tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51554693052694118472024-03-13T11:10:09.952-04:00The Shark TankShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-72792623514431190582020-09-28T13:57:00.001-04:002020-09-28T13:57:36.479-04:00Starbucks and the Genie<p>We don’t get much in the way of leaf-changing in my part of the Sunshine State, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the fall. Average temperatures dropped from what felt like 1,000 degrees to a more manageable mid-80s this week, and I knew it was time to head down to my local Starbucks and get my annual Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino. Let the joy of the season flow! </p><p>Actually going into Starbucks these days is like going into a weird, vacant crime scene filled with odd rope lines, bizarre directional arrows on the floor, and the pervasive fear that you’re going to do something wrong and accidentally NOT social distance properly. Therefore, I opted for the drive-thru, quite unaware that I was making the worst mistake of my day. </p><p>When I got to the window, the girl inside said that it would be a few minutes.
“Would you like to answer our Question of the Day while you wait?” </p><p>Now, I thought it would be rude to just say “no” and continue staring straight ahead into the mid-afternoon traffic, so I consented to play her game. I would have chosen differently, however, if I’d known what I was getting myself into. See, I was expecting a simple 50/50 opinion type of question. Something like: </p><p>“Do you prefer Coke or Pepsi?” </p><p>or </p><p>“Who do you like more, Taylor Swift or Katy Perry?” </p><p>or </p><p>“Do you use soap, or do you just rub yourself with wet gravel in the shower?” </p><p>Instead, she came at me with this: “If a genie suddenly appeared before you and said he would grant you a single wish, what would you wish for?” </p><p>Oh dear god. I have to actually think of something clever to say? In an unexpected, forced-upon-me social situation? This was not good. I know that most people could easily handle this scenario, but for me, this is the equivalent of a “you’re in school wearing nothing but your underwear,” code 5, red alert, BAD TIME. </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHG-iGVuYIs/X3Ih_RssrsI/AAAAAAAABAE/FvuERu4u3PA4ivYeLZ4YcFtm2mBfCA3fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s480/sweat.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="305" data-original-width="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHG-iGVuYIs/X3Ih_RssrsI/AAAAAAAABAE/FvuERu4u3PA4ivYeLZ4YcFtm2mBfCA3fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/sweat.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p> </p><p>My heart beating double-time in my chest, I thought of two possible responses: </p><p>1. “I would ask the genie for more wishes.” Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that <i>Mr. Belvedere</i> was still on television the last time that was a halfway-clever answer. </p><p>2. Just stomp the gas and come back later (in disguise, of course), at which point I could just say NO when asked if I wanted to play this game. </p><p>Instead, I maintained enough composure to mumble something about “a million dollars.”
At least this horrible episode in Conversations With Strangers was over. </p><p>But it wasn’t. <br /></p><p>“Oh, and what would you do with a million dollars?” the girl asked. </p><p>I began to wish I was somewhere - <i>anywhere </i>- else. Lying on a tropical beach, perhaps. Relaxing on my cozy back porch. Sitting in a musty grave, chewing on a moist bone. </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, casting about in my utterly blank, horrified mind for a coherent answer. “I guess I would retire.” </p><p>Cool. So cool.
I should have said, “I would buy exactly three more of these Frappuccinos,” but that answer didn’t occur to me until hours later. And even now, I’m not sure if it’s as clever as I think it is, so maybe it’s for the best. </p><p>“Well,” the girl said, “maybe you should play the lottery or something. You might win!” </p><p>At long last my drink appeared at the window. So grateful I was to be free of the prison of this conversation, I made the mistake of turning the tables: “So, what would <i>you </i>ask the genie for?” </p><p>She was ready.
“I would ask for all the knowledge of the perceivable and unperceivable universe, with which I could help everyone in the world to be happy!” she said. </p><p>Wow. Had that one cocked and loaded, didn’t you? Now I not only get to feel like a bumbling, frantic fool in the Starbucks line, I get to feel like a small, selfish fool as well! </p><p>Oh well, at least the Frappuccino was good. </p><p><i>Join us on the next episode of The Shark Tank, where the checkout girl at Target says, “Did you find everything you were looking for?” and I say, “Fine,” and then I ruminate about it for the next seven years.
</i></p>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-69456827177210983282020-09-21T10:50:00.000-04:002020-09-21T10:53:08.001-04:0010 Possible Cures for Coronavirus (That The Media Won’t Talk About)<p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->It may seem strange to you that modern scientific cures for
a pandemic would be found on an obscure blog that hasn’t been updated in nine
years, but I think we can agree that it wouldn’t be the strangest thing that
has happened recently. For a long time, I swore that I would only post a new
entry if I felt it was my patriotic duty to do so, and folks, that day has
come. Because while the <b>[!]MEDIA[!]</b> may only want to talk about the benefits of
mask-wearing, the dangers of hydroxychloroquine, and the size of Belinda
Garrett’s prized fall pumpkins, the Shark Tank is (as always) willing to take a
leap into the unknown.
</p><p class="MsoNormal">So without further delay, strap on your tinfoil hats, put
away your cynicism about fake news, and lend me your unquestioning,
unscrutinizing ear. Here are 10 possible cures for coronavirus that the media
won’t talk about. </p><b>10 – Don’t Get The Coronavirus In The First Place
</b><p class="MsoNormal">In Eckhart Tolle’s bestselling book “The Power of Now,” he
says this of a duck: “It is dignified and perfect as only a mindless creature
can be.” That description resonates with me for some reason, so it is from a
place of dignity and perfection that I offer my first simple and effective
“cure” for the coronavirus – Don’t get it in the first place! You lived how
many years on this Earth without catching this disease? 90? 110? Why would you
go out and catch it now? That’s just idiotic, and it’s the kind of sheep
mentality that’s giving us so many problems in America today. Have the courage
of your individuality!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>9 – Aunt Jemima Pancake Syrup
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say. You don’t even
have to bring it up. We’ll address it right up front so you don’t have to.
