Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Matt Morgan's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, February 16th, 2003
11:20 am	best weekend ever and still getting better (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, February 14th, 2003
11:42 pm	You're the one who's always shy around new people, but you have a lot of will-power to attract people to your divine tastes! Which yummie candy are you? brought to you by Quizilla (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 11th, 2003
8:32 pm	Little Golden Childrens Books That Never Made It "You Are Different and That's Bad" "The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables" "Dad's New Wife Robert" "Fun Four-letter Words to Know and Share" "Hammers, Screwdrivers and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book" "The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking" "Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her" "Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence" "All Cats Go to Hell" "The Little Sissy Who Snitched" "Some Kittens Can Fly" "That's It, I'm Putting You Up for Adoption" "Grandpa Gets a Casket" "The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator" "Garfield Gets Feline Leukemia" "The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy" "Strangers Have the Best Candy" "Whining, Kicking and Crying to Get Your Way" "You Were an Accident" "Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will" "Pop! Goes The Hamster...And Other Great Microwave Games" "The Man in the Moon Is Actually Satan" "Your Nightmares Are Real" "Where Would You Like to Be Buried?" "Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?" "Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things" "Daddy Drinks Because You Cry" ''The Attention Deficit Disorder Association's Book of Wild Animals of North Amer- Hey! Let's Go Ride Our Bikes!" "Bi-curious George" "Testing Homemade Parachutes With Nothing At All But Your Household Pets." "Start a Real-Estate Empire With the Change From Your Mom's Purse. "Controlling the playground: Respect through Fear" "What is That Dog Doing to That Other Dog" "Why Mommy and Daddy Lock Their Door" "Where's Waldo's Weewee?" "The Man in the Moon is Actually Satan" "Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things" "Are You My Proctologist?" Seuss Books 1. One Bitch, Two Bitch, Dead Bitch, You Bitch 2. Herbert the Pervert Likes Sherbert 3. Fox In Detox 4. Who Shat in the Hat? 5. Horton Hires a Ho 6. The Flesh-Eating Lorax 7. How the Grinch Stole Columbus Day 8. Your Colon Can Moo - Can You? 9. Zippy the Rabid Gerbil 10. The Cat in the Blender 11. Marvin K. Mooney, Get the Fuck Out! 12. Are You My Proctologist? 13. Yentl the Lentil 14. My Pocket Rocket Needs a Socket 15. Aunts in My Pants (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 9th, 2003
10:22 pm	The past 3 days just WOW look up to the stars * **** **** ******* (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 2nd, 2003
9:54 am	We all know that you can go into the future as far as you want with a fast enough ship, and bla bla bla... seeing the past as we know it is impossible, but if made possible, it could be so amazinly marketable. Going back in time is not possible. However, If we could catch up with light withought moving faster that it, I believe we could see but not interact with the past. When viewing this light it would be as if you were living in the past, but it is just light, not the real objects. You would be surrounded by a movie of exactly what was happening in that time. Why do we need to catch the light withought moving faster than it? While moving the speed of light for an instant, an infinite amount of time will pass on earth. You need to move faster than this to catch the light. How do we catch the light? Create a Prizm to capture the light trapping it inside. If the light of the past were to have come in contact with a distant planet made of ice, the light could have been reflected. Imagine if the light being sent from earth 2000 years ago extended into space for 15 years until it came in contact with an orbital made of ice reflecting the light within itself for 1970 years and finally releasing the light in a direction that will lead it directly past earth. The light would be passing by earth right now, and we could catch it if we were to build such a prizm as mentioned before. We could then record the light, and create one of the most amazing products ever available to mankind. We could allow people to be in the past while it was happening and see exactly what happened and where. (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 16th, 2003
6:10 pm	the new way to do email FWDs Don't cry and I hope to get this back.......... *In kindergarten your idea of a good friend was the person who let you have the red crayon when all that was left was the ugly black one. *In first grade your idea of a good friend was the person who went to the bathroom with you and held your hand as you walked through the scary halls. *In second grade your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you stand up to the class bully. *In third grade your idea of a good friend was the person who shared their lunch with you when you forgot yours on the bus. *In fourth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who was willing to switch square dancing partners in gym so you wouldn't have to be stuck do-si-do-ing with Nasty Nick or Smelly Susan. *In fifth grade your idea of a friend was the person who saved a seat on the back of the bus for you. *In sixth grade your idea of a friend was the person who went up to Nick or Susan, your new crush, and asked them to dance with you, so that if they said no you wouldn't have to be embarrassed. *In seventh grade your idea of a friend was the person who let