Thursday, September 22, 2011

My Time Machine is Departing from Riverside

Man I love Craigslist. It's an endless source of entertainment. Thank you Ms. Ducat for bringing this gem to my attention.

Time Travel (Riverside)

Date: 2011-09-21, 6:05PM PDT
Reply to: [Errors when replying to ads?]

I have a functioning time machine (I know it sounds unbelievable, but I assure you it works) and I need a 2nd person to operate it with me.
I'm looking for someone who is adventurous and reliable. Preferable a male; or a female that can do heavy lifting.
I am leaving on October 15th, 2011, in the morning and plan to return December 10nd, 2011. I am going to June 1985 to purchase Billy Idol, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Shiela E, Cyndi Lauper, and Huey Lewis Cassette tapes and vhs music videos.
If you are serious about time travel and are reliable, then please contact me. You do not have to pay anything but must know how to handle a Ruger 10/22 22lr Boy Scout edition rifle. Time machine is suited with flat screen tvs with Direct tv sports pack and full bar.

We will be leaving from Riverside, Ca. Let me know if you want to go with me

P.S. On a side note, how much do you want to bet if Billy Idol had the chance to go back in the time machine he totally would.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Bartender Rants 16-21

Brought to you by:

SIXTEEN: BRING YOUR FUCKING ID. Unless you look as old as Strom Thurmond, you just MIGHT get carded. Most bars will not allow you in without one. In most states (if not all), walking around without some sort of state issued identification is against the law. They’re not fuckin’ heavy. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve carded and it’s “My boyfriend has it and he’s parking the car,” or “I left it in the car,” or whatever piece of shit excuse you have that you’re not carrying it on you. You have a fucking hairbrush, two tampons, a compact, lipstick, a cordless drill, a snowboard, and whatever the fuck else you have in that Bag of Plenty that you carry around with you, but you couldn’t put your fucking driver’s license in there? Again, get a clue. While I don’t card EVERYONE, if I suspect you might be teetering on the edge of legality, I’m carding you. It’s not a power trip, I don’t get off on it, it’s the fucking law. And if you don’t have it, you’re probably fucked. Look at it this way: if something happens to you and we need to identify the body, well, at least you had your ID on you. And hopefully you were wearing clean underwear, or your mom is going to be VERY embarrassed.

SEVENTEEN: Do not call me over and then decide you’re going to get the group’s order together. Like this:
“Hey buddy!” (I walk over)
“Uh, yeah, I’ll have a Bud Light, um… hey Johnny, what do you want?”
(Long pause)
“Um, I think he’ll have a Heineken…”
(large baseball bat hits you upside the head).

If you get my attention and I come over, you damn fucking well better know what you want when I get there. In addition, don’t order, and when I come back with the drinks, order more. Give me the whole order at once. I’ve had jerkoffs do this:

Moron: “Can I have a Bud Light?”
Me: (Walk away, get beer, come back) “$3.50”
Moron: “I need two.”
Me: (Walk away AGAIN, get beer AGAIN, come back AGAIN) “OK, $7.00”
Moron: “I also need a vodka soda.”
Me: (Make drink) “$11.00”
Moron: “I think we need shots, too.”

You get the idea? It’s just fucking brainless. Get your shit together, order all at once, and HAVE YOUR FUCKING WALLET READY WHEN I COME BACK! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had some fuckass order and when I tell him how much, then and ONLY then does he realize that (a) he has to pay and (b) his wallet is in his pants, and (c) it’s going to take him a friggin’ week to open it and find money.

EIGHTEEN: Have your fucking money ready. It’s fucking obnoxious to be busy, have some half-wit order drinks, and then after you get them and tell him how much it is, watch him fumble for his wallet, look inside, try to figure out simple math, etc. Have an ample amount of cash in your hand when the bartender comes back with your order. Act as if, when you order drinks, that unless you have a tab at the bar, you’re going to have to pay for them. I don’t have the time, energy, or patience to waste on watching you go for your wallet. It’s like watching some old bat start to slowly fill out her check AFTER the cashier rings in her basket full of Depends, Cat Chow, and applesauce at the grocery store. Be prepared. Expediency is always appreciated.

