Life's Mysteries, Plus Some Pringles

I sure am updating a lot this month. Don't know why, either. Maybe the warm weather makes me talkative.

This is surreal. I'm currently sitting in front of the computer watching traffic pass on the highway outside of the window to my left. Below the window is my printer, and resting on the uneven surface of the printer is sitting a can of Ranch-Rageous Pringles. The air conditioner is blowing against the can, which is making it rock slightly. The surreal part is that I'm listening to "Requiem" by the Rev. Brendan Powell Smith, and the rocking Pringles can is keeping perfect tempo with the music.

Perhaps it's picking up the reverberating sound waves of the Polk Audio speakers contained in the general vicinity, causing it to rock in the manner which I have described. I suppose it's one of those questions for the ages. Definitely in the top ten, anyway.

The Top 10 Greatest Questions

10. Why do nearly all female musicians suck?
9. What is HAARP really for?
8. What is the AARP really for?
7. Why is Jennifer Lopez's ass so huge?
6. Why do some guys obsess so much over their penis size?
5. What ever happened to Eddie Money?
4. What the hell is with that can of Pringles?
3. Why do people think Colin Quinn is funny?
2. Why are American politics so boring?
1. What about love? Don't you want someone to care about you?

Think about those carefully. It might help if you get into the lotus position and close your eyes. Try humming a lot, too. If you can answer any of these questions, you have reached enlightenment.

Pugnacious Kerfuffle

Cell phones are now wireless phones. We don't know why, apparently they don't use the cellular system for setting up towers anymore. So now they're "wireless". Screw you, they're cell phones. It's still the same dipshit junk-buckets walking around in Wal-Mart yapping on them about where they are right now. Ever notice that? If you ever pass somebody in Wal-Mart talking on a cell phone, notice that they're always saying "Yeah, I'm in Wal-Mart right now" into it. They do it every time. I don't think they're even talking to anyone. They're just pretending to so everyone will think that they're upper-middle class, when in fact they're lower-middle class. Portable phones still have that early '90s prestige attached to them. AND WHY THE HELL DO THEY PLAY MUSIC? Couldn't they just ring? And if it's a song you really like, would you want to hear the whole thing, rather than answer your phone?

Grossly fat people suck. Fad dieters suck, too, but I'm really getting tired of these fat-asses who weigh so much that they can't walk, so they sit on their lard in wheelchairs while stuffing their fat fucking faces with Big Mac. "Excuse me, ma'am, did I get in the way of your ASS? YOU'RE TAKING UP THE WHOLE RESTAURANT!" Tell them to lose some weight, or else get somebody to wheel them through the drive-through. Of off a cliff. I wouldn't miss them.

I get so tired of high school graduates making angst-filled comments about deciding what college they'll go to. Just go to any of them. No one pays attention to what college your degree comes from, as long as you have one. Feel friggin' priviledged to be able to go to a college in the first place, some of us aren't able to. And quit arguing with your parents about it. Especially if they're the ones paying for it. Count your lucky stars and just go to one of them. And parents, if your kid is hell-bent on going to college in Stumpfuck Ohio, by all means let them. Don't try to influence them to go to the same college you did to carry on some goofy family tradition you made up.

I feel a lot better now. I may have to do more of these in the future.



Psst...between you and me, I think Skid's lost it.

Overhaul THIS!

So I'm watching TLC, and I catch this show called Overhaulin', apparently the point of which is to steal someone's car and then return it customized.

I say again: They STEAL it, then return it, TOTALLY DIFFERENT.

Am I the only one who really questions the morality of this? Not only do they take the car without permission, but they elaborately set up Candid Camera-style pranks to make the person believe the car has been stolen, smuggled, stripped, repossessed, or whatever. Fans of the show seem to really get off on seeing these poor people practically in tears over their missing cars (since they always target someone who absolutely loves his/her car).

