Turn Your Head and Cough

2010-06-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

My Eating Disorder

Relax people, it's not as serious as all that. What I'm trying to say is that, despite my 29 years of experience in chewing food, I still can't seem to get it right. I'll bite my lip a few times a month, and the inside of my cheek even more frequently. Of course that only exacerbates things and causes me to continue to pepper my every bite of food with another layer of cheek flesh, which is no one's favorite. But that's not even my main problem. Everyone does those things pretty regularly and will likely continue to do so because we're a nation of rushed eaters.

What I'm talking about is even more embarrassing than that nonsense. What I'm talking about is knowingly eating something that's going to fire up the inside of my mouth and not having the patience to wait for it to cool. The item in this example was a fish sandwich. A fish sandwich that was breaded and therefore needed to be fried. In oil. Oil that was hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock full of lava. So what this breading did was to effectively cause a pocket of hot oil to be trapped in between itself and the other fishy layer of deliciousness. I knew this going in. And yet I still was somehow able to convince my stupid brain that the 4 seconds the sandwich had spent on my plate was enough to cool it sufficiently.

So I then did what any other retarded manchild might have done in that situation. I bit into it with reckless abandon. That Goddamn fish sandwich filled my mouth with liquid agony so quickly that my next seven generations of taste buds were flash fried instantaneously. My eyes watered up and all I could see from that point on was hatred.

I'm not really that mad about it anymore. I got what I deserved. All I'm really trying to say is that you should let your food cool before you eat it. And if you just can't be bothered to wait, give me a call. Because I'll gladly jam that first bite blindly into my food hole.

...Don't judge me.

2010-01-26T01:36:00.000-08:00

Liar Liar, Arm's On Fire

Hey, you there! Have you ever caught fire? Have you ever not realized it right away? Well, if there was a competition for it, I'd likely be at least one up on you.

The other day I wanted to light a candle. Don't judge. I'm a sophisticated dude with a smelly apartment. Being that I had no lighter and nary a match, I did what any sophisticated man would do. I took apart a clothespin, lit it on the gas stovetop and used that to light the candle. Take a moment to revel in the brilliance of that.

Okay, now that you're done basking in my genius, prepare yourself for the dumb. So the candle is lit and is trying desperately to do a near impossible task (of making my apartment not smell like cheese and disappointment). I'm trying to enjoy it, appreciate it. While doing this, I'm also running my fingers through the hair on my arm (well how do YOU get to sleep?!) when I notice that it's all clumpy and crusty. "Asay Whaaaat?" I thought to myself (I often think to myself in the voice of a '70s pimp). I go in for a closer look and notice that almost all the hair on the underside of my right forearm is singed.

...I lit myself on fire and didn't even notice. I'm an adult. I live by myself. I'm in serious trouble.

Anyway, it took me a solid 15 minutes of precise pruning to effectively manscape my arm back into what might pass for normal. Let me ask you this. Have you ever had to do a combover on your arm? Yeah, uh, me neither.

Please just leave it alone.

2009-09-26T23:57:00.000-07:00

Down a Peg

Let's talk a little bit about embarrassment. Now normally you would think that, in order to be embarrassed, you would need to do something embarrassing in front of other people to feel like a true dipshit. If you trip. And people are watching. And you know this. Bam! A little nugget of embarrassment wells up within you and quickly snowballs into you wanting to throw up. You try not to though since that would be embarrassing and you're already using your one broken paddle to navigate shit creek.

So then, it stands to reason that it would be impossible to become embarrassed when you are alone and you do something dumb, right? I discovered a few months back that this is not the case. I was in New Mexico and staying at a friend's apartment. A married couple actually. We had to get up early so they could get me to the airport for a flight scheduled for a quarter to fucking early. Anyway, so I wake up and I'm groggy. That's pretty standard for most. I can generally navigate my way through physical space when I'm tired, even in a place I've never explored before.

Well I head to the shower and disrobe like a normal person (by that I mean I rip my pajama bottoms off like an NBA all star), and I fire up the shower. I notice it's a pretty powerful beam of water and it's just tagging the back wall. Now, I don't know how often you've taken a shower in a place you're generally unfamiliar with, but you always have to plan out your method of attack in order to get in there. If the stream isn't very powerful, you sneak around the back so you can take your time getting used to the temperature. If the water pressure it too high though, you've got to sneak through the front and duck down like some kind of butt ass naked ninja and hope that the water's just right.

Well I don't remember why, but even though the water pressure was nailing the back wall, I remember thinking that the only way to get in there was to go through the back. I had to do it quickly though because the longer it took me, the more water would end up on the floor, which I hate. Well, in my retarded non ninja like quickness I failed to notice that they had a shower mat, I think probably because it was the size of a playing card. So I plant my foot in the shower back and at an angle. Dumb. In an act of defiance, it shot out from under me like I was on fucking roller skates. I proceed to karate kick the mat out from under me and in my still-waking-up haze, I thought it was a squid or something that was touching my foot (stupid little suction cups). I also manage to simultaneously hit my knee on their toilet, ram my elbow into the wall, nearly rack myself on the edge of the bathtub, and pull down part of the shower curtain.

There is no possible situation in life that will embarrass you more when you're by yourself than falling down naked in the shower. Picture that scene from Tommy Boy with the deer tearing the car apart. Okay, now couple that with the scene from Ace Ventura 2 when he's coming out of the rhino's ass. That's what I imagine I looked and sounded like. Just terrible.

So I'm trying to fix everything as fast as possible while water is still shooting out like I popped open a fire hydrant, and I'm thinking that it can't get much more embarrassing. And then I thought "How did they not hear all that?" And then I remember thinking "Oh shit. Please oh please oh please don't let them have heard that." Silence. ...And then the last possible phrase you want to hear in that situation. "Is everything okay in there?" Ugh. What do you say to that? "Yeah, I'm good. As good as a person can be who just racked himself on your bathtub." No! You lie. You lie your ass off. "I'm good. The shampoo just fell." Yeah, your 200 pound bottle of shampoo just fell and managed to somehow tear your shower curtain down. You guys should stop buying shampoo from Costco.

The strange thing is that I'm not nearly as embarrassed telling any of you people about this after the fact as I was when it happened. So, please, learn from my experiences. If you're ever in a new bathroom, showering for the first time, and you see a bath mat, it's there for a reason.

And so that's just one way you can bring yourself down a peg ...almost literally.

2009-09-14T00:14:00.000-07:00

Post Office, You So Crazy!

I was at the post office yesterday mailing some crack rock and a bomb when I was accosted with an odd inquiry. It's not like it was even something new, but it's the first time I really paid attention to the question. It doesn't matter what you're there to purchase or ship at the post office. You always get asked the same question before you pay.

"Would you like to buy any stamps today?"

Seems harmless enough, right? Wrong, idiot! Come with me as I spin you a tale of why this is the dumbest fucking question they could possibly ask you. You ready? Here we go.

Let's say you're at the grocery store. Let's say you've picked up the items that you require and you head to the checkout counter. You're standing there as the elderly lady in front of you is, for whatever reason, trying to pay by check. You figure you've got some time so you start to browse the impulse items. Nail clippers, breath mints, gum, candy, random tiny toiletries, etc. "Oh," you say to yourself, "I forgot that I was almost out of gum." So you grab a pack and check out. Boom, you're done. It makes sense. You went to a store that carries a large variety of merchandise, forgot something you needed while checking out, and were reminded of it before you left. That's nice.

But at the post office? EVERY SINGLE PERSON that's visiting that building is there with a specific purpose in mind. They're either mailing a package, picking up a package, picking up their mail, buying boxes, or buying stamps. That's FIVE things. If you need to do two of them on the same trip, I'm guessing you can probably keep that stored in your memory bank for the duration of your visit. It's not like you're gonna get to the front of the line and be like:

"Damn. Now I know there were two reasons I came here today. Let's see... I'm holding this package, so I'm most likely here to send it somewhere. Fortunately I've already written the address out in full. But the second reason... The second reason escapes me. Let me run through the list of things I could possibly do inside this building, of which there are only five... ...Nope, no idea."

"Would you like to buy some stamps?" the clerk asks.

"Holy shit, you've done it!" you exclaim. "Can you dive back into your crystal ball and tell me how to now exit these premises? ...What's that you say? The same door I came in? What kinda wizard...?"

I guess my main point is that I think it's unnecessary for them to ask you. They've surrounded their little work area with piles of stamps which should be enough of a reminder. And if that visual subtlety doesn't key your brain into your checklist of post office needs, you probably shouldn't be mailing things to people. Seriously, someone's gonna get hurt.

Thinking more about it, I'd be willing to bet they ask you that as more of a retaliation than anything else. Think about it. How many times in a given day do you think someone walks in there, hands them a package, and says something to the effect of "Yeah, uh, I'd like to mail this." as though the clerk is unaware of what their own job is?

...Come to think of it, that's exactly what I did yesterday. ...Dammit. It would appear as though I've brought this upon myself.

Touché post office lady. Touché.

2009-09-04T20:52:00.000-07:00

I Have the Ability to Make Grown Men Cry

Sadly, this includes myself. Allow me to explain. About a month and a half ago, I got to do one of the cooler things I've ever done in my life. I had the opportunity to be a surprise guest at the wedding of a close friend. If you get the chance, I highly recommend it.

His bride-to-be sent me an email about a month before asking if there was any way I could make it since there was potential for some of his key friends to not be able to make it. I had already told him I couldn't twice in the past year since I knew I would be busy with school, so he was already sold. However, a request from the bride seldom goes ungranted. So I immediately bought a plane ticket and worked out my housing and car situations with some friends.

The plan was for me to show up at the rehearsal covertly and then, when they were practicing the vows, I was to make my big entrance during the whole "If anybody has any objections..." part. So I did, and it was amazing. He looked shocked and all the other groomsmen got all choked up. I got choked up, but avoided actually speaking so I could dodge the whole shaky voice syndrome. It was pretty great. The wedding itself the next day was also great. Easily one of the best ceremonies I've ever seen.

I know this entry isn't necessarily funny, but I just had to get it out there because whenever I think about it I smile.

Also, I found out that there is no way I could ever be a ninja or a spy. As I was waiting in hiding, I was giddier than a kid cracked out on caffeine on Christmas Eve. I couldn't stop giggling. When most people see a strange grown man giggling to himself hiding under a desk in their own home, they'd probably call the cops. Thank God I got the right house. Also, there was a moment when I almost got caught, but narrowly avoided it by diving to the ground (with ape-like agility) and doing a marine crawl into the next room. I then locked myself in the bathroom. The things we do for friendship. Then I tittered some more.

I couldn't imagine being an assassin of some type. I'd be hiding in the closet ready to hit someone with a brainstem shot and then I'd chortle or guffaw or emit some other kind of equally retarded laugh, effectively giving away my position. I'd be useless.

Regardless, Jamie and Jami, thank you for letting me a part of your day. You two are great.

2009-08-19T00:09:00.000-07:00

Breakfast for Dinner

Does that phrase get you as excited as it does me? If so, I'll allow you a few moments to go and change your underthings. I know I just peed a little, so I can only imagine what you did ...sicko.

Okay, and we're back. So, few things in life get me as excited as the simple string of words "Hey, we're having breakfast for dinner." ("Free pizza!" comes to mind as well as "What are you doing in my apartment?" but both to a much lesser degree). I don't know if it's because it feels like you're breaking some type of implicit rule of the universe, or what. It's very name suggests that there's only one time of day you should be eating it and that anything else is just pure insanity! But no, we cannot be limited, universe.

So like some type of chubby vigilante, I eat whatever type of meal I want regardless of the time of day it's name implies. Hell, I'll create new mealtime names just to make it right. And I'm not talking about "Brunch" or "Linner" or anything cute like that. I'm talking about creating something new altogether. Something bad ass. Something like "Dreakfunch." ...Actually wait, no, nevermind that sounds kind of gross. I'm a little less hungry than when I started writing this.

Regardless, I still refuse to obey the meal name/meal time law. Actually, I also refuse to obey the law of gravity from time to time. It's true. I'm that impressive. It's like crouching tiger style ...but a tiger that's crouching because he's about to pounce, and not because he's about to poo. That would be far less bad ass.

Anyway, I'm gonna go have a waffle. It's okay. Jealousy is a normal reaction in a situation such as this.

2009-06-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

To Be Young Again

I'm sure you all remember the oh-so-clever 'riddle' we used to ask each other as kids titled "Pete and Repeat." If you're not clear on it, the comedy gold went something like this:

Pete and Repeat were in a boat. Pete fell out. Who was left?

You would answer "Repeat" which was the correct answer but, because of the incredibly clever naming of the characters, your 'friend' would intentionally misunderstand and the game would go on and on. And you'd laugh and laugh and then go eat bugs or sour patch kids or whatever you did as a kid. Maybe play with your pogs or slap bracelets (as you cleverly put one over your eyes so you looked like that blind guy from Star Trek. You know the one. The guy from Reading Rainbow? Yeah, him.).

The thing I always wondered is why were we so concerned about the guy still in the boat? Pete's fucking drowning and we're worried about who's already safe? Where are our priorities people? More to the point, what kind of assbag friend must Repeat have been to just let his buddy flail around in murky, crocodile-infested waters? (I'm assuming the worst) I'll bet you to add insult to injury, he used his name to shirk any real responsibility for the situation. While Pete was fighting for his life, Repeat probably continually shouted "Are you okay?" and would then giddily wait for Pete to shout his name back before repeating the same question a dozen times until poor Pete lost his battle with buoyancy (and those damn crocodiles). All the while Repeat was probably giggling to himself.

Between his father, Saywhat, and his mother, Comeagain, they probably had a blast at the deposition.

I hate that entire family.

