A Great Text Message #2

I got the following text message from Sophomore this past weekend:

"The white man's firm grip on the quarterback position has to be a wonder of the world."

It's both well written and funny. Yet it brings up an interesting point. How is this possible? There have been a number of good to great black quarterbacks over the past 45 years and the number is growing - particularly at the college level. But the contrast is seen most clearly in the NFL where only Donovan McNabb is entrenched as a top flight quarterback over the past five to ten years. And how is it possible that only one black quarterback has led his team to a Super Bowl victory? I guess it isn't really that big of a statistical anomaly when you compare the number of white starting QB's to the number of back starting QB's over the past 45 years.

Is there still so much racism out there that The Football Powers That Be still prefer white guys to be their QB? Or is it something else? The only logical thing I can come up with is the black guys are generally better athletes than white guys. And if you take a 6-4 white guy like Matt Ryan for example, he could never EVER play any other position in the NFL besides QB (and kicker or punter which, by the way, might be the single most racially lopsided job in the United States). Whereas if you take a 6-4 black guy like Donovan McNabb for example; he is a great athlete - period. And under different circumstances as a youngster you could realistically envision him being a quality receiver, safety or linebacker. This is the only explanation, besides racism, that I can come up with. When kids are young and start playing football the best athletes get put at positions that require the best athletes and the fat kids are linemen and the white guy with the good arm is quarterback. I don't know, this explanation is probably racist somehow in it's own right. Actually, is this whole topic reverse racism?

Awesomeness in Everett, WA - Part 69

This is a little obvious for my liking but it is so awesome that I have to share. I'm afraid any attempt I might make at commenting on this story will only detract from your wonderment. So just trust me when I tell you to click on this article and enjoy the latest sampling of why Everett is so awesome:

Are bikini baristas in Everett showing too much skin?

An Extra Wish

From time to time I'll overhear someone discussing what they would do if they had three wishes. Afterwards I always find myself thinking about this topic. That led me to wonder what I would do if I had an extra wish after establishing peace on earth, putting an end to suffering and making myself a super athlete. What if I had an extra wish? A wish that had no ramifications attached because you had already taken care of the important stuff. What would I wish for if I had an extra wish?

After discussing this at length with my buddy Ty* we officially decided on what we would wish for if we had an extra wish. The best extra wish we dreamt up is having a midget who followed you around wearing a backpack filled with tennis balls and every time you put your hand out the midget would put a tennis ball in your hand.

Go ahead and take a few moments to digest the pure genius behind this wish.

Since you are likely not as amused as you should be, I will elaborate. Having a midget around would almost certainly keep me, and basically anyone I encountered, in an outstanding mood because midgets are inherently funny. This aspect in itself almost makes the wish worthwhile. Then you also have to take into account that my midget would be the jolliest midget around. During my midget interview process "jolly" would be second on the list of qualifications right behind "midget" and just ahead of "good sense of humor." In addition to finding a jolly midget I would further his (I would obviously hire a male midget because he would find all of my inappropriate comments to be funny) jolliness by treating him really well. He'd be paid well, have plenty of vacation and he'd basically be my little hombre.

To make the wish truly glorious my midget would always wear a backpack filled with tennis balls. My midget's only responsibility aside from being a midget, jolly and funny would be to put a tennis ball in my hand whenever I put my hand out. I'm also quite sure my midget would rig up a contraption that dispensed tennis balls into his hand without having to take off the backpack to get more.

If you have absolutely no imagination and don't understand why my midget would give me a tennis ball then you need to find a quiet place and examine your life. I'm dead serious. If your mind isn't racing with awesome things you could do with a tennis ball in your hand then you need to find a quiet place and reflect on where you life is going. Perhaps you need to admit that you have a problem then make amends with the people you have been dragging down with your poopy pants attitude and lack of imagination.

The understated beauty of this wish is that tennis balls are the perfect ball for this wish. They don't hurt for more than a few seconds even if you get drilled, but you definitely know when you get hit with one. They don't dent cars, they don't typically break windows, dogs love them, they bounce (but not too much) and they are a nice size and weight for throwing.

To truly appreciate this wish you really need to picture the whole experience. First I'd see a situation that called for a tennis ball. Say, for example I'm playing golf with Wilson. We are on the sixth hole and I put my hand out. My midget quietly walks over, jumps up and drops a tennis ball in my hand (I'm laughing a little already just picturing this). Wilson finishes off his fifth Busch Light and prepares to hit his shot. Then just as he gets his club to the top of his swing I nail him in the back with the tennis ball. My midget laughs hysterically because Wilson shanks his shot under the trees followed by me and my midget "high" fiving. Now the other golfers are laughing as well. And then even Wilson joins in the laughter because my midget is laughing so hard that he's rolling around on the ground.

And that's just the first idea that came to mind.

Since this is so fun I'm going to start a list of things I would do with a midget placed tennis ball in my hands so I'll just toss a few ideas out there:

• In addition to my midget I would likely have a pack of loyal dogs following me everywhere because I every time I'd come across a dog I would throw a tennis ball for it to fetch (this would also weed out all the lame, non-fetching dogs...which is an added bonus I hadn't even though of until just now).
• Imagine I'm watching a football game at my house with some buddies. Someone gets up to get more nachos and boom - he gets nailed with a lobbed tennis ball...followed by laughter. Or if one of my buddies is rooting a little to hard for the wrong team he might get a nice little tennis ball shower.
• Say I'm at work and Nick is in my office being just a little too loud when I'm on the phone. My midget hands me a tennis ball and I whirl around and nail him in the ribs.
• I would peg the crap out of the copy machine any time it did not function perfectly. Screw you copy machine!
• I would do a tennis ball drive-by of all the war protesters / supporters every Friday at lunch.
• Say we go out in the boat at Crescent Bar and Brian decides to go wakeboarding. My midget would get all excited because I would launch a steady barrage of tennis balls at him the moment he got up. My midget would laugh so hard he might blow out of the boat.
• When attending any event with a speaker in front of the group I would lob tennis balls at them if they did not sufficiently interest me.
• If I had a midget who put a tennis ball in my hand at my request I might take up tennis just for the comedy.
• My midget would love going to sporting events because I would sit in the upper deck and toss tennis balls down on unsuspecting morons sitting in the good seats who aren't paying attention to the game. I realize that this would me I am also not paying attention to the game but it's my wish, I can do whatever I want.
• I would definitely toss tennis balls from the tops of as many tall buildings as possible. I think I might even have my midget stay on the ground so he could see how high it bounces. Then again I might need my midget up there with me to distract the powers that be with his jolly antics as I discretely toss a tennis ball off the edge.
• I'm pretty sure Roger Federer would befriend me solely for my tennis ball wielding midget.
• I would likely try to get a job as a crane operator. The reasons why should be obvious.

I feel as though I've only scratched the surface of this topic...which is why I would like some suggestions from you loyal readers. I'd love to hear ideas for what I could do with my midget and a supply of tennis balls. I would also love to hear what YOU would do with an extra wish. Please send your creative, funny or even obvious ideas to paulsamusings@gmail.com.

*I must give my buddy Ty credit here since he was integral in the forming of this brilliant idea.

The Eugene Bathroom Cookie Story

Soon after I began dating my wife we were invited down to Eugene, Oregon to stay with one of Wife's college teammates, Jamie, and to attend the Idaho vs. Oregon football game that Saturday. We arrived in Eugene late Friday night and had a few beers with Jamie and her family. Before we went to bed we were informed that we needed to be up and ready to leave at 7:45am.

The next morning at 7:45am sharp we headed for Autzen Stadium. Since Jamie's dad is a former Oregon basketball player he has many connections. After parking we walk over to where we are to hang out and we are welcomed into a great tailgate scene: beer, wine, drinks, shrimp, dip, chips, sandwiches, etc, etc, etc. Awesome.

After tailgating with some of the greatest people I've ever met for about three hours I come to realize that I've had many beers and I need to take a leak in the very near future. Lucky for me, Wife and Jamie needed to go as well so we headed over to the tailgate bathrooms located outside of Autzen Stadium, just for tailgaters. I found this to be a brilliant idea.

When we got to the bathrooms we split and headed to the ladies and men's room respectively. I was on my own as I got in line for the men's room to wait along with 80 other guys to get inside to take a leak. After three or four minutes we finally get just inside the door only to find that the line wraps all the way around the wall inside the bathroom. I'm down to my last Hams as I saunter around in line. This is when the magic began.

