Sunday, April 24, 2011

Why do all dogs hate the mailman?

My dogs are...idiots. One is deaf and the other is stupid, so neither listen to me. But they're total marshmallows. The least vicious pit-mixes you've ever met. They just want to be loved. A combined total of 140 LBS of lap dogs.

About 3 years ago, my house was robbed while I was at work. I was traumatized, but the dogs were fine. I'm sure they thought whoever was breaking in was here to bring them treats. But if you're on my front porch, they HATE you. As long as you're not in the house, it's pit bull mohawk time. Barking and frothing at the mouth. Once one foot is in the door, they just want to sniff your butt.

While guests are greeted with teeth and loudness, the one person that's most hated is the mailman. Both dogs freak out when they see the blue-suited mail carrier wander up to the mailbox. I keep meaning to leave a not apologizing for their behavior on the porch. I'm not alone on this one. Every other dog owner I know claims that the mailman is the most hated by even the most docile dogs.

So, what happens when your dog can't see the mailman? How do they chase/menace government employees if they're blind? Apparently, a guide goose is the way to go. Totally not kidding.

Maybe, I can get one of the rats living in my back yard to teach my dogs to sit. Hmm, probably not.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Being unemployed sucks.

Not so much due to the lack of dough, but really due to the utter boredom. I've been out of a job since 3/24/2011, and I can't reorganize my sock drawer enough times, or suck up any more Law & Order on TV. I could probably paint some stuff to sell. I could volunteer. But that requires effort. Blargh.

So, the hundreds of applications I've sent out have gone unanswered. So far. And I'm thinking I need to lower my standards: drop from CareerBuilder to Craigslist. Double-blargh.

I wonder where this guy is posting? I'd be down for some time travel. Have gun, willing to relocate.

Honey Badger

Very informative. If you don't know, then now you know.

What are you drinking?

Or more specifically, "who?" Several documentaries over the last 10 years or so have exposed the fact that most of the food we consume can be tied back to only 4 or 5 major companies, and is ultimately WAY over processed (read: "more disgusting than advertised"). Notably, Food Inc, Fast Food Nation, and Super Size Me exposed a lot of what goes on in the food industry.

But what about the beverage industry? We (well, mostly Americans) slug Diet Coke like it's water, pound down bottled water with reckless abandon, and drink things called "juice" that don't actually contain anything mildly resembling fruit. Where does it come from?

This info graphic (click link for a large version) reveals who's manufacturing your sipping supplies.

This roller coaster is killer!

No, really. By slowly, gracefully, and euphorically depriving your brain of oxygen, the design by Julijonas Urbonas (Bless us Lugens!) is designed to "humanely" euthanize the rider.

Don't expect this one at your local Six Flags, but I do predict a surge of amusement parks popping up next to prisons.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Load up your basket

It's time for Easter again. Spring cotton dresses, chocolate bunnies, that green "Easter grass" stuff that gets absolutely everywhere, and colored eggs hidden in the yard. And the best part about Easter: Peeps! Oh, and some stuff about Jesus.

Peeps, while delicious on their own, are also fun. My brother, when he was little, used to call them "Chicken Sugar." An apt description for the Spring snack. One of my favorite activities this time of year is "Peep Wars": put 2 Peeps on a plate, facing each other, arm each of them with a toothpick, and toss them in the microwave on high for a minute. The one that doesn't explode, wins.

But the Washington Post has found a more productive use for Peeps: the Annual Peep Diorama Contest. In which, people use Peeps to depict famous scenes and people. Enjoy!

The way to a man's heart... definitely through his stomach. (Well, and other regions slightly south of there.) Clearly, the way to *my* heart is through my cholesterol.

Step-by-step instructions on how to make bacon roses, sure to win over any Baconista. And absolve you of just about anything you could have conceivably done wrong.