Anal Probes down; Alien tourism on the decline

The number of alien sightings in our country has dropped well below the national average the past several years. Some fear gas prices in Alpha Centuri have caused lower interstellar travel. Others claim the instability in the Middle East have kept many aliens away. But I know the true reason… Aliens have already learned enough about us and are bored.

How sad is that? Human beings have been around for at least 10,000 years (depending on your various religious affiliations) developing different cultures, literature, and art. And in about sixty years of anal probing, extraterrestrial life is done with us. I for one feel violated.

What does that mean to me? Well, it makes me think we’re the Steve Eurkel of the galaxy; the George W. of politics, if you will. Earth is like that guy at work that you are forced to invite to your party, because you invited everyone else. But he’s uninteresting and no one has anything in common with him, so they choose to ignore him. Yeah, that’s us.

So the question is; what can we do? Well, for starters, most people who get abducted by aliens are unshaven, unshod, redneck hillbillies. It actually surprises me slightly that aliens kept coming back to anal probe these people for six decades. So I say we need to give them someone new, fun, and interesting to study. Rachel McAdams should be probed. There are others, but I won’t name them here as my wife may decide to scalp me and sell the top of my head on E-Bay, but you get the picture. Even if we can give them someone whose most recent shower was not a drizzle last week, perhaps we can generate new interest in our species.

We have an Earth Day, why not a Mars Day? Let everyone dress up as their favorite off-worlder (I’ve always been partial to Alf), show some Alien pride. Let’s not have a parade however. People may get confused as to which Pride Day they are at…

I mentioned in a previous blog that I would like to speed up our technological advances. What better way then ask species who fly through space on a daily basis? So put on that old E.T. t-shirt that’s getting moldy in your attic, put on that tin foil hat (as in Signs), and let’s phone home!

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Meteorology: Writers needed

If America is going to improve, it has to happen one small piece at a time. I believe my suggestions could do a lot of good to reaching that end. For instance, forecasting hurricanes could use some improvements.

Let’s start with hurricane naming. If you tell me that Stan is coming over to visit, even if I’ve never met this person, it doesn’t exactly strike fear into the core of my being. Hurricane names are awful. From Ophelia, which sounds like a Shakespearan shemale, to Pablo, a little Mexican waiter, hurricane-naming conventions could definitely stand for some modifications. First of all, more dangerous sounding names need to be implemented to force residents to evacuate. Can you imagine Hurricane Vinny coming to break your kneecaps? How about Hurricane Tyrone? That’s not a brother you want to piss off. There are others such as Hurricane Herpes or Hurricane Mad Cow, that make me want to pack up and move inland. If worst comes to worst we can break out some of the truly horrendous-sounding names, like Hurricane N’sync or Hurricane Ricky Martin.

Not only do hurricane names need to change, but also their system of gauging a hurricane’s strength needs to be different. Category 5 sounds like something I marked on my taxes last year. Let’s come up with something a little more imaginative and descriptive:

Category Lights Out (Category 1) – Meaning, if this hurricane is bearing down, prepare to lose your power.

Category Treehouse (Category 2) – any trees in your front lawn will now reside inside your living room.

Category Volvo (Category 3) – The storm can blow a station wagon through your front door.

Category Ass water (Category 4) – Your house will be submerged in sewage.

Category Moving Day (Category 5) – Your current residence is about to change addresses, so you might as well also.

Something else that needs to change is to remove idiots from the weather channel from the beachheads. If the city or state government is advocating evacuation, would someone tell those dumbshit weather reports that they are not doing a very good job of leading by example? Cripes. Not only that but even our beloved Al Roker (mentioned in a previous blog) tried to get swept to sea during Hurricane Wilma (before stomach stapling this would have been an impossible task!).

Let’s get these changes instituted as soon as possible. Something that is several hundred miles wide and travels as fast as I can jog should never catch a city or state “unawares”. America is a big place; I’ll spread my wisdom as fast as I can.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

My Cat Needs Weight Watchers

My wife and I have two cats. They have the Laurel and Hardy thing going on. One is skinny the other is a solid black morbidly obese feline. I’m talking friggin’ huge. Think Sally Struthers. Marlon Brando. Old Elvis. I think you’re getting the picture. So here’s the deal. He’s a massive glob of fur and fat, and yet, I don’t feed him all that much. He doesn’t like treats, and for the most part he leaves people food strictly alone. Which begs the question, why is he so goddamn fat?

