Mom had back to school night tonight, and since she's gone back to work I've exhausted every possible fast food option, so I put the kids in their church clothes and took them to Village Inn for dinner. It was about as funny as that movie, The Village. The highlights...
I watched a grown man wait for the coast to be clear and sneak into the server station, grab about 40 napkins, stuff them inside his button-down shirt and make a hasty exit with his best girl.
I watched my daughter blow her straw wrapper clear over the head of her intended target (her brother) and hit the lady in the booth behind us. I'm a good father.
I watched a stretch limo drop off 8 people who spent all of 12 seconds in the lobby before realizing that Applebee's was accross the street. Actually they were on a scavenger hunt, but they seemed intent on spending as little time as possible with us common folk.
And the highlight for me was the sign that read:
"Special of the Day:
We seat incomplete parties at our discretion."
Showing posts with label Miscellaneous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miscellaneous. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Incredibull
It took a bowling commercial to bring me back to the blog.
Back when I used to work I sent an email to my HR contact complaining about being forced to go to a teambuilder at a bowling alley or take a forced vacation day. I'm guessing that was when HR first categorized me as a problem accountant. Nothing like a dumb guy using an email to simulate frantic hand waving/shouting "Look at me! Look at me!" I imagine the email put me in some type of watch program which led to them reading my blog, including this beauty about the bowling alley I didn't want to go to.
That same bowling alley taunted me tonight in one of the most ridiculous commercials I've ever seen. Incredabowl has come up with a new concept called, "The Living Room". They've converted part of the bowling alley to a more upscale environment. The usual uncomfortable chairs have been replaced with furniture you might find in your Grandma's front room.
If you're like me, you might wonder who in the bloody hell would want to sit on poofy couches while bowling. Thankfully the commercial answers that question: "Individuals wanting a little more discretion while bowling". What? I'm not sure I understand that. Is discretion really the word they're looking for? Why would anyone want to be discreet about their bowling? And what does an upscale bowling environment have to do with being discreet?
The copy writer for the ad had to be the same guy who wrote all the ridiculous notes in the lounge like "No coolers or ice chests allowed". He/she said in the TV ad that the Living Room is "the newest in chic bowling in town". Chic bowling? Really? Chic bowling is an oxymoron, yet Incredabowl is purporting themselves to be the "newest" Chic Bowling alley, as if there has been some sort of one upmanship between AMF West and Mission Bowl to become the Chic-est bowling alley in town.
As if they hadn't screwed up the copy enough, they concluded, "There's nothing like it in the state". How right they were.
Back when I used to work I sent an email to my HR contact complaining about being forced to go to a teambuilder at a bowling alley or take a forced vacation day. I'm guessing that was when HR first categorized me as a problem accountant. Nothing like a dumb guy using an email to simulate frantic hand waving/shouting "Look at me! Look at me!" I imagine the email put me in some type of watch program which led to them reading my blog, including this beauty about the bowling alley I didn't want to go to.
That same bowling alley taunted me tonight in one of the most ridiculous commercials I've ever seen. Incredabowl has come up with a new concept called, "The Living Room". They've converted part of the bowling alley to a more upscale environment. The usual uncomfortable chairs have been replaced with furniture you might find in your Grandma's front room.
If you're like me, you might wonder who in the bloody hell would want to sit on poofy couches while bowling. Thankfully the commercial answers that question: "Individuals wanting a little more discretion while bowling". What? I'm not sure I understand that. Is discretion really the word they're looking for? Why would anyone want to be discreet about their bowling? And what does an upscale bowling environment have to do with being discreet?
The copy writer for the ad had to be the same guy who wrote all the ridiculous notes in the lounge like "No coolers or ice chests allowed". He/she said in the TV ad that the Living Room is "the newest in chic bowling in town". Chic bowling? Really? Chic bowling is an oxymoron, yet Incredabowl is purporting themselves to be the "newest" Chic Bowling alley, as if there has been some sort of one upmanship between AMF West and Mission Bowl to become the Chic-est bowling alley in town.
As if they hadn't screwed up the copy enough, they concluded, "There's nothing like it in the state". How right they were.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Hypnosis: Career Suicide
Going through some old work emails...here's another one that needs to be filed in the "was it really the video that got me fired" file. When HR confiscated my computer and scanned every single file, did they really read everything?
Background...Craig H. Wonder had an appointment with a hypnotist, but was being suspiciously vague about the details...like if the hypnotist had any formal training. I pressed him and he responded as follows...
Craig's email: (The hypnotist is) a guy at my work and I won it at a fundraiser auction our company had for cancer research.
My email response: Nothing weird about that at all. A co-worker who has a man crush on you rigging the fundraiser to let you "win" so that he can inspect your junk while you are "out cold". Who needs the date rape drug? Don't be surprised when you show up and you're the only one there. Please bring a friend and a video camera, for your own safety.
Was it a coincidence that Craig quit the band soon after being put under the spell of an office worker/partially accredited hypnotherapist? Oh what I would give to have the video of that encounter.
Background...Craig H. Wonder had an appointment with a hypnotist, but was being suspiciously vague about the details...like if the hypnotist had any formal training. I pressed him and he responded as follows...
