Friday, April 25, 2008

Employment Quickie

As the subject of employment has been on my mind recently, for various reasons, I'd like to take this opportunity to list ideal jobs. Ideal, that is, for me. Some of you may look upon these careers with some frownage.

"Why, that seems like the crappiest job in the world!" you are saying to yourself. "Only a moron or flatulent clown would find such a career rewarding!"

And to you, I'd say, flatulent clown? How little sense you make! I fail to see what that has to...mumble mumble...ran out of ideas.

Yep. These employment opportunities, while ideal fits for my physiological and psychological makeup, may induce incessant and unwarranted snorting and dismissive hand gestures in others. Bah.

Ideal Jobs for the FooDaddy

  • Toddler chaser (For their own good, of course. Heh heh.)
  • Ferrari top-speed tester
  • Professional Sarcasm Distributor
  • Computer systems Instance of Malfunction Cussmaster
  • Procrastinator General (cabinet level)
  • Punter of Annoying Pre-Teens (I'd supply my own cleats!)
  • Grizzled hobo who yells at invisible bugs
  • Humor columnist (Hey, there had to be one serious one.)
  • Eater of Delicious Cinnamon Rolls (EDCR) for some oblivious bakery
  • Kitten juggler
  • Photographer of Pretty Stuff for Money; extra money for any subsequent Photoshoppery of Pretty Stuff
  • Navigator for people who hate being on time

So, any employers out there who have openings in any of the above fields, please contact me! I'll be out getting lost somewhere, so try my cell first.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

The Zodiac

Disclaimer: To any readers out there who actually take astrology seriously, I apologize for mocking your belief that the sky dots or placemat monkeys are telling you what to do. It sounds like more of a neurosis than a strategy to me. Go lie down for a while.

Anyone who gets a newspaper or has eaten at a Chinese restaurant has probably seen a table of zodiac signs before. Personally, I like the Chinese Restaurant Zodiac the best. I looked for my birthdate on there, and I'm a boar. Or a pig, depending on where they had their placemat printed. I am chivalrous and noble and have common sense when it comes to mortgage rates. All the characteristics one generally associates with swine. One Web page I looked at also says that Boars do not "shimmer," which is kind of disappointing. I had plans to.

My favorite part about the placemat zodiacs is the compatibility list. Every sign has other signs that it does or does not get along with. I always get a kick out of reading "Beware the monkey" while I'm waiting for my curry chicken. I want that on a bumper sticker.

While the Placemat Zodiac is divided up by your year of birth, the FooDaddy Zodiak will be by month because it's easier that way. There are far fewer months than there are years, you know.

The FooDaddy Zodiak

January - Sincere Weasel

The Weasel is kindhearted and true, and would never steal any of your honey roasted peanuts because they are extremely scrupleful. Weasels enjoy long, totally harmless chats with other Weasels, and are generally well spoken of in society. Especially among other Weasels. Avoid the Swine and make fast friends (read: business relations) with the Finch and hire a Hamster for P.R.

February - Developmentally Disadvantaged Goat

Here's a sign that everyone can love! Goats make wonderful after-school specials, and feature heavily as pivotal and kind-hearted savants in Stephen King stories. Turn that frown upside down and have a handful of Skittles! It's time for a parade! Beware the Weasel and Finch, because they can't see just how special you are. You will make sparkly paper hats with the Pony.

March - Shimmering Swine

All Swines are chrome-plated and awesome. They shimmer and dazzle all they want. All Swines are sarcastic in an endearing, sweaty sort of way, and would make wonderful grandparents if equipped with canes. A Swine will generally not come right out and criticize your stupid values or moron choices, but they will drop infuriating, needling hints. Swines should MapQuest a route the hell away from the Pony and Sloth and visit a Squirrel instead.

April - Crenelated War Badger

Badgers are extremely aggressive and protective of those they love, and would like nothing more than to punch the rest of the Zodiak in the ear. But only if they annoy the Badger enough to make the Badger yell. For while all Badgers would love to pass a law legalizing road rage, they are mostly fair. The Badger would make damn sure nobody picked on the Goat and will roundhouse kick any sign that tries.

