Archive for Funny
Just as the financial crisis has morphed into a daily grind instead of a daily fire drill, its peculiar argot has found its way into everyday conversations. This is probably an unwelcome surprise to those not conversant with the narrow byways of Wall Street. So, in the spirit of Ambrose Bierce — whose “Devil’s Dictionary,” originally published in 1906 as “The Cynic’s Word Book,” provided a guide to the political and cultural language of the day — here is a Wall Street Journal Baedeker to acronyms, neologisms and bastardizations that shape the popular understanding of the pickle in which we remain one full year after the collapse of Lehman Brothers.
AAA, n., obsolete. A rhetorical device used to dupe buyers into purchasing securities backed by shacks dressed as houses, and to secure the highest possible spot in telephone directories. Common usage: AAA Septic Drainage and Mortgage Backed Security Services.
ADVERSE FEEDBACK LOOP, n. See FEEDBACK LOOP.
BAILOUT, n. First known use: Noah. Novel regressive taxation scheme whereby vast sums of capital are transferred from those citizens who didn’t participate in the illusory Bacchanalia of the housing bubble to those who did and weren’t clever enough to get out in time.
BANK, GOOD, n., archaic. Sober, conservative, risk-averse institutions designed to midwife customers’ capital and enable prudent lending to deserving businesses and consumers. See Capra, F., the Bailey Building & Loan Association.
BANK, BAD, n. 1. Everyone else. 2. Especially Goldman Sachs.
BANK FAILURE, n. 1. A process by which towns across America are denuded of their feckless local bankers, paving a way into the market for feckless private-equity investors. 2. An increasingly common Twitter tag that spikes on Friday afternoons. See #bankfail, #wheresmymoney, #runitsthefdic.
BORROWERS, n. For liberals, the unwitting dupes of unscrupulous bankers and lenders whom one shouldn’t blame for the crisis. For conservatives, irresponsible graspers with a credit-busting taste for cathedral-ceilinged entryways and 70-inch flat-screen televisions whom one should absolutely blame for the crisis.
CHRYSLER, v.t. To torch all pre-existing contractual obligations. Entered dialect after Truman’s seizure of U.S. steel mills. Reference spotted in 1952 editions of obsolete periodical “Steel and Steelmen,” under the “News You Can Smelt” section: “We just got Chryslered!”
CREDIT-DEFAULT SWAP, n. loose translation from the original Latin “ubi mel ibi apes,” or “where there’s honey there are bees.” 1. A complex financial instrument vital to the functioning of a modern economy in the way it spreads risk among consenting parties. (Greenspan, A., pre-Sept. 2008.) 2. A complex financial instrument that nearly destroyed modern capitalism (Greenspan, A., post-Sept. 2008).
CREDIT LINE, n. A set amount of borrowed money available only to those who don’t need it.
CREDIT-RATING FIRMS, n. Firms that do scant rating of people with scant credit.
DEFICIT, n. For the party in power, at worst a minor irritant and at best a precondition for economic growth. For the minority, the gravest threat to the stability of the Republic.
DEFLATION, n. The state of being when confronting unified theories of the financial crisis with grand names — The Great Contraction, The End to Moderation, The Bubble Era — that don’t, in fact, explain much more than our continuing inability to agree why we are in such a deep hole.
FEEDBACK LOOP, n. Process by which the significance of an event is amplified by constant repetition. Orig: CNBC. See ADVERSE FEEDBACK LOOP.
GREEN SHOOTS, n. 1. The first signs of spring, often clobbered by summer’s heat and autumn’s rain. 2. A sign the economy is falling apart more slowly than previously thought. Related: DAISIES, PUSHING UP. See also THINKING, WISHFUL.
LIGHT TOUCH, n., obsolete. Theory of regulation in which financial companies recycle profits to lawmakers as campaign contributions, prompting them to relax the rules until the banks inevitably mess it up, at which point the dominant theory switches to “heavy hand,” prompting years of economic contraction and the cycle to repeat.
