Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Girls' Night Out

Dear Girls' Night Out,

Well played.

There is no aptly named male equivalent. Man party? Dude gathering? Sausage fest? The only images conjured are negative ones. The implication clear -- girls didn't want to hang out with us... we couldn't get dates... this party sucks.

You on the other hand, Girls' Night Out, seem organized and exclusive. You've got your stuff together. I don't really know what you do, but I imagine it's a super fun time that involves trading tampons.

Yes, the men may have a better slogan, Bros before Hoes. but you have the better hangout name. In fact, men don't even have a name. And until they do, they don't have a chance.


Stuck at a Dude Party

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Annoying Neighbors

It's time for another excerpt from Mr. Forthright, whose latest manual is How to Get Your Neighbors to move. We pick it up during his chapter "Moderate Intrusion."

Moderate Intrusion

-- Making Your Presence Felt --

Welcome to moderate intrusion, the next level to getting your neighbors attention and getting them out. And when I use the word intrusion, I mean intrusion.

What is intrusion? Let’s break down the word.

In-trusion. In obviously connotes that we’ll be going into something. If we rearrange the letters of trusion, we quickly learn that it spells iruston. Iruston, or I-rust-on, means that a person speaking in the first person is rusting, or corroding, on something. Therefore, intrusion means that someone corrodes into something else. What is being corroded on or, if we take a more literal definition, in? Privacy. When privacy corrodes, it is being stripped of its material and structural integrity. Now, what helps things corrode and rust? The answer is moisture. Just as water leads to rust in the scientific world, water is an important part of privacy invasion.

For example, your neighbor may own a pool. One of mine does. Do I have a pool? Yes, diving board and everything, but I don’t use it. I prefer to use my neighbor’s pool. Why? Liability. If I drown in my neighbor’s pool, it’s his fault. If I drown in my own pool, I have no one to blame but myself.* Why would you swim in a place you’re liable when a place somebody else would take the blame is right next door? Most neighbors don’t want me to use their swimming pool. That’s why I don’t ask. It’s easier to say, “I’m sorry,” than it is to say, “Mind if I drown in your pool?”

*unless I die while playing Marco Polo, in which case I can blame him

Once your neighbors realize you aren’t going to heed their wishes and stay out of their pool, they’ll likely build a fence around it. But no worries, water can come into play again; flash floods destroy fences .

Never underestimate the power of too much water too soon. Where possible, try to embrace flash floods. See if they can’t help you tear down the barriers that are keeping you out of your neighbor’s yard.

I don’t believe in fences. Fences treat symptoms instead of the cause. Sometimes I let nature take down fences for me, and sometimes I facilitate nature and speed up the processes of time by doing some demolition of my own.

-- FACT: I build bridges, not walls, in part because I flooded most of the neighborhood --

All it takes is a few hits with an automobile and most fences can’t stay upright. Why would I want a fence between me and my neighbor? All fences do is prevent me from borrowing their things and make my efforts in the neighborhood watch program slightly more difficult.

I’m all about borrowing things. And you should be, too. It’s going to make your neighbors angry, sure, but one of the overlooked benefits of borrowing things is that you then never have to buy things.

Do I own tools? No. And I’m not in the market to buy any. People on my street have already done it for me. In fact, I don’t even own a television -- I just watch my neighbors, as should you.

“But how do I make sure my neighbors let me in their house to watch TV?” I hear you asking. You don’t ask. I don’t. And even if they don’t let me in, I can watch through the windows. I have a remote that can control their television from incredible distances. It has a six foot antenna. Yes, it is illegal. I had it specially made in Russia. It may have not been cheap, but it’s way cheaper than buying a television and paying for cable.

I steal that family’s wireless Internet too, and why wouldn’t I? There’s plenty of bandwidth to go around.

-- FACT: Bandwidth = Bandobesity

Bandobesity = Fatmusician

Fatmusician = Elvis

...There’s plenty of Elvis to go around --

I want you to be borrowing as much stuff as possible. Borrow tools, borrow food, borrow cars and borrow kids if necessary. If there’s a “Bring Your Kid To Work Day” at the office and you don’t have any kids, you might as well share in some of the neighborhood’s wealth.
Hey, you have to put up with their noise, so why shouldn’t you at least benefit from them every once in while? Yeah, I am advocating kidnapping. Get over your negative feelings about it. It’s not the evil it’s been made out to be, trust me.

