Just when you start to regain a little confidence, someone has to come along and symbolically pull your shorts down in front of a girl, exposing your small, insignificant...softball skills. This is what happened to me last weekend when I was invited by a few guys from college to play a 'friendly' game of softball.
This was the first time I'd played since grade school, but I had full confidence that I would go out there and show everybody how athletic I was.
The beginning of my troubles began immediately after arriving at the stadium (unkempt elementary baseball field.) "Hey Daniel! Why don't you go ahead and grab all the gear out of the back of the truck!? Thanks." Everyone else had gone on ahead of me while I was left to 'Water Boy' duties. Ten minutes after being asked to grab the stuff, I arrived with a smorgasbord of metal and wooden bats, a few balls, a cooler, and a small remaining slice of dignity.
Shortly afterward we began to 'warm up' (throw the ball back and forth within a twenty foot distance.) We did this until we thought an adequate amount of warming up had occurred, and then we proceeded to partake in an activity so crucial to a man's position in social class, that if you fail, you will likely become the center of humiliation and atomic wedgies. Of course, I'm talking about picking teams. This is an activity where everyone picks two of the coolest people out of a group to be 'The Captains'. The Captains are so cool that they get to pick everyone who they want on their team. Everyone just loves The Captains. They are loved so much that everyone else lines up along the fence with only the smallest hopes of being picked by one of them. The coolest people are always picked first. Generally they have a cool nickname like 'The Crusher', or 'Thunderthighs'. "I got T-Bag on MY team," one of the captains will say. "I wish I had a nickname," I thought to myself. "Something like, 'Tyrannosaurus D', or something like that." In the meantime, everyone else was being picked. Finally, we reached what is likely the most pivotal point in a man's life. The final two. Here I stood next to a tall fat guy eating a corn dog. "There is no way they are gonna pick THAT guy" I thought to myself. Just then he was picked and I was standing against the fence with the former image of a man impressed into my jockies. "Ah, well I guess we'll take you then." The guys on my team said. This is a modern form of what ancients used to decide who would be sacrificed to the volcano god. "Las Wun Standing wil be Sakrifised." They used to say.
If being picked last wasn't bad enough, my fiance was sitting on the bench watching it all. "Oh Sweetie!" She yelled, "I would have picked you first if I was choosing!" All the guys started laughing and pointing their fingers at me. "Psssshh, you actually think I care about being picked?!" I said, as tears began to well up, blurring my vision.
Soon after, I was called into the outfield by the rest of my teammates. "Hey D-Bag (pipe)! Get over in the right corner quadrant past the left basemen!" Of course, I didn't know where that was, so I had to ask. From here on out, I was the laughing stock of the game.
After the other team had scored a few runs, it was our turn to bat. Finally, it was my turn and everyone in the outfield came into the sandy area because they werent expecting the ball to fly very far. Before I knew what was happening, I was standing on the home plate with the bat swinging behind my head like I knew what I was doing. As the ball approached, I swung with full intensity at the air. I completely whiffled. Everyone started laughing, including my 'former' fiance. Jk, she's still my fiance.
The rest of the game went pretty much just like that. I created entertainment for what is generally a plain ol boring stupid dumb game played by losers. I learned something that day. I'll never play a public sport again, until I die.
Posted by
Daniel Mayfield
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Posted by
Daniel Mayfield
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I must say, this month of March has been complete madness. This is due to the fact that it's March Madness, a month of mayhem basketball declared by George Washington. Originally, March Madness was all about how many turkeys could be shot by the pilgrims. Given the excess amount of turkeys they decided to make up a holiday that allowed us to eat them. This holiday, of course, is thanksgiving as we know it today.
