Iggy and the Bag.

Posted on April 7, 2013 by underwhelmer

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So there was this one thing I wanted to tell you about my new-ish cat, Iggy. We got Iggy as a rescue cat from a local shelter a few months ago. His name was Lewie, but we decided that name was not very exciting and changed it to Iggy after a funny story I heard about a comedian and his misadventures with a bunch of Russian mobsters. One mobster was named Igor.

I found out very quickly that Iggy is an astonishingly stupid cat. Not the kind of, “oh, that animal isn’t smart” variety of stupid. This was a level of stupidity that I had not seen in an animal before.

For example, let’s take the simple act of training the cat to stay off the sofa…

And so on it went. Iggy kept finding new ways to impress me with his stupidity.

or, one of my personal favorites…

One day, I came home with some groceries. I set the bags on the floor and I started putting the cold items in the fridge. Iggy was fascinated by this development and started hovering near me.

I finished putting the milk in the fridge and I turned around to see this staring up at me from the floor.

I thought it was really cute that Iggy had nestled himself into the bag. I picked up the cat-bag combo to show Wife, who was seated on the couch.

This act was a HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE.

Picking Iggy up while in the bag did several things simultaneously.

It proved to Iggy that the bag possessed the magical power of levitation.
It showed Iggy that the bag was a force of unseen power and was probably linked to many unsolved mysteries of the universe.
Since he couldn’t move easily while being lifted in the bag, there was also a good chance that the bag was immobilizing him as a precursory part of its feeding process.

All of these things made Iggy very unhappy, very quickly. It became clear that to me that Iggy did not want to be in the bag so I gently placed him on the ground. Iggy immediately sprinted away from the bag. There was one small catch though; one of the bag loops became wrapped around his little kitty waist. No matter how fast Iggy ran, the bag pursued him just as hard. As you can imagine, this produced one single emotional reaction in Iggy: sheer, undiluted terror.

Iggy was running so fast throughout the house that I had no hope of catching him. All I could do was watch in horror as my cat sprinted through the house at a speed only pure adrenaline could provide.

This went on for a solid minute or two until Iggy decided that fleeing wasn’t working so he tried to hide. Iggy threw himself under the couch in a last ditch effort to escape.

I eventually had to move the couch and unhook the bag from my poor, tired and scared-to-death little cat. Iggy then ran off to hide and recover from his ordeal. I went back to unloading the remainder of the groceries.

I put the eggs in the fridge and reached down to put away the carrots when my hand touched something warm and furry in the bag.

Stupid cat.

THE END.

P.S. Iggy was completely unharmed in this incident so don’t call PETA you wackos.

P.P.S. Iggy has since ruined my carpet, destroyed my TV and nearly killed himself trying to remove his collar. What this cat lacks in intelligence, he makes up for in sheer resilience & luck; I have to give him that.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day Internet!

Posted on March 17, 2013 by underwhelmer

In 400ad there was a man by the name of St. Patrick that went to Ireland and explained that whole Christianity thing to everybody. He spent thirty years on his mission trip and was revered as a saint several centuries later. Supposedly, he even drove out all the snakes in Ireland.

No mean feat for someone who wasn’t a wizard.

My question though is what happened to all the snakes and where did they go?

Maybe there’s a correlation between the disappearance of snakes in Ireland and England’s Great Snake Plague of 435ad.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!!!

P.S. If you’re in Chicago, they dye the river green each year… just found that one out.

P.P.S I also just found out that it’s a non-alcoholic mixture. 😦

Look at What I Made For You.

Posted on March 10, 2013 by underwhelmer

Sorry for not posting in a while. The Doctor and I had to clean up some things in London.

When that was all said and done, he dropped me off back at my house… several months after my last post. Oh well, it’s that whole space-time thing. What can you do?

I’ve been perusing the Book of Faces (that’s what I choose to call it so you can shut your rich little face, Zuckerberg) and I’ve found some inspirational/ awesome quotes that I’ve decided to draw for you… enjoy.

“Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company.” -Mark Twain

Meanwhile, downstairs…

“Once in a while blow your own damn mind.” -Anon

SPIRIT JOURNEY IN THE DESERT!!!

“Gold medals aren’t really made of gold. They’re made of sweat, determination and a hard to find alloy called guts.” -Anon

“Storms make trees take deeper roots.” -Dolly Parton

Dolly the Kingslayer.

“The poorest man is he whose only wealth is money.” -Anon

“In case of doubt, over dress.” -Anon

“If your kid needs a role model and you ain’t it, you’re both fucked.” -George Carlin

THE END.

