And I believe there's a way to shut the things you don't need out

Talking on the phone to Mr M:

Me: How are you?

Mr M: I'm happy.

Me: Good. Why are you so happy?

Mr M: 'Cause I'm eating a cookie and talking to you.


It's the simple things, you know?

I want to lay my heavy head tonight on a bed of Califoria stars

I spent last weekend in Santa Monica. I usually try to send my kids postcards when I go on trips like that. Here's the one I sent to Togers:



I'm not sure if this makes me the best dad in the world, or the worst. I am, however, certain that it's one or the other - there can be no middle ground.

Candy, candy, candy oh I love you so

This is something that I posted a few years ago, but someone reminded me of it yesterday, and I think it's funny enough to warrant re-posting. But first, here's a relevant picture that always makes me laugh.



I decided a long time ago that I would make the world's worst pedophile. Why? Because I'd eat all the candy, and wouldn't have anything left to lure the kids into the van.

When I told that to a friend he added another reason: Even if I got a kid into the van, I'd probably just sit there and wait for the kid to make the first move.

At the time, my friend said, "I can picture this perfectly. [Minnow] sitting in a van, a kid in the passenger's seat, [Minnow] sitting there thinking, 'Come on, touch my hand. Please touch my hand.'"

All I need is one sandwich and I'm set all day for making crumbs

Friend 1: Thank you for all your help this weekend. Would you like for me to make you a sandwich to eat on the road?

Me: Thank you. That'd be great, but you don't have to make it for me. I'll do it myself.

Friend 1: Are you sure?

Me: I'm a big boy. I think I can handle it.


A few minutes later:

Me: That's right, bitches, I'm taking the last of the turkey.

Friend 2: You're such an asshole.

Me: I might be, but at least I'm the asshole who's got the rest of the turkey.

Hey, I don't wanna break down why I'm feeling so lonely when you're around

I was walking across campus today when I saw a friend of mine.

Her: Where are you going?

Me: Lunch. Want to come?

Her Friend (who I've never met): Are you going to buy food for us?

Me: The only way I'm buying you food is if you put out.


Got to make a good first impression, you know?

Well I tried my best to make her listen

Yesterday my sister sent me this picture in a text message along with the words "now you know."



I wrote back: I'm gonna need the address.

What? I could use the practice.

See the fallen snow

A friend and I left Vegas on Sunday afternoon to go snowshoeing in Death Valley. Our original plan was to leave "noonish" which turned into about 3:30 p.m. Despite our late start, we got to Death Valley while it was still light out.





But not for long.



We were able to find a place to park the molester van and sleep for the night that wasn't too far from the trail head, so we were able to start out at first light.

The charcoal kilns at the parking lot looked pretty cool. They used those to produce charcoal that was later used in the smelting process for some of the old mines in the area.


I signed in at the trail head.


We were well on our way by mid-morning.




We even had to use ice axes in a few places


Unfortunately, I am an old man, so this was as close to Telescope Peak as I would get.


This was about five miles in, and I was already beat. I knew that if I attempted to summit that I wouldn't be able to make it down off the mountain, so I told my friend to go ahead and I'd wait. He said he'd be back in about 3 1/2 hours. This is him on the way out.


I spent my time listening to my ipod and doing this:


His estimate of returning in 3 1/2 hours turned out to be more than ambitious. I started to get nervous when nearly 5 hours* had passed and I still hadn't seen him coming back down the ridge. I decided that I'd wait another 45 minutes, and if I still hadn't seen him then I'd try to call for help. Fifteen minutes later I saw him coming back down the trail.


An hour or so after that he made it back to where I'd been resting up for the return trip. From that point on it was a race with the sun, but we still took some time to admire the scenery.


Here's me overlooking Badwater.


We made it down the mountain and back to the road by dark, and just had to snowshoe the last mile and a half to the molester van using our headlamps. We made it to the molester van at about 9:30 p.m., and got back home at about 1 a.m. That made getting up at 6:30 this morning to get ready to teach a little difficult, but I made it alright. I'm glad we went. It was a good trip.







