The SamuraiMarine

Thoughts, Philosophy, Life and Love

Category: Humor

Things in life that I do not understand…

When I came up with the title for this post, I was thinking of all the fun things I could put on here that would rank as the things that I do not understand. The possibilities for humor in such a title are endless. I am not sure why, but then I realized that there are other things that I need to express that do not rank as humorous, but still fall within the scope of the title. And so I shall begin…

  • I do not understand how a person can abuse or exploit a child, for any purpose.
  • I do not understand how you can hate a class or race of people based solely on their race or class.
  • I do not understand why people believe politicians who have a history of lying.
  • I cannot understand what we think we can accomplish by not pursuing nuclear energy
  • I do not understand why people insist on talking on the phone while driving.
  • I do not understand why people still try to run from the law when it is almost impossible to escape.
  • I do not understand how people can still walk around with messed up teeth, when dental services so readily available these days.
  • I do not understand why, as technologically advanced as we have become, we still have wars and conflicts over theological issues.
  • I do not understand why, again… as technologically advance as we are, we still think that the color of our skin makes us better or worse people.
  • I do not understand why our government seems to exist solely for it’s own benefit and not for the benefit of those that it is supposed to represent.
  • I do not understand why a person working on behalf of the government, doing his job to protect the borders, can be arrested and jailed for doing his job.  While the person he tried to stop, who is an illegal alien with a know criminal past, is treated like a hero.
  • I do not understand how people who have the task and honor of putting their lives on the line for our country, in many cases, do not make enough money to make ends meet.
  • I do not understand why every TV show uses the same plots, just with a few different changes to make you think you are watching something different.
  • I do not understand how if a show like “24” is supposed to be about the events through the course of one day, why it never has a 10 minute period while Kiefer’s charactor is taking a crap.
  • I do not understand how a person’s life can be so boring that they need to sit and watch a TV program about several people in a house with manufactured issues with the sole intent on exploiting those of the others on the show.

Samurai’s “You Gotta See” Sites for July 2008

HERE – Is what happens when you do not remove the waypoints you create in Google Earth or Google Maps.

HERE – Is where you need to go if you are considering buying one of those “gas saving” devices on TV.

Escalator Spin – Guys… you want to get your wife out of the shopping mood fast… try this…

Condom Plant – A great gag for the person who has everything.

Mentos Booby Trap – From the same site as above.  The perfect trick if you have a workplace lunch thief.

Was Convoy a Redneck version of Battlestar Galactica.

Sometimes I wonder where I get some of the things that pop in and out of my head.

Case in point.  This evening I was driving back to the house after getting a little something to eat and they were playing the song “Convoy” on the radio.  For those of you who either do not listen to country music or are too young to recall the song by Bill Fries, it is moderately catchy tune about a group of truckers that decide, for some reason or another, to form a convoy to protest toll fees, or some such nonsense. So they truck across country, plowing through anything that the studio budget would allow them to.

This caused me to think about the 1978 movie by the same name that was, unfortunately, a movie based on the song.  Never a good idea, in my opinion.  Another thing we learned in this movie was the Kris Kristopherson’s early days of movie making left a lot to be desired and gave this viewer the feeling that he was watching a 120 minute train wreck… in slow motion… at subtitles.  Add to this that we learned that Ali McGraw did for acting, in this movie at least, what Michael Tyson did for the boxing industry, only she had a nicer rack and was a little easier on the eyes.

Through all of this thought, it suddenly dawned on me.  The movie Convoy was a parable for Battlestar Galactica (aka BSG.)  BSG had a “rag tag fleet, looking for home” and Convoy was about a fleet of various trucks trying to get somewhere.  BSG had a leader calling the shots and Convoy had “Rubber Duck” (Played by Kris Kristopherson) leading them across the country.  BSG and the fleet were constantly being harassed by Cylons trying to wipe them out.  The Convoy had the police chasing them trying to stop them and arrest them.

You may not see it, but it suddenly ocurred to me that Convoy was a Red-Neck Battlestar Galactica.

And you… my dedicated followers, might have never realized that, until I shared it with you.

As a side note, it appears that I was not the only one that thought of this, as shown in this fan video.

Of Wives and Dogs…

Let me first start off by saying that this article was my wife’s idea, because of a moment of levity while we were out “Yard Sailing” today (though by the time this is posted, it will have been a couple weeks ago.)

