Zero Sense of Humor

So the local police here in sub­ur­bia have no sense of humor, zero, zilch, nada. It’s about 3 a.m. and I find myself at Wawa, des­per­ate­ly in need of caf­feine, I sweep in, hit the ATM, grab 2 one liter Diet Cokes and 2 SFRBs and a Pan­tone 388 apple, that’s bright green, if your swatch book isn’t handy. Just as I was grab­bing the apple, ‘I feel good’ by James Brown start­ed play­ing over the Wawa sound sys­tem, now it’s 3 a.m. 90% of the world may be tired, but I just woke up, so I couldn’t help myself, I began to dance, but not as I would dance, but as ‘JAMES’ would dance, up and down the aisles with my hand­ful of car­bon­at­ed jet fuel and my bright green apple, shuf­fling my feet, slid­ing up and down the aisles in my own lit­tle world. Which of course I wasn’t actu­al­ly in, no I was in a con­ve­nience store in the wee hours of the morn­ing, in the mid­dle of sub­ur­bia, danc­ing like in my mind James Brown.

I explained to the police­man, that I was just hap­py, and that I would go home and dance, he looked at me like I was the per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of poor evil, some drug-crazed goa­tee wear­ing freak, so hopped up on goof-balls that I couldn’t con­tain my joy­ous feet long enough to get a bev­er­age. “Get on home, now son!” the nice offi­cer told me, “yes, sir!, going home sir!” in hind-sight, any attempt at humor with a law enforce­ment per­son, is a bad idea, “sor­ry I danced in pub­lic sir!, me and Kevin Bacon are going Home now, sir!”…why I chose to accen­tu­ate every state­ment with ‘SIR’ is beyond me, but I start­ed to gig­gle, I mean what he going to do ‘arrest me for danc­ing liked James, flash ahead to my arraign­ment

Bailiff read the charge..

Saul was arrest­ed on the morn­ing of August 5th at a Wawa, where he was being funky as he wan­na be and he was also get­ting down with his bad self both pre­sum­ably with­out a license.”

flash back to now

So this par­tic­u­lar cop wasn’t a huge ‘Foot­loose’ fan and he cracked nary a smile, but the guy behind the counter lost it, and began laugh­ing so hard I think he pulled a mus­cle, At this point the morn­ing could have gone in two dra­mat­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent direc­tions, one involv­ing bail mon­ey and a cav­i­ty search, the oth­er involv­ing my coke and blog­ging.

I must stop going to that Wawa.

The goggles do nothing…

Well, as I often do, I found myself at IKEA again today, but not my nor­mal IKEA, but a brand spank­ing new one, 6 miles clos­er to my house. It was crowd­ed, I was alone, it was rain­ing, a recipe for dis­as­ter to be cer­tain.

So while shop­ping, I noticed, this was NOT the typ­i­cal ‘flesh’ show that I was used to, 20 some­thing females in inap­pro­pri­at­ly short tight and reveal­ing garb, show­ing off tanned, toned and chis­eled flesh, no this was 30, and some­times 40 somthings show­ing me… Truth be told there are no words for what they where show­ing.

So it got me think­ing, Do these women not own a mir­ror? or per­haps they think they look good? you would think that their tat­too artist would have told them they looked hideous, I men­tion their tatoo artist specif­i­cal­ly because obvi­ous­ly they all have one, he spe­cial­izes in blur­rly and poor­ly designed trib­al and celtic sym­bols, ocas­sion­al­ly on bellys, some­times boobs, but usu­al­ly on the fleshy back fat of 30 some­thing women. Also I’m all for tight cloth­ing… on Clau­dia Shif­fer, Pam Ander­son and Car­men Elec­tra, but Ladies, if your pants are so tight that I can see the label on your under­wear, give your feet a break, and let some blood flow, And for you ladies who insist on wear­ing stretch pants, work­out garb and bik­ing shorts, if I can tell your clit is pierced through your pants, you may want to rethink the ensem­ble a bit…

I have far less issues with boobs, which is good, because it seems every 17 – 25 year old now has d-cups and since it’s been 90° and mug­gy here in philly, Breasts are every­where…, but even they (notice the prop­er use of the plur­al) should have some deco­rum when out and about. If your breasts are fami­lar with your knees, a tank top is a ques­tion­able move, or if your wear­ing a white spaghet­ti strap tank, what pos­s­esed you to wear a neon blue bra?, are you Madon­na? is this 1986? wear­ing a shirt like that I only see two options, if you have nice perky boobs, go bra­less, or wear a strap­less bra, if your breasts are too sub­stan­tial for a strap­less bra, do us all a favor, burn the spaghet­ti strap tank.

