They are about four times as expensive, but come with the added peace of mind that they are not secretly bombs. A fair tradeoff I think. And any liquid items I did bring had to be placed in a little baggie. I assume that the explosion-proof baggie is our first line of defense against a terrorist attack involving a partially used tube of toothpaste and a trial size bottle of shampoo.
Something else that kind of baffled me was a sign that made a rather big deal about Venezuelan airports not passing TSA regulations for security. So I wondered quietly to myself how long they spend in line at security compared to the number of planes they let fly into their World Trade Centers. Come to think of it, are we the best country to be judging the security standards of others?

I finally made it through and suddenly wished that I was still on the dangerous side of the checkpoint for I had to observe something that was incredibly tacky. That's right, something that was incredibly tacky. There was a blind woman riding in one of the little shuttle cars (too lazy to walk, I presumed) wearing huge opaque black sunglasses that somehow almost exactly failed to please the eye. Seriously, I know she's blind, but the rest of us aren't. So I proceeded to my gate as they warned us that the terrorist security level was orange (I assumed that either someone slipped a secret soda bomb through security or they were trying to scare away the lady with tacky glasses).

My Ohio destination was a small almost-sort-of-kind-of-like-a-town-but-smaller-and-more-frustratingly-out-of-the-way-kind-of-place called Circleville. Seriously, the name Circleville itself tells you how insignificant this place is. And if that doesn't do the trick then you'll understand when I tell you about their annual Pumpkin Show I attended.

The Pumpkin Show was, on the whole, unspectacular. That's because all pumpkins really do is sit there and be orange. Hell, I could do that if I were orange. And they had a lot of pumpkins there on huge tables. And there were things that were not exactly pumpkins, but seemed kinda similar. And things that were less pumpkin-like than those but were somehow scientifically related to the pumpkins and some things that were rather unlike pumpkins altogether and pumpkins that sat around and did nothing but be orange in their previous bhuddist pumpkin lives and were thusly reincarnated into much the same form but with slight differences that made them somewhat less appealing. And then there was a parade where every middleschool or highschool band marched by and showed everyone how displeasing music can be and how untalentedly they managed to almost hit drums properly. Everyone loved this extravagant display of inadequacy. I clapped when I was relieved it was over.
The wedding itself was nice. I was kind of nervous with it being my first Catholic wedding and all (along with the fear that I'd burst into flames upon endering sacred grounds). It turned out not to be so bad when the attractive groom assumed a kneeling position in front of the Catholic Priest. I stepped aside, however, when it came time to cannibalize the symbolic flesh and blood remains of the Christian Zombie Messiah. That's when I burst into flames (or not so much).

Then, due to a rather unexciting string of coincidences I ended up wandering around this nowhere place quite stranded. It's amazing that I only realize that my mother is right when it's too late to do anything. So I decided to make the best of a bad situation and pose dramatically lost-looking as I took pictures of me emphasized by the vast stretches of fields behind me. Then I got back on the road again. And I did come across a storage unit that, much to my pleasure, complimented the color of my luggage fantastically. So I took a picture of that too.
Then through another chain of only mildly-entertaining events that I don't care to record I ended up back in Texas. Just like always.
I'm tired of typing, so this is the end.

Quote of the Day:  "I refuse to have children not because I'm afraid of what I'll do to a child of mine, but rather I'm afraid of what a child of mine would do to the world."

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

An Incomplete Guide to Relationships

There are a number of complexities we deal with through the daily drama of life. The biggest of these are relationships with others. To make this easier for you fellows less omnipotent than myself, I have jotted down some of my thoughts and experiences with relationships.

I'll start by talking about women: ?
I think that that that single character, ?, summarizes what I know about women in a way that is both astonishingly brief and surprisingly accurate. I doubt that any man understands women. I often doubt that any woman understands them either. They just pretend. Unfortunately guys aren't quite so good at faking it and can't tell when a woman is. (I'm proud of myself for how smoothly I integrated that particular unfair sexual reference.) I mean, come on! What's with their big facination with shoes? It's not that long of a walk between the bedroom and the kitchen. Having established already that I know nothing about women, I shall proceed to ramble on about them anyway in my normal fashion tempered with ignorance. Women focus on all of the most unimortant things possible. Like passing up the perfect guy for her to instead date the recently-released-from-prison bike-riding, tattooed, puppy-kicking bad boy--and then proceed to attempt to unsuccessfully change him into the man that she just passed up at the beginning of this abnormally lengthy sentence. Of course we can't forget their constant insistence on insider trading. Which gets them sent to jail. And know what? None of these women do anything that will help them in post-apocalyptic Earth, which will be obviously inevitable after a rampaging virus turns he majority of the population into zombies. Come on, are you going to beat a zombie to death with a scrapbook? Or shame it into submission by making a better flower arrangement than it could ever hope to sculpt?