Despite thoughts of thanksgiving turkey, and mother's voluptuous stuffing, we need to get back to what this article is really about, woman's basketball. Has anyone reading this article ever actually watched woman's basketball? A recent poll taken by Jeremy Harber, a statistician for the New York Times says, "Nearly 99 percent of people watching woman's basketball, only do it for the laughs." This is true concerning myself as well. Tonight, I had the privilege of watching Louisville take on the most popular Baylor. The game went something like this: Large, hefty girl in the white shirt gets the ball. She runs quickly towards the basket where all of the other girls are huddled in a tight knit group, braiding each other's hair, under the basket. Large and Hefty then proceeds to toss the ball aimlessly into the air, while throwing her whole body into the pile of girls, resulting in a pile of oversized mean girls. After the girls dust of their shorts, they tromp back down to the other end of the court, similar to a stampede of oversized turkeys. Big Red (as me and my roommate nicknamed her) proceeds to take a shot from the three point line. Her vertical jump is about 3 inches, but the vertical jump of her oversized backside is easily a foot. Needless to say, she didn't make the shot. In fact, the ball didn't even come near the goal. It simply flew over the heads of her teammates and landed somewhere on the sidelines. "That was a close one!", said the spokeswoman. Because, in woman's basketball, that WAS a close one. These woman, on average, are about eight feet tall, and have the features of Goliath. The only clue as to whether your even watching 'woman's basketball' is seen on the top of the screen where it says, "Woman's NCAA Basketball." Anyways, the size of the hands on these woman are almost scary. The ball fits into their palm like a golf ball would fit in mine. When looking for a girl, I always checked to make sure she didn't have man hands. 'Man Hands', as seventeen magazine calls them, are defined as thick callused fingers, that can penetrate any hard surface, including Donald Trump's hair piece. If your a guy, you don't want to end up with a girl who has manly hands. Imagine sitting there with her, holding hands, and you look down and say, "WHOA! Which one's mine!" It's confusing for you, and heartbreaking for the girl. This is why tall girls with big manly bodies, and Man Hands, will ALWAYS end up with an even taller more manly guy than she already is. These two people will spawn and create a new generation of even bigger people. It's scary to think that in several years, if we don't stop Global Growing, our world will be completely run by giants who will tell us what to do, and give us spankings if we don't listen to them. Giants are already taking over in many areas of the world. Avid reader Martha Spooner, sent in an article stating the problems that giants are creating over in China: "Six foot tall humans, towering two feet above the average Chinese, are reportedly demanding tennis shoes at discount prices. Communist leader Xiao Zei Kui (no known pronunciation) says, "There is simply nothing we can do about these giants. They are too big for any form of execution we practice."Many alert readers fear that we Americans will soon feel the effects of giant people. As a result, I am calling on all of you who are friends with, or know someone who is friends with a giant. You must set the giant up on a blind date with a midget. At first, it will be awkward, because the giant will have to carry the midget. But, they will certainly fall in love and create a normal sized kid. We NEED your help! Please, if you even care slightly about the future of this country, help to stop Global Growing. It is an epidemic that is a result from too much flatulence in the atmosphere. Plant a midget, grow a normal sized kid, and most of all, learn to love the Earth.
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What would you do, and we've all asked ourselves this question, if a giant mosquito landed on your computer screen while you were on facebook? Well, two questions arise when asked this question:
Q: How big was the mosquito?
A: Big enough to eat a regular sized mosquito.
Q: Is there a rock band called 'The Giant Mosquitos'?
A: Probably.
I'm sure many of you have never seen the size of an Oklahoma Mosquito. They aren't technically mosquitos, they are mosquito eaters. Meaning that they have mouths big enough to eat a mosquito whole. Meaning that they could bite a small portion of the tip of my pinky. I, being a logical person, understand that the mosquito probably doesn't have any real power to harm me. But, this does not mean that I didn't throw my computer across the room, and scream when one landed on my screen. "Ohmygosh!", I yelled. I ran to the table, and proceeded to find the largest section of the Newspaper, in which I rolled into a common weapon of choice when it comes to smacking bugs.
Now, if you've ever watched a bug very closely, you know they can't sit still (can't fly still). This is similar to a common fourth grader who forgot to take his riddlin. After a few minutes of running around my apartment, wearing only a pair of boxers, and smacking violently at what appeared to be an invisible spot on the wall, I realized that people were outside my window watching me. There was nothing I could do to explain my behavior, so I closed my blinds.
Real men, are similar to girls, in that we are very afraid of small bugs, and enjoy watching WifeSwap. An alarming post sent in by avid reader Blair McCoy said that, "Nearly 98% of men are afraid of Monsters." This point is further solidified by what happened last October when my fiance and I decided to visit a haunted house. It was actually a haunted corn maze. Nearly thirty seconds after we entered the pathway, a man dressed up like Jason ran after us with a chainsaw. I screamed, pushed my fiance into the mud, and took off down the path, only to be stopped by a giant clown who chased my back to her. I told her that it was a joke, and I had a surprise for her.
