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Eight Hours of Recommended Reading
(But only if you're really slow.)
- PETA: The Worth of Animal Souls Is Great
- Celestial Roulette
- My Body is a Private Club for Members
- Label Maker
- The Fear of God and Spiders
- You Must Be Smoking
- Caffeine: The Devil's in the Drip
Eight Hours Worth
of other Blogs
I've been to too many blogs to list them all in this column, but you can see the list here.
At Least Eight Hours Worth of Podcasts I'm Not Supposed to Like:
January 2006
- Why You Might Want to Keep an Eye
on Your Marketing Department - Danny Boy
- Are You Sure That’s What They Meant by Boxing Day?
- Cute Little Devils
- Helping Keep Victoria's Secret
- Movie Review: Hatari! (1962)
- Orrin's Built-in Escape Hatch
Why You Might Want to Keep an Eye on Your Marketing Department
Monday, January 30, 2006
10:32PM
Heidi got this shot on our way home from lunch last weekend. I swear I did not fake this in Photoshop:
Me thinks thou dost protest too much.
Danny Boy
Wednesday, January 25
10:01PM
I've been putting this post off. You see, last week, Heidi and I were invited to a party at a friend's house, and writing about it could be potentially…well…embarrassing.
Let me just start out by saying I hate home sales “parties”. I always have. It always bothered me that people would invite me to a “party” that's so back-asswards that I'm expected to spend the money. I mean honestly, the only way a man is going to have fun spending money at a party is if it's a last fling for a bachelor in a trashy Vegas club. Fun!
Rest assured, that's not what your wife is talking about when she says she's going to a party with her friends. What she wants is to spend four hours at her sister's house burning through every last dime of your child's college fund. And when she gets done, all she'll have to show for it is a bunch of plastic plates that aren't even going to fit in the damn cupboard when she gets them, because she's already got TEN FUCKING PIECES OF EVERYTHING THEY SELL. I'm not kidding. The woman I love has more Tupperware than Tupperware. That's no party, that's a mugging. And these home party consultants sell everything from lotion to books to toys. Not fun.
A party is when a bunch of friends get together, listen to music, maybe have some drinks and shoot the shit for a few hours. Then, back in college, if you were lucky, the night might even end with some boo-tay! Fun!
So now you should understand my apprehension when Heidi told me told me that there would be stuff to buy at this party. It would involve lotion, books, toys and alcohol. Ahhh...ok! So we made our plans to attend.
After everyone introduced themselves, our hostess proudly hefted a very large object into the air and introduced it as Danny. Instinct immediately drove me to clench my cheeks together with my hands. In case you were wondering, Danny is the answer to what lesbian horses, Clydesdales specifically, would do to each other if they could pick things up with their hooves.
I'm not kidding. This monster could double as a police baton. Actually, that could be really effective! Imagine the look on a would-be bank robber's face when he suddenly realizes that a large angry man in uniform is beating him (pun intended) into submission with a neatly circumcised 24-inch long double-ended rubber horse penis. I digress…
We were instructed to stand as couples in a circle and pass Danny from one person to another using only our legs. We'd had enough to drink that we did as we were told. (Yes, our clothes were all on! Keep dreaming, you sickos). After a couple practice runs, the game morphed into a wonderfully perverted spin-off of musical chairs. Whoever dropped Danny or was left holding him with their knees when the music stopped was out. Fun!
Well sort of. Now, I'm extremely comfortable with my sexuality, but I have to admit to feeling just a little weird when the woman next to me dropped Danny and I had to take him on the next round from a man. Of course with our beloved state legislature in session, it should have seemed much more natural than it did. I mean really…is it possible to find a bigger clusterfuck than the one meeting on Utah's Capitol Hill right now?
Are You Sure That’s What They Meant by Boxing Day?
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
10:25PM
I married a shop-o-holic. It's true. Well, it was. Heidi has informed me that she no longer shops like she used to. Now that she's working all the time, I guess she's right. Even so, her family seems to have this uncanny knack for finding a good deal. Maybe it's just an instinct you develop when you're one of nine kids.
Case in point: Last week I got a phone call from my wife at work.
Heidi: Hey Doug…my sister can get you boxers from Old Navy for 80 cents apiece. Are you interested?
Doug: I guess so, sure. I mean I guess as long as you don't mind your sister seeing my underwear. What's the catch?
Heidi: Most of what's on clearance are the Xmas prints.
Doug: Ok, that's a little weird, but I guess it's not like anyone is ever going to actually see them, right? Right???
Deck the balls…
Umm, yeah. Welcome to the Humphries' house: Where the holidays are long gone, but it's still Xmas in my pants. I guess this means I have to stop making fun of people who leave their lights up all year.
Cute Little Devils
Thursday, January 12, 2006
10:46PM
Waaaaay back when I was just a little kid, I had a very close friend down the street that I used to hang out with a lot. One summer, when we were about six years old, we got it into our heads that we wanted to dig a hole in his back yard so deep that we could get down to see the Devil.
I still have a pretty clear picture of what was going on in our heads. Our reasoning was that if we could get down far enough, we'd eventually pass through a large wooden door into a giant open cavern where everyone was running and dancing around naked. We both thought that would be pretty damn cool.
We only managed to get about two feet down before we gave up, but don't lose hope! I worked out a deal for the keys to the back door. Your drink is downstairs by the hot tub with your friends. Cheers!
