Tweet Tweet 4.0

Are you on Twitter? If not, that's okay. Just know that it's going to be bigger than Facebook one day and you're going to feel really left out. In fact right now, I feel really obligated to include you. So here are some of my thoughts (better known as tweets) I've posted the past few months on Twitter.

Stevie Wonder has to be the coolest looking bald, long-haired guy EVER! Hulk Hogan is a respectable but distant second. #Grammys

You can't deny it. "Over the Top" IS the greatest arm wrestling movie of ALL TIME.

My unnecessary word of the day is "teeth." I'm perfectly comfortable telling others I regularly brush my tooths.

Dear #Geico Cavemen: Please go ahead and evolve so we can move on to a new ad campaign.

So for the first time in my life tonight, another human sneezed directly into my mouth. #dadlife

Dictionary.com's Word of the Day is "crib." That is not challenging at all. Did you guys let a baby pick this one?

Rage Against the Machine. It's what helps skinny white guys do push-ups.

Just greeted a black woman and got stuck between saying "Hi" and "Hello." Came out "Holla." #awkward

I just sneezed and excused myself alone in my car. I think that entitles me to some sort of politeness overachiever award.

What's your goal for weightlifting? Strength? Tone? Personally I'm aiming for low muscle atrophy when I'm 80. #aiminglow

Proud to say I'm one of the few Americans who actually uses his waffle maker.

Did you know the Sun is known as the "yellow dwarf"? That is racist, politically incorrect, AND irresponsibly inaccurate!

At Blood Drive with radio playing a "Two-for-Tuesday" Nickelback set. I politely asked the nurse to place the needle in my jugular.

Can't believe "Very Dry" is an option on dryer dials. When would I ever want my clothes "still kind of wet"?

Miller Lite won Best American Light Lager at #GABF. So what? That's like winning a contest for Most Quaffable Urine.

Just checked out a book and it's due in 2 weeks. Thanks library for that whopping amount of time you've given me to READ A BOOK.

Took the week off for work and suddenly realized I'd taken the week off from bathing.

Who thought Willie Nelson/Norah Jones doing "Baby It's Cold Outside" would work? Sounds like an old creeper holding a pretty lady hostage.

Wife: "Buy Buy Baby is baby stuff heaven." Me: "Bye bye money."

The DMV Headquarters does not renew driver's licenses. And that makes perfect government sense.

Hey Reindeer Antlers On Car Guy- please note that when you cut me off it just makes me wanting to shoot you feel more natural.

Someone mopping around you always diminishes the dining experience.

Hey Lowe's, when you see me wandering around aimlessly, just know it's b/c I can never find anything in your hellhole of a store.

When people claim they had the best hot dog ever, I'm like, "well yeah, but....it's still a hot dog."

Guy at Pullen Park asks if we want to sample popcorn. Basically, his question should be, "do you know what popcorn tastes like?"


Join me on Twitter! Follow me @CarsonJSpeight !

I WILL Protect You from the Ebola Virus (and Other Pledges to My Son)

So how's that New Year's resolution going?

At this point, for most of us just remembering what our resolution was in the first place is a feat. In fact, that's going to be my resolution in 2013--to remember my resolution by February.

Seriously though, whether you'd resolved to stop picking your boogers (me 2009) or chilling out with the high-fives (me 2006) or easing out of your jort phase (me 2000-2004), by Spring you were one booger-pickin', high-fivin', jort-wearin' fool.

But for me this year, something changed. I started to take resolutions seriously. You see, I watched Courageous, a movie that is all about a resolution. Five men, intent on being better husbands and fathers, make a resolution filled with "I Will" statements regarding what they will be for their families. The movie ends with a moving speech from the lead character, building to a crescendo of emphatic "I WILL"s.

I was pumped up. As the father of a 16-month-old boy, I wanted to make my own resolution to him, and live by it for the rest of my life. So here it is-

MY RESOLUTION TO MY SON, HUDSON CHARLES SPEIGHT.
ON THIS DAY, FRIDAY FEBRUARY 10TH, 2012, IN THE PRESENCE OF RANDOMONIUM READERS AND GOD AS MY WITNESS...

