Twist And Shout: The M. Night Shyamalan Story

So M. Night Shamaylan jerked off onto a movie projector the other night, and now movie theaters are letting you see it for only $9.50 per show. ($6.75 matinee.) I have no idea what the movie is about, and I don't really care.

See, as a movie geek, I don't care about what came out last week, and I certainly don't care about what's out now. I only care about movies currently in production that are scheduled to come out within the next two years. (For the record, Iron Man 2 and the Surf Ninjas remake are going to rock. my. freaking. socks.)

So screw whatever M. Night Shyamalon movie that just came out. I'm way more interested in the next M. Night Shamalyan movie. Luckily, spoilers have already leaked onto most major movie rumor sites. I'll give you a rundown:

Twist And Shout: The M. Night Shyamalan Story

That's right, M. Night Shaymlyan has written and is set to direct his very own biopic. I won't joke about how self-centered that sounds, because the early buzz on this film is incredible, and I mean incredible. I really should have bolded "incredible" the first time, it really would have saved words and made this paragraph a lot leaner. I'm sorry.

The film will depict many stories from Shalmyon's childhood, and show how events in his life influenced his career as a filmmaker. Really riveting stuff! Here are a couple of scenes:

Birth

[Int. Hospital - Mrs. Shyamalan lays on her deathbed.]

Mr. Shyamalan: Doctor, please level with me. My wife has been sick for nine months, now--first throwing up every morning, and now barely able to move. Is she going to be ok?

Doctor: I will level with you. We don't know what is making your wife so sick. We think her massive weight gain has something to do with it. Obesity can put strain on the heart and weaken the immune system. We can only guess that she has contracted some kind of virus.

[Mrs. Shyamalan screams in agony.]

Mr. Shyamalan: I've never heard her scream like this. Is she dying?

Doctor: Yes we believe she is dying. I will leave you alone while you make peace with her in her dying moments.

[Doctor leaves.]

Mr. Shyamalan: Wife, I know I have never been the best husband, but I have always loved y--

[Mrs. Shyamalan stops screaming. Instead, the sound of a baby is heard. Mr. Shyamalan looks down and finds a beautiful baby child.]

Mr. Shyamalan: My goodness! It's a baby!

Mrs. Shyamalan: So it turns out I was pregnant the entire time!

Mr. Shyamalan: This "illness" was nothing more than the miracle of life! What an incredible twist!

Mrs. Shyamalan: This baby is so beautiful. What shall we name him.

Mr. Shyamalan: We will name him "M".

[Mr. Shyamalan walks out of the room to get the doctor.]

Mr. Shyamalan: Doctor, we have incredible news! She is going to be ok! She just gave birth to a baby boy!

[Mr. Shyamalan is greeted by a completely empty hallway. No doctors, no nurses, nothing. He continues walking through the building, and eventually comes to an old security guard on patrol.]

Mr. Shyamalan: Where did the doctor go?

Security Guard: Doctor? Son, I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. This hospital building has been abandoned. There has not been a doctor in here for over 30 years.

Mr. Shyamalan: What the... That can't be! Then that means...the doctor I was talking to...it was...

[Pause.]

Mr. Shyamalan: ...a ghost?

Security Guard: What an incredible twist!

[The End.]

School

[Int. School - class is being dismissed, and M. Night is the last student to walk out of the room. He pauses at the doorway, and turns back to speak with his teacher.]

M. Night: Listen, Teacher. I gave you the best report of my life, and you gave it a D minus. Why would you do that?

Teacher: M, I am sorry, but your report was nonsense. I asked for a paper about religion and faith and you gave me this gobbledegook about aliens! I'm sorry, but it was pure garbage.

M. Night: It wasn't about aliens, you fool, it was about faith!

Teacher: ...um. No. Actually, it was about aliens.

M. Night: It was about religion!

Teacher: I am pretty sure it was about aliens.

[Teacher picks up M. Night's report and thumbs through it.]

Teacher: Yep, aliens. See? It even says "aliens" right here. Even the title says "Aliens, Aliens, Aliens: This Report Is About Aliens".

M. Night: Listen, you fool. You obviously didn't pay enough attention to the nuances of my report. The whole "aliens" is peripheral to my real point about faith. I demand that you re-read it and give me a better grade!

[M. Night angrily slams his report down on Teacher's desk. This causes a nearby cup of water to spill, soaking his report.]

M. Night: Noooooo! My report about aliens, I mean religion! It's ruined!

Teacher: Don't worry, M, it's only water. I'm sure it will dry out.

M. Night: No!

[M. Night starts to cry.]

M. Night: See? The ink is running! It's ruined! Water destroyed my report!

Teacher: Well that's stupid. You should have bought some better paper, or some less runny ink or something. You'd think if you went through all of this trouble, you'd make a report that wouldn't be destroyed by something as simple as water.

M. Night: Shut up. Just shut up.

Teacher: Roooooaaaaaar!!

M. Night: What the--!?? Teacher!? You're a bear!!!

Teacher: I have been a bear all along! Roaaarrr!

M. Night: This is quite a twist! But your criticisms will not keep me down! I will someday be a writer yet!

[The End.]

And that's about all I have. There's another scene where his parents lie to him and tell him it's 1987 when really it's 1988, but that one is pretty lame.

