My birthday is coming up, and while I was putting together my 10,000 page Birthday Gift Manifesto, I realized that many of things that I demand–er–want–are things that any sane individual would LOVE to have.  So for those of you out there looking for last minute gift ideas for me, or anyone named Joe, here are some ideas.

Mark Summers

No, not as some sort of deranged slave.  I would love to have Mark Summers host the entirety of my birthday like the obstacle course from Family Double Dare.  I want the whole deal going on–the crowd cheering as I cut myself shaving, the music blaring while I eat my turkey sandwich at the office, and then Mark Summers screaming that time is running out while I’m debating whether or not to wear the same underwear to work the next day.  This would easily make for the best birthday EVAH.

Relive Groundhog Day a Few Thousand Times

Some might say that Bill Murray’s character was in hell during that movie.  And while I’m inclined to agree, I would most definitely make better use of my time while damned to relive the same lame holiday over and over again.  First off, did Bill Murray’s character have any REAL fun in that movie?  Any at all???  No.  All I’m saying is that I want the chance to memorize a day’s events and then dress up like an elf and scare the hell out of town folk with my knowledge.  There’s no way that would get old.  Also, I would do other fun things like unscrew shelves at a Walmart and learn how to juggle old ladies.  I’m not sure how someone could give me this particular gift, but if it happened, it would definitely be the best birthday EVAH.

A Solid Gold Toilet

I’m almost certain I would never pawn it for cash.  But I can’t think of too many things that would lift my spirits like a duke on a toilet made of gold.  Having a bad day?  Awww, well cheer up, big guy.  You’re sitting on a gold toilet!!  Life can’t be all that bad, right!?  Girlfriend dump you?  Awww, sooooo sad.  But keep that chin up, skippy–you’re dropping soiled toilet paper into a solid gold toilet!!  Huzzah!  Life just got a hell of a lot better!  Owe well over $750,000 in back taxes?  Stop your crying, Forgetty McForgetfulson–you’re perched upon a throne made of solid gooooolllllldddd!!  Now finish up that number two and drag that sucker to the pawn shop!  A solid gold toilet would easily be the best present EVAH.

Benevolent Underwear

He’d be like a little buddy that’s always there for ya.  Cheer’n me up when I’m down, listening to my joke ideas, and giving me surprise presents just for the hell of it.

Underwear: Hey Joe…why the long face?

Me: Huh?  Oh, well…I went to Target and they didn’t have the toothpaste that I like in stock.  Kinda bummed.

Underwear:  Well turn that frown upside down, mister.  I’ve got a present for ya!

Me: Wow!!  A solid gold toilet!!  You’re the best pair of underwear a guy could ask for Undie!

Underwear: We’ll always be friends, Joe.  Always.

Me: This is the best birthday EVAH!

I don’t have many regrets…at least ones that I’m aware of…

…but one that gnaws away at the creamy peanut butter center inside of my head is that I never managed to finagle my way onto a Nickelodeon game show.  I am positive that I would have not only won any game show on the Nick network, but I would have won so handedly that my victory would have caused the other contestants to cry magma tears and for the host’s head to explode on camera (Nick would have aired the exploding head at least once–they were genuine ratings whores back then).  Here are just a few of the shows I would have won:

GUTS

This might have been the perfect show for me.  At the age of 12, I was in my athletic prime.  The other kids hadn’t outgrown me yet, and I had damn well caught up with those puberty prima donna girls.  So what was going to stop me from shattering every record in the GUTS arena, stepping over the half-dead bodies of my fellow contestants, swiping the glowing rock from Mike O’Malley and giving that sweet piece of ass, Moira Cork, a big ol’ smooch?  Not that fucking ‘Crag Troll, that’s for sure.  And certainly not those stingy judges that would DQ a superior contestant to try and satisfy a stupid bet they had made.  NO ONE WOULD HAVE STOPPED ME!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Final Scene of the Show:

Half the arena is on fire–fires that my fast times and inhuman use of the areal bridge have caused.  After punching the ‘Crag Troll off of the Agro Crag, I rush down and slap Mike O’Malley with his microphone.  I proclaim my superiority to everyone in the building.  And as I laugh maniacally, the other contestants melt the stage floor with their magma tears and the head of Mike O’Malley explodes into Gak and Confetti.  Moira Cork asks for my hand in marriage and just after I accept, several police officers cart her ass off to jail for soliciting a minor.