PPIP, or PUBLIC-PRIVATE INVESTMENT PARTNERSHIP, v.t. Orig: Gladys Knight. To use a form of hypnotism in which merely saying you intend to fix a problem has the effect of making everyone forget about the problem. Usage: “We really peepipped Congress on those AIG bonuses.” See ASSETS, TOXIC.
QUANTITATIVE EASING, n. A regulatory approach based on the point in Western movies when the sheriff, having fired all available bullets, in an act of final desperation throws his gun at the bad guys. See also INFLATION, HYPER.
RESET, v.t. A process by which an initial expectation is altered to another expectation, as in mortgage payments, or deficits or personal fulfillment. As in, “I have reset my views of financial regulation.”
RISK MANAGEMENT, n. Until recently, the process by which banks make giant bets with other people’s money before persuading someone else to take the fall. Currently known as “federal supervision.”
SECURED CREDITORS, n. In modern American capitalism, the parties last in line for repayment after a company’s failure. The others in line include the government, unions, sundry suppliers, friends of the union, friends of the government, unsecured creditors and people vaguely familiar with the matter.
STIMULUS, n. An indeterminate sum of taxpayer money used to generate violent debate. Previously known as “government spending.”
STRESS TEST, n. 1. A measure of arterial blood flow to the head. 2. Alchemic process by which struggling, undercapitalized banks are transformed into paragons of modern finance. (See BANKS, GOOD.) Also known as the “Timothy F. Geithner Seal of Approval,” which some bankers insist is good until it isn’t anymore. (See BANKS, BAD.)
SUBPRIME, adj. A measure of diminished intellectual capacity and increased financial mendacity.
TANGIBLE COMMON EQUITY, n. unknown origin. Definition unknown; purpose unknown; how it’s calculated, unknown; what federal regulators think it means, unknown. Usages: “Macbeth,” Shakespeare, W., Act II, Scene (i): “Is this TCE which I see before me…I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.”
TARP, n. acronym. 1. A synthetic device designed to cover up an unsightly mess, or to protect perishable goods (firewood, banks) from the ravages of the elements, typically costing somewhere between $12.99 and $700 billion. 2. Prime example of how governments use otherwise anodyne acronyms, abbreviations and sports metaphors to disguise matters of controversy. See also TALF, TLGP, TURF, FHFA, BACKSTOP, WRAP, OFHEO and SPECTRE.
TOO BIG TO FAIL, idiom. Banks, insurance companies, car companies, presidential approval ratings, Fed chairmen seeking second terms, other people who think they should be Fed chairman, the reputations of people who’d be responsible for letting things fail. Antonym: TOO BORING TO SAVE.
TOXIC ASSETS, n. 1. A collection of bad loans and other botched financial bets that caused big losses for banks, prompted a credit crunch and sank the economy (Sept. 2008 to May 2009). 2. Long-term investments that will pay handsomely when the housing market recovers (June 2009 onward).
U-SHAPED RECOVERY, n . An opportunity for economists to incorrectly predict the timing and nature of the recession’s end just as successfully as they incorrectly predicted its inception, depth and duration. Variants include V-shaped recovery, L-shaped recovery and shaped recovery.
“Blackbird was developed on the simple proposition that we, as the African American community, can make the Internet experience better for ourselves and, in doing so, make it better for everyone.”
So, how is it that creating a separate browser for blacks makes the Internet better for everyone? I simply do not understand how we are supposed to eliminate racism if people keep calling attention to their race and promoting separation from the rest of the population. I just did a quick search and found no Asian American browser and no Mexican American browser. Hell, there’s not even a good ol’ American browser.
But there is Blackbird, the separate browser for African Americans.
[I won't cite my source for this tool because she/she/they pointed me to it privately]
Today, my major accomplishment should have been to study for my management final on Tuesday. That’s not what happened at all. Instead what happened was I installed 3M window insulation kits on three old windows in our house.
Most of the windows in the house are new. But there is a big window in the dining room and two of the doors from the house to the pool that are huge thermal leaks. Today, I covered the large window, the sliding glass door off the kitchen and our bedroom french doors with the insulation film.
