Clocked

From Dictionary.com:

v. clocked
1. To time, as with a stopwatch: clock a runner.
2. To register or record with a mechanical device: clocked the winds at 60 miles per hour.

Then, I found this definition on UrbanDictionary.com:

v. clocked
1. Act of knocking someone the fuck out: Hey biatch, you got clocked!

Which I found very amusing. And closer to the connotation I was looking for.

I would like to add another definition to this list:

v. clocked
1. Losing because of time, or lack thereof, as depicted by a device used to tell time.
2. What happened to the Philadelphia Eagles this past week.

Yep, it’s a sports blog! FOOLED YOU! (snicker)

Yesterday, with 4 seconds remaining, the Eagles lost to the Buccaneers because Matt Bryant, the Tampa Bay kicker, hit an improbable 62 yard field goal with four seconds left.

62 yards! For those of you not familiar with football, the NFL record for a field goal is 63 yards, which has only been done twice. Ever! Matter of fact, only four guys (now five) have ever hit a field goal that was 60 yards or more.

"But it has been done", you say. And I say, "Yes, it has, but not by some bum who hasn’t hit anything over 40 yards all year and who’s career long up to now was only 50 yards." And by now I'm choking you.

But here’s the thing. Four seconds. Without those four seconds, the Bucs don’t win. Without those four agonizingly small ticks, those damn Iggles win. The only reason I bring this up is because the Birds had a chance to run those four seconds off the clock. At least, one Bird did. The excellent and awesome Brian Westbrook, whose heroics go unsung far too often, and was the only Eagle who looked fresh the entire game. His late game 52 yard catch and run touchdown was impressive, fantastic, and should’ve taken four seconds longer. I now want you to see the play I just described, where Mr. Westbrook makes four people miss, and I want you to watch the very end of the play.

He slows down to a walk! Had all the time in the world. Could’ve had tea and crumpets, or maybe more appripo, a cheesesteak. But he slowed down, and could’ve shaved FOUR seconds off the clock. Now, by no means am I suggesting that Westbrook should have known to stay out of the endzone for four seconds, should have known that those seconds would cost them the game, should’ve known that Matt “I’m Nobody” Bryant would hit a 62 yard field goal to win it.

But man, did I want H.G. Wells’ time machine, or at least an ’85 Delorean. Just to be able to yell at Westbrook something about theatrics, to take his time, to moonwalk into the endzone (which is kind of hard in cleats), something to take those four F-ing ticks off the clock. But alas, H.G. Well’s dream machine was absent, and Michael J. Fox was too busy guest-starring on some show desperate for ratings.

And so, the Eagles got clocked: They got knocked the fuck out.

But they also got clocked: Losing because of time or lack thereof, as depicted by a device used to tell time.

Of course, there’s always clocked: Getting knocked the fuck out with a device used to tell time. See below:

Kids are stupid,

n. JQ
1. A bitter and hateful Philadelphia sports fan (Like there’s any other kind.)

www.thewaitstaff.com

Paging Mr. Butczjek

So I'm responding to my own recent posting about Hemawipes as this story ain't dead yet.

As you recall, bunkies, there is now a hemawipe shortage. My managers are yelling up and down about scrounging 'just a few more' of the loveable little poop-swoopers. Now Waldo(not his real name) , a guy in my office, decided to crack wise and tell Clyde ( it's his real name, but he won't admit to it) , our CFO, that he's looking into a company called Butchek that still may have some. Clyde thanked Waldo and then proceeded to drive himself crazy looking all over the Net for Butchek Industries, of course to no avail. Then Waldo, sitting at his desk, calls the outside number of our company, and gets the receptionist, who sits within earshot of me and had her speakerphone on:

"Hello, So-and So Services.''

'Yes, can I speak to Clyde, please?'

"Who's calling?"

'This is Allen, from Butchek Industries.'

The receptionist, being no dummy, hung up on Waldo.