May - Giggling Pony

Tee hee! Like, Ponies are so awesome! They are the kindest and prettiest and bestest kissers! Ponies totally love writing poems in their journals about flowers and clouds, and reading Anne Geddes books, but are so totally deep too. Like, when a Pony watches a sad movie, that Pony is not afraid to cry. Ponies should never develop crushes on the Smurf, but they do. Ponies say they want a Swine because they really value a sense of humor, but they don't.

June - Addlepated Platypus

Platypuses never seem to know exactly who they're trying to fool. They have personalities composed of bits of other peoples' that they are merely leasing. They can be extremely agreeable conversationalists, because they're extremely agreeable. Tell a Platypus anything, no matter how preposterous, and they will readily agree. A Platypus should make friends with the Smurf because this Zodiak heard that it was a good idea, but please don't lease from a Sloth.

July - Exploding Firetailed Patriot Finch

Finches love their country, and anyone who doesn't can just go the heck right back to Frenchylvania, or wherever. The Finch can't prounounce the name of yer crazy foreign country, so y'all should make up a new one in God's own English. If anyone questions the Finch's patriotism, that person is probably a terrorist, and is liable to catch an ass-whuppin'. Buy a big ol' flag for your Hummer H2, take advantage of the Badger if you deem it in the national interest, marry a Pony and have fifteen children.

August - The Smurf

Smurfs don't really exist. They are the perfect friend and they are the worst enemy. Smurfs tell lies about lazy co-workers to those co-workers' bosses and elect incompetent politicians. On the other hand, Smurfs
are personally responsible for leaving you a parking spot right in front of Bob Evans. Ninety-eight percent of dating relationships carried on via Instant Messenger are between a Smurf and a real person. Don't tell the Goat about a Smurf, because the Goat will be very disappointed.

September - Caffeinated Ground Squirrel

Squirrels are very outgoing, but cannot stay on topic for an entire sentence. When captured on high-speed film, fine analysis of the Squirrel can reveal actual deliberation, but--hey! Is that a peanut? Squirrels love peanuts! Circus! I went to one once, but it smelled like poop, and--whoa! Did you see that? That car had a thing on it. Should the Squirrel grow a beard, y'think? Squirrels should always attend pizza parties with the Pony or Swine, but might want to stop poking the Sloth.

October - Crepuscular Goth Sloth

All Sloths have more originality in their labret than you have in your whole body, and don't even pretend to like that band you like. The Sloth liked it first, and all you're doing is popularing it up. Don't look at the Sloth like you think you're better than the Sloth, because the Sloth doesn't give a crap what you think. The Sloth was born with only one crap to give, and it used it for choosing a brand of cigarette. You should befriend other Sloths, but only share your power crystals with the ones that are just as different as you.

November - The Carp

Nobody likes The Carp. You're just the kind of person nobody likes. No shame in that, but if you can't be bothered to bathe or to stop leaving your nose pickings right in the middle of the tablecloth, then the rest of the Zodiak is going to have to ask you to go home. You may find that shadowing a Badger keeps you out of trouble, and in your free time you should hang around the Pony because the Pony deserves it. The Sloth will find you interesting because you're differentish.

December - Snow Hamster

Hamsters are very sweet people. They will bake you cookies and they will help you eat them, and any cookies left over are stored in the Hamster's generous cheek pouches in case you want more later. You want to hug a Hamster. Seriously, you do. Look at 'em! Who wouldn't want to hug a Hamster?
A Hamster is always the first person to give a handful of Skittles to a Goat or Carp, and are pretty much the only ones with a calming effect on Finches. Hamsters make good friends with everybody but the Sloth, because being nice isn't part of Sloth programming and it gives them headaches.

There you go, time-wasters! I hope this little guide enables you to get more out of your lives, now that you know exactly what to expect and whose names to keep in your cell phone. Get this Zodiak tattooed on your forearms, and life will be thwarted by default every time it tries throwing you a curveball.

Disclaimer: If you were born under a sign that does not, in any way, describe you, keep in mind that the FooDaddy Zodiak is no more binding than any other. Go lie down for a while.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Some Galloping Nuns

Last night I was watching a cheesy action movie (Out of Reach starring Steven Seagal), when out of nowhere came this ridiculous scene. Perhaps I'm the only one who finds this clip amusing, but doesn't it look like the nuns are galloping down the steps?

