Cosby Sweater : Colors & Textures

Robnett Gazette Launches!

2006-07-21T14:28:00.000-04:00

I know I've been so sucky at posting here, but check out The Robnett Gazette. It's me and my fianceé's new blog. I'm aiming to make it a family newsletter meets The Onion. Hope you like it, and trust me, I'll still be rocking it as Cosby Sweater from time to time.

Thanks for all the love and support.

God bless Philadelphia and Latin America.

2006-02-07T23:43:00.000-05:00

I need to document something before I forget it forever.

Alright, a few months ago I was standing in Union Square waiting for a buddy who was visiting from out of town to show up, and one of the most awesomest things that has ever happened to me happened to me.

I noticed a beautiful girl, who also seemed to be waiting on the corner for someone. She was a tiny Latina girl (they’re my favorite!). She had golden brown eyes, to match her golden brown skin and was wearing a white ribbed tank top and jeans. If Selma Hayek has a 10-year-younger identical twin, this was her.

At the same time her twin sister
was surrounded by paparazzi.
Coincidence? Read the book.

Anyway, I’m waiting for—we’ll call him “Ben”—when all of the sudden this hot little mami approaches me.

I was caught off guard by this. I quickly tried to gather myself and predict what she might ask me: what the time is, where a certain street might be, if I might want to leave this world and go with her to the moon, where we would populate the moon with little Hispanic-ish children that we would call “lunarbabies.”

Lunarbabies are a lot like Solarbabies,
but of my seed, and not on rollerskates.

The suspense, if just for that split second, was killing me.

And then she totally blew my socks off. I could have never predicted the sequence of words that would come out of her mouth. As I write this I am still as flabbergasted as I was at the moment she uttered them to me there on 14th street, right outside the Virgin Megastore.

She approached, and then gently, cutely asked me, “do I have any pink cream cheese on me?”

Wow.

What? Where are the cameras? Am I being Punk’d?

“Dude! Made you look Cosby! I’m so awesome!”

Nope.

That’s exactly what she said. Not only did she ask me this creamy question, SHE LIFTED HER ARMS UP AND DID A 360-DEGREE TWIRL FOR ME, just for ME, so I could get a good look and make sure that there was not a spot of pink cream cheese anywhere on her sexy little self.

I tell you if I would’ve had a ring I would’ve proposed right then and there.

But out of shock, out of delight, out of sheer horror, all I could do was say, “nope.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Nope? Nope? All I said was “nope?”

Deep inside, I wanted to tell her so many things. I wanted to tell her, no, thank you. I wanted to tell her she had just single-handedly created a moment that makes life worth living. I wanted to tell her to hang on, that I would go get some pink cream cheese and that we could go back to my place and make everything all better. And then we could go to the moon, you know, to start creating that perfect lunarbaby civilization she so badly wanted.

But all I said was, “waiting for somebody too, huh?”

Good one.

Just then, “Ben” showed up. We were headed to meet some of my friends for drinks. So as we walked off I just told the dream girl, “bye, stay clean.”

And then, as I thought about it, I wondered, what the hell was I thinking not asking her to join us? Why didn’t I give her my number so I could buy her a drink later, or maybe a strawberry-cream-cheese bagel the next day?

The breakfast of champion hot chicks.

And you know what really sucks? That night was a blast. She would’ve had a great time. We ended up at an Asian party at an all bed club. I’m willing to wager a large sum that Latin girls love Asian parties at bed bars. And the ironic thing is, is that I never end up at clubs, let alone clubs with beds. It would have been perfect.

But alas, this is why I’m still single. I just don’t know what I’m doing around women.

Subway Tales, Vol. 2

2005-11-29T16:16:00.000-05:00

The New York Subway is a dangerous place.

If no one’s stabbing you with a knife or an HIV infected syringe, pushing you onto the high voltage tracks or lighting you on fire, chances are they’re planting a bomb in your anus. A terrorist bomb with little HIV infected syringes in it.

But even greater than the really, really good chance of dying a painful death on the subway is the chance of smelling something awful on the subway.

I don’t mean spoiled-milk awful. I mean festering-bum-scrotum-sprayed-by-a-skunk-with-a-stomach-virus-that-died-in-a-urinal-in-the-men’s-room-at-a-gas-station-outside-Topeka awful. The chances of smelling this smell are better than good. In fact it’s downright bound to happen.

And to me, smelling something even close to that is worse than dying by butt bomb.

The Subway Danger Canal.

If you doubt how bad the subway can smell, let me suggest you visit Union Square station. At the far east corner of the stop, right outside the entrance between the attendant booth and the escalator, is the worst bum-ass stench you will ever smell. And it’s there year round. It gets even more pungent during the humid, moist summer months. Go there, take a whiff, and if you still don’t think it’s that bad, then please, tell science how you are a miracle and live without a nasal cavity.

Steve Gutenberg says, "You're right Cosby! Before I smelled
Union Square I had a promising film career. Now look at me!"

So because of the inevitability of coming across such horrid stench, I am shocked by some people’s audaciousness to ignore the danger of stink on the subway.

What I mean is that I am so afraid that I might smell something awful, I take every precaution to not escalate the experience. I rarely open my mouth on the subway, much less breathe. And I would never, ever eat or drink on the subway.

Let’s say I’m feeling risky so I take a latte onto the subway and am about to take a sip when, at that moment, I get a whiff of a urine-soaked homeless man. There would be projectile vomiting. Weeping. Gnashing of teeth. Apocalypse. And that was just a latte. Think what would happen if I were about to bite into an egg salad sandwich. Yeah, not pretty.

That’s why I have to hand it to the guy who I saw on the subway recently. I got on the subway and sat down, just as this guy was opening a liter container of beef stew. Yes. This guy didn’t think twice about digging into beef stew on the subway.

Campbell's Chunky Soup. Now BUM JUICIER!

I mean the balls on this guy. The sheer, molten steel BALLS of this guy thinking he could keep down a liter of boiled potatoes and beef shank if he were to smell a drunk hooker’s puke all of a sudden.

So here’s to you, Beef Stew Gambler. You not only play Russian roulette with your stomach, you feel free to make the entire subway car smell like your disgusting dinner. Which ups the ante, because I nearly puked because of the smell of your stew, which may have set off a chain reaction with you, unless of course your constitution really is as leaded as you would like us to believe.

Translation: Real American Happy Subway vs Beef Stew Action Time!

My iPod, the genius

2005-10-08T01:51:00.000-04:00

So I always listen to my iPod with the songs on shuffle, and every once in a while my iPod shows flashes of DJ brilliance. Somehow it will play two songs back to back that I would have never thought sounded awesome together, but they do. Take for instance tonight. Try this one on for size:

The Next Episode by Dr. Dre into No One Else by Weezer.

Hey! You got your Weezer in my Dre!

“And it tastes delicious!”

Help my fantasy become reality.

2005-08-31T11:55:00.000-04:00

I am trying to set up a Fantasy Football league and I need 5 more people to join. It's $40 and should be a hella good time. The draft is Sept. 5th. If you want to join or have a friend who wants to join, click the "contact the sweater" link on the bottom right of this page.

I love you all.

Coz

I get around.

2005-08-29T01:29:00.000-04:00

I thought you might enjoy seeing me sharing a few moments with some of my closest friends. They’re my close friends because of my awesomeness (aka: one of my co-worker’s awesome photoshop skillz).

Don’t let these photos make you jealous or think that the Lou Diamond Phillips photo is not real. It is. Really.

“Listen Jen, it’s not you, it’s just that Angelina is so much hotter than you.”

“No George, not hot enough. You gotta add the pointing finger.”

“Shhh. Shhh, Cristy. Victoria’s secret is safe with me.”

“Sorry Catherine, not until Michael is dead, or at least a vegetable.”

“So you’re saying you’ve never been Molly McButter?”

“Wait a second, I thought I brought home Molly McButter. Who are you and what have you done with Molly McButter!”

“What’s that you’re smoking Cary? ’Baby seal eyes,’ you say? Well, whatever it is, it smells like ass.”

Distractions, distractions

2005-08-29T01:13:00.000-04:00

Hey gang.

For those of you loyal enough to keep coming back even though there hasn’t been anything new on here for a while, I owe you all a back rub. An oily, candlelit backrub.

Until that luscious time, I’ll attempt to make some excuses.

Excuse #1: The part of the brain it takes to write a post is the same part of the brain I use for my job. So I’ve been working a lot lately, and when I get home or get a break the last thing I want to do is try to come up with something half-witty or creative or entertaining.

It’s like if you were a hot-dog-eating-contest-person and after your big contest I had you over for a BBQ. That’s probably the last thing you’d want.

Actually, probably the last thing you’d want is to see Gary Busey smiling at you.

Regurgitated hot dog in 3...2...

