Well, I finally got around to watching the Two Towers last night. That certainly is an enjoyable movie, but if you get too into it, it has some adverse effects on your personal life. For instance, I really wanted to walk around work this morning saying, "Good morrow, John of Dallas, son of Harold and Mindy, defender of the fax machine. Verily, your Dockers are pleated and your Palm Pilot is of virtue true. What do you see with your Caucasian eyes?" Of course, I would do all of this while dressed in chain mail and accompanied by a dwarf warrior. Unfortunately, I looked all over my apartment complex this morning and I couldn't find a steed noble enough to carry me through the halls of my office, so I called the whole thing off.
Another thing about the Two Towers is that it's this really magical land filled with sorcerers and whatnot, but when it comes time to throwing down, everyone puts their wands away and sets their mind to kicking ass. I think maybe the wizards should reexamine their wizarding manual because it seems to me that if you were an elderly magical man, you would prefer to turn someone into a stone possum rather than have some elaborate sword duel with them. If I were a sorcerer in those movies, everytime we went into battle, my comrades would all roll their eyes and say "Again with the stone possums?" Maybe it's the pansy thing to do, but I'll be damned if some orc is going to punch me in the face and mess up my bread and butter. I'd be waving that wand around like a man on fire.
It's probably a good thing that magic isn't real, though, because then we'd all be at the mercy of some very lame people. Think about it, the nosepicker in elementary school who was always trying to saw your sister in half on the playground could control the universe. If you were to cross your great uncle who pulls the coin out of your ear, he could make you explode at will. How scary would that be? The next time you hear someone expounding on how cool magic would be in real life, make sure you bring this up.
I rarely dream at night. I know that the "experts" say everyone dreams most of the night, but those experts can shove their sleep expertise into a cereal box and then take it out of the box with some cereal and then pour some milk on it and then eat it with a spoon! Yeah! I know they're wrong about the dreaming thing because a few years ago, I took a class called "How To Impress Others While You Sleep". What happens most nights is that I fall asleep in my bed, then I spend the next few hours in a sleepy genius mode, working up something really cool. I wake up the next morning and there is always a delightful surprise that I made the night before, like a sculpture of a beautiful woman, some charcoal sketches of famous landmarks, or a short story about Andy Griffith and his taffy recipes.
This weekend, I took a nap, which is something I generally don't do, and much to my surprise, I dreamt during this nap. Apparently my sleepy genius side only comes out when I'm sleeping at night. So anyway, I had this very elaborate dream regarding my favorite not-quite-celebrity. Of course, I'm speaking of none other than Carlos Jacott. You may be familiar with Mr. Jacott from films such as Kicking and Screaming, Mr. Jealousy, and Highball, or the tv show She Spies. Then again, you may not, in which case you are really missing out because Carlos brings the funny like nobody's business (here's a clip from Kicking and Screaming with Eric Stoltz, courtesy of NoahBaumbach.com).
In this dream, I went over to Carlos's house for a pool party. It should be obvious here it's a dream already because no one wants me over to their house. At least not while I'm insisting on bringing my kangaroo everywhere with me. People should realize that Hops McGee and I are a team, and he' sgoing where I'm going. In any event, we're all too scared to get into Carlos's pool at first, because he's being a crazy Hollywood guy like Marlon Brando or Tony Danza. Somehow, I end up slipping into his pool, thus angering Carlos. He challenges me to a contest where we jump off the diving board doing karate moves. Whoever does the best moves wins. The battle rages back and forth, like an epic dance war between two tapdance impresarios. The end result? We both admit our moves are awesome and become best friends.
Now, I am always hearing people try to figure out what their dreams mean. Assuming dreams mean something, what it does it mean to have a dream involving a pool party at Carlos Jacott's house? And then what does it mean to enter into some contest involving karate moves off the diving board? I'm not sure, but I suspect it means I rule. And yes, I agree that there is nothing more boring than someone posting on the internet about their dreams, but I am posting this in case I do find myself in this situation and then I can document my claims to being the Nostradamus of my apartment complex.
Ahhhhhh, I just realized the Two Towers came out on DVD today and I forgot to buy it. You may be wondering, "Why not just go out and buy it now?" Listen, if I'm going to be making lots of spontaneous little trips outside my apartment, I will never reach my dream of being morbidly obese. Also, did it ever occur to you that I may be saving tonight to catch up on my stories? Also, did you happen to notice how I linked to the IMDB entry on the Two Towers, in case you were unfamiliar with it? I realize that most of my audience here is in a Cuban prison camp or is too scared of germs to leave the bathroom, so I try to keep you guys aware of the latest cultural movements.