Parents these days sometimes forget how to be parents, instead wanting to be friends with their kids. That’s why I admire kidnappers -- those are parents who aren’t afraid to play the villain. And have you ever met a kid raised by kidnappers? They’re usually very well behaved. I stole a kid once. Really cute kid. His first words were, “you’re not Daddy.” When he was older he asked me, “not my Daddy, where do babies come from?” I told them most came from unattended grocery carts.

So, what am I getting at? Let’s stop being so judgmental. Just because a parent adopted their child doesn’t make that kid any less theirs just because they hadn’t given birth to it. Likewise, just because a child is stolen doesn’t mean he or she is any less their parents’ little angel.

Anyway, when I’m not borrowing my neighbor’s children....

Continue reading's Mr. Forthright's How to Get Your Neighbors to Move here

Wednesday, December 7, 2011


READERS: My friend Mr. Forthright sent me another excerpt from one of his books -- How to Lose Weight Through Hibernation, here's the part where he talks about how exercise made him fat. Check out the book by clicking the link here.

-- The Problem with Exercise --

Let me tell you my story. Ten years ago I was a lot younger than I am today. Around that time, I was what doctors like to call: morbidly obese. In other words, I was about to die from my own girth. I weighed around 900 pounds, and that was without shoes on. It was a precarious situation; my bed frame had to be custom made. Custom is, in fact, an appropriate word; the steel needed to fortify my bed posts passed through customs because it was imported from Russia, the only country that made steel strong enough for my obesity.

How did I find myself in such a predicament? It all started with a cycle I couldn’t break.

Years ago, when I weighed just 200 pounds, I decided I was unhappy with the way my body looked. I was bombarded on television and in magazines with images of the “ideal” body, and I was not that “ideal” man. I was average. And so, in pursuit of a good body, I decided to start exercising.

I had heard my entire life that exercise was the key to weight-loss. But here’s the thing they don’t tell you about exercise: it makes you hungry. Really, it does. Of course, they don’t want you to know that.

All that moving around can really take it out of a person. One minute you are running, the next you are craving deep-fried butter. Did you know that most gyms are owned by fast food restaurants? It’s true. They know that as soon as they can get you exercising, they can also sell you a double-double. Thus began my vicious cycle of exercising and then overeating.

The more I exercised, the more I ate. The more I ate, the more weight I gained.

Being the fool I was at the time, I thought the solution to my growing frame was more exercise. So, I exercised even more. But that was not the solution. EXERCISE MADE ME FAT. I went from two hundred to three hundred, and then pretty soon I was up to four and then five hundred pounds. I was losing the battle with my own body.

Those were difficult years. I became ashamed of the way I looked and rarely left the house, instead choosing to do a thousand sit-ups in the privacy of my room (and then binge on potato chips). I tried everything. P90X? The name proved prophetic -- my P (pounds) were X (multiplied) about 90 times. The Bowflex? After a month I had gained so much weight the machine’s bench was the only thing flexing. Nordictrack? I don’t have anything clever to say about the name and how it related to how much fatter I got, but let’s just say I was much too big to ever fit on a chair lift and go actual skiing. I’d stay up late, watching infomercials and making the seven, six, five, just four(!) easy payments to buy new machines while working out on the ones I already had for hours on end. But it only got worse.

I remember hitting rock bottom. I ran a desert marathon at a shade over eight-hundred and fifty pounds. As you might expect, I didn’t make a great time, on account of my weight, but I did finish. But to have the energy to finish, I ate over sixty PowerBars on the run. By the end of the day, I had gained over fifteen pounds. I went home and looked in the mirror and didn’t even recognize myself. If I had known what I know now, I would have stopped exercising that very moment. But I didn’t know any better. I was an ignorant fool. And so, I kept going.

Sure, my family tried to get me to stop. “We’re worried about you,” they’d tell me, “you’re so active.” But it was to no avail. I was an addict to my own destructive behaviors. And like I already mentioned, I was pretty close to dying, exercising myself to the grave.

But then something fantastic happened. I fell asleep.

You can read the entire book by Mr. Forthright by clicking here.