Sunday, November 30, 2008

The Parade

     I was the victim of the strangest, most bewildering, impromptu parade yesterday.  It was exciting and disappointing at the same time.  I didn't know what to make of it and I still don't.
     I was lying on my couch on Saturday, whiling away the day after work and waiting for bedtime to roll around, and I heard something familiar but out of place.  There was a clop, clop, clop outside my window accompanied by bells.  I have never heard that outside of my apartment in the middle of town but without lifting my head off the throw pillow I said to myself "That's a horse walking down the street."  I said it matter of fact like it was no big deal because really, it wasn't.  I didn't know why a horse would be walking down the middle of Wall St. in front of my Worldwide Headquarters and I didn't know exactly what all was involved with the horse making its way but I didn't question it.  I don't know why it just didn't seem that strange to me.  I would think more about the meaning of that statement but I am scared of the results I would come to.
     Anyway, fast forward an hour or so and I am still on the couch, talking to Little Heather.  She has just started a new job and I was interested to find out the details.  I was also sort of trying to figure out how Little Jeffy and I could best mess with her while she was at said job.  So I am talking to her and I hear a siren.  Now, I live on the top floor of the tallest building in a relatively small town, from which I can see the fire station and a major intersection of two highways.  So I am not unfamiliar with the sound of a fire truck or ambulance screaming by.  This I could tell instantly was a fire truck.  But it was different from the usual fire truck sound.  It was really close by.  And it wasn't going away.  Then I heard it again.  So I said to Little Heather "I think there is a parade going on outside my apartment."  So I got up and looked out the window and there it was.  A parade.  And no one even bothered to tell me in advance.
     I had been wondering why there were so many people downtown as I had come home that early afternoon.  But the idea that a parade might be eminent had never crossed my mind.  So I was mildly surprised but not shocked.  Most of the parades held in town go right by my apartment, which is cool, but I rarely know when they are scheduled so I often get surprised by them.  And that's cool.  But this parade didn't have the look or feel of the other parades that I have seen go by.  First of all, there weren't as many people lining the sidewalks as there would be for a typical parade.  Usually I would expect to see people lined up on both sides of the street two or three deep for blocks in either direction.  But that was not the scene before me this time.  So in an effort to determine what exactly was going on I opened the screen and stuck my head out the window.  I looked to my right and saw a police car, lights flashing, moving slowly down the street followed by a fire truck with its lights and siren on.  Fine.  I look down and see a half dozen young girls, probably in 5th or 6th grade walking down the street wearing Santa hats and waving.  So I am thinking that these are Brownie Scouts or something. Cool.  I know now that this is a Christmas parade of some sort.  So I swing my head back to the left, expecting to see a marching band or something.  Maybe a politician or local high school beauty queen sitting on the back of a 1968 Impala convertible.  At least some Shriners in little cars.  But that is not what I saw at all.
     What I saw was a big space after the girls.  An empty space through which a couple of people with their kids were wandering.  Then came a wagon pulled by two reindeer with Santa Claus in it.  No big deal.  Pretty lame float as flats go but it's Santa Claus and honestly, he doesn't need much dressing up.  Santa is great just as Santa, he doesn't need crepe paper, costumed dancers, or a John Deere pulling him along at 2 mph.  He just needs himself.  Even the reindeer were a little beyond what he needed.  So that was cool.  But that was it.  Behind Santa were two more police cars, stationary in the intersection keeping the traffic at bay.  After Santa went by all the people standing along the sidewalk flooded into the street like they were rushing the field after a big college football victory.  Little kids and and parents all dressed up like it was the Canadian Arctic despite the fact that it was in the mid-30s outside.  Then a wagon pulled by two horses filled with people went by, the same wagon that had been making the clopping noises before and would continue to circle for the rest of the afternoon.  But that was it.  Santa proceeded down the street to my right with his mass of followers.  And that was the end of it.  It was a very poor and disorganized parade.  It was more like a bunch of people jaywalking actually and I didn't know what to make of it.
     I even tried to do some research to figure out what I had just seen.  And I didn't find much.  I found out that it was the "Christmas Kickoff" but that was it.  I am thinking that what I witnessed was Santa Claus arriving in town.  Perhaps it was the symbolic arrival of Christmas, I am not quite sure.  I didn't bother to call the number provided to ask for more details.  I didn't want to know.  I decided to just accept what had happened for what it was and move on.  It's not the strangest thing I have ever seen and I am sure I will see stranger things as time goes on.  But I am still going to assume that it was a parade; just a very poor excuse for one.  But the people down there seemed to be enjoying it and I guess that is all that matters. No, I know that is all that matters.  And that is on the Internet so it must be true.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

You Got Served

     You got served.  Well, in actuality I did.  Twice.  In two days.  And in two very different ways.  Confused yet?  Well let me explain in more detail then.
     The first way that I got served was in the bad legal sort of way.  As in the "we have to trick a deadbeat into opening the door so that we can throw the papers in his face and yell 'You've been served!' at him" kind of way.  In the "state mandated paternity test" kind of way.   Yeah, I got served in that kind of way.  Except I wasn't even cool enough to put up a decent fight.  No one had to chase me through the streets of New Orleans.  Dog the Bounty Hunter didn't have to hunt me down in the New Mexico desert.  I didn't even get to have a sheriff's deputy do it.  No, it was just some guy.  What's with that?  I mean, I know I made it easy on him, that he just had to walk in and ask for me and hand me the papers.  But still, the least they could have done was have someone with a badge and gun and the authority to use it hand me the papers.  Not some middle-aged guy in a flannel shirt.  I mean, come on.  I am actually a little disappointed in myself.  I should have hid under the desk and popped up right after the office was closed for the day.  That would have been good.  But I was really nice.  I even stamped the papers with a "received on" stamp.  I am so lame.
     That was actually pleasant compared to the way in which I was served on Thanksgiving.  This time it was more in the way like the lame movie where a bunch of city folk dance around and that somehow shames their opponents.  I have several problems with this by the way.  First of all, that does not happen.  Not even once in a while.  N-E-V-E-R  E-V-E-R.  I have lived in the city, and I know people who have lived in other cities and they confirm to me that that never happens.  And besides, is it really that big a deal if someone else dances better than you do?  That is not something shameful.  That is being white.  People dance better than you, you drink more than them, and life moves on.  And who decided which dance is better anyway?  I mean, maybe you have a thing for waltzes.  Then, anyone who trotted in there and did a waltz would win.  It's all a matter of taste.  It's subjective.  So how do you really pick a winner?  No no no no no.  None of this adds up and I do not like it at all.
      But back to the lecture at hand.  I got served sort of in that way, except without all the dancing.  Oh and the guy who served me was 100 years old.  Yeah, I forgot to mention that.  Here's how it went down.  I was at Thanksgiving playing thumb wars with my cousin's 14 year-old daughter, and she was cheating.  You can't use your index finger in a thumb war, it's just not right.  So anyway, we were in the process of settling this dispute when my grandma and her husband (no, he's not my grandpa, he's her second husband) were brought in to eat.  Fine.  They were eating and I will admit that the thumb war debate was starting to escalate and get a little loud.  I was absolutely culpable in this whole drama.
     But instead of simply asking us to be quiet, he come out with "Do you have to scream about everything all the damn time?"  Interesting choice.  First of all, we were not screaming.  Raising our voices certainly, but screaming?  No.  At least we know that he is still hearing pretty well if he thought we were screaming.  So anyway, he busts out the "Do you have to scream about everything all the damn time?" and we stop.  Now, I realize that we were getting a bit loud plus I figure that a 100-year old man has the right to yell at the young-uns sometimes, so I do not take offense to this.  I turn and apologize.  I say  "I am sorry, I didn't realize that we were getting so loud.  We will stop."  This should have been the end of the issue.  But Century Mark decides to push the issue.
     He says "Well you were yelling; you are always yelling about everything."  Oh no I am not.  That is not a true statement.  Now I am pissed.  Just because you spend most of your time these days in 1932 does not mean that you can just make up generalized statements about me.  And you especially should not be yelling at me when I have just apologized to you and have stated that we will stop what we were doing.  But, he's old.  And he's family.  And my grandma is sitting right there.   So I play it cool.  I respond "I realize that and I apologize and we will not do it anymore."  By now the girls are in the process of melting away into other rooms of the house.  My grandma, who is still pretty sharp at about 94 or so, says "He's crabby today."  Thank you grandma, I had not figured that out.  Actually, I don't think she was saying that for my benefit.  I think it was her subtle way of letting him know that he was being crabby.  I told you, she's still pretty sharp.  So I come back with "Well, that's okay.  Everyone is allowed to be crabby.  Everyone has their days."  I firmly believe this.  Everyone has their crabby days and everyone is entitled.  So I am not going to let it get to me.  But apparently that was not the right thing to say, because Century Mark responds with "You're damn right I'm crabby.  I've got my reasons to be crabby."  
     He says this as if I am the reason that he is in a bad mood.  As if I have spent all day doing things to offend and annoy him.  That is not true.  I actually hadn't even talked to him all that much.  And I am relatively sure that he didn't even know who I was.  No I am not going to get into it too deeply; I don't want to set my sights on a 100 year-old man, even if he did serve me.  We will just leave it at that I very rarely walk out on someone because they are making me angry.  But I got up and walked out of that room at that point.  Because if I had stayed the result would have been my family black-balling me.  And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Friday, November 28, 2008

