YouTube, Baby Boomer Style

After receiving another dubious email forward warning me that I face imminent harm as the result of some new gang initiation plot, I headed to Snopes.com so that I could provide the debunking link to the email sender and let that person know they, and their kind, are full of crap.

This is probably why I don’t have many friends.

Anyhoo . . . I came across this ad while visiting Snopes.com:

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This ad is so un-enticing as to render it truly remarkable. What could possibly be more wearisome, more uninteresting than listening to stories on YouTube of the aging population and their insulin delivery mechanisms?

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This one comes close.

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This one is probably more interesting,

but likely more unpleasant.

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I suspect there is a lot of overlap between
Branson vacation stories and insulin stories.

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Grandma and Grandpa explain to young Jacob
that KY Jelly is not for his English muffin.

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These stories have terrible endings.

BYU Merchandising

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Max is too young to know it yet, but he is a University of Wyoming fan. While he was still gestating away, his mom was sewing Cowboy pennants for his nursery.

With potty training just around the corner, I cannot think of anything more suitable for Max to poop on.

I may just buy one of these BYU potty trainers over at Varsity Baby.

Now Max can learn to defecate and desecrate all at the same time!

Wyoming Pride . . . it's probably not for everyone

Let me begin by saying that I am truly proud of my Wyoming heritage, much in the same way President Obama still loves his racist grandmother.

You may recall my post regarding Wyoming’s sub-par Easter Egg. Much as Wyoming's Egg fell short in representing the talent and creativity of Wyomingites, the state continues to elect individuals to Congress who fail to reflect the intelligence of the state populace.

Behold:

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In Lummis' defense . . . the pronghorn is the fastest animal in NORTH AMERICA, which, sadly, may be as far as she considers to be the relevant portions of the world. A weak defense, I must concede . . .

What's up your butt?!

Got somthing irritating you?

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Good chance that you can find an image of that foreign body hiden in your rectum over at Wikidpeia.

Mystery solved!

I'm sorry, I didn't get a word you said, Mr. President

Presently, I am sofa-bound trying to take in President Obama's Address to Congress. I am CRAZY-distracted by Nancy Pelosi sitting behind Obama's left shoulder. She is wearing some retro-70's-fondue-party-avocado-green sweater outfit, blinking far more than is humanly necessarily, and appears to be sucking broccoli from her teeth.

Try as I may, I can't focus on anything other than her bizarre facial tics, and the gleeful way in which she continually pops out of her seat in applause as though her chair were spring-loaded.

Am I just being catty? Did anyone else find her distracting.

(If I find out she is suffering from tardive dyskinesia, I am going to feel like a jerk.)

Matt tells me these kind of things get to me because I have an overactive parietal lobe. I think I would have been better served had he specialized in plastic surgery rather than psychiatry.

Okay. Back to the Address.

Pet Causes

I guess everyone should get behind a cause about which they feel passionately.
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The site e-MANcipate.net is devoted to "accelerating the acceptance of male pantyhose as a regular clothing item"
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Ah . . . I must concede that mantyhose are quite striking!

I don't want to brag . . .

. . . that's not true at all, I most certainly do want to brag! Guess what I get to do tonight. Here's a couple hints:

(1)

(2)

That's right. I get to attend the World Premiere of "Mary and Max" and the Opening Night hoopla for the Sundance Film Festival. HOORAY!

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"Mary and Max" is a claymation feature about enduring pen-pals Mary (an 8-year-old misfit living in the suburbs of Melbourne, Australia) and Max (a morbidly obese 44-year-old New Yorker who suffers from Asperger's syndrome).

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I have my fingers crossed that I will run into Phillip Seymour Hoffman tonight where I will exclaim, "Do you know who I am?! I am a big fan of radio control!" I then look forward to being escorted out by security.

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Overall, this promises to be an exciting night!

Add it to the list

In this third installment of a series entitled "Plastic Surgeons I Won’t Be Using" . . .

. . . I openly declare my personal policy against physicians who use caulking guns as their instrument of choice.

So wrong for so many reasons

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Two words that make my insides churn:

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Hello, I am the office perv. Pleased to meetcha!

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Dear Websense filter personnel:

I am writing this letter in defense of my character and to deny using my office computer for inappropriate purposes.

