There are people out there who do the sickest things imaginable. One of them is plumbing.
Plumbers are often times unsung heroes doing a thankless job.
To go into a stranger's house and dally around with the disease nexus of the whole home takes dedication that I don't have.
Furthermore, you have to sometimes go when the weather is the worst.
I'm waiting on a plumber to come fix a toilet in my house that is possessed by demons. At the same time, there's a pretty sensational thunderstorm going on outside.
My hat is off for the poor soul that who not only has to deal with my crap, but also might get hit by lightning as well.
Keith, you're my hero.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
String Cheese - Article Twelve
Nothing stinks like gas prices
by Aryn Corley
Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or in Iraq, for that matter), you don’t need me to tell you the price of gas is too freakin’ high.While “Big Oil” is posting record profits every quarter, we, the American people, have to find new and creative ways to get from Point A to Point B.
Lately, I’ve been seeing lots of people riding horses. It’s funny to think we’ve come full circle and are once again relying on our equine friends. Man has used horses to get around for thousands of years. Why should we quit now?While I don’t mind people riding horses down the middle of town on a busy day, I just wish they had blinkers on their backsides. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when one is turning.
Mobility scooters have become popular recently with the older set. Some of these things can zip along at almost 10 miles per hour! I hope they’ll have scooter races at the new motorsports park. Not only are they battery-powered, but they’re also quiet and clean for the environment. No harmful fumes to peck away at the ozone layer.
That is, of course, unless the driver has eaten enchiladas for lunch.
It worries me though when I see an octogenarian with a Tony Stewart complex driving one of these things on a paved road. If you get hit by one of these things, you may have to go to the clinic to have it removed. I’m hoping if I make it to 80, the hovercraft will have been perfected.
The high price of gasoline has also sparked dialogue about the research and development of alternative fuels. Bio-diesel is a term that’s been kicked around in the news lately as a possible source of alternative fuel. Basically, your car’s engine is modified to run using vegetable oil. There’s actually something kind of cool about the idea of driving a French fryer. If this catches on, McDonald’s might install pumps in its drive-through. Willie Nelson’s tour bus apparently runs on bio-diesel. Some of his fans say that it’s harder to find his tour bus now because it smells like French fries instead of “Hippie Lettuce.”
Electricity is always an option, but for some reason people don’t like the idea of having to put in all those “AA” batteries. The average automobile would take about 10,000 of those little guys. Another problem with electric cars is power. If you live 20 miles away from work, you’d be hard pressed to find an extension cord that long. There is one plus though. To jump-start an electric car, instead of using those annoying cables, just drag your feet across shag carpeting, then touch it.
Youch!
While all of these things are a step in the right direction toward quelling or dependence on fossil fuels, they still miss the mark. I’m not an engineer or a research scientist. However, I think I have an idea that will revolutionize the petroleum industry and usher in a new era of American ingenuity.
(Drum roll)
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: the BS engine.
(Thunderous applause)
The concept is very simple: an engine that runs on BS. Everywhere in our great country, thousands of tons of BS are generated every day. There’s so much BS, it’s unreal. The average American spends most of their day at work and at home wading through BS. In fact, our government practically runs on it already. There has got to be a useful application for all of the BS in the world. Ironically, it’s BS that’s driving up the price of gas. With a BS engine, the typical American family could continuously fill it up without ever having to spend a single penny on fuel.
Whether the BS came from work, home, or television, it wouldn’t matter where the BS came from because it would all work the same. Airplanes could even be outfitted with these engines. Imagine the possibility. After all, no place generates BS quite like an airport.
Some may think my humble idea is a joke, but I’m dead dog serious. Remember, it was the disbelievers and the “naysayers” who laughed at Thomas Edison when he invented Viagra.
I’ll be the first person on my block to have a car that’s totally powered by BS. And I already have the perfect fuel — String Cheese articles!
by Aryn Corley
Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or in Iraq, for that matter), you don’t need me to tell you the price of gas is too freakin’ high.While “Big Oil” is posting record profits every quarter, we, the American people, have to find new and creative ways to get from Point A to Point B.
