SOME OF OUR MORE RECENT A'MUSINGS

WARNING: The content below contains mildly adult language!


I think the best part about buffets is
the fact I don't feel like I'm cheating
myself when I start a food fight.

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Life is like a box of Chiclets: Tacky and lint-speckled
when you discover it wedged in your grandmother's sofa
cushions, but colorfully alluring enough to dust off and pop
in your mouth before breaking a tooth on the petrified thing.

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I always cry when I watch Forrest Gump, primarily
because I can't believe he's spent 2/3 of the movie
doltishly rambling at a bus stop when Jenny's house
is RIGHT DOWN THE FRIGGIN' STREET!

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I love how we guys so nobly brave the bitter, freezing weather
in order to plow our homes' driveways and sidewalks for our
families' safety, and are able to milk respect and sympathy
for it, when we'd probably be out there playing around
with our gas-powered snow-toys anyway! Just be sure
not to let on about our little secr-- uh-oh.

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I hate it when I pay for legal advice which ends up
getting me in more trouble than I was in originally.
It almost makes me want to give back the free corndog.

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I wish someone had told me ahead of time that
"Supernanny" wasn't a free televised babysitting service.

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When someone pauses mid-sentence to interject the cliché
"to make a long story short...", I make a buzzing sound and say,
"Too late!" But the real fun comes after I kick them in the shins
and make them chase me down to finish their lame-ass story.

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Mom was fond of quoting to us kids, "If you can't take the heat,
get out of the kitchen!" This was usually followed by Dad saying,
"Jeebus, Ma! If you didn't want them nagging you about supper,
just ask them to go outside rather than set the cupboards
on fire again! AND TAKE YOUR DAMN MEDS!"

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What I love most about making New Year's Resolutions
is that compliance doesn't officially start until I regularly
write the correct year on my personal checks.

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Tonight I will drink one for all those people who spent the
last year honing their skills air-sketching the number "2010"
with sparklers in order to be captured on web-posted time-lapse
photos, and who will now awaken tomorrow paralyzed by a
rudderlessness-induced depression. Get well soon, dweeby jag-offs.

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What I like best about being a dad is no longer
being the initial suspect when the room smells like poo.

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Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
That way you and your friends can yell, "Enemy sandwich!"
and give those mean ol' bastards a big, cuddly bear-hug.

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A wise man once said to me, "Keep close to me, kid.
Every time you open your mouth you make me look smarter."
Wow, more truer words haven't never been written so loudly.

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I always wondered how that jaw-droppingly zany chanteuse
Lady Gaga got her name. And while I'm at it, maybe I could
uncover why people at work call me "Guy Vomitinmymouth."

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GROANER ALERT!
The problem with banking in the South is
that you can only make a withdrawwwwwwl.

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To clarify, what I thought qualified as a "brush with fame"
should more accurately be described as "accidentally
tripping Daniel Powter so that he dropped the Viva La French
Toast Combo onto the customer's lap at the IHOP."

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I think a cool reality cross-over would be "Survivor: Biggest Loser."
Sure, you might bore of the intensified complaining as
there would be no trainers or structured workouts to keep
the overweight contestant occupied, but things would really
heat up by Day 10 when they start killing each other for food.

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The worst part about Christmas finally arriving is that I just
realized all the good-behavior ensuring leverage I've
enjoyed for the last month has suddenly evaporated.

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Everyone seemed to enjoy their annual Christmas
letters from me this year. I didn't receive nearly as many
angry reactions as I did from last year's "F" and "U".

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The hardest part about toilet training has to be making toddlers
appreciate the big picture -- that in eighty years they can enjoy the ease
and convenience of burdening someone else with their waste-elimination
regimen, but that person won't be born for another forty-odd years.

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All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.
Or a time machine that will take me
back to before I walked into that pole.

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If you're driving and Billy Idol's "Mony Mony" comes on the radio,
I learned that you should probably change the station if you're
being accompanied by a two year old riding in the
back seat and a two-wine-coolered wife in the front.

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I'm always careful not to put the cart before the horse -- unless,
of course, I'm trying to get the horse into the cart.
But then I have to be careful not to let the rickshaw driver
see any of our shenanigans, because I'm fairly confident he'd charge
something like triple to give me and ol' Trotter a ride around the square.

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If I were a urologist on Uranus, I'd make
a killing as a part-time comedian.

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The way to a zombie's heart is through
his stomach, by way of your skull.

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I thought of the coolest holiday gift idea, and it won't
even cost me a dime! I'm giving all my nieces and
nephews $1000 bills, but I'm betting the kids will think
they're so awesome they'll never ever cash them!
Smartest uncle ever = priceless.

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I don't believe in love at first sight,
only because that would make me feel guilty
about aiming the gun at it in the first place.

