Cupid Poop

With “Single Awareness Day” fast approaching, now is the time that men start to worry. We know it’s important to get something for their lady for the infamous V-day, but there are so many things that we need to avoid. Let me give you an example of what a man has to go through to find something nice for his special someone.

“OK, I want to get her something so that she will feel special. I could do the traditional flowers or chocolates… every girl likes flowers and chocolates. Wait, but I did that last year, and I want to avoid clichés. Well, I could get her something nice like jewelry… but then she’ll be mad that I spent so much money on her. How bout I cook her dinner? No… I don’t want her to find out I can cook, or she’ll make me do it all the time. *SIGH* How bout a nice tool kit?…”

See? Men have it much harder than you’d think. That is why I think Cupid Poop is awesome. I found this poem the other day that helps create a great gift that’s sure to bring a smile. I don’t recommend sticking solely to the poop, but it’s a good starter, and it’s an easy gift. Just print out the poem below and attach it to a bag of red jelly beans or those candy hearts that taste like antacids.

I couldn’t send you flowers
And candy wouldn’t do.
Romantic cards just didn’t say
The things I wanted to.

I got you something special
And here’s the inside scoop.
It’s very rare and magical:
A bag of Cupid Poop!

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A Perfect Dance

It’s hard to explain the perfectly overwhelming feeling of ecstasy that comes with a perfect dance. It is, however, one of the most unbelievable feelings that can be felt. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I encourage you to find out.

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Best Penalty Kick Ever

I’ve played soccer most of my life. Sometimes I wish I could practice my penalty kicks with my brothers in the same way this kid does… them being the goalies, of course.

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Strangely Depressing Poem

The following poem is a strangely depressing collection of words I pieced together after an exceptionally rough day (today). I’ve never posted a real poem of my own in the public forum before. You can see how the writing and a good friend helped me get it all out. Don’t worry, I’m better now… or at least I will be.

I need to write, but nothing comes to my head.
After today, though, I wish I was dead.
My emotions are swimming,
My tear-ducts are brimming.
My life is balancing on a thread.

I pull my head up to gasp for some air.
I inhale with vigor but nothing is there.
My mind starts racing,
My fears I am facing,
I wonder how much more I can bare.

They say there’s a light at the end of this shaft.
If you close your eyes tight, you can feel the slight draft.
Just fight through the black,
Don’t ever look back,
I hear all their words and just laugh.

“You say what you think I need to hear.”
I quiver with angst and a slight twinge of fear.
They stare in my eyes,
And I realize…
Alas, they are right. Then the tear.

Life may be hard, and people may die.
Friends are betrayed, and sometimes we cry.
Yet here I will sit
If only for a bit.
Cause I won’t die a virgin.

The ending of this poem is not meant in any way to be taken seriously.  It was an attempt to end the poem in a light hearted manner to prove the fact that I’m not Emo as the poem may imply.

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Praise To My Man

Today marks the safe passage of one of my greatest heroes from this life to the next. It’s strange to think that just this morning I was sustaining him as a Prophet, Seer and Revelator… the leader of my faith, only hear of his passing mere hours later. He has left behind a legacy of love, friendship and service that will remain as an example to me forever. I can’t think of a better way to summarize his life and attitude than by the lyrics to “My Redeemer Lives,” written by the man himself.

I know that my Redeemer lives,
triumphant Savior, Son of God,
Victorious Over Pain and Death,
My King, my Leader, and my Lord.

He lives, my one sure rock of faith,
the one bright hope of men on earth,
The beacon to a better way,
the light beyond the veil of death.

Oh, give me thy sweet Spirit still,
the peace that comes alone from thee,
The faith to walk the lonely road
that leads to thine eternity.

God be with you till we meet again, President Hinckley. You are missed.

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Fart Jokes

There is something about a fart joke that is timeless. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever be able to resist laughing at a good fart joke for as long as I live… regardless of the setting. I guess I’m just that immature.

Think about it. I mean, for some reason God integrated this cool waste management system into our bodies to keep us from exploding into a million putrid pieces. The manner in which he went about it, to me, proves that God has a sense of humor. I wouldn’t be surprised if he snickers every time I let one fly on the elevator, or slip one out on a date in the car.

What confuses me, though, is how people grow out of thinking that farts are funny. I mean, you know every kid thinks it’s just hilarious. We’ve all grown up with friends, brothers, uncles and dads that tend to go quiet all of a sudden, only to promptly flee the room. And you know your curiosity ALWAYS gets the best of you, and you have to venture over and take a whiff of the stale fumes left behind. It doesn’t matter how many people are passed out on the floor, or fleeing the scene with noses covered… you have to smell it so you can share in the laughter and amazement regarding how someone can produce such a terrible odor. When does this stop being funny?

I’m quite certain that the only people who don’t think that farts are funny were either abused or traumatized as children, or they’re faking annoyance. I mean, honestly… even Bill Cosby, one of the funniest men of all time, ends up one of his most legendary routines Bill Cosby as Himself, by recounting that his fathers favorite joke was the legendary, “Pull my finger!” phrase.

After writing this article, I’ve decided to make it official! Fart jokes are funny. Laugh at them! If you don’t, you are both denying your own sense of humor, and your Creator’s. And trust me, a Creator with a sense of humor is a lot less threatening than the one boring people talk about so much who just wipes out cities and whatnot. Speaking of wiping out… (Badoom kssssh!)

