Witz DOESN'T Pick: Threat of Death! (but not death threats yet...I'm not that well known...)

I had turkey chili in a bread bowl last night, so I apologize if I come off a little cocky today. Also last night, I learned that my dreams are only getting less creative.

After watching Lost, I was chased around by John Locke for approximately ALL OF THE GOOD HOURS OF SLEEP. At first I thought maybe he was chasing me because he wanted me to be the recipient of a monetary reward or because we were playing a game of Rock N' Jock Tag (First of all, does anyone remember Rock N' Jock sports on MTV? Why was the Burger King spokesman of the time always involved?? Secondly, I'm not sure why I'd be involved in this game of tag, although I suppose being in a local band does constitute some mild rocking). As it turned out, he didn't want to do either of those things-- he wanted to kill me (really creative, brain). I wasn't sure if he wanted to kill me right up until the point where he declared, "I'm going to kill you," and I guess I appreciated his honesty. Apparently, he was planning on using his bare hands, so I grabbed a knife and stabbed him a few times, but check this out: in dreams, Witz can't even grab a quality knife-- I stabbed him with a serrated bread knife, which did little to no harm, but certainly gave him the idea of producing a LARGER non-bread themed knife with which to murder me. I took this as my cue to run upstairs to my parents room and hide behind the door.


Now, I don't know if you've ever seen any movies ever, but running upstairs and hiding behind the door rarely works. It didn't even work when I was a kid playing real hide and seek, so I'm not sure why I would think "John Locke: Dream Murderer" would be foiled. He wasn't foiled and right before I got stabbed repeatedly, my brain decided it would be a good time to wake up and realize it was exactly 1 minute before my morning alarm was set to go off. Fantastic. "Well, you're not murdered-- now get up and go to work." The scales remain balanced.

Back to real life. It has recently come to my attention that a man in Turbo's office has started wearing a surgical mask to work. Turbo is not a doctor, nor does he work in a hospital. He is in film production. Context is important in situations like these, so let's back up. If this man had previously learned that his lungs were fragile and he needed to avoid as many germs as possible, the mask would be ok. If the man was considering a career change to construction, but wasn't sure he could handle the facial constraints on a daily basis and wanted to try it out for a bit before quitting his current job, that would be ok. If the man drew different faces on the surgical mask each day as hilarious jokes to pass the dreary routine of the work week-- that would be ok. But none of these things are the case. The case is that about a month ago, this man went apeshit in the office (like, Take Your Face apeshit), destroyed his cubicle and went off on one of his co-workers.

Somehow, because of his talent, he wasn't fired. This means that if ever asked "How good are you at your job?" he can reply, "Well, I pulled a Chris Brown on my cubicle, physically threatened my office neighbor with company property that I then destroyed, and still work here..." To which the only possible reply is, "I didn't know you could sing." After a brief departure, he returned and for the last week, he has sported the surgical mask look. There are only two options left: the man IS Asian, and therefore, through simple facts, it is possible that he has reached that time in his life when he inexplicably dons a surgical mask in public. It's a lot like what I understand The Happening to have been about-- only this mask thing would probably get better reviews. So MAYBE that's the case. But since we all know that's NOT the case, let's just state the obvious-- Turbo is about to have a front row seat for biological warfare. "Everyone in the first three rows WILL get skin lesions," type stuff. This raises an interesting question: Can Turbo ask for paid time off given the fact that a dude in his office is clearly planning something?

Turbo: I'd like to not come in for a while.
Boss: And why is that?
Turbo: Well, uh, exhibit A is the batshit crazy tech guy wearing a goddamn surgical mask to work.
Boss: Hm. Do you have any reason to believe he's dangerous?
Turbo: ...I mean, there was that incident where he picked up an "Anatomy of a Human" statue and beat it repeatedly against his cuble wall until it broke into a thousand pieces.
Boss: Goo...and how long did that take to do?
Turbo: An awkwardly long time!
Boss: That does sound violent.
Turbo: It was terrifying!
Boss: And now he's--
Turbo: --wearing a surgical mask to work, yes.
Boss: Is there ANY chance he's considering becoming a construction worker and wants to test out the facial restraints before getting into a life of heavy sanding?
Turbo: It's possible, yes. But I don't--
Boss: --Alright. Well. Let's go with that for now...aaaaand...let me know if he shows up wearing any air-tight suits, k? This is my home phone number-- you can reach me there if he does.
Turbo: What? You're leaving?
Boss: Hell yeah, I'm leaving, are you kidding me? The guy's wearing a surgical mask in the office-- I'm not dying for a Michael Bay film!

I say it's more than valid to get out of the office-- "If you see something, say something," the NYC Subway says, and in this case, Turbo has definitely seen something. Otherwise, what I think Turbo needs to do is take the offensive. Start wearing OTHER crazy shit to the office and make sure he sees you. Borrow my, "Gun Control Is Being Able to Hit Your Target" t-shirt. Watch The Rock really loudly and keep repeating the, "Paper or plastic!" scene to get him thinking about the consequences of his actions. Put on TWO surgical masks and say, "Gotta double bag it, bro." Get in his head. And in the off-chance that the guy reads Witz Pickz and uses this as a reason to speed up his attack-- my bad!

I'm DEFINITELY Wearing A Surgical Mask to Work,
Witz

Witz Pickz: Tuesday Grab Bag

To prove to you all that I'm not thinking clearly these days, I need to tell you that Pepperidge Farms Sausalito Cookies were on sale for two dollars a bag last week and I only bought two bags. Let me say that again: Delicious cookies chock full of macadamia nuts and chocolate chunks were being sold for 25 cents each and I only bough two packages of them. I SHOULD BE SLEEPING IN BEDS OF COOKIES! I should be exfoliating with the crumbs of sugary goodness. "Witz, your skin looks amazing, what are you using?" COOKIES! My car should be overflowing with bags of desserts, with the windows down, so as I go over bumps, bags of glory fly out the windows like a package of Jiffy Pop. People should be saying, "There goes Witz, he really knows how to live," but instead they're saying, "There goes Witz, his car sounds like two cow-bells boning. So clearly I am not thinking correctly, and can't be held accountable for my lack of posting

National Pancake Day:
Today is National Pancake Day which means that PANCAKES have the exact same number of holidays per year as black people! Sorry, Martin Luther King, Jr., but you affected people just as much as bisquick mix. Now, I understand that MLK Day is a NATIONAL holiday and that some people get the day off, but some people don't get the day off. On National Pancake Day, EVERYONE gets a free short stack of pancakes at IHOP, and that's even more of a bonding experience because then everyone who got the free pancakes can feel massive indigestion together. The only way MLK, Jr. Day brings people together is by making all white people super awkward and have to pretend they're way more into African Dance Exhibitions than they actually are.

Ordering Pizza:
The pizza server girl at Whole Foods screwed me over last night. She took one look at me and seemingly decided, "I hate this human being." How come when I get slices of pizza, I don't feel like it's socially acceptable for me to say, "I want THAT piece!" like I'm still five years old? MOREOVER, how come people don't look at me and KNOW that "He wants that piece!" when they grab a slice for me. I obviously want the huge, "Oops, we cut the pizza into fourths" slice for my three dollars instead of what Mitch Hedberg deemed the "Donate it to charity" percentage slice (% of people who if they won the lottery would donate the money to charity). Is it just a power trip? Do the pizza slingers do it just to taunt me and show that they hold some level of control over my life? I mean, I would feel a certain sense of SHAME giving someone the tiny slice and charging the same amount as the huge slice. Is this their way of calling me fat? I mean, I might be one pizza encounter away from being nicknamed, "Big Slice Witz" but I'm kind of ok with that. Big Slice is kind of a dope nickname. I'm prooobably gonna start calling someone I know Big Slice as soon as possible, and it's not necessarily because they're large. So maybe it's time we took a stand and started telling them exactly which slice we want. Maybe we need to get aggressive about it. "Nope, not that slice you fucking moron, the good one. What are you, retarded?" Everyone knows which slice, "the good slice" is. So let's start acting like it.

This Was An "How Much Do You Love Work" Slice of Comedy,
Witz

P.S. A special farewell to The Big Ho (self-titled) who is off to join the Peace Corps in Honduras today and will inevitably suffer a painful death at the hands of the chupacabra. Never underestimate the chupacabra my friends, for that is when they are at their most dangerous. Until the inevitable, though, stay safe.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: "Only the Good News"

KJR-FM thinks you're an idiot (but thinks your friend is cute!). I have been recently informed by Sparks Gal that 95.7 FM in Seattle is featuring "Only the Good News" on their station. This means that they are avoiding all negative headlines and simply giving the listeners some positive views of the world. As I've stated before with "Just the Bunches cereal," we don't live in a "Just the Bunches" world and we don't live in an "Only the Good News" world. Moreover, just like how the best books have tragic endings, USEFUL news is usually the bad stuff. I don't need to know that 3 orca whales had babies in Puget Sound (though I bet they are cute as helllllll and might eat me), but I might want to know that a plane crashed in Buffalo. I can't imagine this conversation going in my intellectual favor:

Person: Did you hear about the down-swing in the Asian markets that could potentially cause millions of people in the US to lose their jobs?
Witz: No, but did you hear about how baby seals are adorable?
Person: ...You're an idiot.
Witz: True.

