Speed Stacking: The Next Baseball?

Way back when, I started a post about Great Games I Have Known, which featured a rant about the sport of Speed Stacking. At first I thought the idea of timing yourself to stack plastic cups into pyramids was preposterous, but then I saw this video:

Super Fast Speed Stacking Chick

Holy shit! That chick makes Jackie Chan look like a freakin’ Ent from Lord of the Rings. You know, cuz Jackie Chan has lightning fast hands and those stupid mumbling trees are slow as hell. Not ringing any bells? Well, the analogy works so back off!

And 7.63 seconds! I don't know what that means but I'm sure it's good. Only one thing is for sure; Team Superhandz does NOT accept posers.

I have a new found respect for Speed Stacking thanks to this video clip. Youtube, you’ve done it again. I only wish my parents made me train for this kind of stuff when I was younger so that I could have been a Speed Stacking champion today. I’ve seen Speed Stacking groupies and they are something else, let me tell ya.

There was so much potential for me to become a speed stacking professional. I remember this one birthday party I had at McDonalds when I completely dominated all the other kids at that crappy Big Mac carton stacking game. My tower reached like 20 containers high when all the other piles were toppling at 15 maybe 16 tops. I was a Styrofoam container stacking prodigy.

Perhaps my parents thought I had unfair advantage since I had a heightened sense of awareness from eating three pieces of chocolate cake and an entire sugar cookie shaped like Grimace. Actually, I don’t think those things on the cake qualify as cookies since cookies tend to have flour in them and those things were just pure hardened sugar fashioned into fun shapes, in my case, an obese purple monster. Those sugar things weren’t even that good.

I shouldn’t complain though, that was a really great Sweet Sixteen party. A car would have been nice but the Golden Arches is a close second.

Someday, when I have kids, I’m going to put them on a strict regime of cup amassing exercises and drills to hone their skills in this fine art. When all the other kids are running around playing soccer or flag football, or going to school, my kids will be at home stacking cups, timing themselves, and then stacking those cups again, trying to beat the previous time.

THAT or doing trick pool shots. Performing trick pool shots is awesome and has equal potential to become a lucrative career when they’re older.



What the hell is this thing, seriously? A purple cone with eyes? The Hamburglar is iconic. This tool, not so much.

Myspace Woes

Lately, it seems, I have been receiving a lot of backlash over my Myspace profile. It seems to be offending a lot of people with its lameness. This week in particular, for some reason, was particularly hard for people to be linked to me via the world’s most popular social networking site.

Even my hair stylist had to comment, “What’s the deal with your Myspace page?”

At that moment, it became apparent that my profile needed some tweaking. After all, if I’m going to be able to pull off a faux hawk, then I better I have online credentials to back it up.

The thing about my profile is that it makes sense if you’ve been reading this blog for any period of time. My fascination with zombie movies and “Call on Me” are obvious to all my faithful readers.

But for the average Myspace stalker, it probably leaves more questions than answers.

Therefore it’s time for a change. A big change. I’m going to craft the ultimate myspace page and then comment later this week on how exponentially more rad it has gotten.

EVERYONE is going to want to be my friend. Everyone.

Also, I might have to take my blog off the Internet for awhile for some routine maintenance. If I do, it’ll only be temporary so no worries.

3/6/07

Before I change my profile, I want one more chance to defend myself.

Here is the link to my myspace page:

Ben’s awesome profile

You’ll notice right away that I used a delightfully clever pun on my last name as a nickname. Woll Street. You know, like Wall Street. But it’s Woll Street. I’m a business major and I work for a real estate developer so that’s funny. Just take my word for it.

Next, you’ll notice my sweet ass profile pic. Like a wild stallion, I’ve got a head of hair that can’t be tamed. It’s also a well known fact that chicks dig long hair, almost as much as they love dicks in boxes for holiday gifts. I think the black and white photography is a nice touch, too. It seems to legitimize that five-year bender I like to call college.

My background is also unique in that I went out of my way to avoid using the default Myspace setting, but I also made it so that your eyeballs don’t vomit like so many other profiles that I’ve seen. You know the ones I’m talking about. They’re the ones with about a million different things going on at the same time with no discernable theme or pattern. They’re almost as loud as the obnoxious songs that sometimes play in the background.

Now I know I’d be offending a lot of people by saying those songs are annoying so I apologize. It’s just that I must be the only person on the planet that listens to iTunes while surfing the net so I get kind of perturbed when I have to find and click that stupid pause button every two seconds so it doesn’t interfere with the song I’m currently listening to. It wouldn’t be so bad it you had to do it once but that shit reloads every time you click on something. Surely, there must be a better system out there. Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Next you’ll see my random profile information. Admittedly, it’s pretty nerdy. This is where I’ll spruce things up. By no means am I going to sell-out my love of zombie movies, Harry Potter, and Call on Me, but I will strive to make it more universally appealing.

