*YOU CAN READ ALL MY BLOGS AND ADD YOURSELF TO THE SUBSCRIPTION LIST (all the hip kids are doing it...) @ http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
Welcome to the blog…lets jump right into it shall we?
“The Drug Dealer Survey”
The other day at work I overheard my co-worker placing a call to his drug dealer for a refill of his green addiction. It wasn’t the fact that he was placing an order while at work that shocked me; it was his customer survey-like complaint that his last order had been “a little too dry.” I don’t partake in the world of marijuana, but I don’t need to be an avid smoker to know there has got to be a code of some sort that says you don’t complain to your drug dealer, right? And too dry? Isn’t it a dried bush in the first place? Wouldn’t that be like calling a tub of bath water too wet? You’ve got to figure the last thing the guy cares about is how some guy who spends $20 a month on your product feels about the customer service he’s been receiving. If I’m wrong and someone reading this has received a blocked call from your dealer about the time you’re sitting down to dinner, a few weeks after your last purchase of PCP, then slap me silly and tell me I’m screwed six ways til Tuesday, but until then…A little dry? “You’ll get nothing and like it or how about a break your legs, you whining, complaining son of a…” would have been my response. Maybe he was hoping for a “Wow, thank you so much for your input. My head weed pimp Tommy “The Killer” Soprano really values you taking the time to fill out our customer service survey and for your troubles you’ll receive a fresh bunt cake. We feel so sorry about your last order that we will refund your money and give you the next three pounds free…”
“Screwed At The Pump”
CAN there be any explanation of why a gas station pump will ask you if you want your receipt before you start pumping your gas other than the fact that gas tycoons are completely and utterly trying to screw you in advance once they realize you will have absolutely no record of your fill up? Is it not enough for them to charge a gazillion* dollars for gas in the first place at the price offered? I can just see the them at their mansions now – “Lets see, hot off the wire …what’s this…a non-receipter out in Tallahassee - Dennis, that means 17 cents more for each of us. Call up the strippers and this time order the special…” The worst part is that they strategically place that question right after the car wash question… “Would you like a $24.99 car wash…?" You’re, of course, emphatically pressing the ‘No’ button and then the “Do you want your receipt,” question pops up but you’ve already pressed the button simultaneously. You’re left receipt-less and even more painful - the feeling like you’re taking one in the…
*For those reading studying for an upcoming spelling bee, this is not a word…
“Reaching the Un-reachable”
I’ve come to realize that it is completely impossible these days to be unreachable. In the past a messenger pigeon could have gotten caught in a crosswind and blown unsuspectingly into a skeet shooting range, the pony express could have run astray into a ditch or the post man could have had a few too many at his local pub and lost your mail. Unfortunately in today’s world of email, text, blackberry messaging, Facebook, Myspace, Twitter, Evite and god knows what else, it is impossible to use any excuse such as – “Sorry I never got the invitation, otherwise I would have totally made it.” That sort of un-rsvp is now rebutted with - “Really? I sent you an Evite, cross-referenced with your Facebook profile, re-coordinated it with your bb messenger and emailed you.” You’re then left with a look of agonizing perplexion; “Right…ok you got me – I drank a few too many and passed out by the pool – I’m sorry I missed your Grandmother’s funeral dude, my bad.” For the last few weeks I’ve had nine e-mails, three Evites, six Facebook invites and a 13-year old pimply faced singing telegramist (not a word) proposition me on my doorstep, all with the goal to entice me to attend an upcoming Fraternity Alumni weekend. Even if I had responded to a single one (which of course, I didn’t), I still would have needed to respond “no” to six other places as well. Would it be too much to ask to maybe use just one of these means of communication to invite someone somewhere? If they don’t respond, all statistical analysis show that likely it probably just means they’re not interested. Or perhaps, a telephone call might suffice? “Hey Steve, party next weekend, want to come?” “Sorry I can’t.” Ok done – you move on. That saves everyone about thirty minutes simply due to log-on time into your various online accounts to rsvp that you’re not coming. And can someone tell me again why I need to rsvp to something that I’m not going to? Isn’t the idea of an rsvp to announce you ARE showing up? Those who don’t rsvp, usually are giving the ever so important clue that they’re not making it. Then, as if its not enough that the other 47 guests see that you are a deadbeat and missing the event, you have to give a reason why you’re not making it as well, so everyone on the thing can see you’re lying through your teeth. “That is funny-Steve’s rsvp noted that he would be chasing antelope in Sudan on Sunday and couldn’t make it but I saw him passed out in his sundae at McDonalds in San Francisco, just last night…hmm…Something sounds fishy to me…” From now on, my reason will be that I’m not going because I don’t want to have to give a reason why I’m not going! How about that? Oh wait…that would mean I just fell victim to their tricks and gave a reason…Damn…