By way of background, I recently read about a necklace that sold at auction for more than $2 million. Curious to find a photo of this pricey string of pearls, I ran a Google search with the following terms:

Try, if you will, to imagine my surprise when this innocuous search triggered the Websense porn filter.

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I am saddened to find myself in the position where I must affirmatively assert that my search for a "pearl necklace" was, in fact, literal.
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Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you that your first impression of "pearl necklace" was that of hard core pornography. Tell you what: why don't you get back to me when I run a search for something more blatantly disgusting, like "Cleavland Steamer."
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Get your mind out of the gutter Websense.
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Very Truly Yours,
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Reluctant Kerry

Post Sorbet

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There have been a number of things I have wanted to post lately, but I haven't. I just couldn't bring myself to return to my typical coarse and arguably tacky brand of wordsmithery following the last two posts of photos of my sweet innocent kiddo.

This post will serve as a buffer. A palate cleanser, if you will.

Okie-dokie, then. Moving on . . .

You may find this hard to believe . .

. . . but our refrigerator is actually a portal to another dimension!
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Max went looking for a late night snack, but found the gateway to a parallel universe.

This Year's Christmas Card

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Okay, this is just getting ridiculous

Things are getting out of hand on Madison Avenue's Creepy Tampon Ad Division.

Case in point:


" Bring it girls. Bring it! Bring it! "

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So tampon commercials have always made me a bit squeamish. Ladies in white pants, sitting on white couches, lovingly patting their bichon frise . . . with no signs of the "scarlet shame." Weird, uncomfortable, icky stuff.

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But these camera angles -- these are just too much:

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" Check it ladies, no mess here! "

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" See! "

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" I am kicking the stuffing out of the MENZEEEEES! "

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" You best not be looking at my hooey. "

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And the most horrible of Playtex's menstrual crotch-shots . . .

" Check out my period spirit! WOOOOO! "

- - - - - UPDATE - - - -

Diedre from over at Craft Cabana makes some compeling points in the comments:

And the voice over shouting her approval: "may the best protection win!" WTF,O? Also, in the 28 years that I've managed with just the regular tampons, I've never once encountered the need for "no slip grip." And while we are on the subject, how does the backup layer know it's the backup? Does it sit on the bench until it sees a situation developing?

I am still chuckling (and cringing) about potential injuries sustaind for want of a no-slip grip.

NO HATE! Okay ... maybe just a little hate

Last night a number of protesters picketed outside of an LDS Temple in New York to voice their support of gay marriage and decry those Church members who supported California's Proposition 8.

Demonstrators conveyed a bit of a mixed message.

"Shame on you!" the large crowd chanted in a 1-2-3 syncopation while looking up at the temple. Several protesters held signs asking "Did you cast a ballot or a stone?" while other signs read "Latter Day H8" and "Church of Mormon" with an X drawn over the second M to read "MORON."

That's some mighty fine wordplay, there. Way to take a stand and come down against bigotry and intolerance.

Not funny “ha-ha” – funny “weird-and-creepy”

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You may not find this too hard to believe, but not everyone thinks I am particularly witty. Today’s telephone call from a wrong number is illustrative:

ME: Hi, this is Kerry.

CALLER: Well, it’s not supposed to be.

ME: You sound like my mother’s obstetrician.

(silence)

CALLER: What?

(CLICK)

The problem with living with two men

WOAH!

Max warns: "Do NOT go in there!"

Kindred Spirits!

Last year I posted this Halloween story about my first grade witch's brew whose rather macabre recipe was published in the local paper - much to my mother's horror.

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If you don't feel like going back and reading this year-old post (though you should, it would make me happy), I will just recap the primary ingredients:

• hair;
• cobwebs;
• lizards and spiders; and
• little kid's kidneys

The last item being the ingredient my dear mother found unacceptably weird and abhorrent for a young child.

Nearly twenty-four Halloween seasons later, we picked up a great book for Max. The book is called Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich by Adam Rex.

Love it! It is a fantastic book.

Anyhoo . . . there is a poem in this book called "The Middlewich Witch-Watchers Club."

