Monday, January 14, 2008

Get Down With the Sickness

The image is only sorta applicable, but I couldn't pass up this image of what was labeled the "toilet snorkel"

Well, any stories regarding my first day of classes will have to wait until Wednesday. Instead of teaching, my morning was filled with the joy of food poisoning. I had lovely fluids coming out of both sides of my body. I just had food poisoning at the beginning of December. Am I the most unsanitary guy on the planet? I mean, if rolling my hands in dog poop before eating my deep fried burrito is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

I have no idea what caused it. My initial thought was that it had to be my Carvel's ice cream, since that was the last thing that I had last night. Being owned by Fudgie the Whale and Cookiepuss would have made for a bit of comedy. But the other people I was there with aren't sick, and two of them had the same thing I did.

I can't rule out the Sheetz Shmuffin that I had on Saturday night. Food poisoning can be caused by things from quite some time ago. A gas station breakfast sandwich certainly seems a possible culprit.

I think I narrowed it down to some bad swiss cheese. Said cheese has already been disposed of. I can't prove that that's what it was, but I can't eat that cheese in good conscience anymore.

So with my head in the toilet this morning, I thought it wise to cancel my classes. I'm sure my students were thrilled... or they didn't give a shit. Most of them are apathetic ingrates. We'll find out on Wednesday.

Hope you're all thoroughly disgusted now.

---------------------------
Carvel's Ice Cream: Taking the fall for my food poisoning since I discovered that Cookiepuss was from a planet called "Birthday."

And So It Begins... Again

JP mentally prepares himself for the coming semester.
Hot Pink Jesus provides solace from behind.


It's now almost 1am on Monday morning. When I wake up in about seven hours, my spring semester will begin. No more sleeping in until noon (except on weekends), and heavy drinking will be reserved for those nights when it's the only thing that can keep the demons asleep (and maybe the weekends again).

I have enjoyed this break way too much. I could have been locked in a basement the entire time being fed week-old herring in a bucket of snot every day, and it still would have been a nice respite. Do you know what I read over break? I read a few bathroom trivia books, a few Reader's Digest articles, the instructions for my iPod speakers, some Star Trek message boards, and several blogs (including my own - I'm my own biggest fan). You know what I didn't read? Anything important. Damn was it nice to not have to read anything that could even remotely be categorized at literature.

Of course, the downside of my good time was a decline in blog quality. I'm convinced that my humor comes from a finely-tuned cynicism stemming from apathetic students, asshole professors, a piss-poor paycheck, no job prospects, treacherous roadways, horrible weather, and books about the heteronormative hegemony. Without all of that, here's what you readers have had to endure for a month:
> The tale of my hetero-flexible apartment buddy (admittedly an awesome story)
> Mediocre summaries of a Star Trek movie and D-list Christmas movie that probably amused only me and three other people.
> Yet another tale of my car fucking me over
> Me raving about how much I loved my New Years trip (fun for me - not sure how fun it was to read about)
> Another in a long line of religious ramblings that are sending me to hell at a rapid rate
> And two posts of YouTube clips.

Christ, with a track record like that, you'd think *I* was on a writer's strike. I look back and my older stuff and bask in my own genius. I look at my recent stuff and think, "Who really gives a fuck?" Well, there was one good thing. I got a phenomenal comment on the last post:
interesting that some cuntry bumpkin W Va ass hole would say fuck Texas...well fuck you buddy you gay motherfucker...stay up in Hooterville and whack off playing with your blog since there are no females with teeth in your crotch of the woods...i say again...fuck you
I think the guy is referring to a post I made back in September about The Hunt for Red October. It's the only place I can think of where I said "Fuck Texas." As I said to this guy in my reply, I may have had no ill feelings for Texas before (my comments were only in jest), but since this anonymous asshole apparently lives there, Texas can ram itself in the ass as far as I'm concerned. Besides, you longtime readers know how much I LOOOOOVE living in West Virginia.

So I'll try to pick up the pace here a little bit. I may not post more often, but I'll try to make my posts a bit better than a string of catty comments about some screen-caps from a third-rate Star Trek movie. Some of you may not know this, but I have a pretty big readership. Word has spread, and so I have a growing public to entertain. So we'll see what the spring semester holds. I start teaching again tomorrow. Newbie students are always good for a few laughs.

