Why Don't I Shut UP?

Random Thought: Do you think everyone in Greenland is horny on thursdays?

posted by Michael Witmer @ Friday, July 15, 2005 1 comments

Has anyone been to McDonalds lately? Of course you have...what am i saying. All I want to know is, what is the deal? When did McDonalds turn into the Health Food Center for middle-class tight-ass beemer drivers? Fruit and Nut salads and bottled water and oh my god...adult happy meals with step counters??? What in the holy hell is going on.

I got news for McDonalds...America loves its fast food. McDonalds doesn't need to jump on all these fad diet band wagons. We don't need the South Beach or the Adkins or the Gopher diet. We don't want to be reminded that eating four Quarterpounders with Cheese for lunch is going to clog our pipes like a German Shephard in a shower.

I have to admit, i'm a little jealous. Most of today's McDonalds have those gigantic jungle gym climby thingies. The most fun we had at McDonalds when I was a kid was shooting the straw paper into my sister's retinas from across the table. I was also an avid salt shaker stacker. I would roam the dining area and collect the shakers from the table and then attempt to build a castle or a wall or whatever. One time I made a fort.

So in closing...McDonalds should promote creativity and sibling blindness by removing the padded jungle gyms. And if you want to put out a real american adult happy meal how about the big mac attack meal that comes complete with super size fries and a grenade launcher?

posted by Michael Witmer @ Friday, July 15, 2005 0 comments

Part II - Wilderness Strikes Back

It is well known fact that I am a local legend of sorts when it comes to "roughing" it. The laws of nature that would apply to a normal person do not apply to me. Think of people like Tarzan or Bigfoot or even Gilligan. They all managed to survive in the middle of a natural surrounding living off the land and the co-habitating with the creatures of their surroundings...miles and miles away from civilization as we know it. Hell, Gilligan's gang learned to make a basketball out of a coconut for crying out loud. Nature-type folks are straight-up survivors.

I, however, am at the opposite end of that spectrum.

I'm lucky if I don't choke on granola. I can't clean a fish (not that I'd want to...and how can they be dirty living in water all the time?), I can't start a fire without a gallon of gasoline and a blow torch. If anyone in my camp were to fall ill or get attacked by a racoon the only thing I could do would be to cheer them on and bury their corpse when they die. I love air conditioning. I love my digital cable. I love having a roof! ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY MICROWAVE!!!

I know that i suck...i came to terms with that a long time ago at my cousin's church camp. Long story there but it ends up with me wondering lost through the woods in the middle of the night singing the theme to Happy Days at the top of my lungs.

So with this informative knowledge resting in my brain at some spot between my love for pudding and my extensive knowledge of matchbox cars, WHY would I even consider camping out with my kids? Who was I kidding? I had as much business sleeping in a forrest as Motley Crue has at Sunday Bible School.

Yet there I was....

My daughter's birthday party had long since wound down. All of us were spread out, some on the dock and some on the banks, watching the hillbilly fireworks display. A large majority of the "neighbors" in the area who own their own little river shacks were relatively friendly...specially under the influence of holiday booze. And of course, in honest american fashion, they spend thousands of dollars on fireworks. Their cars may not have tires on them and their house may be falling over but god dammit, come fourth of July, they're gonna blow something up. When sober, I find myself questioning the logic behind shooting off professional-grade fireworks in a forrest full of leaves and twigs and dried out old trees. But after a few beers I'm all about explosions.

After the fireworks ended, it was my task to get the girls settled into their tent. Getting my kids to sleep is a feat WITHOUT the sugar and caffiene that goes along with picnic food. But I managed to toss them in the tent and zipper it shut before the little junkies could scurry out between my legs.

Sue and I parked our tired asses in a couple lawn chairs on the bank by the river and watched the moonlight flicker off the water's black glass surface. We relaxed, waiting for the giggles and chitter-chatter from within the girls tent to die down.

At some point, Sue decided to retire to our little tent and I was left standing guard over the two tents like an unarmed sentry. I sat there watching the night and replaying the days events and listening to the sounds of the forrest. The chirp of a bird. The chatter of crickets. The sploink of a fish jumping out on the river. The scream of a small animal being devoured in the distance. The crunch of footsteps off in the woods *insert wide eyes*, the growl of a giant saber-toothed mountain buffalo from behind a row of whateverthefucktheyare trees.