Ulti­mate­ly you just have to ask your­self, do I look good in this? Is my ass hang­ing, am I a mess?, do I look like a cheap hook­er? If you have any doubt snap a pic­ture, send it to me, I’ll be noth­ing but hon­est

Love me tender

I’m slow­ly turn­ing into Elvis, even though I’m aware of it, the process seems to be beyond my con­trol, the sim­i­lar­i­ties are, well …sim­i­lar;

Both Elvis and I are male, we both have side­burns (although difer­ent­ly styled), we both have weight issues and are fond of white vel­vet jump­suits and large dia­mond encrust­ed belts with our names on it.(although to be fair although mine does say ‘Elvis’, I don’t recall ever see­ing Elvis wear­ing a ‘Saul’ belt, but who knows real­ly, it may have been one of those things he did in the pri­va­cy of Grace­land).

I know what your think­ing, saul based on that pit­tance of sim­i­lar­i­ties, you could just be turn­ing into an Elvis imper­son­ator, and not actu­al­ly ‘The King’ him­self.. But wait, there’s more, Elvis was very fond of his mam­ma, and although I’ve nev­er actu­al­ly met Mrs. Pres­ley, I feel I too would be par­tial to her… Elvis breathed in oxy­gen, I also breath in oxy­gen (and obvi­ous­ly at a high­er fre­quen­cy than ‘cur­rent’ Elvis), we both exhale car­bon diox­ide.. Star­tling isn’t it…

The sim­i­lar­i­ties are far from over, lat­er in life Elvis con­sumed a steady diet of Val­i­um, Ethi­na­mate, Dilau­did, Demerol, Per­co­dan, Placidyl, Dexedrine, Biphet­a­mine, Amy­tal, Quaalude, Carbri­tal, Cocaine hydrochlo­ride and Rital­in. I LIVE right near a CVS Pharmacy..creepy huh.

I’m not real­ly sure when the trans­for­ma­tion will be com­plete… stay tuned

Dear Santa

I know you usu­al­ly only do the Decem­ber thing, and that your busy deal­ing with elves, rein­deer and that foxy Mrs. Clause, but please, please, please can you find it in your snowy heart to deliv­er the fol­low­ing to me today;

  • one large box of Spree,
  • six one liter bot­tles of Diet Coke
  • a gross of pix­ie sticks, just orange, grape and lemon please 
  • six amish but­ter baked pret­zels
  • a Funion loaf 
  • some Milan­ta, because I real­ly shouldn’t eat that Funion loaf]
  • six nuts and raisin Chunky Bars
  • and six large granny smith apples

if you do that for me oh beard­ed one, I promise I’ll be good…I swear

Rounding & Cheese

Yet­sre­day for lunch I stopped at a local piz­za joint for a cou­ple of slices and a diet cola, I bought 3 slices, and told the guy that he need’nt heat them up, because I wasn’t going to eat them for ‘hours’, he put them on a paper plate and asked me…

you need a bag?,” now there was no snap­py retort, or abu­sive con­ver­sa­tion I stop in this place fair­ly often and any form of abuse is just going to yeild me sali­va on my i chilled, at least ver­bal­ly, I stared at him and ner­vous­ly smiled, hadn’t I said I wasn’t eat­ting them for hours? did he hon­est­ly think I was going to walk around with loose cold piz­za on a ‘less than qual­i­ty paper plate’, The whole exchange up to this point was very awk­ward, but got bet­ter.

so I got my bag ‘o slices and my cup­pa­coke, and he rang me up, my total was $6.35, I tossed out a tenspot and he sweati­ly hand­ed me my change, 4 bucks??? whatthe­duece? so being me I ques­tioned it.

S: “You gave me the wrong change…”

Piz­za: “I smoothed down”

S: “smoothed?”

S: So you smoothed away 25 cents off my bill?

Piz­za: yeah, makes the change eas­i­er.

S: I see… okay, lat­er

[and I head­ed towards the door ]

S: Say, just out of curi­ousi­ty how many slices do you thing ya’ll sell in a day?

Piz­za: We go through about 50 — 70 slice pie’s a day on the week­days, and prob­a­bly twice that on a sat­ur­day or a sun­day.

S: Wow that’s a lot of pizza’s.

