Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

Some people

Thursday, September 3rd, 2009

As if we needed further proof that people are nuts…or easily angered…or both, along comes this guy to make my day.

“Who is this man?” you ask. Well, let’s do some deductive reasoning together.

They say your nose and ears keep growing your entire life, and obviously they do.

They say your nose and ears keep growing your entire life, and obviously they do.

Look at this snarly mug. Does this man look angry?

Yes! Yes, he does!

Does he look like he forgot to take his meds?

Right again!

And does he look like a man capable of delivering a beat down onto a stranger’s two-year old child in a Georgia Wal-Mart?

Well, it should, because he did.

STONE MOUNTAIN, Ga. – Police say a 61-year-old man annoyed with a crying 2-year-old girl at a Walmart slapped the child several times after warning the toddler’s mother to keep her quiet.

A police report says after the stranger hit the girl at least four times, he said: “See, I told you I would shut her up.”

Roger Stephens of Stone Mountain is charged with felony cruelty to children. It was unclear if he had an attorney and a telehpone call to his home Wednesday was unanswered.

Authorities say the girl and her mother were shopping Monday when the toddler began crying. The police report says Stephens approached the mother and said, “If you don’t shut that baby up, I will shut her up for you.”

Authorities say after Stephens slapped the girl, she began screaming.

I think the saddest sentence of this article is the last one, because it highlights the audacity of arrogance: Here this man was bragging about his ability to shut up babies, and when given a chance (or seizing a chance…either way) to demonstrate his skill, he failed miserably and made the baby even MORE upset. And then he decided to applaud his failed efforts by tossing a saucy, “See, I told you I would shut her up,” out for all to hear.

But you didn’t, Roger. You didn’t shut her up, you made her scream more.

On the other hand, just looking at him, maybe he didn’t know the difference? Or maybe general screaming sounded more pleasant to him than whining for cookies? It stands to reason he hasn’t had much contact with kids. Or at least I hope he hasn’t.

At the same time, there is a silver lining to be had. Now I’m not saying the toddler deserved this, but let’s break it down objectively here:

1. Kids are annoying. You know they are. You’ve met kids. You may even have kids. In either case, I can guarantee you’ve been annoyed by kids. And if you haven’t? Watch two minutes of that “Nanny 911″ show (whatever it’s called where the British nanny comes and straightens out the hopeless, raising a brood of horrifically spoiled brat parents) and prepare to be ANNOYED. Look, I’m not picking on kids: We were all kids once. We were all annoying. I’m not saying they’re ALWAYS annoying and don’t have their cute or charming moments, I’m just saying that a screaming two-year old – no matter how you slice it – is annoying.

2. In a way, Roger Stephens, Wal-Mart shopper and occasional looney toon, was doing this toddler a favor. The next time she sees a face like that? She’ll know what to do: Shut up and get the hell out of Dodge as fast as humanly possible. There’s no need to lecture this little one on ‘good touch’ or ‘bad touch’ or ‘getting a funny feeling about people.’ Just remind her about that time she was at Wal-Mart, and was physically assualted by a stranger, and she’s good to go.

3. In my opinion, any time you enter a Wal-Mart you really are on your own. All bets are off. Never wanted to see a 400-pound woman in a halter top? Too bad, because there’s one waiting for you by the toilet paper. Have no desire to be hit on by a toothless man in his 80s? That’s a shame, because there’s one hovering around the mangos hoping to pretend that he doesn’t know whether they’re a fruit or a vegetable in order to extract unnecessary cooking advice from you as part of a poorly constructed come-on. Don’t want to be bitten by a pygmy rattlesnake? Well, as we’ve all learned, stay out of Wal-Mart, because you are shooting your odds way up, baby.

And as for you, Roger Stephens (whose name I keep typing as Gary Stephens for some unknown reason)?
I can’t wait to see you making the talk show circuit once you get let out of jail. I’m sure there’s someone somewhere that’s interested in your views on child psychology and will extend your 15 minutes just that much more! Yay for America!

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I got stranded in ATL, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

Monday, March 30th, 2009

My fancy overnight kit.

My fancy overnight kit thoughtfully provided by Delta.

I’m still not sure why, but my two-hour delayed flight was pushed up to a three-hour delay. Probably something to do with the incessant thunderstorms, although I was starting to think of them as standard operating procedure. Alabama = loud and wet, all the time.