As it turns out, being afraid of bugs, is actually an attractive quality. Many women agree that the traditional 'rugged' man is out of style, and soooo last year. This is why there has been an increase in male model agencies. Amy BorgSchnobel, a feminist from Connecticut says, "I just like it better when the woman goes to work and the father stays home." Many woman believe that they make better, more efficient soldiers than men. Sgt. Stephanie Hoss, from the National Guard, says, "Woman are just better fighters. We are stronger, smarter, and have bigger biceps." Stephanie says, "The first thing I'll do as Sgt. is get rid of these horrid outfits. I'm thinking pink and yellow will match me new shoes!"
"So, why?" You ask, "are men and woman deciding to switch roles?" The truth is, Aliens from space used a powerful laserbeam to turn men into girls. So, unless we can raise enough money to build a laserbeam into outerspace to kill the aliens, and to help spread the word of God, we have no hope. Men have reportedly begun to have an interest in fashion, and makeup, something that Scientist thought genetically impossible. Governor of California, and former body builder, Arnold Schwarzenegger, refers to these people as, "Girly men."
Sadly, these genetically altered "girly men" are good for nothing. According to the New York Times, "These men are weak, lazy, scrawny, and whiny. They simply cannot perform a task without crying about how hard it is. And their sense of fashion sucks." Apparently these men won't be working for 17 Magazine, am i right???
I'm sorry women. A recent pole indicated that there were only 27 'real' men left in the world, one of which I am. Avid reader Jay Goss says, "I just can't help but be interested in unicorns and my favorite color PINK!"
Ready to build that laserbeam?!
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Daniel Mayfield
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Sigh, Let's face it. You're a middle aged loser who lives with your mom and you play Dungeons and Dragons avidly. "There's no hope for me." You say, sadly. "I mean, I DO have Pokemon gold edition, and I DID win the Chess tournament."
You often find yourself in a dreamland, where you're free to ride unicorns and rollerblade with Rosy O'Donnel through the clouds. You're only desire is to be loved. Well, frankly. You will never be loved...You're just too, weird.
The chance of anyone ever even liking you is slim to none. You're ugly, fat, and mean. And you are poor.
Does this sound like you? Do you have a friend? A dog? Does Michael Jackson keep in close contact with you? If so, then you are a loser. I'll be honest with you. No sane person would ever marry you, unless she were from Russia.
Parents have created, what The Miami Harold likes to call, "The Mullet Generation." These people have actually de-evolutionized into a form of animal that almost looks human. They are generally caucasian, and have ferrets as their pet of choice.
Approximately two thousand alert readers sent in an article about an apparent "rabid mullet man", who ran down the street in Syracuse N.Y., flaunting his mullet, and chasing people with his ferret. New York police officers handled the situation by tackling the mullet man while he "tried to purchase an ice cream cone." According to the New York Times, "The ferret was not harmed during the attack, and it has now been placed in a ferret adoption agency in downtown Syracuse." According to ferret trainer Jana Bleming, "Farry, the ferret, has been a great addition to our family here at Ferret World."
I think that from now on, we should make every effort to be as nice to these weirdos as possible, while maintaining a safe distance of at least 14 miles.
This is why man invented mail order brides. Russian woman are ready to be in America where the men are rugged. Where the manly, bulging men, walk around being bulgy.
Men men men! There is hope! If you cannot find a woman who likes you, just simply purchase one online. The timing is right, the economy is in the toilet, and now is the perfect time to buy.
Avid reader and mail order bride specialist Bryan Murphy has a story of his own that he would like to share:
I tried dating, I tried online dating services, I even asked a girl to marry me! But that stuff wasn't for me. I mean, it's OK if you wanna date and put all that work into it and stuff. But seriously, I chat online with Olga for like six hours a day. Things are getting pretty serious. We have been communicating for three years now and I'm pretty sure she's the one. I'm gonna buy her.
Can't you see, There is no NEED to keep on being lonely! Do it for yourself, do it for the economy, and do it for your mom. There are a few things you may need to know before purchasing.
1. Her voice will be deeper than yours.
2. She will live at home and eat mostly cookies.
The deep voice can be solved with helium. So there is no need to worry there. The only concern I have is the cookies. Commonly men have created a rewards program to keep things in check. You simply purchase a giant hamster wheel, put her in it, and let her eat a cookie after three hours of wheeling.
