Ang and Jeremy go to ValleyScare (by Ang, age 29)

I was in high school the last time I went to ValleyFair, and about 10 the time before that. Still remembering how much I had loved the rollercoaster and those gravity-defying, breathtaking rides, I decided to get in touch with the fearless kid I once was. First stop: Power Tower, the shot upward. As I sat, buckled into my chair, my glasses sitting in a box on the ground, feet dangling free, I clung tightly to the bars surrounding my body and hoped that it wasn't going to be as frightening as I'd suspected. Within a few seconds we were flying towards the sky at over 50 mph, and as much as I tried, I could not enjoy it. In fact I hated it to the point of near-hyperventilation. We came to a stop at the top and started to float down gently when Jeremy asks me if I'm doing alright; I choked out a barely audible "no" while fighting back tears. It was that terrifying to me. Once we were safely back on the ground I began to breathe more normally.



On the ground I thought, "Of course it's that terrifying; you hate heights and you haaate the feeling of falling, why did you think that would be any different?" I had just hoped that it would be exhilarating and awesome.



We walked around a little as I shook off the experience and we spotted some folks with beers in hand. Yes. Let's get a beer, sit for a few minutes and relax. We laughed about it and agreed that if he wanted to go on the downward shot, I would happily sit on a nearby bench and enjoy the view. With most of the beer gone, we discussed what we would do next and settled on Wild Thing. You can probably see where this is going. I was certain that roller coasters were fine! You're more strapped in, you're not as far off the ground and there isn't that feeling of being totally out of control, but what I hadn't expected was the near 90 degree first drop that brought my ass off the seat. That wasn't even the worst part! No. After another 45 or so seconds of fear and loathing we went through a tunnel that was pitch black with the exception of the strobe light effect of the flash while our pictures were being snapped. I don't think I could describe my agony any better than this picture (of the picture, we're cheap) does on its own:



When Wild Thing came to a stop at the station, I bolted down the ramp and into the park. This time I wasn't able to hold back the tears, but only wipe up after them. Thankfully, it was dark and nobody witnessed this pathetic display of wussy. There would be no more rides for me tonight. As much as I had really wanted to be that kid again, it was never going to happen. To quote Erica, "It's hard getting old, isn't it?" Indeed.

Once I stopped shaking we were off walking around the park again. One of the disadvantages of visiting ValleyScare is that not all rides and attractions are operating, so our choices are limited to those with the most "scare" factor. Jeremy hadn't yet been on Renegade and with a lack of many other choices, I was left to hang out at the entrance while he waited in line and took a ride. He apparently encountered quite the character while waiting in line, but I'm sure he can tell you about that. When he emerged, about 30 minutes later, I had completely calmed down, no thanks to him, and was ready for one last attraction before going home.

Carn-Evil is really a fun house set up with zombie clowns, 3-D paint and strings hanging from the ceiling that felt like spider webs. It was good old-fashioned scary fun without fear of death and I got to honk a clown's big red nose.

On the way home we stopped by the Dairy Queen for a couple of blizzards. Despite the realization that I'll never again be that undaunted, spunky youngster who can ride roller coasters, I had a pretty good time. Maybe next spring I'll give ValleyFair another try.

Jeremy and Ang go to ValleyScare (by Jeremy, age 31)

The last time I went out to ValleyFair was almost exactly a year ago. October is the time of year when they turn the park into ValleyScare, a dark, misty, haunted land echoing with tortured moans and horrifying screams. Towering ogres, rattling skeletons, and the spirits of the dead and damned watch over its patrons with glowing red eyes. I've been to ValleyFair countless times, but I was so thrilled by last year's Halloween transformation that I had to return. I suggested it to Ang a couple of weeks ago, and her eyes lit up with sheer delight. "Yes, yes, YES! A thousand times yes!"



The time was set, and at long last, our evening of chills and thrills arrived. Our first stop was the Power Tower. Personally I prefer the towers that drop you, but they were only running one of them, and the line was a bit long. So we did the one that shoots you up like a bat out of my ass. As we strapped ourselves in, we could barely contain our giddy glee. The anticipation swelled and swelled, and just went it was about to become unbearable, WOOSH! We hurtled into the air at 50 miles per hour. I shrieked like a child and laughed maniacally. As we neared the top, I heard Ang nearly hyperventilating. When we were lowered to the bottom and off the ride, I tried to act reassuring, but inside I was livid. What the fuck, Ang?!? How DARE she harsh my amusement park buzz! Was she going to be a complete pantload like this all night?

