HELLOOOO NEWMAN: Laughter is your sixth sense
Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: Well, now I feel really connected to the universe....
Helloooo Newman: Well, now I feel really connected to the universe....: I was on LinkedIn the other day and I got a message from God. He wants to connect with me. Oh my God…I mean, "Him", I said to my...
Well, now I feel really connected to the universe.
I was on LinkedIn the other day and I got a message from God. He wants to connect with me.
Oh my God…I mean, "Him", I said to myself. It's the cosmic CEO. Strange picture on His profile, though. Jerry Lewis as the Nutty Professor. Irony? Symbolism? I just can't pin this guy down.
A sudden rush of dread flooded my body. Why me? He'll see how lame my career has been. I've never recovered from the time He found out that I lived at home until I was 29.
Then it occurred to me. Wait a minute. Look at His resume. Talk about gaps in the job history.
Scientists figure the universe is about 12 billion years old. That means God's single biggest project (The Big Bang) took place a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. His next biggest work achievement, Mankind, only really got going about 7 million years ago.
By the way, God doesn't refer to the birth of the universe as The Big Bang. He calls it the "Mishap". He was practicing His water-into-wine trick, used the wrong chemicals and the whole thing blew up in His face. He was too embarrassed to say anything. He only invented Man to make it look intentional.
So what in the universe was He doing all that time between the Bang and Man? As far as I can tell, He doesn't fill any of this massive interim with interesting hobbies or charity work.
Then it occurred to me. He must know I'm looking for work. Maybe He wants to hire me.
That scared me even more. Let's face it, His past employees don't have the most impressive records.
Would you have taken the position of "Jesus"? Obviously when Jesus responded to the job ad, he was lied to.
Jesus: Excuse me, God? When I applied for this job you said I would be a carpenter, working with wood, nails and a hammer.
God: Yes, that sounds right.
Jesus: Well, you never mentioned I'd be nailed to a wooden cross with my own hammer. Maybe that's why I was the only one to apply.
God. Listen, buddy. You're lucky to have a job. Most people these days spend their life fighting for food or being raped, living and dying in their own feces. Now if you have a problem, take it up with HR. I'm trying to run a very large company here. And I'm trying to take it public. Do you know how many universes I have to compete with? Ya, I know I'm ranting. And if you think this will affect my bonus, think again.
Jesus: Okay, but look at it from my point of view. The reason I applied for the position of "Jesus" is that my name happens to be Jesus. It's the perfect fit, I thought. But then you go and give the arc job to Noah. Did you forget I'm the carpenter?
God: Okay, why don't you go back to earth and we'll try it again?
Jesus: The second coming? Not thanks. My hands and feet are still healing. Can we talk about the health benefits you don't offer?
Oh my God…I mean, "Him", I said to myself. It's the cosmic CEO. Strange picture on His profile, though. Jerry Lewis as the Nutty Professor. Irony? Symbolism? I just can't pin this guy down.
A sudden rush of dread flooded my body. Why me? He'll see how lame my career has been. I've never recovered from the time He found out that I lived at home until I was 29.
Then it occurred to me. Wait a minute. Look at His resume. Talk about gaps in the job history.
Scientists figure the universe is about 12 billion years old. That means God's single biggest project (The Big Bang) took place a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. His next biggest work achievement, Mankind, only really got going about 7 million years ago.
By the way, God doesn't refer to the birth of the universe as The Big Bang. He calls it the "Mishap". He was practicing His water-into-wine trick, used the wrong chemicals and the whole thing blew up in His face. He was too embarrassed to say anything. He only invented Man to make it look intentional.
So what in the universe was He doing all that time between the Bang and Man? As far as I can tell, He doesn't fill any of this massive interim with interesting hobbies or charity work.
Then it occurred to me. He must know I'm looking for work. Maybe He wants to hire me.
That scared me even more. Let's face it, His past employees don't have the most impressive records.
Would you have taken the position of "Jesus"? Obviously when Jesus responded to the job ad, he was lied to.
Jesus: Excuse me, God? When I applied for this job you said I would be a carpenter, working with wood, nails and a hammer.
God: Yes, that sounds right.
Jesus: Well, you never mentioned I'd be nailed to a wooden cross with my own hammer. Maybe that's why I was the only one to apply.
God. Listen, buddy. You're lucky to have a job. Most people these days spend their life fighting for food or being raped, living and dying in their own feces. Now if you have a problem, take it up with HR. I'm trying to run a very large company here. And I'm trying to take it public. Do you know how many universes I have to compete with? Ya, I know I'm ranting. And if you think this will affect my bonus, think again.
Jesus: Okay, but look at it from my point of view. The reason I applied for the position of "Jesus" is that my name happens to be Jesus. It's the perfect fit, I thought. But then you go and give the arc job to Noah. Did you forget I'm the carpenter?
God: Okay, why don't you go back to earth and we'll try it again?
