Last Sunday was my birthday. Thanks to the thousands of people who wrote to wish me a happy one. The night preceding, my girlfriend Jessica (with the help of her lovely assistants, Lauren and Courtney) threw me a wonderful PAR-TAY at where else..? A Korean Karaoke Bar. We crammed about 30 people and 100 cupcakes into a thimble full of couches (I'm exaggerating of course, because I'm a big silly. It was a comfortable room for perhaps up to 20 people). As per my request, I was roasted... somewhat... Surprisingly enough, I was complimented more often than I was mocked. But though I may have been insulted far less than I would have preferred, I was pleased with the balloons, the festivities, and the made up lyrics to Korean hits.
'Twas a fun-ass event. I will definitely go back for more Korean Karaoke. But not for $8 glasses of bitter wine.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Yoga Update! Stretch Out With Obama!
Hello, friend. What's that? Well, I've changed them three times today already. You're just going to have to put up with the smell. Goodbye then.
Sorry about that. As I was saying... yoga's going great! I haven't done it every day... but I've done it nearly every day, and the effects are nothing short of moderate! I can now touch my nipples and I throw a pretty mean fireball provided I yell "Fireball Attack!" and press down, forward, and B.
Did you know Barack Obama is the President of These United States? That's right. You tried to stop it but you couldn't.
The night before Inauguration Day, I dreamt I was at some party in a shack. You know, a shack party! I was in Chicago, but the shack was in the woods anyway. Obama stopped by on his way to DC. He made a speech for us, then opened some fan mail. Some kid sent him an old, beat-up Bible with the front cover missing. In the letter, the kid said that this Bible belonged to his family for generations, but he wanted Barack to have it for safe keeping. All of us in the shack wept as we were so touched by this gesture.
That VERY MORNING, Barack phoned and called me a sissy for having had such a dream. How he knew what I dreamt, I could not say. But he asked me not to sissify his big day with my sissy dreams. Joe Biden was snickering in the background.
I'm sorry I'm such a yoga-doing, dreamy sissy who shoots fireballs! But I can't pretend any longer! This is the real me!
Best Wishes Obama, my little gumdrop,
Birdhaus
Sorry about that. As I was saying... yoga's going great! I haven't done it every day... but I've done it nearly every day, and the effects are nothing short of moderate! I can now touch my nipples and I throw a pretty mean fireball provided I yell "Fireball Attack!" and press down, forward, and B.
Did you know Barack Obama is the President of These United States? That's right. You tried to stop it but you couldn't.
The night before Inauguration Day, I dreamt I was at some party in a shack. You know, a shack party! I was in Chicago, but the shack was in the woods anyway. Obama stopped by on his way to DC. He made a speech for us, then opened some fan mail. Some kid sent him an old, beat-up Bible with the front cover missing. In the letter, the kid said that this Bible belonged to his family for generations, but he wanted Barack to have it for safe keeping. All of us in the shack wept as we were so touched by this gesture.
That VERY MORNING, Barack phoned and called me a sissy for having had such a dream. How he knew what I dreamt, I could not say. But he asked me not to sissify his big day with my sissy dreams. Joe Biden was snickering in the background.
I'm sorry I'm such a yoga-doing, dreamy sissy who shoots fireballs! But I can't pretend any longer! This is the real me!
Best Wishes Obama, my little gumdrop,
Birdhaus
Working is made of dumb
My hatless friend Courtney (of Modern Homebody fame) thought I should mention this story, because "people love hearing about other peoples' crappy temp jobs. 'Cause, you know, temping is absolutely the wwgdsncfdr832rfd...ssssss...haaaaaaaaah!" Her jaw fell off right in the middle of the bar! She was humiliated and I'll never hear the end of her unasked for opinion.
But jawless Courtney is right. Office temp jobs are unaccustomed to interesting happenstances. A couple months into working at this one place, I decided to wear gigantic nerdy glasses (given to me by Young Scott of Hot Sandwich fame). For hours I wore these huge comical prescription glasses that probably caused my eyes somewhat serious harm. I really, really looked ridiculous. I even dressed up nice to give me that 1950's cartoon scientist look. Yeah. Hilarious, right? I know! For real!
