I don’t know how these kinds of things take hold, but a few years ago many, many people were starting sentences with “You know what?”

Me:  Do anything interesting this weekend?
Them:  You know what?  I just hung around the house.

Me:  Have you seen the 3-hole punch?
Them:  You know what?  I think it’s in Frank’s office.

Me:  Do you smell shit?
Them:  You know what?  I do.

Seemingly out of the blue, everybody was doing it.  It drove me crazy.  I still hear it from time to time, but think it’s pretty much run its course.  Mercifully, so.

But now I’m hearing a new one, and don’t care for it, either.  Have you noticed people replacing “I agree” with the nonsensical “I know, right?”  What the hell?

Me:  It’s hotter than the devil’s scrotum in this dump.
Them:  I know, right?

What in the pearl-handled heck?  And already it’s been shortened, to make the ridiculous even more so.

Me:  I’m about to take this Papermate pen, and repeatedly plunge it into my heart.
Them:  Right?

Just typing it pisses me off.

Also, if you pay close attention, you’ll notice people starting sentences with, “Yeah, no.”  Don’t believe me?  Listen to the people around you…  “Yeah, no,” I fear, might be the new “You know what?”

How do these kinds of things start and spread so quickly?  Like the teenage girl Inner Sanctum creaking-door style of talking?  Who started that?  And how did it go around the globe?  I hear fifteen year old girls call Clive Bull, in London, talking that way.  And it bothers me a great deal.

What trendy little speech accessories get under your skin the most?  We need to start a list, dammit.  Help me out, won’t you?

Also, what are the latest rumors going around your place of work?

We don’t necessarily need the background, just give us the rumor as you might spread it to a co-worker.  It’s kind of intriguing to hear people whispering about things you don’t fully understand.  And leave in the shop-talk and insider lingo, as well.  I love that kind of thing.

Of course, if it’s an especially juicy rumor and a full fleshing-out is appropriate, that’s coo’ too.

There’s a disturbing rumor going around my office, but I don’t want to get into it here.  My current employers aren’t known for their highly developed sense of humor.  Notice how I never mention work?  I could end up manning the cheddar pump at Arby’s…

This is very short, because I spent a little too much time on today’s Mockable post.  But I think it turned out well, and hope you’ll check it out.  Right here.

Also take the time to read yesterday’s article, NOT written by me.  It’s both bizarre and hilarious.

And that’s going to do it for today, my friends.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.

On Friday and Saturday afternoons I got away from the computer for a while, and it was fantastic.

I once read a Dean Koontz novel that featured people who became one with their machines.  Their faces actually melded with the monitors, and the whole thing was powered by the beating of their hearts.  It was pretty creepy, and I worry it’ll someday happen to me.

Steve was in the area on Friday, so I met him for lunch at Five Guys.  I ordered a cheeseburger with tomatoes, lettuce, onions, and green peppers.  And that’s what I received, except somebody apparently believes pickle slices are tomatoes.  Blecch.  Even after I removed the horrible things, I could taste the residue.

Steve came bearing gifts, as usual, and gave me an enormous Magnolia Thunderpussy t-shirt.  Very cool.  He  also received two copies of Beatles Monopoly for Christmas, and gave the extra to the Secrets (I still need to choose new internet names for them).  And he allowed me to transfer an assortment of bizarre and obscure microbrews from the trunk of his car to mine, which is always appreciated.

After lunch he was going to run some errands, at Target and places like that.  I really needed to get back to my “book,” but hated the thought of face-melding with my computer again.  So, I went with him, and we mocked everything as far as the eye could see.  Just like we’ve been doing since Nixon was president.

Our last stop of the afternoon was Wegmans, to peruse their outstanding beer selection.  There’s always an “expert” on hand to answer your questions, and be of assistance.  Oh, this is a high-class operation…  I asked if they were ever going to be stocking Fuller’s London Pride, which Toney and I discovered and loved on our England trip.