Error 404 Quickie

You have encountered an error. The post you are trying to view is unavailable because you have either typed the URL in wrong because you are foolish, or it has been taken offline by its writer.

While there are many reasons for an Error 404, the general loathsomeness of computers, for example, this one is of purely human origin.

The writer of this post has decided that it is not up to the standards of ambient moronics set during the Blog's tenure on the Internet, and has removed it. The poster's father concurs. This error message was able to contact FooDaddy's FooDaddy to ascertain his opinion.

"It just wasn't cohesive," FD'sFD said, smoking his pipe on the porch of his apartment, a glass of '06 Winking Owl in his hand. "It rambled clumsily, you dig? You can never edit too much. There was a time when I was in college when I could edit the chuckling hell out of pretty much anything. Why, I once edited Pride and Prejudice down to a sappy greeting card! I was a pro. The boy's making progress, though. I mean, I've known him to--hey look! A squirrel!"

FD'sFD spent the next few minutes making squirrel noises at the squirrel, which chattered back at the bearded gentleman from its perch in the pines.

The poster, who was unavailable for comment, is presumably working on another post of greater quality. The bar has been set pretty high, so this replacement post must be of a higher-grade stupidity if it is to be kept online.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Rhyming Quickie

In a spanky little house by the sea
In a land foreign and far, far away
There lived a horrible old man
Who didn't wanna bathe every day.

He ate doughnuts, croissants
Bags of chips and monkey pie
When the kids said he should wash
"Soap's devil's work," he'd reply.

"But you'd be so much happier clean,"
The children chided and insisted
"Get outta here, fer I gots plans t'be
The dirtiest fella whut ever existed!"

As time passed and the visits stopped
The old man got all the mustier
"Ferget them meddlin' kids and such!
My flies are much more trustier."

Then one day when the sun was high
The hot air really got to his pits
The smell forced him to his knees,
Said he, "suppose this is whut I gits!"

Coughing, he went to the shower
Used hisself some soap he still had
"Whooee! This stuff reeks of pansies!
And I thought my pits smelled bad!"

Under the long neglected shower jets
He shed his stank and bits of grit and mud
The old man shed hisself a tear
Cuz he was gonna miss his layers'a crud.

He stepped out and toweled hisself dry
"Most uncomfortable thing I ever did!"
He announced, facing an expectant crowd
"Now git off my lawn y'rotten little kids!"

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Sandwich Quickie

Once upon a time there was a little man who lived in your garage.

One day when you were getting your car out, he jumped down from the rafters and offered you a sandwich.

It looked like a really delicious sandwich, so you accepted it. It had mayonnaise on it, but you ate it anyway.

It was actually pretty good. The pickles especially. When you turned to thank the little man for his tasty gift, he was gone. You chuckled to yourself and drove away.

From then on, the little man would jump down from the rafters every Thursday morning and present you with a different sandwich. Some of them had wheat bread, some sourdough. Sometimes they were cold and had peanut butter in them, sometimes they were toasty and had bacon in them. Sometimes they were dessert sandwiches made with cookies and stuffed with little mini goats made of ice cream. On one occasion, the sandwich was filled with other tiny little sandwiches.

Then one Thursday in the middle of winter, the little man jumped down and handed you a weird sandwich that was all foldy.

“Blurgh!” you said, indignant. “I can't eat foldywiches!”

The little man spoke for the first time, sounding like Louie Armstrong: “Well, why th' hell not?”

You were kind of at a loss for words. You'd never had a foldywich before, honestly, but you were frightened by it. It did not have normal bread all up on it. It was kind of crescent shaped and pointy at the ends. These points threatened you, and you were scared of any filling you could not see. You poked the foldywich in its threatening contortions and re-stated your intention to have nothing to do with it.

“You a foo! Only the lamest kinda crumplewads be avoidin' these tastyfoods! I hereforth and fromwith is gone from here, and you can make yer own sandwiches, you crazy honky!”

“Honky?” you said, stunned, for you were not.


Then the little man climbed back up into the rafters and disappeared forever. You looked down at the foldywich in your hands and took a tentative bite out of one of the scary points.