And not one f*cking person said anything... Can I say f*cking? Oh. Not one Fuck*ng person said anything! They knew me! They knew me! But they didn't say nothin' ya'll! There was this girl that worked there with a glass eye. She of all people should have said, "Birdhaus, those glasses are crazy. Tell me why you have donned them." Super-Christian girl who sits next to me should have crossed herself and said "Oh Birdhaus. I wish Jesus could make your eyes well again because no one should have to suffer those specs." Retired hitman Robert should have laughed his ass off. Because he laughs at everything. Being a hitman does things to you.
That's when I realized working in an office is not something people who enjoy things should do.
But I can't be a hitman. I have morals and Robert won't recommend me. I can't be a glass eye. I'm too animate. I should be Jesus. Then the people would take notice. But they might kill me. I don't want to be anything!
Courtney. Get well soon.
Love,
Mandible
But jawless Courtney is right. Office temp jobs are unaccustomed to interesting happenstances. A couple months into working at this one place, I decided to wear gigantic nerdy glasses (given to me by Young Scott of Hot Sandwich fame). For hours I wore these huge comical prescription glasses that probably caused my eyes somewhat serious harm. I really, really looked ridiculous. I even dressed up nice to give me that 1950's cartoon scientist look. Yeah. Hilarious, right? I know! For real!
And not one f*cking person said anything... Can I say f*cking? Oh. Not one Fuck*ng person said anything! They knew me! They knew me! But they didn't say nothin' ya'll! There was this girl that worked there with a glass eye. She of all people should have said, "Birdhaus, those glasses are crazy. Tell me why you have donned them." Super-Christian girl who sits next to me should have crossed herself and said "Oh Birdhaus. I wish Jesus could make your eyes well again because no one should have to suffer those specs." Retired hitman Robert should have laughed his ass off. Because he laughs at everything. Being a hitman does things to you.
That's when I realized working in an office is not something people who enjoy things should do.
But I can't be a hitman. I have morals and Robert won't recommend me. I can't be a glass eye. I'm too animate. I should be Jesus. Then the people would take notice. But they might kill me. I don't want to be anything!
Courtney. Get well soon.
Love,
Mandible
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Our secret...
My girlfriend has "The Pinkeye," so I've been telling her that I'm going to work to make money for anti-pinkeye medicine...
But you know where I've REALLY been going?
But you know where I've REALLY been going?
Correct!
Skurgrottslundersvurkl's Tavern, in Finland. For thirty Finish Marks you can drink mead out of a dog's neck!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Why is everyone pregnant?
A friend of mine from college got in contact with me recently (I'm starting to get really nervous about being on Facebook). She and I went on a date or two before she hooked up with the guy she's now married to. THAT guy dated a girl before I dated HER for about a year. And THAT GIRL is now married. The latter girl just gave birth to a kid, and the former girl is pregnant now.
Why is everyone pregnant? And when they're done being pregnant, why do they have a kid? Or kids?
Even the men are pregnant. We all used to punch each other in the stomachs specifically to prove there were no babies in there. Just beer and accidentally swallowed cigarettes. Now it's all "lean in close and you can hear it kicking."
The hell with that! The hell with your babies! You are all swollen with pride and preformed humans!
And why must you flaunt your babyness? Why must you take pictures in front of sunsets and go to Lamaze? Why must you scream in pain when you deliver them? Why don't you show some respect and pass them softly and meekly like secret farts? They can waft away and no one will be the wiser... then we can all be young again.
Why is everyone pregnant? And when they're done being pregnant, why do they have a kid? Or kids?
Even the men are pregnant. We all used to punch each other in the stomachs specifically to prove there were no babies in there. Just beer and accidentally swallowed cigarettes. Now it's all "lean in close and you can hear it kicking."
The hell with that! The hell with your babies! You are all swollen with pride and preformed humans!
And why must you flaunt your babyness? Why must you take pictures in front of sunsets and go to Lamaze? Why must you scream in pain when you deliver them? Why don't you show some respect and pass them softly and meekly like secret farts? They can waft away and no one will be the wiser... then we can all be young again.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
How to keep kids out of your yard - by Cheryl Fjord
Here's a piece of "How To" information as posted by an invalid jam manufacturer and philosopher named Cheryl Fjord. I invited him to contribute to my blog on occasion. Please welcome him as you would a mentor, insightful guru, and dare I say... friend?