NINETEEN: Don’t bitch about the price. I currently work in a restaurant. The menus are posted on the door so people (morons) can see what the bill of fare is prior to making a commitment so great as walking into the establishment. The menu also has the prices on it. So, when the bill comes, I don’t want to hear how much everything was. You read the menu. You saw the prices. You sat your fat don’t-wanna-cook-ass in a chair, ordered off the menu, and ate it like the bottom-feeder you are. Pay the bill, tip, and go. No one put a gun to your head and told you that you HAD to be here. Same goes for the prices. Eight bucks for a glass of wine? Yes, sorry to get all 2011 on your ass, but… it’s 2011. If you can’t afford to eat with the big people, take you and your too-much-hairspray wife to Applebee’s where you can have your four buck glass of Montevideo White Fucking Zin and your $8.95 all you can eat riblets and leave me - and the rest of us - the fuck alone. You cunt.

TWENTY: One simple rule with wine - if you’ve never heard of the vineyard, it doesn’t mean shit. Unless you are an oenophile bar none or are the Senior Editor for “Wine Spectator” magazine, I don’t care what you have heard of and what you haven’t. I’ve been bartending for twenty years and haven’t heard of half of the vineyards out there. And stop asking me questions as if you know anything about what you are talking about. “Is that chardonnay oaky?” “What’s drier, the merlot or the cabernet?” Here’s what you do: “I’d like to try the…” and have a swig. If you like it, fine. If you don’t, try something else. I actually had some old bat once ask me what kind of white zinfandel we carried by the glass. I replied, “pink.” Who gives a fuck? Really? You’re so much of a wine snob that you are picky about your WHITE FUCKING ZINFANDEL? Do us all a favor, go play in traffic.

TWENTY-ONE: If you go to a party, regardless of where it is (restaurant, bar, hotel, double-wide trailer), and it’s is an open bar - meaning drinks are complimentary - it would be nice if you’d tip the fucking bartender. Especially if you are one of these assholes: “Hey, lemme get a Ketel and club, and make sure there’s not too much club.” My recommendation in that case is that you have a dead president in your paw (not the cherry-tree chopping variety). The funny thing about an open bar is that I’m already making a little money off the party. However, I stress “little.” And if you decide to take advantage of the booze flowing like… well… booze, and to avoid unsightly lugees floating in your adult beverage, leave a tip. Here’s what I do: I walk straight up to the bartender, put a twenty down, and inform him that I plan on drinking heavily, and just make sure that there is vodka for me. You’d be surprised how fast and strong my drinks are, while you, Mister No-Tip Cheapfuck, are drinking swill.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Yoga Mat for Sale. Used Once. $1

Best CL ad I've read in a long time!!

Date: 2011-09-13, 10:32PM PDT
Reply to:

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiancée may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.

Begin small talk with my bride to be. She pretends to ignore me but I know how she can be. I allow her to concentrate and stare straight ahead and continue to pretend that I don't exist. As we finish sharing our special moment, I am suddenly aware of a sweat moustache that has formed below my nose. This must be from the all the whispering between us.

Instructor enters the room and ascends her special podium at the front of the room. She is a slight, agitated Chinese woman. She introduces me to the class and everyone turns around to greet me just as I decide to aggressively adjust my penis and testes packed in my Under Armor. My bride is notably unfazed.

Since I do have experience with Hot Yoga (4 sessions just 5 short years ago) I fully consider that I may be so outstanding and skilled that my instructor may call me out and ask me to guide the class. My wife will look on with a sparkle in her eye. We will make love after class.

