whew, it feels good to be out of rehab, and to finally beat that murder rap.

perhaps I shall begin posting again.

shout out to all my peeps at the b-ford clinic and the homies keep'n it real in cell block 8.

my holiday shopping began recently with a trip to the fantastically craptastic Big Lots. besides having the nations worst name, Big Lots claims to be the "nations largest broadline closeout retailer". an odd choice for a marketing catch phrase, i doubt many of their shoppers can decipher the meaning of "broadline closeout retailer". i emailed Big Lots a few catch phrases that might be a little more effective; "for the discriminating shopper unsatisfied with dollar general", "more crap than you can shake a stick at" and finally "our low, low prices are indicators of quality".

Big Lots sell things like hammers that don't work, giant bags of cookies suffering from early 70's Ukrainian packaging design, and an assortment of pre-broken toys. all things you'd never buy until you see the price. I had no desire or use for a plastic bucket filled with broken glass and macadamian nuts, but at $2, i'd have been a fool to pass it up.

so, in other words, Big Lots is not really the place you would holiday shop for the people you care about. it's an excellent place to find white elephant gifts for all the people at the office that you could care less about. for that reason, i love Big Lots. perhaps i should add "gifts for the people you hate" to the list of potential catch phrases.

stumbling across whoopee cushions in Big Lots was not a surprise, the fact that they were new self inflating whoopee cushions was a great surprise. such advanced technology surely belongs in the sharper image store, certainly not Big Lots. my love for technology coupled with my obsession with all things poo related, rendered me immediately fascinated. I was transfixed. "try me" proclaimed the packaging, such an invite could not be ignored. i squeezed it, nothing. i squeezed again, still nothing. the mechanical mind now engaged, i examined the self inflating whoopie cushion for the design flaw resulting in it's silence. i noticed the air intake portal was positioned on the top side center of the cushion. this is an important aspect of the design. in normal field use, a fat blubbery ass would block the escape of air through the intake, forcing it out the flapping rubber exhaust portal. the result being a sound easily mistaken for a big, fat, juicy, ass ripping fart.

putting the new theory into action, this time i squeezed with my thumb covering the intake portal. it worked. it worked really well. it worked really loud. in fact, it was the loudness that broke me from my transfixed state. it was the loudness that made me realize i had just made a big, fat, juicy, ass ripping fart noise in a store filled with shoppers. shoppers with ears. shoppers with mouths that will no doubt soon be recounting the story of some dude ripping monster farts at Big Lots.

i attempted to mitigate the embarrassment, with exaggerated theatrical movements trying to draw attention to the whoopie cushion. I dropped the it, picked it up and took it for a few laps around the store in hopes people would notice the whoopee cushion and realize i am not a public farter, only a sad, pathetic man obsessed with all things poo.

more about the design of the self inflating whoopie cushion...

I fear the positioning of the intake portal may have potentially horrific results. say one was to plant the cushion in the chair of a small and frail person. perhaps the chair of your grandmother. if grandmother sat just right with her personal exhaust portal perfectly aligned with the intake portal of the cushion, there is the chance the that the suction power of the self inflation device might deflate your grandmother. if this happened, i suggest quickly reversing the cushion, affixing the cushions exhaust portal to grandma's exhaust portal and squeezing the cushion, hopefully she will re-inflate.

one final thought on the self inflating whoopee cushion. personally i am glad to see the whoopie cushion industry looking into new inflation technologies but refusing to change the traditional design of the sound device used. it may be cheaper to use a microchip containing a digital recording of a fart. but the industry knows that digital audio has it's failings. the fidelity of a digitally sampled fart lacks the warmth and personality of an analog fart.

this certainly is "unbelievable" technology. how does a microwave made of butter not melt its self when turned on?

also unvbelievable is that they can fit 15 of those butter microwaves in a single box.

whats next? peanutbutter toasters packed into envelopes?

inside my skull,
giant june bugs bump and bash trying to escape
synapses duck from frequent and random friendly fire
magic fingers vibrate
a spastic sphincter quivers
all for a buck eighty seven.
fuck you very much, starbucks.

i got a flu shot today!

na na a poo poo!

in fact, i got two. just because i could.

my feet are a bit sore from stomping my way across an ocean of small children and elderly woman to get it.

a bit odd, the nurse walked into the room with the syringe, she told me to drop my pants and bend over. i did so, then she gave me the shot, in my upper arm.

ultranote - i know you are probably saying to your self that this sounds out of character for the humanitarian griff, stepping on babies and all. well, get used to it. this is the new griff. the new rethuglican griff. i think it is time to celebrate the fact that i was born a white male and am part of the huge corporate machine that keeps this country humming. i have wasted too much time and too many votes in attempt to empower the down trodden. if the white wannabees, jews, fruitcakes, tree huggers, and dames can't get their shit together and vote correctly, it is their own damn fault. for the next four years, it's all about me and my new buddy, dubya, and whatever serves our best interests. the old griff is dead. the new griff wonders why you hate america.

today i heard a few words of inspiration giving me great encouragement to vote.

a person reminded me that voting is the great equalizer. we are all equal, we all have one vote.

my vote counts just as much as rush limbaugh's vote, or al franken's vote. it counts just as much as the vote of bush or kerry themselves.

the inspiration quickly faded when i reversed the logic to discover that my vote counts only as much as that moron standing in front of the 7-11 wearing swim goggles, a large sombrarro, and cycling shorts with a squirrel mounted on his shoulder.

oh, i also realized there is a difference between limbaugh, franken and i. i don't have access to television or radio outlets to influence millions of votes. i only have access to roughly 8 half retarded loyal readers of ultramicroscopic (no, you're not the tard. although some may question that shirt with those pants).

vote. vote to offset the vote of the insane and stupid.

an open letter to the nine percent of the country that make up the undecided voters...

dear undecided voter,

are you fucking retarded?

sincerely,
griff

this morning if found my underwear drawer nearly barren, only one pair remained. the last of the skivvies lay waiting. vertical blue and white stripes adorn cloth forming a small pouch and a skimpy backside, joined by only an elastic waist band. a pair my wife gave me 20 or so pounds ago.

my options (other than doing laundry)
- go shopping for new, but what would i wear to the store?
- microwave a dirty pair (much faster than using the washing machine).
- adopt a free range testicle policy for the day.
- wear the stupid thing.

i am now wearing the stupid thing, constantly repositioning and adjusting the boys while simultaneously fishing the ultramicroscopic cloth backside out from my expansive and deep crevasse.

no doubt, today will be the day i slip on a busy side walk and paramedics are forced to cut my pants off as i lie in the street. thousands will gather, including the film crew of fox's world's most dangerous underpants, my fruity little panties will be revealed to all.

since this is a blog, it is mandatory that i feed the rumor mill surrounding bush's bulge.

what the hell is wrong with all you conspiracy 'tards out there?! i am telling you, it is not an electronic communications device.

if you knew anything about droids, you would know the bulge is the electrotezgar fuel interface standard on all republocorp politibot 4000 model droids. i shouldn't have to tell you the electronic communications receiver is actually located way up in the buttocks region (next to the central processing unit).

