Have you ever stared at something and wanted it to fly? I know I have. Like last night after I got done slamming Irish Car Bombs down at the old watering hole… I stared at my car for about an hour trying to get it to fly. Damn thing wouldn’t budge!

Well guess what! That’s what this game is all about, apparently. You put our little headset on, and you get to make balls fly all over this game set. Hah, that sounds wrong… or right? Either way, it sounds like tons of fun to me. Stare at balls and make them jump all over the place. Not quite moving a car, but it’s a step in the right direction. And that direction, my friends, will cost you about a hundred bucks! Only at skymall!

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This article was originally written for www.gapersblock.com. You can see the article there also.

So I was at the post office the other day, mailing something to my special lady friend. It’s long distance so you really have to send letters and what not to keep points on the scoreboard, so to speak. I had tried FedEx and UPS, but their prices were astronomical – $60 bucks when USPS was $10 – $20.

There I was, putting some stuff in a box and filling out all the appropriate forms, when some girl came in to ship something. It was only the two of us there at the Post Office, so I could easily hear her conversation with the USPS employee. The girl was trying to pay for her purchase with a credit card that said “See I.D.” where the signature bar is on the back. The USPS employee was not down with that. You see, their policy is that you have to sign your cards. “You can sign your card right now, but we won’t take it if it’s not signed,” the employee told the young lady – the damsel in distress, you might say.

Logic isn't in their policy.

“I work at a bank,” the girl protested. “We tell all of our customers to write ‘See I.D’ on the back of their cards because it’s more secure. Your I.D. has your signature and your picture on it. It helps protect against theft.”

“Hard to argue against that logic,” I affirmed her silently in my mind. This was, after all, the same policy that I myself practiced.

“Our policy says that you have to sign the card,” the employee persisted.

“But you can just see my I.D.” the girl continued in futility.

“Ma’am you can either sign the card now or pay with cash,” repeated the error message, reminiscent of the infuriating experiences we’ve all had with some type of electronics that malfunction despite all forms of reason. The customer yielded, her white flag waving as she handed over the cash for her purchase. Her head hung low as she marched out of the building, defeated. Read the full story

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TTM Readers: This is an article that I wrote for www.gapersblock.com As our readerbase doesn’t really overlap very well, they allowed me the opportunity to post it on TTM as well. You can see the original article with all its comments here, on Gaper’s Block.

Hey there Chicagoans. Go ahead and pause all your Kazaa, Limewire, and BitTorrent downloads for a second. I want the page to load quickly as this is something you’re going to want to read.

If you haven’t heard yet, it’s “illegal” to download music online without “paying” for it. It’s hard to believe, but being a fan isn’t accepted as legal payment anymore. They call it “piracy,” and the consequences for it can be very, very dire. Therefore, I’ve compiled a list of other crimes that I suggest you look into before you decide to download “Sweet Child of Mine” or “Poker Face.”

First, let’s look at the fines in the only two music piracy trials that have taken place to date. The first is the case of Jammie Thomas, a single mother of four from Minnesota. She downloaded 24 songs off of Kazaa. A jury of her peers decided that she owed the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) almost $2 million for her crimes, a ruling which the Obama Administration recently told a federal judge was constitutionally sound. The second is the case of Joel Tenenbaum, a young grad student at Boston University. He downloaded 30 songs and was slapped with a fine of $675,000. If the verdicts stand both will file for bankruptcy. Read the full story

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Hey there chief,

About the advice you gave me… Look, let me just start by saying that I know you had good intentions. You meant well, and I appreciate your well-meaningness.You’re a good friend/mentor/parent/random acquaintance who asked “how are you” and got way more than you bargained for. I value you as a person and the fact that you cared enough to pull something out of your ass to try to guide me through life. I really do.

But we know what the road to hell is paved with, don’t we? American tax dollars! Just kidding, it’s good intentions like the ones you had. Your advice was not good, and since I’m the kind of ungrateful doucher who criticizes gifts freely given, I am going go critique you so that you can do better next time. Take a seat.

