Super Sunday Hamster Blender Blog

23 April 2007

Shake My Hand. Go Ahead. I Dare You.

A confusing war. Escalating gas prices. The plight of the Midwestern farmer. The panda threat. We have so much to worry about. So much, in fact, we are purposely diverted by the clandestine media (did you know that Fox News and Wikipedia are the same thing?) that we are often unaware of other, more pressing crisis’s (crisi?)…

Crisis #1: There are way too many people not washing their hands after they pee.

You know those little signs above the sinks in restaurant rest rooms? The ones that say “Employees Must Wash Their Hands Before Returning to Work?” These need to be applied a little more broadly, as in “All Humans Must Wash Hands Right Now Or Suffer For A Hellish Eternity.” Despite the proliferation of germ-killing soaps and cleansers and the unabashed use of plastic gloves worn by everyone ranging from fast-food clerks to flight attendants, there is still a vast quantity of people (men, anyway, from my observation) that are leaving the rest rooms without washing their hands. I have watched (well, not so much watched, but vaguely noticed) many an alleged gentleman actually complete their business, walk up to the sink, comb their hair with their fingers and leave with nary a drop of water gracing their digits. I swear I hear the soap dispensers scream. So, ladies, remember that the next time your man comes lilting out the bathroom. You should consider spraying him liberally with Raid, or else you will soon be in the snuggly embrace of his urine-laced fingers.

Crisis #2: There are way too few Americans visiting the Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon is a national landmark of the United States filled with exotic wildlife like crows and squirrels and shit. And foreigners. Not that there is anything wrong with foreigners (or squirrels) visiting, but it just seems to be so out of proportion, like these non-natives recognize its beauty and grandeur while the majority of Americans recognize the beauty and grandeur of Seinfeld reruns. Some 4 million people visit the Grand Canyon every year (or is it every hour? I get mixed up), and only 17 or so are American (from my counting). Get off your ass, America, and see your country from something other than the Discovery Channel! It’s a fact that 82.3% of Americans have never left the United States (actually, I just made that up, but I could have gotten away with it; and going to one decimal place is a ruse to make the stat seem more official. Remember kids, making up statistics is a valuable tool endorsed by Al Gore).

Crisis #3: New England is stupid.

This is an amazing fact considering the Northeast is home to some of the best universities rich people’s money can buy. However, it is also a fact that God hates New England as he keeps giving them shivering, rainy, supposed spring days, democrats who can’t win a soap box derby never mind a presidency, and Godzilla. And we – yes, we; I count myself among the deranged – blindly live here and rationalize our plight with declarations like “we love our change of seasons, “John Kerry does make a nice door stop,” and “nothing like fresh maple syrup on your pan-seared Godzilla.”

I need to point out that my daughter convinced a local New England lad – at one of these so-called universities – that fallen leaves were a delicacy and he should eat them. So he did.

Probably pees on his own hands, too.

Crisis #4: Beef jerky is a thoroughly underrated food product/thing.

This is not so much a crisis as an opportunity. A crisis tends to be jagged and negative, so lest you think I am all a big pie of nasty, here is a ray of sunshine – beef jerky is awesome. I should know, I just received the case I ordered on-line. I know what you’re thinking, isn’t the internet awesome? And it is, but beef jerky is even more awesomer, especially when a big old box shows up on your doorstep with 24 bags inside (plus the necessary materials to create a hanging display; guess they thought I was a store or something. I’m not; I’m just an individual consumer who pees on his hands).

Yeah, so jerky can have a lot of salt or unnecessary MSG (Massachusetts State Government), and so it appeals to the sodium-ites (or, as known in New England universities, sodomites). However, it is packed with nutritional value in the form of protein, leather, and the blood of infidels. As everyone in the Northeast knows, jerky is made from jerks; which, we suspect, is everyone else from outside the Northeast (I specifically say Northeast instead of New England so I don’t insult the fine hooligans from Brooklyn and the Van Buren Boys of Manhattan. For those scrutinizing and watching too much TV; yes I worked in a Seinfeld reference - episode #148 - that subtlety ties back to the Grand Canyon paragraph).

The jerky I bought has 360 calories per bag, and based on the Food and Heroin and Booze Administration Nutritional We-Made-That-Pyramid-Shit-Up average of 2,500 calories per day, means you can have – using dang-fangled New England mathemaculus – almost 7 bags of jerky a day! George Bush alone - left out to dry in a sack of salt - can provide enough jerky to feed a family of 32 for a year, thus saving many more lives than the thousands he has already sent to their death in a foreign country (including the Great Squirrel Skirmish in the Grand Canyon).

Crisis #5: Southwest Airlines needs to knock it off.

I love Southwest Airlines. I really do. I love their frequent flyer program, I love there are no assigned seats, and I love their simplicity, service, and friendliness. I would rather fly on Southwest Airlines than on any other airline, including Jerky Air. However, my love was recently tempered by two events – one, the steward tried to make everyone sing, and two, the crew members are lazy, thieving bastards.

Regarding the first point, the last thing I want to do is sing and clap and holler and yodel when I am on a plane. I do enough of that at work. I don’t want to talk to strangers, never mind join the choir with them. Instead, I want to read, nap, and think about how much jerky the oaf next to me could be converted into. I also want to teach my fellow row mates the Secret Tao of Deodorant. But no singing. A singing steward is as welcome as a Massachusetts democrat in Mississippi. Or Georgia. Or South Carolina, North Carolina, Alabama, and every other southern state (the ones south of the Canadian border).