As soon as I got inside the men's room I notice that there is a huge, fresh and glorious looking chocolate chunk cookie resting right in the middle of the men's room floor.

After standing in line staring at this glorious cookie for what seemed like an eternity, something came over me. All of a sudden I gave an elbow to Random Guy standing in line next to me. Guy looks at me with disdain since this is the bathroom. I proceed to look Random Guy right in the eye, point to the glorious cookie and say, "You tell me that doesn't look like the best fucking cookie you've ever seen in your entire life." Now, if you will, please take a moment to digest the ramifications of my actions at this exact moment.

After looking at the cookie for a few moments Guy looked back at me and said, "That cookie looks fucking AWESOME!" This would be when we high fived and started pointing out Cookie to everyone else in line. This is also when my actions started to unify the bathroom patrons and the camaraderie exploded.

Just a few moments later, as a guy was exiting the bathroom he accidentally kicked Cookie right at me. What did I do? (No, you freak show, I did not eat Cookie.) I kicked urine soaked delicious looking Cookie across the bathroom floor.

Soon after, it was my turn to pee.

While peeing, Cookie continued to be kicked all over the bathroom floor. I even stopped a few shots on urinal during my pee. Upon finishing my business I began to exit the bathroom and at that exact moment Cookie was kicked past me...right in between a guys legs...and into a urinal!

At this point you need to keep in mind that Wife and I had only been dating for a matter of months and I had only met Jamie on a couple occasions. What happened next was a perfect match of cosmic forces and luck because I became a god. As soon as Cookie was kicked into that urinal I exploded with, "GGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!" And the entire bathroom followed suit in an eruption of, "GGGOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLL!!!!!!!!" Then just as I was exiting the bathroom and everyone was yelling and shouting "GOOOAAALLL!!!" and high fiving me I got outside the men's room and Wife and Jamie were standing there looking right at me. The look of wonderment and amazement on their face was perhaps the best moment of my life. I'm quite certain they thought I was a ninja, a god and a miracle healer all rolled into one. Once I reached them they stood in silence for a moment before Wife said, "What did you do?" To which I replied, "There was a cookie...it's a long story."

A Guy Who REALLY Wants A Pitcher of Beer

Following up on the previous post about the crazy war protesters/supporters in Everett, Washington...a while back one of these crazy people had made a sign that perplexed me and I emailed my buddy Jamie about it. The following is our exact email exchange copied and pasted exactly from our emails:

From Paul to Jamie:

"I saw a sign among the war protesters/supporters down below our office today that said: “ONLY PIGS CAN PREVENT A JIHAD.” I am a college graduate with a good job who kind of follows the news and what not. On top of that I have lots of friends who are lots smarter and more knowledgeable on current events than I (all of them actually) and I have yet to find a single person who knows what that sign means. So now you have the opportunity to earn two beers because if you can figure that out you have another one coming. Actually, screw that – if you can tell me what that sign means I’ll buy you a pitcher! You can pick the beer."

Jamie's response:

"Here is what I know about the Pig sign. Muslims believe that pigs are basically the worst being on the planet. They don't eat pork and find them disgusting etc, etc. Most people refer to Jihad as a holy war...but basically you can apply any war coming from that region of the world as a holy war, and that would include the Iraq war, terrorism in general, etc (Bin Laden and his followers believe that their God hates the United States, and thus is fighting a holy war = Jihad.)

So what is the best way to fight Muslims? Use pigs. People think you should use live pigs in airports, put them on planes, outside of buildings, everywhere. How do most terrorists fight? They are suicide bombers, planes in 9/11, etc. So what happens if you blow yourself up when a pig is around? Your spilled blood is then mixed with the blood of a pig, and you are denied your rightful passage into the heavenly destination since for some reason killing yourself in the name of Jihad is honorable and its part of God's will. The pig nullifies that. The sign "only pigs can prevent a jihad" basically just says that war against terrorism is futile since Jihad is religion based, and the whole middle east region is Muslim, thus their warriors for their war is endless and so only a pig can stop the holy war by using the religion against itself.

Its a stretch, but I think that's the logic behind it, and it might have a broader application than my small explanation. I think most people don't really think a pig is the answer, but in anti-war terms, it just means that there might be a better possibility to help us fight terrorism. I like beer."

This is me again...I have no idea if that is correct in any way but I was very impressed. Now THAT, my friends, is a guy who really likes beer! Jamie - you have a pitcher of beer coming your way!

Everett is Awesome Part 62

Every single Friday at 11:30am a group of people gather at the main intersection here in Everett, Washington. These people stand on all four corners of the intersection holding American flags and signs with very confusing and mixed messages. Witnessing this spectacle week after week has left me with many many MANY questions so I thought I'd share them with you readers. Here you go:

• Really?
• Do people not have better things to do than to go stand on the street corner for two hours and hold a GIANT American flag while yelling at cars? I don’t know if these people are for the war or against the war.
• Are we even at war?
• If so, who are we warring with?
• Where do you find such a huge American flag anyway?
• Was it expensive?
• Are American flags expensive in general? I have never purchased an American flag to be honest. We have one at our house and it’s probably 4 feet by 3 feet but it came with our old house so we just kept it and brought it with us to the new place. and I like it so there it hangs out front. It makes me feel like a patriot.
• Is that why these people come out every Friday and yell at cars while waving a HUGE American flag; because it makes them feel like a patriot? I would argue that I feel just as much like a patriot as they do but I don’t have to waste two hours every week standing on a street corner yelling at fellow citizens who are minding their own business just trying to walk to lunch.
• Do they think they are really making a difference?
• If so, what difference do they feel they are making?
• Do they think they are helping win the war? If this is the case they are just stupid and crazy.
• Do they think they are rallying support for the war? If this is the case then they are stupid, crazy AND delusional all in one…and that, my friends is the trifecta of insanity! I would argue that they standing on the street corner for two hours per week waving a HUGE American flag merely causes passers by to reinforce their current stance on the “war” whatever that may be….oooh…now we have cops on the scene. Interesting. I hope this crazy guy gets maced. If he does get maced I would wager that he will ramp up his war protest or support (whatever he’s doing I still can not tell) to an every day event in simultaneous protest or support of the war and in support of the right to protest. I would pay $100 to see this guy try to articulate his message onto a clear and concise sign for public consumption. I think he might have to do it in a picture form so as to get his complete message across. I would wager that it would involve a mailman doll with a bucket over its head.

Business Time

I've been giving thought as to how I would begin this post for a few weeks now. Basically what it comes down to is that I need to give thanks. You see, I'm blessed in so many ways that I don't dare begin to list them here for fear that you will stop loving me and you'll just want to be friends. And lets face it, nobody wants that. The crazy thing is that on top of all the blessings in my life I am continually impressed, amazed and amused with the small normal everyday things that any Joe Schmedlap likely takes for granted.

For example, a few weekends ago we were over at one of my very favorite places in the entire world - Crescent Bar. Wife, Brian, Cory and I were hanging out on the deck in the morning just after breakfast and before beer o'clock when one of the coolest and most amusing events occurred right before our eyes. We were sitting around the giant cribbage table (which I made) and two flies calmly landed on the table. See, right now you are wondering where the heck I'm going with this and you need to chill out! Guy Fly then proceeded to mount Girl Fly and give her the business right there in front of us on the giant cribbage table!

At this point I'm sure you are picturing two flies quickly landing on a table, touching and then hurriedly flying away...not so much. Guy Fly gave Girl Fly the business doggy style for literally ten minutes right there in front of us. As you can see in the picture below, we were right there watching from a foot away! Girl Fly was really into it. She would reach back and stroke Guy Fly on the cheek and chest to let him know he was doing a good job. Meanwhile Guy Fly would slap Girl Fly on the ass every now and then. You could tell he was really enjoying himself. I'm also nearly certain he was enjoying the fact that he was putting on a show. I particularly enjoy how you can see Guy Fly's hips in action in this shot. I don't think I've ever even seen a fly this close in my entire life let alone while they're humping!

Anyway, I'm sorry to say that my initial cell phone picture just did not do the scene justice. Thankfully Brian grabbed a good camera and got a nice quality shot that I can share with you.

I'm not sure about you but I always assumed that flies just humped in like two seconds and moved along. I did not know they settled down for some good old fashioned business time.

