Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco de Mayo, people!

The annual Mexican cop killing festival.

Maybe it's the annual celebration of the accordion.

Steve thinks it's all about mayonnaise and sandwiches.

So, I asked the drivers at the intersection.  "What, exactly, is Cinco de Mayo?"  They gave me some useful feedback, even though my questionnaire was over ten pages long, and 97% drove off with my pen.  Some of my questions were a simple yes/no, like, "Is this holiday about sandwiches?"  And from the next page, "Is this holiday about killing cops?"

Here are some of the answers to the question on page one, "What, exactly, is Cinco de Mayo?"

• "Fuck you weirdo!  Now get away from me."
• "Don't touch my windows.  Now get away from me."
• "I'd run you over but that would make me late for work.  Now get away from me." 

The Kids Are Alright (the PBS Kids aren't)

Today, I examine the PBS Kids lineup.  Not only do I discover just how insipid this shit is, but I find out that it's an abomination of the worst sort.  Kind of like Nancy Reagan.

As you can see, the PBS Kids are all fucked up.  In addition to the googly eyes that will probably cost thousands (elective surgery) to fix, note the many missing fingers, and the threatening fist-like thing the PBS boy is brandishing.  Who is he going to hit?

But anyway, let's have a look at their craptastic shows.

1. The Wild Kratts.  It's not completely without merit, but still is annoying.  The Kratt brothers should be locked up. 
2. Peg + Cat.  What is this shit and why is a black man playing an accordian and celebrating  Hanukkah with Albert Einstein and other white people?  They're really pushing reality on this one.
3. Thomas and Friends.  I like trains just fine but they're totally ignoring the fact that steam powered trains went the way of the dinosaurs a long time ago.  And they're actively teaching kids about it with guys who are wearing bald rockstar hats and pulling levers.  It's 1855 at PBS.
4. Super Why.  Maybe an exclamation point goes in the title. !!!!!.  So, there's some.  This is worse than what Hitler had for lunch in the conference room.  They sing every 2-5 minutes and some PBS reject sings to be certain that we get the point.  This show hates me.  Why is PBS so cruel?
5. Curious George.  I think there should be a special episode where George is curious about fire and he burns down the Super Readers book club.  Then he gets curious about guns and kills everybody in the PBS offices.  Then he gets curious about alcohol and woodworking and cuts off his arm.
6. Some Show.  There's some crap show that features a Mr. Roger's Neighborhood soundtrack and tigers singing about how much they love everything.  I didn't see much of this one because I was busy taking hostages with my plastic utensils.

37 Observations

A few random things that I've noticed.  Or, a few things that bug me to death.  Like Curious George and his incessant noises.  I can't be the only one who wants him to die a terrible death.

Here's a nice picture (I stole it) of a Kangaroo.  It hates Curious George too.

And now the list: (no particular order)

1. The Super Readers should be tried in an international court for crimes against humanity and if found guilty (it'll be an easy win - especially the case against that little balloon head fuck in the green mask) should be put to death on an HBO PPV.
2. The Wild Kratts.  They got kicked out of Canada, so now they terrorize America.  They don't deserve a trial.  We'll just hang them all at once.
3. The entire PBS Kids lineup. 
4. The number 37.  The world's most popular random number.  Let's give respect to the number 37.
5. That record setting peanut butter cup.  5000 pounds of peanut butter.  Who gives a shit?  I think I'll harm myself with these plastic utensils.  That will show 'em!  Next up: utensils made from Kleenex.
6. I'm growing tired of this post.  I really should be working on my next novel, 'Let's Kill John Denver.'
7. Happiness is a mental disorder.
8. They actually rarely eat on The Big Bang Theory, although they eat in just about every scene. They just poke at their food like an insane person.  Or maybe, they're looking for a very small Curious George.
9. I don't care much for God's plan for me.  But what choice do I have?  I think he might be a sadist. 

This Rare Disease is Amazing!

So, I've been recently (over a year now) diagnosed with Multiple System Atrophy.  It's a disease of exclusion, meaning that it's the doctor way of saying, "I don't fucking know.  Have you tried The 700 Club?"  But doctors aren't allowed to say, "I don't know" or they'll be forced to sit at the crappy table at the hospital cafeteria.  And the other doctors will be mean to them, like lowering the tire pressure in the offending doctor's Porsche all the way to the upper twenties.

