Happy People With Hot Dogs - or - I Wish My Brain Worked Like This... Oh Wait...

Back in 2000, I moved to Boston without any money, any real work experience or any sense of reality. I lived on Swampthing’s back porch while I was getting my feet on the ground, which ended up meaning working for Scientologists... but that’s a totally different scary story. This story is about a gentleman who has become known in my circle of friends as Hobobadiopay (Hoe-boe-ba-DEE-oh-pae). I believe that his real name is Angel. He used to hang out at Powerhouse Circle in Somerville, Massachusetts, which is just outside of Medford, near Cambridge but not even close to Harvard Yard, those bastards. You know the place, just down the street from Ball Square (no, I did not make that up, Ball Square exists).

Here’s the scenario. I am walking through the Powerhouse Circle roundabout, on my way to the T to go work for the Scientologists, when I notice a balding, clearly distressed fat man sitting on a park bench on the edge of the roundabout. He is trying, in vain, to eat a hot dog. What I mean by this is that, yes, the hot dog was making it’s way into his mouth, but only after a jaunt across this guys chin, then over to his cheek and across his nose, leaving behind it an orangeish swirl trail of mustard, ketchup and relish. While he’s painting his face, his tongue is playing the part of (http://www.zamboni.com) zamboni, chasing after the dog as it eludes his gaping hole of a mouth and further mixing the topping on his face. As he is attempting to eat this hot dog, I notice that he has another one, fully loaded with condiments, in his other meat hook of a hand. He is holding this second hotdog at a 45-degree angle and the toppings are beginning to slide off the dog and collect in a thick, colorful yet stomach-turning puddle at his feet. Jackson Pollock would be proud.

Regardless,

I am crossing the street and walking right towards this fellow. He notices me walking his way and stops chasing his hot dog across his face with his tongue. As I get closer, he suddenly stands up and quickly walks towards me with a wide-eyed look of confusion and concern on his face, as well as a few coatings of ketchup, mustard and relish. We are a few feet apart and he blurts out, with a note of fear in his voice, “Hobobadiopay?!” I am stunned. I stop dead in my tracks, for two reasons. One, because I have no idea what “hobobadiopay’ means and, two, because in shouting this at me, he has inadvertently spat some rather large chunks of half chewed hot dog at me. I can smell the saltiness of his snacks hanging in the air around him. “Hobobadiopay?!” he cries again, with a bit more desperation in his voice. I shrug, smile and say, in a cheerful, friendly voice, “Hobobadiopay, Capt’n!” To my surprise and sudden amusement, his face lights up, he smiles a huge toothy / hot doggy smile, and, while spewing more hot dog juice and relish chunks, he yells “Ya think so?!” with a voice that sounds like his tongue is three times too big for his mouth. He proceeds to literally bound across the four lanes of traffic, hot dogs flailing along and dripping a multicolored trail behind him as if they were some kind of gooey tracking device. He gleefully shouts “hobobadiopay! Hobobadiopay! Hobobadiopay!” all the way across the street and then disappears back to the store from which I can only speculate he had bought his snack / makeup. I, in bewilderment, turned on my heels and kept walking to the train, knowing full well that this was one encounter I was never going to forget.

Months later, it occurred to me that “hobobadiopay” could actually have been, “Hope it will be ok.” Of course, it could also mean, “time to get another hot dog.”

Why I Hate The DNC

1) It is pure and simple propaganda; chalked full of empty promises, pointless rhetoric and he said / she said political party separation.

2) It doesn’t lay out policy so the DNC isn’t really a political convention, it just lays out blame for all the problems that we are in (and there are a shit load of those) and reiterates who the majority of Democratic voters have chosen to be blamed for not being able to fix these problems within the next four or eight years.

3) It is a weeklong “Obama is great” party, thrown by people who think “Obama is great” for people who think “Obama is great.”

4) It effectively widens the gap between left and right, which in turn creates political enemies of the two parties and creates the scenario of two opposite powers vying for power over the whole country, which in my book is a political war.

5) P.U.M.A. – Political Unity My Ass. An actual group of people who were Clinton supporters and who now refuse to support Obama. She lost the race, and did it by the rules. She has since conceded and, even though she said during her presidential campaign that McCain is more presidential than Obama, she wants her supporters to support the party that she is part of. Sure it was close, but pull your heads out of your PUMAsses and support the candidate that best represents her ideals and positions. I don’t think that light shines on McCain, like Debra Bartoshevick wants you to believe.

6) There is no recognition of 3rd party politics, which, if recognized, could easily end the redundancy and monotomy of our failed two party system where the two sides of the isle are literally pitted against each other in every contest.

