Saw Notorious last night and it was amazeggs. It inspired me to spit some flow myself...
One two buckle my eggs
The sun burns my face, my nose, and my legs
I wonder why people think that I’m schmidts
That smell is atrocious from under my pits
Three four lets run to the beach
Don’t sit in that room while they’re trying to teach
Books and pens and chalk and bells
Who needs to be able to write and to spells
They say I am schmidts but I think they are wrong
I’ll tell you the truth through my dance and my song
I love broads and cougars and that is no lie
First time you touch it’s like warm apple pie
Five six I’m really just lazy
I may not be normal but I swear I’m not crazy
I can’t get a girlfriend cause I don’t take a chance
I ‘m just not as smooth as Bradley or Lance
Thami is teaching me to be smooth as an egg
To get to a point where all the broads beg
It might take some time and I’ll prove you all wrong
Sometimes on Sundays I wear a nice thong
Seven eight this rhyme has run out
Go cry to your mommy and sit there and pout
I’ll soon pay lobola and with that there’s no doubt
My parents might cry and even may shout
Now it’s time to say goodnight
The pants I’m wearing are really tight
You can come closer I swear I don’t bite
So buckle my eggs they are quite a sight
February 26, 2009
February 24, 2009
Lost In Translationeggs
American saying: "Don't count your chickens before they hatch"
Norwegian saying: "Don't sell the skin of the bear before the bear is shot"
Ummmmmmmmmmm...
What the fuck is that about? Before the bear is shot? Who is shooting bears? I know it's cold in Norway, but c'mon guys. I'm sure there are better ways to gain access to heat. Are they really shooting that many bears to actually make it apart of a common phrase? And honestly, who is trying to sell bear skin before they actually kill the fuckin thing? Like, if Yogi ain't dead I'm not goin near it. Let's use some common sense here. Side note, bears can smell the menstration, so be careful broads. I don't know why I am blogging about this, but I actually laughed for about ten minutes when Ingrid told me this ridiculous saying. I thought of a new saying that we could all use.
Don't lick a bald man's head before you shave his eggs and call him Sally.
Ingrid also informed me of another saying today that I thought I would let you all chew on for a while.
"It's the same boiling water that hardens the egg and softens the carrot"
That's a lil' in-yendo.
Norwegian saying: "Don't sell the skin of the bear before the bear is shot"
Ummmmmmmmmmm...
What the fuck is that about? Before the bear is shot? Who is shooting bears? I know it's cold in Norway, but c'mon guys. I'm sure there are better ways to gain access to heat. Are they really shooting that many bears to actually make it apart of a common phrase? And honestly, who is trying to sell bear skin before they actually kill the fuckin thing? Like, if Yogi ain't dead I'm not goin near it. Let's use some common sense here. Side note, bears can smell the menstration, so be careful broads. I don't know why I am blogging about this, but I actually laughed for about ten minutes when Ingrid told me this ridiculous saying. I thought of a new saying that we could all use.
Don't lick a bald man's head before you shave his eggs and call him Sally.
Ingrid also informed me of another saying today that I thought I would let you all chew on for a while.
"It's the same boiling water that hardens the egg and softens the carrot"
That's a lil' in-yendo.
February 23, 2009
Happy Birthday Eggs
I wanted to send out a very happy birthday shout out to my older brothers Shark & Bradley. Today they turn 28 years young. Happy Birthday Eggs!
Sidenote: Just woke up and watched Hugh Jackman's opening monologue and LOVED it.
February 22, 2009
I Do Not Hook Up
Not only is it true for me personally, it's also the best song on Clarkson's new CD. I downloaded it this morning and jammed hard all day. It's not as good as anticipated, but it's still pleasantly schmidts.
Quoting Bradley Kaufman, "A few good tunes. It's completely schmidts, no question."
That about sums it up I'd say. And Bradley is really schmidts, so he should know.
Randomness:
Why do I have 589 Facebook friends? Seriously? I used to add seggsy broads all the time to see if they would accept me. Half did. Not too bad. But I definitely don't have 589 friends. I don't even know that many people. Who the fuck are these people? And why isn't one of them dating me at least?
Why is Hugh Jackman hosting the Oscars? I'd rather watch two pigs make seggs. Seriously. Anyone else with me?
My schmidts levels for the week:
Downloaded Clarkson – Schmidts way up
A man grabbed my hand and kissed it at a bar – Schmidts extremely high up
I saw He's Just Not That Into You & Seven Pounds – Schmidts level off the charts
I liked both movies a lot – Schmidts to the max
I asked a girl out sort of – Schmidts level drastically down like whoa beans
She declined the offer – Schmidts level relaxing comfortably at the normal level again
PEZ. I found a Sponge Bob Square Eggs Pez dispenser in the grocery the other day and realized I hadn't had Pez in ages. I brought my new toy to work on Friday, and went around the hospital asking everyone if they wanted to try one. Each person first would look at me like I had eggs growing on my face, and then stick their hands out waiting for the Pez to shoot into the palms on their hands. Then I would have to explain to everyone that they needed to pull it out and eat it (that's what she said), which took many hand motions and noises. I found out later that in South Africa, Pez dispencers usually have a button that you push that shoots the candy out into the palm of your hand, which is why they were so confused. But anyways, I brought it around to the entire hospital and it was a gigantic hit. It might be my signature move now when dealing with patients.
