North, and slightly West

17 04 2008

So, in case I haven’t said anything about it, The Girlfriend and I are moving in together.This means that she’ll be moving a few dozen blocks from her dorm residence hall, and I’ll be moving about eighty miles Northward. It also means that we will be on equal ground–we’re both living there, rather than one of us moving into the other’s space–so there should be no territorialism. Unless I try to pee on her furniture.

Further, it means that I have to find a new job in the next six or eight weeks. She’ll be moving first, and I’ll follow as planned a month later. I still have to train my replacement at work and, oh yeah, inform them that I’ll soon be quitting. It would be nice to find something along the lines of what I’m already doing, but hey–beggars can’t be choosers. They can, however, be hookers.

In order to ease the process of moving in together, I have set forth a few personal goals that I hope to achieve before she gets sick of me and feeds me to my dog.

I will not:

–Fart* in front of her.

–Extinguish cigarettes in food.

–Use my dog to sweep the kitchen floor.

–Eat butter and crackers.

–Forget to flush after depositing evidence of Taco Bell.

–Wipe boogers on the walls behind or beside the toilet.

–Throw things at my neighbors.

–Vomit in the trashcan.

–Order pizza before counting how much money I have to spend.

–Borrow money from my neighbors to pay the pizza guy.

–Masturbate in the living room.

–Sing along to commercial jingles while masturbating in the living room.

–Take out the trash only as far as my neighbor’s balcony.

–Leave frozen burritos in the pool to become unfrozen goo.

–Allow meat products to thaw in the sun while I swim.

–Put old hotdogs in potted plants around the complex.

Hopefully, I won’t have to remember this list the hard way, which usually involves repeated admonishments followed by a strict questioning of moral values, of which mine are often in question. Then again, it will be our apartment. That’s an important distinction, in case it ever comes up in court.

*While she’s awake, obviously.


Tactical weapons in your vagina, and other thoughts

4 03 2008

I guess it’s about time I set the record straight: the “most fucked up thing” I’ve ever seen was not goatse, tubgirl, or two girls, one cup. It wasn’t anything on Rotten, or anywhere else on the internet. I won’t even tell you what it is, because, though I don’t know you, I value my readership enough that I don’t want you to claw your own eyes out. Suffice to say that the “most fucked up thing” I’ve ever seen involved muppets, and still bothers me today.

Having said that, here’s this thing:

Yes, it’s the RapeX anti-rape condom. Now, I’m not going to make the obvious “Ouch, my penis!” joke, because I’m above that. What is so disturbing about this thing, aside from the obvious, is that it tells of a desperate necessity for medieval implements in a modern society. That’s sad beyond words.

Also, this particular version isn’t half as scary as the first incarnation, which involved a condom with a touch-sensitive spring-loaded blade mechanism. If you can wrap your head around that, I’ll give you a dollar. A spring-loaded blade. That’s not even medieval–that’s just flat-out lunacy.

Rape is a terrible thing, but if the medical community starts providing little penis guillotines for every woman to wear in her vagina, then a lot of innocent guys are probably just going to give up and defect to the other side. There’s nothing worse than having even your fantasies interrupted by the thought of a penectomy.

Well, I guess we could flip a coin.

29 02 2008


Earlier, I was talking to my girlfriend (future co-Schroederist Kelly) about babies, when she happened to bring up the details surrounding her birth. It seems that she wasn’t the easiest child to bear (no, she wasn’t horned or fat), and during her birth, there arose a relatively common but frightful phenomenon. In addition to other issues, she had become entangled in her umbilical cord, and was strangling.

The doctor, a man no doubt renowned for being a total jackass, asked her father, Guillermo*, one of the most obscenely tactless and insensitive questions I’ve ever heard. He said, “If it comes down to it, who would you rather I save?”**

My first thought–unvoiced until now–upon hearing that was, “What the fuck is wrong with that man?” I’m not up-to-date with my physician’s ethics, but I’m pretty sure that falls into the category of “Bedside Manner for Doctors Who Enjoy Being Shot in the Stomach”.

I don’t even understand the mentality behind the asking of such a stupid thing. What are you supposed to say, “Well, Doc, what’s market value on infants these days?” 

To Guillermo’s eternal credit, he responded, “I can’t make that decision.”

Anyway, when Kelly and I have children, whatever complications arise, I hope to never be confronted with a similar situation. I can handle the stress and terror, but I would sincerely hate to go to jail for circumcising a grown man during the birth of my child.

*Guillermo was a Mexican immigrant–also a college student and revolutionary, which is pretty awesome–who then became a Canadian citizen to better ease his American nationalization. Pretty crafty.

**Honestly, I don’t see how there could be an option. It’s not a fucking Lady and the Tiger scenario.

An “I’m stuck at home because my car sucks” Post

28 02 2008

And certainly not the last of these, I can tell you. In the meantime, I’d like to talk about something near and dear to my heart.


Fat people.

I live in Texas, the fattest state in the nation, and also the one with the highest population of Mexican-American citizens. Those two facts, contrary to what you might be thinking, have more in common than most people realize. It seems that Hispanics–specifically Mexicans, I’m not kidding–comprise the second-largest demographic of overweight Americans. I mean “largest” in terms of sheer numbers, not that they’re the second-fattest, because the research suggests that they’re numero uno in that department.

It must be the tortilla-based diet, or something.

My girlfriend is half Mexican, and is considerably smaller than the average whole Mexican. (She’s a whole person, by the way, not jus half-a-Mexican) She’s actually a lot taller–around 6 feet, in fact–but her weight is appropriate to her height, and her BMI is around low-normal. Surely, the addition of “white” genes has nothing to do with this, since my own grandpa died weighing over three-hundred pounds, and measuring maybe 5′ 10″. Maybe.

So what is it? What makes Mexicans so prone to obesity?

When you factor in the issue of economic positions, it makes even less sense than before. If you’re poor, you’re probably not fat. If you are fat and poor, maybe a slight change in diet might alter your bank account balance slightly. Otherwise, I’m lost as to the answer to this question.

Any ideas?


Lest anyone cry foul and call me a racist, here’s some stats for you. What has to be the laziest site on the internet*  states it pretty plainly right there in black and white.

* Yes, that was a fat joke. Sue me.