oh, c'mon, don't tell me you thought he was human all this time.

hmmm, judging by the lack of posting, i must be on vacation.

but i am not.

very strange.

travel can really mess with a man's internal poo clock. the clock slows, and opportunities infrequent. the whole thing can be very traumatic if combined with vacation circumstances of an over crowded cottage, a single semi functioning toilet and an exclusive diet of grilled hotdogs and beer.

the wife's great grandfather built the cottage by hand. back then people were smaller and didn't poo as much. the technological advancement of toilets has changed the way we poo. back in the day the bowls were smaller, flushing power was weak, and the seats were uncomfortable. these factors limited people to making poo once a week or so, and doing it very quickly. that was a good thing, people had cities to build. no time for sitting around making mud.

today, oversized bowls, super suction turbo flush and cushioned seats have increased poo frequency, volume, and duration. so, what does this have to do with the price of toilet paper in china? well, my point being, i'm spoiled by the miracle of modern toiletry. i poo when, where and for as long as i want.

the cottage toilet is small, tired and over worked. it seriously doubt it could properly support me in my endevors. a hand made sign above the tank states local law, "if it's yellow, let it mello. if it's brown flush it down". the boys love to ask me about the sign. they think it's funny to hear their dad talk about poop and pee.

ok moving on, you may wonder just how rare are the opportunities to poop? lets do some math.
12 (people staying at the cottage) x 6 (visits per person per day) x 5 (minutes, average visit duration) = 6 hours of occupation during awake hours. but my math is flawed, it doesn't account for swim suit changes, showers, or brushing of teeth. further screwing the equation, the majority of users are female, this greatly increasing usage frequency. conclusion: whenever you have to poo, forget it, it's occupied.

beyond the math, there are other more subtle hurdles to my poopage, like guilt, shame, and paranoia. finding the toilet unoccupied may seem like a blessing but, it can quickly become a hot seat. upon sitting, the mind reels. hurry, there is soon to be a knock, don't fart audibly, don't leave a stench, don't leave skid marks, remember to courtesy flush so not to choke the bowl, don't be the one facilitating a phone call to the plumber, you don't want to be remembered as it's last passenger. there's also some thing disconcerting about piggybacking on the yellow left behind to mellow. just too much to deal with.

in the wee hours of what would be my 4th consecutive pooless day, i awoke to the dreaded appearance of turtle head. the clock read 3:07 am. too early. i rolled over hoping the turtle would see his shadow and duck back into his hole meaning six more hours of sleeping. suddenly my eyes audibly pop wide open, epiphony, three oh seven! the cottage is sleeping. the toilet would be available and it's seat properly cooled. i quietly made my way to the bathroom anticipating the joy of an overdue but thearaputic wicked growler.

i settled in. no worries. from the stack near the toilet's base, i picked up a 1998 issue of national geographic. found an interesting article about the slow un-stopable movement of giant arctic glaciers. 38 seconds later i was interrupted by a knock at the door. unbelievable.

defecatious interuptus. foiled again. who the hell gets up to poo at 3 am?!?!

king kone is very proud of it's 6, no wait 8 flavors. screw baskin robbins.

unlike previous get rich quick plans, this one is a sure thing.

imagine your shower, free from the clutter of plastic bottles and gooey soap bars. i know, sounds too good to be true. well, i can make it happen, i have a dream.

ultramicroscopic industries has redesigned the standard shower head and control to not only dispense water, but shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream and chunky style gravy. ultramicroscopic has engaged with utility companies around the world to leverage the existing water grid and deliver an always on, unlimited, in home solution. multiple monthly subscription plans will be offered similar to cable television. base subscriptions will include pert shampoo, gold subscriptions will offer neutrogena and heinz fat free roasted turkey gravy.

i have been traveling with work quite a bit of late and have accumulated many, many of those free 1 oz hotel bottles. all combined, they should get me through the first year. watered down properly, maybe two years.

oh, the gravy? that's just a little fantasy i have and i figure i can't be the only one.

one can only wonder what rock and roll would be today if this cement mixer had been roaming the streets of london on that fatefull night, september 17, 1970. if only jimi would have heeded the advice of the giant, slowly turning mixer.

fast approaching an unidentifiable lump in the road, i held my course. 30 feet from the lump, a bushy tail twitched. i immediately recognized it to be a squirrel. i swerved, sparing the little critter. my first thought was that he must have been sleeping. then i realized i was retarded.

the squirrel had been hit earlier, and was suffering a slow, painful death. i felt sorry for it, and became angry at myself for not running over him and enabling his departure to the great oak tree in the sky. i then decided to loop around and squish the little guy. when i put on my blinker to loop around, i realized that was even more retarded. i returned my blinker to the off position.

the conundrum consumed my thoughts. after 20 minutes, distraught turned to anger when i realized those were 20 minutes i would never get back. 20 minutes spent pondering the existence of a stupid squirrel. I decided the next time i see a squirrel crossing the road (or sleeping for that matter), i'm gonna flatten the little fucker. one of those little bastards must pay for every second of my tortured 20 minutes. 20 minutes i could have spent thinking about new donut fillings, monkeys dancing in little sailor suits, or even garden gnomes made of milk chocolate.

legally i can't claim this blog is completely carb free, but i can say you will lose weight if you read it instead of eating.

so, read all you want, i'll make more.

a young attractive woman stood at the band's merchandise table. without hesitation, she removed her shirt. naked from the waist up, she waited for a new shirt. she then leisurely slipped the new baby doll t over her head and stretched it across her chest.

this all sounds very rock and roll, but in actuality it was much more pathetic. what follows are a few signs i am attending the wrong rock shows.

rock and roll violation #1, the guitarist was manning the merchandise table between sets.

the rock and roll rule book clearly states in section 12 paragraph 4, "between sets the band must retreat backstage for a chemical booster, all the while perpetuating the persona of aloofness and secrecy"

rock and roll violation #2, when the shirt came off, eight guys stood slack jawed, unable to utter a sound.

back to the rule book, section 24 paragraph 5, "in the presence of female nudity or the potential for nudity, male fans are required to respond with whooo whooo, yeah baby or the time tested standard of your place or mine? honey!

rock and roll double violation #3 and #4, when the bass player walked up, the guitarist claimed "dude, you won't believe this, i just talked a chick into taking her shirt off! she got naked right here!"

section 3, paragraph 2, "band members should never need to lie about getting chicks naked to impress their band mates." claiming he talked her into it was a lie. he never uttered a single word to encourage nudity, her volunteerism was heroic.

section 1, paragraph 1, "never express excitement over naked chicks. the foundation of the rock star persona is based on the fact that a rock star sees more ass than a toilet seat." the rule book does provide an exemption for drummers.

probably the worst rock and roll violation was that the band played very well and are obviously talented musicians. i will let that violation slide.

sometimes for lunch i'll get an egg salad sandwich with bacon, but i don't like egg salad. other days i'll get a b.l.t. but not for the lettuce or tomato. it's all about he bacon. got me wondering, why don't i forget all that other stuff and just get a bacon sandwich?

