Voice Recorder Funtime...

The past few times that we've got together, my friends and I have talked about bringing a voice recorder along with us to capture our ever-so-classy conversations. Usually when we have one of these conversations, alcohol is involved, so the memories of exactly what was said can sometimes get a little bit fuzzy. Anyways, Mrs Humble purchased a voice recorder for classes a year or two ago, and she rarely uses it anymore. Jackpot.

Mr Humble Guy: Honey, where is your voice recorder?
Mrs Humble: I think it's downstairs. Why do you need it?
Mr Humble Guy: I'm going to bring it with me when I go out with the guys tonight.
Mrs Humble: But why?
Mr Humble Guy: Because we usually have pretty funny conversations, and I want to record it.
Mrs Humble: ...
Mr Humble Guy: ...
Mrs Humble: ...you're a dork.

But a dork with a voice recorder...

So I bring said voice recorder to Sunday Night Music Trivia. The guys all seem pretty excited about having it, and throughout the whole night, the classiness never ceased. I've got about two hours of tape to go through, so I'll try and post that later on tonight, but here's a few gems from the start of the night:

FYI: The running joke of the night was a sexual maneuver called "Dog In The Bathtub". We read about it on one of those chain emails, and it involves sticking ones nuts into someone elses ass. It's apparently named as such because it's as hard to do as keeping a dog in the tub while you're giving it a bath.

---

(when talking about the voice recorder...)

Justin: Actually, I just found out the other day that my answering machine can record phone calls. It's just a button on the answering machine...you just hit it and it starts recording. Which is pretty good - I figure, like, call a 1-900 number once...get your money's worth. That's something you can take to the bank.

---

(when talking about my registering www.hugemotherfucker.com...)

Justin: Best $10 ever spent.
Jim: Yeah.
Justin: Now to complete the saga, you have to sell the rights to hugemotherfucker.com for a handful of magic beans.
Mr Humble Guy: And by magic beans, you mean a strangers' balls in my ass, right?
Justin: A smoker and a reach around...
Mr Humble Guy: Hehe, alllllright
Justin: ...what I'm trying to say is I'm interested in buying a domain name off of you.

---

For better or worse, more to come later on.

A perfectly good idea...

Okay, remember when I was talking about not getting enough sleep lately, and how certain ideas that were obviously bad were starting to sound like good ideas. Well, I'm glad that's over with.

On a completely unrelated note, I took the plunge and registered www.hugemotherfucker.com, and it's currently redirecting to this blog. Best $10 I've ever spent...

Getting caught up...

Once again, I'm back from a week-long hiatus. Believe it or not, there really hasn't been a lot for me to post on the ol' blog this past week. It would have just been a bunch of posts saying how I worked my ass off at work, came home, ate, duct-taped my ass back on, and gone to bed. There ya go. You're all caught up in the goings-on of Mr Humble Guy.

The reason that I've been working so much lately is because of the website that I've been referring to in my blog. It finally got launched earlier this week, so I can finally (legally) let you know that I've been working on the site for Alberta Pork (www.albertapork.com). And since I was the one who put all the content in, I can also safely say that this site is one huge motherfucker. It's well over 1000 pages, which would be 950 pages larger than the next largest website that I've worked on while at Primal Tribe. By the way, I'm not sure of the legal ramifications of calling the Alberta Pork website a huge motherfucker, but considering it is one huge motherfucker, I'm going to keep calling that huge motherfucker a huge motherfucker. In fact, I'm not even going to call it the Alberta Pork site anymore. I'm just going to call it "The Huge Motherfucker". And since www.hugemotherfucker.com is still available, I'm going to see if Alberta Pork will be willing to switch to that domain name. Besides, "Pork" and "Huge Motherfucker" seem to go hand in hand, don't they? When you see a 350lb guy walking through the mall, you don't immediately think, "Wow, that guy must eat a lot of lentils". But you could play it to your advantage. Just think of the marketing campaign: "I got Porked by a Huge Motherfucker!"

Did I mention that I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately?

Anyway, now that "The Huge Motherfucker" is pretty much through, Primal Tribe is back to the "Steady-Busy" state (as opposed to the OHFUCKHOWTHEHELLAREWEEVERGOINGTOFINISHTHISSHIT busy that we were at). It's kinda nice, actually. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, because I know that it won't.

Wednesday night drinking...

Normally I don't indulge in alcoholic beverages during the week. Back in my university days when I really didn't care about my classes, I used to drink at any time of the day, regardless of what day of the week it was. But now that I'm older and work at a job that I love, senseless drinking during the week doesn't seem to have the same appeal.

