Busted!

Okay, go ahead and say it; I'll understand. And I'll fully agree. Like all men, I'm a pig. So there.

But I thought this picture was pretty funny, so I thought I'd share it with y'all. You can thank me (on many different levels) later.

It's from some Columbian lingerie show or something like that-- blah blah blah. I probably should have paid more details to the wording - you know, it's like saying "I only ready it for the articles...."

But the fact that there's a nearly naked hot chick in this photo isn't what made me laugh. No, it's this dude, seated in the front row.

He's got his camera phone out, and from the expression on his face, you can tell exactly where he's got that little Nokia zoom lens focused.

But the best part is the look on the face of the woman next him - his wife, perhaps? Girlfriend? Soon to be ex?

She ain't watching hot young things strut around in their skivvies - nope, she's watching her man take photos of some other chick's crack!

He's totally oblivious to the icy stares that his old lady is giving him, because he's too mesmerized by the hot piece in front of him. Meanwhile, his significant other is plotting his demise, probably in a unique and painful way.

Of course he'll naturally deny it later, but as they say, the camera doesn't lie.

See? All men truly are pigs.

I wish we had a photo of the couple out in the parking lot after the fashion show was over - I suspect it'd look a lot like this:

So a word to the wise, fellas - don't get snagged. And if you do, don't have a picture of you getting snagged appear on the top of Yahoo's most popular photo page.

You've been warned.

A Real Tongue Twister

It’s been nasty cold here lately in the Midwest. The kind of temperatures that tell you “give it up, kid, and just stay in bed today.” Fortunately, we’ve been lucky enough to warm up a little bit here in the Omaha area – true, it’s not sunny and 75, but when it’s been 10 below zero, 40 feels pretty nice.

But don’t celebrate Spring yet -- Old Man Winter isn’t done with us yet. Far from it. Here’s a perfect example of what happens when you jump the seasonal gun.

Did you happen to see this article late last week?



Now, I must admit that I have NEVER tried this. Or, at least that I can remember. Who knows – it may be one of those painful, God-awful memories I’ve permanently blocked from my mind, like the time I stepped in dog crap in my Waffle Stompers and couldn’t scrape it out, or my first marriage.

But after a brief survey of those around me, I discovered that yes indeed – several of my closest friends, allies, and even The Lovely Mrs. G – have tried putting their tongue on something frozen and metallic.

As the article so considerably points out, who hasn’t seen “A Christmas Story” to see what happens when you do this? It wasn’t a demonstration, kids – it was a warning! You don’t put your tongue on frozen poles, you don’t ask Santa for a b.b. gun, and you don’t buy leg lamps in the name of “haute couture”.

So let this be a painful lesson to you, kids. Watch where you put your tongue – it might come back to bite you.

And don’t step on any sidewalk cracks, either. Your mother will thank you.

Bye, George

In this time of troubling economic news, I hate to hear of anyone losing their job. Except for maybe this guy.



Yes, thank God that this man and the dumbass things he does is going on unemployment in about 48 hours from now. Now the only things he'll be able to screw up are the shrubs in his front yard.

I've never been a fan of W. (Gee, can you tell?) In fact, I made a living for a while bashing this dope and his stupidity. And of all the hate mail I got over the years, not one ever criticized me for calling him what he was: The Worst. President. Ever.

They say you can judge a leader's time in office with one simple question: Are you better off now than before he took office? Well, lemme think....

I don't think there's anyone this side of Halliburton who can answer that question "Yes". Certainly not anyone with a 401K. Certainly not anyone from New Orleans. Certainly not the families who had sons, daughters, husbands, wifes, fathers, mothers, or good friends killed in Iraq, trying to "defend our freedom" while searching for imaginary weapons.

But now it's time for George to pack up his saddle bag of lies and ride off into the sunset. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out of Washington, Dubya.

I wish you a long and boring retirement. Just keep your hands to yourself, and you'll be fine.

As for the rest of us, we're looking at a fresh start, a chance to make up for all of your incredible snafus. Barack Obama has a lot of work ahead of him, cleaning up your messes, but if anyone can do it, it's him. Why? Well, it's because Barack has more courage and skill and brains in his little finger than you & Cheney have in your entire fat heads combined. So there.

So three cheers for President Obama - may he be the leader we've so desparately needed for the past 8 agonizing years.

And George -- don't go away mad. Just go away.

And Then There Were None

Well, it finally happened.

I got word yesterday that my last two remaining co-workers from my previous employer (The Company That Shall Not Be Named) got their pink slips. At least the bastards gave them 60 days notice.

So that's it – everyone I worked with there for 7.5 years is gone. Will the last one out of the building please turn off the lights?

There were 25 of us in that group while I worked there. I was #24 to join the group; the only reason there was a number 25 was that they dumped our manager (Skippy Whitebread) for another guy. (Although Skippy was probably the wisest one – he's still there, in a different dept. Talk about your lucky breaks.)

Anyway, there were 25 of us all together.