The Costa Rica Jungle Story

I really can't believe I haven't posted this story yet as it's quite amusing. Three or four years ago the wife and I went to Costa Rica with Jared and Lindsay.

The story begins with Jared and Lindsay arriving in Costa Rica a day before us. After flying all night we arrived and they were at the airport in our Mitsubishi Montero rental waiting to pick us up. We were headed to a resort called The Sanctuary a few hours outside of Liberia (the second biggest city in Costa Rica where we landed). After stopping in town to pick up groceries, beer and liquor for most of the week we then got gas and were on the "road." I say "road" because a Costa Rican highway could best be described as a back country road here in the USA - no lines, no curbs, very few ragged street signs, slightly paved years ago, etc. Whatever, you get the drift. Jared informs us that its about an hour and a half to the resort. We are excited.

After driving for about 20 minutes Jared hangs a right off of the "highway" onto...a gravel road. At this point I thought maybe Jared or Lindsay needed to pee or to get a pop out of the back of the car. Nope - it was the way to the resort. So now we are on a gravel road and we still have an hour plus left to drive. Whatever, I was tired and hot and I really wanted to get there so I could take a poo and have a drink.

So we drive for about 20 minutes on the gravel road and there are some very small "towns" with a few houses every 10 minutes or so but basically we are out in the middle of the freaking jungle. At this point our nice Mitsubishi Montero stops working. Just to recap, we are in Costa Rica, in the jungle, in a rental car that has stopped working, it's about 105 degrees out, and it's 4:00pm and it gets dark every night at 6:00pm sharp. Oh, and I have to take a dump like no body's business. I should also mention that Jared and I could fairly be described as car morons. We can both fill them with fuel, add oil and change a tire but that's about it. So we are all feeling pretty confident at this point.

After trying to will the car to start for a few minutes, Jared and I got out to check under the hood. All the belts were hooked and things seemed to be in good shape. This would be when Darci asked, "does the car take gas or diesel?" We all immediately recalled that the girl who had filled up our car back in town had used gas and after opening the door to the gas cap we found that it said in huge letters, "DIESEL." Apparently some of the girls at the gas stations in Costa Rica don't read very well.

At this point we were officially stranded in the jungle in Costa Rica. So we all started brainstorming and we thought to call the rental car place. Neither Darci or my phone worked but thank God Lindsay had AT&T because it worked. I should also mention another thank God for Jared speaking half decent Spanish because the guy at the rental company did not speak a word of English. Jared explained the situation and the rental company was going to send a guy out with another Montero for us and he would be there in about an hour and a half. This was awesome news because it meant that we would eventually get out of the jungle but it was horrible news for me because I had to poop!

So we are sitting there in the jungle sweating and trying not to poo when I remember that we have all the beer and booze that we just bought in the trunk! If we are gonna be stranded we might as well have some fun with it right? Darci is too scared of dying and now Lindsay also has to poop and is also scared of dying so just Jared and I enjoyed a couple of scorching hot whiskey and Coke Lights (in Costa Rica it's Light not Diet).

After a few drinks a super duper dirty Jeep drives by and then stops. The guy gets out and starts talking to us (Jared later told me what he said, I had no clue). He asked if we needed help and Jared let him know that another car was on the way. The guy seemed very nice. Then Jared started saying some more stuff to him and then all of a sudden I heard him utter a phrase that I will never forget as long as I live, "mi Amiga y mi amigo necesstio numero dos." This sent Costa Rican guy into prolonged laughter. After he calmed down he thought for a few minutes and then offered to take Lindsay and me to his friends place down the road so we could numero dos. Jared explained and off Lindsay and I went with Mario Rosales Gonzalez further into the Costa Rican jungle. By honey!

Mario takes us about five minutes down the "road" and turns over little bridge and into...an absolutely beautiful ranch. This place was awesome: palm trees, painted perfectly, trimmed lawn, huge shiny porch, big swimming pool out back. Mario hops out and runs up to the pool and talks to what seems to be the owner who waves us into the bathroom - THANK GOD! The most amazing thing was that I let Lindsay go first. What a gentleman I am. Then Mario took us back to Darci and Jared stranded in the jungle. Thanks Mario.

This is absolutely NOT the end of this story.

We wait for a while longer (Jared and I are still sipping on 105 degree whiskey and Coke Light by the way) when another car drives up and stops right behind us. I am completely certain that the driver is former NFL star Marshall Faulk with his wife and kids. It wasn't. But it was a nice guy who looked EXACTLY like former NFL star Marshall Faulk and his family that Jared and Lindsay had met at our resort the night before. They offered to take us and/or our stuff to the resort. Since it was about 5:30 and starting to get dark we had them take Lindsay and Darci along with the groceries to the resort. Off they went leaving Jared and I sitting in the Costa Rican jungle waiting for some guy to show up with a new rental car.

Another 30 minutes pass and the guy shows up with our new Mitsubishi Montero. Yessssss! The guy is real nice and brought all the paperwork and everything. So we filled everything out and then he asked for the credit card. No problem since we had 3 or 4 between us...nope, he needed THE credit card that we reserved the car with which was Lindsay's credit card which was now with her at the resort. Shit. This guy makes it clear that he has to have that card or he can't give us the car. Jared asks if he and I can drive to the resort and bring him back the card. Understandably the guy says no since we haven't technically rented the new car yet. Rental Car Guy can't leave the car just sitting there and Rental Car Guy has no idea where our resort is and I have even less of an idea where I am. So I offer up the solution of Jared and Rental Car Guy going to the resort to get the card and I will stay with the broken down car. It's the only solution. We all agree.

This sounds simple enough right? Well, keep a few facts in mind: it is 5:45pm and it gets totally dark at 6:00pm, the resort is about 45 minutes away - one way - and I'm in sitting in the middle of the freaking Costa Rican jungle by myself in a broken down car. Then it starts to rain. Hard. So that's the bad news. The good news is that even though we sent all the luggage and groceries to the resort I kept a full bottle of whiskey, a 105 degree bottle of Coke Light and a cup.

I'm not sure about you but if I'm going to get kidnapped by some Costa Rican jungle militants or killed by a gang of monkeys I might as well be drunk! So I start mixing myself drinks. After another 3 or 4 very stiff drinks I remembered that while the car wouldn't run the battery was still working great so I turned on the radio. I pushed the Seek button one time and I shit you not - crystal clear classic rock came on. And apparently the Costa Rican's love Led Zeppelin just as much as I do because they played Led freaking Zeppelin for the next hour straight.

If this story doesn't convince you that I truly find things to be way more amusing than most and that I have more fun than 99% of the population then I just don't know what to say. I sat in the back of a Mitsubishi Montero with the tailgate open in the Costa Rican jungle in 105 degree heat in pouring rain in the dark by myself slugging whiskey, blaring Led Zeppelin and playing the air drums for an hour and I'm not gonna lie to you; I had an AWESOME time!

Jared and Rental Car Guy showed up a few hours later and we were off. The resort was awesome and we had an amazing time. But I will never forget my time in the Costa Rican Jungle. Or Mario Rosales Gonzalez.

Simply Funny

Sorry for the huge gap (that's what she said) between posts. Work has been kicking my ass, the little league team that I coach won the championship and I have a pretty sweet post in the works to boot. In the meantime you can shut your pie hole and watch this clip.



There is nothing quite so refreshing as watching a dog drag its ass around on a carpet. Its funny to watch plus everyone can relate. It's just good clean fun.

Awesomeness in Everett, WA - This Can't Be Topped

I'm not normally one to be at a loss for words so this is a little strange for me. Earlier today I was on my way home. On the way to the freeway I saw this building in downtown Everett. I had to pull off to the side of the road to take the picture or I would have killed somebody. Or even worse, I could have gotten a ticket.

