RI-BONE'S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

Best. Purchase. Ever.

2011-04-06T05:00:00.000-06:00

In case your wondering yes, I realize I haven't updated my blog in like 7 years. Yes, I realize it's totally pathetic that its so long I had to have my password emailed to me just to login. None the less, having recently made my "Best. Purchase. Ever" I have suddenly been lifted out of my "blogging stupor" to formulate at least one more post before I retire my jersey in the bloggerdome. Enjoy this post... as it may the last one for the next 7 years.

It's a fact known by only a select few that every summer I go through a strange phenomenon in which I pretty much foam at the mouth like someone that just brushed their teeth with like 3/4 cup of toothpaste every time I see a bullet bike drive by. I then make a comment to my wife to the effects of "everyone has one but me"... then the fight starts. Its almost as predictable as the sun rising. Well, this summer that will all be different why? Let me just say, in the words of comic book guy... Best. Purchase. Ever.

Sure I bombed my first test to get my permit. Sure I scraped by 7% above the minimum requirement to pass on my 2nd attempt but I am a strong advocate of the "Tommy Theory" (which derives from Tommy in the movie Tommy Boy) which clearly states "The score of the test doesn't matter as long as you actually pass"

So with this purchase my wife and I can bypass our 6th annual summer anniversary... our 6th anniversary of fighting all summer long about motorcycles that is. So you see, this bike is actually a peace maker which has brought a happy end to the argument in our house. Seriously... Best. Purchase. Ever.

The Pact

2010-08-28T15:04:00.002-06:00

When I see this picture of a proud urine colored van, flaunting it's stuff like a peacock during mating season I cant help but be impressed. With super awesome rims, and a sheet metal twinky design this van is a thing of beauty. But lets get past the mysterious over sized accordion on the roof and talk about what this post is really about. It's about a pact I made with my wife many years ago which I thought was going to be stronger then the pact shared between my daughter's dried up fruity pebbles and the finish on my kitchen table.... but I was wrong. Sam has begun to flake like the buttered crust on some sort of french pastry.

The pact in danger: We will never own a van, no matter how many kids we have.

Why Sam's change of heart? The fact that we currently have 2.3 kids, and in a couple months we will have 2.6 kids. We currently have two cars but if you think about it, Dodge Neon's aren't well known for their kid hauling ability, and our Hyundai Accent can barely haul me.... alone... down a hill... with the wind at my back... let alone me AND a golf bag. The point is, neither car can handle a full 3.0 kids when the time comes.

So here is my dilemma. Not saying vans make people lame. I'm just saying this because as a former car enthusiast it's against everything I stand for. When is the last time you saw a van on the cover of "Need 4 Speed"? Never. It's more apt for the cover of "Need 2 get 2 soccer practice".

With a dilemma with this much hype, I have given it much thought, meditation, and I feel I have come to a conclusion to solve this issue peacefully. In fact, we could go and buy a van tomorrow and I would love it. I would even put a smile on my face and not complain a single bit... under the condition that some of the money we saved on getting the van instead of the Durango... covers the cost of the bullet bike that I would then go buy and drive.

I love you brain. Problem solved.

What Kind Of Cupcake Is This?

2010-08-09T22:35:00.003-06:00

Let me take you back to my youth when I was rolling phat on my super awesome $100 Neon Orange Huffy bike and delivering papers like I was Jack “The Cowboy” Kelly. With multiple accessories including water bottle mount on bike with empty water bottle, sweet 9 year old hand me down walkman with tape holding it together, I was your standard paperboy. The only catch…. I was scared “crapless” of dogs.

Now when I say scared “Crapless” I mean that when dogs would chase me I’d basically transfer the poop in my colon directly into my basketball shorts involuntarily which then left me “crapless” as I feared for my life. I’m telling you, I hated dogs. In fact, the only thing I hated more then dogs were the owners who repeatedly yelled to me “Don’t worry he’s harmless!” mere seconds before their dog chased me down and bit chunks from my right butt cheek as I frantically tried to peddle away.

Additionally, dogs enjoy leaving their poop everywhere and not even the mighty power of rainbow sprinkles added on top can make their “rectal cupcakes” look more appealing or less “crappy” to clean up. Having said all this, I have a weird confession to make…

I totally want a dog. Yeah, it totally trips me out to say that because I have always hated them. Furthermore these same animals tormented me daily as a child! I don’t get it either but I’ve actually been thinking that for a couple months now. I think it just got worse as we “watched” our neighbor’s dog over the weekend becuase that thing is totally awesome! So, the next step is convincing my wife and daughters that this is a good idea. I’m thinking something like a Doberman, Boxer, or Greyhound.

The sad truth is, I want one now, but I’m pretty sure even my own dog will attack me and bite chunks out of my right butt cheek as well, so as a precaution I will have the dog fitted with rubber dentures. Problem solved.

Spidey Sense?

2010-08-02T00:31:00.000-06:00

So there I was, stuck in the little kids clothing section of Target while my wife compared like every shirt and pair of pants they had. Bored out of my mind I started to wander off when something caught my eye. It was a beam of light shining down on something near the men's clothing area. Curious, I wandered into the isle and walked toward the beam and was shocked to see a "strange brightness" surrounding a single clothing rack in the distance. This brightness was beyond 100 watts and was brighter then any other isle in the store and thus I couldn't see what was on the shelf. Totally weirded out, I looked around but no other shoppers seemed to notice the unexplainable phenomenon taking place! I kept walking and at first it started faintly, but with each step closer to this "sainted clothing rack" the chorus of "Ain't no mountain High enough" became louder and louder. I looked around but didn't see any chorus of people, or even any speakers! It continued to crescendo until I was only a few feet away. At this point the tension was mounted and the moment of truth was almost at hand. I reached out my hand and turned the rack around and my eyes were blessed to partake in a rack full of these:

Super awesome, adult sized, boy cut undies with all sorts of action characters on them. Spider man, Batman, Iron Man, Captain America, and The Flash. I nearly stopped breathing! I probably I had a couple mini strokes as well. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The words "Love at first site" don't even scratch the surface! I knew right then, that day was one of the best ever... and yes, I do realize it's due to a pair of undies.

I found my wife, and informed her of my find that was possibly due to divine intervention or Revelation. Sadly, that's when things headed south...

She reacted totally opposite then I did, and didn't find the undies amusing, or funny. In fact, after I chose the Spiderman undies she said "If your really going to buy those, I'm not going through the line with you". Disappointed, but understanding I realized at this point it was the undies or my wife. After pretending that this was actually a hard decision (solely for my wife's confidence) I said "fine, I'll checkout by myself". It was only seconds later when she followed with "mmmm, actually I cant even walk with you if your holding those".

Totally neglected, I ended up walking, and checking out by myself. It was only after my undies were concealed in the plastic bag, and my wife agreed to walk with me again she said:"If you even try to come to bed with those on... I will throw up, and then I'll sleep in the other room". It seems that my new "lucky undies" aren't so lucky.

Also, just a fair word of warning for my in laws. I suggest that at the Halloween party this year you wear sunglasses (yes, I realize the party will be indoors and at night) because I have a hunch that I Spider man is going to show up and the "Strange Brightness" that I mentioned in this story will be replaced by a "gross whiteness" which will be my upper thigh. In fact... now that I think about it, you may just want to poke yourself in the eyes before coming. Don't say I didn't' warn you.

Amen

2010-05-23T07:00:00.000-06:00

This cartoon perfectly described what I'm tempted to do at work tomorrow. And yes, I would feel totally justified in wearing a superman outfit. Right down to the sweet red undies on the outside of my even sweeter blue tights.

That's because just like this dude I pretty much golfed "out of my butt" over the weekend. Now, before you get confused & go taking that literally, just know that is slang for golfing "out of my head" which is also a slang which basically means I golfed like Tiger on Saturday. It was totally awesome. What was even better was that my wife totally went with me. I have to say though that even though her driving could use some work, she definitely has mad putting skills. I guess all those times at Trafalga are paying their dues.

Regardless, I can now say that much against my wife's liking I am totally addicted to golfing again and for my wife it's going to be a long summer.

Churchball Revealed

2010-03-09T07:07:00.000-07:00

Since the dawn of time church ball (which is supposedly based on the game of basketball) has been doing exactly opposite of what it was meant to be doing. In that it's not been building stronger relationships between players and teams, yet it has still slowly but surely solidified it's way into Utah culture and has re-defined the standard for what crappy basketball should be. City ball and even street ball don't even hold a candle to the pathetic quality of play that is church ball. In fact, they are infants in comparison. Now some random person may argue that they know someone, somewhere, who at some point, some year, in some location, was actually aided or helped by this game... but that my friends is a lie, or a myth, and it belongs in some fictional bedtime story because it's simply not true.

The truth is this: church ball is more like a battle scene from the movie "300". Except instead of tough, ripped, warriors armed with swords and Shields, church ball's characters are mostly fat, lazy, or out of shape, whiny, "has-been's" armed with super lame trash talk, bad mama jokes, weak crossovers, pathetic verticals, and horrible sportsmanship. But even worse is the fact that church ball is like a big slab of nicotine laden, hickory smoked bacon... in that everyone knows it will eventually kill them... yet they cant resist it.

Further more, as if this sport needed any extra help in what seems to be it's quest to prove to every other sport ever created that they rank supreme in horrid quality of sportsmanship, this weekend locked up my vote like Rapunzel in a castle. Why do I say that? Because I had to be the referee for count them (6) tournament games to narrow down the field of 8 teams down to 2 which would officially end the season for 6 teams. The tournament could be described elegantly in the words of Chris Farley's as "Holy Shnykees". It was like an all night long whine-a-thon. I heard more complaining in those 6 games then the entire population of the male species when their girlfriends made them go to the movie "The Notebook". Further more, I heard more crying in those 6 games then those same girlfriends at that same movie! In a nutshell... it was unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Yet even after this post, the sickening truth is that the lure of playing church ball is stronger then any man's will power. And I can bet you that next year you will not find my jersey hanging up on the retractable hoop in the back of the chapel in retirement... oh no, you will find it on my back as I literally put my body on the line for some unexplainable reason. My only hope is that I don't have to ref, so I can be the one constantly whining, and I can be the one crying after every call even if it's completely obvious. We'll have to see.

Pants Frustrations

2010-02-11T21:30:00.005-07:00

Due to my recent frustrations with the simple task of buying a new pair of pants, I have awaken from my blogging coma to basically whine about it. It all starts with my relationship with the greatest clothing store ever, Anchor Blue. At one time our relationship was almost perfect. We were both very happy and things couldn't be better. Our relationship thrived like bacteria in a public bathroom. Anchor Blue was like a brother to me... A big, incredibly obese brother forced to be stationary due to his size, but none the less we saw eye to eye and got along great.

Unlike Taco Bell's drive through my Anchor Blue experiences were always quick, easy, and didn't emit feelings of insanity or rage. However, all that changed the day Anchor Blue up and left the mall. Anchor Blue going out of business took a disastrous toll on my incredible shopping efficiency. To this day I've never been able to find a suitable replacement for pants.

I never imagined the difficulty in finding a pair of pants I love as much as Anchor Blue's could frustrate me to the point of evoking a blog post. This is pathetic. None the less, all I want is to find another brand of pants special enough to receive the honor of not only touching my butt all day while I wear them... but absorb my farts as well. It's a privilege that many want, but few deserve.

It's important life altering issues like this that can keep a person up at night. The weird thing is I now totally understand how Jasmine felt before she met Aladdin. So many choices, so little suitable.

Dear Vitamix...

2010-01-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Vita mix,

I know Valentines day is just around the corner... but I felt like this situation is like that special feeling you get after you eat too many sunflower seeds and this simply couldn't wait. I know we've only known each other since Christmas but I'm as positive as the top end of a battery that this is love. Within mere days we formed a relationship stronger then your stainless steel blades and your nearly unbreakable "Triton" canister to form the perfect team. Every morning you blend up the fresh or frozen fruit and veggies into a semi liquid mush comparable to pig slop I call breakfast. All the while you seem to be saying "Thank you sir, may I have another?". Yes, it's pretty much all fireworks all the time, except for that time I stuck the "tamper" into the spinning blades accidentally and you ripped it apart like a helpless tree branch put through a wood chipper. But of course it was all forgiven after Vita mix corp sent me a "because your retarded" replacement tamper for free. I hope our days together last longer then your 10 year warranty on all parts" May your blades keep to pulverizing fruits and veggies rather then my fingers or more "tampers".

Dear Sam,

I don't know how else to say this... but I think it's time you started getting used to being 2nd best after my blender. After all, 2nd place is still like... way good right? I mean, when the Steelers won the Superbowl last year you didn't hear the Cardinals complain too much. Plus, haven't you heard that new song by "Boys Like Girls" with Taylor Swift called "Two is better then one?" I'm pretty sure that's a song about a man and his new love for his blender, and how his wife should be happy because "two (2nd place) is better then one (first place)". Plus you've still got something my vita mix will never have... a sense of humor. Like yesterday when I said "Don't be surprised if I build a little house for my vita mix and put it on my side of the bed soon" and you laughed. You laughed because you thought it was a joke... and I laughed because you thought I was kidding. It's not that bad. I still heart you.

P.s. - If your lucky the vita mix will share some of the chocolates I'm giving it for Valentines Day.

It's Easy... Dont Be "That" Guy

2009-12-30T23:58:00.002-07:00

So the other day I tried snowboarding for the first time. It was way awesome and I loved it. Well, except for one run in particular down the mountain. I'll let you try to figure out which one it was...

Run #1 - I make it off the lift, and make it down the mountain pretty darn good for the first try.

Run #2 - I make it down the mountain even better. My confidence has already began growing like bacteria on raw hamburger meat that's been left out of the fridge.

Run #3 - I ditch my sisters and go to the higher "lift" by myself. I ignore the "easier way" sign and proceed to take the harder trail down the mountain. At one point of the trail I wipe out a record shattering 5,000 times within like 200 yards. But, Aside from the "200 yards of death" I made it down really well. My confidence hits the red zone.

Run #4ish... I again ditch my sisters and debate on which new trail to try out. You might as well call me Shawn White at this point because that's how I felt. I also decided it was time to bust out my MP3 player. little... wait no, big... no, that's not quite it... more like HUGE mistake.

I put in my headphones and tuned into a little Sum 41. I transformed like Bumblebee from a Camaro. My body started pumping out adrenaline like Little Debbie pumps out snack cakes. My confidence skyrocketed like a mortgage on an adjustable interest rate. I was unknowingly in a state of "false confidence". In fact, if Shawn White were there at this point in time I would have wiped my nose with his hair and took off down the mountain. I was feeling good... too good. I took off and started flying down the mountain! I was weaving in and out, and feeling awesome until reality decided to crash the party like someones mom showing up....

The front end of my board "caught" while I was near "light speed" and I knew it wasn't going to be good. I then proceeded to fly through the air awaiting my inevitable murderous wipe-out. My flight through the air at this point was so long that I should have been offered some Peanuts and something to drink. I Finally hit the ground which I'm pretty sure caused a mini tremor across the entire mountain. All I remember is that I felt like my face was trying to dig itself in the snow like a Texaco drill bit searching for oil reserves. Like 45 minutes later when I came to a stop I sat up made sure my face was actually attached to my skull and decided I better take a second to rest. I was happy to be in one piece and continued boarding the rest of the day.

To conclude this long story the whole day wasn't this bad. It was actually way fun. The MP3 player was retired (it stopped working after the biff anyways) and the rest of the day went injury free. If you would like to congratulate me for still having a face... feel free

Holy Awesome Freaking Christmas

2009-12-28T22:45:00.002-07:00

I don't know about any of you, but my Christmas was freaking awesome! So awesome in fact, that I'm debating on declaring it the "Best Christmas Ever". It was so awesome that it topped the Christmas that I unwrapped my favorite remote control car ever that was faster then your mom falling down the stairs, and looked like a stealth fighter. It even topped the Christmas I got a little Woodstock bird in a little red car. This Christmas was so awesome, it would have swept the Oscars if not for one Christmas in particular that stood in it's way...

That Christmas happened to be when I was like 5. I remember going to my old church for a Christmas party before Christmas and waiting in this huge line to sit on Santa's lap. Not only did I get to tell him personally what I wanted, but afterwords each kid got a brown paper bag with a candy cane, an orange, and like 20 peanuts. I was flat out stoked! I sat on his lap and told him how all I wanted was a marble slide. He told me if I was good he would do his best. Only days later, I woke up and the big man delivered on his end of the bargain! That marble slide still to this day, has to be one of my all time favorites. In fact, I made a kick buttocks marble run just yesterday with my nieces and nephews.

So, what made this Christmas so awesome? I got everything I wanted! It was almost like I was Santa... and I just bought everything I wanted, which may or may not have happened that exact way. For example, this Christmas I opened up an Excalibur Food Dehydrator, a Vitamix, a Zune MP3 player, Simpson's Scene it, and a water distiller. I know your probably thinking all but the Zune and Simpson's are what homos have on their Christmas lists, but that's where your wrong, because they were all on my list.

Overall, it's hard to pick a favorite of these gifts. The food dehydrator is good because my mom is free to use her own now without fear of me stealing it... again. The vitamix is the blender I've always needed and is as vicious as a caged up, tormented doberman who's been starved for a month and released in a steel cage with like 17 mailmen... it's actually entertaining to watch it murder whatever is put in it's jar. The MP3 player... wow, I needed a new one. My old one is like the first one ever invented and is as sleek as the first cell phone ever invented. Simpson's Scene it is hilariouse, and helps me stay brushed up on my pointless Simpson's knowledge. The Water distiller was needed just because I try to only drink distilled water and I was sick of buying it every couple days.. oh, and because my house water is harder then doing trigonometry without a calculator... or doing trigonometry with a calculator... or trigonometry in general... whatever.

So overall, it was totally awesome, and it also helped that I used like 2.5 weeks of vacation all this month which added to the Christmas spirit. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to go and add Miley Syrus, and the Jonas Brothers to my Zune... don't be jealous.

Why You LIttle!!

2009-12-04T23:00:00.002-07:00

Yep. 100% Identical. This picture fits the relationship I have with my conscience like a pair of spandex biker shorts. In fact, I pay as much attention to my conscience as teenage girls pay to anyone but Jacob or Edward in the twilight movies. Yet despite the "insert huge number here" times I had ignored and disregarded it's advise or warning my conscience still attempts to help. Like the other night...

I was at home while some dude installed our new home security system. I was running a little late and was in a hurray to get to my city league basketball game in a couple minutes. I asked the installer one more question and then took off out the door. The very second I started the car my unwavering "Rudy" like conscience kicked in and attempted to penetrate my thicker then bullet proof glass skull. The following conversation then took place:

Conscience: Dude, turn around and back out slowly
Ri-Bone: No dice, I'm going to be late for my city league game
Conscience: for real. Do it
Ri-Bone: uh, no. I back out of my driveway like every morning on the way to work and Sam's car is gone. bite me.
Conscience: I hate you like a root canal.

Seconds later after ignoring my conscience yet again and not turning around I felt my car run into something. It was a little weird. In fact, It felt identical to the time I backed into my sisters car like 2 years prior while also in my own driveway and and not turning around. I was befuddled. Then it hit me like Tiger's wife with a 3 iron... my conscience was right! The repair man's car was in my driveway still!

Crap! Why do things that happen to dumb people always happen to me?! I got out and first checked for witnesses. (Good, not a soul) I then assessed the damage and weighed my options. Of course the first thoughts through my head were: 1: The security man's car was a pile already. 2: Maybe he won't notice the brand new scratches all over the place. 3: I could always say I don't know how they got there. 4: He would never accuse a brand new customer of a hit and run.

I sat and thought about it for about 10 seconds and realized I better listen to my conscience this time I had to do the right thing.

