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For years I have been a chronic procrastinator (I turned pro when I was eight) and today I am at work with all sorts of procrastination issues going on. I’m been delaying finishing a certain item for a couple of days, which turned something that could have taken two days to finish still going on after five days. I’m so bored with it, and that just keeps making me procrastinate even more. On top of the boring “project” that I am in the middle of I agreed to help out a friend with his resume, and I’m procrastinating on that one too – and that is something that I should be doing in order to procrastinate on the things that I’m getting paid to not do.

Ugh…

So, instead of doing any of that I have searched and search and searched for this one clip. and here’s a clip of Norm MacDonald on the Daily Show from way back when Steve Irwin passed. Norm is incredible, and I wish that youtube.com still had this up for your viewing pleasure on my blog, but it’s not, so make the jump through this link.

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This morning I woke up and felt the need to post an apology for my actions on the subway yesterday evening. Here’s the link to it.

I can only hope that it hasn’t been flagged and removed by that evil Craigslist community due to people not believing that my apology is true and from the heart.

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I need to clear my chest, for I have been thinking about this for a couple of days now, and just want it released from my mind already. Here it is, straight to the point, I find Sandra Oh to be the most ugly woman that has been on TV over the past 11 years.

Take a look at her photo and decide for yourself why you would find her to be so ugly, for me it might be that she has that Sarah Jessica Parker horse face look going, other than that I can’t exactly find the words to express why I find her to be so ugly, and quite honestly I care enough about her ugliness to actually want to waste my time trying to decipher my reasons on this one.

I’m just going to let it be what it is, and go with my gut.

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So you want to be a temp, huh? Well let me let you know that there are plenty of things you should know about being a temp before sending that resume of yours to an agency.

As an individual who has temped for roughly six months in 2003/04, as well as since June 2006 through present day I feel that I am qualified as an expert temporary employee.

Given this background here is my list of rules that are broken down into five categories that one must abide by in order to survive working as a temp in ANY office:

Time Management: You’re always busy. Even if you have one task of stapling two pieces of paper together hold off on completing the entire task. If you do it and then hand it in, you will have nothing to do, and will be seen as someone who is only taking up space. Never be left without at least one task on your plate. Get to the office early. Even if you are still piss drunk from the night before, when your manager walks in and sees that you’re at your desk already, he or she will assume that you are a really dedicated worker, as such they will cut you some slack in other areas that you are bound to screw up in, such as sending the wrong email out to 3,000 plus people in your company stating that they have all lost their jobs due to downsizing. Half an hour lunches, always! Everyday you should have what you want to have for lunch. No matter what it is. Say you work in Midtown, and you have a craving for pastrami on rye from Katz’s Deli on the Lower East Side. That’s easy, all you have to do is stroll to the F or V train, and take it downtown to 2nd Avenue. No one will notice that you were gone for so long, and when you get back to work you will be happier for satisfying your needs, however, always write off that you took only a half an hour for lunch. No manager wants to be seen as being a slacker and allowing their temp to have a two hour lunch break, so they will sign off on your timesheets stating that you had half an hour lunches, no questions asked. Plus you will still want to get paid for not being allowed to just nap your hangovers off all day long. You were just doing something – just lie! Say you took a four-hour lunch break, so you returned to your desk to get your wallet or purse before leaving to going out to happy hour times 10, and your boss says that they were looking for you all afternoon. Let them know that you had just stepped away for a moment, that you weren’t sure why he or she kept missing you at your desk. Make up anything, the bathroom, the printer, or the copier, they won’t care what your excuse is really; as long as you don’t say that you just saw some great new movie on 42nd Street you’re fine.

Making Friends: Never befriend the first person you meet that seems friendly. This will be your most certain doom. They are almost always the worst and most hated person on the floor. They are the first people on the floor to act friendly to you in an attempt to have a “buddy” that they can rely on, which will understand why “everyone on the floor sucks” on a daily basis – basically they will attempt to brainwash you into being as depressed as they are. These people must be avoided at all costs, and if befriended they leave you in the poor position of being too closely related to the floor douche bag, and as such, expect a very brief assignment as a temp in that office. Smile. When walking in the hallways of your office be courteous and smile to others as you pass them. If you want to continue to get paid for doing very little work without any stresses of losing your job, simply smile and say a nice “Hello” in passing. No manager wants his or her temp to be the quiet loner type that creeps the rest of the office out. Don’t over talk. Never ever get involved too deeply in what should be only small talk conversation. Nobody needs to know what Barbara did last weekend with her husband, let alone does anyone in your office want to know that you woke up in the middle of the night to find your girlfriend peeing all over the floor of her bedroom after too many beers on a Saturday night. Bathrooms are your friends. If you need to go, then by all means go. Just get up and walk to the restroom. There is no timer in there. Stay there as long as you wish. Just be warned that you should never dare attempt to make conversation in a men’s room, it will creep other men out. Also, never spend too much time tidying up your appearance in the men’s room in a business casual environment. If you do, you will very quickly and silently be made fun of throughout a mass chain email that will be alluding to the fact that you are a giant dandy.