You’re thinking: Aunt Jemima Syrup is simply <i>too delicious</i> to waste it as a
coronavirus cure! And while we agree that it tastes quite a bit better than,
say, the cleaning chemicals you use to tidy up your fish tank, sometimes you
have to make sacrifices when it comes to bettering your health. Mix with Pillsbury's Funny-Face Drink Mix for best results. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfCPNFyhdEQ/X2i4JtrxJwI/AAAAAAAAA-k/6nlXx7dZF0kP8C0ucpy_2w66Z2f61yYTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s297/funnyface.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="297" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfCPNFyhdEQ/X2i4JtrxJwI/AAAAAAAAA-k/6nlXx7dZF0kP8C0ucpy_2w66Z2f61yYTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/funnyface.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Charming!</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>8 – Burn a MAGA Hat
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ll be honest, there’s not a lot of scientific or even
speculative evidence that this will cure your coronavirus, but we need to make
sure we don’t leave any stones unturned. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>7 – Burn a Copy of Robin DiAngelo’s “White Fragility”
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Ohhhh, that’s right, you just got <i>BoTh SiDeS</i>ed. Let your
righteous anger flow. Surely your elevated blood pressure will keep the
coronavirus at bay. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>6 – Burn Yourself
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">No, I don’t literally mean that you should jump in your
fireplace or hold a Bic lighter up to your earlobe until you feel that
beautiful/horrible melting sensation kick in. You can do that if you like, of
course, but The Shark Tank is not responsible for the results. No, no, you
should “burn” yourself. Stand in front of a mirror. Now, before you get
distracted by all the toothpaste-spray that you should have cleaned off the
glass months ago, start hurling insults at yourself. COVID is predisposed to
thrive within a healthy, well-adjusted self-esteem. If it senses that you hate
yourself, it will flee for more welcoming conditions. For instance, your aging
neighbor who loves to tell you that you’re doing your yardwork “wrong” at every
opportunity!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus, that <i>is </i>toothpaste-spray, right? </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kBpxBAmpN0Y/X2i5IDaujfI/AAAAAAAAA-s/FunzMEE6XcoRyl-viAxVoEcO-_B1ZwW8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1260/mirror.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="1260" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kBpxBAmpN0Y/X2i5IDaujfI/AAAAAAAAA-s/FunzMEE6XcoRyl-viAxVoEcO-_B1ZwW8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/mirror.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>You don't even DESERVE to be sick!</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>5 – Have a Constructive Dialog With Your Coronavirus
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">They say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,
although we’re not sure who “they” are or why it’s necessary to catch flies in
the first place. Studies have also shown that talking to your plants can help
them grow more quickly. So why not have a conversation with your coronavirus?
Now, you have to approach this carefully; you don’t want to open with something
rude like, “Hey! Scram, coronavirus! You’re not wanted here!” That’s sure to
engender hurt feelings and may backfire. Instead, use the Oreo approach: Two crunchy
compliments with a creamy, criticizing center. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Example: “Hey coronavirus, you’re such a sexy virus, I don’t
even know how you do it.”
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Followed with: “Ha, you’re really wearing <i>those </i>shoes?”
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Ending with: “I don’t care what they say, you’re really
breathtaking, coronavirus.”
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Exercise caution when using this strategy, because it’s not
far off from the “negging” tactic endorsed by the Pickup Artist community. You
don’t want to have a one-night-stand with the virus, you want to get rid of it.
</p><p class="MsoNormal">I mean, unless that’s what you’re into.
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>4 – Contract a Worse Disease
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">According to a Wikipedia article that I did not, admittedly,
read very carefully, when a person contracts two diseases simultaneously, the
viruses will “compete” for supremacy…and there can be only one winner. Therefore
it only makes sense that, in order to cure your coronavirus, you have to put it
into confrontation with a bigger, more destructive opponent. I recommend the
Marburg virus from Uganda, which causes hemorrhagic fever leading to organ
failure and death. There’s little chance that the coronavirus can defeat such a
foe, and you can celebrate your victory over the pandemic with a jaunty,
blood-splattering seizure!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>3 – Start Smoking
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Back in the day, when medical science was a pure discipline
unaffected by “studies” and “research,” doctors would commonly recommend that
their portly patients take up smoking to rid themselves of all those unsightly
pounds. I see no reason why the same concept shouldn’t work when it comes to
curing yourself of the coronavirus. Why would a virus want to sit there in
lungs filled with tar and Marlboro smoke? Even a microscopic bug has standards!