I can't wait for it to come out! Except by the time it finally comes out, I will be tired of it and I'll want the next movie.

Bring on Harry Potter 7!

Girls In Groups

Sometimes I get to thinking about girls, and I say to myself “boy…girls are stupid”. And then my inner conscience pipes up and tells me to stop thinking that way.

After all, I have a wife who is a girl, and many friends that are girls and even a mom that was a girl. They aren’t stupid. So when I think of girls in general, why do my thoughts initially drift towards how stupid they are and how much they suck?

After some soul searching, and watching more than my share of Oprah, I think I’ve finally found an answer. Girls are only stupid in groups. One-on-one interaction with girls is great! But add another girl to the mix and you’ll notice that the IQ automatically halves. Keep adding more girls, and the IQ drops even more.

Examples:

1 Girl: “Hmmm. I think I will get a PhD in Optical Physics today. I don’t have anything else planned, so why not.”

2 Girls: “Let’s go make unwise purchases together and then make catty remarks about our friends!”

3 Girls: “Alright, time to go to a club and act like sluts together! Oh, and let's be really really loud for no reason! And laugh at everything even though it’s not funny! Yes!”

Large Group Of Girls: “AHHHHH! WE’RE SEEING BO BICE IN CONCERT!!!! AHHHHHHH!!! HE LOOKED IN MY DIRECTION! I'M GOING TO SCREAM LIKE A MENTAL PATIENT AND MAYBE EVEN FAINT!!!!! THIS GUY IS ON TV AND NOW I AM SEEING HIM IN REAL LIFE FROM 200 YARDS AWAY OH MY GOSH THIS IS SO AMAZING!!!!!”

See?

In the interest of fairness, I continued to ponder this and I realized that men are stupid too. But men seem to be smarter in groups. Look at Nasa: mostly male, mostly brilliant. The Constitutional Convention? They weren't even trying, there! They were just a bunch of guys, hanging out, and all of a sudden they’re writing the Constitution!

Men are the opposite of women. Men are smart enough in groups, but get dumber the less of us there are.

Examples:

Large Group Of Guys: “Let's write the constitution!”

3 Guys: “Who’s up for a Dorito Eating Contest?”

2 Guys: “Wanna go get drunk and pee on the outside of a portojohn, and then tip the portojohn over and then pee on it again?”

1 Guy: ”Sure honey, I'll get married. What's that? You want me to wallpaper the entire house even though you’ve already made me paint it twice this month? And even though it’s a rental and we’ll be moving out in a week anyway? Sure honey, I guess I can do that...”

One guy alone can barely function. Sometimes I think about what life would be like if I lived alone. It’s not a pretty picture. The other day I wanted to go out, but I couldn’t find my one good pair of pants. These pants had my keys and my wallet and stuff in them. Eventually I asked Molly, and she found them on the floor, right where I had been looking all morning. If she hadn’t been there, I honestly think I could have stayed in the house indefinitely. I would have given up the search for pants and just stayed indoors all day until I ran out of food and starved to death.

Authorities would be baffled as to what happened. “The autopsy shows that he starved to death, but we found some pants right next to his dead body and they even had his keys and wallet in them and everything. We’re not sure why he didn’t just put them on and go out and buy more food.” Look, I couldn’t find my freaking pants, ok authorities? The pants are practically the same color as the carpet, so sue me! Stop making fun of me when I’m already dead!

After telling Molly about my “girls in groups are stupid/men alone are stupid” blog idea, she pointed out that men are stupid in large groups too(sporting events, videogame tournaments) so my observation breaks down if you think about it for more than five seconds.

Still, you can't disagree that history's greatest tragedies were all caused by groups of women conspiring together. The View, PETA, the death of violent Saturday morning cartoons, Volkswagens. All caused by groups of females. Think about it.

(I just recently learned that I’m going to be having a baby girl in September. I don’t want her growing up with any negative vibes coming from her father, so this will be the last bit of girl-bashing humor that I will ever write.)

Dear McDonalds, Part One

Whenever I eat a can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli, I read the label and see the quality guarantee where it urges me to mail in the "unused portion" for a full refund if I find the product to be less-than-satisfactory.

As much as I like the idea of stuffing pasta filled with meat-paste into a plain white envelope and mailing it to some unsuspecting mailboy who makes minimum wage for ConAgra Foods, I like even better the idea of a company giving me free money just for complaining about their shoddy product.

Chef Boyardee doesn't have deep enough pockets for my liking, so I've decided on another target: McDonalds. I have written a letter of complaint with a demand of free money. Hopefully they will be customer-oriented enough to write back to me and give me something for me trouble.

Here is the letter that I have mailed to them:

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^{Dear McDonalds,}

^{It was 12:02 P.M. on Wednesday April 23rd, 2008 when I walked into the McDonalds across from Food Lion on Route 2 in Bowling Green, Virginia. I walked out less than an hour later, having gone through the worst customer service experience in my entire 46 years of living.}

A little background: I had taken the day off of work so that I could devote the day to getting some spring cleaning done. My wife and children spent much of the morning pulling weeds out of our garden, and as such were extremely hungry.

Now I may not be a rich man, but I do provide for my family, and we make do with what we have. When my oldest son told me that he was hungry for a meal at a real restaurant, I told him that we would take him to McDonalds for a Double Cheeseburger from the Dollar Menu.

