Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
I shit you not. This guy’s name is Ford Doolittle, and he’s got a PhD. If I had that name, I probably would’ve grown up to be a car salesman instead of a doctor, but that’s just me.
Anyway, I had breakfast and lunch with the guy. He’s sociable, a generally nice dude, and he gave a good talk. I found out that he’s a member of the National Academy of Sciences too. This confuses me because he works in Nova Scotia…but I guess he’s an American so it’s ok.
It’s like (not really, but it’s the best segway I have and I like the American spelling of segway, not that French shit) how Puerto Rico has an Olympic team. Don’t we own them? How can they have an Olympic team? It’s fucking retarded. I also think that if you’re a foreigner going to school in America or playing professional sports in America, you should have to play for us in the Olympics.
The best part was the music though. When we got there, it sounded like they had a live band playing, but further investigation revealed that it was only one guy: Griz, the One Man Band! I was pretty excited because I thought I found Jared working at his weekend job, but instead it was some other mountain douche. He started by rocking my face off with Sweet Home Alabama, and after the hay ride, he laid down some Johnny Cash. Let’s face it though, he was no Steve Summerhill (who bills himself as Central PA’s premier singer/guitar player).
Click that link if you want to know what it’s like to go to Juniata College.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
We’ve really only had one other notable milestone that Jared wrote about, so I’m not sure what to say about this one. I guess I’m not going to say anything. Instead, I’m going to tell you what I think the best way to kill a vampire is.
Let’s face it, vampires are bigger, stronger, and faster than us. They usually have sweeter names too (check out the vampire name generator to learn more). You’re only going to kill them with a stake to the heart if you catch them sleeping or something. So what’s the best way to kill a vampire in a one-on-one confrontation?
I thought about long bladed weapons, bullets full of the essence of garlic, and all that kind of crap, but I don’t think it would work. Those blood suckers are fast and agile. There’s no way I could take out a vampire with a sword. Chances are, he or she would be a better sword fighter, and it really wouldn’t matter as they could just fly and throw deadly things at me from some distance. A gun of some sort would negate their long-distance attacks, but hitting a supernatural moving target can’t be easy.
This is what I’ve come up with instead. You’d need one of those “bear attack suits” like that Canadian tard invented. They’re basically impenetrable, fire-resistant, don’t conduct heat, bullet-proof, and bear-proof. Wearing one of those, a vampire couldn’t harm you, assuming that he can’t generate more force than a bullet to penetrate the armor. So now you’re safe, but you have to kill the sun dodger. My plan is to cover the suit in some kind of super-strong adhesive that’s been mixed with holy water, garlic, and silver nitrate (maybe some EDTA, eh Dr. Snail?). That way, once he gets pissed from throwing things at you and not killing you, he has to come in close. Either he grabs you or you grab him, and then you’re stuck together while the garlic and whatnot does its job.
Sounds like a winner right? Well, Julia exposed one flaw in the plan. If you’re covered in industrial strength adhesive and vampire juice, how do you get out of the thing? All you would need is a friend or two with some solvents. Or you could freeze the glue solid and then just take the stuff off, something along those lines.
BAM! Vampires, you’ve been warned.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Back in the day, I used to be able to sleep. Well, not really. I've had insomnia since I was just a youngin', but for a few brief years, I slept soundly almost every night. This was when I was in college. I don't know if it was all the booze, the sweet smell of Krause love, or the high levels of assholery in the local atmosphere, but I was a sleeping machine. I even took naps; it was glorious!
When the Yeti and I lived with Bobby and Shannon, we looked forward to this time of year to enact the polar bear sleep. We'd open up the windows to the frosty October air (and I think we even had a fan pulling in air once), turn down the lights, and turn on the Halloween Theme Song. You know, the little piano ditty that was repeated over and over again at different speeds when Michael Myers was killing people. Our reason for doing this was, at least in part, to toughen ourselves up. If you could sleep though that physical and mental torture, then you could sleep through anything. I guess that's probably why we could sleep through each other snoring like jet engines.
We once tried to do something similar with the O' Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack, but it was just too much. Shan-Diesel had to turn it off in the middle of the night.
Why can't I sleep now? Who knows. As soon as I get paid, I'll start binge drinking and see if that helps. Maybe I'll mix in some of those hallucinogenic sleeping pills too.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
It takes a little to get going, but it turns pretty amazing in the middle. If you can't waste 4.5 minutes of your life watching it though, fast forward to about minute 4 and prepare to be amazed.
Monday, October 23, 2006
On Saturday night, Julia Ghoulia and I went to
And then cruel fate got kicked squaw in the nuts; the lady just gave us the tickets. I thought Julia was going to cry from this example of goodness, and I had to remind her that Pittsburghers are the best people on Earth so she should get used to this kinda stuff n’at.
