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United States History In A Nutshell

LaughSum2 — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 03:14:00 GMT

In 1623, England sent a group of settlers over on the Mayflower to live in a new world. These people were fondly known as convicts. The British rejects bravely chose the new land over the guillotine. Once arriving, they built log cabins and invited the native American Indians over for turkey and a side of cranberry sauce. Because the stuffing wasn't Stovetop, the Indians rebelled by mocking the pilgrims' knickers during a rain dance ceremony. This infuriated the embarrassed settlers. They plotted to slowly steal the native's country by duping them with a bogus slogan; "Go West young Squatting Bear, go West."

King George was quite content to ship the abundant bread-stealing scum out of their homeland. He rewarded them by implementing taxes on everything. The people angrily stamped their feet. They were taxed for that. (The Stamp Act) This really teed off the subjects, so they threw a party in the Boston Harbor. Things got out of hand, intoxicated men wearing lantern shades on their head began chucking creates of Lipton overboard. Within a few months, Paul Revere was riding through towns yelling, "The British are coming!" while townspeople screamed back, "Shut up, ye ole drunk. I'm sleeping!"

A group of people soon formed a Continental Congress. One of the elite members was George Washington who would often reminisce of picking cherries off a tree in his front yard. "One day, I finally chopped it down so that I could make a set of wooden teeth." Everyone would just roll their eyes knowing old George's mouth was all bark with no bite. Later his wife would become infected as a result of splinters. Ben Franklin, an astute man with brilliant ideas, wasn't taken very seriously. Every time he offered a suggestion he was told to go fly a kite. He did and what he found shocked him. Thomas Jefferson was able to unify the clan by drafting a Declaration of Independence. This basically told King George that they were fed up with his taxes and his attitude. Besides, they were tired of having to wear wigs.

Soon British soldiers were sent to stifle the revolting colonists. They first captured New York city. (Broadway had not been born yet, so we gladly forfeited the Big Apple.) Trenton and Princeton followed. Washington organized a small band of troops and crossed the Delaware river. There were no taverns open so, cold and pissed off, they attacked the redcoats. After that, Washington treated the troops to a winter vacation at Valley Forge where his soldiers could bask in the snow and nibble on their boots to survive. (Talk about putting your foot in your mouth.)

The American Revolution raged on. Benedict Arnold fought bravely for the States until they named an egg dish after him, then he fought bravely for England. The French soon joined in to lend the "colonist pigs" a helping hand. (We would save their l'asses when the big wars rolled around.) Francis Scott Key, who actually sang off key, composed a song during the battle at Fort McHenry. This was the only time in history that peanuts, popcorn, and ice-cold beer were not yelled at the end of the song.

After the war, by the way we won, the thirteen colonies united and became states. Betsy Ross got into the sherry while knitting her husband Pete a quilt. Upon completion, the damn blanket looked like a flag so she gave it away. Washington was elected the first president and a government was established. We, the people, were happy that corruption could now begin.

The Louisiana Purchase was obtained from the French for a case of our best Chardonay and three barrels of cheese. In no time, towns became cities and people begin to move into the middle of the country. The stage coach became the main form of transportation. It got an unbelievable twelve miles a day. The coach was vulnerable to Indian attacks, hold-ups, and the fresh smell of horse manure.

In the South, slavery existed on the cotton plantations. This infuriated the North because it was morally wrong and Rhett Butler didn't give a damn. Southerners could no longer tolerate the North's monopoly on industry nor their funny accents like “pak your horse,” so they succeeded from the Union. To save the devastation of the Q tip market the North had to go to war.

The bloodiest battles ever fought were during the Civil War. It was blue against gray, brother against brother, cat against dog. War ravaged on for four years. The turning point occurred when the Union defeated the Confederates at Gettysburg. It was the greatest battle of the war. (The second greatest fight was when a lowly private tried to pry a booze bottle out of General Grant's hand.) Sherman marched to the sea, burned Atlanta, collected the insurance, then waltzed back. He was later diagnosed as a pyromaniac. Lincoln set the slaves free with the Emancipation Proclamation then celebrated by catching a play. (He had been given mixed reviews about so it was a shot in the dark if he’d like it.) After annihilating the country, we built it back up--actually we reconstructed it with carpet baggers and cheap Irish labor.

The choo choo train linked the East to the West. Rugged individuals left the big cities to start a new life in the wild West. Many men became ranchers or farmers and would often sing "Oklahoma" show tunes while working in corn fields as high as an elephant's eye. Gun slingers made a living by..., slinging guns. Towns were hopping with gamblers, cowboys, and prostitutes. (Sometimes even prostitutes who dressed like cowboys.)

In the 1890's a man named Willy Oltimer yelled "There's gold in dem dere hills!" Nobody could find "dem dere hills" on the map so they just went West. A mad rush ensued to California. (During the onslaught, Willy was trampled to death.) Miners set up camp in the mountains and panned for nuggets. Jack asses would help haul loads into town where the gold was weighed and purchased. Then the jack asses would squander their money in local saloons. Most importantly, this brought people to the west coast where they could now make a good living as actors and singers while eating Tofu. Back East, folks gathered to hear Barber Shop Quartets sing songs, you know, the gay ones.

By the turn of the century the automobile began to slowly replace the horse. The horse was elated. Roosevelt carried a big stick that he used to beat Teddy Bears with. The Wright Brothers made a successful flight at Kitty Hawk, although Wilbur lost Orville's luggage and two cases of his popcorn.

In 1916 Germany decided to take over the world because Kaiser Wilhem did not like a roll named after him. This provoked us to send dough boys "over there" to straighten out the misuse of baker terminology. Soldiers were sent home with trench foot, trench mouth, and trench coat. After Germany was defeated, and all was quiet on the western front, we said a farewell to arms. The Treaty of Versailles was signed. This basically stated, "Stay in your own damn country and behave yourselves." Twenty years later they would misinterpret this.

After our brave soldiers returned home they were given a party. It was called the "Roarin' Twenties" and it lasted a decade. People drank hooch, danced the Charleston all night, and woke up the next morning in rumble seats. Prohibition was in but people were too drunk to realize what it meant. Elliot Ness had a Capone to pick with the mobsters. (Yes, that's a stretch.) Women wore flappers. Men wore women. And, everyone was worn out. Women were giving voting status so they could get rid of the men. In 1929 the stock market yelled, "The party's over!" then passed out.

Times were tough as The Great Depression occupied the 1930's. People aimlessly walked around mumbling, "Brother, can you spare a dime?" You couldn't even buy time. A penny for your thoughts was out of the question. And, putting your two cents in... forget about it. Even President Roosevelt couldn't afford new tires for his wheelchair. People waited in long lines to purchase a dollar loaf. Back then, that was a lot of bread for... bread.

Hitler decided the world economy needed a boost so he declared war on Europe. U.S.A. didn't want Hitler's help so we declared war on him. Productions in the States exploded and unemployment was almost as low as the Rosenberg’s. The Fuehrer was also down because our marines landed in Normandy. France gave us three berets and a barrel of cheese for liberated their country. Pearl Harbor was bombed and so were Hoffa's teamsters. The big bomb was invented which we tested on Hiroshima. The make up exam was on Nagasaki. The bomb got an A and the war was over.

The 1950's were considered happy days. You can ask the Fonz. Kids were rebelling and listening to ghastly Rock and Roll music while smoking cigarettes that had no warning labels. The jitterbug was in and their were no exterminators around. Teenage boys were lubing their hair with grease from their '57 Chevy's. They wore leather jackets with gang names on the back like "The Screaming Bedwetters." The girls wore bobby socks and bunny hopped to malt shops. James Dean was a movie star and not yet a sausage. Communist suspects were rounded up and unjustly used as test subjects for Hula Hoops. This was known as "The McCarthy Error." King MacArthur gave the Koreans two countries and a good old fashioned whooping--then returned to the Philippines to get his pipe and sunglasses he left in the jeep.