I WILL ensure my son's impersonation of a Jamaican is sound.

I WILL teach him that every part of the steak except the bone is edible.

I WILL let him have his first beer when he is seven so he won't want to drink again 'til he's 27.

I WILL show him how I shoot a basketball so he will know how not to shoot a basketball.

I WILL let him have multiple birthdays at Chuck-E-Cheese, but he will never beat me in Ski-ball.

I WILL unintentionally show him the dangers of a nail gun and I WILL intentionally show him a picture of a chainsaw in a book. I ain't gettin' near that crap for real.

I WILL agree with him that his math homework is a complete waste of time and will be for the next ten years. Suck it up dude.

I WILL teach him to kiss his mother, just not the way I kiss his mother.

I WILL attempt to explain Lady Gaga and fail miserably.

I WILL laugh with him when we listen to Grandpa on the toilet.

I WILL tell him what the F-word is but it won't be the real F-word and he'll go around saying it to all his confused friends (think I'll go with "Fergie").

I WILL show him how to fight using Jean-Claude Van Damme movies (muted of course, 'cause that dialogue is insufferable).

I WILL remind him I can't beat up other dads. It's not that I don't want to, I'm just physically inferior.

I WILL teach him about the ill-effects of drug abuse showing past and present pictures of Keith Richards.

I WILL make him do things I regret I never did, like kiss the princesses at Disney World.

I WILL talk with him about "the birds and the bees" but I think I'll use "the elephants and the turtles" 'cause that's just way funnier.

I WILL instruct him in punting a football from a very early age. Let's face it, it's his only chance to be a pro.

I WILL encourage he take up a musical instrument. Something he can master rather quickly. Probably finger cymbals.

I WILL teach him that there are no impermissible moves on the dance floor, as long as you keep your pants on.

I WILL temper his pride by revealing my own YMCA Honor Camper awards. That's right, I pluralized it.

I WILL make sure he is always properly hydrating, 'cause with Mama and Daddy's genes he's gonna sweat like a warthog.

I WILL nonchalantly take him to Civil War re-enactments and be like, "OH MY GOD, look son, it's a war!!!"

I WILL teach him horrible magic tricks so to convince him it's not cool.


What WILL YOU do for your children?
.......

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Why You Should Never Wash Your Car At Home

In the world of doing chores, for me washing cars ranks somewhere between scraping charred pig parts off the crock pot and combing the backyard to collect turds. (In case you're wondering, that would be turds from my dog, and I'm not really collecting them, like for an exhibit, just for the trash can.) Anyway, I hate washing my car.

But I equally loathe the idea of paying someone else to do it. It's okay, I have soap, water, and hands, I think I can handle this. Even so, washing cars is just really stupid to me. The earth washes my car for free at least once a month. And it should, seeing as how it dirties my car right back up within days. That's what's so depressing about washing your car. Lots of work (or money for all you suckers) and one mud puddle puts you right back where you were before.

Yet this past Sunday, something possessed me to abandon all my prejudices and embark upon this trivial exercise in auto cleanliness. After all, it had been at least a year since I had thought about washing my car. It'd been much longer since I actually did it. So why not give it a whirl?

Dumbest decision of 2012.

For starters, don't wash your car in January. The air is cold, the water is cold, and this is a fruitless activity anyway. I'm voluntarily piling misery upon misery like an idiot. Well for some reason, I disregard that and consider this time it will all be worth it. So I go and grab my "car washing bucket," which in the last year has served as a stool for a charcoal bag.

I should have immediately quit when I reached into the bucket and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, one yellow, one orange, and both left-handed. How is that possible? It's mind blowing that I once had two pairs of rubber gloves and discarded a pair (not even the same pair) in favor of two gloves for the same hand, which happens to be my non-scrubbing hand. Again, ignoring the signs of imminent and epic failure, I pressed on to complete the task of ruining a perfectly good afternoon.

