The Missing White House Emails

Recently technicians uncovered 22 million emails from the Bush administration that had somehow gone missing. While legal experts argue over the legitimacy and implications for any sort of lawsuits that may or may not happen, everyone else will be hoping to get a glimpse of the private communication of some of the most powerful people in the world. I got way more fun perusing some of the more "ground-level" staff emails...

February 3, 2001

From: admin@whitehouse.gov
To: gbush1946@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Browsing History

Hello Sir,

I was clearing out the internet histories per protocol and noticed you might still be having some trouble. Again, just to reiterate, our website is whitehouse.gov. When you type in the .com domain name you get a very unseemly and NSFW page. I guess it's not like you could get fired for it or anything, but it could be a PR snafu if word somehow got out. Not that I would ever do that. Oh god, saying I would never do that makes it seem like I would. Okay, nevermind. Forget I said anything.

I thought of a way to remember it: .gov GOOD. See? Also, maybe G for George and .gov. Let me know if you need any help!


April 25, 2001
From: coolkevin@whitehouse.gov
To: cecilia@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Schedule

OMG I just had to clean DC's bathroom for the 3RD TIME this month. This is bs! I seriously can't even re-use this toilet brush. Do you think this guy even knows what fiber IS?

How much vacation time do I have left?


September 11, 2001
From: tina@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: What's up?!

Jeez whats with u guys?! Did someone fart in church or something?!

Anyway, cookies in the lunch room courtesy of meeeeee!


September 11, 2001
From: tina@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: RE: What's up?!

Tina Jefferies has recalled the message "What's Up?!"

September 11, 2001
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Sorry

I had my iPod in all morning and did not catch the news. Very sorry.



The cookies are still available, but I have moved them to my office. It just seemed inappropriate to leave them out like everything's okay.

February 20, 2002
From: dave@whitehouse.gov
To: heather@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Chin

Do u think anyone else notices the bbq sauce? R they just being nice?


(sent from my Blackberry)

February 20, 2002
From: heather@whitehouse.gov
To: dave@whitehouse.gov
Subj: RE: Chin

ROFL just noticed. LOVE how he keeps smacking his lips like he can still taste it there.


(sent from my Blackberry)

February 20, 2002
From: heather@whitehouse.gov
To: dave@whitehouse.gov

WTF?! U r weak sauce. ALWAYS turn ur ringer off before a staff meeting.


(sent from my Blackberry)

March 18, 2002
From: lyle@whitehouse.gov
To: thomas@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Code of Conduct


It has come to my attention that you have acted in violation of the White House Staff Code of Conduct yesterday. What you did was inexcusable at a tawdry Mardi Gras celebration, let alone the White House St. Patrick's Day fundraising dinner.

Regardless of their behavior and enthusiasm, rest assured that Jenna and Laura were deeply offended at your request. Please keep 3 - 5pm open on your calendar. We will be meeting with HR.


December 15, 2002
From: alex@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Gift Xchange

Hey all,

I hope everyone is excited about our little in-house Holiday party this year. I hope to see everyone in their best reindeer antlers!

I did want to mention though, just a reminder that we would like to steer clear of controversial gifts for the White (House!) Elephant gift exchange. I'm thinking specifically of last year; whoever brought that copy of Earth in the Balance probably thought it was pretty funny but it really upset some folks.

Keep it Clean!

March 4, 2002
From: admin@whitehouse.gov
To: gbush1946@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Security Lockout

Hi Sir,

I did some digging and found out what caused you to get locked out. Looks like someone logged into your account and tried to create a new account named "jeb@whitehouse.gov." Security protocol kicked in and that's why you couldn't log in this morning. Should be fixed!


May 2, 2003
From: tina@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Game over!

Woo hoo! Mission Accomplished is right! Even I didn't think that'd go so quickly!


August 29, 2005
From: admin@whitehouse.gov
To: gbush1946@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Welcome Home

Hi Sir,

I know I might be overstepping my bounds here, but I just wanted to say welcome back. I'm really glad that hand grenade was a dud. I bet you won't be heading back to Tbilisi any time soon, right? Who KNOWS what those weirdos might throw at you next?

Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.


August 29, 2005
From: tina@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Buy an umbrella, already!

Seriously if I see one more dummy crying on TV about how a little rain ruined his day I'm going to go bonkers! If you're like me and you need a little pickmeup, I brought cupcakes! In the break room!


August 29, 2005
From: tina@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: RE: Buy an umbrella, already!

Tina Jefferies has recalled the message "Buy an umbrella, already!"

October 17, 2007
From: dcheney69@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Newspapers

Anybody caught with a newspaper reflecting the latest Reuters poll will be sent home. I have enough problems running this place without the Chief Executive Grumpy Pants moping around.


I am missing a Bic Ballpoint Pen from my desk. Whoever took it, you have until end of business today to return it. Otherwise, we will have to set up a body search checkpoint at the exits AGAIN.

