After reading the story about when I got my ass kicked by a swan when I was a kid, some of you may think that I have the fighting prowess of Clay Aiken. But…here is a video of a swan kicking an adult’s ass. All things considering, I think I did pretty good in that fight.*
Swan Attack - video powered by Metacafe
*If you define pretty good as cowering in a corner and crying while a bird beats me senseless and my parents laugh at me, then I did, indeed, do pretty good in that fight.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Dinner With David Lynch and a Bush Appointee
My coolest celebrity story is the one where I peed next to Jack Nicholson. (This was in a restroom urinal, otherwise the story would be even cooler). This weekend I added another celebrity story to my catalog. Although this one wasn’t nearly as cool as the other ones (like when Mario Cuomo tried to have me arrested, or when Chris Rock pretended to laugh at one of my jokes). I had a (DC) Celebrity sighting this weekend when I ate at the Irish Inn at Glen Echo. I was on a date with a really cute girl. I won’t say anything more about that, because this isn’t a dating blog. Only chicks write dating blogs, and I don’t have a uterus so the only topics discussed here will be home improvement, libertarian rants, and ninja news (and now featuring Ninja Stock Picks™). Besides, I not-so-secretly worry about the kind of people who would read a dating blog written by someone like me. If you think you can learn about healthy relationships by reading stuff on the internet written by a guy who makes jokes about his toilet and the Pope, then you really should think about what that says about your intelligence.
Back to the story: when we entered the place, it felt like a David Lynch movie. No, really. The restaurant was on a desolated road in the middle of nowhere. It might easily have been in the mountainous region between Afghanistan and Somewhereistan as it was in Maryland. But the restaurant was packed with people. Strange Lynchian people. There was a bar/table in the middle of the room that looked to high up for a normal sized person to sit comfortably. So, of course, there were two midgets seated there uncomfortably. One of them looked suspiciously like the midget from the Twin Peaks Fire Walk movie. I was going to ask him how the movie ends, partly because I don’t remember ever having stayed awake through an entire David Lynch movie and partly because it would make for good blog fodder, but my date reminded me that when dwarves get angry, sometimes they bite, and they probably haven’t had their shots. We’ll talk when I’m wearing shin guards, my little friends!
As if the scene wasn’t odd enough, what transformed it from mildly bizarre (like Twin Peaks) to completely baffling (like Mulholland Drive) was that a tall, freakishly skinny man entered and sat at the table beside me. I was a foot away from skeletor. I had no idea who the scarecrow was, but my date did. It was none other than Michael Chertoff.
Bangers and Mash? Ugh. In case you didn’t know, bangers are like sausages….but more phallic and with less flavor.
Boiled Ham & Cabbage? Does anyone eat this, except on a dare? A dare involving lot’s of money, an immunity challenge or the Fear Factor grand prize?
Anyway, if you’ll note the menu, you’ll see that salad is NOT on the menu. This becomes important in the story later. See how subtle that foreshadowing was? Although I have no formal writing training, I can foreshadow with the best of them. So suck it, Shakespeare!
So my date starts thinking I’m odd(er) because I’m taking a little too keen an interest in his food choices. It feels vaguely like I’m paparazzi trying to sneak a peek at the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes wedding. (As a non-sequitor, I’d just like to note for the record, that while Tom makes more money than me, I’m a few inches taller than him, not crazy, and probably have larger genitalia…IN YOUR FACE, CRUISE!!!).
From that point on, she fed me updates about his eating habits.
After a while, we finished our Irish Burgers, checked each other for signs of Mad Cow Disease and proceeded with our date. To be quite honest with you, I feel less safe when I think about flying to visit relatives for the holidays when I know that are borders are being secured by someone who is ingesting way too much ruffage and not nearly enough proteins or carbs. But what can you do? I can’t hold him down and make him eat the boiled ham and cabbage. First of all, it’s probably a crime, and secondly that sounds like something that you’d use to interrogate prisoners at a secret CIA prison when the waterboarding and choke holds lose their intimidation effect. I think British Cuisine is the secret to the United Kingdom’s historical military prowess. If you’re reared on a diet of bangers and boiled ham, then when you’re stuck in a foxhole and have to eat a rat to survive, it’s probably not that big of an adjustment. In fact, my theory (which I just made up) is that a nation’s military prowess is inversely proportional to it’s culinary skillz. (US, UK, Germany & Soviet Union = bad food and powerful military; Italy, France, China, Mexico = Good food and pathetic military forces). That’s why I think we’ll remain a superpower until we encounter a country with a worse culinary tradition than the US. Who knows? Maybe China or India will popularize deep-fried cow dung or something equally disgusting to overcome the ubiquitous buffalo wings and fries that we abuse our bodies with. But in the meantime, I don’t know how to end this post, so I’ll just mention that I have to pee really badly right now. Bye.
Back to the story: when we entered the place, it felt like a David Lynch movie. No, really. The restaurant was on a desolated road in the middle of nowhere. It might easily have been in the mountainous region between Afghanistan and Somewhereistan as it was in Maryland. But the restaurant was packed with people. Strange Lynchian people. There was a bar/table in the middle of the room that looked to high up for a normal sized person to sit comfortably. So, of course, there were two midgets seated there uncomfortably. One of them looked suspiciously like the midget from the Twin Peaks Fire Walk movie. I was going to ask him how the movie ends, partly because I don’t remember ever having stayed awake through an entire David Lynch movie and partly because it would make for good blog fodder, but my date reminded me that when dwarves get angry, sometimes they bite, and they probably haven’t had their shots. We’ll talk when I’m wearing shin guards, my little friends!
As if the scene wasn’t odd enough, what transformed it from mildly bizarre (like Twin Peaks) to completely baffling (like Mulholland Drive) was that a tall, freakishly skinny man entered and sat at the table beside me. I was a foot away from skeletor. I had no idea who the scarecrow was, but my date did. It was none other than Michael Chertoff.
To prove that no one like British food, I give you exhibit A: the menuMe: Who the hell is Michael Chertoff?
Date: He’s the head of Homeland Security.
Me: Homeland Security? I saw them open for Modest Mouse. Fcuk
them, they suck!
Date: No, “Homeland Security” as in the agency that makes little old ladies take their orthopedic shoes off in the airport so they check them for bombs.
Me: That’s not him…where’s his Secret Service?
Date: He doesn’t get secret service, only the President gets that.
Me: Huh? That’s just crazy. What if a terrorist was in here, he would be completely vulnerable.
Date: A terrorist wouldn’t be here. A terrorist would be somewhere like Zaytinya eating middle eastern food.
Me: Why couldn’t they be here? Are you saying terrorists don’t like British food?
Date: No one likes british food.
Me: Hmmmm….Good point.Anyway, if you think I’m kidding about how skinny he is. Here is a picture of him that I found on the internet.
Bangers and Mash? Ugh. In case you didn’t know, bangers are like sausages….but more phallic and with less flavor.
Boiled Ham & Cabbage? Does anyone eat this, except on a dare? A dare involving lot’s of money, an immunity challenge or the Fear Factor grand prize?
Anyway, if you’ll note the menu, you’ll see that salad is NOT on the menu. This becomes important in the story later. See how subtle that foreshadowing was? Although I have no formal writing training, I can foreshadow with the best of them. So suck it, Shakespeare!
So my date starts thinking I’m odd(er) because I’m taking a little too keen an interest in his food choices. It feels vaguely like I’m paparazzi trying to sneak a peek at the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes wedding. (As a non-sequitor, I’d just like to note for the record, that while Tom makes more money than me, I’m a few inches taller than him, not crazy, and probably have larger genitalia…IN YOUR FACE, CRUISE!!!).
Date: Why do you care about what he’s ordering.
Me: That man is in charge of protecting us from the terrorists, and I just don’t feel safe knowing that he’s that under-nourished. Look at him…he’s a manorexic.
From that point on, she fed me updates about his eating habits.
Date: Okay, he sent back the sandwich and fries.
Me: I knew it! He only pretends to eat. No one can be that thin and eat actual food. He obviously has never seen any of those After School Specials with Tracy Gold, ‘cuz he would know that it’s all unhealthy and sh1t.