you copy the social studies homework from the night before that you had. *In eighth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you pack up your stuffed animals and old baseball but didn't laugh at you when you finished and broke out into tears. *In ninth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who would go to a party thrown by a senior so you wouldn't wind up being the only freshman there. *In tenth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who changed their schedule so you would have someone to sit with at lunch. *In eleventh grade your idea of a good friend was the person who gave you rides in their new car, convinced your parents that you shouldn't be grounded, consoled you when you broke up with Nick or Susan, and found you a date to the prom. *In twelfth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you pick out a college/university, assured you that you would get into that college/university, helped you deal with your parents who were having a hard time adjusting to the idea of letting you go... *At graduation your idea of a good friend was the person who was crying on the inside but managed the biggest smile one could give as they congratulated you. *The summer after twelfth grade your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you clean up the bottles from that party, helped you sneak out of the house when you just couldn't deal with your parents, assured you that now that you and Nick or you and Susan were back together, you could make it through anything, helped you pack up for university and just silently hugged you as you looked through blurry eyes at 18 years of memories you were leaving behind, and finally on those last days of childhood, went out of their way to give you reassurance that you would make it in college as well as you had these past 18 years, and most importantly sent you off to college knowing you were loved. *Now, your idea of a good friend is still the person who gives you the better of the two choices, holds your hand when you're scared, helps you fight off those who try to take advantage of you, thinks of you at times when you are not there, reminds you of what you have forgotten, helps you put the past behind you but understands when you need to hold on to it a little longer, stays with you so that you have confidence, goes out of their way to make time for you, helps you clear up your mistakes, helps you deal with pressure from others, smiles for you when they are sad, helps you become a better person, and most importantly loves you! Pass on to those friends of the past, and those of the future...and those you have met along the way...[crying yet? oh there's more] Thank you for being a friend. No matter where we go or who we become, never forget who helped us get there. There's never a wrong time to pick up a phone or send a message telling your friends how much you miss them or how much you love them. You know who you are, pass it on to someone who you want to remind. So send this to all your friends and maybe those who aren't but just watch and see who sends it back. If you love someone, tell them. Remember always to say what you mean. Never be afraid to express yourself. Take this opportunity to tell someone what they mean to you. Seize the day and have no regrets. Most importantly, stay close to your friends and family, for they have helped make you the person that you are today and are what it's all about anyway. Pass this along to your friends. Let it make a difference in your day and theirs. The difference between expressing love and having regrets is that the regrets may stay around forever. Within 1 hour you must send it to other people. Within five days you will have a miraculous occurrence in your relationships. You will find new love or have an old love rekindled. If you do not send it, you will have once again passed up the opportunity to do something loving and beautiful and continue the trend that gives you problems in your relationships. If you've received this it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care. If you're too busy to take the few minutes that it would take right now to forward this to ten people, would it be the first time you didn't or that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? [oh the guilt!] And the better you'll get at reaching out to those you care about. Here's the deal: Forward this letter to at least 10 different people; within 1 hour of receiving it. People who care for you and that warm glowy feeling that comes from loving others. THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT TO YOU BECAUSE YOU MEAN SOMETHING TO SOMEBODY. PLEASE SEND IT TO YOUR FRIENDS AND THOSE THAT YOU LOVE. GROWING UP, YOU WILL TRULY MEET THE FRIENDS THAT WILL LAST A LIFETIME AND WILL MEAN THE MOST TO YOU. ***AND NO MATTER WHAT YOUR FRIENDS WILL ALWAYS BE THERE FOR YOU.*** (Comment on this)
8:56 am	so tru Starkle, starkle, little twink, Who the hell you are I think, I'm not under what they call The alcofluence of incohol. I'm not drunk as thinkle peep, I'm just a little slort of sheep. Tee martoonis make a guy Fool so feelish, don't know why Rally don't know who's me yet The drunker I stay the longer I get So just one more to full my cup, I've all day sober to Sunday up. (Comment on this)
