4 Truths and a Lie

In a The Office type moment in my own office, "Michael" decided we should celebrate the holidays (read: Christmas, the holidaysiest of the holidays) by locking all the employees in the conference room and forcing us to engage in friendly conversation through a cacophony of holiday music, mostly about sleigh rides and winter wonderlands, neither of which I've ever actually seen before. And as much as I love the album Weird Al Does Christmas, when it's pumped to high volume and looped for 3 hours straight in a tight room without windows, I think it's appropriate and perhaps imperative to invoke the Geneva Conventions. To make matters worse, "Michael" upped the ante and shifted gears to waterboarding level. He made us play games...get-to-know-your-co-worker games, as in find-out-who-the-office-slut-and-office-lush-are games. The first incarnation of this unsavory act was an icebreaker--although no ice was actually broken--called 4 truths and a lie. The objective of this game is to present 4 truths and 1 lie about yourself, and let your co-workers pretend that they give a damn. Then, rinse and repeat until your hair falls out.

As always, I saved my truths and lie. But aren't all truths lies and all lies truths? I am so deep...Without further ado, I give you 4 truths and one lie. Can you guess which is which?

1) When I was five years old, I had a very absurd and unhealthy phobia of bread after witnessing a baguette maul a sesame roll to pieces. Wonder-Bread did nothing to save the roll.

2) I keep a red pill and a blue pill in the bottom drawer of my desk. Despite the 50-50 chance of me choosing differently, I inevitably swallow the red pill, put on my leather trench coat, and wait for Morpheus to show me how deep the rabbit-hole goes. He never comes. But at least I escape "reality" for a few hours.

3) While drunk at the annual office gala, I approached Helen Zia and told her she was the hottest lesbian journalist I ever met. Surprisingly, she still wouldn't switch teams, but I was consoled by the fact that up close, she appears soggier than day-old oatmeal.

4) I spent a month in Ecuador working at a school for poor children. And by "Ecuador" I really mean the tavern down the block and by "working" I really mean "catering to my alcoholism." I'm still not sure how a school for poor children fits into all of this.

5) During a family vacation in my teenage years, I was almost ejected from the Magic Kingdom because of an angry Winnie the Pooh. He called me out, I thought I was safe. I had no other choice but to curse him out and kick dirt into his shins. Fat fucking bear.

New Carnival Game: Bush-a-mole

Ironically enough, Bush had always been preparing for this day. He went so far as to perfect his swinging British accent, just so he could say with perfect comedic pitch after such an incident, "That really hurt! Who throws their shoe?! Honestly!"



But alas, his cat-like reflexes overcame his comedic sensibilities, and Bush became harder to hit than a Giants wide-receiver in December. However, reports indicate that immediately following the penny loafer attack, the president, overcome with apparent post-traumatic stress, muttered over and over, "Not in the face, Dick! Not in the face!" At which point a mysterious bearded man in tattered robes and worn sandals appeared. Known only as The Son, he spoke esoterically, chiding the audience, "He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first Bruno Magli."

Later in the day Hush Puppies announced their Spring 2009 line which will include the new leather oxfords Bush Puppies, described as "devastatingly presidential and perfect for projectile violence."

Idiomic/Idiotic Question of the Day

Jack turns to Jill and asks, "So what's the plan for getting up the hill?"

She coolly responds, "You know, I really don't have a plan. We can just play it by ear."

"Ok, but if anything goes wrong, it's your fault."

What a strange saying, I say. "Just play it by ear." Could you really imagine someone playing an instrument with their ear? I've seen guitar plucking with toes, but never with an ear. Playing piano would be even more difficult. How could you even hit the keys specifically with just the ear and not the whole head?