Date: Oh wait, they’re bringing the sandwich back, but with salad on the side instead of fries.
Me: WHAT? Salad? The only thing standing between us and sexually repressed and politically impotent suicide bombers us is a damn salad-eater? I’m gonna’ say something…he needs a better source of protein than that.
Date: Don’t you dare!
Me: Wait a minute, it just occurred to me that salad isn’t even on the menu. So this guy is using his government influence to get special treatment at this restaurant. What a sickening abuse of power. This is worse than when Dick Cheney uses Air Force One to transport Tranny Prostitutes for the republican convention. Or when he shoots lobbyists in the face.
Date: It’s not an abuse of power. They would probably give you salad too, if you asked for it.
Me: Why would I ask for t a salad! Are you calling me a gay?
After a while, we finished our Irish Burgers, checked each other for signs of Mad Cow Disease and proceeded with our date. To be quite honest with you, I feel less safe when I think about flying to visit relatives for the holidays when I know that are borders are being secured by someone who is ingesting way too much ruffage and not nearly enough proteins or carbs. But what can you do? I can’t hold him down and make him eat the boiled ham and cabbage. First of all, it’s probably a crime, and secondly that sounds like something that you’d use to interrogate prisoners at a secret CIA prison when the waterboarding and choke holds lose their intimidation effect. I think British Cuisine is the secret to the United Kingdom’s historical military prowess. If you’re reared on a diet of bangers and boiled ham, then when you’re stuck in a foxhole and have to eat a rat to survive, it’s probably not that big of an adjustment. In fact, my theory (which I just made up) is that a nation’s military prowess is inversely proportional to it’s culinary skillz. (US, UK, Germany & Soviet Union = bad food and powerful military; Italy, France, China, Mexico = Good food and pathetic military forces). That’s why I think we’ll remain a superpower until we encounter a country with a worse culinary tradition than the US. Who knows? Maybe China or India will popularize deep-fried cow dung or something equally disgusting to overcome the ubiquitous buffalo wings and fries that we abuse our bodies with. But in the meantime, I don’t know how to end this post, so I’ll just mention that I have to pee really badly right now. Bye.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
SUV Attacks Increase
In case you thought I was exaggerating about the need to fortify the defenses on the Ninja Fortress to protect it from attacks by drunken yuppies in SUVs, check out THIS!
This SUV plowed into a school that is within striking distance of the fortress. Luckily, those kids were probably cutting class, doing drugs, or engaging in unprotected pre-marital sex and were therefore no where near the school when the SUV attack happened. There’s probably a lesson to be learned from this, but I don’t know what it is, and, frankly, I don’t care. I just know that if someone crashes into the impenetrable ninja fortress with their SUV, they better be really, really high. Because when I get a hold of them, they are going hope that they are on some serious pain killers so that their deaths will be relatively merciful.
This SUV plowed into a school that is within striking distance of the fortress. Luckily, those kids were probably cutting class, doing drugs, or engaging in unprotected pre-marital sex and were therefore no where near the school when the SUV attack happened. There’s probably a lesson to be learned from this, but I don’t know what it is, and, frankly, I don’t care. I just know that if someone crashes into the impenetrable ninja fortress with their SUV, they better be really, really high. Because when I get a hold of them, they are going hope that they are on some serious pain killers so that their deaths will be relatively merciful.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
The Grass Isn't the Only Thing That's Greener
I think I've seen it all now.. Check out this Article: multi millionaires are envious of billionaires. WTF?
Now I know why greed is one of the seven deadly sins. Greed is probably the worst of the seven deadly sins--except for gluttony, because it makes you a big fatass. No, I take that back, because with gluttony, you get to enjoy some delicious deep friend food. Maybe some flan, or a peanut butter and banana sandwich. With lust, you get to make sexy time, which is fun. With rage, you get to kill annoying pedestrians with your NLAAV. But what do you get with envy? Nothing besides your name mentioned in a NY Times article showing the world what a greedy little twerp you are who’s not satisfied with anything they have. Yes, I’m talking about you Mr. Reid Hoffman. Or should I call you Greed Hoffman? You sold your company for over a billion dollars, (of which you probably got tens of millions) but are upset that the YouTube guys got more than you? You want us to feel sorry for you because your millions only entitle you to live an “upper middle class” life style? Boo effing hoo.
So what? You didn’t get all the marbles. Do you think if I was dating Rachel McHottie, that I would get upset because she wasn’t Judy Greer? No! You know why? Because unlike you, Greed Hoffman, I know what’s important in life. And it has nothing to do with you and your little techie friends comparing Porsche Boxters and trying to out-man each other to make up for your small man-tools. What life is about is the simple pleasures. Like nailing Rachel McHottie and then telling your friends about it (and having them believe you). Life’s about flan and peanut butter and banana sammiches. It’s about the smell of dew on a Sunday morning and pulling back the covers to see a sleeping Judy Greer in your bed. Uhhh, I meant, Rachel McHottie. Like I said, I’m not greedy or anything.
Anyway…I may be getting a new laptop soon, and if I do, I’ll probably blog more regularly. But in the meantime, have a happy thanksgiving everyone (especially Judy Greer and Rachel McHottie, and except for Greed Hoffman).
Now I know why greed is one of the seven deadly sins. Greed is probably the worst of the seven deadly sins--except for gluttony, because it makes you a big fatass. No, I take that back, because with gluttony, you get to enjoy some delicious deep friend food. Maybe some flan, or a peanut butter and banana sandwich. With lust, you get to make sexy time, which is fun. With rage, you get to kill annoying pedestrians with your NLAAV. But what do you get with envy? Nothing besides your name mentioned in a NY Times article showing the world what a greedy little twerp you are who’s not satisfied with anything they have. Yes, I’m talking about you Mr. Reid Hoffman. Or should I call you Greed Hoffman? You sold your company for over a billion dollars, (of which you probably got tens of millions) but are upset that the YouTube guys got more than you? You want us to feel sorry for you because your millions only entitle you to live an “upper middle class” life style? Boo effing hoo.
So what? You didn’t get all the marbles. Do you think if I was dating Rachel McHottie, that I would get upset because she wasn’t Judy Greer? No! You know why? Because unlike you, Greed Hoffman, I know what’s important in life. And it has nothing to do with you and your little techie friends comparing Porsche Boxters and trying to out-man each other to make up for your small man-tools. What life is about is the simple pleasures. Like nailing Rachel McHottie and then telling your friends about it (and having them believe you). Life’s about flan and peanut butter and banana sammiches. It’s about the smell of dew on a Sunday morning and pulling back the covers to see a sleeping Judy Greer in your bed. Uhhh, I meant, Rachel McHottie. Like I said, I’m not greedy or anything.
Anyway…I may be getting a new laptop soon, and if I do, I’ll probably blog more regularly. But in the meantime, have a happy thanksgiving everyone (especially Judy Greer and Rachel McHottie, and except for Greed Hoffman).
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Secuirty Precautions and The Fortress
Hmmmm....I've been thinking that I should park the Ninja Light-Armoured Assault Vehicle (NLAAV) in front of my house, instead of in my rear parking spot. You see, I thought that the bars on the gates and windows made the Ninja Fortress impenetrable. BUT, recent hostile mouse incursions (all intruders were repelled with serious firepower) and THIS news article make me realize that further security measures may need to be taken. Of course, if that was my house, the Headline would read "Man Drives SUV into DC Rowhouse and is Mysteriously Decapitated".
When I read that article about someone destroying the entire front of a DC rowhouse using nothing more than an SUV and copious amounts of Booze, I figured I should increase the defensive fortifications on my house by parking the NLAAV in front immediately. I live near a hipster bar and a lot of the Yuppies in my neighborhood drive SUVs. I can just imagine some angry yuppie, going to that bar, getting drunk, then leaving in a rage because he coudln't find someone to engage in deviant sex with him, then getting behind the wheel of the SUV and mounting an assault on the ninja fortress.