Anywho, we got into the place, took a quick loop around the game tents/dunk tank/food court, and then hopped into line for the haunted house. The theme this year was based on George Romero’s zombie work, so while we were stuck in the line, they played zombie movies on a big screen in the corner. One of them reminded me of Jared’s famed buffalo hunting trip; it was called “Dark Hunger.” It was pretty sweet, about a dude that died in
The haunted house was badass, and there was actually another one that we could’ve checked out, but the night was quickly turning frigid and the lines were longer than Bobby Walters’ pubic hair. And really, why wait in line when we could go to a real haunted house?
My dad’s house was built by his grandfather in 1906, and I swear to the science Buddha that the place is haunted. His uncle Audubon died there before funeral homes were invented, so the whole viewing and whatnot happened in the house. Several other Bochmans have died there too, and I think they’re still hanging around. Windows open and close themselves, the radio will randomly turn itself on to the oldies, strange noises abound, and I swear I saw a ghost once. It scared the crap out of me.
My dad’s neighbor Brenda thinks the place is haunted too. She married a Hawaiian, so I believe her.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
I’m just a simple Pennsylvania Dutchman. I don’t know a lot about other countries or their people. What I do know is that western PA is the greatest place in the universe (near-omnipotent aliens confirmed that for me once), and a lot of people around here are wary of Canadians. Why is that? Isn’t
Ever hear of Canadian bacon? Yeah me too, but that shit’s just ham; don’t let them fool you. I could pick a meat and just call it something else too. Hey, try some of my Squirrel Hill bacon. Sure, it looks like a steak, but it must be bacon because that’s what I’m calling it.
I’m sure a lot of people out there are saying,
“But Dr. Yeti, aren’t you afraid you’ll piss off the Mounties? We remember when The Mountie dumped a bucket of water on Brett Hart’s head and then electrocuted him with is stun baton. What if that happens to you?”
Seriously people, settle down. First of all, The Mountie was a d-bag, and while those stun batons can pack a lot of voltage, the amperage is really low. If you’re a badass American, you should be able to take a cattle prod shock to the face, get up off the floor, and beat some Canuck ass while they’re waiting for their battery to recharge. And don’t forget, Brett Hart’s from
Oh my god, and French Canadians… French Canadians. What are they doing? Why would any self-respecting country let an enclave of French people live in their midst and speak Frog? Sure, when George Washington headbutted 384 Frenchman in PA during the French and Indian War they ran away to Canada, but Lord Stanley and his Army of be-mulleted stick-weilding, bladed-footwear toting buddies should’ve sent those mofos to the liquid nitrogen mines instead of Quebec.
Why do penguins live in
Oh yeah, when I pee in the morning, it’s a lot more impressive than
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
I’m allergic to bananas. They give me heartburn. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, bananas are one of the most alkali foods that people eat, but it happens every time. It’s so bad that I haven’t had a banana in years despite liking them quite a bit.
Would it be retarded to eat bananas and take Zantac or something like that? I mean, I don’t even really like to take aspirin, so it would be goofy to take a prescription-strength heartburn medication just to eat fruit. I tend to get muscle cramps every once in a while, so the potassium in bananas would help…but so would a nice massage from Julia or some Swedish chick.
Also, I saw a really fat black lady with only one eye today.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
This all comes from the turducken. Don’t know what a turducken is? Well my friends, wikipedia defines it as:
“a de-boned turkey stuffed with a de-boned duck, which itself is stuffed with a small de-boned chicken. The cavity of the chicken and the rest of the gaps are filled with, at the very least, a highly seasoned breadcrumb mixture or sausage meat, although some versions have a different stuffing for each bird.”
If I’m not mistaken, pork turduckens also exist; it’s a turducken stuffed inside a pig. There were even rumors of stuffing the pork turducken into a cow. It’s the ultimate meat…or so I thought.
Check out this monster:
bustergophechideckneaealckideverwingailusharkolanine - bustard stuffed with a turkey, a goose, a pheasant, a chicken, a duck, a guinea fowl, a teal, a woodcock, a partridge, a plover, a lapwing, a quail, a thrush, a lark, an ortolan and a passerine.
If someone could put that all in an ostrich, then put that in a pig, then put that in a cow, I might be happy.
Friday, October 13, 2006
If the Scientist was any bit athletically inclined (taint-fisting and running excluded), I could totally see him doing the same.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The lead (Dexter, der), is played by the gay brother from Six Feet Under, and he does an excellent job. He’s an emotional void, interacts with society on a superficial level, and has an appreciation for the technique of other serial killers. And the sweetest part is, he’s a forensics guy working for the police, so he has the knowledge to cover his tracks and access to everything he needs. If I wasn’t in grad school, I might have to be this guy in real life.
The only problem is that it’s on Showtime. I don’t get that because I’m poor and cheap. That sucks too because Showtime’s got a lot of good stuff: Dexter, Weeds, the L Word (before it turned crappy), and a decent selection of movies. Nothing beats serial killer serial killers, housewives selling drugs, and lesbians.
So here’s the deal, find a way to watch Dexter however you can. Buy Showtime, illegally download episodes, freeload at someone else’s house…whatever. I need someone to discuss this with. Don’t make me wait to buy the DVDs and force you to watch them with me.