Beyond that, how do you have "Only the Good News" on a radio station. What about the fact that TRAFFIC exists?? "For those of you taking 405...take this time to think about all the people that love you! For those of you NOT taking 405, realllly good decision-- we can't say why." Or maybe just, "There's absolutely no traffic on Quarry Road today!" If it's raining outside, do they just skip over weather? How do they judge if that's good news or not-- maybe there's a drought or someone wanting to watch a movie and not feel guilty for staying indoors? "It's a great day to not have to go outside!"

You know who listens to the station with "Only the Good News?" Everyone who's going to die in the event of an emergency. I'll be hearing about the Earthquake or the Tornado or the Alien Invasion and packing my things and getting out of town while Good News Gary gargles a tsunami.

But hey, let's give them the benefit of the doubt. Let's take a closer look at some of their Good News:

Country at 93% Employment! GREAT! Ohhhh wait, that means we're at 7% unemployment, which is actually considered quite high! Thanks for manipulating statistics-- that's not good news, that's just you thinking I'm dumb.

Walmart Posting Record Sales! Phew! I was worried the large mass corporation that treats their employees the worst and sells primarily to poorer people would go under! That sounds great for Walmart, but I'm not exactly sure how it helps anyone else. Luckily, they're posting record sales, which means more people feel they have to shop at Walmart in order to afford their lives, which means more people are getting poorer. That's one step above saying, "Food Stamp demand at all time high!"

As Sparks Gal says, "How does their announcement that they are hosting a Rod Stewart show at Quilceda Creek Casino constitute 'good' news? And how will they report a serial killer on the loose? Maybe in terms of 'the victims have all been unpopular, thus far'??"

If 95.7 was being remotely facetious, I could understand, but they mean it and that worries me. Are people that dumb? That fragile? If so, I plan to rob them. Again and again.

"Who's breaking into my house? Who's there??"
"It's ME-- the tanking U.S. economy!"
"The who? I've never heard of you...are you sure you're not conjoined monkey twins that can juggle?" (Note: All monkeys look like twins to me. I also believe all monkeys can and ought to be able to juggle. Furthermore, identical twins would be so much easier to tell apart if they were conjoined. "I can never tell which one's Ricky! Oh-- yes I can-- he's the one always on the left.")

Not Only the Good Posts,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Restaurants Making Me Sound Like A Tool

Maybe I haven't posted since last week, but YOU haven't either, so think about THAT! Now...let's talk about how restaurants feel the need to make us sound like complete assholes.

I want to know exactly when it was that restaurants decided to be "wacky." When did the first person say, "You know what this hamburger place needs? Deep Sea Diving equipment on the walls." When did somebody first think that putting crazy crap on the walls of a place would make me want to eat there. I'm not saying it hasn't worked, I'm a sucker for Applebee's, Ruby Tuesday's, Friendly's, and Chili's (at least before they reduced their fry portions, which was literally the smallest change they could have made that generated such a huge reaction out of me), but I have to assume that the "wacky" aspect of restaurants came from somewhere, and it feels American. I have a hard time believing that some German place said, "Zou know vut zis place needs? Snow shoes and tennis rackets on zee walls!" Then again, Germany and "flair" haven't worked out so well in the past. Probably not a lotta "Stars and moon" themed birthday parties-- "What if we just have moons, honey?"

So let's assume this is an American thing. A "we have so much stuff, we're putting our stuff on walls where we eat just for the fuck of it" type thing. Nobody's gonna fire a nuke at us when we have spare guns, nets, and fishing spears strung up on the walls of Red Robin. HOWEVER, America took it too far. The crazy shit on the walls evolved into crazy stuff on the menu-- not cuisine, but names of dishes. Red Robin is a good place to start. I feel slightly foolish ordering the Honky Tonk BBQ Pork Sandwich. Unless I'm getting kick-backs from them, I don't feel the need to say that I want the WHISKEY RIVER BBQ Burger-- I'll just take the BBQ Burger. That's tame, though, compared to some places where you have to say things like, "I'd like two Al Pacinos, one Chick-quille O'Neil, and a Sly Stallone please (also, I'm either ordering for several people or am ridiculously fat in this scenario)." Sandwiches probably started this trend, with delis giving their eats clever names after people they know or geographic locations. Historically, I don't think ancient peoples had this. "Gimme two King Ramses II's, one What Sphinx In Here, aaand three Incest In the Mornings...thanks."

I blame America, and things have gotten out of control. Fine, I'll order a "Robin Williams" in SF if you have some sandwich that's "totally off the wall and enough meat to put hair on your chest." I'll order a "Jerry Seinfeld" in NY if I want to know, "What's the deeeeeal with turkey bacon!? Is it turkey? Is it bacon? Is it just a way for Jews to wink at God and say, 'Gotcha!?' Who cares! This sandwich is delicious!!" BUT I WILL NOT sit there, looking a waiter/waitress in the eye, and say something that we are both aware makes me sound like a complete tool. Case and point, here is the worst menu I have ever seen in my entire life: CAFE GRATITUDE IN SF...if you read the menu and don't want to stab someone's eyes out, then you aren't literate. I understand it's a healthy lifestyle type place, but wouldn't you then want to make it MORE accessible to the average person? For those of you not perusing the menu, well, first of all, that's really lazy and you probably have the time to do so, and second of all, take this one example off the kid's menu:

I Am A Hero: Noodles and Sauce (Spiral-sliced vegetable “noodles” in marinara sauce with Brazil nut parmesan).

Who would order that? No children are ordering that for themselves. Moreover, do you order it as, "I Am A Hero" or "He/She Is A Hero" when ordering for a child? The menu only gets worse as you run into "I Am Dazzling" which apparently means you're gonna have wicked bad garlic breath, or "I Am Eating At Cafe Gratitude" which means, "I'm really effing rich, because these mediocre, condescending, barely food dishes are expensive." What you really mean to say is, "I Am Vegan" or "I Am Lactose Intolerant" or "Gluten-Intolerant" or "A Really Good Friend of One of the Aforementioned People."

As My Friend Formerly With A Pool said,

"I wouldn't say a single one of those things. I would say "give me the noodles with sauce" or just "give me directions to another restaurant, because you have awful names and also noodles in sauce sounds like something you might get in jail"



So please stop making us sound like idiots. Nobody says, "Hey, let's go to Bobby's for lunch! They make you say, "I'd like to order the I'm Easily Amused and Borderline Retarded Burger!" Just make good food and if you really feel the need, tack something up to your walls that doesn't belong there. It'll be so wacky we'll practically throw our money at you.*

I Like Restaurants That's Walls Reflect My Inner Emotions...Full of Ski Poles,
Witz

Photo comedy magic performed by Nitro

*Note: I actually DO pay waiters by balling up and throwing my money at them. It's really really condescending and demeaning and it not only makes me feel better about myself, but it makes them feel worse about themselves, possibly leading to them killing themselves-- and with the current economy, if I get laid off, those open jobs will be warm and cozy cribs for me to sleep in. Literally.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: McDonald's Commercials, Bathroom Etiquette, Facebook Philanthropy

McDonald's Radio Ad:

I heard an ad on the radio this morning for McDonald's breakfast and couldn't ignore it. It was one of those two part ads, where they do one scene and then follow it up with another quick scene of the same idea. The first one is a guy calling into work and telling them that he woke up with a bout of optimism and after having a McDonald's breakfast doesn't think he's going to be coming in because he's enjoying life too much and having too good a time now that he's eaten his McGriddle sandwich. It was supposed to be ironic and witty, but here's the actual translation: I woke up early, ate breakfast at McDonald's, and am now shitting my brains out and don't think it's going to end within the 9 hour window we call the work day. In addition, he says, "I feel like I was hit with a ton of teddy bears," which is supposed to be the opposite of "hit by a ton of bricks" I imagine. Only, as IQ test takers know, a TON of teddy bears is the SAME as a TON of bricks. That dude felt like he was hit by a TON of weight-- now you try and tell me it's not from the McGriddle.

The second ad featured a sassy black woman (not a stereotype-- McDonald's has spent millions of dollars cornering the Sassy Black Woman demographic) getting aggravated because, "Oh no you di'in't just cut in front of me in line! I know you saw me there!" Fortunately for the offending party, "I'm getting a McGriddle for breakfast, so I'll let it go this time!" Translation: I'm a sassy black female stereotype who comes here a lot and am VERY familiar with the McDonald's menu, ordering process, and feeling of temporary joy that I experience from endorphins that are released after consuming McDonald's breakfast products. In addition, while I don't appreciate your complete disrespect for the line and myself, I understand that my sass can get a little out of control, especially when I'm hungry, and will let you off the hook this time, especially since I am morbidly obese, and couldn't possibly do much more than make a lot of noise and fulfil the role that McDonald's has seemingly assigned to me in their world. Besides, you'll get yours after breakfast, when you are forced to call in sick to work because you're shitting your brains out and don't think you will ever experience anything else ever again.

Bathroom Etiquette:

While we're on the subject, I might as well throw this in: WHO THINKS IT'S COOL TO TALK ON THE PHONE IN THE BATHROOM??? That wasn't cool 10 years ago, and it's still not now. Whenever anyone does it, I make a point to flush every urinal and stall in the place, just so the person on the phone hears. Sometimes multi-tasking isn't the answer.

