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Hey everyone, sorry I'm bad at keeping up with these, it's more been a struggle for content lately, not because nothing funny is happening but mostly because more funny things have been happening and I haven't been writing any of it down. Then it is promptly pushed out of my brain by other subjects/topics. Anyways I'll try and get better at a regular schedule, but this may just be how it is for now. You show me a copy of my day planner and I'll show you a picture of my adoring girlfriend. (The joke is that neither of them exists).

Today I learned from a Jim Beam Whiskey commercial that while Willem Dafoe can act and look like many different people, and I would let none of them near my children. Until recently I thought that maybe he had just aged badly but after I finally got around to watching "Platoon" a few weeks ago (what a bundle of laughs that was) I discovered that Willem Dafoe actually just looks like that. I think that maybe he was in a tragic accident where a honey badger mauled his face off as a child and the only person who would donate their face to him was his great grandmother. Or he was just born with a 90 year old woman's face. On the note of suspicions and Platoon actors I bet Charlie Sheen was never on drugs, he was just temporarily borrowing Willem Dafoe's makeup guy for all his internet videos. Anyways I rank Dafoe up there with Jim Breuer in the department of "facial tragedies".

I read up on the event of Osama Bin Laden's death through the same news medium I always use, that is by sifting through my home page on Facebook to see either jubilant or otherwise ass-pained status updates and try to build a full scenario of what happened. On the downside isn't as direct or fast as looking at CNN.com or some junk, but on the upside it makes me feel like an internet super-detective. I found several points of humor in the death of Osama, and one was that apparently he was trying to use his wife to shield himself from bullets. It seemed like something that unbelievable that would happen at the end of an episode of 24. Shameful or not, it seems like if you were about to become a martyr and enjoy the company of 40 virgins in heaven you wouldn't be clinging on to life quite so desperately, and secondly if you're making a trip up to heaven expecting that kind of company you certainly don't want your wife tagging along. I was a little bit upset to hear that we buried Bin Laden's corpse at sea. I wasn't upset because of any dissuasion towards showing courtesy to other country's religions, it's just that I saw Transformers 2 like three times in the theaters and I know that a deep sea burial didn't stop Megatron from messin up America's business at least one more time, perhaps two more times pending the contents of Transformers 3 this summer.

Also where are they finding all of the virgins for all these suicide bombers? I feel like between the general heathenism of the world and the increase of self martyrs they've got to be running low. How many attractive people are dying virgins? I hope somebody doesn't wire himself up with C4 just to get to the other side and have someone say "Sorry man, all we've got is this 27 year old basement dweller WoW fan with fat rolls on his back. He choked to death from packing his mouth too full of bagel-bites a couple hours ago."

Anyways I'm satisfied with that length, I'll see you all when I see you, bastards, etc.

~Taylor Bonzer

Where the hell did I leave my Machete!?

Good evening Bros and Ladybros, I kept telling myself I was going to write this tomorrow, but let's face it tomorrow is just a version of today where I'm a bigger loser for putting this off.

So yesterday I mowed the lawn. As boring as this may sound to you, you all have this impression of mowing the lawn being like, some weekly thing were you begrudgingly get out of your chair and move outside to stifle the half inch of grass that has struggled it's away above your parent's pristine soft as down feathers type lawn. This as you might guess was not the case for me as rather than being the weekly tradition of "go mow the lawn," at my mothers house it is a time honored annual endeavor we like to call "The Mowing of the Lawn." This tradition marks the beginning of the spring/summer season where people's lawns suddenly matter in suburban neighborhoods, and judgement will inevitably be cast upon you when your neighbors look over to your house and see that during the winter you have let what appears to be Fangorn Forest hang out in front of your porch.

Now the "Mowing of the Lawn" doesn't have a set date every year, but just like Thanksgiving and Easter this can be placed in a relative fashion. What happens is that the rest of the year you'll hear a lawn mower maybe once every week or two, but everyone is inside watching TiVo and hibernating, thus disregarding the noise. However, once the sun comes up in April and the 9:00 AM noise restrictions are lifted, the sound of a thousand push mowers comes bugling over the horizon, essentially guilting my mother and I into action. Plus everybody knows that Pokemon hang out (loiter) in the tall grass, and I happen to be fresh out of Ultra Balls.

