You ever wonder what it's going to be like when you're old? I gotta tell you, I'm mo' excited to get into that range of age where it's expected to fart in public. Let me just ask, when does it become alright to start wearing black socks with sandals and shorts hiked up to the neckline?
Whatever it is, at some point, old people just say, "Who Cares?" And I can tell you, I will bask in that light. Even if I have two good legs, I'm still going to buy a cane made from a bull (check, they do exist), and walk around making vulgar comments to women and children alike.
For example, sitting at a mall, I'll be wearing Blue Blockers even if there are no windows and the lighting is dark. I'm wearing plaid pants that are too short to cover my complete leg, but I bought them for $6 at Wal-Mart and they have a stretchy waist line, so I'm ready should the bowel's move peculiarly. I've got velcro shoes not because it's tough to reach my feet (even though it is), but because I've always liked the Crrrrrrrr sound it makes when you rip the two sides of the velcro apart. I'm also wearing a bright green t-shirt because it was $0.36 at CVS and I bought it when I was also picking up my 22 prescriptions to lower my cholesterol, blood pressure, and volume of crapping in my pants. Oh, and I also picked up a plaid blazer from...ok, I'll be honest, I have no idea where all these old people are finding these plaid blazers, but I guarantee I will get my hands on a few of them.
So I'm sitting there in the mall just watching the comings and goings of the day, wearing my Blue Blockers and resting my chin on my cane when a women with a baby sees me sitting there as calm as ever and says to me after her child runs over to me and speaks gibberish, "Sorry, he's just getting his teeth in and is as active as ever." My reply: "I think he's stealing mine and either he or me need a diaper change. Either way, you're in for a sticky situation, so strap on some gloves, pull out the handy wipes and get to work on both of us."
Yes, living in old age will be awesome. And for me, that will just be the beginning.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Michael the Moped Maniac
So I said to my wife the other day, "Kris, we should sell my car and buy a moped." The whole reason I said this is because we've got the car paid off, so if we sell it, we'll make a good hunk of change. Then, we can buy a moped for $800 or something and when I'm stuck at home without a car, I can still get to dinner if I wanted to go out. See, now that we're living in a brand new home, we're only two miles away from a ton of restaurants. Pocket the excess cash and then enjoy my new wheels.
When I started looking at it, it's not as good of a deal as I originally thought. I still have to get a license plate and then I would have to pay motorcycle insurance instead, which would be more. On top of that, I'm not sure I want to be a moped guy. I think in America, it's a lot like Capri pants for men - it's considered either European or weird. Or both. There's nothing wrong with Capri pants or mopeds, but you just open yourself up to a ton of jokes. Plus, I've always wanted a motorcycle, always thought they were cool. I get a moped and I'm like John Wayne on a pony...it's just not as cool.
If I get a moped, maybe I can "trick" it out. I could put some flames on it, add my own flare. I could start a moped gang that rivals that of the Harley crowd. Instead of wearing Hog shirts, we can get shirts that say something like "Piglet or Bust." Hey, I'm not bashing moped owners, I'm considering joining the crowd, but if I'm gonna catch flak for it, I'm gonna have to have an open mind to the jokes I know will inevitably come.
I think it would be awesome. I would have a two-seater to bring my gal around. The wind blowing through my (lack of) hair, I would be at one with nature and enjoying the sun on my skin. I could stop at Publix and pick up a few essentials (like Jalepeno flavored tortilla chips - you know, living on the wild side), put them in my little carrying case on the back of my moped, and be back on my way. Cruisin'. Just Cruisin'.
Yeah, that's life on the wild side. If i've got a moped carrying case, I can get rid of my fanny pack.
When I started looking at it, it's not as good of a deal as I originally thought. I still have to get a license plate and then I would have to pay motorcycle insurance instead, which would be more. On top of that, I'm not sure I want to be a moped guy. I think in America, it's a lot like Capri pants for men - it's considered either European or weird. Or both. There's nothing wrong with Capri pants or mopeds, but you just open yourself up to a ton of jokes. Plus, I've always wanted a motorcycle, always thought they were cool. I get a moped and I'm like John Wayne on a pony...it's just not as cool.
If I get a moped, maybe I can "trick" it out. I could put some flames on it, add my own flare. I could start a moped gang that rivals that of the Harley crowd. Instead of wearing Hog shirts, we can get shirts that say something like "Piglet or Bust." Hey, I'm not bashing moped owners, I'm considering joining the crowd, but if I'm gonna catch flak for it, I'm gonna have to have an open mind to the jokes I know will inevitably come.
I think it would be awesome. I would have a two-seater to bring my gal around. The wind blowing through my (lack of) hair, I would be at one with nature and enjoying the sun on my skin. I could stop at Publix and pick up a few essentials (like Jalepeno flavored tortilla chips - you know, living on the wild side), put them in my little carrying case on the back of my moped, and be back on my way. Cruisin'. Just Cruisin'.