December 10, 2007
From: gbush1946@whitehouse.gov
To: all@whitehouse.gov
Subj: Google


No good deed...

Saturday night Kat and I were driving home from Christmas at my mom's with a car stuffed to the gills with presents. It was storming and we were taking it slow through a driving rain. I mean, like, torrential rain. We were less than five minutes from home when a little dog darted across the street.

Kat hates dogs. Hates them. In fact I've had to ask her in the past to not be so quick to remind my sister how much she hates her dog. But when she saw this little tan puppy in a red plaid sweater running towards an interstate in the freezing rain she said, "We have to help that dog."

So we got out and ran down the pup. She was pretty willing to come in the car; she was a soaking, shivering, muddy mess. We gave her a bath, washed her sweater, and fed her some turkey lunch meat since it was pretty late and I didn't know of a store open. We placed an ad on Craigslist and tried to look up a no-kill shelter, but they all seemed to be closed for the weekend.

So we had a house guest for the rest of the weekend.

And honestly, she was the sweetest dog ever. She never barked, not once. This was especially nice because having a dog in our place would be a violation of our lease; I'm pretty sure the landlord would've understood the circumstances but I didn't want to chance it. She never chewed on anything, never scratched or peed or pooped on anything in the house. She didn't know commands at all, but she was very attentive and obedient when I gave a little tug on her leash (Kat's purse strap) to walk a particular direction or pushed her butt down to sit. She was, it seems, the perfect dog. We completely fell in love with her and talked, somewhat jokingly, about how we could possibly try to keep her.

Monday came and we took her to the APA of Missouri, where they found she had a microchip in her neck. They put in the call to get the contact information (apparently that shit is well protected) and we took her home to wait for her owner to call in. Finally I got the call from APA with a woman's name and number, so I arranged the reunion.

The lady who picked up the dog (who, it turns out, is named Frankie) said Frankie had gotten out of her yard a couple times but usually came back. She thanked us profusely, seemed pretty nice, and when we suggested tags with a phone number she said she had them but hadn't gotten around to putting them on yet.

The next day, approximately 21 hours later, I got a voicemail from the owner telling me Frankie had escaped again. Naturally, she still has no tags since the owner "didn't get around to it." She asked me to give her a call if I saw the dog "while I was out looking for her."

I was pretty galled by her assumption that I would go out looking for her lost dog, but I guess she's right since I did; mainly because I care about that dog more than she does since she took no steps to prevent it from running away again.

This time I didn't find Frankie. I didn't really know where to begin looking, since I still don't know where she actually lives. I can only keep reminding myself that she more than likely came home last night before it got too cold and didn't go too near the interstate.

But if I find her again, I'm keeping her. That lady's too fucking stupid to have a dog.


How the hell did this happen?

I got a new MacBook when I started my new job at the beginning of November. I was digging for an image today I'd saved but couldn't find, so I hit the "All Images" button.

Holy shit.

At first I thought I was somehow sharing someone else's files. There were tons and tons of photos I didn't recognize at all, but then stuff I did recognize started filtering in. Some of it was recent stuff out of my email, a lot of it was really old stuff I didn't know still existed anywhere. I mean, like, three computers ago old. When I was in high school old.

Near as I can tell pretty much all of it is stuff that would've been in my email at one point or another, but some of these things are so old I don't think I had the same email address then.

Does anyone know how this happened? And more importantly how I stop it?

So I've got this doppelganger

I got an email from Facebook the other day:

"Randall Cleveland has added you as a friend!"

Being the suspicious type, I instantly threw my computer out the window and into the windshield of a passing car before it could infect me with some kind of virus. After a lengthy discussion with law enforcement, I logged on to discover that yes, another Randall Cleveland exists and I guess since I have the beard that makes me the evil twin. Aside from that though you'd be hard-pressed to tell us apart. Oh except he's black, too.

Other than that, though, dead ringers.

So I added the guy, and it was adorable seeing the little status update to "Randall Cleveland is now friends with Randall Cleveland," which is something years of therapy have not been able to achieve.

The only problem is he's now posted like four different super Jesusy things on my wall, which I find mildly annoying. It's not so much the Jesus thing, well it kinda is, but for the most part if you want to have imaginary friends I don't begrudge you that. I just don't really appreciate the assumption that I have been waiting for his suggestion to "become a friend of the Bible."

He's also got some Jesus version of Farmville or something because he's always sending me "Saviors." I've just deleted them, but he posts another right away. I don't know if he's trying to bombard me or if he's stumped as to why these things don't show up on my wall after he posts them.

ETA to me and Randall Cleveland not being friends any more? About three more Jesus pictures.


See that little "Next Blog" button up there? Don't bother.

I got bored and tried to find something new and/or interesting by surfing through blogspot using the "Next Blog" button.

I've come to the conclusion that 99.999% of blogs are written by interminable assholes documenting the lives of their babies.

