April 12, 2008


Henry Barrett was playing tug-of-war at Parker High School in October when he heard a “snap.” His hand went numb and blood began spraying everywhere. He had popped his entire hand off.

 http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/15867391/detail.html


April 3, 2008

 A freak pole vault injury took the life of an eighteen year old earlier this month. The teen died 48 hours after a vault that would take him into the after life.

http://www.tri-cityherald.com/901/story/145688.html

 

Apr 14, 2008

When a sixteen year old boy built a tree house in Toronto, he never expected it would be the last thing he ever did. The student fell from the tree house, landed on a knife, and slowly bled the final moments of his life away.

http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/414348 



I think all these stories should teach teens a valuable lesson—stay in your basement and play video games! If you go outside, you will be mutilated and more than likely killed.

Sometimes Jesus comes to talk when I'm playing video games. Fortunetly he's flexible and comes back later.

www.joeycarlson.com

I would blog more today, but I have R.H.

It was a cold unforgiving day. The wind whipped across the plains and the buffalo shook with a combination of fear and delight. They knew that this weather meant that the fish would be floating to the top of the Delaware River.

Meanwhile, the greatest Craigslist ad was posted onto the interweb.

http://minneapolis.craigslist.org/zip/634915451.html-- If someone responds to this, I am going to stick a for sale sign in my dog's poo.

On the other side of town, Charlie Golson was busy counting his coins for the tax man. One penny, two penny, three penny, four penny, five... Charlie was short on time and short on cash. The tax man would be arriving when the hand of the clock struck one. He looked out the window and could see the wind whipping across the plains. Charlie new what this meant. The fish would soon be floating to the top of the Delaware River.

Meanwhile, the greatest name was forged onto this ID Card.

Hours later, the wind had died down and the valley was quiet. Charlie had painfully made is way across the barren plain to the bank of the Delaware River. When he first peared down into the waters he couldn't believe his eyes, all of the fish were gone.

Charlie clenched his fists in rage, let out a deep breath, and screamed, "Damn you buffalo!"

Meanwhile, the world was waiting to be destroyed by Al Gore's internet on red button day (1994 just called and wants its jokeback).

http://www.engadget.com/2008/04/07/cern-creates-a-new-super-fast-internet-invites-tons-of-people-t/#comments

 

If you like what you read, Digg it!

I'm immature

Today I was wondering how cool I am. Are my clothes cool? How about my hairstyle? Do I hang out with dorks? And, how long will my computer be cool? 

I remember the day when my family bought our first computer. It came in the form of a tiny gray box with a six inch by six inch black and white screen on one side. It was labeled “Macintosh Classic.”

Beauty, precision, and simplicity were its key attributes. It was the coolest computer in my neighborhood. I would spend entire days playing SimCity or RoboWars on the tiny machine.

As the years rolled on our tiny Mac became less and less cool. My friends were playing new better games on their IBMs. I was especially jealous of those who went online using Prodigy or AOL.

Macs were no longer cool.

I begged my parents for a new computer, but my coolness just wasn’t one of their priorities. I remember a girl I liked asked me what my AIM screen name was. I wasn’t online so I had none. That girl never talked to me again. My Mac was destroying my social life.

A few years later my parents finally came to their senses and brought home a large green box. The box contained a strange computer of the likes I had never seen. It was bright green and transparent—it was an Imac.

Coolness returned to my computing!

Soon, my computer was once again the envy of the neighborhood. Sure the neighbors had a wider selection of games to choose from, but I was plenty content playing great games like StarCraft. Also, my Imac never broke. I never got a virus. None of friends could make that claim.

What seemed like hours later, my computer coolness departed.

Just like everything, my Imac slowly went out of style. I was going to college and needed a new computer, so I got a Gateway laptop. I figured I would need to use software that just couldn’t run on an Apple.

I thought my computer would be cool again, but it never really was. Through the time I had that damn lap top it was being repaired more than I was using it. And every time they needed to repair it, they sent t across the country only to be returned to me six long weeks later. I struggled with that damn computer for all four years of college. I missed having a computer I could count on.

After graduation, I went to work at my first “real” job and started saving money. When my bank account was full enough, I purchased a brand new MacBook Pro. I love that computer! In the two years I‘ve had it, it has only broke once and Apple fixed it for free and in one day (And the only reason it broke was because I spilled a glass of water on it).

Although I feel I have a cool computer now, I’m wondering how long it will stay that way. I’m very certain that my little MacBook, will soon be as uncool and antiquated as our old Macintosh Classic. 

PS- I do realize blogging about computers is about the most uncool thing to do possible.

The six inches of snow yesterday made me think. I thought about snowball fights, snow forts, snow angels, and snowmen. Winter used to be a time I loved. Now, it’s different. I get anxious for summer to arrive somewhere around my birthday on January 2nd.

This train of thought led me to think about my first winter back in 1983. I wondered what I thought about all the snow that fell the day I was born. I wondered if I thought anything at all that day.

Next, I thought about my first sizable snowfall in a wheelchair. It happened in November of 2000 and I had recently left the hospital and had been living at Courage Center (a rehab center in Golden Valley) for a week or two.

The people I lived at Courage with were completely alien to me. Drug dealers who had been shot, alcoholics who had crashed, brain damaged kids my age, stroke victims, and people with all sorts of problems they’ve had since birth roamed Courage Center’s halls.  When I first arrived I thought they were all a bunch of freaks. I thought I was much better than them.