At any rate, the plane, which was to originally have gotten into Atlanta at 6:30pm, arrived at 9:20pm. The last possible flight (on which I had a seat) was leaving at 9:40pm. Potentially this was doable with the aid of a minor miracle…until we found ourselves waiting for fifteen minutes for an open gate.

Then they put us into A52…and the flight to Newark was leaving out of B3. As a final wrench in the works, I had a bag ‘gate checked’ (because it was too large to fit into the dollhouse-sized miniature overhead space), and we all stood there waiting for our stuff for another fifteen minutes. By the time I got into the actual airport to check a screen, my flight showed as long-since departed.

Apparently whatever was wrong that caused the delays into Atlanta didn’t impact the departure time of any of the outbound flights. Ain’t that always the way?

Looking a bit beleagured while enjoying my free SkyTeam t-shirt from Delta.

Looking a bit beleagured while enjoying my free SkyTeam t-shirt from Delta.


There are countless additional tedious elements to my tale, including my futile efforts to get on other New York-bound flights, my failed 20-minute conversation with a Delta phone representative (outsourced to India, and insisting with me that I was currently sitting on the Newark flight. This caused a brief existential crisis; wherein I wondered if the ‘alternate’ or ‘real’ me was currently flying to New Jersey, why was I – the one possessing the consciousness – stuck with all the damn carry-on luggage and seemingly standing in Atlanta?), and how I went flying across the ATL subway system because I took the warnings about the necessity of holding on to something far too lightly.

Anyway, to make a long story shorter, on the upside, the real live Delta employee there in the largest airport in the world seemingly confirmed that I was, indeed, actually standing flesh and blood in Atlanta. On the downside, she showed no concern or empathy for my stuckness, and explained that weather-based delays don’t require them to get me a hotel room and/or give me the time of day.

Nice.

I was then given a seat on the 8:30 am flight and abruptly handed one of those little overnight kits. If you’ve clocked copious air miles for any reason, you’ve been stuck before (and/or had all your luggage lost), and you know of what I speak. This kit contained the regulation smear of toothpaste, substandard accidental self-mutilation razor, dab of shaving cream, third-world hair-snagging brush, mini deodorant (a godsend), and the cheapest toothbrush on earth. Seriously. This thing was probably manufactured by armless toddlers: the bristles fell out in my mouth as I tried to use it.

However, in a new twist, the bag also contained a very large (men’s XL or XXL) t-shirt that says “Sky Team” on the chest, thus implying I am now a member of the mile-high club, although not in the way you might think. Yes, I’ve been f*cked, but I didn’t enjoy it.

Is this some kind of consolation prize?

Thanks for playing! Better luck next time! Here’s a shirt to help you commemorate this cherished experience: enjoy and thanks for (not) flying with us.

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I’m like a bird

Sunday, March 29th, 2009

I’ll only fly away.

 

This is apparently a rendering of a Ayahuasca vision. I guess you had to be there?

This is apparently a rendering of a Ayahuasca vision. I guess you had to be there?

Thus, true to form, I’m outta here. Leaving on a jet plane, and headed north via Atlanta. At least in theory.

Bad weather seems to be chasing me, and the flight is already quite delayed. I’ve been switched over to an earlier departure (also delayed two hours, but leaving only an hour later than my original flight, if that makes sense), which is keeping me optimistic.

 

 

I’m trying to think positive thoughts, but reality is undermining me a little bit. As it stands, I will have to make an eight-minute connection. To another terminal. Of the Atlanta airport. The largest airport in the world. I’m probably in some trouble (unless the flight into Newark gets further delayed).

 

Meanwhile, I saw this little tidbit, and I’m guessing this church is about to enjoy some increased membership.

Church can brew hallucinogenic tea for services, judge rules

PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) – A federal judge says members of a Brazilian-based Christian church in Ashland can import, distribute and brew hallucinogenic tea.

Or maybe not. I just found this info online, Ingestion of Ayahuasca usually induces nausea, dizziness, vomiting, and leads to either an euphoric or an aggressive state. Frequently the Indian sees overpowering attacks of huge snakes or jaguars. These animals often humiliate him because he is a mere man. The repetitiveness with which snakes and jaguars occur in Ayahuasca visions has intrigues psychologists.