I went inside and told the dude I had just backed into his car. Long story short, he didn't' care. Not one bit. He told me his transmission was about dead and the car was going to the junkyard within weeks. Just to show my gratitude to the installer man I offered an insincere "Are you sure, I don't feel good about this" (Even though I felt great about it and was hoping he wouldn't change his mind) to which he followed with "absolutely. I'm sure. Don't worry about it at all".

I was stoked!! I immediately thought "Take that conscience!" and headed to my game. Mark it up for my 2nd identical wreck in my own driveway. Maybe, just maybe I can stay away from a third... but you know what they say, "Third time's the charm"

As a footnote to this story: At least my sister who was baby sitting for me who's car I previously backed into in identical fashion learned her lesson. As I was leaving for my game I noticed she was parked in front of my neighbor's house not mine, and furthermore, she was parked behind the giant green electrical box. I would basically be electrocuted to death like a hot dog left in a microwave for too long before I backed into her car again.

Good times. Great oldies. The life of Ri-Bone

Christmas Narlyness

2009-12-01T21:45:00.000-07:00

When it comes to Jim Carey you know you will always get your money's worth. The dude is as reliable as seeing puke at a carnival. That's why when I saw a glimpse of this movie trailer I knew I had to see it. So last Monday the famdamly (spelled correctly) packed into the car that at the time spelled like pickles for some reason and headed to the movies. Little did I know I was about to witness Christmas narlyness

The movie started and pure awesomeness ensued. Like apples dipped in peanut this movie tugged on my heart strings like a bunch of 4th graders playing tug' o war. The feelings were unstoppable and I knew it was love. Basically if it were possible... I would ask this movie out to dinner to an expensive restaurant and then propose later on because it's that awesome. This movie has officially made my top 3 Christmas movies all time after a single viewing. In fact, this version of "The Christmas Carol" has officially dethroned the former heavy weight champion of this movie which was champion since 1994 which was none other then "The Muppets Christmas Carol". Yes, I said it, and I mean it and that's not the booze talking.

Let me also say that this version isn't the "Nursery Rhyme" type . It's not a "sugar frosted & dipped in chocolate" cowboy crunchies version that most parentals are used to. It's more realistic. I think that's why I loved it so much. Are some people forgetting it's a story involving 3 ghosts? Besides the exception of Casper, ghosts are usually pissed at something and seem to be pretty mean.

All in all, the movie was super freaking awesome and will never have a computer animated match. It has set the standard higher then my electric bill in December. Long live Jim Carrey's A Christmas Carol.

Brad Who?

2009-11-18T19:00:00.005-07:00

Hopefully without sounding as gay as the inventor of Fanny Packs and in the words of Mugatu I have to say "Brad Pitt is so hot right now... Brad Pitt". I know that's the first time you have ever hear the words "so hot" and "Brad Pitt" in the same sentence but there is a reason for it. It is: This is basically an update on my attempt at growing out my hair but I have now decided to go in a new direction. Brad Pitt's exact hair do in this picture is the exact hair style I am going for. I have voted and this look is just a "hair on a pig's chinny chin chin" better then the "electrified squirrel on my head" look I originally wanted.

In other news I'm totally over the hump as far as my hair cutting withdraws go. When I first started this project my life was identical to an episode of "Intervention" but instead of alcohol or meth being the problem I was obsessed with my hair clippers. I thought about cutting my hair at least 30 times a day and was in some sort of comatose state. But now, no thanks to the nicotine patch, or Jenny Craig I am over that and on the road to recovery. Now it's just a matter of time.

Speaking of time, my relationship with my hair clippers did not pass that test. With me growing out my hair I have basically abandoned them and our relationship has gotten as old & rotten as the re-fried beans I left in my car last week that grew some sort of nasty white puffy mold kind of like a retarded inbred white cheddar Cheeto. Inbred Cheetos aside, I really think this project is doable. We'll have to wait and see.

It's Medicinal I Swear...

2009-11-12T21:08:00.005-07:00

Here we see an example of somebody taking the initiative and planting their own vegetation to sustain themselves. Normally people stick with strawberries, raspberries, or carrots in their garden becuase let's face it, we cant all be overachievers and plant weed to sell on the streets. Let's give this dude the benefit of the doubt though and assume he's growing marijuana for the glaucoma problem he's got.

I for one am taking my own initiative and have started growing my own vegetation as of two days ago. My vegetation however is legal and will not land me in prison with a "Sally" nickname or lead to a phobia of bending over to tie my shoe. That's because I've officially started sprouting alfalfa. I'm now one step closer to just saving time and grazing freely like a stay cow in my back yard.

I have to admit though there's something a little creepy to me about planting seeds then eating them when they are babies. I seriously feel a little bit like a member of the Dommer party or Hannibal Lecter doing this. Sprouting is supposed to be "retard proof" and super simple but I'll have to be the judge of that. I'll have that answer in another about three days as my "crop" should be done.

The Rare Kenyan Gazelle

2009-11-10T23:15:00.002-07:00

Rewind my life a year or two ago to a very cold March night at 10:30. I was sitting around watching sports when I got the brilliant idea to go jogging. I threw on a tank top and gym shorts and headed out the door. Long story short that idea was as brilliant as pee flavored soda pop. I ended up spraining my ankle before I made it across my own street, nearly froze to death, contemplated suicide like 4,000 times, all while I had R.T. so bad I could have cut sheet metal with my nipples. I'm just happy I wasn't on the news the following morning bent over, passed out with my face in a puddle like the picture you see above. I guess some people don't have any integrity... I was at least on the sidewalk.

Let's face it, that night was not one of my brightest moments. It was not one of my better ideas. But then again you half to sift through my ideas with a colander to find one that's not absolutely retarded, or that seems like it came from a mentally handicapped child. But then again every once in a while (like on full moons) I come up with an idea that is okay. Having said that, fast forward to two days ago.

We are out to dinner with some friends and amidst (E# to me for using that cool word) our conversation I realize that my buddy Geeger is like some abnormal breed or half animal half human... like a Kenyan Gazelle. He can basically run from his house, to your mom's house and back with a smile on his mug. We're talking like 10 miles at a solid pace. I was so impressed and amazed I almost peed my pants but held back due to the fact that 25 year old men that pee their pants in public is frowned upon for some reason. Right then with a mouthful of food and dry underwear I decided to take up jogging again. I told him "give me a month" because I would have to train up to that amount. My training however, would start immediately.

So, for my training I have decided to train like rocky. I will wear nothing but Grey sweats, a headband, and find a barn somewhere with a lot of snow to work out in. I will also pick up an accent because I'm sure it helps somehow as well.

I will keep you informed on how I do. I will try to work up to 10 miles per jog while averaging a 10 minute mile pace all without dying, almost dying, being rushed to a hospital, or giving up.

Wish me luck.

Me-Stew

2009-11-01T08:00:00.002-07:00

This poem written by Shel Silverstein entitled "Me-Stew" should actually be called "Bath time over at Ri-Bone's house" because this is pretty much what happens. I or my wife sit by the tub and play "Life-guard" while our kids sit and drink their own "buttwater". It happens every bath, and I'm starting to think it's some sort of disorder or mental handicap because they still do it no matter how many times I tell them not too. Secondly, why should I have to tell them not to drink their own "buttwater" mixed with "dirty shampoo" bubbles?

The bad news is that it's just getting worse. While policing the waters yesterday and watching my kids in their weird ritual, Mally suddenly pulled a face, and "wa-lah"! there were now re-fried beans in the water! So now I'm freaking out because it's so gross and I'm trying to clean it up when I notice my kids don't care... they are still drinking the water down like it was from the fountain of youth or something! WTF!?

While I'm cleaning I am thinking "Is this for real"? If for some reason I was drinking bath water I would at least stop doing it when there were poop floaties and unexplained beans in the tub. My kids however... did not. I had to take their cups away and drain the water which didn't stop Addi from trying to lap the water up like a dog. I'm telling you... this is weird and unexplainable to me. I just hope the effects from drinking contaminated bath water, and then even more contaminated bath water wont lead to any physical, emotional, or mental problems later on.

Will It Blend?

2009-10-25T23:30:00.002-06:00

I look at this picture and and the phrase "Absolute Destruction" comes to mind. Given the options I'd rather wipe with Wolverine's adamantium claws then face the consequences of what this would lead to. However "Absolute Destruction" can actually be a good thing. Of course I'm no longer talking about toilet paper, I'm talking about the #1 item on my Christmas list this year (now that I've crossed off a ripstick) which is a Black Vitamix 5200.

The Vitamix is like a finely bred racehorse with traits pulled from both the mother and father in that this blender is like some sort of mad cross between a Clydesdale, and a pissed off drunk Irishman with a host of personal and mental issues topped off with a unquenchable vendetta for all food in it's whole form. I guess it's kinda like Jason Vorhees... no matter what you put in it's path it's going down... and it's going down in pieces.

So I know it's kind of weird, and yes I realize I have some weird sort of obsession with blenders that you are probably already comparing to women and shoes, or Obama and debt, but this thing is the bomb. What is it about a blender that could blend golf balls, a rake, or the kitchen sink just in case the need arose that I find so necessary? Maybe it's just my inner "Tim The Tool Man Taylor". In fact, I am thinking about peddling on the street with a sign that says "Crazy enough to spend $600 on a blender" just because I think people will agree with me... and then contribute.

I Am Thor the Ripstick"er"

2009-10-24T23:01:00.006-06:00

Aside from the human skulls worn around the waste & bulging muscles, me and my homeslice Thor here have something in common. I'll give you a hint, it's not the super sweet skinned & hairless bat wings worn over our face... it just so happens to be the word "Triumphant". Yes, just as Thor seems to be well on his way to defeating these misfit Neanderthals in triumph, so have I triumphed in bringing home the coveted Ripstick last night during the Annual Scott Family Bunco Party.The only downfall came while on a family walk today as I was practicing my "wiggle" move (where you wiggle your hips to gain speed or propel yourself on flat ground) and thought I had it down. Like a 7 year old I kept telling my wife "look at me, look how cool I look". I then got too arrogent and was doing the "wiggle" by my wife I felt inclined to inform her that "my hips don't lie" when only moments later my board flew out from under me and I ate the asphalt all while a jogger was nearby. Needless to say it wasn't my smoothest move. I was also informed by the neighbor girl hours later that she "saw me riding my ripstick earlier". Whether or not she witnessed my biff is still unknown. I have also been banned from Ripsticking in the kitchen (I think Sam's just jelouse of my mad skills) and have been forced to go outside.

All in all I am way stoked to finally own a ripstick. I can finally stop drooling every time I see the neighbor kids riding theirs which should eliminate the drool puddle on my shirts. Also, I've decided to quit quoting Shakira lyrics as I believe it cant lead to anything good and is a bad omen.

A Hairy Situation

2009-10-13T22:15:00.000-06:00

The classic "homeless" Bum. I for one am a huge fan of these people and their intricate culture. In fact, if my situation permitted I would love to go undercover and see if I could "mingle with the locals" and document the "secret society of Bumhood" and what it consists of as I'm sure it would be fascinating. I have to admit my favorite part of the culture other then the creative signs has to be their lack of personal pride and upkeep of their hair. A homelss bum without a scraggly, mop on his head would be defiance of the unwritten rules and regulations and would surely face the utmost in scutenly from the other bums.

For reasons that are beyond me, I am strangely appealed to the hideous "manes" some of these people posses. In fact, I find that every time I see someone that looks to be housing some sort of dead, rotting, furry, animal carcass on top of their head... I instantly vow to never cut my hair again to try and achieve that same look.

That's why, for the 489th time in my life, I have decided to grow my hair out. I am currently 3 weeks past my normal hair cutting time frame and still holding somewhat strong. Today I cut the top to match the length of the bottom (doesn't count as a hair cut) to insure uniform growth and it's looking good. So, go ahead, call me a over achiever but I am officially releasing my New Years Resolution Statement months in advance which is: My new year's resolution is to grow out my hair to where my ears are not visible. Maybe one day I will go for the entire hobo onsomble and stop doing everything else in life as well. But for now, I'll start with the hair.

Titanic Symbolism

2009-09-19T00:19:00.003-06:00

Holy Gay. I know that's what your thinking right now, but I promise there is a good reason for this picture to be on my blog right now... actually… you know what… no reason can justify this picture being on my blog but the bottom line is that it works for this post. Why?... because it's symbolic. I will now explain: I (Ri-Bone) am Jack. Rose (the girl) is the NFL and NBA. (I know your gaydar is going crazy right now, but stay with me here)

Many years ago I was a year round sports fan. I had my favorite baseball team (Atlanta Braves) to focus on during baseball season. I had my favorite football team (San Fransisco 49ers) to focus on during football season and of course I had my #1 obsession Scottie Pippen and his Chicago Bulls to focus on during basketball season. So in reality Jack (me) and Rose (the NBA & NFL) were 100% happy and my Fanhood was in complete and total balance.

Then came the iceberg which was the Pippen trade, along with the Steve Young retirement and trade of Waters, and Rice. My relationship with Rose (NBA & NFL) that was at one time so perfect, so rock solid, began to denigrate until it ended completly when Rose told me "I'll never let go Jack"... but she did.

(Que the Titanic theme song “My heart will go on”) I was left to wander around aimlessly during NBA & NFL seasons, not sure of who to turn to. I didn’t think my Fanhood would ever heal. Even though I was emotionally unable to love another professional NBA or NFL franchise, my love for the Braves never wavered. In fact it was concentrated like the sun's heat through a magnifying glass used to roast ants in the summertime.

As the years went by and I sat and waited. I sat waiting for that special team or player to sweep me off my feet to capture my fanhood and rekindle my love for the NBA and NFL but just like Hockey becoming less boring... it never happened. Until now! I think that special player has come around. I've been watching him for a year now and although I'm not ready to commit to the "L" word, I'm 100% sure I have a crush on Adrienne Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings.

Could this be it? Could this be the start of a lasting relationship? Or is this just a fling? I’m not sure either but as the saying goes. “It’s better to have cheered and lost, then to have never cheered at all”.

A New Chapter?

2009-09-16T21:10:00.002-06:00

Here it is... Dep X-Treme Vertical Glue. One of mankind's greatest accomplishments and one of the staples in my life. In my darkest haircare hour, when other gels were too wussy, and waxes were too thick, Dep stepped on to the scene like Jason Bourne and saved the day. This gel is easily one of my greatest discoveries and I have been a fan for years.

So today with my hair gel supply running lower then Winnie The Poo's Honey supply who did I think to turn to? That's right, my bread and butter, I turned to Dep. It's as reliable as any car not made in America. It's like turning to Yunel Escobar with runners in scoring position... you just know it's going to get the job done.

So as I strolled down my local P-Town market That's when trouble arrived. I noticed that my bread and butter wasn't in stock. In fact, it didn't even have a place on the shelf at all. Multiple stores later (K-Mart, Wal-Mart, Smiths) and still no luck. That's when it hit me. This DEP gel has made like the Bald Eagle and is nearing extinction but unlike the Bald Eagle it doesn't have the "endangered species" tag to protect it. It's left to the mercy of the public. A couple calls to a couple stores and I cant believe what I'm hearing. Long story short, in a crushing defeat, at this point in time I was forced to buy a competitors gel instead.

Here it is: Got2B Spiking Glue. How will it compare? Will it be able to contain the natural curls in my hair that I curse my gene pool for? Will it be totally awesome in every way, even down to the smelliciouse smelly smell? Only time will tell. I don't know about you.. but I'm riveted.

I Love You "Ripstick"

2009-09-07T13:03:00.008-06:00

Dear Ripstick

Take the following phases taken from movies, and songs to understand how I feel about you.

You Complete me. You light up my life, you give me hope to carry on. You light up my days and fill my nights with song. I want you truly, madly, deeply. I need you, I want you, oh baby, oh baby ect...

That's right. The reason I am posting for the first time in like 3.5 years is because of a children's toy. It just so happens to be the coolest children's' toy ever though. I'm pretty sure that had the "ripstick" been around when I was a kid, my life would be different now in the following ways: I would be in the XGames right now. I would live in a mansion. I would be the world record holder for all time gold metals. I would be sponsored by Mountain Dew, Vault, and Heinz Ketchup. Shawn White would be wishing he could board like me, and I would have won the Nobel Peace Prize like 4 times... Oh, and I would be able to run faster then Usain Bolt. So, aside from the sad fact these Ripsticks weren't around when I was younger, there is only one other sucky thing. They aren't $20 like I guessed... they are like $70.

So, because of the high price of this overpriced piece of plastic, with a couple bolts, and wheels I will resort to another method.

Santa, consider this love letter/post an official request for a "Ripstick" for Christmas. (Silver please). Oh, and if you don't bring me one I will stop believing in you. (yes this is blackmail/extortion) Thanks buddy!

It Was The Best Of Rounds...

2009-08-14T09:27:00.002-06:00

It was the best of rounds, it was the worst of rounds. Yesterday I went golfing with my 12 year old nephew and it was the first time I’d been golfing since my back pussed out on me. Besides the fact that my nephew out hit me like 5 times, it was easy to tell I had taken an extended absence from the sport. In fact, after yesterday I’m considering talking to my local H&R Block rep to see if I can mark my immense loss of golf balls to the course’s forest, and lakes, as a “charitable donation” and write it off somehow. In truth, after not playing all summer, and not losing a single ball…I’m pretty sure that I just met my entire year’s quota of ball loss in a single round. But, on the other hand it was also “the best of rounds”.

It was the best of rounds because for 2 shots I totally felt like Tiger Woods. Well, minus the talent, fame, money, advertisements, fans, white teeth, Nike attire, caddy, respect, do I need to keep going? It all started as I had just reached the green (the very edge) on the 2nd of the new holes on the back 9. It was a high pressure situation. There I was facing a 45-50 foot putt. The pressure was immense as there was no one there besides my 12 year old nephew, with nothing on the line, and I was putting to save like 17 over par for this hole alone. I concentrated for half a second and hit it. Oddly, the ball was actually rolling toward the hole. Even more strange it continued to get closer and closer. Moments later after the tension pretty much slapped me in the face the ball dropped in the hole. I commenced wetting my pants in shock/celebration and decided to retire from the sport right then and there.

Greatness then struck again about 10 minutes later (yes I had already come out of retirement) as I went ahead and stuck the ball within 4 feet of the hole from about 180. I later birdied to make up 1 stroke from the estimated +40 I had accumulated from the round. So overall, it was a good round.

Hackers Are Pussies

2009-08-04T19:33:00.006-06:00

Before I rant I will just let you know. Someone hacked in our computer, changed Sam's password and deleted her blog. So, if your looking for it, it no longer exists thanks to some pussy in his mom's basement that thought it would be funny. Oh, and dont worry about emailing her either, becuase that's been hacked as well. Now.... here's my post. I hope the hacker that did this reads my post.

I have a new found hatred for hackers. People with no life, who get a thrill from ruining or causing havok in the lives of others. People who would rather sit at a computer and steal money, possesions, or info that does not belong to them. Hence what happened to us today. (Mainly Sam)

Within the last couple hours Sam noticed that her password no longer worked to get into blogger. I thought she just had her passwords mixed up and didn't think too much of it. So I got into my account and went to reset her password because I was an author on her blog and had access to do so. In fact earlier today before lunch when I updated this blog, and I still had her blog on my "dashboard". Turns out as of about an hour ago I did not. That's when I realized that someone had our passwords. Great! I then reset the password and it was sent to Sam's email address which as it turns out we also couldn't get into (so obviousely the person who stole our blog password has Sam's email password as well) So, now I'm just pissed. Seriousely, what is the point of all this? Why is some fag hacking into my computer and kicking me out of my own blog? Doesn't he have to babysit his little brother or somthing? So, we froze our bank account, and reported it to blogger, and also froze our google account. I figured that was the best we could do for now.