i'll tell you why, because if you eat too much bacon you will die. that is what THEY say. why bacon contain greater evil than ham or other pig meats?

you know what? i am an adult. i can eat anything i choose. i can eat cake before dinner. screw cabbage and beets. i can mix pixie stix into my pepsi if i desire. i want a triple bacon sandwich, dammit.

some guy here at the office recently had his 20 year anniversary party. the company provided a couple of jumbo fruit plates, cheese, crackers and cake. at my 20 year i'm having bacon. a tray of extra crispy, a tray of thick cut, a tray of canadian bacon, and a bowl of bacon bits to sprinkle on top of my bacon. oh, and a pitcher of bacon juice to wash it down.

now that's livin'.

ultranote - did you know there are 6 or less degrees of seperartion from any food and bacon? see the above graphic for proof.

home depot is a manly place. so much so, it can be very intimidating for some one like me who does not own a circular saw. saturday afternoon the isles are jammed with posers, of which i am one. i stop shaving thursday. saturday morning i don my worst t-shirt and my sweat stained ball cap. i load my pockets with broken doo-hickies to ponder as i walk the isles looking for perfect matches.

this particular saturday, a rugged looking manly man before me at the check out pushed a cart containing track lighting, pvc tubing, and patio bricks. the contents of his cart successfully completed the trifecta of manlyness; electrical, plumbing and landscaping. i was no match with a cart full of flowers. or at least i thought.

as the line moved, he moved to the side of his cart revealing some thing i had not originally noticed. lining the child seat of the cart was a soft and fuzzy pink and blue baby blanked. the blanket comforted a black poodle barely bigger than a cat. manly man made a clicking noise that prompted the fancy pants poodle to stand on his hind legs. the poodle's front paws rested on manly man's chest, they were nose to nose. in falsetto baby talk, the man asked the poodle if she would be helping him work in the yard today. the poodle responded licking his face and climbing up to perch itself atop manly man's broad shoulders. there the dog sat for the entire check out process.

i am confused. i am quite sure this is the first time i have seen a poodle ride a human around home depot.

a couple of years ago, a friend (or should i say a bad influence) confessed to me that he sometimes giggles uncontrollably while urinating with strangers in public restrooms. I told him he was a weirdo.

little did i know at the time he told me, but it is an infectious condition that is passed through confession. i never think about his confession, until i am standing in front of a urinal. not when i am standing alone in front of a urinal, only when a stranger is standing at the urinal next to me. that is when the infection reveals it symptoms, and i begin giggling like an ass.

why reveal such an embarrassing affliction in such a public forum? in hopes that my suffering can end by passing the infection to you.

i now realize the poo haiku was a stupid idea. the ultramicroscopic research team has discovered the text messages only confused toilet users. feelings of confusion can lead to constipation resulting in a frustrated toilet user. it's time for ultramicroscopic to return to it's original mission of promoting general good will. ultra microscopic wants to help the users, not hinder.

additional studies have found toilet users desire a comforting and hospitable environment. one that fosters flow.

so, instead of bringing my sharpie pen to the public restroom, i now bring andes creme de menthe thins. i pre-pull a generous amount of paper, fold it fancy like, then top it off with a delicious mint. so far, it seems to be well recieved, soon people will line up to use the stall after me.

i apologize to pain and suffering caused by the poo haiku, enjoy the mint, consider it restitution and a gesture of good will.

i would like to thank cnn.com for killing all past, present, and future lesbian fantasies.

i never knew it was possible to have a wardrobe malfunction, but i like the concept.

the concept that any action can be classified as a malfunction, even when the action was perfectly predictable.

it relieves the guilty of any personal responsibility. it also opens up a new world or excuses i plan to use...

to my wife, "i'm sorry about the other woman, it was just a penis malfunction"
to my kids, "i'm sorry, missing your birthday, it was a beer malfunction"
to my parents, "i'm sorry about dropping you off at the old fart home, it was a driving malfunction"
to my neighbor, "i'm sorry about the poop in your mailbox, it was a sphincter malfunction"
to my boss, "i'm sorry about the megacorp sales pursuit meeting, i was detained by a hooker malfunction"
to my creditors, "i'm sorry, it was a spending malfunction"
to my president, "i'm sorry i doubted you on the wmd issue, it was a intelligence malfunction"

i just realized campaigning for the presidency is much like attending dentistry school to become a architect. i don't believe it qualifies or prepares the person in any way for the position they aspire to.

i have also realized that i know alarmingly little about the democratic candidates, but i do know just enough to make a decision. it is hardly a topic to waste valuable brain activity on.

as a public service to hew hampshirites, ultramicroscopic has put together a comprehensive quick reference voters guide. hopefully this guide will aid you in a quick decision so you can return to porn surfing and mp3 stealing.

howard dean - proved there are not as many bloggers in iowa as originally thought.

john kerry - i think he's the one with the artificial leg made from munster
cheese, right?

dennis kucinich - once ate an entire goat in a single sitting.

joe leiberman - is mildly retarded but had eye lid surgery to conceal it.

wesley clark - old military guy, wait, how is that possible? he can't be a democrat.

john edwards - talks to dead people who want to let you know they are ok.

al sharpton - highly entertaining hair that seems to have a platform of it's own.

other guy - i think his name is gephardt?

well, i think the choice is obvious, go forth and vote!

dear extreme right,

all this talk about what is a marriage and what is not has me confused.

my wife and i have been married for 10 years. i have a sex change operation scheduled for next tuesday. will this effectively downgrade our marriage to civil union status?

if so, could she in turn have a sex change to get us back to married status?

I have an ongoing thing with a hermaphrodite that might be worth leaving my wife for. if we were to marry, is there anything like a half married status?

what if i marry the hermaphrodite and rosey o'donnel. together i assume they count as one woman between them and everything would be cool again, right?

i look forward to your guidance, i understand your concern in my personal issues and the last thing i would ever want you to lose sleep over is my marital status. worse yet, i would feel terrible if my personal actions some how cheapened your marriage. i believe there is no work to be done in this country as important as the work you are doing.

p.s. have i accrued any credit for the 10 years (that's 1,825 times longer than britney lasted!) that can be applied to future relationships?

love,
griff

i am perfectly capable of strapping on the ass hat un-aided at any given moment.

that being said, i recently discovered the consumption of beer can cause the ass hat to majestically grow in size and radiate a neon glow. time can also factor into exaggeration of the ass hat. beyond 1 am the ass hat grows a bull horn. it ensures not just those in the immediate vicinity witness my embarrassing behavior, but so do the people way over there.

hangin' at a local honky tonk with my posse, tossin' back lone stars at the bar was plenty fun enough. why i felt it necessary to push the fun needle into the red is still a mystery to me.

i don't sing in public because i suck at singing. a realization i am quite proud of making since watching people completely unaware they suck on american idol. when the juke box rocked slobberbone's placemat blues, i forgot that i don't sing in public. then i forgot that i don't sing in public again for the next 3 consecutive slobberbone songs the juke spit out. there i was, foot stompin', rockin' like dokken and wearing the ass hat in all it's splendor.