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
"Shenanigans Volume IX"
Since it is Friday and no one will be getting any work done at the office, you might as well take five, ten, forty-five minutes to stretch out and read my blog over and over…With that, I present to you the latest comical creation fresh out of the uninspired, un-innovative, and un-edited oven piping hot with wit and nonsensical ingenuity complimented by a gazillion grammatical errors… (Gazillion is a word? Seriously? Or did my spell check drink too many Jaeger Bombs last night? Why is it not catching it? Screw it lets run with it…)
YOU CAN READ ALL MY BLOGS AND ADD YOURSELF TO THE SUBSCRIPTION LIST (all the hip kids are doing it...) @ http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
BEFORE the blog gets started, I think now would be a good time to admit that I’m feeling a slight addiction to Christian rock surfacing. Granted, I’m not shouting the lyrics to my favorite God-saving jingle ebulliently from a mountain top, but humming modestly from the driver’s seat of my truck, in my opinion, is sign enough for alarm. What can I say? The songs are positive and catchy; don’t act like you haven’t caught yourself touched by the enchanted musical hands of God singing blissfully like a canary… I think that is actually how they initially get you – first they suck you in with the beguiling, goose bump-initiating music, causing you to obliviously ignore any reason to panic, and then the next thing you know you’re dawning a cloak in some field in Texas drinking Kool-aid and chanting that the sun sucks… I’ve seen it a hundred times… “What was that? Yes oh great one, yes I will slaughter a live Koala as sacrifice and then grow a mullet to prove my commitment, whatever you say, I’m humbled to be your servant…”
A Shenanigans look at gyms…
“…as tough as a straight man can respond with some guy’s package flopping less than an arm’s length away, I timorously muster, “uh yeah, uh right there, thanks man…”
I’ve never actually read my 24-hour Fitness gym contract, but I’m pretty if I did the small print would read that whenever I return to my locker after my workout, there will always be a three-hundred pound, hairy behemoth bending over naked in front of my locker, thus creating a blockade of despicable grotesqueness barricading my belongings. I swear it could be 3am with not a soul in the place when I choose my locker, but sure enough when I’m done, the one other dude in the whole gym is right next to my locker, stretching in tight white underwear. (Is it necessary to stretch while in tighty whities, one might ask themselves? I too used to have this thought until I saw an eighty-nine year old man stretch naked. After that I didn’t question the underwear stretch). This usually leads to the awkward… “You need to get in here,” the guy will non-credulously ask, as he removes his underwear in mid conversation, which is about the time I usually start to black out. As tough as a straight man can respond with some guy’s package flopping less than an arm’s length away, I timorously muster, “uh yeah, uh right there, thanks man.” I always try to remain stolid and cool and I figure if I say, “man,” that proves I’m completely unaffected by the awkwardness, when in reality I want to scream out - “for the love of god! No I don’t want to get in there, I don’t even want to be in here, when I picked out my locker no one was around, and now I’ve got your package an arm’s length away…Mama!” I mean seriously, what else would bring me all the way to the back row of lockers to the only locker with a lock on it - past hoards of naked, showering men, the smelly bathroom, and some weirdo drying his privates with the hand blower? “No buddy I don’t need to get in there, I’m actually in a traveling circus and I’m scouting out the next location for the bearded lady to jungle raccoons, or nope I just like to hang out in the back of men’s locker rooms, the smell is invigorating, or oh snap, I thought this was elliptical machine, drats, guess I was wrong, well…see ya later…” I mean really? Yes I need to get in there!! Son of a…
Then of course once you actually retrieve your belongings you’re forced to change right next to the guy, otherwise you look suspicious. For some homoerotic reason, hundreds of years ago some caveman made it acceptable for naked men to change together and ever since then we’ve been following suit, forced to simply accept the awkwardness without any cries for help or to question. If you don’t participate, men think you are some homosexual, emotionally uncomfortable around naked men. Makes perfect sense…