That's The Sound of the Men Working On the Chain

     Like many people, I got into my car and made my way home for the Thanksgiving holiday. Like salmon in the rivers of North America we all flow back to the place of our birth to eat turkey and lay on the couch moaning for like six hours. Okay, that's a lie. Some of us go places other than where we were born, I understand that. But you might as well be salmon because you are still on the move and, to be honest, you sort of smell like the docks. Oh, and a bear would eat you in a heartbeat if it had the chance.
     But I digress. I went home for not one Thanksgiving celebration but two. Since my parents are divorced I spend part of the day with my dad's side and part of the day with my mom's. Which is cool because I get fed twice AND it breaks up the relativity into manageable units. Sort of like divide and conquer. I usually stay at my Dad's but since we don't eat until the afternoon, I skated over to Mom's in the morning to hang out, say hello, and bake some apples. What a bad move that turned out to be, because she put me into indentured servitude - Medieval Europe-style.
     This is not unusual. There is usually some sort of project that I have to be involved in, like unplugging the bathroom fan or putting up storm windows. That is my mom's favorite activity for me. Haul the gigantic glass down from the garage rafters and into the backyard and screw them in place over the patio door. Oh, and do it in the middle of this snowstorm please. And you can't wear any shoes. Oh, and try to balance on a rubber ball while you do it all. That part is more for mom's amusement I think, but whatever. I am getting pretty good at it. In fact, this summer I am going to audition to be a dancing seal at Sea World and quite frankly, I think that I am going to give them a run for their money. But none of that went down this year. This year she had a different type of mission for me. And it was the most dangerous.
     I don't know if she was a little loopy, maybe a touch drunk, or if she just wanted my to finally kill myself, but this year mom had me trimming hedges. And goodness knows that they needed it. They were not a little overgrown, they were African-jungle overgrown. I was a little apprehensive about beginning to trim them because was afraid that once I started rustling the branches some unfriendly natives from a war-like tribe would emerge. Either that or a stuffy British man would say "Dr. Livingstone I presume?" And I didn't want either of those things.
     The second thing that I was a little worried about was the equipment. My mom hands me this ancient hedge trimmer, which was most definitely not made for a left-handed person (did I mention that I am left-handed?). The only way for me to comfortably operate them was to wield them one-handed like they were a broadsword or something and have at the bush. It would have been like we were sparring in a fencing competition or something. So here I am, holding the damn thing, and she plugs it in. And it would have been a terrible farce had it worked.
     Yeah, that's right. It didn't work. It was plugged in, I was operating it correctly but it did not wok. It just sat there in my hand, lifeless and of no use. Great. So out come the hand shears and I go at it. I was like an artist at work, making all sorts of cool shapes out of the bushes. Well, cool as long as your favorite shape is round. Because that's how it ended up. Actually, it ended up like a ball that had been sitting on the same spot for like two years in the cold in the garage and now had a big flat spot in it. That's what it was like. And it remains that way. Hey, I don't live there year-round, so I don't have to look at it.
     So then, despite my poor record with the first bush, she moves me on the the second one. Which is actually two. These she wants me to lop the top off of. Of these she wants me to lop off? Of the tops of these she wants lopped off? I don't know how to say that sentence with correct grammar. But whatever. She wants the tops gone. So I go at these things like I am one of those loggers on Axe Men. Except I was not provided with safety equipment. I am dangling there on the ladder, over five feet off the ground, with nothing holding me up except for my sheer will and my mom. It was pretty harrowing. And I was pretty brave. But that's how you have to be when you are an indentured servant. When you are being oppressed on your holiday vacation. Or when your mom makes you.
     But no, it's cool. I like helping her out around the house. It's fun and, well, it's helpful. So I am not going to complain. And as long as I survive her little trials I will keep coming back. Because I'm nice. And she's my mom. And it's getting to be a holiday tradition. And that's on the Internet so it must be true.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving

