Monday, September 28, 2009

5 Funniest Videos on YouTube

Many sites have claimed to find the funniest videos on YouTube. I actually have. In no particular order, they are:

-David After Dentist. A reality video of a five year old after anesthesia for the first time... it's like what would happen if you got your little brother high and he was really funny anyway.

-Never Let a Crackhead Sing at Your Funeral. A video about truth, wisdom, and beauty, and a powerful argument for either A) staying off drugs or B) learning the words to a simple hymn.

-Marijuana Overdose 911 Call. This is an absolutely real 911 call from the wife of a police officer who had stolen evidence and utilized that evidence to the best of his ability. Best line: "We're dying. Time is going by really really really slow. I think we're dead."

-My New Haircut. Irresistible to fans of the Jager Bomb, this clip has probably spawned as many parodies as any other videos on YouTube... it's also shockingly revealing and self-deprecating for a bunch of NJ guidos.

-Mobile Alabama Leprechaun. The amazing part about this news clip of some true believers in Mobile, Alabama is that IT'S ACTUALLY A REAL NEWS SEGMENT. Buy the T-shirt!

Honorable Mentions:
Charlie Bit My Finger... Mostly funny because they're British.
Hahaha... I usually shun videos of babies but this one is awesome, and imported from Sweden!
Star Wars Kid... Talk about scarred for life.
Evolution of Dance... Not especially funny, but pretty cool.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Part 1: JK learns to gut a fish. Part 2: A donkey and matching motorcycle jackets

Part 1: As said above I continued my outdoor education yesterday by learning to gut a fish. As stated previously, I have been fishing quite a bit lately, mostly with my dad. Fishing is cool, but seeing that I don't really like to eat fish, I just catch them and release them, and then try to catch the same fish again. But yesterday, we had a visitor who does like to eat trout, and he agreed to let me "clean" them (which is code for robbing them of their intestines and, if applicable, eggs).

You start by smacking them in the face, really hard. This shocks and immobilizes them and makes you feel like a real fish-beating man, and I accordingly wore what's properly known as an "A" shirt, informally known as a wife beater. I asked my dad and visitor why you don't just stab them straight through the eyes to shock and immobilize them, and they conceded that method would work as well.

So after you beat the fish a bit, you gut it. This consists of slitting the fish belly from anus to just proximal to the lower jaw. It's pretty easy with a quality knife. Then you slit it laterally through the gills, proceeding upward to free the lower jaw, which you use as a "pull-tab" of sorts to rip the intestines (and, if applicable, eggs) out. You then dispose of the innards on land (oddly, other fish won't munch them if you throw them back). You squeeze all the blood out of a large central vessel, wash the fish in the water, and you're ready to go! Decapitation is optional but it's much cooler to cook the fish with its head on.

So that's what I learned yesterday! I also managed to get another wicked sunburn, further increasing the number of burn and tan rings around my neck to four fully visible. A bee stung me on the neck, and then proceeded to sting me three more times on my back after diving into my shirt. Await the sequels of this segment, which will likely be: 1, JK cleans a blue grouse and 2, JK guts a deer (which I will eat later, no trophy hunting for me thank you.)

Part II: So things moved on toward evening. I pan-fried some blue grouse (like a wild chicken) that I traded for last week, making the barter economy very favorable to me. Then I proceeded to the Friendly Store/Century Bar and Grill, which thankfully does not discriminate against patrons like they do prospective employees. I arrived to find a cache of regulars partially watching Miami (henceforward referred to as "The U") crush higher-ranked Georgia Tech. I would denigrate the entire "U" much more thoroughly right now, but I do fear being hunted down and shot by any member of their football team.

When I got to the bar, I ordered my usual Jim Beam and diet and proceeded to talk to the couple on my right. I described the new bartendress to him and, now that I have seen her again, I upgraded her to a 7.5 (great eyes!). At that point, the guy on my right turned to me and said, "Hey, watch out, you're talking about my future girlfriend." I laughed and took a sweet picture of his mullet, which I am unfortunately unable to upload from my telephone. At that point, someone asked him if he was the "guy with the donkey."