Once again, because I've said this, you probably know where this story is headed.

Last night, I noticed that the local pub was advertising "Rock and Roll Trivia". Most places usually call it "Name that Tune", and when my friends and I get together, we kick ass at this game. I've never been to "Rock and Roll Trivia" at this place yet. In fact, the only time that I've ever really been there is when I had to use the facilities to take a smash, but that's another story which I probably won't get to. Anyway, I figure that if they're advertising it, it's gotta be good, so I call Justin and Ryan to come down and meet me at the pub at 8:00pm.

Fast forward to 7:55pm, and I'm late getting out the door. The pub is not even a minutes walk away, but "Name that Tune" events are usually pretty popular, and I'm worried that there won't be a seat for the three of us. So I jog to the pub, open the door, and breathe a sign of relief that there's still a table for me. Actually, every table was still available, because there was only three people in the bar including the bartender. I give my "What the fuck is this?" face, and go up to the bar.

Mr Humble Guy: Excuse me, is "Rock and Roll Trivia" on tonight?
Bartender: Maybe. We need at least four teams.
Mr Humble Guy: (looking around) ... I'm gonna take that as a no. Any drink specials on tonight?
Bartender: No, everything's full price.
Mr Humble Guy: I see. Well, I'll just take a jug of Canadian and a couple of glasses.
Bartender: We don't have Canadian.

Wow, this is really making me proud of my local pub. Oh well. Whatever. I get a jug of beer and sit down just as Justin and Ryan arrive. They're pretty bummed out about the lack of "Rock and Roll Trivia", but we make the best of it. We kicked our shoes up, had a few pints, and started one of our usual classy conversations.

Now I can't remember everything that was said, but once the conversation turned to weddings, a few gems came out:

Ryan: So, obviously on your wedding night, you're going to score...
Justin: ...multiple times...
Ryan: ...yeah, but what happens if its, you know, that time of the month?
Mr Humble Guy: Go for it anyways...it's not on your sheets...
Justin: Or just postpone the wedding. "We're sorry everyone...could you come back this time next week?"
Mr Humble Guy: And the priest would be like, "What the hell?...what's that?...time of the...oh. Folks, we're going to have to postpone this wedding..."
Justin: My plan is to actually put a bun in the oven around May. She'll be like, "Honey, I'm late". And I'll go, "Yeah, I know. Don't worry. I'll take you to the abortion clinic on our honeymoon"

Yeah, we're the definition of clASS (that's class with a capital "ass", if you didn't get it).

Valentines, schmalentines

Ah, Valentines Day. The day where you can spend hundreds of dollars on your significant other and still have just an average chance of scoring by the end of the night. Average chance, you say? I like those odds!

Believe it or not, I'm usually pretty prepared when it comes to Valentines Day. Depending on my financial situation, I've either got the "expensive but nice" or "cheap but thoughtful" Valentines gift purchased at least a week ahead, dinner plans mapped out flawlessly, and my personal grooming is of an unusually-high standard. Yes, when it comes to Valentines Day, I usually kick ass.

Of course, because I pointed this out, you all know where this story is headed.

Monday morning rolls around, and I'm like, "Oh, is it really Valentines Day already. Hmph..."

5 minutes later, it starts to sink in.

"...oh shit."

Don't ask me why, but this year Valentines Day didn't really seem to mean anything until it was actually Valentines Day. I've been with Mrs. Humble for like 7 years, and I've never half-assed a Valentines Day with her once. I've always gone all-out to make her feel as loved and needed as I can, and I'm sure that this 1 day of compassion is why she puts up with my shit for the other 364 days of the year.

So my mission is clear: Pull some serious Valentines miracle out of my ass, or my marriage is over.

After work, I burn down to the mall to pick out a particular brand of perfume that Mrs. Humble tried a sample of a few weeks ago. Sure enough, there were dozens of guys on similar missions as myself. I hate living up to the stereotype of the husband who buys stuff at the last minute, but I'm surrounded by these stereotypes, so I don't feel so bad anymore. I shuffle past a poor bastard who's standing in the middle of the aisle, turning around in slow circles. He's staring at the signs hanging from the roof, and it's obvious has no clue what he's even looking for. Sorry buddy, but I'm predicting a Mission: Failure by the end of the night for you.

I get to the perfume counters, but since there are like 20 of them, I can't find the perfume right away. One of the sales ladies comes up to me to help me out.

Sales Lady: Doing some last minute Valentines shopping?
Mr Humble Guy : (annoyed) ... no, I'm just trying to get ahead of the game for next year

She doesn't think I'm very funny.