Suddenly the beautiful song of nature was sounding more and more like the Blair Witch Soundtrack. As I sat on the bank, frozen to my lawn chair, on the verge of a little 4th of July pants explosion of my own, I suddenly came back to the realization I made many years ago at Camp Swatara with the little bible thumpers.

Nature wanted to kill me.

Its as if all god's creatures, large and small, sat in their forrest hideaways doing their thing and pretending to be normal squirrels and salamanders and spiders and saber toothed mountain buffalos. Go on about your business...nothing to see here. Until all the hairless apes fell asleep. Then they whipped out their cell phones and blackberrys and paged the single conspiratory message to each other:

Operation Eat Wit is a go.

Well I had news for these fucking furry bastards. I may not know how to skin a ground hog and make it into a hat. I may not be able to make a stew out of tree bark and mushrooms. But I'll tell you one thing...after owning 3 dogs, 4 cats, and a number of other four-legged freaks I've learned something. I can kick the hell out of any animal...and you know what? I like doin' it!

So with my chest puffed and my confidence in my kicking ability boosting my ego I bent down to tighten the laces on my.....

SANDALS?? Oh for the love of God! I can't kick anything much bigger than a cat or a crippled beaver with my bare feet. I'm not Jackie Chan for christ sake. If anything larger than a french wombat comes tearing out of the forrest my only defense would be to point to the tents and yell "EAT THEM FIRST!!!"

So i decided to do the only thing I COULD do. Head up to the confines of my parents cabin and leave the girls to fend for themselves....

Stay tuned for Part III - Quit Buggin' Me

posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, July 14, 2005 2 comments

Yes...part two of my nature weekend is coming very soon. I felt a need to post my "10 People Who Can Go Straight To Hell In A Flaming Go-Cart" List (in no specific order).

1. All the Cola companies jumping on the low cal super dooper good for you sodas (ie: Coke Zero, Diet Pepsi with Lime, RC Cancer Cola). I want a cola that, if I shove the can right up your ass, it will suck the calories from your bloated body.

2. Anthony Kiedis: Is it just me or does he not even bother writing lyrics anymore? If someone can decypher what he's saying in any of the new songs I'll send you a plastic pig with big nips.

3. G.W. Bush....'nuff said.

4. My co-worker (who will remain unamed) who thinks its funny to ass cloud land mine his desk chair and come ask me to answer phones for him while he runs to the can. For those of you who don't know what an Ass Cloud Land Mine is here ya go: Find furniture that has a cushion (this does not work on hard chairs, tables, benches, etc. All you'll end up with is a sore ass and a lot of people staring at you). Sit in the chair and bust ass repeatedly. The cushion acts as a retaining wall for your cloud of stank. When another person comes along and flops down into it...instant Ass Cloud Land Mine.

5. The dipshit in my motorcycle safety course who decided to argue for ten minutes about whether the horn button is above or below the turn signal switch. HEY CAPTAIN DETAILS...WHO CARES WHERE THE HELL IT IS ON YOUR BIKE. I KNOW WHERE MY HORN IS...HONK HONNNK...SEE?

6. Ben Affleck - because he sucks. My version of the blockbuster hit Pearl Harbor:

Ben Affleck - Lets get in that plane and shoot us some japs *must be said with really bad southern accent*

Japanese Kamikaze crashlands on Ben's spleen (which earned co-writing royalties)

*credits roll*

7. Me for watching Pearl Harbor

8. Army Commercials: Who in their right mind gets a patriotic boner about running off to Iraq?

9. Nose Hair Trimmers: Using them always ends in tragedy

10. Comic strips that get translated into cartoons. Perfect example: Garfield.

posted by Michael Witmer @ Friday, July 08, 2005 3 comments

Super Nature Dad and the Attack of the Evil Daddy Long Legger

by M. Witmer a.k.a. Wilderness Witmer

It was a July 4th weekend much like any other only this one was marked by the devil himself. Now, under normal circumstances, this weekend is special to my family because not only is it a national holiday but its also my youngest daughter's birthday. So being the ever concerned, highly-conciencious, loving, caring, extremely modest father that I ammmmm...i wanted to make this weekend super fun.