I went to this bar last night in the middle of Kwamashu, which is a township right outside of Durban. It was my first going out experience since I've been here. The bar was this tiny little room with an outside area where you could sit down and watch TV and potentially dance if you had enough to drink. There was one man dancing the entire night. It looked like he was having seizures. I've altered the state of my mind a couple of times in my day, and I can honestly say I have never been on this guys level before. He would literally make sex to the floor with his eyes closed, and then after the beat stopped, he would come up to us and grab our hands and speak to us in Zulu. I was a bit tipsy and would just tell him he was schmidts, to which he smiled and went back to dancing.
The bar was pretty crowded and had a great atmosphere. The street had even more people on it with loud music playing and people having a good time. Whenever I would go outside I was met with many stares and smiles. I was extremely tempted to bust out a hard Gooneybird dance, but apparently if you dance like a giant putz, especially if you are white as eggs, some people don't really find it very funny and could scramble ur eggs like a hot potato. So I decided not to dance, because I'd like to have my penis, both my testicles, and try to avoid handicapped parking for the rest of my life. I just watched and bobbed my head to the beat like a typical Jew at a downtown club. Can't wait to go back.
This weekend I am going to a wedding for a co-worker on Saturday. I really can't wait for it. It's an excuse to wear a nice pair of slacks and get me groove on HARD with all my friends here. They really don't know what is coming. The running man. The shopping cart. The eggs in the basket. The faceadilla express. The chicken dance. The Schmidts supreme a la mode with ice cream and cherries. They are getting it all. You and I both know I'm a phenomenal dancer. It's Wedding Season! You shut your mouth when you're talking to me.
Sbu.
Quoting Bradley Kaufman, "A few good tunes. It's completely schmidts, no question."
That about sums it up I'd say. And Bradley is really schmidts, so he should know.
Randomness:
Why do I have 589 Facebook friends? Seriously? I used to add seggsy broads all the time to see if they would accept me. Half did. Not too bad. But I definitely don't have 589 friends. I don't even know that many people. Who the fuck are these people? And why isn't one of them dating me at least?
Why is Hugh Jackman hosting the Oscars? I'd rather watch two pigs make seggs. Seriously. Anyone else with me?
My schmidts levels for the week:
Downloaded Clarkson – Schmidts way up
A man grabbed my hand and kissed it at a bar – Schmidts extremely high up
I saw He's Just Not That Into You & Seven Pounds – Schmidts level off the charts
I liked both movies a lot – Schmidts to the max
I asked a girl out sort of – Schmidts level drastically down like whoa beans
She declined the offer – Schmidts level relaxing comfortably at the normal level again
PEZ. I found a Sponge Bob Square Eggs Pez dispenser in the grocery the other day and realized I hadn't had Pez in ages. I brought my new toy to work on Friday, and went around the hospital asking everyone if they wanted to try one. Each person first would look at me like I had eggs growing on my face, and then stick their hands out waiting for the Pez to shoot into the palms on their hands. Then I would have to explain to everyone that they needed to pull it out and eat it (that's what she said), which took many hand motions and noises. I found out later that in South Africa, Pez dispencers usually have a button that you push that shoots the candy out into the palm of your hand, which is why they were so confused. But anyways, I brought it around to the entire hospital and it was a gigantic hit. It might be my signature move now when dealing with patients.
I went to this bar last night in the middle of Kwamashu, which is a township right outside of Durban. It was my first going out experience since I've been here. The bar was this tiny little room with an outside area where you could sit down and watch TV and potentially dance if you had enough to drink. There was one man dancing the entire night. It looked like he was having seizures. I've altered the state of my mind a couple of times in my day, and I can honestly say I have never been on this guys level before. He would literally make sex to the floor with his eyes closed, and then after the beat stopped, he would come up to us and grab our hands and speak to us in Zulu. I was a bit tipsy and would just tell him he was schmidts, to which he smiled and went back to dancing.
The bar was pretty crowded and had a great atmosphere. The street had even more people on it with loud music playing and people having a good time. Whenever I would go outside I was met with many stares and smiles. I was extremely tempted to bust out a hard Gooneybird dance, but apparently if you dance like a giant putz, especially if you are white as eggs, some people don't really find it very funny and could scramble ur eggs like a hot potato. So I decided not to dance, because I'd like to have my penis, both my testicles, and try to avoid handicapped parking for the rest of my life. I just watched and bobbed my head to the beat like a typical Jew at a downtown club. Can't wait to go back.
