In the wake of LA Mayor's Antonio Villaraigosa signing into law numerous measures to save water, I decided a week ago to stop taking showers. In the interest of science, I gauged the following reactions by coworkers.
Day one: Genuine belly laughs received upon hearing my plan.
Day two: Curious expressions while passing me, as if to say: "What's that smell?"
Day three: Mild coughing followed by expressions that seemed to evoke the words: "Good God, you're serious, aren't you?"
Day four: Vexation and palpable disdain.
Day five: Poorly-veiled hostility, flagrant at times and coupled with vulgarity, accompanied by firm albeit "accidental" shoves.
Day six: Outright violence, resulting in bruises and abrasions.
Day seven: Genuine belly laughs received from others in the unemployment line.
BILL
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
God, This Sucks!
Having resided on earth for lo these 49 years, I have come to believe that an absolute FORTUNE awaits the person who invents what I think should be called the “vacuum cleaner,” the name derived from the vacuum created within the device itself that creates a suction effect that would, when propelled across a flat surface, lift small foreign particles from that very surface, resulting in it being duly cleaned.
Yes, I am roundly familiar with the gratingly loud mechanical devices one pushes to and fro across a floor that do little but create a healthy layer of sweat upon the user and leave upon the carpet the faint visual trace of the wheeled device itself, said markings seen up close as one bends down repeatedly to pick up those objects easily resisting the feeble attempts of the aforementioned device. But what I am referring to is something that would actually suck up dirt and particles INTO it.
Does this device exist and, if so, where can I find one?
Thanks. BILL
PS – Guess what I did this weekend?
Yes, I am roundly familiar with the gratingly loud mechanical devices one pushes to and fro across a floor that do little but create a healthy layer of sweat upon the user and leave upon the carpet the faint visual trace of the wheeled device itself, said markings seen up close as one bends down repeatedly to pick up those objects easily resisting the feeble attempts of the aforementioned device. But what I am referring to is something that would actually suck up dirt and particles INTO it.
Does this device exist and, if so, where can I find one?
Thanks. BILL
PS – Guess what I did this weekend?
My Dumbbell Thought
I have problems not only with watching weightlifting as an Olympic "sport" but can't help thinking that the guy doing color only needs to memorize one line: "Bob, it seems THAT one was jusssssssssst a bit too heavy."
BILL
BILL
Friday, August 15, 2008
Do NOT waste your time with online IQ tests!!!
They're a FRAUD!!! I've scored on three occasions over five or six years 135, 129, and 138, putting me – in theory – of "extreme intelligence." Ask anyone who knows me, however, and they'll likely say: "Bill? Yeah, I know him. He's an idiot.”
BILL
BILL
Monday, August 11, 2008
ESSAY: Shopping for God
The other day I went shopping for a god. Sadly, I could not afford the priciest model and instead ended up getting one that, while all-knowing and all-powerful, does nothing when tragedy strikes. Little time passed before I felt the sting of buyer’s remorse, so I tried to return my god back to the store the next day. The guy behind the counter took a look at it, inserted a new pair of D-size batteries into it, and informed me that its two main features, that is to say my god being all-knowing, i.e. being aware that tragedies occur, and being all-powerful, as in being perfectly capable of stopping bad things from happening, were functioning exactly as advertised.
“But he does nothing while horrific tragedy occurs!” I exclaimed, my frustration clearly showing.
“That’s the way he’s designed,” the guy replied. “Listen, if you’re interested in the Grand Deluxe model—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, whatever you do don’t buy the Grand Deluxe!” The voice belonged to a woman in her mid-fifties, gaudy in attire and matronly in every worst possible sense of the word. Her hat looked like something conjured from the mind of Dr. Seuss and her stockings sagged as if weighted down by the noisome tenor of her own voice. None too happy, it was obvious she was returning her Grand Deluxe model. Another clerk stood behind the counter, his eyes bedeviled by his insufficiently brief encounter with her. He worked the register, doing his best to enact a speedy return.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“It’s so booooooothersome,” she said, the whine in her voice rivaling a low-flying airplane. “Always trying to do good. Always trying to help. That’s not what I signed up for. I want a god who sits there and does nothing. THAT’S the god I want, not this over-officious piece of crap.”
The other clerk rolled his eyes, his expression going undetected by the woman who was now scraping her god’s base with the tip of an atrociously long nail. She seemed to be trying to dislodge a flake of paint from it. “Cheap thing,” she muttered.