Catching Up On Your Time, Your Sleep, & Your Thinking: The copy room is not a good place to sleep. If you’re temping because you enjoy the lack of responsibility that comes with being a temp, and if you also happen to enjoy late nights full of booze and cheap women you might find that you’ll need to catch up on your sleep at times between the hours of 9AM and 5PM. Never ever think that you will be able to get away with sleeping in the copy room. Sure not too many people will use the copier in a given hour, but it is way too public to sleep in. You should sit in a toilet stall for your naps, or if you can, use this better solution, find an empty office on your floor, get boxes to cover up the open foot slots at the front of the desk that face the hallway, then close the door and fall asleep under the desk. HINT: Most commercial offices have locks that can be easily opened with either a corporate I.D. card, or a credit card – just like the movies. Simply MacGyver open the lock so that you can use the under appreciated floor space of an empty office. Turn away from the entryway. Always sit facing away from the entryway to your cubicle, unless you have a desktop that works and can only be seen by you. If you were hired only to put paperwork in order never allow the management to see what you’re doing with the papers. If you can face out a window and hold some pieces of paper in your hands to make it appear as though you are busy tidying up, this will allow for hours of uninterrupted day dreaming and pondering of life, sleeping, or give you a few hours to catch on those whittling skills of yours.

Have Fun: Keep that copier jammed. If the copier jams up in the middle of your using it, just cancel the current job to cover your tracks, and find a different copier to use. Remember that you get paid for your time, and not for the abilities that you have which might be that of knowing how to clear paper out of hot copy machines. Make the coffee in the morning. Doing this is codependent on getting to the office early. Here’s what you do, and it’s simple. Screw the coffee up. Never do anything illegal. Let me repeat that, NEVER DO ANYTHING ILLEGAL TO THE COFFEE, OR ANYONE FOR THAT MATTER!!! Simply make the coffee with only three quarters of one bag as soon as you get into the office. Everyone will pour the coffee expecting that good ole’ “Cup of Joe” only to find cups full of something that tastes like a liquefied rotten apples and announce “Some idiot made the coffee this morning, and didn’t use two bags!” - yet they will still drink the weak coffee since they need coffee in the morning, are too lazy to make and wait for a new brew, and because they are too cheap to buy their own coffee before work. Do this beginning on your second day of work, so that no one is working at full capacity, or thinking too clearly. This is a key item, and will allow more leeway if you are ever caught dozing off at your desk, since everyone else will begin to falter at work in his or her sleep patterns as well. The printer should always be clean. When you go to pick up all of your printed materials don’t waste your time and look to take whatever is only yours off of the printer, take the entire batch of paper that is on the printer, and bring them back to your desk. Find and keep what is yours, and then dispose of all the unneeded paperwork from everyone else by dropping the others into the shredder. Do this at least three times a day so that there will be a near constant flow of people wondering what’s wrong with the printer, without it being too obvious that you are what is wrong with the printer. You will get to laugh with your boyfriend or girlfriend over the phone when you both hear people in the background saying, “Why doesn’t this printer want to print my things!?!?” Take walks. Feeling bored on your workday? Get up and stretch your legs. Walk around your floor if you can. You will appear as though you are always out and about, doing a good job, you’ll be known as the busy bee, and when you get bored with walks on your floor, or if you think that some people notice that you aren’t really working and only walking, go for walks outside the building. You can walk all over the city, or hang out in big box stores such as the container store or home depot for hours and hours before anyone would look at you suspiciously. Get paid for YOUR time. An agency will ask you what you wish to make an hour. Don’t reply with the answer of a hundred million dollars, so that you would never have to work again. Give a number that seems as though it’s only slightly a crazy number to get paid per hour to write and read blogs all day long, as well as think to yourself, “Ha! I am getting “x” amount of money per hour to screw around with people AND have a good time all day.” Trust me, companies will pay it, and they will still think that they are getting a bargain per hour for a worker that will eventually play games on the internet until they have the highest rating on “Yahoo Towers”.