* 3 of us left the company on our own accord.
* 2 (Skippy and one other) transferred to other departments.
* 20 were laid off.

It's the end of an era – a department of writers, editors, and graphic artists, poof - all gone.

As for the company, it's barely standing anymore. The last I heard, my old facility in Sioux City (which used to house 9,000 employees) now has about 60 people left.

Apparently the place is like one big ghost town – it's like watching "I Am Legend", only without Wil Smith and the cute dog. (I would've said "only without the zombies," but I'm sure that there are plenty of those there.)

I'm doubly glad that I jumped off that ship a year ago – otherwise I too would've been tossed on the street yesterday. It's not a good time to find yourself on the unemployment roster, what with the economy shaking like a Polaroid picture.

And I feel really bad for my old friends who now on the outs, but it's not like this came as a big surprise. After our team was cut from 16 to 9 in 2003 the writing was pretty much on the wall. (In bloody capital letters, no less.) That's when I decided to get my butt back to school, and take the steps to move on with my life.

Sure glad I did.

So hang in there, America. The economy can't suck forever. Can it?

It's a Dirty Job

As you may recall, the Lovely Mrs. G. and I were recently in Las Vegas, where we had the honor and privilege to attend an evening at the National Pro Cowboy Association's big bad rodeo.

The Wrangler National Finals Rodeo is the Super Bowl of bull riding, bronco busting, calf roping, and other assorted cowboy-related sports. (No, spitting tobacco wasn't an official sport. Neither was mass consumption of Coors Light, but that didn't stop many people from playing along.)

Now, I have to fully admit that I am not a cowboy. In fact, I'm probably about the furthest away from being a cowboy in the entire Midwest. I have no 10-gallon hat, and I have no boots. I drive a convertible, and not a Dodge pickup. I own no Garth Brooks CDs, and I can't stand Shania Twain. I do own a pair of Wranglers, but they're used to keep me from being arrested for public exposure at work, and not to protect me while I buck hay or dodge a charging bull.

So I'm a city slicker, and damn proud of it. But I do appreciate a good rodeo, although I silently root for the bull sometimes.

As far as the rodeo itself went, we had a great time. The bills were ornery, the broncos bucked high, and the crowd was rowdy. What more could you hope for?

Anyway, this being a commercial operation, there was naturally a whole lot of souvenirs for sale. PRCA logoed t-shirts, jackets, hats, bibs for the kiddies, collector's coins, and even a $775 limited edition belt buckle, if you so desire. It may not be the size of a hubcap, but it's sure to impress your cowpoke buddies.

But the strangest thing for sale has got to be…this.

Yes, it's a plastic jar of dirt.

For 10 bucks, you too can buy some authentic PRCA rodeo soil, fresh from underneath the bull's hooves. (Cowboy blood and bull snot not guaranteed.)

Now, what exactly you'd do with a rectangle of cowboy dirt is anyone's guess. Use it as a paperweight? Put it in your display case, next to the unopened six pack of Billy Beer? Use it to threaten your herd? ("Y'all better behave, or else I'm gonna get the dirt!")

It just seems like a weird thing to buy, especially if you're picking it up as a gift.

Here's how the pro rodeo merchandise website describes this unique specialty item:

* * * * *

Relive the glory of the 50th Anniversary Wrangler National Finals Rodeo with this new Official WNFR 50th Anniversary Arena Dirt collector's item! This unique Wrangler National Finals Rodeo keepsake comes straight from the rodeo arena floor - and straight to your door! Relive the 2008 WNFR in Las Vegas with an item that all rodeo fans will be envious of - real arena dirt from the competitor's arena. Container measures 3"x1"x1" and contains real dirt from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas, where this year's rodeo champions were crowned. Don't miss out on this awesome collector's item - order your's today!

* * * * *

So it's a collector's item, huh? Does that mean there's only a limited number of these things? I saw that arena – there was a whole lot of dirt in there. Who's to say that they didn't make 10 gazillion tubes of topsoil? Where's the resale value in that?

I also like how they say that you'll "relive the 2008 WNFR with an item that all rodeo fans will be envious of." Well, as a rodeo fan, I promise you that I will never covet your tube of dirt. You have my word on it.

But what if you do buy one of these? Does that make you less than a wise cookie? Ummmm, let's just put it this way. If you're nutty enough to drop a sawbuck on a box of collectible DIRT, then you have no right to ever make fun of Star Trek geeks again.

So there you have it – a suitable gift for the person who has everything. Literally.

I must admit that I didn't buy any PRCA licensed merchandise while in Vegas – it was all too expensive and too…much for a city boy like me.

But I did come home with a couple of new Mickey Mouse t-shirts from the Disney outlet in town, so I really can't make that much fun of dirt buying cowboys, can I? I mean, talk about calling the campfire bean pot black.

Still – I'd never consider buying a scoop of Disneyland's dirt in a collector's edition plexi-glass case…

…unless I could get a good deal on it.