2009-06-19T00:28:00.000-07:00

Huzzah for Bragging

So in the past year or so, every once in a while I've submitted a little one or two line joke to the College Humor website. They have an article called "105%" where each week they pick what they think are the best submissions and post them for all the world (or the few hundred or so people that frequent their site) to see. You don't get anything for being picked other than whatever satisfaction you feel comes with it. For me, it's a lot. So here's all the stuff I've submitted that has made it, in no particular order.

- They say knowledge is power, but what if you know you're a pussy?

- They say chicks dig scars, but try telling that to the last six women I've stabbed.

- Every camera is disposable if you're apathetic enough.

- Life must suck for people legitimately selling tickets to gun shows.

- Words to Live By:

Neighbor

Street

Cul-de-sac

Other houses

- I dropped acid for the first time last week. It wouldn't have been so bad had it not been on my lab partner's foot, and had I not been so high on mushrooms.

I think that's all of them. Some are more inspired than others, and most are inappropriate because, hey, that's what makes me laugh. I'll just keep plugging away because every little bit of self esteem helps.

2009-05-06T22:43:00.000-07:00

Tree Huggers Take Note

If money grew on trees, the rainforests could save themselves.

2009-05-05T22:30:00.000-07:00

Childhood Memories

When I was six years old my brother convinced me that our dryer was a time machine. What he failed to mention was that the future involved third degree burns and shit everywhere.

I'm only kidding. I was four.

Kidding again, he's never actually done anything that mean to me. Sadly I can't say the same for myself. When I was five I was a big fan of Popeye, so much so that I actually made my mom buy me a can of spinach. Let me just say this. Spinach or no, there are few seven year olds in this world that can withstand taking a pair of knees to the stomach while lying on the couch trying to watch Fraggle Rock. Mom threw away the rest of the spinach and I came away with the realization that you can do anything if you put your mind to it...especially if the person you're doing it to isn't paying attention.

Inspirational words, I know.

2009-01-24T21:00:00.001-08:00

A Word About Conducting Yourself in Public

Hey there! You with the headphones. Yeah, um, just because you're wearing those headphones and therefore can't hear yourself fart on the subway escalator doesn't mean the rest of us aren't listening.

I hate you.

2009-01-05T19:39:00.000-08:00

Crazy Legs

So caffeine and I don't have the greatest relationship in the world. I think it dates back to when I was a kid and first discovered Mountain Dew. From square one that stuff was making me do stuff I didn't want to do: throw stuff at pretty girls, slam my head down on my desk to get a laugh from the class. It was in complete control of me, and I loved it. There came a point in high school, however, where I realized that I had consumed enough caffeine in such a short period of time that it no longer had an effect on me. Happy days! Now I could rot my teeth in peace, with no ill side effects.

So here's the problem. After many years of consuming soda without consequence, I think it's finally caught up with me again. And I'm not even drinking the hard stuff. Like an old, fat soccer dad, I'm drinking diet. I can't drink the regular stuff as it hurts my teeth. Also my left knee starts acting up whenever there's a storm a'comin'. Okay, that last part isn't true, but I feel like an old fat sack complaining about pop.

The killer is that I can't drink any soda before bed because, come sleepin' time, I get the old mexican crazy legs. It doesn't even matter how tired I am. I could have just run a marathon (not that I ever would, because I'm super lazy. Seriously, I got tired just typing about the marathon) and I could be exhausted, but if I have even the tiniest bit of caffeine before bed, my legs will let me know about it. My body will seriously be at odds with itself. My legs are all full of crazy energy and my toes won't stop frickin' wiggling. It's like they're having an argument over which of them should get stubbed next, and then they all just end up trying to stay as far away from each other as they possibly can.

At it's worst, one of my crazy legs will develop an itch. But here's the kicker: I CAN NEVER FIND IT. I spent a half an hour last night trying to find the part of my leg that was itching. Once I realized the spot was probably nowhere near the leg that actually itched, I set off on a journey to find it. I scratched everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE people. And other than getting caught up just south of the border, I had no luck finding the itch. My leg just kept itching, my toes kept dancing away into the night, and I silently prayed for death.

I guess the moral of the story is for me to lay off the caffeine, which is admittedly the dumbest moral to a story ever. But here's the shitty part: I already don't drink coffee, and I gave up regular soda, so why can't I just have this one thing? I'll tell you why. It's because if I could, then life would be fair, and that's just not in the cards.

Damn crazy legs

... and stupid psycho toes.

2008-11-28T09:23:00.000-08:00

A Hypothetical

Let's say you own an ipod shuffle. Let's also say that you've got a hoodie with a very saggy front pocket. Now let's imagine you're in an airport, sitting across from numerous people. Let's say you decide to listen to your ipod shuffle and therefore place it in your front pocket for convenience sake. Now, let's say you're listening to a song that you don't wish to be listening to any more. What if, because you assume it will be more effective, you try to locate the "forward" button on your ipod shuffle through the outside of your saggy pocket using your index finger? How might that go? What might that look like?

I'll tell you what it looks like. It looks like you're rubbing your crotch as though you were petting a new born baby duck. And evidently that looks weird. At least that's my assumption based on the looks I was getting. Why it took me longer than five seconds to realize this, I'll never know.

...Also, don't stick your tongue out to the side at any point.

...Hypothetically speaking of course.

- The Bean

2008-11-25T16:43:00.000-08:00

The City is Angry Today

My face is all puffy. Initially I thought that maybe I was allergic to handsome, but if that were the case, my body would have exploded a long time ago. I'm hoping it's because I'm sick and not because I'm pregnant, which I thought I took care of months ago. Everyone at school has been getting sick for a while now and I've only just finally given in and become sick myself. My thinking is that it's due to my incredibly strong and efficient immune system. Seriously, my immune system is so strong that I think sometimes it's capable of physically lifting objects. "How is that possible?" you might ask. To that I would respond with "Shut up and let me dream."

On another note, it rained the tiniest bit today in the city of Los Angeles. It wasn't even bad and wasn't really even noticeable to me. In Portland, it's what we would call "shorts weather." However, this not being Portland, the city as a whole had an entirely different opinion. As I was walking home from school, the general public was in misery. They seriously looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. People were stumbling around confused and horrified. It would have been kind of amusing if it hadn't been so scary. There was an old man shouting at security outside a Borders bookstore, people were more pushy on the sidewalk than they normally are, and there were people in cars wanting to physically assault each other at a stoplight near my home. It's sad when the smallest, simplest thing can make people seem so ugly.

Oh, and on a lighter note, if you're ever wondering how it might be possible to make your existence a little more bad ass, do the following: get yourself some business cards! Holy shit, if you don't already have one, GET ONE. I don't even care what you do for a living because you can make that little rectangle of paper say whatever you want it to! For example, I'm still in film school and have officially accomplished nothing in my professional life. However, my new business card still says my name and underneath that it says "Screenwriter." How incredibly awesome is that? I mean, it's pretty cool if the place that you work for gives you some business cards with your name on it, but it's a completely different level when you get to choose what goes on there yourself. I think I'm going to have several made up just in case I run into a scenario where I need people to know that I'm a "Professional Clown Puncher" or a "Human Push-up Machine." Regardless of what you put on there, I think you should get some. And then I think you should give one to me because, honestly, I'm all about networking.

- The Bean

2008-11-21T18:19:00.000-08:00

My Life is Complete

So I was coming back from lunch with Russ when we saw it. I think I may have even peed a little bit. That's how excited I was. Ever since I was a kid, if there was one vehicle from a major motion picture that I absolutely needed to see close up, it was this:

Russ saw it a few car lengths ahead, so we sped up to try to get a closer look to see if our eyes deceived us. But it was real. Probably just some super fan of the movie that tricked out his car, but it looked so fucking cool you can't even believe it. We pulled up behind it, then we pulled up along side of it, and then we got in front of it. Here's what I saw in the rearview mirror:

How frickin' badass is that!? I wanted to scream like a little girl. Honestly people. As far as I'm concerned, this is as good as it gets.

Also, for those of you that maybe assumed/hoped I was dead, I'm still alive and kicking. Film school has been pretty non-stop and today was the first day I've actually had free, so I thought I'd try to fill you in.

So for starters, here is where I go to school:

It's called the Los Angeles Film School and it's located on Sunset Blvd (which is Hollywood terminology for "Boulevard." Actually, it's just English terminology, but whatever.) Before 1999, the building was an RCA recording studio for a long time. Artists like Elvis, the Monkees, The Rolling Stones, John Williams, Eartha Kitt (the OG Catwoman), Jefferson Airplane, and others recorded there. So it's got a pretty neat history.

Anyway, basically each month at the school we have two completely intense classes. This first month was Film Theory (both a lecture and a lab) and Behavioral Science (or psychology if I'm not trying to dress it up). There is a TON of hands on experience in the lab, which is the best part in my opinion. We've learned how to operate a pretty simple camera, we've learned the basic 3-point lighting, we've learned how to line a script and how to set up coverage. There's so much stuff! It's awesome.

So far, we've had three filming assignments. If I wasn't embarrassed by them (mostly because I appear in them), I'd totally post them up. The first was a project titled "Lost & Found." It had to be a single shot (no editing) about someone that loses something and then finds it again. Also it had to be between 30 seconds to a minute. It was basically to teach us how to tell a really basic story. The second assignment was a group project titled "Painting" where we had to pick a painting with people in it and basically recreate it with a ten second static shot. The goal was to recreate the lighting and get as close to the original painting as we could. To give you an idea of how difficult this project was, for our final ten second shot, it took us a good four hours to get the lighting right. I have a whole new respect for the gaffer at the end of the movie now. The third project was titled "Working" and was all about subtext. Again, it was a single, continuous shot. We had to select a monologue from a book called "Working" by a dude named Studs Terkel (greatest. name. ever.) and then turn that monologue (about that person's specific job) into a dialogue that had a deeper meaning for the protagonist. It was pretty tough, but good experience.

So that's that. Our first set of classes is now over, which explains this freed up weekend I've got. But, again, in case you were concerned over my well being, I'm better than I've ever been. I'm having a great time and finally understanding what it can be like when you actually enjoy school.

I'll try to be funny next time I post, but I just wanted to give a quick update. Hope you all are doing well!

- The Bean

2008-10-20T21:46:00.000-07:00

Wanna Feel Embarrassed for Me?

Have any of you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a disgrace to your heritage? You have? Well let's pretend you said "no" so I can explain to you what that's like. Here in what I like to call "Mexico Jr." I have several "biggest fears." I know what you're thinking (you're so predictable). You're thinking "you can't have more than one 'biggest fear' as the word 'biggest' implies singularity." First of all, don't tell me what I can or can't have. Second, you don't have to use big words to make me think you're smart. I love you just the way you are. Third, please let me finish my story before you try to interrupt me again. Okay?

Anyway, one of my big fears is that a native Spanish speaker will come up to me assuming I have a complete grasp of the language and try to start a conversation with me. I, of course, remember bits and pieces of Spanish that I learned in high school. My reaction is usually the same every time. It's like this. Imagine what it must be like to be a baby, completely new to the world, and have a complete stranger come up to you and start speaking sounds you've never heard before. Yeah, that's what it feels like for me. And I generally react the same way a baby would. I'll stare at them for a few seconds, blink a couple of times, make a cute spitting sound, and then I poop a little bit.

I don't know what it is that even makes me seem so approachable. Whenever I'm out in public, I try to look tough or at least act like I don't want to be talked to. And it NEVER works. I think they see the glasses and the gut and immediately think "Yeah, this guy's harmless. Unless I come at him looking like a bag of candy, I'm probably gonna be okay." It's crap people. I like to avoid public interaction as much as possible. This is not to say that I won't help you if you ask me for it. I'm just not a fan of the attention.

The scenario today occurred as I was buying a ticket for the subway. The moment that I stepped up to the machine, I felt this presence over my right shoulder. Someone just standing there, staring. It made me more uncomfortable when I realized there were at least three other open ticket terminals. I was even more frightened when, as I reached down to grab my ticket, someone tapped my shoulder and started speaking Spanish. I even had my headphones in! Come on. I call foul. I pretended I didn't feel anything but he persisted. So I popped one of the ear buds out and he starts talking at me a mile a minute. I pick up the word "ticket" and notice he's holding a coin that looks like a peso. "Great," I'm thinking "he wants to give me a peso for some real change." After closer inspection I realize that it's a subway token. So I ask him if it's one way. He says "yes." I show him how to pay for his ticket. He says "thanks" and I wave and walk away because I can't even say "de nada" without feeling like an asshole.

I don't get how that works. I helped someone today and I still end up feeling like a jerk. Weird. Anyway, seeing as how I'm going to be taking the train a lot more frequently, I foresee this sort of thing happening somewhat regularly. I've either got to learn to look tougher, or learn how to fake a seizure. Somehow I think that last one would cause more problems. Oh well.

A Mexican looking guy that doesn't speak Spanish. This is my curse.

- The Bean

2008-10-19T23:40:00.000-07:00

Welcome Home!

Or, I guess, welcome to MY home I should say. I made another vlog. I never thought I'd use that word, so you have my permission to punch me in the neck the next time you see me. You should only watch this video if you've got like an hour and a half to kill, because it's long. Seriously, it's like a movie. I only had a 1.3 million dollar budget to work with though, so it's nothing special really.

Kidding, of course. My budget was $0 and the movie is closer to 9 minutes long, which is still pretty lengthy, especially if you find it boring. Though I don't know why you're always complaining about stuff. Geez, just watch it. I'm trying to give you something to help you kill time at work. Be appreciative.

I start school next week, so we'll see how regular I can be with the updates and whatnot. Thanks for taking an interest. Or, at the very least, thanks for somehow stumbling upon this page and accidentally clicking play.

