I think there was more garlic than I thought in the dinner ...

Little Italian Man


The Holy Grail

I’ve discovered the holy grail of Chinese to English translations, in the form of an instruction manual for the Beautiful Star Innovative Hair Straightener, which is a real product manufactured in China. The entire manual is displayed for you below, in its pure, unmanipulated and undoctored state. From what I’ve read about mind-altering drugs, this manual may be the closest thing to achieving such a state without actually taking them.
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As you will see, punctuation, capitalization and spaces between words are entirely optional and may be sprinkled into the text to taste.
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The same holds true for breaks between words.
Just remember that to raise the temperature, press the Temperature rising key, and to lower the temperature simply press the Minus tempe rature.
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If anyone knows what more than three of these sentences mean, please contact me for your prize. Note that when one’s hair is thin it gets to choose its own temperature setting all by itself.
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I had mixed emotions about this page. On one hand, I appreciate the lofty philosophical goals of #5, but in #4 (which comes after #7) I was upset that I can’t use both hands to pull my hair tail. I was also distracted by recommendation #6, which feels like a very short poem abut too much hair.
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Do not use this product to beat or fall. They make a whole other product just for that.
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In a bizarre revelation, the first sentence implies that this product owes its very existence to the need to clean up other hair care products.
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In this glorious page, the appliance warranty takes the form of a letter addressed to the appliance itself. Reading onward one discovers an unfortunate man named Daniel who has been charged with the task of repairing every one of the defective products by himself. Further reading finds talk of scars, wars and something fantastical called ‘force majeure’. Well done. Bravo
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Lastly, the advantages of the hair straightener. Note how they’ve arbitrarily switched from using numbers to spelling the numbers out. My favorite is number four.
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Since reading this instruction manual I’ve purchased an entire box of Innovative Hair Straighteners and I suggest you do the same. I want to see this company grow and thrive. How else can we ever hope to see the instruction manual for the Beautiful Star luxury sport utility vehicle one day.
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Airplane Safety

I just returned home from a trip and thought I’d share the safety pamphlet from the airplane I was on:
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If you’ve recently woken from a coma which you’ve been in since 1995, you are prohibited from using such ubiquitous electronic devices as a portable TV, a big yellow AM/FM radio, a bulky cell phone with permanently extended antenna and a pager.
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In the event of an emergency, be sure to console your daughter, who is sobbing uncontrollably because you made her wear an awful powder-blue dress with puffy sleeves and Mary-Jane shoes.
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Try not to disturb people on the plane who are committing ungodly acts upon themselves.
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In the absence of a razor, your may use your baby’s head to shave your armpits.
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Your flabby, aerobically unfit, gynecomastic slug of a son will most likely need oxygen wether or not there is a sudden drop in cabin pressure.
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In the event of an external hazard, do not open the airplane door. Instead, summon the black-faced demon man, who will shoot laserbeams from its eyes to neutralize the danger.
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In the event of an emergency landing, try to stay around and help others, unlike the selfish woman in the bottom left corner who hightailed it out of there without thinking of others.
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In the event of a water landing, a common rule of thumb is that the happier you look, the quicker you’ll be rescued. This woman has been floating in the ocean for eight days now.
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In an emergency, place your baby in a life jacket, then grab onto one of the straps and spin him like a top.
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Inflate his life jacket until it’s so tight he starts to tremble.
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Then drop him in the ocean alone in the dark and watch him slowly drift away as he dreams of bright yellow lightbulbs.
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I hope you found this to be informative. Next time you fly, follow these instructions exactly as I’ve laid them out to ensure a safe and enjoyable travel experience.
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Scientific Journal Of Science

The October issue of The Scientific Journal Of Science has arrived!

A brand new article is posted below!

Scientific Journal Of Science

October 2015

Original Article

In this study the author catalogues the light-hearted side-effects of crystal methamphetamine use by using himself as a test subject.