No one gives a shit, man. No one. Not even GRANDPARENTS care that your kid ate a carrot today.

When I have kids it will be a quick footnote to an unrelated blog. Then maybe another update when they move out*.

*I have a 10-year-old daughter. You don't see me bragging.


I was officially censored at work yesterday.

I had to do a one-sentence write-up for this product, Jenga Onyx, which is essentially Jenga with black pieces.

So I wrote: "This is the Jenga game that guilty, white, liberals swear they prefer to play."

The powers that be didn't see the humor, so it got axed.

I'm not really complaining, since it was just a sentence, but I was proud of that joke so I wanted to post it here.


Social Networking can Backfire

You know what would help our news team connect with a younger audience? A Twitter feed!

You know what would really make us cutting edge? We could post our twitter feed LIVE on a billboard!

Right next to our pictures, so people know we're hip!

NO WAY this is gonna go wrong!


So I got a new job!

I am now a copywriter for a very hip and neato internet retail site, which is super awesome and totally beats my last job at GIANT-FACELESS-COMMUNICATIONS-CONGLOMERATE.

I'm trying this new thing of not talking (specifically) about work to avoid the inevitable conversations with my superiors about attitude and such. That's been kind of a problem for me in the past.

But not with this new gig! It is awesome, I'm doing what I love, the team is small and close-knit and extremely creative, and I actually look forward to coming to work! I can't tell you how much easier it is to start your day when the first thing you think upon waking is, "Oh, fuck. Oh fuck no. Not again."

Sales, it turns out, just isn't my thing. And I think I've taken enough swipes at that to know for future reference. I just hope I don't have to consider it for the foreseeable future, because my new gig kicks all kinds of ass.

The Japanese just know how to prank people.

Seriously. You could never pull that off in the states without a dozen lawsuits, mainly from the family members of the victim who would probably die of a stress-induced coronary during the whole thing. But man, "sniper prank" needs to become part of the zeitgeist. Like, now.


You lead a charmed life, super drunk lady in Boston.

Oh yes you do.

I wonder what goes through your mind when you're so drunk you can't even stand and there is a goddamn commuter train bearing down on you at 45 mph. Maybe she was lucky enough to be so completely sauced that she didn't even notice.

I really was kind of expecting a little third rail action there, though.


Screw Photobucket

Anybody know of a good image hosting site that doesn't get too uppity? I posted some photos for my Zug article on the Best Improvised Toilet Paper and apparently posting photos of chocolate frosting that looks like poop is just as bad as posting photos of poop.

So where I can I host these bad boys without gettin' hassled by the man?


Lame White People

Well this is just your average family port-WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THAT GUY'S HEAD?!

It looks like a cross between a peach and a baboon's ass!


Lame White People

"We're totally not gay! Why does everyone keep asking that?!"

It's Halloween!

I've never been all that big on Halloween. My wife Kat doesn't really care for it either. So trick-or-treaters may be greeted with an exasperated, "Oh, hey. Fuck. Honey? Can you bring me some apples or coffee beans or something? There are kids at the door."

That said, Halloween does have the baffling and nonsensical tradition of leading women to believe that their costumes must be as whorish and slutty as possible, regardless of what they are. Slutty nurse, slutty French Maid, slutty Spongebob, slutty Zombie Rabbi, it doesn't matter.

Given that fact, and the penchant for my office to look like a scene from the Tits Ahoy night club on any given day of the week anyway since hardly any of the women there know the difference between "business casual" and "I'm going out to get fucked," today should be a pretty exciting day at work.


Lame White People

Yosemite Sam and Milton from Office Space had a son. Who shit his pants right before this picture was taken.


My Latest Feature: Lame White People

If there's anyone who can make lame an art, it's white people. And even a cursory glance at the internet reveals a startlingly large amount of them like to plaster their pictures up on the internet for me to mock.

Like this guy. I realize this is just somebody's headshot, probably for his dental office or something, but the plastic smile, weird doll hair, and static, piercing eyes make this guy just half a shade off from rapist. Seriously, ladies: would you accept a drink this guy handed you at a bar? Worse than rape, he'd probably get you drunk to go home and talk about bible verses.


They're gonna put me in the movies...

So if you're in St. Louis and looking for something to do tonight, come out to the Tivoli and check out the Film Racing film festival at 7pm!

It's a contest in which filmmakers write, shoot, and edit a short film in under 24 hours and submit it for fabulous prizes. This year my friends Lindsey, George, and Ric invited me and I co-wrote and acted in L.A.R.D.A.S.S., which will be the sixth film they show tonight. They're all only three minutes or less, so don't worry about a movie marathon night.

Tickets are $9 but the Tivoli is cash only. You can click here to check it out and order tickets ahead of time if you prefer to use plastic.

I'll be bringing Kat, who will be fresh off a plane home from Alaska and may or may not fall asleep during the screening. Hope to see you there!


