Viewing posts from May 2015

Thinning The Herd

SUVreporterThere are few things on this planet dumber than human beings. The most advanced creatures in the history of our world have created writing, speech, pyramids, whole civilizations, flying machines, robots that land on planets and asteroids, medicines to conquer the most heinous diseases, math, coffee, heart transplants, indoor plumbing, skyscrapers, chocolate. For all these great achievements of genius, there is a balance that Nature requires. We call that balance “idiots.” Some prefer “morons” or “dolts,” but since neither one is more insulting, the choice is yours as they all weigh the same.

HotCoffeeI don’t dislike idiots. If everyone on Earth was a genius, what fun would that be? We need our idiots if for no other reason than to keep our comedians and comedy writers employed. While we all have our occasional lapses that qualify us for a day pass to IdiotLand, it’s the permanent residents there who are the real scary ones. They unwittingly blend their stupidity with their utter lack of common sense, then end up in the news much to their own surprise. Like the woman who spilled hot coffee in her lap, then sued McDonald’s for millions of dollars and won because she didn’t know the hot coffee was hot. Sometimes idiots have flashes of clarity that last just long enough for them to hire good lawyers before returning to oblivion. They’re still idiots. Just rich ones.

Tammy.jpgPeople who rob banks often live in IdiotLand. In this age of Big Brother hi-def surveillance cameras, they’ll cleverly hide their identities by wearing a baseball cap of their favorite team and a t-shirt of where they work while on parole. Some advice for those who aspire to a life of crime: invest in yourself. Buy a freakin’ ski mask and a plain t-shirt. And don’t buy them from Felons’ Clothing Mart. It is not owned by the guy who now hosts The Tonight Show.

Former IdiotLand residents have some truly tragic stories. Like drivers who try to beat trains through the crossings. This mindset was so rampant in Los Angeles that at one point the city had to put up billboards at each crossing stating, “In a tie with a train, you lose.” Apparently, these people somehow misinterpreted the lowered crossing barriers, loudly clanging bell and flashing red lights as a signal that all was clear. Thinning the herd is not always clean fun.

DoNotEatOur species’ supreme stupidity doesn’t stop there. Oh no. My personal favorites are product warning labels. These exist because some moron abused a product in a way that no one in their right (or left) mind would ever think of doing. For example, a container of motor oil warns against anyone drinking it. The mere fallacy of placing such a warning on the container is that 1) it assumes the person can read, 2) that such a person would even think of looking on the container to see if it’s something that shouldn’t be consumed and, 3) if they don’t realize something is terribly wrong the instant the motor oil hits their tongue and they keep on drinking, you may as well wait til after dinner to call the Poison Control Center. The outcome won’t change.

Which brings us to suppositories which now carry the alert “Do not take orally.” The only reasons that an idiot would eat a suppository is because a) he didn’t read the instructions, and b) the opening where it’s supposed to be inserted is already blocked by their own head, which no doubt explains why they couldn’t read the instructions.

warningTo provide a service to my readers, here are some warning labels to look out for even though they are yet to be. Like the ones previously mentioned, these will only exist if the residents of IdiotLand don’t take heed (they won’t):

1) Do not use this fork to remove debris from eye.

2) Do not use soldering iron to clear nasal passages.

3) Warning: if all traffic is coming toward you, one of you is driving on the wrong side of the interstate.

4) Do not use hedge trimmer for slicing meat or cutting hair.

5) Clean rectal thermometer after each use.

6) Butter: do not wipe on bottom of shoes.

7) If bridge has washed away, find another route.

8) Do not point nail gun at face. If a nail goes through eye, do not use fork to remove nail (see Warning #1).

Bottom line: don’t want to be humiliated on the news or Youtube? Don’t be an idiot!

Til next Tuesday…

Don’t Drill, Baby, Don’t Drill

DentalPainBeing a dentist is one of those occupations that I’m glad other people like to do so that I don’t have to. I can’t imagine making a career out of putting my fingers into other peoples’ mouths, especially those adults who haven’t brushed their teeth since they were kids. And as for the bad breath that dentists have to deal with, why do you think they wear masks? Dentistry is not as bad as proctology, another occupation I’m glad I wasn’t destined for. My mask of choice for that job would be a welder’s helmet.