     Eleventy billion years ago somewhere in Massachusetts there was a multi-cultural gathering of neighbors who were happy, well, I don't know what they were so damn happy about. None of them had cable. There was no Macy's Parade with big giant balloons. It was fall, so it's not like they had just survived the winter. In fact, winter was staring them in the face. I suppose that they were happy about their bountiful harvest or whatever. Maybe they were just really excited about finding that big horn that they stuffed with grapes and wheat and figs or whatever they used to make a cornucopia. Who knows? But the bottom line is that they had dinner together, out on an exposed picnic table according to the painting, and now at the end of November everyone gets two days off of work. Oh, and we get to stuff ourselves silly with turkey and fall asleep watching football. How great is that?
     There are some people who live the Thanksgiving dream every weekend. Eat a big Saturday or Sunday feast and zonk out on the sofa watching Gus Johnson go nutso as some team scores with less than four minutes to go to tie up the game. That's the life for me. But I can't bring myself to do it every day. That's why I love Thanksgiving. Because it gives me an excuse to do that kind of stuff. I can eat turkey and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole and cranberry sauce until I am about to explode and then I can stuff some pumpkin pie down on top of it all until it backs up into my esophagus and I can barely breathe. And I don't get judged for doing it like when I am at Perkins. That's part of the reason I like Thanksgiving so much.
     I like it too because there is a certain air and feeling about it. Millions of people get into their cars, families four in sedans and SUVs and four-door pickup trucks that will never go off the pavement and they head north or south or east or west, from the cities and the suburbs into the woods and fields to grandma's house. Families of four, dad driving, mom looking out the window, the son in the back watching TV on the flip down screen or maybe playing his Play Station 3, while the daughter is listening to awful R&B on her iPod wishing she was anywhere else. But I love it anyway, because the whole family is together in a warm house that smells AMAZING, catching up and getting on each others' nerves. Even crazy Uncle Larry is there with this years' wife. That's what I love. By Friday or Saturday they will be disbursing back around the country, but for those couple of days it's like something Norman Rockwell pained on the The Saturday Evening Post.
     I love it even more when it's a little cold and there is some light snow falling about. That is the best. Big, light, flakes of snow slowly falling perfectly from the sky as the night grown dark, and then they appear in front of the street lights and porch lights and whatever. It's so perfect. I mean, some years it's nasty and raining and some years you can wear shorts and a polo shirt, but it's Thanksgiving. It's late November. It should be snowing and the windows of the house should be glowing.
     And then there's real Thanksgiving. And it's not like that except for a select few. Most families will experience a theme distinctly different from the one described above. And that's okay. Many families will have people who are still at deer camp. Many people will be flying solo. And that's okay too. But whatever you and whomever do we hope that you have the best of holidays. And we hope that if you are traveling you do so safely and without issue. Happy Thanksgiving to all from Big Dave and Company!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

A Thanksgiving Recipe

Here's a wonderful recipe to share with your family on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday:

1 - 3oz. package orange or cranberry flavored Jell-o
1 small can of mandrin oranges, drained
1 cup frozen cranberries, thawed and drained
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water

1.) Stir boiling water into gelatin in medium bowl at least 2 minutes untin completely dissolved.
2.) Stir in cold water.
3.) Stir in oranges and cranberries.
4.) Refrigerate 4 hours or until firm.
5.) Cut and serve.

Makes 4 (1/2 cup) servings.

God damn that was easy. I can't believe that you couldn't figure that out for yourself.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The Letterman's Jacket

     Every once in a while you see something that momentarily confuses and excites you. Something familiar but out of place, like one of those strange dreams where your college logic professor is sitting in your treehouse in your backyard fighting with your boss over whether to make grape or cherry Kool-Aid. It's all familiar stuff but none of it is where it belongs, except maybe the Kool-Aid in the treehouse. But I digress. Anyway, I saw something the other day as I pulled into the parking lot of my friendly local grocery store that really got my attention.
     I saw a letterman's jacket from my high school. Normally this would not be something spectacular but I live around 250 miles from where I went to high school. So, seeing that blue jacket with grey sleeves and a huge white "W" walking across the parking lot made my tail wag like I was a little Yorkie or something. I followed it into the store. I stalked around the supermarket, hiding behind islands and shelves like I was a bad private detective appearing on CBS primetime in the late 70s. I was so blatant that even the white shirts were even on to my hyjinx. As I followed the jacket around the place I fondly remembered back to when I was in high school and I could wear my letterman's jacket out in public without being weird; unlike now when I can only wear it around my house like I am Al Bundy remembering my four touchdowns in a single game for Polk High 25 years ago.
     I think though that my favorite thing about seeing that letterman's jacket wandering around was that it served as a big blue reminder of just how small this world can be. Here I am, standing in a parking lot 250 miles from home, face to face with the most visible symbol that my alma mater has to offer. I might as well have been standing in the hall with G-funk as the vice-principal asked us where our hall pass was. (We didn't have one. And we still got away with it. Because we are great!)
     Honestly though, it's nice to see that kind of thing every once in a while, just as a reminder of who you are and where you are from. I may actually pull out my letterman's jacket over the holidays, just for the sake of it. Also, I want to see if I have more pins on my letter than that kid did. I mean, come on. I'm not going to be beat by some young punk. And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Time for Rhyme

Why do we celebrate
All things that rhyme?
They cause us to smile
Time after time after time

Most times they are lame
Not funny at all.
Yet people still love them
Drive me up the wall

The rhymes are as bad
As a "k" for a "c"
Or as people who end words
Not with "s" but with "z"

These things are not cool.
These things are not "tight"
To not stab my face off
Takes all of my might

So what do we do
With all these lame rhymes?
Can we charge their creators
With capital crimes?

Or string them way up
In the highest of tree
Covered in honey
And watch them with glee

As the red ants march up them
Or along comes a bear
To investigate honey
While the guilty hangs there?

Can we make this a statute?
Can a law come of it?
For I don't much like rhyming
I don't like it a bit.

So let's put wheels in motion
And do what we must do.
For these rhymes can't continue.
Saw that on the 'Net.
So it then must be true.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Running Wild. And Naked.

     Did you know that if you jog around a high school track in Colorado naked you will get five years probation?  It's true, but only if you happen to be a man of the cloth.  Lucky I am a man of the cloth.
     Rev. Robert Whipkey of Frederick, CO was arrested shortly before dawn on June 22, 2007 while running in I assume nothing but his collar at a friendly local high school.  The good father, who presided at parishes in three northern Colorado towns, was sentenced on Thursday to 5 years probation and 100 hours of community service in Weld County District Court.  He also has to register as a sex offender.  He told the judge at his sentencing that his conviction had ruined his life and cost him his job.  He was wearing a blue shirt and slacks.  What a concept.
     You know, if he had worn even just the slacks on the June morning Bobby-boy wouldn't be in this predicament.  I am not exactly sure what would lead a person to want to run, let alone naked, in the witching hour at a high school track.  Maybe he had a fantasy of being a high school track star.  Maybe he lost a bet.  Maybe he had lost his clothes earlier and was desperately trying to find them.  Maybe he had been doing that for like 12 years and nobody had ever caught him before.  Maybe he is a creepy pedophile. Who knows?  But we should at least be glad he wasn't doing what a lot of priests did to get on that sex offender list.
     So the Denver archdiocese doesn't want Bobby-boy.  I would assume that none of the churches around the area do either.  And since I read about his shenanigans on the Internet, and the Associated Press was distributing it, I would guess that no other churches will want him either.  And he can't work with children and should by no means be allowed near any sort of athletic equipment, because God knows he will be going bench press and the rowing machine naked.  I would probably ralph if he started doing squat thrusts or the clean-and-jerk in the nude.  So we can't have him in the gym.  Maybe he can work at a gas station on the overnight shift.  Or as a toll collector on the Indiana Toll Road.  Although he'd most likely do that naked too.  Hold on, I've got it figured out.
     Fast forward to a cargo van parked deep in the swampy woods of Mississippi in the middle of the night.  It's an older van, probably green with that gaudy 70s fake wood grain on the side, shag carpet on the inside.  Inside the van, smoking heavily, is Bobby-boy seated in front of some low-powered radio equipment.  He's balding.  And of course he's naked.  For six hours every night the AM signal blasts through the night; with Bobby-boy leading his small but dedicated flock through the trials and tribulations of life in the 21st Century.  He gives them advice and Scripture about how to move on as a good, faithful Christian while spurning the evils that are clothes.  He rants and raves against the poor Asian children who are cheaply sewing the clothes for the Western world.  He takes pot shots at the malls and discount outlets of the world.  And he gets downright irate at the idea of a designer getting any sort of accolade.  And nobody listens.
     Wow.  What a horrible image that was in our crystal ball.  And a sad end for a man who probably was an upstanding member of all three communities in which he preached.  From respected leader to crackpot radio jock; I've seen it happen a million times.  That's what happens when you take your clothes off while running around a high school running track.  And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Let Me Tell You About These Fabulous New Features