Either way, it's a pretty outrageous claim, and anyone that says it is more or less indicating that whatever they plan on doing, it's gonna be impossible. They might as well say "just play it by elbow" or "play it with back fat." Either one of those is just as likely. I think I'm more inclined to trust a person that says "just play it by fingers." That tells me that this person is practical and dexterous. Playing something by ear, on the other hand, is poppycock. That's right, the cock of a poppy. And I would choose dexterous over cock any day.

Strikes Cripple a Riot-Shaken Greece

(click here for NYTimes article)

I keep reading the above headline as "Cripple Strikes, a Riot-Shaken Greece," forcing me to ask the question: Why would cripples be striking in the Mediterranean? Don't they already get worker's comp? In any case, there probably is very little marching going on.

In other news, a citizens with disabilities rights group will follow me home tonight and corner me in an alley, beating me senseless until I join their ranks. Sigh.

Terxicon Ticalstandardization Question of the Day

If the word 'blog' is derived from the compound word 'web-log,' then why don't we call electronic mail 'icmail' or google mail 'glemail'? Why not rename instant messenger 'ant messenger' or the web-log atmosphere the 'gatmosphere'? What I'm saying is that the English language's treatment of internet and computer-related (terrelated) contractions is harshly inconsistent causing mass confusion (assconfusion). Why does no grammatical standardization (ticalstandardization) exist yet? It's the 21st Century, linguistic authorities (ticties), it's time for Obama-like change (ma like change)--you know, the rehtoric-heavy (cheavy) and lyrically precise (llycise) kind--for the rules of the computer lexicon (terxicon). Come on (meon) Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary (amster neonary), lay down (yown) the law already (weady). That way web log authors (g hors) like myself (myself) will refrain from (rainrom) writing innane entries (neentries) like these on ridiculous topics (uspics) like the ticalstandardization of terxicon merely to take up (keup) virtual space (ualace) on their (neir) pointless blogs (ssogs).

And the winner is...

In two impressive lop-sided victories this weekend, Manny Pacquiao pummeled the aged Oscar De La Hoya (aged as in moldy cheese, not aged as in fine wine) and the superheroine (not to be confused with super heroin, that shit make you crazy) Wonder Woman had her way with Your Mom.

A faster, more powerful, and even heavier Pacquiao proved on Saturday night that poor people from the Philippines are not to be messed with, no matter how funny their heavily accented English is. "Umm, I um wurried because I um nut rilly wurried..." He embarrassed De La Hoya by landing a barage of power punches so easily that he was simultaneously enjoying a strawberry Jamba Juice and walking his dog Aso.

In parallel occurrences, this past week's showdown for my affection ended in a landslide win for Wonder Woman who made Your Mom lick the bottom of her red leather boots. It was a surprising and embarrassing upset for Your Mom, who led with Las Vegas bookies by 2 to 1 and had the clear advantage in the child-bearing-hips department. However, voters were clearly turned off by the prospect of me dating Your Mom (or worse, becoming Your Dad) and were more enticed by the prospect of me getting Invisible Jet-head, as Double W received all votes minus 2 write-ins (for Jessica Alba even though I'm clearly out of her league, and for a unicorn whose single ribbed horn frightens me).

Wonder Woman advances to the next round, and Your Mom remains lonely...Until next time, I'm Boogie Brown and this is my imagination.

Go Pac Yourself

In less than 36 hours, the world's best pound-for-pound fighter Manny Pacquiao of the Philippines will go toe-to-toe with the Golden Boy of hand-to-hand boxing, Mexican-American Oscar De La Hoya. Pacquiao, having won titles in four different weight classes, will be facing yet another uphill battle by moving up two more classes to face the welterweight De La Hoya. We here at The Get Down caught up with the Filipino fighter at his Las Vegas press conference earlier this afternoon.

"I've fought larger guys before. It's not a problem," said Pacquiao, in response to lingering doubts about his clear size disadvantage to the bigger De La Hoya.

