Posted by jbeymer on Mar 14, 2006 in Uncategorized
When you’re watching a preview for a new comedy film, do you still laugh at the “Man getting hit in balls” joke? Do you chuckle when the Director adds the obligatory shot of onlookers grimacing? Are you that one guy in the packed theater that yells “OOOH!! That had to hurt!” and gives your buddy a high-five? If so, then you might want to stop reading this. I’m only going to further insult your intelligence.
“Man getting hit in balls” has become the Gold Standard. Every Comedy that Hollywood craps out must have a preview that shows a man getting injured in the crotch region. Hollywood is constantly hard at work creating unique contributions to the art of ball slamming.
Here are just a few examples from previews of recent releases.
1) The Hot Chick – Man kicked in nuts by Rob Schneider.
2) Just Friends – Snow ball hits man in groin.
3) Bad News Bears – Baseball hits boy in family jewels.
4) Cheaper by the Dozen 2 – Steve Martin falls on log and injures groin. Makes funny face.
5) Big Mamma’s House 2 – Big Momma kicks man in crotch.
6) She’s the man – Girl pretending to be boy gets hit in groin with soccer ball.
7) Benchwarmers – Ball shot out of lawnmower hits David Spade in the crotch.
8) The Wild – Koala Bear (yes, Koala Bear) lands on fence and injures groin
9) Larry the Cable Guy – Man throws soccer ball at wall, it bounces back and hits his nuts.
10) Munich – Man kicked in nuts by Rob Schneider.
Okay, so I made the last one up. But you get my point. It would be easier for me to list the comedy previews that DON’T have someone getting clocked in the balls. It only took me a few minutes to find these nine examples. If you can add to the list, please do.
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Posted by jbeymer on Mar 9, 2006 in Uncategorized
My daughter has a red Teletubby that stands about a foot tall. It sings and dances and lights up. I’ve wanted to kill it for months now. I can’t tell you how often I’ve planned its demise. One such method involved duct tape, a linen sack and the San Francisco bay.
So last night I heard it singing like it was possessed. Very deep, slow voice. Either the batteries were low or the Devil was telling my daughter to puke in my shoes again. It stopped mid-song. My daughter began sobbing quietly. She picked it up and brought it to me. Kids think Daddies can fix anything. She’ll figure out what horse crap that is by the time she’s two.
This one was easy. Just a battery replacement. The compartment was located on the doll’s back, and I used a screwdriver to pry the 3 AA batteries from inside. I pried too hard and sent the batteries flying all over the floor.
Three batteries out, three batteries in. But wait! Isn’t this the opportunity I’d been waiting for? Why put them in? Kill it. Tell her you can’t fix it. Tell her you’ll buy her a new toy that sings better songs and doesn’t fill your heart with bloodlust every time you see it.
But then I looked down at my daughter and saw the sadness in her face. How could I kill her favorite toy? Such sorrow in those eyes…until I realized she was sad because she was having trouble chewing one of the batteries I’d dropped on the floor. Sigh.
Bottom line, I did the right thing for once. I put in the new batteries. The Teletubby showed its gratitude by singing my least favorite song. If it had a human hand it would have flipped me off. If it was anatomically correct, it would have pissed in my face. Someday, you son of a bitch. Someday. The kid isn’t going to want you forever. You’ll get yours. My mind immediately went back to planning the toy’s untimely death.
I gave the doll back to my anxious daughter and said, “Here you are Elena. What do you think of that?”
I didn’t need her to tell me what she thought of that. I could smell it. She’d taken a giant crap in her diaper. Hmm, maybe I could get even with that little bastard after all…
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Posted by jbeymer on Mar 8, 2006 in Uncategorized
I have a 7 pound mini-dachshund. She would fit nicely in a hot dog bun with relish, mustard and several diced onions.
When I put my daughter down for a nap each day, she feels the urge to bark. I shall boil her with potatoes and carrots.
In the evening, the dog informs me that her dinner is late by puking. The food must be served at 5pm sharp. Most days, the vomit commences at 4:55 in protest. I will bake her in a nice lemon sauce and serve her with mandarin orange slices.
During the night, she barks and wakes up my child. Perhaps I can sprinkle her with Shake n Bake.
If I leave the front door open, she runs into the street. Time to prepare a stew with moist corn bread.
Alas, not worth more than an appetizer really. I do love her, and it would be a shame to eat her all at once. In the winter she keeps me warm by sleeping on my lap. Perhaps I will remove her innards and replace them with a hot water bottle.
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