So, then I went to check out Sam's blog to make sure he hadn't posted anything stupid becuase at this point we had no control over her blog. Good news is that he didn't post anything, he just deleted it. So, thank you hacker for being a pussy and ruining somthign that you had no business ruinging. Thanks you pussy for not having the balls to confront, or contact us in anyway and just ruining somthing of ours for a kick. I know what would be a good idea for you though, read my blog and laugh at how pissed I am, and that you just deleted my wife's blog that she was about to publish into a book for our kids. Then continue hiding like the pussy you are in your mom's basement. You are a coward and a bastard. I hope you are reading this.

My Newest Goal

2009-08-04T09:11:00.002-06:00

This is pretty much how I imagined I would look in 6 months. Not so much the carpet back, or the gun that’s so gay it could only be in Star Wars, but the mop on top of my head. That’s right, as of Sunday I made the commitment to myself that I would not cut my hair for a minimum of 6 months. The look I was going for was: to look like some sort of hairy critter had crawled on top of my scalp, somehow attached himself there, and then died…. Very attractive.

The problem with this whole idea is that this is nearly impossible for me. I cut my own hair about every 1.5 weeks and have had short hair for like 50 years. Regardless, I was committed. As I began down the road that would lead me to uncontrollable, moppy hideous hairy headness I realized it was going to be tougher then I originally thought. As it turns out the road to my goal was uphill both ways, permanently covered in snow, and ran beside a sewage plant the entire way. It would take the determination of Barry Bonds still trying to prove himself innocent to make this work.

None the less I trudged onward and my hair continued to grow. As it approached the ¼ inch longer then normal stage the torture had already begun. I was in constant torment day in and day out, and my will power was about as strong as my Dodge Neon going up any incline. Finally last night, it was too much. I knew what I had to do.

I got home from our game and like I was in a trance cut my hair subconsciously. I couldn’t stop myself. I lasted about 2 weeks beyond my normal hair cut time. I didn’t feel like I accomplished much. So, I have decided that I will just do what girls do. But instead of getting “extensions” I will just get a wig. Then I can switch back and forth whenever I want to.

Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

Watch Out

2009-07-25T22:40:00.003-06:00

Introducing the Brown Grizzly Bear. It’s Meaner then Kiefer Sutherland drunk, has more hair then your mom’s mustache, and so scary that if you were to have an encounter, it would send your sphincter muscles into spasm. It’s not something you’d want to run into. Now that I’ve introduced you to that grizzly, let me introduce you to another Grizzly you don’t want to run into.

Behold, the Daisey “Grizzly” BB gun. Less hair and more scare then the grizzly up top, with all the same gut wrenching, mind “bottleing” power. Capable of shooting 210 feet this bad boy says “don’t make me!” As President of my own gun club which I made up as I typed this very sentence, and foremost gun expert for team awesome, it was only fitting that I outfit myself with this outfit. Yesseree the purchase of “Sir Grizzles” here today brings my gun total up to two which further backs my standing as “official gun expert” for our Team. The reason for my purchase today was to do a little “big game hunting”.

The big game I was after was Grasshopper. Lately they have been flocking into my yard in record numbers and today I’d had enough. I decided to open up a can on their thoraxes. Life was good, and Ol’ Grizzles was shooting as straight as a U turn, and as true as the “National Enquirer” magazine but I still managed to get my point across to these insects. In fact, you could have referred to me as a 2 year old because I was leaving a trail of destruction wherever I went. The grasshoppers were powerless to stop me as I mowed them down like the crabgrass in my yard. I blew them apart like they had eaten TNT for dinner. When all the smoke cleared (there were fireworks being lit down the street) I was still there, holding down the fort. So let this be a warning to all other insects that think of nesting near my abode.

Viva La Revolution

2009-07-13T12:25:00.001-06:00

Today I fought in a war that took place in my bathroom. Strangely, unlike most wars that take place in the bathroom this war was not caused by copious amounts of cheese being eaten prior, nor does it include bricks of any kind. It was more like a revolution or a battle for freedom after the demand for change wasn’t met. Was it “The Tale Of Two Turds?” Not quite, it’s more like “The Tale Of Two Toothpastes”.

Throughout my childhood I was living in a fishbowl when it came to toothpaste. Like a compass facing north my mom never deviated from the “Crest” brand. Not even to sample a different flavor of Crest toothpaste. It was all “Crest Cavity Protection” all the time. I accepted this as gospel until at the ripe age of about 6 when I was at a sleepover at my cousins and came across a vastly superior toothpaste. Not only did it taste better, but also had 3 colors in one tube!

My mind blew like a can of “Caffeine free Dr. Thunder” after being shaken violently. This also sparked a flurry of my personal requests to my mom to buy “the toothpaste with 3 colors” but like the lid on a jar of pickles she didn’t budge.

Years and Time flew by, the memory began to fade like the color in my shredded landscaping bark. Then suddenly without warning while brushing my teeth the other night this flashback came to me. I immediately brought it up to Sam, and let her know we would be making the switch. Although there was some initial resistance, I told her this was inevitable and this was a revolution! Within the next couple days I had purchased a tube of this famed toothpaste. The night came and it was time for Aquafresh to get another chance. I have to admit it was the most anticipated teeth brushing of all time. As for the results was it all that I remembered and more?... not quite. It’s kinda funny how childhood memories will do that to you. Regardless I am making the switch and will never go back to Crest.. unless they come out with a spaghetti flavored toothpaste. Until then, my wife and mom can stick with Crest but I’ll stay with my aquafresh.

A Free Lesson

2009-06-24T09:14:00.002-06:00

As the official and foremost expert in gardening for Team Awesome I am here to offer you a free lesson in Tree Staking free o’ charge. Don’t be alarmed at the feeling of privilege that will flood over you as you take notes from me and realize how blessed you are to do so. Take a look at this picture as it displays the perfect method of staking a tree which I did yesterday at my house. Note my old putter doubling as a stake with stripped rubber electrical tubing used as a rope. Besides this picture teaching every one a lesson, it will also answer the question C-Hub asked only weeks prior which was “I’m not sure who my gardener should be for my house?” Let me follow that by again pointing out the picture and saying “I rest my case…. When should I begin?”

Unlike the gardening careers of other so called experts that have been tarnished by the use of performance enhancing drugs, my gardening career is more squeaky clean then my counters after I spray antibacterial cleaner on them. As a straight shooter, I do things the right way. Keep in mind the right way may not always be the conventional way. But in the end, the job gets done.

Having said that rest assured that our new addition (October Glory Maple) will have a long, healthy life, doing absolutely nothing except looking cool. As for my old sawed off Cougar Putter which is currently doubling as a tree stake, if I hadn’t 7 putted on every green with it, then maybe he wouldn’t be hammered 2 feet in the ground right now… but since he is let him convey my message, and assure the world that I am okay being White Trash.

The Mantis Gets Tested

2009-06-09T12:29:00.006-06:00

To tell you the truth it fooled me. There I sat, mesmerized at this tiny wiener dog of a tiller going to town and destroying the clay, and dirt in the garden on the tube. After all "it's only 20 pounds and it's all muscle". The tiller I was staring at on the Idiot box: The Mantis Tiller. The infomercial was pretty much leading me to believe that it could bulldoze a house or steam roll a car if the need arose. It was basically saying that it contained so much power that in the wrong hands, it would have the same effect as a nuclear bomb and destroy all mankind. Once I realized this I thought “it could handle my yard!”

So, Saturday I rented a Mantis for a fee as microscopic as the tiller itself to till my future garden area, and tear up some grass. Saturday would be the day that this tiller would truly be tested by a 3rd party. The patch of land it would be used on is the same patch of land I reside on, and the same patch of land that I have concluded was a prehistoric lake bed becuase my yard is like one big rock. In fact "The wise man built his house upon a rock" is my theme song and was created once someone saw my yard. So the match up was Mantis vs. Ri-Bones yard.

The match began as I started the tiller. I put it in the dirt and hit the throttle like Hasselhoff hits the bottle. I could tell within 4 seconds the infomercial had stretched the ability of their tiller like a fisherman stretches the leanth of the fish they supposedly catch. I recall the exact thought in my head like it was yesterday (it was 3 days ago) it was “Please don’t tell me that’s it”. The sad truth is that it was.

Overall this tiller is a disgrace. It can’t handle rocks and clay because that’s what my house has and failed like me on a calculus test. As for its ability to cut through grass? It cuts grass like I spell. Are you getting the picture with this trimmer or do I have to compare it to myself and demean myself further? Point is, if you have pansy soil, this tiller is great, if you have soil any tougher then cotton fluffs, you better get a real tiller.

I should have realized what the Tiller was named after in the first place.

Ri-Bone Vs. "Explosi-Poo"

2009-06-08T10:12:00.002-06:00

The scene was priesthood meeting at church yesterday. I was sitting by “Big Chap” and talking with Mally on my lap when it began. Unaware that her diaper was like Energy Solutions Area when Taylor Swift came to town and was filled to the brim I continued talking. Then without notice a phone rang and Mally answered… it was nature’s call but her diaper could yield no more. I felt that all too familiar feeling of unnatural warmth on my leg. I lifted her up and noticed she had become the dog, and I had become the fire hydrant. Even with a pee puddle on my leg I tried to hide my excitement for getting out of class and carried her out in search of the diaper bag.

I ran into E & V and stopped for a quick chat but explained that I had to leave as the pee was beginning to seep into my pours. I found Sam with the diaper bag quickly and just as quickly she declined my opportunity to let her change the diaper. Looks like I was on my own. My nose didn’t detect any evidence of fecal on goings in the realms of her diaper so didn’t grab any wipes. I then wandered around looking for a place to change her. Luckily our 2nd counselor was around and let me know there was a table in the bathroom for this kind of stuff. All was still going smoothly when I plopped her down on the fold down table in the bathroom and got past her 90 layers to her diaper. I opened it up and like the opening of a coffin its contents horrified me! It looked like the fecal obstruction had been liquefied due to some sort of explosive devise or an overdose of elephant strength laxative! The evidence of such was everywhere! The worst part that because its stench had somehow been masked and hidden like a thief in the night I had no wipes! With the oxygen triggering a chemical reaction with the poo, my olfactory system was being bombarded as the stench was no longer discreet! I panicked and closed the diaper back up. There I was, 15 feet away from the sink with no wipes, and no phone to call for Sam, or for backup. I was like a sitting duck.

The outlook didn’t look good, I thought about waiting it out for the hour until Church was over. I thought about driving her home and changing her but didn’t want my car to smell like poo for the next month. I even thought about simply yelling “SAM” until she or someone else came to my aid. Then, the evidence of my being in the right place at the right time made itself manifest. I heard footsteps approaching. It was S. Andreason from the ward and he must have seen my terrified facial expression because he said “I’ve been there before”. He then started tearing off paper towels and getting them wet to act as normal wipes and handing them to me. My prayers had been answered! Together us two men would be as efficient as a single woman. We went through basically the entire roll of towels, and burned up a good 7 minutes and the deed was done. Like a surgeon after a successful surgery I was very relieved. I checked one last time for any fecal remains on my clothes or hands, and verified it as a negative. The tragedy was averted and I proved victorious.

The ranks of fatherhood aren’t for everybody, and not everyone can hack it. Today, I defeated the dreaded “Explosi-poo”, therefore my case has been proven. I belong in the ranks, possibly as some sort of sergeant, or maybe even a Major.

Is This Me?

2009-06-03T09:59:00.000-06:00

To burn in Hell, or not to burn in Hell, that is the question. Hopefully what I am about to write does not ensure my steady, and speedy one way path to the said location in my afterlife. But having said that, If I die and suddenly find myself sitting around a table forced to change the poopy diapers for an infinity of babies alongside Hitler and the creators of Prozak… at least I’ll know why. What I am about to do… is compare myself to Ghandi.

You see for the last 3 days I (Ri-Ghandi) have been on a “juice cleanse”. Much like my amigo Ghandi here (who is no stranger to fasting) I have to maintain strict discipline and focus. For 3 days all I was allowed myself to drink was Distilled water, and apple juice.

The process began as I went to the Rojo Barn out in Santaqueer to grab some apple juice. Luckily they were out of stock, which then meant I was forced by gunpoint to buy an entire box of apples to juice them instead. Having to juice a zillion apples was not one of the steps I planned on but whatever, so Jack Lalanne and I got to work. In that process I have also learned that my apple coring device which I blogged about previously was also up to the task. Over 100 apples in a row and this $3.00 champ held up. It was after this feat that I decided that as a reward to this device I will now (and this is official) demand that when I die and get laid in my casket I am to be holding this apple coring devise as well. Yes, I’m serious… don’t even try to understand.

The next step was the actual cleanse. To tell you the truth it really wasn’t hard. It was just weird that I wasn’t eating anything more then apple juice and not getting hungry, I just got bored of just apple juice. But I kept to the plan. Today I finished up and celebrated with a giant Carl’s Jr. Breakfast sandwich with sausage, extra cheese, ham, and bacon… with a side of tater tots…yeah right. I started with a strawberry, banana, and almond milk smoothie with almonds and raisins on the side. It was freaking delish and you will hear more about this almond milk later. What you are looking at is the new me, I have also decided that once a month I will do a 24 hour true fast with nothing except maybe water. I’ll decide when I get there.

Ri-Ghandi out.

Warning: Will cause drooling

2009-05-30T21:47:00.002-06:00

I need you all to read this next sentence and follow the directions. Take a look at this picture above. If this made you hungry I want you to relax as everything is totally normal. However, If this didn’t make you hungry, and you don’t have drool running from your mouth to your shirt as you read these very words: Step away from the computer and slap yourself in the face right now. The hope is that this slap will introduce the correct thinking in your heads. Repeat as many times as necessary until this looks delish.

What you are looking at is my new favorite snack. It’s true, much like MLB players bulking up, so has the average peanut butter sandwich. Thankfully though, the Peanut Butter Sandwich is bulked up to bananas not anabolic steroids. Although I'm sure if you talked to Mr. Bonds, it could be arranged.

This sandwich is so freaking awesome, that I know you will all want the super difficult recipe but unfortunately it's a family secret so it's off limits to you. This new “hybrid” branch of Peanut Butter + Fruit sandwiches is stemming multiple new ideas in the ol’ cabesa as tomorrow I will unveil a Peanut Butter + Apple combo that I’m pretty sure will put the “shizzle” in “the shizzle”.

War the Peanut Butter sandwich evolving with the times and fruits entering new territories. What's next soups?

The 8th Wonder Of The World

2009-05-28T23:12:00.005-06:00

Much like the “Pyramids Of Giza” or the “Hanging Gardens Of Babylon” or any other of the wonders of the world, the mystery of “Ri-Bone’s Mind” has boggled the minds of the Americans and people worldwide for years. To further fuel the bewilderment I will now tell a tale from just last weekend as the mystery again picked up more steam. Once Upon a Time…

I was asked by the owner of a store in Brigham City a couple weeks ago to come and be part of an afternoon of lectures and teachings done by a couple different people and companies. Not thinking anything more then “sweet, I get paid for that” I said “yes”.

I didn’t know where Brigham City was or even how to get there, but figured I could find it easily. As the weeks went by I didn’t worry about it, or even consider consulting map quest or anyone else about the directions. I just thought it was up in Salt Lake somewhere because the exit I was to take was 1100. Again I was also not worried because only days earlier Tikes had helped me to navigate myself to 33^rdin Salt Lake. I just thought it was the next exit.

When that Saturday came I jumped in the car and headed out. My block of time was from 2-4 and I left at about 11:30ish. I figured I gave myself plenty of time even if I did get lost and this way I’d also be able to listen to the other speakers. So there I was jamming out to some sweet bands, some occasional Brittney Spears and eating my super awesome trail mix. Time flew and I passed 33^rd in Salt Lake. I thought I was just about there and I was simply awaiting the 11^th. To my surprise that exit never came. I was unsure of what to do but I thought I was close so I pulled into town and pulled into a gas station. I called Sam, Tikes, C-Hub, and my father in law, and the store owner, none of which answered my call. That was a little unsettling.

After buying bottled water my father in law called back and I asked a simple question “Is Brigham City past Salt Lake?” all I heard was laughing. I knew that wasn’t good and jumped in the car before he even got done with his laughing. I then learned it was a good hour past Salt Lake and I was in some serious shizzle.

I looked at the clock and knew I had to push the limits of the Neon. I pulled out of the gas station and I’m 100% positive it was like in the picture above with the smoke flowing from the tires and its massive 2.0 liter four popper engine being badly maltreated! I hit the freeway and continued onward treating ALL speed limit signs like mere suggestions. I also became very religious as I prayed for there to be an absence of cops. Luckily my prayers were answered, but I also realized either the Neon was not meant to drive at constant speeds near 100MPH or I have a big time alignment problem. Either way I was getting to that training ASAP because this store was a new potential customer. What also sucked nard about me running late was the fact that the store owner told me they saved me for last to be their main speaker! Crap! I was just hoping they like “fashionably late” entrances.

Long story short, I did finally make it after calling the owner of the store and getting very detailed directions, and he had the speaker before me keep blabbing on to buy me extra time. I was relieved to only be about 15 minutes late. The training went well and was really fun. I ended up picked them up as a new customer in the process as well, so overall, it was a good experience and worth the trouble.

So, the lessons I have learned in this whole thing: My car needs its alignment checked.

Lessons you should have learned with this whole thing: Prettmuch my Neon can take your car in a drag race. AND don’t even challenge me to a high speed endurance race unless you feel like losing.

The Predictbly Unpredictable

2009-05-25T09:30:00.000-06:00

Behold a picture of the Coleman Red Canyon Tent. Assembled by a trained professional, then photographed by other trained professional, this tent is flawless. Note it’s Serene, pristine beauty with a seemingly perfect rain fly that effortlessly contours to the tent’s every curve making the tent 100% water proof.

Behold my actual Coleman Red Canyon Tent. Assembled an untrained, retard, then photographed by the same untrained retard this tent is absolutely perfect only on opposite day. Note the rainfly's unnatural, unbalanced, & painful form, much like Lloyd Christmas after he falls off the jet way in “Dumb & Dumber”. None the less, it passed my standards and was deemed suitable to sustain human life as I was going to sleep in it last night. The instructions may have helped but due to the fact that the instructions and I have lost all contact like the pen pal I was assigned to in 3rd grade this was as good as it was going to get.

As it started to rain throughout the day, I didn't think much of it. Then I remembered I had struggled to assemble the rain fly. I opened the door to find it flat out pouring! I noticed that one of the windows wasn't covered at all by the fly, and even worse the tent's door wasn't zipped and the water from the fly was pretty much draining into the door! I sprung into action!

I began by running around the tent twice and not doing anything. I didn't know where to start because the entire thing was wrong! I was losing valuable time. I zipped up the door, and tried desperately to fix the rain fly. For the next 5 minutes while I was being pounded with rain I tried and tied to repair the fly. I got it somewhat, sorta, kinda, maybe decent, and looked inside the tent to asses the damage.

Holy Crap! I might as well have called National Geographic to report a new ocean that has just been discovered. It was at this point in time when I gave up. The elements, combined with this tent's rain fly proved they owned me like Bill Gates owns Microsoft. Furthermore I was so wet it looked like I'd been standing in front of an open fire hydrant. The effort was more then a complete loss. Yet, in it all I learned a lesson. I have learned that my life can be summarized in one phrase: It's predictably unpredictable.

Next time I'll just wait for better weather. Or maybe I'll download and then somehow decipher the instruction on the rain fly. Either way, I think next time will be better.

