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July 19, 2017 / themrtinney

Diet logging… or… Rumsoakedchocolatecaketacobellburger

Diet Log – Day 1

Did pretty good today if you don’t count the Swiss Cake Rolls and the McDonalds run.  Could have been worse – I probably shouldn’t try to quit drinking alcohol Starbucks and fattening foods at the same time.  Even though I cheated, I did feel a little edgy… like when I told that customer “oh yeah!? well people in hell want ice water!”  It was a little strong in response to asking where the bathroom was.  Hopefully Day 2 will be better.

Diet Log – Day 2

A customer asked me to throw away their empty Starbuck’s mocha cup.  It’s in my drawer labeled “in case of emergency.”  I might have to smell it once in a while to help with the Starbuck’s withdrawal symptoms, which include headaches, a slightly bad mood and the desire to kill anyone I speak to.

Diet Log – Day 3

I thought by now I’d be use to the dieting thing, but instead I found myself licking the Starbuck’s cup in my drawer and hissing at a co-worker who suggested it was not a good idea.  I’m having daydreams of chocolate cake eagles flying me off into a buttery sunset with clouds made of Twinkie filling.  They keep dropping me because I’m eating their legs.  It’s ok though, because I fall into a small pond filled entirely with taco meat and safely eat my way out.

Diet Log – Day 4

I stole a co-workers Big Mac.  And fries.  And milk-shake.  While brandishing an envelope opener.  I have been banned from the break-room and ordered to stop dieting.  They just want me to be fat, so I have a secret plan not to fall into their trap.

Diet Log – Day 5

My secret plan failed.  My scheme was to buy swiss cake rolls, tacos and tater tots and keep them at my desk to provide the illusion I was off my diet to fool my captors… I mean co-workers.  Everything went perfectly up until the point at which I ended up in the bathroom vomiting one dozen tacos, three pounds of tater tots and nine swiss cake rolls. Note to self:  swiss cake rolls taste great in either direction!

Diet Log – Day 6

Noon log:  I’m back on track with my diet.  Today I’ve only had bottled water and a protein shake.  Feeling great!

PM log:  Just finished an entire Turkey and twelve beers.

Diet Log – Day 7

I quit!  Brought a dozen donuts in from Dunkin Donuts as a peace-offering to the staff.  One made it all the way to work… I split it with the guy I nearly shanked for the Big Mac.

July 18, 2017 / themrtinney

Nice to see you… or… Nobody ‘nose’

Did you know that your eyes constantly see your nose and your brain just decides not to tell you?  Well, that’s the way it usually works, but today, I became aware of my nose.  It’s absolutely paralyzing.

It’s like you suddenly have somebody angrily pointing their fleshy fingertip right in-between your eyes just barely visible, but undoubtedly there.  Also, I’m not sure why the somebody is ‘angrily’ pointing, but trust me, there’s some anger involved here.

So I decided to do what I generally do when I have any strange illness, malady or unexplainable paranormal event – like that time I was convinced my Basset Hound was channeling the dead because her eyes looked way too human and she had a sudden liking for vegetables (Basset Hounds hate vegetables).  I googled it.  By the way, you can perform an exorcism on a Basset Hound even if they are not Catholic.


Google suggested searches – Exhibit A

As you can clearly see from Exhibit A – if you begin to search for “i can see my own” then “nose” comes up fourth.  First of all, this is devastating.  My brain decided to curse me with a known, debilitating issue and can’t do any better than fourth?!  Second, I want to re-emphasize that you can exorcise the dead from a Basset Hound but encourage you to go easy on the holy water because they mostly just drink it and then slobber on your cross.

Where was I?  Oh yeah – we were talking about me seeing my nose.  I got so distracted with the Basset Hound flash-back I forgot about it and don’t see it anymore… but my dog sure is looking at me funny right now.  Gotta’ go get my cloak…

July 16, 2017 / themrtinney

Grave(l) predicament… or… Have you seen my stapler?

My boss moved my parking spot to the gravel parking lot anoffice-space-miltond now I’m going to die.

You don’t understand.  There is gravel on the gravel lot.  Lots of gravel.  In the gravel is dust.  In the dust is probably (definitely) a whole microscopic world of killer organisms.. which are not to be mistaken for killer orgasms even though that would be more interesting and probably less actually deadly.

People… the killer organisms in the dust that are in the gravel are now in the car that is parked on the gravel lot.  I get in the car that is parked on the gravel lot with the gravel that has the dust that’s probably filled with forty-two gazillion killer organisms.  Ergo – I’m going to die.  Remember – these are killer organisms we’re dealing with here, not just your average everyday bullying and teasing organisms.  They most likely have weapons and questionable attitudes.