Job Security: Instill fear into coworkers that are full time. If you are milking one task for someone, speed through another task in five minutes, do it accurately, and completely. When you hand over your task in good standing ten minutes after receiving it and you ask, “Is the anything else that I can help you out with?” It will freak the average “I’m doing this for the kids” 9 to 5 employee out. This is a technique that should be done on the first day, this way they will assume that since you can alphabetize 85 file folders in less than 10 minutes that you can easily do their job function, and for less money. As such, these workers will never give you another task to do ever again. Don’t learn the names of those around you. As a temp no one is going to care what your name is, they will refer to you as “the temp”. As such you should not learn more than five individuals names of those who are on your floor. Oddly enough this will prove to be a strong part of your personality, and will instill into you respect from your coworkers. Remember “Hey you” works great as a warm hello when said softly, and with a smile by a temp. Don’t dance in your cube. Even if you are the best and fastest worker around, if you are spotted dancing by a coworker in your cube they will tell everyone on the floor to walk past your cube to see you dancing. By doing this you will have lost all respect and fear from your average coworkers. Just for the record, waving two fingers at the screen of your computer while listening to your IPOD constitutes dancing, and you will forever be made fun of behind your back as the dancing temp. Play dumb. If the shit hits the fan you need to know how to cover your bases. Figure out a good look for your face. One that conveys the senses of innocence and of being completely lost into the eyes of whoever found that you were the one that has been screwing up. You should practice in the mirror at home before you begin temping. They feel sorry for your mistake given that you are a temp, but don’t let them catch you in too many of these moments, for they will catch on eventually. If you can’t figure out how to make a good face like that, just blame it the other temp. If there is no other temp, explain that you thought you had done the work correctly, and that you were in such a rush to get all the work done within eight hours so that you wouldn’t go into overtime. Even though it would be a lie your manager will appreciate your dedication, and will eventually just hire another temp from your agency.

Got it all? Good, now go out, spread your wings, and fly yourself away to the freedom of being a temp.

P.S. I had been thinking of spilling those secrets for a while now, and I can only hope that nothing bad happens to me such as when a magician spills the secrets of the trade.

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For the love of God will someone please help me figure out how to change my profile photo.

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It is mid morning on a Monday that I wish was part of a three day weekend when I remember Sunday morning.

Yesterday, I had just finished cracking eggs to make 4 egg whites with two full eggs I added a touch of low fat milk, and instead of just scrambling them all at that time I walked to the front windows to look out and see if I saw the Cheese returning from the supermarket with some whole wheat bread, instead of finding the Cheese skipping down the sidewalk I saw my grandmother standing at the bottom of my stoop looking up, and she sees me seeing her.

We smile, I opened the door, and we chatted about how she didn’t want to go to my sisters for my nephew’s fifth birthday party. While chatted the Cheese came skipping along the sidewalk and made special attention to steer clear of the dog poop that I stepped into up the block earlier and they met, for the first time.

I never saw my grandmother so happy to meet anyone before, and it allowed my grandmother to see that in fact my girlfriend is not black.

Go me.

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I have fantasized about doing it since I first heard about it and wondered if it could actually be done, as well as if I would actually enjoy myself during the experience. Last night I got home and made two peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and then ate both of them to my tummies delight.

I first learned about this combo of foods on a sandwich at around the age of 13 from a special on TV about Elvis, the King. I remember as a child that I was disgusted at the idea of putting a perfectly good banana in a peanut butter sandwich, and then eating them together. YUCK!

Then as I grew older I decided to experiment with eating different things, king crab legs, sushi, XXX, and yet all that time I had the thought of eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich lingering in the back of my mind the entire time.

Last night was an off night of training, so I didn’t have my usual post training session food devouring session, and I didn’t feel like making anything that needed to be heated up in some fashion. As I walked in the cold from the subway to my place I pondered what to eat and decided that I would make some PB & J sandwiches, which I’m really not all that into, yet I still went through the process of getting everything out and ready to make.