- The Bean

2008-10-14T22:27:00.001-07:00

Rene Goes to Hollywood

No, seriously. I moved there. It wasn't all just a bunch of talk like that time I said I'd kill myself if I ever moved to Los Angeles. I left on Friday October 9th and got here October 10th. Below I've actually included a small video blog of the trip. It's pretty dumb and boring but, then again, so are you. So I don't see what the big deal is. The trip left me a little beat up. Oh, and the pill you'll hear me refer to a couple of times in the video is actually something called "ProVigil" which is totally legal (in Mexico). So here you go:

When I get all settled in, I plan on giving a video tour of the new place. But be forewarned, my relationship to this apartment is like a kid wearing his dad's suit. I don't fit quite yet, but I might before too long.

Also, I realize this entry isn't necessarily funny, but as I actually start attending film school, I figure I'll just turn it into a documentation of my experiences. My guess is that it's gonna last about a week. Anyway, here's the video.

- The Bean

2008-08-17T01:19:00.000-07:00

Let's Have a Lazy Contest!

Okay, so I was thinking earlier today about scenarios in my life that might make me feel as lazy and useless as is humanly possible. Actually, I wasn't even actively pursuing this thought process. I realized it as it was happening. It involved the following:

Me watching Olympic Judo while eating a "S'mores" flavored Pop-Tart. Hang with me for a second as I explain the full reality of the situation. Me, an unpolished lump of a man, watching humans at the pinnacle of their athletic prowess competing with one another to prove that they are the best in the world. Them: holding the hopes and dreams of a nation on their shoulders. Me: holding a Pop-Tart.

And to stretch that extreme a little further, I didn't even toast the Pop-Tart. Reasons include the following: 1) I don't have that kind of time and 2) the toaster was all the way downstairs. I wasn't about to pull a hammy over it.

I later noticed that my delicious breakfast treat (that I was enjoying around 2:00 in the afternoon) came with a temporary tattoo! I almost pooped! But then I hit a snag. As most of you well know, temporary tattoos involve a small amount of water and some type of washcloth to apply them with. The dream was over. I wasn't about to get out of my chair and walk three or maybe even four steps outside of my bedroom door and into my bathroom. I was already situated people! But lo and behold, I devised a plan. I grabbed my water bottle and an old napkin I found on my desk. The dream was back alive!

So now I sit alone in my room with a tattoo that looks as dumb as you might imagine. It says "Pop-tarts" and has a picture of a girl hiding behind a toaster that says "fitting rooms" on it. She's waiting for the unsuspecting anthropomorphic toaster pastry (also pictured) to hop on in. Sick bitch.

And that pretty much sums up my existence to this point. If you're skeptical of my actual laziness, allow me to present the following. In writing this blog I've actually been somewhat annoyed that I've had to both capitalize and hyphenate the word "Pop-Tart," so much so that I even paused once to try to think of a different word to use. Before I started I even contemplated not writing this blog at all. My fingers are weak and tired. I'm going to bed.

- The Bean

2008-07-28T00:51:00.001-07:00

Scars

They say chicks dig scars, but I'll bet you any woman that's ever had a C-section would disagree.

- The Bean

Update 7/31: This quip was actually featured today on College Humor's '105%' article on their website. I actually modified it a little bit as I knew they'd be looking for an "edgy" or "twisted" submission. Sure, mine was among many others featured, but I'll take a small victory wherever I can get it.

2008-07-24T16:37:00.001-07:00

Double Standard

Why is it okay for a baby to stare at someone it doesn't know for as long as it wants, but when I do it, it's considered creepy? It's like some kind of crazy societal double standard. Is it because I'm wearing a diaper? I only do that because it seems to work pretty well for the baby. Is it the excessive body hair? Because that can't be helped. It's my curse, but it's also a bit of a blessing as it constantly reminds me of how manly I am. I suppose it could also have something to do with the location or the time. Maybe outside your bedroom window at dusk isn't as good of an idea as I originally thought. I always just figured it was kind of flattering.

Anyway, if you happen to notice a dude in a diaper outside your bedroom window tonight, just go about your business. It's only me and, like a baby, I'm just curious.

- The Bean

2008-07-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

The Smurfs Visit the Museum of Modern Art

Papa Smurf: (elbowing Handy Smurf) Wow, look how much Picasso accomplished during HIS blue period.

Smurfette: Fuck you.

- The Bean

2008-07-16T23:23:00.000-07:00

The Guy That Doesn't Understand Common Sayings

Guy: I just broke up with my girlfriend dude.

Friend: Well, you know what they say. There's plenty of fish in the sea.

Guy: I'm sorry, are you suggesting I have sex with a fish?

Friend: What? No! I'm saying there are a lot of other women...

Guy: Because it sounds like you're condoning beastiality.

Friend: Gross. Why would you ever even think...

Guy: Though I am a little lonely I have to admit.

Friend: Dude, listen to yourself...

Guy: Hey, do you think the pet store is still open?

Friend: You sicken me.

- The Bean

2008-07-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

The Guy That Doesn't Know How to Use Sayings

Guy: Wow, so you're a cancer survivor, huh?

Lady: Yup, tomorrow will be 5 years in remission.

Guy: Well, you know what they say, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.'

Lady: I'm sorry?

Guy: I mean cancer makes the heart grow tumors.

Lady: What?

Guy: Abscess makes the heart grow pustules!!

Lady: Please leave.

- The Bean

2008-04-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

Oh My God I Suck at Life

So I went to a job interview about a month ago. It was pretty standard and went fine. The woman wasn't really listening to any of my answers, so I felt good about that. But as I'm leaving, after receiving the weakest handshake of my adult life, I turn to walk out the front door followed by three random people. Two dudes that appeared to be good friends, and a woman with a two year old that was doing her own thing.

I'm turning to leave and start to hold the door for these people. While doing this I catch a glimpse of one of the guys who throws me a polite smile as he's chatting with his buddy, and I'm pretty positive I recognize him as a guy I used to work with that I probably haven't seen in a year. So my brain starts working overtime arguing against itself that this is in fact someone I know, but then again, no it's totally not. It looks exactly like him, plus the smile and the cock-back of the head as if to say slyly "What's up man? Long time no see" are dead giveaways. The rational part of my brain says "You didn't really get a good enough look at this guy to be positive, plus you know FOR A FACT that this person is currently not living in this state and hasn't been for almost a year. Also, what's the harm in waiting to make sure it's really him?"

Unfortunately, the part of my brain that thinks it's funny to be awkward in public gave a big "fuck you" to being rational. As we're all out the door, I turn again and give a good look this time, just to make sure it's him.

Brain: Yeah, that's totally him. Without question. I feel almost dumb that I had to check twice. Hey, mouth, go ahead and start talking. Oh, and arm, hand, and finger, go ahead and start pointing at this guy like you recognize him.

Me: (with the biggest, dumbest, goofiest smile you could possibly imagine) WHAT'S UP MAN!?!

Guy: (pauses to take in the moment. Smiles in the way you might smile at a retarded person approaching you suddenly to show you how strong they are)

Me: (pausing, now with a half smile, I realize this is not the person I wish it was. I'm still pointing) You look exactly like a guy...(I trail off wanting to stop talking, but I can't). I thought you we're someone else.

Guy: (being polite and trying not to laugh) Oh, no problem man.

Brain: Sweet, we're doing good everybody. Arm, hand, and finger, go ahead and slowly drop to his side. Mouth keep talking. Eyes, keep staring. You're all doing great!

Me: Yeah, I turned and I thought you said 'Hey'...

Guy: (giving me an opportunity to save face) No worries. (He and his friend turn and start walking ahead of me silently shaking with laughter)

Brain: Okay, I know he's not even looking at you, but keep talking, we can make this weirder. And voice, be louder.

Me: ...And then I thought I recognized you. Aaaaand I'm still talking. That was really awkward. I apologize.

Guy: (still chuckling) It's okay.

I finally let them go ahead and build distance in front of me in a hallway that felt like it was no less than a mile in length. I even contemplated ducking into a women's bathroom just to get away, but I thought better of it. I just dawdled hoping that they would simply vanish.

Looking back on the day, I don't think I could have made that situation more awkward for all parties involved. The woman with the baby sped up just to get away from the whole thing. Even her fucking two year old was like "Seriously man, what was that? I don't even fully understand the feeling of embarrassment since I'm only 2, but that was fucking embarrassing....I feel embarrassed for you."

I just laughed, because that's really all I know how to do. It was between that or crying. And even though my brain thinks public awkwardness is hysterical, it understands that there are boundaries. Fucking brain.

- The Bean

2008-04-18T20:18:00.000-07:00

Let's Talk About the Rick Roll

I'm ready to talk about it now. And I'm sure most of you know that this idea of "Rick Rolling" someone is nothing new to the internets. It's been around for some time now (maybe even a year). For those of you that don't know what it is, allow me to demonstrate.

It's a regular day and you decide to head to your very favorite website (let's just say it's www.monkeypenis.com for example's sake (also, I don't actually know if that's even a website. I just kinda threw it out there. Hang on while I check...OH MY GOD IT REALLY IS. Granted, it's not what it sounds like though. It looks like some type of humor site that needs work. Actually, it looks like the type of website that could contain "Rick Roll" videos. Sometimes I amaze even myself)). So anyway, you're on monkeypenis.com and you're trying to keep up with all the new meme's and other hundreds of viral videos that were released that day and suddenly you come across a link that seems too good to be true. Let's use Ashton Kutcher getting punched in the face!!1! or Real video of a live unicorn for example. Basically something that you really want to be true but probably isn't. It grabs your attention just long enough to make you click on that damn link. And then, BAM, you've been Rick Roll'd. You can try clicking on the links I provided just to see what I'm talking about.

Now, like I said Rick Rolling has been around for some time, and it's supposed to be the ultimate in 'punking' someone via the internet. I think this is because people are supposed to find it irritating thinking it's just a crappy song from the late 80s. Here's the thing. I personally find it very irritating, but for a COMPLETELY different reason than most other people. First of all, if you're going to pick a song to trick somebody into listening to, could you pick a song that doesn't fucking rule? What? I said it. I happen to think the song kicks ass and whenever I get Rick Roll'd, I always end up listening to the whole damn thing. What bothers me the most about it is that people think it bothers me. Does that make sense? The fact that people think they're pulling one over on me is what pisses me off the most. It's like in junior high when people would intentionally mispronounce my name thinking it pissed me off. The only thing that pissed me off about it was the fact that they thought it pissed me off. That may sound strange or backwards or whatever. But there you have it people. The terrorists win.

If you're going to try to piss someone off via a song on the internet, can't you choose a song that actually does suck? Like anything by Slipknot for example. If I'm trying to prank someone via their computer, I at least want some form of physical pain (like bleeding from the ears) to accompany the auditory diarrhea coming out of their speakers. How exactly is tricking my grandma into listening to a song she loves considered a prank? It would be like telling me to dive into a dumpster to find a twenty dollar bill only for me to come back up with a brick of gold. It doesn't work people. So knock that shit off. Deal?

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note check out this clip of the Pope using nunchuks. (Come on...you know you want to.)

- The Bean

2008-04-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

Worst...Roommate...Ever

Okay, so a couple months back a meteor hit. Sounds awesome, right? Well it WAS awesome! Believe it. Sounds like something out of a movie, no? Well, hold your horses there chief. You haven't even let me tell you the whole scoop. Let's all remember what happens when you assume. You often look like a stupid dick...or something. (Seems like there should be some kind of witty saying that goes along with that. Either way.)

A month or two ago. It's like 5 a.m. or so and I of course am sleeping. I begin to stir for whatever reason (probably my superhuman psychic powers warning me that danger was near). I roll onto my back and I'm half awake in one of those "what the hell time is it and why am I up" moments. Suddenly, in the distance, I hear a fairly audible boom (or 'superthud' if you will) followed by THE ENTIRE HOUSE SHAKING. It only shook for a few seconds, but it was definitely noticeable.

Most people when confronted with this situation would probably leap out of bed to go and check on things: their house, their roommates, their car, etc. You know, just to make sure the world wasn't actually ending. Or at least they might sit up in bed and ponder for a minute about what they should do because something very obviously just happened outside. I like to think that I stand apart from the pack. Usually in a good way, but I'll take it however I can get it.

My reaction? I just laid there for a few seconds and then went back to bed. But that's not the worst part. The worst part came in those few seconds I laid there. When faced with a possible life threatening situation (or at least a huge unknown), I remember thinking "Should I get up to check on my roommates?" And then I thought "They're probably fine." And then I thought "I mean, if there really is a life threatening situation, they'll probably come check on me because their room is closer to the danger (plus they're super nice like that)." And then I thought "Should I feel bad about having thought any of these things?" Followed by "Wait, what if they got hurt because their room is closer to the danger noise and now they can't come get me?" And finally "God, all this thinking is making me tired. I should probably get back to sleep. Also, if they're already dead, they're still gonna be dead when I wake up."

Does that make me a bad roommate? Or just the most logical? Pick a side.

Oh, and here's the news story if you don't believe me:

Awesome Meteor Story

- The Bean

2008-03-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Potpourri

So you know how sometimes you'll do a burp, but instead of a burp, it makes sort of a gurgling sound and then you get to taste stuff? Yeah, I just did one of those before I started writing, so I thought I'd share.

The other day I cut my thumb using the thumbnail of my other thumb. I wish I could say that I did it while trying to rescue a puppy from underneath a bus, or while rolling a frying pan into a burrito with my bare hands, but I did it trying to get the cap off of some huckleberry body wash. To be fair, I was gonna use the body wash to blow up a tank, so there's that.

I love the Dog Whisperer. Seriously, that show rocks my socks. It's the same exact scenario time after time, but I will never get tired of it. And it goes something like this. Dog owner has a problem dog. Dog owner has tried everything. Dog is untrainable. Dog owner is convinced that nothing can be done. Dog owner calls Dog Whisperer. Dog Whisperer comes out with 25 cent leash and fixes the dog within 5 minutes. Dog owner looks on in disbelief. Mumbles something about "Never thought I'd see that, blah blah blah, etc." The great thing is that it doesn't even matter what the dog's problem is (it usually ends up being the owner). Caesar Millan will make you look like a jackass in under ten minutes guaranteed. Your dog could have murdered people and eaten babies for the last seven years, but you know it's going to be fixed by the end of the show. I like that consistency.