“Follow me,” our beer steward said, and led us to a shelf containing four six-packs of the stuff.  I nearly wept.  Each six was priced at $11.99, but I’m an old pro at justifying such things.  If you ever need any help on that front, just drop me an email.  I can take you from overwhelming guilt, to believing you actually got a deal, in seconds flat.

The next day Toney and I cleaned up the house, which was a freaking disaster area.  I finally dealt with the knee-deep mound of crapola I’d transferred from the bunker to the family room, and we whipped the place into shape while guzzling Five O’Clock coffee.  It sucked, but I’m glad we did it.  I don’t like cleaning, but I like having cleaned.

The older Secret was invited to an “Airsoft war,” and the rest of us went running around and doing this and that.  We ended up at Five Guys again, which is fine by me.  This time they figured out what a tomato is, which made it much better.

The younger youngling wanted to walk through the flea market, which Toney hates, so we did a real quick lap around that white trash jamboree.  A woman was selling large postal envelopes full of uncooked perogies near the front door, which caused me to do a rare triple-take.

A Civil War veteran had a stand filled with old cigarette lighters, campaign buttons, and various advertising trinkets.  I like that kind of stuff, so I lingered for a few minutes.  And I found a box filled with old fashioned keys, sorta like this one, priced at $3 each.

Who in the hell would pay three bucks for a useless key?!  I laughed at the thought, as I rummaged through the box.  Then I found one I was oddly attracted to.  I held it in my hand, and the thing seemed to have special powers or something.  So I bought it.

I can’t explain it…  But the old guy nodded knowingly as I handed him the money (WTF?).  I’m going to carry it in my pocket, as a good luck charm.  Do you have anything like that?  Do you keep something with you, to ward off the bad spirits or whatever?  Tell us about it, if you do.

At Sam’s I decided I wanted to check my blood pressure, on their machine in the pharmacy.  And there was a line!  Two people were ahead of me, and it got me all agitated.  When it was finally my turn, it registered in the “high normal” category.  Toney said it probably would’ve been normal, if I hadn’t gotten so worked-up about the crowd.

But seriously, it was a blood pressure machine, not the Good Humor man.  It still bothers me.

After Sam’s we went to Lowe’s, where we looked at bathroom stuff.  We’re toying with the idea of remodeling our upstairs crapatorium, and are in the pricing stage — which can last for upwards of a year.

We saw a toilet with two buttons on top of the tank, instead of a regular flush handle.  One is for “solids,” and the other is for “liquids.”  Apparently it’s to help save water, or somesuch.

This, of course, kicked off a lengthy discussion.  “What about diarrhea?” I asked.  “Would that be considered liquid, or solid?”  “Yeah, and vomit!” Toney offered.  “It’s usually liquidy, but thick.”  Can you see why we’re a perfect match?

But the younger Secret had the best line.  He brought up the oldest translucent, and how Eninen had to use a soup spoon (or whatever) to pry the granite-like turds from him.  “He’d need one with a third button, marked ‘rock solid.'”

He kills me.  I have a feeling he’ll be taking over the Surf Report, once my heart says fukkit.

On Saturday we got caught up on LOST and Friday Night Lights, and that’s pretty much the highlight of our weekend away from computers.

What did you guys do?  Anything exciting?  Tell us about it in the comments.

As promised, I added a metric shitload of Smoking Fish pics on Sunday.  You can see them here, and here, and here.  Keep ’em coming, folks!  Our logo, man, he gets around.

Also, I’m going to keep linking to mockable dot org, until there’s a revolt.  So, let me know when it’s starting to get on your nerves, and I might start thinking about knocking it off.

I’ll have more of this stuff tomorrow.

See ya then!

Now playing in the bunker.

A few days ago I pulled into a parking space at work, opened my door, and a powerful wind gust RIPPED the thing from my hand.  It was like a hang-glider or a kite, and would’ve gone sailing over the Endless Mountains if one side of the door hadn’t been attached to the car.

