The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘dumb’

Animal Facts! (Minor Breed Duck, Puff Adder, Patas Monkey, Madagascar Big-Headed Turtle)

Minor Breed Duck

Has never been a big fan of forgiveness.

When he looks at a map of Sweden he sees every city as “Hersky-Bersky-Land.”

Only had one fight with his ex-girlfriend. He apologized, then she apologized, then she said, “don’t get pissy – kissy, kissy!,” then he ended things.

Deliberately creates a mess and then re-organizes when nervous. Now tell me that’s not cute.

Liked a certain brand of beer before watching a football game. After seeing 47 ads in three hours for the beer, decided he hated it.

Puff Adder

Fears labels. Not in a relationship-sense, but as in labels identifying food. It’s kinda weird.

You can call him – just don’t call him Al.

Says something really snarky then adds, “ugh, you probably think I’m terrible, right?” Yes, we do.

Wishes he could come up with a cool way to combine the words shark and snark.

Thought the word ‘napkin’ was a mythical creature. Gross. But when you think about it a napkin does sound like it could be a mythical creature.

Patas Monkey

Refers to minorities as “culturally tan people.” It’d be racist if it wasn’t so stupid.

Favorite part of football is when the offense lines up – then they all look over to the sideline. He pretends someone on the sideline yelled, “free candy!”

Could light your cigarette with his sssssmokin’ dance moves.

When his girlfriend is giving him the one-word answers because she’s angry at him, he makes matters worse (but funnier for him) by making the Law & Order “DUNH-DUNH” noise a lot.

Shortly before taking off, asks seatmates, “So why are you heading to Omaha, Nebraska?” He asks this regardless of where they’re heading.

Madagascar Big-Headed Turtle

Goes to the gym just to increase the amount he can conversationally say the word “glutes.”

Posted a ‘missed connection’ ad on craigslist. The missed connection was titled: “pop singers.” The content of the message was: “My fist. Your face.”

Imagines waking up on Christmas to a Lexus with a big bow on it. And his wife smiling, and his looking surprised. And then him yelling, “how the **** are we going to pay for THIS? Are you stupid!?”

Named some of his muscles. I won’t list all of the names but they include: Tom Cruise Missile, Jeff GoldBOOM, Jacked Nicholson, Betty White (a muscle he thinks is stronger than people realize).

“Scrambled eggs made with love” is his specialty. His other specialty is “mixed drinks made with regrettable decisions.”

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Animal Facts

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What a Utility Bag

At the end of youth soccer leagues we would have a nice trophy presentation. This was a big deal for me, as I was convinced the more trophies I had the better I was. This was an ingrained FACT.

And, sorry, ribbons don’t count as trophies. A trophy is something you can throw and do damage with. Just ask a certain cousin of mine.

Growing up I played soccer, and in middle school and for half of high school I ran cross country. Soccer was my only source of trophies. (I only got ribbons for cross-country. Stupid ribbons.) I needed these trophies, too. They proved … something!

In the fourth grade, in my mind, I was a soccer wiz. I was the tops. The cat’s pajamas. The bees knees.

But, my growth in the soccer skills department stopped there. I kept getting older, but my body relished that fourth grade talent. Improve with age? I don’t think so. I’m good where I am.

Fortunately, when you play on youth soccer leagues no one can get cut.

I tended to sit at the start of games, but I got a pretty good amount of playing time, and I occasionally did something well (intentionally or not, it’s all about how nonchalant you act after something good happens).

The worst time of the year to have no talent was at the trophy presentation. That’s when it really hit home for me.

The coach would stand up and say a few words about the team, the season, the fun, the game! Yeah, we learned a lot from these talks (“pass me another slice,” “Brad, shhh!, your coach is talking!,” “…so do I not get another slice?”)

After the introductory remarks, the coach would announce a player’s name. That player would go to stand beside the coach and beam as the coach went on about their talents.

“Ben scored the most goals!”

“Tony was non-stop, he was always making a play!”

“Nobody could stop our goalie!”

But what if said player lacked in the talent field?

“Brad, come on up here! …” (He’s holding the trophy.) “Brad’s a real great kid.” (Just give me the trophy and let me get back to my pizza.) “We could put Brad in anywhere in the game, whenever we needed him.” (Wait … is that an insult or a compliment?) “He’s a great utility player!” (CRAP! It’s an insult.)

Utility!? Utility?!?!

My coach called me a tool.

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Weekly Wacko

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My Zombie Roomy (11/17/11)

Well, Halloween has past.

Something happened on the Sunday before Halloween which I have been dealing with the past few weeks.

I tried dealing with it in a lot of ways. Acceptance, tribute, sadness, guilt. But ultimately denial and alcohol seemed to be most appropriate.

There was a girl I liked. She was very leggy. And very vavoom. How vavoom you ask? She went as Jessica Rabbit. THAT vavoom.

I was trying to charm her with my utter lack of charm (my non-game game as a friend put it), when suddenly she seemed distracted. Someone else in the bar had caught her eye. I knew I was cooked, and I’m a proud guy, so I politely ended our conversation.

Later that night, I saw her in the parking lot trying to flirt with the Zombie. I guess she goes more for the silent type (which I am most definitely not).

This is still a little harsh. It’s not easy to swallow being passed up for an undead cannibal. But hey, everybody finds somebody sometime, right Dino?

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My Zombie Roomy

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