"Nothing is worse than sitting down at my breakfast table to a hot cup of coffee and jammy toast, looking out the window, and discovering that some 6-year-old is stomping about in my yard, digging up worms and begging for cookies. These little simpletons are a menace and a burden. But unless you have one of your own, there is little you can do to control them. Parents and police are no help. I know! After thousands of letters and countless rake-brandishing incidents, I've deduced that while some kids may be curbed, most of them pay no heed to me and my complaints. In fact, I suspect some parents were sending children out to my yard just to enrage me.
So what can be done? For starters, I can alter the environment around my house and create a world that children will want no part of. I myself can become an object of fear and uncertainty. After a solid month of hard work, I can now safely say that kids will go blocks out of their way to avoid me. As an added bonus, my neighbors have moved away and I haven't had a phone call in weeks.
Would you like to regain your privacy and find the peace you seek?
Here are but a few tips to KEEP KIDS OUT OF YOUR YARD:
1.) Leave dead animals laying around. At first, children come by to poke them and collect bugs. Practice patience. A few more days and no one will be able to bear the smell long enough to brave a visit. Other animals may arrive to consume the dead. Kill those animals. A graveyard of wild corpses should deter the little trespassers and create a healthy atmosphere of terror.
2.) Wander outside in the nude. Keep an unpredictable schedule for your outings.
3.) Hire a mad clown to sleep on your porch. Get him drunk. The rest will take care of itself.
4.) "Bee" inventive: Line wasps' nests ‘round your property. Throw rocks on occasion to keep the insects on their guard. Do not combine this with tip #2. You may combine this with tip #3 for added effect.
5.) Do you have trees? Hollow them out into nightmarish faces. When you walk by one, put your neck on a low-hanging branch and pretend it's throttling you. This shows by example what happens to those who cross over to your domain.
6.) Make it your morning ritual to go out into the street, rub the sleep out of your eyes and loudly ask God who you should punish today. Point at anyone nearby with an accusatory finger and rhetorically ask "Will it be yooooou?"
7.) Pretend you have an imaginary friend. Look up when you talk to him to give the impression that he is huge. Keep telling him to calm down.
8.) Place a kiln out front. Hang a sign on the door that says "kidz only" in crayon. It's blatant, but effective.
9.) Grow your fingernails out. Sharpen them. Put on a cape. Cackle. Run in circles.
10.) Operate your own rickety lemonade stand at 10 cents a cup. Look excessively determined. If children actually ask for lemonade, put in some dry ice and refuse to explain why it's smoking.
These tips work! Yes, my mailman refuses to come around and the alderman speaks out against me every chance he gets. But I haven't seen a child in ages. Why should you?
Good luck and stay out of my way!"
"Nothing is worse than sitting down at my breakfast table to a hot cup of coffee and jammy toast, looking out the window, and discovering that some 6-year-old is stomping about in my yard, digging up worms and begging for cookies. These little simpletons are a menace and a burden. But unless you have one of your own, there is little you can do to control them. Parents and police are no help. I know! After thousands of letters and countless rake-brandishing incidents, I've deduced that while some kids may be curbed, most of them pay no heed to me and my complaints. In fact, I suspect some parents were sending children out to my yard just to enrage me.So what can be done? For starters, I can alter the environment around my house and create a world that children will want no part of. I myself can become an object of fear and uncertainty. After a solid month of hard work, I can now safely say that kids will go blocks out of their way to avoid me. As an added bonus, my neighbors have moved away and I haven't had a phone call in weeks.
Would you like to regain your privacy and find the peace you seek?
Here are but a few tips to KEEP KIDS OUT OF YOUR YARD:
1.) Leave dead animals laying around. At first, children come by to poke them and collect bugs. Practice patience. A few more days and no one will be able to bear the smell long enough to brave a visit. Other animals may arrive to consume the dead. Kill those animals. A graveyard of wild corpses should deter the little trespassers and create a healthy atmosphere of terror.
2.) Wander outside in the nude. Keep an unpredictable schedule for your outings.
3.) Hire a mad clown to sleep on your porch. Get him drunk. The rest will take care of itself.
