As the long Thanksgiving holiday comes to an end, I want to share a few of my observations from the last few days. (You may have a few of your own observations, but please don't share them with me.)
1. Stuffing is one of the tastiest foods in the history of food, and my stomach is apparently capable of holding about 17 pounds of it.
2. The PETA folks should take a chill pill and just try a little bite of turkey. I think they'd really like it! After all, if God doesn't want us to eat animals, why did He make turkeys with lots of juicy, delicious, nutritious white meat? And why did He make bacon-flavored pigs? Hmmm?
3. Caffeine is much cheaper than hiring a gardener. After consuming a pot of strong coffee and a 5-hour Energy Shot within a 2-hour period on Saturday, I eagerly raked every leaf on 2 1/4 acres. Then I pruned 36 trees and painted the house. (Okay, I was just kidding about painting the house.)
4. After consuming a pot of strong coffee and a 5-hour Energy Shot, a 50-year-old man is capable of sprinting 100 yards to the restroom in under 5.2 seconds.
5. This is actually more of a prediction than an observation, but I have a gut feeling that when the guys at Madera Waste Disposal pick up our trash on Wednesday, they're going to be pretty pissed about the 43 bags of leaves.
6. Getting motivated for the first workout after Thanksgiving was perhaps the most difficult task I've ever attempted--even harder than my 5.2-second sprint to the restroom.
HE HAS STRANGE POWERS
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Don't Thank "Da Pilgrimz" for Thanksgiving
In honor of Thanksgiving, The Amazing Markimus proudly presents the following column, which was originally published in 2000.
Our nation will soon observe one of the most beloved, anticipated, important days of the year. But before our nation observes Super Bowl Sunday, it will observe another beloved, anticipated, important day of the year, a day that revolves around family, friendship and a deliciously moist dead bird. Despite the enormous popularity of this holiday, many Americans are shockingly ignorant about its origins. That’s because many Americans weren’t paying attention in class. Instead of listening to an interesting lesson about their brave forefathers, many Americans were shooting spitwads at a snotty little tattletale named Becky Lingenfelter, who was standing tragically close to meanest teacher in the world, an unforgiving woman who was still angry at many Americans for incorrectly naming Christopher Columbus’ three ships (the Nostril, the Pinky and the Pina Colada). While many Americans were in the principal’s office, trying to explain how the poorly aimed projectile ended up in the teacher’s right ear, and imagining the severe buttocks pain that would occur when their biological forefathers administer the dreaded Loving Hand of Discipline, the rest of the class was learning the following fascinating lesson about Thanksgiving:
Long ago, even before the invention of spit wads, a courageous group of people called the Pilgrims left their homeland because they were sick and tired of living in a place where everybody talked with a funny foreign accent. (These pilgrims shouldn’t be confused with “Da Pilgrimz,” a gangsta rap band that was deported from the Old World after the release of their controversial CD, “Take DAT, Mutha England!,” which included a violent, profanity-laced song entitled, “Musket Noyz From Da Pilgrim Boyz.”) The unhappy Pilgrims yearned for a land that was free of religious prosecution, a land where full-grown men didn’t wear silly white wigs during serious governmental proceedings, a land where delicious wild turkeys and mouth-watering boneless hams roamed the fruited plains, just waiting to be shot, cooked and devoured on Thanksgiving Day.
But life in the New World wasn’t easy for the Pilgrims. Their unexpected arrival alarmed many manly, muscular Native Americans, who were deeply offended by the male settlers’ feminine apparel. (Baggy pajama-like pants, lacy cuffs and frilly collars were a flagrant violation of the New World’s dress code.) This resentment turned into armed conflict after one Native American overheard one of the “sissy Pilgrims” say, “Hey, guys! Wouldn’t this unspoiled meadow be a perfect spot for a strip mall?!” The ensuing battles raged until a greedy slot machine salesman, who hoped that an end to the fighting would eventually lead to the construction of several lucrative Indian gaming casinos, arranged a high-level peace summit. Here is the actual transcript from that historic event:
Pilgrim: Stop shooting us with those sharp arrows!
Native American: Stop shooting us with those primitive firearms! And start wearing some masculine clothes!
Pilgrim: Here are some worthless trinkets and a snack bag of peanuts from our flight on the Concorde. Can we let bygones be bygones?
Native American: Forget the stupid trinkets, girly-man. How about a few shares of Microsoft? And what the heck are bygones?
Greedy Slot Machine Salesman: Hey, you guys are getting along like old friends! Can we start building some casinos?
