The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘published’

Say, Care to Be Super Nice to Me?

Recently I was reading a post from Lesley Carter’s blog and I got inspired. The post was all about trying to get more people to check out your fantastic blog.

I have been doing this for … a while … and I don’t have that many regulars or visits a day. Generally, I am content to write, throw it out there, and go on. I don’t do enough to pump up my site, or check out other people’s sites (which then can help get people to come back to your site).

Why? Laziness, I suppose.

I’m going to try and turn a new leaf, though.

My goal for this blog was to get well-known, get published, make a subsidiary income from that, and then become a teacher, (have you SEEN what teachers make?) and derive a huge sense of self-worth and satisfaction knowing that I make people laugh or have written stories that people enjoy. Easy-peasy plan, huh?

Here’s my begging request … re-tweet (my twitter! follow me!) my posts! Share them on facebook (my facebook page)! Give me a great rating at sites like (here for my site) or stumble, or any of that jazz.

Thus ends my HELP ME! post.

Breaking NFL News …

The NFL decided, on top of “micing up” some players, to employ some professional lip readers.

Often during games the announcers would say, “well I’m not a lip reader but I think [player/coach] just said [something pertaining to the game.]”

After some deliberation the NFL decided to employ a few professional lip readers to sit with the announcers and provide even more in-depth coverage of football.

Is the NFL full of a bunch of misunderstood intellectuals? No. Here’s a breakdown of what is said:


Enjoy the Super Bowl! Since I don’t care about either team here’s hoping for a close game, and good commercials.

Must-See List

Weekly Wacko (63)

I saw this and it made me feel bad for not having gone to church in a LONG while … but I found this funny so here goes.

Born Again Comedy

(Let’s hope that in God’s infinite wisdom, he gets my humor, and gets that I’m a big dummy.)

My family was never consistent about going to Church.

I would wake up some Sunday mornings and hide out in my room, not wanting my parents to know I was already awake. I figured my mom might go to wake my brother, sister and I for Church then she’d say, “well … they’re such Angels when they’re sleeping … We’ll go next week.” (note how I used the word Angel – now that’s comedy!).

Despite my best efforts, we went sometimes. Sometimes meaning more than just Easter and Christmas, but we weren’t ‘religious’ about going (the jokes don’t stop, people).

The Churches we attended tended to be pretty conservative generic Protestant. You’d have your Bible and your Hymnal in front of you.

Turn to page 786 in the Hymnal and let us sing …

Then it’d be some boring drawn out song.

I had the impression that if Church wasn’t stuffy, and if you weren’t dressed stiffly – you weren’t respecting God.


In 2000 my family moved to Savannah, Georgia.

We attended Savannah Christian Church.

The pastor was fantastic (my favorite ever – though I have to admit I didn’t really start to pay attention to the sermon until around that time, too).

The music was … different.

There was some sort of ‘rock group’ on the stage.

Guitars in Church?


This was all new to me.

The people around me started singing these pop Christian songs.

“Jesus, you rock my socks off buuuuddddddy!” (I sincerely hope this is not a real pop Christian song – though I would not be surprised if it was.)

And … what’s this? That guy up there is … raising his arms?

Is he going to strangle someone?

Is he a zombie?

What’s happening?

Does God get bad reception in here? And your arms are rabbit ears?

(Note: If there is a Heaven and Hell, and people get to Heaven and they say, “Brad’s not here? He wasn’t that bad a guy I thought …” I’m in Hell because I thought of this joke today. While I was at Church.)

I couldn’t help but look down and grin – a huge, laughter suppressing grin.

Lucky for me my laugh tends to just be a smile (a ninja laugh, as I call it).

This was new to me.

People ‘feeling it’ or what have you. Raising their arms as they sing and closing their eyes. As though God was, through this poorly written pop song, hugging them.

Eventually the songs stopped and the lead singer began to pray.

Meanwhile, one of the guys on guitar kept going.

Does this prayer have a soundtrack?

Had I missed some part of the Bible where God said He loves a good musical prayer?


As this is about Church let me now preach and say: Christians, don’t look down on other Christian services. Christianity is all about love for others, so politely disagree, but focus on the love part.

Also, no offense Christian pop. You’re fine, really. I’m really just interested in the sermon anyway.

Worry-Free Man Dead

At 9:42 am, today, Doug Johnson saw a genie. At 12:42 pm, today, Doug Johnson was found dead.

Johnson, a high-powered executive, had been driven by fear and worry for many years. After a recent heart attack he was told he needed to seek ways to reduce his stress and worry. As a friend, Betty LePaige said, “as a practical joke, Doug went to see a genie. Really, we all found it funny. Like a Genie can actually grant wishes! But it didn’t work out so hot I guess. Genies, huh?”