It won’t be long before your virus goes looking for more hospitable
conditions…like your nosy parker neighbor who thinks you should “mow more
often” because her “property value is declining.” Get a life, Mrs. Clausen!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>2 – Froot Loops, Chicken Nuggets, and Candy
</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Scientists have been unable to adequately explain why
children seem all-but-invulnerable to the coronavirus, but this is just another
example of the MEDIA hiding the truth from us. 99% of unexplained phenomenon
can be explained by diet, and I’m confident that this is no exception. To gain
the viral-fighting powers of a child, you have to eat like a child. Put away
that bran cereal, stop forcefeeding yourself a keto diet, and start gorging on Cinnamon
Toast Crunch, McDonalds, and circus peanuts. Strict adherence to this diet may
even bring about type 2 diabetes, which fulfills the #4 recommendation above!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>1 – Send Me Money!</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As most of you already know, I’ve been living comfortably
for the last 36 years off the $11,765 I won in a 1984 episode of “Press Your
Luck.” As it happens, that prize is being paid out in a 40-year annuity, and I
will soon be left with no discernible income other than what I can squeeze out
of my friend and reliable advertiser, Greg Duberson. Should I be forced to go
get my old job back at the Tandy Computer factory, I will have very little time
to put into the research and development of coronavirus cures. I know, I know,
you “gave at the office,” but this is for a good cause! GoFundMe details are
coming soon, so get your wallets ready. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-2746199180198521372011-03-03T11:55:00.000-05:002011-03-03T11:56:10.707-05:00The Study of Rational DebateWhile 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.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C2NG6g2asAQ/TW_G4bh4zmI/AAAAAAAAA0w/yBPAow8g0C4/s1600/rock%2Bthe%2Bpodium.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 146px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C2NG6g2asAQ/TW_G4bh4zmI/AAAAAAAAA0w/yBPAow8g0C4/s400/rock%2Bthe%2Bpodium.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579897136100200034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Miley Cyrus, "Party in the U.S.A."</span></span><br /><br />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:<br /><br /> <div> <span class="time"><br /></span> </div> <div class="content"> <div class="comment-text"> <blockquote style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">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</span></blockquote><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255); font-weight: bold;"></span><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255); font-weight: bold;">this is gay ╭∩╮( º.º )╭∩╮ not a cyrus fan shane dawson fan</span></blockquote><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-80833525717738794292010-06-22T08:44:00.000-04:002010-06-22T08:46:19.093-04:00The Chicken Wing IncidentSometimes you just don't know when to stop.<br /><br />Let me amend that. Sometimes<span style="font-style: italic;"> I</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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--<span style="font-style: italic;">particularly tottering</span>--until they fell on the floor. 26 separate chicken wings, scattered all over the thin Asian carpet.<br /><br />Several people gasped in horror. One of them, I'm quite certain, was me.<br /><br />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...<span style="font-style: italic;">pathetic...</span>lying there in that goop. Like, get a life, chicken wing.<br /><br />I dropped to my knees, avoiding the temptation to cry out in horror like that guy at the end of <span style="font-style: italic;">Platoon</span>. 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.<br /><br />I sighed and abandoned my chicken wings. I know a losing battle when I see one.<br /><br />To make a long story short, my chicken wings could have easily been saved had the proprietors of this restaurant used the <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/rabies/">Petco Dog Hair Pick-Up Mitt</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S6pO46Sg0FI/AAAAAAAAAsg/HKReRR51lEA/s1600/hair+mitt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 158px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S6pO46Sg0FI/AAAAAAAAAsg/HKReRR51lEA/s400/hair+mitt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452257038511951954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">oriental magic</span>. 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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-13991249892707518752010-06-15T11:55:00.000-04:002010-06-15T12:14:47.424-04:00The Problem With Reading In BedA 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.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAVP2Mrxp7I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/VQzfjDkCLYM/s1600/reading+in+bed.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 207px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAVP2Mrxp7I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/VQzfjDkCLYM/s400/reading+in+bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477872314302441394" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />"Wususususususususususususususu. Wususususususususususususususususu."<br /><br />I held my tongue as long as possible, but the constant low, whispering sound was preventing me from completing the puzzle.<br /><br />"I'm sorry, honey," I said. "But could you please read to yourself?"<br /><br />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."<br /><br />"Thank you kindly."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Wusususususususususu. Wususu. Wususu. Wusususususususususu."<br /><br />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? <span style="font-style: italic;">Will you</span>? Will you <span style="font-style: italic;">shut up</span>?"<br /><br />"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 <span style="font-style: italic;">kindergarten students!</span>"<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> children. <span style="font-style: italic;">Adults and children alike!</span> Why is that so hard for you to understand?"<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />"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 <span style="font-style: italic;">goat</span>!"<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">clip-clop</span> 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.<br /><br />Wracked with sadness, I leaned over and buried my head into her pillow. It smelled like Tide and goat urine. It smelled like love.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-84678594639219176292010-06-10T08:36:00.000-04:002010-06-10T08:38:19.321-04:00My Rejected NovelWell, 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">soundly</span>. 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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> out of me? Here, read the letter and see what you think:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_7cknK4nKI/AAAAAAAAAx0/NnDYqENBwsQ/s1600/rejection+letter.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_7cknK4nKI/AAAAAAAAAx0/NnDYqENBwsQ/s400/rejection+letter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476056718477139106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">stronger</span> 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.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Description: From Page 38</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote>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.</blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Character Development: From Page 99</span></span><br /><br /><blockquote>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. </blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dialogue: From Page 145</span></span><br /><br /><blockquote>"Do you think our love will last forever?" asked Gretchen.<br /><br />"It will last as long as the days, and even longer," said Eddie.<br /><br />"Like 24 hours?" asked Gretchen.