JFK was elected and Marilyn Monroe jumped out of his birthday cake and right into his bed. Cuba threatened to send nuclear cigars over if we continued to make fun a Fidel's beard. Young men laid down their lives for a country no one knew existed--not even the Vietnamese. Thousands protested the war and the fact that Tiny Tim was allowed on TV. Civil rights were passed out and so was Timothy Leary. The beehive progressed to headbands and beads. The Beatles invaded America while the long-haired hippies invaded drug stores. Everything cost more than sex, because sex was free. People were so strung out that they often forgot were the put their LSD. Car companies, like Charlie Manson, were making a killing. This was certainly the age of Aquarius--whatever that means.

During the 70's, everyone was into doing their own thing--together in groups with one another. Nixon was in office during the day and at night he was in hotel rooms. After his impeachment, it became Watergate under the bridge. (What’s another stretch?) Disco music somehow made it big. People twirled on dance floors while flashing lights reflected off their stiff polyester attire and their powdered noses. Talk about hitting bell bottom. (Many soldiers after seeing this demise of the country wanted to return back to Vietnam.) Jimmy Carter littered the White House floors with peanut shells while his brother passed out six packs before passing out himself. And, it wasn't unusual to hear truckers on a CB radio say, "Rubber ducky, can you get me out of this decade?"

One of the most popular politicians stepped into the Oval Office in 1980. Finally, we had a professional actor in the White House. He was shot and took one for the Gipper… again. (The assassin was a man who was insanely in love with a Foster child.) Reagan was nursed back to health by chomping on a bag of jelly beans. Soon he was strong enough to invade the powerhouse country of Grenada and suppress their three troops from threatening our homeland. Ronnie told Gorbachev to tear down the ugly, grafetti marked wall or he would smack the ink blot stain off his forehead. The cold war was over and people were warming up to Punk rockers pierced their noses while their music pierced our ears. They slam danced in the street while rubbing belly button rings with each other. Nobody cared. The economy was good.

The ninties gave everyone a website. You no longer had to go out and meet sleezy women in bars, you could now save money and do it on the computer. With internet dating you could be anyone you wanted. Grunge music was bigger than Ross Perot’s ears. And we had a president, Bubba Clinton, who liked a little sax and loved a lot of sex. He was impeached. A stained dress stained his legacy. He not only fought in Kosovo but in the Oval office with Hillary. Kosovo was the easier battle.

Another Bush was voted into office. He moved into the presidental house while everybody else bought a second and third house. Whatever people didn't have they slapped on their Visa. Credit cards were purchased by other credit cards. Wall Street was paved with riches but nobody noticed the potholes. Gas went to four bucks then our stocks went to two bucks. The market crashed like a plane into the Twin Towers. We learned that, maybe, we were too free with our freedom and that not everybody likes us -- even though we're a good country. We chased Osama Bin Laden and, since then, Osama been hiding. We've now buckled down and banned bringing shampoo on airplanes.

With a black man now in the white house, the United States has come along way as it continues to make history in the 21^st century. We have been through almost everything from muskets to Tickle Me Elmo. People have the right to speak, pray, and even watch “Oprah.” Well, sometimes you have to take the good with the bad. “Hey America! You go girl!”

How We Play The Dating Game

LaughSum2 — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 20:12:00 GMT

Welcome to the world of dating. If you've never entered this domain you may wish to drop to your knees and give thanks to Saint Casanova. The sad fact is that it can be very brutal. It often leads to pain, remorse, depression and in extreme cases a gallon overdose of Ben and Jerry's Pecan Cookie Crunch.

The first step towards dating is to actually find a date. This is often thought to be the most difficult part of the process but in reality is the easiest. Why? There's no pressure. The person you're seeking has no clue of who you are. He has no idea that you parade around your house naked singing show tunes while making up half the lyrics. Not knowing anything about a person opens up a whole new world--the wonderful world of lies and deceit. Incidentally, this is the key to a long lasting relationship!

This practice of tactful embellishment is by all means an extraordinary art form used by both sexes. It has the ability to create an unemployed male manic-depressive alcoholic into a multimillionaire who likes to just enjoy an occasional martini on board his yacht. Women are just as guilty. The ever so meaningful phrase, "You're the nicest guy I've ever met" usually translates to "You'll do, 'til someone better comes along."

The first date is the most crucial aspect towards the longevity of the new partnership. After meeting your dream date (either through a mutual friend, personal ad, Chuck Woolery, or spray painting your number on a billboard) you must now coerce the male into asking you out. (This is done by flirting, skimpy attire, or sheer grovelling.) The male should expend a lot of time planning where your first date will take place. The environment in which the date takes place is important because it determines whether you'll see that particular person again. If he brings you to Fanny's Fat Burgers--take a rain check on the next date. Especially if he didn't even pick up the check.

Once you're on the date and your anxiety has subsided, usually as a result of the six Wallbanger's you had prior to him picking you up, the personal questions begin. "Do you have any tattoo's, diseases, or jealous psycho ex-boy-friends?" Your response, hopefully, "No." Your turn. "How 'bout you? Do you have any abnormal fetishes, outstanding credit card bills, and/or convicted rape charges?" Remember, two outta three ain't bad. If the man is really trying to impress a woman he will keep the fact that he still lives with his mother a secret. He can always reply later, "I could've sworn I told you I lived with ma."

After dinner, you have a good idea whether you like the person sitting across from you. If the person is no longer sitting across from you than they probably didn't like you. But, let's assume the date went well. He told you how successful he's doing in the stock market. He made you laugh. He picked up the bill without borrowing your Visa. And to top it off he drives a nice BMW. This can't be love because you feel so good.

On the drive home you make idle chit-chat. He tells you about meaningless trivia while pointing out places where he and his best friend Pinky used to bond over a case of beer. You laugh as if his moronic childhood memories appease you. Soon you find yourself contemplating whether you should ask him in for coffee. You change the subject to what a beautiful rainy drizzling night it is. He agrees while plotting to himself if the "Do you mind if I use your phone?" line will get him in the door.

At the door, you both revert back to idle chit-chat until someone breaks the tie with "I really had a good time tonight." A positive response could lead to a kiss goodnight. A negative response could lead to a lonely night of classic movies and Bon-bons. You decide to hold off on the kiss because you don't want to come across easy not to mention you were unable to sneak a breath mint when he wasn't looking.

After seconds of mulling over the number of dates you've had in the last three years you invite him in for coffee. He replies, "I don't drink coffee." You then suggest that he at least come in and make a phone call.

He vanishes into a vacant room and you overhear him say "Don't forget to leave the door unlocked." You quickly pull the glass away from the wall and sit seductively on the couch. He hangs up the phone, sniffs his armpits, and appears in the doorway. "Nice place you have here" he states as if he really gives a damn.

You proceed to describe the pain and torment you encountered routing through wallpaper samples to match the flame stitched cascading drapes. He suggests hanging a picture in the dining room of four dogs playing poker. You both laugh but have no idea why. You decide not to bring up the exhaustive struggle of choosing tile patterns for the foyer and simply ask him if he would like a glass of wine-- knowing full well you have no wine. He responds, "Sure."