This newcomer in town had been spotted on the road over the last couple days, walking barefoot with a dog and a donkey. When asked why he had a donkey, he stated (quite correctly) that no one would pay attention around here to a barefoot guy with a dog, which is a far more common occurrence than you would think. So we asked him why he wanted to draw attention to himself, and he stated that he was trying to get Bill Gates' attention (?) to help fund and promote a revelation in education called "adaptive learning."

In short, adaptive learning consists of an interconnected web of electronic devices (computers, cell pieces, etc) that network around you, recognize you, and provide you with relevant learning experiences as you use these pieces of technology. It sounds to me like a Montessouri type school system, but ever present and transmitted via technology rather than fellow students. Anyway, the system itself doesn't sound so unreasonable, but I did take a chance to look at his website, which I would encourage you visit: It's quite entertaining, and could conceivably serve as a cautionary tale for what happens when you take too much acid in your younger years and later find Christianity wrapped up in all types of self-help info.

So I listened to this guy out of the corner of my ear, and we accused the best-known old codger in town of various criminal offenses to explain why he had just got out of jail (felony animal cruelty? Exposing yourself to minors?). Some lady came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders. Another woman asked me if I was indeed doing a crossword puzzle (as if it was a question she needed to ask) and told me that she had a "thing" for crossword puzzles. I, for once, was really at a loss for how to respond to this statement.

It was one thing if she would have said she had a thing for guys (or gals) who did crossword puzzles. I would have told her I was a leper or something to drive her away. But she actually said, and I quote, "I have a thing for crossword puzzles" and stared longingly at the paper. I don't even know what this means; does she like to do crossword puzzles, or "do" crossword puzzles? Confused I was. So I said nothing and kept "doing" the crossword puzzle. I disposed of the paper before leaving so no one else would be put in that awkward a situation, ever again.

When it was indeed time to leave, the couple on my right stated that they had arrived on a motorcycle (sweet). Then he proceeded to pull two matching helmets and matching Triumph motorcycle jackets out of a closet. They were both black and white, and as they walked out the door, a black and white dog kept barking at them. It was pretty awesome, and reading this over again, it was something you had to see to fully appreciate.
I proceeded home, thinking that everyone would be tucked in for the night as they usually are. However, there was a man sitting in a chair in the corner in faint light, drinking a Busch heavy. All he said was "Home already? Not the way to close down the bar." I said nothing. I sat and did a Sudoku and another crossword and went to bed in silence.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I admit defeat. Touche, bartendress.

You may have noticed that I haven't blogged about work in a few weeks, which is odd because it's pretty fertile ground for blog fodder. Well that's because I haven't been working. My place of employment closed Monday-Thursday for the winter season; evidently $50 in receipts at the bar every night just wasn't cutting it. So I had applied at another bar in town (the only bar in town open all night all winter) for employment, thinking it a sure thing. So here's the story that left me unemployed and eating canned pig's feet for my one meal a day.

Thinking that I was a shoo-in for the job, I initially applied through word-of-mouth when I learned that the former Tuesday-Wednesday bartender decided to return to school at Wyoming to study something nebulous called "Geographic Information Systems." I later learned that, far from being nebulous, this major only includes GPS and related topics, making it very useful indeed. But anyway, my application proceeded through the appropriate channels but stalled in the hiring committee due to concerns over the now-infamous "Mohammed Incident" or "rock incident" which is detailed in prior blogs. Evidently the rock lady is good friends with several members of the hiring committee and she still had (and has) it in for me; in fact, I've heard it's what keeps her awake at night (ed: scary).

So I filled out a formal "Application for Employment" detailing my sterling high school academic record, astounding standardized test scores, Harvard degree (with honors), and subsequent short-lived career as an internist. I also used my extensive bartending experience (almost ten full days of work) as a reference. I sensed success when only a couple other people applied for the position. But hear from them soon I did not. I overheard a discussion of the hiring committee later, which clued me into their discriminatory practices: "We need a girl to take over. She's pretty too."

