The Wedding Post – Version 2.0.

After a solid week of fighting the flu, I awoke in my Grandparent’s den at 7am on Saturday. In less than nine hours, I was to officiate my very first wedding in front of 100 people.

As soon as I got up from the couch, I took a photo of myself to document this joyous occasion.

Ruh-Roh, I'm still sick.
(Censored for your protection. I was a mess.)

I had to get better, fast.

I had slept for about 18 minutes the night before. For one, I was terrified of what sort of fools I would make the bride and groom to be; as well as what I could do to further throw myself down the ladder of respect within my family.

It was about 80 degrees in the den, so my sleep was ravaged with sweaty nightmares and subconscious ramblings. I kept thinking I didn’t have the ceremony written down or I had to add something very important at the last minute. For a second, I actually thought that God was making me sick on purpose because He didn’t want me to pretend to be religious. He knew I didn’t practice an organized religion or go to church, so perhaps a few stray viruses my way would set me straight.

Fortunately for the happy couple (and unfortunately for my mortal soul), I fought through that crap.

The Backyard.The Tent.

The setting was the backyard of the happy couple, and it was quite beautiful. My mom had taken her duties as Wedding Planner to the next level, creating a fantastic landscape and comfortable area for said wedding. There was even a deluxe Port-A-Potty. Very posh.

Too bad it was 800 degrees out. It was three hours before showtime and we were plowing through sunscreen and Deep Woods Off! like it was going out of style.

A Flower of Some Sort.Nother Tent.

As the wedding party scrambled around, setting things up before the guests arrived, I poured over my script for the millionth time, making sure it was exactly the way I wanted it.

Scriptin' It Up.

I’ve done public speaking before, and I’m decent enough at it when I have to be. It’s not like I prefer it or anything; it’s just that people naturally assume that I’d be comfortable addressing a room full of people for some reason. This probably has something to do with me essentially doing it every day on this page. However, real life doesn’t have a Backspace button. So, if I were to get up on the podium and start swearing or wet my pants, that would pretty much be the end of it.

In the end, I just have to trust my material. I don’t like to ad-lib very much and go off-course; I like to know exactly what I’m going to say and how I’m a-gunna say it. Makes me feel safe.

I didn’t feel safe today.

Before I knew it, guests were taking their seats and the Missus was straightening my tie. I honestly remember my own wedding as less stressful; it probably had something to do with the heat. My wrists were sweating through my shirt, which cannot possibly be a normal and healthy thing.

I'm Going To Hell.
(I’m behind the podium, yo. Also, that’s the groom with the flower girl, NOT his bride.)

At the start, I was standing up there alone in front of everyone. I could feel them judging me with their eyes. “Why are you up there? You’re a fraud. A fraud.”

I thought I was going to throw up, so I stepped down just as the music started playing. The wedding party emerged, laughing and happy as can be. I saw how genuinely excited and laid back they were about this, and I couldn’t help but share their sentiments. After all, hiring me was their idea; they wanted me there for one reason or another, so I just had to do what I did best.

“So, do you want to get married?” I asked them as they reached the podium.

15 minutes later, it was over. Everyone was applauding and crying, and the bride and groom were embracing each other as husband and wife. It was something I never expected to be a part of, and probably will never forget. From what everyone told me, things sounded perfect and everyone did a fantastic job. I took their word for it, because I couldn’t think properly.

The Best Man looked at me and said, “Can we get trashed now?”


Good Jorb, Wedding Planner.

Things got a little blurry, so here are nine things of interest that happened at the reception:

1. At least 4 kegs were drained. My family comes from a long line of drinkers, and they didn’t fail to impress. I drank a wine cooler, as I am a stunning pansy sometimes.

2. At some point in the evening, the bride and groom hopped into the flatbed of a truck and sped to the nearest bar for a shot. They didn’t return for at least 45 minutes. We contemplated stealing their television.

3. My mom tells me that the truck that drove them to said bar had a DVD player in it that was airing a porno flick.

4. While the bride and groom were gone, someone stole money from the many cards they received. The suspicion was that a drug-addicted friend of the family made off with the loot. Yup.

5. I got a taste of what it was like to be a Holy man, in that nobody wants to party with you. A lot of the people there didn’t know me, and assumed that this was what I did for a living. Therefore, everyone sidestepped around me, hid their beer and didn’t swear. This got very annoying after a while, but I embraced the unexpected respect.

6. Sometime during the night, a fight broke out. Death threats were made, hearts were broken and punches were almost thrown. I was sound asleep by this point in time.

Drink Eight Glasses Of Water A Day.
(I’m not fat.)

7. As I was sitting at a table with my wife and mom, my mom noticed a kid playing by one of the rock gardens. She said, “I think that kid crapped his pants.”

Sure enough, the small boy was walking around, apparently straining to hold his pantal contents in his jeans. After watching him struggle for a few minutes, we stared in horror as he deposited said contents onto said rock garden. He walked away, certain that nobody just saw him set a pile of feces onto a decorative piece of landscaping.

After a few minutes, people started to take notice. A semi-circle formed around the rock garden, and people were trying to figure out what it was. Photos were taken. Eventually, the truth came out and people scattered, gagging and spitting out whatever happened to be in their mouths at the time. The boy was reunited with his mother, who changed his pants and took him home.

8. After the party, a storm blew through that uprooted the tents and destroyed the CD player.

9. The bride’s cat was wearing a bowtie.

None of that last stuff was really my fault, so I still think that the wedding was a complete success. Anything that goes wrong at a reception is blamed on alcohol and instantly forgotten the next day.

It should also be noted that as far as weddings go, I’ve been an usher, a groomsman, a best man, a groom AND a officiant. This is what’s known in the wedding business as ‘Batting the Cycle.’

Will I do it again? I don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t be happier for my uncle and new aunt, and I wish them nothing but the best from here on out. I’ll see you at Christmas.

Sound off in the comments section to ask me any questions I might have missed.

Friend-ish & Family.

I Clean Up Nice.

I’m working on the ‘wedding’ essay as we speak; I expect it to be published either this afternoon or tomorrow morning at the latest.

It contains all the things you’d expect to see in a great story; sex, violence, religion, emotion, theft, drugs, betrayal, sweatiness, fancy suits, gallons of alcohol and a graphic scene of public defecation.

I’m not kidding. I wish I were.

You’re not going to want to miss this; check back throughout the day.

In the meantime, sound off in the comments section and tell us about your weekend. Also, try to convince me that Global Warming is a myth.

You’re Sick, Dude.

I'm Sick, Dude.

I’m sick, dude. As you may remember, I tweaked my back some time ago.

“When was that?”

Oh, I don’t know, about a weak back. Damn, that’s funny.

Anyways, it’s slowly healing and I’ve been taking proper precautions as to not obliterate it again. As someone who likes to stand, walk and handle a fork without assistance, I’m doing what I can to make sure I maintain that sort of lavish lifestyle.

However, I’m no Superman (insert your own Christopher Reeve joke here). In fact, I’m a bit of a crybaby. When the Missus has a migraine or the cat has a kidney stone, you don’t hear them blubbering (well, the cat screams like hell, but that’s understandable). Yet, put me in the slightest amount of discomfort, and I transform into the exact handicapped loser I’m trying to avoid. Pretending not to be hurt was never one of my strong points; I’m bawling in every photo of me that hasn’t been posted on this page.