Excuse #2: When I do have a break or go home, I have so many things to distract me. Here are just some of the things that have been distractions for me in the past couple of days: DVR, fantasy football, real football, Puerto Rican parades, Kraft Singles, Dr. Mario, shin splints, mangos, Brillo pads, In Search Of…, myspace, podcasts, my guitar, dead birds, email, applesauce, Wilford Brimley, my calves, Hurricane Katrina, dolphins, elephants, doliphants, Alan Alda, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Celebrity Fit Club, NASCAR, flossing, shoelaces, my pulse, dead people, deli meat, dust, Unreal Tournament, Kids In the Hall, Battle of the Ad Bands, stationary bikes, girls on stairclimbers, girls on the subway, girls in orange dresses with cute toes on the subway, food in a cup, yawning, street lights, how fast the moon moves, D.B. Cooper, travel toothbrushes, soft serve, sniper rifles, Ziploc bags, how close I can throw a ball to the ceiling without hitting it, tongue flexibility, robots, cement, dog parks, dirt trails, night lights, and graphs.

So uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve got a lot more work to do this week, then I’m on vacation, so don’t hold your breath. But know this: I’m always thinking about you and that heaven-sent backrub you promised me.

A Few More Thoughts On Recent Advertising

2005-08-10T12:02:00.000-04:00

Favorite slogan in a really long time:

Best Watch Your MTV’s.

Most unfortunate poster placement:

“The 40 Year-Old Virgin” next to “The Clairvoyant Child” of USA’s the 4400.

Don’t think she saw that one coming.

Worst celebrity endorsement:

Terry bald-as-a-doorknob Bradshaw as spokesperson for Supercuts.

Wha? Have you guys seen these commercials? Where Bradshaw talks about how his hair color is a “spring?” No Terry, it’s the dead of winter, and you’re a maple tree. That’s your hair color.

In fact, Supercuts loves Terry and his non-existent flowing locks so much, they made little computer games and cartoons that feature him on their website, like this one:

Between life and cream rinse, Terry chooses cream rinse.

Here you maneuver Terry around on a surfboard and pick up floating hair product while trying not to get eaten by the school of sharks in the water. Maybe that Blow Out guy Jonathan Antin should do a site like Supercuts to get more people into his salons. Nothing says “class,” or “haircuts” for that matter, like a flash animation game of, say, Wilford Brimley in a hang glider catching falling curling irons while avoiding vultures.

That one’s free, Jonathan. The rest will cost you. Dearly.

It’s the right thing to do, Jonathan.

DVAWESOME

2005-08-08T00:18:00.000-04:00

I just got DVR (or TiVo, or whatever) a week ago, and man, I have been using the hell out of this thing.

Best use I’ve found for it so far: Being able to fast forward through Garfield: The Movie to the Jennifer Love Hewitt scenes, at my leisure.

Don’t worry Love. Daddy’s here.

Office Restroom Etiquette

2005-08-03T15:33:00.000-04:00

Okay, I’d like to make a couple of announcements regarding the men’s room on the 4th floor.

ONE: If you don’t have a penis or are a midget, please don’t attempt to use the urinals. You see, peeing in the GENERAL AREA of the urinals does nobody any good. Once you’re done making your puddle, people taller than 4' with a penis have to wade in your urine while trying to use the urinal you missed. It’s not fun. This is not a prison, mental ward, or gas station outside Topeka, and I assume everyone who uses the men’s room here has graduated from college, so logic would say using a urinal correctly wouldn’t be a problem. But evidently it is. So if you’re batting less than 1.000 at getting urine into the urinal, may I suggest sitting down at a toilet and peeing like a girl.

TWO: Hey, nature boy. You are not saving the planet any water by not flushing your pee after you’re done relieving yourself. Why? Because no one wants to pee in a pee-filled urinal. So when somebody uses the urinal after your lazy ass, he has to flush your stinky piss down before he can start relieving his self, thus rendering your feeble attempt at conservancy null and void, and actually makes it a rude, disgusting gesture. Want to let the yellow mellow at home? Fine, but not in your office restroom, Grizzly Adams.

THREE: I know this isn’t a restaurant and you’re not required by law to do this, but do everyone a favor and take 10 seconds to wash your hands after using the bathroom. It’s the right thing to do. But if you’re still not convinced that washing your hands is something you want to do, at least when someone else is in the restroom, turn on the sink for a second and make them believe you are. Because now to that other person in the restroom you’re no longer just that guy who makes way more money than them. You’re that dick who doesn’t wash his hands after taking a sh*t.

Thank you. That is all.

Death Without Dignity

2005-07-28T01:23:00.000-04:00

A couple of days ago some of us in the office were discussing which would be the least dignified way to be found dead:

The Michael Hutchence
Being found dead hanging from a leather belt with your member in your hand from attempting auto erotic asphyxiation, or…

The Mama Cass
Being found dead from having apparently choked to death on a ham sandwich.

Well, the debate was heated to say the least, but something recently came to my attention that I believe trumps both of those. What could have possibly happened to outdo either undignified death? I saw an Applebee’s commercial.

Actually, before I saw the commercial, I heard the familiar sounds of the late Robert Palmer. It was the song “Simply Irresistible.” A song which I had some respect for, mainly because whenever I hear it I’m reminded of those hot chicks with red lips he always had in his videos.

”She’s good, but can we get like 20 more?”

But when I looked up, I saw this:

IRRESIST-A-BOWLS!

What? That’s not a row of hot chicks! That’s a spinning bowl of food! How dare someone play with my fragile emotions like that. At the sight of that I became outraged. At the time, I did not know Robert Palmer had passed away. I simply thought he had sold out and not only let a corporation use his song for a fee, but use it in conjunction with a God-awful pun.

But thanks to Kristy, she let me know he’s dead, so I can’t blame Robert “I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On” Palmer. I have to blame his money grubbing family.

Now my previously untainted image of Robert Palmer singing about how “Some Like It Hot” with a crew of dancing hotties is gone, replaced with the horrific vision of a family of four feasting on bowls of pork and broccoli.

So Palmer family, while you’re enjoying your heaps of fresh cash in the UK, your beloved’s legacy is taking a nose-dive over here in USA. Yep, the good ol’ USA, where unassuming citizens continue to get barraged with Applebee’s propaganda that pun-whores-out dead people’s songs. I hope you’re happy.

On second thought Palmers, don’t let me stop you from selling him out. There’s plenty of cash left to be made from “Simply Irresistible.” For instance, you could sell the song to a hearing-aid manufacturer.

SIMPLY EAR-RESISTIBLE!

Or how about a wholesale furniture store?

SIMPLY IRRESIS-TABLE!

Or maybe Applebee’s wants to start offering a new product: EAR-RESIST-A-BOWLS!!!

I don’t have a picture of an Ear-Resist-A-Bowl, so I thought I’d share this picture of a freaky Celine Dion impersonator.

CUE ROBERT PALMER’S “SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE.”

ROBERT PALMER: Simply EAR-RESIST-A-BOWL…

VOICE OVER: Yeaowhah! Applebee’s is unleashing another zesty party upon your tongue! EAR-RESIST-A-BOWLS!

ROBERT PALMER: She’s so fine, there’s no tellin’ where the money went…

VOICE OVER: A heaping bowl of random animal and/or human ears grilled to perfection and topped with our zingy Pico De Gallo Tartar sauce!

ROBERT PALMER: …now I find her…Simply EAR-RESIST-A-BOWL…

TAGLINE/VO: Applebee’s. You love Robert Palmer so much, you’ll eat anything.

Yeah, before any of that happens, somebody get me a ham sandwich AND a sturdy leather belt. I’ve got a shred of dignity to maintain.

Don’t forget, every Ear-Resist-A-Bowl comes with a toy ear for the kids!

Never Trust Robots

2005-07-05T10:08:00.000-04:00

I can’t stop listening to this awesome song. I just might have to bust out some breakdancing right here, right now.

If you’re a human being, We’re In Business

It’s Getting Hot In Here

2005-07-04T21:15:00.001-04:00

Is it that obvious I’m damned to hell?

I mean, I didn’t even realize it myself. In fact, ever since I accepted Jesus as my personal savior when I was six years old, I thought I was pretty set on gold-paved roads and harps and halos and stuff. But leave it to a total holy stranger to point out that I’m going to have a lot of weeping and gnashing of teeth in my afterlife.

So recently I’m walking home to my apartment from the corner store, where I had just bought some milk and Diet Coke, which evidently might as well have been a couple rocks of crack and an Indonesian child. Why? Because I’m stopped in my tracks by one of the many Hasidic Jews that live in my neighborhood. He asks me if I can put down my weapons of mass destruction and voodoo dolls and give him a hand with something.

That something was:

Flipping a switch in his house.

Wha?

Evidently since he’s Holy, he can’t flip switches on whatever Sabbath or Holy Day it was that I obviously wasn’t respecting what with my Satanic bald head, my Pagan khaki shorts and my bag of dead kittens and AIDS.

He looked like he’d been on the street waiting for a long time. I assume he was waiting for someone to come along that wasn’t Hasidic (which is about half of the people in my neighborhood) or wasn’t black (which is about the other half of people in my neighborhood). Yep, on the sliding scale of who Hasidic Jews Want In Their House, “Big, Bald White Guy” is still less scary than “Black Guy.” Who’d have known?

So, out of some feeling of compassion that is so foreign to a person like my damned self, I decided to help this Holy Man. Maybe doing so, I thought, I would find favor with God and be on my way to climbing out of my suddenly-realised sin-filled pit I’ve dug for myself.