The Angry Sandwich Man

The man who makes sandwiches at my work cafeteria is very impatient . He insists that you give him your whole fixings wish list all at once. If you don’t he gets angry and yells at you. Unfortunately, he also suffers from short term memory loss, thus leading to the following actual conversation:

Me: I’ll have tuna, in a wrap, with lettuce, tomato, oil and vinegar, to go, with no chips or pretzels.
Angry sandwich man: Tuna in a wrap, that’s it?
Me: With lettuce, tomato, oil and vinegar, to go, with no chips or pretzels.
Angry sandwich man: (Adds lettuce and tomato) That’s all you want?
Me: Oil and vinegar, to go, with no chips or pretzels.
Angry sandwich man: (Adds oil and vinegar) Chips or pretzels?
Me: Neither. To go.
Angry sandwich man: You want this for here, right?
Me: Yes. Thank you.
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Another Boring Saturday

Just a typical boring Saturday for me: cleaning the bathroom, a trip to the car wash, and, as usual, two women in evening gowns, standing on opposing ends of a bar counter, furiously playing Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir on hot pink electric violins. I’m thinking of hiring them to accompany me and herald my arrival every time I walk into a bar.

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Cat In Things

Because my Scientific Journal articles are apparently too wordy, here’s some pictures of my cat in various things. Included are cat in sink, cat in small basket and cat in front trunk.

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Sponsor

Todays entries are sponsored by this paving company. There is nothing funny about the services they provide. Nothing at all.

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So please give them your patronage, and get ready for the most satisfying hot rubber crack filling that your driveway ramp is willing to endure.

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The Palisades

On the west side of the lower Hudson River lies a line of steep cliffs called the Palisades. They form the scenic backdrop for every trip taken across the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. I’ve thought about walking their trails for a long time. This Saturday I finally did. I hope you enjoy this photoessay of my walk through the Palisades Interstate Park.

This is a cup of iced coffee at the start of the trip. My instructions were simple: “Put whatever you want in it, as long as it looks like the clouds of Jupiter.”

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The trail began in Fort Lee, New Jersey. There’s a lot of nature in Fort Lee, as you can see by the location of the trailblazes.

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On the pedestrian overpass, toward the more scenic part of the trail.

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The first full view of the George Washington Bridge.

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Things got more rustic at this point. You better get used to pictures of leaves, ‘cause I got a whole boat-load of ‘em.

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Not far from the start of the trail, we stopped at the home of Bilbo Baggins.

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You want leaf pics? I got em right here.

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And mushroom pics.

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And a picture of this pole that someone named Nancy.

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Here’s a gate. If anyone knows its name let me know.

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What’s that, you say? More leaf pictures? All you had to do was ask.

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The nicest part of the whole experience was how far removed we felt from the rest of civilization.

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Did somebody say leaves? I got your leaf pics right here!

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This was a broken window pane from a park bathroom. A bit of beauty in urban decay.*

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This was a feminine hygiene dispenser in the same bathroom. It was last used by Martha Washington.*

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A view of the bridge on the return trail.

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Graffiti on a park bench.

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The bridge near a pylon.

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As we got ready to leave, we wished the bridge good luck on its upcoming audition for the role of Dinobot in the next Transformers movie. *

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In case you missed them the first time around - leaves.

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I hope you enjoyed the scenery.

*Photo courtesy of @pathologicalartist.

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Keep Pressing

I came across the least clean soap dispenser in the state of New Jersey on the bathroom wall of a nearby medical facility. It was the dirtiest thing in the bathroom, and quite possibly the entire world. Perhaps it was crafted by the same people who gave us the M&M dispenser in my earlier entry.

In case you’re wondering, I did not keep pressing. Taking this photograph was as close as I was willing to get to it.
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Scientific Journal Of Science

September 2015

Original Article

This article, taken from the 1982 archives of The Scientific Journal of Science, was funded by a grant from the Ronald W Reagan Foundation for the Timely Acknowledgement of Epidemics.


A Lumbersexual Awakening.

A lumbersexual is a metrosexual who has adopted a rugged fashion style, with elements often borrowed from a lumberjack such as a well-groomed beard, flannel shirt and outdoor accessories. I didn’t coin this term, but I sure wish I did.

At first, when I told my friend at work I thought he was a lumbersexual, he was in denial. But he quickly came around. In fact, now he’s intensely proud of his lumbersexuality. In the days which followed his awakening, his girlfriend captured the essence of his being in a series of photographs, all of which I will now make fun of:

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In this photo he reveals a stoic determination, despite his functional alcoholism. Alternatively, looks a lot like a liquor ad from the back of a SkyMall Magazine.

