Nolan Ryan Looks Like A Turtle.

 

That's all.  You can go back to your lives now.

I want my quarters (fighting the machine).

My apartment complex's laundry room is pretty much awful.  On any given day, three or four washers or dryers will be broken, the change machine will be finicky at best and most likely empty, the whole place smells like the north end of a southbound Mexican immigrant, and it's full of those awful flying abominations that look like giant mosquitos.  I don't know if they actually suck one's blood like mosquitos, but damned if I'm going to let them have the chance.
After a great many heated arguments with the washers/dryers (I lost most of said arguments), I decided it best to give the machines' owners what for.  The exchange was as follows.

Me: 

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to request a refund in the amount of $1.25 due to the malfunctioning of your dryer at [my address] (Unit number PFD-886).  Having placed a reasonably small load of laundry into the dryer (perhaps it would have been a larger one were the washers not so godawful small), I inserted my money and returned later to find my clothes slightly warmer and moved around a bit, but still quite wet.  Being that the machine is known as a "dryer" and not a "clothing warmer and reorganizer" I had expected that my clothing would be dry.  The other dryers worked fine.  I have had problems with other dryers before but did not bother to report them, thinking that maybe God just hated me.  Due to my failure to report them I do not expect a refund for past occurrences, but with gas prices currently exceeding tolerable levels, I must ask that I be refunded my $1.25.  Also, I must ask that the money be mailed to me in quarters since the laundry facility's change machine only accepts dollar bills that have been hand-delivered in hermetically sealed cases straight from the U.S. Mint.  I would try ironing my bills to make them acceptable, but I do not own an iron.

Sincerely,

[Me]

Them: [sends check for $1.25]

Me:

To Whom It May Concern:

I recently submitted a refund request due to a faulty dryer in my apartment complex’s laundry area. The text thereof was as follows:

 [original email text]

I subsequently received a check for $1.25, which would be completely acceptable were it not for the indisputable fact that a check for $1.25 is not five United States quarter dollar coins.  With gas prices currently exceeding $3.50 per gallon, it would cost me more than $1.25 to drive to the bank and cash the check. I could walk, but it’s been rather hot outside lately so I would need to stop for a drink at some point, which would most likely cost more than $1.25.  Furthermore, it seems logical that since the dryer stole my money when it was in the form of quarters, it is only fair that the money be returned in the same form. Additionally, since no one can be bothered to refill the change machine in the laundry room, quarters are a rare commodity here nowadays. This makes me less inclined to consider non-quarter refunds to be acceptable. In light of the above, I must again ask that I be sent $1.25 in quarters as previously requested.  Upon receipt of said quarters, I will either A) place the check in a self-addressed stamped envelope (to be included with said quarters) and return it or B) destroy the check, whichever you prefer. If this form of reimbursement cannot be arranged, I’m afraid I will have to renege on my previous promise and demand refunds for past incidents so as to be compensated for the gasoline required to travel to my bank.  Thank you for your prompt response, I am sure this can be resolved soon.

Sincerely,

[Me]

Them:  

          Dear [Me],

We apologize for the inconvenience but it is not normally our policy to send cash.  You will have to talk to our customer service department.  The number is [number].

Sincerely,
Yolanda

Me: [demands larger refund, randomly selecting machines to report as faulty]
Them: [sends refund]
Me: [wins]

Whoopi Goldberg Soils Herself and There's a Phallus In That Puppet (commercials that make me feel ill)

So let's say you're an actress.  You've won an Oscar, a Tony, a Grammy, and some Golden Globes.  You're filthy stinking rich.  What kind of commercials do you sign on for?  If you're me, the only commercials you run are public service announcements reminding the general populace that you're awesome and they're not and that you've just purchased the country of Honduras for your own personal vacation spot so could everyone living there kindly get the hell out, please?

If you're Whoopi Goldberg, you casually announce that you've been pissing yourself of late.

For those of you who didn't bother watching it, the commercial consists of Whoopi dressed in various outfits discussing her tendency to wet herself.  She then tries to brush it off like it's nothing, saying that one in three women have the same issue.

Ok, so about 2/3 of American women are overweight and 1/3 are peeing themselves... I'm no mathematician but statistically speaking, you're all disgusting.