now, often times one will don the ass hat and never even know it's perched upon their head. i could have been one of the ignorant if it wasn't for the bartender. it took her a moment to gain my full attention. she informed me that brent best (the lead singer for slobberbone) was seated at a table just behind me enjoying my little show. i thought she was kidding, but sure 'nuff, i turn to see she was not.

since i was there and you were not, i will just say the story ends much like the movie rock star and i have replaced brent in the band. look for me touring a city near you.

ultranote - upon writing and rethinking the events of sober mind, why would the juke spit out 4 consecutive songs by the same band?!? either they played 'em to honor brent's presence OR i was so entertaining, they just wanted to see how long i would go.

think nothing, think nothing, think nothing.
don't think about her breasts brushing my arm.
think about baseball.

think nothing.
don't think about punching her and running out the door.
think about different kinds of cheese.

due to the close proximity required to cut hair and the deafening silence between us, i was quite sure the stylist could easily read my mind. not only read my mind but dig deep into the files of my mind and know every thing about me. even know that i know she can read my mind, and it terrifies me.

a fear resulting in my mother doubling as my barber till 17 years of age.

of course, if i could have read the stylist's mind...

this kid is a dork... only 2 hours before mark picks me up in his camero... why is this kid sweating?... i wonder if anyone ate the last sprinkle donut... this kid needs more help than a hair cut... shit, i'm gonna be late for the neck doctor appointment.

here at ultramicroscopic we've received much mail from those seeking a cure for fecal impaction.

ok, maybe not that much mail, but i do expect it to pick up.

ok, not really, i just felt like writing about poop again.

as a public service to you the reader, i would like to share a few tips to keep you regular and happy. on occasion, mother nature needs a little help shaking one loose. here are a few sure fire activities to pinch a loaf.

1. drink black coffee. caffeine makes my sphincter dance.

2. buy the sunday paper. i'm not sure if there is a scientific connection here, it might just be pavlovian. the sunday edition is best, but it may work on any day.

3. wander a book store or music store. barnes and noble is one of the best, spacious stalls and fairly easy to sneak in a new book for added entertainment. be sure to bring a book mark, so you can finish that same book next time.

4. take a ride in your friend's expensive, new fangled car with a seat warmer. the only problem with this, is when things start moving, there may not be a quick and easy bathroom near.

5. look at the sun. i know that's activity is for inducing a sneeze, but seven or eight consecutive sneezes should also help you unpack.

under no circumstances should you ever mix and match the actions above, results could become wildly unpredictable.

sorry for the extended absence. i just discovered this internet thingy has porn all over it.

this is an actual error message i got when trying to post the monkey thing. first time i have ever seen it.

who said computer geeks have not sense of humor?

scientists have trained monkeys to control mechanical robot arms to perform menial tasks.

tell ya what, i'm gonna take a little nap, wake me when these scientists do something truly worthy. if these scientists really want to impress me, invent a simple joystick that allows me to control monkey arms. yeah, now THAT is what the future is all about.

i would use my monkey arms to do many things i prefer not to do with my human arms. things like:

- touching old people. i have always wanted to spend more time with the old people, but i don't want to touch them. some times they need to be repositioned or sponge bathed. monkey arms would be great for that.

- opening bathroom doors, toilet papering public toilet seats, dispensing paper towels, etc. nearly all potty related activities would be better handled by monkey arms so not to place myself at risk of dreaded poo cooties. i would of course draw the line at the wiping procedure, unless the monkey arms were really hot.

- dancing. how great would it be to see monkey arms spelling out Y-M-C-A or doing the macarana!? i could enjoy the fun and excitement that arm dancing offers but not suffer after taste of shame and guilt associated with arm dancing.

i challenge all the lame ass scientists that never delivered on promises of flying cars or super spring basket ball shoes. make the future exciting again. monkey arms for the masses!

science fact 1

whales poop.

the ocean is filled with whale poop, and i will never swim again.

i just finished the book everyone poops by taro gomi. according to this text, snakes and camels also poop.

science fact 2

the vocal cords of a cat are unaffected by helium.

my recent experiments show that when cats ingest helium, they pretty much sound the same and don't meow in that elf like voice.

science fact 3

cd's and marshmallows are the most entertaining objects you can place in a microwave oven.

i could blame the light posting lately on my job and weekly commute to atlanta, but i realized that is not the real reason.

the real reason is britney spears.

the constant and relentless barrage of britney propaganda provided by the media has whipped my ass. i am exhausted. a topic worthy of 14 seconds has consumed hours, days, weeks, and years of hype that has stolen my will to live. i would shoot myself, but i am too weary to lift the pistol.

at least my name isn't justin.

ultranote - a simple google search on britney spears revealed 5,900,000 returns, a search on tony blair revealed only 3,010,000. maybe tony should try the slut make over thing.

once again my comedic genius went completely un-noticed and in fact resulted in a long and awkward silence in which i died a thousand deaths (a form of death i am very familiar with).

the beer store cashier incorrectly over rang my purchase. I told her the product was on sale, $2 less than keyed into the register. unable to correct the error unassisted, she shouted across the store to the manager, "pam,... i have an overy"

i giggled slightly and quickly responded, "i have a testicle, we should get together."

the humor of my little joke completely depended on the cashier realizing what she had said, which she didn't. my little joke did not stand so well on it's own and most assuredly was considered a lame pick up line or sexual harassment.

manager pam slowly meandered over, consumed an eternity to fix the "overy" and complete the transaction. all in complete silence.

feeling like an ass, i still giggled, once i was in my car.

i am severly disappointed isabel didn't wash a single stupid ass reporter out to sea. gerlado's big stupid head lives another day.

the ancient nudie calendar hanging on the bathroom wall of my grandparent’s summer cottage claimed it was august year around. betty page wannabe girls posed carefully so not to reveal too much. clear acetate overlays printed with precisely registered artificial clothing hid the naughty bits. lifting the plastic layer would strip the calendar girl of her tiny bikini, skimpy underwear or fuzzy negligee revealing a butt cheek or on the rare occasion a single nipple.

at 6 years old, i was to short to reach the calendar. i considered standing on the toilet to reach it but feared the slightest noise (not associated with defecation) would alert my parents of my miscreant behavior. i feared they would burst through the door to find me kissing the calendar. kissing, because, that's what my friend bradley told me you were supposed to do to a naked woman. I told him i already knew that.

a few summers later, i had grown several inches taller and i looked forward to visiting the cottage. although i still didn't know much about naked women, the calendar created a feeling of urgency and made me want to do something, but i didn't know what. height no longer a hindrance to calendar access, a new hindrance was born. paranoia destroyed all hopes of exploring both the calendar and myself. i was certain my parents would notice the calendar's position on the wall had ultramicroscopically shifted or a finger print analysis of the acetate overlay would reveal my evil intentions.

