I Talk Good

Get it? I am of an elite group of people that talk gooder than you. Truth. To be completely honest, I've studied the rules of the written form of english only so that I may crush these rules in the art of the literary orgy. I am not one of these dicks that will correct your grammar so that I may feel superior; it doesn't bother me at all when people use the phrases and words outlined below. I merely point them out because some people (my employees) might like to know why I smile when they are used. I enjoy thinking up definitions for things like:

exspecially: used to be special or recently made common
for all intensive purposes: only do these things when you are contemplating shark wrestling or base jumping.
laundry mat: something you sit on to fold towels.
added bonus: an infinite number of additional subjects.
right of passage: permission to travel through a specified geographical area.
organic foods produced w/out chemicals: the miraculous growth of plant life completely without the use of water (a chemical known as dihydrogen oxide).
a tad bit: when matter is introduced to anti-matter and made redundant.
The Ukraine: accept no substitutes. I despise all lesser ukraines.
by far and away: the location you seek is close to my favorite binocular store, Far and Away.
unchartered: when you leave your house in a hurry and forget to call a cab.

As I have shared a tad bit of my existing list, more will come at a later date. I am accepting of any additions you may have.

Articulate Children

Those of you without offspring, I must let you know that kids are the best pets ever. They eventually learn to feed themselves, they will go and get you soda while you're watching football and they even figure out speech. I, personally, have procreated 3 times and have been involved in the initial act of procreation at LEAST seven times (the jr. high version of me will be most happy to learn). My kids are hilarious. For instance:

Sohvi (yeah, that's how you spell it. My wife is Finnish; deal with it.)

"Your kidneys are in your butt."
"Jesus wants me for a birthday cake."
"Grandma, are you sooo pissed off?"
"You're the best mommy ever, sometimes."
"I don't like fat people very much."
After hearing the story of David and Goliath, "So if people are mean to us, we will throw rocks at them!"
"Do pumpkins poop?"

Max

"The wind blowed my muscles away."
"I farted in my mouth." (burped)
"How do you spell 'Penis'?"
"My PRETEND cat is named 'Eyeballs'."
"Light bastards?" This is after I noticed that my favorite salad dressing was only available in its lite form, causing me to curse the Hidden Valley family.

Lucy

Actually, everything this kid says is hilarious. If you're a communist.

Bob

When I was a child, my family had little money to spare. I'm not trying to bemoan my youth spent in abject poverty like every parent in the world is obliged to do, it is just a simple fact. This is brought up to illustrate the fact that extravagance was not a part of our lives, including lavish vacations. My father REALLY enjoyed telling me that if i could run down to the end of the driveway and back before he counted to ten, then we would pack up the car right now and the whole family would go to DISNEYLAND. I would be the picture of intense concentration as I stood at the mark waiting for Dad's signal. The fate of my younger siblings' happiness rested in my hands (or feet, rather), and this was going to make me a hero in their eyes. Dad said "Go" and I was off like a prepubescent club-footed cheetah. I was always too focused on my potential glory to ever quite realize that the rate of speed counting up to ten increased as I got closer to finishing the task. Dad would always manage to say "Ten!" just as I was mere inches away from the finish line. My very soul would be crushed, but I always managed to wear a face of stoicism as my father (laughing) would say
"Oh no! And you were so close, we would have actually gone too! Well......maybe next time."
You'll notice that my word choices indicate that this happened more than once so, yes, I am as stupid as my dad is an asshole. But, Daddy Dearest was born 57 years ago today and I love him more than any little boy has ever loved his father. This is my tribute to you, and Happy Birthday Bob.

