Posts
12 years ago
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Up for Bid!
The toilet seat you see below is called the Breezy Seat Toilet Seat. Here's the poop: According to the manufacturer, "The Breezyseat ~ featuring a revolutionary odor barrier that keeps smells where they belong - inside the unique toilet seat. BreezySeat's ingenious patent-pending design and proven odor destroying technology is the perfect solution to the embarrassing problem of unpleasant odors in your bathroom."
The seat was designed by one of T.T.'s friends from Tennessee where poopology has become an art form. The Breezy Seat is a battery-powered, fan forced toilet seat that turns on when you sit on it. The fan sucks up the odors from the toilet bowl and filters them through a filters and nano-modules (whatever those are). Another advantage of the toilet seat is those little holes around the seat provide a nice cool breeze while you're straining away. People who bought the Breezy Seat rave over how it's changed their lives.
"I eat a lot of chili; 3-4 cans a week. Thus I did some online research and found the Breezy Seat. This seat saved my marriage. I LOVE IT!!!!" Irby H. - Little Rock, Arkansas
"I use my toilet a lot. This toilet seat stands up to everyday use. It is great because it's easy to clean. You don't have to hassle with sprays." Ellis C. - New Orleans, Louisiana
T.T., who's auction name is 'TheThird' decided he had to have one. He and Sparky65 got into a bidding war. The seat is reported to retail at $199. Cochise1 and dreamily were willing to pay $36 for the seat, but Sparky65 and TheThird ran the price up to $367 before T.T. realized that he only had $250 left on his debit card. Grudgingly, T.T. let Sparky65 win the auction. He moped about for the rest of the day, so I got online at Amazon and ordered the last toilet seat they had for $79. I plan on giving it to T.T. on Day. I know where he will be spending most of Christmas day.
If you've just got to have one, you can order your own from the manufacturer for $199. http://breezyseat.com/products.php You can even become a distributor. In our shitty economy, it's wise to diversify and have multiple income streams.
I can't make this poop up.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
OK! Who's Been Talking?
The day's not over yet, but so far I've received 43 emails concerning the size of my penis and how the world would be happier if it were larger. So would I, but how did all these people find out about me? I'm not on par with the likes of Magic Johnson or a rock star, heck I' m not even on par with some priests. I don't work out in health clubs, don't go skinny-dipping in Golden Pond (it's a brown puddle now), nor do I hang out in parks and flash female joggers. I have neither wife nor girlfriend nor prostitute with a memory long enough (excuse the pun) to remember the last time it was used for anything more than relieving my bladder - so who snuck a spy cam into my bathroom?
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
War on Wasps
This article is from T.T.'s blog.
Twice in the past few days, I've been assaulted by large wasps inside my house. I fear that these two incursions into my safety zone is a prelude for a mass attack at some point in the future. I have yet to determine their point of insertion into friendly lines, thus a full-scale inspection of the perimeter is in order.
On Saturday evening, while lying in bed talking to my fiance, a large paper wasp (I ascertained its nature by gathering intel online) flew through my line of sight. Immediately, adrenaline enabled me to roll off the bed and crawl through my bedroom door, closing it behind me to trap the enemy and to escape an imminent threat of being injected with venom from its ovipositor - originally designed as a tube for the laying of eggs but reengineered to hold toxins designed for defense and to kill their prey. Twenty-four years in the Army prepared me to defend myself from this airborne assault.
With a sick daughter and a baby in the house, I knew I couldn't simply allow the infiltrator to remain until it founds its egress the same way it got in. Ruling out a broom, which was too flimsy to deliver a killing blow, I opted for a shoe. I cautiously reentered my bedroom, closing the door behind me. All the while, I'm talking to my fiance on the phone - apprising her of my situation in case reinforcements or medivac needed to be called in. Finally I spotted the wasp on the corner of my book case. I struck it with a might blow that caused books to topple over. The wasp, much larger than most I've seen and obviously on some sort of growth hormone or steroids, simply shrugs off the blow and leaps into the air, circles the blades of my ceiling fan and aligns itself on approach in retaliation for my drawing first blood. As it flies in deliberately and slowly, I knock it down in mid-air, demonstrating great hand-eye coordination for someone of my advanced years. It slams to the floor, stunned and angry. I can hear it buzzing; so I bend over and deliver six solid blows. At this point, I observe that the enemy is unable to fly, but is still mobile. As it begins to crawl in my direction, I wonder what it will take to kill this fiend. So I gather all my strength and call on God to help me. I said, "In (slap) the Name (bam) of Jesus (pow)(boom) die you @*@&#&#&*%!" My fiance is cracking up on the other end of the phone.
I sit back on the bed, sweating from exertion. The wasp moves again, though clearly broken. I shake my head, just as Apollo Creed did when Rocky Balboa wouldn't stay down after been repeatedly knocked on his keister. But although I respected the wasp's strength and tenacity, I knew that it was behooving of me to end this stand-off and protect my loved ones, and so that I could go to sleep without leaving one eye open in case this wasp had regenerative powers like David Banner. I took the point of my shoe and pressed it as hard as I could against the wasp, pinning it to the floor, and held it there until the wasp had time to suffocate. I watched until I saw another wing flicker, pounded it until the wasp's body split in two. Then I brought in the vacuum cleaner and sucked up the corpse, then removed the vacuum to the Florida room in case it was bionic like Lindsey Wagner. For only female wasps can sting.
I thought that the first attack was simply the result of a door left ajar too long, but this morning, as I was getting out of the shower, another large wasp flew within inches of my face. I leaped back into the shower, closing the door behind me, but quickly realized that I had three feet of open space above the door through which the wasp could attack. I realized that I could not be in such a confining space.