Considering the limitations of my income, I knew that I would need to use coupons to help pay for our meal. I went upstairs and grabbed all of the coupons that I had collected over the past two years from my top-right dresser drawer.

I had collected many coupons which I had intended to use. Some coupons were "buy one get one free", while others were of the "free sandwich with the purchase of fries and Coke" variety. No matter what discount they offered, the fine print on each said the same thing: "Cash Value 1/20 of a cent."

Let me repeat this for you, as reading comprehension is clearly a struggle for most of your employees: "Cash Value 1/20 of a cent."

When the cashier(his name was Jose, if I can trust his nametag) rang up our meal at $4.34, I gladly paid him with three one-dollar bills, one quarter, nine pennies, and two thousand coupons. The cash value of these coupons, again, would be one-twentieth of a cent, and therefore my coupons should equal up to be a dollar if my arithmetic is correct.

Jose looked at my stacks of coupons with great confusion, as if he were a small child watching two men engaging in intercourse for the first time. He picked up the top coupon and told me that the coupon says "only one coupon per person, per visit". I explained to him that this disclaimer is only for redemption of the discount listed on the coupon. The cash value of the coupon itself should not be affected by this disclaimer.

He brought out the Assistant Manager(Irene) who was followed by who I presume was the real Manager(I believe her name was Bonnie). Both members of the supervisorial staff smelled as if they had been rolling around in Filet-o-Fish patties for the better half of their shift, but that is neither here nor there.

I was quite irritated when Bonnie pointed out that most of the coupons had expired. Again, it is true that the discounts listed on the coupons had expired, but the cash value itself should still not be affected. This is legal tender and as such should never expire.

I argued with her for nearly an hour. I was frustrated and my children were on the brink of tears. The stubborn-headedness of your employees caused the line to slow down considerably, causing many patrons after me to express their frustration.

One family seated nearby actually offered to pay for our meal. I angrily told them where to go: hell. While I am not happy that I became angry with a family who was only trying to help, you must understand my frustration with being treated like a charity case when I did indeed have the proper funds to pay for our meal.

I did not take my family to McDonalds to be felt sorry for, and I did not take them to McDonalds to be treated like garbage by your ugly pudding-faced employees. Would Ray Krock approve of such treatment?

We may not be rich enough to eat at your restaurant every day, or even on a monthly basis, but we still deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Going to McDonalds used to be a real treat for us. Now we do not wish to ever eat at your restaurant again.

I demand a written apology, as well as assurance that my coupons will be accepted in the future if you ever want my business again.

In addition, I also insist that you give me $25.00 in Gift Certificates. Not the reloadable Arch Cards, because I never know if I can trust them--I like the tactile nature of actual gift certificates. This is a small price to pay considering the pain and regret that your business has put me and my children through.

I eagerly await your reply. Please do not keep me waiting.

Sincerely,

Jeff

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I will let this blog know as soon as McDonalds responds to my inquiry.

Do These People Still Exist?

Here is a list of people/characters who may or may not still exist. They may or may not have ever existed. I'm just not sure.

National Lampoon Fan

"Dude, did you hear they're making a sequel to Van Wilder? It's going to ROCK. It's going to be straight-to-video. I can't wait. I actually like the straight-to-video movies better than the theatrical releases. The direct-to-video medium really gives the NL writers a chance to be truly creative, rather than having to pander to the mass-audience theater-goers. Hey, wanna watch Dorm Daze with me again?"

Guy Who Insists Urban Legend Is True Despite Being Shown Evidence To The Contrary

"No, I'm telling you--this really happened! The student totally gave a wise-ass answer on his mid-term and ended up getting the only A in the class. I know the guy this happened to. I can even call him if you want.

…….look, I'm not denying that it's a well-known story. But it had to have come from somewhere, right? I know the person that this actually originally happened to."

Semi-Bigot With No Follow Through

"Hey, how come they have a black history month but not a white history month? Am I right? I should petition to have a white history class taught in high school. Wouldn't that be funny? I think we should have a straight pride parade. I'm serious, I think I'm going to organize a parade for straight white people.

[Years pass; nothing is ever done.]

…hey, don't you guys think we should have a white history month? I think I might just start one myself. How come we don't have any 'great moments in white history' PSAs? Wouldn't that be something?"

Comedian Who Refuses To Apologize For Being Offensive Who Never Actually Gets Around To Being Offensive

"Oh and by the way, for you 'family values' folks—if you are 'offended' just because of 'scary bad words' that you hear during my jokes, let me tell you something: There are REAL people who die EVERY DAY.

[Audience applauds, as they are young hip people who are never offended by anything anyway.]

So before you start getting your PANTIES IN A KNOT over SIMPLE WORDS, why don't you get off your BUTT and DO SOMETHING about the REAL attrocities in this world like murder and rape instead of COMPLAINING to your Soccer Mom Friends about 'the bad bad man who says bad words on the stage'?

[One hour later; exactly zero jokes are told.]

I'm exercising my FIRST AMENDMENT right, and if you are offended then maybe you should just LEAVE and go watch a Disney movie. I'm not here to give you some Full House BS feel-good lesson about pink roses and daffodils. I'm here to TELL IT LIKE IT IS and if you don't like it, then go the hell home you lousy excuse for a human being!