This Picture Used To Be Funny

2009-05-24T12:42:00.003-06:00

Pretty much just call me C-Hub because that’s how often I have been updating my blog. But due to my countless fans all protesting, and begging for me to update I have decided to give the people what they want. So go ahead and rub your eyes, but you really are seeing an update on my blog. Here we go:

I have a pretty good guess as to what heaven actually consists of. I imagine it a little something like this. I walk through the pearly white gates and notice that there is a giant TV with a recliner waiting for me, along with a hot Ensalada Salad from Bajio. My recliner is placed between Scottie Pippen, and Jason Bourne. The Atlanta Braves are playing basically 24/7 and they have a perfect record. They win the division every year and also the title. Yep, there is nothing like watching a game unless….

Unless you are me, and you are not in heaven yet, and the game you are watching is the softball game that you should be playing in, but you physically can’t. That is pretty much super gay and more like hell then heaven. Sadly, it seems right now, I am not in heaven.

Why? Because as of now I am adding another handicap to my “résumé” or should I say collection of handicaps which to this point include: colorblindness, memory loss, low functioning brain cells, and hearing loss. The new kid on the block will now be “The spine of a 65 year old man that has worked his entire life”.

How did I come up with that last one? Oh, that is a quote from a back specialist after she looked over my MRI’s. So, I believe it’s important to stay positive, and so in this case I will do just that. I am positive that I can apply and be granted a handicapped parking sign. I’m positive that’s going to be pretty awesome, and I’m positive that’s not awesome news.

But, as of Friday I underwent my first of many “spinal decompression therapy” things. I don’t know much about it, except that it is an alternative to back surgery to help fix this problem. I have been told that in 6 weeks I will be a new man, and can pretty much do whatever the crap I want to do with no problems! Wahoo! To most, that seems like bad news, but I’ve had this for way to long, and this is like 20 Christmas’s combined. It’s going to be awesome!

So, for the next 6 weeks feel free to call me a “gimp”, “grandpa”, or even ”Christopher Reeves”. Feel free to offer me gifts like walking sticks, and wheelchairs. I will even give you the opportunity to comment on my ultra attractive back braces (I have 2 to choose from) but you better hurray, because in 6 weeks, these same comments will no longer be valid as I will be a new man who actually can act his age!

War my sweet braces giving me better posture then you.

Unwar having to sleep in a brace.

Unwar the fact that the picture abover use to be funny.

Welcome To The Ranch

2009-05-08T22:17:00.001-06:00

I’m pretty sure this would chew up a John Dear tractor and spit it out. This mammoth monster however is just what I need and just so happens to be on my shopping list. Yesseree. Its time to start losing teeth, chewing on wheat, and only wearing overalls, cause I’m now a full fledged rancher. You see, here at the “ranch” we’ve undergone some changes. We’ve ripped up some grass and made way for a garden. How big? Again, we’re going to have to buy this bad boy just to hope to maintain it, does that explain anything to you? The garden now includes one each of the following plants: Blueberry, concord grapevine, raspberry, blackberry, watermelon, bell pepper, pumpkins, and almost too many strawberry plants to count…5.

With me being the new biggest player in the industry and my fruit harvest projected to be in the millions of pounds range, I’ve been getting tons of calls from other giant farm owners. Smuckers, Welch’s, Dole, ect, have all been calling and offering me very lucrative deals to put their name on my giant farm, but alas, I’ve decided to keep my acres and acres within the family.

So count on me having enough fruit to feed all of Africa, and also count on me driving this bad boy on the main roads with you stuck behind me every morning when your already late for work because that’s the way we ranchers roll.

My Trip Back From The Windy City

2009-04-28T08:43:00.002-06:00

The post before this was pretty much the trip to our destination, this will be a report on our way back.

Our departure was at 7:04. This time my father in law also checked it, and it was verified. We got our wakeup call at 5 in the morning and we were off like dirty shirts. We got to the airport to luggage checking. For some reason, just like in salt lake they kept checking out my suitcase and wouldn’t let it through. I never mentioned that in Salt Lake they “confiscated’ my hairspray, hair gel, body spray, and cologne, all in the name of “it being a liquid” personally, I just think they wanted my stuff. This time all they could have confiscated was dirty underwear but they still checked it like 3 times.

We got on our flight and it was only like half full. It was awesome, I had a whole row to myself and slept most the way. The only bad part of that flight was that our flight attendant was gay.

We got to Minneapolis Airport 25 minutes before schedule. We checked the departure and there was a flight leaving in 10 minutes to Salt Lake. We ran to the other side of the airport and tried to get on that flight. The lady at the desk was about as nice as Judge Judy and wouldn’t let us board even though we were willing to pay the $50 fee. She kept saying “I don’t have time to change your flight, they are boarded”, even though a lady behind her said we could.

With us not getting on that flight we had to wait for our original 2.5 hour layover. We went in search of the softest seat in the airport. We found them, they just so happened to be at a burger king. We sat there and wasted time and I ended up falling asleep. Yes, I fell asleep in a Burger King. Later we ate at some Won Ton place, and ran into a missionary on his way to Salt Lake on our flight. We talked for a while before he left.

Neither of us realizing why he left we kept eating and talking. A while later Butch asked “what time is it?” turns out our flight was in about 10 minutes! Good thing Butch was there! We again ran across the airport to find our plane already boarding. We got inside and sat down. About 4 minutes after we sat down the door closed and we took off. I’m not sure why but Butch kept telling me “I’m never traveling with you again”.

So the trip back had the potential for disaster but we of course avoided it. The trip overall was fun, and all the mishaps were straight up hilarious. I’m just glad my father in law is really laid back because anyone else that took that trip with me would have killed me. I’ve learned multiple things about taking trips and I’m going to be going on the rest of these trips solo. Unless I can convince someone to go with me… which probably won’t happen.

My Trip To The Windy City

2009-04-26T23:02:00.003-06:00

This weekend was my big trip to Indiana. Of course with anything that I am involved in, it didn’t go quite according to plan. In fact for me, any trip farther then I can throw a bowling ball usually ends up with some sort of antics. This was of course the case again. Here’s how it went down.

My preparation for my trip began 15 minutes before my ride was picking me up as i packed my stuff. I heard my father in law honk, and we were on our way. We were on a perfect schedule for our departure at 10:44. We got to the airport in plenty of time and all was going smoothly. But, with the same probability of the sun rising each day the dreaded “Ri-Bone” effect kicked in.

After failing to have our tickets printed by a stupid machine, we were sent to customer service. There it was explained to us that while we sat there in Salt Lake wondering why our tickets weren’t coming out of the stupid self serve machine our plane was somewhere around North Dakota. It was across the country because 10:44 was our arrival time, not our departure. Good one Ri-Bone, can you even read? It was also then that I realized that I am just about as destructive as the plagues of Egypt.

So with missing our scheduled flight we then scrambled and literally bought the last two tickets on a 2^nd plane which was so freaking small it could double as anchovy’s container. Oddly enough that’s exactly how I felt sitting in it. If it couldn’t get any worse I’ll give you one guess whose seat was directly next to the bathroom. Oh, and just for the record a 300 pound lady’s butt brushed against my arm on her way out of the bathroom and I almost barfed.

A couple hours later we were in Minnesota to partake of another 2.5 hour layover. Finally it was time to board our 2^nd plane. I handed the lady some paper I had with writing on it, and was told it was the wrong one. Turns out I left the correct ticket, and my super awesome trail mix in the previous plane 2.5 hours ago. So, as she sat there trying to find if my ticket did exist all the other passengers thoroughly enjoyed waiting on me. After a couple minutes she did find it, and also apologized to me for the wait. (As she should have, as it was completely her mistake)

A couple hours later we were In Chicago and we rented the only car manlier then both a Chevrolet Aveo and a Hyundai Accent. We rented a Kia Rio. You want to talk about power? You want to talk about a solid well built car? Well, we better talk about a different car because this thing was a pile. None the less our wussy golf cart got us to our hotel despite the massive rainstorm.We finalyl got to our room at 10:30 p.m.

The next morning we went to the convention and that went smoothly. During lunch at the convention I was informed to book our hotel to save ourselves the hassle later which I did. After the show we dropped off our car, and took a shuttle to our hotel. Again, me having more then 0% of the planning of this trip was a mistake. Turns out, that the hotel I booked us during lunch was a hotel in downtown Chicago and about 10 miles away. Which was even more aweosme becuase we just returned our rental car. At this point I am on a roll. I am a plague, or some sort of disease effecting every aspect of this trip.

However, after 15 minutes on the phone in the lobby I convinced the lady from both Orbitz, and the 1rst hotel to drop the fee for changing the hotel (pretty much due to the fact that I am retarded) and get a room at hotelwe were currently standing in. She agreed and we were set. So, I am writing this post from inside our room and the furture looks bright and uneventful.

Our flight home will again have a layover in two cities, but this time my father in law checked the travel plans. He then informed me that after this trip he won’t be accompanying me on any more trips. But we should be fine. So, hopefully this is the end of my mishaps, and we have a “normal” day tomorrow.

This Buds For You

2009-04-21T23:22:00.003-06:00

I seriously don't know what is going on with my appearance lately but something has got to change. Just the other day I was mistakenly viewed and then treated like a complete retard in Macey's that wouldn't know what a carrot was or how they grew. Today, I was viewed and then treated as something completely different, and to tell you the truth when I compare the two, I'd rather be viewed as the retard.

My super weird experience started as I was mowing my lawn. The only thing out the ordinary so far was that there was a poop on my lawn that was big enough that I figured it was a crop from the movie "Operation Dumbo Drop". After letting the mower handle it because I sure as heck wasn't touching it, I continued mowing. That when normal made like a fat man's neck and disappeared.

I noticed a truck in the middle of the road stopped and the two men inside looking at me. I couldn't blame them, I'm incredibly good looking, but I figured they were lost and needed directions because even if I do look retarded, I don't look gay. After getting the "c'mere" hand gesture I made my way over to there car which again, was in the middle of the road.

I am not kidding, this really happened, and I am not exaggerating. This was our conversation

Me: What's up
Man: Sorry to bother you but do you know where I can get some "bud?"
Me: (Laughing) dude you know I cant tell you that (kidding) What's up?
Man: (Laughing back) seriously do you have some?
Me: (Laughing) oh, your serious?
Man: Yeah, I just moved from California and I don't know where to get some
Me: Dude, are you talking about weed?
Man: Yeah, I'm desperate and in California it's only a hop, skip, or jump away, but here it's hard to come by.
Me: Dude, (looking around like WTF) I wouldn't know where to start. You do realize my neighbor is a cop though right?
Man: F?#$! Him, do you have some? I'll give you $20
Me: Dude..... (looking even more like WTF is happening right now)
Man: Dude, I'll give you $40, I'm not a cop man, I swear, I'm not a cop, I'm desperate
Me: Man, (still wondering what to say, or tell him) I don't even know where to send you, but it's not in "P-Town"

Similar conversation continued...

Honestly, what would you do in this situation. Your freaking mowing your grass when some dude pulls over and wants to know where he can find some "grass" to smoke? I honestly didn't know what to say, or where to send him but I sent him to the city that is notorious in the valley for drug activity which also happens to be the city where my neighbor the cop is assigned. I also later informed him of the color, make, model, and description of this dude.

That wasn't the whole conversation but that was most of it. I thought it was hilarious that I'm now being mistaken for a retard, a drug user, and even worse a drug dealer. What was it about my appearance today that led them to think that? Is wearing sandals while mowing the lawn some sort of sign? I am completely lost.

I'm just kind of wondering what I'll be mistaken for next week.

Move Over Babe, There's A New Beast In Town

2009-04-18T07:24:00.006-06:00

You may remember the post I did a long time ago about the biggest stroller this side of the "Mississip" (How us locals pronounce it) and how I basically needed a 3 car garage just to store it. If not, here is the link. http://ri-bone.blogspot.com/2008/04/introducing-babe-big-blue-stroller.html

Well, good news, my wife's "yard saleing" is being monitored as to not go overboard and purchase such an atrocity again. In fact, "Babe The Big Blue Stroller" is currently at a community yard sale right now, hopefully to find a new home... far away from my own.

So what do you do when you sell your giant stroller? Easy, you buy an even bigger stroller. Introducing "Magna" The big, red, larger then an actual volcano stroller. I thought the other stroller was big.... I was wrong, this thing is bigger. Hawaii was formed by volcanoes as big as this stroller and it's easy to see why.

Yet, at the same time I am not upset. In fact, I love this stroller. For real. When your forced to have a 2 kid stroller, I would recommend this one. It's light, and it can fit my two kids, me, our 50" plasma, our trampoline, and our swing set in it all at the same time. So all in all I'm happy with the purchase. So when you see me coming down the street, get off the sidewalk... yes the entire sidewalk, or you will risk being mowed down by Magna, because it takes no prisoners.

We Bring You Another News Bulletin

2009-04-16T20:15:00.006-06:00

This is a special report on the recent goings on at the Alexander Household.

After much thought, testing, and a trial run, the decision has been made. The decision being weighed out and voted upon is which milk will be stocked at the Alexander household. As of this week, it’s now become officially official. The milk of the Alexander house will be water… with microscopic traces of actual milk mixed in with it, also known as “Skim Milk”.

“Am I for real? Yes, I’m as real as Rosanne being fat” says Ri-Bone (head of the household). “This idea of buying skim milk has been passed around ever since I began this health thing, and now like the Braves bullpen sucking, it’s become reality” Ri-Bone continued.

“It looks like milk and tastes like water” says Sam “Why is it .25 more a gallon when it’s like 1% actual milk per gallon?” she questions. “mmmmm, now that’s a mystery” says friend of the family Chris Farley.

To solve this injustice of over priced “watermilk” the Alexander family has resorted to hiring special agent Crisp P. Bacon of the U.S. milk protection alliance services incorporated committee company fund organization, or U.S.M.P.A.S.I.C.C.F.O. for short.

“We have all the confidence in the world that Mr. Bacon will handle these tough issues appropriately” says Addi. (main milk drinker in the house) “The U.S.M.P.A.S.I.C.C.F.O. has an impeccable record, and I’m exited for the lower cost of watermilk in the near future” adds the youngest member of the house Mallory.

We will have to keep you informed on the status of brother bacon at a later time, as for now, we’ll just hope for the best.

How Dumb Do I Look?

2009-04-16T10:43:00.003-06:00

It all took place the other day in the produce isle at Macys. I was helping myself to their produce by touching, bruising, and spitting on every piece of fruit I could without buying it when my eyes beheld something totally awesome. No, it wasn’t my own reflection in a mirror, it was some huge Red Peppers for .60 each! Being versed in the average cost of red peppers I knew I just struck a deal. Exited, I filled a bag with 6 as they were good and fresh. Just when I thought my trip couldn’t be any more successful, something even more awesome caught my eye. No, it wasn’t an even bigger mirror with my own reflection either, it was some really fresh, crunchy, carrots! These were not regular carrots though because they still had the top green part on them and were super fresh! I wanted to scream like a little girl!

I grabbed another bag and started selecting them. That’s when the whole experience just got weird. I didn’t ever ask for any assistance. I didn’t even see a worker around, yet all of a sudden an older Macey’s worker with glasses was right next to me and said the following…

Worker: “These are carrots. You wouldn’t know this because you didn’t grow up on a farm but the orange part actually grows underground. The green part is all you see because the entire part you eat is buried in the dirt”

Granted the dude was old. But still, WTF!? Was this even for real?! I’m not Helen Keller, I know what a carrot looks like, and how they grow… and since when did I ask for the origin about the carrots I was buying? Also, where did you even come from? I wasn’t sure what to think, but he may have been straight up insulting my intelligence. Do I look retarded?... Apparently so.

So what do you do when a 65 year old man with glasses lays what could be a straight up diss on you? I wasn’t sure either but I weighed my options. I was about 37.4% sure I could have beaten this dude down easily, but due to the possibility of him carrying his hickory cane under his Macey’s apron I decided against it. After a couple more nano seconds I just smiled and said “yep” and went back to selecting my carrots.

It was a great overall experience as I will now do all my produce shopping there, but maybe I’ll just try to avoid the weird old men. Also, from now on when I get dressed I won’t ask Sam “Does this outfit match?” but instead I’ll just ask “Does this outfit make me look mentally retarded?”

Mmmmm, Delish

2009-04-14T23:52:00.004-06:00

How would you feel about me if I confessed to you all that this afternoon I grabbed a container and set it under this dog's butt as it was answering a cell phone call from "Nature"? How would you feel if I told you that I actually paid money for not only the container, but also paid by the pound for the "product" left inside my container? Lastly, how would you feel about me if I told you I then dipped my finger in this product and tasted it, loved it, and couldn't wait to get home to spread it over some bread?

Well, I don't imagine you would think of me too differently, but luckily for myself, and my toothbrush that wasn't exactly the case. The dog and the "dog product" in this scenario are of course symbolic. The "dog poo" was actually 100% fresh, roasted, peanut butter that came out of the "dogs butt" which was actually a peanut butter machine. Allow me to explain.

Today I made another visit to one of my good customers, and my new favorite store in the whole world, the "Good Earth" store. After shopping and having a hand full of items that you would find at a Rabbit "Chuck-A-Rama" I made my way to the Peanut butter machine. I had been waiting to try fresh peanut butter from the moment I knew it existed... which was about a week ago. I grabbed a container, and flipped the switch.

As I sat there watching this machine excrete fresh peanut butter slowly before my very eyes, various images came to my mind. Images like a horse "taking a dump" in a Field, a cow "dropping a load" after it's lunch, or lastly the dog that you see above "taking care of business" right in my container. Why? Because that is exactly what this machine looked like it was doing. It was seriously gross.

Yet in the end this peanut butter machine poo was freaking awesome, and I ate way too much tonight. I have kept up with this eating healthy thing, and this fresh peanut butter is just the latest in my escapade of healthy eating. I'll also have you know I am now part of an exclusive club, the "Good Earth" preferred members club. That's right baby, read it and weep. Now ask me who bought bran flakes, and fresh raisins today to make their own healthier version of raisin bran? Me. Ask me who's turning even weirder and even "Sprouted" his own fresh oat groats tonight? Me. I could go on all day like this, but I'm busy, because I have kids to put to bed, and after that I have to go and hug a couple trees, because that's the type of person I'm turning into. Sometimes, I even weird myself out.

My Family Portrait

2009-04-03T13:22:00.011-06:00

To the naked and untrained eye these two items seem to be totally unrelated and appear to be nothing more then a life preserver and a slab of raw bacon. That assumption is far from correct. What you’re looking at is pretty much a self portrait of me right next to my father in law. I know… dysfunctional right?

Luckily that’s not the case either. In this case the life preserver helps the succulent bacon. How? My father in law has received a revelation straight from the travel gods because they understand that the city of Chicago would chew me up and spit me out like a bird regurgitating meals for its young. So as of today, he will be joining me on my business trip through the “Windy City”. So thus, he is the life preserver. So what’s with the bacon? It’s simple, that’s my freaking bacon he’s saving. The only question left is from which region this rare “Ri-Bacon” will be cut from. My guess is from either of my luscious butt cheeks.

The only downfall of this trip is that I have been left in charge of booking our Hotels, Flights, and Rental Car. I have to admit that for my personal safety and the safety of others around me I’m usually not left in charge of anything more important then pouring a bowl of cereal without spilling any of the milk.

However, I have decided to take my diaper off and learn to pee on the potty like a big boy. I will take on the challenge of booking these amenities for the right locations, times, and places by myself. So, if all goes well I will be flying on Delta, staying at the Radisson, and driving a Pontiac G6. (I have decided since I’m in charge I’ll upgrade my car for an extra $2)

So, in a couple weeks when I take this trip with me doing the scheduling I may end up flying to Indiana on a magic carpet, sleeping in a box in a city park, and driving a pedal bike, but at least I’ll be alive.