Social Formulation

I live in a definitive college town, meaning that many of the individuals that I meet want desperately to prove how intellectual they are. I happen to really enjoy movies and if you were to ask me what kind, and I respect you, I would answer truthfully that I like to watch any blockbuster that involves explosions and/or fart jokes. Now, if you have on a woolen cap pulled rakishly to the side with your long hair sticking out all sides and are wearing a short, thin scarf that could not possibly serve any purpose, then compliment the ensemble with some form of a cardigan and you're in your twenties and NOT my grandfather: then I answer you according to this formula which I have created.
The following responses MUST not have been thought of beforehand or it ruins the brilliance of yourself. Just stick to the formula.
Smarter-Than-You-College-Student: "Oh, you like movies do you? Well, who are some of your favorite directors?"
You will have a total of three examples.
Example 1: Any russian-sounding name.
"Well, I was moved by Villinofsky's earlier work...."
Example 2: Any jewish-sounding name.
"I've just recently fallen in love with anything by Bernbaum."
Example 3: Any male first name.
"But my all time favorite is Ted......"
And just as any wierd kind of look strikes snottysmarty's face, jump in with the kicker,
"And don't you dare correct me, I know that they pronounce it differently in FRENCH, but I'm an american and I don't want to butcher it."
I've had the opportunity to use this formula twice recently, and every time the other party nods and smiles knowingly and usually manages to out-gush me over the brilliance of each director. EVERY. TIME.

I was told there would be no math.

Ok, go with me on this. If I were Supreme Leader of the Hegemony of Random Collection of Persons ( SLOT-HORCOP ) then everything would be so rad. We'd have Diet MTN Dew coolers in all offices, National XBOX Championships where the winner gets to kick whomever he wants - in the shins - for three months, doughnut trees, higher taxes and socialized healthcare. Whenever I think about things like this, I am made to feel happy because it is MY dreamworld. But obviously, some people would hate to live there ( namely the anti-carbonation non-coordinated dieting republicans ). So, this being said, let me iterate the fact that I am a religious-minded man following the theology that God is allowed to be a real and true individual thus giving Him an actual personality. I've realized how nervous this should make us because what if He created heaven according to what He thinks is awesome? Scenario: I die tomorrow after my brain explodes because the car in front of me refuses to use his damn turn signal. I get to heaven ( of course ) and God is there.
"Potter!" says he and goes for the fist bump (don't worry, His collar isn't popped because He is NOT a douchebag). God then holds out a plate for me. "Before I show you around, do you want some Fig Newtons?"
"Gross. No."
"What? HA! Potter, you're hilarious. Come this way and I'll show you where we all hang out." And we come upon a large door guarded by cherubim and seraphim which opens into an arena full of school desks circa 1985. Nearly every desk has someone sitting hunched over scratch-paper and textbooks. Arms spread wide, God proclaims, "MATH CLASS!!! This was my favorite subject, and now we can all solve complex algorithms FOREVER! We don't need to take breaks because we don't need food or water in heaven, so it's like the ultimate problem-solving puzzle! Heaven, right?"
These are the things that I think about whenever I need to justify my sinful behavior. Maybe I won't want to go to heaven anyway, right? But it is then that I remind myself that I already know what HELL will be like, and it's the same for everyone. You spend eternity sitting in a club which only serves cream soda, watching girls with collagen lip injections sing karaoke versions of Toby Keith songs. I don't want any part of that.

I need to lose weight

Seriously. I'm not going to be featured on an A&E special or anything, but my infatuation with food is getting out of control. I can't even blame it on a cool freudian idea like an "oral fixation" (awesome). I don't know what my stapler tastes like, nor will I be able to write prose based on the joys of masticating sagebrush (these last two words are not intended to create images of a Proper Noun). No, I just really like good food. One might argue that this does not make me unique. Ok, have you ever been caught talking to your food? Do you hum italian arias while chewing? Have you opened up a seperate checking account from your wife so that she isn't able to see how often you purchase meals from restaurants? Have you ever been so ashamed of how much money you've been spending on food that you fake a heroin addiction? These are just a few things about me that those who follow my blog might not be aware of. This is the get-to-know-you segment, even though it's none of your damned business. So please smack any kit kat covered waffles out of my hand if you see me and care about me enough to keep me from my inevitable 35 year old heart attack. If you will do this, I will blog more.