The reason I bring this up is because I’ve been benched all week with some sort of mystery illness. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not helping my back any and I feel even more worthless than normal. If you’re in the mood for an armchair diagnosis, here are my symptoms:

1. My throat’s closed up, I can’t breathe very well, and my voice is completely shot. I sound like I’m talking through one of those electric-box things they give to folks with lung cancer. Always making the most of a bad situation, I’ve been working hard on taking my Mr. T impression to the next level. I’ve also started a Death Metal band that I’m fronting called GoreRock. My growls are top-notch, and with said illness, I can vomit at will on stage.

2. Every morning without fail, I feel like I’ve been punched awake. I ache all day, almost as if I got up in the middle of the night and unconsciously participated in a Golden Gloves tournament.

As a side note, wouldn’t that be cool? I’d just wake up in the morning with a trophy on my table. In the sports section, there would be a photo of me in the ring with my pajamas bottoms on. This is very funny to me for some reason; specifically if I won my matches.

3. Every time I blink, I crap my pants.

I’m stumped.

I’m sure it’s just a bug going around (I have been making out with more strangers lately), but I’m concerned because I’m officiating a wedding this weekend. This is supposed to be the best day of the happy couple’s lives; they don’t need me up there, high on cough medicine and gurgling like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I also don’t want my sexy Reverend outfit to go to waste. It’s all held together with velcro, so I can use it to strip during the bachelorette party the night before. It’s all very sacrilegious. Or sacri-licious, depending on your views.

Song of choice? It’s Raining Men.

Another thing that greatly hinders recovery is my refusal to take medication. I try to avoid anything that alters my body’s natural ability to heal itself, besides all the liquor and cheap Afghani heroin. I hate trying to function when I’m jacked-up on meds, so I decided a long time ago that feeling sick was far better than feeling loopy. Sick I can handle. Sick is real. Loopy is not real and it allows you to pretend your not sick. I’ve never been a fan of fiction, buddy.

By the way, feel free to work the term “Afghani heroin” into your day-to-day conversations. The above paragraph existed solely to use that in a sentence.

As I mentioned before, me and the Missus will be heading back to our hometown this weekend for my uncle and future aunt’s wedding. From what I can gather, they really liked the ceremony script I sent them, which made me exceedingly happy. I had never written a wedding service before, so I was mapping a lot of uncharted territory. Now, all I have to do is read it aloud without passing out or ‘yodeling groceries.’

You can steal ‘yodeling groceries,’ too. I know you’re going to anyways.

The next time we talk, I’ll have my first wedding ceremony under my belt. I’ll share pictures and tell you all about it, like a family. Sound off in the comments section and tell me to drink plenty of fluids.

The Conspiracy Starts Now.

The Conspiracy Starts Here.

It was almost 100 degrees that day. I blame the government.

I had heard about Dundee’s annual ‘UFO Days’ convention a few weeks prior, while scouring the internet for interesting places in Wisconsin to visit. Me and the Missus try to do this once every few weeks; get out of the house, visit some unincorporated shell of a town, eat grilled cheese and buy antiques.

Imagine my surprise when I saw that the ‘UFO Capitol of the World’ was less than 80 miles from my doorstep! To be fair, there were at least two other Wisconsin towns that proclaimed themselves ‘UFO Capitol of the World;’ I think someone needs to regulate that title a little more closely. Nonetheless, we packed the car and hit the road before 10am on Saturday.

Hmm...this doesn't look like the UFO capitol of the world.

Okay, this would normally be the point in the essay where I would get into how this convention wasn’t even close to what I expected, but I’ll let my notes speak for themselves. These are the blurbs I scribbled to myself on the way home, as to not forget what I had just witnessed. Take a look:

a) Expected something lighthearted and fun, did not deliver.

b) Heat index of +100 with no air-conditioning; people blamed the weather on a worldwide conspiracy to shut the convention down, seriously.

c) Main speaker guy looked just like Dale Gribble; initially thought he was kidding, was not.

d) Ranting old man was carrying around a Weekly World News; also not kidding.

e) Casual conversations about chips in your head abound.

f) Government-controlled weather. government-controlled weather.

g) New world order, concentration camps, aliens, George W. Bush, Jesus and the NWO.

h) Speaker mentioned in passing that someone was in telepathic contact with an alien.

i) Stuck around for a couple hours; got the hell outta there and didn’t look back.

j) Had to leave rad alien mask in the car, didn’t want to scare locals who were actually quite scared of aliens.

k) People had poor attitude; didn’t like aliens and didn’t welcome them. Sad, really.

It was so hot...

Yeah, that’s right. It was so hot in there that I went temporarily insane and drank a Budweiser. I hadn’t been that oily since high school.

What I thought was going to be a fun and lighthearted romp concerning the UFO phenomenon more closely resembled a room full of folks suspicious and afraid of absolutely everything. As the speakers’ allegations got more and more outlandish, the people around me just nodded more and more. Every few seconds, me and Missus exchanged glances as if to say, “Glad we brought the camera, nobody’s going to freaking believe this.”

I must say that for a few seconds, I was actually agreeing with what they had to say. For example:

Speaker: “All of these bad things are because of the Bush administration.”
Me: “Yup, can’t argue with that.”

Speaker: “They want to make your lives miserable.”
Me: “True ‘dat. Preach on!”

Speaker: “They have a machine that controls the weather.”
Me: “Where are my keys?”

Still don’t believe me? I have some video I’d like you to take a peek at. I must warn you, however, you’re going to forget what life was like before you watched this. I shot it myself:

So, what have we learned? To be honest, I don’t really know. I still believe in the idea of UFO’s, but I also believe in truckloads of medication to treat paranoid delusions.

Sound off in the comments section before I’m located and burned at the stake.

What Doing?

New Logo.

Here is a sneak-peek at the brand-spanking new CDP logo. It will be replacing the ‘label maker’ logo I’ve had since the start of 2006. The old logo was impossible to use for merch purposes, so it’s been kicked to the curb. Expect to see the new logo pop up all over the CDP in upcoming weeks.

As I mentioned, along with a slight image makeover, the CDP will be entering the swag business in a week or two. I like money and you like to spend it, so everyone wins. More on that as it develops. I’m trying to take care of all the technical stuff during the summer, so when the yuppie Lost Friday crowd takes over in September, they’ll have a place to deposit their excess income.

My UFO Days 2006 post should have been here by now, but I’ve had way too many things to do recently. Along with creating merch, customizing my logo and counting my fat PayPal account (donate now!), I’ve been running myself ragged over at my real job. It doesn’t help that my back is completely shot, too. This weekend, however, I’ll be editing the video I shot at the convention, and the essay should be up on Monday. Should be.

To recap:

New logo is on the way. Expect it to start invading next week.
New merch is on the way. Give it about two weeks.
The UFO Convention video/essay will arrive on Monday.

Have a good weekend.

(EDIT: Thanks to your donations, I purchased the domain THECDP.NET. Check it out, add it to your favorites and relish in a much shorter URL.)

Here Comes The Money.

Here Comes The Money!

