A little funny...

Robert Deniro, Tom Cruise, Morgan Freeman, Tony Cox. All synonymous in my opinion. While everyone is familiar with the work of the first three, let me lend some insight on the latter.

Anthony Joe Cox was born March 31, 1958. He has been acting, directing, and producing since 1980, has appeared in over 60 films, is married to his lovely wife Otelia, has 1 child, is a strict vegetarian, loves horses, owns a ranch in Arizona, and stands 3 foot 6 inches tall...



While Tony's rap sheet speaks for itself, he's certainly had his share of ups and downs. Below is a list of character names from Tony's illustrious acting career.

8 Ball
Biggman
Big Willie Johnson
Mr. Boo-T
Smitty
Sweet and Low
Shorty
Midgetman
Pez
Big Al
Dink
Kong
Pee Wee Marquette
Hooter
Bubba
and Widdle

Since not all of Tony's parts have had a name, I wanted to include the title Tony's characters were given on imdb.com

Little Doctor
Dwarf Convenience Store Clerk
African-American Leprechaun
Dwarf Guard
Vohnkar Warrior (gotta be savvy to "get" that one)
Ewok
Lawn Jockey #1
Midget
Circus Dwarf
and finally Midget Nut

Tony Cox reminds us all... it's a long way to the top, if you wanna rock n roll.

Change you can count on

A switch in mobile handsets coupled with an ever growing callus to the oddities of the world, has got me to start thinking about a way to keep writing stuff to entertain myself, without the burden of hunting mullets, wedgies, social mutants and other boss individuals.

So here we go...

Hungry fella?

I'm minding my own business on a bus ride into work, and for some strange reason, the world decides to start my day by showing me a murder of crows eating puke.



Seems simple enough right? This situation sucks. Well hold on a quick minute, I've got several issues here.

First... in all of Seattle these crows are trying to tell me that there is nothing better than human puke to eat for breakfast? Second... I know it's hard to tell, but this pile o' puke is on a half a side walk, where 4th intersects with 2nd. That's right, 2 parralel streets somehow intersect at the end of a narrow little sidewalk that leads to nothing other than a crowded intersection. Yet some human's body decided that this, of all places, was the best place to lay down a eventual crow breakfast buffet.

My final problem is that my picture was snapped somehow in the half second where the other 2 crows are not visible, and the 1 visible crow is in between beak fulls of puke. My apologies... but the cell phone camera has only come so far.

Go big or go home

Why both trying to act cool? Why bother going through life hoping that others will just notice what a rad human you are?

Words and interactions not loud enough for you??? How bout a permanent mural on your car?!

If conventional means of letting people know you are the mf'n man have not been working for you, I've got just the solution. Scream it. Scream it from the bitching hood of your Subaru XT Coupe!

That's right... the person that owns this car is The Man. Not the mans assistant, or the man in training, this dude runs the show... big time.

Read it and weep, suckers.



And just in case you thought the white tiger mural on the hood was some sort of accident, or temporary lapse in judgment... let's make this official.

Bathroom backfire

With a garbage can not only readily available, but also positioned directly underneath the paper towel dispenser and right next to the sink, it seems overkill to have to put this sign up, but, I can live with it. Better safe than sorry right?

Oh wait, they spelled paper wrong.
Judgment time...
Verdict; guilty.
Punishment; decided.
Paper towels; in toilet.

Matt 1 - World 0



PS - don't worry, I'm not on a bathroom kick, this is strictly a coincidence.

Domo arigayto

I've never traveled to Thailand, but, I don't imagine the average Thai male looks like a tranny with inviting eyes and a slim mustache. The penciled on eyebrows were bothersome, the sexual eyes confusing, the garment loosely gathered around the neck made me pause, and the male lipstick confirmed the camera phone was coming out... no pun intended.

The only thing creepier than seeing this guy on the way in to use my penis, was thinking about the sound he's making in the picture. Probably somewhat of a crescendoing moan, starting with awkward and climaxing at offensive.

Sayonara!

If it aint broke, don't fix it

The Good
- Santa is a Seahawks fan
- Santa wears sweat pants older than Greg Nichols
- Santa's favorite number is 69

The Bad
- Hundreds of little kids sit on #69's lap every Christmas
- This guy may or may not be a serial killer
- Sweat pants could be concealing an ankle bracelet

Somebody didn't get the memo

You think labor day coming and going is going to keep this guy from wearing his favorite suit? Forget about it! White is the color, pimpin's the game.

That's probably his Suburban in the no parking zone too. This guy lives and dies by Outback Steakhouse's motto: no rules, just right.

PS - 2009 ain't over, but I'll go ahead and call it now, this will be my gayest post of the year.

