Audioscrobbler

My buddy Jason turned me onto audioscrobbler and it’s pretty cool. You link it up with your audio player and it logs the music you listen to, then finds you similar artists to the ones you like and similar people who like music like you.

It’s a pretty neat way to get turned onto new music.

Be my audioscrobbler buddy. Username: imaaron.

Zombocom!

Turn up your volume and go here now and stay as long as you can.

Sweater’s NYC Travel Tips®

Captain Buddy and my sis atop the Empire State Building.

I know I shouldn’t be making excuses for being gone for such a long time, but when you’re showing the fam around NYC, you don’t have much time for posting. If we weren’t on the subway or in a cab or in line at the Statue of Liberty’s gift shop, we were spending quality time in my apartment watching Oswald.


Fred Savage sings songs about ice cream.

I know you’ll all be coming to visit me soon, so let me give you a few tips well in advance before you make the trek to the Big Apple.

1) You will be walking. There are no parking lots or drive-thrus or handicap-ramps in the city. There are stairs. And sidewalks. And more stairs. Then a few more. Make sure you’re up for a small hike every day, or arrange to rent a Rascal®. And if you are fortunate enough to rent a Rascal®, I’m not dragging it up the stairs for you.


The new Rascal®
Water your plants! Drown your grandchildren!

2) It is very unlikely that you will die here while visiting, so please, don’t worry about it. There is a better chance of you winning the lottery while getting struck by lightning while being by eaten by a shark with rabies than you getting killed by a terrorist attack, stray bullet in a drive-by shooting, runaway subway train, taxi accident or falling off the Empire State Building combined.

3) When you get on the subway you have about 3 seconds to sit or hold on. Otherwise you’re going to end up in this guy’s lap.


Next stop: Dork Square

4) Prepare for your personal bubble to vacuum-seal itself around your body. The rule is, if you aren’t sharing pants with them, they’re not in your personal space.


Goes from personal bubble to meat casing in one easy step!

5) For some reason everyone who works at a store in New York City doesn’t know where anything is once you get outside the store. Just because they are working in city, and probably have a residence somewhere in the five boroughs does not mean they know the name of the street they are on.* In fact, there’s a better chance that guy wearing Bermuda shorts and black socks standing on the corner knows where you want to go. No, not that guy wearing Bermuda shorts, the one holding the I ♥ NY bag.

6) Have fun!**

*This goes doubly for people with foreign accent.
**This also goes doubly for people with foreign accent.

One other note from the weekend in the city with my mom, sis and nephew.

On the L into Manhattan with my sis, I saw the Daily Show with Jon Steweart’s Ed Helms. I didn’t say anything to him because we were both wearing western shirts and I thought it might look a little gay for one western shirt guy to approach another. Plus, I didn’t have anything to say but, "hey you’re on the Daily Show!" and "hey, nice western shirt!" Plus, he was busy reading a catalog for inflatable pool toys for children.

I hope he has a pool. And kids for that matter. Because if not, that’s a little cuckoo.


The Ed Helms you know.


The Ed Helms I know.

I Will Never Understand Women

Hey everybody! Thanks for visiting ol’ Sweater Ranch. Sorry I haven’t written in a while. That’s because I haven’t been inspired to write lately. And that’s mostly due to the fact that one of my co-workers downloaded Unreal Tournament to all of the G5s in our department. So 4 hours after the end of each workday I end up heading home dizzy with the taste of murder lingering on my tongue, which doesn’t leave much time for writing posts or having a life.

But I’m back. I had to come back. Because what I saw tonight disturbed me to my core.

I saw a commercial for the upcoming movie Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

Sisterhood.

Of the.

Traveling.

Oh f**k. I can’t even type it.

What in God’s name is this world coming to? Before I even attempt to ponder the plot, what gives with this title? Ladies, you’re going to have to explain this one to me. What is it with you and your freaking crazy-ass titles for your movies? What are you trying to do to the movie industry? I bet John Wayne is rolling over in his grave right now.


Sisterhood of the…? Aw, f**k. I ain’t sayin’ that.

Let’s just think about how all your chick-flicks are titled for a moment. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. How to Make An American Quilt. Fried Green Tomatoes. Riding in Cars with Boys. How Stella Got Her Groove Back. How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days. Beaches.

First off, they’re long. Why do they have to be so long? And secondly, they’re gay. Why do they have to be so gay? C’mon ladies, it’s a movie not a Denny’s menu item.


Yeah I’ll have the…f**k it. Just coffee, thanks.