8:49 am	I am such a loser Men - vs - Women First, a man does not call a relationship a relationship - he refers to it as "that time when me and Suzie were boinking on a semi-regular basis." When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, and she will write a poem titled "All Men Are Idiots." Then she will get on with her life. A man has a little more trouble letting go. Six months after the breakup - at 3 am early on a Sunday morning - he will call and say "I just wanted you to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, and I hate you, and you're a total floozy. But I want you to know there's always a chance for us." This is known as the "I Hate You/I Love You" drunken phone call, that 99% of all men have made at least once. Women prefer 30-45 minutes of foreplay. Men prefer 30-45 seconds of foreplay. Men consider driving back to her place as part of the foreplay. Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year- old females can function as adults. Most 17-year-old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out. Women look good in hats; men look like dinks. Let's say a small group of men and women are in a room, watching tele-vision, and an episode of "The Three Stooges" comes on. Immediately,the men will get very excited -they will laugh uproariously, and even try to imitate the actions of Curly, man's favorite stooge. The women will roll their eyes and groan and wait it out. To their credit, men do not decorate their penmanship. They just chicken-scratch. Women use scented, colored stationery and they dot their "i's" with circles and hearts. Women use ridiculously large loops in their "p's" and "g's." It is a royal pain to read a note from a woman. Even when she's dumping you, she'll put a smiley face at the end of the note. A man has at most six items in his bathroom -a toothbrush, toothpaste,shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn. The average number of items in a typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items. Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. Women's magazines also feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is hairy and lumpy and should not be seen by the light of day. A woman makes a list of things she needs and then goes to the store and buys these things. A man waits until the only items left in his fridge are half of a lemon,and something turning green. Then he goes grocery shopping. He buys everything that looks good. By the time he reaches the checkout counter,his cart is packed tighter than the Clampett's car on The Beverley Hillbillies. Of course, this will not stop him from going to the 10-items-or-less lane. When a man says he's ready to go out, it means he's ready to go out. When a woman says she's ready to go out, it means that she WILL be ready to go out, as soon as she finds her other earring, finishes putting on her makeup... (Comment on this)
Saturday, December 28th, 2002
1:40 pm	today was another day During the holidays, even Taco Bell is getting into the spirit, though some people say we shouldn't. One of our customers commented, "You guys shouldn't put up Christmas decorations. Shouldn't you be getting ready for cinco de mayo or something?" -Why is it that some people constantly play Christmas music from Thanksgiving to New Year's? It can get on your nerves after a while. I guess it's sort of a reminder of what holiday it is. Otherwise I might see the decorated tree and think it was Mardi Gras and Arbor Day at the same time or something. -A lot of kids my age have lost interest in Christmas. This isn't because we're getting too old. It's because we're college students. Every single day is Christmas for us! The only difference is that on December 25th, the gifts we get don't have credit card logos on them. -My parents told me not to worry about getting something for everyone this Christmas. Instead, they recommended taking everyone out for a dinner. Hey, I can afford that. As long as the dining hall back at college is still open and I've got some meal points left. -With our current financial situations, most college students would probably like to go back to a time when we could just make macaroni ornaments as gifts. Why not? The food is good at home, so you might as well make use of those nine extra boxes of Easy Mac you have left over somehow. -It must suck to be someone with a birthday around Christmas. But if you're the kind of person who hates only getting presents once, remember that it could be worse. After all, I know this Jesus guy who has birthdays and everyone except him gets a present that day. -A lot of people tell me that being with family for the holidays is the best present of all. And when I got home on the 21st, it was like an early present. Yeah, being home. Good one, Santa. (Comment on this)
Monday, December 16th, 2002
12:05 am	I won't talk much about being sick, but I just want to say that I infinitely prefer stomach pain to actually throwing up. Stomach pain is like a rock concert in my belly. That's no problem. I just hate it later when the group tries to have a reunion tour in my mouth. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 15th, 2002
10:47 pm	thanks to my friends profile you can give without loving, but you can not love without giving...even tho we dont know that much about eachother, nothing is wrong with taking chances. all chances are risks, so maybe you could take one and see... (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 10th, 2002