It is incredible how warm the house is now. Totally made a difference.
I find myself with an odd sense of manly accomplishment. I kid you not: While trimming the final excess plastic from the french door installation, I felt as if — and imagined I had — just killed a giant woolly mammoth. “Me Grog,” I say while deftly scratching myself. “Me defend house from evildoers and cold gusts of California wind.”
So yeah, soft California technogeek just taped plastic up over windows and doors to keep the house warm. But I am indeed basking in the glow of accomplished manliness. And I swish over my tongue some Johnnie Walker Black scotch while I feel pretty damn good about myself.
I like being a man but I especially like being a modern, technological man. Who needs that kill-your-own-food crap.
OK, I need to go wash my face with my exfoliating soap scrub and wash my hands with my salt and oil scrub. Then its off to bed for me!
Compare the response of South Carolina’s Miss Teen USA 2007 entrant with this quote from Sarah Palin during her interview with Katie Couric:
That’s why I say I, like every American I’m speaking with, we’re ill about this position that we have been put in where it is the taxpayers looking to bail out. But ultimately what the bailout does is help those who are concerned about the healthcare reform that is needed to help shore up our economy. Helping the—it’s got to be all about job creation too, shoring up our economy and putting it back on the right track. So health care reform and reducing taxes and reining in spending has got to accompany tax reductions and tax relief for Americans and trade—we’ve got to see trade as opportunity, not as competitive, scary thing, but one in five jobs being created in the trade sector today—we’ve got to look at that as more opportunity.
Sarah Palin isn’t doing much for the intellectual reputation of hot babes…
Overheard while walking out of Starbucks just now.
A group of men are gathered for their morning bullshitting session. The laughter is hearty and casual. These guys have known each other a while.
One of the guys is a San Jose cop. As I walked by the cop said, “You fit the classic profile for a pedophile.” Great, robust laughter follows.
How I wish I had a cop friend to point out my preferences incline me to certain criminal acts or deviancies…
So we’re at the pool Sunday and this Ken Doll plops down next to me. He’s got his towel slung over his shoulder. He pulls it off, flops it on to his pool chair and pulls off his shirt like he’s in an Abercrombie & Fitch commercial. He could have easily kicked my ass so I made sure he wasn’t able to see me roll my eyes into the back of my head.
After a few minutes, during which I suspect he was thinking about Michael Phelps kicking ass in China, he gets up and jumps in the pool. I was reading an article in Bike magazine and only noticed he got up because his awesomely ripped body cast a profound Dude Shadow across me as he walked by. At one point, I watched him because I noticed he could actually swim pretty well. That’s what made me think my guess about a Michael Phelps fantasy was a pretty good one. There’s a good chance he was aroused as he swam.
So, of course he gets out at the deep end of the pool and walks back over to his pool chair. I thought the movement I saw out of the corner of my eye was Tanya coming out of the water but it turned out it was the Ken Doll. Ken mistook my momentary upward glance as admiration and a query for guy banter.
“Whew! I haven’t done that for a few years.”
“I used to swim in college.”
With a nod of his head, he refers to the copy of Bike I have laying in front of me. “You thinking about buying a bike?”
“No. I aready have one.”
“Oh yeah? Whatchou got?”
“2005 Yamaha FZ6 naked.”
“Nice. I have a Gixxer. I used to race for Monster.” [must. not. visibly roll eyes.]
So Ken blathers on about his illustrious motorcycle racing career and then makes what ranks as one of the oddest guy-banter segues ever: “You have any guns?”
“Ummm. Yeah. I have two Sig 9mm’s and a couple Browning .22′s”
“I got shot in the leg with a shotgun slug,” he says, while showing me his carved calf with a dark spot that could’ve been a birth mark just as easily as a gun shot wound. I managed to contain my awe as I realized that the segue was a clumsy guy-banter technique to one up me on the Manly Injuries Scoreboard.