So, here’s the deal. After two-and-a-half years, 400 posts and hundreds upon thousands of hits, the CDP has decided to put up a donation button in the sidebar. See it over there? It’s hot, sexy and ready to take your money. I’m putting it up in case there are any CDP readers that are feeling charitable.

You see, I put a lot of time into this blog, mainly because writing is one of the few things that I’m marginally talented at. I love it more than anything on the planet besides the Missus; more than Mr. T, Tony Little and The Shaggs combined. Seriously. I’ve refused sponsors in the past and stripped the place of adverts, specifically because I felt that it took away from the page and what I was trying to do here. It doesn’t mean I don’t like money, however.

Look, I’m not broke, I don’t need a kidney and I’m kind of an asshole. However, here you are, on my page yet again, entertaining yourself for free with my essays. That’s more than okay with me, but if you’ve been looking for a special way to thank me for being so awesome, it’s you’re lucky day.

It’s completely safe and secure, and you don’t have to sign up for anything. I promise. You just need some sort of check or credit card, and that’s it.

Also, if you leave a comment, drop me an e-mail or otherwise let me know that you donated money to the CDP, I will move Heaven and earth to find some way to thank you. I can send you a customized cartoon, an autographed 8×10 glossy, anything. If you’d prefer to remain anonymous, I can dig that, too.

Thank you for your support. The highly-anticipated UFO DAYS 2006 post is on the way. Sound off in the comments section about how big of a jackass I am.

Ow, My Spine!

Slippin' A Disc.

Lumbar Disc Herniation. I have it; you want it.

About a week ago, I realized that it hurt when I laid down (that’s what the kids like to call a “red flag,” by the way). A stinging sensation ran straight up my back, with all the intensity and bravado of a cattle prod. After wincing and peeing a little, I checked to make sure I wasn’t attempting to take a nap on any live wires, and thoughtfully stroked my smooth chin.

“Well, that can’t possibly be right,” I said to myself. Then I passed out.

Further attention located the cause of my problem to be a severely tender lower back. Ignoring it for the first few days, I then realized that my legs were experiencing a large amount of tingling and pain when I slept. My constant kicking and shifting even put me on the couch for a night or so, as to not boot the Missus in the ovaries by accident one unfortunate night. Eventually, I put two and two together, and here we are. I don’t really know how it happened, but I have it and it’s not going away.

And yes, I see the irony in being too out of shape for a nap. Save the jokes, turd-burglars.

In reality, it’s sort of a serious thing. A lumbar disc is inflamed in my lower back, and it’s messing with my spine (ruh-roh). When I press hard enough on it, my right leg tingles (ruh-roh!). I’ve been going over the checklist in my head as to how this might have happened, and I think it has something to do with my multiple attempts to breakdance in the living room (I do this during TV commercials so the Missus doesn’t get bored). It was only a matter of time before I popped and locked one too many times, causing something to snap and leak out of my spinal cord.

Now, the Missus will never be bored. When I inevitably become a cripple, she’ll have to feed me mashed vegetables and wipe my aforementioned smooth chin every day. I’ll have to change the name of my page to “Quadriplegic Dance Party,” and we all know how those end up. The end times are near, and I’m preparing for the rapture.

Or, it will all heal up in six weeks, provided I take it easy and gob Icy Hot on it; whichever’s easiest for me. You know how much I hate putting ointments on my body, however, so paralyzation is still a serious option I’m weighing out with my family.

In the meantime, it hurts like hell and I’m not comfortable in any position but standing up. When I’m seated, I shift around more than Michael J. Fox on the Tilt-A-Whirl (meanest joke ever). When I lay down, it feels like my legs are trying to detach themselves from my doughy thorax (and can you blame them?). I’m cranky, irritable and plowing through the ice packs with reckless abandon.

You know, I can’t help but think that this is some sort of divine retribution for something bad I’ve done in the last few weeks. Perhaps God isn’t too happy with the concept of me being an ordained Reverend. Being raised Catholic, it’s always been assumed that I’m a hell-bound sinner, and it was only a matter of time before the bookkeeping staff in Heaven realized that I’ve slipped through the cracks and vaporized me on the spot.

Imagine my surprise when they decided to kill me slowly and painfully. Those guys are a hoot.

My spine hurts. Sound off in the comments section and give me a verbal massage.

See You In Your Nightmares!
The CDP Visits A UFO Convention.
(Hilarity does not ensue; I’ll have the video to prove it.)

Sweet Release. (Post #400 – Part V.)

Post #400 - Part IV.

The end is here. Enjoy the final batch of quotes from the CDP‘s last 200 posts. Yes, I used the mannequin picture again.

(Part V contains quotes collected from April 2006 to July 2006.)

I have successfully ingested an entire pouch of Big League Chew, and chewed the entire works for over a minute before choking on the baseball-sized gob and spitting it out. I consider myself the only person on the planet who has done this and survived. – April 2006

This page tends to take me away from longer projects, like action-adventure screenplays and car commercials, because of its instant gratification and submission to the rest of the world. When you can write 1000 words on Chuck Norris and talk to people about it for the rest of the day, it’s a lot more fun than doing 10 pages a day on an awful script that nobody will critique and discard for months. – April 2006

For as private and lonely as I want to be, I sure spend a lot of time telling people about it. – April 2006

Picking out the laptop was by far the most annoying aspect. We first talked to a 14-year-old, on commission, wearing wingtips, who was honest-to-God named ‘Rad.’ Rad basically told us that what we were looking at was trash, and unless we spent well over $1,400 on the model that was made from Unicorn ivory and Goblin fur, I’d most certainly slash my wrists with a broken Coke bottle after using it for a week. – April 2006

Whenever I wandered any more than 3 feet from the Missus, she would be swarmed by male salesmen who natually assumed that she had no idea what she was looking for. These misogynistic turds lined up all the way back to the appliance section to willingly blow smoke up her ass about computers she knew far more about than them. I thought the chauvinistic stereotype died with car salesman 30 years ago, but they honestly thought that she would gladly write a hefty check to any tall guy that smelled nice and explained to her what a processor did. Good luck, kids. – April 2006

With the completion of this post, you will officially know about every single interesting thing that has ever happened to me, and I shall retire from personal blogging forever. For the rest of my days, I’ll choose to talk about TV shows and celebrities. Or, failing that, what celebrities from TV shows are wearing. – April 2006

You should abandon even your closest friends and colleagues if it offers you even the slightest chance of seeing a bra. – April 2006

The internet might have been new at the time when it came to the globalization of information and commerce, but since day one, it was always a worldwide pornography and prostitution ring. Let it be known that I was there for the Glory Days. – April 2006

I bled like Ryan White in a Golden Gloves tournament, and that was the single meanest thing I’ve ever said on this page. – April 2006

Kenny Rogers is a stone-cold dick. – April 2006

Watch in horror as television shows and pointless gossip slowly monopolize every day of the week here at the CDP! Forget about witty reflections and nostalgia! Do away with humorous essays and sarcastic wordplay! Take everything you used to appreciate about me and cram it up yer’ chute, because I’m selling out to the lowest common denominator, and you’re coming with! – April 2006