This weekend I am going to a wedding for a co-worker on Saturday. I really can't wait for it. It's an excuse to wear a nice pair of slacks and get me groove on HARD with all my friends here. They really don't know what is coming. The running man. The shopping cart. The eggs in the basket. The faceadilla express. The chicken dance. The Schmidts supreme a la mode with ice cream and cherries. They are getting it all. You and I both know I'm a phenomenal dancer. It's Wedding Season! You shut your mouth when you're talking to me.
Sbu.
February 18, 2009
February 17, 2009
I'm not an inventor. I'm an improver.
Why in god’s name do hospitals make you tell the nurse your issue and then make you wait twenty minutes to see the doctor, who proceeds to ask you what the problem is again? It seems redundant. Does the nurse keep secrets from the doctor? Why do I have to tell a nurse the story for ten minutes and then wait twenty minutes to tell the story again? Why can’t they tell the doctor? Or just not ask and wait for me to tell the story to the actual doctor? And why don’t the gowns have backs to them? Why does everyone need to see my ass hanging out when I walk to the bathroom? Wouldn’t it be nicer for everyone if the gowns just slipped over your head? And why do they abbreviate “gun shot wound” as “GSW”? I believe they do it to make it shorter, but in actuality you are adding syllables by abbreviating the phrase. It's idiotic. Why not just say, “shot”? That’s only one syllable and you get the message. I'm not an inventor. But I’m an improver. I improve things that need fixing, and this system needs fixing. For instance, the vending machines downstairs consist of two machines that are exactly the same. Why would they do this? Why not have a different machine with more options for patients to choose from? If you hate Pepsi you are really screwed. And why have an ice cream machine? Who on earth eats that? I’ve never gone to the vending machine for ice cream. Not because I don’t like ice cream, but typically the Jew is not really a fan of old milk and creamed products that have been sitting in a machine for 6 months at a time. Another fine example is the fact that weather people report wind chill. It’s useless. If it’s 35 degrees but with the wind chill it’s -7, then it's -7. I don’t need to know what the weather would be like if conditions were perfect. It makes no sense.
Back in Austin my brother used to get worried about me when I would make my couch turn into a couch bed for weeks at a time. I used to do this because I enjoyed getting up in the morning from my bedroom and then walking into my living room and getting into another bed. I don’t blame him for worrying about me, because I truly was living like a man reading "Don't Jump" books. I used to eat in the couch bed usually in my traditional attire of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt with holes in it, and would do this for weeks on end. The highlight was always having him come over to watch Grey’s and The Office on Thursday nights, with a triple order of plain Plucker’s wings with mild sauce on the side. He will tell you he hated it, but he’s lying. Another reason I enjoyed this practice was because I thought it could help me with women in a way. One of my biggest weaknesses with women is the ability to move from the couch to the bedroom. So I figured if I had no couch and just a bed, I would be able to just skip all of that awkwardness. But when women would see this dirty Plucker’s stained couch bed, they would feel a bit creeped out, thus spoiling my brilliant plan.
And another thing, why the fuck doesn’t Kate Winslet move over on that fucking board while Leo freezes to death? What a fucking bitch right? Just scooch woman! You both can live happily ever after if you just nudge your fat ass over a few inches. The movie is unreal besides that little tidbit though. I watched it a few times in Austin by myself and it really is one of the best loves stories ever. Leo is the man. I bring up this movie because Ingrid’s only knowledge of American culture is from Leo’s character in that movie and the TV show Friends. Apparently she believes all of us live in extremely nice New York City apartments and all sleep with each other and make hand stains on steamy windows of a car while we make sweet sweet lovin.
I’ll tell ya what I like about contraceptives, as long as we’re on the subject. They make for the best trainings at work. Yesterday I sat in a training at work where the word ‘semen’ was used more times than I have ever heard it in my entire 24 years on this planet. So much semen. It was like a Dateline NBC special where they black light hotel rooms. And very silly questions about sex and how you can and can’t get pregnant. I had to explain to everyone how if a girl is on top during sexy time you can’t get her pregnant. It’s gravity. After we were done with the hour-long semen lecture they asked if we had any questions and it was the closest I’ve ever been to pulling the trigger on “Is it true if you don’t use it, you lose it?” I bit my tongue.
Does anyone else do this? Whenever I drink a bottle of Coke I divide the bottle into three levels. High, Middle, and Low society. High society Coke is the best taste on earth, and when I finish a bottle I always try to not mix the new bottle of High society and the Low society of the old Coke, due to hostility between the two groups. I’d rather open a new bottle and toss away the Low society Coke. I know I’m supposed to be a Social Worker, but I guess this is the only non-social worky thing I do. That and swear 1,000 times a day. Anyone else do this?