Helping Keep Victoria's Secret
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
11:00PM
As you may have already heard, my wife, my kid and I are camping out at my parents' place while the new house is being built. It's really nice of them, and we're glad for the opportunity to save some cash. That's not to say there haven't been any quirks.
One thing you should know about my parents is that they are very strict LDS. Especially my mom. And though I love her dearly, one might even go so far as to say she is uptight. Of course only going that far would be a gross understatement of her uptight-idi-ness, and I have the mental scars to prove it.
For example, once when I was about nine, we had recently moved into a new neighborhood. Some of my new friends invited me over to run through the sprinklers with them. The only thing was, I didn't own a swimsuit or even a pair of shorts. That would be immodest.
Of course, even mom realized that I couldn't run through the sprinklers fully clothed. So she found an old pair of jeans and cut them off for me—about an inch below my knees. I felt like everyone was staring at me. I have a simple explanation for that—everyone was staring at me. Hell, I looked like an export from Colorado City. Humiliated, I ran out the door with my friends in a t-shirt and my new “shorts” to cool off. To their credit, none of them beat me up.
Now you have some background for the real story. Yesterday, when I got from home from work, my mail was stacked in a neat pile on the kitchen table. On the bottom I found this:
Oh boy oh boy oh boy!
Only it didn't look quite like this. Whoever brought in the mail (I'll give you three guesses) had strategically placed the bills on top of this lovely model so as to hide her lusty nekkedness from my view. The message sent, though unspoken, rang loud and clear: THIS IS EVIL. Because I'm evil, it made me want to look at it even more, and for more reasons than the obvious. That is, of course, why God didn't give (most) men breasts. He knew we'd waste so much time staring down our shirts that we'd never accomplish anything else.
To make matters even more complicated, when Heidi turned over the catalog it was addressed to me. Douglas Humphries. Pervert. I don't know who did it. I honestly don't know which one of you thought it would be funny to sign me up for the Victoria's Secret Swim 2006 catalog. It was damn sneaky. You are going to get me in a hell of a lot of trouble. I've got just one thing to say to you, whoever you are...
Thanks!
Movie Review: Hatari! (1962)
Monday, January 9, 2006
11:37PM
So occasionally you find yourself longing for the good old days
when a man could drink and drive and smoke A LOT without any guilt.
Ok, hopefully you don't want to drive, but I'll bet you've had it with everyone
nagging at you. In fact, I'll bet a lot of you have gotten sick and
tired of the happy, green, politically correct world you’ve been
forced to live in. Goddammit, you just want to have some fun!
Well have I got a movie for you! Hatari!
is a great flick not just for the story, but because it’s loaded with things that should piss
off just about everyone you know. Billed as a fun film for the entire
family, there's tobacco and booze in almost every scene, a woman in
her underwear, the same woman in a bath scene later on, and hilarious
contempt for Mother Nature. I couldn't have been much happier.
No, really. Look. Whee!
In Swahili, "hatari" means, "I have cheese in my pants."
My daughter and I squealed with delight as John Wayne and company sped around the plains of Africa in their old beat-up gas-guzzling trucks, harassing, chasing down and capturing wildlife by the neck with ropes for zoos.
Seriously though, the chase scenes were actually very good—amazing when you consider it was filmed in 1962. I'm guessing it's probably because the cry-baby wussies at PETA and ELF weren't around yet. In truth, they were around, but it was still pretty early in the sixties. They still had a lot of acid to do before they started talking to the animals.
Because John Wayne is such a manly man, the fun didn't stop there. Hell no! He had the local tribesmen chase 500 monkeys into an enormous tree. Then his buddy, Red Buttons made a rocket, tied it to a net and launched the entire thing over the top, trapping the monkeys inside.
Now you and I would probably stop there. Not the Duke. Five hundred monkeys on a tree under a net and what does he do? He chops the WHOLE DAMN TREE DOWN, MONKEYS AND ALL. HELL YEAH! Oh, I'm sure he didn't particularly hate animals or trees. You just have to understand that the Duke knew their place in this world: meat and furniture.
Ok, so you don't exactly see them eating any monkeys, but some of them fell at least a hundred feet, so I figure there had to be some monkey-grubbing going on.
Finally, when I thought the show was out of surprises, John Wayne (age 55), gets the beautiful Elsa Martinelli (age 27) into bed. With three baby elephants. HA! You just can't get any dirtier-old-man than that. What a guy! Hey, hey, hey! Don't worry! I know what you're thinking. It's ok. They were married.
Orrin's Built-in Escape Hatch
Thursday, January 5, 2006
11:29 PM
You know, it's got to be nice to have the kind of job security that allows you to act with total contempt for the rules of the establishment and still keep your job. I had a short chat with my dad about this the other day, and it went more or less like this:
Me: Looks like Orrin Hatch is in the news again. What a menace!
Orrin's Escape Hatch.
Parking in rear (yours, that is).
Dad: It's crazy how long he's been in office. When he ran for the first time against Frank Moss, he said it was time for a change. “No more career politicians. We need someone new in Washington”, he said. Now look at him! He's been there forever!
Me: I agree. Every time he opens his mouth something stupid comes out. He's a threat to the Constitution.
Dad: They should have term limits. Give someone else a chance. No one should be in office that long.
Me: Err…yeah. Dad?
Dad: Yeah?
Me: You voted for him in the last election, didn't you?
(Pause)
Dad: Um, yes. Yes, I did.
Me: And the election before that?
Dad: Well, there wasn't anyone else to vote for!
Me: For 30 years???
Cause, I'd like you to meet effect.