Jesus: The second coming? Not thanks. My hands and feet are still healing. Can we talk about the health benefits you don't offer?
Friday, 24 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: High Pressure Jobs I Don't Want
Helloooo Newman: High Pressure Jobs I Don't Want: I remember it like it was yesterday, but I'm talking about the early 80s. I was discussing good career choices with a friend. I had my...
High Pressure Jobs I Don't Want
I remember it like it was yesterday, but I'm talking about the early 80s.
I was discussing good career choices with a friend. I had my whole future ahead of me at the time and wanted to make the right decision.
Upon reflection, I'm lucky that I had my future ahead of me. I met someone who had their future behind them and it wasn't pretty.
He was always tense. Past tense.
He would always say, "If my past is in front of me, stop telling me to grow up."
Imagine having your past ahead of you. Running into old flings and bosses. Your whole life is a rerun. Groundhog Day!
Even your fortune cookie reminds you of your past. "You treated your last three girlfriends like trash. Way to go, jackass."
This guy was confused, uncertain and finally realized he was in the wrong universe.
"Where do I belong?", he asked me.
Go that way about 500 quintillion, zillion, trillion, billion, million miles and once you get to that point, keep going.
Einstein and Eastern mystics have both said that the past, present and future are illusions, and they all exist together at once. If this is true we'll definitely need a new subway line in Toronto?
If everything happens at once, then I'm confused. Here are some problems, as I see it, with that theory:
why can't I retire now?
then my soufflé is definitely over cooked
I'm returning my Apple Watch
I'm done with that 12-step program
do I still get peanuts on my flight?
why do we have pause buttons?
do I still need the Sports Illustrated calendar?
I feel full
NOTE: For a mind-bending take on future and past, read this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/27/science/27side.html?_r=0
Anyway, my friend (not the one looking for a new universe) said injection moulding was going to be really big.
I had to admit, I hadn't given injection moulding the proper consideration.
The closest I ever got to injection moulding was using my waffle maker. I rather enjoyed putting all that goop in the mould, pressing down and burning the shit out of it. I would always pretend I was making something super important, like a crucial part for the space shuttle, but this part was unique because you could cover it in maple syrup and eat it.
I guess the biggest obstacle for me in work situations is I hate stress. Don't like working under pressure. Some might call me lackadaisical. I call it lack of talent.
This rules out a ton of jobs I could perform.
I certainly couldn't do the traditionally stressful jobs: air traffic controller, neurosurgeon, husband, father. But let's considers some of the less well known high pressure jobs. Jobs I would really hate to have.
Piano String: A job full of tension, to say the least. Always pulled in both directions. Who needs it? This is a job where you spend hours on end doing nothing – waiting, trying to stay in tune with things – and for what? To be hit with a hammer. It's like working while you're on the medieval rack. "I need to unwind. I use to b. Now I b flat."
Piano string: "If you play that song one more time, pal, I'm gonna strangle you."
Water: It's good for you, but boy I'd hate to be water for a living. While you may live in a nice house, you are constantly under a lot of pressure.
Husband: "Hey honey, we have no water pressure."
Water: "Give me a break. I'm on vacation. Drink beer, will ya."
Just like the piano string, you sit around all day under all that stress. When the pressure lessens, say a pipe bursts and you're all over the floor, your career goes down the drain. Or worse, someone drinks you and there goes your career in the toilet. No thanks.
Or you're sitting in a comfortable tray, warm and relaxed, finally out of that cramped cubicle called a pipe. Can water be claustrophobic? Then you're sent to the Arctic on special assignment.
I think I would only take the water job if I worked for Jesus. Then as a promotion He could turn me into wine. Now there's a prestigious job.
Blood: Crucial for life, but again, the pressure is too much for me. If I'm in the body of the average North American person, I'm under tons of pressure and squeezed by tons of fat. I can only hope the person cuts themselves with the kitchen knife so I get a little relief. Please, punch me so I can bleed through the nose.
Weather: For a while I thought it might nice to be weather for a living. People are always talking about you. And you get to choose between two jobs – high pressure and low pressure. I would take the low pressure job, obviously. But then I'm raining or snowing all the time. I'm depressed. People hate me. I'm always spoiling their weekends. I might as well work as a flu bug who shows up for the weekend. At least then I get to sleep all day.
Tires: This is a job where I dare not tread. Unless I was a flat tire. You have CAA? Oh no. I'm just spinning my wheels in this job.
Diamond: This is one high pressure job I could get into. Women love you. You're net worth is very high. Sure, you have to get through the first 20 million years of sitting in the earth being crushed by billions of tons of rock. I'm just not sure I could cut it in this position.
I was discussing good career choices with a friend. I had my whole future ahead of me at the time and wanted to make the right decision.
Upon reflection, I'm lucky that I had my future ahead of me. I met someone who had their future behind them and it wasn't pretty.