The topic came up about how our dog, Eliza, is always happy to see us, especially me. It seems that no matter what, Eliza is always happy to see me.

I will occasionally see other people with dogs, and I have a tendency to walk over and talk to them. It is almost as though there is an unwritten rule that says that most people with dogs should be friends. It is as though both the dogs and their people understand this.

So I will go home, and the first thing that Eliza will do is check me out… and she will cover every inch of my hands, shirt, pants and shoes to see who this strange dog that I was messing around with was. After she is done with the investigation, then the scolding begins. This usually lasts about five to ten minutes of her barking and not letting me near her. Then, as though nothing ever happened, she comes over and gives me a profuse amount of “dog kisses”, which in “Eliza Parlance” means that you will have your nostrils thoroughly bathed and the tip of your nose will get nipped a couple times.

This started me to thinking, aloud and in front of the wife; “Wouldn’t that be the dream of all guys if women were like that?”

“Like what” Was her reply.

Knowing that I had just stepped in “IT”, I had no choice but to continue the line of thought.

“What if women were just as quick to forgive and forget as Eliza is?” I said… getting ready to dive behind the car for cover. Not knowing any better, I continued… “You know, a guy could go fool around and have fun, come home smelling like strange women, and the wife or girlfriend scold him for a while, then forgets about it and cuddles… no beg deal.”

Obviously this was all said in jest, and she knew that. With the exception of one moment of stupidity many many years ago that was just south of a nightmare, I have been the picture of faith to my wife. So she knew that I was throwing ideas out for the sake of conversation.

That is where this post comes in. Her response to the entire dialogue was: “Tell you what. You post that on your Blog and see what kind of response you get from people.”

I must have LOOKED like I had some doubts, and she saw that, so she said, “You will post it, right?”

For anyone out there that is or has been married, you learn that there is a secret tone that all women have learned. It is taught to them by their mothers and It is similar to the way Obi Won told the stormtroopers that the droids were not the ones that they were looking for. It is that voice that they use when they want a glass of water from the kitchen and are only sitting ten feet from it, yet they call you from the other side of the house, while you are in the middle of something.

Alright, so I exaggerate a little.

So… In closing, my loyal readers… all five of you. Please do not give me too much grief over this post.

Have we nothing better to worry about?

This question comes as I stumbled upon the following video:

Have we really gotten to a point where someone like this is not allowed to get up, and speak his mind, whether it be in ernst or jest, without being taken to task by the media as being a racist or hate monger?

His message was stated with a sense of jest and humor. There was nothing negative about it. It was a speech that, if given twenty or thirty years ago, would have had no negative feedback for anyone involved. But we have become so worried about what others think, and not wanting to offend anyone about anything, that we feel obligated to place him on some shelf as a bad guy.

What makes this worse is how the media, in their usual idiotic way, only shows enough of the clips from the actual speech, to make it appear that he was being hurtful to others. As I have said before, the media is nothing more than a vulture culture that lives to feast off only the refuse of what should be real news. What they did to Brandon is a prime example of that. While it is of poor quality, I have included a video of that as well.

There is nothing wrong with making fun of the things that divide us. There is nothing wrong with demonstrating that you have a sense of humor. Personally I think that is something that all too many of us are missing these days, and the world would be so much better if we did not hide our jest from one
another, and Brandon Rosario was demonstrating just that.

Looking at this from another point of view, we are sending a message that expressing yourself openly and honestly is not something that we want our youth to do. We are teaching them that you have to censor everything you say and do to not offend anyone. Doing this is almost impossible without making your speeches so open ended and bland, that they lose any real substance.

Back to Brandon, though. I hope that he stays who he is and does not change because a few people might have been offended but some of what he said. We really have to learn to laugh at ourselves and others. I honestly believe that the only thing that is going to save our world is if we all learn to have a sense of humor again and start using it.

There is nothing more cleansing to the soul than a really good, gut wrenching, laugh. Preferably one that brings you to tears.

Brandon Rosario… keep up the good work.

Credits for the attached videos go to “Moohu” on you tube, for the news clip, and the coverage of the actual speech by Brandon Rosario.

A Photographic thought

When you look through your albums, and look at all the pictures you have taken over the years, there is something that you see every time, but probably give little or no thought to. It is there, right in front of you, and even if you just went and grabbed a picture or album while you were reading this, you may not have figured out what I am referring to.