Also, who decided that the gym bathroom is a sound booth where you can make whatever noises you feel like? I go to wash my hands and I hear all the worst parts of the Bible coming out of stall three. Another time I walk in and it sounds like some dude is watching his daughter perform a gymnastics floor routine from the bleachers: "Eeeeeeesh, ohhhhhh, wheeeeeew, ugggggh, phewwww, alllright, hmmmmm, stick the landing, yesssss, ahhhhhh, exhale." Awful. The worst is when there's a someone makin' a lot of noise from the handicapped stall and I don't know if they're just making sound effects or if they fell and are struggling to get back into their wheelchair. And it's not like I can give a peek under the stall because the last thing I want to do is make eye contact with some paraplegic lying pantsless on the floor of a public restroom-- I don't want to see his shame and more so, it'll make it even more awkward when I turn and walk away.

Facebook Philanthropy:

I'm sick of all the "causes" and "petitions" that people send me on facebook. I get twenty of these things a week, and end up feeling like a major douchebag and terrible human because I just click ignore on them. Meanwhile, it takes someone about 30 seconds and minimal effort to invite everyone they know to join this cause they are interested in, and somehow they're supposed to come off as good people. They don't actually care if I join their cause, they just want everyone to know that they care about stuff. Of course I care about major issues and global/national problems, but who is going to take me seriously when I have 50 causes that I'm for and 500 petitions that I've signed? So what am I supposed to do with these things?? Yeah, I'm not pro-global warming, but do I really need to accept your "Fight Against Global Warming" cause invitation?? It doesn't sound like a problem, but do I really support a White House Victory Garden Re-planting enough to "sign" a PETITION?? No! If you're my friend on facebook, then you PROBABLY aren't the type of person that supports Neo-Nazi Movements, Ethnic Cleansing, or Extreme Poverty. I don't need you to advertise that you want to help people in Darfur or are in favor of working towards more balanced wealth distribution in our nation and others. Just because I don't join your cause against seal clubbing, doesn't mean I go out on weekends and club seals, nor do I support seal clubbing organizations (other than organizations that are in favor of physically clubbing the singer Seal).

So stop. Please. We know you're good people. Or we know you're not good people. AND we know if WE are good people or not. You don't need to lead us in one direction or another.

Formerly A Good Person,

Witz

P.S. What's with the ubiquitous "Two Rules to a Flat Stomach" internet ad with the before and after shot of the "flat stomach?" It's everywhere and makes even safe, work friendly pages seem like gross awkward porn. Since when did "photos that make you want to throw up" become good marketing?

Witz Pickz: State IOU's

California is being forced to issue IOU's instead of state tax refunds to millions of residents. At first, I was concerned. You know there's something wrong when you trust your state government less than you'd trust a homeless guy when they say, "I'll pay you back later!" Sure you will, State of California-- you prooobably just casually decided to go the direction of IOU's-- it's proooobably not a sign of a major economic collapse that will haunt the state for years...

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Really puts the whole Prop 8 thing in perspective-- "As your state, we say that you can't get married because you're gay! Also, as your state, we're broke as shit, dude! Spot me some g's?" I'm sorry, but I don't let broke people tell me what to do. If you owe me fifty bucks and tell me not to borrow your Forgetting Sarah Marshall DVD-- I'm gonna go ahead and borrow it, thanks. If you owe me money and ask for a ride to the store, guess who's not paying for gas. I don't think we should let broke-ass California have control over us anymore. If you wanna get gay married, go for it. If you wanna confine your chickens before you slaughter them-- you do that. If you don't like stop signs-- then let your roads be stop sign free. And this is exactly why I'm way in favor of State IOU's.

Getting an IOU from your state is like having them say, "Don't worry about speeding anymore!" Because when that cop pulls me over, I'm gonna be waving my tax return form at them. Parking tickets? Nope. Paying for public transit? Put it on my tab. Any public works or utilities item should suddenly be available with my new Municipal Gift Card. It's like we all suddenly became celebrities and have political sway to get away with stuff.

Having the state use IOU's opens the door for a ridiculous IOU economy (oh wait, we do that already).

Police: Sir, you just drove your car at 160mph (which is really impressive for your Subaru station wagon) off the highway, through the city, barrelling over hills and eventually crashing into Fiddler's Green-- we need you to come with us.

Witz: Sorry, sirs, but no dice-- lemme just get out my IOU book and write you one for "8 years jail time served." Also, I hate Fiddler's Green.

Boss: So are you planning on coming in this month...because we've been paying you for the last three and you haven't been here?

Witz: Uhp, my bad-- I totally meant to write you an IOU for the 3rd quarter, but I thought maybe I was just getting severance! Here you go, 640 hours, that should cover it. Now, I'm gonna need you to wait until 2010 before you cash this.

Finally, where in the Constitution does it say you can issue IOU's??? Was Ben Franklin like,

BEN FRANKLIN: Also, add a part in there where if the country becomes obscenely broke, it can cover all expenses and commitments to its citizens via a slip of paper with the letter's I-O-U scrawled on it.

THOMAS JEFFERSON: What?
BEN: You know, like, just in case.
THOMAS: Dude, are you hiiiiigh?? We can't do that!
BEN: Whyyyyy not? We're writing the CONSTITUTION!
GEORGE WASHINGTON: Thomas, stop being such a pussy and just do it.
BEN: Are you kidding me? IOU's??
GEORGE: It'll be hilarious!
THOMAS: It's not like it's gonna happen, just do it!
JOHN HANCOCK: Haaaaaancock!
BEN: Fine. Douchebags.

IOU More Jokes,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Racist Lights

My room back home hasn't been updated since I was five years old. This means that all my furniture, my bed (which is actually larger than the bed I currently sleep in), my walls, my rug, are all the same as they were over twenty years ago. And apparently, twenty years ago, a gay five year old lived in my room. Every piece of furniture is rainbow colored-- meaning the outline is blue, but each drawer, shelf, etc. was a different color of the rainbow. Super ironically, I'm partially color-blind, so every time I walk in my room, it's as if my room is welcoming me with a big "Fuck You!"

One item in my room, however, drew my attention when I was home in December. In the middle of my ceiling, there is a light, and I realized this time around, that it is, through no fault of its own, an extremely racist light. As you can see in the picture below, my light depicts a number of athletes in sports poses-- only, to allow for the most light possible, they are all extremely white. The whole thing plays out like a "People about to lose" montage. Let me explain:

Boxer: As far as I know, tiny white boxers haven't dominated the sport (or underwear culture) since the thirties. This guy is about to get his ass handed to him by Oscar de la Hoya.

Basketball Player: Whoah, whoah whoah-- whatcha doin' buddy? That's a funny lookin' pass! Our boy in red is seconds away from getting that ball smacked back into his face reminding him that John Stockton was the last of his kind and even Steve Nash doesn't think he's as good as people say.

Skiier: Alright, that's legit, but it's amusing that they made the guy doing the whitest sport all bundled up in color except for his face and hair. He looks like the bad guy brothers in Die Hard.

Baseball Player: Nothin' much to say other than the fact that this guy looks EXACTLY LIKE SAN DIEGO PADRES INFIELDER, KHALIL GREENE.

Tennis Player: Again, nothin' much to say about the super white tennis player, other than the fact that he looks EXACTLY LIKE SAN DIEGO PADRES INFIELDER, KHALIL GREENE!!! Also, some South American white guy would kick the crap out of this guy.

Hockey Player: So there are only like, three black people in the entire NHL, and hockey players wear badass gear and are rough dudes, but this light STILL made this guy look nerdy and white-- feels like they're compensating.

Nascar: Let me explain how this is racist. Having NASCAR on my light makes it so that any black person walking in my room would take one look at my light and say, "Oh-- I'd better go..." He'd also probably add, "But for what it's worth, I think there's a gay five year old living somewhere in your room." It's a slippery slope-- first you get the Nascar light, then you get the swastika face tattoo.

Football Player: Do a little research and get back to me on how many white running backs there are in the league. Either this light is racist, or we're supposed to believe that this guy's team just blocked a punt and the offensive lineman picked up the ball on his long trudge down towards the end zone. You be the judge.

Oh yeah, and just in case the rainbow furniture and racist light weren't enough, I have a print by an apparently famous Native American painter of a small topless boy being stalked by a guardian bare-chested spirit in the clouds. I guess it was painted during the awkward, "The Gods Might Touch You There" movement of the 80's. The weirdest part is that when I was really little and scared to go to sleep, my Dad would say, "Don't worry, just look at your painting of the guardian spirit," which was like saying, "Don't worry, there's a creepy Indian looming over you just outside your sight."

Two Words: Night Shirt,
Witz

Oh hey, just a nude Indian on a ghost horse, nothin' to worry about here...

Witz Pickz: Friday Grab Bag (aka Witz Slides Closer to Hell)

I let The Deaflympics simmer for a little while and you know what? Nothing but positive results! I was sure someone was going to get upset or write a hate letter, but it turns out that a) I don't have that many people reading this blog b) people don't care all that much about deaf people and c) deaf people can't hear all the buzz about Witz Pickz! Here's a whole bunch of randomness to end the week:

Vitamin Water:
I've become addicted to this stuff. I'm not one of those people who hates regular water (as noted in one of my way earlier posts), but I am one of those people who feels the need to try and take control of a seemingly uncontrollable situation by taking action-- be it cleaning my room when my life is chaotic or taking vitamins to try and stave off an inevitable cold. What Vitamin Water has that other vitamin and fluid products don't have is the power of 50 Cent. Vitamin Water is in direct competition with Life Water which chooses to give package deals instead of individual vitamins (Immunity vs. Vitamin C). But Life Water was never shot up. Vitamin water has street cred and so now I do too. If someone asks me if I've ever sold hit rap albums, performed in front of millions of people, and been shot repeatedly, I now feel comfortable answering, "Kind of." Also, Safeway inexplicably has them permanently on sale for 10/$10. So that helps...


