25 December 2007

OGDC and the Kids Tenders

Typically one would expect a holiday themed entry on the day of Christmas, but the problem inherent is that you limit the relevance of the writing. Though stories of twinkling lights, epiphanies, gluttony, family, love, and gravity defying mammals all make good fare for writing, I’m going to write about something which is different yet, I feel, equally worthy: perversion.

My Dad has significant hearing loss in both ears. To allow him to enjoy watching television we put on the closed captioning. As the action occurs we get blocks of black with white letters across the screen, sometimes accurate, sometimes giving you reason to wonder if child labor is used in this capacity in Texas (I believe in a child’s right to work damn it!). Yesterday, Christmas Eve, some family members and I caught a boxing championship on some network. Sadly, closed captioning isn’t used to cover sounds as well, so no “thwaps” or “pffts” or “coo coo cachou.’ They did relate the commentary of announcers and officials. “He went at him like an octopus!” was one such line. Shortly later, the following words were said, but more importantly, printed on the screen: “He likes it when a guy comes in hard!”

Seeing the words allowed me to take them out of context in my mind and, like any self respecting man of intelligence, twist them into an entirely different meaning. You may think this is only my own immature, or rather quite powerful, ability to pervert innocent statements. But it wasn’t just me! My whole family laughed. We are all talented and imaginative.

I was reminded of a few years ago when my sister and I discovered the joy of soundboards on the internet. We came across clips for a show which I will call “Oso in the Grande Depressed Casa” to avoid issues with libel and such. OGDC was a children’s program combining actors donning fluffy costumes, puppetry and cheap animation. When looking at the sound clips that were available, every part of my being that loves to laugh tingled and my perverse sense of humor ejaculated forth from my hand onto the mouse, into the computer, and out of the speakers. Phrases of pure perverted gold trickled and dripped from my brain and I created many deliciously decadent statements. “Its too big Oso, it’s too big! Mgghhh!”, “Let me lick it Oso let me lick it!”, “I’m coming, I’m COMING!” and maybe a few others I can’t quite remember.

Some would say this is repulsive. I say it is alluring. Others would say they detest such perversion. I say lay back, open up, take a deep breath and just get ready to take it. Like it or not many people have a sense of humor. This is one of the best parts of a human personality. We may get shit on, things may not go as planned, and you can get red dots in places you don’t want (hypothetically speaking of course). Be it saintly or satanic, anything can be funny. After all if you can’t enjoy a menu item at a movie tavern called “Kids Tenders”* you can’t enjoy life.


*Real menu item.


Seventeen weeks of planning, preparation, and perspiration

Seventeen weeks of second-guessing, double-checking, and


Seventeen weeks of worry, and hope, and laughs, and reading and writing and stress and

cramped muscles and headaches.

Seventeen weeks of running from the Blue Line to Lincoln Hall so as to never be late.

Seventeen weeks of driving Gring
O and The World’s Biggest Asshole mad

with my schemes and my fretting.

Seventeen weeks, waiting for this.

Plan A: 27 August 2007 – 23 December 2007

As the guy no one elected but is still the President would say, “Mission Accomplished.”


Mad ups to the Crunk Monk Mafia and to The GringO and TWBA for all their support. Without you...

12 December 2007

New School...

...new banner. Look at banner, person!

Old School...

We kill everything. Even expectations.

11 December 2007

Look What I Can Do!

Several things I am oddly proud of:

  • I can grow a great goatee;
  • I somehow attract extremely talented artists into my circle of friends;
  • My ability to leave a skidmark after even the most vigorous, industrious flushes;
  • That I always have a nugget of information about obscure topics;
  • My death metal vocal stylings;
  • My encyclopedic knowledge of the psychologies and philosophies of comic book characters;
  • I have never completed any writings of James Joyce;
  • That I make people laugh with inappropriate comments;
  • That no one can insult me as well as I can;
  • My belches are both sonorous and have surprising longevity;
  • That I can enjoy with equal fervor Spice Girls and Slayer, especially one after the other;
  • I have expressive eyebrows.

So, whaddaya got?


05 December 2007

Mmm...boot leather

I was working in Hell on Sunday when I did the unthinkable, the unrecoverable, the unforgivable, but yet still understandable, most feared act in all of customer service.

A rather bulky gentleman was looking through a table of shitty clothes that I had just folded, in the men's department, checking for sizes and such. I was annoyed so I walked over and said, to his back, "May I help you, sir?"
And he turned and stared at me. So I smiled and said, "Do you need any help, sir?" And he continued to stare. I stared back. Insert sound effect from Tom & Jerry of two piano keys corresponding to blinks.

And then I smelled what I was stepping in.

"I mean, ma'am?"

SHE continued to stare, and I felt her piggy little eyes boring into my back as I walked away.

When I revealed what I did to Wonder Woman, the coworker in closest proximity, she said, "Do you think you'll get fired?" And I thought about it. I have said some really bizarre and belligerent shit to both customers and staff while in my tenure at Hell, but I had yet to fully mistake someone's gender. At least, out loud.
So I answered, "Well, no, because I think that it's neither the worst thing I have ever said here and that I am most likely not alone in thinking that SHE'S a dude."

Two points in my defense: I have had gender differentiation issues before. I remember thinking that RuPaul was one hot cup of chocolate when he broke on the scene. I was twenty, what the fuck did I know? And the person SHE most resembled is this guy, from the back and the front:
I challenge anyone to be able to tell me a dude is not a dude when said individual looks like Mr. Color Commentary himself. SHE even had the haircut.

Thanks to the growing demographic of bull-dike lesbians shopping at the store, it will most likely happen again. And you know what? It will be just as funny then, too.