Goals

The New Year had me thinking for weeks and weeks about setting goals, as since we are all sheep, it's ingrained in our heads to make new goals for the new year. "Make that new goal!!!", "Lose that weight!!", "Procrastinate less!!", "Stop fondling the neighborhood pets!!", "Get that bowling trophy-shaped protrusion on your right thigh looked at by a real doctor!!"... yeah, they're all the same. This all comes after we are expected to eat like warthogs, swap spit with hated relatives and travel among the other mentally deranged holiday goers... yet I digress. My first goal had to be to make goals for myself for the new year... Cornelius is on his own, as he was last seen attempting to climb telephone poles in nothing but flip flops and a kilt somewhere in Montserrat.

I'm writing this after spending three and a half hours trying to touch my toungue to the tip of my nose, and now the underside of said tongue feels like it has been stretched like the screaming suspenders of an overeating Samoan, and I have drool from my bottom lip to my upper thigh. This shows that I am persistent, and a persistent person can achieve their goals. I have not achieved one goal in my entire life, but I have persistently made goals for myself. My better talent is making goals for those around me; family, friends, enemies, complete strangers, TV personalities. Not goals in the sense that I am delegating responsibilities, no no no no no. "Goals" in the way that they don't even KNOW about them. This way, they continually fail miserably, and then I don't feel so bad about me not reaching one of mine. See how this works?

Here was one of my favorites: a cousin of mine was doing great in his life... he nabbed a fine job, started dating a toenail model, was driving a car worth ten times as many typical hovels located near a major airport, hit the lottery four months straight, and even discovered a new type of cork. This was years ago, mind you, but things have not changed for him, in fact they have only gotten better. But see, he has not achieved the goals that I set for him.
What goals?
Well simply enough, he has not become President of the Benevolent Order of Lemurs, Poughkeepsie chapter (partly because he doesn't live within 1500 miles of Poughkeepsie). He has also not achieved the phsyical prowess of Wilt Chamberlain (my cousin is, after all, 5'2"), nor has he been able to drive two cars simultaneously (WITHOUT the use of a remote control, Jared... no matter HOW much you protest!!!) He is still successful, intelligent and an all-around gentleman with an optimistic look at life in general... but he hasn't achieved his (my) goals.

The goals I have set for myself have been in the order of the mundane (refill my Zippo lighter - oh no, I don't smoke, but one never knows when one needs a Zippo), to the more lavish (skydive naked from an aeroplane - I actually tried this, but the instructor I would be tethered to protested vehemently). Not really sure if my goals have an expiration date, per se, but I'd like to think that there's usually a completion window of a year after my goal is created. So to that point I decided that any future goals would be LIFELONG instead of the short-term. This changes things dramatically, as you can imagine.

My first would have to include me being cremated once I die. Not really a goal one would think, because, after all, I'd be dead, and "lifelong goal" usually implies when I am alive. But see, this is where the goal comes in... my goal is to somehow, some way KNOW of my impending death. Yet that still is not the goal. Once I would know of the impending death, I would then secretly (this is the key) embed fireworks in my body. There would be no autopsy, which would discover the hidden stash, of course. I am talking many, MANY pyrotechnic pieces, and I would do what would be necessary... ahead of time I would sew some under my skin, closer to the time of death I would swallow as many as possible, and really close I'd utilize various orafices. This might sound bizarre to some, but I am a man that likes a good surprise.

I won't bore you with the mundane goals, and I don't make goals that I don't plan on trying. Oh they are all realistic to me, and I have all intentions of pursuing them. So washing my shoe laces, dusting my plastic philadendron and connecting my index and little fingers on my left hand are among the ordinary.

Because the fireworks goal comes near the end of my fruitful life, there is a lot of time in between to achieve other such beauties. I am formulating many, because I want my life to be fulfilling, exciting, unexpected and profound. Another major goal (if I can be so bold as to separate one from the others) has to do with my short hair, a cactus and one of my pet alligator gars. Basically, what I plan to do, and this takes some cautious, extensive prepwork, and I still need to purchase the right intensity blow torch, is to...

Well I do apologize for this, but I was just contacted by a client in Calcutta who is having a computer problem. I must fly out immediately and aid this person, as the fate of the free world rests on his password being reset.
-Horatio

VOTE!!

I'm tired of seeing and hearing pseudo-celebrities telling me why I should vote for one of the Presidential candidates because said pseudo-celebrity has so much experience in the real world in which we all live, and they know best.

I'm tired of seeing and hearing political ads talking about how this candidate eats babies, or doesn't live locally, or beats old ladies, or kills kittens, or has a comb-over, or pisses on the graves of 18th century writers, or used medicine from Canada to treat a hangnail when he was 13, or frequently attends meetings to plan to melt glaciers in Iceland.

I'm tired of political support signs littering the on/offramps of every highway, byway, carriage access road and self-righteous homeowners' front lawns, flapping in the breeze like palsied meerkats.

I'm tired of news agencies conducting a new poll that supersedes the poll from two days ago, which replaces the poll from the day before, which negates the previous 81 polls.

I'm tired of turning on the radio or TV and hearing normally hysterical personalities blather on about the "issues" that face our country.

I'm tired of seeing online personal websites, blogs, moblogs, buddy icons, usegroups, chat rooms and IMs with one's personal choice digital banner for the very best man to lead this country.

I'm tired of complete strangers handing me flyers telling me to vote for a specific party, regardless of what it is.