Inactivity is probably part of it. I don’t think I’ve seen a living being move so little since that woman on What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?. Occasionally he’ll get up and chase the smaller cat around. Perhaps climb our steps to feed on dry cat food. That’s about it.

There is the possibility that after we go to bed at night, he goes into the fridge and fixes himself some leftover fried chicken and a Miller Highlife, I’m not sure. I need to figure this out before PETA starts camping out outside my house, protesting that I’m over-feeding my cat.

I think he’s starting to take my verbal abuse to heart though. Every so often he’ll start puking for no apparent reason. I gather he’s semi bulimic. If that doesn’t work I guess I’ll just get him to lose weight the old fashioned way. Mix in a bunch of diet pills with a slim fast shake and make him snort some coke. Watch the pounds melt off!

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Five Things Learned – October 2005,

1. A watch that states it’s water resistant up to 100 meters actually means it is water resistant outside of 100 meters from water.

2. A death sentence equals 20 years of life.

3. Tax Refunds aren’t free money. It’s money the Government borrowed from you and is finally paying you back a year later.

4. Children age four times faster than adults.

5. Dust is made up of mostly dead skin cells. So I’ve decided to gather enough dust to form a corpse.

Oh, it ended weird.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

A Roker leash

Al Roker, if you are reading this blog I will do anything, absolutely anything for just one favor. I will tattoo your name on my chest and prance down Times Square screaming your praises. I will bookmark the Today show on my TV for the rest of the century. Hell, I’ll break into other people’s houses and bookmark the Today show on their TVs for the rest of the century. Just please, please, don’t go through with your reality show!

There are already plenty of useless reality shows on television (Martha Stewart Apprentice, Biggest Loser, etc). Do we really need one about dogs? That’s right; Al has created a show that has hidden cameras to catch dogs being disobedient, and then he has some hard ass animal trainer whip them into shape. My first question is why are the cameras hidden? The damn dog doesn’t know the difference. Second of all, who the @#%^ cares if someone else’s dog is being disobedient? As long as it’s shitting on their floor and not mine, I could give a rat’s ass.

This is more reality madness that must be stopped! What next? Cat’s on the rampage!? Teaching Birds how to talk? Come on Al. If you won’t do it for me, please, do it for the children.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Cry me a Rivers

Joan and Melissa Rivers; this pair definitely need a blog dedicated just for them. If the inane, useless crap that comes out of Joan’s mouth on the red carpet isn’t enough, cutting over to her inane, useless, clone of a daughter is worse. Aack, and what the hell happened to Joan’s face? At some point you stop and let nature take its course. Her head looks like it is made of laffy taffy. The Crypt Keeper called, he wants his look back Joan.

The two Rivers can be seen on the TV Guide channel hosting red carpet events. I don’t know or care much about any of the award shows and only watch them when my wife turns it on. But what I do see makes me want to turn to that Oxi-Clean infomercial instead. Joan Rivers critiquing stars on their style points is like Mumar Quadifi preaching to Jesus about morality. And her daughter **Full body shiver**. Melissa Rivers looks like a science experiment that went wrong. As in the Island of Dr. Moreau. I get the feeling she’s going to pop out a baby girl soon and then we’ll have another seventy years worth of tasteless remarks about fashion… And that will still be Joan Rivers!



Is that Captain Stubing giving Joan Rivers a copy of his new book, "Save your Face, Kill a Plastic Surgeon"?



Okay, I give up, which one is Joan?




Melissa Rivers; meandering in her mother’s facesteps.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Salaried employees

This blows. Over the past week I’ve had to work sixty-five (65) hours. I received pay for forty of those hours. Not only that, but after I went home I dreamed about work. That’s just not right. Plus, I’m also on call for my company every third week. The week before I got called on a Production problem at 3 in the morning. Come on!