To me this amounts to overtly discriminatory employmentary practices. It also subtly implied that I'm not pretty, which added insult to financial injury. I felt like I had a case for the Supreme Court of Wyoming, or perhaps the World. It hasn't happened yet, but my initial conversation with an employment lawyer will likely go something like this:

RetiredJK: "Hello, I've been denied employment because I'm a male."
Lawyer: "I'm sorry to hear that viciously discriminated against you have been (it took me quite awhile to figure out how to not end that sentence in a preposition). What happened? Billing hours start right now by the way."
RJK: "I was passed over for a job at a bar for a pretty girl."
Lawyer: "Clearly that's an exception to anti-discrimination laws. How many sea donkeys do you see getting hired at bars?"
RJK: "....But E stands for equality, and E. pluribus unum, and all that for which our forefathers worked to make this country great. Abe Lincoln (who's kind of a JK look-alike when he grows a mustache along with his beard) would want me to have this opportunity."

Lawyer: "E also stands for employed, which you are not, thank you for the call. Abe Lincoln was a staunch supporter of hot women working in bars also. That will be $49.50."

So finally, at the bar yesterday, a stranger entered; female she was, indeed. Pretty, also. I won't give an exact number but she ranks as an integer somewhere between six and eight. This made me feel much better, the idea that I could be jobless but still served drinks by a good-looking person. I can compromise on that. So my current plans are to wait out the winter here, snowboarding, tutoring for ACT's for cash, applying for psych residency, and plotting my revenge against the crazy rock lady.

If you find yourself in the Denver area, I'm only a couple hours from there. You should come visit, providing you are one of mis amigos and not some random tranny scanning blogs for invitations to meet in rural locations. Also, I'll keep all updated to travel plans via this blog. First trip: Oct 20-23, San Francisco 23-25 Vegas??? That's what I'm thinkin. Gotta visit the old stomping grounds in SF (mostly McTeague's Saloon) and Vegas for a couple bday parties.


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

RetiredJK, Cowboy for a day

Dear readers, it's been a while; I've been in Centennial long enough that new material is getting sparse. But this weekend, I had the opportunity to join some neighbors on a cattle drive. Now, usually a cattle drive involves herding cattle from, say, Texas to Montana. This was a mini-drive, going from one pasture, across the rural highway, to another pasture. But for me any cattle drive is a big deal. Still lacking in a cowboy hat and boots, and chaps, and many other things necessary to herd cattle, I substituted my Harvard rugby T-shirt, cheap sunglasses, and Seven for All Mankind black jeans. I heard plenty of "City Slicker" epithets, but I'm sure they were all in good humor! I didn't bother to tell them that I am military suburban by birthright, urban by obligation, and a born-again normadic country boy by choice.

We started the day fixing a fence through which the neighbors' cattle were entering the hay fields. This is evidently poor form by the neighbors for not tending to their cattle. It's also quite a drain on the hay supply, which I had always thought was infinite. So we rode out to the hay pasture. I know that you're wondering where I learned to ride a horse, but they took pity on me and let me ride an ATV for the day. They're really no comparison to horses as far as mobility, and I still think shooting someone from a horse would be much cooler than shooting them from an ATV. Heck, lancing or slashing someone from a horse would be even cooler and probably contribute to some medieval cachet.

Amazingly, Kid Rock doesn't just blare from every ATV when it leaves the factory; you actually have to have a CD. So we rode our ATV's out to the affected section of fence, and the cows were so scared of me they actually left the hay and ran back through the fence. We used an incredibly low-tech but highly effective (which, by the way, is also how I would describe the intrauterine device as a method of contraception or the skyhook as a way to score baskets) tool to repair the fence; it grabbed the two broken ends, racheted them together, and allowed enough slack to twist the broken ends of wire together. And by "we used" I mean "I rode around in circles on the ATV chasing rabbits". Helluva ranch hand I am.

