Tagged: MRTB

Conversations with Cats

Stop this nonsense! Put me down!

Stop this nonsense! Put me down!

Last week, Jeff from Content Unrelated gave us a take on what it would be like if dogs could speak in a post titled, Conversations with Dogs.  Today’s piece is dedicated to a much more refined species of carpet-dwelling home-wrecker.  If you don’t feel like reading the rest, here’s the Cliff Notes Version:  Don’t ever buy a cat.  The end.  

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My freshly adopted step-cat, Jack, is quickly becoming the bane of my existence.  I recently acquired him in a package deal along with my  girlfriend.  Despite being warned about the inevitable havoc that would take place upon his arrival, I welcomed Jack into my home with loving embrace.

A few weeks later, the only embracing going on between me and Jack is when my hands are wrapped around his neck.

I don’t know much about ’em, but I’m pretty sure the common house cat, or Felis Catus, is a genetic hybrid of the North American Grey Squirrel, the Common Raccoon, and a Badger.  My theory would explain why  cats don’t like to be touched, spend a lot time burrowing in furniture, and scratch holes in stuff that previously did not have holes in it.

Like guest-poster Jeff, I often wonder what it would be like if Jack could talk. Our conversations would probably be brief, unproductive, and go something like this: Continue reading →

The Sleep Deprivation Challenge Ends

Sleep Trial Photo 3

Photo taken mid-trial

I’m sad to announce that The Official Sleep Deprivation Challenge is now officially over.  Put down your Pom-poms and exit the bleachers in a single file line.  [Insert distraught emoticon face.]

At approximately the 120 hour mark of the competition, I face planted into a bowl of macaroni salad and woke up six days later to a beard, dozens of misc. stains on the upholstery, a roof full of mortar shell debris, a bathtub full of jelly beans (?), and a fucking cat that apparently lives here now (cat story coming soon).

My brain shut down after Day 2 of the challenge, making it difficult to write anything down other than “dur…”  But, by the power of Zues, I somehow managed to keep a daily log.

Here are a few entries from the remainder of the challenge:  Continue reading →

Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge: Day 1 Results

**In case you missed the introduction to this whole mess that I’m subjecting myself to, be sure to read here first:  Chowderhead’s Official Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge.**

Well, Day 1 of the challenge began and ended with only a few minor burps, but all in all, things are going pretty smoothly.

It’s important to note: 

"Do these boobs make my dress look small?"

“Do these boobs make my dress look small?”

I haven’t officially been awake for twenty four hours because I accidentally fell asleep during the first hour while watching an episode of The Real Housewives of some posh, tropical county.  Shortly after that I slipped on a bar of soap in the shower and hit my head on the soap tray.

I still don’t really know exactly how long I was out for..

However, as the early hours of this study peel off the clock, I’m starting to feel like sleep is just an overrated, productivity-killing waste of time.  I mean, how the hell are we supposed to advance as a society when everybody’s larding around for eight hours everyday?

I intend to take full advantage of those additional eight hours each night by catching up on a few chores that I’ve been meaning to get to for awhile.

Summary of Events, Accomplishments, and Other Stuff from Day 1: Continue reading →

Case Study: Yahoo Answers

I’ve come to the realization that Yahoo Answers is the electronic version of The Magic 8 Ball.  In other words, it’s the biggest pile of shit ever dumped into a flaming paper bag and dropped onto your virtual doorstep since the dawn of the Internet.

Here’s how it works:
1.)  User asks a question seeking a valid response.
2.) Question is then made available to a general population of experts, comprised mainly of YouTube trolls, single men over the age of forty and hipsters.  Answers are typically never longer than five words and usually written in butchered English or hipster shorthand.

Thanks to the contributions made by the single males over the age of forty group .01% of the responses found on the site are not entirely useless.  Continue reading →

ChowderHead: The Beginning

…so I’m sitting in this cafe, slumped over a piss-warm cup of dark roast coffee, casually tossing ashes into the tray at the end of the table.  The lighting is inadequate where I’m image.jpgseated, making it difficult to study the entrees on the menu.

