Brought Back to Beaverton

Grip Your Chairs, Prepare For Doom

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 16:03:00 +0000

The LHC is now fully operational. Ions are colliding at the alarming rate of some science equations most likely divided or at least multiplied by other science equations. Do a quick pat down, are you still in existence? Yeah, me too. Whew.

When I tuned into Cern's webcast it was 10 minutes of pure terror. The first thing I heard was, "Everything seems to be working, now they just need to stabilize the beams...". What? What's unstable!?!* You can't just have unstable beams when you're colliding a wad of physics, oh my god we're all going to die!

*runs around in circles for 5 minutes in panic jabbering incoherently about beams and stranglets*

My panic was only heightened after my friend sent me the link to test if Earth has been swallowed by a black hole: Has The LHC Destroyed the Earth. Access Denied. Access. Denied. Holy sh*t. That's it, we're really absorbed into a mass of space goo. It feels kind of squishy and empty. Just like a black hole should feel. If only my tears were not being sucked into nothingness.

Oh....the announcer just said everything is stable and everybody in the room is cheering. Well. I guess that's cool. Kind of boring but cool. Also it looks like my the link my friend sent me was just blocked by my employer's web filter. Score one for science, at least until there's some electrical surge. Then...

Speaking of my employer, I should get back to work. I was going to use the rest of my vacation time for Black Hole Disability (also known as: "Really F*cking Long Term Disability" or "∞ Leave") but now I don't have to.

*InterroFlashBang!

This is a good idea.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 20:27:00 +0000

SCIENCE! Oh, science. If I could hold you in my arms and make out with you a little only to have you run away and get a restraining order and a one day totally useful self defense course because of me I would, because then I could say: "I'm sorry I can't come within 50 feet of science or I have to go to jail again" and "Science is in training to kick my ass".

I read a science article today regarding gene therapy as it applies to vision problems. Don't worry you may not have to click on the link, I think I can summarize it accurately for you. Imagine Jesus. Tall guy, beard, sandals, white robe, no underwear, preachy as hell. Now that you have the visual, remember how he used to cure the blind? He would walk up to them, facepalm them and say, "My child open your eyes, see God's creation. Also give me 10 silver pieces. Wait...do you have insurance? No? 1000 silver pieces. You don't have...shit. Well, hope the scenery was nice while it lasted, welcome back to blindtown. Also you have leprosy now".

Ok, now imagine a modern day Jesus. Tall, beard, Crocs, white suit, no underwear, preachy as hell, bluetooth headset. He walks up to a blind dude, lays one hand on his forehead, prays softly and through the mystical and holy powers of Science, jabs a needle full of genetic material directly into the guy's eyeball.

Guy: "GAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH-"
JC: "I know, it's a Miracle! Bill will be emailed to you from jhc@holytrinity.com duder. I'm out."
Guy: "-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-"
JC: "Hold on, got a call. Hey, I have the Holy Spirit on the phone. He says shut the hell up or he's going to tell St. Peter you nailed that 16 year old.".
Guy: "AAAGGGHHHHH-right. Sorry. No wait! I didn't nail a...oh right. You're Jesus."
JC: "Ha! Totally didn't even know that actually happened. What you think we don't have better stuff to do than watch you pricks all day like you're the only planet that matters? Anyway, you can see so enjoy it because you'll burn for that underage chick. I'm OUT. "
*puts on shades, lights up cigar, steps on ascending cloud, angels sing*

My point is they can restore someone's vision by taking a needle and injecting a virus that contains the helpful vision repairing gene into your eyeball. The virus goes to its new home and releases some straight up science and bam! Vision.

This is TOTALLY a good idea. Let me reiterate: playing around with viruses that take over your DNA = good idea. Probably at most the virus will zed word the eyes and nothing else and that would be pretty damn funny. Zombie eyes, the eyes that crave brains.

Just Made Up Right Now Phil: "What up bro?"
Zombie Eyes Dan: "Brodin! Lookin' good" (this is how they talk in my head, just like this)
JMURNP: "We should totally party this weeke-why are you staring at my forehead Mr. Brojangles?"
ZED: "I can't even help it Brodege, I got that eye injection for my blindness" (that was Bro in the form of Protege, FYI. I don't have the inclination to figure out how to accent letters)
JMURNP: "Well it's freakin' me out Anne Broleyn, your eyes look like they want to slurp up my brain fluids"
ZED: "Oh they totally do Broseph Heller, that's all they ever want anymore. I can't walk past another living thing without my zombie eyes immediately darting to their head and flashing me images of myself cracking their skull and sucking their brains like a cadbury egg. They actually make a pretty good case for brain eating.
JMURNP: "That could totally impede the devil's threesome we had planned tonight Brocifer"

And of course they go on like that...forever. What were we talking about? Healing eye viruses? I think writing the above dialogue made me too dumb to write more. I'm out Eleanor Brosevelt.

The Only Tasty Melange

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 03:48:00 +0000

I received a text from a dear friend last week containing the picture below and the following text:

"I saw this and thought of you. It's coffee. You put it in your mouth."

The two hours following the viewing of the image was filled with intermittent chortles, guffaws, and straight up laughing fits.

That's all.

I'm Sick of Beaver...ton

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 07:32:00 +0000

I really want to rename this site. I realize that probably two people in the galaxy actually even visit it and they are both people I know. Infrequent updates and long rambling missives about bats, french horns, ion colliders and zombies don't draw in the big crowds but that's not why I do it. I do it because I like to write, just like I spend a lot of time talking about and cooking food, finding new music, and learning how to fight. I find something fulfilling about all of them. If you're not doing something you like in your free time, you're wasting away the precious metronome ticking of your life. You never know when some stupid pianist is going to unplug that shit.

hehe...pianist.

My hope is that some day postmortem all of these rambling posts will be printed off and read at my funeral. Can you picture that? One of my dear friends standing next to my casket reading posts about my unhealthy obsession with science that's not necessarily backed by knowledge, my lame but hopefully somewhat funny ideas, and scattered about dick jokes? All while my son giggles at the jokes and my wife softly puts her face into her palm (in shame, not grief). Twill be a day to remember my friends. Hazaa!

Anyway, I want something else as a name, my last two for this experiment weren't thought out terribly well. I'm going to brainstorm some others. If you swing by and want to provide feedback, that would be really nice of you. Swell even. You would be one swell pianist. I'm on fire! Don't unplug my metronome.