To commemorate their peace agreement, the former enemies planned an extravagant feast called Thanksgiving. (“Thanksgiving” was a new word coined by abbreviating the phrase “Thanks for giving us those shares of Microsoft.”) Everybody worked together to make this new holiday a tremendous success. The women were in charge of slaughtering, disemboweling, cleaning, stuffing and cooking the various meat-bearing creatures. They were also in charge of setting the table, warming the brown ‘n’ serve dinner rolls, and baking the pies. Oh, yeah, and they were also in charge of washing the dishes. The men were in charge of watching football games. The first Thanksgiving was so enjoyable that the new neighbors decided to make it an annual event.
So, my fellow thankful Americans, as we prepare to celebrate this uniquely American holiday, let us remember the prophetic words of one happy Pilgrim, who said, “I’ll bet this turkey day thing is gonna be really big!” to which the greedy slot machine salesman replied, “Did somebody say ‘bet’?”
Mark Mayfield has a feeling that he’ll have to wash his own dishes after Thanksgiving dinner.
This column is copyright protected. Permission to reprint or electronically reproduce it in whole or in part is expressly prohibited unless prior written consent is obtained from Mark Mayfield
Our nation will soon observe one of the most beloved, anticipated, important days of the year. But before our nation observes Super Bowl Sunday, it will observe another beloved, anticipated, important day of the year, a day that revolves around family, friendship and a deliciously moist dead bird. Despite the enormous popularity of this holiday, many Americans are shockingly ignorant about its origins. That’s because many Americans weren’t paying attention in class. Instead of listening to an interesting lesson about their brave forefathers, many Americans were shooting spitwads at a snotty little tattletale named Becky Lingenfelter, who was standing tragically close to meanest teacher in the world, an unforgiving woman who was still angry at many Americans for incorrectly naming Christopher Columbus’ three ships (the Nostril, the Pinky and the Pina Colada). While many Americans were in the principal’s office, trying to explain how the poorly aimed projectile ended up in the teacher’s right ear, and imagining the severe buttocks pain that would occur when their biological forefathers administer the dreaded Loving Hand of Discipline, the rest of the class was learning the following fascinating lesson about Thanksgiving:
Long ago, even before the invention of spit wads, a courageous group of people called the Pilgrims left their homeland because they were sick and tired of living in a place where everybody talked with a funny foreign accent. (These pilgrims shouldn’t be confused with “Da Pilgrimz,” a gangsta rap band that was deported from the Old World after the release of their controversial CD, “Take DAT, Mutha England!,” which included a violent, profanity-laced song entitled, “Musket Noyz From Da Pilgrim Boyz.”) The unhappy Pilgrims yearned for a land that was free of religious prosecution, a land where full-grown men didn’t wear silly white wigs during serious governmental proceedings, a land where delicious wild turkeys and mouth-watering boneless hams roamed the fruited plains, just waiting to be shot, cooked and devoured on Thanksgiving Day.
But life in the New World wasn’t easy for the Pilgrims. Their unexpected arrival alarmed many manly, muscular Native Americans, who were deeply offended by the male settlers’ feminine apparel. (Baggy pajama-like pants, lacy cuffs and frilly collars were a flagrant violation of the New World’s dress code.) This resentment turned into armed conflict after one Native American overheard one of the “sissy Pilgrims” say, “Hey, guys! Wouldn’t this unspoiled meadow be a perfect spot for a strip mall?!” The ensuing battles raged until a greedy slot machine salesman, who hoped that an end to the fighting would eventually lead to the construction of several lucrative Indian gaming casinos, arranged a high-level peace summit. Here is the actual transcript from that historic event:
Pilgrim: Stop shooting us with those sharp arrows!
Native American: Stop shooting us with those primitive firearms! And start wearing some masculine clothes!
Pilgrim: Here are some worthless trinkets and a snack bag of peanuts from our flight on the Concorde. Can we let bygones be bygones?
Native American: Forget the stupid trinkets, girly-man. How about a few shares of Microsoft? And what the heck are bygones?
Greedy Slot Machine Salesman: Hey, you guys are getting along like old friends! Can we start building some casinos?
To commemorate their peace agreement, the former enemies planned an extravagant feast called Thanksgiving. (“Thanksgiving” was a new word coined by abbreviating the phrase “Thanks for giving us those shares of Microsoft.”) Everybody worked together to make this new holiday a tremendous success. The women were in charge of slaughtering, disemboweling, cleaning, stuffing and cooking the various meat-bearing creatures. They were also in charge of setting the table, warming the brown ‘n’ serve dinner rolls, and baking the pies. Oh, yeah, and they were also in charge of washing the dishes. The men were in charge of watching football games. The first Thanksgiving was so enjoyable that the new neighbors decided to make it an annual event.