Anyway, we get down to business and find the perfume I'm looking for. It's conveniently Valentines Day priced at $An Arm for a small bottle and $A Leg for the big bottle. Well, that's what I get for being an ass and forgetting Valentines Day, I guess. You can just call me Stumpy from now on.

So I haul ass home as fast as I can in order to give myself enough time to prepare something romantic. Of course, I run into my next problem: what am I going to make for supper? I look in the fridge, and since we haven't gone shopping in weeks, the only thing there is milk. Great, now we can have cereal. I'm sure Harlequin romance novels are just filled with lines like, "The candlelight painted his face in a warm glow as Renaldo ate his Count Chocula."

I grab the last two chicken breasts out of the freezer, pop them in a ziploc bag, and dunk them in a pot of hot water to thaw out. I haven't figured out what to do with them, but I have a few minutes while they're thawing, so I'm sure I can think of something...

Eventually...

Hopefully?...

Shit, I've got nothing.

I check the chicken after a few minutes, but it still needs a bit longer to thaw. I'm still thinking about what to make when I come across my next problem: I look like ass. Seriously, I haven't shaved in almost a week. Dammit. Normally I like to take my time when I'm shaving, but I have no time to begin with, so I decide to shave like they do on the razor commercials. You know, the really long, fast strokes across the face? That'll save me some time!

So now I've got to get the bleeding to stop...

I've seriously cut myself in like 15 different places trying to shave quickly, and I haven't even stopped all the bleeding when I hear Mrs Humble open the front door. So much for my romantic surprise. I'm very disappointed in myself...and somewhat faint from loss of blood.

Surpisingly, everything ended up well. I got cleaned up, made some kind of Mexican Salsa Chicken Pasta Whatchamahaveyou, and gave her the gift which the store so kindly wrapped for me. She loves it, even though she had to act surprised. Seems that asking her:

1. what the perfume was called
2. who makes it, and
3. where do I buy it

all on Valentines Day is not a good way of surprising her with said perfume. Oh well. She's happy enough, so my marriage is hopefully safe for another year. Mission: Somewhat Accomplished.

"Everybody's working for the weekend..."

Cue the Loverboy music. I spent the entire weekend working on my major website. You remember the one that's supposed to launch on Monday (aka today)? Now that it's launched, I can finally tell you what it is!!!

...only, I can't because the client hasn't finished getting me the content so it's not launching today. I mean, seriously, I hate doing today what can put off until tomorrow. If they would have known that they weren't going to be ready to launch until later this week, I wouldn't have busted my ass to get it finished last week. I would have done nothing last week, and waited until this week to bust my ass to get it finished.

Gee, it's about bloody time...

Alright, I'm back. Kind of a funny thing to say, considering that I didn't really go anywhere, but I've been so damn busy lately that I felt like I was wasting time if I went to the bathroom to take a leak (which immediately reminds me of a line from Dumb and Dumber..."Just go, man")

So, how should I recap? Well, it's a bit late now, but suppose I should start with Saturday. One of my great friends Jim (who you'll recall from the story Tops! Selling Good Times in Liquid Form since 1954) has now moved to Calgary, and Saturday was going to be his last day in Edmonton. So of course, we had to send him off with one last hurrah with his buddies. Even Brad (from Brad to the Bone: check the links section) had came up for it. The thing is, when the whole lot of us get together, we become quite the classy bunch. We had a 15 minute conversation about how funny it would be if someone had a prosthetic wang with either a hook or pinchers on the end, and likewise, how difficult sex would be with it. Jim then proceeded to show us how you could grab someones lips with said prosthetic wang. The kicker is that we were talking about this during the supper hour at Red Robin, so we had a few "none-too-pleased" families all around us. Whatever. Obviously I don't care what these people think, and if the parents didn't want their kids hearing our conversation about prosthetic wangs, they should have went to the Brewsters that wouldn't let us in.

Also of note is the fact that Brad and I decided to skip the whole eating thing and have beer for supper. It's not so much that I wanted to get drunk...I just wanted to abuse Red Robin's "Bottomless Fries" gimmick. There were enough people getting stuff that I could just have a few fries from everyone, and whoever wanted more could get their basket of fries refilled for free. Unfortunately, by "basket of fries", I mean "twelve fries". Seriously. And it's not like these are super-huge fries and twelve fries filled the basket...they're just don't feel like putting any more in. I'm not impressed, but I don't really feel like complaining, since all that I'm going to be paying for is my 1-9th of the jugs of beer.