For being so holy and, you know, filled with faith, this guy was pretty nervous and skittish. This threw me a little. Also, once I entered the apartment, I saw that he had at least three kids from where I was standing, and they all looked terrified of me. “Why did daddy let a monster into our home?” I felt they were thinking. I thought about growling, spitting venom, or letting my head do a 360° on my neck, but something not totally evil in me kept me from doing something so awesome.

He led me to a closet, opened the door and showed me two switches that were labeled “air conditioning.” He wanted me to switch them from “on” to “auto.” In fact, if my stupid-crack-smoking mind couldn’t figure it out, he actually motioned a few inches from the switches HOW to do it. I guess motioning inches from the switch isn’t a sin, but actually moving the switches, well, you’re fucked, hombre.

Just as he was motioning, another evil wave came over me. I thought about grabbing his hand and moving the switch with HIS finger. Then HE would be dammed right along with me. I would tilt my head back and cackle maniacally as his crying children watched in horror. “I’ll see your daddy in hell kids! I’ll be back for you soon! Bwwaaahaha! SWITCHES! Bwahahahahaha!” And then I’d reveal my batwings and break through the window and fly to the eye of a nearby tornado.

But instead, I just moved the switches to auto. I turned around and the dude was gone. This was already surreal to me, so I just shrugged and let myself out of the apartment. Walking down the stairs, I heard the Holy Man come chasing down the stairs after me. He offered me a single-serving bottle of kosher sweet wine. A bottle of sweet wine in exchange for the eternal damnation of my soul. Nice. Actually, I’m afraid to drink it, because if this wine is as Pure as the label says it is, it may burn my demonic self from the insides out.

“The grapes of this wine were carefully selected from the vineyard in the outskirts of Jerusalem. We hereby certify that this wine fulfills the requirement of Lamehadrin min Hamehadrin for Kiddush and Havdalah under supervision of the chief Rabbinate of Jerusalem,” says the label. Now you understand why I haven’t opened it yet.

Once I got home I got to thinking: What if this guy wasn’t so holy? What if he was way more evil than even me? I mean he did act awfully strange. His kids did look terrified. And how much of a sin is switching an AC to auto on the Sabbath, anyway? What if those switches weren’t actually hooked up to AC? What if those switches actually were doing something much more horrible? What if they were switches to a torture chamber on the other side of the wall, where his victims would be slowly pulled on a rack until their limbs tore off? What if they were switches to open some gateway to hell that was in the building like the one in the movie The Sentinel? What if they were switches to a TiVo box that was set up to record nothing but episodes of Oprah?

Well, I guess only time will tell. Until then, I might as well eat, drink and be merry. And, what the heck, maybe I’ll start with this bottle of sweet win…eeechh….uggh….can’t…breathe….burning!.....BURNING!......666……SCREEEAWWW!!!!

Sweeps Week

2005-06-28T01:43:00.001-04:00

Welcome home to me, everybody.

Due to circumstances beyond my control, and many within my control, and a few where I deferred control to third parties, I have not been around for a while.

But there’s plenty on deck for Ye Olde Sweatere Ranche in the upcoming days.

Here are just a few of the exciting highlights you can be anticipating in the near future on Colors & Textures. STAY TUNED AMERICA!

• Steven Tyler sighting. Mouth actually bigger in person.

• Dave Chappelle sighting. Mouth in proportion to appearance on TV.

• Cosby Sweater lured to a life of murder and debauchery by cunning Hasidic Jew.

• The Andy Milonakis Show: Doth I view this shimmering jewel on MTV or doest it flutter across my brow on the wings of angels?

• An open letter to Robert Palmer.

• Kids with parents from India sure do know how to spell American words!

• Billy Graham’s Last Crusade inexplicably void of graham crackers.

• Killer Sharks: Are you as safe as you think you are, Omaha?

• Blossom gets a C+ on her Algebra test. Will she stop crying in time for student council elections?

• What I will be doing to carry on one Great American Hero’s Legacy…

…all this and MUCH need I say MUCH MORE on the Sweater Channel!

It’s MUST SEE BLOGSOMETHINGOROTHER!

“Be there!”

It’s springtime

2005-06-13T11:43:00.000-04:00

I’ve fallen in love at least once a day this week.

Wondering what was going on, I realized we’re in full-fledged spring. This is the first real week of nice warm weather New York has seen so far this year. And the first week of warm weather is when the girls come out.

It’s been a long time since the girls have been out. I would say sometime late September to early October. But they’re back, and let me tell you. This is a great girl season.

Some of you (ugly girls) are probably wondering what I mean by "girl season." Well allow me to explain.

When the weather is nice and warm, beautiful girls appear. Bad weather, beautiful girls are nowhere to be found. Good weather, there she is. Don’t believe me? Take a spring course at any college campus North of about the 35th parallel. The first couple of months during the dreary weather you will not notice girls. But once the weather gets nice, right around the tail end of May, beginning of June there they are. On campus. In your class. At the student union. EVERYWHERE.

So, where are the beautiful girls the other 6-8 months of the year? Well in the name of science and hot chicks, I have come up with two theories.

THEORY 1: THE HIBERNATION THEORY

The Hibernation Theory suggests that beautiful girls, like the hottest animals of all woodland creatures, bears, hibernate during the winter months. This is a valid theory for many reasons.

Sleep. Women need "beauty sleep" right? So if girls are getting six to eight straight months of beauty sleep what’s going to stop them from being hot? I submit NOTHING AT ALL.

Eating disorders. Beautiful women are always getting accused of having eating disorders. Well, maybe we’re just seeing them scarf it down right before hibernation. Perhaps unbeknownst to us they’re getting ready for the half of a year they’re going to be sleeping. Then when you see them again in the spring, sure they look waify, but it’s just the hibernation burning off the binge they went on in the fall, not constant purging.

Common knowledge. You know how when you ask a hot girl if they know about a movie or a TV show or politics, and they don’t have any idea what you’re talking about? Well that’s because they’ve been asleep for months. Duh. You try sleeping for six months and then try thinking about anything other than your hair. I imagine it would be extremely difficult.

THEORY 2: THE MIGRATION THEORY

The Migration Theory suggests that beautiful girls, like the hottest animals of all flying things, birds, fly south for the winter. This is also a valid theory for many reasons.

Wild On. Have you ever seen that show on E! called "Wild On" where they tour locations where hot girls are partying? They are always in warm weather locales like Bali and the Bahamas and other tropical islands with bubble machines. You never see Wild On: Bismark, North Dakota or Wild On: Siberia. In fact I’ll go out on a limb and wager you’ll never see that.

“I’m cold!” Girls complain about being cold all the time.* A brisk breeze is a girl’s kryptonite. So of course their natural instincts are to flee it. Here’s an experiment: find your office’s A/C controls. Turn down the temperature to 67 degrees. Then keep your ears open. Listen carefully as the women gather and whine about it being cold. Sound an awful lot like a gaggle of geese flying south for the winter, don’t they?

Bathroom buddies. Girls never go to the restroom alone. They always bring as many of their girlfriends as possible. The only logical way to explain this is that it is practice for migration. Birds instinctively know how to fly in a V formation. Girls instinctively know when one of their friends is going to the ladies’ room and follow her in. Coincidence? I think not.

So there you have it.

Oh, gotta go. There’s a flock coming this way.

* It is also my theory that girls are not warm-blooded mammals, but in fact cold-blooded reptiles. But I’ll save that for another post.

No, really, you shouldn’t have.

2005-06-09T15:27:00.000-04:00

What?

You’ve spent all day shopping for a birthday present for me?

That’s wonderful. I like you more now.

What did you get for me?

Audioscrobbler

2005-05-31T16:36:00.000-04:00

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!

2005-05-25T21:58:00.000-04:00

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

Sweater’s NYC Travel Tips®

2005-05-25T15:52:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-16T00:30:00.000-04:00

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)

2005-05-06T15:42:00.000-04:00

***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!

2005-05-05T16:08:00.000-04:00

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

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

2005-05-05T15:44:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-04T22:21:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-04T00:11:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-03T01:43:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-01T23:49:00.000-04:00

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!”

Proud to be an American

2005-04-27T23:48:00.000-04:00

I have a new Most Prized Possession. So long Reggie Jackson rookie card. Sayonara grandpa’s gold pocket watch. Adios Ace of Base poster.

Dead to me.

Remember that post I wrote a while back about a little music video I ordered called America We Stand As One? Well guess what came in the mail today, about twice as fast as I thought it would?

That’s right. I haven’t been this excited since Christmas Day 1980.

Are you as tingly with anticipation as I was?

I was floored by the packaging. I thought I would get an impersonal-computer-generated-assembly-line mailer, but no. This was handwritten. Handwritten with loving care.

Could this be the handwriting of Danger himself?

A wonderful heart-balloon-shaped thing sprouting out of the “L” in “Love” was drawn on the margins of the package. Another, smaller, heart-shaped-spermy balloon floated below, and above was two 4-fingered paw print-type things. Doth my eyes deceive me, or is Madalone an ar-teest as well as a stuntman, rocker, and humanitarian?