Or maybe not. I just found this info online, "Ingestion of Ayahuasca usually induces nausea, dizziness, vomiting, and leads to either an euphoric or an aggressive state. Frequently the Indian sees overpowering attacks of huge snakes or jaguars. These animals often humiliate him because he is a mere man. The repetitiveness with which snakes and jaguars occur in Ayahuasca visions has intrigues psychologists." Hmmmmm... Anyone that's ever been around when I follow gin with red wine would concur that I might lean toward the agressive state...

U.S. District Judge Owen Panner issued a permanent injunction barring the government from prohibiting or penalizing the sacramental use of “Daime tea.” It is brewed from two Amazonian plants that contain the hallucinogenic drug dimethyltriptamine, or DMT. The tea is also known as ayahuasca (aye-yah-WAS-ka) tea. Panner’s order, issued Thursday, said activities of The Church of the Holy Light of the Queen, an Ashland-based branch of the Santo Daime (pronounced die-may) sect, are legal. His order prohibits the federal government from interfering or prosecuting church members who follow a list of regulations set out in his order.

 

 

 

 

I like it. At least in theory. What are the regulations for perusal’s sake, and where do I sign up?

I’m not Brazilian, but I’m willing to convert.

 

In other news, in the spirit of killing time, I just tried this stupid “Vanessa needs” thing. I can’t remember who told me, but you’re supposed to type your own name and needs in quotes into a Google search box and see what you get (top five responses).


According to the magical search engine in the sky (which I have come to regard as a god of sorts. I don’t understand how it works…and yet it works. Good enough for deity classification in my book). Anyway, according to the Google gods:

  • Vanessa needs hugs
  • Vanessa needs our help
  • Vanessa needs our prayers
  • Vanessa needs now what the world is not giving her
  • Vanessa needs to be smacked

 

There’s kind of a sad trend there. Sure, I’ve had a rough week…but I don’t think I’m THAT tragic. But then comes the smack, so maybe it all evens out?

Comfort me and then slap me to my senses.

I’m down with that.

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S.S.D.D.

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

Hello again from Alabama, where I was pretty sure that the world was ending around 6:00am this morning.

I couldnt find any pictures from Poltergeist with the tree, but this reminds me that somewhere in the garage is a Bozo the Clown Ventriloquist doll

I couldn't find any pictures from Poltergeist with the tree, but this reminds me that somewhere in the garage is a Bozo the Clown Ventriloquist doll.

I’m down on the gulf, across the bay from Mississippi, and stormy weather is nothing unusual. My mother’s home has been hit by lightening no less than a half-dozen times, each time destroying her stove or phone lines or some other electrical appliance. This strikes me as extremely unfortunate luck, if nothing else, and I’m not sure that everyone else around here is having the same troubles. Apparently it has to do with some tree in the yard (which one I’m not sure), and in my mind it conjures up images from Poltergeist.

Now that I think about it, I can only hope the thing doesn’t decide to eat me as punishment for talking about it.

 

At any rate, early this morning I heard the torrential rains coming down, and was glad I went for my long run yesterday. Then the lightening started. Then came thunder so loud, I wouldn’t have been surprised if god himself had spoken to me immediately preceding or following the racket.

I was never afraid of my doll until I saw this movie. Then I would throw a coat over him at night. Sometimes in the morning the coat wouldnt be on him anymore, which would totally flip me out.

I was never afraid of my doll until I saw this movie. Then I would throw a coat over him at night. Sometimes in the morning the coat would be on the floor, which would totally flip me out.

I’ve never felt like I was ‘inside’ thunder, but this literally made the bed shake. I leapt up in a panic and started unplugging everything in the room, first to see to it that my laptop and cell phone weren’t destroyed, and second to make sure some kind of wanton electrical lightening pulse didn’t come through the lamp on the night stand and kill me.

 

Then I just lay here and waited for it to quiet down, which eventually – maybe an hour later – it did do.

 

To my utter shock?

When I talked to my mother a few hours later, she hadn’t even heard it. Wha….???

How do you sleep through Armageddon?

 

In other news, I have been hitting every happy hour in town. Did you know that you can get raw oysters on the halfshell for $.25 EACH down here!? $.25!?!?