According to various sources that saw Johnson through the course of the day, security cameras, nanny cameras, and a whole lot of policemen, the genie granted Johnson’s wish of no longer having “any worry.”

“What? I just? You know. The customer wants what he wants, wh-wh-what can I say? Hm?” the Genie said while doing his best Woody Allen impression.

After leaving the Genie’s business, ‘Genie Bone’s Connected to Your Happiness-Bone!’ Johnson immediately went to a Jaguar dealership.

“Oh yeah, we totally screwed him on the deal,” an unnamed source at the dealership said. “But he drove away really happy – who wouldn’t in a brand new Jag? Say I noticed you’ve got an older car out in the lot …” At this point the dealer smiled, and I was temporarily blinded by his charm and smarm.

The Genie reports what happened next. “Doug really had to go to the bathroom. So he did. In his brand new Jag.” When asked how the Genie knew Doug’s thoughts the Genie replied, “look, Brad Stanley thought it’d be funny if this guy was so worry-free that he’d pee himself. So he made me omnipotent, so that I could talk about this. OK!?”

Shortly after going weewee, Johnson came to a stoplight where a cop was stopped next to him. Again without any reason to stop himself Johnson yelled something he’d always wanted to yell at the police, “COWABUNGA SHRED-HEAD!” Without any real reason to arrest him the cops decided they should follow him until they figured an arrest-worthy event would happen.

Unfortunately, that moment never came.

Johnson, in his new car, had a thought occur (said the Genie), “say, is this one of those doors where if it’s locked you can’t open it? Or will it unlock and allow me to open the door?”

Upon finding out Johnson fell out of his car and was run over by Shredder.

Didn’t see that coming did you?


The End


P.S. I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.

Weekly Wacko (62)

Say, How’s Your God Doing?

A little while back I wrote about an experience I had as an intern where I learned I was less valued than a paperweight.

This is a happier internship story from the same place.

The same summer I started interning there, two guys were hired. One, Sukru from the previously mentioned story. Two, Prasad. Sukru was from Turkey and had just gotten either a PhD or Masters, Prasad from India (“south central India” – he said this to me and I almost laughed in his face, I wanted to shout, “south central in the HOUSE!” because I’m white). Prasad also had a big fancy-pants degree.

Prasad came to work for a little while, and he got himself somewhat acquainted with everything, but he had a trip planned to go back home to India. After a brief while of having him around he was off. A few weeks (felt like millennia) later he returned.


He brought back with him sweets from India. He went cube-to-cube saying, “sweets from India?” and holding a box of foodstuffs at people. It was adorable and scary. I grabbed something, said thanks, and then forced myself to eat it because he was going to stand there until I tried it.

“Mmmm,” I said at 8:00 am to this incredibly sweet bread-like thing, “yum.”

The BEST part of his return was a conversation I overheard. Except for the odd influx of Prasad and Sukru, the company was very whitebread. And oldish.

Oldish whitebread guy: Hey Prasad! Welcome back!
Prasad: Oh, thank you.
Oldish whitebread guy: You got a haircut!
Prasad: I cut off my hair as a sacrifice to my god.
Oldish whitebread guy: ……….Oh.


Watch for a future video where I do my impression of Prasad, who was impressively nervous over the smallest things.

De Jour of the Week (1/24/11)

I know I’ve already touched on this – but seriously it’s gross when people don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom. Especially, as one co-worker does, if they’ve just used the stall and don’t wash their hand.

People are Gross

It’s 230 and something’s the matter
And the matter is my bladder

At lunch, free refills on coke? I’ll take another round
My ability to stop could not be found

And now it’s 230 and there’s that pressing MATTER
Yes, it’s my grandpa bladder

Up, up, and away to the little boys room
An ‘accident’ at work would be office-talk doom

There’s Jerry, there’s Bob – the fellas sit a few cubes over
The urinals sing, red rover, red rover, send bladders right over

Sweet relief! I couldn’t be happier
I head to the sinks to clean my hands this day once more

There … goes … Jerry?
That stinking, disgusting, I never want to share a stapler, printer, office with … Jerry.

Homeboy doesn’t even LOOK at the sink!
He checked himself out in the mirror, but all I see is a fink.

And Bob. Oh, Bob. He rinsed his hands then ‘touched up’ his hair
(Though to be fair, let’s be honest Bob, there’s not much there)

Bob, it’s called soap
Learn it, live it, love it, you dope

Bob, you disgust me
Urine is gross, Jerry

Oh – I hadn’t even noticed Doug in the stall
And now Doug’s glancing at the mirrors … don’t tell me that’s all

I’ll end the poem here –
I’ve made my point clear

People don’t wash their hands, and that’s a fact
So the next time you go to shake hands, consider a retract

Ladies, and fellas, if you catch someone not washing their hand
Wait til they’re in public, then reprimand, reprimand, reprimand.

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