A Guide to Surviving Snowfall.

18 12 2009

Here in Virginia, a state of emergency has been declared in advance of the massive amount of snow we’re allegedly going to be seeing within nine hours.  Snowfall in Richmond is expected to reach anywhere from 3 to 5 inches.

Yes, Virginia, it’s time to panic.  Civilization as we know it is going to devolve back to the days of the cave-people.  We’ll be fighting wooly mammoths in no time.

Fortunately, having lived in Virginia all my life, I have made a guide to surviving the catastrophe known as a moderate snowfall.  Join me, won’t you?


This is when you venture out into society in an attempt to scavenge all you can for the two or three days you will be buried under snow.  The main places to visit are Home Depot/Lowes, and your choice of grocery store.  Be sure to stock up on toilet paper, milk, bread, eggs, ammunition, and multiple shovels (one to dig yourself out of snowbanks, the others for melee combat).  Also, be sure to purchase at least one red bandana.  The bandana, as decreed in the Great Blizzard of 1993, is a symbol to all that you have no intention of raiding their supplies.


Here is where paths diverge slightly.  For those living in single-family homes, especially on cul-de-sacs, be sure to get a jump on slippery roads by pre-salting your driveway, steps, and sidewalk.  If any deer attempt to eat the salt, shoot them and strip off the pelts.  Once the world economy collapses due to the moderate snowfall, deer meat and pelts will be considered the newest and best form of currency.

For those living in apartment buildings or condos, be sure that your doors and windows have multiple locks, and that they are in use.  Cabin fever sets in quickly for our ADD-addled lifestyles, and you don’t want some guy coming into your apartment at 3am, wondering if you’d like to engage in a game of Strip Risk.




Stay inside, but near a window with your photographing tool of choice, be it a camera, camera-phone, or iPhone.  Those with internet capabilities on their phones, send a photo and an update every five minutes.  Acceptable captions for photos include: “It’s so pretty!” “I’m glad we closed early!” “I don’t want to be out in that!” or any variation thereof.  Those who are more of the business sense would be inclined to take photos of any surplus supplies they have, accompanied with a caption detailing how much you are selling each supply for.  The ground rules for resale are as follows:

Toilet Paper: Half deer pelt per roll.

Bread: Full deer pelt per loaf.

Milk: Full deer pelt, along with 5 pounds of deer meat.  If not able to recompense with deer, the rights to the first-born offspring is an acceptable substitute.

Shovels: Do NOT sell your shovels.  You don’t want to further arm your neighbors-soon-to-be-enemies-of-your-territory.


Depending on depth of snow, you may wish to venture outside.  This brings one of two advantages: 1) You will be one of the first out there and able to declare yourself the new King, and 2) You can see which of your neighbors is not fully prepared, and exploit it to your advantage.


Dispose of any spoiled deer meat.  Keep the pelts.  Go around to your neighbors and apologize for placing a crusade against their household.  If necessary, return the first-born offspring.

Have a good laugh, and forget about everything you just read until next year, when the same hysteria resumes.



Name a star after me. I dare you.

30 11 2009

Seen: Stars named after people. Not seen: Common f***ing sense.

Let me begin by saying I am not a rich man.  I own no iPhone or iPod, nor do I subscribe to satellite radio.  I do have a 12-disc CD changer in the trunk of my car, but thanks to the multitude of items I keep in there, a sharp turn causes something to collide against the changer, ensuring skippage beyond belief.

That said, I do listen to the radio constantly.  As it is now officially the holiday season, countless ads have sprung up, urging me to purchase this thing or subscribe to this weight-loss trial after “gaining those winter pounds”.

I can handle nearly all of the bombardment of advertising that is thrown my direction.  Nearly all, except one.

The International Star Registry.

For those unfamiliar with the Registry, it is a company where you send them money and in return, they name a star after you or a loved one.  You have three choices: The Custom ($54), the Deluxe ($104.95), and the ULTIMATE ($154.95).  Plus shipping and handling, of course.  Along with having the star named after you, the Registry sends along a handy dandy star chart with the area circled in red where “your” star is located.

All this circumstance, of course, is a huge load of bullshit.

To begin with, let’s look at the gift from an astronomical point of view.  Anyone who was able to stay awake during high school science knows that the stars dotting our night sky are in fact ages old, and more than likely have already collapsed in the cold, cold void of space.  The reason we still see the light, of course, is because the speed of the light emnating from the once-thriving star is just now entering our line of sight.  “Merry Christmas, honey! I named a dark void of space after you!”…Spare me.