The message boards on the show's site are equally dopey. Among the long strings of "How do you get on the show" topics (why don't they use the "show application" on the main page) and "Help! I'm overhauling a '57 DeSoto and am too lazy to finish it" (again with the application) topics, you have one or two people who have actually brought up the possible altercations of stealing and altering a car without the owners permission. The replies they get range from "Well, they were signed up for the show by their neighbors, so that makes it okay", to "Well, the police were in on, so it wasn't illegal", to this doozie here:

It's people like you that spoil the fun for everyone else. You are like the kid who reminded the teacher they forgot to give the homework assignment out 30 seconds before the bell rang. Why don't you crawl into a hole and lament with your miserable self while the rest of us (including the kid with a bad a** truck) enjoy life, and the things others sacrifice to make us smile.

Oh yeah. The producers were making such a sacrifice to make them smile. Needless to say, after reading that inane shit, I'm now posting on the boards. My opinion is only one of the services I offer freely.

In the episode of the show I saw, the kid whose truck was stolen had already mildly customized his truck with some add-ons like an antenna ball and decals, all of which the build team promptly destroyed. You know, if the guy spent money on that stuff, chances are he wanted it there. At least have the decency to replace the stuff you break. Better still, don't steal it the first place...get the owners permission, like on MTVs Pimp My Ride. Except, you know, make it actually GOOD.

In short, Overhaulin' sucks. That is all.

Suburbanites Suck

I hate Leave it to Beaver. It's the single most pussified, non-threatening T.V. show in existence. How did it ever get made, even in the stuffed-shirt 1950s? I've seen edgier stuff on the Disney channel. Or I would, if I actually watched the Disney channel. Let me quell those rumors before they start. And another: I don't have a pock mark in the exact same shape as James Remar. Don't believe what you hear.

So anyway you have this kid named "Beaver" (a sure testament to the show's innocence), and he wanders his extra-chromosomed, buck-toothed ass around and does stupid things, then "learns his lesson". All while his parents sit around and act like 40 year old virgins. Isn't that precious? Couldn't you just barf?

I don't know what's scarier: Watching a minute of Leave it to Beaver, or actually visiting real-life suburbs. Real suburbs are SO much like that show, at least on the outside. We all know that behind every door is a drunken lout spouse beater, and her abused husband. Half of the houses are full of crack addicts laying on mattresses and laughing hysterically at the roaches crawling on the Cocoa Krispies they spilled on the floor three days ago. But outwardly, the suburbs are just so...wholesome. Every house is no more than 10 feet from the house next door. Little pink flamingos outside of reflecting pools. Basketball hoops over garage doors. Ford Windstars with huge American flag stickers on the liftgates. Groups of children stoned on ritalin counting the blades of grass in the crack house lawn. How can anyone tolerate it?

What's even worse is "zoning". Miss a few days mowing your lawn? One of the neighbors will complain to authorities, because you're making their houses depreciate. This is completely screwed for two reasons: For one thing they typically have no plans to sell their houses. But even more importantly, can you actually imagine the following from someone buying a house?

"Well, gee, Mr. Nelson, it's a really nice house for $150,000 and all, but that guy 4 houses down has some pretty high grass. Sooo...the most I can offer is $120,000. Take it or leave it."

Of course you can't. But nevertheless, "zoning laws" are a reality, and they're often thrown at people who don't cut their grass or have a non-running vehicle parked in the yard. Maybe this is why suburbanites so often back Bush; they're used to having no freedom.

Now I feel every bit as bad for the urban people, the ones who don't have yards and literally have other people living right above them. But at least they're hedonistic. That ups the charisma factor a bit.

If you live in the suburbs and aren't like this, feel free to let me know. I'd like to know they aren't all black holes. And you've got to believe me about the Disney channel. I don't watch it. Really.



Hell on Earth

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm"

Ever find something like a note or a photograph laying in the street, or in the drawer of an old dresser you buy? Today I discovered there is a whole site dedicated to that: www.foundmagazine.com . I was browsing these weird cryptic notes and old photographs on the site, wondering who the hell these people were, and more often that not what exactly was going on when the photo was taken or the note was written.

I mean, this stuff is really weird. It's like graffiti, only more directed. A note found hanging in a tree with a photo attached...the girl in the picture has her eyes poked out (holes in the photo, not the subject) with the words "You guys are LOSERS" written beneath her. Or how about the note found in the doorway of an apartment complex: "To whom it may concern: Who pulls your strings?" Or my personal favorite: An old torn memo on which is written "Hi, I had cyber sex with a guy named Eric. I love sex! I have a stick."