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Top 10 Reasons Why I’m A Total Momma’s Boy

I know it’s pretty obvious to most people who know me personally that I’m a mommas boy.  I thought it would be fun to expound on my sissy-ness and  try to decipher why exactly my ‘mommas boy tendencies’ tend to shine through so prominently.  So… here we go…

10.   She’s the only person on the face of the Earth that never dreads answering the phone when she sees my name on the caller ID.  As a matter of fact, she’s probably the only person I know who looks forward to my daily phone calls.

9.  She wiped my butt for nearly a decade.  If that’s not love, I don’t know what love is.

8.  I have these really sissy girl wrists.  I think, in some way, that they subconsciously reinforce an unbreakable bond between mother and son.  Guys who don’t have the ‘girl wrists’ undoubtedly are closer with their fathers.

7.  When someone gives you free stuff every time you come and visit, you would worship the very ground the walk on too.

6.   She’s the only one who knows how pimp I am.  And when I tell her ‘I’m just that pimp,’ she agrees (and she does it with a straight face).

5.  She likes my friends, my friends like her, therefore she is one of my friends.  I’m not even ashamed to admit that she and I went to Best Buy a few weeks ago and played Rock Band together for a solid 20 minutes.

4.  Did I mention she gives me stuff?

3.  She’d shave my back for me if I asked her to.  Now, I’m not going to ask her to (she already got me a razor that allows me to take care of that by myself), but the sheer fact that I know she would if I asked her to means a lot.

2.  She laughs at fart jokes.

1.  Have you met my mom?

Now you know why I’m a mommas boy, and so do I.  Wow, that was kind of refreshing.  I’m going to go ask my mom to make me some dinner now.

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Japanese People Are Funnier Than They Let On

I think the media in Japan is not nearly as censored as it is here, because lately I have found some pretty outrageous game show clips from Japan. Honestly, I sold the entire nation short by thinking that they were too straight-laced to purposely do anything worth laughing about. Here is what is possibly my favorite Japanese game show clip. Put yourself in one of these peoples’ shoes and then ask yourself what you would do in their situation…

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Why The Energy Solutions Arena Doesn’t Deserve My Money

Over the past week, I have been sick. It seems that I always get sick close to the beginning of the year. It’s like God is telling me, “Hey, it’s going to be a great one! Are you excited?!” The worst part of it is that if I were a normal person, I would go through my 4 or 5 days of misery, get better and continue on with my life. Well, it’s been over a week now, and as always, the majority of my symptoms are gone except for anything that has to do with my lungs. This wonderful thing called asthma clings to my lungs tighter than the seatbelt on this fat kid on the carni-ride. It gets old having your entire body feel great… except for your lungs. I ran up the stairs yesterday and thought I was going to die. My lungs shut down, and rather than filling with air, as is their designated job, all they wanted to do was explode, or burn a hole through my chest. Not cool.

Anyway, last night I got a phone call from an old friend that I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. Melanie had just been given some sweet lower bowl tickets to the Jazz vs. Clippers game, and invited me to go along. Seeing as I was feeling a lot better (except for the breathing thing) I accepted, and off we went. We made it to the game a little before half time. We watched the last 5 or so minutes of the second quarter and then decided that our stomachs had gotten the best of us. We opted to go rustle up some grub rather than watch the NuSkin Jazz Dancers do their thang at half court. After circling half of the arena, we realized that despite the plethora of dining choices that lay before us, they were all for want in quality. To make it short, we had our choices between hot dogs, pizza (pepperoni that was like $5 a slice), hot dogs, ice cream, hot dogs and Mexican Food. We mutually agreed to go south of the border, and partake in the goodness that is Mexican food.

As we made it through the burrito assembly line, I began to ponder on the last time I came to a Jazz game. A few months ago, my roomies and I decided we wanted to go on a big group date. It was a lot of fun, but I distinctly remembered that my date ended up paying for dinner because she had cash and the card-swiping machines at the Energy Solutions Arena were down. I had my fingers crossed that they had fixed the problem, because I didn’t have cash on me this time either, and paying for dinner is the gentlemanly thing to do.

You can probably guess with astonishing accuracy what happened next. As I whipped out my handy-dandy-magic-money-card to make the purchase, the slightly sruffy and tattooed cashier looked at me with terror in her eyes. “Um, I’ll try to run your card, but I’m not promising it’ll work,” she said. As we stood there at the register watching the game on the nearby big screen TV waiting for the card to scan, I could feel my food getting cold. I saw the manager nervously fiddling with her radio behind our cashier. “Sally, come in. Over.” … “Sally, come in. Over.”

“This is Sally,” a voice responded.

“Sally, the machines aren’t scanning the cards. What do we do? They already have their food!”

“Welp, just give it to them, I guess.”

“SWEET!” I yelled (inside my head).

By the time our night had ended, Melanie and I had shared free Jazz tickets, free dinner and even free parking. The only expense between the two of us was my hair gel and her gas money. It doesn’t get better than that! And honestly… if I ever go to a Jazz game again, I’m going to go back to that Mexican restaurant, and I will double check to make sure that I have no cash.

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Ikea Spagetti

Ikea actually won an award for this video. Don’t be fooled by the first 25 seconds. It’s appropriate, I promise.

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