Add This to The “You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me” File

  

Are you kidding me?  50-calorie snack packs for dogs?  Come on.  

100-calorie snack packs annoy me.  First of all, people confuse the word snack pack with nutrition.  Chips, cookies and Coke are not nutrition.

Second, you’re spending more than twice as much money for these snack packs.

A full bag of chips cost around 17 cents an ounce.  The 100-calorie pack chips cost around 40 cents an ounce.

Here’s an idea, market bananas as an 80-calorie snack pack.  How about water, the zero-calorie snack packs.  

Now we need snack packs for dogs?  

Instead of caloric restriction, maybe we should let our dogs out to play more.

When my dog was a puppy, she played outside.  Now she spends hours on the Internet, playing Nintendo Wii and watching Animal Planet. She’s a huge fan of Meerkat Manor.

I give her treats.  It doesn’t matter if they’re large or small, she’s happy either way. The treat is 20 calories.  I can buy a small box of 50-calorie treats for the same cost of a large bag of doggie treats.  

If you compare the ingredients of the 50-calorie dog snack pack to 100-calorie snack packs, the doggie snacks are healthier.  Maybe we should eat those instead.

Sonic’s Oily Mouth Film

It was 5:00 p.m. and I was on my way home from work.  I didn’t feel like cooking, so I stopped at Sonic.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to Sonic.  And like everybody else, I go there for one thing … the drinks.  I love their ice.  Who doesn’t love Sonic ice?

I order a number one.  A simple order: burger, tator-tots and a Route 44 Dr Pepper.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m still waiting. 

One of the carhops, whom I will call carslugs because they move slowly, brought an order to car next to me.  She notices the traffic on the road.

“Look at that traffic,” Carslug said.  “I wonder what happened?”

“What happened is called rush hour.  It’s 5:00 in the afternoon,” I said.

That wasn’t supposed to come out.  That thought was should’ve stayed in my head.  Maybe she didn’t hear me.

Carslug glares at me.  Yeah, she heard me.

She went back into Sonic.  Probably spit in my burger.  I believe in karma and I’m sure I hurt myself somewhere

I have an ADD moment and notice the drive-thru.  Why does Sonic have a drive-thru?  It’s a drive-in restaurant.  No one gets out of their car.  I don’t get the concept of a Sonic drive-thru.  That would be like an Applebee’s having a snack bar, or Wal-Mart having a gift shop.

Five minutes later, my meal arrives.

I looked at her nametag.  Her name is Stacy.

“That will be $6.50,” Stacy said.

I hand Stacy $10. 

“I don’t have any change,” Stacy said, “I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later Stacy comes back.  It was just long enough for my food to get cold.

“Here you go, $2.50,” Stacy said. 

She quickly walked away and shorted me one dollar.

“Now you walk fast,” I said.

            I didn’t care if she heard me this time.  I should’ve pushed the button for my dollar, but I didn’t feel like waiting another 30 minutes.

Before I leave, I check my burger.  I pull out the patty and hold it up to the window.  What happened to Sonic burgers?  I think they’ve gotten smaller.  I can actually see through my patty.   At least it helps if you’re looking for spit.

I leave.

I’m driving down the road and decide to eat one tator-tot.  One won’t hurt, right? 

I push that first tot in my mouth.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

It tastes like … eww … it tastes like … like … like I gargled with vegetable oil.

How do I get this taste out of my mouth?  It feels like there’s a film of oil on my tongue.

            I drink my route 44.  I can’t taste the Dr Pepper, but I can still taste the oil.

            I eat ice.  Still, the oily film is in my mouth. 

            I scrape my fingernails on my tongue.  I can’t get rid of the film.  Eww.

            The film spreads from my tongue to my entire mouth.

            I run into my house and brush my teeth six times.  I can still taste the oil.

I feel like I need to shave my tongue and sandpaper the roof of my mouth.

            I give my dog the meal.  My dog, which enjoys dead squirrels, toilet water and eating out of the cat box, snubbed her nose at the Sonic meal.

            Even my 65-pound German Sheppard knows better than to eat Sonic. 

Well, at least I have a Sonic mint.  I guess that can be my dinner.

I take the mint out of the wrapping and put it in my mouth.

Eww.  

Sally Kern Shocked to Discover Slavery Ended

    (Satire.  Fake news article.)   Oklahoma State Representative Extremist Bigot, Sally Kern (R-District 84), discovered Wednesday that slavery ended more than 130 years ago. 

During a speech to a class of 2^nd grade students at George Washington Carver Elementary, Kern referenced her beloved slave “Mimi” as the backbone of her plantation.

History teacher, Mr. Thompson, interrupted Kern and explained to the students that slavery ended in 1870.

“You’re shitting me,” said Kern. 

Kern recently created controversy with her comments about homosexuals and terrorists.

 “I’m not surprised by her statements,” said Thompson. “She doesn’t seem to know what decade, much less century, we’re in.”

 Kern continued her speech with a discussion about the unicorns and leprechauns that live on her farm.

“Unicorns are real,” Kern said.  “They’re as real as leprechauns, the boogie man and my son’s heterosexuality.”

