The Shark Tank

The Study of Rational Debate

2011-03-03T11:55:00.000-05:00

While there is a large segment of the population averse to any form of confrontation or conflict, healthy debate has an important place in the fabric of our society. Through arguing, we can form and refine our opinions on the world around us. Should our arguments come from a seat of truth and logic, we can expect to win others to our side, eventually shaping opinion on a much broader scope.

In order to find flaws in our own arguments, we must rationally examine others. We must pick apart their weaknesses and consider their strengths. Debate is like any other discipline. It takes practice and study in order to become a master of the craft. The best place to find critical arguments taking place is the website known as YouTube. Here, you will find many an individual expressing their viewpoints, usually within the context of a particular video. The conflicts are quick and electrifying, with each point/counterpoint enlightening not only the opponent, but also the observer. Let's examine one such example in depth.

Miley Cyrus, "Party in the U.S.A."

Recognizing that several comments on the page were disparaging Ms. Cyrus, an astute citizen of the world named Knowthyself24 reacts with this piece of cogent thought:

u fuckers r mean as fuck..............dam ironicallly she got more money than all of us on here........american is a place of trends truly

Knowthyself24's argument is layered so deeply that a single glance is not enough to capture the meaning behind it. Let's start with the opening volley, "u fuckers r mean as fuck". Knowthyself24 admirably dispenses with pleasantries and gets right to the heart of the matter. Not only does this do a nice job of setting up her argument, it sets her opponents off balance and weakens their eventual retort. Unfortunately, this argument is softened somewhat by the middle act, in which she makes an unwarranted assumption about both her audience and her opponents. There is no way for her to know precisely the net worth of everyone commenting on the video, and it's uncertain whether this use of "ironically" is appropriate for the situation. She does a nice job wrapping up her point, however, with her piercing observation that American is a place of trends.

Under normal circumstances, I would expect an argument of this caliber to go largely unchallenged. However, the rich tapestry of intelligence that is the YouTube comments section surprised me once again. Themjloverz came back almost instantly with this biting response:

this is gay ╭∩╮( º.º )╭∩╮ not a cyrus fan shane dawson fan

The mjloverz not only deconstructs the preceding argument, but he manages to drive a wedge into the very video itself. Rather than attacking any one commenter directly, he manages to dismiss the video and the artist by labeling them both as "gay". Does he mean that Miley Cyrus is a homosexual? Almost certainly not. He means it as a generic insult, which continues to thrive with power, particularly among teenage males, at whom his argument was directed. He goes on to use the medium of art to further his explanation and his feelings about the video. He finishes up by making sure his audience knows where his allegiances lie, an important aspect of presenting a clear and honest argument.

While it's important to realize how effortlessly brilliant arguments can result from blatantly contentious videos such as this one, you can use the above examples to bring life, fervor, and logic to your own debates, regardless of the topic. I hope this study will serve you well in your future arguments.

The Chicken Wing Incident

2010-06-22T08:44:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you just don't know when to stop.

Let me amend that. Sometimes I don't know when to stop. This happens most frequently when I'm presented with a buffet. Pizza, family-style, Swedish smorgasbord, it doesn't matter. I tend to eat until medical attention is required.

Such was the case today, on a trip to the local Chinese buffet. I already forget the name of it, and wouldn't include it even if I did remember as they have not purchased any advertising in my well read virtuapages. Nevertheless, I did as I always do when perusing the Chinese buffet for delicacies that will remind me of that far away, oriental, mystical, Eastern, Asian, Chinalytical taste that no other restaurant can replace: I headed straight for the fried chicken wings. I piled them high on my plate until I could barely see where I was going. Several waitresses eyed me with a look that suggested I was breaching the customs of their ancient land.

Quite aware that I was pushing my luck, I balanced my mountain of chicken wings in my right hand and attempted to carefully ladle a generous helping of pink sweet and sour sauce over my precious pyramid. In doing so, however, I accidentally put my hand in something labeled "trukey dressing". I recoiled instinctively and this reaction caused my plate of authentic Chinawings to escape my possession, teetering and tottering--particularly tottering--until they fell on the floor. 26 separate chicken wings, scattered all over the thin Asian carpet.

Several people gasped in horror. One of them, I'm quite certain, was me.

I noticed that one wing had not fallen to the floor, but instead had tumbled into what looked like brown mashed potatoes. That doesn't have anything to do with anything, but it was what I thought of later more than anything else. It just looked so...pathetic...lying there in that goop. Like, get a life, chicken wing.

I dropped to my knees, avoiding the temptation to cry out in horror like that guy at the end of Platoon. I started picking up the wings, hoping they would be salvageable. I knew without a doubt I would not be permitted to refill my plate with fresh wings. Knowing this, I was aghast to find my chicken wings covered in dog fur. I looked around. The entire floor was covered in fine, white dog hairs. No dog was present; I could only assume he traveled the floor after hours.

I sighed and abandoned my chicken wings. I know a losing battle when I see one.

To make a long story short, my chicken wings could have easily been saved had the proprietors of this restaurant used the Petco Dog Hair Pick-Up Mitt.

It works like this: you put the mitt on your hand and then you get down on your knees and slowly rub it over your entire carpet. It picks up the dog fur like magic. One might even say it picks up the dog fur like oriental magic. You can also remove fur directly from the dog, rubbing and rubbing until he is naked. Get one today at Petco's website or at a Petco retailer near you! Don't let a chicken wing tragedy happen at your home.

The Problem With Reading In Bed

2010-06-15T11:55:00.000-04:00

A wise man once said--it might have been Spencer Pratt--"Reading in bed is one of life's supreme pleasures." Frankly, I couldn't have said it better myself. Unfortunately, reading in bed is not always what it ought to be. Sometimes...last night, for instance...it is misery.

My wife, Betsy-Ann, and I were propped up in bed, reading our respective choice of literature. For her, that meant some silly bit of fluff she found in the "chick-lit" section of the bookstore. For me, that meant the June issue of Highlights magazine. I was studying intently the Hidden Pictures game, wondering if it was a particularly difficult puzzle this month or if I was simply too tired to concentrate properly. I'd managed to find only 7 out of the 15 hidden objects, with the slice of pizza proving to be uncommonly elusive. I was busy searching through the picture when I heard the most distracting sound coming from my wife.

"Wususususususususususususususu. Wususususususususususususususususu."

I held my tongue as long as possible, but the constant low, whispering sound was preventing me from completing the puzzle.

"I'm sorry, honey," I said. "But could you please read to yourself?"

She turned her head to me, bits of Ritz cracker falling out of her beard. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was doing it. I'll try to stop."

"Thank you kindly."

I returned to the picture. With my hard-earned silence, I was able to quickly discover the pizza in the spokes of a bicycle. So very tricky. Still, if I'd been working with optimum focus, I should have been able to ferret it out long ago. The next missing picture was a comb, but I thought I might save the rest for the next day. I still wanted to read the letters page before turning in for the night.

"Wusususususususususu. Wususu. Wususu. Wusususususususususu."

I set the magazine aside. "For the love of all that is good and holy, will you please shut up? Will you shut up? Will you shut up? Will you? Will you shut up?"

"I didn't realize I was doing it! I'm soooo sorry I'm taking away your concentration. I know it's hard for you to follow along while reading a magazine meant for kindergarten students!"

I sat bolt upright in bed. "Have you ever read an issue of Highlights? The articles are written so they can be enjoyed by both adults and children. Adults and children alike! Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Don't you ever yell at me in this bed," Betsy-Ann said, tossing her book aside and turning to face me. "I can't help it that you're an emotionally stunted man-child. Don't take it out on me."

"Well," I said, fully regretting my choice of words before they had even left my mouth, "I guess this is what I get for marrying a talking goat!"

A moment of complete silence spun out as we both pondered what I had said. I wanted to take the words back, but they were out there and no apology would be good enough to make them disappear. After a moment, she pushed back the covers and leapt from the bed. Her hooves made a faint clip-clop sound on the hardwood floor as she left the bedroom. I heard her pause by the salt lick in the kitchen for a brief refreshment. Shortly after that, she was gone.

Wracked with sadness, I leaned over and buried my head into her pillow. It smelled like Tide and goat urine. It smelled like love.

My Rejected Novel

2010-06-10T08:36:00.000-04:00

Well, it's official. My novel, which took me three years to write and an additional three years to edit, has been rejected. No, not just rejected. Rejected soundly. I really never anticipated this day. I thought for sure it was destined for the NY Times Bestseller's List. Alas, it is not to be.

Longtime readers of The Shark Tank will not be surprised to learn that I've spent much of my adult life writing an intricate romance novel. While I put my heart and soul into the book, the editor at Harlequin was unimpressed. I've read the rejection letter nearly forty times now, and I get angrier with each pass. What do they want out of me? Here, read the letter and see what you think:

Ignoring for a moment the unnecessary vitriol, let's just take the points she makes in the second paragraph. She says my novel needs improvement in description, character development, dialogue and she apparently thinks the love scenes are horrible as well. I have to admit, after reading the letter, I began to have internal doubts. I went back and read my manuscript, thinking that freshly opened eyes would see the work differently. If anything, however, I thought the book was even stronger than I remembered. But I have to take into consideration my possible bias. That's why I'm turning to you, faithful readers. I encourage you to tell me the truth. I've posted excerpts from my book, each of them demonstrating the aspects of fiction Judith Esterman seems to think need so much improvement. Read them, form your own opinion, and let me know what you think.

Description: From Page 38

Eddie thought she was the picture of loveliness as she stepped out onto the balcony. She was wearing a dress that was almost the exact color green of his poop when he'd spent the last several days drinking grape NeHi. Her hair was a mixture of gold and silver and copper, all flowing at once like a mineshaft had exploded, except there was no sign of a dead canary. Her chin was restful and deep, like the thoughts of wise men from centuries past. He wanted to examine her more closely, smell her, see if there were any small bits of orange ear wax on her inner lobe.

Character Development: From Page 99

From the moment Gretchen met him, she knew he would be trouble. Though she had no way of knowing this, she suspected he had been involved in terrorism in his youth. Perhaps he had been born to Al-Qaeda parents, living on the east end of New York City. Maybe his father was called Abdul Shariik and his mother had been a suicide bomber in Jerusalem. All of these things, actually, she guessed correctly, as these were all true facts from his life and he was as evil as they come.

Dialogue: From Page 145

"Do you think our love will last forever?" asked Gretchen.

"It will last as long as the days, and even longer," said Eddie.

"Like 24 hours?" asked Gretchen.

"No, I meant like the end of time. So very long. You see, I was speaking metaphorically. Do you want some fish?"

Gretchen thought a moment. "Why couldn't you have just said, 'yes'? No I don't want any fucking fish, do I look like a Chinaman?"

"omg, you idiot, I meant to eat," Eddie said, running out of patience.

"Oh," she said, "then I guess so."

Love Scene: Page 390

They exchanged a knowing glance when they both reached for the last shrimp at the same time. He picked up the shrimp and dangled it above her wanting mouth. Gently caressed her cheek with the jumbo crustacean. She bit at it once, twice, and finally got it on the third try. Butter squirted out and stained Eddie's jeans.

"I guess I'll have to take these off," he murmured.

"Oooh, yes," she said, in between chewing her shrimp.

He took off his jeans and his underwear and approached her with his growing ding dong.

"Let me get the fly swatter," she said, and ran for the utility room. He sat down on the couch and waited, wondering idly if that guy he saw on the train that morning had really been his father. But no, his father had died many years before. It must have been an imposter.

"I'm baaack," Gretchen said. She had a fly swatter in her right hand and she had removed all of her clothing.

"You're naked," he said, giggling to himself.

"That's right," she said and smacked his wiener with the fly swatter until the local news came on.

Maybe I'll try sending it in to Simon & Schuster.

Whatever Comes To Mind

2010-06-07T11:45:00.000-04:00

A lot of people are rightfully concerned about this oil spilling into the Gulf of Mexico. It doesn't seem like anyone has any great ideas about how to stop it. But here's what I'm wondering. Why hasn't anyone asked Superman to help? He's proven his ability to stop oil leaks (see Superman III). I'm really not sure why I have to be the one to think of these things.

***

Every time I read something about the Punch-Out series on Nintendo, someone has to bring up the fact that it is a game of pattern recognition. But it's not. It's a game about boxing.

***

I like to buy and use Cottonelle toilet paper. It's just the right mixture of softness and rigidity. However, even if I didn't really like it, I would probably still buy it just for the dog on the packaging. That is a happy, cute dog. I wonder what he's thinking sometimes. Do you think he uses Cottonelle? Does he eat poop?

***

Is there anything more embarrasing than singing a song out loud and your friends have to correct you on the lyrics? The other day, I was singing Billy Joel's "Piano Man". I always thought the lyrics were "La la da, la do da", but it turns out it's actually, "La la la, de de da". If I could have found a way to disappear at that moment, trust me, I would have.

***

I was looking for something to do the other day, and I saw an advertisement for the Florida Air Museum. I don't care how bored I get, I'm not going to a museum about air.

***

Just once I want to watch a movie with someone and have them turn to me and say, "Yeah, well, that was a hell of a lot better than the book."

***

Why in every container of McDonald's french fries is there that one, crispy dark fry that looks like an infected toenail?

***

Now that's gaming.

I Hate You, City Bus

2010-06-04T09:11:00.001-04:00

Finding yourself caught in traffic behind a city bus is a special dimension of hell. Has this ever happened to you? The answer is no, because you would still be behind it right now. There's no getting around the bus. And if your town is anything like mine, there is a bus stop approximately every 3.4 feet. There's not even any space between the benches, they're just linked together like seats in a sporting arena. And should you be traveling behind one of these buses, you can rest assured that it will stop at every single one of these stops.

Pictured: Five separate bus stops

I found myself trapped behind one of these mechanical tortoises the other day. I didn't really catch on to my own predicament until the bus had made three consecutive pickups, all within the span of a single Safelite Auto Glass commercial. I watched as a man I wouldn't have suspected would have the money for bus fare shambled on to the bus, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

With every bench the bus stopped at, I grew more and more frustrated, all of my increasing anger directed at the riders, none of whom were in any hurry to get on the bus. And when I get angry in traffic, I start calling people names, some of which make little to no sense in hindsight.

Bus Stop #1
"Oh come on. We don't have all day, Dirty Wellerbee."

Bus Stop #2
"For the love of Baby Jesus, will you get on the bus already, Crackerjack Cowboob?"

Bus Stop #3
"Here we go. Prince Abdul ShitAss of the turtle fucking tribe of East Pedoville, Ohio is going to take his sweet time getting on the bus."

I could feel my blood pressure soaring to previously unexplored heights as the bus made stop after stop and my attempts to pass in the other lane were consistently thwarted by what could only be a choreographed effort from other asshole drivers. I'm not exaggerating when I say that literally everyone on the road was able to pass except for me. In fact, I'm pretty sure people saw the scene from their houses and stopped whatever they were doing just so they could rush out, get in their cars, and contribute to the campaign to keep me awash in black exhaust for the rest of my life.

"Dude, get over to Brower Street. We've got this dumbass trapped behind the bus. It's awesome!"

I looked at the clock on the dashboard and realized that if I never passed this bus, my arrival home would coincide with the next appearance of Haley's Comet. I had to make a decision. Passing on the left was an impossibility, and there were no side streets coming up for the foreseeable future. I decided to take my chances and simply pass on the right. I thought that with a little luck I would only have to drive through three private residential yards before returning to the road, successfully having thwarted the bus and securing my name in the annals of the Highway Hall of Fame.

I went for it.

One yard, two yards, shit I just ran over a little kid's 3 wheeler, three yards, and...damn.

There was a cop directly in front of the bus. He did not hesitate to flash on his lights and pull me over (which actually consisted of me pulling back into the road in this instance). I watched helplessly as he took my driver's license and cut it in two pieces right in front of me. My irritation at this turn of events grew even greater when I noticed the ease with which the bus was able to pass both of us.

So now, I'm forced to take the bus myself. I try to get up from the bench and climb into my public chariot as quickly as possible, but I've noticed more than a few apoplectic drivers doubtlessly calling me names that would get you thrown off network television. I want to tell them to calm down. Everything's going to be okay. You can't fight City Hall, and you can't fight the city bus.

Prizes Found in Generic Cereal

2010-06-02T08:11:00.000-04:00

The manufacturers of kids cereal have known the name of the game for some time. Not only do they wisely put their colorful boxes of sugary breakfast candy right at a child's eye level in the supermarket, they make sure and put some kind of prize in there, in case the lure of cartoon characters and fruity rings aren't enough to get the job done. Of course, for every Froot Loops, there is the generic equivalent. In order to have a fighting chance, they have had to rise to the level of their giant sized competition. Well, maybe not quite to that level.

Monday Movie Reviews

2010-05-31T09:04:00.000-04:00

The Nightmare Before Christmas (2010)
This unnecessary remake follows the original almost beat for beat, but suffers by using terrible CGI and entirely too many instances of the word, "bushwhacked". The plot is much the same, following the adventures of beleaguered champion of Halloween Jack Skellington as he terrorizes the teenagers of Springwood, Ohio by appearing in their dreams. The movie is mostly inoffensive until the bizarre third act when (SPOILER ALERT) it is revealed that the happenings of the film are set in the reality of "Dateline NBC". Best viewed at night with someone who doesn't have long to live. Starring Hippopotamus Johnson and The Three Stooges. 9 stars out of a possible 3,211.

Gladiator (1992)
A charming tale of love and longing set against the background of the 1986 Challenger disaster. Russell Crowe stars as an airline pilot named Maximus whose dream it is to one day go aboard a space shuttle. His dreams are shattered when the disaster happens and he is forced to fight for his own job when an airline stewardess accuses him of masturbating in the cockpit. Starring Russell Crowe and Meredith Baxter Birney. 44 stars out of a possible 50.

Space Jam (1921)
One of the earliest successful combinations of animation and live action, Space Jam tells the story of a young scientist obsessed with becoming the next emperor of the galaxy. With a little help from his animated friends Shoebox Forrester and his sidekick The Ice Train, he learns that power isn't everything, but friendship is. Starring Michael Jordan and Abraham Lincoln. 8 stars out of a possible 13.

The Shark Tank's Guide to Interior Design

2010-05-27T09:06:00.000-04:00

For centuries, interior design was the exclusive province of the wealthy, the erudite, and the frou-frou. However, with accessible furniture and ornamentation coming down in price every year, having a great looking home is something we call all strive for. Sadly though, unless you were born with the gift of garnishment, you might find proper interior design to be beyond your capabilities. Hiring a professional might be beyond your budget. That's why I'm here to give you some important tips that will take your abode from drab to fab in a heartbeat. Listen up!

Finding the Balance
One of the most important aspects of interior design is to find the right balance between your various ornaments and furniture. A piece of furniture by itself might be especially gaudy or inappropriate on its own, but together with a complementary piece, it could really come alive. The opposite is also true. Don't believe me? Well, maybe you'll believe this: Your parents didn't intend on carrying you to term. It was only when a gypsy told them they could sell you for $100,000 into slavery that they decided to go ahead with it. Fortunately for you, they could never find that gypsy after you were born.

Let's continue with an example of proper balance.

Here we have a nice, plain, red couch. Boring, right? Maybe, but its important to have a few pieces like this so the room doesn't get overwhelmed. Besides, it looks comfortable enough and you can probably find a replica for cheap. Here's the secret. Bookmark the couch with endtables. On one of the endtables, place a lamp. On the other endtable, place this decorative ornament:

That's right, it's an Al Roker cookie jar! All right, maybe it's Louie Armstrong, I don't really know. Whoever he is, he will bring just the right amount of whimsy and warmth into an otherwise dull situation. Why don't you just stretch his head open right there and have a cookie. I think I will. Mmmm, chocolate chip. My favorite!

The Importance of Contrast
Matching a room is not like matching your t-shirts and jean shorts. You have to put a little thought into what colors go with what, and then play around with the concepts. Sure, you can make a whole room a single shade of blue, but don't complain when you go blue-blind and wind up lost and alone, murmuring the word, "periwinkle" over and over again while your children decide what to do with your corpse when you finally die off.

