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April 2006
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Featuring

The Sporadic Curmudgeon

(Wherein I Frequently Complain)

by David Bryant

10 Indications You Need To See A Doctor

Tuesday, April 25, 2006 @ 2:30 pm  
Now That's Just Gross!

1. Eyeballs are not supposed to be corrugated.

2. Cats bury you every time you go to the beach.

3. The boil on your back is keeping you awake at night with its muttering.

4. A creepy guy with tongs and an ice chest keeps following you around.

5. You go to the bathroom at work, and the next day everyone gets a memo forbidding paintball games in the building.

6. The buzzards are getting bolder and more numerous.

7. Perpendicular toenails.

8. Airport screeners bite their knuckles and sob when you walk through the X-ray scanner.

9. Excruciating, fiery pain piercing your head from temple to temple so violently that you become nauseous, and you’re not watching America’s Next Top Model.

10. You can’t get that maggotty taste out of your mouth.

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Map Porn

@ 12:54 pm  
Geeking Out

Some of us, and I’m not naming any names here, are a little bit too interested in cartography. A while back, Google released a free Windows-based application called Google Earth. After playing with it obsessively for days on end I recognized it for what it is: map porn. If you’re into latitude, longitude and altitude, this baby’s the money shot.

Well, the view just got a little bit more explicit. If you have Google Earth installed, and you’re on the web at Google Maps and spot something interesting that you’d like to see closer, just click on “Link to this page” in the upper right-hand corner. Then, after the page loads, add the following text to the end of the URL:

&output=kml

Load the resulting URL and before you know it the location loads up in Google Earth!

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go change my underwear.

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Feeling Like A Couple Of Boobs

Thursday, April 20, 2006 @ 1:27 pm  
Genitalia In The News

An elderly Florida man has been charged with sexually assaulting two women because he posed as a doctor giving free door-to-door breast exams, and they took him up on the offer. The women were both in their 30s, and one of them only caught on when he neglected to put on gloves.

OK, I hate to blame the victim here (not just because it’s wrong but also because I catch a lot of flack), but take a good, long look at the guy. If a doddering old psycho like that came a-knockin’ for knockers, would you let him play sweater bingo without at least a badge flash?

It makes me wonder if something fundamentally changed in this country and nobody thought to tell me about it. When I was in my early teens, copping a feel was only a tad bit easier than breaking into Fort Knox, and usually required a line of patter so smooth that eavesdropping Irishmen would openly weep with admiration. Hell, I know guys that lost a hand just brushing a bra strap.

I mean, if this guy can get to first base, what the hell was all that batting practice for?

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Retch-ed Excess

Tuesday, April 18, 2006 @ 6:55 pm  
Food Now That's Just Gross!

It has come to my attention that a number of people I work with are unfamiliar with Steve, Don’t Eat It! It’s been around for a while, but the aforementioned Steve adds a new entry once a year or so, presumably between trips to the hospital.

The premise is simple: Steve finds some ghastly horror in the grocery store or in a book of questionable recipes, and, so that no one else will ever have to subject themselves to the ordeal themselves, he eats the nasty stuff and records his impressions.

In lesser hands this could be moderately amusing, but what puts it over the top is Steve’s writing. The man is the Shakespeare of gross. Here’s a few samples to give you a taste.

On Beggin’ Strips bacon-flavored dog treats, which he made into a Beggin’ Strips, lettuce and tomato sandwich, Steve writes:

In closing, the only silver lining to this dark dark cloud is I have figured out why so many dogs lick their own assholes. They are trying to kill the taste of Beggin’ Strips. (By the way, it doesn’t work.)

On a vile fermented soybean product called Natto:

I force-fed myself a big ol’ spoonful, and found it to be slightly rancid and extremely bitter. Unfortunately, swallowing didn’t help dissipate the flavor because the strings of bean jizz melted, coating my mouth and lips with a glistening sheen of sadness.

The entire experience is difficult to describe, but if you can remember back to the very first time you made out with a hobo’s ass, it’s a lot like that.

He also tackles such gag-a-riffic fare as diseased corn, potted meat, prison wine, and a shot glass full of human breast milk laced with Hershey’s chocolate syrup.

