Monday, June 16, 2008
To the administrator and readers of holyjuan.com and consumerist.com, and whomever else it concerns:
From our headquarters in Westerville, Feazel Roofing Company has been a leader in the roofing business in Greater Columbus for over 20 years. Great service to our clients has built this company, and keeping our entire team focused on that, everyday, will be one of the keys to our future growth and success.
Of course we provide full roof replacement services when necessary, but our company is very much focused on the service and maintenance of existing roof systems. We believe that this is a unique approach to this industry, because many contractors might try to recommend a more expensive roof replacement before it is necessary. However, we have found that with consistent maintenance and preventative care, a well-designed roof system can last much longer then expected.
In regards to the recent Blog post concerning the March 3rd direct mail marketing piece that you received, let me start by saying that I strongly agree with many of your opinions. I must admit, you’re not the only person which it upset, as I received a few other calls with the same concerns. The original marketing piece in question was designed by a 3rd party direct mail company. Fortunately, the letter was only sent as a test to a small group of individuals. While the language in this marketing piece was quite strong, the main message was supposed to be this, and these are quite verifiable facts: CertainTeed Corporation is the defendant in multiple class action lawsuits currently in process in 16 states (including Ohio), and further litigation pending in 8 other states and Canada. The lawsuits cover several different brand names of shingles manufactured since 1987, all of which have demonstrated premature curling, cracking, or de-granulation.
Here is a simple explanation of the CertainTeed Legal activity: http://www.lawyersandsettlements.com/features/certainteed-shingles.html
I paid an ad agency to write the letter because I didn’t know the best way to go about educating homeowners on this issue. Obviously, the real message got lost in “sales language” – the piece went way overboard, and I should not have allowed it. Therefore, it was my mistake, and I sincerely apologize.
We do offer free preliminary estimates for all services that our company performs, including repair and replacement. However, we also charge a $179 fee for a full roof inspection. This is a more detailed and time-consuming written report, which may include pictures of any damages found, detailed measurements and multiple courses of action to remedy any concerns. We also offer this service to business partners in the Home Inspection and Real Estate industries. Our inspection pricing is very much in line with what other companies of our size charge for this service, but we always rebate the fee if any work is found during our inspection, which we do find some about half of the time.
We were offering a discounted fee of $49 for a limited time, thinking that we could perform numerous inspections in one area, saving on gas and drive time. This aspect was my idea, not the marketing company who wrote the letter.
Everything else you stated on your original Blog Post is accurate for 99% of the cases we come across with defective shingles. 100% of the CertainTeed Horizon shingles installed were defective, and are installed on thousands of homes in Central Ohio. If your shingles are defective, your home will not collapse overnight, and more often than not, water isn’t currently entering the home. However, we have had more than a handful of cases in which water has entered walls just a few years after installation, causing mold growth and other severe interior damage.
For anyone who would happen to read this who knows that they have a CertainTeed shingle installed on their home, I suggest contacting an attorney. The law firm’s website I’ve been referring homeowners to is www.halunenlaw.com but there are numerous others working on this case which can be found if you search “CertainTeed class action” in your favorite internet browser.
I would like to close by saying again that I apologize for allowing this type of “scare tactic marketing” to be sent from my company. However, I also want to state that we will continue to educate the marketplace on this issue. The shingle manufactures don’t send out a recall letter (like you might get from an auto manufacturer). Left unaddressed, problems may arise, and in some cases the problems can become catastrophic if not found in time.
Sincerely,
Mike Feazel, President
Feazel Roofing Company, Inc.
{Author's note: I am satisfied with the response that I received from Feazel Roofing concerning an advertisement they recently sent out in the mail. I believe the letter to be sincere and consider the matter closed.
Because of the integrity they showed and the way in which our discussions concerning my issues were held, I am removing both posts because even though I might be satisfied with the reply from Feazel Roofing, the internet is not so forgiving.
I may be kicked out of the internet for these actions, but sometimes the right thing to do isn't the most popular.}
HJ
Mother’s Milk
(Conny’s name has been changed to protect his identity. Russ’ name has not.)
Donny was in Columbus for an insurance seminar and planned to stay an extra day so that we could go out for a few drinks. I enlisted a few buddies and we all met for beer, wings and more beer. A few hours later, the group had whittled itself to just Donny, Russ and me. We decided that it would be best if we continued our manly men evening at a strip club.
We went to a little place called Dockside Dolls and settled in towards the back for our first song and drink. Within minutes, Donny was struck by one of his skull splitting headaches. I am fortunate not to get headaches, but my teeth grind when I observe Donny having one of his. He gave it his best effort, but not even the voluptuous temptations of the nudie bar could keep him there. Russ said he would wait for me while I took Donny back to his hotel.
I drove Donny to his hotel. He apologized, got out and I returned to the club.
While I was gone, Russ had worked his way to the stage side seating. From there, the girls would have the patron stand up so that they could take the dollar bill tip in various interesting ways with various interesting body parts. Russ was no fool.
I pulled up a seat next to Russ, stacked my bills, took a drink and waited for my chance to give away my ones.
A young lady came up on stage and sauntered around for her first song. She came by and relieved Russ and I of a few of our bills. For the second song, she took off her top and made another round. I stood up with my dollar bill so there would be no doubt that I wanted to tip her. She stood in front of me and manipulated her breasts with her hands.
A streak of warm liquid arced from her chest and across my face and chest. I was stunned and she was frozen in place, mouth hanging open, starting at what she had done. She quickly turned and walked to the other side of the stage. I wiped my face… it was wet. I kept standing for a moment and looked at my shirt. Yep. A splattering of liquid. I sat down hard.
Russ hadn’t noticed.
I asked, “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“That girl sprayed milk all over me!”
“What?”
“From her boob! She sprayed me with milk!” I held out my shirt.
Russ is never at a loss for words. “That’s gross.”
I said good-bye and left.
I was disenchanted. I’m not sure if it was the reaction to getting hit with bodily fluids or the more human reaction that this was a nursing mother who was trying to make ends meet by having ham-handed, asshole guys give her a buck or two to see her shake her tits. I was a bit taken aback by the ordeal and really started to wonder if the audience created the service or if there was service that needed an audience. Was I a bad guy for trading dollars for a look at boobs?
It didn’t do any good. There was no lesson learned. I was thinking about going back before my shirt dried. The only thing that has changed is that I now wear a rain slicker and goggles to the club. It’s the only way to be safe.
Donny was in Columbus for an insurance seminar and planned to stay an extra day so that we could go out for a few drinks. I enlisted a few buddies and we all met for beer, wings and more beer. A few hours later, the group had whittled itself to just Donny, Russ and me. We decided that it would be best if we continued our manly men evening at a strip club.
