Last-Minute Costume Ideas

It’s Halloween.  And since I assume this blog’s main demographic is made up of children under the age of twelve, you’re probably going Trick-Or-Treating tonight.  “But oh noes!” you might be saying.  “I forgetted to make teh costumezz!”

Well first of all, learn English.  You sound like a cat meme.  Next, follow my simple guide to creative, last-minute costume ideas.

Something like this.

- Tons of people are going as Steve Jobs because it’s topical.  These too-sooners are a bunch of insensitive jerks.  Instead, you should go as the Cancer that killed Steve Jobs.  Here’s what you’ll need:  a pack of pink balloons (these will be the cancer cells), some tubing, and some tape. 

Take the balloons and tape them all over your body.  Then, affix one end of the tubing to each of the mouthpieces on the balloons, and put the other end to your mouth.  Then, whenever you are feeling particularly malignant in the night, blow into the tubes.  Surprise!  You’re a budding baby tumor.  If you feel especially infectious, find someone dressed as Steve Jobs and spread to his lymph nodes.

Tragically hilarious.

- If you want a costume that’s topical and simple to make, try this one.  Go to your favorite grocery store and pick up some turkey.  You can settle for lunch meat, but turkey on the bone is probably better.  Next rip apart the turkey and spread it haphazardly all over your body.  Now take a look in the mirror and see your awesome Turkey After An Earthquake costume.

- Let’s say you actually have friends (because you’re not a horribly offensive douche) and you just want to dress up with them as something moderately annoying instead of soul-crushing.  Well, this is simple.  Grab two of your friends, three white t-shirts, a dictionary, and a Sharpie.

In Sharpie, write down the word “there” on one shirt, “their” on another, and “they’re” on the third.  Look up the definition of each and supply it to the respective word.  Then head out for the night.  Try to look as pompous and arrogant as possible.  Then, whenever you are talking to someone and they use some form of “there” in conversation, interrupt them and tell them they are using the wrong word and they should consult your shirts.

Hope this helps.  Happy Halloween.

Jumping Ponds: It'll Burn Your Balls, Lad

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 12/4/2010.

I need soap from time to time.  And last time I needed soap, I picked up some Irish Spring Intensify Body Wash.  Now I wasn't really influenced by the stupid commercials that take place in some fictional Ireland populated only with beautiful ginger women running wild in the hills.

My choice was based on three things:  it was cheap, it was soap, and it smelled okay.  I didn't really read the bottle, which, to be fair, says "cools and tingles to shock the senses".

The first time I showered with it, I poured some soap onto my hands.  When agitated, the soap emitted such a powerful smell that I had a coughing fit.  It's kind of like breathing in Vic's Vapor Rub, which if you're not expecting it goes straight to your brain.  I felt like I had a nose bleed.

So, next step was to actually use the soap.  Now, I should have payed attention to the bottle, because "cools and tingles" is like saying the Holocaust was just a bit of a skirmish.  It feels a bit like when you touch something so hot you can't tell if it's cold or hot anymore, you just want to GET IT OFF OF YOU.

When it hit my cock'n'balls the pain was horrible.  You'd think that when they were testing this soap, someone would have had to have tested it on their sensitive parts because, you know, people might want to wash those areas.  If they had tested it, they would have definitely scrapped the whole idea of this soap.

Whatever you do, though, do not use this soap after shaving.  Your face, your legs, your gents, anything you shave.  You might as well soap up with Satan's semen because your skin will burn with the fire of every acid in existence.

I'd rate this product at one flaming testicle.

Jumping Ponds: Birds, Irish Kid F-Bomb, and Love Monkeys

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 3/8/10.

This is a video from my trip with Sarah to Ireland. The first part is near a pond where we met some little Irish boys. One of them was the first person in the world to refer to me as "Hey Mister!" He then proceded to give me facts about the crane in the pond (which I didn't ask for, but he really wanted to show off his knowledge).  Ridiculously cute.

Then I heard him drop an f-bomb. Which is just hilarious. You can hear it in the video. He and his friends were feeding the birds while Sarah and I watched the scene from a Hitchcock movie that ensued.

Later on we went to the zoo where we witnessed the two monkeys that were totally in luurrvv. Very cute as well. Enjoy.