Look at any set of pictures you have taken. Chances are that many of them will have many people that you do not know in them. People that were on holiday just like yourself, who just happened to get caught in the blast zone of your camera at the time you shot the picture. If you look over the lifetime of pictures you have taken, then you will see many many people that you have no clue who they are… they are just there.

You really cannot help it. Even if you are careful, there are times you are going to get people in your shot who, in your mine, just do not belong there. The only way to really do anything about it is to, a.) Have members of your family stand at strategic places and threaten bodily harm to anyone that crosses the line and gets into your picture. b.) Announce that you and doing a photo shoot of famous people with extremely contagious diseases, and this will give you about thirty minutes before authorities arrive to remove you, to take your pictures, and get out. Or c.) Take the picture anyway, with all the people in it, then go home and photoshop all the strangers out, then try and convince all your friends that you really did have Disneyland all to yourself on Christmas Eve. “C” will probably be the best, since it will not involve causing a panic, certain jail time and the potential of having the CDC poking and prodding various bodily orifices.

Picking a winner

But that is not why I am writing this. I was thinking, the other day as I looked at the picture above, and thought. “How many people out there, strangers all, have a picture of me picking my nose or scratching my butt? When you consider it, there may be thousands of pictures out there of you, that you are not aware of, and that the people look at you and say… “Who the hell is that, and how did they get in the picture?”

Take this one step further, and think of how many people are out there that have pictures of you, where you might be doing something like our friend here, and looking for a little fun in his nose? Or the guy to the left that looks suspiciously like he is sniffing his finger?

Who knows how many strangers photo albums our faces grace the pages of, it could be hundreds, it could be thousands and if you are a particularly avid traveler, it could be tens of thousands. We will never know, but it is certain something to give you pause when you think about it.

You may have crossed paths with a serial killer, someone who became famous, someone who is missing and someone else is looking for… any one of many things.

As always… thanks for reading. This was just something that popped in my head and I wanted to share with you.

A day in the life of Steve, the dysfunctional vampire.

An odd thought came over me today. Not that today is any different than other days, I tend to have odd thoughts most days, just this one seemed odd enough to warrant getting a spot on my blog.

We all hear and see the stories of vampires on TV, in books and on the big screen. They are always portrayed as mysterious and mildly erotic is some cases. What if that was not the case? What if you were to find that becoming a vampire brought with it most of the same problems and issues that you had before you became one of the undead?

Imagine Steve, newly appointed member of the undead… An Anemic, Diabetic and Asthmatic Vampire who also suffers Tourette’s and has a spastic colon. Let’s look at his day to day plight just to make it in this world.

First off, Steve is already disappointed. He had thought that becoming one of the undead would cure him of all his former problems, but alas, it has not. Granted, he does heal much fast than he used to, he is no longer allergic to the twenty-four hour deodorant that he likes, and he never really enjoyed the sunlight, so these were plus’. But the many other health issues that Steve has been plagued with since childhood are still in the way of his successful adventures in vampirism.

First and foremost is his Tourette’s Syndrome, something that gave him many a year of remorse throughout school and work. Since he was bitten and turned into a vampire, his medicine no longer works, and since part of being a successful vampire requires stealth and a hypnotic control over your victim, he was at a loss at to how to achieve this. Nothing is quite as embarrassing as sneaking up on your prey, while asleep, and right before you bite, you release an involuntary string of obscenities into their ear. This has killed the moment for him on many occasions, and he has since resorted to either throwing a heavy object at them from across the room in an attempt to knock them out or using a tazer, which made life for him that much easier.

Still there was the problem of him trying to stay in the shadows and out of site. One of the gifts of his new life was his ability to blend in with his surroundings, however that was offset, again, by the tourette’s. The only amusement that he gained from this was the occasional fight that he would cause when no one could figure out where the verbal assault came from and they would go after the person standing nearest to them.

Another problem with the new life style was his protein rich, liquid diet. He was never what he thought of as squeamish, but the idea of blood as his primary source of food did not really sink in until after the deed was done and he had become a vampire. Unfortunately the conversion process did not come with a manual, and the person that assisted him in this transition was not forthcoming with answers and help in making the move from living to undead. Having suffered IBS and a spastic colon most of his life, the transition to this new diet was not going well for him. In fact he had some of the worst cases of gas, cramps and diarrhea that he had ever experienced in his life. There were even a couple times that he just could not control it and that led to many a close call. Since then, he had learned to start taking massive amounts of fiber and other various supplements, but still never quite getting it under control. The only result of his attempts was gas and cramping and as you might imagine, a flatulent vampire is hard to take seriously in anyone’s book.