Stacey, Carver 2^nd grader, stood up and called Kern a stupid poo-poo head.

Kern said Stacey was poo-poo terrorist head, and that she would not apologize for any of her statements.

“I don’t think people even want an apology anymore, they just want her to shut-up” Thomphson said. 

Stacey ran out the room crying.  

According to Kern, there are no plans to free Mimi.

“I from Russia,” Mimi said, “I vant husband.”

Mimi, whom is not a slave, is actually a purchased Russian bride.

Kern is scheduled to speak at a pro-choice rally Friday.

Stickam and the USS NAMBLA

If the Internet has taught us anything, it’s that there’s a fetish for everything. 

Type into a search engine “Strip Bingo,” and there’s probably a Web site.  Type in, “Dwarf Nuns Peeling Apples,” and you know someone out there is using the self-serving pump to those images at this very moment.

Yes, the Internet has taught us that there’s a fetish for everything.  However, it has also given creepy jackasses new tools to get their rocks off.

Let’s take a look at Stickam. 

Stickam is a mix of MySpace and video conferencing.  Anyone can sign-up.  Actually, you don’t even need to sign-up.  You can click on any camera at any time and watch the person.

My sister introduced me to Stickam.  I thought, “This is great!  I can log on and chat with my sister.  How cool.”

My sister lives in another town.  I don’t see her everyday.  And for the record, she is the coolest 15-year-old ever.  That girl that stole her pants needs to return them.  I will hunt you down.  Not in a creepy pedophile way.  I’ll just hunt you down.  Actually, I’m all talk.  I won’t hunt you down.  But, will you please return her pants?

Back to my rant.

I logged on to create my account.  What I found was a room full of mostly emo kids.  Their ages ranged from 14-years-old to 24-years-old.  But on every page, there was one creepy older person. 

Here’s the account of one creepy older person:

 His name is “Captain Pedophile”  (I’m not making this up.  I hoped this was a joke, but it’s not. Seriously.  This is not a joke.)

Captain Pedophile’s hobbies include “Luring little boys into my chat, and grooming / coaxing them into getting naked for me, then recording is for my later ‘use’.”  His favorite movie is Harry Potter and he loves the Disney Channel.  According to his profile, he doesn’t “care where you are, as long as you are young and get naked” for him.

            What class.

            What really makes me angry is his love for Star Trek.  He’s a Star Trek fanatic.  Is every Star Trek fan a creepy pedophile?  I love Star Trek and I’m not a creepy pedophile.  I don’t even go the conventions.  Okay, I’ve been twice, but I don’t dress-up.  “Captain Pedophile” probably believes he is the captain of the USS NAMBLA and must hunt for Cling-Ons (Klingons) in boys underwear.   

            What keeps his account open?  Stickam’s rules.   No one is required to sign-up, nor sign-in.  “Captain Pedophile” could be watching you or your children right now. 

I still like the idea of Stickam and chatting with my sister.  I just don’t know if I’m comfortable with lurkers jerking off to me.  What makes me certain people would masturbate to me?  Because, there is a fetish for everything.

 

Add This To The I’m The Only Who Cares File

The B-52s new CD Funplex is out today.  I listened to the whole CD on www.muchmusic.com this weekend.   Should I be creeped out by a group nearing their 60s singing,  ”I’m a pleasure seeker looking for some platinum action,” “talk to me and make me moan,” and “strip naked so soon … the deviant ingredient.”  Yes, I probably should … but, I love them.  They can do no wrong.

That’s Not What You’re Suppose To Feel

I’ve come to realize that we can’t allow anyone to feel what they really feel.  It’s too dangerous.  Whatever the feeling is, it must be changed.

Example #1:

Kathy:  I’m too fat.

Mindy:  No, you’re not.  You’re healthy.  And see those girls over there?  They vomit everything they eat.

But, if the opposite were to occur:

Kathy:  Look at me, I’m sooooooo thin.

Mindy:  You’re not all that.

Example #2:

Janet:  I feel like an idiot.

Chad:  You’re not an idiot.  You’re smarter than all those other people.

But, if the opposite were to occur:

Janet:  I can do this.  I’m smart.

Chad:  I don’t know if you want to try that, you are pretty stupid.

If this trend continues, how anxious would be become?

Example #3:

Bob:  I feel great.  I slept well, I feel energetic, the birds are singing.  Yeah!!!!

Greg:  I bet you have AIDS.

Now Bob is scared.  He schedules and appointment for an HIV test.  The test is two weeks away.  In the meantime to comfort his fear, he takes an anti-depressant and eats his favorite foods for comfort:  fried chicken and chocolate cake.  The night before his doctor’s appointment, he has a heart attack and dies.  He had too much cholesterol in his system from the fried chicken.  His death was a result of not feeling what he was suppose to feel.

We’re obsessed with not feeling what we’re feeling.  If you’re sad, the doctor can prescribe pills to make you happy.  If you’re too happy, the doctor can prescribe pills to mellow you out.  Pills don’t help you deal with what you’re feeling.  Pills cover up emotion.   If you’re mad, feel it.  If you’re happy, feel it.  The only way to move on is to feel it … and to bitch-slap the person who calls you a fat idiot with AIDS.