Contrast is like this. Let's say you have a floor that looks something like this:

Simple and elegant, but you're asking for trouble if you introduce a blue rug on top of that. To find the right contrast, you have to go to the color wheel. Directly across from blue is "lion face". Perfect! I know just the rug!

Not only does this rug contrast beautifully with the floor, it lets your guests know that you're a person who appreciates wild animals and might even have a bit of a wild streak yourself, if you know what I mean. Eh? Eh?? Don't you just kind of want to brush that lion's teeth for him? Come here, lion, let me get those back molars, you saucy cat.

Comfort is Paramount
A lot of people make the mistake of thinking style should come before comfort when decorating their homes. This is not true. After all, you have to live there, right? Shouldn't you be able to relax in your own home? I guess you think style should be paramount when decorating your house. Perhaps you'll wonder where that line of thinking got you when you're sashaying down a secluded alleyway, your pants missing, and a Bratz doll stuck in your lower colon.

Let's take this chair for an easy example.

Just look at that thing. Oh sure, it looks like a million bucks, but how long do you think you could sit on it before you started to get butt-leprosy? Probably not for very long, if my days as an amateur doctor gave me any indication. On the other hand, take this chair:

Sure, it's a little silly to have a dinosaur chair in your primary living room, but what of it? Oh, are dinosaurs just for little kids now? The pteradon, one of the most popular flying dinosaurs of the late Cretaceous, was actually known for his skills in interior design. This way, you can not only watch television in comfort, you can pay tribute to one of the pioneers of decoration at the same time. Plus, look at that spiny dinosaur just where your left knee would go. Doesn't that kind of put you in the mood for peanut brittle. Man, I love peanut brittle.

Selling Your Home
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Sometimes you'll make such a disaster out of your interior design, you'll have no choice but to simply sell your house and start fresh. I've moved 39 times in my adult life for that very reason and I'm about to do it again. My best advice: use Craig's List.

Some Dogs Don't Deserve to be Adopted

2010-05-25T20:51:00.000-04:00

[As part of a community outreach program, The Shark Tank is pleased to welcome SPCA Tampa Managing Director Phil Gillman, who has a few words he'd like to get off his chest about pet adoption.]

For years, the SPCA has been the leader in the nationwide movement to protect precious animals from evils such as overbreeding, abuse, and neglect. As part of that effort, we have encouraged a system whereby potential pet owners come to us for adoption possibilities, rather than patronize expensive pet stores that likely sell pets from outdated and immoral breeding farms. While this movement has been a tremendous success, I can no longer stand by and let bad dogs go to good homes. Let's face it, some dogs don't deserve to be adopted.

To prove my point, I'm going to pick a sampling out of our current batch of dogs at the Tampa chapter of the SPCA. Don't get me wrong; many of the dogs here are well trained, obedient, and ready for a nice home. They will play with kids, fetch the newspaper, and do all manner of things people expect out of their faithful friends. Then there are the dogs I'm about to feature. While some of them certainly look like the type of pet you would bring home to Mom, let there be no mistake: these dogs are bad. Let's take a look.

Name: Bernie
Breed: German Shepherd Mix
Favorite Color: Atomic Tangerine

Why He Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted: Bernie is certainly a playful sort and one look at his rambunctious face will lead even the most hard hearted to fall immediately in love. Unfortunately, Bernie is a habitual liar. He claims to have invented helium and to be the first dog in space. This could be excused as mere senility or even eccentricity, but his lies are typically not so grandiose. Usually he just lies about whether or not he's been fed.

Name: Captain Courageous
Breed: Welsh Corgi
Favorite Song: "Yes! We Have No Bananas" from the musical Make It Snappy

Why He Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted: The good Captain will fool even the sharpest of dog lovers with his meek manner and his lovely pork choppish scent. Adopter beware, however! Captain Courageous is one of the laziest canines I've ever had the displeasure to meet. Though his resume suggests a great deal of experience in secretarial work, he will not take so much as a single page of dictation, even at a fair wage. If you like your dogs to be freeloaders, this is your guy. Otherwise, avoid.

Name: Roxy Fantabulous
Breed: Labrador/Great Dane mix

Favorite Insect: Pink Katydid

Why She Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted: Roxy has a number of traits typical of a dog. She likes to chill out and chew on a bone. She likes to go for long walks, stopping every few feet to release imaginary pee on unmarked patches of land. She even likes to watch television, particularly late night infomercials. Oh, and she likes to crush your dreams as quickly and efficiently as possible. What's that? Oh yeah, Roxy is our resident Debbie Downer. Let's say you're thinking of going back to school to become a dentist. Roxy will be there to remind you how hard the entrance exams are and how unwise it would be to take out student loans at this point in your life. Maybe you dream of asking out that gorgeous gal you see every Friday at Starbucks. Roxy will quickly let you know how unsuccessful this would likely be, considering your growing pot belly and undiagnosed skin condition. Sure to trample every aspiration until you settle in to your meager existence, Roxy Fantabulous should never be adopted.

Adopting the wrong dog is not only bad for you, bad for the dog, and bad for the planet, it actually sets our efforts back considerably. For the sake of all dogs everywhere, make sure you do some research before adopting a pet and don't reward bad dogs by giving them a loving home. They don't deserve it.

The Fly and the Pig

2010-05-22T10:38:00.000-04:00

The Fly and the Pig

One day, an angry fly was buzzing about outside a Red Lobster dumpster, looking for some rotting food within which to lay eggs. The fly was angry because hours earlier a homeless man had stolen most of the choice garbage, taking it home to his homeless family so they could eat one last day before succumbing to exposure. Incensed at this injustice, the fly alighted on the edge of the dumpster and rubbed its hands together furiously. A pig happened along and noticed the fly.

"What are you doing," the pig asked.

"I'm angry and I'm not to be trifled with," warned the fly.

"Why don't you tell me your problem so I can help you?" offered the pig.

"No, leave me alone, you don't know anything about the problems of a fly."

"Come on, I'm a friend and I'm very wise for a pig," he said graciously.

"Fine," the fly said.

The fly zoomed down and landed on the ground so it could speak to the pig more directly. Unbenownst to the fly, however, the pig hated flies and immediately crushed it under his hoof. A little bit of green fly guts squirted on to the side of the dumpster.

"And a merry ho-ho-ho," sang the pig as he went on his way.

Moral: Pigs are filthy, immoral creatures and should never be trusted under any circumstances.

Bringin The Prayer

2010-05-20T09:00:00.005-04:00

A few days ago, I was invited by my good friend Larry Whitson to have dinner with him and his family. Not realizing that he had also invited 30 of his friends from First Nazarene to the dinner as well, I gratefully accepted. Larry has had some hard times in his life over the past couple of years and I knew that letting him cook food for me would be in the spirit of giving generosity.

I arrived early, carrying a bottle of Publix Grape Soda. I handed the soda off to Larry's wife (who, frankly speaking, was not as appreciative of the gift as I might have hoped) and Larry and I retired to the "parlor" for a quick game of dominoes before dinner. It was when I caught him cheating for the third time that the other guests began arriving. I tried to hide my displeasure, but it wasn't easy. I have an intense dislike for large groups, especially in settings where I know I'm going to be expected to mingle. In fact, sitting there in front of our aborted game, I silently vowed that I would not speak to a single guest of the Whitsons.

My plan was somewhat foiled when, moments later, we all sat down to dinner. Because the Whitson dinner table sat only eight, the rest of the guests (including me) had to find various places to sit in the living room, the hallway, the kitchen, and even the back porch. More often than not, this meant sitting on the floor (which smelled not a little like cat urine). I was fortunate enough to grab a seat on Larry's recliner, which had suspicious looking brown spots on the lower back rest. I settled in with a glass of grape soda and a plateful of macaroni and cheese (which I assumed to be some sort of appetizer but later realized was the main course). That was when Larry did the unforgivable.

Rising from his seat at the head of the table, Larry welcomed all of his guests and then said, "Before we eat, I'd like to ask my good friend Shawn to lead us in prayer. Shawn?"

Every eye in the house turned to look at me. For a brief moment, I thought about throwing my plate of macaroni to the ground and making a mad dash from the house, screaming, "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" I now believe I missed a golden opportunity in not doing so. People do crazier things all the time.

Knowing that any attempts to protest would be seen as sacrilegious God-hating by this swarm of elderly, stern-faced churchgoers, I stood up and decided to recite the one prayer I knew--The Lord's Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," I intoned, subconsciously adding a few layers of bass to my voice. This was going surprisingly well. I hadn't prayed in public since...well, it was quite possible that I had never done it before. Here I was making my debut in front of a tough crowd, with mac-and-cheese cooling on my plate, and it was going great.

Except I had already forgotten my lines.

Hallowed be thy name...hallowed be thy name. CRAP! What's next?

I felt a line of beaded sweat break out on my forehead as I struggled to remember the rest of the prayer. Silence drew out and though I steadfastly kept my eyes closed, it was not protection enough from the eyes I felt sure were slowly opening around the room, piercing me with their impatient glares. I had to improvise, and fast.

"The Lord is my shepherd, and lo shall I walk the path. The path of iniquities and forsooth."

Okay, you just used the word forsooth. Get it together, man!

"Rare is the bird that catches the morning worm. High is the pride of the fallen knight."

I heard two distinct throat-clearings and something that could have either been a stifled sneeze or a snort of laughter. I vowed never to attend First Nazarene Church, nor drive down the road where it was located (even though this meant I would have to take an extraordinary long route to get home on most weekdays).

"Thank you for the food of our nestled breast and deliver us from the harms of snakes."

"Be not angry with us and wind the clocks of our advancing age with trust and goodness. Umm, amen."

Though I had little experience with public prayer, I knew that it was customary for several others to echo the "amen" portion of the prayer. No one did on this day. I opened my eyes and was not surprised to see a vast sea of confusion among the guests. I thought about offering an explanation. I considered blaming my heathen ways on the tutelage of Reverend Frank Wilson, but I decided to just sit and eat my dinner instead.

Later that day I found a turtle in my mailbox, but I'm still not sure if that is in any way related.

That Time I Wanted Tacos for Dinner

2010-05-18T07:50:00.000-04:00

So it was just about a year ago when I decided I wanted tacos for dinner. Rather averse to subjecting myself to the flavors of Taco Bell, I chose to make them myself. I approached my wife and I said:

And she was like:

And so she left and about two hours later she came back and said:

And she handed me the meat and I examined it and was not pleased with what I saw:

And I made my feelings known:

And she was all:

But I was just like:

And so she's all:

But I'm still like:

And then she finally says:

Unfortunately, she was run over by an out-of-control rickshaw on her way back to the grocery store and died of internal injuries later than night. Instead of tacos, I had to settle for a bowl of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni. I'm still a little bitter about that to this day.

The Perfect Post

2010-05-14T12:29:00.005-04:00

Those in the blogging business know how difficult it can be to craft a good post. You have to think of an idea (or be inspired by one from an exterior source), but that's the easy part. From there, you have to spend time with that idea, working it this way and that like a Rubik's Cube, finding the angle that will serve the story best. It is an exhausting process, on par with tarring a roof or wrestling an alligator.

Protip: Go for the tail

Sometimes the process gets out of hand. On July 6th of 2009, I came up with the greatest idea in the history of blogging. Just the mere mention of the idea gave me chills. Murmuring the idea in my sleep was single-handedly responsible for several birds dying outside my bedroom window. One of them was an ultramarine lorikeet, one of the rarest birds in all of North America. Most unfortunate.

The problem? The idea was too good. I wrestled for hours on how to present it perfectly, giving it the perfect showcase that it so desperately deserved. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. I couldn't do it. I could not form the words that would give my idea justice. Better that it should go forever unwritten than for me to bring it to the blog in a manner unbefitting its glory.

I could have moved past it. I could have continued to throw up new blog posts unrelated to THE IDEA, but it all seemed so meaningless suddenly. Every time I turned on the computer I was reminded of my failure. To forget about it and return to business as usual would have been like craving a bowl of gourmet ice cream and then settling for a bowl of Grape Nuts. I don't like Grape Nuts. They tire my jaw.

Only...four...more...bites

With the benefit of time and reflection, however, I have finally come to terms with my regret. THE IDEA may never fully come to fruition, but the show must go on. With oil spills in the Gulf of Mexico, Sarah Palin still enjoying inexplicable popularity, and Casey James disturbingly close to winning American Idol, America needs the Shark Tank more than ever. I can no longer neglect my task.

¡Viva la tiburón!

Greg Duberson's 4th of July Sale

2009-07-03T08:30:00.000-04:00

[Even the Shark Tank has to pay the bills somehow, so for today's entry I'm turning the wheel over to Greg Duberson. Duberson is the "undisputed king of the 4th of July and also every holiday" and is here to tell you about some of the wonderful products he's selling this year. Take it away, Greg!]

GREG DUBERSON'S 4TH OF JULY BONANZA!!

Well guess what it's your old pal "the Dubes" here again with some great stuff for you to celabrate the 4th of July in style because if there's anything that we're talking about on this day it is INDEPENDENCE! That means we don't have to be afraid of terrorists or the british or also the guys who dress like girls.Because this is MAN'S BUSINESS and it's all about AMERICA! Want to have the time of your life then this is the place and I've got the goods! Let's SEE WHAT'S HERE!

AMERICAN FLAG TEE SHIRT!!

Now with this tee shirt that I designed myself with the help of some photo software you can be looking the part of a real patriot on this INDEPENDENCE DAY! Speaking of that, have you seen that movie? That's probably the best movie of all time if you ask me and if you want I've got a copy of that tape in my van and I might just play it while the sale is going on. I taped it off TV but I took out all the commercials and junk. $22.99

1776 MARBLES!!

I counted them myself which took me just about forever. You can't have the jar, but if you bring something to hold the marbles in I can just pour them out into whatever you bring. The reason you can't have the jar is because it belongs to my neighbor and he likes to keep stuff like insects and bats and stuff in it. I dont know what he's using to hold all that stuff while I'm using it for my marbles but I hope there's not a bat flying around in his house because it could bite him and then he might turn into a dracula. $9.50.

INDEPENDENCE DAY VIDEO!!

Aw, why the hell not. $7.75

ALOE PLANT!!

A lot of people like to set off fireworks themselves on the 4th of JULY I KNOW I DO! But if you're not careful you can burn yourself with one of those sparklers or even blow your hand plum off. I remember one time when I was just a young buck there was this kid named Danny Matthews and he lit a cherry bomb off and didn't get away fast enough. It didn't even hurt him at all but later that summer he got hit by a milk truck and it made him retarded. $35.00.

Well that's not all I got, but that's all I'm going to show you on this blog because we have to keep some things a SURPISE to make you want to come out and see the sale!!! I changed locations again, this time I'll be in the parking lot of Bok Tower Gardens in Lake Wales, Florida on Friday from 8:00 in the morning till whenever and the same thing on Saturday unless security kicks me out and then I'll be at the Hardees on state road 60.

I Checked The Engine. It's Still There.

2009-07-01T08:30:00.000-04:00

I sat at the light, listening to the radio and wondering if Staind had ever, or would ever, come out with a song that didn't sound exactly like every other one of their songs, when I noticed an unpleasant orange glow coming from the dashboard. CHECK ENGINE. Oh jeezly shite, what now? Last I checked, I had $132 in my bank account. When taking into consideration the bills that needed to be paid in the coming week, I pegged my net balance at -$310. Not good. Not the time for car trouble.

I pulled over into the nearest Amoco station and got out of the car. How long had it been since my last oil change? Two months? Four months? Six? Eight? No! You're just counting by twos! Focus! I unlatched the hood and peered inside, unsure of what I might be looking for. Coolant level? Eh, I guess...that's...fine. Hmm, better check the oil. I did so, and it appeared to be low. Okay, then that was probably the problem. I would just buy a quart of Texas tea and everything would be all right. No need to panic.

I added the oil and slammed the hood down, pleased with myself for performing this complicated bit of DIY auto repair. I started the ignition and frowned at the CHECK ENGINE light, which was still burning bright, taunting me with its lack of decent information on how to proceed. Well, that was that. I would have to take it in. Perhaps I could talk the management of the dealership to accept one of the car seats as payment for services rendered.

"What seems to be the problem?" the gruff mechanic asked as I approached the Service counter of the Honda dealership.

"Well," I said, trying to muster all of the authority I could bring to bear from such a weak, un-knowledgeable position. "That, uh...that check engine light came on--heh--you know...cars."

He just stared at me.

"Anyway," I continued, "The check engine light came on, so I figured...better, uh, find out what's wrong."

He began typing some things into his computer, and I stood back, trying to convince myself he wasn't writing "Sucker: take for all we can get."

"What type of vehicle is it?"

"A, um, Honda Civic."

"Year."

I muttered a response.

"I'm sorry?"

"1993."

That's right, ladies.

I pretended he wasn't smirking as he noted the information.

"It's freezing in here," I mentioned.

"You think so?" he muttered, still typing.

"Yeah!" It was. You could have bred polar bears in this type of climate.

"Hmm." He stopped typing and looked directly at me. "I'm not freezing."

Okayyy then.

"We'll take a look," he said. "You can have a seat in the waiting room."

"Oh, there's something else," I said. "It's been making a weird rattling sound for some time. You know, like...rattle, rattle, clink...rattle, rattle, tonk. Like that."

I cleared my throat.

"We'll take a look."

I took my seat in the waiting room and watched "The Price is Right" for the next half hour, convinced that I had conveyed the sound without sacrificing my dignity.

If I had preserved any dignity, however, in explaining what was wrong with my car, it had been lost at some point between the time I sat down and the time the mechanic came back to retrieve me from the waiting room. Now there was not even a faint attempt to hide the smirk.

"Well, we found the problem," he said.

"Oh. Good."

"Loose gas cap. It happens."

"Wow, that makes the Check Engine light come on?"

He nodded, giving me a receipt that read "No charge".

"All right, well, I appreciate it. Oh, did you look into that rattling?"

At this point he turned his back to me, seemingly occupying himself with something at the back of the counter. I only realized later that he was probably trying to hide the fact that he was about to burst into laughing tears. His face was remarkably red when he finally turned back around. "Yes, we did. There was an empty Coke can in the backseat. It was rattling up against your...extensive...collection of cassettes."

"Mmm," I said, feeling both relieved and starkly unamused. I thought about informing this know-it-all that Warrant's Cherry Pie album was just as good in tape form as it was in MP-whatever-the-hell, but it didn't really seem worth it.

Next time, I'm ignoring that light.

Reference Letters! Get Your Fresh, Hot Reference Letters!

2009-06-24T08:30:00.000-04:00

Well, job seekers, judging from the fact that unemployment numbers continue to rise, I might have been tempted to think my Interviewing Tips had gone unheeded. However, I now realize there could be another reason for this unfortunate turn of events. See, many employers walk into their job interviews with sparkling resumes, bright personalities, and plenty of thoughtful questions, only to find themselves turned away. Why is this? Because they don't have any references. They were summarily dismissed from their previous jobs, and their only friends exist on the other side of message board screennames. Have no fear, referenceless recluses, the Shark Tank is once again coming to your rescue!

I have written dozens of references for my friends and acquaintances, all of whom went on to get the job of their dreams. Don't believe me? Here are some testimonials:

"With Shawn's helpful reference letter, I was able to leave my low paying pharmaceutical sales job for a lively career in MLM marketing!"
Amy B.

"I thought I would never get a job. Employer after employer slammed the door in my face. Thanks to Shawn's reference letter, I was able to end my streak of bad luck and secure a job with Enron!"
Fred M.

This kind of success can be yours as well, dear reader. Here are a couple of sample letters I have written for applicants in the past, both of which were likely the deciding factor when it came to the subjects' obtainment of gainful employment.

To Whom It May Concern,

Let me tell you a little bit about my friend, Matt. He is loyal, honest, and trustworthy. When he pees in my bathroom, the house smells like vanilla for a week. He has been a family friend for some time and is the possible father to my two children. He is decisive and swift of action, as evidenced by the time he murdered a local game show host over a matter of a "fixed game". Having paid his debt to society over that little incident, I believe he would make a wonderful addition to your company.