Craig's email: (The hypnotist is) a guy at my work and I won it at a fundraiser auction our company had for cancer research.
My email response: Nothing weird about that at all. A co-worker who has a man crush on you rigging the fundraiser to let you "win" so that he can inspect your junk while you are "out cold". Who needs the date rape drug? Don't be surprised when you show up and you're the only one there. Please bring a friend and a video camera, for your own safety.
Was it a coincidence that Craig quit the band soon after being put under the spell of an office worker/partially accredited hypnotherapist? Oh what I would give to have the video of that encounter.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
American Idol: Top 12, Week 1
American Idol, why do I love thee? Last year’s mix of unique contestants got me hooked and I can’t freaking stop watching this year even though the contestants are so much less interesting. Tuesday night, Simon and Ryan’s “you know how I know you’re gay” jokes were more entertaining than any of the contestants.
My only chance to have enough material to do an Idol blog this year is if Sanjaya keeps advancing. And if he can come up with a new hairstyle every week, he deserves to win. He was sporting a smoking hot Ogilvie Home Perm on Tuesday. His strategy is ingenious. He may not be a great singer, but his sleight of hand/misdirection is amazing. He gets you so focused on his mop that you can’t possibly concentrate on his voice. I would not be one bit surprised if he turns out to be David Blaine. That is the kind of shocking twist that this season needs to increase interest.
Simon’s interest in Haley’s performance was shocking. He has been mocking Haley for weeks, saying last week that he didn’t even remember her name. This week she forgot her words and was ripped by Randy and Paula. But, Simon said he was very impressed with her “presence on stage”. And by “presence” he meant “cleavage”. Chris Sligh would be smart to wear a halter top next week to get Simon back on his side.
My only chance to have enough material to do an Idol blog this year is if Sanjaya keeps advancing. And if he can come up with a new hairstyle every week, he deserves to win. He was sporting a smoking hot Ogilvie Home Perm on Tuesday. His strategy is ingenious. He may not be a great singer, but his sleight of hand/misdirection is amazing. He gets you so focused on his mop that you can’t possibly concentrate on his voice. I would not be one bit surprised if he turns out to be David Blaine. That is the kind of shocking twist that this season needs to increase interest.
Simon’s interest in Haley’s performance was shocking. He has been mocking Haley for weeks, saying last week that he didn’t even remember her name. This week she forgot her words and was ripped by Randy and Paula. But, Simon said he was very impressed with her “presence on stage”. And by “presence” he meant “cleavage”. Chris Sligh would be smart to wear a halter top next week to get Simon back on his side.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Firestarter
In first grade I was in love with Tracey O. She had long hair…therefore she was hot. So, I did what any normal first grader would do, every night before I went to bed, I prayed that she would start coming to my church.
I’m not sure why I wanted to subject her to my church, because I was not fond of it. In fact, I used to root for one of my family members to get sick, because that meant we all could stay home. But, I vaguely remember there being some kind of directive from our pastor, the esteemed Dr. Alan Combover, to invite others to church. I immediately thought of Tracey, but I couldn’t just ask her to come to church with me out of the blue. I had never talked to her and that seemed like a weird pick up line.
Instead, I prayed for God to deliver a hot little first grader to Christ Church. Much to my surprise, God responded. Tracey’s church caught on fire and her congregation started meeting with ours. It was odd enough that there was a fire at her church. But, the fact that out of all the churches in town, they started meeting with us still seems unbelievable.
You see, our church met in an old folk’s home…nothing like the smell of death to get you in the mood to praise the Lord. Dr. Combover knew his audience…the sermons were geared toward the almost dead. Rather than have their only son literally die of boredom, my parents let me bring a book to read while Combover spoke. One week I brought the phone book…not the interesting phone book. I brought the white pages.
But, church became a lot more appealing when there was a chance that I’d get a glimpse of Tracey on Sunday morning. Our congregation met early, Tracey’s met late and we shared a coffee and donut fellowship time in between services. I literally could not believe my eyes when I walked in and saw Tracey for the first time.
Remember this old Pepsi commercial? That’s what it was like. Tracey was Cindy Crawford, except 10 times hotter. She was eating a donut, instead of drinking a Pepsi. I looked exactly like the kid with his mouth open. And the antique cars in the background of the commercial were reminiscent of the vintage ladies of John Knox Village whose varicose veins were somehow visible through their extra dark panty hose.
It was surreal. God wasn’t the Dude I’d heard about in the bore-the-hell-out-of-you sermons. He was on call to start fires for me so that I could be near the girl of my dreams. If it had been a movie, I would have sauntered up to Tracey and swept her off her feet with a line like, “Hey baby, howsabout I get that powdered sugar off your lips…with my lips.” Instead, I froze up and didn’t say a word.
Today I realized that I’m still that little wiener boy. God answered my prayer to get fired from my accounting job and here I am, still sitting on the sideline like a schoolboy. I need to finish writing my script and stop being the scared little Nancy boy who refused to go after his dream (girl) even though it’s been gift-wrapped and dropped on my doorstep. The DaVinci Code made over $200 million and it wasn’t even that funny. There’s no telling how much more a film would bring in that features me cracking the urinal code. It will no doubt become the Titanic of office men’s room comedies. The problem is, I’m completely out of money.