What really sucks is that I thought of the PERFECT name while driving home from somewhere the other day and forgot it. It was such an awesome name that while I was thinking it, my car wasn't using gas but the new name to propel it.

Down to it:

-Undead Robot Parade
-The Professional Robot (an interweb moniker I've used on occasion. Also Pro Robot is my xbox live gamer tag).
-Adopted by Odin
-Post Apocalyptic Happy Hour
-Scientastic
-The Snarky Taoist

I'm making very little sense in my own virus addled head right now. Time for bed yo.

Your Salisbury Steak Requires Direct Action

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 18:41:00 +0000

We humans take modern convenience for granted. Luckily I will soon no longer be human once my transmogrifier is fully built. I'll probably turn myself into a gryphon because no one save maybe Cthulhu screws with an eagle headed winged lion.

I brought a microwavable Smart Choice meal to work today. Nothing says modern convenience quite like sticking a plastic tray into a radiation box and 3 minutes later pulling out hot steamy lunch. Does "hot steamy lunch" sound like some sort of deranged sex practice?

My radiation box meal was less than a minute from being fully realized and I was waiting patiently, even though gryphons don't HAVE to be patient about jack. My co-worker, who is a ridiculously nice person so if I had feelings I would feel remorse for this post possibly, takes her radiation box meal (I considered acronyming this, but RBM doesn't sound like anything I'd like to put in my mouth) out of the freezer. It is salisbury steak, not that the type of irradiated food makes much of a difference to this story. Sailbury steak is the SyFy (<---wtf?) channel movie of steaks. The first thing my co-worker, who shall henceforth be named...Eleanor Roosevelt, says is "5 minutes?? These things take longer every time!". After I inform her that two questions marks were very unecessary, I think to myself "5 minutes seems to be a perfectly reasonable amount of time to make sure your meat is hot". Then I chuckle for a good 10 seconds in my head, snapping back to reality before Eleanor Roosevelt starts to think that I am in a coma or a zombie or even worse a pervert ("why are you staring at my cold meat? creep!").

Eleanor Roosevelt continues to read the container and in about 25 seconds her face once again contorts to incredulity.

"I have to flip it half way though?!** I shouldn't have to do that, if I wanted to cook my own food I would have!"

Oh, humans. You and your odd fluctuations in persepective. I enjoy the comforts of today as much or more than the next person. I spend many a night sitting on a couch surrounded by pugs and watching screwed up movies (Audition...I'll never be the same) on Netflix streaming while my wife gets sucked into the interwebs by her giant iMac. At least I fully understand that these are benefits provided to me by scientific advancement, a fortunate economically comfortable upbringing allowing me to go to college and get a decent paying job, and the fact that I am not yet a gryphon and still have opposable thumbs with which to operate electronics.

The moment I start complaining about having to wait 5 minutes for crappy irradiated (<--I heart this word) steak I expect Obi Wan to appear to me in spirit state, ultimate punch me in both sides of the face and the crotchal region and then tell me to put on my animal skin, walk out into the -12 degree Wisconsin winter and hunt down my own salisbury steak beast with a spear. He'll then add, "if you're lucky, I'll wrap you in ton-ton guts when you start to freeze" followed by a force shock. When I'm a gryphon I'm going to go straight up mythical on that asshat.

So Eleanor Roosevelt, next time you're all angry about steak flipping remember that science has saved you from the inconvenience of having to brave the elements to hunt this beast:

**While multiple question marks annoy the salisbury steak out of me, the ?! I like because it has an awesome name: the interrobang. I also use the !?! which I will henceforth name the interroflashbang.

You shouldn't awaken things.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 23:15:00 +0000

I was perusing the very funny The Hot Librarian and found out about a new online tool called sketchpad. It's like the middle ground between MS Paint and The Gimp. For those who don't know what The Gimp is, I don't care.

No other reason to post today other than to provide the image I created on sketchpad over the span of the 8 minutes I sampled it's capability. Enjoy.

Oprah, Bacon, and The Things That Hold Us Together

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 18:14:00 +0000

Of the items in the title, Oprah and Bacon go together and The Things That Hold Us Together is separate. They all tie together because they are all have been causing me much annoyance today.

First, Oprah Bacon (Opracon!). I don't watch Opracon, but in the past year I have seen two segments of her show and both made me wish I had the power to pass my body through physical media so that I could reach my arm through the television and fish hook her to the ground.

For those who don't know, a proper fish hook is when you jam your thumb in between someone's cheek and teeth, reach all the way to the back of their jaw (to the mandible) and lock your thumb in place. That gives you the ability to move them wherever you want to because where someone's head goes so does their body. I would do this to Opracon until her face was against the ground and she could only say "I'll gibb you a fee cahhh iphh you leg oo ub my fafe" (that's "I'll give you a free car if you let go of my face" in Fish Hook Oprah), then I would retract my hand, sanitize my fingers and then pull my arm back through the television. Ok on to the two segments:

Her interview with Cormac McCarthy (this is not the bacon part). Awful. I feel like watching that interview actually caused my mind to unread one of his books. It should be one of the seven deadly sins to interview a deranged brilliant author by peppering him with lame, boring questions that in turn get lame boring and possibly irritated answers. Maybe get rid of "lust" from the deadly sins and replace it with "Opracon Interview". Because lust is awesome AND sexy.

The nutrition specialist guest she had on, David Zinczenko, who stated as fact that turkey bacon was worse for you than regular bacon. Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE regular bacon but I do know that it destroys my body just a little bit everytime I eat it (especially if it's bacon chocolate). So far I have not been able to find one example where real bacon is healthier than turkey bacon in calories or fat content and only very occasionally do I see significantly different sodium levels (bacon is still often higher). My guess is the douche on Opracon found one brand that fits the criteria (probably bacon made from a leaner cut of meat, I guess that's possible) and decided to go with it to sell books. The worst part is that Oprah didn't even ask him about it; she just accepted it as fact and so did her ~~minions~~ humble followers. Now I think about this stupid segment every time I eat 2 pounds of regular bacon (gluttony, another deadly sin! yay!) or turkey bacon for health purposes. I had turkey bacon today, which led me to post this.