I think it'll be best for everyone if I just let you take a loot at the photograph first:

This picture brings so many things to mind I don't know where to begin so I'm just gonna let em rip:

1. WOW!
2. Really?
3. Really?
4. REALLY?
5. Who, in their right mind, would take their kids to get pictures taken with Santa at this establishment? Check that - who in their right mind would let their kids NEAR THIS BUILDING?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6. I think my favorite part of the photo is the bottom of the sign where it reads: "OR STOP IN..." Really? "Hey, this place looks legit! Let's take the kids on over for some pictures with Santa! It's bound to be a great time!"
7. Do people actually call the number to make reservations for pictures with Santa at this location? Seriously?
8. Wouldn't you have to be raising some pretty darn stupid kids for them to believe that Santa was actually in THIS building? Isn't Santa only at the mall?
9. Can anyone really just open up a store that specializes in exclusively Santa Photos? Shouldn't you have to have a very specific and highly regulated license for this particular line of work?
10. Do you think there are elves inside that building? Do you think one of them is a huge elf like Will Ferrell?
11. Is it possible that the people who opened this joint were actually well intentioned people but merely had the worst marketing campaign ever and inadvertently twisted their wholesome idea into one that looked like a molester's workshop? Do you think anyone in the history of history has used the phrase "molester's workshop?"
12. Does this photo firmly cement me as the greatest cell phone photographer in history?

These are the questions that will keep me up tonight...on second thought, no they won't. I'm gonna sleep just fine...laughing at the thought of the "Santa Photos" photo! Ahhhhhh hahahahahaahahahah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

An Awesome Commercial

I love commercials. I look forward to good ads and I enjoy trying to figure out who green lighted terrible ones. I'm also particularly fond of commercials featuring an outstanding jingle or song. This is unquestionably the best commercial out there right now:




Way out West [Way out West]
There's a story told [There's a story told]
About a bunch of cowboys
Tiny & Bold
Riding Tall
Tall in the Saddle
Hearding cows the size of schnauzer's, but there cattle
Yipiyaiyay Mini Sirloin Burgers
Yipiyaiyo Mini Sirloin Burgers
Yipiyaiyay Mini Sirloin Burgerrrrrs.....Yeah!

I could sing that all day long. Sometimes I do. If you are a fan of any other great commercials please email me at paulsamusings@gmail.com. If it's awesome and available I will put it on the blog for all to see.

Advice for being Eco Friendly...

...always try to follow this simple little saying when using the bathroom and you'll save thousands of gallons of water each year: if it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down.

I understand that this is not always practical but its really quite easy. I'd estimate that 8 out of 10 times you can let the yellow mellow. And just think - every time you flush a toilet it uses between one and five gallons of fresh water depending on your toilet. That adds up really fast. Even if you can get just two yellows per flush you'll save thousands of gallons of water each year.

And if you abide by the saying on a night when you have friends over for drinks you can save so much water its crazy!

And if you are poopy pants about this idea then I have two things to say to you: 1. you are an idiot and 2. you are one of the chosen few who live in a country with clean water so be thankful you don't have to drink your nasty ass water through a LifeStraw:

I might drink my own piss before drinking the water in that picture. Sick.

Crane Hijinx in Action!

Today is an awesome day. I was just looking at the crane outside my office window and the crane operator apparently reads Paul's Amusings because he had the Honeybucket about 80 feet in the air! I'm quite certain the guy who was in there pooping was just too scared to open the door. I'm also happy to say that I was able to capture a picture of the Honeybucket on my cell phone. I am likely the greatest cell phone photographer in the history of history.

We also had several outstanding suggestions emailed to us at paulsamusings@gmail.com. The best of which was from some random hippie in Oregon. After reading his suggestion for Crane Hijinx I'm pretty sure he's a genius hippie. I'll paraphrase his hippie thoughts: you go to the toy store and buy a whole bunch of the little green army men that come with parachutes. Then you smuggle the army men, a pen, paper and some scotch tape up the crane. Then you write messages and tape them to the army men before they paratroop to the ground. I can only think of around one million messages to tape on a little green army man before he parachutes to the ground:

• BANG! You're dead.
• I just farted.
• Would you like to go to a school bus race with me?
• I dare you to use that Honeybucket over there. Go ahead. I dare you.
• Would you kindly point me toward the Germans?
• Scotchy scotch scotch. I love scotch. There it goes...down into my belly.
• I can smell you from up here. Maybe mix in a shower tomorrow huh stinky?
• You are a cotton headed ninny muggins.

Just to name a few.

Advice for Throwing a First Birthday Party...

...always always ALWAYS get a keg of beer when hosting your child's first birthday party. After all, you've managed to keep your child alive for a year. That is a huge accomplishment and you should celebrate. And I don't know of a better way to celebrate with your friends and family than by sharing lots of beer.

Plus you get to tell the guy at the keg store that you're getting the keg for your child's first birthday party. I assure you, the look you'll get is priceless.

Crane Hijinx

A very large crane was recently erected outside my office window about a block away. I would estimate that I spend a good two hours per week watching this crane. It's so close that I can even see the crane operator up in his little control box. As I've been watching the crane over the past few weeks I have found my myself thinking of all of the awesome stuff I would do if I were crane operator. My ideas are pretty much limitless but I've narrowed it down to give you Paul's Crane Hijinx:

• I would make a bunch of water balloons the night before my first day as crane operator. Then I would load them into a backpack. I'd take my backpack up there as if it were my lunch and then after a while I'd start lobbing them down at people on the ground. I can picture the scene with people scurrying for cover. I suspect that I'd find this to be quite entertaining.
• When there was any kind of issue that required a group of workers to focus on a singular task I would most definitely lower the crane hook down to ground level. Then very slowly I'd sneak it on over to the group of focused workers where I would tap one of the guys on the shoulder. I'm not sure how other crane operators operate but I would be the coolest crane operator ever. When Worker Guy turned around to see what's up he would only find my crane hook! Ahhhhhhhhhhh hahahahahhahaha!
• My most elaborate crane hijinx would require some help. First I would BEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP Nextel a couple of the cooler ground guys and I would profer a great way to play a prank on someone. They would BEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP Nextel me back and say that they're in. Then I would BEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP Nextel them back and explain that they need to take some heavy duty cables and lay them under the Honeybucket. Then when somebody goes into said Honeybucket for a deuce they BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP Nextel me and I swing my crane into action. The guys would quietly grab the cables and secure them to my crane hook at which point I would slowly lift the Honeybucket into the air. I'm quite certain that Guy Taking a Deuce would hear the laughter and commotion outside. So he'd peek his head out the door only to find that he's taking a crap 80 feet in the air. I don't care who you are, that's just plain funny!
• As crane operator I promise that every single time I'd have to pee I will pee right off of my crane. I honestly can't think of many things that sound funnier than witnessing a crane operator take a piss off of his crane in broad daylight. And I would do this EVERY TIME I HAD TO PEE...and even sometimes when I only sort of had to pee.
• I have noticed there are many times when the crane is not needed and Crane Operator Guy just sits up there. As crane operator I would definitely take catnaps up in the crane. I love catnaps. I might even shut off my Nextel just because I'm a badass.
• I would take binoculars up to my crane operator booth and in my abundant spare time I would scan the surrounding office buildings. The moment I spotted someone watching me I would immediately moon them. And if I was in a good mood I might even make my butt cheeks talk like when Ace Ventura's talking to Tone Loc.
• In addition to binoculars I would also really like to get a bullhorn up there with me. Can you imagine all the stuff you could pull with a bullhorn up in a crane? My oh my. Por ejemplo: "Hey, nice park job asshole!" "Hey buddy, nice spinners on your 1989 Dodge Caravan!" "I bet you get a free bowl of soup with that hat...oh...it looks good on you though!" "Cock...balls...cock...balls...cock...balls...cock...balls...(just to see how people would react to hearing it said from the heavens - if you don't see the humor in that then please leave.)" "That lady with the nice cans in the red dress is a jaywalker! I repeat: Nice Cans Red Dress Lady is a jaywalker!!!!!"
• I would also hang signs from my crane. Funny stuff like: "For a Good Time Call Lesley Hartman: 206-794-0921" or "Jason Brough sucks balls at darts" or "Don't forget the windshield wiper!" or "Save gas, fart in a jar."

If you think of any other amusing ideas for amusing crane hijinx please email me at: paulsamusings@gmail.com. If enough ideas come in I might create another post on this topic.

Hate

Hate is a strong word. I consciously try to limit my use of the word. Then, when I say it people know that I mean business. Now that you know that you should know that I hate Kathy Lee Griffin more than anyone in the world. I hate her face. I hate her sick red hair. I hate her voice. I hate her body. I hate her boobs. I hate her ears. I hate her nose. I can't stand to look at her for even one second.