This time the wasp had caught me in a more precarious predicament. I was naked. Naturally, the first thing I did was to bend over and place a hand over my privates. I knew I could survive a sting to any other part of my body, even to my face, but a sting to my privates would probably be fatal. After all, the wasp's stinger was tiny and its target was perhaps a thousand times larger - or at least I'd like to think so.
Apparently the wasp was wary of me and kept its distance. Perhaps it was the mate of the one I'd slain in combat a few nights previously. Or it could have been the same wasp brought back from the pit of hell to finish what it started. Eventually, I was able to slide by the wasp and rush out the bathroom door, closing it behind to trap the wasp inside. This time I thought I needed the additional reach of the broom so I headed for the laundry room to retrieve one. I'd just started opening the door to the bedroom before I remembered I was naked, and wet. Grabbing a pair of shorts from a chair, I quickly put them on and got the broom. With my privates at least partially protected by cloth armor, I cautiously reentered the bathroom. The wasp was crawling around on the light fixture. I waited until it flew past me and landed on the mirror. It's a wonder it didn't crack when I struck it hard enough to turn over my shaving cream and mousse cans. The wasp, obviously as strong as its predecessor, shrugged off the blow and flew over to the window blinds to recover. At that point I decided that brute force alone wasn't going to rid me of this thing, so I opted to deploy chemical warfare in the form of TileEx Soap and Scum Remover. I followed that with some Clorox mold remover. The fumes almost made me pass out, but fortunately the wasp too was overcome and fell into the tub. I immediately turned on the hot water and grabbed the wand, drowning it for several minutes. Then I followed this with more Tilex and Clorox. I took a respite to shave, all the time watching for any sign of movement. After shaving, I used the corner of an envelope to scoop up the wasp and carry it over to the toilet where I flushed it down the toilet to make sure it was dead. For safety reasons, I closed the lid just in case it was able to find it's way back from death again. The smooth sides of the toilet would prevent it from scaling its walls. At this point, I needed another shower because I'd worked up a sweat. I also thought it couldn't hurt to flush more water down that drain and carry the demon spawn as far away from my house as possible.
It seems as though the chemical weapons are the most effective defense against this enemy. I will be stopping by supply channels, located at Wal-Mart, to obtain some wasp and hornet spray, Sevin dust, moth balls, ant and roach baits and anything else I can use to defend my family and home from invaders. If these precautions don't work, I'm going to call in the professionals; because I'm too out of shape to keep running from these darn bugs
Twice in the past few days, I've been assaulted by large wasps inside my house. I fear that these two incursions into my safety zone is a prelude for a mass attack at some point in the future. I have yet to determine their point of insertion into friendly lines, thus a full-scale inspection of the perimeter is in order.
On Saturday evening, while lying in bed talking to my fiance, a large paper wasp (I ascertained its nature by gathering intel online) flew through my line of sight. Immediately, adrenaline enabled me to roll off the bed and crawl through my bedroom door, closing it behind me to trap the enemy and to escape an imminent threat of being injected with venom from its ovipositor - originally designed as a tube for the laying of eggs but reengineered to hold toxins designed for defense and to kill their prey. Twenty-four years in the Army prepared me to defend myself from this airborne assault.
With a sick daughter and a baby in the house, I knew I couldn't simply allow the infiltrator to remain until it founds its egress the same way it got in. Ruling out a broom, which was too flimsy to deliver a killing blow, I opted for a shoe. I cautiously reentered my bedroom, closing the door behind me. All the while, I'm talking to my fiance on the phone - apprising her of my situation in case reinforcements or medivac needed to be called in. Finally I spotted the wasp on the corner of my book case. I struck it with a might blow that caused books to topple over. The wasp, much larger than most I've seen and obviously on some sort of growth hormone or steroids, simply shrugs off the blow and leaps into the air, circles the blades of my ceiling fan and aligns itself on approach in retaliation for my drawing first blood. As it flies in deliberately and slowly, I knock it down in mid-air, demonstrating great hand-eye coordination for someone of my advanced years. It slams to the floor, stunned and angry. I can hear it buzzing; so I bend over and deliver six solid blows. At this point, I observe that the enemy is unable to fly, but is still mobile. As it begins to crawl in my direction, I wonder what it will take to kill this fiend. So I gather all my strength and call on God to help me. I said, "In (slap) the Name (bam) of Jesus (pow)(boom) die you @*@&#&#&*%!" My fiance is cracking up on the other end of the phone.
I sit back on the bed, sweating from exertion. The wasp moves again, though clearly broken. I shake my head, just as Apollo Creed did when Rocky Balboa wouldn't stay down after been repeatedly knocked on his keister. But although I respected the wasp's strength and tenacity, I knew that it was behooving of me to end this stand-off and protect my loved ones, and so that I could go to sleep without leaving one eye open in case this wasp had regenerative powers like David Banner. I took the point of my shoe and pressed it as hard as I could against the wasp, pinning it to the floor, and held it there until the wasp had time to suffocate. I watched until I saw another wing flicker, pounded it until the wasp's body split in two. Then I brought in the vacuum cleaner and sucked up the corpse, then removed the vacuum to the Florida room in case it was bionic like Lindsey Wagner. For only female wasps can sting.
I thought that the first attack was simply the result of a door left ajar too long, but this morning, as I was getting out of the shower, another large wasp flew within inches of my face. I leaped back into the shower, closing the door behind me, but quickly realized that I had three feet of open space above the door through which the wasp could attack. I realized that I could not be in such a confining space.