[Audience continues to applaud, evidently thrilled over 'sticking it' to some uptight easily-offended guy in the audience who doesn't even exist.]

Evil Genius Comic

It's been a while since I've drawn any comic strips. I will hopefully have some new Mr. Ball material in the next couple of weeks.

I drew the evil geniuses without any reference material to copy from. The first person to correctly identify them all will win a prize.

Optimism

I was rummaging through my freezer other day for some white-trash food. All I could find were some fish sticks and a Totino's pizza. You can't get much more white-trash than that, so no complaints here. I just wanted something quick. I checked the instructions for the fish sticks to see how long I had to microwave them for, and I noticed that the box said "we do not recommend microwave cooking".

What a bunch of pessimists. Sure, cooking fish sticks in a microwave would probably make for some pretty crappy fish sticks, but so what? Lots of stuff that comes out of a microwave is crappy. Join the party, bro. It's not like your fish sticks are all that great coming out of the oven. Stop acting like you're so freaking fancy, fish sticks. It's not like you're a fancy rising-crust pizza. You're just fish sticks. I should be able to microwave you. Just tell me how long I need to cook you.

The Totino pizza didn't have any microwave directions either, as far as I could tell, although it didn't specifically tell me not to microwave it. I noticed that the directions recommended putting the pizza directly on the oven rack for a crispy crust, rather than using foil or a cookie sheet. I was impressed by Totino's optimism. The "directly on the oven rack" method has never worked for anybody, as far as I'm aware. The pizza is always impossible to remove, and you always end up with pizza goo falling to the bottom of the oven and making the next 50 meals smell like burnt Totino's pizza. Despite the 100% failure rate, frozen pizza companies still have a sunny outlook and still recommend putting the pizza directly on the oven rack. Now that's optimism.

I ended up leaving, since we were so low on white-trash food. I went to the store and as I was stopped at an intersection I saw a man holding a sign. He was as excited as a sports mascot--cars would honk at him and he'd respond by dancing, waving, and triumphantly pumping his fist into the air before pointing at his sign.

The sign said "going out of business!" and it was for a nearby furniture store. Exclamation points were everywhere. I continued driving and wound up seeing two other folks happily holding "going out of business" signs at other intersections. Once again, I couldn't help but be amazed by the optimism. Would I be so happy in the same circumstance?

Look at any other business that goes under. Ever been to a restaurant that's going out of business? Not a pretty sight. A down-town antique store during it's last day of operation? Totally depressing. Try walking into a K-Mart that's about to close down for good. The employees there sure aren't celebrating. They look damn near suicidal.

I've been depressed lately. (I've been told that "depression" is actually a real illness that affects millions of people and that I shouldn't trivialize it by being all dramatic and pretending like I have it--but I don't know any one-word descriptions for "feeling like crap but not technically diagnosed with clinical depression".) It's too bad, because I'm coming off of a three or four year streak where things were going fairly well. I feel like a cartoon character that's been walking on air. A few months ago I finally looked down, and now I'm falling.

I didn't mean to get personal. Basically my whole point is that I need to look at the furniture store owners and learn from them. For a lot of people, having your business fail would be a life-destroying catastrophe. But not for the furniture store owners. They don't get down on themselves. They don't blame other people. They get their kids and their friends and they say "here, hold this sign and wave it at cars for me. I'm going to go get some balloons to tie to the entrance doors. We're gonna have a freaking party to celebrate going out of business".

So that's where I'd like to be. So what if my life is falling apart? Let's party!

If These Walls Could Talk

Hey look, it's a post! And a video, too! I haven't done either in quite a while.

It's been a rough month or so. I had to move, and I hate moving. And then when I made this video blog, my camera died on me. (I ended up using my cell phone's camera as a backup, which explains why some of the footage is even crappier than normal.)

Shooting this video was very emotional for me. It was my way of saying goodbye to my house. Try not to shed too many tears.

What If ________ Had Lived? The Presidential Edition

[Note: We had another blog competition this month. The topic is "What If X Had Lived". Here is Jeff's entry. Other entries will be posted soon.]

What If Ronald Reagan Had Lived?

After a brief struggle with Alzheimer's, Ronald Reagan came to on June 11th, 2004 and thanked the doctors for their hard work in finding a cure.

President Reagan then quietly lived for three more years in his Nursing Home in Bel-Air, before dying again of old age. [Sorry, you only get one "what if" per president, so I can't tell you what would have happened if he had survived a second time.]

What If Lincoln Had Lived?

After successfully reuniting the country after a period of tense civil war, President Lincoln then pursued his next goal--becoming the nation's fattest president ever. He practically lived in Ford's Theater eating nothing but buttered popcorn and Twizzlers.

John Wilkes Booth decided he'd save himself the trouble and just let Lincoln die of heart disease on his own.

Lincoln wound up edging out Taft by about 30 pounds. He also stopped showering for some reason.

What If Kennedy Had Lived?

The sound of gunfire was still echoing through the city of Dallas, Texas. A stunned crowd watched helplessly as President John F. Kennedy fell to the ground. Who would do such a thing? Why?

The Secret Service Agents knew they couldn't waste any time. They immediately pulled out their 60's-era pistols. "Everybody move!" Agent Johnson yelled to the still-gasping crowd. The crowd slowly parted as he ran towards the grassy knoll.