Boy howdy, I am feeling like I got Monkey Poxed last night. In case you're wondering, to Monkey Pox someone is to sneak into someone's apartment and let loose a squadron of prarie dogs who are all infected with Monkey Pox. Remember this summer, when Monkey Pox was a big story for like three days? The whole thing was just too confusing. There was a disease called Monkey Pox that was being spread by prarie dogs. It just doesn't make sense. Why isn't it Prarie Dog Pox? Where do the monkeys fit in? Which animal should we take up arms against? The people demand answers!
Lots of people talk about the media's liberal slant, but if you ask me, the media has an anti Monkey Pox clarification slant because I never did hear that whole thing explained. And now I'm paying for it, because I am a little sniffley and I need to jump to a conclusion as to which disease is about to kill me. So I pick Monkey Pox, which was never really explained to me, and now I have to half ass my way through it. I point the finger at you, Dan Rather. Don't come around here looking for pastries or ice cream bars because all you're going to get is a tsunami of thunderous karate chops around the face, neck, and shoulders. This goes for all news commentators. The next time there is a disease with a bizarre name like Monkey Pox, give me the details or I'm putting on my spanking gloves.
Today is the start of my favorite sporting event: the US Open. Why do I like tennis so much? I think it all comes down to the fact that tennis is the only sport where I could be considered a surly troublemaker. Any other sport and I am voted the most likely to bleed to death on court, but when it comes to tennis, I am like Mickey Rourke. You stay out of my way on the tennis court unless you want me to drink your juice box and step on your sweater.
I think this goes for all racquet sports. I play racquetball a lot, and I'm widely considered by my opponents to be a rascal extraordinaire. That's right. I may just bounce the ball twice before my serve, USRA rules be damned. You think I'll go along with your request for a water break? Hell no, we stay on the court until I win or you pass out. I really was feeling the outlaw vibe the one time I played squash. I think that was probably because I am the only person in the history of the world to have played squash before the age of 60. Still, I liked my endorsement chances if I could've made it onto the professional squash tour.
Back to tennis, though. I should note that tonight is Pete Sampras's retirement ceremony. I remember when I was first warming up to tennis, I happened to watch a match involving Mr. Sampras at the US Open. It was your typical long ass, grueling affair, and you could tell that Pete was feeling the effects. He was walking around like one of the zombies in Thriller, and then he started puking all over the place. He just kept on playing, though. It was amazing stuff to watch, and I know it had a profound effect on me as I had been looking for a sport where I wouldn't be penalized for rampant puking and zombiefication. Amazingly enough, he ended up winning that match and plenty more because he was the best ever. It's a shame to watch him go, but at the very least, I got to watch him play and occasionally vomit.
I finally got around to doing something that I should've done the day I got here. I went to the Mongolian BBQ across the street from my apartment. Like I've always said, whether you're looking for the conquest of Asia or just some crazy ass BBQ, the Mongols are your people. Those people know how to work it. Also, Mongolian restaurants are nice and calm because you know if anything gets violent, the cooks will beat you, burn your house to the ground, and force you to be a part of their force of marauders. You think work is going to give you time off for that? Hell no, so you better step lightly inside that restaurant.
I think when you go to a restaurant that specializes in the food of a partcular nation or culture, it's like you're giving that group of people a vote of confidence. For instance, if you go to a Mexican restaurant, you are silently saying, "Greetings, people of Mexico. Have I ever told you what my favorite Central American country is? You know, I'm not going to waste our precious time with sweet nothings; I will allow my stomach to display my love for you." Because I believe that, I don't think I'd be likely to go a Nazi restaurant or a restaurant specializing in the food of the Colombian drug cartel.
But Mongolian food? I can support that group like a rampaging sea monster of ethnic support. As far as I am concerned (and many of the people around me), I am the lost, white Mongol, kind of like Hawkeye in the Last of the Mohicans. I can just feel it whenever I step into the Mongolian BBQ restaurants, and it's all I can do to keep myself from getting a bunch of the waiters together to go pillage the Chinese restaurant down the street. Yes, Mongols, I am very fond of you, even though I'm not sure whether I should be referring to you as Mongols or Mongolians. Please do not hold this against me.