Finally, there’s that whole “shameless self-promotion of my blog” theme that runs rampant throughout the profile. I don’t suppose I’m going to gain any new readers anytime soon so maybe I’ll downplay that as well.

Or make Brain Litter MORE prevalent? I’m going to have to think about that one…



This zombie really knows how to rawk the hawk. Feel free to copy and paste this little beauty into your social networking website of choice.

3/8/07

Okay, are you happy now, World?

I sold out and de-nerdified my myspace layout. At first I thought I’d get real funny and just make it as crazy as possible, but after cruising around a few pimp-my-myspace websites, I realized those sites are more obnoxious than the most profiles that I’ve seen.

It took me forever to download the layout, which I think is pretty trippy. The rest is standard fare. I apologize if I over-hyped this post.

If you really want to know the truth, I am much bigger fan of facebook. It’s just a lot cleaner and user friendly. Even the stalker feature is starting to grow on me. I’m not one to go joy-riding on other people’s profiles but if something jumps out at me when I first login, then I’m all the wiser. Plus you can post unlimited pictures.

I envision a world someday where everyone is divided into facebook and myspace rival factions where civil war is all but inevitable. Friends will be de-linked, walls and comments will be ripe with slander, and chaos will ensue. This uneasy truce we have now will only last so long. I suggest you choose sides wisely.

War is hell.

I’m Talking About a Little Place Called Assssspen

Once in awhile I like to post about something that I think is only going to be funny to me and maybe a few select people.

This is one of those times.

I like to blog about my vacations, not because I think other people will think they are interesting, but because it sort of preserves the memory for me in a way that a photograph can’t. Pictures are a great visual but they don’t remind of you the little things on the trip that actually made it the great holiday that it was.

Plus I like to think that someday, when I’m sixty years old and blogging away at why I think prune juice is a better natural laxative than oat bran or something like that, I can dig into the archives and remember back to that one glorious weekend back in Aspen, where the beer flowed like wine and beautiful women flocked instinctively like the salmon of Capistrano.

The first thing you should know about Aspen, Colorado, is that it is literally impossible to NOT quote Dumb & Dumber while traveling to said town. Getting to Denver was easy enough but I dare you to not comment “I thought the Rocky Mountains would be a little rockier than this” while traveling the route along I-70. It can’t be done.

FYI – Dumb & Dumber was actually filmed in Breckenridge, Colorado. Many Aspenites commented on this fact, usually in a visibly annoyed manner. I got the feeling that the Aspen locals are not entirely impressed with Harry and Lloyd quoting tourists twelve years after the debut of this classic comedy.

We spent Thursday night partying in Denver, with the intention of making an early start to Aspen on Friday morning. Unbeknownst to us, we would be halted the next day by 100 mph winds causing 0% visibility beyond the Eisenhower tunnel, two hours into our journey.

That’s what’s weird about the Rocky Mountains; one second it’s crystal clear blue skies and two seconds later you’re stuck in a Class III Kill Storm.

Undeterred, we drove down to Colorado Springs and then west again to bypass the storm since the radio reported that I-70 would be closed until Saturday morning. All in all we added an additional five hours on top of the four hour trip it would have been regularly. What’s funny about that is that I-70 eventually did open up again on Friday night, so had we waited the storm out in Denver, we effectively would have arrived in Aspen about the same time without the extra five hours sitting in a car.

We justified our decision by claiming that we conquered that little bastard I like to call uncertainty. Who knew I-70 would open up again? Onward ho!


I realize this scene looks like it was taken directly from a Kazakhstanian Disco but I assure you, the rest of the weekend wasn’t NEARLY as homoerotic.

2/25/07

Anxious to check out the local scene, we quickly unpacked our things and headed downtown. The strange thing about Aspen is that it represents a small microcosm of a major metropolitan area. What I mean by this is that instead of having a few bars and restaurants like a typical ski town, Aspen contains its own Rodeo Drive complete with a night clubs and martini bars.

Not bad for a voting population of 6,000 people.

Anyways, having no one to plug us into the social pipeline, we decided to put out the vibe at the nearest watering hole that we could find. Luckily, we befriended some…well, I guess you call them hippies, but they weren’t like Madison hippies, more like ski bummish hippies. We had a fun time partying with them and they helped us show us the ropes around town.

The next day, we hit the up the Aspen Highlands, which was one gnarly hill to board. Gnarly is a very peculiar word that sort of evolved over the course of the weekend. At first gnarly was used mockingly to make fun of the locals.

“We’ll hit that wicked pow pow, br’a, it’s gonna be gnarly.”