Once you’ve collected your belongings and awkwardly began to change, there always seems to be some completely naked guy, who emerges stealthily out of what you previously thought was a completely empty shower. Before he puts on any clothes feels the need to tell a joke or a story; usually about some girl he banged back in college. Personally I don’t think it is too much to ask for some guy to throw on a towel before starting in on his tale of uncomfortable debauchery; I mean really, how am I supposed to follow a story when, once again, some guy’s package is an arm’s length away. All I can think about it how I want to be somewhere else – like anywhere else, for example at the dentist getting a major root canal done while a midget is pulling off my toenails one by one. And furthermore, if you’re nailing chicks, why in God’s name are you practically to second base with me in the locker room - standing there, again, with your package an arm’s length away…
Shenanigans look at Mexican Food…
“…but at the end of the day, they are all just wolves dressed in tostada clothing – another burrito! …”
In the spirit of Cinco de Mayo, I’ve come to the conclusion that going out to eat at a Mexican restaurant is really no different than ordering a sixty-cent taco from Taco Bell. Seafood, Italian food, Chinese food, heck even Viking food can always be improved, but no matter how many ways you fold it a burrito is a burrito. You can only maximize chicken, beans, cheese and sour cream so far before you reach a food innovation plateau. Sure, there are different types of burritos, whether it be a crispy taco, enchilada, or whatever, but at the end of the day, they are all just wolves dressed in tostada clothing – another burrito! I’m not fooled – I’m not, I’ll be honest. I think its time someone said something. Many generations have tried, but ultimately after hundreds of years with each generation really putting their heads together and getting nowhere, we’ve ultimately witnessed absolutely no evolution in the world of Mexican food. Whose to blame one might ask? The answer, my friends is the burrito-eating people of this world. We continue to spend $15.95, plus tax and tip on the same burrito we could have purchased at El Pollo Loco for $3. In fact I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised that I’m being served that $3 burrito and paying $15.95, and wouldn’t know the difference. I’d sit there and happily eat it either way to be perfectly honest, while this burrito evolution implosion manifests in Mexican restaurants everywhere. In order to feel like I’m even getting a bargain at a restaurant I’ll usually eat about three baskets of chips and then stare trancelike at the tortilla-making machine for several hours hoping to somehow get my money’s worth. Throw a few $6 imported Pacificos, which coincidentally are brewed in Chicago, and I might as well have ordered the surf and turf at Benihana’s for the same price. Again, these are the things that keep me up at night…
May your weekend be pure drinking bliss...
Cheers,
Steve
YOU CAN READ ALL MY BLOGS AND ADD YOURSELF TO THE SUBSCRIPTION LIST (all the hip kids are doing it...) @ http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
BEFORE the blog gets started, I think now would be a good time to admit that I’m feeling a slight addiction to Christian rock surfacing. Granted, I’m not shouting the lyrics to my favorite God-saving jingle ebulliently from a mountain top, but humming modestly from the driver’s seat of my truck, in my opinion, is sign enough for alarm. What can I say? The songs are positive and catchy; don’t act like you haven’t caught yourself touched by the enchanted musical hands of God singing blissfully like a canary… I think that is actually how they initially get you – first they suck you in with the beguiling, goose bump-initiating music, causing you to obliviously ignore any reason to panic, and then the next thing you know you’re dawning a cloak in some field in Texas drinking Kool-aid and chanting that the sun sucks… I’ve seen it a hundred times… “What was that? Yes oh great one, yes I will slaughter a live Koala as sacrifice and then grow a mullet to prove my commitment, whatever you say, I’m humbled to be your servant…”
A Shenanigans look at gyms…
“…as tough as a straight man can respond with some guy’s package flopping less than an arm’s length away, I timorously muster, “uh yeah, uh right there, thanks man…”
