Tuesday, November 21, 2017


“Boy, that thing does NOT wanna come out!"
[*Tugging my collar*]: “Yikes.”
“At least now you know to sign up for AAA.”
“Maybe there’s a time machine sitting around somewhere.”
“Well, THIS is certainly less than optimal.”
“Maybe we should try giving up!” 

“I am NOT looking forward to this.”
"I'm gonna die a virgin, and it's all your fault!!!" 
[*Brandishing a fake rubber hand*]: "Need a hand?"
[*Tugging my collar*]
: “Hoo, boy.”

Monday, November 20, 2017


I left out some heavy hitters last time, so here’s another list. (The list is almost 100% male again, because the subject of gap toothed women has already been covered by the legendary Les Blank documentary GAP-TOOTHED WOMEN, which I totally ripped off.)  Honorable mention to Greg Fitzsimmons, Dana Snyder, Muhammad Ali, Russell Westbrook, me,  Turf Talk and Vernon Chatman, who sort of have gaps but not enough to be all-stars. I've gotten a lot pickier about my gaps.

(Click to enlarge.)

Jermaine Clement

Paul Scheer

Woody Harrelson



Earl Scruggs


Cornel West

Tyler, The Creator


Craig Robinson


Wise Intelligent



 Angela Davis

Dave Foley




Mike Tyson

Arnold Schwarzenegger, before he betrayed us.

Sunday, November 19, 2017


Do you spend a lot of time thinking about the opposite sex, fans? I know I do. I think about girls every goddamn day, it feels like. I guess I'm a romantic at heart.
Unfortunately, the girls I keep falling in love with don't want anything to do with me. They want some fairytale Mr. Perfect, with perfect Hollywood breath and popular, pro-semitic political theories, who'll sweep them off their feet and take them away to Perfectville. They see a lone, beat up old wolf like Tesse "The Wolfman" Wolfson and run for the hills. (Watch out for coyotes, girls!) Here's what they're forgetting, though: I have a lot to offer them that this "Mr. Perfect" they're dreaming of can't offer. Do Mr. Perfect's parents have a hot tub, for example? Is he as good at buying CDs as me? You might like the way Mr. Perfect can talk to you for hours, and satisfy your soul with his poetic, thought-provoking words, but I bet I can talk louder than him. If I get lost at the farmers market, or injure myself in the woods, you'll always be able to find me. Just follow the sound of my yell!
These great points I'm making go right over girls' heads, though. They're so busy dreaming of Mr. Perfect and picking out a slutty dress to wear to prom (my romantic interests tend to be blonde, 18-year-old cheerleaders with huge tits and lots of makeup), they don't even notice the real Mr. Perfect is sitting right across from them on the bus, giving them the "finger guns."
It just goes to show you that life isn't always the way they make it seem in the movies. In real life, the wisecracking lone wolf doesn't always get the insanely hot girl. Sometimes, the insanely hot girl ends up with an insanely hot guy instead. (Yuck!)  I don't mean to be a Debbie Downer, but I worry sometimes that I'm going to get so desperate I end up settling for a plain-faced or slightly overweight girl, who's "quirky" and "has a good personality." Who would want to see THAT movie?
Anyway, if you want to go out on a date, let me know in the comments!!

Thursday, November 16, 2017


  • Religion and surfing both pressure you into acting more into it than you actually are.

  • When a religious person or surfer tries to articulate their feelings about religion or surfing to you, you get the impression that maybe they're not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.

  • Religious people and surfers both hate sea kayakers. (In that sense, they're a lot like the rest of us.)

  • Religious people and surfers both have atrocious taste in bumper stickers. (In that sense, they're a lot like the rest of us!)

  • Most of the suffering in the world was caused by religion or surfing.  

Wednesday, November 15, 2017


My chill old roommate Ben is making funny cooking videos. Subscribe to his YouTube channel if you want to laugh and/or learn how to make Kung Pao Cauliflower Tacos. 

Friday, November 3, 2017


"Peek-a-boo, you are doomed."