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Remind me again why you need an axe? You live in northern New Jersey. Last I checked there were 43 trees left in the entire state. In all likelihood the background was photoshopped from a 1983 Sears studio portrait. By the way, do you even have a fireplace?

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Oh, there he goes, brooding all over the place.

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You know the trees are behind you, right?

A big thanks to my lumbersexual friend and his girlfriend, two great people who are very good sports.

I’ll see you at the next beard-sculpting, with a glass of bourbon in my hand.

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Killer B’s

The other day, this was a lunch item in the cafeteria:

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Naturally, I assumed that the caterers got a kickback every time they use a word that starts with B. This would most neatly explain the dessert item it was paired with:

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I ordered it, of course. It sounded so tasty. Not bad, a little dry perhaps. But frankly, I didn’t understand the need for all that violence. Did you know you’re that not allowed to bring food into the trauma bay? Life’s little lessons.

B well.

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Little Italian Man's
Guide to the Tomato Life


How to make good old-fashioned peanut paste with the consistency of ointment, just like great-great-great-great-great-great-grandma used to.


According to Wikipedia, Marcellus Gilmore Edson was the first to patent peanut butter, in 1884. His cooled product had “a consistency like that of butter, lard, or ointment" according to his patent application. He included the mixing of sugar into the paste so as to harden its consistency. He developed the idea of peanut paste as a nutritious staple for people who could hardly chew on solid food.

Are your mouths watering yet? Then let's begin.

Making homemade peanut-butter is extremely quick and simple. Below are the only four ingredients you'll need: a jar of dry roasted peanuts, peanut oil, salt and honey.

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Incidentally, you know it’s time to buy new a honey jar when the old one starts to resemble Steven King’s Carrie:

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Start by putting the peanuts in a tray and toasting them for a few minutes. Then put them in the food processor and add the salt and honey in an evenly distributed manner. Note how patient I am about adding things in an evenly distributed manner.
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Pulse the ‘pre-paste’ for about a minute. Then stop and pulse again for about 1-2 minutes while slowly adding the peanut oil.

As in my previous entry, you’ll want to keep the number of a good cat psychologist handy after you start the food processor. Below, on the left, you can see the aftermath of one of my cats leaping off the chair at the start of the processing. This time around, though, not all my cats were affected equally. On the right is one of my less nervous cats, who was only mildly annoyed by the event.
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After it’s done processing, it’s ready to eat. And remember, the longer you process it, the more pasty and smooth it will be on your toothless gums.

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Now go and enjoy your delicious homemade peanut butter. I leave you with the inscription from the grave of the great George Washington Carver:

He could have added fortune to fame, but caring for neither, he found happiness and honor in being helpful to the world.
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Until the next experience,

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Scientific Journal Of Science

September 2015

Original Article

In this study the author overturns a decades-old idiom through the power of science.


Somebody Oughta Tell The Guy At This QuickCheck He Needs A More Clever Hiding Place For His Coke

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For the record:

A) It was actually in front of a Panera’s but I thought QuickCheck sounded better.

B) I had a whole elaborate story set for this picture which had little or nothing to do with poorly hidden drugs, but at the end of the day I was tired, and coke won.

C) Yes, I know it doesn’t look exactly like coke, but hiding rock salt just wasn’t as funny. I could be wrong, though.

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… all I knew was, the toilet paper roll was dead, and anyone could’ve done it.

The morning started off like so many others before it - the sun harassing me through dirty half-open venetian blinds, an empty bottle of cheap hooch on the nightstand; the kinda morning that makes you wish you could just skip to the next night.

I was just about to roll out of bed to face the day when I spotted it on the carpet in front of the doorway - cut up like the roof of your mouth after eating Captain Crunch cereal. I didn’t know how long it had been there. All I knew was, the toilet paper roll was dead and anyone could’ve done it:

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Who did this? And why? Would they be back? Every question only made three more. It was time to start looking for clues.