So, my fellow thankful Americans, as we prepare to celebrate this uniquely American holiday, let us remember the prophetic words of one happy Pilgrim, who said, “I’ll bet this turkey day thing is gonna be really big!” to which the greedy slot machine salesman replied, “Did somebody say ‘bet’?”
Mark Mayfield has a feeling that he’ll have to wash his own dishes after Thanksgiving dinner.
This column is copyright protected. Permission to reprint or electronically reproduce it in whole or in part is expressly prohibited unless prior written consent is obtained from Mark Mayfield
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
And The Winner Is . . .
Today I have the honor of being the very first "guest blogger" on my daughter's incredibly popular website. (Okay maybe "incredibly popular" is a slight exaggeration, but I'm pretty sure that her blog has more readers than mine, which has an average daily audience of 2, not counting myself.) Check out Dominique's blog right here: http://www.dominiquerose.blogspot.com/
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Twittering My Life Away
In my ongoing quest to stay on top of the latest societal trends and cutting-edge technology, I recently began to get my Twitter on. No, Twitter is NOT an anatomical term, although it certainly sounds like one. ("Every time I cough, I get a sharp pain right below my Twitter.")
Actually, Twitter is a "social networking and micro-blogging service" that allows users to track the daily activities and whereabouts of their "friends." In the language of Twitter, "friends" can include complete strangers who have a creepy interest in knowing what you're doing and where you're doing it.
In the shell of a nut, here's how Twitter works: After signing up for a free account, you can begin to follow posted updates--called "Tweets"--from other Twitter users. You can also begin to post your own Tweets, which are very short (140 characters or less) and usually pretty mundane. For example, a typical Tweet could be something like this: "I'm picking my nose with one hand and stirring the spaghetti sauce with the other." Or this: "I just passed gas and blamed it on the dog." Or this: "I just saw my son's baseball coach in a bar dressed up like a woman."
If you think Twitter sounds a lot like stalking, you're right--except for one important difference: Stalkers don't usually have permission to follow you. However, when you sign up for Twitter, you're basically saying, "Hey, all you creepy people out there in Creepville! I hereby give you permission to creepily track my daily activities for whatever creepy reason you creeps may have."
I suspect that it's only a matter of time before an accused stalker tries to clear his name in court by utilizing the "Twitter Defense." (When this actually happens, remember that you first heard this prediction right here.) The defendant's plea might sound something like this: "Your honor, I was not stalking the plaintiff. My computer was broken, so when I peeked into her bedroom window at midnight, I was simply attempting to obtain a visual "tweet."
But if I may be serious for a moment, I just want to remind my fellow Twitterers to be very careful about the information you include in your Tweets. For obvious reasons, the following Tweet would not be a good idea: "I'll be out of town this weekend, and since my home alarm is still broken, I hid all my valuables under the bed in my spare bedroom."
That's all for now. Happy Twittering!
Actually, Twitter is a "social networking and micro-blogging service" that allows users to track the daily activities and whereabouts of their "friends." In the language of Twitter, "friends" can include complete strangers who have a creepy interest in knowing what you're doing and where you're doing it.
In the shell of a nut, here's how Twitter works: After signing up for a free account, you can begin to follow posted updates--called "Tweets"--from other Twitter users. You can also begin to post your own Tweets, which are very short (140 characters or less) and usually pretty mundane. For example, a typical Tweet could be something like this: "I'm picking my nose with one hand and stirring the spaghetti sauce with the other." Or this: "I just passed gas and blamed it on the dog." Or this: "I just saw my son's baseball coach in a bar dressed up like a woman."
If you think Twitter sounds a lot like stalking, you're right--except for one important difference: Stalkers don't usually have permission to follow you. However, when you sign up for Twitter, you're basically saying, "Hey, all you creepy people out there in Creepville! I hereby give you permission to creepily track my daily activities for whatever creepy reason you creeps may have."
I suspect that it's only a matter of time before an accused stalker tries to clear his name in court by utilizing the "Twitter Defense." (When this actually happens, remember that you first heard this prediction right here.) The defendant's plea might sound something like this: "Your honor, I was not stalking the plaintiff. My computer was broken, so when I peeked into her bedroom window at midnight, I was simply attempting to obtain a visual "tweet."
But if I may be serious for a moment, I just want to remind my fellow Twitterers to be very careful about the information you include in your Tweets. For obvious reasons, the following Tweet would not be a good idea: "I'll be out of town this weekend, and since my home alarm is still broken, I hid all my valuables under the bed in my spare bedroom."
That's all for now. Happy Twittering!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Veterans Day 2008
Regardless of our political differences, most Americans can agree on this: Our country owes a debt of gratitude to the men and women who bravely fought and died to preserve the freedom we now enjoy.
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