Do you expect us guys to accompany you to movies titled this way? There is no way I would go up to the box office and ask for two tickets to Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The only way I could imagine you making it less likely for me to buy tickets is to title it Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Frolicking Box of Tampax and Roaming Dove Bars. Given the choice between the two with a gun to my head and rusty pliers firmly attached to my scrotum, I would choose the former. But it would take me a few minutes.

I have an idea. Why don’t you just name all of your movies “Oprah.” Then each time another comes out, it’s just an Oprah sequel. Like Oprah II or Oprah XXVII. That way it’s easy for us dumb guys to know we should steer clear of it, it identifies with something all women love, and it saves valuable room on the marquee for stuff like Rambo and Rocky and Cobra.


The only thing more efficient than his crime-
squelching techniques are his movie titles.

But it’s futile for me to try to reason with you women. No matter what I say you’ll still use the word “cute,” shriek at the top of your lungs when you run into one of your girlfriends in a public place (even if you’ve just seen her an hour ago at work), and insist that you are capable of driving an automobile and/or using a remote control.

Anyhow, let’s get back to this God-forsaken movie.

Let’s look at the plot. Four girls find a pair of pants that fits them all perfectly. What?!? That’s another thing I don’t get about women. Why are you always wearing each other’s clothes? Guys don’t do that. I would never think of going into one of my buddies’ closets and saying, “Whoa, Gary, these slacks are nice, mind if I try ‘em on?” If I did do that I would fully expect Gary to punch me in the neck, flip me over and check my brain stem to see if an alien had attached itself to me and taken over my body to infect the human race. In fact, if Gary did not take that EXACT course of action, I would be forced to punch Gary in the neck and check him for aliens.


”Whew. It’s just an alien, Gary.”

Then, with their awesome girl-logic they decide to use the pants as a way of keeping in touch, each one wearing them for a week to see what luck they bring before mailing them on to the next.


”I got crabs! What’d you guys get?”

This is not a joke, my fellow males. This is actually based on a New York Times best-seller. Yep, it's official. I would rather walk in on my parents having sex than see this movie, or read about my parents having sex, than read this best-seller.


Next up: The riveting Dove Bar scene.

I’ve already rambled on too long about this waste of film. Besides, I’m sure Rosie has probably already written a blog poem about how much she loves Traveling Pants that you girls would rather read anyway.

But just for fun I might have to hang out by a box office and wait for a guy to ask for tickets to this movie and then laugh hysterically as he has to bury his manhood deep inside his wife’s purse as he spits out that title.

Nah, I’ll just keep playing Unreal.


The 874th kill is just as satisfying as the first.

Colors & Textures (of my stool)

***WARNING***
This post is about my personal bodily functions, so you may want to put down that ham sandwich.


Okay, so I’m a little freaked out.

A strange thing’s been happening. Something that’s never happened before. And for the love of God it won’t stop.

My stool is green. Bright green. Like, so green it’s almost blue. Like green enough for an Irishman to don it on St. Patrick’s day without a second thought about it. Seriously, it looks like I pooped a few poop-shaped 2000 Flushes tablets.


More green, but you get the idea.

Five consecutive BMs have been this color. Five. One more green BM and I’m going to have to start counting them on TWO hands.

I’m afraid. Hold me? Hold me!


Look! It’s Al Eisen, inventor of 2000 Flushes®.
He’s helping me count off my green BMs. He’s
making a FIVE in this picture, but his thumb got
amputated in a horrible flushing accident in 1996.

After I calmed down, I tried to figure out what could be causing these pastel dumps.

I haven’t made any drastic changes in my diet, although I noticed the other day that I had a lot of artificially-orange-colored foods. I had a Kraft Single® on my turkey sandwich, a small bag of Doritos® and a Diet Sunkist® all within a 24-hour span. But Ziploc® commercials have told me that orange and orange do not make green, that’s yellow and blue. So that couldn’t be it.


Doritos® have done some pretty monstrous things to
my BMs before, but turning them green was never one of them.

With nowhere to turn, besides calling a doctor, which I wouldn’t do unless I was dying (I hate doctors), I went to the world wide web to see if it could shed some light on my odd-hued poo.


"What’s that? Green? Randy! Get in here, you have to hear this."

I came across this website titled: HOW TO ASSESS YOUR GENERAL HEALTH BY LOOKING AT YOUR BOWEL MOVEMENT.

It starts off with two questions.

Do you ever stop to smell and look at your bowel movement?