I can not figure out how this ugly annoying wench could ever be allowed on A television let alone have a long career in show business. She ruins my Bravo viewing experience completely. I often DVR The West Wing as its one of my favorite shows. At every commercial break this sick, redhead, fingernails on the chalkboard, gross, disgusting, redhead, annoying, loud, ugly, ugly, UGLY, gross, redhead, annoying, disgrace of a famous person is in my face. At first glance it scares me and then I yell like I'm a dork at a Duke game in hopes that I won't hear her. Then I start pushing all the buttons on the remote to get her red face and voice out of my life as quickly as possible. One glance at her literally alters my mood. That is how negatively she has impacted my life.

I hate her so much that she even completely ruined an episode of Seinfeld for me. I will not watch the episode with her making fun of Jerry bit under any circumstances. It makes me want to break my TV and end my life.

Bravo recently raped my face with a commercial for her new stand up show called, "She'll Cut a Bitch." This made me feel two things:

1. Like I just got raped in the face.
2. I wish someone would cut that redheaded bitch.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. Get her off the TV. And when did bitch stop being a curse word? My mom would've slapped my face if I said, "That redheaded bitch is ugly!" when I was 12 years old. When did that stop?

Now I'm all pissed off and all for your entertainment. I need some TUMS.

Work is Awesome

As one who finds humor in even the most mundane situations I'd like to share some random stories from the workplace. Work has so much to offer in terms of hilarity, randomness and stupidity that this topic simply must be broached. Keep in mind that each of the following anecdotes really happened to either me or someone I know well. And they are all 100% true.

• A while back I returned to my office from lunch and noticed the red voicemail light on my phone blinking. I call up the voicemail and this message was left for me: "Yeah, I am having problems with my insurance and I am not happy. This is very important and I want you to call me back as soon as possible. I will be here all day so I expect to hear from you." Then they hung up. I listened to this message five times attempting to gather ANYTHING resembling some form of identification as to who this person was or who they worked for or anything at all. Yet there was nothing. Not one reference to their name, company or even what kind of insurance they were talking about. Who takes the time to call someone about their insurance and then leaves a message like that? Really? I desperately wanted them to call back furious with me for not returning their call only to recite there message verbatim. I held out hope for about a week but they never called back.


• My buddy Raji is a banker. He also happens to be Indian ("Dot, not feather." His exact words when I first met him). So he is sitting in the bank one day and a guy walks in. Raji has never met or seen this guy in his life. The guy walks up and says, "So do you like curry?" Raji was so confused he didn't even know weather to laugh or be mad or if the guy was even talking to him. And since you are reading this you're surely longing to know the answer and this is why I'm here - to anticipate your every need. Raji does like curry. He's Indian. Duh.


• My buddy Kalso is also a banker. The bank where he used to work was near a mall. One day Kalso was working and it was very slow. This guy comes in and he is pissed off - I'm just going to call him Guy from now on OK? OK. Guy walks up to Kalso and tells him that he needs $220 in pennies. (Who walks into a bank and angrily asks for $220 in pennies? Anyway, it gets WAY better.) Kalso explains that banks don't just have that many pennies laying around (I had no idea that a bank wouldn't have $220 in pennies - it just seemed like they'd have like five grand in pennies back there to me but I'm a moron so whatever). So Kalso asks Guy what he wants the pennies for and Guy proceeds to explain that he is traveling around in his camper. He had spent the previous night in the parking lot at the mall across the street, got up in the morning and walked into the mall. When he came back his camper was in the process of being towed. Guy told Tow Truck Driver that he was leaving and asked that he unhook his camper. So Tow Truck Driver unhooks him and then tells Guy he owes him $220 for the "Unhooking Fee." This news sent Guy into a rage which resulted in the police arriving on the scene. Cop explained that it's perfectly legal to charge an "Unhooking Fee" and Guy had to pay. This further enraged Guy who decided to head on over to Kalso's bank. Upon hearing Guy's story Kalso withdrew $220 from Guy's account, gave him gunny sack and then went into the vault where he found $220 worth of change. About $200 of it was pennies, nickels and dimes. As Kalso brought out the rolls, Guy broke open each roll on the table and dumped all the lose change into the gunny sack. The whole process took about 25 minutes. When they finished Kalso walked outside to witness Guy drag $220 in change across the street to pay Tow Truck Driver his "Unhooking Fee." This really pissed off Tow Truck Driver, but luckily Cop was still on the scene and he made him take Guy's change since it was legal currency.


• One summer when I was in college I worked at Costco. Working at Costco sucks balls. One job I had was to walk around the store for 8 hours and find empty boxes. I would then bring said boxes up to the cashiers to use to pack up the stuff people bought. As I was doing this mind numbing hell of a job I walked down the diaper aisle. I noticed a box of diapers was open so I walked over to check it out. This was a box of 120 diapers. It had been ripped open and inside were four packages of 30 diapers each. One of the 30 packs was ripped open and you could easily tell that one diaper had been removed. Also inside the box was a different brand of diaper filled with a large amount of human feces. Some asshole's kid had taken a shit and this asshole had ripped open a 120 pack of diapers, then ripped open the 30 pack inside, then changed their kid and then left both the ripped open box of diapers and the shit filled diaper sitting there in the store. This was not amusing to Paul.


• Another awesome task I had while getting worked at Costco was to walk around outside for 8 hours gathering shopping carts in lines of 10. We then got to pull them - all uphill mind you - back to the front door with a rope. Fun stuff. Observing things in that God forsaken parking lot led me to ask the following question: how bored do you have to be before you decide to take two large plastic shopping carts and weld them together with a road flare? Apparently pretty bored because this only happened once while I worked at Costco.


• I promise this is the last Costco story. One day I was boxing crap (not literal crap but merchandise, food and what not) for the cashiers (the least shitty task I had while working there by the way). Some guy comes through my line and buys a 22 foot canoe. I offered to help him out to what I assumed to be his truck and he gladly accepted. We went out front and a co-worker and I waited for this guy to pull his truck around so we could help him lift it on top. About five minutes later this guy pulls up in a Volkswagen Bug. Then he got out of his Bug and asked if we have any string. If you aren't laughing yet you are a dumb...but since I'm such a gentleman I'll explain: a 22 foot canoe is about 12 feet longer than a VW Bug. You could likely take all the string in the whole world and not secure a 22 foot canoe to a VW Bug. Yet this guy was dead serious about having us help him. Thankfully we were not allowed to actually tie anything down for anyone so we got to stand there and watch him try for a half hour before he finally gave up and returned the canoe.


• Here is an actual email from my buddy Fine (I've only edited a few minor things for readability purposes): Yesterday I was doing a little "burn test" in my office (Editors Note: Fine LOVES to play with matches). I finished and turned around and was working on my computer (surfing the internet) when I started noticing it was getting a little smokey. By the time I turned around my entire garbage can was on fire. The flames were literally three to four feet high. Apparently one of the matches I dropped into my garbage can was not put out. It was just like one of those scenes in a bad comedy where the curtains catch on fire and unbelievably no one notices because their backs are turned. I had a little bit of a panic attack, envisioning my entire office in flames. Of course I didn't have any water or anything, so I resorted to beating the flames out with a cloth bag which fortunately didn't catch fire itself. This of course threw ash and burnt garbage everywhere, which does not smell good. Fortunately my office has two doors, one that connects it with the other offices and one that goes out to the shop floor. So when I got the blaze under control I closed the door to the other offices to try and minimize the noticeability (it didn't work) and propped open the door to the shop as I ran my smoldering garbage out to the dumpster. The funny thing is, it wasn't even close to the worst thing that happened to me yesterday. In fact it was actually the high point of my work day. The second funny thing is that in all my time playing with matches (and gunpowder and making homemade napalm) as a kid, this is the closest I've ever come to burning a building down. The third funny thing is the obvious; how confused everyone else in the office was about the plumes of smoke and horrible smell as I tried to play it off like nothing happened, "What? What smoke? Oh that. That's nothing...I don't smell anything..."
• If you like my blog then this awesome work story is going to change your whole perspective on shit: My wife is a teacher. A few years back she came home from work and said, "I told you about the midget in my class right?" My reply was exactly what you'd expect, "WHAT?!!! NO YOU DID NOT TELL ME ABOUT YOUR MIDGET!!!" By the time I finished saying this I was sitting up in perfect posture like a dog waiting for a treat - that's how excited I was. Wife then proceeded to rock my world. (You readers have no idea how difficult this is for me to write. First of all I'm almost crying because I'm laughing so hard just recalling this and secondly it would be VERY easy for me to kill the family friendly atmosphere of this blog with some inappropriate comments. But thanks to some editing I think I have managed to keep this clean. After all, I honestly LOVE midgets and would never want any midgets to feel uncomfortable reading Paul's Amusings. Midgets are encouraged!) First Wife explained that she and Midget had a secret handshake. This nearly killed me. I literally fell to the floor convulsing in laughter and snorting was definitely involved. Hopefully you understand how funny this is just by picturing a teacher and a midget having a secret handshake. All I know is that if I ever actually saw Wife giving the secret handshake to a midget I might literally die from laughter. So you can easily imagine how I ended up on the floor. Then, after about five minutes of this, Wife tried to kill me dead. She explained that the reason she brought up the subject was because earlier that day Midget had come into her office and said, "Hey, look what I can do!" This was when Midget proceeded to do a cartwheel right there in her office...I honestly have tears streaming down my face right now as I'm typing this. I'm not sure how you mere mortals minds work but I immediately was blessed with a mental picture of the story: Midget strolling into Wife's office. Excitedly saying, "Hey, look what I can do!" Then doing a midget cartwheel. I honestly can't think of anything funnier than this.

