Category: Life

Truth be told, Internet Zillionaire began as a scientific experiment: As far as writing ability goes, could we produce better content than a group of monkeys chained to typewriters?

While the scientific community watched our experiment unfold, we soon realized that matching the professionalism and work ethic of monkeys would be nearly impossible for us. They were better groomed. They were more punctual. The monkeys even had fewer episodes of throwing feces at each other. Clearly, we were in over our heads. Ultimately, when the monkeys were able to reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare, we admitted defeat.

Fortunately, 9Rules wasn’t interested in sonnets or prose. They were more than willing to feature our disjointed thoughts on remote controls, wedding vows, and saving the universe on their site. And we were pleased to be able to reach a new audience that wouldn’t hold us to the impossible standard that primates set. So here we are, the newest members of the 9Rules network, eager to give you a look at life through the eyes of imitation high-rollers…

The following is the true account of an evening spent watching Dustin Diamond (Screech from Saved by the Bell) perform a stand-up comedy routine on Halloween night, 2001…

There were eight of us. I won’t mention any names, because in my opinion, voluntarily attending a live Dustin Diamond performance deserves the same level of anonymity as testifying against mob kingpins. Forgive me. That’s just my bitterness talking. Truth is, back then, all eight of us wore our love for Saved by the Bell on our sleeves.

We weren’t the only ones. Dustin was performing twice that night in Seattle, an early show and a late show. We arrived about 35 minutes prior to the early show, as we were legitimately concerned that this baby would sell-out. Sure enough, a line snaked around the side of the club. Excitement was in the air. Prior to that night, there was a decent chance my first born son would have been named “Screech.”

Before Dustin came on stage, a couple comedians came out to warm up the crowd as part of the opening act. Their material was decent, but looking back, their opening lines were ironically the funniest part of their act…

Opening Comedian: “Alright! You guys are a great crowd! Thank you! I’ve just got a few jokes for ya…. Because I know you’re all excited to see Dustin Diamond!!!!”

And the audience responded with thunderous applause. The funny thing was, the comedian wasn’t joking. Zero sarcasm. All of this was said with a straight face. Sometimes I wonder if there are some justifiably starving comedians out there with the line “Opened for Dustin Diamond, Fall 2001” on their resume…

Finally, it was Dustin Diamond time. Screech came out wearing a stocking cap, a black leather jacket, and jeans with a chain wallet. He was also sporting a goatee. Apparently he was trying to reinvent himself as a longshoreman. Coupled with coarse language, his new look was an obvious attempt to toughen his image. Unfortunately, it was the most unconvincing rendition of a bad-ass since M.C. Hammer shortened his name to just “Hammer” and started wearing Atlanta Falcons clothing. Nobody was buying into this transformation, and it only became further ammunition for drunken audience members.

Judging by his opening line, it was apparent that Dustin Diamond was ready to welcome the inevitable heckling:

Dustin Diamond: “Alright, how many of you are here tonight to hear some jokes and have a good time?”
(The audience applauded accordingly.)

Dustin Diamond: “Ok, ok… how many of you are here tonight to get wasted and make fun of SCREECH!?”
(This was followed by an eruption of applause and cheers.)

And the evening went downhill from there…

First off, it is safe to say that Dustin Diamond is the most bitter former child star on earth, which is really saying something. It’s a real Catch 22. Here you have someone desperately trying to dissociate from the character of Screech and move on with his life. On the other hand, he is far too willing to gratuitously capitalize on his former celebrity stature. I guess it is something I would wrestle with too. Sure, you’d be called “Screech” until the day you die, but occasionally you’d get to cash a paycheck for boxing Tonya Harding.

Needless to say, the show was a tremendous letdown. Dustin had no original material and zero organization to his presentation. In other words, he would have been right at home here on Zillionaire. His entire act consisted of the recycled jokes you receive in email forwards. We literally paid 13 dollars to hear Dustin Diamond recite dumb blonde jokes for an hour. Tragically, he barely discussed his past on Saved by the Bell or provided us diehards with insider insight into the show. For instance, he could have disclosed how much input he actually had in his wardrobe decisions while on the show. (I’ll bet it’s more than you think.) Or he could have detailed how Screech spent his entire high school career sexually harassing Lisa Turtle. He could have kept all of us on the edge of our seat discussing this.