Nobody likes going to the dentist. It’s easy to see why. Do the math:

Dentist = pain + suffering

But it’s not just the pain and suffering. It’s the sound of that drill. You can hear it right now, can’t you? Once that high-speed whine enters your brain you can’t erase it. It’s a mental tattoo like that haunting sound from “Psycho” right before Norman Bates kills somebody. It stays with you. Nothing else on Earth makes a sound like a dentist’s drill. It’s like nails on a blackboard (for those of you who actually remember blackboards before they became green boards and then white boards that just give out a pitiful squeak when you write on them).

My uncle was our family dentist when I was a kid. The waiting room was maybe twelve feet from “the chair,” a phrase, btw, that not only strikes fear in the hearts of the most hardened criminal, but in kids sitting in a dentist’s waiting room as well, for only slightly different reasons. And if you’re a kid who happens to be on Death Row, this would have to rank as the second worse day of your life. Few things are scarier to a kid than hearing the sound of teeth being drilled. My brother and I would sit in our uncle’s waiting room terrified because we could hear the drilling of every patient ahead of us. If only we could’ve had some orange-flavored, animal-shaped children’s Xanax.

digital_xrayNow that I’m an adult other things scare me about going to the dentist. When I had my semi-annual dental check-up last week (or is it bi-annual? I always get those two mixed up), the verdict came back that I have one cracked filling for which I have to return next week. I’m underjoyed. I also need a new set of x-rays. X-rays scare me. First of all, the name is frightening. “X-rays.”  It’s not like they have a real scientific-sounding name like lasers or gamma rays. X-rays sound like something you’d hear in a crappy 1950s sci-fi movie.

“Where’s Frank?”

“He’s that pile of goo you just stepped in.”

“Oh, my god! What happened?”

“X-rays.”

“I knew those darn x-rays were going to be trouble.”

“It’s terrible.”

“’Terrible?’ It’s a disaster! I just bought these shoes!”

RadiationSo here you are going to your doctor because you’re not feeling well. Your doctor’s stumped. He wants you to have x-rays. So you get them. Then you go to your dentist because your teeth are falling out, and what’s the first thing he wants? X-rays. Do these guys ever talk to each other? Do you think they realize that maybe other doctors want you to have x-rays, too? Do they ever stop to realize that maybe, just maybe, all this exposure to x-rays is why you’re not feeling well and why your teeth are falling out? Or maybe this is why you’re spending so much time at their offices? Never mind. I think I just answered my own question.

radiationshieldWhat adds to my apprehension about having another chance to be blasted by radiation is that doctors don’t take the x-rays anymore. X-ray technicians do. Nothing against the techs, but why don’t doctors do it? They used to. So why not now? What do they know that we and the x-ray technicians don’t? Time was that doctors would stand in the same room with you and push a button. Over and done. No big deal. We felt safe. The doctor was right there with us. Then suddenly they were gone, hiding behind a bank vault-thick wall looking at you through four inches of glass talking to you through a Burger King drive-thru intercom.

When my dentist wanted me to have a new set of “pictures,” the technician made me wear a 50-pound lead vest on my chest which I’m convinced was part body protector and part insurance against my running away. What my dentist failed to consider is that if the x-rays destroy my brain, protecting my torso isn’t going to do me any good.

bribeThere’s really only one way to save yourself in a situation like this. Next time you need to get x-rays, bribe the technician to dig into your folder, and give you the last good set of pictures that was taken. Then go home, Photoshop the present date onto the file and put them away. It’s amazing how quickly you’ll feel better.

It’s How We Roll …or Don’t

wheelhistoryNobody knows how old the wheel is or who invented it, a man or a woman. If a man invented it, he’d take all the credit. If a woman invented it, the guy would still take all the credit. Regardless, the wheel is the greatest invention of all time. Whether or not the first wheel was ever found, I don’t know. I do know that by now it doesn’t really matter because it’s probably out of warranty anyway. So here we have the greatest invention ever created and nobody knows for sure how it came to be. My theory, and this is just a theory now, is that one day a man or woman was sitting under a tree and a wheel fell on their head. It’s just a theory, but as of yet, no one has proven me wrong. If people believed Isaac Newton’s B.S. apple story, they may as well believe this.