     So Company, I am not exactly sure what the hell happened yesterday, because I know for sure that I wrote "Spit" on Tuesday and "Kids Just Don't Understand" on Wednesday, yet Blogger apparently decided that both needed to go under Tuesday. No big deal I guess. Anyway, I am just writing you an little note about some exciting new features that you will find at the bottom of each and every one of my posts.
First is the e-mail feature. If you really like a post and want to share it with a friend so they can bask in its greatness, or maybe you really hate it and want to share it with a friend so you can cut it to shreds. Whichever, you do what you've got to do. But it's still kind of neat because you can share a little piece of me with the people you love. And isn't that fantastic?
     The second feature I want to discuss is far and away my favorite. We here at Big Dave and Company strive to bring you only the highest quality blog-style entertainment. And I admit that sometimes we fail miserably but that doesn't mean that we haven't been trying. That being said, there are limited ways that we can tell if we are being successful, such as counters and comments. But Company, if you are not in the commenting mood there is no way for us to judge our success. So that is why the good people at Blogger, who really do an absolutely amazing job at keeping us up and running smoothly, whipped up an amazing new feature. You will notice now down at the bottom of every post there are now three little click boxes: Yes, No, or Maybe So. If you don't feel like registering a comment either under your name or under an anonymous name you can just click the "Yes" box if you liked the post or agreed with it, the "No" box if you didn't, or the "Maybe So" box if you just felt ambivalent about the whole thing. It's a great way for you to give us feedback if you are just a little to shy to make a comment.
     I encourage you to use these new little opinion boxes, as well as to continue to leave wonderful and insightful comments, so that we here at Big Dave and Company can keep on pumping out whatever it is that we pump out. Because we can't get better unless you tell us what you think about the job we are doing now. So, like us or love us please let us know. Because we desperately want to. And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Kids Just Don't Understand

Here are some things that children born within the last five years probably won't be aware ever existed:

- Pinball Machines. Sad, I know. Because pinball machines rock the casbah. I mean, now it's all video games and whatnot, but I am talking about the original, awesome, mechanical pinball machines. By the time I came around they were electronic, with digital displays for the scores and a little almost video board where it would give you little messages. But the ball was still real. And all the bumpers were. And they were great because someone actually went to all the trouble to come up with themes and whatnot. Like "Alice in Wonderland" or "Stop and Go." I mean, how fun is that? Sometimes the old tried and true is even better than the latest gadget, and if I didn't have to plug fifty cents in for every play I'd drink beers and play pinball all night long.

- Cassette Tapes. Kind of like 8-tracks were for my generation, cassette tapes will be the types of things that my niece finds in the basement closet and has no idea what to do with. I am sure that she will see the names of some familiar songs on them but she won't have a tape player within 4 miles of her. Someday she will be astonished to learn that he uncle's car has a tape player, or at least it did before he swapped it out for a sweet CD player.

- The VCR. You know, right now this is not so big a deal. But by the time your newborn comes into awareness DVD's will be obsolete and everyone will have Blu-ray or something in their homes and Best Buy won't even stock VCR's anymore. So you will have long converted your VHS copy of Harry and the Hendersons to DVD for cheap. You don't think it will happen but trust me, by the time you pull that ancient dinosaur out of your closet there will be so much dust on the tape heads that it won't work right anyway. And then what do you do? Ask anyone looking for a record player needle how things are going these days.

- Wooden Drivers. No, I am not talking about those people who sit in their cars driving down the freeway looking like they are crash test dummies. I am talking about golf clubs here, Company. For many years drivers were made of woods. Hence the 1 Wood, 3 Wood, 5 Wood, etc. Now they are all made out of titanium or graphite or rocket fuel or whatever. But so very few are ever made of wood anymore. And by the time that your five year old living illegitimately in Portland grows up even the guy at the pro shop won't know where to go to find wooden clubs if you paid him. And you will try, even if just for the sake of it.


     Let's talk about spit, Company. Specifically yours. And mine. And why they are not mixing right now. Get it? No, I am just kidding. I am by no means as implying that we should be making out, unless you are into that kind of thing. But I have been thinking about spit and the terrible double standard under which it exists.
     Nobody really likes spit.  They think it's gross.  If I spit in your coffee, you are going to be pissed.  Stories abound.  Little Jeffy was just telling me tonight about how one of his coworkers had an aversion to drinking out of a soda can that someone else had drank from - that kind of thing - and so he caught his daughter licking each and every Jell-o cup before putting them in the cupboard so that he wouldn't eat any of them.  It happens more than you'd think.  I mean, how many times have you been grossed out by someone drinking the last little bit of someone else's bottle of iced tea because it was all backwash?
     It's twice as bad then there is illness involved.  I know, short of blood, there are not many bodily fluids that carry more germs than saliva.  Maybe the fluid in ones eyes, but I don't know.  I have done absolutely no research on this subject.  But I know saliva probably isn't good.  But here's the's no worse than breathing the air in the same room as a sick person.  Do you know why?  Because that air is full of little tiny droplets OF EVERYONE'S SALIVA!  It's true, my mom is a nurse.  And you see evidence of it all over.  When you get in the car on a super cold day and your windows start fogging up, that's because of the moisture you are breathing out into the atmosphere.  In Siberia they have problems in the towns during the winter with ice because the condensation from human respiration freezing on every surface in the cold, cold temperatures.  It's true!  So all that saliva, quarts of it, are in the air, and you are breathing it all the damn time.
     Which I don't see the problem with, quite frankly.  Because of the double standard.  There are a lot of times when you think spit is good.  Yes there are, just think about it.  When you get a face full of dirt or sand while out that the Baja 500 or wherever you have been hanging out lately you want lots of spit to remove it from your mouth.  Yeah.  You like to have a lot of it there when you are eating too.  Your digestive system can't digest the three Big Mac's that you just scarfed down.  It couldn't handle the fries either.  You wouldn't even be able to swallow the all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.  That's because your saliva starts the process of breaking things down chemically so it can make it to your stomach.  I read all about it, you know, in a book.  
     You know when else you don't seem to mind spit?  When you are making out.  Yeah, it's true.  When you get in there all you are thinking about it not sticking your tongue in so far as to choke the poor person or if they are drunk enough to not notice that you are already headed for second base.  You aren't thinking about the biological agents that they might be transferring to you, or vice versa you dirty bastard.  Oh no, you don't care a thing about that.  It's funny how spit doesn't seem so bad when it's from an attractive or in some cases desperate person, isn't it?  Oh no, Johnny Hottie's spit is just fine when it's being directly injected into your larynx.  Dirty girl.  Why doesn't he just spit it in your face.  You'd probably like that too.
     Sorry, back to the family friendliness.  Spit is okay when cleaning is involved.  If you are a parent it is usually something on the face of your child that needs to be cleaned.  Like some ice cream or the last shred of dignity when in front of the girl they like.  When you are a child it's usually some sort of minor flesh wound that needs to have the dirt and blood removed.  When you get to the age when you think you know things but in fact know nothing you'd probably proudly declare that spit is actually one of the best things you can use to clean it.  Yeah, keep thinking that.  In ninth grade health class the CDC will get its hands on you and it will be nothing but fear and loathing until you are 84 and keel over while watching Wheel of Fortune.
     So can it with the double standard.  If you are going to take the good with the spit you have to be willing to deal with the bad.  If you want to use it clean flesh wounds then deal with the backwash.  If you want to swap it with your husband, that's fine but then don't cover your mouth and freak out every time someone sneezes within six miles of your location.  That's how it works.  It's like pee.  You might not like pee but you will put up with it if you want to get with R Kelly.  Same with spit.  You might not like it but you will be nice to it if you ever want to eat a peanut butter and fried banana sandwich again.  And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Monday, November 17, 2008

