Tuesday, October 27, 2009

How They Died

Mary died of natural causes.

Gary died of scurvy.

Vondi died on a Fung-Wah bus that somehow ended up in Jersey.

Sammy died of a broken heart

Tammy died of the flu

Henri died when a lime-carrying tick found its way into his roux

Matty died of sun stroke.

Patty died from an odor.
Carlton died when his belt was caught in a runaway tractor's motor.

Lanny died a drawn-out death.

Manny’s was considerably shorter.

Martin died when his business collapsed—crushed under brick and mortar.

Betty died of a sweet tooth.

Eddie died of fright.

Goran died when he swallowed a scorpion in the middle of the night.

Jenny died of athlete’s foot.

Penny died of laughter.

Lauren died hanging a picture when her arm got stuck in the rafters.

Harry died of an itch.

Larry died opening his mail.

Bill died after losing a bet that he could jump the third rail.

Sandy died of mono.

Mandy died of boredom.

Jill died of rejection when she didn’t get into Fordham.

Rex died of caution.

Lex died in the ocean.

Leena died when her sister put acid in her hand lotion.

Phil died on New Year’s.

Bill died on Earth Day.

Geena died from a can of Tab that’d celebrated its 28th birthday.

Willis died of ennui.

Phyllis died of shock.

Paulie died when a cobra made its home in his sock.

Kylie died by accident.

Riley died on purpose.

Molly died upon learning her only sports channel was Versus.

Andy died of anger.

Mandy died of the cold.

Ty died when he was found least likeable according to those polled.

Alan died in his sleep.

Fallon died in his car.

I died when I took a stupid idea and took it way too far.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The OFFICIAL 104-Player Steroid List

It's not often I'll break a story of this magnitude, so I won't waste time getting to the point. A contact in the MLB commissioner's office who shall remain nameless has hooked me up with the official list of players who tested positive for performance enhancing drugs in 2003. So without Freddie Adu, here is the list:

Jeff Bagwell

Jason Giambi

Miguel Tejada

Miguel Cabrera

Miguel Ferrer




Kevin Sorbo

Lucy Lawless

Vance Law

Andy Van Slyke

Jerry Van Dyke

The guy who played Dauber on “Coach”

Brian Daubach

Roy Hobbs

Frankie Muniz

Frank Dux

The Afflac Duck

Ben Affleck

Ben Ogilvy

Big Ben

Jason Biggs

Jason Voorhees

Talia Shire

Clubber Lang

Jessica Lange

The color orange


Orange Julius

Julius Peppers



Colonel Mustard

Mr. Body

Jesse Ventura

Ace Ventura

Ace Frehley

Fred Willard

Willard Scott

Scott Steiner

Scott Fletcher

The videocassette of Fletch II I have

Tommy Lasorda

Tommy Gunn

Boomer Esiason

Nick Esasky

Nick Rivers

Omar Sharif

Omar Vizquel

Johnny Oates

Daryl Hall

Fruit Stripes Gum

Fruit by the Foot

Bubble Tape



Bon Scott

Jon Bon Jovi

James Bond (only the Timothy Dalton version)

Barry Bonds

Bobby Bonds

Bobby Murcer

Bobby Fischer

The Fisher King

Jeff King

Queen Latifa

Prince Fielder

Private Joker

Castle Grayskull

Erin Gray

Blue Edwards

Jaleel White


Rulon Gardner

Jeff Ruland

Rock Raines

Stone Philips

Sandy Duncan

Mariano Duncan

Mariano Rivera

Geraldo Rivera

River Phoenix

The Tiber River

Steve Lake

Billy Ocean

Billy Butler



Fats Domino

The Noid

Spuds Mackenzie

Shane Mack

Shane Spencer

Spencer Tracy

Chad Tracy

Tracy Chapman

Ray Chapman

Carl Mays

Carl Hubbell

The Hubble Telescope

Hubba Bubba


The guy on the Big League Chew package

Gil and Cal Discuss the Weather

Gil: Hey Cal, what’s up?

Cal: Not much, I hate this weather.

Gil: I do, too. I can’t believe it’s already getting cold. I feel like the summer just ended.

Cal: I know, me, too. I was watching the weather this morning and the guy said that with the windshield factor, it would feel like 25 degrees!

Gil: You mean wind chill factor?

Cal: Um, noooo, windshield factor. That’s what he said.

Gil: Oh really. Can you explain that one for me, Cal?

Cal: Sure, it’s when it’s windy out and it feels colder than it really is.

Gil: No, I mean explain why it’s called the “windshield” factor.

Cal: Oh. I don’t know, I just assumed that, like, when it’s really windy, you need a windshield to protect you. And the windshield feels the full strength of the wind, so it knows how much different the temperature is from how it feels.

Gil: Ah, the windshield has feelings now.

Cal: Well, you know what I mean. Digital feelings. Like a robot.