Shawn

Here's another example.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I'm going to be honest here. I don't know if Janie is human or alien. I would say human, because she is friendly, hardworking, and she looks like a human. I would say alien because I had a dream several nights ago in which she removed her head only to reveal a grotesque alien head inside of that one. Approximately 9% of the time, I dream of things that come true later. That is just a fair warning, although I have never seen Janie exhibit alien behavior in real life.

Shawn

So if you're looking for a job, and you have an extra $933.12 laying around, feel free to send that money to me, and I'll hook you up with a reference letter that can't miss.

The Shark Tank's Guide To A Successful Job Interview

2009-06-17T08:24:00.000-04:00

With the economy in shambles and unemployment hitting record highs, people are finding it tougher than ever to find a good job. With the month of June in full swing, and many a college graduate finding themselves in the job market for the first time, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to let the world in on my foolproof secrets of the mysterious job interview. Grab a pencil and take some notes, ye unemployed masses.

Attire
Most job interview articles will tell you to dress up, making sure you're dressed appropriately for the position. Pish posh, I say. Dress comfortably. What's that? You think I'm wrong and the other articles are right? Fine, dress up like you're going to Sunday Mass. You can wear your power suit while you're working your new career as a jizz mopper at one of New York's finest pornographic theaters.

Cleanup on aisle 4

Although I personally can't stand them, I would advise buying a pair of bright Crocs for your interview. They are wildly popular, meaning the chances are good that your interviewer will own a pair as well. This will give you something in common, and could be just the right icebreaker you need. Ladies, this goes without saying, but the more cleavage the better. In fact, wearing a bikini top will often get you the job before a single word is spoken. Please note that this doesn't apply if the interviewer is a heterosexual female, but the chances of that are stunningly unlikely.

Your Time Is Valuable
It's important to let your interviewer know that your time is as valuable as his. What's that? You think you're supposed to play the role of subservient young ingenue in your first interview? Well, you keep thinking that, and you can look forward to a ten month excursion to the foothills of the Himalayan mountains as the only job you can find is that of a goatherd.

Pictured: goats; you

The first trick is to arrive to the building a full thirty minutes late. This will set a tone for the entire interview. Let this executive know that when it comes to you, he doesn't pull the strings. You do. Throughout the course of the interview, make sure to check your watch and sigh in an exaggerated manner at least twice. If he asks you one of those smart ass questions like, "Am I keeping you from something?", simply answer with, "Don't you ever condescend to me, you son of a bitch."

The Opener
After making your late appearance, you'll need to solidify your dominance over your interviewer with a tasteless, preferably racist joke. What's that? You would never tell a racist joke, regardless of the reason? That's excellent. You can look forward to years of not telling racist jokes in your new job as urine-taster at the Mountain Dew factory in East Lansing, Michigan.

Please note: if you can direct the racist joke explicitly towards the race of the interviewer, all the better. The joke can be any one of your choosing, but the ones that portray a black person/Asian/Latino/etc. in a powerful position as a ridiculous, fantasy concept are the best. It cannot be overstated how much more appropriate these jokes are if you happen to be white.

Ask Questions
A wise man once said "If you don't ask, you'll never know." Truer words were never spoken. I recommend asking at least forty-five questions throughout your interview, regardless of their relevancy. What's that? You think that's going overboard? Well, the phrase "going overboard" is soon going to be very descriptive of your life, as you embark on your new job as Manatee Sex Therapist off the gulf coast of Florida.

My, someone's been doing their vaginal exercises.

Here are some questions you can ask your interviewer, turning them into the interviewee:

"Is the starting pay in the millions?"

"Pocket Ace-King suited. Do you go all in preflop?"

"When is it okay to show your co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?" (Actually, I just need some more feedback on this one.)

The Closer
There is only one appropriate way to close a successful interview if a job offer has not been proffered: Threaten the interviewer's life. Do it in a half-joking way, of course, but you'll want to maintain a certain look in your eye that suggests you just may not be joking. It goes like this:

Interviewer: Well, we'll be in touch.

You: If you don't give me this job, I'm going to come to your house, chop up your family, and then eat your brains for dinner (ha, ha, ha, ha)

But while you're both sharing a hearty laugh, catch the interviewer's eye. Practice your "I'm really not joking" face in the mirror for best results.

That's just about all there is to it. Please let me know what kinds of wild successes you have with your new interviewing style, and feel free to share any small percentage of your new salary with me as a token of your appreciation. You see, I've been unemployed for quite some time...any little bit helps.

A Thirst Too Great

2009-06-15T09:21:00.001-04:00

The other day I was traveling down one of our great American highways, just enjoying the open road and the sounds of silence. As I passed a field of (non black and white) cows, I contemplated the fragility of life and the cycle of existence that has kept the human race going now for yea these many years. I wondered how long we would continue to exist. As a people. I thought about global warming, and whether or not I had been irresponsible in buying a coal powered vehicle w/ industrial strength smokestack. I pondered these things and others when suddenly I was overtaken by a powerful thirst. I needed a Slurpee.

It was peculiar--but not altogether unheard of--for my Slurpee jones to strike so suddenly and so ferociously. The problem: I was--according to my "7-11's of the Central Florida Area" handbook--nearly six miles away from the nearest Slurpee dispenser. I didn't think I could wait that long to quench the devil's parch that had settled into my throat. I would have to take drastic action.

An invaluable tool

My first order of business was to check the floorboards. There was a bottle of Coke under the backseat (next to the furnace). Unfortunately, there was none left in the bottle. I had drained it dry. Argggh, this terrible thirst! Why would it plague me so? I would give anything to be free of its maddening terrors.

That's when I noticed the ditch by the side of the road. It had rained for the past three days, and this rain had filled the ditch nearly to capacity with cool, clean water. Just the site of this oasis magnified my thirst a thousandfold. I had only two options. Wait, and take my chances with the far away 7-11, or drink from nature's goblet. I pulled off the highway and made the only decision I could.

As I knelt to my knees in front of the ditch, I noticed two things. One, the water was not nearly as clean as I had hoped. Bits of...stuff...floated in the water, and there were peculiar swirls in the water, as if a generous dollop of gasoline had been added to the mixture at some point. Two, someone had tossed a half-eaten Burger King cheeseburger out of their window and I would be damned if that wouldn't go perfectly with my reservoir.

Cautiously, I dipped my mouth to the ditch water and drank deeply. It tasted suspiciously like the juice that forms at the top of a long dormant jar of peanut butter, but it did the job. The cheeseburger was stiff and surprisingly crunchy, but it didn't taste too bad.

I rate this dining experience 17 stars out of a possible 23. WOULD DINE AGAIN.

Unrelated: Does anyone know any home remedies for E.Coli poisoning?

That Time I Went To The Nursing Home

2009-06-12T07:55:00.000-04:00

I remember when I was nine years old I had to go to a nursing home for an afternoon. I was just walking down the halls of the place, minding my own business, when this old woman was all:

And so then I was like:

And she went:

And so I said:

And she came back with:

And that's when I was like:

And she was just:

Crazy old woman.

Good times. Good times, indeed.

When Is It Okay?

2009-06-10T08:55:00.000-04:00

I was reading an article some time ago that was addressing some of the variations on one of the most common questions people have--namely, "When is it okay...?" The questions and answers were so common and generic, however, I found myself losing interest rather quickly. "When is it okay to lie?" "When is it okay to wear white?" "When is it okay to...to...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

I looked through the article, but I couldn't find any answers to the questions I found most pressing in my life. Knowing that the article was likely to be popular and recurring, I penned a list of ten questions in the same format and submitted them to the magazine. Well, it's been roughly a year and none of my questions have made it into the magazine. However, I still need answers! Therefore, I'm turning to you...the Internet...to help me find the answers I'm seeking.

Question #1: When is it okay to eat one of those dishwasher detergent cakes?

***

Question #2: When is it okay to tell a department store clerk that you'd like to feel the inside of their pocket?

***

Question #3: When is it okay to don a rainbow colored vest and skip through a public park?

***

Question #4: When is it okay to use your finger to sample the salsa, rather than a chip?

***

Question #5: When is it okay to tell people you saw a dinosaur in their laundry hamper?

***

Question #6: When is it okay to poop in the shower?

***

Question #7: When is it okay to show co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?

***

Question #8: When is it okay to ask your father to change his name to Forrest Whitaker?

***

Question #9: When is it okay to admit to a (possible) homicide (legally speaking)?

***

Question #10: When is it okay to punch an otter?

Help me, Obi-Wan Commenters. You're my only hope.

Hollywood VS Your Wallet

2009-06-08T08:55:00.000-04:00

Versus movies were all the rage back in the fifties and sixties, and as Hollywood experiences a drought of original ideas, they're making a comeback. The straightforward remake (or, as filmmakers like to call them these days, reimaginings) is always on the table in this dire situation, but endless remakes have begun to turn the general public off. The simple way around that? Take two popular heroes or villains from different franchises and pit them against each other in a whole new movie. Alien vs Predator, Freddy vs Jason, Me vs That Guy Who Won't Shut Up Two Rows Back...the possibilities are limitless.

Of course, as with anything else, Hollywood has to take it one step too far. While at the theater for Star Trek (another...reimagining) the other night, I couldn't help but notice the lobby was filled with upcoming "Versus" movies and, while some of them look intriguing, others...well, take a look for yourself:

Ah, who am I kidding? I'll go see all of them.

Mythical Creatures

2009-06-04T08:55:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little tired of people going on and on about mythical creatures as if they were real. No, I'm not talking about unicorns and dragons. I'm not even talking about cryptids such as the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot. I'm talking about animals that everyone walks around, pretending that they really exist, when they know full well that they do not. Here are some examples:

The Black and White Cow

This creature was originally introduced into our culture through Elmer's Glue. Glue and cows aren't related in the least (in fact, they should have used a horse), and thus Elmer's had to invent a possible connection. Their solution? Take a black cow and make it look as though it had accidentally spilled glue all over itself. Instantly, the black and white cow was born. Now you see them in everything from milk commercials to Chic-Fil-A ads to cartoons. But you know one place you'll never see them? In real life.

The Duck Billed Platypus

I used to get a lot of enjoyment out of the DB Platy. What a fun animal, I thought. 50% duck, 50% beaver, 100% awesome. Then when I learned that it had venomous claws...well that just made it ten times as amazing. It was more than a simple animal. It was a Super Animal, like a dinosaur. But much like dinosaurs, the DB Platypus never really existed. Well? Have you ever seen one in real life? No, you haven't. Not even in a zoo.

The Panda

What is about the black and white coloring that draws people to make up these animals and then pretend that they are real? I'm convinced there's some connection to the Rorschach test, but I'll save that theory for another day. The panda is one of the cutest animals in the world, if only it was actually in the world. You can tell the powers that be are growing nervous about the cat escaping el baggo on this one, as they are starting to warn people that the panda is going extinct. Here is wisdom: anytime you hear about a creature that's about to go extinct? That probably means it never existed in the first place.

Suspected to be fake, but not confirmed: king cobra, octopus, three-toed sloth, tauntaun, and goat.

An Experiment in Science

2009-06-02T08:55:00.001-04:00

For the past few weeks I've found little time to keep up with this blog, follow my favorite television shows, or read more than a few pages of a book. The reason for this distraction? My foray into the wonderful world of science. I've always been a bit of an amateur scientist, but my latest obsession has taken this to a whole new level. What follows is a documentation of my experiment, which I believe will be of keen interest to both the scientific community and the world at large. Please enjoy the scientific method, in all its glory.

Step One: Ask a Question

The question, to my mind, was this: How do I provide myself with the extraordinary amount of macaroni and cheese that I require without going broke in the process?

Step Two: Do Background Research

I had a few options, it seemed. I could simply begin shopping for macaroni and cheese at the dollar store. I could buy cheaper brands and sacrifice taste in the name of saving a few pennies. I could try to wean myself from my macaroni and cheese addiction. None of these seemed particularly viable. However, Googling "How to save on groceries" led me to several websites that recommended growing my own food. Hmmm, now we were on to something.

Step Three: Construct a Hypothesis

My hypothesis was simply this: I could plant some Velveeta Shells and Cheese in the backyard, and with care and love I would soon have a macaroni and cheese tree.

Step Four: Test Your Hypothesis

I made up a batch of shells and cheese (which, yes, I understand is not macaroni by definition, but it is the prime example of its form) and scooped it out into a bowl. I poured a cold glass of Coke and sat down to watch Click on the FX network. Around the time Adam Sandler gets the universal remote control from Christopher Walken, I had finished the meal. Son of a bitch! That had been my planting macaroni, not my eating macaroni. I went back into the kitchen and made a new batch, missing the funny parts of the movie in the process.

This time I remained on task and took my bowl of shells and cheese out to the backyard. I dug a shallow hole and placed the steaming bowl of macaroni goodness in the center of the plot. Feeling a little twinge of regret, I covered the macaroni up with dirt and then nodded approvingly at my handiwork. Soon, my mac and cheese addiction would no longer be looked at as "strange" or "unhealthy", but rather regarded as the catalyst for one of the world's great discoveries.

Step Five: Draw a Conclusion

The macaroni and cheese tree experiment was an utter failure. After four patient weeks, I realized no tree was going to grow. I dug up my bowl, only now realizing what a dumb idea it had been to begin with. I briefly considered eating the remnants of my seedlings, but I couldn't tell the worms from the shells.

Adding insult to injury, Blake Osgood was selling macaroni and cheese at the flea market Sunday at an exceptionally low price. Blake Osgood is my arch enemy, however, so I didn't buy any.

Product Review: Vtech CS111 Cell Phone

2009-05-29T08:55:00.000-04:00

Well, there's no two ways around it: this cell phone is a piece of shit. While it works decently inside the house, I found it had an extraordinarily short range. In fact, I counted how many steps away from my driveway I could take before the connection cut out. 42. Forty two measly steps. Meanwhile, my friend's Motorola can get reception all over town. All over the state, in fact. He asked me what network I was on, but I don't even really understand all of that network mumbo-jumbo. I have phone service through Verizon, though. I guess that's what he means. Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? No, I can't, because this cell phone isn't worth the cheap plastic that was used to put it together. Avoid at all costs. Zero stars out of a possible 349.

True History: The Mona Lisa

2009-05-27T08:55:00.001-04:00

There are some things in life and art that are plainly obvious to both the creator and the spectator. No one's looking for hidden meaning in Transformers or the cover of a Cheerios box (although...). Then there are those pieces of richly layered art which may seem obvious, but in reality have guarded their true secrets under a fine facade. It's time to scratch beneath the surface of one such painting and reveal, finally, its true history.

The Mona Lisa

Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece has been hailed as the greatest painting ever put to canvas by more than one art critic, but they have failed to bring to light the true mysteries behind this mysterious girl. Art lover and layman alike have burdened themselves with the question: what is she smiling about?, but that is simply a piece of misdirection, masterfully laid in place by Leonardo himself. You thought there were secrets hidden in The Last Supper? No, no. Here is where the secrets lie.

You see, what many people don't know is that Leonardo da Vinci was Italian. As in, he was actually from Italy, a place of evil and darkness. In the 16th century, as today, Italy was rife with two things: spaghetti and the Mafia. Leonardo da Vinci invented the former and was a prominent member of the latter, rising as far as consigliere in the De Luca family before being gunned down at an abandoned warehouse for selling heroin to the mulanyans in south central Rome, expressly against Don De Luca's wishes.

Mona Lisa, whose real name was Lisa del Giacondo, was in reality the wife of powerful silk merchant "Big Joe" Giacondo, with whom the De Luca crime syndicate had extraordinary bad blood, due to some matters involving six goats and a shipment of cocktail dresses that "should have never made it off the truck". While most of his compatriots in the Family regarded Leonardo's painting as something to be endured, rather than celebrated (or, as one high ranking member put it: "pure faggotry"), he was well known in the greater community as a wonderful artist. It was this reputation that brought Big Joe to commission Leonardo to paint his daughter, with the secret hopes that Leonardo would be wiled by her charm, fall in love, and his problems with the Family would disappear.

Unfortunately for Giacondo, when Don de Luca heard about the painting, he insisted Leonardo play a trick. You see, in that era there was no greater insult to a woman than to suggest she had no eyebrows. Strange, but true. The boss commanded that Leonardo paint Giacondo's daughter perfectly, but leave off the eyebrows. The insult would be felt throughout generations of Italians, and it would be sweeter revenge than any bloodshed could possibly bring.

Though reluctantly, Leonardo did as his Don instructed. To his surprise, however, by the time he had finished the painting, de Luca had grown bored of waiting, had fitted both Giacondo and his daughter with cement shoes, and relocated them to a watery grave at the bottom of the Mediterranean. The painting, however, went on to become an enormous success, as people from all over gathered to gaze in wonder at the Mona Lisa, which meant, literally, "Lisa, of bare eyebrow".

Frank Wilson Wants To Save Your Soul

2009-05-22T08:40:00.000-04:00

[The Shark Tank is happy to welcome local preacher, the Reverend Frank Wilson. Frank is having some difficulties raising funds towards building his own church, and I told him it would be just fine if he were to write a post to get the word out. As well as The Word.]

Thanks for coming to read my words here, friends and family. Though this is a sinful blog, I'm not like other preachers who are too good to share the gospel with the unwashed masses. A lot of clergymen think that they can fulfill themselves just by preaching to the converted, but not I. I like to get down in the dirt and scratch around. And I can't think of any dirtier people than those in my community and those that read this website.

Any of you reading this should go and get a loved one, especially if you have a child. Have them read my words along with you and read it to them if they can't read it for themselves. Jesus said "To read it yourself is to believe it with all of your heart" and I think that's true. And you will believe my words.

You see, most of you are doomed to Hell. It says in Mary 12:29, "Thou arte probably going to Hell". It doesn't say "maybe" or "perhaps". It says probably. That means it's more likely than not. I'll wait while you read this to your child. If your child doesn't know what Hell is, you should read them this passage from Elkwinds 4:13:02, "Hell is a terrible place where children are burned with fire and then beaten with hammers and then bamboo shoots are forced under their fingernails and then they are bodyslammed." Does that sound like the place you want to spend eternity? No, me neither.

Phurlucians 11:93 states, "If ever someone comes to you asking for money to start a church and thouest say no to them, then thou shalt surely be eaten by a werewolf." This is nothing to play around with. But there are ways around it. Because I'm starting a church. And I need some startup capital. Therefore, you really have a choice to make, and you know the consequences are dire for making the wrong choice.

It's like the story of the Devil and the Lamb. Paraphrased from the gospel of Levinthite: Once there was a lamb. A big lion came and asked him for money to spend on foolish things. The lamb said no. But then the Devil laughed and ate the lamb, because the Devil was hungry. The lion then tried to eat both the Devil and the lamb inside the Devil's stomach, but the Devil put the Cruciatus Curse on the lion and the lion soon died.

Send donations through Paypal @ Frank Wilson:Reverend of the Frank Wilson@ Church @ Frank Wilson's Church fund.doc (Thanks to Shawn for setting up my email).

2 Sides 2 A Story: Would a Baby Make a Good President?

2009-05-20T08:30:00.000-04:00

Side 1: A Baby Would Make a Terrible President
by Jack Lerner, Editor-in-Chief, Politics and Power

In the U.S. Constitution, it is written than a person shall be 35 years old and a natural born citizen to be considered for the Presidency. Some have suggested these rules are outmoded and ripe for amendment. They say this in the hopes of one day electing Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or with the spurious reasoning that there are brilliant young minds out there that may become corrupted and dull with the years. These reasons I can abide. But what I cannot abide--what I will NEVER stand for--is the small but vocal minority of voters who believe the time has come to elect a newborn baby President of the United States.

Simply put, electing an infant as President would be a disaster in every sense and definition of the word. Think back to when you were a baby, if you can. Were you competent enough to run a country at the age of zero? Are the babies you know capable of such a thing? Highly doubtful.

If being President meant spitting up on a bib, drinking milk from a warmed bottle, and chewing on a pacifier, then by all means. But that is not what the Presidency is about. It is about wisdom, leadership, and charisma. You show me the smartest baby in the world and I will show you a person who has none of those characteristics.