And it crashed into the side mirror of the hunk o’ junk parked next to me…

Now I’ve got a large C-shaped dent near the handle on the driver’s door.  And that irritates me beyond belief.  ‘Cause I’m the type who parks way out in left field at Target and Sam’s, so idiots won’t ding me.  Toney gets irritated, but I’m usually one of the few people driving a dingless car.

Yes, you’ve got to protect yourself against selfish shitpouches who leave their shopping carts wherever they become of no further use (“OK, I’m finished with it.  Somebody else can deal with it now!”).  And the hogs who pull into a parking spot, swivel on their gargantuan hams, and kick their car doors open.

Oh, it takes effort to avoid door-dents and the like, and requires us to walk in from across the Maryland state line in some cases.  But it’s very important to me.  And now my pristine black Camry has a four-inch tall C in the door…

And I don’t even have anyone to blame for it, which makes it even worse.  It helps when you can fixate on blame, and revenge fantasies.  But I got nothing.

The other car?  You say I did to it, exactly what I’m complaining about?  Not quite.  That thing looked like it had been rolled, and was being held together by coat hangers.  When my door hit it, I believe some of the existing dents popped-out, and I also improved the front-end alignment.  The way I look at it, the guy owes me a ‘thank you.’  The selfish prick.

Yeah, the whole thing was quite unsatisfactory.

Wonder who was the first person to press fork impressions into the top of a peanut butter cookie?  As I was shoving one into my mouth a couple of nights ago, with the heel of my hand, it occurred to me that the person has created one hell of a legacy for himself.

I mean, it’s standard now, almost required, that peanut butter cookies get a fork pressed into the top (sometimes going both ways).  Right?  And whoever came up with that idea has probably contributed more to our culture than some U.S. presidents.

Pass the milk.  Or as one of my old Atlanta co-workers used to say, melk.

I have loads of new Smoking Fish pics to post, and will try to get to them up this weekend.  Check this spot for your fresh sightings.  Thanks to everyone who sent them in, and keep ’em coming!

Also, please continue checking Mockable.  Today’s post, about Hooters waitresses, killed me.  I didn’t write it, but wish I had.  Funny stuff.

A couple nights ago, at work, I couldn’t stomach the thought of yet another turkey and cheese sandwich for lunch, so I drove to a nearby McDonald’s.

The place is inside Wilkes-Barre, I think, in a neighborhood that’s a bit rough around the edges.  I’m always mildly concerned I’ll be an innocent bystander to a “domestic dispute” there, and get stabbed in the liver.

Thankfully, that hasn’t happened yet.  But while I was standing off to the side, waiting for my Filet O Fish value meal ($3.99!), several filthy dudes with unkempt facial hair and hoodies sauntered in and ordered the exact same thing:  a load of McChicken sandwiches off the dollar menu.

The first guy, who looked like he’d spent the day inside a septic tank, ordered four McChickens to go.  And the second one, who might’ve been a street sweeper repairman, ordered three McChickens with Mac sauce instead of mayo.

Weird, I thought.  So many of that particular sandwich, with no drinks or fries, or anything.  And then I remembered when I was their age, and how poor I was.  I also bought cheap-ass fast food in bulk, and scarfed it down at home with a glass of water or a slug off a 2-liter of Faygo, from the stank fridge.

In Greensboro I would purchase outsize sacks of 59 cent tacos from Del Taco, and terrible 89 cent frozen pizzas from Kroger.  Remember those pizzas?  They were basically a large round cracker with some cheese and tomato sauce on top.  They were horrible, but filled the void.

I also remember being so penniless I couldn’t even afford the high-luxuries mentioned above.  So, I’d go through my cabinets and try to be semi-creative.  Several times I had a plate of spaghetti, with a pork ‘n’ beans “marinara.”  Oh, it was a sad state of affairs.

I assume most of us have gone through periods when it was difficult to bridge the massive gaps between paydays.  And I’d like to know about the crap food you ate during that era.  How did you stretch your money, so you could still do the important things — like buy beer?