*The worst part about waiting that long for him to come back wasn't that I was contemplating calling search and rescue, or that I probably have brain cancer from sitting that long in close proximity to a radio tower that was on the summit where I was waiting. No, the worst part was that he had the toilet paper with him, and once peristalsis would no longer be denied, I found an answer to a question that no man should be faced with: How many snowballs** does it take to clean ones bunghole after dropping dooce in a snowbank?

**Eight

Supreme

I just ate a double decker taco supreme from Taco Bell whilst standing over the sink so that I wouldn't have to wash any dishes.

Ladies, are you sure you don't want some of this?

This charming man, why pamper life's complexity?

Friend: Why did you buy so many boxes of Girl Scout cookies?

Me: They're not all for me. Some are for [Friend], and some are for [Hot Waitress] since she asked me to get a box for her.

Friend: You actually bought her some?

Me: Of course. How else am I going to get her to love me?

Friend: You could try being witty and charming.

Me: Pfffffft.

Friend: You're right. Better stick with the cookies.

An old friend calls and tells us where to meet

I was walking into a store the other day and saw a guy talking on a payphone outside. He looked just like this:



You stay classy, Shirtless Pay Phone Guy!

Got a spy glass a pencil and some paper

Last week I found a note under my windshield wiper that read: [Minnow], I'm watching you. Marry me?

This week I found this "note":



Next week will probably end up with me being chloroformed and tied up in an attic* somewhere.

I might be okay with that.






*Houses in Vegas don't have basements.

Yeah I will take these old shoes to get to you

Mr M: Hi Dad. Thanks for the shoes you sent. You know those white ones?

Me: Yeah.

Mr M: They make me run really fast.

Me: That's cool. I thought you might say that. Did you think that purple swoosh on the side was cool?

Mr M: What purple swoosh?

Me: The thing right on the side of the shoes.

Mr M: You mean that blue thing?

Me: It's not blue, it's purple.

Mr M: No it's not. It's blue.

Me: It's purple. Are we going to have to send you back to Kindergarten so you can learn your colors?

Mr M: I know my colors, Dad. It's blue.

Me: Ask your mom what color it is.

Mr M: Ok. Mom, what color is this?

My Ex: Purplish.

Mr M: See? They're blue.


It's like talking to a Creationist.

She's got hands like a man's with hair on the back

I lost my Swiss Army key-chain knife a few weeks ago. To most of you this wouldn't be a big deal, but you see, it's how I trim my nails. Finger and toe. I also have crooked toes. Crooked toes and long toe nails are not a good combination for me because that's when a few of my toenails try to become ingrown. So last night I got a pedicure in an attempt to curb the ingrowingness of some of my toenails.

While getting my toes worked on, a tall women with enormous breasts walked in to get her nails done. Or so I thought. When "she" opened her mouth to tell the nail person what "she" wanted, it was a voice that was way too low to be a woman's. At that point I felt a little dirty for admiring "her" breasts. But who am I to judge? After all, I was in a nail salon getting a pedicure.

When I went up to the front counter to pay, the tranny looked at me and asked, "So what color did you get?"

"No color."

"You didn't opt for glittery nails? Or maybe something army green?"

"Nope."

"Did you like it?"

"I did."

"Isn't she amazing?"

"She is*. I'll probably have to come back on a more regular basis."

"I like a man who takes care of his feet."

"Not many do. Have a nice day."

Once again, I didn't get a number.








*The lady who gave me the pedicure was hot too - I couldn't help but think naughty things while she was massaging my feet.

A question of trust

Girl: So let me get this straight. He felt like it was his fault that happened, even though it was his wife that did it?

Me: Yeah.

Girl: Because his wife's actions are somehow his fault?

Me: Yeah.

Girl: How does that make sense?

Me: It's simple. Bitches can't be trusted to make their own decisions*.







*I thought I was being hilarious. I'm not sure she agreed.