"Have You Ever Wondered: The Wrath of Khan"

Okay, folks... I've got a fresh new list of stupid stuff for you! And here it is!

1.) Have you ever been in a restaurant where the waiter is a smart-ass? So have I! I was in a Marie Calender's in Santa Cruz with my Uncle a couple of years ago, and the waiter starts heading over before I'm ready to make an order, so I quickly start looking at the menu, searching for something to get to eat. He asks, "So, what can I get you guys this evening?" and my Uncle orders the usual meal he gets and I respond with, "Uhh..." to which he responds, "Sorry, we're all outta 'Uhh's' at the moment..." It took me all that I had to stop myself from leaping up from the table and going WWE on this asshole, so I shot him a look that said, "I'm about to backhand you like you were an Ike Turner 'Keeping Your Pimp Hand Strong Dummy' in 1976!" I know that these dudes that do this shit are only trying to be funny, but they aren't. They aren't even "Pauly Shore" funny... you know, the kind of laugh you give a friend who's really drunk and won't shut up until you giggle at least one of his horrible jokes. So, to all you waiters out there that fit the bill for this rant... shut the fuck up and serve the food!

2.) The guys that drive around in their pick-up trucks with the tail-gate down irritate the ever-lovin' shit outta me! Look, man... you're not driving in the Baja 3000, alright?! If you think that by having your tail-gate down that you're saving gas, you're even more idiotic in those toothless sewer-dwellers that think that Elvis, Bruce Lee and Tupac are kickin' it in Cancun... and that's pretty fuckin' stupid. Last time I checked, it wasn't alright for me to drive around down the freeway with the doors off and the trunk open, but you can do this crap and get away with it? Why don't you just upgrade to a "Dukes of Hazzard" replica with the racist little Confederate flag on the roof and drive off a cliff... because the last thing I need to worry about is running into your tail-gate due to your laziness.

3.) This last one is something I've never understood, and although I'm a Veteran... I still don't get it. Why is it that when you retire as an Officer in the service, and you're being interviewed on television... why is your former rank displayed after your name? For example, here's how it goes:

Stone Phillips: "Here we have a most distinguished guest, Col. John D. So-And-So, USMC (Retired). "

Who the hell cares if this jag-off was an Officer? He isn't even in the service anymore! Does his former rank somehow mean that he's more educated, intelligent or interesting just because he sat at a desk for 30 years?! If that is how it works, I would like my former rank to be displayed after my name, too... Mr. Todd Neal Tobin, 7-11 Night Shift Clerk (Retired). That would be sweet! Look, if you want to have that displayed... cool. But don't think that for one minute you're more important than anyone else. You served your time in the Armed Forces with honor and distinction, and that should be all the recognition that you get. Last time I checked, you're not supposed to brag about that, especially if you're a "Officer and a Gentleman and/or woman".

I'm sure there are a few people that read my blog postings that may be thinking that I'm an angry person. In fact, I'm quite the opposite... it's just that we all see these things from time to time, and we never let it out. It builds and builds up inside and we end up doing something that we shouldn't, like hitting someone you love, or drinking too much and crashing a car. I've never done either, but I know a couple of people who have... and they get angry at everything, while I merely get irritated and then write about it. Everyone needs an outlet, and I'm no different... and if you laugh at what I write that means that you understand what I'm saying. And laughing is better than nothing...

Have a good weekend, everyone...

"The Real Difference..."

When I first attended college at AVC in Lancaster, California in 1998 I took an English class from a Teacher named Mr. Vaughn. Mr. Vaughn was a teacher that encouraged you to be creative with whatever subject you wrote papers on during your time in his class. The first subject that we were to write a paper on was "The Differences Between Men and Women". My mouth foamed over with rabid-dog froth at the chance to write something sarcastic... and I got my wish. While my classmates decided to tackle such daring and original topics as: Shopping & Eating Habits, Hygiene and Television Shows, I chose "Dance Clubs". The result was everyone in class voting my paper as their favorite because of the humor that is inherent to this topic. And here it goes:

When I was in the Navy, I was stationed on the USS Enterprise in Norfolk, VA which was only a short drive away from Virginia Beach, a place rife with Dance Clubs. My friends used to drag me to a club named "The Abyss", which is an 18-and-older club there. Being that I was 19 at the time, I was able to go in and see what a real club is like, since I'm from Lancaster, CA... the little-to-no-entertainment capital of the Pacific Southwest. After checking my Military ID, I was given an Ultra-Violet-Detectable stamp of an Elephant on my Right Hand (perfect for a Republican State... Oops, I meant "Commonwealth", sorry) and allowed inside. The stamp was placed there in order to denote my being too young to drink alcoholic beverages, but since I didn't drink at the time I saw it as a waste of time.