“Were you hunting with Dick Cheney?”
“Nope. One of my buddies.”
No further questions, your Honor. The prosecution rests.
Due to recent events on my blog and FaceBook, it has been suggested by some that I need to edit myself more. The assumption behind this exhortation is that I do not edit myself.
This is a reasonable assumption, epecially when you consider my attempt at a humorous post about Tanya’s hypocrisy, which was just a bit over the top (sorry hun!) and my comments on FaceBook, as well as my social experiment a few weeks ago with the Compare People application.
But you have to believe me: I edit myself constantly!
In any given social situation, I have hundreds of thoughts going through my mind. Back when I was in college, I had a great reputation at parties for saying and doing outrageous things. I often got things going by being funny, which usually involved creating humorous/uncomfortable social situations.
You’ve probably already seen me do this recently
But after many many foolish utterances and actions, I developed the ability to edit myself.
I mean, it’s a heavy duty editing program.
You wouldn’t believe the stuff that queues up at my mouth and fingers.
But maybe you would.
For those of you who follow us in FaceBook, you have noticed several pictures that Tanya has taken of me while I was sleeping. She has used this yellow journalism approach to degrade my already reprehensible reputation by implying that I spend all my time sleeping. I will neither confirm nor deny these allegations as I may violate my 5th amendment protection by doing so.
But I believe the time is now ripe for me to paparazzi-ize my wife back by publishing to the world (or at least the 17 people who actually read my blog) this photographic proof that my wife is a hypocritical blanket stealer.
Practically every night before we go to sleep, she whines some snarky complaint where she wonders aloud whether tonight I will yet again steal blankets from her.
Wah wah wah. Get a woobie and a binkie, cry baby!
But this photo is incontrovertible proof that she is the blanket stealer. I took this picture because I was awakened as a result of being cold in the morning (that, and I had to pee really badly). And why was I cold? Because Tanya the Hypocrite had stolen my blanket.
Hopefully, in the future, when you see Tanya’s pictures of me sleeping, you will think of this shocking revelation and be less inclined to believe her.
Next Up: Obama or Jack Handy’s “Deep Thoughts?”
At the risk of receiving a cease and desist letter, I am copying the full text of a brilliant piece of satire rather than merely include a link, which I am also including here. Gerard Baker gets the absurdity of Obama better than Americans.
And it came to pass, in the eighth year of the reign of the evil Bush the Younger (The Ignorant), when the whole land from the Arabian desert to the shores of the Great Lakes had been laid barren, that a Child appeared in the wilderness.
The Child was blessed in looks and intellect. Scion of a simple family, offspring of a miraculous union, grandson of a typical white person and an African peasant. And yea, as he grew, the Child walked in the path of righteousness, with only the occasional detour into the odd weed and a little blow.
When he was twelve years old, they found him in the temple in the City of Chicago, arguing the finer points of community organisation with the Prophet Jeremiah and the Elders. And the Elders were astonished at what they heard and said among themselves: “Verily, who is this Child that he opens our hearts and minds to the audacity of hope?”
In the great Battles of Caucus and Primary he smote the conniving Hillary, wife of the deposed King Bill the Priapic and their barbarian hordes of Working Class Whites.
And so it was, in the fullness of time, before the harvest month of the appointed year, the Child ventured forth – for the first time – to bring the light unto all the world.
He travelled fleet of foot and light of camel, with a small retinue that consisted only of his loyal disciples from the tribe of the Media. He ventured first to the land of the Hindu Kush, where the Taleban had harboured the viper of al-Qaeda in their bosom, raining terror on all the world.
And the Child spake and the tribes of Nato immediately loosed the Caveats that had previously bound them. And in the great battle that ensued the forces of the light were triumphant. For as long as the Child stood with his arms raised aloft, the enemy suffered great blows and the threat of terror was no more.
From there he went forth to Mesopotamia where he was received by the great ruler al-Maliki, and al-Maliki spake unto him and blessed his Sixteen Month Troop Withdrawal Plan even as the imperial warrior Petraeus tried to destroy it.