Well, summer is coming to a close and that means soon, the college football season will be here. The college football season is also known as Pee Your Pants Time in Texas. While the season is going, it is no big deal to see a UT fan and a Texas A&M fan, battling to the death out in the parking lot of a Wendy's because one besmirched the punt coverage of the other's team. And who is that climbing up on the roof in order to shang-hai them both with a napkin dispenser? It's a Texas Tech fan. Meanwhile, the Baylor fan is wondering how he can channel the killer rage of the basketball team into a football team that is capable of more than wetting its pants continuously.
At the same time all of this is going on, there is another group of Texas football fans that no one pays attention to: the division III people. My alma mater is a division III school, so every weekend, I could count on us taking the fearsome squad of the Dungeons and Dragons Council of Wabasha Community College. The games were high-spirited affairs, much like division I games. The only difference was the players. While in Division I games, you could could count on seeing the future stars of the NFL battle it out. In Division III games, you can look forward to seeing the future Accounts Receivable manager of your local tire factory pull his groin while diving for a pass.
I suppose the fans are different too. In a DI game, there'll be a lot of people painted up, screaming obscenities and wishing for a painful death for the opposing team. Also, you are likely to have a lot of the players' illegitimate children cheering them on. That is not the norm with division III fans. I will give you an example of a typical DIII crowd in order to juxtapose these two groups. In the fall of 1999, Trinity was playing in the play-offs against some Lutheran school from the Northwest. I was at this game with some friends, and we noticed shortly after kick-off that the opposing fans all seemed to be holding hands. Hmm, intriguing. A few minutes later, they started singing hymns. It was Vacation Bible School with pads out there. The hand holding and testifying went on the entire game, thus propelling their team on to victory. It was pretty interesting stuff, but it was made all the more interesting that no one was really surprised by it.
And so, I beg you readers to take a break from the heavyweights of college football. They don't need your support. Call up your local Air Conditioning Repair School and ask them who they're playing. If you're persistent enough, they may let you be quarterback. If you can't appreciate the beauty of sports built around that, then you are a damn fool.
Today's helping of goulash is for the single ladies. Gentlemen, take it outside (or sit in the back and shut the h up).
One thing a lot of ladies fail to consider when choosing a husband is the last name. If one guy is super cool and hot with a last name of Pukecookie and the other guy is a little less cool and moderately attractive, but with a last name of Beastslayer, you should definitely go with Beastslayer. I think this works well for me because even though my last name may not seem that awesome, it actually is because you can make a lot of puns with it. Now if you're going to object here and say, "But puns aren't cool!", then I suggest you get with the program. No man is going to want to marry you if you can't appreciate a good pun.
All of that being said, my last name works well because it rhymes with bowel, so there's pretty much an endless amount of puns you can do right there. So, if you decide to marry me and have my children (which you inevitably will), then anytime you take them anywhere, you can refer to it as a Powell movement. That's pretty good. Not to mention that when I get a little sassy, you can say "Someone here's got a case of irritable Powell syndrome." You think I can stay mad when you're cracking em off like that? No way. You can get as fat as you want to, as long as you keep making up puns about my name. I imagine other men would say the same.
Not that the puns stop with bowel references. Oh no, my last name also rhymes with towel, vowel, and fowl. Just think of all the terrycloth references you could make! If that's not going to keep you entertained, then I don't think this marriage is going anywhere because I just can't understand you. So ladies, to sum all of this up, the last name counts. You want a last name you can do a little something with. A man loses his looks with age, but that last name isn't going anywhere unless he joins the witness protection program. If that happens, then losing your puns probably isn't your biggest concern (although maybe it should be).
Well, the power is coming on in the Northeast. That's a shame, because I was just packing up my car to drive up there and loot some stuff. I secretly suspect that I would be the world's worst looter. First of all, I am not very good with conflict. I imagine that looting some person's store is about as conflictual as it gets, so it wouldn't work. I'd probably run in there with my baseball bat and grab something cool, then start running out, only to see the storeowner. Once we made eye contact, I'd end up walking up to the counter and writing the guy a check for everything that everyone has stolen so far.
Secondly, I don't handle stress very well. Even if I did manage to take off with something, I'd break out in a rash once I realized someone was chasing me. Unless I'm stealing some Neosporin and I can apply it while I'm running, it's just not going to work very well. Also, there's the fact that I'm very indecisive, and so the cops would probably snag me while I'm trying to make my selection. I'd definitely need to go in there with a list if I wanted to get anything.