Listen, guys. I'm just a news reporter. I simply report the facts. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and purchase yourself a wife!
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Daniel Mayfield
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Let's say you're a middle aged guy. You're lying on the sofa Sunday afternoon watching a little football.
You settle into the body shape groove formed from several hundred hours of "grooving", when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see your wife struggling with a laundry basket full of your sweat stained tighty whities (name given to underwear that shows any amount of bulging).
"Ugh, this is heavy!" She says, short of breath.
"She can handle it," you say to yourself "She could, use the exercise..." "After all, it IS her job to do the laundry."
She continues to struggle, and you can no longer convince yourself to stay grooved. So, for the first time in your married life, you offer to 'help' your wife with the laundry.
This is when you pick up the basket full of stinky tighties and sweat filled socks. You smell something funny and ask your wife, "Do I smell Curry?"
She brings you back to an area of the house that you have never seen, called, The Laundry Room. This is where she spends most of her time because you change shirts two hundred times a week on average. She will proceed to introduce you to several new pieces of technology that you've only seen in Sears on your way to buy a new hammer. You probably start to think about the hammer you saw in yesterday's paper that has the capability of pounding three or more nails at once, and then you begin to smell Curry again.
"This here is the washing machine." Your wife says. She gives you a series of instructions similar to this: "OK, press the red button three times. Wait three seconds, and press it again. Ok, now press it two more times. Now turn that dial approximately twenty five degrees counter clock-wise while holding the button with a built in picture of Brad Pitt."
None of it made any sense to you, so you ask your wife if she is making Curry for dinner.
"Ok" She says, "Now that you understand how to wash the clothes, I'll show you how to fold them! And afterwards we'll make sock puppets!"
You regret helping your wife with the laundry and now your stuck decorating your old socks with thread and buttons.
Your wife will probably tell you how much fun she had crafting with you, so she'll invite you to the Crafty Mouse (a store where the only man to ever enter was Elton John) with all her friends.
Tomorrow's agenda: Dishes with Bonnie (a new show about ways to make dish washing more enjoyable), learning to quilt, and most likely, grooving.
You will probably find yourself lying on the couch with the former identity of a man, and a small, shriveled sock puppet.
"Ready for the dishes!"
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Daniel Mayfield
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Now I know that many of you are unsure as to whether the things I write about are funny or jus' plain 'ol egnoramous (Classic Cracker Barrel phrase). A recent email sent in by alert reader Ivan Jansen, 85, said that my stories generally leave him wondering where he is and how he got there (This could be due to the fact that he has Alzheimer's). But there is even further evidence that my stories are causing Alzheimer's. I assure you that my purpose for writing is NOT to cause memory loss or scratching of your posterior.
The bottom line is that I'm just a plain old weird guy. There are many reasons as to why I am so weird including being homeschoold, raised by wolves, and banging my head when I was a baby. The most significant reason however, is that I was homeschooled. Lets face it people, homeschoolers are weird. Now I am able to say this without a riot from the homeschool community because I'm one of them. You however cannot say anything. You must treat us as though we are normal. So are there any positives to being homeschooled? I mean, homeschoolers are weird, don't know how to talk to the opposite sex, usually stink, and the list goes on and on. Despite all of these community hazards, homeschoolers are really smart.
Homeschoolers are really good at science. Why? You ask, Are homeschoolers so smart? Well the answer is simple. Our brains are twice the size of a normal person! This is because we actually had to DO our school. If you have the slightest struggle in public school, you can switch over to the Special Ed class. In this class they take you back to the basics which include, coloring, snack time, and show and tell. All of these are CRUCIAL for proper cognitive development. The down side is that we are raising a generation of morons. Moron can be defined as, "Anyone or anything that cannot comprehend elementary principles, and/or Donald Trump."
Ok folks, lets get back to the real reason for this article. Why are homeschoolers so darn weird? Well, an article sent in by alert reader Joseph Staph stated that homeschoolers are not getting enough outside contact. You know how bears go into hibernation for a few months each year? Well, homeschooling is similar to an eighteen year hibernation. So, do you pack up on all the food you think you will need for the next six months and then go to sleep? You ask. No no no no no. I didn't mean literally. I'm sorry, I forgot that most readers weren't homeschooled and don't understand analogies. Thats ok though. To put it into moron terms, we never got to go on a date. When I was being homeschooled I wasn't even sure what a 'girl' was. I mean, I think I saw one once, but it was out of the corner of my eye and it could have been a cat. THAT is why homeschoolers are so weird.