eventually the calendar was removed when my grandparents retired to the cottage. grandma's interior design sensibilities did not include antiquated pinup style porn. it was gone, and my explorations had never made it past the ankles of miss september. ankles that were revealed to me at the peek of my bravery when i once used a pencil to carefully lift august, but just enough to reveal the lower portions of september's photo.

the calendar was my first porn (or so what i thought was porn). i'm certain that years of forbidden fruit temptations offered by the calendar resulted in my fetish for the betty page 50's style pin up girl style. kinda sick how the human brain works. I'm still trying to figure out where the chocolate covered midgets riding public transportation fetish began.

ultra note - i think it is important for younger readers to know there was a day before the porn home delivery system (internet) existed. and in that day, us oldtimers had to walk up hill both ways for our porn. porn that wouldn't even raise the eyebrow of today's jaded porn freaks surfing for lesbian farm animals in rubber wear action.

this morning while looking for my car keys, i found osama, saddahm, and a whole mess of weapons of mass destruction.

should i tell someone?

does anyone really care anymore?

i believe it is important to laugh at the physical deformities of your friends. it gives you a sense of superiority and reassurance to know your own personal deformities pale in comparison.

pictured are the toes of a close friend. growing up, i thought his webbed toes were the funniest thing on the planet. i called him flipper. i saw him this summer, i still find his toes to be funny.

oh, and he can swim like a motherfucker.

i assume the sign was posted because you never know when some one will up and steal your outdoor television out from under your other outdoor television.

when i originally drove by, the owner was outside watching both at once, sort of a picture on picture deal. when i returned with my camera, he was gone.

checking myself in the mirror today, i notice a long hair stuck to the front of my shirt. i immediately assumed it was transferred to me when I kissed the wife goodbye this morning.

i attempted to pluck the hair from my shirt. pain made me realize it was mine. closer inspection revealed a small tuft of hair where my neck connects to my chest. a spot impossible to shave. a spot not hidden by most button up shirts.

extending freakishly from the odd little tuft was the creepy mutant. no hair on my entire body measures over an inch (pubic, non withstanding), this one was at least four inches.

the four inch creepy mutant did not just appear overnight. it probably sprouted during the clinton administration, and grew strong in those times of prosperity.

how many i have disgusted in casual interaction with cashiers, waiters, strippers, and others. for how many has the creepy mutant induced extreme nausea and vomiting? how many friends and family have turned their heads in disgust and live in silence?

i am disowning all of you for letting me become the freak i am. did you think i was making a fashion statement?! what is wrong with you?! how could i suck so bad at personal hygiene?!

ultranote - i have addressed an envelope to each friend and family member that failed to inform me of the mutant hair. i have placed a lock of that mutant hair in each envelop. you will soon wish your mailbox was instead filled with anthrax.

we at ultramicroscopic share your concern about that thing on your arm. to aid you in self diagnosis of the malady of the month, we provide you with the above guide. simply match the thing on your arm to the proper malady.

once diagnosed there is no need to notify any health care official, simply take a bath with your toaster.

whatever you do, do NOT call the news media! i'm tired of hearing about you sick ass.

i wanna go bowling.

not later, i mean right now.

i wanna go bowling bad, right now.

...

nevermind, the feeling has passed. what the hell was i thinking?

last weekend we visited a very rural texas town.

i stopped at a convenience store to purchase beer. i put the 6 pack on the counter. the clerk looked at the beer, then up at me and asked "you want some minnows with that?"

the assumption being, if you are buying beer, you must be on your way down to the fishin' hole and you will be needing some bait.

later that day, we had dinner at the all you can eat catfish shack. my wife asked if they served beer, the waitress replied in a whisper "no, but if you have some in your truck, i can give you a cup".

the assumption being, every one driving 'round them parts gots beer in the truck (next to the minnows).

as we left the all you can eat cat fish shack, i over heard the owner say to an extremely large man in motorcycle leathers "well, i can cook you up a little sump'in, but i can't give ya the all you can eat deal."

the assumption being, the large man would eat all the catfish, wash it down with every ones beer and swallow all the minnows for dessert.

every day, when i drive past these hard working men, i want to tell them it is impossible, but who am i to crush a man's dream?

i admire their persistence, after each failure they immediately try again only a few hundred feet down the road.

i know very little about this curious machine, what i do know follows.

- the lingering odor that surround it resemble a combination of rancid cheese, wet dog, and roger ebert.
- a silver hose connects to a hole in the ground, i assume it is a direct line to the bowels of hell.
- it's name (odor demon) also implies family connections with hell.
- the typographic treatment and pathetic logo confirm the machine was in fact designed and manufactured in hell.
- the second (or top) silver hose seem to be some type of orifice interface, i assume it is a painful attachment.

what i do not know...

- i wonder if it is an importer or exporter of odors?
- i wonder if they make one for home use?
- i wonder if the hell end of the silver tube is directly connected to satan's ass?

the manicure salon next to the donut shop in the strip mall near my home has a buddhist alter surrounded by simple offerings; water, fresh flowers, fresh fruit, incense, and marlboro cigarettes. yep, cigarettes. a fresh pack to the left and a smoldering butt at the center of the alter.

i am not really up on my theology, but i think buddha prefers camels.

since moving, we seem to meet new neighbors daily. i discovered the above dwelling attached to my dwelling.

a beautiful and meticulously crafted spherical home about the size of a dime. they are the good neighbors, no late night parties, no domestic disputes, no barking pets, no burdon of small talk when we pass, and never do they borrow tools or a cup of sugar.

the wife does not like these neighbors. she gave immediate orders to destroy the tiny dwelling. she justified the order of destruction by claiming the occupants were harboring stingers of mass destruction and if nothing was done, they may some day deploy the stingers on our children. who am i to blow against the wind?

ultranote - destruction of the dwelling revealed no stingers of mass destruction. i was beginning to feel bad about what i had done until my wife told me the occupants of the dwelling were in cahoots with the fire ants, my long time nemesis.

ultra-ultranote - i have been watching the fire ants for some time now. they seem to work independently, and have no allies. my wife said that was of no concern, what was important was that i had liberated the little guys. but i am not really sure from what. i guess i think too much.

ok kids, do I need to put a "do not try this at home disclaimer" on this blog?

it has come to my attention that one of you has an entire blog dedicated to this activity.

i am flattered, but really, do you want the sum total of you existence used to wipe a strangers ass only to end up swirling the bowl.

um, but while you are at it here are a few very important messages I need you to deliver:

- perhaps you need triple ply
- i once was a great tree, now look at me
- wiping 4 or more times is considered ass play
- sars free toilet paper for your peace of mind
- you’re a winner, redeem me for valuable prizes

son one told me he met a new friend, his name is luka.

i asked him if he lived on the second floor.

he gave me the standard "whatever, dad" look.

researchers at the humor research center in hoboken recently discovered that much in the way a female is born with a finite number of eggs that are released over time, each of us is born with a finite number of witty quips, and jocular retorts.