P.S. Speaking of Star Wars, Disney recently bought the rights to Star Wars. They’re planning to do a movie entirely about Boba Fett.

P.P.S. I’m not a religious man, but if I did create my own religion Boba Fett would be one of my chosen prophets. If The Mouse screws this one up and shows The Fett in a light that is anything short of a supernova of undiluted awesome, I will declare a Holy Crusade against Disney.

Sorry, but Boba Fett in very near and dear to my heart. 😛

What School of Magic do You Prefer?

Posted on August 19, 2012 by underwhelmer

In keeping with our theme of wizards here at Live Nerd Repeat, I’ve decided to come up with a handy little tool to figure out what school of magic suits you… you know, in case you develop magic powers. Hey, you never know. Anyway, here it is so read on young wizard.

*click to enlarge.

THE END.

P.S. I really need to stop playing Skyrim… It’s really starting to permeate all facets of my life.

P.P.S. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the store and restock on alchemy reagents; getting low on garlic and vampire dust.

Bumper Stickers

Posted on August 12, 2012 by underwhelmer

*Ok so this first part has nothing to do with bumper stickers.

I haven’t posted in a while, but it’s been for a good reason.

I’ve been in training for my new job and it’s been pretty intense. Despite having no medical background, I now am somehow advising physicians on cardiology products and procedures.

Scary right?

Anyway, I’ve been studying really hard to make sure I don’t have a hand in accidentally killing your Nana.

At this point, I’d like to note that my restoration magic skill isn’t very high.

Destruction magic is more my forte’. You can see how I don’t want this scenario playing out to its conclusion.

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

*Alright, this is the part where I talk about bumper stickers.

For those that don’t know, I’ve spent the past three years living in Germany. Now, I’m back in the US and I’m trying to get used to our crazy little culture all over again.

One thing that I’ve forgotten about Americans is that we’re under the impression that other people really want to know what we think… all the time.

I often find myself surrounded by the unsolicited opinions of others.

I think this tendency to share is best expressed in the bumper sticker concept.

Think about it. When someone attaches a bumper sticker to their car they’re saying, “Everyone who is blown by the winds of fate and winds up stuck behind my car NEEDS to see this. This makes me happy.”

Bumper stickers are seldom seen outside of the US, so I’ve decided to put together a handy sampling of bumper sticker translations for my fellow countrymen & women.

Here’s what your bumper stickers are really saying, enjoy.

THE END.

P.S. Bumper stickers are now available in the Underwhelmer Store.

P.P.S. If you clicked the link above, then you found that there were no bumper stickers in the store, only sadness… lonely, infinite sadness.

What Twilight, Dating and Wife’s Job Search Have in Common.

Posted on June 17, 2012 by underwhelmer

Wife has been looking for a job for the past few months. Watching her efforts and looking back at my own job hunt, I’ve decided that looking for a job is a lot like dating when you’re over 40; everybody’s really desperate, but they’ve been burned too many times in the past to commit. As an added bonus, all parties come with their own emotional baggage.

There’s also the added difficulty of looking for a job in the Northeast. Looking for a good job in New Jersey is like finding a viable mate at Comic Con.

Should have gotten the number of that guy in the Spider Man costume.

Wife has gotten a few offers from a few different potential employers that she’s had to turn down. The jobs just weren’t good enough for her. They would have been the dating equivalent of a hobo.

This has been highly frustrating for us so far. It hasn’t been without a few laughs though. By far, the funniest job offer has been the insurance sales company that has been inviting her to seminars and informational briefings.

Extending the dating metaphor, this company’s displayed interest in people is a lot like the plot from Twilight; a powerful immortal being that is inexplicably and exclusively infatuated with a Mary Sue (I can’t even remember her name she was so uninteresting). It’s all entirely too good to be true.

Wife went to one of these seminars and they brought in their multimillion dollar winning insurances sales force and explained how all of the fifteen random attendees were the perfect ones for the job.

Kudos to Wife because she figured out the whole situation and discovered the vampire parallel very quickly.

So Wife wisely told Edward that it wasn’t going to work out.

She’s still looking, but, being the swell guy that I am, I’ve put together my top three choices to help direct her.

#1. Time Traveling Vampire Hunter.

#2. Naughty Nurse Assassin.

#3. Certified Public Accountant.

The last one is a compromise. That’s a word all you single guys should learn if you want to be a great husband like me.

