Rooting For The Underdogs

The unlikely dream the biggest.

Not That Anyone Reads My Blog Anymore Anyways

For the love of all that is holy, people!!! Let's talk about your myspace shall we?

One: I might (in the slightest way) be interested in the results of maybe one of the thousands of internet personality tests that tell you what kind of Coke you are, what Lord of the Rings character you are most likely to have a one night stand with, or what kind of kisser you are. However, there is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON to post ALL of the results on your page, complete with graphics. After, I stop the bleeding from my eyes and nose, I realize that I will never look at all the information on your page and I leave, only returning when I feel like slapping my self in the face. I don't care what flavor of icey pops you are, and if I want to find out what kind of kisser you are I wouldn't find out on the internet. Have some class.

Two: Picture on Picture crime is starting to be a problem. Stick to the rules of one and not two. As in, have one flash album, one video, one song, and one background photo (usually better if it is unobtrusive). I can just as easily visit your "pics" on your profile. In fact, Tom in all his wisdom has given you separate sections for your pictures and video. I don't need them animated in four different flash programs on your home page. Also, in the "About Me" section... you can just write the names of your favorite TV shows... I trust you that it is a real show... you don't have to prove it with seven pictures.

Threeve: What the H#$% is with your pictures? You look like you are constantly eating extremely sour candy. Smile. That's what people do in pictures. But if that is your "sexy" face... we need to talk. I'd even take a funny face over your myspace face. Or at least change it up. And if you are going to take a picture of yourself, it's okay to do it at an angle that isn't just showing me the top of your head and your one eye. Unless you only have one eye... then, good job... your hair covers the socket nicely. I can only deduce that you are, in fact, four feet tall and have one eye and you are showing me a picture so I will recognize you when I tower over you and look down while we are in the bathroom, next to the mirror.

Four: Stop using heart as a verb. That is all.

Things I was going to blog about but never did.

"Apples to Apples" and "Boxers or Briefs"

You might recognize these titles from the last "20 something" party you went to. They're not really board games, but only because there is no board. I cannot guarantee there will not be any bored. But seriously people, how the games work is that one person either draws a question or just a card with one word on it. Your job as a participant is pick one of the seven cards in your hand that you think matches the question or the one word in the center. Now here is the crazy part... there is no criteria for who then wins. The person who put the question/word in the center just picks which one he/she likes the best. It could be the most accurate, the closest synonym, or the funnest random card. And so here in lies the problem with these games.

These games could and would be the funniest addition to any party of pretend friends and stuffed animals. The problem is that people play these games. And by people I mean people with no taste. And by no taste, I mean no sense of humor. And by people with no taste or sense of humor I mean, my family. Let me expound...

Example: The card was "The greatest invention of the 20th century."
My answer: The electric chair (clearly the funniest answer and pure genius in the timing and that my sister-in-law's 70 year old mother read it)
The winning answer: Cars

This kind of thing went on for hours. With me executing moves like "pudding" "Danny DeVito" "Walks like a girl" and "is clearly drunk" with no winning tokens to show for it. But I persisted, amusing myself and sometimes the other cynics in the room. And by other cynics I mean my mother.... who is crazier than all-get-out.


(sigh) Nobody gets me.

Goldbond, helping men wear leather pants since 1945

Playing electric guitar while wearing kakki pants is like kissing your sister.

Playing electric guitar while wearing leather pants is like slipping the tongue on the first kiss.

I had one of these experiences on Sunday morning. Can you guess which?

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