I'm tired of the Reverend Al Sharpton.

I'm tired of seeing a split-screen with one candidate's gleaming spring-day smile on one side and the other candidate's retarded-at-birth scowl/grimmace/belch freeze frame with a dismal-sounding narrative explaining how the retarded candidate will drive the world into the horrid hell that we all deserve if we voted for him.

I'm tired of hearing what foreign land wants us to vote for what candidate, and the mandatory three-hour long analysis of how either outcome will affect our trade agreements and good-feelings with that wonderful foreign land.

I'm tired of seeing a candidate throw a football, eat a hamburger, kiss a child, pet a dog, attend a baseball game, laugh heartily at a very unfunny joke, give the thumbs-up, complete a 1000-piece puzzle with a 108 year old man, wash a neighbor's Mini Cooper, bake a gross of cookies, clean up the cat litter box or replace the front porch light for an invalid.

I'm tired of receiving phone calls informing me of the merits of a candidate's morals, financial prowess, religious affiliation, their stance on the migratory patterns of arctic terns or their wife's plans for saving each and every underprivileged child.

Please, just shut the fuck up and VOTE!!!

--

I am Horatio, and I approve this blog.

Paid for by the Committee to Elect Horatio for Master of His Own Domain

The Blood Drive and the Intern

Yesterday we held a Red Cross Blood Drive at our place of employment. This is something we typically do about 3-4 times a year and is a great way to contribute to a worthy cause with minimal effort. Anyway, my appointment was at 9:00 am and everything went smoothly. After the required pre-donation grilling to make sure I wasn't a HIV-infested, drug-crazed, prostitute-employing, porthole pirate, and I had not eaten any questionable meat overseas (not counting the numerous redlight districts), it was off to donate. After the technician asks you how you are feeling they typically ask, "Are you allergic to iodine?" To which I always reply, "Yeah, it makes my skin turn all brown and orange-like." Take it from me, 9 Red Cross technicians out of 10 have no frigging sense of humor whatsoever. Then, it was one stick of the needle and 15 minutes of lazy time, all on the company dime. The best part, obviously, is when you are done you get some orange juice to wash down the delicious complimentary pretzels and cookies. Quite the reward for saving lives. Anyway, they tell you to leave the little bandage on for 5 hours afterwards, which I tend to remove immediately - I just don't like that and the iodine on my arm, I guess I am just a different breed of cat. But I digress.

Anyway, about 1-2 hours later, IT's favorite intern, we will call her Alotta Grossebusen, comes into the IT lair complaining about her bandage. A quick review of her, she is 19 years old, about 5'7", 125lb, dirty-blond hair, and innocent green eyes. She is going into her sophomore year at the University of Pitt. And to top it off, just about every day she wears a pair of low hip-hugger jeans and a shirt that is painted on, showing off her considerable assets. She is a very smart girl, but she definitely wades in the shallow end of the common sense pool. So I said, just rip it off (the bandage, you pervert). And she answers, "But no, it hurts" (but in a MUCH whinier voice). I say, "It is not like you have any hair on your arms, just rip it off". "But I do have hair on my arms, see?" she says. "I am really hairy for a girl." Showing remarkable restraint I say nothing, nor do I break into my Chewbacca impression. She then, after about 2-3 minutes of working herself up, pulls the bandage off and leaves to wash the iodine off her arm. After a few minutes, she storms back in and says (I am NOT making this up), "Oh my God, I just washed my arm with soap and it is burning where the needle was. I am not going to get gingivitis am I?" After just staring at her slack-jawed for about 10-15 seconds, and then laughing for a good minute straight, she said, "Oh no, not gingivitis. I meant jaundice." Yeah, jaundice. Which then touched off 2-3 minutes of painful, doubled-over laughter. Finally, she got to gangrene, which by that point I couldn't laugh anymore. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Guess what her major is at Pitt? Pharmacy. God help us all.

The Maiden Voyage

Well, here we are at the inaugural post for the TWAP Blog. We would suspect that the first question you might all have is, "Why do so many Europeans love David Hasselhoff?" Or maybe it is, "What does TWAP stand for?" Do not fret, young grasshopper, all will be revealed to you. We just can't say when.

Our mission is clear, as well as two-fold. First, we need a place on the Internet to quickly dump a textual representation of all of the funny and mundane shit that happens to us during the day so we don't forget it forever 10 minutes after it happens. Second, we feel an overpowering sense of duty to provide such a place on the Internet for the commoner, the serf, the unwashed, to take a few minutes out of their otherwise average life and maybe get a chuckle, a guffaw, or maybe even a LOL. This means you, dummy.

Here is a sample of what to expect out at TWAP....

Well, we just got back from lunch at the Food Court at the local mall. Man, what a bummer. Normally, the place is crawling with a serious bumper crop of MILFs, but nothing could have been further from the truth today. All I wanted to do was shout "BINGO" at the top of my lungs just so I could hear loud groaning from the bluehairs and swearing like longshoremen with bunions from their cigar-store Indian counterparts, as well as see the in-house defibrillator in action. But alas, I showed remarkable restraint.

As a final note, we don't know whether we will be publishing individually or in cahoots, as they say. We do know this, though... you cannot contribute, save for Comments. No, this is strictly a creative outlet to maintain our sanity, keep us from urinating in our seats, and most importantly, making fun at your expense.

We hope you will enjoy this as much as we plan to.