Do you fear the second shower? You've already showered in the morning. You've shaved; you've washed and combed your hair; applied deodorant and you're ready to go for the day.
Then during the course of the day, you become sweaty because of the humidity or because you had to run from a rabid dog or you had to change a tire or your exercise workout occurred at night.
Now you're home again and face a dilemma: do you shower again or wait until morning? You might argue that the sweat has cleansed your body and when it dries you are actually clean! Or that you didn't sweat THAT much and that the shower can wait until morning. Or you're just too lazy to undress, shower and get out clean clothes. Perhaps you live in Arizona and since your house number is even, you can only shower on even-numbered days. Whatever the excuse, you fear the second shower. You're a second shower phobia.
I'm here to help you overcome this fear of the second shower.
STEP 1: Lift your right arm all the way above your head so that the armpit is fully exposed. Then have a friend sniff in the general vicinity of the armpit. The friend should promptly pass out. Be sure to place pillows around the area so your friend doesn't break a neck.
STEP 2: Sit down on a towel and then proceed to lick your leg. It should taste like a pretzel. An alternative method is to have your dog (if you own one) smell your legs. If he licks them, then there's a good chance you taste like salted pork.
STEP 3: Once your friend has regained consciousness, have him or her smell your hair. He or she should still be dazed and confused when he or she awakes, so compliance shouldn't be an issue. Again, be sure pillows are near by as he or she will faint at the smell of your greasy hair.
STEP 4: Take all your clothes off and place them in a pile. Then sniff the pile like you would a bouquet of roses. Be sure a barf bucket is close by because you may toss your cookies. Dry heaves will soon follow.
If none of these steps have convinced you to shower (thus effectively making you overcome your second shower phobia) then proceed to the next step. If you no longer fear the second shower after step 4, then proceed directly to the nearest bathroom and commence cleaning.
STEP 5: Place your back to a wall in your home. Or if you have a hardwood floor, lay down on the hardwood floor. Now attempt to get up. You should notice that there is so much grime on your body that it is actually sticking to hard surfaces - you are basically a giant piece of masking tape. If you are normal, this should gross you out and cause you to jump right into the shower.
If none of these steps help you, then you have far greater issues to deal with. You need to address these issues by attending a simple hygiene course at the local community college. Alternatively, you can elect to be a full-time street bum.
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Monday, May 6, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Yard of the Month
This muse was from six years ago, when we lived in a home that had a quarter of an acre back yard.
This morning I mowed our yard ... it is a HUGE yard and takes me over two hours to finish. I'm not big into yard work. I do the minimum and spend the rest of my time combing the hair on my chest and back.
This week, our neighbors down the street received the "Yard of the Month" prize. Their reward: A sign posted on the front lawn that says, "Yard of the Month" I don't know if they receive prize money for this or not. The main reason they do the YOTM stuff is to encourage people to keep their yards nice.
What kind of people pursue these accolades? Perhaps it is the lady of the house that pushes the man to work so hard. Mrs. Gibson down the street must have shoved poor Hal into a corner and threatened him.
"You listen and you listen well chump! I want that prize! You better pull through this month or else!"
Hal would melt to the floor sucking his thumb.
Every morning when I go out for my jog, I see Hal out there slaving away. A couple of weeks ago, he was up at 5:30 in the morning planting red tulips! I waved to the poor fella. He took one look at me and vomited all over the flowers (I had my shirt off). Tough luck. I was about 50 paces from Hal's house when I heard Mrs. Gibson.
"What in the Sam-hell are you doin' boy?! Get the hose and start cleaning this up! I want these tulips planted YESTERDAY!"
The car door slams and Mrs. Gibson peels out of the driveway and passes me going 45mph in a 35 zone. Poor Hal.
Then last week while I was mowing, I saw ol Hal out there mowing and trimming his yard too. It was a hot and humid day. I stopped several times to drink water. One time I saw that Hal had stop to rest too. The poor chap ... Mrs. Gibson came storming out the front door hollering at Hal. This time she had a whip. She snapped that thing over Hal's head and he jumped five feet in the air. In a split second, he had thrown down his lemonade, put his hat on and started the lawn mower. Mrs. Gibson was screaming at the top of her lungs, while Hal was criss-crossing across his velvet yard looking behind him every other second. It was a sad sight.
