2009 October » Wolsamnoraa's Blog

October 2009
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Big Savings At The Mall Of America

Oct 282009

This account of how I thwarted a terrorist plot to destroy the Mall of America was generated by voters just like you using my poll (located to the right). Feel free to vote for next time…

I was shopping at the fifth floor, east wing Gap Outlet in the Mall of America last year when I told my life partner that I was sick of shopping. She said we needed a break and suggested that we take a romantic ride on the Ferris wheel at one of the mall’s many fine amusement parks. I agreed due to the fact that it wasn’t shopping. As we waited in line, I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation between two bearded and toweled gentlemen standing in front of us. Their conversation sounded very Arabicish and hateful. I could tell something bad was about to go down due to the anti-Semitic tone, the angry amount of phlegm in their speech, and the mysteriously unmarked, black duffel one man was carrying. Their brownish skin was also of interest. As not to spoil the day shopping or come off as a racist profiler, I let my worries slide. After all, I hadn’t taken or heard Arabic since my bar mitzvah meaning there was a good chance my translation was flawed.

My life partner decided she didn’t ride “big rides” and decided to let me ride alone. I hopped on board a four-person gondola seated across from the men. All of the passengers were loaded on and the Ferris wheel began for the ride of my life. Unfortunately, my shopping sickness turned into motion sickness and I puked all over the Arabic men. These guys were pissed despite having the lucky fortune of having brought their own towels. They started shouting obscenities and making a ruckus as I tried my best to apologize in their native tongue. I may have misspoken and said some rather insulting things. Instead of saying, “I’m so sorry,” I literally vomited again.

Upon witnessing this disturbance, the ride conductor stopped the wheel and escorted us off. Mall security showed up just in time to assess the damage and realized that inside the mysterious black bag were a lot of explosives. The cops showed up after that. The men were arrested and sent to another mall ( probably in a more ghetto mall). I later heard on the Minnesotan local news that the men were plotting to destroy the mall to prove a point about the evils of corporate American Jews and their capitalistic thievery. I wish I would have known. Aiding them would have surely ended my day shopping.

Hand Puppets

Life Lessons, Story No Responses »

Oct 272009

He's only smiling because he wants to take your hand to a sick place. He's sick.

If there’s anything that I need to tell you it’s this: hand puppets are a disease. Not only do they scare the bejesus out of little kids and animals, they are gross. From the cheery sentiments of Mr. Roger’s, Daniel Tiger, to South Park’s, Mr. Hat, hand puppets are a sick attraction. Who wants to watch as a grown man or woman grotesquely shoves his or her hand or hands into the inner workings of the representation of a cute animal? Not me; I’d rather just have the real animal. In Lamb Chop’s case, I want to eat lamb; not watch Sherry Lewis stick her filthy mitts all up in it.

It is with the heaviest of hearts that I explain my angst, for it is a story in which I know all too well. This story is one of a small, 20-year-old boy who is curious about his body and eager to explore. He unknowingly took his pleasurable show-and-tell outdoors. His exploits were deemed deceitful and gross in the public’s eye. He became known as a masturbation artist, a shank scraper, a pee-board artist or dick wrestler, a ding donger, a jerk-off, a cock-a-rub-a-do, and a stay-at-home dad. He was terrorized by the ridicule. He escaped to his home. In a purge of suppressed memories, he remembered a time when, during his parents divorce, he was asked by his therapist to role play with hand puppets. These furry representations of his parents relived all of the pain he had wished to dismiss from his parents tumultuous relationship. The boy, now older, was distraught that his penis had become his makeshift hand puppet. Bereft of hope, he was only barely able to finish masturbating with his tears.

Hand puppets account for over six percent of hand accessories in the US and its crooked North American cousin, Canada. Hand puppets are half as cute and twice as deadly as hand puppies. Users beware: hand puppets are awful things. They are dreadful and weird. Please heed caution in your future encounters with these monsters or else you, yes you, might end up alone in your house masturbating.