Dear God,
Please send a benefactor to finance my project.
Thanks,
Matt H. Wonder
If you’re rich and don’t respond, you might want to check your smoke detectors.
I’m not sure why I wanted to subject her to my church, because I was not fond of it. In fact, I used to root for one of my family members to get sick, because that meant we all could stay home. But, I vaguely remember there being some kind of directive from our pastor, the esteemed Dr. Alan Combover, to invite others to church. I immediately thought of Tracey, but I couldn’t just ask her to come to church with me out of the blue. I had never talked to her and that seemed like a weird pick up line.
Instead, I prayed for God to deliver a hot little first grader to Christ Church. Much to my surprise, God responded. Tracey’s church caught on fire and her congregation started meeting with ours. It was odd enough that there was a fire at her church. But, the fact that out of all the churches in town, they started meeting with us still seems unbelievable.
You see, our church met in an old folk’s home…nothing like the smell of death to get you in the mood to praise the Lord. Dr. Combover knew his audience…the sermons were geared toward the almost dead. Rather than have their only son literally die of boredom, my parents let me bring a book to read while Combover spoke. One week I brought the phone book…not the interesting phone book. I brought the white pages.
But, church became a lot more appealing when there was a chance that I’d get a glimpse of Tracey on Sunday morning. Our congregation met early, Tracey’s met late and we shared a coffee and donut fellowship time in between services. I literally could not believe my eyes when I walked in and saw Tracey for the first time.
Remember this old Pepsi commercial? That’s what it was like. Tracey was Cindy Crawford, except 10 times hotter. She was eating a donut, instead of drinking a Pepsi. I looked exactly like the kid with his mouth open. And the antique cars in the background of the commercial were reminiscent of the vintage ladies of John Knox Village whose varicose veins were somehow visible through their extra dark panty hose.
It was surreal. God wasn’t the Dude I’d heard about in the bore-the-hell-out-of-you sermons. He was on call to start fires for me so that I could be near the girl of my dreams. If it had been a movie, I would have sauntered up to Tracey and swept her off her feet with a line like, “Hey baby, howsabout I get that powdered sugar off your lips…with my lips.” Instead, I froze up and didn’t say a word.
Today I realized that I’m still that little wiener boy. God answered my prayer to get fired from my accounting job and here I am, still sitting on the sideline like a schoolboy. I need to finish writing my script and stop being the scared little Nancy boy who refused to go after his dream (girl) even though it’s been gift-wrapped and dropped on my doorstep. The DaVinci Code made over $200 million and it wasn’t even that funny. There’s no telling how much more a film would bring in that features me cracking the urinal code. It will no doubt become the Titanic of office men’s room comedies. The problem is, I’m completely out of money.
Dear God,
Please send a benefactor to finance my project.
Thanks,
Matt H. Wonder
If you’re rich and don’t respond, you might want to check your smoke detectors.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
My American Idol
Ahhh. This feels great. My six weeks in rehab are finally over. I was the only one in my graduating class that was in for an addiction to over-the-counter lactose intolerance pills.
I was so close to relapsing last night, until I turned on the American Idol and was struck by the comments of a young man whose physical appearance I liken to the being that would result if Sideshow Bob ate the offspring of Jack Osborne and Velma from Scooby Doo .
Randy asked Chris Sligh, “Why are you here, man?” To which he responded, “I really want to make David Hasselhoff cry.”
Freaking brilliant.
For the Idol ignorant, The Hoff wept like a little girl at the end of the American Idol season 5 finale. In my critically panned AI finale recap I likened my manliness to that of Mitch Baywatch.
I can’t even begin to describe the feelings that overcame me when I realized there is another artist out there who understands that art is meaningless if Michael Knight Rider’s eyes stay dry. My whole world changed. I could see colors I never new existed. Creative urges rushed through my body like dairy products will now that I’m no longer taking my pills. Life has been breathed back into me. Two Hit Wonder has purpose again. I will not rest until David Hasselhoff cries in the direction of 2HW.
Thanks to Chris Sligh for bringing me back. He’s my American Idol.
I was so close to relapsing last night, until I turned on the American Idol and was struck by the comments of a young man whose physical appearance I liken to the being that would result if Sideshow Bob ate the offspring of Jack Osborne and Velma from Scooby Doo .
Randy asked Chris Sligh, “Why are you here, man?” To which he responded, “I really want to make David Hasselhoff cry.”
Freaking brilliant.
For the Idol ignorant, The Hoff wept like a little girl at the end of the American Idol season 5 finale. In my critically panned AI finale recap I likened my manliness to that of Mitch Baywatch.
I can’t even begin to describe the feelings that overcame me when I realized there is another artist out there who understands that art is meaningless if Michael Knight Rider’s eyes stay dry. My whole world changed. I could see colors I never new existed. Creative urges rushed through my body like dairy products will now that I’m no longer taking my pills. Life has been breathed back into me. Two Hit Wonder has purpose again. I will not rest until David Hasselhoff cries in the direction of 2HW.
