Once you go Waka, you won't go Baka...

This was an email I got…and I'm so glad I did. I have not changed one word…

I have tried Him, He is The Greatest Spell Caster.

Who else would have done this if not for this great spell caster, Lord Wakaman. My whole life was in pain and agony, But since the very day i came across this Great Spell Caster, Mighty Lord Wakaman, My whole life is now like that of a baby. 

He is done a lot for me just within a short time. I have being married for 21 SOLID years without any child to show for it, and that made my loving husband to leave me for another woman. It was not easy for me at all, Do you know what it means to be married for 21 years and not having anything to show for it? 

Secondly, My younger sister so Is close to her menopause now has never being married, no man wants to even look at her way, She became tired of searching, But just a contact with this Mighty Lord Wakaman, Who did great and mighty works for me and my family, I never believed in all this spell caster works, But to my greatest surprise, This time, I was swept of my feet to know that it works. A brother who is like a family to me was sick, He has just one testicle, (ball) But when he visited this same spell caster, His story also changed for good. Now he has impregnate a girl now, and by November, he will be expecting his first baby. 

I really have much to say, But i can't say it all here, I made a vow that i will spread his name all around the globe for people to also get their own miracle and testimony just like i am sharing with you reading this today. 

HE IS REAL, I have confirmed it, What ever he says you should do, DO. and never doubt what he will do. He is a man of few words. What is that situation you are facing in your HEALTH, FINANCE, LOVE LIFE, HOME, EMOTIONS, PASSION, ANYTHING YOU CAN NAME, just contact this Great Spell Caster, Lord Wakaman, and it will all be History. 

You can contact him via email; greatestlordwakaman@gmail.com My name is Linda from East Coast. 

Lord Wakaman is the greatest. I confirm that.

Is that how you see it?

Saw this on a billboard the other day. 

It's an ad for a alcoholic rehabilitation clinic. I guess the image is supposed to convey the feeling that…

 "Thank you God, now that Ive stopped boozing it up 7 days a week and engaging in unnatural sexual trysts with strangers in the back alleys of bars, I am finally free".

But what I thought was this…

Sometimes you are tutu much...

So we went to Ava's Ballet Recital the other night.

I'll be honest when to comes to these things I don't ask a lot of questions…Renee tells me roughly what is going on ("what is going on is you are going to Ava's Ballet recital") and a time to arrive ("6pm sharp or I'll punch you in the neck").

So I showed up. I was handed a program of the evenings events. It was a strange mixture of what we would call classical entertainment, represented by lovely young girls with hair in tight buns, wearing tutus performing ballet and more non-traditional entertainment represented by boys doing karate... punching each other in the giblets to the tune "Santa Claus is coming to Town".

So the director of the school comes out and takes the stage…

Director: "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming, tonight is very special and the kids have worked so hard for the past 3 months to bring you a great show. As each act finishes, your child will be seated up here in the front. Please do not come get them as it will disrupt the remaining acts. Thank you and enjoy our Holiday Show.

I of course translated this in my head and it went something like this…

Director: Attention people too stupid to get out of coming here, tonight is the culmination of 3 months of scattered direction, unfocused children thinking about Christmas presents and the fine discipline our teachers have shown in not letting the children see them drink during practice. As each act finishes, please do not rush down to the front to grab your child like it's the last chopper out of Saigon, please remain seated and endure this artistic travesty with the rest of us. Thank you and enjoy our non-denominational show because we can no longer say Christmas without pissing off everyone out there.

Anyhow, the show starts, the ballet begins. It's typically crappy, the kids forget where to go, they can't remember the moves they practiced, they look at each other (no help there), they look at the teachers and eventually end up in a small blurry, twitchy knot back by the curtain.

But what's this?…one single whiff of roses among this steaming turd..THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DANCER IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE APPEARS!

And salvages what little dignity the rest of the kids have squandered...

So as many of you have guessed, that dancer was me.