Repeated Rapes:
Witz DOESN'T pick rapists. I'd like to say that one up front. Witz also DOESN'T pick repeated raping (for the obvious reasons and because I'm not a big fan of marathons-- I think running a full marathon is too far, I think CSI and Psych marathons on tv are unnecessary). HOWEVER, I've been reading news articles such as THIS ARTICLE where a 12 year old boy was "raped repeatedly" by a 19 year old he met on xbox live. First of all, the 12 year old apparently invited this guy he met on xbox live to come stay with him for a while-- I don't know where the parents were at, but isn't 90% of the point of xbox live so you don't put yourself in a position to be shot, stabbed, or raped by your competitor? All I'm saying is that the 19 year old probably lost a lot of games to this kid. And why does the media always have to assume that video games cause violence and now rape? I lose to Nitro regularly in FIFA 09 and you know what-- I haven't raped him. Call me a hero. As Nitro so eloquently put is:

"I hate how there's an almost universally accepted notion that people that play video games are dangerous and maladjusted. It's like saying anyone that plays Pogs will fuck your mouth while you sleep."

Anyway, back to my "raped repeatedly" post....yikes: Between the video game kid, the Austrian guy with the creepiest basement ever, and numerous other incidents, it's gotten to the point where if I read an article that someone was raped, but not raped REPEATEDLY, I wonder why the rapist was so lazy. Is there an undiagnosed case of ADD involved? Did the rapist get distracted by a House marathon? If the rapist was distracted by a Friday Night Lights marathon, then I think that counts as an automatic bid for another season. That's how shows should judge if they stay on tv-- would a rapist choose your show over more raping? Welcome back, Arrested Development! Sorry, Private Practice. You barely slipped by Top Chef-- Super Bowl episode my ass...

Flowers, Puppies, Ice Cream, Philanthropy:
Gotta off-set that rape post somehow! I'm WAAAAY INTO THE AFOREMENTIONED THINGS! Flowers let us know a forgiving God who forgives things like making fun of deafness and rape exists (P.S. way to create deafness and rape God...maybe Sunday would have been a good "checking your work" day, huh?). Puppies are like, awesome, right? Ice Cream-- well, that's just the bomb, and how lucky are we that we now have dairy free ice cream for our lactose and dairy intolerant friends? Right?? Wow, we sure have come a long way. Philanthropy is awesome. I'm a huge fan. I'm also able to receive cash, checks, and paypal donations. Coincidence? Doubtful. After all, SOMEBODY needs to fuel my Vitamin Water addiction.

And They Never Spoke of it Again...,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Deaf Olympics

The Deaf Olympics-- yep-- they exist. If you're anything like me, you're furious. I believe in equal rights, gay marriage, buying alcohol on Sundays, watching Entourage and stopping global warming, but when it comes to my athletics, I'm a staunch conservative. It's not that I don't think there should be opportunities for deaf people, it's just that I want people to be able to fail just as equally as the rest of us.

Not only do the Deaf Olympics exist, but they call them THE DEAFLYMPICS. The Deaflympics sounds like a hip-hop crew, not a majestic international competition. Apparently, they have been going on for years, and you've probably heard the marketing, but couldn't really understand what was being said and just kind of smiled and nodded until it went away. This summer, they will take place in Taipei, and in the winter of 2011 The 17th Deaflympics will take place on the "smallest high mountain" in Slovakia. Clearly a lot of time and effort is going into these games, which raises the most important question: WHY DO DEAF PEOPLE NEED SPECIAL OLYMPICS (but not THE Special Olympics). Here's what The Deaflympics have to say:

"The need for separate games for deaf athletes is not just evident in the numbers of participants. Deaf athletes are distinguished from all others in their special communication needs on the sports field, as well as in the social interaction that is an equally vital part of the games."

Being deaf is a disability, but not a disability that effects sports. If being deaf is an athletic disability, then being 5'10'' with a 6'' vertical is also a disability and I want to play in the Totally Average Build Olympics (aka The Thanks For the Shit Genetics Mom and Dad Olympics). The Deaflympics site (yes, www.deaflympics.com) says that their are language issues, but isn't sign language the same as having to have someone translate for you? It's even better, because you can see it from farther away than you could hear someone shouting in Cantonese. There is only one scenario in which I can see a bunch of deaf athletes having a problem-- Track and Field.

Announcer: Runners ready! Aaaaand ::GUNSHOT!:: Uh...hm. ::GUNSHOT!:: Goddamn it.

That's it. Nobody starts. Would it be that difficult to have some other cue announce the start of the race for the 1-3 events involving deaf racers? I have a tough time believing that there are millions of amazing olympic caliber athletes out there that are only being held back by their inability to hear. The previous quote would have you believe that simply because there are so many deaf people IN the Deaflympics, there are that many athletes that could compete at the Olympic level if they weren't deaf. That logic is flawed-- maybe there are 5-6 Deaflympians who would make it, but everyone else is probably more need of a Deaf Backyard Pickup Game. As Nitro says,

"Have you ever tried to run really fast when you couldn't hear where the ground was and all you could do is give your 100% focus or what you're doing given the sheer LACK of distractions? Those guys are heroes. That's like being a deaf golfer. Who gives a shit?"

The Deaflympics serve only to give complete impunity to people who want to heckle athletes (who goes to THE OLYMPICS and heckles athletes???). You can say absolutely whatever you want without the athletes knowing. Which leaves the door wide open for going to the Deaflympics and making heckle signage:

"Hey-- run faster asshole, they're RIGHT behind you!"

"Dude, you're running so fast you broke the sound barrier-- oh wait, nevermind, you're just deaf!"

"Why are you reading this sign?? You're getting distracted by a sign in the audience and throwing away your one chance at glory? You're making a joke out of The Deaflympics!"

"Wow, you're really good at rowing. I can hear MUSIC!"

Deaf competitors have an equal chance of socially interacting at the Olympics as everyone else. Hundreds of languages are represented-- I promise Lebron James doesn't speak Russian, but I bet if he wanted to, he'd find a way to communicate with them. The Olympic Committee isn't letting in more South Indian athletes just so everyone who speaks Tamil can get wasted together knock over Pakistani mailboxes with their cricket bats (this is something I believe might happen both in India and the Olympics), so why give people who "speak" sign language their own olympics? Which brings up ANOTHER question: What about the barely deaf?

The Barely Deaf have been running society for thousands of years. Ignoring what they don't feel like dealing with, but paying attention when it is to their advantage. The Barely Deaf live among us without you even knowing. You might be Barely Deaf. I might be Barely Deaf. There is no way of knowing until it is too late, and they have stolen your television, your loved ones, and ultimately, your dignity and self-respect. There is without a doubt a rift within the Summer and Winter Deaflympics. The Barely Deaf have been holding the For Realsies Deaf hostage (metaphorically, not like a big Deaf Munich-- too soon? I'm gonna make the movie Deaf Munich...then Deaf Prefontaine...Deaf The Mighty Ducks) since the very beginning of the Deaflympics-- using what small advantage they may have to take gold again and again. Ending the Deaflympics would be a huge step towards equal deaf rights, as well as equal rights in general. The time is now, and we need to hear the call to action-- because the deaf never will. Ever.

Tongue In Cheek (Is How Deaf People Sound),*
Witz

P.S. Fun note-- there are 20 Summer Deaflympics events and only 5 Winter Deaflympics events. I guess barrelling down a mountain without being to hear a gd thing isn't such a big thing. I also believe I'm good enough to play on a deaf hockey team. There, I said it.

*These are just jokes people**
**I'm still going to hell***
***Maybe I'll play in the Hellympics
****There are no Winter Hellympics

Witz Pickz: Back In Action

Work has kept me busy for the last week or so and so Witz Pickz has been absent. To be fair, I really wanted to ask you all to bear with me, but I then realized that I have no idea how to spell it. My instincts say it's "Bear with me," but then it kind of looks like I'm either asking you to place yourself in the midst of wild life danger or am telling you that I am currently being accompanied by a Bear. "Where's Witz? He better not be with that goddamn bear again!" It leaves the door open for the outside chance that I'm hanging out with Man vs. Wild host Bear Grylls, but let's be honest, if I was invited to hangout with Bear Grylls, I'd have to decline on behalf of my entire immune system.

Bear: Let's jump in this frozen lake, just to see what happens!
Witz: What happens is that I'll get a cold.
Bear: Let's sleep in this leafy mud hut just to see how we do!
Witz: I'll get a cold is how I'll do.
Bear: Let's get naked by this cavee for no real reason other than it's satisfying to feel your balls against Mother's Nature's bounty!
Witz: No.