Until then... Fuck Texas!!

--------------------
4 out of 5 readers aren't even readers anymore, thus driving several statisticians to drink.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Feeling Kinda Patton

Because video clips are easier to post than legitimate original content, I thought I'd fill up some blog space with one of my favorite comedians: Patton Oswalt. Astute readers will recognize Patton as the man who gave me the idea for watching Deathbed and then later its original 70s counterpart Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. Patton is essentially a sarcastic, bitter former English major. He's best known for being one of the friends on The King of Queens, but he also does the voice of the main rat character in Ratatouille.

The following clips are both from Late Night with Conan O'Brien. Most of the bits that he does are also found on his (much raunchier) CDs. So now that I'm done plugging this guy (my, that sounds dirty), enjoy the clips. (Thanks to Dave for emailing them to me in the first place)



The punchline that got fuzzed out there at one point is, "And I will now illustrate this by pushing this uncooked cornish game hen through these gray drapes." I think his musings on Physics for Poets could serve as my personal mantra. THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES!


I'll be back with original content whenever I feel like. I'm very much in love with the "Embed" feature on Blogger, and I'll inundate my blog with superfluous videos whenever I feel like it.

You don't like it? Get your own blog.

------------------------
4 out of 5 readers have now signed up for their own blog. JP's readership has taken a sharp downturn.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Oh Mama!! Shake Your Tailfeathers!!

One day I was bored and on the internet (all good blog posts [and most confessions to a priest] start that way), so I was YouTubing music videos. Granted, most music videos don't make a lot of sense. A lot of them are just random collections of images that apparently form an emotional whole. But I found two that totally boggle the mind.

The first is called "Disco Duck" by Rick Dees

If that video doesn't give you pause, then I don't know what will. First, you've got Rick Dees there thrusting his hips and orgasming as he yells "I'M THE DISCO DUUUUUUCK!" Then these people in duck costumes show up and start discoing with all the usual 70s folk. I'd almost give this video a pass just because it was made in the 1970s, but then I remembered that there was no MTV back then. I think this video was made just because Rick loved the song so much. And what's with Donald Duck lending his voice to these proceedings? It implies certain feelings toward Daisy Duck that I just can't reconcile with my childhood.

The other song is better known. I've known this song for years, but I'd never seen the music video. I feel like I've missed out on a lot. This is "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats.

What does this song have to do with dancing with midgets and wenches in days of yore? I love how totally intense this Hayden Christensen guy is while singing in this magical realm. There's puppets, dwarfs, that rope game, and even a man wearing a chicken mask for some reason. At about two minutes in, there's even a guy briefly spanking the midget. I could accept it all as just one more bizarre creation from the 80s, but then in the last two seconds, about ten images of fighter jets suddenly flash on screen. Where the hell did that come from? Are those the friends that are left behind? What does this mean???

I actually wanted to know what the Safety Dance looked like, and that video left me with even more questions and an unsettled feeling in my loins.

-----------------------
Four out of five readers now want to drop acid just to feel the joy that Rick Dees and Men Without Hats must have felt while making those videos.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Sudden Death Overtime

A few months ago, I wrote about a few religious zealots who had parked themselves on campus to protest abortions (See this link). They passed out these little cards entitled "Who Will Jesus Damn?," which detailed how the almighty would unleash his wrath upon the effeminate, drunkards, the abominable, whore-mongers, and sorcerers. I got a big kick out of it.

I have a new addition to my religious collection. I got this one at the hockey game on New Years Day (see below) but forgot all about it until I was cleaning up some papers on my desk. It's a little blue pamphlet called "Game 7: Sudden Death Overtime."

Using metaphors is the lifeblood of the English major (see, I just used one), but this pamphlet takes its hockey metaphor to the extreme.

One of the most exciting events for hockey fans is a Stanley Cup Game 7 Sudden Death Overtime. At any moment, it's over instantly. The next goal wins it all-- and the team that loses is sent home empty-handed.