One thing we need to give credit to is all of the mothers who put up with us. Half the time my mom was trying to school me I would be in my room talking to my imaginary friend Bill. This is when she would reach what we in the homeschool community call 'The Wrath of Mom'. This is basically when she went past her boiling point and the result was a series of spankings that didn't even hurt. They actually kinda tickled. Mother would realize that her spankings were nothing more than a tickle fight and she would tell us to wait til dad got home. Dad's spankings usually had the effect of ten years in prison or a date with Hillary Clinton.
So homeschooling has its positives and negatives just like public school. If you go to public school you will be really cool and hip but never learn how to tie your shoes. If you are homeschooled you will probably win the nobel prize for some scientific finding but you'll never get a date. Maybe they should have multihome homeschooling so that we can be cool too. Don't laugh at me when I dress up for a Lord of the Rings convention.
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Daniel Mayfield
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We all love 'em. We aaaaaaallll love 'em. No, I am not talking about Bill Clinton, or even Donald Trump for that matter. I am talking about the In-Laws. We all have them (Unless your a loser who lives in your moms basement), and we all have to spend spring break with them. Actually most of us would never spend spring break with the In-Laws, but I thoroughly enjoy it.
In-Laws, usually associated with embarrassing moments and long boring weekends, DO serve a purpose. What is this purpose? You ask. We'll to be honest I'm not really sure. As previously stated, I am on spring break with my soon-to-be wife and her soon-to-be annoyed parents. We are spending spring break in Dallas because C, my fiance, is having some testing done for her epilepsy.
So far I have experienced one night in Oklahoma and a wonderful road trip to Dallas.
Two weeks after I first met C's parents I thought I would impress them by walking on my hands (This technique of showing off has allotted to new marriages, presidential nomination, and a stinky room). We were all gathered in her country kitchen peeling corn cobs and frying chicken when C said, "Hey Daniel, Why don't you show my parents how you can walk on your hands?" I instantly received a sense of self-gratification when I thought to myself, "Yes, This will impress them!" Hands above my head, and a classic gymnast stance, I dove forward. Hands to the ground, feet above my head, and a perfect stance. I began moving toward the floor with the tip of my nose, forming a perfect handstand pushup. Nose now on the ground, and every muscle in my body began to push myself back up. BBBBBMMMMPPPP! WHAT WAS THAT???!!! I fell back down to the floor and began to laugh a nervous laughter that continued on for five minutes. I had 'let one rip' right in front of the people I was trying my hardest to impress. Mrs. F, C's mother, proceeded to say, "I was pooped just watching him! Not to say that he pooped. Well, I don't know, maybe he did." I couldn't believe what just happened! I had ruined any possible chance of ever impressing them again. I was, as they say, 'One fart too far' from home (I actually just made that saying up).
A few months down the road I was back on top of my game. I had managed to keep from talking about them behind my back (he he he get it?), and as it turns out, C's mom toots all the time.
So, now that you have my family history, I can get on with the spring break story.
I arrived to C's house about Ten Thirty Saturday night. I used to be greeted with a big hug from both parents and the dog but this time I was only greeted by the dog. Well, I take it back. I think Mr. F was sitting on the couch, and he may have slightly lifted his hand towards my generally direction (this of course means, "Hey, we have seen eachother a thousand times so lets stop acting excited about it."). I was actually pretty happy about it. I had reached, what The New York Times calls, 'The Comfort Zone'. This is the stage in your In-Law relationship when, I quote, "You begin to release various types of gasses without the following embarrassment." Roughly speaking this means that you actually act like yourself.
Me and the fam have become so comfortable that they don't even need to make a bed for me anymore! Yes, I am now free to find a place to sleep. These areas include, the living room floor, sofa, kitchen table, etc. I was fortunate enough to find a couch with a couple of blankets through the dark living room. I slept well.
Six AM comes faster than you think when you go to bed at Midnight! I woke up to the sounds of a gentle breeze, coffee brewing, and my fiance singing. Actually I woke up because C's father tripped over my suit case, which I stupidly left in the middle of the room, banged his head on the coffee table, and spilled his coffee (we are still not on good terms).