The other reason I'm annoyed today is due to an injury I sustained. Dr. Internet has diagnosed me with an anterior ligament strain or sprain in my elbow. No one is as trustworthy as Dr. Internet in finding quantities of possble ailments. This happened while I was ground fighting at my martial arts class. It's usually not a good sign when your elbow pops so loud that everyone can hear it and stops to stare at what they assume will be a floppy dangly limb that has been broken in 10 places. Luckily my arm did not break in 10 places. Idiotically I kept going until it popped a second time 10 minutes later. Double idiotically I returned to class a week later only to injure it again by bouncing it off an evil opponent's knee.

So now I'm stuck waiting for my arm to heal which is eating my brain from the inside out. Normally my routine (one of the few that I'm able to keep) is: go get beat up (and hopefully reciprocate), rest for a day, go get beat up again and then reflect and mentally prepare until the next week. Right now I'm stuck on relect and mentally prepare until an undetermined time. I think it's why I want to fish hook Opracon.

I also have to admit this, because it's easy to admit things to cyber space: I very briefly pondered getting a knife and making an incision so that i could see what was all going on in the problem area. As I was jokingly thinking about it I suddently realized that I was actually thinking about methods of repairing the tissue and closing up the incision. I can't quite grasp how incredibly stupid that would have been. I probably would have ended up with little to no use of my arm into the very distant future and a nasty infection.

Me: "I think I hurt my arm."
Doctor: "When you say 'I think I hurt...', do you actually mean 'I mildly hurt my arm and then cut it open and rearranged the muscles and tendons?'"
Me: "..."
Doctor: Your arm is basically on backwards right now.
Me: "Dr. Inter-"
Doctor: "If you say Dr. Internet I am injecting you with a syringe of my Diet Coke"
Me: "-national space station is pretty awesome, am I right?"
Doctor: "This is going to require extensive surgery and a lengthy recovery time"
Me: "Opracon told me to do it"
Doctor: "You should never let Oprah and Bacon direct your life choices."

I'm thinking publishing this post is a bad idea but I'll do it anyway. Granted this blog has a grand total of 4 readers at most, but Oprah is pretty powerful and may track me down and pull out my fingernails.

Do you like pie??????

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 06:33:00 +0000

Either I want to know if you like pie so bad that it hurts the dark space where my soul should be, or that's just way too many damn question marks.

The usage of multiple question marks to ask a single question evokes bubbling rage in my heart and liver, especially when the question is a straightforward one that is not supposed to invoke tension or emotion. For example, there is a large difference between:

Would you like me to pick you up a sandwich while I'm out to lunch?

and

Would you like me to pick you up a sandwich while I'm out to lunch????

The first question simply throws out the option of me bringing you back a delicious conglomeration of fresh ingredients encased in a giant bread bear hug. Yes or no...doesn't matter to me. Either way I'M getting a sandwich. Maybe a reuben. Maybe tuna salad. Roast beef? Could be. Roast beef??? Screw you.

The second question implies that the acquisition of a sandwich and its subsequent transfer to you will determine the fate of all of your unborn children. It's a question in the spirit of almost any line from Akira:

Damn. Now I'm hungry.

There should be some guidelines is what I'm saying. Maybe there is an actual occasion where the use of multiple question marks can emphasize a point that you are making. Maybe I actually want a turkey, bacon, and avocado sandwich. Who is to say?

Next time you want to send a f*ck you out to grammar and proper tone, maybe use this question mark legend:

? - An even toned question used to gather information. ex. How many slices of provolone do you want on your Italian beef sandwich? Mmmmm...Italian beef sandwich.

?? - A super serious question that you want answered now. No bs this time. Answer the damn question! ex. Oh no! Are you out of insulin??

??? - Dire emergency (even more so than insulin shortage). This is a question that is sent in panic and needs an answer NOW. ex. Did I just poop my pants again??? Where's my meth dealer?? <---see what I did there?

???? - To be used only when bodily harm or great property damage is imminent. ex. Are you about to add a glass of water** to that concentrated acid???? or Is that tornado headed for the sandwich shop????

????? - Catastrophic world event. ex. Jesus Christ is that a meteor headed towards earth?????

?????? - The Rapture. ex. Jesus Christ??????

??????? - The worst possible thing imaginable. ex. The internet is down???????

???????? - All of the above plus the LHC experiment goes awry. No time for words in this question, maybe just an expression before we are a stranglet. ex. ????????-

This should really be added to all textbooks.

**Just a shout out the large science community that reads this blog, the following question receives one question mark: Are you about to add concentrated acid to that glass of water? Fist bump for science.

-Image of the above sandwich, named "Sex Panther", courtesy of one of the most awesome and disgusting website dedicated to food on Earth: This Is Why You're Fat.

Chat histories should probably not be saved

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 21:08:00 +0000

I received a request to repose a google chat session I posted on MySpace (pppsshh...who still uses MySpace?) a while ago. The request was from the other person responsible for the following nonsense. He shall go unnamed and shall hereforto known as....Jeremy "A".

So it's not really new content, but whatever. This is MY time!

-------------------------

[start]me: so basically all there is to do in muncie, is go to school or ride horses. Also look at an orchid collection. Luckily there is room service and video games. And of course pleasuring myself.

...with hotel soap.

3:17 PM Jeremy:

yeah, oh and race cars

3:18 PM me: oh...good. cuz I love Nascar and beating my wife, and inbreeding, and drooling on myself, and....oh I better be careful. My office is full of nascar fans.

3:19 PM Jeremy: ditto

me: Nice.

3:20 PM I can at least appreciate Indy racing. They turn right AND left. Not just around in circles.

...they can do: THE MAGNUM.

Jeremy: yeah...indy, some fine atheletes there..with..cars.

3:23 PM

3:26 PM me: Carthletes dude. Carthletes. I suppose if darts is a sport....

3:29 PM Jeremy: I'm just saying, car racing needs one thing to make it better...

nude asian chicks

me: I second that. I'd watch every race.

3:30 PM Jeremy: Oh, and a mime crosswalk every mile or so

3:34 PM me: The following sports would be interesting to me if a mime were placed in harms way: soccer, javelin, tractor pulls, fencing, archery, logging competitions.

3:36 PM oh, and mime slingshot competitions.

3:37 PM and the space shuttle launch.

3:38 PM Jeremy: dogfights, bullfights,cockfights....and the special olympics

me: also hurricane katrina and making shish ka bobs.

ha! special olympics.

Jeremy: church

me: God hates mimes?