Now on to the hose, that green, irksome devil coiled up in its hose reel like a sleeping death adder. Just walking over to it brings forth a small voice in my head telling me that none of this is worth it. I believe it, but press on. I begin to unwind the hose, dragging it across the yard like the blankey of a pissed four year-old. And then the predictable JERK! The hose is stuck and I sulk back to the reel to unstick it. After repeating this process at least three times, the hose was stretched to the car and finally, I think, we were ready to rock.

So I flip the switch on the nozzle and the way things are going, you can probably guess how much water came out.I peer back across the yard to notice the hose resembles less of a flowing grass snake and more of a jacked-up mattress spring. Upon closer inspection there were places in the hose so warped they made right angles. Not a recipe for steady water flow. Being that I lacked Chuck Norris hands, there was no way to work out the kinks myself. It would require a tool; pliers, I thought.

Which was yet another sign I was losing my mind. If washing your car requires fetching your toolbox, things have gone terribly wrong. Quit while you're way behind and go be with your family. But no, I decided to persevere. Amazingly, after taking pliers to my garden hose, there was still no water flow! Now baffled, I returned to the water source only to discover the water was never turned on. This produced an odd laugh, one of both happy relief and stupefied self-humiliation. Like a clown who's shat himself.

Looking back upon the lawn, I descried some water coming from the nozzle, but even more was spraying upward like Old Faithful from a hole in the the middle of the hose. Undeterred, I grabbed some duct tape and wrapped up what I thought was an air tight seal, only to be disappointed with the resulting sideways Old Faithfuls now sprinkling the lawn.

Who cares, come hell or high water I am washing this car. Fuming, I took the hose to the car in a frenzied get-it-over-with pace. I aimed for the car and flipped the nozzle to full blast. And instead of a clean, direct shot on the vehicle, I myself was sprayed with cold January water, shooting out in at least eight directions from both sides of the nozzle, which had sprung from irreparable leaks. My fury had now reached its boiling point. I briefly considered doing my best with the hose itself, and simply deposit the defunct nozzle in the trash can. But that didn't satiate my blood lust. So I thought, "I must smash it."

With hose still attached, I took the little plastic nozzle behind the car where worried neighbors wouldn't witness the impending carnage. Summoning my inner-McEnroe I unleashed two downward swings of fury, pummeling the nozzle with all my might into the driveway pavement. A couple pieces flew off but the majority of it was still in tact. One last burst of testosteronic violence sent the nozzle flying off the hose, and like the final but futile strike of a king cobra on an impervious honey badger, it flew upward into my chin.

But I hardly felt it. Truth is, destroying the piece of crap and putting a climactic ending on an otherwise sad story was a rush I hadn't felt in awhile. I hadn't even noticed my bloodied chin until after gathering my whacked-out hose, two left-handled gloves, and nozzle shrapnel for the junk heap. Ironically, trashing these items salvaged my day. It meant I now had a really good excuse to never wash my car again.

My Beef with Three Sandwich Shops You Know Well- A Rantwich

Did you know America has over 100 million sandwich shops?

That's not a real fact, but it seems like my estimation would be pretty close. Our country really likes to buy and eat sandwiches. Which is funny because, a sandwich is pretty basic. It doesn't take Emeril Lagasse to whip up something amazing. I mean, anybody with hands and a refrigerator can make a really delicious one in their house.

So when I leave my comfortable home to go buy a sandwich, that sucker better be really good. And for what most of these places charge for slapping some cold cuts on bread, my sandwich should come with a maitre-de sporting a finely-waxed moustache. And no less. But that's not how I'm treated. Instead, I get treated like someone who doesn't have the foggiest idea what a sandwich even is. Here's My Beef with Three Sandwich Shops You Know Well:

Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches- Ooooohh. Gourmet. Jimmy must have it together, I thought. Then I ordered the #2 Big John and was asked if I wanted cheese with that. Yeah Slappy I want some friggin' cheese. Double cheese, triple it by God. I thought I was getting gourmet here. Instead I'm getting a piece of meat on bread. Most places call that a hot dog. You're calling it a Big John. Any sandwich with the word "big" in it should contain cheese that's closer to a block than a slice. Am I an idiot or is a piece of cheese a minimum requisite for a meat sandwich anyway? Forget gourmet, Jimmy John (if those are your real first names). I just want for you to serve a properly defined sandwich.