I cooked ‘Pop’ last night for the first time. It’s an African dish made out of maize meal or “mealy”. I want to make a mix to cook to while I make it next time. So far I have “A Milli” by Lil Wayne and “Dirty Pop” by N’Sync. Any other suggestions?
That’s all I got. I won a race at work today. I beat the security guards in a 100-meter dash. Then did the Usain Bolt dance. They didn’t watch the Olympics so I looked like a moron. But they were impressed that this Mulungu can run. SHABBA!
Back in Austin my brother used to get worried about me when I would make my couch turn into a couch bed for weeks at a time. I used to do this because I enjoyed getting up in the morning from my bedroom and then walking into my living room and getting into another bed. I don’t blame him for worrying about me, because I truly was living like a man reading "Don't Jump" books. I used to eat in the couch bed usually in my traditional attire of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt with holes in it, and would do this for weeks on end. The highlight was always having him come over to watch Grey’s and The Office on Thursday nights, with a triple order of plain Plucker’s wings with mild sauce on the side. He will tell you he hated it, but he’s lying. Another reason I enjoyed this practice was because I thought it could help me with women in a way. One of my biggest weaknesses with women is the ability to move from the couch to the bedroom. So I figured if I had no couch and just a bed, I would be able to just skip all of that awkwardness. But when women would see this dirty Plucker’s stained couch bed, they would feel a bit creeped out, thus spoiling my brilliant plan.
And another thing, why the fuck doesn’t Kate Winslet move over on that fucking board while Leo freezes to death? What a fucking bitch right? Just scooch woman! You both can live happily ever after if you just nudge your fat ass over a few inches. The movie is unreal besides that little tidbit though. I watched it a few times in Austin by myself and it really is one of the best loves stories ever. Leo is the man. I bring up this movie because Ingrid’s only knowledge of American culture is from Leo’s character in that movie and the TV show Friends. Apparently she believes all of us live in extremely nice New York City apartments and all sleep with each other and make hand stains on steamy windows of a car while we make sweet sweet lovin.
I’ll tell ya what I like about contraceptives, as long as we’re on the subject. They make for the best trainings at work. Yesterday I sat in a training at work where the word ‘semen’ was used more times than I have ever heard it in my entire 24 years on this planet. So much semen. It was like a Dateline NBC special where they black light hotel rooms. And very silly questions about sex and how you can and can’t get pregnant. I had to explain to everyone how if a girl is on top during sexy time you can’t get her pregnant. It’s gravity. After we were done with the hour-long semen lecture they asked if we had any questions and it was the closest I’ve ever been to pulling the trigger on “Is it true if you don’t use it, you lose it?” I bit my tongue.
Does anyone else do this? Whenever I drink a bottle of Coke I divide the bottle into three levels. High, Middle, and Low society. High society Coke is the best taste on earth, and when I finish a bottle I always try to not mix the new bottle of High society and the Low society of the old Coke, due to hostility between the two groups. I’d rather open a new bottle and toss away the Low society Coke. I know I’m supposed to be a Social Worker, but I guess this is the only non-social worky thing I do. That and swear 1,000 times a day. Anyone else do this?
I cooked ‘Pop’ last night for the first time. It’s an African dish made out of maize meal or “mealy”. I want to make a mix to cook to while I make it next time. So far I have “A Milli” by Lil Wayne and “Dirty Pop” by N’Sync. Any other suggestions?
That’s all I got. I won a race at work today. I beat the security guards in a 100-meter dash. Then did the Usain Bolt dance. They didn’t watch the Olympics so I looked like a moron. But they were impressed that this Mulungu can run. SHABBA!
February 16, 2009
Hello Dali
It's a beautiful day here in Durban, South Africa. Just wanted to post these photos because it might be the nicest day here since I've arrived. I, of course, spent the day healing the ill indoors, but at least I had something nice to look at when I got home. Check out the new World Cup stadium being built in the far left. Tickets on sale this month. I'm taking orders...
Today at work I continued my work with 18-24 year olds with HIV. I am trying to set up a support group and program for them in the HIV clinic at the hospital. So far it is going slow, but there is defnitely a need for these kids and hopefully by the time I leave the Patch Adams Rooney Schmidts Egg Support Group will be in place. Many of these kids who are infected are at an age where they feel completely isolated due to the stigma that HIV holds. They sit in line all day in a clinic full of patients who are really ill and much older than them, and they all are looked at as "bad kids" because HIV is a sexual disease, and they are viewed as being too young to have it. It's almost impossible to hear their stories each and everyday, but I think it's extremely important that these kids get the support that they need. Imagine feeling totally alone carrying a disease that most likely will eventually kill you. And you are afraid to tell anyone, including your parents about it. Hopefully some additional services for these kids can make this time in their lives a little bit easier.
