One Scientist, One Yeti

2011-10-12T12:21:00.001-04:00

WhatsApp Messenger: Android + iPhone + Nokia + BlackBerry
Hey,

I just downloaded WhatsApp Messenger on my Android.

It is a Smartphone Messenger which replaces SMS. This app even lets me send pictures, video and other multi-media!

WhatsApp Messenger is available for Android, iPhone, Nokia and BlackBerry and there is no PIN or username to remember - it works just like SMS and uses your internet data plan.

Get it now from http://www.whatsapp.com/download/ and say good-bye to SMS.

Dropbox = good

2011-05-24T17:43:00.001-04:00

http://db.tt/qk0lKp4

Dr. Snail says:

2011-02-09T06:48:00.000-05:00

It's a Dr. Yeti tradition, the recognition of the day Charles Darwin emerged from his mother's vagina in blazing fury of hellfire and amniotic fluids.

This week, knee deep Darwin hoopla, I started thinking about barnacles. For Dr. Yeti's legions of fans, barnacles probably conjure up memories of the infamous Barnacle Bill the Sailor and his psychopathic antics. You probably never heard of Barnacle Chuck the Sailor but that's probably because I just made it up.

After sailing around the world, riding giant tortises, chucking iguanas into the ocean, and knocking out hawks with a the butt of gun, Darwin made it back to England a much wiser badass. He began formulating his ideas about natural selection but put all of that on hold and dedicated 8 years to studying barnacles. You might be thinking to yourself, "Barnacles are boring as hell!" but you'd be as wrong as the Yeti in a thong. In honor of Darwin's day of birth, here are just a few examples of how barnacles are experts at badassary.

First: Dwarf, parasitic males. Darwin discovered that some species of barnacles have males that are tiny dwarfs compared to females. They literally live inside the shell of the female and latch on. The males basically live off the female and do only one thing; make sperm. Not a bad life strategy if you ask me. In hermaphroditic species, these dwarf males are called "accessory males", presumably because the hermies wear them out when they go out partying.

Two: They turn crabs into cross-dressers. One particular group of barnacles are parasites on crabs. With ninja-like moves, the larvae of the barnacle slips off it's shell and wiggles into a crab through one of it's joints. It then grows inside the crab only to bust out where the female crab normally holds it's eggs. The crab then takes care of the barnacle and it's eggs as though it were her offspring. As if that wasn't fucked up enough, if this barnacle gets into a male crab, the barnacle screws with his hormones and actually changes the body and behavior of the dude crab so he looks and acts like a chick crab. The male crab grows a wider tail, which is pretty much the boobs and uterus of the crab world. He also starts doing woman's work like caring for the "eggs", doing laundry, and now takes too long in the bathroom in the morning.

C: Biggest. Dicks. Ever. The barnacle has the longest penis relative to it's body size in the entire goddamned tree of life! Some barnacles have schlongs that are forty times their body length!

That would be like the Scientist sitting at home and inseminating the Sciencette while she was out stocking up on Old Milwaukee pounders and meat products. I imagine that scenario isn't too far from the truth because afterall, the Scientist is a Pennsylvania Dutchman. The barnacle uses it's massive member to probe for and impregnate the farthest neighbor it can reach. Paternity studies on barnacles (which are utterly ignored by the Maury Show despite several letters) have shown that they tend not to fertilize their closest neighbors. This makes total sense because if you were stuck to a rock or a whale's ass, you probably wouldn't want the barnacle next to you always bugging you for child support (I'm trying hard to avoid puns involving the word, "clingy"). I'm sure there's a better explanation for the selection pressure involved here like increasing genetic diversity, fitness, blah, blah, blah, but I'm convinced the huge trouser snake evolved to avoid the phrase, "Yeah, soooo....I'll call you."

Done!

The Young Man from Nantucket

2011-01-14T09:14:00.002-05:00

Enter the man-child.

2011-01-12T18:57:00.000-05:00

Twenty weeks ago, I decided it would be a good idea to impregnate The Sciencette, thus creating the Scientot. As far as ideas go, fathers around the world have told me that I may have made a mistake, but hey, let me enjoy it for a little...

Anyway, the sex of the Scientot became a topic of conversation, not just because we're trying to pick out names, but because the Sciencette and I collectively have 99% female relatives. The poor Engineer has been outnumbered and surrounded by women for decades, and holidays with my family are like an estrogen-fest. Seriously, I get my period just being around so many women.

Now, excluding hermaphrodites (or hermies, as I like to call them), you basically have a 50-50 chance of either sex. Sure, vaginal pH, occupation, and even diet can skew the ratio one way or another, but what explains the preponderance of ovaries in our families? Does Mother Nature hate me?

Yeah, all of this stuff was running through my head the other day as I slapped a grizzly bear with a shark (that I caught with my bare hands) when I realized that maybe my chances are better than 50-50. The man really decides the sex of the baby because mom can only donate an X-chromosome. It occurred to me that maybe I only have Y-chromosomes, that I'm an uber-man (if you will). And I don't mean XYY syndrome, I mean that I'm straight YY. If that's the case, then: 1) I can only produce male offspring, and 2) being twice the man means that I can't grow a beard, sideburns, or chest hair. I don't have all of the particulars on this worked out yet, but at least part of my theory was proven right today.

BOOM: GIANT MAN-CHILD!!!

I'm not going to lie, the first image the sonographer brought up was the crotch shot. It was so obviously a boy and the female Jamaican technician was so impressed that she could only say, "It really is true what they say about white men," before she passed out with a smile on her face. At that point, I had to hop into the driver's seat and used the ultrasound machine to finish the rest of the exam. Princeton Medical, my bill's in the mail.

In any event, I don't feel comfortable flashing pictures of the Scientot's genitals all over the internet, and the images are a little grainy anyway. Instead, here's an artist's rendition of what we saw:

I know, I don't think he'll be a great swimmer either; that thing is going to slow him down (I photoshopped the guy in for scale and as a reminder to be on the lookout for perverts after the Scientot is born). The testicles aren't pictured because you just don't have a big enough computer monitor to accommodate them.

There you go' you've been warned. Lock up your daughters!

P.S. Now I can threaten to kick the Sciencette in the nuts and mean it.

"They call me Crisco because I'm fat in the can."

2011-01-09T17:16:00.000-05:00

My least favorite thing is a morbidly obese football coach (I'm looking at you Jets and Eagles). For god's sake, get some human growth hormone like your players and lose some weight.

Do you love meat?

2010-12-08T08:15:00.000-05:00

If you're a dedicated carnivore and have ~$50 laying around, I've got some good news for you. This is a deal from Omaha Steaks that's only good for today, 12/8/10:

Sure to Thrill Gift Assortment $39.99 + S&H
4 (5 oz.) Bacon-Wrapped Filets
4 (4 oz.) Boneless Pork Chops
4 (4 oz. approx.) Boneless Chicken Breasts
4 (4 oz.) Omaha Steaks Burgers
4 (5.75 oz.) Stuffed Baked Potatoes
4 (4 oz.) Caramel Apple Tartlets
$20 Omaha Steaks Reward E-Card

http://shop.omahasteaks.com/online/AE5275/

I don't know about you, but I might try to use the apple tartlets as the buns for the burgers, uh YEAH!!! Let's all thank Goiter for sharing this meat-filled tip.

Just Thought You Should Know...

2010-12-07T17:44:00.000-05:00

Yetis don't teabag people, they burlap sack them.

confession time

2010-10-21T21:14:00.000-04:00

ash wednesday has me hooked on gilmore girls. there, i said it.

This one is for the Yeti.

2010-09-15T11:03:00.000-04:00

Courtesy of http://i.imgur.com/jZLev.jpg

An informative site for the ladies:

2010-09-02T12:12:00.002-04:00

http://www.howtogiveahandjob.net/

Gentlemen, you're welcome.

Put on your drinkin' shoes!

2010-08-09T16:02:00.000-04:00

BeerAdvocate.com has a list of the world's best 100 beers. Now, as with every list of this sort, it's a subjective ranking, despite the fact that they used a statistical formula based on (what they claim to be) millions of reviews. I claim that it's still subjective, though, based on the fact that it seems to be heavily American-biased, and Old Milwaukee doesn't show up anywhere on the list. Also, how can Sam Adams Boston Lager (92) rank higher than Sam Adams Winter Lager (96) and Sam Adams Octoberfest (99)? I don't care what the commercials say, Boston Lager tastes like ass and gives me a stomachache.

Regardless, it's a good and mostly delicious list. By my own count, I can remember drinking around 60 of these (marked with red X's below), and I liked most of them.

How many have you consumed? Do you have the marbles to make it through the whole list? Does anyone read the blog anymore?

"You have so much sand in your vagina that you queefed out a pearl."

2010-08-09T08:05:00.000-04:00

Originally, I thought these might be yeti tracks, but the foot size is too small and The Yeti has never been in the ocean.

Another gem from The Teacher.

The Smartest Man in the World?

2010-08-09T07:15:00.000-04:00

Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood The Teacher.

Post #800 - a political rant from an email forwarded to me.

2010-07-28T11:49:00.001-04:00

(Just FYI, I'm apolitical, but I wouldn't mind carving out a piece of the "good" country described below that excluded Bible bangers.)

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists and Obama supporters, et al:

We have stuck together since the late 1950's for the sake of the kids, but the whole of this latest election process has made me realize that I want a divorce.... I know we tolerated each other for many years for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship has clearly run its course.

Our two ideological sides of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right for us all, so let's just end it on friendly terms. We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences and go our own way.

Here is a model separation agreement:

Our two groups can equitably divide up the country by landmass each taking a similar portion. That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides can come to a friendly agreement. After that, it should be relatively easy! Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide other assets since both sides have such distinct and disparate tastes.

We don't like redistributive taxes so you can keep them. You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU. Since you hate guns and war, we'll take our firearms, the cops, the NRA and the military. We'll take the nasty, smelly oil industry and you can go with wind, solar and bio-diesel. You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O'Donnell (You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel vehicle big enough to move all three of them).

We'll keep capitalism, greedy corporations, pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street. You can have your beloved lifelong welfare dwellers, food stamps, homeless, homeboys, hippies, druggies and illegal aliens. We'll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms, greedy CEO's and rednecks. We'll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood .

You can make it nice with Iran and Palestine and we'll retain the right to invade and hammer places that threaten us. You can have the peaceniks and war protesters. When our allies or our way of life are under assault, we'll help provide them security.

We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values. You are welcome to Islam, Scientology, Humanism, political correctness and Shirley McClain. You can also have the U.N. But we will no longer be paying the bill.

We'll keep the SUV's, pickup trucks and oversized luxury cars. You can take every Subaru station wagon and Volvo (now owed by the Chinese) you can find.

You can give everyone healthcare if you can find any practicing doctors. We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right. We'll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the National Anthem. I'm sure you'll be happy to substitute Imagine, I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya or We Are the World.

We'll practice trickle down economics and you can continue to give trickle up poverty your best shot.

Since it often so offends you, we'll keep our history, our name and our flag.

Would you agree to this? If so, please pass it along to other like minded liberal and conservative patriots and if you do not agree, just hit delete. In the spirit of friendly parting, I'll bet you answer which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.

Sincerely,
John J. Wall
Law Student and an American

P. S. Also, please take Ted Turner, Sean Penn, Martin Sheen, Barbara Streisand, & Jane Fonda with you.

P. S. S. And you won't have to press 1 for English when you call our country.

This is pretty much how the shark I caught acted...

2010-07-27T09:35:00.000-04:00

...until I punched it in the gills dolphin-style. You can thank Peaches and these guys for the visual.

Uh YEAH, fishing!

2010-07-26T17:34:00.000-04:00

I like to go fishing even though I never catch anything. Part of the reason is that I don't know what the crap I'm doing, and the other problem is that life hates me. To make matters worse, the Sciencette is probably one of the top three fisherwomen in the U.S. She could toss some yarn in a puddle and somehow hook a monster bass.

Anyway, we were in Surfside Beach, South Carolina last week, and we did a hardy amount of fishing. We (me mostly) attempted surf fishing but generally failed miserably at it. We also did a little fishing from a rented pontoon boat (which was essentially thwarted by a jellyfish attack on the Sciencette) and on a head boat (aka a party boat). We had better luck on the head boat, with the missus out-fishing me 8-to-1 (kill!), but it was too crowded to enjoy completely, and we largely lack pictures of the fish that my mom, Ludacris, and ourselves caught.

Pretty boring post, eh?

BAM - SHARK!!!

Uh YEAH!!! I caught the hell out of this shark fishing from a pier. If you use my leg in the background for scale, you'll notice that this leviathan was no less that 40 feet long, had teeth the size of a yeti, and must have weighed in at several metric tons.

The only unfortunate part about this incident is that I wasn't allowed to keep and eat the shark. It's illegal to fish for sharks from the pier, ostensibly because they don't want the swimming tourists to hear that sharks actually do inhabit the water they're splashing around in. I know, it should be obvious that sharks are in the ocean, but ignorance is bliss...and a lot of the people I saw down there seemed pretty ignorant...

In any event, I'm itching to do some more fishing. I'll keep the millions and millions of Dr. Yeti's fans posted on my ~~success~~ failures.

Totaalvoetbal!

2010-07-10T09:56:00.000-04:00

Iran agrees with Wesley Willis, "Cut the mullet!"

2010-07-08T08:15:00.001-04:00

If you checked out CNN.com early enough this morning, you may have seen the most disturbing headline ever written:

No, I don't mean that Fatty McChunkstyle lost weight on vacation (big deal, I lost 1.5 lbs sleeping last night). I'm talking about the Iranians banning mullets. What!?!

For those of you that can't or don't want to try to read the caption below the picture, it says, "Iran recently issued strict grooming guidelines for men. Among the hairdos that are now hair don'ts: the '80's Prince-style pompadour, the Steven Seagal-style ponytail and the 'business in the front, party in the back' mullet." What kind of world do we live in? I mean seriously, do religious zealots just have too much time on their hands?

Suicide bombers, please just listen to me for a minute. Let's say you strap some C4 to your hairy Islamic chest and go explode some Jews or gays or gay Jews...or whoever you're told to hate that week. Sure, Allah is supposed to reward you with 72 virgins, but how do you expect to woo them without a sweet mullet? I think you'd even look good in a permullet. You know what they say, if you lose the curls, you lose the girls.

...I guess I can kinda see where you're coming from on this though. Who wants 72 virgins, right? You need slutty girls that know how to stroke a...beard...

But I digress. I think it's fair to say (based on several movies I've seen and that one episode of NCIS) that Iran is the worst place ever. I mean, check out this quote about the approved haircuts from one of the nut jobs in charge:

"In designing these hair styles, we have not tried to go backward. On the contrary, we have tried to make our designs a mixture of our traditions and Iranian culture, as well as the latest fashions and by doing so confront the cultural assault by the West (on our country)."