Please, for the sake of the country, a baby should never be sent to the White House.

Side 2: A Baby Would Make a Wonderful President
by Jayden Adams, Age 6 months

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Things Found in the Chuck E Cheese Ball Pit

2009-05-15T10:35:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, Chuck-E-Cheese was the place to go. You wanted great pizza? Check. How about all the arcade games you could ever want? Got it. Wait, you still haven't satisfied your need for people in oversized animal costumes? Well, they have that, too. From what I've heard, today's version of Chuck-E-Cheese is light on arcade games and fun, and heavy on parents getting sloshed while their stupid kids wander around wasting tokens on those retarded redemption games. Anyway, in honor of the greatness that used to be Chucksters, here's a brand new pie chart.

Wikipedia Gets a Bad Rap

2009-05-12T08:31:00.001-04:00

Whenever I'm doing research, find myself bored of playing Donkey Kong, or simply want to know more about a particular subject, I turn to Wikipedia for my answers. Chock full of information and covering almost every pertinent subject known to man, the Wiki is a one stop shop for expanding the mind and wasting away valuable hours. A lot of people say Wikipedia is a veritable fountain of misinformation, but I'm here to say: I think Wikipedia gets a bad rap!

Where else could I readily learn that Disney threatened to sue some day care centers for using Mickey Mouse pictures on their walls?

Or that Zincam Gluconium is the active ingredient in popular cold remedy Zicam?

Or that sunglasses can "improve visual comfort and visual clarity by protecting the eye from glare."

All right, I might not have needed Wikipedia's help on that last one, but let's face it, I wouldn't have been able to put it quite so succinctly, either. Kudos, writer of that particular Wiki article!

Now consider my 1986 set of Funk and Wagnalls encyclopedias. Supposedly, these encyclopedias have been through all of the fact checking and rigorous copyediting that these Wikipedia articles are criticized for lacking. Hmm, could have fooled me. If anything, a quick glance through these encyclopedias shows that either someone was sleeping at the wheel at the old publishing house, or these books were put together by complete morons.

Here are some things I found that are just completely inaccurate and/or bizarre in their absence:

*The World Trade Center is apparently still standing and is the second tallest structure in the world. Um, I guess you guys never heard of a little thing called 9/11?

*Not a single mention of the World Wide Web, the Internet, Google, or Wikipedia. Gee, you think Funk and Wagnalls is a little afraid of the competition?

*Direct quote, under entry labeled Ronald Reagan: "40th and current President of the United States". Riii-ight.

As you can see, mistakes can occur in even the most celebrated and respected publications. I think it's time to give Wikipedia its fair due. I'm going back there right now to finish reading the fascinating George Washington entry. Did you know he was once arrested for smoking crack with your mom on "Dancing With the Stars"? The things they don't teach you in school.

Monday Movie Reviews

2009-05-11T08:27:00.001-04:00

Back To The Future (1973)
The strange tale of a boy named Marty McFly and his attempt to make the world's first solar powered train. There's a lot I could say about this movie. The soundtrack, featuring such hits as "Locomotion" by Kylie Minogue and "Footloose" by Kenny Loggins is commendable and will have you dancing in your seat. The first time I saw this movie I was perplexed by the subplot, involving Doc Brown's insidious machinations to create life from a pinecone, but now I see it as a metaphor for the evils of corporate greed. This one was definitely ahead of its time. Starring Crispin Glover and Weird Al Yankovic. 4 stars from a possible 29.

Rocky (1921)
Rocky Balboa, a down on his luck boxer, has his life transformed when he discovers the healing properties of acupuncture and finds a strange sort of love with a homeless porcupine. Though not for all tastes, Rocky blends fantasy and reality in an exuberant stew, topped off with a dash of melancholy when the porcupine strikes it rich and leaves his friend to fend for himself. Starring Sylvester Stallone and Angelina Jolie. 9 stars from a possible 11.

Mary Poppins (2003)
An inner city school teacher is thrown in prison after raping a student with an umbrella. In this supposedly heartwarming tale, both teacher and student find themselves lost in a justice system that is both racist and too convoluted to care about the little guy. I found myself unable to connect with the characters in this film, particularly in light of the superior Glengarry Glen Ross, which came out the same year and tackled similar themes. As of this writing, Mary Poppins is sealed in the Disney vault. Starring Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake and Willem Dafoe. 66 stars from a possible 2,321.

Least Popular Mother's Day Cards

2009-05-08T09:06:00.000-04:00

Well, Mother's Day is Sunday, and once again the greeting card companies will be making a fortune penning witticisms that you're too lame to come up with on your own. Cards will be given, cursorily read, and promptly tossed into a drawer (or straight into the trash). Even with this foreknowledge, millions of sons and daughters will be heading out to the store, spending forever and a day scouring the shelves for the card that just says it best.

And while I'll be doing the same, here are some cards that I'm (almost) surely not going to buy.

Click to enlarge if your eyesight sucks.

Does Not Work Well With Others

2009-05-06T08:55:00.000-04:00

I was in the third grade when the issue first came up. My teacher--Ms. Forrest--asked us all to divide into groups of four so we could work on an art project together. The idea was for us to take a piece of posterboard and each decorate it until it made a collage of our various interests. Seemed simple enough. We had plenty of magazines and newspapers from which to cut out applicable pictures.

Well, even with the abundance of materials, I couldn't find any pictures to represent my personal interests (standing on my head against a wall, tasting dog food, and shooting old people with my BB gun being chief among them). My teammates grew irritated as I continuously failed to add anything to the collage. Finally, one of the kids, a fastidious boy named Phil, said, "If you're not gonna help, I'm gonna tell Ms. Forrest."

I nodded in acknowledgment of this threat and pretended to return to my search. I further pretended to have finally found a picture suitable for my needs. I picked up the scissors and acted as though I was about to cut out the picture. When Phil satisfied himself that I was finally working, I lifted up his shirt and cleanly cut off his right nipple with the scissors. It dropped to the floor with an audible plop. He screamed out and the entire class turned to our group just in time to see me grab the severed nipple, apply a thin coating of rubber cement, and stick it to the posterboard.

Not only did this act of violence get me expelled from Better Growth Elementary, and not only was I placed in a special psychiatric program for several months, but I earned a phrase in my permanent records that has never left me: Does not work well with others.

Well, finally a select and daring group of girls has decided (however unwisely) to look beyond my checkered past and give me a chance to be part of a team. With that said, I introduce to you (those who may have missed the giant banner in the sidebar for the last couple of days) my new TEAM-POWERED blog! It's called The Open Letters Blog, and it is the best thing since sliced nipples. Er, bread. With the combined forces of---

HEATHER CHERRY

JULIA D.

BROOKE AMANDA

and, of course

SHAWN SHARKFIN

--we have developed a blog that will embiggen the spirit and liriash the soul. Please join us as we write serious, thought-provoking letters, stimulate the mind (if not the economy), and, above all, work well with others.

Humor Writer Needed

2009-05-04T09:53:00.000-04:00

Last week, my friend Unfinished Rambler (yeah, that's the name he was born with...hippie parents, I guess) made a post chronicling his decision to apply for an online humor writing job. He remained steadfastly reluctant to name the site, due to his fears that he would "jinx himself out of the job" (read: didn't want any competition). Of course, being the master sleuth that I am, I quickly ferreted out the site he was talking about. Well, at that point I would have left it alone, but then I thought, "Self, you could use some extra money. Why don't you undercut Rambler and try out for the job yourself?" And, being the good friend that I am, I decided to do just that. After all, the category was "Web Humor". I could do that. I could go for DAYS on web humor. I just had to prove it to the people in charge of hiring. So...without wasting a moment, I sent off this letter:

To Whom It May Concern,

I would very much like to apply for your position of Web Humorist. All my life, I've struggled with my fear of spiders, but I think in the meantime, I've managed to find the humor in our arachnid friends' "homes". I mean, really? A web? That's what you're going to live in, Spider? I should think you'd want to find a more suitable abode, such as a house, or maybe a trailer at the very least. A web? That doesn't even make sense!

Like the above, I can riff on spiders and their webs endlessly. I even know a few good web jokes.

What is a spider's favorite snack brand? Little Webbie!

Knock Knock. Who's there? Spiderweb. Spiderweb Who? Spiderweb me in, please!

All right, that one needs some work, but that was just off the top of my head! Imagine the kind of stuff I could come up with if you were paying me. Better stuff than Rambler, that's for sure.

Anyway, just let me know I've got the job, and I'll fill up your site with web humor the likes of which you could never imagine. I was even thinking you could call the column "Shawnlotte's Web". But, eh, we can iron that kind of thing out later. Thanks for considering me!

Spinning me right round,

Shawn

Well, if I can give this site credit for anything, it's for their quick responses.

Shawn,

Thank you for your interest in the Web Humor position. I can honestly say your letter stood out from the bunch, and we have enjoyed passing it around the office. Unfortunately, it was also--bar none--the dumbest piece of writing I've ever come across in my thirty years in the business. Please note that I'm speaking not only of professional submissions, but of letters in the mail, half-finished grocery lists, and Youtube comments as well.

Thanks,

Jim Contrell, Editor

Well, another job opportunity down the drain. Good luck, Rambler. Hopefully they liked your spider jokes better than mine.

***

Thankfully, there are some people left that do appreciate my brand of humor. I'd like to direct your attention to Venom, Secrets, and Lies. Venom has written a tribute post to The Shark Tank! I highly recommend each and every one of you head over there right now and check it out. Personally, I think it's the best blog post I've ever read. I'm serious. I've read it three times already and saved it to my hard drive. You'll likely want to do the same. While you're there, stay a while and check out some of her other posts--I think you'll find a blog worth reading. So thanks, Venom! Good to see some people haven't lost their sense of humor.

Ten Suitable Punishments for Your Disobedient Brat

2009-04-30T09:01:00.001-04:00

I was reading an interesting story the other day about a mom who had given her son up for adoption at the age of 7 because the kid would not listen to her or do anything she told him to do. Wash the dishes, no. Clean up your room, nuh uh. Go to bed at a decent hour, not gonna happen. What happened next was especially sad, as the boy was adopted by an unsavory religious cult in the Everglades and was soon eaten by an alligator as part of a bizarre ceremony. Even sadder, the alligator turned out to be allergic to brat, and died subsequently. Adding to the misfortune, the alligator's rotting corpse polluted a small section of the swamp, causing myriad wildlife to die or relocate.

Okay, I'm not sure if I really read that story somewhere or I dreamed it, but the point remains the same. Many parents are unable to get their kids to listen, and the results can be horrifying. As the Shark Tank is due for a judicial review next week, I thought it would be nice to once again give freely of my wise advice. Here, for struggling parents everywhere, are my top ten punishments to dole out to misbehaving children, so that they may avoid causing a minor ecological disaster in the future.

#10: Refuse to allow the child to wear his or her seatbelt for a three week period.

#9: Take away Playstation 3. Replace with Atari 2600.

#8: For teenagers: Drop child off in front of school each day for a week. Make big production out of kissing and hugging them before letting them go inside.

#7: For small child: Read them the classic children's book, The Invisible Bees Who Are Everywhere. Do not alert them to its fictional nature.

#6: Gently remind them that they are the reason Dad left.

#5: Threaten to pull car over.

#4: Friend them on Facebook. Immediately post brutally honest 25 Things About Me meme.

#3: Continue regimen of haphazard, rage-driven corporal punishment.

#2: Write a starkly inappropriate love note to his teacher, signed with his name. Instruct child to give to teacher.

#1: Pay neighborhood bully $5 to teach em a lesson.

My Japanese Job Interview

2009-04-28T09:15:00.000-04:00

Friday afternoon, I was fortunate enough to be presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity. Takiyama Inc., one of the world's largest suppliers of affordable corn syrup (as well as a moderately successful greeting card exporter) called me in for a job interview. I had submitted my resume to them on a lark a few months back, never really expecting to hear back. Still, I had gone to great lengths to emphasize my two and a half year-long employment with a telemarketing firm that had used as their "hook" free tickets to the Japanese game show, "Crazy Crazy Happy Time". Though this bit of employment history had never done me any favors in the past, I thought this time might be different. Not only had I gained a passing familiarity with the Japanese spoken language, I had enveloped myself in the spirit of their culture. What do you know? Turned out that Shep Yin, the HR director for Takiyama was a big fan of that old show, and was eager to have a look at a bright young American who could speak Japanese.

I arrived at Takiyama's West Palm Beach American headquarters a little past three in the afternoon, and was immediately whisked through the lobby and invited to sit in a rather small office, which looked out onto the back lot of Lion Country Safari. I politely declined a cup of blueberry Slusho and tried to quell my nerves. Before I had a chance to collect my thoughts, she walked into the room.

She was a Japanese woman of about 40 years of age, dressed in smart business attire. Without needing to be introduced, I recognized this lady as Michiko Suzuki, Takiyama's North American president. I stood and shook her hand and bowed a little, as I had read on the internet to do.

We both took our seats. Suzuki folded her hands on her desk and the interview commenced.

Suzuki: So glad you could come to be interviewed on such short notice.

Me: Not a problem. I wasn't really doing any--I mean--I had to move some things around in my schedule, but I was more than happy to do that for such a great opportunity.

Suzuki: I'm very impressed with your work history, particularly your time with [consults resume]. . .Tel-Ling?

Me: Yes, it was a great learning experience. It was actually a privilege to learn Japanese and immerse myself in the ways of the Orient.

Suzuki (in Japanese): We are pleased to have fish and pigs with our beds.

Me: Uhh...huh. Come again?

Suzuki (in Japanese): We are pleased to have fish and pigs with our candle sex?

Me: duuuummm...yes?

Suzuki (in English): Your resume states that you are fluent in Japanese?

Me: Well, I wouldn't say fluent. I know quite a bit. Maybe I'm a little rusty.

Suzuki (in English): The position we're considering you for requires extensive knowledge of the language. I certainly can't have one of my reps "ummming" and "huh-ing" through a conference call.

Me: No, I get that, I get that. Let me give it another go. It's been a few years.

Suzuki (in Japanese): Cradle muffin can see the soul of telephone.

Me: Okay. So, did you just say, "Cradle muffin can see the soul of telephone"? Because it really just sounded like that's what you said.

Suzuki (in English): I said, "Perhaps you learned Japanese from a retarded baby."

Me: Oh. Heh ... that's not what I heard. Wow.

Silence.

Me: Sooo. . .I'm guessing that's a no on the job then?

Silence.

Me: I'll just let myself out.

Walking back to my car, I remembered something Jim Jenkins, my boss and Japanese language instructor at Tel-Ling Telemarketing had said. He had told me the Japanese dialect I was learning was only used in 1% of the world. And it wasn't even in Japan. It was a little town in southern Maine. I drove home, really wishing I had remembered that before the interview.

The HBDC Story Meme

2009-04-25T09:20:00.001-04:00

Today's post is going to be a little different, boys and girls. Today, I'll be participating in the Humor Bloggers First Annual Story Meme, created and conceived by none other than Spaz over at The Mind of Spaz. The deal is this: There's a story. Each of the participants in the meme will contribute a small amount to the story and then pass it on. The resulting gelatinous mess will then be hoisted high in the middle of the town square and subsequently hanged for indecency and witchcraft. I think that's the basic gist of it. Ok, no, I've been told that's incorrect. The final story will be published on HumorBloggers.com. Without further ado, here is the story's humble beginnings, as written by Spaz himself:

Wanda was always confused. Not about work, because she loved what she was doing. Not about her friends or her hobbies,because her social life was great. It wasn't her looks either, because she was tall, lean and had an absolutely perfect rack, the best money could buy. No, Wanda was confused because she has a penis.

And so here we go.

It had come wrapped in several layers of newspaper, stuffed into a tube typically reserved for delivering posters. It wasn't just any penis, either. Judging from its length (11.2 inches), scent (formaldahyde and tree sap), and coloring (burnt sienna), it had belonged to T. horridus and dated back to the late Cretaceous. In layman's terms, it was the penis of a Triceratops. Standing in her driveway, watching as the UPS guy hopped back into his truck and flipped down the visor, Wanda said something she'd thought many times before, but never said aloud.

"It's smaller than I thought it would be."

Venom, of Venom, Secrets, & Lies is next up, so make sure you head over to her blog to see how she continues this timeless tale.

You WILL Acknowledge Me, Wal-Mart Greeter

2009-04-24T09:15:00.001-04:00

Well, here I go again, on my way into Wal-Mart. Oh look, a penny. It's turned with the tail facing up. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I can't remember. I'm pretty sure it's a bad thing. I better leave it alone.

Besides, what do I need with a penny? What can you even begin to buy with a penny these days? When was the last time the penny was worth a shit? Even the motto from the Great Depression was "Brother, can you spare a dime?" A dime! Even eighty years ago, people weren't lowering themselves to ask for a penny.

Okay, I'm approaching the doors. What the hell is that lady wearing? She looks like an American buffalo stuffed into footie pajamas. Oh wait, that's exactly what it is. Fun. I wonder what a buffalo is doing outside Wal-Mart on a day like this. Did you know that "Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo." is a complete sentence? It is.

Oh crap, someone's out here asking for money for some charity or another. Avert eyes! What's that shiny thing up there? Well, there I went and looked directly at the sun again, explicitly against my eye doctor's instructions.

All right, I've passed through the gateway. I'm no longer on municipal property. I'm in the Mart. I can't see shit. It smells like a curious mixture of popcorn and grape Bubble Tape in here. Not altogether unpleasant. Do I need a cart? Why am I even here? I completely forget. Maybe I should just go back to the car before I wind up buying something I don't need. But no, I've parked too far away. Might as well trek on.

Oh boy, here we go. The Wal-Mart greeter lies ahead. The last three times I came here, he not only didn't greet me, he failed to smile or even acknowledge my existence. He just stood there, his ancient eyes looking off at some faint point in the distance. If he doesn't greet me this time, I'm going to make a scene. That's his only job, to greet me. Am I not good enough to receive a greeting? Do I need to peacock myself in order to deserve his fleeting attention? Is it not enough that I'm wearing this halter top and a multicolored beanie?

Walking, walking, walking ....

...

... and IGNORED AGAIN!

All right, Wal-Mart greeter, you're about to get a piece of my mind. Depending on your reaction to my angry tirade, we'll see if we need to get the manager involved. I don't want to have to do that--you're probably underpaid, even considering your job and your performance at said job--but I will do what I must. There's only so much disrespect one person---

BATTERIES!

That's what I need. I better go get them before I forget again. But I won't forget this, Wal-Mart Greeter.

I won't forget this.

Ouija: Let The Right One In

2009-04-22T11:56:00.002-04:00

If you grew up in my generation, you may well have been warned about the dangers of the Ouija board when you were young. You may have been told that attempting to contact the spirit world through this Parker Brothers game was simply asking for trouble. Even inviting the possibility of demonic possession. If you were anything like me, all of this warning of foreboding meant that you would not--could not--rest until you had purchased one and tried it yourself. After all, what would liven up your dull teenage life more than suddenly being possessed by the devil?

As I've mentioned before, I know I have a lot of elementary school readers. Pre-K, even (which is why I use only the most basic of words. Yes it is too.). I'm here to tell any of my younger readers, and even some of my older ones, DO NOT MESS WITH THE POWER OF THE OUIJA! This is serious, my friends. Here is my story. After reading it, you too will know that the Ouija board is not a joke. It is not cool. It is an instrument of evil, and by using it, you are endangering your very soul.

My friend Brian and I were fourteen and sitting Indian-style (that's criss-cross-applesauce to my younger readers) on the floor. Before us on the carpet was the freshly purchased Ouija. I was looking forward to asking it a whole host of questions. When will I die? When will Brian die? What was the name of that guy who played on Greatest American Hero? Keep in mind this was before the age of the Internet. After I explained once again that it wasn't pronounced "Oy-juh", Brian and I gave each other a hesitant look and then placed our fingers on the planchette.

I took a deep breath and uttered, "Spirit world, we have urgent business with you. If you are there, please respond with 'yes'."

