Wednesday, February 29


I've said a lot about Victory Bible Church. At times I've been harsh, I'll admit. But as you can see, sometimes they kind of deserve it. It's hard to take a church seriously when they can't even get their only source of marketing right. This has been up since Monday and either the entire congregation are horrible spellers, they haven't noticed it, or they just don't care. My guess is they can't spell. 

As I once said during the Dan Quayle "Potatoegate," "I'm not a great speller, but I'm not Vice President either."

I got nothing.


Saturday, February 25


The first thing that I thought about when I heard Whitney Houston died was "yeah, that's about right," immediately followed by, "oh great, now we'll have to hear about it non-stop for the next two weeks." I was right. It reminded me of the Michael Jackson death orgy of '09.

Much like Jackson, everyone seems to put on their rose-colored glasses to look back at her life and career. Sure, her death and the days leading up to it are scrutinized, but eventually everyone focuses on her "genius" and forgets that she died a drug addict. I don't consider drug addicts to be criminals or bad people, but maybe, just maybe, when someone famous dies because they took too many drugs, we shouldn't pretend like they didn't die because they took too many drugs. No one thinks twice about mentioning that David Carradine died by auto-erotic asphyxiation, but hey, let's celebrate Amy Winehouse's life and not dwell on the fact she drank herself to death.


Wednesday, February 22


Once I had a discussion about whether it would be better to die slowly or suddenly? A morose topic I know. I didn't even blink and said "suddenly." My attitude about death is that I'm not afraid of it, I just don't want to know it's happening. Like in the case of nuclear war, I just want that bomb to drop right in my lap as opposed to knowing that I'm eventually going to die of radiation or the mutants that will surely survive and rise up, a la Omega Man. Either way, I lose.
I have a feeling that Jesus knows
about death coming quickly.
At one time Mark said that he agreed with this school of thought, but after hearing a story on the radio he'd changed his mind. See, this old guy was killed in a car accident, which qualifies as "suddenly." Well, his grieving family had to go through his things, at which time they found his huge stack of hardcore gay porn. Not that I have a huge collection of hot gay porn, but if I did I surely wouldn't want my grand kids to be the ones to discover it. Unless they were into that kind of thing... not that there's anything wrong with that. It just got me thinking about what I might not want everyone in my family to find if they had to come and clean out my things. So maybe Jesus, a little notice would be great.

On a separate note, this morning Mark pointed out that Victory's lack of commas screwed up their intended message once again.

Thursday, February 16


Wow, what a pick me up on a Monday morning. Why not just have a bullet for breakfast? This reminds me something that Bill Hicks once said:

"Hey buddy, my Daddy died for that flag..."
"Really?'Cause I just bought mine."
My Dad just co-signed for a car.

Tuesday, February 14


Much like milk, God has an expiration date.
I found this one when I was clearing out old photos. I can't believe that I missed it. Anyway, it's all the way back from Black Friday. I wonder if they had lines like Target?

Thursday, February 9


So for the past four days Mark and I have been marveling at this one. There is so much wrong that I don't know where to begin. It's gotten to the point where I want to call them and say, "you know, you really need to fire whoever is writing your signs. You're not getting your message across. Or at least I can't hear it from all my laughing. kthxbai."

Once when I was writing copy I had someone suggest the following as an intro: "What? You say?" It has become a go-to for when something makes absolutely no sense. That was actually my first reaction to this sign. "What? You say? Jesus' coming is sure are you? Half the time I hope in vain that a member of the congregation will notice and suggest, oh I don't know, a comma? It's like they've got Yoda, or a big Star Wars fan writing these.

Some Suggestions:
"To hell sinner, you are going."
"Free make you, the truth shall."
"Big butts I like, lie I cannot."
"What? You say?"

Wednesday, February 8


Believe it or not, there was a time when I was even lazier than I am now. I know, wow, right? Well, I'll admit that I had a little help in the form of marijuana, but all it really did was bring out my full slug potential. The pinnacle of my slacker/stoner/loser phase was the summer that I lived at the beach, which didn't help matters at all. Nothing motivates a nineteen year old more like being forced to wake and bake and hit the beach. Sure I had a job, but it was at a movie theater with two screens and my biggest worry there was trying not to burn myself on the popcorn kettle while high, which I did a few times.