I might miss my neighbors. Some nights, I’m sure I’ll lie awake and wonder if they’ll ever have kids. I’ll wonder if they still love each other with the intensity and vigor of the first year of marriage. I’ll wonder if she ever figured out how to shut the hell up every once in a while. Seriously, he could have just been bashing her skull with a bat and I wouldn’t have known the difference. – April 2006

Sometimes, the best friendships are the ones you make with people who don’t know you exist. – April 2006

If Chris Daughtry and Katharine McPhee hooked up and got pregnant, they could just put a microphone up to her protruding belly, and the fetus would win next year’s Idol. – April 2006

This is the Missus’ car. Well, at least it used to be. Allow me to explain. – April 2006

I should have known better than to prepare the Fugu myself. – April 2006

10 minutes later, she drove me to the emergency room. We took her car, and I threw up four times on the way; once into her air conditioning vent by accident. Long after I’m gone, she’ll think of me every time she turns on the heat. – April 2006

I walked into the Spring Homecoming dance alone, but I was planning on leaving a man. – April 2006

This night also predated my 5-year stint with braces, mind you, so my teeth looked as if they were retreating from the front of my mouth, turning inward and making a beeline for my uvula. – April 2006

She giggled and brushed against my blazer, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree as I continued to lie through my crooked teeth. I was definitely on to something. I could see a very short, awkward and dishonest future with her, and I was okay with that. – April 2006

In the fifth grade, I accidentally wore my mom’s blouse to school in what would be remembered as a tragic laundry mix-up of epic proportions. Since then, most people, teachers especially, looked at me a little cockeyed. In addition to that, my best friend all through middle school was a bona fide homosexual, so the deck has always been stacked against me when it came to being taken seriously as a man. – April 2006

The 30 feet between us might as well have been a black hole full of pudding and sharks; there was no way I could muster the balls to approach someone like her for no good reason. – April 2006

Vinny put his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. He only did that to me when he had something very important to say, or when he was about to knee me in the testicles. I got into the habit of bracing for impact no matter what. – April 2006

Such men we were, daring each other to ask women to dance. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t already been scooped up by some bikini sorority cult. – April 2006

Her boyfriend looked fresh from the pages of a J. Crew catalog, and I secretly wondered how I could find his address so I could mail him half of a cat. Half of his cat. I bet he smelled like Polo and had a closet full of rugby shirts with popped collars, each one sexier than the last. – April 2006

The night was half over and I was still alone; mouth reeking with the familiar, sour taste of rejection and failure. It tastes sort of like an old penny, or a 9-volt battery doused in mustard and poop. – April 2006

The me that I am now hates the me that I used to be, but the old me had no choice but to continue being me until I became the me you know now. – April 2006

We got to know each other a little more after spending a few long nights together in her bedroom, meticulously dipping newspaper in slop and constructing what could be considered the most terrifying clown pinata ever viewed. Candy or not, this thing was going to scare the hell out of some Mexican children. – April 2006

The first thing that I noticed about Charlotte- or the first thing that anyone with eyes noticed about her that night- was the fact that she was wearing a massive, white neck brace. Her beautiful blue dress sparkled at every angle, her hair was expertly tossed and curled, her makeup was applied with wild teenage precision, and it was all overshadowed by the foam device wrapped tightly around her neck like a medically prescribed scarf. She was also crying. Hard. – April 2006

I had a lifetime of experience dealing with women in this situation, and I knew that she was on a rebound so fresh that it was still flopping around on the plate. – April 2006

Even if you hate the concept of American Idol, you should tune in at least once to see the glory that is McPhee. – April 2006

What Lost does best is flaunting with overt supernatural and sci-fi elements, but pretending not to under the guise of characters that want to believe in logic. In essence, the show is about faith, the human condition and random acts of sweatiness. – April 2006

She laughed and smiled, and I could only assume she understood the head-shakingly brilliant irony of this night. After everything the two of us did to make our evening perfect, here we were at 2am, in what was one of the least-classy places in the city, sporting $300 outfits and wishing we were anywhere else. Hours ago, we were strangers; now we were allies. – May 2006

I fully expected a wrecking ball to collide with the back of my head in microseconds, transforming my skull into malt powder. – May 2006

For my money, there’s nothing sexier than getting to first base next to an injured woman in the midst of an emotional breakdown. – May 2006

I told her how I need to accept the role I chose to play, because it was what made me content, for better or worse. I told her that as much as people need a sympathetic ear, I need to get my attention and acceptance as well, and this was the best way to make myself happy. I told her that her suffering probably made my night, because it allowed me to feel important and mend wounds I had no business tending to in the first place. I told her that no matter what I became, I was still operating on selfish and egotistical morals. I told her that I was an asshole that deserved everything I had coming to me tonight, and she was better off never seeing me again. – May 2006

For the second time tonight, we pulled into my driveway. This time, however, I had to pop the trunk to get out. – May 2006

On a night like this, I very much needed a girl like her to come along. A train wreck of a girl so gruesome that the only thing that could save her from destruction was the complete and undivided attention of someone more sad than herself. – May 2006

At the time, I hadn’t gone grocery shopping in approximately eight months and was beginning to eat things I found in the windowsills. – May 2006

Usually it was Taco Bell that got my business late at night, but tonight I was in the mood for a lawn bag full of french fries, handed to me by someone who spoke english. – May 2006

I swear to God, if you kids don’t cut out the horseplay, I’ll pull right the hell over and beat you to death with my travel mug. If you stay quiet for ten minutes, I’ll let you smell my fingers after I fill up the car. – May 2006

Emo hair is the new mullet, kids. Get off the train before they start making fun of you in beer commercials. I got a haircut and dye job yesterday, and I look so rad that both my cats instantly went into heat. Rolling about and mewing and whatnot. – May 2006

Get out of my Blog. – May 2006

Searches for ‘Katharine McPhee naked’ skyrocketed on my page, and frankly, I don’t care where my traffic comes from as long as they make the counter go up. Word of advice though, she ain’t naked on the internet. You’re not going to find it. Ever. I know you’re in a lot of pain and whatnot, but you’re just going to have to move on for the time being. At least give her ample time for her career to take a nosedive, then see what you can dig up. – May 2006

This episode is Eko-centric. Expect rampant cornrows and general bad-assery throughout. – May 2006

You know, when it comes to Lost, I do my homework. I lurk on the boards. I spoil myself silly. I send locks of hair to Terry O’Quinn in the hopes he’ll fashion some sort of crude wig out of it and sport it at the Emmys. So, even though I had an inkling as to what was going down this week, I was still floored. When I say ‘floored,’ I mean ‘left with soggy pants.’ Later on in the evening, whilst ringing myself out over the sink and trimming off generous portions of hair, I came to the realization that I might have a serious disorder. Quickly blaming the uneasy feeling on the three-pound bag of M&M’s I ate earlier, I placed the hair (and pants) into an envelope, addressed it to ABC and had the best sleep of my life. – May 2006

Monkey knife fight particle board, permeating through my glass-thick lungs, sinking deeper into the Twister board of defeat and struggling jocks. Out of the darkness, a man emerges with the fury of a thousand treats, raising my honor over his head and barking loudly as if to say, “I love you!” – May 2006