This topic will be addressed further as life warrants...

A Great Text Message

A few days ago my buddy sent me this exact text message:

"I got kicked by a retard at work on Saturday."

This is so funny on so many different levels. I think my favorite part is that he didn't elaborate or explain what happened at all. I nearly got into a wreck when I read the message in my car.

Advice for Riding in a Limo...

...always always ALWAYS bring a cooler full of ice cold beer whenever you have the opportunity to ride in a limo.

Worst case scenario: you have a cooler full of ice cold beer to drink while you are driven around.

Best case scenario: you are a hero among your fellow passengers as you share a cooler of ice cold beer while you are driven around.

The Steve "Snapper" Jones Story

Back in college I was an intern for the Portland Trailblazers for about a year. There were some cool things about the arrangement: I helped Bonzi Wells film a bread commercial, I got to pass out sweatshirts to fans who were doused with red Gatorade after Bonzi Wells smashed the cooler into the crowd after being ejected from a game and Scottie Pippen took me for a ride at 150 mph in his brand new Mercedes.

There were also some fairly significant drawbacks. I didn't get paid. And I didn't actually do anything at all. The only responsibility I had was to cut out NBA related newspaper clippings from the sports page of each NBA city across the country, make copies and put them in a binder for GM Bob Whitsit. Yee Haw!

Anyway, one day I was in the offices at The Rose Garden and I was sitting there alone, cutting newspaper clippings for no money like a freaking moron. After an hour or two I left my office to go take a leak. When I arrived at the gloriously huge men's restroom at the Blazers offices there was not a soul in there. After my peaceful and relaxing wee wee I zipped up and walked to the sink to wash my hands. Yes, I'm a hand washer.

In order to appreciate this story you need to understand that back in the late 90's and early 00's Steve "Snapper" Jones and Bill Walton, who were both former greats, formed the most prominent television color analyst team in the NBA. They teamed up with Marv Albert to do many of the biggest games at that time. Unbeknownst to me The Snapper was based out of Portland and even had an office in the building.

Back to the story...just as I am finished washing my hands I see Steve "Snapper" Jones walk into the bathroom wearing an all grey Blazers sweatsuit. I even recall thinking at the time that it was kinda funny that I was in the pisser with Steve "Snapper" Jones. I finished my rinse and started pumping paper towels out of the dispenser. I dried my hands and just as I turned to head for the door...what do I see but Steve "Snapper" Jones taking a piss in the urinal with his sweat pants all the way down to his ankles and his HUGE black ass hanging out.

I did not take this discovery very well at all because - and I swear to God this is exactly what happened - I said in a very loud and disturbed voice, "GOD DAMMIT! PULL THAT SHIT UP MAN!" Then I calmly walked on out while shaking my head in disapproval.

It wasn't until I got back to my office that I became fully aware of how awesome it was that I had just cussed out Steve "Snapper" Jones for exposing his giant ass to me. Honestly, who does that?

My greatest sporting achievement ever

My greatest sporting achievement ever is awesome and frankly; you will be mightily impressed. But before I share I should mention the runner up for My Greatest Sporting Achievement Ever:


Back in college at the University of Portland there was an annual battle to see who could rise up and conquer the Mt. Everest of all intramural sports - The 5 on 5 Basketball: Competitive League. My buddy Ty and I were on a team that won it all our sophomore year but we were merely invited onto that team and it wasn't "our" team. They weren't really our friends. While it was fun, it wasn't all that we had hoped it to be. We wanted to do it on our own.


Senior year we finally assembled a team that we felt could do it. After losing our first game to some needledicks we ran the table in the regular season. The way it worked is that we'd go out, slaughter our opponent and then all go get drunk afterward. Times were good. We won our playoff games and made it to the championship game to be played in The Chiles Center - this is where the real basketball team played so that only added to the excitement.


Our team was visibly nervous prior to the game and during the first half. When halftime rolled around we were ahead by one.


At the beginning of the second half my three roommates and I all were on the bench. The teams traded buckets for about 6 minutes and that's when all four of us checked in. I'm not gonna lie and say that the four of us checking in was intimidating seen as how we are all basically 6 foot tall white guys. But what transpired could best be compared with when Michael Corleone had everybody killed at the end of The Godfather. Ty hit a layup. Thornburgh hit a 3. Then I scored on the baseline followed by three 3's in a row. All in all we went on a 15-0 run in two minutes putting us up by 16. Game blouses. I'm bored, who wants some pancakes. Good times. Let me tell you, the 40's were flowing that night!


Now for my greatest sporting achievement ever: when we were in high school my buddies and I loved to play wiffle ball. And when I say "loved" you need to understand that we used to play about once a week during the summers. There were six of us who were the core: Kevin, Matt, Hank, Nate, Davis and me. We had a fairly unique set up in that we had distinct teams: The West Hill Fighting Squirrels composed of Hank, Nate and Davis and The Maywood $pud$ composed of Kevin, Matt and me. Those were the teams and that's how it worked every time we played. You also need to understand that we didn't just go outside and start smacking the wiffle ball around. We played at Hiscock Memorial Stadium. Hiscock was located in my front yard with the garage door as the backstop behind the plate. We had bases out in the street and the field extended across the street into Ms. Hugg's yard. Her garden happened to be shaped like a baseball field so it acted as our fence and it was a homer if you hit it into her garden (or hit her house, or her front window, or went onto her roof, or over her house). The field also went around to the left of her yard and into the street. That's where we placed four large traffic cones like this:

Kevin and I "borrowed" these cones from a construction site and they served as the supports for the left field wall that sat in the street and connected to Ms. Hugg's garden serving as the perfect wiffle ball home run fence. Additionally we kept having yelling matches over disputed fair or foul home run calls so Hank took matters into his hands and "borrowed" two 15 foot tall PVC pipes from a construction site. We painted the pipes bright yellow and kept them in buckets filled with dirt so they stood perfectly upright in both left and right field at the end of the duct tape foul lines in the street. Hiscock Memorial Stadium had a flood light over our driveway and we would also run two extension cords out into right and left field where we would set up more flood lights for night games. Did you think we were messing around here? Come on now bra! This was serious business. We had a wooden scoreboard that hung above the garage and everything. It was legit.

I should also mention that Hiscock Memorial Stadium was named after Bill Hiscock who was an old neighbor of Kevin and Matt. It was initially Hiscock Stadium but we changed it to Hiscock Memorial Stadium after he passed away...obviously.

Anyway, I digress (I don't know what the really means but I know you use it after you've rambled on for far too long), so one fine Saturday we all agreed that we would clear our calendars and play an all day seven game World Series.

The Maywood $pud$ (Kevin, Matt and me) got off to a hot start and won three of the first four games for a 3-1 series advantage. Then the West Hill Fighting Squirrels fought back and took two games in a row to send the series to the deciding game seven.

At this point we had been playing for about seven straight hours with only a pizza break keeping us going. By the time you get to game seven it's a battle of wills to see who wants it more and who can handle the pressure. And as you'd expect from two such fine teams game seven lived up to its billing.

