Hugh Bastard!

I have super powers - super human strength, ability to fly (into a rage), I can even shoot a web (of lies) with my hands (on a keyboard).

But, much like my favorite super hero, Popeye, I need a catalyst to display these powers.

And my can of spinach is Hugh Jackman.

Stop it. Stop it right now. I hear you typing. I can feel it with my mind bullets.

"But Narm! Hugh Jackman is Wolverine!"

Bad Reader! Bad! I should rub your nose in the pile of crap that is Kate and Leopold.


Hugh Jackman is a goober - and I don't use that term lightly. He isn't a nerd. Being a nerd is excusable, if not useful. Nerds are full of useful knowledge and can fix my computer when I look up too much porn and get all those spyware things.

No, Hugh Jackman is a goober. He is the guy in high school that was into musicals. He is the guy that described all the cool sports like football and seal clubbing as "barbaric".

No, I'm not saying he is gay. I would never insult the gay community like that.

I'm not even saying he's British.

I'm just saying Hugh Jackman is a goober. And when I see him, I can't help but rip off my shirt and start throwing tanks. Don't be fooled by chest hair and Van Helsing - the mere sight of Hugh Jackman makes me breath fire and step on thousands of Japanese people.

Wait, Godzilla isn't a super hero. Mothra is.

Luckily for all of you who are getting concerned that I might throw a tank through your living room - my one weakness has already been discovered. The one thing that will stop me from popping off the "Sexiest Man Alive's" head like so many beer caps -

Isla Fisher.
I think I need to be alone for a few minutes.

N.A.R.M.

This time of year is confusing for me. Everyone keeps asking what my New Year's resolution will be and how I plan to make improvements in 2009.

But how do you improve perfection? Maybe calf implants but I think girls kind of dig me having a flaw - almost like a chink in my ridiculously sculpted armor. I'm like the Batman suit with nipples...oh wait.

But I decided that there was something I could do to make myself a better person - I could get involved with charity.

Everyone is always trying to save something; wales, gorillas, rain forests, time, money, the date - well I'm going to jump on that bandwagon.

It's time to save the mustache - that's why I am creating the National Association to Resurrect the Mustache (N.A.R.M.).

For thousands of years men have donned the mustache - gladly sacrificing their dignity and looks for the tradition of having terrible facial hair. Our fathers took up this cause with such furious passion that nary a picture from our childhood is void of the lip sweater.

But what of our generation? Take a moment to look to your left and right. How many mustaches did you see?

Shameful.

I'm not asking for a lot. I understand that times are tough and it is hard to spare anything right now. I'm only asking for two or three inches of face space a day to continue the tradition of looking like a huge pervert. If you can't afford (or grow) that, a few straggly threads of peach fuzz will show not only your support - but your dedication.

N.A.R.M. is going to be sweet. I'm thinking t-shirts and hats and meetings where someone keeps "minutes".

"Minutes" people!

But a mustache is more than a symbol - it is like the body's own little piece of charity -

it saves you the trouble of getting laid.

Would Ya Wednesday on Thursday....Christmas Edition (Sinners)

Bad news.

If you read this post Santa isn't going to bring you any gifts. This blog is a one way ticket to the "naughty" list.

Laaaaaaaaaaadies.

Anyways lets make this short and sweet - my family is going to show up in a few hours and I'm not sufficiently drunk enough to answer the, "When are you going to have some little ones running around at Christmas?"

Well, Aunt Matilda - based on simple math I'm sure I DO have a few little ones running around - but until I am notified by the courts there is no way they are coming to Christmas. Too illegite to quit, baby!

Back to the important stuff. Like sex and Christmas. We all know the rules to Would Ya Wednesday - I throw up two pictures and you tell me if you would (choose one of the following) A) Slide down their chimney. B) Unwrap their gift under the mistletoe. C) Have intercourse with them.

But use protection - you don't want any little ones running around next Christmas.

Yukon Cornelius - ladies you've been asking for a manly man. This dude licks axes (read that outloud perverts).

or

Clarice of giving Rudolph a red nose fame -

What? You guy's aren't into animals? You city folk just don't understand the finer things in life.

Down With Brown

I'm down with brown.

RS27 - please stop raising the roof - I don't mean Indian people.

I mean the color brown.

People are always talking about blue skies and green pastures - and brown gets shit.