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I think my favorite part of watching the animated
"Grinch Who Stole Christmas" special is seeing the Grinch's
heart grow so big that little magnifier explodes open.
It motivates me to plow through a steaming hot bucket of bleu-
cheese-dressing-smothered KFC so mine will do the same thing.

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I'm so excited about Dad opening his gift from me Christmas
morning and seeing that I got us tickets to "The Nutcracker."
He may be disappointed when he arrives at the theater and
learns it's a ballet, but nothing can rob him of that initial joy imagining
a two-hour spectacular of dudes getting whacked in the nads.

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When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
When life gives you a pink slip, divorce papers
and botched colonoscopy, make prune juice and
simply acknowledge the reality that life is full of crap.

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I told my wife I was getting her a diamond necklace for her gift
this holiday, and when she unwraps the "oversized" box
Christmas morning, she's instead going to find one dozen
kittens! Sure she loves diamonds, but I know her well
enough that even more she loves surprises!

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My favorite part about the December holidays is when my relatives
from Texas come up for a visit. Sure there's the festive family time
and the exchanging of gifts, but if we're lucky enough to have
a winter storm hit during their stay, there's nothing more entertaining
than riding along with them on a scream-filled, urine-soaked,
demolition-derby-ride-from-hell to the store for more chew.

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I love it when a person acknowledges something ridiculous
he just said was funnier in his head, because it gives me
the chance to retort, "Not really, because your head goblins
just called and said they only laughed so you might take pity and
let them out before the emerging tumor squeezes them to death."
See, now that's funny.

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As my Netflix-loving uncle always told me, "never assumathurman",
because it makes an "ass" out of... well, I think you get the idea.

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My most favorite part of Christmas shopping is shuffling
over to the desk with my robe draped open, cradling a warm
cup o' java and stroking the three-day-old growth sprouting
on my jawline, at which point I sit down, give my knuckles
a healthy CRAAAACK and proceed with ordering
a bunch of stuff online. My least favorite would probably
be getting kicked out of OfficeMax before I was done.

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If you find yourself working a construction job with an Iraq war veteran,
be advised they don't find it funny when you pepper them with pieces
of wet cement and yell, "Mortar attack!" At least until they
clock you with a trowel, then they start laughing, big time.

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I've never been a big fan of haiku poetry, primarily
because I typically use up my allotted syllables
before I'm able to rhyme anything with "suck it."

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Unfortunately, my desire to avoid getting H1N1 seems
to be outweighed by my instinct to stuff my mouth
with a fistful of community-candy dish M&Ms.

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When I see that show "Hoarders", only
one thing comes to mind -- those folks must be
extremely hard to Christmas-shop for.

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When is a Monday not a Monday?
When you save up all the leftovers from three separate
Thanksgiving dinners and gorge on them before midnight
Sunday such that when you do finally awaken some time
after 3 in the afternoon and call into work, they can barely
understand your tryptophan-tastic jibberish and tell
you to just not bother coming in until Tuesday.

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Believe it or not, the worst part about that post-Thanksgiving
dinner nap isn't waking up in some border town with no shoes,
money or identification, but sensing things might have
been different if only you had won the wishbone pull.

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When I think of all the things for which I am thankful, the
most dear to me is my health. Not having health is unhealthy,
see how that works? Whereas not having, say, a cool car
is "uncoolcar-ily"? What's that? I guess I could have done
the same with "friends," but everyone already knows
I'm an unfriendly S.O.B., especially to people who
chew my rump about things I should be thankful for.

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GROANER ALERT!
I'm usually pretty methodical about swimming
against the current, but other times I get carried away.

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People get the wrong idea when they see me
loitering around elementary school playgrounds
for the hours leading up to the big event.
It's just that I'm an incurable ice cream socialpath.

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You'd be surprised how gracious the other patrons
of a cash register line can be when you arrive jumping
up and down, hugging a 24-pack of toilet tissue.

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The true test as to whether you succeeded as a group
anger management counselor is the day
you hand out the "I'm With Stupid <--->" T-shirts.

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I put a dollar in the bell ringer's bucket,
but instead of saying "thanks" she spit on me!
That's the last time I donate to the Salivation Army!

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If you can't say something nice about someone, try, try again.
Or something like that, you pedantic wienie.

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I absolutely cannot stand being around people for whom
it's inconceivable to take responsibility for their own actions.
I think my parents are to blame for that.

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I think all would-be parents should have to care for a five-,
three- and one-year-old for an evening to give them
a flavor for the job. Think of it as a "whine tasting."

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What bothers me most about President Obama winning
the Nobel Peace Prize that that it marks yet another
snub-year for the genius who harmoniously brought
together the disparate flavors of peanut butter and chocolate.

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Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I laughed because that reminded me of a really good limerick.

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If people spent less time dorking around on Facebook
and more time building memories with their families,
perhaps the world would realize how cool it is to slap
a "dislike" sticker on the chest of loudmouthed
Uncle Chet in front of the entire Thanksgiving gathering.