As the afternoon went on, we stopped mocking gnarly and eventually accepted the word into our vocabulary, realizing the adjective has a tremendous amount of range. By the end of the trip, we turned gnarly into a noun, no small feat. In fact, one of the best quotes I heard over the weekend was Pete pointing at a jump from the chairlift and commenting in deadpan delivery:

“I think on this next run I’m going to grab some gnar off that headwall.”

Nice work, Pete.

Saturday night was more of the same with the exception of starting out at the local chapter of the Elk’s Club. The only reason I mention this is that Pete number 2 was using this as a pick-up line that night, which I’m pretty sure no one cared about. It was a worth a shot though.

Sunday was a great day. After another gorgeous day of boarding at AJAX, a rocking out session of Tegan & Sara, and a fabulous meal at the Aspen McDonalds, where we had everyone within an earshot in hysterics over an intense debate on the merits of the McRib, we decided to check out a thrift store in town where we got the following artifacts from around 1983.

I think the picture explains it all.



Rollerskate, Participate, Negotiate. These are the good times.

One more story from this trip, I promise.

So we decided to go out that night wearing these jackets, hoping a great story would emerge from the ridiculousness of the situation. As soon as we got out of our Taxi Sunday, we were immediately invited to have a drink with this 30-ish to 40-ish year old woman who was one of Aspen’s elite.

She eventually called up her entourage, who’s combined net worth is a figure so high that my financial calculator does not recognize it, where we ended up at the Caribou Club, Aspen’s most expensive private club in town. Apparently, Tommy Lee was there the night before. That was the closest I got to a celebrity sighting. But it was still pretty cool. Cody and I started sweating about the bar tab but thankfully the rich broads picked it up. So free drinks, too! The only thing I paid for was a round of coat checks, which set me back 15 bones. Not bad for a night hob-knobbing with Aspen’s elite.

I won’t get into the details about the remainder of the night, but let’s just say one of us, and I’m not going to name names, made a $350 major blunder. You know who you are, Magic Moves. We’re teammates!

So that was our trip. It was sweet. Or should I say, it was gnar. Very gnar.

Oh No, not VD!

They said it couldn’t be done.

To all the cynics out there, most notably my perpetual arch nemesis, Professor Dic, I’d like to give you all give a big…um… what’s that thing called that the Rock used to do…you know, when he put his arms out and then a made a big sweeping “V” motion which ended up with him focusing your attention to his crotchular area. I forget.

Anyways, you are all a bunch of Gibroni’s because I was not alone on Valentine’s Day. Better yet, I was not alone…with a GIRL.

Many of you may have remembered my Valentines Day blog post massacre last year. Although I still feel the day is a corporate sham, at least I can now post my thoughts on the subject without using expletives, a major feat for me. I must be getting mature or something. Scary.

Even though I had a date, I wasn’t going to let VD get the best of me, so I didn’t freak out and spend five hours in the mall trying to read the angle of every single possible gift idea out there in the hopes of sending the appropriate message to my little dirndl-clad fraulein.

But I did want to acknowledge that VD was festering about and that I didn’t forget so I narrowed the gift down to three options, each equally awesome and meaningful in my mind:

1. To do a really nice blog post about her
2. To NOT to do a blog post about her
3. My dick in a box

I quickly ruled out number 2 because ALL people long to be blogged about, even if they won’t admit it and say it would be super embarrassing. And I think I’m going to save number 3 for Christmas so that leaves number 1; the gift of blog.

Then I realized that if I don’t want to be alone for the next outbreak of VD, then I better just make her a nice homemade greeting card and take her out for a whole meal of food. I also planned to not annoy her very much too, which is the closest I get to being romantic. Also notice I said “homemade” and not “store-bought waste of heavy paper stock”.

It’s your move, Hallmark. Let’s see what you got.


Fellas, your lady may tell you time and time again that she wants diamonds or shoes for the holidays, but you know as well as I do what they really want...

Brain Litter Re-Cap

When I start a blog or a string of blog posts, it usually stems from a picture with a funny caption I had in mind and then just kind of spirals off from there.

For instance, I knew I wanted to do something to commemorate the return of Brett Favre so of course I had to rehash the story of us building a tree fort together. But in reality, my goal was to establish Peyton Manning my new arch nemesis right up there with pennies and bachelorette parties by using this photo I got from Google Images:


Here is a great pic of Brett Favre about to head butt Peyton Manning. Er…actually it looks like he might be about to give him a kiss, too. It’s really hard to tell from this vantage point. Better to assume the former.


Unfortunately, I was swamped at work and at home so I got lazy. Expect to see various jabs at that hack of a quarterback in the foreseeable future.

FYI – You can use “swamped at home” interchangeably with “crippling addiction to Guitar Hero.” Same Difference.