He was always tense. Past tense.
He would always say, "If my past is in front of me, stop telling me to grow up."
Imagine having your past ahead of you. Running into old flings and bosses. Your whole life is a rerun. Groundhog Day!
Even your fortune cookie reminds you of your past. "You treated your last three girlfriends like trash. Way to go, jackass."
This guy was confused, uncertain and finally realized he was in the wrong universe.
"Where do I belong?", he asked me.
Go that way about 500 quintillion, zillion, trillion, billion, million miles and once you get to that point, keep going.
Einstein and Eastern mystics have both said that the past, present and future are illusions, and they all exist together at once. If this is true we'll definitely need a new subway line in Toronto?
If everything happens at once, then I'm confused. Here are some problems, as I see it, with that theory:
why can't I retire now?
then my soufflé is definitely over cooked
I'm returning my Apple Watch
I'm done with that 12-step program
do I still get peanuts on my flight?
why do we have pause buttons?
do I still need the Sports Illustrated calendar?
I feel full
NOTE: For a mind-bending take on future and past, read this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/27/science/27side.html?_r=0
Anyway, my friend (not the one looking for a new universe) said injection moulding was going to be really big.
I had to admit, I hadn't given injection moulding the proper consideration.
The closest I ever got to injection moulding was using my waffle maker. I rather enjoyed putting all that goop in the mould, pressing down and burning the shit out of it. I would always pretend I was making something super important, like a crucial part for the space shuttle, but this part was unique because you could cover it in maple syrup and eat it.
I guess the biggest obstacle for me in work situations is I hate stress. Don't like working under pressure. Some might call me lackadaisical. I call it lack of talent.
This rules out a ton of jobs I could perform.
I certainly couldn't do the traditionally stressful jobs: air traffic controller, neurosurgeon, husband, father. But let's considers some of the less well known high pressure jobs. Jobs I would really hate to have.
Piano String: A job full of tension, to say the least. Always pulled in both directions. Who needs it? This is a job where you spend hours on end doing nothing – waiting, trying to stay in tune with things – and for what? To be hit with a hammer. It's like working while you're on the medieval rack. "I need to unwind. I use to b. Now I b flat."
Piano string: "If you play that song one more time, pal, I'm gonna strangle you."
Water: It's good for you, but boy I'd hate to be water for a living. While you may live in a nice house, you are constantly under a lot of pressure.
Husband: "Hey honey, we have no water pressure."
Water: "Give me a break. I'm on vacation. Drink beer, will ya."
Just like the piano string, you sit around all day under all that stress. When the pressure lessens, say a pipe bursts and you're all over the floor, your career goes down the drain. Or worse, someone drinks you and there goes your career in the toilet. No thanks.
Or you're sitting in a comfortable tray, warm and relaxed, finally out of that cramped cubicle called a pipe. Can water be claustrophobic? Then you're sent to the Arctic on special assignment.
I think I would only take the water job if I worked for Jesus. Then as a promotion He could turn me into wine. Now there's a prestigious job.
Blood: Crucial for life, but again, the pressure is too much for me. If I'm in the body of the average North American person, I'm under tons of pressure and squeezed by tons of fat. I can only hope the person cuts themselves with the kitchen knife so I get a little relief. Please, punch me so I can bleed through the nose.
Weather: For a while I thought it might nice to be weather for a living. People are always talking about you. And you get to choose between two jobs – high pressure and low pressure. I would take the low pressure job, obviously. But then I'm raining or snowing all the time. I'm depressed. People hate me. I'm always spoiling their weekends. I might as well work as a flu bug who shows up for the weekend. At least then I get to sleep all day.
Tires: This is a job where I dare not tread. Unless I was a flat tire. You have CAA? Oh no. I'm just spinning my wheels in this job.
Diamond: This is one high pressure job I could get into. Women love you. You're net worth is very high. Sure, you have to get through the first 20 million years of sitting in the earth being crushed by billions of tons of rock. I'm just not sure I could cut it in this position.
Friday, 17 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Ultimate Password
Helloooo Newman: The Ultimate Password: One day I died and went to Heaven. I was waiting patiently by the gates. As with everything in this world, there was a huge lineup. Thankf...
The Ultimate Password
One day I died and went to Heaven.
I was waiting patiently by the gates. As with everything in this world, there was a huge lineup. Thankfully there was plenty of comfortable seating and, of course, a Starbucks.
The Starbucks was very cool. All the latte's were topped with whipped cream that bespoke soft, bouncy clouds. Clever idea.
I finally made it to the counter.
Administrator: Password, please.
Me: Sorry?
Administrator: I am afraid "Sorry" does not register.
Me: No, I mean what password? I don't have a password.
Administrator: Everybody has a password. Did you not have an iPhone?
Me: Ah, yes, I did. "Boogersoup".
Administrator: Sorry?
