Archive for December, 2010

Note to Santa Claus

It is impossible to lose weight during the holidays. Well, not impossible, but it’s pretty difficult when you lack willpower and self discipline.

My Christmas List is short this year. I mean, what do you get the man who has nothing?

Dear Santa,

I would like to see a new reality show called ‘Bartman and Brotzman’.

It would star Steve Bartman, the guy who cost the Cubs a shot at the World Series in 2003 – and Kyle Brotzman, the Boise State player who missed two kicks this year against Nevada.

I don’t mean any disrespect to either man. I just think it would be cool if they hung out together, you know, with a camera crew in tow.

I would also like to be on Celebrity Rehab. I’m not a celebrity, and I don’t need rehab. Wink. But it seems like a good place to meet slutty women.

Finally, I would like to ask for world peace. The only catch is you might have to take out millions of potential terrorists. Your call.

I hope you enjoy the egg sandwich. I ate all of the cookies.

Your friend,

Benny

Or Daddy looked a lot like him

Two thugs

What’s new? Let’s see…

* Gawker sent an email to let me know their website had been hacked – and my username and password are available on the internet.

* I discovered that I’ll lose more weight if I drink a protein shake after the gym instead of one from Sonic.

* I got a haircut today – and it was just me and the stylist – and she was pretty – and I may or may not have pictured her topless.

* Crowe Dog gave me a 36″ console TV – which brings the total number of television sets in my apartment to four – and not one is HD-ready.

* I bought a big bottle of store brand bourbon for $13.99, and then poured it into an empty bottle of Jim Beam.

You know, livin’ the dream.

You get a line, I’ll get a pole
We’ll go fishing in the crawfish hole

SOB Prescription

I got my new refurbished stupid smartphone today. Thanks, Sprint.

Dicks.

My mom sent me an email after Thanksgiving asking if I had accidentally taken her remote control home. When I told her I had checked, and didn’t find it, this was her reply:

Did you by any chance unroll your sleeping bag?  The only other place I can think of is the trash.  I looked through all the newspapers (in the recycling bin) and it wasn’t there.  Was thinking maybe it had gotten mixed up with the newspapers.

If you haven’t unrolled your sleeping bag since leaving my house, if you would do that for me I would appreciate it.

Love, Mom

Note: I took my sleeping bag with me over Thanksgiving because it needed to be washed.

That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

My reply:

Yes, I have unrolled my sleeping bag since I was at your house. I washed it last night. The remote was not in there, but I hope you find it.

Her reply:

Thx for looking.  Thought you washed it at my house.  Can’t find it anyplace.

Love, Mom

Okay, here’s the deal. As I noted earlier, I did wash the sleeping bag at her house over Thanksgiving.

But since then, it needed to be washed again.

That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

She still hasn’t found the remote control. But at least I know what to get her for Christmas.

The only thing I’m asking for is a new sleeping bag.

No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day

Mad Dog

My apologies to anyone that has sent me an email, text or called since early last week. The touch-screen on my stupid smartphone quit working.

I finally found the time to get to a Sprint store yesterday.

“What’s going on?” I was asked as I approached the check-in stand.

“The touch-screen on my phone doesn’t work,” I replied.

He looked up my account and said, “We no longer honor manufacturer warranties. If you want us to fix this, it will cost $35.”

“That seems a little excessive, but whatever,” I reluctantly agreed.

…30 minutes later

“Um sir, we don’t have a replacement screen for that model, so we’re going to give you a new phone.”

And by new, he meant refurbished.

“That’s fine,” I said.

…30 minutes later

They finally managed to transfer my contacts, and I left with the ‘new’ phone. I made a call once I got to the car, and discovered the earpiece didn’t work.

Back into the store I went.

“Is there a problem?” the same guy asked me.

“Just a small one – I can’t hear the person on the other end of the call.”

He double-checked it to make sure I wasn’t a dumb ass. Then he turned around to talk with the tech guys.

He came back and said, “We have the part for that. They’re fixing it now.”

“Fine.”

…1 hour later

“Okay sir, we have your phone ready,” I was told by a new guy, as he handed me the phone.

It should be noted that the previous guy had gone to lunch and was now in the back somewhere enjoying a Subway sandwich.

I was hungry, too.

I took the phone and noticed the navigation buttons at the bottom weren’t working. When I brought this to the new guy’s attention, he took the phone back to the tech guys again.

He returned a few minutes later and said, “We have the part for this. They can open it back up, or we can order you another phone.”

“Do you smoke crack?” I asked.

“What?”

“I’ve been here for two hours. I’m just assuming you have a drug habit since you’re unable to comprehend time or reality.”

“So you want us to order another one?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“It’ll be here in two days.”

“Fantastic.”

Crackhead.

They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose

Meat Candy Cane

A candy cane shaped piece of pork probably isn’t the best picture to use on the first night of Hanukkah.

I’m not trying to be insensitive here. I just don’t have a lot of Jewish friends. But Happy Hanukkah to you both.

Actually, one of them is my financial adviser. And we haven’t spoken since he told me to put everything on the Colts in last year’s Super Bowl.

I invented a new drinking game: Press Release

Rules:
1. Type ‘Press Release’ in an internet search engine
2. Click on any link
3. Take a shot of your favorite liquor every time you read the word ‘Synergy’

You’ll be shit-hammered in less than thirty minutes.

L’Chaim, bitches.

I can see her lyin’ back in her satin dress
In a room where ya do what ya don’t confess

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