The researchers warn these funnies should not be wasted on a six year old.

i told the officer it wasn't me, it's the damn key chain.

since installing my keys on it, i drive much more evil in a mickey mouse sort of way.

it's all rebecky's fault and i shall forward her all speeding tickets incurred.

a local eye doctor's radio advertising claims he has done nearly 38,000 laser procedures. yes, 38,000.

so, i have been doing some math. if he was one of the first laser surgeons, he probably started about 10 years ago. 38,000/10 = 3,800 procedures a year. 3,800/260 (work days with no vacation or holidays) = roughly 15 procedures a day (with forgiving assumptions made).

do you really want a sleep deprived, laser weilding, speed freak messing with your precious eyeballs?

ultranote - i checked out his website. on the home page, near the primary navigation, is a phone number (in bold) for "post operative appointments". for this information to appear where it does, leads me to believe finding that number must be what we call a "key user task" in the web biz. if the key user task of your users is to call after the surgery, that scares me.

once when i was much younger, my mother told me a story about cats. i don't think the story was for entertainment purposes, but rather because she felt it a necessary story. the story moved slowly and had many extended pauses as she searched for exactly the right words.

it was a story about cats in love. she told me, when cats love each other, the male cat puts his penis in the vagina of the female cat. this freaked me out. i remember my exact response to be "eeeeewwwww, gross! humans don't do that, ... do they?!?"

for weeks i was tormented with thoughts of chubby and smudge (our house cats) making my world an evil place.

i thought mothers day would be a good day to thank her for imparting this knowledge. to this day i refuse to pet those disgusting, perverted little critters. i am still confused on the human issue. perhaps i will call her today.

being a big dumb mac guy, i was wondering, ...wouldn't it just be easier to have one big button that says control - alt - delete?

as i wrapped things up in stall three, i glanced into the bowl (always important to quality check your work before forwarding it on).

hold the phone.

immediate thoughts were that i had just crapped something very, very bad. perhaps a symptom of SARS or some strange pooping virus that would kill me within days. i was fairly certain it was the last poo i would ever make.

thin wispy strands of black danced in the water and intermingled forming complex but sharply defined forms somewhat resembling long thin black strands of hair, but much more delicate and sheer.

i stood staring into the bowl confused and desperate for 37 seconds before i realized it was black ink from toilet paper i had used to clean my leaking sharpie pen.

whew.

today flowers smell little sweeter, colors are a little more vivid and food tastes a little better, life is good.

i am glad to see my letter writing campaign is finally showing results. walking past the gap yesterday, i noticed they are no longer ignoring the fashion needs of headless children. they now have a full line of clothing dedicated to the headless.

bravo, gap. i, for one applaud your bold new direction. you are a shining beacon and a fine role model. no longer will these children be fashion misfits.

unfortunately, many corporations simply turn their heads and look the other way. chick-fil-a refuses to serve headless children in their restaurants. sure, there is no official policy or written guidelines, but i know it to be true. i have never seen headless children eating at chick-fil-a.

shame on you, chick-fil-a

finally the winner of the ultramicroscopic tournament challenge can be announced. lawyers here at ultramicroscopic have just concluded a two week investigation and seem to be satisfied with the urine tests, background checks, psychological profile and underwear inspection.

it's my pa!

i know, you are probably saying to yourself it was rigged, but when you see the prize, you probably will not care. the prize is pictured above. an authentic hand crafted basketball hat/mask.

enjoy it, my father.

how come i feel this stupid thing will once again be in my possession around the time of my birthday?

addendum - i made this mask a couple years ago, but am unable to wear it for extended periods of time because my huuuuuuuuuge cranium is actually larger than a standard basketball. not something i am proud of. i must go now, my neck grows weary of supporting this planetoid resembling a head.

my mom and dad have some cool stuff.

cool stuff like a commercial popcorn maker, a plastic pig holding a brief case, and several boxes of pop-tarts.

to avoid a winner take all cage match with my sister upon my parents death, i developed a plan.

recently, i walked through my partents homewith a label gun marking all the things i want. first come, first serve.

my parent's are not even sick yet, but it is best to be prepared.

the unanswered hand hung in the air for seemingly an eternity before it was retracted.

luckily, i was warned before we arrived at the stadium that they were high fivers. as a fan, i don't do high fives. high fives are reserved for players, drunks, and people much cooler than i. the pregame warning put me in a bad mood, but allowed me to be prepared.

as soon as the first home run ball cleared the fence, i knew the high five invitation was coming. the high fivers were to my left. i quickly turned to the right looking to home plate as if that was where the action was. in my peripheral vision i saw the invitation, a lonely hand waiting to be slapped. i pretended not to see. it went unanswered.

i assumed my actions had set a precedence and that the next 8 innings would be free of high fives. never under estimate the diligence of a high fiver.

the second home run caught me by surprise. i glanced to my left. eye contact was made with one of the high fivers. i knew i would be unable to avoid the rising hand. my feeble attempt at a high five was more of a clumsy caress than a slap of skin. i probably creeped the high fiver out. the high five was a commitment and bonding, you can't not high five after you initiation to the high fivers society. the snow ball was rolling, i feared high fives would soon replace all types of verbal communication.

there was only one thing to do, move. i decided to "get a beer", which i did in right field. in a seat 428 feet from the high fivers, i sat alone, drinking beer, watching the game and occasionally looking to see the group of high fivers celebrating a 89 mph fast ball passing over the plate between a motionless batter's knees and shoulders.

upon entering the restaurant, the young hostess looked at my 4 year old son and said "well, aren't you the cutest!"

i replied "thank you,... oh you meant my son, not me, never mind"

it is time to take me out the woods and shoot me.

although i have been a father for some time now, it was not until that moment i realized my razor sharp wit had been replaced with standard issued dad humor.

i could hear her thoughts... "yeah, never heard that one before, nice one, you pathetic, feeble old fart. only 20 more minutes till tyler picks me up in his eclipse. i wonder if i should get the 10 gauge or 12 gauge barbell."

i wanted to retract that lame ass joke and show the hostess how cool i really am (or was at one time). i wanted her to know i'm down with hall and oates . i wanted her to know i have a closet full of skinny ties, chuck taylors, wrap around sunglasses and sleeveless t-shirts with japanese characters on them. i wanted her to know i have pac man on atari 2600.

actually, on second thought, i am not really too concerned with becoming "dad" because the next step will be not caring i am "dad". i will not care how dark socks look with running shorts. i will not care that the waistband of my pants is only an inch under my nipples. i will not care that my nose and ear hair is freaking you out.

obey giant or disregard midget, you choose, it's all the same.

if memory serves correct, the unknown comic was from baghdad (the gong show). i keep he and his family in my thoughts.

it has been 5 days since we moved into the new house. it takes a little time for your house to become your home. i am making small adjustments to my lifestyle and getting to know all the hidden quirks of the new house.

at the old house i used to get my instructions from the floating head in the fire place, it's a hard switch to the glowing orb in the attic.

the food replicator here needs some tweaking, blue milk and purple chicken is a little disconcerting. oh well, nothing ever cooks as good as your first replicator.

i have to poop on the neighbor's lawn late at night in the dark. the old neighbor didn't care when i did it.