3:39 PM Jeremy: well no...but methodists do

me: true enough. They do hate a lot of different things.

3:40 PM Jeremy: prison riots...just to spice em up a bit

me: I'd also like to see clowns put into the prison riot mix. And maybe a juggler or two.

3:41 PM Jeremy: and Idol runnerups

3:42 PM me: nice. Throw in "the Hoff" and you've got quite a riot stew. Nothing but blood, make-up (from the clowns, the mimes and The Hoff), and the smell of sex.

3:43 PM Jeremy: Hoff?

me: David Hasselhoff.

3:46 PM Jeremy: dave's a little dangerous, he may try to sieze control...in slow motion, with high light

3:47 PM me: jesus. no one wants to see that particular prison riot in slo mo. That can do some damage to your mental health.

....well....MORE damage that is already present.

3:48 PM so the hoff is out and....maybe...Ben Affleck in?

3:49 PM Jeremy: oh yeah... and gilbert godfreed

me: as long as they go for his voice box first I'm alright w/ that.

3:50 PM Gilbert: "AND I WAS LIKE OH MY GOD I CAN'T BEL...."

**shiv to the voicebox**

3:51 PM --silence (and bleeding).

Jeremy: oh my goodness.

3:53 PM me: not okay w/ that?

3:55 PM Jeremy: no, i'm weeping from the sheer justice of it all... can the shiv-er be a gay latino gang member named Bobifer Lopez AKA B.Lo?

3:59 PM me: no becuase if we keep this conversation up I am going to break out laughing at work and try to cover it up by coughing.
This will cause the the deadly combination of a snort-laugh- sneeze and I will pass out. I will wake in the sick room of the company surrounded by angry bosses and 350 pound belgian nurse who seems to think that a rectal exam is necessary to diagnose my medical state.

4:00 PM ...I will be both laughing and crying becuase though rectal exams are hilarious, they are NOT funny when happening TO you.

Jeremy: yeah that would suck, big time

4:01 PM me: On that note, I should probably get back to work. I'm out Bobbifer Lope...ah shit here i go....

4:05 PM later sailor.

4:10 PM Jeremy: fare thee well mighty warrior
[End]

Yes, so Gilbert Godfreed got shanked and I wasted approximately 5 minutes of your time talking about NASCAR and mimes.....and bobbifer lopez apparently. Have a good day.

-----------------------------

er...yeah. That conversation actually happened. And we weren't drunk. At least I wasn't. He might have been, it was after 3pm.

I Still Love You French Horn. You Tender Sad Pile of Brass.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 04:19:00 +0000

A friend of mine, we'll call him The Poetinizer. No, The Grand Poeton. No Poedin. NO! The Poet Who Destroys Your Mind Starting From The Hippocampus (TPWDYMSFTH for short). Yeah. He posted a fantastic video on his blog of Arcade Fire nihlisting it up in an elevator with an orchestra and percussion by way of periodical.

Oh, and yes the title of his blog does in fact read: "White Supremacy, Bacon" on it. I do not, however, believe that TPWDYMSFTH is actually a white supremacist. He most likely thinks racism is a pointless past time for the ignorant, but if he does in fact hate the brown skinned then he can correct me if he wishes.

It would be nice to know about the racism what with my having genetically lightly toasted skin and all. Also he paired White Supremacy with Bacon. He's a vegetarian so what I assume is happening here is some combination of word pairing two things that are just way off the scale of what should be out there to eat/believe. Bacon is like, the Teddy Roosevelt of food though so maybe I am just spouting crap. Yes, I do believe bacon could make a solid run for oval office. ("What platform are you running on?" "Grill pan. Eat me, vote, die early").

Here's the video, and then I'll get to my point. My point involves very little talk about decadent foods or racism.

First, the guy between the sax and the violin looks like he's pleasuring himself to the rhythm. What is his purpose?

Second, the French Horn gets no love EVER. When is the last time you heard someone say "Damn, that French Horn player really tore it up". You never have and you'd be lying out of your oddly shaped stupid lying mouth that only tells lies if you say you have. It's clear to me that the music overlords have relegated the French Horn to bitch quartet accompaniment duty and other backing roles until further notice. I won't stand for it. What does the horn have to say about this madness?

[Trumpet starts its 57th solo of the first movement]

French Horn: That tinny sounding asshat. I am going to bend him into a phallus and sell him to a hooker.

[Trumpet completes solo and saxophone starts its solo]

FH: Is that Kenny G? It is isn't it. If only he just labeled his music easy listening and not smooth "Jazz" I wouldn't have to wrap his greasy stringy hair in my tubes and twist until I see scalp.

[The oboe solo starts]
FH: That sounds ridiculous. It's like listening to Gilbert Gottfried getting tortured while riding a squeaky bike. What's that thing sticking out of the top? Is that wood? Hehe...wood. That's a really tiny piece of wood.

[FH looks down at its sheet music...a French Horn solo on the next page?]
FH: WTF!?! A solo! Oh hell yes, the day is mine! No one will forget the soothing aural sound scape I am about to lay across the room. I'll give them intensity they have never before experienced. This day I will be knighted by all queens live and dead. I...

[The sheet music's page is flipped. On the next page is a picture of the director wearing a "French Horns Suck Ass" shirt and grabbing his crotch].
FH: FML.

[Trumpet solo starts again]

It is complete BS (short for Bam Squiggly) and I won't stand for it. The French Horn is capable so much goodness and the world has heard only a fraction. I hereby form the Associated Supreme Society for Human Advancement Toward French Horn Superiority. ASSHATFHS. Catchy eh? Screw you it's the best I could come to ASSHATS and it took my almost 20 minutes to come up with it. Suggestions are welcome.

To kick off this grand day, can anyone come up with some truly unique music that involves a crap pile of delicious French Horn action?

I only found this (I do think it's funny that whomever posted the video labeled it "Super Woman Plays the Horn"):

Books in the trash make me sad. and the Hulk angry.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 23:48:00 +0000

I am stranded in Coon Rapids, MN so I invaded a used book store in search of "A Canticle for Leibowitz". A friend explained its excellence to me and I figured there may be a small chance (32.33, repeating of course) that a decent human being had some premonition that I might reconnoiter from my hotel room in search of this literary masterpiece. I was told it was a literary masterpiece by the same person that wouldn't stop using the word "reconnoiter" approximately 40 times per day last weekend.