For those about to rock

Unfortunately, I took this pic while this guy was at a 4, but trust, his volume knob went up to 11. This blacked out human is all too familiar at concerts unfortunately. Shouting lyrics over the band, doing the slow, off rhythm head bang, playing the cerebral palsy air guitar. You know the one where the fingers are all turned in on the left hand, trying to master that perfect air note, and the right hand, which is always secondary, is in some crooked point, with the fingers gathered, ready to pick that air axe to shreds.

This guy had all the bullet points for "that guy" at a concert, the previously mentioned, as well as, the mid head bang temporary pass out, the random head tilted woooooooo, the confused look in between songs as he forgot where he was... he even tried to crush a beer can during a song with his foot that shot up a row or two. The cherry on top... it was a Taking Back Sunday acoustic set... oooh... eeeeh... Don't worry about what I was doing there.

And just to clarify, we're talking about guy in the black and purple DC beanie, with the sweet chin strap facial hair.

Cruisin down the street in my six fo

All I wanted when I was 14 was a Chevy Impala with hydraulics. All I wanted at 27, to snap a picture of this ridiculousness.

Gangster Gangster, Read All About It: Apparently people do still have cars with hydraulics.



PS - give me credit for this shot, it was taken through my windshield, across 2 lanes of traffic, at 60 mph. Holler at a player when you see him in the streets.

Who wants to be... a giant vagina?!

I actually flipped this billboard off as I cruised by. Then after a block or two to stew on it, I had to check my aggression... so here we are.



This billboard + impressionable parents = a whole lotta pussy's

Please kids, remember, bring your sack to the game, regardless of what mommy or daddy tells you.

When in doubt, the hungry butts come out

If wearing tapered sweats to the grocery store is not a big enough statement to the world that you've given up, a nice wedgie outta really cement it. So hungry... must eat sweats...

That will do donkey... that will do

Desperate for blog content, I went a little crazy last night. Heading home from work I passed a field with a few horses, some cows, and 1 small donkey. I've seen this donkey many times on my drive home, but last night, I finally had to do it. I flipped a B at about 40 miles an hour, and pulled up on the gravel outside the pasture, sliding to a stop. Got out my car, and started yelling at the donkey in my best Eddie Murphy Shrek voice. The donkey was completely unimpressed... The horses looked up for a second, but nothing was about to break donkeys mouth from the delicious grass. After a few strange looks from passing cars, and for fear of getting shot by a farmer for harassing his donkey, I got in my car, depressed, and defeated.

I wont give up though... I can't give up. But let me say, gathering blog content aint no walk in the park.

Winner winner, Chicken dinner

Tonight, I spiced up dinner with the in-laws. Tonight, I made a statement without talking. Tonight... I let loose 2 seconds worth of audible flatulence that was loud enough for the wife to hear, yet subtle enough to be dismissed as a creaking deck by the rest of the dinner party.

For a mear moment, I had the stealth ability of James Bond, the comedic subtelty of Harland Williams, and the (butt) trumpet abilities of Dizzy Gillespie.

I giggled a bit, as I applauded myself for the push, and thanked the cushion for its muffling ability.

Moral of the story... farts are funny. Today, tomorrow, and in the year 3008.

Community Content

I toyed with the idea of posting quality content provided by someone's camera phone other than my own... that is until my friend Wallace Wimple sent me this little dandy. I'm sold.

I won't bother trying to create a hypothetical story for this hefty hominid, I think I'll just stick to the provided facts. This man, among many things, is a rabid consumer of poultry, enjoys the support a size to small Hanes cotton shirt provides, has an unshapely dirt squirrel occupying his upper lip, is a firm believer in the 2 for 1 ability of his photochromatic glasses, is a stranger to the barber shop, quick to anger, and apparently enjoys his meat cooked well, not medium well, or medium rare; well.

If you yearn for more on this creature, try for a minute to imagine the sound he is making in this picture, or is about to make. Maybe it's english, maybe it's just a raspy grunt. It could be a saliva filled throat projected "huh". Is he about to ask a question, is he about to chip in his 2 cents, possibly offer up a snide remark? Much like how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop, the world may never know.

Papa Jestranking walks among us

Think about what a weak Jesus might have looked like. Think about how Seattle’s oldest cross dresser may possibly present himself. Maybe try and imagine for a minute that Vikings had litters of puppy's instead of babies, then picture the runt of the litter? How bout a perverted version of Papa Smurf…

Standing all of 5’5”, dawning the sandals and walking stick of Christ, a lady of the nights dress, a Viking’s jacket and flowing locks, the beard of Papa Smurf, and walking with no particular purpose, WAS, the man that IS the purpose of this post. Put that all together in your mind… scroll down.

Are we on the same page?

Uh oh... somebody's fab-u-lous

Still Sean. Still straight.

Ciao!