I think that in any sort of riot situation, the role I'd be best at would be getting pulled from my car by an angry mob and beaten with sticks. Anything else (looter, rioter, vigilante, highwayman) is just too much for a man of delicate sensibilities, like myself. Of course, I'm not going down without a fight. I will defend myself with a vast array of knock knock jokes and Tai Bo moves, at least for the first 90 seconds of the attack, at which point I'll become winded and fake a heart attack.
To anyone who knows their behind from a hole in the ground, tell me Bubba Ho Tep isn't going to be the greatest movie in the world. Check out the trailer on that site. Note: I'm not just saying this to get an invite to Ossie Davis's house.
It's weird how I can like Fresca so much when I hate grapefruit. Isn't Fresca like Grapefruit Coke? I think I remember seeing a grapefruit on the can, but i could be hallucinating this whole thing. The reason I hate grapefruit so much is because I got suckered into buying like 250 gallons of grapefruit juice in college once while I was trying to spend the last bit of my cafeteria money. And you know what? I regret that one purchase more than almost any other, nearly as much as that 2 CD Best of the Gipsy Kings that I am forever talking about.
My point is that just because you think something may be vaguely Fresca related, it doesn't give you the right to go out and buy a crapload of it. Unless you want to spend like $50 on some crappy juice that you end up giving to your Uncle and your Grandmother, because they claim to like the stuff, even though you secretly suspect they are buying it because they pity you. Because of this, I refused to go see Fresca: The Musical. And I also didn't give any money to that guy who was pitching Fresca Mutual Funds.
As you can see, I am making absolutely no sense today. However, I do feel the need to share with you some Trading Spaces type crap that we had going on at the post Dog Track party. Hit the Read More link to see an image that will frighten and astound you.
Yes, you can turn the sadness of the dog track into great art.
This weekend was a true time of triumph. Some associates and I made our way down to the Dog Track in Galveston. How did it go, you ask. Well, the gambling started off good, as I made a 5 cent profit on the first bet. The next bet, I made a 3 dollar profit. At that rate of increase, I would be wearing platinum jumpsuits for the rest of my life after a few more bets. The dog track was buzzing with the news that a new golden boy had hit the scene and was squeezing that place like a lemon with big money, kick ass bets. I was living the dream, friends.
But of course, I was punished for my hubris and things quickly went downhill. You know things are going badly when even the beloved Captain Crunchnmunch can't be counted on to win his race. Any dog racing afficionado will tell you that the Captain comes to race; the crunchnmunch refers to what he does to the souls of his competitors. Apparently he took Saturday off, though. He really phoned that race in, probably due to sabotage from the people around me who couldn't stand my instant success. We all have our off days, don't we, Captain Crunchnmunch? He just happened to have one on the single day of my life where I was ready to invest my life savings on a dog named after a cereal.
Well, I've made it back home now, a few dollars lighter and with much more hatred for Captain Crunchnmunch and the Gulf Greyhound Park. The fact that they would toy with me like that disturbs me, letting me win the first two races and then throwing my ass in the hurtlocker for the rest of the afternoon. Big mistake, folks. I don't forget these things. I'm coming back there with a big plate of brownies, like I'm apologizing for assaulting the bathroom attendant after the Crunchnmunch fiasco. I will find the employees who are lactose intolerant and ask them if they want a brownie. They will say, "Do these have milk in them?" My answer to that question may or may not be the truth. When your employees are clutching their stomachs and emptying their bowels into the pants, you will learn a very valuable lesson: no one, dog or otherwise, wrongs Cody Powell and gets away with it.
I came across something intriguing today. Apparently, there is a virtual stock exchange set up where you can trade shares of different websites. According to this, this site is currently worth $1,277.74. Not too shabby, although I spend at least that much every month on wood glue and psychiatrist visits in order to write the stuff on here. Also, you're kidding yourself if you think that $1277.74 is enough to satisfy me. No sir, I shall show an almost deranged fascination with that number until it gets to a level I consider to be reasonable (two bazillion dollars). Now this site isn't going to get up into the bazillions with me sitting around here, talking about my rashes. I'm going to have to lure the investors in. That being said, this is my quarterly report to my shareholders on blogshares.com.
This has been a real quarter of excitement for codypowell.com. Not only did we reach a very nice settlement in our patent infringement lawsuit against the Hulk Hogan Waffle Iron Company, but we were also able to further leverage our most successful core business, that of course being in the field of Slip and Slide Consulting. We answered questions like "How does this Slip and Slide work?" and "Do I have to wear my bathing suit to get on the Slip and Slide?" for various multinational corporations, to the tune of hundreds and hundreds of dollars. As long as the Slip and Slide continues to bafle the consumer, we will continue to provide enterprise level Slip and Slide e-solutions.