We went to a little place called Dockside Dolls and settled in towards the back for our first song and drink. Within minutes, Donny was struck by one of his skull splitting headaches. I am fortunate not to get headaches, but my teeth grind when I observe Donny having one of his. He gave it his best effort, but not even the voluptuous temptations of the nudie bar could keep him there. Russ said he would wait for me while I took Donny back to his hotel.
I drove Donny to his hotel. He apologized, got out and I returned to the club.
While I was gone, Russ had worked his way to the stage side seating. From there, the girls would have the patron stand up so that they could take the dollar bill tip in various interesting ways with various interesting body parts. Russ was no fool.
I pulled up a seat next to Russ, stacked my bills, took a drink and waited for my chance to give away my ones.
A young lady came up on stage and sauntered around for her first song. She came by and relieved Russ and I of a few of our bills. For the second song, she took off her top and made another round. I stood up with my dollar bill so there would be no doubt that I wanted to tip her. She stood in front of me and manipulated her breasts with her hands.
A streak of warm liquid arced from her chest and across my face and chest. I was stunned and she was frozen in place, mouth hanging open, starting at what she had done. She quickly turned and walked to the other side of the stage. I wiped my face… it was wet. I kept standing for a moment and looked at my shirt. Yep. A splattering of liquid. I sat down hard.
Russ hadn’t noticed.
I asked, “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“That girl sprayed milk all over me!”
“What?”
“From her boob! She sprayed me with milk!” I held out my shirt.
Russ is never at a loss for words. “That’s gross.”
I said good-bye and left.
I was disenchanted. I’m not sure if it was the reaction to getting hit with bodily fluids or the more human reaction that this was a nursing mother who was trying to make ends meet by having ham-handed, asshole guys give her a buck or two to see her shake her tits. I was a bit taken aback by the ordeal and really started to wonder if the audience created the service or if there was service that needed an audience. Was I a bad guy for trading dollars for a look at boobs?
It didn’t do any good. There was no lesson learned. I was thinking about going back before my shirt dried. The only thing that has changed is that I now wear a rain slicker and goggles to the club. It’s the only way to be safe.
Two Circle Burns
I have a Troy Bilt EZ-Link trimmer with “an easy to switch out” edger attachment. Last year something went wrong or rather something predictable happened while I was attempting to edge through six inches of accumulated dirt, grass and gravel. The motor would run, but the edger blade would not spin. When I attempted to remove the edger attachment, I had to beat it silly so that it would become an unattachment. I put the trimmer back on and somehow it worked. I promised not to use the edger again because it would only cause me pain and suffering.
Today, after I tried to attach and use the edger attachment, I sat befuddled in the driveway, my fingers covered in grease, metal filings and greasy metal filings. The coupling from the motor end wouldn’t connect with the metal rod from the edger attachment end. The coupling kept pushing back and would disengage after five seconds of operation. I tightened some screws and made a final attempt. It failed again and I removed the attachment. The coupling was sitting where it was supposed to be so I stuck my finger inside it to see if it would resist or push backwards. What I soon found out was that the coupling and metal rod were spinning like crazy against each other creating finger burning friction. I yanked my sizzling finger out and stuck the greasy, metal filing covered finger right in my mouth. Yum.
I have a nicely round burn on my index finger, the lingering aftertaste of grease in my mouth and a Troy Bilt EZ-Link trimmer/edger that doesn’t work. I also have one more story about round burn marks on fingers.
A friend’s brother was working on his car engine. As he leaned in on the engine, his wedding ring came in contact with two points and that completed an electrical circuit. My electrical knowledge is pretty slim, but I know that metal, especially gold, conducts electricity. What I didn’t know was that it also heats the metal up. By the time he felt his finger burning the ring was very very hot. It was so hot that he could not grab it with his other hand and pull it off. It just sat there and burned him. Now when he takes off his ring, you can see a nice round scar.
There’s a joke somewhere in there about marriage, but I dare not find it as my wife has been reading my website and breaking the trimmer has all ready got me in the doghouse.
Today, after I tried to attach and use the edger attachment, I sat befuddled in the driveway, my fingers covered in grease, metal filings and greasy metal filings. The coupling from the motor end wouldn’t connect with the metal rod from the edger attachment end. The coupling kept pushing back and would disengage after five seconds of operation. I tightened some screws and made a final attempt. It failed again and I removed the attachment. The coupling was sitting where it was supposed to be so I stuck my finger inside it to see if it would resist or push backwards. What I soon found out was that the coupling and metal rod were spinning like crazy against each other creating finger burning friction. I yanked my sizzling finger out and stuck the greasy, metal filing covered finger right in my mouth. Yum.
I have a nicely round burn on my index finger, the lingering aftertaste of grease in my mouth and a Troy Bilt EZ-Link trimmer/edger that doesn’t work. I also have one more story about round burn marks on fingers.
A friend’s brother was working on his car engine. As he leaned in on the engine, his wedding ring came in contact with two points and that completed an electrical circuit. My electrical knowledge is pretty slim, but I know that metal, especially gold, conducts electricity. What I didn’t know was that it also heats the metal up. By the time he felt his finger burning the ring was very very hot. It was so hot that he could not grab it with his other hand and pull it off. It just sat there and burned him. Now when he takes off his ring, you can see a nice round scar.
There’s a joke somewhere in there about marriage, but I dare not find it as my wife has been reading my website and breaking the trimmer has all ready got me in the doghouse.
E-bay is great
My grandma was Melba Loughlin. She lived to be 88 years old. Mom said that when she was younger, she was flown to Cuba to sing opera. At some point in her fledgling career, she got pneumonia and when she recovered, she had lost the ability to hit the high notes. I think if you do the math, you'll see that without trips to Cuba, she probably settled down, got married and had the baby that would some day be my mom. Sometimes these things work out.
Where this is going is that later on in life, Melba wrote music for Jack and Jill magazine. Thanks to E-bay, I can track down some of my family's past. Here's the cover and the music and lyrics from one of her songs entitled, "Song for a Summer Morning."
I can't find the issue, but she had a song on the cover of Jack and Jill once. My mom used to sing it to us. It was called, "The Hippy Hippopotamus" and it went something like this:
The Hippy Hippopotamus
Took a ride upon the bus
All the ladies screamed and yelled,
"He's squashing us. He's squashing us."
Where this is going is that later on in life, Melba wrote music for Jack and Jill magazine. Thanks to E-bay, I can track down some of my family's past. Here's the cover and the music and lyrics from one of her songs entitled, "Song for a Summer Morning."
I can't find the issue, but she had a song on the cover of Jack and Jill once. My mom used to sing it to us. It was called, "The Hippy Hippopotamus" and it went something like this:
The Hippy Hippopotamus
Took a ride upon the bus
All the ladies screamed and yelled,
"He's squashing us. He's squashing us."