We waited, deep in concentration. After a moment, the planchette began to move slowly towards the big "YES" at the top of the board. I looked at Brian, immediately suspicious.

"You moved it," I said.

"No way, man," Brian said. "I think we should put it away."

I looked back at the board, the planchette resting quietly on the big YES at the top. "Hmm, maybe you're right."

I started to put the board back in the box, and that's when it leaped out of my hands. It spun itself three times on the carpet and then laid itself flat again. The planchette jumped into the air, righted itself, and then began to make words entirely independent of us. We both cowered in the corner, but unable to turn away from the horror. We watched as the words began to spell out on the board.

G-E-T ... O-F-F ... M-Y ... L-A-W-N

"Holy shit, dude, we need to get out of here," Brian said.

"Hold on," I muttered, slowly moving back towards the board. I stopped in my tracks as the planchette began to move again.

Y-O-U ... S-T-O-L-E ... M-Y ... L-A-W-N-M-O-W-E-R

"Oh for Christ's sake," I said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Mrs. Opplestein? Is that you?"

"No...way..." Brian said, finally coming away from the corner.

Mrs. Opplestein was an old hag from next door. She was always accusing us of being on her lawn and stealing her lawnmower, as well as a host of other minor infractions, none of which we were guilty of. It would be stretching it to say we threw a party when we found out she had died, but we didn't exactly mourn, either. Of all the interesting spirits we might have contacted, it figured that we would tune into her old ass frequency.

"How did you die, Mrs. Opplestein?" Brian asked, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

The board came alive once again.

M-E-T-A-M-U-C-I-L
O-V-E-R-D-O-S-E

Brian nodded solemnly. "So ... are you in Hell?"

The pointer slowly moved to the YES.

"What's that like?" I asked.

L-I-K-E ... L-I-V-I-N-G ... N-E-X-T-D-O-O-R ... T-O ... Y-O-U

"Sick burn," Brian said.

"Well, this sucks," I said. "Let's go see what whiskey and grape soda tastes like."

Brian agreed and we put the Oujia board away, feeling both triumphant and deflated over our brief contact with the world beyond. If only we had known then what we came to know later.

Strange things started happening.

Prunes found their way into my parents' grocery bags without them having picked them out.

The television would go to static intermittently, only to suddenly change over to Murder, She Wrote.

The family car started to smell like a mixture of Chanel No. 5 and urine.

It was happening. I was being haunted by the ghost of Mrs. Opplestein.

Three exorcisms later, we finally got rid of the poltergeist, but not without some casualties. No, no one died (well, other than Mrs. Opplestein), but Brian was never the same again. I would catch him walking down the hall at school muttering something about "should have never taken that lawnmower".

Don't play with the Ouija board kids.

And don't mix whiskey with grape soda.

The Best Baby Shower Gifts EVER!

2009-04-20T16:13:00.000-04:00

So I've been invited to my friend Kristen's baby shower. For those not in the know, what I've been invited to has nothing at all to do with cleaning a baby, and everything to do with a bunch of girls getting together and playing games and giving presents to the expecting mother. I'm not sure why I've even been invited. I'm not a girl, and I've been getting suspicious...I dare say, annoyed...glares from some of the other shower attendees. This could be because I'm a guy getting ready to traipse all over a distinctly feminine tradition, or it could be because of what happened at Lanie's birthday party last November. I can't really go into that, but suffice to say it involved a weed wacker, four Twix bars, a baby dolphin, and two concussions.

The invitation I got informs me not only of the shower's time and place, but that the mother is registered at Target. I went to Target yesterday and asked to see their registration book. This apparently does not exist, but they did refer me to a computer where I could see all of the gifts Kristen wants her guests to buy for her. What? Wait a minute. You not only want me to come to your stupid party, but you also want me to buy you a gift, and not only that, you're telling me what gifts to buy? Hmm, okay, not doing it. If I'm buying presents for a baby (which is a retarded concept to begin with), then I'll be deciding what to buy.

I decided right away that I not only wouldn't buy from the registry, but I would buy gifts that would make the other girls at the shower green with envy. I would show them what happens when you invite a guy to a girl party. You get the goods.

Because I knew Target wouldn't have the kinds of lovely, thoughtful gifts I had in mind, I immediately left and came back home. If you can't find a decent baby gift online, then the baby doesn't need it. That's my motto. And sure enough, $300 later, I had enough baby presents to turn this baby shower into a full on baby Jacuzzi.

If you're reading this, Kristen, you may want to stop now, or you'll ruin the surprise...

...

Okay, I warned you. Here's what you're getting on Sunday!

Baby's First Book--10 Things That Fit Right In The Wall Socket!

Ride That Doberman! Baby Saddle.

Tobacco Flavored Pacifiers--with real nicotine!

Soul Eater Doll, now with backwards Hell-speak!

Broken Glass Crib Moat.

I think you'll agree that my gifts will make this baby shower one to remember!

Larry Whitson Needs Work

2009-04-17T09:15:00.002-04:00

[Note to readers: The Shark Tank is happy to give up some space today for a friend. Larry Whitson has been hit hard by the downturn in the economy. Normally this isn't a charity blog, but Larry is a good guy and he's willing to work for his dollar. The floor is yours, my friend.]

I appreciate being given the time to write directly to you fine people. I won't lie. It took a fair bit of pride swallowing to ask for this opportunity. Normally I wouldn't come to anyone, hat in hand, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And these are desperate times. You see, about a month ago, I was laid off. I've worked at the Speak n Spell factory in downtown Houston for about 25 years. I can't say it came as a shock. A bunch of us had a feeling something was going down, on account of the economy being so bad, and on account of us not having made a single Speak n Spell since 1990. But, of course, the real problem hit when Odamna got elected. That's right, you call him Obama, but I call him Odamna. Because O damn (a), what the hell happened to my job?

I had some savings. Not much. The wife...well she doesn't work. She's pretty well got her hands full with the 6 kids. Together, they've just about eaten through the savings (and then some). So, yeah, I'm in a bit of a pickle. The job market...christ, don't even get me going. Anyway, this is my last stop before heading out to the side of Highway 92 with a cardboard sign. I hope at least a few of you have a heart and I also hope you understand that I'm not asking for any handouts. Not in the least bit. I refuse to take so much as a single dollar without earning it. I want to be a man of service. A contributor to society, not a drain.

With that spirit in mind, I want to lay out some monetary figures. Don't get ruffled or step back with your hands in the air...these are just off the top of my head. I'm in a real jam here so trust me, these amounts are negotiable.

For $1: I'll write you a nice little poem and have my 3 year old son Tristan put his tiny little thumbprint on it.

For $15: I'll come out to your house and walk your dogs morning, noon, and night. Limit 3 dogs.

For $25: I'll come take your trash out. Every room in the house. I'll even do it for a moderately sized business, if you don't employ a janitor.

For $30: I'll come out and mow your lawn. Front, back, and sides.

For $37: I'll come out and mow your lawn. Front, back, and sides. I'll also eat the grass clippings and any yard varmints that get caught up in the mower.

For $49: I'll put on a Tyrannosaurus Rex costume and whistle the theme from Doogie Howser M.D. and then sleep under your bed for a month.

For $55: I'll paint a picture of Adolf Hitler riding a carousel at an amusement park.

For $76: I'll put a virus on your computer (PC only), remove it, and replace your current wallpaper with a picture of myself wearing a blue Best Buy shirt and no pants.

For $85: I will smoke the latest issue of US magazine.

For $101: I'll do a book report on Huckleberry Finn, written on Hello Kitty stationary.

For $125: I'll slap you so hard you'll see stars and possibly pass out for a few moments. Then I'll put my fingers in your ears.

Again, please note that these figures are merely meant as a starting point. If you'd like to negotiate, or if you have any other tasks or services that you require, please let me know. I am very open minded and very, very broke.

Fold This!

2009-04-15T12:33:00.001-04:00

I don't know what it's like now, but middle school/junior high for me seemed like an endless array of intricately folded paper.

First there were the notes. If passed from one to the other during class, a simple fold down the middle would typically suffice. However, if being saved to pass on at a later time, the amount of tricky folding the girls engaged in was beyond the level of most--if not all--amateur origamists. Many times I found it difficult to even open these masterworks, much less duplicate the system myself. You would be walking through the halls and all of a sudden this small triangle or square would be pressed into your hand, your name written in flowery scrawl across the front. These notes, by and large, had one purpose and one purpose only: to find out who you "liked". Sometimes the question would be direct. Sometimes it would be hinted. Sometimes it came with a convenient check box to minimize labor and conserve paper and was written to you straight from your admirer. (On a side note, what kind of a bastard did you have to be to just check "no" and give it back? Did anyone ever do that?) I remember trying to create some of these fold-a-thons, but it never worked out. After a while I gave up and just started balling up my notes and throwing them at their intended target.

Then, of course, there were the paper planes. Never figured those out either. I had friends who could have hired stewardesses and started full scale airlines with their paper jets. My feeble attempts nearly landed me in the special education classes.

The paper footballs. These could be found at each and every table in the lunchroom where sat two or more guys. Not only could I not make one of these, I was also terrible at the game itself. I was much more accomplished at the "pencil breaking" game, where one person holds a pencil horizontally between their fists, and the other person attempts to break it with another pencil. Was there strategy that involved removing the eraser and pressing the metal endpiece into a flat, sharp weapon? Yes, there was. If this is the first time you've heard of this game, you're probably thinking it's the most retarded thing you've ever heard of. You would be correct.

Finally, there were those paper games seemingly every girl in the country knew how to make. Internet research reveals they are sometimes called "Fortune Tellers" or "Cootie Catchers", but I don't remember anyone ever calling them either of those things. They were these little folded triangle contraptions that fit on your fingers, and the player would choose a color, then a number, then another number (or something, jesus, it's been a while, all right?) and then a tab would be lifted and some sort of something else would be said.

I never even tried to make one of those. One, it would have been impossible, and two, it didn't seem like the kind of achievement likely to improve my social life.

An Open Letter to Myself, 10 Minutes Before Writing First "Open Letter" Post

2009-04-14T14:01:00.003-04:00

Dear Past Shawn,

1 out of 4 bloggers are already doing the "Open Letter" gimmick. Please reconsider.

Love,
Future Shawn

P.S. Saturday's winning Lotto numbers are 12-19-26-39-41-49

The Beautiful, Tragic Life of Mossman

2009-04-13T11:05:00.001-04:00

The unexamined life is not worth living
Socrates

They say that a man's life is but a collection of memories, to be treasured at a later time, and wholly misunderstood as they happen. If this is the case, then it is only in retrospect that we can appreciate not only our own lives, but the lives of others. If there are truly lessons to be learned in this life, those lessons will come not from the pages of a book or the images on a silver screen, but from examining the lives of brave men, of cowardly men, and of people who have lived and walked and dreamed. People like and unlike yourself. In that spirit, we present to you one such life. The life of Mossman.

The Early Years

Mossman hatched out of his plastic clamshell in Freehold, NJ in 1985. Not moments later, he was dropped on the floor by then 7-yr-old Billy Springer, thus acquiring the first piece of carpet lint on his otherwise green, pristine, mossy body. The young Springer rectified his mistake at once, retrieved Mossman from the lush carpeting, but failed to remove the lint from the upper right portion of Mossman's back. There it would stay for the next six months, until Springer's mom happened upon Mossman resting in the mop bucket underneath the kitchen sink. She took it upon herself to clean him and return him to the eclectic toybox which was his usual residence.

"That was the best time of my life," says Mossman, now 24 (equivalent to 147 in human years). "God, the times I had."

These times included fierce battles with Hordak, the evil overlord of the Netherrealm, as well as some shaky alliances with Yoda and a penguin named Burtok. Mossman found himself the victor more often than not, using his magical staff to lead his troops to their triumphs. However, it was the loss of that magical staff that ultimately led to a new chapter in Mossman's life.

The Great Emigration of 1989

Shortly after losing the Magical Staff of Magical Powers, Mossman found his life taking a decided turn for the worse.

"I didn't get called up as often for the really important missions," Mossman says. "I spent a lot of time in the toybox, becoming intimately familiar with some of One-Armed He-Man's more outlandish religious theories."

Mossman's decline in popularity culminated in late 1988, when he was extended a rare invite to join the newly formed TWF, or Toy Wrestling Federation. Having an extended background in hand-to-hand combat, Mossman thought the new career path would be his ticket out of the toybox and back into a productive life. He even had designs on the Federation's World Championship, held by Leonardo of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Alas, it was not to be. Mossman found himself mired in a neverending feud with a minor character from the Smurfs, engaged in short but violent battles that typically opened the card, rather than being featured in the main event. During this time, his Mossy fur suffered more wear and tear than he would have liked, and dog hair began to accumulate on his body at an alarming rate.

The TWF folded after only six months. Shortly thereafter, Mossman was sold to a young Korean boy named Lin Kim for $3.50 at the Springer's annual yard sale.

"To me, it was an egregious breach of trust," Mossman says, unable to hide the bitterness that has festered inside for two decades. "A slap in the face."

Bill Springer, now an independent contractor for Direct TV, declined to be interviewed for this story.

The Lin Years

Though he felt betrayed, Mossman was determined to make the most out of this new opportunity. With a new owner in place, new figures surrounding him, he dreamed of spending more time out of the toybox and less time worrying that his prime years were being wasted in meaningless existential conversations.

Unfortunately, he describes his time in the Lin kingdom as the worst years of his life.

"Things weren't so bad at first," he admits. "There was no violence of any kind in this new kingdom, but I wasn't terribly disappointed. I had prided myself in developing my mind as well as my body, and looked forward to challenges that were not purely physical."

These challenges included extensive spelling bees and math decathlons with the Elite Squadron, a group of figures who were almost exclusively from the GI Joe universe. Mossman felt out of place from the very beginning. Not only was he twice as tall as his fellow academics, but he found himself disengaged from the endless practices. Still, nothing could have prepared him for what was to come.

"I knew she was bad news from the moment I laid eyes on her," Mossman says, staring wistfully into his own past. "I just didn't know how bad."

Mossman is speaking of Choi, Lin's 9 year old sister. Growing tired of waiting for Mossman to find his niche in the academic world, Lin traded Mossman to his sister for a Nintendo game called "Excitebike". Though Mossman had never been exposed to the female world in detail, he knew instinctively that he had no business in the pink-and-black land to which he was transported.

Gone, now, was any chance of reliving his past glory on the battlefield, or even retaining a modicum of dignity as a marathon speller. He was relegated to spending exactly three days on a windowsill, having the sun fade his mossy exterior, while waiting for some sort of horror to come out of Choi's dedicated time at the sewing machine. Though Mossman had often wished for a fine cloak or even a robe, the ruffled dress that he was forced to wear while in Choi's possession was not what he'd had in mind.

"I spent the next year and a half going on 'dates' with the Peculiar Purple Pieman of Porcupine Peak," Mossman laments. "It was beyond humiliating. It was emasculating."

The Interim and The Present

When the Kim siblings grew too old for action figures, Mossman once again found himself up for sale. He was purchased by rabid toy collector Hank Garrison of Santa Barbara, California for the princely sum of $.49. Though Garrison was an appreciator of the art that was modern day toymaking, and had more than a passing interest in the mythology behind the various cartoons and backstories that came with each character, at 38, Garrison was long past staging battles or even academic challenges with his toys. Mossman thus found himself alternatively displayed or "put away" for the next 20 years.

"I wouldn't say he's the prize piece of my collection by any means," Garrison, now 55, says. "The years have not been terribly kind to him. He's lost most of his refreshing pine scent. And, of course, any toy out of its original packaging is not nearly as valuable. Still, he's a decent example of the mid-80's Mattel workmanship."

"All I do is wish for death," Mossman says before returning to his current home in a box in Garrison's attic. "Sweet, merciful Plant Lord, take me now."

Easter On The Moon

2009-04-12T02:47:00.006-04:00

Sometimes, I like to stand in the middle of an open field and stare up at the moon. Wonder what it would be like to go there. Sit on a moon rock and think quiet thoughts. Scream as loud as I could and marvel at the fact that no sound was coming out. Plant a little flag that said "United States of the Moon" and declare myself President of this new, Moonish country, of which I was the sole citizen.

Then I remember there are flesh eating roaches on the moon and they would kill me before I ever had the chance to do any of that.

Happy Easter, Earthlings.

Greg Duberson's Easter Sale

2009-04-10T14:31:00.009-04:00

[Even the Shark Tank has to pay the bills somehow, so for today's entry I'm turning the wheel over to Greg Duberson. Duberson is the "undisputed king of Easter and also every holiday" and is here to tell you about some of the wonderful products he's selling this year. Take it away, Greg!]

Greg Duberson's Easter Extravaganza!!

It's such an honor and a privelege that Shawn and The Shark Tank are letting me come here and tell you all about the great and COOL stuff I have to sell to you on this great Easter holiday! As you know, Easter is all about the coming of the Jesus and how he died for our SINS! But it's not the least bit of a sin for you to come out to my shop and take a look at some of the great Easter PRESENTS that will make your loved ones stand up and shout "The Easter Holiday is the best in the WORLD!"

No more talking about it! More Getting to the PROGRAM!

JESUS BASEBALL CARD!

This card is RARE! I don't think it has anything to do with the real Jesus in the Bible but it sure would be a funny gift for someone in your family if they liked baseball and they also liked the Bible! One time I was at a baseball game on EASTER day and I bought a bag of peanuts from that guy who's always going around yelling about peanuts and beer. He threw the bag at me and I wasn't even looking. It hit me in the face! I started laughing but I really didn't think it was funny and later I tried to sue them but I didn't really know how to do that so nothing ever happened. $9.50.

JUICE BOX!

I don't know if you go to church or not but if you don't then you should because you won't be saved if you just go around thinking mean thoughts and stealing mail from other people's mailboxes. Anyway, sometimes at church they have comunionn, which is where you drink some grape juice and eat a cracker. Now you can do this yourself or you can take it to church and save the church from having to use up so much of their own grape juice! $1.00

EGG HOME!

A lot of times people get eggs at Easter and they HIDE them around the yard or around the house. But then maybe the kids find the eggs and don't have any place to put them because eggs roll around and sometimes they get lost FOREVER! If you get this little egg home, your kids can put their eggs inside and then they wont loose them before its time to find the candy or paint them or whatveer! I had some real EGGS in the home before, but they started to smell really bad like when you poop so I had to get rid of them. The egg home still smells a little like that. $3.00.

RABBIT JERKY!

I almost dont even want to sell this pack of rabbit JERKY because it's so delishhh! It says on the front of the package that its supposed to be just for dogs but I can tell you from my own opinion that you shouldn't even THINK about giving it to your dog. It's way too good for that! Also every time I talk about rabbit jerky or beef jerky I think about the JERKY BOYS! Remember them from back in the day? They were so funny when they would call people up and be like, "Ha, what's up, jerky!" $5.50

Well that's all I'm going to tell you about because if I keep showing you all the stuff I have you won't even have any surprises when you come out to see me! I didn't even tell you about the best thing because Shawn said that it might be illegal to put it up on the Internet. But it's not I'm pretty sure. It's just kinda weird. Anyway, the sale is open Saturday and Sunday, sun or rain! Just go back behind the Freevale Trailer Park in Ybor City, FL, and you'll see a van with the words "EASTER EASTER COME GET YOUR EASTER" on the side and that'll be me!

Things Found In Our Easter Eggs

2009-04-09T14:29:00.003-04:00

Easter is just around the corner, peering at us lasciviously when it thinks we aren't looking. So it goes with a holiday that is great for kids and those with kids, is great for those who are religious in nature, and means almost nothing for adults who don't go to church. Still, since the majority of the Shark Tank's readership is under the age of 11 (we promote heavily in area elementary schools), I decided it wouldn't be right to ignore the whole deal. So without further ado, the culmination of almost a half hour's worth of research:

5 Entrecard Ads I Had To Reject

2009-04-08T10:28:00.000-04:00

For those not in the know, Entrecard is a blogging network. It allows you an easy way to interact with other bloggers, find blogs that interest you, and earn credits that let you advertise on other blogs. Recently, Entrecard decided that they could make some money outta this deal by letting paid advertisers put their ads on member blogs. This caused a bit of an uproar in the community, and caused some concern. I can't say I cared too much one way or the other, particularly when it came to what types of advertising would suddenly show up on my widget (that's that little box on the side with the gold bar underneath it). I figured Entrecard would do a good enough job ferreting out the appropriate advertisements from the inappropriate. For the most part they have, but what follows are five ads I had to reject. As I don't like rejecting ads without giving a reason, I figured the least I could do was post them up today and explain to Entrecard and these paying advertisers why their ads didn't make the cut.