Uh, did I miss something? How is the mullet, a haircut made famous by hockey players, a cultural assault. Did someone with a Mississippi Mudflap come to Iran and start some trouble in a bar? Oh wait, that's right, alcohol is illegal too, so there are no bars...

Ok, did some redneck construction worker with an Ape Drape visit your country and whistle at all the pretty girls walking by? No, that can't be right; you keep your women covered up from head to toe...

Did your populace finally see MacGyver and his awesome Kentucky Waterfall? That must be it. The people you oppress have learned how to take down your totalitarian regime using nothing but duct tape and paper clips. I'm sending them a care package right now full of Donnie Iris 8-tracks (you guys don't have cassette players yet, right?).

The Teacher loves you and wants to share her wisdom.

2010-06-15T11:37:00.000-04:00

True.

the joys of getting a haircut

2010-06-01T19:41:00.002-04:00

the scientist and i have previously sounded-off on getting a haircut. i have always taken the position that it is best just to sit in the chair with your eyes closed and avoid conversation at all costs. well, i need to amend this rule. you see, it's not only important to stay perfectly silent while you are actually getting your hair cut, it's also very important to remain silent while waiting to be called back for your haircut. here's why...

i went to ye olde hair cuttery this evening to get my hippie locks trimmed. i am going home to visit the family this weekend and marty don't put up with any of that hippie business. there was a woman there with what i at first thought to be her two sons. after closer inspection, the one turned out to be a girl. now this mother was the type of mother that drives me crazy. she was totally absorbed in the conversation she was having on her cell phone. so much so that the two heathen/bastard children were running amok all over the hair cuttery. they were playing with all of the various brushes and jumping on all of the chairs, you know the ones that they can jack up. the employees were none too pleased about this.

as the demon seeds are terrorizing the store, a man walks in. he's carrying his bicycle helmut and wearing some short shorts...you know, the kind they wore circa 1980 when the scientist was created. in fact, i'm almost certain that he was created because of short shorts. but i digress. i immediately thought that something was off about him. well, my first impression turned out to be spot on.

after a while, this gentleman makes a comment about the demon children. at this point the woman beside me and i chime in saying that this is the kind of behavior that we abhor. that was all it took. this man ran away with the conversation. he went from talking about how his mother had her masters degree in social work from tulane (the best social work school in the nation) to how he new a jew, an actual jew from israel, that had a degree in psychology from the university of wisconsin. you know, in israel, all 18 year olds have to enlist in the army. this guy was a tank commander. he was the smartest man that crazy guy ever knew. crazy guy then went on to talk about his employment history and how he is collecting a government check. apparently the neurologist told him that he couldn't work anymore. i'm thinking he was certifiably crazy. anyhow, the conversation ended with him exclaiming that the muslims plotted to kill martin luther king, jr. why? because he was promoting equality of all men and the muslims do not believe that caucasians are their equals.

finally, i was called back. the employees apologized profusely to me. apparently this man has been in the store before. and yes, they were all playing games to see who had the privilege of cutting his hair.

and that my friends, is why you are to remain perfectly silent while getting your hair cut, whether you are in the chair or not.

Why does the internet hate us?

2010-05-05T07:10:00.000-04:00

If it wasn't bad enough that Facebook made the internet total gaylord by putting a "Like" button on every website (where's the Dislike button, jerks?), now all of your personal information is potentially in a convenient searchable database (from The Banker):

Spokeo.com is new online phone book [containing] personal information: everything from pics you've posted, credit score, home value, income, age, etc. Search yourself on their site, find the URL of your page, then go to the Privacy button on the bottom of their page to remove yourself (just copy/paste the URL of your listing).

I had two listings, both under my maiden name, but one had me listed still living at [Dad's house], and one had me listed as living here. Definitely logon and remove yourself!

Kill you internet!

doppelgangers for hockey fans

2010-05-02T17:19:00.006-04:00

this post may only be interesting to those hockey fans that read the blog. i know we have at least two: the teacher and her hirsute husband. anyway, i was watching the washington capitals (fuck you ovechkin!!!!!!) play the montreal canadians last week. while watching the game, i realized that the capitals coach, bruce boohoodreau (boudreau), is the spitting image of angus macgyver's boss pete thornton (played by dana elcar). go ahead, see for yourself.

Bruce Boohoodreau

Pete Thornton (with MacGyver)

as an added bonus, i found this little gem.

You know how I know you're gay?

2010-04-22T16:55:00.001-04:00

Last week...or maybe the week before (I have no idea, time is meaningless to me)...we had a new furnace installed. Our old one was original (i.e., almost the same vintage as me), and we're pretty sure it wasn't built for a three story house. The furnace was on the second floor, so the second floor was the proper temperature, but the ground floor was like a meat locker, and the top floor (our bedroom) was no picnic either. I guess that's what happens when people who are only out to make a buck have a bunch of Mexicans build your place, but I digress...

After another winter of being 'ice-toed' by The Sciencette (fellas, you know what I mean), we decided to use our postdoc wealth to get a new furnace that would actually function on all three stories. For the tree huggers out there: yes, it's energy efficient, and you better believe Obama will be giving us our $1500 at tax time next year. Kill you expensive efficiency!

Anywho, the company that we bought the furnace from refused to work on the weekend, despite the fact that the salesman said they would, so I had to stay at home to let the installers do their thing. Two guys showed up (an hour late), and I swear to God that they didn't know each other's names. That builds a lot of confidence, right? Well, it doesn't matter, because for this post, I'm just going to call the Miller and Krause.

I was getting some work done on the computer while these guys were furnacing it up, and I couldn't help but overhear some of what they said down the hall from me. Most of it was bitching about the economy and their boss, the same conversation that happens a million times a day all over the world, and then I heard this gem:

Miller: "Measure twice, cut once."
Krause: "I cut it three times already, and it's still too short."

These types of shenanigans happened for a while, and then they turned on the radio to listen to some Donnie Iris n'at. Krause was really getting into it because he started doing some karaoke, and then the following back and forth happened:

Miller: "You can repeat the lyrics, but for God's sake, don't try to sing them."
Krause: "I'm no American Idol, huh?"
Miller: "You probably watch that shit don't you?"
Krause: "Nah, no way. I hate that crap."
Miller: "My wife always watches it."
Krause: "Yeah, my wife and daughter have it on the TV all the time...but you know what? When they have it on, I get sucked in; I can't stop watching it..."
Miller: "Yeah...me too..."

So it turns out that the two manly men installing the hell out of the furnace are actually American Idol fans, and they bonded over it in our utility room. They spent the next few minutes feeling each other out concerning various aspects of the show, ostensibly to gauge just how much they could gush over their love for reality TV. And then I think they realized how gay things were getting, because the conversation abruptly ended with this:

Miller: "You know the one thing I don't get about the show? Ryan Seacrest."
Krause: "Yeah, where the hell did he come from?"
Miller: "He doesn't do anything and makes a ton of money."
Krause: "...[sounds of tools, grumbling]...Dick Clark wannabe asshole..."

Well, even if the dudes installing the furnace are pillow biters, at least they hate Ryan Seacrest. I hate him too, but not because he's on American Idol...well, at least not entirely. I hate him because he should have forced Dick Clark out of New Year's Rocking Eve after his first horrible post-stroke attempt at the countdown instead of letting him zombie-slur his way into the new year for however long it's been now. I can't watch it; he can't even keep up with the numbers let alone pronounce them. Can't an angry Islamic country send over a jihadist to clean this mess up for us? Throw me a bone Osama!

This one is for the Yeti.

2010-04-16T16:39:00.002-04:00

Breaking News

2010-04-14T07:08:00.001-04:00

Breaking News: Plaxico Burress accidently shoots Santonio Holmes in the leg at a night club causing Mr. Holmes to throw a drink in Ben Roethlisberger's face which caused Mr. Roethlisberger to accidentally grope the nearest waitress. The sound of the shot startled Jeff Reed, causing him to accidentally smash the men's room towel dispenser, startling Matt Spaeth who then lost control of his bladder......

I'm an artist.

2010-03-08T10:04:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I told you that when The Yeti called me an artist during his toast, I almost lost it. This is the story of how I became an "artist."

--------------------------------------

Back at Juanita College, there was an email phenomenon called Poopfinger. Basically, a Poopfinger was a mass email bomb. If someone didn't log off after using a public computer, the would-be poopfingerer would hop on, fire off an email to the mailing list that included everyone on campus, log off, and then walk away chuckling. The original email, which (if I have my Poopfinger history straight) was written during a physics lab, simply said "poopfinger," hence the name. Others tried to spice things up and come up with their own little tag (e.g., powdered deer penis) or just add "finger" after someone's last name (e.g., Raupfinger and Krausefinger), but poopfinger was the original and most popular.

I knew a few people (opportunists perhaps) that had sent Poopfingers, and I did it once or twice myself. That said, it was technically illegal. Everyone on campus had to sign some kind of IT promise that they wouldn't misuse the campus network. This was back in the day when file sharing via original Napster was rampant, and the music industry was cracking down on college campuses, which is probably what prompted the IT form. With our signatures, the college absolved itself from the wrongdoing, placing the blame squarely on us. Regardless, mass emails were also considered network violations because (and this was told to me by the guys that fixed all of the network/email outages) the original campus email system was set up for a maximum of 32 users and was now carrying a load of over 1000 emailers. Long story short, mass emails clogged up the server and screwed up the works.

In any event, I know I'm glossing over a lot of Poopfinger history, but I want to get down to business here (if any of Dr. Yeti's millions and millions of fans want to write in with their favorite Poopfinger stories, please do!). Let's talk about how I became an artist.

Now, like I said, I knew some Poopfinger perpetrators, and I also knew a lot of assholes. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of overlap between those two groups. My asshole friends and I used to sit around talking about sending the poopfinger to end all poopfingers. A mass email that would air the campus's dirty laundry (i.e., NCAA violations by Turdd Squinter, publishing the same picture of black students in magazines and brochures year after year, how the place was a politically correct war zone, etc.) and right real and perceived wrongs. Well, one thing led to another, and it was either idle fantasy to my friends or I just took things too far, because I sent the Poopfinger of Doom and caused a ruckus.

As you can imagine, people were angry, specifically those mentioned in the email. The Hatefinger, as we sometimes called it, was such a shock to people's senses that all Poopfinger etiquette broke down and someone sold me out. Yep, they ran to mommy (in this case, the Dean) and tattled.

The normal Dean in charge of discipline wouldn't talk to me (probably because I called his show tune singing son gay), so I met up with the other Dean to eat some humble pie. I was read the riot act, brow beaten, and given the stink eye, slow head shake, and quiet stare. In the end, all I had to do was apologize, talk to anyone that wanted to speak to me about my reprehensible actions in private, and deal with a mark on my permanent record:

The school sent a letter of disapproval to me, my family, and my academic advisers. My mom was pissed; she hung up on me when I called to tell her. She was super-hormonal at the time from menopause though, so I always chalk it up to hot flashes and whatnot. The Old Man just told me not to do it again. My sister The Banker loved the letter because this was essentially the first time I was ever in trouble. She took it from my mom and stored it in her archives as proof that I was a normal human. She also found it recently and sent it to The Sciencette, laughing all over again about my predicament...

Anyway, as you might imagine, meeting with angry people about an email that you thought was going to be anonymous was a little awkward. Honestly though, it wasn't too bad. I think most people were surprised to see that I wasn't some kind of social deviant...at least not full time.

And then I got an email from the Dean saying that one of the professors in the Art Department wanted to talk to me. That confused me because I don't think I made fun of any artists in the email, but I put on my "I'm sorry" face and walked into a surreal encounter.

The professor in question, we'll call him Helen, shook my hand and called me an artist.

Helen didn't necessarily love or condone the email, but he appreciated it for what it was - in your face social commentary. I was pushing boundaries and making people confront reality. In that sense, I was an artist just like him.

In the end, I stopped sending Poopfingers (despite having several more opportunities) because I didn't want to get kicked out of school, artist or not. In a silly turn of events, as all of this turmoil was turmoiling, the school was trying to sign me up for their academic honors society. I politely declined, truthfully stating that I didn't think I met their moral criteria, and then laughed at how sometimes the left hand doesn't know what the right one's doing. I'm told that after all of this, the school finally revamped their email system, making mass emails virtually impossible to send.

Poopfinger is extinct. I'm sorry I killed it.

--------------------------------------

It's been a lot of years, and that's all I can remember. Again, if anyone else has insights, please share them. And for God's sake, will someone please tell me who ratted me out to the Dean!?! It's not like I'm going to stab them or anything. I'd just like to be able to raise a glass and throw out a cheers to them getting herpes every now and again.

Chapter 4 – The Reception

2010-02-15T13:08:00.000-05:00

I'd like to start this chapter by saying, "Kill you Jared!," and making it clear that The Yeti's previous post had nothing to do with me finally posting the new chapter. I had it planned all along as a day before Faschnacht Day treat.

---------------------------------

After I said “I do” and made sure The Sciencette was stuck with me for good, the people in charge squirreled us and the wedding party away in a little side room so all of our guests could start drinking and drinking hard (more on this later). They also started passing around whore-durves.

Yes, I’m American. That’s how I spell it.

Anyway, everyone in the wedding party was crying again because that’s what they do. Everyone but me. By this point, I was manly as hell again and done with the tears. Also, I was starving. Maybe not as much as your average Haitian these days (too soon?), but I was definitely jonesing for some food. As you can imagine, I was eying up the tray of whore-durves someone brought in like I eyed up The Sciencette earlier. I think I may have actually hurdled someone and elbowed my grandmother to get to the food. Was it worth it? Well, I ate one caviar-covered potato pancake dealie, and then it was time to take pictures…

KILL!

We hired our photographers based (at least partially) on the fact that they claimed not to do a lot of portraits. Their claim to fame is candid action shots of everything. Well, you know what? That was a goddamn lie. They took no less than 384 billion pictures of us in every combination of people that you can imagine. Someone kept bringing drinks and food in for the people that weren’t in the pictures, but that never included me. Also, in all the pictures that included our flowerbaby, i.e., The Niece, there was a crowd of people behind the photographer making crazy noises and faces so that she would look at the camera. You wouldn’t think a baby weighed much until you have to hold one for six straight hours while someone takes your picture.