it is an extra 4 steps from the bed to the bathroom here, but the garden hose rig i made seems to be working well.

i never thought i would say this, but i kind of miss the high pitched whirring noise coming from the strange machine in the neighbors garage at 3 am.

the old house was hooked to a water system that ensured water flowed from the faucets, shower heads and sprinkler system. the new house flows cherry cool-aid, which makes for a messy shower but the kids love it.

i still don't know where that black hole portal in my son's closet goes. i have been disposing of garbage there, it never seems to fill up. on occasion we hear a distant moan escape from the portal.

home, sweet home.

the paper work to purchase a new home is mind boggling. it is impossible to read and fully understand document. at one point, i actually signed a document verifying that i had signed a batch of other documents.

the title company and mortgage banker had me sign a detailed breakdown of costs rolled into the mortgage. now as i look at the document a little closer, i wonder what i have gotten into. below are a few contract lines and costs that concern me.

line 3440 - gopher hats, 43.94
line 4860 - slobovian liberation front fund, 88.23
line 4980 - circus peanuts for everyone, 122.59
line 5590 - new bowling shirts, 732.98
line 6190 - filling home with air, 22.54
line 6380 - microsoft new home fee, 83.88
line 7470 - tigers milk and green bananas, 43.34
line 8160 - built on ancient indian burial ground fee, 32.23
line 8840 - fee processing fee, 92.88
line 8930 - eradication of nonsmellable odors, 441.87
line 9220 - monkey butt retrieval fee, 332.42

i think i will just let it go. totaled and rolled into a 30 year mortgage, it's only an extra 14.54 a month.

what i have learned about the war from my television

1. every soldier has a pregnant wife waiting at home and on morning shows.

2. we're winning, no wait, ... we're losing, no wait, ... we're winning, no wait, ...

3. the massive coalition war machine roles on completely unaffected by zero visibility sand storms.

4. the most wicked and technologically advanced killing machine (known as the apache helicopter) can be brought down with a pea shooter.

5. the war will last only a couple of weeks, no wait, ... a month, no wait, ... a long time.

6. turkey is our ally, no wait, ... turkey is our enemy, no wait, ...

7. saddam has no respect for the geneva convention and rules of war. the u.s. never use tactics that might violate the geneva convention.

8. dubya is much to busy with the war to learn how to pronounce "nuclear" or "iraq"

9. gps pinpoint bombing can be accurate within 10 meters.

10. gps pinpoint bombing is generally ineffective.

11. tony blair is an upstanding man of integrity, no wait, ... he is a puppet, no wait, ...

12. michael moore and natalie maines can generate more chatter and debate in 38 seconds than george and tony could in a 3 hour press conference.

13. investors are very fickle and confused.

14. we all want this thing to end, no wait, ...

hmmmm, i guess i really have not learned much at all. maybe i need a bigger television.

it is amazing to me that albert einstein never committed suicide.

i find that being the smartest person on the planet is exhausting. my gift of superior intelligence has become a curse. all of you simpletons are draining the life force from me.

my motivation to exist is waning.

i am in the process of moving. realtors are idiots, inspectors are idiots, mortgage bankers are idiots, builders are idiots and buyers are idiots.

i work at a information technology company. project managers are idiots, tech leads are idiots, information architects are idiots, graphic artists are idiots, c.e.o.s are idiots and clients are idiots.

i teach at a local college. administrators are idiots, deans are idiots, instructors are idiots, and students are idiots.

i am watching a war. reporters are idiots, generals are idiots, analysts are idiots, world leaders are idiots, protesters are idiots, and supporters are idiots.

i really can't take much more of this. every one just listen to what i say, do what i tell you and everything will be ok.

if you choose not to listen to me, i may just poke my brain with a q-tip and join the world of the stupid, it must be easier.

the winds of change are scattering balloon animals across my yard.

the upper management here at ultramicroscpic would like to take this opportunity to formally appologize to any and all attendees of sxsw. it seem an un-named representative of ultramicroscopic has been identified as the "typhoid mary" responsible for bringing illness and excess mucus buildup upon the masses.

hey, don't be too upset, it got you out of work for a couple days!

when rummaging through the attic for garage sale items, i found the above item. i made him over 8 years ago. he has been waiting for me to rescue him from the attic for 5 years. i could not put a price on him.

garage sales suck, the effort that goes into finding, cleaning, pricing, and arranging a pile of garbage is never worth the monetary reward. it would be more profitable to search the couch cushins for loose change.

first you sift through all of your stuff and actually sucker yourself into believing you have some things of value. then as they day wears on you can't understand why no one wants to buy it.

i decided to spin it around and walk into our garage sale as if i were a customer. i took an objective look at all the stuff and realized i would not purchase any of it at any price. then i took it a step further. i walked into my house as a stranger would and looked around for anything i would buy. there was nothing. i own a huge collection of crap.

a sampling of crap is pictured above. the box contained a first generation digital camera, a first generation web cam, a wacom tablet, 28k and 56k modems, an inkjet printer, a mouse, a 105mb syquest drive, and tons of odd cables and adapters. the whole box was marked at $5 (if priced as new, about $1400). it did not sell till late in the day. i probably could have made $10 on ebay.

in my son's eagerness to return to the dave and buster's midway, he finished up at the urinal and walked past the sinks towards the door. for a five year old, he is usually very good about washing his hands.

me - "did you forget to wash your hands?"
son - "oh, yeah, i forgot"

he returns to the sink. an employee (neither dave or buster, i assume) dressed in kitchen garb was washing his hands. he joins in the conversation.

kitchen guy - "yes, you must always remember to wash your hands. not just because of germs, but because one day you may grow up to have a job where people will report you if you don't wash your hands and you could be fired."

wtf?

the fact that some people need the fear of being fired just to motivate them to wash their hands tells me that this country is going straight down the shitter.

dear mr. armstrong,

i was recently in austin, and had my bicycle stolen. but i am quite sure you already know that.

it doesn't take john holmes and mr. watson to figure out you stole my bicycle. you ask what evidence i have?

1. it was stolen in austin, you live in austin.
2. you like bikes, i used to own a bike.
3. you see me as an up and coming competitive threat in the 2008 tour de france
4. my bike was the fastest in the whole world, you would want that.
5. my bike was red, i bet red is your favorite color.
6. i set the combination number to the last 4 digits of your social security number, only you would know that.
7. i heard you had cancer, some times cancer causes stealing.
8. i recently saw you in a television commercial and you have shifty eyes.
9. there was dna evidence at the scene, you have dna.
10. um, some other stuff too.

i rest my case.

so, just return it to the rack outside the convention center and i will stop knocking over your garbage can. please don't use one of those cheap cable locks, use one of those big u locks. i don't want willie nelson stealing it before i can get back down there.

if you decide not to return it, you should be very careful of where you leave your bike parked during the tour de france. i've got people all over the place.

thanks,
griff

ps. that bicycle seat has touched me in the most intimate of my manly regions, are you sure you want to keep it?

just something i have been meaning to clear up since sxsw.

i think the difference is obvious.

the bondage mask is much more comfortable.

i think dead people watch us having sex.

i look forward to meeting you at the sxsw conference. please do say hello to me. here are a few distinctive characteristics that may help you recognize me. some day these may also be helpful to the coroner tasked with identifying my corpse.