As I opened the drawer to get out utensils to make one of my patented PB & J’s I spotted some ripened bananas out of the corner of my eye, then slowly but surely the proverbial light bulb went on above my head with an idea, and then my cat walked into the kitchen and looked at me as if I was crazy for imagining a lit light bulb shining above my head.

Having never had formal training in preparing such an exotic meal of PB & banana sandwiches I spread the PB first onto two slices of whole wheat bread, then proceeded to cut the banana into slices ranging from about three to eight millimeters thick, then placed them onto the laid out slices of bread with PB, then I covered both with fresh from the bag slices of whole wheat, and then cut both sandwiches into rectangles.

I sat down to eat and examined my sandwiches. To my surprise the combination of PB & Banana doesn’t look all that back together, kind of like when Jenny McCarthy & Pam Anderson had that double Playboy centerfold issue and it just kind of worked and made sense, so I went in for the taste test with the sandwiches.

BINGO!!! The King was right!!!

These sandwiches taste great, and were way better than I was expecting. For some years I thought that maybe the sandwiches were a concoction invented by a bloated, drugged up, boozed up man that had no more taste buds left inside his pallet to realize that he was eating awful tasting sandwiches. I must say that I was completely wrong, and I feel so blessed for having finally tasted such a good sandwich that if I ever get married I want my best man to be a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

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Uncle Jimmy,

At your show this upcoming Friday night will there be a full show with puppets and the works? Or, will it be a show that has the works without the puppets? I’m hoping for the works with the puppets, and I’m just not sure if you will have a full show with puppets since from what I hear you are opening for the New York Howl.

I hope that an answer magically finds its way onto my plate. Can you please magically let me know?

Warmest Regards,
A Fan Named Beehive

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Dearest Mr. Elevator,

Yesterday you were very mean to me, and based off of yesterday’s incident you took away my innocence. This morning when I slipped myself into you you scared the bejesus out of me. I just want to let you know that it will most likely take quite some time in order for things to even appear as if they are back to normal.

Regards,
A Cowering Beehive Underneath A Cold Shower

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To Mr. George Michael,

For the love of God why did you make so much good music in the 1980s that I absolutely love to listen to? Music that as a 26 year old man in the year 2007, I shouldn’t in my right mind actually love listening to, let alone let anyone know else know of my love for it.

It’s just so catchy, and I love catchy songs. I’m a sucker for them.

Seriously,
A Humming Beehive

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If I wasn’t, I’m sure you’d be reading about me in tomorrows New York Post, along with the seven other people that were almost killed during our elevator ride this morning. The Post would have some bad headline line along the lines of

“Earnings Hit Dead On In **** bank Elevator! ”

Over the summer there was a 21 year old woman killed in a fiery crash that the NY Post had an awful headline for, that I recall seeing that made me think to myself, when I go, I don’t want to have my photo on the cover of the NY Post with any type of headline.

That would be the worst way to die no matter what the cause of death. Also, if my photo was on the cover, then everyone would know that I was dead, and people would come out of the woodwork shouting, “That asshole, he deserved it!” Just like when a certain guy from my neighborhood adorned the cover of the NY Post a few years back, for being killed by a hit and run while crossing the street to play lotto on his birthday, but that’s another story altogether.

This morning there were two open elevators that I could have gotten on without waiting whatsoever. I chose the one on the right hand side, since most everyone else that had been waiting for an elevator was going into the one on the left. Before the doors could close seven more people entered the elevator bring the occupancy to a total of eight humans. We were well under the stated maximum weight limit, of a ridiculous amount in thousands of pounds.

There were around five or six buttons lit up for various floors that our elevator should have stopped on. The doors closed, and we began to rise into the sky. I don’t know how high we were for sure since the first floor that would show is the 18th floor, and that only takes less than five seconds to reach.

About a second into our ascent the elevator stopped, and all of the lighted floored for our designated stops went off, as the overhead lights stayed on. I’ve heard others stuck in the elevators before, and know enough to push the alarm button. As I was in the back corner of the elevator I asked the guy closest to the buttons to press it. This should have been a simple no brainer for the man.

There is a diagram of a bell next to the button, with Braille underneath it, and the word “ALARM” written in English on the button that he should push. He managed to press every single button but the alarm bell, the entire time both myself and the woman standing next to me were saying, “No, down. No, to the left. Nope, not that one. Nope, the alarm.” He finally was able to figure it out when he was left with no other buttons to push, and the alarm went off for a split second.