No, except when I turn around to flush and see the toilet water looking like Lime Kool-Aid. Then I might do a double take.

Are you the kind of person who flushes the toilet before you get off of it?

No, I don’t like to get my ass soaking wet right before I pull up my pants. But I’m not the type to dry my kids off and tuck them into bed after dropping them off at the pool either. Jeesh.

Then, after the quiz, was the most insulting statement I’ve ever read. Most people are carrying a septic tank around all the time. And that septic tank has not been pumped out for many years. The septic tank I am talking about is YOUR COLON. Wow. That’s worse than any "yo momma" joke I’ve ever heard. Can you imagine gettin’ served this? "Oh yeah? Well you’re a septic tank that has not been pumped out for many years!" How do you retaliate? You can’t. It’s the ultimate slam.


"Yo boyyyeee, you got served, sh*t style!"

Anyway, color didn’t come up until the third step. It says that stool should be YELLOWISH in color. It said it may be DARK GREEN if I’ve eaten green vegetables, which I have and do normally, but this type of green I’ve never seen. The only colors it said to be alarmed with are BLACK, RED and GRAYISH WHITE.


Also of note, according to the Homeland Security Advisory System
my turds are at a LOW to GUARDED risk of terrorist attacks.

What I gathered from this page was that I should be spending a lot more time investigating the toilet before I flush, and that healthy stool is YELLOWISH, SOFT AND FLUFFY, NON-GREASY, AND FREE OF FOUL ODOR. Oh yeah, and that I’m a walking SEPTIC TANK THAT HAS NOT BEEN PUMPED OUT FOR MANY YEARS.


The rarely-achieved perfect stool.

So, I guess I will still be wondering what these green poos really mean. If any of you have any knowledge of what I might be suffering from (or blessed with) let me know. Words of encouragement and love are also appreciated.

Thank you for listening, and enjoy your dinner.

¡Happy Cinco De Mayo!

”You can run, but you can’t hide from Las Rodillas de la Muerte, Hogan!”

Here’s the spoof version. You’re welcome.

Jeez, you people keep googling “Dennis Madalone spoof” and ending up here. I suppose you’re looking for the video where somebody who must be totally radical synced up Team America’s “America, F**K Yeah” with the “America We Stand As One” video footage. Well, here it is you salivating little monkeys.

I also saw today my Madalone spermy hearts got a mention on The Decemberists’ message board. Do you know what this means? It means people who really like a alt-nerd band noticed me!

Yeah, I guess it’s not as big of a deal as I had originally thought.


***UPDATE***

As fast as I could get that link up to the spoof, it’s dead. Sorry. I guess Madalone is hot on the trail of any spoofers, and is nipping it in the bud. The lesson to be learned here: DO NOT MESS WITH DANGER.

Love Gravy

Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Elton John!

Eeeeeeewwwwww tonight
Oh! It’s right
Eeewww tonight is right for love
Love graveaugh


Sir Elton says it all.

Great Moments In Bachelorhood

Tonight I found myself standing in the kitchen with a mouthful of Bachelor Tuna Casserole* scratching my back with the still-warm spaghetti ladle. The only thing sweeter than the tender nubs of the ladle soothing my itchy back was not having to hear anyone bitching about it.

*Bachelor Tuna Casserole Recipe
Cook 1-2 handfuls of pasta** then mix with
1-2 tbsp. olive oil
1 handful of shredded mozzarella or ½ handful of parmesan flakes (mmmm, parmy!)
1 can of tuna
1 handful cooked vegetable optional
Season to taste.

**pasta, oil and cheese can be replaced with even more ghetto Kraft Cheese & Macaroni™

Treat Your Mother Right

Mother’s Day is Sunday. I hope all you good little boys and girls have remembered and have something nice planned for the being that brought you into this world.


The closest thing I could find to mom jeans
for all you mom jean fanatics.

However, if you’ve forgotten, there’s still time to Treat Your Mother Right.

Thankfully I just got the 1984 Big T® Production: Mr. T’s Be Somebody…Or Be Somebody’s Fool. Jam-packed in this 54-minute video is not only the coining of the word “absoludicrous,” but everything you need to know on how to Be Someboody. And wouldn’t you know it, an essential part of Being Somebody is Treating Your Mother Right.


Don’t be a fool! Click Mr. T for
Seanbaby’s hilarious in-depth look at
Mr. T’s Be Somebody…Or Be Somebody’s Fool.

In this awesome video, Mr. T actually sings a song written by Ice T about how to Treat Your Mother Right.