Zug Booze Taste Test: Cockburn Challenge

I recently wrote a series of articles for Zug.com called the Cheap Booze Taste Test, in which my friends and I sampled the best (and cheapest) beer, malt liquor, and wine so you would know which is worth your hard-earned dollar.

In the editing process, one entry was clipped. I've reposted that final piece below for those who read at Zug and were wondering what the hell Cockburn was and why it showed up in the rankings without actually being rated. The piece picks up below right at the end of our Thunderbird tasting.

Would we drink it again? Are you out of your fucking mind? Some of us might not be able to drink water again.

So we had our results. As we tabulated our final tallies, though, we had a startling development.

Cockburn’s Fine Ruby Porto

Jeff had smuggled a bottle of Cockburn into the party. Jeff is notorious for showing up with a bottle or six pack of something completely awful or not actually marketed for human consumption, swearing by its deliciousness, then leaving the remaining ¾ of it at your house when he realizes it sucks. I had a feeling “port with a screw top” would fail to buck the trend. First off, you never want to be the guy who brings the Cockburn to a party. Second, Cockburn’s not even cheap booze. After we ridiculed him mercilessly he wasn’t too forthcoming with how much he paid for it (he really did bring it as the good stuff), but it was somewhere between $8 and $11.


“What the goddamn hell is that?!” Sandy screamed as if Jeff had just produced a firearm. The bottle itself is almost a little too serious. It suggests “drink me with your grandfather in his study” or “this is what they give you in church.”

Jackie: 2/10
Sandy: 2/10
Randy: 4/10
Jeff: 8/10


“This tastes like steak marinade,” Jackie grimaced. Each negative review received a dramatic “Noooooooo!” from Jeff as he hopelessly defended his choice, but this stuff was awful. Somewhere in the middle of syrupy-sweet and acidic, it fucked up every possible taste category with its awfulness.

“Make sure you write down that I think it’s not that bad!” Sure thing, Jeff, but I don’t know that I’m helping your case.

Jackie: 0/10
Sandy: 2/10
Randy: 0/10
Jeff: 8/10


“This would make a fine fertilizer,” Sandy noted. So if you’re taste-testing mulch, give Cockburn a go. Otherwise, you’re going to be hard-pressed to not make a stupid face while drinking this. It’s not that it’s particularly harsh (although it does burn pretty bad going down), it’s just that it tastes so bad you can’t help but grimace at yourself for even drinking it.

“My butt has a mind of its own!” Jackie chimed in, “I should live on an island!” Since all logic and rational thinking had broken down it was a little like Lord of the Flies now, and we were feverishly discussing how we could possibly get our drunk asses to a Denny’s. Because we hadn’t punished our stomachs enough.

Jackie: 1/10
Sandy: 4/10
Randy: 1/10
Jeff: 8/10

Eventually we settled on pizza rolls, meatballs, and ranch dressing. Which actually isn’t a bad wine pairing with Cockburn.

As the night wore down and Jeff and Sandy retreated to various places to pass out, Jackie and I made our way to the gas station for, of course, more beer. When we got there I realized neither one of us had shoes.

“It’ll be okay if you go in,” she assured me. Made sense to me. I sped inside, no clerk. I grabbed a six pack and beelined for the counter before my feet would be spotted.

“Aw, man, I can’t sell beer to you, you got no SHOES!” Damn. Busted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah man. Plus it’s like 3 in the morning, why don’t you have shoes?” I walked out without explaining myself. Jackie and I found are way back to her place and snuck a bottle of rum from the liquor cabinet. We spent the rest of the wee hours throwing rocks from a bridge and dancing to Rod Stewart’s greatest hits, which is how I recommend any good taste test end.

Check out the full picture at Randy’s Zug Taste Test Photobucket Album!

Props go to Jackie, Sandy, and Jeff for their help, companionship, and unwavering bravery in the face of some of the worst alcohol on earth. Let's do it again sometime soon!


Bad Parents in Action

Dear Lady at the Grocery Store,

I know it can be really tough to manage an unruly kid in a public setting. I mean, you can't just scream back. You definitely can't hit 'em, at least not while there are witnesses. But you still have to stop their tantrum or antics because they're bugging the shit out of everyone else. That's why I applaud your efforts to tow the line between decorum and discipline. I think screaming "TYSON QUIT BEING A LITTLE RETARD AND GET OVER HERE!" at your seven-year-old not only lets your kid know who's boss, but it lets us know that you're a loving and attentive parent.



My Next Invention: Standup Karaoke

If it's acceptable to go to a bar, get tanked, and ruin your favorite songs by reading them drunkenly off a TV screen as a MIDI score plays in the background, why not do the same with your favorite standup bits?

There'd be a giant book of comedians and bits, and you'd pick yours and go up there to do your best impression. Everyone would be there, from George Carlin to Bill Hicks to Brian Regan all the way down to Carlos Mencia. Well, maybe there'd be some standards in place to prevent that.