My first pulled groin came at the hands of the Missus. When we first started going out, back in 2000 or so, we were wrestling on my bed, which was the custom at the time. Out of nowhere, she thought it would be funny to clutch my right leg and wrap it around my neck like a scarf. Trust me, she could if she wanted to, but my inner thigh snapped like a rubber band before she had the chance. It took weeks to heal; every step felt like I was getting a white-hot branding iron to my tender areas. I’ve pulled it about three times since then, and it doesn’t get any easier to find a quiet place to cry all the time. – May 2006

Despite Elvis Presley being one of the biggest thieves of black music to ever walk the earth, you can’t argue with results! Here’s to you, you peanut butter and banana sandwich eating, television shooting turd. – May 2006

I don’t blink when Lost is on; I’ve built myself a Clockwork Orange-style device, and my wife is kind enough to keep my eyes lubricated. – May 2006

I could have kidnapped Katharine McPhee weeks ago, but no- I wanted her to become a worldwide star, and not just a star in the secret room in my crawl space. – May 2006

I’m writing a crime drama/buddy comedy that stars Sun and a Proboscis monkey named Moon. They will work together in Hawaii, solving crimes and teasing us every week with their ‘will they or won’t they?’ flirting. Working title: ‘Sun and Moon.’ – May 2006

Speaking of Taylor Hicks, I have a secret for you. He says ‘Soul Patrol’ three times after every performance, sometimes even interrupting the judges to do it. As someone who has OCD, I can spot that crap from a mile away. Taylor doesn’t say it because he wants to, he says it because he thinks his parents will die in a fire if he doesn’t. – May 2006

As Satan excused himself, I went back into the kitchen and sliced up cubes of Provolone cheese. After a minute I heard a flush, but Satan didn’t emerge. That was followed by another flush, and then another. Then silence for what seemed like forever. Finally, I heard the unmistakable gurgling sound of the Prince of Darkness trying feverishly to plunge my clogged toilet. After more trial and error, he came out, looking sheepish and embarrassed. – June 2006

To this day, MST3K is constantly mentioned as one of the biggest and best Cult Television shows of all time, behind only Star Trek, which as we all know, sucks. – June 2006

You know, if the dinosaurs would have just sat down and talked about their differences like rational beasts, they might still be around today. Hell, we might have even had a Brontosaurus as President. – June 2006

Morally, I no longer place humans above animals in the dominant chain. This is either because I’ve grown to love and appreciate animals more, or my disdain for human life is growing stronger. Show me a cow that’s minding his or her own business, and I’ll show you something that’s not bothering me. – June 2006

The treatments, business and sanitation procedures involved in the process of getting a hamburger to my plate is about as corrupted as a stream of Barry Bonds’ urine, and I refuse to be a part of it. – June 2006

I always find it funny when I see some punk or anti-establishment person smoking a cigarette. Here’s this person who refuses to be a cog in the corporate machine, yet he’s puffing on a product manufactured by one of the largest and most vile conglomerates on the planet. In my opinion, you might as well be wearing Nike shoes and spooning with Sam Walton’s corpse, because you’re an idiot. – June 2006

Whenever there’s a story where a domesticated animal dies, people put more emotional stock into it than if it were a human life. Meanwhile, millions of other animals are being fed to the woodchipper without so much as a whimper from the dog and cat loving Americans. It’s ignorance on a whole new level. – June 2006

That being said, don’t obey the food groups. Anything institutionalized by the government in the 50’s and never updated cannot possibly be what’s best for you. – June 2006

If you took all the farmland that was being used to simply house the cows we eat, we could grow enough vegetables and crops there to feed almost everyone on the damn planet. Imagine that. If you truly want Bono to shut up once and for all, stop eating beef. – June 2006

Also, Tofu sucks. Whoever started the smear campaign that said vegetarians only eat tofu and rice was an ass. – June 2006

It should be noted that I’m in no way calling meat-eaters idiots. It’s when you start mocking non-meat-eaters when you start looking foolish. In fact, whenever you start mocking anything you don’t understand, you run the risk of exposing yourself as a fraud. – June 2006

You know, there comes a time in every man’s life when he just has to slow down and feed the deer. – June 2006

You have to get out of the house and do something as a couple at least once every two weeks. It’s best to do something collaborative, where you can put your heads together and work as a team. For this, we usually head out to a small border town and kidnap a stranger. We don’t kill them or anything, we just scare the whiz out of them and dump them off at a bus station. Just try to keep from making out after an adrenaline rush like that. – June 2006

True, we have canine teeth. We also have an appendix, a tailbone, a ring finger and a lot of other crap I never use. Just because we have the bombs doesn’t mean we have to drop them, and just because you have sharp teeth doesn’t mean you have to use them to tear through beef 24/7. I sometimes use them to open CD’s. CD’s by vegan rock bands. – June 2006

Wide-eyed, with a skilled and steady hand, I proceeded to peel off my skin like an honest-to-goodness sock, producing two snake-like sheddings, each about a foot long. It took me about a half-hour, and they were absolutely beautiful. I held these giant hunks of flesh up for inspection, and everything suddenly became well worth the wait. – June 2006

I had a dream the other night that I was walking alone through a crowded mall. The overhead speakers were blasting the song “Love Shack” by The B-52’s, and everyone was dancing and singing to beat the band. Everywhere I looked, customers and patrons were shaking their asses while pushing strollers, sucking down Orange Julius’ and carrying armloads of bags. It appeared as if they were all having a great time. – June 2006

Yeah, I’ve got nothing today. – June 2006

I’m whiter than the inside of Robin Williams’ nostrils. – July 2006

Ever since I first listened to Weezer’s Pinkerton, I’ve been fascinated with the culture that is modern-day Tokyo. Of course, now that I’m married, my list of things I want to do there has gotten significantly smaller and more legal. – July 2006

Day in and day out, our conscience does its best to keep us in line. It whispers things in our ears like, “Stay on the right side of the road” and “Don’t touch that boy at the bus stop; you don’t know him.” Some days it whispers louder than others, but it’s kept me out of jail thus far, so I’m content with it. – July 2006

Sound off in the comments section, and praise me for creating 400 little slices of joy.

Thanks to those who sifted through all 250 of these, and got inspired to dig around in the archives again. The CDP will return to the business of getting down on Monday.

MONDAY: The CDP Slips A Disc.

Better Than You. (Post #400 – Part IV.)

Post #400 - Part IV.

In honor of the CDP‘s 400th post, here’s yet another batch of quote goodness.

(Part IV contains quotes collected from February 2006 to March 2006.)