Wow. Serious Rooney came out to play for a second. Also, I bought some new artwork for the place. Some of the pieces were done by one of the girls Ingrid works with, Nosipo. It's amazing the work this kid can do. If you're lucky and maybe comment some more, you'll have an original coming your way in May.
Well, that's all for today. I'm gonna have Ingrid guest blog Part 3 of our trip to Drakensberg so stay tuned for that. Keep the questions coming for the mailbag edition this weekend. The Dude abides.
Sbusiso (my name in Zulu)
Today at work I continued my work with 18-24 year olds with HIV. I am trying to set up a support group and program for them in the HIV clinic at the hospital. So far it is going slow, but there is defnitely a need for these kids and hopefully by the time I leave the Patch Adams Rooney Schmidts Egg Support Group will be in place. Many of these kids who are infected are at an age where they feel completely isolated due to the stigma that HIV holds. They sit in line all day in a clinic full of patients who are really ill and much older than them, and they all are looked at as "bad kids" because HIV is a sexual disease, and they are viewed as being too young to have it. It's almost impossible to hear their stories each and everyday, but I think it's extremely important that these kids get the support that they need. Imagine feeling totally alone carrying a disease that most likely will eventually kill you. And you are afraid to tell anyone, including your parents about it. Hopefully some additional services for these kids can make this time in their lives a little bit easier.
Wow. Serious Rooney came out to play for a second. Also, I bought some new artwork for the place. Some of the pieces were done by one of the girls Ingrid works with, Nosipo. It's amazing the work this kid can do. If you're lucky and maybe comment some more, you'll have an original coming your way in May.
Well, that's all for today. I'm gonna have Ingrid guest blog Part 3 of our trip to Drakensberg so stay tuned for that. Keep the questions coming for the mailbag edition this weekend. The Dude abides.
Sbusiso (my name in Zulu)
February 15, 2009
Shout Out to my Homies
I wanted to send a shout out to Spencer and Andrea today for finishing a 13.1 mile half marathon this morning in Austin, TX. I don't think I've walked or run that much throughout my entire life, so I want to say congrats and the Schmidts is very proud of you both. And for those of you who were watching them run this morning, Spencer was not foaming from his underpants, it was in fact laundry detergent. Ladies, he can run and smell like Snuggle at the same time. Congrats again guys.
Inbox Full of Schmidts
Vol. 1
The following are letters that I received from people concerning my trip here in Durban.
Dear Rooney,
I heard you were writing a mailbag. In honor of Valentine's Day, answer me this. Imagine that, instead of Rooney Kaufman the handsome, funny, kind-hearted international social worker, you were Anthony Michael Hall's character in Weird Science - awkward, nerdy, but - thankfully - a computer programming whizkid. Describe the dream woman you would create.
Lance
Austin, TX
Lance,
Great question. Love where your head's at. Although it is really hard for me to not think of myself as a seggsy, tall, skinny, jewish, sex icon, social working, badass, karate master, pimp daddy, egg man, I can try your scenario on for size. I actually have always had this be one of my many fantasies in life, because I have extremely particular taste when it comes to the ladies. My dream woman would be in the age range of anywhere from 28-35 but with eyes that have many stories and wisdom behind them. Not like that broad from Titanic, that's even too old for me, but someone who has enjoyed life and experienced some craziness. I am a tush kinda guy so her bum would have a slight jiggle to it. Cans aren't really my thing so I don't really care about those. She would definitely wear cargo pants 5 days a week and sandals and occasionally wear overalls. Her voice would sound like she used to smoke back in her "silly teen years" and she definitely would call me schmidts once a day. She would not be a Jew (sorry mom and dad) but she would be able to say things like "chutspah" and "challah" like a little yenta can. And she would be able to scrammble an egg or two in the morning. Great question Lance.
Dear Rooney,
If you are at a bar and a broad taps you on the shoulder and asks if you are schmdits, what is the appropriate response?
Bradley
Austin, TX
Bradley,
Another fabulous question. The appropriate response would to turn to her and say, "Well hello there my sweet chinchilla. I am the mayor of Schmidtsville. Mwa." And then take her and put your arm around her and say, "Look at me turkey. You're neat." Great question Bradley, because I am sure there are men out there lost and in need of that answer.
Dear Rooney,
Regarding your banana eating friends, have you thought about using some type of security system? Perhaps like monkey bars?
Coach
Highland Park, IL
Coach,
Ummmmm. Man I miss your jokes.
Dear Rooney,
Have you done your laundry?
Mom
Highland Park, IL
Mom,
Gotta love Jewish mothers. Yes I've done my laundry. Although, if you smelled my clothes and my newly acquired body odor, you really couldn't tell. African body odor...kinda like Sex Panther.
Dear Rooney,
After watching the fabulous movie Sex and the City I immediately drove home to shave my legs. Does that make me 100% schmidts?