No, seriously it was Ava and she was so frickin awesome for the whole 34 seconds she was on stage.

Anyway, they finished and with a little coaxing were led off stage and to their seats.

After all that drama and passion on stage, I wiped the sweat from my brow, hopeful that I would have a moment to catch my breath…

…but it was not to be for now we were about to be treated to that ancient and oh so revered form of artistic merit known as…

…jump rope.

Yes, you read that right…jump rope. As I type this I'm unsure if I can properly convey to you what I witnessed…but I will try.

Picture this: the stage has a backdrop of long paper streamers towards the rear and above the stage floor are a series of stars and spheres covered in glitter and swaying gently.

On the stage are no less than 8 kids standing 12 inches apart flailing their arms, whipping their jump ropes randomly in all directions, getting caught in the backdrop, hitting each others faces, catching the hanging ornaments, saying oops every 2 seconds etc.

With all that spastic action, if I could have put them in a swimming pool, thrown in some detergent and my clothes, they would have been able to clean my laundry.

Anyhoo...

On to Act 3: Hip Hop. Now I don't consider myself racist, I don't think anyone else would either but with very, very minor exceptions, Hip Hop was built by black artists in the black communities and there is something so wrong with a bunch of white 7 year olds trying to rap and doing hip thrusts on stage.

And that's all I can say about that.

So get ready cause here comes the end…Act 4: the Karate Act. It was subtitled "All I Want for Christmas is a Black Belt".

It was, I thought, a thing of beauty. The stage is about 25 feet wide, it had 30 kids on it plus a sensei plus 2 assistants. They yelled and grunted for about 10 minutes. I couldn't make out what the teacher was yelling but every time she shouted several random kids would throw kicks or punches or swing their arms into the space in front of them which of course caused a chain reaction where kids several rows back would actually fall over.

It looked like 20 cats in a white bag fighting over a mouse.

And if that isn't the very definition of entertainment, I don't know what is.

Must have been something I ate...

Sunday afternoon.
Ava is writing her letter to Santa.

Ava: "Can you help me with spelling"?

Me: "Of course. What are you asking Santa for".

Ava: "I want a Queasy-Bake Oven".

Me: "That doesnt sound right".

Ava: "Yes, you make your own cakes in it…how do you spell Queasy-Bake Oven"?

Me: "I'll spell it for you but I aint eating anything that comes out of a Queasy-Bake Oven".

Ava: Looks at me puzzled.

Me: "Sounds like a recipe for disaster".

rimshot.

Welcome to Miami...

So we moved to Miami…long strange trip…crammed into a very short period of time. Here's a little context. In 9 weeks...

I moved down here to start a new job.
Renee packed up the entire house in NJ
Renee came down and interviewed, she got a new job.
Got Ava registered into a new school
Bought a new house
Sold the old house
Moved in.

It was 20 gallons of fun in a 10 gallon bucket.

So what have I learned so far in my short time here? Hold on to your panties...

Driving:

Ok I had heard tons of stories about driving down here back when I lived in NJ. I laughed out loud while I read the accounts that Dave Barry put to paper in his humor columns after he moved to Miami…but it turns out a lot of what he wrote isn't humor.

So its pretty simple. Down here traffic moves at 2 speeds, One is just under 8 miles an hour, the other is at a speed sufficient to outrun a full-bore tsunami.

The traffic rules seem pretty flexible depending on time of day, ambient temperature, day of week, random holiday etc. and of course the elderly (who all seem to be driving tremendous cadillacs imported from 1982) don't have to follow any of the rules… 

...ever.

They pretty much do whatever they want and you would not be surprised to see a, Powder Blue El Dorado making its way thru the lobby of the Fountaineblue Hotel on a typical Tuesday afternoon.

Also here it doesn't seem to be a crime to change lanes without looking, the rule seems to be if you really need to get out of the way…then you will.

I may be wrong but the other morning I was headed down 37th Avenue (more on that Rubiks Cube in a second) and it appeared that everyone on both sides of the road, in all lanes were all going south at the same time.

