Ok, bad joke. You’ll see.

A little preface. Weak stream. Urgent need to go. Incomplete emptying. These days it seems you can’t watch a sporting or news channel without hearing how men, basically, can’t hold it in. A fact that assuredly isn’t helped by all that beer and coffee and watermelon consumption. I find the commercials annoying, but the product I’m about to show you is nothing short of offensive.

Presenting: The UroClub (apparently TM).

I say this without hyperbole: this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m almost offended more as a golfer than just as a man (though I’m offended on behalf of my gender, too). First of all, I have never played on a golf course that didn’t have at least one porta-john per nine holes, and many have two per. Second of all, you’re on a freakin’ golf course! If waiting just absolutely is not an option, you duck behind a tree, or hell behind your golf cart, and take a whiz, and no one’s gonna know. On the other hand, if you use this thing, peeing into it is the only possible thing you could be doing. You’re not going to take any kind of realistic practice swing with it, trust me. And no one puts a towel over their hands to take a practice swing. And I’m trying desperately not to visualize how most of the old duffers who really need this are going to manipulate their fly discreetly enough to do anything but add to the carnival atmosphere of using this thing.

To top it all off, when you’re done, you’ve got a fake plastic golf club filled with urine! That’s fun at parties, I’m sure. If the inventor of this product is making any money at all, it’s a crime against everyone’s better judgement.

(h/t to Deadspin, where at least Christmas Ape managed to turn a Seinfeld reference dirty.)

If it’s Austin in the news, and it’s not a man trying to jump a sledding hill, or a man robbing a convenience store with a cheeseburger, or a burglar foiled by register tape, or a kid getting stuck in a crane game, or someone desecrating Starman’s grave, or defecating in an envelope, or. . . well you get the idea. But then it must be:

SPAM! That’s right, SPAM sales are up! Way up! We’re gonna SPAM our way right out of this recession, baby! Whoever said Austin never did anything for us?! Besides us.

Nice little find by a vacationeer in Acapulco. That guy in the sombrero looks awfully familiar…

It’s-a Me!

No word on whether or not immigration is aware of the warp pipes.

(h/t GoNintendo.)

Late day post-script: Monkey passed this along, and it’s too good not to add in.

Evil Red Wings owner steals cup. (Courtesy of The Onion.)

In case you missed it. . .

I would have preferred not to link to the giant game highlight video, but it’s the only one that gives me what I want. Fast-forward to about 3:15 and watch the last five seconds of the game. Make sure to stick around past the celebration to watch the slow motion replay. I think I gave myself a hernia while watching it live. Now I think. . . and I’ve never been quite clear on this. . . but I think the goal has to go in before time expires (as compared to the NBA, where the shot merely needs to be ‘on the way’), so I *think* that Hossa’s last shot wouldn’t have counted. And just hypothetically, but if that had happened. . . well, I really don’t have the words to describe any of this. It was a good season of hockey-watchin’, and congrats to the Wings.

Part 1: I forgot to pay my cell phone bill.

It was due on Monday. By Monday night, my phone had no service. I found it annoying, but didn’t think too much of it, since that’s not too far removed from my typical service level of one-half to one bar (“more bars in more places” my foot). But by Tuesday, let’s say mid-morning-ish, I’d put two and two together, and I may have literally smacked my palm to my forehead. That doesn’t really sound like me, though. I probably just cursed. But so anyway, off to the internet I went to pay my phone bill. I figured that once the payment went through things would just right themselves. As it turns out, that’s pretty close to the case.

Part 2: Cue this morning. Things still aren’t working with the phone. So I decide to trek on over to the nearest brick-and-mortar store, maybe a 10 minute drive away. I explain the situation to the sales guy. He checks out my account on the computer, and says it should be working. So I hand him my phone, and I swear to God . . . he reboots it.

You may not find that as funny as I did. But as a computer tech, I don’t know how many times I’ve recommended that as a possible solution, much to the probable dismay of my clients. And frankly the iPhone is pretty much a computer. Basically, I should have thought to do that myself. So the morale of the story is: I’m a genuis.

The sales guy was actually really cool about it, and understood when I explained why I was laughing when he rebooted the phone. He noticed my Twins hat, and we talked a bit about The Johan, and how he was disappointed that he’d drafted Liriano for his fantasy team. Heh.

And finally… (and h/t to Daring Fireball for the link)… Normally I would give this its own post, but I don’t think I can really say it any better than the post author does. I just think it’s funny. All I would really add is: You know I always have coffee with my radar! (And if nobody gets that, all the better for all of you.)