While I’m wrapping things up, I have gotten various feedback from people wondering what the false Joe Daniels tale was since they were all so mind-blowingly real. I suppose that was kind of a dick move to leave you hanging high and dry so… the false story is…

Story Number 2, the one about us getting kicked out of the bar on News Years for dropping wicked bombs. Everything about that story was true except exchange “Joe” with “me” and “kicked out” to “almost kicked out.”

Conceptually, I find the idea of getting bounced from a bar for breaking wind absolutely hilarious. It would be worth trying out some night as some kind of weird social experiment. I think it would be tough though. You would have to drop ass with malicious intent, like inserting yourself in the middle of a pack of chicks and then laughingly hysterically once they all go scrambling for fresh air.

If anyone is inspired to try this out, for the love of God, please do us a favor and tape it so you can put it on You Tube or something. That’s all I ask.

Third, I’m going to finish that Great Games I Have Known, because there is some great material I can use there, but I got Valentines Day coming up and a trip to Aspen happening this weekend so it will have to wait.

He's BACK!!!!!!!!!!!

Brett Favre has decided to return for his 16th season as the starting quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, once again, in no small part from some influencing from yours truly.

This time around it was a little more difficult.

My tale begins a few weeks ago in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Me and Brett Favre we’re building a fort in the woods near his home. We were looking for our own private place to play Legos because Brett Favre's seven year-old daughter, Breleigh Favre, was always stealing our missile pieces and as every Lego buff knows, those missile pieces are no commodity when building an interstellar fighter plane.

Space fighter plane craft happen to be our Lego specialties even though Brett Favre’s designs tend to be on the boxy side and lack symmetry. Then again, he can throw a football as straight as a laser beam so maybe he knows a little bit more about aerodynamics than I do.

Anyways, we were installing a secret trap door at the base of the fort when I started up with my usual retirement banter:

“So I read in Variety yesterday that Dan Marino and the Farrelly Brothers are thinking about filming some kind cross country road trip movie together. Kinda sounds like it’s going to be like There’s Something About Mary only funnier and better…”

“Oh, good for him,” he replied as he nailed one of the hinges to the floorboard. “I would have loved to work on that project but I already told Marty Scorsese that I would work with him on his next mafia movie. We’ve been looking to collaborate on a project for several years now.”

“Damn”, I thought. That Dan Marino crap usually gets his blood boiling. It was time to switch tactics.

“You know on Sportscenter today, they said Peyton Manning would make the running list of all-time greatest quarterbacks if he won the Super Bowl this year.”

Brett Favre missed a nail and hit his hand with the hammer as I said this. “Goddammit Goddammit”, he said as he resumed nailing the second hinge to the door, virtually unaffected by the smashing of his hand with a hammer moments earlier.

“If only there was some way to shut those pundits up,” I said, as I handed Brett Favre another board to reinforce the door.

2/6/07

Brett Favre didn’t respond to that last statement but I could tell the wheels were in motion.

I didn’t want to push the subject much further. If there is one thing I know about Brett Favre, it’s that he hates being manipulated into dominating the NFL. The best way to keep Brett Favre quarterbacking is to let him think that it was his idea to keep playing all along. Luckily the silence was interrupted by some rustling in the trees.

It was Deanna Favre. She was bringing us milk and cookies. We quickly got rid of the dips in our mouth and covered up the secret trap door with some tree branches.

“I thought you boys might be hungry so I brought you some treats”, she said. I rolled my eyes and begrudgingly accepted a cookie. Deanna was always bringing us snacks but deep down I knew she was just spying on us.

When Deanna left us alone again, we put the finishing touches on the secret trap door and climbed inside.

“What do you think the secret password should be,” asked Brett Favre as we sat huddled in our miniature fortress of solitude. “I was thinking maybe Hail Mary would be a good one. Or Lambeau Leap, I like that one, too.”

“Those are pretty good passwords, but I was thinking Indianapolis Colts in honor of my new favorite team,” I replied.

We never did come up with a secret password that day but I knew Brett Favre was seriously contemplating my words.

Normally, we just talk about girls we kind of like while we play Legos but that afternoon, he asked me for tips on all how to throw the long ball, so already I knew in his head that he was a staging the ultimate comeback for Green Bay in 2007.

That’s why it wasn’t a complete shock for me when he made his announcement last Friday even though I am excited all the same. It is going to be another glorious year for the residents of Green Bay. I can feel it in my bones.



Here is a photo of Brett Favre at a press conference, announcing to the world that me and him are totally BFF. It was one of my better days to say the least.



2.8.07

Apparently this last Sunday, there was some kind of exhibition game to determine the second best team in the NFL after the Green Bay Packers.