I pick up on a one-sided conversation coming from the booth adjacent to me, involving a pig-headed suit and tie, yammering into a phone about a stock deal gone sour.  The woman seated in front of the man appears emotionally detached, which is indicated by her body language.  She ignores the man and blankly stares off at a young female clearing the surrounding tables.

I’m overcome with remorse for the woman and her situation, finding myself privately analyzing the dysfunctional correlation between the two. Clearly, she’s numb inside; another wandering soul, financially bound to some corporate meat head. 

The murmur throughout the diner adds to the endless chatter taking place in my head, but the humming is abruptly halted when, without warning, an explosive discharge of profanities and pent-up rage erupts out of the woman.   Continue reading →

Grab a Tissue Because it’s Time for The First Inaugural Roast.

A few weeks ago I was experiencing a blog identity crisis and announced that I would be undergoing a sex change.  I mean a name change.  Since then, amid all of your incredibly cool suggestions, and all of the dumbass names that I came up with myself, I still haven’t decided on one.

My indecisiveness leads me to believe one of two things: 1.) I’m not incorporating enough essential fatty oils into my diet, or 2.) I’m pregnant.

"You're about to get served."

“You’re about to get served.”

All that aside, I made a promise that I intend to keep and I’m gonna make good on it today.  But I’m changing the rules up a bit; instead of blabbing on and on about one person, one winner, I’m about to throw a bunch of thick-skinned blogger buddies of mine onto the barbecue.

Congratulations.  You’re all winners of the Name Adam’s Dumb Blog Contest!

Here’s how the whole thing’s gonna play out:  I rip you to pieces, you cry for a few minutes, then you send me an anonymous death threat or a horse head, then we hug and makeup, and then you drop me a PayPal contribution for publicizing your blog!  I just threw that last part in there.  It’s not mandatory.

The Premise of the Roast:  

I have a couple of really sharp computer geek friends that figured out a way to reverse the search term feed.  I know who used what search terms to find my blog, and today I’m gonna let the dirty little kitty out of the bag.  I’ll also try my best to address your long-forgotten queries.  Of course I’m making all this shit up right now, but just play along.

So sit back, relax, crack a beer, throw some ABBA on the stereo, and soak up the sweet insults of the First Inaugural Roast.   Continue reading →

Valentine’s Candy Messages for the Cynical Single Person

Alright!  It’s taken me five grueling months to decide on the first candidate to stand under the hot-lights, but I’m 100% confident that I found the perfect mix of raunch and class to pop the Chowderhead guest blogging cherry.   Is that possible to be both raunchy and classy?  I guess you’ll just have to judge for yourself.

I’m convinced that Singlegirlie and I were separated at birth, but after that, one of us went on to play rock and roll, drink beer, and start accidental house party fires, and the other went on to debate penis sizes, and lead the single world with a fist in the air and lipstick on her teeth.

Without further ado let’s give a big, warm welcome and rock star salute to the Chelsea Handler of the blogging world, Singlegirlie.  Earmuffs.

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Single Girl Blogging

What up, Chowderheads? Singlegirlie inna house. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, which means I’ve been busy stocking up on vodka and hiding the knives and razor blades. But I did take a moment to create some of my own super cute candy hearts with special messages on them for my loved ones. And I made some for you, too. So suck on these, my sweet babboos, and I hope you enjoy the burn of VD as much as I do.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Now STFU.

There’s always that one annoying a-hole who goes on and on about what a wonderful Valentine’s Day they had with their sweetums. Well, I got news for you. Most people, single or not, hate V-day the way 99% of the planet hates Kanye West. If you’re single, you feel like a loser. If you’re in a relationship, you resent the monumental pressure Valentine’s Day forces upon you to do something romantic. So save the sickeningly sweet details about your ooey gooey day for your cat. Because trust me, no one wants to hear that shit.

Danny the DildoI’ll always be there.  ❤ Danny the Dildo

You can’t always count on a man, but your dildo will never let you down. I named my dildo Danny after Danny Zuko from Grease. (Note that this was John Travolta back when he was hot and before he became a big, fat, gay alien worshipper and massage boy molester.) Unlike a man, my Danny is super reliable and I can always find him right where I left him – in my bottom dresser drawer concealed by a mountain of Duracell eight-packs. And although he’s unable to thrust himself and has not the same texture as actual man meat, he also doesn’t make a mess inside me or ask for a post-coitus sandwich.