Thanks to Chris Sligh for bringing me back. He’s my American Idol.
Friday, December 8, 2006
Book Signing Cancelled
Craig and I were forced to cancel our book signing due to our inability to find a Sharpie. We’ll have to reschedule. To those inconvenienced, I offer this as consolation: I’ve decided to start feathering my hair.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
2HW Reunion?
I will be visiting Craig in California this week where we’ll try to overcome our creative differences and get the band back together. Assuming all goes well, Two Hit Wonder will start its reunion tour by making a rare public appearance in LA this weekend. We would like to announce our first ever Book Signing at the Barnes and Noble in Burbank this Saturday December 2nd from 1-3. Since neither of us has written a book, feel free to bring one of your favorites or the Two Hit Wonder thong.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Tom Green
I’m back in the game after taking some time off to be thankful for Jack Daniels and pie.
Filming the Matt Hit Wonder Show from my mother-in-law’s living room seemed like such a novel concept, but it turns out Tom Green hosts a live nightly Internet talk show from his living room. His web of show business contacts and LA location seem to make for a better show than my little broadcast featuring my limited network in the greater Prairie Village, Kansas region. I decided to write Tom this letter requesting that Two Hit Wonder appear as his guests next week.
Hey Tom Green,
I too am an Internet personality, but whereas you are a world-renowned celebrity, I am a fat unemployed guy. My “partner” Craig and I make up America’s fourth funniest lowbrow buddy comedy duo, Two Hit Wonder.
We were thinking that instead of continuing to book celebrities on your show, you should give a shot to two balding, badly mustached, dumb guys. Sitting next to us is guaranteed to make you appear better looking. In addition, we’re good at drinking and answering phone calls, which appear to be the most important character traits in your guests.
My claim to fame is that I recently got fired from my job pretending to be an Accountant when I filmed a video in my office men’s room (and women’s room) complaining about how close together the urinals were…You’re an Eight. Craig is best known for becoming an ordained minister online and screwing up his cousin John’s wedding.
Craig lives in Altadena and I’ll be in town visiting him this week. So, if Andrew Dice Clay falls ill or Andy Dick’s pre-show urine test reveals dangerous levels of estrogen, we’d be happy to fill in as your guests. Our available dates are November 28 through December 4th.
Thanks,
Matt from Two Hit Wonder
History of Two Hit Wonder
Update: Tom actually posted this email on his website with this response, “sounds awesome! we will be in touch!”.
Filming the Matt Hit Wonder Show from my mother-in-law’s living room seemed like such a novel concept, but it turns out Tom Green hosts a live nightly Internet talk show from his living room. His web of show business contacts and LA location seem to make for a better show than my little broadcast featuring my limited network in the greater Prairie Village, Kansas region. I decided to write Tom this letter requesting that Two Hit Wonder appear as his guests next week.
Hey Tom Green,
I too am an Internet personality, but whereas you are a world-renowned celebrity, I am a fat unemployed guy. My “partner” Craig and I make up America’s fourth funniest lowbrow buddy comedy duo, Two Hit Wonder.
We were thinking that instead of continuing to book celebrities on your show, you should give a shot to two balding, badly mustached, dumb guys. Sitting next to us is guaranteed to make you appear better looking. In addition, we’re good at drinking and answering phone calls, which appear to be the most important character traits in your guests.
My claim to fame is that I recently got fired from my job pretending to be an Accountant when I filmed a video in my office men’s room (and women’s room) complaining about how close together the urinals were…You’re an Eight. Craig is best known for becoming an ordained minister online and screwing up his cousin John’s wedding.
Craig lives in Altadena and I’ll be in town visiting him this week. So, if Andrew Dice Clay falls ill or Andy Dick’s pre-show urine test reveals dangerous levels of estrogen, we’d be happy to fill in as your guests. Our available dates are November 28 through December 4th.
Thanks,
Matt from Two Hit Wonder
History of Two Hit Wonder
Update: Tom actually posted this email on his website with this response, “sounds awesome! we will be in touch!”.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Mission Accomplished
While driving today through a residential neighborhood near my house I saw a handwritten sign that said, “Oil $80 a barrel: Mission Accomplished”. I laughed at the thought of this Bush basher taking the time to put sharpie to posterboard for the benefit of a very small audience. Then it hit me…he’s getting a lot more traffic than I am…and he’s funnier.
Friday, November 17, 2006
The Return of the 2HW Advice Column
Here’s an email I received from a man named Paul:
I am a big fan of 2HW. I read it daily. I noticed that you had an advice column and I was looking for some help with a personal problem. I work in corporate America and sit behind a computer all day. As a dedicated 2HW fan I have faithfully been dedicating about 85% of my time at work to surfing the internet and doodling on small pieces of paper. However, I’ve run out of things to look at on the Internet and I’m out of paper. What should I do? Should I work?
Big Fan,
I am impressed with your dedication to 2HW. You will certainly be in the running for fan of the year at the first annual 2HW awards show. I had nearly forgotten about my gift for telling others how to run (pronounced “ruin”) their life. And what better time for me to revive the column than when I literally have nothing better to do? Plus, most widely respected advisors are unemployed fat guys.