Me: No, not "Sorry". "Boogersoup". That's my iPhone password.
Administrator: No, I need your Heaven password. And by the way, all Heaven passwords need to contain Pi to the first billion digits, the symbol of the crucifix, some water, some wine, an apple and a few nice words about God.
Me: I don't have a Heaven password. What the Hell is a Heaven password?
Administrator: You don't need a password for Hell, sir. You NEED a password to enter Heaven. Can I please have it?
Me: I don't remember picking a password to get into Heaven. I've had so many passwords and I forget them all the time. Can I pick a new password?
Administrator: You have to be alive to do that, sir. You are dead, and we can't just send you back again, now can we?
Me: No. I guess there's only one guy who gets to go back that way.
Administrator: That is right, sir. And looking at your questionable life, you are not him, that is for sure.
Me: Can I answer some security questions? I had to do that once for my Ashley Madison account.
Administrator: Well, it is unusual, but I guess so. Just a minute.
God: What seems to be the problem?
Administrator: This man lost his password and needs to answer his security questions to enter the Kingdom.
God: I see. Okay, sir. What was your favourite activity in life besides masturbating to the Victoria's Secret catalogue?
Me: Hmmm, nothing comes immediately to mind. Bowling? But that's a distant second.
God: Five pin or ten?
Me: Ahhhhmmm…five?
God: Ohhhhhh, no. That's wrong. Who is the most annoying, pathetic, lame-ass human being I have created in the last thousand centuries? This person's existence is the sole cause of the rise of atheism in the modern world.
Me: Ha, easy. Justin Bieber.
God: Mark that down as one right. Okay, final question. What does it all mean?
Me: Whoop-de-doo!
God: Ha. Nice try. Good movie, though.
Me: 42?
God: Are you taking this seriously?
Me: Yes. I have no frigging idea what it all means.
God: Me neither. Come on in.
I was waiting patiently by the gates. As with everything in this world, there was a huge lineup. Thankfully there was plenty of comfortable seating and, of course, a Starbucks.
The Starbucks was very cool. All the latte's were topped with whipped cream that bespoke soft, bouncy clouds. Clever idea.
I finally made it to the counter.
Administrator: Password, please.
Me: Sorry?
Administrator: I am afraid "Sorry" does not register.
Me: No, I mean what password? I don't have a password.
Administrator: Everybody has a password. Did you not have an iPhone?
Me: Ah, yes, I did. "Boogersoup".
Administrator: Sorry?
Me: No, not "Sorry". "Boogersoup". That's my iPhone password.
Administrator: No, I need your Heaven password. And by the way, all Heaven passwords need to contain Pi to the first billion digits, the symbol of the crucifix, some water, some wine, an apple and a few nice words about God.
Me: I don't have a Heaven password. What the Hell is a Heaven password?
Administrator: You don't need a password for Hell, sir. You NEED a password to enter Heaven. Can I please have it?
Me: I don't remember picking a password to get into Heaven. I've had so many passwords and I forget them all the time. Can I pick a new password?
Administrator: You have to be alive to do that, sir. You are dead, and we can't just send you back again, now can we?
Me: No. I guess there's only one guy who gets to go back that way.
Administrator: That is right, sir. And looking at your questionable life, you are not him, that is for sure.
Me: Can I answer some security questions? I had to do that once for my Ashley Madison account.
Administrator: Well, it is unusual, but I guess so. Just a minute.
God: What seems to be the problem?
Administrator: This man lost his password and needs to answer his security questions to enter the Kingdom.
God: I see. Okay, sir. What was your favourite activity in life besides masturbating to the Victoria's Secret catalogue?
Me: Hmmm, nothing comes immediately to mind. Bowling? But that's a distant second.
God: Five pin or ten?
Me: Ahhhhmmm…five?
God: Ohhhhhh, no. That's wrong. Who is the most annoying, pathetic, lame-ass human being I have created in the last thousand centuries? This person's existence is the sole cause of the rise of atheism in the modern world.
Me: Ha, easy. Justin Bieber.
God: Mark that down as one right. Okay, final question. What does it all mean?
Me: Whoop-de-doo!
God: Ha. Nice try. Good movie, though.
Me: 42?
God: Are you taking this seriously?
Me: Yes. I have no frigging idea what it all means.
God: Me neither. Come on in.
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: This Crow Tastes Terrible
Helloooo Newman: This Crow Tastes Terrible: On this blog, from time to time, I have poked fun at food, diets, gluten, eating fads (though I have never called anyone a faddy to their fa...
This Crow Tastes Terrible
On this blog, from time to time, I have poked fun at food, diets, gluten, eating fads (though I have never called anyone a faddy to their face) etc.
All in good fun, of course. Yes, that's only a tongue in my cheek, naughty people.
And now I find myself having to make some serious changes to my diet.