(Thank you, religious pamphlet. I know next to nothing about hockey, and even I know what that is.)

You may wonder why someone gave you this to read. (Because I needed a coaster?) The reason is because life is exactly like Game 7 Overtime (emphasis theirs), except there is no "next season" in life. Instantly, your life could be over. We all think it won't happen to us, but one day will be our very last.

(Maybe I wasn't paying attention in Sunday school, but isn't the whole premise of religion that there IS a "next season" after we die?)

You may think you'll live a long time, but so did over 3000 people on 9/11, many students at Columbine and Virginia Tech, and those who die daily in tragic accidents. Suddenly, they had a "face off" with eternity.

(Now they're bringing in the big tragedies. One can almost hear the violins playing as the black-and-white montage begins) (And a "face off" with eternity?? That doesn't sound scary... that sounds fucking awesome!)

You may not think seriously abut what's "on the other side." Think of it like this though. Sabres fans were quite upset when the team got rid of their two best players, Daniel Briere and Chris Drury. (The pamphlet shows its street cred with its up-to-date sports stats) But the fans had no say. Those who own the Sabres get to decide what to do with their players. (Where are they going with this, you ask?) Like it or not God made this world. The Bible says, "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth." (Genesis 1:1). Hence He owns it. The God of the Bible owns this human team in this stadium called Earth.

(The pamphlet has a faulty understanding of capitalism. My dad built my neighbors' million-dollar super-house, but he doesn't own it just because he created it. Maybe God was a sub-contractor for some other supreme being. Let's get our facts straight here, pamphlet.)

God made the rules and if we don't get familiar with his playbook -- the Holy Bible -- we suffer the consequences.

(If real playbooks included swarms of locusts, plagues of frogs, blood rain, and leprosy, I'd probably be a bigger sports fan.)

Let's see how prepared you are to meet God.
(Oh goody!!)

God's word says if you lied, even once in your life, you're a liar. Ever stolen? (If yes, you'd be a thief.) Ever used God's name in vain? (that's blasphemy.) Ever looked at a person with lust? (Jesus said you then committed adultery in your heart.) Had sex outside of marriage? (Then you would be a fornicator.) Been drunk? (That would make you a drunkard.) Ever hated someone? (The Bible says that would make you a murderer.)

(Wait... what?? I was following along until that last one. If you hate someone, you've actually murdered them? If only this were true. I wish I could think a thought and have people burst into flames. It would make English 101 a lot more interesting.)

See, we all deserve to spend eternity in God's "penalty box" -- Hell -- because we are all guilty before a holy, perfect "Owner."

(So if I understand correctly, everyone's guilty no matter what? Then I can pretty much do whatever I want anyway! This is my kind of religion!)

I've got nothing against religious people at all; I respect their beliefs, but the zealots always sorta make me chuckle. I mean, God as hockey owner? Are you kidding me? Who was converted at this game? I want to meet the fan that was reached by this pamphlet alone.

For more information, you can contact the Old Time Baptist Church at endtimesvolfireco@gmail.com (that address isn't even made up).

---------------------------------
Religious pamphlets : the only place I can still see words like "drunkard" and "fornicator" in context these days.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Forever DeYoung

For once I feel like I rang in the new year with style! What a helluva time I had.

My friend Joe (the same one mentioned in the previous post) got tickets to the all-important outdoor Penguins/Sabres game in Buffalo for New Years Day. Nothing screamed "FUN" like being outdoors in Buffalo in January, so I agreed to go. More importantly, since we were going to be up that way, we decided to go to Niagara Falls for New Years Eve.

Crossing the Border: We had the best customs guy ever. My one friend was all worked up during the whole trip because she couldn't find her birth certificate for the border crossing. Then we got to the border and there was this guy leaning back in his chair. He glanced at us and the following exchange occurred:
"Where you from?"
"Kittanning, Pennsylvania"
"Bringing anything in?"
"No"
"All right go ahead."
Either this is the most jaded security guard ever, or it's his last day on the job and he's giving Canada a huge middle finger before he leaves. Either way I love the man.