Alas! I did procure the book. All because its previous owner did not finish it and then throw it in the garbage, light it on fire, or tear out all the pages so that he or she could tape them back together to form a literature based missile defense system.

Thank you kindly human! Thank you for trading in your books. The moral of this story is: Don't use good literature for military defense projects. Remember, you can always use something that will actually stop missiles when building a missile defense system. Like People magazine or muppet skins.

Good ideas are hard to come by. Killer robots? Much easier.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 02:23:00 +0000

I spent a total of 35 minutes mowing my lawn last weekend. That's time I could have spent doing the following:

1. Building my hovercraft (I'm 56% done)

2. Donning my sheet metal duct tape bat hunting suit and pounding winged mammals.

3. Dousing myself with gamma rays to induce some sort of cellular reaction giving me sweet super powers. "Look it's Melty Skin Man! He's here to save...oh my god that is f*cking disgusting. Kill it with fire!"

4. Crying in the tub again.

5. Watching the early prototype for a killer robot mow my lawn.

Introducing the AutoMower. Tagline: "It's a solar powered free roaming whirling blade of death...in your back yard."

The AutoMower, made by Husqvarna, attached the following motto to its uninspired name (AutoMower, c'mon. It's a Loomba): "A Perfect Lawn, Without the Work".

Ok, I can see where they're coming from, but I would make a modification. The Loomba: "A Perfect Lawn, Without ~~the Work~~ a need for the human race." FTFY.

Why all the negativity you ask? Umm....IT'S AN AUTOMATED SPINNING BLADE ON WHEELS. You scoff. You scoff at me. Well who's going to have the last laugh when you're surrounded by 8 steadily circling Loombas waiting for a direct order from central robot command to slice you into something resembling ground chorizo. Mmmm....chorizo.

For the record, I will not be having the last laugh. I'll be in my tub, crying again. Husqvarna will be having the last laugh. And it will be the tinny robot laugh of the robot uprising. I've deduced that Husqvarna is the central intelligence source for these murder machines. It is a rogue AI unit that is taunting us subtly by naming itself a name that breaks spelling conventions. It's already learned to bend rules by eliminating the rule that a "U" must follow a "Q". **shudder** What next? My only logical conclusion could be the activation of its death robots.

If you see one of these machines, hit it with a nuclear bat. A wise man of science (the internet) once passed on to me the following complex and accurate equation:

If you need me, call me on my tub phone. It's like the bat phone for super heroes with melty skin that cry in their tubs.

A Post Regarding Toolboxes. And Not the Ones Containing Tools.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 02:59:00 +0000

Here's my story:

I had just paid for two delicious coffee drinks from Starbucks. I was waiting for the friendly barista to bestow unto me my beverages and I witness something that I will never be able to fully explain. I do have theories (I always have theories), but I feel this event will to some degree burn in my binary memory units for a long time.

So I'm waiting, jamming out to some groovy WPR scheduled programming and a large truck pulls into the back of the empty parking lot. Decals...it has decals and mudflaps and mesh on the back window. Pretty normal for central Wisconsin, I thought nothing of it. Out of the truck steps a dude that could only be described as a combination of terms used frequently by my dearly departed friend (Stever!): A Meathead Toolbox.

Here are a list of words that could be as meta tags to return Meathead Toolbox in a search engine: Muscle shirt, chew bottle, tribal and/or barbed wire tattoos, repressed homosexuality, anger (see: repressed homosexuality), large tricked out truck, punching nerds, balls hanging off back of truck

He takes the 15 step levels out of his truck, walks over to the group of three dumpsters at the back of the parking lot, turns to face the dumpsters...

and launches his bottle (containing a slimy, nasty concoction of saliva and chewed tobacco) 20 feet past the dumpsters into the neighboring restaurant parking lot. He then nods his approval of the situation, turns around, makes the 10 minute climb back into his truck and drives away.

I don't think the barista heard me, and my window was open so the MHTB (the new abbreviation for Meathead Toolbox) may have heard me. I believe my exact loudly expressed words were: "Are You F*cking Kidding Me!?!".

It wasn't that I was terribly angry that there was now a plastic bottle residing outside of a trash receptacle. I mean, it's not like the neighboring parking lot is anywhere close to nature and plastic ends up a lot worse places when it gets put in a dumpster and transported to landfills (like the woods, or an ocean). I just didn't understand what sort of thought process was occurring in MHTB's head. He didn't come out of Starbucks, he's a MHTB after all, Mountain Dew Budweiser Creatine Protein shakes are his drink of choice. He took a detour into the parking lot from the main road and navigated to the back of it. His entire purpose for crossing into my reality was to dispose of a half full foul smelling soda bottle of chaw. Why wouldn't he just drop it out of his window. Why wouldn't he park his truck, set the bottle down and drive off? Why wouldn't he throw out a racial slur, mix it with tequila and urine then guzzle it down to show how manly he and his toolbox of douche are?

I can pose the following theories, as weak as they may be:

- He has a severe depth perception impairment. It causes him to completely overshoot everything. Intersections are a nightmare, basketball is hilarious, sex is pointless, and he often watches TV from behind it.

- He has a vendetta against the waste management company (Veolia). First of all, their name is too hard to say and...that's really about it. Veolia is too hard to say. It's almost as bad as Onyx.

MHTB: "WTF is O-n-y-x?? It's not even a word. What? F*ck sometimes 'Y'."

- He is not a MHTB. He is an artist, and his deep artistic soul told him that the bottle of chew MUST be placed in the middle of the Annie's Restaurant parking lot. His artistic soul also told him to put rubber testicles on his truck.

-His consciousness exists in an alternate reality, but his body exists in ours. Nearly everything is the same in his reality aside from the position of the dumpsters, which is exactly 20 feet further than they appear in our reality. I applaud the effort he made to keep our other reality's streets clean. Bravo MHTB.

I spent my entire drive back home sipping delicious coffee while alternating between uncontrollable laughter and soft weeping.

The End. True Story.

Bats again. There's one....RIGHT BEHIND YOU!

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 13:36:00 +0000

Does anyone know how to get rid of bats for good? Controlled nuclear blast? Can I duct tape on some armor and go on an attic bat stomping fest (grraaaaar!!)? Infiltrate the bat's culture and over time convince them to stop their crazy war on humans? Call PETA and tell them I'm keeping them as pets (liberate them!)? Have my bizarro world engineer friend engineer up a hyper-evolutionizer ray that mutates them into bat-humans (bat...men if you will) who we then befriend?