War me dying later in life due to cancer, a tree falling on me, or an overdose of awesome, but not in Chicago in a couple weeks when the city beats me to death within 3 hours.

Ri-Bone 1984-2009 R.I.P.

2009-04-02T08:15:00.004-06:00

I don't need to borrow Marty Mcfly's keys to see this one coming. I'll even call my shot right now. This picture will perfectly represent what my exact location, situation, and outcome will be in a couple Weeks. The rusted left for dead car will be what used to be my Chevrolet Aveo rental. The desolate landscape will be where I end up after becoming hopelessly lost in downtown Chicago. As for the human in the picture... there is no human. That will also be my case, as the discovery of my body which will look like a piece of toast that got stuck in the toaster for too long will left up to drug sniffing mutts.

Why do I say these things? Because as of today I have been selected to become a wannabe Tikes and travel to a new and hopefully exiting location all in the name of business. The lucky city chosen to bask in my greatness for a span of around 3 days will be Merrillville Indiana.

The State Officials have contacted me and informed me that my welcome parade is ready to go, and will kick off as I arrive. When I show up, I'll show up big. I will start by landing in Chicago not on coach class, not on first class, but they will see me struggle to get out of the overhead luggage compartment which I was stuffed in to save money. They will then see me roll up on Dubs in my choice of 3 cars. They are a Hyundai Accent, Chevrolet Aveo, or Nissan Sentra. If you ask me they are all very gangsta. FYI nothing says "gangsta" like 3 cars who's engines all flirt with triple digits in the horsepower category and strain to reach 75 MPH.

So if I'm traveling with the accommodations of a 5 star illegal alien then why the negative outcome? Because, most likely I will be doing it alone.

There is no GPS system in the world that can help me in an unknown location find another unknown location. There is no city small enough for me not to get lost in. Lastly, there is no worse person to be left stranded in situations that include cutting his own Outback steak, or travel across the country without a written and signed parent note.

SO, unless things change in the next day or two, in a couple weeks I will bid you all goodbye. Most likely I wont be coming back. We will start the bidding for my posses ions in the following days to come. We will start with my blenders. The bid will begin at $1,000 with 100% of the proceeds going to the "Mentally Handicapped, Colorblind, Almost Deaf, Scoliosis Ridden, Business Travelers Of America" fund. Which will be founded in my name.

Theives Are Gay

2009-03-30T08:35:00.004-06:00

I imagine the conversation went something like this:

Retard 1: Dude, do you think these lights look the same.
Retard 2: Yeah totally. He’ll never know the difference.
Retard 1: Oh crap the top doesn’t fit!
Retard 2: its fine just leave it, he won’t notice. Just hurray so we can pawn this for more weed.
Retard 1: Good idea. I can’t wait to destroy even more of my brain cells.

What’s this all about? Read the following story from my life the other day and you will understand. Once upon a time…

I was backing out of my driveway to go to work. As always I am admiring my yard which I have worked very hard on for the last 4 years. I immediately notice one of my landscape lights is tipped over. I don’t think much of it, but tell Sam “I think someone has been at our house”. She doesn’t think much of it either.

As I’m pulling back into my driveway after work I again notice the light doesn’t look right. I walk up to it, and examine the situation. Not even two seconds later I understand exactly what happened and I’m shocked. It turns out someone stole the top part (the part with the solar panel, and light bulb) to one of my landscaping lights. With the complete understanding that this was wrong/against the law the assailant attempted to justify the situation by leaving me the top part (again the solar panel, and light bulb) of a completely different brand of landscape light that didn't even fit, or look even close to similar. All the while, they were also kind enough to leave my light ripped from the ground, and pulled apart.

At first I was honestly confused. I was confused if this was a joke, or if this particular person was really that dumb thinking that I wouldn’t notice or care. I know that thieves are retarded, but c’mon, this is an embarrassment to other thieves everywhere. Due to this turn of events I have prepared a 2 part letter to the person(s) involved in this.

Part 1 - Dear Theif: I would like to thank you for your unneeded, and unrequested services that you provided to my personal property. I am so glad that you did that because I bought that light set hoping that one day I would be lucky enough to have at least one of them ruined by someone other then me. I don’t mind that each light was $9 and they were part of a set. They are ugly and I hate them, why else would I go out of my way to buy them and put them along the front of my house? Thank you again so much. On top of your recent “purchase” from my home, please feel free to any of my belongings that aren’t tied down or locked up. In fact, I just planted some new flower bulbs the other day, so please, treat my home like a freaking Chuck-A-Rama and help yourself. Would you also like to rip my maple tree from the ground and take it home? If so, please leave the biggest mess you possibly can. Thanks again queer bate.

Part 2. Dear Theif: One more thing, and this time I won’t be so sarcastic. Please grow a pair and come to my door with a replacement light for me. Even if you don’t have a new light for me, please come to my door so I can pound your face with my fist until your teeth litter my lawn. That is one mess I wouldn’t mind you leaving. If you are the same person that stole the inflatable Halloween decoration from my yard then you are going to lose more then just your teeth. That will be all.

Hello? Can You Hear Me Now? How About Now?

2009-03-25T23:24:00.006-06:00

I might as well be the new spokesman for Geiko because the last couple months this cave was pretty much where I had been living. I’ve been secluded from the rest of the world, left out of the loop, and unable to communicate with other humans other then my own family. Why? Because I didn’t have a REAL cell phone. Just for the record or just if you’re wondering a “Tracfone” is not a real cell phone. They can’t even spell “phone” correctly and I might as well pick up a rock and try to receive calls with that.

I think the saying goes something like “It’s darkest before the dawn” and I knew that was the case with me and a phone. One day I would again see the light that comes with ownership from a real phone, I just didn’t’ know when. Like mold on old cheese my frustration continued to grow, and I knew something had to change. I could no longer live with a tracfone. I was growing tired of explaining that the small, gay, pink, cell phone I used sometimes was not mine, but my wife’s. I also tired of the small homo pink phone bruising my ever so masculine persona. Well ladies, and gentlemen… I’m happy to announce that my day of salvation is Nye.

After a talk with my wife she has decided to take the tracfone and I will be the owner of the cell phone. Our decision was basically made on the fact that I am so much more popular then her. Besides, so many important people want to get a hold of me, like telemarketers, and various credit card salesmen.

So this morning I ordered a new phone to replace the pink one, and it will soon be in transit to my abode where I’m afraid my emotions will be out of control. I fully expect to cry uncontrollably when I lay eyes on my new phone for the first time as I’m sure my emotions will go as nuts as a Rottweiler after a mailman. My only worry is that the anticipation for my new phone will cause my heart to over react and beat through my sternum. So, I’m hoping that doesn’t happen mainly because it would probably be a bigger mess then what Hub has to clean up in the hospital bathrooms (although not near as nast) but this could very well be the longest week of my life.

The "Chronicals Of Ri-Bonehead" Volume 2

2009-03-24T09:16:00.005-06:00

I thought about this post for a while. Unsure if I should post it fearing that I might end up being arrested for what I’m about to tell you. Not under the terms of “attempted murder” but under the condition of “being too retarded for my own good” In the footsteps of last post I realized I could honestly devote plenty of segments on my blog with my various mishaps. So, that’s what I decided to do. I have also decided I will call these “brain fart” moments… “The Ri-Bonehead Chronicles” So, without further a due, here’s an example from yesterday.

It all started as I was getting ready to leave for work yesterday morning. My wife was going to be heading out as well, but she was about 15 minutes after me. Being the perfect dream husband that I am, I was again just thinking ahead for what’s best for my wife and kids. Becuase of that, I started her car for her because it was cold outside. Going the extra mile I even turned the heat on full blast for her. I then got in my car and left. As a little introduction to myself, this is only the tip of the iceberg to my giving nature.

Much like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas morning all I know is generosity. Never thinking of myself and always others. Sure I’m willing to purchase a season golf pass to Gladstan Golf Course but it’s not because I want it, it’s only because I know that if I was golfing all day and night while my wife stayed home with the kids she would love it. Again, generosity just seeps from my pours.

So about half hour later my wife gets to work and she instantly says to me “You’re not very smart”. Not surprised or offended at her comment knowing she most likely had a dang good reason, I said “duh” and started to think of what I did wrong this morning. “All I did was start her car” I thought. She then explained what I had done, and needless to say it more then justified her comment. I will now explain…

As I was nice enough to start her car this morning, I was also nice enough to shut the garage door behind me. What does that mean? Well, it means that all the poison fumes from the exhaust had no where to go but back in the house with my wife and kids. It also meant that my wife had to open all the doors, open the garage door, and wait 15 minutes to let the house “air out” after she figured out what happened. Why did she have to do that? Pretty much so they wouldn’t die. Man, I am a great husband. I am willing to do anything for my wife, including let poison fumes into the house for her. Is there no end to my generosity? Sometimes I wish there was. I’m pretty sure she could have gone without this "kind deed".

I’m thankful for them still being alive of course, and I’m not thankful to my brain that again flat out dropped the ball like the bomb we dropped on Hirojima. I’m pretty sure my wife deserves extra blessing just because she’s married to me.

The "Chronicals Of Ri-Bonehead" Volume 1

2009-03-19T09:24:00.003-06:00

There comes certain times in life when you wonder “How many times was I dropped on my head as a child? You stand back and ponder over the question of “Am I seriously retarded?” I’m sure you all have those moments. Or is it just me? Am I the only one that has these moments on a daily basis? I hope not. Here is the one from the other day.

The difficult task before me was to fill up my manly Dodge Neon with the Turbo Rocket fuel it requires. I got out of the car and put my debit card in the slot. “That’s weird usually it stops” I thought. I sat there for a minute wondering why it wasn’t letting me select which grade of gas I’d like to use. Then I realized what I had just done, I had just shoved my card up the receipt slot. “Ha, how funny, that’s something my wife would do” I thought. I then looked into the slot to assess the damage. Crap! My card was clear up there. Hitler has a better chance of reaching heaven then I had at reaching my card. Suddenly, I realized this also meant someone besides me could now have access to the 150 Billion dollars I have in my account if they got a hold of my card so I knew I had to get it, but how? I looked down at my watch to check the time… Yep, it was “MacGyver” time.

Thinking more clearly then ever before I calmly opened up my car door and asked my wife for her card. Upon her questioning “why” I simply said “I did something seriously retarded” and shut the door before I had to explain myself. While the car was filling up, I continued prodding, pulling, reaching, and grabbing with various objects to reach it. Click. “Oh good, my tank is full, I’ll just print the receipt and it will push my card out” I thought.

The screen was asking a very simple question “Print Receipt?” Now, in my mind I truly wanted to push yes, I really did. But it appears that I have some type of short in the wires between my brain and body because just as I was about to end this nightmare, my hand which apparently has a mind of its own reached up and pushed the “no” button. What!!?? Do I have brain damage! I realize I am forgetful, I realize I’m not the sharpest cheddar on the sandwich, I realize that only days before this I completely spaced packing my clothing suitcase for a 5 day trip to California, but when will this madness end?! Was this for real?! As I stood there in shock at my own mental incapability, I couldn’t tell if I was mad, or honestly in shock. This also presented another fork in the road. Should I cancel my card, or continue to look like an idiot trying to get my card out of the wrong slot.

What did I choose to do? Was that a real question? Of course I chose to continue to look like an idiot. Then revelation struck, I had a super tiny knife in the car. Perfect for a sword fight with a mouse should the occasion ever arise. I had tried a pen, pencil, my fingers, broken sunglass lenses, a hook I found in the car, and another debit card all with no luck. I was stabbing and jabbing my card to death. Moments later, just as I was about to give up, the tables turned. It had been about 8 minutes and I’m sure the cashiers were a bit concerned as they watched me through their cameras, but it was finally over. I pulled my card out!

I got back in the car and told my wife what happened. For some reason she didn’t share my same enthusiasm as I held my card in hand. With or without her support I felt like a big man that day showing a thin slice of plastic who the boss really is. So, let that be a lesson to debit cards everywhere that I don’t mess around. As for a lesson for the rest of you people out there, here it is: Insert your card where it says “Insert card here”. It’s not a trick question, or some plot to fool you. It’s just how it works I promise.

(And yes, I thought the background I chose for this post was clever)

Twins?

2009-03-18T08:16:00.006-06:00

As the perfect model for the perfect father figure, I figured it was the least I could do. So when the opportunity presented itself to adopt another sibling, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I negotiated, traded, and swapped to make it happen. I also think I struck a deal and didn’t have to pay thousands upon thousands that it usually requires to adopt. Having said that, I’m proud to say that I had added one more member to our family. I am now the father of

a set of little black twins. Here they are...

As the a proud owner of these two I can’t help but beam from ear to ear when I see them. I already had one of these guys, in fact I belive I dedicated an entire post to it. So why would I adopt another one? Becuase I am a great American, and because of its upbringing. Before myself, it was raised by an emotionally abusive owner, the 2nd blender never felt loved. Constantly hounded, and being told it wasn’t worth its price tag, and that it was overrated, it was devastating to the blender’s self esteem and performance. The poor little guy simply needed to be loved. That’s again where I came into the picture.

As “father of the year” I understand that the emotional damage will most likely take some time to get over for this little guy. But, the great news is that the 2nd blender is on its way to a full and healthy recovery. Another plus is that I no longer have to pack my blender to and from work everyday to make my diarrhea look-alike drink. I simply have one at home, and one at work. It’s heaven.

In this situation everyone is happy. Including the dead beat blender dad who just couldn’t see the potential of this little guy. Since I am such a great owner to these blenders, I figured I might as well just put a plug out there, that if anyone has a 50" Plasma looking for a new home, I'm sure our household could allow for one more.

Not So Radical, Jalapeño Radical

2009-03-17T08:59:00.005-06:00

I thought yesterday was just another ordinary day as I heard the familiar “ding” and I entered into what I thought was just another regular Subway sandwich shop. Little did I know I had just been targeted in an elaborate scheme to end my life and walking into that Subway, was like walking into a death trap.

With nothing seeming amiss I ordered my regular sandwich, a foot long turkey. As I waited I quickly scanned over the ingredients and monitored the craftsmanship going into the prep of my said lunch item. However, I didn’t notice the lone jalapeño glaring at me from inside the pickles container. There he sat, like a Navy Seal in full stealth mode, completely camouflaged and undetectable, he was not among his brothers (the other jalapeños) but in with the pickles. His hiding position was not only overlooked by me, but he was also unseen by the trained eye of the Subway employee. For no other known reasons except claiming this war was in the name of “religious freedom” this Jalapeño radical was out to get me, waiting patiently, for his time to strike.

Sadly his time came as I looked away for only a split second and he darted from his post to wrongly enter amongst the other ingredients of my sandwich. Nestled in with the lettuce, pickles, and bell peppers this jalapeño was clearly a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Moments later while I returned to work and began to eat my sandwich at my desk I noticed the tastiness of this turkey sub. Tasty and no spicier then the pepper jack cheese... just how I like it. That’s when the unthinkable happened. This particular Jalapeño who was obviously a veteran in the ways of war and torture attacked in similar form to a suicide bombing as he gave up his own life in attempt to take mine.

Unaware of why my sandwich all of a sudden was burning my mouth I kept chewing. Then it just got worse and worse, as it got hotter and hotter. I felt like I was in a fireplace store with all the firplaces on full blast with no A.C in the middle of the summer. I felt like all the blood in my body had turned into gasoline and I just swallowed a match. I felt like I could seriously breathe fire as I realized what had taken place. The struggle of my own life was now on the line, I had to act fast. I full on sprinted to the nearest drinking fountain and filled up a glass with liquid H2O and guzzled it like a Hummer guzzles unleaded fuel or when Indiana Jones drinks from the Holy Grail.

A long and excruciating time later the fire was finally extinguished in my mouth and throat. I dissected the rest of my sub to find that it was only the one pepper slice. I then realized I was a lucky man to cheat death in this malicious attempt at an assignation from this pepper. From now on, I vow to actually watch my sandwich being built, I also vow to do my personal part to cut down on jalapeño pepper abuse. Because after all, lets not forget the motto… Friends don’t let friends be abused my jalapeños.

Am I Really What I Eat?

2009-03-09T09:58:00.003-06:00

Look at this blob of spaghetti. Throw some parmasan cheese on that blob and it will transform into my favorite food. In fact I’m pretty sure spaghetti is what’s served for dinner nightly in the celestial kingdom.

Over the years I’m consumed more spaghetti then Kobiasha has consumed hot dogs. Ive consumed enough that I fear spaghetti may be turning against me. What do I mean? Well, have you ever heard the saying “You are what you eat?” Well, I think that’s what’s happening to me. Last night I did my first workout in the touted P90X workout program. After my workout of like 50,000 pull-ups and pushups, I looked down to find that both my arms had been replaced by the same noodles I used eat. There I sat with two dead, limp, lifeless spaghetti noodle limbs, hanging from my shoulder joints.

Moments later as I was in the shower I attempted to reach up with my noodle arms to grab the bar of soap. (For those of you who don’t know what soap is, it’s used to clean one’s body). After a bigger fight then it should have been, I got it. Now I’m fully aware that a bar of "Irish Springs" weighs like 1 oz but last night it felt like I was holding a 55# sack of flour. As I tried to wash my body holding the soap and lifting my spaghetti noodle arms it became quite the scene. There I was in a mind numbing struggle using 100% of my power to lift and move a measly bar of soap like 1 foot in the air. I was probably shaking, and working up another sweat, making the shower I was partaking of completely worthless. Oh, and for the record I have been lifting for just short of a month so I thought I would be somewhat used to this stuff… apparently not.

Although my arms feel better right now (it’s the next day) I’m sure after tonight’s workout I’ll look down to see more spaghetti. That workout kicks some serious rear quarters.

Coolest Dream Ever

2009-03-07T23:10:00.004-07:00

Last night after consuming multiple “hallucinogenic mushrooms” I went to bed. Shortly after I had the most awesome dream ever. In fact, last night marked the most awesome dream I have ever had. This surpasses the one where I lived at Scottie Pippen’s house, all the ones when I was a rich billionaire, and even the one where I punched Oprah Winfrey in the face while she worked for the FBI. Last night I was a superhero.

I was a completely new super hero. I had multiple powers. I had knife things in my hands like wolverine, I could fly and was super strong like Hancock, I could teleport like in the movie “Jumper” and was like Jason Bourne in hand to hand combat.

The story began as I began to understand my powers. I practiced and honed them in preparation for battle. Where did I practice them? Area 51? No, I practiced them in my mom’s backyard. After mastering all my moves. I went on a joy flight. I flew around P-Town and wound up stopping inside the local Zion’s bank lobby. (I don’t even bank there). There were thousands of crying people inside, all needing money. So, what do I do? I flew to a different bank, robbed it, and flew back to the Zion bank in P-Town to distribute the money to these poor people.

So there I was a superhero bank teller/bank robber. Then all of a sudden my spidey sense tingled as I knew my arch enemy was near. I flew on the roof and looked through the building (I also had X-Ray vision) and realized he was looking for me. I didn’t fight him, but merely studied his moves and habits. I then tailed him all over the world while ironically he was looking for me. Who was my arch enemy? None other than the dreaded “Dragonfly Man”. He was all human except for his 4 wings like a dragon fly. He could fly super fast, (not as fast as me) and when he flew his wings made a loud “whap, whap, whap” noise kind of like a helicopter.

After traveling around the world and studying his moves, I knew the time had come. It was time to end this threat. Unlike action flicks where the confrontation takes places somewhere like Vegas, or New York, ours took place on the highest peak on West Mountain. Yes, the same West Mountain that catches fire like 9 times every summer. WTF? Yeah, I know.

