Happy Halloween!!

Tailor: How's that jacket feel? Looks a little tight.

Nosferatu: No, it's good.
Tailor: You sure? I can make some adjustments and have it ready for you by..
Nosferatu: NO! I....I'm good. I uh....I have a date tonight. It's perfect. Thanks.

Now for a spooky tale....


In the building where I work there's an older gentelman who occasionally wears an outfit eerily similar, or as an old trainer would say simular, to what The Wolf Man wears. Only he, the old guy, wears a shirt that is the same green as the pants. He even rocks that slicked back, Lon Chaney Jr. hair-do. I get Universal Monster movie flashbacks every time he wears this outfit and if I'm not fully awake, expect Abbott & Costello to come running through the office shortly after he leaves. "Abb-ott! Hey, A-a-abbo-ott!"

SO, it's Halloween, and has anyone ever pointed this out to him so that he'll actually wear his Wolf Man gear on this perfect day?

Apparently not.

Bummer.

What? Not spooky enough for you.

Well here's some footage my friends took of me after we went skinny dipping a couple years ago and they thought it'd be funny to hide my clothes.I had to walk back to the camp site naked..

Those guys suck.

Happy Halloween.

Don't you be eyeballin' me Mayonaise

I'm thinkin about buzzin my dome.

That is to say, I'm thinking about taking my hair clippers (not hedge) and cutting my hair realy, really, stubly(?) short, not flying a WWI type airplane (Ah Jenny; sweet, beautiful Jenny.)very low over my planetarium (Laser Floyd, man....).

Dunno.

It's just so easy to not have to do anything to your hair in the morning. Never a bad hair day when you have no hair, right?

Winter.....she cometh. No hair and cold don't play well together. Cold wins.

Brrrrr.

No talking in the mensroom!

Happy Fry day!

I mentioned this song on my olde blog. I lurve this song. I gave up looking on YouTube for it...until now!

Enjoy.



I'm off to score a tasty burger.

Griff's sounds good. Fatburger is too far away.

World Series 07: Rox vs. Sox

I can't decide if I want to wear my Red Sox jersey (Wade Boggs, baby!) and my Rockies hat to work tomorrow, or my Rockies jersey (Blank, baby!!) and my Sox hat...

Stupid Cleveland Indian losers. Why couldn't you win so I could have a clear cut side to cheer for.

Cleveland rocks.....

MY ASS!

(Um....as in it sucks; not that we're lovahs or like those dudes on OZ or Jalapeno stuff)

Bastards.

GO _OX!!

Things to post in Denver when you're dead

It's nadah toomah

I think I'm dying.

I've been sick all week. My head hurts. My tummy hurts. My back hurts. Methinks it's the flu.
....or ebola.
.....or "The Plague".

.....cooties?

I think I'm dying.
I blame the Hippies.
Bastards.

(end sickness stuff)

I thought my GF was pregnant with my miracle baby. Yeah. She's been feeling uckey lately and she kept saying "If I didn't know my tubes are tied, I'd think I was pregnant". So I was all like, "Well, you DID say awhile back that you went to push/lift something at work and felt something kinda *POP* and a bit of pain, right? Maybe you popped stuff loose and now you're bakin' my spawn right now.". I'm romantical like that n' shit. So I tell her that she needs to find out, cuz the hole required for a wee lil spermy guy to fit through doesn't need to be all that big and that I paid attention in health class back when I was 13 and I 'member that once the egg gets all pregified it has to drop down so's what the baby can grow and if she's still mostly tied in the tube department the baby could be trying to grow in a tight space and it no likey. It no likey to the point that something could *POP* in a bad, very bad, horribly bad way or at the very least our kid's gonna have one leg shorter than the other and/or has to take the short bus to school. Any kid of MINE is gonna have enough problems as it is having me as it's father, we dont need to slap Hunchback of Notre Dame (The catherdral thingy, not the college football team that totally BLOWS this year. Poor, poor, Gipper.)-ness on it.

So.....

She goes and gets the test (she had to pee on it! Uck! Bleh! gack! Barbaric, hey?) and we wait.....

No baby. Which is both good and bad, right? Good cuz she's not crushing our baby to Carnival freak show proportions. Bad cuz the odds that I'da knocked her up what with tubage tied, safe sex (not always), the fact that I might be sterile (childhood injury that is too painful for me to retell. Ever. My boys are feeling sore just thinking about it.)....it was like a million, bazillionty to one, right? That'd been sweet. It would be some unbelievable shit like the Colorado Rockies baseball team going to the World Series?

What?

THEY ARE?!?

HOLY SHIT!!!

Meh.

No baby.

No miracle baby for Jerk to brag about.

I think I'm dying.

Not like dying dying, but dying like Bugs Bunny "Oooooooh, I'm DYIN' again!" takin' that penguin to the South Pole when really, he was from Hoboken dying.

I no feel good.

I'm WAY behind on posting crap I've been tagged with.

Hey, at least I posted something, right? Something slightly interesting even.

Be good.

Nothing to say

Me being stupid. It really wasn't that dark here, not sure why it looks that way.

Fatty, fatty, two by four....

I'm missing some paperwork here at Amalgamated Shmuck (Where we eliminate the first "c" and pass the savings on to YOU!), so's I go in seach of....

The first guys who picked up a pile o' work by mistake have everything BUT what I'm looking for, but they give me a free box of peanut butter cookies.


The second place I goes...no paperworky buuuuuuut, I get a slice of birfday cake.

The third and final place to look, they say they seen 'em, but they don't know where they are NOW. Oh, but they gave me a handful of "fun size" (I had a girlfriend once who was funsize) Snickers instead.

Apparently I'm looking a little short of fighting weight today.

I'd rather have my work.

What else....AH! Das machinen are nix gaverken. Der printzen und der stachten is verboten by komputers und printerz. Machinen on striken. Das mittengrabben und der fingerpoken make machinen kaput. Mein verken is kaput. Needen Bier.

I shoudla called in sick this year.

You should call Dude

There's no nudity. It's just a stupid thing I found on YouTube that is pretty much how it is at my office when it's slow.



....only with sock monkeys.

I get a 3 day weekend

Name(d) that tune

In my little circle of friends (OK, not so little, I mean you guys read this from all over the WORLD, right?), I'm the answer man when it comes to music. If you can give me a few lyrics or hum a little of it I can usually tell you who/what cuz I already know, or I can find out for you. Lately, I've had not one, but 4 people ask me about the song in the Old Navy commercial. A girl sings something about "if you're cold, I'll give you my sweater.....I love the way you call me baby...".

If you too are wondering.....dunt dunna naaaaah!
(or Tah-dah if you prefer)

The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson


If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.

Cuz I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.

If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.

Cuz I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.

I'd buy you Rogaine if you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.

Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.

Check her out on MySpace (She's CUTE!)

Why Blogger Doth Have Suckage Issues

I tinkered with my blog to give it this new look and noticed when I went to add/remove some links that it had automatically deleted some blog links on it's own. Funny hoew those blogs juuuuuuust happened to be to blogs on Wordpress, Livejournal and any blog type action that ISN'T Blogger.

Odd, huh?

So, I went and RE-added those one. I'll be adding some more here real soon.

I got "Tagged" by The Raspberry Queen (The Blueberry Prince doesn't talk to me anymore since I made fun of his shoes). I'll be right back here with my "Jerk's Ten Rules to live by". I'm sure you're hanging on the edge of your virtual Lay-z-boy.