A day’s worth of investigating led to an important break. Apparently, it started with a kidnapping:

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After two more sleepless nights, I finally found the scene of the murder - in the hallway right around the corner. It was more grizzly than the steak sandwich I ordered at Appleby’s for dinner that night:

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But I was still no closer to finding my killer, and I was getting desperate. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. I shook down the plant in the hallway, but the only dirt he spilled was potting soil:

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Two days of grueling field-work, a few more empty bottles of booze, a mutilated roll of Sharman toilet paper and a traumatized houseplant. I had no killer and I had lost hope of ever finding him. It was enough to make a grown man cry.

Maybe I’m out of my mind, but sometimes I could swear he was watching me, waiting for me to make my next move. Like I said, maybe I’m out of mind.

But at the end of the day, at least I had my trustworthy cat by my side.

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Updates

I’d like to take this opportunity to update you on a few of my favorite website entries over the past month:

From ‘One Man’s Junk Is Another Man’s Art’

Who can forget that charming owl sculpture which helped launch my website so many moons ago. You’ll be excited to learn that the artist’s friend, also in elementary school, was non too keen on being left out of the spotlight. Here is her original drawing, of either a person holding up two turkey legs over a little christmas tree, or the tanned, unshaven legs of an insane person, whose anus dangles precariously over a writhing, malformed artichoke. You decide which. I already have.

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From ‘These M&Ms Died In Vain’

A revisit to the car wash has taught me that nothing lasts forever. The M&M machine is gone and in its place is this…ungodly creation. Note how some of the tongue orbs are nauseated by their own cheapness. Incidentally, I’ve never paid a dime to tug anyone’s tongue before, and I don’t intend to start now.
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From ‘A Santa For Thanksgiving'

The real-life Gary Gobble is far less iconic than the one I made up.
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Also, I’d you to meet Pete, a family friend from Long Island and all-around good guy. When Pete imbibes his favorite drink, coincidentally Wild Turkey, he turns into Goofy Pete. Here’s Pete in a sombrero.
It wasn’t a theme party.
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From ‘Pooding’

If you liked Pooding, you’re really going to love Weeding. I know I do. Technically, one begets the other.
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From ‘Dinosaur Cake’

Yesterday the headless dinosaur cake escaped its confines and ran out of the house to freedom, leaving behind part of its fluorescent reptile skin in the process.
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Scientific Journal Of Science

The September issue of The Scientific Journal Of Science has arrived!

Two new articles are already posted below!

Scientific Journal Of Science

September 2015

Original Article

In this study the authors catalogue all non-biased, peer-reviewed, evidence-based literature that rejects human involvement in climate change.

Scientific Journal Of Science

September 2015

Original Article


Gentle Encouragment

I would like to thank last month’s rotating students for leaving a bag of bagels for us on the last day of their rotation, as a token of appreciation. They were delicious. In the future, however, might I recommend using a different phrase to encourage us to help ourselves?

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Dinosaur Cake

In honor of my recent birthday, one my relatives, who will remain nameless, baked me a cake. Recalling my love for dinosaurs as a child, she decided to bake it in the shape of a dinosaur. It was a truly delicious cake. Mind you, a better one than I could ever bake. The cake design was based on one available from bettycrocker.com, as seen in this image from their website:

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Yes, it was a mouthwateringly delicious cake. But as for the finished product…something got a bit lost in translation. To be fair, she didn’t have any hershey’s kisses on hand, and…well, have a look yourself:
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True, one could argue that its overall contours are indeed vaguely faithful to the original. But to me it doesn't resemble a dinosaur so much as the offspring of a syphilis-riddled giraffe and lamb-chop the sock puppet. In place of its tail, the poor creature appears to be getting violated from the rear by an inordinately large banana, also riddled with syphilis. It is also in need of an orthodontist. Lastly, for some reason, the constellation Orion is visible in the organism’s torso. Truly a delicious cake, though.

I decided that the only humane thing to do was a quick euthanasia. But after I cut into it, a magical transformation happened:
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It appears that by severing its head and part of the tail/banana off, it actually looks more like a dinosaur than it ever did before, albeit now facing the other direction. A medical miracle, if I ever saw one.

I kept the head for myself, lovingly placed it in a jar of formaldehyde and mailed it to the Mutter Museum in Philadelphia.
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Damn good cake, though.
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Scientific Journal Of Science

August 2015

Original Article

This landmark study finally resolves the millennia-old philosophic, religious and scientific debate on whether or not God exists.