I’ve determined that my company owes me about twenty hours worth of wages a day for this entire week. I’d go on strike, but they’d just replace me when some guy from Pakistan that speaks no English and works for minimum wage. Hell, they’ll probably do that anyway when they try to outsource my job there. Therefore, I’ve decided to go postal. But because I don’t own a gun, I’ll have to use a shovel instead. It may be slow, but it’ll get the job done.

I’ll send you a post card from Prison.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

I Need a Plumber.

I walk out to my mailbox with a sense of dread, every time. There’s this overpowering sense of destitute that washes over me as I close in on my destination. Fear grips my heart like icicles hanging from my aorta. I open my mail box and there it is. Crap.

I don’t know about your mail, but if I’m not missing my guess, you get crap too. A lot of it. All over. This has been happening as long as mail has been delivered. Not only that, but it has begun to spill out into new technology. As if we don’t see enough crap on TV, or listening to it on the radio, there it is, waiting on your computer monitor and in your mailbox. We must do something, and fast.

Let’s start by categorizing the crap in your mail. You’ve got your useless magazines. The ones that you didn’t ask for, that have things you would never buy inside of them, and flowers on the front of them. Lots of flowers. Pink ones. They are usually about home decorating, ethnic shopping, or urban architecture. I’d rather read the religious pamphlets some cult-like church stuck in my box than those magazines. At least the pamphlets make me chuckle. Ah Scientology. Heh heh heh.

Up next are the AOL installation CDs I get once a month. This is the worst advertising campaign I’ve ever seen. Like if they keep sending me their CDs, at some point I’m going to say, “What the hell? Why not just shove this circular thing in my computer and see what chaos could ensue.” What we really need to do, instead of just tossing them, is to give them new jobs. Get some use out of the crap. Coasters are an old tradition. Skeet shooting can be fun. Also, and my personal favorite, use a half dozen of them to put under that chair or stool in your house (you know the one) that one of the legs is shorter than the other.

The best crap is other people’s mail crap. This is when some dumbass company can’t figure out that John Thompson doesn’t live in your rental house anymore and four years later still keep sending him mail. You know its crap when it says on it “For John Thompson or current resident of 123 Sesame Street.” Yeah, so now I have mail sloppy seconds. I don’t think so, Scooter.

Then you get your computer crap. Ads for penis enlarging, naked girls, and monetary scams, you know the drill. My favorite is the letter from General Aji Magi Boombagi’s son, Bart. Apparently the general keeled over whilst pillaging some East African village and the only way his son Bart can collect his $2,000,000,000 of inheritance money is to split it with you. But first you must send him 9 easy payments of $5,000. And then half of the inheritance money is yours. Sounds like no strings attached, where do I sign up Chief? Yahoo mail does a pretty good job of diverting this Spam (email crap) to your bulk folder. However, other types exist that aren’t so easily foiled.

The worst emails are the ones you get from your demi-friends. These are the people you met in college, or at some old job, that you really don’t talk to, but accidentally made the mistake of giving them your email address and they forward junk to you. They add you to their Address Book of horror and then email half the Western Hemisphere annoying religious chain mail, urban legends (did you know Elvis isn’t dead? He’s sitting in a tube of formaldehyde waiting for someone to find a cure for obesity), and those excruciating snow ball fights. That’s when someone creates an ASCII picture of a snowball and tell you that you’ve been hit by a snowball and you need to send it to everyone you know within thirty-eight seconds or you’ll be hit by a Greyhound Bus and the IRS will take all your worldly goods and sell your wife and children into slavery in Saudi Arabia (I get a lot of email crap). I’m tempted to freeze some water in the shape of a bowling ball, find out where the ass lives and smash his skull with my snowball.

So, please, stop sending crap. Don’t add to the problem when you can be apart of the solution. Don’t buy shit from ads you find in your mailbox. And for the love of God, don’t send Bart any money. His real name is Bill and he owns Microsoft.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Dude, where’s my wife?


