John Mc

This is a collection of my thoughts. Some of the thoughts that I once had, I no longer do. Some thoughts I have now I have never had. Yet none shal be discounted. This blog is soley for the enjoyment of the author and the readers. On occasion the views expressed are overly exagerated in order to prove a point. Also there may be a dirty word or thought in some of the posts. Grow up and take this for what it's worth - a blog that barely anyone will ever see.


Random Thoughts

How the hell did we get stuff so clean without Oxi? Everything now from our laundry to dishes to floors to pets get clean with some Oxi product. Were they not clean before and we were fooling ourselves into a false state of clean? Do you think Rush Limbaugh buys Oxi products after his Oxycontin incident? He probably just uses Lysol.
Have you seen that spokes lady for Lysol? I haven't seen her recently, but she was always happy about that "pine-fresh" scent that Lysol gave ya. What I didn't understand is who was the advertising exec who decided a big fat black woman with a gap so big in her teeth Letterman, Madonna and Michael Strayhand all said "Damn, that's huge" would be a good pitch woman for the job?
I have never looked at the produce section of my supermarket and said "What great juice combinations can I come up with?" If I want fruit juice, I trust the experts at making it. I assume that they have done enough research to know what fruits go well together and that, when polled, the general population doesn't care much for Avocado Apple.
So, why the hell is that Juicer guy "Juiceman" so popular? Somewhere in the world at any given time, that weirdo with the eyebrows that are WAY out of control is pushing his juicer. And each version of it has a bigger hole to shove fruit into. In case you didn't have time to cut up the watermelon, we took care of that for you.
Why would you choose this guy as the guy you associate with your product. First of all, it is a product that assists with food preparation. I would choose someone less hairy than the Juiceman. (Most bears would even qualify.) Every time I had a smoothy from then on I would be checking for eyebrow hair... or worse!
I think he may have been the inventor and decided, well, since I made the product, I will be the one to promote it. 99% of the time, this is a bad idea. I hear commericals on the radio all the time from idiots who own a business and decide, "I will be the one who will be the star or the commercial." Trust me, it is better to have it professionally done.
All those pathetic commercials were obviously scribbled on a half sheet of legal pad paper at stoplights on the way into the radio station. They usually start with a stupid question like "Do you want to make more money?" or "Guys, is your sex life lagging?" or "Do you like monkeys?" Then it continues with the idiot introducing himself. "Hi, I'm Big Weirdo and I have developed a new product that will help you out."
I would like to meet one person - just ONE person - who heard that commercial and then picked up the phone because the guy introduced himself. "Geez, I wasn't sold until he told me his name."

New Rules

I got this message from my friend Jackie. Thanks Jackie!!

It said that George Carlin made these up, but it seems that whenever something is written online that is even remotely like him that he gets credit for it. Just like every song parody online is done by Weird Al.

So, I have my doubts, but none-the-less these were pretty good:

Stop giving me that pop-up ad for! There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days: mowing my lawn.

Don't eat anything that's served to you out a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Trout?

Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids : lucky bastards.

If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols. If you're a grown man , they're pictures of men. Little gay, don't ya think?

Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

Stop messing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the a-hole. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet," ooh, you're a huge a-hole.

By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering my PIN number, pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my Almond Joy.

Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your as s. And it translates to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the US Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait. They're already doing that. It's called "The View."

I don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy, old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.