Have you ever run into a doorframe while trying to exit a room quickly? Like you'll just clip your shoulder on the way out and it sends you a little off kilter, but you can usually recover from it? Yeah, I did one of those about a month ago, but I ran into the door frame with the middle of my chest. I'm still not sure exactly how it happened or what it was that had me excited enough to forget how to exit a room. (I think there was mention of pizza downstairs or something.) Regardless, I was still able to recover after only a slight popping sound and some type of muffled grunt. I'm like a big lovable man child.

Until next time!

- The Bean

2008-03-23T01:46:00.000-07:00

I Can See!

So for the first time in 8 years, I decided to get some new glasses. And before you ask, yes, my vision is that unimportant to me.

It's actually quite incredible. You never really realize just how much you couldn't see until you get glasses that work. It's ridiculous. I can see EVERYTHING. I feel like a fucking superhero. Like I can see through time.

Though, I have to admit that when I first put them on and looked in the mirror, I was a little frightened. I guess 8 years of being clinically blind really helped to cement the thought that I had pretty clear skin. When I saw myself again for the first time in so long, I could actually see inside my own face! Huge pores people. Huge. Gross. Let's not talk about it.

Another weird thing is that I can see so clearly now, that if I look in the mirror through my glasses into my eyes on the other side of the mirror through that other set of glasses, I'm pretty sure I can see into my own soul. It's a weird place. It's dark. And it smells like a sock.

Also, before I got these new bad boys, I was convinced that there were only two dimensions. Now it feels like I'm walking around with 3D glasses on (but I obviously don't look as cool as Biff's minion in the first Back to the Future movie).

Is this what you people see like all the time!? Why didn't anyone tell me? You guys are jerks. But lovable jerks.

- The Bean

2008-02-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

The Strangest Things I Have Ever Eaten

Okay, so after all the shit talk that came about based on the last two blogs, I feel the need to bring myself down a peg to two. Certainly I talk a lot of shit whenever there's any type of food that I find to be gross. However, I'm not exactly innocent when it comes to indulging my own strange cravings.

So here then is a top six list of all the strange foods that I have eaten over the years. I was gonna go with a top ten list, but I happen to think they're totally overrated . . . Also, I couldn't come up with ten things. So suck it.

6. Whey protein powder - (but not by itself. mixed with a fruit smoothie) I don't happen to think this one is too weird as it is vanilla flavored and smells like cake batter. However, this isn't something that normal people do, so I felt it necessary to include.

5. Milk and pizza - Not mixed together weirdo. I would have a glass of milk to accompany any type of pizza. Awesome. I used to do this regularly. Sue me.

4. Part of a blended muffin - (In my own defense, this was actually Jamie's idea) We blended a blueberry muffin with a little bit of milk (I think). This shit sat so heavy in my stomach, that I actually think I pooped a little during my first sip. It's debatable though.

3. Lucky Charms with Mountain Dew instead of milk - Freshman year of college. It was early in the morning and the combination of my laziness coupled with my MacGuyver-like ingenuity gave birth to a horrible horrible breakfast experience. I thought it would be passable. I was wrong. Don't do it.

2. A glass filled with the following items: Mt. Dew, mashed potatoes, gravy, an orange creamsicle, milk, brownie, and some salt and pepper to taste - To answer your question, yes, it was on a bet. And to answer your second question, yes, the bet was my idea. Don't judge me.

1. A grilled cheese sandwich dipped in ketchup - Come on, I had to throw that in there. Just to prove a point. All of the other things on this list I ate willingly. With that crap sandwich, I was resistant up to and including the point when I took the first bite. So there's that.

Cheese + ketchup = cheese and ketchup flavored vomit.

- The Bean

2008-02-25T22:42:00.000-08:00

Traitors

Okay fine. I lost. big deal. To the three people that unknowingly supported my utter disgust in the whole grilled cheese/ketchup debate (Kristy, Lindsay, Dani). You guys rule.

As for the rest of you (save for Russ who apparently likes to put his sandwiches inside of people), I thought I knew you. I thought you were my friends. And I'm not mad at you because you didn't agree with me. I intentionally made it unclear as to which side I was supporting. I'm just disappointed that the lot of you would chose to do something so absolutely horrifying to ruin a perfectly good sandwich.

Hey, I've got an idea for all you sick asses that like cheese and ketchup. Why don't we take some string cheese, put it inside a hot dog bun, and then slather that with ketchup? You people sicken me.

Okay okay, I take it back. I'm speaking out of frustration and anger that I lost this bet which I was so absolutely sure about. I can't stay mad at you people. Okay so who wants to cuddle?

I suppose losing the bet isn't ALL bad. Fortunately I suck at making wagers, so I'm pretty positive that no tangible thing was even being bet. Therefore, I didn't really lose anything. We'll just call this one a test run. But next time . . . . next time people when I give you a choice between two things, please do your best to chose the one that isn't gross and doesn't inexplicably taste like fish sticks.

You all are sick.

- The Bean

2008-02-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

Settle a Bet

I'm going to pose a simple question to all of you. I'd like you to respond in the form of a comment. And I'd like you to be completely honest. There's a lot at stake here. So here it is:

Have you, at any point in your entire life, ever made a grilled cheese sandwich, dipped it in ketchup, eaten it, and actually enjoyed it? In other words, have you ever willfully dipped a grilled cheese sandwich in ketchup?

Just leave a comment. Best of the first 11 responses wins. Thanks for your time.

- The Bean

2008-02-07T11:53:00.000-08:00

A New X-Games Sport?

So I was perusing my spam emails the other day and amidst the ones titled "Enlarge your member" or "Naked teens wet hot meat cam" I saw one that caught me off guard. You get so many about all the same shit, so they're usually pretty easy to overlook. But one of them in particular took me by surprise. It was only three words. But it was the most horrifying combination of any three words that I had ever seen. So much so that I couldn't even bring myself to click on it. It said:

"Extreme cat rape"

WHAT IN THE BLUE FUCK IS "EXTREME CAT RAPE?" I can't even begin to fathom. Here's the thing that got me the most. I think it would have been completely sufficient to just write "cat rape" and call it a day. Cat rape itself seems 'extreme' enough for most people, don't you think? Who out there, after hearing about or even witnessing the rape of a cat, would be like "You know, that was pretty decent cat rape, but is there anything you could do to make it more extreme?"

Why would you need to state that it's extreme? Why!? Did they do some marketing research and find that people just weren't clicking enough on "Cat rape?" So they thought "You know what I bet it is? I bet that the majority of people out there feel like forced sex with a cat just isn't enough. Let's make it more brutal. More extreme if you will." That's the only explanation.

And if you happen to be one of those people that feel the word "extreme" should ever precede the words "cat rape" then maybe you and I shouldn't talk again. Ever. About anything. Sick bitch.

- The Bean

2008-01-18T21:47:00.000-08:00

Pillow Talk

So on Wednesday of this week I received what can only be described as "the most comfortable pillow on the face of the earth as well as the face of the heavens or even the torso and back of the heavens, and you know what, any other place that might have pillows for that matter." It's a Tempur-Pedic which, for those of you that don't understand pillow-speak, roughly translates to "fucking expensive." However, it has thus far been worth it.

How can I adequately explain this to you without getting too graphic? Let me put it this way: When resting my head on the pillow, it feels as though the back of my head is being gently fellated by angels. Too graphic? Okay, fine. Suffice it to say it feels like, whenever I'm sleeping on it, the pillow is making love to my head and face. I had a roommate in college who used to try to do that all the time, but I gotta say it was never half as comfortable as this pillow. You see what I'm saying?

Whatever crazy fucking NASA-approved material they put inside this magic bundle bends and molds and shapes to the size and weight of my head. It tends to my every need, much like an attentive lover. The only thing that would make my sleep situation better would be the worlds perfect blanket, which I imagine to be made up of some space age material that would give me an orgasm every time I rolled over in bed.

You know what? Come to think of it, I'd rather just have a person as a blanket. Someone could just lay on top of me and I'd call that good. However, prostitutes costing what they do these days, I'd settle for a free blanket of some sort. You know a good way to get your hands on a free blanket that I believe to be underutilized? Being a bystander at the scene of an accident. You always see it in movies and whatnot, but the people standing around after the accident (or some other traumatic event) has taken place always seem to have these burly wool blankets. I never really understood it. First of all, why do they do that? Does being witness at the scene of a crime affect your body temperature that much? And if so, why not give out mittens and hats as well. Also, depending on the time of year, are the free items adapted to suit the needs of the bystanders? Like if it were really hot out, would you get some ice cold lemonade and a hand held mini fan you could try to stick your tongue into (you know, just to see if it hurts)?

You see people, these are the questions that keep me up at night. And by 'these' I mean 'this.' And by 'are' I mean 'is.' And by 'questions' I mean 'question.' And by 'keep' I mean 'keeps.' And by 'me' I mean 'a friend of mine.'

Anyway, my new pillow is awesome.

- The Bean

2008-01-12T23:30:00.000-08:00

Bus a Move

For as long as I can remember, I've taken public transportation. It's been an integral part of my life and I've used it more times than I can even remember to get me from point A to point B.

Actually, I'm lying. I fucking hate the bus. I would never ride the bus and I avoid getting on them as often as is humanly possible. I'm not an idiot people. Seriously. I dread the bus and I could probably count the number of times I've ever taken public transportation on two hands. Maybe two hands plus my penis, which is to say, no more than thirteen times. I should probably see a doctor.

I can't tell you how many horror stories I've heard of all the crazies that enjoy riding buses. And I can guarantee that some of the craziest shit I've heard can't compare to so many other things that have probably happened on the bus. A friend of mine has witnessed multiple hostile situations. Two drunk guys arguing, I think a Chinese lady got punched in the back of the head another time, creepy assholes constantly trying to hit on any women on the bus that appear to be breathing, etc. It just sounds awful.

Another friend of mine in Canada witnessed a man whip out his dangle and start having himself some "me" time in front of everyone. Wow. What do you even say to that?

It's after hearing stories like this that make me think "why the fuck would anyone willingly take the bus?" Granted, it's cheaper and better for the environment than driving, but save for all of those logical reasons, it's dumb. Crazy dumb. Get a car, or ask me for a ride. Hell, ask a stranger for a ride. Some guy did that to me once. On what would later become the scariest night of my life, I gave a crackhead a forty-five minute car ride around Portland. You see? I'm not safe even in my own fucking car! How crazy is that? But at least the crazies approach me less frequently than if I were to take the bus. And I no longer pick up crackheads.

I don't really even know what my point is. Maybe just that I hate the bus and I don't think anyone should have to ride it if they know someone with a car. Seriously, if you live near me and need a ride anywhere, just ask. I'll probably say no and laugh, but at least you tried.

One last story before I go. When I was taking the subway in Washington D.C. years back, I saw a crazy man get on. He waited until the the train started moving and then proceeded to have a very heated argument with what appeared to be the door. What I'm trying to say is that he was by himself and he was arguing. That's fine, I don't have a problem with that. And it was pretty entertaining to watch. What I found to be funny though was when a little Chinese man got on the train a few stops later. He got on, opened up his Bible and started loudly singing Christmas carols. Everyone just pretended to ignore him. Everyone except for the crazy guy who stopped his conversation with himself just long enough to turn and look at the Chinese man. He then shook his head in disapproval. Like it was the caroler who was fucking crazy!? How's that for perspective?

People are weird. And buses suck balls.

- The Bean

2008-01-05T14:22:00.000-08:00

Ghost Write the Whip

Okay, so today's blog was written by what we'll call a guest author. It was written back in June of last year by Jamie Dunphy. Since I like things that are awesome as well as sharing said awesome things, I thought I would present this for your enjoyment.

What makes this blog more fitting is the release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull this coming May.

So enjoy it . . . or I'll find you.

I know it may be sacralige, but...
(Conversation that took place almost 27 years ago)

Movie writer: Ok, I have an idea for a movie. Now hear me out. You take a rugged good looking man with a PHD in archeology...ok, ok...and he teaches at a college. But the US goverment comes to him and says that because of his specific expertise in archeology, he is the only person who can save America. Now, a very bad situation has arisen. The...um..the NAZI's have gotten very close to finding the Ark of the Covenant (arguably the most holy of missing idols to all people across the world. This will TOTALLY get the attention of all those Christ lovin' blue-blooded Americans!). So, even though the Nazi's have spent years looking for the Ark...the government thinks this doctor can find it in only two days. So he does. And...umm... he finds it, and it's in a big-ass pit deep down in the ground and, even though there is no light, or air or anything, it's full of snakes...POISONOUS snakes! Oooh! Oh, and the doctor hates snakes...so he has to try and deal with all these poisonous snakes. Anyway, this archeologist barges into a big ol' pit, and just knocks unimportant shit out of the way and grabs this ark thingy, but of course, the evil NAZI's see that he has found it, and they steal it...oooh. Then they lock him in forever. But the doctor breaks out in a matter of two minutes. He knocks down a big ass wall with a statue of a screaming wolf thing, and I'm thinking that for some reason there could be a bunch of dead people who scream and shriek and such. Just for effect...you know. Then they just move a teeny tiny block out of the way and they're free. Then they steal back the ark, then the Nazi's steal it back again. And then he rides on the outside of a submarine that never goes under the water. Then he suddenly has a bazooka. Then he just doesn't use the bazooka. And the Nazi's take the ark from the top secret, very nice and modern looking base, and march it up a scary ol' mountain to a big platform where some dude starts chanting and opens the ark, and the ark kills everyone, but the doctor knows not to look, and it doesn't kill him because he didn't look.

