Subdivided We Stand Meets Marathon Man

Urine Big Trouble

As (I'm hoping) other men will attest, on occasion when you're using a urinal, the stream will veer off in a direction that you didn't quite expect.

This morning, as I'm going, this rare-but-not-unheard-of occurrence happened to me -- and unfortunately, the direction it headed was due south.  So naturally, my first inclination is to check and make sure it's not getting on my pants.

Now the ladies among you may not be as familiar with the workings of a urinal as us fellas -- so let me tell you, there's a big hunk of chrome piping at the top of the urinal.  It's where the flush mechanism lives.

So what do you think happens when you nod your head towards the floor while standing at a urinal?

That's right.  You whack your head against the chrome fixture.  In my case, hard enough to see stars.  And now, I have a big red welt on my head.  But fortunately, my pants are clean.

In other news, for those of you who've been hiding under a rock during the last news cycle, Reverend Ted Haggard has completed his three week seminar, and has been completely cured of gay.  That's right!  The gay demon has been exorcised right out of Pastor Ted.

We have an exclusive -- the first look at the demon who was forced to flee the reverend's body.  Behold WhooHoovius Fabulucifer, Devil Second Class:

 

Maybe it's just me -- but if you've been snorting crystal meth off a male prostitute's ass, are you sure that the gay is the first issue you need to address?

Breaking News -- You Suck!

Bob says;

With the exceptions of a few snippets that I catch here and there at the gym, I haven't watched a local newscast in over a decade.

It's not so much that I think they suck, or that I could do better, but....oh, hell, ok, it IS because they suck, and I COULD do much better.  If only I had the hair.

But anyway, I happened to catch a few minutes of yesterday's Channel 4 newscast at 4 p.m.  The helpful blow-dried idiots actually took a few minutes from telling us the all-important news that "Hey!  It's cold!" to do a decent job on the Nyia Page story.

A good job, that is, right up until the interview with a hooded woman who the reporter identified as "a neighbor who didn't want to reveal her name."

All of which is fine and dandy -- except for the fact that the bottom third of the screen was taken up with a graphic that gave her name. 

Jesus.  Go back to telling us how cold it is, or the latest developments with Big Ben's pets. 

UPDATE:

Sweet Jebus -- they're still running that exact story, with the exact same graphic, on their dumb-ass Web site.

Dig If You Will the Picture

Bob says:

Ok -- so the next time I'm planning on putting up the "gone fishing" sign for a week, I'll actually check with Marathon Man and Mrs. Subdivided to see if they plan on posting that week.  In other words, if you took my "no new content until Feb. 5" message seriously last week, then you missed two delightful new posts.  Scroll down for new content from Mrs. S. and M.M.

Since I'm still recovering from last night's Super Bowl bash (two beers!  Staying up 'til 11:30!), let's just post a couple of interesting things from YouTube and call it a day, shall we? 

First up, in honor of Prince rockin' the house in the rain last night, let's take a look at a clip from the induction of George Harrison into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  What you're about to see is an all-star band playing "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."  The clip would be noteworthy just for Prince's performance -- but there's also a great moment at 4:49, when George's son Dhani (that's him just over Tom Petty's left shoulder) gets a look on his face that, in my opinion, says, "Holy shit, I'm on stage playing guitar with Prince!"

Next up, here's a video from the 1994 Texas State High School Football Championship.  Even if you're not a sports fan, I think you'll dig this.  As we pick up the action, the team in white is beating the team in black by the score of 42-17, with 2:42 to play.  Be sure to watch to the very end -- and by all means, turn up the audio.

And finally, before there was Ok, Go, there was Too Much Joy:

Punxsy Phil In Da House

The hubby and I went to Groundhog Day celebrations several years ago with another couple.  We had a place to stay near Gobblers Knob so we figured why not.

The morning started with us getting up at a ridiculously early time and bundling up for the frigid temperatures.  As we walked out of the house, we decided that instead of walking down the road and back up the hill to see Phil, we'd cut across a field that would take us right up to the Knob.  So we started walking, and soon we discovered that the snow in the field was much deeper than we originally thought -- up to our knees deep.  But we continued to walk because at this point our pants were already wet.  At the top of the field was a grove of trees and beyond the trees was the Knob. So we walked towards the trees and suddenly we all came to a complete stop. 

