All The Rave Is In Mail Order Brides

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 9 comments

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!

The Way It has to be

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 7 comments

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!" 

Homeschoolers are Weird?

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 6 comments

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. 


Spring Break with the In-Laughs

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 1 comments

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. 


'Tis the Season to BLEEEHHHH!

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 3 comments

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.  

Wedding Planner

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 7 comments

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. 

Landscaping

Posted by Daniel Mayfield 5 comments

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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