Movie Producer: Yes. YES! Here is a large pile of money in a burlap bag with a big dollar sign on it.

The final result: Raiders of the Lost Ark is a stupid movie. The end.

- Jamie Dunphy

So there you have it. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I did.

- The Bean

2008-01-03T16:20:00.000-08:00

Facing the Va-Giants

So I just finished watching one of the biggest cinematic dumps in history titled "Facing the Giants." First of all, no, it's not about giants. There are no giants or other people of abnormal size in or around this movie, so don't bother. Although, one of the actors in the movie was pretty fat. Maybe in the high seven hundreds or so. But he wasn't what I would consider a "giant." More like a really pudgy blanket.

If you've never seen it, please allow me to spoil it for you so that you may never have to see it. It took me three agonizing half hour installments in order to watch it, so I think it's only fair to spare you that hour and a half of your life. It's basically about a very whiny, balding man. He cries about everything and he mopes about and he wonders why life sucks. He's the crappy coach of a crappy football team. He whines because his football team sucks, he whines because he can't get his wife pregnant, and sometimes he whines because he whines.

Then he asks for God's help. Yeah, I know. That's what I said. The movie is basically a Bible ad surrounded by a formulaic football movie. He asks for God's help (who didn't make an appearance the ENTIRE movie) and, go figure, his team wins. But here's something I was thinking about for the whole movie. Whether you believe in God or not, this guy is still a whiny douchebag. And I think that's the underlying plot point that you, as the viewer, are supposed to take away from the movie.

So the movie is actually about metaphorical giants. Big stupid metaphorical giants. Also, the team they play at the end is named "the Giants" just in case you didn't follow the metaphor.

Anyway, there's no real message here. Just don't see the movie. It's painful.

- The Bean

2008-01-02T21:26:00.000-08:00

Diane Keaton's Vagina

Okay, here we go. If any of you were immediately offended by the title of this particular blog, you can thank my friend and former roommate Jamie for that bile taste currently in the back of your throat.

He suggested that I talk about what Diane Keaton's lady parts would "taste like after they've been soaking in a hot tub filled with apple juice all day." Wow. He paints quite the picture with words, doesn't he folks? I contend that her womanly bits would most likely taste like said apple juice, and nothing more.

Have any of you ever heard of a grapple? And I don't mean like wrestling. I'm talking about the fruit. It's basically an apple that's been injected or infused or something crazy like that with grape flavor (natural grape flavor i would assume). I've never had one, but crazy scientific combinations always pique my interest. Like pluots, or clamato, or . . . peanut belly (It's my combination attempt for peanut butter and jelly. I didn't have any other items to list, leave it alone.)

I was interested in trying the grapple in the first four minutes or so after I heard about it. Then, my logical thought process led me in this direction:
"Grapple? What the hell is that? . . . . Well, it sounds like a combination of things. Maybe a grape and an apple. God I'm smart. I wonder what that would even taste like. Man, I'm hungry. . . but I'm also kind of fat. So maybe I shouldn't be thinking about food right now. I should do some situps. . . But I'm so fucking hungry . . . . hehehe . . . sofa king hungry . . . funny. (three minutes later) . . . It looks like an apple but tastes like grapes? Why wouldn't I just eat grapes then? What a dumb fucking invention."

And that's where I would land on it. Oh wow, an apple that tastes like grapes! You know what else tastes like grapes? Fucking grapes! And they're cheaper too. I don't think that the design of the grape is particularly flawed really. They're not cumbersome or unwieldy. They're grapes for Christ's sake. If you can't get a handle on a couple of grapes, then my bet is that you can't grab on to an apple real well either. So maybe just stick to picking and eating your scabs. And stay away from Diane Keaton's vagina if at all possible.

I'm only trying to help.

- The Bean

2008-01-01T21:02:00.000-08:00

Idears

Hello all. Happy new year and whatnot.

Pleasantries aside, I was thinking about writing more blogs this year. I wasn't making a resolution, mind you. Let's clear that up right now. Resolutions are all bullshit.

I was just wanting to write more things. More stuff, if you will. (I know, I'm a poet with words. Suck it.) More blogs, actually. I've been writing skits and sketches lately that I've kept private, which have successfully helped me prevent writing anything here.

Anyway, I was just going to put this out there to ask any of you (all five of you) for suggestions of topics to write about. If you want me to address anything (save for politics and other boring shit like that) that you enjoy or detest, let me know. Just leave a comment at the end of any of the previously written blogs on what you think I should write about. In the meantime, I'll continue to come up with my own stuff. But at least this way there will be more accountability as far as posting more blogs.

So there you have it. I'll cater to your needs, much like an attentive lover. And if I don't know anything about what you suggest, I'll see how well I can fake my way through it.

Take care!

- The Bean

2007-12-30T00:07:00.000-08:00

PDA-Holes

I hate PDAs. Plain and simple. And if you're awesome like me, you hate them too. I refer, of course, to "Public Displays of Affection" and not "Personal Digital Assistants," "the Parenteral Drug Association," or even "Pakistan Domestic Airlines" (though all three can be irritating given the right circumstances).

Public Displays of Affection. That phrase shouldn't even exist, because people shouldn't be so arrogant to do that shit in public. Like they're the only ones that exist in that moment. Look, I realize that you're in love and that you want the world to know it. But this isn't some romantic comedy where I'm gonna look at you and be like "THAT IS ADORABLE." This is real life and the only reaction you'll get from me is a gag reflex. That, and you might see me fight the overwhelming urge to push your heads together.

I understand hand holding. That's fine. People that aren't even in love hold hands from time to time. It's nice. And it's not disgusting. From a distance it can be written off as two people swinging their arms in unison, or if you so desire you can even ignore it completely. But when two people are necking one or two feet from my head, all I can think about is putting one or two of my feet up their ass. It's gross people. Really. Don't do it.

And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "You've just never been in love enough to know what it's like to be so into someone that nothing else exists." First of all, fuck you. Don't presume to know me. And don't ever say something as gross as that to me again. I know exactly what it's like. I also know what it's like to respect other people out in public and to not subject them to something like that. That's like saying that if you're focused on something that intently, that it's okay to just do it. But here's the thing, I've had to crap really badly before while out in public, and I can GUARANTEE that under no circumstance would my need to do that override my need to not make people around me throw up all over themselves.

You wanna know the strange part? The thing that set off this whole topic in my mind was something that happened at the airport like a week and a half ago. It was a quarter to fucking early and I was sitting there minding my own business imagining a fight scene between myself and Wilmer Valderama when suddenly I heard baby talk and kissing sounds. Granted, it wasn't two people making out. It was a mother and her baby. She somehow chose to sit right behind me. Out of TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO seats, she picks the one directly behind my head. Awesome.

Look, you can sit there in your tower and think that I'm an asshole for being irritated at a mother and child, but I argue the following:
A kissing sound is still a kissing sound regardless of the age of the people involved. Whether it's two adults mouth to mouth or whether it's a mother lovingly kissing the top of her baby's head matters not. It still makes me want to start blindly throwing punches. It's a lot like Pavlov's test. Only instead of the bell causing dogs to drool, It's kissing sounds and baby talk causing vicious punch combinations. And I don't rightly care if you think that a mother kissing her baby is adorable. It's still annoying. If you love it so much, you could always imagine it. That way I don't have to see it and we'd both be spared the awful noises.

And if you're of the mindset that PDAs are okay, then what about if I were to have a PDA with myself? Hmm? What then? Just shoved my hand down the front of my pants. How adorable would that be? That's my point. It wouldn't.

That's why the next time I'm out in public and I see two complete strangers speed bagging each others' uvulas I'm gonna have my own personal PDA while staring intently at them and muttering creepy shit to myself.

So think about it. We can call a truce right now. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.

- The Bean

2007-12-19T22:49:00.000-08:00

Let Me Tell You About a Proud Uncle

He is I and I am him (slim with the tilted brim). I'm sorry. I stole that line from Snoop Dogg but I thought it was such a horrifyingly good opening that I couldn't pass it up. Also I'm unoriginal, which is why the blog I'm writing is actually just a story I heard yesterday that I'm now passing off as my own. So listen up douchebags.

So, I have this nephew who lives in Washington. And in actuality, he's really like my step second cousin or some wordy shit like that. However, after reading this story, you will see why I claim him as my own.

So apparently Doc, as I call him, is of an age where he is able to speak. Not only that, but he's in the wonderfully innocent phase of embarassing his parents in public. This, in itself, is pretty funny, but not the reason I'm bragging about him. It's the way in which he chose to embarrass his parents.

They were in a shopping establishment (we'll say Target, just so it's more relatable) when Doc saunters up to some other young boy that he's never met and asks him the following:

"Do you have a penis?"

I know, right? Just let that sink in (hehe, seriously, think about it). How wonderful a sight that must have been! If you didn't know better, you'd think I was feeding him lines via a child-sized ear piece. And although he's not my blood, I feel closer to him now more than ever. How brilliant is this child going to turn out to be!? He's already learned to cut through all the bullshit and get to the meat (pun absolutely intended) of the situation.

"Look, I don't know you. I don't know your name. And I don't care. I don't care where you came from or what you're even here to buy. Just tell me one thing good sir. Do you have a penis? Yes or no! Let's not mince words here. I need the info and then I'll be on my merry way."

And here's the thing. I'm almost certain that were his capacity for speech up to par with mine, that's exactly what he would have said. Either that, or he would have gone the other way and been even more direct.

"Penis? Yes or no?"

Of course, that question can be taken so many ways (that pun totally just wrote itself), so I fully understand and support his decision to use the full sentence.

Doc, I love you. And to answer your question before you have to ask it, yes, yes I do. And it's the reason that your dear old uncle has back problems.

- The Bean

2007-12-08T17:24:00.000-08:00

All Growns Up

It occurred to me two days ago that I may now officially be an adult. Other than having turned 28 a week ago which some people might consider to be a pretty sizable step into adulthood, the moment came to me a few days later. It was the day that I brought my last big box of junk to the Salvation Army donation center in the parking lot of a Fred Meyer. The contents of said box? Well, let's see. An old cordless phone that I knew I'd never use again, some baseballs (for whatever reason), and like 10 pairs of nunchuks (no joke). Yes, it would be every 13 year old's dream to stumble upon that box of crap because of how much cool shit was in there.

The thing about it is, it was hard for me to finally get rid of that stuff (mostly the nunchuks). Some might say that the contents had sentimental value or some such thing. But that's not it. The thing about it is I still really think nunchuks and cassette tapes of cartoon rapping cats (if you know who I'm talking about, I love you) are actually pretty awesome. Does that make me immature? Because if it does, then does the fact that I just finally gave all that stuff away make me a grown up?

Okay, what about if I immediately came home and watched Disney's Robin Hood? What does that mean? And what about the next morning when I watched part of the 3 Ninja's on HBO? Actually, I think the full title was "3 Ninjas: Wasting My Time." I didn't actually watch that one because I used to like it or anything. I was actually using it as motivation for my own writing. It's pretty common practice for me. It gives me hope when I see something super shitty, that it really must not be that hard to write things that don't suck. And really, to see a movie where Hulk Hogan dressed up like a faux He-Man was considered a major plot point only gives me that much more hope.

I don't really even know what I'm driving at here. I think I used to be worried that being 28 and not feeling mature was a big deal. Like I'd somehow think of myself as a bad person or like I didn't fit in or something like that. The truth is, I only want to embrace it more. I still enjoy laughing when people fart, or when I can share in the delight of a movie titled "The GingerDead Man" (thank you Carrie).

I don't want to go to dinner parties or business meetings, or make small talk and pretend that I'm all grown up. I want to be able to laugh when people run into stationary objects or when it stinks in an elevator and everyone pretends they don't smell it.

Ultimately, I guess I want to maintain my immaturity and childlike outlook on life. So I think I will.

In closing, I'd like to say 'poop' because I think it's a funny word.

Poop.

- The Bean

2007-11-06T19:27:00.000-08:00

Ranking My Nuts

Okay, so I realize that the title may seem a little misleading. What I'm actually referring to is how dumb a person's own personal ranking system is, and not the numeric placement of my testicles as I see them. Although, if I had to do the latter, I'd have to say that Rambo (my left ball) would be first, with Dozer (my right) coming in a close second. Allow me to clarify. Try reading the title to yourself several times with different accentuation for each of the words. They shouldn't all be read with the same tone. They should be read with slight sarcasm. Or maybe I should have written "Ranking" My Nuts! Anyway, I'm getting off track.

I've never understood a person's personal ranking system. We'll go ahead and use movies as an example. Now, if a person has selected a movie as their number one favorite movie of all time, that's fine. I understand it. I don't really care all that much (because unless it's Varsity Blues, I don't even want to talk to you), but I understand it. But where the confusion and, therefore, hatred lies for me is in placing a movie (or whatever it may be) in your top whatever.

Allow me to make my point through a made up conversation

You: How do your arms not burst through your sleeves? Also, I would have to place Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai in my top five favorite movies of all time.

Me: . . . So . . . you mean . . . it's your fifth favorite movie of all time.

You: No, well I mean, it's in my top five.

Me: Listen dumbass, if it's "in your top five" then it can't be number one because you would have said "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is my favorite movie of all time." If it was your second or third favorite, you would have said "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is in my top three favorite movies of all time." which is still dumb, but I'd be able to see your point. If it was your fourth favorite, you would have said "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is in my top four of all time." Now, you can try to argue that four is an uncommon 'benchmark' number to use when ranking things, but I say why not? We're not fucking idiots here. You can take your 'benchmark' numbers (like 3, 5, 10, 20, and 100) and stick them sideways up your ass. If you say "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is in my top ___ favorite movies of all time" then I'm going to assume that whatever number you've put in the blank is the number that you're ranking that particular movie. If it wasn't, you would have said a different number. Now get out of here before I start thumping me some crotch!