Soon you yell from the kitchen, "I just remembered, I'm out of wine. Would you like some Tangerine Blend?" He answers back, "Sure. Whatever." You come out of the kitchen reiterating that you forgot you didn't have any wine, however you add the rhetoric that you gave it to the neighbors as a house warming gift. After all, by no means do you want him to think you're some kind of "booze hag."

You're now both on the couch laughing about some person you mutually dislike, in this case, Oprah. After hours of belittling the talk show queen, to keep your mind off of your own miserable life, you realize time has gotten away. "It's getting late," you sigh. "Yea, I really should be going," he responds. You both agree that you've got to get up early because you have a big day tomorrow. Little does he know, you're big day consists of three loads of laundry and an hour of Oprah.

You walk to the door and say your farewells. He starts the bidding off with "Well, I'm really glad I met you." You smile and cleverly say, "Me to." He calls your bluff and raises the bid to "Can I see you again?" You bat your eyes and in a coy manner respond, "If you want to." A hush fills the room and the two of you gulp in unison. Your palms become wet and your mouth dry. Thoughts explode through your mind. "Is he gonna kiss me? Should I kiss him?" and "Where the hell are my Tic-Tacs?"

With your head slightly cocked you gaze dumbfounded into his eyes. You notice a small pimple on his forehead lingering around his receding hairline. For the moment, you choose to ignore it. (You're just thankful he's not sporting a cold sore.) His face slowly inches towards your face. You close your eyes in hopes of seeing Don Johnson. Unfortunately, Don Knotts pops up. Oh well, a kiss is just a kiss--unless, of course, the person is a lousy kisser. Then, a kiss is just a nightmare.

As the four lips unite in imperfect harmony you feel your body become numb. You soon realize that it's a result of him squeezing you too tight causing an abatement of blood circulation. Nevertheless, it still feels good--at least up to the moment he bites your lip. This is usually followed by a whispered, "I'm sorry," then a slight murmur or groan to signal that the kiss may now resume.

Sometime during the kissing excursion the mouths will part and the tongues will meet. Many times, only one mouth will part only to find pursed lips waiting on the other side. This is not the time to use your tongue as a car jack, or even worse, a battering ram. (It is usually a sign that means "Do Not Enter" not "Full Speed Ahead.") You decide to invite his tongue in to admire your molars.

A footnote; The French kiss is so named because the French hate everything. They have always demonstrated their dislike by sticking out their tongues to express disgust (sometimes using the word "pig" as a follow up). For unknown reasons, this turned on the French women. Since then, the French have used their tongue for everything--except to say a kind word.

On this particular kiss you find yourself enjoying it. He is not like the others who tended to explore your esophagus, work out on your tonsils, or better yet, dig a root canal. His kiss is soft and wet like a baby's behind. However, you're too uptight to enjoy it because you fear that you're slobbering way too much and it might just turn him off. (This is known as saliva phobia.)

During the kissing process several things are usually occurring simultaneously. His arms are around you. His hands are rubbing your back (mostly to see if you're wearing a bra), your one heel might kick up (but that's purely for show or scratching itchy nylons), and your left hemisphere is fighting with your right over whether you should ask him to spend the night.

The internal conflict over inviting a man to spend the night is by no means an easy battle. The first impulse is always "yes" then you reflect on past experiences. You recall men who talk while they snore. You recollect a concussion you received when being accidentally shoved from your bed and landing on the floor. And, you remember playing opossum as he nudged you to go another round. You continue to contemplate because you know in your heart--he's not like the others. "I just know he'll call again," you convince yourself.

You conclude the lip locking process by stating "I think you should go now." He picks up his coat, wipes his mouth, and fixes his hair. He clears his throat and whispers, "Maybe you're right." You're disappointed that he didn't respond, "Are you sure?" However, you're glad because that would most likely start another blood bath between the right and left hemisphere. He leans over and gives you a quick peck good-bye. Your eyes become crossed and you exhale the word "bye."

As he walks towards his beautiful car, you realize that this is the man for you. He's has everything your looking for, at least that's what he told you. You feel bad about not mentioning your five children. You figure you'll break it to him on the second date. A little while later you find yourself upstairs with a S.O.S brillo pad scrubbing your make up off.

On the other side of town, your dream date has arrived home and is pounding on the door screaming, "Come on ma, unlock this damn thing!" In the still of the night two men watch the raving middle-aged man as they repo his car.

As you snuggle into your bed, you sigh and mutter to yourself "I think I've finally found the man of my dreams."

* This was written by a male from a female perspective. He was able to achieve such intricate details of a typical first date through painstaking dedication, careful research, and dressing up in women's attire. The writer still claims that he enjoys his work--even when having a bad hair day.

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Yo God, Down Here

LaughSum2 — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 09:09:00 GMT

Hey God, it’s me, your old friend, remember? The one who was cool and cocky, until you made me humble by putting me in the hospital with chest pains. The one who thought I could do whatever I wanted in life without consequences, until you sent that oncoming car my way. I might not even have believed that you exist, except I made it through my teenage years in one piece, and without being thrown in prison. Still, I’ve got some tough questions for you. Why do we kill people we love? Why do we kill people we don’t even know? Wouldn’t it be a better world if we just “took care” of a few people within our inner circle who really annoy us, such as in-laws or that moody, drug-addicted relative who always ruins Thanksgiving dinner? You know, just the troublemakers? Tell me, Almighty, why are their so many religions? I believe that people fight over faith because they think their beliefs are the only true religion. God, won’t you just fly over all the cities of the world and yell down, “Believe in me or I’ll stomp you into the ground with my big-ass sandal?” Then, everyone will be scared and believe in you, and, who knows, might even obey you. It could happen. This brings me to another point: Why did you have to fence us in with rules? Don’t you want us to be happy? I mean, why can’t you covet your neighbor’s wife—especially if she’s hot? You were the one who made her hot. Okay… I can hear you coming in loud and clear, God: “Would you like someone to covet your wife?” Wait, I’ve been asking the questions around here, and if you don’t mind—I’ve still got a few more. So anyway, how bad could it really be if you just let us run crazy and do whatever we wanted? “Look around.” Okay, good point. God, they say praying is supposed to be helpful, but I’m still up in the air on that one. Maybe the types of things I ask for would be considered miracles, and I know you don’t just hand those out like Burger King coupons. For instance, Nicole Richie is a celebrity? Tell me that’s not a miracle. If you can give her that, maybe you can give me a few small things, like a cool car. God, you’re my bestest friend in the world, you could pull a Hyundai out of your hat. I’ll even take one of those eco-friendly hybrids. Who’s going to know you intervened? Come on, I thought we were buddies. Tell me again why you want us in relationships? I know it’s supposed to teach us a deeper love or to keep us from going astray, especially with the neighbor’s wife. But relationships are a constant tug-of-war. One partner never wants to do what the other wants to do. Couldn’t you have made half the population the kind of people who always do what everyone tells them to do--with no attitude? Then the rest of us could date or marry these meek cats and live happily ever after as we watch them take out the garbage and pay the bills. No, you had to go and give everyone self-esteem. And another thing: Some people are lucky as hell. Me, Lord, I couldn’t hit a bull in the rump with a snow shovel. I couldn’t buy luck--even if I had money, which I don’t-- because I’m unlucky. Can’t you just throw a brother a bone, once? Like, when I’m sleeping, you put a slip of paper under my pillow with the winning lotto numbers. Some good stock picks? The Kentucky Derby winner? I’ll take whatever you got. I’ll be good with the money. I’ll buy a hamburger for a bum, I promise. I got some BK coupons. I know you don’t believe me. I guess you know my record against temptation and selfishness. But don’t give up on me, God. Some day, I’ll get you one win. So tell me more about temptation… What’s that all about? You don’t want us to do certain things so You tempt us. Is that really fair, God? Wait, why are you laughing? You think it’s easy being human? It’s not, because everything that’s fun is a sin. You gave us the Sabbath, a day of rest. How about a new day in the week called the Ravage—a day once a week when we have your permission to go hog wild and break the rules. This would certainly alleviate a lot of the guilt. Smoking, drinking, sex, dessert, gambling, maybe a little shoplifting... Come on, give us some leeway. Another thing: Why do we always want more than we have? I know it has to do with greed, jealousy and envy, but I didn’t ask for those traits—You gave them to me. You should have made it where the pleasure of a yo-yo and a talking parrot were enough to get me through the day. But without all this new crap they have out here--cell phones, Blackberrys, Ipods--you’re virtually a nobody. Sure, I know I should be thankful for what I have, but how can I think of how much better off I am, when The Jonses just got the iPhone? Between you and me, Mrs. Jonse is hot. I wonder if she… nevermind. Hey God, something else is bothering me. We recently had a family friend die of cancer-- a mother with three boys. What was your thinking on that one? I realize people have to die, but come on, surely You had other candidates: Child molesters, murderers and, of course, the in-laws… to name a few. Might have been an opportunity to take out some of the garbage. God, a lot people wonder what heaven is like. I’m sure it’s 15 times better than your best day on earth. (That would be Christmas Day 1969, when I got a Big Wheel.) But what do you do up there for an eternity? Even if you get to hang out with your favorite person from history, say Benjamin Franklin… After 40 or 50 years, he’s probably going to get on your nerves. “Yeah, yeah, Ben, so you tied a key to a kite and got shocked. You’ve told me that story 130 times already! I’m gonna go talk to Socrates.” Sure, it gets boring down here but, at least there’s television to kill the time. Please tell me you have big-screen TV up there, because I couldn’t fathom an eternity without “The Simpsons.” Finally, why do we live only to die? I sincerely hope you have a purpose in mind because I gotta tell you, this life hasn’t been all candy and roses. For one thing, we have to work most of the time. What’s up with that? I thought you got all your anger at us out during that great flood. I guess what I’m saying is, Can’t you float me a couple million ‘til I get to heaven, because the working thing is not working for me. So, come on God, you can tell me. Did you intend for life to be one big joke? What did you say, God? What was that? Wait ‘til you hear the punchline!