Okay, I’ve decided to start a new segment in the early life of my blog site. Every so often, when warranted, I will do a blog on strange happenings in Hollyweird. It will encompass all of entertainment, be it movies, music, and television. So my first of many to come has to start with…


Well everybody, you’ve been Punked! That’s right, Ashton Kutcher has reportedly married long time crush Demi Moore. What started as a nice little publicity stunt has become a full-blown publicity marriage. I’d like to go on the record as saying I have no problem with their relationship. I just like putting these things in perspective: Ashton was 12 when Demi starred in Ghost and her eldest daughter Rumer (17) is almost in his date range (if he squints).

Here are a couple of other strange things associated with this marriage. Bruce Willis has been a big fan of the newly weds, going to several functions with them including their wedding… I don’t know about you, but I think I would be a touch nervous about a woman whose ex-husband really loves seeing you with his former wife. Especially Bruce Willis. The guy’s eyes look they could pierce through Kevlar. Good luck Ashton. Also, Demi and Bruce’s three daughters refer to Ashton as their MOD (My Other Dad). This is creepy because he’s playing a character on That 70’s show who is just out of high school.

Here’s to a long blissful fourteen months of marriage. Prediction time, they will announce their divorce on Nov. 26th of 2006.


"Oh Ashton! Can you even buy beer?"




He kind of looks like one of her kids in this shot, doesn't he?



"I'll kill him."

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

2005 – an Earth Odyssey

After a week of anticipation... My next post.

Where the hell is my jet pack? This is the year 2005 people! I need my flying car, my transporting machine, and a toaster that will not blacken my toast. So I ask you, honestly, where are they?

Cars have actually taken a step back in appearance. Year after year, automobiles had become more and more streamlined, giving them a more “futuristic” look. Then came the Honda Element. This piece of crap looks like a friggin’ box on wheels, setting the automotive trend back about twenty years.

And the space shuttle? Tell me that it doesn’t look like a tiny moth clinging to a gigantic turd. Our space ships should be going light speed and shooting lasers by now. The International space station looks like something I constructed out of Lincoln logs when I was 6.

This is the future! What gives? Okay, granted, shooting a laser into someone’s eye to make him or her see better is quite the advancement. Also, 95 year old men getting erections (a.k.a. Viagara) is also a modern miracle (although very disgusting and not a good thing. Can you imagine a 95-year-old father?). But it’s not enough.

I’m going back to sleep. Someone please tell me when my Levitating boots are ready. Thanks.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Pick and Save me from this hell

My favorite part of going to the supermarket is that wait at the check out counter. But before that happens you have to pick a lane. It really doesn’t matter which lane you pick, you know it’s going to be the slow one either way. Most likely there is at least one extremely old person in line or someone who does all of their grocery shopping once a month (think weird hillbilly folk from Deliverance). If you find a lane that does not have either of these types of people, chances are the ATM machine will be locked up, the receipt dispenser will be jammed or the check-out person will be talking on a cell phone, completely ignoring your presence. I think grocery stores need to change a few things.

First of all, their layouts leave something to be desired. If there are two doors, they should both lead into the store. However (and I think they do this because of the five-finger discount), I in veritably always come in the side closest to the check out counters so I either have to walk all the way back across the store, or scoot through one of the check out openings. I always feel like such a tard when I do that.

Why can’t the milk and eggs section be closest to the registers? Yeah I know, they figure if it’s at the opposite end of the store I will probably see something I like (spaghetti O’s, Cinnamon toast crunch, etc) and will buy it. I, for one, am not 5. I possess the will power to say “no” to beef jerky and donut holes so please just move the eggs and milk closer to the register.

While they’re at it, it would be nice if at least one store would think about how their parking is lined up. The stores I go to have those annoying one-way roads that everyone ignores anyway. All the spaces are lined up at an angle. I understand that it’s easy for most people to simply pull into and out of a spot like that easier than one that is perpendicular to the store. Unfortunately too many ass clowns go down the wrong way and end up taking three parking places when they try to park. Also, it would be nice if they put a few more of those cart oasis things out there. It feels like I have to push that M-F cart three blocks before I can find a place to dump it. By that time I might as well have just pushed the damn thing home and walked back for my car.