Now logically that can't be right, I mean unless Godzilla is making his way to downtown Miami, I can't image the flow of traffic would just be reversed, even if only to accommodate his rampage.

Generally the rule seems to be to go as fast as possible at all times.

Traffic Signs and Lights.

Haven't been able to make sense of this either, I drive around a fair amount now and from what I can tell, I think there is a group of people employed by the city who run around every night and change the signs randomly, so one day you might not be able to make a right turn without checking for pedestrians and the next day, Bam!... it's OK to mow down a half dozen nuns cause they're walking too slow.

The Grid (Ha!)

They say there is a grid down here, it's separated into NW, SW, Sideways and Left. I may be making that up, not sure. Anyway, the system is such that you can follow a series of streets that go SW23rd Street then SW23rd Terrace then SW23rd Court etc so that whereas in a place like NY you know for certain that there are 20 blocks between 12th and 32nd Street, down here it could be 353 blocks between SW 23rd Street and SW 28th Street only probably more.

Also in an attempt to make sure no one ever takes the same route twice, there are multiple names for all the streets. So Miracle Mile is also Coral Way and on the same sign it tells you what corner you are at... Ponce De Leon and there also appears to be a random number like 190 on there too.

Then on many corners there are no street signs, instead you have concrete markers about 12 inches high that sit on the grass. Now since most people here drive over 138 miles an hour, they can't read them. By the time the light hits your cornea with the image, you're already 6 blocks away.

So what have I learned from all this, is that everyone (other than Gonzalo, the VP of my firm who has some innate sense of this so-called-grid), no one in Miami tells anyone, at anytime how to get anywhere by telling them street names. It always sounds like this:

So, you know the Burger King near the Crook n' Crook, you take a left there, go thru the roundabout and make another left at the Dairy Queen, go a bunch of streets until you see the BBQ place with the fat pig on top of the roof, pull into their parking lot, there's a hole in the fence behind it, mind the bum who sleeps near the trashcans and then take a right when you see the stone wall with graffiti that says "Raoul has Tasty Nuts". That's where the laundromat is.

Public Affection and Downright Nakedosity.

So its no secrets that Miami is the Latin Capital of the US *. And with that comes a level of affection I have not seen outside of the film Caligula. Everyone is always hugging and kissing down here. Business associates who only parted long enough to have lunch at separate restaurants hug and kiss when reunited an hour later.

I imagine if you were out for a day to get your car registration renewed, you would have to jump into the utility closet with your boss and engage in wanton carnality just to make up for the lost day.

* International Turnip Farmer, October 2011

Music

Music is always played at a level loud enough to be heard in another solar system. The bass must be played in such a way that when you drive within 100 yards of it, the tires of your vehicle must detonate like a child's balloon under a hippo's ass. 

The volume level must be so high that it renders birds flying overhead sterile.

And no matter what you are doing, when said music starts, you must jump out the front door and start dancing in the street with the nearest stranger regardless of race, creed, color or gender, no matter what you were doing beforehand even if that something was giving an infant a bath or disarming a bomb or talking a jumper off of a roof.

A personal example, the neighbors to one side of my home have a family/friends get together on some Saturdays. The music is very loud until around 11pm. I think at that point, the booze has run out and generally everyone is tired from smoking and dancing at a pace that makes a hummingbirds wings beating look like a tortoise with a bad leg crossing the highway.

Anyway I was in the bathroom, (taking a whizz if you must know) and the music came on with such intensity and volume that I, startled, peed all over the wall before I regained control of the situation (if you catch my drift).

So I don't use the bathroom anymore on Saturday night before 11pm.

Weather

The weather is great down here except during: 1. Summer when the heat is so intense that the simple act of inhaling causes you to sweat and froth like a thoroughbred after The Kentucky Derby.

And during 2. Hurricane season when everyone tries not to think about the fact that The Monster Death Wind could come thru anytime and render everything you own into a pile so small, you could fit it into a coffee cup…

…and still have room for coffee.