This time the wasp had caught me in a more precarious predicament. I was naked. Naturally, the first thing I did was to bend over and place a hand over my privates. I knew I could survive a sting to any other part of my body, even to my face, but a sting to my privates would probably be fatal. After all, the wasp's stinger was tiny and its target was perhaps a thousand times larger - or at least I'd like to think so.
Apparently the wasp was wary of me and kept its distance. Perhaps it was the mate of the one I'd slain in combat a few nights previously. Or it could have been the same wasp brought back from the pit of hell to finish what it started. Eventually, I was able to slide by the wasp and rush out the bathroom door, closing it behind to trap the wasp inside. This time I thought I needed the additional reach of the broom so I headed for the laundry room to retrieve one. I'd just started opening the door to the bedroom before I remembered I was naked, and wet. Grabbing a pair of shorts from a chair, I quickly put them on and got the broom. With my privates at least partially protected by cloth armor, I cautiously reentered the bathroom. The wasp was crawling around on the light fixture. I waited until it flew past me and landed on the mirror. It's a wonder it didn't crack when I struck it hard enough to turn over my shaving cream and mousse cans. The wasp, obviously as strong as its predecessor, shrugged off the blow and flew over to the window blinds to recover. At that point I decided that brute force alone wasn't going to rid me of this thing, so I opted to deploy chemical warfare in the form of TileEx Soap and Scum Remover. I followed that with some Clorox mold remover. The fumes almost made me pass out, but fortunately the wasp too was overcome and fell into the tub. I immediately turned on the hot water and grabbed the wand, drowning it for several minutes. Then I followed this with more Tilex and Clorox. I took a respite to shave, all the time watching for any sign of movement. After shaving, I used the corner of an envelope to scoop up the wasp and carry it over to the toilet where I flushed it down the toilet to make sure it was dead. For safety reasons, I closed the lid just in case it was able to find it's way back from death again. The smooth sides of the toilet would prevent it from scaling its walls. At this point, I needed another shower because I'd worked up a sweat. I also thought it couldn't hurt to flush more water down that drain and carry the demon spawn as far away from my house as possible.
It seems as though the chemical weapons are the most effective defense against this enemy. I will be stopping by supply channels, located at Wal-Mart, to obtain some wasp and hornet spray, Sevin dust, moth balls, ant and roach baits and anything else I can use to defend my family and home from invaders. If these precautions don't work, I'm going to call in the professionals; because I'm too out of shape to keep running from these darn bugs
The Ten Commandments of Theater Attendance
This is from another blog where my alter-ego is the Dirty Movie Critic!.
I work in the movie business. I am a Theater Usher.
Contrary to popular opinion, a theater usher is not there to find you, and your party of fourteen, seats together; nor are we there to open the door for you because your arms are filled with a large tub of popcorn, a 64 oz soda, and a bag of Twizzlers. Our responsibilities are far more important. Our primary job is to clean up after pigs disguised as movie-goers.
The purpose of this blog is to provide you with an insight into show business you won't find elsewhere: the dark and dirty secrets of how the movie industry seduces you into spending your hard earned money on filthy entertainment. At the same time, I will rate new releases, not on the quality of acting or cinematography - but on how dirty the theater is when you leave it.
DISCLAIMER: Neither the management of the theater at which I am employed, nor it's parent corporation, the studios, vendors, nor fellow employees are aware of, agree with, or condone in any way the views and opinions expressed within. In order to protect my job, I will not share my real name nor the theater name or location, other than to say that we are located in or near the cities of Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Any comparisons to peoples living elsewhere are not intended, nor should they be construed as to say that people from your area are better or worse than those who view movies at the theater I work at.
FURTHER DISCLAIMER: Since we live in a world where people are easily offended, I feel it necessary to add that my views and opinions are based on personal experience spanning more than 50 years of being both a consumer and an employee in the movie business. If I say anything to offend you, get over it. I'm only earning $6.50 an hour and I can't seem to get more than 20 hours of work any given week. If I had money, I wouldn't be cleaning up after you pigs.
Anyway, before I begin to rate the current releases, let me take this time to share the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance. Ever since Charleton Heston smashed the tablets containing the 10 commandments after finding his people worshipping a golden image of the Chic-fil-a mascot, theater employees have been demanding from God a set of laws concerning how theater-goers are to conduct themselves while in our places of employment.
1.Thou Shalt Take Your Trash With You When You Exit The Auditorium. Rule #1 is that whatever you bring into the theater with you needs to go with you when you leave. We provide you with at least one trash container, usually found near the door where you entered the auditorium. In some occasions, ushers will provide a mobile trash container at the foot of the steps. Use them. Just because you paid $9-12 for a ticket doesn't give you the right to expect bus service. If you're going to leave a mess, at least leave a tip - $1.00 minimum per cup holder. If you drop personal belongings - don't expect to recover any cash. We'll give you back the cell phones, umbrellas and jewelry, but any cash found is considered a tip even though it won't be reported as such to the IRS. (Actually the janitorial service that cleans the theaters after hours finds most of your money, so don't blame the ushers!)
2.Thou Shalt Not Complain About How Long the Box Office and Concession Lines Are. Here's an original thought - come early. You have to come two hours early to catch an airplane, what's wrong with arriving 20 minutes before your show starts. Another thing - relax. There are usually 12-13 minutes of paid commercials and pre-views before the movie you paid to see starts. Stop your bitching.
3.Thou Shalt Not Bring Contraband Into the Theater. You cheap pig! Sure our concessions are over-priced, but that's because the theater has to hire us to clean up after you. Don't bring your microwave popcorn, canned sodas, dinner leftovers, beer cans, vodka bottles, and chicken bones into our theater. And if you do manage to sneak it past us, at least have respect for us ushers to take the trash with you and drop them in the containers the theater provides for paying customers.