I can definitely sympathize with your difficult dilemma. You present a complex story problem, which is further complicated by your inclusion of a statistic. I’m going to assume that you spend 15% of your day working. If that’s correct, you work a little over an hour a day, which is equivalent to a short lunch break. That puts you right on the bubble of my maximum daily allowance of work. (If I had paid attention at my last job, I would have been able to put together a cool graph detailing acceptable work to non-work ratios.)
My advice: Quit your job. It’s not worth it. There are plenty of other jobs out there where you wouldn’t be expected to work so much. Have you thought of working for the government? Learn from the mistake I made…
One day, while sitting in my cube finding songs to download illegally off the music drive at work, I stumbled upon a little slice of heaven known as Tenacious D’s “Cosmic Shame”. It was as though Jack Black was speaking into my very soul when he said, “The message of the D is clear…Set the artist free. I’m saying quit your effing day job. And a lot of you are saying “Eff you Jack. I can’t quit my day job. I got kids to feed.” Eff the kids. I’m not saying eff them, but eff them. What do you think you’re doing them a favor? Effing working your day job putting them through school. How bout the effing guilt trip you subliminally give them because you didn’t follow your effing dreams? And now they’re effed up in different ways. Quit your day job. Focus on your craft.”
For the well being of my kids, I should have listened. Instead, somebody quit my job for me. Don’t let that happen to you. Listen to me as the voice of reason. Quit your day job. Focus on your craft. You love to doodle. You love the internet. Get yourself a doodle blog and start doodling the Internet.
If you don’t listen and keep your “real” job that’s fine…it’s your funeral. I do have a couple helpful tips for those who choose to work. First, I recommend that you acquire irritable bowel syndrome and intolerance for lactose. There is no feeling more rewarding than the one you get when you realize that you are getting paid to defecate. Second, memorize this quote and use it liberally, “I came in late and took a long lunch, so I’m going to go ahead and take off early.” Finally, you will get fired eventually and when you do, make sure it’s for something funny.
Matt
I am a big fan of 2HW. I read it daily. I noticed that you had an advice column and I was looking for some help with a personal problem. I work in corporate America and sit behind a computer all day. As a dedicated 2HW fan I have faithfully been dedicating about 85% of my time at work to surfing the internet and doodling on small pieces of paper. However, I’ve run out of things to look at on the Internet and I’m out of paper. What should I do? Should I work?
Big Fan,
I am impressed with your dedication to 2HW. You will certainly be in the running for fan of the year at the first annual 2HW awards show. I had nearly forgotten about my gift for telling others how to run (pronounced “ruin”) their life. And what better time for me to revive the column than when I literally have nothing better to do? Plus, most widely respected advisors are unemployed fat guys.
I can definitely sympathize with your difficult dilemma. You present a complex story problem, which is further complicated by your inclusion of a statistic. I’m going to assume that you spend 15% of your day working. If that’s correct, you work a little over an hour a day, which is equivalent to a short lunch break. That puts you right on the bubble of my maximum daily allowance of work. (If I had paid attention at my last job, I would have been able to put together a cool graph detailing acceptable work to non-work ratios.)
My advice: Quit your job. It’s not worth it. There are plenty of other jobs out there where you wouldn’t be expected to work so much. Have you thought of working for the government? Learn from the mistake I made…
One day, while sitting in my cube finding songs to download illegally off the music drive at work, I stumbled upon a little slice of heaven known as Tenacious D’s “Cosmic Shame”. It was as though Jack Black was speaking into my very soul when he said, “The message of the D is clear…Set the artist free. I’m saying quit your effing day job. And a lot of you are saying “Eff you Jack. I can’t quit my day job. I got kids to feed.” Eff the kids. I’m not saying eff them, but eff them. What do you think you’re doing them a favor? Effing working your day job putting them through school. How bout the effing guilt trip you subliminally give them because you didn’t follow your effing dreams? And now they’re effed up in different ways. Quit your day job. Focus on your craft.”
For the well being of my kids, I should have listened. Instead, somebody quit my job for me. Don’t let that happen to you. Listen to me as the voice of reason. Quit your day job. Focus on your craft. You love to doodle. You love the internet. Get yourself a doodle blog and start doodling the Internet.
If you don’t listen and keep your “real” job that’s fine…it’s your funeral. I do have a couple helpful tips for those who choose to work. First, I recommend that you acquire irritable bowel syndrome and intolerance for lactose. There is no feeling more rewarding than the one you get when you realize that you are getting paid to defecate. Second, memorize this quote and use it liberally, “I came in late and took a long lunch, so I’m going to go ahead and take off early.” Finally, you will get fired eventually and when you do, make sure it’s for something funny.
Matt
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Urinals on Ebay
Four used urinals shaped as women’s mouths sold on Ebay for over $7,000. That’s great. Politicians in Austria complained about sexist urinals and they were taken down and sold as novelties. But, when a fake accountant in Kansas complained about sexist urinals he was fired.
Friday, November 10, 2006
No Sale
My Craigslist ad ended without the sale of my business casual wardrobe, but I did get this response from a stranger…
Would you separate? I’m interested in the Van Halen shirt for my husband’s Christmas present.Also, is it pre or post David Lee Roth???????