Lately, I’ve been seeing lots of people riding horses. It’s funny to think we’ve come full circle and are once again relying on our equine friends. Man has used horses to get around for thousands of years. Why should we quit now?While I don’t mind people riding horses down the middle of town on a busy day, I just wish they had blinkers on their backsides. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when one is turning.
Mobility scooters have become popular recently with the older set. Some of these things can zip along at almost 10 miles per hour! I hope they’ll have scooter races at the new motorsports park. Not only are they battery-powered, but they’re also quiet and clean for the environment. No harmful fumes to peck away at the ozone layer.
That is, of course, unless the driver has eaten enchiladas for lunch.
It worries me though when I see an octogenarian with a Tony Stewart complex driving one of these things on a paved road. If you get hit by one of these things, you may have to go to the clinic to have it removed. I’m hoping if I make it to 80, the hovercraft will have been perfected.
The high price of gasoline has also sparked dialogue about the research and development of alternative fuels. Bio-diesel is a term that’s been kicked around in the news lately as a possible source of alternative fuel. Basically, your car’s engine is modified to run using vegetable oil. There’s actually something kind of cool about the idea of driving a French fryer. If this catches on, McDonald’s might install pumps in its drive-through. Willie Nelson’s tour bus apparently runs on bio-diesel. Some of his fans say that it’s harder to find his tour bus now because it smells like French fries instead of “Hippie Lettuce.”
Electricity is always an option, but for some reason people don’t like the idea of having to put in all those “AA” batteries. The average automobile would take about 10,000 of those little guys. Another problem with electric cars is power. If you live 20 miles away from work, you’d be hard pressed to find an extension cord that long. There is one plus though. To jump-start an electric car, instead of using those annoying cables, just drag your feet across shag carpeting, then touch it.
Youch!
While all of these things are a step in the right direction toward quelling or dependence on fossil fuels, they still miss the mark. I’m not an engineer or a research scientist. However, I think I have an idea that will revolutionize the petroleum industry and usher in a new era of American ingenuity.
(Drum roll)
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: the BS engine.
(Thunderous applause)
The concept is very simple: an engine that runs on BS. Everywhere in our great country, thousands of tons of BS are generated every day. There’s so much BS, it’s unreal. The average American spends most of their day at work and at home wading through BS. In fact, our government practically runs on it already. There has got to be a useful application for all of the BS in the world. Ironically, it’s BS that’s driving up the price of gas. With a BS engine, the typical American family could continuously fill it up without ever having to spend a single penny on fuel.
Whether the BS came from work, home, or television, it wouldn’t matter where the BS came from because it would all work the same. Airplanes could even be outfitted with these engines. Imagine the possibility. After all, no place generates BS quite like an airport.
Some may think my humble idea is a joke, but I’m dead dog serious. Remember, it was the disbelievers and the “naysayers” who laughed at Thomas Edison when he invented Viagra.
I’ll be the first person on my block to have a car that’s totally powered by BS. And I already have the perfect fuel — String Cheese articles!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
RSS Feed Thingy
To all my ambassadors of the Cheese Nation!
Here's your chance to get plugged straight into the whole "String Cheese" phenomenon. When you subscribe the RSS feed below, you'll automatically get the articles link to your browser. This is great when you are at work and you want your Cheese on the "down-low". Internet explorer and Firefox both have RSS feed readers built into them so all you have to do is CLICKIT!
Give it a try, I'm sure you'll like it.
Plus, I'm trying to get 5,000 hits by the end of the year. Thanks for visiting my site and please... pass the word along.
RSS FEED: http://aryncorley.blogspot.com/atom.xml
Here's your chance to get plugged straight into the whole "String Cheese" phenomenon. When you subscribe the RSS feed below, you'll automatically get the articles link to your browser. This is great when you are at work and you want your Cheese on the "down-low". Internet explorer and Firefox both have RSS feed readers built into them so all you have to do is CLICKIT!
