Jen and I didn't leave the house yesterday and we got so punchy that we decided that, not only was it a good idea to spend a lot of time with her scarf but that we would take pictures with it as well. All you need to know for this to make "sense" (in the loosest general sense of the term) is that this scarf is also a tube. Enjoy.
Tuesday was our second wedding anniversary and I couldn't be more proud. Because now we have lasted longer than BOTH of Britany Spears' marriages COMBINED!
I did a little research on the traditional gift for the 2nd anniversary and it turns out to be cotton. So I bought Jen a plantation.
Labels: Anniversary, Britney Spears, Jen, Marriage
The Problem With America In A Nutshell
0 Comments Published by Chris on Tuesday, November 07, 2006 at 4:08 PM.
Riding the train to work this morning I noticed a sign I'd never seen before. It was posted on the railing of a porch that looked out over the tracks. It was clearly posted so that it could be read by people on the train. It was a standard piece of poster board (maybe three foot by five foot) that someone had written an urgent message on in magic marker. It said, "Katie, will you marry me? Mike."
Isn't that romantic? He did arts and crafts for her. That's love. I can't imagine Katie saying no to him now. I mean, if this was his proposal, can you imagine the kick ass macaroni pictures she's gonna get for their anniversary?
Labels: Arts and Crafts, CTA, Marriage, Mass Transit, Presents, Proposal, Signs, Trains
According to a story in the Guardian Unlimited Chinese surgeons have attached a donor penis to a man who lost his in an accident. (As opposed to someone who honestly misplaced it. Try between the couch cushions because it's always in the last place you look!)
The accident left the man with a one centimeter (less than a 1/4 0f an inch for Americans, Burmese and Liberians who are the only people in the world who can't wrap their heads around the metric system) penis. When the surgery was complete he was endowed with a 10 centimeter, or roughly 4 inch (Come on! Metric is so logical, what's the problem?!) penis. Now, that doesn't sound like the surgeons did him any favors, but presumably that 4 inches is a penis at leisure. When roused to action who knows what kind of heavy lifting he'll be capable of accomplishing.
The surgeons announced the the body had fully accepted the new member and that it had a robust blood supply and the man was able to urinate normally.
Then, half way through the article they unleash my favorite paragraph in the history of the written word: "Although the operation was a surgical success, surgeons said they had to remove the penis two weeks later. 'Because of a severe psychological problem of the recipient and his wife, the transplanted penis regretfully had to be cut off,' Dr (Weilie) Hu said."
Wow, who could have seen that coming? The surgery was a success, but we're taking the penis back. No, really, we're keeping it. Just drop it on the table when you leave, ok? And don't you can fool us, we're patting you down when you walk outta here!
And how about that tactful bedside manner, huh? His penis "had to be cut off." Presumably that was the third or fourth draft of that press statement. I'm sure the early drafts were much worse. "His penis was hacked from his body. No, not descriptive enough. His engorged man meat was savagely sawed from his battered body. Good, good, good. Nice alliteration. Let's shoot it round to the boys in PR and see what they think."
And for as emasculating as it is to lose your penis once, how much more embarrassing is it to lose it twice? That's just careless. Forget the couch cushions, you got bigger problems.
They never go into the specifics of what that "psychological problem" he and his wife had with it, but I imagine it was the sex with the stranger in his pants that queered the deal. I also like to think that maybe he starting having affairs all over town and tried to cover it with, "but honey I can hardly be responsible for this it's not even MY penis!" How sad to have your life reduced to a third rate Benny Hill sketch.
Labels: Embarassment, Lost Post, Marriage, Medical Oddities, Penis, Weird News
My wife did not take my name when we got married. She chose the more commonplace Hughes over the more infuriatingly Germanic Gummert. We both agreed that it had done enough emotional and psychological damage in MY life that there was no use knowingly inflicting it on someone who has a choice in the matter.
This has been only an occasional source of frustration for the two of us. Most commonly it is when my grandmother addresses mail to Chris and Jen Gummert or Mr. and Mrs. Gummert or Whats-His-Face and The Other One. But more often than not it is a endlessly amusing to us that people refer to us by the wrong name, especially when they refer to me as Mr. Hughes.
Once Jen fainted at a movie (Jen swears she doesn't think Jennifer Aniston's acting is THAT bad, but apparently her body disagrees!) and we went to the emergency room. She was fine, but the doctor wrote me a note to stay home from work and watch her the next day just to make sure that she didn't pass out again. He wrote the note for "Chris Hughes."
Today I got a phone call from a telemarketer. This is a fairly common occurrence since we've moved and haven't had the time to circulate our new number among our friends. Frankly, I don't know why I even answer if the phone number doesn't show up on caller ID.
"Hello?"
No response. Dead air.
"Hello?"
"Hello?" comes the answer, almost like she didn't expect anyone to answer at all.
"Hi."
"May I speak to Mr. Huge?"
I was certain I didn't hear that right so I asked her to repeat her question.
"May I speak to Mr. Huge?" she asked with the utmost confidence in her pronunciation.
Mr Huge? Really? How did she know my nickname? Clearly those internet ads were working!
"This is Mr. Huge and let me assure that it's not just a clever name. So before you ask any further questions, let me assure you that all the rumors are true...although I suspect that donkey had a weak heart to begin with! I'm not surprised you called. Mr. Huge is a legend. A man among men and a God among ladies. Mr. Huge is a state of mind, a way of life, a journey to the edge of insanity and back again on a pink, pulsating, pleasure raft. Those who see it never recover from the shock. People run away screaming at the mere mention of it. Others choose to just set up camp in the ample shade it provides. In fact a small Guatemalan family has taken up residence near the tip in a smart-looking bungalow. It's THAT big! Suffice it to say I don't buy pants off the rack anymore.'"
Then out loud I said, "There's no one here by that name."