The $pud$ jumped out to a fairly significant lead in the first 5 innings. I'm quite sure the score was something like 13-3. Basically an ass whooping was in the works. However, in typical Squirrel fashion, they clawed their way back into the game and even took the lead in the top of the ninth inning on some clutch hitting with two outs. Heading into the bottom of the ninth it was Squirrels 15 - $pud$ 13. You could feel the tension in the air. It wasn't even fun at that point. It was a battle. There was no joking around or teasing of any kind. In fact the two teams weren't even talking at all - every one's face had a look of complete focus and tension. Frankly I'm getting a little tense just recalling the situation as I'm typing this.

The $pud$ were reeling after giving up the huge lead so we had to get things going. We were determined to come back. Matt led off the ninth with a screaming line drive right at Hank for an out. Then Kevin managed to draw a walk off Nate. So we had a runner on first with one out.

I step to the plate and my palms are sweaty, my heart is racing. It's crunch time. I just missed a good pitch and fled out to Davis in left. So we were facing two outs with only a runner on first.

I'll admit, things were looking pretty bleak for the $pud$. But, moments like these are where great teams and great players show their true character. Matt calmly stepped to the dish and smoked a single that bounced off the curb and back into the street. Kevin easily advanced to third on the carom. First and third - two outs.

Kevin steps in, stares the pressure right in the face and has what's known in the business as a professional at bat. He fouls off about 5 pitches before finally drawing a walk to load the bases. Holy shit! At this point I distinctly remember feeling some excitement because I was going to get another shot to win the game after flying out my last at bat. Then I started to feel the nerves so I took a few moments to compose myself, collect my thoughts and to get into a good frame of mind for the biggest at bat ever. It's not every day that one gets to step to the plate with the bases loaded, two outs and your team down by two in the deciding game of a seven game marathon. This one at bat would decide everything and one team would walk away as kings and the other in somber defeat.

Upon stepping in I distinctly remember feeling quite nervous. Almost shaky to be honest. But after taking a couple pitches and working the count I began to slip into a calm focus. You've heard it a thousand times but its these huge pressure moments where great players step up and make clutch plays. It's how the greats are made. By making big plays at big moments in big games.

At this point Nate was so dialed in that he was painting the corners with all his pitches so I was doing everything just to stay alive. I fouled off several pitches and the count ran full. Nate threw a great pitch - a cutting fastball right on the inside corner. I turned on it just right and hit a grand slam off of the very top of the foul pole in left field! Game over, series over. A pig pile ensued. The Maywood $pud$ were the champions!

And that, my friends, is my greatest sporting achievement ever.

Awesomeness in Everett, WA - Part Deaux

At my office in Everett, Washington I used to have to park across the street in the parking garage. A few years back I arrived at the parking garage around 7:20am like normal. It was a really nice day and I hopped out of my car, walked down the stairs and up the half a block toward the intersection where I cross the street to my office building. Just as I approached the corner of the intersection I noticed a tubby kid walking down the street towards me. He looked to be about 16 or 17 years old and was wearing a black trench coat. Meanwhile it was about 70 degrees and sunny outside.

As you have surely noticed, I really enjoy spotting weird people out in the wild but at this exact moment I honestly recall thinking, "This kid isn't even that weird for Everett." And at that exact moment, just as I'm mentally giving this kid a compliment for not being a super freak, he walks right up to me, reaches into his trench coat and proceeds to pull out a light sabre. No, i am not kidding. As he pulls the light sabre out of its holster (yes, he had a holster on his belt) he makes the light sabre sound - "SHHHHHEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW" and begins twirling his light sabre around like he's getting ready to have a dual with me.

Keep in mind this all happened in about 5 seconds plus it's 7:20am and I'm not even fully conscious yet...then, as this guy is whirling his light sabre around and making light sabre noises he says, "I'm going to kill you with my light sabre."

This was when I began to wonder if I was on Punk'd. Meanwhile I'm laughing in this kids face and looking around for TV cameras because I can not believe what's going on three feet from me. Then I started to wonder what else he might have in his trench coat and walked away...giddy to share what had just happened.

By the way, the kid was visibly disappointed when I walked away. I'm not sure if he really wanted to kill me or if he just wanted to have a light sabre duel.

The Most Amazing Thing I've Done

Since we are still getting to know each other I think it's time I open up a bit and share with you the single most amazing thing I've ever done in my entire life.

About six or seven years ago I went to the grocery store. (I bet your thinking, "Cool story Hansel." Well, not so fast my friend!) So I roll in and grab a basket - not a cart but the basket that you carry as I only needed a few things. I start shopping, grab a few things and I'm chucking them in my basket...yada yada yada...next thing I know I'm in the produce section. I'm walking through and notice that green peppers are on sale. I happen to love green peppers so I walk over, grab a bag and start rifling through the green peppers looking for the good ones. Keep in mind that at this exact moment I have the basket up around my left forearm and am holding the bag for the green peppers in my left hand. Meanwhile I'm using my right hand to search for the most awesome green peppers. I see a beauty on the right-hand side of the green pepper section that borders the yellow peppers. Just as I pick up said green pepper it loosens a bordering yellow pepper from the stack and this yellow pepper apparently wanted to get the hell out of dodge. This is when things escalated. Quickly.

So my left arm is unavoidably detained with the basket and bag o peppers and my right hand is holding a scrumtrelescent green pepper at the exact moment that a yellow pepper decides he's going to make a run for it...and head head towards the floor. Looking back on this situation it really wouldn't have been that big a deal if I had simply allowed this obviously oppressed yellow pepper to escape his hell of a life on the yellow pepper pile. But at the time, in my simple little mind, I was apparently Fidel Castro and I had to use any means necessary to prevent this defector yellow pepper from tasting the sweet air of freedom by hitting the floor. It was the most important thing in my life at that moment...and it was a very brief moment because this little bastard was quick! He was making a run for the border, not the actual border (nor Taco Bell for that matter) but the floor. And fast! And my hands were full so what did I do under pressure in the eighth of a second I had to assess and react to the situation?

The defector had already jumped off the pile and was headed for the floor so like a ninja I lifted my right foot and all in one motion cradled, controlled and then tossed the defector yellow pepper back up toward the homeland of his fellow yellow peppers where the defector yellow pepper nestled back EXACTLY IN THE SAME SPOT WHERE IT BEGAN!

Yeah, you read that correctly. I cradled the defector yellow pepper and gently tossed it back up and it rolled back up the pile and stopped exactly in the spot where it started WITH MY FOOT!

The crazy thing is that I happen to be blessed with the ability to instantly recognize greatness when I see it. And this was pure, unadulterated greatness. Thus, after performing this miracle I turned around to bask in the glory of my fellow shoppers who were all witnesses and who were undoubtedly preparing a celebration in my honor...only to find exactly ZERO people anywhere in sight. You should've seen the depressed and deflated look on my face. I imagine it to be priceless. But that's beside the point. Regardless, it was the most amazing thing I've ever done. So I've got that going for me...which is nice.

The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened

I'll admit, the title of this post likely creates pretty big expectations for you, the reader. Because of this there is good news and bad news. I've always been a fan of getting the bad news first and saving the good stuff for last. And since I'm the one in charge here that's how it's gonna be. Got it? Good.

The bad news: after giving this serious consideration I can imagine how a crazy person might not find what I'm about to disclose as "The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened."

The good news: I am the one in charge here and anyone who doesn't find this to be "The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened" is ignorant, a liar and a whore. So get the hell out! And stay out! (Actually, if you think you have something cooler feel free to make a suggestion in the comments section below or email me at pdesilet@comcast.net) I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that we have that settled.

Without further Freddy Adu...here is The Coolest Thing That Has Ever Happened In History. Ever.



Let's get serious here for a minute. Can you honestly watch that video and tell me that it's not The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened? I didn't think so. I'm glad we could get this settled once and for all.

