Marmaduke is an Asshole...

...and Joe Mathlete is my new hero. Now if only somebody would put that smug bitch Mary Worth in her place.

In a story only tangenticaliciously related, I used to work with a woman who thought Marmaduke was the funniest comic strip EVER! Every day at lunch, she would just guffaw with laughter and say things like, "This is SO true! The guy that draws this must own a Great Dane, because they are really like that!" Of course, she never actually owned a Great Dane, which explains how she could mistake a cartoon about a dog driving a car for some kind of documentary...

Blog Tag - You're It!!!

My friend Silver blog tagged me the other day. For those of you who are unaware of this little blogosphere craze, basically it means I'm supposed to tell you five little known facts about myself, and then tag five more people. I don't know how long this little game has been going on, but Silver insists that it is an ancient SEO* tradition dating back to sometime in the early 21st century.

So anyway, with only minimal further ado, here are five mind-bending, life-altering Irb facts of which you may or may not have been previously unaware. And unlike the facts I share with my friends on a daily basis, these are mostly true!

1. When I was a sophomore in college, I got busted (along with several hundred other students) for using stolen long distance codes from U.S. Sprint. I avoided prosecution by signing a confession, paying my charges, and listing everybody else I'd given the code to.

2. I love Spongebob Squarepants and Fairly Oddparents. I tell everybody that I got hooked while watching them with my nephew, but the truth is I was watching them at least a year before he started.

3. I voted for George Bush in 1988.

4. For some reason, I find it dead sexy when a woman can pick up things with her toes.

5. You know the song "Rapture" by Blondie? I can't stand that song. I don't remember ever actually listening to the song all the way through. And yet, for some reason, I know all the lyrics and can rap it from beginning to end. I think my brain does stuff like that because it hates me.

Okay, and now, the five tagees!

Give Me the Booger
Smart Like Owls
Deep Thoughts with Kimmy
Farrago
The Schprock Report

Okay, kids! You're it!

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*Scab Eating Orthodontist
*Search Engine Optimization

Poetry for Uncultured Assholes

I've never been a huge fan of poetry, and I still feel that poems that don't rhyme reflect a monumental lack of effort on the part of the author. But still, every once in a while, the lovely muse Calliope takes a dump on my head and I feel inspired to pen an epic verse. So I've taken time away from writing my usual slash furry Harry Potter fan fiction to write the following poem. I call it "Hearsay".

Ned
said
Ted
shot Fred
in the head
and Fred
bled
red
in the bed
'til he was dead!

I'm particularly proud of the unique A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A rhyming scheme, as well as the 1-1-1-2-3-2-1-1-3-4 meter (known amongst us poets as iambic trimono-di-tri-di-dimono-tri-quadrameter).

Thank you for your indulgence. I now return to my previous tale. As you might recall, Snape had just been hit by a spell that had turned him into a gigantic, horny ocelot dressed in a latex nurse's uniform...

Catch Up 22

Here's the last five months, in a nutshell...

Working 9 to 5 9:15ish to around 6:00...

I am an SEO Copywriter. It's the first job I've ever had that includes an acronym, unless you count my stint as the self-appointed MFIC* at Brinker. SEO, in case you were idly wondering, means Search Engine Optimization. Basically, I write articles for a major yellow pages website**, incorporating as many key search terms into the text as I can so they'll rank high on Google, Yahoo, and the other major search engines.

When last I left you guys, I was slogging away at the Michaels Help Desk, willingly participating in their nefarious Cradle-to-the-Grave Minimum Wage Plan™ in the hopes that something better would come along. They had big plans for creating a tech writer/trainer position, and they felt I'd be perfect for the role. Unfortunately, due to some rather hamfisted budgetary constraints and the fact that Michaels upper management regards the Help Desk with the same degree of respect one might have for a Nazi pedophile who voted for Nader, they wouldn't be able to create the job until sometime in 2007... MAYBE. This meant I would have to bide my time on the Help Desk. Which, in case I haven't mentioned in the last four sentences or so, paid HORRIBLY!

So there I was, one Sunday last November, working my way through the calls in the queue and wondering if I hadn't made some kind of horrible life choice. One of the guys who was supposed to be working with me hadn't shown up, and I was slammed with calls from angry managers, clueless cashiers, and one octogenarian Frame Shop manager who kept insisting that her computer wasn't working was because it hated her. All in all, it was a real Calgon moment.

And then, my friend Silver called me, whom you may recall from our homoerotic Valentine's Day dinner a few years ago. Silver is the head of the Technology & Development Department the media company that owns the major yellow pages website**. He asked me if I'd be willing to meet him for dinner and listen to his offer for a tech writing contract position there. I told him that, at that point, I'd be ecstatic to listen to anything he had to say. And even though there were still many calls in the queue, I abandoned my co-workers at Michaels to go meet Silver. He pitched. I accepted, and gave my two-weeks notice the following day.

So now, I'm writing articles. It's a sweet gig. I'm working with my friends, I get medical benefits and other cool, grown-up stuff like that, and I'm making TWICE what I was making at Michaels.

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*Mother Fucker In Charge

** I was recently informed that mentioning the actual name of the company on this potty-mouthed blog might give the folks in Legal an aneurysm, so now I'm going through and changing all the references to something vague. But in case anyone is wondering, my overuse of the word "retard" is a personal choice and in no way reflects the corporate policy of said yellow pages website.


Fly Me to the Moon...

Stephanie loves me, and I love her, and the world is just a big, schmoopy muffin basket full of rainbows and unicorns and puppy dog kisses! I could go on, but I'm sure you guys are far too busy vomiting to read the rest.

Ever since I went to Vegas the first time and saw the fountains at the Bellagio, I've had this fantasy of smooching a girl in front of the fountains while a Frank Sinatra song plays in the background. So when Stephanie and I went to Vegas last April with my friends Sean and Laura, she was game to make my dreams come true. We went to the Bellagio and managed to get a primo seat on the balcony right by the fountains, and we waited. They played some Celine Dion, Elton John, and a lot of opera songs and show tunes, but no Frank. Steph was a good sport and made out with me while the Pink Panther Theme was playing, but it just wasn't the same.

So we left the Bellagio to head over to the Treasure Island Casino to watch the skanky Sirens of TI show, and just as we were passing in front of the fountains, they sprang to life and Frank started singing Fly Me to the Moon! I was just dumbstruck, so Stephanie grabbed me and kissed me until the song was over.

Sigh...

Okay, Let's Try This Again...

What's it been? Five months? So much has happened. Bush pretended to read a bunch of books and finally took responsibility for the mistakes that were made in Iraq, apparently by other people. Anna Nicole Smith, Saddam Hussein, and Gerald Ford died, creating the weirdest trifecta since Lady Di, Mother Teresa, and whoever was hunting with Dick Cheney that weekend. Mel Gibson and Michael "Kramer" Richards gained a huge Klan following. Scooter Libby's on trial, but Karl Rove wasn't called to testify because apparently his hand will burst into flames if it actually touches a bible. The entire city of Boston was shut down because of some Lite-Brites. And a diaper-wearing astronaut chick tried to kill another astronaut chick over a love triangle involving a space-shuttle commander, in a news story that could only be made more awesome if it involved monkeys and Ninja Jesus!

So many missed opportunities...

Anyway, I'm back. I've run out of clever comeback metaphors, so I'm just going to reuse the zombie graphic from my last triumphant return.

Missed you bitches!!!!