The other option is "bare with me," which sounds like I want everyone to get naked Bear Grylls style and come hang out. It'd be really awkward if everyone did show up naked and I was just chillin' fully clothed. Never in my entire life has somebody asked me, "Who do you want to hangout with naked" and answered, "EVERYBODY!" I'm not entirely sure anyone ever asked me "Who do you want to hangout with naked," at all, but if they did, I bet it was weird and hopefully I didn't answer "YOU!"

So that's my weak-ass post for today-- telling you that I can't post, but will be back tomorrow with some attempts to make your life a little better, or at least, make that 2:34 on your clock turn into a 2:36 without too much pain.

"Witz Didn't Seem All That Back In Action Today...,"
Witz

Witz Pickz: Medical Mysteries Unsolved

Welp, I can no longer say that I've never gotten an ultra-sound. Last night, some champion driving got me to my ENT doctor's appointment right before he left despite a major train delay (Witz 1 - Environmentally Conscious Public Transportation 0). Dr. Salvatore La Quinta (last name vaguely disguised to be more like a hotel chain) was not what I expected, but he was finally a doctor that took my horrible immune system and proclivity for getting every cold imaginable seriously. Which is why I now know that my neck is not pregnant.

After some initial questions, he cut right to the chase and told me to, "Lie back so I can get an ultrasound of your neck." Boom. After talking extensively with my other doctors, they were wary of even offering the advice to get "Cold-eeze when you start to feel sick." This guy went from zero to hero and busted out the ultrasound right out of the gate. And why not?? If I had an ultrasound machine hanging around, I would be looking at the phosphorescent insides of EVERYTHING. Leave me in a room with an ultrasound for more than 15 minutes, and I guarantee you'd walk in on me naked as the day I was born, with ultrasound gel all over me like I was straight outta the womb.

Unfortunately/Fortunately, he didn't leave me with it, but used it to look at my lymph nodes and salivary glands. I wasn't able to turn my head and see the screen, but my peripheral vision let me understand that on ultrasound, they look exactly like a game of Asteroids with that old school computer coloring of yellow and black. In fact, there's a pretty solid chance that this guy just smeared some vaseline on my skin, rolled an Atari controller over my neck and played video games while I waited:

"Ok, everything looks-- FUCK!"

"What?"

"Oh nothing-- you're...triangle gland...just teleported right in front of...a large moving lymph node."

"Triangle glands can teleport!?"

"Yes. Yes they can. But no more than twice in a row or they blow up."

"Issss that something I should be concerned with??"

"No, no, you should be fine."

"Hah, wow-- evolution's neat."

In the end, the doctor was only able to confirm that I didn't have anything horrible, like a thyroid cyst or a tumor. He asked if I was fatigued a lot as a symptom of mono, but he didn't ask if I went to sleep too late, slept terribly, occasionally drank on weeknights, had 32 cans of Sparks in my fridge, was currently in a territorial war with an overly aggressive cuddling cat, ever regained consciousness into the business end of a police flashlight, or knew the La Barca bartenders by name-- so I said "no," to avoid any confusion. I remain undiagnosed.

PHOTO:

This is a self-admittedly unnecessary photo by Nitro. It is meant to depict me being owned by disease. It also looks like I am either a Mexican Wrestler about to square off against this Mucusal Marauder in an epic performance art manifestation of my physical state, OR I am about to reveal some magic tricks-- er-- illluusssions-- to a crowd on FOX. Either way, I'm bound to develop a cough.

Almost Friday,

Witz

Witz Pickz: Sneaky Accomplishments

When peeing at a urinal with an iPod in one hand, there is zero margin for error. Not peeing on yourself OR the iPod is a tight-wire act deserving of a documentary not unlike Man on Wire. I did this yesterday. Success like this is everywhere. A lot of the time, not hitting a biker is a really big accomplishment. A can of soup fell out of my cabinet, but I reflexively made a no-look catch to save it from hitting the ground. These are the every day accomplishments that go unnoticed, and I think it's about time we gave everyone some credit for the absurd successes that life allows for on a regular basis. Did you quit your job today? Me either. We're practically heroes.

Here are some sneaky accomplishments of readers-- post more of yours in the comments section and I will update them on this main page:

It Dave Burns When I Pee says:
Today for lunch I ordered a chicken-salad sandwich on a poppyseed bagel and managed to finish eating every single poppyseed that fell off because I paid 10 cents extra for them.

The Bruhniverse says:
Today I made bacon for myself. This is usually my wife's "job", but in a pinch the microwave is almost as good as her oven method. A microwave is to the common man, as the vibrator is to the common woman, devices of conveniences that one almost-but-not-quite finds fulfilling.

The Kapps Report:
Yesterday, I successfully ducked a crazy person stalker in Starbucks...

My Friend Formerly With A Pool:
Today I changed out of my work clothes, into my gym clothes, back out of my gym clothes into a towel, dried off and changed back into my work clothes all within a 3 foot radius of other co-workers without anyone seeing my equipment. Who says you never use the things you learn in middle school?

Euro-Witz (aka Witz Sis):
Today I climbed over a spikey fence to escape a french zoo...
(http://thefrenchlifeparis.blogspot.com/)

MP Hammer:
Last Thanksgiving, I helped myself to a few too many cocktails before dinner. Upon sitting down for the meal, having ingested nothing other than mass quantities of liquid for much of the afternoon, I found that my body was in dire need of substance. I filled two plates with everything I could get my hands on, and ate like I have never eaten before. Unfortunately, the convergence of about three-quarters of a liter of Maker's Mark and three-quarters of a ton of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, resulted in catastrophe. Midway through my second massive serving of sweet potato casserole, the first wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. Although I somehow managed to subdue the urge to empty my stomach all over the carefully constructed holiday centerpiece, I was soon slammed by several others. Desperately attempting to maintain a sliver of composure in front of my entire extended family, I quickly yet quietly excused myself from the table. As my vision began to blur, I stumbled through the hallways of my second cousin's fourth floor apartment in search of a bathroom... a garbage can... an out-of-the-way potted plant... anywhere that I could expel the tremendous amount of matter that was fighting its way up my esophagus. I quickly began to panic when I discovered that the apartment's sole bathroom was occupied. No other appropriate receptacle in sight, I realized that I had to reach back to my college days and do what I had done following almost every case race and double power hour in which I had ever participated. Locking the door of the guest bedroom behind me, I prepared my dignity and self-respect for what I was about to do. Opening the bedroom's window, I hung nearly my entire upper body out of the building and spewed about 4 pounds of liquor and Thanksgiving fare onto the sidewalk 40 feet below. After what seemed like an eternity, I completed the task at hand and returned to the dinner table. Although I'm sure everyone noticed my extremely bloodshot eyes, the telltale sign of a mid-meal purge, I was never asked why I suddenly left the table for 20 minutes. Hopefully, my parents just assumed I was bulimic.

C-Murder:
Witz: Give me a sneaky accomplishment that you've had. Like something subtle, but impressive. Like how I peed at a urinal with an ipod in one hand without any disaster.
C-Murder: Wait what? A sneaky accomplishment? Does it have to be in the peeing arena?
Witz: Nope. Anything.
C-Murder: I can chug water really quickly. I make good meatball subs for a vegetarian...
Witz: Those are pretty good...
C-Murder: Oh wait. How about how I can FUCKING SPEAK CHINESE-- how about that??


That Was Kind of a Sneaky No-Post,
Witz

SPARKS ADDENDUM:
Sparks, Nevada must be the craaaaaziest town around (sorry Red Bullsville)! Nothin' but injuries, drunk driving, and sexual assault there. Also, and maybe I'm wrong, but isn't it possible that Sparks doesn't cause MORE of these negative occurrences, but, in fact, the people who choose to buy and drink a caffeinated alcoholic drink that tastes like sweet tarts and comes in a can that looks like a battery might ALREADY be more prone to drunk driving, injuries, or sexual assault? And explain how the last one works? "Welp, ordinarily, I'd be drunk on beer, call it a night, and pass out, but since I've had some caffeine, I'm gonna force myself on this passed out chick who wasn't smart enough to be drinking Sparks, too." The problem isn't people drinking Sparks-- it's NOT ENOUGH people drinking Sparks!

Yesterday, somebody told me that my post left it ambiguous as to whether or not I was pro-Sparks. To anyone who isn't sure, I defer to the 32 cans currently in my refrigerator-- every can a baby miracle (but hopefully never leading to the miracle of babies).

Witz Pickz: Sparks

I have eight packs of Sparks in my fridge and that's not a metaphor. It might be by the time this weekend is over. Back in September, Sparks had a number of lawsuits brought against them (MillerCoors) for both health and marketing reasons (both obvious-- fast + slow = heart attacks, and it was marketed as an energy drink...with alcohol...). Now, they have decided to either pull their product from shelves or eliminate the caffeine from their product. I guess they decided something ridiculous like mixing 6-7% alcohol with caffeine and taurine wasn't a good idea-- and by "decided" I mean, "combined extensive research of the product's ingredients with sound, reasonable logic and came to a completely appropriate conclusion."

Only this is America, and if we want to combine our uppers with our downers, we shouldn't have to buy two products. America is the home of the 2 for 1 deal and the 2 in 1 product. Take shampoo and conditioner for example. Shampoo makes my hair really frizzy. Conditioner makes my hair really soft. An "upper" and a "downer." Opposites, but they sell that in a 2 in 1 bottle. It's just like Sparks.