DressCode and "Enhancements"

You may have heard or seen on TV that in Miami there are women everywhere just walking the streets in bikinis..that simply isn't true..some of them are riding bikes.

Some women here wear very tiny clothes even though they have breasts that defy every law of physics I understand. There is a strange dichotomy here in which you have women who are very comfortable with their bodies…some so much that when they lean in to kiss your cheek, you find yourself getting vertigo from glancing down their cleavage...

…and then you have women who as they have gotten older have felt the misguided need to make changes to their appearance using medical means, by that I mean someone who has had their lips injected with dangerous chemicals so that when you talk to them, you feel like you're speaking into the clown's mouth at a fast food drive thru.

Like this…only somehow even bigger.

Men wear sandals entirely too often unless they are attending a funeral or wedding in which case they wear white tube socks with the sandals.

Men also wear large metal religious necklaces on the idea that if you hauled around a hunk of jewelry in the shape of Jesus for that long, they are obligated to let you into heaven.

Food

Hell yes, there is great stuff down here. lots of new stuff to try. For instance I'm pretty sure that when I die, I will be face down in a plate of Vacca Fritta from Havana Harry's.

Ropa Vieja, Pastellitos, Churrasco, Tostones and oh sweet jesus the coffee.
Cortadito or even a Colada once a day is a great way to make sure you are getting the Nutrition Councils annual amount of sugar in a single serving.

Conclusion:

Anyhoo, thats the preliminary impression of my new home here in a city that is bound on one side by alligators, on the other side by people who have paddled all the way from Cuba on top of a claw-foot bathtub and on another side by 92 year old men driving automobiles so large that they are often on both sides of an intersection at the same time.

Stay tuned for more entirely accurate strange adventures as they happen.

The Crow Flies Only at Midnight...

Saturday, at breakfast
We are discussing an upcoming art project Ava has due on Monday…

Ava suddenly says: "Do you Recognize the Path of the Lion"?

Renee and I look at each other.

Renee: "Where did you hear that"?

Me: I believe that's the code phrase they use to activate the Child Assassins so they can come for us while we sleep.

Renee: "Great... now I'm totally freaked out".

Ava: under her breath…"Im an assassin".

I get up.

Renee: "Where are you going"?

Me: Upstairs to make sure the lock on my door works.

What about the Fantastic Four?

Wait... shouldn't there be three figures on the bottle?

Consensus...

Sometimes, it's really easy for everyone to agree on something and I think we all know what that is…

It's that in the history of music starting with the first person who clonked two rocks together, the absolute worst song ever made is:

One (Blake's Got a New Face), by Vampire Weekend.

It is without a doubt, without any exaggeration, the most irritating thing ever.

Part of me doesn't believe its a real song, it's almost as if a group of guys got together and said, lets just screw around with the public and see who is actually demented enough to buy this single.

The song does have its uses though…

If your child hates math, play it for them once and then threaten to make it their ringtone... by the end of the next week, that child will be able to teach advanced Calculus at MIT.

If your spouse won't touchup the garage door where the paint is chipping off, have him listen to this musical gem and by the time the weekend is over, he will have painted not only the garage door but the next 52 garage doors in your neighborhood.

I think if you ever want to mobilize an army all you have to do is play the song once, afterwards tell the soldiers if they won't fight, they have to listen to the song once a day for the next year and you will have on your hands, the most savage, blood-thirsty, angry hardcore, death dealers to ever storm a castle.

Anyway, that's what I think.

Have you seen the paper?

One thing that hasn't changed by moving to Miami is my constant struggle for delivery of the New York Times paper. I'm not asking for a lot, I just want the Sunday paper, just once a week so I can sit down and attempt to get a heads up on the next fiasco.

Anyway, every Sunday I get up and go to the driveway and I keep my fingers crossed that it's there.

This morning, laying in bed, I thought it was a lot like the thought experiment known as Schrödinger's Cat.

