Man Martin's Blog, page 187

Is Your Soul Eternally Darned to Heck?

What is Heck?
Heck is a region of mild eternal torment.  Writers have described it as an unpleasant ninety degrees with very high humidity that makes it feel like ninety-five or ninety six.  There is nothing good on TV there and no cellphone connection.  Internet?  Forget it.  The exact location is unknown, although probably deep underground.  Some theologians maintain it's in that guy Steve What's-his-name's basement bedroom, you know, the guy with the strange BO who still lives with his mother.

Who ends up in Heck?
When you die, you're given a questionnaire to fill out with questions such as, "Did you ever say, 'G.D.' in anger?" and "Have you ever coveted your neighbor's kitten?"  The wrong answers could win you a one-way ticket straight to Heck.  Fortunately, most of the questions are either true-false or multiple-choice.

Who's in Charge of Heck?
Blue Devils.  Sounds scary, doesn't it?  It is.  The Duke Blue Devils are believed by many to be the worst football team in the ACC.  From 1999 to 2007, Duke's football win-loss record was at 13-90; from 2005 to 2007 Duke suffered a 22-game losing streak.  The Blue Devils torture the souls of the darned by poking them with tuning forks.  This is not painful, exactly, but it really gets annoying after a while.

Notes from the Convention

First of all, I'd like to thank the Days Inn of Dubuque for their wonderful hospitality.  Marge tells me the buffet line will have more hot wings soon, they're microwaving a batch fresh from the freezer right now, so those of you who didn't get one yet, be patient a little longer.  By the way, remember, we're limited to one hot wing per delegate, so unless you want to pay extra, go easy ha-ha.
I think we've had a darn fine, and I mean darn fine, convention here, and it makes me almost proud to be your nominee for the next president of these United States.  (Smattering of applause.  A voice from the back shouts, "You go, Jim!"  Laughter.)  To hear the media talk, those dang right-and-left leaning reporters, with their smug talk about "two party system," and "a choice between diametrically opposed ideologies," you'd think that the Republicans and Democrats were the only two parties out there.  For the past two hundred years, the Whig Party of America has been shouting like a voice in the wilderness, reminding anyone who'd listen of the principles that made America great: namely, a strong stand against granting statehood to the Oklahoma territory, a sound monetary policy - making potato cakes our official currency, and compulsory rickshaw utilization by 2020.  No new taxis!  No new taxis!  (Smattering of applause.)
Our primary challenge ahead is to draw media attention to our efforts.  This is also the challenge of our primary.  Ha ha.  (Silence.)  The RNC garnered huge internet notice when somebody who apparently is some sort of famous actor or something, addressed his speech to an empty chair.  Our attempt to top this by appointing an actual empty chair as our keynote speaker was less than successful.  Let us admit our mistake and go on.  Henceforth, we will make our case to the public with dignity and somber reflection.  Hence, the see-through bunny costume you now see me wear.  (Light applause.  Gagging sounds.)  In any case, I intend to make my remarks brief.  (Loud applause.  Stomping of feet and cheering.)  I see Marge is coming in with another plate of hot wings, and (Interruption by more applause.)  And I know you'll each want to get your hot wing before they're all gone.  Thank you for your nomination.  God bless America.

Getting in Shape

Do you know how much money Americans spend each year on exercise equipment?  Do you?  Well, I don't know either, but it's a lot.  If you took all the hours people actually use this equipment and divide it by the number of hours they spend watching viral kitten videos on the internet, you'd....  Okay, I forgot where I was going with this statistic, but it's pretty dang impressive, and can tell you, and would really make you stop and think.  It would.  So the time has come to find more effective uses for that expensive junk cluttering up your basement.

An elliptical machine weighs between 200 and 400 pounds.  Buy one.  Stick it in front the refrigerator.

Armbands are basically handles attached to bungee cords.  Take one of these and wrap it around your jaw so you can't eat.

Some people say dumbbells are old-fashioned.  Not so!  Used correctly, they can significantly reduce weight.  Every time you feel like eating, drop one on your toe.

You can install a chin-up bar in less than fifteen minutes.  Put it real close to the ceiling and do a chin-up as fast as you can.  You'll knock yourself out and won't be able to eat.

Get your treadmill going as fast as you can.  Once it's going full blast, suddenly stop running.  After the doctors have wired your jaw shut, you won't be able to eat as much.

Exercise clothes.  These are more important than most people realize.  Get yourself a bright day-glo spandex outfit and wear it everyday.  Don't wear anything but this outfit.  You'll be too embarrassed to leave the house and drive to Burger King.