Example #4:

Irritated Tulsan:  I don’t think I’m going post this blog.  It’s not very good.

Reader:  No, it’s good.  I like it.  It’s funny.

Tulsa County Fair Board Continues Un-Expansion

(Fake News Article)

The Tulsa County Fair Board continued their un-expansion Tuesday with the eviction of the Golden Driller.

“The Golden Driller was unable to provide us with a solid business plan,” said Randi Miller, Tulsa County Fair Board Chairman, “He has to be let go.”

With Bell’s eviction, the upcoming Driller’s move and the renaming of the EXPO center to the Quiktrip Center, the TCFB continues to disappoint taxpayers of Tulsa County.

“I’m sure gonna miss the giant,” said Cletus Otis, disappointed Tulsa taxpayer.  “It’s not gonna be the same waking up every morning, looking out my backdoor and screaming ‘Bejebus!’ at the giant man looking at me.  He gets me every time.”

Rick Bjorkland, Fairgrounds CEO, said the decision is a proper business decision.

“The Golden Driller has paid no taxes or rent since he moved in,” Bjorkland, said, “after more than 30-years, his eviction was overdue.”

            Surrounding communities have courted the Golden Driller since the announcement.

“I know he’s been offered a job as a scarecrow in a farm in Beaver,” Miller said.  “Also, a local company, which I can’t name yet, is in talks to turn him into the world’s tallest Quiktrip.”

The bill for the eviction will cost taxpayers $5 million. 

“I know that seems like a lot of money,” Bjorkland said, “ but a least it’s not mine.  Seriously, $5 million is nothing compared to what I’ve wasted.”

The construction of the parking lot in the former Bell’s location cost $25 million.  The glowing lights on top the Quiktrip center cost $600,000, and only worked for one year.

“Lights?” Bjorkland said.  “I forgot about those.”

Plans for the Golden Driller’s location has not been decided.

“We may turn the location into a parking lot,” Miller said.  “We could always use six more spaces.”

The Golden Driller may also be replaced with a giant Quiktrip cup. 

(Artist rendition of the Golden Driller’s possible home.) 

How Wal-Mart Raped My Soul

    There is nothing better to do to raise your self-esteem than to visit the Wal-Mart at 207 S. Memorial.

            It was last weekend.  I hadn’t shaved, or actually bathed yet. 

            It was one of those mornings where you roll out of bed, smell for you cleanest pair of jeans, Febreze your underwear and throw on a ballcap.  A morning where you’re out of bed at 2:00 p.m.

            Based on my attire I was feeling … oh, what’s the word for it … skanky.

            Still, I was the cleanest person there.

            I first experience the parking lot.  I drive through a maze of shopping carts, flying empty Wal-Mart sacks and Hispanic children.

            Now, before you send me angry e-mails, I love hispanics.  It’s children I hate.  Not all of them, just the ones I don’t like.

            I also love Fruity Pebbles, but that’s another blog.

            I park my car and make the life-threatening walk to the entrance.  For some unconscious reason, I put my wallet in my front pocket and take off my watch.  I pull my keys out to create a dagger to poke someone’s eyes out if needed. 

            That’s something I learned on Oprah.

            Someone asks me for money.  I think back to what Lori Fullbright, KOTV Crime Reporter, said during one of her safety presentations, “It’s better to be a jerk than a victim.”

            I yell, “I am not a victim,” and run through the front door.

            It’s Girl Scouts peddling their cookies again.

            I grab a shopping cart.  Goo oozes through my fingers.  I’m not sure if it’s layers of handsweat, snot or semen.

            Turns out, I don’t need a cart.  I need a sink.

            I walk into the restroom.  It smells like a state park restroom on a 105-degree summer day.  I’m not sure what I inhaled, but I probably would’ve caught less germs licking the shopping cart.

            Turns out, I don’t need a sink.

            I walk through the store to find my list of items.  The shelves are dirty.  The floors are dirty.  The walls are dirty.  The merchandise is dirty.  My hands are dirty.  The dirt is dirty. 

            I’m done with this place. 

            I take my armful of kitty litter, shaving cream, paper towels, corn, donuts and Hannah Montana season 1 to the express lane.

            I have my choice between the two registers that are open this Saturday afternoon.

            I choose the express lane with 18 people in line.

            The express lane is 20 items or less.  What kind of express lane is 20 items or less?

            As I wait, I notice Wal-Mart shoppers have a look.  It’s like porn.  You can’t describe it, but you know what it is when you see it. 

            It could be the scrunchies and acid-washed jeans.

            I stand in line for 30 minutes to purchase my six items.  My arms are tired.  Kitty litter gets heavy after 30 minutes.

            I could smell the body odor of the person in front of me, and the dirty diaper from the screaming baby behind me. 

            It’s at this point I realize I feel superior to everyone in this building.  This Wal-Mart may not be good for Wal-Mart’s image or the general health of this side of town, but it is good for my self-worth.

            I do feel better about myself.

            Still, I feel dirty.  I rush home and take a rape shower.

            I scrub off two layers of skin and cry, “Why?  Why?”