Ask HolyJuan: Snooping Neighbor with Pooping Dog
Dear HolyJuan,
I recognize you as a shining beacon of reason in a world filled with inane ramblings. Because of the high regard by which I hold your judgment, I need to ask another question of you.
After I bought my house last year, I found out that my neighbor had also been interested in buying the house, and was upset that I had purchased the property out from under his nose.
On a number of occasions over the past year I’ve noticed this neighbor snooping around my property.
This past winter I spied tracks in the snow leading from my neighbor’s house to my backyard.
This spring, while readying my yard to be mowed, I noticed lots of dog poo strewn about my backyard. As my neighbor has a dog, and he obviously feels at home on my property, I suspect he has been using my backyard as his dog’s toilet.
Every time I knock on my neighbor’s door to discuss my concerns, he does not answer, although I know he is home.
So HolyJuan, how should I move forward on this issue? As always, I trust your judgment implicitly, and appreciate your attention to my trivial concerns.
Best Regards,
Sleepy Scott
P.S. Two other things that should be noted: 1) This neighbor is a very large man, who looks very much like Paul Sr. from the show American Chopper, so physical violence is off the table. 2) I’d rather not contact the police or dog warden, as again, this neighbor is huge and I suspect he would hold a grudge.
Dear Sleepy Scott,
I do not envy your position. There’s only one way to get rid of a bad neighbor and it’s illegal, so it is best just to learn to get along.
First off, I would begin by erecting a physical barrier between the two houses. If you can afford a fence, great. Make sure you check with your local ordinances to see how high and of what your fence could be constructed. If a fence is out of your price range, try landscaping. Mulch beds and trees can make a physical barrier as well as a psychological one, especially when planted in front of windows. Plus, they will add value to your home.
Second, get your lawn treated. You probably have some patches that need fixing from the dog peeing everywhere. You don’t have to go for the full 30,000 visits that the lawn company tries to get you to sign up for, just get the one. When the lawn guy leaves, ask for some of the additional “Chemicals On Grass” signs that they put up. Line these near the areas where you neighbor will most likely try to enter your yard. And if you are really like me, you cannot even afford to get the first lawn treatment so I would suggest borrowing the little signs from you neighbors who can.
Next, you’ll want to invest in the industrial sized containers of cayenne pepper and black pepper. During a dry evening, sprinkle a three foot path of this up and down your property line. The dog will take one sniff and avoid the area. You’ll need to reapply the powders after five days or a heavy rain. You should only need to do this for 10 – 15 days and the dog will learn to avoid that area. I'd suggest timing this with the chemical sign installation.
Last, if you think he is peeking in your windows, install a few motion sensitive lights. If that is out of your price range, an empty gray box mounted on the eves can also do the trick if he thinks there is a security camera inside. When you do see your neighbor, mention how someone has been sneaking around your house and that you have taken measures to defend your home. When he asks what measures, say you had to sign a confidentiality agreement with the security company and you can't discuss it.
I hope this helps. Good luck with your neighbor!!
Signed,
HolyJuan
PS And if that does not work, I suggest that once a week, you eat three cans of corn and one cup of peanuts for breakfast. Then at midnight, shit in your neighbor’s lawn. When you do see him, comment on how much you love corn. And peanuts. He’ll get the point.
I recognize you as a shining beacon of reason in a world filled with inane ramblings. Because of the high regard by which I hold your judgment, I need to ask another question of you.
After I bought my house last year, I found out that my neighbor had also been interested in buying the house, and was upset that I had purchased the property out from under his nose.
On a number of occasions over the past year I’ve noticed this neighbor snooping around my property.
This past winter I spied tracks in the snow leading from my neighbor’s house to my backyard.
This spring, while readying my yard to be mowed, I noticed lots of dog poo strewn about my backyard. As my neighbor has a dog, and he obviously feels at home on my property, I suspect he has been using my backyard as his dog’s toilet.
Every time I knock on my neighbor’s door to discuss my concerns, he does not answer, although I know he is home.
So HolyJuan, how should I move forward on this issue? As always, I trust your judgment implicitly, and appreciate your attention to my trivial concerns.
Best Regards,
Sleepy Scott
P.S. Two other things that should be noted: 1) This neighbor is a very large man, who looks very much like Paul Sr. from the show American Chopper, so physical violence is off the table. 2) I’d rather not contact the police or dog warden, as again, this neighbor is huge and I suspect he would hold a grudge.
Dear Sleepy Scott,
I do not envy your position. There’s only one way to get rid of a bad neighbor and it’s illegal, so it is best just to learn to get along.
First off, I would begin by erecting a physical barrier between the two houses. If you can afford a fence, great. Make sure you check with your local ordinances to see how high and of what your fence could be constructed. If a fence is out of your price range, try landscaping. Mulch beds and trees can make a physical barrier as well as a psychological one, especially when planted in front of windows. Plus, they will add value to your home.
Second, get your lawn treated. You probably have some patches that need fixing from the dog peeing everywhere. You don’t have to go for the full 30,000 visits that the lawn company tries to get you to sign up for, just get the one. When the lawn guy leaves, ask for some of the additional “Chemicals On Grass” signs that they put up. Line these near the areas where you neighbor will most likely try to enter your yard. And if you are really like me, you cannot even afford to get the first lawn treatment so I would suggest borrowing the little signs from you neighbors who can.
Next, you’ll want to invest in the industrial sized containers of cayenne pepper and black pepper. During a dry evening, sprinkle a three foot path of this up and down your property line. The dog will take one sniff and avoid the area. You’ll need to reapply the powders after five days or a heavy rain. You should only need to do this for 10 – 15 days and the dog will learn to avoid that area. I'd suggest timing this with the chemical sign installation.
Last, if you think he is peeking in your windows, install a few motion sensitive lights. If that is out of your price range, an empty gray box mounted on the eves can also do the trick if he thinks there is a security camera inside. When you do see your neighbor, mention how someone has been sneaking around your house and that you have taken measures to defend your home. When he asks what measures, say you had to sign a confidentiality agreement with the security company and you can't discuss it.
I hope this helps. Good luck with your neighbor!!
Signed,
HolyJuan
PS And if that does not work, I suggest that once a week, you eat three cans of corn and one cup of peanuts for breakfast. Then at midnight, shit in your neighbor’s lawn. When you do see him, comment on how much you love corn. And peanuts. He’ll get the point.
Clinton demands votes from middle school students should count
Lancaster, OH (AP) With Senator Hillary Clinton so close to catching Senator Barack Obama, every vote counts; even if that vote comes from a middle schooler. Earlier today, the Clinton Campaign announced it would seek to count the votes from not only Florida and Michigan, but also the votes from a mock primary election held at the General Sherman Middle School in Lancaster, OH.
"It's a very close race, but if you count, as I count, the 2.3 million people who voted in Michigan and Florida, along with the 82 votes from General Sherman Middle School, then we are going to build on that," the New York senator said.