And lo, in Mesopotamia, a miracle occurred. Even though the Great Surge of Armour that the evil Bush had ordered had been a terrible mistake, a waste of vital military resources and doomed to end in disaster, the Child’s very presence suddenly brought forth a great victory for the forces of the light.
And the Persians, who saw all this and were greatly fearful, longed to speak with the Child and saw that the Child was the bringer of peace. At the mention of his name they quickly laid aside their intrigues and beat their uranium swords into civil nuclear energy ploughshares.
From there the Child went up to the city of Jerusalem, and entered through the gate seated on an ass. The crowds of network anchors who had followed him from afar cheered “Hosanna” and waved great palm fronds and strewed them at his feet.
In Jerusalem and in surrounding Palestine, the Child spake to the Hebrews and the Arabs, as the Scripture had foretold. And in an instant, the lion lay down with the lamb, and the Israelites and Ishmaelites ended their long enmity and lived for ever after in peace.
As word spread throughout the land about the Child’s wondrous works, peoples from all over flocked to hear him; Hittites and Abbasids; Obamacons and McCainiacs; Cameroonians and Blairites.
And they told of strange and wondrous things that greeted the news of the Child’s journey. Around the world, global temperatures began to decline, and the ocean levels fell and the great warming was over.
The Great Prophet Algore of Nobel and Oscar, who many had believed was the anointed one, smiled and told his followers that the Child was the one generations had been waiting for.
And there were other wonderful signs. In the city of the Street at the Wall, spreads on interbank interest rates dropped like manna from Heaven and rates on credit default swaps fell to the ground as dead birds from the almond tree, and the people who had lived in foreclosure were able to borrow again.
Black gold gushed from the ground at prices well below $140 per barrel. In hospitals across the land the sick were cured even though they were uninsured. And all because the Child had pronounced it.
And this is the testimony of one who speaks the truth and bears witness to the truth so that you might believe. And he knows it is the truth for he saw it all on CNN and the BBC and in the pages of The New York Times.
Then the Child ventured forth from Israel and Palestine and stepped onto the shores of the Old Continent. In the land of Queen Angela of Merkel, vast multitudes gathered to hear his voice, and he preached to them at length.
But when he had finished speaking his disciples told him the crowd was hungry, for they had had nothing to eat all the hours they had waited for him.
And so the Child told his disciples to fetch some food but all they had was five loaves and a couple of frankfurters. So he took the bread and the frankfurters and blessed them and told his disciples to feed the multitudes. And when all had eaten their fill, the scraps filled twelve baskets.
Thence he travelled west to Mount Sarkozy. Even the beauteous Princess Carla of the tribe of the Bruni was struck by awe and she was great in love with the Child, but he was tempted not.
On the Seventh Day he walked across the Channel of the Angles to the ancient land of the hooligans. There he was welcomed with open arms by the once great prophet Blair and his successor, Gordon the Leper, and his successor, David the Golden One.
And suddenly, with the men appeared the archangel Gabriel and the whole host of the heavenly choir, ranks of cherubim and seraphim, all praising God and singing: “Yes, We Can.”
Probably the best discovery I have made this year has been Craig Ferguson. If you search my blog, you will find a number of posts on his humor and life. It would not be an overstatement for me to say that Craig’s humor has encouraged and delighted me many times. He’s a “frisky badger,” a man whose ribald humor infuses many of his jokes with double entendres and colors his interviews of female guests, who he shamelessly yet artfully flirts with. His deep love for America comes through in his social commentaries and was culminated a few months ago by being sworn in as an American citizen.
I also appreciate his honesty about his own weaknesses, the most significant of which is his past with alcohol and drug abuse. He is compassionate towards those who are overcome with weakness and he wields a rapier wit against the duplicitous hypocrites of Hollywood and government. Craig also occasionally reveals that he is a studied and literary man. His references to literature and history are unpretentious yet give his diatribes and interviews a depth that guys like Leno and Letterman cannot begin to approach.
