Archive for June, 2007

My summer has been one of ups and downs, however an unlikely culprit has been identified as the bane of my existence.

On my first day, I walk into work, and what do I smell as soon as I get in there? Fresh buttered popcorn. We make at least three packs of popcorn a day, the customers love it. I have never been a fan of buttered popcorn, but try spending literally eight hours a day next to it. It’s nearly impossible to resist just grabbing a handful.

After day three, I swore off popcorn all together. A month later, I have come to a compromise – one bag of popcorn per day. That’s it, I couldn’t take it anymore.

Here’s a question for you germophobes – where do you draw the line with a popcorn machine? The warmth from the bulb probably creates a bacterial utopia in which all types thrive, with oil, salt and butter to feed upon.

Is it bad to just reach in and grab a handful, or should you use the little scooper that’s in the machine? Some customers really take care to scoop the popcorn into the little bags, making sure not to touch any of it, and look at anyone who would haphazardly use their hands with disgust

If your problem is that your dirty hands are touching pieces of popcorn that you aren’t going to take, well what about the handle of the scooper? That touches the popcorn too. Or should you keep the scooper on the outside, where the whole scoop is picking up airborne bacteria? What about the handle of the door to open the popcorn machine, is that sanitary? How often is that machine cleaned, and is it even cleaned properly?

Crap, we’re all going to die.

And now, a transition none of you saw coming.

Interestingly, we sell what must smell like freshly popped buttered popcorn to Japanese Beetles. Japanese beetle bait and bags. This product does such a ‘good’ job of attracting them, that it draws beetles in from over a mile away, overfilling the bags and therefore attracting more beetles to destroy your plants than otherwise would’ve been there. I’m still trying to figure out why we actually sell them; I guess it’s just to recommend to customers we don’t particularly care for. (FYI, the best way to treat for them is to spray using an insect killer like Sevin, which has very little residual effect but does the job on existing beetle problems without attracting more in the process.)

Here’s a funny prank that I thought of though, if you really don’t like someone, you can buy bait at our store for $3.99. It will draw literally thousands of Japanese beetles from a 1-1.5 mile radius to wherever you choose to stash it. I was thinking of good places to put them – under your neighbor’s deck, under the hood of someone’s car, in a chimney…the possibilities are endless.

Listen: Stone Temple Pilots, “Interstate Love Song”

Quote: “Stop crapping yourself, don’t you realize I haven’t legitimately posted on this thing in months?” – Matt, in conversation with Bri about his “responsibilities” at Ranty McRanterson.

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Paris Dissed

Listen: Interpol, “No I In Threesome”

Quote: “What the hell is a terrarium?” – Michael Scott

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Sporadic Contribution

300, anyone?

You know what’s a great idea? Pick one of your friends with whom you occasionally enjoy copious amounts of alcohol. Start a tab, then slide out of the bar about 15 minutes before everyone is going to leave without paying the tab. Wait 16 minutes, don’t answer the repeated calls to your cell phone. Listen to the messages the next day, they’re hilarious. Then pay your friend back, if they ever talk to you again. If not, their loss, and man, they can’t take a funny joke.

Listen: Velvet Revolver, “She Builds Quick Machines”

Quote: “Excuse me. Do these effectively hide my thunder?” – Tobias Funcke

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     Something you might not know about me Joe Rogan, my subconscious writes screenplays.

     Truth be told, even I didn’t know that about me until this morning after waking up and remembering the first five minutes of an amazing movie that I wrote without knowing it. The dream seemed so much like a produced movie that I actually had to sit there for a minute and think if it was a movie that I had seen somewhere. I suppose there is still a chance that I am ripping this off from somewhere else, but I think once you hear the sheer gloriousness of the movie/dream, you will cease doubting it’s authenticity. Allow me to describe it to you as I remember it.


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     I have a lot of interesting and funny stories from high school. Some of these you will never hear. But some you will. This is one of the latter.

     Allow me to set the scene. Senior year, volleyball season. Souderton (my glorious school) has a damn good volleyball team and we also have a local rival in the team of Christopher Dock. As all good rivalries go, we hate everything that CD stands for, those private school going, pond on campus having bastards. It is the night of the big volleyball away game at CD, and my friends and I (Petey was there) stopped at a grocery store or something to get some food. While there, I buy a superball. I bounce it for a while, get bored with it, pocket it and forget about it. After a while, we get to the game and file into the bleachers, Souderton fans on one side, CD fans on the other. The game doesn’t start right away, so the students from both schools are forced to sit looking at each other and seething with rage. Tensions were mounting.


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     I have had my share of crazy nights, but I feel the need to relate last weekend to you: the loyal reader. Why, you might ask, why would you feel the need. We’ve all had our crazy nights and we really don’t need to hear about yours. Well, have no fear. I will not regale you with stories about how many beers were drank, shots were taken down or beer bongs were guzzled. I wish only to relate a revelation that I had about myself. This revelation did not occur on the night of the drunkenness, but on the day after, when I found out what had happened. Here goes the story.


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     I would like to share a game that I’ve been playing for the past couple weeks. Since I have to drive about an hour to and from work everyday on highways, I have time to be bored enough to want to risk my life to make the ride more enjoyable. To that end, I’ve started tailgaiting tractor-trailers. This started as an effort to save gas by drafting, but it has become so much more. Allow me to explain the rules.

     First, find a tractor trailer going approximately sixty-five mph (the faster, the more fun). Get behind this truck and inch up on it until you are about ten to fifteen feet away. Maintain this distance as well as possible and enjoy!

     It gets even more exciting with a small car. I drive a Ford Focus and I like to open all the windows when I participate in this event. You really haven’t lived until you felt your car being tossed around by the backwash of an eighteen wheeler at ten feet and seventy-five miles an hour. That shit is intense.

     On a final note, don’t worry about the trucker. He doesn’t even know you’re there.

Listen: The Black Crowes, “She Talks to Angels”

J.D.: Look, uh… Janitor…
[the Janitor rolls his eyes]
J.D.: …I’m gonna be straight with you: I saw your penis, and I noticed a possible melanoma that you should really have checked out.
Janitor: When did you see my penis?
J.D.: Last night, when you were showering.
Janitor: Where were you?
J.D.: Oh, I was outside, in the bushes.
[the Janitor takes a second to process this answer]
Janitor: Uhhh…
J.D.: Look, it was just a coincidence, man – I mean, i-i-if you had looked out the window, you’d have seen my penis, you know!
Janitor: What? Why?
J.D.: Because I had it out while I was looking at yours!

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