Today is Tugboat Day!

Today is Tugboat Day, and you know what that means. Tugboats! And lots of them.

Don’t bother telling me the itinerary – I know the drill. My captain’s hat and ascot are laid out and ready to be worn. My bushel of corn-on-the-cob is in a wicker basket (per regulation rules) and ready to be roasted. And my block of wood is by the door and ready to be whittled.

If this is your first Tugboat Day, well I only have one question for you: where the heck have you been!? Under a rock probably, because Tugboat Day is hands down the BEST day of the year.

Alright now, calm down. I know what you’re thinking – “There’s no way Tugboat Day is better than Veteran’s Day! And what about National Grandparent’s Day!?” Believe me, I said the exact same thing 4 years ago. But I’m telling you, once you see all those tugboats, your enthusiasm for all those old people is just gonna go right out the window!

If you want me to tell you all about Tugboat Day, you can just forget it. I AM NOT gonna spoil the surprise for you. This is something that just has to be seen to be believed!

Okay, one thing I will say is that there will be LOADS of tugboats. Also, I’ll give you some fair warning and let you in on a little secret: get there early! Otherwise, you’ll be hugging pine with the rest of the Johnny Come Latelys down on Main Street. And trust me, there are VERY FEW tugboats way back on Main Street!

When you get down to the marina, there will be plenty of tugboats waiting for you. If you’re anything like I was the first time I went, you’ll probably freak out and start screaming “Look at the tugboats! Look at the tugboats!” This is natural, but if you want to sound like a pro, you should know that us pros don’t go around shouting stuff like that.

Nope, because that’s just unprofessional. So if you want to fit in with the rest of us, I suggest fighting your instincts, and instead screaming “Look at the tugs! Look at the tugs!”

Because that’s what people in-the-know call tugboats. Tugs.

If you’re worried about getting seasick, I’ll go ahead and say you’ve got nothing to worry about. Because these tugboats aren’t for riding – they’re for admiring! If you want my advice, I recommend bringing some binoculars so you can really get in there and see all the details. If you don’t have binoculars, then don’t even think about asking to borrow mine. Sorry buddy, but I’ve got tugboats to see, so those binoculars are gonna be glued to my eye sockets all day!

Okay, I could tell you more, but seriously, just throw on a captain’s hat and get your butt down to the marina. Speaking of which, I see the sun is rising, so I’ve got to get a move on!

Oh my God! I can’t believe it! It’s finally here!! Can you believe it!? TODAY IS TUGBOAT DAY!!!

My Trophy Room is Fucking Huge

That’s right, I have so many trophies, I had to build an entire fucking room just to fucking show them all off. And this isn’t your run-of the mill, normal-sized piece-of-shit room either. This mother fucking room is so God damn huge, it’s unbelievable. Not literally, of course, but in a crazy, bat-shit bonkers kind of way. In fact, this trophy room is so insanely massive, the pussy-ass Trophy Room Store didn’t even have a floor plan big enough to accommodate my ridiculous amassment of trophies.


Just how big am I talking here? Let’s put it this way, if my kick-ass trophy room was the mayor of Midget Town, all those fucking midgets would need binoculars just to see what kind of mustache was growing on the lip of their gigantic fucking mayor (Fu Manchu). This mayor is so donkey-balls enormous, you’d think he wasn’t a midget at all. In fact, if I told you how tall he was, you’d probably think I was actually talking about a freakishly tall normal human being. You’d be wrong though. He’s just a really fucking big midget. Those stubby-ass arms and legs are a dead giveaway. And my trophy room is just as fucking monstrous as he is.

Don’t even bother asking me what the square footage of this colossal beast of a trophy room is, because I have no fucking clue! This shit is so huge, it would be impossible to measure! Even if I went out and bought, like, the longest tape measure in the fucking world, I probably wouldn’t even make it past the 4th fucking display case!

I guess I could maybe call in a team of scientists to come in with a bunch of lasers and shit to calculate the cavernous square footage of this behemoth of a trophy room, but why bother? I don’t need some shitty scientist to tell you that this ridiculously massive trophy room is assloads bigger than any other trophy room you’ve ever seen.

You want to come over and see it? By all fucking means. Just be sure to bring some sunglasses. Because this enormous trophy room has a huge sunroof and shitloads of windows, and when that much light hits that many trophies, you’re gonna need some serious fucking UV protection. Oh, and be sure to wear some closed-toed shoes too, because the sheer size of this room is so unreal it will KNOCK YOUR FUCKING SOCKS OFF!