Ingrid
Durban, South Africa
Ingrid,
First of all let me just say this. I saw Sex and the Eggs twice. Once in the theaters with my two good girlfriends in Austin. And then another time alone in my apartment where I bought it on Pay Per View and skipped class and watched it with a box of tissues. It's a wonderfully schmidts film and one should be 100000% more schmidts after watching it. But to answer your question, that must be the most schmidts thing I have ever heard. It creates a new level of schmidts that has never been reached before. But my star blogger, I'm proud of you for embracing the schmidts.
Dear Rooney,
Every time I see you drink coke at work I wish I could be that bottle. What are the do’s and don’ts to dating you?
Secret Admirer @ McCord
Durban, South Africa
Hey-OOO! Honey, all you have to do is come up to me, ask me if I'm schmidts and I will take you away on a journey you'll soon not forget. Shwing!
Dear Rooney,
Thanks for the bananas. Can you pick some more up for this week? And get rid of those fucking pears. Disgusting. Ooo Ooo Ahh Ahh.
Monkeys
Durban, South Africa
Monkeys,
Honestly, go fuck yourselves. But I would like to thank you all for not making a huge mess. And also, I am a bit concerned you left something near my window that kills living things, because now I find dead bugs there each and every morning. Any chance you guys are the Outbreak monkeys and I will soon develop some sort of cough that will start an epidemic here?
Dear Rooney,
I have a list of questions I would like you to answer...
Question 1: Why do boys have penis's and girls have vagina's.
Question 2: Are there different levels of schmidts?
Questions 3: Why did your parents let you out of the house looking like Ellen, did they really want a girl?
Question 4: Do you have to teach kids how to put on a condems, and if so, do you find the banana technique effective?
Question 5: True or false, you tinkled in your pants when you came face to face with the lions?
Question 6: True or false tinkle is a great word?
Question 7: True or false Both our parents secretly think we're gay?
Gregg
Valparaiso, IN
Gregg R.N.,
Great questions and I'll answer them short and sweet.
1. I am not sure why boys have a penis and girls have a vagina. God is a mysterious fig. But I do know that both make great toys for children ages 13 and up.
2. There are different levels of schmidts. A guy who wears gucci sunglasses and gels his hair and pops his collar is the King of Schmidts. A guy who thinks that bumping rap music in his car actually makes him cooler is Ultra Schmidts. And a guy who still uses lines like, "Come here often?" or "If you like my name you should hear my phone number," are 100% Schmidts. Those are the bad Schmidts. But then there are good Schmidts. Like me. Someone who uses the line, "If you were a laser, you'd be set to stunning," or watch The Notebook alone and shed a tear or two. Make sense?
3. My parents actually did want a girl, at least my mom did. When I was born she saw that I had a package and immediately started to cry and gave me to my dad because she wanted a girl so badly. True story.
4. I don't teach kids here how to put on condoms, but if you know anyone who does teach how to do that I'd be interested in attending a class.
5. True. And pooped a little.
6. True. Amazeggs word.
7. Ummm are you trying to tell me something?
Dear Rooney,
Why do you always have to swear so much? It's really unbecoming.
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
(Earmuffs) Go fuck yourself.
These are my readers folks...
The following are letters that I received from people concerning my trip here in Durban.
Dear Rooney,
I heard you were writing a mailbag. In honor of Valentine's Day, answer me this. Imagine that, instead of Rooney Kaufman the handsome, funny, kind-hearted international social worker, you were Anthony Michael Hall's character in Weird Science - awkward, nerdy, but - thankfully - a computer programming whizkid. Describe the dream woman you would create.
Lance
Austin, TX
Lance,
Great question. Love where your head's at. Although it is really hard for me to not think of myself as a seggsy, tall, skinny, jewish, sex icon, social working, badass, karate master, pimp daddy, egg man, I can try your scenario on for size. I actually have always had this be one of my many fantasies in life, because I have extremely particular taste when it comes to the ladies. My dream woman would be in the age range of anywhere from 28-35 but with eyes that have many stories and wisdom behind them. Not like that broad from Titanic, that's even too old for me, but someone who has enjoyed life and experienced some craziness. I am a tush kinda guy so her bum would have a slight jiggle to it. Cans aren't really my thing so I don't really care about those. She would definitely wear cargo pants 5 days a week and sandals and occasionally wear overalls. Her voice would sound like she used to smoke back in her "silly teen years" and she definitely would call me schmidts once a day. She would not be a Jew (sorry mom and dad) but she would be able to say things like "chutspah" and "challah" like a little yenta can. And she would be able to scrammble an egg or two in the morning. Great question Lance.
Dear Rooney,
If you are at a bar and a broad taps you on the shoulder and asks if you are schmdits, what is the appropriate response?