We walked away from the Power Tower, and Ang seemed to get her legs back a little bit. Trying to keep the edge out of my voice, I asked her again if she was alright. As she reassured me she was alright, I noticed a beer stand. Yes! Let's get some booze in this chick's system and loosen her up a little. The beer might calm me down and make it easier to crack open her panties later. Within a few minutes, it was clear we were both far more mellow. She even agreed to ride Wild Thing with me with a bit of enthusiasm. It was looking like our fun night wasn't ruined after all! Here's a photo of how excited she was:



We finished our beers and slowly made our way to Wild Thing, stopping to gawk at all the various macabre decorations along the way. By the time we reached the roller coaster, she was smiling and laughing, seemingly back to her old self. But the ride was a disaster. She screamed, cried, and did everything short of pissing herself. God dammit! She shit-tanked my fun again! By this point I could hardly speak to her, so I just wandered off to Renegade by myself without saying much more than "I'll be back in a bit."



Renegade is a wooden coaster that just opened this year, and I hadn't ridden before, and I was damned if her sniveling and crying was going to keep me from my last chance to ride it until May. And let me tell you, it was worth every minute in line. That motherfucker was a nonstop twisting, tilting, teeth-chattering adrenaline rush!

After a run through some stupid 3D clown maze thing, we headed to DQ and had ourselves a Blizzard. At least Ang didn't burst into tears over that. I'll never go to ValleyFair with her again.

May your Halloween candy be unadulterated

May your costume not be too cold on the way to the car and between houses. And while we're at it, may it not snow.

May your costume not rip, your greasy makeup not run into your eyes.

May you not be assaulted and viciously robbed of your candied treats.

May your candy be all chocolate and non-gummy, non-fructose, and non-gelatinous. And God have mercy on the motherfucker who puts a painted nickel, pencil, or toothbrush in your bag.

May you not be pulled into a van and touched inappropriately by a bearded man who said he had candy.

May your bags of poo burn on the doorsteps like the Lighthouse of Alexandria.

May you have a happy Halloween comma motherfucker period

Canadians are eager to please you

Canadians are standing by, ready and waiting for your call or visit for a personal consultation. Want to talk about weather? Canadians can do that! Want to talk about your finances and a secure future for your family? Canadians can do that! Having problems with your internet connection? Pick up that phone and call Canadians today! Your phone can do it. YOU can do it. Canadians. Call some, won't you?

Customers wishing to converse about maple syrup, back bacon, or hockey will incur additional fees.

Flowers for algebra

Back in high school, I never thought I would have much use for algebra or geometry. But today I find myself using both of them yet again for the I've-lost-counteenth time in my career. I'm recreating an electronic signature capture program in a different programming language to make things easier for us to maintain and for our users to use. So I need to capture this signature, translate it and save it as a series of coordinates, and then recreate the signature later using simple geometry when it needs to be displayed again. Such an endeavor requires complicated test signatures to make sure the program works. Here is the signature I captured and saved earlier today.

I can't say I ever see using calculus though. The last time I used that was when I wrote a simulation program in college that given variables such as air temperature, altitude, and body temperature, and volume, would calculate how high of a structure someone would have to shit, piss, or puke off of for the said matter to freeze solid before it hit the ground. I sold it to Microsoft for $15 and a punch to the nuts.

Pink taco thong

Give him a preview of what's under the hood with this lovely, tasteful pink taco thong. Give one to your mom. Hell, give one to your granny. I don't fucking care. Just buy one. Daddy needs a new mortgage payment.

Stay tuned, as I'm creating a new Zazzle store with more products, more customization options, and even less class and dignity! Wear my figurative shit with shame, bitches!

This test requires a #2 pen

A decade ago, I was a bright-eyed (bleary-eyed), optimistic (pissed off) young lad destined for greatness (mediocrity). Back then, I ran a little website on our college web server that was -- surprise, surprise -- about shit. This was the hardcore stuff, as apparently I had a much stronger stomach in those days than I do now. People sent in stories and photos of their unloadings of various impressive shapes, viscosities, and masses, and it all had quite the following. In fact, the average daily traffic to my blog still doesn't match the traffic that crossed my humble page about shit and the shit lifestyle, or "shitstyle" as I've never, ever called it.