It was delicious, and you learned an important lesson: ALWAYS eat food given to you by strange men who appear out of nowhere in your garage. But only if it's on Thursdays.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

The Bible, Translated - Genesis 1-2

There have been many versions of the Bible, with more appearing on the horizon, each attempting to adapt the central texts to an ever-changing society. Supposedly, these new versions have ease of understanding as their ultimate goal. Unfortunately, they all ignore the central issue, which is not, as they seem to think, that we are all too stupid to comprehend what we are reading, but that we are not being presented with the entire story. The scholars all begin with the original texts and, therefore, end up with much the same interpretation. I believe what people really want is the inside story, the behind-the-scenes view of the most momentous moments in Christendom (pre- or post-, don't even start with me).

It is with this view in mind that I have decided to pen, not necessarily my own version of the Bible, but a companion text, a commentary, shall we say, with the intention of giving little nuggets of insight that may serve to clear up some of the questions I'm sure we've all had.

Genesis 1

untitled In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. We have no record of how the heaven and earth felt about this, as we have been unable to reach them for comment. It is assumed, however, that they were somewhat peeved about being created without first being served the appropriate papers.

At first glance, the opening sentence of this piece appears simple enough. "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." It is not, however, as transparent as it may seem. For example, there is the question of how God came to this momentous decision. I have done extensive research and am now prepared to reveal my findings to the world.

In the beginning God was hanging around in a great wad of nothingness. After a few crapzillion immeasurable years (as time had not yet been invented), God became bored and decided to take His omnipotent powers out for a spin and create some stuff. But He couldn't decide when to do it.

"Should I create stuff at the end of time?" He wondered. "Or somewhere in the middle?"

At last, unable to make up His mind, God hired a group of consultants from a Conservative think-tank called the Genesis Foundation. After a few weeks of study and research, they recommended that God start His creation at the beginning.

Recognizing this as a logical solution, God nodded in agreement. "I think I'll go create Me some dirt," He said. Dirt led to grass, which led to bushes, which led to trees. It was truly a beautiful sight...for about a week. Then everything shriveled and died.

"Well, that sucked," God said. "There has to be some way to...oh, right."

Thus was created water.

And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creatures after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing...

Thus were created politicians and lawyers. The politicians immediately passed a Creation Tax and spent the revenue trying to buy the votes of the lawyers, who were too busy serving papers on the politicians to show up at their precincts to cast ballots.

Genesis 2

Although pleased with this initial foray, God decided it might be nice to make some actual humans. With this in mind, God picked up the phone and put in a call to Sears and Roebuck. After spending the first Ice Age on hold, God was finally put through to a customer service professional. Now, I know what you're thinking: "How can God be putting in a call to customer service when He has yet to create any humans?" Read that line again. If you still have questions afterward, get back to me, because I have a pair of pants that might interest you.

After finally deciding on the make and model, and haggling over the price a bit, God placed an order for two top-of-the-line Human Kits (some assembly required) and then waited impatiently for the shipment to arrive. Despite not yet existing, (or perhaps because of) the postal system managed to mis-route the shipment to a completely different area of the universe. Happily, due to the fast and capable work of a postal employee named Jimmy (who was working his way through law school at the time), the shipment was tracked down and finally arrived on God's doorstep, none the worse for wear. Unless you count the strong smell of sulphur and some serious singe marks around the edges of the box.

With much excitement, God ripped open the package and eagerly began assembling the contents, completely ignoring the instruction booklet. Not only does this indicate that God is male, but it also explains baldness, body odor, the Middle Ages, and the invention of karaoke. Yes, my friends, the secret to life is not in meditation or a vegan is the loss of that damn instruction booklet! But that's okay. Had I been God, I wouldn't have read it, either. I still don't read instructions manuals, in fact, if only because they are now being printed exclusively in ancient Swahili. Although this is probably because the manufacturers understand that no self-respecting, English-speaking man is going to read them.

Before long the humans were fully assembled and, as long as one didn't look too closely, the duct tape and twisted hanger wire didn't show at all. God stepped back to admire His handiwork and saw that it was fine. Mighty fine. A shame the kits hadn't come with accessories, though. Hopefully, the humans wouldn't notice anything untoward, because with the postal system being what it was, it could be awhile before another shipment arrived.

