Twas The Night Of Christmas...

...when bowels of gluttons were moving in the bathroom stall,
kids played with their new toys, while I blogged about paintball...

Merry Christmas, everyone! Joy to the world, the Lord is come. I hope you at least had an above average day. There's no need to worry about the economic turmoil, no need to be afraid of having to pay full price for Christmas trees, and no need to worry if Christmas in 2008 will start with the coming of the apocalypse. No, not today, friends. Today is Christmas. Enjoy it.

Back in November, I went paintballing and I have the pictures to prove it! I suppose these could have been created through the magic of photoshop. But trust me, they are real. I can send you a certificate of authenticity if you want. Then again, the certificate would most assuredly be photoshopped. But please, peruse away:


Exhibit A: Here's me cowering in fear. Observe that yellow stick protruding out of my right bicep. Well, that's where my right bicep would be if I had any muscles. It's actually the trail of a yellow paintball being fired at me. Next to my shoe are a couple of paintballs that probably bounced off me, showing that having a tub of lard for a gut has its advantages.


Exhibit B: No, I'm not twenty feet in the air, balancing on my right leg over some mysterious rod. This is me taking the walk of shame toward the side lines after being hit. Raising your gun and your arms up in the air tells other players that I have been hit and to please refrain from pelting me with more paintballs.


Exhibit C: Here's me squatting down not doing anything. Note to self: when playing paintball, point gun at the opposing team, not the ground.

Pretty nifty, eh? Ok, maybe not. Here are some answers to questions I know you are dying to ask:

1. Does it hurt?
Yes, yes it does. The ones that really hurt are the paintballs that don't pop on impact. The ones that just bounce off of me made me want to crawl into my secret corner and cry.

2. Did you get any brusies?
Yes, yes I did. I had several unwelcomed welts and bruises. They were completely gone in a couple of weeks though, if that's any consolation. Actually, the thing that hurt the most when I slipped and scraped my shin running up a hill. That one stung for a while.

3. Did the paintball gear protect you?
Yes and no. The only protective gear I was able to rent there was a helmet, which was more of a face guard. I had several paintballs hit and bounce off the top of my head where the helmet did not provide any protection. Those paintballs felt like somebody throwing a marble on your head. I know how that feels because I was champion marble head thrower back in the day.

4. Why did you play in a t-shirt if it hurts?
If you want to minimize the pain in paintballing, you intuitively wear thicker clothing. But the problem is that you get hot. So you either play in sweat or play in pain. Perhaps not thinking so clearly due to the number of shots I took off the noggin, I doffed the sweatshirt.

5. How long is a game?
A typical game probably lasts about 15 minutes. And to play the game well, you need patience. Of course, I was one of the idiots in the front line that just sprinted toward enemy territory at the sound of the starting whistle. And of course, I got hit early and often. Once you get hit, you're out for the whole game. You have to learn to sit back and let the enemies come to you. But I wasn't having any of that and my gung-ho, attack-at-will, banshee-screaming style of play probably wasn't quite in the best interest of strategy.

6. Would you go again?
Yes, if I was playing with a bunch of rookies. It's not cool seeing other people bring their own equipment that makes yours look like something concocted out of Hee Haw.

Well, Bust My Buttons!

I'd be lying if I told you Thanksgiving wasn't my favorite holiday in November. But don't get me wrong - National Button Day will always have a special place in my small, black heart. Thanksgiving, however, is different. It's the day where gluttons, like me, can feel accepted for eating our weight in honey glazed hams and mystery pies. And plus, it's the day where I get to spend time with family members that don't care to visit me during the rest of the year.