So it's time for me to "eat crow" concerning all this making fun of diet fads. I apologize to all the foodie people out there, and to the crow I'm about to kill and eat.
For most of my life I've eaten pretty much what I want, when I want it. Except when I was single. You can replace the word "eaten" in the previous sentence with "drank", and that was my single life.
Nowadays, as the free radicals attack my aging body, I find I have issues with drinking beer while eating.
It's getting harder and harder to carry on with this healthy activity. I need to make a change.
It's not a change I take lightly. I want to live to be a healthy 137, but also enjoy myself a bit. It's just so hard to do that when I have a couple of beers with, say, a pizza or chicken wings.
I get way too full, even bloated, when I coincide beer and food. And tired, too. Oh, so tired. But then I can't sleep properly. What the "F" is that? I don't get it.
This obviously can't continue.
I did some research and this is all very common as people get older. There's a ton of research out there and I studied a fair amount of it.
I have to thank some of my Facebook friends as well, who have posted informative articles on food, special diets and how to handle digestive problems.
Some of that research is contradictory, to be sure, but I think I've settled on a strategy that makes sense for my circumstances.
I've discussed this with my wife as well. She's fed up with my complaining and just wants me to adopt new eating habits that are healthy and will stop the whining.
So, there you have it. Add me to the list of people who are getting a bit fussy with their dietary habits.
From now on…I will drink before I eat.
All in good fun, of course. Yes, that's only a tongue in my cheek, naughty people.
And now I find myself having to make some serious changes to my diet.
So it's time for me to "eat crow" concerning all this making fun of diet fads. I apologize to all the foodie people out there, and to the crow I'm about to kill and eat.
For most of my life I've eaten pretty much what I want, when I want it. Except when I was single. You can replace the word "eaten" in the previous sentence with "drank", and that was my single life.
Nowadays, as the free radicals attack my aging body, I find I have issues with drinking beer while eating.
It's getting harder and harder to carry on with this healthy activity. I need to make a change.
It's not a change I take lightly. I want to live to be a healthy 137, but also enjoy myself a bit. It's just so hard to do that when I have a couple of beers with, say, a pizza or chicken wings.
I get way too full, even bloated, when I coincide beer and food. And tired, too. Oh, so tired. But then I can't sleep properly. What the "F" is that? I don't get it.
This obviously can't continue.
I did some research and this is all very common as people get older. There's a ton of research out there and I studied a fair amount of it.
I have to thank some of my Facebook friends as well, who have posted informative articles on food, special diets and how to handle digestive problems.
Some of that research is contradictory, to be sure, but I think I've settled on a strategy that makes sense for my circumstances.
I've discussed this with my wife as well. She's fed up with my complaining and just wants me to adopt new eating habits that are healthy and will stop the whining.
So, there you have it. Add me to the list of people who are getting a bit fussy with their dietary habits.
From now on…I will drink before I eat.
Saturday, 11 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Unwritten Self Help Book
Helloooo Newman: The Unwritten Self Help Book: I was crammed on the subway today and I kept myself busy reading a poster. I guess I had no choice, since my face was pressed firmly into it...
The Unwritten Self Help Book
I was crammed on the subway today and I kept myself busy reading a poster. I guess I had no choice, since my face was pressed firmly into it from the 5,000 bodies leaning against me.
The poster was advertising a self help book. The concept was "change your habits and change yourself", or something of that nature.
That seemed a little redundant to me. Change yourself and you will change yourself. Thanks for that advice.
One of the tag lines on the book cover was "want to lose more weight?"
It occurred to me, you never see a book for people who need to gain weight. Despite the doom and gloom of the so-called obesity crisis, some people are way too skinny in our society.
You'll look like skin and bone at your funeral. Why not wait until then? Meanwhile, try eating some food.
Want to Gain Weight? The New Let's Eat More Food Book
What would be the contents of this book? Well, that's easy. It would be one page with a list on it.
Here's the list:
• Eat more food, and eat more of the food that is fattening.
• Do this all the time, not just for a few days, weeks or months.
• Throw up your food less often.
• Throw out all your size 2 bikinis.
• Lift weights until it hurts. Muscle weighs more than fat.
That's it! That's the book. I think we can all agree this is the best advice for someone who longs to be fatter.
SO…why wouldn't the opposite be true for people longing to be skinnier?
Want to Lose Weight? The New Let's Eat Less Food Book
What would be the contents of this book? Well, that's easy. It would be one page with a list on it.
Here's the list:
• Eat less food, and eat less of the food that is fattening.
• Do this all the time, not just for a few days, weeks or months.
• Throw up your food more often.
• Throw out all your size 18 bikinis.
• Lift bags of feathers until you get bored. Fat weighs less than muscle.
The poster was advertising a self help book. The concept was "change your habits and change yourself", or something of that nature.
That seemed a little redundant to me. Change yourself and you will change yourself. Thanks for that advice.