4.Thou Shalt Not Leave Your Spit Cups For Ushers to Clean Up. This commandment is like unto the previous: If you consume tobacco products between your cheek and gums, don't use our cups to spit in and then leave your filthy, stinking expectorant for us to have to touch. How do women kiss guys who use smokeless tobacco? It stinks, it's disgusting, and it's toxic. If you're addicted to that fecal matter, wait until you leave to use it. I hope you swallow and choke on that shit!
5.Thou Shalt Not Complain About Dirty Bathrooms. Who do you think messed them up to begin with? Women are the worst. I think you're afraid to sit where another woman has rested her fat but-tocks, so you squat and your aim sucks. Toilet paper goes in the toilet. If it doesn't flush when your behind stands up - push the little button behind the toilet so the next guest (or poor usher who has to clean the restrooms) doesn't have to look at the present you left them. Guys - stand closer to the urinal. The reason the bathrooms smell so bad is because there's more piss on the floor than down the drain. Besides, ushers are so busy cleaning 16-20 screens that we don't have time to keep the bathroom clean. Go before you come!
6.Thou Shalt Not Talk During the Movie. No one likes those loud obnoxious people who have no inside voice. When you pay $9-12 for a movie ticket, you want to be able to hear what's being played over those 500 watt surround sound speakers. Turn off your cell phones! You are not that important - and if you're needed that badly you shouldn't be wasting time watching a movie. Here's a helpful hint: Ushers look for people using cell phones and if your cell phone is a camera phone, it can be confiscated it theater employees suspect you're taking shots or video of the movie. That's called piracy - which is covered in the seventh commandment.
7.Thou Shalt Not Pirate Movies. Although I support capitalism, stealing movies by videotaping new releases is a felony. When you see an usher walk into the theater during the movie, we're not only there to count the number of patrons and record the count on the sheet by the emergency exit, we're looking for people who are using video cameras, cell phones or other recording devices. If we see you, we won't be the ones approaching you. We call the cops, point you out, and you're out more than the cost of the movie ticket. We're trained to spot pirateers, so don't make us be the bad guy simply because you're a dirtbag.
8.Thou Shalt Not Enter an Auditorium While It Is Being Cleaned. So you're one of the smart few who arrived early; if you enter an auditorium and you see the ushers are still cleaning the theater, go back outside until you see us exit with all the trash left by the previous movie-goers. They're the ones who make you wait for a seat. If they'd taken their trash with them rather than left it in, under, and behind the seats, we'd be done and you could park your butt in the seat of your choice before all the late-comers get there. Above all, don't stand to the side and watch us clean. Grab a damn broom and dustpan and help if you're that anxious to get a seat.
9.Thou Shalt Purchase Only What You Will Consume. Our concessionaires are trained to up-sell concessions; but you don't need to buy the large tub of popcorn just because it's only twenty-five cents more and you get free refills. Very few people get refills, and the majority that do come back for refills are the clumsy jerks who spilled half of the popcorn stumbling up the stairs. Same goes for a large drink - you don't know how many times we find tubs of popcorn and drinks barely touched when we clean up behind the lazy bastards that left them in the seats. Concessions are already over-priced, don't pay for more than you're going to consume. Our managers appreciate the bonus you earned them, but the ushers hate you for it.
10.Thou Shalt Not Watch Every Last Credit Once the Movie Has Ended. Some people sit until every credit has played before getting up and leaving. Meanwhile, the poor ushers are standing to the side, stressing out over the other three movies that let out at the same time this one did and knowing that they've only got 20 minutes to clean four auditoriums before the next feature starts. You don't need to know who catered the Russian location portion during the production of this film or who rewound the tape for the editors. The credits are there for one purpose as far as we ushers are concerned: to give you time to get the hell out so we can clean the theater. Inevitably, one or two will stay and watch all the credits and we'll end up so far behind that the next group of viewers get ticked off because they can't get a seat because the ushers are still cleaning the theater of mountains of waste sold to people who's wallets were bigger than they bellies.
Enjoy the movies - but remember the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance.
I work in the movie business. I am a Theater Usher.
Contrary to popular opinion, a theater usher is not there to find you, and your party of fourteen, seats together; nor are we there to open the door for you because your arms are filled with a large tub of popcorn, a 64 oz soda, and a bag of Twizzlers. Our responsibilities are far more important. Our primary job is to clean up after pigs disguised as movie-goers.
The purpose of this blog is to provide you with an insight into show business you won't find elsewhere: the dark and dirty secrets of how the movie industry seduces you into spending your hard earned money on filthy entertainment. At the same time, I will rate new releases, not on the quality of acting or cinematography - but on how dirty the theater is when you leave it.
DISCLAIMER: Neither the management of the theater at which I am employed, nor it's parent corporation, the studios, vendors, nor fellow employees are aware of, agree with, or condone in any way the views and opinions expressed within. In order to protect my job, I will not share my real name nor the theater name or location, other than to say that we are located in or near the cities of Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Any comparisons to peoples living elsewhere are not intended, nor should they be construed as to say that people from your area are better or worse than those who view movies at the theater I work at.
FURTHER DISCLAIMER: Since we live in a world where people are easily offended, I feel it necessary to add that my views and opinions are based on personal experience spanning more than 50 years of being both a consumer and an employee in the movie business. If I say anything to offend you, get over it. I'm only earning $6.50 an hour and I can't seem to get more than 20 hours of work any given week. If I had money, I wouldn't be cleaning up after you pigs.