How Fun It Was To Spend Time With The Indians

family 2 Responses »

Oct 262009

My Indian pals invented the game of monkey cruise trash toss

I’ve got a few friends that are Indians; dot Indians, not feather Indians because the department of corrections said they’re nearly extinct. Boy howdy, let me tell you, they are the most fun people in the world. That’s a good thing because they have over eight billion friends in their Now Network. They make me do all sorts of fun sh*t. We watch porn with our friends in them (they seem to know everybody). They are always saying in their thick, Indian accents, “Oh, I could watch this until I got bored then I would wait ten minutes and watch it again, good golly. She is so hot.” And then we watch them again. We eat a shit ton of spicy curry food. They catch their farts in pickle jars and make me smell them. I can’t stress enough how badly these people smell. They make spreadsheet software and I do my taxes. We talk about marketing deodorant in India and we laugh because it would never sell. Good times. No matter how much fun stuff we do, they always get the best deals. The Jews and the Indians always get the best deals and have the best times. I love you, JPa. Come home soon.

10 Reasons I Get Up In The Morning

10 Reasons, Animal, Hate, Tookie 2 Responses »

Oct 222009

: “Chop wood naked”

There is seldom a time when I just pop out of bed. The anticipation that most days will undoubtedly drag on with mindless chores and endless Charles In Charge reruns justifies at least a half dozen strikes of the snooze button. Some days, however, have potential to be the best damn days I’ve ever seen. When I was a kid, for example, I don’t think I was able to sleep a wink the night before Christmas and I’m a big, fat Jew. I just love something about those elves…I think it’s what landed me on the federal child sex offender list (talk about a reason to get up…all those little minors). Here is a list of ten other reasons that give me a rise in the morning:

10. Breakfast…Yeah, breakfast has it all and it’s absolutely worth getting up for. Not only is it the most important meal of the day, it’s the meal that keeps on giving. Typical breakfast fare (cereal, eggs, bacon, pizza, milk shakes) account for over ninety-two percent of my daily calorie intake. The other eight percent…cat food sandwiches.

9. Cat’s Hungry…Tookie’s my cat and he get’s hungry for breakfast, too. Unfortunately, in the animal kingdom there aren’t nice little cravings to remind you that you’re hungry. What Tookie has are urges (usually for flesh). He keeps what he kills, and today it’s Friskie’s. Some days I just wish he’d learn to sharpen his claws opening cans of cat food instead of my face. He’s a real cutie.

8. Internet Porn…It’s free of charge and as viscous as milk. Internet porn (or pornography for art) changes so often, if you see the same video twice in your lifetime, well sir, that’s amazing. The other thing that gets me jazzed before I get jizzed is that you never know when you’ll be hit with the urge to splurge. It’s usually when I’m at the mall or a day care. Thank God for the 3G network.

7. Court Date…(see above) Sucks. Don’t even get me started on the parole hearings…who the hell is up before 10 in the A.M? Lawyers, that’s what.

6. Vacation…It’s worth getting out of bed in tropical paradise when the hotel room is hotter than a jungle and it’s as humid as the ocean. Nothing says “seize the day and explore the world” like swatting at mosquitoes the size of small owls in your room.

5. Bachelor Party…Get up? I never went to bed. Besides, I can’t trust a bunch of dudes that get drunk, strip down to their dicks and ass, endlessly chant “chop wood naked”, and dance around an open fire pit. I couldn’t make this stuff up.

4. Halloween…It’s like a modern-day Christmas. Free candy…check. Ghosts and ghouls…check. Slutty girls dressed in nothing…check and check. Halloween Eve (or Hallow’s Eve Eve as the Christ lovers exult) is like waiting for your son to be born…so you can finally touch him (see above).

3. Election Day…It’s the only day I know of that I get to choose which minority I sympathize with the most without giving money, the blacks or the retards.

2. Beer…If I know I’m going to be drinking at any point during the day, you can bet your sweet, fat ass I’m waking up. Put it in my coffee!

-And Finally-

1. Work…I f*cking hate work. I f*cking hate it!

I'm Tough

Life Lessons, Story 2 Responses »

Oct 212009

Tough as snails.