Once inside, I saw a large dance floor with two dance-cages for drunken co-eds affixed to the far corners of the second-story platforms above the dance floor. It was a Saturday night, and the club was packed with kids wearing white gloves and glow-sticks, dancing a dance of ecstasy-induced joy... and here I was with two friends that loved this place, and I didn't get it. I'm not a small-town boy or anything, I just can't stand "Dance Music"... I'm a Hiphop man myself. I went over to the bar on my left and got a Sprite that was just as over-priced as the other drinks they served and sat down on the bench seats that lined the right side of the dance floor.

I noticed that there is a constant that occurs in all of the clubs that I've been to since, from Santa Cruz, CA to Virginia Beach, VA... and that constant is this: Girls Who Dance In A Group. Women arrange themselves in a ball in the center of the dance floor, surrounded with guys trying to dance with them. The other common denominator is that the ugliest chicks are always on the outside, protecting their hotter-looking friends at the center, since "We came here together, and we're leaving together, dammit!" I found this phenomenon so interesting that I decided to go upstairs and get a birds-eye-view of this spectacle as it unfolded before me.

After I finally waded through the tidal wave of doped-up glow-stickers and got to the top of the stairs, what I saw blew my mind. I saw the very essence of human existence brought to life as if it were a bad Bohemian performance art piece... a circular shape of women with men trying to get in... just like that stupid film that you had to watch in High School Health class of a myriad of sperm attempting to fertilize an egg! Of course, many of the guys were unable to get past the outer wall of Linebacker-sized behemoths that protected the chewy center of this particular ever-lasting Gobstopper, but you've gotta admire the sheer chutzpah of these brave souls. in Hamlet it was said that there is nothing worse than a woman scorned... but Shakespeare never encountered a woman who, by merely hugging you, could snap your spine quicker than she snaps into a Slim-Jim everyday.

Add to all this fun a gay guy manning the bar named Percy from Mississippi who looked exactly like Elvis in '54 who was serving drinks... his Blood Alcohol Content was obviously higher than proof of the booze in the Pink Cosmo's he was serving to the ladies at the bar. He was loudly lisping a proclamation about how drunk he was, before falling down in a drunken heap, with the bouncer next to the bar continually propping him back up to serve more drinks... "This must have been what it was like to watch Keith Moon in his heyday", I thought to myself. I decided to go back downstairs and talk to my friend Dan, who had just showed up and mentioned to him what I had seen upstairs... he laughed for about ten seconds before running to the bathroom to throw up. Great, another person whose flatulence could start a Class 5 blaze... time to find my buddies and get the hell out of here before a fight broke out for no reason, as they often do in clubs.

Tim and Dave were mixed up in the throng of men that were vainly trying to overwhelm the estrogen-enhanced Defensive line when I finally found them. Dave, the oldest of us, was locked in hip-thrusting combat with one of the bruisers, and I had to pull him back, lest she step on him. Right on cue, two guys got in a fight by the bar over a spilled drink, and I told my friends that now would be a good time to leave... they agreed.

On the drive back over to the base, I started joking with the guys about the hypocrisy of male and female sexuality to cheer them up. I said, "Hey, have you guys ever noticed that whenever girls dance together at a bar or club it's sexy, but if I was dancing with Tim here, it would just be creepy?" Tim laughed his ass off, so I continued, "Hey, Tim... take me in those big, German arms and swing me around the dance floor like the little schoolgirl that you know I am on the inside!" Dave was telling me to cut it out, or he'd lose control of the car... so I kept going, "Oh come on, Dave... you know you want a piece of this too! Let out all that homoerotic Latin fury you keep inside and show me how to really salsa!" When Dave started swatting at me from the front seat, I realized that maybe I should stop.

When we got back to the apartment, Dave decided to start laughing... and asked me to repeat what I said to the other guys that were visiting the apartment at the time. They were a little drunk, but they laughed nonetheless... I guess that you could call that my first time doing impromptu stand-up for my friends.

That's pretty much it for this one, I have to go... and remember, going to the club is like 9th grade Health Class!