Thursday, July 28, 2011

Thanks. But No Thanks.

I'm onto you customer service people. You can try to talk in code all you want. But you won't diddle me with your polite inappropriateness. You can't just say, "What can I do you for?" and get away with it.........The other day "Steve" walked into an electronics store.

Hello sir.

Hmm. Sir. I like that.

How are you today?

I'm great. How are you?

Swell. What can I do you for?

I beg your pardon.

What can I do you for?

Do me for? Nothing. No. I don't mean nothing. You can't get this for free. No. What I mean is that it's not for sale. I don't barter these goods for materialistic things. I don't barter these goods for anything. You hear me? Especially not electronics. I'm not just a piece of meat.

I think you mis...

No. You disgust me. I don't know what kind of training they put you through in this place. But you don't have to go on living this way. You can't live your life smuggling sex in your pants. Now, I'm going to find the GPS that I came here to buy. You stay right there and think about the consequences of your actions.

Steve locates the GPS.

Two hundred bucks!? That's not what it said on the web site.

Steve examines the GPS,  looks up at the Female Greeter in the distance, back down at the GPS, then back up at the Female Greeter.


Thirty seconds later. Steve is standing in front of the Female Greeter.

Look. I took some time to think this through. And I've decided that I'll do it. It's a little unethical. But hey, I've done worse.

You'll do what?

I'll let you have sex with me in exchange for this GPS. So is there a closet we can use or..?

The Female Greeter slaps Steve in the face.

That's not what I meant! I was asking you, "What can I do for you?"

Well, that's not what you said. You said you wanted to do me. You specifically said "do me for". Look, I just came here for this GPS. That's all. Then you came along, sent me on this little ride called detour. Now I'm just wondering when do I get off? *wink*

Have you ever needed help locating your balls?

No. That's a stupid question. But I think I like where this is going.

If you don't get away from me right now, you'll never find them again. Understand?

I think I played this game at summer camp. It's a little weird. But, I'll try everything atleast twice.

The Female Greeter kicks Steve straight in his nuts and walks away. Steve falls to the floor along with the GPS. Then Steve reaches for his crotch.

...Oh thank God, they're still here.

A WOMAN is walking by with her five year old son.

Get away from my son you disgusting pervert!

The woman kicks Steve in his face. The woman storms off. Steve is holding his face and his crotch.

Does anybody know where I can find the closest hospital?

A stoner teenage SALES ASSOCIATE GUY walks up to Steve.

Hey man. Just use the GPS. Duh.

- Ryan

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Revolution Mary: A Knitting Story

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This story is based on true events. Mary often visited her local AC Moore for knitting supplies. Most of her experiences were less than satisfying. They seemed to never have anything in stock. Mary would have to wait for the next shipment to come in. But there was no guarantee that her product would be in that shipment. However, Mary went to this AC Moore because she was old and it was right around the corner from her home.

One day Mary reached the end of her yarn, so to speak. She went to the store looking for Sock Shaped Point Protectors for her knitting needles. But, this AC Moore was all out of these nifty doodads. Mary completely lost it. She proceeded to walk to the exit and started screaming something like, "That is it! Enough is enough!! I'm notifying the President!" It sounded something like that. I can't be entirely sure because she was grinding her teeth; or what was left of them. And by President, I think she meant the president of AC Moore. Not Barack Obama, just to make that clear.

Mary whipped out her cellular phone, called her husband and took off in her Lincoln Town Car. She believes in safety first. "Honey. I want the computer to be on and the internet up and running by the time I get home!" said Mary with urgency. "Yes dear. Right away dear," replied Mary's husband Bert. When Mary came home she stormed through the door like a mad woman who was about to leave some nasty comments on a forum for unhappy consumers. And that's precisely what she did. Well, she had to wait a few minutes because Bert didn't know how to turn on the computer. Then she got down to business. Mary spent the next six hours commenting, debating, knitting and starting a revolution. She made some enemies but mostly friends and she invited these "friends" to a gathering the very next day.

Cut to the next day. Mary stands outside of AC Moore with a picket sign made from a blanket that she knitted. The sign says "Worst". She is alone but not for long.

Slow motion shot: An elderly lady strolls up in her motorized scooter. Mary nods at her as to give her a "What's up?" greeting and almost drops her sign. The lady pulls out a sign made out of paper mache. Her sign says "Period!" The lady stands next to Mary.