It is now up to 95 degrees in the room. We have been practicing deep breathing exercises for the last 8 minutes. This would not be a problem if we were all breathing actual, you know, oxygen. Instead, we are breathing each other's body odor, expelled carbon dioxide and other unmentionables. (Don't worry, I'll mention them later.)

It is now 100 degrees and I take notice of the humidity, which is hovering at about 90%. I feel the familiar adorning stare of my bride and decide to look back at her. She appears to be nauseated. I then realize that I forgot to brush my teeth prior to attending this class. We bond.

It is now 110 degrees and 95% humidity. I am now balancing on one leg with the other leg crossed over the other. My arms are intertwined and I am squatting. The last time I was in this position was 44 years ago in the womb, but I'm in this for the long haul. My wife looks slightly weathered dripping sweat and her eyeliner is streaming down her face. Well, "for better or worse" is what we committed to so we press on.

The overweight Hispanic man two spots over has sweat running down his legs. At least I think its sweat. He is holding every position and has not had a sip of water since we walked in. He is making me look bad and I hate him.

I consider that if anyone in this room farted that we would all certainly perish.

It is now 140 degrees and 100% humidity. I am covered from head to toe in sweat. There is not a square millimeter on my body that is not slippery and sweaty. I am so slimy that I feel like a sea lion or a maybe sea eel. Not even a bear trap could hold me. The sweat is stinging my eyeballs and I can no longer see.

This room stinks of asparagus, cloves, tuna and tacos. There is no food in the room. I realize that this is an amalgamation of the body odors of 30 people in a 140 degree room for the last 55 minutes. Seriously, enough with the asparagus, ok?

140 degrees and 130% humidity. Look, bitch, I need my space here so don't get all pissy with me if I accidentally sprayed you with sweat as I flipped over. Seriously, is that where this relationship is going? Get over yourself. We need counseling and she needs to be medicated. Stat!

150 degrees and cloudy. And hot. I can no longer move my limbs on my own. I have given up on attempting any of the commands this Chinese chick is yelling out at us. I will lay sedentary until the aid unit arrives. I will buy this building and then have it destroyed.
I lose consciousness.

I have a headache and my wife is being a selfish bitch. I can't really breathe. All I can think about is holding a cup worth of hot sand in my mouth. I cannot remember what an ice cube is and cannot remember what snow looks like. I consider that my only escape might be a crab walk across 15 bodies and then out of the room. I am paralyzed, and may never walk again so the whole crab walk thing is pretty much out.

I cannot move at all and cannot reach my water. Is breathing voluntary or involuntary? If it's voluntary, I am screwed. I stopped participating in the class 20 minutes ago. Hey, lady! I paid for this frickin class, ok?! You work for me! Stop yelling at everyone and just tell us a story or something. It's like juice and cracker time, ok?

It is now 165 degrees and moisture is dripping from the ceiling. The towel that I am laying on is no longer providing any wicking or drying properties. It is actually placing additional sweat on me as I touch it. My towel reeks. I cannot identify the smell but no way can it be from me. Did someone spray some stank on my towel or something?

Torture session is over. I wish hateful things upon the instructor. She graciously allows us to stay and 'cool down' in the room. It is 175 degrees. Who cools down in 175 degrees? A Komodo Dragon? My wife has left the room. Probably to throw up.

My opportunity to escape has arrived. I roll over to my stomach and press up to my knees. It is warmer as I rise up from ground level - probably by 15 degrees. So let's conservatively say it's 190. I muster my final energy and slowly rise. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Towards the door. Towards the door.

The temperature in the lobby is 72 degrees. Both nipples stiffen to diamond strength and my penis begins to retract into my abdomen from the 100 degree temp swing. I can once again breathe though so I am pleased. I spot my future ex wife in the lobby. We had such a good thing going but I know that no measure of counseling will be able to unravel the day's turmoil and mental scaring.