The mock election was held last Tuesday when the students’ interest in the primaries was piqued after the Ohio primary. Many of the students made posters, held rallies and created negative ad campaigns on YouTube.
Clinton Spokeswoman Norma Wright claimed that the students’ votes should count, “We cannot continue to disenfranchise voters, especially the younger voters. Pissed off kids usually end up becoming Republicans”
Some students did not vote in protest of the electronic voting machines that were used in the mock election. Seventh grader Mark summed it up, “These Sequoia Voting Systems machines are whack.”
General Sherman eight grade Class Treasurer and Hillary Clinton Fan Club president Rhonda Dotts remarked, “The kids that didn’t vote in protest are just doin’ it because it’s cool to protest and not to vote in protest and stuff.”
When was asked about counting the votes won by Obama from the caucus held across the city at Thomas Ewing Middle School, Hillary dismissed the votes explaining, “We can’t win caucuses so we do not believe in them.”
"It's a very close race, but if you count, as I count, the 2.3 million people who voted in Michigan and Florida, along with the 82 votes from General Sherman Middle School, then we are going to build on that," the New York senator said.
The mock election was held last Tuesday when the students’ interest in the primaries was piqued after the Ohio primary. Many of the students made posters, held rallies and created negative ad campaigns on YouTube.
Clinton Spokeswoman Norma Wright claimed that the students’ votes should count, “We cannot continue to disenfranchise voters, especially the younger voters. Pissed off kids usually end up becoming Republicans”
Some students did not vote in protest of the electronic voting machines that were used in the mock election. Seventh grader Mark summed it up, “These Sequoia Voting Systems machines are whack.”
General Sherman eight grade Class Treasurer and Hillary Clinton Fan Club president Rhonda Dotts remarked, “The kids that didn’t vote in protest are just doin’ it because it’s cool to protest and not to vote in protest and stuff.”
When was asked about counting the votes won by Obama from the caucus held across the city at Thomas Ewing Middle School, Hillary dismissed the votes explaining, “We can’t win caucuses so we do not believe in them.”
Words That Need Their Definitions Changed
The following list of words needs their definitions changed and/or updated:
Strike
Let’s start with baseball and common sense. Strike means to hit something. When I strike a nail, I hit it. According to baseball, when I strike a nail, it’s a hit; when I miss a nail it’s a strike. This is just plain crazy when it means the opposite of what actually happened. From now on in every day life, we’ll continue to use the word strike to mean hit, but in baseball, if you swing and miss, it will be called an Opposite Status hit or OShit. Three OShits and you are out.
Next
How many times have you had this conversation?
Other person, “You want to take the next right turn.”
You, “This one?”
Other person, “No, the next one.”
It happens all the time with days of the week. If someone says the concert is next Thursday… you might show up a week too soon. From this point on, next will mean the first next one and not the second next one. If for some reason you are stuck with thinking that there is some ethereal space between the first next and what you consider the definition of next, then say next next.
Example:
“I am going to bang the next girl that walks by.”
Girl starts to walk by.
“I mean, I am going to bang the next next girl that walks by.”
Warning/Watch
Let’s say you are on vacation in a different state and when you turn on the radio you hear that there is a tornado watch. Would you shrug and continue on your business or would you grab the radio and run for the basement or move to an interior room or hallway on the lowest floor and get under a sturdy piece of furniture?
To tell you the truth, I still cannot tell the difference between the two. If someone warns me that they are going to punch me in the face, I’d know that the possibility of a punch in the face was possible. If someone said, “Watch as I punch you in the face” I’d assume that the punch was on its way. The storm people obviously don’t have the same punch in the face definitions that I use. To them, watch means, “Conditions are right for a tornado.” Warning mean, “Get the fuck in the basement.” I think that is backwards and confusing. To relieve all this confusion, I suggest we get rid of both words and replace them with the following:
A Maybe- Conditions are right that maybe a tornado will form and kill you.
A Gahhh – Get the fuck in the basement! (Gahhh is the noise you make right before something bad is about to happen and you need to warn someone, but the words can’t form in your mouth and all that comes out is a guttural noise. You’ll also emit this noise when you are a passenger in a car right before a wreck.)
W
I know W is not a word, but at three syllables, it might as well be. You know the person that made up the pronunciation of W was just trying to piss all the other letter namer people off with not just a two syllable letter but a THREE syllable letter. Jerk. From now on, W will be pronounced “ass.” I think we all know why.
Lower case l / the number 1 and zero / capital letter o
Letter and number confusion were never a prob1em in pre-computer days. We11, maybe back when phone numbers combined 1etters and numbers or maybe on 1icense p1ates. 0n websites with passwords and CAPTCHA, it’s sometimes tough to te11 the difference. 0nly with the correct fonts can the difference be seen. My solution? Keep the number one the same, but make the 1ower case “L” with a circ1e around it so that everyone wi11 know it is a 1etter. Like this:
For the zero and capital O, keep the capital O, but put a line right down the middle of the zero so that people can tell the difference between the two. Like this:
Done and done!
Mortgage
Just because I am hopeful and also because I have a interest-only adjustable-rate mortgage with an 0.5% teaser rate that expires in three weeks and moves up to Prime plus +18%, I suggest we change the spelling of mortgage to Lessgage. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to put another string of lights on the Christmas tree that we left up, just in case.
Strike
Let’s start with baseball and common sense. Strike means to hit something. When I strike a nail, I hit it. According to baseball, when I strike a nail, it’s a hit; when I miss a nail it’s a strike. This is just plain crazy when it means the opposite of what actually happened. From now on in every day life, we’ll continue to use the word strike to mean hit, but in baseball, if you swing and miss, it will be called an Opposite Status hit or OShit. Three OShits and you are out.
Next
How many times have you had this conversation?
Other person, “You want to take the next right turn.”
You, “This one?”
Other person, “No, the next one.”
It happens all the time with days of the week. If someone says the concert is next Thursday… you might show up a week too soon. From this point on, next will mean the first next one and not the second next one. If for some reason you are stuck with thinking that there is some ethereal space between the first next and what you consider the definition of next, then say next next.
Example:
“I am going to bang the next girl that walks by.”
Girl starts to walk by.
“I mean, I am going to bang the next next girl that walks by.”
Warning/Watch
Let’s say you are on vacation in a different state and when you turn on the radio you hear that there is a tornado watch. Would you shrug and continue on your business or would you grab the radio and run for the basement or move to an interior room or hallway on the lowest floor and get under a sturdy piece of furniture?
To tell you the truth, I still cannot tell the difference between the two. If someone warns me that they are going to punch me in the face, I’d know that the possibility of a punch in the face was possible. If someone said, “Watch as I punch you in the face” I’d assume that the punch was on its way. The storm people obviously don’t have the same punch in the face definitions that I use. To them, watch means, “Conditions are right for a tornado.” Warning mean, “Get the fuck in the basement.” I think that is backwards and confusing. To relieve all this confusion, I suggest we get rid of both words and replace them with the following:
A Maybe- Conditions are right that maybe a tornado will form and kill you.
A Gahhh – Get the fuck in the basement! (Gahhh is the noise you make right before something bad is about to happen and you need to warn someone, but the words can’t form in your mouth and all that comes out is a guttural noise. You’ll also emit this noise when you are a passenger in a car right before a wreck.)
W
I know W is not a word, but at three syllables, it might as well be. You know the person that made up the pronunciation of W was just trying to piss all the other letter namer people off with not just a two syllable letter but a THREE syllable letter. Jerk. From now on, W will be pronounced “ass.” I think we all know why.
Lower case l / the number 1 and zero / capital letter o
Letter and number confusion were never a prob1em in pre-computer days. We11, maybe back when phone numbers combined 1etters and numbers or maybe on 1icense p1ates. 0n websites with passwords and CAPTCHA, it’s sometimes tough to te11 the difference. 0nly with the correct fonts can the difference be seen. My solution? Keep the number one the same, but make the 1ower case “L” with a circ1e around it so that everyone wi11 know it is a 1etter. Like this:
For the zero and capital O, keep the capital O, but put a line right down the middle of the zero so that people can tell the difference between the two. Like this:
Done and done!
Mortgage
Just because I am hopeful and also because I have a interest-only adjustable-rate mortgage with an 0.5% teaser rate that expires in three weeks and moves up to Prime plus +18%, I suggest we change the spelling of mortgage to Lessgage. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to put another string of lights on the Christmas tree that we left up, just in case.
Stu and Anne-Marie had a boy
Congratulations go out to Stu and Anne-Marie. Here is their message:
Here is our new son Oscar.
He is so healthy and handsome and very funny already.
Ann-Marie is feeling great, she was amazing.
The earthquake shook him at dawn and I guess that was his cue...
Oscar Henry
Born 11:43 a.m. April 18 2008
8 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches
We are so fortunate and happy and hope you can all meet him soon.
Love,
Ann-Marie and Stuart
Here is our new son Oscar.
He is so healthy and handsome and very funny already.
Ann-Marie is feeling great, she was amazing.
The earthquake shook him at dawn and I guess that was his cue...
Oscar Henry
Born 11:43 a.m. April 18 2008
8 lbs 10 oz. 21.5 inches
We are so fortunate and happy and hope you can all meet him soon.
Love,
Ann-Marie and Stuart
I Got My Hair Cut at the Black Barber Shop
I couldn’t be much whiter. For example, I get my hair cut at Great Clips. For another, I do my best to pretend that I’m not the least bit racist.
My wife, Miss Sally, and I were surprised one Saturday morning when we pulled up to the local Great Clips and it was shut down. I really needed a haircut and remembered a barber shop around the corner in the strip mall, so we drove over there. I knew it had to be a barber shop because it said, “Donnie's Barber Salon” on the sign and there was a barber pole spinning thing on the outside. You can’t go wrong with the spinning blue, red and white pole.
We walked in and immediately noticed the lack of whiteness. The barber was black. The customer in the chair was black. The guy hanging out and reading a magazine in the other barber chair was black. We were getting paler by the second.
The magazine guy in the chair took one look at us and stood up. He apologized, “I don’t cut hair,” and sat in one of the waiting chairs. The barber said hello. I asked if I could get a haircut and he said yes. We sat down.
I made the decision not to leave. My instincts told me to leave, but I told my instincts to stuff it. I wasn’t going to let my ignorance get the better of me. I shouldn’t be worried about a hair cut from a black man. The guy was a barber and barbers cut hair. Hair is hair, right?
The Vibe magazine I picked up was at least six months old. I pretended to be interested in an article about P.Diddy. Miss Sally excused herself and went around the corner to the Rite-Aid.
Holy shit if cutting black guy’s hair doesn’t take forever. The barber was detailing the customer’s head with a determined precision. I think at one point he used a protractor to get top just so. This barber was good.
I had a Caucasian sigh of relief when another white guy walked in. He was a big dude with a definite brother charm. The guys in the barber shop warmly welcomed him. The not-barber stood up and gave the white guy a hand grasp which was then used as a man shield to fill the void between them when they did a quick hug. The white dude asked if he could get cleaned up. The man who wasn’t a barber suddenly remembered that he was actually a barber and had the guy sit in the second chair. I was just about to be offended when the amnesia struck, now a barber, black guy pulled out the clippers and took white guy’s hair down a sandpaper thickness with a few quick passes over his scalp. It was a shearing, not a haircut.
White guy left and I waited.
The barber finally finished up with his customer and called me over. I sat down in the chair and the barber asked me how I wanted to get my hair cut. I told him the standard, “#4 on the sides and scissor cut on top. I like to part my hair.” What happened next was a hair cut that can only be compared to the awkwardness of a one fingered teenage boy trying to open a bra for the first time. The barber got out his scissors and started cutting my hair on top first. This was new to me. The chicks at Great Clips use the trimmer first on the sides and then move to the scissors. There was a lot of clipping and pausing and more clipping. Of course, I wasn’t going to say anything. This guy was a barber. A professional.
At one point the barber moved around to the front and I noticed his hands. His hands were covered with hairs. Other men’s hairs. What looked to be the hair from 1,000 men. Little tiny bits of straight and curly black hairs. I think my white guy hair was repelled from his skin because there were none to be found.
Miss Sally returned to the barbershop with her purchases and sat down. I think she was amazed that I was still there. She had been gone about forty five minutes. She, too, feigned interest in P.Diddy.
The clippers came out, but only for a minute and then back to the scissoring. He started to get exasperated, combing my hair over and cutting. Stopping. Staring. Tentative cutting again. I finally stopped him and said, “That’s good. That’s fine.” The barber literally shrugged his shoulders and mumbled what sounded like an apology. I waited for him to remove the hair cloak from my neck when there was a clink of a bottle and two man hands rubbing my hair. I hadn’t asked for gel, but just wanted to get out of there and… wait… what’s that smell? Coconut? I reached up and felt my hair… it was oily and coconutty. Barber put coconut oily something in my hair. I’m not sure what the product is supposed to do, but if the bottle said “Pisses Off White Boys” then shit, it was working.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. I looked like a wet dog with a bad haircut. I paid him. He gave back my change and I held out $5 for a tip. He said, “No. You don’t have to.” I gritted a smile and said, “No, take it.” He did. We left.
I steamed silently the entire ride back home. Oily something dripped down my neck. I showered as soon as I stomped in the house. Small black hairs flecked the shower floor. We drove to the Great Clips across town. The lady asked if I had tried to cut my own hair.
