Opinion: Fishing is NOT a Sport

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... unless you use nunchucks.

Raving Private Ryan

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With recent back surgery, a broken ankle, a broken foot and a broken wrist, an act like bathing can become deceptively complex -sometimes leaving me in various states of undress for up to an hour. And our bedroom -the 'Master'- is in the deepest recesses of the house, with little likelihood for random crazy crap to somehow waft up.

So what is it with Californians and busting open closed doors? At any hour of the day, I shut the door and the goddamn thing bursts open -without a knock or warning- within minutes. I’ve bitched and moaned about this for years already, but I am so frustrated at this point: is Richard Dawson hiding out somewhere downstairs making these people think it’s an episode of The Price is Right?   Please take your lovely array of kitchen appliances and Rice-a-Roni parting gifts, and leave Door Number One alone.  I’ll bet if I floated a closed horizontal door and frame in the middle of some uncharted frozen sea, hundreds of Californians would somehow drown. [Believe it or not, my stepdaughter did it as I was drafting this.]

Is a courtesy knock really too much to ask anyone? Or after all these years of complaining, wouldn’t one consider doing an act so simple -rational or not- just to avoid the inevitable subsequent spectacle? At this point, I’m starting to feel I’m just being needlessly provoked.

Do any of you adult couples -parents, specifically- have this kind of liberal “open door” policy in your homes? My [step] kids' ages range from 8, 17, and 21, and all have friends and guests that have similar mileage. Terri’s case is “I’ve never had closed doors in my family.”   Well that's nice and quaint and all, but let's be realistic Laura Ingalls: these are mostly young adults that I’ve only known for a few years.

-Wouldn’t it be creepy if I wasn't concerned about this?

Safety First

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I want to go downstairs and get another beer, but I'm utterly wasted on Percocet.

-And my test Slinky just burst into flames.

Cosmetology School CPR Dummy Stolen, Large Cash Reward Offered

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Missing device smells vaguely of nail polish, Paul
Mitchell products, and defibrillator burns.

Predator Press Mulls Purchasing Dodgers Franchise

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We love football.

-How bad could they be?

Behind the Scenes: Nyota Uhura

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Life began unspectacularly for Nyota Uhura. And after years of hard work, she was set to graduate top of her cosmetology class. But due to a typographical error, she was recruited to the starship Enterprise as Captain Kirk’s Communications Officer and Chief Exfoliator.

“Communications Officer,” however, would be a sad irony for Nyota as she was wildly dyslexic: during Romulan and Klingon attacks she would run up and down the ship screaming, “Trela Der! Trela Der!” This directly led to the destruction of Enterprises I, II, V, Va, the VIIb, the IX.2, numerous undocumented models of the Reliant, a school bus, and at least four bicycles.

Soon thereafter, her arrest at a Star Trek convention for the assault of George Lucas made the papers worldwide. She would subsequently tell police, “I kept punching [Lucas] until my knuckles could feel the inside of the back of his head.” Uhura nonetheless denied any motivation involving the hot Star Trek v Star Wars rivalry. “I just wanted [Lucas] to stop making shitty movies. Somebody should have done that in 1983.”

Now experimenting with drugs, Uhura's behavior only became increasingly erratic. According to Wikipedia, “Star Trek III: The Search for Spock sees Uhura take an assignment in the transporter room as part of a plot to steal the Enterprise. After locking a colleague in a closet, Uhura uses the transporter station to beam Kirk, Leonard McCoy and Hikaru Sulu to the Enterprise so they can use it to rescue Spock from the Genesis Planet.”

Uhura’s prosecutors found this defense preposterous, however. “She locked a guy in a closet?“ said District Attorney Jorge Sackwood. “Okay. Forget that the future doesn’t even have bathrooms … but there is a closet in the Transporter Room? Why? Is it full of red shirts? Or is it simply there for Sulu to come out of?”

Disillusioned with her military career -and now hopelessly addicted to Fuzzy Navels and a myriad of over-the-counter cold medications- Uhura’s downward spiral would lead to feelance work with Vivid Entertainment. 2011 would see the release of a poorly-produced sex tape with NFL star Bret Lockett, something Uhura’s agent disavows as her having been “heavily intoxicated and exploited.” The agent would continue on to say, “Were she fully in command of her faculties at the time it never would have happened. She thought she was making a tape with Hines Ward.”

After an embarrassing appearance on History Channel’s Pawn Stars in an attempt to sell her tricorder and phaser, Ohura finally caught a romantic break and started dating Corey "Big Hoss" Harrison. And because she never did a film with Nicolas Cage or Rob Schneider, this was the same year she was awarded two Predator Press Oscars, six Predator Press Emmys, and three Predator Press Nobel Peace Prizes.

Ohura and Harrison intend to wed this year.

-As soon as they resolve the ongoing Tribble situation.

The Envelope Pushes Back

or, "Wildfire Nightmare Intensifies as Experts Suspect Arizona Somewhere in US"

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With one of possibly two surgeries out of the way and three broken bones, I have joked that I am God’s football due to the stitches. But through perseverance, I’ve got my mobility back up to about 75% within a month.

Which is good. Maybe I can retire the crutch. And I can wear shoes on both feet now, so I don’t ruin a sock every time I wobble around the block. Consequently I can worry less about the occasional broken glass shard or poisoned ninja throwing star being launched through my vulnerable heel in the middle of an intersection. (The broken glass thing happens at least twice as many times as the ninja thing: today's ninja is just not what it used to be.)