Now, clearly this is a made up scenario because no one but my roommate would ever put Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai in their top anything, ever. Unless it was a list of things that sit there like a lump and do nothing. In which case, it would come in third.

Right after my nuts.

- The Bean

2007-10-15T00:14:00.001-07:00

An Open Letter to Whoever Slashed My Tires Last Night

Dearest Whoever Slashed My Tires Last Night,

Fuck you.

Sincerely,
The Bean

No people, seriously, who does this kind of shit anymore? Apparently the same perpetrator hit more than forty cars around my neighborhood last night. It actually even made the news, which would have been cool if they had actually done any of those "man on the street" interviews. See, I always thought it would be funny to try to do a serious interview, but to also pretend like I had tourrets. That way, I could be speaking seriously about the state of our neighborhood crisis and then suddenly shout the word "balls." I mean, granted, I could do this anyway in any real life situation. I actually tend to do this at work a lot when helping customers, which would be funnier if I actually currently had a job.

Yeah, see, that's the other sad part of my saga. My temporary position was up at the beginning of this month. So now I'm supposed to be all adult about things and look for a real job. The downside to the whole thing, and the reason that I'm so against it is because I can just tell that it's going to require some type of effort on my part. And, people, I'm not down. Until then, I'm just gonna sell random shit on ebay because, really, who wouldn't want a half-used Pink Pearl eraser that I still have from seventh grade? I even drew boobs on it! Actually, I just drew the boobs like three days ago, but the buyer doesn't need to know that. Which means that I can use the word "vintage" in my online auction. Rad.

In closing, I'd like to say that the best part of my day was in talking to a friend from Boston. She informed me that her cat, who had NO previous training or experience, 'successfully' pooped in their bathroom toilet last night. I feel it necessary to put half quotes around the word "successfully" because apparently, there was a slight bit of cleanup involved, I assume on the seat (though she didn't go into detail). But it's a cat, people! Give it a little bit of wiggle room.

After hearing that story, I gagged a little bit. But after the gagging, I gained a little bit of hope for this world. Because if a cat of all things can teach itself to use a toilet, then maybe the dumbshits that slashed a neighborhood's worth of tires last night can learn to just eat shit and die.

I weep for the future.

- The Bean

2007-10-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

A Puncher's Chance

So lately Ive been watching a lot of UFC DVDs. If you arent familiar with the Ultimate Fighting Championship, I suggest you get on that right away, because its simply amazing. They throw two dudes inside an eight-sided cage (an octagon, if you will) and allow them to beat the holy hell out of one another. They do this until one of them either quits or is unable to intelligently defend himself, which I think loosely translates to "shits himself as his eyes roll into the back of his skull. " If you think youre not into violence and youre prepared to defend your point of view using intelligent facts and other various bullet points, let me save you a lot of trouble. YOU'RE WRONG. The UFC kicks ass.

Now, I dont know what it is lately that makes me want to watch such a violent (albeit very strategic/intelligent) sport. Call it whatever you want. I didnt get enough attention as a child, my mother didnt hug me enough (though I suggest you dont talk about my mother as youll be quick to catch a size 10 enema), maybe I was picked on a lot growing up and now I must live out the twisted fantasies of payback through others whose profession it is to punch things very hard. The fact remains that I enjoy it very much. My thought is that its because Im not a violent person by nature and, therefore, the only way for me to get my own aggression out is to watch other people do it for me. Personally, I think its healthier than actually fighting WITH someone.

The other cool thing about this particular organization is the nicknames they come up with. If you know anything about me, you know that I have the highest regard for coming up with nicknames. Truly, there is nothing cooler than a good nickname. And the UFC has them in spades (which I think means a lot but Im not sure because Ive never actually successfully used that phrase before). For example, Chuck "The Iceman" Liddell, Randy "The Natural" Couture, "Ruthless" Robbie Lawler, Andrei "The Pitbull" Arlovski, "The Phenom" Vitor Belfort, Chris "The Crippler" Leben, etc. The list goes on and on. And I think that the only real reason that I, myself, am not an 'ultimate fighter' (other than the fact that I cried during the movie Little Giants) is because I dont have a cool nickname. It would seem that the only nicknames that prove fitting for me arent really all that cool or badass. For some reason "The Crier," "Mr. Sensitive," "The Tulip," "The Hemophiliac," "Captain Whanny," and "The Heavy Bag," just dont strike fear in the hearts of men..or I guess even children for that matter.

So for now, Ill just have to bide my time until a great nickname is either thrust upon me, or I find a way to not get a little misty whenever I scratch a mosquito bite for too long. Until then, the UFC will have to quench my insatiable thirst for what I refer to as 'intelligent violence.'

- The Bean

2007-10-03T16:04:00.000-07:00

What-Eating Grin!?

So I was at work today when a little thought wandered into my head from afar. For whatever reason, I caught myself smiling what could only be described as a "shit-eating grin." And then I thought to myself, I don't really even know what that means. For the next half hour, I pondered what the hell that could possibly mean while simultaneously setting a record for the amount of times the word "shit" could be thought in a half hours worth of time.

If you look at the phrase itself, it makes absolutely zero sense. None. Think about it. If you were to have just eaten some shit (consumed poo, if you will) what would be the farthest facial expression from your mind? A smile, right? Or at least, that's what I would think (or hope). I don't know what kind of sick bastard would put excrement in their mouth and then smile really big, but I guarantee they would probably be from Germany.

Seriously though, what the hell? A shit-eating grin? Really? Usually that phrase is reserved for people that have just done something impolite to someone else and are so proud of themselves that all they can do is smile. But shit eating? How could that possibly make you smile? Usually I'll make a disgusted face if there are even trace amounts of it in the air. Most people will. Their face will go all sour and they'll either hold their breath or leave the room. I don't even think it would be possible to force like a half smile in that situation. It would just be wrong. No one smiles in the bathroom. Not for that anyway.

The only possible way that I can make sense of that saying is that maybe you were tricked into putting poo on, near, or in your mouth, and the person that tricked you is now smiling if not laughing hysterically at you. But could that really be considered a "shit-eating grin?" Wouldn't that be more of a "Tricked you into eating shit grin?" Though I suppose that's far too lengthy to be a good phrase.

So I propose that we do one of the following: 1) Change the phrase to mean something else. Maybe change it to "Shit-eating frown" or "Shit eating repetitive gag." 2) Change the phrase so that it's actually correct. Example: "Candy eating grin" or maybe "Tater tot eating grin." Those at least make sense.

Shit's just gross.

Disclaimer: If you are offended by the word "shit" or shit itself or picturing someone actually eating shit, then you probably shouldn't have read this. However, since I didn't think to write this paragraph at the beginning, you'll take what I give you. Hindsight is 20/20 people. Plus I'm lazy. Deal with it.

-The Bean

2007-09-17T21:22:00.000-07:00

Why Does it Hurt So Bad?

So I hit my knee on a table at work today. After my initial reaction of wishing the world would just implode in on itself, I began to wonder what the hell would make something so seemingly insignificant hurt so garsh darn bad.

Now, I'm not a medical doctor but I kinda figure I'm basically as smart as one. Whatever I may lack in book smarts, I more than make up for with an eagerness to make a fool of myself and a monumental set of balls. Seriously, sometimes they barely fit in my underpants. I feel the need to qualify that last statement with "sometimes" only because I don't always wear underpants (ladies?)

However, ridiculous intelligence and grapefruit sized cajones (which I'm told is spanish for "brains") aside, I should get back to the matter at hand . . . . or knee if you wanna be that jackass that thinks it's funny to take everything too literally. Choke on something already.

So I get home and bust out Wikipedia and my old Milton Bradley Operation game. After conducting some extensive research (I never made his nose light up ONCE! (I found that it helps to take out the batteries)) I discovered that all naked, red nosed fat people have a bucket of water beneath their knee! Who knew!? After finding out this nearly unbelievable medical fact, my detective-like instincts kicked in. I quickly did a Wikipedia search for "bucket" and was brought fact to face with the following search results:

" . . . Bucket? . . . Seriously? . . . You typed 'bucket' into our search engine? Really? Do you even have opposable thumbs? Don't answer. We hope . . . no, we PRAY that your retarded sloth of a cat somehow climbed onto your desktop and accidentally mashed out the word 'bucket' on your keyboard. Because, so help us, if it was really you that did a search for the word 'bucket' of all the stupid ass words in the world, we will see to it that you never reproduce or ever achieve true happiness. Good day sir."

And I'm gonna be honest with you. It hurt. Emotionally. It hurt about as much as being hit in the fucking knee. So then I thought, maybe when you bump your knee, the hurt you're actually feeling is more of an emotional hurt as a response to you even beginning to ponder why hitting your knee could possibly hurt so much that it could make you want to drop kick a chinchilla. I don't rightly know because, as I said before, I'm not a doctor. I'm just unreasonably smart. So much so, in fact, that if you were to paint a picture as a metaphor to represent my intellect, it might resemble something along the lines of a ninja pimp magician jump kicking a planet into smaller more manageable pieces.

What does that even mean, you ask? I don't have any idea. My knee still really hurts and I think I may be delirious. Good day to you sirs.

- The Bean

2007-09-15T15:07:00.000-07:00

I Thought it Was Funny But it's Snot

For me personally, I think that one of the greatest accomplishments in the world is being able to make someone laugh. Regular laughter amongst friends is great. A good belly laugh also has its place, as does the kind where you laugh til your face hurts or your stomach hurts or some combination thereof.

However, by and large the absolute best compliment in laughter that you can possibly achieve is causing someone to snot. For all intents and purposes in this blog, I have turned the word snot into a verb as I think thats how it best serves its purpose here.

To make someone snot, for me, is the absolute best thing you can do comedically for a number of reasons. The first and simplest reason is that it means they're laughing, which is great. The second reason (and the reason why I find it to be such a complement) is that it means you have caught this person so totally and completely off guard with humor that they don't even have time to open their mouth to complete a full laugh. They react so incredibly quickly to whatever it is that you said that the only place for their laugh to exit is through their nose.

If their sinuses are clear, well then I submit that it's not as satisfying because it ends up sounding more like a scoff. However, if they've got even a little bit of built up nastiness, then it's all worthwhile. And as soon as the snotting occurs, theres that instant moment of social awkwardness that both parties must deal with immediately (the only real minor downfall in my opinion). When this happens, there are a few different paths you can take to overcome this minor obstacle. The person doing the snotting (the snotter if you will) will have an automatic reaction of covering up their nose with either hand as their initial look of joy will quickly be replaced with one of 'Oh fuck.' I clearly just blew my nose in mid air in very plain sight and now I have to try and play it off. To put that phrase in simpler words, I might choose panic with a side of horror. Now that they have leapt from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other within a matter of milliseconds, it is up to you as the slightly amused, somewhat disgusted onlooker (and really, the cause of this whole thing) to do one of two things. You can either a) quickly look away as if to pretend that nothing happened while simultaneously attempting to continue the conversation without gagging, or b) fully embrace the events that have just transpired. In my experience, the best way to accomplish this is to raise one fist triumphantly in the air while shouting YES! and then pointing at the person while declaring 'THAT is awesome!' I'm a pretty firm believer in the latter for two important reasons. It helps to make the moment that much funnier for both parties, and gives the other person an opportunity to laugh at themselves instead of simply feeling embarrassed.

A side bonus of the whole snotting effect is that the person, from the time that it happens to the time that you're both finished with the conversation, will continue to brush the back of their hand across their nose like a coke fiend to check for any possible dangling stragglers. This, to me, is a somewhat endearing act as you've now accidentally made the person feel extremely self conscious. Also, if you do not address the situation as soon as it happens, you'll find that there is no possible way you can actually look this person in the eye for the duration of your interaction. Mostly because you will now have this mental image of them blowing their nose onto themselves, but also because you know that looking at them even for a split second will make them even more self conscious. That is yet another reason to fully embrace the phlegmy expulsion.

As another added bonus, if this person has a cold, you have just helped them clear their sinuses, proving the old adage that laughter truly is the best medicine. Of course, the people who believe that have clearly never tried codeine. That stuff is the shit.

2007-09-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

Make A Stupid Statement, Alaska Stupid Question

Not long ago I worked in a customer service type environment, and as such, I dealt with a wide variety of people. The thing that I came to realize about people as a whole is that they are generally stupid and for the most part helpless. However, no one group of people, in my experience, has been as helpless as those lovely people from Alaska.

Never in all my time on this planet have I encountered a group of people that were more willing to use their geographic location as a crutch for their lack of knowledge and performing simple tasks. Now, don't get me wrong, I know a few people from Alaska, and they all seem to be pretty clever people. For example, I've got a buddy from college that thinks of all kinds of different inventions. His first was something he called razor paper which he was convinced was the most brilliant idea in the world. It was paper that had a razor sharp edge and you could use it to cut . . . stuff. Another invention that he was extraordinarily proud of was something he dubbed 'hissors,' which from as near as I can tell were to be heated scissors for cutting things that were . . . cold, I suppose. Hey, I never said these were brilliant inventions. I just said they were clever. He's a creative dude. But Im getting off track.

The point I'm trying to make is that, on numerous occasions, people from Alaska have used that little factoid as an excuse for laziness and sometimes incompetence. For example, a few months back a woman came into the museum to have a look around. She wandered to the back of the front desk (the opposite side of where all the important information is printed) and got my attention.

"Excuse me, but could you explain what there is here for me to do? I'm from Alaska."

What the fuck? She didn't need to throw in that last little bit. If you've never been to the museum, just ask me what there is to do, or approach the front of the desk where there are signs with information and prices on them. There was absolutely no need to qualify the first part by adding where she was from. Look, ma'am, I understand that you're not used to seeing our running water and fancy blinking lights, but why volunteer that information to me? Did she mention it so that I might take pity on her and talk slower or start explaining modern technology to her? Of course, I didn't actually say any of this to her. I simply did what any other excellent customer service representative would do. I pawned her off to someone on our staff that I knew was from Alaska.