Lee Harvey Oswald began making his way through the crowd, darting left and right, weaving between various people hoping to lose the agents on his trail. As soon as he felt like he had appropriately blended into the crowd, he stood still and tried to act shocked and concerned like everybody else.

"Excuse me, Mr. Oswald?" asked a voice coming from behind him. Oswald turned around and was immediately pistol-whipped across the face.

"Good work, Johnson." said one agent as he pulled out his handcuffs. "You're going away for a long time, Oswald...the fact that you would kill a president all on your own with no help from anybody else is truly despicable."

"...but...but..." said Lee Harvey Oswald.

"Shut up, you liar!" spat back the Secret Service Agent.

"Wait...I think he might be trying to tell us something!" explained Agent Johnson.

Johnson then noticed an unusual reflection in Lee Harvey Oswalds' eyes. Johnson pulled out his gun, spun around in slow motion and fired his gun just in the nick of time.

"Why did you shoot that innocent hot dog vendor?" asked the other agent.

"Pull off his mask and you'll see why." said Johnson.

The hot dog vendor's mask was pulled off to reveal a filthy Italian man.

"A mafia hitman!"

"I had a feeling that Oswald wasn't working alone. And look over there--at the top of that building."

Johnson pointed out a KGB agent casually disassembling his sniper rifle and putting it back into its case.

"Unbelievable!" said the agent.

Johnson then squinted and fired his pistol towards the top of the nearby building, hitting the KGB agent causing him to stumble dramatically and fall off the ledge.

"There's one more perpetrator, here." said Johnson. Johnson jumped into the nearby crowd and tackled one man in a white sparkley jumpsuit with ridiculous sunglasses.

"Elvis Presley." stated Johnson.

"Elvis, why would you do this? I'm your biggest fan!" asked another agent.

"Ohhhh, I thought you knew I was a quarter Cuban!" stated the King of Rock and Roll. "JFK's behavior during that Cuban missile crisis had me aaaaall shook up!" Elvis quivered his mushy bottom lip and then shook his pelvis while giving his guitar a quick strum, causing several females to faint.

JFK stood up, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

"Er, uh, what er, uh...happened?" he asked with a charming Boston accent.

"He's ok!" exclaimed one secret service agent. The crowd cheered.

"You're free to go this time, Presley." stated Johnson.

JFK's survival was quite a miracle. Doctors held him in the hospital for two days to study his behavior. Despite having six bullets from four different guns entering and exiting his brain, he had defied medical science by surviving. He had regained full mobility and his behavior seemed unchanged. The scientists then burned him at the stake for presumably being a sorcerer.

What If George W. Bush Had Lived?

If George W. Bush had survived choking on a pretzel on that fateful night on January 14th, 2002, then I never would have become obsessed over the death of this nation's greatest leader, and I never would have been motivated to secretly invent the world's first time machine so that I could go back in time and save him.

As a result of me never having invented time travel, my time machine never falls into the wrong hands and thus Lincoln, Kennedy, and Garfield are never killed by time travelling bandits.

Because James A. Garfield is never killed by Time Bandits, he fulfils his destiny of serving honorably for 8 years as president of the United States, and becomes a role model of sorts for a young George W. Bush(who eagerly reads about his exploits in history books and biographies like "Garfield At Large" and "Garfield Chews The Fat").

So inspired was Bush that he devoted his entire life to becoming the same kind of person as Garfield. He earned straight A's in college, became a successful businessman, and became known as the greatest president of all time when he based his economic policy on "A Garfield Treasury"(James A. Garfield's famous book detailing his revolutionary economic theories), effectively making 90% of the country's population millionaires.

Due to Bush being such a great president, and due to the fact that he never died, I never had to go back in time to save his life, and thus Time Bandits never went back in time to kill James A. Garfield, and thus Bush was never paradoxically turned into an aloof, scandal-ridden, universally disliked rednecky president.

I think this story makes less sense on paper than it did in my head, but I swear this is how it really played out.

Do You Really Think This Is Appropriate?

Here's a new game I invented called "Do You Really Think This Is Appropriate?". I will describe an item or a situation or something, and you get to determine whether or not it is, in fact, appropriate.

Part one:

What if you came home and found a toy in your house that was shaped like this:

I'm not trying to be immature, but wouldn't you feel even a slight bit uncomfortable?

And what if the recommended way to play with this toy was to grab it by the shaft and gently shake it, like in this blurry picture which is supposed to represent motion? (There's a tiny plastic dog in there, and you're supposed to shake it to see it bob up and down.)

Finally, what if you then found out that this toy was not purchased by a consenting adult with a photo ID at an adult store downtown, but actually given to a 4 year old child for free in his kid's meal at Sonic?

...do you really think this is appropriate?

I will leave the comments for this blog entry open for six months before declaring a winner.

Harrington Charged In Pencil-Fighting Case

Atlanta, GA - Mere months after the Vick scandal rocked Atlanta, more bad news is shaking up for the Falcons organization. Backup quarterback Joey Harrington, who had played much of the 2007 season in relief of former starter Michael Vick, has been brought up on charges of pencil-fighting.


