A new Uber service called UberJog promises to let you call an expert runner to go on a run on your behalf.
Although, to be honest, I’d prefer a service that does the swimming portion of a triathlon for you. I’ve got one coming up in three weeks, and I’m ill prepared for it. As I have been for the last two Tiger Triathlons in Republic.
And while we’re on the subject, here’s a bit of satire I shared on Facebook:
I see via Mr. Hill that I was not alone in my macabre humor.
So I have been messing around with Git and Github since it’s the versioning software all the kids use, and I’ve found the pull and push nomenclature, not to mention the order of operations, a little strange to someone used to Visual SourceSafe or Subversion. So I downloaded a picture of the Pushmi-pullyu from the film Doctor Dolittle, the original one with Rex Harrison and not the Eddie Murphy remake (although I have seen neither–but I read the book in middle school).
I was going to make a gag about it being the cover of my new book about Git.
But. Or, more precisely, butt another opportunity for mirth presented itself.
So this week, I’m helping take care of her cats while she’s out of town, and one of my boys spots the magnets and puts them together in some sort of eldritch unholy alliance you would find in Lovecraft:
I said to my mother-in-law, “A pussy-pullyu.”
She didn’t get it.
So I snapped a picture of the monstrosities and said, “I’ll put it on my blog. Someone will get it.”
You, gentle reader, now have the context of the pun and why it came so easily to me.
Eh, who cares. I’m just doing the for the mad search hits for whatever kind of sexual trick the pun means it the seedy seamy underbelly of humanity that is our Internet.
As we live in the country, you might not be surprised when the random bull shows up at Nogglestead.
But sometimes, I have to explain.
My children have been home this summer instead of going to various camps to occupy them whilst their parents work (working from home can be especially challenging during the summer time). They’ve had a lot of time playing video games, and apparently all the video games these days have integrated audio with them, so my youngest has spent a lot of time saying loudly, “Do you have a mike?”
When they had a friend over one Sunday afternoon, they all spent time playing individual games on their individual devices instead of playing with their friend. So I printed out a picture of Michael Jordan and waited until my youngest was playing on a gaming system that did not have a microphone.
“Do you have a Mike?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. At eleven, he knows the proper inflection for how can you even ask that?
“Here,” I handed him the color picture.
It’s floated around our lower level since. Being it’s a color print out, nobody wants to dispose of it willy-nilly, without enough time elapsing and reflection.
You know I had children specifically so I could make Dad jokes, ainna?
So, the other night, I was grilling chicken and pork at the same time, and I had separate tongs for each for sanitary reasons.
The tongs were not the same size, but I could remember easily which was for which meat.
The longer of the two was for the pork. Because who can forget long pork?
I would have posted this on Facebook, but there’s this one guy that I used to work with that would always thumbs up every cannibal joke I made (like this one seven years ago, which I also posted on Facebook along with Donner party gags from time to time). Which was creepy.
Probably as creepy as making cannibalism jokes, but I’m not that self-aware.
Now that we have convinced America that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, it’s time to take our game to the next level.
Adventures in Babysitting is a Marvel film.
I watched this film over and over as a kid because it was on Showtime, and I wasn’t supposed to leave the trailer when my mother was working, which was all summer long for a couple of years. So if you’re a longtime reader, you know I watched a lot of films that appeared on Showtime over and over.
Which is why I remember that the little girl wore a Thor helmet throughout and even, if I’m not mistaken, wielded Mjolnir at the beginning of the film, and at the end, she thinks that the helpful mechanic is Thor. What if he was? He didn’t look to different from the Thor from the Incredible Hulk television movie (The Incredible Hulk Returns).
As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure Marvel has actually made this little girl Thor at one point in the comic books.
When I was working as a produce clerk while at the university, a friend of a co-worker asked me if we had any mongoes. I didn’t recognize what she was asking for, and my co-worker explained that she was from Puerto Rico and was asking about mangoes. Of course, it was a dive of a grocery store so it didn’t have mangoes, but I’ve pronounced it the Spanish way ever since.
Even though, apparently, the fruit is not native to Central and South America as I thought; it’s native to Asia. Well, I have a choice to make now that I have misinformed my family: I can correct my assertion to them and further illustrate the fallability of the father in this household, or I can let it lay and maybe let them discover at some future time that their father was comfortable making daft assertions that were untrue.
You know what I’m going to do already, don’t you?
This Christmas, I put a mango and a kiwi in each of my boys’ stockings, and I finally served them up, but the boys didn’t like them. I tried a couple of segments and found they tasted a little like mango but a whole more like pickled herring. I guess it’s hard to get tree-fresh mangoes in Springfield, Missouri, in December.