I have some experience in this area: When I was a kid, my older sister bought an acrylic paint set. Among the supplies in the previously unopened set (it was new) was a yellow sponge. Written on the sponge in black marker were the words "One more go". Ever since she showed me that damned sponge it was remained etched in the back of my mind. Who wrote that? Why? And what the hell does "One more go" mean? I can't even imagine.

Here's one that isn't quite as mind-boggling, but leaves many unanswered questions: One time in high school I found a crumpled-up note in a bathroom stall, which said "Fuck you Jason, I need a dick licker for a day". Now what does that mean? Who wrote it? Who is Jason? Did Jason ever see it? Did the writer leave it in the stall for Jason, or did Jason get it earlier and then discard it in the stall? Was Jason the dick licker in question? Did he try to interfere with the letter-writer's dick licking activity, leading to Jason being told off with a "fuck you"? And why does the writer only need a dick licker for a day? Did he rent one or something? Where does one rent dick lickers?

Old photos are the same way. Ever find an old photograph somewhere, like in a old box, where someone took a picture of a toilet or something? One of my most prized possessions is a black and white photograph of a chicken standing a field, with "Hammond Photo Service, Meridian Miss. Oct. 5 1942" printed on the back. I found that photo in a box with a bunch of old family photos. I often wonder which of my ancestors found it necessary to take a photograph of a damn chicken, but I cherish it as something of a window into my weird personality. A "tell", in the language of street hustlers. But I'm sure most people who are reading this have found stranger pictures. Feel free to share your pictures/notes, I'm genuinely curious.



Chicken McPhoto

Join the Low-Iron Revolution!

Hey you! Yeah, you at the computer, with your ultra-hardened blood vessels! Did you know thanks to excess iron in your diet, you'll have a heart attack practically before you're born? Scientific data backs me up!

We have low-carb diets to thank for this. Dr. Atkins changed the world (allegedly) by challenging well-established scientific data with little more than a hypothesis, creating an easy solution to people who want to be skinny without exercising or building any muscle mass. Limit your daily carbohydrate intake to 100 grams less than the daily recommendation, and you'll lose massive amounts of weight. Eureka! Try to ignore the light-headedness and loss of motor skills that go with ketosis, because dammit, you're healthy! As we all know, skinny = healthy. Now Atkins is a rich mofo...or he would be, had he not died of a heart attack.

So maybe our problem in this country isn't specifically obesity, but heart disease. And I just found out something recently: Excess iron in your diet can impede the release of nitric oxide by the endothelium in your blood vessels, making them harden. This condition in the arteries is known as astherosclerosis, and is a known cause of heart attacks. Maybe the problem for the good doctor wasn't his carbohydrate intake, but his iron. Welcome to the Skid Diet.

In my upcoming book, Skid For Life, I'll write at length about how the National Academy of Sciences has recommended 10 mg of daily iron for adult males and 15 mg daily for adult females. And I'll write that I think you only need 3 mg daily if you're a male, and 8 mg daily if you're a female. Ignore the anemia, the gastrointestinal problems, and that weird curling in your fingernails, because you'll be in absolutely no danger of a heart attack. And as we all know, not having heart attacks = healthy.

I'm telling you, low-iron diets are the New Way (that has to be capitalized, because it's Strongly Emphasized). And it'll make my ass rich, too. So start spreading the word. Start leaving notes in public restrooms: "Skid is writing a book that will change the world, http://murkydepth.blogspot.com". Come on, help a brother out.

And think of how "hip" it will become eventually. Subway will offer Skid Friendly salads. Light beer makers will all be at each others throats in their ads about whose beer has the lowest iron content.

All light beers are low in iron. Choose on taste. Bud Light.™

So don't get left behind. Join the Low-Iron Revolution. Or at least pretend to.

And while you're pretending to, leave your comments via the number to the left of my name at the bottom of this entry. That's right, starting here you can comment on my blog entries. Not my previous ones, just this one and all future ones. Rawk on.