This is exactly the doll I had. What was so sad is that I tried for years and years to do ventriloquist acts with him. His head was hard as a rock. I once gave my babysitter, Sue, a fat lip with his head. Accidentally, of course. She was very nice about it.

This is exactly the Bozo doll I had. What was so sad is that I tried for years and years to do ventriloquist acts with him. It came with a little 45 record that supposedly would teach you how, although I refute those claims. My dad had a song he made up for Bozo called "Stinky feet, bad breath, and arm pits." If you're enjoying all these Bozo memories, let me know, and I could lay a whole blog about my nerdy youth on you!

Yesterday, I had a dozen oysters, six Buffalo wings, and two beers for (are you ready for this?) $6.50. You read that right: SIX DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS!!!

The day before, I got a slightly less sweet deal of $4.50 for my dozen oysters, but still…

Speaking of which, happy hour at yet another $.25 per oyster establishment starts up in 38 minutes, so I’d better wind this up and mentally prepare to get my wing and oyster on.

 

However, before I go, let me answer the burning question that I’m sure has been on your mind: I am here to tell you that twenty years later, Strawberry Shortcake, Raspberry Tart, and Lemon Meringue Pie smell…the same plus musty. But seriously, they smell THE SAME. And this is with 20 years storage in a moist deep south environment. Just imagine the Strawberry Shortcake and friends stored in Palm Springs!

Of them all, Apple Dumpling held her own (smell-wise) the most.

Color me truly shocked.

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Day four of my captivity

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

Okay, I’m exaggerating. It’s not quite that bad. It’s just that I’ve grown unaccustomed to living without all my distracting entertainment – internet, music, DVD player, cell phone signal, and cable. Plus, I have a gnawing need for freedom – even if it’s only as an escape plan.

It used to happen to me all the time when I traveled on business and wasn’t the one who rented the car or (even worse) wasn’t allowed to rent a car. I felt like someone on house arrest. I would climb the walls, driven to madness by the captivity of it all.

It’s not even that I have anywhere to go. I just like to know that if I WANTED to drive somewhere at 3am, I can. As you’ve probably surmised, I’m staying way out in the boonies and without a car of my own. More or less, I’m a prisoner, except when I go for my daily run.

Speaking of which, this morning it was unbelievably humid as I set out on the little five mile loop we found for me. Thus, in keeping with the mood and the cuisine of the last few days (anything and everything fried. No item is too sacred to escape the hot, greasy depths of the deep fat fryer), I listened to my blues mix on my iPod – Howlin’ Wolf, Taj Mahal, Bo Diddly, John Lee Hooker…you get the idea.

And about halfway through, the following song came on and made me nostalgic for more than just electronic pleasures.

 

Nope, I don’t only want to zone out on a little Family Guy, I’d like to do it not sober.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not endorsing illegal ‘gateway’ drugs, I’m just saying that a week alone with your mother is a long time. It’s like six months at sea. Clinging to an empty ice cooler. And fighting off sharks. And buzzards. And hallucinating about watching her try on no less than 100 outfits and voting them keepers or crap. Oh wait, that part happened. And is still ongoing…

But I embellish. The sun has come out and the weather is in the high 70′s and my efforts have single-handedly prevented a few color combinations straight out of Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus. (Unrelated: But when I was a little girl my mother did the taxes for a Bailey heir and he had a stuffed puma in his living room, and it used to scare the crap out of my brother and me. And one time he made us Jiffy Pop, and I had never seen anything so magical in all my life. At least at that point.)

So anyway, back to the point, if I can’t have champagne and reefer and cable TV and unlimited internet access, at least I have all that (see above about weather and fashion intervention services) going for me.

 

p.s.

Yes, I realize this is the worst YouTube ‘video’ ever, but at least you get to enjoy the song. I looked and looked and couldn’t find any footage of Muddy singing this live.

p.p.s.

Does Facebook have a ‘What’s your Blues name’ quiz? If so, send me the link, because I want to know. Unfortunately, Howlin’ Wolf is already taken. How’s Whinin’ Wolf? Bitchin’ and a’Moanin’ Wolf?

p.p.p.s.

My mafia name, as it so happens, is Paulie The Gut Gambino.

And my porn name (culled from the first pet/first street methodology) is Goldie St. John, which you must admit is a pretty damn good one!

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