You’re never alone when there’s Craigslist.

Oh, don’t scoff, you know you’ve looked. Hell, even I’ve used Craigslist before. Granted, you may not find your soul mate, but it beats sitting alone on VD diddling yourself whilst watching queens throw tantrums on Project Runway. On Craigslist, you can find anyone into anything you want, so why not take this opportunity to explore your adventurous side? Always dreamed of urinating in a dwarf’s belly button? Craigslist is there. Hermaphrodite-curious? Look no further. This is your time to go hog wild with absolutely no one to judge you! Only downside is the possibility of getting murdered and dismembered – but hey, at least you’re not alone on Valentine’s Day.

Take solace in the fact that your V-day isn’t as bad as Manti Te’o’s.

If anyone’s had a bad time of it lately, it’s Manti Te’o. How would you feel if you discovered that your fake, dead girlfriend is a real, live gay man? Before this scandal broke, I never knew Manti Te’o existed, much less his catfish girlfriend. But this is the catfish to end all catfish – the King God Kamehameha Catfish, if you will. First, the love of his life gets cancer. Then she dies of it. Then he learns that she faked her own death. Then he learns that she faked her whole identity. Then he learns that she’s a HE – a 275-pound, high-talking, Samoan HE in severe denial of his sexuality. Given the choice between his shit and my shit, I’ll take the dildo and a Craiglist random any day.

I’m single, but you’re stuck with that asshole.

It’s no secret that single folk curse their coupled brethren around this time of year, assuming they’ve got it better because they have a sweetheart. But what we singles are wont to forget is that V-day can be a steaming pile of dog shit for couples, too. As we all know, 50% of marriages end in divorce. But that doesn’t mean the 50% that stay together are all in a state of wedded bliss. I guarantee that many of these people regularly fantasize about stabbing their spouse with a steak knife, but they stay together because of the kids or because divorce is expensive or because the death penalty is still legal in many states. So take comfort in the fact that even though you’re lonely, at least you don’t go to bed at night wondering if your penis will be attached in the morning.

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About Singlegirlie

I am a single girl dating in Los Angeles. Sometimes.  It’s interesting.  If you enjoy snark, penis stories and the occasional F-bomb, mosey on over to Single Girl Blogging to partake in the mayhem.  Or find me on Twitter @singlegirlie.

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I think I need a drink after that.  But first, how bout a round of applause?

– Happy Blogging \m/ 

P.S.  Stop by tomorrow for the Vlog.  It’s gonna be killer!

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5 Creative Ways to Avoid Small Talk

I take the act of avoiding small talk as seriously as the pentagon does counter-terrorism.  It’s not like I ever have anywhere important to be, but it still grinds my ass when someone tries to impede the process of me getting from point A to point B.  Point A is where I am now, point B is where I’d like to be in the near future, and standing between the two hypothetical points is motor-mouth Marty.

Pass the Dramamine. Hold the Drama.

Pass the Dramamine. Hold the Drama.

Listening to someone with irritable-mouth syndrome is like winding up a pair of those chattering teeth toys.  Five minutes of watching someone’s head bob back and fourth, their hands mimicking every word spewing from their mouths, and I’m reaching for the Dramamine.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot of useless information, and I find it troublesome to know how many twits are wandering around, aimlessly in search of someone to sort out their lives for them – free of charge.  This just in:  I’m not your  psychologist.  However, based on the information that I just learned about you (against my free will), I’d highly recommend consulting one.

It’s a predator versus prey world and preparedness is the key to surviving it.

Here’s a handy how-to guide to help identify and fight back against these persistent blabber-mouths:    

The Bragger

This kind of talker insures you’ll walk away from the conversation feeling like an absolute failure at life. A few steps in the other direction and you’ll already be reassessing your weak retirement plan, lousy career path — maybe even contemplating marriage counseling.  He’s god’s gift to humanity, and failure is a foreign concept to him.

His impressive life resume backs it up.

Just another day in the life of a Bragger.

Just another day in the life of a Bragger.