Jared has Showtime. Kill!
Monday, October 09, 2006
I was talking to Darren last week, and he told me that he’s been coming up with words and submitting them to the Urban Dictionary. His newest gem is stinkboss, a verb that roughly translates into making a ridiculous request of an underling. If you want the whole definition, hit the link above.
Now, the nice thing about the Urban Dictionary is that you can tag anything you submit with 5 or more other words so they’re linked in searches and whatnot. Darren tagged his entry with some pretty appropriate words (if I do say so myself), and he also added a word that had no definition yet: foulfist.
Well, I decided to take it upon myself to define foulfist as homage to Mr. Moser. I hope you all enjoy it, and I hope you come up with some new words of your own. Please let me know if you define any new profanity so I can link to it and use it profusely in my posts.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
1. When a blind person walks directly into traffic, I’m incapable of making any type of warning noise to prevent them from suffering grievous bodily harm.
2. Canadians have a Thanksgiving in October. Who knew!?!
3. Some people still don’t know what a “taint” is.
It’s that last fact that disturbs me. I was under the impression that everyone (at least 25 and younger) knew what a taint was. And I’m not talking about the people that just call it something else like a grundle, carpet patch, durf, guiche, or to the students of anatomy, the perineum. There exist young adults that have no clue.
Well folks, here’s your clue. The taint is basically the densely furred outer portion of skin covering your symphysis pubis (remember that from DiSilvio’s class?). T’ain’t the genitals, and t’ain’t the anus, it’s the taint. Get it? If you haven’t ridden a bicycle for a while and then you go for a long ride, this is what hurts.
Now you know, and knowing is half the battle!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I captured this beautiful specimen at a wedding I went to this weekend. Not pictured was his beer gut. On a mulletude scale, I'd have to give him a 10. He was totally full of piss and vinegar. It was one of the most featheriest mullets I've ever seen.
Let me start off by saying this is just my opinion. You may feel differently about capris; good for you. I hate them. You can choose to read on, or you can ignore me, but I should warn you…I’m secretly a high powered fashion mogul. Listen to me. Learn from me. Fear my wrath.
No one looks good in capri pants. This is a public service announcement to all the women out there. If you’re a guy and you’re wearing capris, or what we in the fashion industry call man-pris, go throw yourself off a cliff and punch yourself in the face on the way down. You’re useless. Women, I’m just trying to help.
Capri pants make you look stubby, and they’re ridiculous. You may think you look good in them. You’re wrong. I don’t care if you’re a supermodel or your bff’s have lied to you and made you think that you are; you still don’t look good in pedal pushers. No one does. Either wear pants or shorts, none of this in between shit. Pick one! Why would you want to wear something that so eloquently showcases your cankles? And you big-boneded girls…when I see your legs cottage cheese themselves out of the bottom of a pair of form-fitting capris, it makes me want to take a power sander to my taint.
And I can hear you ask, “but Matt Bochman, what about cropped pants? Do you hate those too?” For the uninitiated, cropped pants are halfway between capris and normal pants. They’re like severe flood pants, but I tolerate them. They remind me of hobbit pants. Again though, if you’re a dude and you have cropped pants, take the gerbil out of your ass, put your nuts in a vise, and start cranking.
If you know me, you know that I also hate those Tarzan shirts. You know, the asymmetric ones with only one strap. The only woman alive that can get away with wearing asymmetric clothing above the waist is Gillian Anderson. If you’re not Scully, throw those retarded shirts away.
Once, I saw a girl wearing a Tarzan shirt and capris at the same time. I tried to restrain myself, but I ended up headbutting her, lecturing her for an hour, and then stretching her labia up over her head, tying them in a bow, and slapping her for good measure.
I think I just had a brain aneurysm.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Well my friends, Dr. Snail is drunken David Hayes (no relation to Ira). The Yeti and I went to college with him, drank many beers with him, hated people with him, and at different points lived with him. When my mom used to call me in college, chances are that Dave would be drunk in the background causing a ruckus, and mi mamacita basically loved it. In fact, to this day, if anyone is making loud unintelligible noise in the background when she calls, she still asks if Dave is here.
Hayes is in a PhD program in “The South.” They like him there because no matter how lazy he is, it doesn’t come close to matching how lazy the average southern person is. That makes him like Science Jesus…except a lot of scientists don’t believe in Jesus, so I guess he’s Science Buddha or Science Confucius. Dave Hayes say, “Man whose watch falls in toilet has shitty time.”
Now, Dave’s a malacologist, and of course, that’s the study of Malachai from Children of the Corn. Why he would want to study an inbred ginger kid is beyond me, but it seems like he gets a lot of grant money to do it. If I were him, I’d try to perfect the gasohol that they used to kill “He who walks behind the rows” as an alternative fuel source, but hey, that’s just me.
Anyway, that’s Dave in a nutshell. Perhaps either Jared or I will write about Dave’s penchant for licking carpet or his ability to survive in the desert for extended periods of time with no ill effects. Until then, kill you!