Give it a try, I'm sure you'll like it.
Plus, I'm trying to get 5,000 hits by the end of the year. Thanks for visiting my site and please... pass the word along.
RSS FEED: http://aryncorley.blogspot.com/atom.xml
Monday, July 28, 2008
String Cheese- Article Eleven
'Five Stars' Can't Outshine Lone Star
by Aryn Corley
There’s no place like East Texas.
I recently attended a wedding in Colorado Springs, Colorado. The picturesque mountains there provide a stunning backdrop to the surge of “cookie cutter” housing developments going on in the area. It was nice to visit during a time when there wasn’t any danger of freezing off parts of my body.
The wedding itself was held at the historical Broadmoor Hotel. The Broadmoor Hotel is a very nice, top-of-the-line five star establishment. To the rest of the world, it’s a place of luxury and elegance. To us East Texans, it’s a whole lot bigger than Wal-Mart.
In the front of the hotel, valets were scurrying around parking people’s cars while bellhops were rushing around taking care of the luggage. I saw one lady who had so many bags I thought she was moving there! A guy in a turkey-pee yellow colored jacket and hat asked me if he could take my car. He was the either the nicest car jacker ever or he worked for ABC’s Wild World of Sports.
I handed him the keys, then my wife, kids, and I cautiously entered the enormous building.
Inside the hotel, everything was ornately decorated. The floors sparkled and the brass shined like the rails outside of the Walls Unit in Huntsville. It was also filled with thousands of things any 2-year-old would love to get their tiny “raccoon fingers” on. On the wall hung a picture of a disdainful old man who looked like he was about to shoot lasers out of his eyes. It was one of those creepy pictures where the eyes seem to follow you as you move around.
I approached a long wooden counter top where two people were smiling and looking at me. I slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter and said, “Bartender, I’ll have a Shirley Temple!” Their faces suddenly looked like that old man in the picture. “This is the registration desk, sir. Libations are served in the hotel bar on the mezzanine level.”
Mezzanine? Libations? I was starting to feel like Jed Clampett.
The hotel bar has a patio area overlooking a small lake filled with swans, geese, and several other varieties of waterfowl. I sat at a table and was approached by a man dressed like a bus driver. I asked what the special for the day was and he told me it was Duck A L’orange.
“I’ll believe I’ll have that one right there,” I said, pointing to a bloated swan.
His face started to look like those two people at the registration desk. He walked away and I never saw him again. He must’ve been a ghost.
Suddenly, I realized my wife and kids were nowhere to be seen. When my children are quiet, they’re usually up to no good. It didn’t take me long to find my two heathen cave children throwing peppermints at a poor squirrel sitting on a planter. I couldn’t decide who was more foolish, the kids for trying to bag a squirrel using hotel candy or the squirrel for taking it. As it turns out, my wife had run to the restroom, leaving them unattended. She’d gotten sick when she saw a woman carrying an actual Hermes “Birkin” handbag. The price of those hag bags is more than my Chevy pick-up truck!
After the wedding, we ate in The Penrose Room. For those who like fine dining and excellent quality food and service, this place is like heaven. For those who are more into seven-layer burritos and Route 44 Dr. Peppers with vanilla, then this is a little piece of hell.
My 5-year-old is such a picky eater that I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t want a Caesar salad. To him it “smells like feet.” My wife couldn’t get over how much the six-course meal cost. It affected her so much, she had to go back to the ladies room for another round of disbelief.
My 2-year-old declared she had to go to the toilet too. Anyone who’s ever potty trained a kid knows when they say that, you have about five seconds to respond. I scooped up my child and headed for the bathroom. I hadn’t gotten very far before a very official man wearing a bus driver’s supervisor uniform stopped me.
“Excuse, me sir. You have to have a jacket on when you come into the ballroom,” he said curtly.