"Oh, you're from Alaska!? So's she! You guys should hang out! "

And then like a phantom I disappear.

On another occasion a few weeks ago, this woman and her family came up to the membership window to say they were late for a Planetarium show. The show had already started and they KNEW they were already 10 minutes late. We don't let people in late for the shows. So they approach the window:

"Uh, yeah, we missed our Planetarium show and we need to get in to see it. We have a movie to go see after it (an OMNIMAX movie that we also show where I work at the museum) and were from Alaska. "

Uh . . . what . . . . the . . . . hell? How is one supposed to take that? Shall I take pity on you, or are you telling me this info as though you're bragging about it and I should let you in so that, in the future, I can tell all my friends about the time that I let these late Alaskans into the Planetarium show. I'm just not sure of the response. We don't let people in late. Period. Where you're from has no bearing on the matter, and you're dumb for even thinking that it might. I mean, honestly, do things not start on time in Alaska? Are they unfamiliar with scheduling different events to begin at certain times, or with the fact that you can't open a locked door? It just boggles the mind.

What I really want to know is how often they fall back on that excuse, and more importantly, how often does it actually work? Shit, if I was from there, I'd abuse that fact all the time.

"What? You want me to pay for my meal? No no, its cool. I'm from Alaska."

"Look officer, I know I was doing 90 in a school zone and accidentally clipped the retarded little stop sign flag boy, but heres the thing: I'm from Alaska. So no worries."

"What? Why was I watching you shower through your bathroom window? Doy! I'm from Alaska!"

You get the picture. And, again, I don't have anything against the wonderful people from our 49^th state. I just find it quite funny that in numerous instances, people have used it as an excuse for so many things. It makes me laugh.

Anyway, I'm gonna put on my cheap gold jewelry and sell bags of oranges by the side of the highway. It's cool though. I'm from Mexico.

2007-09-02T17:16:00.000-07:00

A Walk in the Park

The following is based on true events.

So I just got back from a walk in the park, and let me start by saying it was anything BUT that. The weather was unbelievably nice, so I headed outside to the park across the street from my home. I found a nice shady tree and walked there on my hands while simultaneously doing vertical push-ups. When I got there, I was a little tuckered since, as I'm sure you all know that even with my peak level of fitness, vertical push-ups ain't easy.

I take shelter from the sun underneath a nearby tree and begin constructing a makeshift palm tree using bark, grass clippings, and fallen leaves from other nearby trees. I decide to do this because a) I've never gotten to take shelter under a nearby palm tree, and b) I've always wanted to say that I had. So I took shelter under a nearby palm tree.

No sooner did I start thinking of ways to save the rainforest, than I was approached by a homeless man with a thirst for blood. He threatened me with what appeared to be a trident. I didn't even know you could get those things anymore. Not like it did him even a little bit of good because, as he ran in to attack me, I back-flipped off a nearby tree and spin-kicked him at the base of his brain stem. I think, as he was coming at me, he was trying to say something along the lines of "Do you have any spare change?" but I was so quick that it came out more like "BLARG!" So he drops like a sack of batteries and I'm thinking it's time to call it a day. Suddenly his attack monkey, which I hadn't seen initially, came leaping forth from behind the brush (as they have a way of doing) and bit me in my arm. I quickly tied it's tail to a nearby branch as opposed to just killing it because, hey, I'm not an asshole.

Which brings me to my next point. What the hell does "based on true events" really even mean? The only part of that story that's true is that I went to the park today. That plus the monkey thing. But how little of a story has to actually be true for people to need to say that? They abuse it in movies all the time. Can you tell whatever kind of bullshit lies you want as long as you preface it with "The following is based on true events?" I mean, technically could you say that Superman was based on true events because there probably was once this guy whose name really was "Clark" and one time he wore the color combination of blue and red? I don't know. I say why the hell not.

You know what? I think I'm going to start using that phrase before every story I tell. I'll be at a party or a box social or giving a statement at the police station and before I start I'll say "The following is based on true events." Holy crap, I just realized how bulletproof that is! You could say anything you wanted after that as long as what you start with actually happened! Then, whoever you're telling the story to would have to decide for themselves. And ladies love mystery in a man. Especially in a man that was attacked by a monkey.

- The Bean

2007-08-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

What Would You Do For A Friend?

The title sounds cheesy, right? Well, just read on and I can assure you that the scenario I am about to propose will test your resolve both mentally and physically. So don't be such a jerk. Jerk.

Having gone to three different weddings so far this summer, I started thinking about friendship. A common question that people ask themselves is what they would be willing to do for a friend? Now, the most widely known and cliché question people tend to think about true friendship is: Would you take a bullet for a friend?

I submit the following. A more bullshit question could not exist. No one in their right mind would take a bullet for anyone! Are you kidding me? That's a bullet! And you're a target. In a situation where a gun is pulled out, you've got two choices. This is referred to as the 'fight or flight response' and is present in all of us. When you see a gun, your options become narrowed down for you. You run. You run because what else are you gonna do? Stay around and try to fight the bullet? I repeat, THAT'S A FUCKING BULLET. The smart thing for everyone to do in that scenario is run and leave the slowest behind. It's like when you were kids and you used to race each other. "Loser gets a wet willie!" Well, it's the same thing here, except the loser gets fatal blood loss. So don't be a loser McFly.

The other dumb thing about that question is that it usually involves a scenario where people just have to react. There's no time to think or see the bullet coming and then make an informed decision about exactly how you should leap in front of it so as to minimize damage. And in what scenario would someone just fire one bullet at someone standing next to you? No no no, this is all wrong. It's a crap question.

I propose a better, more realistic question for you. It's one that I've put a lot of thought into, and it's one that you can think about and fully appreciate, especially if something like this ever happens to you. Here it is:

If your friend was being mauled by a bear, would you or would you not stick your thumb up that bears ass to stop the attack? Take some time and mull it over.

Now, the first question you're probably asking is "What kind of a sick fucking question is that?" What's wrong, are you afraid of how you might answer? Remember, this is your friend, and they're being mauled by an angry bear. You might also be thinking "This is a completely unrealistic scenario and there's no way to know for sure whether that tactic (however brilliant it might be) would actually work." Oh, you foolish mortals. It would absolutely work. And while I've never tried it personally, I can assure you that once I give you my reasoning, you might actually crap your pants in the face of it's magnificence.

Think about it. You sit down for a nice meal. You take a bite. You think everything is going swimmingly. Suddenly, a thumb is plunged knuckle deep into your pooper. What's your first thought? I can't say for sure, but I'm almost positive that it has nothing to do with hunger. A nice hearty meal is probably the last thing on your mind. Thus, your attention has successfully been turned to the perpetrator (or 'poopetrator' if you like shitty puns (I'll allow you a moment to soak in that awesome pun within a pun)).

Here's a list of FAQs that often accompany the whole bear/thumb/ass topic:
Q: What the fuck?
A: Just think about it. And don't be jealous because you didn't come up with it.

Q: What makes this the "perfect" scenario as you suggest?
A: Well, with the mauling bear/thumb in the ass scenario, you've really got some quality time to think about what this particular friendship means to you. Do I really like this person enough to insert my thumb into this bear's ass? Is there a scenario that exists where I would actually truly be okay with this? Plus, unlike with the bullet scenario, there's a possibility you don't die. And there's a 100% chance that you don't get hit with a bullet which is aces in my book!

Q: Why the thumb?
A: I'm glad you asked. The thumb is the only digit on your hand that's entrance into the bear's brown starfish would be unimpeded by any of your other fingers. It's what I like to call 'The Lone Enforcer.' Easy in, easy out my friends. It's that simple.

Q: How did you get so handsome?
A: I'm actually getting a little tired of this question. It's a combination of things really. Genetics, work ethic, my ability to eat whole bags of candy, etc. Just accept it.

So that's pretty much that. The next time you're hanging out with someone wondering if they're a true friend, just take the test. Ask yourself "Would I stick my thumb up a bear's ass to save this person?"

Friendship. It's got my thumbs up.

- The Bean

2007-07-31T22:25:00.000-07:00

McDonald's My Ass

Okay, so this is actually an old old joke I wrote, but it was erased long ago. I figured I'd post it again so that you new few could have a chance to taste a bit of your own bile.

A long time ago, I had decided that if I were to ever become a stand up comic, this would be my first joke. It's the first full bit I ever came up with completely on my own, and it's a true story. It's slightly disgusting, even for me, so give yourself a moment to understand that before you decide to read any further. And we're off:

One day about a year and a half ago, I was driving home from work in the bug, rocking out to the Bee gees or Dan Fogelberg or Little River Band or some shit, and I was feeling a might gassy. So being that I'm alone, and a big fan of personal comfort, I decide to let one go. Instantly, I'm both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time (don't read to far into this yet, I didn't shart!). I'm comfortable because, well, because my gas is no longer taking up empty space inside me. I'm uncomfortable because, well, heat rises.

The first thing I notice is that it smells. However, the second and more interesting thing that I notice is that the smell kind of reminds me of Mcdonald's french fries. Hang with me people, it gets worse. Immediately after that, my next thought is that I'm now kind of hungry for Mcdonald's. . . Okay, allow yourself a moment to go ahead let this sink in. Gag if you must. Light a scented candle to get the smelly thought out of your head. Or maybe go buy some Mcdonald's if that's what suits you......fucking sicko.

After having said all that, I would like to pose the following question to you: Am I disgusting for getting a craving for Mickey D's after smelling my own gas?

I understand that your initial gut reaction will be "Yes. Hell yes! Absolutely." However, I must follow it up with another question. What's more disgusting? The fact that I got hungry after smelling my own foul stench, or the fact that every last one of you have all eaten french fries that taste like the inside of my ass?

I rest my case.

2007-05-18T12:16:00.000-07:00

My Dinner With Stan Lee

I should correct myself. When I say "My dinner with Stan Lee" what I really mean is "The other day at work, I saw an old man from a distance of about 30 yards who had the side profile of famous comic book genius Stan Lee." That title wouldn't have drawn you in as much, so I went with the other.

Since the museum where I work is "in transition," there are no customers and it is therefore EXTREMELY BORING. We were looking for entertainment in any form, and in walks Stan Lee's body double (from the side). I don't know who his body double from the front is, but this guy definitely had the right side profile down. I then spent the next half hour pointing this out to all fellow employees that would listen. My excitement was often met with "Wait, who are you?"

I know what you're thinking too. You don't believe me. This story seems far too good to actually have happened. Rene sort of almost saw Stan freakin' Lee! But here's the thing . . . I've got pictures to prove it!! Well . . . more like picture. I've got picture to prove it. I've got a single picture, leave me alone.

I took it with my camera phone to ensure the best possible quality. It's got 2 megapixels, which I'm told is more than 1. I was pretty proud of how I took the picture as well. After I lowered myself down from the ceiling Mission Impossible style, I popped up from behind the front desk and, get this, PRETENDED to be on my phone. What I was really doing was taking an incognito photograph of my "mark" (which is what we spies call our . . . marks, I guess). I tell you people, I'm crafty. Call the Academy and tell them to come watch me pretend to be on my phone. It was THAT convincing.

Anyway, without any further suspense, here is a side by side comparison of my picture and an actual photo of the man himself:

As you can tell by my photo (not that you need to ask, but the one on the left), there were a lot of other photographers in the museum that day. Compare it to the photo of the real Stan Lee (on the right) at the, um . . . we'll say at the Parthenon, and you can clearly see the similarities. I'll give you some time to bask.

And to be honest with you people, I lied. The pictures are both very real, but I'm actually responsible for the one on the right. Whatever jerks! It's still good and I might be able to sell it to the Enquirer or something. Anyway, I've included another picture with the photos subtly labeled with the real Stan Lee and the fake Stan Lee that just turned out to be an old man looking for his wife and grandchildren. Please see below.

Life never ceases to amaze, no? Oh, and I'm sorry for lying.

- The Bean

2007-05-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

Tater Mitts

Before I begin, I'm gonna ask you to do yourself a favor and head over to www.tatermitts.com for a quick demo video. No no, go ahead. I'll wait . . .

. . . Did you watch it? Awesome right? Here's the thing. They don't look like anything groundbreaking, but I have to admit that I can totally get next to any product with "tater" in the name. Tater tots? Yes, please. Tater Mitts? Let's get to peeling some Idaho Russets. Tater-ade? Gotta love me some starchy electrolytes. Master-Tater? Where did Rene run off to so quickly and why does his room always smell like baked potatoes?

Okay, so I admit I don't even know what that last one was. I just thought it sounded funny.

You know, my only beef with any and every infomercial are the people that they have perform the most common, menial tasks. These people can never seem to figure out how to use basic tools. I swear, the woman in the Tater Mitts commercial must have had some mild form of palsy. It was as though she had never seen a potato or a knife and the producer was like "Here, take these and do whatever it is that you do." After a few takes where she first bashes the knife repeatedly with the potato and then goes after the camera man, she finally gets it right. It's terrible. But at least she's getting work.

Anyway, I don't have much more to say about them.

Tater Mitts. Buy 'em.

-The Bean

2007-05-09T21:20:00.000-07:00

Give Me Dry Socks or Give Me Death

So about a month and a half ago, I was in Canada for a bachelor party. This was my first venture into the famed country that just seems to kind of be there. It was nice. Lovely city, the people seemed nice enough, and I was with a group of guys that just wanted to have a good time. However, there was one thing that managed to prevent it from being the perfect weekend. . . . wet socks. I repeat . . . . WET . . . SOCKS.

I fucking HATE wet socks. More than anything else in this world. For the Canada trip there was rain pretty much every day. Now see, rain I don't have a problem with. It rains in Portland all the time and I generally welcome it. I've been wet before. But having wet socks is an entirely different story. My shoes had holes near the toe area, so I'm partially to blame for the fiasco, but that's no excuse. My toes were still wet.