Wherever Madalone’s name is, there is an American flag nearby.

After I documented the packaging with my digital camera, all the while giggling to myself like a schoolgirl with a secret, I grabbed the scissors and carefully opened the package.

This is when the true joy began. I expected to just dump out a DVD. But no, I also received the CD single. I had requested both with the donation I sent, but I didn’t think I would get BOTH! Dennis is so generous!

But what’s this? Wasn’t that enough? NO! Dennis actually personalized the cover of the DVD!

OH HAPPY DAY!

It reads, “AARON, YOUR HEART (heart drawing) IS (the “I” dotted with another paw print thingy) FULL OF GOODNESS (underlined twice). For All of OUR LOVED ONE’S (underlined twice). always Believe (“i” dotted with paw print). Dennis (“i” dotted with paw print) Madalone (heart balloon person thingy)”

I do Believe Dennis. I do.

But my friends, IT STILL WAS NOT OVER. He personalized the LYRICS INSERT and the actual God-blessed DVD too!

The lyrics insert reads, “AARON, Keep on Being (dotted with paw print) you (underlined twice). Love Dennis (sixth paw print and another spermy heart)”

I’ll do my best, Denny good man.

The DVD reads, “for the WORLD (underlined twice). Dennis (seventh paw print) and (heart) Linda (eighth paw print) and (heart) MOM (third spermy heart)”

I’ve never kissed a man, but I’m considering some tonsil hockey with Dennis.

Finally, I also received an America We Stand As One business card, which was also personalized, “AARON, thank you (fifth double-underline). Dennis (unprecedented ninth paw print AND fourth spermy heart)

There aren’t enough spermy hearts in the world to express my feelings, Dennis.

I know in my other post about America We Stand As One I doubted Dennis’ spiritual message from our Loved Ones. But after being touched by all of this heartfelt personalization, I really feel as if my heart is a white, fluffy cloud wherein firemen shake hands for eternity. And I didn’t even lose any Loved Ones in any of the events on 9/11 or since.

Is it fair that I feel so much love? I submit that it is not!

Dennis Madalone has made me a believer. I am converted. Thank you Dennis for restoring my faith in the human spirit. For curing me of cynicism if just for a few moments. And for giving me hope and belief in this not-so-perfect-but-damn-well-worth-standing-up-for country of ours.

A little country I like to call the USAAAAAAAYYYY!

C’mon kids! Let’s all stand as one! How ‘bout it?

Dennis, you’re a little slice of heaven, and I want the whole enchilada!

*I almost forgot*

On the DVD there is a credit track that lists everyone who worked on the making of. But the awesome part is the music that plays during the credits is a KARAOKE VERSION of America We Stand As One! So next time you come over to my apartment, guess what we're doing!

Sweater’s Favorite Things® Vol. 1

2005-04-26T10:52:00.000-04:00

Because I’m lazy, have real work to do and because you people are so demanding, I’m posting one of my Favorite Things® I’ve ever read, not written. This was an article published in the Portland Mercury exactly four years ago.

I loved it so much, I saved it. I now pass the genius on to you.

Enjoy.

HEY! LOOK AT DIS CHEEKIN!
by Armand Melwicki

Photo by Satan

Oh, mama! Look at dis cheekin. Hey, dis is one good-lookin’ cheekin, let me tell you! Dis right here? Dis is a "finger-leekin’ cheekin." Ah-Ha! HA-HA-HAAAA! Yessssss. No. I wouldn’t eat dis cheekin. I love dis cheekin. Hey, you want to know something? It’s a funny thing about cheekins. They don’t hurt nobody. Nobody ever been hurt by the cheekin. What are they gonna do? Peck you to death? They gonna scratch you? "Oh! Oh! Help me! Help me! Dis mean cheekin, he scratch out my eyes!" Hoo-Hooo! HA! No, I'm kidding. He won’t hurt you. Dis cheekin? He’s a niiiice cheekin.

Another funny...okay, no. Another interesting thing about the cheekin, okay? All parts of the cheekin can be used in the man-u-facturing. All parts. The Haitians? They use the cheekin feets for the voodoo. The cheekin feathers? You can make the skirt out of those. The cheekin head? Wellllllll, I don’t know... maybe you can make the ring? For the finger? A cheekin-head ring? I tell you what, though! That's one ugly ring! Ah-HA! Ah-HA-HA-HAAAAAAAA! No, no, no, no, no, no. Yes.

Ahhhh, but life. It’s a good thing with a cheekin around, no? What I mean to say is, you wake up in the morning, yes? You have to go to stupid job. The wife? She hate you. The kids? They got no respect. Ahhhhh, but then! But then hop, hop, hop! Here comes the cheekin! And the cheekin says "cheep!cheep!cheep!" and you say "peep!peep!peep!" and everything? Why, she’s okay again! The job? She’s not so bad! The wife? She's not so ugly! The kids? Well, the kids... they still no good. But the cheeeeeeekin. Yes. The cheeeeeeeekin, that's what makes life good. Ah, yes. Thank you, Mr. Cheekin. Thank you for making everything good.

Sweater’s Most Wanted

2005-04-24T22:25:00.000-04:00

I have a secret admirer.

Keyword: “Secret.”

I hate secrets. When I see people whispering the muscles in my hand involuntarily tighten into a fist. I suspect had I lived in the old West, I would have shot a man for merely stopping his conversation at the same moment I entered the room.

I’m related to the Earps. Ask me how!

So when I got to work one morning not too long ago and found a CD on my desk with a note that read, “AARON—WILL YOU BE MY ‘CHARLES’ LOVE, YOUR SECRET ADMIRER” I knew I had to find out who did it.

The crime scene. Click for larger image.

The rest of my desk. Notice Richard Petty
and the bottle of champagne in the AC/DC coozy.

Mr. T on the first floor, The Jesus Karate Band upstairs.
They all say they saw nothing.

The CD had one track, the theme song from the ’80s sitcom “Charles In Charge.” So this secret admirer wanted me to be their Scott Baio. They wanted me to be in charge of the their days and their nights. To be in charge of their wrongs and their rights. You know, this is something I can do. I like being in charge. I also would like to have Scott Baio’s dating resumé. But that’s beside the point.

Holy mackerel! You look amazing Pam!
Get it? Mackerel? Let’s make out.

Anyway, after a shakedown email to a few suspects, no one ’fessed up. The email was a move I would regret, because it quickly started a copycat crime. Soon after I sent the email I received an anonymous Scot Baio portrait, The Ballad of Scott Baio and an email in my name with the address scottbaioisnumberone@hotmail.com.

So like a good renegade cop with a dislocated shoulder and no one to live for, I decided that I had to put on some more pressure. And how I did that was with a little tactic I like to call reverse psychology. I pretended like I didn’t care, and just let the guilt and the internal suffering of the crook smoke ‘em out.

”Cosby! You want to tell me why I just got chewed out by the commisioner?!?”

Well you know what chief? It worked like a charm. The perp who gave me the portrait confessed. Same with the balladeer. Two different people. Both of whom I retaliated upon by anonymously leaving them each a David Hasselhoff 2005 calendar.

July is going to be a very good month.

I was beginning to see this was a network of professionals. But with my Ben Matlock-esque prowess, this web of criminals was unraveling like a cheap gym sock.

I thought it would be over in a matter of hours. But the creator of the CD and email are mysteriously still at large. That’s why I’ve had to call in the big gun. John Mothergrabbin’ Walsh.

“My eyes can penetrate your soul! SKEEEEAWWWWAH!”

Know this Evildoers. John Walsh is hot on the case. He and the late-night-syndicated-TV-watching Americans will not rest until you’re begging for forgiveness on death row to Susan Sarandon.

But if you’re a real secret admirer, and not like, a dude, then just let me know, okay? We’ll grab a drink after work, say, Wednesday night.

And don’t worry. I won’t forget my mackerel.

The Jesus Karate Band has put a cease to their rocking until this case is closed.

The Jesus Karate Band:
Jesus—triangle, harp, pyrotechnics
Blue Belt—bass
Pink Belt—lead guitar
Chuck the SuperGuppy—vocals, keyboards
Root Bear—percussion, frosty beverages
Foose the HandiCapable—rhythym guitar, crying

4-21: National Damn Day

2005-04-21T09:35:00.000-04:00

CAN I GET A DAMN?

Yesterday was 4-20. That was fun for the potheads. Today is 4-21, National Damn Day. It’s a very obscure holiday that I and some of my buddies in college came across when we found some old manuscripts in a cave along the Lewis & Clark trail. After finding these artifacts, we decided to bring the holiday back to life. We also ran out of toilet paper, so we used the manuscripts, which were surprisingly soft, then buried them, so that bears would not eat us.

Today is the only day of the year everything can be damned without consequences. Damn whatever you want. Go buck wild with your damn self. Most people don’t know this, but on any other day of the year anything you damned would be condemned to an eternity in the fiery depths of hell. Yes, that’s how powerful the word "damn" is. That’s why we only use it when talking about damn Zach Braff or damn Natalie Portman. I mean, we don’t want everybody to go to hell, do we?

For more on the history of "D-Day" I turn it over to my dear friend, co-founder of The Damn Papers, damn historian and Damn Day observer, Dr. J.T. Nice III.