"Oh, well," God said. "It'll be fine as long as they don't take the advice of a serpent and eat fruit off a specific tree that I specifically mentioned to them. And I don't think even..." God broke off as He realized He didn't even know the humans' names. He reached down and picked up the boxes, on the front of which were written the names of the creatures. "And I don't think even Ken and Barbie would be that stupid."

God sighed in contentment and scanned the heavens. The moon was out, a mere sliver in the sky. With one mighty stride, God stepped across the vast expanse and perched on the lower edge of the moon. A quick snap of the fingers and a fishing pole appeared in His hands. He cast a line and the bobber landed with a splash somewhere in the Atlantic. This was certainly the life, God thought. From now on, things would be perfect and peaceful.

But somewhere, in that other realm, a sinister cloud of menace was swirling. Evil forces were gathering to disrupt the precise balance of the universe. be continued

Friday, April 04, 2008

Action Movie

Dirk Fusion ran like hell before a firestorm of napalm and bullets. The exploding bus filled the air with whistling bits of burning shrapnel, and Dirk dodged them with the agility of a lynx. He pulled his Taurus Judge revolver and fired two .410 loads over his shoulder. His marksmanship was good, even as his pounding feet carried him at a full out run. He was rewarded by a scream from the direction of his pursuers.

Dirk's mission had been to stop the terrorist group Slap-Yomama from blowing up that bus, but hey...since when had any Special Ops strategy ever run as planned? In the spirit of improvisation, he scanned the mostly deserted downtown street until he found what he wanted: a vine.

Dirk leaped for it. A grenade exploded underneath him, destroying the cell phone he kept in a back pocket.

"Bastards," said Dirk, reaching back and counting his buttocks. All accounted for. He threw the pieces of his phone into the angry terrorist faces grouped underneath as he climbed into the jungle, pulling the vine up with him.

Dirk Fusion scanned the dense foliage with high-powered nightvision binoculars. It seemed peaceful. Almost too peaceful, he thought, climbing down to the leaf-littered jungle floor. "There's only one thing that can quiet a place as lively as this," Dirk muttered to himself as he pulled a lit torch out of his backpack. "Only one..."

The guttering light of his torch fell into the creature's dead eyes and was swallowed there. Dirk backpedaled as the zombie llama lurched forward, baring yellow fangs in rotted gums.

"The woolly undead!" screamed Dirk and drew his trusty Judge. The revolver thundered once. Its crashing voice spoke of finality and brooked no backsass, but the beast merely absorbed the shot with a shudder and kept closing the distance.

"No choice but to run for it," narrated Dirk, and did just that. Watching its prey escape, the zombie llama loosed an unearthly roar and gave shambling pursuit. Others joined the hunt as Dirk tore through the underbrush with their cold breath on his neck. If his map was correct...

It was, of course. He'd drawn it himself, hadn't he?

He slapped the C4 charge onto the posts of the rope bridge as he pelted past and thumbed the detonator when he'd skidded to a halt on the other side. He smiled through the rising smoke at the milling llamas, barred from their quarry by a six-hundred foot vertical plunge. "Cheerio, jerks!" He waved at them, and ducked into a cave.

As Dirk Fusion ninja-ed his way deeper into the submerged stone labyrinth, booting bats and slapping salamanders, he noticed that his GPS showed him simultaneously in the Australian outback, Minneapolis and in the middle of the Atlantic.

"Funny," he mused, shaking the machine. He shone his high-powered tactical LED flashlight around at the damp cave walls, then down at the floor. It disappeared into the gloom beyond the beam at a steep downward grade.

Then it hit him. This cave was merely the entrance to a shaft headed straight for the Earth's core! Dirk tried to remember what his stereotypically brainy sidekick had told him about the planet's molten center as he unslung his toboggan.

Molten! That was it! The inner core was solid iron, he recalled, but it was surrounded by a layer of hot liquid metal. That was probably what was putting his GPS on the fritz. As the air heated up around him, Dirk prepared the toboggan by spraypainting it chrome to reflect the heat. Kicking off, he tightened his grip on the sled as its nose tipped toward the center of the Earth.

He hit the molten iron with a heavy splash. The subterranean dome he found himself in was illuminated a sullen red by the vast ocean of lethal metal. He paddled gamely across with an oar he had built from the same ceramic the Space Shuttle is tiled with.