I can't begin to understand why Ms. Goldberg feels it's necessary to tell us about her bladder problems, but it does explain a strange anomaly on one of her old movie posters:

---

...And continuing in that vein, here's Jamie Lee Curtis reminding us that women need special yogurt to make them poop:

Those of you with weak stomachs probably didn't watch that, so in summary: two sacks of uterine filth are clucking about their holiday dinners and the younger one declares that she's constipated.  Her mother gleefully responds that she used to be plugged up too until she started eating the magical dairy Drano that Jamie Lee Curtis is hawking.  Is it just me or is Jamie Lee just a little too happy here?  Clearly this is not only gross, but a total sham.  Everyone knows women don't poop.

---

Moving along.  If this next one doesn't give you nightmares, you're probably Jeffrey Dahmer.

 

Again, a summary: some unsuspecting bloke wakes up to find that the horrible, horrible Burger King mascot is in bed with him.  But it's ok because the King gives him a sandwich.  They hang out and share a laugh and everything's great until their hands touch, most likely reminding them of the brutal sodomy inflicted by the King the night before. 

This commercial is the king of all horrors.  Enough said.

---

Every now and then, an ad comes along that has even me wondering if maybe living in a Tibetan monastery might be a preferable alternative to viewing any sort of media at all EVER.  This is one such ad.

To paraphrase the text on that ad for those of you who are so profoundly stupid as to not understand why this is so horrifying, there's more inside Doug the puppet than you would expect.  Apparently what's inside Doug is a flesh-colored object that has to be censored.  Yeah.  It's a... you know... well... a... umm... how to put this nicely...

Please don't make me go into more detail.

 The expression on Doug's face just makes it worse.  Is he ashamed?  Is he angry at the mystery man who (and this is why it's so horrible) must have reached his hand into Doug's body and found... that?

Suffice to say, I did not "click to expand for video."

Miller Lite is terrible.

 "Oh, look at this!  He's having a go at the light beers again!"
Yeah, yeah, I know.  As soon as they stop deserving it, I'll stop harping on them.

Have you ever tried Miller Lite? (That's lite, not light, mind you.  G's and H's are heavy.)
If you're scowling right now, the answer is probably yes.


"More taste or less taste?" they ask in their stomach-churning commercials, which employ the ever-so-subtle tactic of implying that if you drink a light beer other than theirs you must be a social pariah. 

Well, the simple answer to that is "Depends on what the taste is."  Let's say you're forced to eat a pile of cow dung.  More taste or less taste?  For the love of Horgh, less!

Miller Lite has "more taste" in the same way a rapist is "more affectionate."

I don't know how a beer that's so watered-down still manages to be so catastrophically awful.  It must have something to do with Satan.

The face of ultimate evil

 
Last time I drank a Miller Lite, my stomach went on strike for two months until I promised it a lobster and some Guiness.

And then there are the "vortex bottle" ads. 

If your beer's greatest appeal is that the bottle is designed to get the beer the hell out of there so you don't have to spend as much time tasting it, you've got a problem.  Might as well claim that it tastes better on the way back up from your stomach than the other beers (note: it doesn't).

In their defense, though, the watered-down taste isn't their fault.  The only reason Miller Lite is so watery is because every time a new batch is brewed IT MAKES GOD CRY.

Gatorade Coolers Threaten Strike

The NFL players and owners recently came to an agreement that both sides could be happy with, but there’s one group that isn’t happy: the Gatorade coolers. 

“We’ve been unhappy for a while now, and we had asked the NFL to put something in the new CBA to provide us with better working conditions, but what did we get?  Nothing!” says Frank the Gatorade Cooler, lead representative of the National Coalition of Athletic Beverage Dispensers.  The NCABD has been threatening to strike for months but held off in hopes that the NFL, one of its most important clients, would set an example to other sports organizations.  “We’ve always had a special relationship with the NFL.  Ever since the first time a team dumped one of us onto their coach after a Super Bowl win, we’ve been really close,” Frank reminisces.  “That’s why we were hoping they’d be the first to give us the treatment we deserve.” 

One might wonder why the NCABD would focus their resentment so strongly on a league that has had a mostly positive relationship with them.  “Honestly, the end result we were looking for was to get some leverage over Major League Baseball,” says one Gatorade cooler, speaking on condition of anonymity.  “We had hoped that if the NFL worked out a deal with us, MLB would be forced to follow suit.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, working a football game isn’t always a picnic.  My friend Al had to do four [Tennessee] Titans games last year and of course Kerry Collins got falling-down drunk before each game.  First time, he’s so trashed he thinks Al’s a urinal and pisses all over him.  Then the next two he lifts Al’s lid and spends the first quarter of the game puking into him.  That’s just [expletive] gross.  But that’s nothing compared to baseball,” he laments, rotating his lid back in forth in what can probably be considered the equivalent of shaking one’s head.