It takes Mary and the lady five minutes to get tired of holding their signs. Plus another lady was suppose to show up with a sign that says "Store,". But she didn't and now it says "Worst Period!" instead of "Worst Store, Period!". "Wow, look. They have a sale on macrame & basketry," said Mary. The lady smiled at Mary and they both entered the store. Mary forgot all about her hatred for her craft store. And she eventually got her Sock-Shaped Point Protectors.

- Ryan

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

The Road: Head

Road rage. It's inevitable. I just wish people wouldn't be so unoriginal with how they express themselves. People still flip the same old bird, among other hand gestures. But they're just as threatening as a peace sign. But seriously though, let's give peace a chance.

I'll tell you what. The next time someone flips me the bird or tries to insult me in any way while I'm driving, they're going to be in for a big surprise. I'm picturing it now. Some jerk gives me the finger. I smile at him and say, "Oh really tough guy?" I reach down on the passenger side floor and I lift up a... fake head by the hair and put it next to my face. Then I proceed to look at the jerk creepily. Hopefully he would look frightened or at the very least crap his pants.

You might be asking, "What if a cop pulls you over?" That's a good question. And I have a good answer. If a cop pulls me over and asks me, "Why do you have a fake head in your car?" I'll just say, "Head? Listen Mr. Policeman. I give a mean blow...out. I'm going to beauty school. So that explains the fake head and the updo. Her name is Sally." Knowing my luck he'd probably say, "Really? This is perfect because I need a haircut. Give me one of those blow outs." Then he'd take off his police hat and throw his long and beautiful hair into the wind. And I'd say, "Have you ever heard of a Spicy Mullet? It's basically a blow out with a little mullet in the back. Let me see if I have a pair of scissors back here. Maybe some garden sheers. Or at the very least a pair of those kiddie scissors with the zig-zags...(trailing off)." And that's how it would end, with me giving a police officer a haircut on the side of the highway. I think it would be worth it.

- Ryan

Bigger eyy

The BIGGER ain't the better. Hear me out ladies. I'm 5'7 and 3/4ths inches. I'm talking about my height. Perverts. Let's not get carried away here. If someone asks me how tall I am, I'm going to round up. I'm going with the 5'8". No doubt about it. Because who wants to say 5'7 and 3/4ths inches? It's too much to say. Plus people would be like, "Wow this guy cares way too much about his height if he has to be that specific about it." But I don't care..that much. I went to my doctor's office the other day and the nurse asked me if she could measure me. I'm talking about my height. Perverts. They don't measure that sort of thing at the doctor's office. Well, not at my doctor's office anyway. So the nurse tries to measure my height.

Umm, that's okay. I'm 5'8".

She looked me up and down.

Yeah alright. You're like 5'7 & 3/4 inches tops.

Damnit!!! How did she know? Well, this is what she does all day. She better be good at her job.

Well played Miss...

I looked at her name tag.

Miss Nurse.

I stepped onto the scale and she proceeded to weigh me.

I might be a few pounds over because I have something heavy attached to me that I can't take off. If you know what I mean.

She gave me a gross ass look. Then I pointed at my right ankle.

I'm talking about this tracking device attached to my ankle.

Apparently that turned her on and she asked me out on a date. And by date I mean sex in the storage room three minutes later. Boom.

When I was just a child, my mother brought me to the shoe store. She didn't realize it at the time but she left the tissue paper inside of the right shoe. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why my left foot fit perfectly and my right foot didn't fit at all. I put my feet together and examined them.

"I don't understand. My feet are the same size," I said.
"Oh don't worry honey. It's probably just one of God's grand illusions," replied my mother.

I didn't argue, because who am I to question something that God created? Years later I found out that my mom was using an experimental drug at that time coincidentally called God's Grand Illusion. It's a good thing that she didn't use an experimental drug like GGI when I was in the womb. Fortunately, she used an approved drug like LSD.

I used to wear a size 11 on my left foot and a size 13 on my right foot which made me walk with a limp. Last week I got my feet properly measured and it turns out that I'm a size 10.5 wide...ladies. But, I'm still trying to get rid of this limp.

(When I wrote this, Bette Midler's From a Distance was playing in the background. The chorus is "God is watching us. God is watching us from a distance." I'm sorry God.)