But this isn't just another post about Sparks and their lawsuit-- it's about shame...it's always about shame:

Last night, My Friend Formerly With A Pool and I wandered into Safeway before my soccer game. My goal? To buy one Powerade. That's it. Except, right next to the cold drinks section was the alcohol section, and right at the edge of that alcohol section was SPARKS (which I guess sort of proves the point about it being marketed like a regular energy drink to underage kids). The Safeway by my house was completely out of Sparks, and all of my friends have had trouble finding any-- there is only a limited supply left in stores with "the original recipe" intact. "SPARKS!" I declared, like advertisers imagined a tween in search of tasty alcoholic beverages would. "SPARKS PARTY!" My Friend Formerly With A Pool proclaimed, which a) does sound like a singles mixer b) does sound like a homosexual singles mixer c) is still a great idea. We then proceeded to pull all of the Sparks Plus (the plus stands for heart disease) off the shelf and put it in a hand basket while a semi-grizzled man watched us and laughed softly. "We're never gonna sleep again," I told him (hm, see aforementioned "b"). "We're gonna need another basket," we decided.

We then went ahead and filled a second hand-basket with four-packs of Sparks. We cleaned them out. Unfortunately, we hadn't finished shopping, so we then wandered throughout the entire store holding our bounty. What else did we buy besides 8 packs of Sparks? Two vitamin waters. We considered buying some condoms or asking if they sold ecstasy, just to top off the absurdity of the purchase.

Walking to checkout, I saw a slightly shorter line and stepped into it, My Friend Formerly With A Pool close by.

"Line's back here, guy!" came a voice from behind us. I turned around and saw some guy with a shopping cart, leaving room in the aisle for people to go by. I instinctively apologized, but what I was really thinking was that I should raise my basket with 16 cans of Sparks in it and say, "You really wanna fuck with me, bro?" (Sparks Plus where the plus stands for being brutally beaten with your own torn off limbs) Instead, the guy added, "Too good to be true, huh?" referring to the length of the line. I glanced around at the other lines which were all roughly the same length. Douchebag. If only he'd met me when I had been drinking Sparks, and therefore been prone to, "more drunk driving, more injuries, and more sexual assault."

Getting into another line, we began the long, awkward wait. "Oh shiiiiiit!" I whispered, as I realized something important-- I didn't have my ID. I'd left it at home in the pocket of my jeans. I couldn't buy Sparks. Suddenly, we weren't even just two mid-twenty year old dudes buying 32 cans of Sparks. We were those underage guys with one ID between them, pretending not to know each other so they could buy a drink allegedly marketed for teens. Many many eyes were upon us or at least it felt that way. As we neared the checker, my fears were allayed by my racism, when I saw that the girl looked "Off-the-boat-asian." We got up to the register:

"Ok, ID?" She asked. I wasn't wrong....still probably racist...

"Here you go," MFFWAP said as I hung back, just another customer giggling at the customer in front of him...

"K," she said, ringing him up. "Safeway card?"

"I don't have one..." he said.

"K,"

"Wait, I do!" helpful customer behind Guy Buying Too Much Sparks chimed in (that's me).

"Too late," she snapped. Wait for it...

"But those Sparks are onsale for like, six bucks..." Curiously over-interested and fiscally aggressive customer in the on-deck circle replied. The checker looked at me, questioning my involvement. I froze. "I'm just saying, I have a card..." I waited as her eyes scanned me for deceit, just waiting for her to ask for my ID, thus ending our dream of a Sparks Party.

"Too late," she told us, and turned away. The Sparks was ours.

While we had been in line, slowly sauntering forward, customers in other lines had looked over at our baskets and smiled, shaking their heads. As we left the store with our shopping bags of ill-health, I could still feel their eyes on our backs. If I were to get pulled over on the way home, the police would find me in a station wagon, without a driver's license, with an entire trunk full of Sweet-Tart tasting alcohol. He'd probably charge me with conspiracy to sell to minors-- after all, having more than four Sparks in your posession at any time is suspect, and it's reasonable to assume that you're selling to anxious tweens, just looking to make some bad decisions. I've told stories on this site about being scared by my own back hair. I've told stories about trying to swallow cinnamon and hacking my lungs and sinuses out. I've made mention of how excited I get when I walk into a bathroom and the automatic lights go on just for me. But last night, in the checkout line with armfuls of Sparks, I finally felt shame. It was both an adrenaline rush and super depressing. An upper and a downer. Sparks.

"Maybe Witz Shouldn't Complain About His Immune System Anymore,"

Witz

Photos courtesy of Turbo (first) and Nitro (second and third)

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Cat Nap

It's possible to love too much. Furthermore, it is possible to love too hard. My roommate's cat is an overly aggressive cuddler. She goes one step beyond the usual brushing up against you and actually rams you with her head and body. It's not that she wants to feel your touch so much as she wants to knock you out and make you bleed. The purring never stops.

My roommate is out of town and so, last night, my first night back, I learned that aggressive cuddling and domestic abuse aren't so far apart. The following encounter is factual:

10:30pm -- Godiva the cat wanders into my bedroom as I am settling my jet-lagged self into bed. "Oh good," I think. "Perhaps the cat will settle into bed with me while I sleep, thus comforting me. How shall I entice it?" I then proceeded to say, "Godiva!" because naming things gives you power over them.

10:45pm -- Godiva the cat has jumped up into bed and has been circling me routinely for the past fifteen minutes. She hits against my face, my arms, and my legs. I pet her, and she's purring, but she better settle soon so I can sleep.

12:45am -- Godiva the cat refuses to settle and I've started taking a tone with her. "Godiva!" I whisper-yell insanely. "Go to sleep!" Instead she smacks her head against my face and I think to myself, "She's only doing this because she cares about me." I lie completely still, trying to trick her into thinking I'm asleep. Apparently, Godiva has no problem sleep-assaulting me, as she continues to go after my exposed hands and head. I hide my limbs under the blanket and start in on the crazy swearing: "Godiva, fucking knock it off or I will fucking throw you out the window to your cat doom nine times!" Then I add, "Just leave!" If he can hear me, my other roommate must think I'm insane. Fair enough.

1:00am -- "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!....Ohmygodstop!"

1:01am -- Godiva the cat is locked on the outside of my door crying in the way that cat's cry and sound like old people. "Shuuuuuuut up!" Mew. Mew. Mew. I consider my options. I can suck it up and let the cat cry, but then I both feel bad AND don't fall asleep-- after all, I'm the guy who needs the white noise of a fan to mask...SILENCE...to fall asleep. So that's out. I can take Godiva and lock her in a room farther away. That sounds like my best option, but then, theoretically, that means I should move the litter box into whichever room is with the cat and I don't see that happening, especially because the litter "box" is actually more like an igloo and I'm not entirely familiar with litter igloo technology. So I open the door and give Godiva the cat a stern, "Shut the fuck up." Then I get back in bed.

1:02am -- Godiva the cat climbs in bed with me. Anticipating the move, I have my hands, arms, feet, and most of my face and head tucked under the comforter. My eyes are locked shut, and while it is extremely warm beneath the covers, it is my only hope at sleep. Godiva sniffs around me, but doesn't make a move. I tense as I hear her curl up between me and the wall. Then I hear nothing.

3:00am -- "Goddamn motherfuckin' piece of I'll kill you!" My eyes snap open to the wet sniff and headbutt of Godiva the cat. I snap upright and for the first time in my life, I wonder what the ethics are on punching a cat in the face. My fist is clenched, wound up, inches from her face, per my human-like reflexes when startled awake. I hesitate and think of how I won't be able to say, "Well, at least I've never punched a cat in the face before..." ever again without lying and so I slowly put down my hand. "Maybe I could just Lenny this one to death..." I think, but then realize that however incidental Godiva's death might seem, my roommate will not forgive me for such occurrences-- plus, I've always considered myself a cat person, and it'd be tough to make that claim in the future when I have to add, "I mean, I've only killed ONE!" Furious and exhausted, I flop back into bed, return to my coccoon, and hide. Sleep comes slowly, and always with that slightly audible purr just outside of reach, a promise and a threat.





6:00am -- You don't need an alarm when you have Godiva the cat. Godiva doesn't have to go to work. Godiva's gonna be sitting at home watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall on blu-ray while I wander half-dazed through my day. Godiva's going to be listening to Muscles turned up full blast on our speakers and eating the last few bites of my Expresso Burrito while I fall asleep at the wheel, and Godiva will be curled up snugly in my bed, purring, as my last few moments in this world fade away.

Disney Movie In the Making,
Witz

Witz Pickz: Christmas Eve Edition

I would have posted earlier, but, ironically, celebrating Channukah lasted longer than I thought it would. It's Christmas Eve and I have a few thoughts and ideas that, in the spirit of the holiday, I thought I should share. As a teenage girl was saying to her friend while I was out shopping yesterday, "Christmas is awesome. It's like, people are so different and have so many problems and wars and stuff, but once a year, everyone in the world comes together to celebrate Christmas."

Three Wise Men:
The more I think about it, the more I believe that the three wise men had a "no more than ten dollars" agreement for Jesus's birthday and one of them decided to be a big douchebag.