I turned away and addressed my own clerk. “So you’re actually saying people BUY the model I bought?”
He gestured toward the woman. “That’s the one she wants, pal. Folks buy it by the millions,” he said. “It’s our number one seller.”
“Well, how much more would I have to pay for a god that actually steps up to the plate, helping the afflicted, defeating evildoers, and bringing justice to the world? You know, one who would have kicked Hitler’s ass up and down the block, wiping out any chance whatsoever that the Holocaust would have even happened?”
“Again, that would be the Grand Deluxe. We’ve got a floor model I could show you but… I’m pretty sure he’s out of your price range. You know, it’s funny. You’re the first person who’s lodged a complaint over this model.”
“Wait, are you telling me that people are actually SATISFIED with their purchase of an all-knowing, all-powerful god who does absolutely nothing when, oh, I don’t know, a hardcore felon videotapes himself sodomizing a toddler, later posting the images on the Internet in hopes of luring other pedophiles to do the same?”
“We haven’t had a return yet. In fact, we’ve had nothing but rave reviews ever since we started stocking him. Check out this month’s Consumer Reports. ‘God of The Year’ they’re calling him.”
“But if I acted in such a manner, blithely ignoring evil at every turn when capable of preventing it, I’d be reviled as the most loathsome, unfeeling human being who ever walked the planet!”
“What can I say?” he replied, his face having long ago tapped some vein of jaded nonchalance.
“Good god.”
“That would be the Grand Deluxe. The good god. What you bought, well, don’t tell my floor manager, but the sales staff… we all call him ‘Harvey.’ As in Harvey the Rabbit. Not really there for you. Know what I’m saying?”
“And people buy this?!”
“Like I said: our number one seller.”
“And they’re not put off by the fact that, even though he’s aware of evil occurring and is more than capable of stopping it, he just sits back and watches it happen like bad reality TV?”
“Hey, I don’t build them; I just sell them.”
“And people don’t have a problem with that?!”
“What, are you kidding? They worship him for it.”
“Worship him?!”
“They drop to their knees in droves, my friend. Build shrines to him. Churches even.” Befuddlement overwhelmed my face. “Crazy, huh?” he replied, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.
“Unbelievable.” I stood there shaking my head, my eyes weary. Finally, I looked up at him, as he handed back to me my earlier purchase. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What god do you use?”
“My friend, like a dope peddler once told me: never, EVER use your product.”
BILL
“But he does nothing while horrific tragedy occurs!” I exclaimed, my frustration clearly showing.
“That’s the way he’s designed,” the guy replied. “Listen, if you’re interested in the Grand Deluxe model—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, whatever you do don’t buy the Grand Deluxe!” The voice belonged to a woman in her mid-fifties, gaudy in attire and matronly in every worst possible sense of the word. Her hat looked like something conjured from the mind of Dr. Seuss and her stockings sagged as if weighted down by the noisome tenor of her own voice. None too happy, it was obvious she was returning her Grand Deluxe model. Another clerk stood behind the counter, his eyes bedeviled by his insufficiently brief encounter with her. He worked the register, doing his best to enact a speedy return.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“It’s so booooooothersome,” she said, the whine in her voice rivaling a low-flying airplane. “Always trying to do good. Always trying to help. That’s not what I signed up for. I want a god who sits there and does nothing. THAT’S the god I want, not this over-officious piece of crap.”
The other clerk rolled his eyes, his expression going undetected by the woman who was now scraping her god’s base with the tip of an atrociously long nail. She seemed to be trying to dislodge a flake of paint from it. “Cheap thing,” she muttered.
I turned away and addressed my own clerk. “So you’re actually saying people BUY the model I bought?”
He gestured toward the woman. “That’s the one she wants, pal. Folks buy it by the millions,” he said. “It’s our number one seller.”
“Well, how much more would I have to pay for a god that actually steps up to the plate, helping the afflicted, defeating evildoers, and bringing justice to the world? You know, one who would have kicked Hitler’s ass up and down the block, wiping out any chance whatsoever that the Holocaust would have even happened?”
“Again, that would be the Grand Deluxe. We’ve got a floor model I could show you but… I’m pretty sure he’s out of your price range. You know, it’s funny. You’re the first person who’s lodged a complaint over this model.”
