"Same to you, buddy!"

I get upset when people tell me, "Have a nice day!" It's a very rude and pretentious thing to say, no matter who you're saying it to. I only just recently realized this and I feel it is my duty to inform others as to avoid more lives with this ugly saying.

When someone tells you, "Have a nice day," they're assuming you're having the exact opposite. If you were having a nice day, why would someone wish for you to have one? You've already got one. It would be redundant to say something like this. What if you're having a nice day but you just don't look like you areat that moment? The other person is aking a judgement on how you display your day, good or bad.

I think the real root of my problem with this phrase is how pretentious it is to tell it to someone. "Have a nice day." When said, that means the sayer is assuming they can tell you how to have a day. Maybe I woek up and don't feel like having a nice day, have you incorporate that into your decision to tell me how to have my day? You don't have the power or authority or influence to cause me to have a nice day.

This is why it's neccessary to inquire as to someone's day--if I were to respond to your question, "How are you doing today" with a grumbling, "Pretty bad," it wouldn't be in poor taste to wish me a good day, because I'm not already in possesion of a good day.

Thank you readers, and have a bad day if you're so inclined, or, have a good day if you don't have one.

You Should Go Back to School

I'm in the last throes of my English degree, and the one class I have left to take is British Literature II. So why are you looking at this picture of Paranormal State?

My "professor" likes to do this thing called digress. Including discussing her pre-bedtime ritual of watching Paranormal State, she's also talked about:

Eating babies as soup

Drowning babies

James Bond (I actually paid attention to that one)

Drug trips, specifically LSD and PCP

Cell-phone induced cancer

Impending apocalypse via snow

Satan is a bird

Now, I did pick easy classes this semester, as it is my last--Rock and Roll History and Acting, namely--and they've been rewarding. Knowing full well that this would be the last "hard" class of my colegiate career, I didn't feel so bad about clicking "Add Class". While I was excited to find out it's a sleeper (in that I can sleep through the whole thing and ace the essay at the end), but this teacher won't even let that happen.

Bein Stein's got nothing on this lady. A monotone voice would normally put yours truly to Zzz's, but her "Granda crone"-esque pitch makes it entirely impossible. Coupled with the fact that she talks about some of the weirdest stuff I've ever heard come out of a 60-year-old+ woman's mouth, it makes sitting through all 75 minutes of blah blah blah blah literally mind wiping.

I guess it makes sense--all these modern British poets want you to kill yourself, so I think I may do that for my final project.

The Last, Best Hope for Wings Everywhere

As we all know, I eat chicken wings like a Wii controller eats batteries. I become incredibly irritable and grumpy should I go too long without them. I generally need 1.5 servings of wings per two weeks, though once a week is the norm. But enough about eating habits! I have a complaint to file!

Buffalo Wild Wings, while not my first choice for wingdom, is a fantastic place to chow down on some wings--with a total of 14 flavors ranging from Parmesan Garlic to Mango Habanero, they've got a taste for each customer. Now, in the image above, you'll notice only twelve sauces, two of which were removed from their menu in mid-2006.

Thai was alright, which is just the Asian Zing flavor they have now. The one circled (you did see, right?) is their once grand champion flavor, the unforgettable Smoky Southwestern.

The Smoky Southwestern wing was exactly that--I felt as though I was chewing into a smoked barbeque style chicken. (Wait a second...) It had that perfect amount of kick and the perfect amount of smooth, which, blended together, made for the perfect wing. Yes, I said it. The Buffalo Wild Wing Smokey Southwestern chicken wing was the perfect chicken wing.

I'll never understand why they got rid of this glory of wingdom, and I'll probably die asking myself, "Why did you get rid of such greatness?" I understand the removal of the Smoky Southwestern wing brough the likes of Parmesan Garlic and Honey BBQ (both of which I've come to thoroughly enjoy, the former now their current best), but it needn't be done. It just goes to show you the old adage, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" is truer than Canada being awesome.**

Today when I go to eat wings as I regularly do, I'll drop some ranch dressing on the ground for my homie, the Smoky Southwestern wing.

**Canada is awesome, despite rumours.

Friend Request: Denied

The point of being a friend is someone you can confide in, tell your deepest, darkest secrets, someone you can trust knowing how you really feel, someone you go to in times of need. A friend also goes out with you and joins you in your activities. You need something? A friend is there for you.

