I was walking through Sam’s Club and I don’t care how old I am.
A huge pile of Ding Dongs still makes me laugh.
Almost as much as Keith’s Bootyville comment. 
Archive for the 'Everything Else' Category
My five-year-old daughter fell in love with this playhouse at Sam’s Club.
It’s only $486.43 more than the car I’m driving right now.
And it probably runs better.
I bought a pair of cool kicks (isn’t that what the hip kids are calling them these days?) last week. Today was the first I wore them out in the rain. I was looking down while I was walking through the parking lot and I noticed that with every step there was water shooting up from the front tip and onto the top of each shoe. My shoes were actually getting *MORE* wet because of this than from the puddles in the parking lot!
They work just like those car tire commercials where they show you how the tread channels the water and spits it out away from the car for traction.
My guess is some damn enviro-hippy-freak in always-dry-California designed these shoes and made them from recycled tires.
Oh well. When the tops of the shoes rot away from all the moisture, at least I can probably smoke the laces.
My 5-year-old daughter and I were driving to the grocery store. As we pulled in, my daughter says, “They must really like you dad!”
First, let me give you the background. The fundraising company I help run has a “Screaming Flying Monkey” as a prize for sellers. Basically, it’s a cute little plush monkey with an aviator’s helmet and rubber arms. You put your fingers in it’s hands, pull it by the tail, and let it fly. When it hits it lets out a loud “ahhhh-EEEE-AHHHH-AHHHHHHHHHHH” scream (I’m too lazy to record it and insert the sound here so use your imagination).
Okay, now for the silly part. Because you can “aim” and “fling” it, many schools won’t use it because it is classified as… wait for it… A WEAPON!
Now, I know I’m getting older, but looking back to my high school gangland days, I don’t ever recall an alley rumble with flying screaming monkeys. But hey, what did we know? So, since we have several hundred of these little buggers sitting around the prize room, we’ve decided to help out with the war on terrorism and ship them all to our boys overseas. Take that, stink’n Al-Quada!
I found a $70 wool coat at Old Navy on clearance for $10!!! From a distance it looked pretty cool and, hey, how can you beat $10? Still I wondered why there were so many left. I tried it on.
It had these shoulder strappy things on it. I felt like I should be a guard at a border checkpoint. “Pleez to let me see all ov your paypers, Comrade.” Maybe they were there to hold my beret? Or maybe to airlift me out of some natural disaster? I don’t know. It was pretty gay though. Still… $10…
One pair of scissors later… No more gay army coat.
From the looks I got from the store clerks, I probably should have waited until until I bought it before cutting them off, though. Oh well. $10!!!
The fact that my girlfriend’s shower is full of mysterious gadgets and more products than I could use on my car is a topic for another day.
The fact that she doesn’t use a bar of soap and uses liquid soap and big poofy body pom-poms (???) is a topic for another day.
The topic that *is* for today is that I wanted to use a manly bar of soap - you know, one that doesn’t smell like rare flowers from exotic countries - and when I got in the shower with it, there wasn’t any flat or hanging space left for me to put it. Being the industrius lad that I am (no, I didn’t resort to soap on a rope) I went to the hardware store and bought a suction-cup soap holding dish.
I noticed that the package advertised, “Holds over 8 pounds.”
Holy crap! Who in the hell has an 8 pound bar of soap?!?
My girlfriend is *very* punctual. While we were out shopping, I found her the perfect wristwatch.
I stop at the gas station to pick up a Diet Pepsi for my girlfriend. There was a line so I’m standing in the open area in front of the counter waiting for my turn to pay. A couple more customers come in and are standing to the side and behind me. I don’t know if you ever feel the self concious need to “look cool” out in public. Maybe it’s just a guy thing. Anyway, I change my stance to where most of my weight is on one leg and I could tap my toe with the other (not that I think that would be cool, but I’m just describing the stand).
I make sure not to stare right at the guy fumbling through what lottery cards and cigarettes to buy and who’s taking forever. I don’t want to seem impatient - cool people aren’t rude and impatient. I pick a spot to look somewhere off to the side - not too far away from the counter, so people know I’m still actively in line and they can’t cut around me, but not too close either so they know I’ve got much deeper things to ponder than a stranger’s lucky lotto pick and menthol lights. Truthfully I’m not looking at anything. I’m the movie producer staring through that little camera lens thingy hanging around his neck. Cool people don’t have to know what those things are called. I’m concentrating on paying attention so I don’t miss it when my turn comes but not blowing my cover that I am actually paying attention to the transaction in front of me. Cool people have no need to eavesdrop.
This goes on for a minute or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lady behind me glance at something and then quickly avert her gaze. She moves away from me a bit and starts shuffling around uncomfortably. Obviously not as cool as me. I looked to where her gaze so quickly averted - and it was the spot my eyes were facing - the spot that I never actually took the time to “see” what I was “looking” at.
It was a large box of brightly colored condoms. Lots of colors. Lots of styles. The kind you’d find in truckstop bathrooms. The kind for big burly men with a dollar twenty-five in quarters and a hottie waiting in the tractor cab. The kind that I’d been “staring” intently at for the past several minutes - completely lost to the world around me.
Oh yeah, there’s nobody quite as cool as me.
In an interesting development this week, the FCC and Department of Transportation have partnered to create a bill allowing them to regulate radio station playlists. Citing a precedent from Fort Wayne, Indiana, officials say, “We were lucky there were no fatalities from the nearly dozen traffic accidents that immediately occurred after heavy-metal song ‘Lick it Up’ by rockers KISS was immediately followed by country star Garth Brook’s ‘Friends in Low Places’.” The FCC chairman will not officially comment that the Department of Health might also come onboard to back the new bill. An unofficial statement from the Surgeon General, however, states, “If we can tell people to wait two hours after eating before swimming to avoid cramping and drowning, it is not a far reach to expect radio stations to avoid the kind of mental whiplash that can occur by immediately playing country after heavy metal.” In the meantime, public officials encourage drivers to avoid stations that advertise a “variety” of music and stick to “pure genre” stations instead.