So the Minnesota Vikings unveiled their new uniforms yesterday.

My initial reaction was “When did Antoine Winfield sign with the Chargers?” Following that, I shrugged my shoulders and went back to my woodburning art. My ears again perked up when I heared the designers mention that the horns on the helmet, “now appear to be three-dimensional.”

Really? They do?

Does this person understand what three-dimensional actually means?

Now, if they had included actual, three-dimensional horns coming out of the helmet, then this would have been the greatest, most strategic uniform ever. I would have loved to have spent my Sunday afternoons eating pizza and watching opposing running backs being gored to death by Kevin Williams before having their intestines being piled up on the 50-yard line, along with the innards of the opposing coach who had been similarly gored during the pre-game ceremonies. The Viking horn would blow and the crowd would go insane; their shouts of aggression gurgling with Packer blood!

I’ll go ahead and blame Denny Green for this.

I thought I’d take a moment today and recognize a few people from my blogroll and direct you to their fine sites, in my own special way.

Adam’s (Ochuk’s) Blog: Adam’s a good guy, I suppose. I guess I have him linked to my site out of some misguided loyalty to our friendship. Lately he’s spent a lot of time blogging about unicyling, which tells you something (though I’m not sure what). Also, Adam recently shaved off his beard, which was a disappointment.

The Problem With Kevin: Kevin’s blog is sort like if the John Larroquette Project was written by Strom Thurmond. I like his interview segments, but the everything else that he’s ever done in his life has probably sucked. Also, somebody needs to say it, but his looks have really gone downhill.

The Proletariat of God: This infrequently-updated blog is written by my old friend Chris Brenna. Chris took the initiative in burning down a small tire shed in broad daylight while we were in high school, which should tell you something about his character and forebearance. Now he is a scholar studying the early Christian church, which doesn’t frighten me in any way at all.

Thom’s blog: This guy is dumb. I really mean it, he’s just dumb. Somebody should notifiy social services, because this guy should be living in a group home under clinical care. He also likes comic books.

Bump’s Blog: This is a new site written by Twin Cities drive-time favorite (and ex Star Tribune sports columnist) Dan Barreiro. I listen to him on my ride home from work, and his words provide the droning soundtrack to my nightmarish consciousness. Good blog though.

It has come to my attention that some of my most popular, widely-read recent posts have been my honest, accurate accounts of real-life painful situations that I have suffered through. From my botched honeymoon to the thank-you card debacle, it seems that my readers love to read about my unhappiness.

Well screw you guys.

A lesser blog writer would spinelessly bend to the public’s demand, but I refuse to do so for you voyeuristic snoopers. So what if my life is painful and filled with human suffering?! What’s it to you?! I didn’t create this blog that my soul might be fed upon by 300+ undead parasites a day. I created it out of the simple need to fill 15 minutes of my daily free time, and to spread my eager tidings of awkwardness and unpleasantness around the globe.

The John Larroquette Project is not about to become one of those blogs where the author discusses his recent break-up for 15 months straight, interspersed with occasional results from the latest online quiz. I will NOT give you people what you want by honestly describing the most awful, embarrassing moments of my life. Instead, I will describe walruses dying of cancer and other such unpleasantries.

This is not a blog about cupcakes and rainbows and comedic mishaps. It is about shame, mental illness, and partial nudity.

Unless you guys don’t like that. I can change it if you want. Any suggestions?

As time goes on, I continue to find more and more gray hairs peeking out amidst my otherwise luxurious mane of dark brown hair.

For many, this might be an occasion to become anxious about mortality and the steady drumbeat of the aging process. I however, see it as both inevitable and appropriate.

Let me explain:

Oh well. As TLC reminded us, don’t go chasing waterfalls!

I’m suddenly wondering if that song actually applies to this situation. I’ll be honest, I never listened very closely to the lyrics, I just assumed it was about my life in some way or another. Good video. Too bad about the one who died in a car accident in Honduras, but she always seemed kinda messed up to me anyway. Maybe the song was about her. Wait a minute, were they singing about waterfalls or water fowls? If that song is about geese then this changes everything…

In conclusion, do not pursue water fowl, and I am slowly going gray.