Nick Arcade

The level of incompetence displayed on this show always infuriated me.  You didn’t need to be that skilled at video games to win, let alone make it into the final round.  Most of the skill lied in being able to guess stupid crap like: what type of food (almost always pizza or ice cream) is hidden behind these feathers!?  Or…guess how many tomatoes this random street carny can stuff into his over-sized pants!!  As long as you didn’t have a partner that was dumb as shit, you were golden.  Gohhhhhhhhhhhldennnnn.  And then there was the final round–”Mikey’s World” as some coked out exec had cleverly named it.  To beat this section of Nick Arcade, you merely had to be able to stare at a TV screen and walk with minimal coordination.  If you don’t remember the show…Check out this clip

Final Scene of the Show

My partner is unconscious and lying in a heap in the corner of the studio because I knocked him/her out so she couldn’t screw things up during the final segment of the show.  I easily won, because I know how to dodge invisible objects.  In fact, I won so easily that the host, Phil Moore, and several Nickelodeon goons confront me like mob thugs before the show has cut to commercial.  I make a quick escape after one of the thugs is badly burned by the magma tears of one of the losing contestants and the other thug is incapacitated after Phil Moore’s head explodes into confetti and Gak.

Legends of the Hidden Temple

This show was a crap shoot–an absolute fucking crap shoot.  You not only needed an athletic partner, but you needed some brains to get past the story round.  The actual Temple was a fuck-a-roo fun house in itself.  First of all, A LOT of the trap doors and gadgets didn’t work.   I remember episodes where the kids on the show were in tears because they KNEW the stupid Temple was broken.  And then there was the temple guards you had to deal with.  OHhhhhhhhhhh those Temple Guards.  Sometimes you’d think you’d made it half-way through the damned Temple, only to realize that a Temple Guard from the first room had gotten stuck in the ball pit and had to chase you down!  Oh, and if you didn’t have two full pendants, you were screwed.  Game Over, Palzy, thanks for playing, now get the hell out!

So how am I so certain that I would have won this game show from hell?  Simple  I would have forcibly been placed on the Silver Snakes team.  They had the highest winning percentage out of any team.  Clearly, the numbers should be random, but the silver snakes had, by far, the best winning percentage.  What does that tell you?  The game had ties to Vegas.  And if I was on the silver snakes, I had a pretty good chance of coming out on top.

Final Scene from the Show

I’m running for my life out of the temple with the idol.  Gunshots are ringing out all around me because Kirk Fogg has a sniper shooting at me.

Kirk Fogg: Somebody stop that little bastard!  He’s not supposed to win!  I’ve got 10 grand on this damn game!

As I stumble out of the Temple steps, my partner (who was practically useless the entire show) passes out in disbelief.  Meanwhile, the other contestants are crying tears of steaming hot magma and Kirk Fogg’s head has exploded all over Olmec’s rubbery face.  Take THAT Fogg!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

I generally receive a few Facebook spam friend requests every month…or is it week?  I get my spam mixed up sometimes.  Anyway, I get spam friend requests.  I’m not sure if the gals get this crap on Facebook, but I’d say most guys know what I’m talking about.  The situation is this:  a random hot girl will try friending you.  Immediately, many questions fly through your head:  Who the hell is this?  What did I DO last night?  Is she a distant cousin…a very, VERY, distant cousin?  Is she a robot from the future sent to kill me and she’s figured out a far superior way of finding me than T-1000 ever could have hoped?

In college I would just friend the girl, assuming that the previous night of partying had led me to the mythical perfect combination of beer, liquor and charm that allows an average-looking guy to fool a hot girl into “temporarily going steady”.  Although, as my Facebook wall and email box filled to the brim with pornographic spam, I realized that something was up…and by “up” I mean “amiss” and by “something” I mean “the situation”–and YES, I realize that I’m typing this and I should have just deleted the sentence and clarified.  Damn you.

Anywho, I finished about thirty pages of a Hardy Boys book back in middle school, so I consider myself to be a pretty darn good amateur sleuth.  I’ve figured out a fool-proof way to sniff out whether this mystery girl is a genuine potential friend, or merely just a ploy to get your personal information.

1) Is this Girl WAYYYYYYY too Hot to be your Friend???