After fence-mending, we got to the exciting part: herding cattle. Unfortunately, it doesn't require any roping, calf-tying, or bull riding. I was really hoping to jump off my ATV and tackle a calf but that would have been totally out of line. Anyway, there's a reason you "herd" cattle-- they love being in a herd. In fact, it's alot harder to remove one cow from the herd than it is to move an entire herd of cattle. There's also a reason that the dogs they use are called "herding" dogs; they love harassing cows more than that bestiality site on the Internet... or so I "heard". So in short, we were pretty much along for the ride, as the lead cows and the dogs do all the work. I attempted to high-center or flip my ATV (disability, here I come!) going as fast as possible but they ACTIVELY RESIST flipping and high-centering likely due to some feat of engineering or perhaps an act of Jesus (thanks for saving me, big man! Pay off my credit cards now.)

I actually found a sweet picture of Sarah Palin (I still think she's gorgeous) riding an ATV with a child, and there would be nothing better than a picture of her shooting wolves from an ATV, but alas my uploading ability is curtailed.

So we herded the cows, bulls and calves all into the pens for sorting, which is easy because they don't even resist entering a closed space. Then, we culled out the bulls to put them in their own pasture. This was probably the scariest part because bulls have horns. And they still weight 3/4 ton or more. Their lack of sensitivity for my safety was shocking and I had to pull a move straight out of a rodeo and hop a fence to avoid an oncoming bull several times. But pretty much, you let the bull out of the pen with minimal others, then try to isolate the bull and get it into the chute. One bull got an injection of antibiotics (good old DURA-PEN, penicillin for hoof rot) which involved immobilizing the bull from the neck up in the chute and injecting him IM on both sides. He enjoyed it slightly more than a child might.

Next, we got to weigh the calves. They're pretty damn cute, but they will bite your finger off. They also weigh 300 pounds apiece and can kick you like a ninja. This part consisted of us letting a bunch of calves out of each pen and then trying to block their moms from following them; the calves get pretty lonely when seperated from their mothers. But weighing the calves is fun, I actually learned what a cattle prod was, and that is no metaphor! It actually is a cattle prod that you use to shock the calves on the buttocks. I didn't try it even though I usually try to shock myself with anything available (e.g. electric fly swatters, dog collars). But you pretty much push one into the chute, close the second gate (at the end of the scale), and when the calf steps on the scale you close the gate behind it.

This part added some excitement. We got to castrate a male, which is not nearly quite as exciting as it sounds. You actually just tie a couple bands around its scrotom and it withers up and dies (what a sad idea, I would not go quietly if someone tried this on me). Imagine if all the cows figured this out and rebelled, and pulled each others bands off. You would have half a herd of bulls! It's like something from Animal Farm that's not a metaphor for communism. So anyway, one of the calves had not been castrated during their drive earlier this fall. Since I had gloves (the only necessary equipment I actually managed to bring), I got to rope the calf around the neck and hold it back while they wrestled it down. Main job hazard: rope burns, kick injuries, jealousy that I couldn't wrestle the calf. So I slipped the rope (aka lasso) around its neck in the chute, they opened the chute and wrestled the calf to the ground, and, lo and behold, no balls. For some reason it was marked as uncastrated but it indeed what. So I slapped it in the nose for good measure.

Then we let all the calfs and their mothers reunite, and led them out to pasture. This was, as usual, very unremarkable because the cows lead themselves out to pasture. For me it was another excuse to ride the ATV recklessly. After we let the cows out, we took the back way home, did some sweet jumps, and had lunch. What do cowboys eat for lunch. Evidently they eat Subway because that's what we had. And plenty of full-flavor American lagers, although as we discussed that day there's really only one that remains American in mass production, and that's PBR. PBR ME ASAP, brosef.

Also, contact me via text message for an interesting three-way trade I made the other day involving a freshly killed blue grouse (it's like a chicken.)