Two hours later we were on our way to Dallas! Now if you grew up in the Mayfield family with me, you know that I can make car rides 'Fun'. Not really. I am notorious for creating bad smells, drooling on the pillow, and singing the entire Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer On the Wall song. So, needless to say, C and I really 'Hit it Off' from the start (literally. Five minutes down the road Corbin was pushing me because I kept naming the cows on the side of the road.). Now I never mean to be, but apparently I can sometimes....Get this...be annoying. I just don't understand it! Despite all of that, my fiance thinks of me as an adventure, and she wouldn't have it any other way (code for, "You're driving me nuts!").
We stopped for church In Altus, lunch at McDonalds, and we were on our way. My fiance began playing with Tom Tom (our cars personal direction advisor) on the loudest setting of 'Jacques', the french speaking setting where a french man talks with that stupid accent. Yes, I knew it was bad when she drowned me out with the voice of a french pastry maker. I decided to go to sleep. Six O'clock comes around and its time for church again. This time at a church where C's Ex-Boyfriend goes. By this point I was out of my annoying mode and into my masculine manly hunter gatherer mode. Basically I made sure to flex my muscles and spit a lot while he was around. Everything went well. I have a very true and faithful fiance.
We left church and headed for our hotel. This time around I said very little. I was tired, and to the point that every person reaches at the end of a road trip, where you want to let out every bit of gas in your body. Luckily, a few moments before I exploded, we reached the hotel. We unpacked the car, brought everything to our room on the ninth floor, and released any trapped flatulence. Actually everyone is asleep right now but I drank a huge cup of coffee. I'm sleepy now. I will continue to keep you updated on my spring break trip with the In-Laws. Good Night.
Posted by
Daniel Mayfield
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Well, its that time of year again where we all turn back to our primitive form of life. You know, the one where we begin to act a little more like animals. Yes, you guess correctly. I'm talking about the flu (Pronounced flew).
Webster's dictionary defines the flu as, "Any of several virus diseases marked especially by respiratory or intestinal symptoms."
If your like me, you probably think that this definition can only be deciphered by people like Bill Clinton, Hillary, Paris Hilton, and a monkey. The truth is that your RIGHT! A recent news article by the Harrold Times stated the 99.86798999999999% (plus about 300 more 9's) of definitions given by Webster's left people scratching their head and even further lead to an increase in Dorito purchases. My point is this. I want to give all of you a 'real' definition of the flu (refer to beginning for pronunciation), and not just some gobbled together words arranged by former prisoners Paris Hilton, and Martha Stuart.
So....Why? you ask....am I a credible source for this topic? Easy. I just got finished with the flu which is EXACTLY why I am up at 4:00 AM writing about it.
First of all, I will alter the Webster's definition to make it easier to understand. Ok, here it is, "Any of several forms of highly powerful farts, which can cause disease, marked especially by lots of snot, and a little brown spot in your underwear."
Now THAT is a good definition.
Now that we have that out of the way, I will give you a little information about my previous flu experience. It all started last Sunday when I ate twelve pieces of Pizza from Mazzios. Everything was going great until I was at church and had to leave during the prayer to throw up fourteen pieces of pizza. The additional two pieces I had been saving in my stomach for a very special occasion.
After throwing up I went and sat back down by my lovely fiance who was now only pretending to like me because my breath smelled like rotten nacho cheese. I told her about the two extra pieces of pizza and the gum that I found on the bathroom mirror.
Later that night I laid on the floor by the fireplace farting my very own greenhouse effect. I alone will have to account for more than 70% of this years global warming. It was very hard laying there because I knew that nobody in my fiances house wanted me there. I could tell because people generally went through the other rooms only to avoid passing by me. Also, there was the occasional, "We don't want you here!", yelled by her parents. I drove back to school the next day.
Now I'm sure that most of you are thinking that this was cruel and confidence shattering. But NO! Thats what your supposed to do when someone else has the flu. Avoid them, Yell mean things, and spray Lysol all over their face while they watch TV.
On the other hand, it is my job to call every member of my family who lives within a 600 mile radius and ask for whatever it is that I like. My sisters can attest. I believe I called them 600 times throughout my four day sickness. Anything you ask for is acceptable. These include medicine, gatorade, chicken noodle soup, a new X-BOX 360, etc.