The wheel is simply the most influential, and most almost-perfect creation. Everywhere we’ve adapted the wheel to make our lives better, it has never let us down. Ever. In the entire history of the universe. Never. Until recently.

ShoppingCartThe other day I’m in the supermarket. I grab the last cart available and check my phone for my shopping list. I take two steps and the right front wheel goes into a grand mal seizure. We haven’t even hit the hard floor yet and this thing is shaking harder than Jack Nicholson getting electroshock therapy in “…Cuckoo’s Nest.” To top it off, the wheel chatter is announcing to the world that I’m the guy who ended up with the cart that nobody else wanted.

I look around. No other carts are available and there’s no sign of the cart retrieval guy. I pull out my cellphone and search Yelp. No listings for shopping cart whisperers. I push on.

Battling my way to the produce section, I’m suddenly forced to a dead stop. Something has halted what little forward progress I’ve made, but I can’t see what. I back up and go around the obstacle. Half a watermelon seed. Not even a full watermelon seed. Half a watermelon seed. It’s not exactly time for “Stop ‘n Shop, we’ve got a problem,” but still, a watermelon seed? The manager should have put cones around it.

cartwheelShopping carts have been around for decades and this is the best we can do. We’ve put roving vehicles on planets millions of miles from Earth. Their batteries last years longer than expected. They gather specimens and analyze their contents from every location they travel to over uncharted alien soil. They send all that information, plus video, back over those same millions of miles of space right on target at the JPL Lab in Pasadena, California. I’m in a supermarket a mile from my home and I can’t get to the croutons.

For about four bucks you can buy two brand new shopping cart wheels on Amazon. That’s right. Four dollars. A new cart costs anywhere from about $70 on up, so figuring maybe 10 minutes to take the old wheel off and put the new one on at an auto mechanic’s rate of $125/hour, you essentially have a brand new cart for about $25. Six carts can be repaired in 60 minutes. That’s $150 an hour. I may start a business.

I don’t expect a shopping cart to be a Hum-Vee or anything other than what it is. All I ask is that it carry my groceries around the store and to my car without a fight and in silence so that I can get my shopping done before the food reaches its expiration date and before I reach mine.

Big Stupid Houses

RichMy cousin is a pretty wealthy guy. About a year ago, he and his wife moved from their old new mansion to a newer new one about a mile away in a more prestigious zip code. Not sure what reason other than the better address caused them to move, but I suspect it had something to do with the “old” town prohibiting them from building a moat.

I never saw the old mansion. But I did see the new one. Huge doesn’t do it justice. Neither does gigantic, colossal, or un-f’ing-believable. Take for example the kitchen. He doesn’t have just one island.  Oh, no. He’s got two.  And those two islands?  They’re real islands.  Indigenous people live on them.  There are rivers, wild animals, a king and a queen. And an airport. I have unofficially dubbed them the Kitchen Islands.

privateislandShould you ever decide to visit them, you can easily island hop. The ferry runs every half-hour. It’s a big house.

Before my cousins’ house, the biggest house I ever saw was when I was living in Los Angeles. TV producer Aaron Spelling caused quite a stir when he built his 50,000+ square foot townhouse. I call it a townhouse because it’s as big as a town, but it’s a house. In this case, maybe housetown better differentiates between where he and his family lived and the condo community where I rent. Spelling, his wife and their daughter “all” lived there. 50,000+ square feet. Three people. Don’t strain your brain. I did the math. That’s 16,666 square feet per person. They had a bowling alley (probably two) and a room just for wrapping gifts. I bought a roll of wrapping paper two years ago. I’m still using it.

So the question becomes “how big a house do you really need?” Not 50,000+ square feet. I don’t understand the logic of having a home that big. For a place with that many rooms, the cable bill alone would kill you. Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t want a home that you can see with the naked eye from the moon. It’s overkill. And what if I threw a party? What if I drank too much and had to be driven to my room?

islandyachtThe smart move for my cousins would be to downsize to something much more practical, much smaller and cozy. Like a decommissioned aircraft carrier. They say there’s nothing like traveling the world with 6000 of your closest friends.

I have much simpler tastes. I’m going to move somewhere tropical and away from civilization. Maybe the Kitchen Islands. I could live a life of leisure there. They have maid service. And if I ever decided to come home, they also have an airport.

Website Design by Chroma Sites