I paused. Then very politely I responded.
“ I don’t have a jacket anymore because I donated it to a homeless guy who really needed it. Unless you want this 2-year-old to drop wolf-bait on your dance floor, I recommend you letting us pass.”
The nice man glared at me and stepped aside. He must’ve been related to that old grouch in the picture in the lobby.
Not long after that encounter we left. The Broadmoor Hotel is a nice place, and I recommend everyone to see it and stay there if you have the dough. Be warned! I don’t think it’s a place for the redneck crowd. Since being in East Texas, I’ve grown accustomed to the unrefined and uncomplicated way we live here in the Piney Woods.
Some people may call it uncivilized. I call it home.
UPDATE: It seems that bears read String Cheese too. I bet they let him slide on the jacket...
http://www.denverpost.com/rapids/ci_10070899
by Aryn Corley
There’s no place like East Texas.
I recently attended a wedding in Colorado Springs, Colorado. The picturesque mountains there provide a stunning backdrop to the surge of “cookie cutter” housing developments going on in the area. It was nice to visit during a time when there wasn’t any danger of freezing off parts of my body.
The wedding itself was held at the historical Broadmoor Hotel. The Broadmoor Hotel is a very nice, top-of-the-line five star establishment. To the rest of the world, it’s a place of luxury and elegance. To us East Texans, it’s a whole lot bigger than Wal-Mart.
In the front of the hotel, valets were scurrying around parking people’s cars while bellhops were rushing around taking care of the luggage. I saw one lady who had so many bags I thought she was moving there! A guy in a turkey-pee yellow colored jacket and hat asked me if he could take my car. He was the either the nicest car jacker ever or he worked for ABC’s Wild World of Sports.
I handed him the keys, then my wife, kids, and I cautiously entered the enormous building.
Inside the hotel, everything was ornately decorated. The floors sparkled and the brass shined like the rails outside of the Walls Unit in Huntsville. It was also filled with thousands of things any 2-year-old would love to get their tiny “raccoon fingers” on. On the wall hung a picture of a disdainful old man who looked like he was about to shoot lasers out of his eyes. It was one of those creepy pictures where the eyes seem to follow you as you move around.
I approached a long wooden counter top where two people were smiling and looking at me. I slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter and said, “Bartender, I’ll have a Shirley Temple!” Their faces suddenly looked like that old man in the picture. “This is the registration desk, sir. Libations are served in the hotel bar on the mezzanine level.”
Mezzanine? Libations? I was starting to feel like Jed Clampett.
The hotel bar has a patio area overlooking a small lake filled with swans, geese, and several other varieties of waterfowl. I sat at a table and was approached by a man dressed like a bus driver. I asked what the special for the day was and he told me it was Duck A L’orange.
“I’ll believe I’ll have that one right there,” I said, pointing to a bloated swan.
His face started to look like those two people at the registration desk. He walked away and I never saw him again. He must’ve been a ghost.
Suddenly, I realized my wife and kids were nowhere to be seen. When my children are quiet, they’re usually up to no good. It didn’t take me long to find my two heathen cave children throwing peppermints at a poor squirrel sitting on a planter. I couldn’t decide who was more foolish, the kids for trying to bag a squirrel using hotel candy or the squirrel for taking it. As it turns out, my wife had run to the restroom, leaving them unattended. She’d gotten sick when she saw a woman carrying an actual Hermes “Birkin” handbag. The price of those hag bags is more than my Chevy pick-up truck!
After the wedding, we ate in The Penrose Room. For those who like fine dining and excellent quality food and service, this place is like heaven. For those who are more into seven-layer burritos and Route 44 Dr. Peppers with vanilla, then this is a little piece of hell.
My 5-year-old is such a picky eater that I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t want a Caesar salad. To him it “smells like feet.” My wife couldn’t get over how much the six-course meal cost. It affected her so much, she had to go back to the ladies room for another round of disbelief.