Look, I don’t mean to complain, I’m just exaggerating like an ath-hole, and hopefully you can at least laugh at my predicament like The Yeti does so often. I guess I’m just not a picture guy…

…so I was elated when The Sciencette thought it would be a good idea to go outside for a “few” pictures…

Remember, this was December 11th by the river. It was so cold outside that I couldn’t even die. I was just cryogenically frozen between every picture and brought back to life by the flash of the camera. At one point, the photographer even neglected us and started taking pictures of our shadows. I’m not going to lie; my shadow is a handsome son of a bitch.

Finally, the women took pity on me and let me go back inside. At this point, someone handed me a Yuengling, and it was like Jesus high-fived my tongue. For whatever reason, I was dehydrated as hell. You could’ve used me to sponge up a kiddie pool full of water. Now, if you remember Chapter 2, where I got über-drunk, then you can imagine if I drank enough booze to slake my thirst that I would’ve been in a hardy amount of trouble. I weigh 163, bench 165, and didn’t have anything in my stomach, so 2 gallons of beer would’ve put me on the floor. For once in my life, I was sensible enough to realize this and started taking longer and longer water breaks in between my drinks.

I didn’t shirk my duties during the toasts though; I drank champagne with my beautiful blushing bride. The Sciencette’s sister and matron of honor Womanimal started things off (and started people crying again) with her toast. Like most women, she went the short, sweet, and sentimental route.

Then it was The Yeti’s turn…

Now, most courts of law will tell you that Sasquatches, while hominids, don’t technically qualify as men (let alone best men), but this was Philly where laws are meaningless. So, without any cryptozoologists out trying to capture our erstwhile Yeti, he launched into his speech. This struck a bit of fear into my heart because Yetis are unpredictable creatures, and The Yeti was a founding member of the Zero Tact Club. I might have been the first human to dip below zero to negative tact (I’ve got Asperger’s Syndrome after all), but he wasn’t forsaking liquor in favor of water like me on this night. Also, we had earlier discussed that while his barley and hop-soaked mind remembered quite a few stories from our checkered past, not a single one was suitable for a family-style audience. So I basically didn’t know what the man-child was going to say. Creatively, The Yeti decided to simply and subtly allude to those stories of depravity, illegality, and other things that end in “ity” instead of coming straight out and telling them. All the while, he was wildly gesticulating with his glass and came within an eyelash of spilling his drink on The Sciencette any number of times (no less than 384?). Oh yeah, I feel the need to tell a little more truth here. During his toast, The Yeti commented that he’d looked over my latest paper, and, while he didn’t understand a goddamn thing I’d written, he enjoyed the pictures. Well, for this particular paper, a professional artist made all of the images for us, so The Yeti failed at all aspects of the paper reading. Is anyone surprised?

At one point, he also called me an artist, and I almost lost it. There’s quite a story behind that comment, and I promise that it will be the focus of my next post.

Anyway, with the “cheers” behind us, it was time to attack dinner. I was so excited to eat that it was a little retarded, and then a curious thing happened. I wasn’t hungry. I still can’t explain what my problem was, but I just didn’t have the urge to eat. Look at how sad I am in this picture:

I’d been looking forward to a steak for the longest time, and my stomach decided to be a dick. Kill you stomach!

This was also the point in the evening when the alcohol was kicking in, and people started to clink their silverware on their glasses so that the missus and I would kiss. I believe that the Juniata College table, perhaps urged by The Yeti himself, nearly wore their silverware down to nubs clinking on glasses. At one point, I even had to slip both The Sciencette and The Yeti some tongue just to get some peace and quiet.

I guess it’s good that I wasn’t too hungry because we had to make our rounds to all of the tables anyway. We didn’t get to see everyone before the dancing started, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Well, everyone made their way back into the party room, and then we had to take care of a few more wedding things before the "white people dancing" started. The bridal party (why isn’t it ever the groomal party?) was introduced, and wifey and I had our first dance. I don’t know if I was nervous, tired, retarded, or all of the above because, for a long time, I basically forgot to move. That’s not too different from my usual level of dancing skill, but The Sciencette had to tell me to get moving. Regardless, I made it through the dance without hurting myself or anyone else, and then it was time for The Sciencette to dance with her dad The Engineer.

They started dancing to a slow song, which only got my mom and Momma vK crying again,

and then the DJ faded into “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” because The Engineer used to sing that to The Sciencette when she was just a little mumpkin.

And holy crap, then I had to dance with my mom to Wagon Wheel (uh YEAH, bluegrass!). She was crying because that’s what moms do, and then, without any warning, she yelled, “spin me.” I made a poor show of it, but at least she didn’t fall. Eventually, I think she even stopped crying and started to enjoy the old timey sound.

I know that Wagon Wheel isn't the most mother-son dance appropriate song out there, but give me a break. It was the only song I knew that said momma.

Then it was time to cut the wedding pie. I’ve written at length about the virtues of wedding pie over wedding cake, so I won’t go into them here. I will say, however, that apple pie with crumble-topping reversed my anti-hunger from dinner. I ate the hell out of that pie. I’m pretty glad I didn’t smash any in The Sciencette’s face too. Not because she would’ve divorced me right there, but because it would’ve been a waste of delicious dessert. Oh man, I wish I was eating that pie again…

That was basically it for the scheduled stuff. The Sciencette didn’t toss her bouquet, I didn’t toss any garters, and The Yeti didn’t toss Dr. Snail’s salad. It was time to dance (women) and drink (men).

Remember back in Chapter 2 when The Yeti said that whenever he and I are at a party, one of us is going to end up as the drunkest asshole there? Guess whose turn it was.

Now, all things considered, The Yeti didn’t get too drunk, but “too drunk” is a relative term. Sure, he probably had enough alcohol to put down your average moose, but what he lacks in genital size, he more than makes up for with his liver, which grew three sizes that day (Grinch-style). And let’s not forget that the Yeti was drunk enough to cajole Dr. Snail into singing some Johnny Cash for me and The Sciencette.

I can’t focus solely on The Yeti either. Every scientist in the place was three sheets (mmm, Sheetz) to the wind by the end of the night. Good, good for them!

I’m sure that I’ve forgotten a lot of stuff and missed even more while I was busy glad-handing the crowd, etc., but like I said, I spent most of the evening drinking water, being exhausted, and being happy to be married to my dearie. If you remember any other good bits though, hit up the Comments section below. Otherwise, stay tuned for Chapter 5 – Wedding Aftermath (dun-dun-dun!), only here on http://dryeti.blogspot.com.

you shall shat, nevermore

2010-02-15T11:09:00.003-05:00

Once upon a mid-day dreary, while I shat myself weak and weary,
Over a quaint and curious volume of Showtime Rotisserie instructions,
While I shatted, nearly crying, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-pot door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber-pot door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Presently the stench grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I am shatting, and so gently you come rapping,
And so harrowing my business here, the noises strange and queer,
That I scarce am 'fraid to answer' - till then wide opened did the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

i would like to say that this is just a poem told by a fanciful yeti, but it is not. it's a true story.

death to the scientist!

2010-02-14T11:08:00.002-05:00

is anyone else out there about as pissed off as a fire hydrant is pissed on? what do i mean? i mean i'm a little bit angry that the douche of a taint scientist has kept us waiting so long for chapter 4 of his wedding story. this post here, is what you call a grassroots movement. i know some of you will be more than happy to join a "grass"roots movement... anyhow, i digress. we, the readers of dr. yeti, need to harass the scientist until he posts us another goddamn chapter in his wedding story. he needs to get off his bony, lazy ass and do something. kill, kill kill the scientist.

a few ponderables

2010-02-11T07:17:00.001-05:00

i woke up this morning with all of the recent snow on my mind. i was thinking how drivers in richmond are a bunch of taint-fisters in the snow and how i'd like to "tap 'em, put 'em into the wall." but then my thoughts drifted to others on this blog and how they might be faring in the snow. so i pose you two questions of similar ilk.

1. what does frumpkin do when he is snowed in?
2. what does the scientist do when he is snowed in?

i would ask what dr. snail does, but we all know the answer to that; in a world of white, he turns to a world of green.

Kill you telemarketers!

2010-02-08T13:49:00.000-05:00

REMINDER: All cell phone numbers are being released to telemarketing companies and you will start to receive sales calls.

YOU WILL BE CHARGED FOR THESE CALLS.

To prevent this, call the following number from your cell phone: 888-382-1222.
It is the National DO NOT CALL list. It will only take a minute of your time. It blocks your number for five (5) years. You must call from the cell phone number you want to have blocked. You cannot call from a different phone number.

in honor of groundhog's day...

2010-02-01T16:53:00.001-05:00

in celebration of the 33rd day of the year, i present to you this video. enjoy.

http://www.post-gazette.com/multimedia/?videoid=102825

Chapter 3 – Holy crap, I got married!

2010-01-24T15:29:00.001-05:00

I know we give Philadelphia a hard time here on the blog. We’ve called it Filth-adelphia, commented on its well known stench, been amused by its horrible, horrible football team (Donovan McNabb sucks yeti taint), given their sports fans the stink eye, and come to the conclusion that Cleveland is a better city (ouch!). Regardless…

You know what? I have no idea where the hell I was going with that. I’ve got to lay off the Swedish Fish or something…

Oh wait, the brain is coming back online. I was just about to start respecting Philly a little because that’s where I was getting married, but then the hotel refused to give us any hot water. After a hard night of drinking, all I wanted to do was shower away my filth (and bachelorhood I guess…is there a connection here?), but no. I can’t even really call what I took a shower. Showers are good things. This was a tepid mess. Kill you Philly!

As I met a bunch of people for breakfast, it turned out that everyone had shitty showering experiences, not just me. The Four Points by Sheraton Philadelphia Northeast better get its act together before someone gets angry and decides to complain about their inadequacy in an online public forum. Also, make the free WiFi easier to use and put mints on our pillows.

For whatever reason, I decided not to eat breakfast the morning of my wedding. I don’t normally eat breakfast, but I usually make exceptions if I’ve punished my liver the night before or am otherwise out of my normal routine. I somehow got it in my head that I’d have a cheesestreak for lunch and be fine, but as you’ll soon find out, I was dead wrong.

It was about this time that I saw the Yeti, his zookeeper Ash Wednesday, and the Diesels (i.e., Shan and Bran) heading off on a quest to find an IHOP. And then all the women in the bridal party disappeared to put on their armor and practice being nice to one another and then talking shit behind each other’s backs (or whatever it is that women do, I still have no clue). This left me, The Old Man, The Engineer, and The Sciencette’s uncle Jack T. Colton sitting around with nothing to do for the rest of the day. See, it takes men 5 minutes to get dressed, so there’s not a lot do when it’s 10 AM and the wedding starts at 4 PM. We ended up just sitting around talking to my aunt and uncle, Turk and Phipps, for a while, and then the IHOP crew came back.

Apparently, it took them a pretty long time to find an IHOP, and when they did, they were the only white people in the place. I like to think it was a little like when the guys in National Lampoon’s Animal House went into the bar full of black people to see Otis Day and the Knights. Unlike the brothers from Delta House though, The Yeti and Shan-Diesel didn’t lose their women. They did get directions to a liquor store, though, and proceeded to buy enough alcohol to get me in trouble: Jaegermeister, Crown Royal, and cherry vodka (if I remember correctly). At this point, The Old Man and I met up with The Yeti and Ash Wednesday in the Diesel’s room to have ourselves a little cocktail hour.

I think you can see where this is going.

Look, I wasn’t trying to get piss-drunk before my wedding (and not just because The Sciencette threatened me with death if I did). I actually wanted to have a level head at the ceremony. Now, alcohol might calm some people down, but it just makes me drunk, and no one needs a drunk scientist at their wedding…but everyone needs at least one drunk scientist at their reception (more on that in Chapter 4)…

I don’t think anyone else wanted to get me retarded-drunk either, except The Yeti. He decided we should do some cherry coke races. If you’re not familiar with this Huntingdon, PA special, it’s a shot of cherry vodka in a low-ball glass filled with ice and coke. They’re properly consumed by sucking them through a coffee stir (or the tiniest straw available), and you have to race your friends to see who can finish the fastest. I don’t want to brag, but I do believe I was the undefeated champion of Juniata College for no less than several years. Like the gay bartender used to tell me, “Now you can go home and tell your dad that you’re the best sucker at the bar.” Reminiscences aside, I watched The Yeti pour out the drinks: shot of vodka, shot of vodka, shot of vodka, several fingers of vodka.

I knew which glass I was getting.

But hey, I can hold my booze. I raced and beat everyone in the room, and then The Yeti had the bright idea to dish out another round. Guess who go the vodka, rocks, with a splash of coke…

Eventually, Bran-Diesel laid the law down and forbid The Yeti from getting me drunk. At least someone took control, right? Unfortunately, this was about the time that The Old Man disappeared and came back with his neighbor Hawaiian Punch…and a can of icy-cold Genesee Premium for everyone. I started sipping on my beer and decided that not eating anything for breakfast was a bad idea. I’m sorry to say, but I had to eat most of the delicious treats in Shan-Diesel’s gift bag to calm down my acid-booze-nervous stomach. God, I love beef jerky…

And before I knew it, it was time to put on my tux.

Five minutes later (I told you, dudes get dressed in no time), we all congregated in the hotel lobby to wait for the shuttle to the mansion. My erstwhile fourth groomsman Greek Lightning showed up, I gave him some Metaxa ouzo (and was glad he didn’t try to offer me any), and then starting looking at my watch.

The damn shuttle was late. KILL!!!

This was going to throw everything off. We were pushing the time envelope with the number of shuttles we needed to run before go-time, so starting late sucked a taint. In fact, when we actually got to the mansion and it was just about that time, we were still missing a shuttle full of people. Normally, you’d just start the ceremony a little late, right? I mean, these things never start on time anyway. Unfortunately, The Sciencette picked the ceremony time to coincide with sunset, so we’d have a sweet backdrop overlooking the Delaware River for pictures and whatnot. No one knew quite what to do, but the photographers were worried about losing the light. That decided it for me. I made a command decision and said, GO!

BAM! We started walking down the aisle. I was escorting my grandmother, who’s like 400 years old but still feisty, and she decided she wanted to walk fast. That was fine by me, but we had to navigate some stairs, and I didn’t want either one of us falling and breaking a hip. I managed to slow her down, and we made it safely, but The Yeti wasn’t so lucky. He tripped on the stairs and went down with a sound like Rocky punching a side of beef. He didn’t break a hip, but I think it was mostly because Womanimal actually stopped him from falling ass-over-tin cups (as The Krauser would say).

All the while, I’m standing in front with The Teacher, our reverend for the day, joking to try to keep us both less nervous. I’m not sure it worked. At some point, we (and Momma vK) noticed that the lighters for the unity candle were missing, and I sent The Teacher on a stealth mission to remedy the situation. Oh, the whole day was going perfectly…

And then the harpoonist starting wailing on her harp (haha, a harpoonist wailing…like whaling…get it?) and The Sciencette started down the aisle.

