THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW: A GUYDE

I got thinking about babies today.

Specifically, I got thinking about mine. He's not here yet, the Wonderpony, but we're only a few weeks away. With February fast approaching, I realized, "Holy shite, Shel, you got to get the boy some learnin' and fast". So, I started thinking: What should every boy know? What would have made my life easier if I had known this from the get-go? Ladies and gentleman, I give you: THE GUYDE.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #192

Boy, this is a 1970 Buick Riviera, my first car. It had a muffler, but you couldn't tell.  My first girlfriend couldn't see over the dashboard, and the horn was fashioned under the steering column, so you had to honk with your knee. All in all, it was a piece of crap. Still, it was better than what I'm currently driving. Sorry about that.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #632:

 

Boy, this is a vampire. Notice the fangs and long fingernails. Also, notice he doesn't sparkle. Vampires never sparkle. If he's sparkling, not a vampire.  If he's sparkling, he can give you some great fashion advice, which there is certainly something to be said for.  But again, not a vampire.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #433:

 

Boy, this is Bugs Bunny. Now, a lot of people will try to convince you that the only cartoon character that matters is a certain mouse. Don't listen to them - they are maroons.  The mouse has a better PR department, that's all. You want to get your Saturday morning chuckles, look for this guy. He won't let you down.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #725: 

Boy, this is a corndog. Basically, it's a hot dog dipped in batter than deep fried. It's really tasty. We ate a lot of these in Iowa, because really, there wasn't much else to do.  Avoid anyone who puts ketchup on one of these - they are mentally deranged. In fact, you should steer clear of anyone who even puts ketchup on a hot dog.  Yellow mustard is the only thing that should ever go on a corndog. Also, if you decide to one day run for office - avoid the corndog.  They taste great but make for seriously horrible photo-ops.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #956:  

Boy, this is what No Discernible Talent looks like. Sure, it's easy on the eyes, but really that's all it has going for it. Aim higher.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #502:

Boy, this is Delaware. To our knowledge, no one actually lives there. In fact, not only will you probably never meet anyone who's from there, you will probably never meet anyone who's even been through there. I'm including it just so you know it does exist.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #377:

Is it a sandwhich, is it a meal? We may never know. You will, however, probably be living on these whenever you mom goes out of town. Don't worry - after the third bite, you tongue goes numb and you can't taste anything anyway.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #79:

This is the Pilsbury Doughboy. He was a mascot for a baking company. He later became Speaker of the House, divorced his wife when she had cancer, and ran for President. No one was sure what exactly caused the drastic personality shift.

THINGS MY BOY SHOULD KNOW #166:

Boy, these are boobs. Take a good look. Enjoy the time you have with them now, because you're going to spend the rest of your life trying to see them again.

Trump Consumes Bowl of Cookie Crisp - "I'm Very Proud"

Real-estate mogul / possible presidential candidate Donald Trump held a press-conference this morning to announce that he had a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

"Today is a great day," Trump said, while fighting a stiff northeasterly wind. "This morning, I consumed an entire bowl of Cookie Crisp, which is a terrific breakfast ceral. I am very proud of myself. Very proud."

Trump, star of the NBC "reality" series "The Apprentice" bragged further that he had even completed the puzzle on the back of the box.

"I have done something that no one else has accomplished. I completed the maze on the box in record time. There is no one else who would have been nearly as successful as I was. Let me tell you something, I broke the Cookie Crisp Theif out of the jail and led him directly to the bowl of cereal - no wrong turns at all. I was very, very impressive."

One reporter expressed doubt, and asked to see proof of the maze. Trump replied that it would be released soon.

"Look," Trump said. "We're going to release it. I can't do it right now, but it will be soon. And when we do, I think you will be very impressed. Again, I'm very proud of myself, and it really is a great day for the country."
When reporters asked why he chose the sugary Cookie Crisp instead of a healthier alternative, Trump scoffed. "Clearly, you don't know the facts. Cookie Crisp is loaded with 10 essiential vitamins and minerals. It's a terrific product. It's been a leader on the forefront of cereal for years. You wouldn't understand this. You eat Froot Loops, don't you? You can tell.  As a winner, I only eat winner cereals. Cookie Crisp is a winner. It really is terrific."

