Tiny miracles

Burger King girl: Would you like to donate a dollar to Children's Miracle Network?

Me: No. In fact, can I take a dollar away from them?

Burger King girl: [aghast silence]

Beardocalypse: End of Beard

The unbeardening is nigh.

Through the decade: the tree of forgetting

My current project at the house is basically a break from the remodeling to clean up and haul out ripped up carpet, trash, and other debris, including a 7 foot tall fake ficus tree that I purchased over a decade ago. When I moved to the Twin Cities area from Willmar in 1999, I put my tree and most of my other possessions in a storage unit while I crashed at a buddy's place to look for a job. When I moved into my own place and retrieved my goods, I noticed that a bird must have found its way into the enclosed storage facility and shat copiously and forthrightly upon the leaves and stems of my faux ficus. I made a mental note to clean it off, set it in a corner in the apartment, and promptly forgot about it.

Less than a year later, when was moving into my house in August of 2000, I noticed the dried bird shit on the ficus once more. Yet again, I made a mental note to clean it off, set the tree in a corner in the living room, got busy settling into my new home, and quickly forgot about the fact that an animal's urea and Britishly spelled faeces hung suspended in mid-air about 5 feet from my couch. Until, of course, the other night, nearly 9 years later, when I grabbed the sad, shitty tree to mercifully throw it away. I made a mental note to take photos, set it outside in a pile of nasty carpet, promptly forgot, and threw it away in a dumpster.

Jeremy responds in a brief and humorous manner to a technology news headline because he doesn't have time to write a proper satirical response

Robot Does Breast Biopsy

The only problem is that the robot was a Roomba and no one asked it to perform one.

Rimjob! I mean rimshot!

Cando High School Class of 1994

Yep, that's the entire graduating class of Cando, North Dakota in 1994. All 23 of us. That chubby, bespectacled fellow in the back, second in from the left, is yours truly. Time has been kind to me. Suck my dick, universe!

Wienerlicious

The peculiar Anytime Fitness logo

This is the logo for Anytime Fitness. Now I have no personal experiences with the Hastings-based company, nor do I have any reason whatsoever to believe they are anything but a fine, upstanding health club business. However, we were driving home tonight from a gathering held at the Groveland Tap by the folks from The Uptake, when I caught a sign for an Anytime Fitness club out of the corner of my eye and momentarily processed it as this:


Perhaps a logo redesign is in order? I propose this simple modification. Just change it to one running guy taking off from the starting line, and a guy next to him still in the starting position.


Who could possibly visually misinterpret that? Only total assholes, that's who. Just send me the money by PayPal, Anytime Fitness. I don't need to tell you that my work has already paid for itself.

Found code

Rediscovered Easter eggs hidden in my previously written code.

//Words to never capitalize
excludeWords = new Array();
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "an";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "the";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "at";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "by";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "for";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "of";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "in";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "up";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "on";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "to";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "and";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "as";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "but";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "if";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "or";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "nor";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "a";
excludeWords[excludeWords.length] = "cuddlemuffins";

D-Pants

Yoga sportcoat

Original ad.

Race to the finish

I was on the tail end of bowling a solid 300 in Stall Two when the door of the mens room burst open, and a pair of patent leather shoes clopped toward lowercase stall one, soon to be surrounded by dropped khaki. Dammit... can't a guy get any privacy when he's unchaining a melody? Well, no big deal. I was just about to wipe and wash anyway. I had just given a courtesy flush and started dabbing at my crack when Leatherfoot was already unfurling paper and clinking his belt buckle. What the fuck? He hadn't even been in there for 30 seconds, and he was already wiping and pulling up his pants.

I hadn't heard so much as a grunt, fart, or splash. Did he rail gun that shit out of his ass? Maybe he sat down, pushed half-heartedly, and when nothing happened by the time he exhaled, he abandoned ship to avoid the risk of a lone bead of sweat forming on his brow. Or maybe he peed sitting down. I didn't give a fuck, I didn't want to have a post-shit conversation with this guy, so I wiped with fury, flew out of the stall, and hauled ass to the sink. Oh, God! He had just flushed, and I had only just started soaping up my hands. Come on, come on, COME ON!! Rinse faster, goddammit! The water was still ice cold, and my haphazard wash job was probably about to spread assfluenza throughout the office, sickening our entire work force, forcing the company to close its doors for a week, lose six figures of business, outsource the IT department to the Ozarks, and put me out on the street. I didn't care. I had to get the hell out of that bathroom before Slappy Shitsfast could make it out of the stall. It was clear that I would never get all of the soap residue off of my hands in time, so I gave up, carelessly grabbed a wad of 50 or 60 paper towels from the dispenser and held them in my palm momentarily. As I was about to drop the toolbox-sized towel ball into the trash, I heard the stall door latch turning. FUCK! I was too late! Don't look at him, don't look, don't look! I looked at him. NO! Eye contact! He smiled, inhaled, and began to say something, but it didn't matter because I was already in my car driving home. I'm not talking to anyone after I shit! NO ONE!