So... in simple terms:  A cat, a flask of poison, and a  radioactive source are placed in a sealed box. If an internal monitor detects radioactivity (i.e. a single atom decaying), the flask is shattered, releasing the poison that kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead, not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.

Anyway…

So I'm laying in bed and Im thinking that right now, right here as I lay in bed, the newspaper is definitely there laying on the ground waiting for me to scoop it up, get a comfy spot on the couch and read it…

…except the moment I actually get out there, I will collapse the superposition (the possibility that it is both there and not there) into the reality of it not being there.

And that means I won't get my paper again…and that makes me cry.

But it probably also makes Erwin Schrödinger smile.

Cartoon is the sole property of the very funny Mike Jacobsen of SeeMikeDraw.com

I feel so cheap...

After Dinner

Ava has received a Halloween Card from her grandmother.
She opens it and reads the cute saying on the inside.

Ten bucks falls out. 

Ava: "Yeah, man..ten bucks"!

Me: "That was nice of your grandma, wasn't it"?

Ava: "Yep…here go buy yourself something pretty".

Me: "Ummm"?

He has a ball…I have balls...

I've emailed a friend about my moving to Miami. She writes me:

Rachel: "Do you and LeBron James have some sort of secret deal where he leaves Miami and you head to Miami? Are you secretly LeBron James?? I mean, I have never seen you in the same room at the same time so…"

Me: Well isn’t it obvious…I mean look at the facts, woman!

Lebron is 6 foot 8, I am 6 foot 1.

Lebron is 250 lbs with a lot of muscle, I am 250 lbs with a lot of belly.

Lebron is Black, I am Black.

Lebron has 6 women hanging on him all the time, I have a 6-year old hanging on me all the time.

Lebron has mad skills on the court, I get mad if have to go to court.

It’s all right there, just read between the lines.

D.

Bruised Fruit...

Sunday night…Im not sure why these weird things always seem to happen on Sunday nights but here we go…

Scene One:

Fade In: The Living Room...Ava is clearly bored.

She is tying a long shoelace to my little toe.
Renee is watching intently to see where this goes.

Me: Ava, what are you doing"?

Ava: 'Working".

Me: "Listen, I know what happens next, you tie the knot too tight, my toe turns purple and I start to scream. Your mom says something clever, like "don't be so dramatic, you have 9 more". Then we end up at the emergency room."

I look up because Renee is laughing so hard that she is coughing but its not at what I said. She has been looking at the other end of the same shoelace and it's tied to Ava's little toe.

Still don't know what her plan was.

No Backsies!

She is such the delicate flower…

Sunday night. I am reading on the couch.
Ava runs over, turns her butt to me and farts.

Me: "Hey"!

Ava: "Once you get it…you can't un-get it".

Me: "That's sort of how I feel about you sometimes".

That's what who said?

Me: "It’s like 10 feet long"!
Anisah: "That’s what she said".


Me: "Just fit it all into a small box"!
Anisah: "That’s what she said".

Anisah: "Don’t mind me, im just gonna watch".
Me: "That’s what she said".

Ayten: "Oh! Its so big"!
Ayten: "That's what she said".

What! Five bucks a glass?

We have been unpacking for 2 weeks now…could be a month, sort of lost track. 

Lots of boxes, lots of crumpled paper, lots of stuff we didn't need to pack, like an entire box full of assorted teas… I tried to tell Renee that there was tea in Miami but she doesn't really trust me...

...been married too long for trust.

Anyway, I also found this note that Ava wrote when she was 3 or 4…

How you make Lemonade

First you start with lemons.

Then you put in water 

and then you (it is a secret) put in...

...9 SCOOPS OF SUGAR!

Daddy, can I ask a question?

We are in the car on the way to school and Ava is reading from her American Girl question cards. If you aren’t aware, the American Girl dolls come from different eras in history so there is a pioneer girl, a girl from the 1800’s, one from the 1900’s…probably a cavegirl…but Im not sure about that last one.