Because of my admiration for his humor, I decided to get his book Between The Bridge and The River, which to me sounds like a person falling from a bridge into the water. If so, then it is a reference to his own plan to kill himself one Christmas morning by jumping off a bridge in London. I would have bought it just to read his attempt at a novel but what closed the deal for me were the consistently high reviews on Amazon. The back of the book has Mitch Albom saying that it may well be that Craig isn’t a late night talk show host moonlighting as a novelist but rather the other way around.
I have pretty high standards for novels as I have a deep love for the work for authors like John Steinbeck Thomas Wolfe, William Faulkner, John Irving, Chuck Palahniuk, Anne LaMott and Neal Stephenson. Not only do I prefer a well-crafted story but I enjoy a writer who crafts with an artful use of the language, a fluid rhythm that matches the tempo of the story and believable dialog. The authors I fall in love with tend to develop their characters well so that you have a solid sense of who each person is and why they do what they do.
Craig’s book has been shaky. The first 60 pages were a bit of a struggle because he doesn’t initially show a sense of rhythm during his development of the story lines and the characters. But the book turned a sudden corner and has been a compelling read. It seems like the first 60 pages were him groping for how to lay out his story and how to define his characters. Now, he is on pace and the book is a joy to read.
Ferguson keeps with his bawdy television ways. He is a profane dude who approaches his subject matter (i.e. sex) with coarse humor. But so far, it’s an interesting read.
I picked up this book at Border’s today. I dig physics and love thinking about how this whole thing came into being. I’ve seen a couple Hawking shows on TV and he astounds me. I hope I’m smart enough to understand his books!
“The only people attracted to guys with rock hard abs are other guys with rock hard abs.”
- Craig Ferguson, The Late, Late Show
One of the most important life skills I learned from my mom was the ability to come home from lunch and have a power nap. She had this ability nailed. She would scoot home, grab something to eat, go to bed and 20 minutes later go back to work. She never used an alarm and I don’t ever remember her being late.
Then at Michigan State, I had a roommate who didn’t stay up late to cram all night. He would study, take a power nap, get up resume studying and then go back to sleep as he got tired. When he took his tests, he did better because he wasn’t completely exhausted.
Having sat under the tutelage of these two power nap masters, I too have developed the ability to grab a quick nap. Many times, I have used my lunch hour to get something quick on the go then drive to a park and sleep for between 22 and 26 minutes. When I awake, I’m just a bit groggy but after a few minutes, I am refreshed and ready for the afternoon.
I love power naps and if I ever end up running my own company you can be sure that my employees will have a quiet room where they can grab a quick nap. We will also have Oreo cookies and milk available. Who wants to work for me?
Tanya has been laughing at me a fair amount since Christmas. Aww, heck, who am I kidding? She’s been laughing at me since our first date, when I reportedly peed eight times throughout the duration of the date. But she has been enjoying my boyish happiness at getting my riding leathers. A couple days before Christmas, I was literally jumping up and down because I was excited to get the jacket and pants. It’s been a while since I’ve been excited to get a present.
Anyway, I’ve been wearing my leathers around the house so I can break them in. It admittedly looks ridiculous but I am reminded of one of my favorite memories from college.
I was roomming with Bob, one of the best friends I’ve had. We had a thoroughly compatible sense of humor, but in many ways, Bob taught me a lot of the characteristics of my comedic style: we were enrolled in the Sarcastic Humor Is Terrific school of comedy. Otherwise known as SHIT.
Bob was really into playing hockey. One day he got a pair of leg pads and he was SO PUMPED about them. I came back from my classes, in time to watch The Guiding Light (I scheduled all my classes around the soap opera) and Bob had the box open and the pads on. He took them off as soon as he saw me and said, “Put them on!” I did as he asked. Once I was all strapped in, before I could even react, Bob reached over and whipped a hockey puck at my legs. It bounced off harmlessly and Bob said with elation, “Didn’t even feel it did you?!” That night, Bob slept with his hockey pads on.