I’m not normally an emotional guy. I like to think I live a pretty sedate existence. My heart beats between 4 and 6 times a minute, and I was once attacked by a grizzly without getting upset. I’ve been known to get pissed off and hungry, but otherwise, I’m emotionally devoid like a robot. Hunger is an emotion, right? Anyway, The Sciencette looked so amazing that I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. And then it happened…I started to cry.

Aside from the occasional shot to the nuts, I haven’t shed a tear in like 40 years. As soon as I sprouted pubes, I decided that crying was for hippies, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t start to cry on my wedding day. It was a little scary. I mean, my tear ducts were in such a state of disrepair from non-use that at first, nothing but solid plugs of salt came out. I can only equate it to how Dr. Snail pees so infrequently that sometimes only a solid lance of urea comes out of his peehole.

Now, we all know that The Sciencette was crying. Hell, she cries when somebody else thinks of Bambie’s mom dying. And knowing this, I was prepared. I had Kleenex waiting in my pocket and sprung it on her to, what sounded to me like, the general amusement of our audience. Then my sister Goiter came up to give a reading, started crying, and stole my Kleenex! Sometimes you’ve just gotta be covered with tears and snot at your wedding, I guess.

The ceremony, or at least what I remember from my nervous state, seemed to be pretty good. There was a lot of repeating what The Teacher said, “I doing,” trading rings…you know, the usual. All I know is, I’m happy I didn’t drop the ring. They don’t call me butterfingers because I like crispety, crunchety, peanut buttery candy bars…

And then I kissed the bride, uh YEAH!!!

Stay tuned for Chapter 4 – The Reception only at http://dryeti.blogspot.com.

It's like they're reading my mind.

2010-01-12T09:19:00.000-05:00

I don't know who the genius artist is that created this perfection, but these are the kinds of things that I see when I close my eyes:

Speaking of dreams and such, The Sciencette told me that I must have had a bad dream last night because I cried out some nonsense while I was sleeping.

In actuality, it was a pretty bad dream. I don't know why, but I was dreaming that I had a bloody urine sample in one of those small plastic cups, and she knocked it out of my hand and all over the bed. What she heard was me verbally berating her for spilling my dream piss.

Addendum - Chapter 2 - Rehearsal Debacle

2010-01-08T09:54:00.001-05:00

I have to stop eating polyacrylamide (molecular biologists love that joke) because I almost forgot the most important thing about the whole rehearsal dinner. The Phagette (or should I call her Mrs. Dr. The Biophysicist Ph.D.?) was one of the Sciencette's bridesmaids, so she and The Biophysicist were with us to party. Apparently, the night needed a little injection of awesome though, so The Biophysicist exploded out of his shirt to show everyone his new full-torso "three wolf moon" tattoo.

Later that night, he rescued three kittens that were stuck in a tree, changed an old lady's flat tire using nothing but his bare hands and determination, and lowered the crime rate in Philadelphia 22% by unleashing a dumpster full of drop kicks on the local street thugs.

Chapter 2 - Rehearsal Debacle

2010-01-08T09:18:00.006-05:00

I’m a science nerd. I like hanging out in lab even when I’m not there to really do anything. So, I guess it came as no surprise to anyone that I worked for the entire week prior to my wedding, including the day of the rehearsal dinner. Hell, I would’ve worked the morning of the wedding (I wasn’t getting hitched until 4:30 anyway) if I hadn’t been staying in Philly Thursday night. Family eventually wins out over sweet, sweet biology though, so I hung up my sciencing shoes and The Sciencette’s dad, The Engineer, and I picked up our tuxedos.

I’m just going to come right out and say it; even James Bond doesn’t look as good in a tux as we do.

The customers at Men’s Warehouse seemed to agree because at least one dude there started hitting on us immediately. All I wanted to do was pay for the stuff and get out of there before someone tried to hammer my butthole. I think The Engineer felt the same way because we didn’t even stop for ice cream like usual.

Thinly veiled homoerotic interludes aside, we started packing stuff up for the hotel. People didn’t take this much crap with them on the Oregon Trail. Four people filled a Ford Escape and a van to capacity with wedding accouterments. And no surprise, but the gift bags we made in Chapter 1 came back to bite me in the taint too because they took up so much room.

Thankfully, the hotel was less than 30 minutes away, and the traffic was light (kill you Philly traffic!). We got there at the same time as The Sciencette’s sister Womanimal and brother-in-law Terminator Target. I can’t remember if her other sister Katata Fish and her boyfriend Fireman Soup were there at this point, but they’ll make their entrance eventually. Regardless, it was party time.

It was colder than a yeti’s nipple outside, so I left The Sciencette in the car while I attempted to check in early. To my delight and surprise, The Teacher and Hairy Parry were checking in right in front of me. It’s a good thing too; our room wasn’t ready, so we shacked up with them for a half hour or so while Housekeeping made sure there were only two towels in our suite, no hot water, and forgot to put mints on our pillows.

When we did go back to the lobby to get that all squared away, the rest of my family came pouring in. I attempted to help my mom bring in cookies for the famous western Pennsylvania cookie table (more later) by grabbing one of the luggage carts, but I promptly broke the hotel door that's supposed to automatically slide open when someone approaches. I knocked it squaw off the track, and it stayed open, letting Arctic blasts of air into the lobby for all to enjoy. Oopsies!

The rest of our time leading up to the actual rehearsal is a bit of a blur, but at least one thing we did was arrange the cookie trays. For those of you not lucky enough to have been born in the Cradle of Civilization known as southwestern PA, we traditionally have a cookie table at weddings. Members of the family (and close family friends) bake cookies, bring them to the wedding, and then make a veritable cookie buffet for everyone to graze at. Most families also bring small boxes so people can take some cookies home with them. We decided not to do this at our wedding because: 1) it wasn’t in the Fertile Crescent of Pittsburgh; 2) everyone would have had to drive a lot of cookies across the great state of Pennsylvania; and 3) our wedding catering package already included enough desserts to choke a donkey. Instead we set up a small cookie table at the rehearsal dinner, and my mom and grandmother did most of the baking. My mom makes these cookies with fork holes in them (I call them fork hole cookies), and they were totally badass, but I digress…

Eventually, we all caravanned over to the Glen Foerd to practice getting married. It’s a good thing we had a practice too because as soon as we showed up everyone was running around the place like a bunch of spider monkeys. Otherwise, the practice was pretty nondescript and only notable as the time that Shan-Diesel and Bran-Diesel were able to finally fight their way through filthy Philly traffic and join our band of merry mayhem makers.

To get back to the hotel from Glen Foerd, you have to drive straight on one road for 4-5 miles and hang a left after the Dunkin Donuts when you see the hotel. My dad, The Old Man, failed at this task, and he failed hard. He turned instead of going straight and ended up driving past some prison. After several phone calls to me and several wrong turns a the wrong Dunkin Donuts, he finally made it back to home base, but I imagine he was about ready to stab someone in the face with a soldering iron while he was lost.

We hate being lost.

Regardless, The Old Man’s rage was quickly soothed by drinking Yuengling Lager, Sam Adams Winter Lager, and Dogfish Head’s 90 Minute IPA at the rehearsal dinner. I guess the food was ok, but let’s face it, people were there for the booze and cookies (see above). In fact, The Engineer personally tested every variety of cookie and declared them all national treasures. One of the servers working that night was like Batman too. As soon as you finished your beer, he would materialize beside you with a fresh one ready to go. Sure, his magic act cost us an extra $400 to assault everyone’s liver, but like Jesus said, "sometimes you’ve gotta ignore the big bar tab and keep drinking."

In the midst of this revelry, The Sciencette and I gave some gifts to our parents and bridal party. The Sciencette was very classy about the whole affair. She had monogrammed bags with snowflake necklaces and various other chick products in them for her bridesmaids. Not to be outdone, I wrote the names of my groomsmen in black Sharpie marker on the outside of used beer cases and filled them with the manliest things on Earth:

A flask (empty of course; this wasn’t x-mas);
Two DVDs that will instantly turn you into a man (“Vision Quest” and “Jeremiah Johnson”);
The book that no white guy needs - “How to Live with a Huge Penis: Advice, Meditations, and Wisdom for Men Who Have Too Much”; and
Various other personalized prizes and trinkets (e.g., Rogue beer, hard liquor, the Green Man, etc).

Among the sundry presents that we gave to the parents, my mom got a Wii. Now, some of you might think that was a nice idea, but it may have been a mistake. My mom isn’t too good with technology or modern life. I mean, in the past few years, I’ve had to explain to her what a taint is, what the shocker is, how to upper deck someone, and what duck butter is. These things are all common knowledge to people familiar with the internets. Anyway, I think the Wii was a mistake because it was like teaching a kangaroo to box; now the kangaroo can kick your ass and take your fight money. See, my mom now not only has a Wii; she’s got a laptop, she has wireless internet (that is amazingly password protected and she can’t remember the password), she’s got a new car, and she’s on Facebook. Remember when moms weren’t allowed on Facebook? It was just you, me, and a few other kids with valid college email addresses. Now…well, now I don’t use Facebook too much…

Ranting and raving aside, it was time to head to the hotel lounge to drink and drink hard. I figured I’d have a few beers and then go to sleep early, but it turns out that I figured wrong. Everyone was buying, and at most points in the evening, I had at least two beers in my hands. To my delight and The Sciencette’s chagrin, most of these beers were Flying Dog’s Gonzo Imperial Porter. I’ll let this blurb from their website describe it for you:

Like Hunter S. Thompson... Gonzo Imperial Porter is deep and complex. This turbo charged version of the Road Dog Porter is mysteriously dark with a rich and malty body, intense roasted flavors, and a surprisingly unique hop kick. With Gonzo weighing in at 7.8% ABV, it will bite you in the ass if you don't show it the proper respect.

Needless to say, I didn’t show the beer proper respect. I drank it with impunity, told meandering, loud, inappropriate, and often incomprehensible stories about people and places from college, and managed to act like a taint fister in general.

I don’t think anyone was surprised.

Like The Yeti later told me, if he and I are at a party, at least one of us is going to end up as the drunkest asshole there. I guess it was my turn (see Chapter 4 for The Yeti's turn).

Anyway, this post is now overly long, and I’m craving beer just writing about it, so I’ll just finish by saying that The Sciencette finally convinced me to retire to the bridal suite. She gave me socks so that my feet wouldn’t get cold (ya git it?), a flask (because she’s an enabler), and cuff links with my initials on them (so I would look like a fly white guy on my wedding day). I gave her diamonds, specifically earrings and a necklace. It’s amazing how a few thousand dollars of carbon will help a woman get over your drunken shenanigans…but there are more to come!

Stay tuned for Chapter 3 only on http://dryeti.blogspot.com.

On December 11th, 2009, I got married in Philadelphia. This is my story.

2009-12-30T11:13:00.003-05:00

For some reason, the title makes me think of Quantum Leap, although it's meant to have more of a "survivor of a holocaust" ominous tone to it. Not that the wedding was a tragedy, far from it! I just get a Sam Beckett-esque/Dragnet/Stephen King's "The Stand" thing going on in my head when I read it.

Anyway, the way I really wanted to start this post was with two questions that I think the title evokes in a normal human's (i.e., a Western Pennsylvanian's) mind: 1) what kind of asshole gets married in December; and 2) what kind of asshole gets married in Philadelphia?

Well, the December thing is all the Sciencette's fault. Despite being allergic to the cold, she likes December because that's when her birthday is and that's when x-mas is. She tends to like snow too, but we generally don't get December snow around these parts. Regardless, I tried to talk her out of it to spread around some of the special days, but she wasn't having any of it. I had to sit down with my wallet the other day and explain to him that sorta like a woman's period, he should be prepared to hemorrhage money each December for an anniversary, birthday, and x-mas. Maybe I should design some sort of wallet tampon...

As for Philly...look, we had to do it. Sure, I wanted to get married in Pittsburgh just like everyone else on Earth, but it wasn't going to be feasible to have to drive 5-6 hours every time we needed to meet with a florist or whatever (the 'burgh's Illuminati also sat me down to voice their concerns about both me and The Biophysicist (aka, Captain Steve) diluting the Pittsburgh gene pool by marrying out-of-staters, but I was finally able to convince them that a little genetic variability is a good thing). Plus, we didn't get hitched in downtown Philly while dodging bullets and crazy drivers; we were married on the outskirts of the city on the Delaware River in the Glen Foerd Mansion (which has a painting of a guy that looks disturbingly similar to my Uncle Ed).

Now, with all of that out of the way, it's time to get to the main course.

Chapter 1 - Secret Surprise

(for the full effect, please read this here instead of on Facebook)

The week before Thanksgiving, the Sciencette and I were in Pittsburgh for the wedding of The Biophysicist and The Phagette (I don't know any common wedding etiquette, so if the woman is supposed to be mentioned first or something, I have no clue; please excuse my stupidity). When we checked in at the hotel, the receptionist gave me the key cards for our room, a come-hither stare, and a bag full of goodies made and provided by the soon-to-be married couple. We both really liked the gift bag idea, and The Sciencette turned to me with excitement in her eyes and a smile on her face to ask if we should make them for our impending nuptials.

I immediately told her that was the stupidest idea I'd ever heard.

Now before you condemn me for being a heartless son of a bitch, let me tell you two things. First, don't insinuate that my mom is a bitch; I'll kick your ass. And second, I had a plan.

See, usually my brain works slightly slower than old people drive, but for some reason (probably the Qdoba I had for lunch, uh YEAH!) I was running at full capacity that day. I shot down The Sciencette's idea because I was pretty sure that I could pull it off myself and surprise her with it. She was going to be gone in DC for essentially the whole week following Thanksgiving, so that would give me plenty of time to buy stuff, put it in bags, and then bask in her love and adulation. Plus, I think we originally planned to make gift bags and forgot, so this would at least give me something to do while The Sciencette was gone.

As with everything though, there was a problem - me. You might find this hard to believe, but I'm not as stealthy as a jungle cat. I'm more like a garbage truck going down a bumpy road; I'm smooth like chunky peanut butter. What I'm getting at here is that while it was probably a good idea, I didn't know enough details about my own wedding to pull this off nor a crafty way to obtain such information. Thankfully, The Sciencette was distracted by a Fall full of weddings (many of which she was in) and her impending trip, so she didn't connect the dots when I had to ask her three times how many rooms we had booked at the hotel (~40 but I kept forgetting), and she was nonplussed by the 48 Old Milwaukee pounders that I bought.