“The first Damn Day was celebrated by our founding fathers the day after the Puritans decided to puff the ganja. In the words of our Amos Whitley (1793)

our Amos Whitley

‘Wherefore we have come tither, we shall not partake of the inhalation of a controlled substance. No, in inhalation’s stead we shall curse. We shall curse and be free from retribution. Our sons shall curse and work the fields with a clean conscious!’

I and my young son will celebrate by having our holiday Spam and swearing. He is learning ‘da da’ and already knows ‘ma ma’ so he basically knows all the parts of the word. He just needs to get them in the right order.”

So there you have it folks. If you are in the Las Vegas area, I would suggest celebrating at the Hoover Dam. While you’re there, ask the dam tour guide if the Hoover Dam is in fact a "God dam."

Live it up.

Damn it all.

It’s your damn right.

DAMN!

Sweater’s Subway Tales® Vol. 1

2005-04-19T00:13:00.000-04:00

Hello boys and girls. Welcome to my first installment of Sweater’s Subway Tales®. No, these are not stories about the delicious sandwiches enjoyed by Jared and Clay Henry. These are stories about interesting things that happen while I am on New York’s MTA Subway.

Clay Henry: Scoring Jared’s sweet sloppy seconds

Lots of fun stuff happens on the subway. Like the time I saw a guy take a big hit off a can of compressed air and pass out. Or the time during morning rush hour when a girl fainted right in front of me. Or the time I got frisked on the platform by a cop because my ex-girlfriend would not exit the station (she was mad at me).

Tonight something else fun happened. I got on the A train at Canal headed to Brooklyn. I sat down and was about to open my book when I noticed the fella sitting across from me was doing the Tom Cruise Hands from the movie Minority Report.

“C’mon! Vogue! No, don’t open Photoshop! Vogue dammit! Vogue!”

Remember that ridiculous maestro hand dance he did in that movie? The one that made us all completely crack up in unison because of how utterly gay it was?

That’s right. That’s what this guy was doing. After a few minutes of this, I was completely convinced he was surfing the web OF THE FUTURE!

But let’s get back to Minority Report.That was such a retarded scene. Tom Cruise would lead us to believe that when he uses the computer he puts on some classical music, dims the lights, then proceeds to wave his hands around like a sugarplum fairy. Then he would take these GIGANTIC discs and move them to other areas of the computer.

So, let me get this straight Steven Spielberg. In the future I can move information on a transparent screen by prancing around like Brian Boitano, but you’re telling me I am going to have to move floppy discs the size of TV trays from one end of the room to the other every minute or so? Riiiiight.

Maybe I shouldn’t blame Steven Spielberg or the Computer of the Future for the fruitiness. It’s true Tom Cruise does have a history of making things gay. Well, the Interpretive Hand Dance of the Future was the gayest thing Tom Cruise had done in a long time. In fact it was so gay, I’m sure that kid from the 1989 movie The Wizard could kick Cruise’s ass with a few flicks of the radical keypad on his NES Power Glove.

“Prepare to meet your old pal Goose, b*tch!”

On second thought, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had cast Clint Eastwood to do the computer dance—even he would’ve looked like a Nancy. I mean, that’s probably the WORST idea for the future there is, right?

Well…

As I was doing a little research before writing this post, I serendipitously came across this article from the Wall Street Journal written a few days ago about this very subject.

A woman named Pamela Barry thinks the Tom Cruise Finger Mitten Dance is a great idea. So great in fact, she hunted down John Underkoffler, the guy who dreamt it up for the movie, to help her develop it for military use. That’s right. She wants our Real American Heroes to kill Evildoers with jazz hands.

“Your hand becomes a Swiss Army knife,” Underkoffler says.

Oh really Johnny? A Swiss Army knife?

Somebody bring me my Power Glove. I’ve got some ass-kicking to do.

Best and Worst SNL Casts

2005-04-17T16:10:00.000-04:00

A question’s been floating around out there: You’re hosting SNL. What’s your dream cast and musical guest?

So I checked out this cast list so I could assemble my dream cast. I tried not to load up on big stars, because a good cast has good supporting actors, utility players, and actors who are generous and make others better, not upstage.

Cast:
Dana Carvey
Will Ferrell
Phil Hartman
Jan Hooks
Bill Murray
Chris Rock
Victoria Jackson
Amy Poehler
Chris Farley

Weekend Update:
Norm MacDonald

Special guest appearances by:
Alec Baldwin
John Goodman
Steve Martin
Christopher Walken
Christina Aguilera—did you see her in that Sex and the City sketch? She’s got skills!

Musical Guest:
A coin flip between Electric Six and Tenacious D

Writing staff:
Robert Smigel
Bob Odenkirk
Conan O’Brien

Sketches to include:
The McLoughlin Group
Bill Brasky
Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer
Toonces, the Driving Cat
Jeopardy!
Lyle, the Effeminate Heterosexual

As I browsed the cast list, I thought it would be fun to create a Worst SNL Cast List too. Here’s mine, what’s yours?

Cast:
A. Whitney Brown—The moment he came on every Saturday night was the moment America fell asleep.
Nora Dunn—Unfunny and unlikeable.
Darrell Hammond—Not funny no matter how good his impressons are (exception: Sean Connery on Jeopardy!).
Ana Gasteyer—The girl who never got attention in high school and now was getting too much of it.
Joe Piscopo—’Roid rage and skit comedy don’t go together.
Julia Sweeney—Was I the only one that wanted to kill Pat with an ice pick?
Jimmy Fallon—The best audience member ever on the cast. Always breaking character and laughing made it seem less like sketch comedy and more like a pajama party (exception: Barry Gibb Talk Show).
Jane Curtain—Unfunny and unlikeable.
Anybody from Julia Louis-Dreyfus era—Did anyone watch the show from 1983-1986?

Weekend Update:
Colin Quinn—It always sounded like he was in a prize fight with his own tongue.

Musical Guest:
Ashlee Simpson—’Nuff said.

Sketches to include:
The Coneheads
Spartan Cheerleaders
Jarret’s Room
Coffee Talk
It’s Pat!

Also, I watched the show last night and it was awful (except for Beck’s musical performance). Do we all agree that the show’s been pretty bad for the last couple of years? Would you like to know my theory why?

Because SNL has become a girls club.

Tina Fey is head writer and there is no outstanding male performer on the show. It’s become a girls club, and while girls can be funny (hey, I have 3 girls in my dream cast) they cannot carry a comedy show. That is a man’s job.

Disagree? Well allow me to retort:

Click on Rosie to visit her blog poems.
Notice even her kid looks bored.

I’m a patriot, are you?

2005-04-15T01:37:00.000-04:00

Well, I’d like you all to know I did my patriotic duty today. My duty as a tax-paying, French-hating American citizen. And let me tell you, this puts to shame any GOD BLESS AMERICA bumper sticker, Will Ferrell thong or AIDS quilt you could throw at me.

nice try, grandma

I donated my hard-earned money, and in return will be receiving Dennis Madalone’s “America We Stand As One” music video on DVD in 3-4 weeks.

You may be asking, “Coz, why tells us about your donation?” And to that I answer, “because I like to brag.” You may also be asking, “Why not just donate. Why do YOU need to receive something in return?” And to that I answer, “eff you, Nazi.”

Giving generously only to receive goods and services in tenfold is the American way. Because if you’re asking America to change, then you’re asking America to park our H3T, put down our 64oz. Mountain Dew and come over there and whoop your commie ass for treason. Are we clear, amigo?

lemme turn down my Toby Keith CD first

Also, how dare you for trying to keep anybody from an “American Rock Anthem [that] fills you full of hope and comforts you with a spiritual message from our Loved Ones, that they’re still with us, but in a different way.” (americawestatndasone.com)

Wait a second. Did they just say what I quoted? Let me check. Yep. Are they f**ing NUTS???

That’s a mighty big promise, especially coming from ex-Star Trek stunt coordinator gone Homeland Security Rocker Dennis “Danger” Madalone. I mean, thanks for raising money for a good cause Denny, but if I’m reading this correctly, you’re saying that you have a spiritual message from my Loved Ones that will fill me full of hope and comfort me!?!

You?

Denny Madalone?

My Loved Ones chose you, of all people, to speak to me?

“They call me Madalone. Danger Madalone.”

And what did they tell you to say? “That they’re still with us in a different way?” Jeez, thanks Denny for telling me something I didn’t already learn on any given episode of Highway to Heaven. Does that mean somebody’s dead fireman dad was speaking to Michael Landon every Sunday night on NBC in the late ’80s?

“Whoa, Denny’s pretty high up on that rock!”

Oh, by the way folks, when you look at the video you may think you’re looking at Steve Perry from Journey, but nope that’s Dennis Madalone. A guy with not one iota of musical history. None. Where does a guy like this get off making music in the name of America’s Dead People? I don’t know what century you’re in Denster, but around here you have to at least get runner-up on American Idol to have those kind of privileges.

the wheel in the sky keeps on killing our Loved Ones

But you lucked out this time Denny old man.