The most pleased I ever was with myself was in the year 2000, when I went to see BATTLEFIELD EARTH in theaters for a birthday party. Before the movie, there was a preview for MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 2, and right after that there was a preview for THE PERFECT STORM. (Like many years, 2000 was a shitty year for movies.) Just as THE PERFECT STORM preview was drawing to a close, I leaned over to my friend and whispered "FISHIN' IMPOSSIBLE."
That was the moment I first learned I could dunk, comedically. It was an incredible feeling. (Truth be told, I can't even remember that happened in BATTLEFIELD EARTH. I think John Travolta went to a rave, or something.) The universe, in its benevolent wisdom, had tossed me a perfect alley-oop, and I'd slammed it home with the casual self-confidence of a Brent Barry, or a Dan Majerle, demonstrating that I was worthy. Life was going to be easy from now on--all I had to do was kick back and wait for another perfect alley oop.
Unfortunately, though, it  wasn't that easy. Perfect alley-oops are few and far between, it turns out. The universe only gives em to you about once every ten years. In the between time, you have to go back to being a regular schlub. And sometimes when you get an alley-oop, you're unprepared or overexcited, and  you screw it up.
Not yesterday, though. Yesterday, I caught another alley-oop and dunked it home. It wasn't a funny joke-dunk (sorry), but I'd argue that it was even better.
I figured out who the Zodiac Killer was!

Aside from the fact that it was National Deviled Eggs Day, it was an evening like any other.  I woke up from my afternoon nap at 7:00 PM, bit the wine stained part of my upper lip off, and applied lip balm. I'd been having a bad dream. Not my normal bad dream, where a bird is eating my fingers, but a Halloween-themed dream regarding the Zodiac Killer.

I was alone in the house with a big bowl of candy. There was a knock at the door, and when I opened it I saw a babyfaced man, dressed in a trenchcoat, with an executioner's hood on and a decorative bib bearing the mark of the Zodiac Killer.
Scary costume, right? And what is a grown man doing trick-or-treating all by himself? But it was a dream, after all, so I reached into the bowl to get him some candy. He declined, telling me in an eerily high-pitched voice:
"No. I want big boy stuff."
Weird request, obviously, but I wanted him to go away so I gave him a cigarette. He took it, without thanking me, and lit up--then took a gun out of his coat and shot me!
As I was falling to the ground, my mother showed up out of nowhere, let out a dramatic gasp, and said THE ZODIAC KILLER IS....THE ZODIAC KILLER IS...
And then I woke up! Crazy right?

I felt like I should mention this nightmare in my dream journal, but I didn't want to write the whole thing down, because I'm lazy, so I just wrote

in big creepy block letters. Maybe my dream holds the answer somehow I thought.
And right then, my mother knocked on the door, asking if I wanted to play bananagrams. I did, obviously, but just as I was about to say yeah, sure,  of course, it occurred to me that maybe this dream message was an ANAgram !!! We all know how much the Zodiac Killer loved puzzles. So I told my mom to fuck off, I'm busy right now, and cut the block letters out of my dream journal with scissors, for rearranging.
I scrambled and scrambled and scrambled, and after half an hour of furious scrambling, listening to John Carpenter's "White Pulse" on repeat, I had the answer. A message, from the Zodiac Killer, via the realm of nightmares: THE ZODIAC KILLER IS...

Can you tell that I cut the previous message up and rearranged the letters to make this message? I'm concerned that I didn't set the contrast high enough when I did the scan.

Of course, right?!! It was three lil kids stacked on top of each other, in a trench coat! That explains why The Zodiac Killer mysteriously stopped killing (he grew out of it!) and why the spelling in his letters to The Chronicle was so shitty!

Ok, ok. Maybe it wasn't a slam dunk.  
Have a good weekend!!!

Tuesday, October 31, 2017


Just in the nick of time, The Sparkling Waters are back with  another creepy holiday song. Listen with the lights on!!!!


Hey fans, how the HELL are ya? You doing anything for Halloween this year? (I put the word in italics to make it spookier. Do you know if there's a way to make words look shakier and/or drippier as well? Sound off in the comments...)
If you're anything like me, you're pretty tuckered out from all the eating and partying you did last Saturday night, in Sausalito, but that doesn't mean you can't have fun tonight, too. You just have to be a little more creative. Last year, for example, Halloween was on a Monday, so instead of getting drunk I went down to the Portland waterfront with my pals Joe Cutty and J-Bird Osprey, and frightened the geese.
This year, I decided to do a bird-related activity again, to get myself out of my parents' spooky garage (which I've decked out in cobwebs and fake ants, in celebration of the season) and get this blog back on topic.
You mean you're going to do some actual birding again?? You ask.
Not quite, my scary friend, but close. I'm going...BAT-ing.  

An American Bat

Bats, according to Wikipedia, are the only mammal which is also a bird. You might remember them from the movie DRACULA, or FERNGULLY: THE LAST RAINFOREST. If you have a really good memory, you might even remember some bat "facts" you learned from the kooky old lesbian who visited your school when you were 12. ("Bats are NOT gross!!!")
Even if your memory is on par with mine, though, the only way to truly understand bats is to go out into the dark and look for them. At least, that's what I'm guessing. Maybe it's impossible to understand bats.
I'll let you know how it goes.