"The Mowing of the Lawn" is called an annual tradition because it actually involves cutting 9-11 months worth of grass growth, however the wild card thrown into the task of this chore is the 11 months worth of dog turds sitting just below the surface. You can be walking along with your mower purring and suddenly slip and dissapear under the grass forever like those poacher jerks from Jurassic Park 2. And on the note of dinosaurs, I found a cat statue in the front lawn that I had no idea existed. I then came to the horrified realization that this may very well not be a statue, but a real cat which was suddenly trapped and fast fossilized by my front lawn. I unearthed several other small boulders while traversing the lawn, and also discovered that we actually have a concrete path in our yard which leads to the back fence. I can say in all honesty that I was legitimately surprised. I did battle with the lawn in a manly fashion for a half an hour of my life that will forever be my own person Vietnam war. Wandering through a jungle, land-mines everywhere, finishing and not knowing whether I truly won, thinking it was probably just gonna go back to the way it was in about a week as soon as I looked away.

Dramatizations aside, I did put on my workin' shoes, fired up the mower and cut that lawn down to size eventually. There was a humorous point when I was like 90% done but took a short break to move the fossilized cat and ask my mom it where it belonged (my suspicions were furthered when she said it wasn't her cat statue) and as I went back to the mower and tried to fire it up. When I pulled the cord with all my might the machine made no sounds that could even be calculated as effort to start up it's engine. It simply went "fpuh" and shot a pathetic little puff of smoke out of it's front side. This of course is lawn mower for "Lol wut". 

Thankfully the mower wasn't broken, I just had to put more gas in it, flip it over and dig bits of one of Tolkien's Ents out of the underside. After finishing the last patch, Bogart our 13 year old dog ran outside and gleefully pinched a loaf next to the white picket fence. I would guess that some of his excitement was from being able to poop without fearing that a predator may be waiting in the grass a few feet away. He can also poop in clear view of the neighbors and any passerby dogs, and everyone knows that a 13 year old dog (91 in dog years) shooting a duke on the lawn while you pass by is the equivalent of a grizzled Clint Eastwood scowling and saying "Get offa my lawn..."

Later in the day I went to the gym and was reminded that I have grass allergies when I started weezing violently about two minutes into a cardio workout. But then again if I were meant to breath grass the atmosphere would be made of grass and we would mow our delightful little sky lawns. And my dog could shit on a cloud. But I digress.

You're all a bunch of bastards!

~Taylor Bonzer

Work Doodles

I have been practicing the art of stick figure emotions in my down time at work. I'm fairly proud of them.

Cadbury, you delicious bastard!

Hi everyone, believe it or not I'm still here, just been the right combination of lazy/busy/mentally blocked the last few weeks. I've had my fair share of distractions and conundrums, and perhaps more than a few ker-fuffles these last few weeks, but I'm feeling like myself again. I think instead of linking pre existing images I'm gonna start drawing my own stick comics at work when I can, then I'll scan them and pop 'em on here to properly express what's going on in my brain.  Also I should note that if you didn't find the title of this blog funny try re-reading it in a British accent and pretend you're wearing a top hat and monocle.

I started my new job recently, and made a transfer out of the lucrative market of hauling junk through mud and snow with felons, and into the world of customer sales. There was an interesting moment in the first weeks of my new job where my hands realized they weren't going to be punching lockers into dumpsters and promptly shed all of the callouses that had developed, it was then I knew I had arrived. I'm not going to name my employers specifically because unlike my last job I actually value this one and don't want to risk losing it in any way. My mom constantly reminded me that all of my slanderous speech towards Labor Ready may jeopardize my high ranking position of "guy who jumps up and down in dumpsters when they get too full." I however informed her that there was a high probability that nobody who works for labor ready has the internet, or has even heard of it due to living in the woods and eating porcupines for much of their lives. My suspicions were confirmed when I was cleaning out a barracks and two of them began to fight over a torn out magazine page with a woman in a one-piece swimsuit.

I have even been promoted at my new job to the position of "Overseer". Don't worry it is a position of legitimate authority, however it isn't quite as prestigious as it sounds. Anyways it has been a blast working there so far, within the first hour of my newfound authority I grabbed a clicker-counter out of my desk, found my lowest ranking minion and informed him that I would be clicking it once for every time he disappointed me. The rest of the day was spent looking menacingly out my window and glaring anytime he made eye contact, followed by me holding up the clicker, hitting it, and then gliding stealthily away from the window.

I still roll back into my cashier position occasionally and have discovered a  phenomena that I like to call the "Tag-along-senior." The price for admission with one senior is $15.50, which is in fact the only admission price that involves me giving out any change that isn't purely bills. Don't get me wrong folks I am a lazy person, but it isn't the having to give out coins that bothers me. It's the fact that at the end of the day I need to take a pristine pile of bills that would easily fit under a paper clip and throw in a few unwieldy chunks of metal with my deposit. It isn't like we just have one senior that shows up a day, loads of them show up in pairs, some singular senior pay with credit cards, but EVERY DAY there is just one senior that shows up with their children, and without another senior to balance out his/her change, and it always ends in me furiously stuffing coins into envelopes at the end of the day. You would think if there was one group you could count on to show up and pay in exact change it would be the elderly.

So that synopsis on jobs was more lengthy than expected, but now I'm getting to my desired topic. It's that Easter time of the year again, I say that loosely since Easter seems to be an event now which starts on February 15th and ends sometime in May when that last chump picks up a fragmented chocolate rabbit from the Easter clearance shelf for 90% off. It is usually missing an eye and seems to be crying "Why didn't anyone pick me? Was I not delicious enough?" Anyways I can always find a reason to be excited about Easter, because this is the only time of the year I can find Cadbury Cream Eggs. After all, only the death and subsequent rebirth of our Lord and Savior is proper cause to devour delicious chocolate encased sugar highs in rich cream form. Seriously would it kill anyone to just sell these things year around? And if it did kill someone wouldn't their deaths be totally worth it? If you really feel bad about selling chocolate eggs out of season why don't you just encase them in a sphere.

Also, how did all of our Holidays get tangled up in candy. I feel like back in the day somebody was like, "Hey little Billy, it's time to celebrate the coming Spring, festivity, fertility etc!" and his son said "Dad we don't live on a farm, we don't have crops or livestock, who cares." So he decided to tell the little turd there would be candy to get him away from the Super Nintendo. The catch is that this candy is the same stuff we eat the rest of the year, just put into the shapes of eggs and rabbits. Seriously, I want to go up to the kid who heckles his mom to buy him those Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, swat him in the head and say "Hey buddy this is exactly what you've been scarfing down at the movie theaters the other 11 months of the year." And really if you told a kid there was candy any other time of the year but he would have to track it down and pull it out of a plastic egg before he could eat it he'd probably just give you the finger.

So my round about point in all this is that besides the religious celebration, the only marked difference is the pastel color theme and the appearance of my delectable Cadbury Eggs. But today when I went to Safeway to finally pick them up, they were nowhere to be found. Instead there were just shelves and shelves of every day candy smashed up and melted down into eggs, and marked up at a higher price. I'm pissed, and would have done something about it but was too caught between openly weeping right then and there, or immediately reporting them to the Better Business Bureau for being a bunch of frauds.

And ummm... that's all I have to say about that. But check out my awesome new hat!

Plus you're all a bunch of bastards.

~Taylor Bonzer

Brief Beefs: British

Hey everyone, I'm still a couple days out on completing my usual Monday Blog... you know the ones where I usually include all the links and stuff. So in the meantime, here's some random thoughts on the British. I'm generally very positive on the Queen's country, and by that I mean their television programming. Dr. Who, The IT Crowd, Blackadder, and anything involving a collaboration of Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie, I love it all. However there is one thing I have to get off of my chest regarding our chums across the big Atlantic swimming pool. Keep in my that any time I act angry in this it is purely an act of comical exaggeration.

The other day while I was making myself a delicious sammich when I decided to tune into the BBC coverage of that Japan business. Now this is going to sound like I'm inching toward discussing something important or sensitive, but rest assured I take nothing seriously. I watch BBC news sometimes because like Top Gear and cars, I can only seem to stop my mind from drifting into limbo with these boring complicated topics when the information is fed to me in a British accent with lots of disdain and sarcasm. Now the problem today was within about 15 minutes of watching I saw the BBC Japan correspondent insult the Japanese people for not fleeing, berate them for only having security preparations for an 8.1 earthquake, make fun of the Prime Minister's Crisis garb saying he looked like a maintenance man, and then heard another lady refer to a group of Americans as a bunch of "Silly Yanks"

My theory on this that I in the collective house party known as the "global community" the British have become that one gay guy in the corner. You know the one that pats the girl on the back and says "I'm sorry Steve did that to you" and then turns to America and says "I know she just got dumped but geeeez, did she also break up with her fashion sense?" and then turns to France when America walks away and goes "...silly yank." They essentially get a pass for being jerks because it's their reputation. Us Americans are getting robbed, we have all the rep of a bastard yet none of the props. I think it's because we aren't nearly as funny...