My 2-year-old declared she had to go to the toilet too. Anyone who’s ever potty trained a kid knows when they say that, you have about five seconds to respond. I scooped up my child and headed for the bathroom. I hadn’t gotten very far before a very official man wearing a bus driver’s supervisor uniform stopped me.
“Excuse, me sir. You have to have a jacket on when you come into the ballroom,” he said curtly.
I paused. Then very politely I responded.
“ I don’t have a jacket anymore because I donated it to a homeless guy who really needed it. Unless you want this 2-year-old to drop wolf-bait on your dance floor, I recommend you letting us pass.”
The nice man glared at me and stepped aside. He must’ve been related to that old grouch in the picture in the lobby.
Not long after that encounter we left. The Broadmoor Hotel is a nice place, and I recommend everyone to see it and stay there if you have the dough. Be warned! I don’t think it’s a place for the redneck crowd. Since being in East Texas, I’ve grown accustomed to the unrefined and uncomplicated way we live here in the Piney Woods.
Some people may call it uncivilized. I call it home.
UPDATE: It seems that bears read String Cheese too. I bet they let him slide on the jacket...
http://www.denverpost.com/rapids/ci_10070899
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The "Lonliest Man in the World"
As I was fleeing from Houston today during rush hour traffic, I was listening to Dave Moody (of Sirius NASCAR radio channel 128) talk about Jessie White (http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=3747).
For those of you who don't know, Jessie White was the ORIGINAL Maytag repairman. Sadly Mr. White died in JAN of 1997. He was 79 years old.
On FEB 26, 1996, I was on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno and appeared on camera with Mr. White for a bit called "Midnight Confessions". My punishment for heckling Bill and Hillary Clinton (along with British Prime Minister John Major and his wife; sorry.) was to play solitaire with the Maytag Repairman.
He was a nice guy and told me that the key to winning at solitaire was "... to cheat." He chomped on a cigar and feebly laid the cards on the table backstage. When the show returned from commercial break, we were there playing cards.
As far as I know, this was the last time Mr. White was seen alive on television.
So what does this get me? Nothing.
However, it's not often that you get to meet a pop-culture icon in person. It's even more rare to have shared his last comedic endeavor with the rest of the world.
Rest in Peace, Mr. White.
For those of you who don't know, Jessie White was the ORIGINAL Maytag repairman. Sadly Mr. White died in JAN of 1997. He was 79 years old.
On FEB 26, 1996, I was on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno and appeared on camera with Mr. White for a bit called "Midnight Confessions". My punishment for heckling Bill and Hillary Clinton (along with British Prime Minister John Major and his wife; sorry.) was to play solitaire with the Maytag Repairman.
He was a nice guy and told me that the key to winning at solitaire was "... to cheat." He chomped on a cigar and feebly laid the cards on the table backstage. When the show returned from commercial break, we were there playing cards.
As far as I know, this was the last time Mr. White was seen alive on television.
So what does this get me? Nothing.
However, it's not often that you get to meet a pop-culture icon in person. It's even more rare to have shared his last comedic endeavor with the rest of the world.
Rest in Peace, Mr. White.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Extra Cheese
I think I'll also use this space for articles which might not make regular print. Here, I don't have to worry too much about advertisers getting angry. I'll try to keep the profianity to a minimum as well. Have fun!
New Research Gives New Meaning to ‘Watermelon Thump’
by Aryn Corley
There has been much ballyhoo lately about a study, which came out of College Station recently. In it, Dr. Bhimu Patil, director of Texas A&M’s Fruit and Vegetable Improvement Center, claims that certain ingredients found naturally in watermelons may have a “Viagra” like effect.
Hold on. Let me get this straight. There’s a Fruit and Vegetable Improvement Center at Texas A&M?
According to Dr. Patil, watermelons may be more beneficial that just something sweet to eat on a hot summer day. The ingredient –citrulline- helps blood vessels to relax. Much like Viagra does.