It gets even better.  After naming the star, that’s it.  That name is not recognized by anyone, including the company itself.  All that name becomes is another entry in their database.  NASA doesn’t give a damn if you named one of the stars in the Orion constellation after your new baby.  The only thing that $54-$154.95 gets you is a piece of paper with some coordinates that unless you’re handy with some amateur astronomy, look like a clusterfuck of numbers; it also gets the name written in the Registry’s Your Place in the Cosmos, a book written by them detailing the names of every star that has been “adopted,” since you don’t own the star.  And it’s yours for the low, low price of $44.95.  It’s a “Who’s Who” book where you pay a nominal fee to get included, then you pay another ungodly amount of money just to see your damn name in there in the first place.

Alright, let’s take a breath here.  I’m sure the loyal readers of MoB already have sore necks from nodding so often in agreement with my cynicism.  But who knows, there could be a new person reading this blog, thinking to themselves “Well, it’s not a horrible idea, is it?  I mean, sure it’s not official or anything, but I think it’d be pretty neat to have a star named after me!”

You poor, misguided person.

In order to fully flesh out this strongly-opinionated essay, I decided it was necessary to log onto the Registry’s website.  My optimism moved me to hope that perhaps this Registry was not entirely the work of some cunning asshole with a telescope and working knowledge of star charts.  Browsing their catalog, I found they had more than just stars for sale.  Star ornaments and pendants were for sale, all with the promise of having your name engraved in there, along with your star coordinates.  This leads me to believe that in order to purchase either the ornament or pendant, you first have to name a star.  Your money would be better used if you took a lighter to it and then threw yourself atop the flaming wads of cash.

Then something else caught my eye.  I have two words for you: Pet Rocks.

Yes, for an additional $19.95 you get three rocks painted to look like animals.  How adorable!  And how utterly insane that someone would spend $20 on fucking rocks!

In case you didn’t follow…That’s rocks…from the ground…painted to look like animals…for twenty…fucking…dollars.

So go ahead.  Name a star after your significant other.  Unless you enjoy getting to know them in the Biblical sense.  Then I would suggest maybe going with a nice necklace or drill set.

Although, if your lover is an astronomy nerd, who knows?  Maybe then she or he will finally be willing to try that thing you always wanted to do ever since you saw it on late-night Cinemax.


Tweet this, b****es!

19 10 2009

Carl and Sarah are walking through a forest.

Carl:…And then I thought my status update was hi-lar-ious, so I went ahead and liked it myself.  You know,  so people would see how clever I was.

Sarah: Yeah, I saw that.  Oh, did you see Lenny’s link to that video of that dude singing karaoke in his bedroom?

Carl: That was so great!  I’m going to do the same thing, except I’ll sing pop songs instead that Linkin Park shi…Ow!

Carl collapses to his knee, grabbing above his ankle.

Sarah: What is it?!

Carl: Something bit me!

Sarah: Let me take a look…oh yeah, it looks like a snake bit you.

Carl: What if it was poisonous?!

Sarah: Don’t worry, I’ll look up how to get the venom out.  Just give me a second…

Carl waits, sitting on the ground, clutching his ankle, grimacing in pain.  Sarah gets on her iPhone and quickly begins typing.  After 15 seconds, she’s still typing.  30, still typing.


Sarah: What?  Oh, my bad!  I wanted to let everyone know what had happened, so I logged onto Facebook real quick.

She looks at her phone while Carl slowly begins slumping down.

Sarah: Ooh, and people have already started to comment! Hehe, Jerry said that you’re finally one with nature.  That’s so funny.

Carl continues his descent into the dark void known as death.  Sarah is oblivious.

Sarah: Hey, I know!  Let me get a quick pic of the bite, so everyone can see!

Carl’s unresponsive, laying flat on the floor.  Sarah picks up his bitten leg, holding it up to take a photo with her iPhone.

Sarah: There we go.  Now just upload it to twitpic.  Let’s see, what’s a good tweet for this…Got it!  “Carl bit by snake…or angry forest nymphs?!”, asterisk, “conspiracy”.  Excellent…

Sarah looks down at Carl, who by now is dead.  Completely dead.  Gone.  Kaput.  Sarah gives the body a quick jab with her foot, then shrugs.  She starts walking, her focus on the screen of the iPhone.

Sarah: (Typing) Carl’s dead…F…M…L…(She continues walking)What, Lenny, you liked that?!…Oh, your comment is explaining that the “Like” is supposed be a “Dislike”, I get it!…

The screen fades to black as a voiceover begins.

