Re-store-ical Questions: A Storey Storie

What if Walmart only sold walls?
What if Target was constantly being shot at?
What if Costco was a company that only accepted carbon monoxide as payment?
What if Little Caesars only sold small salads?
What if Energy Solutions only made caffeinated eyedrops?
What if the Dress Barn was a place where farm animals go to put on their clothes?
What if Smiths only shod horses?
What if Panda Express only gave train rides to pandas?
What if Del Taco was actually Delta Co, a company that deals with real estate issues in the gulf region?
What if The Dollar Store only sold dollars for a dollar?
What if Dollar General only sold dollars with General George Washington on them?
What if Family Dollar only sold families of dollars (Dad: George Washington; Mom: Susan B. Anthony; Son: JFK; Daughter: Sacajawea; Granddaughter; Sacajawea's papoose)?
What if Trader Joes was actually Traitor Joes and every time you spent money there you were aiding and abetting known enemies of the United States?
What if Subway was an underground train?
What if Reams only sold paper?
What if Zions Bank was a river-front in Israel?
What if Chevron was the offspring of Chevy Chase and Ronald Reagan?
What if Marriott was short for Merry Otter?
What if McDonalds only made Scottish Donalds?
What if Arctic Circle only sold freezing cold rings and spheres?
What if Ross Dress for Less was a place you'd go to see David Schwimmer putting on clothes for Les Moonves?
What if JC Penny only sold coins bearing the likeness of Julius Caesar?
What if Smash Burger only catered to incredible hulks?
What if Jimmy Johns was a place where you go to hurriedly and haphazardly fix toilets?
What if Harmons only sold jokes from Jamaica?
What if Best Buy was actually Best By, an expiration date factory?
What if Barnes and Noble was sitcom about a farmer and an earl?
What if the Apple store only sold macintosh apples and PCs?
What if Sandals Resorts were vacation spots for footwear?
What if Albertsons was an adoption agency for kids named Albert?
What if IBM started out as an attempt by someone named Em to introduce herself?
What if Staples only sold essential food items?
What if there was a coup in the Banana Republic and the representative government was replaced by a dictator, what then?
And, What if Questar Gas was was short for Request Our Gas, and they are waiting by the phone, but nobody calls asking for gas?

Schmeck Shme Schmalls

Merry Christmas!



Here is one more video from Voice Male's TV appearance on kjzz tv, Sunday, December 23, 2012.

What Have I Been Up To? ... Nuttin'

Here's something I've been doing recently. Enjoy!




 

The rest of the story

Here is that story I wanted to tell two posts ago, but didn't because I couldn't stop talking about feudal chair societies.  As it turns out the story is not that great.  Oh well, here it is:

I was on a plane last month, just minding my own business when the flight attendant offered the person next to me a beverage. That person asked for water. The attendant filled a cup with ice, then added water. As she was handing the water to the person, the cup and its contents fell from her hand.  As a result, the ice and water spilled forth out of the cup and landed safely on me.

This was very lucky for the attendant because I'm really nice, and I like it when weird things happen to me.

That's all.  Not the best story, I know.



Oh, I forgot to mention that the place where the water and ice landed on me and the way it soaked certain parts of my clothing was... well, let's just say that I haven't sported that particular wetness pattern since first grade.  Luckily, back then I wore Toughskin jeans, which, I think, were manufactured out of plastic because if you ever got them too hot they would melt, literally.  Wet or dry, Toughskins looked the same.

This time I was wearing blue jeans.  And, as I inspected myself, I realized that no matter what had actually happened on that plane--to the people I would encounter over the next several minutes--I had essentially wet my pants.  The signs were unmistakable, a dark patch that started in the central pant region and spread outwardly in a circular pattern.

I calculated how much longer I would be airborne before having to deplane.  Was there enough time to dry?

It would be close.

I took solace in the fact that I was heading to Seattle.  The only better city in the Western United States for wetting one's pants: Portland.  Surely, neither the hippies nor the nerds would judge me harshly for my apparent bladder-control issues, I imagined.

The plane landed.  I stood.  I deplaned.

For some reason, as I wandered through the SEA-TAC airport, doing my best to stagger as if I were drunk--thus giving plausible reason for grown-man-wet-pants--the old jingle for Pull-ups repeated in a continuous loop in my head, "Mommy, wow!  I'm a big kid now."

Glory be to KFC

Hello, Folks,

This is one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. We'll need to talk about this when you're done viewing. Meet me below.





Ok. Um...I'm not sure where to begin. I want to first and foremost say, WOW! This is simultaneously the best/worst, most awesome/terrible thing I've ever seen. The performance (i.e., voice, passion, timbre, verve, etc.) is amazing. The words (i.e., what she's saying) are crazy.

A few favorites:

This chicken died that we might live.
Breastesses!
I wanna be thick for you, Lord.
Don't let me die skinny.
The sheer number of times she says, "mac and cheese"


As I think about it though, I am not appalled by this song. I am in fact weirdly endeared to it. This woman loves chicken. She also loves Jesus. Her life's activities, even the mundane aren't separate from her spiritual life. I like that.


So tonight, when I eat my chicken, rice, mac and cheese, and collard greens. I am going to turn my thoughts to the chicken who gave its life for me.