I think Ideally I should dig a moat around the fortress and fill it with alligators, but I don't think I could get the required permits for that. Plus I'm lazy. So I'll just park the NLAAV in front and put a sign on the windshield that says "Unlike this House, My Sudanese Neighbor's House Is Remarkably Vulnerable to SUV Attacks."
When I read that article about someone destroying the entire front of a DC rowhouse using nothing more than an SUV and copious amounts of Booze, I figured I should increase the defensive fortifications on my house by parking the NLAAV in front immediately. I live near a hipster bar and a lot of the Yuppies in my neighborhood drive SUVs. I can just imagine some angry yuppie, going to that bar, getting drunk, then leaving in a rage because he coudln't find someone to engage in deviant sex with him, then getting behind the wheel of the SUV and mounting an assault on the ninja fortress.
I think Ideally I should dig a moat around the fortress and fill it with alligators, but I don't think I could get the required permits for that. Plus I'm lazy. So I'll just park the NLAAV in front and put a sign on the windshield that says "Unlike this House, My Sudanese Neighbor's House Is Remarkably Vulnerable to SUV Attacks."
Friday, November 03, 2006
Random Thoughts about my House/Mortgage.
Why did my bank just send me a Mortgage Life Insurance Application? My thoughts:
- A veiled threat on my life? If so, they should know I studied Northern Shaolin Kung Fu for a year and a half from this guy when I was 15, so don’t even try it!
- why would I possibly care if my mortgage gets paid off or not when I die? If the bank is so worried about their money, let them buy it.
- in the application, they stuck me in an age bracket that starts at my age and ends at an age that I consider old…does that make me old? Because I'm not...no, really...what? What's so funny?
- the first age bracket is “Under 25”. What person under 25 owns a whole house? When I was 25 I was still trying to figure out how to use the microwave (I’ll be done figuring it out soon).
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Ninja News Update: Weekend Movie Edition
http://filmmakingforthepoor.blogspot.com/
!The Final Screening of 2006!
SAT NOVEMBER 4 :: 8 PM :: $6
a benefit screening for We Are Family, a DC non-profit that assists the elderly
WAREHOUSE Screening Room
1017-21 7th St., NW
Washington, DC 20001
202-783-3933
directions
Thursday, October 26, 2006
The Lost Episodes: Swan Attack
Well, I'm still not sure I'll continue blogging. But this is a post I had sitting in my draft box so I thought you should have it, my internets. It's like one of those lost episodes of The Honeymooners, except that there's no fat protaganist and the post isn't in black and white.
_______________________________________________________________________
Do you serve swan? Whenever I go to one of the many ethnic restaurants in DC that serve rare delicacies like goat testicles, shark fin soup or baked potatoes, I always ask if they serve swan. I don’t care if it’s roasted, broiled or fried, but I’d like to eat a swan one day, I really, really would.
When I was about 4 years old, my brother never tired of finding random skillz that he could perform better than me so that he could rub my nose in his superiority. One of the many ways in which my brother hoped to provide my future therapists with a living wage involved his ability to perform basic gymnastics like a forward roll, then goad me into trying it, hitting my head on something and then him mocking me while I cried. Although a forward roll is challenging for a four year old, I really should have kept at it since it would’ve been the key to my escaping possible death at the hands of an angry bird a few months later.
During one of my childhood visits to Argentina, the ancestral homeland of a large portion of the Ninja clan, we visited a family friend who raised swans because she was eccentric. And by eccentric, I don’t mean she had collected spoons, by eccentric I mean she raised swans and was crazy. You see, unlike raising chickens or geese or ducks which can actually be sold for food, no one raises swans to eat because they exist only to look good and serve no other productive purpose (sorta like the girls of Delta Delta Delta sorority). Even if a swan might be tasty, no one would try to eat it because Swans are deceptively vicious…too powerfull to kill. It’s like saying “how come no one eats lion?” A full-grown swan has a wingspan of up to six feet and is strong enough to break a man’s arm. It’s like an ostrich, but smaller and meaner. It’s like the Bruce Lee of birds.
My brother and I got to play with the black swans, which are friendly, but she wouldn’t let us near the white swans (which are not so friendly). Because I wanted a white swan so badly, this woman and my parents thought it would be funny if they told me I could have one. “If you can catch one, it’s your’s to keep” they told us. “Get one of the smaller ones”. So my brother and I chased after a “small” one. It wasn’t a full grown one with a six-foot wingspan, but it was meaner than a pitbull….on crack. We chased it for about 5 seconds, then it turned and charged right at us. I was so young and stupid that I didn’t even realize I was in danger. It’s like in Executioners from Shaolin when Hung Hsi Kwan attacks the White Eyebrow Priest and thinks he’s going to kill him, but quickly realizes he’s no match for the old man and has to run for his life. I reached out to grab the evil bird, already imagining where in my yard I would keep it. It quickly and fiercely bit my stubby 4 year old fingers and when I pulled my hand back, it bit my face. I covered my face and it attacked my stomach. My brother was no match for it either. We both ran and soon it had it had us in a corner and beating us senseless. When I tried to run past it, it would open it’s giant wings, to keep me from passing, and peck at me some more.
Then it happened…my brother tucked himself into a little ball and did a forward roll right under the angry bird’s wing. The bird was furious, but my brother ran like hell so the bird did what any violent angry animal would do. It bit me some more.
During this whole process my parents and the crazy bird lady were laughing hysterically. When I screamed out for help I heard my dad stop laughing just long enough to yell to my mother “that bird’s gonna’ kill him…quick, get the camera.”
I’d like to tell you that I devised some clever way of outwitting the bird and escaped. But sadly, at that age, I wasn’t smart enough to outsmart something with a brain the size of a walnut. And some say I’m still not. So I did the only thing I could do. I stood there and took it. I figured the bird was gonna keep kicking my ass until he we was done kicking my ass and nothing I could do would stop it. So I just stood there and took it.
I know that bird is long dead by now, which means I won’t get a chance to go there and kill it myself, but I still ask for swan at every exotic restaurant I eat at. I keep thinking that if they serve it at some restaurant, then maybe, just maybe, that evil bird didn’t die old and happy reminiscing about that day on his death nest. I hope that he got fat, was sold to some farmer, who chopped his head off in the most inhumane way possible and sold him to a restaurant where he was turned into a soup of some kind.
Yes…I did say “Do you serve Swan?”.
_______________________________________________________________________
Do you serve swan? Whenever I go to one of the many ethnic restaurants in DC that serve rare delicacies like goat testicles, shark fin soup or baked potatoes, I always ask if they serve swan. I don’t care if it’s roasted, broiled or fried, but I’d like to eat a swan one day, I really, really would.
When I was about 4 years old, my brother never tired of finding random skillz that he could perform better than me so that he could rub my nose in his superiority. One of the many ways in which my brother hoped to provide my future therapists with a living wage involved his ability to perform basic gymnastics like a forward roll, then goad me into trying it, hitting my head on something and then him mocking me while I cried. Although a forward roll is challenging for a four year old, I really should have kept at it since it would’ve been the key to my escaping possible death at the hands of an angry bird a few months later.
During one of my childhood visits to Argentina, the ancestral homeland of a large portion of the Ninja clan, we visited a family friend who raised swans because she was eccentric. And by eccentric, I don’t mean she had collected spoons, by eccentric I mean she raised swans and was crazy. You see, unlike raising chickens or geese or ducks which can actually be sold for food, no one raises swans to eat because they exist only to look good and serve no other productive purpose (sorta like the girls of Delta Delta Delta sorority). Even if a swan might be tasty, no one would try to eat it because Swans are deceptively vicious…too powerfull to kill. It’s like saying “how come no one eats lion?” A full-grown swan has a wingspan of up to six feet and is strong enough to break a man’s arm. It’s like an ostrich, but smaller and meaner. It’s like the Bruce Lee of birds.