But I think it could work. Eventually you'd have closers like Carlin's "7 words you can't say on TV" that would be to standup karaoke what "Baby Got Back" is to regular karaoke: a crowd pleaser that several people end up doing over the course of a night.

But you'd get a good mix of people doing mainstream and obscure bits, and the performers would get the intoxicating laughter of a drunken audience. Or maybe just heckled.

What's your next invention?


What. The. HELL?!

I've been without a phone for like 10 days now. That's not even an exaggeration. It started with the screen on my phone cutting out or sometimes (for some reason) going negative and upside down and backwards. Which, in all honesty, I could deal with.

Then the screen cut out completely. Pretty soon only the keys would light up. Again, I figured I didn't need a screen since I have speed dial, but aside from the keys lighting up nothing would happen. It turned into a goddamn brick.

Which is uber pathetic, since THIS phone was a replacement in October for my ORIGINAL PHONE I had purchased last July. So I called my provider, which is Helio just so you know to avoid them and their spectacularly shitty Korean phones, and got hassled and told I would owe $50 to replace a phone that hadn't lasted a year. Now I will totally admit that the casing takes some scratches because I keep it in my pocket with my keys, but in general I don't drop or throw my phone and it definitely has never seen any water damage, so three angry calls later I got myself a free replacement booked.

So they shipped it via FedEx but god forbid someone leave it in my mail box or even at my door; instead they try to deliver it three days in a row at the same time while I'm at work. I get it; some people might be home during the day to receive a package, but you can't honestly tell me they're the majority here, can you?

So I had to call FedEx and ask them to redeliver my phone to their own fucking facility so I could pick it up after work. I finally got it tonight and brought it home to activate. I have to punch in a bunch of random codes to open the activation menu, then my phone number, then the actual activation code.

Which I don't have.

You see, in their infinite wisdom, Helio decided that in order to protect my security, I can't activate my own goddamn phone from the fucking phone itself. I have to call an 800 number from a DIFFERENT phone and get a code which I then enter into my cell phone. Why this number couldn't be on a goddamn slip of paper in the package they just sent me, I don't know. And since I only use a cell phone and no land line, I have to wait until I get into work tomorrow and set everything up from my desk.

So now I'm sitting here with two bricks that look like phones and still no way to make a stupid phone call.


Happy Belated 4th

Hope you had lots of fun and didn't lose any digits. I spent the night of the third taste-testing cheap hooch for Zug.com. The article should be up in a week or so, and the pics alone were worth the liver damage sustained.

Also, check out my pal Marc's bid to become CEO of Arby's in the next year. Normally, I would say this is a fool's errand, but Marc is that one guy in a million that just makes bizarre things like this happen pretty regularly. We'll soon see.

Also, I've recently realized I need to get some new clothes, because I'm looking rather haggard. It was basically a fun excuse to update my Amazon Wish List.

My Amazon.com Wish List
So...y'know, you could click there. If you wanted to buy me something. No pressure.


I Don't Get It: Michael Jackson

Three days ago that guy was still a batshit insane pedophile, right? What changed?

I mean, he definitely sang some killer songs 30 fucking years ago, but is that worth canonization?

I've never gotten the mega-obsession people develop with guys like Jackson, Elvis, and even The Beatles. I love The Beatles. My wife has everything they've ever released. If Ringo drops dead tomorrow am I going to show up at the hospital weeping with a sign? No.

At least I got to hear "ABC" and "Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough" three or four times today.


Dream Analysis

So last night in my dreams Amy Poehler gave me some acid and we went into a roller disco. Inside Michael Busch was wearing an elf suit and roaming around absent-mindedly. I tried talking to him but he was out of it. The next thing I know the Six Flags Guy comes screaming by on a sled (made sense in the dream) but I hate that guy so I grabbed him and threw him into a wall. Amy said I had to leave because I had broken his back and killed him. She didn't say it in a mean way, though. More like, "Alright, well, time to get going."

I think that means today's going to be good.


Office Safari Guide: Issue 3

Today's Office Safari Guide focuses on an elusive quarry. It's not that they're rare in the office; it's just that once they're spotted it's usually a brief matter of time until they're forcibly removed from the premises. I speak of course of the Colossal Screw Up.

"Hey, real quick: What's Microsoft Word again?"

His last job was driving a forklift at a meat packing plant, but he knows a guy who knows a guy so now he's your team leader on the Sales floor, despite apparently never encountering a computer before. It can be tough to spot a Colossal Screw Up in the wild since they take great pains not to be discovered. But eventually their idiocy boils over and you'll realize you're dealing with a person who might not even know what it is the company does. Luckily (not for you), management will be at least six to 10 months behind you on this discovery.

He's late. His clothes are wrinkled. His hair is never combed and he's high pretty regularly. You made the mistake of befriending him your first day at work because you thought he was being nice, but he just wanted to borrow cash for lunch. And he routinely does things like attempting to de-frag his hard drive with a screwdriver and putting bologna in his printer. He's a nice enough guy, but you just know being in his vicinity is going to end in disaster.