Arrive at Emerald City Smoothie and proceed to order a 32 oz beverage. 402 calories, 0 fat and 14 grams of protein -- effectively negating any caloric burn or benefit from the last 90 minutes. I finish it in 3 minutes and spend the next 2 hours writing this memoir.

Create Craigslist ad while burning final 2 grams of protein from Smoothie and before the "shakes" consume my body.

Note to self - check car for missing wet yoga towel in am.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

How to Poop at Work

This was too amazing not to share. I found it at

It's a sad inevitability. No matter how hard you try, how accurately you plan, how much you control what you eat, it's going to happen at some point: you will have to poop at work. It's where the biological meets the professional and it's always, pardon the expression, a shit show. Let's try to make it easier, shall we?
As the children's book tells us, everyone poops, and everyone has to work, but while we have to work together it doesn't mean we have to poop together, or at least acknowledge that we are all pooping in the same place. It's the great unspoken occurrence of the workplace (unless your office has some crazy rogue nasty pooper or something). So, here are some easy rules to follow so you can drop the deuce without ruining your professional reputation.

Know the Topography
Every office is different in how the toilets are set up, so you have to know the positives and negatives of each set up. If your office has one-man units that's good in terms of privacy but it's hard to escape any blame for noxious fumes. If your bathroom has multiple stalls it's easy to blame the stink on a coworker, but you have to deal with everyone seeing your business. If you work in a restaurant or somewhere the employees use the same facilities as the customers, you have to go without anyone seeing you entering or exiting and possibly ruining your tip. The more you know about the lay of the land, the easier it will be to plan a thorough strategy.

Know the Shitting Toilet
Every bathroom has one, the one bowl that is reserved for dumps. Whether that's the stall in the corner, the bathroom farthest from the desks or what have you, it is the unspoken shitting toilet. Use it. Always. It's like "goal" in a game of tag. No one can judge you if you're in the right place.

Double Check the Door
Make sure it is locked. Twice! If it's not, you are headed for a career-destroying disaster.

Get Out of Dodge
A few years ago I had the luxury of living only two blocks from my office, so when the need arose I could escape to my apartment. While this is rare, there might be a Starbucks or McDonald's or hotel lobby (always the fanciest toilets around) where you can escape. Sure, the throne is probably totally nasty and filled with a million cooties, but at least you'll have some anonymity. If a third-party toilet is unavailable, perhaps go to another floor of the building or another department and sully their restroom. Crop dust that asshole Bob in accounting on your way. That guy is a dick.

Drop the Book
If someone sees you walking around your workplace carrying a book or a magazine and you don't work at Barnes & Noble, then they know where you're going and your cover is blown, you dirty office shitter. No reading material in the bathroom. And if you're dumb enough to disobey this rule, certainly don't leave your newspaper lying all over the stall. People will just resent having to clean up your mess. And certainly don't leave a half-done crossword lying around. Then people will think you're stupid on top of gross. Everyone these days has a phone, so look at that and put it back in your pocket. Hell, you can even send some emails so if a bomb goes off you have a time-stamped alibi.

Maximize Productivity
I decided to put this in business terms to make it more euphemistic. What I really mean is don't sit your ass in there for like 30 minutes. You may be one of those people who likes to take your sweet time at home chilling your ass over the bowl for as long as you want, but this is work. Not only do you have shit to do (pun definitely intended) but the longer you linger, the longer the chance that you're going to get caught and embarrassed. So get in, get out, and get back to your desk and leave the leisurely loaves for Saturdays.

Know What to Expect
I don't want to be crude, but you have to know when your shit is going to stink. Everyone's does. Fact of life, fact of nature. Get over it. But sometimes it's just vaguely unpleasant and sometimes it's a nose-pinching, face-contorting, hand-waving Stink-O-Rama. Based on your digestive situation and what you've been eating for the past 24 hours (pistachios, amirite), you should know which one it's going to be. If it's the former, go to the usual washroom. If it's one of the latter, maybe you should see about finding somewhere else (see above) to spill that toxic waste.