One of the tag lines on the book cover was "want to lose more weight?"
It occurred to me, you never see a book for people who need to gain weight. Despite the doom and gloom of the so-called obesity crisis, some people are way too skinny in our society.
You'll look like skin and bone at your funeral. Why not wait until then? Meanwhile, try eating some food.
Want to Gain Weight? The New Let's Eat More Food Book
What would be the contents of this book? Well, that's easy. It would be one page with a list on it.
Here's the list:
• Eat more food, and eat more of the food that is fattening.
• Do this all the time, not just for a few days, weeks or months.
• Throw up your food less often.
• Throw out all your size 2 bikinis.
• Lift weights until it hurts. Muscle weighs more than fat.
That's it! That's the book. I think we can all agree this is the best advice for someone who longs to be fatter.
SO…why wouldn't the opposite be true for people longing to be skinnier?
Want to Lose Weight? The New Let's Eat Less Food Book
What would be the contents of this book? Well, that's easy. It would be one page with a list on it.
Here's the list:
• Eat less food, and eat less of the food that is fattening.
• Do this all the time, not just for a few days, weeks or months.
• Throw up your food more often.
• Throw out all your size 18 bikinis.
• Lift bags of feathers until you get bored. Fat weighs less than muscle.
Now, are you really going to buy a book with just one page in it? I hope not.
So, save your money and enjoy being yourself. Neverending improvement is for cleaning products and food flavours.
Helloooo Newman: Whatever happened to the APB?
Helloooo Newman: Whatever happened to the APB?: Do you remember what an APB is? Or was? I know, there are so many acronyms out there nowadays. Even GOD is an acronym – Goofing Off Deity....
Whatever happened to the APB?
Do you remember what an APB is? Or was?
I know, there are so many acronyms out there nowadays. Even GOD is an acronym – Goofing Off Deity.
Think back to the show Adam-12. Some bad guy would rob a store, snatch a purse (no murse snatchings back then) or perhaps have a car tail light out.
The police would show up, the bad guy would run or drive away, and the cops would give chase.
The cops would get tired, due to a donut sugar rush, stop for a rest and then put out an APB on the assailant – an All Points Bulletin.
This would require all the cops in the city to keep a look out for the bad guy, even during donut breaks.
You never hear about APBs anymore. Why not? Didn't the system work? Wasn't it good for the more minor crimes that take place?
It seems better than the alternative.
In these modern times, time is of the essence. If some bad guy is running away, whatever the reason, it makes far more sense to shoot them dead.
Not only is it a great time and money saver, it sends out the right message for people who don't listen properly when a cop tells them to stop.
Isn't it worth a few dead people to get the point across? When the police ask you to stop running – like, say, when your parents asked you to stop running around the house – you stop running, or you'll never run again.
In Charleston, South Caroline, the incident on everyone's breath will also bode well for the economy.
No longer will evil doers drive around with broken tail lights. They will go straight to their mechanic for repairs. The economic benefits will be felt immediately.
I don't know, I guess I'm old-fashioned. Maybe we should find out why people are running before killing them.
I think we should bring back the APB – ASAP.
I know, there are so many acronyms out there nowadays. Even GOD is an acronym – Goofing Off Deity.
Think back to the show Adam-12. Some bad guy would rob a store, snatch a purse (no murse snatchings back then) or perhaps have a car tail light out.
The police would show up, the bad guy would run or drive away, and the cops would give chase.
The cops would get tired, due to a donut sugar rush, stop for a rest and then put out an APB on the assailant – an All Points Bulletin.
This would require all the cops in the city to keep a look out for the bad guy, even during donut breaks.
You never hear about APBs anymore. Why not? Didn't the system work? Wasn't it good for the more minor crimes that take place?
It seems better than the alternative.
In these modern times, time is of the essence. If some bad guy is running away, whatever the reason, it makes far more sense to shoot them dead.
Not only is it a great time and money saver, it sends out the right message for people who don't listen properly when a cop tells them to stop.
Isn't it worth a few dead people to get the point across? When the police ask you to stop running – like, say, when your parents asked you to stop running around the house – you stop running, or you'll never run again.
In Charleston, South Caroline, the incident on everyone's breath will also bode well for the economy.
No longer will evil doers drive around with broken tail lights. They will go straight to their mechanic for repairs. The economic benefits will be felt immediately.
I don't know, I guess I'm old-fashioned. Maybe we should find out why people are running before killing them.
I think we should bring back the APB – ASAP.
Wednesday, 8 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Secret?
Helloooo Newman: The Secret?: Why is it that when we interview really old people, we always ask them about their secret to a long life? It's as if they have some cl...
The Secret?
Why is it that when we interview old people, we always ask them about their secret to a long life?
It's as if they have some clue as to why they are still alive.
You might as well ask someone why they are so tall.
"Hey, you're 6 feet five. What's your secret?"