EXT. Christ Residence -- Night
Three wise men stand outside the front door.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

Wise Man 1: Before they answer the door, what'd you guys get the kid?
Wise Man 2: I went with the frankincense...
Wise Man 1: You did! Nice call-- I think it's a good choice.
Wise Man 2: Totally, how about you?
Wise Man 1: Well, I couldn't think of anything, so I just picked up some myrrh on the way to meet you guys.
Wise Man 2: Who doesn't like myrrh?
Wise Man 1: That's what I figure. What'd you get, man?
Wise Man 3: Who me?
Wise Man 1: Yeah, dude, what'd you get the baby?
Wise Man 3: Oh, uh, gold.
Wise Man 1: (beat) Gold.
Wise Man 3: (coughs) Yeah, yup. Gold.
Wise Man 2: You motherfucker.
Wise Man 3: Now wait a minute--
Wise Man 1: We all agreed ten coins of Augustus each on the gifts!
Wise Man 3: I wanted to get him gold!
Wise Man 2: Well, yeah, man, we all WANTED to get him gold, that's why we went with the limit!
Wise Man 3: Look, he's just a baby, he won't even know the difference! The parents are probably just gonna scoop up the gifts for themselves the minute we're out the door.
Wise Man 2: Oh, yeah, right. They're not gonna be able to keep their paws off my frankincense. Goddamn it!
Wise Man 1: Yeah, I hope they don't try and pawn my MYRRH.
Wise Man 3: Whatever.
Wise Man 1: Fuck you.
Wise Man 3: Whatever.
Wise Man 1: Fuck you.



Secret Santa/Elfster/Yankee Swap:
I usually don't do Secret Santa deals because I'm either gonna buy people gifts or I'm not. I don't need to have to buy random crap for someone I don't know and force someone else to do the same. I might as well just buy myself four things I don't want, give a stranger an ugly sweater, and call it a day. Yes, it sometimes happens where you know everyone involved, but it's basically a cosmic rule that if I'm in a Secret Santa, I will inevitably get the guy who nobody likes, but who happened to be nearby when the Secret Santa discussion was initiated. This year, however, I was in the rare position of knowing and liking everyone in the group.

We used Elfster.com for our gift exchange site, which was pitched as a non-denominational Secret Santa site which seems legit right up until you realize that Elves build toys for Santa who delivers gifts on Christmas (unless Kwanzaa has an elf component that I'm missing). Elfster's cool because you can ask people questions anonymously like, "What size shirt do you wear," or my personal favorite, "If you could have anything for $25 or less, what would it be?" (I like being to the point). The weird part about Elfster is that it's a Christmas gift exchange site and yet it lists upcoming birthdays like it wants to be facebook. Do people check Elfster at other times of the year?? Of course not. And correct me if I'm wrong, but if you ask me, Elfster.com should only list one person's birthday. Jesus.

An alternative to the secret santa style gift exchange is what I've heard called a "Yankee swap" or, "Dirty Santa" or, as I like to call it, "Fuck you and your shitty gift, I want the iPod!" I like the idea of a Yankee Swap in-so-much as I enjoy the most awkward gift giving scenario imaginable. Everyone knows what the best gift in the room is, and everyone knows that the last person who gets to pick is going to take it. At least one person is going to leave angry with a snow globe. It's like Christmas morning, only your family is allowed to show their true reaction to everything you got them. "Dad, I got you another book you're not gonna read this year, what do you think?" and he's all, "I think it's a piss-poor effort, Witz. But that's cool, because your sister bought your mom the new Blackberry Storm. So I'm gonna snag that and call it a day." And then I end up with a treadmill or something horrible like that. Oh, wait...

I gave my secret santa some small gifts that added up to a "movie night" theme. Unfortunately, small, inexpensive food items and a blockbuster gift card that doesn't even pay for a full movie rental with tax, doesn't quite overwhelm someone when revealed. FORTUNATELY, I was given one super comfortable sweatshirt, which is currently being worn, and fueling this post.

Commercial Interruption:
A Glade Scented Oil Candle commercial just came on the television (because I clearly write these while being mildly distracted) and I have to tell you about it. They are candles that burn into oil that smell good and then the oil burns up and perfumes the house. Also, it essentially creates a pool of HOT OIL and the opportunity for a child, pet, or distracted adult to HORRIBLY DISFIGURE THEMSELVES.

"What was that thing they did to defend castles against invaders in medieval times?"
"Pour hot oil over the sides?"
"Yeah, that's right. Can we make that smell good?"

I can't wait for the lawsuits to come in.

FYI, I know how to spell "interruption" because when I was in third grade, I was in a town spelling bee and was doing really effing well right up until I spelled "interrupt" with only one "r." That one letter lost me potential scholarship money, but saved me from years of negative social stigma (not the middle school years though-- nothing could have saved me from that). I haven't mispelled "interrupt" wrong since.

Four Christmases:
THAT'S TOO MANY CHRISTMASES! THAT MOVIE HAS TO BE HILARIOUS!

Writer 1: We're writing a comedic holiday movie about a couple that has the celebrate an unusual number of Christmases."
Studio Head: Hm. Well how many?"
Writer 1: We were thinking three.
Studio Head: Hmm...I'm not sold.
Writer 1: How do you feel about four?
Studio Head: HAHAHAHA! FOUR CHRISTMASES?? THAT'S TOO MANY CHRISTMASES! LET'S MAKE THIS THING! Hahaha--
Writer 2: --What about FIVE Christmases!?
Studio Head: --You're fired.

Who let Vince Vaughn corner the Christmas movie market? Bring back Ernest.*

Merry Christmas, Chappy Channukah, and...Successful Kwanzaa?,
Witz

*Yeah, I know Ernest is dead (though not as a result of Ernest Goes to Hell or Ernest Scared Stupid aka Ernest Smokes Himself Retarded), but that leaves the door wiiide open for them to make a Weekend At Bernie's/Ernest Saves Christmas crossover film. I'm thinkin' Dead Ernest has to celebrate one too many Christmases...and hilarity ensues.

Witz Pickz: Letter to the Editor

Dear WitzPick Editor,

I have been listening to your new mix (WITZ PICKZ MIX #4) a lot lately. I generally like it. I like that it's small and on the side of the screen, and it streams instantly on my linux box at work. I do not like how the player gets upset with me when I skip too many tracks too quickly (For the Witz Picks readers out there who are looking for a way around this, refreshing the page tricks the player into giving you at least one new random song so you wont have to continue listening to 'Muscle'). Where to being...

Oh, Regina Spektor. Sure. You have chosen a song by her where she sings about finding human teeth, mundane life details and overdosing on drugs, twice. I mostly like this song, I hadn't heard it until you picked it, but it's a fu*king weird song. Towards the beginning of the song she shouts "so chEAp and jUcy" in an unbelievably unappealing way that absolutely makes me resent the song."

Kean" is no good Witz, it's ruining not only the mix, but my work day... when it comes on.

T.I. - "Whatever You Like" - This is a surprisingly great song. I don't know why, because there is no individual part of the song that I love.

Muscles - "Hey Muscles I love you" - Are you kidding me Witz? I also think this is one of TWO muscles songs you have (for some reason) decided to include in your mix. I fuc*ing HATE muscles now. The first 1 or 2 times I heard them, they were okay. Repeat listening exposes just how terrible they are as a band. Are they even a band? It sounds like one guy in a recording booth and a synthesizer. And what the FU#$*(@ is he singing!? "Hey Muscles, I love you, I wanna have your babies". WTF. Isn't that a male singing? Now I'm absolutely no anatomy professor - but I'm fairly confident that this guy is incapable of having anyones babies. And it has nothing to do with me not thinking he would make a great parent, it's sheer science-fact. Fail. Remove it from the mix please.

Senses Fail - "Family Tradition" - I love this song you have picked. I'm probably a little biased since I know the drummer, but every time it comes on, I like it more and more.

Damien Rice - "The Blower's Daughter" - JFC WITZ, I shed tears every time this GD song comes on. Seriously!? It reminds me of "Hey There Delilah", or a funeral... in the sense that they all make me want kill someone, or myself, or just sit in the corner of a dark room as rain streams down the windows. REMOVE, thx.

Gaslight Anthem - Love it. One think I really appreciate about this album is that unlike many modern bands that degrade their sound for no apparent reason, they have titled this album "The '59 sound" and boom, it's acceptable.

Muscles - "Ice Cream" - As I type this, another GOD DAMN muscles song from your mix plays in the background. In this travesty, the singer rants about wanting to "just dance with [his] shirt off". Nobody wants to watch this douche fu*k dance anywhere with or without his shirt on.

Noah and the Whale - "5 Years Time" - Love this one. It's new to me, and it's not really a good song - but I like listening to it. I'm pretty sure if I had the entire album, or even another song by them, I would grow to hate it.

Katy Perry - "Hot N Cold" - Get this chick a dictionary, or a thesaurus, or a 5th grade vocabulary cause this song reminds me of something you'd find on the floor of an elementary school girls bathroom. Only in this 'song' it's put to 'music' and a shitty dance rock beat. Here's a sample of a REAL line from EITHER a note found by a girl in grade school, or a Katy Perry song: "You change your mind like a girl changes clothes." Hummm, it doesn't rhyme, so i'm gonna guess "a real line from note found by a girl in grade school". Wrong.

In closing, I'd like to say, Thank You. Thank you Witz for providing a community service with your new playlist; But GOD DAMMIT, lets get rid of those failures please. I'm just trying to give back.

Love Your Reader

p.s. I can't get enough Muse and Bayside... and Rise Against in your mix.