Additionally, we have made significant progress in our marketing campaign. Codypowell.com is now the 6th result on Google when searching for goulash. In your face, Globalgourmet.com! Our continued climb up the rankings will ensure that in the future, when people are looking for goulash recipes, they will instead find this site and forget all about their hankering for goulash. And then they'll remember their broken Slip and Slide. See where this is going? It's called vertical integration, and we're all up in it like a son of a bitch here.
Looking at our financial statements, you may be wondering "What is this one time charge for 3 million dollars?" Well, July was Julio Iglesias month here at CP.com. We hired the man to follow us around our headquarters for the entire month, serenading us with his soulful Latin stylings. Totally worth it. Additionally, we experienced some budgetary problems related to our Free Waffles with Fixins Fridays. We will scale back on the Fixins immediately. I take full responsibility for this.
Overall, Codypowell.com is well positioned to kick ass and take names for the rest of the year. We have the tools, we have the talent, and we have the tortoises. By tortoises, I am referring to our new tortoise breeding experiment, where we are trying to breed pureblood, show quality tortoises. It's looking good. Additionally, we have invested heavily in treasure maps and metal detectors, and we think we just may find something soon. We are a growing, financially sound operation, no matter what the IRS and SEC say. They'll get their come-uppance.
Good news, chums. It looks like as of today, this site has been visited by people in 6 continents. The lone holdout is Antarctica. You've always got to be that way, don't you, Antarctica? Such a show off. There is a long list of things that other continents participate in, that Antarctica just refuses to have anything to do with. This includes: people, vegetation, petting zoos, and Super Wal-Marts. It does have an abundance of penguins and Abominable Snowmen, though.
That being said, I think that is the way I will get Antarcticans to visit the site. I must offer lots of penguin grooming tips, along with the secret to defeating the Abominable Snowman. Penguin grooming tip #1: dress your penguin up in a tuxedo to capitalize on the whole irony thing. Penguin grooming tip #2: paste mutton chop sideburns to the side of your penguin's face. Penguin grooming tip #3: exfoliate your penguin nightly with a Loofa sponge. And finally, here is the secret to defeating the Abominable Snowman: harpoon him in the knees. You're welcome, Antarctica.
In case you're interested, here is everything you could hope to know about Antarctica. According to that, there are roughly 1000 scientists in Antarctica right now, with quite a few of those coming from South America. I don't think the odds are good of any South American scientist in Antarctica just stumbling upon this site, even with the penguin grooming tips and the secret to destroying the Abominable Snowman. So, here's some custom made content for South American scientists in Antarctica:La geología del antártida me fascino. Too good for Spanish? Here it is in Portuguese: Eu sou fascinado pela geologia do antarctica. Note: if you are from Antarctica, please leave a comment below and I will send you a prize.
If you're looking for a great source of amusement, look at the From lines on all of the unsolicited email that you get. I don't know if the writers from Family Matters have taken to coming up fake names to send spam from, or if the scripts they use to generate this stuff is really funked up. Whatever the case is, I introduce a new game called Know Your Spammer, where I make up biographies about the people who sent me spam today.
Willodean Eakins: Professional pudding taster. Can't stop mailing his underwear to Ed Asner, but lord knows he's tried. Never got over Street Fighter II: The Movie, and spends his nights practicing Ryu's Dragon Punch in front of his bathroom mirror in his underwear. Trying to channel all of his rage into whittling, but he has nothing to show but splinters so far.
Marquita Ribakovs: Keeps writing letters to Irish Spring, asking them to come out with Nacho Cheese Soap. Marquita is this close to telling those fatcats down at the soap company where to stick their non cheese soap and just doing it herself. Fired from Church's Chicken when she was caught stealing coleslaw. Tried to apply again under a pseudonymn, but nobody bought it. Now sits in the parking lot all day long, blaring the soundtrack to Shrek, and giving all the customers the stink eye.
Sanjuana McClintock: Has a pet racoon. Keeps putting out ads in the local newspaper, saying "Does Your Racoon Want to Mate with Mine?" but no one has answered. Racoon won't stop busting into the fridge and drinking Sanjuana's Mike's Hard Lemonade. Getting pretty sick of that shit. Lease is up in October; thinking about moving and not telling the racoon where. Looking into getting a pet mongoose, the racoon's natural enemy, but her landlord is being a real dick about it. Sanjuana has a trick up her sleeve, though.