In a contest that I would best describe as a battle of mediocrity, The Indianapolis Colts were handed the Vince Lombardi Trophy on a silver platter by none other than Rex Grossman himself.

I’m sure ol’ Sexy Rexy is going to be the treated with a nice warm reception by the City of Chicago when he returns home from Miami. After all, they don’t take football very seriously there in the Windy City and I’m sure they are just happy that Rex tried his best out there. Ditka would be proud.

Initially I was upset with the Bears losing the Super Bowl, primarily because I didn’t want Peyton Manning to ever earn a Super Bowl Ring. Having the ring automatically puts Manning in the upper echelons of all-time greatest Quarterbacks and the last thing I wanted was some punk from Indy upstaging the great Brett Favre when he makes his triumphant return next season. Talking to a lot of fans in the past few weeks, I know I am not the only one with these sentiments.

One major difference between Peyton Manning and Brett Favre is that Manning is a whiny little bitch whenever a play does not go his way. Manning can throw up some impressive numbers in a season, but if you ever watch the guy play, he’s real tough to get behind when he’s down. No one wants to root for cry baby, I don’t care how good your team is otherwise.

Brett Favre, on the other hand, never let’s a play get out of his control so he’s always cool and jovial. When he throws an interception or gets sacked, it is because he CHOOSES to throw an interception or get sacked. The NFL knows that Brett Favre is essentially invincible, so he is contractually obligated to screw up every once in awhile to make the games interesting and maximize advertising revenue.



Where's your pacifier, Peyton?

Great Games I Have Known

I was shopping last night (specifically for groceries, Scrabble, spoons, a plunger, and Guitar Hero 2) when I came across a most unusual game.

When I was in the board game aisle at Target, I found a game called Speed Stackers or some shit like that. I forget the real name of the product because it was the concept of the game that really had me floored.

The game consists of taking six plastic cups and then timing yourself to see how long you stack the cups in a pyramid. Speed Stackers boasts an alternate set of cups for two-player, cup stacking mayhem. The total package consists of twelve cups, a cup bag, a cup stacking mat, and a timing device. Retail Price: $29.95.

When I was investigating the nature of this game and then discovering the price tag for said game, I let out THEE biggest scoff you could possibly imagine and then I did one of those things where I immediately looked all around me, to see if anyone else could believe what was going on here.

Apparently I was the only one shocked by the fact that there are consumers out there in the world that are willing to shell out thirty bucks for twelve plastic cups under the pretense of a stacking game. The game was situated between Operation and Mousetrap adding further insult to injury. Now THOSE were real games.

I initially grabbed the box because I thought some really clever college kid finally came up with the idea of marketing flip cup to the masses. This idea is just as stupid as the stacking game, but at least I could applaud the idea of some kid out there paying his tuition through selling crap to his absent-minded brethren.

But thirty bucks! Not even a student at Arizona State would fall for such a scheme. Zing!

But the whole idea got me thinking of great toys and games that we had growing up…


Speed Stackers? More like Lame Stackers!

Seriously, Ben, is that really the best caption you can do here? C'Mon!

The Astonishing Tales of Joe Daniels

I don’t know if any of y’all noticed but I tacked that last blog post on to the previous post, thus completing the blog idea in its entirety but at the same time, keeping the commentary going.

I think I am going to do this for now on. The primary reason is because I am attempting to get up at 5:00 am every morning so I can establish a morning routine before heading off to my cubicle. There a lull of time in this routine that would be perfect for bloggin’ so I’m going to have a topic in mind for the week and then add to it daily or at least every other day.

That’s right, you heard correct, you will now get a daily dose of Brain Litter. I’m anticipating a Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show-like response to this turn of the events but that remains to be seen.

To kick this concept off, I’ve decided I’m going to tell an amusing tale about my roommate Joe Daniels every day this week. Well, not so much story, they’re more like foibles. Three of them will be true, and one will be false.

Try to guess which one I made up. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Joe Daniels Foible #1

After taking his sweet time getting through college, Joe decided to shed his socialist ways and get a job in the real world. He decided he would try his luck at Epic’s Intergalactic Headquarters, one of the world’s largest providers of medical software.

Epic has a grueling interview process and after several bouts with the company’s recruiters, Joe finally made it to the last stage, a mock business presentation. Knowing only how to espouse pinko rhetoric and propaganda, Joe was clueless on how to deliver a short, concise, and factual report.

So Joe was forced to collaborate with me, business prodigy and zombie expert. Together, we put together a survival guide for dealing with the undead when they inevitably take over the world. Topics included zombie physiology, weapon strengths and weaknesses, and defensive measures to fortify your home.