I Love You, My Little Computer

LaughSum2 — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 09:28:00 GMT

What in the world would we do without computers? I could see not having a phone. Who likes to make small talk with bill collectors anyway? I could even see not having a television. Believe me, I can make it in this world without Project Runway. But I just can’t live without my computer.

I don’t know how I got into such a symbiotic relationship with this technological beast, and yet she’s become my best friend in the whole, wide world. I haven’t forgotten the old days when I used a typewriter, and spent half my time correcting every mistake with Whiteout or correction tape. It would take me an hour to write a paper and three days to fix the misspelled words. I so remember having to look up information in a, uh, book. (Those things with pages between the covers.) How the encyclopedia sales people must despise Google. Those were horrible times, when you actually had to know the alphabet by heart.

Computers are simply amazing. You can further your knowledge of any subject in a matter of minutes. Last week I found out that the Queen of England was actually a real woman. Very different from the queens of America. I also read that you can clear up acne by drinking bleach, although I’d prefer to press on with my zits. You can even find out within seconds when Britney Spears went to the bathroom. How cool is that?

My computer knows me better than anyone. It has me by the Internet cable. If it wanted to blackmail me, there’d be nothing I could do. It knows where the bones are buried. My computer even knows that I listen to The Carpenters and Celine Dion. Definitely, not secrets I want out in the open. It knows what I’ve plugged into my search engine. In my defense, I was just curious about erectile dysfunction. As for the pornography, I needed to make sure that my bank-teller sister wasn’t moonlighting again.

Okay, we finally hit the hot-button subject. It’s hard to ignore porno sites when you’re constantly bombarded by skimpy pictures of chicks in lacy undies, or such subject lines in your mailbox as “busts loose and panties free.” This stuff can pop up anywhere. (The porno sites, I mean porno.) For instance, if you put “refinancing my home” into Google, one or two of the searches will say “refinancing girls in thongs.” You try, but you can’t fight this stuff.

We’re also harassed with ads: crap that pops up when you’re in the middle of researching something really important, like “untraceable poisons.” These ads—everything from Viagra to mutual funds—are annoying. I wish that pop-up Scotstrade helicopter would crash.

Obviously, these ads are intended to get you to purchase things. You don’t even have to leave your home to shop. That’s right ladies, you can do damage right on the computer. No more having to drag a kicking and screaming man to the mall with you. All the clothes you need are right there on the Internet. Just put your guy’s credit card number on the shopping site, and 48 hours later you’re wearing that new blouse. I know it’s not as much fun as putting your fella through the hell of watching you try on things at the mall, but then again you don’t have to put yourself through the hell of filling up your tank with $4 dollar a gallon gas.

Everything we own is now on our computers. Our documents, movies, songs, pictures, financial statements. We pay bills on line because writing a check is exhausting, and because one click of the button and you’re done. It leaves you little time to contemplate how you’re actually going to cover the funds.

We even put our home movies on the computer for the world to see, as if the world isn’t bored enough. I can’t describe what it’s like to watch my three-year-old daughter dance in the kitchen while the dog runs around her. Wait, yes I can; it’s stupid!

On the other hand, I don’t really mind the videos of teenage clowns skateboarding off rooftops. (They probably won’t be with us too much longer, anyway.) Why make a fool of yourself in private, when you can go public and show the world what a jackass you are? YouTube has every video clip that you can think of, and two or three of them are actually good.

Which brings up another topic: Every time you turn around, your computer proves to you that it can do something totally new and amazing. At first you could just type documents and print them out. Now, you can steal music, edit a video, play games, fly over someone’s house (and find out what it’s worth), even research medical cures—but don’t expect a money-back guarantee. You’re on your own there, pal.

How can anyone doubt Darwinism? Computers are clear evidence of evolution. My biggest fear is that one morning my computer will blurt out, “Hello Hal, what’s on the agenda for today?”

The downside of these machines are the technical problems. You’re in the midst of doing something— usually extremely urgent—and the damn thing freezes up. Your heart begins to race. You frantically strike the keys. You swear. You pray to God. You swear again. You slap your computer. Finally, you use all your technical knowledge and, as a last ditch measure, you unplug the thing, and then plug it back in. It’s just got to work! Nope. Now your life is on hold as you wait for your 10-year-old neighbor to get home from school, and come over to do whatever he does while you sit there and say, “Yeah, I was gonna try that.”

If you are diagnosed with cancer, Lupus or syphilis that’s bad, but not as bad as when your computer gets a virus. Everything could be destroyed or stolen. It’s weird though; thieves always steal funds out of your account, but never take your debt. How I wish they would break into my bank account and pay off my credit cards. We need more modern-day Robin Hoods online.

OMG, the email thing is fantastic. What a great way to piss away the day. Nothing like sitting at work and being paid to read jokes or look at pictures of naked people on mo-peds. Email is also good for keeping in touch with that old friend, so you don’t have to visit. You even have time to think up a fool-proof excuse. “Oh, I’d love to see you, but that weekend I’m cleaning the cat box.” These are the peeps that you like to have as back up in case you visit your hometown and need a place to stay, but don’t have money to shell out for a hotel room.

The other great thing about emailing is that you no longer need to make that dreadful phone call. You can simply fire off a text message saying you still don’t have the money quite yet, or let the boss know that you won’t make it into work because you have a scratchy throat aka a helluva hangover.