Anyway, before I begin to rate the current releases, let me take this time to share the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance. Ever since Charleton Heston smashed the tablets containing the 10 commandments after finding his people worshipping a golden image of the Chic-fil-a mascot, theater employees have been demanding from God a set of laws concerning how theater-goers are to conduct themselves while in our places of employment.
1.Thou Shalt Take Your Trash With You When You Exit The Auditorium. Rule #1 is that whatever you bring into the theater with you needs to go with you when you leave. We provide you with at least one trash container, usually found near the door where you entered the auditorium. In some occasions, ushers will provide a mobile trash container at the foot of the steps. Use them. Just because you paid $9-12 for a ticket doesn't give you the right to expect bus service. If you're going to leave a mess, at least leave a tip - $1.00 minimum per cup holder. If you drop personal belongings - don't expect to recover any cash. We'll give you back the cell phones, umbrellas and jewelry, but any cash found is considered a tip even though it won't be reported as such to the IRS. (Actually the janitorial service that cleans the theaters after hours finds most of your money, so don't blame the ushers!)
2.Thou Shalt Not Complain About How Long the Box Office and Concession Lines Are. Here's an original thought - come early. You have to come two hours early to catch an airplane, what's wrong with arriving 20 minutes before your show starts. Another thing - relax. There are usually 12-13 minutes of paid commercials and pre-views before the movie you paid to see starts. Stop your bitching.
3.Thou Shalt Not Bring Contraband Into the Theater. You cheap pig! Sure our concessions are over-priced, but that's because the theater has to hire us to clean up after you. Don't bring your microwave popcorn, canned sodas, dinner leftovers, beer cans, vodka bottles, and chicken bones into our theater. And if you do manage to sneak it past us, at least have respect for us ushers to take the trash with you and drop them in the containers the theater provides for paying customers.
4.Thou Shalt Not Leave Your Spit Cups For Ushers to Clean Up. This commandment is like unto the previous: If you consume tobacco products between your cheek and gums, don't use our cups to spit in and then leave your filthy, stinking expectorant for us to have to touch. How do women kiss guys who use smokeless tobacco? It stinks, it's disgusting, and it's toxic. If you're addicted to that fecal matter, wait until you leave to use it. I hope you swallow and choke on that shit!
5.Thou Shalt Not Complain About Dirty Bathrooms. Who do you think messed them up to begin with? Women are the worst. I think you're afraid to sit where another woman has rested her fat but-tocks, so you squat and your aim sucks. Toilet paper goes in the toilet. If it doesn't flush when your behind stands up - push the little button behind the toilet so the next guest (or poor usher who has to clean the restrooms) doesn't have to look at the present you left them. Guys - stand closer to the urinal. The reason the bathrooms smell so bad is because there's more piss on the floor than down the drain. Besides, ushers are so busy cleaning 16-20 screens that we don't have time to keep the bathroom clean. Go before you come!
6.Thou Shalt Not Talk During the Movie. No one likes those loud obnoxious people who have no inside voice. When you pay $9-12 for a movie ticket, you want to be able to hear what's being played over those 500 watt surround sound speakers. Turn off your cell phones! You are not that important - and if you're needed that badly you shouldn't be wasting time watching a movie. Here's a helpful hint: Ushers look for people using cell phones and if your cell phone is a camera phone, it can be confiscated it theater employees suspect you're taking shots or video of the movie. That's called piracy - which is covered in the seventh commandment.
7.Thou Shalt Not Pirate Movies. Although I support capitalism, stealing movies by videotaping new releases is a felony. When you see an usher walk into the theater during the movie, we're not only there to count the number of patrons and record the count on the sheet by the emergency exit, we're looking for people who are using video cameras, cell phones or other recording devices. If we see you, we won't be the ones approaching you. We call the cops, point you out, and you're out more than the cost of the movie ticket. We're trained to spot pirateers, so don't make us be the bad guy simply because you're a dirtbag.
8.Thou Shalt Not Enter an Auditorium While It Is Being Cleaned. So you're one of the smart few who arrived early; if you enter an auditorium and you see the ushers are still cleaning the theater, go back outside until you see us exit with all the trash left by the previous movie-goers. They're the ones who make you wait for a seat. If they'd taken their trash with them rather than left it in, under, and behind the seats, we'd be done and you could park your butt in the seat of your choice before all the late-comers get there. Above all, don't stand to the side and watch us clean. Grab a damn broom and dustpan and help if you're that anxious to get a seat.
9.Thou Shalt Purchase Only What You Will Consume. Our concessionaires are trained to up-sell concessions; but you don't need to buy the large tub of popcorn just because it's only twenty-five cents more and you get free refills. Very few people get refills, and the majority that do come back for refills are the clumsy jerks who spilled half of the popcorn stumbling up the stairs. Same goes for a large drink - you don't know how many times we find tubs of popcorn and drinks barely touched when we clean up behind the lazy bastards that left them in the seats. Concessions are already over-priced, don't pay for more than you're going to consume. Our managers appreciate the bonus you earned them, but the ushers hate you for it.
10.Thou Shalt Not Watch Every Last Credit Once the Movie Has Ended. Some people sit until every credit has played before getting up and leaving. Meanwhile, the poor ushers are standing to the side, stressing out over the other three movies that let out at the same time this one did and knowing that they've only got 20 minutes to clean four auditoriums before the next feature starts. You don't need to know who catered the Russian location portion during the production of this film or who rewound the tape for the editors. The credits are there for one purpose as far as we ushers are concerned: to give you time to get the hell out so we can clean the theater. Inevitably, one or two will stay and watch all the credits and we'll end up so far behind that the next group of viewers get ticked off because they can't get a seat because the ushers are still cleaning the theater of mountains of waste sold to people who's wallets were bigger than they bellies.