Let’s start with your tone. You see, I’m at a point in my life that some might define as “hopeless,” “disillusioned,” or “on the verge of joining the military.” What I need from you is pure, unadulterated, unfiltered positivity. You’re my cheerleader right now. You don’t have to be stupid or slutty. You just have to be positive. Tell me everything is going to be okay, even if you don’t know that to be true.You’re not an oracle. I know that.  Don’t tell me you don’t know the future. I don’t need to hear that, and we’re focusing on my needs because I’m a selfish bitch. Read the full story

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When was the last time you woke up at 4am? It’s pretty much the darkest point of the entire night, when Marilyn Manson’s skin shines brighter than the sun ever could.  Last time I checked God isn’t even awake at 4am. Zombies, party boys, drug addicts, and homeless people – nobody is awake at 4am. If they are technically awake, it’s in some state of extreme inebriation that doesn’t really qualify them as being a part of the waking world.

You know who is awake at 4am? This guy right here is. That’s right, I wake up every day at 4am. Why? Because I have to get the worm. That’s my thing. I get up early, and I get the worm.

And I hate it.

Think I have a choice? I don’t. It’s built into my genetic material or something. I try everything I can to sleep in, but nothing can do it. Ambien, alcohol, severe head trauma – no matter what, I end up waking up every morning with the urge to go out there and get that worm. And I do get that worm, let me tell you. But what the hell is the point? It’s a worm. When was the last time you wanted to wake up early to get a worm? It’s not “Early bird gets the million dollars and the Maserati,” or “Early bird gets the winning lottery ticket and the marriage with Denise Richards,” is it? (That’s right, I’ll take Charlie Sheen’s scraps any day) Read the full story

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Like most young men not currently employed as astronauts, ambulance drivers, or dinosaur hunters, I have had to revise the dreams of my boyhood.  While I once lamented this abandonment of my youthful fantasies, I now realize it was a necessary process as my post-9/11 worldview expanded to encompass ideas greater than cars with sirens.  I have been told by Barack Obama and innumerable pop-punk songwriters that dreams are the nectar of life, and have therefore endeavored to replace my dreams of careers featuring burning buildings, heavy-automatic machine guns, and mobs of catatonic disciples with more practical, attainable pursuits.  It is with this mind – as a 23 year-old college graduate – that I find myself dreaming new dreams. Read the full story

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There are a plethora of colloquialisms that have burrowed their way into our common language like some kind of horrifying parasite. And there are many language abusers to blame, from Paris Hilton to Snoop Dogg, popularizing these vile forms of verbal vomit via various media outlets.There is one saying, however, that makes me violently halt conversations with a loud exclamation of “WTF?” every single time I hear it. You’ve heard it. You’ve probably said it. Those of you who appreciate the correct and graceful manipulation of our language may want to bite down onto a paint stirrer or a lead bullet in order to cope with the pain that is to come. Here it is, the abominable saying:

“I could care less.”

Just what the hell are you trying to communicate with that statement? You could care less? Well why don’t you then? What is stopping you from reaching the apex of Mount IDon’tGiveACrap? Maybe you’re just out of energy, sapped from a long, arduous day of being unable to care less about the general goings-on around you. I understand that; everybody gets tired and needs a boost sometimes. They make various consumer products that serve to enhance your energy. Haven’t you heard of them? Here are a few examples: Red Bull. No Doze. Cocaine. Take your pick, drink it, swallow it, or snort it up your cartilage-depleted nose, and please bring your levels of apathy up to their maximum potential. Read the full story

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I have long suspected that college was one big, $120,000 racket, and the fact that I have learned more about The Human Condition in eight months at a cash register than I ever did in a Philosophy class gives credence to this suspicion.  In an effort to spare you from having to relearn all my hard-earned wisdom, I have prepared a primer for you.  What follows is a smattering of observations and truths that I have gleaned during eight months spent in the aisles, check lanes, fitting rooms, and stock rooms of a mass retailer.  Enjoy.

1)      Of all the unconscionable tortures endured by children before they turn five – flu shots, baths, and naps, just to name a few – being made to go shopping with mom is unquestionably the worst.  Or so their tireless, ear-splitting screams would seem to indicate.

2)      Shoppers will never trust the product images that appear on packages.  Swatches of fabric and huge color photos of the Thomas the Tank Engine sheet set they’re interested in mean nothing to them until they remove the comforter from the package, wrap their toddler in it and have him roll around on the floor.  Then, after it has been rendered useless to everyone else, they will determine if they like it or not.  They refuse to believe that the six foot tall curtain samples or microwave displays bare any resemblance to the one in the box until it has been removed and strewn all across the aisle.  I’m going to stop talking about this now lest I have another rage blackout. Read the full story

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Me and wife #12 (or was she 13?).