Email allows you to laugh at jokes that you can no longer laugh at in public. There’s always that friend who must forward you everything that comes their way. It might be a prayer that could change your stinking life and make you a millionaire—if you forward it to 10 people. It could also be a sappy story about other people who have more of a stinker life than you do. Don’t you just love those? Sometimes you get something that has a moral to it and is supposed to make you ponder. Can you say trash bin?

We can’t forget what the computer has done to bring people together. I’m talking about dating sites. You know, where people put up pictures when they were 20 years younger and weighed 60 pounds less, claiming how much they value honesty in a relationship. Everybody’s profile is of the perfect human being. He or she describes how much they like to exercise, read books, avoid fast food and spend time with that special someone with whom they can “just be themselves around.” (Hey, being themselves is what got them kicked out of their previous relationships.)

Once you’ve found the picture of your dream lover, you trade a few emails to begin a new relationship. If you’re a girl, you’re hoping to meet a man with money. If you’re a man, well, you’re just hoping she’s not into that long-term thing. Soon you take it to the next level—Instant Messaging. Whoo-hooo. The best thing about IM’ing is that you’re completely hidden from that person, and so you have ample time to think up a good lie.

BABYLUV: “Why did it take you so long to tell me you were married?”

TOTALDAWG: “I had to go in the other room and vacuum the rug. When you say married, how do you mean that?”

In the old days when you talked to a potential date on the phone, every “um” and “ah” gave away your deceptive replies. With IM’ing, the skies the limit. It’s addictive. You rush home from work, exited and horny, hoping to spend your evening IM’ing this new Internet love. The steam builds and, finally, the only way to cool your jets is to actually meet this person face to face. That’s when the fairy tale begins to unravel.

Still, we’ve got no choice but to surrender to our computers. We can go days without our car or our spouse, but we can no longer live without our laptops and desktops, or our access to the all-knowing, all-seeing, omnipotent Internet. Could you imagine a world without the computer? It’s simply unfathomable. What would the human race do? Spend more time with family? Perform the jobs they were actually hired to do? Read Disaboom blogs? I shudder at the thought.

A Disabled Christmas Song

LaughSum2 — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 21:56:00 GMT

On the first day of Christmas my doctor gave to me: a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the second day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the third day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… three leg bags. Two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the fourth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the fifth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… FIVE MAGIC BULLETS! …Four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and some other stuff for my disability.On the sixth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… six plastic urinals. FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the seventh day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… seven Vicodins. Six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the eighth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me…eight lame assistants. Seven Vicodins, six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the ninth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… nine pairs of compression stockings. Eight worthless assistants, seven needed Vicodins, six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three used leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the tenth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… ten rolling walkers. Nine pairs of compression stockings, eight undependable assistants, seven Viagras, six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of stuff for my disability. On the eleventh day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… eleven helper dogs. Ten rolling walkers (with tennis balls), nine pairs of compression stockings, eight alcoholic assistants, just seven Vicodins, six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a penis pump for my disability. On the twelfth day of Christmas my doctor gave to me… twelve hundred bills to pay. Eleven helper dogs, ten rolling walkers, nine pairs of compression stockings, eight lazy assistants, only seven Vicodins, six plastic urinals, FIVE MAGIC BULLETS, four wheelchair tires, three leg bags, two grab bars and a bunch of crap for my disability.

Try Some Happiness

LaughSum2 — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 19:44:00 GMT

I just can’t understand why it’s so hard to be happy. Look around, we live in a great country. Most of us have food, shelter, decent health and are no kin to Michael Jackson. That, in and of itself, is cause for joy. Yet we spend the majority of our days griping about work, gossiping about friends, whining about how unfair life is. Boo hoo.

We should just be high on life. Although I have to admit that a new car, a boat and a fresh set of golf clubs could put anybody in a better mood. I mean, money may not be able to buy you happiness, but it can get you to the Caribbean, where you can escape the cesspool of life’s headaches. (Personally, I’ve always found that a pina colada sipped while lying on the beach next to a babe has me beating on nirvana’s door.) But I digress. You can still be very happy without material things, you just can’t show off.

If I may be spiritual for a moment: I find that happiness is directly tied to gratitude. Everyday I give thanks that I have a car. Public transportation is a downer. A scruffy guy eyeing your breasts on your way to work can ruin your day, especially if you’re a man. I’m also thankful for Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Whenever I score free stuff, I’m happy. But, most of all, I’m thankful that I have a beautiful, fluffy kitty cat whose fur I can rub my face in.

Now here’s a tale of gratitude: Remember the man who didn’t have any shoes, then he met a man who didn’t have any feet and felt more grateful? But hey, even the guy with no feet is ahead of the game: He doesn’t have to clip his toenails, or worry about what shoes go with what outfit.

I find that there’s nothing worse than being around sad people. You tend to sneak a peak at your watch more often, all the while contemplating a clever excuse to get away. I have a friend who’s always complaining, telling me how bad his life is and how everyone hates him. He feels it’s impossible to be happy. Then he seeks my advice:

“You’re always up,” he says. “You’re always happy. How do you do it?”

I tell him, “There are so many things going wrong. I feel the world is against me. I think I’m a loser, and my life sucks. But then, I look at your life and I feel so much better! Hey, it works for me.

True happiness is harder to achieve because we greedy pigs always want more: A bigger house, more money, a fluffier cat…

We say, “Gimme what that guy has… and double it. Super size me, baby!”

Can’t we just be happy with what we have? The short answer is “No.” The longer answer is “No way.” My guess is that peer pressure is to blame. It started with the caveman. Thor came home with a Saber-Tooth tiger. Then, his neighbors one-upped him with a Wooly Mammoth, which threw the pressure back on Thor to bring home a Wooly Mammoth, too.

When life becomes a contest, everybody loses, which leads back to unhappiness. Look, we all want a Wooly Mammoth, but we shouldn’t we be able to be satisfied with a Saber Tooth tiger or even a chipped piece of flint?

I believe happiness is a choice, and we always have choices: Mild or hot. Stripes or plaid. Fox or CNN. Still, happiness takes effort. You really have to look on the bright side. For instance, when it’s raining, be happy that you don’t have to pay your illegal immigrant gardener to water your grass. You can now take that cash and buy a small (tall) Starbucks coffee and a muffin.

So, what’s the key to happiness? It’s taking the time to look at your life. If you look carefully, you’ll find you have everything you need to be happy. Most of us are not starving, as evidenced by all the chubby children running around with diabetes. These kids are happy because they can loaf around, listening to their IPODS, while their parents are happy because the kids are around to provide them with free tech support on the family computer.

You can find happiness in any situation. When it comes time to paying your bills, do it with a smile. If you don’t have the money in your account, hit up your parents to cover your broke butt. This is great because assisting others makes people happy, so you’re really helping your parents to be happier. Go ahead, take them for everything you can, because you care about their well-being.

The Chinese have a saying, which translated goes something like: When things are inevitable, you might as well enjoy them. Since living is inevitable why not enjoy it? When it’s all said and done and you’re sitting in your rocking chair in your diaper, you want to be able to say, “I did it all with a smile.”

Right now, I’m happy that I finally finished writing this garbage.

Reach Down To Reach Out

LaughSum2 — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 00:27:00 GMT

When it comes to volunteering I’m usually the first one to stand up and volunteer… others. It’s tough to be a volunteer, mainly because a volunteer is usually asked to do a job nobody else wants to do. I mean, let’s face it, it’s rare that you ever hear, “Would anyone like to volunteer to take a week off of work and go to the Bahamas and lay on the beach?” It’s usually something like “Okay, who wants to clean the toilets today?”