Something was breathing....heavily....loudly....and we could see its breath.  It was large based on the faint outline we could see in the moonlight.  We froze, no one said a word for a minute or two.  Then I said "I think it's a bear" and everyone grunted in agreement.  We slowly crept around the bear and made our way to see Punxsy Phil being pulled from a tree stump so we could determine with pinpoint accuracy the time frame in which Spring would arrive. 

After the festivities, the four of us decided to walk back through the trees and back down through the field.  Why, you ask, would four relatively intelligent people decide to go back down a path that held the possibility of danger and more knee-deep snow?  Because we apparently did not learn our lesson the first time around and are much lazier than we'd like to admit.

As we walked through the trees we finally saw the animal responsible for the heavy and loud breathing.  It wasn't a bear.  It wasn't even a deer.  It was a (insert what you think it was here).  Now highlight the following to see what it really was (cow).

After that adventure, we all took naps to recover.  At the end of the day, we did get this photo taken with Phil, who, according to the guy in the top hat, is a very ornery fellow.  Of course I would be too if someone yanked me from my nice cozy home with my live-in-lover Phyllis, dragged me out in the freezing cold to sit in a tree stump and prognosticate.  Where is PETA during all of this?

What's Wrong With February

I thought February started next week.  It doesn't.  It started today.

February caught me by surprise this morning and I'm not too happy about that.  See, in my estimation, February is THE worst month.  Name a worser month.  There's none worser.

It's the Nebraska of months.  At best it's the Dakotas of months; take your pick. 

(It would be grossly unfair to call it the New Jersey of months. I don't want to pick on February THAT badly.)

Let's consider the other months first before we castigate February.

March brings spring training in full swing, which hints at the beginning of spring even in those climates that are still dealing with winter blahs.  It not only hints of the promise of spring, it quite frankly ushers in the literal spring.  It also contains a major Irish holiday that focuses on merriment.

April is just great.  Baseball season starts.  Flowers are beginning to burst their buds.  It might be the cruelest month to some folks, but to me it's one of the coolest.  But not so cool that you need to keep your winter coat in reach.  In fact, by April, many of us have put the winter coat back in the storage closet.

May.  Forget about it. No question. May MIGHT be number 1.  Perfect weather.  No jacket required.

June, July, August.  It's summer time.  If you happen to be a month in summer time, you will never be considered a bad month.  You've earned a free ride.  Sure, you can heat up a bit.  But strip down.  Jump in the pool.  Turn on the AC.  It's frigging summer.

September is like a rebirth.  I know, it's actually more about natural stuff shedding or actually dying soon.  But we equate September with the beginning.  School starts. Work gets back into gear.  People feel productive.  It's like May all over again.  September: You are in my top two months for sure.

October has Halloween and leaves and pumpkins.  November has turkey and stuffing.  December has presents and colorful ornaments and binge drinking (maybe a bit too much stressful shopping, but the Internet has solved that problem).  Those months represent a splendid holiday troika of fun.

January has my birthday in it.  Bob's birthday.  And my wife's.  That puts January in the top Three.

That leaves us with February.  And February is dead last.

When you are sick of winter and dirty snow, February is there to tell you: It's only gonna get worse.  There's even an entire day that's devoted to some rodent-like creature from Western Pennsylvania there to remind you that you are stuck in the bleak mid-winter for longer than you might like.

February is a really weird month that can't decide how many days it has.  It's the annoying crippled orphan month that nobody appreciates and nobody roots for.

Yes, of course.  It has one day off to celebrate two ex-Presidents.  Sometimes schools in the north would take a week off.  But nobody would plan a vacation during that time, parents were bitter that they had to find a sitter.  And you were stuck at home watching I Love Lucy and Gilligan and the sitter's favorite soaps.

And yes it has a day of romance.  But that's become a burdensome Hallmark-sponsored day that starts pressuring you to buy cheap candy and exotic sleepwear from mid-January on.

And finally...February.  Nobody can say it right.  We all call it FEBUARY.

The month that dares not speak its name.  At least not correctly.