Bible Study : Matthew 25:40

Frankly, I am not very good at giving people the benefit of the doubt. I often jump to false conclusions about people because my mind takes the first thing it sees and runs off with it.

Most of the time it is completely innocent. The security guy in the building lobby never says hi back to me: he must be clinically depressed. The girl on the train doesn't try to start a conversation with me: she must be homosexual. Obama doesn't return my fan mail: he must be too busy working back channels trying to figure out which position in his cabinet he would like for me.

These, as I say, are innocent. While it might be unfair for me to think that the guy in the lobby is clinically depressed. It doesn't hurt anyone. Sure I might pass and give him my most piteous smile, as if to say "buck up big guy, everything is going to be okay." I mean who doesn't need more of those kinds of smiles in their day. That he doesn't reciprocate is fine. He needs to concentrate his energies on more important things. Reconnecting with his inner child, a long lost parent, or girlfriend with whom he obviously has unfinished business.

They expose my inner compassion, my deft interpersonal prowess, and my fierce love of humanity in its myriad forms.

It's those times when things aren't so innocent that I feel so bad.

"Oh, that guy is walking soooo weird. Why would he walk like that?" Turns out, it's because he has a prosthetic limb. How was I supposed to know that? "Holy weird, that girl keeps looking at me funny. What's her deal?" Turns out, her entire face is a skin graft. Well pardon me. Don't get your panties in a wad.

"These don't hurt anyone either" you say? Yeah well maybe not, but they make me look bad. And that is just unacceptable.

Since this has burned me so often in the past, I have learned to wait a beat before making any conclusions. Just hold off a second, Brett. Maybe you're tarnishing your image with this one. Maybe that guy with the shopping cart has a reason for yelling incoherently. Yes. Yes, Brett, he does. It turns out, he's not shopping at all. No, he's homeless and probably insane. See, that's your reward for patience.

So today, when I got to work, I had to go to the bathroom. I was in a rush, but no amount of urgency could have kept me from noticing that the first urinal I get to is completely covered in piss. There's piss on the bowl, piss on the walls, piss on the floor in a splattery halo around my feet.

The old me would say, "Oh great, some moron forgot that he was a grown ass adult and decided to try to hit the urinal from across the room." or "Yay, just my luck. An inconsiderate asshole lost control of his stream and didn't bother to clean up after himself."

That was the old me.

Given my history, I have to wait a beat. Think it through. Take that person's circumstances into consideration.

And then, like fire from the gods, my Promethean brain hands down the true story. The tragic hero of our tale it seems has been living with a dire problem. He is a business executive, working his life from the bottom rung to the top with a horrible stigma to overcome. Were his colleagues to find out, he may have never become a middle manager. If the proverbial cat got out of the proverbial bag, this inspiring story may have been lost to the annals of American bigotry. It seems that this unassuming soul has a little known condition called Exploding Penis Syndrome.

And then the sympathy kicks in. What would I do if every time I tried to pee, my penis just exploded and reformed before my eyes? Oh, I would weep. I would wail. I would quit my station in embarrassment to roam this great country in search of some lowly Exploding Penis Colony. But it was obvious from the drippy foot prints that trailed out of the bathroom that this was no ordinary man. He did not run. He walked. Strolled. Coolly even. He washed his god forsaken hands! This is no man to pity. This is a man that holds himself to a higher standard and so we must as well.

I only had disdain for the judging eyes as they passed me prostrate on the floor. My papertowelled hands cleaning his pee in an act of reverence.

As Jesus said, "Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

And if you don't think I would clean-up Jesus' exploding piss, then you are very much mistaken, my friend.


-Brett

And that's How the Word 'Brunch' came to be...

Once upon a time a man named Alex Schoenbaum sat down at a "very awkward time of the day for lunch". He had slept in till ten after a night of trouble-making and cruisin' and this lead to a tug of war between his belly and his natural eating cycle. He didn't know if he wanted the scrambles and honey dew, or burgers and taters, but the fact of the matter was that his belly was screaming for something "goooood".

"Whoa," he said in front of a bunch of his friends, "I'm really confused right now. I can't tell if I want breakfast or lunch." Well since all of his friends partook in the previous night's debauchery they were all on the same plane as far as their belly's confusion with their minds. They thought really hard for a while and ripped open a bag of little suckers. (Not the tiny Dum-Dums, but the god thick quarter-shaped kind) Two hours and a family sized bag of suckers later, Old Schoenbaum came to an obvious, but brilliant conclusion. "I don't give a shit what we call it, it's all grease and it's all gonna be shit by Monday night football time. Let's just call it brunch and get the fuck on with our lives."

Well. Get the fuck on with his life, he did. Essentially, he erected a buffet that that divided the Buffet soldiers from the Girly-girl Weah-weah babies. It stretched from its origin, Charleston West Virginia all the way to the outer edges of the Midwest. You could think of it as a metaphorical sister project to the Great Wall of China. Okay, well just say it was a pretty damn big buffet, and it was an overnight hotspot for after-church minglings.

One of his friends had the next brilliant idea. "Hey Schoeny, this is such a popular place to be, you should name it."