Jumping Ponds: My Roommate

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 1/3/2010.

Just thought I'd introduce you to the dude I shared a bathroom with. He liked to chill out under the tub and watch me pee. Kinda creepy... and crawly. But so long as I didn't bother him, he didn't bother me. Take a look.

Jumping Ponds: Sights and Sounds

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 1/2/2010

Many of the posts on this blog have a cynical tone, but I wanted to show some of the beautiful places and sounds you can experience abroad. This video shows some of the amazing locations and wonderful music of Europe. Enjoy.

Jumping Ponds: British Fashionable

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 1/2/2010.

Want to dress like a British person? That's easy. Just follow my simple guidelines.

For ladies: Put on some black leggings. On top of that, wear a pair of very short shorts or a mini skirt. But make sure it's black. For your top, think American fashion circa 1980 minus the outrageous colors. So pretty much a top that hangs off of one shoulder and shows your bra strap. Make sure it's baggy and loose. Also black, or maybe dark grey. Avoid color at all cost. Bland is grand.

For dudes: Jeans. That pretty much covers your bottom half. Also, a studded belt will help, even if your jeans are tight enough to cut off circulation to everything below the torso. As for everything above the waist, there are options. First, you could get a t-shirt that is a few sizes too small. Keep in mind, it's perfectly acceptable for guys to wear the color purple. If you plan on going out to a club, a button down shirt with a popped collar is a must. And if all else fails, find the fugliest sweater (known in Britain as a jumper) you can find. Literally, the more attrocious and unnappealing the sweater, the better. Make sure it's as itchy as possible, and a few sizes larger than necessary.

There. Now you look like an elegant British lady or a fine English chap. And if you're dressed like that in America, you look like a douche.

Jumping Ponds: The French Speak French. Who Knew?

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 12/28/09.

Apparently in France they speak French. Being a speaker of English, some things got lost in translation. Like when I pulled on a door that said "Poussez", which means "push" in some nonsense jibberish language.

But what's really funny is when something in French is said that means something totally different when it is said in English. Like this:

Come on, France. Just because the train is late doesn't mean it's retarded. So offensive.

Jumping Ponds: I Am the Heir to Ryanair

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 12/23/09.

The airport in Nottingham is similar to a bus station. So you wouldn't think that security would be that big a deal. Wrong.

Sarah and I found this out when we decided to take a Ryanair flight to Ireland. We got our tickets, went through security, which forced Sarah to throw out a rather expensive lotion (or some such nonsense girly product), and waited in line to board our flight.

At that point, Sarah noticed that our ticket said that we needed a passport check. I assumed that presenting our passports would be fine, and suggested that if there was a problem I could try to convince security that Ryan from Ryanair was my dad and that I was the heir to Ryanair and could get everyone fired.

Turns out we did need to get our passports checked by someone else, which security told us when we were about to board our flight. And to top it off, these passport checks could only happen on the other side of the airport. Right away, I figure we weren't going to make this flight and resigned myself to the fate of a boring weekend.

Sarah, on the other hand, took off like Batman through the airport. I followed, blazing past people that Sarah had almost knocked over, trying to ignore the looks of upstanding British citizens who weren't used to our American shinanigans.

We ran to the desk, shoved our passports at these ladies who clearly did not understand that our heavy breathing meant we were obviously in a hurry. They checked our passports and as we were about to run off, one of the ladies said, "You aren't going to make it."

Sarah said, "Thanks for your confidence," and we ran off again. Sadly, we had to go through security again, but we decided to take our chances and run through the express lane, which no one was using. Surprisingly we got through. We made it just in time to be the last people on the plane.

If you've never been on a Ryanair flight, consider yourself lucky. The flight between Nottingham and Dublin takes about an hour. It's quiet for about 15 minutes of that time. The rest of the time is full of advertisement over the loudspeaker, offering everything from smokeless cigarettes to lotto tickets to alcoholic beverages to sandwiches. And when the flight lands, a trumpet plays and a voice claims that this is another successful, on-time Ryanair flight.

That airport will be hearing from my dad, Ryan, very soon.

Work, Where Business Happens

I have a job.  It's not exactly the job of my dreams, but it ain't terrible and it pays alright.  Office jobs can be monotonous.  It's enough to make you go a little crazy.  But that's irrelevant.  I'm still perfectly sane.  Here's a tour of my office.