C’mon, be honest.  And if you’ve somehow finagled a “no” to this questions, ask yourself this next question: are you serving fast food or unlocking a restroom for this girl in your fantasy situation where this hot girl talks to you?  Because those don’t count.  If she’s too hot to be your friend, then I’m afraid this is spam.

2) Does She have UNDER 2,000 Friends?

It’s generally a rule that hot girls are fairly popular.  The hot girls I’ve accidentally become friends with over the years NEVER have under 2,000 friends.  I actually wanted to jack this number up to 10 or 20 thousand, but I have to consider that a hot girl may have just made the switch from MySpace and thus it will take her a few hours to get her friends list back up to snuff.  If this girl has fewer than 2,000 friends, this friend request is most certainly spam.

“But Joe!  Wouldn’t a Spammer have a lot of friends???”

Clearly you’ve never read thirty pages of a Hardy Boys book.  If you had, then you’d be able to understand the mind of a lunatic.  A clever spammer will want to avoid detection by keeping a low friend count.  Not clever enough, I’m afraid.  Good thing for you dim-witted folk that people like me are here to spoon feed you knowledge…delicious, succulent, mouth-watering knowledge.

3) Does She have Nude or Semi-Nude Pictures in Her Pictures Section?  Also, Does She Provide Links to Websites with Nude Pictures?

There’s a part of me that wants to give a girl with these pictures the benefit of the doubt, but that part of me usually finds a way to rob me of my dignity several times a week.  So, I’m going to have to call spam on this one.

4) Is She from a City that rhymes with either Hoss Legas or Pihammy?

From what I remember from those first thirty pages of the Hardy Boys, people in Las Vegas and Miami don’t have friends.  I also remember the book mentioning that if you steal the kneecaps off of a left-handed troll, all of your dreams will come true.  All of them.

Watching Figure Skating Alone in the Dark on a Saturday Night

There’s nothing like settling in on a Saturday night, drinking 16 or 17 beers and watching people twirl around on the ice.  And I love weeping silently to myself after a really powerful dance move that coincides with the swelling of music.  So graceful.  So…petite.

Cool Runnings Quotes

Remember that movie?  Cool Runnings?  Well for a two week span, you were forced to listen to my criminally pathetic attempt at a Jamaican accent.  You also had to listen to me absolutely BUTCHER quotes from the movie.  Now that the Winter Olympics have come and gone, you have permission to slap and or punch me when when I break into the Jamaican bobsled song…a song with words that I can’t be bothered to look up.

The 5 Second Span Where My Friends and I Thought our Curling Yelling was Funny.

WHOA!! WHOAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Hahaha, that was hilarious.  WHOA! Ha…not so much now though…

Realizing, Along with Other College Graduates, That I Honestly Don’t Know the Difference Between Great Britain and the UK…

Ok…so…they’re both similar, right?  I think Great Britain is part of the UK…or something…but what’s the difference?  And why the hell do a collection of countries get to compete together?  That’s kinda lame.  Can’t Scotland Whales and Northern Ireland compete for their own medals?  Or do they?  Wait, are Scotland Whales and Northern Ireland countries?  Ya never really hear about them.  I feel stupid.  I swear I’m smart…at least that’s what I tell people…

Daydreaming about Winning a Medal in an Unusual Way

I honestly have played through this scenario a few times in the past week:

I competed in the biathlon and did okay.  I didn’t come anywhere close to winning, or so I thought.  Months later, I’m unemployed, sitting in my kitchen in my mobile home (somewhere in Florida) opening my mail.  I come across a letter from the IOC.  The letter says that the entire Norwegian, Swedish and Finish teams were disqualified in the biathlon for using bullets that weren’t sanctioned by the IOC and using experimental screws in their skies that were banned the previous year.  So, after 38 people were DQd, I, by default, came in third and won a bronze medal.  I silently say, “What the hell?” to myself in my dimly lit, shitty home.  A week later my bronze medal is mailed to me and it clearly has been damaged–damage that occurred when the IOC had to forcibly take the medal from its previous owner in a police shootout.  I put the medal in my sock drawer for a week until I pawn it for cash–cash that I use to buy dish soap.

Eating Ham Straight Out of the Deli Bag

*Joe stuffs a fist-full of ham into his mouth*  ”WAHOOOOO!!!  OLYMPICS!!!!”

Satan himself designed and implemented the very first elevator.  It’s a historic fact.  He filed the patent on a bitter cold February morning and then cackled wildly as a notary public stamped the approval documents (he then proceeded to buy a mint julep from a street vendor, drank it too fast, fell victim to “brain freeze,” and then took a nap–this is too is documented).