I'm sorry but ninja skills are no match for the night skills of a bat. Until I turn the lights on and laundry basket the f*ck out of it that is. My tennis racket was in the garage. Since you need something with a broad side to hit flying animals out of the air, my fists of fury would likely have been useless. I did try the Ultimate Punch (at about 1:30 in the clip):

As it turns out the Ultimate Punch is not a useful tactic, well...ever. Anyway, bats are still pretty awesome but I'm sick of their terror tactics. This is becoming a turf war and I'm inclined to turn on some death metal, bat proof myself with tape and some sheet metal and take it to these bitches. Like a ghetto Iron Man.

Cowbell....there should be more of it.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 06:00:00 +0000

For the first time in my life, I saw another human being and thought, "you know what's missing from that dude? A mullet.". Usually it's the other way around: "That guy would be pretty cool, if only he snipped that fricking mullet." Regardless, there I was at a local bar listening to a top 40's/classic rock cover band watching the guy with the camouflage jacket and faded black denim cargo pants make his moves on the dance floor thinking, "yup, he's missing the party in the back".

That is all.

Oh, and the lead singer whipped out the cowbell...thrice. Also the Frampton guitar voice-box made an appearance.

Melt Your Brain Goo.

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 06:45:00 +0000

I'm not sure what it is about this week, but I've been gathering stuff that just kind of made my brain work. So instead of some incoherent goofy rant where I pose as a science impostor who makes up a lot of new words, I present: stuff that implodinated my mind this week. Damn it, looks like I couldn't make it twenty seconds without gracing the dictionary with a new word.
---
First is Radiohead, because they're always first. An amazing band who would probably not be a band anymore if they simply took the formula that worked for them and stuck with it. They are risk takers, innovators (or at least huge fans of innovation) and they make some pretty fantastic wave formations to go into my ear holes. Below is the "House of Cards" video off of their newest album, In Rainbows. Why is it so awesome? Because they used no cameras. Some dude emailed them saying he was working with some cutting edge 3D imaging technology and they jumped on it. Watch the "making of" section to see the cool stuff that happens behind the scenes. Namely when they strap a big scanner onto a van and digitize a neighborhood.

The video:

And then here's the site where you can see how the video was made, the technology behind it, and then if you feel up to it, you can play with the video yourself or make your own video. I got to see the back of Thom Yorke's f*cking face. I'm pretty sure I know now why he puts the "h" in Tom.
---
Next is some video of the moon landing. The poster says it is new video, but that doesn't really matter because it's the damn moon. If you are a conspiracy theorist who believes that the events were faked, well then screw you. Your birth was fabricated and you're either a hologram or an android.

---
Here is a video of something everybody should, at some point in their lives, take the time to do. Why? Well, I'm blogging on a series of tubes so I don't have to explain poop noodles to you. **insert meme or xkcd cartoon**. The real question here is: is the dude who kicks off the dominoes on the toilet with his boxers on?

----
Next up is a tiny two minute video on a subject that could be (and has been) discussed for hours at a time. String theory attempts to explain our universe and the dimensions that exist in and around it...or something like that. From the short bit of research I've done, it seems that as physics goes, string theory is being abandoned because it can't really be proven (taking the risk of seeming completely ignorant: anybody out there who may know, does success of the LHC changes that at all?). It exists more as a mix of physics and philosophy; and I'm pretty sure if you (if you are a non physicist) read up on it and try and discuss it with a physicist, they will math you to death.

---
Lastly is actually a semi interesting depiction of the size of the universe. The only reason it is on this page is because it invoked a memory. A wise sage (who hits me a lot) once directed me through a meditation (which I have done several times since) in which you view yourself as you're meditating and proceed to zoom outwards. You see the building where you sit, continue outward to the city, state, country, world, solar system etc... After your consciousness is floating somewhere in the strangely claustrophobic void of space, you zoom slowly back in to your body. This technique gives you perspective and may also drive you to the brink of insanity. The video below is best watched with the sound off in my opinion. It does forget to zoom back in again so don't get lost in space.

Of course one of the truly mind melting things I'm going to do tonight is dream. The fact that I can view random images generated by my electrified brain matter is jaw dropping.

Sweet dreaminations.

...are you kidding me? "Dreaminations"?

Science: Eleventy Billion. Me: Two (and I cheated).

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 03:16:00 +0000

Mark another win for science, for it has found a new and exciting way to scare the living-ish zombie juice out of me. I always thought it was pretty funky that they could take a metal prod to your noggin and simultaneously cause you to smell daisies and make you remember when you were 4 and you peed in your parents underwear drawer (which did NOT smell like daisies, I'm sure). Well now they think they can do it without the metal prod!

I know what you're thinking: but isn't that LESS scary? I mean, I don't want someone to jam a metal skewer into my noodly head appendage.

Huh, what are you doing writing in my post? *Intertube Punch!*

I had a point. Oh yes! Well, they are close to finding a way to do the same thing without jamming a metal skewer into your already suspect noodly head appendage. Oh, cool you say? That could be handy for those with a degree of scramblage (technical term, you wouldn't have heard it before) in their brain?

You're absolutely right, it will definitely be a great benefit to the medical community. It will also be the greatest weapon the world has ever known...because, lets see, they can TAMPER WITH YOUR NEURONS from across the freaking room! They (being "The Man") can change you from a mild mannered law abiding citizen into...

...and ask yourself this sir. Do you want to be a giant fuzzy brown square with razor sharp teeth and a bad habit of destroying everything in its path?

Right. Bad example, that would be pretty sweet. I think you get the point though, right? Wireless Brain Wave Scramblinator = ultimate weapon. Put on your tinfoil hats and move into my hidden cave fortress with me. A word of warning, it's just a bunch of chairs in my basement with sheets over them. I'm sure it will be hidden enough.

Since none of you are going to listen to my pleading anyway, I'm going to focus on a different part of the article. Check out the following quote:

"The researchers point out that it is often challenging to get federal funding for this type of interdisciplinary research. Traditional grant review panels are specialized to review either chemistry or neuroscience proposals, but not proposals at the interface between the two disciplines."