Survival Diary

Day 1:

It’s official: I’m lost. But Theresa’s probably called the authorities by now so as long as I don’t panic, I should be fine. Plus, I’ve got plenty of training should it come down to that. Then again, what are the odds I would need to use my three years of interpretive dance training out here?

Day 4:

The search helicopters are passing by less and less frequently. I was optimistic before, but now I fear I may never be found. Looking back, I probably should have cut my nap short and come running when I heard those dogs barking and those men calling my name.

Day 8:

Gray clouds rumble ominously in the distance. The thought of wet clothes has spurred me to ditch my pile of jagged rocks, as comfortable as it is, and attempt to build myself a proper fort. Luckily, my father and I built many a fort in my youth, so I am confident in my abilities. Provided I find some couch cushions and a set of Looney Toons bedsheets, I should be looking up at my roof by nightfall.

Day 13:

The last of the Toblerones is gone. I used my shoelace and a paperclip to fashion a makeshift fishing pole. After hours at the stream, I finally succeed in snaring my quarry. And what a beauty it was – at least a foot in length! Too bad it was a trout. I don’t much care for trout – to fishy for my taste. I threw it back and prayed for marlin.

Day 16:

Oh my dear Theresa, how I wish you were here. I could really use your gorgeous face and encouraging smile right about now. And, lo, as I lie here how I wish your soft, supple breasts were laid out before me. I am a man with needs, after all. And right now this man needs a couple pillows that offers more neck support than this sorry pile of leaves.

Day 21:

Still no marlin. I did, however, come across a dead crow today. My body’s craving for meat was enough to override the putrid smell, so I skewered it and roasted it over an open flame. Surprisingly, the taste was not exotic at all, and I bet you can guess what kind of run-of-the-mill bird it tasted like. Yep. Crow. Rancid, maggot-infested crow.

Day 27:

The days are getting cold and the nights colder. When I set out for town all those days ago, I really should have taken the extra time to throw on a pair of pants. These Fruit of the Looms simply aren’t cutting it.

Day 30:

This will be my last entry. I’m growing weaker by the hour and even now I can barely hold the pen. Peter, my friend, if this note finds you I implore you to please look after Theresa for me. Feed her well, take her for long walks on the beach and brush her hair after you’re done rolling around with her in outside. I know Border Collie’s aren’t exactly your favorite, but you’ll grow to love her…I did.

Suicidal Thoughts

If I were forced to commit suicide, I wouldn’t do something extravagant like jump off a bridge or throw myself off a cliff. Instead, I’d probably just stay at home and use my gas oven. Because it’s not very tall and I bet I’d survive the fall.

It would take a lot of guts to stab yourself to death with a butcher knife. But not as much guts as it would take to drown yourself in a bathtub filled with human guts.

I read in the paper that this one lady won a Dodge Neon on a game show, and then later used it to inhale exhaust fumes and died. If I won a Dodge Neon, I probably would too.

I think suicide should be legal. Not because I’m morally in favor of it, but because I’m sick of all these dead corpses clogging up our prison system.

The Suicide Machines was a ska-punk band from Detroit, Michigan. It was also an invention that got me kicked out of the 8th-grade science fair.

If I ever ended up committing suicide, I wouldn’t leave a note telling everyone why I did it. Instead, I’d leave a wallet full of money, an empty pack of cigarettes and a conspicuous orange stain on the carpet. Because everyone loves a good murder mystery.

I’ve heard that, in the face of impending defeat, soldiers fall on their swords to “die a noble death.” I think a nobler thing would be to just give the sword to me so I can use it to slice cantaloupes and impress chicks.

I think people who cut their wrists are just looking for attention. That, or tendons.

How to be a Beekeeper

Ask anyone and they’ll tell you beekeeping is one of the coolest, sexiest hobbies around.  When beekeeping is done right, you’ll end up with a hobby that is both fun and profitable. And when it is done really right, you’ll also end up with a swarm of obedient bees that will dutifully assist you in your quest for world domination.