As this was my first time being stuck in an elevator like this, (I’ve been stuck in old freight ones) I thought to myself, “Was that enough of a push?” And I thought that maybe we should ring it again, repeatedly.

Before I could voice my thoughts a phone was ringing inside the elevator, it was built into the paneling of the elevator, and the building security picked up. “We don’t need security, we need a licensed elevator mechanic”, I thought quietly.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

The man closest to the speaker informed the security guard of our situation, and she inquired as to how many people were on the elevator. For some reason, this man didn’t know how to count, and blurted out nine people. Then asked what floor we were on, and that question we did not have an answer to. The security guard offered up the news that she would send out a dispatch for an elevator mechanic to swing on by.

“Swing??? Tell him to get his ass over her and help us.” Ran through my mind immediately.

It sounded as though this elevator mechanic would take a while, so we all called up our bosses to inform them of our situation.

Then the security guard asked us all for our extensions. By this time I realized that she was asking us all general questions in an attempt to keep us all calm. It was working at first.

Then all of a sudden the floor lights read 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, in a very fast manner, at which point the elevator flat out dropped.

It fell fast and hard.

Everyone yelped out a scream, I braced my knees for impact, and held on to the bar in the back. Which I finally found out what the actual use for it is, and apparently it is the “I hope I don’t die, so let me hold onto this bar” bar.

BOOM!!!!

Dust was everywhere. It kept coming in more and more. It got too thick to breath comfortably, so I covered my face with my coat.

We landed on something. What we landed on and where we were we did not know. No one inside the elevator was hurt physically.

Security came back on the phone, “Is everything alright in there?”

Everyone shouted that the elevator just fell.

“Okay, stay right there.” She told us, as if one of us would dare attempt to climb out of our near certain death trap.

I could feel the elevator begin to slowly move up, I asked if anyone else could feel it. Some did, others didn’t.

Then there was some more jerking up and down, not nearly as bad as our plunge.

The security guard came back on again and asked, “Is the elevator making any sounds that don’t sound normal?”

WTF??????!!!!!!!!

At that point all of us stood quietly and heard things that didn’t sound good. What those sounds actually were no one was for sure, all we knew is that it was “sounds” that were definitely not normal.

Up and down we went some more.

This was when I reached my breaking point of peacefully and calmly allowing the situation to unfold itself, and did not care how rude and loud I sounded to the other elevator riders.

I shouted to the security guard, “Get us out now!!! No more up and down! Tell the mechanic to open the doors wherever we are and just let us out!!! I don’t care where we are, just let us out. No more bringing the elevator up and down.”

Everyone looked at me as if I was crazy for voicing my opinion about a situation that was not normal and had all of our lives and safety in the hands of other people.

Less than 20 seconds later the doors opened, we were at the ground floor, and a group of people wanted to get on the elevator that we all just walked off of a dusty mess.

We told them not to.

While I’m fairly certain my shouts and demands had nothing to do with the doors opening.

Call me crazy, as I would rather be killed in an elevator accident screaming and yelling for help than quietly and passively allowing the elevator mechanic to screw up and kill us.

As I waited for the next elevator I held onto the wall and breathed deeply. I got upstairs safely and went to wash my hands, I looked into the mirror and could see that I was white as a ghost.
I’m alive.

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But have you seen this new underground party that being advertised on the New York City subway system? I hear that it’s one of the hottest new Thursday night events in years, and it’s called Darfur.

I know that right now you are thinking, “Isn’t kind of wrong of them to use a region in Sudan that is currently experiencing mass genocide as the name for their newest party?”

To answer your question, who honestly cares all that much about that when there is a weekly party at an underground club in the northern part of the western half of southeastern Williamsburg that has no sign outside to say that it is in fact a club, you must know which black door to knock on (HINT: it’s third from the right, with a red light above it), and you must know that you must know that there is a mandatory password to be said in order to get in (HINT: it’s GENOCIDE).

On top of that, when they have big posters using only words as advertisements for the parties using phrases like this one:

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Here
Today.
Slain
Tomorrow.
Where?
Darfur.

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You know that this Darfur party must be off the hook; cause people are leaving it having been killed from previous parties. Their previous parties have killed! I’ve heard that the Darfur parties have been putting Rubulad parties to shame, and one party go’er was quoted as saying “Darfur parties as so insane, I’m never going back to another MisShapes party again!” Another partier was quoted as saying “I hope that this Darfur party gets written up on Gawker this way all of the real and faux hipsters not in the know already definitely get a chance to find out about the Darfur party! Yes, it’s that good!