Trump then went on to fire a shot across the bow of a rival cereal.

"I want you to know, I've sent some of my people over to investigate Cocoa Pebbles, and the things I'm hearing are really going to blow your minds. I can't tell you who these people are, but I'm telling you, when I release the info, it's really going to shake the foundation of society."

When pressed, Trump refused to elaborate.

As cameras flashed around him, another reporter asked Trump to address the rumor that he was going to be having KFC for dinner.

"Look," Trump said. "I can't talk about that yet. As you know, I have the number one show on NBC - it's called "Celebrity Apprentice" - a terrific show.  As long as "Celebrity Apprentice" is on the air, I can't talk about my decision. It will be coming soon, and I think everyone will be very surprised by what I say."

With that, Trump abruptly ended the conference and walked to his helicopter with a sugar-infused swagger to his step.

Special Child Discovered to be "Exceedingly Unspecial"

November 18, 2010


(AP) Evanston, IL - An Evanston family was devastated to learn yesterday that their "special" child was actually, in fact, completely unspecial.

"We were shocked," said Margaret Thompson, 45. "We could have sworn little Preston was completely special. In fact, we've been telling him ever since he was born that he was special. Now I get the news that we've been lying to him the entire time. It has been a very difficult few days".

Preston Thompson III, 10, had been operating his entire life under the assumption that he was indeed special. He was brought to the attention of doctors at Rush Memorial Hospital in Chicago, who rushed him in for a battery of tests. The result was, to say the least, shocking.

"On the outside, all the signs pointed to him being special," said Dr. Marvin Cho, director of the Special Childrens Unit at Rush. "But once we put him through our tests, we discovered that not only was he not special, he was exceedingly unspecial. In fact, of all the children I have examined over my 35 years in the medical industry, I have never seen a child more unspecial than Preston Thompson III".

The rate of discovery of unspecial children has risen significantly during this past decade. Experts say Special Child Extremeritis (SCE)  hit epidemic stages in the mid to late-90's when every child was treated as though they were special and completely unique.

"There was a real boom, with 1997 being the peak year, of children being told they were special," Dr. Cho explained. "It was during that time where we had a spike in children being given names like Tyler, Eryka, Dylan, and Madison. These kids were deliberatetly misled by their parents into thinking they were special. They were enrolled in ballet lessons and karate classes as young as 3 years old. This, of course, led to pee-wee soccer leagues, which is the real obvious symptom of SCE."

Discovering your child is not special is a tough bit of news for every parent. Preston Thompson II, 47, was so broken up by the report that he couldn't even speak to this reporter. However, Dr. Cho wants to make sure the public knows that having an unspecial child is certainly not the end of the world.

"Many non-special children, or unspecs as we call them, go on to lead completely normal, if not dull lives. You will find many unspecs thriving in middle-management positions, happy, content, and fully embracing their complete un-uniqueness".

For the Thompsons, each day is a struggle, but they know over time, acceptance will rule the day. "We know now that Preston is not special," Mrs. Thompson said. "Of course, it will take time, but we're getting there. I mean, when we first found out, my husband was so distraught he wanted to put Preston in a pillowcase, drive him out to the country and leave him on the side of the road. Luckily, I talked him out of it, and he is slowly coming around. He actually looked Preston in the eye the other day, and didn't break down crying. Small steps. Besides, we always have our daughter, MacKenzie".

However, difficult times still lay ahead for the Thompsons. In a follow-up report released this week, MacKenzie Thompson, 8, was described as "obscenely average and boring to be around".

McRib-Tickling

November 16, 2010

Oh, McRib. Welcome back.

 

I think I can say in all honesty, it's been at least 13 years since I've had one of these bad boys. Hey, McRib? Whaddya say we make it another 13 years, huh? I swear, I had one of these two days ago, and I still don't have any feeling in my feet.