The Reasons Why I Hate Suzuki

I have a deep hatred for Ichiro Suzuki. Since you're undoubtedly on pins and needles wondering how someone who is both from Seattle and who loves baseball could hate Ichiro Suzuki let's cut through the crap and get right to it - two reasons:

1. Suzuki is blatantly more concerned with his personal statistics more than than helping the Mariners win. "What the hell is this idiot talking about, Ichiro gets 200 hits every year" you ask? Well, that's just great...for him. But the facts are that for the first 5 years of his MLB career he refused to play center field in spite of the fact the the Mariners needed to get more power hitting on the team more desperately than Ray Finkle needed the laces out. And in case you didn't notice right fielders are, by definition, power hitters. And to top it off the M's center field situation was and is known by baseball insiders as shit on a stick. So not only did/do the M's need a center fielder and not only would Suzuki be a great center fielder (which he was during his two gold glove seasons in center field before again refusing to play center field this year) but the M's also needed to add power to their lineup which would most easily be acquired in a right fielder. I'm already pissed off and I'm just getting going! In addition to Suzuki being blatantly unwilling to help his team improve by playing a position he is perfectly suited and capable of playing he has continually been remarkably selfish about his personal goal of accumulating hits. For some reason in this tiny little man's head he thinks that his sole purpose in life is to get hits as opposed to helping his team win baseball games. Any half educated baseball fan would admit that Suzuki is known for having great power in batting practice and its frequently mentioned by the media that "Ichiro could win The Home Run Derby if he wanted to." Well if that's the case and he has this ability to hit for power then why the hell, when the M's are annually among the most power challenged teams in all of baseball, would this little asshole continue to hit like a little cotton headed ninny muggins and slap singles all the time when the team clearly needs him to do more? In the name of Baby Jesus and his little golden fleece diapers why the hell hasn't Ichiro even tried hitting third in the order so he can drive in some runs with his magical power? Because he's a selfish asshole who only cares about accumulating hit totals. That's why. Oh (and this is the clincher on this subject) I have personally seen, with my own two eyes, Suzuki BUNT WITH TWO OUTS AND A Runner ON SECOND BASE. TWICE! For those who aren't baseball fans, a little sissy single scores the runner from second with two outs while a bunt is a low percentage play to get a hit for your self and your stats that will not score the runner from second base - and will bring up a worse hitter than Suzuki even if he does get his selfish butt on base...which he didn't either time. Dammit I'm fired up just thinking about this!
2. The other reason that I hate Suzuki is because it is racist that he gets to put his first name on his jersey and be called Ichiro by any and everyone when in this country you get your last name on your jersey - period. Why does he get to have Ichiro on the back of his jersey while Hideo Nomo can't have "Hideo"? Why doesn't So Taguchi get to just have "So" on the back of his jersey and be referred to as "So" by everyone? What about Hideki Matsui? How come he can't have "Godzilla" on his jersey? Is it because MLB doesn't let you put whatever the hell you want on the back of your jersey EXCEPT for Ichiro? Everyone calls David Ortiz "Big Papi" and it's a cultural thing in that he got his nickname from being the sage veteran presence and father figure in the clubhouse in Boston...you know, just like with Suzuki! This whole issue infuriates me and I can't understand how this is not a bigger deal. Anyway, I have officially taken to calling this selfish little asshole Suzuki and I strongly encourage each of you to do the same.

My buddy Kevin and I have made a pact that we are going to get together and celebrate with a 40 oz. the day that Suzuki finally gets traded...please let it be soon.

The Greatest Cell Phone Pic Ever

Back in 2003 or 2004 we were tailgating for a Seattle Seahawks game down near Seahawks Stadium. There were about 30 people tailgating in our little group and we were all drinking beer and eating and having a grand old tailgating time.

After enjoying ourselves for a while we went about getting the BBQ ready to cook some brats but we needed the grate for the BBQ. We had arrived in Kalso's Toyota Camry. For those who don't know Kalso, to say he keeps his car in complete and utter disarray, chaos and filth is a gigantic understatement to say the least. So Sophomore and I are in Kalso's trunk sorting through hockey skates, piles of newspapers, antique (or likely just really old) golf clubs, food, bottles of booze, charcoal briquettes and empty beer bottles looking for the damn BBQ grate. This is when things got interesting.

You see, I am the "Idea Guy" when it comes to situations like this. I'm sure you'll learn of more examples to come but on this occasion Sophomore and I came across a can of silk worm pupas. What are silk worm pupas you ask? Uhhh...we had no clue and our interest was only elevated by the fact that most of the writing on the can was Korean (I didn't know it was Korean at the time. Come on now.) Anyway, after asking Kalso what the hell the can was he explained that our buddy Kirk had just come back from teaching English in Korea and had brought said can of silk worm pupas back for him. After trying to figure out what silk worm pupas were Kalso said he wanted to save them. Uh...ok. This is when "Idea Guy" went to work.

At this point I calmly took my hat off and walked around to all the little groups of people who were tailgating with us and explained that if Kalso were to eat the entire can of silk worm pupas and keep it down for a full minute - how much would they give him? After a trip around the tailgate I had $73.28 in my hat. At this point I approached Kalso with my hat full of money and explained his charge (one thing you need to understand is that Kalso will accept nearly any challenge predicated upon him getting money for eating or drinking stuff and/or getting naked in public). To my surprise it did take some convincing, but after a few minutes a deal was struck.

Upon opening the can of aforementioned silk worm pupas we learned that they are perhaps the most disgusting and vile "food" in the entire world. Unbeknownst to us, silk worm pupas are little larva type things that look like little half size potato bugs and this particular Korean "delicacy" came in some type of pickling juice (I'm using that term quite loosely as this shit was sick and stinky). And to make things even better (for us, not so much for Kalso) the little tuna sized can contained like 200 of these little bastards!

Sophomore tried one (1) and gagged.

As Kalso got to work he started off pretty strong and was downing about 10 at a time. Then once he hit his "stride" he was taking them three or four at a time and gagging with every swallow - that's what she said!

Anyway, after about 15 minutes of battling his gag reflex Kalso finally finished the last of the silk worm pupas...then, surprisingly, came the tough part. Kalso normally can eat ANYTHING and keep it down (I once witnessed Kalso drink a bowl of super super SUPER hot BBQ sauce for $20 and he felt he had ripped off the guy who gave him the $20). Not so much with the silk worm pupas.

At this point Kalso was Michael Spinks and the silk worm pupas were Mike Tyson as Kalso BARELY made it to the 1:00 mark...then at about the 1:03 mark Kalso became the subject of the single greatest cell phone picture ever taken...

Awesomeness in Everett, WA

So I’m rolling through Everett this morning on the way to work at about 7:15am and while driving through one of Everett’s finest neighborhoods I had the privilege of seeing perhaps my all time greatest domestic dispute (granted I haven’t really seen any domestic disputes so I may not be the best judge but I would imagine that this one would be high on just about anyone’s list). So there is a super duperly hideous lady on the street corner in her flannel pajamas smoking a cig. This lady is terribly gross and she was the beacon in the distance that initially attracted my eyes to this glorious confrontation. So I’m driving up and looking at this beast of a woman who was so ugly that she didn’t even hit any of the branches when falling from the ugly tree – other ugly people actually hit HER as they fall to the ground. So she’s out there on the corner facing the other direction and as I am getting closer I notice a guy coming down the front steps of a house about 3 doors from where she is standing. This guy is rocking a VERY nasty mullet and is wearing this sickest most disgusting bathrobe you’ve ever seen. And that’s it…just take a minute to get that picture cued up in your head…now you may be laughing at this point because this is funny stuff but just hold your britches for a minute because what I’m about to tell you is going to rock your world…so this awesomely white trash guy rolls out of his house and is yelling VERY loudly at his antithesis of a beauty queen lady friend on the corner and just as he gets through his front yard and to the sidewalk is the exact moment when I am driving by staring and what does this guy do just as I drive by? I’m sure you have lots of guesses in your head right now but I assure you that none of them are as good as what actually happened because Gob blessed me this morning. He really did because this gentleman walked out of his house YELLING at his horrifically repulsive lady friend on the corner just at this very moment explicitly for my enjoyment. It was at this very moment that I am convinced that God intervened - only God could be this funny and ironic – because just as this guy gets to the sidewalk and I am driving by he pulls a 24oz of Mickey’s from his bathrobe pocket, slugs a HUGE drink, chucks it into the neighbor’s yard pinwheeling Mickey's everywhere and then carries on yelling profusely at his beast of a lady friend on the corner.

I’m not sure if I’m just luckier than everyone else or if God just likes me more but the facts are the facts. I am blessed. How is it that I get to see this kinda stuff on a semi regular basis? Do other people see things that are this awesome but they just don’t tell anyone? Or am I the only one who gets to see sweet shit like this and it’s just my duty to report the happenings? I would really like an answer to this question.

Good talk.