The presentation was a rousing success. Joe was hired on the spot, more likely for his ability to defend Epic headquarters in a zombie epidemic, and less likely for his business prowess, but still, he gets a weekly paycheck now like the rest of us capitalists.

The moral of the story: If you want a lucrative job in today’s high flying medical software industry, you best be brushing up on your knowledge of the walking dead.

1/24/07

Joe Daniels Foible #2

Last New Years Eve, we decided to spend an evening out on the town. Imagine that. We were going to kick off our new year bar hopping in a section of town we don’t normally go to, the taverns of south Park Street.

The night started off fine. Joe was dropping some wicked bombs but other than that, it was business as usual.

The thing is though, his gas expulsions were getting worse and worse as the night crept on. More frequent too, a most disagreeable combination. Normally I laugh my butt off at stink air, but this ass fog went beyond the realm of funny.

“Go back to Russia, you stinkmonger,” I kept telling him but to no avail. Dude and Andy went outside for a smoke and apparently people out there were commenting on how bad it smelled inside. At that point we knew trouble was brewing. Literally.

At around 10:30, Joe let off this one that was just putrid. It smelled like two turds got caught in the middle of a prison riot. You just had to laugh.

Unfortunately, the bouncer didn’t think it was so funny. He came over to us and said we had to leave. Joe promised he would go to the bathroom again if it happened again but the guy wouldn’t listen. We got kicked out of the Klinic because Joe wouldn’t stop shitting his pants. It was a new low for us, and not the best way to kick off 2007 to say the least.

I don’t really blame Joe, though. Before the smoking ban, we used to be able to break wind freely in a bar and the cigarette smell would cover it up. Those glory days are over. Maybe Joe thought the live music was loud enough to mask the stench, who knows?

Moral of the Story: Flatulence will get you nowhere.

1/25/07

Joe Daniels Foible #3

My Junior year of college, we all used to live in this shabby excuse for a dwelling known as 1026 Drake Street. Joe had a bedroom right across the hall from mine where he used to spend hours upon hours reading literature sympathetic to the communist party and playing Wrestlemania on Playstation 2.

When I got bored with my studies, I often visited his lair to hang out and to listen to his crazy ideas. He used to keep this change bucket on his dresser that always seemed a little fuller each time I glanced at it.

Why was I constantly staring at Joe’s loose change? You know how sometimes you think something is so hideous, you just can’t look away? Like watching a horrific car accident on the side of a highway. Or watching Zach Braff on Scrubs. Well, it was kind of like that.

Anyways, one Saturday morning, I wanted to go to Best Buy but Joe didn’t because he didn’t have any money. Typical.

But I really wanted to go so I offered him an even 20 bucks for all the change in his bucket. I figured there was about 30 dollars in there so I thought Joe would immediately decline the offer but low and behold, he accepted it without a moment’s hesitation.

Joe thought he was getting away with a sweet deal, but I counted that shit up right away and guess how money was in there?

$37.45!

I remember the exact amount to this day because it was the best business deal I ever made. I made an instant 87% return on my investment without lifting a finger. Plus Joe was super pissed when he found out. I don’t know if he was pissed because he lost so much money in the transaction or because he realized he has terrible judgment when it comes to spatial relationships. Either way, that was probably the best Saturday ever.

Moral of the Story: Keep your change in a tall and narrow container instead of a bucket with a wide bottom. It’ll look like you have a lot more money.

Also, if I were you, I’d get rid of all those germ-infested pennies, too. That’s just good hygiene.



Eat your heart out, Coinstar Center. You ain't got nothin’ on me!

1/26/07

Joe Daniels Foible #4

Another time during that fateful experience at 1026 Drake Street, we we’re all gathered around the living room, hungover, and watching the Packers stomp Detroit.

Wait…maybe they were beating the Bears that day. I forget, but it back in 2002 so I’m sure we were winning.

We decided to order Papa John’s since we we’re too lazy to do anything else. I was broke so I decided I was just going to leave the room when the pizza arrived rather than bask in all that mozzarella and Italian sausage glory and not have any part of it being eaten.

But over an hour passed and still no pizza arrived. So the guys told me if I called and bitched to Papa John’s, then I would have a stake in their pie. So I did, and Papa John said they’d send two free pizzas over to our place for the inconvenience. Score!

Another hour passed. The Packer game was dwindling down. We were not at all pleased with our current state of hunger. So I called and bitched again and they said the same thing again.

Twenty minutes later we finally got our order. We were pissed that it took almost two and half hours but it was free so no harm no foul.

All of a sudden the doorbell rang again. We all looked at each other quizzically, as no one ever came to visit us at the stink pit that was 1026 Drake Street.

It turned out it was another Papa John’s pizza guy, and he had two more pizzas for us. We made a mad dash to cover any trail of the first two pizzas before answering the door. It was damn near impossible to keep a straight face as the guy apologized profusely for the late order.

