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.



Welcome to Atlanta. Bienvenido a Atlanta.

21 09 2009

The BEES (well, 3/4 of them) got in Aaron’s Blazer, no not the jacket, and drove a gazillion hours, or 7, to Atlanta, Georgia for the 6th Annual Black Box Improv Festival.

Here is a short 3-4 minute video recapping adventures.



Disturbing Things I Have Seen at the Gym VOL: 1

23 07 2009

I feel as if Zach Arnold is stealing all the blog glory! So I felt compelled to add my own little flavor. Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to a blog-ment (it was my clever way of combining blog and segment) I like to call: Disturbing Things I Have Seen at the Gym!!


Being a pretty active fellow I spend a good amount of time in the gym. I tend to zone out, get the workout in, and get out. But every now and then something peculiar, out of the ordinary, and just down right not meant for human eyes, will catch my attention. Last week I was at American Family fitness doing a couple reps of dumbbell deadlifts (1,000 to be exact), when God himself thought it necessary to come down from the heavens to punish my eyes, AND overall mental state.

No more than 2 feet from my designated work out area, that I had clearly marked with droplets of sweat, an intruder had arrived. Now I am not a gym snob by any means. You know, those guys who feel it necessary to use all the equipment at once, and choose to condescendingly smirk at you when it’s finally your turn. I just simply want a little bit of room, so that I’m not constantly having to dodge people in the middle of my set.

This was no ordinary intruder, no, it was a middle aged African-American woman sporting a “flock of seagulls mixed with Fresh Prince of Bel-are” hair do, and Baby Phat attire. And lets just say that she did not fit these close the way a grown, mature woman should. The hot pink tank top she was wearing only went down to about mid-bellybutton. Just enough to cover the start of her happy trail. Thank you for only halfway scaring me for life. The tight black workout pants she was wearing, hugged her legs making them both look like giant man eating caterpillars.


I was already at workout mix song number 5, so I was able to zone this hideous sight out. As I was doing my reps I notice she is doing lying flys. Which, if you are not aware,  is basically laying on your back and opening your arms and closing them like a butterfly (with weights of course). This strategic move, allowed the ever so lovely “Baby Phat” to share with me, and the rest of the gentlemen in the gym, that she was not very good and shaving her armpits. And you say: “But Aaron, this is disgusting enough, please stop the post!”, and I say, nay my friends, it gets worse.

Once she is done, she begins to return to an upright position on the bench. Of course because her hot pink Baby Phat shirt is three sizes too small it begins to ride up her, surprise, hairy lower back. As the shirt is slowly escaping the almost certain doom of her butt crack, I begin to see the revealing of what looks like a tramp stamp. Am I surprised? Of course not, this far into the story, it should be obvious this woman would have a tramp stamp (lower back tattoo). As her shirt was wondering up I began to wonder what the tattoo could be. A butterfly perhaps, maybe some sort of flower. I was naive to assume it would be anything remotely beautiful. The shirt finally and fully revealed the entire tattoo, and in cursive it read: