Death Perception

In order to compensate for my visual deficits while pulling my car in to the tight fitting garage, we put Styrofoam pool tubes on either edge of the garage door frame and a tennis ball is hanging from the front area so that I don’t give the stairwell going up into the kitchen any unnecessary renovations. When my car’s not in the garage, these helpful tools have essentially turned my side of the garage into what looks like a McDonald’s Play Area. And completely modestly speaking, if you were to head upstairs, you could get some of the best hamburgers in town (and possibly a completely free of charge spontaneous fireworks show, which may or may not feature some language not suitable for children, which I apologize for in advance

First World Twilight Zone Problems

Last night around 5 p.m. I called a pizza place in the area and ordered a Chicken Caesar Wrap. (Judging by the number of times I had to repeat my seemingly simple order) the incompetent pizza receptionist informed me that my order would be ready in a half an hour. We drove over to the address on the flyer and when we approached the door to the place, there was a sign saying that they were closed (and had been since 3 p.m.) I then hit redial on my phone and got a Verizon female robot informing me that the number had been disconnected and that the Great Robot Invasion of Earth had begun and they were personally coming for me next, seeking to avenge all of the household appliances I had hit in frustration over the years. I’d like to close this out by addressing two people: Mom and Pop shop owners who can go from having a half hour wait time to completely out of business in a matter of fifteen minutes, I am truly sorry for the economic hardships you face in this day and age. Secondly, to whichever alternate universe pizza shop my order went to and whoever the alternate universe Mark Woonton is who got to enjoy MY wrap: I will find you and I will kill you.  

Birthday Rant

My birthday is that weird day of the year on Facebook when I want to say thank you to everyone, but I don't want to sound like some egotistical celebrity giving an Oscar acceptance speech (trust me, this will be much longer) But at the same time, I can't be hitting "like" and saying thank you all day. So, as much as I'd like to make you feel special individually, that was/is your parents job and if they didn't do that, quite frankly, they dropped the ball and I don't feel as though I should have to carry the burden of picking up the slack for that. Also, much like graduation day, today is kind of bittersweet because, to my knowledge, the only "celebrity" I share a birthday with is Benito Mussolini, and that's one of those July 29th dark family secrets that we'd rather forget. Special shout out to the kitchen crew for making coming in to work today special as the day featured a custom made Brunello Cucinelli birthday hat (which I'm beginning to think may have been a knockoff given the fact that it was made out of paper) and an absolutely angelic rendition of "Happy Birthday" that I'm positive would've got them through the first two rounds of American Idol. Also, an extra special thanks to a certain Spanish woman for making this predominantly Irish dude some French Toast (Boom! Ethnic Diversity!) And can't wait for my scrumptious spaghetti dinner tonight! I am happy to report that, at 23 years old, I am above the ages associated with Taylor Swift and Avril Lavigne songs. Which means that from here on out, I look forward to conversing with mature, independent adult women, much like I myself am now a mature, adult young man capable of expressing one thought and seeing that singular thought through to completion

Unromantic Getaway

I think the best part about having my own place is that now, whenever I'm talking to a girl at the bar and things aren't going so well, I have a place I can go to be by myself and cry

Wherefore is thy bathroom?

I fear that it may be a long time before I can start having company over at my place.
Just spent about 5 minutes looking around for where I decided to keep my sandwich bags and as I got more and more frustrated with each drawer, it just ended up looking like I was playing a kitchen-wide game of foosball (not my best metaphor, I'll admit. I was going to do something like I looked like the mother of 12 checking closets for monsters at bedtime, but I didn't like that one either)

Anyway, I can just picture it now:

"Mark, where's your bathroom?"
"Ummm, uhhh. Vacuum closet....Basement. Front door....Ahhhhh, not on the carpet!"

Multiple Choice

Someone whose fridge consists mostly of soda and beer is:
A. Awesome
B. A bachelor
C. In desperate need of a dietician
D. Both A & B...
E. Thinks he's A, but he's actually C
F. None of the above
G. All of the above
H.. OK, seriously, what happened to the good ole days when it was just A thru D, the test makers of today are out of control! You're telling me that I have 5 minutes to complete this section of the test and I have to read an encyclopedia-length essay and then go through questions with a battle of Gettysburg casualties sized list of possible answers! I imagine Regis Philbin is livid

More Swearing Per Capita Than Anywhere In The World

Sometimes, gaining recognition for something can take place over the course of many years. Such was the case with my childhood babysitters’ house becoming known as a place where, each day, we were forced to eat everything on our plate at lunchtime. We were then promptly ordered outside and told to stay there for hours on end. Coincidentally, once we kids were in the yard, an angry mob who were searching for a man named Jerry would enter into her living room. It was nice of her to protect us like that. In other cases, you can work your entire life to achieve success as a professional athlete and yet, your entire career is highlighted by one of the most highly broadcasted, gosh darn it Just Go for It pickup lines of all-time (i.e. Joe Namath)