Anyway...

Ava: “Daddy, If you could design the next American Girl Doll, what would her name be and what era would she be from?

Me: Hmmmmm.

Ava: "So”?

Me: "Ok…In a world where gasoline has run out and water is the only real commodity, Razor DeathStalker roams the land, a blighted landscape ravaged by the Great Water Wars of 2032. Sporting an eye patch, covered in tattoos of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, carrying enough weapons to invade a small country and assisted by her mutant Henchman Lars, Razor makes her way from town to town righting wrongs, smacking around bad dudes and generally just shooting the place up…How’s that?

Ava: “Uh, can you drop me off here”?

Me: "We're not at school yet…in the middle of the street”?

Ava: “Yes, please”.

Me: “Philistine”.

Are we out of Frosted Flakes again?

For Ava's birthday we had taken her to American Girl, which for those of you who don't know is this insane parental nightmare of a place where you can spend more on a custom doll for your beloved child than some nations spend on defense for an entire year.

So we were at lunch…yes, they serve lunch for the birthday girls, how else are they going to get the last of your money? Don't be stupid.

On the table were a series of question cards…these were tailored for little girls of course but you've probably played the adult version: Taboo. Generally those cards are designed to challenge the other players (your soon-to-be former friends) by asking the sort of moral questions that show you what sort of douchebaggery they engage in when under the influence of tequila and meth.

But I digress...

Anyway, we are driving to school and Ava is reading from the cards (the children's version) I think…

Ava: "If you created a breakfast cereal, what would be the slogan"?

Me: Hmmm, I guess it would be a children's cereal".

Ava: "Yes"?

Me: "So it would be: "Eat my damn cereal or Ill beat your narrow little ass".

Ava: "I don't think I would eat that cereal".

Me: "You don't know what you're missing".

It's your word against mine...

Tuesday

Ava is on summer break, we are in the car heading home from lunch.

The radio is playing…Queen comes on. 

Oh you gonna take me home tonight.

Oh down beside that red fire light.

Oh you gonna let it hang out.

Fat bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round.

I look in the mirror to see Ava's face: suddenly, there is dawning comprehension…

Ava: "Oooohh. Im telling Mom"!

Me: "What? It's a great song".

Ava: "Im tellin Mom you made me listen to Big Fat Butts"!

Was that in the post-credits scene?

Sunday afternoon

I am doing dishes…

Ava comes in…

Ava: "I have a story to tell, its not very long so you won't even have to sit down".

I nod.

Ava: "One day there was a cute little lamb frolicking in a big field".
"And then a wolf came up"…

AND STABBED IT!

Me: "WHAT!... what the hell, man"!

Ava: "The End".

Does that come in a size 159?

If people wear Underwear…do cows wear Udderwear?

Just asking.

The signpost up ahead says...

Watch with joy and amazement as I attempt to alienate everyone I know, myself included in a single post… Hang on…

I think everyone has lofty ambitions when they leave college. Everything is new and the road is wide open.

But then you get to a job and things start to flatline, cause reality has a nasty way of creeping in and sometimes kicking you in the ass…

|||||||||

So... if you're a Marketing major you tell people that you want to help the right customers get the right product at the right price. And after a few weeks you realize that the right customer is anyone who won't hang up on you, the right product is whichever one your company sells and the right price is whatever amount you can convince someone to give you.

If you're an Art major, you have visions of gallery owners clamoring for your edgy work to be in their galleries. But after a few weeks you realize the the work you did in school was only edgy in the sense that everyone hates it and only job you can get is cleaning up after hours at a gallery and the owner is clamoring for you to unclog the toilet.

If you're a Business major you've spent 4 years studying theory and case studies and are one of the few people who actually understand what the Dow Jones does. Then after a few weeks you realize that every single successful business stays the hell away from theories and case studies and forges their own unique path which is why they are successful and you are a barista at Starbucks.