Next was the issue of his diabetes… he still had to check his glucose on a regular schedule, but there were times that he would spike and feel sick. He discovered that if he made sure that he traveled at least two miles to each victim, then he could offset the affects of the spikes in his blood sugar, and control it. He also found that if he was lucky enough to find another diabetic, then he could control him levels that way as well. The fall back to the later was that now the city he was living in was in search for what they were calling the “Diabetic Killer.” Though through reading, it appeared they were blaming it on some conspiracy with terrorists and the manufacturer of one of the many testing meters out there, that were going after all their clients. That was fine with Steve… it was easier to buy that than the possibility of a flatulent, diabetic vampire on the loose.

Another plus he had noticed that his asthma had cleared up a little, though he still avoided anything that would require running or jumping. He was glad that vampires could not fly, as depicted in the movies, or he would probably be in a lot more trouble with the asthma. He also noticed that his acne had gotten a little better, though he was still prone to the occasional zit, and he no longer had any complications due to his anemia. So there were some good things that he could see.

Steve attempted to maintain a professional career after his transition, but found that it was just too difficult to do. While he was always a night person, even before he was a vampire, but would still do most of his shopping during the day, especially when he needed staples for the house. Now he was bound to only going out after dark, or dusk at the earliest. While some grocery stores were open, most other places were not, at least not late. Most jobs that Steve was trained in, were not the kind that would allow him to work late nights without occasionally coming into an office during the day, so at first he tried the occasional fastfood jobs, then he worked for bit in a gas station, but then he also found that this cut into his feeding time. Vampirism was not turning out to be the romantic and adventurous life that Steve had expected. Finally, he found a overseas company that would let him work their hours, and being so far removed from them, he could squirrel away a long lunch to go find some poor victim to feed on.

The final thing that bugged him was his newly found, even more abundant lack of anything resembling a social life. It was clear that the raging vampire social scene that the movies had portrayed, just did not exist. There was no club that he went to, there was no dating group, and when he rarely did run into another vampire, it had all the pleasure that a deer must feel in those final moments before it become permanently implanted in the grill of a speeding Peterbuilt hauling twenty tons of fertilizer and the driver having just finished his fifth beer. Even his girlfriend stopped calling him and, in fact, had a Protective Order sworn against him when, in the heat of the moment, he bit off three of her fingers. They were able to reattach them with little problems, but it was decided, both by them and the judge, that they should see other people.

So… here sits Steve… A Vampire… pretty much in the same boat that he was in before he was a vampire. Nope… it was not what he expected, and now the best he could do is wait for the chance encounter with some Van Helsing wannabe to assist him in not being an undead. Until then, he would continue to be Steve… the dysfunctional vampire.

Not on my time, but on yours…

OK… So I go to the doctor today and get in there about ten minutes early.  You would think that they like this kind of thing, especially since they, seemingly, have more important things to do than to wait around for you to show up late.  Add to that that I try and be courteous about things like that.  I know that I would be a little upset if I work my schedule around for someone, then they do not show up, or if they show up late.

Anyway… I get there, and fill out the little form letting them know who I am, and who I am there to see.  She takes the form, and hands me a sheet explaining their policy on late or canceled appointments without twenty-four hours notice.  I ask her, politely, “Was I late?”  she tells me no, and that I need to sign this form stating that I understand.  I told her I would, then found the nearest circular file to allow a clear understanding of how I felt about that.  Unfortunately when I turned to see what her response was, she was not there… she had not seen my desperate act of rebellion.  I had to fight the urge to start chanting “AT-TIC-A  AT-TIC-A” over and over (That reference is lost on anyone who has never seen Dog Day Afternoon.)

So… I sat.  My 8:05 appointment, which, according to the previously mentioned paper, I was supposed to be “Prompt” for and no more than “Fifteen minutes” late for, passed with no call to see the doctor.  I understand… they must have been very busy, I mean the lobby was empty, so all the exam rooms must have been filled with sick patients in need of care.  It must have been something serious too… because all the doctors and a couple of the nurses were gathered and talking.  Yeah… they seemed to be laughing a lot, but maybe there was a patient that had something really amusing.  Maybe an ulcerated and infected scrotum that left him with elephantine, basketball sized testicles.  Maybe a politician with a severe case of “Head up Ass” disease.