Super Soaker
When I was a kid, Super Soakers were the tits. You always knew who had a new Super Soaker because it would be the talk of the town or you'd be taking some serious tap water to the face and realize, "Hey that's the new Super Soaker 10,000." That's right. Those were the days when we didn't purify our water. Times were tough and we played hard. However, there came a point when Super Soakers couldn't get any bigger and you couldn't one up your friends anymore. One day little Benny showed up with two huge Super Soakers and a tank full of water attached to his back; the biggest we've ever seen. Sure, everyone was envious. But when it came time to pick teams, little Benny was always the last to be picked. You might ask why. Well, it's because all of that cool equipment weighed him down. It just wasn't practical out on the battlefield.

"Quit dragging your ass Benny! You're getting sniped by Kevin!  And he's using one of those hair dresser water bottles! You're pathetic!...What!? Tell me you're not crying! That better be the mist from Kevin's water bottle on your face!"

In the second grade we had to bring in a toy dinosaur for show and tell. I brought in a Triceratops (stocky dinosaur with the bull-like horns). It was the size of an action figure. Everyone brought in something similar. But little Benny brought in a four foot tall Brachiosaurus (one of the species of dinosaur that have long necks). I remember thinking, "Really Benny? Really? What are you trying to prove?" Of course everyone in the class admired Benny and his big dinosaur. Even our teacher Mrs. Collins was impressed. I have to admit, at first I was jealous. But when school ended, I noticed something. Everyone went about their way with the greatest of ease. However, little Benny was trailing behind, lugging his four foot tall Brachiosaurus. And I remember thinking, "What an idiot. He looks ridiculous. Look at him just dragging his huge dinosaur around. I bet all of the third graders think he's a stupid idiot." I walked off, smiled, and gladly fit my Triceratops into my pant pocket.

I saw Benny the other day. He pulled up next to me at a red light. He was driving a huge pick up truck with monster truck wheels. I could barely make out his face because he was still little, little Benny. I honked and waved. Then he flipped me the bird and took off, peeling wheels and all. I waited for the dust to clear and shouted, "What are you trying to prove douchebag!?" And I'm still waiting for that dust to clear.

- Ryan

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The Zomblich Maneuver

So Brandon and I were all gung-ho about making a zombie film. But we realized that we bit off more than we could chew. So we put it on the back burner. Then I thought, "Do zombies ever bite off more than they can chew?"

If zombies were real, could they die from asphyxiation? Hmm. I guess I have no choice but to make a zombie film where the survivors run out of ammo and have to find an alternate way of killing zombies. This innovative technique would involve lodging something in the throats of the zombies. The survivors would come to the conclusion that they would have to use sling shots and those t-shirt rocket launcher things that people use at sporting events. The ammo for such weapons is still undetermined. But, I'm thinking that the survivors would be the bohemian/hippy/resourceful type. Therefore, they would use their hackysacks for ammo.

Let's talk villains. And yes we need additional villains. It might sound a bit cliche, but I feel that the best villain would have to be a mad scientist. And not just one mad scientist, but a few mad scientists. For some reason they would want to keep the zombies alive or undead. So, I'm thinking that the Heimlich maneuver would be the best counter attack. Picture a field full of choking zombies and mad scientists performing the Heimlich maneuver on them. Awesome. Then again, would they want to get that close to the zombies? Probably not. So, I'm thinking a t-shirt rocket launcher thing that shoots out boxing gloves which would be aimed at the solar plexus region of the zombies.

I'm going to shoot this zombie film, like right now, before anyone steals my idea.

- Ryan

Thursday, July 14, 2011

"S" is for Superfluous

Why do people attach the letter "s" to the end of some words? Particularly store names such as WaWa or Walmart. Whether it's a plain "s" or an apostrophe "s", it doesn't make any sense.

I'm going to WaWas to get a Slim Jim and Jelly Krimpets.

No. That doesn't sound right you Greasy Teenager. First of all, Slim Jim and Jelly Krimpets? Really? That's hardly a well balanced snack or meal. Do they make Slim Jim flavored Jelly Krimpets or Jelly Krimpet flavored Slim Jims? No. Secondly, you can't add an "s" to the end of WaWa! Unless you say "If the first WaWa I go to doesn't have any Slim Jims (which they most certainly will), I'll have to go to another WaWa. In that case I'd be going to two WaWas." But how often would this occur? Finally, the WaWa slogan isn't Gotta Have A WaWas. It just isn't.