Bradley
Austin, TX
Bradley,
Another fabulous question. The appropriate response would to turn to her and say, "Well hello there my sweet chinchilla. I am the mayor of Schmidtsville. Mwa." And then take her and put your arm around her and say, "Look at me turkey. You're neat." Great question Bradley, because I am sure there are men out there lost and in need of that answer.
Dear Rooney,
Regarding your banana eating friends, have you thought about using some type of security system? Perhaps like monkey bars?
Coach
Highland Park, IL
Coach,
Ummmmm. Man I miss your jokes.
Dear Rooney,
Have you done your laundry?
Mom
Highland Park, IL
Mom,
Gotta love Jewish mothers. Yes I've done my laundry. Although, if you smelled my clothes and my newly acquired body odor, you really couldn't tell. African body odor...kinda like Sex Panther.
Dear Rooney,
After watching the fabulous movie Sex and the City I immediately drove home to shave my legs. Does that make me 100% schmidts?
Ingrid
Durban, South Africa
Ingrid,
First of all let me just say this. I saw Sex and the Eggs twice. Once in the theaters with my two good girlfriends in Austin. And then another time alone in my apartment where I bought it on Pay Per View and skipped class and watched it with a box of tissues. It's a wonderfully schmidts film and one should be 100000% more schmidts after watching it. But to answer your question, that must be the most schmidts thing I have ever heard. It creates a new level of schmidts that has never been reached before. But my star blogger, I'm proud of you for embracing the schmidts.
Dear Rooney,
Every time I see you drink coke at work I wish I could be that bottle. What are the do’s and don’ts to dating you?
Secret Admirer @ McCord
Durban, South Africa
Hey-OOO! Honey, all you have to do is come up to me, ask me if I'm schmidts and I will take you away on a journey you'll soon not forget. Shwing!
Dear Rooney,
Thanks for the bananas. Can you pick some more up for this week? And get rid of those fucking pears. Disgusting. Ooo Ooo Ahh Ahh.
Monkeys
Durban, South Africa
Monkeys,
Honestly, go fuck yourselves. But I would like to thank you all for not making a huge mess. And also, I am a bit concerned you left something near my window that kills living things, because now I find dead bugs there each and every morning. Any chance you guys are the Outbreak monkeys and I will soon develop some sort of cough that will start an epidemic here?
Dear Rooney,
I have a list of questions I would like you to answer...
Question 1: Why do boys have penis's and girls have vagina's.
Question 2: Are there different levels of schmidts?
Questions 3: Why did your parents let you out of the house looking like Ellen, did they really want a girl?
Question 4: Do you have to teach kids how to put on a condems, and if so, do you find the banana technique effective?
Question 5: True or false, you tinkled in your pants when you came face to face with the lions?
Question 6: True or false tinkle is a great word?
Question 7: True or false Both our parents secretly think we're gay?
Gregg
Valparaiso, IN
Gregg R.N.,
Great questions and I'll answer them short and sweet.
1. I am not sure why boys have a penis and girls have a vagina. God is a mysterious fig. But I do know that both make great toys for children ages 13 and up.
2. There are different levels of schmidts. A guy who wears gucci sunglasses and gels his hair and pops his collar is the King of Schmidts. A guy who thinks that bumping rap music in his car actually makes him cooler is Ultra Schmidts. And a guy who still uses lines like, "Come here often?" or "If you like my name you should hear my phone number," are 100% Schmidts. Those are the bad Schmidts. But then there are good Schmidts. Like me. Someone who uses the line, "If you were a laser, you'd be set to stunning," or watch The Notebook alone and shed a tear or two. Make sense?
3. My parents actually did want a girl, at least my mom did. When I was born she saw that I had a package and immediately started to cry and gave me to my dad because she wanted a girl so badly. True story.
4. I don't teach kids here how to put on condoms, but if you know anyone who does teach how to do that I'd be interested in attending a class.
5. True. And pooped a little.
6. True. Amazeggs word.
7. Ummm are you trying to tell me something?
Dear Rooney,
Why do you always have to swear so much? It's really unbecoming.
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
(Earmuffs) Go fuck yourself.
These are my readers folks...
February 13, 2009
Letter From A HoBo
The following is a letter written by a homeless man on my street corner. During the posting of this blog, no hobos were harmed in any way and the names and dates have been fabricated to protect the identities of the parties involved. Viewer discretion is advised...
Greetings friends of Mr. Kaufman,
Greetings friends of Mr. Kaufman,
My name, as far as you're concerned, is Skinny. It is a name my colleagues gave me back when I lived in the states. I grew up in a small town in the mountains of West Virginia. I received formal education up until I reached the age of 12. When I turned 13, my father explained to me that I was strong enough to work with him as a miner and that school was for, "liberal queers".