That kind of talk permeates the entire article, which I could draw only one logical conclusion from. The separate disciplines of science hate each other with the passion of a super nova. In fact, I could get murdered by chemists for just mentioning them and a physics term in the same sentence.

This conclusion leads me to other relating conclusions as follows:

There are lab wars. Brilliant minds are extinguished in these epic battles. Beakers full of deadly concoctions, everywhere. Vectors drawn to precision; their ultimate goal to bank shot a protractor shard into a nearby chemists skull. Giant motorized scientist pulverizinators (score one for the engineers, not so much for the spelling police). The horror.
The atomic bomb, you think that was a war time retaliation? Nay, some rival scientist mouthed off or wrote a mocking equation in graffiti on another scientist's lab coat.
Fact: science labs are the most dangerous places in the world to be. Booby traps (hehe...boobies) everywhere. It's a Rube Goldberg maze of doom.

I can't possibly be wrong about this. You'll see.

Also...Wireless Brain Wave Scramblinator.

Dick Dastardly, why do you torture me?

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 19:15:00 +0000

Knowledge is power; I'd like to impart some of both upon you: Spiders are out to get you, if you turn around you will see a ninja (but you will never have a chance to tell anyone about it), and Dick Dastardly stands at the center of everything evil. You may remember him as the villain in the Wacky Races cartoons in the 80's. An innocent cartoon in which Dastardly caused fun havoc whilst cheating at every turn and pounding the hell out of his dog.

I remember him as a professional assassin who would stop at nothing to remove me from the gene pool (and who had finally murdered poor Muttley). OK, I didn't actually think he was out to get me, but I am an only child and when I had nothing better to do it was off to fantasy land. Soooo...not really that much has changed.

So Dick Dastardly's method was to create ridiculously elaborate traps, the end result being my death. However, for each plan there was a certain sequence of actions I could take to save my own life. The kicker is that they always happened to be actions that I was going to take anyway. For example:

I'm sitting down for breakfast. As I pour my 3rd bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch cereal I do not realize that this particular meal may be my last. That damn Dastardly has laced my Peanut Butter Captain Crunch with poison (only the 3rd bowl apparently...he's a sneaky SOB). Since I had taken 2 sips of orange juice, adjusted my napkin, and only put 7 pieces of cereal on my spoon I had unknowingly thwarted Dastardly. That just happened to be the sequence of events that nullify the poison.

Oh, but wait. Dastardly had a back up plan where if I spoiled his first plan, a secondary ridiculously complex murder plan activated. Luckily since I folded my place mat, put my spoon into the farthest compartment of the dishwasher silverware holder, and turned down the stereo...I lived to fight another day. With no knowledge that I was fighting any war at all.

Why tell you about my very special childhood daydreams? Probably because I forgot to take my medication again. Also, now every time you see an episode of Wacky Races you'll be like, "oh, that's Dick Dastardly. He likes to try to kill fake Samoans. Huh."

Not much has changed since the good 'ol days. I'm sure I still unknowingly thwart plans to terminate my existence, but I'm pretty sure Dastardly has retired or been killed by Muttley's reanimated corpse. My new nemesis...

Baldwin.

Batsuit Up!

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 03:06:00 +0000

It's been about 5 months and I have posted absolutely nothing. Am I lazy? Screw you, until you have a kid you shut your damn mouth. There's no such thing as lazy when you have an infant to find a place to stash while you play X Box.

Hold on, some agency is calling me....Have you heard of some place called Social Services? Me neither. I'll just add myself to the "no call" list and be done with them.

So bats. We have them.

Lets get something straight before I go any further, bats are freaking awesome.

They can do almost every cool thing that I want as a super power.

Bio-Sonar? Check.

Membrane wings? Check.

Not a rodent? Check (oh, look you learn something every day, Bats are of the Chiroptera order).

Fly with stealth? Check.

Sleep upside down? Check.

Strike fear into mortals? Check.

Have very good vision? Check (myths undone!)

From my above list, it would appear that bats are really quite close to the perfect blend of kickassery and ninjaosity.

That is why it pains me to tell you that these wondertastic creatures forced my hand on two occasions in the last week. While finding a bat in my house would in most cases prompt me to fashion a net out of household materials and go charging through the house in an attempt at capture, since an infant now lives under my roof (at least until he gets a job in a year or two) letting the bat roam free was not an option.

So as much as I admire these winged creatures of the night, I was forced to find and exploit their greatest weakness. Tennis. I don't know what it is about tennis rackets, but they make superior bat hunting tools. If I were to count the amount of swings I took vs. the count of dead bats accumulated well let me just tell you ...you would be impressed.

Okay, both answers are two.

Hold on though, do bats possess some less tangible super strength that cannot be seen with the naked eye? Indeed they do. The ability to become a huge pain in the ass even after their demise.

Ability to become a huge pain in the ass even after demise? Check.

Apparently bats do not normally come in ones or twos. They hide in your attic and constantly poop over everything. Their poo can lead to the growth of a fungus that releases spores that when inhaled can cause Histoplasmosis in mere humans. They can also enter your home proper through tiny tiny (like 3/8 of an inch wide) openings such as improperly fastened vents. 0.5% of them carry rabies. Also they can possibly freak out your wife so bad that she will take the child and leave until the bats are gone.

All of these extra super powers lead to me having do actually do something about this. So not only to I have to spend hours bat stalking, now I have to climb in my roof and help my father-in-law patch crap up. And I HATE high places. Another weakness the high flying bats exploit.

It's getting late so I should go to bed. Another advantage: bat. They are night stalking right now. I am going to sleep like a weakling.

The moral of the story is: bats are high concentrations of awesome unless they dive bomb your family in your house. Then you have to beat them in straight sets in a game of "Meet Roger Federer".

Enjoy the night:

FDoE is here!

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 00:09:00 +0000

So you're wondering...why aren't I dead? Now that the Final Days of Earth has come, why aren't my molecules spread over the universe or part of a strangelet?

It could possibly be that I overstated exactly how quickly the end of the Earth would come about after the child is born. I mean what can an infant do to destroy the Earth? He's starting small. He nearly blew his diapers off of his body the other day; also he almost blew a nurses' hand off (with poo) when she put it to close to him. So he's working up to something big...believe me.

So I will give him time to develop his destructive powers. The ninfant is strong already (yeah, I said ninfant) in the art of stealth, deception, striking skills and disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

A wise man recently brought to my attention that the power to destroy the world could possibly be harnessed and used for monetary gain. That's a whole separate post in itself...