I can only imagine that after a Darfur party you would need to crash on someone’s couch for at least three or four days in order to get yourself back to a normal enough mental level to ride a the L, and transfer to the 6 to get back to your real apartment in Murray Hill. Remember kids, too much booze and drugs = bad nights and even longer stays on a friends couch…four nights in a row is the limit on post party couch crashing.

How can anyone not want to go to the Darfur party?!?!? Other advertisements that I spotted were words such as “Mother”, “Father”, “Grandma”, “Grandpa”, “Brother”, & “Sister” crossed out. You know what that that could only mean one thing, and that’s that they are not going to be invited to the Darfur party, and not only that, if they would happen to show up, club security and club promoter George C’Looney wouldn’t let them in. If there is one thing club security guard / club promoter / party genius George C’Looney hates more than genocide, it’s gatecrashers to his hottest nightspots. Who in their right mind would want to be partying with their mom or dad around, YUCK!

Now that I opened this can of worms, I hope to see you all there on Thursday night!

I’ll be the guy wearing a white thong and painted green.

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Back in the early summer of 2000 I met a tremendously funny stand up comic named Jason Rouse.

Onstage the man is one of the funniest, most brilliant comics that have ever graced a stage, plain and simple. He might be crude for some, but if you’re into seeing live stand up comedy, Jason is one of the very few comics you MUST see live. Offstage he is just an all around good, kind, and still hysterically funny man.

Anyways, I had only met Jason a few days earlier; we were sitting around in a hallway of some rehearsal studio space waiting to rehearse some sketches for a stage show. There were a handful of other Canadian comics there that new Jason way better than me.

Jason excused himself to go buy some tea. He went out to the corner and bought his tea. When he came back upstairs he sat down next to me with a worried look on his face.

He said, “Beehive, when I bought this tea I accidentally spilled some on myself, and I think I burned myself a little.”

Jason raised his shirt and showed me something that looked like a huge blister, and said, “See it made me get this big blister. Do you think I should go to the hospital for it??

I looked at his stomach, the blistery looking thing was up and over his jeans and beltline, right around his belly button, and I couldn’t figure out what it really was, and replied, “That doesn’t look like a blister. What is it?”

By this point none of the Canadians could hold their laughter inside themselves anymore.

I didn’t know what was so funny over the man burning himself badly.

Jason then said, “Do you know what that is?” Pointing to his blister.

“No, I don’t.” I replied.

Everyone was yelping with their laughs now.

With the most serious of looks Jason replied, “It’s one of my balls.”

WHAT????

Now everyone was laughing, including me.

I just kept thinking, one of his balls??? How??? But it is so high??? Balls aren’t supposed to stretch that far from their hanging spot under the penis. How did he? What did he do to get it out and over his jeans?

Jason then pushed his bulging ball (blister) back down into his pants, everyone continued to have a good time, then some people let out of rehearsal, and Jason excused himself only to come back from “Buying hot tea, and having spilt some on himself causing a blister.” This fooled person after person, and it was just great.

To this day I don’t have a clue as to how he was able to stretch his balls out that far, and to be honest I’m not sure I really want to know.

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Paula is one lucky woman to not have much more of herself all over the news, tabloid talk shows, and television magazines such as ET/Access Hollywood these past two weeks.

While I am not going to dare say that Paula Abdul has been drunk, under the influence of some sort of illegal drug, or even abusing pain killer medications over the past few weeks while on or off TV, I am simply going to say that I noticed that Paula appears to be slurring her words…Slurring lots of her words.

Seeing as someone such as Paula Abdul would never ever touch booze, or abuse drugs whether purposely or accidentally, I will go out on a limb and say that I am worried about her mental state. Since it can’t possibly be that she is drinking 18 vodka tonics and doing three hits of meth a day that is getting her speech all slurred up, it can only be one thing…

Her body is eating her brain!

Yes, I know that this might come as a surprise to some that she has a brain, and it may be unbelievable to others, but I for one don’t see any other viable option as a legitimate answer to Paula’s strange behaviors.

My unscientific process of how I came up with the “Stomach Eating Brain Theory” leads me to believe that roughly 50 % of Paula’s brain has been eaten alive, and the eaten half is somewhere between her small and large intestines.