That’s correct. Mr. Cop Killer Himself wrote a nice song for Mr. T to sing to kids about their moms.


Before he was a cop killer, he was a mom lover.

So here’s what happens in the video.

Mr. T sits idly out of frame while a small black boy and a large white woman hurl weight, looks and age insults at each other. But the second the white woman is about to go all “yo momma” on the poor child, Mr. T steps in with three soccer moms and begins to sing the song “Treat your mother right.”

The Soccer Mom Backup Singers sing:

Treat her right
Treat your mother right
Treat her right
Treat her right

Then Mr. T comes in with:

Mother
There is no other
Like mother
So treat her right

Mother
I always love her
My mother
So treat her right
Treat her right

M is for the moan
And the miserable groan
From the pain that she felt
When I was born

Whoa! All of the sudden this song got dark. Now that’s the Ice T I know and love. C’mon kids! Sing along! What? Why are you crying? Because your mommy made miserable groans when you were born? OH! Ha, you don’t understand the birthing process yet, do you? That’s okay! Just know you DID cause mommy a lot of pain when you were born. Now wipe your eyes and sing!

O is for the oven
With it burning heat
Where she stood making sure
I had something to eat

T is for the time
That she stayed up nights
And took my temperature
When I wasn’t feeling right

H is for the hard-earned
Money she spent
To keep clothes on my back
And tried to pay the rent

E is every wrinkle
I put on her face
And every worry
That I cause
When I stayed out late

Jeez, Tee-Tees (the nickname I just came up with for the Mr. T and Ice T duo). Not every kid was out killin’ cops and welding Oldsmobiles into tanks every time their mom turned around. No, some of us were good kids. Remember those geeks you used to beat up in the alley? Yeah, those kids were cool to their moms.

The last letter R
Is that she taught me respect
And for the room up in heaven
That I know she’ll get

She’s a queen
Second to none
Take care of mother
You only get one

So there you go. If you forgot to do anything for your mom, you now have a song you can sing to her. But that’s not all. While Mr. T and the soccer moms sang, the video showed you many ways to Treat Your Mother Right.

Mr. T’s Ways To Treat Your Mother Right™:
Eat a burger slathered in ketchup and then kiss her on the cheek.
Wipe off her kiss when you’re in front of your friends, but then run back and give her a hug when they’re not looking.
Make your mom ride bitch on a tandem bicycle.
Open the car door for her.
Massage her shoulders while wearing weightlifting gloves.
Help her take the groceries out of the car.
Hand her what she thinks is a box of chocolates, but is actually a popping snake gag. Then, after she recovers from the massive coronary you gave her, give her a real box of chocolates.

Alright! Thanks to the Tee-Tees and the Soccer Mom Backup Singers, none of us have an excuse to not Treat Our Mothers Right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some Oldsmobiles to weld into tanks. Sorry for the extra wrinkles mom!


At least I’m not killing cops, right ma?

***BREAKING NEWS***

The Tee-Tees (or “The Teats” as P-Diddy likes to call them) & The Soccer Mom Backup Singers will be opening for the Jesus Karate Band on their Summer ’05 “What Awesome Takedown Combination Would Jesus Do” Tour Sponsored by A&W® Root Beer. Stay tuned for schedule and venue info. And don’t forget: “Always look eye!”

Best Job In The World

You know what would be a great gig?

Being the guy who names STD prescription drugs.


The Official Drug of MTV Spring Break

This hit me when I was watching TV recently and saw a commercial for Valtrex®.

I mean what horrible acts did Valerie Bertinelli do to Eddie Van Halen to deserve becoming the namesake of a genital herpes drug?


Bertinellitrex® didn’t have the same ring to it.


Powerful guitar skills. Even more powerful pharmaceutical connections.

Imagine what you could do if you had that job. Imagine the ultimate power you would wield.

Your girlfriend Tanya been whining about her needs? Remind her just how easy it could be for a new chlamydia drug to be named Tanyacor®. Just like that she’ll be fetching you beer after beer with a smile on her face until she’s old, grey and bedridden.


“Another Milwaukee’s Best dear?”

Heck, if you were smart, with a few calls and an offshore bank account you could make yourself a hefty payday.


“You heard me! $14.5 mil or Oprahnox® hits the shelves by Arbor Day!”

Play your cards right, and with that job you could rule the world in no time.

In fact, what am I doing wasting my time writing this stupid post? If you’ll excuse me, I have a resumé to put together.

This is gonna be sweet.


“Thanks to Trumpacid®, the shingles no longer rules our lives!”