I hope for Hal's sake he wins the Yard of the Month next time.
This morning I mowed our yard ... it is a HUGE yard and takes me over two hours to finish. I'm not big into yard work. I do the minimum and spend the rest of my time combing the hair on my chest and back.
This week, our neighbors down the street received the "Yard of the Month" prize. Their reward: A sign posted on the front lawn that says, "Yard of the Month" I don't know if they receive prize money for this or not. The main reason they do the YOTM stuff is to encourage people to keep their yards nice.
What kind of people pursue these accolades? Perhaps it is the lady of the house that pushes the man to work so hard. Mrs. Gibson down the street must have shoved poor Hal into a corner and threatened him.
"You listen and you listen well chump! I want that prize! You better pull through this month or else!"
Hal would melt to the floor sucking his thumb.
Every morning when I go out for my jog, I see Hal out there slaving away. A couple of weeks ago, he was up at 5:30 in the morning planting red tulips! I waved to the poor fella. He took one look at me and vomited all over the flowers (I had my shirt off). Tough luck. I was about 50 paces from Hal's house when I heard Mrs. Gibson.
"What in the Sam-hell are you doin' boy?! Get the hose and start cleaning this up! I want these tulips planted YESTERDAY!"
The car door slams and Mrs. Gibson peels out of the driveway and passes me going 45mph in a 35 zone. Poor Hal.
Then last week while I was mowing, I saw ol Hal out there mowing and trimming his yard too. It was a hot and humid day. I stopped several times to drink water. One time I saw that Hal had stop to rest too. The poor chap ... Mrs. Gibson came storming out the front door hollering at Hal. This time she had a whip. She snapped that thing over Hal's head and he jumped five feet in the air. In a split second, he had thrown down his lemonade, put his hat on and started the lawn mower. Mrs. Gibson was screaming at the top of her lungs, while Hal was criss-crossing across his velvet yard looking behind him every other second. It was a sad sight.
I hope for Hal's sake he wins the Yard of the Month next time.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Christmas Mediocrity
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| christmas light - dec 23, 2012 |
This muse was from Christmas of 2008.
For years, my wife has been asking me to put up outdoor Christmas lights. This year I decided to break down and try. After burning a hole in my wallet, I brought home a few boxes of lights.
I had no plan. I figured that if I simply strung up a few lights along the front eves, it would suffice. If I had time, I'd throw a few over the bushes and call it good. It would be gloriously simple. The kids would call me a hero and the neighbors would approve of my holiday cheer. It would be one of those houses you drive by and think "Oh, how nice" and then look at the next house.
As I began my project, I quickly grasped the complexity of the physics required to string lights along our high-arching eves. I also became conscious of the fact that I had one outlet to work with. All my estimates were falling very short.
"Well, I'll take this one step at a time" I thought to myself. "I'll string up the middle section, hook it up to some lights on the bushes and then take it from there." I began to work. Soon the middle section was complete and one set was on a small bush. I took an accounting of what assets I had left and what still lacked. I was two sections and three bushes short. I had one power strip, upping my outlet capacity to five, but I was all out of extension cords. I was also out of lights for the eves. The 50 foot estimate had doubled to 100 feet. I would have to buy at least another 50 feet to complete the project! The prospect of going to the store to buy more lights dampened my holiday spirit like seeing all your eggnog get dumped down the drain. I lost all drive. The whole project sputtered and came to a complete halt.
The sun set and the moment came to turn on the lights. The kids were outside. I flipped the switch and the kids squealed with joy. I walked out to the street and bowed my head in shame of the half-"butted" effort I gave.
Jim, our neighbor, came outside to take a look. "Looks good so far Rocky! When you going to finish it?" I hesitated and then mumbled something to the effect of "in a few days." But I knew it wouldn't be done this year. The eves above the garage and above the left side of the house were black holes. No cheer emanated from the sides. But the middle 50 feet and the one bush shone gloriously. I felt like Charlie Brown bringing home a dumb ole Christmas tree whose needles were falling off and could not support a single ornament.
