Lookin' out for me? - OR - Has it in for me? You be the judge.

No. I'll be the judge. Me thinks the big guy high in the sky has it out for me. I should lobby to get the DA to charge God with attempted manslaughter. I wish Nancy Grace would present my case, but here, I'll try my best. Now back to the courtroom (picture vintage side-eye from Nancy Grace from Closing Argument days).

Exhibit A.

The other morning I was in a cab. This car came barreling from behind and crashed into that wall. That's basically the view from my cab window. I was the first on the scene. I called 911. The driver - I don't know if he was drunk or not because I was in a hurry and couldn't stick around - was pulled from the fiery vehicle; a bloody mess, but alive. There was also this woman running around like a chicken with her head cut off screaming inscrutable end-of-the-world shit. She was stumbling around, howling at the proverbial moon. She wasn't in the car with him and I have no idea where she came from. Bizarre, but I think it was a completely separate incident. Watching her made me dizzy. Listening to her made me mad. I needed to silence her so that I could talk to the dispatcher. I should have slapped her and said, "Hey lady, I'm on the phone. STFU!" Everyone there should have lined up and taken their turn at slapping her like that scene in Airplane. I would have rather liked that. Anyway, after we left the scene my cab driver said, "You really done good mister. You done a really good job there." I looked directly into his eyes - well, in his rear view mirror - and solemnly nodded, thank you. The entire scene was definitely apocalyptic, and at that point I had a sinking suspicion the accident was more of a message. I was almost hit. No joke. Quite possibly paranoia, but wait there's more.

Exhibit B.

The other afternoon walking from the train down my street I stumbled into bedlam directly in front of my apartment. Barricading cop cars, bystanders abound, and then there was Barracuda, my downstairs neighbor, sitting on the stoop. It looked like he just woke from a long winter's nap. Like anyone would do, I asked him what happened. As he so eloquently put it, "I dunno." Gee thanks! The cops then said a tree branch fell. Well. I gathered that, but the devil is in the details. What REALLY happened? Was it struck by lightning? Was anybody hurt? Did the the tree leave a note saying who the fallen branch was really intended for? I had my suspicions and needed answers. This picture was taken from my fire escape directly in front of my bedroom window. Man. I parked my car in that very spot a 100 times until I sold it days before this incident.

Exhibit C.

After walking my dog past that very spot - right there by that very pole - not 30 seconds later this crash took place.  Again, I was the first on the scene. Granted this happened a little while back, but enough said. You can't help but be a doom and gloomer here. Ya just can't. Per Nancy, life is not all Lemon Pledge and roses! And I think she's right! I'm looking over my shoulder from here on out. I'll tell you that much. *crash bang boom slamma jamma*

Poppa Cherry

When you pop a cherry tomato directly from the fridge into your mouth more often than not there is a hint of farty flavor. I'm not kidding. Try it. You'll see what I mean. It's not just my fridge either. I've noticed it for years, in many apartments, in many cities, with many batches of cherry tomatoes. I just never before had the forum to discuss this phenomenon. Yet I still buy them, wash them, throw them in the fridge and pop them in my mouth. My mom always told me I was a glutton for punishment. I suppose that might be true. I think it may be the washing them and directly throwing them in the fridge part that may produce this unique produce flavor - an acquired taste.

(I thought this picture was oddly appropriate for this post. I took it at a bus stop on 5th Ave. It looks like she probably has some farty flavor. Or possibly just bad gas. Click on the pic and look closely. You can see me in Rachael Ray's side bang. Update: Dang it! I was hoping that if you Googled Rachael Ray's side bang, my post would come up. Oh well. Can't blame a guy for tryin'.)

Dontcha wish your CAPTCHA was hot like me?

How does everyone feel about these little CAPTCHA tests on various sites used to test and ensure you're a human responder? Two things. One, I find myself failing every once in a while; an impetus for impetuous concern that I may not in fact be human. Frankly, I just can't read the darn things. Swear! And two, I now look up a lot of the words used. Some sites use bona fide words. Some sites use bogus words. Some sites bamboozle me with a fusion of the two. Not sure which category this one falls in. Hmm.

Sea and Bee Scene

You know how I loves me a good play on words.  This one - the title of this post - came to me and I thought it was clever enough to share.

(His drawing inspired by this video equals pretty interesting.)

I'm a sucker for a good burger!

But not the movie Good Burger. I'm definitely not a sucker for Good Burger. In faaaact, I didn't even see it. What I'm talkin' 'bout is I was just sayin' those very words to someone and it just didn't sound right. I 'spose it's just my always adolescent gutter-mind trying to institute innuendo, as per usual. But really...I am a sucker for a good burger. With that said, I'm a sucker for a bad burger too - not at first knowing it was going to be a bad burger, and then having been suckered by the bad burger. Follow me? Try to pay attention now, ya hear? This is some tricky shizbiz. I guess I'm just an old softy for a burger. Good burger. Bad burger. Any burger. An old softy for a burger burger. I can has cheeeeeeeeeeeseburger? Now normally I would feel a bit uncomph being called old or softy or any - especially any - combo thereof, but not in this case. Anything for the beloved burger. I'd walk a mile for a vertical... burger? (Oh gosh, so sorry for that.) Wait. Does this post need a spin-off? Did somebody say Mister Softee? Don't even get me started.

(This pic is rather ridic!)

I love Lois

Meet Grace Zabriskie. She convincingly plays the conniving, calamitous hag, Lois, Bill's mother on HBO's Big Love. This woman's facial tics are simply prophetic; they really tell the story. Lois is the cat's pajamas, or quite possibly a cat in pajamas. See pic below. Scroll up and down and back again real quick-like. They look akin, right? 

(That cat could really be either her or Harvey. Your choice.)

Overheard: Harvey Keitel saying word fag.

Walking out of my dermatologist's office past The Odeon late the other afternoon I overheard a man say one distinct word: fag. Unfortunately I didn't witness the full context, but from the man's tone it seemed to have been meant derogatorily. No biggie, but was this person saying it to me? Couldn't be. No way. No how. So I nonchalantly turned to see who it was or if it was used in my direction, and well well well, why if it wasn't Harvey Keitel sitting at an outdoor table with two other male companions. From what I could gather (as I ever so politely eavesdropped), Harvs was talking about someone who wasn't present and calling him a fag. I walked over to the table, and said, "Excuse me Harvey, did I hear you say wanted to bum a fag, or were you just talking about a fag's bum?" *big wink* Just kidding. I didn't say that, but he really did.

(Doesn't that cat look like Harvey? It's name is Fag Puss. Google it.)

Observation

On television, why does the first sip of a fountain soda always sound like the gurgling air infused last slurp? Next time you see someone on TV with their fast food fountain sodie check it out. You'll see I'm right. Sluuuuuuurrrrrrrrp. 

Headline: Scientists Create Human Sperm in Lab

Big whoop. Am I missing something? Can't it be made anywhere by any guy? I've created it in some interesting places myself. Should I alert the news media? New headline: Man Produces Human Sperm in Own Sweat Sock

(Michael Jacskson creates human sperm in... Ooh. I don't like where this is going. Human? Sperm? Really? Highly doubt either.)

In Michael Jackson's world, Child Protective Services:

Prophylactics

(Yeah. I'm bad. I know it.)

Spicy Two Ways

Oftentimes I walk out of the bathroom thinking, "Now that's funny, I don't remember EATING anything that spicy?"