If things keep up on this pace we will soon begin to see Paula’s head beginning to cave in from her stomach sucking on the walls of her skull in its last ditch effort to eat all of the leftover brain crumbs.

Keep on the lookout for more of her upcoming television appearances.

Here are some videos which I believe should allow you to come to the same conclusion that I have with regards to my “Stomach Eating Brain Theory.”

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Two completely different Youtube links that have been removed from the net.

They show Paula slurring on Regis and Kelly the morning of MLK day. I saw it live, and it was scary. I hope that someone else can put these two back up.

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I am sitting on the subway rubbing my eyes in an attempt to wake up from my 20 minute cat nap, waiting for D train to come to a complete stop at 36th Street so that I can get off and transfer across the platform to the waiting R train when I will recall some out of the blue memory that I hadn’t thought about in a while.

Yesterday it happened to be my first visit to the Bronx Zoo. It must have been just after turned 11 years old. I grasp this age based on the fact that I remember it was summer and Paula Abdul Rush Rush was a hit at the time for some apparent reason (1991 what were you thinking with your musical hits).

I remember being excited that I was finally going to go to the Bronx Zoo, I had heard about how big it was, how it had lots of animals, and how fun it was to all the animals while you walk through.

My oldest sister Allison who at age 21 seemed to be a really old adult person in my 11 year old eyes took me to the Bronx Zoo along with her boyfriend Matt, Matt’s brother, and Matt’s six year old niece whose names I have since completely forgotten.

I remember that it was a hot day; the air conditioner was blasting in the car, and the sun was shining bright directly overhead.

I don’t remember any of the animals exhibits clearly from that day. I have memories of being in zoos and seeing various exhibits as a child, and now as an adult I am unsure which zoo is which, as the Bronx Zoo began my urge to visit many other zoos.

The only clear memory that I have of that day of my actually being in the zoo is the events that happened at lunchtime.

We were sitting in an overly crowded picnic table area; I had just eaten my hot dog and French fries. It was one to the very few times that I ate my food quickly as a child. Since this was such a rare situation for me to be in I found myself being bored out of my mind waiting for everyone else to finish eating their lunch. Thankfully there were a couple of handfuls of ketchup and mustard packets to occupy my brain for a while.

I played with them on the table pretending that they were small cars. I squeezed them to feel what I thought to be the contents move around inside, and had at that moment in time what appeared to be the most brilliant idea that I ever came up with arrive in my 11 year old brain. I would step on these packets one at a time.

Not only was I going to step on them I was going to stomp on them. I had the thought that if I stomped hard enough on them I could get the air inside to cause enough pressure to cause a small whole on the side of the packet, and then I would be able to watch the ketchup and mustard ooze out of each packet. Right then and there I felt as smart as Mr. Wizard.

I placed a couple of packets on the ground in a neatly laid out row, and then stomp. Nothing happened. I did another big stomp. Again, nothing seemed to happen. I went through about 10 packets of mustard and ketchup without any good results. It appeared to me that my stomps were only half working. I was able to create holes in the packets, but these ketchup and mustard packets must have been empty.

This empty packet theory of mine was based on the fact that I did not see any mustard or ketchup oozing out of the packets.

The tenacious boy inside me was not about to let a bunch of empty packets back me down from my plans of seeing ketchup ooze out. I dropped a second handful of packets on the ground, and this time I stomped harder stomps with quicker speed.

It was at this moment that I heard my sister scream, Beehive! What are you doing?

I said, It’s not working. And kept on stomping.

Stop stepping on the packets? She said.

Nothing’s happening with them, they’re empty. I replied innocently.

By this time she ran over and stopped me from stepping on further packets, and informed me to look at what I did. I turned around, looked up to where my sister was pointing and saw the damage that I had done, it was all damage that had previously been unseen to my eyes, and was in fact an incredible sight.

This is the sight that is most clearly ingrained into my memory from that day.

I was able to see that all of the packets that I had been stomping on apparently did have contents of ketchup and mustard inside them.

The people at the crowded picnic tables behind where I was stomping were covered with mustard and ketchup.

I saw white and gray haired people wiping their pants, arms, shirts, and faces with napkins in attempts to clean up the mess upon them that I was the apparent cause of.

I overheard someone at a nearby picnic table ask curiously What happened? and then seeing a grandfatherly type of a man shout “This kid over here just squirted everyone with ketchup and mustard!”