“Wait, are you telling me that people are actually SATISFIED with their purchase of an all-knowing, all-powerful god who does absolutely nothing when, oh, I don’t know, a hardcore felon videotapes himself sodomizing a toddler, later posting the images on the Internet in hopes of luring other pedophiles to do the same?”
“We haven’t had a return yet. In fact, we’ve had nothing but rave reviews ever since we started stocking him. Check out this month’s Consumer Reports. ‘God of The Year’ they’re calling him.”
“But if I acted in such a manner, blithely ignoring evil at every turn when capable of preventing it, I’d be reviled as the most loathsome, unfeeling human being who ever walked the planet!”
“What can I say?” he replied, his face having long ago tapped some vein of jaded nonchalance.
“Good god.”
“That would be the Grand Deluxe. The good god. What you bought, well, don’t tell my floor manager, but the sales staff… we all call him ‘Harvey.’ As in Harvey the Rabbit. Not really there for you. Know what I’m saying?”
“And people buy this?!”
“Like I said: our number one seller.”
“And they’re not put off by the fact that, even though he’s aware of evil occurring and is more than capable of stopping it, he just sits back and watches it happen like bad reality TV?”
“Hey, I don’t build them; I just sell them.”
“And people don’t have a problem with that?!”
“What, are you kidding? They worship him for it.”
“Worship him?!”
“They drop to their knees in droves, my friend. Build shrines to him. Churches even.” Befuddlement overwhelmed my face. “Crazy, huh?” he replied, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.
“Unbelievable.” I stood there shaking my head, my eyes weary. Finally, I looked up at him, as he handed back to me my earlier purchase. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What god do you use?”
“My friend, like a dope peddler once told me: never, EVER use your product.”
BILL
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Male Pattern Baldness and the Caveman
It is said that even the caveman suffered from this dreaded affliction. Crude and barbaric, however, the cure was worse than the "disease" itself, the caveman's primitive “tools” being limited to – sadly -- the club.
A village elder, steeped in the ways of Neanderthal medicine, would inflict the “cure” upon the thinly-haired "patient," the wooden club landing solidly atop the cranium, the blow intended to spur the pattern of male hair growth along more traditional lines, preferably without killing the poor man.
Thus was born: the Hair Club for Men.
BILL
A village elder, steeped in the ways of Neanderthal medicine, would inflict the “cure” upon the thinly-haired "patient," the wooden club landing solidly atop the cranium, the blow intended to spur the pattern of male hair growth along more traditional lines, preferably without killing the poor man.
Thus was born: the Hair Club for Men.
BILL
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hurricane Names
If any one of the following hurricanes was headed my way, I’d pull up a lawn chair and fly a kite:
Alfie
Babs
Cletus
Dick
Enos
Fredo
Gomer
Hymie
Izzy
Jesus
Kelly
Lily
Mo
Norm
Opie
Prudence
Quigley
Ricky
Sissy
Timmy
Ulva
Vivien
Wally
X – (Sorry, I'm afraid of any hurricane starting with an X.)
Yogi
Zippie
If any one of THESE hurricanes was headed my way, I’d make out a will:
Attila
Barnabus
Constantine
Diablo
Euclid
Fidel
Guido
Hannibal
Ichabod
Judas
Karma
Lucius
Misery
Nero
Oswald
Pandora
Quentin
Rory
Sonny
Trinity
Ulysses
Vlad
Willard
X (See above.)
Yuma
Zachariah
BILL
Alfie
Babs
Cletus
Dick
Enos
Fredo
Gomer
Hymie
Izzy
Jesus
Kelly
Lily
Mo
Norm
Opie
Prudence
Quigley
Ricky
Sissy
Timmy
Ulva
Vivien
Wally
X – (Sorry, I'm afraid of any hurricane starting with an X.)
Yogi
Zippie
If any one of THESE hurricanes was headed my way, I’d make out a will:
Attila
Barnabus
Constantine
Diablo
Euclid
Fidel
Guido
Hannibal
Ichabod
Judas
Karma
Lucius
Misery
Nero
Oswald
Pandora
Quentin
Rory
Sonny
Trinity
Ulysses
Vlad
Willard
X (See above.)
Yuma
Zachariah
BILL
Friday, August 1, 2008
NASA's Phoenix Mars Lander
Finding ice I would have predicted; the liquor however surprised me.
BILL
BILL
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