Thanks
Granted, the ad wasn’t my best work, but come on. If I had worked for a company that let me wear a “Van Halen Kicks Ass” jersey on Casual Friday, I’d still have a job.
Would you separate? I’m interested in the Van Halen shirt for my husband’s Christmas present.Also, is it pre or post David Lee Roth???????
Thanks
Granted, the ad wasn’t my best work, but come on. If I had worked for a company that let me wear a “Van Halen Kicks Ass” jersey on Casual Friday, I’d still have a job.
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Back to Work
My wife has been out of town since Friday, allowing me the chance to burn my first three vacation days at my new job volunteering to write bad comedy on a seldom-read blog. After a weekend alone with the kids, I discovered that I might have been better at playing the role of fat, balding Accountant than I am at playing fat, balding single mother.
An out of shape ex-Accountant used to sitting at a desk all day proved to be no match for the miniature humans that live at my house. The kids were like tiny Billy Tae Bos, continually pushing me to do more reps. When it was clear I would not be able to keep up with their demands, the looks on their faces indicated that my approval rating was downward bound. So, I tried to win them back with large doses of sugar.
Donuts for breakfast gave way to a lollipop brunch and a buffet style Halloween candy lunch. The only legitimate food group that the kids didn’t throw at me was dairy. As a result our dinners were (in order) cheese pizza, cheese pizza, macaroni and cheese and grilled cheese. Hold on…those also fall into the bread/grain food group. I guess I’m still in the running for father of the year.
One night, my four-year-old daughter melted down at bedtime saying her “bobbin” hurt. I asked her what she thought was wrong with her bottom. She said, “I think it misses mommy”. My fat ass missed mommy too.
An out of shape ex-Accountant used to sitting at a desk all day proved to be no match for the miniature humans that live at my house. The kids were like tiny Billy Tae Bos, continually pushing me to do more reps. When it was clear I would not be able to keep up with their demands, the looks on their faces indicated that my approval rating was downward bound. So, I tried to win them back with large doses of sugar.
Donuts for breakfast gave way to a lollipop brunch and a buffet style Halloween candy lunch. The only legitimate food group that the kids didn’t throw at me was dairy. As a result our dinners were (in order) cheese pizza, cheese pizza, macaroni and cheese and grilled cheese. Hold on…those also fall into the bread/grain food group. I guess I’m still in the running for father of the year.
One night, my four-year-old daughter melted down at bedtime saying her “bobbin” hurt. I asked her what she thought was wrong with her bottom. She said, “I think it misses mommy”. My fat ass missed mommy too.
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Owww My Liver!!!
Craig does bad impressions. One of his worst is Beavis. Craig and I once watched an episode where Beavis gets in a car wreck and cries, “Oww! Oww! My liver!” When Craig tried to mimic that phrase, he made Beavis sound French.
The impression was so horribly memorable that he and I continue to use “oww my liver” after suffering just about any injury…a stubbed toe, a kick to the growing, or most often as a compliment to the other’s comedy, as in “I’m laughing so hard I just sprained my liver”.
I rarely use the phrase around the house, so it surprised me today when my 4-year old daughter bumped her hip into the chair I was sitting in and said, “Oww my liver”. I was so proud. Her impression sounded much more like Beavis than Craig’s. I think I’ve found my new buddy comedy partner.
The impression was so horribly memorable that he and I continue to use “oww my liver” after suffering just about any injury…a stubbed toe, a kick to the growing, or most often as a compliment to the other’s comedy, as in “I’m laughing so hard I just sprained my liver”.
I rarely use the phrase around the house, so it surprised me today when my 4-year old daughter bumped her hip into the chair I was sitting in and said, “Oww my liver”. I was so proud. Her impression sounded much more like Beavis than Craig’s. I think I’ve found my new buddy comedy partner.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
She's No Lady
I received a great new quote for the testimonials section from the wife of one of my buddies. After he told her the story of my urinal bump and the termination of my employment, she said, “I could not be married to Matt”.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I'm a Roll (sic) Model
Today, my son needed some alone time and closed the door to his room. By the time I went in to check on him he had stripped down to just his diaper. He was running from one side of the room to the other, squatting down in front of the fan until it got too cold. He’d then run to the other side of the room shivering while saying, “BRRR!!!!”
My first thought was that he’s taking my job loss a lot more seriously than me. It was as though he was getting himself ready for a long, cold winter without clothes or shelter.
After I watched him run back and forth several times, he came over to the chair I was sitting in and tried to lift up my shirt. I didn’t think much of it, because he often pulls up my shirt and stares in wonder at the many rolls that make up my belly. But, then it hit me… he was wanting me to join him for Clothing Optional Friday. Not even two years old and he’s already reading my blog! Now if I could just teach him how to click the little Google ads at the bottom of the page, he might not end up homeless and hungry.
My first thought was that he’s taking my job loss a lot more seriously than me. It was as though he was getting himself ready for a long, cold winter without clothes or shelter.