Ressurection App?  Not yet...
VO: The iPhone 3.0.  We can’t bring your friend back to life, but you sure as hell can tweet about his untimely demise.

Ah, gracias para la "fresh bull," Señora Palin.

27 01 2009

2009. WOW. I think 2009 is, so far, promising to be an innovative year. With the inauguration of the first African-American president, the rise and fall of gas prices, citizens becoming more fiscally responsible, the conversion to all-digital television, and with the invention of the new Chipotle iPhone application, Americans are constantly thinking FORWARD. How can we work together to IMPROVE our lives? How can we improve the lives of others? Ah, it really makes one feel all warm and gooey inside. [It also makes me wanna snack on an orange glazed cinnamon roll].

Truthfully, it is my feeling that the best way to find out what people are thinking is to survey them. Right? Well, I guess that all depends on WHAT you are surveying and whether or not that survey is worth my time, your time, our time, time in general.

WELL, according to a recent survey, Sarah Palin was considered to be the most desired person Americans would want to live next door to. (Side NOTE: REALLY? You mean to tell me that money was actually put into the campaign of surveying people about this ridiculous question. WHO CARES? Seriously. Is this on the for realz?) Back to the subject at hand. Honestly, I think these results are interesting. Sure, she’s “cute,” “charming,” and “pitbull-like,” but let us consider for a moment what it would REALLY be like to have Sarah Palin as your neighbor.

Shes not crazy, shes a maverick!

She's not crazy, she's a maverick!

(These are not ranked in any sort of particular order. It’s simply a list of things I think might happen.) 

1. Hockey parties. Who doesn’t love a night over at the Palin’s with her Todd in the kitchen making stir fry and the rugrats running around the house while Piper judges them. Meanwhile, the neighbs are sitting in the family room discussing the Canes and how they are just like the Mighty Ducks. Be cautious however about getting too excited, you never know when someone might go into labor. 

2. Fresh bull. This is sort of a double entendre, if you will. Sare (my new nickname for Madame Palin) will not only grill the fresh bull/moose/bison/porpous etc. that she shot that day, but she will also dish out fresh bull…sh*t. You know, buttering you up. Like how she ate that entire fruitcake you made her when she moved onto your street. How she got her new suit at the local thrift store. That new haircut you got, just FABULOUS *wink*. Oh, and she can’t see you changing in your bedroom from her living room. We know this is a lie, because Sare sees all. She is the all-seeing and omniscient Sare. 

3. Innovative nicknames. The fact that she named her own kids names such as Trig, Track, Willow, Lawn, etc… we know she will absolutely be innovative in her naming of you and yours. 


Well, no matter what, you know Sare would be a loyal neighbor. Always participating in neighborhood watch meetings, block parties, and social gatherings. And let’s be honest, she’d be a better gubernatorial neighbor than Mr. Rod Blagojevich.

All for now.

Excuse Me, While I "POP" Away.

27 12 2008

In honor of this year’s Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day, I have decided to re-post an old post! YAY!


Bubble wrap. American’s have a fascination, nay, infatuation, with this cheap, plastic packaging material. However, I don’t think that as we are experiencing the cathartic process that is popping those wonderful bubble, we realize how silly the whole idea REALLY is.

Its blue. Its bubbly. AND you can pop them for free.

It's blueish/clear. It's bubbly. AND you can pop it for free.

(For me, personally, I adore a good bubble wrap popping sesh. I mean, who DOESN’T? BUT, it’s time to face the facts, people.)

1. It’s plastic. SURE, plastic makes it possible. But was this protective product originally meant to serve as an all purpose fun tool? I don’t think so. I don’t think the creator of bubble wrap said, “You know, I bet this stuff will provide parents with yet another reason to get pissed off at their kids and take away their Wii privileges.” 

2. The invention of the iPhone app. REALLY? You mean to tell me that iPhone users couldn’t just pop tangible, real-life bubble wrap, they had to go and create an iPhone application that allows one to satisfy his/her “popping” itch ON THE GO?! (I’m going to cower in shame for two seconds of honesty. I downloaded the application myself and had it on my iPhone for not one, not two, but THREE months. Don’t fret, I finally deleted it and replaced it with the “knock on wood application”).

3. Bubble wrap appreciation day. The last Monday of January. I’m not kidding.

4. The fact that it is making this guy a millionaire (which you know he will be). NOT OKAY. A calendar. One where you can POP the days away. Boy, if that isn’t a metaphor for life, I don’t know what is. But, oh hell, I’m totally going to get one.


All for now.