- Ryan

That Guy

This is a story based on not so true events. Byron and Fletcher are at a party. Byron is calm and cool. Fletcher is an arrogant son of a bitch who likes all of the attention. They walk up to a group of girls. Immediately Fletcher begins telling a story about a friend who embarassed himself in front of a group of girls. It involves the friend losing his virginity and his bowels at the same time. The story takes entirely way too long and there is an awkward reaction with mild, forced laughter. But Fletcher laughs hysterically.

Oh well. I guess you had to be there.


I was there Fletcher. Why do you always do that? Am I that forgettable?

Oh wow. You were there weren't you? How could I forget?

I don't know.

That's right. You're the guy in the story.

Right. No!

I'd take a few steps back ladies. He just ate Mexican food and you might turn him on. So, there's no telling what he'll do.

The girls walk away with disgust. Byron flees the scene in embarassment. And Fletcher stands alone with some sort of victory written all over his face. Fletcher proved himself to be That Guy:

1) I take too long telling stories Guy
2) You had to be there Guy
3) Oh I forgot you were there Guy
4) Embarass me in front of a group of girls Guy

- Ryan

Tuesday, July 12, 2011


What's considered a nightmare? A usual nightmare consists of me plummeting from the top of a building, but waking before I reach the asphault. Sometimes I'm being chased by a killer like Michael Myers. Not to be confused with the actor/comedian Mike Myers. That would be pretty scary too. Actually, that would be more random and weird than anything else. But realistically I would be the one chasing him; trying to get his autograph or something. For instance, picture him running away from me but he's not getting anywhere because he's running in place. And I come up beside him and suddenly I'm in his nightmare. Whoa! I just blew my own mind!

Once I had a nightmare. I was outside playing street hockey and out of nowhere Jason from Friday the 13th starts chasing me. I'm barely getting anywhere. He's practically gliding across the asphault like a figure skater about to land a triple axel transitioned into a triple salchow but with machetes for skates; like he's Happy Gilmore trying to stab me. He catches me. Suddenly he's dressed up like a goalie. He rips off his mask and to my amazement it's...actually I'm still amazed. Give me a second. It was none other than the legend himself, Ron Hextall. Now, I had no idea what Ron Hextall looked like but it said Hextall on the back of his jersey. So, it had to be him. Plus I googled his name and confirmed it. Anyway, he starts bashing my face in and smashing it into the boards that suddenly appeared in my front yard. One more smash to the face and I awake to complete darkness. Then I realize that my shirt is pulled over my head. I roll over to tell my fiancee (we'll call her Lady Gaga) about my nightmare but she's wearing a goalie's mask! Now I'm freaking out. So I take a minute to re-evaluate the situation. And then it hits me. We're totally into this sort of thing. This is how we get down. Last night she dressed up like a goalie and I tried scoring. And boy did I score...three times...hat three minutes. Who's the legend now? (Take that Ron Hextall)

Friday, July 8, 2011

Cleaning Out the Gutters

The Big Books

Sometimes we try to be clever and crack jokes at work. Such as "That's what she said" type of jokes or anything that involves your head being in the gutter. However, sometimes you don't really have to try too hard or try at all for that matter. Sometimes it just comes out naturally. That's what she said. Boom.

The other day my sixty something year old co-worker (we'll call her Janice) and I were working on filing some yearly ledgers. The shelves were small and the books were big.

I don't think it's going to fit.

Well Janice, you never know until you try. Let's give it the test. The old testy as it were. Here, grab a hold of this.

It's too big and bulky.

You know what? You're right. Screw it.

Janice gets aggressive with the task at hand.

Maybe we can just jam it in there.

That's probably not a good idea. Someone might get hurt.

True. Then we might have to go on Workmans Comp.

Haha. I know right. Wouldn't that be ridiculous if we had to go on Workmans Comp for screwing up something like this?

Haha. Yeah. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

I hear that.

Alright. Let's take it out. Because it's not going in any further.

Good idea. Oh no....I think it's stuck.

It's times such as this that you hope no one is around the bend listening to your conversation. hope that everyone is listening to your conversation. The moral of this story is that I hope you have a big book shelf because I'm putting my Encyclopedia Britannica on it.

DJ Too Fly Ry

I like to play DJ at work and crank out the jams. The women seem to enjoy it. And who am I to deny them the sweet sounds of DJ Too Fly Ry? So I let them have it. Picture a large room, six desks, me and five women.