At promptly 8:35am, the door opened and the nurse looked around the empty room, almost as though a little confused.  Then, as if I suddenly appeared from behind the magazine table, she looked at me, then at her clip board, and asked “Are you Mr. Wright” I looked around the room and replied… “Last time my wife woke up with me, she did not scream, so I suppose I am.”

Nurse Napalm was not amused.

I was led to exam 8.  This is the eighth room in a row of ten.  All were dark, so the people that must have been in those rooms, taking up all that time, must have all been suffering from a severe case of Photophobia.  I entered the room where I was seated, and then Nurse Napalm proceeded to take my temp and blood pressure.  She asked what I was in for today, and the only thing I could come up with was; “A double cheeseburger and large diet coke.”  She looked at me, then at the chart and said I see you are here for a follow-up.

She was brilliant, truly a credit to her profession, and psychic to boot.

I agreed that that was what I was there for, then mentioned that since my being late for an appointment would have required me to pay a $25 fee, did that mean they owed ME $25 for them being late?

Again, not amused.

It was now 8:49.  I was told that the doctor would be in shortly.  So I proceeded to look through the collection of year old magazines and health brochures, learning why I do not smoke, why I should not place sharp metal objects in my bodily orifices, and saw some pretty interesting pictures of what happens when you are careless with a pruning knife, in a doctors magazine of some sort.

At 8:55 a nice man entered the room.  Not my doctor.  He was too busy to keep our appointment. I figured that it must have been one of the photophobic introverts in the other rooms that I had passed that had his attention.  This was an assistant, I forget the title, but which is almost as good, except that they cannot do all of the things a doctor can, but they know the language and get the keys to the medicine cabinet.  He told me I was fine, gave me another prescription that I probably will not take all of, and told me to come back in a month.

It was now 9:03.

I spent almost an hour for an eight minute appointment.  And what do you want to bet that when the Insurance company gets that bill… it will be for the entire time I was there.  Heck… I wish I could work on that kind of schedule.

Oh well…  This just goes down as one of those things.

As I was leaving, I heard the receptionist/nurse/forms nazi ask me: “Sir… did you sign the form I gave you?”

“Yeah…  I filed it for you.”

She smiled… but I do not think she got it.  It will probably dawn on her tonight at dinner, just as she is getting that second helping of potatoes.

The Culligan Man Cometh

This morning I have happened upon a theory.

I think the Culligan Man is stalking me.

This morning, as I went through my usual morning ritual of getting my coffee and reading my email, I heard a loud bang and crash in front of my house.  I looked out in time to see the Culligan truck and the man himself unloading things from the truck and into the house across the street.  Almost as if on queue, he looked across the street at me and waved.  This was a little disturbing to me, not so much that somehow he knew I was watching, but that he waved and acknowledged my nosiness.  I dismissed the incident and finished getting ready for work.

About thirty minutes later, I am making the tortuous seven minute drive to the office where I work, when, seemingly, out of nowhere a truck almost hits me.  To my surprise it is, once again, a Culligan truck.  To make matters worse, it is the same truck and driver that was so willing to give me a good morning wave not a full forty minutes earlier.  I tooted my horn and he, once again, shared with me a smile and a wave.  I had to take a moment to compose myself soas not to share a friendly “one-fingered wave” with him… he was, of course, driving a much larger vehicle that was I.

Upon getting to work, and settling into my daily routine, I pretty much put both incidents out of my mind.  Then, about an hour after getting to work, I was rebuilding one of my employee’s BlackBerries, when I noticed a large truck stop in front of the building in which I work.  It was, once again, the dreaded Culligan man.  He was making a delivery to the office next to mine… or so I am being lead to believe.

I opened the door and stuck my head out to look around, and he smiled and waved at me, again.

Friends… I am under the scrutiny of a faction of some faction of either the FBI, CIA, NSA, TWA, IRA, IRS, PMS, BYOB or something that is operating a super-secret observation unit within the Culligan corporation.


The preceding was written in the spirit of jest.  While based on real events, there is no known connection between Culligan or any government organization that the writer is aware of.  If you are a Culligan employee and read this, please do so with the understanding that the truck in question was in the right place at the right time to be the victim of my humor.   

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