Psycho Tests

The classic DiSC test. Have you heard of it? This is a pretty simple, but effective management tool which poses a series of ideas which the testee ranks by the level of personal identification with one or more of them.

Something like this:

Please select ONE of the following which most describes you in a social situation--

a). Timid
b). Gregarious
c). Magnetic
d). Adolf Hitler
e). Pissed Off
f). Weary

You go through several dozen sets of these and then click a "Submit Test for Analysis" button. Your computer whirs and smokes a little (at least MY computer does--all the surgeon general warnings notwithstanding). After it comes back, this PDF version test results window comes up and you get to read all about your personality.

This is pretty cool since the classic DiSC test was written by an optimist. This guy thinks that there are no bad personalities, only bad questions.

For example, I recently tested myself and my entire team. We got together in my richly appointed conference room (you think I'm joking, but I'm not) and read portions of each other's tests out loud.

Even the people I was pretty sure would have a negative test actually came back looking like champions. Naturally, mine looked great, but that was no surprise.

Anyway, I got to thinking how funny it would be if someone created a test that would actually TELL THE TRUTH about some people.

The DiSC test stands for: D-dominant type; I-influencing type; S-stable type; C-conscientious type.

In the DiSC test, you have various combinations but one type that usually emerges as your primary type. I, for example, rated high on "D" but was predominantly an "I". That would be referred to as a "high I".

So anyway, what if you had one with an acronymn like:

AWFNiC

Since I'm running short on time, I'll ask for your help to come up with what each of those categories mean :)

Wombat Invasion

With this clip, I would like to introduce a new form of stupidity that I am shamelessly unleashing upon the world...StupidBlogTV!

The Devil and Baseball

I’d like to clear the air here a bit at the Blog of Stupid. If you’re a regular reader of our comments (indulge in stupidity lately?) then you’ll be aware of the accusations of Satan worship leveled at me, your faithful helpful and pleasantly scented Blogger.

First, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I’m reasonably intelligent. This is difficult, because I have to disagree with my brain. It’s always like, “Psst. FooDaddy. Um…You’re a bit on the lousy side,” and I’m all like “Hey, that’s not very nice,” and it’s all like “Neither is being such a poo,” and I’m like “Quit it. I’m trying to drive,” and it’s like “You forgot pants again, you bum,” and I’m like “Uh, that’s the style nowadays. It’s New Wave,” and it’s like “Stop saying ‘like’ all the time. Makes you sound like a cheerleader,” and I say “That’s it. I’m not giving you any more coffee and ice cream.”

And then it shuts up.

With that out of the way, would any moderately intelligent person consider Satan worthy of praise? Think back to any time in your life that you suffered at the hands of someone who was being a bastard just for the fun of it. Now imagine yourself singing nice songs to this person. See what I mean?

I have to admit, though, that it’d be funny to hear it.

Hymn for Satan Worshipers

(To the tune of “Our God is an Awesome God”)

Satan makes a crappy god
He is a schmuck from Hell below
Spreading malice hate and greed
He’s a crappy god

At the scene of a car accident: “Wow! Thank Satan you’re okay!”

Sneezing: “Satan bless you!”

Dinnertime: “Dear The Devil, thank you for this meal, and bless the one who prepared it…”

Bedtime: “Now I lay me down to bed; hope I don’t wake up dead. I’ve got myself to thank; if I make my soul yours to gank.

So yeah. I apologize to any devil worshipers who may be reading this (Nordby?) but your engine’s missing a couple pistons.

And now my take on baseball.

I’ve been to only a couple of baseball games in my life, and I left them all before they finished. The most exciting thing I remember happening at one is my mom getting hit right in the chest by a foul ball, and that really wasn’t any fun at all. Especially for her.

But what does stick in my mind is something I’m sure a lot of you have wondered. You notice this because, as The Girlfriend stated in one of her stupid indulgences (comments) these men wear tight, ballerina pants. Baseball players are conditioned athletes, rigorously coached to cooperate and play as a single unit…

So the question is why do so many of them seem to be cursed with rogue privates? You get the impression that if they didn’t keep a close hand on them, they’d wander all the way into the stands and frolic under the bleachers and eat people’s popcorn. This does not fit the definition of “rigorously coached”.

You have to admit, that’d make the games a bit more exciting. “What the heck is that? Holy crap! Step on it, quick! It’s trying to get my nachos!”

But then again, I’m not really into sports at all. I resent the idea that they’re somehow “manly” because, taking two “manly” sports, you’ve got football, which is men in tight pants jumping all over eachother, and professional wrestling, which is men with NO pants jumping all over eachother.

Now boxing. There’s a sport that has testosterone all over it. Couplea guys punching eachother until one of ‘em falls down.

Grunt! Makes y’wanna go out and steal food and drag some women back to your cave.