If the thought of living in a honeycomb castle and watching your enemies writhe in pain as they are enveloped by a sea of black and yellow intrigues you, then read on to learn how to become a beekeeper:

Step 1:

Obtain your bees. Most newcombers simply buy their bees from another beekeeper. However, be warned that the price of bees can be very expensive, as beekeepers don’t like the idea of splitting their future kingdoms with rival hive owners. Instead, it is suggested that you steal your bee minions from a beekeeper in the dead of night. Not only is this free, but it also weakens the defenses of those who will eventually try to oppose you.

Step 2:

Buy a bee suit (or steal it). Remember, it will take some time to earn the trust of the bees. In the meantime, you’ll need a bee suit to ward off the free thinkers of the hive. Don’t worry, once the bees are completely under your spell you will be able to discard your bee suit and replace it with an actual suit of bees.

Step 3:

Capture the queen bee. Acquiring the pheromones of the queen bee is the key to earning the undying trust of the hive. To exploit the queen bee’s scent, you must first find her. This can be done by placing a false advertisement in the newspaper claiming a  “Half-Off Sale” at Ross Dress For Less. When the queen sees this ad (which you have used to line the bottom of the hive), her feminine instinct to shop will drive her to the nearest Ross discount outlet. Of course, you’ll be waiting there with glass jar in hand, ready to pounce as soon as she arrives.

Step 4:

Purchase your headwear. Now that you have the queen, you need a hat to put her in. That way, when you wear the hat it will smell like the queen and the hive will be fooled into thinking you are their leader. It is suggested that you choose headwear that will match your eventual evil mastermind costume. Good options include a top hat, king’s crown and dunce cap. IMPORTANT: your hat MUST include metals that are attracted to magnets.

Step 5:

Train your bees. Now that you have the swarm’s attention, you must train them to follow your commands. Since bees don’t speak English, you will have to use telepathy. Hopefully, you have purchased an enchanted hat that allows your thoughts to be magically transmitted to your hordes of buzzing minions. If not, perhaps you could learn sign language or something.

Step 6:

Test the loyalty of your hive. To ensure your hive’s devotion has been properly cemented, it is time to put their skills to the test. Start with a small caper such as stealing the world’s largest emerald from a local museum. If the bees succeed in acquiring the item, great! If, however, they bungle the caper (or worse, report your plans to the authorities), return to Step 5 and repeat it. Also, consider buying a new hat.

Step 7:

Assume your alter ego. Now that you and your bees are ready to take over the world, all that’s left to do is to come up with a cool identity so you can start wreaking havoc. First, choose your costume. Should you be a wizard? Southern dandy? Evil mastermind with an enlarged, exposed brain? The choice is yours.*

Last, but not least, it’s time to think of a name that is both catchy and relevant. Good examples include The Honeycomb Kid, Sorcerer Sting, Professor Buzz! and Miss Bee-Haven.** Identity complete, the world is now yours for the taking. “Bee” safe and good luck.

*Note: a swamp monster covered in powerful magnets is already taken.
**The Magnetic Swarm is in use.

If I Were Something Else

If I were an ant, the first thing I would do is find a way to overtake the lead ant at the top of the hill. That way, when I took his place, I could turn to my friends whenever I wanted and say, “Is it just me, or does everyone look like ants from way up here?”

If I were a fish I’d be extra sure to never eat a big, fat worm floating in the water, even if I was really hungry. Because I’d rather die of starvation than be a stinking, slimy fish.

If I were a bear I’d spend all my time learning how to tie a Windsor knot. That way, when the news channels come looking for all those missing Boy Scouts, I’ll be dressed for the part.

If I were a tomato I’d try my darnedest to find a gardener who listened to the radio. Any station would be fine with me, as long as it kept that loudmouth gardener from talking to me all day. Hello!? Trying to grow here!

If I were a dog I would roll around in the dirt and lick my crotch every chance I got, because, man, that’s the life.

If I were a cat I’d probably have to start drinking a lot coffee because, seriously, I can’t afford to fall asleep every time the sunlight passes across my thinking chair. I’ve got thinking to do, damn it.

If I were a goose, I’d hang back during migration and let someone else lead flock. Sure, we’d miss out on that really great secret shortcut I know about, but if I led the way, THEN IT WOULDN’T BE A SECRET ANYMORE!

If I were a virus, I wouldn’t want to infect anyone who was too weak. Everyone knows I like a challenge.

If I were a monkey I’d pound on my chest, kick up dirt and get into the faces of everyone who opposes me. Because when you’re a monkey playing football, you’ve got to show the other team who’s boss.

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