All this being said, I fully support Obama because I think Obama is great. And I think this guy, Dan, is smart and well spoken.

Bachelor Party Part 7: Stuck In Salt Lake - or - Watch Me Slowly Lose My Mind In Chairs That You Can't Lay Down On

Bachelor Party Part 6: Inappropriate Airport Behavior

Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.
I was trying to "share the love."

If you don't like fart jokes, viewer digressions is advised.

Click here for Day 1 of the bachelor party.

Bachelor Party Part 5: Airports Are Dangerous For Anyone Near Me - or - Take Me To Your House Of... What?

I also learned that people actually do shoot road signs in the middle of the sticks.


Or is it "in the middle of Styx."

Bachelor Party Part 4: A Gas Powered Goodbye

Check out Part 1
Then try Part 2
Followed by the ever elusive Part 3

Or just watch this one. Whatever floats yer boat.

Bachelor Party Part 3: Crack Gets Me High - or - On Rocks, With A Twist Of Limestone

See the day 1 video here

Bachelor Party Part 2: Vertical Dillemas and Liquid Solutions

See the first video here.

Bachelor Party Part 1

Boing - or - The Chosen People's Harp

$500 Parking Spot - or - Away I Say Thou Yeasty Swag-Bellied Foot-Licker

When I got home the other night from some much needed excess and relaxation, I thought that I would have to move my car as it was parked on a major street. Parking in my neighborhood is never easy to find and vexes me quite often, except for this night. Much to my surprise, I was legally parked in one of those unbelievably hard to come by and highly coveted, totally free parking spots. It was well lit, in a good neighborhood, across the street from the green house in which I work, in front of well lit fountain dedicated to a surprisingly manly woman named “Peaches”, and all in all a conveniently located and more over an exceedingly legal parking spot. I remember commenting to myself, “isn’t it great that there are still these free parking spots her and there around my neighborhood? It makes my life so much easier, and simultaneously decreases the level of world-suck by ensuring that I won’t get some bullshit $50 parking ticket, which in turn frees up my capital to invest in wind power generators, or solar panel technology, or environmental protection lobbyist, or beers, and as a result make the world a better place for everyone forever, or just me for an hour or so until my twitch comes back."

Regardless.

The next day I went to lunch. I had to deposit a pay check during my half hour lunch break so I phoned in an order at my new favorite deli, piatto pronto while walking out to my car. When I was about 15 feet away, I stopped dead in my tracks. This is why.









Someone in my quickly gentrifying neighborhood practiced an act of random aggression against my car, my new car, the one I just got in October for thousands of dollars that I don’t have. Someone ran a lap around my car, in a well-lit area, on a constantly busy street, scrapping a key against my paint job. Deep. I don’t think that I’ve pissed anyone off this badly, ever. I think it’s a pointless and random act of vandalism against my paint job. Now, I am not a materialistic person, and I try to avoid connecting happiness with inanimate objects but I choose to buy this car and I really like it and I don’t want a scratch circling the entirety of it, reminding me every time I go to my car that some impressively insignificant heap of human bullshit thought that it would be fun to scratch up my paint job. So now I have to shell out the $500 insurance deductible so that it can get repainted. The entire car must be repainted, except for the roof. Yes, every single piece of metal on my car was scratched up by this rancorous douche-ass. My last vehicle was a pick-up truck. I miss that truck. The more dings, scratches, mud, rust, and holes on it, the better it looked. That is not true with the scion. So I have decided to do the noble thing and insult my car’s aggressor with the finest of Shakespearian insults.

To the loathed issue of thy father's loins;

In civility thou seem'st so empty. In fact, thou art i' th' worst rank of manhood. For your offence, thou shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th'heart, and there th'offending part burns and the deceiving part freezes, thou bootless sheep-biting scut! Bathe Thyself, thou villainous half-faced ruttish flap-mouthed coxcomb! Thou frothy pox-marked nut hook. Thou art a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. Thou art a fishmonger. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it. May the worms of conscience still begnaw thy soul.

Forever yours,
Obsquatch

Monkey Pig Is Made Of Awesome + Extra Chromosomes Of Love - or - I Wonder If It Still Tastes Like Bacon

What time is it? It’s Monkey Pig Time.

Nathan, of Sons of Susan, sent me this link and because I like monkeys and pigs so much, I decided to share it with you.

Villagers were shocked after a monkey-like piglet was born in China.

Curious locals flocked to the home of owner Feng Changlin after news of the piglet spread in Fengzhang village, Xiping township.

"It's hideous. No one will be willing to buy it, and it scares the family to even look at it!" Feng told Oriental Today.