Perhaps I should have better communicated with the barber about my concerns or directed him on how I wanted my hair cut. Or maybe he should have told me that he didn't cut white people hair. Neither one of us wanted to offend the other. Both of us ended up feeling foolish. Though I was the only one who looked foolish.
My wife, Miss Sally, and I were surprised one Saturday morning when we pulled up to the local Great Clips and it was shut down. I really needed a haircut and remembered a barber shop around the corner in the strip mall, so we drove over there. I knew it had to be a barber shop because it said, “Donnie's Barber Salon” on the sign and there was a barber pole spinning thing on the outside. You can’t go wrong with the spinning blue, red and white pole.
We walked in and immediately noticed the lack of whiteness. The barber was black. The customer in the chair was black. The guy hanging out and reading a magazine in the other barber chair was black. We were getting paler by the second.
The magazine guy in the chair took one look at us and stood up. He apologized, “I don’t cut hair,” and sat in one of the waiting chairs. The barber said hello. I asked if I could get a haircut and he said yes. We sat down.
I made the decision not to leave. My instincts told me to leave, but I told my instincts to stuff it. I wasn’t going to let my ignorance get the better of me. I shouldn’t be worried about a hair cut from a black man. The guy was a barber and barbers cut hair. Hair is hair, right?
The Vibe magazine I picked up was at least six months old. I pretended to be interested in an article about P.Diddy. Miss Sally excused herself and went around the corner to the Rite-Aid.
Holy shit if cutting black guy’s hair doesn’t take forever. The barber was detailing the customer’s head with a determined precision. I think at one point he used a protractor to get top just so. This barber was good.
I had a Caucasian sigh of relief when another white guy walked in. He was a big dude with a definite brother charm. The guys in the barber shop warmly welcomed him. The not-barber stood up and gave the white guy a hand grasp which was then used as a man shield to fill the void between them when they did a quick hug. The white dude asked if he could get cleaned up. The man who wasn’t a barber suddenly remembered that he was actually a barber and had the guy sit in the second chair. I was just about to be offended when the amnesia struck, now a barber, black guy pulled out the clippers and took white guy’s hair down a sandpaper thickness with a few quick passes over his scalp. It was a shearing, not a haircut.
White guy left and I waited.
The barber finally finished up with his customer and called me over. I sat down in the chair and the barber asked me how I wanted to get my hair cut. I told him the standard, “#4 on the sides and scissor cut on top. I like to part my hair.” What happened next was a hair cut that can only be compared to the awkwardness of a one fingered teenage boy trying to open a bra for the first time. The barber got out his scissors and started cutting my hair on top first. This was new to me. The chicks at Great Clips use the trimmer first on the sides and then move to the scissors. There was a lot of clipping and pausing and more clipping. Of course, I wasn’t going to say anything. This guy was a barber. A professional.
At one point the barber moved around to the front and I noticed his hands. His hands were covered with hairs. Other men’s hairs. What looked to be the hair from 1,000 men. Little tiny bits of straight and curly black hairs. I think my white guy hair was repelled from his skin because there were none to be found.
Miss Sally returned to the barbershop with her purchases and sat down. I think she was amazed that I was still there. She had been gone about forty five minutes. She, too, feigned interest in P.Diddy.
The clippers came out, but only for a minute and then back to the scissoring. He started to get exasperated, combing my hair over and cutting. Stopping. Staring. Tentative cutting again. I finally stopped him and said, “That’s good. That’s fine.” The barber literally shrugged his shoulders and mumbled what sounded like an apology. I waited for him to remove the hair cloak from my neck when there was a clink of a bottle and two man hands rubbing my hair. I hadn’t asked for gel, but just wanted to get out of there and… wait… what’s that smell? Coconut? I reached up and felt my hair… it was oily and coconutty. Barber put coconut oily something in my hair. I’m not sure what the product is supposed to do, but if the bottle said “Pisses Off White Boys” then shit, it was working.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. I looked like a wet dog with a bad haircut. I paid him. He gave back my change and I held out $5 for a tip. He said, “No. You don’t have to.” I gritted a smile and said, “No, take it.” He did. We left.
I steamed silently the entire ride back home. Oily something dripped down my neck. I showered as soon as I stomped in the house. Small black hairs flecked the shower floor. We drove to the Great Clips across town. The lady asked if I had tried to cut my own hair.
Perhaps I should have better communicated with the barber about my concerns or directed him on how I wanted my hair cut. Or maybe he should have told me that he didn't cut white people hair. Neither one of us wanted to offend the other. Both of us ended up feeling foolish. Though I was the only one who looked foolish.
Ask for “The Hillary”
Next time you are at your local elitist bar, ask for “The Hillary.”
A shot of Crown Royal
A bottle of Corona
Sip the shot until one of your staff informs you what a shot is, then cross your eyes and knock back the whole thing.
Pour the Corona into a frosted mug to hide the fact it is a Corona.
Enjoy until 2:55am and leave the bar with excuse of having to take a phone call.
Deny everything the next day and explain your weaving in the parking lot was to dodge sniper fire.
A shot of Crown Royal
A bottle of Corona
Sip the shot until one of your staff informs you what a shot is, then cross your eyes and knock back the whole thing.
Pour the Corona into a frosted mug to hide the fact it is a Corona.
Enjoy until 2:55am and leave the bar with excuse of having to take a phone call.
Deny everything the next day and explain your weaving in the parking lot was to dodge sniper fire.
Cummin Stroke This?
Is this some kind of truck secret code or is this guy just a fan of Clearance Carter?
Via the Fairfield County Fair Parking Field; Lancaster, OH (my hometown)
I am not the Biggest Loser
A few months ago, I started a diet. It was right before the holidays and I debated for a day or two about the merits of waiting to start the diet after turkey and potatoes and Captain Morgans and pie and pie and pie. And from somewhere in the black abyss of my soul a small speck of light flittered forth and wedged itself into my brain folds. It spoke to me and said, "Right now is the hardest time to start. If you start now, you are bound to succeed." Because this was a good idea, my brain immediately smothered it. But it was too late... I started my diet in late November. I was 228 pounds.
After two weeks, I dropped about seven pounds. My boss Erik couldn't help but notice and I would often catch his eyes lingering on my increasingly svelte form. It was at this time that Erik and I began our own personal Biggest Loser competition. With a $4.78 scale and a gentleman's bet, we began the competition with a finish date of tax day, April 15th, 2008.
Stephanie made us a poster to keep track of our weight.
These are the actual before photos.
After a broken scale and Erik having to learn basic math skills to calculate percentage of weight lost, the competition is over...
Erik wins with a total weight loss of 25 pounds or a 12.76% loss.
I came in second with a total weight loss of 17.2 pounds or a 7.78% loss. Even when you add in the weight I loss before this competition began, he still won!
I didn't have a chance.
Congratulations Erik!