Enjoy the movies - but remember the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
!%*@)^%$& !!!
Researchers at Keele University on the other side of the pond have discovered that cursing helps ease pain. http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/04/18/wtf-study-shows-swearing-reduces-pain/
I can affirm that their research has merit. This morning, T.T. and I went to put gas in his truck. I rode in the back because it's finally Spring here in Granville County. T.T. parked next to the pump and then spent a few minutes patting himself down looking for his wallet. He rummaged around inside the truck, muttering a few curse words, before finding the wallet between the seat cushions.
As T.T. opened the gas tank lid, he jerked his hand back quickly. At first he thought he'd brushed a knuckle against a sharp piece of metal, but as the pain intensified, T.T. bent over to see what had stuck him. Hanging just above the gas cap was a large wasp, partially hanging out of a tiny wasp nest. T.T. jumped back a few feet, afraid the wasp was going to come after him.
It was rather cool this morning, so the wasp was probably too cold to venture out of its nest. T.T. looked at the wasp, then at his gas cap as if wondering if he could unscrew the cap without further agitating the wasp. He quickly decided the hell with that - in fact that's exactly what he said.
T.T. grabbed the windshield squeegee next to the pump and used it to knock the wasp from its perch. I backed to the other end of the truck bed as I don't get along well with wasps either. The wasp fell to the ground and T.T. proceeded to stomp the s....tuffing out of that wasp - cursing the entire time. When there was nothing left that resembled a wasp, T.T. looked at his swollen knuckle and cursed some more.
Apparently, someone who swears a lot builds up immunity to it and it doesn't help the pain as much as someone who swears infrequently. T.T. has a vast vocabulary of swear words, and he hates wasps, so he continued to curse as we drove down I-85 towards Durham. Passing motorists couldn't help but stare at the sight of a lone driver carrying on such an animated conversation with a beagle. They probably thought he was mad at me.
This research also shows that test subjects who use a neutral word - such as 'broccoli' rather than a swear word experience very little pain relief. So the next time you hit your finger with a hammer or stump your toe going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, let it fly. People will understand that it's just pain management.
I can affirm that their research has merit. This morning, T.T. and I went to put gas in his truck. I rode in the back because it's finally Spring here in Granville County. T.T. parked next to the pump and then spent a few minutes patting himself down looking for his wallet. He rummaged around inside the truck, muttering a few curse words, before finding the wallet between the seat cushions.
As T.T. opened the gas tank lid, he jerked his hand back quickly. At first he thought he'd brushed a knuckle against a sharp piece of metal, but as the pain intensified, T.T. bent over to see what had stuck him. Hanging just above the gas cap was a large wasp, partially hanging out of a tiny wasp nest. T.T. jumped back a few feet, afraid the wasp was going to come after him.
It was rather cool this morning, so the wasp was probably too cold to venture out of its nest. T.T. looked at the wasp, then at his gas cap as if wondering if he could unscrew the cap without further agitating the wasp. He quickly decided the hell with that - in fact that's exactly what he said.
T.T. grabbed the windshield squeegee next to the pump and used it to knock the wasp from its perch. I backed to the other end of the truck bed as I don't get along well with wasps either. The wasp fell to the ground and T.T. proceeded to stomp the s....tuffing out of that wasp - cursing the entire time. When there was nothing left that resembled a wasp, T.T. looked at his swollen knuckle and cursed some more.
Apparently, someone who swears a lot builds up immunity to it and it doesn't help the pain as much as someone who swears infrequently. T.T. has a vast vocabulary of swear words, and he hates wasps, so he continued to curse as we drove down I-85 towards Durham. Passing motorists couldn't help but stare at the sight of a lone driver carrying on such an animated conversation with a beagle. They probably thought he was mad at me.
This research also shows that test subjects who use a neutral word - such as 'broccoli' rather than a swear word experience very little pain relief. So the next time you hit your finger with a hammer or stump your toe going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, let it fly. People will understand that it's just pain management.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Deacon
T.T. has been sad for the past few weeks - ever since Deacon Wilson passed away. Deacon Wilson, or just "Deacon" as he was commonly called by the members of The Carpenter's Shop, was eighty-two years old when he died from a stroke on a Tuesday afternoon in March. The pastor found him lying on the ground next to the shed where the riding lawn mower was stored. Deacon was apparently changing the oil in the mower before the first cutting of the year. Deacon loved Spring more than any other season for it represented new life.
The memorial service was on Friday. Sunday morning the weather was cloudy and misty. The pastor arrived early, as was his custom, to pray and review his sermon notes. He reached behind his seat for his umbrella and made a mental note to ask the greeters to move the umbrella stand just outside the church doors for the congregation to deposit their umbrellas before entering the sanctuary. This made him think of Deacon. Who would take his place escorting some of the older ladies from their cars under his umbrella this morning? Deacon had performed this task for years. When other greeters simply stood at the top of the steps to shake hands and open the church doors for worshipers, Deacon went out in the weather to make sure the older folk had some cover from the wind and rain.
As he exited his car and looked around the church grounds, the pastor noticed the beer cans and paper sacks tossed outside by passing motorists. Deacon had always picked up the trash in front of the church before anyone arrived and complained. He would have to get someone to handle this task as well, though few would want to risk getting their hands and suits dirty. "I'm sure going to miss Deacon." the pastor muttered softly.