Now I shall speak of men: I think that husbands are like clothing. If you're going to spend money on them, then you need to shop around, occasionally trying them on in a private room to make sure they look good and everything fits and is the right...length.
Women tend to wonder why all of the perfect men for them are gay--while gays wonder why all the perfect men for them are on magazine covers. That's the problem with all of my exes: They're gay. The problem with gays is that they should be kicked. In the face. Especially my exes. Marriage is awesome, but not for everyone. Especially my exes. Dying lonely and miserable from an extended illness is more for them. Luckily for me they are gay and so they can't get married before me. HAH! (I'm not bitter. Really. Believe me. My bitterness level is not OVER 9000!)

One of my exes is the type of person that still believes the outdated mantra that "The Customer is Always Right." We have since evolved and casually come to understand the much harder truth: Customers are rarely correct. In fact, more often than not they are blithering idiots that do a disservice to society by procreating. And it kinda makes me wonder why they do it in the first place. Don't be a fool, wrap your tool. Use a wrapper before you attack her. If you think she's spunky, cover your monkey. That's what Brian Boitano'd do. Seriously, people seem to have a bad habit of popping out more babies than they can afford. It seems like a foreign concept to some people, but maybe if you can't afford to feed and clothe yourself then maybe you should get a hobby other than poking your girl...

Another one of my exes is dead. That's how much he just sucked at life. Seriously.
I would have to say upon review that this all boils down to the following: Your hand is a much cheaper and fulfilling date. And they don't yell back. And you can even use them to fend off the zombies.

Quote of the Day: "It's hard to have second dates....or even first dates...when you indiscriminately hate everyone."

Friday, October 3, 2008

Breaking the Big Rule

Okay so the big rule is that people aren't supposed to write blogs about where they work and actually mention the name of the place they work. So I went up to my supervisor and just informed him that I was writing this blog and told him to just not read it. And he told me it was a bad idea. I can't mention the name of where I work. In fact, I don't even think I'm allowed to tell you that it rhymes with 'Blarget'. So I won't.
I have to mention that ever since I was little my biggest pet peeve was people leaving carts in parking spaces. And by some cruel act of divine intervention by the wrathful deity above, every job I have I somehow end up as cart attendant. Since working here my pet peeve has changed though. Now my biggest annoyance is when people talk to me. That's why I kick people. And then laugh.

Seriously though, 'Blarget' is a pretty cool place, marked by community and diversity. We have working with us people that are not black, people that are not gay, people that are not women and even people that aren't Jews! Like I said, diverse. Though occasionally there's a glitch in hiring and we hire someone who IS one of the forementioned least until the cleansing. After all, they hired me. Twice. Those fools.
But I work with some awesome people, like Mallory and Cheyenne the Would-Be Porn Star...both of whom are prettier than each other (I say nervously, trying to keep from encountering the scorn of either of them). And I like scheming and just generally being racist with Robert. There's also Heather the Mexican girl who wouldn't marry me (se blog 'Rejection'). And of course I can't forget to mention my coworker who helps me fight everyday stupidity: The Pair of Talking Breasts (we call them Lauren). Okay, I'm seriously going to get hurt for that one...

But there's definitely a lot of stupidity that we fight together. Seriously. I had this one lady who purchased sixty bucks worth of dollar items and in her astonishment she said, 'How is it at $60 already?'
'Well,' I replied, 'You've selected $60 worth of items.' She didn't believe me. So I counted them out and showed her each of the sixty things as her small daughter was getting really bored. I love to see people teaching their kids to be consumer whores as early as possible. And still she was trying to figure out the math in her head. I really need the power to veto people's right to breed. But the vengeful deity instead just keeps me pushing carts so I'm resigned to merely sharing my tales with The Pair of Talking Breasts.

I love working customer service though, mostly because I get to go through the list of recalled items. 'Blarget' sells some of the best stuff. Like the two-person bicycle that snaps in the middle and becomes a one-person-with-an-injured-friend bicycle. And the carseat that keeps the baby tightly secured...unless one gets in an accident at which point the baby transforms into a rather amusing and temporarily noisy projectile. My favorite ones however are the action figures that 'may cause intestinal perforation.' Seriously, don't ask.

I told my supervisor not to read this, so I'm sure he won't.  But just in case he does, I'm NOT the one laundering money from the company because laundering money from the company is just the kind of thing I would NOT do.  To everyone else:  Hey guys!  I found a cool new way to launder money from my employer!