My brother and I got to play with the black swans, which are friendly, but she wouldn’t let us near the white swans (which are not so friendly). Because I wanted a white swan so badly, this woman and my parents thought it would be funny if they told me I could have one. “If you can catch one, it’s your’s to keep” they told us. “Get one of the smaller ones”. So my brother and I chased after a “small” one. It wasn’t a full grown one with a six-foot wingspan, but it was meaner than a pitbull….on crack. We chased it for about 5 seconds, then it turned and charged right at us. I was so young and stupid that I didn’t even realize I was in danger. It’s like in Executioners from Shaolin when Hung Hsi Kwan attacks the White Eyebrow Priest and thinks he’s going to kill him, but quickly realizes he’s no match for the old man and has to run for his life. I reached out to grab the evil bird, already imagining where in my yard I would keep it. It quickly and fiercely bit my stubby 4 year old fingers and when I pulled my hand back, it bit my face. I covered my face and it attacked my stomach. My brother was no match for it either. We both ran and soon it had it had us in a corner and beating us senseless. When I tried to run past it, it would open it’s giant wings, to keep me from passing, and peck at me some more.
Then it happened…my brother tucked himself into a little ball and did a forward roll right under the angry bird’s wing. The bird was furious, but my brother ran like hell so the bird did what any violent angry animal would do. It bit me some more.
During this whole process my parents and the crazy bird lady were laughing hysterically. When I screamed out for help I heard my dad stop laughing just long enough to yell to my mother “that bird’s gonna’ kill him…quick, get the camera.”
I’d like to tell you that I devised some clever way of outwitting the bird and escaped. But sadly, at that age, I wasn’t smart enough to outsmart something with a brain the size of a walnut. And some say I’m still not. So I did the only thing I could do. I stood there and took it. I figured the bird was gonna keep kicking my ass until he we was done kicking my ass and nothing I could do would stop it. So I just stood there and took it.
I know that bird is long dead by now, which means I won’t get a chance to go there and kill it myself, but I still ask for swan at every exotic restaurant I eat at. I keep thinking that if they serve it at some restaurant, then maybe, just maybe, that evil bird didn’t die old and happy reminiscing about that day on his death nest. I hope that he got fat, was sold to some farmer, who chopped his head off in the most inhumane way possible and sold him to a restaurant where he was turned into a soup of some kind.
Yes…I did say “Do you serve Swan?”.
Monday, September 25, 2006
See You Around...Maybe
I think I'm taking a break from Blogging for a while. I’ll decide in a month or two if it will permanent. I have not been myself lately so I think I'm taking a break from blogging for a while. I don't know if it will be permanent like Liberal Banana or The Daily Dump, but I don't want to be one of those people who quits then comes back and claims that he missed you people. I won't miss you...unless you’re a hottie, in which case I will. Anyway, there is some stuff going on right now that is keeping me busy and stressed at the same time. I won’t discuss it here since it doesn’t have anything to do with home improvement, ninja news or random libertarian rants (and lately, Ninja Stock Picks ™) . So I don't feel much like blogging. Also, I am not in a very positive mood lately, and I don't want this blog to veer from moderately acerbic and sardonic to misanthropic and vengeful.
Someone asked me recently which 3 people (alive or dead) I would want to have dinner with. My 3 never change. Judy Greer, Rachel McHottie and Gerard Finneran. Who's the last one? My hero...You see, once in a while you encounter something so over the top that you can't help but admire the nerve on someone. Like the murderer who kills his parents, then asks the court for leniency because he's an orphan. You feel like you gotta' know what makes this guy tick. Gerry was such a man.
Gerard Finneran, was a powerful Wall Street type who was flying to NYC (first class, of course)when the stewardess decided that he had too much to drink and refused to serve him more. Being the take-charge kind of guy that he is, he decided to take matters into his own hands and started grabbing the little bottles off the service cart and serving himself. When the stewardess tried to stop him, he shoved her and knocked her down. Now, this blog doesn't condone boorish behavior in general, and violence against women in particular. But then Gerry did something so over the top that he completely redeemed himself. He stood on top of the beverage cart, dropped his trousers, then crapped on the beverage cart. (he also wiped his butt with the linen napkins, and wiped the "stuff" on his hands off using the seats in first class, but that's not relevant to the analogy). In case you think I'm making that up, I'm not.
See, the crapping on the beverage cart is lot like my blogging. In a way, Gerry and I do the same thing. We consume, process, then disseminate stuff in a way that is both humorous and offensive. But I don’t feel much like shitting on beverage carts for your amusement right now. In fact, if you gave me a choice between blogging and being a proctologist in a Turkish prison, I’d probably kick you in the face for giving me two such repugnant choices right now. And most of you people deserve better than that. If I wanted to expose you people to that kind of negative attitude, I'd just redirect you to Karl Rove's dating blog.
Or tell you to go to a George Allen campaign rally and ask him what he thinks of blacks and jews.
Anyway, I have a half dozen or so half-finished posts that I may post sporadically (like the one where I get my ass kicked by a swan, or the one where I talk about bacon and amsterdam hookers). My Catholic guilt prevents me from wasting things unnecessarily and I don’t think there is any other use for a half-written post about me getting my ass kicked by a swan. But I don't think I'll be devoting much time to this place at least during the next month or two (until what's going on, which I won’t talk about, will probably be resolved). Anyway, if you want to leave comments, feel free. Or if you are a hot chick who likes my writing so much that you’re dying to sleep with me, then write to me at homeimprovementninja@gmail.com...maybe after this is over I'll be back…or maybe not…See ya :)
Someone asked me recently which 3 people (alive or dead) I would want to have dinner with. My 3 never change. Judy Greer, Rachel McHottie and Gerard Finneran. Who's the last one? My hero...You see, once in a while you encounter something so over the top that you can't help but admire the nerve on someone. Like the murderer who kills his parents, then asks the court for leniency because he's an orphan. You feel like you gotta' know what makes this guy tick. Gerry was such a man.
Gerard Finneran, was a powerful Wall Street type who was flying to NYC (first class, of course)when the stewardess decided that he had too much to drink and refused to serve him more. Being the take-charge kind of guy that he is, he decided to take matters into his own hands and started grabbing the little bottles off the service cart and serving himself. When the stewardess tried to stop him, he shoved her and knocked her down. Now, this blog doesn't condone boorish behavior in general, and violence against women in particular. But then Gerry did something so over the top that he completely redeemed himself. He stood on top of the beverage cart, dropped his trousers, then crapped on the beverage cart. (he also wiped his butt with the linen napkins, and wiped the "stuff" on his hands off using the seats in first class, but that's not relevant to the analogy). In case you think I'm making that up, I'm not.
See, the crapping on the beverage cart is lot like my blogging. In a way, Gerry and I do the same thing. We consume, process, then disseminate stuff in a way that is both humorous and offensive. But I don’t feel much like shitting on beverage carts for your amusement right now. In fact, if you gave me a choice between blogging and being a proctologist in a Turkish prison, I’d probably kick you in the face for giving me two such repugnant choices right now. And most of you people deserve better than that. If I wanted to expose you people to that kind of negative attitude, I'd just redirect you to Karl Rove's dating blog.
Or tell you to go to a George Allen campaign rally and ask him what he thinks of blacks and jews.Anyway, I have a half dozen or so half-finished posts that I may post sporadically (like the one where I get my ass kicked by a swan, or the one where I talk about bacon and amsterdam hookers). My Catholic guilt prevents me from wasting things unnecessarily and I don’t think there is any other use for a half-written post about me getting my ass kicked by a swan. But I don't think I'll be devoting much time to this place at least during the next month or two (until what's going on, which I won’t talk about, will probably be resolved). Anyway, if you want to leave comments, feel free. Or if you are a hot chick who likes my writing so much that you’re dying to sleep with me, then write to me at homeimprovementninja@gmail.com...maybe after this is over I'll be back…or maybe not…See ya :)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The One where I get Visitors from The Midwest
Well, I shoulda’ posted this weeks ago, but I had camera issues. Here’s the story: My old law school roommate’s family came for a visit to DC, so I met them out for dinner. I’m posting the pics on here (and the story) so that they can download the pics if they want them.