In fact, brown doesn't even have the same rights as the other colors of the rainbow. I get why the rainbow doesn't have white or black in it - those two colors are the extremes of the color scale - but brown? No brown in the rainbow at all? Seems a little racist, Roy G. Biv.

But that isn't what burns my ass. What burns my ass is the color 'tan'.

Please explain to me the characteristics of tan that make it anything other than 'light brown'. If I were an extremely good looking alient and I came to you and said, "I have researched your culture and understand everything except for Brittney Spears being famous even though she is mediocre at singing, dancing and looking hot - oh and what 'tan' means."

You would say, "Tan is just like a light brown."

You can't say that about any other colors. You can't describe blue or red or green. Sorry, color-blind people, but this is why you aren't allowed to vote.

So when I am at the mall shopping for pants and the worker says, "Do you want them in black, or tan?" Don't be offended if I knock her out.

Because we all know that with my skin tone I need the khaki.

Would Ya Wednesday on Friday...Aged To Perfection

It's Friday! Time to stuff our faces with alcohol we can't afford and our crotches with people we just met.

We all know the rules - I throw up two celebrities and you tell me if you would throw down.

Oh but there's a twist.

This week - we're doing old people. Well, for some of you that isn't any different than a normal week, but for the rest of us we are retiring our morals and moving south to their nether-regions.

Before I ruin the mood by talking to much (ladies - take note) lets loosen our morals and drop our pants -

Harrison Ford of Star Wars and Indiana Jones fame

Jamie Lee Curtis of that ridiculously hot dance scene in True Lies fame - oh and other stuff too

Slash Is My Hero

Lady Friend, a vegetarian, watching me eat a plate of mussels - What do mussels taste like?

Me - A Guns'n'Roses guitar solo.

Lady Friend - That is what you said Christmas Ale tasted like.

Me - Exactly. Epic.

Lady Friend - You also compared taking off your shoes after a long day of work to a Guns'n'Roses guitar solo.

Me - They don't taste like that.


(BTW - I realize this post is weak sauce. I thought it was Friday all the way until I got to work and turned on my computer. So I'm pouting - and you are the one who suffers. Actually reading ANYTHING on here could be considered suffering but this post looks like something from Full House so it is even worse than normal.)

Dig In Your Santa Claws

I've been pretty harsh on you lady-types here on this little slice of heaven I call White-Collar Redneck. Sometimes you girls just get me all riled up and the only thing that helps the intense burning and itching feeling is to get a big tube of Sarcasm and apply generously. I know sometimes my cutting wit and skilled tongue can be taken the wrong way - so I guess I owe you an apology.

I'm sorry for pointing out the obvious.

Really! I am! Would this face lie to you?

Only to get in your pants.

But thats what the roofies are for! And the compliments - but seriously that shirt looks great on you.

Even with my harsh words - you know I love ya.  I'm not so naive as to think you aren't important and that life could go on without you.  In fact, I was just thinking about how lost I would be if it weren't for women!  I guess what I'm trying to say is that...

...I really need help wrapping all these presents.  

Random Thoughts 12/16/08

Why is it that no matter what I do to my white t-shirts - they always shrink and get super short. Is there some sort of crazy technology that doesn't effect the width of a shirt and only the length? And why have we not applied this to mini skirts? It would help transform a respectable girl into a slutty with nice and easy baby steps.

Can I get a final ruling on the word, "murse"? Is it a male nurse or a man purse? Both are equally funny and I find myself staring at the ceiling in bed wondering, hoping and wishing for a resolution to this problem.

I can't roll my r's - which is fine because I have about as good a chance of learning another language as Marissa Miller does having me return her phone calls. But what if I was some little Mexican kid and I couldn't roll my r's? What then? Do they just get shunned from their families and labeled a disgrace? Is it like rednecks that can't drop the g on ing sound?

G.I. Joe told me that knowing is half the battle. That seems like a disproportionate percentage. I love pie charts and all; but 50% of the battle towards "knowing"? You can have your 50% "knowing" and I'll take 50% "huge guns" and we'll see who wins.

You Best Be Douching

In my high school and college days, back when Nickelback was named Creed, I put my rugged good looks and piercing eyes to use by having a few radio shows.  I realize that my face being on the radio is just a waste of a good beard, but I did my best to keep the kids entertained.