If you're an English Major, you're certain you have the next great novel in you, you know it's just a matter of time, time spent editing other people's books and slowly reducing your dreams until your best bet is to produce a children's book featuring an imbecile tree sloth and how he learns the meaning of Arbor Day or some crap. 

So you've majored in Philosophy and somehow despite all odds and defying common sense you have managed to convince yourself that it's a relevant major and a good way to earn a living. But after you graduate you find that no one will take you seriously except as the punchline to a joke and the only way you can consider yourself relevant is because if you aren't at work to hear the buzzer, then the fries will burn.

So you majored in Hospitality and tell anyone who will listen how crazy you are about hotels and resorts and generally finding any way possible to ensure that your clients have the best possible vacation they can. And after 6 months on a cruise ship cleaning up after kids who tear their diapers off in the pool and people who complain that there's not enough food even though it's available 24 hours a day, you realize that you have become very, very interested in the ships construction diagrams if only because you need to find the absolute perfect place to drill a hole and sink that cursed vessel.

If you're an Interior Designer, you can't wait to get into the real world so you can show how passionate you are about design and building a creative and original presence in the design field. And then after 8 months you realize that all interior design comes from stealing the ideas of designers before you, people who also ranted about creativity but were also just stealing ideas from the guys who came before them and so on and so on and so on until you get back to the first designer…a cavewoman named Oog who was searching all over the Paleolithic Era for a coffee table that went well with her sofa set.

So you made it thru design school, a full-fledged Graphic Designer… communicator of grand ideas and the ability to render complexity into simplicity and now you can't wait to get out there and start showing everyone what you can do. And 2 years later you've just finished doing the layout of your 23rd issue for a magazine called Filthy Babes in Pudding and you keep wondering if its possible to ever feel clean again.

Let me rephrase that...

Wednesday
Staff Meeting

Boss is talking about strategy.

Boss: "You know, I've heard that if you want to learn about technology, you should spend a few hours following around an 11 year old".

Silence.

Me: "I don't know about the rest of you but If I follow around an 11-year for a few hours theres an excellent chance I will be mistaken for a sexual predator. Maybe we could devise a strategy that has less chance of me ending up in prison".

Please…just, stop.

So Jeggings are popular…at least for the next 20 minutes or so and apparently because there is just an ungodly huge market out there for men thats just been discovered... 2 guys in Chicago have decided to try and make some cash on it.

Enter the Meggings Man Clothing Co. 

Run by 2 dudes who would not look out of place in Williamsburg trying to convince people to buy their Cinnamon/Bacon/Asparagus/Tuna Craft Beers.

I honestly cannot believe there is a market for these pants and thats not just because it would take 3 assistants, a jumbo sized bucket of I Can't Believe Its Not Butter, a couple of blood thinners and a team of Clydesdales to get me into a pair.

Here we go…

 I'm not sure why one of the legs is rolled up. In NY the only people who do this 

are bike messengers. But on the plus side, the color makes sure he is visible with 

the naked eye from Mars.

I like to call this one the "Hello Ladies (or Men)". Sexy, right?, who wouldn't 

be turned on by his 15-year old girls physique or a face that at best is 7 or 8 years 

away from producing a mustache. I get all squishy just thinking about him.

Look at him, don't turn away. This "man" exudes confidence from his every pore. 

He is literally flooded with the thick, patriotic gravy that makes this country great.

 Pants...so…shiny...must…wear...shades...

I picked this one to show you that no one, other than Spider-Man should wear 

pants this tight. Also, I thought the hat was just too cool.

I also included these if only because I didn't know what they were. 

If Jeggings are Jeans crossed with Leggings and Meggings are …I don't know Men, 

crossed with Jeggings…then it follows that these must be Jeggings crossed with Men, crossed with Shorts…

So...Shmeggings?

And if after all this, you still are considering buying these, here is what an 

average person looks like wearing them…

That's right…Conan O'Brien…and if he can't make these look cool, 

then forget it…it just ain't happening.