Bring Matches
They're free just about everywhere, easily slipped into a purse or pocket for emergencies, and completely effective for disguising what smells like an elephant's corpse rotting in the gutter. Sure, people are still going to know you unleashed a turd, but they'd rather smell that vaguely ashy and sulfuric aftersmell than the stench of your Second-Day Curry.

No Talking
If you get into a stall, there is no talking to anyone on the outside, unless you have an Elaine-esque toilet paper emergency. It doesn't matter if you enter the space with a coworker in the midst of conversation, as soon as you cross that threshold you need to shut the fuck up. If it's that important, pause before the bathroom door and finish up before heading in. No talking in the group toilet. Period. And this includes grunting while you take a crap. That's just fucking disgusting.

Time the Traffic
If you're in a communal bathroom, try your best to get some alone time. This might be impossible based on the size of your office and the busyness of your bathroom. Make sure there is no one around for the noisiest and most evident part of your business. That's just common courtesy. That might mean holding it back for a bit if someone else interrupts. That's fine. They may know why you're in there, but proving them right is unsavory at best. If you enter the bathroom and realize someone is mid-turd, head to the sink, wash your hands, and leave. Let them finish in peace. You'd be thankful if someone did that for you.

Destroy the Evidence
With some matches and a bit of subterfuge, you can make it appear like you haven't used the toilet at all. That's what everyone wants, to be able to completely ignore the fact that we all have to shit in a communal space. However, that becomes impossible if you leave things behind that destroy that delusion. That includes a streaky bowl. You know what I'm talking about. In the immortal words of Aunt Sassy on The Comeback, "I don't need to see that!" Flush the toilet a few times and get the water to erase away your mark of Cain before exiting.

Exit Strategy
If you run into someone going into the bathroom while you're leaving it and you just did something foul in there, you have to warn them—especially if it's a one man unit. However, you can not tell the truth. Ever. Use the old, "There's no toilet paper in there," ruse. That's a good one. Or the, "The guy before me clogged it." Everyone knows it's a lie, but that's OK. This is all about keeping up pretenses and maintaining the truth. When it comes to office pooping, conscientious denial is the name of the game.

Wash Your Hands
What are you, a fucking animal?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Office Productivity

I wonder if my boss has any idea how incredibly productive I've been for the last 45 minutes?

You don't get a salary like mine without putting in the work folks.

Gnat Funny

My boss likes to have fruit in the office but with these temperatures it breeds gnats and they are freaking me out. One time back in like middle school maybe? Maybe elementary, my mom would pack us nasty (bless her heart) lunches. Like borderline perishable fruit, a juice she would freeze to make cold but when it melted it would make my brown paper bag rip then my mushy fruit would seep out into my backpack and we couldn’t afford ziplocks so we had the fold over bag and my crushed up lays (from again my heavy ass frozen drink) would spill all out and it was a hot mess so I just decided to not eat my lunches and chuck them under my bed. Well I forgot about that and at that age didn’t really think through the logistics of it until one Halloween when my parents couldn’t take the gnats anymore and decided to track down the source….right to my room. I was out trick or treating they came and swooped my ass up for a nice little parental beat down. I'm pretty sure a vein actually came out of my dad's forehead. Never did that shit again. Took my lunches to school to throw them away from that point on.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Day in the Life of My Camera Phone

Awww how precious this little muffin man is. I see him every morning on my way to work just having his master take him on a walk all the while wondering to himself who’s the bitch now???

Maybe this guy was tired of the gang wars and was just trying to bring peace to the LA neighborhoods.

You’all know how much I hate B of A however, even I can’t get mad when I have a pirate standing outside the door serenading me. This guy woke up and thought you know what I should do today? Slap on the eye patch and grab my guitar and head to the bank. The next time I am “bored” I need to step outside of the box like this guy. I doubt he is ever “bored”.