An Open Letter to the Laundromat Owners In My Town

Dear Laundromat Owners,

Go fuck yourselves. I am not going to name names or specific laundromats because I need your businesses. I don't want to have to use your businesses but I have to as I am cheap and always manage to rent an apartment that does not include laundry facilities. Except the Cove but there was only one machine for like 12 apartments and the dryer never worked. Oh, and the Palace had a machine in the hall and that was perfect because it was one machine for three apartments. Perfect. Ahhh...I miss those days.
But I digress. I don't like you laundromat owners. First of all you are all lazy assholes. I mean, it's bad enough that you can't come lock up your own places at the end of the night, but you all hire the same guy to lock your joints up? That's fucking ridiculous. If you are going to buy a place at least show up and turn your own locks and empty your own machines and take a twirl around with the mop. And if you are an elitist prick and think you are above mopping up please for the love of God don't hire the same guy to lock up all the laundromats in town. Don't let him have a laundromat lockup monopoly.
Not that you'd know what a monopoly is. Or that you'd care. Because you obviously have no idea about anything. You certainly know nothing about customer service or running a business. First of all, here is a brilliant idea. Operate during the hours posted on your door. Now there is a fucking amazing new concept! Actually, my friend in business school just told me about that bold new business strategy. You post hours of operation on your front door - say 8am-6pm - and then you have to allow people to enter and use your business during those hours of operation. IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND FUCKSTICK! God, you don't send the guy around to lock the doors an hour before the time you are supposed to close. THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS! For Christ's sake. You are lucky that you are not here right now because I would be gouging out your eyeballs WITH MY GODDAMN ELBOW! Right in your motherfucking face. Oh, and I almost forgot...if you engage in this practice and you decide to change your hours, you probably should change them on the front door so people don't plan to use your business when it is closed.
Oh, and here is the deal. I know that we are in a tourist town. But seriously, be nice to the locals. I know the jizzbags from down south who come up on a regular basis to buy fudge and beat the lakes with poles attempting to catch fish and ride snowmobiles into trees at high speed while drunk (and I admit, I used to be one of those people) are your bread an butter, and they are willing to pay more than usual for services such as laundry but that doesn't mean that you should FUCK OVER THE LOCALS! And this goes for all businesses. The local people are the only things that get you through your down periods. Plus they are the people who will have to come fix the dryer or fill the soap machine or plow the driveway. So be nice. Maybe, once the out of town license plates disappear, crank up the dryers to give maybe seven or eight minutes for a quarter. Keep your extended hours for people who work second or third shift. Or maybe, off-peak, let the people who are doing laundry when closing time comes finish their stuff. Oh my God, how fucking novel. I mean, if you are in my office when 4 pm rolls around we let you stay until you are done with your business. Bars and restaurants allow you to stay after closing if you are a paying customer. SO LET ME FINISH MY GOD FORSAKEN LAUNDRY! I only need a half an hour to dry. You can lock me in and come back in a half hour, that's fine. I mean, come on guy. I know that you can't run around doing that business at each of the three laundromats you have to lock up, which is a super important and difficult job I know, but throw a guy a bone. I am trying to give you money. You can come back, it's not like it's that big a town. I can walk from one end to the other in like a half hour and you have a truck that is filled with mysterious bags of something. You will be able to get wherever you have to go in like two minutes. SO QUIT BEING A NUTRAG AND LET MY DRY MY SHIT! God. And then you chase me out of the next place. Fucking great.
Oh, and one more thing. I don't like country music. I don't want to listen to it while I am folding socks. I don't really want to listen to it ever. So please stop putting it on blaring on the radio in your laundromat. I would rather listen to Fran Drescher get double-teamed by Rodney Dangerfield and Fozzie Bear than listen to country music. I would rather hear Gilbert Godfrey recite avant-garde poetry than listen to country music. I don't want to hear about sittin' 'round the crack-fucking-barrel pettin' my coon dog and goin' down to the holler to refill my still. No, I don't want that at all. But, I am an understanding person. I understand that many people do not want to listen to the music I like. That's fine too. So put on oldies. I mean, there are only 64 oldies stations serving this town, and nobody has a problem with oldies. Oldies are like movies. Some people might not partake in them often but nobody is against them. So turn off the country music and suck my balls.
So here's the deal: shape up and treat my like I MATTER. Treat me like I am a PAYING CUSTOMER because that is exactly what I am. Without me your business won't be profitable. So treat me right. Or you can watch me on your precious fake 24 hour camera as I cut one of the gas lines that run to your dryers and flick a match right in through the front door that NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN LOCKED DURING YOUR HOURS OF OPERATION! And I will do it with style and panache. I will be standing in the parking lot wearing a leather coat and sweet hat with a couple of my cronies and I will just flick the match into the room like it's no big deal. Or maybe I will smash through the front window with a Molotov cocktail like I am a European soccer fan or something. Either way your door will always be open and my clothes will dry in record time.

Seriously though, I hate you.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Ten Rules for Holding a Farting Contest

I know, I know. I just finished my wildly popular "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature and you are probably sick of exciting lists. But it was so well received that when this list was dropped into my lap by Dr. J, I thought that I should share it with everyone as an encore to the "Ten Lists in Ten Days." So here it is, this time in descending order: Ten Rules For Holding a Farting Contest.

10.) Man up and claim it even if it's a squeaker.

9.) Never hold the content in the bathtub because people will think that you are trying to simulate a jacuzzi.