Gatorade coolers have indeed had a hard time of it in baseball.  San Francisco Giants fans recently witnessed closer Brian Wilson having a meltdown wherein he threw, punched, and hit a cooler with a bat.  2009 saw pitcher Carlos Zambrano taking a bat to a Gatorade dispenser in a Wrigley Field dugout after being ejected from a game.  The dispenser pressed charges, and Carlos was found guilty and sentenced to three more years of playing for the Cubs.  Zambrano appealed the sentence on the grounds that it was “cruel and unusual.”  His appeal was denied, but the presiding judge informed Carlos that if he behaved himself he’d be allowed to retire before the 2012 season.

These overt displays of hostility against Gatorade dispensers are just the tip of the iceberg, says Terry, a cooler who has been in the business for over 15 years.  “Yeah, you get thrown around a bit when a player gets ejected or is mad about something, and you’ll be sore for a week afterwards, but it’s the humiliation that’s the worst.  Players don’t respect us.  We’re always props in their little jokes, like that time when Derek Jeter told [Yankees pitcher C.C.] Sabathia that I was a giant burrito.  That fat son of a bitch took three huge bites out of me before he realized he’d been had.  Oh, and they all laughed about that one.  Jerks.” 

C.C. Sabathia after the "burrito" incident

  There have also been accusations of discrimination against dispensers in baseball.  Another anonymous source tells of a time he was disciplined for possessing contraband beverages when working a game in St. Louis a few years back.  “Yeah, apparently the batboy took a few drinks out of me and got sick, so they suspended me because they said I brought booze into the ballpark.  Everyone saw Scott Spezio pour half a bottle of vodka in me during the first inning.  But who ends up taking the fall?  The guys in orange.  Every time.”

Having been snubbed by the NFL, NCABD reps will vote Tuesday on whether or not to strike.  “We feel we’ve been reasonable up until this point,” says Frank the Gatorade Cooler.  “We thought we could count on the NFL to repay us for everything we’ve done.  Maybe after the next Super Bowl when we’re not there and the winning coach gets a huge urn of hot coffee dumped on him instead, someone will finally appreciate us.”

Give Us a Sign, O Lord!

Here we have the local alternative school for halfwits, dropouts, pregnant teens, the behaviorally disordered, and those who can't be bothered to slog through the ever-so-difficult tribulations of a typical high school curriculum.  It's only fitting, then, that they receive the proper accolades for going a few semesters without soiling themselves or trying to sell meth to the teachers.  Here is an excerpt from the commencement speech given between bong hits by the principal at the graduation ceremony:

Congratulations, "graduates," on all the hard "work" you put in here at our "school."  Here are your "diplomas."  You've "earned" them.  We wish you the best of luck in your "careers."
As janitors.

---

Click to enlarge atrocity.

Some people are capable of correctly placing apostrophes.  Your'e not.  The poor bastards even trademarked this foul-up.
Seriously, though, you'd think that a company who can afford such a snazzy sign with such stylish iron-on decals would hold themselves to a higher standard.

---

I realize this post was rather brief, so here's Adam West reminding you that you can click "Follow" (edit: it now says "join this site") in the "People who love me" box on the top right of the page and apparently you'll get some sort of notification when I update.  I don't know how it works.  I hate technology.  Also there are a bunch of buttons at the bottom of the post that can be employed to make other people read this via stupid social networking sites.

Look at this picture and pretend he's saying that last paragraph you just read.

What Girls Want and How Vanilla Ice Rocks a Mic: The Bold Claims of Popular Musicians

Through the years, popular musicians have made some pretty brash statements.  Some--like the Beatles' "I am the walrus"--are easily dismissed.  None of the Beatles were walruses.

Others like Billy Currington's claim that he's "pretty good at drinkin' beer" seem quite believable.  However, there are many that occupy the middle ground between obvious fact and obvious fiction.  Today we'll explore some musicians and their bold claims, deciding once and for all whether or not they're true.

---

Statement:
"I rock a mic like a vandal."