Then I will think of my Savior.

Mmmm. Finger-licking-goodness.

Have a Seat

Hey, y'all,

It's been a while since we've talked.  Do you have a minute?  Good.  Have a seat. Yes, I know you're already sitting.  I just wanted to give you this chair.  I want you to have this seat.  No, you won't have to take it anywhere.  Let's just leave it where it is, but both of us will know it's yours now.  Good.  You now have a seat.

Can I tell you a quick story?  No?  Why?  No time for stories? Why, then, did you take my seat?  I want that seat to belong to a person who has leisure time. No, no, it's yours.  I can't take it back now, your ownership is all over it. 

It's okay, I'm not sad.  It's just been a stressful day, and now I own one fewer chair than I did just a minute ago.  Well, where I come from the number of chairs one owns establishes that person's status.  Why do you think I offered you a seat?  I was just being polite.  You didn't have to take it.  I have never actually taken a seat when offered one.  It's kind of rude.  No, no, I don't want the seat back. 

I can't take it back.  Please don't have me arrested.  I can't take it back from you; you are a very powerful seat owner that has so many chairs that you've even got one at my house. Yes, I know I just gave it to you, but your status has changed.  You're way better than me now.  I am your serf, taking care of your property, and I'm grateful for the opportunity.

What?  NO!  It's too much.  I can't just be granted ownership of all of the seats in your house.  That is the most generous offer anyone has ever made, but I couldn't.  Oh, please don't insist.  Well, okay.  I will accept your seats.  I am humbled. 

Ok.  Now that I own all of your seats, I need you to send them over to my house.  I am taking your seats.  They are mine and I demand that you relinquish your seats to me!  All of them: past, present, and future!  How dare you refuse me?  I could have you imprisoned for such insubordination!

I'm sorry.  I've not been the most benevolent dictator.  Although ownership of your seats gives me full control over your life and property, I have behaved rudely.  I will appoint you to a council position in one of my seat properties.  Let's see, my vast empire of seats stretches from my house to your house. 

Ah, I have it!  You will sit on the council governing the toilets at your home.  What?  Don't you need to sit on a toilet from time to time?  Well, I have granted you access as chair of the toilet council.  How dare you!  Yes, I know I said "how dare you" once before, but I don't know how you keep daring.  I have the power to revoke your privileges for both numbers 1 and 2, so mind your Ps and Qs.  Ha ha!  That's funny--you know what the P stands for, but what about the Q.  Clever.  Oh, I can never stay mad at you, my humble companion and servant.

What's that?   You're ready for my story now?  Ok.  Have a seat and I'll...oh you clever sprite.  I see what you've done.  You just tricked me into offering you a seat.  And, I fell for it!  Oh, don't deny it.  You are a crafty little wizard.  Well, I suppose this means we are back on equal ground.

Now, about that story...

end scene

Rushing the Field = Big MUSS

Saturday night was the final annual BYU Utah football game. From here on out, the game won't be played annually, but will be intermittent with a chance of meatballs.

BYU lost the game, which was very winnable.

I blame the Utes for scoring three more points than BYU had time to score. Well, actually BYU had just enough time to score that same amount of points, but didn't. The final game-tying field goal attempt bounced off the upright and into oblivion.

Or, did it bounce into our hearts? I have been told by a few sources that the final field goal attempt that would have tied the game and sent it into overtime, bounced off the upright at exactly 11:59 PM. One minute before 12:00 AM--the beginning of the Sabbath Day. BYU does not play on the Sabbath.

Had BYU gone for the win with a Hail Mary (er...Hi Emma, maybe?), they would have won the game. There is no doubt. Never mind that Riely Nelson really doesn't throw the ball all that well. I am convinced (by delusion) that it would have happened.

I have one more tiny little thing to talk about. Idiot Ute fans.

The fact is I like the University of Utah as an institution. I like the U's sports teams. I like Utah fans as individuals, but when you put them together in a stadium, and soak them with beer (which is what all BYU fans imagine when imagining a collection of Ute fans), they are less pleasant to be around--just enough of them that are vulgar and aggressive.

Also, there has never been a field that Ute fans have not wanted to rush. They love rushing fields like dental hygenists love asking open-ended questions while they put stuff in your mouth. The anticipation of rushing a field, combined with lots of alcohol, makes certain Ute fans wet themselves on a Tuesday morning.

So, at the end of the game the other night, Ute fans rushed the field...three, count them, three times. One of those times the said rushing of the field cost their team a penalty and may have, barring the Lord's unwillingness to let His team play on the Sabbath, cost their team the victory. Oh man, that would have been sweet. Ute fans losing it for their team. Alas, what could have been. So, in honor of that almost beautiful moment I have devised the following list:

Top Ten Reasons that Ute Fans Rush a Football Field:

10. To get monster truck tickets.

9. To sign up for apostasy classes.

8. To register for a three-credit hour class offered at SLCC (it transfers!).

7. To report accomplishing cold fusion.

6. To hire a BYU alum.

5. Because everyone else is doing it.

4. Because a guy is offering free beards.

3. Because they're in the PAC 12, duh.

2. To get away from other Ute fans!

1. To make BYU fans feel better about a crushing loss by acting like idiots! YAY!