Funny Funny True True

This is NOT a product of my mind. This list is all over the net but was brought to my attention by a t-shirt at a novelty store. Even though not all of "religions" are religions, we all know someone that has taken their view of the world to a whole new level. Read, share, enjoy.

RELIGIONS OF THE WORLD

Taoism: Shit Happens.

Hare Krishna: Shit Happens Rama Rama Ding Ding.

Hinduism: This Shit Happened Before.

Islam: If Shit Happens, Take A Hostage.

Zen: What Is The Sound Of Shit Happening?

Buddhism: When Shit Happens, Is It Really Shit?

Confucianism: Confucius Say, "Shit Happens."

7th Day Adventist: Shit Happens On Saturdays.

Protestanism: Shit Won't Happen If I Work Harder.

Catholicism: If Shit Happens, I Deserve It.

Jehovah's Witness: Knock, Knock, "Shit Happens."

Unitarian: What Is This Shit?

Mormon: Shit Happens Again & Again & Again.

Judaism: Why Does This Shit Always Happen To Us?

Rastafarianism: Let's Smoke This Shit.

Southern Baptist: Send Us Money And Shit Won't Happen.

CALVINISM: Shit happens because you don't work hard enough.

HEDONISM: There's nothing like a good shit happening.

MOONIES: Would You Like To Buy Some Shit?

STOICISM: This shit is good for me.

ZOROASTRIANISM: Shit only happens half the time.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE: Shit is in your mind.

Environmentalism: You produce shit, so you have to eat it.

Socialism: Sorry, we are out of shit today.

Feminism: That's not funny!

Atheism: There is no shit. (or alternatively) Can you believe this shit?

Observation .4

Just a few things I realized in the last week:

1. The Oscars are a lot more fun to watch when you have a bottle of wine to yourself. For some reason, who knows why really, the emotions of the winners just come alive. You won? OMG, you won! I'm so happy for you! . . . even though I never saw your movie and don't care for you as an actor. And just as an aside, if you cannot agree with the following statement, I never want to speak to you again: Crash?!!!! WTF?!!!

2. Free weights can be dangerous. Like most things, it's not the 50 pound free weight suspended over your head that usually kills you. Instead, it's the metal that coats the free weight. I don't know what the metal is, zinc maybe? zinc oxide? zinc brain cancer? All I know is that the metal likes to flake off and land in your eye. Maybe next time I cry, my tears will be rust colored.

3. Dolly Parton knows how to work a crowd. Did you see her on the Oscars? All that woman had was a microphone and an empty stage and she had the crowd more excited than the performances that required burning cars, pimps, and dancers. Ok, she had more than just a microphone . . . she had half the world's supply of collagen helping her out. But just as I was about to pity her, she proved why she's still in the business. (If my opinion of her performance seems a bit out of touch to you, blame it on the wine)

4. I am not part of the Mickey Mouse demographic. Within the last week I woke up to mouse ears on the Sportscenter logo. I hope whoever dreamt that idea up got fired.

5. "Pimp" does not rhyme with "rent". (lyric from 3-6 Mafia song that won the Oscar: "It's hard out here for a pimp . . . (something something) money for the rent.") Even if you pronounce it "rint", it doesn't work. It would be better to pick a word not remotely similar, like "mortgage" or "lease". Oh wait. That vocabulary would have been inappropriate for the genre. Let's see . . . maybe they should have just made up a new word that means "rent" but rhymes with "pimp".
- "Hey roomie, you paid the zimp this month yet?"
- "Hell no man, you raided the cookie jar last weekend remember?"
- "Why would we put zimp money in the cookie jar?"
- "Uh, cuz it's where we keep the zimp so the cops won't find it there."
- "What? You mean the weed man?"
- "Yeah, that's where we agreed to keep the zimp and the money for the zimp."
- "Man, weed isn't zimp. Rent money is zimp!!! How we suppose to get this word to catch on so we can rhyme it in our song if you can't keep it straight?!!"
- "Dude, sorry. We can work on that later, but you have got to check out this chic's fine ass on MTV, she is so fetch."

Observation .3

So I'm sitting at Cobalt (a gay bar in DC which, I will expand upon for the sake of a sub-plot in this blog: the bar is battling to not become the "has-been" of the gay scene; they hand out free drinks and free drink tickets all the time; they are also about to stoop really low; no, not drag shows, but strip contests; a bar that has to have strip contests to attract a crowd is like a husband that has to watch porn to get it up). Anyway, back to the main storyline.

I'm sitting with a drink in my hand, mildly intoxicated, texting someone from Kansas City about how the KU game ended up, when I hear a couple guys in a serious discussion nearby. Because I'm rude, I eavesdrop on their conversation. One of them is reciting lines from Madonna's new single, "Sorry". (commercial break: "Sorry" is a great song from a great album; buy it) As you may be aware, some of the lines from the song include Madonna saying the word "sorry" in different languages. These were the lines one of the guys was reciting while he counted each individual "sorry" dramatically on his right hand. Another guy in the conversation interrupted and began identifying the langauges in which each "sorry" was spoken. The first guy disagreed. There was more recitation, more possible languages offered up. Ultimately, whether they had identified which languages were included in the song took a backseat to each trying to out culture the other one, so as to lend support to their estimations. Somewhere, between recounting their past visits to Italy, France, and Portugal, they decided to drop it.

