Radish

I have some of the best friends in the world, and I'm not just saying this because they're all reading my blog. YOU ROCK HARD, FRIENDS. MY NIPPLES ARE HARD THINKING ABOUT YOU.

My closest group of friends formed when summoned by the mystical alien Zed, who...

Y'know, I think I'm going to be serious for once.

Most of my friends have known me, and vice versa, since my first year of high school -- we're coming up on twelve years now -- and although some of us are married, or have moved out of town, when we get together it's as if we never left.

As the individual in the group with the largest -- and subsequently most expensive and exhausting to feed -- ego, my friends take great measures to get together when I've made arrangements.

(Conversely it could just by my ego talking, and in reality the reason why they show so much effort to meet up at these gatherings is because they like each other so much.)

They've sat and waited countless hours for me to arrive at a function, or to close my parents' bar; they change their plans to fit my solitary vocal displeasure with the group decision merely to placate me, and travel long distances to visit me. They do things they don't want, for lengths of time that would be considered cruel and unusual, just to spend time with me.

My friends are special to me, and I appreciate them greatly for everything they've ever done.

Everyone should be so lucky.

Posted by Jack Tango at 02:25 | Permalink | Comments

The Christmas Holidays are always a joyous and wondrous time, but also a huge sociological experiment for all to appreciate.

Take, for example, the traditional Christmas dinner.

Every family has a routine to their dinner, and mine is no different. People start to complain about the temperature of the room, where it shifts from being Antarctically cold to Equatorially hot; the music is invariably too loud when one can hear the distinct words being sung; and one always has to state, "how are we going to eat this much food?"

We'll eat it because we're pigs, people. It's what we do at Christmas. Gorge ourselves.

This year, I decided to whine, piss and/or moan over the fact that our gathering took place not in a home, but instead, in my parents bar. We ate, made jokes, and nobody -- nobody -- agreed with me.

I think that my family merely disagrees with me on the principle that it's me. I could tell them that a stop sign requires that you cease driving, and they would somehow turn that into me being a selfish individual. Still, I love them.

Who would get me cologne, otherwise?

Posted by Jack Tango at 13:56 | Permalink | Comments

Best of the Day; A Quote:

"Aurrhhh...I've always wanted to eat Batman...but now... I don't know where to begin." ~ Gorilla Grodd, JLA: Classified #2

More people should read comics.

Posted by Jack Tango at 20:43 | Permalink | Comments

A true story:

A long time ago -- about 2000 years -- Joseph was travelling with his suspiciously pregnant wife to Bethlehem, because Herod wanted to tax them. And lo, Jesus was born in the stable behind the Holiday Inn Express (they had to stay in the stable because Joseph hadn't booked ahead).

Shepherds came from the fields and presented Jesus with the only thing they had: A foul smell. 3 Kings came as well to give him Gold, Frankinsence, and Japanese Teriyaki. The animals in the stable looked on in awe.

The cow said, "Isn't it cool we can talk? I wish there was something we could give the baby Jesus. I know! I'll give him some of my milk!"

The cow proceeded to milk itself (cows in those days had hands growing out of their sides). The sheep gave the baby Jesus its wool by rubbing itself up against a nasty shard of metal, wedged in the ground (after a few less-than-serious nicks and cuts).

The horse neighed/sang a song to the baby boy, while the turkey stood there troubled, since he didn't know what to give the baby Jesus.

The horse yelled at the turkey,"Hey turkey! Are you stupid? What's that thing on your face? You look stupid! You're stupid!"

Meanwhile, Herod had learned of the birth of this "King of Kings" and was very jealous. He proceeded to his underground laboratory where he was extracting DNA from fossilized amber globules.

So, Herod unleashed his reverse-engineered velociraptors into the night to feast on the baby Jesus and rid Herod of his problem. As the raptors approached the stable, the turkey stood in their way -- as the other animals cowered in the shadows.

"I'll save the baby Jesus" he said!

The velociraptors, however, in one swoop, slit the turkey's throat, eviscerated and gutted him; then stuffed him with delicious bread. The turkey then fell back, feathers flying, into the fire. As the turkey roasted, the raptors realised an epiphany - they could not kill the baby Jesus! They retreated into the Judean night.

Mary, Joseph, the Wisemen, Shepherds and the animals stood stunned, impressed with the selfless act of the turkey.

Mary wondered aloud, "How can we remember this selfless act?"

"I know," Joseph exclaimed, "We can eat him, and carry a piece of him within us.

"For a while anyway..."

And that's how turkey came to be the meal of choice at Christmas.

True story, swear to God.*

*Not true. Don't wanna go to hell. C'mon, lighten up. Thanks D. Marshall! No, wait, that's too obvious. Drew M.

Posted by Jack Tango at 23:03 | Permalink | Comments

What makes blogging such so interesting? And why, of all things, did we pick such a lazy word to describe it? I mean, really, "blog?" It's like we're not trying to be creative any longer. This ranks up with "chillax" and "phat" as Words That Seem Better Than They Actually Are.

Regardless, we blog. You blog. Everyone blogs. It's blogdamonium!

Oddly, when I mentioned my blog to any of the number of people that I know (number greater than 2, less than infinity), they all look at me as though I just sneezed so violently that my frontal lobe was hanging precipitously from my nostril. In so much, they wanted to say something, they just didn't know what.

"You don't know what a blog is, do you?" I would ask them, and they would nod, embarassed that I could know something that they didn't.

"It's like an online diary," I would tell them, and they would nod once again, now thinking me crazy to spend time writing on the internet. Sometimes they would follow up with a question.

"So, you have your own website?"

"Kinda," I would respond, "But instead of pictures of half-naked celebrities, or diatribes about the decline of fine German craftsmanship, I just post random messages every single day. Plus, mine has links to other websites and fun stuff like that."

This is where they would get silent, and then I would explain how they could look up the webpage and see what I've been writing. Some of them have commented on this page. Two of them have been inspired to start their own blogs because of me. One no longer speaks to me, occasionally communicating through semaphore, but that's a whole other update.

Still, I find this to be a fairly entertaining medium, except that I am often at a loss as to what I was going to write about; I had an idea, I'm sure, some hours previous, but by the time I sit down any thoughts that I may or may not have had on politics, religion, Malthusian micro-economics, slave-trade, or anything worthwhile have already dissipated into the ether.

I am now reminded of that old Bugs Bunny Cartoon where, after a flood washes his bed into a spooky castle whereupon he is chased by a mad scientist and his creation only to eventually inhale the fumes of ethel alcohol, he falls asleep.

"Nighty night, rabbit."

Wotta pointless, yet nicely crafted segue, with wonderfully sharp relation to the title of this post!

Or, conversely, not.

Posted by Jack Tango at 20:01 | Permalink | Comments

Drivers may have to start wearing pants again...

It's a sad day in the province of Ontario.

Pray for the pantless, my friends.

Posted by Jack Tango at 23:46 | Permalink | Comments