When I was in law school, I lived with my friend, who we’ll call Tony Twist (because he’s from St. Louis, has a goatee and fights like a hockey goon). Tony Twist was like a brother to me (except that he never beat me up and told me that I was adopted and was about to be sold to the circus…for lion food). When I was in a fight and almost lost my eye, it was Tony Twist who drove me to the hospital, so he’s like family. His family also had me over at their house plenty of times for Thanksgiving and stuff like that. I guess it’s because people from the Midwest are nice. And when I say “nice” I mean REAL nice, like Midwesterners are, not phoney nice like southerners. (five minutes after he reads this, I will get a nasty email from my friend Rebel Yell, who’s from Mississippi).
Back to the story…
So I meet them out at Gordon Biersch (sp?) a place that’s sorta like TGI Fridays, but with more kinds of beer and better pasta.
Here’s the family. Dad has a wicked sense of humor, and a black belt in practical jokes. Scrappy Doo is now married with a kid (this is a big change for him. Last time I saw him, he almost got himself, me and his brother arrested for fist-fighting with rednecks in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box). And Mom will be nominated for sainthood one day for putting up with the rest of them.
This is Scrappy’s wife. He got her to go out with him by using the Jedi Mind Trick. Mad skillz, on that one.
This is the daughter.
Ummmm…hi…did you say "Ninja"? Whatever...
This kid is really funny, by the way. During dinner she stood up in her seat, turned around, and sat on the table…in her pasta.
Here’s a group pic outside.
So what have we learned from this experience.
a) probably nothing
b) even the Jedi Mind Trick won’t keep you getting sex after marriage/children
c) Gordon Biersch has terrible parking on nites when there is a game at the MCI Center.
d) even little kids don’t think I’m intimidating enough to be a real ninja…which is why I’m so freakin’ deadly.
When I was in law school, I lived with my friend, who we’ll call Tony Twist (because he’s from St. Louis, has a goatee and fights like a hockey goon). Tony Twist was like a brother to me (except that he never beat me up and told me that I was adopted and was about to be sold to the circus…for lion food). When I was in a fight and almost lost my eye, it was Tony Twist who drove me to the hospital, so he’s like family. His family also had me over at their house plenty of times for Thanksgiving and stuff like that. I guess it’s because people from the Midwest are nice. And when I say “nice” I mean REAL nice, like Midwesterners are, not phoney nice like southerners. (five minutes after he reads this, I will get a nasty email from my friend Rebel Yell, who’s from Mississippi).
Back to the story…
So I meet them out at Gordon Biersch (sp?) a place that’s sorta like TGI Fridays, but with more kinds of beer and better pasta.
Here’s the family. Dad has a wicked sense of humor, and a black belt in practical jokes. Scrappy Doo is now married with a kid (this is a big change for him. Last time I saw him, he almost got himself, me and his brother arrested for fist-fighting with rednecks in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box). And Mom will be nominated for sainthood one day for putting up with the rest of them.
This is Scrappy’s wife. He got her to go out with him by using the Jedi Mind Trick. Mad skillz, on that one.This is the daughter.
Ummmm…hi…did you say "Ninja"? Whatever...
This kid is really funny, by the way. During dinner she stood up in her seat, turned around, and sat on the table…in her pasta.
Ninja: That kid’s got talent. What my blog needs is more slapstick humor. I want to hire her to write for my blog.
Wife: But she can’t even spell.
Ninja: Neither can I…what’s your point?
Here’s a group pic outside.
Things I discovered on this trip:
- Tony Twist’s family is still really nice.
- Dad still has a wicked sense of humor.
- Mom get's really mad when you try to pay for their dinner
- Even Scrappy get’s less sex after marriage and a kid…there’s no hope for any of us.
Regarding the last point: He told me “I thought everyone was kidding about not having sex after you get married and have a kid, but it’s true.” Maybe that's why I'm so afraid of getting married. Without sex, what's the point in living with a girl and pretending to be interested in what she's thinking?
It reminds me of something my friend [name omitted in case his wife reads this and withholds what little sex he has left] told me.
Anon: Yeah, man…it’s like you’re having lot’s of sex, then you get married and the sex get’s cut in half. Then you have one kid and BAM…it gets cut in half again. Then you have another kid and BAM…it gets cut in half again. If I have another kid, I’ll be celibate.
Ninja: Wow…that’s fcuked up.
Anon: Yeah…it’s been so long since I’ve had it, that I probably couldn’t pick my wife’s poo-nanny out of a police line up.
Ninja: You don’t think you’re not getting laid has anything to do with you calling your wife’s "Hoo-Ha" a "Poo-Nanny."
Anon: No….it’s not like I called it something gross…like a vagina.
Ninja: Uhhhh…good point.
So what have we learned from this experience.
a) probably nothing
b) even the Jedi Mind Trick won’t keep you getting sex after marriage/children
c) Gordon Biersch has terrible parking on nites when there is a game at the MCI Center.
d) even little kids don’t think I’m intimidating enough to be a real ninja…which is why I’m so freakin’ deadly.
Well, I shoulda’ posted this weeks ago, but I had camera issues. Here’s the story: My old law school roommate’s family came for a visit to DC, so I met them out for dinner. I’m posting the pics on here (and the story) so that they can download the pics if they want them.
When I was in law school, I lived with my friend, who we’ll call Tony Twist (because he’s from St. Louis, has a goatee and fights like a hockey goon). Tony Twist was like a brother to me (except that he never beat me up and told me that I was adopted and was about to be sold to the circus…for lion food). When I was in a fight and almost lost my eye, it was Tony Twist who drove me to the hospital, so he’s like family. His family also had me over at their house plenty of times for Thanksgiving and stuff like that. I guess it’s because people from the Midwest are nice. And when I say “nice” I mean REAL nice, like Midwesterners are, not phoney nice like southerners. (five minutes after he reads this, I will get a nasty email from my friend Rebel Yell, who’s from Mississippi).
Back to the story…
So I meet them out at Gordon Biersch (sp?) a place that’s sorta like TGI Fridays, but with more kinds of beer and better pasta.
Here’s the family. Dad has a wicked sense of humor, and a black belt in practical jokes. Scrappy Doo is now married with a kid (this is a big change for him. Last time I saw him, he almost got himself, me and his brother arrested for fist-fighting with rednecks in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box). And Mom will be nominated for sainthood one day for putting up with the rest of them.
This is Scrappy’s wife. He got her to go out with him by using the Jedi Mind Trick. Mad skillz, on that one.
This is the daughter.
Ummmm…hi…did you say "Ninja"? Whatever...
Here’s a group pic outside.
When I was in law school, I lived with my friend, who we’ll call Tony Twist (because he’s from St. Louis, has a goatee and fights like a hockey goon). Tony Twist was like a brother to me (except that he never beat me up and told me that I was adopted and was about to be sold to the circus…for lion food). When I was in a fight and almost lost my eye, it was Tony Twist who drove me to the hospital, so he’s like family. His family also had me over at their house plenty of times for Thanksgiving and stuff like that. I guess it’s because people from the Midwest are nice. And when I say “nice” I mean REAL nice, like Midwesterners are, not phoney nice like southerners. (five minutes after he reads this, I will get a nasty email from my friend Rebel Yell, who’s from Mississippi).
Back to the story…
So I meet them out at Gordon Biersch (sp?) a place that’s sorta like TGI Fridays, but with more kinds of beer and better pasta.
Here’s the family. Dad has a wicked sense of humor, and a black belt in practical jokes. Scrappy Doo is now married with a kid (this is a big change for him. Last time I saw him, he almost got himself, me and his brother arrested for fist-fighting with rednecks in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box). And Mom will be nominated for sainthood one day for putting up with the rest of them. This is Scrappy’s wife. He got her to go out with him by using the Jedi Mind Trick. Mad skillz, on that one.This is the daughter.
Ummmm…hi…did you say "Ninja"? Whatever...
Here’s a group pic outside.
Things I discovered on this trip:
- Tony Twist’s family is still really nice.
- Dad still has a wicked sense of humor.
- Mom get's really mad when you try to pay for their dinner
- Even Scrappy get’s less sex after marriage and a kid…there’s no hope for any of us.
Regarding the third point: He told me “I thought everyone was kidding about not having sex after you get married and have a kid, but it’s true.” Maybe that's why I'm so afraid of getting married. Without sex, what's the point in living with a girl and pretending to be interested in what she's thinking?