After I watched him run back and forth several times, he came over to the chair I was sitting in and tried to lift up my shirt. I didn’t think much of it, because he often pulls up my shirt and stares in wonder at the many rolls that make up my belly. But, then it hit me… he was wanting me to join him for Clothing Optional Friday. Not even two years old and he’s already reading my blog! Now if I could just teach him how to click the little Google ads at the bottom of the page, he might not end up homeless and hungry.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
More 2HW Weddings
Yesterday, I summarized my weekend of wedding crashing. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn made it out to be. While I may not have had the opportunity to make out with a single Treasury Secretary’s daughter, it did make me think of another wedding crash involving Craig and me.
In college, I was one of a multitude of groomsman in my roommate Bryan’s wedding. I brought Craig with me to Arkansas even though he hadn’t been invited. He didn’t know Bryan very well and had never even met the bride. But, when one of the groomsman backed out at the last minute, Craig was asked to fill in.
In those days Craig was known as “The Fat Kid”, so he jumped at the chance to attend the rehearsal dinner featuring all-you-can-eat catfish. This was well before Craig decided to become a man of the cloth, so he predictably succumbed to gluttony.
The next day Craig was wishing it had been an “all-you-care-to-eat” catfish buffet instead of “all-you-can-eat”. After taking pictures in the hot sun, Craig was in pretty bad shape and a few short minutes before game time he was nowhere to be found. Everyone was scrambling to locate Craig as the groomsman began escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle.
But, just seconds before Craig’s date was about to walk down the aisle solo, we heard a mighty flush and turned to see Craig walk out of the men’s room with a relieved look on his face. His bridesmaid was not quite as chipper when Craig asked her to smell his thumb on the way down the aisle.
He continued to offend women in pretty dresses, later calling the bride Mary Beth instead of Sara Beth. Months later we learned that Sara Beth was not happy with the substitute groomsman’s antics on the wedding video. Apparently, Craig did not notice the cameraman behind him, who couldn’t help but get a shot of Craig grabbing another groomsman’s caboose.
The night ended appropriately, with Craig catching the garter belt. Eleven short years later Craig found his blushing bride. Thank God Craig didn’t meet her then, because she still had baby teeth and was on the junior high drill team.
After the wedding we went back to the house where we were staying. Before I get into that, I need to do a quick background story to set the scene. During our freshman year in college, Craig developed an ingenious underwear system. He only owned three pair and they happened to be very colorful bikini briefs. He would wear one pair into the shower, wash it and hang it up to dry. The next day he would wear the other pair and wash and dry it in the same manner. Pair number 3 was for emergencies only.
I’m not sure why he thought lounging on a stranger’s bed qualified as an emergency, but one of the tenants of the house unexpectedly came home a day early to find Craig laying in his bed wearing nothing but purple briefs. The Fat Kid in bikini underpants was not quite as attractive as the women Owen and Luke brought home in Wedding Crashers.
In college, I was one of a multitude of groomsman in my roommate Bryan’s wedding. I brought Craig with me to Arkansas even though he hadn’t been invited. He didn’t know Bryan very well and had never even met the bride. But, when one of the groomsman backed out at the last minute, Craig was asked to fill in.
In those days Craig was known as “The Fat Kid”, so he jumped at the chance to attend the rehearsal dinner featuring all-you-can-eat catfish. This was well before Craig decided to become a man of the cloth, so he predictably succumbed to gluttony.
The next day Craig was wishing it had been an “all-you-care-to-eat” catfish buffet instead of “all-you-can-eat”. After taking pictures in the hot sun, Craig was in pretty bad shape and a few short minutes before game time he was nowhere to be found. Everyone was scrambling to locate Craig as the groomsman began escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle.
But, just seconds before Craig’s date was about to walk down the aisle solo, we heard a mighty flush and turned to see Craig walk out of the men’s room with a relieved look on his face. His bridesmaid was not quite as chipper when Craig asked her to smell his thumb on the way down the aisle.
He continued to offend women in pretty dresses, later calling the bride Mary Beth instead of Sara Beth. Months later we learned that Sara Beth was not happy with the substitute groomsman’s antics on the wedding video. Apparently, Craig did not notice the cameraman behind him, who couldn’t help but get a shot of Craig grabbing another groomsman’s caboose.
The night ended appropriately, with Craig catching the garter belt. Eleven short years later Craig found his blushing bride. Thank God Craig didn’t meet her then, because she still had baby teeth and was on the junior high drill team.
After the wedding we went back to the house where we were staying. Before I get into that, I need to do a quick background story to set the scene. During our freshman year in college, Craig developed an ingenious underwear system. He only owned three pair and they happened to be very colorful bikini briefs. He would wear one pair into the shower, wash it and hang it up to dry. The next day he would wear the other pair and wash and dry it in the same manner. Pair number 3 was for emergencies only.
I’m not sure why he thought lounging on a stranger’s bed qualified as an emergency, but one of the tenants of the house unexpectedly came home a day early to find Craig laying in his bed wearing nothing but purple briefs. The Fat Kid in bikini underpants was not quite as attractive as the women Owen and Luke brought home in Wedding Crashers.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Weddings by 2HW
In the glory days of Two Hit Wonder, I tried to convince Craig that we needed to add weddings to the suite of services we offered. The wedding ceremonies I’ve attended often incorporate the same boring format that ends up lulling me into daydreams about whether or not there will be an open bar at the reception. I pictured 2HW breaking that mold.