For those of you who might be unfamiliar with just what a McRib is, here you go: It's some sort of patty-like substance pressed into a vaguely rib-cage-shape, slathered in overly-sweet BBQ sauce, topped with onions and pickles, and served on a chewy hoagie roll. Word to the wise: bread should never be chewy.

Another word to the wise: do NOT wipe the sauce off the McRib. You will be tempted - I urge you to fight that temptation. The result is like seeing a naked Shelly Winters - you may be intrigued, you may be curious, you may be fascinated, but you will never be able to get that image off your corneas.

The first thing you notice about the McRib is the scent. It smells of teenagers and desperation. Many of you will be asking, "What's the difference?". Well, it's subtle. Take salt, and add hormones, dissatisfaction and Axe Body Spray, and there you go. After the first bite, you do find yourself asking, "Is that gristle?". After the second bite, you find yourself asking, "Seriously, is that gristle?". If you manage to make it to a third bite, you find yourself saying, "Dear god, please let that be gristle". By the time you get to the fourth, you just feel like someone's been punching you repeatedly in the back. The McRib may be the only sandwich out there that makes you feel like a shut-in while eating it.  

If you do have the stamina to finish one, you may be surprised by some new found powers. I have no idea what they put in these things, but I discovered that not only could I see through walls, but also through time and space. Now, it's entirely possible I was just hallucinating, but I swear I had a conversation about The Partridge Family with a dinosaur-riding Napoleon Bonapart. We both agreed that even back in 1968, it was obvious that Danny was clearly a douchebag in the making.

One thing I do want to know, and I'm looking at you McDonalds Corporation: what the hell happened to your fries? When I was a kid, your fries were the be-all-end-all when it came to deep fried spuds. Now, maybe it's because I'm older, my tastes have matured, I no longer eat play-dough, who knows? But, man, your fries suck now. I always thought it was pretty hard to screw up something as easy as a french fry, but clearly I was wrong. Seriously, I've bitten into pencils that were tastier and more forgiving.

McRib. You, my friend, are a sauce-covered colon bomb. You finish one of these, and all you hear is the Mission: Impossible theme in your head. Whatever you do, make sure you are near a restroom. You know you only have a few minutes until detonation, so for the love of God, don't eat one of these while driving through the middle of Nebraska, unless you don't mind shitting in a ditch. When they say, "Availble for a limited time", they are not kidding.

Look, I'm no food-snob. There's a reason they keep bringing this thing back every couple of years. People obviously like them. Whatever floats your boat. If you like eating something that tastes like sadness, knock yourself out. I, however, think I'll take a pass. In only a few more weeks, the McRib will be put back in the vault until next time. But don't be depressed:

Only four months until Shamrock Shakes.

Grampa's Balls

October 21, 2010

I got thinking about balls today. Specifically, those belonging to Brett Favre.

 

Don't get me wrong - I don't usually spend a lot of time thinking about or picturing the scroticular region of men, not to mention future Hall of Fame quarterbacks. But this is different - I have no choice to think about them, because, simply put, people won't shut up about them.

In case you haven't heard, the Minnesota Vikings quarterback supposedly sent pictures of himself playing with his own personal Twin Cities to a woman associated with his former team, the New York Jets. Frankly, even more disturbing then the image of a fully engorged Favre is the fact that he was only wearing a pair of Crocs at the time. Seriously? Crocs? All of the money in the world eventually passes through your hands and you're wearing plastic shoes? The players union may want to get involved in this.

Here's where things get...um...sticky (Oh, shut up.). Supposedly the woman on the other end of this didn't want or even ask to see his Viking. Now, I've met plenty of beautiful women in my time, and while I may have wanted to send an unrequested 8x10 glossy of the Wonderstick, I do have that little voice inside my head that says, "Hey, Schmuck. Horrible idea. Why don't you go get a burrito instead?". I would, and everything turned out for the best. Brett, however, apparently doesn't have that voice, or maybe he simply doesn't like burritos. Either way, he decided to go all Ansel Adams, pushed send, and now that's all ESPN will talk about. 