Volunteering helps you think on your feet. “So, who wants to take grandma to the grocery store?” You quickly think, “I can’t. I have to… have to… go… to… the… thing… the dog show. I got… tickets… a year ago.” Many of us are afraid to volunteer. What if something better is going on… like a baseball game or shopping spree. Do you really want to give up cracker jacks or a Macy’s sale to scrub graffiti off a highway wall. Anyway, that’s modern art with a statement. The world needs to know the Crips rule and Jenny is a slut.

Why is it so hard to volunteer? Is it the commitment? Is it apathy? No, the bottom line is we’re just selfish with our time. Why build a house for the homeless when there’s probably something good on TV… like “The Flavor of Love?” Besides, this is a, “What are you going to do for me world?” There’s just no incentive to volunteer… or is there?

There are benefits to volunteering. The joy of helping someone else. The good feeling you get deep inside. And, it’s a great excuse to get away from doing household chores. “I can’t fix the garbage disposal today, honey. I volunteered to help out at the church Casino Night. You don’t, by chance, have a couple bucks on ya?” Plus, when you’re standing before God and you hand him your list of accomplishments, you better have “soup kitchen” in there somewhere, or you could be looking at some time in Hell. And don’t try to pull a fast one, believe me, He’ll know if you embellish your résumé. He knows everything, even when you fake a shoulder injury to get out of jury duty. God wants people to volunteer. It lightens His load. It gives Him a little free time to get a massage or grab a smoke.

We never think about volunteering until something bad happens to us. Then, we’re like, “a little help here. Come on, you know I’d be there for you,” is your plea. But who you fooling, when it’s your turn, the old shoulder injury acts up again. I’m telling you, you’re missing out. There is a euphoria when helping others… and it’s better than mint chocolate chip ice cream or watching someone smack into a door they were supposed to pull and not push. Remember, what goes around, comes around. Last week, I got a flat tire, and I know it’s because I cheated on my taxes in ’91.

Look I know you work hard all week and it’s tough to reach down to reach out. Volunteering should be a part of your life like… like… brushing your teeth once a week.

I mean think of all the bad things you did in your life. Teasing the chubby girl in first grade. Lying to your parents about going to the library when you really met your high school sweetheart at the mall. And let’s not forget the under-age drinking. Yeah. And I’m just scratching the surface… and now my head. Time to make amends and clear your seedy past.

We have young men and women who volunteer for the Armed Services, putting their life in jeopardy to make the world a better place. Children sell lemonade for hurricane relief. We have people giving up their Saturdays to rescue stray animals off the streets so these impressionable creatures don’t pimp out their furry bodies for biscuits or get hooked on the catnip. (It’s never pretty watching someone’s pet throw it’s life away.) Kudos to all the helpers in the world.

Will society judge you if you refuse to volunteer? Nobody should make you do what you don’t want to do – that’s a wife’s job. Only you know what’s best for you. But to answer that question, of course we’ll judge you. Judging you gets you to volunteer so we won’t judge you. Look, I volunteered to write this article, so now it’s your turn to do something. Start out simple. You can begin with washing my car.

Politically Speaking

LaughSum2 — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 19:49:00 GMT

I always thought ultimate fighting was a brutal sport, that is, until I started following politics. In this game, nobody likes anybody. At least the fighters shake hands after they beat the hell out of each other. Politics is like an on-going Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump feud.

Why anyone would want to run for public office is beyond me. The scrutiny is relentless. One thing that would disqualify me is, well, my past. The press picks through that like a mother chimp grooming the bugs out of her baby monkey’s fur. They would find my history contains shoplifting, a bucket of gambling debts, spousal abuse where my wife kicked me to the curb, a fourth grade incident in which I lit an M-80 in the men’s room toilet, and a few nights with open-minded “ladies of the evening.” (Those evenings were not cheap.) For some reason, a night of debaucherous sex and Jell-O shooters slurped off your partner’s tummy… I just don’t think that would attract voters – at least not the women vote.

The moment I declared my intentions for running for congress, a pile of bones would pour from my closet like a rush of polluted water breaking through a New Orleans levee in a hurricane. Most of the time, a candidates downfall is the result of some seedy sex scandal. On the upside, if they would just look at my current state; they’d see that I’ve changed. I’m married, which means I have no sex life anymore. So I guess I got that going for me.

Why do people choose public office? The desire to make a difference, change the world, help the little man…, hold on, damn, now I can’t stop laughing. Why all of us wish it these noble reasons were the motivation, the truth is, it’s something more primitive. Say it ain’t so, Joe! I’m saying it. Through years of watching the news and reading the newspaper I’ve been able to contrive an Einstein-like mathematical formula to help understand the need to be a government official. It’s simply: politician equals power and greed squared.

The politician is known as a public servant, which is obviously a misnomer. The day a congressman comes over my house and weeds my flower bed, walks my dog, runs the kids to dance class, gets me a beer, feeds me grapes, and throws in a back massage then I’ll accept the label of “servant.” (Don’t get any ideas Barney Frank.)

These people are far from servants. They are rich beggars. The majority of their time isn’t spent on solving national problems like illegal immigration, healthcare, social security, alternative energy or, most importantly, getting the talent less Paris Hilton out of the limelight. No, their time is spent hobnobbing around the country on first class flights, staying in five star hotels, drinking top shelf booze and spending nights with high class hookers. Yeah, that’s right; money is all that gets raised. Instead of fixing the trade deficit, they’re sticking their corrupt-stained hands out and snatching campaign funds so they can win another term in office. Blue blood homeless bums living in great big homes… with servants. They know, without the money, they’re back to eating baby back ribs at Chili’s and being told their hour is up by some crack infested, street walker.

Yes, much time is spent on campaign financing, which might be best because it keeps them from convening and passing laws that slowly erode what minuscule rights we have left. Our government officials pick at our freedoms like a little girl at state fair pulling chunks off her fluffy wad of cotton candy. I say keep legislation out of it, if you want people to lose their rights and freedom, tell them to get married. I digress. Where was I? Oh right, politicians groveling for bucks. I say take the money out of politics and put it in my 401K.

Money is certainly important to get into office. Let’s face it, you need cash to bash. The more dollars you have the sleazier you can make your opposition look. If your opponent did cocaine when he was in college and you have a small budget you might only be able to take an ad out in a small town paper with a tiny headline that reads: “Snorting Headlines”

On the other hand, if you’ve been able to rake in some major dough from supporters, you can run sixty second TV commercials all over the country. While super imposing the head of your powdered nose paranoid opponent fumbling with a big word as an announcer with a deep, snarling voice chimes: “You want this man hoofing big fat rails in the oval office while Kim Jung IL points a missile at your city. Can we really trust a frat boy junky who so strung out he can’t even pronounce the word Hezbollah? This message approved by “Everybody who’s a Democrat.”

Could you imagine having to give speeches every day? Not me. Whenever I had to give an oral report in junior high school I was up all night throwing up and then spent the morning trying to convince my mother I couldn’t go to school because I had Polio and Scarlett Fever. It never worked and I had no choice to give my presentation while a dark, wet spot grew on the crotch of my pants in front of a giggling class.

With every politician, you know there’s always going to be some sort of sex scandal. Nothing off limits, prostitutes, teenage boys, cigars, it’s all fair game. If a politician isn’t cheating you, he’s probably cheating on his spouse, but he’s most likely doing a little of both. That’s how he spreads the wealth. But, a good sex scandal means publicity… and unlike the woman he’s with, the publicity is free.