I mean, these are some genius lyrics. the USAAAAAAAYYYYY / Amer-ack-ugh, we stand as one / the USAAAAAAAYYYYY

Not to mention you selected a chord progression that no one has ever tapped: Em / C / G / D, and all in 4/4 time no less! (I figured it out in two seconds. Now you can impress your friends and hot chicks at parties and camping trips. You’re welcome.)

And how about that video. That’s the best debut video I’ve ever seen. “Danger,” you and your director Rob may-as-well-be-Steven-Freaking-Spielberg Bowman have actually checked off almost everything on the Billboard List Of What It Takes To Rock An American Rock Anthem Video™ list. Check it out:

Becoming possessed by Loved Ones’ spirits: CHECK
Moon 10 times the size of actual moon: CHECK
Singing to no one in particular while atop a rock: CHECK
Getting washed away by an American flag ocean wave: CHECK
Moving the Statue of Liberty to some other random body of water: CHECK
Hand-shaking firemen in a cloud: CHECK
Silhouetted face singing to the sky like a turkey drowning in the rain: CHECK
Making a black child’s head glow with touch of hand on playground: CHECK
Extra tight, torn blue jeans: CHECK
Magically turning boring rock formation into Mt. Rushmore: CHECK
Hitting the high notes right behind a wife and child who are at the cemetery mourning their dead husband and father: CHECK
Making sure you have an American flag(s) with you at all times: CHECK
Beheading a Canadian:

Oh, so close Denny. So close.

Well, with such a great effort, and the fact that it’s for charity, I can’t keep from forgiving you. Come here you no-talent-Steve-Perry-looking-USA-tank-top-wearing-Trekky-nerd-musical-trainwreck. I love you. And I love AMERICA!

The USAAAAAAAYYYYY!

* America We Stand As One and Dennis Madalone did not authorize or assist in the production, creation, or concept behind alternative “spoof” videos of America We Stand As One. DO NOT BE FOOLED BY IMITATIONS!

**Sorry I only have one crappy Dennis Madalone photo. They’re hard to find. Maybe I’ll be able to post some once I get the DVD.

Call this my “PUPPY”

2005-04-13T00:19:00.000-04:00

Can we all agree that the word “blog” is the lamest, most unappealing word in the history of mankind? That's why I'm no longer referring to this personal site where I post musings to its old name, which I will never speak again.

For now, I will refer to this as my puppy. “Puppy” is a much more pallatable word, don’t you think?

Everyone loves a puppy!

Now we can say, “hey, have you read Harry’s puppy today? He puppied about how much he hates baths! It was hilarious! I love his puppy, that dirty dog!”

Did you notice how nice it sounded even when used as a verb?

I will however be accepting ideas on better words. If you have an idea, post a comment to this post. Once we all decide on a better word, we’ll take it to Bill Gates and make him accept the new word.

red tape

If he doesn’t accept it, we’ll put the new word in a starving African child’s hand and leave him on Bill Gates’ doorstep.

For the kids Bill. The kids.

If that doesn’t work, we’ll wrap the new word in cash money. Or rubies.

Now are we speaking your language?

If that doesn’t work...well...we’ll think of something.

Like giving rubies to a baby!

Fate Brought Me A Hero

2005-04-08T10:06:00.000-04:00

On a beautiful Seattle summer day in 2002, I and my partner in cri…uh, advertising, Fishcakes, were buried deep in the archives of a recording studio looking for the perfect music for the first television commercial I’ve ever written (Fishcakes already had done a few).

At that exact moment but many, many years earlier and a little later in the summer on a September Fifth in Los Angeles, California, a hero was born.

#

Fishcakes and I were in the middle of editing this commercial we had produced for a major athletic apparel company. It was a spoofy training-montage commercial, where Marshall Faulk, running back for the St. Louis Rams runs a JV kid into the ground. We had just the right music in mind. Aspiring Butt Rock.

But finding Aspiring Butt Rock without having to pay royalties out the ass to RATT or The Scorpions or Dokken is harder said than done.

money grubbing dream killers

We went through nearly every non-royalty-fee CD that the studio had, but we couldn’t find anything. The editor and our boss decided to edit in some music that sounded less like Aspiring Butt Rock and more like Aspiring To Eat Beef, Which Is What’s For Dinner Music. You know that Beef song? That grand symphony music? Yeah, it sounded like that, with a little Rocky theme peppered in.

gonna rib eye now!

Looking at the edit, I wasn’t satisfied. Something beckoned me back to the archives for one more look-see through the stacks of music. I went back and…eureka! There it was. “Sweet Victory” was the title of the track, and it was perfect. It was as if God shined his God Flashlight right down into that studio and led me to the nugget of Aspiring Royalty-Free Butt Rock Goodness.

I poured over the liner notes, looking for who may have written this enchanting piece of art, and there his name gleamed, inked in the glossy insert: DAVID GLEN EISLEY. And at that magic moment, I realized David Glen Eisley was my hero, baby. He would kiss away my pain. He would stand by me forever. He would take my breath away.

I hurried back to the editing suite with my saving grace. We edited it in and it was magnificent. The subtle ironies of bold lyrics like sweet victory / it's ours for the taking / it's ours for the fight and driving power chords against a kid face-planting into the sand with a log on his shoulders was glorious.

But oh, fate, you had the last laugh didn’t you? For the clients at the major athletic company thought the music was too SILLY and went with the Beef Music instead.

So the commercial was ruined, but not all was lost. I had found a hero.

David Glen Eisley is a rocker. Okay, was a rocker. But he rocked hard. But not too hard. Just hard enough. Not many rockers know how much rock is just the right amount. But those who do ROCK. And friends, David Glen Eisley ROCKS.

you dare doubt DGE’s rockability?

The great thing about DGE is that he’s not just a rocker. He’s a multi-faceted talent machine. He’s been on TV. Not just any TV. Beverly Freaking Hills 90210. He’s been in movies. He starred with Brian Bosworth in a little something that graced silver screens for 3 or 4 days in 1991 you may have heard of called Stone Cold.

He’s married to Olivia Hussey, the hottie Juliet from the 1968 film Romeo & Juliet.

“Wherefore art thou, rock balladeer?”

How did DGE win this sultry Shakespearian? “It was a chance meeting of eyes across a crowded restaurant,” he says on his website. That’s how much of a hero DGE is. His EYES rock famous hot chicks into his lap.

DGE eyes + hot chick = DGE lap. You do the math.

But we haven’t even got to the softer side of DGE. He rocks out in the name of kids learning their multiplication tables. Heck yes he does!

rocking math like a poison-spitting hurricane

Oh yeah! Can someone tell me how to petition Webster’s Dictionary to add a D, G and extra E to the word “hero?” Because I will right now. Just listen to some of those audio clips on “Dr. Dave’s Rockin’ Math” CD please. now we’re doin’ the Elevens / whoa oh oh / right now / eleven times one is / ELEVEN... Say Webster’s, can we add a D, and an extra G and E to the word “genius” while we’re at it?

Here’s to you DGE. You’re a hero for us all. Every man, every woman, every child. You’re DGE!

“Thank you Cheboygan!”

***REPRISE***

A few months after our commercial had run its course, my boss told me he had heard “Sweet Victory” while watching Spongebob Square Pants with his kids.“Maybe you’re cooler than I thought,” he said to me. Well, a lot of good that does now. But I least I know DGE’s “Sweet Victory” will finally make a difference...for the world!

the winner takes all!
(click on Spongebob to hear “Sweet Victory”)

Stick to baseball questions ONLY

2005-04-05T18:23:00.000-04:00

I was in the men’s room reading the latest ESPN magazine today, and I have to say, professional athletes are some of the dumbest, most boring people on the planet.

Case in point: ESPN’s “Icebreaker” article. Basically a quarter-page Q & A with a pro athlete. Here it is verbatim. I’ve also added some comments the interviewer was thinking at the time, in parentheses. How do I know what the interviewer was thinking? Just trust me on this one.

ICEBREAKER

Brett Myers, Pitcher, Phillies

I pitch baseball! Yay!

LAST MOVIE YOU SAW I can’t even tell you, it’s been so long. When you have a 2-year-old at home, it’s kind of tough to get out.

(Hey Brett, Just come up with something, okay? You’re being interviewed for a major national publication. It doesn’t matter what it was, as long as it wasn’t Garden State. That movie sucked. And if your miniscule brain would’ve understood the question correctly, I wasn’t asking what was the last movie you saw IN THEATERS, rather simply what was the last movie you saw PERIOD. So, if what you say is true, that “it’s kind of tough to get out,” I imagine you’re watching a lot of movies on DVD or VHS or HBO or something, right? So what the f**k was it Brett? What was the last movie you saw? This isn’t rocket science! In fact I’ll take Rocket Science as an answer, and I don’t even know if that’s a real movie or not.)

ELMO OR BARNEY Elmo. Not Barney. I hate Barney, can’t even watch him. Elmo on Sesame Street, that I’ll watch.

(Okay, an answer. Good Brett. Good boy. Here’s a Milk Bone. Note to self: Brett is better at multiple choice questions than open-ended ones. Scratch that. He’s good at either/or questions. I’m not sure that I want to introduce multiple choices. If I do, I could have a major breakdown on my hands. Also note questions dealing with children television programming may be an area I want to come back to if things get too complicated.)