It reminds me of something my friend [name omitted in case his wife reads this and withholds what little sex he has left] told me.
Anon: Yeah, man…it’s like you’re having lot’s of sex, then you get married and the sex get’s cut in half. Then you have one kid and BAM…it gets cut in half again. Then you have another kid and BAM…it gets cut in half again. If I have another kid, I’ll be celibate.
Ninja: Wow…that’s fcuked up.
Anon: Yeah…it’s been so long since I’ve had it, that I probably couldn’t pick my wife’s poo-nanny out of a police line up.
Ninja: You don’t think you’re not getting laid has anything to do with you calling your wife’s "Hoo-Ha" a "Poo-Nanny."
Anon: No….it’s not like I called it something gross…like a vagina.
Ninja: Uhhhh…good point.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The One Where I Get Ripped Off By Mechanics
Well, I had some problems with the Ninja Lite Armoured Assaust Vehicle (N-LAAV) lately. Because Fridays usually suck for me, something went wrong with my clutch and I had to rent a car for the weekend.
A fcucking Ford Taurus.I can’t even begin to catalog the ways a Ford Taurus is inferior to the NLAAV, but I’ll try. The NLAAV is higher up than the Taurus. In an urban combat situation (like running over zombies) the NLAAV can run over numerous opponents, crushing each one under it’s tires without damaging the vehicle.
The Taurus is low to the ground and if I hit someone with the car, he would probably fly up onto the windshield and break it. Do this a few times and your windshield is gone, leaving you exposed to flesh-eating zombies. Not good. In fact, with a Taurus, you can’t even brag about running over zombies. It’s so low, that technically you run them under, which isn’t nearly as macho.
The NLAAV is also good for situations like nuclear holocausts. I can store a lot of canned food and other provisions (like a tent) in the back of the NLAAV. The NLAAV can go off-road so that when the highways are jammed with people in non-4 wheel drive vehicles trying to escape from instantaneous nuclear incineration, I can take the NLAAV off road and get to someplace safe and set up my tent, eat my tins of tuna fish and wait for things to die down, then drive back into the wasteland, Mad Max style, and set up a new life for myself. Good luck trying that with a Ford Taurus.
So driving around a Ford Taurus is not a good option. I needed to get the NLAAV back to full combat readiness. I had to tow it to the Honda Dealer (I don’t trust a local grease monkey with something like a clutch). I was hoping I wouldn’t get screwed too badly, but I was taking it in a tow truck. Mechanics smell money on a tow truck like a shark smells blood in the water. Taking your disabled car into a mechanic on a tow truck and hoping you won’t get screwed is like dropping your unconscious daughter off at a fraternity party and hoping she won’t get screwed. Good luck finding her panties, buddy. I don't hate auto mechanics as much as I hate traffic cops, nazis or cannibals, but it's pretty close.
After getting a call from the mechanics, I find out that I need my master cylinder and slave cylinder changed on the clutch. I thought slavery ended in the war between the states, but apparently, I’m not done paying for it. After shelling out what some people would consider a good sized kid’s college fund to the mechanic, I got the NLAAV back. I was hoping I’d run into a flesh eating zombie to test out the machines combat readiness, but on the way back from Bethesda the only thing I could find to run over was a couple of squirrels and a homeless guy.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Man vs Mouse
I got some pretty impressive snap traps set up. They look lethal and are definintely painful. I know this because I accidentally caught my finger on one as I was setting it up. If these traps will nab someone as smart as me, then that Mouse, won't stand a chance. In case you're wondering if it will avoid the trap due to some unbelievable brain power that it acquired in some top secret government experiment to give mouses more smarts, don't worry about that.
- The Government wastes money on a lot of stupid things, but I doubt they would spend money to find ways to make mice smarter. What's the point?
- If the mouse were smart enough to avoid a mouse trap, then it would be smart enough to pick a different house, because trying to invade the invincible fortress is suicide. It's like trying to break into Shaolin temple to steal some ummmm, monky type stuff and trying to fight your way out.
- If it were smart enough to avoid traps, it would try to curry favor with me, to avoid death, by offering to TiVo Arrested Development for me, or trying to get me a date with Judy Greer or Rachel McHottie.
- I used peanut butter from the new Trader Joe's in DC to lure him in. What mouse can resist organic goodness from Trader Joes? (I also baited a couple of traps with chicken and corned beef, in case the mouse has a peanut allergy).
So I guess we'll see what happens this weekend.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The One Where I Kill My Roommate...Sort of.
There are times when I regret being a nice guy—like yesterday, for instance. My rodent foe had been clever enough to avoid the poisons and glue traps until yesterday. I walked into my place after a night of swing dancing and I saw the li’l bastard stuck to the glue trap. And he was still alive. He was about the size of my thumb and squirmed when he saw me; at times I thought he would break free from the glue trap. The glue trap had incapacitated him, but he was still alive. I knew I had to kill him, but how? Although I hated this mouse more than a hippie hates deodorant, I had to do something. But is there really a humane way to kill something? After surveying my surroundings for the least painful way to kill the mouse, I decided he would die by…bludgeoning.
I picked up a stick and whacked him once. He SCREAMED bloody murder. The shrieks from that little thumb-sized terrorist were deafening. I really can’t fathom how serial killers torture and kill animals, then move onto people when they get older. How can someone enjoy something like this? I was trying to euthanize this thing (who I hated) and I was still wracked with guilt at its pain. (Damn you, Catholic Church and your guilt!) I don’t know what happened between my last physical checkup and yesterday, but somewhere in between I grew some ovaries and uterus, because if I can’t kill a mouse, then how can I be a real man? I whacked it a few more times and the screams that I thought couldn’t get worse, did get worse…a lot worse. Then they stopped.
Then I noticed how small he was and surprised to see that my learned foe was so small. Then I saw IT. Another mouse, slightly larger ran by and hid. BASTARD!
It was Sho Kosugi. I had killed his apprentice, but the master still lived…and he was now wise to my tricks. This weekend, we’ll have to switch to snap traps to kill him. If he learns my secret techniques, I’ll just come up with new ones.
I thought I would be happy or at least relieved when the apprentice mouse died, but the fact that *I* killed him instead of the trap filled me with guilt and remorse instead. Well, at least there no tears. ‘Cuz that would be fcuked up. There’s a fine line between being less of a man, and being an actual woman…and that line is crossed when you cry over a dead mouse.
When I told Johnny Vegas about the incident, he tried to make me feel worse about it.
So, in order to pay Vegas back for his guilt trip, we will mock him for the next paragraph. Once upon a time (meaning yesterday) Johnny Vegas was running out the door to go the gym. At the door were two bags. One containing his gym clothes and another containing garbage. [yadda yadda yadda] Vegas drives to the gym with a bag of garbage in his new car. The end.
Anyway…stay tuned. Hopefully I’ll kill Sho Kosugi by next week.
Unless he runs to the mountains, trains in a new style of Shaolin Kung Fu and comes back to challenge me to a duel to the death. Yeah, that would be fcuked up.
I picked up a stick and whacked him once. He SCREAMED bloody murder. The shrieks from that little thumb-sized terrorist were deafening. I really can’t fathom how serial killers torture and kill animals, then move onto people when they get older. How can someone enjoy something like this? I was trying to euthanize this thing (who I hated) and I was still wracked with guilt at its pain. (Damn you, Catholic Church and your guilt!) I don’t know what happened between my last physical checkup and yesterday, but somewhere in between I grew some ovaries and uterus, because if I can’t kill a mouse, then how can I be a real man? I whacked it a few more times and the screams that I thought couldn’t get worse, did get worse…a lot worse. Then they stopped.
Then I noticed how small he was and surprised to see that my learned foe was so small. Then I saw IT. Another mouse, slightly larger ran by and hid. BASTARD!