Anyway, I ordered a bunch of stuff in bulk from Amazon and elsewhere, played the mother-in-law card (she's got a membership to a Sam's Club-type place), and send the Sciencette on her way. Between MommaVK and myself, we filled blue bags covered in white snowflakes with an Old Mil pounder, two Jack Links beef sticks, Ghirardelli chocolate squares, Advil 2-packs, two bottles of water, mints, granola bars, candy, and ketchup packets. I'm probably forgetting some stuff (and I was tempted to throw in some condoms), but you get the picture.

(New picture courtesy of Dr. Snail, 1-4-10)

The stuff from MommaVK wouldn't make it to NJ until after The Sciencette got home from DC, but I decided to set the bags up on the table and fill them with whatever I had at hand. When the day finally arrive and The Sciencette did get home, she called me out to her car to grab her suitcase and then went into the house. I watched through the door to see her expression when she saw the bags, and...

NOTHING! She just stared at them like she was retarded or something.

Well, it turns out that she wasn't a re'tard; she was just shell shocked because I actually contributed something to the wedding planning other than money and apathy. Much like when I proposed to her, she went from zero to crying in 2.3 seconds when she realized what was going on.

I did good.

In hindsight, it seems to me that the bags were a success. The missus liked them, and our wedding guests either enjoyed them too or were at least amused that someone was ridiculous enough to include a tall boy of beer and beef jerky in a gift bag. I guess I've raised the manly bar for myself though; I'm going to have to put cheeseburgers or something in the next gift bags I make.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2 only at http://dryeti.blogspot.com (kill you Facebook)!

Sorry ladies, the Scientist is married.

2009-12-29T14:54:00.000-05:00

I lie all the time, and that's no lie (or is it?). So when I tell you I'm going to blog about my own wedding and honeymoon soon, you should quasi-believe me. I really want to. I've got a bunch of pictures and stuff that I can put up; it'll be great. Sure, it pisses me off that everyone reads the blog on Facebook now (thereby only commenting on Facebook and leaving the actual http://dryeti.blogspot.com site a fallow wasteland), but that's better than nothing.

Anyway, in the mean time you should check out The Teacher's blog post concerning my nuptials. You can find it here or by clicking on the link in the column on the right. She didn't use the word "taint" nearly enough, but otherwise, she did a fantastic job of making fun of the Yeti.

Done and done. Go!

how you know you're fat

2009-12-29T07:18:00.001-05:00

this is how you know you're fat...

you're laying on the couch with that special someone and they are sort of poking at your fat rolls. you giggle a little because you're ticklish there and say, "are you poking at my fat rolls?" to which she responds, "No, i'm poking at your belly button." the unfortunate thing here is that your belly button is no less than 6 inches further west. she really is poking at your fat roll and has just mistaken that fat roll for your belly button.

that, is how you know you're fat.

You, go drink, now!

2009-12-03T19:59:00.003-05:00

Holy crap you guys, holy crap...

I just cracked open an "Olde School Dog Fish Head," Dogfish's 15.04% alcohol barley wine that they recommend you pour into two snifters to enjoy. It's kicking my mouth's ass, in a good way. If I had a bucket of this stuff, I'd drink the whole thing right now and probably wake up with my pants on backwards somewhere in the Pine Barrens two days later.

I think that you need to go buy a 4-pack of this stuff right now, drink it, and just see what happens. Who knows, you might end up married soon too.

Peer Review

2009-11-30T12:10:00.000-05:00

you've heard of truck nuts...

2009-10-12T07:56:00.003-04:00

but have you heard of truck antlers?? i was in roanoke the other week and saw a truck driving down the streets of the redneck city sporting these bad boys.

according to amazon.com:

Truck Antlers... turn your truck into a buck! Multiple uses for Truck Antlers... Fight road rage; Rattle in a big buck; For the Holidays.; Slide the base of Truck Antlers into the window of your truck - and enjoy the laughs. Be sure the points face forward. Truck Antlers are also functional rattle horns. Grab antlers by the base, rattle them together and watch the bucks come running. Decorate your antlers with garland, jingle bells or wreaths to show your holiday spirit.

i'm thinking that this is the perfect christmas gift for the mullet.

It's Mountain Day!!!

2009-10-01T13:49:00.002-04:00

Dust off your Mountain Taint!!!

on the wrong side of 20...

2009-09-13T12:29:00.002-04:00

happy birthday kill you!

yes that's right, he is number 1. today is the scientist's birthday. he's 29. hey, is that old? it's a good thing he won that 3 wolves t-shirt. he'll need its superpowers to increase his vitality.

Chris Tucker

2009-09-11T10:48:00.003-04:00

Chris Tucker normally pisses me off. I mean, I like screaming and jumping around as much as the next guy, but Christ Tucker shouldn't be getting $30 million to do it opposite of Jackie Chan. I will admit, he was ok in The Fifth Element though...

Regardless, I don't know what sick genius made this, but turn out the lights, turn up your speakers, open a bottle of wine, and click the link. You're in for a real treat.

Help, I'm old and confused!

2009-08-31T09:13:00.002-04:00

Let's face it, I'm old. Not as ancient as Crooked Jim and his old leathery balls, but still pretty old. If I slipped and fell right now, I'd probably break a hip. And then I'd complain about the damn hippie teenagers and their "rock and roll" devil music. And then drink something with and orange-flavored fiber powder stirred in. Also, I might have diabetes (say it like Wilford Brimley, please).

Now, because I'm so old, tired, and confused all the time, I'm having trouble coming up with ideas for stuff to buy my groomsmen for the wedding. Sure, beef jerky does say "I love you" like no other gift on Earth, but I have to show up with more than a burlap sack full of dried meat (that sort of sounds like Crooked Jim too...). I already bought one thing for the four gentlemen in question, but I'm worried that's going to be my only inspired idea.

That's where you come in. I'd like to continue sitting here being fat and stupid while you come up with ideas for me. Plus, at this point, even a troglodyte is more creative than me, so let's see what you've got. If you can come up with a good enough idea for one or more groomsmen gifts, I'll have your name engraved on the Yeti's version of it as a reward. That'll learn 'im.

Uhhh...

2009-08-28T13:13:00.004-04:00

I used to watch professional wrestling all the time. I went to King of the Ring with the Teacher, I loved Wrestlemania, and I've slapped more than a few submission holds onto my sisters. But never, in all that time, did I see anything like this:Only in Japan. Crap like this could only happen in Japan. Why are they always doing the most ridiculous stuff over there, seriously? Is the whole country so hopped up on toxins from sushi fish that they've gone a little retarded? Maybe it's just a cultural thing, I don't know. I'm the Scientist, not a freakin' liberal arts hippie trying to understand people and their feelings.

Come to think of it though, I guess this won't only happen in Japan now that it's become famous on the the greatest blog in the history of the internet. I wouldn't be surprised to see this happening while walking down the street next week. In fact ladies, I hear that the Yeti might be using this as his new "finishing move" if you can smell what the Rock is cookin'.

Sweet Jazzercising Jesus!

2009-08-27T15:17:00.000-04:00

Created by The Oatmeal

I have the power of three wolves.

2009-08-27T14:52:00.004-04:00

Many of you already know about the "three wolf t-shirt." If you don't, you must be retarded or something, but you can get the whole back-story by reading this.In a nut shell, Amazon.com once suggested that some dude might be interested in buying the three wolf t-shirt. He took one look at it and started a sensation by writing a witty review about how the shirt fits his girthy frame like a glove and drove the ladies wild at Walmart. Honestly, I can imagine all of that actually happening in real life.

The actual magic, however, was the avalanche of other amazing reviews that people wrote claiming that the three wolf t-shirt cures cancer, angels sing Freebird when you wear it, etc. I think this quote really sums it up though, "You don't put this T-shirt on your torso, you put it on your soul."

You're damn right you do!

Being an internet-savvy hominid, the Yeti decided that he was going to buy two of these shirts to give out as prizes for a bachelor party cornhole tournament. Now, before you start wondering what kind of S&M homosexual bachelor party this was, please educate yourselves on the finer points of cornhole as a game. Regardless, everyone was psyched for a chance to win the honor of wearing such a powerful garment.

The teams included participants born in 4 different decades (old man power vs. young blood), from all over the greatest state in the union (PA, uh YEAH!), and with varying levels of baldness. It was a double elimination, beer-fueled shenanigan, and I'm happy to say that the Biophysicist and I destroyed the competition in true Pittsburgh fashion (go Stillers!). Upon receiving my three wolf t-shirt, I promptly spilled beer all over it, kill!

Anyway, I told you that story to tell you this story. Later that night, when the moon was full and the power of the wolves was at its peak, the park ranger ambled over to tell us to turn the music down. And no sooner had this request come out of his mouth when he looked me straight in the eye and said, "You're the champion, aren't you?"

He knew. He knew.

How many wolves do you rock?

Gecky B, here are some tasteless jokes for you.

2009-08-27T14:45:00.002-04:00

I was walking through the cemetery this morning and saw a guy crouching down behind a tombstone. I said "mourning." He said, "No, just taking a shit."

When I was a kid, I used to pray every night for a new bike. Then I realized that the Lord doesn't work that way, so I stole a bike and asked him to forgive me.

My girlfriend was in labor with our first child. She was shouting out, "Get this out of me! Give me the drugs!" She looked at me and said, "You did this to me, you bastard!" I casually replied, "If you would care to remember, I wanted to stick it up your ass but you said, "No, it'll be too painful."

I went to an extremely attractive female doctor today for my annual checkup. She told me that I had to quit masturbating. I asked why and she told me, "because I am trying to examine you."

I was walking down the road today and saw my Afghani neighbor, Abdul, standing on his fifth floor apartment balcony shaking a carpet. I shouted up to him, "What's up Abdul, won't it start?"

My girlfriend and I were making love last night when she looked up at me and said, "Make love to me like in the movies." So I turned her over on all fours, stuck it in her ass, pulled out, flipped
her back over, and came all over her face and hair. Man was she upset; I guess we don't watch the same movies.

Mountain Family Reunion

2009-08-27T14:39:00.003-04:00

A while back, the Yeti emailed me some pictures that his sister took in her back yard:At first, I was amused and slightly concerned for all of the Mullets on the Mountain. Then I realized that this is probably just one of the Yeti's hairy relatives. For all we know, that could be Uncle Peebag getting ready for a little nap.

Seriously though, how can you tell? The Yeti family has be de-evolving (I prefer the term devolving) for generations. I'd wager that the Yeti himself is actually more genetically similar to Cro-Magnon man than a Sasquatch at this point. He's able to form and use crude tools, but he lacks the wily skills to kill hikers for their beef jerky.

Dr. Snail?

2009-08-27T14:35:00.004-04:00

Let's face it, this is what everyone aiming for tenure dreams about. Kill you Dr. Snail!

It's all the Yeti's fault.

2009-08-27T14:33:00.000-04:00

It's been many, many moons since I've posted on the blog, and you know what? Kill you Jared!

I'm going to post a back-log of stuff today. May God have mercy on your soul.

Go!

cleaning the shower

2009-08-08T20:56:00.000-04:00

just to give you an idea of how lazy i am, i swiffered my shower today instead of scrubbing it down. it wasn't a dry swiffer though, it was a wet one. what normally would take 15 minutes took me like 2. i consider that progress.

I knew it!

2009-08-08T10:14:00.003-04:00

Much like Obama, the Yeti is not an American.

Hey, is he old!?!

2009-08-03T07:47:00.003-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages...

It's the Yeti's birthday, uh YEAH!!!

On this day, a scant 28 years ago, a very pregnant mountain woman gave birth to a 25 lb hairy bundle of joy named The Yeti. Now, there are theories that Yetis are marsupials, but I can't imagine evolution coming up with a pouch that's tough enough to tote a yetiling around in. Still, until we can observe the elusive creature and study his mating dance in his natural surroundings (i.e., after 8 cherry coke races and two pitchers of Yuengling), much about The Yeti remains a mystery.

In any event, today's the day to hoist your birthday beers and offer up some birthday cheers. Or, like we said before, shower The Yeti with gifts or just give him a golden shower. Done and done, go!

Another Young Hero

2009-07-29T10:22:00.003-04:00

I don't know what it is about today, but adolescents are gaining my respect left and right:

ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: July 29, 2009

PLAIN CITY, Utah -- Police in Utah say a 7-year-old boy led officers on a car chase in an effort to avoid going to church.

Dispatchers received reports of a child driving recklessly Sunday morning. Weber County Sheriff's Capt. Klint Anderson says one witness said the boy drove through a stop sign.

Anderson says two deputies caught up with the boy and tried unsuccessfully to stop the Dodge Intrepid in an area about 45 miles north of Salt Lake City. The car reached 40 mph before the boy stopped in a driveway and ran inside a home.

Anderson says when the boy's father later confronted him, the boy said he didn't want to go to church. The boy is too young to prosecute and no citations were issued, although police did urge the father to make his car keys more inaccessible to children.

-- The Associated Press

When I was a young'in, I never wanted to go to church. Even as a small scientist, I knew it sucked there. Hard. But man, I never stole a car and tried to escape. I just slowly wore my mom down with my heathen ways. She still gets pissed when I say the word "atheist" in the house, but moms (regardless of religious affiliation) get pissed about a lot of stuff. I should send this kid a Flying Spaghetti Monster gift set or something.

Also, he should read this blog post; I think he'd like it.

In comparison, we're all failures.

2009-07-29T07:31:00.002-04:00

Aside from this damn hippie needing a haircut, he's the most talented child ever birthed.

blind people

2009-07-23T18:25:00.004-04:00

today on the bus to work there was a blind man reading a Braille magazine. i was very impressed that even though the bus jostles you around quite a bit, he was still able to keep his finger to the page and continue reading. i don't think i would have been quite as skilled. as he read, he head followed his finger across the page. his head was sort of like a carriage on a typewriter. i was just waiting for a little "ding" to sound when he got to the end of a line. sadly, this didn't happen.

while i sat there watching him read, i began to think about reading Braille. this particular man was reading with his right hand. what would happen if he injured his right hand? would he be able to read with his left hand? would he have to relearn to read Braille with his left hand? does anyone know? these are the questions that puzzle me.

alex trebek is 69 today

2009-07-22T05:29:00.003-04:00

remember when saturday night life was halfway decent and watchable? when they had the celebrity jeopardy skits? good times.

The Bible Belt goes around a 50 inch waist.

2009-07-20T19:09:00.003-04:00

Recent research has shown that the American south is, in a word, fat. Time Magazine ran an article about it a while back. I laughed, I cried, I worried about all of our southern fans. And don't forget about the Yeti, Beardo, and Dr. Snail; they live in the south!

According to Time, they can expect to become morbidly obese in just a few years. I'm anxious to see it, and I hope they send pictures documenting their progress towards heart disease and diabetes (say it like Wilford Brimley).