I’ve never actually read my 24-hour Fitness gym contract, but I’m pretty if I did the small print would read that whenever I return to my locker after my workout, there will always be a three-hundred pound, hairy behemoth bending over naked in front of my locker, thus creating a blockade of despicable grotesqueness barricading my belongings. I swear it could be 3am with not a soul in the place when I choose my locker, but sure enough when I’m done, the one other dude in the whole gym is right next to my locker, stretching in tight white underwear. (Is it necessary to stretch while in tighty whities, one might ask themselves? I too used to have this thought until I saw an eighty-nine year old man stretch naked. After that I didn’t question the underwear stretch). This usually leads to the awkward… “You need to get in here,” the guy will non-credulously ask, as he removes his underwear in mid conversation, which is about the time I usually start to black out. As tough as a straight man can respond with some guy’s package flopping less than an arm’s length away, I timorously muster, “uh yeah, uh right there, thanks man.” I always try to remain stolid and cool and I figure if I say, “man,” that proves I’m completely unaffected by the awkwardness, when in reality I want to scream out - “for the love of god! No I don’t want to get in there, I don’t even want to be in here, when I picked out my locker no one was around, and now I’ve got your package an arm’s length away…Mama!” I mean seriously, what else would bring me all the way to the back row of lockers to the only locker with a lock on it - past hoards of naked, showering men, the smelly bathroom, and some weirdo drying his privates with the hand blower? “No buddy I don’t need to get in there, I’m actually in a traveling circus and I’m scouting out the next location for the bearded lady to jungle raccoons, or nope I just like to hang out in the back of men’s locker rooms, the smell is invigorating, or oh snap, I thought this was elliptical machine, drats, guess I was wrong, well…see ya later…” I mean really? Yes I need to get in there!! Son of a…
Then of course once you actually retrieve your belongings you’re forced to change right next to the guy, otherwise you look suspicious. For some homoerotic reason, hundreds of years ago some caveman made it acceptable for naked men to change together and ever since then we’ve been following suit, forced to simply accept the awkwardness without any cries for help or to question. If you don’t participate, men think you are some homosexual, emotionally uncomfortable around naked men. Makes perfect sense…
Once you’ve collected your belongings and awkwardly began to change, there always seems to be some completely naked guy, who emerges stealthily out of what you previously thought was a completely empty shower. Before he puts on any clothes feels the need to tell a joke or a story; usually about some girl he banged back in college. Personally I don’t think it is too much to ask for some guy to throw on a towel before starting in on his tale of uncomfortable debauchery; I mean really, how am I supposed to follow a story when, once again, some guy’s package is an arm’s length away. All I can think about it how I want to be somewhere else – like anywhere else, for example at the dentist getting a major root canal done while a midget is pulling off my toenails one by one. And furthermore, if you’re nailing chicks, why in God’s name are you practically to second base with me in the locker room - standing there, again, with your package an arm’s length away…
Shenanigans look at Mexican Food…
“…but at the end of the day, they are all just wolves dressed in tostada clothing – another burrito! …”
In the spirit of Cinco de Mayo, I’ve come to the conclusion that going out to eat at a Mexican restaurant is really no different than ordering a sixty-cent taco from Taco Bell. Seafood, Italian food, Chinese food, heck even Viking food can always be improved, but no matter how many ways you fold it a burrito is a burrito. You can only maximize chicken, beans, cheese and sour cream so far before you reach a food innovation plateau. Sure, there are different types of burritos, whether it be a crispy taco, enchilada, or whatever, but at the end of the day, they are all just wolves dressed in tostada clothing – another burrito! I’m not fooled – I’m not, I’ll be honest. I think its time someone said something. Many generations have tried, but ultimately after hundreds of years with each generation really putting their heads together and getting nowhere, we’ve ultimately witnessed absolutely no evolution in the world of Mexican food. Whose to blame one might ask? The answer, my friends is the burrito-eating people of this world. We continue to spend $15.95, plus tax and tip on the same burrito we could have purchased at El Pollo Loco for $3. In fact I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised that I’m being served that $3 burrito and paying $15.95, and wouldn’t know the difference. I’d sit there and happily eat it either way to be perfectly honest, while this burrito evolution implosion manifests in Mexican restaurants everywhere. In order to feel like I’m even getting a bargain at a restaurant I’ll usually eat about three baskets of chips and then stare trancelike at the tortilla-making machine for several hours hoping to somehow get my money’s worth. Throw a few $6 imported Pacificos, which coincidentally are brewed in Chicago, and I might as well have ordered the surf and turf at Benihana’s for the same price. Again, these are the things that keep me up at night…
May your weekend be pure drinking bliss...
Cheers,
Steve
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