Holiday Season A Little Late

Yesterday marked the best day in NFL history in the past 21 years. The Chicago Bears MORE THAN proved that they were deserving of play in the post-season with their dramatic domination of "America's Team" The New Orleans Saints."
First, "America's Team?" Come on! The only "America's Team" would exist in the Olympics when the rest of the world realizes that our football beats the hell out of theirs. That "America's Team" would consist of the best players from all over the league, but mainly Chicago.
The only reason that they were "America's Team" was because a hurricane hit. If you put all of your stock into a football team instead of your insurance company, you are preparing for a let down at some point. (Especially when their season ends - even if it were at the Superbowl.) What do you plan to do when spring comes? Turn to basketball? Baseball? How about State Farm?
Don't look at us for showing the world that Reggie Bush is talented, yet over-rated. Don't blame us for putting a stop on Drew. And no hard feelings over preventing Deuce to officially "get loose."
In any event, I am now looking toward Miami. (As is the rest of Chicago.) I immediately looked online for tickets to the Superbowl to find out that they are all sold out. Not only are they sold out, they sell out nearly a year in advance. What kind of crap is that?! If I were a Raiders fan and bought Superbowl tickets on a hunch, I'd be pretty pissed right about now.
They should open up a limited number of tickets (5,000 or so) for each of the home cities of the competing teams. Instead, there is no way for Chicago or Indiana residents to go and see their team play unless they spend (AT LEAST) $7,000 for a pair of tickets.
The NFL was stupid with this idea. Absolutely stupid.
And why do we get the year with Prince as the halftime show? Can someone answer me that? When I think of football, I think of torn muscles, broken bones and puffy blouses? No. Prince does not belong. The Stones belong. U2 belongs. The Who belongs. Hell, even some of that new junk that our brain-dead youth listens to like Timberlake is more acceptable than Prince.
My biggest fear right now is not that they will loose, it is instead what am I going to do when it is all said and done? After the victory, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.
Previous seasons, I had watched every weekend and once the playoffs started and the Bears fizzled, it was a gradual decline into "Who cares." I didn't care if the Seahawks or Steelers won last year. Both are pointless in my eyes. But now, it is building instead of being on a decline. My interest will have me drawn to all three ESPN's and the NFL network for analysis after analysis of the upcoming win. I won't be able to get enough. Then the balloon will be popped.
I don't know what I'm going to do! My Christmas has just become Chanukah and I don't know what I'm going to do at the end of the celebration week.


MY Christmas Morning.

I had a hard time getting to sleep last night.
Most nights it would have been REALLY easy to fall asleep after working for 13-14 hours straight, but last night was different.
This morning I woke up shortly before 10. Why? Not sure. But, I couldn't get back to sleep, even though I didn't need to be up for a while.
I realize now that today is like Christmas to me.
I wait for it for so long (how many years has it been) and when it finally arrives, I'm so excited I can't sleep. I can't wait for kick-off. I can't wait for Gould to give us some field goals and Grossman to toss a few long bombs to Moose. Very shortly Jones will be bobbing and weaving through the Saint's defence and Urlacher will be making Breeze wish he hadn't gone to N.O.

I will be doing everything possible to help them win:

I sit on the right side of the couch.
I wear my official 2005-2006 Coach's polo. I have to have this on at least a half hour before gametime.
I also have on my official 2006-2007 sideline Bears hat on.
I don't watch a second of the game on my own TV (last year I bought it for the play offs and we didn't go anywhere after game one.)
And a few other rituals that I can't post here for fear that the enemy is paying attention.

I really hope that they win today. If they don't it will be as if The Grinch has stolen my Christmas and then punched me in the jaw.


Gould Finished What I Started!!!