"Artist"/Song:
Vanilla Ice/Ice Ice Baby

Pertinent Info: 
Thought most lyric resources use a lowercase V, it seems more likely that Mr. Ice intended it to be interpreted as "Vandal", not "vandal."  The Vandals were a group of people best known for sacking Rome around the year 455 and stealing large amounts of women and valuables.  Vanilla Ice was best known for sacking Queen's "Under Pressure" around the year 1990 and stealing its music, gaining in the process large amounts of women and valuables.

And stylish haircuts.

The Verdict: 
Mr. Ice is right on with this one.  If the Vandals were still around and took to rocking mics, they'd do it like Ice.

---

Statement:
"[I'd] steal the sun from the sky for you."

"Artist"/Song:
Bon Jovi/I'll Be There For You

Pertinent Info: 
It's an indisputable fact that Jon Bon Jovi has never done anything worthwhile.

His rendition of "Swan Lake" sucked.

Bearing that in mind, it's already rather implausible that he'd do something so difficult as stealing the sun, but for the sake of argument we've compiled some more scientific evidence for you.
The sun is (contrary to popular belief) not just a shiny ball that hangs around way up high and can be grabbed and stuffed into one's pocket given an appropriately tall ladder.  For starters, it's about 1.496×10^8 km from the Earth (get a bigger ladder, Jon).  Furthermore, it's a giant ball of burning gas.  Its surface temperature is around 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit.  Even if Mr. Bon Jovi were to travel to the Sun with intentions of stealing it he'd be burned to death before he got there, which regrettably has yet to happen.

The Verdict:
Impossible.  Besides, stealing is illegal.  Shame on you, JBJ.

---

Statement:
"Girls just want to have fun."

"Artist"/Song:
Cyndi Lauper/Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Pertinent Info:
It seems at first that Ms. Lauper is trying to do the men of the world a huge favor by explaining what women want.

Not this.

However, we're being scientific here, so rather than take her word for it, we conducted some research.  We interviewed some women and asked them what they really want.  Though a few did say "to have fun," the answers ranged from "I'm thirty five and I'm still not married! Is that too much to ask? [hysterical sobbing]" to "It'd be nice if you'd leave the goddamn toilet seat down for once" to the more popular "Not you, that's for sure!"
After extensively studying the survey results, we concluded that the things women want are:
* Babies
* Attention
* Money (or shiny things that cost money)
* Marriage

The Verdict: 
This one's false.  Check the list.  Fun isn't on there.  Unless, of course, you call marriage "fun."

This guy doesn't.

---

Statement:
"You can't touch this."

"Artist"/Song:
MC Hammer/U Can't Touch This

Pertinent Info: 
The first thing we need to determine is what Mr. Hammer means by "this."  The song addresses this issue by saying "this is a beat you can't touch."  One could argue that Hammer simply spelled "beet" wrong and wants everyone to leave his vegetables the hell alone, but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt and go with "beat."  "Beat" is defined as "a stroke, blow, throb, or pulsation."  While being told that we can't touch Hammer's throb or pulsation is just fine with us, we must realize that literally speaking those are abstract nouns not concrete objects and thus cannot be physically touched.

The Verdict: 
He's right.  We can't touch it.

Nor do we want to.

---

Statement:
"Bitches ain't shit but hos and tricks."

"Artist"/Song:
Dr. Dre (and a bunch of other people)/Bitches Ain't Shit

Pertinent Info:  
We don't have a very extensive rap music vocabulary here but it would seem that despite the glaringly obvious spelling errors found in this song's lyrics, Dr. Dre is implying that women are primarily composed of garden tools and breakfast cereals.

Women.

In supplement to what we learned when researching for the Cyndi Lauper song, we decided to contact a few doctors on the subject of women.  After lengthy interviews we discovered that physiologically, women contain many of the same substances as men: blood, ligaments, bones, etc.  They also contain other mysterious ingredients such as "ovaries" and "feelings" (whatever those are). It should be noted that we contacted actual medical doctors with actual degrees.  Conversely, Dr. Dre was unable to provide us with proof that he has in fact received a doctorate degree from an institute of higher learning.

"Imakill U isn't a real school?  Damn!"

The Verdict: 
Not even close.   While women do occasionally contain Trix (via eating them), it's not a major part of their bodily composition.  Neither have they been known to contain hoes, rakes, or similar tools.  For someone who fancies himself a doctor, Mr. Dre has a lot to learn about human biology.

---

Statement:
"I'm a cowboy."

"Artist"/Song:
Bon Jovi/Wanted Dead or Alive

Pertinent Info: 
No.  You're not.

The Verdict: 
I hate you.

Die.