Tell us about it in the comments section, won’t you?

Also, if we were to open a store at this site, where readers could purchase Surf Report-related items, what would you like to see offered?  Stickers?  Magnets?  A Smoking Fish Edition Land Rover?  Help me out with that, if you wouldn’t mind.  I’m toying with another idea that will probably never come to fruition.  You know, just like every day…

And I’m going to try to make up for yesterday, by posting a quick update over the weekend.  But there’s a high probability it won’t happen — I mean, seriously.  So, I’ll see ya next time, Monday at the latest.

Have a great day, boys and girls.

Now playing in the bunker.

On Saturday I was forced, I mean privileged to attend a banquet at a local country club. Once again I’m being purposely vague, for reasons I’m also being vague about. Let’s just say it has something to do with an organization Toney is involved with.

I knew about this shindig well in advance, and my stomach wringed itself out every time I thought about it. I hate getting dressed-up and pretending to be a sophisticate. I also don’t care for chit-chatting with strangers and near-strangers over tiny food; I was born without the gene required for such things.

But I got myself all trussed-up in dress clothes, and supported my wife. She puts up with much ridiculousness from me, God knows it’s true, and I want to be there for her. You know, in the abstract — when it’s way off in the future.

It makes my brain meltdown a little, but Toney will become the president of this organization when the current president’s reign ends in a few weeks. So, she knows everybody and was working the room. Immediately, I felt like Todd Palin, standing in the shadows with a charley-horse smile on my face.

While my wife amassed power (she’ll probably be mayor soon), I looked around for a familiar face, maybe someone I could suffer alongside. And I spotted a guy I’d spoken with at a recent beer-tasting event. He’d seemed OK, so I walked over to him.

And he was complaining because the cash bar wasn’t open yet. I hadn’t had time to notice, but now that he mentioned it, it bothered me as well. Then we did some bonding via tales of beer snobbery, and made an empty promise to get the wives together and all four of us attend this year’s beer festival at Split Rock resort.

Once that conversation ran its course, I surveyed the room and saw Toney shaking someone’s hand and laughing hysterically. Sweet Jesus. I walked over to a window, trying to act all casual and at-ease, and looked out across a lake for about ten minutes.

Then the bowtied bartender made it official by putting out the tip jar, and there was a stampede of uncomfortable and desperate men in dress clothes. While waiting my turn I looked around, and could recognize a look in most of the eyes surrounding me: please hand me a glass of alcohol, I will pay any price…

Yeah, that helped a little, but not enough. It turned out to be four hours of fake smiles, awkward chats, trough-style eating, and long speeches through an amplification device.

I can only imagine what the next two years are going to be like, as the “first man.” My sphincter is flickering, just thinking about it. I might have to contact Sunshine, to see if she can hook me up with some of her “antibiotics.”

I’m very upset, my friends. One of the five-year light bulbs in our kitchen burned-out on Sunday. There are three of them inside recessed lighting above the counters, and the #3 position shit the bed a mere sixteen months after being installed!

I’m thinking about hiring that lawyer on CNN who wears fringe cowboy jackets, and filing a multi-million dollar lawsuit.

I will not be jerked-around by Big Bulb! Especially the green division, for crying out loud!!

I’ll leave you now with something from the Stealing Clive Bull‘s Topics desk. On Sunday’s show, Clive asked his listeners to call in and tell him what brands they’re loyal to. What companies, in your estimation, do a superior job, and cause you to make a special effort to seek out their products?

I know I’ll probably get criticized for this one, but I’m a big fan of Dell computers. Unless something goes terribly askew, I will be sticking with them, thank you very much.

When it comes to ketchup, it’s gotta be Heinz. I’ve been using Crest toothpaste all my life, and am a little frightened of other brands.  And I believe I’ve become a bit of a Toyota enthusiast…

What about you? What brands are you especially fond of?