So I get my receipt and my $4.50 sub is now $5.50, as I've been charged an extra dollar for cheese. Wow! Hoodwinked, swindled and bamboozled am I! They charged me a dollar to put cheese on my sandwich. I should charge them a dollar of restitution for false advertising. I think I'm getting gourmet and instead I'm literally getting charged for essential parts of the sandwich.

"Hey everybody, free gourmet sandwiches!"

"I'll have one!"

"Do you want bread?"

"Of course!"

"Okay, that'll be a dollar-fifty! One bread sandwich, comin' up!"

Big John what a joke. The only big thing about it is the price you're paying for a gourmet sandwich that isn't even a sandwich.

Subway- I went into a Subway with a coupon for a buy one/get one six-inch sub. Upon presenting the coupon, I was informed I should just by the $5 Foot Long and it would be cheaper. Don't tell me what's cheaper. I know cheap. I just brought in a coupon for a sandwich. Discounted sandwiches is what I'm after. I don't really even care about your sandwich (or Jared for that matter) I'm really just excited about saving almost two dollars at lunch today. Okay, so the $5 Foot Long is cheaper. Then why the heck have a coupon? What was I going to say?

"No, I'd just rather use this coupon and pay more. Those are the kinds of coupons I collect. Ones that cost me money and make me feel bad. Please keep sending out more of those."

Freekin' Jared.

Panera Bread- Panera serves good sandwiches but has a chip selection that makes them look Communist. If you order chips at Panera you have the choice between plain potato chips and--not getting chips. In the world of a million options Panera has decided to give us one really dull crappy one.

Plain potato chips in a small bag? I'm not a five year old at summer camp. When I reach into your measly bag (sans baby hands) and pull out six mediocre chips (which are WOOOOAAAHHH!--potato-flavored!), it makes me wonder if this was even discussed in a corporate meeting. Panera spends countless hours on menu item brainstorms, then gets to the chips and the room has a collective brain fart. One chip? Would it kill you guys to swing by Food Lion in the morning and snag a box of Fritos for the few crazies looking for culinary variety?

Well as for me, I will no longer participate in business dealings with this oppressive regime...Unless I'm jonesin' some Asiago Roast Beef, 'cuz that thing is DA BOOOMMBB!!!

Please feel free to insert all of your great sandwich jokes below. After all, it's so fun to make fun of sandwiches.

Seven Strange Questions I Asked the Internet--and Seven Boss Answers

We're so lucky to live in the information age.

Think about what people throughout the ages have had to go through to get answers...

Adam and Eve- "Well, looks like it's just us. Let's ask the snake."

Nomadic Cavemen- "Hmm...Hmm...Uhhh...Hmm."

Ancient Egyptians- "We could ask Pharaoh, who is God. Good chance he'll kill us though."

Roman Empire- "I bet Caesar knows, being God and all. Tough to catch him though between all the debauchery."

Vikings- "Oh, you're looking for the guy who knew everything? Yeah, Leif killed him with his club."

Explorers- "Hi brown people...Do you know...anything I'm saying...of course not--boys just gather some coconuts."

American Forefathers- "I have no idea. Pretty sure England knows. Damn."

People Living in the 60's and 70's- "One day dude, there'll be this trippy place where we can just, like, store all the answers. Until then bro, may I suggest we get high?"

Well now there is that trippy place. It's called the Internet, and it is a magical mystery tour of questions and answers. I thought I'd share seven strange questions that I'd been wondering about, confident I'd find the answers on the Internet in seconds. Affirmed.

How can I win at breaking the wishbone every time?

How is SPAM Made?

If I had to, could I hypnotize an alligator?

Can I microwave a steak?

Is there such a job as professional armpit sniffer?

What's the longest a chicken has ever lived without a head?

Where is Bubbles?

And for any of you who have an iPhone 4S, I'd be curious to hear what Siri had to say about these!

Five New Voice Competitions for 2012 You Won't Believe

Do you love American Idol?

I don't. But if you do, then you would really love The Sing-Off. With no accompanying music, it is simply the performers and their voices.