He says the piglet looks just like a monkey, with two thin lips, a small nose and two big eyes. Its rear legs are also much longer than its forelegs, causing it to jump instead of walk.

Feng's wife said the monkey-faced piglet was one of five newborns of a sow which the family had raised for nine years.

"My God, it was so scary. I didn't known what it was. I was really frightened," she said.

"But our son likes to play with it, and he stopped us from getting rid of it. He even feeds it milk."

Neighbours have suggested the couple keep the piglet to see how it looks as it matures.


I love you monkey pig.

Don’t Ask Why, Just Trust Me On This - or - Obsquatch's Crummy Book Club

Go to your bookshelf and find The Catcher In The Rye, I know you have a copy. Read chapter 17, if not the whole book. Listen for the distinct mental “snap” around page 130; you won’t have to listen in too hard, it’s kinda easy to hear. Then empty your bank account and head for hills, like a madman. I love this goddamn book, full of phonies and morons.

Earlier in the book there are some great references to Mark, Verse 5 1-20, that I never picked up on before. I'm not a biblical man, myself, but I dusted off my copy of the Good Book while I was reading this good book. It was worth it.

The next book I'm going to read is probably The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A.J. Jacobs. It was recommended to me by an atheist.

Garfield Minus Garfield

My cousin brought this website to my attention. Garfield, as a comic strip, is much better if you remove Garfield from it.

Here is a blurb.

"Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb."

Here are a few examples of how much funnier, creepier, and honest to the brutality of life the comic strip becomes once you eliminate that pesky main character.









So check out Garfield Minus Garfield and I assure you that you'll rekindle a love for Jon Boy.

The Entire List, Truncated – or – Stuff I’ve Done That You Don’t Know About, And Shouldn’t, But Will Soon, Unless You Stop Reading Here.

Since my last post, I’ve…

…Bought six new plants including this doozie called Nepenthes Miranda. It, just like some of my childhood friends, eats bugs.



…Gotten dumped by someone I wasn’t even dating, but would have, but wasn’t. After the whole tiny ordeal was over, I figured out that I’d like to get dumped by people I’m not involved with more often. It makes the whole I’m-sad-because-I-got-dumped thing seem totally blown out of proportion. Meh.



…Flown to California to watch grown men wear armor and fight with swords. I wore a Viking helmet, as did my heterosexual life partner, Dave. We also ate chicken wings. We also got drunk a lot. It was our collaborative 30th birthday party. A different friend of mine, Ollie, celebrated his 30th birthday by getting his real estate license. Watching men on horses joust each other while drinking out of a flagon is more fun than taking test, so I win the best 30th birthday party contest. Ollie will be rich soon, but I’ll still have the memories of knowing that my knight, the yellow knight, was the first knight to die at Medieval Times on my birthday.


…Performed with The Sons of Susan at The Hideout. It was our best show yet. We opened for a band called, The Devil Makes Three, whose newest album has quickly become my go to drinking album. Songs about drinking make drinking so much more satisfying than drinking alone; and always remember, drinking alone is the first sign of alcoholism and I’ll be damned if The Devil Makes Three is gonna make me an alcoholic*.

…Avoided doing laundry. You might ask, “Obsquatch, what do you do about clean underwear?” Well, I’ve been improvising. Everyday is an adventure.


…Finally taken some pictures of the greenhouse at Gethsemane. Take a peek at where I work.


…Played the Jaw Harp, or as I know them, the Jew Harp, into a bonafied multi-thousand dollar microphone, in a bonafied recording studio with a bonafied 48 channel SSL board, for a bonafied rock band’s next album. The monetary value of the gear used during this session easily exceeds $500,000. I bought two Jew Harps for the session for at totall of $14.98. I didn’t know that they came in Alto, Tenor and Soprano; I thought they just went “boing.” Oh how little I know about the chosen people’s harp. The session was bonafied-idly awesome.

…Eaten Taco Bell, White Castle, In ‘n Out Burger, McDonalds, Burger King, more White Castle, Wendy’s, Jack In The Box, and Pizza Hut. Tonight, I’m going to the Handle Bar for BBQ Satan and cheep beer.


To all that are curious, the 2nd Annual Sketchy Mustache Competition marches onward! There is no end date as of yet. Submit pictures and you will be sure to get them posted on this very site. My stache has reached epic proportions and has was trimmed back tonight. Fear not! I only trimmed it back so that I could donate the trimmings to Mustache-tions for Passion, the facial hair equivalent of Locks for Love. Some happy pre-teen with a life threatening condition is slowly and methodically running his fingers through the lushious fibers of his new mustache. It feels good to help heal the world of bald upper lips.


*Thanks for the punch line, Last Will And Testament Of Marlboro Patch.