Probably the most interesting submission I had came from a reader who wondered if she could send me a sample of a new novelty pen she was trying to market. I had long since completely forgotten about this wonderful pen until I found it while doing a recent top-to-bottom cleaning and reorganization of my belongings. May I introduce to you, the turd pen*. If I remember correctly, her process involved paper-maché and a liberal coating of shellack or other sealant. It's functional, versatile, and guaranteed to be the pen your coworkers won't steal (unless you work with me).


Turd pen is great for writing thoughtful essays about the conflict in Darfur.

Turd pen. Buy one. Love, Jeremy.


*A rudimentary google search came up with a site selling the "Doo Doo Doodler," created by Wendy. The pen looks remarkably similar, and the name Wendy seems familiar. I suspect this is the fruit of her squeezings.

The re-return of musical bingo

Ah, yes. Musical bingo. It's been quite a while since Ang and I have attended, and it's been even longer since there has been much of a turnout. Obviously we were thrilled to be there.


Now I'm still playing with my new camera, so I hope you'll forgive the rash of weird, shitty attempts at artsy fartsy crap. Most of the photos ended up being unrecognizable blobs.

First up is the color accent feature. You select any color, and then it will filter out all colors but that one. Abysmal Chick and Hedy appear to have been drinking fermented Kool-Aid.


Jen has been chewing on her sweater. She rejected numerous requests from others who wanted to do the same.


Ang is happy that my request was one of those that Jen rejected.


Alie must have taken a photo of my penis. It's not that god damned funny, Alie!


The color replacement feature on my camera gives Alie that special Satanic glow she's always wanted.


This would be an incredible photo if I hadn't turned on the color replace for green. I suppose I could have photoshopped the green back out, but something about Abysmal Chick and Hedy with mold growing on their face while a plate of green vomit sits in front of them -- it comforts me.


Abysmal Chick's face melts when the breeze shifts and crosses my unwashed ass.


Blogging all-stars pose until they're blue in the face.


Tim whispers to Alie that her panty line is showing.


Everyone tries to hide Alie's panty shame with their glasses, but they stop dead in their tracks when she slaps her knickers on the table and punches Aaron in the ribcage.


Lesley gives a long thumbs up to musical bingo. Or is trying to hitch a ride the hell out of there.


Just 5 more of these to go.


I never realized it until last night, but there's a titty on the ceiling. When Ang wasn't looking, I stood on a stool and suckled on it. Fucking sweet.


Alie turns red and cries when she learns they took all of our favorite beers off the menu. I swear they are trying everything in their power to drive us away. Hmm... I might not be terribly far off base.


I drew this guy for you. His name is Action Jackson Jackson Action. He loves you so much that he just peed in your ashtray.


The more I drink, the clearer the beer becomes, and the blurrier everything else gets. I need to drink more.

He hoards Herbal Essences like acorns in autumn

This story is a couple of weeks old, but this may very well be the most incredible mane of hair I've ever seen on a man in the 21st century. Rock on, brother. Watch the video here.


Photo from KARE 11

Active bottoms

Moblog: I like to think that I have a rather active bottom myself.

How Jeremy got his poop back

Once upon a time, there was a very confused little boy named Jeremy. Jeremy couldn't quite get the hang of using the big boy boy potty (or as his mother insisted on calling it, "the big girl potty").


Tired of hosing down the guest bathroom, Jeremy's mother decided it was high time to teach him how to make stinky poo in the grownup toily. Jeremy was ambivalent.


Over the next several years, little Jeremy's mother drilled him 5 times a day about how to properly unload the chocolate freight train to Cleveland. She forced him to read advanced poop theory books until his brain nearly exploded.


With a lot of practice and a lot of support, Jeremy finally got the hang of it. Mommy even let him 'X' his poops on his big boy potty calendar. Though she wishes he would have used a crayon or pen or something.


With his newfound success in the industry of pooping, Jeremy went to college, got his degree, and made a respectable living. And that is why Ang is the luckiest girl in the whole motherfuckin' world. The end.