Ask The Cranky Old Man Next Door

Dear Cranky Old Man:
Last year I installed a ceiling fan, then just last month my wife noticed it started making these noises.  She says on slow, it just goes wurrrr, wurrr, wurrr, but then on medium, it goes whacka, whacka, and on high, it's tickity-tickity-tickity.  I've turned on the fan myself, but I don't hear anything.  What should I do?
Noisy in Boise

Dear Noisy:
My mother was right.  I should've been a doctor, then I wouldn't have to put up with numb-skulls like you.  This is easy to fix.  Take a big roll of duct tape and some extra-large cotton balls.  Then tape the cotton balls in her ears and ask if the fan still bothers her.  While you're at it, tape her mouth shut.  Now leave me alone.

Dear Cranky Old Man:
Last spring I married the most wonderful man in the world, except for one thing - my new mother-in-law.  She comes over almost everyday, and I know she's snooping.  For example, the other day she asked to use my bathroom, and later she was asking if everything was alright between me and Jim because she noticed a bottle of Prozac and were either of us feeling depressed.  She'd been going through my medicine cabinet!  I guess she means well, but I just want her out of my business.  How should I handle this.
Harried Newly-Married

Dear Harried:
Thank God the liquor stores open early today, I'll need a good belt after dealing with you nit-wits.  Go to a toy store and buy out all their marbles.  A couple or thousand or so should take care of it.  Then carefully - and I mean carefully - put all those bad boys in your medicine cabinet and close the door quick before any come out.  Next time that old battle-ax uses the restroom and takes a peek in the medicine cabinet - WHOOM!  All them marbles come out, and problem solved.  She won't go snooping in your house anymore.  Now leave me alone.

Dear Cranky Old Man:
I'm a high-school principal and I'm sick and tired of dealing with young men and their sagging trousers.  We've tried everything from assigning detention to writing the parents and tightening up the dress code, but they still come to school waddling in the doors because their pants are so lose.  Every teenage boy in the school needs one hand free just to hold his pants up.  I'm at my wits end.
Helpless in High School

Dear Helpless:
You sound like just the sort of namby-pamby I'd expect in a public school.  No wonder the country's going to hell in a hand basket.  What you need is a good big tiger.  If you can't get a tiger, a mountain lion would do, but a tiger would work best.  Feed it as little as possible and get it real hungry.  Then once a day, while the kids are changing classes, let that rascal loose in the hallway.  It won't eat more than one, but it'll eat the slowest one.  That'll learn 'em to wear pants that fit.  Now leave me alone.

Paul's Postcard to the Ephesians

Hey Ephesians, how's it hanging?
Arrived in town late last night all set for some rounding up and persecution - you know the usual thing: torture, forced confessions, summary execution, yada-yada-yada, and what do you think happened?  Struck blind by the Voice of God.  I kid you not.  Total bummer.  Lucky there was this guy here, Ananias who took care of me, or I'd have been in a real fix.  So afterwards, what do you think?  The local officials come after me, and FOR THE EXACT SAME THING I CAME DOWN TO PERSECUTE!  Irony City, am I right or am I right?  Long story short, I fled while the fleeing was good.  Now I'm just chillaxin', heading over to Asia Minor where I got this speaking gig lined up.  Oh, by the way, I changed my name.  From now on, instead of Saul of Tarsus, if you could call me Paul the Apostle, or just Paul for short.  Thanks.  Peace out.
XXX OOO
Sau  Paul the Apostle

Another Reason I Never Made It as a Cartoonist

Ernst von Laader poses with the invention that bears his name.

How Do You Come Up With These Ideas

"How do you come up with all your ideas? is what concerned Americans want to know.  Another thing they want to know is why I keep coming up with them.
When you consider my busy schedule - bon vivant, crime fighter, adored idol of millions - one is astounded that I'm able on top of all this to write a daily blog of such sparkle and effervescence.  "Don't you ever just want to stay and bed and sleep?" people ask, "And wouldn't we all be better off?"
First thing I do, is get up and turn on the computer.  This is essential, and I cannot stress this enough.  You can type and type all day, but if your computer isn't turned on, you're just living in a fool's paradise.  Then, once the computer is on, I usually play a few games of computer solitaire.  Some people shilly-shally before getting down to computer solitaire, but not me.  "A shirker never wins," is my motto.  "And potatoes planted in May are au gratin by June."  So when it comes to playing solitaire, I get right down to business.
But finally I open up my blog and hit the little pencil icon that shows I want to write a new post.  This is very odd because you don't write blogs with a pencil, and if you did, it wouldn't work very well.  The icon might as well be a pair of hedge-clippers or a crescent wrench.  But I digress.  Once I am looking at the snowy expanse of unwritten blog space on my computer screen, then begins, as Shakespeare puts it, the tempest to my soul.  There are a few things on this earth that truly terrify me: those big black cockroaches that scoot out from under something and run straight at you, global warming, and white space waiting to be written on.  At this point I usually do some cussing.  Then I visit all the other blogs I know, and see what they're writing about.  If I don't find anything I can stea...  Ahem, I mean, if I'm still not inspired, I go back to cussing.  If that doesn't work, I play some more computer solitaire.  Sooner or later, I come up with something, and with a feeling of relief and creeping self-loathing, I write it.
I hope this answers your questions.
Now I'm going to play some computer solitaire.