Bridgette’s family is currently embroiled in what is becoming known as The Great Thank-You Fiasco. I would like to report on this episode to you as a cautionary tale on living in the Iron Range or having blood relatives.

Bridgette and I got married in November; a few months after her sister similarly got married. One of the annoying parts about getting married is firing off 3 or 4 dozen thank you cards in the weeks or months after the wedding. Etiquette tells us that you have anywhere from 6-12 months to get them all out, but it’s generally better to get them out sooner than later.

About two months after our wedding, Bridgette started getting voice messages from her uncle, letting her know that Grandpa was waiting to get his thank you card and he didn’t know why it hadn’t arrived yet. Bridgette’s sister received similarly ominous calls, and in greater number since her cards were a few months later than ours.

We finally got ours out a number of weeks back, 4 months after the wedding. Bridgette’s sister took a bit longer to write them, as she is wont to do, but she was sure to include a multiple-page letter to Grandpa, apologizing for the “late” card.

Problem solved, right?

No. In fact, it was only the beginning of the preposterous Thank-You Fiasco.

Easter Sunday. The whole family is together, dressed up, and walking into the small town Baptist church for the service. Bridgette’s uncle pulls her aside as we walk into the sanctuary for the following exchange:

Uncle: I know you didn’t actually write the thank-you we got.
Bridgette: What?
Uncle: It wasn’t your handwriting.
Bridgette: Yes it was!
Uncle: But you didn’t address it to “Uncle Bob”, it just said “Bob”.
Bridgette: We didn’t address anybody’s that way, including Peters relatives.

I thanked her Uncle for sharing his Easter tidings with us thusly, and we took a seat.

Now, a week later, word has just reached Bridgette’s sister (who is 7 months pregnant) that Grandpa refuses to ever purchase anything for her child because his thank you card was so late. Apparently so great was the offense, that he will hold this grudge until Judgment Day (and beyond, if permissible).

Now, could we all have sent out the thank you cards in a speedier fashion? Sure. We could absolutely have done a better job of that, and maybe 4 months is too long to wait to receive a tiny card with a tired couple of sentences within. However, is this sin truly worthy of Grandfather’s vengeance and Easter morning accusations?

I shudder to think what they would have done with the cards had they received them the week after the wedding. Wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure would have knocked them to their knees as they would have moaned, “YES! THANK YOU CARDS! YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!” At that fateful moment, they would have become happy people, and remained so for the rest of their days.

If only…

As reported in The Times (London) - October 27th, 2005:
Performance artist Tomoko Takahashi, 39, working on a British government grant of the equivalent of about $8,600, gave an exhibition of inebriation in October in in Cardiff, Wales. Dressed in business suit and high heels, Takahashi drank a large amount of beer over a three-hour period, periodically checking to see how far she could walk across a narrow beam about two feet off the floor without falling. A Chapter spokesman called the demonstration a “powerful piece of art.”

This is, without a doubt, the most significant artistic development since Picasso became incontinent.

Just think of the new era that this development heralds. This woman was paid nearly 9,000 bucks to get wasted and wobble across a balance beam. This work of art makes Michelangelo’s David look like a half-witted mongoloid, fit for euthanization.

The genius of this act lies in the the intrinsic awesomeness of seeing some stupid drunk woman fall and potentially break her wrist. Watching her slam into the unforgiving concrete ground and hearing her startled shrieks of pain would provide great satisfaction, given the fact that she is undeniably a pretentious twit.

Seriously, how many people suppose that this woman is a fun person to be around? Even when she’s drunk, she won’t do the usual drunk things like laughing too loudly and flirting with ugly dudes. No, she has to prove her tired point to some elitist assholes by teetering across a damned balance beam in a museum.

I say we get a team together to go punch her and stuff. Who’s with me?