But at least our young kids loved it and I guess that is what's important.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Freakin' Hairy
This muse was from July 2007 and it sill gives me a chuckle. I wrote this under another handle - Apollo.
I enjoy running. I don’t run every day, but I try for 3 times a week. In high school, we’d run cross country in the fall. Since school started at the end of August and beginning of September, we began to train in the latter end of summer. Usually we’d run without our shirts … we were studs. Back in the day, I gloried in my chest … it had a little hair. But times changed and I soon didn't like the hair on my chest. By my freshman year in college, I was shaving … my chest. It’s all gone downhill from there.
The other day, I was out on a brisk 5 mile run at 6:30 in the morning. It is very humid and hot where I live. About half way through my run, I shed the shirt and I feel as light as a feather. The only problem is the negative consequences of me running in public without a shirt. My first victims were two women walking opposite of me. “Oh my word Megan, would you look at that!” Megan covered her mouth and let out a gasp. As I approached, the other woman started gagging and heaving. When I passed, Megan, who had stepped off the sidewalk and was backing away from me yelled, “PUT YOUR SHIRT ON YOU FREAK!!”
After I passed them, I thought I heard one of them dial a number on her cell phone. I was running through an upscale neighborhood, so maybe these women were just haughty. Two miles later, a mother and daughter were walking their dog. I drew near them. The little girl looked startled and hid behind her mother. The woman looked at me for a split second and then lowered her head and started coughing uncontrollably. The dog turned aggressive and barked rabidly. I stopped and asked the woman if she was OK. The dog kept barking and the woman was trying to hold him back. “I’m fine” she said. She tried to look up, but when she did, she’d get this strained look in her face and then dry heave like Gollum.
The bright side is that I make loads of money off my hairy chest (and back). You see, it’s so thick and smooth that my wife got the idea that we could sell it as pillow-stuffing. We got the idea when I had fallen asleep one evening and the next morning found that our dog had cuddled up in the small of my back. It took a minute to find him. Every week, we get out the hedge clippers and go to work. Once we've sheared off 20 lbs. of the stuff, we ship it to a Swedish firm who turns them into pillows. They call them Apillos … a play on my name … Apollo.
You should see the commercials. A woman in silk pajamas demonstrates the comfort of the Apillo while a low, seductive voice explains the aura of it. “The Apillo will soothe your aching head. Made of 100% man-silk, the Apillo adjusts to the shape of your neck and head giving you the best sleep possible.”
The Apillo costs $59.99.
I enjoy running. I don’t run every day, but I try for 3 times a week. In high school, we’d run cross country in the fall. Since school started at the end of August and beginning of September, we began to train in the latter end of summer. Usually we’d run without our shirts … we were studs. Back in the day, I gloried in my chest … it had a little hair. But times changed and I soon didn't like the hair on my chest. By my freshman year in college, I was shaving … my chest. It’s all gone downhill from there.
The other day, I was out on a brisk 5 mile run at 6:30 in the morning. It is very humid and hot where I live. About half way through my run, I shed the shirt and I feel as light as a feather. The only problem is the negative consequences of me running in public without a shirt. My first victims were two women walking opposite of me. “Oh my word Megan, would you look at that!” Megan covered her mouth and let out a gasp. As I approached, the other woman started gagging and heaving. When I passed, Megan, who had stepped off the sidewalk and was backing away from me yelled, “PUT YOUR SHIRT ON YOU FREAK!!”
After I passed them, I thought I heard one of them dial a number on her cell phone. I was running through an upscale neighborhood, so maybe these women were just haughty. Two miles later, a mother and daughter were walking their dog. I drew near them. The little girl looked startled and hid behind her mother. The woman looked at me for a split second and then lowered her head and started coughing uncontrollably. The dog turned aggressive and barked rabidly. I stopped and asked the woman if she was OK. The dog kept barking and the woman was trying to hold him back. “I’m fine” she said. She tried to look up, but when she did, she’d get this strained look in her face and then dry heave like Gollum.