The battle was short. He tried to fly away but I knocked him out of the air. I then let him get to his feet, and we started to fight again. I then gave him a beating so hard him mamma felt it. Then I killed him. The threat was over and I had defeated my enemy. So what next? I flew back to my mom’s backyard. That’s when I looked at the Radio Tower on top of West Mountain and realized I had always wanted to see what it looked like. Even when I was little (this is in real life) so in my dream I decided to fly to it. The only problem was the second I tried to fly to it, I woke up, thus leaving the identity of the tower a complete mystery still. I guess some things just aren’t meant to be discovered. I am thinking of going on a real life quest to answer this question that apparently haunts me subconsciously as well.

War the best dream ever. War my beat down of the Dragonfly Man. War me being the best bank teller in history.

The Tables Have Turned

2009-03-04T08:58:00.003-07:00

The dreaded “floating wedgie”. There’s only one thing in this world that you can compare it to… and that’s quicksand. Why? Because just like quicksand the dreaded “floating wedgie” is nearly impossible to escape. Also just like quick sand the more you struggle, and wiggle, the more your situation worsens. In cases like this too much wiggling can result in having to pull your once comfortable undies out of your own butt crack with tongs in what could qualify as a medical procedure. In a case like this the only thing you can really do is simply remain completely still and pray that the band on your “whitie tighties” rip rather then the slow torture as your undies make their way closer and closer to your liver.

So what does this nuclear bomb of a wedgie have to do with my post? Well, because at one point last year I was that kid on the fence symbolically speaking. I attempted a night jog and ended up being railroaded, dominated, or given a symbolic “floating wedgie” by none other then the cold hard reality that I was way too out of shape. For a refresher course on what I’m talking about read the posts written a back on my first attempt. Here is a quick link to it – http://ri-bone.blogspot.com/2008_03_01_archive.html

Well, last night I was out to change that history as I once again attempted to run the same route at around the same time, in about the same weather. This time, things were different. Yeah, I was again in a tank top even though the wind felt like it was near tornado like conditions, and yeah it was kind of cold at first, but in the end, it ended up keeping me feeling cool, and comfortable. My first victory was over the elements.

My 2nd victory was over the rocks that nearly broke my foot last year. I simply used common sense this time and ran around them. That’s right baby… I was 2 for 2 so far.

So how about my 3rd victory? I ran not only 1, but 2 miles straight without stopping, passing out, puking, falling unconscious in the middle of the road, and without dying. I had officially turned the table on who was the receiver in this symbolic “floating wedgie” mentioned above. I felt like it was such a victory I needed to blog about it. So there you have it. I’m pretty sure I dominated that run so much my skin will naturally begin to change colors into the Kenyan tone, which is who I really am.

What Is Motovational?

2009-02-23T07:35:00.003-07:00

What is tougher then a grown man in the gym wearing little girl’s cheer shorts? Nothing. Except maybe the 2nd guy staring at his own puke puddle on the ground wearing a belly shirt while his own butt crack attempts to eat his shorts. I don’t get these posters. Are they for real? Are these supposed to be motivational?

This is exactly what I hate about gyms. 8 days ago for the first time since High School I stepped foot inside a gym. When I did this I was instantly bombarded with these types of posters everywhere. These are just the two worse I saw. I’m 100% that these two guys have administered more shots then any nurse, and MLB trainer combined.

So please, to gym owners everywhere, as a quick request from me, do yourselves a favor and take these types of posters down. They are gay.

What you really need to do is put posters like this all over the gym. Take it from me… a normal guy. This is what people DON’T want to become.

Breaking News!

2009-02-19T09:28:00.001-07:00

This just in…. in the biggest annihilation in world history, the country of Asstrailya has been virtually “wiped” from existence. The lone and sole survivor is the former president of the country, which just happens to be myself.

If you don’t recall an older blog post of mine, then let me remind you of what, and where Asstrailya was located. Asstrailya was my butt. Yeah, it was that big. In fact, it was so big that I was elected president over it. It was so big that slums, ghettos, and cities worldwide were going to rename the slang “ghetto booty” to “Ri-Bone booty”. It was so big I looked like my butt was pregnant with twins. It was so big that Dr’s would often misdiagnose me with elephantiasis of the butt cheeks. It was so big that when I met people they would often ask “and who’s your friend?” Feeling bad, I always have to say “That’s not a person, that’s just my huge butt”. Do you get the point yet?

Well not any more, through eating actual veggies (which I’d previously shuttered at doing) and other healthy stuff, I had drastically reduced the size of Asstrailya. I also learned that 90% of my weight lost came from my butt. It’s my belief that my body had enough fat stored there to keep me alive through 14.26 nuclear holocausts.

Another plus is the fact that putting my wallet in my back pocket is no longer a chore. Before when Asstrailya was in the way, I felt like my pants were so tight on my fat butt that I was peeling back a layer of dermis to put my wallet in, when indeed it wasn’t dermis at all, it was denim. My neighbors have also begun to thank me saying that my butt is no longer blocking out their sunlight. So overall, it’s a good thing for everyone except the people who formerly called Asstrailya home.

I think I have officially defied the “ghetto booty” genes that are rampant in the Alexander gene pool. So, as sad of a day as this is for Asstrailya, it’s a good day for everyone else.

The Tale Of 2 Burritos

2009-02-04T22:44:00.004-07:00

You might as well call me "Dr Grant" the paleontologist because tonight I have uncovered and discovered another talent of mine. That's correcto senior, I have unleashed my inner Mexican and have created such a masterpiece that It should be displayed in an Art Show. What have I created? I have created the pinnacle and king of all burritos! It seriously tasted so good that from this day forward my burrito standards have just been raised higher then the pant legs in the halls of BYU.

It all started the other day when I thought to myself. "mmmm, this Taco Time burrito is really good, I wonder how they make this bean and cheese burrito anyways?" After thinking about it way longer then any human should really have to think about it, I came to the conclusion. "I bet this bean and cheese burrito, is nothing more then "beans and cheese".

Realizing that I am brighter then a flashlight with brand new batteries I decided to recreate the Taco Time meal, thus my expedition began. I bought a couple ingredients and slaved away for a total of about 2 minutes (99% of that time was waiting for the stove to heat up) and composed the first ever bean and cheese burrito aimed at the tasty target.

Upon contact with my taste buds, this burrito instantly punched it's ticket into heaven, where it would smile upon all other burritos and stand as an example of the standard to be set. It was amazing. It left me comparing it to Bajio's own burrito, it was that good. After all, what would you expect from a burrito with "beans, beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat the more you...." well you know the rest.

The Black Sheep Of The Fairy Family

2009-02-02T19:48:00.006-07:00

I'm sure you have all heard of the tooth fairy. I'm sure you have all heard of Tinkerbell the fairy. But what about the forgotten fairy? The most overlooked, underrated, black sheep of the fairy family... The "Snow Shoveling Fairy Of Fugliness". It's unfortunate that you were painfully subjected to the sad truth that not all fairy's are graceful, elegant, female, or even sober. I guess sooner or later this very ugly truth had to be uncovered. I'm just sad this fairy is physically uncovered as well.

None the less, you are all witnessing a moment of history as this NOT SO famed icon of winter has finally been caught in the act. The act, of shoveling snow. I'll admit I have never caught the tooth fairy, but now as I try to resist the temptation to shove pencils into my own eyes after seeing this fairy, I can only beg to never get a glimpse of "her"... or should I just refer to her as an "it".

On the other hand, I can be grateful to this Fairy Plumber, as another fact is about to make itself manifest on my blog. In the 3 years i have lived in my home, I have shoveled the driveway after a storm, a total of 4.5 times. This fact, is something I am proud of. Kind of like how Donald Trump is proud of how ugly his hair is... all the time... even though I'm pretty sure he could afford a decent hairdresser.

So, with no other proof to go on, I have to assume that the reason my driveway manages to end up shoveled time after time is only partially due to my neighbors, or the ward mistaking my home for that of an elderly, incapable couple, but it's also partially due to this treacherous abomination with wings. So, to this creature that makes me want to hurl, I will instead hurl a thank you, for "its" tireless work.

What The Heck?!

2009-01-25T14:38:00.005-07:00

When it comes to the subject of boogers and their relationship with the human finger it is like any other relationship in that it can become very complicated. There are many opinions and methods in which “booger elimination” method should take place. There are also many arguments and facts supporting the various different methods. But which was is best? To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I’m simply here to point out a big negative when they are not properly disposed of.

You see, when boogers aren’t properly taken care of they present a major problem. Boogers aren’t like old friends, where when you run into them it’s good to see them, and talk to them. Running into a booger, is more like running into the bishop when he’s looking for a new nursery teacher. It’s something you would like to avoid if at all possible.

Here’s a perfect example. Yesterday, I’m hold Mally in my kitchen. I’m walking out to the car. Mally then sneezes twice in a row, as I have stopped to talk to Sam. Without looking I grab the door to open it. Upon contact I notice that something isn’t right. I look down at my hand and there lies a giant booger on my hand. What the Heck!? Seriously, what is this all about!? As a father, I have be peed on, pooped on, barfed on, had my shirt treated like a Kleenex, and now I have fallen victim to a booger trap which was projected or carefully placed on my laundry room door.

I’m not sure if it was Mally or Addi that left this booger here. I know Addi still eats like 50% of hers, so who knows maybe my wife is the culprit. All I know is that I hope everyone reading this understands the importance of booger disposal. They are like batteries, in that there really is a right and wrong way to get rid of them, it’s just they don’t come with instructions.

By they way, the background dude is a guy called "Boogerman" which is a game that I have played, and is really funny. Yes, I still have it today.

Finally, It Has Happened To Me...

2009-01-21T23:14:00.003-07:00

Holy. WTF is CeCe Peniston doing on my blog? Furthermore, what are her lyrics from "Finally" doing as my title!? Well, if you must know, it's all because "Finally, it has happened to me, right in front of my face, and I just cannot hide it". sorry, I had to add that. So, what is this fact that I can no longer hide?

It happens to be the fact that I am a big fan of "The Biggest Loser". I have never watched a single second until just this season, but I think from here on out I'm sticking to this show like Peanut Butter to the roof of my mouth after a PB&J. I am officially hooked. I don't know what else to tell you except for that I feel really gay for admitting that I like this show. However, I know so far that there is at least one other full grown male that I know and respect that loves this show as well. So maybe it's not as bad as I thought...

The Tortoise & The Hare

2009-01-18T01:21:00.001-07:00

If my life was a cartoon, this would be the exact scene from last night. The classic tale of Tortoise & the Hare was promoted from mere story/motto to reality. Here's how.

It all started as we arrived at Trafalga for some mini golf action. It was Me, Sam, Sam's mom and dad, her two sisters, and both their husbands. During our brief wait to golf, I began to analyze my opponents. I did some simple 2nd grade math in my head and figured a victory for myself was more in the bag then my groceries after I buy them.

As a quick warm up I decided to waste a quarter on a game of "Double Shot" basketball. That's when 1 of Sam's sisters made the mistake of challenging me head to head. To make a short story still relatively short, my skills took her ego out behind the shed with a 2x4. it wasn't pretty for her ego. That' mistake on Amanda's part merely padded my confidence that I would have the victory in our Mini Golf round.

As the round began I was just going through the motions not really caring or paying attention. No one seemed to be taking it seriously except for two people, Sam's mom and Dad. I took that into consideration but figured that the likely hood of them beating me was equal to Mexico's favorite sport going from soccer, to Ping Pong, so I continued lolly gagging.

A while later I realized I was really sucking. We were nearing the end, and I was curious to find how every one was doing. I checked the score card that my brother in law was marking. The truth hit me like coconuts hit people standing below coconut trees in cartoons! Turns out Sam's mom was leading all contestants, with Sam's Dad a close 2nd! This was unacceptable! I was well behind after a first round of 32! The leader shot a 23! I had some serious ground to make up.

I was determined to mount a furious comeback... unlike the Chargers against the 49ers in Super Bowl 43. The only problem was that our group was now on hole 14! None the less, I had to make my move.

I then lined up and nailed my first Hole In 1 of the round! I also began to watch Sam's mom and dad and found that I was making up ground. The next hole I lined up again and had the same result. Yep, consecutive Hole In 1's. The tension began to grow like a beard the second you shave it. I knew I had to be at my best! The next hole I easily birdied after a textbook first shot. By this time I was unstoppable, like someone in a sleeping bag going down the stairs.

Then the all important 17th. I again easily birdied after an ideal first shot hitting the little metal guide. This is also where Sam's mom faltered. Her game crumbled like a biscuit a week after Thanksgiving as she missed the metal guide time after time. I'm estimated she got a 45 on this hole alone. (She's lucky each hole tops out at 6 strokes) --- On the 18th no one in the group got a hole in 1.

The emotion escalated like an elevator going to the top floor in a tall building as we added up the final scores. They were...

Sam's Dad's Rounds 24 + 25 = 49
Sam's Mom's Rounds 23 + 29 = 52
My Rounds 32 + 19 = 51

It was simply a case of too little too late. Shockingly, It turned out that I was the Hare and Sam's dad was the tortoise... but he doesn't have a stretchy neck like in the picture, and my ears aren't that big.

Projector + Batman = Flood

2009-01-11T20:47:00.004-07:00

This picture depicting a flood was pretty much the scene in my basement the other day. Fortunately it was not caused by a foundation crack, a leaky window, or a busted pipe. It was caused by my own malfunctioning salivary glands.

It all started after I finished setting up my newly inherited projector and measured the screen at 101 inches. I then put in the movie "The Dark Knight" and that's when I was literally unable to stop the drool from running like a faucet. As I sat there in a hypnotized trance drool began to run out my mouth, down my face, soaking my shirt, and eventually began to puddle on the floor. Until the movie was over I was unable to stop it, nor did I even care.

I just sat there watching Bruce Wayne annihilate sucka after sucka in his way to the Joker. Minus the massive amounts of drool and the "water" damage in the aftermath it was one of the greatest days of my life. I highly recommend everyone buys a projector. You wont regret it.

Banana Hell

2009-01-11T11:28:00.002-07:00

For the next couple days I will no longer refer to the room in my house where we cook as the "kitchen". That's right, for the next couple of days the "kitchen" will be temporarily renamed "banana hell". Why? Because that's where every remaining banana in this room thinks he is. It's like my kitchen has become the banana world equivalent to the human world's movie "Hannibal". The unfortunate fate of these once beautiful bananas I have purchased and brought back home are on their way toward becoming "banana chips".

Mere hours after my initial idea to make banana chips the process has already begun. It seems now that any uprising of these fruits is now futile as their numbers have been greatly reduced already. The remaining bananas in banana hell i'm sure are going crazy. I imagine they have catastrophic emotional damage due to being exposed to the gruesome process a banana goes through when becoming a "banana chip". The path includes being peeled, sliced into a million thin peices in a food processor, and then those tiny individual pieces being placed in a food dehydrator to be sucked dry of their liquids.

Yet, in the end, they are so tasty it makes it all worth it... at least for me. I think one more batch tomorrow aught to do it. This entire step is simply phase 1 in my multi step process of making a tasty granola cereal. I have already failed once on the granola, but so far the bananas were a cinch.

Ode To The Pancake

2009-01-03T23:11:00.003-07:00

I know many of you have thought to yourself “When a pancake gives up its life to fulfill the hunger of a human being what happens to it?” Well, today just happens to be your lucky day because today is the day that I will answer that very question for you. You see, all pancakes strive to reach perfection in their afterlife which is dubbed “pancake heaven” to hopefully reach pancake immortality. To reach pancake immortality is by no means an easy task. To reach this famed level the pancake has to lead a life of absolute perfection. The pancake must go through its short life blemish free, entirely sinless in its transitions from powder, to batter, to the final step which is the “hopefully” edible final product. As for the physical body of the pancake… well, it is of course passed through the human body in ways that no one really cares about eventually exits out the back door in the form of a stinky poop log.

Now that you are all informed about how complex a pancakes life truly is, let me introduce you to my breakfast. Clearly you can see that this pancake(s) is more of a shoo-in to pancake heaven then Greg Maddux is to the baseball hall of fame. You will note this pancake(s) perfectly round shape, texture, and constancy all adding up to easy flippabilty and eatage. You’ll also note extra credit given to the fact that he has managed to keep his insides gooey and no signs of a burned outer shell.

Ladies and gentlemen I have no doubt in my mind that this pancake is in a better place right now, and is currently being admired for a life well lived. If any of you want tips on how to cook a perfect pancake. Look no further and simply consider this a free lesson.

Perfection

2008-12-31T23:31:00.001-07:00

After telling my wife the miraculous deed that I had just been a part of at the gas station she rolled her eyes and said “and…” She was clearly not awed or even entertained at the history or absurd feat that had just taken place. I on the other hand realized how amazing it truly was will now report it back to all of you.

I pulled into the Sinclair to fill my anti feminine Dodge Neon up with gas. For those of you uniformed about which is the best gas station in town it’s easily the Sinclair. This Sinclair also has the fasted pumps and attracts less white trash then all the other gas stations. Seconds later I stepped out, prepaid, and left the pump to do its job.

Moments later I hear the “click” I got out to put the pump back, I checked the screen to see the total amount and BOOM! There is was 10.06 gallons pumped for a grand total of $15 dollars. The perfect pump! The pumping process was completely untouched, unaltered, and pristine landing perfectly on a $5 dollar increment. The perfect pump! It was beautiful. It was everything I imagined it would be. It was simply magical and I struggled to keep from being overcome with emotion. I just couldn’t believe that being the tender age of 24 was able to partake in what is arguably the most rewarding feat in life. I looked around for any witnesses or maybe even someone to hug, but at 9:30 PM in P-Town it was nothing more then a ghost town. It’s a shame that no one else was there to witness one of my greatest moments.

In my 8 years of driving and 8+ years of filling cars up with gas I had until this point never known the joy of a legit UNMANNED perfect pump. I can honestly say my life is now complete. If you haven’t had a “perfect pump” yet, all I can tell you is to keep paying your taxes and continue to be a model citizen and maybe, just maybe, you will have one in your lifetime.

I hope you found this a little more amusing then my wife did. Or at least understand the magnitude of what took place because congratulations are definitely in order. Where is my parade?

My New BFF

2008-12-30T16:09:00.005-07:00

I think I am developing a very unique problem. I never thought I’d say this, or that this problem was even possible, but I think I’m developing a crush on a kitchen appliance. To be specific the appliance that has taken my heart happens to be this blender. I know, I know, a blender. What am I becoming? I know it’s totally normal to have like 20 man crushes on various Atlanta Braves players (which I do) or on Shia LaBeouf (like Tikes) but a blender? I just don’t know if that’s too much.

Tomorrow I will be heading out to buy a “BFF” necklace. I know you are all anxious and dying to know if you will be the lucky recipient to receive the other half not hanging from my neck. Much to your own demise, it will not be you because you have all been outdone by this conglomerate of plastic and metal. On a dailey basis this blender takes whatever tasty looking food I throw into it and magically transforms it into something resembling what you would get if you threw the ninja turtles into a wood chipper. Seen below

The fact is that this green sludge which honestly looks like puke or the scraped remains from a baby’s diaper is what I have for breakfast every morning. It’s the greatest drink ever, and it’s all thanks to this blender. Does anyone know if you can seal a blender to a family for all eternity?

Gillette, Not The Best A Man Can Get.

2008-12-29T22:46:00.002-07:00

Before now I did not believe in Bigfoot. I didn’t believe in real life cavemen, lepercons, or in the Abominable Snowman. Things are different now though after seeing this real life Neanderthal (pictured above) because I just don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s hard to separate fact from fiction. Before now I was unaware that some Neanderthals still roamed the earth. Apparently some of them never got around to completing their evolution into normal Homo sapiens because they were too busy watching cars turn left over and over and over and over and over and then over and over again.