"Oh, it's a traditional method in our family. My parents had sex and gave birth to me."
"Hey, you're so thin-boned. What's your secret? Skim milk?"
And we always assume their answer is the right one, because it's their life, so they know.
I say most people probably know jack-shit about why they live as long or short as they do. Let's face it, we know jack-shit about why we're here in the first place.
We'll never hear this: "Hey, you're young, short, fat, stupid, drunk and doctors give you 6 months to live. What's your secret?"
"My mom was so emotionally distant. Mind you, that was only for the ten years she was in prison. Maybe it's because my parents died when they were 16."
"Well, I would always have a smile on my face and avoid stress." Really? I always play Russian Roulette with myself because I thrive on stress.
The stats are clear. If your parents lived a long time, you will too. Unless you're crushed by a streetcar or poisoned by your spouse.
And we always ask these people nicely. But what we're really asking is, hey, you're old, why aren't you dead yet? You should be dead, you know. You look dead, that's for sure.
I did some research on people who lived to be 100 or more.
One woman put it down to reading a lot. Do Penthouse letters count? What about Twitter feeds?
How does that affect blind people? What about dyslexia? Do they age in reverse?
One woman gave thanks to olive oil – on her food and rubbed on her skin. Ya, but you know what? You look like an overcooked rabbit.
One man thanked his sense of humour.
Oh great. Judging from this blog, I'll be dead tomorrow.
Ruth Gruber, 101, said "look inside your soul and find your tools." Can vodka be a tool? What about atheists, who have no soul? Maybe they can rent some tools.
They never interview normal old people:
Interviewer: Sir, you are 101. What is your secret?
Man: What, sonny?
Interviewer: I SAY, WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?
Man: I secrete many things, my friend. You'll have to ask the nurses about that.
Interviewer: SEEEEECRET
Man: No, I don't get the Victoria's Secret catalogue anymore. Bad for my heart.
It's as if they have some clue as to why they are still alive.
You might as well ask someone why they are so tall.
"Hey, you're 6 feet five. What's your secret?"
"Oh, it's a traditional method in our family. My parents had sex and gave birth to me."
"Hey, you're so thin-boned. What's your secret? Skim milk?"
And we always assume their answer is the right one, because it's their life, so they know.
I say most people probably know jack-shit about why they live as long or short as they do. Let's face it, we know jack-shit about why we're here in the first place.
We'll never hear this: "Hey, you're young, short, fat, stupid, drunk and doctors give you 6 months to live. What's your secret?"
"My mom was so emotionally distant. Mind you, that was only for the ten years she was in prison. Maybe it's because my parents died when they were 16."
The problem is that people give all kinds of different reasons as to why they live so long.
The stats are clear. If your parents lived a long time, you will too. Unless you're crushed by a streetcar or poisoned by your spouse.
And we always ask these people nicely. But what we're really asking is, hey, you're old, why aren't you dead yet? You should be dead, you know. You look dead, that's for sure.
I did some research on people who lived to be 100 or more.
One woman put it down to reading a lot. Do Penthouse letters count? What about Twitter feeds?
How does that affect blind people? What about dyslexia? Do they age in reverse?
One woman gave thanks to olive oil – on her food and rubbed on her skin. Ya, but you know what? You look like an overcooked rabbit.
One man thanked his sense of humour.
Oh great. Judging from this blog, I'll be dead tomorrow.
Ruth Gruber, 101, said "look inside your soul and find your tools." Can vodka be a tool? What about atheists, who have no soul? Maybe they can rent some tools.
They never interview normal old people:
Interviewer: Sir, you are 101. What is your secret?
Man: What, sonny?
Interviewer: I SAY, WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?
Man: I secrete many things, my friend. You'll have to ask the nurses about that.
Interviewer: SEEEEECRET
Man: No, I don't get the Victoria's Secret catalogue anymore. Bad for my heart.
Wednesday, 1 April 2015
Helloooo Newman: Life is Full of Compromise
Helloooo Newman: Life is Full of Compromise: Yesterday Newman and I followed our regular schedule of going to play on the driveway at 9:30 a.m. Why 9:30? Why not earlier? Thank you fo...
Life is Full of Compromise
Yesterday Newman and I followed our regular schedule of going to play on the driveway at 9:30 a.m.
Why 9:30? Why not earlier? Thank you for asking. I can keep writing.
Well, it usually takes me an hour to rise from my self-induced coma others call sleep. It's a very herky-jerky process, fits and starts, maybe a bit like Bruce Banner transforming into the Hulk, minus the anger and lousy complexion. Okay, a bit of anger, but only when I'm approached. Also, I can't afford to ruin a good pair of jeans every time I wake up.
Then I combine industrial strength coffee with a kind of self-help internal dialogue that I use to motivate me to stay awake and have some kind of desire to face the day. "I'm not a child anymore" repeated about 100 times is part of the process. If I were free from societal pressure, I would prefer napping about half an hour after I wake up from a night's sleep.