You son of a bitch

Ronny stood on my desk to wipe while I was in Vegas. I returned to work today to find my keyboard covered with ass peanuts the size of clown cars. NOOOOooooo...!!!!

Vegas non-moving pictures - part deux

Here are some more Vegas photos for your viewing pleasure, which is the only pleasure you're getting so live it up. There is one final home movie; we flipped a coin to help us decide to put it up, but realized that the coin is biased with its heads and tails. Much to your advantage, we decided not to put it up. Boy, it's good.

I can only handle being creative and clever a couple times a day and I already totally wasted those moments on my cat, so you get the following ho-hum, bromidic captions. Enjoy them like warm milk.

The Adventuredome at Circus Circus.


The obnoxious Trump Tower. It'd fit right in if it weren't so ridiculously huge. Just like Donald's ego.


The prettiest thing about Circus Circus; its brochures.


Well, once we left, anyway.


See?


New York, New York. How do all those people fit in there?


Excalibur. I don't remember much about it.


Walking through the pathways outside Mandalay Bay was such a relief from the heat and sun. The waterfalls kept it cool and damp. Oh, yeah, and it's pretty beautiful.


This was the first thing I saw during the cab ride from the airport. I got drunk just looking at it.

Vegas in non-moving pictures

Ah, Las Vegas. When you're in a somewhat new relationship and go to Vegas, everyone always asks if you're going to get married while you're there. ROFLMFAO! Now shut the fuck up and listen.

Wednesday morning we woke up a little after 6 to make our early morning flight. My sister-in-law Danielle was kind enough to give us a ride to MSP. We grabbed coffee and pastries from Caribou and sat in sleepy silence waiting for our flight to board.

Ang clutches her boarding pass and her purse as we wait to board the plane.


Normally I check in and print boarding passes online the day before I fly so I can select my seats. For whatever reason, this time I purposely decided to just use the automated check-in kiosk at the airport. Unfortunately the flight was completely full, and I failed to notice that Ang and I had been seated in the same row, but in the seats on the aisle across from each other. All of the people in the seats around us were couples or parents with their child, so we were fucked. We sat through the duration of the flight unable to talk to each other much, save the occasional lean across the aisle to crack wise.

After the in-flight movie, "License to Wed," which I ignored with little effort, the video screens remained down, and they began showing screens of visual puzzles and trivia sponsored by Cranium. This would have been somewhat enjoyable if the dipshit teenager in the row behind me hadn't found it necessary to read each and every question and possible multiple choice answers out loud. In addition to reading everything aloud with unmitigated volume, he reasoned out his answers aloud and was congratulated heartily for his brilliance by his doting mother in each of the rare instances he was correct. I was getting highly agitated, as were several other people around him (judging from the glares in his direction). I felt the urge to turn around and ask that they shut the hell up, but the halting, strained manner in which he read the questions let me to suspect that he was developmentally disabled. He looked normal enough, but I didn't want to chance it. That's just what I need -- turn around and bitch out some mentally challenged jabbermouth in front of his overprotective mother. I surely would have gotten a purse upside the head or a stern lecture. Whatever, lady. Learning disabilities do not necessarily preclude learning simple manners. Stop making me be tolerant and feeling guilty!

The taxi from the airport was pretty uneventful, though I was amazed at how many new structures had gone up since I had last visited 6 years ago. As far as the eye could see, new construction was taking place all down the strip and beyond. But at least Al Phillips kept his starring roll as "The Cleaner."


When we got back to the hotel, we both took a brief nap. I hadn't slept very well the preceding three nights in a row and could barely keep my eyes open. Even though I only slept for a few minutes, laying down with my eyes closed reinvigorated me, and we were off to grab lunch and walk down the strip.

We hadn't walked but a handful of blocks when we eyed this unknown smear of people liquids. Chunky vomit? Viscous high-pressure shit? Does it really matter?


After a while, Ang needed to stop for a rest. She had forgotten her sneakers at home, and didn't realize how far we would be walking. At least her shoes matched the spray paint on the sidewalk.


This fountain is ostentatious.


Um... and a little homoerotic. Whatcha blowin' there, bugle boy?


No, no. He's BLOWING, not sucking!


Hee hee! Boobies!!!!


