Cell Phone People Part 2

Another form of cell phone people whom I hate are the "Cell Schizos." That second word is pronounced skit-zoes, as in schizophrenic. Until the cell phone headset was invented the only people who walked around talking to themselves were schizophrenics who were hallucinating. How many times have you found yourself walking along in a store and suddenly someone is walking alongside you, apparently talking to you, so you turn to them and say, "What?" Then they just ignore you and keep walking because they're having a conversation on their headset. Or you're walking down the street and you see someone walking along, talking loudly and gesturing wildly? At first you think they're crazy until you see a tiny headset under their hair. When I become President I'm going to pass a law making it perfectly legal to punch a cell schizo right in the mouth if they annoy you in either of the aforementioned ways.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I made up the title myself. Pretty catchy huh? As you would expect I met the most interesting people during the travel portion of my trip. Mr. Pittsburgh deserved a feature article of his own, but here are a couple others who deserve honorable mention: I would like to give a little fashion advice to the young Asian gentleman with the laptop computer who sat across from me at JFK Airport. Dude, you seriously do not have the abs to walk around all day in public wearing a skin tight Under Armor shirt. That is not a good look for you. You don't have 6-pack abs. You have 12 pack abs. The Under Armor people would tear that shirt off your flabby back and throw your money back at you if they knew how you looked walking around in their gear. There was absolutely no chance that you were going to be asked to join a football game while waiting at JFK. Do some sit-ups and get back to me. Secondly, what the hell was up with those "glasses"? He was wearing glasses with no arms. They had these clamp like things that just held them to the side of his head. It looked like the glasses were actually horns growing right out of his temples. Again, not a good look. Next I'd like to give the "Guy on The Airplane Who You See Coming Down the Aisle and You Pray He Won't Sit Next To You" Award to the fat armed, asthmatic who got on the plane last with a stand-by ticket and took the only free seat on the plane. That's right, it was next to me. He comes huffing and wheezing down the aisle like Hurley in Lost and squeezes into the window seat next to me clutching his bag of medications. Then he fell asleep within seconds. I'm not so sure it was sleep as it may have been a light coma. He was briefly roused by the airline waiter who offered him a soda. Then he went back to snoring, loudly, until the waiter came back with his soda. Them Mr. Asthmatic immediately lapsed back into his coma clutching his open bottle of pop. I was able to drown out his snoring because I had the headphones to go with the tv that every seat on the plane had (thank you Jet Blue). The only problem was that as Mr. Astmatic got deeper into his coma his body relaxed, (I don't know if his bowels let go, but it's possible) and his big meat slab of an arm gradually oozed over onto my armrest and concealed the controls to my little television.

Skinheads of The Caribbean

For the most part I enjoyed all the rides at Disney World and most of the people who rode them with me and my family were well behaved and considerate. I was a little disturbed by the 40-ish woman who went on Splash Mountain alone, sat next to me, and seemed to chuckle at every thing the robotic cartoon characters did. In 1976 when my parents took me to Disney World they, for some unknown reason, elected not to take me on Pirates of The Caribbean. Maybe they were fearful I'd run off to join the merry hooligans as they wreaked havoc upon the seven seas. Or maybe they, like most parents, didn't give a rats ass what their kids want towards the end of 10 hours walking around Disney and just wanted to get back to the hotel bar for a beer. Either way, I've spent the last 25 years feeling cheated that I missed out on that ride. I felt that finally justice would be served as I proudly marched my kids into line for Pirates of The Caribbean. Then I noticed 4 young adults in line in front of me. They were "skinheads." I say this not just because the three young men had shaved heads. It wasn't the knee high leather boots they were all wearing that gave away their political leanings. Using my brilliant powers of deductive reasoning I concluded that they were "skinheads" because one of them had a tattoo on the back of his neck. It said, "skinhead." I'm thinking that you'd better be pretty damn sure about your political affiliation to have it tattooed on your neck. What if in ten years he decides to be a Republican? Nevermind, bad example, the tattoo would still fit. I just never imagined that skinheads would choose Disney World for vacation. Don't you think they would want to visit Alcatraz or perhaps the jail cell that Mr. Howell locked the Brady's in when their Grand Canyon trip went awry? Although I don't agree with the skinheads' political and social beliefs I do have to say that this group was polite and well behaved, unlike my friend from Pittsburgh.