Like a cherry on the top, Thanksgiving harbingers the heralded coming of Black Friday. Because it's the day compulsive, debt-ridden shoppers declare all out war against financial advisers, retailers hope profits will get out of the red and into the black. But reading this article, the "black" in Black Friday has more to do with the grim reaper than the "green" reaper. What is even more sad is how I expect you to associate "green reaper" with cash register. But let's see... trample an innocent employee to death... or miss out on the telescope deal to be in time for the greatest show not on earth. Alright, those thrifty tramplers probably were not eying the telescopes in the optical instruments aisle but you would need a microscope to see their paltry levels of sanity and common sense. At least have the decency to return the items you got after mistaking the employee for a doormat! Fresh off of a tryptophan high, these shoppers were more animal than man.

And so sometimes, Thanksgiving can be a not so thankful time after all. But at the very least, I am thankful for other November holidays like National Button Day. Sure, Thanksgiving opens the flood gates for Black Friday sales galore, or should I say "gore," but National Button Day ensures winter jackets, fancy shirts, and endangered button flies will be properly clasped. Thank God for buttons!

Going Out On A Limb

There may never be a more appropriate moniker for a tree-sitter than "jack-a-ninny" or "nincompoop". Excuse the R-rated vernacular, but anyone who values a tree more than human needs deserves to be exposed and eviscerated for the poppycockery they stand for. Somewhere out there, Bill O'Reilley must be licking his chops.

Of course, I'm specifically talking about the Berkeley tree-sitters, who have ended their 22 month stay up in a redwood tree. Sure, the redwoods have naturally become monolithic fixtures on the soils of UCB and replacing them with a new sports facility may not be the best idea, but Memorial Stadium sits atop a major earthquake fault and is screaming for retirement. Imagine 70,000 plus watching their beloved bears being upset by another unranked team and all of a sudden... the big one hits! Sadly, there won't be enough tables for everyone to cower under. Throngs of Berkeley brainiacs will resort to making mad dashes out their seats as if the exits were offering free pocket protectors to the first ten people. But when the dust settles, all you will hear on the news is utter tragedy - that there were no free pocket protectors at the exits.

Alrite, I will fess up - it's not so much that I care about the Cal Bear nation, it's more like I don't care for tree-sitters. That little stunt cost California tens of millions of dollars on security measures. The law abiding, non-tree-sitting people of California will end up being slapped with this bill. And it's not fair that they were treated like royalty up there. Because if I was up there chucking down buckets of human waste, they'd just chop the tree down with me in there. Either that or they would just set the tree on fire and leave me to fend for myself.

And what of the trees? With the tree-sitters sitting in and defiling these innocent redwoods for 22 months, what tree wouldn't want to be euthenanized? Those tree-sitters just hurt their own cause and their cause is going to hurt them. At least I secretly hope so. Needless to say, these tree-sitters need better things to do. Take a shower, get pottie retrained, and work on a resume or two. The to-do list should stretch for light years.

Something Smells Fishy...

Put those celebrations on hold, party people. I'm not dead - not yet, anyway. And I don't intend to be until I reach the glorious, ripe age of 173. Why 173? It's just a random number. Don't look too much into it.

So with the news of the Alaskan governor joining the presidential race, I feel a bladder-bulging obligation to share a cool picture from the land "up over." Here it is, in all it's glory, or should I say gory...


The picture needs no explanation, but what kind of blogger would I be if I just slapped on a picture and not give it the proper words it is due? Still a pretty bad one. But it's the blogger's code and I must abide by it. Never heard of this code, you say? That's because it's a set of rules and regulations that I put together for fun. And Section 148.c specifically states that all pictures that need no explanation must be explained.

Anywho, this is my cousin from Alaska. And no, I'm not talking about the fish. I have yet to meet family that belong to an aquatic species. But even more surprising is that the guy with a modicum of Asian resemblance is not my cousin either! But rather, it's the Turkish delight on the left. I've censored his smooth 'stache to conceal his identity. PETA would have a field day with him.