In high school my talents were relegated mostly to weather reports and high school sports scores (unless you are a girl reading this - then I was a local sports hero and homecoming king).  It wasn't until I joined forces with the University of Toledo's campus status, WXUT, that I got what everyone feared - full control over what went on the air.  

Part of my responsibilities at WXUT (well the ones that I actually did) were to review new music that came in - this includes commercial albums and local drivel.  One day the following morsel was delivered to our office - and became the opening and closing track of my show for the next two years (just barely edging out Seal's "Kiss From A Rose".  Anything I could write would not do this song justice, so without further adieu - please enjoy Chick Boyd's "You Best Be Douching".

If Chick Boyd is out there, still playing that drum machine like it is a beautiful woman - then I hope I am fulfilling your legacy by bringing this song back to light.  

Would Ya Wednesday on Friday...Jailbird Edition

It's time for everyone's favorite gaaaaaaaame -

Would Ya Wednesday! This time on Friday...the Jailbird edition.

I realize that jump suits are hard to get handsy in - and that horizontal stripes aren't very flattering - but lets take a look at some normal "definate do's" and see how we feel after they've been locked in The Slammer.

Scared straight? Maybe in my pants - HEY-O!

For those of you who don't know the rules - grow up. I throw up two celebrity pictures and you tell me if you would have a conjugal visit with them or not. This time, however - it is if you would be their cell mate IN the picture below - not just overall.

Heather Locklear of being my girlfriend fame -

Hugh Grant of terrible chick flick fame -

I'm Wiped

When I started this blog, many people assumed that I had some shred of dignity; an ounce of shame that I would grip like Tom Cruise to the closet door.

Then I revealed a few of my Secrets.

What started with women's deodorant is now turning to baby products.

Wet wipes to be exact.

Wet wipes are the mint on the pillow of a good bowel movement.

A pack of wet wipes in the bathroom says, "Those aren't my shoes that are squeaking, Old Chap."

And yet, so many people leave my bathroom with a confused look, asking, "What the hell are the wet wipes for?"

Well, Mudbutt, they are to make my cheeks look like Mr. Clean's head. If I want to throw a wet nap down my crack like my butt just had a bucket of chicken wings - then stay out of my biz-nass. (Oh NOW I get what Ludacris meant.)

If you are like me and shop at the greatest store in the world, Aldi, then your toilet paper is like a 4 yr old trying to eat his vegetables - it falls apart at the slightest hint of trouble and mostly just moves things around. Add a wet wipe to the mix and suddenly your ass feels like it is staying at the Ritz.

I understand it is a big jiump. Most people aren't prepared to just set that box of wet wipes on the back of their john and display to the world that they have a clean butt. All I'm saying is wait till late at night, lock the doors, put on some smooth jazz and let the velvety caress of that bath tissue take you places you've never been before.

You'll thank me later.

And if you suddenly get that "new car smell" I apologize - I just farted.

Top 5 Awesome Things My Dad Says...

Let me preface this by saying that my old man is not overly redneck. He is an accountant by day and farmer by night - like a superhero who fights hunger and tax audits. But, to be honest, I am probably a bigger redneck than he is. He is smart and enjoys things like wine and traveling and shirts that don't have pearl buttons - unlike his son who like Busch Light and watching things blow-up. That being said, growing up where I did and working on a farm his whole life he has inherited some amazing phrases that I think need to be shared with the world. So here they are, the Top 5 Awesome Things My Dad Says -

5 - Two hours. Everything can be done in two hours. Hoe a 160 acre field that has more button weeds than this sentence does redneck references? Two hours. Nevermind ten hours later I’m knee deep in mosquitoes and blisters – it should have taken two hours. I’m fairly confident if you asked my Dad how long he’s been alive he would answer two hours.

4 - Shit-ton. As in – my Dad has a shit-ton of awesome sayings. Shit-ton is by far my favorite. I use it a shit-ton. You know that riddle “What weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead?” And the answer is they both weigh a pound? Well when it comes to shit you can throw that out of the window. A pound of shit actually weighs more than anything else in the world – because no one is going to lift that shit. It’s science. I would rather lift a box full of Wanda Sykes than a box full of shit. A shit-ton is a country system of measurement – like the redneck answer to the metric system.