4.) "Bee" inventive: Line wasps' nests ‘round your property. Throw rocks on occasion to keep the insects on their guard. Do not combine this with tip #2. You may combine this with tip #3 for added effect.
5.) Do you have trees? Hollow them out into nightmarish faces. When you walk by one, put your neck on a low-hanging branch and pretend it's throttling you. This shows by example what happens to those who cross over to your domain.
6.) Make it your morning ritual to go out into the street, rub the sleep out of your eyes and loudly ask God who you should punish today. Point at anyone nearby with an accusatory finger and rhetorically ask "Will it be yooooou?"
7.) Pretend you have an imaginary friend. Look up when you talk to him to give the impression that he is huge. Keep telling him to calm down.
8.) Place a kiln out front. Hang a sign on the door that says "kidz only" in crayon. It's blatant, but effective.
9.) Grow your fingernails out. Sharpen them. Put on a cape. Cackle. Run in circles.
10.) Operate your own rickety lemonade stand at 10 cents a cup. Look excessively determined. If children actually ask for lemonade, put in some dry ice and refuse to explain why it's smoking.
These tips work! Yes, my mailman refuses to come around and the alderman speaks out against me every chance he gets. But I haven't seen a child in ages. Why should you?
Good luck and stay out of my way!"
Friday, January 2, 2009
Stylin' the early mornin' rise.
What a great start to the New Year! In addition to my resolutions (see below), I've decided to get up by 6am every weekday and do 20 minutes of Yoga with the prominently phallused Rodney Yee, whose voice reminds me of Jim Carrey when he up dressed like that weightlifting woman on "In Living Color." Personal Yoga instruction with a highly acclaimed Yoga teacher... through my very own television and DVD player! No live watchful eyes on this flexible body!
I set my alarm AND my internal clock for 6am. The internal clock got me up first at 5:45. I awoke feeling ever so refreshed on account of having had a dream in which I caroused about Maine with the Dalai Lama. We went to visit a friend of his who was a silent film star in a Charlie Chaplain film (though she looked in her twenties). Her back was broken and he said some prayers for her. Then we walked hand in hand (an accepted practice on the other side of the world, I swear) and got lost driving along the back roads. It was actually one of the most fun times I've ever had in a dream. No crazy flying or super powered adventures or anything like that. Just laughing and hanging out. It was also the most focused and linear dream I've had in a long while. Usually they jump-cut and morph into angry cows or what have you.
Then I did that damned Yoga. Yes I did. And then I went to work in an office where goosing about with monks in the astral realm and stretching for long periods of time is considered "inappropriate," and "grounds for dismissal."
It's also "grounds for breakin' up" when you punch your girlfriend in the gut to wake her up in the morning. So if you did that, there's no turning back now. You've got to finish the job and work the head, neck, and shoulders as my old boxing coach Punchy McPhearson used to say. But I didn't do that because I'm not a psychotic insane person. I'm a loving boy who kissed his lady on the cheek and skipped on his way... and punched a cat for being gluttonous.
Bye, bye Birdhaus
I set my alarm AND my internal clock for 6am. The internal clock got me up first at 5:45. I awoke feeling ever so refreshed on account of having had a dream in which I caroused about Maine with the Dalai Lama. We went to visit a friend of his who was a silent film star in a Charlie Chaplain film (though she looked in her twenties). Her back was broken and he said some prayers for her. Then we walked hand in hand (an accepted practice on the other side of the world, I swear) and got lost driving along the back roads. It was actually one of the most fun times I've ever had in a dream. No crazy flying or super powered adventures or anything like that. Just laughing and hanging out. It was also the most focused and linear dream I've had in a long while. Usually they jump-cut and morph into angry cows or what have you.
Then I did that damned Yoga. Yes I did. And then I went to work in an office where goosing about with monks in the astral realm and stretching for long periods of time is considered "inappropriate," and "grounds for dismissal."
It's also "grounds for breakin' up" when you punch your girlfriend in the gut to wake her up in the morning. So if you did that, there's no turning back now. You've got to finish the job and work the head, neck, and shoulders as my old boxing coach Punchy McPhearson used to say. But I didn't do that because I'm not a psychotic insane person. I'm a loving boy who kissed his lady on the cheek and skipped on his way... and punched a cat for being gluttonous.
Bye, bye Birdhaus
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