As you already know, the Chicago Bears reigned supreme against the evil Seattle Seahawks last weekend. What you may not know is the story that occurred behind the scenes the night before.
Many of you know that I DJ weddings and awful corporate parties. First, corporate parties USUALLY suck. Most employees are afraid to dance and let loose for fear of what might be said on Monday about their weirdo bump and grind with the unwilling secretary. So, everyone sits quietly and drinks with their co-workers while the boss walks around wondering why no one is dancing to the incredible music that I'm playing. It's a BLAST.
So, I am DJing at a hotel in Chicago on Michigan Ave. I will not let you know the name of the hotel to avoid any lawsuits. I went to the front desk to find out where I would be located and how I can get my equipment into the room. The guy at the desk showed me the elevators and I loaded up the equipment.
I hit the "up button" and awaited the elevator to descend to the first floor. I'm not one of those psychos that keeps on hitting the button with hopes that it comes down quicker. I am confident that my first request for the elevator will be answered. I'm just that sure of my index finger.
So, the elevator finally comes down to me and my equipment and out of the doors comes the coach for the Seattle Seahawks.
How did I know this? He was wearing his official Seattle Seahawks Coach's polo. I have the same one at home that I wear for each Bears game. (It's obviously the same one that Lovie wears, not the Seattle one!) He ignores me and quietly shuffles to the left. I turn to my assistant with my jaw on the floor and ask "Do you know who that was?!"
He was holding some trussing for our lights and looked confused at me and asked "No, who was that?"
"The coach of the Seahawks! THEY ARE HERE TONIGHT!!!"
I then took a look at the lobby before the doors closed. I had ignored the masses who were hanging out on the couches as I was making my way to the elevators. Had I paid attention, I would have thought that I was in the home of Starbucks and grunge bands. Everyone had on Seahawks sweatshirts and hats. I was in pure hell.
We took the elevator up to the room and I made a mad dash to the room manager and asked him if the Seahawks were staying here.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that they are staying on the 11th floor of this hotel." was his response.
My eyes widened and I got a smile on my face as I thought of what a true Bears fan could do with this information. I thought about banging on each door of that floor when I left that night at 12:30. Perhaps I could pull the fire alarm. Maybe I could-
"Just to let you know, hotel security and Seattle's security are closely guarding that floor, sir." Said the room manager as he read my mind.
So, I decided that with my limited battery life on my cell phone that I would call every radio station number in Chicago that I had memorized to let the citizens of Chicago know where they could bring their air horns that evening.
I went downstairs to get the rest of the equipment and passed Sean Alexander sitting in the lobby with his family getting ready to leave for a night out on the town. (When I told my mom this story she asked why I didn't trip him. I reminded her that they might not have let me watch the game in prison the next day if I did such a thing.)
I said nothing to Alexander or any of the other players who were hanging out in the lobby. I figured that I could not, being a Bears fan, have a reasonable conversation with them without calling them out. I feared this might give them some additional fuel for the next day's contest. So, I kept my mouth shut and walked past them without ever paying any attention to them.
I met up with the owner of the company who had booked us for their holiday party shortly after all of this. I asked him if he knew who was staying in that hotel that evening. He let me know that he was fully aware. Some of their execs were from out of town and booked all the suites for the evening last month. When Seattle found out that they were coming to Chicago, they requested that they take the suites from this company. This company, being the good Bears fans they are told the Seahawks to piss off.
They stayed in regular rooms without the perks of the Chicagoans that were squatting in the suites. How awesome!
The boss gave his opening speech and gave out awards to the Employee of the Year and stuff like that. He closed with something about how awful the Seahawks were and the crowd reacted. Apparently many knew that they were sharing a building with the enemy.
As the evening progressed, I figured another way that I could assist Da Bears was with my talents as a DJ. With each passing hour, the music got louder. Until I got to the final song of the evening.
I got on the mic. I delivered what may have been the most important mini-speech of my DJing career.
"We have one last song for you tonight. But, I'm going to need your help. If you are a true Chicagoan, then you are also a Bears fan. If you are proud of your team and more importantly, if you are proud of your city, you will sing along to this song as loudly as possible in order to wake up any opposing team's players that may or may not be staying at this hotel. I encourage you now to sing along with Sweetness and the Funky QB."
With all the power my DJ system could afford without blowing the speakers, I hit play on "The Superbowl Shuffle" and a bunch of drunk blue-collar workers screamed out the lyrics as loud as they can. One hundred people let Seattle know that they weren't there to start no trouble, they were just there to do the Superbowl Shuffle. (Some even did the dance.) It was a magical moment.
While it may have been an overtime win with a field goal kicked by Robbie Gould with the assistance of the hand of God that the nation saw as the deciding factor that won the Bears game. We all know now that it was a poor nights rest due to the pre-celebration of the world's greatest fans of the world's greatest football team - The Chicago Bears!!!