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You can fool some of the people all of the time,
and all of the people some of the time, but it's
that first group on which I would recommend
testing out your "laxative incident" joke.

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...And the worst part about the dream was the nattily
dressed aliens from planet HG-TV1 kept asking
"take me to your designer" while they diddled
me with their feng shui-nal probe.

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Normally I believe in an eye-for-an-eye,
but the bookish accountant among our feuding
multiple personalities is sure getting
pissed about all the medical bills.

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A genius prank is 99 percent perspiration and
one percent whatever-the-hell-else
you want to put in your friend's glass.

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The problem I have with Monday mornings is they
tend to ruin what had been a heretofore promising week.

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Why is it that just as I'm about to finally settle in
and take my latest New Year's weight loss resolution
seriously, Halloween and Thanksgiving
have to come along and ruin my mojo?

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I realized I spend too much time in the home office
when I Skyped my wife for a beer.

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I love nothing more than getting up Saturday mornings
and just lounging around the house in my boxers.
And if you'd have carefully read the fine print, Mr. and Mrs. Prissy,
you'd see that it says just that on our bed-and-breakfast brochure.

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I've always wondered how musical history might have
been different if Pete Best hadn't been saddled
with such an arrogant, off-putting last name.

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To err is human; to um and uh and say "you know"
repeatedly makes you come off as a borderline-illiterate rube.

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Life is like a roll of LifeSavers: You never know when you're
gonna get one caught in your throat and be, like, SUPER
thankful they have that hole there-- whoa, NOW I get it.
Hey, that's pretty freakin' cool.

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GROANER ALERT!
I love hanging out with the counter jockeys at the
UPS Store because they're always pushing the envelope.

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With all this renewed interest in young vampire romance,
I wonder when they'll make a prequel to Bride of Frankenstein,
focusing on the two when they were just teenage boyfiend and girlfiend.

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My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night
But not to worry, my pyromaniac friends
I'm off to set the barn alight!

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I was just reminded that today is Veterans' Day.
Great, now what the hell am I supposed to do with
the PediPaws and bag of treats I bought for Rex's doctor?

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I'm one of those guys who, when having drank too much,
starts loudly blaming all my problems on liberals or
the super-rich -- so I try to cut myself off before
I put my beer-demagogue-les on.

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If you love something, set it outside in
your yard with a sign that says, "Free."

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GROANER ALERT!
I'm in for a treat! I shouldn't make
bets with Dairy Queen employees.

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Maybe it was too much to hope for to
nab a speaking role in Mimes! The Musical.

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I should probably have specified "movie-watching room"
rather than "theater room" when planning our basement
finishing project, because now were stuck in the middle of
a six-month revival engagement of "Starlight Express."

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To me, a perfect storm would be one
which rains down Reddi-Wip and cherries.

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Watching my 2-year-old enjoy trick-or-treating
made me long for those carefree days, back when
I wasn't concerned with pondering why
Baby Ruth has nuts, and 3 Musketeers doesn't.

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I'll know the economy has recovered
when I see job listings for full-time Tweetsistants.

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I am proud to say I spent October focused on increasing
my "breast cancer awareness." Well, maybe only 66% of it.

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If you want something done right, you'd better do it yourself.
However, you might first think about the consequences
of crossing that Rubicon, Mr. Peeping Tom.

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When in Rome, before doing anything explicitly "Roman,"
you might ask if any of them know why you woke up naked
and duct-taped to an airport baggage carousel with
someone else's passport wedged under your man-cleavage.

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Maybe our lead development actuary's retirement party
wasn't the best time to whip out that spoof version called
"Too Old To Rock Excel, Too Young To Die" I'd been working on.

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You never get a second chance to make a first impression.
And I'd imagine if you're interviewing for the vacant
embosser position, the pressure's practically unbearable.

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I think it's about time B.J. Thomas and the
Weather Girls teamed up for a duet -- Hallelujah!

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I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot his deputy.
Hey, don't blame me for the H1N1 vaccination shortage!

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Happiness is a tired cellmate.

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As they say at work, "There's no use crying over split bananas."
And it's banter like that keeps this former-accountant-turned-
Dairy-Queen-Brazier-counter-jockey popping the Cymbalta like candy.

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When people say to me "I don't want to say, 'I told you so', but...",
I polite inform them that -- their clever use of backhanded condescension
notwithstanding -- it probably would be hard for them to do so more
clearly a second time with my windbreaker stuffed in their mouth.

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The Trick-or-Treater's confusion coupled with the
horrified look on his mom's face upon hearing my query
suggested to me that this little Bob the Builder
can fix just about anything but a broken marriage.

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Apparently kids aren't really serious about "Trick or Treat" when
they recoil when you ask them if they'd like to pick a card, any card.

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It's strange that I have yet to find
a periodic table with surprise (Sp) on it.

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