Witz CAN'T Pick: From Nitro

Witz Pickz: Hobo Joe

"Make new friends, but keep the old
one is silver and the other's gold,"

That's from a song I remember they made us sing when I was little. While the song means well, it's a little weird to assume that some friends are gold simply because you've known them longer and other friends are the equivalent of a lesser valued metal simply because you've known them a shorter time. Also, I bet the song never expected it to apply to homeless people, but that's what we're here to talk about today.

Last night, on my way home from the train station, I stopped to get some gas. While I was finishing filling my tank, a pretty obviously homeless man walked over to my car with the squeegie (say "squeegie" out loud a few times, it'll make you happy). He was a pretty thin black guy with a few layers on-- clearly cold, but with a genuine (if not somewhat desperate) smile on his face. He began apologizing, saying, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to forget about ya, I was just finishing up some other cars!" to which I replied, "That's ok, I'm all good, thanks," because I still operate in a world where I don't get jealous when homeless people ignore me. I wasn't about to come back with, "Well, you SHOULD be sorry! How dare you solicit other vehicles, but leave me waiting in the cold, hoping with crossed fingers for your charmed voice to reach dearly for my ears." So I really was "good."

On the other hand, "That's the thing, though, I'm not..." he replied, but the fact still remained that, "I don't have any cash..." which was mostly true. I usually don't have any cash, but because of a recent grocery pickup for my roommate involving kale (which also involved a crazy Greek woman showing me what the hell kale was), I actually had a five dollar bill in my pocket.
"You don't have any change on the floor in there?" he asked, and I conceded that I probably did, mostly because I knew I had a ziplock bag full of change in there. The thing was, that's my meter money, and when I thought, "How much change would this guy want?" the answer was clearly, "All of it." I told him I'd check, but that he didn't have to squeegie my car, but he said that he wanted to and it makes him look busy so the guy inside the store doesn't make him leave. I told him that dynamic sounded very familiar to me and has he considered working in events? I was starting to like this homeless guy, and it didn't hurt that he reminded me overwhelmingly of a friend of mine. He was quick, cognizant, and friendly-- the kind of homeless guy you could take home to mom (while still thinking in the back of your mind that he's probably going to steal your stuff and leave when you're not looking).

I dug into my change and pulled out some quarters. Thinking about it, I snuck my hand into my pocket and pulled out the five. Turning back to him, I gave him the $5.50 and told him I'd found it in my change holder. He was thankful, and chose to tell me a story verifying what all white people want to hear: I'M NOT RACIST! Apparently, there's this other white homeless dude who is super unfriendly, but sometimes shows up at the same gas station and steals my guy's customers. A lot of the time, I am told, white people take a look at them both, and even though the white guy is way less friendly and "Monkey's all up in your face," white people will pull away from one pump and pull up to his. "That's bullshit!" I said, which really meant, "You're right, I'm NOT racist!" to which he replied, "Damn right!" to which I replied, "What's your name, man?" which really meant, "I like you as much as one man can like a homeless man without having spent significant time together or shared an experience that both bonded them as friends and gave insight into each other's shortcomings."

"Hobo Joe," the man replied. I gave a disbelieving chuckle and replied,
"Alright, Hobo Joe, I'm Jon," (this is a huge Witz Pickz moment. It's on par with finding out which state Springfield is in on The Simpsons or learning what "Big's" real name is on Sex and the City...not that I've seen that show before)
"Actually, my name's Jon, too!" Hobo Joe announced.
"That sounds a lot like a lie, Hobo Joe. You just told me your name was Joe!"
"Well, those are my initials. J-O. It makes it simpler. Hobo J.O."
"Clearly. Well, nice to meet you," I reached out my hand and we shook. I wasn't worried about it at the time, but when I got home, I reached for a piece of bread before remembering and washing my hands thoroughly. You know how when some people meet a famous person, they don't wash their hands for a while? Yeah, well it's the exact opposite of that for homeless people-- regardless of how friendly they were. "I'll keep an eye out for you the next time I come by," I added.

"Thanks-- sometimes people are scared of me," he confided. I fought the urge to tell him about how I had been homeless once-- for two weeks between moving out of my South Bay apartment and moving into my SF apartment. I was forced to sleep in my friend's guest room which had only a king-sized bed and its own bathroom. The wi-fi was only "pretty fast." So I could relate. Instead I said, "You seem nice enough," which really meant, "Let's be super best friends."

And off I went. A little ways away, I began wishing I had just offered to buy Hobo J.O. dinner somewhere and learned a little more about him (but within walking distance-- I wasn't gonna get knifed in my own car while driving to Mel's. Sorry J.O.). A little farther away, and I wished I'd hit up an ATM and gone back to help him out (it was cold outside). And a little farther away after that, as I got out of my car, I noticed that my car smelled vaguely of urine-- but that could have been any number of things.

ANY DONATIONS I GET ON THE SITE BETWEEN NOW AND NEW YEAR'S, I WILL BE GIVING TO HOBO J.O. -- that's not saying much now, but if you feel like donating for him, that's a good way to do it....OR we can put together a beat squad to take care of the white dude who's blowing up Hobo JO's spot.

I Gotta Get Me Some PLATINUM Friends,
Witz

P.S. Happy Birthday to my Mom! Can I bring +1 to your birthday party? Note: His name is Hobo J.O. and we're in love!

Witz Pickz: Cupcakes and Cheese

You know how they say that you only find out about the times the C.I.A. fails? You never hear about their successes and the close calls. Well, consider yesterday's no-post one of those. I had an entire post written and ready to go, but at the last minute decided to get rid of it and spare all of you the time and effort of both reading a post and thinking less of me afterwards. Let me just say that I did an in-depth exploration of the DMX song "Ruff Ryders Anthem." I'll chisel it down to one joke:

Stop, drop, shut 'em down, open up shop
Ohhh... Nooo
That's how Ruff Ryders roll

Fuckin' wit' the wrong crew, (What!)
don't know what we goin' thru (What!)
I'ma have ta show niggaz (What!)
how easliy we blow niggaz (Wha-- wait what??)





photo courtesy of Nitro

It only went downhill from there...

Ever onwards to today:

Last night I learned that very few things in life are more depressing than eating a cupcake alone in your room. I had bought five of the most expensive cupcakes I'd ever seen earlier in the day (from Sprinkles, which they named after the part of a cupcake I enjoy the LEAST), and gave four of them to some friends. I had to leave before I was able to have dessert with them, which left me back at my house with a lone red velvet cupcake. I didn't have any more to give my roommates, so I went up to my room. I couldn't even turn on any music because it was late and my walls are paper thin, so I sat in my chair, alone, with the door closed, in silence, and stared at my $3.25 Red Velvet with Chai Butter Frosting treat. Eating an expensive cupcake alone in silence makes you feel like you are either celebrating the one year anniversary of your pet's death, the five year anniversary of quitting smoking or drinking, or the long forgotten ten year anniversary of getting your stomach stapled. It also looks remarkably like you're about to kill yourself. I considered putting on headphones and listening to some music while I ate, but then I thought, "What if I have a heart attack and this is how they find my body-- flopped in a chair, half a cupcake lying in my lap, with a Kate Nash B-Side on my playlist?" So I ate in silence. Here were my other options and why I passed:

-Eating a cupcake alone in the kitchen is just plain fat. Hang on a second there, Tubby, there are other rooms in this place...
-Eating a cupcake alone in the hallway seems like gloating.
-Eating a cupcake alone in the bathroom is illegal in 48 states (but not the contiguous ones like you assume)
-Eating a cupcake with the tv ON in the living room is totally acceptable, but doesn't put enough focus on the deliciousness of the cupcake.
-Eating a cupcake with the tv OFF in the living room feels like you and your ever expanding belly are on a date. That's both fat and depressing. If somebody walks in, you have to start making excuses for what else you might actually be doing, so it doesn't just seem like you plunked down on the sofa to throw down some pounds. "Can you find the remote? I can't find the remote! I'd be turning on the tv, but the remote seems to be missing!"

On the plus side, the cupcake was delicious.

Cheese or Body Odor?
My friend Jersey Girl posed this question to me last night: If you had to smell one thing for the rest of your life, would you rather it be body odor or cheese? After some careful thought, I decided that the answer has to be cheese. My thinking is that even though some cheeses smell bad (some at least as bad as B.O.), if I was constantly smelling cheese, then it most likely meant that there was constantly cheese around me. If I was hungry and needed a snack, cheese would be plentiful. On the other hand, if it constantly smelled like B.O., it would mean either a) I smell overwhelmingly of body odor or b) Someone else who smelled overwhelmingly of body odor was constantly around me. Option "A" is just not socially acceptable and option "B" is over the top creepy. Why is this person always around me? Do I have to interact with them? If I'm playing FIFA '09 can I play the computer or online or do I have to invite them to play. If my buddies and I are playing, do we have to make it a round robin tournament? Can I expect this person to do favors for me, either out of the kindness of their heart or because they know how bad they smell and recognize how they must be affecting my life? Am I trading unpleasant smells for a social slave? I'm not sure...and I'm not sure I'd do it. That's a much better question:

If you could have a social slave, but they smelled like body odor and you always had to smell their body odor (and you probably end up smelling like body odor because they're around you all the time), would you choose to have one?

DMX Spells Things With a Z Too! DMXPickz.Com
Witz