However, no matter how annoying the trip to the grocery store is, I will keep going to super markets as much as I can to avoid the trip to the imperialistic Walmart, or as I like to call it: Hell’s bathroom. So Food Lion, I guess you’ve got me by the short hairs on that one. Maybe I could grow my own food…

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Stay off the grass!

My wife and I live on the outskirts of a small town. Our street isn’t what you’d call a major thoroughfare; however we get more than our fair share of guests.

A year ago an older lady came to our door. For this story we will call her Dorothy. Dorothy said she tried to call her friend (she will be Blanche), who lives on the same street as us and there was no answer. This worried Dorothy to the point of jumping into her car and driving to see her friend. However, she didn’t know exactly where her friend lived. She knew the house and street number but didn’t see it on her way. Dorothy tried calling her friend from our house, but getting no answer decided to follow my advice and drive back down the road to where I told her I thought it was. The next day I drove by the house she was talking about and the number was clearly marked on the side. I sure hope Dorothy remembered where she lived with her Sicilian mother and Rose Nylin.

We were grilling outside on a nice summer evening when a van pulled into our driveway. A man and woman walked over to us and after sniffing our food asked us if we wanted a demonstration of a vacuum cleaner they were selling. I tried to tell them that we have so little carpet, that the way I keep it clean is to scrub our fat cat over the floor, collecting whatever dirt and grime are there, and then beating him like a rug outside. They said it worked just as well on hard wood floors and then proceeded to take out a damn dust buster. Good God! Not long ago we had another guy trying to sell the same type of dust buster… Hell, it might have been the same dust buster. I sure hope nobody bought one of those pieces of crap.

Not long ago our neighbor boy ran over to our house and asked to use our phone because his grandma had just been robbed. I called the police for him. Apparently some woman had pulled into their driveway with an over-heated car. They had grabbed water and poured it on the engine to cool it down. Then the women pushed the grandma to the floor, grabbed her checkbook and ran out of the house.

About two weeks ago a teenage girl came to our telling a story that was obviously memorized about how her and her family was stranded from Georgia. They simply appeared to be panhandling their way through NC.

A while ago the owner of the house across the street (she rents it out) came over to my house with a flyer. Apparently the woman’s nephew was moving into the house and he was starting up a lawn mowing business (I have an enormous lawn and I wouldn’t want to think about how much it would cost for someone to mow it for me). What really struck me about the woman were her teeth. Actually it was her lack of teeth. It made it extremely hard to understand the words that were coming out of her hole of a mouth. I politely took the flyer, nodded several times, closed the door, and then deposited it into my disposable safety deposit box.

On multiple occasions I’ve had Baptist, Methodist, and Jehovah Witnesses at my door. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got an inverted cross on my roof or something and I’m just a beacon for reformers. I don't sacrafice live chickens (although I will eat KFC on occassion) and I don't howl at the moon so back the f#$% off!

These are the kind of things I expect to see if I lived in a city. The thing is I live a mile from the town itself, and it’s not a big town. So I guess the only answer is buy a great dane and leave him on my porch. I have a feeling I won't be getting as many visitors.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Ninja me this.

So, you and your girlfriend are walking to the park for a picnic. It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and the pair of you is just enjoying each others company. Suddenly a dozen men dressed in black designer pajamas drop from a nearby tree and start vainly trying to beat your face in. Has this ever happened to you? I get it all the time. The problem is there just aren’t enough ninja movies out there these days.

Over the past three decades a decline in ninja movies has seen an increase in unemployed ninjas and it’s only getting worse. There was a brief comeback for them during the 90s with 3 Ninjas, 3 Ninjas Kick Back, 3 Ninjas Knuckle Up, and of course, 3 Ninjas at High Noon. But Jackie Chan’s recent announcement that he’s retiring from action movies, I’m assuming to do comedic children’s cartoons, along with the off-shoring of many ninja movies to Asia (as in Sleeping Tiger, Hidden Dragon) has seen the swelling of non-working ninjas. They’re every where now days. From beach parties to office meetings, you just can’t escape them.