A couple of miles from the office, my cell rang, and I flipped it open. "I don't know who the fuck this is, but I can't talk to you because I just took a shit. Not listening LA LA LA LA LA LAAAA!" I hung up the phone, tore out the battery, and threw the phone out the window to shatter on the freeway. Minutes later, as I pulled into my driveway, one of my neighbors happily jogged up to my drivers side window with what appeared to be the Girl Scout cookies I'd ordered from his daughter. NO! I knew the moment I stepped out of the car, he'd thank me for buying the cookies, so I ran him the fuck over and backed up for good measure. I sprinted for the door, threw it open, and locked it behind me. In the distance, the wail of police and ambulance sirens grew closer. SON OF A BITCH! The cops were going to try to read me my rights. No one, even a law enforcement offical, was going to talk to me, by God. I had just taken a shit, after all. What do I do, what do I do???? The door bell rang, and a heavy fist pounded. "Eagan Police Department!! Open the door!"

Oh, come on! Well, I had already been post-shit talked at, so I opened the door. One officer had moved to the bottom of the front steps with his gun drawn, while the other covered him from several feet back. Hands in the air, I broke into tears. "God damn you! Can't a guy shit and not have people yammering at him incessantly?!?"

The officers' postures loosened noticeably. The one at the rear lowered his gun, and said incredulously, "Wait, you just wanted to avoid being talked to after taking a dump?"

I sniffled. "Yes."

Now the other officer had lowered his gun, as well, and chimed in, "God dammit, I hate that shit! Why do people want to talk to you while and after you dook?"

By this time, the rear officer had holstered his gun entirely. "Well, shit. I can't in good conscience take you into custody knowing that. That's rough, man."

I blew my nose and perked up. "You won't? I mean... you can't? Oh, thank God."

The officer at the foot of the steps, scratched his head and sighed heavily. "You do realize we still have to shoot you, right?"

"Of course."

He shot me in the meat of my left thigh just in time for the ambulance to tear up the driveway, running over my moaning, bloodied neighbor.

As the ambulance raced to the hospital, I felt a familiar pinch of pressure in my gut. I had to shit. God, I hoped I wouldn't have to talk to anyone afterward.

Ever notice that Mr Potato Head eyes look like a dick and balls?

Yvette makes my morning

Crank up your speakers, get your clickin' finger ready, and put on a pair of laser-proof sunglasses.
http://yvettesbridalformal.com/

The sauce family

One (almost) down

After discovering via my spare bedroom that there was hardwood flooring beneath my upstairs carpet, it was a very short road to having one room in my house nearly completed. I won't bore you with further details here (read my Flickr photo descriptions if you really want to). My one regret is that I was in such a state of excitement over the floor discovery, that I didn't take any before photos.

I have access to tons of photos of that room from my birthday party last year, but let's just say that none of them are suitable for sharing with the public. This is the one exception, courtesy Alie. In this shot Ranty models the giant tea doilies that had probably been hanging on those windows for 30 years. They go beautifully with the cheap plastic Wal-mart shade with the broken roller. And click on the photo for a nice few of the pastel textured paint job.



That's much better. Although I welcome Ranty to return to model the new wood blinds.

Job posting

Afterglide Media Thingy, LLC is looking for a Research Analyst, Level IV to work out of its Eagan, Minnesota office.

Minimum Requirements:
-BS or BA in a communications or advertising/marketing-based field of study.
-2+ years professional experience.
-Huge, succulent rack (yes, even if you are a male).

Additionally, candidates meeting the following criteria are preferred:
-Shaved landing strip.
-Calloused knees.
-Experience with Microsoft Word and Excel

Please note that this is a contract-to-fire position. You will be terminated upon signing the employment contract.

Jeremy haggles on a craigslist couch

I'll give you five bucks, and I'll punch you in the face instead of the nuts.

Nickel a gander

Check it, ass. J Swiggity Q's got the kumba fucking ya on the economic patty meltdown. Before you bite into that undercooked downturn sandwich, take a look between the cushions. Pull a dulled nickel from the unpopped movie night kernels and nut lint and save it for a rainy day. Wait, what's that sound? Tap, tap, tap. Guess that rain came early, Grape Wrath Johnny. Better shammy up that buffalo head and fork it over to uncle Jeremy for safekeeping in his special recession-proof pocket. Atta boy. Don't worry about that jingle jingle. I keep a lot of nickels for a lot of chumps like you. Then I turn those nickels into dollars, dollars into millions, and millions into soreless hookers and cherry-flavored meth. Can a motherfucker get a witness? Not in this economy, Cap'n Budget Crunch.

Adding character

The floor needs to be vacuumed, but this is my spare bedroom after a couple coats of new paint on the walls, some nice bright white paint on the door and window trim, and new base molding. I still need molding and paint in the closet, but that's about it. I'll take better photos when I get my camera (I left it at Ang's place).

In the meantime, compare the wall paint color to its previous technicolor, textured nightmare incarnation