The Drunk That Saved Pittsburgh

The first and most enduring memory of my trip to Disney World is of the shuttle bus ride from the Orlando airport to the hotel. Prior to my trip I had thought that the entertainment wouldn't start until we actually arrived at Walt Disney World (aka The Costliest Place on Earth). Thanks to the gratuitous disbursement of alcoholic beverages by the airline, the early entertainment was provided by a representative of a Pittsburgh chemical company who flew to Orlando on "business." It's a good thing he took a shuttle bus because I'm sure that after the flight Mr. Pittsburgh had no business being behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. He barely had any business being allowed in a motor vehicle. The fumes he was giving off could have been lethal if we couldn't have opened the windows. His partner was a bit more inhibited, but seemed to be, to the endless amusement of Mr. Pittsburgh, a cell phone person (for an explanation, go back two posts). Mr. Pittsburgh's partner was either trying to call his wife, or trying to sell his motorcycle, (which incidentally is listed on cyclevantage.com). Each time the more sober of the two was cut off from his wife on the cell phone, Mr. Pittsburgh would repeatedly shout, "Oooo...Ooooo Call her back! Oooo...Ooooo Call her back!" At one point he became so agitated in his Rainman-like chanting that he literally began banging his head on the window of the van. Our driver, Jose, was very alarmed by this. Sensing Jose's concern Mr. Pittsburgh would occasionally shout, "Hey Jose! How much longer?" He must have asked this at least 3 or 4 times in a 30 minute span. After I suggested that my kids watch the ponds and rivers by the road for alligators, Mr. Pittsburgh shouted, "Hey Jose! Are there alligators or crocodiles here?" The one other apparently sober passenger who wasn't part of my family quietly pointed to Mr. Pittsburgh and whispered, "I wish there were alligators here."

I'm Going To Disney World!

No, I really am going to Disney World. That being the case, there will be no new posts until Sunday or Monday. Between the airline, the hotel, the horror of travelling with three children and Disney itself I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find something to talk about by the time I get back. If you hear another Amber Alert in the next few days it's probably because I left one of my kids behind on Mr. Toads Wild Ride. Have a great weekend.

Cell Phone People

Yes, we all have cell phones, but some people use them differently than others. There are those of us who have our cell phones and use then occasionally if we are going to be away from a land line for a while. That's fine with me. Then there are those who use their cell phones as if they're on some organ donor transplant recipient list and every call could save their lives. But of course these dolts are never on a transplant list. They also seem to think that because they're on the phone no one but the person they're talking with can hear them. And apparently the person on the other side of their phone call is always deaf because the cell phone people are always talking really loudly. Usually their conversations involve the trials and tribulations of their trivial little lives. "So then he tells me that he can't go to my cousins wedding with me because he already made plans with his friend. You know what the plans are? I found out from his friends' sisters' roommate that they're taking Carl to a strip club in Canada for his birthday." I especially hate the cell phone people who are on their cell phones at work. They're walking around a building in which they have an office with a desk with a real phone right there. What the hell is so important that you can't wait until you've walked to the other end of the hall to make that call? Or how about when you're in line at a store and the cashier is on the phone with her friend? I always make sure to ask some inane question just to interrupt. How about the people who walk around all day with the hands free headset on whether they're actually on a call or not. Look, unless you're a pilot, an air traffic controller or the kid at the McDonald's drive thru window there is no freakin' reason you need to be wearing a headset. Take it off. We're not impressed. There is nothing in your life that important and everyone else already knows it. To all you cell phone people I would just like to say that I hope the rumors of cell phone caused brain tumors are true. I'd love to see an MRI of one of these dopes heads. It would be hysterical to see a cell phone shaped tumor right there wouldn't it?

Gee Whiz!

Minnesota Vikings running back Onterrio Smith was detained last month at the Minneapolis airport when security screeners discovered a suspicious white powder in his luggage. Smith, as you may recall, was suspended for four games last season for violating the league’s substance abuse policy. That being the case you’re probably assuming the white powder in his luggage was cocaine, right? Oh no! It’s not that simple. The white powder was dried urine. It wasn’t even his own dried urine. He bought it. He had to buy it. The Original Whizzinator is no good without it. Yep, that’s right. Onterrio was packing, well,…a package. For those of you unfamiliar with this wonder of modern technology, it’s an artificial penis you hide in your pants and fill with warm water and the aforementioned dried urine. It’s a device used to beat drug tests. The artificial penis comes in a variety of sizes and colors so that if you’re being watched by perhaps a probation officer or NFL medical official it will look, ummm…, realistic. And you thought the cell phone was a great idea! There's actually a website where you can purchase this sophisticated "piece" of equipment too. I'm not going to give out the site name here, but let me quote some of the testimonials that were posted on the site. (I am keeping intact all the stellar spelling and grammar as it was written on the site by actual users of the product.) "This thing is great. i was curious at first but then i got it and it works perfect. My mom threw my old one away but i'm going to get another one anyway. thanks you guys." Does it surprise anyone that one of these losers still lives with his Mom? I'd love to find out what his elderly mother thought her son was up to when she found a fake penis in his room. Here's another glowing review: "Since using the synthetic urine with the whizzinator, I am now employed with health insurance again. DO NOT LET ANYONE PUT THEIR HANDS ON YOUR DNA OR ANYTHING ELSE. FOR YOU WOMEN OUT THERE THAT ARE PREGNANT AND WANT A NEW JOB, THIS IS PERFECT AS WELL. GET THE WHIZZINATOR AND GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT. SOME URINE.WE ARE AT WAR PEOPLE, IT IS A CIVIL WAR, AND YOU ARE THE TARGET. MAKE SURE YOU ARE PROTECTED." Gee, I wonder why these people seem so paranoid? If these brain boxes ever put half the effort they put into trying not to get caught into something constructive, one of them might cure cancer. By the way, there's a ladies model too.