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Witch watchers hide in trees and shrubs or settle deep in ditches

And when they spot a witch, they look to see which witch it was

They check inside the Witch Watch Book by Mitchell & von Fuzz

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Today they saw a Speckled Crone

which shrieked while eating files . . .

And then a Frazzled Warthag baking kid and kidney pies.

That's right! KID and KIDNEY pies !!! I am not alone! I am not the only weirdo creating imaginary confections made from tender young organ meat. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you Adam Rex for make me feel like less of a freak show.

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Can't Wait for the VP Debate!

And now . . . a series of awkward, confusing and, uncomfortable photos:

Sea lion stuck on the rocks . . .

Turtle stranded high atop the post . . .

Sarah Palin at the podium.

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These images share common threads:

• They did not get to the top on their own;
• They do not belong there;
• They have no idea what to do while they are up there; and
• You just want to help the poor thing down.

A shameless retelling of the post turtle joke.

My, what a manly grip you have!

I came across this ad while reading a legal journal.


Oh, so often I have shaken hands with the likes of the jackass shown above. To be truthful I have never found these vice-grip-blowhards to be the most formidable of opponents. The way I figure, if these guys think it is necessary to put the power grip on a diminutive attorney who barely looks old enough to drive, it can't say much about their own legal acuity. In short, I have learned the more aggressive opposing counsel is, the less intimidated I am by them.

I have, therefore made up my mind regarding the firm placing this ridiculous (reprickulous?) ad.

Meet My Gas Guzzler

While we were visiting Zion National Park, an Italian tourist backed up his truck and crunched right into the fender of our car.

Lovely!

So after about seventy-two phone calls we were able to locate an honest-to-God insurance company with whom to place our claim.

While my vehicle is in the shop I have had the pleasure of driving a Chevy Silverado extended cab pickup truck. This vehicle is a behemoth. Not only to I make a complete fool of myself every time I try to park this monster, but the gas mileage is KILLING me!

I think I found the problem, though. Underneath the gas cap lives a real-life Gas Guzzler.

Can you see him in there? Let's say hello . . .

This cute little Gas Guzzler looks benign enough, but his appetite is insatiable!

To hell with camping, let's all go INTRUDING!

My family was driving down the highway when we passed a recreational vehicle with the adorable little name of "INTRUDER"

When Matt and I reach that magical age when we buy matching sweatsuits, take up square dancing, and enter the RV market, I don't think we will want to buy a camper with such a mamby-pamby name. Oh no. We will be looking for something just a tad more menacing, more environmentally terroristic. Something along these lines:

"The Defiler"




"The Penetrator"

and my favorite . . . .

. . . the luxurious "Woods Rapist"

How to be a wife beater (it takes more than just a dingy white tank top)

I'm already learning so much in my new state of Utah! Here's what came up in today's research:

There are formal procedures one must take if they intend to abuse their household members. That's just smart legislation! If you legalize cohabitant abuse then you can regulate it - hell you can even tax it.

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Okay . . . in fairness to to the good people of Utah, this Chapter applies to the procedures by which abusers are arrested, charged, and sentenced. But you MUST agree the choice of words is funny if unfortunate.

McCain is Old . . . But is He Old Enough?

Here is a fantastic video from The Onion:

Old, Grizzled Third-Party Candidate

May Steal Support From McCain

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"I am voting for a man I can imagine drowning a bag of cats." Couldn't have said it better myself!

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I think the side-by-side analysis clearly illustrates the stronger coot-candidate.

Banking with a personal touch - excessively personal

I was setting up online bill pay today with a new bank. As a security measure I was asked to "provide answers for the 5 secret questions below."

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Could you read that?! That fourth "secret question"? Here, take a closer look:

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My bank is trying to learn what my greatest fear is? I am suddenly uncomfortable with the personal turn this online bill pay process has taken. You would really have to reach to come up with more uncomfortably personal questions.
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The traffic is a bit . . . different out West

By way of update, we bought a new house, I started a great new job, and the commute is breathtakingly beautiful.

My complaint: the traffic!

It took me more than two hours to get to work one day last week. I would have taken a different route to work, but no one warned me there would be a cattle drive in the middle of the interstate that morning.

Here's the picture message I sent to my boss:

Running late. Cows.