Sadly, the only preparation that went into his act was rehearsing comebacks to the incessant heckling from the audience. While his pathetic comedy routine certainly warranted heckling, I felt bad for Dustin nevertheless. During his act, audience members would just shout out phrases like “Mr. Belding!!!” or “Where’s Zach?!!” These unimaginative taunts actually rattled him. To Dustin’s credit, there really is no comeback to this. Seriously, how do you respond to someone yelling the words “Mr. Belding!!!” at you? This was the one blessing of attending his performance. To this day, in a heated game of basketball, I know I can rattle my opponent by simply shouting “Mr. Belding!!!” at him. There’s no recourse, and no trash talk that can top it. That’s how you get into your opponent’s head.

And yet, the show went on. He had to fill up time. You could tell he was watching the clock. Frankly, we all were. Nobody in that room had any intention of remaining there one second longer than necessary. The end of the show was spent watching Screech monitor the second hand on his watch until the precise instant his hour was up. At that point, he gathered his longshoreman outfit together and walked offstage to a smattering of boos, profanity and some mild pity applause.

I’ve got to hand it to Dustin though, up until that night I had never left a comedy show feeling depressed. Seriously, watching “Schindler’s List” would have been more uplifting. Of course, we all have to make our career choices in life. Apparently, Screech has elected to stand on stage and let a crowd of drunken college kids berate him for an hour as his chosen profession.

Thanks to the merciless heckling by a handful of audience members, it was one of the few times I was able to exit a place with absolute certainty that I wasn’t the jackassiest person in there. (Other notable times this has happened: Any event that my buddy Tonseth made an appearance at.)

As we left the comedy club, we passed by dozens of people lining up for the late showing. This produced an ethical quandary. Do I warn these people of the impending letdown and rip off they would soon experience? Ultimately, I rationalized that Dustin Diamond could realistically commit suicide any day now, and this might be one of the last remaining opportunities to see him perform on stage.

And that was how I spent Halloween back in ‘01. Walking to my car in the rain, I wished that Dustin had just come out as Screech, wearing suspenders with fluorescent yellow Zubaz pants. He could have given us fictitious updates on Zach and Kelly’s marriage and Slater’s courageous bout with syphilis. The audience would have left that night happily thinking that Screech and Zach are still concocting crazy schemes well into their mid 30’s. Is that too much to ask? The show has been off the air for almost 10 years. Seriously, we just need a fix every once in awhile. Sadly, miracles only happen on Christmas… not on Halloween.

During my recent trip to Vegas, I made a side trip to a discount liquor warehouse. That’s right, warehouse. This facility was like an airplane hangar. Alcohol was stacked on palettes from floor to ceiling. It felt like a stroll through Costco, only without the free samples of toaster oven pizza and about ten thousand fewer shoppers. Needless to say, it was the single greatest experience I’ve ever had shopping for alcohol.

Exiting the store, I was thoroughly impressed with how well the liquor stores in Vegas are run. In contrast, I couldn’t help shaking my head over how the state of Washington does it all wrong…

You see, in Washington, all the liquor stores are run by the state. This means prices, location, store hours, and selection are all controlled by our elected government officials and their appointed unemployed family members. In other words, the liquor stores in our state are a complete debacle.

The business model for Washington’s liquor stores is similar to that of convenience stores. That is to say, they’ve mastered the concepts of cramped aisles, poor selection, and price gouging. Unfortunately, the state ignored the only upsides to this formula: The convenient hours and locations.

First, let’s start with the facilities. No warehouses here. And as far as locations go, the state of Washington follows the “Inverse-Starbucks” rule: Instead of placing a store on every street corner, they opt for placing one per area code. And when they do actually build a liquor store, they intentionally place them far away from schools. Sadly, this creates a tremendous burden on high school students with fake ID’s. It’s also a hardship on working families, as parents often have to choose between picking up their kids or picking up booze on their way home from work. I can’t tell you how many times I was on the wrong end of that coin flip growing up.