I believe in miracles...

Where ya from? You sexy thang!

I'm a lot like you... a little different

In a tip of the cap to Pemco, I found a few of my own "Northwest Profiles".

First, we’ve got Northwest Profile #47 “Walking Wizard”

This wizard walks among us. Dawning a top hat, extra long pony tail, and Teva's... with a pleather fanny pack surely filled with a wizards ration of powered bison horn, knotgrass, and possibly some shredded boomslang skin, even the slightest wave of his wand shall surely create, fear, wonder, and laughter simultaneously... Abracadabra!

Next up, Northwest Profile #88 “Shirtless 65 degree bike rider”

With each push of each pedal, his man breasts shake, as his back hair dances in the breeze. He drafts behind cars, utilizes the sidewalks as well as available bike lanes, taking time for hand signals at every turn, with, or against the traffic, he navigates his concrete jungle with the precision of Lance Armstrong and Tarzan's love child.

Rubber Buggy Baby Bumpers

Walmart is f'ing visual birth control. High School field trips on a busy Sunday, that might curb the teenage pregnancy rate.

Trust me, this one's better off without the accompanying picture.

Periwinkle Blue

It's not to often that you walk into a bathroom only to be startled by a gypsy, who also looks like he would make the perfect human portion of a centaur, and are not only able to chat with the guy, but also grab a couple pictures.

Turns out, he looks like a gypsy because he is in a band called jypsi. The centaur part is my wild imagination, and is about as explainable as the guys purple jeans and rainbow colored Vans.

This dude, and his band mates, were most righteous.

Panic! At the bathroom

A scene of utter chaos. I imagine the pressure was intense, both figuratively and literally. Realizing both TP rolls were empty, the helpless victim turns to toilet seat covers. After suffering through that, they flush only to realize they've clogged the toilet. A classic. And also one of everyone's mild nightmares.

Mo money, Mo problems

So Eli Manning is now the highest paid player in the NFL. Seriously. I hate to blog about sports stuff, but, this is humorous. Eli Manning won the Super Bowl like Trent Dilfer won the Super Bowl, except you know where Trent wound up, backing up Matt Hasselbeck and then retiring. You know where Eli wound up? Went 10-1 with Plaxico, lost him and went 2-3 to finish up the season and then got knocked in the first round of the playoffs just like 2 of the past 3 years. This year, no Plax, same ol' Eli. My prediction? Giants miss the playoffs by a few games and this goes down as one of the worst moves for the league in recent history. Laughable.

Good night sweet prince

Seattle is a big city. 142.5 square miles to be exact. When choosing a place to sleep, I have got to imagine that there is a more suitable place than on the sidewalk on 1st ave in between Pike and Union. And, any wagers on whats in the guys fanny pack?

Mirror mirror on the wall

Another one where the picture certainly does not do the post justice. Imagine if you filled a magical stomach with: paper mache, pleather, a few parkers painter paper hats, and a loose fitting pair of black 80's track pants. What would that magical stomach crap out you might ask? This dudes pants.



I had never seen anything like em. I wanted to pull a Costanza and casually feel his material.

While certainly everyone is free to look and dress however they like. I have always wondered; when someone comes out of their home with pants like these on, or a fanny pack, a mullet, denim on denim etc... Do they look in the mirror before they leave home? Does it cross their mind that they are about to embark on a solo mission of ridiculousness? Differen't strokes for differen't folks sure, but, I would just hope that when people get ready to leave the house in the morning, at the very least they take a look in the ol' mirror, and say "you know what world, I'm doing the best I can with the cards I was dealt." Unfortunately, humans daily, prove this to be a tall, tall order.

Vassup

This is my friend Sean. Sean is straight.

Boom shakalaka

Went 0-6 in stall ball this morning... I felt like the Shaquille O' Neal of the bathroom league.

Freedom

My goal is to not go 10 or more posts without a shot like this. So, while this is a throwback, it is necessary in keeping the essence of this blog alive.

I found this guy while I was out at Emerald Downs celebrating my freedom this last 4th of July. One thing that was not free... this mans underpants from his butt.

Who told you to put the balm on?

So apparently a crowded coffee shop is as good a place as any to apply a generous amount of balm all over your face, neck and ears.



Sorry it's blurry, but hey, they can't all be winners now can they.

hot poop

PS - it is hot as poop outside, and in reference to that, this is google's 17th image result when googling "hot poop".



PPS - I realize PS is supposed to come postscript, I also realize that it should contain punctuation. However you should realize, the image is what this post is really about.

PPPS - the 20th image result for hot poop is a picture of Sarah Palin... ahh... you just can't make this stuff up.

yee haw

Just missed a real gem of an opportunity... picture an angry butch lez, pulling a full size dumpster down Bellevue ave on cap hill in between Pike and Pine with a riding lawn mower...