P.S. New Orleans... You're next.


Buisness Trip

So, I went on my first business trip for work the other day. Yup. For the restaurant.
I went to the grocery store.
And not the good one. I went to the one where the brand names were nowhere to be found. Fruit Loops were "Fruit Circles." (I'm guessing "Fruit O's" and "Fruit Oh's" were already taken.)
I was on a mission to find some wheat bread and some vanilla ice cream. These were my goals. My objectives. Seems simple enough, right?
Of course not.
I walk up and down the aisles (Which were not defined by shelves, but piles. It was like an indoor New Delhi market.) searching for the wheat bread. After locating it, I assumed that the vanilla ice cream would be in the freezer.
It wasn't.
They had Strawberry Swirl and Fudge Swirl, but no regular vanilla.
So, I searched the aisles again for someone who made the mistake of filling out an employment form at this place. When I finally located someone, I brought her over to the freezer and asked if there was any vanilla ice cream. Perhaps some in the back.
Doesn't the back of the store seem somewhat mysterious? It is an infinite never-ending and undefined space where countless items are kept. They are not put out on the floor in order to make those who wear a smock feel more important. It gives them something to do. They get to go back to the borderline magical "back" to locate the item. You take a peek when those double doors swing open to see what might be in the "back." Big Foot? Amelia Airheart? An honest politician? The possibilities are endless. But, instead you see the grey cinder block wall and a bunch of carts and palates.
So, I ask this woman to get me some from the back. She asked again what type of ice cream I was looking for. So I reminded her. "vanilla."
She pointed to the two visible tubs in the freezer and said "We have the strawberry swirl and the fudge swirl." though some sort of accent that I couldn't place. It was Spanish with Eastern European or something. She sounded like Borat's love child.
"Any WITHOUT the swirl?" I asked her.
"We have the strawber-" I thanked her and moved on. Her grasp of the English language did not give me any confidence in her responses.
So, without my tub of vanilla ice cream, I went up to the check-out with my wheat bread.
The cashier then decides to tell me "This is on sale for 25 cents!"
"Really? That's great." I didn't really care about the price, (it was the restaurant's money anyway!) but it's always nice to find a bargain. It's like another mini-accomplishment while shopping for crap.
"Oh, wait." She said. "That was yesterday."
I was about to go out of my head. "Then why did you tell me today?"
"I don't know. We were pricing it at 25 cents yesterday because it was out of date."
My brain paused. It had been through a lot trying to make sense of my experiences while in this health code violation. My brain needed a minute to process this new information and delete a few phone numbers to make room for the processing.
"It isn't out of date today?" I asked her once my brain began to slowly work again.
She shrugged her shoulders and did that muted "I don't know" where someone nearly hums the words.
I gathered my change and walked out of there hoping that our customers had some sort of weird infections, because they were going to be eating penicillin tonight.
I then went to three other places before I found somewhere that sold regular vanilla ice cream. I got about 4 boxes of it (because that equaled the tub) and figured that my restaurant can deal with that. I'm not dealing with much more.
I then used the self-check out because my brain was already hurting.


It was brought to my attention through a great series of e-mails that I haven't posted in a long time. So, for the past few weeks, I have had every intention of putting something new up, but yet, never had the time.
I work so much that I have very little time for anything else. I barely have time to eat, sleep and watch football. (The essentials.)
Instead of condensing everything down to one short post, hopefully I can give you the full versions as if I had typed them on the day that they had occurred.
So, consider this as somewhat of a warning that a great deal of posts will be put up relatively soon... hopefully.
The first of these should be up by the end of the day... unless I nap again.