It was Sho Kosugi. I had killed his apprentice, but the master still lived…and he was now wise to my tricks. This weekend, we’ll have to switch to snap traps to kill him. If he learns my secret techniques, I’ll just come up with new ones.I thought I would be happy or at least relieved when the apprentice mouse died, but the fact that *I* killed him instead of the trap filled me with guilt and remorse instead. Well, at least there no tears. ‘Cuz that would be fcuked up. There’s a fine line between being less of a man, and being an actual woman…and that line is crossed when you cry over a dead mouse.
When I told Johnny Vegas about the incident, he tried to make me feel worse about it.
Ninja: Yeah…that screaming was freaky man. It was like it was screaming “you
better kill me, fcuker, because when I break free from this glue, I’m kicking
your ass!”
JV: Well, it was trapped in glue and being bludgeoned to
death. More likely it was screaming “oh please don’t kill me…we’re all god’s
creatures.”
Ninja: Asshole.
So, in order to pay Vegas back for his guilt trip, we will mock him for the next paragraph. Once upon a time (meaning yesterday) Johnny Vegas was running out the door to go the gym. At the door were two bags. One containing his gym clothes and another containing garbage. [yadda yadda yadda] Vegas drives to the gym with a bag of garbage in his new car. The end.
Anyway…stay tuned. Hopefully I’ll kill Sho Kosugi by next week.
Unless he runs to the mountains, trains in a new style of Shaolin Kung Fu and comes back to challenge me to a duel to the death. Yeah, that would be fcuked up.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Quickie Ninja Stock Pick
I didn't have time to post about this the other day, but the "food and breasts" stock has come out today. Sara Lee, the food company spun off its apparrel division as a separate company: Hanes. The new company includes Champion sweatshirts, Hanes Underwear, Playtex bras, Wonderbra, Barely THere and Just My Size. As part of my "research" I've been asking hot girls I know to email me pics of themselves in their underwear, but no such luck yet. Can't blame a man for trying though. Anyway, I'll do a beter analysis of this stock on my stock site soon, but if you want to buy in, now's probably a good time to do it. Other apparell manufacuterers trade at 12-14 times earnings (with some as high as 17x). Hanes, which is number 1 or 2 in every category it competes in (second only to Victoria's Secret and Fruit of the Loom in some) earned 1.80 in pro forma earnings last year. At 12-14 times earnings that yeild a price of $21.60 - 25.20. (if you figure a multiple of 17x earnings, you get a price of $30). Plus Hanes is shifting a lot of its operations overseas so that should lower costs n the futre, which will help earnings.
Again, this is just my opinion. I'm not a professional and am NOT telling you to buy this stock. This is just an idea to get you started in your research. Do your own research and decide if you want to buy it. DOn't buy because some random guy on the internet (who may not know what he's talking about) told you about it.
Again, this is just my opinion. I'm not a professional and am NOT telling you to buy this stock. This is just an idea to get you started in your research. Do your own research and decide if you want to buy it. DOn't buy because some random guy on the internet (who may not know what he's talking about) told you about it.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
The One Where I Plumb.
THE ONE WHERE I PLUMB
Because I am a masochist, I will now do a post about plumbing. This will prove to the naysayers that I once in a while, when Catholic Guilt overwhelms me, I do some actual work. Let’s just call a spade a spade and say that the plumbing gods don’t love me. While my little homemade waterfalls were frustrating in the past, now things are different. It sucks to have a river of water cascading down three floors when your house is still all plywood and drywall, but once you put in expensive hardwood flooring wall to wall, the prospect of a flood is downright terrifying.
Needless to say, that while I “tested” it for leaks by filling the pipes up with water, I didn’t give it the full test because only a greater idiot than me would turn on the heating system when it’s nearly 100 degrees outside and 90% humidity. So let's hope that this works in th the winter.
Before we begin:
I was thinking of running a contest for this picture. I was going to give away a prize to whoever guesses what this is a picture of, but then I realized that I would have no idea who the winner is because I don’t know what it is. This is a pretty scary realization because this is something in my house and I have no idea what it is. Is it deadly? If so, I should find out what it is before it tries to kill me. Unless it’s out to kill the mouse, in which case I’ll let it be.
Now Back to plumbing
First I had to drag the radiators (which way about 300 lbs each) across the living room floor by myself, without scratching the hardwood, and position it into place. How does one person move 300 lb radiators across a delicate floor by himself without scratching it? Well, if you are a mere mortal, the answer is : very carefully. If you are a ninja (or even part ninja) the answer is: using your mad chi. That’s right people. I didn’t even have to touch it. I moved it partly using telepathy and partly by using some chi kung exercises that I learned off a bootleg DVD that I bought in Chinatown for $3. That’s probably the second best $3 I ever spent in my life. The best was the Subway fare and back that I spent to go see a girl in my High School math class wherein I lost my virginity. Don’t get me wrong, the bootleg chi kung DVD is good, but it wasn’t THAT good.
This is what we were working with. I had to connect this radiator (and another one) to these pipes. Let the games begin.
Since the radiator is too heavy to move around (even with more than one person) I put these little loops in there.
That way I can close it off with a few elbows in a u-shape, like this. It's easier cutting copper pipes to size than it is to move radiators around by yourself. Especially on my expensive new floor.
In needed to get this down from 1 1/14 inches to 3/4". Home Depot, of course, didn't have the bushing I needed to reduce it. So I improvised wiht a 1'1/4" close nipple and a reducing coupling (1 1/14" - 3/4"). If this makes no sense, let me translate: Suck it Home Depot!!! You can't stop me when I plumb!.
Here's another one that I did. Notice the loopy thing again. What a great Idea.
And repeat for the other radiator.
Because I am a masochist, I will now do a post about plumbing. This will prove to the naysayers that I once in a while, when Catholic Guilt overwhelms me, I do some actual work. Let’s just call a spade a spade and say that the plumbing gods don’t love me. While my little homemade waterfalls were frustrating in the past, now things are different. It sucks to have a river of water cascading down three floors when your house is still all plywood and drywall, but once you put in expensive hardwood flooring wall to wall, the prospect of a flood is downright terrifying.
Needless to say, that while I “tested” it for leaks by filling the pipes up with water, I didn’t give it the full test because only a greater idiot than me would turn on the heating system when it’s nearly 100 degrees outside and 90% humidity. So let's hope that this works in th the winter.
Before we begin:
I was thinking of running a contest for this picture. I was going to give away a prize to whoever guesses what this is a picture of, but then I realized that I would have no idea who the winner is because I don’t know what it is. This is a pretty scary realization because this is something in my house and I have no idea what it is. Is it deadly? If so, I should find out what it is before it tries to kill me. Unless it’s out to kill the mouse, in which case I’ll let it be.Now Back to plumbing
First I had to drag the radiators (which way about 300 lbs each) across the living room floor by myself, without scratching the hardwood, and position it into place. How does one person move 300 lb radiators across a delicate floor by himself without scratching it? Well, if you are a mere mortal, the answer is : very carefully. If you are a ninja (or even part ninja) the answer is: using your mad chi. That’s right people. I didn’t even have to touch it. I moved it partly using telepathy and partly by using some chi kung exercises that I learned off a bootleg DVD that I bought in Chinatown for $3. That’s probably the second best $3 I ever spent in my life. The best was the Subway fare and back that I spent to go see a girl in my High School math class wherein I lost my virginity. Don’t get me wrong, the bootleg chi kung DVD is good, but it wasn’t THAT good.
This is what we were working with. I had to connect this radiator (and another one) to these pipes. Let the games begin.
Since the radiator is too heavy to move around (even with more than one person) I put these little loops in there.
That way I can close it off with a few elbows in a u-shape, like this. It's easier cutting copper pipes to size than it is to move radiators around by yourself. Especially on my expensive new floor.
In needed to get this down from 1 1/14 inches to 3/4". Home Depot, of course, didn't have the bushing I needed to reduce it. So I improvised wiht a 1'1/4" close nipple and a reducing coupling (1 1/14" - 3/4"). If this makes no sense, let me translate: Suck it Home Depot!!! You can't stop me when I plumb!.
Here's another one that I did. Notice the loopy thing again. What a great Idea.
And repeat for the other radiator.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Polititcians: STAY OFF MY YARD!!!