I wrote all about this here and here.  It's been well over four years ago since I wrote those pieces.  In actuality I can probably trace the start of this thing way back to 07/08 when my alcohol tolerance started changing.

Q: Your tolerance began changing?

A: Didn't I just say that?

Q: You can't answer a question with a question. 

A: It's my fucking blog.  I can do anything I want.  Asshole.

Q: I don't like you. 

A: Opinions vary.  Next questioner.

Q: Your tolerance began changing?

A: Mainly my speech would become slurred way before it should. 

Q: Just how rare are we talking?

A: Fill up the Rose Bowl and besides me there may be a couple of other people there with it.  Even some doctors haven't heard of it and they are omniscient.

Q: So, tell me, what's it like to have a degenerative neurological disorder?

A: Oh it's super-amazing, like bacon-bits on a salad!  Maybe croutons.  Actually, it's like having a malevolent child running through my increasingly useless body, setting fires and plundering the community.  Kind of like that kid in that Twilight Zone episode.

Sports Person of the Year

Below is a picture of some sports equipment, or, jock things, as they are known in the community of jocks.

I have no idea why an umpire's mask is in the picture.  An umpire is a jock with math skills.  At any rate, it doesn't belong.  You don't care!

Anyway, we're here to present the immensely coveted Sports Person of the Year award.  Previous winners include Michael Vick (for kicking a dog the farthest) and Plaxico Burress for his name.  The thing that really impressed our judges was Plaxico shooting himself in the groin.

Without further adieu.  By the way what the hell is an adieu?

"There will be a short adieu in your flight."

"There's going to be an adieu in your surgery.  We can't find the doctor.  He must be on another bender."

But anyway, this year's immensely coveted Sports Person of the Year award goes to Tavoris Cloud.  Mr. Cloud is a professional boxer and according to Wikipedia, he had a "tough childhood."  But who cares.  The main thing is that he's got an incredible name.

First off, what the heck is a Tavoris?  Is it a cough suppressant?  Is it a dinosaur?  Secondly, the cloud is hot right now and we can't think of a better buzzword.

Dr. F-something

"We're going to put you in a wheel-barrow and leave you under that awning.  That way you can keep an eye on my new Mercedes."

Dr. F-something is a skinny Indian dude who always looks like he's midway through a 112 hour shift.  He never has anything good to say.

"You see, we're running dangerously close to hitting forty percent occupancy."

"Is my bed on fire?" I ask, plaintively.

"What are you doing with that hacksaw?  You're planning on cutting off one of my limbs, aren't you?  As long as I get some morphine, I guess it's okay," I say.

Dr. F-something flips through my chart.  He says, "How long have you been taking omeprazole?"

He stops flipping and stares directly into my eyes.  Judging from the look on his face I'm obviously having a pulmonary embolism.  I thought it would hurt more.  He stares for a couple seconds more, then says, "The bed fire can be extinguished with a pinch of baking soda."

"I read that on the internet," he adds.

Just then Dr. McQueen runs in.  He is on a butterfly hunt.  The rare creature lands on my nose and Dr. McQueen's net drops over my head.

"This will look great in my den next to the turtle," he says.

Dr. F-something and I intently watch McQueen reach into the net (and the end of my nose), grab the butterfly by the legs, and run out as quickly as he ran in.

"I need your arms for my Halloween costume.  It'll be hilarious.  And your legs go to a friend of mine, Dr. Strangelove."

Comedy Comes From Pain

So, I tried killing myself the other day.  There I said it.  The back story is another fall and this time a broken hip.  But I got a nifty corner room with electric draperies in the hospital and they rebuilt my hip with surplus NASA materials.

Since I don't keep a handgun in the house (or I would have turned it on myself years ago), the problem became a question of just how to do it.  I used to have a verbose description of the methods open to me, but that read all fucked up so I deleted it.  Let's just say my method was amazing, fun, and it involved an Oprah movie.

Here's a couple links that made sense for inclusion yesterday.  299 Words,  A Day.