More Finger Food

Holy crap! What is going on? I was at a restaurant tonight and I ordered soup and it had an entire human hand in the bowl! It has happened again. In Raleigh, North Carolina a customer found a fingertip in a pint of frozen custard. It's getting so it's not safe to eat out anymore. This situation had a much more interesting 'twist' (pun intended) than the Wendy's chili finger story. In this story someone actually did lose a real finger and someone else actually found the piece of finger in their frozen custard. The customer apparently refused to return the fingertip to the employee who had lost it only 30 minutes before. Apparently doctors have said that if the fingertip was returned when it was found they could have re-attached it successfully. The customer chose to pocket the finger and walk out of the frozen yogurt stand cackling about how he was going to contact the press and sue the restaurant. The kicker in this whole story is that this is the second time in a year that an employee has lost a piece of finger in the exact same machine in the exact same frozen yogurt business. Does it surprise anyone that this whole thing, the second lost finger and a nut job who takes it home, happened in North Carolina?
You can bet your ass I'm not going to be ordering Rocky Road ice cream anytime soon. How the hell could you possibly tell the difference between a peanut and a fingertip? When you order chicken fingers at TGI Friday's there is apparently a better than average chance you'll be getting a real finger. (TGI Fridays is so going to sue me over this) If I'm at a restaurant the first thing I'm going to be doing from now on is counting how many digits my server has before I order.

Fallen Idol (sub-title: The Paula-tics of Writing)

Well, my heart has been heavy with guilt and I've just been waiting for the call from Barbara Walters so that I can unburden my soul. Maybe Barbara lost my number, so I guess I'll have to start the interview here without her. Here it is, I hate to admit it, but Paula Abdul has been helping me choose topics for this web page. I thought I could do it on my own, but apparently she took a liking to me and started giving me suggestions. That's how it started anyway. And then one day things got physical. How could I say no? She's beautiful, famous, a good source of free pain medication, and she could help me with my career. Now that the Internet Idol people have begun investigating what happened between two consenting adults all those years ago I got another call from Paula. Here, let me play you the voicemail from my cell, "Hi, it's Paula. Call me back. If the press is trying to talk to you, you say absolutely nothing. That's all you do." I hate to throw Paula under the bus after all she did for me, but I'm just cleaning up my own pathway. If that involves getting your dirt off my pathway, I'm going to do that. I definitely will not help the Internet Idol people because they have not helped me out whatsoever. They made it very hard for me to do what I'm doing, which is my career. I also want to say, buy my book. It goes on sale on Amazon.com immediately following the airing of this article.

The Runaway Bride

I'm sure by now we've all heard the story of the bride to be who faked her own kidnapping to avoid getting married. After she was "rescued" she said the wedding wasn't off, it was just postponed. If I'm that guy, the wedding is off. If her behavior isn't a Rorschach test that screams "CRAZY," then I don't know what is. Dude, if you're out there reading this, as I'm sure you are, think of that episode as a warning shot fired across your bow and consider yourself lucky to get out of that relationship without needing lawyers, or possibly doctors to re-attach your severed penis. Don't get me wrong though, there may be some merit in faking your own kidnapping. Ring, ring!!! Female voice -"Hello" Caller-"Hi honey, it's me. Look, I'm sorry I wasn't able to clean out the garage today. I was kidnapped. Yeah, I'm ok, they left me at the local golf course though. Can you pick me up at 5:00?" Tomorrow I think I'll call in kidnapped to work. I think I have to. They won't believe I have mad cow disease again.