I’m tough. Yeah, you heard me! I’m tough as bullet-proof bricks. I’m so tough that when I bend, I break…your nose. If I were a piece of lumber, I’d be a sixteen-foot long steel I-beam. I get most of my toughness from my parents. My father was tough. The skin on his face was sixty-eight percent rhinoceros hide and thirty-four percent barbed wire. Before my mother met my father, she bare-knuckle boxed grizzly bears at the circus freak show. She wasn’t even apart of the act, the bears just had a bad attitude. I was conceived during a gun fight in which everyone died, including my parents. My heart beat was so strong, I revived my mother and kept her alive for eleven months before deciding it was time to be born. I drank whiskey instead of breast milk. My first toy was machete that I used to shave. My bones are titanium just like the frames on my glasses. I eat light bulbs and piss blood. I’m so tough that I made a woman cry just by whispering my name. I once bit through a rattle snake using its own fangs. I don’t wear shoes in the snow and I don’t wipe my feet. I don’t need oxygen to live because I breathe souls. I Karate chop trees for fun. I’m so tough that when I die, I’ll have to be buried alive. You couldn’t even cremate me because my bones are flame resistant. Yeah, I’m tough alright…definitely tougher than you.

Go hear this audio at The Boy’s Club for Men.

Living Equals Spending

Animal, Life Lessons No Responses »

Oct 192009

There are two things you need to know about me. I like kittens and I have questions about Capitalism. There is something about furry little cats that really gets my motor running. You can see for yourself Kittens by kittens. The part about capitalism is a little less obvious. We can all agree that in capitalism, time is money. You’ve heard it before in movies and from your mom’s friend, Aunt Rita. This is where my grievance begins. To understand what “time is money” actually means and why it irks me, it’s imperative that you consider a short thought experiment that reflects real life.

It begins now…Say you’re an American and you’re born. (Congratulations! You’re now entitled to a percentage of the world’s wealth.) You have just become a burden on society and on your parents…I’m sure that they made the right ‘choice’. Well, what you don’t understand at that ripe age of five-minutes-old is that you cost money just to exist here. There are doctor bills and hospital bills before you’re even born. After delivery, you’ll need to eat and be clothed and live somewhere otherwise you’ll end up like some of those rotting dumpster babies that you’re not supposed to know about. The cost that you require to live increases dramatically as you age. You’ll need more food, bigger clothes, more stuff. It’s all free at first. For most people, you don’t start paying your way until you’re sixteen or twenty. All of the cash that you need to live is provided for you until your parents accept your state-declared adulthood. At that point, you’re supposed to go out and make it on your own.

Hopefully, you’ve learned some useful skills or have discovered a talent or a dream that you can use to your advantage. Hopefully, you’ve been prepared properly to take on the upcoming changes. This part of life gets chalked up to responsibility. If you fail to take responsibility for your survival, you’ll be labeled as a lazy free loader. This is the part I’m not quite sure about. What is the responsibility you’re taking on? In my opinion, you’re absolutely directly responsible for your survival because the system mandates it. If you don’t pay, you’ll end up like one of those dumpster babies that everyone is always talking about.

Indirectly, however, you’re responsible for maintaining the capitalistic norm. What will people think of the guy who just pursues personal interests with a total disregard for making money? Is he an artist? Nope…just a free loader and lazy. Your existence is expensive and if you’re not fitting the bill, you’re taking advantage of the system (specifically, advantage of other people). Even though your entire upbringing maintained that you would be taken care of by other people, you’re immediately expected to take on the expenses of your life.

I’m confused. Life is pleasant when it is spent doing the things that you love to do. As a member of the Capitalism Club, you’re not always welcome to do the things that you love. You’re expected to toil. It is often said that only the lucky few of us get to make a living doing what we really love to do. Your chances of being one of those lucky few are slim. The chances are so slim that most people don’t even try to live for their passion. And of the people who do, there is a great chance that they’ll fail. Capitalism dictates that you suck it up and do whatever you can to pay for you existence. It’s a cheap trick that has no morals. I don’t know that I’m prepared to accept it. Do I have a choice? Are there any other options that would make life seem less like a chore? What do you think?

Milking The Cat, Mom

Animal, Story, Tookie No Responses »

Oct 152009

Tippie NuNu was the neighbor’s cat. Tippie NuNu was an outdoor cat and was often seen retreating to the shade provided by my neighbor’s broke down, four-door jallopy. My neighbor was an idiot who lived with his mother. It was to my amazement that she let him keep that car in the drive for so long. Either way, Tippie NuNu would lie so that his hind quarters were hidden behind the back tire of the car. Tippie NuNu’s signature look was a thousand yard stare into oblivion. I never figured out what Tippie NuNu was gazing at, but I got the sense that there was no where else he’d rather be. I could tell because under Tippie’s squinting eyes was a smile that stretched from ear to ear as he radiated peace. Seeing that happy cat every day temporarily took the stress out of my life. Every once and a while I would see other cats come by to see Tippie NuNu. What’s strange is that usually cats don’t get along very well. They’re defensive and often fight for their territory. Not Tippie. He just sat there and grinned as the other cats would often join him in the shade.