But now it's gone too far. I made a record in our ACT customer relationship management (CRM) software for Butchek Industries in Split Cheek, MO, located at 1400 Butchek Boulevard. We've named the founder Wladislov Butczjek, a Slavic immigrant who revolutionized the ass-wipe industry. Now the company is so sccessful they have to diversify.

So here's where I ask for your help.

Let's say you were a stool screening mogul (and I'm guessing some of you must be), and you had a need to diversify your, uh, holdings. Where would you invest? I'd like to see some of the non-waitstaffers who follow this blog, and you both know who you are, respond with your suggestions.

What do you think?

- Steve Lippe

aka The Notorious L.I.P., aka Biggie Size

www.thewaitstaff.com

Anthem for a Generation

The other day I got a tune stuck in my head, so I made up words I could sing to it. It went like this…

I’ll tell you,
If I like it,
And I’ll lie there,
As you do it some more.

I know, I know. GENIUS. And because I write and perform for a sketch troupe (Yes, “TROUPE,” Mr. Lippe) my first thought was that this little ditty had to be turned into a song, a song we could perform on stage to the laughter and applause of thousands of adoring fans. But what would the song be about? What?

And then it hit me. Apathy. I was going to write the definitive song about apathy. It would be a rallying cry that would ring out the truth about people who just don’t care enough to do anything. It would shame those lazy bums into getting off their asses and doing something for once in their lives. Years from now it would be mentioned in textbooks how I galvanized a generation through a humorous song.

And what a song it was going to be. The lyrics would be funny but honest, and most likely rhyme. They’d definitely have to be better than that crap I’d thought up earlier. And the music. Something catchy and inspirational. I don’t actually read music, so I’d need to learn how to do that first.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that if I wanted to write the definitive song about apathy it was going to take a lot of work. So I didn’t bother with it at all.

- CPW

www.thewaitstaff.com

Have a Seat

I got a new toilet seat. It’s nothing special (boring white, sturdy plastic), but that’s what’s so great about it. See, my last toilet seat was a little too exciting for me.

Let me just say for the record that I am an adventurous person. I surf the net without virus protection, I eat spinach, I go to bars with other members of The Waitstaff. I live life on the edge. But my old toilet seat was a little too edgy for me.

It was a plushy toilet seat with a wood grain, vinyl cover. My understanding is that the person who lived in my apartment before the person who lived in my apartment before me bought it at the dollar store. It had a hard time staying screwed to the bowl and often it would shoot out from under me as I sat there… contemplating things.

I used to think unusual and spontaneous were admirable qualities, but now I’m beginning to find the beauty in stability and predictability. Am I growing boring or am I growing up?

I think the latter.

Also, I think I spend too much time thinking about toilet seats.

- CPW

www.thewaitstaff.com

WIPEWORTHY

So at my day job, we find out the people who make Hemawipes have gone out of business. I'm sure this raises some questions. Yes, I have a day job, despite the scads of money The Waitstaff pays me every 4 days to write crap like this. No, you can't get paid for writing crap like this for The Waitstaff. Yes, I'll tell you what Hemawipes are, and why you care.

My company provides occupational health testing to industrial sites - mostly tests that require a physical, which calls for a stool screening. If you are the only one who doesn't know, a stool is, to put it in scientific terms, a turd. A Hemawipe makes this easy to do. Rather than going to a lab, taking a squat in a test tube and dropping it off at the front desk, a Hemawipe allows you to, in the privacy of your own home, or out in public somewhere, you sick, sick bastard, simply take a quick "wipe" of the ol' tushie-hole and put it in the envelope and mail it in! Postage paid! Goes to the lab, and they tell you if you're a cancer-ridden loser or not. But. The last company that makes the cute li'l items has, to paraphrase Vonnegut, turned belly-up and gone bang!in the noonday sun.