8.) Don't push too hard or that vein in your head will pop out.

7.) No politely spraying air freshener between rounds.

6.) Eating venison wrapped in bacon, culiflower or broccoli, or drinking Blatz beer gives contestants an unfair advantage.

5.) Matches and cigarette lighters strictly prohibited.

4.) Test the gag refelexes of all contestants, spectators, and officials prior to beginning the competition.

3.) Always have fresh oxygen and paramedics on standby...just in case.

2.) Moisture and staining put you in foul territory.

1.) Don't mess your pants or you will be disqualified.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Hunting Season Starts...Now!

     Well Company, hunting season is here and quite frankly I am scared shitless.  I mean it.  It's not even hunting season here where the Worldwide Headquarters is located.  It's hunting season back where I used to live.  And I know one thing.  If it's hunting season there, then it's going to be hunting season here soon.  Hence the source of me fear.
      I am scared shitless because there are people that I know legally going into the woods and fields with guns who shouldn't be going anywhere with guns.  Not even unloaded in a case with a Master Lock on it and a trigger lock on the gun and the safety on.  I'm serious.  There are people out there decked out in blaze orange shooting at deer that I don't think could describe to me a deer is their life depended on it.  They wouldn't know a whitetail from a tail fin.  Really, they might be shooting at a 1956 Cadillac DeVille and think it's a deer.  What the hell's with that?  How did these people get guns?  I thought you had to pass some sort of hunter's safety course to be able to shoot at living things legally.  So what is the deal with that test?  I mean, do you get like 90 points for getting your name and city on the top and then 10 points for knowing not to point the gun at your face?  That can't even be true because some of the people I know would pull the move where the gun doesn't fire and they turn it around and look down the barrel and shoot themselves in the face.
     You know what else scares the daylights out of me?  There are people hunting in the woods that are not PSYCHOLOGICALLY BALANCED.  Does that frighten anyone else?  The last couple of years in my state someone has just started shooting people in the woods because they are a minority or because they are yelling at each other or something.  Now, I don't know anyone who I think would do that, but there are some people that I have known who, if I saw that they had gone nutso and started firing at anything with blaze orange or firing towards the highway on purpose I wouldn't raise an eyebrow.  I am sorry, that's just how it is.  
     Honestly, I don't have a problem with hunting.  I don't hunt myself but I don't have a problem with it.  I actually support hunting.  I like the camaraderie that it brings.  I like the benefits to commerce it brings.  I like the responsibility it teaches.  And I like tromping around in the country.  I am pro-all those things.  And truthfully, 99% of the people I know who hunt are completely competent, responsible, well-balanced, and careful.  I mean, once in a while they might shoot 28 times at a group of 4 birds, not actually hit one but still bring one down, but they are still responsible hunters.  I know that they will not shoot me.  But there are people out there who will.  Because they will be motioning down a logging road with their loaded gun, or shooting at a deer that is eating on the roadside, or they will be hunting downtown even though there are no plants or trees there.  And I will get caught in the crossfire.  So maybe the safest place I can be is out in the woods dressed as a deer.  Or in my bunker deep beneath Wilmington, Delaware.  That must be it.  And that's on the Internet, so it must be true.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Raising the Bar

     A few of you will remember when I wrote about the death defying Stanley Kobierowski, a Rhode Island man who was arrested with a .491 blood alcohol content (BAC) after plowing his car into a freeway message board. You may also remember how I wrote about The Homeland being the drunkest state in the Union. Well, now, for the first time ever, those posts mesh neatly together thanks to an unidentified Wausau, WI man who was arrested early Tuesday morning with a BAC of .561.
     Police officers responded to a 911 call at 12:45 am from a man stating that he did not feel well and had a history of heart problems. When the officers arrived at the laundromat where the call had originated from they found not a heart attack in progress but a man so drunk that he should have been dead. The 53-year old man, who has been homeless for the past eight months, has since been released from Aspirus Wausau Hospital and transferred to North Central Health Care for treatment, this according to the Wausau Daily Herald.
     My question is this: How much would one have to drink over what amount of time to achieve a BAC of .561. And I am not talking about just the amount of alcohol he would have has to have binged just to reach the .561 level, I am talking about the years of constant drunkeness needed to reach that high of a tolerence. Can one even achieve that high of a BAC without the use of turpentine or wood alcohol. Anti-freeze maybe? Seriously, someone help me here, because I am struggling for answers. When I wrote about Stanley I noted that with a BAC of .150 there is the equivalent of 1/2 pint of whiskey in a person's bloodstream. So fi you do the math, at .561there are almost 2 pints of thehard stuff floating around in there. And the average adult has roughly 10 pints of blood in their system, so our boy here had 1/5 of his bloodstream converted to booze. Now that's impressive.
     So mister man, you think you know why you don't feel well at the Rainbow Laundry at 12:45 am?  I think I might.  I am guessing that it has to do with the eighteen jugs of moonshine fermenting in your arteries.  Of course you have a history of heart problems, generally when an organ designed to pump blood is being forced to pump Watermelon Pucker it doesn't work as well as it is supposed to.  Asking his heart to pump whatever that slurry running through his veins was is like asking the gas pump in your car to pump gravy into the engine.  A little might get through but it's not going to do any good.
     You know what else might be contributing to your overall lack off good feeling on that evening?  The fact that you should have been dead.  The average person would begin to black out at .15 and would have been dead long before reaching the .50 barrier, let alone blasting beyond it.  Lots of people have out of body experiences where they are dead but shouldn't be, this guy turned it completely around and his body was trying to be dead when he was supposed to be alive.  So no wonder his body was all confused and he didn't feel well.  
     In any event, don't worry about turning out like that guy.  Long before you can get your BAC to .561 you will be in a coma, or in a hospital getting your stomach pumped by a gruff night nurse in the emergency room named Edith.  Or you will simply just run out of money because it would take a lot of cash to get that much booze.  But first was our boy Steve, now this guy has raised the bar...who is next?  Because someone will find away to get even drunker one of these days.  And that's on the Internet so it must be true.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