Pooding

It was a warm and relaxing Friday evening when, ice cream cone in hand, I left the safety of my favorite local ice cream shop, and glanced upon the display window of the adjacent delicatessen:

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If you are like me (as you should be) you will notice that the person who wrote the menu boards was not sure of how he wanted to spell pastrami, and thus shrewdly evaded the issue by hedging his bet. My hats off to this person. After all, why alienate the pastramy eaters in the group if you don’t have to?

But after a moment, something else caught my eye:
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You'll notice in this menu board that the word pudding is incorrectly spelled as pooding. What's the big deal, one might ask? A spelling error won't keep anyone from purchasing a nice big pie pan full of baked noodle pudding, whatever that is. If only it were that simple. Further investigation, with the help of a legitimate online dictionary, revealed the truth:
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Admittedly, I would have been wary of eating a dish called noodle pudding. But I was wholly unprepared for the unspeakable horrors inherent in the dish known as noodle pooding.
Read on:
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It gets even worse:
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Dirty bastard, indeed. How many people have eaten this unholy stew without knowing the truth? I shudder to think what would’ve happened to me if I hadn’t looked this up. Might I have also eaten pooding? Might I have liked it? Probably. Thankfully I’ll never know. For those who have unknowingly tasted this ‘tactical emptying of the bowels’, it’s too late. But for the rest of us, we should be grateful for the investigative efforts of Edmeister11, Guppygould and Hugebreasticle in helping to uncover the truth: Pooding isn’t a misspelling at all - it’s a horrifying stew made by the devil in hell.
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Scientific Journal of Science

August 2015

Original Article

This prospective study analyzes the effects of revealing the ending to movie-goers before the movie even begins. The results might surprise you.


Hobby Craft

Inspired by E.L.C.
In 1997, John Denver, one of my favorite singer-songwriters, died tragically when the small hobby aircraft he was piloting crashed. I understand that the largest body part they recovered was his torso, and, to date, they have yet to find his head. With this in mind, please enjoy the following chart contrasting my favorite pastime to that of John Denver’s:

My Favorite Pastime

John Denver’s Favorite Pastime

1. Easy to start.

1. Requires extensive training.

2. Each coin has been on a unique journey through time.

2. Even with extensive training, some accidents are unavoidable.

3. Collecting old coins is a unique way to learn history.

3. If the engine stops you crash and die.

4. You can often find interesting coins in general circulation. It’s as easy as looking through your pocket change.

4. The plane is traveling so fast that when you crash your body will fragment into multiple pieces.

5. Proof sets and commemorative coins make for great gifts for many occasions.

5. Even if you survive the crash, you will wish you hadn’t. Your crippled and broken body will be bedridden and you will eventually die anyway.

6. Coins come in all shapes and sizes. Some even have holes in the center!

6. Has been associated with decapitation.

7. Almost never associated with decapitation.

7. If your head is removed, it may not be found.

8. Coins made of rare metals often increase in value over time.

8. His head! They couldn’t find his fucking head!!

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A few disembodied heads but nary a detached torso in the whole lot.
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Scientific Journal Of Science

August 2015

Original Article

This article, taken from the 1985 archives of The Scientific Journal Of Science, explored America’s newfound cultural sensitivity toward the Chinese through the lens of a new hit John Hughes movie.


A Santa For Thanksgiving

Many thanks to N.K., MD, and W.G. for helping to keep this legend alive.
The inclusion of a figure of mythic or legendary origin is an important tradition in many of our most celebrated holidays: Better-known examples include Santa Claus in Christmas, The Easter Bunny in Easter, The Great Pumpkin in Halloween and Melvin the Maple Tree in Arbor Day. But there is one holiday which has no such tradition: Thanksgiving. This most venerable of American holidays has suffered from years of neglect as a result of being consumed on either side by Christmas and Halloween. Consequently it has no folkloric figurehead to call its own. That is, until today…

It is with immense pride that I present to you the brand new, legendary, storied and soon-to-be iconic figure of Thanksgiving day: Gary Gobble.