<br /><br />"No, I meant like the end of time. So very long. You see, I was speaking metaphorically. Do you want some fish?"<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />"omg, you idiot, I meant to <span style="font-style: italic;">eat</span>," Eddie said, running out of patience.<br /><br />"Oh," she said, "then I guess so."</blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Love Scene: Page 390</span></span><br /><br /><blockquote>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.<br /><br />"I guess I'll have to take these off," he murmured.<br /><br />"Oooh, yes," she said, in between chewing her shrimp.<br /><br />He took off his jeans and his underwear and approached her with his growing ding dong.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />"I'm baaack," Gretchen said. She had a fly swatter in her right hand and she had removed all of her clothing.<br /><br />"You're naked," he said, giggling to himself.<br /><br />"That's right," she said and smacked his wiener with the fly swatter until the local news came on.</blockquote><br /><br />Maybe I'll try sending it in to Simon & Schuster.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-4043576092326120362010-06-07T11:45:00.000-04:002010-06-07T11:45:31.186-04:00Whatever Comes To MindA 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Superman III</span>). I'm really not sure why I have to be the one to think of these things.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />Every time I read something about the <span style="font-style: italic;">Punch-Out</span> 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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />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?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />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."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />Why in every container of McDonald's french fries is there that one, crispy dark fry that looks like an infected toenail?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAlXgntj3MI/AAAAAAAAAy4/CX_pLja4724/s1600/wizard+and+the+princess.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAlXgntj3MI/AAAAAAAAAy4/CX_pLja4724/s400/wizard+and+the+princess.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479006639600426178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAlXqeulpHI/AAAAAAAAAzA/pYW4y4jnD_o/s1600/wizard.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/TAlXqeulpHI/AAAAAAAAAzA/pYW4y4jnD_o/s400/wizard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479006808987509874" border="0" /></a><br />Now that's gaming.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-7637911313750315692010-06-04T09:11:00.001-04:002010-06-04T09:14:52.718-04:00I Hate You, City BusFinding 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_v-EAOH76I/AAAAAAAAAxM/cSNqTSIJogk/s1600/bus+stops.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 237px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_v-EAOH76I/AAAAAAAAAxM/cSNqTSIJogk/s400/bus+stops.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475249116731142050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Pictured: Five separate bus stops</span><br /></div><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Bus Stop #1<br />"Oh come <span style="font-style: italic;">on</span>. We don't have all day, Dirty Wellerbee."<br /><br />Bus Stop #2<br />"For the love of Baby Jesus, will you get on the bus already, Crackerjack Cowboob?"<br /><br />Bus Stop #3<br />"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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_v-1Jkco6I/AAAAAAAAAxU/ftc9iexkGJU/s1600/get+over+here.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_v-1Jkco6I/AAAAAAAAAxU/ftc9iexkGJU/s400/get+over+here.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475249961054282658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"Dude, get over to Brower Street. We've got this dumbass trapped behind the bus. It's awesome!"</span> </div><br /><br />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.<br /><br />I went for it.<br /><br />One yard, two yards, <span style="font-style: italic;">shit I just ran over a little kid's 3 wheeler,</span> three yards, and...damn.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-23589126571069205792010-06-02T08:11:00.000-04:002010-06-02T08:11:07.849-04:00Prizes Found in Generic CerealThe 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> to that level.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_6evSYycAI/AAAAAAAAAxk/rtUDmOgT7B0/s1600/cereal+pie+chart.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_6evSYycAI/AAAAAAAAAxk/rtUDmOgT7B0/s400/cereal+pie+chart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475988732155949058" border="0" /></a>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-47608359213711361652010-05-31T09:04:00.000-04:002010-05-31T09:04:12.296-04:00Monday Movie Reviews<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Nightmare Before Christmas (2010)</span></span><br />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. <span style="font-style: italic;">9 stars out of a possible 3,211.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_QGhSN3MqI/AAAAAAAAAvs/9AsLcvKlS1Q/s1600/stormtrooper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 154px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_QGhSN3MqI/AAAAAAAAAvs/9AsLcvKlS1Q/s400/stormtrooper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473006616057426594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gladiator (1992)</span></span><br />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. <span style="font-style: italic;">44 stars out of a possible 50.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_QGnhP2fFI/AAAAAAAAAv0/IzshsGNWx-M/s1600/bear+suit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 254px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_QGnhP2fFI/AAAAAAAAAv0/IzshsGNWx-M/s400/bear+suit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473006723171515474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Space Jam (1921)</span></span><br />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. <span style="font-style: italic;">8 stars out of a possible 13.</span>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-14201751227639324472010-05-27T09:06:00.000-04:002010-05-27T09:08:49.938-04:00The Shark Tank's Guide to Interior DesignFor 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!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Finding the Balance</span></span><br />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.<br /><br />Let's continue with an example of proper balance.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mv_44xZtI/AAAAAAAAAwc/3pJapqZovDE/s1600/couch.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mv_44xZtI/AAAAAAAAAwc/3pJapqZovDE/s400/couch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600334182672082" border="0" /></a><br />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:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mv3WXck7I/AAAAAAAAAwU/Jbhla5tpXtg/s1600/Al+Roker.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 237px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mv3WXck7I/AAAAAAAAAwU/Jbhla5tpXtg/s400/Al+Roker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600187477136306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Importance of Contrast</span></span><br />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.<br /><br />Contrast is like this. Let's say you have a floor that looks something like this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwGTg0djI/AAAAAAAAAwk/r4_mb5eWUeM/s1600/blue+floor.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwGTg0djI/AAAAAAAAAwk/r4_mb5eWUeM/s400/blue+floor.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600444409181746" border="0" /></a><br />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!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwNrwncKI/AAAAAAAAAws/rzG_zKcpsxY/s1600/lion+rug.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwNrwncKI/AAAAAAAAAws/rzG_zKcpsxY/s400/lion+rug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600571176972450" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Comfort is Paramount</span></span><br />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.<br /><br />Let's take this chair for an easy example.