Take That, Science!

A "Globe" offering proof positive that the world is
actually flat!
Take that, Science!
A Scene from the Creation Museum that irrefutably proves
humans co-existed with dinosaurs.
Take that, Science!

 

Paul's Letter to the Panama Beachians

Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, that you have arrived safe in Panama City Beach. For God is my witness, whom I serve in my spirit in the Good News of his Son, how unceasingly I make mention of how handy is the GPS, and that I-185, really did cut off a lot of time, even though you have to drive through Flomaton.
Now I don’t desire to have you unaware, brothers, that I often planned to come to you, and was hindered so far, because I just couldn't get away this week, you know how work is. For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because they do not put on SPF 20 at least, or having put it on once, say unto themselves, "We need not apply it again, for we have already," and so professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, believing that sunscreen is waterproof when the label clearly says it is not, and in the final days they will be sorry when their back peels, and lo I shall say unto them, "I told you so, but did you listen?"
Also heed well what you wear upon the beach for you are not a teenager anymore, and really do you think a thong is a good idea at your age, for there are some sights the heart does not joy to look upon, and one of them is a fifty-year-old body in a Speedo.  Amen.
Therefore you are without excuse, O man, if you fail to wash the sand from your body thoroughly before going into the condo, for whosoever brings sand into the condo is an abomination where everyone has to deal with it.  So rinse thoroughly.
Also, on one night shalt thou eat spaghetti, on one night chicken, and on the third night, shalt thou go out to eat at a restaurant that's nice but not too expensive where everyone may get what they like to the Glory of God.  But if thou goest to the Captain's Table Restaurant, order not the raw oysters on the shell.  Ask me not how I know this.
 But glory, honor, and peace go to every man who works good, and plays fair at Scrabble, for it is written that "in the beginning was the word," but I beg you, brothers, look out for those who are causing the divisions and occasions of stumbling, and arguing about every little-bitty rule, and taking forever to play, and using words like "cwm" which no one ever heard of, and then getting in a bad mood and quitting when they lose, contrary to the doctrine which you learned, and turn away from them. For those who are such don’t serve our Lord, Jesus Christ, but just want to win, and their temper tantrums annoy everyone, but I desire to have you wise in that which is good, but innocent in that which is evil and if you get into a one of those shops, see if you can buy me a pet hermit crab because my old one died, and the God of peace will quickly crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.

FaceBook Requests

"It's called FarmVille.  I find it inexplicably compelling."It seems like every day I get a message on Facebook such as, "Yardley Ornucks sent you a request on MyPonziScheme" or "Vanny Lou Smeers sent you a request on IndustrialWaste."  If you happen to be Yardley, or Vanny Lou, or one of the others sending me these requests, I apologize.
If it was a request from a perfect stranger, I might feel better about myself, but these are Friends.  I know they're Friends even if I don't recognize their names because it's on Facebook, and Facebook says they're my Friends.  I must've Friended them at some time or another, and I'm not the sort of cruel lout to un-Friend anyone.
I was taught it was rude not to help someone who makes a perfectly civil request, and I feel a little bad about the cavalier way I ignore these.  But then I take a nice nap or look through a magazine and I'm all better.  The truth is, in my callow youth (oh, I must've been a mere lad of 50, maybe 49) I felt duty-bound to honor requests - "Rufus Leeking sent you a request on MurderforHire."  One series in particular had to do with something called, "Farmville."  Perhaps you've heard of it. Even at the sight of the name, I feel a dark sucking vortex pulling me into the abyss.   Please, Jesus, never let me go down the road to that sunless, evil place again.  Growing vegetables is bad enough without growing imaginary vegetables.  I'm one of those people who likes a tangible, and if possible, edible reward for his efforts.  I stopped fishing after people started doing "catch and release."  What's the point of catching a fish, you're just going to let go?  Well, Farmville was even more pointless than "catch and release."  Farmville was like neither catching nor releasing but pretending you did.
If for someone misguided reason, you actually agree to comply with one of these requests, there's a little form to fill out.  It asks you your email, and says can it have access to your Facebook account.  Then it will ask, in the sweetest nicest way possible, can it contact all your friends on your behalf, and make a similar request of them, too?  May it contact their friends?  Their friends' friends?  What's your mother's maiden name?  Boxers or briefs?
It surprises me that people who shred their junk mail to foil identity thieves from going through their garbage will happily divulge all sorts of personal information for the privilege of growing imaginary vegetables.
Well, thank you, but no thank you.  I prefer spending my time in more productive pursuits.
Napping and playing computer solitaire.