File photo

In the 12 page indictment released today, authorities allege that pencils were procured, housed, and trained on property that Harrington owned, for the explicit purpose of fighting. The illegal pencil-fighting enterprise spanned multiple states. When first pressed by officials, Harrington denied any direct involvement, stating that family members were taking advantage of his generosity by using his Detroit, Michigan property for illegal enterprises. However, recent evidence indicates that he "knowingly sponsored and exhibited a pencil-fighting venture", which included gambling and animal torture. Officials report that Harrington even personally executed pencils after they failed to perform well in fights.

While most pencils were simply thrown away, several others were literally snapped in two before being discarded. At least one pencil was repeatedly ran through an electric pencil-sharpener until it became an unusable nub. In a gruesome scene, investigators found several discarded pencils underneath couch cushions and in junk drawers.

While the majority of pencils confiscated were standard yellow #2s, there were also an abundance of rare #1s and #3s, a few mechanical pencils(which are banned even in despicable South American countries where pencil-fights are legal), and one novelty giant-sized pencil that Harrington bought at a museum gift shop. Harrington's lawyer refused to comment on the allegations.

Although the accusations have been met with outrage across most of the country, some athletes have defended Harrington's actions. Creating even more controversy, quarterback Eli Manning has stated that pencil-fighting, while illegal, is simply a part of the "dorky-looking white guy" culture which is so prevalent in professional sports. "Nah, Joey's a good guy. He didn't intend anything malicious. This is just how he grew up. This is who he is."

Regardless, Harrington faces strict legal penalties, if convicted. Maximum punishment includes up to 3 days of lunch detention, a one-year suspension from the NFL, and a lifetime ban from the school store. More as it develops.

Oregon Trail Vacation

Jeff: Ok, kids! Time to go to Grandma's house!

Molly: Isn't your grandma's house, like...far away?

Jeff: Well, yeah. It's in Oregon. Don't worry, though. I think I can find a shortcut by taking some kind of trail. Let's go! Elliot, are you ready?



Elliot: Googoo gaga!

Jeff: Wyatt, how about you?



Wyatt: Ready to go, sir!

Jeff: How about you, Buttcrack? [Note: Buttcrack is my oldest son. I don't talk about him very often.]



Buttcrack: Roger and out! Let's go to Grandma's house, daddy!

Jeff: Alright! Let's hit the trail!

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Jeff: Alright, kids! Here we are out west, in the state of Oregon! Let's go get some food at one of those crazy west-coast fast food restaurants!

Wyatt: I want Hardees!

Jeff: Son, cut it out. We're out west, now! If you can't call it "Carl's Jr." then we're going to have to drop you off at the next gas station and never come back.

Buttcrack: I wanna try "In & Out"!

Jeff: I'm sure you do, Buttcrack, but I'd rather go somewhere to eat first. Oh snap! Did you see what I did there?

Molly: Burn on Buttcrack!

Jeff: So it is settled. We will all eat at Jack In The Box!







Molly: I really wish you hadn't named him Buttcrack...

Jeff: You should have thought about that before you let them put you under for that C-section. Now come on! Grandma's house is right on the other side of that river!




Molly: Jeff, you idiot! Pacificas can't float on water!

Jeff: Whoops. I thought this was the Gadget-mobile....glurg glurg...

Molly: Are you even sure we're in the right game?




Jeff: Maybe this sea otter will help us.




Jeff: Well this is a sucky vacation.

Molly: Why are we going to your grandma's house anyway? Isn't she dead?

Jeff: Well yeah, but I thought we could still go to her old house.

Molly: Sigh.

...seriously though, what the heck is this?

Sorry to post non-comedy on my comedy blog, but while I'm on the subject of my car, last Saturday during a small snowstorm I snapped a picture of...my car.

I was somewhat alarmed by what I saw. Check it out: "Survey says!"

Two X's! What in the world does this mean? I've never seen snow form like this on my car. As far as I could tell, no X's were formed anywhere else. Was this the devil himself trying to send some kind of scary warning message to me? One more strike, and the Johnsons will get a chance to steal!

Are there any scientists out there who want to ruin the fun by telling me what's going on?

And since you're answering my question, tell me what else is going on. Are you ok? It's been so long since we've talked, I mean really talked. I've been busy lately. I'm sorry--I really miss you. Yes YOU.

Expiration Date Guide

I was rummaging around in my car and I found a gallon of milk on the floor of the back seat(among other things).

As you can see, it expired on Christmas Eve. It's been sitting in my car for over a month. Surprisingly, it has not spoiled to the point where I can smell it inside the car.

I didn't throw it away. I think I am just going to let it ride and see what happens.

I know this is a crappy segue, but seeing expired milk that doesn't smell bad yet gave me an idea to write a handy guide regarding expiration labels. Here you go:

Expiration Date Guide

"Sell By" Date

The "sell by" date is often confused with the "use by" date. In actuality, the "sell by" date is simply a guideline for grocers to keep an item stocked on their shelves. If it's not sold by the date stamped on the carton, the product is replaced with something fresher. This doesn't necessarily mean that the product has spoiled. Milk, for instance, will typically will stay fresh for 5-7 days after the "sell by" date.

"Use By" Date

Much more straightforward, the "use by" date is the last day that the manufacturer can guarantee freshness. Although there still may be a 1-2 day period after the date printed where you can technically consume the product without getting sick, neither the manufacturer nor the retailer can guarantee freshness after this date. (This is also sometimes listed as a "Best Before" date.)