But what to do? It's not like he's a jerk, so when he (repeatedly) asks for help you don't want to just stonewall him and be an asshole, but you can't dedicate five hours of your day to helping him figure out how to turn off his screen saver, either. You want to rat him out, but your coworkers all say he's a nice enough guy and you don't want to screw somebody out of a job just because they don't deserve it. So keep a low profile and avoid being seen with the Colossal Screw Up. And understand that the day you pay for his lunch is the day before he'll get fired and you'll never get your money back.


Office Safari Guide: Issue 2

Today's Office Safari Guide will focus on an animal that may possibly be related to the Know-It-All Douchebag, but has evolved into a new and separate species. I speak of the Done-It-All Douchebag.

Climbed it this morning on my way in to work!

The Done-It-All-Douchebag is on the verge of becoming a black hole of smug self-centeredness. The instant an event or topic is discussed, he (or she) must immediately launch a story about how back in the day that was all he used to do.

If you suspect your office has a Done-It-All Douchebag, here's a simple test to confirm: casually mention within earshot of the suspect that you have won a contest and the prize is a trip into outer space. If you've got a Done-It-All, he'll immediately leap into the conversation and begin telling you how to act and what to wear since, naturally, he was there last year. Back when it was still cool.

He's been a cop. And a movie producer. And a local politician, storm chaser, nude model, CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation, panhandler, goat farmer, Eskimo, nuclear physicist, and superhero. He's also 24 years old.

You can try calling him out on his bullshit, but he's so wrapped up in denial that he's become self-delusional at this point and believes most of what he says, mainly because he practices it in the mirror each morning. He'll quickly find the slowest and most easily impressed members of your office and cement himself as "the cool guy" in that band of misfits. And I say let him have it. You don't want to eat lunch with those mouth-breathers anyway.


Shameless Self Promotion

Check out my latest Zug article, The Twit of the Week! It's a new column I'll be running weekly where I follow the most inane celebrities I can find and pick apart their tweets for your enjoyment.

Take a look! Register at Zug and post your comments! And don't forget to send me ideas for other celebs or just plain insane people I should find on Twitter!

Office Safari Guide: Issue 1

Now that I'm working in an office again I'm forced to encounter all sorts of personalities I normally wouldn't because, to be honest, I'd avoid them like the plague. Today we're spotlighting the first of those: The Know-it-all Office Douchebag.

Fuck you. I know everything.

The Know-it-all Douchebag believes he has acquired every piece of information ever to exist because, well, he used to barback at this totally awesome club and all kinds of people talked about all kinds of shit there. Seriously dude, like scientists and shit. And I say "he" for brevity's sake, but women are completely and totally capable of being this fucking annoying.

A lack of any real secondary education (sure, he might've ATTENDED a college, but he was too busy getting his "real-world education" at Skanky McShithole's Bar & Grill to pay much attention) coupled with the righteous naivete typically reserved for the YouTube comment boards means this guy heard something about what you're saying, and all he knows is you are wrong because his source had to be right.

So how do you spot a Know-it-all Douchebag versus a person who's just combative or a blatant asshole? Simple: any time the Know-it-all Douchebag is correcting you (hint: it's all the time) he will engage in schoolyard debate tactics in an attempt to lend credibility to his argument. Be prepared to hear a lot of "Well, duh," "Are you even serious," "You don't know anything man," "I guarantee you, man...I guarantee you," and "Yeah? Well I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about." This will also be combined with copious amounts of rolled eyes, heavy sighs, and exasperated tossing of hands toward the heavens.

Unfortunately, if your office has any sort of policy against violence towards co-workers, there's no real satisfactory way to deal with these guys. You can attempt to avoid subjects on which you could argue, but these pathetic creatures are so desperate to prove their superiority that eventually they'll question if you even know your own phone number ("Scienctists say that 84% of people can't even remember it, dude. It's true.") and you'll be forced into a conversation with them.

So far, the only method I've found mildly successful is to blurt out, "I'm probably wrong then," and briskly walk away from the conversation while your opponent shouts for you to come back.


Bad News Bears

Woah. We lost like 15-2. It was ugly, and I didn't even get a hit. I did however get to pitch, since our pitcher bailed for the third time in five games. And as I watched ball after ball sail over batters' heads and go rolling behind our catcher who was too afraid to catch the ball, I realized it might be a long day. The ump, for some reason, didn't seem to like us or just blew a lot of calls in the other team's favor, which is always frustrating. It's one thing to get destroyed; it's worse when you get destroyed and wronged by softball justice.

It was pretty awesome when our shortstop tried to throw a ball at the (female) umpire's head though.


It's a softball kinda day.

I've got my fourth softball game of the YMCA season today, and I'm hoping that having Memorial Day weekend off was enough for my legs to repair themselves since I injured both quadriceps muscles in both legs the first game.

