Thursday, January 15, 2009

I'm Gonna Meet You On The Astral Plane



One of my friends claims to have had an out-of-body experience. You know, where your "astral" body disconnects from your physical body and floats around.

"Yeah man, I just woke up in the middle of the night and my face was like an inch from the ceiling!"

That's because you sleep in a bunk bed. Clearly you can't handle the top bunk. I bet if you got a big-boy bed your paranormal experiences would greatly decrease. Seriously, you're 30...it's time to upgrade to a car-bed or something.

I used to sleep on a bunk bed, and I noticed that there are several pros and cons to being on the top.

PRO: Nobody's gonna pee on you.
CON: Sometimes you think you're traveling through time and space.
PRO: Somebody is probably paying your rent.
CON: Somebody is breathing right beneath you. Creepy.

Speaking of car-beds. I think the creepiest one you could have would be a molester van.

"Why does your bed have tinted windows?"

Death By Stereo



I grew up watching vampire movies like The Lost Boys. It made me want to be a vampire! (You'd get to hang out with Kiefer Sutherland AND the dude from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure!) But looking back, those vampires were never really very honest about what it was like to be one of them.

"Now that we've bitten you and made you one of us, you are immortal. You will never die. Nothing can kill you!!!!

..........except sunlight.......

...oh, and wooden stakes to the heart...
....or if someone beheads you....
....or kills the head vampire...
...Let's see, what else?...
...holy water...
...silver bullets....
...fire...
...not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day ...
...oh and Huey Lewis...
...basically nothing can kill you, except for this list of 5000 things that will make you die...

...also, you are now lactose intolerant. Not too big of a deal, I just thought you should know..."

So by that same logic I would like to claim that I, Mike Brody, WILL NEVER DIE!!!!

...unless I fall off a cliff...
...or I'm eaten by sharks...
...or I get too old...

...or Huey Lewis...

Big Bopper And Son



I grew up about 10 miles east of the place where Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and The Big Bopper died in a plane crash. It's probably the most famous thing to happen in Iowa. Because in Iowa we don't create famous people, we just accidentally kill them. It's like giving a fine china set to the mentally challenged kid. Oops, sorry Rock N Roll!

But first off, let's get something straight. If The Big Bopper hadn't died with two vastly more famous and talented people, nobody would remember who he was. Need proof? Who was the song "Surfin' Bird" by? See? (Answer at the bottom of the blog.) This was the age of screaming, lusty teenage girls in the audience. Meanwhile, the guy looked like Gomer Pyle from Full Metal Jacket. I wonder how they got the girls in the above video to cheer even a little bit for a guy with the sex appeal of a Waffle House cook. But I digress...
Recently The Big Bopper's son (The Little Bopper? Bopper Jr.?) had his father's grave dug up. He had the body exhumed because he was pushing forward a theory that there was a gun-fight on the plane and that's what made it crash. Turns out it was just a good ol' fashioned corn-field to the head, like originally thought. So now the son is selling his dad's coffin on Ebay. The point of all this is that I got to read the mortician's report. Apparently, The Big Bopper's body was remarkably preserved. He was a little blue-ish and his hands had curled into bird-like talons (too many telephones? Again, see above video.) But get this: His hair was still perfectly coiffed! Not a strand was out of place. And it pisses me off! Because I'm alive and my hair is falling out. This son-of-a-bitch has been dead for fifty years and he's still a regular spring-chicken (literally!). It's not fair.
I wonder if Son Of Bopper will sell me his dad's hair? That wouldn't be creepy, would it?
"HEEELLLLLLLOOO BBAAAAAABBBYYY!! I call this hair-do 'Chantilly Lace'!"
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ANSWER: Surfin' Bird was originally written and performed by Pee Wee Herman for the movie "Back To The Beach". http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LnlvdXR1YmUuY29tL3dhdGNoP3Y9MHNNQjZkeWUyOVE=

Piano Man


I went to a dueling piano bar in downtown Minneapolis the other day called The Shout House. I feel pretty bad for those guys at the piano because they have to keep up the appearance of spontaneous gaity and yet every night they get the same songs requested over and over. Oh awesome, The Piano Man by Billy Joel AGAIN! So in order to shake up their night, and to amuse myself, I decided to request songs that don't exist by bands that don't exist. And by putting a ten dollar bill down, they HAVE to play it. But how? Ooooo, conundrums!

About an hour after I dropped my request on his piano, I suddenly see one of the piano guys pick up a sheet of paper and say:

"I don't even know who 'Level Four Funk Offender' is? Or the song....'Uncle Jimmy's Pantaloons'? Uh...I don't know how to play this. I don't know the words."

I was prepared for this part.

"FLIP IT OVER!" I yell.

The piano man flips over the paper and much to my delight, awkwardly reads the impromptu lyrics that I scribbled on the back.

Uncle Jimmy's pantaloons
He's been dancing since half-past noon
Uncle Jimmy's pantaloons
Gonna have to change them soon

He didn't actually play the song, and for that I want my ten dollars back, but it weirded him out just enough that I think it was pretty much worth it.

At least there's a bunch of you








This past Thanksgiving, my extended family and I went to the lavish "Prime N Wine" restaurant in Mason City, IA, located next to "Papa's Bar & Grill" and a field. I shouldn't complain in a town where the most popular place to eat is literally called the "Rib Crib".

Being Thanksgiving, it was quite packed as we waited for our name to be called in the lobby area. I was busy trying to count the dialysis machines when I heard it:

"Boinkin - party of 19! 19 for Boinkin!"

I was standing next to my uncle Steve just then. Something you have to understand about my family is that we're that generally straight-laced Swedish family that doesn't get too rowdy and is polite to a fault. No mullets and sleeve-less shirts and hooting at monster-trucks here. But BOINKIN!!! My god! Steve and I started giggling like little school-girls.

I tried to shush Steve, but it only made things worse. "Shhhhh! There's 19 of them! There could be Boinkins anywhere!"

Then Steve lets all Scandianavian discretion go out the window and exclaims quite loudly: "Don't bend over in front of the Boinkins!!!"

I was crying at this point.

Just then a guy in his thirties walks by and goes "Excuse me, I'm a Boinkin".

That was it. I lost it. I basically had to hide behind a fake tree while I laughed my ass off.

He said it with such dignity, but also a sense of defeat that can only come from having your name laughed at your whole life. Also, I love that phrase "I'm a Boinkin." Like "I'm A-Boinkin on down the road." Sounds like something the Seven Dwarfs would do.

But to their credit, since there were 19 of them, it seems as though the Boinkins have truly lived up to their name.