It's all thundery here, but look who is writing anyway. I know the vast weather conspiracy would like nothing more than to silence this website, but it's not going to happen. This thing is to the internet what Christian Slater's pirate radio station was to Pump Up The Volume. All of that being said, I now present the first annual CodyPowell.com's What's Hot and What's Not list.
Hot: Hulk Hogan and Christopher Lloyd in Suburban Commando
Not: Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez in Gigli
Hot: Snapping Turtles as Pets
Not: Snapping Turtles as Butlers
Hot: Alan Greenspan's Velvet Jumpsuits
Not: Kofi Annan's Paper Mache Shoes
Hot: The new PS2 game, Yam Tram, the first video game to successfully combine the lighter sides of yam farming and urban transportation
Not: The new xbox game, Dewey Decimal: You're the Librarian!
Hot: Powdered wigs
Not: Wowdered pigs
Off of I-35 here in Austin, there is a place of questionable taste advertising Nude Modelling. This place could pull off the greatest thing ever if they just listen to this idea. First, you advertise the crap out of the Nude Modelling thing. Then, you make everyone pay up front to take a look at the nude models. Then, you let them into a room where they find a bunch of naked old men working on little models of boats and cars and stuff. And if you really want to sass them up, have a few naked guys working in AutoCAD. How great would that be? If anyone decides to give me a hidden camera show, this would be the first thing I'd do.
In other news, there was a midnight showing of Ghostbusters last night that I was fortunate enough to attend. Man, I love that movie. In the words of Ray Parker Jr., Bustin' makes me feel goooood. I actually remember seeing the original Ghostbusters in the theater with my dad. If we want to put that on my life's timeline, it'd be right around the time I became convinced a giant marshmallow man was trying to kill me, due to the evil spirit Zuul. I'm pretty sure that Ghostbusters and those night terrors were unrelated. Anyway, I am trying to narrow down why I like GB so much. It's hard, but I think I came up with a movie goodness equation that explains it.
Movie Goodness = (2 * Ghosts Eating Hot Dogs) + (the Delightful Ernie Hudson's Screen Time/5) + (Rick Moranis Goes Crazy ^ 2) * (ln e ^ Keymaster and Gatekeeper Repartee)
So, as you can see, Ghostbusters beats out the next best film, Miss Congeniality, by a wide margin. In my search to bring you people only the most relevant materials, I found Ray Parker Jr.'s website, where he has a Gossip Page. While there's not really anything about the Ghostbusters theme song, you may be interested to know that Andre Fischer, David Foster, and Ray Parker Jr. used to do sessions with Flat Top and Cookie for $35 bucks a day. I have no idea what to make of that information, but Flat Top and Cookie have some explaining to do.
Another day, another dollar, another medieval history scholar. That would be your motto if you were a bounty hunter who solely went after history professors. However, as that field has really yet to start booming, what I said applies to no one. So, let's try another day, another dollar, another 6 inches taller. That would be your motto if you had a pituitary gland problem. I've been trying to get one of those disorders, but not such luck. Let's try another day, another dollar, another elizabethan collar. Now that is totally me.
Well, I don't know if you people follow the weather or not, but it was 105 degrees in Austin today. And before you say, "Wow, that was hot!", let me tell you that was Celsius. So, it was roughly 230 degrees F, meaning that you do not want to walk around with a cup of water unless you want it boiled. Obviously that interrupted my plans a little bit, as I had set this afternoon aside to walk the streets and fling water in the face of anyone I saw who couldn't tell me Dick Cheney's email address. That plan was cancelled. Instead, I sat in my office and whimpered softly, wondering why I had moved to a city that's apparently 4 feet away from the sun. When it's that hot, you realize what a sweet deal those sick people have who are forced to live in bubbles. It's 75 in there all year round, unless you want to simulate an eskimo environment. And that should be your choice; you're sick and thus a hero. I imagine that's one of the main selling points for the medical bubble, all that crap.
But the bubble has its downside. Imagine trying to play a game of Risk while in the bubble. Who is going to move for you? You know your cousin isn't going to do it for you because he doesn't even know which spot New Guinea is on the board. Any sort of strategy goes out the window right there, and you may as well declare the tickle fight to be your first line of defense. Second, what about thumb wars? How can you solve any arguments when you can't carry one of these out? What are you going to do, have a verbal thumb war? I don't think so. And even if you did and you won, it wouldn't be like a real victory because maybe the guy just let you win because of the bubble. Yes, it is a double edged sword, the medical bubble.