I would rather die than have wet socks. And when I say "wet socks" I'm referring to socks with even just a little bit of water on them. I could be walking down death row, staring into the face of the most painful death anyone could possibly imagine and I'd probably be all right. Now, add into that equation a pair of socks where just the little toe is has been dabbed with water and I would try to end my own life before I finished my walk.

What is it about moist foot coverings (another name for "wet socks." Lame, I know, but I got tired of using the phrase. Get over it) that makes me want to kill a puppy? And why oh why do they never seem to dry while still on your feet?! That's an anomaly to me. I could have stepped in a puddle a day ago and then spent the next twenty four hours with my foot directly in front of a fire and I'd still feel the moisture. If it wasn't man made, it would be like nature's own water retainer. Like a cactus, or a camel, or a pregnant woman. They're all pretty similar.

Example:
Man: What's wrong honey?
Woman: I'm retaining water and I feel really shitty.
Man: Are you sure it's not just the pair of wet socks that you're wearing?
Woman: Sweet Jesus, you're brilliant. Do me now.
Man: Take off the socks first, then we'll talk.

You see?

But why not just take off the horrid foot covers of death you say? To you I reply "shut up asshole. And what the hell is a 'horrid foot cover of death?' Are you trying to say 'wet sock' creatively? Well, you're an idiot."

We have the technology in this country to make a set of gloves that will peel a potato in just 8 seconds, but we can't keep my toes dry? I call shenanigans.

- The Bean

2007-05-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

Judge Booty

Okay, so while were on the subject of the brown starfish, I may as well dig us deeper into the hole (no pun intended) of vulgarity. Now, Im sure that at some point, the vast majority of us have worked in some type of customer service position. In my case, I still am. Now, during the tenure of your work experience, I am also sure that everyone has judged a customer in one way or another. What I mean by this is that, as soon as the unsuspecting jackass steps away from your register or till or counter or wherever it is that you work, you and your coworkers just go to town on this person. Well, I would think that working the cash register in a grocery store would be the most difficult not to question/judge the people that come through there on a daily basis, since all you have to base your judgment on are the items they buy.

For example, the other day I found myself to be a little hungry. The specific item I required was an entire bag of Salsa Verde Doritos (which I should add are beyond delicious). I hadnt had chips for a while, and the only way to possibly quell that desire was for me to eat the entire bag. But I'm getting off track.

As I was at the store grabbing the bag of scrumptiousness (which, if you havent gone out to buy yet, you should have at least jotted it down on like a cocktail napkin next to you or some shit), I remembered that my apartment was almost completely out of toilet paper. Being that this is somewhat of an important commodity, I figured I should get a huge bag of that as well.

Since I could not think of anything else that I may have needed at that current moment, I decided to begin my exit with said items. Now, I dont know if youve ever only bought just two things before, but I guarantee you that no matter what it is, it ALWAYS looks weird. Unless, of course, were talking about like peanut butter and jelly. However, I felt for some reason that on this particular excursion, the combination that I had selected, must have looked especially weird. I say this because of the odd look I received from the cashier. As I allowed my wit to quietly work its magic, I found that all I could come up with was an awkward silence and the sentence "Umm . . . looks like I'm set for the night, huh?" Yeah I know, brilliant, right?

On a completely separate occasion, I had an even more embarrassing adventure to the supermarket, and not a single word was said. The item in question? A box of Imodium AD. For those of you who dont know exactly what that is, I suggest you find out. The stuff is seriously a miracle cure. Not to get too terribly graphic on you, but suffice it to say the box uses the words "loose stools." Enough said. When youre purchasing an item of that nature, and only that item, there is absolutely NOTHING you can say to save yourself. You can try to be like "Umm . . . my girlfriend . . . err she doesnt feel . . . stomach..hurts." Yeah, uh, bullshit. You have diarrhea and both you and the store clerk know it.

I mean, you can try to throw other things in your basket to make it seem less embarrassing. Such as some garbage bags, paper towels, a gallon of milk, some highlighters, toenail clippers, or some cheez-its, but I guarantee that's gonna make matters ten times worse. Because now, not only does the cashier think you have "the rear" as I call it, but now he thinks that you've already made such a mess that at this point you need paper towels and garbage bags to clean it up. Then, while youre battling your next bout of what my step dad likes to call "the trots," youre gonna be drinking some milk while highlighting some light homework reading, while snacking on cheez-its and clipping your toenails. Now youre just next-level disgusting.

The only thing you can honestly do is just completely fess up. As you slide the box over to him, as proudly as you possibly can, exclaim "I have diarrhea, and I am purchasing this box of pharmaceuticals to combat its symptoms!" Because otherwise, you're a fucking liar.

My thought on the matter is this: If you're gonna purchase an embarrassing item, you may as well just go the whole way and buy every possible embarrassing thing you can think of. This way, the check out person wont know what to react to. It'll be a sensory overload and they'll just have to shut up. It doesnt even matter what you grab. Some suppositories, maxi pads, a copy of Dr. Phils latest book, tampons (they work wonders for nose bleeds), rubbers, a copy of the movie Cool Runnings (which you kinda liked but dont want to admit to your friends), and really whatever else you can think of. At least this way, if you ever need to buy any of that stuff in the future, youll already have it stockpiled. And then youre set for life.

Don't say I never taught you anything. Now go out with your new found knowledge and abuse the hell out of it.

- The Bean

2007-04-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

What Am I?

Okay, so I know I haven't posted in almost a month, and this one doesn't even really count as a post. But it's something for you to chew on for a bit.

It's a skit by a comedy group called Those Lil Rabbits, and while it might seem a little obnoxious at first, it's really quite brilliant. So if you can make it through the whole thing, you'll be a better person for it.

Seriously, it's funny.

- The Bean

2007-03-22T19:40:00.000-07:00

Porn on Television

The following is a commercial that actually aired more than a year ago on television. Please watch it in it's entirety and try not to either laugh or throw up a little bit into your own lap.

Yeah, I know, I know. A friend showed me this clip a while back, and it never gets any easier to watch. It's horrifying, right? No commercial for a children's toy should ever involve a money shot. Period.

What could the marketing department at Super Soaker have possibly been thinking? I'm sure you're wondering too. Well, some people put together a video on YouTube of what they thought it might have gone like. Unfortunately though, given gold to work with, the video falls short of the mark. They even go so far as to call it the "Splooginator." Tell you what, drop the "L" and then we'll talk about what's funny. Good effort though.

Getting back to the marketing meeting, how the hell could you not have seen criticism coming?! They made the substance WHITE for Christ's sake! You're not fooling anyone. At least make it yellow or purple or green so kids think they're shooting alien guts or something at each other. But white? The only way it could be worse is if it smelled like bleach.

I want to know the thought process behind actually creating this gun. "Hey, I know! Let's make a toy for children that you have to pump down at waist level until enough pressure has built up, and then have it aimed and released (or "ejaculated" if I'm not pulling any punches) onto another person's chest and face. Even the guys at NAMBLA were like "Yeah, this is a bit much."

I have no qualms about the overall objective of the gun. You're trying to shoot slime at someone that doesn't want slime on them. That's inherently funny. Always has been. It's like when you were young and you used to throw mud at girls. Or like when you were 12 and you used to EJACULATE ON YOUR BEST FRIEND'S CHEST. Good lord, what were these people thinking!?! I know I've asked that already, but it just continues to defy any type of logic.

I haven't done any further research, but I would assume that this toy has been pulled off of store shelves in an effort not to sully childrens' minds. Save that nightmare for summer camp. It looks like it's back to the drawing board for Super Soaker. I'm not even sure I want to speculate what could possibly be next. All I can say is that it better not shoot warm mud and be shaped like an ass, because seriously people. Seriously.

-The Bean

2007-03-12T21:05:00.000-07:00

Did You Drop a Jellybean?

As odd as it may seem, this question evokes a sense of happiness in me. I reminds me of a carefree time in my life where I really had no purpose (not like now, where I'm a very successful CEO). It reminds me of high school to be quite honest with you.
As far as I know, the question was initially coined by my good friend Travis as we would drive around the wonderful city of Idaho Falls constantly complaining that there was nothing to do.

Upon initial examination, the question seems quite simple and straightforward. Did you drop a jellybean? Seems like a simple yes or no answer would suffice, right? The actual meaning goes much deeper than that, quite literally. In order for the question to acheive it's maximum humor potential, you must know the right moment to ask it.

The question in question has nothing to do with an actual jellybean (though it can). Allow me to explain. Have you ever been riding around in the passenger seat of a vehicle and developed an itch? Not an itch on your face or neck or arm, but deeper. Lower. More central. Past the grundle, beyond the taint, to a place of indescribable darkness and sometimes minor irritation. Your undercarriage, if you will. Are we all on the same page here? I think I heard somebody gag, so we must be.

Anyway, the question came from just such an occasion. I "went in" for an itch, and while I had my hand down there, digging away, Travis turned to me and said "Dude, what did you drop a jellybean?" And so it was. From that point on, that became the perfect question for that scenario.

Now, I don't know if any of you have actually ever dropped a piece of hard candy while driving/riding in a car, but where's the first place it goes? That's right. It somehow immediately finds it's way to that cavernous little bird's nest between your seat and your meat. And it always seems like the harder you try to dig around for it, the farther back it makes it's way, to the point where you've pretty much just wiped your ass with a piece of candy. And, let's be honest people, 95% of you will still eat it.

I'm not saying I'm above the law here. I do it too. And really, a jellybean is the only type of food you can do that with and get away with. Chocolate covered candies might melt, cookies or crackers might crumble. You wouldn't smear a half a pint of Haagen Das on your crotch and then try to eat it, would you? Something about the chemical makeup of a jellybean makes that horrid act just slightly less horrid.

The point of this whole story is not to gross you out (though that's like a bonus for me if it did), but to bring back the question. I don't know if you've ever heard it before or if Travis independantly conceived it, or even if he heard it from someone else. But I move that we should bring it back.

Who's with me?

-The Bean

2007-03-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

Help the Police!

Okay, so this is more for Russ than for anyone else, but it's hilarious. Evidently, it's from a British sketch comedy show called "Rush Hour." Enjoy it.

- The Bean

2007-03-10T21:03:00.000-08:00

Cockfighting

So recently I got the chance to watch some cockfighting videos. After that, I returned them to the video store, paid my late fees, and watched clips of this crazy sport where they breed roosters, attach razors to their feet, and watch them kill each other.

Did you see what I did there?

Anyway, I learned two things from the clips:
1. Jokes about gay porn are ALWAYS funny.
2. Actual cockfighting is ridiculous . . . especially if the other guy is bigger than you are (Seriously, did you really think I could pass up another opportunity for a cheap laugh? If you did, please see number 1 above).

- The Bean

2007-03-07T23:56:00.000-08:00

Fred Meyer is better than Safeway

and here's the single reason why:
u-scan self check out.

before you disagree and decide to send me a strongly worded letter (which i probably wouldn't read anyway), allow me to explain my reasoning. now, i've never done drugs in my life (save for the whole wisdom teeth fiasco) and that's something that i'm very proud of. but i swear, whenever i go to the grocery store on a whim, i have the eating habits and random cravings of a pothead.
take tonight for example. i got back from the store not too long ago with an odwalla citrus monster smoothie, a box of snackwell's cookie cakes, and a 20 oz diet A&W root beer.
i know, right?

but what i hate about safeway is that you've actually got to go through a real human person in order to make it out the front door with your delicious impulse buys. and that's the part that sucks. because despite every checkout person's facade of "i hate my life and all things that are a part of it" you know that they silently judge every person that comes through their line. it's one of the perks of the job. i think they even advertise it in their benefits package.

but i don't want people judging me. sure it's fine if i'm on a healthy kick and i actually want people to see me walking up to the checkout line with my lean chicken and frozen veggies and my flax seed and supplements and organic fruits. hell, i'll even make it a point to actively see that people notice my health conscious choices. leaning next to the person behind me and asking "hey, have you ever tried these?" only to be met with "dude, those are almonds. who hasn't tried almonds?" "i don't know. maybe you've got a food allergy or something. anyway, they're pretty awesome. a little protein, good source of omega 3s. gotta watch my carbs." this time only to be met with awkward silence and the eventual " . . . please stop talking to me."

of course, the other 96% of the time when i've decided to forgo a healthy diet "just for tonight," the last thing i want is judgement. especially if i a) don't have a safeway club card (i don't need you or your damn exclusive club) and b) they're assuming something about me that is absolutely untrue.

let me paint for you a picture if i may. i went into safeway sometime last week because it's two blocks from my house. i was hungry. and it was the kind of hungry that demands immediate satisfaction. so i proceed to gather the following items: a digiorno's frozen pizza (cheese stuffed crust), a 20 oz soda (i think diet pepsi jazz or some other totally manly flavor like that, a box of safeway cookies (which i might add are pretty much required if you frequent safeway), a bag of chips, and a pack of gum.
but the one thing that i didn't get? a lighter. why not? well, because even though i needed one (no seriously, it's for this new magic trick i learned. i swear. i'll show it to you if we ever meet), i thought that this particular item would have put me over the top as far as judgement goes in the eyes of the checkout woman. a woman who would have eventually mangled my last name anyway. i just couldn't do it.

anyway, needless to say, i'm like the king of the freddy's u-scan check out world. i'm not like those jack asses that come up with a cartload of stuff (it says 15 items or less asshole) and then decide that it's best if i pay in loose change and coupons. i got my crappy food, my debit card, and my oven already pre-heating at home. now scan your shit, pack your bags, and shove off. i'm hungry.

short lines, no judgement, amen.

- The Bean

2006-08-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

We're working on revamping our blog with some new stuff that will ideally be more entertaining for the six or so of you that actually read it. Bare with us as we get it up and running.