1. bionic nostril
2. my height is hard to tell but i am roughly the size of 10 men
3. glass leg filled with jelly beans. yes you may, if you ask politely
4.unfortunate hair
5. the mark of the beast, old gooseberry sort of botched this one up, it looks like triple nines but when i stand on my head it is quite apparent that they really are sixes
6. unwieldy pubic hair
7. a 5th nipple
8. a scar from having the extra eye removed from my hand
9. a scar from the cattle prod
10. a birthmark oddly resembling nipsey russell
11. extended butt crack that rises all the way up to vertebrate L1
12. tiny pig like eyes that see all

ps, this is why i love the internet, i can be anything i want to be and no one knows better.

forget nuclear warheads, dirty bombs, and sarin gas. if al-qaeda was really serious about destroying the U.S. they could start with Dallas by announcing a snow day over the radio. snow or not, no one would put up a fight.

20 degrees and an inch of snow. the city of dallas is completely shut down today.

i am alone in the office. no phone calls and one email (a meeting cancelation) since 8 am.

people are already talking about not coming in wednesday morning.

i will roll out the red carpet for al-qaeda.

four situations i have observed you being an asshole.

1. you just poured the last drop of coffee into your 42oz bladder busting insulated mug, would it kill you to spend the 28 seconds starting a new pot? if you brew decaffeinated in the caffeinated pot again, i swear to god i will kill you.

2. that was the third time you have asked the airline attendant for an extra trial size pack of peanuts. jump off your wallet, pay the 2 dollars for an entire bottle before you get on the plane next time.

3. you stood up as soon as the seat belt restriction was released. it will be a good 12 minutes before the gate is connected and the doors open. your genitalia is slapping me in the face and your ass smells like, well...ass. standing or not, we will all get off the plane at the same time, so sit down.

4. friday night at blockbuster you grabbed a movie off the new release shelf just because it was there, then two steps later, you returned it to the shelf because you found a better one, then you returned that one for another. stop the madness, i suggest porky's 3, you'll love it, or come back on monday night, they will have all 300 copies of stealing harvard.

don't go thinking your opposable thumb sets you apart from the weasle.

i have become a disillusioned, bitter, sarcastic old man. the innocence and naivety of youth left me long ago.

upon graduation, armed with a bachelor of fine arts, i truly believed i could make the world a better place.

i once believed proper kerning would house the homeless.
i once believe a solid understanding of color theory would feed starving children in africa.
i once believed the pantone color system would cure colon cancer
i once believed designing with a grid would over throw cuban dictatorship
i once believed the simplicity and elegance of helvetica would free the oppressed
i once believed if we all measured in points and picas it would lower the price of beer.
i once believed proper leading ensured eternal life after our physical death.

older and wiser, i have realized none of that matters. slogging through life on this miserable little planet, and suffering through poorly designed websites, street signs, product labels, and teen magazines is a personal hell that i have been sentenced to by the grand designer.

that being said i do have one small request. can we possibly redesign the governments warning system using proper color theory? if it all is going to end soon, at least let the messenger should look good.

passing time (and a few bricks) in stall three, i listen to the shoes entering and leaving. from behind the stall walls, i can see nothing but my sense of hearing is sharp and enhanced much like a blind person.

squeak, squeak...

rubber soled loafers, size 10, slight limp, 185 lbs - dan from accounting.

oh yeah, i am that good.

this leads me to a new criteria for buying shoes. size, style, and comfort are no longer important. most important is what sound the shoes will make when walking on the tile floor in the men's room.

my current shoes are the worst. patrons of the stalls must assume i am a fly fisherman on break. my shoes sound exactly as if i am wearing waist high wet river waders.

on second thought that assumption may not be completely inaccurate, after all i am standing at the urinal fishing some thing out of my fly.

an alternate use for recently purchased duct tape.

i put the small envelope into her pouch made of pink construction paper. i did it quickly to avoid being noticed by the other kids.

i had made 25 valentines for 25 classmates, whether i liked them or not.

i was confident heidi would notice the way i wrote her name on the envelope. i used all upper case letters. soon she would open it, and recognize the time and effort i had put into choosing that specific scooby-doo valentine. then she would notice the special way i signed the valentine. i put a heart above the "i" rather than a simple dot. all of these things would soon result in her declaring a deep and everlasting love for me, we would be married by the third grade for sure. i even put a nickel in the envelope to clinch the deal.

2 seats over, buzzard watched me intently as i opened my valentines from the class. i hated buzzard, she always stole my hat at lunch and would wear it around school for all to see.

i gave buzzard the velma valentine from the scooby-doo collection. i wrote her name in all lower case on the envelope.

later, i overheard heidi tell a friend she got a nickel in one of her valentines, but could not remember who it was from.

buzzard told me she noticed i had had not capitalized her name and she thought that was special, she also told me velma was her favorite. wtf? who likes velma?

i was going to put a nickel in the wife's valentine today, but i changed it to a dollar so she would remember who it was from.

when i get stressed, i just chill with my zen cat box garden.

dude, good luck with that "non-insurance solution" when a peterbuilt drives up your ass because you couldn't see him through all the advertising shit on your rear window.

i opened my w-2 form.

then i checked my bank account.

what the fuck did i spend yadasixthousandninehundredsixtyeight dollars and fortysix cents on?

an excerpt from the sxsw web awards email i received today...

THE PEOPLE'S CHOICE AWARD - Each year the People's Choice Award is presented to the online public's favorite finalist from the SXSW Website Competition. Rally your audience to vote your site the best!

oh, now i understand. the people's choice award goes to only one of the finalists regardless of the category (i misinterpreted that in a previous entry)! and, i am encouraged to "rally" the vote! in fact, people can vote once a day!

now this will require strategy, "greg" has the jump on me and has turned airbag into "Airbag Buffy the Vampire Slayer Super Happy Fansite!" quickly garnering the affection of 648 buffy fans. ah, he is a clever one and a worthy opponent!

now "greg" has much to offer you, intelligence, wit, purdy photographs, and even coherent textual posts. i can offer none of that, but i do have something he does not.

i am bootylicious. my fabulous pooper is something to behold. young girls squeal, ladies quiver, gay men giggle, and toilet seats beg for my attention.

that's right, i am resorting to the lowest common denominator, NUDITY. upon wining the people's choice, there will be a full moon rising here at ultramicroscopic. not just any moon, but the most gloriously handsome moon you have ever witnessed.

i say let the people speak! free the moon! vote here!

above is a badge containing subliminal messages. i predict within hours, every page on the internet will contain one.

i have been working on a mathmatical formula that will no doubt clinch a nobel prize. i am making shelf space now.

recently my wife had a colonoscopy (no worries, it's all good all up in there). they gave her photos to remember the experience. not really the type of photos you might put in the family albu