I haven't minded that much, really. It's nice to be able to limp around and tell everyone I know, "No big deal. Pulled my quads. Might be torn, really, but I'll be alright," even though it is in fact a huge deal because I can't get in and out of my car without crying. Luckily it only hurts if I try to run and after that only for 48 hours or so.

But I think a week off might be just what I needed to strengthen them up and get back into the horribly-out-of-shape condition my team has come to expect. Deep deep deep deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep right field will be covered guys!


Workin' Man

So I got a job.

I started Monday, and since it's severely bitten me on the ass before I won't get into the who and the where, but it's a worldwide company and I'm doing sales for them.

It's not my ideal gig, but it's a gig, and that's more than I've been able to come up with for the last 350 days, so I'm cool with it. The only bummer is the drive: it's over an hour EACH way.

Other than that, I found an improv company in St. Louis and I've been spending a couple nights a week there. It's a nice outlet for stress and it's great to get to do what I love once or twice a week.

So all in all, not too shabby.


Foot Massage and BBQ!

I'm reminded of the old joke about the biker who pulls up to a bar and sees a sign advertising $1 grilled cheese sandwiches and $5 handjobs. He approaches the beautiful blonde waitress.

"Are you the one who gives the handjobs?" he asks.
"Yes," she coos softly.
"Well go wash your hands and make me a grilled cheese."

Except I don't think anyone involved in this is asking for hand washing.

Kudos to this guy for combining his god-given talent (throwing things into a vat of boiling oil) and his kinky sexual fetish (rubbing feet) into one money-making bonanza.


Midwest Livin': I can't walk the streets.

So Kat and I have temporarily relocated to the Midwest because the economy sucks and we're broke and it's cheap to live here. Also, I have been out of work for almost a year and need to use some connections to make something happen or we're going to starve to death.

So we're living in Swansea, IL, which is a shithole of a town that seems to believe strip malls are the solution to life's problems. I can't complain though, because my dad hooked us up with his old apartment complete with one month free rent and no lease to break when we're ready to move.

I can complain, however, about the fact that every time I leave my house someone yells at me.

Kat and I like to walk around town together. It's nice to get some sun, move around a little bit, and we get to explore our new neighborhood and talk about how depressing quaint it is. We also have a membership at a gym about three miles away and I like to walk there since it feels really stupid driving to go work out.

The first time we ever went for a walk, though, some kids in a pick-up screamed "FUCK YOU!" at us as they drove by. There's something a little jarring about walking along, having a conversation, and suddenly being verbally raped by a 15-year-old with rage issues.

There's something about Southern Illinois that people can't not stare at you while you're outside. Everyone in their car has to turn their head to see who you are or what you're up to, because no one has anything better to do in a town of 11,000. I went from LA, where 13 million people couldn't give two shits about who you are, to this paranoid fucking Mayberry where everyone has to peek out their windows and crane their necks to figure out if you're black dangerous or not.

The last time I walked to the gym my neighbor stopped and honked at me, then drove off without saying anything. Then a girl on a school bus screamed, "HEY SEXY!" and giggled maniacally. Then, on my way back to the gym, a woman pulled over so her 9-year-old son could scream something at me before laughing and speeding off. Do I have a fucking sign on my back or what?

Of course this is what morons in the Midwest do for fun and excitement, and I'm sure they'll all have a good laugh at the dinner table about screaming at the fat guy, but when I finally snap at being jobless and accosted by mouth-breathing hillbillies and chase down a Geo Metro to kill all the occupants, I want this blog entered on behalf of my defense.

An Etiquette Question...

What's the proper way to tell a (female) friend, "Hey, I had this dream last night that I was at the video store with my wife and we saw a porno box with you on the cover and we were going to rent it but then I woke up,"?

Because honestly, it's a funny story, but there's no way to tell someone that without coming off as completely and totally creepy.


Go rate my article!

The first of my three part expose on wart prevention methods is up and live at Zug.com!

Read it, then take a second to create an account and rate it! But only if you like it. If you don't like it, don't bother doing that. That'd be a dick move.



Things I like: MelZoo.com

MelZoo is a nifty little search engine that displays your results in a split-screen: the left side gives you the usual "Page Title, brief summary, URL" that you get with any other search engine, but mouse over a page you fancy and the right screen will preview it for you, so you can avoid any porn surprises (or any non-porn surprises, I guess).

I like it. The sad part is the rest of the site is kinda sparse, so I don't know how long it is for this world, and it might only be a matter of time until Google steals the idea or comes up with something even better.

Still, I think I'll use it for awhile.


Hi. I'd like to buy a gun. I'll only need one bullet.

Okay, so I posted some nonsense about recommitting to this blog and promptly fell off the face of the earth. In my defense:

Last week Kat's sister was visiting us and we were frantically scrambling to keep a 14-year-old entertained. It didn't take me long to realize this is impossible as nothing is impressive to a 14-year-old.