Sweet so now I don’t need coffee I can just put on energizing pantyhose?? Only problem is this product failed. All day long I waited and waited….energize me you nylon Nazi’s but nooo, they did nothing for me. I’m wondering if it’s worth the $3 to take them back to Target and explain my disappointment of my legs that were neither invigorated or refreshed!

Vagina Facials

So we bedazzle shirts and phones so why not vaginas?? It’s not quite the razor dagger edge of a diamond but it’s not entirely not like that either and yes girls are actually jumping on this bandwagon. I get irritated with a lil stubble imagine rubbing against faux diamonds in the shape of a heart or your initials. Next they will be bedazzling assholes. Actually fuck that I just started that business right now so if anyone wants to be my first customer holla atcha girl.

On the same note they are now offering vagina facials at some waxing salons both to “prep” your vag for scalding hot wax ripping your pubs out and then to soothe the aftermath. I’m actually very curious as to what’s involved because a normal facial has washing, steaming, massaging, exfoliating, masks, toners, extractions, moisturizers, etc…if someone spends that much time on my who ha, it’s a guaranteed happy ending. HA! Finally, girls get their turn.

Ice Ice Baby

What's even better then going to see your 2nd favorite team play a game and WIN?? If you guessed getting to see a free Vanilla Ice concert you are correct! Seriously, what are the odds of this happening? At the beginning they had some sort of technical difficulties and all I could think of is does anyone remember how crazy this fool went on the Surreal Life? Do not upset the monkeys!

43% of male sea lions have herpes

Here is your useless fact of the day…43% of male sea lions have herpes. How does this happen? Wouldn’t that mean the female ones have a way higher percentage because everyone knows girl sea lions are whores? Speaking of whores does anyone know Barbie’s full name? Nope didn’t think so but here you go just in case you’re ever on Who wants to be a millionaire and you can’t phone me as your friend because you know I don’t answer my phone….Barbara Millicent Roberts.

Why Can I Buy Crazy?

So…..not to make all of us single people feel like aholes but did you hear Gary Busey had a baby??? Come on! This girl not only smooshed Gary Busey but she breed with him as well??? Let’s just throw his homeless crack fiend looks aside and take a look at his mental clarity….well all saw his psychotic meltdown on Celebrity Fit Club….This man is not qualified to be out in public let alone around an infant. Yet he can find a lover and have babies?Where can I buy crazy??

IRISH I WAS NOT SMELLING CABBAGE RIGHT NOW. So I’m gonna throw this out there as a public safety warning for all those who either are or wanna try to be Irish on St. Patty’s Day with a nice corned beef and cabbage meal. Omit the cabbage. I’m not kidding. I got this new cookbook and was trying to make soup and when I went into the store they had this huge container of precut veggies and I thought why not just get that…so easy! I threw it in the Crockpot and bailed…for hours….and came back making the gruesome discovery that amongst those other tender veggies was a huge cabbage and now my house smells like your dad’s bathroom on a Sunday morning!!! Dude so gross. I can’t even imagine putting that in my mouth if this is how bad it smells before it goes in you.

Why you got rejected from eHarmony

I think I may have found out why so many of my friends were rejected from eharmony….

Who you tryin' to get crazy wit essay? Don't you know I'm LOCO

So you know I'm a sucker for a good theme day and by now we've kind of exhausted most of them so we had to think outside of the box.....can you tell who's been watching a lil too much Gangland & Lock Up lately? Anyways here's how to make Prison Tamales. We recommend using Salsa Verde Dorito's and adding a dollop of sour cream on top. Seriously the best $2 and 8 minute investment you will ever make. oh and the video sound got messed up in the beginning so I put the original video with the full recipe that inspired us at the bottom. Oh and your welcome.

*Cliff Notes version: simply mix a bag of ramen and Doritos together, smash them up, add hot water, roll into a cylinder, and then let it sit for a few minutes.