1. First, let’s get this straight – I do not look like a Chinese person.  I’m sick and tired of these modern depictions.  I look exactly like the love child of Vladimir Putin and a very fair-skinned half-Eskimo. Screw Wikipedia and their stupid picture on my bio.
2. I hate Wikipedia.
3. I did not come up with the name “Golden Horde” – I think that sounds pretty gay, like we were on a Pride March or something.  We weren’t.  We raped and pillaged, and every now and then a man may have accidentally got raped.  There’s really no way to know.
4. I’m completely aware that my first name “Temujin” is ridiculous. Aware enough that I killed my father for being dumb enough to pick that name and cause me a childhood full of schoolyard grief.  You don’t need to bring it up, trust me.
5. No, my son’s name “Ogedei” is not as bad as “Temujin.”
6. I think Ukraine is the closest thing to a national urinal you’ll find outside of Africa.
7. I take full responsibility for how crappy Mongolia is today.
8. I take no responsibility for the contemporary problems of Central Asia. That is ALL on the Soviets.
9. I think it’s funny the Chinese spent eight centuries building their wall with millions of people dying in the process.  Me and my boys got across (with horses, mind you) in less than 2 days.
10. My biggest regret is that I never learned how to play the guitar.
11. I did not lose my virginity until I was 13, and that was a very late age back then.  She was 24, red-headed, and shared my tickle fetish.
12. I’ve never met a person I like as much as I like Bic med/moy pens.
13. Where does Japan get off?  I mean really.
14. I never feel sexier than when my hair is up in a pony tail.
15. Genocide is underrated for its effectiveness.
16. Last five artists I listened to on my iPod?  DCTalk, Elvis, David Bowie, Cyndi Lauper, and The Cure.  Related Note: the 80s – great for my iPod, but apparently really tough on Disney movies.  I don’t understand what they were thinking… Tron? Who Framed Roger Rabbit? The Great Mouse Detective?  I guess they finally pulled it together with Little Mermaid, but up ’til then, what a mess!
17. I don’t believe in the “too soon” statute of comedy limitation.  If Heath Ledger and 9/11 jokes are ever going to be funny, they’re always funny.
18. The word “Eurasia” nauseates me to the point of brelching. Related Note: brelching is my word for a burp that culminates with a tiny amount of vomit coming up the very back of the throat, causing a burning sensation in the back of the mouth, nose, and eyes, depending on the severity of the brelch.
19. I voted for Perot both times.  I’m also committed to the belief that 9/11 was an inside job.
20. Almost all women have two X chromosomes, but my wife had three. Look it up, it’s real.  To top it off, I had an extra Y chromosome. This means going into each of our children there was an XXX and an XYY.  I can’t believe we didn’t give birth to some kind of three-armed mutant, but we didn’t.  This fear occupied practically my entire prayer life.
21. I think American Idol gets progressively better each new season. I do think Sanjaya was a plant, and this grieves me. Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus Take the Wheel” makes me cry almost every time.
22. Most of the posts on my Facebook wall are from fake profiles I have created to make people think I have friends.
23. My scientists may or may not have accidentally created what you people call the “Black Death.”
24. I think music piracy degrades us all, weakening and demeaning the art.  Piracy on the high seas, however, is a whole different bunch of bananas.
25. I passed the bong to Michael Phelps.

TAGGED!!!
Howard Stern
Anna Nicole Smith
Benjamin Franklin
Julia Roberts
The Little Engine That Could

Contributed by a faithful reader and occasional collaborator who has requested to remain anonymous so as not to jeopardize his lucrative drug trafficking business.  Many thanks.

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A letter, in response to this previous one.

Dear Sir/Madame,

Having received your objectionably accusatory, alcohol-soaked correspondence nearly a week ago today, I have thus seen it fit to provide you with a declarative defense, to be presented to you before the scrutinous gaze of the benevolent public, or, “they.” I trust that “they” will, in their pluralistic corporate sagacity, rend from me the violent vilifications which you have unjustly thrust upon me. “They” will see, after an objective investigation, that our quarrel has arisen from that dark, evil place that keeps Amy Winehouse in dire straits: misunderstanding.

Indeed, sir, I have spent much of my “sober” time at the gatherings which we both attended mocking you and your antics. I believe, however, that your accusations lack true empathy. You say that at once, you’ve “been” me? Then how can you blame me for wanting to openly mock the interpretive dance that you did to “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion? I realize that was fun for you, but for the sober bystander it was nothing short of an awesome spectacle.

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