Gil: OK, so how does it know what the real temperature is, then?

Cal: Um, well, most cars now tell you how cold it is outside, right?

Gil: Yeah.

Cal: So then the computer in the car tells the windshield, and the windshield takes how cold it feels and compares it to what the computer says.

Gil: OK, and how exactly does the meteorologist get this information?

Cal: You mean, like, so he knows if the cows are ok?

Gil: The cows?

Cal: Yeah, so he can make sure he gets good meat from them.

Gil: Cal, what the hell are you talking about?

Cal: A meteorologist. Isn’t that like a butcher?

Gil: Oh my god. No. A meteorologist is like a weatherman.

Cal: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Meteors. I get it. Wait, no I don’t. What do meteors have to do with the weather.

Gil: Well, nothing really, it’s just referring to things celestial.

Cal: Oh, I love those!

Gil: You do?

Cal: Yeah, I used to come home from school every day and eat one and watch TV.

Gil: Huh? Eat one what?

Cal: A Celestial Pizza! Isn’t that what we’re talking about?

Gil: I never know, Cal. I never know.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

New Hierarchy

So, I know a lot of people have been asking about the new titles and hierarchy since the department shift. I thought it would make sense to answer all your questions here.

OK, so as you know, the first in command here is Field Marshal Flank. I know people have been complaining that he can be tough, but he's our leader and where he goes, we're right behind.

Under FM Flank is General Jerky. As a seasoned strategist, he oversees day-to-day tactical measures.

Next comes Brigadier Bacon. Go to him with any questions on budgets, which, although they've been lean to this point, should be opening up to accommodate some new projects we've got cooking.

Below him is Major Mortadella. There have been rumors that the Major was taking another position abroad, but I can confidently say that is bologna. The Major will continue to play his usual role slicing operational costs.

Next is Captain Capicola. I understand the Captain doesn't rub everyone the right way, sometimes he can be sweet, sometimes less so. But there's no denying that in overseeing the safety of this company, he's cured us all of a number of potential hazards.

Under the Captain is Lieutentant Linguica. No one really knows what he does, and frankly I don't either.

Fresh from his promotion, Sergeant Salami will report directly to the Lieutenant. He's done amazing things heading up our seasonal initiatives. Without him, we would have all been hanging out to dry, so if you see him, offer him your congratulations.

Replacing the Sergeant is Corporal Canadian Bacon. Once and for all, let's put the rumors of nepotism to bed. Although he can be just as salty, the Corporal is not related to the Brigadier. Please embrace him as you would any other coworker.

And finally, joining us right out of school is Private Pepperoni. He graduated top of his class and should make a nice addition to us all. He also has Corporal-level skills just in case.

I hope this clears up the confusion. And if you have any other questions or you would like to meat any of the above personnel, just let me know.

-Hunan Resausage

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A New Sentence

Even an evening out has a way of evening out.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Gil and Cal Talk Semantics

Gil: OK, Gil, I’m takin’ off. Have a good one.
Cal: What.
Gil: I said “I’m leaving.” Have a good one.
Cal: Have a good what?
Gil: What do you mean?
Cal: You told me to have a good one. A good what?
Gil: A good DAY, Cal.
Cal: Oh. I’ve never heard that expression before.
Gil: You’ve never heard, “Have a good one?”
Cal: No. So, “one” means “day.”
Gil: Yeah.
Cal: That doesn’t make sense. “One” could mean anything. You could be saying, “Have a good ski trip” or “Have a good time filling your bathtub with M&Ms.”
Gil: Do you plan on filling your bathtub with M&Ms any time soon?
Cal: No, why would I do that? That would take forever. And be really expensive. And some would get caught in the drain. And what would you do with them afterwards? Hey, what’s the biggest bag of M—
Gil: Well there you go.
Cal: OK. So “one” means “day.”
Gil: Again, yes.
Cal: Got it. Well you know what they say. You learn something new every one.
Gil: Bye, Cal.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Gil and Cal Discuss Transportation