Four free Pizza’s in one day! Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

That was probably the best Sunday, not to be confused with the best Saturday (see above post) ever for me. No, check that, January 26, 1997 was the best Sunday ever. This was the second best Sunday ever.

What does this have to do with Joe? Well, he was there the whole time. I think…

Is that not a good enough story about Joe to conclude this post? One time, me and Lumby put Joe’s moped in his bed. That was pretty funny.

And one time, me and my buddy Cross took a copy of Tail End magazine (a smutty periodical featuring nothing but butts. I remember the cover story was titled “Masses of Asses”) and tore out the pages and hid them all over Joe’s room and between his school books and things so that he was constantly finding porn in his belongings (like during a lecture, those moments were the best) for the next few months. That was pretty funny too.

This concludes the astonishing tales of Joe Daniels. As you can see, he’s a pretty easy guy to embarrass. If you remember, one of the stories is not entirely true, even though they are all equally plausible. I’ll leave you guessing as to the real truth.



Here’s a funny picture action photo of Joe throwing up. I think it was taken a few weeks ago. Anyways, this whole Astonishing Tales of Joe Daniels ruse was just an excuse to post this picture. Enjoy.

Part II & III - 6 Reasons to Patronize McDonalds This Month

Chicken McNuggets may be king for the next two weeks but that won’t fool a true McDonald’s veteran like myself: The double cheeseburger or simply the “DCB” is still the best value for a dollar anywhere on the planet.

I am cheap. There I said it. I like cheap shit. I am the only person I know that brings a calculator to the grocery store. Not to keep a tab on price totals and keep my spending within a set budget, oh good God no. I have no set budget when I shop and have never carried a list of things I need. I use a calculator to compare the various net weights of foods to their respective price tag, maximizing ounces to dollars for optimal fullness.

This same kind of logic applies to fast food cravings. In my mind, there are only two options to get full on the cheap, call it two bucks. How do you get full for two bucks? Easy. The DCB and the Half-Pound Beef & Potato Burrito at Taco Bell.

Let’s put these two gut grenades to the test. We’ll also throw Chicken McNuggets in there just for the sake of argument.

The criteria used for judging these items are as follows: Value (by the objective measure of dollars per ounce), Volume, Taste, and Probability of Horrific Bowel Movements post-dining. The scale is measured from the low to high with the item having the LOWEST total score being the BEST all around solution to your snack attack. I have displayed the summary results in this here excel spreadsheet because that’s just what I do.



As you can see, the DCB is the clear victor in this study by an overwhelming margin to the Beef and Potato in spite of its high scores in value and volume. I know I may get some argument here, especially with the DCB having a higher taste score than the McNuggets, but let’s look at the facts.

The DCB is tasty. It’s beef. It’s cheese. It’s delicious. It probably tastes as good now as it did back when Ray Kroc first decided to declare war on our waistbands back in 1950 or whatever.

Now call me nostalgic but I kind of miss the old Chicken McNuggets. The ones that were cooked in trans fats, kind of gray inside, and, if I remember correctly, used to contain a small percentage of fish. I’m not joking about that fish part, I read that somewhere, I think.

Either way, McNuggets used to be more awesome even if they didn’t contain 100% all-white Pigeon meat that they use today.

Still more to follow…

1/21/07

I don’t know why I feel so compelled to keep going on this inane topic but here goes.

Don’t get me wrong, Chicken McNuggets are great and they are still full of surprises. Just the other day, I decided to get a little crazy and get the honey mustard sauce instead of my bread n’ butter Sweet n’ Sour. The experience was almost divine, it was so good. It was a great way to mix things up over this two week McMarathon of value.

FYI, while I was doing my homework for this post, I stumbled upon this sweet little factoid: Sweet N’ Sour sauce is actually a combination of Apricot flavoring, soy sauce, vinegar, and chili pepper. No shit, huh? That’s what I thought, too.

Anyways, an often overlooked criterion for judging the merits of these snacks is volume. It’s not enough to be physically full, I also want to be psychologically full. The DCB loses some points in this respect as it tends to resemble a dense brick of processed meat and cheese. Just looking at it, you wouldn’t think your stomach would be satisfied. Same thing goes with the McNuggets even though the calorie and fat count would tell you otherwise.

The Beef and Potato Burrito has many quality attributes, including value per ounce and volume, it’s just that the taste doesn’t compare to the above. The consistency of its inner-workings are rarely the same, so it’s kind of a crap-shoot whether or not you’re getting equal distribution of beef and potato. The last few bites always suck too because it is usually just bunched up tortilla and maybe some sour cream if you’re lucky. Weak.