In classic Schoeny fashion, he replied, "That's it. We'll just call it Shoney's and get the fuck on with the blueprints for a legendary buffet."

320 current locations and millions of full bellies later, he leans back with a glass of Sangria in his navy blue hot tub and says ".......Brunch". (arrogant chuckle) "......Stupid motherfuckers".



Well, as former Sunday frequenter of this legendary buffet, I have one thing to say to Alex Schoenbaum and his army of bussers.

Thanks for all the pancakes and suckers. I love you.

-anthony

I need to get a job on the McCain campaign.

For all of the RNC's lavish spending on Palin in the past month, I just read that Palin's make-up lady was the highest paid person in the McCain campaign during the first two weeks of October. $22,800 for two weeks of make-up expertise.

And let's face it here. It's not like you're trying to make McCain look like George Clooney. This is Sarah Palin. I mean for all the psychoness and nobrainitude, she is at least passably attractive. $23,000 better get her looking like Mrs. America. But maybe she has an uphill battle to climb. Maybe if you remove all the make-up you get THIS.


Reagan's out there somewhere ya know, hanging out with Elvis, and Jimi, and Tupac. In some dive bar in Montana, just drinking and laughing with those guys. And Kurt Cobain is there playing darts. And Chris Farley is like the totally funny/big-brotherly bartender guy. But Reagan is definitely the ringleader. Keeping the guys focused for there eventual reemergence as the League of Six: Ultimate Fighting Force! At least that's how it is in Anthony and I's dreams.

Or maybe this. is little more plausible. Zombie Reagan '08!

SOMETHING OF THE DAY!

Now that we've covered fun party hats, today's topic is religulous.

FREAKY RELIGIOUS PROPOGANDA OF THE DAY!













REAL REAL REAL SOON!

This is the condensed version, but you get the point.

A few things to note:
- All "scientific facts" pulled straight from the Focus on the Family handbook.
- The title of this one was "That Crazy Guy" in reference to this swinging cat.
- Make sure to check out such other fun reading as Stairway to Hell, How to be a Successful Example of What Not to Do, and Please Come Into My ?$@#*, Lord Jesus.


Have a great weekend now. And don't forget Jesus will protect you from AIDS so go have a good time!

Asking the important questions:

Last night, I was talking to my wife about our landlord. Not a big fan of our landlord. So, I off-handedly mentioned something about strangling her (the landlord, not my wife).

My wife of course at that point calls me out on saying that I would strangle our landlord, because she is a woman. "I have never heard a man say he would strangle another man," she says. "You would say you would kick a man's ass, but a woman you would strangle." At first I was defensive, but she's right, and I told her so. Why perpetuate that kind of power myth and submission by violence? A woman should be one's equal. A woman should be on the same footing as a man and should from there be judged by her own merit.

So, of course, this begs the question, "What is the politically correct way to torture a woman?"

My wife didn't have a lot of answers to that one.

I will take suggestions in the comment section. I need to know by the time rent is due. Thanks.

-Brett

Brett Doesn't Wear Underwear Much

(See Brett's question 2 posts below)

Yesterday was definitely a good day as far as our friendship goes, but I was/am sick. You think I have time in between self pity and watching my back in times of desperate economic turmoil to worry about your fly?

And on top of that, you don't wear underwear. That means that your supremely sensitive balls should have picked up on the extra air flow and told your brain to tell your grimy fingers to take care of it yourself.

Where oh where does personal responsibility fit into today's cut throat friendships?

-Anthony

SOMETHING OF THE DAY!

Regular bloggers are the best. You can tell they have drive and purpose and they really believe that people are hanging on their every word. Which of course they are. Which is to say I are.

While I might not blog daily [or even weekly or monthly], I do refresh my browser about every 30-40 seconds in case something new happens on the internet, hanging on every word so as not to miss anything. I would so hate to be the 2nd or 3rd person to see that delicious new morsel of hilarity that my obscure friend posted on his/her even obscurer blog. If I don't read that NYTimes article or see the newest viral video on YouTube within minutes of it's posting, I'm frankly not terribly interested.

Last I checked sloppy seconds was a bad thing.

In an effort to engage our readers and put our mark on our tiny little-trod corner of the intersphere, I present to you:

SOMETHING OF THE DAY!

Damn. Wish that could have been a little more impressive.

Anyway, some people have Quotes of the day or pictures of the day or news quizzes or whatever. We're going to focus on that last category. The whatever part.

So without further ado, here is

SOMETHING OF THE DAY!



It's a guy with a chili pepper for a hat! Oh man, what will the internet think of next.

Tune in again tomorrow for another harrowing installment.


-Brett

I won't say I'm feeling betrayed, but...

So, we were hanging out, ya know, working all day yesterday, and we were getting on well. I won't say it was Earth shattering, but definitely pleasant and I felt like our friendship was stronger for it. You laughed at my jokes, I engaged your arguments, we ate some chips and dip. Good stuff.


So here's the question, Anthony:

When were you planning on letting me know my fly had been unzipped the whole time?









From your silence, I'm going to guess never. And here I thought I was beginning to know you.



-Brett