What about southern pets though? Is Trapper going to be fatter than hell too?

Seriously, watch this now.

2009-07-20T19:03:00.001-04:00

Thank you for inventing the Internet Al Gore.

Hooked!

2009-07-20T18:47:00.003-04:00

Has anyone seen that fishing show "Hooked" on the National Geographic Channel? New episodes air Mondays at 10 PM. If you're a dinosaur like me, that's late, but they also replay these things all the time at various hours, so keep an eye (or TiVo) out.

Anyway, it's a fishing show hosted by actual biologists who go around the world looking for enormous fish. It's got a good conservation message (i.e., don't pollute the water and destroy all of the fish; don't build 11 damns on the Mekong and kill all the fish; don't over-harvest the fish and kill all the fish...I think you can see where this is going). Plus, when you're like me and never catch any fish of your own, it's nice to see other people catch stuff.

They were in Mongolia today looking for trout that are six feet long. Yes, trout and six feet long. I caught a 10 inch trout once. That's only 5'2" and 199.5 lbs less than these guys. I know, I'm a failure. You know it too! Why do you always have to bring this up, huh?

I think my favorite part of the show was when they were talking about how you can really only find these fish in Mongolia anymore. They've been extinctified in other parts of Asia, but because Mongolians love red meat so much, the fish are living the good life there. If I had any money, I'd start a Mongolian fishing lodge right now, because they probably have the least-pressured fishing waters on Earth. If anyone wants to be a financial backer on this, give me a call. Go!

poor little guys update

2009-07-03T14:15:00.002-04:00

Espectrito Jr. on the left and La Parkita on the right. not many good pics out there of them and i thought it fortunate that i found them together in the same picture.

poor little guys...

2009-07-03T06:48:00.001-04:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31720537/ns/world_news-americas/

MEXICO CITY - Mexican authorities say two professional wrestlers found dead in a low-rent hotel in the capital may have been drugged to death by female robbers.

Autopsies are being performed on the two midget wrestlers, one of whom went by the name "La Parkita" — or "Little Death" — and wore a skeleton costume in the ring. The other was known as "Espectrito Jr."
Authorities say two women were seen leaving the men's hotel room before the bodies were discovered.
Prosecutor Miguel Angel Mancera said Wednesday that gangs of female robbers are experienced at using drugs to knock men out and rob them, but they may have used too strong a dose.
That may have been because of the wrestlers' small stature, although larger men have also died in similar crimes.

Another gem discovered by The Teacher

2009-06-30T07:58:00.005-04:00

Ladies and gentleyetis, may I present to you the porkgasm (click the link for the whole story).
Like Emeril would say, "Pork fat rules!" Aside from the hellacious caloric content, I also enjoy the garlic eyes and hot pepper ears/tail. Is there no limit to the gastronomic genius on the internet?

mj's dead

2009-06-28T18:37:00.003-04:00

no. not michael jordan. michael jackson. and no, this isn't a eulogy to the man that was. like most everything i write, it's all about me.

i've noticed that a great many people are maybe not upset, but saddened at the death of michael jackson. they are/were invested in him as an artist. he helped defined part of their life. the associated with and were big fans of his music. they grew up on michael jackson before he became the walking freak show that we have seen in recent years.

i'm here to say that i feel left out. i never had mtv growing up. hell, i'm not sure my parents even have it now. i wasn't allowed to listen to rock/pop growing up. nothing but a good ol' dose of country music for me. so i have never listened to most of jackson's material. i have not seen most of his music videos (seriously i think friday night was the first time that i had seen ANY of them). because of all of this, i kind of feel like i'm on the outside looking in on his death. i can't comprehend the laregess of his fame. i was not a part of it (in the way that fans can be). and this is not to say that being left out is a bad thing. chances are even if i had been a fan of his, i wouldn't have cared all that much.

does anyone else feel the same way?

"You may eat pie and cake and ice cream now."

2009-06-26T13:42:00.002-04:00

I was thinking about pie today - basically because I think about pie a lot. As many of you know, I'll be having wedding pie instead of wedding cake at the (you guessed it) wedding. Whenever I tell people this, I get the usual responses of:
"Oh, that's different."
"Pie is so much better than cake!"
"Why don't you have both?"
And so on... If the conversation goes on long enough though, the question of "What will you put your cake topper on?" also invariably turns up. Most people's answer to this is to just have a small cake with the topper on it (so you can still do the first anniversary cake tradition) and serve pie to everyone else.

Listen people, that shit is faulty logic. I'm functionally retarded on a good day, but even I can see a way around this. I don't want wedding cake, not even a little. Screw the tiny cake with the topper on it. Wedding cake generally sucks a taint anyway. They drape that fake icing goo-ass stuff on it and make it look all retarded. My favorite cake is the yellow stuff that comes as a mix in a box with chocolate frosting that comes in a small tub. But I doubt any hoity-toity baker is going to make a wedding cake out of that.

Here's what no one seems to realize though: it's just as easy to put a topper on a pie - done! It's just as easy to freeze pie with the topper on it and eat it a year later - done! Is that really so hard to compute? I mean, I've never eaten year-old pie, but I hear the year-old wedding cake tastes even worse than it did on day one anyway, so who cares?

Now that we have that problem solved, let's talk about the topper. I know it's generally just some plastic bride and groom thing that they toss on top. I also know that you can get custom ones made that include everything from your initials to pets to bobble-head representations of the married couple. Some people get creative and just put toy figurines there too (think Han Solo and slave girl Leia).

Personally, I'd lean towards the toy idea. Maybe Mulder for me and Scully for the missus (how sweet would that be?), but I doubt the Sciencette is going to go for it. What about something sciencey though? Can anyone think of some sweetass biological shit to use as a pie topper, and if so, do you have any idea where I could have it made?

That's your mission, should you choose to accept it (and you must!). Think of best wedding pie topper ever and find a place that will make it. Go!

Dr. Yeti book review - City of Thieves

2009-06-18T08:58:00.003-04:00

Did you ever get really drunk and then walk into a bathroom and find a book that some other drunk left there? That's what happened to me a few weeks back. I found a brand new copy of "City of Thieves" by David Benioff. I'd never heard of the book or author before, but for some reason, every time I say the title in my head, it's Gambit's voice from the X-men cartoon saying "thieves." Oddly enough, it turns out that Benioff wrote the screenplay for X-men Origins - Wolverine which also features Gambit. How freaky is that?

Anyway, the book isn't about Cajuns (mutant or otherwise). It's the semi-biographical tale of his maternal grandfather's life during the seige of Leningrad during WWII. The book is totally badass, and here are just a few reasons why:

1. Two guys talk about their bowel movements a lot. It's like Benioff followed the Yeti and I around transcribing our conversations.

2. Someone finally explained exactly why the French suck as much taint as they do today:

All the Frenchmen with balls died on the way home from Moscow in 1812. You think I'm joking? Listen, one hundred and thirty years ago they had the best army in the world. Now they're the whores of Europe, just waiting to be fucked by whomever comes along with a hard cock. Am I wrong? So what happened to them? Borodino, Leipzig, Waterloo. Think about it. Courage got blasted out of their gene pool. Their little genius Napoleon castrated the whole country (pg 115).

3. I want to be able to answer someone's question like this some day:

Lev - "How did you become a sniper?"
Vika - "I started shooting people."

How awesome is that!?! It just doesn't work the same for me though. "How did you become the Scientist?" I started sciencing...

I need a new job.

Prepare to have your mind blown.

2009-06-16T15:24:00.002-04:00

Promise me you'll watch it until the very end:

yeti's travels

2009-06-14T16:31:00.004-04:00

as some of you may know, i travel around the state of virginny for work. i mainly haunt northern and western virginia, which is good. the south and east sides of the state are flat and touch the ocean.

this past week, i was in the shenandoah valley for an entire week. i'd like to share with you some of my observations and musings.

i left richmond for winchester on monday the 8th at 6am. i like to stop at wawa when i travel in the mornings for a dark roast coffee and large chocolate chip cookie. i knew there was a wawa in fredericksburg along rt 17, so i bided my time. i was SORELY disappointed when i got in to the wawa and they did not have any large chocolate chip cookies. my whole trip was almost ruined from the get-go. i got a tastey cake pound cake instead, which satisfied me.

i stayed in winchester for two days at the george washington hotel. a pretty cool old hotel. the first night, i had to make a run to walmart because i forgot some things and (though i have no photo evidence) i saw the finest mexi-mullet i have ever seen and will ever see. the pride taken in grooming this specimen was evident. it was clean. i mean so clean that jean wouldn't mind setting her dinner table on it. every angle around the front was crisp. i'm thinking the guy groomed it every day. he may have had a special grooming just to go to walmart. i was thrilled.

later that evening, i popped over to picadilly's brew pub for dinner. they make their own beer so i figured i would give it a try. needless to say, the beer wasn't all that good. the food was though. i had a steak and cheese on flat bread with onion rings. one of the locals (now mind you, my whole idea of winchester has been colored by the book "deer hunting with jesus") was sitting next to me with his daughter and i was musing at their conversation. at one point he was complaining about getting thrown out of the bar the previous week for either being a) too drunk, b) getting into a fight or c) both. according to the local he had went to take a leek only to come back and find someone in his seat. he kindly asked the person to give him his seat back and was brushed off. he proceded to ask nicely again, pointing out that his beer and smokes were at the seat and that offered proof that it was his seat. "he must have been some college boy. most likely a damn yankee because he didn't show any respect." at this point, i'm grinning from ear to ear. i'm thinking, do i say something to him? had i had one more beer in me, i would have. but not this night. so he leaves and comes back (not sure where they went...dr snail, any ideas?). when he comes back, he sparks up a conversation with me. he asks me where i'm from and i say richmond to which he responds, "a good confederate boy". here is my opening. i tell him, "well actually, i'm from pennsylvania, so i guess that would make me a yankee. no, a damn yankee because i stayed." he was left a bit speechless, but then continued with polite conversation.

the next day in winchester after lunch, we returned to the court house. we went through the front entrance which i had not used the previous day or earlier that morning. much to my surprise, the statue below was out front. i think it pretty much speaks for itself.

i also realized that next day how i had been identified at the brew pug.

in case you can't read that, it says "TOP LEFT HEF". KILL!

i was thinking that i had stories from my travels to the other parts of the shenandoah valley, but they are escaping me right now. if i remember them here in the next couple of days, i will most certainly share them with you.

Classic Dr. Snail pic from the archives

2009-06-09T15:56:00.001-04:00

A New Yuengling

2009-06-01T12:33:00.003-04:00

Hello.

I've recently put my body through heinous, gluttonous torture.

I barely survived the ordeal, but I've brought back a tale for you. Yuengling decided to invent a new beer: Yuengling Bock.

I was drinking my way through Princeton Reunions weekend with the Sciencette and one of her fellow labmates, AndreBJ. I tried to continually steer us back to the Class of '69 tent because they had the best beer, and seeing a bunch of old guys in Princeton rugby shirts with prominently emblazoned 69's on them makes me happy to be alive.

The night before, we drank no less than 384 Yuengling Black and Tans in this tent, and when Saturday rolled around, I was looking for more of the same. To my surprise, we kicked all of the B&T kegs on Friday, so they whipped out the Bock Beer.
It tastes like Lord Chesterfield's Ale...but good. Not since the goat beer that Dr. Snail gave us while he worked at The Rail have I been so enamored with a beer involving goats.

Anyway, it's a limited release to celebrate the 180th anniversary of the brewery, so get some while you can, if you can. Go!

More Registry Antics

2009-05-11T14:41:00.002-04:00

The missus wanted to go back to Bed Bath & Beyond last weekend to fix our registry. Apparently, the finger towels (huh?) didn't match the back splash (huh?) of the dust ruffle (huh?) or something like that. Honestly, I have no idea what women are saying when they start talking about interior decorating, feelings, and south of the border lady health stuff, so all I know is that we needed to go back to the store for something.

It wasn't all bad; I got to run the laser scanner dealie this time and add the triple plate to the registry, uh YEAH! We went for Chinese food prior to this too, which is probably just the Sciencette's way of anesthetizing me, but she can dose me with General Tso's anytime.

Anyway, things were going fine until we ran into The Stench. This is going to be difficult to describe, but stay with me. When I first caught a whiff of this, I figured somebody had farted hard and then vacated the immediate vicinity. In fact, the ass molecules in the air we so bad that we got out of that part of the store as quickly as possible too. This landed us in the section of BB&B with candles, the bamboo scent diffuser things, and other assorted fragrant items.

But nothing was as fragrant as the horrid smell of ass!

The Colon Phantom had apparently struck here too. Sweet noseclips on Jesus, it was awful! Think about it for a minute. We were in the section of the store that is most overwhelmed with things that women use to mask the smells of the men in their lives, and this rancid ass cloud had overpowered it all. I was at a complete loss; I just can't understand how this is even possible. It's like this smell was alive, enslaving the other smells, and converting them to it's sulfurous religion.

Needless to say, we didn't tarry long in this second foul section. We tried kitchenwares but were confronted by the same reek. In fact, an entire 50% of this very large store had been ASSassinated by The Stench. It was as if someone shit a full two pints of large intestine into their pants and then walked up and down that half of the store trailing their ungodly evil emenations. Still, I can't believe that could even account for this menace. I can only assume that small piles of defecation were also hidden in unobtrusive places. Sweet sassy mo-lassey!

Thankfully, we were done at this point. We ran the gauntlet one more time (breathing through our mouths) to return the laser, and then we high-tailed it out of there. Unfortunately, this wasn't the end of our woes. Stay tuned for the next installment of Registry Antics.

Exactly.

2009-05-11T13:26:00.001-04:00

Dr. Snail would like to share his wisdom and internet searching skills with you:

If you're afraid of the swine flu, you're retarded.

2009-04-29T15:25:00.004-04:00

There's a lot of hoopla in the media these days about the swine flu. Know why? It's because major news corporations think you're some kind of asshole.

Despite wars, genocide, scientific breakthroughs, and the employment of Dr. Snail happening right now, the media has decided that nothing important is happening in the world, so they need to trump up reports about a supposed pandemic in the making. If you don't know this already, let me make it very clear for you. Politicians are idiots and liars, Canadians talk funny, and journalists/reporters/media-types are fear mongers.

The mortality of swine flu is like 3-5%. You know what the mortality of the normal flu is? 3-5%.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

The media jumped on this when health officials gave a flu virus known as H1N1 a snazzy name based on it's natural carrier. Swine Flu!?! Hot damn, that sounds like a money maker!

Unless you're very young, very old, or have a suppressed immune system, you shouldn't be any more afraid of the swine flu than anything else you could catch if someone's kid sneezes on you. Turn off MSNBC, take off you facemask, and punch yourself in the crotch if you've been cowering in fear over this. You don't deserve to procreate.