Only Satan could devise a transportation device that forces people into the most awkward and jittery situation imaginable.  Has anyone had a “successful” ride in an elevator?  Is it even possible to ride in one and escape with your dignity in tact?  I submit “no”.  I also submit “no” again and ask that the previous “no” be reprinted in bold wingdings font.  Thank you, your honor.

I’m forced to ride in an elevator on a daily basis at work and after only two weeks I’m begging the security guards in the building to close the damnable machine for good.  Here are a few of the situations that I’ve been put in…

I was Caught Trying to Close the Doors After Someone Yelled to Hold the Doors

Don’t look at me like that.  You would have done the same thing.  I’ll do almost anything to avoid riding in an elevator with a stranger.  Hell, I’ll do anything to avoid riding in an elevator with a friend!!!  I’m stuck in three square feet of space.  We only have less than a minute together.  I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE WEATHER, SPORTS, OR HOW YOU HIT SOMEONE IN THE PARKING LOT AND LEFT A FAKE NOTE.

In this instance, a woman with her hands full of crap (probably drugs or illegal documents judging by her surly manner), yelled out “Hold that door!”  I said, “I’ll try!”  I then jammed my finger on the Door Close button as fast as I could.  The doors shut quickly, but not quick enough.  The woman slid in at the last minute, spilling her things all over the inside of the elevator.  She picked up her things and looked at me.  Verbatim, this is the conversation between us:

Surly Woman: You were pressing the close button, weren’t you?  Don’t lie.  I know you were.  If you REALLY wanted to hold  the doors for me, you would have held your arm out.  There’s something seriously wrong with a person like you.

Me: (As the woman is walking out onto her floor and the doors are closing) Yes, I was.  And I’d do it again if I had the chance.

I Convinced a Cute Girl that I’m Incompetent

So there’s a cute girl that works on my floor.  We’ve made eye contact several times and I’ve even made her laugh several times with quick comments as we’ve passed.  I was ready for an actual conversation.  But then an elevator fucked up everything.  It was first thing on Monday morning and I was really tired, barely paying attention, and a zombie by most definitions of the word.  The elevator was almost full when the cute girl slipped in at the last minute.  I had a whole fucking conversation planned, but I wasn’t ready for her to pop in like that.

I panicked and forgot to press my floor button.  I realized my mistake as we began moving and went to hit the button…but then accidentally hit the Emergency Stop button.  The alarm went off and the elevator screeched to a stop.  We had to wait ten minutes for security to Un-Emergency Stop us.  The entire effing elevator was laughing at me.  To make matters worse, the elevator stopped at a floor before mine and I got off.  Several people in the elevator KNEW I was on the wrong floor–including the girl.  I just walked off, checking my phone and humming an incoherent tune.  I haven’t made eye-contact with the cute girl since.  Thanks a lot, you demon machine!!!

Two Separate People have Started Crying in the Elevator with me.

A guy one time and some woman the other time.  Each time the doors closed and as soon as the elevator started moving the other person started crying hysterically.  I scrunched up against the corner and looked at my shoes.  I checked my phone.  Checked my watch.  Scanned the inspection sticker.  Nope, this crazy person was STILL CRYING.

The second incident was the worse, by far.  We hit SIX FLOORS while she was crying and on each floor someone was about to get in, saw a crazy woman crying, looked at me and then said, “oops, this is going up…I need to uh…go…down.”

Those assholes didn’t need to go down.

Lastly, to drive home my point of the evility of elevators, I have included a letter that John Adams wrote to Thomas Jefferson:

Dear Sir,

At the expense of sounding quite the fool, I’m admitting to you that I have recently fallen down the stairs in my home.  I slipped on my nightgown, tumbled head-over-heels and struck my head on a banister.  So it is with a dizzy head and my wife’s name not entirely certain to me, that I urge you, sir, to you avoid all elevators in this life and the next.  I will be submitting to Congress a bill that will call for the destruction of all Elevators and the immediate hanging of any elevator inventors or salesmen.  It may even behoove me to urge congress to hang the children and cousins of a elevator salesman.  I haven’t decided yet.  Furthermore, when I figure out what the devil an elevator is, I will diddle you a doodle so we may fight this fight together.  TO ARMS, I say!

Your humbly confused servant:

John Adams.