Viagra is a drug which enhances male erectile dysfunction. It was developed during WW2 as a way to keep G.I.’s from rolling out of their bunk beds. Back then it was called “Operation Kickstand”.
Just when nature had dealt grandpa his last card, Viagra put him back in the game with a full.. er… deck.
Sadly, Dr. Patil didn’t elaborate on just how many watermelons you had to eat to make Mr. Johnson and the Juice Crew motivated.
Luckily, a friend of mine grows watermelons. So, I decided to do a week long study of my own just to find out what would happen. For this experiment, I ate Charlston Grey watermelons from Polk County, Texas. Here’s how it went:
Monday – ate about five pounds worth of melon. No viagra effect. More like Coors effect. I’ve peed more than Seabiscuit!
Tuesday – ate another five pounds. No effect. My stool looked like Darth Vaders lightsaber. It was glowing and red.
Wednesday – I upped the dosage to seven pounds of watermelon. Still no effect. Although, I did call my wife several times to see what she was doing.
Thursday- Ate another seven pounds. Dreamed about Dolly Parton carrying two huge Black Diamond melons in a bag. No effect.
Friday- Upped dosage. Ate ten pounds of watermelon. Had to change into pants. Too drafty outside for shorts. No effect.
Saturday- Ten pounds consumed. Started hearing voices. Seeing green. Must go lie down.
Sunday- Awoke in the morning to a house in shambles. There are large holes in the walls and things were knocked off the table. I must have sleepwalked. Plus, I’m sore.
Well, there you have it. I dunno what it was, but I can tell you it’s nice to have a break from watermelon for a little while.
If watermelons act like Viagra, I wonder what kumquats are good for?
New Research Gives New Meaning to ‘Watermelon Thump’
by Aryn Corley
There has been much ballyhoo lately about a study, which came out of College Station recently. In it, Dr. Bhimu Patil, director of Texas A&M’s Fruit and Vegetable Improvement Center, claims that certain ingredients found naturally in watermelons may have a “Viagra” like effect.
Hold on. Let me get this straight. There’s a Fruit and Vegetable Improvement Center at Texas A&M?
According to Dr. Patil, watermelons may be more beneficial that just something sweet to eat on a hot summer day. The ingredient –citrulline- helps blood vessels to relax. Much like Viagra does.
Viagra is a drug which enhances male erectile dysfunction. It was developed during WW2 as a way to keep G.I.’s from rolling out of their bunk beds. Back then it was called “Operation Kickstand”.
Just when nature had dealt grandpa his last card, Viagra put him back in the game with a full.. er… deck.
Sadly, Dr. Patil didn’t elaborate on just how many watermelons you had to eat to make Mr. Johnson and the Juice Crew motivated.
Luckily, a friend of mine grows watermelons. So, I decided to do a week long study of my own just to find out what would happen. For this experiment, I ate Charlston Grey watermelons from Polk County, Texas. Here’s how it went:
Monday – ate about five pounds worth of melon. No viagra effect. More like Coors effect. I’ve peed more than Seabiscuit!
Tuesday – ate another five pounds. No effect. My stool looked like Darth Vaders lightsaber. It was glowing and red.
Wednesday – I upped the dosage to seven pounds of watermelon. Still no effect. Although, I did call my wife several times to see what she was doing.
Thursday- Ate another seven pounds. Dreamed about Dolly Parton carrying two huge Black Diamond melons in a bag. No effect.
Friday- Upped dosage. Ate ten pounds of watermelon. Had to change into pants. Too drafty outside for shorts. No effect.
Saturday- Ten pounds consumed. Started hearing voices. Seeing green. Must go lie down.
Sunday- Awoke in the morning to a house in shambles. There are large holes in the walls and things were knocked off the table. I must have sleepwalked. Plus, I’m sore.
Well, there you have it. I dunno what it was, but I can tell you it’s nice to have a break from watermelon for a little while.
If watermelons act like Viagra, I wonder what kumquats are good for?
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