I even got a courtesy wave from her as I slowed down and tried to fish my phone out of my pocket, but alas, world 1, matt 0.

Big Ballin'

Every week on my drive to work I see some ding-dong, driving some ratty car, with the same stupid message across the back window about how they are making thousands of dollars from home. It's already embarrassing enough to write any message across the back window of your car, let alone one about all the money you are making, when your car is a 1994 Toyota Corolla.

If I had the choice to a) stand on a busy corner for a day with a sign that said "I stole" or "I suck", or b) drive a shitty car for a week with that message on the back window for a week, I'd go with option A. I'm not sure if the people with the blaring I suck at life decal on their back window are frequently mocked or ridiculed, or given the 1 finger salute, but, they certainly should be. At the very least, give them a disapproving glare for me.

Au Revoir Lisa, Luben

You ever have one of those things in life that every time you see it, your brain goes to the same place? One of mine is a small sign outside a deli across the street from my office. The plain sign that looks like it was made out of an extra piece of ceiling tile, reads "Seattle's Best Reuben". Every time I see it, which unfortunately for me is almost every day, I exclaim, under my breath, "Au Revoir Lisa, Luben". Which is usually followed by a "Luben, look to me in my eyeball". Occasionally if I'm feeling really saucy, I'll throw in a 3rd line for good measure like, "are you for scuba", or, if I'm in a bad mood, a quick "my name is not Luben!" will do.

Along came Polly... a far cry from a classic, but apparently has a small space in my brain that it has decided to occupy for the foreseeable future.

Weekend wrap

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. All in all, I had a most excellent weekend. Numerically it was: 1 romantic dinner, 5 hours on a boat, 5 hours on a deck, 3 hours of dancing, 5 hours of hang over, 2 instances of puking, 3 losses in pickleball, and capped with 1 dinner at the in-laws, with some scattered sleep mixed in.

The high was a few hours burning up the Indianola dance floor with my wife, the low, below the midnight dance shot with the Indianola stage gnome, is the accompanying story.



Upon waking up on Sunday morning, I new I had one shot to either cure my hang over, or cement it. I walked to the fridge at the beach house, grabbed some of Uncle Char's breakfast casserole, a water, and a diet coke. I got the liquids down as the casserole heated up. I put the casserole down, and sat on the bed to give it a minute... and then I did the ol' slow jog to the bathroom for part 1 of 2.

Part deux came on the ride home, where the non-hungover wife asked if we needed to stop before we got on the highway. I chose to stop, and stepped outside. Bright sunshine blinding me, cars passing by... me dressed like a hobo. I paced in the sand, cut off sweats a saggin, flip flops a draggin, when it came. For the second time before 9am I was yelling at the ground. As I hurled uncontrollably, a fart slipped, it, also uncontrollable, and then another, after the second one, the wife chimed in from the car "careful, dont shit yourself!" Talk about feeling 2 feet tall.

A few hours in bed, a granola bar, and some crystal light had me back on track by 1 in time for some Sunday afternoon pickleball.

El Gato

At a busy intersection in Federal Way today stood a group of concerned citizens, a group of cat lovers, a group of people going above and beyond. Rather than putting up a few posters and sitting on the front porch like a bunch of goons, they got off they're asses and tried to find that fucking dog... or in this case, that cat.

They took to the street in a mashup collab looking like the "shame on Macy's" people, the firemen boot collectors, and a gang of midnight bike riders all mixed together. Dawning neon vests, and armed with semi professional 3x2 neon signs, they were on each corner of the intersection, waving their signs, with a picture of their lost cat.

A few things came to mind... was this a joke, was it serious? If the cat was anywhere near an intersection on pacific highway that serves thousands of cars a day, is there any chance in hell the cat is still alive. Where did these civilians find these matching neon super hero costumes, and how much did 6 custom signs and wicked rad outfits cost, possibly the same amount as ol' whiskers???

I passed them on my way to dinner, and 2 hours later on my way home. Although I salute their valiant effort, I'm gonna chalk this one up, world 1, missing cat group 0, whiskers -0.

The pic below was unfortunately on my way back, when they were all congregated on 1 corner, possibly accepting defeat, or, in my mind, eating power bars, and drinking gatorade, before going hands in for a "1, 2, 3, whiskers!", to prepare for another 2 grueling hours on the corner.

Meow.

Setting the tone

My hope is that this blog will give me a place to store all of the useless things that occupy my mind on a daily basis.

It will feature posts from Matt, and Matt's alter ego Uncle Pete.

Occasionally Matt will give birth to shenanigans normally kept to the realm of UP. Case in point, this hungry butt I just spotted outside my office.

blog test

Time to test this blog, and blog test I shall.

Matt