"Digest By" Date

This is the absolute latest date that the manufacturer recommends completing digestion of their product. Typically there will be no problems if you eat or drink it one night before the date printed on the label, but you may want to give it two days just in case of some unforseen intenstinal blockage.

"You Might Want To Disguise The Flavor With Some Chocolate Syrup On Or Around" Date

When using milk with a "You Might Want To Disguise The Flavor With Some Chocolate Syrup On Or Around" date, it's important to remember that the milk technically expires two or three days before the date printed on the label. If you reach the "chocolate milk" date and want to drink it plain or just use it for cereal, then you might as well throw it away. You will only enjoy this milk with a very heavy dose of flavored syrup. It also may work for baking.

"Don't Forget To Watch CSI On" Date

This date actually has nothing to do with the freshness of your milk, and is just a paid advertisement for CBS network encouraging viewers to watch the next episode of CSI.

"This Is Just Here To Confuse You" Date

This date has nothing to do with the freshness of your item, and sometimes is not even a date. Sometimes it will be a random string of letters and numbers, often containing a question mark. There's nothing else printed on the label, though, so you will sit there trying to decipher it, hoping in vain that you will be able to figure out when this food is supposed to expire.

Other times it will be a vague date like "07/07" where you're not sure if it expires on July 7th of this year or if it expired in the month of July in the year of 2007.

I hope this guide has been helpful for you. I'm sure you agree that it would be more convenient if there were a universal standard for dating milk cartons and other items, so that it's always clear when to use it and when to toss it. Unfortunately, there are just too many competing dairy providers, and at this point they just haven't come together to produce an industry standard.

Just pay attention to the labels, and remember: when in doubt, throw it out! Unless you have kids, because kids don't know the difference.

xoxoxoxo, Jeff

Diseases I Would Have If They Existed

Big-Play Paranoia

Sufferers of Big Play Paranoia (BPP) cannot leave the room during a football game for fear that they will miss a big play. Victims of this terrible disease are deluded into thinking that instant replays "just aren't the same".

People with Big Play Paranoia will often refuse to leave the living room even when their wife asks them to get them a soda, and will not change the channel to cartoons for their kids--even for just a few minutes during a commercial break.

Terrified that halftime will unexpectedly "end early for some reason", they will stay glued to the television even when the halftime show is really boring and frequently is interrupted by the local affiliate for a weather update. On the rare occassion that BPP's leave the room to use the bathroom, they will turn the volume up and then pee with the bathroom door wide open, craning their head to try and still hear what's going on. Even then, they will go as fast as they can, and then skip hand-washing because they swore they heard the game come back on. (But really it was just that Pepsi commercial with Tony Romo in it again.)

Last-To-Get-The-Clipboard-itus

I'm sitting in a meeting at work. Somebody's talking, but I can't hear what they're saying. They're too boring. I'm not going to pay attention to them. I'll doze off, or just imagine what the ugly lady sitting to my right looks like naked. I'm in my own little world, here. No complaints.

And then suddenly, I'm jerked out of my bubble by the edge of a flat wooden surface being jammed into my ribs.

Suddenly alert, I look around the room, hoping the speaker didn't ask me a question or otherwise call me out on not paying attention. Thankfully, nobody important seems to be staring at me. Just the ugly lady sitting to my right, who is now getting impatient. She raises her eyebrows and thrusts a clipboard in front of my face.

"Oh, right." I mumble and I take the clipboard from her hands.

"Uh oh." I think to myself. "What in the world is this?" It's a form with a bunch of blank spaces, and peoples' signatures in thrown in, seemingly at random. "...am I supposed to sign this? Or am I just passing it along?"

Not sure what to do, I draw a quick squiggly line in the middle of the page. If signing is optional, then nobody will recognize it as mine--but if signing is mandatory, I can later point at it and tell them that it was me, and that I did everything that was required. So now I'm ready to get rid of the stupid, confusing clipboard.

I'm sitting at the end of the row, so there's nobody to pass it to on my left. I try passing it forward, but the guy in front of me shakes his head no. I try passing it to the row behind me, but they all wave it away, saying they've already signed it. Crap. What the heck do I do now? I try to give it back to the ugly woman who gave it to me, but she just shoots me another angry look.

...what the heck am I supposed to do with this thing? Should I go give it to the speaker? I don't even know if they're the ones who passed it out in the first place. I have no idea what it is, or where it came from, or where it's supposed to go... This clipboard has absolutely no meaning to me, and yet I am now responsible for it! I can't take this kind of pressure! Arghhh!!!

This is what it's like to have Last-To-Get-The-Clipboard-itus. Other symptoms of LTGTC include:

* desperate look in your eyes
* confused whispering
* repeatedly asking "have you seen this yet?"
* looking around the room trying to find somebody who looks like they're not paying attention so that you can drop the clipboard next to them and then run away before they realize what's happened
* putting the clipboard down and then taking an extra-long bathroom break, hoping that whoever initiated the clipboard-passing will spot it and take it back before you return.

Home Video MADDness

You may suffer from Home Video MADDness if you find that you can't sit through any home videos with cute kids in it, because you keep expecting a "killed by a drunk driver" graphic to pop up on the screen, depressing you for days on end.