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwSxoQleI/AAAAAAAAAw0/2qjlfu4j0SQ/s1600/hurty+chair.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwSxoQleI/AAAAAAAAAw0/2qjlfu4j0SQ/s400/hurty+chair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600658651878882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwZ-bJuoI/AAAAAAAAAw8/exojf5m1l5w/s1600/dinosaur+chair.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_mwZ-bJuoI/AAAAAAAAAw8/exojf5m1l5w/s400/dinosaur+chair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474600782345648770" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Selling Your Home</span></span><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-59271540518484466582010-05-25T20:51:00.000-04:002010-05-25T09:05:07.996-04:00Some Dogs Don't Deserve to be Adopted<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255); font-weight: bold;">[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.]</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FxGKSUwAI/AAAAAAAAAug/AUUTjTcemos/s1600/Bernie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FxGKSUwAI/AAAAAAAAAug/AUUTjTcemos/s400/Bernie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472279372886228994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Name: Bernie</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Breed: German Shepherd Mix</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Favorite Color: Atomic Tangerine</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why He Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted:</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FysWEOKXI/AAAAAAAAAuo/KSpZ8S0gksg/s1600/Captain+Courageous.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FysWEOKXI/AAAAAAAAAuo/KSpZ8S0gksg/s400/Captain+Courageous.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472281128394959218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Name: Captain Courageous</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Breed: Welsh Corgi</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Favorite Song: "Yes! We Have No Bananas" from the musical </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Make It Snappy</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why He Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted:</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_F0hXMzsII/AAAAAAAAAuw/PWWIpdgk9JU/s1600/Roxy+Fantabulous.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 179px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_F0hXMzsII/AAAAAAAAAuw/PWWIpdgk9JU/s400/Roxy+Fantabulous.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472283138744103042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Name: Roxy Fantabulous</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Breed: Labrador/Great Dane mix</span> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Favorite Insect: Pink Katydid</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why She Doesn't Deserve to be Adopted:</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div></div></div><br /></div></div></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-87304790911806127552010-05-22T10:38:00.000-04:002010-05-22T10:40:20.782-04:00The Fly and the Pig<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_XM1K_lWLI/AAAAAAAAAv8/QPkNLTBWGdE/s1600/sharkey%27s+fables.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_XM1K_lWLI/AAAAAAAAAv8/QPkNLTBWGdE/s400/sharkey%27s+fables.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473506135994882226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Fly and the Pig</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote>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.<br /><br />"What are you doing," the pig asked.<br /><br />"I'm angry and I'm not to be trifled with," warned the fly.<br /><br />"Why don't you tell me your problem so I can help you?" offered the pig.<br /><br />"No, leave me alone, you don't know anything about the problems of a fly."<br /><br />"Come on, I'm a friend and I'm very wise for a pig," he said graciously.<br /><br />"Fine," the fly said.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"And a merry ho-ho-ho," sang the pig as he went on his way.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Moral</span>: Pigs are filthy, immoral creatures and should never be trusted under any circumstances. </span></blockquote><br /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-34376793597110978022010-05-20T09:00:00.005-04:002010-05-20T09:00:07.650-04:00Bringin The PrayerA 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 <a href="http://whitesharktank.blogspot.com/2009/04/larry-whitson-needs-work.html">hard times in his life</a> over the past couple of years and I knew that letting him cook food for me would be in the spirit of giving generosity.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_AwycSTc2I/AAAAAAAAAuQ/PoFCgwvFfto/s1600/lion+petting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 144px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_AwycSTc2I/AAAAAAAAAuQ/PoFCgwvFfto/s400/lion+petting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471927190399710050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />Except I had already forgotten my lines.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hallowed be thy name...hallowed be thy name. CRAP! What's next?</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />"The Lord <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> my shepherd, and lo shall I walk the path. The path of iniquities and forsooth."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Okay, you just used the word </span>forsooth<span style="font-style: italic;">. Get it together, man!</span><br /><br />"Rare is the bird that catches the morning worm. High is the pride of the fallen knight."<br /><br />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).<br /><br />"Thank you for the food of our nestled breast and deliver us from the harms of snakes."<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_AvwramagI/AAAAAAAAAuI/tsktdIYFIIA/s1600/God.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_AvwramagI/AAAAAAAAAuI/tsktdIYFIIA/s400/God.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471926060589672962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Be not angry with us and wind the clocks of our advancing age with trust and goodness. Umm, amen."<br /><br />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 <a href="http://whitesharktank.blogspot.com/2009/05/frank-wilson-wants-to-save-your-soul.html">Frank Wilson</a>, but I decided to just sit and eat my dinner instead.<br /><br />Later that day I found a turtle in my mailbox, but I'm still not sure if that is in any way related.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-28837439389897055062010-05-18T07:50:00.000-04:002010-05-18T09:38:17.250-04:00That Time I Wanted Tacos for DinnerSo 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:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7H9SbiP2I/AAAAAAAAAtA/AiahDQ0VZQI/s1600/It%27s+taco+night.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7H9SbiP2I/AAAAAAAAAtA/AiahDQ0VZQI/s400/It%27s+taco+night.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471530453035007842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And she was like:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7IJ-iTQoI/AAAAAAAAAtI/Y1NrZdZjBWA/s1600/I+love+tacos.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7IJ-iTQoI/AAAAAAAAAtI/Y1NrZdZjBWA/s400/I+love+tacos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471530671032976002" border="0" /></a><br />And so she left and about two hours later she came back and said:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7IpbMZWnI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/i4EWgGlxrB0/s1600/3+stores.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7IpbMZWnI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/i4EWgGlxrB0/s400/3+stores.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471531211301673586" border="0" /></a><br />And she handed me the meat and I examined it and was not pleased with what I saw:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7I7OlReZI/AAAAAAAAAtY/JMb6pepS2Js/s1600/Over+a+pound.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7I7OlReZI/AAAAAAAAAtY/JMb6pepS2Js/s400/Over+a+pound.