Yeah, that's life on the wild side. If i've got a moped carrying case, I can get rid of my fanny pack.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Life from a Bass-Ackwards Perspective
Water's a little chilly today. I was up in the shallows looking for breakfast and sure enough, found a few minnows to appeal to my palette. Carl, on the other fin, has had a bit of bad luck this morning. While looking near the ol' tree which has been laying near the bottom of the pond for the past few years, he caught sight of a worm floating about. I tried to warn him not to go for it, but Carl's belly thinks more than his head and started swimming like a dolphin. Within a few seconds, Carl had a hook in his mouth and was fighting to get off. Naturally, I swam off, as there's nothing that can be done by watching the poor spectacle. I saw it happen a year ago with Stan. Stan was a fatty and would eat bird crap if it hit the water in front of him. One morning he saw a "minnow" bumping across the top of the water and just had to partake in the mini-buffet. Five minutes later, Stan's being measured and remeasured by some fat guy on the shore wearing a pink tank top that says "My Life Is Bass Ackwards." Why do people find it so amusing to wear these goofy looking shirts with some pun about the hobby they enjoy? You don't see us fish wearing shirts that say things like "Worms...Breakfast of Champions" or "I swim because I have no legs." Nope, we're just living life and enjoying it for what it's worth, not slapping a pink tank top on and looking like a darn fool.
Well, back to Stan. I have a terrible worry that he's now mounted on that fat guy's wall. So I left Carl for the fight of his life and began feeling some hunger pains myself. So, I swam up into the shallows and started looking for something to eat. Man, could I use a crawfish. It's like a fish's seafood dinner. While you enjoy a lobster tail, I love my crawfish. Crunchy, sweet, but harder to come by. I'm like a minnow in an algae store when it comes to those thngs. However, I couldn't seem to find any this particular morning, but there was a family feeding ducks so I was able to swipe some of the bread out from under those feathery fowl. From there, I went down to the bottom of the pond to see another old friend, Junky. Junky is a cat - oh, you should find this interesting. We call what you call a catfish a cat and the one on land we call a cat-furball. See, we're all fish, so we don't add the "-fish" suffix to everything, but instead add the suffix to you landlubbers. So you are guessing correctly when you think about the other species that would have their names changed. Parrot-bird, dog-crotchsmeller, the list goes on and on. Anyway, I went to discuss Carls terrible predicament with Junky and found Junky speaking with none other than Carl himself! Yep, he got away, lucky basshole...haha, get it? See, us fish can have a sense of humor.
Oh, there's one thing that I take particular distaste in. Why must you call us large mouth bass? I'm a man, so I'm not going to cry about it, but I would love to whack you people upside the head now and again. Just because we have large mouths doesn't give you the right to be throwing it in our face all the time. If you see another person walking around who had big ears or big feet, do you call them Big Foot Larry or Big Ears Michael? Nope, you just call them Larry or Michael. Why can't you just call us Bass? I must say that it is rather rude. Besides, from my perspective, I don't have a big mouth, but it's people who have small mouths. Would you like it if I call you Small-Mouth? I sincerely doubt it.
Well, I'm going to go float in the shallows for a while and enjoy the warmer waters. The day has turned for the better and I expect everything to go well for the remainder. You all take care now, and remember, when you go fishing, you're catching somebody's mother, man! If you really must go out and put a hook in one of our mouths, catch and release. You wouldn't enjoy it if we stuffed you and put you at the bottom of the lake.
Well, back to Stan. I have a terrible worry that he's now mounted on that fat guy's wall. So I left Carl for the fight of his life and began feeling some hunger pains myself. So, I swam up into the shallows and started looking for something to eat. Man, could I use a crawfish. It's like a fish's seafood dinner. While you enjoy a lobster tail, I love my crawfish. Crunchy, sweet, but harder to come by. I'm like a minnow in an algae store when it comes to those thngs. However, I couldn't seem to find any this particular morning, but there was a family feeding ducks so I was able to swipe some of the bread out from under those feathery fowl. From there, I went down to the bottom of the pond to see another old friend, Junky. Junky is a cat - oh, you should find this interesting. We call what you call a catfish a cat and the one on land we call a cat-furball. See, we're all fish, so we don't add the "-fish" suffix to everything, but instead add the suffix to you landlubbers. So you are guessing correctly when you think about the other species that would have their names changed. Parrot-bird, dog-crotchsmeller, the list goes on and on. Anyway, I went to discuss Carls terrible predicament with Junky and found Junky speaking with none other than Carl himself! Yep, he got away, lucky basshole...haha, get it? See, us fish can have a sense of humor.