After two weeks, I dropped about seven pounds. My boss Erik couldn't help but notice and I would often catch his eyes lingering on my increasingly svelte form. It was at this time that Erik and I began our own personal Biggest Loser competition. With a $4.78 scale and a gentleman's bet, we began the competition with a finish date of tax day, April 15th, 2008.
Stephanie made us a poster to keep track of our weight.
These are the actual before photos.
After a broken scale and Erik having to learn basic math skills to calculate percentage of weight lost, the competition is over...
Erik wins with a total weight loss of 25 pounds or a 12.76% loss.
I came in second with a total weight loss of 17.2 pounds or a 7.78% loss. Even when you add in the weight I loss before this competition began, he still won!
I didn't have a chance.
Congratulations Erik!
Thelma Robinette
Thelma Robinette passed away Wednesday, April 9, 2008.
She was a loving wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother who will be deeply missed by her family and friends.
Thelma owned and operated the Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
She is survived by her six children, Michael Robinette, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy, Paul Robinette, Jill (Kelly) Adams and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; 14 grandchildren; and four great-grandchildren.
In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her husband, Darwin Robinette; and a brother, Earl W. Bliss.
According to Thelma's personal request, services and visitation will not be observed.
Interment will take place at Bethel Cemetery, Phillipsburg, at the convenience of the family.
If they wish, friends may make memorial donations in Thelma's name to FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, 1111 E. Main St., Lancaster, OH 43130.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Mrs. Robinette's Baskin-Robbins in Lancaster back in the late 80's. Thelma (or "T" as she liked to for us to call her) was a wonderful person and always pretty happy (except when we packed two pounds of ice cream into the one pint containers.) I'd like to think that somewhere in the deep unknown, Thelma and Darwin are together, with "T" chatting away and "D" standing close by, lovingly rolling his eyes.}
She was a loving wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother who will be deeply missed by her family and friends.
Thelma owned and operated the Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
She is survived by her six children, Michael Robinette, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy, Paul Robinette, Jill (Kelly) Adams and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; 14 grandchildren; and four great-grandchildren.
In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her husband, Darwin Robinette; and a brother, Earl W. Bliss.
According to Thelma's personal request, services and visitation will not be observed.
Interment will take place at Bethel Cemetery, Phillipsburg, at the convenience of the family.
If they wish, friends may make memorial donations in Thelma's name to FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, 1111 E. Main St., Lancaster, OH 43130.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Mrs. Robinette's Baskin-Robbins in Lancaster back in the late 80's. Thelma (or "T" as she liked to for us to call her) was a wonderful person and always pretty happy (except when we packed two pounds of ice cream into the one pint containers.) I'd like to think that somewhere in the deep unknown, Thelma and Darwin are together, with "T" chatting away and "D" standing close by, lovingly rolling his eyes.}
Have you seen me?
A few days ago, I got an e-mail from my friend Steve. I have not spoken with Steve in a few years and at first I doubted it was him… until I got to the part about KFC:
The Letter:
“Have you been leading a double life, with separate families in Ohio and Delaware? Please come clean and tell the story. While checking out the latest coupons the Colonel had to offer, I came across an interesting photo at the bottom of the page. Before I called the hotline number and turned you in to the Feds, I thought I would give you a chance to respond.
Signed,
A concerned citizen"
Here is the aforementioned photo:
I went ahead a found a photo of myself to compare with the dastard.
Side by side:
Nope. Not me. His glasses do not have a pencil taped to the top of them.
Good try Steve! I hope the chicken was good.
The Letter:
“Have you been leading a double life, with separate families in Ohio and Delaware? Please come clean and tell the story. While checking out the latest coupons the Colonel had to offer, I came across an interesting photo at the bottom of the page. Before I called the hotline number and turned you in to the Feds, I thought I would give you a chance to respond.
Signed,
A concerned citizen"
Here is the aforementioned photo:
I went ahead a found a photo of myself to compare with the dastard.
Side by side:
Nope. Not me. His glasses do not have a pencil taped to the top of them.
Good try Steve! I hope the chicken was good.
The History of the Submachine Gun
It is common knowledge that the submachine gun was developed for use in submarines, but many people do not know the complete and interesting history of this famous, undersea weapon.
During the early years of submarine warfare, crewmen were expected to fight in sub to sub combat using clubs, punji sticks and other melee weapons.
Towards the end of World War I, the Germans, or Krauts, began experimenting with machine guns during battle. During a raid on the British Submarine HMS Fantastic, seventy-two crew members of the German submarine Luftankrietkamenhoffen died while attempting to get the large, cumbersome gun into the narrow hatch of the British submarine.
The captain of the German sub retreated and died of food poisoning soon after. The second in command had been killed in the original battle and so was the third in command and forth if you really need to know. The fifth in command was brought up on trial for poisoning the captain and thus the sixth in command was made the captain. It would be under the courageous Captain Knaus’ supervision that the submachine gun was developed.
Knaus believed that a smaller, high caliber gun could be used in the tight quarters of the submarine. His first tests showed that the walls of the sub were too thin and that bullets pieced the hull. “Fat Fingers” Fredrik Gummas was able to plug all eleven of the holes and save the sub. Knaus took his sub back to port and had the hulls thickened with eight inch steel plate. While the sub sat on the bottom of the port waiting to be lifted back to the surface, Knaus tested his machine gun and the ricocheting bullets killed twelve of his crew. The war ended soon after and the armistice banned all submarine, machine gun development.
On March 8th, 1941 Captain Knaus was brought back on by a secret team of scientist and ruffians to develop undersea weapons. It was then that the smaller, compact weapon was developed with smaller caliber bullets. Tests showed that the bullets would pierce the hull, but the holes would be plugged by the bullets. Knaus’ crowning achievement was the creation of “Das Attacken Bullet” or “The Red Lion”; a clip of bullets made of papier-mâché that would be used during offensive battles. The bullets would pierce the enemy submarine’s hull and plug the hole, but over time would disintegrate, hopefully after the boarding party left the sub.
Captain Knaus retired from the German Navy in 1949 and was given the highest military honors.
Knaus died at the age of 44 of a rare, allergic reaction to eating papier-mâché paste.
Today’s submachine gun has changed very little. The only difference might be the foam handle that is decorative, but also causes the gun to float when dropped during rough seas. There is also sometimes a keychain ring attached to the stock.
Thanks to German ingenuity and the rancid canned corn chowder served by the deceased fifth in command, the world is a much happier, if not holier, place.
During the early years of submarine warfare, crewmen were expected to fight in sub to sub combat using clubs, punji sticks and other melee weapons.
Towards the end of World War I, the Germans, or Krauts, began experimenting with machine guns during battle. During a raid on the British Submarine HMS Fantastic, seventy-two crew members of the German submarine Luftankrietkamenhoffen died while attempting to get the large, cumbersome gun into the narrow hatch of the British submarine.