Bad news, chums: mankind's last hope, HavenCo, has failed. For those who aren't familiar, HavenCo is a company based on an abandoned gun tower in the North Sea, aka The Principality of Sealand, that would supposedly host all sorts of illegal content since it was set in international waters. You know, they said the economy was bad but, I enver believed it until I saw that HavenCo and Sealand were going under (PUN INTENDED!!!!). If HavenCo can't make it, then things are pretty grim for companies based on abandoned gun towers everywhere. Let's take a look at a few of these companies and analyze the situation a bit.
Abandoned Gun Tower Company #1: Cockfight Palace. Those fatcats in Congress can't let a good thing alone, going to the insane lengths of outlawing cockfighting in several places in the USA. One brave entrepreneur smelled opportunity and decided to set up shop in a place where the law can never touch him: the middle of the ocean. A mere 6 hours by boat from Pensacola, Florida (USA's cockfight capital), the Cockfight Palace features the horneriest roosters from all the surrounding islands (Haiti and Martinique) fighting to the death. The losers are fed to the sharks. Visit the gift shop.
Abandoned Gun Tower Company #2: Bill Bill Cooksy's Mermaid Escort Service. Nothing says super impressive like showing up to a fancy aquatic social event with a mermaid at your side. Bill Bill's is one of the few places on earth where lonely souls can go to enjoy the company of the sea's finest ladies; what you do with them is your own business. Bring some herring to watch them really go wild.
Abandoned Gun Tower Company #3: Whaling Adventures. Yet another case of laws getting in the way of old fasioned fun, it's nearly impossible to whale anywhere now. Thanks to an abandoned gun tower in the Arctic Ocean, all of that has changed. Show up with your harpoon and Eskimo guide, and get ready to watch the blubber fly.
As we can all see, the business models are solid. Cockfights, mermaid escorts, and dead whales aren't going out of business anytime soon. I hope that whichever supervillain is out to ruin the world's Abandoned Gun Tower Companies comes to his senses and realizes the beauty of that which can only be done by shady people in the middle of the ocean. Leave our Abandoned Gun Tower Companies alone!
Well, I have some news to report to everyone who inquired about my nose after yesterday's entry (that would be no one, I hate you all). It's hurting maybe 5% less. I'm not going to go ahead and declare myself to be in recovery state because I think it's very likely that whoever is cursing me saw the post yesterday and took it down a notch, thinking I'd forget all about it. It's not happening, Lester. I will write about my nose until it falls off or get better, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me.
All of my life I've been a low class kind of guy, mainly eating stuff that I found in the trash can or that I accidentally killed with my car. I think I may be turning into a bit of a fancy boy now, though. That's pretty strange consisting that the rest of my diet consists of funyuns, Ghostbusters cereal, and Hawaiian Punch. I came to this conclusion while I was browsing the chip aisle for a little snack of the salsa variety. Yeah, they had your Tostitos salsa and your On the Border salsa and the HEB brand, but I wasn't interested in any of that crap. Why not direct me to your baby food aisle, I thought to myself. I was headed straight for the Jardines Cilantro Texasalsa, which ,according to their website, is a gourmet salsa. Ohh la la is right. However, that is not the fancy boy part of the story.
Back to the store in the chip aisle. I did a quick scan of the goods on the shelves, and I did not find it. Then I did a thorough, hardcore search, including checking behind things and on other aisles, but still no Jardines. I don't go down without a battle, so I asked an employee if they had any in stock. Still, not at the fancy boy part. I was still just a regular guy who likes his salsa. No shame there. He did a quick call to his buddy in the back and declared that no, there was no salsa. However, he reassured me, they have lots of other salsa. When he told me that, I just couldn't control myself: I sighed theatrically, causing him to raise his eyebrow. And then, right then, I was sure I had traipsed into the realm of the fancy boys. A beret and as ascot couldn't have made me any fancier just then. One of those long, Cruella de Ville style cigarette holders, and a velvet smoking jacket would've made me more of a regular guy.
Someone alert Robin Leach, George Will, and the rest of the people who throw fits in supermarkets because their gourmet salsa is out of stock, because there's a new member to that club. It's probably just a matter of days before I'm wearing a cape and going apeshit on the people at Applebees because I didn't want french fries, I wanted belgian style frites. I'm looking forward to it.