And to the entire country of Egypt, which recently ordered the slaughter of 300,000 pigs despite the lack of any reported cases of swine flu, go polish a pyramid with your taints. How stupid are you people?

Now, some of the more astute Dr. Yeti fans out there might be saying, "but Scientist, Egypt is home to the bird flu, don't you think they know what they're doing better than you do?" Well, let me just say that you've got some nerve saying shit like that. If you were here, I'd kick your ass. No one in Egypt knows better than me. Do you know how many Egyptians have died there from bird flu? 24. That's not one each hour of every day, that's 24 total for the entire time that the media crammed the bird flu down our throats until the swine version came to play. More people have died from falling down stairs, but you don't see staircases being outlawed. Hell, I killed 24 people yesterday just for parking badly.

I'll tell you this right now, if the idiots running world governments start killing pigs out of fear, the price of bacon better fall fast. In fact, the staff here at Dr. Yeti are fans of pork and pork-based products, so feel free to ship all of your excess carcasses to us.

Or you could just pray for help...

Or blame it on the democrats...(I love the last name.)

bacon explosion: a dream come true

2009-04-26T16:12:00.018-04:00

friday night was the final weigh-in for the fat man face-off. i am sad to let all you readers down, but i did not win the ultimate prize. i lost a total of 24.4 lbs or roughly 8% of my total weight over the past ten weeks, but the sasquatch (pictured below) ending up losing 26 lbs or 9%. he's pretty much a taint-fister for winning, but i still like him anyway.

we decided to celebrate the end of the competition in good fashion by making the bacon explosion. it was pretty much amazing! it was truly a dream come true. below are pictures detailing our experience with this culinary delight.

the sasquatch is pawing the bacon into a lattice.

the sasquatch is pretty excited about this and i'm pretty sure that he sweat on the bacon explosion while making it. this is a rare photo as the sasquatch is an elusive creature.

garland fries up the bacon for the inside of the bacon explosion while the sasquatch lcontinues to weave the bacon.

i'm thinking that the weave would be a good way to make bacon while camping. thoughts?

the sausage is down.

putting on the crumbled bacon.

the sasquatch added a little dry rub to the inside.

corky's bbq sauce for the inside.

a feat of modern man.

we were not in possession of a smoker as the recipe called for, so we had to bake it for a while before throwing it on the grill. as some of you may remember from the bacon we grilled outside of pink that one night, bacon on the grill sends up some flames.

this is post grill and post 2nd round in the oven. it is complete.

cut up pieces.

this pretty much sums up the whole evening.

my plate...we also had tater tots that were fried in the leftover bacon grease. the tots did not hold their shape, but damn were they tastey. nothing better than bacon flavored potatoes. there's also plenty of hot sauce on there.

the remnants.

possibly a silly question

2009-04-24T05:50:00.004-04:00

for those of you that know me, you know that i love midgets or as the politically correct call them, little people. randomly the other day, i was thinking about midgets. i hope you can help me out with my question. since everything is bigger to midgets (ie cars, normal people, my yeti penis, the scientist's taint etc) relative to their size, can you then go a step further and say that to a midget, $10 would be a lot of money?

lemmiwinks

2009-04-21T05:58:00.003-04:00

took this picture on a hike i did this past weekend. there were three squirrels in that hole. i named that tree richard gere.

I had the best idea this weekend.

2009-04-20T15:11:00.003-04:00

On Sunday, The Sciencette decided it would be a good idea to register for wedding presents. I had no idea how this whole process occurred because, let's face it, if you have a Y-chromosome, 90% of what happens behind the scenes of a wedding is a complete mystery. That's not my only problem - I spend a lot of my free time wondering how bread was first invented - but we'll stick with it as an example.

Anyway, she wanted to register at Macy's and Bed Bath & Beyond. Both of those places sounded a little queer eye for this straight guy, but my alternatives of Home Depot, Omaha Steaks, and the beer distributor weren't getting any traction, so I talked her down to just one store for the day to ease me into this. Despite being 165 lbs of twisted steel and sex appeal, I'm delicate and need to be treated gently.

I've complained about BB&B before because they don't use proper punctuation (much like The Yeti), but all things considered, I'd go to BB&B before plenty of other chick stores and count myself lucky. At least the whole place doesn't smell like a whore house (we're looking at you Bath & Body Works), right? Wait, what's with all of the ampersands in chick store names? Ok, never mind, we're getting off track.

So we go into this place, and I'm pretty excited to stumble around the store with the laser scanner dealie and zap things like I'm an alien hunter. Also, I figure because I'm smooth (like chunky peanut butter) that I can talk The Sciencette into getting some badass stuff that she probably wouldn't want right away. Turns out I was wrong on both counts. For some reason, a BB&B person had to walk around with us the whole time and scan the crap for us. It was a busy-ass Sunday, and from what I could tell the store was low on people to help the customers, but this chick, we'll call her "Oops," decided to ignore everyone else and concentrate on us. Oh hell, oh well.

It took me a while to get into the registering process mainly because I was outnumbered by vagina-bearing humans now that Oops was involved. For instance, I couldn't understand why it took so long to pick out a shower curtain for the guest bathroom when neither The Sciencette nor I will ever really use it, but she and Oops just patted me on the head and smiled like I was getting dropped off at home by the short bus with my new macaroni artwork. Also, why do women need to buy dishes and shit that they don't use? I need to beat some sense into whoever invented the "accent plate" and then headbutt the person that thought it would be a good idea to charge $50 for a towel.

Despite all of my complaints, I think we did register for some nice stuff (new cookware, uh YEAH!), but I need the help of the millions and millions of Dr. Yeti's fans to convince The Sciencette to not only register for one more thing but then let me use in on a daily basis too.

Check this shit out, I found the ultimate plate:
I'm I the only one sexually aroused by this thing? It's like the double guitar that Otto dreams about on The Simpsons...except it's a triple plate. That's one better, so it kicks a double guitar's ass. This thing would solve all of my life's problems. No longer would I have to stand and move to get a second helping. The first helping goes on the bottom plate, and the second helping which is generally smaller would go on the middle plate. Throw some dessert on the top of the pyramid there, and I'm set for the entire meal.

I know; I'm a genius.

This thing is oven, dishwasher, and microwave safe. It's the only dish I would ever need. Now, I tried to tell this to everyone in the store, but The Sciencette is convinced that it's only a serving dish. Well, good...serve me my meal on it! BAM, problem solved. The guy behind the counter was trying to rain on my parade too though; he claimed I wouldn't be able to cut my steak on the bottom plate. I don't know if the guy was retarded or something, but it doesn't look like the bottom plate is fenced-in or electrified. Why can't I cut my meat on that mofo? That asshole probably ran to Corporate as soon as I left the store and pitched them the hot new triple plate dinnerware idea of the century. If I see this shit popping up on commercials and in BB&B fliers, I swear I'll go berserk.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, The Sciencette says we can register for one of these but she won't let me use it for dinner. Hook a brother up and change her mind, would you? She won't listen to me because she thinks I'm just another pretty face. Help make my dreams come true.

Random Wednesday (on a Monday)

2009-04-20T09:10:00.003-04:00

It's high time (because today is April 20th, get it?) for another installment of our horrifically unpopular Random Wednesday series of posts.

1. I'm convinced that the dude writing for WWTDD is the greatest human being on the planet. Not only does he also agree that Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a gargoyle's taint, but his assessment of hippies and music is the greatest thing I've ever read:

She’s exactly why there’s literally nothing on earth that sounds worse to me than a three day music festival. 100,000 dirty no good god damn hippies, sitting outside for 18 hours, laying on the ground someone just used for a bathroom, eating whatever they can scrounge up.

It's like this guy can read my mind.

2. While at the grocery store recently, I noticed a sign on the light that they use to signal that a particular checkout line is open. It said something to the effect of, "An energy saving light bulb was installed at this register to save energy." I didn't have the heart to tell them that research performed by the Department of Redundancy Department has found that not wasting ink also helps to save energy.

3. I played paintball on Saturday and learned an important fact - I'm old and decrepit. Getting shot in the collarbone with a paintball hurts. At least my taint remained pigment-free (unlike my last experience with paint).

4. I may have found the best value in beer. Wegman's carries one liter (33.8 fl. oz.) cans of Asahi beer for $2.99. I have a slightly skewed perspective on beer pricing because I'm still not used to this whole "buying 6- and 12-packs" thing, but that seems like a bargain to me. Plus, the can is so ridiculously large; it makes you feel like a diplomat or something.

5. It's pretty obvious that garlic bread is delicious, but do you think breaded garlic would be just as tastey? Like batter-dipped and deep fried roasted garlic or something like that...oh god, I'm so hungry...

I'm completely disappointed.

2009-04-17T16:17:00.004-04:00

In our inaugural Dr. Yeti poll, only 57% of the 19 voters (honestly, I didn't even expect that many) wanted to kill The Yeti/Jared. I thought for sure that it was going to be a total slaughter of anti-yeti sentiment. I guess that's what I get for thinking.

Well, the next poll is up to you. What should the vast legions of Dr. Yeti's fans vote on? Leave your input in the comments section (not on Facebook, kill!), and if we decide to use your idea, you'll win an award of some sort. Maybe we'll have to have another poll to figure out what that is. I don't know.

For those of you that didn't vote last time, de-velcro your head from your taint and start clicking. I usually sympathize with non-voters. I've never voted in an election, nor will I ever, because I don't want to be part of a broken system by picking the lesser of two evils. Plus, if you never vote, you'll never get called for jury duty (the judicial system is broken too). Regardless, those are the pitfalls of the shitocracy that we live in. The blog has nothing to do with that, so don't be some kind of asshole; rock the vote next time.

Back to this Facebook thing... Facebook pisses me off. They change formats every 3 weeks, and it gets shittier every time. All I use it for is to help me remember birthdays, and I was trying to promote the blog on there. But now they automatically post my blog posts directly on Facebook like a bunch of taint-fisters, and you yardapes read those posts instead of the blogspot ones. Kill! Down with Facebook.com and up with http://dryeti.blogspot.com, uh YEAH!

Kill you dentist!

2009-04-16T14:00:00.004-04:00

For everyone in the Pittsburgh area, did you ever see that commercial for Dr. Dave Petti where the guy says, "I hadn't been to the dentist for years" (please imagine that with a yinzer accent for full effect)? Well, I was in the same boat. Somewhere along the way of getting indoctrinated at Pitt, oral hygiene took a back seat. I'm not sure how long it's been since I've been abused by a dentist, but it's definitely been years.

Well, The Sciencette and I decided we'd remedy this situation so that she wasn't engaged to some dirty-mouthed asshole (I'm just foul-mouthed, see) and so that I looked nice for wedding pictures n'at. Plus, we have sweet insurance, so it doesn't cost anything, and I got to skip out on a little work.

Well, that's where the problems started. I ended up missing a shit-ton of work. We had 9 AM appointments, first of the day, and we got there a few minutes early. I knew it was going to be a while though. I thought I was being smart bringing a book with me to read because they call that place the Waiting Room for a reason, right? And wait we did. The Sciencette sat there for a full 45 minutes before she got called back. What about me you ask? I sat there, finished my book, got a sun burn, and gave the receptionist the stink eye while impatiently waiting for no less than 93 minutes. I about fucking dropkicked the entire staff. I was the first person in the building, and 5 people went ahead of me. That shit is racist.

Anyway, they finally called me into the back (and it took me a minute to figure out if I actually wanted to go back there or chew someone out for abandoning me and just leave), and I begrudgingly followed some chick to get a bunch of x-rays. I'm not sure this lady knew what she was doing either. I had to take one where I was standing and the machine rotated around my head. But the girl was 5 feet tall and didn't set it up right, so all of this damn radioactive machinery was smashing into my shoulders and whatnot. What a bunch of assholes.

After than fiasco, they sent in the Russian dental hygienist. I couldn't understand a word she said, but I do know she yelled at me for not having been to the dentist in years and proceeded to lecture me through the entire cleaning. Oh, she also proceeded to do the most aggressive shit to my mouth that you can ever imagine. I was spitting up geysers of blood. I looked like this guy but less happy: Seriously, I swollowed so much blood, I wasn't even hungry for lunch. That commie bitch was digging into me with all the powertools at her disposal, and then she moved on to the Torquemada hand tools. I swear, she was gouging out chunks of my gums on purpose. When I rinsed and spat, it was like vomiting two units of O negative (or whatever the hell is flowing through my pipes). I could have been a patient on House.

After brutalizing me for what felt like 3 days, Olga left and sent in the dentist. We'll call him Dr. Rosen-Rosen. This dude stumbles into the room, gives me a limp wristed handshake, punches me in the head (again, I shit you not), looks at my x-rays for 3 seconds (I guess it would be stupid to spend more time looking at x-rays that must have only shown my shoulder and the walls though), uses his dental pick to scrape two of my teeth for a combined time of 0.9 seconds, and then shows me to the door.

I was flabber-fucking-gasted. I waited 90 minutes in the lobby, was irradiated, survived the Communist dental massacre, and then this guy briefly assaults me and sends me on my way.

Kill you Dr. Rosen-Rosen!

The Sciencette didn't get any better treatment (unlike at H&R Block). She was bloody and bruised, pissed at the receptionist who didn't understand that The Sciencette wasn't my mom, and in a hurry to get back to work. All told, it took us the better part of 3 hours to get mouth-raped

Can anyone refer us to a better dentist?

Separated at birth?

2009-04-15T09:37:00.004-04:00

Is it just me, or does this picture of Tilda Swinton look and awful lot like this mugshot of Michael Jackson? Personally, I'm afraid of both of them.

The first rule of Beer Club is, you drink beer at Beer Club.

2009-04-14T16:18:00.003-04:00

At Pitt, we had BASHs, aka Free Beer Fridays. As a drunkle, this pleased me. In the Ivy League though, it's a whole new ball game. Here, we have Beer Club. There are many similarities between the two including beer, drinking beer, talking about beer, drinking beer, and amazing emails announcing the imminent drinking of beer.

It's the latter that has really prompted this post. Last week's email invite (see below) to the Power Ballad Beer Club was, in my humble-ass opinion, badass. The gauntlet has been thrown Pitt. How will you respond?

Don't kid yourself, jerk.

Don't kid yourself, and don't try and kid me. Yeah, I know about you. Acting tough, acting macho, pretending there's nothing in this sick old world that could ever crack your hardened heart of stone. You strut around town as if nothing and no one could ever move you to show a modicum of human emotion.