And if you really love The Sing-Off (which you would if you love American Idol), then you would really really love NBC's new installment, The Voice. Here judges can't even see the performers; it's purely about the voice.

And if you really really love The Voice (you have an unhealthy addiction to singing competitions), then I'd love to tell you there is something that homes in even more on elite vocal talent-- but there isn't. I'm trying to imagine a show that has no accompanying music, no view of the performers, and no audible representation of their voice. Perhaps we'd call it The Chords, with the audition being judges staring at x-rays of the contestants' vocal chords. Wow, look at the healthy fluids on that one; I say "Yes."

There are so many shows on television now showcasing singing talent that I am no longer impressed by singing talent. It used to be every few years we'd hear a voice on the radio that would blow us away. Now, in one show, I can watch five elite vocal talents blow me away, often times singing better versions of the song than the original artist. We love you Stevie Wonder, but I'm watching this gay guy in a necktie and he's just way better.

Bottom line is these voice competitions are wearing us out. We need something original, something fresh. And trust me, to catch the wave of consumer demand for this crap, producers are doing their darnedest to bring it.

Believe it or not (don't believe it) someone in the industry has made me privy to the new voice competitions airing in 2012. They even gave me the promos for those shows! I know, you feel so lucky you are reading this blog. So, here are Five New Voice Competitions for 2012 You Won't Believe:

Fox's The Yell: Exhilarating. Heart-Pounding. Blood-Curdling. Fox's new The Yell features America's greatest screamers. Watch as contestants are forced to endure something horrifying and subsequently scream their faces off. From sixth-grade girls who've seen a spider to lumberjacks taking an axe to the kneecap, The Yell has something for everyone! So what if an hour of screaming hysteria makes your dad mute the television? We promise, you'll still be able to hear it!

NBC's Scatmen: Get ready America. The contest you've been waiting for is here! NBC introduces Scatmen. Twenty weird dudes you can't understand go back and forth in an intense Scat-Off! Watch Moustache Mel roll his tongue over faster than a Ferrari wheel, while Razz Rhubarb counters with his own version of, "Skibbedy-Ibbedy-Boppedy-Bibbidy-Tip-Top-Tody-Yo-Yup." Drama builds when contestants utter an actual word and are thrust into the "Hooked on Phonics" chamber for an unbearable half-hour. It's the show that will leave you saying--well--complete nonsense.

Discovery Channel's Totally Yodeling: For many years yodel lovers have pleaded to be taken seriously. After all, there's so much more to the craft than lederhosen and funny hats! Nothing funny here though, America. Witness professional yodelers be airlifted to the peaks of the Swiss Alps to belt it out in frigid conditions with limited air supply. It's the yodelers versus the elements, in a battle royale against frostbite and the occasional (unconfirmed) attack from Yeti! And if you thought those things were stressful, watch 2-Time World Champion Fritz Frobe try to remain pitch-perfect with the red threat of an afternoon avalanche! It's the kind of drama that will leave you asking oh-de-lay-he-who needs some more popcorn?!

ABC's Dads Mouthing Car Noises: Come watch the show that has toddlers raving! Ten adult men who never grew up take their noise making skills to the ultimate sound-off. Who got the best vroom? Most realistic NASCAR-zoom-by? Or the ever-challenging dump truck in reverse? Well, that's for a panel of eight surly babies to decide! Watch these dads labor for hours trying to crack a smile. The winner moves into the cryer's circle for a chance to win $10,000! Can this dad use his classic time-ticking car bomb routine to distract rankled Ralph from his own diaper explosion for more than five seconds? Vroom in to find out!

MTV's Ballad Whisperer: The musical event of the century comes to MTV this January! Belting out your favorite ballad is one thing. Whispering it as quietly as possible is quite another! Ever tried whispering Bon Jovi's, "Wanted: Dead or Alive"? If so, you know IT'S IMPOSSIBLE! These distressed singers try to keep quiet, but simply can't contain themselves from breaking into lower lip-biting, clenched fist-pumping, and a countenance of constipation. You'll find this show completely addicting--just like the rockers who penned these classics were to high-end blow! Psss...Don't miss it!