Gil: Hey Cal, sorry I’m late.
Cal: What happened? I thought you were coming over an hour ago?
Gil: Yeah, I know. Sorry man. The highway traffic was horrible.
Cal: Why didn’t you just take the carpool lane?
Gil: Because I didn’t have anyone else in the car.
Cal: So what?
Gil: Well, that’s the whole point of the carpool lane. It’s the city’s reward for you minimizing the amount of cars on the road by bringing someone with you who otherwise would be driving his own car.
Cal: Or her own car, Gil.
Gil: Yes, you’re right, or her own car. So do we still have time to make the movie? Cal? Cal!
Cal: Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about the carpool lane.
Gil: Ugh. What about it?
Cal: Well, so, if you have anyone in your car with you, you’re allowed to drive in the lane?
Gil: Yup, that’s right.
Cal: What if it’s a 14-year old kid?
Gil: I think that still counts as an extra commuter.
Cal: But that doesn’t make sense. 14-year olds can’t drive, so if the kid wasn’t in the car, it’s not like he would be driving himself.
Gil: Or it’s not like she would be driving herself.
Cal: Very funny, but do you see what I mean?
Gil: Actually I do. I think you’ve found a loophole in the system.
Cal: Nice!
Gil: Congratulations.
Cal: Wait, I just thought of something else. What if it’s just the driver and a baby in a carseat?
Gil: I actually think the baby still technically counts as a commuter.
Cal: Wow! That’s awesome. Why doesn’t everyone just get a baby so they can take the shortcut?
Gil: First, it’s not a shortcut. It’s just a lane with less traffic. And second, you really think someone is going to have a baby just so he can shave a few minutes of his commute?
Cal: Or her commute. I just thought of something else.
Gil: What’s that?
Cal: What if it’s just a pregnant woman driving?
Gil: What do you mean?
Cal: I mean, if a baby in a carseat counts as a commuter, why not a baby inside the mother?
Gil: Um, I think you’ve crossed the line of rational thinking, Cal. It’s not a commuter until it can sit in its own seat.
Cal: What! No way! He’s a commuter the second he exists! Just because he hasn’t been born yet doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the right to a shorter commute! That’s not fair to him!
Gil: Or her.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

The Listener

Marvin was a good listener. And he knew it. People told him all the time. His female coworkers would say, “Marvin? You’re a really good listener.” His male colleagues probably thought he was a good listener, too, but men don’t verbalize that kind of thing. Whenever he received this particular compliment, Marvin would smile, because he knew listening was easy. All you had to do was be quiet for a few moments and let every sound fill your head. At this, Marvin was a natural.

If you’ve asked yourself why Marvin is referred to in the past tense, here’s the answer. Marvin is dead. And this is the story of how he died.


When Marvin awoke on the day of his death, he did what he always did. He listened. He listened to the alarm and wondered just how reliable roosters really were. He listened to birds squawking, chirping, singing and fighting outside his window and wondered why these particular ones hadn’t headed south for the winter. He listened to the static-y snap-pop of his sheets against his skin as he shifted positions in bed and wondered how much electricity he could create just by rolling around with bare, dry skin.

Marvin shuffled to the bathroom with eyes half open and listened to his bare feet groggily sliding through the dust on his hardwood floor and wondered where he could get a good mop. He listened to the reverberant echo of his piss streaming into the toilet and wondered if he could possibly ever have to pee so badly that he could fill the entire porcelain bowl. Marvin turned on the shower and listened to water spurt intermittently for a moment and then steadily pitter-patter against the tub and wondered if this is what it sounded like when Paul Bunyan urinated. He listened to the deep flickering sound of water on plastic as the water splashed the shower curtain lining.

Fully clean, dressed and standing at the counter, Marvin poured himself a bowl of cereal and listened to whoosh as the crispy flakes filled the cheap ceramic. He listened to the milk flood the bowl, drowning the flakes with a slight crackle and wondered if he could achieve the same effect in his stomach simply by eating dry cereal and then drinking a glass. If rice crispies encounter milk but there’s no one to hear it, do they make a snap, crackle and pop?

Marvin stood at the underground platform waiting for the train and listened to a guitar-strumming man play a song of indecipherable melody and incomprehensible lyrics. He listened as the train arrived and buried the man’s tune under a heap of motorized motion and thought that the words made more sense now that he couldn’t hear them.

He entered the train and found a seat across from an excitable woman and disinterested man and listened to their conversation. The man didn’t look like a very good listener but the woman was either oblivious to his lack of attention or was too accustomed to it to care.

Marvin listened as the pre-recorded voice announced the train’s arrival at his stop and wondered how much money the owner of that voice was paid for his recording session. He listened as the car screeched to a halt and the doors rattled open.

On his way up to street level, Marvin listened to the hum of the escalator and wondered why most people treated it as a ride, and not an expeditor. At the top, he listened to the rush of air that swept into train station’s entrance like an invisible typhoon. As he made his way to up the sidewalk, he listened to the struggled grunts of pedestrians as they strained against the icy wind and he wondered why the entire world didn’t just live in San Diego instead.

Marvin approached the crosswalk, stood and listened as a cop blew his whistle signaling traffic to resume and he wondered why there was an officer directing traffic in an intersection with perfectly functioning lights. The walk signal appeared, Marvin took a few steps into the road and listened as the left side of his body cracked and crumpled against the force of a large white catering truck traveling 40 MPH. As his brain began to shut down, he listened to the oddly irrelevant sound of tires squealing on pavement, and the cop’s feet slapping that same concrete, quickly increasing in volume. He lay there, listening as the cop yelled, “I whistled him to stop!” and an onlooker above consoled the officer, “It’s not your fault, some people just don’t listen.