On the November night of the first snowfall, I was by myself in my room watching Comedy Central. I was quiet and scared, mostly because I wasn’t comfortable with my new body.

“You gotta check this out!” David—a heavyset guy from Duluth who had recently been paralyzed by a gun shot wound—shouted at me.

I reluctantly followed David through the hallways, passed the smoking room, and drove my chair out the rear entrance.

Most of us freaks at Courage center weren’t able to skate, sled, or build forts anymore. Regardless, we still found a way to enjoy the snow. I remember seeing power chairs ripping shitties, power sliding into each other, and spraying fresh snow in each others faces. Most of us had never used our wheelchairs in the snow. It was a blast!

I remember Matt, a guy who had been brain damaged and was unable to talk, had his power chair slide down a hill into a snow bank. He used his DinaVox (a computer that talked what he typed) to call for help.

“Help me, I’m fucking stuck,” Matt’s electronic box that was constantly swearing said to us.

David, who was one of the few people at Courage who had full use of his fingers, tied a transfer belt on Matt’s chair and pulled him to safety—tow truck style. We would later use the same belt to pull people from mud, water, and of course snow.

After that day in the snow, I didn’t see freaks in the hallways anymore. I saw some of the most interesting, diverse, and fun people I will ever encounter.

 

 

When I was a boy, I'd get up real early

I'd go to church, where I'd try not to snore
We'd rush home real quick, and sit on the sofa
And for the next three hours I'd cheer for the Vikings to score

So won't you take me back, to the football season?
Where happiness lives and memories are made
It's only the spring, but I'm getting quite antsy
And as draft day nears, my anxiety won't fade

So I'll surf the web for mock drafts and rumors
I'll keep up to date with free agency
At night I'll dream of my fantasy draft
And I'll read Peter King Religiously

So won't you take me back to the football season?
Where happiness lives and memories are made
It's only the spring, but I'm getting quite antsy
And as draft day nears, my anxiety won't fade

I have been pondering two questions lately: Why do humans exist? And. Why do Hot Pockets Exist?

These may seem like two completely different questions, but they address the same point. I call this point--TheWhat the Hell? Principle.

The problem with the universe is that, by the standard picture of creation, we should not exist at all because equal quantities of matter and "antimatter" were created in the Big Bang some 13.7 billion years ago (or so I'm told).

If you’ve ever watched Star Trek, you know that when equal amounts of matter and anti-matter meet they form pure energy. The problem is our universe is not pure energy, it’s filled with billions and trillions and gazillions of particles of matter. What the Hell? 

The problem with Hot Pockets has to do with the standard principles of marketing. According to these principles Hot Pockets and their 52 varieties should have gone out of business years ago.

A brief history lesson should clarify this point.

Thousands of years ago humans began selling things. Soon after they began selling things, they found it helped to market them. 

The first marketing effort began with a pie salesman who lived in Brooklyn, New York around 2578 BC. At this time New York was a bustling town filled with happy people who worshipped a rock they called Al. The pie salesman had his store in the same location for years and made a decent living. 

After fifteen years of profitability at his store, another pie store moved in across the street from him. Soon the salesman began losing money. He was sad.

His sadness turned to anger, his anger turned to determination, and his determination turned into ingenuity. The salesman said a prayer to Al and had a grand vision. He followed his vision’s recommendations and made a sign that red “Pies for Sale.” Soon this man’s business was doing better than ever. He was making more money than he knew what to do with.

Unfortunately, his competition was not a complete moron. After business dropped off, the pie salesman across the street made a sign of his own. It read, “Hot Pies for Sale.”

Throughout history, pie salesman made signs with an increasing amount of adjectives on their signs. Below is a timeline of great moments in the histopry of pie sales and marketing.  

2578 BC—Pies For Sale

2577 BC—Hot Pies for Sale

2000 BC—Yummy Hot Pies for Sale

1700 BC—Extraordinary Hot Pies for Sale

1256 BC—Extraordinarily Hot Pies for Sale

1158BC-29 AD—During this period pies were banned from being sold. Apparently someone thought they heard Al say that pies were evil. It wasn’t until 29 AD that people realized Al couldn’t really talk

400 AD—Better Pies

700 AD—The Best Pies

1156 AD—At this point people began using marketing for other products, like pastries and Ipods.

1458 AD—Where’s the beef?

1789 AD—Just do it.

1900 AD—Kill the Apes

1947 AD—Save the Whales

1990 AD—Skip It! Skip it!

2000 AD—Snap into a Slim Jim. 

2008 AD—Today the existence of Hot Pockets proves that the end of marketing and the world as a whole is neigh. 


Why do hot pockets exist?

Why do hot pockets exist?

Why do hot pockets exist?

Why do hot pockets exist?

Why do hot pockets exist?

WHY DO HOT POCKETS EXIST!

Hot pockets should not exist after launching the most ridiculous website I have ever seen! Check it out for yourself. www.hotpocketsdojo.com.

Why would a stereotypical Asian ninja dude sell pastrie covered meats? It's weird! It's stupid! This website should offend every Asian and anyone who has ever purchased a Hot Pocket simultaneously!

I personally would prefer that they stuck with the tried and true method of advertising and made a sign that read, “Hot Pockets For Sale."

Joey Out...