We as Americans crucify anyone in our media if they say something remotely derogatory toward another country or people, and make sure they never work again. And then on BBC they can say whatever we want and they just go "Well whatever, it's just the British." Where is my all access sass pass you limey bastards? And way to go, you've beat out the French for "Gay Dude at house party" title.

So next time you Brits feel like heckling a bunch of people hit by a Wrath-of-God-esque natural disaster, just cool off your head. While you do this you can also spend a fortnight in a hostel, call your remote a smibbly bibbly, eat crisps and drink fizzy drink, pay high taxes, lose your Zed tile in scrabble, drink tea in delicate flower painted cups, wank your chap's jibbly with slippy dip, have bad teeth, dive in the grass, eat some chocolate biscuits, get all barmy, have a closet full of blue track pants, fear the wrath of a queen, call your relative an upsy stairsy, act all prudish, feel dickey, say cheerio, ello, and god save the queen, smoke a fag, call your keyboard a hoighty toighty tippy typer, walk your cat on a leash, get jimmied in the alley, tell someone to belt up, sniff a stranger's knickers, eat a lolly, call the internet the inty winty, ring your mum on the telly ferry, use a pillar box, get arse over tits drunk and have tiger nuts, act like a soap dodger, spin a yo-yo anti-clockwise, go to the C of E, drink scrumpy, get gobsmacked, put on a welly, have some candy floss, get too fagged to do something, be randy, appreciate another male's waistcoat and and bum bag, take a shufti, watch the telly, take a kip, go off your trolley, take a poopy-doo on the tea cup, have a sticking plaster on your knee, call a fan a twirly gust, wait in a queue, drive in a roundabout, say tootle pip to your mate, wear a bearskin and stand real still, shoot a quick chin wag, get arse over elbow because of a dishy bloke, act like a poof, learn maths, get cocked up, spend your dosh, identify the primary “colours“, tell someone to bugger off, and continue to drive on the wrong side of the road near me.

The Adventures of A**hole Robin Hood

On thursday I was working at McChord AFB and my crew and I went down to the food court thing to eat. We got there in a timely fashion, and there was a huge line for Burger King. I decided to wait out the line for BK but one of my co-workers thought he'd go to the Sushi place next door, which had no line. What ended up happening was I got my food and sat down at the table, and he came back saying he had ordered from the lady waited quite awhile, gotten the wrong order and charged for the wrong food. He tried to complain, but the lady was now on her cell phone at the back of the restaurant and refused to do anything to remedy the situation. And needless to say there are plenty of bad options to end up with in a botched order of sushi

I took it upon myself to right this wrong, and for those of you who don't know me well I'm pretty quick in a conversation, and I'm even better at acting completely oblivious/stupid, so I went to the Sushi booth where the girl had now returned and had this exchange. I don't remember the exact words of the cashier but it was somewhere along these lines.


Her: Hello Sir, what can I get you?

Me: Hi, I was wondering if your Spider Rolls were made with real spiders.

Her: Spiders?

Me: It's like 12 dollars on the menu. I was just wondering if it was actually made with Spiders.

Her: Oh no, that's just a nick-name

Me: I'm not sure I follow. What kind of spiders would you put on a roll anyways?

Her: We don't put spiders in our food.

Me: Oh thank god. I hate spiders. Plus I feel like I'd have to eat quite a few before being full.

Her: So what would you like?

Me: Do any sushi places actually serve spiders? That seems like something the Japanese would eat.

Her: No, sushi is only fish or ocean life.

Me: There aren't spiders in the Ocean? I think there might be.

Her: I don't really know, could you please just order?

Me: Right, sorry... What's in your Dragon Roll?

Her: Well it's eel with sweet sauce and-

Me: It doesn't have Dragon in it?

Her: What? No.

Me: Oh right that's a dumb question. There's no Dragons in the Ocean.

Her: Is this some kind of joke?

Me: Oh wait there are Dragons they just call them Leviathans or something right?

Her: Sir I need you to order now, or get out of the line.