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471531517153999250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And I made my feelings known:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FPOBs3eyI/AAAAAAAAAuY/aaa2HLCv23Q/s1600/one+pound+only.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S_FPOBs3eyI/AAAAAAAAAuY/aaa2HLCv23Q/s400/one+pound+only.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472242124625247010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And she was all:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7JbYgWnPI/AAAAAAAAAto/9KkA8u0RedM/s1600/protesting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7JbYgWnPI/AAAAAAAAAto/9KkA8u0RedM/s400/protesting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471532069573532914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But I was just like:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7Jiu5ReBI/AAAAAAAAAtw/jl4HgD0R6mk/s1600/cold+stare.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7Jiu5ReBI/AAAAAAAAAtw/jl4HgD0R6mk/s400/cold+stare.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471532195842717714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And so she's all:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7JpUYrItI/AAAAAAAAAt4/L9KTyv7cS7s/s1600/divorce.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7JpUYrItI/AAAAAAAAAt4/L9KTyv7cS7s/s400/divorce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471532308985750226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But I'm still like:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7Jiu5ReBI/AAAAAAAAAtw/jl4HgD0R6mk/s1600/cold+stare.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7Jiu5ReBI/AAAAAAAAAtw/jl4HgD0R6mk/s400/cold+stare.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471532195842717714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And then she finally says:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7J1ivzORI/AAAAAAAAAuA/k98YppLsexA/s1600/giving+in.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-7J1ivzORI/AAAAAAAAAuA/k98YppLsexA/s400/giving+in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471532518999275794" border="0" /></a><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-26223731164202117682010-05-14T12:29:00.005-04:002010-05-14T13:14:55.460-04:00The Perfect PostThose 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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-2DZUNFlvI/AAAAAAAAAsw/BbJpVxxWrfc/s1600/alligator+wrestling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 206px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-2DZUNFlvI/AAAAAAAAAsw/BbJpVxxWrfc/s400/alligator+wrestling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471173593268590322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Protip: Go for the tail</span><br /><br /></div><br />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.<br /><br />The problem? The idea was <span style="font-style: italic;">too </span>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-2DhOP_clI/AAAAAAAAAs4/QS871_BvylA/s1600/Grape+Nuts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 203px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/S-2DhOP_clI/AAAAAAAAAs4/QS871_BvylA/s400/Grape+Nuts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471173729109111378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Only...four...more...bites</span><br /><br /><br /></div>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.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">¡Viva la </span><span onclick="'redirectWR(event," style="cursor: pointer; font-style: italic;" class="clickable" id="shark115">tiburón!</span>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-60605967497544047312009-07-03T08:30:00.000-04:002009-07-03T08:30:02.108-04:00Greg Duberson's 4th of July Sale<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">[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!]<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">GREG <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">DUBERSON'S</span> 4TH OF <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">JULY</span> BONANZA!!</span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span></div></div>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!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br />AMERICAN FLAG TEE SHIRT!!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvyZrT9p7I/AAAAAAAAAqg/vQJbbTudnA0/s1600-h/america+is+awesome.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 244px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvyZrT9p7I/AAAAAAAAAqg/vQJbbTudnA0/s400/america+is+awesome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353639104997074866" border="0" /></a><br />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<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" >1776 MARBLES!!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/Skvyhdg258I/AAAAAAAAAqo/zeIvRq79xp4/s1600-h/marbles+of+america.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 210px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/Skvyhdg258I/AAAAAAAAAqo/zeIvRq79xp4/s400/marbles+of+america.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353639238732015554" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >INDEPENDENCE DAY VIDEO</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >!!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvynuiUZVI/AAAAAAAAAqw/ZN1DHLxKNaE/s1600-h/ID4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 130px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvynuiUZVI/AAAAAAAAAqw/ZN1DHLxKNaE/s400/ID4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353639346380760402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Aw, why the hell not. $7.75<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" >ALOE PLANT</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" >!!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvyyY1m2JI/AAAAAAAAAq4/Zoub4bpTjjE/s1600-h/aloe+plant.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 154px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkvyyY1m2JI/AAAAAAAAAq4/Zoub4bpTjjE/s400/aloe+plant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353639529534642322" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-35701426037452074012009-07-01T08:30:00.000-04:002009-07-01T08:30:03.102-04:00I Checked The Engine. It's Still There.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.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkqK8oHRBkI/AAAAAAAAAqY/RpNEbaXfBVI/s1600-h/check+engine.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 114px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkqK8oHRBkI/AAAAAAAAAqY/RpNEbaXfBVI/s400/check+engine.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353243881247934018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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? <span style="font-style: italic;">No! You're just counting by twos! Focus!</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"What seems to be the problem?" the gruff mechanic asked as I approached the Service counter of the Honda dealership.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />He just stared at me.<br /><br />"Anyway," I continued, "The check engine light came on, so I figured...better, uh, find out what's wrong."<br /><br />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."<br /><br />"What type of vehicle is it?"<br /><br />"A, um, Honda Civic."<br /><br />"Year."<br /><br />I muttered a response.<br /><br />"I'm sorry?"<br /><br />"1993."<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkqKUdrOUYI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/13da3AYhroI/s1600-h/civic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 137px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SkqKUdrOUYI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/13da3AYhroI/s400/civic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353243191251194242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">That's right, ladies.</span><br /></div><br /><br />I pretended he wasn't smirking as he noted the information.<br /><br />"It's freezing in here," I mentioned.<br /><br />"You think so?" he muttered, still typing.<br /><br />"Yeah!" It was. You could have bred polar bears in this type of climate.<br /><br />"Hmm." He stopped typing and looked directly at me. "I'm not freezing."