DJ TOO FLY RY (that's me)
Good morning fellow co-workers! You're listening to 123.4 W-TOO-FLY-RY.

Umm wow. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to find that number on the radio dial. And there are way too many letters in your call sign.

Oh. That's weird. I don't remember taking any callers. Bye. *Click* (sound of phone hanging up). Listen up fans! It's time for a classic rock block! There's only one man that fits the bill for this special occasion. There's only one man that can keep you ladies rockin' an rollin'. That's right. I'm whippin' out the Rod!

*Dead silence* and five woman deadpanning in my direction.

Umm. I'm talking about Rod Stewart.

Laughter ensues and DJ TOO FLY RY proceeds to play Hot Legs, a tribute to his co-workers.

- Ryan

Monday, July 4, 2011

Dream Wedding

I had a dream the other night. My fiancee and I were getting married. It was the most beautiful day and the church looked like heaven. We were staring into each others eyes when all of a sudden we heard the sound of an organ playing and the voice of an angel. We looked up and there stood Sarah McLachlan and a three legged golden retriever at the organ magically playing "In the Arms of an Angel..." There's only so many things that could ruin your wedding day: bad weather, obnoxious intoxicated family members, and being left at the alter, just to name a few. But somehow this Sarah McLachlan thing takes the cake.

"What do you think you're doing Sarah McLachlan?" said I.

She held up her index finger to her lips and said, "Shh."

"What the hell?" I replied.

The priest gave me a dirty look.

"Sorry father...Look Sarah McLachlan. What do I have to do to get you to leave?"

There was only one thing I could do. By the end of the ceremony I had a new best friend: An adopted three legged golden retriever named Jedidiah who could play the piano, very well I might add. I woke up from the dream sweating prefusely and my heart was pounding out of my chest.

"Get out of my dreams Sarah McLachlan!" I shouted from the rooftops.

The television was left on. Rocky V was playing, but it went to a commercial. That 1980s Probe Chiropractic commercial came on. So, naturally I tuned in and turned it up. Then, to my bewilderment there she was, Sarah McLachlan in her ASPCA commercial. She was out of my dreams and in my bed room. What does it all mean?

- Ryan

Friday, July 1, 2011

Free Wood

The other day my supervisor's husband (we'll call him Steve) went to the store to buy some wood. When he arrived at the store there was a group of guys gawking at a young attractive woman.

"Get away from my wife!" said Steve.

Steve liked pretending that this young hottie was his wife. And the young hottie thought that Steve was creepy yet kind and thanked him for shooing (or schwinging) the perverted men away. Steve left the store and when he arrived home he told his real wife about the young attractive woman and the gawking men.

"Oh dear. I went to the store for some wood. But I ended up leaving with no wood. Not a single piece of wood," said Steve.

But, there's something that Steve just couldn't see. He did in fact leave the store with wood. A special kind of wood. A wood that you can't buy at a store...Free wood (I'm talking about an erection. Duh...boning).

The End

- Ryan

The Spicy Mullet

Original ideas are rare. Most things are the result of something being rehashed with a few clever spices added to tantalize the taste buds of a new generation. With that said I would just like to state that I didn't invent the mullet. Nor did I invent the blow-out. However, I did feast my eyes on the spawn of both mesmerizing hairdos.

A dude rocking what seemed to be a blow-out was heading my way. As he passed me by, so did his mullet. What!? Could it be, a blow-out that's blowing a mullet out the back of this dude's head? The answer is "yes" my friends. It was at that very moment when I realized he wasn't rocking a blow-out, but a cleverly constructed mullet. This dude was rocking a Spicy Mullet. I had to call this guy out on his hornswoggling hairdo.

"Spicy Mullet eyy?" said I.                          

"Uhh what?" replied the dude.

"I said nice Spicy Mullet. You're not fooling anyone pal. It's just a mullet all spiced up. I hate to tell you but it's not fully original. It's partially original. Like original minus the ori. Just the ginal," I proclaimed.

The dude proceeded to walk down the street with his mullet flapping in the wind. He was quite freaked out by my comments. Imagine that. But hey, someone had to tell him. Anyway. So, what did I do next? I found the closest salon and got myself a Spicy Mullet...You have to keep up with the times people. You have to keep up with the times.

- Ryan