The flu is no fun guys. It's not fun missing class, sleeping all day, playing your new X-BOX, eating, and watching sports. It's just not fun.
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Daniel Mayfield
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Well men, I think we can all agree that women have a beautiful and wonderful way of expressing themselves (And of course by that i mean, I can not understand 98% of what they say). And let me be the first to say that there is nothing at all wrong with it. I mean how crazy would it be for my fiance to actually say what she meant? For example,
Fiance: Ya know Daniel, lately I have had a bit of a fever in our relationship.
Me: Oh, well let me go get the robitussin.
Fiance: Ugh! I knew you wouldn't understand! You never understand!
Me: Confused look, Ok, so...did you want the Tylenol PM instead?
In a world where men always had their way, the conversation would go like this,
Fiance: Hey Daniel I just wanted you to know that I want Pizza for dinner.
Me: Great, Domino's or Pizza Hut?
Fiance: Oh, whichever you want is fine. And after the Pizza I'll give you a two hour back rub.
Me: Ya, and then we'll play video games.
Now, of course this will never happen (Unless Hillary Clinton gets into office, which in that case all women will be phasered into men by a giant laser) so we are all doomed.
Probably the most important part of a girls life is her wedding. Most women already had their wedding dress, colors, flowers, and lacy thing they wear around their leg picked out by the time they were two. Given that this is a very important part of a woman's life, we (men) need to give them full freedom with anything related to the wedding. Even if she insists that she needs a red convertible to drive down the aisle with.
Seems simple right? WRONG! It gets much more complicated. Although our lady wants to have full control over the wedding, and what kind of wax she wants us to have done (because most men look like slightly tame Gorillas with underwear), we still must show her that we have interest.
Fiance: Hey Sweetie, I was wanting to get your opinion on what color flowers would go best with my dress.
My Thoughts: I wonder who would win in a fight, Batman or Godzilla?
Fiance: Daniel?
Me: Umm, yeah that one is good.
Fiance: I asked you what color would look best with my dress!
Me: Well, your dress is white, so white would be a good color...
Fiance: Great! So I guess we'll be going with red!
Now what we just saw men, is a real life situation of OurOpinyunDusentMatter. This is a psychological disorder that not even the most scholarly psychologists understand. You see, women really don't care what we have to say about anything at all. They simply ask us because they know that whatever answer we give is always going to be the exact opposite of what her friend that she couldn't get a hold of would have said. So, women being generally very intelligent (excluding Hillary Clinton, and Paris Hilton) use a mathematical reverse formula to get the answer they were really looking for. Now, if we really want to mess things up, we can start giving them the opposite answer of what we were really thinking. This of course is very dangerous and has never ended in anything less than divorce or a nuclear (pronounced NooKyuhLer) explosion.
So, there you have it men. There is an extremely unique way that women have about them. We do not understand, and neither does David HasselHoff (former manly man). All we have to do is continue on in confusion, and leaving the top few buttons of our shirt unbuttoned. There is something very attractive about curly dark hair poking through the tops of our shirts.
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Daniel Mayfield
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Well, your probably all wondering what I do for a living besides making millions of dollars on my blog. A recent poll created by the New York Times stated that 45 percent of people thought I was an underwear model for Quick Trip, while the remaining 55 percent thought I was in jail for running around town wearing nothing but a dinosaur costume and goggles. The truth is that both of these are incorrect.
I make my living doing landscape design architecture (pulling weeds and planting 'Bagonias') for a 250 year old lady who who lost her teeth. Yes, I did receive my doctorate in nuclear (pronounced Noo-Cyuh-Ler) biology, and a masters in waste management from Harvard, but that is BESIDES the point. I prefer making 50 cents an hour from a 490 year old woman who's yard looks like a prehistoric jungle being taken over by large carnivorous plants. Lets face it people, the real joy comes from helping other people. And not just any people...old people.
Ok. I need to be honest. This article i not really about landscaping, or the fact that I make a whopping four dollars for eight hours of work. It is about old people, and what makes them so unique.
First, we need to define what exactly 'old' is. This debate has been going on for five thousand years now, dating back to Bible times when people lived for twelve hundred years. The original starter of this debate recently died in 1997. As we can see, there is no real definition of old. But, we can all agree on one thing. We know an old person when we see one.