Washington hasn’t been completely blind to what’s been going on. Taking time out from a busy day of pretending to care about the Hurricane Katrina disaster, Bush was quoted as saying, “Yeah, ninjas. Those crazy dudes with the masks over their heads, heh heh. I know’s ‘em. The government is going to do their part, but the American citizens have to pitch in as well. I mean, I’m your president, not your leader. Heh heh.”

Recently several hundred tried to enter into the multiple branches of the military, but most were excused off-hand. “They attack one-on-one, even when there are twenty of them in a room,” stated former Secretary of State Colin Powell. “How could this possibly help our military forces in Iraq?”

All hope is not lost. “They definitely have the moves,” said Lars Oelinger, choreographer and author of the new play on Broadway, Men have curves too. “Some of them even have some talent. We’ll ship these men in by the truck load and see what they’re made of!” There’s talk of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 4 movie, with Vanilla Ice (Rob Van Winkle) coming back to do the soundtrack to extend a career that should have totally faded by 1994.

Recently, a number of little-known celebrities attempted to have a telethon for this just cause. Headed by Lyle Lovitz and Bob Dylan, the telethon netted five dollars and twenty-seven cents; along with four boxes of diapers and a dozen bottles of water.

So you see; some people are doing your part. You have to do yours. If you see any of these poor souls out on the street, do them a favor. Kick each one’s ass individually. They’ll thank you for it later.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Monkey See

Have you ever stopped to think about how closely related to primates we are? I have. We’re about two strands of DNA (in certain cases even less) away from eating our own poop and picking bugs out of our co-workers hair.

In the spirit of this blog, I’d like to coin a new term. For those people who exhibit a few too many baboon-like traits, may I offer you, the “mankeys”. Don’t tell me you don’t know these people. On more than one occasion I have been one. A person goes mankey when they forget the “civilized” part of being human and act on pure animal instincts instead. Dealing with Sprint’s customer service line will do that to you. I’ve started screeching at the phone so loud that my wife had to coax me away from it using a banana and a National Geographic with a picture of a female ape on the front. Not a pretty picture.

Could monkeys ever rule the world ala Planet of the Apes? I’ve often pondered that. I say no, and only because primates, for the most part, show no real ambitions in life other than to scratch themselves, eat, and look for females. Or, in other words, act like a single man. I don’t think monkeys were put in cages in zoos. I believe the zoos built the cages around them and they just don’t give a damn.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have absolutely no inhibitions what so ever? To just spend all day, hanging from a tree, throwing shit at passing pedestrians? Sure, the bright red ass could get on your nerves once in a while. I’m also assuming the taste of fleas isn’t the best. But one day, that will be my life. So if you see a naked, pale man tumble by with poop in one hand and a national geographic in the other, hooting like there’s no tomorrow, don’t panic. Just know that Dan Trosdahl went mankey for life.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

Don't Spoiler my day.

There are certain things a car needs to operate. An engine is usually a big help. A car is quite useless without gas, or a steering wheel. However there are a multitude of things that are put onto cars which they do not need.

One of these things is hubcaps. No, I'm not referring to the standard fare that comes directly from the plant. I'm talking about the bling bling ones that blind you as wait at a red light. You know the ones; they generally cost more than the car itself. The particularly annoying ones roll when the car has come to a stop. This gives it the illusion that the wheels are still turning. That's nice. Hey Chief, why don't you forget about the caps and instead do something about that piece of crap muffler that's dragging under your car, throwing sparks, and sounding like a Harley?

Decals are nice too. Lightning bolts or racing stripes along the sides are a favorite of many of the locals down here in North Carolina. Here's a tip. Get a car that actually looks fast for starters. Painting speed lines on a 1990 Toyota truck does not mean it's going to win in the Auto Truck series this year.

How about bumper stickers? Those can be fun too, in moderation. Why do some people feel the need to plaster eighty-five of them to the back of their pea green station wagon? Generally they have some kind of religious undertone to them; some passage in Isiah or something. Or their kid was special boy of the day fifty times at school. Tell you what, when your kid graduates from JuCo go ahead and splurge on "My kid is an honor student" stickers. But no one wants to know how proud you are of your pre-schooler for only pooping in the corner twice one week at school. Also, the election was over a year ago. Please rip those crappy political adds of your automobiles. Jesus! No one was going to vote for Ralph Nader anyway.