Also, I just used ‘ergo’ in a sentence and now own the English language.

If I don’t die from the killer organisms and their evil minions (let’s face it, they have to have evil minions.  Somebody has to carry the toxin guns) I will probably die from being 112% OCD about the black interior of my car meeting the grey gravel that attaches itself to my shoes every day.

Black floor mat:  “Hello MrTinney’s shoes, welcome ba… .whoa!!!  Who the hell are you guys?”

Gravel pieces:  “Don’t mind us… we were invited.”

Black floor mat:  “What’s that shit crawling on you!?  Does that thing have a shank?!!”

My poor car.  I’m thinking of buying a portable vacuum that plugs into your power port.  Maybe I can vacuum my shoe bottoms when I get in.  And my pant legs.  And the carpet.  And wear a hazmat suit.

This isn’t going to end well.


July 14, 2017 / themrtinney

Fidget much… or …jealousy is ugly on you

I have six hundred fidget spinners.  Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit here, but it’s safe to say that my family might be planning an intervention soon.

It started out much the same way I’m guessing a crack addiction might.  One little hit on the Mary Jane and six months later you have more tattoos than you do teeth and you only have three tattoos.  It begins with just one little “try” and grows into an empty bank account… not the fidget spinners, the drugs.  Well I’m not on drugs.  Well not right now. Well not.. anyway I got sidetracked, but the point of this post is the fidget spinners so you people need to stop distracting me with these side issues.

My first exposure to a fidget spinner was through one of my children.  They brought one home after an outing with their mother at Wal-Mart, a place where you can buy anything that has ever existed and still only spend .99 cents because the prices just keep falling continuously just like the commercials say.  Although, I’ve never actually seen that smiley emoji bopping around the store when I was there, so I’m beginning to doubt that’s real at this point.

So I try out this fidget spinner, and the first thing I notice is that it seems huge.  I’m spinning it by holding it between my pointing finger and my thumb, but I can barely get it around twice before it hits that web of flesh between the two fingers on the side of my hand that I believe is called skin webbing or should be called that if it’s not.  Or maybe it could be called duck skin because it looks like the webbing between the ducks toes on their feet.  Wait… do ducks have toes?  I’ve got to Google that.  I’ll be right back.

I’m back.  Holy shit, guys, ducks have toes!  So where was I?  Oh yeah.  Standard fidget spinners are too damn large for real men like me who have girl size hands but aren’t self-conscious about it at all. Much. Stop looking at them.

So I decided to see if there was such a thing as small fidget spinners and, behold, I found out that there are not only small fidget spinners, but mini fidget spinners.  The discovery of the mini fidget spinner on Amazon was the beginning of the “summer of fidget” that I have now embarked on.  Amazon, who I have come to realize is the actual god of my life right behind the demi-god of bulk – Costco, sent my mini fidget spinner via drone or something.  Spinner in hand, I quickly escalated my addiction level.  Actually, I went from “I tried it but didn’t inhale” level to “I will eat my own finger for your entertainment if you just let me lick that trace cocaine off your left nostril” level very quickly.

I started fidgeting with the mini at work sometimes, but soon found myself uncomfortable if I didn’t have it in my hand.  I started making excuses for my addiction, like when people would ask stupid questions like “why are you only typing with one hand – why don’t you just put that thing down?” I would say something like “I read a study that typing with one hand helps cure cancer in children… do you want children to die James?!!!?”

Then it really got ugly, as co-workers out of concern my addict mind mistook for jealousy, would suggest I was spending too much time fidgeting.  Although I never actually did it, I could easily see myself backing into a corner with my fidget spinner clutched tightly in my hand as I hissed at people Gollum style… which is not to be mistaken for Gangnam style because I don’t think dancing with a fidget spinner is as intimidating as hissing at people and calling it ‘my precious.’  Dancing with my fidget spinner could be a form of performance art, however, so I’m writing that down on my “Youtube Channel Ideas” list right now.

So anyhow… at this point, I have several fidget spinners on my desk at work and I rotate between them like an OCD toy addict ensuring each one gets equal time.  I’m sure this phase will pass at some point… or maybe I’ll just retreat into a cave somewhere with my fidget spinners.  I mean, hey, Gollum did live to be 589, so…

July 10, 2017 / themrtinney

Date Night/Hangover Morning… or …Gentleman Jack is a dirty boy


I want to openly praise and simultaneously call out Gentleman Jack.  If you don’t know him, here’s a photo:

gentleman jack

Jack.  Looking all “who me? what?!”