In fact, Manny's list of thwarted opponents includes Goliath, mostly known for his cameo in the widely popular Bible; the electric Blanka, the green Brazilian of Street Fighter fame known for gnawing at competitors while latched to their backs; and George Muresan, the 7'7" NBA center and co-star of the Billy Crystal flop My Giant. It is alleged that Muresan once stayed at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, and running into Pacquiao, gave the boxer his bags thinking Pacquiao was a bellhop. Sadly for Muresan, Pacquiao threw his devastating left hook into the basketball giant's knee. The reverberations from the blow were so damaging that Muresan's heart exploded on impact. At which point, he died.

"This is my greatest challenge," said Pacquiao. "When I take that walk to the ring to fight Oscar, I will carry all the people of the Philippines - the entire country - on my shoulders."

Indeed, hoisting over 90 million brown-faced people over your shoulders and walking them down an aisle is probably the greatest physical challenge of all time. As daunting as it is step into the ring against a bigger fighter, lifting that many rice-bloated people without getting a hernia on the way there is easily the more difficult task. As is often the case, Manny has his sights on two titles tomorrow night: World's Strongest Man and World's Smallest Walking Forklift.

"That's why it's called the Dream Match," Pacquiao told journalists at the end of the press conference. After closing his IBM Thinkpad, Pacquiao left the room and left reporters stunned by his hour-long presentation on REM sleep and the neurological basis of dreams. Pacquiao's deftness with the subject was equally matched by his clear comfort discussing Descartes' theories on perception, using the philosopher's musings as a framework for the science-based Powerpoint.

The room remained silent during the entirety of the presentation minus the sound of Pacquiao chewing on the end of his glasses--a professorial pair of bifocals he pulled out of his right breast pocket specifically for the conference. Oddly enough, he never wore the glasses, but only chewed on them. He did at one point, however, breathe on the frames and proceeded to wipe them clean with the bottom end of his floral necktie.

But will Pacquiao's intricate knowledge of neurology help him evade rapid-fire jabs to the face? The outcome of the Dream Match is anyone's guess at this point. One thing is for sure though: the world will be watching. At the very least, the former colonial worlds of Spain will be watching.

Who should I date?

Part 3 of the 32-part 1st round matchups of dating competition...Who should I choose to bestow my massive load of amorous glory? We have a fierce a competition of bitter rivals this week. So dear reader, who should I date? Or in a more grammatically-sensitive matter, whom should I date?

Wonder Woman
Why I like her: Forget all the hullabaloo about her lustrous black hair, her flawless physique, and her always-ready-for-halloween slutty superhero outfit. Nevermind that she can crush worlds with her thighs or can engage in many a wild wild west role-play with her Lasso of Truth in tow. I don't even give a damn that she's Amazonian royalty with connections to Supes and the Bat. Forget all that. She's on my list 'cuz she got an invisible jet! You can't get more baller than that!! Imagine us rollin' to the club in a jet...that you can't even see. Baller! Forget bling that blinds you, this ish is so blingity human eyes can't even detect it! Now couple that with my appreciation for alliteration, and you get a winning combo...Wonder Woman winks wisely at wiley wicked witches while walloping their withered wigs and wasting away their wicked ways.











OR

Your Mom
Why I like her: If you're reading this, your mom clearly has quality taste that she has passed on to you. She also has a lot of conviction, strength of character, and perseverence as she exhibited by not aborting you. Or perhaps she's just pro-life. And that's ok for this liberal, 'cuz I am pro-cougar.

Seriously though, every kid needs a father. Dating your mother would bring me one step closer to filling that void in your life. First, I'll be that casual gentleman caller that comes over for dinner. You begrudgingly eat with us but I win you over with lavish gifts and helping you with your algebra homework. Then I move into that phase where I spend the night 4 times a week and regularly pick you up from soccer practice. Eventually, you will be the flower girl/ring-bearer at your mother's wedding with me, at which point you forget your biological father and earnestly call me Dad for the first time. Everything's gonna be ok, junior. Daddy's here for you.