But because I kinda look healthy (I cut my wrist cast off yesterday too), I’m confusing people: a random spasm might find me inexplicably offering counter-crossing pedestrians the look a cow gives you as you pull up to a fine steak restaurant. Cops, misinterpreting my tender pain-addled gait, circle constantly suspecting I am drunk ... or maybe tryin to protect me from a mullet-sporting vintage Camaro driver with a glove box full of Viagra, roofies, and rolls and rolls of duct tape.

Either way I'm compelled to admit I am completely toxic with pain medications. Prior to the back surgery, I shrewdly purchased a handful of used PS2 and Xbox games for my convalescing amusement. Currently I have no idea where they are.

For all I know, I might have buried them in the back yard.

Not-So-Fast Food

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Someone left a slice of Pizza Hut in the sink, neglecting to jam it down into the garbage disposal.

-This brought about the rather alarming observation that the thing is so greasy it doesn’t take on water. I mean if it wasn’t boyant, I think it would make a good cork.

Or maybe a space shuttle tile.

How to Create a Lesbian in Two Easy Steps

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Predator Press Exclusive: Athlete Kim Kardashian Denies Sleeping With Identified

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The United States population is 307,006,550.

-I know this because I keep a complete and meticulously cared for list -”The Most Talented Celebrities in America”- where I categorize us all in order. The top of The List (Tom Hanks, Edward Norton, Helena Bonham Carter, …) typically remains pretty stable. Most of the “action,” on the other hand, takes place in the middle and at the bottom.

In 1996, Herbert Khaury -better know as Tiny Tim, and for his rendition of “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”- suddenly died, and a huge talent vacuum ensued.

Enter NFL player Bret Lockett.

See, Brett had a good idea initially. Once you crack The List, with some shrewd maneuvering you might be seducing the middle in no time -the likes of Dane Cook and Whoopie Goldberg. And after such an unprecedented quantum leap, Lockett would be within striking distance of the Ric Flairs, Kathy Lee Giffords, and the guy that does the ’Jack’ voiceovers for the Jack in the Box fast food franchise -arguably in the low eight digits, and the upper two-fifths of The List's hierarchy. By playing his cards right, Bret Lockett could have been banging Tom Hanks, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter in no time.

So you see, Bret Lockett needed to crack The List.

Bad.

The bottom three people on The List are my fourth grade Physical Education teacher Coach Berkowitz [307,006,548], Paris Hilton [307,006,549], and Kim Kardashian [307,006,550]. (Paris Hilton nudged out Kim K mostly because I am an animal lover: Hilton has one of those little teacup dogs, and I figured with no one under her Paris might become a suicide risk and that little dog would be totally fucked. Kim K would eventually follow suit with her own little teacup dog, but I already cited that advantage to Hilton who had the idea first.)

So Bret Lockett has to decide, right?

Well it turns out that my fourth grade Physical Education teacher Coach Berkowitz would be difficult to reach: he had just retired, and was touring the southwest in a Winnebago. For Lockett, this fact alone might not have been convincing when staring down the Hilton/Kardashian barrel … But one must keep in mind that Coach Berkowitz is a very hairy individual; Bret Lockett’s alcohol consumption may not be where it need be to go through with the dirty deed.

Mathematically, this brings us to Paris Hilton. Who knows? Maybe Lockett is allergic to dogs. Or maybe Lockett had understandable concerns of future entanglements with Nicole Richie. In any case, Lockett selected the absolute dead last person on my List instead. This is confusing to me, as it maximized the “talent chasm”: Lockett at some point would have to bang an additional celeb somewhere during his creepy climb to the top; my best guess is that he would simply add Tim Allen [305,999,886] or Dennis Edwards [288,521,011] who recently rejoined The Temptations after his failed solo effort.

Anyway, Kim K denies the whole thing. And this is as cruel to Lockett as it is dumb for Kardashian, because Lockett must now come forth with sordid, intimate details about Kardashian that only another lover would know … thusly doomed with an impossible task and helpless against his own unbridled ambition, Bret Lockett would inevitably become the only victim here.

-But you know the more I think about it, the more I can’t figure out why he didn’t go with Coach Berkowitz.


Disclaimer: This blog does not represent and/or endorse
the ideas, beliefs, and opinions of the author.

Diary of a Scapegoat Herder

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I had a feeling I shouldn’t have used the orphanage’s food budget for a line of credit in Vegas.

-But we're in the middle of an unexplained recession. And did you ever think maybe this was a better country when addled with snortable cocaine, fun-loving alcoholics, unbridled sexual harassment, and wave after endless wave of citizens suffering from yet-undiagnosed Attention Deficit Disorder? I'm not letting the Rainbow Coalition off the hook either: it seems like as soon as the world got gay people -the 1990s or so- pow, the entire damn nation went into the crapper.

As far as the orphan food, don't give me some 'Holier 'n Thou' crap: I should first point out that the imitation gruel is really popular. Christ it’s not like I’m making them eat ‘Grape Nuts,’ right? And speaking of horrible crap, people are forced to hang out with Sally Struthers starving to death in other countries -meanwhile you people eat a bran yogurt tofu muffin only to purposely burn it off on a treadmill later while watching Jersey Shore.

And again speaking of horrible crap, what is the fascination with Jersey Shore? Those people look like the CPR dummies at a cosmetology school. (No, I am not a cosmetologist. But if something is going to enable me to give Martians mudpacks and facials, it ain't going to be the goddamn Russian space program. Those people don't even make a car.)

We have a saying in the orphanage business: “One never runs out of orphan food, just orphans.” Over time, I think my new taco franchise will offset the Vegas losses entirely.

-And I defy you to find any orphan taste whatsoever.