It's pretty natural for guys to measure their metaphorical penises - who has the longest resume, the widest range of skills, and the ability to spew the most knowledge. But rarely, and I would almost say exclusively in the world of the gay bar, do you see a Madonna song used as the measuring stick.

Observation .1

Midwest Vs. East Coast - Things I've Noticed

MW: HyVee
EC: Safeway

MW: HyVee keeps everything in stock
EC: Safeway keeps what it happened to get on the truck that day in stock

MW: HyVee plans ahead for a rush on food before the holidays
EC: Safeway hopes no one comes to the store after the holidays because the shelves are close to bare

MW: HyVee stocks up on chips and salsa before the Super Bowl
EC: Safeway hopes everyone's taste buds decide not to like chips and salsa this year because they haven't restocked since the holidays

MW: HyVee has a helpful smile in every aisle.
EC: Safeway has employees who help you, but only between arguments with each other over the correct lyrics to Dr. Dre's "The Chronic". And if they can't agree on the correct verb or noun for an otherwise unintelligible lyric, they ask you to assist them in humming a verse or two.

MW: HyVee is an employee owned store.
EC: Safeway doesn't appear to be owned by anyone who gives a damn.

Addicted to Fools

No, my boyfriend is not a fool. But the book he brought home, "Conspiracy of Fools", is a true story about the goings-ons behind the doors of Enron. AND I CANNOT PUT IT DOWN!
The decades leading up to the scandal were a scandal in themselves. I am not an accountant, but I can still understand the limited amount of business and accounting lingo. In fact, if you pick up this nearly 700 page thriller, I guarantee that you will be reading and think "well, that's not a good idea for x, y, and z reasons." Then, between 5 and 50 pages later, you will be right!

Of course, the storyline of the book is classic Titanic, so you do have the benefit of hindsight. But the story is captivating no matter how much or how little you know about the Enron scandal. You sympathize with the characters, both the evil idiots and the ethical do-gooders. It is easy to blame those that got caught up in the culture of the company as having tunnel vision. However, you will also begin praying that a career so blindingly attractive never corrupts you.

And remember . . . this book recommendation is coming from a guy who has not picked up a single book to read outside of a classroom or employment situation in 6 years. So either I have no perspective or I finally found something worth reading.

The author is Kurt Eichenwald.

All My Sins

I heard that some employers are searching myspace, google, blogs, etc, when they receive a resume . . . kind of an informal, who-am-I-really-hiring check up. This didn't shock me or anything. People have been googling other people for ages. But it really kind of made me re-think whether I should post my next blog entry in which I reveal to the world all the horrid things I've been up to. Just to be safe, and in the spirit of the center of the governmental world in which I live, here is the blog, properly edited:

Dear Diary -
XXXXX XXXXX XXXXXXX weed XXXX XXXXXXX XXX XXXXXX XXXX X X X X XXXXXXX XXXX, and the 3 of us XXXXX XX X XxXXXXXXX. But before I passed out, XXXX and XXXX went to the basement and XXXXXX XXXX x x xXXXXXX XXX xx xXXXXX and had to put it out by pissing on it because someone had already used up the fire extinguisher earlier. Later that year, XXXX X x xXX XXXXX XX XXXX XXXXXXX XX XX XXX abs and pecs XXXXXXXXX XX rub down XX XXXXXX XXXX XX XX XXXXXX balls. XXXX X x xX XxXX xxxXXXXXX xXXXXX smoked XXXXXx xXXX xX xX xXX xXXXXX topless XXXx X xXXXXX xXXXXX missionary XXXX XXX X xx XXXXXX xXXXXx everyone watching. So we all broke out the XXXX, sat back, and XXXX XXXXXX X x xXXXXXXx.

But that is nothing compared to when I XXX X xX xXXXXX Xxx xXXXX xX amish twins xXXXXXXX xX xX XXXXXXx hard and tasty x x x xXXXXXXXXx xX x x xxx xx xX xXXXXXXXXx XXXX hilarious time XXXXX X x x XXXx XXXXXX vodka XXX X xx XXXXXX fire XXXX X X XXXXXXX explosions XXX X x xx XXXXX X xX XXXXX and evian, or was it perrier? Can never remember things when XXXX is in your face and XXXXXXXX is coursing thru your system.

Ultimately, XXXX, XXXX, XXXXXXx, XXXXX, or XXX X X XXXX can be held responsible because XXX X X X X X X vomitted on them. XX X x XXXXX xxxxXxXXXx X xx XXX xxXXxXXXXXXXX and so my conscience is clean.

The End