The captain of the German sub retreated and died of food poisoning soon after. The second in command had been killed in the original battle and so was the third in command and forth if you really need to know. The fifth in command was brought up on trial for poisoning the captain and thus the sixth in command was made the captain. It would be under the courageous Captain Knaus’ supervision that the submachine gun was developed.
Knaus believed that a smaller, high caliber gun could be used in the tight quarters of the submarine. His first tests showed that the walls of the sub were too thin and that bullets pieced the hull. “Fat Fingers” Fredrik Gummas was able to plug all eleven of the holes and save the sub. Knaus took his sub back to port and had the hulls thickened with eight inch steel plate. While the sub sat on the bottom of the port waiting to be lifted back to the surface, Knaus tested his machine gun and the ricocheting bullets killed twelve of his crew. The war ended soon after and the armistice banned all submarine, machine gun development.
On March 8th, 1941 Captain Knaus was brought back on by a secret team of scientist and ruffians to develop undersea weapons. It was then that the smaller, compact weapon was developed with smaller caliber bullets. Tests showed that the bullets would pierce the hull, but the holes would be plugged by the bullets. Knaus’ crowning achievement was the creation of “Das Attacken Bullet” or “The Red Lion”; a clip of bullets made of papier-mâché that would be used during offensive battles. The bullets would pierce the enemy submarine’s hull and plug the hole, but over time would disintegrate, hopefully after the boarding party left the sub.
Captain Knaus retired from the German Navy in 1949 and was given the highest military honors.
Knaus died at the age of 44 of a rare, allergic reaction to eating papier-mâché paste.
Today’s submachine gun has changed very little. The only difference might be the foam handle that is decorative, but also causes the gun to float when dropped during rough seas. There is also sometimes a keychain ring attached to the stock.
Thanks to German ingenuity and the rancid canned corn chowder served by the deceased fifth in command, the world is a much happier, if not holier, place.
Shorty Can Dance!
I don't know who to credit this photo to, but I do know that that guy looks like Shorty and Kim should be proud.
I'm
I'm stupid.
I'm an idiot.
I'm not trustworthy.
I'm not smart.
I'm shortsighted.
I'm not a good friend.
I'm completley out of line.
And
I'm sorry.
I'm an idiot.
I'm not trustworthy.
I'm not smart.
I'm shortsighted.
I'm not a good friend.
I'm completley out of line.
And
I'm sorry.
Delta Airlines thinks you are a little girl
I flew Delta Airlines recently and was displeased to find that the Puke Bags are not made out of paper anymore. It used to be that you could write someone a note/letter on the bag and they would find it mildly amusing. Now the bags are made from a Space Age polymer that seals the puke and puke odor inside and rejects most forms of ink. There is even a convenient peel/sticky at the top that is good for sealing the bag or for tearing off and wrapping around split cigarettes to make them smokable. (Do not smoke the peel/stick part!)
I was also a bit put off that Delta thinks that, as an American, you are going to get upset or distressed if they call it a Puke Bag. Or Vomit Bag. Or even just an Air Sickness Bag. They call it a Motion Discomfort Bag.
But Delta realizes that people from other countries aren't offended easily and would probably be confused if they tried to make the bag into something more pleasant than what it is. Here's the translations for the other countries:
The bag has two sides and those clever Marketing folks over at Delta thought you could use the bag to save your seat so they printed Occupied on the bag.
Me? I kill two birds with one stone and puke in my seat. That way nobody is going to take my seat and I don't have to own up to being a little girl.
I was also a bit put off that Delta thinks that, as an American, you are going to get upset or distressed if they call it a Puke Bag. Or Vomit Bag. Or even just an Air Sickness Bag. They call it a Motion Discomfort Bag.
But Delta realizes that people from other countries aren't offended easily and would probably be confused if they tried to make the bag into something more pleasant than what it is. Here's the translations for the other countries:
The bag has two sides and those clever Marketing folks over at Delta thought you could use the bag to save your seat so they printed Occupied on the bag.
Me? I kill two birds with one stone and puke in my seat. That way nobody is going to take my seat and I don't have to own up to being a little girl.
Erik Eats: That of Which Mulch is Made with of Drink Tea and Soy
This week’s Erik Eats segment involves the consumption of a vegetarian product that is purported to replicate one of the greatest meat products of all time. Can Cha Do stand up to the challenge and can it satisfy Erik’s craving for beef jerky?
Here is the bag of Cha Do, Veggie Jerky. Made by the Companion Company.
The Companion Company was very brave to create a clear front so that we could look inside and see the mulchiness that calls the bag interior its home.
Let’s check out the packaging:
What’s this? Cha Do is a Tea Time Snack? This setting won’t do. Let’s take this party up a social notch.
Much better! Let's continue the packaging inspection.
Hot and Spicy! Just like Erik.
And it’s PREMIUM QUALITY!
On the back, I find that the bar code has been covered over by a bar code sticker.
The bar code underneath came from a lawn and garden company. I assume that is where they got their mulch based soy.
There was a very nice message on the back from the manufacturer and some Chinese letters underneath.
Let’s get Arata Isozaki to translate this mess:
Well… let’s not tell Erik this. Next! Into the package!
JUST OPEN THE FUCKING THING!!!!!
Here’s a close up of the product.
Very mulchy.
And stringy.
Erik eats…
He likes it! He says it compares NOTHING to beef jerky, but that it is tasty and very edible.
We also found this in the pack.
The blue packet must be delicious so we give it to Josh to eat.
On the way to the emergency room, Josh said it was crunchy and delicious.
Next week: Potted Plant of which grows from the back orifice of Erik
Here is the bag of Cha Do, Veggie Jerky. Made by the Companion Company.
The Companion Company was very brave to create a clear front so that we could look inside and see the mulchiness that calls the bag interior its home.
Let’s check out the packaging:
What’s this? Cha Do is a Tea Time Snack? This setting won’t do. Let’s take this party up a social notch.
Much better! Let's continue the packaging inspection.
Hot and Spicy! Just like Erik.
And it’s PREMIUM QUALITY!
On the back, I find that the bar code has been covered over by a bar code sticker.
The bar code underneath came from a lawn and garden company. I assume that is where they got their mulch based soy.
There was a very nice message on the back from the manufacturer and some Chinese letters underneath.
Let’s get Arata Isozaki to translate this mess:
Well… let’s not tell Erik this. Next! Into the package!
JUST OPEN THE FUCKING THING!!!!!
Here’s a close up of the product.
Very mulchy.
And stringy.
Erik eats…
He likes it! He says it compares NOTHING to beef jerky, but that it is tasty and very edible.
We also found this in the pack.
The blue packet must be delicious so we give it to Josh to eat.
On the way to the emergency room, Josh said it was crunchy and delicious.
Next week: Potted Plant of which grows from the back orifice of Erik
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