The DC Mayoral elections are next week. I’m torn between indifference and laziness about this one. What bugs me most about these elections however, is the annoying habit of these political hacks to put their campaign signs up on your property without your permission. Fenty’s people posted a sign on the ninja fortress lawn (in front of the moat). My imaginary friend had it done to her house by Linda Cropp. What does it say about the candidates except that they are willing to trample over your property rights to get what they want?
I tore the sign in my yard as soon as I saw it. If you give these people an inch, they’ll walk all over you.
Then you’ll end up like this poor sap. Stand up for yourself, man! Show some self-esteem.
I tore the sign in my yard as soon as I saw it. If you give these people an inch, they’ll walk all over you.
Then you’ll end up like this poor sap. Stand up for yourself, man! Show some self-esteem.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Ninjas Helping Others
I've been thinking a lot about Karma lately. Was I being punished yesterday for killing the mouse? Why did the universe make me lose my cell phone (only to give it back to me later)? I volunteered recently to head up a big charity fundraiser that will take up a lot of my time over the next few months. It's already shaping up to be a LOT more involved than I thought it would be. At the time, my friend Superfly said that "no good deed goes unpunished". Was the lost cell phone thing some kind of punishment for me being nice? Was Karma punishing me for killing a mouse, or for helping others? Is this why Martha Stewart is a Billionaire and I'm wage slave? So what does the universe really want of me? And am I too lazy to really care enough to do what it wants? Will I follow its guidance and become rich and nice, like Warren Buffet or some rich asshole, like Martha Stewart? Or will I just sit around and catch up on Netflix this weekend? I'm not sure, but the 3rd season of Arrested Development (released on DVD Aug 29!) is looking mighty tempting right now...jus' sayiin'.
At any rate, it turns out that I'm not the only ninja that believes in helping others. Here's proof. Curtesy of Circumlocutor.
At any rate, it turns out that I'm not the only ninja that believes in helping others. Here's proof. Curtesy of Circumlocutor.
Friday, September 01, 2006
REWARD
I Lost My Cell Phone This Morning. Somewhere near the Columbia Heights Metro Station. Probably on 13th Street somewhere between Irving and Harvard. On the off chance that one of the tens of people that read this blog every month finds it, please get in contact with me. My whole life was in that phone. Me without my cell is like a politician without illegal bribes or hookers. HELP!
UPDATE
I kept calling my phone and it would ring until I got my voicemail. After a while the calls started going straight to voicemail. Dead Battery? Was it dead in a puddle somewhere? Did some crackhead tire of my afro-cuban-salsa ringtone and turn it off? I don’t know.
So I called Verizon and they said that someone tried to use my phone at 6:30, and that wasn’t me. CRAP! Damn, you!
One of the things that’s bad about living in an up-and-coming area is that half the people are good people, but the other half are degenerates and crackheads. I was hoping that a normal person found my phone.
Well, apparently, who ever found my phone at 6 am had tired of my ringtone and tossed the phone by the metro station. When I called at 9:30 a woman answered the phone.
Renee: Hello?
Ninja: Thank god you found my phone.
Renee: Yeah, I was walking to the metro and I just heard it ring and saw it on the floor.
Ninja: okay…tell me where you are, I’ll come get it right now.
So I ran downstairs, jumped in a cab and headed to the Columbia Heights metro. I looked at my watch. It was 9:43. Before 9:30 the DC cabbies are allowed to charge a “rush hour surcharge”. I HATE DC cabbies almost as much as I hate parking Nazis. They’re always trying to screw you by charging you for crossing imaginary zones or anything else they can think of. Since I was a bartender for about 5 minutes I know the importance of tipping and I usually tip EVERYONE…except cabbies that try to rip me off. I wish someone was in the car with me, because I would’ve bet $1 million dollars that he was about to overcharge me. He did. As I got out he said “no tip? we work for tips, man!”. So I said “I did tip you…I’m letting you keep the money you overcharged me…have a nice day.”
So I met her, thanked her and gave her all the money I had on me--$40. I wanted to take her pic for the website, but she laughed and said no. But if any of you see a thin black woman, named Renee in a yellow shirt today, be sure to be nice to her because she is a kick-ass good Samaritan
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
The One Where My Friend Comes For A Visit
I have an update on the battle with the mouse situation, but I'll do it in a day or two since I have to upload the picture first. Yes, it's what you think it is. In the meantime...
So last week I was lucky enough to get a surprise visitor. My first DC friend Sailor Moon was in town for a deposition. When I say she was my first DC friend, that’s not an exaggeration. We actually met during orientation at the grad school program we were in. DC is a very transient place, so it’s nice when you can reconnect with old friends.
Sailor Moon is very gifted in the ways of the job-hunting Force. She is like the Career Yoda. By the time the rest of us were figuring out how to use the metro here, she had already gotten a job at the best law firm in Sillycon Valley. When the dot com bust happened. She left her firm, with a severance package two months before a massive round of layoffs where no one got anything but a security guard escort to the front door with a free box to put their belongings in. Mad Job Skillz!
Anyway, I had dinner with her and a friend of hers (who’s probably reading this right now) at a place called Kelly’s Irish Times. It’s an irish bar that’s frequented by the type of annoying yuppies who play adult kickball (it’s a DC thing) and go to bars afterwards wearing their team uniforms as proudly as if they had just played and won a game in a real sport. Sorry kidz, but if it’s a “sport” that is played by 5th graders because the coordination required is so rudimentary that it won’t negatively affect even a child’s self esteem, then it’s not a real sport. Despite the bar’s shortcomings, they have chicken fingerz, and any kind of deep fried food can make up for a lot of sins.
So we talked about the Ninja Fortress, my plan to make a living from Ninja Stock Picks ™ and my dating life. Needless to say, each situation was pretty pathetic, but showing signs of hope. Sailor Moon had a baby recently, so did her cute friend. The conversation eventually turned to my plans for procreation.
We discussed my super-secret plan to eventually leave my job for something better and to make millions. All I need to do is to figure out what the “something” is and I’ll be all set. Maybe I can open a restaurant and sell deep fried food to Yuppie Kickball Leagues?
So last week I was lucky enough to get a surprise visitor. My first DC friend Sailor Moon was in town for a deposition. When I say she was my first DC friend, that’s not an exaggeration. We actually met during orientation at the grad school program we were in. DC is a very transient place, so it’s nice when you can reconnect with old friends.
Sailor Moon is very gifted in the ways of the job-hunting Force. She is like the Career Yoda. By the time the rest of us were figuring out how to use the metro here, she had already gotten a job at the best law firm in Sillycon Valley. When the dot com bust happened. She left her firm, with a severance package two months before a massive round of layoffs where no one got anything but a security guard escort to the front door with a free box to put their belongings in. Mad Job Skillz!
Anyway, I had dinner with her and a friend of hers (who’s probably reading this right now) at a place called Kelly’s Irish Times. It’s an irish bar that’s frequented by the type of annoying yuppies who play adult kickball (it’s a DC thing) and go to bars afterwards wearing their team uniforms as proudly as if they had just played and won a game in a real sport. Sorry kidz, but if it’s a “sport” that is played by 5th graders because the coordination required is so rudimentary that it won’t negatively affect even a child’s self esteem, then it’s not a real sport. Despite the bar’s shortcomings, they have chicken fingerz, and any kind of deep fried food can make up for a lot of sins.
So we talked about the Ninja Fortress, my plan to make a living from Ninja Stock Picks ™ and my dating life. Needless to say, each situation was pretty pathetic, but showing signs of hope. Sailor Moon had a baby recently, so did her cute friend. The conversation eventually turned to my plans for procreation.
SailorMoon: You ‘re good with kids…you should have a child.
Ninja: I’d like to, but I don’t have a uterus.
SailorMoon: [to friend] He’s kidding about that….tell her you’re kidding.
Ninja: ummm, okay…I was kidding about that…I do have a uterus.
SailorMoon: Arrrrghhhh!!!
We discussed my super-secret plan to eventually leave my job for something better and to make millions. All I need to do is to figure out what the “something” is and I’ll be all set. Maybe I can open a restaurant and sell deep fried food to Yuppie Kickball Leagues?
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