On the first day of February in 1982, I was born in Neenah, Wisconsin, to a mother of an undetermined age and ethnicity. I was raised by this mother, along with an equally mysterious father, for the remainder of the 80’s. – February 2006

From your 21st year until your departure from this earth, you are free to drive, drink, smoke, vote and watch pornography with a stripper, all at the same time. While I have not experienced all of these joys in one fell swoop, most of my friends will tell you that it’s far more interesting in theory. – February 2006

Don’t you appreciate all the things that I do for you? Countless hours of free entertainment, up to 6 days a week, with limited filler? I ask for nothing in return but a kind word and harmless comment section banter, and yet you betray me. I will not forget this. – February 2006

Today’s post is more of a ‘Post Loaf,’ consisting of real post parts, but not necessarily considered an actual post. Enjoy. – February 2006

I was leafing through the law library at my place of employment, and I saw a book entitled ‘Fire Protection Handbook.’ This book was hardcover and about 1000 pages thick. Honestly, how long can you talk about water? Do we really need 1000 pages on how to put out a fire? The only way this makes sense to me is if the book were actually made of water, or the book could be used to beat the flames into submission. Maybe the font is really huge; I didn’t bother to check. – February 2006

I watched the State of the Union speech on Tuesday. Like many of you, I was screaming at the television with a beer in my hand for the better part of an hour, cringing and cursing the majority of the 2004 voting public. – February 2006

The Superbowl XL halftime festivities were an abomination as always, but I think we’ve come to expect that in this post-nippular world. – February 2006

How Low Can You Go? – This will be a game show that pits two contestants against each other. An awful task is put on a big board (ex. push an elderly woman down a flight of stairs, hit a kitten with a Mack truck), and the players will take turns betting and undercutting each other with the lowest price they would do it for. This is not only a social experiment into the human mind, but a good excuse to make bad people do bad things. FOX will jump at this in a heartbeat. – February 2006

On any given morning before 8am, I’m so tired I can barely walk to the phone to call in sick, and you two have already consummated your love twice. You have got to be kidding me. You’re like the sexual version of the Marines. – February 2006

Speaking frankly, you are very loud people. I’ve never seen you and I don’t know what you look like, but you’re both probably huge. I image that you’re both a shade over 7 feet tall, weigh a combined metric ton and are genetically attracted to beds with rusty springs. – February 2006

Looking back just to the start of 2006, I’ve laid down over 30 good-sized posts in a little under 40 days. Not only is that a huge amount of life-changing, hilarious and absolutely free entertainment, it also equals a lot of time and effort on my part. I put a lot into this page, strictly because I like to write and be creative and current. Luckily for me, it doesn’t keep me from my hobbies, because it encompasses everything that occupies my spare time regardless, with the exception of killing the homeless and grifting the blind. – February 2006

It was December of 1999. The electric buzz of the 21st century was tingling the private areas of every red-blooded American. President Clinton was still leading the nation through a time of amazing prosperity, surplus, and an abundance of neon fanny packs and jogging suits. The song ‘1999,’ by an up-and-coming artist known as ‘Prince’ was rocketing up the charts and uniting people of all races and creeds on the dance floor. It was a magical time to be alive, and if you weren’t yet alive for it, chances are that you’re unable to read anything I’ve just written. – February 2006

I was 17 years old, full of wide-eyed wonder and Surge soda. – February 2006

Luckily for me, the Missus showed up and set me straight. She washed my hair, tore my braces off and wiped the crust out of my eyes. She threw a tiny shirt on my back and indie frames on my green eyes. Without her gentle nudging and almost tyrannical standards, I’d still be a turd. I really dodged a bullet, there. – February 2006

For most of my life, people have told me I should do stand-up comedy. This is due in part to the fact that not only am I good looking, but also insanely funny. So funny, in fact, that I should be allowed to talk into a microphone on an illuminated stage, thus proving that my jokes are more important and thought out than yours. It’s the only real way to separate the contenders from the pretenders. I’m pretty pale, however, so when those stage lights hit me, I disappear completely from sight. To those in attendance, it would look as if a radiant, heavenly glow was standing behind a microphone, talking at length about airplane food and fanny packs.– February 2006

I’m about as productive as Duke in a ‘don’t suck’ contest. – February 2006

A lot of couples try to get pregnant right after the wedding, as a way to instantly ruin their lives in one fell swoop. – February 2006

I love sub sandwiches about as much as legally possible. Believe me, the law is not flexible on these things. – February 2006

Every single time I walk into a Subway, I’m instantly reminded of why I should never go there again, and feel like I’m about to be shot in the back of the head. – February 2006

That’s another thing I can’t stand about Subway. The ‘Sandwich Artist’ buttons those employees have to wear. It’s not an art form to put edible things in between bread for the purpose of consumption. Besides, I have never been handed a sub that made me want to place it behind a velvet rope for viewing. At least, not one from Subway. – February 2006

It is at this point where she wraps my sandwich up in paper, but realizes that she put way too much lettuce in it to close properly. Instead of rectifying the situation, she just flattens the sandwich temporarily and wraps it up as quickly as possible, essentially spring-loading the damn thing to surprise me later. When I take it back to the office to enjoy, I notice that the sub package is all but vibrating with pressure, waiting to explode all over me. All it takes is for me to put a slight tear into the side of the paper for the entire sandwich to come sproinging out like a worm-filled can of novelty peanuts. Lettuce and mayo covers my important documents and newspaper. Thanks, Subway. – February 2006

Former inmates make good sandwiches because they don’t want to go back to jail. They put far more pride into their work than teenagers, and understand efficiency and assembly-line ethic from their prison and factory experience. They were tailor-made to make sandwiches for a living. – February 2006

The Sandwich Artist then pulls a bottle of mayo from the holster in his side-pocket, twirls it three times and splorts it liberally onto my Garlic Herb bread before twirling it again and placing it back in its chamber. It’s usually at this point when I place a dollar or two in the tip jar. It’s worth it, because I didn’t just get a sub, I got a show! – February 2006

If you’re just catching up on the ongoing, wide-awake nightmare that is my loud neighbors, let me get you all squared away. I have neighbors who like to get loud in the bedroom, and I don’t mean by playing Scattergories, yo. Exceedingly loud. FAA citation loud. – February 2006

Wisconsin is for lovers. Lovers of cheese, scotch and fireworks mainly, but lovers of all kinds are welcome. Your money spends the same regardless, and our taxes are quite reasonable. – February 2006

I always forget to take pictures of my food, as I’m usually too busy sneaking large handfuls of it into the Missus’ purse. – February 2006

Instead of instantly walking out like I wanted to, I slowly nodded and became damp in the pant area. – February 2006

It’s a love/hate relationship; much like the one I have with Ryan Seacrest. – February 2006

I bought nothing at the Gap, because their pants suck and they never have anything nice in a small but t-shirts that I already own. They need an original idea, or at least do better at the one they’ve been milking all this time. I can’t believe how gay I sound right now. – February 2006

A Truffle store, to me, is much like what a porn store is to most other men. I walk around, looking shady and amazed at the new products and arrivals. “Wow, they’ve got them in Peanut Butter now? Can they do that?” – February 2006

I decided to do something very kind for myself and pick up a new watch. The one I’ve been wearing for the past year and a half has treated me well, but my left wrist was in the mood for a change in style. Besides, I bought my right wrist a DVD player for Christmas, and I didn’t want them thinking I played favorites. – February 2006

Smart, smart, smart-ity smart-smart. Smarty, smarty smattie-smittie. Shimma-shamma whoppa-doo. – March 2006

I consider myself to be a lot like Rambo. He makes decent split-second decisions, lets his fists do the talking when he’s too hung over to think, and has killed literally thousands of Viet Cong. Watching First Blood is like looking into a slightly less muscular mirror. – March 2006