The bright side is that I make loads of money off my hairy chest (and back). You see, it’s so thick and smooth that my wife got the idea that we could sell it as pillow-stuffing. We got the idea when I had fallen asleep one evening and the next morning found that our dog had cuddled up in the small of my back. It took a minute to find him. Every week, we get out the hedge clippers and go to work. Once we've sheared off 20 lbs. of the stuff, we ship it to a Swedish firm who turns them into pillows. They call them Apillos … a play on my name … Apollo.
You should see the commercials. A woman in silk pajamas demonstrates the comfort of the Apillo while a low, seductive voice explains the aura of it. “The Apillo will soothe your aching head. Made of 100% man-silk, the Apillo adjusts to the shape of your neck and head giving you the best sleep possible.”
The Apillo costs $59.99.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Cornered by Blather
This "muse" was from several years ago when I worked in a cubicle and I would get frequent passers-by. Nowadays, I have my own office with a full-fledged door!
I wanted to post this in light of today's Dilbert
Enjoy!
One of the toughest situations I face every day is being cornered by a blathering idiot.
The other day at a social gathering, a bag of hot air blows over my way and kicks up a conversation. "How ya doin' Rocky?"
I barely nod my head and begin to open my mouth to respond, but in that split second he starts up his bagpipe. "Yeah that's great! So my son made the football team. Yep, he's only a freshman and he made first team. We're real proud of Roy. Gonna be an all-American."
The bagpipe continues to issue steam. Every fifth sentence, I attempt to interject my own comment. "When I was in college, I played ..." Bagpipe blows louder for several more minutes. I try again, "Oh yeah, I remember when ..." Bagpipe shouts out to a passer-by and then says to me, "What were you sayin'?" "I was just going to say that I remember ..." "That reminds me" and the Bagpipe is going full-steam ahead.
Ten minutes later, I shout out to an imaginary friend and say goodbye to Bagpipe "I'll catch you later Bo!"
The key to dealing with a blathering idiot is to head them off before they gather steam. Usually, thinking up a good excuse to suddenly leave a conversation is vital to extricating youself from the corner.
When you're at your office desk and a blathering idiot enters, you can accomodate them for a few minutes and then pretend a meeting notice from your calendar just popped up. "Uuuhoop, sorry Brian, gotta run to a meeting. I'll talk to you later." Then you proceed to an office on the other side of the building and hide for 30 minutes.
The unexpected cell phone call will work too. You can pretend it's on vibrate and act like someone just shot you in the hip. "Oh man! Don't you hate it when the phone shocks you! Let's see who this is. Ooo! I need to take this call. Excuse me." Then you get up and rush out of the office like it's on fire. Head to the nearest exit and call your wife in case the blathering idiot follows you.
Sometimes you can instant message an ally to rescue you. Have him come over and pretend that he needs you to sign some important papers at his desk. Then promptly excuse youself from the blathering idiot and run like h-e-double-hockey-sticks.
If you fail to come up with excuses and extrication plans, then you will be forced to endure long, boring conversations. When the blathering idiot finally runs out of hot air, you will then have to endure several minutes of awkard silence interjected with several concluding remarks. "Well, that's one heckava story Jim." At this point, Jim is supposed to say, "well, I better get back to work" but no ... he lingers like a noxious fart. You may try to wave it away, but it spreads and endures. And with each passing moment, more and more brain cells are expiring. Eventually you marshall the courage to stand up and pretend like you're leaving. This causes Jim to release his grip. You're free.
Finally Jim leaves and you can breath freely again. While you can, you begin to jot down ideas for rescuing yourself the next time a blathering idiot corners you.
I wanted to post this in light of today's Dilbert
Enjoy!
One of the toughest situations I face every day is being cornered by a blathering idiot.
The other day at a social gathering, a bag of hot air blows over my way and kicks up a conversation. "How ya doin' Rocky?"
I barely nod my head and begin to open my mouth to respond, but in that split second he starts up his bagpipe. "Yeah that's great! So my son made the football team. Yep, he's only a freshman and he made first team. We're real proud of Roy. Gonna be an all-American."
