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Archives: Jun 2010

Fourth of July facts that I didn’t make up

- The Fourth of July falls on a Sunday this year, which is total bullshit. I want an extra day of binge drinking and gluttony, not one that replaces the normal day of the week when I do those things.

– Fireworks are illegal in Minnesota, but that’s why Wisconsin was invented. It’s not the only reason Wisconsin was invented – a place to buy beer on Sundays and a connecting piece of land for attractive women from Michigan to reach us are other reasons – but it’s the main reason we haven’t built a wall yet.

– Never point or throw fireworks at another person, unless they slept with your wife.

– Placing your small child on a wagon and tying a “Patriotic Power Blaster” fountain to his back may sound like a really cool idea after nine or ten beers, but he will hate you for it when he grows up disfigured and realizes only prostitutes will sleep with him.

– Sparklers look very innocent, but they can become a dangerous weapon when inserted into someone’s anus.

You cannot force me to bust a move

I come from a long line of men who simply will not dance. We can’t, we won’t, and we don’t. We refuse to dance for the same reason we refuse to compete in women’s tennis leagues: Because it would be silly, and why the hell would we do such a silly thing?

When asking me to dance, you’ll receive the same look you’d receive if you asked me to give birth to a platypus. And to be completely honest, those two activities would look rather similar with me performing them. Stephen Hawking has more rhythm spinning in his wheelchair than I do with two functional legs.

Nothing helps this affliction. You can get me so drunk that I can’t even remember my name, but I still won’t dance. Instead, I’ll walk an endless loop through the dance floor, pretending I’m looking for someone. I will continue this for hours, annoying everyone in the club as I squeeze past them over and over again.

On the rare occasion when a pretty lady invites me to dance with her group of friends, I will stand in one place, methodically tilting from one side to the other like a man who desperately needs to use the restroom. Sometimes, after five minutes of this “dancing”, friends will ask me if I’m all right, and if I’m feeling ill and need to be taken home. My answer to these questions is always a resounding “Yes“.

Tips for Grandma’s Marathon

- Let’s be honest. Lots of people have finished marathons. It’s not special. But has anyone ever finished a marathon while dressed as a burrito? That is special. That’s what’s going to get sexy young people to go home with you from the bar.

– Marathons are 26 miles because that’s how far Greek messenger Pheidippides ran to tell the people of Athens they had won the Battle of Marathon. However, Greek historian Herodotus claims Pheidippides actually ran 300 miles, not 26. So in many ways, you running only 26.2 miles makes you a big pussy.

– It’s important to tape your nipples before running a marathon. I will have a tent sent up in Canal Park for ladies age 18 to 35 before the race.

– Many people advise against running a marathon in jeans, but have those people ever won a marathon? Probably not. Don’t take advice from people who have lost every marathon they’ve ever competed in.

– If running marathons sometimes makes your toenails fall off, don’t worry. That’s normal. It’s certainly not God sending you a warning that you’re running too goddamn much.

A few words about sex with bears

Last Sunday, I looked at the front page of the Duluth News-Tribune and saw a photo of an elderly man french kissing a bear. If I were discussing this with you in person, I would’ve waited for your confused expression and then repeated myself. “I’m serious. There’s an old dude in the newspaper making out with a bear.”

You probably would have doubted me, suggesting that my contact lens prescription was outdated and that the “bear” I saw was likely just his oversized human wife. But I’d stand my ground, and you’d call me a liar and storm off, only to return an hour later, newspaper in hand, to apologize for doubting me. “I’m sorry, Paul. You were right. That old dude is totally smooching a bear on the front page.”

I would accept your apology, but remind you that saying “on the front page” is redundant, because really, when an old man is kissing a bear, where else is that photo going to be located?

Upon first seeing the photo, I laughed and thought, “Certainly, the headline of this article will give a rational explanation as to why this man is canoodling a bear.” Nope. No explanation in the headline. So I thought, “Surely, the photo caption will enlighten me as to why this man is treating this bear better than most men treat their wives.” Yet the caption only noted that this was a tame bear, and warned readers against seducing wild bears on their own.

Which is good advice, by the way. A recent survey shows that nearly 64 percent of wild bears oppose public displays of affection. Minnesota’s community of bears is surprisingly uptight. If you snuck up on a bear and kissed it, that bear would likely charge you with rape. Or eat your face. One of the two.