Please note how very empty Jack is.  The amount that the bottle is empty is, by odd coincidence, the amount that I was full of this mellow whiskey.  I want to be clear that I in no way hold Jack Daniels personally or professionally responsible for a pounding headache that resembled an actual jack hammer being applied to my skull.  I’m talking the opening stanza of “Riverdance” performed in cleats directly on my brain here.  Did I mention I thought I was dying?

Now, I am a grown ass man who is personally responsible for how much he drinks in one sitting, or even one standing… though I try not to stand and drink after the first couple because I tend to fall over things and my wife gets all critical like “your standing on the dog’s head again!” and “who peed in the fucking closet!?!”

I’m not saying I have a drinking problem (I have plenty of people to do that for me).  I just drink until there’s nothing left because I’m  very thorough.  This can and may (does) result in some issues standing, walking, talking and not vomiting on people while trying to dance like Usher in that “No Limits” video (how does he bend that way?!)  Now – before you judge me, just know one thing:  I don’t give a shit what you think.

Also, I would like to soften the tone at this juncture by inserting a photo of Jack, before the ritual consumption began, with our mutual friend Frodo the five-pound Havanese dog.  This photo is provided as a reference point to show Jack’s relative size as well as make you go “awwwwww!” several times:

gentleman jack and guest

Dear God, that dog is angry cute.

I know what you are thinking:  “Why does that tiny dog look so angry?”  Well forget that – you’re distracting yourself from the real question here, which is:  “Why does Alec Baldwin get to host Saturday Night Live so many times?”

Back to our subject, I do want to point out that the Jack Daniels website has an actual page that invites you to “Become a Friend of Jack.”  I would like to offer a truce with Gentleman Jack in particular and suggest an edit to this page.  Perhaps one of these selections would help:

“Become a Frenemy of Jack”

“Become a Friend of Jack and buy stock in Ibuprofin”

“Become a Friend of Jack… sloooooowly dude”

At the open I stated I wanted to call Jack out, and I feel I’ve done that.  As I stated, I am solely responsible for consuming alcohol in questionable quantities such as “all of it.”  I should come with a disclaimer on my forehead so that the ABC stores in my area see me coming and politely refuse case quantities or, at least, remind me that tomorrow is more than just a Broadway tune Annie sings and will show up regardless of what time I go to bed after a date with Jack.

I also indicated I would praise Jack – and so I shall.  This is the smoothest whiskey I’ve enjoyed, and I’ve tried a few.  I highly recommend it.  Just don’t drink it all in one sittting/standing and if you do, remember the closet is left and the bathroom is right.








July 8, 2017 / themrtinney

Saturday musings… or … the power of a good crap

Ever taken (took? done?) an official super-crap?  Whoa there… before you click off onto the next blog about kittens and honey badgers chasing butterflies, I think you should consider facing some reality today with MrTinney’s Saturday musings.  Don’t be afraid.  Or maybe you should:

—Had a BM yesterday that required so much time and effort, I had to have a sandwich after to restore my strength.  If you’ve never done a Publishers Clearing House type “go” before, I pity you.  It should come with a prize.  Other than the obvious stuff you get…

—Why do they call it pole vaulting instead of “self flinging”?

—I missed work yesterday because I was sick.  I get sick a lot, but the one thing I finally learned is that when you are sick you need to stay in bed… not run off to work like some super-hero complete with cape, fever and tissues.  I use to do that, and get everybody sick.  Now I don’t and annoy everybody because I’m sick and don’t show up.  I’ll take option B.

—The biggest thing in the news today is Trump and the Russians.  Meanwhile, I have a dog with an unknown mass on her leg that looks like her brain relocated on the outside of her body.  This thing might battle Pluto to get back in line for qualification as a planet.  I guess my point is, blah blah blah news channels – talk about something at my level, like super BMs.

—Both of my ‘children’ are away today doing something with their friends, leaving my bride and I a practice run at empty nesting.  We’re going to Costco to buy a pallet of Q-tips.

—This is the current President of the United States of America and a Doge.  Do with this information as you wish.


—I was once a janitor but had to quit my job because the owner of the establishment I cleaned insisted on giving me a fifteen minute lesson on how the toilet paper should be hung in the bathroom stalls.  It involved a five-minute speech on the origin of toilet paper, an instructional video, and some uncomfortable shoulder to shoulder moments in a stall practicing.  So which is it, Under or Over?

—For those who need it, I leave you with this and wish you a great weekend complete with a healthy BM:

July 4, 2017 / themrtinney

Our marriage is finally legal.

Source: Our marriage is finally legal.