Me: Point taken. Have a nice day!

(5 mins later a work colleague of mine approaches the booth)

Her: Hello, what can I get you?

Friend: Hey is your Rainbow Roll actually made with Rainbows?

(sees me giggling in the background)

Her: Go away or I'll have you thrown out.


Anyways I'm going to avoid that place for a couple days. Beware in the future all you unkind restaurants out there, should you fail to serve us food properly Asshole Robin Hood will be there to serve you justice properly.

Dragon Ball: Not a Power Level in Sight

Hey Vegeta, what's the scouter say about this chump's blog?

                             It's overr 9 Follooowerssssss!











Over 9 followers? That can't be right! Can iiiittttt?


Well actually that intro, although obligatory, is somewhat deceiving as I'm mostly going to be talking about the original Dragon Ball series which I recently finished watching all the way through. Not in one sitting, thank God. It was 153 episodes long and probably contained like 172 kamehameha waves. I wouldn't be so furious about this but if you consider that Goku draws out each of the 5 syllables for 7+ seconds to charge, I would guess that about 8% of this series is pure kamehameha waves. This isn't even counting every damn "Wolf-Fang-Fist" and "Dodon Ray"

Here is a basic ingredients for a 22 min Episode of Dragon Ball

2-5 mins for kamehameha wave(s), Dodon Rays, Wolf Fang Fists, or the occasional Tri Beam
3 mins spent marveling at how powerful that Kamehameha was
OR at how the enemy was able to block/ be unnafected by said Kamehameha
5 mins of Roshi trying to feel up Bulma or Launch and getting his shit slapped
2 mins of Goku being hungry and commenting on it/eating ridiculous amounts of food
3 mins of Krillin or Yamcha being an ass-hat
Or Krillin and Yamcha getting their asses kicked
 subtract final number from 22 minutes and get your allotted time for actual content

Okay so despite all that I still love this show to no end, and not even for the sake of nostalgia. Back when I first got into DBZ I watched one episode of Dragon Ball and was like "What the hell? Not a single person charged up this episode, or even commented on a person's power level! Eff that noise!" But I finally sat down and really enjoyed it just for the fact that I finally figured out the origins of all the DBZ characters. Shockingly pretty much all of them started out as villains and were pulled over to the good side by Goku's winning personality and shiny kamehamehas. The surprising thing to me is that while supposedly Goku fights the best fighters in the world at the 21st WMA tournament he still manages to find opponents that are significantly more powerful for the remaining 126 episodes of the series.

The real depressing thing I have to say about Original Dragon Ball is that at the end of the series Goku's power level is like... 300. After all that 153 episodes turtle shell training, fighting the strongest known opponents, Korin training, mystical water bullshit, defeating King Piccolo... then it takes about five episodes of DBZ for him to get to oh... 10,000 or so. In one series Goku makes maybe 275 points of progress, then he proceeds to go about 499,999,700 in the next. (Sidenote, Piccolo trained his as some kind of badass to reach his 302 power level and then every jackoff Namek had a PL of 3000)

Also, NOBODY EVER TEACHES GOKU ANY DAMN MARTIAL ARTS THAT WE SEE. His grandpa seems to taught him how to throw a punch when he is like three and from then on all of his teachers just strap friggin weights to his back, make him wear heavy shirts, and put him in gravity chambers. Nobody teaches him the Kamehameha, because the big secret to mastering that technique is to cup your damn hands and say "Kamehameha," Honestly Roshi is a mongoloid if it took him 50 years to learn that junk. Then later he learns the Kaioken and Spirit Bomb, one of which just involves robbing everyone else of their energy and hocking it as an attack that I think only every killed one enemy it hit. The Kaioken technique was only ever a crutch to justify Goku fighting enemies he was vastly inferior to. And then it was made useless by the Super Saiyan transformation a few months after he learned it.


I say this all with love, as to this day I still can't pull myself away from this show at the ripe old age of 21. It's retarded. I thought at this point in my life I'd be watching the news or something. This show continues to waste my life, and that's not even counting the hours on Dragon Ball Wiki trying to figure out what the pho is going on, or the time spent on YouTube watching countless DBZ Episodes mixed up to Linkin Park and expecting one of them to be made with a lick of sense or timing.

And that's not all I have to say about that, but I'm gonna cut it off there

You're all a bunch of bastards!

~Taylor Bonzer