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Tuesday, May 15, 2012


Two Things That Completely Amaze Me.


     I'm not amazed by much anymore, but every now and then, something squeaks in just under the radar and, BAM! I'm amazed. And I think you will be too. If you actually think about these two.
In order for this to work, I have two seemingly odd requests for you. Two things you need to do:

A) Flick a piece of snot at anything, and,
B) Fart in the shower.

    I realize that many people claim they never actually perform either activity themselves, and rather than wasting time convincing them that, yeah, you do, I'll simply ask them to do it just this once. In the interest of scientific inquiry. To further the sphere of human knowledge and make the world that one little bit better. You know who you are, and before you dismiss this entire exercise, just read it over. I'm sure you will find that these two questions that burn through my very core are actually based on some seriously sound and valid reasoning, and not just vulgar bathroom humor. That having been said, we'll start with the farts.
Shower farts, it seems, follow a completely different set of rules than do all other flatulent events in that, as far as my associates and I can tell, they all smell the same. I'm saying that your own shower farts all smell the same, not that any fart, dropped in any shower, anywhere adheres to this rule. A longitudinal study spanning several decades has yielded the following data: no matter what you eat, where you eat it, who prepared it for you, even if you've never eaten it before, any resulting flatulence that occurs in the shower (ANY shower) will smell the same. Try it. No matter where you are in the world, no matter what your diet consists of, POW! Same smell every time! HOW?!? How does this happen? What is it about cascading water that alters our flatulent physiology? I'm dead serious, here! Try it, test it, make an attempt at proving my theory wrong, for as most of us know, the only legitimate, recognized way to prove a theory is to try and disprove it – if you can't, then you're sitting on a good, solid theory.
   So. Eat a burger and fries in Washington State, check in at the nearest 'Comfort Inn' or perhaps a 'Big 6', throw your suitcase on the cinder-block double bed, hop right into the shower, and squeeze one off. And don't (if you're one of those types) try to squeak it all sneaky-like, either. As a sort of bonus, it was also discovered that no matter how hard you try, you just can't squeak a fart when your bum is wet. Can't play trumpet when the orchestra pit is damp. Now, take careful note of the aroma. Next, you could maybe have a nice piece of cheesecake at Lindie's in Manhattan, sashay over to the Marriott Essex House on Time Square, drop the eight or nine-hundred dollars for one night's stay (and before you go off about the price, the brunch makes it all worth while, trust me), amble up to your luxurious, spacious and ever so comfortable suite (no mere 'rooms' here), drift into the massive, glassed-in shower and, once again, fart. Repeat the aroma noticing thing that you did in Washington, and be astounded. The two odors, although created on opposite sides of the continent, will have no discernible difference. Also, you'll get the pleasure of baffling and confusing the staff when you walk out saying “Fuck me with a cheese grater, The RobScenity was right!” because they haven't seen me in years, but they remember the 'cheese grater' line.

    And now, the snot. I wonder why this has never been noticed before? Why did it fall to me to make what is possibly the single greatest discovery in the field of mathematics? I want you to think very hard about this one, ok? Generally, when one flicks a snot, the eyes and the nasal projectile both reach the point of impact at exactly the same time! Do you have any idea to what extent higher calculus, vector plotting, knowledge of trajectories, flow dynamics, to name but a few, come into play during this scenario? The multiple, instantaneous and then constantly revised calculations involved in plotting the route of the snot to its eventual landing site in the split seconds it takes to arrive there is nowhere short of miraculous. For one thing, there are no true constants when dealing with snot, are there? Viscosity, surface tension, density, weight, aerodynamic features, these are all just the start of a massive pile of unknown and unquantifiable variables. We can't even count on a consistent snot-to-fingernail adhesion factor, so even something as simple as determining the exact second of release is out of our realm. Yet, somehow, we are able to do all the calculations, make all the adjustments, and account for all the unknowable variables and still arrive at the exact point on the wall/window/sibling that the snot has also arrived at, at precisely the same time! HOW?????  

Now that I’ve given you your research materials, I shall bail. My head is pounding just thinking about this again, and I think I will go do something illegal. As always, be safe.

TRS

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

13 Years with the Man I love..

Words can never express how much I love and adore Rob..and I can only hope you have found someone in your lifetime that means as much to you as he does to me. He is intelligent, quick witted, funny, talented, sweet, thoughtful, perverted, cuddly, loyal, protective, strong, and the most beautiful looking man I have ever seen. I love his parents, his upbringing, his musical talents, his cool employment background which includes burning dead people, a stand-up comic, musician, published author, tour guide, his educational feats, and I love his heart, his stories, and his outstanding talents in the bedroom. I ADORE this man, and I will love him forever...

Sunday, May 6, 2012

It Begins (Again)


   Well, it seems I was just too busy to notice, or perhaps I just didn't think it could possibly be that time already. I guess there are definitely some benefits to setting an alarm or learning how the calendar feature on my phone works after all. No matter how I managed to let this slip past, slip past it certainly has. I saw the first sign last night and nearly went into shock, so ill-prepared was I for the event. And today, I have seen no less than 7 occurrences, and I have yet to venture farther than the balcony. I'm not altogether certain I even want to venture farther than the balcony, if spotting 7 of these most atrocious of sights is any indication of what may lurk beyond the confines of my room. I shudder, even though the temperature is quite agreeable. In fact, it is precisely that agreeable temperature that has caused my shivering, as it is also the very thing which has brought out one of my most hated of all things, my peeve-est of pet peeves, one of the few things that ruins two otherwise extremely pleasant seasons. And I find myself contemplating venturing out into the world, and into the very midst of this yearly atrocity. I must be mad.