The bagpipe continues to issue steam. Every fifth sentence, I attempt to interject my own comment. "When I was in college, I played ..." Bagpipe blows louder for several more minutes. I try again, "Oh yeah, I remember when ..." Bagpipe shouts out to a passer-by and then says to me, "What were you sayin'?" "I was just going to say that I remember ..." "That reminds me" and the Bagpipe is going full-steam ahead.
Ten minutes later, I shout out to an imaginary friend and say goodbye to Bagpipe "I'll catch you later Bo!"
The key to dealing with a blathering idiot is to head them off before they gather steam. Usually, thinking up a good excuse to suddenly leave a conversation is vital to extricating youself from the corner.
When you're at your office desk and a blathering idiot enters, you can accomodate them for a few minutes and then pretend a meeting notice from your calendar just popped up. "Uuuhoop, sorry Brian, gotta run to a meeting. I'll talk to you later." Then you proceed to an office on the other side of the building and hide for 30 minutes.
The unexpected cell phone call will work too. You can pretend it's on vibrate and act like someone just shot you in the hip. "Oh man! Don't you hate it when the phone shocks you! Let's see who this is. Ooo! I need to take this call. Excuse me." Then you get up and rush out of the office like it's on fire. Head to the nearest exit and call your wife in case the blathering idiot follows you.
Sometimes you can instant message an ally to rescue you. Have him come over and pretend that he needs you to sign some important papers at his desk. Then promptly excuse youself from the blathering idiot and run like h-e-double-hockey-sticks.
If you fail to come up with excuses and extrication plans, then you will be forced to endure long, boring conversations. When the blathering idiot finally runs out of hot air, you will then have to endure several minutes of awkard silence interjected with several concluding remarks. "Well, that's one heckava story Jim." At this point, Jim is supposed to say, "well, I better get back to work" but no ... he lingers like a noxious fart. You may try to wave it away, but it spreads and endures. And with each passing moment, more and more brain cells are expiring. Eventually you marshall the courage to stand up and pretend like you're leaving. This causes Jim to release his grip. You're free.
Finally Jim leaves and you can breath freely again. While you can, you begin to jot down ideas for rescuing yourself the next time a blathering idiot corners you.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Exploding Whale
Here's an oldie, but a goodie.
Problem: dead whale on the beach and it really stinks.
Solution #1: cut it up and bury it. Nope. Too hard and time-consuming.
Solution #2: burn it. Nope. It'd probably smell really bad too and add to global warming.
Solution #3: blow it up with dynamite. Awesome! Outcome: raining chunks, blubber all over everyone in the vicinity, damaged car and most of the whale is still there!
Final solution: bring in the bulldozer.
Problem: dead whale on the beach and it really stinks.
Solution #1: cut it up and bury it. Nope. Too hard and time-consuming.
Solution #2: burn it. Nope. It'd probably smell really bad too and add to global warming.
Solution #3: blow it up with dynamite. Awesome! Outcome: raining chunks, blubber all over everyone in the vicinity, damaged car and most of the whale is still there!
Final solution: bring in the bulldozer.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Oregon truckers don't want to waste time to properly dispose of their waste ... so they are bottling it and chucking it out the window.
I don't know which is funnier, though, the fact that Oregon truckers are doing this or that the State of Oregon has a law that prohibits throwing human waste from a moving vehicle, which leads me to think this is not the first time this problem has occured.
I doubt the link will remain active, so here is the story in full.
Interstate messes draw ire State police report bottles of urine littering highway
By JESSICA KELLER ARGUS OBSERVER Friday, August 8, 2008 10:32 AM PDT ONTARIO—
High gas prices may be influencing the Oregon State Police in an unanticipated way locally, as the department reports an increase in the number of bottles filled with urine scattered along Interstate 84.
OSP Sgt. Jason Reese said in the past month the department has received notice of a large quantity of urine-filled bottles sitting along the shoulder of the interstate between Ontario and Farewell Bend. Reese said the Oregon Department of Transportation litter crew has picked up between 200 and 300 urine-filled bottles in a 16-mile stretch.
“And just going up Three-Mile Hill, they collected 100 bottles,” he said.