I smiled. I didn’t laugh at them, but I did smirk a little smile. It wasn’t a smirk or smile of me being happy that I covered people with condiments; it was a smile of “How did that happen?”

My sister immediately snapped with a “We need to get out of here right now.” Done or not, our table got up and walked fast as we could to get to another exhibit area, and away from anyone who might recognize me as being that kid.

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To The Maliciously Mean,

I hope that you self esteem continues to stay in the gutter where it belongs due to your own actions.

Sincerely,
BH

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To The Jerky Boys,

What ever happened to you two? Remember your hayday when you guy had hits such as Jerky Boys, & Jerky Boys 2? I know that you guys got your cover blown up for a while there in the 1990s, but both of you have fallen off the face of the Earth when it comes to prank phone calls on cd that I would actively go out and purchase.

I think that it is about time both of you get back together, jump on the tour bus, and begin making crank calls once again.

Get on that for me, huh, or at least do it for the Egyptian magician…please.

Regards,
Boyishly Crude Phone Call Lovin Beehive

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To The Blatantly Ignorant,

Why are all of you completely ignorant about things? Especially things that are proven facts! Things that were written down during the course of history and should in theory hold up as truthful items of history i.e. countries that held land in the Americas as colonies, Jackie Chan starred in ____ movie, how to make chicken parmesan.

While ignorance is bliss, listening to ignorant people is definitely not.

In fact there is nothing sadder than eating a double cheeseburger at the McDonald’s on 51st and Broadway which is by far the coolest McD’s in history simply for its unicorn with a drooping vagina hanging on the wall (seriously it is there) while being barraged by awful facts that the loud speaker doesn’t know the first thing about, this being done in a literal way without any bit of sarcasm or remorse.

If you believe that Spain was the only country ever to own any and all the land west of the Mississippi River before it became part of the United States you should be stampeded by three herds of buffalo.

For the life of me I cannot fathom how your kind can insist that Jackie Chan had the lead role of Terminator in T2. How????

Let alone that you think you can make chicken parmesan using only fried dough and sugar. It just doesn’t work.

Don’t believe in my “myths” that I just told all of you? That what you say does not match up with actual events, which can be read about and proven correct? Go ahead and just Google any of these three items and you will find scores if not thousands of sites related to the truths behind such items. While you cannot believe everything that you read about on the internet, it would be pretty safe to double check that chicken parmesan recipe with the head chef at an Italian restaurant – I doubt he would neglect to inform you of his fried dough portion to the recipe.

Don’t you just cry poor, and say that you don’t have internet access or that you can’t afford a computer. The library (which is free) has free internet as well as just about every type of encyclopedia ever printed, ever.

Or how about you just ask anyone that has ever seen even a commercial, a poster, or even the dvd cover to T2 and find out who actually starred in it.

So, in hindsight, the next time you want to discuss American history, T2, or recipes while eating at McDonald’s do me a big favor, and don’t open your mouth until you first Google whatever it is that you want to say to your friends, make sure that what you are about to say is somewhat close to true, and then and only then state it.

Thanks.
Beehive

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So today I wore a suit to work, not because I really want to impress anyone at my current workplace, and not due to “dressing the part”. I felt the obvious need to wear a suit for an interview that I will have later on in the day, and since I work in a business casual environment that affords me the luxury of being able to wear comfy polo type shirts all year long I am sticking out like a sore thumb as having an interview today.

This morning as a couple of meetings let out the directors that were walking past my cube entrance stopped, took steps back to get a second glance at my glamorous look in a suit and tie with questions and comments along the lines of “Good luck on the interview today!” “Looking good. Interview today?” “Fancy party tonight or an interview?” “Oooh, white shirt. That’s different for you. Interview?” “Love the tie.” “I like your suit.” “I know pretty much everyone on the floor is interviewing, do you have one today? You do, where? Doing what”

I answered all of them with a smile and honesty. Only I left out one part, the hope that of my internal voice inside my head of “I hope I don’t screw it up.” At the same time of my thinking this internally another part of my internal voice tells me “You’re interviewing you for an internship. How hard could the questions being asked be?”

I honestly don’t know the answer to that question…all I know is that lets not go and screw this interview up, okay! Let’s not go and screw up our mindset. Let’s envision only the good things that can come from a good interview:

Different industry + new job + low pay = good times.

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