The Most Perfect Snow

     It snowed yesterday. Not really an exceptional event in and of itself, but it was the kind of snow that fell that was made it wonderous. In many Eskimo lanuagaes there are multuple words for snow, and the type and condition of the snow would dictate what it is called. So I am sure that they would have a fancy name for the type of snow that fell yesterday. All day I sat and watched the most wonderful, gigantic, beautiful flakes fall from the sky. First they were the size of quaters, falling down and melting on contact with the pavement but sticking around for a while on the grass. Then, as the day proceeded they grew larger and larger. By lunchtime they were the size of silver dollars and they filled the sky. Bright specks of white gracefully floating down from the heavens against a background made up of mostly gray and brown and dark blue.
     It was the kind of snow that made people adore winter. It was not terribly cold. It was not being blown by the wind. It was just falling with style and grace, laying a beautiful winter quilt across hill and dale. And street and lawn and DykeSedan. Like I said, it was the kind of snow that makes one love winter. It was the kind of snow that made me want to run out in the field next to work and spin around like I was Heidi frolicking in the Apls or something. It was the kind of snow that is easily forgotten when it is eight degrees and those icy little windblown pellets that pass for snowflakes are pelting you in the face as you struggle through four inches of slush to do your Christmas shopping but still and are cursing winter but still, it was fantasic. It is the kind of snow that elderly people who have moved to Florida or Arizona or Texas choose to remember from their days in the Rust Belt, and that they choose to tell their grandchildren from Tennessee all about. That's the kind of snow we had yesterday.
      Of course, by the time I split to go get lunch, it was done snowing. All I had left in which to frolic was the slushy remians. I suppose that I could have made an attempt to create a snow angel or snowman but it would have been a dirty European snow angel with grassy hair sticking up through the armpits and upper lip and crotchal region. And it would have ended up being a very runty snowman. And it would have melted by tomorrow anyway. So why do all that work. I really do bemoan the fact that I did not choose to go out and twirl around in the large snowflakes though. I hope they come back. I hope they come back at night. Because snowflakes at night in an urban areas are beautiful, they way they interact with all the lights and buildings and whatnot. I love it. And I hope you do too. Because you can't fight the snow, so you might as well appreciate it. There is absolutely no reason not to take it for what it is and maybe appreciate it a little bit. And that is on the Internet, so it must be true.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Ungrateful Children

     The creator of Mind Junk reminded me today that I forgot to note that it was totally hilarious.  Which it is.  I have actually had several people tell me that.  And the creator of Mike-a-licious (on which I was a guest blogger today) questioned my discussing his "big doe eyes," which honestly, I cannot say no to.  See how they are?  But I guess that is the nature of having children.  On a more serious note though, go check out all these blogs.  They are all great.  I read them all and you should too.  Even if they are like ungrateful children.

The Offspring

     Well Company, we are back and strong as ever. I hope that you thoroughly enjoyed our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature. I know that I did. I should have done one called "Ten Ways to Know Your Blogger has Writers Block." But I digress. If you saw the title and came here hoping that I was going to wax poetic about the super awesome American alternative rock band The Offspring then prepare to be disappointed. I am not writing about them. A lot has happened in the last ten days or so, and one of the more curious things is a flowering of new blogs written by The Company. That is the offspring that I am talking about.
     Now, I am not here to gloat. I am not here to rub it into people's faces that I am an inspiration. I am not here to talk incessantly about how I have spinoffs and you do not. I am not here to go on and on about how I am like the St. Patrick of the blog world, leading people into the world of online web logs as if I were leading the snakes out of Ireland. I am actually here to give some free press to a group of blogs that I consider to be inspired by me, even if the authors do not feel the same. Anyway, here are my spinoffs. If I am Happy Days then these are Joanie Loves Chachi. Well, I guess one of them could be Laverne and Shirley; I will leave it up to you to decide.

1.) Mike-a-Licious. Go read this. It is an open window to the Blogger's heart and mind. Don't be afraid to look or even crawl through like you are one of the thieves on Home Alone. It's worth crawling through, even if you get shot in the face with a Nerf gun before you make it past the drapes. Updated regularly, much more based on every-day events than Big Dave and Company will ever be, and always entertaining, Mike-a-Licious should be a part of your everyday reading, if only for the biting satire and big doe eyes that you can't say no to.

2.) Test for Echo. This is a cool name for a Blog, despite the fact that it is named after the sixteenth studio album by the band Rush. Now, despite the fact that this is a Rush-centric blog I still recommend it. Much more seriously written than most, it is still an entertaining jaunt into the world around you. Especially if that world consists of 80s rock and polo shirts. Just kidding. Read it, you will enjoy it.

3.) Mind Junk. The newest of my little band of followers, this blog features nothing but lists of eight. Everything is in the form of a list of eight. Very entertaining, totally cool without being obnoxiously trendy, and easy to read, Mind Junk is the perfect size. When ten is too much, five is not enough, eight is just perfect. Check it out.

4.) Things That Bother Me A Lot. This an intensely hilarious blog in which the author basically tees off on things that t- him off. Not updated regularly, it is nonetheless worth checking out on a regular basis just so you don't miss something juicy.

     Look at that business. Four roots off the same tree. Each unique and special in their own way. Like snowflakes or hookers. Bottom line, there are four weblogs that are worthy of your time and attention. I read them all, and you should too. They are all entertaining and honestly, most of them are written better than Big Dave and Company as well. So if you are like a literary critic wannabe you can still read them without pulling your hair out. But seriously, click on their name and go check them all out. It will be well worth your while.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Veteran's Day

     It's Veteran's Day everyone, so the first thing you should do is go out and hug your friendly local veteran. Thank them and their family (the family will probably be the ones attempting to dislodge you from the veteran) for the sacrifices that they have made. Because military service is as hard on the families and loved ones as it is on the person in military. So go do that first thing in the morning. Pretend it's your morning coffee, or the Pledge of Allegiance if you are an elementary school child.
     What I really love about Veteran's Day are communities that have a Veteran's Day parade. No, I am serious, I love it. Any excuse for a parade is a good one but this is a great one. Because there are few things in this world that are better than riding on the back of open convertibles or throwing candy at people. And in a parade you get to do both of those things. But the reason that I love Veteran's Day Parade is because it is almost more like a military review because most of the veterans who are still able choose to march. The World War II veterans, and God knows there aren't many of them left, usually can't walk so well anymore so they get to ride on something. Think about it, if you were 20 when you went off to Europe or the Pacific, you'd be 83 now. So you deserve to ride on the back of a Ford Falcon at 2 mph down a small town street. But most of the other guys still march and I love it.
     I do! They come down the street in groups, each with a color bearer and in full dress uniform. First the guys from Korea, then Vietnam, then the guy who served in Grenada, then Desert Storm, then Bosnia, then Afghanistan, then the veterans from the current Iraq War, all in lock-step, waving to the's great. I am serious. We just a head of state and a bunch of tanks away from a military review.
     On the level though, we should honor veterans for what they have done. They should have the opportunity to have all the traffic stopped on Main St. and the whole town turn out to cheer them. That is only right. I just wish that Veteran's Day was in the summer so it was nice when they had their parade. I think they deserve that too. But they deserve something, so make sure that you thank them and note what they have done. Without them you wouldn't have the opportunity to. Think about it.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Ten Hats That I Make Look Good

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.











Sunday, November 09, 2008

Ten Reasons Why You Did That

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.

1.)  Deep, irrational hatred towards everyone in the Department of Public Works.

2.)  Because you were way too much into the Grateful Dead when you were nine.  That's not healthy.

3.)  That bag of microwave popcorn scaled you with it's hot steam of hatred.  It deserved it.

4.)  Stop signs with a white outline are optional where you come from.

5.)  To further the revolution of the proletariat.  Duh.

6.)  Let's face it, there is no way Snoopy will ever catch the Red Baron.  He is trying to fly a doghouse for Christ's sake!

7.)  Because Bob Hope is a sellout.

8.)  Just the Ten of Us was taken off air long before it needed to be.  That show had years of story line left in it!

9.)  Don't worry, nobody knew who was French Stewart and who was Joseph Gordon Levitt on Third Rock From the Sun.