So, we have a limited supply. And our clients are starting to clamor for them. It's a clanging cacophony of clinging corn-holes sans the comforting cloth of Hemawipe comfort.

For what is the alternative? How may you now submit your poopy to the annonymous medical professionals whose sacred task it is to evaluate your shit (and this post was profanity-free til now. Shit.)?

It's a popscicle stick.

Yes, a little wooden sliver you scrape your bung-hole with (OK, you're really supposed to scrape it off some toilet paper you used, but where's the challenge in that?)and submit it to Dr. Hankie.

So,I ask you, and I demand you speak the truth...

ARE YOU WIPEWORTHY?


-Lippe

www.thewaitstaff.com

The Waitstaff plays COMEDY WEEK at THE PLAYGROUND October 18th, 2006

Comedy Week - October 18-20, 2006! A showcase of Philly's most talented sketch, improv, stand-up and comic music acts. Each night features a set of different acts. Save $$ when you come on multiple nights! One night: $12; Two nights: $20, Three nights: $21. Student discounts are also available.

The Playground at the Adrienne Theatre
2030 Sansom Street
Philadelphia, PA 19103

THE WAITSTAFF anchors the Wednesday, October 18th showcase!! 8pm showtime!
Check us out!

Comedy Week's Official Site - BUY TICKETS NOW!

www.thewaitstaff.com

It wasn't Mark Foley! It was The Roman Catholic Church!

So, I'm sure you've all heard of this Mark Foley thing in the news.

Attorney David Roth, speaking on Foley's behalf at a Florida news conference Tuesday, said Foley was molested between ages 13 and 15 by a clergyman. He declined to identify the clergyman or the church, but Foley is Roman Catholic.

"Mark does not blame the trauma he sustained as a young adolescent for his totally inappropriate" e-mails and instant messages, Roth said. "He continues to offer no excuse whatsoever for his conduct."

Then why the hell bring it up? I call bullshit. Hell, I call bulldiarrhea.

------------------------------------------

SHAGGY
Gee Scoob, I don't know why Rep. Mark Foley would act that way.

FRED
Hey, gang, I don't think were seeing the whole picture.

[Removes Mask]

EVERYONE
(Gasp) The Roman Catholic Church?!

VELMA
Jinkies!

THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
Yeah, it was me, and I would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids!

SCOOBY DOO
Scrooby Doobie Doo!

Hugs and (Legal Age) Handjobs,

-JQ

www.thewaitstaff.com

The Love of My Life

If life is like a romantic comedy, and we are destined to end up with the one who annoys us the most, then I'm going to end up with my office's postage machine. God I hate that thing, but we do make a cute couple.

- CPW

T.O.'d

Despite being a lifelong Philadelphian, I'm not an Eagles fan. (I'm not a sports guy at all, so don't take it personally.) But it's impossible not to take note of TO and his unwelcome media-baiting peccadilloes. I don't want to make any value judgements, but TO's a flaming asshole who should be removed from the public conscience, never to return. I don't know, but I've been told, non-stop media plays get mighty old. Not that I'm saying this latest little pill-popping episode was an attempt to get publicity, but TO's recent pill-popping episode was simply an attempt to get publicity. I wish I could just ignore him, but he's too big, too bad, too often plastered on the pixels like a too-often-played McDonald's spot to just pretend he doesn't exist.
Soloutions? Easy. I don't have any. If anyone does, please let me know c/o this blog, as soon as you can. Perhaps we can arrange for an all-TO/Dennis Rodman/Pat Robertson site, where anyone who wants to see flamboyant sports-slash-televangelist-personality-disordered pituitary cases revel in thir own testosterone-induced delusions of grandeur could get their fill at will, instead of having it stuffed down the throats of an unwiling audience who justwant to see how bad the contestants on "American Idol" suck this season.

You, the individual is the only one who can do this on a collective basis. So let's all band together for individuality, and conform to the standard of diversity.

And, TO, got any spare Percocets?

- Lippe