Hey! Hey, Ang! You totally have to check this fucking statue out. Come over here and look! See? BOOBIES!!! BWAAAAH HAAHH HA HAAAAAAH!


What? There's nothing wrong with me. Why do you ask?


Take a good look because odds are good this won't be there the next time you visit Vegas. This one's slated to go bye bye.


I love it when we can share our passion for footing card-sized advertisements for escort services.


We stayed at Circus Circus. For $50 per night, it was a great deal. We knew it was kind of shitty, so we weren't surprised about how horribly thin the walls were. Though the air conditioner in our room sounded like a 747 taking off every time it kicked in, and there was no way to leave the fan running constantly. Bunch of ass clowns.


Can Donald Trump build anything that doesn't look like a gaudy, gold-plated trinket dangling from a chain in the chest hair of a 70's-era lounge lizard in polyester pants?


Wednesday night we had tickets to the late show of Mystère at Treasure Island. We headed over early, picked up our tickets, and feasted on a seafood platter at Kahunaville. Ang had a margarita with some sort of court jester thingy in it.


Court jesters remind me of simpler times. Simpler times make me sad.


Hey! Keep taking photos of ME!


The show was fucking amazing. I had been to a couple Cirque du Soleil shows prior to this one, but I think this was the best of them. I had front row seats for O at the Bellagio in 2001, and we had third row seats near the center of the stage for this one. There were people dangling, spinning, and shitting copper directly above our heads. The copper thing took me by surprise a little, but it's art.

We hot and we know it, bitches.


On Thursday, we had intended on taking a bit more leisurely pace. Waking up at 1:30 pm was a good start. First we meandered through the gift shops in the hotel. Oh, Ang, don't ceramic pigs say the craziest things?


This to-scale replica of the Statue of Liberty in front of New York New York is astoundingly realistic. But did they have to take it a step further and make it anatomically correct? I don't need to see lady liberty's mud flaps.


No peeking up her dress, pervert!


Check out the rack on this lion in front of the MGM Grand!


Vegas is just one big collection of phallic symbols. Giant, throbbing, rock hard phallic symbols.


This Sphinx is being mounted by a big, black pyramid.


"I'm concerned about what's going on back there."


You can't walk two feet without seeing ads for chat lines and escort services.


OMG! Barry Manilow is in Star Trek The Experience now? Bad fuckin' ass!


The only reason I have never gouged my eyes out and removed my balls with a dollar bill is because I have never been forced to see this show. And as Ang pointed out, they found the one and only way to make the word "cabaret" gayer -- prepend it with the word "shimmer." And then ruin the gayness by shoving a shitty show about dried up vaginas in there. Why you wanna go and ruin the gayness?


Prime rib dinner made of burned out light bulbs looks delish!


After a stop to take in the view from atop the Stratosphere, we cabbed it downtown to get our drink on.


Ang said that downtown is how she had pictured Las Vegas in her mind. The old school casinos clustered together in close quarters, the iconic neon signs like this cowboy -- other than the fact it's been enclosed by a roof, it really does recall the old days.




Everywhere we went, drunk motherfuckers would see us taking photos and insist on taking one of us together. They all somehow managed to completely fuck up the picture, making the photo dark, blurry, or both. It's set to automatic! How the hell can you fuck that up, you staggering slob?!? (but it was very kind of you to offer to take our photo... jackass)


Ang drinky beer good now.


Mmmmmmmmmm...


Another god-awful photo by a drunken douchebag. (but thanks for the offer -- it was very kind of you... dipshit)


I'm not sure why, but the fountains at the Bellagio gave me an erection and the urge to pee.


This rule holds true everywhere, but is especially true in Las Vegas: never frequent an establishment that ends a gerund with an apostrophe.


Still peeved about having to sit apart on our flight to Vegas, we dropped $6 into a wallet-robbing internet kiosk to check-in and select our seats for the return flight when we got back to the hotel. That included the $1 per page fee to print out our boarding passes. It's cheap to get to Vegas, but it ain't cheap to exist there.

So now Angie and I have both lost our respective life savings, and I type this into a Speak & Spell I found in a puddle of hobo piss. We've moved in together, but it's in a dumpster behind Sex World. We get a new shipment of used lube and spooge-filled mops every hour on the hour. Life is good.