The pastor wasn't the only one who noticed things weren't as neat and orderly as they normally were. Someone had brought the bread and grape juice for communion, but couldn't find the trays or the table cloths. The temperature was a bit chilly for the older members. Deacon had always adjusted the temperature so the sanctuary and classrooms were comfortable before people arrived. And despite the smiles and handshakes from the other greeters, it just wasn't the same not seeing Deacon there to hand out bulletins and inquire how one's week had been.
Children too missed Deacon. He'd always kept Life Savers candies in his coat pocket for the little ones. Deacon loved kids and knew every child by name. He even kept a small notebook with their birthdays recorded; and on their birthdays, Deacon would give them a dollar along with a Life Savers candy. Sometimes the parents thought that their kids were impolite or ungrateful when they'd run up to Deacon and shove their hand into his coat pocket for a candy and run off without saying "Thank you." Deacon didn't think that way though - he was honored that they trusted him and were comfortable around him.
It's common practice in most churches that deacons are nominated and approved to serve for a specific periof of time. Although Deacon wasn't a member of the current deacon board, he continued his duties as though he were. Deacon didn't know how not to stay busy, and people were so accustomed to seeing him out front every Sunday that he was considered honorary deacon for life. It's how he got his nickname.
Although his absence was noticed and felt by most, few members of the church really knew Deacon that well. The pastor knew him best; as did T.T. You see, both T.T. and Deacon shared the same personality - funny, but shy. They are wall-flowers at social events. They are always invited, but they tend to stay off at the side and talk to only one or two people they know best. Deacon and T.T. shared the same political and social opinions, even if T.T. was the more vocal of the two. Neither is comfortable letting others do for them; nor were they too comfortable simply sitting in a worship service as an observer. More often than not, T.T. and Deacon would stand outside and talk while the sermon was being delivered.
That's when I was able to attend church too, even if I didn't go inside. T.T. takes me everywhere - that's the deal we have. So it was nothing for me to sit between the two of them as they talked about the incompetence of the government, the sad state of affairs in the White House, and their worry over the world their kids and grandkids would inherit; or they'd talk about some member of the church who needed some sort of help with a harvest or a power bill. Deacon would scratch behind my ears and run his age-spotted hands over my coat. He usually had a biscuit in his other coat pocket for me if he knew I was coming that Sunday.
Deacon only had one suit. He took as good care of it as possible, brushing it every Sunday before putting it on, and occasionally having it dry cleaned when he had the extra money. Deacon never spent much money on himself. His first priority was his kids, whom he never stopped worrying about. As far as Deacon was concerned, if his kids didn't have to make the mistakes he'd made, he would consider himself a good father. I never once heard him ask anyone for anything, but I saw the joy he received in giving what little he had.
Last Sunday, the pastor and the church decided that Deacon deserved more than one memorial service. Members brought food and instruments and the whole day was spent eating, singing and simply being together. Deacon's children, none of whom attended their dad's church, were invited. I think that his family learned something about their dad that they didn't realize when he was alive. To them, he was a loving and gentle, if opinionated man; a good father, if not successful in the things that success is measured today. As person after person got up and shared their stories about Deacon, both family and friends discovered that here was a man whose character and loyalty and wit had touched lives in many small but significant ways. The day was spent in celebration of Deacon's life and in community with one another.
Papa stopped by to see me on Monday. He asked me how T.T. was doing - not that He couldn't know, but because He delights in choosing not to know everything just because He can. Papa loves to share the joy of His children, just as He's willing to experience their sorrow - because He cares about the same things they care about. "If anything matters, everything matters." is something God likes to remind us.
I told Papa that T.T. was still sad about the hole that Deacon's passing had left in his heart; and in mine. Papa gave me a squeeze and assured me that Deacon was just fine. "He's still a wall-flower, even in Heaven, Bubba." Papa explained. "It's as though he's still not convinced that he deserves to be with Me. Jesus explained to Deacon that it was our love for him that made him welcome into our family, but Deacon's still processing all that's been done for him."
Papa went on to say, "Part of Deacon's reticence to let himself go and be free to explore the heavens like he wants to, is that right after he arrived, he ran into a couple of liberals he recognized from television. Deacon never expected to see a liberal in Heaven, so now he has to rethink his old opinions. For Deacon, the distinction between liberals and conservatives is as far apart as East is from West. If one is right, the other has to be wrong. But there they are in the same place, so which one is wrong - or are they both?" "Believe me," Papa said, leaning in closer to me and with a grin said, "they were more surprised than Deacon to find themselves among the distinct minority in Heaven."
"Deacon doesn't realize it yet, but Heaven is far bigger than social thought or about theology or eschatology or other human ideas. It's about discovering My mind and My heart for my creations. Deacon's destiny is to explore new worlds, just as I whispered to him in his mother's womb." I asked Papa about T.T.'s destiny, but He shook his head and told me it's not for me to know. "T.T. walks a similar path to that of Deacon, but every destiny is different as every person is different." I must have looked worried because Papa quickly reassured me that "You'll see them both again, Bubba. Trust me."
I wanted to ask if there's a Bojangles in Heaven, but didn't want to appear too 'worldly' to Papa. If there is, I'm sure that Deacon will have a biscuit for me next time I see him.
The memorial service was on Friday. Sunday morning the weather was cloudy and misty. The pastor arrived early, as was his custom, to pray and review his sermon notes. He reached behind his seat for his umbrella and made a mental note to ask the greeters to move the umbrella stand just outside the church doors for the congregation to deposit their umbrellas before entering the sanctuary. This made him think of Deacon. Who would take his place escorting some of the older ladies from their cars under his umbrella this morning? Deacon had performed this task for years. When other greeters simply stood at the top of the steps to shake hands and open the church doors for worshipers, Deacon went out in the weather to make sure the older folk had some cover from the wind and rain.