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Okayyy then.</span><br /><br />"We'll take a look," he said. "You can have a seat in the waiting room."<br /><br />"Oh, there's something else," I said. "It's been making a weird rattling sound for some time. You know, like...<span style="font-style: italic;">rattle, rattle, clink...rattle, rattle, tonk.</span> Like that."<br /><br />I cleared my throat.<br /><br />"We'll take a look."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Well, we found the problem," he said.<br /><br />"Oh. Good."<br /><br />"Loose gas cap. It happens."<br /><br />"Wow, that makes the Check Engine light come on?"<br /><br />He nodded, giving me a receipt that read "No charge".<br /><br />"All right, well, I appreciate it. Oh, did you look into that rattling?"<br /><br />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."<br /><br />"Mmm," I said, feeling both relieved and starkly unamused. I thought about informing this know-it-all that Warrant's <span style="font-style: italic;">Cherry Pie</span> album was just as good in tape form as it was in MP-whatever-the-hell, but it didn't really seem worth it.<br /><br />Next time, I'm ignoring that light.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-20559278659420685702009-06-24T08:30:00.000-04:002009-06-24T08:30:09.814-04:00Reference Letters! Get Your Fresh, Hot Reference Letters!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!<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><blockquote>"With Shawn's helpful reference letter, I was able to leave my low paying pharmaceutical sales job for a lively career in MLM marketing!"<br /> Amy B.<br /><br />"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!"<br /> Fred M.</blockquote><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><blockquote>To Whom It May Concern,<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Shawn<br /></blockquote>Here's another example.<br /><br /><blockquote>Dear Sir or Madam,<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Shawn</blockquote><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-56712609295945593552009-06-17T08:24:00.000-04:002009-06-17T08:24:00.482-04:00The Shark Tank's Guide To A Successful Job InterviewWith 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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Attire</span><br />Most job interview articles will tell you to dress up, making sure you're dressed appropriately for the position. Pish posh, I say. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dress comfortably</span>. 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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgxkKcSI7I/AAAAAAAAApg/5TJfnkkZtg0/s1600-h/mopper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 127px; height: 192px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgxkKcSI7I/AAAAAAAAApg/5TJfnkkZtg0/s400/mopper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348079054850499506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Cleanup on aisle 4</span><br /><br /><br /></div>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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Your Time Is Valuable</span><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgyYqzsLCI/AAAAAAAAApo/8P1inPG2afQ/s1600-h/goatherd.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 222px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgyYqzsLCI/AAAAAAAAApo/8P1inPG2afQ/s400/goatherd.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348079956891806754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Pictured: goats; you</span><br /><br /><br /></div>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."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Opener</span><br />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.<br /><br />Please note: if you can direct the racist joke explicitly <span style="font-style: italic;">towards</span> 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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Ask Questions</span><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgzgTAYn_I/AAAAAAAAApw/Sf7Y9WYCsCU/s1600-h/manatee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 169px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjgzgTAYn_I/AAAAAAAAApw/Sf7Y9WYCsCU/s400/manatee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348081187453181938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My, someone's been doing their vaginal exercises.</span><br /></div><br /><br />Here are some questions you can ask your interviewer, turning them into the interviewee:<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-weight: bold;">"Is the starting pay in the millions?"<br /><br />"Pocket Ace-King suited. Do you go all in preflop?"<br /><br />"When is it okay to show your co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?" <span style="font-weight: normal;">(Actually, I just need some more feedback on this one.)</span></blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Closer</span><br />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:<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">Interviewer:</span> Well, we'll be in touch.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You</span>: 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)<br /></blockquote><br />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.<br /><br />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.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-53672605577842893292009-06-15T09:21:00.001-04:002009-06-15T23:25:06.312-04:00A Thirst Too GreatThe 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 (<a href="http://whitesharktank.blogspot.com/2009/06/mythical-creatures.html">non black and white</a>) 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.<br /><blockquote><br /><blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVt6G7FP9I/AAAAAAAAAno/5WKi4Q8yH_I/s1600-h/slurpee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 187px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVt6G7FP9I/AAAAAAAAAno/5WKi4Q8yH_I/s400/slurpee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347300977630592978" border="0" /></a></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVt6G7FP9I/AAAAAAAAAno/5WKi4Q8yH_I/s1600-h/slurpee.jpg"></a></blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVt6G7FP9I/AAAAAAAAAno/5WKi4Q8yH_I/s1600-h/slurpee.jpg"></a><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVwpeR22uI/AAAAAAAAAnw/5OFHDHnqaak/s1600-h/map+of+florida.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 152px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjVwpeR22uI/AAAAAAAAAnw/5OFHDHnqaak/s400/map+of+florida.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347303990377241314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">An invaluable tool</span><br /><br /><br /></div>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I rate this dining experience 17 stars out of a possible 23. WOULD DINE AGAIN.<br /><br />Unrelated: Does anyone know any home remedies for E.Coli poisoning?Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-75947032252334875482009-06-12T07:55:00.000-04:002010-05-18T09:38:17.255-04:00That Time I Went To The Nursing HomeI 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:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCEnNXo4tI/AAAAAAAAAmo/8yd3THJLsWE/s1600-h/marybelle+story.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCEnNXo4tI/AAAAAAAAAmo/8yd3THJLsWE/s400/marybelle+story.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345918566827352786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And so then I was like:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCEu4LyHcI/AAAAAAAAAmw/LwVOb8K4u18/s1600-h/yo+old+lady.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCEu4LyHcI/AAAAAAAAAmw/LwVOb8K4u18/s400/yo+old+lady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345918698579434946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And she went:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCE1yhS9wI/AAAAAAAAAm4/APr59m1v16M/s1600-h/little+fat+face.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCE1yhS9wI/AAAAAAAAAm4/APr59m1v16M/s400/little+fat+face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345918817318139650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And so I said:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCE-LW9PkI/AAAAAAAAAnA/PPxHhtwdAZA/s1600-h/bebop+on.