I think my main hang-up would be taking a stance on a particular issue. The problem is; I want everyone to like me. If people were protesting something I supported, I would switch positions right then and there. I can’t stand to be hated. I hate it. I would try and flip-flop so much that nobody knew what I stood for. “I say raise taxes while were lowering them,” might be something I would put forth along with “I’m for gay marriage as long as the couple is straight.”

Something must be wrong with someone who wants to live their life under a microscope. What are you… an amoeba? No matter what you do, half the people think it’s right and the other half thinks it’s wrong and only half of these people votes. Politics, what a filthy way to spend your life. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The Romans will attest to that. Orgies were their downfall – but what a way to go. Talk about going out with a bang. Thank you folks, that’s my time. You’ve been a great audience. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and congressman. Drive safely. (I’m talking to you Ted Kennedy.)

Badge of Honor

LaughSum2 — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 21:54:00 GMT

I think it is normal to feel a little inferior about your disability. Many people who don’t have a disability have something (s) that causes them insecurity whether it be their looks, intelligence or their singing voice. Let’s face it, none of us are perfect. We all have shortcomings. However, I fear that many of us look at our disability and feel like we are not a whole person. That we’re unsure of how others may view us, especially in a negative, helpless light.

What many of us don’t realize is that a disability is a badge of honor. It shows the world that we have overcome adversity. That we don’t hide ourselves from the population. We contribute to society. Every day we out there fighting for a life -- a life that has not been easy on us. And we may not see it, but we are respected and admired by many. We set an example that life is what you make it.

Most of us probably don’t even think about our disability daily. It is what it is and we’ve learned to deal with it, making the best of our situation. And we go about our daily life overcoming obstacles but yet not imagining what an inspiration we are to others. And we are!

Do I like being disabled? No, by all means. But I am proud of the way I’ve handled the predicament. I am full of pride as I literally push through each day. And, in many places throughout my journey in life, I have given hope and inspiration to others. So, if you have a disability, hold your head high. It is a badge of honor.

Cell It Somewhere Else

LaughSum2 — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 20:01:00 GMT

There must be a lot of important people in the world. I know this because everyone has a cell phone and isn’t that little device the symbol of importance? I guess when you’re out in public you always need to be doing something or you could easily be labeled a loser. Talking on the cell phone lets people know you have a life. You know someone and that someone is willing to talk to you. You’re important.

Okay, I see you on your cell phone. Aren’t you the cool one? I’m sure it’s something really important, like wishing your grandmother happy birthday or making sure your kids have put down the crack pipe and now doing their homework. But, wait. Yes, I’m eavesdropping and it doesn’t sound important. “Well, right now I’m standing in front of the deli... Okay, now I’m by my car... I’m looking up... Can you hear me now?”

It’s now impossible to sit in a movie theater, store, or restaurant and not hear a cell phone go off. Some rings are abrupt and startling. Others, have cute little ditties that resemble a famous Broadway number. But, no matter what the ring setting is, one thing’s for sure: It’s always obnoxious. Hey, turn off your ringer! You’re violating my sound space. Besides, I never liked the soundtrack to “Les Miserables,” anyway.

And when you’re in your car, chatting to your secret lover about what Motel 6 to meet at, and you swerve into my lane, don’t worry about that, I can always drive on top of the median. Who am I to tell you who you can or can’t cut off? It’s obviously your world. Oh, and when I’m behind you and the light turns green... then yellow... then red... a few times... and you still haven’t moved because you’re on the cell phone inquiring about little Jen’s soccer practice... don’t worry about me, I have no place to go... except the hospital. Besides, the doctor assured me my grandfather should be able to hold on for a few more hours.

How about when someone behind you blurts out, “So, what are you doing?” Startled, you turn around and, having no idea who this person is, you begin to answer the question. “Oh, I was just... looking around and...” Suddenly, they shoot you a strange look and walk away. It’s only then you realize they’re chatting on their cell phone. Boy, do you feel stupid -- like that time you were in a restaurant and someone you’ve never seen before waves to you. Unsure, you cautiously wave back only to realize they were waving at the person behind you. You’re waving hand slowly drops to your head as you pretend to scratch it. You cell phone people are just “sneaky.”

My all time favorite is the wannabe who walks around public places hoping someone will hear his conversation. “Yeah, I don’t know what I’m doing tonight? Probably go out to the movies, or a play, or maybe to the Laker’s game. It all depends.” Yeah, it depends if you hit the lotto. Lower your booming voice, dude. Who you trying to fool? We know damn well what you’ll be doing tonight, big fella: Sitting in your run-down apartment, by yourself, in the dark, looking up sleazy web sites while you wait for your cell phone to ring. Case solved.

Let’s help enlighten you loud, lame talkers. Nobody cares about your plans. Keep your conversations to yourself. I always doubt there’s anyone on the other end, anyhow. Yeah, while you’re “celling it,” I’m not buying it. I’m sorry, I’m just not impressed. And the crazy thing is... I’m easily impressed. (I like those dogs that catch Frisbees.) Really, I don’t care about your “big” real estate deal you got “going down.” Nor do I believe it. If I were you, I’d quit talking on the cell phone and do something productive... like find a job, chatty boy.

Hey, come on, you don’t always have to be talking -- even if you’re a girl. Enjoy some quiet time. Take a breather. Fantasize about that person you just passed on the street. How can someone get to know you if you’re gabbing away on the phone? It’s highly unlikely I would like to know you but, somebody might, like those religious people who want you to join their church.

Okay, I understand if you’re a investment mogul, gambler, or a big-time agent, you got some calls to make and take. But the majority of us just ain’t no Warren Buffet, Pete Rose or Hollywood player. We’re just blue collar, 9 to 5 schleps living paycheck to paycheck with no health insurance. Incidentally, the average American carries $7,000.00 worth of debt. Can you say “cell phone bill?” Oh, you get free minutes? Well, good. Call your bill collectors back!

I will concede that there are times one must be on the cell phone. When you’re on the sidewalk and you see that homeless person approaching you... You damn well better hop on that phone. “Do I have any spare... what?” Your out is to point to the phone and whisper, “I can’t, I’m... on the phone right now. Long distance. It’s... Pete Rose.”

But I need it for emergencies. Yeah, right. An emergency being what? Trying to find out when the sale at Macy’s end? Trying to win Lollapalooza tickets off the radio? It’s all dribble, I say. Pure, unadulterated dribble! Well maybe, some late night, when your car breaks down on a lonely road and flesh-eating zombies are beating on your window you’ll realize what a real emergency is. You’ll grab your cell phone, dial the police, only to find your batteries dead ‘cause you spent the day talking to Cathy about what outfit to wear to the super market. By the way, you can never go wrong with teal.

The sad part of it all is, the cell phone has removed you from the world. Life is passing you by while you’re gibber-jabbering to some friend. FYI,, this friend will eventually rip you off, borrow money and never pay it back, or leave you waiting at the airport for a ride home. Trust me, a fall- out’s inevitable. (He or she will probably steal your cell phone and you won’t realize it till your stranded at the airport.) I’m telling you this cell phone is the work of the devil.

Maybe I’m just not important enough to carry a cell phone around. In reality, I think I just would rather not be contacted by anyone when I’m out squeezing produce or filling up my gas tank. “Okay, now it’s at three gallons, now four...” If you really need to talk, call me at home where I at least have a TV to distract me while you’re rattling on. “Touchdown! I’m sorry, what’d you say about your cancerous tumor?”