I bow to you, Steve. You are a God among gross-meisters.

Other than the incredibly foul foodstuffs, there’s another disturbing aspect to the site. You end up really liking the guy, and let’s face it: there is ample reason to be worried about his health.

On a closing note, you should probably not go to Steve, Don’t Eat It! anywhere near mealtimes or cranky supervisors. I read his latest post about a can of Korean Silkworm Pupas and shot milk out of my nose. I was not drinking milk at the time.

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Ten Good Questions To Ask Yourself

Sunday, April 16, 2006 @ 11:41 am  
I, Curmudgeon

1. It that thing supposed to be ticking?

2. Why don’t I try it without the chloroform next time?

3. Does it count as murder if I think he’s a robot trying to pass himself off as human?

4. I know what hairy palms signify, but what about the soles of my feet?

5. Is the kitsch value of furniture made from used nuclear waste disposal containers worth all the extra tumors?

6. Is cannibalism really the best way to deal with this situation?

7. I wasn’t supposed to push that big red button, was I?

8. Can a long-distance romance work out if the other party is one of my alternate personalities sending email through a proxy in Brussels?

9. Is there a mathematical formula for calculating the amount of deodorant I’ll need to pour into the flower bed to keep the neighbors from getting suspicious?

10. Yes, but will it burn my genitals?

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Bad Haiku XXII

Thursday, April 13, 2006 @ 11:06 am  
Bad Haiku

at the urinal
a strategic pantomime
impress co-workers

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I Took A Meeting Yesterday And Bullshit Was Its Name-O…

Wednesday, April 12, 2006 @ 1:58 pm  
Geeking Out

If you work for a living, no doubt you’ve been trapped in meetings with some idiotic marketing golem blathering on about “paradigm shift” this and “turnkey solution” that. Most of us (those without the awful maw of a terrifying shrieking void where our souls should be) are ill-equipped to deal with the onslaught. The instinctual response is to gnaw your own leg off to get away, but for obvious reasons that only works a few times. So how are we poor working stiffs to defend ourselves against the brutal firehose of corporate diarrhea?

Relax. The wonderfully humanitarian folks behind Bullshit Bingo have come to your rescue. I won’t spoil it for you, just go.

Many thanks to Jason for sending me this link.

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Deus Carnitas Est

Tuesday, April 11, 2006 @ 12:53 pm  
I, Curmudgeon

I’ve been told ad infinitum* that one of the most irritating aspects of my personality is an inability to refrain from horrible puns in dead languages. Operating on my lifelong principle that it’s a hell of a lot more educational giving in to temptation than resisting it, here goes:

Back in January Pope Benedict XVI issued his first encyclical, entitled Deus Caritas Est, which is Latin for “God Is Love.” Change caritas to carnitas and you’ve got a Latin/Spanish hybrid that translates to “God Is Braised Pork Nuggets.”

They probably taste divine. I believe my work here is done.

* Latin phrase describing a TV station’s late-night commercial breaks. Maybe I should seek professional help.

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Bad Haiku XXI

Wednesday, April 5, 2006 @ 4:46 pm  
Bad Haiku

I know that gristle
is a simple fact of life,
but in cereal?

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A Bunny On My Back

Tuesday, April 4, 2006 @ 8:22 am  
I, Curmudgeon Food Bizarre Personal Anecdotes

This morning I was taking a shower, as I tend to do every week or two, when I happened to spit. It was pink. That’s odd, I thought. I spit again. Pink.

Uh-oh.

Then, like the bitter recriminations of ex-friends following a birthday party gone horribly wrong, the memories came trickling back in. Before bed, I had opened a package of my daughter’s Peeps®, vowing to only eat one or two.

As you are no doubt aware, I have been waging a well-publicized struggle with Peeps® addiction for some years now. Yes, I had succumbed to the pink suger-covered marshmallow temptations and eaten them all, then fallen asleep in a Peeps®-induced stupor. It wasn’t blood, it was food coloring.

Some people have a monkey on their backs. Mine is made of marshmallow. Oh, God, the shame.

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