Haunted House: After gambling away about twenty bucks (I'm a cheap gambler who loves the dime video poker), we hit up one of Niagara Falls's many haunted houses. If you ever go up there, this one was right next to The Wild Mushroom. I was scared shitless. Fuck that place and anyone who ever owned or worked in a haunted house. I clung to my buddy Fryar like a Trekkie to Shatner. Even my catty comments during the walk through weren't enough to keep me from screaming like a five-year old when people jumped out and grabbed me. I left that place feeling violated, abused, and trembling (sort of like how I feel after a grad school class).

Rocking Out: We tried to hit up a bar, but there was a 20 dollar cover charge. I like booze, but I like Andrew Jackson even more, so we headed down to the falls. After a luxurious dinner at Burger King (the only place without an hour wait), we went down to the falls. On our way through Queen Victoria Park, my one friend says, "I think I hear Styx music." We travel a little further and another friend says, "Hey, that's a pretty good cover band." We see a huge crowd of people around a stage, so we had over. It's fucking Dennis DeYoung from Styx (pictured above)! You should have seen this guy go. He was wearing something that looked like a sea captain's coat, and he had this huge mane of white hair. He actually sort of resembled John O'Hurley. It was cold and since I was driving I was sober, but my pure and unadulterated love for 80s music kept me warm. There was a really big group of people there, but I crooned along to "Mr. Roboto" and "Come Sail Away" without a single care for who might hear me. I even did a really terrible robot jig during "Mr. Roboto." There's cell phone footage to prove it. A free outdoor Styx concert in Canada (which was broadcast all across Canada as the announcer informed us) is exactly the right way to ring in the New Year.

If Foreigner had made a cameo appearance, I would have blown my load on the spot.

Gambling and Things: After the new year was successfully rung in, we headed back to the casino for an hour. I'm such a terrible gambler. I don't really know how to play anything that's not in machine form, and I'm not skilled with those either. I come up with at least ten different "strategies" for winning during any 20 minute period. "Okay, I haven't gotten anything in the last five hands so I think I'm due for a flush.... MAX BET!!"

And what's the deal with Canadian money? I hate walking around with a giant pocket full of octagonal gold money. On the plus side, I always feel a little bit like a pirate with a handful of gold doubloons when I get a whole bunch of it. Maybe it's not so bad.

Tailgating: I got maybe three hours of sleep that night. Joe was convinced that we'd hit a huge line of cars on our way out of Canada, so we left early. In actuality, there was absolutely NO ONE in line at the border when we got there around 9am. I thought for a second that the country was closed (I think weird things at 9am... I'm not a morning person). But we made it through and got to the Buffalo Bills Stadium (Ralph Wilson Stadium I believe; I'm too damned lazy to Google that shit right now). The parking lot was surprisingly populated. We ate sausages and sang along to 80s songs. I think we were all still keyed up from Dennis DeYoung from the previous night.

The Game: I dressed warmly for the whole day. I was wearing thermal underwear, a long sleeve shirt, jeans, regular socks, thermal socks, a hooded sweatshirt, my normal winter coat, gloves, and a snow cap. I still froze my ass off... literally. Many people had the foresight to realize that we'd be sitting on metal bleachers and brought pads to sit on. I was not so fortunate. I think I lost 50% of my body heat from sitting on that metal bleacher. I don't know what it'd be like to get hypothermia of the ass, but if I froze my ass off, I'd probably be down to my target weight, so maybe that's something to consider.

The game itself was pretty good or so I'm told. I really don't know much about hockey. I can't tell when something important is happening or when the hockey players are just doing their usual back-and-forth crap. My friends and I have traveled to Boston, New York City, and Cleveland to attend Pittsburgh away games, but they've always been for the Pirates. It was nice to actually be able to cheer for my home team and have some confidence in their abilities. At the Pirate games, the home fans would always jeer, "BAAAHHH!! THE PIRATES SUCK!!" and we'd say, "Yeah, you don't think we've noticed?" So it was fun, but it was colder than a snowman's ass in that stadium.