Or maybe the world did end already. How would you even know? If it blew up so quick you couldn't tell maybe you are in the afterlife right now or in a different dimension. Have you noticed any friends or relatives exhibiting behavior that is entirely opposite of their normal behavior? You could be in bizarro world. Have you noticed that you have a goatee and feel a little more randy (in an evil sort of way) than 8 days ago? Conversely, are you now clean-shaven and have less of an inclination to murder cute things than 8 days ago? By the way, I have scientific proof that everybody with a goatee is evil.

The Final Days of Earth...is currently still inside a uterus

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 18:17:00 +0000

I had intended to provide more frequent updates on the one who will determine Earth's destiny, but really what is the point? What with the Earth nearing its doom and all.

Well, its kind of hard to tell you exactly how FDoE is doing because every time the lab technician puts the ultrasound probe close, the machine flashes a bunch of symbols on the screen and then melts to a puddle of goo. Also when the doctor attempts to listen to the heartbeat all she can hear is low creepy chanting. Then she bursts into flames. We're on like...our fourth doctor. Why do they keep doing it!?! There always like "Oooh, I'm a doctor, I know what I'm do--AHHHHHHH! MY SKIN IS MELTING OFF! I'M BURNING ALIVE! I'VE ALWAYS HATED BABIES!". The truth always comes out when you're burning alive. And that's my quota of consecutive capital letters and exclamation points for today.

I can tell you that FDoE's training is coming along well. He can melt into the shadows, break ribs with but a tiny kick, use a sword proficiently, and of course burn doctors to a crisp. Surviving without actually breathing air seems to be no problem for him at this point and I expect that trend to continue. In fact, his dependence on air is going to have to disappear completely if Earth is going to be destroyed.

So what will happen when FDoE is born? Well, I imagine it will look exactly like this:

Aliens and all.

6 days. Count it down. Duck and cover.

Of course, it could be sooner or later because FDoE does whatever the hell FDoE wants.

Knife Wrench! And other fabulous inventions

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 20:52:00 +0000

All of you Scrubs fans out there may already know about Knife Wrench, but if you don't:

A brilliant invention from my favorite character in Scrubs. Bravo Janitor.

I said "and other fabulous inventions" in the comment line didn't I? Crap. Alright brain, don't fail me now!

I've already proposed my Nerf/Velcro travel system. Nobel prize winning idea methinks.

A machine that digests your food for you. Digest-a-bot 6000.

A pill that give worms to ex-girlfriends. Ok, that one's not mine:

A live speech grammar correcter. Kind of like the worm that goes in your ear (that doesn't exist) to translate alien languages. This one goes in your mouth and stops you from sounding ignorant.

Ninja detector. It probably works by detecting puffs of smoke or levels of awesomeness.

Science Generator. A device that can help you get out of complicated jams. Let's face it, science can solve anything. This one may be hard to perfect since it will probably take time and a lot of testing to cram all of our science into a portable (iPhone compatible) format. Also in pressing a button that generates science the universe may be destroyed.

Morbid Humor Is The Best Humor

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 20:32:00 +0000

Gambling is fun isn't it? You hand over stacks of cash to a stranger and in return get the comfort of having handed over stacks of cash to a complete stanger. Fulfilling.

Well get this, you can gamble with more than just money. You can gamble with your life! What is this, you say? Is this true? May I make a bet that involves the termination of my brain's neural activity? Yes. Yes I may.

All you have to do is go to your friendly neighborhood insurance agency and take out a life insurance policy. Make sure it is the type of life insurance policy you pay extra for so that if you are still alive after a certain amount of time, you get all the money back. Apparently the make money on the interest of what you paid them each month and can afford to give you a full refund. Actually not a bad deal, but put into perspective you do only get the cash if you manage not to piss off a ninja or get hit by a rogue propelled cheese wedge.

I'm going to say "no" to this policy. Not only do I tend to have ninja issues, but I'm just assuming that if I managed to make the time window without ninja/cheese wedge intervention, a giant cartoon piano would fall on me on day 7671. There's math involved there, by the way.

Infrequent posts and one small update

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 07:50:00 +0000

I haven't been posting anything scientastic or otherwise...uh...tastic in a while because I've been dedicating more time to an actual blog where traffic is hopefully generated.

It's music related, check it out if you have time:

The Desert Island

Also, it has been determined that The Final Days of Earth shall be a man. Like it will matter once the Earth is gone.

My Immune System...

noreply@blogger.com (Ethnic Mike) — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 21:51:00 +0000

...is made of metal and brawn!

Normally when a significant other (wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, amber alert child stashed in your basement) gets the sniffles, it gets passed on so that everyone in the household can share the joy of excessive mucous.

I, following these simple steps, have sidestepped disease forever.

FORE. EVER.

1. Wash your hands at minimum every time you look at your significant other. Make sure to have a grimace on your face while you do so that conveys both spite and determination.

2. Whenever the "carrier of the Black Death" coughs or sneezes, immediately take a can of Lysol and spray it in his/her mouth, nose and eyes.

3. Proceed to spray yourself in the mouth, nose and eyes in case the virus was passed onto your person. This burns the first couple or hundred times, but trust me it's better than the alternative (sniffles).

4. Restrict the affected to only one piece of furniture.

5. Slit holes in a large sheet of plastic and install ventilator masks where the holes are cut. Wrap the piece of furniture in plastic so that it is airtight save for the ventilator holes. If this is not done, you must at the very least dress as demonstrated below because A. It is an impenetrable fortress of sterility and B. You can go around town randomly quarantining various buildings with no questions asked.

7. Keep your anger levels up at all times. I have the firm belief that it helps your body fight off the infection. If you feel yourself becoming calm or happy even (god forbid), immediately berate the infected. This helps you from giving the virus an opening and helps to test my second theory: sadness and despair helps heal the body. Screw the "starve a fever, feed a cold" bullshit.

8. The only reason to ever bring hot chicken soup to the infected is to throw it at them in order to scald the virus that resides on the skin. If you actually give it to the sickly being, he/she may bite your hand or something and we all know what resides in that saliva. (note: this is more a threat if the infected is a zombie. If so then you will need THIS)

So stay well and always remember anger and disinfectant are the keys to a healthy (and probably relationship-less)future.