Quote of the Day:  "Yo mama is so fat that when she walked outside someone said....uhhh....'That lady is too big. In fact.....ummm...she bigger than a person should reasonably be."

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Jail and Bail

I knew I didn't like Kansas, even before driving back through it before returning from Colorado. But I went anyway and this is what transpired:

On may way I did something absolutely unthinkable (besides signing to the Mama Mia! soundrack)--I was speeding. On the interstate. Monstrous, I know. Through an act of divine intervention, flashing lights appeared behind my car and I pulled over and rolled down my window while the cop shouted at me to get out of my car, hands over my head. And then, in his divine sense of justice put me in handcuffs. I think he was too busy being an asshole to give me my Miranda Rights, which was disappointing because I was wondering what they were. He tells me that because of the downpour (which wasn't enough for my windshield wipers to even be on) that I was 'driving recklessly' by speeding. So he gave me two tickets: One for speeding and one for speeding in the rain. I was told that I could be bonded out with 500 bucks. What. The. Hell. Surely he's not allowed to do that--taking my Mama Mia! sountrack away from me has to be covered under the 'Cruel and Unusual Punishment' clause. From his car I could see the reason I was being put behind bars: a squigley rainbow sticker on the back of my car.

I made sure to try and introduce myself to everyone at the police station and offer my hand or shaking at anytime they weren't handcuffed, which wasn't often. But that's okay, whenever I did so the people woud just look at me and walk away anyway. Not a particularly friendly crowd. After smiling big for my picture it was time for paperwork. My booking officer wasn't happy when I signed my documents as 'Lord Master Jason the Amazing'. It's okay though, he was even less happy when I pulled out my 'Get Out of Jail Free' card that I keep stored in my wallet for just such an emergency. Still though, he refused to take it, at which time I told him to pretend that I was yelling and throwing a fit, though I actually didn't because I try to not do that sort of thing. Then they cut off a bike chain I wore around my wrist, saying that I can cause some damage if I hit someone with it. 'More damage than if I kicked them in the nuts with my shoe?' I asked curiously. They took away my shoes. Good thing I didn't use biting as my example......

Instead of placing me in a three-man cell like they had been planning, they shuffled people around so I could have my own--they thought I was going to get myself killed if I came in contact with a real person. Once I was in with my stunning orange jumpsuit that complimented my hair nicely, they gave me my effects. A towel, bed sheets, and a cup with a toothbrush, some shampoo, a bar of soap and Maximum Security Toothpaste. I suppose that they don't want the toothpaste to escape the tube... When I used the bathroom, I had to use a toilet that was in sight of the guards, to remove any shred of dignity I might have left. So, in spite, I peed with all the dignity I could muster! I think the guard just thought I was weird.

That's when my montage began. It was like in the movies, you know, when they show all of the heroic little clips of personal growth and such. I alternately watched cable TV, exercized, read a book and paced my cell. Only instead of taking place all in about 20 seconds, it was hour after hour after hour. And there was no music during my extended extended montage sequence, since they had taken my Mama Mia! soundtrack (I was not a Dancing Queen.). Fortunately, I still had my own voice and an endless repitoire of camp songs. Very, very annoying camp songs. And so I sang them. All of them. To be fair, I was respectful to all officers, I addressed them with respect and politely did whatever I was asked. They just never had the sense to ask me to shut the hell up.

Word of my imprisonment got around and a particularly generous relative of mine spent $700 to spring me from my cell. But they made me wait in the lobby for several hours before I got a ride to my car in the impound lot and finally got back to my Mama Mia!soundtrack. While I was waiting I looked at a huge wall poster detailing crimes and punishments in Kansas. I figured I should share my favorites with you, to be sure that you can keep yourself out of my position:

1. Damaging Something by Throwing it Off a Bridge: I just thought this one was funny.
2. Healing Acts: What the hell?
3. Aiding a Child in an Act of Misconduct: Good thing I was never caught helping my bother color on the walls.
4. Eavesdropping: Punishable with a fine of up to $2,500 or 1 year in prison. Seriously.
5. Fossil Hunting: This would be another 'What the hell?'
6. Illegal Bingo: This was my favorite. I can just imagine the SWAT tem busting in on fourty old ladies with their little cards arresting them all. Oddly though, it had the same punishment as sexual battery and a hit-and-run that involves a death. I guess they don't like Bingo in Kansas....that's okay, neither do I.

I had demanded a lot of changes during my stay with them, from uniforms to room service. I think they'll bend to my will, though I don't plan on going back to any place that desn't take 'Get Out of Jail Free' cards. So I guess that the moral I'm really trying to get at is this: Don't Drive Gay.

Quote of the Day: "If I were a walking brillo pad, I'd be the pink one."