But I know better. Remember that Skid Row concert? Section 105, Row 13? You and me, Buster Brown. You and me. Maybe you'll recall their second encore, "I'll Remember You"? It brought the rapt crowd to the heights of sonic ecstasy. And you, my friend, you were truly a sight to behold. Admittedly, I was 37 ounces into a 40 of OE at the time, but I can't seem to shake the memory of you burying your tear-stained cheek into my denim jacket with the bad-ass iron-on Def Leppard decal on the back. As we swayed to the melodic musings of Dave "The Snake" Sabo on lead guitar, zippos in hand, I swore on the final verse of the finest rock ballad in recent memory that I would never, ever forget that moment, nor would I ever allow you to live it down. You talk a big game, my friend, and you may pull the wool over everyone's eyes 364 days of the year by mimicking the unwavering stoicism of Edward James Olmos, but I've seen you vulnerable, and I've seen you weak, and I've seen your machismo completely unravel at the whim of a glam band with kick-ass pyrotechnics and great hair.

So let's embrace it, shall we? Let's own it. As we make our way down the halls of LTL to Beer Club this afternoon, let's find our roots in the powerful sensitivity of the Damn Yankees, Mr. Mister, Alias, and, of course, Bad English. Because this week's Beer Club is an homage to all things ballad, with a special tip-o'-the-cap to power ballads of the 1980's.

Be there. Bring your lighters.

Incidentally, if you take the chorus to Styx's "Babe" and replace the title word with "Beer", you get the following. How apropos.

You know it's you, beer
Whenever I get weary and I've had enough
Feel like giving up
You know it's you, beer
Giving me the courage and the strength I need
Please believe
That it's true
Beer, I love you

See you at Beer Club.
--
Beer Club.
Bibo ergo sum

"I ended the semester like I started it...hungover and in the wrong room."

2009-04-13T11:28:00.004-04:00

Some of our more astute fans (there's only 3 of you, but we're not sure all of you are astute) may have noticed that the blog has undergone some renovations lately. If you haven't noticed, please immediately blame Jesus for distracting you, send some anthrax-covered letters to The Yeti, and give ye olde bloge a once-over.

The staff here at Dr. Yeti thought it was high time to spruce up the place and become a little more interactive. We noticed that aside from a few regulars, no one comments. Not a goddamn person. That pisses us the hell off because the only reason we write this horseshit it to read what other people have to say about it. We're horribly self-absorbed and need to know what everyone thinks about us and our shenanigans.

Anyway, you can now vote in our weekly polls, give us a reaction instead of a comment (you lazy bastards), and become a follower. I especially like that last one because we could start our own cult. I'm not sure if a cult counts as a religion, but I know religious shit is tax free, and taxes suck an ass-taint. If you have the writing chops, you could even become a contributor. We're going to be pretty particular about hat though because Hoss moved to Louisiana and has refused to write anything. What kind of asshole moves to LA?

The title of this post is something I said a long time ago and forgot about until I was bored and decided to Google myself. It doesn't really have anything to do with this post, but for some reason it seemed appropriate. Don't forget though, appropriate and I haven't necessarily been on speaking terms for much of my life.

My stomach hurts.

How many fish will I not catch?

2009-04-10T15:15:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is the opening day of trout season in NJ and thus renews the annual epic battle of The Scientist versus shit that swims. No, I'm not talking about total douche-nozzle Michael Phelps and his lines of S&M gear and ass-hats; we're dealing primarily with fish here people.

The millions and millions of Dr. Yeti's fans already know that I suck a taint at fishing and am constantly bested by The Sciencette and nature itself, but if you're a newbie, let me just say that I suck a taint at fishing and am constantly bested by the Sciencette and nature itself. I've bought a trout stamp for the past 5 years or so, and I've caught a grand total of zero trout. Well, to be honest, I caught the same trout twice but also lost it twice, so that's null in the end.

Anyway, maybe NJ trout are dumbasses compared to their PA cousins. I need all the help I can get. All I want to do is catch a fish and eat the hell out of it. I don't care how much mercury and PCB the thing is full of. I don't care if the water so saturated in estradiol, dieldrin, lindane, and methoxychlor that male fish are turning female and female fish are growing yeti taints. I just want to exert my dominance over the natural world and digest one of evolution's finest creatures.

I'm going to double my chances of eating endangered species and whatnot by also trying my hand at saltwater fishing this year. I bought a bigass rod for surfcasting, but let's face it, the thimblefull of freshwater fishing knowledge that I have is a shit-ton compared to what I know about fishing in the ocean. I'm counting on a hardy dose of beginners luck, and if that doesn't work, maybe I'll tie some flies using The Yeti's fur to entice some salty seadogs.

Dr. Snail, any suggestions short of setting up a trot-line?

concert review: neko case

2009-04-08T19:18:00.005-04:00

monday night i had the privilege of seeing neko case (check out the link, there's just something about a woman on the hood of a car with a sword...) at the national in richmond. i won a bet with a coworker who agreed to pay for half of my ticket to the show. i have her first solo album "fox confessor brings the flood" and had heard a few songs off of her newest album "middle cyclone", but probably would not have gone to see her had i not gotten the ticket for half price.

i was happy that i went to see her. this woman has an absolutely amazing voice with a very impressive range. not only that, but she is a ranga with one killer ass. i was very pleased with her ass. i wish i could say that i knew every song in her repertoire, but i do not. she did a good job on the songs that i did know. one cool thing about the show was a video screen set up at the back of the stage that played various animated things to go along with each song. one animation showed a girl being dropped by a bird into the mouth of an orca. it was kind of weird, but i enjoyed it.

this wasn't the best concert that i had ever seen, but then again, it wasn't the worst. if you are a fan of music, i suggest you give her a listen. she's different and as burger king tells me, different is good.

and for our loyal fans who like a little boob action, the picture below came up when i googled her name. enjoy.

and as an added bonus, one more ranga link: http://www.sorryranga.org/

It makes greasy sense.

2009-04-08T10:46:00.003-04:00

I think it's safe to predict that world birth rates are set to sky rocket thanks to this amazing product.

For all of the people out there that are too lazy to click the link, let me just say that the geniuses that invented bacon salt and bacon chapstick have now outdone themselves. Ladies and gentlemen, this is bacon lube:
If anyone signs themselves up as a beta-tester and actually gets some free bacon lube in the mail, please tell me - you'll be my new hero (I need a replacement for Chuck "I'm too retarded for my own good" Norris anyway).

hiking: dutch gap conservation area

2009-04-06T17:47:00.010-04:00

this past weekend, the weather in richmond was perfect. plenty of sunshine, a nice breeze and low humidity. the weather was just right for a hike, so beardo and i sauntered on down i-95 to the aptly named dutch gap conservation area. while out hiking last year, we ran in to some people that recommended this hike for the low traffic and amount of wildlife that you see.

the conservation area is bordered by a dominion power coal plant and the first 1/3 of the hike had us walking along the fly-ash ponds. it wasn't too scenic, but if you looked to the left, you were able to see the wetlands that comprise the conservation area.

below is some of the only wildlife that we saw...a butterfly. hopefully dr. snail can identify it for us. we also saw a rabbit and a juvenile hawk. there were plenty of people out fishing though, so i am jonesing to make another trip to see what i can catch.

let us not forget that i also encountered a dirty ass hippie (dirtius hippiecus) on the hike.

the following two pictures are of beached wooden barges. there were a ton of these strewn throughout the wetland. i think i read that the area had been used as a quarry at one time or another.

and below is the best view of all...

there was one exciting thing that happened on the hike. we ran into a retarded redneck. he had on a camo jacket and nascar hat as well and a prominent uni-brow (one of the best i've seen actually). we passed by Goober and his pa (with bushy white beard and overalls), saying hello to be polite. we couldn't walk fast enough though. we heard the pitter patter of retard footsteps behind us and then he spoke. i saw a buck and a baby deer a little while ago. first off, i can't remember the time i ever saw a buck with a fawn. that's hole number one in his story. number two, he said that the buck had a huge rack. i didn't buy this, so i checked the internets. low and behold, antlers begin growing in march and april and are not fully formed until august or later. this kid was just flat out lying to us...how disrespectful. well, we finally got away from him. lord knows he probably would have talked on and on for hours about redneck shit.

proof. finally.

2009-04-04T17:31:00.002-04:00

yes, proof of the rare elusive pink dolphin. we here at dr. yeti have claimed for years to have seen it. we have even at times coaxed it out of it's shell. now finally, we have definitive video proof of the rare pink dolphin. see for yourself.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/30043089#30043089

Beware the Cookie Monster

2009-04-03T09:36:00.004-04:00

There's a food thief on the loose at Princeton University, and her name is Cookie Monster. Normally, such a character would amuse me (such as the Phantom Shitter that drops a deuce in the library at the University of Oregon once every 7-8 years), but not this time. I've become the most recent in a long line of her victims, KILL!

I usually eat lunch in The Sciencette's break room because that's where the married post docs hang out. Sure, we're not married yet, but I'm pretty sure The Sciencette will say yes when the time comes. Anyway, we'd been munching on a delicious bag of snacky mix all week and keeping it in the cabinet of lunch stuff between meals. It's just store-brand Chex Mix, but it was damn good. So when I went to grab it the other day, and it was gone, I was thunder-pissed.

What kind of asshole steals a mostly eaten bag of Wegman's snack mix? If you think about it, I had essentially fisted the bag all week and who knows what kind of horrible chemicals or biological waste I'm covered with? Why would an normal person take the risk?

Then it hit me - Cookie Monster did it.

Cookie Monster is a well known perpetrator of food thievery. She steals cookies (hence the name) and any other food left unattended. I don't know if it's a kleptomaniacle thing, the thrill of the steal, or if she just hung out with Bobby Walters once and decided assholery was fun. Regardless, this has to stop. I'm going to set up a damn sting operation. I figure if I plant another bag of snack mix in the room and then hook up some webcams, a tin can on a string alarm, and maybe some sort of explosion, I should be able to catch her in the act.

Or I could just poison the food.

You've been warned.

a few random thoughts

2009-04-03T04:03:00.004-04:00

WNRN in charlottesville: the yeti enjoys being able to travel to the charlottesville area for work. he especially likes it because he gets to listen to wnrn and independent radio station out of charlottesville. in the morning, they play a lot of good music that makes the yeti happy. for instance, yesterday as i was traveling to staunton (a bit northwest of charlottesville) i was listening to wnrn. on came "folsom prison blues". i was excited. i was excited until they bleeped out the best line of the damn song: "i shot a man in reno **** ** ***** *** ***." the fucking fcc and their facist policies. what's so wrong with hearing johnny cash sing that he shot a man just to watch him die??? what i ask? to add insult to injury, they accidentally cut the song short! i was very disappointed.

vanity plates: i was driving home yesterday when i passed a car with vanity license plates that read: KRAZEE. now that's nothing unusual, i know, but when i saw that it was a white man driving it got me to thinking. those vanity plates were very misleading. you see, a white person cannot be KRAZEE. a white person can only be crazy. being crazy with a k and two e's is not in white people's nature. it's impossible. white people can only be the plain ol' garden variety crazy with a c and y.

play by play and color commentators: i watched the penn state/baylor nit championship last night (penn state won) with beardo. for a stretch of the game, the announcers kept complaining about the officiating. it was kind of annoying (probably because the calls were going in penn state's favor and i viewed it all as little girl whining). but the whole thing raised a question with me: why do you never see former referee's or umpires in the announcers booth? would it not prove valuable to have them in there to give perspective? just something to ponder. damn juniata making me think i have to be inclusive.

Analyze This

2009-04-02T12:17:00.002-04:00

Last weekend, I had a dream that I was showering, and when I turned around, there was Shan-Diesel with a stern look on his face shaking his head no. Apparently, I wasn't cleaning myself up to his standards, so he made me do it again.

Does anyone have a dream book, because I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.

I'm not going to lie; I was pretty disturbed by the whole thing. Just imagine turning around in the shower and seeing a fully clothed PA Dutchman glaring at you disapprovingly through the steamy air. It could be like one of those stop smoking commercials but instead of a ninja or old screaming lady dissuading you from lighting up, it's one of the Brothers Brown giving you the stink-eye.

Drunkle or Druncle?

2009-03-31T08:36:00.002-04:00

My sister, The Banker, recently completed the gestation of her child. As such, I've entered the uncle pantheon with the likes of The Yeti and Dr. Snail. We're a special breed of uncle though (or maybe not so special when you think about uncles in general), because we're also dirty drunks.

That makes us drunk uncles, and that's a mouthful. I would prefer to be called a drunkle, but how do you spell it?

Drunkle? Druncle? Drunqle?

I'd say definitely not that last one because it's almost French. Kill you France! If it wasn't for America, France would be speaking German...twice...and yet they still despise us. What a bunch of assholes.

brocation, go!

2009-03-29T18:05:00.000-04:00

this sounds a little silly...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29916203 /

yeti movie review: succubus: hell bent

2009-03-28T20:06:00.004-04:00

as it was kind of a crappy day outside and i was anxiously awaiting the ncaa basketball games to come on, i happened upon a movie called succubus: hell bent. i was drawn to the title, because knowing a little bit about succubus' i figured there might be some titties. not only that, but gary busey had top billing on the movie.

well as you can imagine, the movie pretty much sucked taint. i pretty much realized this from the poor acting i witnessed upon tuning in. i only saw like two nipples and it really wasn't a good angle. it was disappointing. i held out hope though, that the busey would save the day. unfortunately, he was in the movie for only like 5 minutes three-quarters of the way through the movie. he played a demon hunter that the main guy called for help in defeating the succubus. five minutes!!! why did he get top billing??? i'm gonna have to guess that the producers were afraid not to give him top billing. the man is afterall very unstable. BUT, in those five minutes busey did provide some humor. busey doled out some shoddy info on how to defeat the succubus to which the main character says, "you've got to be shitting me." in typical busey fashion he replies, "do i look like i'm takin' a shit?" i guess watching the whole movie was worth that.

save your time on this one readers. instead if you want some good busey action, i suggest renting black sheep.

This is for The Teacher.

2009-03-25T13:53:00.001-04:00

100 Ways to Kill a Peep.

Peeps are the devil, and with this handy guide, you can fight the forces of evil.

i don't know what to think

2009-03-24T05:55:00.003-04:00

the other day at work, a minority coworker told me that if i keep losing weight i won't have any ass, to which she added, not that i have one now. i ask you, is this a good thing? and seriously, i always thought i had a big but...it's the yeti way. do i really have no ass?

in other news, the kids at the elementary school where i volunteer called me whitey again. i had to correct them. they were kind of scared and apologized profusely.

one last question, the scientist and i had a mini-discussion about the proper spelling of the fused words drunk uncle. should the fusion be spelled drunkle or druncle? you decide.