Here's what I keep focusing on: 1) Favre is only a few months younger than me; and 2) Favre is a grampa. Brett and Deanna Favre's oldest daughter gave birth to a son earlier this year. A grampa.

Think about your grampa. Now, think about your grampa's balls.

Go ahead. I'll wait.

Look, I'll give you that Favre is in pretty incredible shape for a 41-year-old man. Of that, I'm sure there is no doubt. Still, no matter how great of shape you may be in, it's still a picture of a grampa's balls. I mean, pictures of balls in general are nothing to write home about. Let's face it, male genitalia is pretty goofy-looking as a rule. I've seen a lot of naked females in my time, and there are few things as beautiful as the naked female form. They're like fingerprints - all completely unique. Penises, on the other hand....well. Never have the following words left my lips: "Wow. That is one fine looking cock you got there, Chester". I mean, I hate to get all profile-y, but you see one, you've pretty much seen them all. I think it was Calvin Coolidge who said, "Feh, a penis is a penis is a penis".

My grampa was a great guy, and we did a lot of stuff together. We painted, went fishing, watched great movies (watching "Blazing Saddles" with him remains one of my all-time best memories), all sorts of grampa/grandson activities. However, not once did I see his balls. Never did he whip out the babymakers and say, "Take a look at these wrinkled sonsabitches. That's something else, huh?". I did see my granny's boobs once by mistake, and let me tell you, there is no amount of bleach available to get that image out of my mind.

Now, I'm not saying that you can't or shouldn't be a sexual being as you grow older. In fact, I'm hoping it's the exact opposite (If there is any positive to be taken from this whole thing is that us over-40 types still like naked fun time, even if no one else is there). Still, you can be sexual and not be a complete tool. For some reason, it still has not sunk into anyone's head: regardless if you are a teenager or someone a few months away from joining AARP, when you send naked pictures of yourself across the interwebs, they are going out EVERYWHERE. I'm not knocking the practice - if that's what gets you going, more power to you. But you can't then be surprised, shocked or embarassed when your crank gets the front page of the Star-Tribune.

Favre and the Vikings will be visiting his old stomping ground, Green Bay, this weekend. Hopefully, he'll spend more time Sunday throwing balls than photographing them.

KFC Hates You and Everything You Love

April 7, 2010

We've been friends for awhile now, right? I mean, I've been writing on OS for over a year, and I feel like we've become pretty close, no? We've shared some laughs, some tears, real confidant-type stuff. That's why I think it's time I share a little information with you. A secret kind of thing, if you will. Here it is:

KFC hates you and everything you love. 

I haven't eaten at a KFC in...well....years. In fact, there is a very distinct possibility I haven't eaten at a KFC since the word "Fried" was actually advertised in their title and the good Colonel was still amongst the breathing and non-moldy.  I have to tell you, though, their latest "invention" won't get me back in there anytime soon. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the DoubleDown:

 

Look closely. That's right, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. The "buns" are actually two pieces of fried chicken. The "meat" of the sandwich consists of bacon, cheese and some sort of magical space-age mayonaise.  Rumor has it, after eating this, you can actually see through time.

I've never had one of these, and can't imagine a situation where I would ever actually crave one, but I like the idea of this sandwich. This is a sandwich that has balls. A sandwich for people who don't have time for bread or uninterrupted blood flow.

It looks like a dare. Or, at the very least, the work of the laziest marketing guy ever:

"Johnson! You were supposed to come up with that new sandwich today. What do you have for me??!!!"

"Um....well....let's see....um. We take two pieces of chicken...and...uh...put some bacon between them? I figured we could market it to drunk college students and shut-ins."

"Brilliant! Now, is there anyway we can get it on a stick? Americans love food on sticks!"

