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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.

donald-trumpdoge

—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.

July 4, 2017 / themrtinney

I live in a zoo… or …my life as a slave to the rhythm

This is Winston:

Winston – English Springer Spaniel. Professional barker.

Why, you might inquire, would I have a photograph of this dog here under such a title?  I’m so glad you asked… if you didn’t ask, just zip it and follow along for the ride anyway.

Winston is my dear wife’s English Spring Spaniel.  He goes by many names, having earned each and every one, including:

  • Winston
  • Hodor (yes THAT HODOR!)
  • MutherFucker Jones (think Horrible Bosses)
  • Please Be Quiet!
  • Won’t You Please Lay Down And Stop Barking!!
  • Dear God What Does This Dog Want From Me!!!

Things started out fairly calm.  I present “exhibit A”

IMG_1150

Exhibit A – Baby Winston

When Winston came to join us in 2015, the breeder we picked him up from described him as ‘very expressive.’  My wife will deny this, but I believe that this breeder, upon releasing this statement, and those that followed about Winston’s ‘expressiveness’ actually, physically cringed.  Also she twitched.  It was one of those eye-blink half smirks that you might see in, let’s say, Brad Pitt’s insanely traumatized character from 12 Monkeys.

“I’m ok, really, just take this great dog”

 

Upon further inquiry, the breeder added that Winston would ‘definitely let you know’ when he ‘wanted something.’  Never a truer statement has been spoken people.

I might like to add here that, shortly after Winston was born there, the breeder stopped breeding altogether.  Coincidence… or PTSD?

 

 

Things with our new pup began innocently enough.  It was fairly calm at first then blossomed rapidly.  Sort of like an innocent camp fire song just as the Santa Ana winds come in.  Statements from my wife like, “oh… he’s so smart!  Only a few months old and he barks to let me know he wants his food bowl!” became commonplace.

As Winston grew larger, so did his vocal chords.  His puppy-like squeak changed to a bit of a bellow that, somehow, was combined with a sharp, high-pitch spike at the end. Think long tuba note meets someone stepping on Celine Dion’s foot with a metal spike in the middle of a crisp high note and ending with the groan of a frustrated wild boar.  That will get you close.

Things escalated quickly as we rapidly learned that Winston is ‘so smart’ he barks not only to let us know when he wants his food bowl, but any of the following items as well:

  • A rawhide
  • A ball
  • An unknown object on the table:
    • this? <showing Winston a rawhide>
    • is it this? <showing Winston a tennis ball>
    • what about this? <fidget spinner, place mat, pencil, MY VERY SOUL?!>

We quickly developed a pattern to try to alleviate these outbursts, which became so regular that peaceful dining, movie watching or reading was impossible unless Winston was actually asleep.  Since my wife refused to let me put him on an intravenous sedative, we did, over time, find ways to anticipate his demands. Regularly having bones in certain places, playing ball several thousand times per day, and ensuring that no other dog (we have others) actually has anything that he wants (which is anything they have) all help.

Now – I want to be clear.  I love this dog.  He is a beautiful Springer, very fun to play ball with, and a great snuggler when he is calm.  However, he is ‘very expressive’ <insert maniacal laughter of that breeder here>.  So, we often find ourselves dancing to the rhythm of his barking demands.

Have a blog about pets?  A crazy animal or three yourself?  Share in the comments and share this post with a friend.

MrTinney

April 9, 2013 / themrtinney

Resurrection of mrtinney… or… Zombie Writer

After an extensive layoff from blogging via the funny bone, mrtinney has returned from writing naughty birthday cards with the co-owner of  www.sinistercards.com with a few thoughts.  Here’s about a years worth in consolidated format.

  1. In answer to the question “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?” I firmly believe it is because you have corn cobs hidden under your arms.
  2. What is the opposite of opposite?  If you said “the same” I am invoking my little known ‘single word answers only please’ rule.  Told.
  3. The sun rises in the East… suck it California.
  4. It’s not hallucinating if there is Corona involved:  it’s creative imagery.
  5. Look at this ink spot image for 10 seconds:

    I don’t care what you see in it… I just wanted to feel the power of making you stare at something for 10 seconds.  You’ve been virtually punked.

  6. If being against gay marriage makes you homophobic, are those that oppose clown weddings but don’t actually fear clowns still Coulrophobia?  Just asking.
  7. Don’t you hate it when people don’t finish their sente
  8. Follow this twitter feed:  The Llama.  Gooooooood.
  9. Top ten things Mimes say: 10.  9.  8.  7. 6.  5.  4.  3.  2.  1.
  10. Spelling becomes urgently critical when you meet a deaf genie.
  11. My doctor said writing a poem about my fears would help overcome my Coulrophobia.  I wrote a seven hundred page poetry book entitled “I’m They Guy Huddled In The Corner.”  Some of best poetry sections include “Crap In My Pants Again,” and “Yes, Jimmy, I Did Thrust A Javelin Through The Skull Of Mr. Birthday Clown!”  I’m feeling better already.
  12. Quickly think of a number between one and ten.  Now hold up that many fingers and say “Wow!” rather loudly.  Count the number of people staring at you and ask yourself why the f*ck you just did that.
  13. Leave a comment for a top ten list you would like to see – most popular one will be the next post.Have a fantastic, clown free day.
    ft