Twitter Conversation Today

Today for the Browns/Vikings game Bob and I will be having a conversation via Twitter. Being in different cities we never get to watch football together anymore, so we figured we would try this and see if it's any fun. If you happen to happen to follow me (boxdp) on Twitter, make sure you're following udbw2 as well so you get the full conversation. I'm curious how the format will work out for this, so no promises. If this goes well we will probably continue it throughout the season, likely focusing on Sunday night and Monday night games. I really didn't want to try this out on a Browns game, but the opportunity to make a whole bunch of cheap Brett Favre age jokes was too tempting to pass up.

More Excuses

Rather than just pretending like I was going to post more I have actually been preparing to do it, mainly by taking amusing pictures and planning the words that would accompany them. Unfortunately, somehow I managed to delete not only all of the pictures on my phone but most of the phone software itself, and the resulting firmware upgrade very effectively killed anything that remained. Long story short, my incompetence has cost you several pictures. Too bad too, there were some real doozies in there. Since even I'm not a big enough slacker to make a post specifically about why there isn't a better post in its place, I'll tell you a short story as long as you're here.

Last week I was bartending on Saturday, and when I got done I decided to enjoy the nice weather and good company, and sit outside with a beer. Before doing that, I had the good sense to make use of the restroom, as I had been holding in what felt like a sizable dump for most of the afternoon. After waddling my way to the can, I sat down and started to push, and let me tell you, this was a big one. I struggled and strained and gripped the bowl and everything, this turd was a monster. After finally fighting the good fight to the finish and feeling like I had stretched my anus almost to the breaking point, by natural next step was to look into the bowl and stare down the opponent I had bested. Imagine my surprise when all I saw was a small little pile of rabbit turds. The following is verbatim the first two thoughts that came to my mind:

"Seriously? My asshole is so tight that those tiny things felt like they were doing to break me?"

"Wow, I would be really popular in prison"

The Sad Fate of the Fraggles

As often happens when I'm supposed to be doing something productive, my mind wanders off. Thanks to instant messaging, when my mind wanders it is able to meet up with other, similarly bored minds and they can romp and play together. The following conversation between Ray and I few weeks back really shows just how bad this sort of thing can turn out. Oh, and in the future I promise to try and post something more often than every 4 months. Incidentally, I now have 80 days of unmarried life left.

(NOTE: I know I screwed up at least one of the Fraggle names. Feel free to correct me if you want to be a total dick).

Dave: Ok, so picture this
Ray: ok .. in picture this mode ...
Dave: you're on the set of Fraggle Rock
Ray: gotcha ...
Ray: so ... i'm eating doozer bridges with impunity? ...
Dave: it's late, tensions on the the set are high as they record the intro song for the 100th time
Dave: Wembley has had enough, he's ready to go home, and the director just yelled at him, so he's in an exceptionally bad mood
Dave: as the theme song ends and the camera cuts to him, he takes the opportunity to replace his finishing line "Down in Fraggle Rock" by looking at the director and screaming "Suck my Fraggle cock!!!"
Ray: at which point jim henson flies into a homicidal rage, killing several doozers on his mad romp across the set to deliver a severe beat down on wembley ...
Ray: meanwhile boober slips off to the dressing room to drown his sorrows in a fifth of jack and several pounds of radishes ... eventually hanging himself due to his deep, severe, unchecked and often ignored depression ...
Ray: eventually wembley bleeds out on set ... due to the fact that the paramedics fail to fit down the fraggle hole
Dave: The show goes bust, and Fraggles fill the unemployment offices. The economy dries up. Gorg carcases line the streets
Dave: It's impossible to go out at night; Sprocket controls the streets now. With the old man now just a pile of bleached bones, he has developed a taste for Fraggle meat
Ray: Uncle Traveling Matt, who had been considered "In the wind", was found dead later that week, in what can only be described as a doozer deal gone bad.
Dave: With Wembley dead, thieves raided his stash of Woopie Water, and began a savage bootlegging operation
Ray: As the woopie water bootlegging operation continued to gain in size, so too did the fraggle sex trade. As lawlessness continued to run rampant, Mokey and Red were sold into sexual muppet slavery.
Dave: Hardened by a life of bootlegging, famine and sloppy muppet blowjobs, Gobo emerges as king of their subterranian hell
Ray: submachine gun in hand, gobo makes he last stand against the federal pig dogs, shucking off his mortal coil in a hail of gunfire and profanity.

I'm guessing this is a pretty accurate picture of how it all went down.

sNOw day

We were supposed to get all sorts of nasty weather last night, leading me to the hopes that I might not have to go to work this morning. When I awoke I was disappointed to find that, not only had we not gotten several feet of snow, indeed it appeared that some of the snow previously on the ground had gone back up. Fortunately, the ice storm did eventually appear, just in time for my evening commute home.

Faith and I went Christmas shopping at the mall on Sunday, an act of selflessness on my part that I don't think that she fully understood. For some people, the mall at the holidays is a chaotic mess; a sea of people to wade through in an annoying effort to get that last Webkinz reindeer. For me it is a walk through a very real hell - every step a sea of tortured souls reaching out with lifeless hands in an attempt to steal my essence. If, somehow, the mall were to collapse in upon itself in a pile of rubble, burying us all beneath stone and steel, you might well have heard me give a great sigh of relief, like a man who was walked 100 miles might give upon finally sitting down. Alas, this did not happen, and I have copy of "My Life as Ernest: The Lessons of Jim Varney" in paperback to prove that I survived the trip. Someday perhaps she will understand the great gesture of love that this effort represented. Until that day though, we will have to rely on Vern for guidance.

It's a New Blog

This is my new blog. I hated having to log into myspace to post stuff because I kept being reminded of how I don't stay in contact with people like I should. Hopefully this way I can share my dumbass thoughts and still remain guilt free, which would be great. Incidentally, one of my thoughts for this whole thing is keeping tabs on my wedding planning, so at the end I can look back and watch as I slowly lose my mind. For reference, it's 225 days until I get married, also known as "tying the knot", "attaching the ball and chain", and "adding the green lion to Voltron".