It's very hard to overestimate the role coffee plays in my composition as a human being. Does the TTC need a downtown relief line? Do we need a national housing strategy for whores? Do I need therapy for my Cenosillicaphobia? Yes, I need coffee.
So, I'm finally awake and I go to the door with Newman to get to the driveway. The micro-second I open the door, Newman tears across the earth trying to catch a squirrel. He fails – he always does – but he did set a world record for the 10 metre squirrel dash.
He reminded me of the Olympic champion Bruce Jenner. An apt comparison because Newman's balls have been removed as well.
It also helped me realize what a huge compromise Newman makes everyday. Because when I started throwing the tennis ball for him, he really didn't chase with the same alacrity and lilt.
Newman really wants to be chasing live animals, not sports balls.
All of us, really, want to be chasing live animals, not sports balls. That's a metaphor. Unless you actually do chase and kill animals. Or sports balls.
But we continue to chase sports balls. It's all compromise.
Boy, I've faced a ton of compromise in my life. One of the biggest was when I lost my virginity. What a compromise that was…partly for me as well.
That's one of the problems with compromise. It's uneven. Some people compromise far more than others. My wife, for example. She had to climb down a very tall ladder to get to me. I was the guy holding the ladder. It's not that I don't want to be great. I just have a fear of heights.
Scientists say that evolution is a big series of compromises. Really? I think it's a mistake to personify evolution, as if it's some kind of conscious thing that makes choices.
This feeds the whack job creationists, and we want to try and starve these people of any possible reason to completely and utterly reject things like reason, evidence and precedent.
Can you believe they think the universe is 6,000 years old? How do they explain Hugh Hefner? What about your average Starbucks latte? Takes forever to wait for one of those.
Evolution, the spontaneous change of living things, just happens. I know this because the lemon I accidentally left in my washroom for 6 months turned into a fuzzy blue tennis ball. Long story.
You. Yes, you! Are compromising right now. Clearly you've read all your cookbooks, user manuals and ingredient lists, because you're reading this now.
Fetch the ball.
Why 9:30? Why not earlier? Thank you for asking. I can keep writing.
Well, it usually takes me an hour to rise from my self-induced coma others call sleep. It's a very herky-jerky process, fits and starts, maybe a bit like Bruce Banner transforming into the Hulk, minus the anger and lousy complexion. Okay, a bit of anger, but only when I'm approached. Also, I can't afford to ruin a good pair of jeans every time I wake up.
Then I combine industrial strength coffee with a kind of self-help internal dialogue that I use to motivate me to stay awake and have some kind of desire to face the day. "I'm not a child anymore" repeated about 100 times is part of the process. If I were free from societal pressure, I would prefer napping about half an hour after I wake up from a night's sleep.
It's very hard to overestimate the role coffee plays in my composition as a human being. Does the TTC need a downtown relief line? Do we need a national housing strategy for whores? Do I need therapy for my Cenosillicaphobia? Yes, I need coffee.
So, I'm finally awake and I go to the door with Newman to get to the driveway. The micro-second I open the door, Newman tears across the earth trying to catch a squirrel. He fails – he always does – but he did set a world record for the 10 metre squirrel dash.
He reminded me of the Olympic champion Bruce Jenner. An apt comparison because Newman's balls have been removed as well.
It also helped me realize what a huge compromise Newman makes everyday. Because when I started throwing the tennis ball for him, he really didn't chase with the same alacrity and lilt.
Newman really wants to be chasing live animals, not sports balls.
All of us, really, want to be chasing live animals, not sports balls. That's a metaphor. Unless you actually do chase and kill animals. Or sports balls.
But we continue to chase sports balls. It's all compromise.
Boy, I've faced a ton of compromise in my life. One of the biggest was when I lost my virginity. What a compromise that was…partly for me as well.
That's one of the problems with compromise. It's uneven. Some people compromise far more than others. My wife, for example. She had to climb down a very tall ladder to get to me. I was the guy holding the ladder. It's not that I don't want to be great. I just have a fear of heights.
Scientists say that evolution is a big series of compromises. Really? I think it's a mistake to personify evolution, as if it's some kind of conscious thing that makes choices.
This feeds the whack job creationists, and we want to try and starve these people of any possible reason to completely and utterly reject things like reason, evidence and precedent.
Can you believe they think the universe is 6,000 years old? How do they explain Hugh Hefner? What about your average Starbucks latte? Takes forever to wait for one of those.
Evolution, the spontaneous change of living things, just happens. I know this because the lemon I accidentally left in my washroom for 6 months turned into a fuzzy blue tennis ball. Long story.
You. Yes, you! Are compromising right now. Clearly you've read all your cookbooks, user manuals and ingredient lists, because you're reading this now.
Fetch the ball.
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