8:35 pm	toby and college I am just rising out of bed. My stereo doubled as my alarm, waking me each morning with music of my choice; for this morning, i had preselected some Rob Zombie for extra waking power. When I arise, my roommate J is already gone -- I assume him to be on his way to class. I'm well-rested, and because the school year is still young, I'm happy to be there. Morning wood is in full effect, a detail that will soon enough become unpleasantly relevant. I must note, for those of you will visualize this (goodness forbid), that I have crayon-red hair at this time. I hop from my bunk bed in my shorts and t-shirt and bust out of my sleepin' clothes so that I can get dressed. Once naked, I revel for a moment in the fact that at my dorm room's altitude, no one can see me nekkid from the ground. Struck by an urge I still cannot explain, I stood on the heater thing, which was situated directly under the window, and stood in the sunlight. Thus elevated, I proceeded to do a retarded gyrotronic dance-thing. So there I am, way up in my dorm room window, my skinny white ass (and i am skinny, let me tell you) glistening in the sunlight, schlong boinging around like nobody's business and music blaring from the stereo. Think on this for a moment, now, and ask yourself what will probably happen next. If you guessed "the roommate comes back" you're half right. If you guessed "the roommate comes back with another person", you are a goddamned genious. That's right, J returns from breakfast with our recently-aquired mutual friend "JJ". I'm certain that the look on each of our faces would make an amazing poster for something. JJ's reaction was to flinch violently, silently scream, and quickly back out of the room, while J's reaction was to laugh hysterically and fall on the ground. The door is still open, mind you, and I have now only just managed to react; at least a couple other people walk by and look in during the time it takes me to get out of the line-of-sight of the doorway. Remember, I have to sleep in the same room with this guy (whom, at this point, I hardly know) for the rest of a school year. It will suffice to say that we had a couple of awkward weeks before we were able to communicate properly again. Somehow, my reputation as a retarded naked dancing stickman did not (thank goodness) last the rest of the year; fortune had blessed me with a dorm floor full of people prone to such acts of idiocy, and so it was simply added to the list of "stupid shit that has happened" after a while. - Toby (Comment on this)
Monday, December 9th, 2002
10:41 pm	RedtigerBrian: white people get no respect these days dungeondog5: ??? RedtigerBrian: when do you hear the term white person used positivly dungeondog5: never RedtigerBrian: all the minoritys get pumped up white men get like treated like trash dungeondog5: I swear to god your hella right RedtigerBrian: we be evil sons of biznatchs who's great great great great great great great grandfathers fucked up and now we are starting to pay the price dungeondog5: LMAO RedtigerBrian: -_- I swear if i am forced to read another one of these bull shit " oh i am a messed up minority screwed over by the white man help me save me " books i'm gonna puke dungeondog5: lol RedtigerBrian: and whenever we talk about the book in class it's always like " these poor indian women are giveing up their power to the evil sleasy (white) men " expalin it understand it dungeondog5: hehe RedtigerBrian: i just felt the need to rant... RedtigerBrian: such bs that i have to write an essay about that very subject of the indien women giveing up their "power" to the men RedtigerBrian: * has urge to burn book * Its true. Whats happing to the white people. We are getting walked all over... There are people walking around saying Move, fuck white people. The mistakes our greadfathers made we got to PAY hella messed. Why can't we all get along. It also does not help when there are people like me WHO ARE WHITE and say fuck white people down with the white fokes iam not helping. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 8th, 2002
1:51 pm	Well it's Shit ........ That's right, Shit! Shit may just be the most functional word in the English language. Consider this You can be shit faced, Shit out of luck, Or have shit for brains. With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit Or decide to shit or get off the pot. You can smoke shit, Buy shit, sell shit, Lose shit, find shit, Forget shit, And tell others to eat shit and die. Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference between shit and shine. There are lucky shits Dumb shits, Crazy shits, and sweet shits. There is bull shit, Horse shit, and chicken shit you can throw shit, Sling shit, catch shit, shoot shit, or duck when shit hits the fan. You can give a shit, or serve shit, You can be happier than a pig in shit, or You can find yourself in deep shit. Some days are cold as shit, some days are hot as shit, and some days are just plan shitty. Some music sounds like shit, things can look like shit, and there are times when you feel like shit. You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit, or a lot of weird shit. You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shit's creek without a paddle. Sometimes every thing you touch turns to shit. And others times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose. When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of creation. And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else! Tell people about this shit, if you give a shit. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 4th, 2002
11:09 pm	I'm a Moron I fucked up badly I made the biggest mistake in the world I don't want to lose her but I don't know what to do (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 30th, 2002
3:47 pm	OH YEAH I have a job, well a back-up job black friday at best buy has passed and i sold more cell phones for t-mobile this year than the last 2 years combined i was offered a job with them as a sales rep! its kidna neat how it works im at best buy working the wireless area, for every tmobile plan i sell, i get 20 bucks, come to best buy wen im working and sign up for tmobile, DO IT, they got better fones than cingular and at&t, cheaper fones than sprint, and from what customers tell me, WAY better service if u have voice stream, thats t-mobile, so i cant help ya there, unless ur contract is up and u want a new number (1 Comment |Comment on this)