SUPERHERO YOU WOULD BE Probably the Incredible Hulk, just because he’s a monster. He’s strong and can do everything. Just to be ripped like that. And I grew up watching it everyday on TV. Plus, if anyone pissed me off in the clubhouse, I could rip out of my shirt.

(I really sensed I should stick with the cartoon questions and I was right. An actual answer. Picking up quite a few homo-erotic overtones in his answer: wanting to be ripped and wanting to rip out of his shirt in front of a group of men. Also it’s evident that his teammates are making fun of him in the clubhouse, perhaps because he has a small package?)

FIRST JOB I’ve only had one. When I was 15, I worked in a car wash. The manual-labor stuff was not good. Bending over a car from 7 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon? That’s not fun.

(You’ve had only ONE FIRST JOB? No f**king way! Hey Brett, I’ve had like 74 first jobs! Motherf**ker this guy’s a tool! And again, note more homo-erotic tendencies: bending over a car from 7 to 5. I have a hunch that bending over was not the un-fun part of that job for Brett.)

FIRST GIRLFRIEND I have no idea when it was. What’s a good age to say? I want to seem cool. I was 2. Yeah, that’s it. I saw her swinging on the monkey bars at preschool and made my move! Well, not really.

(Again, this knob has no sense of time. Ever heard of a watch or a calendar or f**king birthdays Captain Lightbulb? Even Tom Forrest-Freaking-Gump Hanks was able to check off the days with feces on the side of a slab of rock to tell how long he’d been in that dammed FedEx commercial of a movie Castaway. And there’s NO WAY you were in preschool at age 2 Copernicus. Jeez, at least get your preschool age correct. I mean you say you have a 2-year-old at home, so is that Baby Einstein in preschool yet? And you have to make pretend for your first girlfriend? Are you kidding me? Was life that much of a whirlwind for you man? Did you not know that coming here today we were going to ask you some bullsh*t questions about your life? Maybe you should’ve called your mom before you got into the limo to come over here, or were you too busy bending over it?)

Man that interviewer is a real jerk, huh?

Ladies, have you given up?

2005-04-04T01:17:00.000-04:00

No, no. Don’t tell me. I just need a quick look at you.

I know you’re probably thinking I must be some kind of chauvinist jerk to claim that I can tell just by looking at a woman whether she’s given up on life or not. But I can, okay? Can you just accept that I have a gift? And if you’ll stop your whining for two seconds I’ll tell you my secret. Are you done?

Alright. Here it is: It’s all in the hairdo.

That’s right. I don’t need to look at your ring finger. I don’t need to see how many car seats you have in the backseat nor do I need to read some boring suicide note you’ve just written. Just show me your hair. If you’ve got the mom haircut, that’s all I need to know.

threw in the towel

Now I don’t have a problem with actual moms having mom haircuts. In fact, that’s a good idea. Men, encourage your wife and mother of your children to get the mom haircut. It’s like OFF!™ spray, but instead of repelling insects it repels other men.

Hey! Stop scoffing! I’m not just some ass saying this. American Freaking Baby.com is saying the same thing. In fact they say the mom haircut is Mommy Milestone #5. I shit you not.

The problem with the mom haircut is that single, childless women continue to opt for this horrendous hairstyle. Someone somewhere (I’ll go out on a limb and say Oprah) is telling women that this haircut is not only acceptable, but that it is cute and attractive. Ladies, listen to me when I say that NOTHING COULD BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH.

evil, barren, bitter purveyor of lies!

Getting the mom haircut if you are not a mom is UNNATURAL. Men are visual. We pick up on visual cues you give us to let us know if you are available. Hence the invention of miniskirts, push-up bras and Paris Hilton. And if you want more evidence, look no further than the animal world. Females change color, make strange yipping sounds and emit odors to let males know they’re available. You don’t see animals in the wild trying their darnedest to look like they’re NOT in heat. Can you imagine a female baboon hiding her enflamed posterior because some other rich, loud-mouthed baboonette with her own afternoon TV show told her to? No. You would never see that. Why? BECAUSE THAT IS INSANE.

two things that should never go together:
the mom haircut and devil fingers

This is the same reason you never see single men driving minivans. Minivans do not say “hey ladies! I’m flying solo tonight, so hop on in.” No, they say, “uh what’s that honey? Milk? We need milk? Okay. And tampons? Again? Okay, okay.”

neutered dad on board!

Please know that I am not doing this for my own benefit. I have many close female friends that have fallen for this lie and it’s a very, very sad thing to see happen. I only give this public service announcement because of my unconditional care for these women. If this happens to keep one single woman from getting the mom haircut, and in turn having a boyfriend, who may or may not be me, then this has all been worth it.

To further my point, I spent countless hours on the internet looking for photos of Jennifer Love Hewitt with short hair, and I have not found a single one.

***UPDATE***

Okay, a few hours later I found one, but c’mon. She could have wet paper bag for hair and she’d still be hot.

I HAVE 24 HOURS TO LIVE

2005-04-01T17:16:00.000-05:00

April Fools! Ha! Gotcha! Had ya there for second, huh?

If you didn’t know it already, it’s April Fool’s Day, the one day of the year everyone’s allowed to be funny, even people who aren’t funny the other 364 days of the year. I blame April Fool’s Day for the existence of things like rubber chickens, whoopee cushions and Wayne Brady.

not funny

still not funny

on second thought, rubber chickens are a riot!

Oh, and chalk up the utterly lame act of wearing a lampshade to April Fool’s Day while you’re at it.

I’m (the one who sucks) the life (out) of the party!

But no one enjoys April 1st more than Dave Coulier. Yes, that’s correct, even more than Carrot Top.

making John Stamos’ career look respectable

I am sure Dave, riddled with anticipation the night before, stays awake giddy about the barrage of totally terrific gags he will assault America with.

“Hey everybody! I can see Bob Saget’s butt!”

Don’t think this guy didn’t load up the days before at Ye Olde Magic Shoppe, spending hours deciding between plastic flies or plastic roaches. "Seltzer bottle?" CHECK. "Squirting flower?" CHECK. "Exploding paper snake in peanut can?" CHECK AND DOUBLE CHECK.

I mean can you imagine what a laugh riot it would be to have Dave Coulier living with you?

You: Hey, who left this banana peel on the floor?

Dave: Oops! Don’t slip! Ha!

You: Could you throw it away please?

Dave: CUT IT OUT! (Accompanied with hilarious hand motion)

AUDIENCE LAUGHS ALONG WITH OLSEN TWINS

It would be non-stop hilarity. And by non-stop I mean non-existent.

Well Dave Coulier, enjoy your day. This is what you were born for.

“Uncle Joey, you’re a...wait for it...JACKASS!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...eecccccchhh.

Mustache vs. Sans Mustache

2005-03-29T00:34:00.000-05:00

I admit, I have not been following the Michael Jackson trial. But have you heard this?

Geraldo Rivera believes Jackson is innocent. So much so, that he will in fact SHAVE OFF HIS MUSTACHE if Jackson is found guilty. “Having investigated the facts and circumstances leading up to his indictment and everything that’s happened since, I’m absolutely convinced that he is being framed,” Rivera said.

Now this got me thinking. No, not about how much of a wackjob Geraldo is, but about the power of le ’stache.

Geraldo con ’stache

Think about it. If Geraldo actually does go through with shaving off his mustache, he will in effect be committing career suicide. For it is written, once the mustache gods elevate a man into a power position, they shall smite him who has the gall to shave whilst in power.

Read: don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

What? You don’t believe me? Well please allow me to present Exhibit A: Tom Selleck. When you hear the name “Tom Selleck” you probably draw a blank. That’s because most people only know him by his mustachioed moniker “Magnum P.I.”

Magnum Freaking P.I.

Yes, back in the day Tom Selleck was the man. He was untouchable, that is, except by the ladies, if you know what I mean. He ruled the islands of Hawaii. If you were wanted for pineapple thievery or any other unsavory actions in the South Pacific, you had better watch your back. Within an hour, including commercial breaks, Magnum would have had you handcuffed face-down in a pile of poi wishing you were never born.

So what happened to Selleck after Magnum P.I.? Oh, I’ll tell you what happened. He shaved his mustache and fell off the face of God’s Green Earth, that’s what happened.

Some old ugly dude

Moving on to Exhibit B: Alex Trebek. Alex suavely worked his mustache all the way to tip-top of the game show host food chain. With a neatly groomed mustache, he took Chuck Woolery by his ankles and shook all the loose change from his pockets. In one swift move he had Pat Sajak begging for mercy. I won’t even tell you the awful things he did to Marc Summers.

Alex with mustache and attractive, albiet matronly, guest

Alex had everything a game show host could want. Power, glory, money, women. But he got cocky. He shaved the ’stache. And now we couldn’t pick his face out from a crowd if he were wearing a Daily Double sandwich board and Merv Griffin as a hat.

Alex without mustache or last shred of dignity

Exhibit C: Mike Bellotti, head coach, Oregon Ducks football. Bellotti has been head coach of my beloved Ducks since 1995. He came in, mustache and all and brought the Ducks to the brink of a National Championship in 2002.