Would you please stop customizing your license plates? How many times have I seen VETTE69 on the plates for a Corvette? No shit sherlock, I know what a corvette looks like. I'd rather see it say COMPENS8 or IMPOTENT instead. You don't need to express your individuality on your car. Trust me, with that face you are definately an individual that no one will copy.

Lastly, and one of the banes of my existence, is the spoiler. Now, I have one on my Ford Focus. It's fairly descrete and gives my car a certain charm. But what I've seen increasingly are people bolting giant spoilers to the trunks of their car. It looks like they strapped a damn airplane fin to their vehicle. I'm not very good with physics and I suppose a spoiler must help make your vehicle more aerodynamic. However, bolting a Cessna onto your Honda Civic has got to be one of the most retarded things you could do to your automobile. I'm not sure if it's insanely ghetto or incredibly redneck. Probably a bit of both. So please do me a favor. Think before you paint, strap on, bolt, or stick something to your car.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

It’s Liquid. It’s Ice. It’s crap!

I’m sure that all of you have been exposed to those inane Ice Breakers commercials. You know the ones I’m talking about. If you don’t because you’ve been self deprecating yourself from television, here’s a recap of the two commercials I’m talking about.

First up are Jessica Simpson and her snotty sister Ashely. The pair is staying at a plush resort with Ashely sucking on said Ice Breakers. The entire time Jessica is rambling on about it being “liquid or ice?” Now, I’ll stare at Jessica Simpson as long as the next man. But her whiny voice begins to drain on me after a while. Is Nick Lachey an incredibly lucky man or is he a man crying for help?

The next commercial features two sisters who should not be on TV. At all. Period. They are Hillary Duff and her sister Haylie. One has the voice of a donkey; the other has its face. They are staying at a swank hotel arguing over whether Ice Breakers are liquid or ice. This is the kind of argument your kids have in the back seat about whose game boy is whose. It takes about three seconds for this to become unbearable causing the father to swerve violently off the road and shout every foul-mouthed word he can think of.

My biggest fear is that the Judds will reunite and write a song about which one it is, liquid or ice. For the love of God, please stop this madness from spreading! Have a tic-tac instead.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~

The ABC's of 'X'

I set up this blog to discuss the really important issues of our time. Such as articles that slip through the cracks, hard-hitting human interest stories that don't make prime time, tid-bits that just haven't been discussed enough. I shall start with the letter 'X'.

What is the point of 'X'? Of all of the letters in the alphabet, it has got to be the most useless of them all. Sort of like a mascot at a baseball game or the nipples on a man. Let’s check the facts shall we?

List every word you can think of that starts with "X". Yeah, all three of them. Notice a pattern? That’s right; they could all be replaced with the letter "Z". As in, "that zylophone is out of tune" or “My zenophobia is acting up again”.

How about words like Eckcellent and Eckscrement? Is X being biased against ‘C’ and ‘K’? They work well together as a team and ‘X’ couldn’t handle that because the only letter it seems to work with is ‘E’ and nobody likes him. ‘E’ is like that guy you see on the street who seems familiar, but you don’t remember his name, so you avoid eye contact with him, as to avoid an awkward conversation.

Also, without ‘X’, we would have twenty-five letters in the alphabet. Isn’t that a nice number? Easy for the children to remember, but still more than the Hawaiian alphabet which seems like your saying the same words over and over again. Besides, who even remembers where it is in the alphabet? Somewhere after ‘W’. Or is it before ‘W’? Who knows?

Finally are the religious implications of the letter ‘X’. What does the ‘X’ stand for in X-mas? That’s right, our Lord and Savior. He has been replaced by this blasphemous letter. Next thing you know the ‘X’ will be replaced by a big fat jolly man and we can name it what the candy and toy companies have been waiting for years to call it, Santamas.

So do the world a favor and never speak of the letter ecks again. Necks time we will go into the letter cue and why it also should never be used in a sentence. Or a cuestion.

*D.S. Trosdahl~~