Instead of reading the traditional bible verses, Craig and I would perform a Scripture rap. Instead of an overdramatic solo by someone with musical talent, I would belt out “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” while Craig strummed the only two guitar cords he knows. We’d spice up the tired old seating of the tired old grandparents with a little geriatric musical chairs. The charge/sermon would be in traditional 2HW “Letter to Hollywood” format. And we’d finish up by letting the happy couple light our moustaches instead of the unity candle.
But, Craig pretended not to get my vision and I quickly gave up on the dream. Fast forward a few months…Craig unexpectedly quit 2HW. He told me he thought we should start dating other wonders. But, soon I would learn the truth. He wanted to do weddings without me.
Last night he officiated his first wedding. No joke. While some couples choose a minister or justice of the peace to perform their ceremony, Craig’s cousin John and his bride decided that Craig’s experience as a financial analyst made him the ideal candidate to be a fake minister for a day. Instead of going to seminary, Craig spent $15 and was ordained by the First Church of the World Wide Web.
Although I don’t know John well enough to have been invited to the wedding, I knew I had to sneak in to witness Craig’s performance. He actually held up pretty well under the pressure. John and Janet did the smart thing and didn’t let Craig ad lib anything. He was instructed to read word-for-word what was written in his handbook. But, it’s what wasn’t written that caused the most trouble. They forgot Craig was a rookie, and really should have started his program with a simple, “You may be seated”. Instead, the audience was forced to stand throughout the entire ceremony.
I made it a goal to float out to Inebriation Island as quickly as possible and was sufficiently toasty by the time the best man started his toast. His first order of business was to thank Craig for performing the ceremony. Craig was sitting right next to me, so with all eyes on him, I drunkenly lifted my glass to toast, only to watch in horror as my fat, greasy fingers dumped my bourbon and coke all over our table. How nice of the uninvited guest to make a public spectacle of himself.
It could have been worse. I could have stood up and tried to do a toast of my own. I was thinking through it in my mind, but thankfully wasn’t able to quickly formulate a joke about the Priest trying to get in my pants. (Craig had come over to my house before the wedding because his suit pants were too tight. I offered up a pair of my pants, which he chose to wear even though they really didn’t match his suit coat.)
At one point in the evening, I snuck a dinner roll into my suit coat pocket. I spent the entire night waiting for the right moment to pull it out. Finally, everyone had left except Craig, his wife, the mother of the groom, her husband and me. The husband was eating a cookie. I piped up with something like, “You two really should be eating together” and handed MOG the roll from my pocket. To which she replied, “You are so freaking weird”. Again…nice job of blending in by the guy who crashed the wedding.
I further wore out my welcome with my excessive participation in the fish bowl that was set up for well wishers to offer congratulations to the happy couple. I think I wrote about 6 or 7, none of them appropriate. I know one was a Haiku, another quoted Sir Mixalot’s “Baby’s got Back”, and one talked about an aunt who was making me sick by dancing barefoot.
Let me preface the closing by saying that I’m the only living English major who routinely has to have literary symbolism explained to me, so there’s a very good chance I don’t understand the depth of meaning for the special music John and Janet chose…“Bittersweet Symphony” by the Verve. The only line I really know from the song goes like this,
“Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony, this life
Trying to make ends meet
You’re a slave to money then you die”
A fitting end to the happiest day of John, Janet and my lives.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Craigslist Post: Man Seeking Candice Bergen
I just made the following post on Craigslist in the "Missed Connections" section...
Oh, sweet Candice, I hope you remember me. Last night I dreamt that you were a big fan of my blog and wanted to work with me. You offered me $50 an hour, but before we could get into the details of our work relationship, you turned into Susan Sarandon. I immediately thought of an offensive letter/blog entry that I wrote to Susan and her boy toy, Tim Robbins. So, I started running in the general direction of the Internet to take down that post, but awoke before the situation was resolved.
Susan/Candice...Please do the honorable thing and make good on our non-binding verbal agreement that currently resides somewhere in the twisted recesses of my subconscious. I could really use the money to help pay for the therapy I’m undergoing to find out why the women of my dreams are over 60.
Thanks,
Matt
www.twohitwonder.com/matt
Oh, sweet Candice, I hope you remember me. Last night I dreamt that you were a big fan of my blog and wanted to work with me. You offered me $50 an hour, but before we could get into the details of our work relationship, you turned into Susan Sarandon. I immediately thought of an offensive letter/blog entry that I wrote to Susan and her boy toy, Tim Robbins. So, I started running in the general direction of the Internet to take down that post, but awoke before the situation was resolved.
Susan/Candice...Please do the honorable thing and make good on our non-binding verbal agreement that currently resides somewhere in the twisted recesses of my subconscious. I could really use the money to help pay for the therapy I’m undergoing to find out why the women of my dreams are over 60.
Thanks,
Matt
www.twohitwonder.com/matt
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