The Big Job Hunt

LaughSum2 — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 01:30:00 GMT

I am in the process of hunting for a job. The problem is I don’t have any experience in anything useful – unless petting a kitty cat is a sought after skill. I must accept the blame for this. Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to further my education or perhaps work part-time to keep up with the times. Yes, times have changed and they are changing more rapidly with new technology. Unfortunately, I’ve been left behind. Again, totally my fault.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been lounging around in life I’ve been following a dream of an entertainer/writer – usually working on my craft everyday. Since I have not made the big time and bills are piling up I am left to reinvent myself and search for new direction in my life. Without years of experience in a stable career, it’s tough to get hired. Throw in a disability and things aren’t looking too peachy.

Maybe it’s me but whenever I interview for a position I get this icky, eerie sense that my prospective employer doesn’t think I can handle the mustard… or the ketchup. (I relish the thought.) And perhaps, because of my disability, I’m rendered incapable of doing what the “normal” person can do. (I thought people with disabilities were thought of as geniuses, i.e. Stephen Hawkins.) I could be wrong about the feeling I get (you know, like when your girlfriend is cheating on you) but when people can’t look you in the eye something ain’t right.

What to do in life? Maybe I can sell something. The problem is, I’m not a good liar, like my girlfriend. I guess I can’t sell my body – that’s broken. I doubt it would rake in the dough, anyway. I’ll start with the vocational rehab peps and see where that takes me and continue to go on job interviews. My fear is I’ll be stuffed in a corner stuffing envelopes with no chance of advancement. (Although, I am I good licker.) If anyone knows of a good job, please let me know. I’m willing to start at the top and quickly work my way to the bottom. I’ll leave it at that.

But It's Our Story

LaughSum2 — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 20:24:00 GMT

I have a friend whose girlfriend gets jealous whenever he tells anyone his story about how he became disabled. The guy lost his leg in a car accident. (He later found it in a lost-and found box.) I kid. I wonder if a lot of people close to a disabled person get tired, annoyed or even jealous upon hearing their “story” over and over again. Personally, I’ve never encountered any negativity from people, but I do wonder if it does get old.

The thing is our story is sacred to us and everybody has a different one; The car accident. The diving blunder. Nerve damage. The head injury. The MS diagnosis. The list goes on. It is a defining point in our life, changing us forever. We are proud to tell others about out tragic experience and how we overcame adversity. We want to give inspiration, not jealousy.

In all honesty, I‘m tired of telling my story (spinal cord injury). It seems so long ago and frankly, it bores me. It doesn’t mean I don’t have pride in how far I’ve come since then, it’s just done, over with and life has gone on. However, when someone asks about it, I am more than willing to share my experiences. From the ambulance to the hospital through physical therapy all the way to independence, people are often curious about it. Hey, if it’s something that gives people hope, strength and thankfulness – all the better. We are here to fulfill each others lives by what we have encountered throughout our own journey and sharing it. Hopefully, the people around me will understand that and put up with my story of how I became disabled.

Why We Are Disabled

LaughSum2 — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 20:49:00 GMT

Some years ago a woman by the name of Betty Eadie wrote a book called “Embraced By The Light” about her near-death experience where she visited heaven and met God. The book gives some wonderful insight into why we are here and the purpose of life. I urge you to read it. According to her, before coming to this world we were all deficient in certain areas of our spiritual life. To “fix” this we were sent to this world (by our Creator) and given a plan that would teach us how we needed to be -- which is perfect in every way and closer to God. As spirits, we were very excited to come here and learn as much as we could to help us grow. Everybody’s plan is different and we are given what we need to achieve our purpose. So, some of us will be given more hardship than others. Why? There is no greater teacher than adversity. Through difficult times we learn humbleness, importance, patience, strength and most of all love. Curiously enough, this woman states many spirits enthusiastically embrace the chance to be disabled in this world because you learn so much more and grow faster. They (we) happily volunteer for this great opportunity to elevate their (our) spiritual life and become closer to God. In short, we are positioned to maximize our time here on earth. I believe most of us feel that our disability is not a coincidence. Things have happened to us for a reason. We all have trials and tribulation in life, some more than others. In the end it is all about what we learned, how we grew and who we loved. If having a disability has helped us to achieve these things, all the better. Nobody said life would be easy but we all have a plan and our disability is part of that purpose. If you realize this you can look at your disability as a blessing instead of a burden. Your rewards will be waiting for you.

Are Disabled People Attractive?

LaughSum2 — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 07:43:00 GMT

Wow, what a crazy question. I’m sorry but I couldn’t help but to ask it. I’ve often wondered how people see me. For the most part, I’ve been pretty lucky over the years with the whole dating thing. I can usually tell if someone is attracted to me or not. There have been times when I see a totally hot babe only to find she’s not interested in me. Of course you always wonder if it’s you she’s just not attracted to or if it’s the disability that turned her off. It’s not like she’s going to tell you. “Of course it’s not your disability, honey,” she says. “You’re just ugly.” Well thank God for that. I thought you were shallow.

I’ve also been out with my buddies and have been the one who gets the girl only to hear my friends state, “I gotta get me a wheelchair.” Yeah, I hate to say it but, the disability has also helped land me a chick or two. Not the same night, though. Maybe they think a disabled person can be trusted. Fools, I say, but I’ll take it. Use whatever you got, baby. I’ll take a sympathy date as long as she’s buying.

I’ve got to be honest with you… I’m not attracted to disabled people. I mean, come on, what if I dated another quad. Somebody’s gotta do the heavy lifting in the relationship. (I mean the moving and grooving in the sack.) It would just be too difficult to be with another quad. What would we do? Lay in bed smoking cigarettes, talking about how good it could’ve been? Bump and grind wheelchairs? Besides, by the time either of us got undressed it would be morning. I’m sorry, I think it’s best if I stay away from my own kind.

This, by no means, means that I think disabled people are unattractive. To each his or her own. I never really know how others view me. It’s probably not important. How cliché it might sound but what’s important is how I see myself. That’s who I have to live with. If I’m mean, rude or bitter I’m probably an ugly person. As for looks, we are what we are. Take it or leave it. Life will still go on.

So are disabled people attractive? Who knows? Who cares? There’s somebody for everybody out there. Yeah you might not get that hot babe or that gorgeous guy but, who knows, you might get something better; someone who loves you for who you are.

Act The Way You Want To Feel

LaughSum2 — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 19:20:00 GMT

Let’s face it, we’ve changed. We are not the same people we once were before we became disabled. Our disabled circumstances have changed us from the person we used to be. A lot of times it’s for the better. We understand life more. We deal with the challenges. We learn to be more patient. We have most likely become attuned to life’s trials and tribulations.

We long for what could be but accept the here and now. We understand our limitations and do our best to move forward. However, some people move in the opposite direction. They become bitter, depressed and turn on life. The disability has hardened their soul and sucked the life out of them.

How to change. It’s difficult to change from the inside out. I mean… you just can’t tell yourself you’re going to be happy. That might work for five minutes. The best way to change your attitude is through your behavior – the outside-in approach. If you don’t feel happy, act happy. If you don’t feel loving, act loving. In short, act the way you want to feel, not the way you feel. And yes, I am saying put up a façade around others. You’d be surprise how behavior can affect your attitude. Fight for your well-being.

No, it’s not wrong to feel bad, unhappy, sad, disappointed, depressed or any other detrimental emotions. It’s all part of life. It’s feeling these things ALL the time that’s the problem. People don’t want to be around someone who’s a downer. It gets old very quickly and they probably won’t be around you too long. Be upbeat! And when these people are surrounded by your positive energy they’ll be lifted up and in return you’ll be elevated. Hopefully over time and through your actions you’ll suppress unhealthy feelings and convince yourself that you are happy. You are loving. You are good. I know this may seem radical but why take the alternative? Even with a disability, you deserve the best for yourself.