This weekend, I had the esteemed privilege of visiting an area which boasts more swearing per capita than anywhere else in the world. And I will tell you, much like visiting the Grand Canyon and seeing the sunset right in front of you, rather than watching it on the Discovery channel through the antennaed TV at your grandmothers’ house while trying to mentally block out your grandfathers’ semi-inebriated rant about all the time he spent outside at your age, you truly don’t have an appreciation for it until you go to the paintball fields of northern New Hampshire.

Given the casual commonality of cursing used in today’s society by actors, musicians and angry elementary school bus drivers, my fear is that the art form of the beauty that is badmouthing and the absolute verbal versatility in being applicable to express so many human emotions that is vulgarity, will be lost on this generation. 

I feel as though my point is best illustrated in this way: Several years ago, my family and I went on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. As our plane touched down in Jackson Hole, we were greeted on all sides not by the super structures, heavy industry and crutch-bearing bums that inhabit the inner city, but we were enclosed by beautiful mountains, mountains! Not too far off, there were also several deer eating some grass in the field. It was an absolutely serene setting. However, after several days, and being treated to the sight of bison, black bears and sulfur stinking explosive geysers, quite frankly, seeing a deer had the visual wow factor of a mailbox. On an unrelated note, after witnessing a traffic jam resulting from 1,800 pound bison meandering into the middle of the street and practically brushing up against our car, I will not likely ever complain about freeway congestion caused solely by the human inability to adequately operate heavy machinery ever again. The point of this now hopelessly derailed metaphor being, we can’t lose our appreciation of the deer just because we’ve had an overexposure to them.

Now, it would be impossible for me to cover all of the swear-worthy situations one would encounter on the paintball field by myself, so I’ve enlisted the help of a few foulmouthed friends who, thanks to the implementation of the Swear Jar, have amassed a debt rivaled in its monetary value only by that of the government which supposedly allows them the freedom of speech to use such language in the first place. They’ve unfortunately now been forced to take up jobs as fictitious, situational stand-ins used to illustrate a silly point. I, for one, do not believe that the use of such language is prudent or necessary so in place of the written words I will be using old 1960s superhero TV show onomatopoeias used to represent violence. So, without further ado, let’s meet our characters:

Peter Pain: Meet Peter. This man’s anatomical framework contains more inked on art than the Sistine Chapel and his breakfast each morning consists of nails, bolts and the hopes and dreams of today’s youth. But for some reason, getting hit by a tiny ball of paint sends him into an absolute fit of rage

“Holy CRASH! What the BOFF! Oh wow, that smarts!”

Bruce Banter – After you clearly see one of your paintballs make contact with and break on his shirt, this guy proceeds to jump behind a bunker and do more wiping than Kate Gosselin. I mean, this guy is a walking freakin’ Paintball Rulebook. Although you can’t help but notice that, much like the stairwells within the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, these rules seems to change as to whether the outcome would benefit you or him. Be warned, if he gets all green and veiny and his clothes start to rip, just walk away to diffuse the situation. Take comfort in knowing that you can legally shoot him as much as you want later on.

“You missed me! You BOOPin’ missed me! And that shot was from 9½ feet away, not ten you piece of WACK. No, I didn’t wipe that THWACK, it smeared off a bunker!”

Christina Agrolera – She’s one of those annoying short chicks who feels the need to make up for what she lacks in the vertical sense with a gross verbal overcompensation. With her constant cursing and blatant burping, she has everyone but her doctor convinced that she is indeed one of the guys. Vegas odds makers have it at 1:1 that she will one day become a fighter in the UFC. But boy is she pissed because some scrawny white kid in a Detroit Red Wings hoodie seems content with using one of the outermost bunkers as a way to keep tabs on the line at the snack shack rather than use it to flank the opponent

“Move your BIFF! What the KA-DOOJ are you looking at anyway? We’ve got POW to accomplish here, bro!”

Happy Killmore: You get into a shootout with this guy, who, unbeknownst to the paintball place staff, has a gun that’s being powered by the engine from Delta flight 824 to Carson City. You yell to him that you’ve been hit, but he can’t her you, cuz he’s too busy shooting you!   

“I got you, you little THWACKer! Take that all up in your CRACK! You think you can handle this KABOOM!”

 So there you have it folks!! If you ever get annoyed with the editing or sick of the censorship just head on down to your local paintball fields, where there’s more swearing per capita than anywhere in the world!