But show me someone that's not impressed with the size of that halibut and I'll show you a liar. Perhaps the greatest feat to be feated in the history of my family, this picture has brought honor to the family, counteracting the slabs of shame I haul in year after year. Sure, I have other cousins who do some pretty nifty things... One puts his life on the line everyday to protect citizens, one contributes to academia and the public community, one turns savage natives into classy scholars, and one is a world-renown organ scholar. But this one catch outshines them all. My younger cousins have blindingly bright futures ahead of them and may top this one day but trying to out-cool this bountiful catch is still akin to me trying to do long division - might as well wave that white flag while it's still clean.

The Louvre has Mona Lisa. The Forbidden Palace has Mao Zedong. And my family? We have the halibut slayer.

Oh, and that red, bloody-like substance bleeding out of the flesh - that's just rasperry jam.

Free To Bet

It just came to me that I have a blog. And blogs get updated. Seeing as how my last post was when oil was a bargain at about $100 a barrel, it probably means my blog deserves better treatment. I mean you can't ignore a blog like you can a child. Okay, scratch that. No parent should ever ignore their children, even the middle one. But my point is that this Free Tibet thing is a becoming more poppycockish by the minute. Hmm... do my transitions need a little work? ....nah.

Anywho, where I'm from, Planet Earth, the Olympic torch relay has become a big deal. Security is being beefed up wherever the torch goes to stop ungainly Frenchmen from snuffing out the flame. In San Francisco, the Gav pulled a fast one and changed the route of the relay at the last minute. All this hoopla because people either want to show their support for an independent Tibet or need an excuse to delay filling out job applications.

If I were to open up a store that only sold Tibet flags, I'd be seeing a lot of green right about now. And by green, I'm talking about the marijuana residue left on the monies that the tree-hugging, hygene-phobic hippies use to buy these flags. The funny thing is that those Tibet flags are probably made in China. Perhaps, it's more ironic than funny. Or perhaps, it's not. But those flags have to be selling like hotcakes. And like hotcakes, several weeks from now, those flags are going to be mighty stale. What are people going to do with the flag then? I've got an idea. Bring it to Beijing and wave it around.

But seriously, I don't really care whether Tibet gets independence or not. I just don't think people should turn the Olympics into a political fanfare. The Olympics is a time for countries to put their differences aside. It should be about international unity and laughing at those massive guys that grunt when they do the shot put. So just sit back and enjoy the 2008 Olympics, mmkay?

Casi-NO or Casi-YES?

Great zoinks! Super Tuesday is here! And yes, I did vote... sort of. How could I not? Oh yeah, because I hate voting. It's not like we're voting on whether or not to blow up the sun. Because if that was on the ballot, you can be sure as nails I'd cast my vote. Lousy sun, always giving people sunburns... But anyway, yes, I did vote. If you've watched any tv or listened to any radio in the past month, you know that the whole casino issue is big. It's so big, that even the Native Americans are speaking out on it. They even had commercials supporting both sides of the issue during the Super Bowl. Well, not during the actual game, but during commercial time.

So if I'm understanding this properly, here's how it works - a "yes" vote on Propositions 94, 95, 96, and 97 means yes to Indian gaming. A "no" vote on those propositions means no to Indian gaming. So what should you vote? Here's my recommendation: vote yes on 94 and 96 and vote no on 95 and 97. If that's not being fair, then I don't know what is. I'm not serious - don't actually do that. You will surely mess up the system and doom mankind by doing so. And it's probably not a good idea to take political advice from me. After all, I'm still trying to find out what Propositions 1 through 93 are. And the first thing that comes to my mind when I think about Indian gaming is Oregon Trail, that old school computer game, which is weird because I'm not even sure if there were Indians in that game.

Anywho, stop wasting your time here. It's Super Tuesday. If you're a registered voter, go do your business. And then go vote.