I’m only telling you all of this should I be arrested and sent to trial. Anything that happens to the neighbors from this point forward will be hereby considered temporary insanity. In fact, I’m the only thing standing between them and my wife’s boot in both their asses. They should be thanking me constantly for my patience and resolve, and having unnecessarily loud sex in my name and honor. My wife wanted to settle this with a brutal double-murder weeks ago. – March 2006

The mere thought of being recorded while intimate would cause most folks to shut down faster than a Vespa with a gas tank full of Go-Gurt. In reality, that lack of sexual shame is the only edge that Scott Stapp has over me. – March 2006

Hey, I’ve got a great idea! Let’s take all the joys of High School clique’ life, deplorable mall culture, terrible grammar and punctuation, sluts, man-whores, crappy bands, jackasses and loners, and throw them all into a big online popularity contest, where they can slug it out and stay irrelevant for eternity. – March 2006

I keep a web page because I like to write, not because I want to stay in touch with people I stopped calling on purpose. – March 2006

Most every MySpace page I’ve seen is like a house I never want to go back to again. Unfriendly, disgusting, ugly and void of all intelligent and humorous conversation. It’s like when you went over to your friend’s house when you were younger, and there were spiders and cockroaches everywhere, and their family liked to eat cereal for dinner in their underwear. That’s someone I’m scratching out of the address book. – March 2006

The only reason to have any friends whatsoever is for profit. I only keep people around nowadays if they donate to my charitable organization, or buy me dinner and Cosmopolitans. Everyone else can go straight to hell. – March 2006

MySpace is a direct representation of those who inhabit and frequent it. Cookie-cutter, shapeless lumps of tired fashion and dried-up rhetoric. It’s so unoriginal, NBC just signed it to a 3-season deal. – March 2006

Sometimes after taking in an hour or two of American Idol, I need to watch a viral video of a guy being shot in the pants with paintballs just to reaffirm my masculinity. – March 2006

Katharine McPhee, if you’re reading this, I have a degree in music, recording and sound engineering. If you don’t win, look me up and I can make things happen for you. I have some new songs that would be perfect for you, or at least the crude likeness of you that I fashioned out of tin foil and hair. – March 2006

As you can probably imagine by looking at photos or recklessly fantasizing, I smell great. – March 2006

While I don’t recommend attempting to turn good female friends into possible mating partners, sometimes you just gotta go for it, and let the Old Spice do all the heavy lifting. – March 2006

Me and Margaret talked about school and whatnot, getting closer with each break in the conversation. My braces and oily T-zone glistened off of the floodlights as I pulled out every joke and 1970’s celebrity impression I could think of. At the exact same time I made my move to hold her hand, the almost toxic scent of Old Spice wafted into her nostrils like an unleashed chemical weapon. I could tell she was investigating what the odor was, and it was only a matter of time before she became drunk off the fumes and passed out into my lap, begging me to take her to the backseat of her mom’s Chrysler LeBaron. – March 2006

Off came the giant plaid shirt, down came the painted-on pants. There I stood, in front of Margaret and about 500 of my new best friends, making sure everyone knew that I could handle rejection and teenage defeat with amazing bravado and charm. Bare feet freezing to the bleachers, my nipples rock-hard and blue with frost, I made a stand. – March 2006

For all the ‘facets’ that Roger seems to have, something tells me that they all end up the same way. Sweating through yet another jumpsuit in the dressing room of a smoky disco, cutting up a rock of coke so big I could set my television on it. – March 2006

Something tells me that ‘By Request Only’ means his set list consists of about half a song before he’s quickly escorted back to his customized barstool, where he’s fed vodka tonics for the remainder of the night. Then at 2am, he’ll stumble back into the ballroom, fart into the mike and fall off the stage. – March 2006

I was stumbling around well before 6pm. Each trip back to the bar got me closer and closer to realizing my dream of seeing someone fall in the pool, although the person in question would have been me. – March 2006

Watching all these middle-aged folks dance, sway and make fools of themselves moved me. At first, I was annoyed. After all, I didn’t pay to watch them stand on chairs and scream ‘Ringo!’ over and over. Then it started to make sense to me. This is how normal people have fun, and I had to respect that, even if it didn’t agree with me. I looked around and saw a lot of people doing a lot of different things, wearing ugly clothes and drinking ugly beer, but everyone was happy. If I wanted to sulk and piss my night away, I certainly could have (I’ve done it many times before), but a lot of things made sense to me at that point. Beatles music and, to a far greater extent, alcohol, are the great uniters, and for three hours it mattered not what you were on the other side of the ballroom door. That’s neat to me. – March 2006

We had to actually drive to the next city over just to find a place to eat. Worse still, it was an Applebee’s. I’d rather eat drywall. – March 2006

Maybe I’m getting older. Maybe I’m an idiot; I don’t know. It’s probably the company I keep. Frankly, I could go to a kick-me-in-the-balls-with-a-steel-toe-boot convention and have a good time as long as the Missus is around. – March 2006

I’ll be honest with you; lay it all out on the table for my loyal and wonderful readers. When the sketch of the Hatch Map popped up on the blast door, I whizzed myself. Not a little bit, either. A full-out, balls-to-the-wall, Great Flood whiz of epic proportions. There wasn’t a dry seat on the couch. – March 2006

Sound off in the comments section, and praise me for creating 400 little slices of joy.


Please End This. (Post #400 – Part III.)

Post #400 - Part III.

Another day, another meaty batch of quote goodness. Chew 40 times before swallowing.

(Part III contains quotes collected from December 2005 to January 2006.)

I can tell that you’re tingling with anticipation. – December 2005

I’ve never owned or worn a shirt that advertises a television show before, because I always thought it was sad or depressing. I never had a problem with band shirts, or even movie shirts for that matter, so why was I so hung up on TV shirts? Whenever I saw someone walking around with a promotional Evening Shade shirt on, I would always think to myself, “There’s a guy (it’s always a guy) who’s out of clean shirts.” – December 2005

You can keep your hatch and Mama Cass records! You can keep your Dharma Initiative and Alvar Hanso! You can take your sparking dialogue, character development, social commentary and intriguing flashbacks and CRAM ‘EM STRAIGHT UP YOUR CHUTE! This guy’s taking his life back, and he doesn’t need you anymore! – December 2005

The illusion of the Emo beard is to convince people you do something other than read People magazine and eat Kix all day. – December 2005

But there’s a dark side. A very dark side. Like, so dark, you can’t even see where your key is supposed to go, and you end up putting a big gouge into the side of your Mom’s Taurus. That dark. – December 2005

Every year, good and willing people promise themselves to lose weight and vacation in Hawaii, only to gain 20 pounds while watching Montel and shoveling Pringles into their yaps; sobbing in their hands and wearing a plastic lei. – January 2006

Next to driving, nothing makes me angrier than whizzing a video game down my leg. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been finding new and creative ways to curse and smash a controller against a stucco wall. – January 2006

I spent most of the trip singing out loud to myself and drumming on the steering wheel. That morning was particularly frigid, so my voice shivered off-key. It was then that I found out I do a very good Bright Eyes impression when the circumstances are right. I made a mental note of it and focused on the road. – January 2006

I had never been to an IMAX theater before; presumably because my Mother was afraid of them. – January 2006