Due to being brainwashed by that agonizingly effective anti-drunk-driving ad campaign, HVM sufferers are mentally trained to anticipate depressing endings to cute home videos. Even if they are watching their own home videos, with their own kids whom they know are alive and well, they still cannot help but have tears well in their eyes and a lump in their throat as they think about how awful it is that a drunk driver would ruin such a wonderful young life. Such wasted potential. Such sadness...

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My name is Jeff Henry. I am 26 years old, and I have all of these diseases. Or I would, if they existed. Thank you.

Tipping At Buffets

I was eating alone in a Chinese buffet restaurant today. This is something I whole-heartedly recommend, if for some reason you want to feel ashamed of yourself in multiple ways.

There's something immensely sad about eating in restaurants alone. I mean, I'm married with like two or three kids. I should have moved past the fear of being alone by now, but I still feel like a complete failure in life when I am sitting in a restaurant by myself. Add in the fact that it's a buffet, and the fact that I am a fatty who can easily put down five pounds of deep-fried meat that's been sitting in some kind of glaze...and you get the idea.

As I finished my third plate of food, I watched as the quiet Chinese(or something"-ese", at any rate) girl came over to take my plate. I felt bad for her, because it seemed like a lousy job. As far as I could tell, she didn't speak any English other than "Coke or Diet?". Waitressing jobs in general aren't the most fun, but at least in most jobs you can pass the time by small-talking with customers or sneaking out back for a smoke break when the boss ain't looking. The language barrier had killed any small-talk options for her, and she seemed to be the only person working there(except for the owner who worked the register up front) so she couldn't rely on co-workers for entertainment.

I also felt bad for her because I was planning on tipping only one dollar, and it looked like a slow day for the restaurant. I kept wondering if everybody else were as cheap as me, and I kept wondering whether or not I had just hit the place before the lunch rush or if the place is always nearly empty. If my suspicions are correct, she could not have made more than 18 bucks for the day.

My first thought was that I should stop being a cheap SOB and tip her more than a dollar. But should I really have to? I mean, it's a buffet. She didn't have to memorize my order, and she didn't have to bring me my food on a wobbly tray. All she really did was take away my plates when I was done. I'm sorry, but that's bus-boy work. And I don't tip bus-boys.

(Sure, she did refill my soda for me, but really I could have done that myself. Plus I wasn't even completely finished when she took my glass away, which kind of irked me. Perhaps it's my OCD in action, but it bothers me when a half-drank cup is then filled up again. You can't mix old-soda with new-soda, people! It's just not right.)

Then again, even doing bus-boy work is pretty tough when I'm the customer. My leftover dirty plates are flat-out gross, there's no denying it. Though not intentional, I always manage to leave my plates in the worst possible position for pick-up by a third party. The entire perimeter of the plate is usually covered in some kind of sauce, making it impossible to pick up without soiling your thumb and forefinger. My fork is usually dangling half-way off the edge, causing it to drop to the floor as soon as the plate is picked up(hitting the table on the way down, splattering more sauce everywhere) . And of course, there's also a dirty napkin stuck to the underside of the plate, which I have used to spit out pieces of meat that had too much fat for me to chew. So as she walks to the kitchen with my dirty plate, pieces of half-chewed meat drop to the floor as the stuck-on napkin slowly unravels beneath the plate. Truly a disgusting scene.

So with that in mind, maybe she does deserve more than a dollar. But you know what? I didn't ask her to do this. She doesn't have to pick up my dirty plate with impeccable timing, picking it up exactly two seconds after I have taken my final bite. (I'm eating alone, don't forget--I have plenty of room at the table to just shove one plate out of the way to make room for the next.)

She doesn't have to wipe down my table every time I get up, and she doesn't have to replace my Chinese animal calendar place mat just because I spilled broccoli on it. I didn't ask her to do any of these things. Do I appreciate it? Sure. Does she deserve more than a dollar? Absolutely. I just don't see how it's my responsibility to ensure that she gets paid appropriately for the things she volunteered to do. If I had to give her more money just because she did things for me that I never asked for, then by that same logic I would have to pay homeless people every time they wash my windshield for me. Sorry homeless people, but no dice!

So she got a dollar, and I got to feel bad even though one dollar easily covered the customary 15% of my $6.00 bill.

This isn't a new feeling for me. My tips are planned mentally in advance, and I'm too stubborn to stray from my plan. So every time I go to a restaurant, I am either faced with a good waitress and the nagging feeling that I am undertipping, or I am faced with a lousy waitress and the nagging feeling that I just got suckered out of 15%.

Since I felt bad about only tipping a dollar for good-to-pretty-good service, I also wrote down my phone number on a napkin with a note that said "call me. My wife loves to 'experiment'." I also smothered my lips with General Tso's sauce and then kissed the napkin, to make it look all seductive. I am expecting a call any minute now. Aaaaaany minute...

I would like to open a restaurant where customers can tip in advance, and then the waiting staff will provide quality of service to match their pre-paid tip. If you give a good tip, they will be really friendly, and they'll small-talk with you about the weather. If you give them the standard 15%, they will still be nice, but might bring you the wrong order. When you tell them that they brought you the wrong order, they'll smile and then get you the correct food items, but you can still tell they're kind of irritated. They might forget to refill your drink, but will comply if you ask them. If you decide not to tip, they will spit in your food and steal your credit card info if you aren't smart enough to pay with cash.