So after supper, we decide to get a few cigars (you know, to kill time inbetween drinks). Fortunately, a friend of my boss opened up a nice cigar shop recently that happened to be close by, so we stopped in there and picked up a few nice Montecristo's, although I'm pretty sure the guy working there thought I was going to steal something. I think I even caught a glimpse of him giving me the Robert deNiro "I've got my eyes on you" hand gesture. Being that he was a 230lb ex-bouncer and I'm a 130lb ex-nothing, I waited until I was way out of sight before I gave him a hand gesture of my own.

Back at Jim's place, we proceeded to have a few drinks, a few cigars, talk about a few Tucker Max stories, and play a bit of Xbox. Jim is constantly cheating while we're playing Halo 2 (which is what I say when he's winning), but I do pretty well. However, having learned my lesson about staying out too late (also see the Tops! story), I call it a night and return home while I'm still sober (and, as a bonus, not in the doghouse!)

Okay, so you say, "But Mr Humble Guy, that's only Saturday. Where have you been since then?". And I says Keep your fucking panties on, I'm getting to that.

Sunday: I did laundry and played Xbox at home. Wow. That's creative gold right there. You can expect my first book, "What I did on Sunday", in stores this summer.

Monday and Tuesday: Work my bloody ass off trying to meet some deadlines. I can't talk about this too much, due to the fact that it's boring, but the main idea is that I've got a major website that is set to launch this Monday, and I've got to get some designs finished for an annual report so the client can approve it. A bunch of major stuff, and none of it is done. I'm not too happy.

The thing about a 14 hour work day is that it's not too bad if you know that it's coming. Normally, I work an 8 hour day. It's a good amount of time to work...decent break times, nice lunch hour. But I knew that this week was going to be hell, and there was going to be a bunch of overtime, so I was prepared for it when it happened on Tuesday. What I wasn't prepared for was a 14 hour work day with no lunch break, no coffee break, no nothing break. I worked from 8:00am to 10:00pm getting this shit done. Let me tell you something: if my client isn't OhmygodthisissogoodthatIwanttoboneyourighthereonthetable happy with this project, I'm just going to snap.

So now it's Wednesday, and everything seems to have come around nicely. The major website is going along well, and I was able to get some sample prints of the annual report design to show my clients. If that meeting goes well, I'll be laughing. If not, well, no amount of "prosthetic wang" conversation will be able to cheer me up.

"Hello? Primal Tribe" will never sound the same again...

Nicole, our beloved Sales associate, is leaving Primal Tribe today to start a new job at...somewhere else. They design dome buildings or something. I'm sure she'll do great things for the company, and wish her the best of luck in the future.

But on the plus side, it means I've reclaimed the title of "Prettiest Primal Tribe Employee". Gotta take the good with the bad...

A threesome was only a car alarm away...

I'll start this story off by telling you the best part...I'm sandwiched between two of the hottest girls you could imagine, and they both want me. They want me bad. And just as I think one of them is about to whisper something sexy in my ear, she opens her mouth and goes, "AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH! AAAANNGH!".

While some nature enthusiast might point out the peculiar sound she was making was actually part of the mating ritual of the female trumpeter swan, I figure that I'm just dreaming, so I open my eyes to find out what is going wrong.

Those who know me well have probably heard that when I first wake up in the morning, I'm retarded. Seriously, all comprehension and reasoning skills take at least an extra four minutes to wake up after I do. The clock says 2:37, which is an odd time for the clock alarm to be going off. What is even odder is that we never set the clock alarm. We actually wake up to the TV. Again, because I'm retarded, it takes me a couple of minutes to figure out that it wasn't my clock alarm that was going off.

No, the source of the racket was a car alarm. Quite possibly the greatest invention of all time. No doubt that everyone in the neighbourhood was quickly rallying to defend this persons possession from some evildoer. "A car alarm?!? Going off in Edmonton?!? We must rush to this mans aid!!!"

But seriously, no one cares when a car alarm goes off anymore. Everyone takes a peek out the window to make sure it's not theirs, then they get pissed off that someone else is to blame for the terrible racket. The attitude is: If it's not mine, it's not my business.

So after about ten minutes, the alarm finally stops. I've got a few more hours of sleeping left to do, so I decide to try and get back to the peppermint twins.

Fast forward to twenty minutes later: the same damn car alarm goes off. So I stumble over to the window to see what the hell is going on, and I see this poor bastard absolutely frustrated with his vehicle. You can only imagine how embarassed this guy probably is. I feel a bit sorry for him, but that doesn't stop me from shouting obscenities.

New Site Look...

There are only so many different templates that we can choose here at Blogger.com, but having said that, there are a few nice ones. However, it's always bugged me that the template that I had chose was the same template that my friend Brad had chose for his blog. So, I decided to change things up to give it a different look.