Let Dwayne Fall

Whoever was praying to the rain gods a couple of weeks ago, thank you for stopping. That had to be the worst storm I've ever been in. I was going to work and the rain hitting my face hurt so much that I cried. I don't care what anybody thinks. I'll cry in the middle of a storm if I want to. Well, that's only because nobody can tell when it's coming down so hard. Alright, maybe I didn't cry but the windy winds just made it worse. And unlike the seat of Michael Moore's pants, the Bay Area is not used to so much wind. That's probably why people here still think that they can walk into a storm of biblical proportions and go unscathed by using an umbrella. I gotta admit though, it is entertaining to see umbrellas flip over and blow away.

I suppose rain isn't all bad tho. In fact, I had a friend tell me she likes the rain. And if you do too, I can only assume that it's because you like making people sad. But I did see, firsthand, some good that came from the rain. For example, the urine and feces that I usually have to side step around to get to the entrance at work was gone. And the streets that are usually decorated with hobos and druggies... all gone too! Too bad it took an act of God to make it happen.

So because of the rain, I've been looking for a good song about rain. And if you know me, which nobody does, you would know that I'm horrible at paying attention to the lyrics. You could send me a song about some of the most offensive and obscene lyrics, but if it has a good beat and melody, to me, that's a keeper. That probably explains my jpop obsession in college. Actually, maybe jpop was what made me ignore song lyrics altogether. Or perhaps I'm just a bad listener. At any rate, when I hear a song, the lyrics typically go through one ear and bounces out the same ear. So back to the rain song, I decided I would pick out a song and transcribe the lyrics. So the song that came to my mind was Come Clean by Hilary Duff. I had to listen to the song a bunch of times to get the lyrics down so hopefully me sacrificing my sanity was worth it. You might want to go to Youtube or Imeem and play the actual song so you can follow my lyrics. So here's how the song sounds to me...

Song: Come Clean
Artist: Hilary Duff
Lyrics: me!

Lets go back, back to the beginning
Back to when the earth, the sun, the stars all aligned
'Cause perfect didn't feel so perfect
Trying to fit a swear into a circle was malign
Eye de fi...

Let Dwayne fall down and break my jeans
Let it wash away my sand, Neddy
'Cause i wanna feel the thunder
I want ice cream
Let Dwayne fall down
I'm coming, Queen
I'm common green

I'm sh---ing, sh---ing every color
Trying to find the pig man of drool beneath my scam
Ooooo
Cause different doesn't feel so different
Can go in at a sweater that always stay in me
Weee o way when

Let Dwayne fall down and break my jeans
Let it wash away my sand, Neddy
'Cause i wanna feel the thunder
I want ice cream
Let the Dwayne fall down
I'm coming, Queen
I'm common green

I'm calling Queen
Aye ye yea...

Let the rain fall
Let the rain fall
I'm coming...

Let Dwayne fall down and break my jeans
Let it wash away my sand, Neddy
'Cause i wanna feel the thunder
I want ice cream
Let the Dwayne fall down
I'm coming, Queen

Home coming queen
Home coming king

Let the rain fall
Let the rain fall
Let the rain fall

I'm becoming Greek

Let's go back, back to the beginning...

Happy Christmas and Merry New Year!

You wouldn't know but for a guy with all the time in the world, I've been surprisingly busy. Don't ask me how that happens... or else! ...or else I'll have to answer you. I've got a lot of blogging to catch up on which means nothing but wasted time and misery for you. I have so much to talk about that I don't even know where to start. Never mind that I actually started several sentences ago and do know where to start. It's continuing what I started that leaves me in a quandary of sorts.

So let's just jump to the show-and-tell portion of my post. I've found a Christmas card that reminds me of how my Christmas went...


So as you have probably surmised by now, I spent the blessed Advent season denying people of gifts for perfectly reasonable and understandable reasons. But to be fair, the guy in the picture isn't that ugly, right? I mean doesn't he kinda look like m... oh, never mind...

All joking aside, I had a very merry Christmas. And I'd like to wish you all a horribly belated Merry Christmas and a somewhat on-time Happy New Year!

Hark, now hear the angels sing, a king was born today,
And man will live for evermore, because of Christmas Day!