With ’stache, focused

So what did he do? He shaved his mustache. Joey Harrington and Onterrio Smith immediately went to the NFL, his wife left him, and he even missed getting to a bowl game entirely last season. Soon he’ll be pushing a shopping cart around the Knight Library mumbling about facial hair and the Indiana game.

Without ’stache, confused, disoriented

For my final statement I’d like to speak directly to the mustachioed.

Men, you’ve been blessed. You’ve been blessed with a bushel of hair atop your lip that is as good as the muscle of 100 Clydesdales, the brain of Albert Einstein and the debonair of Frank Sinatra combined. Please, don’t take what has been bestowed to you for granted. For if you do, I will not be held accountable. Now that you have been warned, if you do shave that proud icon, you must stand before God and all of mankind and answer to us why you have done such a selfish, thoughtless deed.

May God have mercy on your clean-shaven soul.

Your witness, counselor.

“Remember kids, with a mustache you can do anything!”

Cos-ing a stir. HA! Get it?

2005-03-28T16:06:00.001-05:00

So I received an email from a “friend” today. This “friend” had some things to say about my blog. I thought I would share them. I changed the “friend’s” name to protect the not-so-innocent.

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From: Cherries Jubilee
Sent: Monday, March 28, 2005 3:31 PM
To: Aaron Robnett

I don’t even know where to begin about your blog-E-blog. Although, it seems like you have a lot more free time than you let on when you could be emailing or calling your friend Cherries Jubilee.

Don’t compare Oregon to the Australian Outback. That just perpetuates the myth that we are all hicks in the sticks. Well, I guess you are from Salem. Did I tell you the last time I went to Vegas the taxi driver asked if we had paved roads or if we rode horses and carriages. We then referenced the Blazers he kind of got it. Scary.

What is this innate need to continue this same diatribe about High Fidelity? It’s a good movie. You love Jack Black. Point made. Is there any more you need to say? And don’t make fun of us nerds that read books and it’s usually true that they are more enjoyable then really poorly written screenplays for mega-popular films. (i.e. Jurassic Park).

Are you lacking in outlets of expression? It seems like you need to impart your knowledge on those that might not be privy to it on a daily basis, but really, is it just so you don’t have to write as many emails, and your friends can just go on the old blog and see what Aaron is thinking today? I guess this throws back to your initial email to me about the self-serving aspect of it. Don’t you feel that personal mono e mono interfacing is more intimate? I don’t want to talk to those people? I want to see how Aaron is.

And I definitely didn’t need to see The Hoff again, but thanks.

The profanity is upsetting and unnecessary.

And since when have you been Captain Patriotic? Does America need to win everything and do we need to think that it does?

I’ve never seen Insomnia, but I think I will now so I can tell you how much I enjoyed it.

(Editor’s note: In the original email this next sentence was in a giant bright-green font for added emphasis.)

And…the Last Starfighter is too different to be compared to flight of the navigator, and in my opinion better – less Disney.

Talk to you later!!!

Cherries Jubilee

Here was my response.

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From: Aaron Robnett
Sent: Monday, March 28, 2005 3:53 PM
To: Cherries Jubilee
Subject: RE:

Jeez. I had no idea I could make someone so angry with my blog already.

Why can’t I have opinions about things? Also, why can’t I embellish and fictionalize a little bit for entertainment’s sake?

Most people who do blogs just get on there and make it like a crappy diary. They just say things that no one else would care about, like how they “feel” or what their cat “did” today. Who cares? Don’t post that on the internet. Write it in your Hello Kitty journal. Don’t bother me with it. Blogs should be stuff people, who may not even know you, want to read. That’s my intention with mine anyhow.

I like to read books, just like you do. In fact, I’ve been reading about a book a week lately, but I don’t go around bragging about it, or dropping it in conversations about movies every chance I get. THAT’S what I’m making fun of. Not the reading part--the annoying bragging part.

Profanity? Since when do you care about profanity? I’ll have you know that I only use it when necessary. If you’ve seen Team America, then you know why I chose to say “F*** yeah!” at the end of my patriotic rave.

Are you trying to censor me? Who do you think you are, the FCC? If I can’t have free speech on my own blog, then I’m not a free man!

Also, if you remember, I called you like twice last week but you were sick. So I’ve been trying to communicate “mono e mono” (wow, that’s some gringoized Spanish...BTW it’s mano y mano which literally means “hand to hand”) but you haven’t been around to answer.

I would like to think of my blog as a supplement to all the emails and phone calls, not a replacement.

Aaron

There you have it. Just another lovely day of friends loving friends, here on ol’ Sweater Ranch.

High Fidelity

2005-03-26T01:24:00.000-05:00

Since my nickname is Cosby Sweater and Nick Hornby just came up on Chris’s blog, I thought I’d tell you one of my favorite things to tell people.

“Your fly is down.”

OK, that’s a DIFFERENT thing I like to tell people. Here’s the real thing I like telling:

“I liked the movie HIgh Fidelity better than the book.”

This is true. I did like the movie better. There’s a couple reasons I liked the movie better.

1) Jack Black. JB made that movie. He should get huge props. His character in the book was not nearly as funny as JB was.

2) The movie was from an American POV, the book was British. I don’t know as much about British pop culture, nor do I like their music as much. Plus British humor can grind on me after a while. Except when it comes to BBC’s The Office. That was hilarious the whole time.

I'm so glad a movie actually became better than a book. That never happens. And bookworms LOVE to let you know when a book is better. “Oh, the film was dreadful compared to the novel.” Then I have to listen to blah, blah, blah...OKAY. I GET IT. YOU READ. HERE’S A MEDAL. Now why don't you do me a favor and go back to the book club you came from?

I wonder what would happen if one of these people actually liked a movie better than the book. Would he deny it and keep living his lie, covering it up with a huge Barnes & Noble spending spree? Or would it so not compute that if we were lucky we’d get to see a little blood trickle out his ear right before his head exploded?

Hey, I’m the first to admit America, especially Hollywood, usually takes what talented people from here or abroad give us and dumb it down, homogonize and process it until it royally sucks. I think one of the best examples of this is the movie “Insomnia.” The Al Pacino/Robin-are-you-kidding-me-by-casting-Patch-freaking-Adams-in-this-Willams movie was awful compared to the original Norwegian thriller. Most Americans will never know about the original and better version. And that’s a pity.

That’s why I was so happy to see us take something and make it better. That’s what America was founded on. That’s our roots, dammit. We've been too focused on BIGGER and FASTER. We've forgot BETTER. That's the one we should be concerned with.

Thank you High Fidelity, the movie. Thank you Jack Black and John Cusack and DV DeVincentis (writer) and Stephen Frears (director). You not only gave a facial to Brits and book nerds everywhere, you restored my faith in AMERICA.

Fuck yeah!

Speaking of the Hoff...

2005-03-25T15:34:00.000-05:00

All this talk of the Hoff reminded me of this image I received in a Christmas email from a friend last year. I know it's Easter, but I think this is festive for any season.

The Last Starfigher, 21 years later

2005-03-24T12:26:00.000-05:00

So I watched The Last Starfighter last night on HBO Family. I had never seen it before, so the nostalgia factor was low. Although the 80s-ness of it made me a little nostalgic.

OK, I am all for suspending belief when I go into a movie. Going into this one, I was even giving it a lot more leeway than I would most movies. I wanted to like The Last Starfighter.

Here are the things I DID go along with:

A video game was actually created by an alien to test humans on their starfighting prowess.

When you’re about to break a high score on a video game in a trailer park everyone stops what they’re doing to watch.

If you’re good enough at said video game, the aliens will come down and ask you to save their galaxy.

When the aliens come down to Earth to take you away to their galaxy, they will be driving a Ford station wagon with green taillights and DeLorean doors.

The alien will then drive 300 MPH on a windy highway for no apparent reason, since they are not headed to Little Rock, but rather a freaking SPACE STATION A GALAXY AWAY.

The aliens will replace you on Earth with a robot that looks and acts just like you, because these aliens are caring enough not to want your family and friends to worry about your sudden disappearance.

All an alien has to do to look like a human is wipe a soiled bandana on his face, and VIOLA!

When you shoot an alien once, it flops around on the ground. When you shoot it a second time, it explodes in an enormous ball of flames.

The being who wants to rule outer space isn’t some other-worldly being, it’s some bitchy British guy with a big forehead.

When you return to Earth in your spaceship with your alien buddy, no one in your trailer park will question its reality, I'm assuming because they’re all high on crystal meth.

But the one thing I could NOT believe was:

After you beat a high score on a video game a hot chick will kiss you.

THAT WOULD NEVER, EVER, EVER HAPPEN.

So unbelievable.

Definition of “Cosby Sweater”

2005-03-22T23:35:00.000-05:00

Cosby Sweater is a delicate weave of thoughts and feelings. An array of threads that are each dyed with a very special experience. Together they delight as well as shock, yet are silky soft to the touch. Not many people are bold enough to venture into the colorful cornucopia that is Cosby Sweater, but those who do may find it is the only thing that truly expresses what life is, and at the same time, what life may become.