The Long Road Home: We spent an hour and a half in the parking lot literally going nowhere. When we finally got on the road after getting some dinner at a Denny's (again, we're high rollers), it was about 8pm. The trip to Kittanning should take about 3 and a half hours. We were on the road for six hours!! It's like the Winter Warlock decided to make us his personal finger puppets. Of course, I would have been perfectly content to find a hotel up there and make the trip home the next day, but my one friend has a legitimate job and wanted to brave the elements. Fuck you, Fryar!

I drove the first half of the trip. I had my parents' car (see previous post), which has 4-wheel drive, and I spent four years going to school in Erie, so I was pretty confident about getting us home, but I hate driving with other people on the road in the snow. BRAKE, SPEED UP, BRAKE AGAIN, SLOW DOWN, BRAKE, BRAKE, SWERVE... Morgantown may have the market cornered on the sheer poor quality of its roads, but Erie is still the champ of horrible precipitation. By the time we got past Erie, my nerves were shot, and I made Fryar take over. I don't know where this storm came from, but somehow it covered the entire length of the trip. Either it was one gigantic storm, or (as I am prone to suspect) this one little storm just hovered over our car the whole way home.

The whole trip only spanned about a day and a half, but we packed a lot into it. Dennis DeYoung rocked my new year! Canada, you may not be my home and native land, but you know how to entertain a few Kittanning slobs for a day.

-----------------
Canada: Keeping Dennis DeYoung from going into a spiral of depression since 2007.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Karma's a Bitch, and God's an Asshole

"BWA HA HA!! What else can we do to JP? Let's blow up his tires!!"

Before I left Morgantown about two weeks ago, my car's battery died. It's like the electrical system farted and hiccuped at the same time, couldn't handle it, and gave up. Not eager to electrocute myself or blow up my car, I called AAA to handle the problem. A tow truck arrived that night with a man and his wife (I assume) inside. The man told me, "Yep, your battery's shot," and then informed me that their battery truck would arrive the next morning. Several beers, a night's sleep, and a hangover later, the battery truck guy runs some tests and surmises that "yep, it's your battery." More importantly, the man says that my alternator and starter are fine.

See my post from two months ago to learn more about how much I know about cars.

About a week later, my car's battery light turns on. I bring this to the attention of my dad, but a few days later the light turns on again, so I dismiss the problem.

Last night I was on my way to Pittsburgh for a night of drunken revelry when I saw that the light had come on again. At about this time I tell my friend that I'm convinced that there must be something wrong with the light. "After all," I crowed, pleased with myself that I remembered a few car terms, "the AAA guy said that my alternator and starter were fine!"

Karma has big ears and a helluva sense of humor.

After watching the Patriots game, the Pens game, the Penn State game, and the Pitt basketball game all at the same time and then spending about an hour trying to figure out why my friend's new HDTV wouldn't show anything in HD, we headed out to the bar. I was, by default as the only sober one, the DD.

My car made the trip to the bar just fine. But then after picking up my friend's girlfriend, my car started acting funny. Then "acting funny" became "a slow descent towards mechanical failure." First the headlights dimmed. Then my CD player lost power. Then the windshield wipers slowed to a crawl. My speedometer suddenly dropped to zero even as we traveled back to my friend's place.

It was actually kind of exciting. We were playing Beat the Clock with my car's battery. Every minute or two, some feature of my car would lose power. I was getting an object lesson in exactly what a car's battery controls. At one point, my friend Joe was getting excited and yelled out, "ONLY ONE MORE TURN ON YOUR LEFT!! PUT ON YOUR TURN SIGNAL DAMMIT!!" And I yelled back, "THERE IS NO TURN SIGNAL!!"

The car finally gave out about 30 yards from my friend's house. We were all disappointed, but we pushed the thing the rest of the way. My friends and family all agree that the problem is definitely my alternator... you know, that device that Slappy from AAA told me was working just fine. Maybe the guy was actually looking for AA and stumbled into the wrong job.

So my car still sits in front of Joe's house awaiting a new alternator. There was maybe three hours between the time I praised my sturdy alternator on my way there and when my car died.

I swear, I only believe in God when I think he's mocking me.

--------------------------
JP's Car: Serving as a subject for countless blog posts since 2006.