To me, there’s nothing worse than a sold-out kids movie that’s also appreciated by college-aged nerds. It’s almost like they’re in a heated battle royale to see who can annoy me the fastest. Fortunately, I have the jump on them, as I get annoyed minutes before my ticket is even ripped. – January 2006

If you applaud or cheer for a trailer at the start of the film, you will be asked to vacate the premises. Your ticket will not be refunded. – January 2006

Before entering a theatre, your picture will be taken and electronically linked to your ticket stub, which you will swipe on the armrest of your chosen seat. If you decide to switch seats, talk, answer your phone, or do anything that will otherwise disrupt the experience of those around you, the movie will instantly stop and be replaced by the picture of you. The viewing audience will then have the option to ask you to leave or make your chair explode, depending on the majority vote. They will then be provided with your license plate information and home phone number. If you are under 13, you will buckled into your seat. If you are over 13 and can’t sit still, your chair will explode – January 2006

Up in the CDP Rumpus Room, you’ll find an Atari 2600, NES, Sega Genesis and (basic) Coleco Vision in perfect working condition with dozens, maybe hundreds of games. It’s a beautiful sight, and I’m quite proud of it. Throw that in with my ever-growing collection of Pac-Man memorabilia, and you’ve got yourself a shrine to a wasted youth. I sometimes go up there to cry when the Missus is sleeping. – January 2006

I’m in the male minority when I say this, but I don’t really like the marketing. I think video games should be for kids, first and foremost; regardless of if they educate or entertain. I recall that feeling of magic and amazement when I played Missile Command for the first time on my 2600; it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. These days, kids have to grow up fast enough as is; now they don’t even have any decent games to play. Each day of a child’s life is spent wanting to be older, and when they lean their heads against the display case at a video game outlet, it’s the same story. That sucks. – January 2006

If I wanted to sit by myself and play complicated video games, I wouldn’t have gotten married and cut my hair in the first place. – January 2006

I’m far from what you would call a ‘manly man,’ but I can hold my own. I have a soft spot for splatter films and I’m only afraid of like, two things (drowning and Zell Miller). I watch sports constantly and senseless violence bounces off my forehead like a ping-pong ball. Underneath this sensitive indie shell, I guess I’m sort of a club-dragging loser, but within two minutes of playing Resident Evil 4, I pooped in my pants. In fact, I pooped in the Missus’ pants, too. – January 2006

I screeched like a Yoko Ono record. You should’ve seen me; I looked like I was being electrocuted. Sparks should have been emitting from my body. – January 2006

In the grand scheme of things, there’s no reasoning with someone who plans on digesting you once they get their mitts on your tender brain. No peace treaty. No utopian society. Not even a head start. – January 2006

I pay top dollar for my scares, which it why I own two Limp Bizkit albums. – January 2006

We must have new neighbors. – January 2006

Now, think of me what you will, but as far as I’m concerned, 67+ minutes of conjugal bliss is a ridonkulously long amount of time. Me? I need a power nap after I pay the bills, for God’s sake, and now I have to contend with my standing theory that Sting is my new neighbor. – January 2006

It’s brave to hit the world head-on, and refuse to live by anyone’s rules. I thought I was doing that as a teenager, but I value structure far too much to be an anarchist. Anarchy is a pipe dream; Communism is where it’s at. – January 2006

I’ll be enjoying Martin Luther King Jr. day by liberating my alarm clock from the oppression of waking me at 6am, and not leaving the house. – January 2006

Unless you’re handicapped or some kinda jerkass, you have to work for a living. – January 2006

I had much bigger plans for myself than to become an Exam Administrator. I feel bad that somewhere out in the workforce, there sits a guy who’s only goal in life was to work with state codes and statutes pertaining to professional regulation, and I’m not appreciating it nearly as much as he would. It’s not fair to either of us. – January 2006

Do you honestly think that Babe Winkleman likes Bass fishing every day of his life? Not even millions of dollars, Blu-Blocker sunglasses and that sweet beard can keep a guy happy day-in and day-out, especially when he’s coming home to his family reeking of dead fish and about 10 bottles of Blatz. – January 2006

Freshly dumped by my girlfriend, I did what any teenager with dignity would do. I took my shirt off, put on some cut-off shorts, cried and mowed lawns all day. – January 2006

We lived on a street full of duplexes, next to a Hmong family of about 29, and a sad, single woman who used to watch me when I went rollerblading. Once, one of the Hmong girls broke her arm in front of my place. Before the ambulance got there, I took a good look at it and it was shaped like the letter ‘S’. I almost threw up. Another time, I was selling pizzas for school, and I knocked on the sad single woman’s door. She answered wearing a towel, and I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen up to that point. Way better than the broken arm. – January 2006

My Dad was known for making borderline illegal business decisions, and hiring his 16 year old son to bartend seemed to be one of those choices. In fact, there’s no ‘borderline’ about it. I took in next to nothing in tips, despite being the youngest bartender in the nation. – January 2006

I lived on a steady diet of candy bars, Mountain Dew and microwavable hamburgers until I was 20. – January 2006

During college, sometimes I went to classes. Sometimes, I slept until noon and never wore pants. Sometimes I went to classes without pants. – January 2006

I blew a ton of interviews before getting the formula down right. One particular interview had me sitting bleary-eyed and delirious in front of a room full of suits. They asked me what my biggest flaw was, and I scoffed and murmured, “Modesty.” They got my ass outta there pretty quick. – January 2006

We had a big Medical Board hearing at work several months ago in the matter of a Doctor who sexually abused patients and colleagues. He was also an honest-to-God midget. When I got to work, there were protesters and news crews everywhere, waving signs and blocking the doorway. After the hearing was over, the midget in question was drowning in microphones and lawyers, and he started freaking the hell out. He was pushing people around and shouting obscenities. Some days here are better than others. – January 2006

I give FOX credit for taking chances with groundbreaking shows. However, other networks are catching on, and FOX is starting to look washed up amongst the heavier hitters. What was once an edgy and hip network is looking long in the tooth and cranky, throwing cats at you from their front porch. – January 2006

As always, here are links to all of the CDP’s Lost Friday posts. They’ll put hair on your chest. Unless you’re a girl, in which case they will gently wax your upper lip and bikini line – January 2006

My Dad is an avid hunter, fisherman and trapper, and liked to tinker with experimental baits and lures in his shed. He succeeded in creating what is generally known in these parts as the most foul and wreched scent ever bottled. ‘Gutbuster’ was the name of a trapping lure he concocted, consisting of a special blend of God-only knows what. When you opened a bottle of this stuff, a puff of smoke would escape from the top. Many of these lure brainstorming sessions ended with my Dad running from his shed and throwing up. This was a lot funnier than I can really explain. – January 2006

I seriously need to consider writing an autobiography. Not like that silly ‘Unofficial Fan’ one that Tiger Beat ran in 2002. Much of what they said was taken entirely out of context. – January 2006

My sister checks out the CDP frequently, but never posts, apparently because Chuck Norris jokes and the word ‘oot’ don’t really attract that ’14-19 female’ demographic that MySpace seems to have cornered. We both strive to be ultimately ignored and forgotten, so it’s viewed by many as a poor career choice for us to become a model and an internet phenomenon. I bet Salinger doesn’t have a blog. – January 2006

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