Now, for some reason, playing video games seemed like a really great thing to do with my time while under the influence of The Pot. The house we lived in came with a Nintendo and one game: Super Mario Brothers. Two if you count Duck Hunt, but no one does because it was only good for taking a break after 3 hours of straight Super Mario.  

Up until this time, I had never played SMB. My video game exposure hadn't expanded from the arcade (look it up kids) or my home system which consisted entirely of Pong.  Indeed I learned that smoking copious amounts of weed* and unfettered access to a video game console weren't a good combination, because it quickly became very apparent that I have no impulse control whatsoever.

I stayed up till all hours of the night and played non-stop. I developed calluses on my thumbs, although that was probably compounded by my Ms. PacMan problem. I had a friend that worked at a place called Foosball Palace, and

I'm a little guy. Little arms, little legs, small features. A little guy.
although it was certainly no palace, it did have a kindly owner that rigged his Ms. PacMan machine for me so I could play for free with  unlimited Coca Cola privileges, basically enabling my addiction by tweaking me up with caffeine. Embarrassingly enough this whole "lost summer" wasn't my first foray into a gaming shame spiral. The year before I'd discovered the gateway game, Tetris, on a friends computer. I'm not lying, at one point I had to be literally dragged away from it. For months afterward, I saw beautiful, colored shapes falling in my dreams. Thankfully, all of this was long before Jeff VanVonderen could get involved and tell me that I was surrounded by people that "loved me like crazy, but weren't going to love me to death."


Friday, February 3


I've been doing Weight Watchers for awhile now. Or, should I say I had been doing Weight Watchers for awhile. In recent months I've kinda let the point-counting fall by the wayside in lieu of things like pizza and Girl Scout cookies. I know, I know, not the best attitude after all that hard work, but it's been fun to slack off a little. That is until recently.

I've noticed that my pants, which used to be big to the point of clown size, are starting to feel a little snug. Actually, they're becoming down-right uncomfortable or, as my Mom would say, "cutting me in half." That's 70s speak for taco crotch. You know you've got trouble, when you can't sit for long periods of time because your FUPA is making trouble for your entire lower half.

I should look on the bright side. I've let my diet run amok since Halloween, and it's only now that I am beginning to feel fruit of my labor in the presence of back fat. Lucky for me I instituted a diet safety net a while ago, by getting rid of all my fat clothes. I literally have no where to run from an expanding waistline. There are no fat pants lurking in my closet. All I kept are the super-fat pants, so if I grow out of the clothes I currently have, I'm going to have to go all in, because there isn't any middle ground.

Basically what this all boils down to is that I have to start dieting again. It's not really that bad, it's just an awful lot of work to think about every facet of food every time you eat. I think that was half the reason I lost weight. At a certain point I decided not eating was easier than trying to calculate points. And, as we all know, thinking isn't exactly my forte, but laziness is. 

That's why I usually settled for a frozen Weight Watchers for lunch. All I had to do was heat them up, and not do any math. However, like I mentioned, I've been making some not so good, but very tasty lunch choices as of late. That was before my pants started getting tight.

So today was my first day back on the Weight Watchers horse. I heated up my delightful lunch of Spinach and Ricotta cheese pasta in the microwave, and as I was waiting I happened to glance down at the directions that I'd looked at a hundred times. Now, in addition to the "cooking" directions, there is now a food saftey guideline that I'm supposed to follow. Apparently, I am to temp my lunch out to make sure that it's in the "safety zone" of 165 degrees. Oh, and I need to use a food thermometer. 

Yeah, I'm not doing this.
I'm sorry? Apparently Weight Watchers has no idea about the demographic that's buying their products. Hint: we're lazy. That's why we can't diet on our own. I'm heating up a microwavable lunch, for God's sake. I'm putting plastic in a microwave so I don't have to cook and now I'm supposed to hunt down a food thermometer and check the temperature. If I had the time, energy and wherewithal to do that, I'd fucking cook.