This is my cubicle.  It's where business happens.

This is my staple remover.  His name is Jaws.  He helps me do business.

This is the copier.  Her name is Minerva.  She does lots of business with me.

These are the boxes where I pack business that used to happen.

This is my stamp.  I call him Justice.  He gives me most of my power and authority, essential components for business.

This is my letter opener.  His name is Slippy.  Business can't start unless all letters are open.

This is the break room.  Business doesn't happen here.  J/K!  Business never stops.  You should learn that.  Now.  Learn it.

This is my phone.  He's new, so I haven't named him.  But he'll start making business happen soon enough.

This is my hole punch.  I call him Falcon.  Then when I use him I yell "FALCON PUUUUNCH!"  And when people ask what I'm doing, I say "Business".  The stapler and I aren't on speaking terms.


See?  Working in an office doesn't make you go crazy.  But the one thing I can't figure out is why the heck FedEx won't let me ship my blood!

Like it on Facebook.

Jumping Ponds: French Airports, Terrorists, and Kids Walking Into Glass

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 12/20/2009.



I spent a lovely day at Charles De Galle airport in France. I don't speak French, but the French seem to be aware of the fact that many of the country's visitors aren't familiar with the language. So they put up signs like the one above where I decided to camp out for a few hours. It looked something like this:

I assume it meant that I should give up my seat for the disabled, blind, deaf, or... two-faced maybe?

Well I didn't have to give up my seat for any of those people, but I was forced to move when an unattended bag caused security to shut down the whole section of the airport.

Just when things seemed to die down and get boring again, a young lady had an emotional breakdown and stirred things up. All I heared was, "...hate eveRYONE! I HATE IT!" This caused the whole airport to turn around and stare at the sobbing lady (keep in mind that most of these people don't speak English) at the front of the ticket line.

But the funniest thing that happened went down as I was waiting to get on my plane. A little boy was talking on his mom's phone. He wasn't paying attention as he walked and talked, and he smacked into a window, hard. Don't worry he was fine.

I, on the other hand, was doing my damnedest not to crack up. I was literally biting my lip trying not to laugh, which only made it worse. Then the kid started talking to his mom in French and the only word I caught was "boom". This made it impossible not to start laughing. Every time I tried to stop laughing, something prevented me. As soon as I would calm down, I'd have a thought like, "Did that kid think he was Harry Potter trying to get to platform 9 and 3/4?" Then I'd calm down and notice the face and hand prints on the glass and start laughing again. So I'm the only person in the airport with tears in my eyes, biting my lip, and doing a very poor job of trying to shut up.

The moral of this story is no matter what language you speak, a kid walking into a window is hilarious.

Jumping Ponds: Stuff British People Like

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 12/7/2009.

In the course of staying in Nottingham, I believe I have collected substantial information on the British psyche. Here is an in-depth study of the things that British people love most.

Going on Strike: British people, and Europeans in general, seem to love to go on strike. Are they desperately trying to keep up with their bills, or trying to feed their families, or trying to survive in a desperate economic climate? Not really. But the boss (usually the government) could probably fork over a bit more cash, and they don't really feel like working today.

Crossdressing: Mostly for the guys, but British people seem to take any opportunity they can to crossdress. Guys love a night at a rave because apparently that's an excuse to wear a pink skirt and tight, brightly-colored leggings. But it's just a rave, you might think. Why does that mean you need to crossdress? I don't know, but even a vague excuse is reason enough.

Quizzes: For a British person, there is nothing quite as fun as proving that you have certain esoteric knowledge that no one else around you has (or cares about). Pub Quizzes are common, and to be honest it is quite fun to drink and test your steadily declining knowledge at the same time. Quiz shows make up a large portion of British programming, including some that don't even focus on the quiz aspect. If you are confused, check out "Nevermind the Buzzcocks", which is a hilarious music quiz show.

Complaining about the weather: It doesn't matter that Britain has the most predictable weather ever. I can tell you that tomorrow that it will be about 46 Farenheit, mostly cloudy, with a high probability of precipitation. How do I know? Because that's what was today, yesterday, and every other day. Why complain? Just move if you don't like it; you know what the weather is like. I'm from the midwest. We get different weather every 5 minutes. I have no sympathy for you.