[and I left]

So the geek in me has to do the Math, lets assume that Piz­za dude ‘Smooths’ away any change under 50 cents, lets start with a week­day.

Monday’s Slice Sales: 70 piz­za pies x 8 slices = 560 slices;
Monday’s Slice Rev­enue: 560 slices x $1.75 = 980 bucks 
[poten­tial­ly at least]

To ful­ly com­pre­hend the impact of ‘Piz­za Smooth­ing’ we need to make an addi­tion­al assump­tion, the aver­age slice buy­er is buy­ing 2 slices and a small cola for a bill of $4.35

Monday’s Slice Sales Quan­ti­ty: 560 slices ÷ 2 = 280 sales
Moday’s Adjust­ed Slice Rev­enue: 280 x $4.35 = $1218.00

Still no change, so per­haps Pizza’s method­ol­o­gy is sound?… not hard­ly, we have to look at the impact on indi­vid­ual sales, remem­ber based on our orig­i­nal con­cept he ‘smooths’ away all change under 50 cents.

Monday’s Smooth­ing Loss­es: 280 x $0.35 = $98.00
Week­ly Loss­es: $98.00 x 5 + ($98.00 x 4) = $882.00

Now I’m not an eco­nom­ics expert, but giv­ing away almost 900 bucks of rev­enue is prob­a­bly an eco­nom­ic no-no. If you think of it in Piz­za terms it’s like giv­ing away 504 slices of piz­za for free.

They could elim­i­nate ‘Smooth­ing’ cut the slice prices by 60% and still increase prof­it, AND they’d have the bestest + cheap­est piz­za in town.

And to think, my high school math teacher thought I was sleep­ing

202 Horny Girls

grr.. typ­i­cal week­day spam num­bers — 3095 emails — 407 men­tion breasts — 105 men­tion Via­gra — 2 Niger­ian Bank scams — 175 stock alerts, 300 folks fol­low­ing up on the mort­gage email they sent me last week and 202 horny girls that want to meet me.

Just so darn sick of it all…

Bobble-Head Buick

While en-route to a speak­ing engage­ment this morn­ing I noticed a dark blue Buick on the road in front of me, this in itself is hard­ly unusu­al, but the myr­i­ad of boun­cy-head­ed bob­bling fig­ures in the back win­dow was a bid unnerv­ing, all giv­ing me an unap­pre­ci­at­ed affir­ma­tion to a ques­tion as of yet unasked, so I fol­lowed this car o’bobbles for a few miles, notic­ing that they bounced in a near per­fect sine wave, won­der­ing why and how and why again, I even­tu­al­ly snapped, WHY DOES THIS JACKASS HAVE SO MANY OF THESE ANNOYING LITTLE TOYS IN HIS BACK WINDOW!!! … [pre­pare your self for a long run-on sen­tence with no cap­i­tal let­ters] I mean are they a juju against mojo?, are they an anten­na array on a celes­tial glob­al posi­tion­ing sys­tem designed to bring a race of bob­ble-aliens down to earth to feed on the non-bob­ble lov­ing pub­lic? or maybe they pro­vide this Buick some type of bob­ble head­ed sta­bi­liza­tion against break­ing free of moth­er earth’s pre­cious grav­i­ty and careen­ing into the moon..

Even­tu­al­ly I pulled around the Buick and cast a ven­omous glaze at the dri­ver, he looked at me, smiled and nod­ded me a human sized affir­ma­tion, but not in a human ‘I got a neck bone’ way, but in a ‘I got a spring’ bob­ble­head way.. then I knew

The inva­sion had begun, and they can dri­ve…

Monkey, Monkey, Monkey

Three weeks ago, at the local Wawa, I dis­cov­ered that the folks who make Red-Bull, released a sug­ar-free ver­sion. Now I’ve nev­er been a huge Red-Bull fan, but sug­ar-free Red-Bull sound­ed like the ‘sirens song’ to me.. so I bought a can.

Now a few weeks lat­er, I feel that the Wawa cashier should have giv­en me my first taste for free… need­less to say I’m hooked, Caf­feine addic­tion isn’t any­thing par­tic­u­lar­ly new to me, but it is a mon­key that I’ve beat­en off my back more than a few times. When I was dot-com­ing, I could con­sume a twen­ty-four pack of Diet Coke in a sin­gle day, The <em>‘lift’</em> I was get­ting from all that soda doesn’t even com­pare to the <em>‘kick’</em> I’m now get­ting from a sin­gle SFRB, that being the case, log­ic would sug­gest that I’m not deal­ing with com­mon caf­feine, but some type of ‘<em>uber</em>-caffeine’, chem­i­cal­ly altered to not only increase kick, but to increase the addi­tive nature as well. My mon­key was now stronger and more effi­cient.

