Spranda Factory

One hell of a haircut.

Man, there is nothing better than a good makeover.  Check out this ad I found on the front page of MSN.com today.  These wizards took a fat, downtrodden-looking, white woman and turned her into a thin, happy, hip, black woman.  Fucking amazing!  America!  What a country!

Seriously…does anyone review these photos before these kunckleheads post them online?  Clearly the economic downturn has not claimed enough jobs yet.

Yesterday I took my first sick day from work in over six years.  Today I took my second.  It’s remarkable how this rest thing actually works.  I’m feeling much better already.  Anyhow, they say you learn something new every day, and this holds true even when the entirety of that day is spent in bed watching television and napping.  Here’s what I learned:

• Idiots are still not getting their children vaccinated because they’re afraid that it causes autism.  Seriously people?  There is zero scientific evidence to support this claim.  Stop getting the responsible parents’ kids sick with your infected spawn’s nineteenth-century diseases just because you get your parenting advice from Jenny McCarthy.
• Michelle Obama touched the Queen of England.  This was apparently the most important thing that happened in the world today.  I guess that’s good news for our troops in the war zone.
• Former Denver Broncos quarterback Jay Cutler is a big fucking crybaby who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.  (I actually learned this over the course of the last few weeks but he was spewing more “poor me” bullshit yesterday so he makes the list.)
• Insomniacs usually cannot sleep because A) that “certain part” of their anatomy is too small, B) they’re experiencing financial trouble, C) they’re too fat.  I forgot how much I missed television at 4:00 am.
• Ron Burgundy…er…I mean Paul Moyer is leaving KNBC.  Read the first comment at the end of this LA Times story for my thoughts.
• The weird pinching feeling on my shoulder blade isn’t a tumor.  Ok, I had to sneak out to the doctor for this one.
• Staying home when you’re sick was way more fun when you were a kid.  Yet another reason I should invest in an X-Box.
• Facebook is more entertaining when you’re ignoring actual work.  When you stare at it all day it loses its luster…fast.
• Barack Obama is still the man.  Seriously, how nice was it to see our president talking with foreign leaders without feeling overcome by the douche-chills?
• I’m getting soft in my old age.  Sick days?  Man up and get back to work!

While at breakfast with my roommate this weekend, I was reminded of my favorite lesson in love…the lesson of Superman II.  My roommate was complaining about the latest in a series of different women’s attempts to “settle him down.”  “Why can’t they just let me be me?” he griped.  “I’m not going to change, and I tell them that right from the beginning.”  At this point I had to remind him that this kind of thing happens to the best of us…even Superman.

Remember Superman II?  It was the one with the three super-villains from Krypton, where Lois Lane finally finds out that her buffoon of a co-worker, Clark Kent, is actually the Man of Steel.  Lois immediately blurts out “I’m in love with you” and Superman sweeps her off her feet, flying her away to the Fortress of Solitude, presumably to close the deal.  Now what happens next is where things go horribly awry.  Superman, who finally looks like he’s about to get laid, decides that he loves Lois so much that he is willing to give up all of his powers so that the two of them can run off and live together like Ozzie and Harriet.  You would think that Lois would derail this bullshit train before it ever hit the tracks but instead she does something completely bizarre.  She lets him do it!  Let’s rewind for a second here and remember that Lois Lane never even liked Clark Kent.  She allegedly was in love with Superman.  But now that she has him within her grasp, she knows that a more docile and pliable Clark Kent would be easier to hang onto than the glamorous and mighty Superman.

So, a now powerless Superman and Lois somehow make it from the Fortress of Solitude to a roadside diner where Clark proceeds to get his ass owned by some cracker in a flannel shirt.  Adding insult to injury, while Clark is lying in a bleeding heap on the floor, patent-leather jumpsuit wearing super-criminal Zod appears on television, calling out Superman.  Clark, in the first smart thing he’s done since the movie started (he should have let that dumbass kid fall at Niagra Falls…you know that undisciplined little monster will grow up to get drunk and drive over a bunch of school children) realizes that he somehow needs to get his powers back.  And what is Lois’s response to this wise decision?  “You can’t.”  Um…WHAT?  Fuck you he can’t!  Lois would rather we all live under the yoke of the mighty Zod than deal with her insecurities and let Superman be who he was born to be…fucking Superman.

Fortunately, this story has a happy ending.  Superman gets his powers back and ruins Zod’s shit.  But in the real world this story does not always have a happy ending.  Ladies, I know we can be a handful.  We do a lot of crazy shit that you don’t understand and I sympathize with your plight.  But if you fall in love with a guy, let him be that person you fell in love with.  And if the person you fell in love with is a colossal prick…well then that’s probably the kind of guy you like and if you changed him into a good dude you would lose interest and kick him to the curb anyway.