THE END

P.S. Wife got a job this weekend!

P.P.S. No, it doesn’t involve skimpy outfits and monster slaying; that happens after her six month evaluation period.

Which Video Game Protagonist are You?

Posted on June 10, 2012 by underwhelmer

Hi everybody. I’d like to announce tmso as our Other Half of the Idiom contest winner! Here’s tmso’s winning idiom.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush except when that bird pecks out your eye, then you only end up with one; one eye that is.

Thanks for the laugh tmso. Your reward consists of these two priceless works of art that I’ve applied to your idiom plus the undying adoration of the sixteen people who read this blog… you’re welcome.

*Now back to our regularly scheduled program*

Have you ever asked yourself, “Gee, I wonder what character I’d be if I were in a video game?” Well, you’re in luck because I made a thingy that tells you just that so read ahead and BE AMAZED!!!

*click to enlarge.

*that’s supposed to be the ocarina of time in the top right, but MS Paint only allows me to do so much.

THE END

P.S. Don’t feel bad if you got Link.

P.P.S. On second thought, you probably should. That poor guy has been through a lot of crap for one girl over the years.

The Other Half of the Idiom

Posted on June 3, 2012 by underwhelmer

I have this incredibly distracting habit where, in my own head, I automatically edit other people’s sentences. I don’t actually say anything or interrupt people; that’s just rude, but as a huge nerd and card-carrying smart ass, I mentally add things that are completely ridiculous and/or hilarious.

Here’s an example:

When someone asks, “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was 6′ 4″ tall?”

I only hear, “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln…”

This is the point where the crazy part of my brain takes over and fills in the rest. My mind reassembles the sentence into something this:

“Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was 600 meters tall and could breathe fire?”

This, of course, leads to awkward pauses during conversation along with a lot of inappropriate grinning on my part.

I do this all the time and I can’t turn it off. The whole process reminds me of these “math machines” that I had to assemble in the second grade.

My second grade teacher made us construct math machines to teach us simple arithmetic. The math machines were these little boxes with two slots connected by a chute. You’d put a card in that would say 4×4 = ? on the front and on the back it would say 16. All this stupid box did was flip your card over, but to a 2^nd grader it was just short of witnessing magic in action.

I think this is similar to what the crazy part of my brain does with incoming sentences.

This whole automatic process happens more quickly with idioms. I think it’s because I’ve heard them more often than regular everyday sentences so my crazy, crazy brain has had more practice.

Anyway, I’ve decided to share some of these idiom alterations with you. I call it, “The Second Half of the Idiom” enjoy… oh, and they’ve got pictures too.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth because they spit acid.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except for zombie outbreaks. They tend to spread.

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for life.

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Crossbreed fish and man and create an army of fish-monsters.

No time like the present.

No time like the present, well except in that cowboy themed parallel universe; it’s on pretty much the same timeline as ours, but with cowboys.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. You could have a multi-chicken.

You can’t judge a book by its cover.

You can’t judge a book by its cover; except the Necronomicon. It’s bound in human skin so that’s a pretty good indicator of what’s inside.

THE END.

P.S. If you’ve got a second half of the idiom that you’d like to share, send it to cluegiver@gmail.com and I’ll pick a winner to showcase on next week’s post.

P.P.S Although pictures aren’t required, they’ll help your chances. 😉

How a Toy Ruined My Childhood

Posted on October 23, 2011 by underwhelmer

I’m showing my age a bit with this one, but the first toy I remember having when I was a kid was the loveable doll known as My Buddy. This doll was made by the Hasbro Corporation in 1985 and it was basically a doll marketed toward little boys to promote friendship and sharing. Before the Tickle-Me-Elmo or Harry Potter craze there was My Buddy. It even had a cute little song for the commercial. I loved this doll and I took it everywhere that I went. I was happy for the next three years.

Those were the halcyon days.

In 1988 MGM released a horror film, Child’s Play. This horrible, nightmare-spawning, celluloid, 87-minute torture session was about a serial killer who puts his soul into the body of, you guessed it, a My Buddy doll named Chucky. Unsurprisingly, Chucky comes to life and proceeds to plunge sharp implements into the necks and chest cavities of scores of hapless victims. The scariest part is that when it’s done stabbing the life out of people it just lies still and pretends to be a doll, thus avoiding discovery… f*&#ing horrifying. Look at the My Buddy doll and then look at that monster in the film and tell me that the similarity is not on purpose.

