Michael Bolton: You think the pet rock was a really great idea?

Me: Sure it was. The guy made a million dollars. You know, I had an idea like that once. A long time ago.

Peter Gibbons: Really, what was it, J.?

Me: Well, all right. It was [this]?

Michael Bolton: That is the the worst idea I have ever heard.

Samir Nagaworkhere: Yes. This is horrible, this idea.

Alright, who can tell me what this is a depiction of? Think carefully before you answer. It may help to have 5-10 beers before answering.

After a long week of work, I went over to some friends' house for the usual friday night prefunk at about 5:45. We were supposed to go out for a get together organized by and thrown for the same person at Bittercreek at 8:30. We'll call this house "TTA." When I walked in to TTA, the situation was as it usually is on a friday evening: Tucker was playing Halo and Aldous was sprawled out on the love seat covered with a blanket, half asleep. I sat down on the couch and watched Tucker play for a little bit. I got a call from the guy planning the party for himself and was notified that it was being moved to Old Chicago. I said, "wow, that is shock." Soon after this conversation, Tighe came down and watched us play Halo. We all took turns "killing bitches" on the 60 inch screen. 6:00 came and went. Then 7:00. As far as I could tell, we weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

At about 7:15 the typical "Hey, [insert any name but your own]...what are you cooking for dinner?" started. Tighe, annoyed by the relentless chatter and apathy, and in his typical obliging and very awesome fashion, spearheaded Operation Get Dinner. He called Yen Ching and ordered "three orders of the Generals Chicken." He even went and picked it up. And soda too. Props to Tighe. Instead of having Chinese with the rest of us, Aldous went with the Easy Mac option to which he is entitled, but cracked a bowl in the microwaving of said Easy Mac. When this happened, I thought to say that this would not have happened if he had gone with the General's Chicken option like we did, but quickly thought better of it. He could have also had one of the millions of awesome burritos frozen in the fridge as well.

[Sidebar: All this talk about food has got me thinking about what Tighe and I have come to call the "C-Diet." The C-Diet is the strict dietary regimen we adhere to. The criteria is simple; the food must start with the letter "C" and taste good. The C-Diet consists of, but is not limited, to the following recent entries: Coke, carbs, cheese, cordogs and chicken.]

So, anyway, 8:30 came and went; no movement from us 4 moldly dudes whatsoever, save the occasional shuffling back and forth between the kitchen and tv area to refill plates of spicy chicken and/or soda, the mashing of buttons and the intermittent "fuck that!"s and "that's bullshit!"s that contentious online Halo matches tend to elicit.

At about 9:00, Tucker got a call and went upstairs. [Bug zapper...Bzzzt]. I told Tighe that I wasn't feeling too good, to which he replied "Well, we have air freshener, new soap and like 6 rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom." Somewhat confused and a little disappointed in myself that I didn't get the fact across that I felt earnestly ill rather than what Tighe thought I was implying, I said "I don't think that's it...I don't think that'll help." He said, "Well I am planning on hitting it up in like 5 minutes." We both lay motionless, with the tingling of General's Chicken on our lips and the rice expanding in our stomachs.

Another call came in to my phone; "We're going to the Reef now. You fags coming or what?" My only deflection was "when does the cover charge start?," knowing it was 9. The situation was not looking good for us ever getting off these couches. Tighe even toyed with the idea of putting on his moldy, brownish wool socks. This would have definitively indicated that he was not leaving the house for at least 10-15 hours. He came close to putting them on, but somehow resisted the urge. I slunked over onto my side and sprawled out on the couch, pulling a comforter over myself while we watched Family Guy DVDs. It was now completely dark outside.

At about 10 Tighe decided to go get showered. I was at this point completely convinced that I was not going anywhere but home. The only question was when. Tighe left for the bar at about 10:30, Tucker announced that he was going to bed, unless he got "a call" and I gathered my belongings and shuffled out the door, telling Aldous, who was back in the exact same position he was when I arrived, "talk to you tomorrow."

When I got to my car, I was surprised to find a handwritten yellow Postit note on my car that said "Want to park here? No beer cans on the yard or in the mailbox." I was confused, amused and offended all at once. I went back into TTA and wrote a reply to this note, affixed them together and put them in the mailbox of the house that I assumed belonged to the concerned party. My note read: "To whom it concerns, it was neither me nor anyone I commingle with who sprinkled your lawn and decorated your mailbox with beer cans. We would not do that to your neighborhood. It would take an amount of effort we are unwilling to spend. Yours, j." Truer words have never been penned.

Here are some randomly generated explanations of what I am:
- VP of Haterade is a coffee cup that repels bees, can be used to deter muggers and mimics the movements of a lizard.
- VP of Haterade is a lunchbox that responds to ambient light changes!
- VP of Haterade is like a normal fax machine, but it runs on compressed air.
- VP of Haterade is a wafer-thin plastic sheet that sticks to the ceiling like a gecko!
- VP of Haterade is a human clone that can be implanted into the arm! It increases your sex appeal.
- VP of Haterade is a suppository that swears.
- VP of Haterade is like a normal gas-mask, but it contains alcohol.

Here are some randomly generated slogans for me:
- The Curiously Strong VP of Haterade.
- Come To Life. Come To VP of Haterade.
- Grab Life By The VP of Haterade.
- Splash VP of Haterade All Over.
- Vorsprung Durch VP of Haterade.
- Absolut VP of Haterade.
- A Finger of VP of Haterade is Just Enough to Give Your Kids a Treat.

This might possibly be the coolest cat I have ever seen. And I normally hate cats. Take a look at a Flickr set of this cat getting a bath. He/She (I never like looking too close) seems to be a pretty good sport about all of this water, probing, rinsing and manhandling. There were some pretty hilarious results caputured along the way. Catch a couple of highlights here and here.

I have to admit, it takes balls to do something like this.

Chevy has created a site where you can make your own commercial for the new Chevy Tahoe. Take a look at my version. Anyway, I give Chevy props for doing this, even though they are getting slammed by pretty much everyone who realizes that they can make their own anti-Tahoe Tahoe commercial. I hope that you all give it a shot. It's pretty fun.

And for the record, I drive an SUV myself. It actually gets worse mileage than the Tahoe does. Hypocricy abounds. I envision an indian shedding a single tear everytime I have to gun it to get on the freeway.

For those of you not quite as rad (read: nerdy) as I am, here are 3 words of the day (courtesy of Google).

brummagem: cheap and showy; also, spurious.

martinet: a strict disciplinarian.

defenestrate: to throw out of a window.

I have never heard of any of these before. I particularly like "defenestrate." Who knew there was a transitive verb for what I did to my future when I decided to start my own company? I guess I am just a little too brummagem for my own good. What I need in my life is a martinet to keep me in line.