On the second point, I lied. The crew isn’t thieving, only lazy (using dramatic words like “thieving” is another useful skill endorsed by that hypocritical, sodomite of a bastard, Al Gore). I thought I saw a stewardess pilfer someone’s novel (Tom Clancy’s “Groin Spy”), but I could be wrong. The lazy part, however, is verified. Now, we all work hard for a living, except for New Englanders, where we tend to pay people to do our work and pee for us. So there is no doubt that the Southwest Airlines crew that disembarked from the flight I was on, then ended up on my shuttle bus back to my parked car, were tired from their flight an’ the singin’ an’ the carryin’ on an’ the foot-stompin’ good ol’ time we wuz havin.’ Choir practice is exhilarating, yet exhausting. But when they left their dumpster-pile of luggage for the shuttle driver to lug into the shuttle and later to lug out of the shuttle, I was annoyed. It wasn’t like it was two pieces of luggage, it was like a million. They could have all grabbed their own personal property – like the rest of us hand-washing humans do – and made it easy on the driver by loading and unloading what they brought. Alas, no, this oh-so-pooped flight crew just walked on, walked off and left this poor guy to fend for himself. Of course, selfishly speaking, this caused a personal delay for me as he made umpteen trips back and forth to load and unload. I know, I watched him intently and felt tired for him. So Southwest Crew, and especially you, Mr. Pilot in your little boy short-sleeve shirt and little boy tie who shouldn’t be that tired from nodding off in the cockpit and then playing Pong on your heads-up display, please lift a finger and help the working man. Or else we will make you into jerky, you jerk.

06 April 2007

Now is the Time to Start a Blog About Your Pancreas

Workshop: A Long-Term Strategy to Manipulating Life
Location: Nashville, Tennessee, God Complex Hotel & Resort
Date: June 1, 2007
Lecturer: Dr. Hamster, Ph.D. Metaphysical Nibbling


One of the greatest roadblocks to life is death. Through a series of interactive experiences, learn how to manipulate your way through life in a futile, exhausting, and desperate manner that best masks the inevitable. Meet storied corpses and true-life masters of the pathetic. Network with other lost souls and practice the concepts on others before they practice on you.

Key Concepts Taught:

Don’t buy into the “live for the moment” propaganda, because if you really did, you would be broke and filled with syphilis.

Recognize that most people are jerks and master how to avoid or influence them. It is natural for people to embrace their own selfishness at your expense. Just recognize it, and try not to trust too many people; especially anyone that has anything to do with oil, Human Resources, and far-left liberals who own guns. Learn the Tolerate-At-Will (TAW) technique of ample nodding and feigned interest.

Embrace your own selfishness and practice the religion of Materialism. Instead of Communion, it comes with Coupons.

You know that phrase “dance as if no one is looking”? Don’t. Most of us look laughable and downright unimpressive even if we are the only witness; and of all people, you should not humiliate yourself in front of yourself. Instead, read a book as if no one is looking. Special corollary – reading a book in a Starbucks as if no one is looking is invalid, because you want people to look. That’s just sad.

Don’t get married until you’re at least thirty. And try leasing a spouse as an economical alternative.

Be a sweet drunk and not a belligerent one. It is much better to topple into a corner and hold court with your goofy smile and a napkin-tiara than it is to force your overblown life philosophies and principles of the retarded accompanied by non-stop spittle upon anyone, including the neighbor’s dog.

Stop talking so much. Most of the time, no one cares. You know how this goes; you are sitting in your cubicle, and you say out loud – to no one in particular – “man, my pancreas is acting up today.” And take your fucking phone off of speaker when you retrieve your voice mail.

Don’t eat at places like McDonald’s or Burger King or 7-11, no matter how tempting six tripe-filled taquitos for a dollar sounds. Read a book about tripe or taquitos instead.

You can’t be a Buddhist. Not if you watch American Idol or Survivor. That’s a Masochist.

No one cares about your blog, but keep at it. At the very least, it keeps you safely inside, away from the jerk-people. Unless you work on your blog wirelessly in a Starbucks, then that’s just sad.

You are not as cool as you think you are, and you are not as smart as you think you are. Stop quoting “Reservoir Dogs,” stop smoking cigars, and stop getting all your news from YouTube. All while listening to that “Best of Des Moines Jazz” CD you bought at the dollar store.

Avoid romantic relationships with co-workers who happen to be siblings or your parents.

Master death and dignity. When you die, make sure you are dressed like a pirate or a clown as a tribute to Donald Rumsfeld, The Great Pirate-Clown.

Never listen to Oprah. Don’t read any books she recommends; she’s manipulating you. In fact, send her books to read. Enclose a taquito with it.

Do not generate or forward email that is an attempt to be inspirational. Pictures with snow-covered mountains, sunflowers, kittens and Jesus are all sure signs of pleading, self-indulgent, emotional garbage (unless they are decapitated).

Contradicting youself is fine. Please go to My Contradiction

Start a band. Give it a name no one will remember (like Splendid Saturday Gerbil Toaster). Put your music on a web site and begin a blog. Be happy that a half-dozen people may read it, and that includes your mom. Be careful; if you work together, she may be flirting with you.