3:20 pm	I should write about me more I have no life, so I created a statement to go against my previous santa theory Everyone knows Santa uses temporal and dimensional displacement technology. By traveling through time, space, and parallel dimensions, Santa can easily make the round trip. By distorting the temporal fabric, St. Nick can take as much time as he wants at each house. By bending space he can travel from one point to another nearly instantly, and by co-locating through numerous dimensions, the elf can be in many places at once. Now, Santa's sleigh is capable of generating a small pocket dimension, where the objects placed inside take up no more space than the cargo room available, and the actual mass of all the presents is contained in another reality. Thus weighing next to nothing to our limited, 3D perceptions. Santa Clause holds the technology to bend and shape time and space. Simple. (Comment on this)
1:42 am	BOOOOOOOOOOORED A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... Entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain. "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. Now, back to the vomit... While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left. The manager then came back in with a half dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten. (Comment on this)
12:50 am	fun here are approximately two billion children (persons under 18) in the world. However, since Santa does not visit children of Muslim, Hindu, Jewish or Buddhist (except maybe in Japan) religions, this reduces the workload for Christmas night to 15% of the total, or 378 million according to the population reference bureau). At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, which comes to 108 million homes, presuming there is at least 1 good child in each. Santa has about 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 967.7 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with a good child, Santa has around 1/1000th of a second to park the sleigh, hop out, jump down the chimney, fill the stocking, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left for him, get back up the chimney, jump into the sleigh and get on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 108 million stops is evenly distributed Around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false, but will accept for the purposes of our calculations), we are now talking about 0.78 miles per household; a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting bathroom stops or breaks. This means Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second or 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man made vehicle, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second, and a conventional reindeer can run (at best) 15 miles per hour. The payload of the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming That each child gets nothing more than a medium sized LEGO set (two pounds), the sleigh is carrying over 500 thousand tons, not counting Santa himself. On land, a conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granted that the "flying" reindeer can pull 10 times the normal amount, the job can't be done with eight or even nine of them, Santa would need 360,000 of them. This increases the payload, not counting the weight of the sleigh, another 54,000 tons, or roughly seven times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch). A mass of nearly 600,000 tons travelling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this would heat up the reindeer in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer would adsorb 14.3 quintillion joules of energy per second each. In short, they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second, or right about the time Santa reached the fifth house on his trip. Not that it matters, however, since Santa, as a result of accelerating from a dead stop to 650 miles/second in .001 seconds, would be subjected to acceleration forces of 17,000 g's. A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim considering all the high calorie snacks he must have consumed over the years) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force, instantly crushing his bones and organs and reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo. Therefore,if Santa did exist, he's dead now. Merry Christmas (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 19th, 2002
8:34 pm	Jocks vs. Nerds Michael Jordan having "retired," with $40 million in endorsements, makes $178,100 a day, working or not. If he sleeps 7 hours a night, he makes $52,000 every night while visions of sugarplums dance in his head. If he goes to see a movie, it'll cost him $7.00, but he'll make $18,550 while he's there. If he decides to have a 5-minute egg, he'll make $618 while boiling it. He makes $7,415/hr more than minimum wage. He'll make $3,710 while watching each episode of Friends. If he wanted to save up for a new Acura NSX ($90,000) it would take him a whole 12 hours. If someone were to hand him his salary and endorsement money, they would have to do it at the rate of $2.00 every second. He'll probably pay around $200 for a nice round of golf, but will be reimbursed $33,390 for that round. Assuming he puts the federal maximum of 15% of his income into a tax deferred account (401k), his contributions will hit the federal cap of $9500 at 8:30 a.m. on January 1st. If you were given a penny for every 10 dollars he made, you'd be living comfortably at $65,000 a year. He'll make about $19.60 while watching the 100 meter dash in the Olympics, and about $15,600 during the Boston Marathon. While the common person is spending about $20 for a meal in his trendy Chicago restaurant, he'll pull in about $5600. This year, he'll make more than twice as much as all U.S. past presidents for all of their terms combined. Amazing isn't it? However... If Jordan saves 100% of his income for the next 450 years, he'll still have less than Bill Gates has today. $$$ Game over. Nerd wins. (Comment on this)