The crazy thing is that this wooly mammoth and I actually share something in common. It’s not our personal hygiene levels, it’s not our loyalty to #3, or even the amount of love we share for the “sport” (note parenthesis on sport) of NASCAR, the thing we have in common is our hatred for a specific company. That company happens to be Gillette.

It all started a while ago when I paid attention to how much I was spending on razors. For the ultra shizzy price of $14 I can have the honor and privilege of scraping my face with not 1, not 2, not even 3 or 4, but a total of 5 razors at once. Although I have to admit shaving with that many blades at once makes me feel like I’m multi tasking, the negative aspects of these razors far outweighed the positives. The problem is after like 3 good shaves the blades turn super dull. After that 3rd shave every shave after feels like I’m ripping the skin from my very skull. Due to these things, I have officially decided to boycott Gillette Company.

I have also decided that just like this walking roll of carpet pictured above I won’t give in until the owner, president, and CEO of Gillette decides to stop marking his product up like 500,000% and will sell them at a reasonable price. Until then, I don’t know how I’m going to shave, or if I am even going to shave at all. I guess time will have to tell. I hope the president of this company feels the economic crunch after 1 of his bazillion customers (me) quits buying his products.

Ri-Bone Of The Ring

2008-12-26T14:26:00.002-07:00

Our house has been a little more abnormal then it usually is lately. Although it looks normal from the outside, once inside you’ll see that not all is what it seems. For the last about 2 weeks Addi has begun some sort of metamorphosis. She has transformed into one of the dreaded “Ring Wraiths” from Lord Of The Rings. She has become obsessed, possessed, and infatuated with my “new” wedding ring. I say “new” wedding ring because she already succeeded in finding and then throwing my original ring down a vent in our house over a year ago. So I was forced to buy another one.

I now understand the pain and exhaustion that Frodo dealt with for countless days while being constantly hunted by these Ring Wraiths. I now have to watch my ring every second of the day because just like the Nazgul, Addi is always watching, waiting, and searching for it. Unfortunately for me though my will and strength is no match for my ugliest, hairiest, BFF Frodo Baggins. Due to that, a couple days ago my new wedding ring a.k.a. “my spare” or “ace in the hole” came up missing after I left it on a counter reachable by Addi.

That left me deadlocked in a timeless battle with this mental genius. I haven’t dealt with such a complex, elusive, and cunning mind in all my life. This will take all my brainpower, strength, and focus to defeat it. I feel like I’m trying to get inside the Jokers head, or like I’m Goliath fighting David. Each time I talk to Addi about the ring to attempt prying it’s location out of her all I get from her is “I don’t know daddy” or “Let’s look for it now”. I think she’s the cat and I’m the mouse and she’s playing some sick game.

Unable to hack into her brain I began to search for either of my 2 wedding rings. I looked in all the nooks and crannies of the house. After no luck I grabbed a flashlight and mirror and started checking all the vents. I then learned that Addi has been treating all our vents like piggy banks and quickly racked up about $8.00 in change. Then a ray of sunshine. I was searching the vent in the master bathroom when I found it! Not my new ring, but my original ring that has been gone for over a year! It was about 1 foot in the vent which luckily turned 90 degrees. Like a fat lazy fisherman I patiently and carefully fished it out and moments later I had it in my hand. It was a short-lived victory though as I still hadn’t found my new ring.

A couple more days passed and I still had only 1 ring. That’s when luck struck yet again. I was in Sam’s scrap booking closet which happens to be right outside Addi’s “lair” and I was looking for something (definitely not things to do scrap booking pages myself) when I saw it! I found my new ring! It had been wedged under the door! I had found both rings, in a matter of days. It was a crowning achievement to outsmart and out duel my 2.5 year old daughter. She may have won a couple battles, but I just won the war.

This Is My Situation

2008-12-17T10:39:00.002-07:00

Recently I have been faced with a difficult choice. Not just any choice, but a mind boggling double edged sword of a choice. It’s like a choice between meatloaf or clam chowder for dinner. It’s like turning on the TV and only getting to choose from watching “The Hills”, or “Dr Phil”. Do you get my point? Both choices lick.

So what is this brain busting choice that I am being forced to make? It’s the choice of which “holiday station” to listen to during this Christmas season. As many of you know, the only two choices you and I have are “FM 100” and “KOZY 106.5”. Do you now understand the complexity of my problem!? It’s like having to choose between Chris Crocker or Elton John. It’s pure madness! Yet there has to be a winner.

If this dilemma sounds like the struggle you are dealing with every day during your commute then fear not dear reader. Keep your dimpled buttocks in your chair for I am about to ease your mind as I have compared the two and have found which one is less gay, thus making it slightly more tolerable to listen to.

First off I will make it very clear that other then from November 1rst, to December 25th I do not, would rather eat snot, don’t, wont, shouldn’t, couldn’t cant nor shant, listen to either of these stations. Not even in a box, not even with a fox. I don’t listen to them here or there, nor do I listen to them anywhere. Having now covered my back here are the reasons that lead me to my final choice.

Let’s start with the names. FM 100 gives no implication of being a femmy radio station. KOZY 106.5 however, is basically advertising gayness. With the name “KOZY” they are basically throwing it out there like a dude in a pink gap shirt with a popped collar and a big huge ruby in his right earlobe. They are loud and proud.

Secondly, let’s talk about DJ’s. The males on both stations are equally homo. They are both too cheesy and come off like animal, plant, and national forest rights activists which are all a bit much for me. Now the women, this is where FM 100 loses a giant battle. The woman on FM 100 seems to have her radio voice mixed up with her sacrament meeting voice, and is physically unable to stop talking in a way which makes me want to vomit.

Lastly their song selection. Again, in this category both stations have their downfalls, but again, this is like an ice cream eating competition between two lactose intolerant contestants, in the fact that both are unsuited for battle, yet their has to be a winner. I have found that FM100 plays far more slow songs. What I mean by that is the pace of their songs. My biggest pet peeve when someone sings a song that goes as follows…
Joooooooooooooooyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…… tooooooooooooooooooo……. The……….. world…….. ect. And it takes then 20 minutes to get through the first verse. Dude, I know you have a good voice, but you don’t need to showcase it on every single syllable in every word in every sentence.

So, in this fight between the two, I have weighed all options, and my choice for this year is KOZY 106.5. I think it’s also apparent that I need some Christmas music on CDs or that I just need to become a DJ.

My Christmas List

2008-12-15T00:02:00.008-07:00

My blog has never been a fortress of solitude. It’s not the Cozy 106.5 of the blog world. Comparisons to my blog and FM 100.3 would be grotesque and untrue. Keeping up with that reputation let me first say that I hate the Yankees more then Tikes hates Duke. I would rather die then be forced to wear any article of clothing representing or bearing the Yankees emblem. Now I have never been one to wish failure, or injury upon anyone else… that was, until a couple days ago. Allow me to read to you my new “Wish List” that is currently resting in my stocking.

Dear Santa (or anyone else)
I wish for total, complete, and humiliating failure for the entire New York Yankees team and organization this coming year.
I wish for their two new gold digging, over paid, unloyal, soon to be whiny crybaby (typical Yankee) pitchers to have equally horrid pitching years due to their choice of joining Hitler's army recently.
I wish for these two pitchers and the “Disabled List” to become more inseparable and better friends then Paris and Nicole.
I don’t wish that they make a documentary tv series on it.
I wish for their two new pitchers to streak together so many Tommy John’s Surgeries that Cal Ripken’s “consecutive games played” number look tiny.
I wish that when this happens, and as both players sit every game on the bench in a Billion Dollar Stadium both pitchers feel the same amount of remorse that Mike Hampton did after cashing the last of his $120 million dollars while he sat pine for multiple years straight.
I wish that the second their contracts are up that they again follow Mike Hampton’s "I am a peice of crap" example and jet to another team ASAP on the first offer.
I wish all these things to happen and because of all this, it leads to bankruptcy of the New York Yankees.
I wish the Yankees condition got so bad they are forced to present a “bail-out” bill to congress to stay in business.
I wish that by that time I am the congress person they have to present the bail out bill too, so I can pull down my pants, and take a fresh dump on that bill while still in front of the Steinbrenners and the rest of the world to give them my answer.
I wish to be a good president after my newly found popularity from “denying their bailout bill” pays off.
I wish for a bullet bike too.

Love,
Ri-Bone
P.S. I’ve been very good this year…. Something the Yankees haven’t.

That's Alot Of Crap

2008-12-12T18:23:00.002-07:00

I think this is the only example of where there could be a higher concentration of crap per square foot then what I was in charge of cleaning the other day. Luckily however the crap I was in charge of cleaning was not of the acidic brown stinky fecal type. Oh no, I would have walked, ran, sprinted, or even skipped away if that was the case. The crap I was in charge of cleaning was the mountain of crap in my basement. In preparation to finally once and for all finish our basement, it had to be cleaned.

As I walked through the basement entry my eyes witnessed the almost impossible task that lay before me.It took some hyping myself up to get started but once started I was like a train, or trane because we all know, “it’s hard to stop a trane”. I slowly but surely began to hack my way through the overgrown jungle that was my basement. Along my path I was lucky enough to find two of Addi’s bottles, one that still had curdled milk in it. By nature I couldn’t resist smelling it just to see how bad it was. Holy, that was a big mistake as I’m sure I killed more of my precious remaining brain cells and possibly sterilized myself as well. That will probably be the last time I ever do that. None the less I continued onward.

Two days later the dust had settled and the bloody battle was over and I stood in the doorway as the victor. A feeling of proud accomplishment came over me as I proved without a doubt that I was better then multiple piles of lifeless crud. To outdo those piles was an accomplishment anyone would savor, and that’s exactly what I did.Now all I had to do was get rid of all the crap that was now in my garage.

I am happy to report that after 3 carloads, and 2 truckloads, the beast has been slain, and not only is my basement clean, but my cars and garage are too. I know what you are all thinking right now which is ‘I should ask Ri-Bone to help me clean my basement”. Don’t even waste your time asking me because I won’t. I won’t even fake interest in helping you. I’ll simply tell you the same thing my mom always told me during things like this which was “It’ll be good for you, it’ll build character”.

A Shortlived Victory

2008-12-06T22:20:00.005-07:00

I imagine my face looked something like this as I couldn’t even attempt to mask my excitement when I heard the car honk outside. The time had finally come meaning the nightmare was over. Sam was headed to the movie with her sisters instead of me. Since this particular movie came out I am estimating like 75 bazillion women have gone to see it. Since this same movie came out I had also been dodging bullets as my wife tried every thing to get me to accompany her to it. It’s too bad for her though because I was too swift, I was like Neo in "The Matrix" as I dodged her every attempt. Feeling like I should celebrate I basked in my personal victory knowing my persistence was well worth it.

A while later Sam walked back through the door. She instantly began to rave about the movie. I noticed her facial expression was an identical match to my own just hours previously. I realized the nightmare was not over at all, it was just about to begin. I also instantly realized that the bullets I had been dodging for the last couple weeks were nothing but an introduction to the heat seeking missiles that were about to launch. I looked around for something to help me look busy to delay or possibly even avoid the inevitable. Regrettably I was unsuccessful as it was like trying to stop sunburn in the middle of the Sahara. That's when It happened. Even though my wife spoke at normal speed I heard her next sentence in slow motion.... “yoooouuuu haaaavvvveeee tooooo gooooo toooooo Twiiiiliiiighhhhtttt wiiiiithhhhh meeeee”

I felt like an unarmed robber surrounded by 30 Swat team members. My facial expression looked like I had just bitten into a lemon, and smelled the worst smelling fart of all time simultaneously. I then knew it was hopeless. I had fended this request off like a plague but it was all over now. I had no choice but to accept her request or I would be dodging bullets for the rest of my mortal life. My wife had become a “twilight junkie” in the short hours she had been gone. So, having said that, I will in fact share with you something I never thought I would ever share with you and give you a review to a movie I never thought I’d see. The movie is “Twilight”

Overall I thought the storyline is pretty good. Edward is pretty awesome because he knows how to drive a car like a champ, and I do like the fact that he has a stout self given responsibility to protect Bella. However, the biggest downfall of the movie is that it looked like they spent less on this movie then I could find under my couch cushions. It could have been so much better had they been willing to hire the right people for their special effects and makeup. Another negative was the fact that Edward seemed to enjoy wearing his mom’s lipstick. His lips were a little too red even for a vampire. I think the dude that directed the Bourne series should do his own version of this movie with like 100x more emphasis on the fighting scenes and incorporate more blood splatter to invite realism. Overall though, I was able to tolerate this movie. I just hope the 2nd one will be better. It also could have helped had I not sat directly in front of the six 12 year girls that obviously belonged to the “Edward/David Archuleta” fan club. Yes they laughed at every little joke Edward made, and giggled frequently when he smiled.

Twins?

2008-11-30T22:25:00.005-07:00

Holy. Take a look at this dude. This is your typical stereotypical mad scientist. He and I actually share more in common then you would think. We both share our smooth good looks, the little bit of snot always dripping out of our right nostril, and an outrageous uni-brow that would make even a Russian woman jealous. The main difference between us is while he is experimenting with eyeballs and some mysterious bubbly green goo, I prefer to experiment with Stephen’s Hot Chocolate Flavors. Last night was no exception as I created another masterpiece as I mixed Peanut Butter, Irish Crème and Mint Truffle together to create a thing of beauty.

It is proven fact that there is nothing better on a cold day or night then to drink hot chocolate. That was until I being the mad scientist that I am made yet another life altering discovery. I discovered drinking hot chocolate on a cold night while in your own hot tub. I participated in my new favorite ritual last night with this same mentioned blend of flavors. Was it heavenly? Absolutely. Will I do it again? Did Grizzly Adams have a beard? Of course.

The hot tub that could have caused complete kayos on the road because the trailer it rode on for 20+ miles was not properly connected (See previous blog for explanation) is treating me very nicely. It took some cleaning to get it ready for use, but now, life is good. I’m sure my nieces and nephews would love to play in it, and they are welcome to it. However, let it be known that no child who is not potty trained is to enter the tub. Sure, the tub is full of chemicals to destroy bacteria, and kill germs, but c’mon, let’s get real here. We don’t need any “Baby Ruths” floating around in my hot tub. After all, I would hate to have to return the favor by leaving my own “Baby Ruth” on your porch.

Overall I am very pleased with the purchase of our hot tub ($0) and feel it a worthy addition to our house. May I suggest a dip at night with Stephen’s Hot Chocolate for optimum results.

May Induce Vomiting

2008-11-24T23:40:00.005-07:00

I distinctly remember NOT wanting to hurl a "techni-coloredcolored yawn" (barfball) all over myself and my own plate while at dinner at the Pizza Factory the other night. I simply remember thinking "mmmm, pasta sounds good" and that was pretty much it. It was when it came time to order that I made the mistake of not ordering a restaurant's "specialty item". Such as not ordering ribs at a rib joint, or not ordering Pizza at the Pizza Factory. My mistake was the "Build your own pasta" where I had Angel hair pasta with cheesy sauce.

The exact moment I knew it was a mistake when they put that vulgar plate of dump in front of me. My meal looked as appetizing as the stuff that the "pooper scoopers" shovel up at parades. But, I decided to give it a chance. I thought "maybe looks can be deceiving when it comes to pasta" so I smelled it. Instantly my nose hairs singed, and my nose itself threatened to remove itself from my own face and commit suicide if I made it smell that food again. All these simple actions did for me, was reaffirm that I had just made an awful mistake. Regardless, I paid $8.00 for this crud so I decided to try it.

I somehow managed to get it down my throat past my gag reflex. Doing that however was no easy task. I suggest anyone looking to scale Everest for a challenge, head on over to the Pizza Factory and down a bite of this dish, cause that my Friend, is what you call a challenge. I felt like putting an idea in the "suggestion box" which would suggest they change the name of this dish to "cheddar barf" because after your first bite, that's what your going to have on your plate. I also felt like marching into the kitchen and demanding that their cook choke this manure down that he himself cooked up. Why? Because after I watch the pure torture on his ugly, greasy face while multiple blood vessels pop in his forehead, and his eyes run like my faucet when I brush my teeth would be all the revenge I would need, and make me feel much better. Do you get the point yet? It was nasty.

However, I didn't get much revenge at all. The best I could do was withhold my measly tip. I admit I am a lousy tipper, and that's a completely other subject which I will blog about later, but the mere fact that the waitress failed to at least warn me of the magnitude of grossness that was their "cheddar" sauce disqualified her from earning a penny more then I was required to pay her.

So, if any of you have a mortal enemy here's what you should do. Pretend like you are tying up loose ends and invite them to lunch. Treat them to the "Build your own pasta" menu and make sure they order the Angel hair with Cheddar sauce... After they nearly die, and they are pleading for mercy, you will both know that you have just won the war, and you can proudly say aloud "check mate".

Buckle Up & Brace Yourself

2008-11-23T12:54:00.004-07:00

Your state of confusion is normal. You are extremely confused to see a dressing that you know full well belongs on a salad pictured on my blog. Having said that, those of you who know me I suggest you sit down. Or better yet quickly fill out your final will, and have someone ready to perform CPR on you. Why? Because I’m afraid what I am about to share with you will most likely stop your heart, send you into shock, or you might just die instantly.

Without any further adue here it is… I love salad now! Let me also add, it’s not just straight carrot salad that I love, it’s the green stuff too, especially with my new favorite dressing (the one in the picture). That’s right, the person who used to say that he was “allergic to salads” is now a salad lover. In fact last night at a family members birthday dinner, guess who got the salad bar. Yup, me. How many times last week for lunch did I only have a salad? How about 3 times. Who makes the best chicken salad known in the universe? Me. I know you’re worried about me and my mental state right now, but let me assure you, I’m okay, and no one has stolen my identity or anything to write this blog post. I have just turned a new leaf (pun intended)

Along with my new intake of "leafy greens" I am also still eating my fruit & spinach shake every morning. Does it taste good? Yes it does. Is it good for me? Are you kidding me? Yes. In fact, this shake, and these salads are defying my genetic genes. By that I mean I have lost 13.5 pounds and I think its gone straight from my butt. My family’s genetic “Ghetto Booty” chromosome is being altered. It’s safe to say that I now have an average sized butt. Truthfully, it’s weird and at first I wasn’t used to the lack of counter weight keeping me balanced from the back, but after a couple sessions of physical therapy I have learned to not only walk again, but run and perform anything I could before when I had extreme amounts of junk in my trunk.

War Salad.
War me finally eating it after 24 years.

Would The Real Colonel Please Stand Up?

2008-11-20T19:05:00.002-07:00

From this day forward I would like everyone to address me with the respect I deserve by referring to me as Colonel Ri-Bone. Why? Because as of last night, I found out I am one. The Colonel I'm talking about is not to be confused with a Kernel of popcorn that everyone thinks is delicious, and covers with butter and eats in access while watching a movie. And also not to be confused with Colonel Sanders who had a weight problem, and who really didn’t have any power except the power to batter and fry a chicken leg, and serve that thing with a side of potatoes. Spuds aside (pun intended) I am for real.

What I mean by this is I seriously think I am leading an invisible army. Having said that, I know what you’re all thinking right now, and let me answer your question: No. I haven’t been eating the mushrooms that grow in my front yard. The invisible army I am leading is an army of guardian angels. Not just any angels, they are like the Navy Seals of guardian angels. They are the best of the best dispatched and assigned to watch over and protect me. Allow me to prove my point…

Last night Tikes, Hub, and myself moved a hot tub to P-town from deep in the wilds of Zoobieville. We moved the tub in a borrowed truck which I was uninsured in, with a borrowed trailer, with expired plates and no lights or breaks to assist the truck. To make matters even more safe Mini Tikes, and little Mrs. Tikes came along for the ride. All went relatively well as we moved the tub to its final resting place at my house and returned home without incident.

