Summer goal

I say a lot of things that may turn out to be a little inaccurate sometimes. It’s called being a person. A lot of people in my life try to trip me up and say “But Michael you said the exactly opposite thing last week.” Oh yeah? Well, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t, hotshot. Maybe you don’t hear things well. Maybe I just changed my mind. Who are you to tell me I’m a liar? You’re the liar! You’re the stupid liar, Liar! Don’t you look at me like that. Don’t you dare. I will take your eyes and turn them into eyeball stew. You hear me?

Moving on,

This is the year I’m finally going to tack on those extra fifteen pounds Every year I tell myself that this is going to be my big year for bulking up. Well guess what, body? THIS IS THE YEAR. I’m going to get so fat.

I better not become one of those dudes that get a fat belly and nothing else. I hate those jerks. From behind, they look like normal joes, but as soon as they turn around – bam! – how did that guy get pregnant? Skinny legs and a fat tummy is no way to go through life, that’s for sure. When I get fat, I want to be fat everywhere. I want people to look at me and think “doughy.” I want kids to puff out their cheeks at me and pretend there’s an earthquake every time I take a step. I want to get so fat that I don’t even get fat-rolls when I sit down, I just get a blob.

In order to gain the most weight possible, I’ve set up a very strict regimen for myself. I’m going to park as close to places as possible so I don’t have to walk. If there aren’t any spaces available, I’ll just wait in my car and eat a candy bar until somebody comes out. When I go to the grocery store, I’m going to get one of those electric carts to zoom around in so I’m not burning calories as I’m buying calories. I will never, ever take the stairs. As for eating, I’m going for quantity over quality. Do I want cheese on my fries? Yes. Do I want to mega-size something? Always. Will I finish food left behind by people at other tables? Yes. (actually that last part shouldn't be to hard since i've been doing it all my life)

There’s going to be a whole new Michael around these parts and this guy’s breaking every chair he sits in. Say goodbye to the idiot you once knew, because here comes Super chubby Michael and I’m going to eat your lunch.

Presidential politics

I don’t usually title these buggers, but today I’m going to (Actually all of these are titled, hmmm) I keep hearing all kinds of buzzing about Presidents and elections and blacks and ladies and Mormons and guys that done believe in evolution. I learned all of this from the newspaper. I don't typically read the Bend Bulletin, but I use it for a lot of other purposes, so it just kinda sinks in.

I’ve been through lots of Presidents in my time (well one crappy president) and after a while, you get a sense of what you want in a leader. Here’s my list of what I look for in a President:

1. I want a President who likes to dance. You get a square up there and none of the other countries want to party. The key to international relations is dancing. Condi needs to start drinking at these conferences.

2. My President needs to get pissed. Too many of those stiffs get to the White House and glad-hand everyone. Somebody does something terrible to America, they sit there calmly in their football-shaped office and tell us that everything is going to be okay. I want a dude (not a dudette) who grabs a golf club and smashes things when they talk to the nation. I want a leader who’s not afraid to tell everyone to go to hell.

3. I want a President that looks good dressed up. Nice cheeks bones are an added bonus. (Points here to Obama)

4. If they’re going to make bad decisions, they better make up for them spectacularly. I’m talking personalized apology notes, public floggings, and free ice cream. If they want to sit in a dunk tank, I’ll be the first in line to take a shot. (Where is my vanilla blizzard Mr. Bush???)

5. I want at least three controversies, none of which make America look bad. The President getting caught with an unbelievably foxy hooker is okay, but the President getting caught hitting the foxy hooker is not. Selling weapons to Europe is fine, but selling weapons to Asia is not. I’ll also accept some kind of unintentional foreign insult controversy, but it has to be funny and not boring.

Naps

I want to say something about naps. They’re great. I can’t get enough of them. I take as many naps as I possibly can – at home, at work, malls, public restrooms, adult movie theaters. At work, there’s this closet downstairs that’s filled with really comfortable mops. You bundle those mops together and you’ve got yourself an instant mattress. Not only that, you also end up getting a pretty good cleaning, depending on how much you roll around when you sleep. Most days I don’t even shower anymore because I know those mops will do the job for me. Three or four times a day, I tell everyone that I’m going to the bathroom and then pop down to my closet for some shuteye. Depending on how I feel, I’ll usually stay for thirty, forty minutes before heading back up. I call them “closetiestas,” like the Spaniards do.

Some people like a lot of pillows but I’m not one of them. I like one pillow at the most. Sometimes, I’ll toss the pillow away and just use a rolled up washcloth. No need to be greedy about your head cushions, right?

I’ve seen those memory-foam mattress commercials for years and always wanted one (the mattress, not the commercial). A few months ago, I sent away for the free sample they always offer. When it showed up, I have to say, I was impressed. They send you a little four inch by four inch square of the stuff and right away I could tell how comfortable it would be if I had the full mattress. So I did what any smart person would do. I made up four hundred fake names and now I’m just waiting for the rest of my free samples to arrive. When they get here, I’m going to tape them all together and have a memory-foam mattress for free. Take that, mattressland!

I’m not into counting sheep to fall asleep. I count shots of bourbon. I can usually get to eleven before I’m out like a light. I’ll bet sheep like bourbon, too. You can see it in their cold, black eyes. Those dudes are drinkers. Probably why the Oregon State beavers love them so much.