Reason for Rejection: I used this service for over two months with no results. I can't pass on scams to my readers, who expect the most out of their inter-family dating services.

Reason for Rejection: While the logo is nice to look at, I swear I've seen it somewhere before. This makes me wonder if these designs are truly original or if they've been copied from the Web.

Reason for Rejection: This blog's name is called "The Trigger". Not to give advice where it's unwanted, but you may want to rethink your design.

Reason for Rejection: It seems like a fine product, but I had to really question the first-person testimonials on the website.

Reason for Rejection: Was forced to reject on advice of legal counsel. Otherwise, would have given you a permanent slot.

The Shark Tank's Guide to a Successful First Date

2009-04-06T09:43:00.000-04:00

A first date, according to a study I read somewhere a few months ago, is one of the most stressful situations for a human being to put themselves in. Many have simply not mastered the fine art of mating. Well, I'm here to help. Follow these tips and you'll have a great first date and be on your way to the kind of relationship most people (most other people) can only dream about.

Brag
Early and often. This may go against your modest and polite nature, but you know what? Your polite and modest nature is going to leave you alone and desperate, drinking bacteria-infested water out of some creek in the middle of a Michigan forest.

Now some will complain, "But I don't have anything worth bragging about!" To this, I say "Nonsense!" Everyone can brag. Sit down and make a list of all your accomplishments, no matter how small and seemingly inconsequential. Did you graduate college? There you go. Only high school? Brag about it! Less than high school? Let's find something else to talk about!

"I can beat Super Mario Bros. in less than eight minutes."

"I was voted MVP of my T-ball team."

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard."

All of these make fine and decent brags, certain to impress your date and set the stage for a wonderful evening.

Tell an Uncomfortable Truth
Most people go out on a first date with the idea of "putting their best foot forward". Well, if you keep putting your best foot forward, you're going to wind up at a home for retired circus clowns, sucking down Jamaican ginger extract and slathering greasepaint on your old, wrinkled face. Not only is honesty the best policy on a first date, uncomfortably frank honesty will show your date you trust them and will engender a deeper connection. Some examples:

"I have an incurable foot fungus."

"Sometimes I poop in my cat's litter box."

"I have an unopened bottle of Crystal Pepsi I'm planning to drink when I lose my virginity."

Feel free to improvise with your own.

Forge a Bond
You might think it's impossible to forge a real bond on a first date. You might also find yourself sifting through camel dung in your later years, looking for something edible and moist as you make your way across the vast Arabian desert.

One of the easiest ways to make an instant connection is through the use of magic. Invite your date to think of a two-digit number between 1 and 50. When they have the number, do a little wave of your hand and guess, "37." Most of the time you'll be right, and your date will be utterly taken aback by the psychic connection you share. If the number was not 37, grumble, "Well, the trick only works with smart people." This will leave your date feeling ignorant and defenseless, possibly bringing them down to your league.

Gender Specific Advice
You're probably saying, "Come on, Shawn, isn't this enough? How am I going to remember all this?" You'll also probably be saying, "Hear ye, hear ye," as you accept a job as a town crier at Colonial Williamsburg just a few days shy of your 80th birthday, you sad, pathetic loser.

Guys: Flip a coin to see who pays for dinner. If you win, lucky you! If she wins, tough break, sucker.

Girls: Take off a shoe and place it on the dinner table just before dessert. Say, "I'll be your Cinderella."

Guys: Research one topic for a week straight before your date. You can then talk over your date's head for most of the meal, which will subconsciously remind her that, as a man, you are naturally smarter than her.

Girls: Spend at least 1/3 of the meal repeating the phrase, "I could have made all of this at home for much less money." Increase percentage to 1/2 if the dinner costs more than $100.

Guys: Place a condom in your wallet. "Accidentally" let her glimpse it when you pay the bill. If she's not looking, mention it directly.

Girls: Casually mention that you've had sex with so many guys this month that you're sure your AIDS test results are no longer valid. Guys like a sense of risk and adventure.

Getting a Second Date
Truthfully, I don't have a lot of experience in this area. Feel free to offer your own suggestions.

My Girlfriend Is The Best

2009-04-03T09:20:00.001-04:00

They say Valentine's Day is just a corporate holiday, built up by the greeting card industry, with very little to do with real love. That's why I wanted to take this time, far removed from the pressures of a commercialized holiday, to pay tribute to my girlfriend. She is the love of my life and, as you'll see, she's the greatest girl a guy could possibly wish for.

All right, so you don't believe me. You're sitting there, smugly thinking, yeah, this guy is full of it. No girl is this awesome. Well, allow me to retort. Here are just a few examples of why my girlfriend is beyond awesome.

Just last week I was looking through her dresser trying to find a pen. What do I see but a receipt from Frederick's of Hollywood for three items of lingerie. The receipt was dated for December, but I had yet to see any of the new lingerie! That's what I love about her. She has the greatest ability to buy something like that, and then wait for just the right time to show it off! It could be months down the road! She loves to surprise me!

Or wait, how about this. For the last five weekends, she's had to stay at a friend's house because of various apartment problems (spraying for termites, fire inspection, Daylight Savings Time, etc.). Unfortunately, her friend doesn't have a phone and my girlfriend's cell phone can't get reception in that area. And because this friend works in the CIA, I can't come visit her on these weekends. You would think that something like that would put undue stress on a relationship, but no! It doesn't because she is so thoughtful. She always remembers to send me a little smiley face text message on Friday afternoon, and then lets me come over and nap with her on Sundays when she's able to return home. The last part is really nice, because she always seem so tired after staying over at her friend's house. I guess the beds there are really stiff.

Pictured: Our unbreakable bond

Those are two of the big examples, but there's just so many I could name. How about when she bought me that new button down Ralph Lauren shirt? She didn't even tell me about it, I just found it hanging in her closet. She had even sprayed some cologne on it so it wouldn't have that weird out-of-the-store smell. Unfortunately it was way too big for me (I guess she's not the greatest judge of sizes), but it was the thought that counted.

Or the time I got so angry when I saw the last twenty calls on her phone were from some dude named Jason. But then I felt like a complete ass when she explained that Jason was a girl. She didn't even get mad at my outburst, or my ignorance that Jason could be a girl's name. It was like I was instantly forgiven. She's such an angel.

I guess it's kinda sappy to dedicate a whole blog post to my girlfriend, but that's just the sappy kind of guy I am. Anyway, I gotta run. Sometimes my girlfriend has to work until late (almost 3:00 A.M. some nights!), and I like to bring her breakfast the next morning. It's the least she deserves!

The Greatest April Fool's Day Prank EVER

2009-04-01T10:59:00.001-04:00

Today, on this, the first day of April, 2009, I would like to share with you the greatest April Fool's Day prank that has ever been played. Your foolmaster is me, and my exploits have been talked about from here to L.A. They have been rapped about by some of the world's premier hip hop artists. A painting of my greatest prank was rendered by a London artist whose name escapes me. Never mind!

I have been the mastermind of many April Fool's jokes over the years. I once convinced a friend of mine that he had been visited by aliens by making "crop circles" in the finish of his Honda with a can of paint stripper. LOLZ!

One time I replaced all the batteries in my family's open pack with dead batteries I had saved over the previous year. Wouldn't you know it, my brother needed a couple of batteries that very day! Oh, reader. You should have been there.

But I'm not here to talk about those pranks. Those pranks were merely sprinkles in the ocean compared to the joke I am about to share with you. The greatest April Fool's Prank of all time.

I was zero years old at the time. Lying in a hospital crib. The lights! They were bright beyond what you could possibly imagine. Particularly if you're blind. I don't know if you remember or not (I've found that most people do not recall their babyhood with as much accuracy as I recall mine), but being a baby is extraordinarily boring. You have little to do but lie around and think. But this can be productive, as it was for me on that fateful October night. It was then and there that I decided that I would play a little prank on my mom. Simultaneously, I would play a prank on someone else's mom.

When no one was looking, I rappelled out of my crib, crawled across the cold tiles of the floor, and climbed up into a crib that had been temporarily abandoned. Monstrously exhausted from this labor, I settled in to my new crib and fell promptly asleep, positively beaming from my own genius.

Well, as the hospital was understaffed, and most newborns look almost exactly alike, my plan went just as I'd hoped. I had baby switched myself! Neither mother was the wiser!

I was pretty pleased with the family I wound up with. They treated me well, bought me nice things. I even felt guilty once in a while when they referred to me as their first born. I wondered what my real mother and father were like. I sometimes thought about blowing the whole deal wide open, so great was my curiosity. But I remained steadfast. To blow it early would ruin the joke.

Finally, on the April Fool's Day following my 18th birthday, I let it fly. "I'm not your real son!" I exclaimed, barely able to control my laughter. "I babyswitched myself when I was zero!"

I won't lie to you, dear reader. I had some trepidation going into my revelation. I knew my parents' reaction could be bad. They had a sense of humor, but it wasn't always quite in line with my sense of humor. But, to my welcome surprise, they laughed right along with me.

"Great joke," my dad admitted, holding out his hand. I shook it with pride. "One for the history books."

My mom nodded in agreement.

"Just one thing," my dad continued, stepping back.

I sat down on the couch to bask in my own prankful glory. "What's that, 'dad'?"

"Well, you see," he said. "We knew you tried to babyswitch yourself that night. As a matter of fact, we were watching through the glass as you did it."

"Yeah, right," I said, but my smile began to falter.

"Yep," he said. "The joke is on you, I'm afraid. All this time. We are your real parents."

BAM! If I had been standing, I would have fallen down. What a twist ending. In that moment, I had to tip my hat to them.

They pulled off the greatest April Fool's Joke of all time. Kudos, Mom and Dad!

Compliment My Driving. Please?

2009-03-30T15:22:00.004-04:00

Driving along today, I came upon a delivery truck. On the back of this truck was one of those "How Is My Driving?" bumper stickers. This one was different, though. Below this was written "Complaints or Compliments--Call 1-800-[insert number here]". Complaints or compliments, eh? I wonder how many people go through the trouble of calling the number to put in a compliment on the guy's driving. I was only behind the truck for a brief period. He didn't make any flagrant violations of common traffic laws in this time, but I wouldn't say he impressed me enough to put in a call to his boss.

If the phone ever rings with a compliment at this guy's delivery company, I imagine the call goes something like this:

Delivery Company Secretary: We Deliver 2 U, How can I help you?

Caller: Yeah, I just wanted to call and tell you that I'm behind one of your trucks. I just felt compelled to say, this guy can DRIVE. He's like the Neo of delivery drivers!

Secretary: I see. What's his truck number?

Caller: 85621. Whoa!

Secretary: What?

Caller: He just turned onto 16th Street. He used both his turn signal and a hand signal to alert traffic that he was turning! I haven't seen that done since the Golden Age of the Automobile.

Secretary: (Sigh) Is this Bob?

Caller: (voice going slightly deeper) What? Who's Bob? I'm just a patriotic American who appreciates the fine driving I've just seen on display here today. I wish I had one of those camera phones, I would have recorded it and sold it as a driver's instruction video.

Secretary: Are you going to be able to make it back to the shop by 5, Bob?

Caller: Yeah, I've just got to drop off this last---er, I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. Goodbye!

What's the Name of That Movie?

2009-03-29T14:22:00.003-04:00

Arrgh, you know the one! There's this dysfunctional family, and their little daughter gets invited to come compete in the "Little Miss Sunshine" beauty pageant? I think that guy who used to host Talk Soup is in it? They take a Volkswagen van across the country to go to the pageant. And then at the end, the girl does this crazy routine at the "Little Miss Sunshine" show?

It's driving me crazy!

My Dog Is a Nudist

2009-03-28T15:08:00.004-04:00

I've become a social recluse.

I can't have friends over, I can't go to the park, and I have to sneak around my yard in the middle of the night, hoping I don't set off any of my neighbors' motion lights. I don't know how much longer this can go on. Something has to be done about my dog, Chewy.

You see, Chewy is a nudis t. He refuses to wear clothes, no matter what the occasion. Walking around the house? Nude. Eating his dinner? Nude. Going outside to relieve himself? Nude! There is no end to Chewy's exhibitionist ways.

At first, I thought the problem was a matter of style. Dog clothes are sold in limited varieties, and I thought maybe Chewy was simply setting higher standards for himself. I would put him in a pair of polka dotted shorts, a tight red Polo shirt, and a beanie cap, and he would tear it off himself in a matter of seconds. I couldn't entirely blame him. He looked like a dork. The other dogs would have certainly teased him into submission. Fair enough. I consulted a seamstress and had her design some special outfits for Chewy. A sharp tuxedo. Some baggy jeans and a hoodie. A rather dashing pinstriped suit. Every time, Chewy would wrestle his way out of the clothes and prance away, free and naked.

Shameful

I read in the paper where they're opening up a special dog park near my house. They advertised grilled food, live entertainment, and all the doggy water fountains one city could support. I read the article and sighed. It sounds like so much fun. I know Chewy would enjoy it. But it is not to be. We wouldn't be there five minutes before the shrieking started and the animal cops came and put Chewy in the back of their squad car for indecent exposure.

I guess this is just the way it has to be.

An Open Letter To The 7-11 Manager Who Added Me To The "Banned for Life" List

2009-03-27T17:37:00.002-04:00

Dear 7-11 Manager,

You should really post a sign reading, "Do not drink directly from the nozzle" on your Slurpee machine if that is your store policy.

Thanks,

Shawn

Yahoo Chat: A Cautionary Tale

2009-03-26T13:30:00.009-04:00

Chatrooms, sad to say, are a thing of the past. Boredom, on occassion, causes me to forget this truism, and see for myself. After about ten minutes of listening to trailer trash chatters fight over who gets to say "My kid just trahd to jump over tha cowch" I realize I would be better off with a book.

It used to be different. Chatrooms used to be fun. However, they can be dangerous as well. Please read the following story, which is certified 100% true by the Blogging Association of America. If you are tempted to jet back in time and join a chatroom, please remember this tale and use it to your own benefit. My thanks comes in the form of your well being.

It was a warm night, and I had just finished drinking several quarts of Mt. Dew. What was there to do besides log into Yahoo Chat and see what was goin' on? Nothing. Nothing, indeed. Before long, I was pleased to see a new window open up. A private message. Exciting! Even more exciting, it wasn't a chat-bot, enticing me to head over to a website where I could watch cam girls play for pay. It was a real person, with an interesting screenname.

Hot_TV_In_Hollywood. Now this is something worth putting the Mt. Dew down for! My brain started conjuring images of a sexy, blonde, tanned, television star, possibly having just completed work on Baywatch: The Next Generation or some other failed pilot. She wouldn't be famous--even my imagination didn't stretch that far--but she could definitely be hot. And in television. Besides, she had a better nickname then the last girl who PM'd me: Contagious_TB_in_Tampa.

What? Yeah, that's how I roll.

Hmm. Now it should be noted that I had a strong policy in place at that time. That policy was not to click on people's profiles for at least five minutes. Why? Well, I have a weak heart. I once fainted dead away after being sent one of those "Stare at this picture and find the differences and then piss yourself when a screaming zombie suddenly appears" things that were all the rage a few years ago. I found I had much the same reaction when clicking on the photos of Yahoo Chatters. It may be shallow, but I sometimes found myself completely unable to continue a conversation after having seen the wild She-Beast in what I can only assume she thought to be her best picture. Without the five minute policy in place, I would never get to chat with anyone.

However, this time I made an exception, seeing as how she was a television star. And hot. I was disappointed, however, to find a cartoon face where a picture would go. She would not be an easy nut to crack.

Oh yeah, my other policy is to not give my phone number out to psychos on the Internet.

But here I was, going for the gusto. The profile was barely filled out, providing little solid information to go on. That was fine. I would use my smooth heartbreaking sixty-nine-ing interview skills to ferret out the necessary information.

And ferret it out, I did. My question, the final one I would ask, brought a short response of "LOL, no, silly" from my new chat friend. Hmm. Didn't seem that silly. Why would you have the initials "TV" in your screenname if you didn't have something to do with...

...

...television.

I clicked back to her profile, a sinking feeling in my stomach. I zeroed in on the only piece of information she had bothered to fill out. Under "Hobbies" she had written, "working on my pole". At first glance, this had unsettled me, but I figured she was talking about a stripper pole. All the better! Now, however, the truth hit home.

TV didn't stand for television. It stood for transvestite.

I courteously ended the conversation (and by "courteously ended the conversation", I mean I hit the X button on the chat window and added Hot_TV_In_Hollywood to my long list of blocked users). Let my mistakes be a warning to everyone!

Disclaimer: I have nothing against transvestites, transsexuals, transmissions, or trains.

Art Is Fun!

2009-03-25T10:33:00.003-04:00

My neighbor Pete and his wife, Martha, used to ask me to come over and watch their daughter, Sally, who was 8. Now, I'm not much of a babysitter, but I found I could surf the Internet as easily at their house as mine. 8 year olds require very little attention. Occasionally I would challenge Sally to some Halo on Pete's 360, but she was woefully inadequate at the game, to the point where it really wasn't fun for anyone.

Pete had been telling me for some time that he wished he and his wife could get a little more time to themselves. I could understand that. Even the best of marriages (which theirs certainly wasn't) can fall to pieces under the constant pressures of work and children. I decided to help my good friends out a little and give them a weekend all to themselves.

To that end, I surreptitiously picked Sally up from her bus stop one Friday afternoon. "Hope you like Corn Pops," I said as she got in the car. "Because that's pretty much all I have at the house."

She didn't seem too delighted with this turn of events, but since when do 8 year old girls know anything? I figured after an hour or two of watching TV, she would sleep for most of the next two days.

When we got back to my house, I picked up the phone to call Pete and let him know the deal. Just as I was dialing the phone, however, I glanced over at Sally and saw her removing some "art" from her backpack. She had cut out pictures from a magazine and pasted them into a collage. Genius! I hung up the phone and went to my magazine rack. "I have a great idea," I said to Sally. "You have glue?"

She nodded.

"Excellent. Let's make a fun letter to your parents!"

I have to admit, the rest of the weekend was somewhat of a blur. At some point I got bored with making the letter and shortened it to save time. I remember dropping the letter into Pete's mailbox. Shortly after, I remember taking a nap, during which I missed approximately 44 calls, according to the display on my phone. Then the FBI showed up on my doorstep. Then the white room. My well-intentioned letter was thrown back in my face. Under the harsh white lights of the interrogation room, it didn't seem as cute as it had hours earlier.

All charges were eventually dropped, but Pete and Martha got divorced later that year. I was never asked to babysit again.

An Open Letter to the nake in my backyard

2009-03-24T15:45:00.003-04:00

Dear nake,

I have een you in the yard, lithering through the bu he and hi ing at me when I get too clo e. It' time for you to leave, plea e.

incerely,

hawn

CC: Dell Computer , INC.

Dear Dell,

A certain letter on my keyboard no longer work . Plea e end replacement.

Thank ,

hawn

An Afternoon at Grandpa's

2009-03-23T10:54:00.007-04:00

I was sitting on the back porch with my Grandpa, rocking back and forth in wicker chairs he had lovingly crafted with his bare hands. I was thirteen years old. The sun was setting gently in the west, casting an orange glow across Lake Kenisawa. A bird chirped in the distance and I looked at my Grandpa, and he looked at me. We shared a silent moment of appreciation and then turned back to enjoy the scenery.

"Lovely evening," Grandpa said.

"The loveliest," I agreed.