10.)  All you really want is for the damn NASCAR cars to go counterclockwise JUST ONE DAMN TIME!

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Ten Ways to Get In Way Over Your Head

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.

1.)  Put in bid to repave 6.2 miles of US 431 north of Franklin, TN despite the fact that you are not affiliated with a paving company in any way, shape, or form.

2.)  Borrow like $47,000 from a loan shark and spend it feeding the elephants at the zoo, 25 cents worth of peanuts at a time.

3.)  Quit your job at AutoZone and run for Prime Minister of Norway.  Think about it, you don't even speak Norwegian

4.)  Put the sleeper hold on the pilots of your commuter flight from St. George, UT to Denver despite the fact that you have no idea how to fly or land a plane.

5.)  Ghost write the memoirs of Charles Kuralt despite the fact that he passed away in 1997.

6.)  Have sextuplets.

7.)  231 mph, the highest recorded wind gust directly recorded on the face of the Earth, was recorded on top of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire.  Parasail off of it.

8.)  Jazzercise.

9.)  Attempt to play the Ukrainian Bell Carol with nothing but brandy glasses filled with box wine without having practiced after you sold 40 tickets to the performance at $5 each.  

10.)  Sombreros.  Nothing but sombreros.  All day long.

Friday, November 07, 2008

Ten Reasons That My Plant is Lying Among Broken Shards of Mexican Mart Pot On the Floor in the Corner of My Living Room

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days in November.

1.)  The ghost who lives in my apartment was pissed at me.

2.)  The ghost who lives in my apartment was a little clumsy today.

3.)  Zach Morris climbed in my window like I was Jesse Spaino or something.

4.)  The flies amassed their counterattack for my putting up fly paper strips.

5.)  The wind blew it down through the window that was latched when I went to work in the morning but was wide open when I came home.

6.)  Rival blog competition knocked it over climbing in to bug my Worldwide Headquarters to find out all my super secret blog plans.

7.)  The plant jumped to its death because it was ashamed that it was not growing as quickly as the other one.

8.)  Nixon's cronies, now elderly and afflicted with Alzheimer's Disease, thought my Worldwide Headquarters was the Watergate Complex and broke in the window to adjust their microphones used to bug the Democratic National Committee.

9.)  The two plants had a falling out that ended in a duel and I just haven't found the bullet yet.

10.)  Someone was making a kick ass 80s ballad music video in my living room without my knowledge and they had to shatter my pot as symbolic reference to a relationship shattering due to infidelity or something while a blistering guitar solo goes on in the background.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

Ten Game Shows On Which You Do Not Want to Be A Contestant

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.

1.) Name That STD. Tila Tequila or Brett Michaels walks by, brushing the contestant, and the contestant must correctly identify which STD was transferred to them in the process. Winner gets free penicillin, loser itches when they pee.

2.) Mormon Island. Contestants are placed in a fenced in Mormon community. The local church elders are notified that there is an unbeliever in their midst. If the contestant can escape death or conversion they win a trip to either Las Vegas or one of those Polynesian islands with very loose morals. If the contestant is converted, well, then they are Mormon.

3.) Tax Form Completion for Dollars. Contestants race to correctly fill out complicated IRS Tax forms. The winner gets $500,000. If you lose you get audited.

4.) Win, Lose, or Crochet. A variation on the popular 80s game show Win, Lose, or Draw in which contestants must get teams of B-list celebrities to guess what keyword they are given using only the art of crochet.

5.) Eye Water Festival. Tabasco sauce is dripped into the eyes of contestants. Whomever's eyes water the least wins. This game show will be wildly popular in Japan.

6.) Electroshock. Electrodes are hooked up to various sensitive parts of the body while contestants play a Jeopardy-style game. Except, instead of a category and a monetary amount each square has a category and a voltage. If you ring in and get the question right, the other two contestants get shocked. If you ring in and get it wrong you get shocked. If no one rings in everyone gets shocked.

7.) Pigs in a Blanket. Contestant is tossed into a large burlap sack with an agitated wild boar.

8.) Copy Machine Adventure. Much like the climactic obstacle course at the end of American Gladiators, contestant must proceed through giant obstacle course designed to mimic the inside of a copier. Whomever completes the course in the fastest amount of time without getting jammed, stapled, or paper clipped in the process wins money and prizes.

9.) Survivor: Sand River. Contestants are dressed in DEA jackets and released to survive in Sand River, where property rights are taken very seriously and government oversight is not welcomed.

10.) Bobbing for Guppies. Contestants come to my office and vie to remove the most baby fish from the office fish tank with their teeth. The winning contestant wins a free stomach pumping and a lifetime of free dental cleanings, and our office fish tank is rid of the baby fish. Winners all around it sounds like to me.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Ten Things I Did, Other Than Walk to Work, While Walking to Work Two Days Ago

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we here at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.

1.)  Glanced sheepishly at the girl that I see every morning warming up her car.

2.)  Stared at the dinner special at Taco Joe's and wondered how the specials can last until 6 pm when they close at like 5 pm.

3.)  Slowly wandered across the street while a garbage truck tried to make it past.

4.)  Stared through the fog wondering when the Courthouse would actually appear through it.

5.)  Shook the dewdrops off the pine trees all over myself.

6.)  Kicked a tennis ball that I assume belonged to a dog across someone's lawn.

7.)  Watched the same three people that I see every day dropping their kids off at the day care center.

8.)  Stared at the same shitty old Dodge Stealth that I look at every day and wondered why it was parked in the driveway instead of in the street like normal.

9.)  Looked in the window of a house because for the first time ever since I've started walking past the shades were open.  It was someone's living room but they were not home.

10.)  Almost got hit by both a kid in a Grand Am and a guy in a truck.  I usually get nailed by the morning drivers.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Ten Fun Things to Do on Election Day

As part of our "Ten Lists in Ten Days" special feature, we at Big Dave and Company are bringing you ten different helpful and/or informative lists on each of the first ten days of November.

1.) Make outrageous claim that Green Party Presidential hopeful Cynthia McKinney is your birth mother.

2.) Ask each person in line if they are ready to "get their vote on!"

3.) Make pilgrimage to wherever Carson Daily is and ask him to sign your Rock The Vote t-shirt from the 2000 election.

4.) Plow your vehicle into a crowded polling station. Then, when the police arrest you explain that you are pro-monarchy and wanted visibility for your cause.

5.) Cast your vote wearing nothing but a couple pieces of strategically placed bunting.

6.) Convince all of your friends to put "Seamus McNasty" down as a write-in candidate.

7.) Try to vote for Al Gore, but accidentally vote for a third party candidate because you are an elderly, Jewish voter in Palm Beach County, Florida.

8.) Hang a mistletoe over the front of the line and then attempt to kiss every single person who comes under it. Even Bruiser, the muscled biker guy from the wrong side of the tracks.

9.) Show up right as the polls close, pitch a tent on the sidewalk, and proclaim that you want to be first in line for Election 2012.

10.) Walk up to the exit pole worker, and whisper in his ear like that creepy girl in the movie..."I'll never tell." and run away screaming.