Oh, there's one thing that I take particular distaste in. Why must you call us large mouth bass? I'm a man, so I'm not going to cry about it, but I would love to whack you people upside the head now and again. Just because we have large mouths doesn't give you the right to be throwing it in our face all the time. If you see another person walking around who had big ears or big feet, do you call them Big Foot Larry or Big Ears Michael? Nope, you just call them Larry or Michael. Why can't you just call us Bass? I must say that it is rather rude. Besides, from my perspective, I don't have a big mouth, but it's people who have small mouths. Would you like it if I call you Small-Mouth? I sincerely doubt it.
Well, I'm going to go float in the shallows for a while and enjoy the warmer waters. The day has turned for the better and I expect everything to go well for the remainder. You all take care now, and remember, when you go fishing, you're catching somebody's mother, man! If you really must go out and put a hook in one of our mouths, catch and release. You wouldn't enjoy it if we stuffed you and put you at the bottom of the lake.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
If I had a billion dollars...
With all of the car dealerships going bunk and what seems like tons of businesses and my favorite restaurants going out like the tide, I figured I'd try and figure out what to do with all of the excesses.
First, I'd take all the money the government is giving to the banks who won't loan anyone anything anymore and from the car companies who are closing up anyway and start paying people to farm and teach. Our country has all this land and we import food from other places - does that even make sense? Meanwhile, bank and auto CEOs are making millions for flushing their companies down the toilet. So in my universe, instead I've got Farmer John making six digits a year on a government subsidized salary producing ears of corn out the wazoo and sending it to ex-steel machinist Tony in Detroit who's found a new way of utilizing corn meal to make socks. Farmer John is also sending his ears to China to make cereal so it's re-shipped to the US...wait, scratch that, he's sending it to ex-car dealership owner Leroy who now owns a corn syrup manufacturing plant thanks to Farmer John's low-cost corn. Leroy pumps out thousands of pounds of corn syrup which helps ex-branch manager Alice produce the most fantastic new soda on the planet, Fizzie Wizzie, which she exports to India. Our fellow Gupta in India starts stopping at the seven-eleven (or is it eight-twelve in India?) and picks up his new favorite soda, Fizzie Wizzie, every day on his commute home from his job in a plant - a subsidiary owned now by Tony the sock manufacturer.
Little does Gupta know that his money will slowly trickle back into the US through that Eight-Twelve and back to Alice so she can pay Leroy for the corn syrup. Leroy then pays Farmer John for the corn and Farmer John is wearing a great pair of corn socks, warm in his living room listening to a book on tape written by a student of one of the teachers who's salary was also subsidized by the government instead of bailing out a crappy car company who produces a ton of low mpg automobiles that look exactly the same. Fizzie Wizzie goes public, a consortium of 80 year old ladies in Florida invest in the company, make millions and slowly start dying of old age. They leave their millions to charity and the school system. The school system invests the money and creates a trust which funds three teachers salary every year simply on the interest of the account while the charity invests half in a local corn growing agreement with Farmer John to send food over to hungry kids in Africa and the other half in buying a new distribution center which was once a car dealership.
Sounds pretty darn good to me. So where are those billions going again?
First, I'd take all the money the government is giving to the banks who won't loan anyone anything anymore and from the car companies who are closing up anyway and start paying people to farm and teach. Our country has all this land and we import food from other places - does that even make sense? Meanwhile, bank and auto CEOs are making millions for flushing their companies down the toilet. So in my universe, instead I've got Farmer John making six digits a year on a government subsidized salary producing ears of corn out the wazoo and sending it to ex-steel machinist Tony in Detroit who's found a new way of utilizing corn meal to make socks. Farmer John is also sending his ears to China to make cereal so it's re-shipped to the US...wait, scratch that, he's sending it to ex-car dealership owner Leroy who now owns a corn syrup manufacturing plant thanks to Farmer John's low-cost corn. Leroy pumps out thousands of pounds of corn syrup which helps ex-branch manager Alice produce the most fantastic new soda on the planet, Fizzie Wizzie, which she exports to India. Our fellow Gupta in India starts stopping at the seven-eleven (or is it eight-twelve in India?) and picks up his new favorite soda, Fizzie Wizzie, every day on his commute home from his job in a plant - a subsidiary owned now by Tony the sock manufacturer.
Little does Gupta know that his money will slowly trickle back into the US through that Eight-Twelve and back to Alice so she can pay Leroy for the corn syrup. Leroy then pays Farmer John for the corn and Farmer John is wearing a great pair of corn socks, warm in his living room listening to a book on tape written by a student of one of the teachers who's salary was also subsidized by the government instead of bailing out a crappy car company who produces a ton of low mpg automobiles that look exactly the same. Fizzie Wizzie goes public, a consortium of 80 year old ladies in Florida invest in the company, make millions and slowly start dying of old age. They leave their millions to charity and the school system. The school system invests the money and creates a trust which funds three teachers salary every year simply on the interest of the account while the charity invests half in a local corn growing agreement with Farmer John to send food over to hungry kids in Africa and the other half in buying a new distribution center which was once a car dealership.
Sounds pretty darn good to me. So where are those billions going again?
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