Obama: I can't explain how much everyone outside of the United States loves Obama. As his popularity in his own country steadily declines, it just increases world wide. Non-Americans don't seem to understand that you can SAY one thing and DO another thing... or nothing. Americans wanted change in policy, but apparently for everyone else, a change in attitude was good enough.

Waiting: Britain is known for its queues, and that is for good reason. There is no sense of urgency in this country. Lines form because people don't get out of the way quickly. Sometimes lines form for no reason at all. Someone has simply stopped dead in their tracks in the middle of a crowded area and caused a spontaneous line to nowhere to form. And the thing is, British people are too polite to ask that person to move. Which is why a nice American "Hey, get out of the way!" is very effective in clearing abstructions.

Jumping Ponds: Well, That's What It's Made With...

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 11/29/2009. 

I've recently discovered that it's hard to describe American food to British people. This is primarily because American food is usually named after what it's made of, not what it tastes like.

Cornbread, for example, is made with corn, but usually doesn't taste like corn. Imagine you had no idea what cornbread was. Someone might say, "Well, it doesn't taste like corn." Your first thought might be: "Candy corn doesn't taste like corn either. It tastes like garbage. So cornbread probably follows the same logic."

Pumpkin pie is made with pumpkin, but doesn't really taste like a pumpkin. Beer-battered shrimp or chicken doesn't really taste like beer (to its detriment, I believe). Apple Jacks really don't taste like apples. Are Apple Jacks even made with apples?

The point is, we should start naming food after what it tastes like, not what it's made with. If Mexicans called it 'Goat Brains' no one would eat it. So cornbread, I propose, should be renamed 'deliciousbread'. Pumpkin pie should be renamed 'tasty pie'. Beer-battered foods should be called 'sober foods'. And so on.

Agreed? I don't care.

Jumping Ponds: The Special Features of Labyrinth

This video is of a street performer in York doing the glass ball trick that David Bowie did in Labyrinth. But the most entertaining part of the video is Sarah's explanation of the special features on the Labyrinth DVD. Yes, someone watched the special features on the Labyrinth DVD.

Jumping Ponds: Goosefair Part 2: Sexually Explicit Family Fun

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 10/6/2009

Goosefair is definitely intended to be a family event. That being said, the amount of sexuality was ridankulous. The sex was everywhere, both overtly and explicitly. Just take a look. Even the most clean-minded individual can't help but see the hanky panky inherent in these pictures.

Well then I'd rather not play at all.

Why exactly is the wall sticky? You don't want to know.

Those are in fact nipples. On a ride for children.

I don't know why, but this sounds really kinky.

Tell me that's not a dolphin penis.

Ladies in bikinis. Look kiddies, boobs!

Before you ride attendant? Oh the importance of punctuation.

Two bears one cup.

Really? They aren't even trying to cover it up. Why don't they just call it Dicks on Dicks?

Not really sexual, but offensive as hell! Come on England.

Why not Puckapig... with a large penis?

Jumping Ponds: Goosefair Part 1: Copyright Infringement

Re-posted from Jumping Ponds, 9/6/2009

My trip to the Goosefair was so great it takes two posts to cover it all. What is a Goosefair? Essentially it boils down to a county carnival times 50. This posts covers the insane amount of copyright infringement that goes on at this kind of event.

Dora the Explorer and, if you look closely, Sonic the Hedgehog in the midst of random animal balloons. A nice mix if you ask me.

Before you ask, yes those are Pinhead, Beetlejuice, and The Wicked Witch of the West painted next to each other. My theory is that the people who run this ride just googled "scary" and painted whatever came up on the wall.

Here's Snow White and the Dwarves. But the best part of the picture is that it says "Mind that child".

Homer done offed himself!

Okay, it's James Bond, but wtf? Look at the picture. Wtf?

This ride almost makes you forget about Travolta's little Scientology thing.

I highly doubt Will Smith gave his permission for his image to be painted on the side of a carnival ride.

That's Tigger swimming away from Donald Duck with Flounder swimming underneath. You don't remember that Disney movie?

Thanks to my good buddy Sarah for taking the photos for the evening.