3 - Piss-ass. As in – if you weren’t “piss-assin’” around all day maybe you would have all that hoeing done. As in - quit “piss-assin’” around and get a job. I’m not really sure when “piss-assin’” became a term for hurry up but I think we can all agree it was one of the top five most important days ever.

2 - Cat’s Ass. As in – I used to have trouble keeping the weeds out of my fields, but since I've had kids it's become the 'cat's ass'! Apparently a cat’s ass has some sort of evolutionary development that makes it much more efficient than a normal ass. Is there some sort of surgery I can have to get a cat’s ass? I want to be part of this magical ass party. Then I could be all like, “Hey Brad Pitt – you might have money and hot girlfriends and good looks but check out my cat ass!” Oh he’d be jealous.

1 - Raped Ape. As in – when I caught all you kids drinking in the basement there were kids running out of here faster than a ‘raped ape’. I don’t have much experience in raping apes (like 3 or 4 TOPS) so I am not sure on the exact speed at which they run – but it must be fast. Can you imagine if Godzilla raped King Kong and he just TOOK OFF? We’re talking like three tons of gorillas just flying down the streets of New York. I’m glad I live in a city where we don’t have to worry about giant monsters piss-assin’ around in the streets

Office Toy

I am ridiculously important. I type things and do the email and sometimes say things like "call of business", "integrated" and "cream AND sugar?".

With all this responsibility I have to have a vast array of tools at my fingertips. But all the staplers in the world can't compare to the most important piece of equipment - my office toy.

No, I don't mean that cute girl that sits three offices over - grow up, Reader. HR is reading this and they want to have a "talk" about your "behavior" involving "respect issues" and they don't approve of you saying, "that's not a Swingline in my pocket".

Currently, my office toy is one of those big binder clips. It isn't overly exciting but fits the needs of looking important while still being loud and annoying to co-workers - which, coincidentally, is my role in the office.

Past office toys have included - broken headphones, a Livestrong bracelet, a Gumby bendable action figure (not a doll) and one of those stress balls that looked exactly like a rock so I could throw to people and they would freak out that it was really heavy and then when they realized it was just foam would look really stupid.

But for every successful office toy there are mounds of failed objects. There was that highlighter back in June that always seemed to end up making my nose look really important and no one can forget the "Hole Punch Incident of '06". I guess office toys are a lot like bloggers, they are all over the office and very few of them work.

What is your office toy?

Would Ya Wednesday on Friday

What better way to celebrate a Friday than to unfairly judge celebrities and point out their every flaw?

Thats right, it's time for WOULD YA WEDNESDAY ON FRIDAY!

*crowd noise*

Side note - crowd noise was edited in during production - the original crowd was bored at best.

I would tell you the rules - but I don't make rules I break them. I also ride motorcycles and use hair gel...laaaaaadies.

Below are two pictures - you tell me if you would point your privates in their direction and sail their vast seas.

And awaaaaaaay weeeee goooooooo!

Kari Byron of Mythbusters fame

Keanu Reeves of bad acting fame

Fun With Pie Charts

I'm busier than Gary Busey at a crazy buffet today - so instead of insightful commentary - you are stuck with a Narm original pie chart.

For A Good Time Call...

I am a fairly sensitive guy. I can sympathize when a girl needs to touch up her makeup or is cold or doesn't understand that I am 25 years old so you can quit waiting for me to stop thinking farts are funny. I have no problem sitting through a chick flick or getting dressed up to go out to eat some night - I get that.

But if you stop me making good time I will murder you till you are dead.

There is no single action on earf more important than making good time. Toledo to Cleveland takes an hour and a half? Fuck you, I'll do it in an hour. Then I'll talk about it - because it's awesome.

I am fairly certain God created sports so that guys would have something to talk about other than that one time they made good time. In fact, that is why college football still has the BCS and won't go to a playoff - it gives the fellas something to talk about that doesn't result in murder.

I would go so far as to say the only reason NOT to sacrifice everything in your power to make good time is to defend the thermostat.

Remember, fellas - that thermostat is yours and you must defend it with your life. Girls have their "dignity" and "morals" and we have the thermostat and wet dreams.

We win.

Know what makes good time? White knuckles and AC/DC cassette tapes.

No what makes bad time? Rest stops and "I Kissed a Girl".

Although if you let me watch the kissing part I think I could still have a good time.