How to combat a Bragger:

Never attempt to one-up a bragger.  Any attempt to do so will be countered with more bragging.  Your best bet is to just lie down and play dead – figuratively of course (literal translation my lead to bigger problems).  Appear dejected.  After all, that’s what he wants:  to make you feel like a turd on the bottom of his shoe.

The key to beating a Bragger is to let him beat you.  The quicker he destroys your dignity, the better your odds of getting home in time for Wheel of Fortune.

Storyteller Steve

Whenever I hear the phrase, let me tell you a quick story, I can immediately deduce from it two things:   1.)  This is going to be anything but quick, and/or 2.)  I won’t be interested in whatever bullshit you are itching to ramble about.  Storyteller Steve is always well-traveled and lives to tell tall-tales.  None of them are true.

Give him a pull-start and he’ll blab forever about the time he caught a narwhal out on a Baltic Sea expedition, or about his pickle farming venture back in Utah.

How to combat Storyteller Steve:

Timing is everything with this type, and the remedy must be administered before the onset of the story.  When the person uses the phrase “let me tell you a story”, place your hand on your pocket quickly, then reach for your phone.  Place your pointer finger in the air as if to say, “one second please”.  Then, hold a mock conversation with the imaginary person on the other end, using words and phrases that imply an urgent matter of some kind.  Example words/phrases to use are:  “Now?” or “You’ll be there in ten minutes?” or “He died?”

Pretend to end the call and politely excuse yourself from the conversation.

Story Teller Steve's Alaskan Pike Fishing Trip.

Story Teller Steve’s Alaskan Pike Fishing Trip.

 

Too Much Information Guy

These types will share every intimate detail of their lives with complete strangers.  Medical procedures, incontinence issues, a rocky divorce – anything goes.  Listening to this type makes me feel like a nurse or a psychologist.  I always feel like I should be seated in a leather chair while jotting notes on a yellow legal pad.  Be grateful that I’m not your therapist.  If I were, I would probably suggest a few unorthodox ways of treating your issues.

Tissue?

How to combat Too Much Information Guy:

This type is extremely fragile, so you don’t want to do anything to further upset him/her.  Your best bet is to act concerned about the problem, then suggest they seek a professional opinion immediately.  Reiterate the urgency part.  If possible, dial the phone number of whatever service they are in need of and hand them the phone.

Political Pete

Being that it’s another election year (oh goody), Political Pete is out trudging the campaign trail in massive numbers.  He enjoys collecting bumper stickers and yard signs, spreading political e-mails, and trying to convert citizens of the opposite party.  Most of these idiots don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to sound like a fox news correspondent.  Flinging mud and spreading false information is what Political Pete does best.

Whenever approached, avoid eye contact.

How to combat Political Pete:

Whatever you do, do not express your political views.  Doing so will further extend the conversation and add fuel to the debate.  In the past I’ve recommended people void themselves from the conversation by stating that they are not a U.S. citizen, which would implicate that said person does not have voting rights.  However, this information is outdated, and may lead to an altercation if he/she is a supporter of the national rifle association, and/or a resident of the state of Texas.

The most current and effective method for dealing with Political Pete is simple:  ask him to provide you with a bumper sticker, then run hightail it in the opposite direction while he’s digging through the trunk.

The power of Christ compels you!

The power of Christ compels you!

 

Religious Rick

Having to listen to someone’s uppity, know-it-all banter about the after-life makes me want to send that person there myself.  If you’re that giddy about whatever comes next then why the hell are you wasting your time here?  God, if you’re listening to me right now, please let the floor open up under Religious Rick the next time he’s standing in front of me.

He desperately wants to meet you.

How to Combat Religious Rick:

This one is a bit more dramatic, but it’s a lot of fun when executed properly.  Make sure you know the person’s name before you begin.  While the person is conducting their sermon, drop to the ground and begin thrashing around like you’re possessed.  Add flair by cussing and spitting, and if possible, try to foam at the mouth.  Finally, cap it off by yelling gibberish, and be sure to use the person’s name during your performance.

Before you can wipe the spittle from your chin, Religious Rick will be running for the holy water.

I know from experience.

*****

– On guard, Chowderheads \m/

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