It really is brilliant. Finally, a sandwich designed specifically for those morbidly obese people who have to have the wall of their bedroom removed so they can be transported to the hospital. It's been a long time coming. That sound you hear is Mississippi jumping for joy. Well, maybe not jumping so much as just kind of moving somewhat vertically.

This is what it's come to: meat surrounded by more meat. Look, I love meat. When Sam Elliot says it's what's for dinner, it's like he's talking directly to me. You're damned right, Sam Elliot. But this thing...my god. I think even Sam would say, "You know, maybe you should think about some greens, fatty". Just looking at this I get the shits.  I'm just now getting used to the whole turducken thing, now we have to deal with this? No wonder everyone hates us as a country. I kind of hate us too when I see something like this.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think my corndogs and Hot Pockets are done.

So...You've Just Killed A Hobo

March 9, 2010

So...you've just killed a hobo. You're probably wondering what to do now. I'm here to act as a sounding board and to share some tricks of the trade I've learned over the years and from my vast experience in hobicide.

Your first instinct will be to run and confess. Don't bother. The railroad cops don't care. In fact, in their eyes, that's one less guy they have to chuck out of a boxcar. They may treat you as a hero. They may pat you on the back. They may offer you some soup. Don't let them fool you. The only thing more untrustworthy than a hobo is a railroad cop. He'll knock you upside your head with his lantern and take your socks as soon as your back is turned. Railroad cops are notorious for stealing socks.

First thing you need to do after killing a hobo is ask yourself: Did this hobo deserve to be killed by me? More than likely, the answer is yes. Hobos, much like their alternative counterparts the hippies, generally contribute very little to society. Sure, they've given us some catchy tunes over the years (King of the Road, Conjunction Junction, and Adagio for Strings spring to mind), but for the most part, all they do is eat beans from a can and faintly smell of burnt cabbage. There is the rare occassion when you will discover that no, in fact, that hobo did not deserve to die at your hand. What's past is past, I say. Live for tomorrow, and chalk it up to bad timing on your part.

Next, you may wonder What should I do with this hobo's body? A good question. Again, instinct will tell you to simply roll him out of the car and let someone else deal with him. However, you are forgetting an important detail: Fresh hobo meat is surprisingly tender. The odds are extremely high that your hobo has quietly been stewing himself with 100-proof grain alchohol for quite some time. Consider it a treat for a job well done, and get that open flame going. But Sheldon, you say, isn't that considered cannibilism? Nonsense! Everyone knows that hobos turn into chickens at night. They are very much like werewolves, only more feathery. I mean, really! How do you think KFC continues to be a major player in the fast-food industry? Answer: an endless supply of hobo-chicken hybrids.

You may be tempted to steal the hobo's identity and go across country getting into adventures. This is very tempting. Especially, if you are, say, an insurance adjuster from Lawrence, Kansas. I would advise against it, though. Sure, on the outside, it looks very exciting. Everyone would love to become Gus the Crime-Solving Hobo. However, the fact remains, you probably won't solve many crimes. Hobos are not known for their crime-solving abilities, and if anything, it will make you a target for the other hobos. They tend to be a jealous bunch, and are really looking for any excuse to poke you with the shiv they made out of a hairpin and the neck from a bottle of Old Grandad. Don't tempt fate - just go on about your business.

You may ask, If I do decide to become that hobo, can I ever come back and take my life back should I grow tired of it? I will be honest with you, it's tough. That's not to say it can't be done, but it is rare that someone leaves the world of hobodom, and crosses back into society. Me personally, I've only seen it a few times: John Steinbeck, Boxcar Willie, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, but they really are the exception.

Should I notify the hobo's next of kin? A logical question. The simple answer is no, hobos have no next of kin. Most people don't know this, but hobos grow on a mystical tree in New Jersy. Hoboken, to be exact.

I hope this brief overview has helped, and please feel free to come back to from time to time. Whether you plan on killing hobos as a career or just as a hobby, these simple steps will help you get the most out of your hobo bloodlust. Now, get out there and do some damage.

The 5:06 is running right on time.