But before we dive into this too much further, let me back up.

About two weeks ago my kids and I were walking through the Glutton-Mart looking for something (probably a 48 pack of toilet paper or a generic brand of chocolate chip cookies) when we passed what is commonly known as Honky Aisle. Honky Aisle is the one with the racks of guns and fishing lures and extreme camping equipment. There are animal heads bolted to the end-cap to give it that VFW Lodge feel and normally you can purchase M-16 ammo in bulk if you so desire (that is if Jethro and his half-brother Merle didn't already pick up the last box to store behind the seat of their pickup truck). I DARE you to find any person other than a honky in this aisle actively purchasing an item (this dare is void if you shop at the Wal-Mart on route 30...all bets are off then!). Since I happen to fall relatively well into the Honky cliche, I have no problem perusing the items. By the way, did you know they made a fish lure that could double as a tooth brush? No lie.

Anyway, as my little honkies and I were passing through Honky Aisle my kids attention fell on the tents. With wide-eyed glee they stared. And for a brief moment my eyes widened a bit too. Suddenly I imagined myself the rustic outdoorsy camper guy with the big beard and the animal pelt for a coat, laughing like a jolly retard as I pulled a large mouth tiger shark from a raging river. Suddenly I was Grizzly Adams and my kids were those little hairy Chakka kids from Land of the Lost scurrying up trees and beating squirrels with rocks.

Just as my daydream was getting to the part where we found a lost deaf mute playboy centerfold flailing in the river, her clothes blown off by the strong river currents (teeming with Tiger Sharks), I was brought back to glum reality by one of my now relatively hairless kids tugging at my arm.

"DADDY DAAAAAAAADDY," they both cried in well-rehearsed unison, "LETS GET A TENT."

With my grand wilderness daydream still flirting at the edge of my memory I rolled the idea around in my head. I even toyed with it a bit. I suddenly had an epiphany:

This could turn into one of those Family bonding things. The kind of trip where your kids would have fond memories of their first real camping trip. Fishing, boating, swimming...hell I'd teach them how to shave too but their legs just aren't hairy enough yet. This trip could very well make me hero...no.....A FATHERLY LEGEND.

But it was nothing without a tent. The tent was the key. Fortunately, Honky Aisle had a veritable cornucopia of tents. All shapes and sizes and colors and materials. I stared at the bright colored vinyl tents with awe and realized something: I was already in over my head. My dreams of being Super-Dad-Grizzly-Adams, killer of river sharks and rescuer of dumb naked ladies was suddenly fading. Towering before me, there were dome tents and and square tents and tents with front porches and attics and car ports. Jesus Christ, I was being mocked by the onslaught of the thousands of tents stacked in the aisle. Four times I had to fight the urge to scream "diarrhea!!" and run for the bathroom...because diarrhea is the only manly ailment in Honky Aisle.

So I did what any full-blooded american honky would do. I bought the most expensive tent on the shelf. And boy was it a doozy! It wasnt just ANY tent. This was the 3-dome, deep woods survivor tents. Hear that, folks? Deep. Woods. Survivor!! This thing closer resemble a circus tent than a camping tent. It covers roughly 2 square miles of forest and you need an excavation team to clear spot for it.

Part II - Tomorrow

posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, July 07, 2005 5 comments

some of you have probably read this...maybe you haven't...either way its funny as hell. Plus, i like to think of myself as a general spreader of knowledge, much like Willie Nelson. thanks, rich: We always hear "the rules" from the female side . . . Now here are the rules from the male side. These are our rules!

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. you don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

2. Sunday sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

3. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

4. Crying is blackmail.

5. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

6. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

7. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

8. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

9. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

10. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

11. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

12. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry - we meant the other one.

13. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

14. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

15. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

16. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

17. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

18. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

19. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine... Really.

20. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as baseball, golf, fishing, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.

21. You have enough clothes.

22. You have too many shoes.

23. I am in shape. Round is a shape.

Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight; but did you know men really don't mind that? It's like camping out. Speaking of camping...my next post will be all about my holiday weekend camping trip. Complete with the Blair Witch, cannonballs, flaming bee hives...etc...remind me to tell you about it

posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, July 07, 2005 4 comments