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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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