The first and most obvious old person factor is the smell. Smells generally range from a mixture of fluoride and toots (men), all the way to 6,000 containers of popery (walk into a bath and body works and you will experience the same effect). The latter is generally more painful for men.
Secondly, is an over dramatic desire for cautiousness. This cautiousness can be seen in several scenarios.
1. Old timers will drive aprox. 30 miles an hour under the speed limit. Sometimes 40 under.
2. A walking pace will be close to that of an ant.
3. Each morning will be started with 64 health vitamins (sadly many try and swallow all of these at once, which ironically results in bad gas).
Now I myself have had many experiences with old people and I have come to the conclusion that trash cans are for waisting. Just the other day while working for the 560 year old lady I tried throwing away a few weeds I found in the garden, and without warning a 20 foot ruler slapped my hand. This ruler was of course coming from the old lady. Usually before I begin my work she will walk me around and show me what all she wants done. The other day she brought me over to a pile of broken glass, concrete, and plastic piping and told me all about how valuable everything was. I eventually had to sign a written document (sticky note with some scribbles) about how I would not discard any of the broken remnants.
My point is this. Old people stink, drive slowly, and save everything. We have a big task in front of us. We need to stop aging. How will we do it? Easy. There are several brands of anti-aging potions for sale on Ebay right now. Good brands include Age-Be-Gone and Wrinkle Release.
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Daniel Mayfield
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In today's article we present: How to become the cool guy. Now I know that many of you are thinking that there is no possible way that you could ever become 'cool'. The truth is that many of us were raised by wolves so our idea of being cool consists of eating wild animals raw, and sleeping in caves.
I was never the cool guy in high school or anywhere for that matter. I spent my time figuring out how to wear my pants above my belly button and how thick I could get my glasses. 1 inch. People used to call me squirrely Daniel. This is probably because I wore a large squirrel costume to school sometimes. My point is this. No matter how hard I tried (and clearly I tried very hard), I just couldn't make it with the 'in' crowd.
Before we delve into how to become cool, we need to make note of what makes a cool person 'cool'.
1. Wear your pants down to your knees, and if you can manage, wear them down at your ankles.
2. Always have a chain hanging from your back pocket to your front pocket. These chains are used to tie up bad guys and sling at your teachers when they are talking about going green (NO ONE CARES!).
3. Bling is a necessity. The more gold (its not real gold, its actually tin foil colored with a sharpie), and the more diamonds (plain rocks colored with crayons) you have, the hipper you'll be.
4. Talk in very short sentences. For example, some girl that you really like walks up to you and says, "Hey Daniel, How are you doing?" Your reply would be, "Sup." She will probably proceed to tell you how much she loves your new boxers (which can be seen because your pants are down to the ground), or ask you out on a date. All of the girls will be in the bathroom giggling about how romantic you are.
OK. So now that we have the basics down, we can begin being cool.
Another possibility for being cool would be to join a club. No no no not a chess club! A sorority of some sort. In this case you will instantly become friends with hundreds of new people who just yesterday were shooting spit wads at the back of your head because your pants were too high. People will, get this, start calling you by your last name. Which brings up a good point. Your last name is waaaaay cooler than your first name. Unless of course you have a last name like, Weiner. In this case your probably better off not telling people you even have a last name. You can make up a story about how you came to earth from the planet Barple when you were ten. THEN, people will really like you.
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Daniel Mayfield
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So I created this blog about ten minutes ago and I have to admit that it looks a little barren. Please DO NOT worry! Do not harm yourselves! And please do not harm any of those little fuzzy things called Barples! In due time I will be winning the Nobel Peace Prize for ending world hunger through my blog. Ok, on to the more important things. I have been thinking a lot about what I want to do for a career. Hmm...Dog Whisperer?..No...Manicure Lady? No...Proctologist?..No...I just cant figure out what I want to do! This is not to say that Dog Whisperers, and Proctologists aren't great people of course. Although I know not what I will do, I have However, narrowed it down a little. I do not want to sit at a desk all day long. EWW! I want to get out and enjoy life while I work. Given that small cubicles with a six inch desk space, a bulletin board, and a couple of erasers make a very VERY scenic view (I think I would rather sit on the toilet all day...). I am very interested in law enforcement, and the jobs that involve national parks. Perhaps a Forest Ranger would be a good fit. I am not quite sure but I am sure of this one thing! God, regardless of what career choice I make, will provide.
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