Now this is bad enough on its own, but my mom was a terrible parent and she took me to see Child’s Play at the local movie theater. I was five. Who takes a five-year-old to watch an “R” rated movie? Worse yet, who sells this woman and her five-year-old child two tickets for this movie? At any rate, I saw the movie start to finish and it decimated my childhood. Looking back, it was like taking my mental well-being and shooting it in the face at point-blank-range with a shotgun loaded with nightmares.

I didn’t want to go home. I knew that doll would be there… waiting for me.

I would walk inside my room and it wouldn’t be where I left it. It would have animated and hidden itself because it would know that I was on to it.

It would ambush me and stab me to death with a screwdriver.

I had to do something. Mom clearly wasn’t going to help, so it was up to me.

I mustered all the courage a five-year-old could and burst through my door. I threw a blanket over the doll like I was netting a wild animal. To this day I remember it kicking and writhing under that orange, woolen blanket. I opened the closet and threw it inside. I put half of the furniture from my room in front of the closet and trapped the doll inside.

I knew that the closet was now dead to me.

Over the next week, my dreams were filled with terror and I awoke to check on the closet fortifications multiple times a night.

The closet barricade had held and I hadn’t been stabbed to death yet, so I began to relax a little.

Then my cousin came to visit. My cousin was about ten years older than me and had the emotional capacity and moral aptitude of Ted Bundy.

I awoke one morning to find the furniture moved and the closet open. The doll was sitting there… staring holes into me with its beady little eyes.

I screamed for three solid minutes.

Grandma finally calmed me down and then she proceeded to scold my cousin.

I put the doll back in the closet (it was safe with other people watching and in the daylight) and I reset the barricade.

Three days later I woke up with the closet open, the furniture moved and this time the doll was in the bed with me.

I screamed, but I’m not sure for how long. I blacked out with fear and I don’t remember my cousin coming to visit us ever again.

I didn’t see The Godfather until years later, but I still don’t think that if I had I would have found my cousin’s allusion to the horse head scene amusing.

THE END.

P.S. We finally sold the doll shortly afterward.

P.P.S. I go to therapy only twice a week now.

Tom Collins vs Pretty Much Everything Else…

Posted on October 16, 2011 by underwhelmer

This picture will make sense later.

The other night, Wife was complaining of an upset stomach. Over the course of the day, she had eaten some food that didn’t agree with her or maybe just the physical act of being eaten. I imagine being eaten would be pretty traumatizing. If I were food, I wouldn’t enjoy being shoved into some random mouth-hole to be masticated. Sorry, I just really wanted to use that word, but I digress.

So Wife was feeling sick and I inquired about what she had eaten that day. Her diet had consisted of a bag of sour worms, some popcorn, jalapeno potato chips, stir-fry and, to top it all off, a Tom Collins.

I’m not a dietician, but I think the equation above made sense at the time.

Wife didn’t completely agree. Wife’s reasoning was that she normally ate healthy food and exercised a lot. One day of bad food shouldn’t have derailed her overall well-being, right?

Wrong.

I like to think of human digestive system as a waiting room. Food is only there for a period of time and then it’s called to continue its magical journey. The food you eat thereby becomes the people who occupy said waiting room. It’s important to put people in the waiting room that will get along each other. If they don’t, they’ll be asked to leave the way they came in. You get the idea.

Now let’s revisit what Wife ate that day.

Sour Worms are sour little gummy candies so they’re like little kids. They’re misbehaved, but mostly harmless. They were the first waiting room occupants.

Next, popcorn was introduced. I think of popcorn as fat movie-goers. They’re not sophisticated, but they’re decent people.

Popcorn is generally alright. They also helped keep the sour worms in line.

This balance was immediately disrupted by jalapeno potato chips. These chips are the food equivalent of Mexican banditos.

Chaos erupted in the waiting room.

I imagine this is when Wife first started to feel queasy.

The banditos eventually tired out and had a little siesta.

A degree of normalcy returned to the waiting room.

And then we had dinner. I made stir fry. The Mongolian horde was released into the waiting room and darkness reigned.

Death, sorrow and fire were brought to the people of the waiting room and they knew terror. The banditos fought valiantly, but they were swept away in a tsunami of violence.

The waiting room couldn’t handle much more, but wife had a drink with her stir-fry. A surly gentleman by the name of Tom Collins strode out of the Victorian age and into the waiting room. The Mongolians turned to meet this new threat. Mr. Collins removed his gloves and evening cape and he began wrecking shop, right and proper.