Perhaps the best way to get to know the legend of Gary Gobble is by directly comparing him to the most well-known holiday figure of all, Santa Claus, the beloved patriarch of Christmas:

As Santa’s red sleigh approaches, sleigh bells jingle. When Gary Gobble’s dull grey 1990 Chrysler Imperial approaches your driveway, one hears and sees the exhaust belching through the large rust hole in its muffler.

Santa Claus is jolly, with a long silver beard and a big fat belly. Similarly, Gary Gobble is also unshaven and dangerously unfit, but…in a different sort of way.

Santa Claus lives at the north pole. Gary Gobble showers at the Y ever since the trailer infestation.

Santa Claus is benevolent and achieves his goals through positive reinforcement. Gary Gobble is vindictive and prefers correction through pain aversion.

Santa Claus slides down the chimney and asks if the children were naughty or nice. Gary Gobble pulls up to your curb at the end of your meal and raps his hairy knuckles on the front door.

Santa Claus bellows Ho-Ho-Ho in a jolly voice. Gary Gobble’s blank lifeless demeanor belies the true extent of his brokenness. A half-spent cigarette dangles from his ashen face, precluding a verbal greeting.

Santa Claus rewards the good children with presents which he scatters around the Christmas tree, then looks for cookies and milk. Gary Gobble pushes into the doorway and spot-checks all the dinner plates to ensure that no leftovers remain (Gary Gobble is angered by wasted food). If he discovers said uneaten food on anyone’s plate, he pulls a long string and the following noise is heard: GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE!!!! This noise originates not from Gary Gobble but from a dangerously energetic, cross-eyed wild turkey affectionately named Goofy Pete, who’s just been sprung from a cage in the backseat of Gary Gobble’s car.

Sometimes Santa catches the spying eyes of an excited child, as he sips his glass of milk by the fireplace. The soft voices of carolers might be heard in the distance. Gary Gobble scans around the house with a mild prideful smirk, savoring the irony of the moment, as the wall-eyed turkey embarks on a violent, indiscriminate rampage, darting from room to room like a pinball rolled in crack,. From the cassette player in the Imperial, Led Zeppelin’s ‘Whole Lotta Love’ blares over the grumbling of the idling engine and the cries of the wounded dinner guests.

When Santa is finished with his milk and cookies, he calls to Rudolf and the other reindeer, hops back onto his sleigh and wishes all a Merry Christmas and a good night. After five minutes, just as a blood-spattered Goofy Pete is about to pluck the second eye out of grandpa’s head, Gary Gobble draws a shotgun and blows the turkey’s head off (Don’t worry, everyone, there plenty of extra Goofy Petes to fill his place back in Gobble-Land). Amidst the moans of the wounded, and the smoke rising from his shotgun, Gary Gobble flicks his cigarette onto the carpet, and with a look of stoic self-disgust, mumbles his classic catch-phrase, “That shit’ll kill ya”.

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So there it is. If you’ve made it this far, you likely carry a distinct expression on your face. It’s the same look my family gives me, year after year, as I try to recite the legend of Gary Gobble around the thanksgiving table. No doubt it’s a look of judgement, one that says you suspect I have an emotional disorder. Perhaps you’re right. To this effect, I ask, whose fault is it that such important cultural iconography is left up to individuals like myself? It’s your fault.

Here’s where you can help. I need to spread this concept to as many people as will listen. For that matter, feel free to create your own version of this Thanksgiving legend (hopefully more venerable and less disgusting than mine), send it to me and we’ll discuss. Whichever version we choose, I’d like to start a White-House petition to make Gary Gobble the national folkloric figure of Thanksgiving. Apparently, it takes 100,000 signatures for it to reach the president’s desk. Put another way, if this works, the President of the Untied States of America is required by law to review a petition to make a broken sociopath named Gary Gobble the national folk-hero of Thanksgiving. That my friends, is democracy. Now get moving, Thanksgiving is right around the corner.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good gobble.
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Hersheypark

Recently, while visiting Hersheypark, this happened:

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At first I was quite taken aback by this conflicting message. But after reviewing my photos from earlier in the day, it became clear to me that I had missed some obvious warning signs:

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I don’t think I’m going back to Hersheypark anymore.
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