Then there are the hours of operation. The liquor stores in Washington are closed at night and during holidays. That’s really all that needs to be said. All right, I’ll say more: Sweet idea! Nobody likes to drink at night or during holidays! (Italicized for sarcasm.)

Finally, the prices at Washington liquor stores are astronomical, mainly due to the excessive alcohol taxes in our state. Because of these taxes, booze in Washington costs literally twice as much as it does in Vegas. Now, I’m used to paying high taxes, as my annual income puts me squarely in the “Zillionaire” bracket. However, the alcohol tax is especially punitive, as I generally use alcohol to help cope with all the other taxation in my life.

Apparently, the state realized that it is impossible to directly tax “happiness”, so they settled on the next closest thing: alcohol. Like the Holy Grail, I’m sure the state will continue looking at ways to tax “happiness,” as I fully expect to see a proposed XBox tax during the next legislative session.

As you might guess, the high taxes do nothing to curtail the quantity of alcohol that we consume. Unfortunately, it’s the quality that suffers, as heavy drinkers are forced to settle for the most generic bottom-shelf alcohol on earth.

Of course, everyone knows that bottom-shelf alcohol should only be used for utilitarian purposes, like unclogging drains and disinfecting wounds. Sadly, it’s not uncommon to overhear a respectable Washington drinker discuss his preference of using paint thinner over Monarch Vodka when making a martini. Without hesitation, most of us would agree with this choice, as the paint thinner tends to have less after-taste.

To be fair, sometimes we splurge for a bottle of top-shelf booze on a special occasion… like winning the lottery. Other than that, we’re increasingly forced to concoct “drinks” out of household chemicals as a substitute for ridiculously overpriced alcohol. Trust me, there’s nothing like a refreshing Old Spice and tonic after a hard day’s work. And I personally enjoy sitting around smoking cigars while sipping a Listerine on the rocks.

True, these are nice short-term fixes to the high-priced alcohol dilemma. Cleary though, heavy drinkers in Washington need an alternative. But what are my options? I suppose I could start distilling moonshine, and complete my destiny of turning into a cast member from the Dukes of Hazzard. I already drive recklessly and have been known to shoot a bow and arrow out of my car window. Or, I suppose I could give up drinking. Of course, unless annoying people are willing to give up living, I don’t see this as a potential solution either.

Thankfully, I do have an answer: Vegas. Simply fill a hollowed-out mannequin with booze, and pass it through airline security as your wife. They’ll both reek of alcohol anyway, right? Who could tell the difference? And when you get back to Washington, you’ll be able to relax and enjoy a quality drink while you try and figure out how to get your wife home from the Las Vegas airport…

Like most of you, I’m sitting at work right now, not working. While this is how most of my workday is spent anyway, today there is a reason. I’m monitoring hurricane Rita like a human Doppler radar. Unintentionally, I’ve become an expert on hurricanes… Why you ask? A second vacation destination of mine is about to be leveled by a hurricane.

The first was New Orleans. My wife and I, along with fourteen other friends and family planned to spend a few days in the Big Easy prior to embarking on a weeklong Caribbean cruise. Bourbon Street! I was looking at this part of the trip with such anticipation. I even trained myself to say the words “N’awlins” and “jambalaya” so that I could blend in with the locals. I preemptively dubbed the weekend “Nipple Fest ’05”, as my plan was to treat the entire city to my areolas pretty much 24/7. There was going to be more gratuitous nudity than a backbend competition at my in-laws.

Of course, we all know what happened to New Orleans. After the city “pulled an Atlantis”, Carnival changed the cruise itinerary to depart from Galveston. Ok, fine. So we (and by “we”, I mean my wife) rebooked everything. Instead of Bourbon Street, we’d do Six Flags before the cruise. Fast forward to today… Hurricane “dia-Rita” has gathered strength in the Gulf of Mexico, and is threatening to derail everything. At first I was optimistic about this, figuring at least the lines at Six Flags would be shortened. Now it looks like everything could be cancelled…

As it stands now, the trip to Houston and the entire Caribbean cruise hang in the balance. Theoretically, I was supposed to fly into Houston tomorrow. I’d then spend 48 hours hunkered down in a hotel room, waiting out the hurricane, possibly without electricity, room service or cable television. This would have been the start of my vacation. Compared to my usual day at work, I was actually looking forward to this.