I sipped on my iced tea, which had been brewed and left to sit on the windowsill, soaking up the sun's rays on that hot July afternoon. I hoped that Grandpa would tell me a story about his days as a traveling salesman in the 40s, or maybe a tale regarding the time he and Ken McCullum tried to start that vegetable stand. I'd heard that latter one about twenty times, but it never got old.

Instead, Grandma appeared at the screen door and asked if either of us was getting hungry. I glanced over at Grandpa and, predictably, his face darkened at her interruption.

"If I was hungry, woman, I'd get something to eat, now wouldn't I?" he said, his eyes remaining steadfastly fixed on the backyard.

"You got a big mouth when the boy's here, don't you, you big man," she remarked. "That's fine. How about you, Shawn, are you hungry?"

"No, ma'am," I said. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Grandpa said. "He's hungry, I'm hungry, now quit wasting time and just go get us something to eat."

I sipped my tea and tried to blend into my chair.

Grandma walked back into the kitchen and there I heard her getting some plates from the cabinet. A small rabbit hopped across the backyard, stopping every so often to look around before hopping on his way. Presently, Grandma came back with two plates and handed one to each of us. On my plate was a tube of Crest toothpaste. On Grandpa's plate was a handful of pennies. I bit my lip nervously and muttered, "Thanks."

"What the hell is this, woman? Pennies?" Grandpa yelled. He tossed the plate on the wooden floor of the porch, where it did not shatter, but, improbably, turned sideways and slipped through the slats to the earth below. The pennies went everywhere.

"You eat your pennies and you LIKE IT!" Grandma screamed.

Grandpa slapped his hands down on the arms of his rocker, fetched a deep sigh, and then said simply, "Well, that's it then." He stood, grabbed the shovel that was leaning against the house, and proceeded to bludgeon his wife of forty years to death right there on the porch. I ate my toothpaste silently, a lone tear streaming down my cheek.

The point of the story is this: when someone asks for something to eat, or if you yourself are hungry, don't put pennies or toothpaste on a plate and call it a meal. Use food. Food is great for cooking, and it's great for eating. It has lots of nutrients, and plenty of calories for energy. When it comes to satisfying your hunger, nothing does the job quite like food.

A Saturday Brainteaser!

2009-03-21T10:17:00.000-04:00

I know, I know, you want to relax on your Saturday. You don't want to have to think or do any work or take that ball gag out of your mouth. Well, suck it up. This will only take a moment. The brainteaser is as follows:

A farmer has three ducks and two sheep. He has to cross from one side of a river to the other, and he must bring his animals with him. Unfortunately for him, the boat will only hold 200 pounds at a time. Each duck weighs six pounds and each sheep weighs thirty-five pounds. The farmer weighs 190 pounds. The boat weighs 120 pounds. The river, if placed in a large container and taken to a truck stop, would weigh 1.3 million pounds. There is a scorpion under a nearby rock. He weighs 4 ounces. With one sting, he could kill either all three ducks, a single sheep, or 1/2 of the farmer.

With the information given above, answer the following question:

Where the hell are my keys?

A. In the ignition of my car
B. In a 70s swinger party bowl.
C. The last damn place I'll think to look.
D. Other (Please Specify)

Please Save Our Zoos

2009-03-20T09:48:00.000-04:00

I recently watched a story about how zoos around the country are being forced to sell off animals and possibly even close due to the economic downturn. It seems people are not as willing to part with their cash to see monkeys, zebras, wild dogs, and dinosaurs (I think that's what they have at the zoo?) in these uncertain times. Because The Shark Tank cares (and because I still have to meet that 15% quota), here are some ways America's zoos can raise their revenues and stay afloat.

An Open Letter To That Guy Trying To Break Down My Front Door With An Ax

2009-03-19T11:07:00.002-04:00

Dear Ax Guy,

You know it's open, right?

Sincerely,
Shawn

Space Shuttle Discovery

2009-03-19T11:02:00.000-04:00

Here's a slideshow of photos I took of the shuttle lifting off as viewed from my house on March 15th.

What? No jokes to see here. Move along.

Horsedance (Don't Steal This Again, Hollywood!)

2009-03-18T12:30:00.006-04:00

Following some rather unexpected reactions to my stolen movie idea, Horsedance, I decided maybe I was wrong. Maybe there were enough differences between my little movie about a dancing horse and The Sixth Sense to make it worthwhile. Maybe what the world needs right now is a movie about a dancing horse. Having burned the original script years ago, I had to start fresh, but I think it's coming along nicely. Here's a sneak peek for my loyal blog readers. I don't want to toot my own horn, BUT. . .it's pretty amazing. Let me know what you think of this intro sequence:

EXT. DAY--CANHILL HORSE FARM

The world is fresh with promise. The rising sun casts a springtime glow on the small Pennsylvania farm. The camera pans to watch chickens pecking in the dirt. Pigs rolling around in the mud and doing piggish things. And finally, horses. One horse stands out from the others. This is HORSEY. He seems to shine. [insert CGI "shine" effect here]

We watch as two men approach the horse pen. They are wearing overalls and carrying buckets of oats. These two men are FRED CANHILL and JESSE DAVIS.

JESSE
This is a great farm, Fred. I'm sure glad you invited me to come work here.

FRED
Don't mention it, Jesse. When your mom passed away, it was the least I could do. [some ominous music plays on the soundtrack. We'll find out later that Fred actually killed Jesse's mom.]

FLASHBACK MONTAGE
We see Jesse and his mom running through an open field together, playing Connect Four, running through the ocean, playing Battleship.

EXT. DAY-CANHILL HORSE FARM (PRESENT)

JESSE (wiping tears)
These horses sure do like their oats, Fred. I wonder where oats come from?

FRED
Well, Jesse, [research where oats come from so Fred has something to say here]

JESSE
I'll be damned. I guess I thought they just grew up out of the ground. [change this if it turns out oats actually do just grow up from the ground]

The two men reach the horse pen. Fred starts to open up the gate, but stops, watching HORSEY with a suspicious eye.

FRED
You think the story of oats is fascinating, Jesse? Wait until you see this!

Fred snaps his fingers and Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" starts playing out of nowhere. The camera zooms in on HORSEY, who starts bobbing his head to the irresistible beat. After a moment, the other horses back away. HORSEY pulls out a top hat and stands up on his hind legs [CGI effect if this can't be done.]. He thrusts his right front hoof out in front of him and we see that he's wearing a silver sparkly glove. HORSEY starts dancing up a storm.

Jesse looks at the dancing horse and then back to Fred, his jaw wide open.

JESSE
That's what I call HORSEDANCE!

OPENING CREDITS ROLL OVER HORSEY'S DANCING

St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T10:59:00.004-04:00

When I was in elementary school, there was this kid named Patrick in my class. He was kind of a misfit, never seeming to talk to anyone or grasp the fundamentals of Red Rover, Red Rover. On St. Patrick's Day, we used to gather around him and dance in a circle chanting, "You're St. Patrick, You're St. Patrick" with the unbridled cruelty that only boys of a certain age seem able to muster. We found the taunting so satisfying that we started doing it on other days of the year as well, like on Thursdays. We didn't stop until one day he got so enraged that he tore off running through a grassy field, only to accidentally fall into a bottomless well.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when his undead spirit came back twenty years later and killed all of our children, but I still kinda was, because. . .well, who really expects that to happen?

Greg Duberson's St. Patrick's Day Sale

2009-03-16T15:46:00.008-04:00

[Even the Shark Tank has to pay the bills somehow, so for today's entry I'm turning the wheel over to Greg Duberson. Duberson is the "undisputed king of St. Patrick's Day and also every holiday" and is here to tell you about some of the wonderful products he's selling this year. Take it away, Greg!]

GREG DUBERSON'S ST.PATRICK'S DAY BLOWOUT!!!

I can't tell you enough how much it means to me for Shawn and The Shark Tank to let me come back and tell all you folks about the special sale I'm having tomorrow (AND TODAY) for St. Patrick's Day. The last time I was here and I told you about the Valentine's Day stuff and all that, and I couldn't BELIEVE how many people showed up. It was really heart warming and it made me think that maybe I was right when I told that doctor to go to heck.

Let's do it!!

DEAD FROG!!

I thought it would be so much fun to mostly sell green stuff on St. Patrick's Day, since so much of the holiday is about wearing green stuff and drinking things that aren't usually green but then they are green on this DAY. Like green beer, like I once drank at a bar in Port St. Lucie. But the weird thing was is that it wasn't even St. Patrick's Day in fact I think it was closer to Christmas. And I remember that it gave me the poops for almost a week. But anyway, this is a dead frog I found and you can see that he's not really green, but when I think of frogs I think of green frogs like Kermit. For sale only $3.25.

GREEN UNDERWEAR!!

These are brand new from the store and now you can wear em for only a part of the cost!! Naw, I'm just kidding, they're mine. I don't really remember why I bought them except I remember I used to watch those commercials with the green M&M and I would start to feeling in that way that made me want to rub up against my trailer. I guess that's why I bought this underwear even though I kinda think it's for a girl. I only wore them a few times though so they're like NEW! $10.50.

JAR OF PICKLES!!

Do you like pickles because to me they're about the worst thing I've ever tasted in my LIFE! One time this guy gave me a pickle and he said "try that" and so I did. Well it's kind of embarrassing but the second I bit down on the pickle, I started to throw up. But then I didn't want to be rude or nothing so I held my throw up inside my mouth and I ate the pickle and swallowed the throw up back down in my stomach. $5.99.

STREET SIGN!!

Well, I don't actually have this one in stock right now but if you are interested, I can help you get it down. I've got some tools leftover from when I was in the plumming business and I don't think it should be too hard to get it down. One thing is that it might be against the law to take the sign down so if your a cop or something probably you have to tell me before we make the sale. Because if you don't then that's entrapment and I won't go to jail.

Well, that's all I've got to show you. I don't want to give away all the stuff I have because then there wouldn't be any surprises for you to actually show up and SEE! Anyway, I've moved to the back of Catfish Country in Lakeland, FL right off of South Bartow Highway. If you come around the back then you'll see my van and I'll have a sign out front that says St. Patrick's Day SALE! and there'll be a little drawing of a leprechaun. THANKS!

Curly The Dazed Cat (Who May or May Not Have Ever Lived In Egypt)

2009-03-15T15:39:00.001-04:00

Hi there! I'm Curly the Dazed Cat! Welcome to the blog that I am takin' over!

Master would be all kinds of REAL MAD if he saw me in here type-type-typin away on his old ass computer!

Move it over!

Just like the time I did the bad stuff in the kitchen! OOOHHH, he was real mad and he puts me into the chester-drawers for a WEEK!

But I am a GOOD CAT, and my master knows it too! That's why he says he's a takin me to the CAT HOTEL for VACASHUN tomorrow!

YAY

He even said he was gonna give them an extra $20 to move me to the front of the line for the FUN GAS! I can't WAIT!

Five Ideas Hollywood Shamelessly Stole From Me

2009-03-14T15:01:00.001-04:00

I was crushed this week to see that they're turning Arrested Development into a movie. Not that I didn't love the series. I didn't get a chance to watch it when it was on television, but I recently discovered it through the magic of DVD. Great show. I'd love to see it become a great movie. The only problem? For the fifth time (at least!), Hollywood stole one of my million dollar ideas. I don't know how you do it, Hollywood. Do you have spies in my hometown, listening in on my conversations? Do you sneak into my bedroom at night and rifle through my notes? However it was done, they got the (brilliant) idea from me to bring Arrested Development to the silver screen. I don't even know why I was surprised. Here are four other ideas the Hollywood Ninja Clan has thieved from me:

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

This one was my own fault, I have to admit. Too many times, I posted on theforce.net and various other message boards around the Internet my idea to do a third Star Wars prequel. It was only a matter of time before the bastards at LucasFilm saw it and stole it right from under me. It still hurts, though. I guess my main issue was how flagrant the thievery was. Showing how Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side? My idea. Having Padme die at the end of the film? My idea (although I had an alternate idea where she would live, also). Having Chancellor Palpatine declare himself Emperor of the Galaxy? My GODDAMN idea! All of this I thought of merely weeks after Episode II, giving me full copyrighted domain over the intellectual properties (no matter what that on-the-take judge had to say on the matter).

The Sixth Sense

In 1997, a full two years before M. Night Shyamalan broke out of obscurity with his sleeper hit, I began a script called Horsedance. At first glance, the script of Horsedance shares few similarities with The Sixth Sense. His movie was about a man who tries to counsel a boy who sees ghosts. My movie was about a horse who could dance.

But the scripts did share one thing in common: a twist ending that (would have, in my case) knocked audiences out of their seats. In Shyamalan's movie (spoiler alert if you're that guy who hasn't seen it yet), it's revealed that Bruce Willis is actually dead. In mine, it's revealed that the horse is really the reincarnated spirit of Sammy Davis Jr. After watching The Sixth Sense in 1998, I came home and burned my script, tears in my eyes. It didn't even seem worth it anymore.

Big Momma's House

The script was called Fat Black Woman Screams A Lot, and it was going to be my ticket to fame and fortune. Then came Big Momma's House and stole all my glory. Thanks, Martin Lawrence. I guess the thing that hurts the most about this one is that Hollywood wasn't satisfied with simply turning out one ripoff. No, they continue to make money off my idea in the form of Big Momma's House 2, the Madea series, and the Eddie Murphy vehicle, Norbit (all right, granted, I don't know that they made any money off that one).

Psycho (Remake)

Plainly, Gus Van Sant owes me money. It occurred to me in 1993 to remake Psycho, just after watching the Alfred Hitchcock original for the first time. As I sat pondering the fate of Norman Bates, I had an epiphany. None of my friends had seen Psycho. They probably would never watch it, due to its old, black and white nature. That's when it hit me. I would remake the film, except in color. That's it. I admit, it never occurred to me to add a subliminal image of a buffalo to the film. That's all Van Sant.

And the Green Tooth Goes To...

2009-03-13T13:45:00.002-04:00

Continuing with our community enlightenment program (as mandated), I'd like to take the time to recognize someone who has gone out of his way to change the way we look at the environment. Now, I should explain something before I move on, just so we don't get our signals crossed. I have to admit: I don't understand exactly how "going green" helps the environment. I know it's something Al Gore wants us to do, and I know that pandas and polar bears and Jake Gyllenhaal might all die if we don't do something about it. And I guess that's the important thing. It's the right thing to do, even if I don't understand why.

With that spirit in mind, I'd like to present the First Annual Shark Tank Green Tooth Award for Excellence in Going Green. If going green is the way to a healthier planet, then this guy has taken the reins like nobody else. Not only has he selflessly given his time and energy to studying molecular biology, but he has done so with considerable harm to his personal being. He is a true visionary, and, as such, has been vilified by the very people who employed him: the United States Government.

Without further ado, I'd like to congratulate Dr. Bruce Banner for going green like no one else I can think of. Again, I have to admit I don't know how it helps the environment, but you can't deny the dedication. Congratulations, Dr. Banner. This Green Tooth is for you!

Giving Back to the Community

2009-03-12T22:48:00.000-04:00

Due to some outstanding legal issues which we won't go into right at the moment, I have been instructed that no less than 15% of The Shark Tank's total content must be used for "purposes benefiting the good of the greater community". While I argued vehemently that such posts as this and this proved that we were well above that figure already, the judge disagreed. As part of this new direction, the judge asked us--quite suddenly, I might add--to set up a telephone interview with David H. Riley, a wildlife expert who has worked with Animal Planet, The San Diego Zoo, and is a contributing writer for The Weekly Reader. I have also been instructed not to downplay the importance and/or relevance of this interview. Therefore I shall say no more. Here is the interview, in its unedited form:

Shark Tank: Thank you for speaking to us, Mr. Riley.

David Riley: It's a pleasure.

ST: So. Did ... you. Hmm.

DR: I'm sorry?

ST: Innnnn. . . *audible popping sound*. Where, uh, did you go to school?

DR: I have an undergraduate degree in ecology from Duke University and I received my Masters in Wildlife Biology from Cornell.

ST: Ah! Cornell!

DR: Yes.

ST: Yep.

Roughly forty-five seconds of silence...

DR: Did we lose the connection?

ST: No, I was just thinking about Cornell.

DR: Oh...

ST: Good school.

DR: It is, yes.

ST: What about the duck-billed platypus? What kind of crazy shit is that?

DR: It's a remarkable animal, isn't it?

ST: It's like a half-duck, half. . .I don't even know what. Beaver, I guess. But what's weird, is it's actually a marsupial. Like a kangaroo.

DR: A mammal, I believe.

ST: So. In your experience. Who. . .do you think. . .would win if an. . .elephant fought a hippopotamus?

DR: It's rather unlikely that they would meet in the wild. My area of concentration focuses mainly on wildlife conservation efforts here in North America.

ST: I see. And to what. . .would you say. . .are the. . .hmm. Well, tell us about those efforts.

DR: I would be happy to. Right now, there are over 600 endangered species just in North America--

ST: How many can you name?

DR: I'm sorry?

ST: Of the 600. Try and see how many you can name.

DR: Well, with a list that size. . .perhaps it would be better if I just gave some examples.

ST: Let's do this. I'll name an animal, and you tell me if it's endangered or not.

Roughly twenty seconds of silence. . .

DR: Fine.

ST: Yeah? Ummm. . .shit, I can't think of an animal. Uh. Okay. Dog.

DR: Dog?

ST: Yeah.

DR: We typically focus on wild animals when speaking of endangered species. And "dog" is a rather broad term. But no, "dog" is not on the list.

ST: How about the duck-billed platypus? Is that specific enough for you?

DR: The platypus lives in Australia. But no, I believe it's numbers are healthy.

ST: That's good. Now correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Riley, but don't elephants and hippos both live in Africa?

DR: Yes, that is correct. But elephants do not typically travel in the same circles, if you understand what I'm saying. Now as for the Conservation Fund--

ST: All right, but level with me, Mr. Riley. Surely, they have met in the past. At least once, a hippo has fought an elephant. It will happen again. Who will win?

DR: I suppose just on sheer size alone, the elephant.

ST: Ah, but what about that big horn that sticks out on the head of the hippo? I bet he could stab the elephant with that. It could be over before the elephant has time to use his size to his advantage.

DR: Well. That would be a rhinoceros.

ST: Son of a bitch, you're right. HA! This whole time I've been saying hippopotamus but thinking rhinoceros. Jesus.

DR: That's all right. But back to--

ST: Rhino vs Hippo, call it!

Ten seconds of silence, followed by a click and a dial tone.

We did what we could on short notice.

Guest Blogger: Steven Barnhill

2009-03-11T15:10:00.007-04:00

[Note to readers: Steven Barnhill is a friend of The Shark Tank and an aspiring children's author and illustrator. Having had little success getting published by traditional means, we agreed to give him some space today to show off his talents. Here's one of his newest tales.]

The Wolf And The Girl
by Steven Barnhill

Katie was a girl who rode the bus to school in the morning and went home by way of walking.

On the way home, she met a ferocious wolf who told her: "I like the smell of your sandwiches!"

Katie was shocked because she wasn't holding any sandwiches and she'd had oysters for lunch. Plus it was a wolf! And the wolf was talking to her! Have you ever met a talking wolf? In real life, I mean.

The wolf then dropped to his knees (because this wolf had knees) and said to Katie: "Give me one your sandwiches pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaase!"

But Katie wasn't about to give him a sandwich! She only had one left and she was saving it! For tomorrow's lunch. "I won't give you my sandwich, wolf! I've only got one left and I'm saving it! For tomorrow's lunch."

The bear was so sad to hear this that he ate Katie up right there on the spot! It was so gross because you could hear the bones crunching and the blood was all over the street and some of Katie's hair got stuck in the wolf's teeth!

The wolf sat back and was satisfied with himself. It turned out he wanted to eat Katie all along and didn't even care about the sandwich! Because wolves don't eat sandwiches, they eat little girls. And there are a lot more of them around than you think.

An Open Letter To The Lone Onion Ring In My Box of Burger King Fries

2009-03-10T15:11:00.003-04:00

Dear Onion Ring,

Why are you here? Are you a stowaway? A promotional tactic? A bonus? Please respond.