I got some sort-of-concerning health news that I won't go into here since I'm paranoid that someone actually reads this thing, but suffice to say I've been having a meltdown ever since and will continue to do so until I meet with a specialist on the 21st.

My car got broken into. Some junkie smashed my window and grabbed a GPS unit and digital camera. Thankfully, he/she was courteous enough to leave my cell phone headset. I don't know whether to be happy my CDs were left behind or pissed off at the judgment of my music taste.

Also, my improv team Party Trap performed at Three Clubs (you might remember it from that movie Swingers) and got booked on a regular rotation every Sunday night!

And as of now one of the guys in the group and I are fighting and he/I may or may not each quit the group over it.

Yay, emotional rollercoasters!



If you guessed, "Thai policeman wearing government-mandated smiley mask in order to seem friendlier," congrats! You're just as fucking weird as everyone in Thailand.

Those of you who guessed, "roving band of clown-themed rapist motorcycle gang member," take heart; you may have lost today's contest, but the fact that you recoil in fear at these sorts of things should mean you'll live a lot longer than anyone in Thailand.


Rihanna + Numa Numa = WTF?

I was driving around with Kat yesterday trying to find one goddamn place open at 10:45pm on New Year's Day to serve us anything resembling food (answer: Subway. Bonus: tranny hooker and meth head in line behind us!) when I heard what surely could not be possible coming out of my radio.

Rihanna, and some guy named TI who I'm sure is TOTALLY awesome despite my never hearing his name, put together a song using music from the fucking Numa Numa song.

You know, the "fat kid bouncing in his computer chair" Numa Numa song.

For real.

How bankrupt is the music world that it's now leeching off internet memes from a decade ago just to sell a couple more copies on iTunes? I can't wait for Chris Crocker to show up on the next Nickelback tune and the Chocolate Rain guy to guest on The Airborne Toxic Event's new album.

Of course, in what can only be called a stunningly disturbing lack of irony, that shit already sort of happened.

Manic Monday: Oh AirTran, you silly racist bastards.

By now you've probably heard about the Muslim family that was booted off a plane after the other passengers got antsy about...well, the fact that they were Muslim.

Which is a sad, sad commentary on the state in which we live today. I get it; the news shows you grainy photo after grainy photo of olive-skinned jihadists and pronounces them all EVIL EVIL EVIL!!!! So naturally that starts seeping into your brain and you get a little gun-shy when you see some in person. It's tough to avoid given the constant overriding stimulus of "Muslims = terrorists" you get every day.

The people on the plane need to exercise a little more critical thinking, though.

Passengers notified flight attendants of a "suspicious conversation" between Kashif Irfan and his wife. Now certainly no one can fault a concerned citizen for notifying an authority (or, at the very least, a flight attendant) when they hear ol' Mahmoud thanking Allah for a glorious day to die or analyzing how best to ram a Bic ballpoint pen through a pilot's temple. The fact that he was with his wife, sister, three children, brother, and sister-in-law could just be a clever ploy to divert attention. Don't put it past ol' Al Qaeda to send a few kids in to die in a fiery crash if it means scoring a hit on that symbol of all that is evil in America: Orlando, Florida.

Yeah. They were flying to Orlando. They were flying home to Orlando.

But their conversation, however innocent, must've had some trigger word in it to set off whichever paranoid soccer mom blew the whistle. Maybe Kashif is a struggling stand-up comedian and was talking about bombing his set. Maybe his wife was coming down from a wicked caffeine rush and mentioned she was crashing hard. Maybe Kashif's son was playing a new PSP game and talked about how the graphics are so realistic when his soldier terrorizes a plane full of civilians and rams it into the nearest skyscraper in a horrific and monstrous act of cruelty.

"The conversation, as we were walking through the plane trying to find our seats, was just about where the safest place in an airplane is," said Inayet Sahin, Kashif Irfan's wife.

For real? You people saw some Muslims, heard them talk about safety, and put two and two together to equal planes crashing into towers? Here's a hint, guy: the Muslim you need to watch out for is the one who doesn't give a shit about safety. The guy who asks if he can open his window, doesn't fasten his seat belt, and orders a double whiskey is the one who may or may not be plotting to convert your plane into several hundred much smaller pieces.


Happy Goddamn New Year

I don't understand the appeal of New Year parties. I mean, I'm all for getting blind drunk, but I can do that on any other Tuesday afternoon. I'm all for kissing someone at midnight, but I'm married now so I get to do that all the time, sometimes even with sex. It's just another day. But Happy New Year anyway.

I wish I was into resolutions, but I've spent a lifetime avoiding setting goals to circumvent the seemingly inevitable failure to achieve them. So I tend to shy away from that sort of thing, but let's start with updating this blog more often. And streamlining it. And making it, y'know, interesting.

One goal at a time, I guess. Look forward to me posting more often starting now!