More Freakin' Baseball

There has been much talk on the Blog lately about the grand ol’ sport of baseball. I realize there are many people in America who love this game, possibly because it is so sedentary that it is not necessary for them to move during the course of it. And that’s just the players. The viewers of the game are absolutely motionless. In fact, there have been several confirmed instances of baseball fans being carted away for display as department store dummies and all the statues of Indians you used to see placed in front of cigar stores were actually dedicated baseball fans who mummified while waiting for the final inning. But, apart from these vague slurs and aspersions, I decided it would be wise (and extraordinarily funny) to write a post that truly exhibits the insanity of certain sports. Because baseball has been the chosen topic here, I’ll start with it.

Baseball
(For a short history of this sport, please read this early Blog post.)

Why this love for baseball? First off, I don’t know. But, since a lack of knowledge has never stopped me from offering an opinion, I’ll tell you anyway. Baseball is popular because it gives guys an excuse to spit and swear in the outfield. Seriously! Well, that and become insanely wealthy.

Baseball is structured in nine segments called innings. Why these segments are called “innings” is not known. The game is essentially played outside. And, to proceed to succeeding innings, there has to be a specified number of outs, usually three, unless you are playing against a really stupid team and then you can usually get away with one.

The game is played with a small, white sphere, called a baseball for obvious reasons, which is approximately one inch in diameter (one litre for you metric types). In spite of its innocent appearance, this ball is obviously an instrument of evil or simply talks with a lisp, because it receives no end of punishment. Men with hats and chewing tobacco throw it at 100 miles per hour (100 hectares for those farther to the north), beat it with large wooden clubs, smother it in scary leather gloves, and sometimes throw it at the ground when it does something they disapprove of, like dodging out of the way when a player attempts to shove it into the scary leather glove. Personally, I’m on the ball’s side, here. If a large man wearing, as The Girlfriend put it, tight-fitting pants with knee-high socks worn over them, lunged toward me with a leather bag-like object several times my size and attempted to stuff me inside, I have to say I would exercise great agility in fleeing his grasp.

Then we have what is called a pitcher. This is a man who stands on a little hill of very unsanitary dirt called a pitcher’s mound. Why is this called a “pitcher’s” mound? If it is indeed his mound, why cannot he take it home with him after the game? He could let it eat dinner with him and introduce it to his mom: “Mom, Mound. Mound, Mom.”

But I think the pitcher is misnamed anyway. I mean, if I was standing in the kitchen (unlikely, but let’s suppose) and my wife said, “Hey, pitch me that large spoon,” I would not think she meant I should attempt to impale her with the spoon by using it as a missile and hurtling it at her at 100 mph. No, I would assume she meant I should toss it to her using a gentle arcing motion. Not in baseball. There, pitching means Attack of the Death Sphere. It would be much safer for the batter if the pitcher simply hauled out a double-barreled shotgun and pulled both triggers simultaneously. Hey, if it works for certain high-level government officials, then I think a major-league sports player could pull it off.

Each team also has a coach. I don’t watch a lot of baseball, but one thing I did notice was that the coach would every now and then walk briskly onto the field in order to talk to the pitcher, who cleverly covered his mouth with a scary leather glove while speaking. Actually, the fact of the matter is that the coach does not go to talk to the pitcher. He gets up and moves around because he has to go to the bathroom, but doesn’t want to miss any of the game. Ha! A league secret is out. Look for my tell-all book, which will be appearing in bookstores everywhere, at least until the store management notices that I have replaced the latest Grisham thriller display with copies of “My Secret Life As An Undercover and Very Inconspicuous Wad of Tootie-Frootie Chewing Gum.”

Well, shucks, look at the time. I meant to give a quick rundown of each major sport, but baseball turned out to be so silly that I carried away. The others will just have to wait. Stay tuned, ladies and gents, we still have to get to lacrosse! And bloody knuckles!

Baseball

I am going to say something so blindingly objectionable to the longsuffering Tigers fans that, even across the many miles to where I sit ensconced in safety and comfort, I tremble a little bit.

I HATE BASEBALL! It is a game only for the seriously bored and those who live in places like Michigan.

OUCH! Dang it! (That was my wife pulling a small hair on my leg out)

So, anyway, baseball. All these guys get together and play a very, very long game.

Football I get. The guys are huge. They crash into each other. They sweat alot. Mostly people get hurt and carted off in ambulances. And, they have scantily clad girls jumping around who seem very happy no matter what happens. (That's a big advantage of being questionably intelligent and beautiful--everything is wonderful and you don't even know why!).

the other nice thing about football is that it gets over with. You do some eliminations and stuff and then you have this huge game in January (that's the Superbowl, for you baseball types). One game. That's all.

Baseball guys have to play dozens of games just for the chance to play another seven games. At a certain point one of the teams just says, "Heck with it" and slumps off in boredom.

Another thing. In baseball, you hardly ever have any fights. You don't foul each other. Almost no drama.

Quite probably, baseball is the least exciting major sport--well, maybe with the exception of Major League Quilting.