Thanks,
Shawn

The Gentle Polar Bear

2009-03-10T09:07:00.004-04:00

What better way to get in touch with our warm and furry insides than some cute pictures of polar bears?

Aww!

AWWWW!

OH HELL NO! RUN!

Click for full gruesome glory!

Thanks to Digg.

Why Is This Guy Yelling At Me?

2009-03-09T16:02:00.004-04:00

When did the world get so hostile? Just today, I'm driving, minding my own business, avoiding parking lots and ignoring the radio, when this old dude standing on the sidewalk starts screaming at me. While it was difficult to make out exactly what he was saying over the roar of my engine (it gets fairly loud at 60 and above) and the earplugs, I'm fairly certain the words "SLOW DOWN" were amongst them.

Who is this guy to tell me to slow down? He wasn't a cop or a hallway monitor so far as I could tell. What concern is it of his? If he's worried about me driving carefully in his precious little section of the city, maybe he should think twice about distracting me with his yelling, unpleasant voice. Also, it must be noted that this man was wearing a bright orange vest, not unlike the kind of vest hunters wear when they head out into the woods to make their kills. I didn't take the time to notice whether or not he was armed, but for the safety of the public, I certainly hope not.

Another thing. People who want to yell and make a scene should consider their surroundings. I don't know if this guy knew it or not, but there was a school right behind the area where he was standing. Not only that, but judging from the bright yellow buses I had to dodge and the polo-shirted kids running about, I think they were being let out for the day. Set an example, wild old man. Set an example.

Interview with the Debit Machine

2009-03-08T16:00:00.000-04:00

There are some great benefits to leaving the cash world behind. No more pockets bulging with worthless coins, no more trying to shove that wrinkled $1 bill into your wallet, and it makes it easier to turn down that guy whose "car broke down just over that hill" when he approaches with breath that smells like a curious mixture of gasoline and NyQuil.

But there are drawbacks as well. No, I'm not talking about those Bible thumpers who think this is one of the signs of the apocalypse (along with the election of Barack Obama, the virgin Mary's appearance in everything from the side of a building to a piece of toast, and the success of MTV's The Hills). I'm talking those annoying debit machines you have to interact with every time you make a purchase. Specifically, the fact that these machines feel the need to interrogate you for fifteen minutes, rather than just get the PIN number and get on with it. I can handle one or two queries. After that, how about you mind your own business, debit machine!

Yes, thank you for asking. I will punch the little green "Yes" button, you can send the information back to the bank, and we can all move on our merry little ways.

That will be fine, thank you. By the way, debit machine, there is a perfectly capable (?) cashier standing right here. I'm sure I would have mentioned any split purchasing to her, rather than just hoping you would bring it up. But anyway, good to go. Let's do it.

God, no. There some grubby little kids outside with their hands out for some stupid school function. No, debit machine. No cash. And that's enough with the questions. Let's move on.

Not especially. I know that Pearl Harbor isn't the best movie of all time, but it's for a friend. Gimme a break.

Ha! I mean, whatever, debit machine, right? Pshhhh...last $15. Maybe I have more than one account? Did you ever think of that? Huh? I could. Don't look at me like that.

Uhhh. Where's a Bible thumper when you need one?

5 Major Websites (That Used To Look Like Crap)

2009-03-07T00:35:00.015-05:00

In this edition of The Shark Tank, we're taking you BACK...to the FUTURE! Well, actually, we're going back to the past. We're going back, courtesy of the Internet Wayback Machine (aka, the HTML Delorean), to look at five of the most popular websites that have, shall we say, come a long way, baby. Without further ado, let's pump this thing up to 88 mph and head out on the information superhighway of yesterday. The only question is...do we have enough road to make it?

"Roads? Where we're going, we don't need any roads."

#5. Google

There's literally no point in giving Google any kind of introduction at all. If you don't know what it is, we would tell you to Google it, but then you would be even more confused than ever. Suffice to say, we're not sure how you found The Shark Tank on your first day surfing the Internet, but we're glad to have you. Now, take a look at the search engine Goliath in its fledgling days: 1998 (on the Stanford server, no less!)

Click to enlarge

"Great Scott!"

#4. Yahoo

Though it has long since lost the search engine war to the mighty Google, Yahoo remains one of the most popular sites on the Web. With one ill-advised feature after another, Yahoo manages to stay afloat with commercial appeal, name brand recognition, and that hilarious, gossipy OMG weekly feature (did you SEE what Kate Hudson was wearing??). Here's how they looked way back in 1996:

Click to enlarge

"I remember when this was all farmland as far the eye could see. Old man Peabody owned all of this. He had this crazy idea about breeding pine trees."

#3. MySpace

Long the king of social networking, MySpace has recently fallen to number two, thanks to the simple (and we do mean simple) pleasures of Facebook. Still, MySpace remains an enormously successful Internet juggernaut, thanks to increased customization, a huge music-based following, and people who have invested too much time in their layouts to just leave it all behind. The funny thing about MySpace isn't so much what they used to look like under current management, but how many other companies had the domain, but failed to take advantage of it. Here are three snapshots from Myspace.com's history, with the last one being the current MySpace's earliest known configuration:

Click to enlarge

"Damn."

Click to enlarge

"Damn!"

Click to enlarge

"Damn Damn!"

#2. Facebook

Well, why not. Tagging and status updating might be out of control, but there's no denying the power of Facebook when it comes to uniting people on the Internet. If only these people had been able to realize that potential:

Click to enlarge

Then there was the earliest inception of the current Facebook, from 2006, when the site was geared mainly to college students (although, now there are TWO Facebooks!):

Click to enlarge

"Look. There's a rhythmic ceremonial ritual coming up."

#1. Youtube

As hard as it is to believe that YouTube has only been around since 2005, it's even harder to believe that it was almost a dating site:

Click to enlarge

"Please excuse the crudity of this model. I didn't have time to build it to scale."

Parking Lot, We Have Some Things To Discuss

2009-03-06T16:13:00.000-05:00

So, parking lot, we meet again. This time, I'm afraid things aren't going to go the way you expected them to go. Nuh-uh. This time, I'm not going to pull my car into one of your far-from-the-store spaces with my usual barely audible mutterings. No, this time, you're going to hear me out. I have some things to say to you. Some things need to change. Let's start with the handicap spaces.

I'm sorry, but since when did we have so many handicapped people heading out to the mall on a Wednesday afternoon? Was there a polio outbreak I wasn't aware of? Are the Special Olympics in town this weekend? Why do I think the Special Olympics are a travelling show, like Ringling Bros? Parking lot, you don't seem to have the answers, so I guess I'll have to provide them myself. 1) There are only about 1300 polio cases worldwide. That doesn't even cover the handicapped spaces at Target. 2) No, the Special Olympics are not in town this weekend. 3) I actually don't think that, but that would be kind of cool. I would go.

The problem isn't any of those things, though. The problem is that the DMV hands out those blue placards like they're candy. Don't think for a minute that you actually have to be handicapped to get one of those things. You just have to be old. This needs to change. My proposal: make a space on each placard that gives the reason for the card's necessity. Because it damn sure isn't obvious by watching the people themselves get out of their cars, sprinting gayly to the front doors of the mall.

Another thing about special parking spaces. The spaces designated for cops? Why? Since when do the cops have any problem parking anywhere they damn well feel like it? In the fire lane, on the curb, on top of your car, they don't give a shit. They don't need a space for themselves.

This should be fine

And a final note--not for you, parking lot, you can stop reading now. This is for the rest of you. If you are in your car, looking for a space, and you see someone walking to their car, it is absolutely not okay to slow down and stalk them, with utter disregard for the line of cars behind you. I watched a woman yesterday wait for no less than five full minutes while a guy put away his groceries, wheeled his shopping cart to the corral, and finally pulled out of the space. The space wasn't even that good! If a car already has its reverse lights on when you come upon it, then it's okay to stop and wait to take their place. But please, I beg you, give the guy some room to pull out. Unless you plan to hook a tow chain to their bumper and gently remove them from the space, there's no need for you to be so damn close.

The only thing worse than that is driving down the wrong aisle. In many major parking lots, there are arrows printed on the pavement to show which way traffic is supposed to be moving (I know for a fact that many of you were unaware of this until now). Now, of course, no one is able to avoid being "arrowneous" for an entire lifetime. That's okay. After all, when two cars meet in the middle of an aisle, both of them assuming themselves to be in the right, comedy happens!

Eat It, Ann Landers! Ask The Shark Tank Is Here.

2009-03-05T09:33:00.002-05:00

Always more than happy to pick up the slack where other advice columnists fear to tread, Ask the Shark Tank is back to help you with the problems you can't solve yourself. To enrich your life and forge your road to recovery, read on.

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Dear Shark Tank,

To tell the truth, I'm a little embarrassed even writing in about this. It seems so silly. But when I read your post about Cheez-Its, I knew you might understand. You see, my husband likes to eat Cheez-Its in bed at night. The problem? Little cracker crumbs are all over the sheets! It's making the bed orange and it's making me red. With rage! What can I do?

Angry in Alabama

Dear Angry,

What you're experiencing is quite normal. It's when our significant others's cute habits start becoming not-so-cute. To address the problem specifically: sadly, you'll have to divorce him
(continued at bottom)

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Dear Shark Tank,

My girlfriend is driving me up the wall. She keeps going through my text messages, asking me "who is this girl?", "who is this girl?", over and over! I don't need this. What do you propose?

Smothered in Springfield

Dear Smothered,

When the green eye of jealousy happens upon you, you have only two choices. Prove your trustworthiness, or bail. To settle things once and for all, grab your girlfriend and hit her
(continued at bottom)

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Dear Shark Tank,

My husband and I have come to a crossroads. We have two beautiful children, but I want one more. What can I say? I love babies, and I think our family would be truly complete with one more child. My husband thinks differently. He insists on wearing a condom and has begun to speak of a vasectomy. I really don't know what to do. Help?

Longing in Lincoln

Dear Longing,

Marital disputes over the size of the family are common. However, if you're financially stable and have a warm home to bring another child into, logic may be on your side. Here's what you do: gather up all of your husband's condoms, and then poke holes
(continued at bottom)

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(Angry in Alabama Continued)
from those delicious cheese crackers somehow. Honesty is always the best policy, but try not to be too blunt about it. You may find you attract more flies with honey than vinegar.

(Smothered in Springfield Continued)
with some blatant truths. Explain that those girls mean nothing to you and let her watch while you delete them from your contacts list. Secrecy destroys relationships by breeding mistrust. If she continues to snoop in the absence of any good reason, you may have to employ therapy.

(Longing in Lincoln Continued)
in the reasons he gives for not wanting another child. Not in a snarky, "I'm winning this argument" fashion, but in a persuasive, loving way. At the end of the discussion, hand him the condoms and ask him to throw them away. If you've handled it right, he may just come around after all.

For more sage advice, click here

An Open Letter To My Eye Doctor

2009-03-04T15:11:00.003-05:00

Dear Dr. O'Brien,

I couldn't really tell the difference between 1 and 2. I just lied and said I could to make the whole thing go away.

Sincerely,
Shawn

8 Warning Labels That Should Be Put To Use

2009-03-04T09:25:00.000-05:00

Cigarettes get them. So do medications. Hell, even CDs have to carry a warning label if they use the F word one too many times. In that spirit, here are some other people and products that should probably be slapped with a warning label. For the public good.

An Open Letter to Nickelback

2009-03-03T19:29:00.002-05:00

Dear Nickelback,

That's enough.

Thanks,
Shawn

Radio Commercials

2009-03-03T10:21:00.000-05:00

I'm not fond of driving. I think the allure of getting behind the wheel lost its lustre after the third or fourth speeding ticket. But the police aren't the only ones stopping me from fully enjoying my driving experience. The radio shares the blame. No, not because of the terrible music (although ... yeah, that too), but because of the commercials.

May I just say one thing? It should be illegal to give out your company's phone number more than three times during any one radio spot. I was listening to one the other day--half of the commercial's 30 second length was spent giving out the phone number. Again. And again. And again. That's e-damn-nuff! Another thing that should be illegal? Putting traffic sounds such as sirens and car horns into your radio commercials. I'm tired of pulling over into the gravel just because there's some personal injury lawyer who discovered the soundboard.

It's illegal to listen to your iPod while driving, right? Too bad.

5 People Who Will Annoy You at the Gym

2009-03-02T15:59:00.001-05:00

Let's face it: going to the gym isn't a lot of fun (except for those of you who are sick like that). It's time consuming, it's out of the way, and it's just plain hard work. For all of those reasons, it's not surprising to me that many people choose not to even bother. And that's fine. But what puzzles (read: irritates the crap out of) me are those people who come to the gym every day, only to do absolutely nothing. Or worse, seem to consider the bulk of their workout an exercise in pissing everyone else off. Here are the people I would have preferred stayed home.

Cell Phone Guy

This waste of humanity takes the notion of cell phone worship to that higher level reserved only for the douchiest. This man can also be found in your local movie theater, taking calls and texting long after the lights have come down. He is usually a fan of the treadmill. He gets on, sets the speed for a leisurely 2.7, and makes his first call. For the next half hour he will be carrying on a conversation that will make you want to hurl a five pound plate at his head. Don't be surprised if he finds a way to mention his (grossly exaggerated) net worth into the conversation, especially if there are any hot girls around.

"Did I say million? I meant billion."

Stick Guy (Or Girl)

The stick is the exclusive domain of that portion of the population we lovingly call "seniors". It is a white pole around four feet long, and it can be used in one and only one worthless way. You put it on your shoulders, sit on a bench, and proceed to lazily twist your torso left and right. The exercise builds two muscles. My eye rolling muscles, and the reflex muscles of those in the vicinity who have to jump out of the way when Stick Guy gets going. Stay home, recline in your La-Z-Boy for ten repetitions, and wah-lah, you've just doubled your workout effectiveness.

Leg Press Larry

This is perhaps the most common phenomenon in the gym. This guy or girl head over to the leg press machine on legs that look as though they are straining simply to support the individual's own body weight. Rather than throw a couple of 45s on the machine and do some real work, Leg Press Larry loads up the leg press machine with at least four hundred pounds, hunkers into the contraption, and proceeds to give his knees the workout of a lifetime.

Start

Finish

Without the aid of slow motion photography, you will literally be unable to tell if he is moving his legs at all. He finishes up a "set" of 10-12 "reps", and gets the only real workout by putting all of those plates back on the rack.

The Flirt

The Flirt, unlike some of the others on the list, has come to the gym with absolutely no intention of breaking a sweat. Typically identified by the presence of spiky hair and, yes, a fanny pack, the Flirt merely has come to the gym in hopes of talking up the ladies. Occasionally you may see the Flirt sit on a machine or a bench and throw up a few reps, but this is only to mask his true intentions. The Flirt works best by showing unsuspecting females the "correct" way to work out. While this may seem helpful, his ignoring of the old man rocking like a treetop baby on the rowing machine proves he is not an equal opportunity assistant.

Chanel Sales Rep

This elderly lady may be here to work out, and she may not be. What is certain is the fact that she spent two hours prior to coming to the gym soaking in a bathtub full of the raunchiest smelling perfume this side of the animal kingdom. Unless you came to the gym with a pair of oxygen tanks, you will be unable to stand next to her without crumbling to the floor in tears.

One day's worth

What is it about old women? You expect style to go out the window--no woman of 70 is going to bother keeping up with the latest fashions--but why must they wear the worst smelling perfumes on the market? I understand why they wear so much of it--the sense of smell is usually the first one to go. But why is it always awful?

Honorable Mentions: The Grunter/Screamer, The guy who seems to be working out on every machine in the gym simultaneously, Guy Who Can't Put His Weights Back, and Kids.

If You Spend 1/3 of Your Life Sleeping, How Much of it is Spent At Wal-Mart?

2009-03-01T13:48:00.009-05:00

It's been about 30 hours since my last blog post. I spent most of this time in line at Wal-Mart. All I needed were some eye drops.

What is it, exactly, that takes so long at this retail giant? It never fails. There can be a hundred and forty (140) cashiers open and I will pick the one with a problem. And when I say "problem", I mean the half-retard running the register. And when I say "half-retard", I mean the woman who looks as though she may have dated Moses in high school. This was indeed the case last night. I picked a line with but a single purchaser in front of me, figuring I would be heading out the door within three minutes. After all, the couple in front of me were only buying a couple of sheet sets. That's all. Ring those babies up, and bam, it's my turn.

But no. Not this time. Not ever.

I watched as Lady Methuselah grasped their purchases with a shaky hand and drew them slowly across the scanner. Time stood still as she stared at the price display. A minute passed. Two. The woman in front of me cleared her throat and I wondered idly if the cashier had fallen into catatonia. I glanced nervously around at the other lines. Old people and other forms of half-retard manned each register, but they were moving through customers as if their jobs depended on it (which I seriously doubt was the case). I watched as people came into the store, spoke to the greeter, completed their shopping, were checked out, and left the store. All the while, I'm wondering if I'll make it time for my birthday. In October. I consider changing lines, but not very seriously. I used to be a line changer, but not anymore. I've been burned too many times. You change lines and wind up behind someone even slower. Meanwhile, back at your line, your formerly turtle-esque cashier has rediscovered her inner Mario Andretti. No. I would stay. I would tap into my deep reservoir of patience and stay. I was certain that Mother Nature herself would snap out of it any second now. I glanced back at her and noticed for the first time that she was sporting a cast on her left arm. Probably broke it windsurfing.

The woman in front of me, with plenty of time to inspect the price on the display, decided she didn't like what she saw. "Um, I believe these sheets are on sale. The sign said "$25.99". Not "$26.99"." I clenched my teeth and bit back on the scream that was rising in my throat. The old woman behind the register nodded slowly. "It's coming up as $26.99."

"Yes, but the sign says. . ."

And so on.

To settle this debate, the old woman sent a lackey back to the aisle to see which price was correct. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that a further ten minutes passed and I never saw that lackey again. Just as I was rubbing my beard (I had been completely clean shaven when I walked into the store) and watching a newscast of my murderous Wal-Mart rampage in my head, the couple in front of me had a brilliant idea. "Why not let him go ahead while we wait for him to come back with the price." If they had said that eight minutes earlier, I would have warmly thanked them with a smile and maybe even a hug. As it was, I could only manage a curt nod and a muttered "Thanks," which was probably lost in the thick, tangled undergrowth of my new beard.

Halfway out to my car, I realized I had forgotten to get eye drops. Of course.

February's Strangest News Stories

2009-02-28T09:04:00.000-05:00

Twin Escapes Justice Because Judge Doesn't Know Which One Is Guilty

It seems like something straight out of a Philip K. Dick short story, but this actually happened. Now, it happened in Malaysia, which almost doesn't count, but it still happened. At the same time, the charge was drug related, so perhaps neither of them should have been up for a hanging anyway. Again, though. Malaysia.

Saudi Judge Refuses to Annul 8-Year-Old's Marriage

American ally, in case you forgot.

Man Calls 911 Because Burger King Is Out of Lemonade

I can see calling if they were out of Whoppers, but lemonade?

Pair Charged After Eating Iguana, Posting Pictures on Facebook

An American couple vacationing in the Bahamas catches, and then eats an iguana. Posts the photos on Facebook, as people are wont to do. Only problem? It's illegal to post pictures on Facebook while in the Bahamas. No, wait. It's illegal to eat an iguana.

Man Claims Stephen King Killed John Lennon

Steven Lightfoot, which can only be assumed to be a fake name, made an ass out of himself at a Sarasota City Commission meeting, by claiming Stephen King was the true killer of John Lennon. This wasn't something Lightfoot dreamed up the night before. Not by a long shot. Need a healthy dose of insanity in your life? Head on over to his website, Lennonmurdertruth.com, for 8 years worth.

An Open Letter to That Box of Cheez-Its I Just Finished

2009-02-27T13:22:00.002-05:00

Dear Cheez-Its Box,

I was troubled to see this printed on the inside: Sorry, This Box is Not a Winner. Buck up, Cheez-Its box. I found your contents delicious.

Your Truly,

The Shark Tank