You could probably replace "friend" in the above paragraph with "therapist" and it'd just about make the same sense--they're there to tell your secrets to, they listen to your feelings and are there for you in times of need. And yet here thousands of people with therapists are paying for such a service. Which leads me to my point.

If a therapist had a friend, they'd have to charge for all the time they spend listen to that friend's problems. Example: I tell my best friend about some girl problems, he listens, gives me advice, tells me it'll be alright, then we smile and continue to each tacos with hot sauce. A stick a therapist in my friend's shoes, and suddenly he'd be in a position to charge me for the time I yapped at him.

I'd like to think if I had a therapist I'd try to befriend them, just so I could get free time away from the couch to spill my beans. Likewise, I'd like to meet a friend of a therapist--no, not a therpist herself, but the friend of a therapist and learn what they talk about. Certainly they wouldn't talk about secrets and such, would they? 

Man, imagine a female therapist with a female friend. She'd be great at listening but would want to talk the whole time, too.

I Don't Think So

Do the Boy Scouts of America really think they can compare with Girl Scout cookies? I mean honestly, how many people out there actually buy popcorn? Alright, alright--you get it when you're at the movies, but I know not a soul that goes out and purpose to the grocery store and buys popcorn. Er, my roommate does, but he's socially retarded.

Even taking the worst cookies sold by the Girl Scouts--their shortbread cookie--and stacking it up against the Boy Scout's best popcorn--Caramel or whatever it's called**--people are always going to go the way of the cookie. Even if I were in a movie theater watching my favorite movie I'd still take those awful cookies over that even awfuller popcorn.

Do those little boys understand they're selling the lesser of the two? Do they have a "Selling Crappy Food" badge? Man, I remember actually thinking popcorn was neat to sel when I was in the Boy Scouts. Looking back I see why I never sold that much:

Nobody likes popcorn

Parents didn't have suckers for friends

My point is, go out and get some cookies, people! Freeze those Thin Mints!

*Stimulus* Check?

We're in one of the worst economic times of our American history and there are some talks of sending out money to stir up business to get us back on track. I don't claim to be a political expert, but I do know that there are few people out there that would deny getting free money. Called the "Stimulus" check, Americans can expect to get their ~600$ check later this year, assuming the bill is passed.

What I propose instead, is a "Stimulus Package," only I'm being much more literal with that vocabulary. The woman in the picture above is a recipient of such a package.

Meant to stimulate, uh, "you know what," this package is meant to stir up those old crones and hags that we all know. Surely Americans are used to the idea of wild "hook ups" every weekend, and are no strangers to:

audition the finger puppets,
backstroke roulette,
bash the candle,
be a virtuoso of the skin flute,
beat off,
beat the bishop,
beat the dummy,
beat the meat,
beat the stick,
beat up your date,
beef-stroke-it-off,
bleed the weed,
blow your load,
bludgeon the beefsteak,
bop the baloney,
box the jesuit and get cockroaches,
boxin' the bald champ,
buff the banana,
burp the baby,
burp the worm,
butter the corn,
choke Kojak,
choke the chicken,
choke the chubby,
choke the sheriff and wait for the posse to come,
clamp the pipe,
clean your rifle,
climb Mount Baldy,
closet Frisbee,
come into your own,
cook the cream of cock,
corral the tadpoles,
couch hockey for one,
crack one off,
crank the shank,
crimp the wire,
crown the king,
cuff the carrot,
diddle,
do a hand job,
do battle with the Purple Helmeted Warrior of Love,
do handiwork,
do the janitor thing,
drain the monster,
engage in safe sex,
fist fuck,
fist your mister,
five knuckle shuffle,
flog the dog,
flog the dong,
flog the hog,
flog your mule,
fondle the fig,
friggit,
gallup the antelope,
genitalic stimulation via phallengetic motion,
get a date with Slick Mittens,
get the German soldier marching,
get to know yourself,
give it a tug,
go a couple of rounds with ol' josh,
go on a date with Handrea and Palmela,
grease the pipe,
hack the hog,
have a conversation with the one-eyed trouser snake,
have a date with Fisty Palmer,
have a date with Rosie Palm and her five sisters,
have a J. Arthur (British special, after J. Arthur Rank, it's rhyming slang),
have it off,
have sex with someone you love,
hitchhike to heaven,
hitchhike under the big top,
hold the sausage hostage,
hug the hog,
hump your hose,
jack hammer,
jack off,
jazz yourself,
jerk off,
jerkin' the Gherkin,
juggling the coullions,
meat with Mother Thumb and her four daughters,
knuckle shuffle on the ol' piss pump,
launching the rocket skyward,
lope the mule,
make instant pudding,
make the bald man puke,
mangle the midget,
manipulate the mango,
manual override,
master bacon,
meet Rosie Hancock,
milk the cow,
milk the lizard,
mount a corporal and four,
nerk your throbber,
null the void,
oil the glove,
onan's olympics,
pack your palm,
paddle the pickle,
paint the ceiling,
paint the pickle,
peel the banana,
peel some chilies,
perform diagnostics on your ManTool,
play a little five-on-one,
play in a one-man show,
play five against one,
play pocket pinball,
play pocket pool,
play tug-of-war with the cyclops,
play Uno,
please your pisser,
plunk your twanger,
polish Percy in your palm,
polish the family jewels,
polish the rocket,
polish the sword,
pound off,
pound the bald-headed moose,
pound the pud,
pound your flounder,
pull off,
pull rank,
pull the carrot,
pull the cord,
pull the five-knuckle shuffle,
pull the goalie,
pull the pole,
pull the pope,
pull your prick,
pull your taffy,
pump the python,
punchin' the munchkin,
ram the ham,
ride the great white knuckler,
roll your own,
rope the pony,
rope the pope,
rub off,
rub one out,
run off a batch by hand,
sacrifice sperm to the god of lonely nights,
scour the tower of power,
self abuse,
self-induced penile regurgitation,
shake hands with the unemployed,
shake hands with your John Thomas,
shake hands with your wife's best friend,
shemp the hog,
shift gears,
shine the helmet,
shine your pole,
shoot putty at the moon,
shoot skeet,
shoot the moon,
slakin' the bacon,
slam the ham,
slam the spam,
slammin' the salmon,
slap high fives with Yul Brynner,
slap the carrot, slap the clown,
slap the donkey,
slap the pud,
slap the salami,
slappin' pappy,
sling the jelly,
snap the monkey,
snap the rubber,
snap the whip,
solo sex,
spank the frank,
spank the monkey,
spank the salami,
squeeze the cheese,
squeeze the juice,
stinky pinky,
stir the yogurt,
stoke it,
stroke it,
stroke off,
stroke the one-eyed burping gecko,
stroke the dog,
stroke the satin-headed serpent,
stroke your poker,
take matters into your own hands,
take the monster for a one-armed ride,
take part in population control,
tease the weenie,
tenderize the tube steak,
test the testicles,
test your batteries,
the art of Unisex,
tickly my fancy,
tickle the pickle,
toss off,
toss the turkey,
twang the wire,
thump the pump,
tweak your twinkie,
varnish the flagpole,
wack the one-eyed worm,
wack the weasel,
wack the willie,
walk the dog,
walk the plank,
wank,
wax the carrot,
wax the dolphin,
wax your surfboard,
whack off,
whip off,
whip the dummy,
whip the wire,
whip up some sour cream,
whip your dripper,
whizzin' jism,
wixen,
wonk your conker,
work off,
wrestle the eel,
wring out your rope,
wrist aerobics,
yank off,
yank the crank,
yank your plank,
and

yank the yoyo,

so a package such as this would absolutely be used immediately. I would like to think it would, in the end, cause America's emotional climate to be that of "pleasantly and simply overjoyed." Really, if such a package were to exist, our day-to-day would be looked forward to even more.

This package would only be available to female Americans over the age of 18. 

Kid Only Disease

Ever heard of an adult getting a tummy ache?

That's right--adults can't get tummy aches because they don't have tummies. Sure, you might think to yourself, "What about stomach pains?" Actually those are labor pains and you should seek a counselor that will help you bring your life back into accord. 

Tummy aches are the biggest BS sickness in the world. There's no specific cause and there's no reliable cure, either. The only way to prove that you have one is to be a skilled enough actor to bamboozle your parents into believing you actually have one. Faking a tummy ache is like doing a cheap food poisoning impression. In the realm of faking sick it's certainly the lazy kid's way out of taking that spelling test.

I've not ever faked a tummy ache--I once caught pneumonia to get out of school--and won't stand for it if my kids try to pull a fast one on me. However, if I ever meet an adult that legitimately has a tummy ache, I'll give him a pat on the back and a popsicle.

It'd be a red one made of Robitussin.