And don’t even get me started with the shits factor. I think we’ve all felt the wrath of Taco Bell at least once in our lives so I’ll leave it at that. As interesting as I find this subject, I wish to avoid alienating my female readers.

In order to combat some the DCB’s shortcomings, I have devised the ultimate order scheme. The order needs a contender so we’re going to pit it against a classic: The Number 5 Value Meal with a Coke. To those who need a refresher, that would be a Quarter Pounder w/Cheese and a large French fry.

Retail price: $5.50: Total Calories: 1,390 Total Fat: 56 Grams. Total Weight: 12.98 Ounces*

* I did not include the weight of the cola beverage because liquids only temporarily trick your stomach that it is full and does not actually contribute to an official state of fullness.

Now look at my method, we’ll call it the Ben Wollin combo. It involves items exclusive to the dollar menu.

1. A DCB. No surprises there.

2. Double Hamburger. Why a Double Hamburger instead of a DCB? To be honest, I think you’re asking for trouble eating four slices of American cheese in one sitting. It’s almost dangerously cheesy. I recommend swapping the bottoms so you get one slice of cheese per double burger, resulting in a perfect distribution of meat, bun, and cheese.

3. Small fry. You don’t need a large fry, trust me.

4. A Side Salad. This is to tackle that whole volume issue. Simply stuff the lettuce in your sandwiches, giving your brain the impression that you are actually eating two large mouth-watering burgers.

5. Fruit and Yogurt Parfait. Instead of digesting those empty calories with the cola, you actually get some kind of nourishment.

Retail Price: $5.00 Total Calories: A meager 1,200. Fat: 55 grams (but who’s counting?) Weight: 21.59 ounces.

There you go. You get almost twice as much food, the taste and volume are all there, and you’re getting some greens and fruits and yogurts and stuff so you don’t have to feel guilty all day. In fact, you’d be stupid NOT to get the Ben Wollin combo.

I realize the best bet for your body is to avoid McDonald’s entirely but that is not what this post is about. It’s about getting the best bang for your buck. Right now, that means stocking up on McNuggets. To date, my McNugget count is at 43. That’s an odd number and I’ll tell you why. Two simple words: bonus McNugget. You can imagine how happy I was last Saturday when I found SEVEN McNuggets in my cute little McNugget bin.

That boot-shaped little guy made my weekend, let me tell you. It’s the little things, right?



Check out my new license plate. Not only does it proudly display my affinity for Chicken McNuggets, but is also a great way to not get pulled over on a weekend night.

6 Reasons to Patronize McDonalds This Month

Stop the presses! I have a very important announcement to make!

Chicken McNuggets are now on the Dollar menu at Mac and Dons.

I know, I know, I am just as flabbergasted as you are. You might think that this deal is too good to be true or that you would get a smaller portion size but you would be wrong.

Unlike Wendy’s paltry five nuggets for a dollar, you get all SIX juicy, tender, all-white meat Chicken McNuggets. Simply put, this is the greatest steal since I stole that box of Sweet N’ Sour Packets from the McDonalds on Regent Street during the Halloween debacle of 2002.

I find this bargain rather curious for a variety of reasons, namely the timing. You see, for my New Years resolution this year, I was going to make it a point to quit fast-food burger restaurants for 2007. I was going to do this for two reasons:

1. You know how smoking makes you look really cool when you’re young but when you see adults do it, it looks really unattractive? Like they should know better by now? I kind of feel that way about Fast Food. Healthy appetites for greasy burgers and French fries are fine when you’re a high school football player or a starving college kid, but as an adult, at least for single adults, it kind of looks like you’re just giving up on life.

2. My favorite hang-over activity used to be going to the neighborhood McDonalds and ordering the Breakfast Deluxe Platter, a meal consisting of eggs, sausage, hotcakes, hash browns, and a biscuit. I thought it would make me temporarily happy, but later it only added to my misery. Why? Maybe it had something to do with the 1220 calories, 61 grams of fat, and 480 milligrams of Cholesterol that I just mainlined into my heart.

The next time I want to abuse my body like that, I’ll just join Opus Dei and get one of those barbed strap things like that albino asshole in The Da Vinci Code. It will probably be cheaper and I won’t suffer from gut rot for the rest of the day.

Anyways, I suspect McDonalds is offering this deal to get people to quit their New Years resolutions of eating healthier. Even the most disciplined dieter is going to buckle under this kind of pressure. 6 McNuggets for a dollar! Those bastards are clever, I’ll give them that.

You may have won this battle, McDonalds, but you haven’t won the war. After all, the deal only lasts until January 29th, so after that it’ll be back to business as usual; fighting my DCB cravings.

More on that on my next post…



Hey! This lady got a bigger nugget than I did last night. Not fair!