    What the fuck am I babbling on about, you ask? Find anyone who has known me for more than three hours, and ask them what I hate almost more than anything else in life. What they will say, is this, “Grown Men in Short Pants”. Short pants are for little boys, and there are few things on this planet (or any other, I would imagine) that look as ridiculous, ludicrous, preposterous, as a full-grown adult male kitted out in a pair of these goofy little half-trousers. Knobby knees, puffy, almost luminously white legs, do not belong out in plain view, where just anyone at all could accidentally happen to see them. No, they belong hidden, under a sensible pair of full-length men's pants. Think about it for a second – it's the whole reason fully legged pants were invented in the first place – so the general population would not be forced to gaze upon that which the pants so cleverly conceal!

    To make matters even more difficult, some GMISP's hold the opinion that their short pants make them appear boyish, youthful, and even 'adorable'! They DO NOT! The most cursory glance at the wearer cannot help but yield the following observation: You are an adult male, dressed in the trappings of a pre-teen in some vain hope of appearing less advanced in years than you, quite obviously, are. You're not fooling anyone, other than yourself. As for looking adorable, the only one who thinks that is you. And maybe your wife or girlfriend. Their opinion, however, along with their taste, is not to be trusted – just look who they picked as a mate.

Untill next time, as always, be safe.

TRS


Monday, April 30, 2012




I feel that I'm long past due for a full-out frontal attack on one of the most reprehensible things in the music business – the 'Family Band'. You know, like the Partridge Family, and even worse, the Brady Kids, to name the two best known examples of this horrid pseudo-musical phenomenon. I'll even go over the really obvious reasons, just in case some of you aren't in tune with the World of Music, but only a quick look at those as they are too painfully obvious to the rest of us.
First off, you live with your family, see them every single day, and the time you get to actually spend alone (the 'me' time) is not a plentiful commodity. A working band spends a ridiculous amount of time together, writing, rehearsing, and generally tightening up all aspects of The Show. It gets worse when the group is on tour, as all that together time is often spent crammed in a tour bus, or worse, a couple of old vans.
Families also don't always see eye to eye, which can lead to frequent fighting and tense situations. Many working band find that the only time they don't fight is on stage, the rest of the tour time can be quite the nightmare. So, the question arises, why on earth would anyone want to take those two situations and mash them together into one huge, volatile mess just waiting to explode in a maelstrom of potential fratricide, infanticide and suicide? I have no answers for you as to who would want this (inbred Ozark Mountain clans excluded) as a long term lifestyle.
Those, however, are not my reason for disliking the 'Family Band' format. My reason is simply this: not every person in every family is musically inclined or even remotely talented, so we always end up with one or two useless tits who just stand on stage wiggling, shaking a bloody tambourine, pinging away on a triangle or rattling those god-awful fucking maracas. Really, who the fuck, when faced with the decision to play an instrument, goes with the 'triangle' option? When I was a kid, the only triangle players in the school band were the three kids from the 'special ed' class. Mind you, if memory serves, one of them was pretty damn good at it – I often wonder if he went on to play triangle professionally with some Philharmonic Orchestra or other. Yah! Right! I lost a lot of sleep wondering about that one!! But back to that family member who is busy shaking, pinging or rattling their way through everyone else's hard work. They're a waste of space, a source of complete crap noise, but they have to be included because “They're a part of this family, too!”. If the same reasoning were used by surgeons or nuclear power plant workers … well, you see where I'm going with this. That's all I can say without getting angry right now, so as always, be safe.

TRS

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Just Some Stuff That Makes Me Wonder...



I will admit that I had to look at this woman for quite some time before I actually realized what, exactly, I was looking at. The weird thing is, I found myself wondering how the hell she did that before I had even the slightest clue what 'that' was, the nature of which I shall share with you now.
The woman, (whom I have seen several times since), was wearing a hat. Not any old hat, oh, no. This happened to be a hat that looked like hair. I know what you're thinking, and you are wrong – I do know the difference between a hat and a wig, and this was most assuredly a hat. I know this because I saw her take the damnable thing off. When she did remove her hat that looked like hair, I found myself in yet another binge of wondering. Underneath the hat that looked like hair, she was sporting hair that looked like a hat! Two questions sprang instantly to mind:

  1. How the Hell did she manage to do that, and, more importantly,
  2. Why the Hell would she even want to?

If you already have hair that looks like a hat, why bother putting on an actual hat? To cover up your horrific hair? Wouldn't you just try to style your hair, attempt to make it resemble something other than a hat? And if you were, in fact, putting on the hat in order to draw attention away from some hairstyle-related deficiency, then WHY THE FUCK would you choose a hat that looked like hair? Why not just toss on a wig?
After much pondering, and as I mentioned, more sightings which allowed me the luxury of intense observation, I have come to the conclusion that the woman is hiding something. Something much, much larger and more worthy of hiding that mere shitty hair. Let me give you a few facts, and let's see if you come to the same conclusion I did:
  1. Her hat looked like hair,
  2. Her hair looked like a hat,
  3. She was unusually tall and thin,
  4. She gave new definition to the term 'homely',
  5. Her overall bearing and appearance were reminiscent of an emu or ostrich, and finally,
  6. I never saw or heard her speak,

As you can see, all the evidence points to only one possible explanation: Inter-dimensional Immigrant from an alternate universe who did little or no homework when it came to relocating to our reality. I welcome your comments and / or theories.

As always, be safe
TRS