Cashing In

Remember this post featuring a large coffee can full of silver change?


Well, I followed some of your advice and took it to a Coinstar machine. I figured Coinstar's 9% fee was a small price to pay for not having to count it all. I honestly thought it would amount to about $150. I was wrong:


It turned out to be worth about $465. All the cash isn't pictured because I indulged in a rash orgy of consumerism by purchasing a gallon of milk and razor refills.

October has proved to be a rather lucrative month. Particularly, when the extra income from my part-time job as an exotic dancer at local retirement homes is also factored into the equation:

Pray For My Crotch

There is a crisis looming on the horizon that has the potential to adversely the very fabric of our society. Please pay careful attention, because I cannot overstate the gravity of this situation. No, I don't have advanced notice of an impending terrorist plot nor am I talking about an inevitable financial meltdown. No, this crisis is related to matters of a far more serious nature: This involves my crotch.

As you are well aware, my crotch serves as a cultural center for much of Western civilization and is even revered as a minor deity by the Maasi tribe of eastern Africa. Moreover, it has been demonstrated that my crotch holds the keys to solving the world's future energy problems. Unfortunately, it is my solemn duty to inform you that my crotch is in grave danger. There is a specter hanging over my crotch and I'm not talking about another helium filled Inflate-a-Annie doll. Last week, I managed to give myself an inguinal hernia (not lunch safe). Per my medical professional, an inguinal hernia consists of the separation of the abdominal muscle wall, allowing some serious shit to protrude through the resulting hole. Thus, I'm scheduled to see a serious shit specialist sometime this week to schedule surgery.

In the meantime, the doctor said that I am to refrain from any type of heavy lifting. This posed somewhat of a quandary, as I have to use the restroom several times a day. Fortunately, I put my engineering skills to work and came up with a solution:


Because of the astonishing resilience of my crotch, I am hoping for a full recovery. Per my medical professional, I'll be back to my crotch pilates routine in virtually no time. That's not to say that there won't be several days of healing required. In fact, any of my female readers who are available to provide sponge baths and therapeutic crotch massages should contact me immediately.

Bags In Trees

I was looking at list of referrals to this blog on Sitemeter when I noticed that a blog called bagintrees.com had linked to me. This blog is essentially a photoblog that is dedicated to showing plastic bags that have become entangled in urban trees. Most entries consist of a picture of a treed bag and a corresponding Google map providing the photo's origin. Here is the latest post, which typifies their efforts:



I found the theme of bagintrees.com mildly fascinating because I've never paid much mind to what might be hanging in local trees. Even when I have seen such things, I didn't consider the artistic implications of what I was witnessing. Consequently, I was compelled to become more observant of my surroundings, particularly with respect to urban foliage. I was amazed to find that this phenomenon is far more common than I had ever imagined. Here are a couple of pictures of featuring bags in trees that I was able to capture:




Although I have failed at every single artistic endeavor that I've ever attempted, it appears that I might have a knack for this kind of thing. In fact, I was inspired to create my own sub-genre, which I like to call Douchebags in Trees:

Necessity is the Mother of Something or Other

Every now and again, I will be struck be a idea which is pure genius. In this case, my masterstroke involved the invention of a new form of illumination that can easily be adapted for household use. Basically, the device consists of a thin tungsten wire (or filament, as I like to call it) that is used to conduct electricity in a transparent medium that has been filled with an inert gas. As the current passes through this wire, it will glow and, consequently, emit light. I realize that this may be difficult to visualize so I have included a sketch for reference:


Obviously, I want to legally protect this idea to ensure that nobody else copies it. In order to form the basis of my legal claim, I have to demonstrate that this is, indeed, a novel concept. Thus, I went to the website of the US Patent and Trademark Office, which features an online search engine that allows users to research existing patents as far back as 1976. I was ecstatic to find that when I searched using keywords like lighttube, brightness maker, and magic darkness reverser, nobody had filed a claim. It is clear to me that I am destined to be mentioned in the same breath as other great inventors like Eli Whitney-cotton gin, Henry Ford-the modern assembly line, and Thomas Edison-the water bong.

An interesting aside arose from all of this research. In the interest of diligence, I tried every combination of synonym that I could think of that might be used to describe my invention. As a result, when I entered the phrase anal missile launcher, I discovered U.S. Patent 6,055,910, which is entitled: Toy gas fired missile launcher assembly. The abstract for this invention is as follows:

Abstract
A toy gas-fired missile and launcher assembly whose missile is composed of a soft head and a tail extending therefrom formed by a piston. The piston is telescoped into the barrel of a launcher having a closed end on which is mounted an electrically-activated ignitor, the air space between the end of the piston and the closed end of the barrel defining a combustion chamber. Joined to the barrel and communicating with the chamber therein is a gas intake tube having a normally-closed inlet valve. To operate the assembly, the operator places the inlet tube with its valve open adjacent his anal region from which a colonic gas is discharged. The piston is then withdrawn to a degree producing a negative pressure to inhale the gas into the combustion chamber to intermix with the air therein to create a combustible mixture. The ignitor is then activated to explode the mixture in the chamber and fire the missile into space.

And here are the inventor's schematics:

Sure I've seen strippers use unique means to give flight to ping-pong balls and the like, but not once did I see any of these objects leave the earth's atmosphere. I'm certain, by now, that you are already trying to figure out how to get one of these devices for yourself. Well, I can't help you with that, but believe me when I say that flatulence and candles don't mix. So be sure to buy one of my light-thingies before attempting to launch any rectal projectiles with the aforementioned backdoor bazooka.

Plates

Earlier today, I was stuck on I-95 and noticed that there are an infinite variety of organizational license plates available from the Maryland MVA. Upon further investigation, I discovered that if you happen to spot three guys within a 50' radius of one another, they are apt to have their own license plate. Somehow, though, MVA has missed a few key organizations, so I have filled in the gaps.








The next one is an organizational plate from Texas that has already been issued. I'm posting it more as a warning than anything else.

What's This About?

As may have guessed, I'm not big on trends or pop culture. I've never seen American Idol, Gray's Anatomy, or Deadwood. I don't own an iPod or know how to use the bluetooth earpiece that came with my phone. As far as I'm concerned, Brittany Spears, Kelly Clarkson, and Justin Timberlake are the same, inconsequential, person. Since I'm oblivious to current fads, I need some explanation. I'm as eager for public displays of raunchiness as the next guy, but what is the point of this?