I’ll have more of this stuff tomorrow.

See ya then.

Now playing in the bunker.

A couple of weeks ago something happened to a length of guttering on the front of our house.  A nail, or somesuch, said fukkit and the thing started drooping in the middle.  It looked like Buddy Hackett’s bottom lip.

“We need to get that fixed,” I told Toney.  Which meant:  we need to open the Yellow Pages and hire someone to take care of it, ’cause I’m not climbing up on that roof.  What am I, Sol Spiderman?”

It looked kinda shabby, but probably wasn’t as noticeable to passersby, as it was to us.  And since there wasn’t a powerful urgency, we did nothing.

And on Friday it fell off.  Well, it didn’t come completely loose, just one end of it detached from the house.  And it instantly turned our respectable home into a white trash shack.  And I can’t have that.

On Saturday morning a man arrived with all manner of equipment, and brought our shit correct.  He had a prissy little mop-dog with him, was walking all around our house, and across the roof.

Our dog Andy (Mr. Dingles) was about to have a full-on stroke, and when the mailman arrived right in the middle of it all…  Well, I’m just glad our family pet didn’t explode in the living room, as a result of “too much.”

But the guy cleaned our gutters thoroughly, lectured us about getting it done in November instead of spring, repaired the Hackett lip, and went on his way with one of our checks in his pocket.

And that’s the Jeff Kay style of home repairs.

We took Andy for a walk on Saturday afternoon, and discovered a whole new neighborhood just a short distance from our house.

It was incredible, I could barely believe it.  The homes were huge and new — some are still being built — and it’s probably less than a mile from us.  How could such a thing happen, without us knowing?

We walked up and down the new streets, and people were out in their yards and washing their cars.  It felt like we’d slipped into some kind of parallel world.  Our house was (presumably) right over there, but here was a freaky, pristine community where none had been before.

All four of us were blown away (Andy didn’t seem to give a crap), and we oohed and aahed our way through the whole development.  It was eerie, yet really cool.

They can insert full-blown subdivisions into seemingly impossible places, with the precision of a spine surgeon, can’t they?  But how did they get all that construction equipment in there, without any of us noticing?

It’s freaking me out, man.

On Friday I sent a message to the mailing list, announcing the launch of a new website being maintained by Metten and myself.  It’s called Mockable, and you can see it here.

Right now the two of us are handling the updates, but we might solicit contributions in the future.  The concept is fairly simple, and is summed up in the tagline:  Your online clearinghouse for all things mockable.

We’re both really excited about this new project, and hope you guys will enjoy it as well.  Please feel free to comment and participate as you see fit.  And if you want to promote it in some way, we won’t object to that either.  We’re going to try to post something new every weekday, so there will be plenty of mockables to go around.

We’re not going to tell you which one of us wrote each article, it’s going to be a Lennon/McCartney kind of a deal, so you can try to guess, if you’d like.  Are our writing styles distinctive enough for you to differentiate?  I’d be interested in knowing.

And this is a quickie, but I’ll leave you now with the Question of the Day.  When you were a kid, middle school-age or younger, what did you want to do when you grew up?  And did you do it?

When I was really young, I wanted to be an astronaut.  This was around the time of the Apollo missions, and I think every kid in America had the same thoughts.  But, of course, at this point I could wear a lunar module like a pair of pants.  I don’t think I was put on this Earth for space exploration, I really don’t.

And I wanted to be a baseball player, but was never foolish enough to believe it would ever happen.  You know, since I wasn’t very good.  Then I adjusted my plans to working in the Cincinnati Reds front office — like Castanza with the Yankees.  And how sad is that?  Dreaming of paper-pushing at a young age?

By the time I reached high school I wanted to be a writer, and what do I actually do?  That’s correct, inventory management.

What about you?  How close did you get to your childhood dreams?  Did any of you actually make it?  If so, I’d like to shake your hand.  Sincerely.

And that’s going to do it for today, boys and girls.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.