I did a lot of hiking over the weekend, and ran across something interesting. Arizona is a fairly unique state, and there are things you can see here that you only rarely see in other places, if at all: The Saguaro cactus, the Roadrunner, the single-digit IQ person who gets elected governor… On Sunday, I ran across a herd of wild horses (that’s a couple of them in the main photo). Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “That’s great, Greg. But can you somehow turn this wonderfully serene tableaux into a story involving horses and dangerous drugs?” Why, yes. Yes, I can. Continue reading

It takes a special kind of person to have kids, the kind of person that is able to drop everything at a moment’s notice, break numerous traffic laws in a high speed dash across town, and take their child to the ER (where he is known by first name). This is because kids are accident prone, spending half their time reeling around like tiny little drunkards. Actually, I take that back. That’s an insult to drunkards. I drank my ass off in college, and I only fell down and hurt myself once, and I really had to work at it. I was trying to jump down two flights of stairs, 8 steps at a time, using only my left leg. I broke a bone in my foot, and spent six weeks learning how to stagger on crutches. But I had an excuse: Extreme intoxication. Kids need no excuse other than that they’re kids. Continue reading

I had a dream last night that I was a supercop. You know, the kind of cop you see in movies like Lethal Weapon or Die Hard. A supercop is one who doesn’t play by the rules, but always gets results. Of course, those results are often obtained by leveling entire city blocks with automatic weapons, grenade launchers, and the occasional tactical nuke, but a supercop doesn’t care. A supercop goes back to the precinct, gets chewed out by the captain for causing $17.3 million in damage in pursuit of a jaywalker, and settles the matter once and for all with a well placed catch phrase. Being a supercop kicks ass. Continue reading

Just the other day I was thinking to myself, “I haven’t gotten any unsolicited emails from random strangers lately. I wonder if I’ve scared them all away?” And then Justin Taylor came to the rescue, letting me know that not only was my web site not fulfilling its potential, but that my competitors are gaining as a result, and will soon be squabbling over who gets to strip the last quivering piece of flesh from my pathetic, non-SEO-using bones. Continue reading

Since I’ve moved into the new house, my dog Mojo spends a lot more time indoors than he used to. This is because my ex-wife is a dog-hater who used to stomp on his tail while he was sleeping. Or she didn’t like dog hair inside the house. I forget which. The point is, Mojo now growls at anyone who weighs more than 350 pounds. Continue reading

A couple of people inquired about the subject of Monday’s post, Mr. Patel. Specifically, they wanted to know if that was his real name, and if he was still in business. Mr. Patel seems to be in business in the sense that his incorporated company technically exists, but the listed address happens to be a residence, and Mr. Patel seems to work for a large tech company as a “Senior Manager”, by which I assume they mean “Major Buttplug”. So, yes, his business “exists”, kind of in the same way I was given a “salary”. And no, his real name isn’t Mr. Patel, and the name of his company isn’t Communication Consultants, Inc. I changed his name because of a professional wrestling fan. Really. Continue reading

Long time readers of this site will undoubtedly remember Ray LaHood, Secretary of Transportation and most definitely not the type of person that would ass-fuck coma patients. In short, while ol’ Ray was fucking around, doing nothing more than managing 58,000 employees and torturing small woodland creatures [citation needed], I was doing all the heavy lifting for him, coming up with not one, but two ideas that would revolutionize transportation as we know it: The 5-Yellow stop light, and replacing all the roads with a moving sidewalk that had bar service. Well, I am happy to report that Ray LaHood has given in to the inevitable, and will be stepping down as Secretary of Transportation, clearing the way for yours truly to claim the position. Continue reading

I’ve had my fair share of jobs over the years, and have had my fair share of reasons for leaving these jobs. In high school I quit my job working at a grocery store because they asked me to work the overnight shift. I didn’t show up for my second day on the job at a plastic molding plant because the job was somehow more boring than sitting still and doing nothing. I made a few bucks in college mowing a professor’s lawn, but he let me go because I didn’t have a home phone (my roommate had jacked up the bill and then bailed) and he couldn’t call me in the event of a lawn emergency. I’ve been laid off numerous times, quit my job twice because I moved, and most recently quit a job I’d had for almost a dozen years because management started offshoring everything to Shanghai. The most entertaining reason I’ve had for leaving a job has to be the time I lost my job because of a sexual harassment complaint involving a high school girl. Continue reading

In the comment section of yesterday’s post, frequent commenter, superior human, and all around swell egg Heather asked me a question, the answer to which didn’t neatly fit into the comment section, so I am devoting today’s post to it instead. In case you don’t know Heather, she runs the excellent blog Creative Devolution and is one of the funniest, most creative and talented people I “know”. I put the word “know” in quotation marks because I haven’t met her, and well, this is the internet, and what with that whole Manti Te’o thing and all, you really can’t be too sure. Every time I become acquainted with a “woman” online, I get the nagging feeling that in reality I’m dealing with a 52 year old accountant with male pattern baldness and excessive back-hair, furtively jerking it to every one of my correspondences in front of a computer at a public library. Continue reading

Fucking scientists. They think they’re so goddamn smart. You can be sitting there, minding your own business, when all of a sudden a scientist will come out of nowhere and start ragging on you about how you shouldn’t drink seawater. Assholes. But I know how to deal with those pointy-headed fuckers now. If a scientist ever gives you shit, just ask him to explain the Measurement Problem. Continue reading