Some­thing so strong, so new, so addic­tive, you’d think that they’d be sell­ing it on every street cor­ner, but that isn’t the case, my SFRB is a <em>‘boutique beverage’</em>, a <em>‘designer drink’,</em> and only avail­able in a select few places. I have a map, and some col­ored pins… and I think every­thing is going to be okay…

Hel­lo, my name is Saul…

Holey Moley

I stopped in a Bagel Joint** for lunch the oth­er day, it was a bit late and they appeared like they may have been prepar­ing to close. I polite­ly asked ‘yaopen­still?’ (it’s all one word, cause that’s pret­ty much how I said it) the counter gal who was busi­ly jam­ming dozens of bagels into a clear plas­tic bag, con­firmed that they where still open but that they didn’t have many bagels left. I asked what kind of bagels they had left, she told me that my bagel options con­sist­ed of ‘cran­ber­ry orange’ and ‘cin­na­mon raisin’… Now mind you that although my moth­er is cuban, I’m 100% Jew­ish, to me nei­ther of these options qual­i­fy to be called bagels, at best ‘cran­ber­ry orange’ and ‘cin­na­mon raisin’ bagels are hi-carb can­dy, or at the very least they’re poor­ly shaped muffins, either way, they both suck for lunch. While grasp­ing for a com­ment, my eyes once again fell on the now full bag of bagels on the counter. “What’s the deal with these bagels?” I asked punc­tu­at­ing it with a poke of the fin­ger in the bags direc­tion
[long pause on her part “Those are the bagels we didn’t sell today, employ­ees are allowed to take the ones that are unsold at clos­ing”[longer pause from me] “So do you think there might be a rye bagel in there?” I asked[punc­tu­at­ing the ques­tion with a eye sparkle and my best 5 dol­lar smile…my pleas­antries bounced off her like bul­lets off super­man]“Sir…I real­ly need to fin­ish clos­ing up..”
Yes..I under­stand, I just want a toast­ed rye bagel, cream cheese, a slice of onion, and two slices of toma­to, and if you wouldn’t mind putting cream cheese on both sides of the bagel, I’d appre­ci­ate it… oh and a large Diet Pep­si, very lit­tle ice” …
[preg­nant pause]Now the pause felt like 15 min­utes, but it was prob­a­bly more like 20 sec­onds, 20 sec­onds of absolute silence except for the poor bas­tard sweep­ing up in the back. “Sir, as I said before we have ‘cran­ber­ry orange’ and ‘cin­na­mon raisin’ bagels left, and no more sliced onions or sliced toma­toes. and then she made an ‘annoyed’ noise that I guess was sup­posed to moti­vate me to either leave the shop of set­tle for the can­dy bagels. Unfor­tu­nate­ly for her I’m not wired that way, to me the annoyed sound was an open invi­ta­tion to fuck with her. what fol­low is a ver­ba­tim account of our exchange. [I think you’ll be able to tell who is who..or is it whom?]
“So your telling me I can’t have a bagel out of your bag?” “Pret­ty Much..yes, I already told my boyfriend I was bring­ing them home” “Is that gen­tle­man sweep­ing in the back, the Man­ag­er?” “What kind of Bagel did you want again?” “Rye, toast­ed, cream cheese both sides, toma­to, onion, large Diet Coke, lit­tle bit of ice…” “we don’t have any sliced toma­to, or sliced onion…SIR” “you don’t have ANY toma­to” “not sliced…” “but you have toma­to?” “yes in the walk-in” “and you have knives?” “of course we have knives” “but you don’t have any sliced toma­toes?” “ sliced toma­toes” “are there also onions in the walk-in?” it was at this moment that my cell phone rang, and as usu­al I was forced to step out­side to get bet­ter recep­tion, and just as I did, She locked me out. I guess she won the bat­tle, but the war is just begin­ning.. oh by the way the call was an invi­ta­tion to lunch. ** As to not slan­der an entire estab­lish­ment for what I’m sure is an iso­lat­ed inci­dent, I’ll refrain from nam­ing the actu­al Bagel shop, but just for his­tor­i­cal accu­ra­cy it’s a Nation­al Chain named after a large NYC Bur­rough