I then returned the trailer to my brother in laws house where the following conversation took place as he helped me.

Ri-Bone: I’m glad to have this thing back to you, I hate pulling trailers.
Tom: Wait a sec, how did you hook this up?
Ri-Bone: I don’t know, like it is right now, you weren’t here so I just did it.
Tom: Are you serious?
Ri-Bone: Yes
Tom: What! This isn’t clamped down? Did this fly off the truck?!
Ri-Bone: Not while I was driving no. Is that lucky?
Tom: (Laughing) Holy Crap. Yes! I don’t know how this didn’t come off with it not being clamped on, this was basically sitting on the ball and nothing else. You are so lucky! If this would have come off on the freeway…
Ri-Bone: I see. (laughing) yeah, that would have been really bad. Really, really, really, bad.

So there you have it. This is just one single example of why I feel the way I do. Tikes, Hub, I understand if you never want to car pool with me ever again. At this point I’m unsure about carpooling with myself but it seems I have no choice. Clearly the army of Seal Angels (not to be confused with the animal seals) were watching a brothers back as they prevented what could have been a horrid accident and lead to an even more horrible night. I enjoyed my nights rest on my bed, and appreciated the fact that it wasn’t in a jail cell.

What's A Junkie To Do?

2008-11-17T09:46:00.002-07:00

Take a step back in time. The year was 2006 and life was good. Gas was 30 cents a gallon, candy bars were only a nickel, there were still ugly people on TV, and Tiger Woods PGA Tour 07’ had just came out. Back at that time I was just a young squirt and didn’t know my future addiction would cause our paths to cross.

Now let’s fast forward to the other day. I am looking outside and it’s overcast, crappy, and cold. I notice my golf clubs gathering dust in my garage and pleading with me to hit the links. Unfortunately I couldn’t. The weather gave me no choice. So what was I supposed to do? As a golf junkie I had to get my fix. Then I remembered something C-Hub who is also a golf junkie told me.

Having that knowledge and following in his example, I traversed to my nearest game store and purchased Tiger Woods PGA Tour 07’ for a dismal price due to it being for the dinosaur original Xbox system. Immediately upon playing the cravings and withdrawals began to subside. Although it’s not as good as the real thing, its does seem to be helping.

I am also hoping that if I continue to play this game like 7 hours a day, it will somehow translate into improving my “real life” golf game instead of only improving “my little computer dude’s golf game”. I think until I live somewhere even with the equator this is the way my winters are going to have to be.

America's Problem

2008-11-13T09:20:00.003-07:00

Obuttsedy: (O-Butts-sitty) derived from the root words Obesity + Butt. Description: To have an enlarged, engorged, or J-Lo like badonkadonk either from poor genetic makeup, KFC Diet, or by 3rd party objects.

Sadly, many Americans have been diagnosed with Obuttsedy and it’s slowly tearing a nation apart. It’s a real concern and a real problem but don’t fret, there is hope. In a special research project done by Senior’ Pepe Roni and funded by M.A.D.D. (Mothers against Drunk Driving) it’s said that we have finally found one of the major causes to Obuttsedy. What is that cause? It’s simply known as a “Costanza” wallet. A Costanza wallet is a regular wallet suffering from Identity crises. It’s a wallet, yet it trying to be a suitcase, or in worse cases, a storage unit.

As a former victim of Obuttsedy due to both a Costanza wallet, and poor genetic butt genes, (not to be mistaken for poor genetic butt jeans) I am here to offer hope to those who have lost theirs. I have risen above Obuttsedy, and you can too.

Although it wasn’t easy, and it took some counseling, my wallet has finally realized its purpose in life. That purpose is simply to hold my money, or at least be there is case I had any money for it to hold. It belongs squished under my enormous right butt cheek, not in a drawer because I can’t fit it into my pocket. I’m just glad me and my wallet have had the “D.T.R” (Define The Relationship) talk and ironed things out. I’m happy, and my wallet is happy too, after all, who would complain when their home is under my butt 24/7? I can honestly say that since conquering the biggest hurdle in overcoming Obuttsedy, I am a better 2nd cousin, a better non pet owner, and a better American.

So please, if you suffer from Obuttsedy, take this post into consideration, and do your part to help America become a better place, one butt at a time.

My Educated Guess

2008-11-10T21:15:00.001-07:00

This last weekend the city of P-Town might as well have been full of chickens with no heads. P-Town’s Peeps were running amok like unsupervised kids in a Chuck E Cheese restaurant. Why you ask? Simply because P-Towns own news channel (The Flannel Channel) whose motto is #-1 on your dial, and #-1,000 in your hearts reported that a massive meteor was headed toward earth and had this small town in its crosshairs. The town’s residents, along with its 74 gas stations, and 14 pizza joints could only sit in total suspense and hope for the best.

Here we are a day after the supposed “D-Day” and all is well. Turns out the Meteor was much smaller then originally projected and left no one dead, and no one even injured. In fact, the only damage sustained was to a Little Sleazer’s Pizza. (See massive crater in pizza pictured above)

Escaping with 0% damage and their lives, the residents were stunned. To celebrate I myself went and grabbed a pizza from this local pizza chain who’s pizza has been dubbed “lower quality then daytime TV” by 99% of people who have eaten it. I ordered and requested a “fresh pizza”. I then watched as my $5.00 atrocity came out of the oven, went straight into a box, and was handed directly to me.

On the way home I starting picking at the pepperoni which I always do. I tasted it and to my astonishment, it was actually good. Figuring it was a fluke I tried another, and another. I nearly drove off the road, in disbelief that they were continually tasty. Throughout the remainder of the night I conducted further taste experiments to find out why this pizza that was wrapped in cardboard, and tasted like it too, actually appealed to me in this specific instance. After much research, this is my hypotheses.

You have all heard of the 5 second rule. With this pizza, it’s much the same, but its expiration date is 5 minutes. Not 5 minutes from when you pick it up, but from when its leaves it’s natural environment which is the oven. Trust me. It will taste like a decent pizza but when the 5 minutes is up, the pizza will turn magically transform into a much worse version like Cinderella did when the clock struck 12:00.

Trust me, if done right, and scarfed quickly, you might begin to believe this pizza is worth its $5 price tag.

Dad Of The Universe

2008-11-07T18:06:00.004-07:00

The ranks of fatherhood can be a crowning accomplishment, the epic achievement of an ordinary dad’s life. But what separates the “ordinary dad” from the “worlds greatest dads” like me? If only there was some sort of test to effectively rank each father. Well guess what, there is and yesterday I “busted a cap” in that test’s face to propel me past “World's Greatest Dad” straight into the dad hall of fame as the “Dad Of The Universe” Don’t believe me? Read this…

I was ditching my kids and my wife to go soak in my brother in law’s hot tub. My wife was hesitant to let me go as it was nearly the kid’s bedtime and Addi still needed to take her bath before bed. Being the great, supportive, and helpful husband that I am, I let my wife know that “a soak in the hot tub full of chemicals is just as good if not better then a soapy bath”. Sam rolled her eyes, which I interpreted as her agreeing full heartedly with my logic. I then put Addi in nothing but her underwear and shoes which I figured was just as good as a swimming suit anyways and we were ready to roll.

I picked her up in one arm and told her she was going “swimming” with me. She got really exited and started kicking her feet. I didn’t even see it coming, and it happened too fast to react to. It was probably her 3rd kick that nailed me right in my “baby makers”, “my twins”, my “wedding tackle” or whatever you want to call the parts that men have that women don’t. As you all know when this happens it is hilarious. I will be the first to agree with that unless it happens to me then it’s no laughing matter. Most of you will also know that when this happens it causes the victim to instantly collapse. Sadly, that was also the case with me.

So I know you are all concerned about Addi because I was still holding her at this point. How did the #1 Father in the universe react? Did Addi break her leg? At least a sprain right? Wrong. You all forgot your dealing with the father of the universe here. The very millisecond the contact occurred I felt paralyzed and knew the collapse was inevitable. Have you seen the movie “Miracle?” Well, the miracle that I would perform next makes that miracle look like crap. In the .0001 of the second that I had before I hit the ground I managed to lift my arm up that was carrying Addi thus protecting her from any fall, damage, or impact.

What about me? I basically took a bullet without a vest. I successfully face planted nearly breaking my nose on the floor. Once laying face down, and knowing that Addi was safe I basically gave up the ghost. I laid there motionless hoping all my parts were still there, and wondering if Addi’s Dora The Explorer shoes had steel toes. It was at that very moment was when I realized how great of a father I am. I had just sacrificed my own body, for the safety of my daughter.

I will get around to making a display case for my “Dad of the universe” award which surely awaits me in the near future. You all could learn a lot from me.

The Buffer Zone

2008-11-04T00:08:00.001-07:00

I am here to talk about a very important subject today. The reason I am passing along this information, is because before tonight, I thought it was simply common sense. Obviously it’s not. So for the good of all mankind the topic that I will explain tonight is the “Buffer Zone”. My story will explain everything.

Let us first establish my exact location. I was in class seated in a standard High School desk. Let me point out the level of comfort that these seats provide. I would rather sit on a desk made of pure rock. I would rather sit on a desk made of shattered glass that I knew would slice each of my butt cheeks like Emeril slices veggies. Yes, I would even go as far to say that I would rather sit on a church pew then on these desks. On top of that these desks are crammed in the room like they are trying to win some sort of contest, and what you end up with is a population density worse then in china.

Now I will establish the scenario. Long before the infringement took place, I had taken my seat. I was 5 minutes late so I took the first chair I saw which was on the right side of some dude. He would later turn out to be my worst enemy. Tonight my back was feeling like crap so I was even more reclined in my desk then usual. Instead of my standard recline I probably looked more like a puddle of molasses in the fact that as the class went on and it got more and more boring I found myself sliding further and further down in my seat. Because of me reclining to record lows my knees protruded the invisible line of each student’s “boundary”. The “Boundary” is the area on all sides of your desk, for things like books, arms, legs, ect… Noticing that my neighbor to my left hadn’t utilized his boundary I seized the opportunity and took it hostage thus helping myself which aided my comfort. All was well.

Moments later that’s when it happened. I was typing the notes on my laptop and my attention was toward the front of the class. All of a sudden I felt something touching my left knee. Immediately the sirens went off. The Buffer Zone had been breached. Somehow, someone, or something had slid past security and protruded the invisible shield! Not wanting to give up ground, even though I was taking my “boundary” and knew full well that I had taken my neighbors Boundary as well, I left my knee there. He might as well have grabbed my butt and asked me out to dinner at the Olive Garden, because that’s the message I was getting. The touching of the knees left me with a burning desire to move my knee, but comfort said otherwise. Dare I abandon my post, move my knee, and give back what is rightfully this guy next to me’s territory? The touching of my knee with another dude’s was eating me alive, it was so gay, but I had to outlast him! The tension grew, as neither party wanted to surrender in the name of comfort! The milliseconds crawled by as emotions ran high! Something had to give!

In the end, as the entire last paragraph took no more then 1 second but I couldn’t do it. The plaintiff was clearly gay. I’m sure he enjoyed that one second of life more then any other moments combined. That clearly explained his ability to hold his leg there despite contact. His clear and inexcusable foul on the rules and integrity of the Buffer Zone will cost him dearly in unknown ways in the future I’m sure.

I hope you will all take these words, and apply them in your daily lives. This rule applies to everywhere from airplanes, to bus stops, to movie theatres. I hope I never have to recap this topic again.

Ladies… you wouldn’t understand. It’s not as simple as it sounds.

There Once Was A Crooked Man...

2008-11-02T10:32:00.004-07:00

After the release of this picture on my blog (which doesn't do it justice) there was a flurry of questions. Rumors were flying like food in the 2nd grade cafeteria. So, to settle the storm I called a press conference to answer all the questions. All the big name networks and big name reporters were there. This is how it all went down…

Hair E. Butts: This is your body right? And your standing with your feet together?
Ri-Bone: Yes.
Rick Rolled: Looking at your body, it’s like looking at either Arnold back in his prime or like watching the movie 300, or Troy with Brad Pitt. What do you say to those comparisons?
Ri-Bone: Most people would find that to be a compliment, but I know that my body is far better then theirs so I find it insulting.
Hugh Jass: Looking at this picture, I’m going to make the assumption that you are allergic to tanning salons. Are my assumptions correct?
Ri-Bone: Let’s just say the Pink Panther has always been a big role model for me. I strive to be like him in every way possible.
Ivan Oder: Is it true that you are so white that you glow in the dark?
Ri-Bone: Do you want me to punch you in the face? no, that’s not true, nor do I double as a flashlight or glow stick in dark places.
The Crooked Man that lives in a crooked house with a crooked dog: Dude what gives? I am a Nursery Rhyme, I am a legend, people know me, and my story is still passed on from generation to generation today, I invented that look why are you trying to take my look.
Ri-Bone: Your also gay, do you see me trying to do that?
Crooked man: I was born that wa....er...shut up!
Ri-Bone: shove it homo!

(Crooked man rushes the stage, and fighting ensues. Moments later the crooked man is unconscious on the floor and the press conference is presumed over)

Since the press conference ended a little early, I hope that answers your questions. The only one I don’t know if how this happened, or what this is. I’m just exited that it’s back, and can limit me to like 2% mobility. I just want to know how I was giving wedgies to in heaven to deserve this. As of now, my healthy eating résumé’ will be kicked up a notch. Also, let it be known this conversation actually took place last night between my wife and I after Sam took this picture of me, for my blog.

Riley: Wow, I don’t look as fat on camera.
Sam: Yeah, must be good lighting.
Riley: Thanks, I’ll remember that.
Sam: (10 seconds later) That’s not what I meant
Riley: Sure it was, thanks for the compliment.
Sam: I was kidding
Riley: Yeah, sure.

"Celeb Oppinions" On The New Tuscani Pasta

2008-10-30T19:34:00.005-06:00

After seeing the commercials featuring Pizza Hut’s new “Tuscani Pastas” and every commercial leaving me with saliva pouring uncontrollably from my mouth I knew I had to try it. Going into this taste test however, I did have my doubts. For example the "Subway Sandwiches" that you see on tv have like 4 whole turkeys stuffed in one 6 inch sandwich. What do you get when you go to the actual restaurant? Approximately 1/3 slice of turkey cut .0001 of an inch thick. I can totally see how Jared lost 150 pounds there... they turned him anorexic.

So to find out whether Pizza Hut has fallen into the "yeah right it really looks like that" category, I decided to do a little something different. I set out on a quest to find out other people's opinions. Not just any body's opinion though, I'm talking upper class celebs. For those of you who don't know much about P-Town, let me fill you in. P-Town is host to a plethora of different people thus easily qualifying it as a "melting pot". It also has constant celebrity sightings as they come from miles to eat at P-Town's own "slut hut" So I simply roamed the streets and asked the celebs what they thought about the "Tuscani Pasta" from Pizza Hut. This is what they said.

Note that the Celeb's or High Profile person's name will come first with their thoughts in Italics.

Max Powertrip (P-Town Police Officer and head of missing wiener dog unit)
Listen to me “Bacon is the life blood of the dish. If you’re going to call it “Premium Bacon Mac & Cheese” it better be the greatest bacon ever. I’m a pig, and no one knows bacon like a pig, and overall I’m disappointed. This stuff was bland. I tried to add flavor by pepper spraying this mac & Cheese like it was an Ex-Con robbing a bank, but the only thing it did was burn my tongue. The only way your going to like this dish is if you like bacon flavored rubber chunks in your Mac & Cheese.

Al K. Seltzer (Tikes so called “instructor” in his post “The Latest”.)
Back when I was in Vietnam we were fed some of the most repulsive food on earth. It was dang near non edible. Now this Mac & cheese… it’s garbage and is flat-out crap. I can stand alot of things, but this stuff kept getting stuck in my super sweet blond ponytail and I just don’t put up with that. I would rather eat dirt, and wash it down with river water then eat this filth.

In my study so far this pasta is about as popular as Orchestra students in high school. But, I’m trying to make this as fair as possible so I kept searching until I found a couple fans.

Cool Blue (Mascot on the bag of Malt-O-Meal’s ever popular Frosted Mini Spooners and father of 1)
When it comes to the health and well being of me and Lil’ Oaty (his son) nothing satisfies his cheese cravings like a nice 3 lb carton of Pizza Hut’s Premium Mac & Cheese”. Sure there’s no health benefit whatsoever but he’s a kangaroo. He’ll adapt and learn to survive. That’s why we’re on the cover of cereal bags while other kangaroos are eaten alive by lions in the wild.

Bear Grylls (Survival Expert on the TV Series “Man vs. Wild)
This meal was first made known to me while I was in the Amazon Rain Forest speaking to the Natives. It sounded ever so tasty and was probably chalk full of vittamins (vitamins). Since mother nature refuses to cook for me, I was forced to make a savage attempt of this meal while on my latest adventure. I simply replaced the pasta with grubs and deer hooves, I then replaced the melted cheese with buffalo dung, and the sauce with my own pee. Although it did the job, I couldn't help but wonder if the real thing would taste better. I was overjoyed when I returned to civilization and had the real thing. It was vastly superior to my to my poop and pee grub dish.

So there you have it, both negative and positive feedback on the meal. This is only part one of many "Celeb Opinions" columns that I will write in the future when I need to determine the truth about a topic. Now, If you ask me (which is the only opinion that matters anyway) I would say it’s okay. It’s nothing more then a lot of Kraft Mac n Cheese with rubber bacon mixed in. But, feel free to chime in if you have tried it yourself.

When You Wish Upon A Star...

2008-10-29T21:39:00.004-06:00

Believe it. The soon to be greatest day of my mortal life is almost here. The coveted and hailed about day will go down as the single greatest day in world's history since the glorious night of July 28th, 1984 at 11:06 P.M. when I was born and this universe was first graced with my presence. On this unknown day in the near future, I also fully expect the economy to pick up, and total world peace to be declared. What is this occasion? It will be the day I purchase my Bullet bike. Not just any bullet bike though, the bike that will have the honor of hosting my XXXXXXXL badonadonk will be an 06' Honda CBR f4i.

As of right now, I have all but locked in with the seller of the bike and have my insurance down to about $20 a month. The decision was simple as my wife was overjoyed at my choice to buy such a safe mode of transport. She has been begging me to get a bullet bike as long as I've known her, and is behind me and supporting my decision 100% of the way. So really, I'm almost buying this bike for her.

If all goes well and as planned then this is the bike that will soon be in my garage. Although I'm not happy about the color, I just felt the deal was worth it and I can make do.

My Theory On Evolution

2008-10-26T20:24:00.004-06:00

Since the dawn of time there has always been evolution. There are many examples of this but I will only share one. I will share the example of one man in particular. One manly man who is most manly. A man that is more manly then all other manly men… Me.

Back in my younger years I recall being able to run without being weary, to play sports without being sore the next day, and was 15#’s lighter on the scale. Sadly, the motion that will label me as an “Old, fat, washed-up, has been” has already begun, and now it’s inevitable. My skill in every sport, overall speed and quickness have all begun to vanish faster then a dozen donuts in a police station. Unable to continue to excel in sports and needing a way to stay at the top of my game for pride’s sake I had to come up with a plan. I had to evolve. I would simply evolve into another type of "athlete".

What if there was a sport where it didn’t matter how fat you were. What if there was a sport that you never ever had to run, hustle, or even move quickly. What if there was a sport so easy… even a caveman could do it.
Welcome to my new favorite sport. I am now 100% totally addicted to this sport. The best part is, this sport is enjoyed and played by old, fat, and even drunk men. With my new Role model being John Daley the sky is the limit for me. Now, I am free to gain as much weight as possible and it won’t slow me down a bit granted the cart can still support my weight. Heck, I might as well pick up smoking, and drinking, just because I can.

Long live Golf.