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCE-LW9PkI/AAAAAAAAAnA/PPxHhtwdAZA/s400/bebop+on.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345918961424612930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And she came back with:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFECPNrsI/AAAAAAAAAnI/RHvLqVPv1Mg/s1600-h/kids+dont+know+nothin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFECPNrsI/AAAAAAAAAnI/RHvLqVPv1Mg/s400/kids+dont+know+nothin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345919062055431874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And that's when I was like:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFI-cbs1I/AAAAAAAAAnQ/9FKnTEOCjiA/s1600-h/suck+it.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFI-cbs1I/AAAAAAAAAnQ/9FKnTEOCjiA/s400/suck+it.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345919146936480594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And she was just:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFO290B0I/AAAAAAAAAnY/T-Ia-42PDx0/s1600-h/kids+these+days.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFO290B0I/AAAAAAAAAnY/T-Ia-42PDx0/s400/kids+these+days.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345919248008218434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Crazy old woman.<br /><br />Good times. Good times, indeed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFUHIIVTI/AAAAAAAAAng/uKYNdW5djfc/s1600-h/in+memoriam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 383px; height: 372px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SjCFUHIIVTI/AAAAAAAAAng/uKYNdW5djfc/s400/in+memoriam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345919338245805362" border="0" /></a>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-81694644071228584762009-06-10T08:55:00.000-04:002009-06-10T08:55:00.390-04:00When Is It Okay?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 <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> 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"<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SiwJAN4KErI/AAAAAAAAAl4/l8E_rE_-wEs/s1600-h/whenisitokay.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 329px; height: 69px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SiwJAN4KErI/AAAAAAAAAl4/l8E_rE_-wEs/s400/whenisitokay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344656757111788210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Question #1: When is it okay to eat one of those dishwasher detergent cakes?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #2: When is it okay to tell a department store clerk that you'd like to feel the inside of their pocket?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #3: When is it okay to don a rainbow colored vest and skip through a public park?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #4: When is it okay to use your finger to sample the salsa, rather than a chip?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #5: When is it okay to tell people you saw a dinosaur in their laundry hamper?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #6: When is it okay to poop in the shower?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #7: When is it okay to show co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #8: When is it okay to ask your father to change his name to Forrest Whitaker?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #9: When is it okay to admit to a (possible) homicide (legally speaking)?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question #10: When is it okay to punch an otter?</span><br /><br /><br />Help me, Obi-Wan Commenters. You're my only hope.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-89667102379324977212009-06-08T08:55:00.000-04:002009-06-08T08:55:00.438-04:00Hollywood VS Your WalletVersus 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, <span style="font-style: italic;">reimaginings</span>) 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. <span style="font-style: italic;">Alien vs Predato</span>r, <span style="font-style: italic;">Freddy vs Jason</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Me vs That Guy Who Won't Shut Up Two Rows Back</span>...the possibilities are limitless.<br /><br />Of course, as with anything else, Hollywood has to take it one step too far. While at the theater for <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek</span> (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:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisW0TY5TUI/AAAAAAAAAlw/qU59bhUtuUQ/s1600-h/Terminator+vs+Exterminator.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisW0TY5TUI/AAAAAAAAAlw/qU59bhUtuUQ/s400/Terminator+vs+Exterminator.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344390470618926402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SixgB_Fyu7I/AAAAAAAAAmA/IzHuv6Di834/s1600-h/rooney+vs+strickland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SixgB_Fyu7I/AAAAAAAAAmA/IzHuv6Di834/s400/rooney+vs+strickland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344752445013801906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWsmoxA2I/AAAAAAAAAlg/9uaf9JVOUD4/s1600-h/johnny+mnemonic+vs+neo+vs+contantine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 377px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWsmoxA2I/AAAAAAAAAlg/9uaf9JVOUD4/s400/johnny+mnemonic+vs+neo+vs+contantine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344390338346812258" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWpbVqNvI/AAAAAAAAAlY/hoxb7tlS9-w/s1600-h/frankenstein+vs+dr+frankenstein.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 341px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWpbVqNvI/AAAAAAAAAlY/hoxb7tlS9-w/s400/frankenstein+vs+dr+frankenstein.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344390283774277362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWl2ZZbAI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/hNsxauVsi_U/s1600-h/buddhist+vs+quaker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 347px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SisWl2ZZbAI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/hNsxauVsi_U/s400/buddhist+vs+quaker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344390222318234626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Ah, who am I kidding? I'll go see all of them.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com97tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5155469305269411847.post-80556140688063805732009-06-04T08:55:00.000-04:002009-06-04T08:55:00.106-04:00Mythical CreaturesI 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:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Black and White Cow</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibX8bJkviI/AAAAAAAAAk4/0hLDimxWInM/s1600-h/black+and+white+cow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 264px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibX8bJkviI/AAAAAAAAAk4/0hLDimxWInM/s400/black+and+white+cow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343195441001709090" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Duck Billed Platypus</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibX_rgLckI/AAAAAAAAAlA/z0O4Fz8rxJw/s1600-h/platypus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 204px; height: 250px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibX_rgLckI/AAAAAAAAAlA/z0O4Fz8rxJw/s400/platypus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343195496931095106" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Panda</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibYC2RXLxI/AAAAAAAAAlI/ctxRCQ_YqY8/s1600-h/panda.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 174px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jC9iOPMNzVc/SibYC2RXLxI/AAAAAAAAAlI/ctxRCQ_YqY8/s400/panda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343195551361347346" border="0" /></a>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 <span style="font-style: italic;">in the world</span>. 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.<br /><br />Suspected to be fake, but not confirmed: king cobra, octopus, three-toed sloth, tauntaun, and goat.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com51