I haven’t slept with my leathers on, but I’ve been wearing them around the house. The other night, I wore them while playing XBox. Tanya was laughing at me and giggling as she took these shots of me being a dork:
[click to expand]
I’m not a huge fan of Christmas letters, probably for the same reasons you don’t like them. I’ve always kind of felt Christmas letters were an implicit admission that relationships haven’t been well-tended throughout the year and they typically tend to be vehicles of self-promotion. This might seem an odd criticism for me to level, since I could be (and have been) accused of being somewhat self-promoting in my blog.
In any case, I took a shot at a Christmas letter and attempted to make it something that is fun to read and which subverts the norms. Imagine that!
For reasons that will be clear in a few moments, Tanya asked me to put together a letter for our Christmas cards. This letter is likely to show up late because we have had a lot going on. I recently started as director of business development at an IT services startup in California. Tanya just took a job as senior marketing manager for an internet startup, also in Cali. I am working from home while Tanya flies every week to California to work Monday through Thursday. It has been a disruptive, challenging experience. We are doing this while waiting for the house to sell. The Michigan and Lansing economies suck and houses in Lansing are not moving. Once the house sells, we will move to northern California, where we will apply the equity from our house to buy a lovely home made out of three refrigerator boxes and several rolls of Wal-Mart duct tape. This will only cost $230,000 because the lot we have in mind is located conveniently next to an Applebee’s dumpster. If you lower your expectations considerably, California real estate is very accessible!
If you follow national news, you no doubt are aware that Samantha, our 22 pound cat, won the National Book Award for Best Feline Autobiography. Max continues to be the world’s undisputed and unofficial championship sleeper, where he tops out at 18 hours of sleep a day, while filling his waking hours with constant whining and midnight patrols on our hips, just to make sure we know he is the alpha cat at our house.
Shortly after I got my job, as a bit of a celebration, I bought a motorcycle. It wasn’t a mid-life crisis purchase, as I had my crisis about 2 years ago. I asked myself what the meaning of life is but after a while, just gave up and contented myself with episodes of House. Now, I’ve moved on to torturing my wife with fears that I will propel myself into hard stationary or moving objects at high velocity. And I love it. I can’t get enough of riding and I can hardly wait until we move to Cali so I can exploit all the excellent roads there.
It’s hard for me to come up with the kinds of news that makes you think quietly, “Wow, I wish I lived their lives,” mostly because there isn’t much that we do that is unique. We have been enjoying playing together on XBox 360 in some of our free time and we do a lot of the same things you do: read, talk, watch TV, hang out with friends, and forage through our neighbors’ garbage… you know, these sorts of things.
In any case, we hope that you have an enjoyable Christmas season.
This is the logo of Jockey. I think it’s a fairly new logo because I don’t remember seeing it before and I wear Jockey. It’s also a fairly odd logo.
I’ve asked a few friends what they think of the logo and there is a consensus that the logo seems to involve little sperm guys in some sort of action.
“Wear Jockey and your sperm will dance around you.”
“Wear Jockey and sperm will fly out of you.”
Jockey manufactures underwear for women too. So, I’m kinda lost on the sperm theme for women.
“Wear Jockey and sperm will spin their wheels. Nothing will get through!”
“Wear Jockey with a man who also wears Jockey and sperm will [insert your joke here].”
Someone in marketing at Jockey made an odd decision.
And to file this post in the OMG-TMI category, this is a pic of the Jockey boxers I wear. They have this absurd name : 3D Innovations but they are very comfy. Much more comfortable than the other 2D Commodity boxers I wore. Painful to put on in the morning and take off at night because they crushed all my bits to 2 dimensions. But once the 3D Innovations came along, yeah, I was brought back to all my bulging glory.
And yes, I do stand around and make languorous poses like this guy. Look, when you’re wearing stretchy boxers like these, you just find yourself overcome with the desire to twist your body in lazy, pseudoerotic ways. It’s a Jockey thing. You wouldn’t understand.
Is I post stuff like this on my blog.