As he exited his car and looked around the church grounds, the pastor noticed the beer cans and paper sacks tossed outside by passing motorists. Deacon had always picked up the trash in front of the church before anyone arrived and complained. He would have to get someone to handle this task as well, though few would want to risk getting their hands and suits dirty. "I'm sure going to miss Deacon." the pastor muttered softly.
The pastor wasn't the only one who noticed things weren't as neat and orderly as they normally were. Someone had brought the bread and grape juice for communion, but couldn't find the trays or the table cloths. The temperature was a bit chilly for the older members. Deacon had always adjusted the temperature so the sanctuary and classrooms were comfortable before people arrived. And despite the smiles and handshakes from the other greeters, it just wasn't the same not seeing Deacon there to hand out bulletins and inquire how one's week had been.
Children too missed Deacon. He'd always kept Life Savers candies in his coat pocket for the little ones. Deacon loved kids and knew every child by name. He even kept a small notebook with their birthdays recorded; and on their birthdays, Deacon would give them a dollar along with a Life Savers candy. Sometimes the parents thought that their kids were impolite or ungrateful when they'd run up to Deacon and shove their hand into his coat pocket for a candy and run off without saying "Thank you." Deacon didn't think that way though - he was honored that they trusted him and were comfortable around him.
It's common practice in most churches that deacons are nominated and approved to serve for a specific periof of time. Although Deacon wasn't a member of the current deacon board, he continued his duties as though he were. Deacon didn't know how not to stay busy, and people were so accustomed to seeing him out front every Sunday that he was considered honorary deacon for life. It's how he got his nickname.
Although his absence was noticed and felt by most, few members of the church really knew Deacon that well. The pastor knew him best; as did T.T. You see, both T.T. and Deacon shared the same personality - funny, but shy. They are wall-flowers at social events. They are always invited, but they tend to stay off at the side and talk to only one or two people they know best. Deacon and T.T. shared the same political and social opinions, even if T.T. was the more vocal of the two. Neither is comfortable letting others do for them; nor were they too comfortable simply sitting in a worship service as an observer. More often than not, T.T. and Deacon would stand outside and talk while the sermon was being delivered.
That's when I was able to attend church too, even if I didn't go inside. T.T. takes me everywhere - that's the deal we have. So it was nothing for me to sit between the two of them as they talked about the incompetence of the government, the sad state of affairs in the White House, and their worry over the world their kids and grandkids would inherit; or they'd talk about some member of the church who needed some sort of help with a harvest or a power bill. Deacon would scratch behind my ears and run his age-spotted hands over my coat. He usually had a biscuit in his other coat pocket for me if he knew I was coming that Sunday.
Deacon only had one suit. He took as good care of it as possible, brushing it every Sunday before putting it on, and occasionally having it dry cleaned when he had the extra money. Deacon never spent much money on himself. His first priority was his kids, whom he never stopped worrying about. As far as Deacon was concerned, if his kids didn't have to make the mistakes he'd made, he would consider himself a good father. I never once heard him ask anyone for anything, but I saw the joy he received in giving what little he had.
Last Sunday, the pastor and the church decided that Deacon deserved more than one memorial service. Members brought food and instruments and the whole day was spent eating, singing and simply being together. Deacon's children, none of whom attended their dad's church, were invited. I think that his family learned something about their dad that they didn't realize when he was alive. To them, he was a loving and gentle, if opinionated man; a good father, if not successful in the things that success is measured today. As person after person got up and shared their stories about Deacon, both family and friends discovered that here was a man whose character and loyalty and wit had touched lives in many small but significant ways. The day was spent in celebration of Deacon's life and in community with one another.
Papa stopped by to see me on Monday. He asked me how T.T. was doing - not that He couldn't know, but because He delights in choosing not to know everything just because He can. Papa loves to share the joy of His children, just as He's willing to experience their sorrow - because He cares about the same things they care about. "If anything matters, everything matters." is something God likes to remind us.
I told Papa that T.T. was still sad about the hole that Deacon's passing had left in his heart; and in mine. Papa gave me a squeeze and assured me that Deacon was just fine. "He's still a wall-flower, even in Heaven, Bubba." Papa explained. "It's as though he's still not convinced that he deserves to be with Me. Jesus explained to Deacon that it was our love for him that made him welcome into our family, but Deacon's still processing all that's been done for him."
Papa went on to say, "Part of Deacon's reticence to let himself go and be free to explore the heavens like he wants to, is that right after he arrived, he ran into a couple of liberals he recognized from television. Deacon never expected to see a liberal in Heaven, so now he has to rethink his old opinions. For Deacon, the distinction between liberals and conservatives is as far apart as East is from West. If one is right, the other has to be wrong. But there they are in the same place, so which one is wrong - or are they both?" "Believe me," Papa said, leaning in closer to me and with a grin said, "they were more surprised than Deacon to find themselves among the distinct minority in Heaven."
"Deacon doesn't realize it yet, but Heaven is far bigger than social thought or about theology or eschatology or other human ideas. It's about discovering My mind and My heart for my creations. Deacon's destiny is to explore new worlds, just as I whispered to him in his mother's womb." I asked Papa about T.T.'s destiny, but He shook his head and told me it's not for me to know. "T.T. walks a similar path to that of Deacon, but every destiny is different as every person is different." I must have looked worried because Papa quickly reassured me that "You'll see them both again, Bubba. Trust me."
I wanted to ask if there's a Bojangles in Heaven, but didn't want to appear too 'worldly' to Papa. If there is, I'm sure that Deacon will have a biscuit for me next time I see him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