First, lookie lookie: Bronson Pinchot Addresses the Graduates has found its audience. For anyone who is wondering, I only submit things to Haypenny now. Take that, Cat Fancy Magazine! I do this for three reasons. First, I think Haypenny has the funniest stuff. Second, I have had too many bad experiences with other websites, and Haypenny seems to treat everyone very well. Third, because I get a free container of homemade butter everytime I submit something there. You know me, I'm a fool for the butter churn and its handiwork. I yearn for the churn.
I don't know what has happened, but my nose seems to be falling apart. I found out yesterday that if I put any pressure on it, it stings like a mother. And then today, I discover that if I try to blow my nose, I cry like a little girl. Is it possible for your nose to break itself? That sounds too horrible to be true, so I must seek out another possibility. Could this be the work of an evil sorcerer/witch doctor? Let's examine a couple of reasons why a few prominent witch doctors may hold grudges against one Cody Powell.
First, I spent the better part of last month going door to door in Haiti, hitting random citizens in the head with a croquet mallet. While I didn't think it was notable at the time, a large number of the people I assaulted had bumper stickers saying "I'd Rather Be Witch Doctoring." Second, there was my infamous speech at last year's International Santeria Festival, "Voodoo is for Homos". Yes, there was an elaborate Powerpoint slideshow that accompanied my speech. Third, I placed a very large bet on the Kentucky Derby this year. I was disappointed when I lost, but bewildered when I found out that the horse I bet on, Ed Asner's Imaginary Mustache, wasn't even in the race. Doesn't that seem like grounds for a do over? I thought so, but the bookie did not. As I am a quick thinker, I scribbled down a person he could collect the money from and then I left town. Instead of writing down Uncle Larry, I wrote The Honorable Witch Doctor Bearwalker Mamoto. Not a good idea in retrospect.
I guess a big question must be addressed today. Just how many times did everyone see Gigli this weekend? If I just sat in the theater and watched it nonstop, does that count as just one long viewing or 28 separate viewings? Whatever it is, I am certainly they glad they cost Ben Affleck in the soon to be legendary role of Larry Gigli, rather than their first choice of Danny De Vito. Sure, the sex scenes would be way hotter with the De Vit, but I don't see him turning "Hey, where's my applesauce?" into the signature Larry Gigli line the way Affleck certainly did. Whatever happens, I can't wait for the sequel, Gigli 2: The Bunsen Burner Incident.
Well, due to my absence last week, I didn't get to write about the death of Bob Hope. Yes, it was a little news story that slipped through the cracks of most news organizations, so I knew that I owed it to you guys to scoop the big boys and publicize it a bit. For a man to be taken in the prime of his life like that is a shock. If Bob Hope could go like that, then truly any of us could. Okay, getting past all of that, I would like to say that I liked Bob Hope a lot. I was a big fan of his when I was younger, with my favorite movie being Son of Paleface. It seems like there's no such thing as good, silly comedy in movies anymore; it's either smug insults or it's someone tricking someone else into eating poop. Bob Hope was the master of good, silly comedy. In return for saying this, I can only hope that he will decide to haunt the houses of my enemies or lead me to buried treasure. Whatever the case may be, I certainly appreciated the work he did.
While eating my morning feast today, I came across something exciting on my television device: badminton. This was no amateur stuff, it was China versus Korea on the Tennis Channel. First, I am glad someone had to the guts to televise the shuttlecock in all its glory. Second, I had no idea there was a Tennis Channel. Third, that sport is a lot of fun to watch and I am thinking of organizing a Fantasy Asian Badminton League. Here's the deal: everyone chips in $5 and in return, you get to pick two badminton guys. Whichever set of guys is chosen by me to have the best uniforms and court demeanor win. Now, this is a season long thing, so don't think that you picking Zhang Ning is going to lead you to triumph just because he's having one good hair day. Our league goes for the next year, during which time I will be making trips to Asia to visit the players' homes and see who is faking it.
When I finally decide who the winner is, he/she will win an all expenses paid visit to the Cici's Pizza near my house with yours truly. I realize the temptation is to flood me with mail tonight, saying who you want to pick. Friends, slow down; I'll be accepting submissions all week. Take tonight to ruminate a bit. Ask your friends, family, and coworkers for input. Ask the Lord for a sign. When you're confident with your decision, then go ahead and send it to me. I will only accept US tender and Putt Putt tokens for the $5.