After several unsuccessful attempts to fix his rust bucket of a car, my neighbor sold it to an Irishman. Tippie NuNu had nowhere to rest and suddenly days didn’t seem so great. Tippie NuNu would pace aimlessly for hours looking for the shade that my neighbor’s car often afforded him.

One day Tippie gave up and took refuge in the summer sun where the car used to be. Eventually, a strange cat wandered by and came to rest next to Tippie NuNu. As I watched Tippie NuNu and his feline friend, I noticed that the grin returned to Tippie’s face. I was suddenly startled to see that his friend was licking Tippie’s junk with such veracity that it caused Tippie NuNu to grin even wider and squint even harder. Using his sand paper tongue, the young, feline friend was attacking Tippie’s boy parts as violently as a cat would attack a scratching post or new furniture.

Just as I noticed Tippie’s kitty junk bleeding from over stimulation from his friend, my neighbor ran from out of his house waving a broom screaming back, “Mom, another one of them cats is back and he’s milking Tippie again! He’s milking the cat, mom!” It was a dark day for us all. Things never seemed as pleasant for Tippie as they did before my neighbor sold the jalopy. I guess you just do whatever creams your Twinkie. That was Tippie NuNu’s philosophy, anyway.

Get Back On That Horse

Animal, Driving Car, Food, Half-ass, Life Lessons, The Future, work 7 Responses »

Oct 132009

Two weeks have come and gone since my fall from grace. I quit my job, I started working out, and I’m drinking again. The cosmos have been set into motion and my universe has been chaotically shredded by the lawn-mower blades of fate. The baby step I took to reclaim my life turned into a stumble that left the virtual pages of WordPress blank. Aside from myself, the biggest losers in this mess have been all of those who look to these posts for motivation and an excuse to mock me. I apologize to all four of you. As for me, however, I made a mistake. While I’ll never regret getting out of that soul-stealing, slave mill I called a job, I regret my preparation for the next step in my life. My goals of becoming a comic/writer/chauvinist have fallen flat, but not for long. I made another step.

I ventured out. Money has been tight since I quit. In an attempt to save on automobile gas, I journeyed by foot to the stable to see my sweet ponies, Success and Virtue. Due to extremely long stretches of immobility indoors, my muscles and lungs had weakened and my tan had all but disappeared leaving my newly acquired bed sores exposed to the elements. Regardless, I found motivation and made my way to the street. I stepped out of my home only to feel my pasty skin bake from the torturous blazes of the autumn sun. My heart rate surged creating a gentle sweat which, while cooling my skin from the sun’s intensity, stung my open bed sores. The sunshine glistened off of my sweaty skin directly into my eyes. As a result of the glare, temporary blindness caused me to see eye-worms; glowing dots in my retinas creating stabbing pain and tears. The eye-worms took the form of Success and Virtue, the fore mentioned ponies I had started out to visit. In all but five minutes in the real world, I had no choice but to second guess my actions. I went back into my home.

Summoning the courage to leave my apartment after the solemn events I conjured, proved to be a difficult task. The heavy burden of taking on a new adventure was scary. Attempting to find my own Success and Virtue caused blinding pain from hot flashes and sweat. The real world’s sun is brutal. Its warming light shines down allowing us to forge a path toward our goals. However, the light can be intense and if a person is not prepared, his journey will be riddled with burn and eye-worms. Ironically, the only way to prepare him is to set him on his journey in the sun’s blazes encouraging each small step forward.

My journey has just begun and there are many steps to be taken. Although the latest action may have been a misstep, it wasn’t all bad. My tan is back and my muscles and lungs are strong again. The sores on my skin have healed (sans my genitalia…that’s right…Herpes). Unfortunately, in the time it took me to build up my tolerance of the real world, my ponies died. Oh well. Success and Virtue don’t always take the form you first expected. At least there will be enough meat to last through winter, thus saving money on grocery meats. Now, I just have to go out there and retrieve it. Ah, sh*t.

What Day Is It?

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