The suspected culprits: truckdrivers who are driving slower because of rising gas prices and bypassing stops at rest areas or truck stops, thus drawing out a trip, by storing their urine in containers and then dumping them.
Reese said he has spoken with truckdrivers over the CB radio and learned some drivers will collect their urine in a bottle while driving and then toss the capped containers out the window while driving on an upgrade because they are driving at slower speeds and the truckdrivers can maintain control of their semis.
“Which is pretty disgusting,” Reese said. It is against the law in Oregon to throw human waste from a moving vehicle, Reese said, and OSP is trying to find a way to inform truckdrivers who may do such things they could face a misdemeanor charge and a fine of $250 if caught.
Interstate messes draw ire State police report bottles of urine littering highway
By JESSICA KELLER ARGUS OBSERVER Friday, August 8, 2008 10:32 AM PDT ONTARIO—
High gas prices may be influencing the Oregon State Police in an unanticipated way locally, as the department reports an increase in the number of bottles filled with urine scattered along Interstate 84.
OSP Sgt. Jason Reese said in the past month the department has received notice of a large quantity of urine-filled bottles sitting along the shoulder of the interstate between Ontario and Farewell Bend. Reese said the Oregon Department of Transportation litter crew has picked up between 200 and 300 urine-filled bottles in a 16-mile stretch.
“And just going up Three-Mile Hill, they collected 100 bottles,” he said.
The suspected culprits: truckdrivers who are driving slower because of rising gas prices and bypassing stops at rest areas or truck stops, thus drawing out a trip, by storing their urine in containers and then dumping them.
Reese said he has spoken with truckdrivers over the CB radio and learned some drivers will collect their urine in a bottle while driving and then toss the capped containers out the window while driving on an upgrade because they are driving at slower speeds and the truckdrivers can maintain control of their semis.
“Which is pretty disgusting,” Reese said. It is against the law in Oregon to throw human waste from a moving vehicle, Reese said, and OSP is trying to find a way to inform truckdrivers who may do such things they could face a misdemeanor charge and a fine of $250 if caught.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's Day and M&Ms
Today is Valentine's Day ... the day of love, lingerie, chocolate and cards. I gave my dear wife her presents last night and today I'll give her a card. She really loves almond M&M's and I really love peanut M&Ms. So I bought her a bag of almond M&Ms and myself a bag of Mega Peanut M&Ms.
Have you seen and tasted the Mega Peanut M&Ms? The MPMMs are huge! They're almost like chewable jaw-breakers. The colors are really interesting too ... they're toned-down colors instead of the Googly colors of the original PMMs.
I shared a few MPMMs with my co-workers. One gentleman came back latter on to chat. He sat down in the usually vaccant visitor's chair. We chatted a bit about last night's basketball game and then he asked about the family and work. All during the conversation, he kept looking around my cubicle. Then I saw his eyes grow slightly bigger ... they were fixed on the bag of MPMMs. Suddenly the conversation switched to how big and delicious those MPMMs are. I agreed with him. I noticed a bit of saliva form on the corners of his mouth. He started to twitch his head as he stumbled on his words.
"What did you say?" I asked him.
"Would you .... uhh ... can ... ummm ... ahhh ... ey-ey...I have ... mmm ... <cough, cough!> Uhhh ... could ..." he kept stuttering.
Then he stood up and walked around the desk. He was shaking and his eyes were fixed on my MPMMs. What happened next was all a blur. His hand darted for my bag of MPMMs! How dare he! I tried to block his hand, but the next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor holding an empty bag of MPMMs and my co-worker was grabbing MPMMs off the floor and stuffing them in his mouth ... chocolate saliva dribbling down his chin. His eyes were wild; his hair disheveled and he was grunting and laughing under his breath.
I slowly stood up and looked at the herd of people gathered in the entrance of my cubicle; their faces in disbelief. Once all the MPMMs were eaten, my co-worker darted out of my cubicle pushing people aside.
I opened the bag of MPMMs to see one lone, precious teal-colored MPMM. I reached down and gently picked the small globe of chocolate. I put it to my mouth and savored the last of my Valetine's Day treat.
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