"No zombie llamas down here!" he told himself and the audience. The core itself was enemy enough at over nine thousand degrees Fahrenheit.

"Good thing I brought my battery-powered fan," he smirked.

A splash to his left. Dirk snapped his head around to see a ring of ripples fading as they spread.

He paddled a little faster.

Another splash! This one closer to the front of his sled and to the right. As Dirk watched the ripples fade, he heard a sound like a whipcrack and felt his Taurus Judge rudely yanked from its holster. He turned just in time to see it disappear into the mouth of an enormous, incandescent amphibian.

"Lava toad!" Dirk gasped, brandishing his oar. The glowing monster belched a small cloud of black smoke as the shells in the Judge exploded somewhere in its guts. There was smoldering malevolence in its red glare.

"Oh geez. I didn't know these things actually existed!" explained Dirk. The toad whipped its tongue out again, and the burning filament returned to the toad's maw with a piece of Dirk's toboggan. Thinking fast, he rummaged in his backpack and came out with a box of Twinkies.

The toad's eyes flashed brighter, and it sat up. "Here ya go, fella," said Dirk. He lobbed one of the gooey delights into the shimmering air. The toad's tongue flickered out, igniting the Twinkie on contact, and the resulting comet was swallowed by the happy toad a split second later.

"Heh heh," said a nervous Dirk. He paddled with one hand and tossed snacks to the lava toad with the other until he reached the bank. The toad winked at him and submerged.

Dirk wrapped himself in his poncho and stepped into a steam vent. In a matter of minutes, he had rocketed to the surface. Somersaulting in midair, he landed in the steaming ring of mud around Old Faithful to the applause of a crowd of tourists and the disapproval of a park ranger.

"What're you doing in there, sir?" asked the angry ranger. "That's off limits to tourists!"

"I'm not a tourist," said Dirk, flashing his badge and a smile. "And as to what I'm doing, why... I'm saving the world."

The tourists applauded again, and Dirk bowed himself modestly out of their midst. He sat down with his back to a tree. "I've earned this," he said to himself.

He ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with great gusto as credits rolled.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

New Post Quickie

Once upon a time, there was this guy named George who wrote in his blog. He always used the "Arial" typeface.

One day, he wrote about a fat kid who wanted to be President of the United States. He wrote:

Once upon a time, there was a fat kid who wanted to be President of the United States.

Then he stopped and stared at the screen. There was a lot of white space on there. He re-read what he'd written, and saw that it was good. "Who wouldn't want to see a chunky kid made President? That's hilarious!" he said to himself in a rather oblivious manner.

He continued:

This kid knew that in order to attain the highest office in the land, he would need to promise everybody in the country a free tub of Marshmallow Fluff in exchange for their vote.

George doubled over in a paralyzing hurricane of giggles. This was some of his best material, he thought, and set out to make this the Post to End All Posts.

He typed:

So he enlisted the help of Walter the Magic Dinosaur to help him win the hearts and minds of the people. Then he went and got a sandwich.

George frowned at the screen. That last bit kind of sucked. He considered backspacing, but George was a lazy man. He thought he might be able to get the post back on the rails without amputating the last line. "I'll just sort of write around it, as it were," he chuckled, poking a cat.

He wrote:

But this was no ordinary sandwich, for it was crafted of bread and frogs.

"Oh, geez. That's even worse. Frog sandwich? Good name for a band,," muttered George. He looked at his watch. Already getting pretty late. He looked at what he'd written. It stank. "But that's okay!" he said with an optimistic finger-jabbing. "I'm expected to be weird!"

"Yes, but not lame," pointed out his girlfriend.

George ignored this.

He typed:

So when the fat kid threw his hat in the ring, it smelled of frogs, and since this pleased Walter the Magic Dinosaur, Walter used his magic. Thanks to his friend Walter's help, the fat kid ended up as President of these United States! His first executive directive was to outlaw morons. Everyone lived happily ever after!

George thought this was pretty good. He'd pulled this one outta the fire, by Bob! He slapped himself on the back, hurting his arm.

"I could have done that for you," his girlfriend said.

"Hurt my arm?"

"Slapped you on the back."

He smiled winningly at her, and they both had some Fluff.