Don’t cry for me. I understand your concern. Most of you don’t know anyone affected by the hurricanes. But I don’t need a fundraiser or any volunteers. I already politely declined the assistance of the Red Cross. Just keep me in your prayers. I’d like to think this whole ordeal has given me new insight. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Apparently, ruining my vacation plans is a high priority for Him.

So now what? There is a real possibility my “vacation” next week will likely be spent at work. Memo to my coworkers: If you thought I was disgruntled before…

My parents officially retired a few weeks ago, and I thought I would commemorate the event with a few posts about their former professions. Last week I lampooned my mom’s career. Now it’s my dad’s turn…

Former Occupation: Manager of warehouse/receiving facility at a local university.

Note the occupation above. This makes him a state employee. Hence, the title of this post: Your Tax Dollars At Work. Believe me, after finishing this post you’ll have plenty of reasons to write your congressman.

The Internet: My dad actually accomplished something pretty amazing a few weeks ago, as I really had no idea you could retire from surfing the Internet all day. To be fair, that’s not all that his day consisted of…

The Forwards: Have you ever wondered where all the forwards clogging your inbox actually originated from? My dad’s computer is ground zero. He’ll send out anything… just a few weeks ago (true story) he sent me a series of pictures capturing a guy attempting to shoot a firecracker from between his butt cheeks. Again, your tax dollars at work.

The Notebooks: Using the Internet and an ungodly amount of time on his hands, my dad meticulously researched products before getting locked into a contract or making major purchase. Have you ever seen a 400-page notebook comparing the features of cable television versus a satellite dish? What about a binder containing analysis of every cell phone plan in existence? Of course, by the time these notebooks are actually complete, the technology he’s looking to purchase is obsolete.

Emailing: His personal emails are much like his comments on this site: Contrite, no punctuation, all letters capitalized. Essentially, my father types as if he has purchased a classified ad and is paying by the character.

The Coffee Drinking: Sadly, my father is also retiring from sitting around and drinking coffee all day. His coffee consumption has been well documented on this site. Now picture a scenario where the coffee was supplied free of charge, in unlimited quantities, and he was being paid to drink it. In other words, this was his definition of a dream job.

Lunch: My dad walked away from a job that provided him with the luxury of going home for lunch everyday. Of course, he eats his lunch on the car ride home, so that his entire lunch hour can be devoted to taking a nap. You see, a full day of surfing the Internet, sending out a ridiculous amount of forwards, and drinking 2 or 3 pots of coffee really takes a lot out of you. Yes, he’ll be tough to replace. Because, despite all of this, he’s still considered highly productive by state employee standards.

Plans For Retirement: Watch the Godfather trilogy. That’s it. This is no exaggeration. My father has worked a lifetime with the hope that he could one day watch three movies in succession. Evidently, I’m pretty sure my dad expects his golden years to last about nine hours.

The Van, My Dad, or Both?: Finally, the only thing truly in need of retirement at my parents’ house is their ’89 Dodge Caravan. This vehicle is an eyesore, with the performance to match. It currently has a blue-book value of $45, and that includes the $30 worth of gas in the tank. If you need further proof that the van is ready to be retired, read the following statements and try and determine whether I’m referring to the van, my dad, or both?

1. Has a spare tire…
2. Is old and gray…
3. Performance is sometimes sluggish due to bad gas…
4. Is no longer insurable…
5. Often blows a gasket on long family car trips…
6. Not cool to be seen in public with…
7. Has dead insects stuck in grill…
8. Leaks fluids overnight….
9. Is developing a musty aroma…
10. Is prone to backfiring…
11. Is not compatible with modern electronics…
12. Questionable as to whether it can reach 60…
13. Has an ample seat cushion…
14. If left on the street corner, neighbors would likely complain…
15. Requires an annual inspection of the tailpipe…
16. Needs major body work…
17. Will likely be abandoned on side of road someday…
18. Would likely fail an emissions test…

So there it is, best of luck and congratulations to my parents on their early retirement…