Minor behavioral adjustments…those are usually required on both sides of a healthy relationship.  But taking away someone’s super powers out of fear of losing that person?  Well that’s the kind of shit that makes you strip off all of your clothes, hang out in your neighbor’s bushes, and bark at the moon.

Seriously, what the hell is with all of the beeping noises coming out of these things?  I don’t need a gas pump to emit an annoying chirping ruckus every two goddamn seconds.  I need a gas pump to pump my gas.  As if filling up the gas tank didn’t already feel like a soul-crushing life tax, the genius executives who own these stations install pumps that have to remind you of the ass-rape you’re suffering by incessantly beeping at you.

NO…I do not want a fucking car wash by that old-school bristle-brush, scratch-your-paint, antenna removing, car torture chamber.  NO…I do not want a receipt so that I can stumble upon it later on and get depressed about how the cost of gas is driving me to the poor house.  NO…I do not need you to continuously beep at me while you’re waiting for me to start pumping my gas.

A gas pump should beep only when a button is pressed.  That’s it.  I’m trying to decompress from work.  Please just let me pump my gas in peace.

This one is for all of the ladies out there who live in or visit the South Bay.  My girlfriend told me this story today and it completely blew my mind.  Yari Clothing in Hermosa Beach sells clothes that fall apart and then doesn’t allow you to return them five days later.  My girlfriend bought a $38 sweater from this place and when she got home and put it on to wear, she noticed that the sweater had small tears in BOTH pockets.  So she tries to take the sweater back today and was given a big “Fuck You” by the manager at Yari’s store here in Hermosa.  No cash back.  No store credit.  Nada.  All because she took the tag off before she wore it and noticed the tears.  Their explanation was, “well you could have just worn this out, ruined it and now are returning it.”  Uh…ok.  Let’s assume for a minute that this is true, which it isn’t (I was with her when she discovered the tears).  If you sell someting that tears after being used once then that product is straight up DEFECTIVE.  Accept the return, apologize, offer store credit, keep your customer and DO THE RIGHT THING.  Not to mention the fact that you’ve just accused your customer of being an unsavory liar, which is one of the biggest dick customer-service moves on the books.

This kind of nonsense just doesn’t make any sense to me, especially given the fact that the economy is in the toilet and that most folks have cut way back on personal spending.  A company is willing to lose a semi-regular customer, and all of the potential customers she knows, over $38.  Um…what?

My logical conclusion to all of this is that this situation must happen all of the time with these jokers.  Their clothes are just poorly made and fall apart.  It’s why they’re so inexpensive and why their return policy is so preposterous.

Buyers beware.  It may look great in the store, but what good will that be when your new dress starts to fall apart the first time you wear it out?  Unless you own a sewing machine, you’re better off spending a couple bucks more and buying your clothes elsewhere.

We love and support our local businesses here in Hermosa Beach.  But when these businesses sell defective merchandise, don’t stand behind their products, burn the locals, and accuse their regular customers of being liars, then those businesses can go spin.

Enjoy your $38.

Read the full complaint on Yelp.

The next time you’re feeling down, I highly recommend smoking a fat one and listening to “Day-O” by Harry Belafonte.  There is magic in this jam that the sober mind is totally incapable of comprehending.  It’s the kind of magic that turns the energy of the universe right-side up when things are out of alignment.  For most of my life I despised this song but that was because I had yet to discover the secret pathway into it’s warm embrace.

For those who do not believe me, I suggest a field trip to Nes Cafe in Amsterdam, Netherlands.  Find the jukebox.  Play the song.  Watch the bar patrons.  You haven’t lived until you’ve watched a room full of stoned, drunk Dutchmen tallying their bananas.

What’s under the rock?  Magic baby…pure magic.

Worth a thousand one-syllable words

Home to white trash, hobos, drunks, amateur chemists, acid rain, the last K-Mart in America, and flat-bill-hat-wearing jagoffs who hang fake testicles from their trailer hitches, Riverside, California is filled with all manner of unsavory riff-raff.  These are the folks you’ve been hearing so much about in the news lately, where they are politely referred to as “sub-prime lenders.”

Now I stopped by a grocery store in Riverside a few weeks ago and sitting at the checkout stand was…well you see the picture.  They had set up a “bargain bin” of beer right in front of the chewing gum and Globe magazines.  On each can was a hand-written price.  Look at the green Dos-Equis bottle…ninety-nine cents.

So while I could go on and explain in greater detail what makes Riverside one of the most god-forsaken places in SoCal, I’d rather just let you meditate on the above photo and fill in the blanks yourself.