So there I was, a young boy just starting to grow in a mustache and beginning to smell new and foul odors from my armpits after I perspired. I was excited about working along side my father while helping him earn money for our family. I was also eager to gain the respect of my father, as I had not earned it up until that point in my life. My early affinity for gardening and 17th century French literature were not interests he could relate to. In fact, he used to throw his cigarette butts out in my little garden and burned all my favorite books in a bonfire he had with his co-workers because they couldn't find any other paper.
My first week in the coal mines was strenuous. Inhaling toxic fumes 13 hours a day was quite the change from sitting attentively in math and history class. Quickly, I numbed myself to my new livelihood. I can't really remember if it was weeks, months, or even years when my life would take another drastic turn. As I was coming back from the garbage dumpster, where I was sent to dispose the bag of dead raccoons found in the mine, I heard the a thunderous crash. The mine had caved in with all the workers, including my father, in it. I ran to go get help, but stopped running after a mile and a half. Partly because my stamina was at it's all time worst with coal in my lungs, and also because there was no civilization within miles of the mountain we were mining at.
I sat confused for hours in the mountains. I did not want to wait until help arrived at the tragic scene because I was afraid I'd be blamed for the collapse. So, I began walking towards the railroad tracks near by. I jumped onto a car of a seemingly endless freight train, and rode for hours. At first sight of big buildings, I hopped off the moving train and rolled on the gravel for 15 seconds before gaining my composure again.
Walking the streets of Pittsburgh, I came across a group of men digging through a dumpster. Still dirty from the coal mines, and rolling on the gravel, they mistook me for a homeless orphan. They immediately offered me half a meatball sub they had pulled out of the dumpster, as a token of good will. "Don't mind the white stuff on top, boy. Think of it as mayo. That type of mold can't hurt ya!" said Old Jack. After I respectfully declined, I was introduced to the rest of the group. Old Jack, the leader and elder statesman, was a burly fellow with few teeth, and a beard reminiscent of Santa Claus. Mick and Cornhole were twins, and the smartest of the group. I also respectfully declined to opportunity to hear the story of how the twins received their nicknames.
After continually refusing to eat food from garbage cans, I was given the name, "Skinny".
After bathing in the river bank next to a nuclear power plant, and dressing in clothes Mick had stolen from the back of a moving truck, I felt like a new man. Mick also grabbed a few other things off the truck, and pawned them for some money. I voted to spend the money on food, but was outvoted in favor of a gallon of grain alcohol.
The next thing I remember, I woke up in a dark cellar. I was surronded by several boxes addressed to South Africa. It took me 6 hours to realize I was at the bottom of a ship en route to South Africa. When I felt the ship dock, I opened one of the bigger crates and climbed in. Again, I lost consciousness and awoke in an alley. I still wonder to this day how I got there, or why I lost consciousness.
The weather in my new home was significantly better than Pittsburgh. I have been able to eat food that hasn't been thrown out, or developed unidentifiable fungi. No one has asked me to leave my street corner I've inhabited in 6 years, give or take a few years as I don't have a calendar. A couple months ago, an American man came up to me asking me how to get to a certain address. His voice was frantic, and he was late for his first day of work. I directed him to where he needed to go, and he gave me a stick of gum for the help.
One negative thing about living here are the obnoxious accents. So it was refreshing to meet an American. We have forged a nice friendship, and he has asked me to share my story with his friends. I hope he has transcribed my story, as I have written it. I know my handwriting must be awful, and on top of that, it is hard to write on these disposed hospital napkins. He mentioned something about a Blog, but the only Blog I know is a serbian guy who used to sell snake oil back in Pittsburgh. His last name was far too hard to pronounce, so he just called himself Blog, or Blaggo amongst his closest friends. He also had political aspirations. I have no idea what became of him.
To you who has read this whole thing, and truly care about my story, you are the most dynamic and trustworthy person I know. If you ever come visit Mr. Kaufman, please bring me a razor, shaving cream, and deodorant.
Skinny.
Skinny.
February 12, 2009
This Shit is Bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
Fucking monkeys man. Those motherfucking monkeys. Today I walk into my apartment and what do i see? This.
I mean, where the fuck am I? Monkeys? Really? Fucking chimps inside of my house. They ate all of my bananas and ate half a pear. I guess they didn't really enjoy the pear that much. They ate all my bananas and half a pear and didn't touch anything else in my entire house. I'm not even mad. That's amazing. I mean, yeah they came into my house, ate and left without cleaning up, but Ingrid and Thami do that sometimes too. They really weren't that bad of house guests. I'm honestly just upset that they ate all my bananas, because now I am out and I'm actually kinda hungry. I guess they might have taken offense when I expressed in an earlier blog that a retarded chimp designed the Sani Pass road. Who's the retard now right? I always thought the whole banana and chimps thing was just bullshit. I mean, they're fucking chimps. They don't follow a strict diet. They throw shit and eat bugs off each other. But they wandered into my house and only ate bananas. Yes they split a pear, but they only ate half of it. It was probably just an honest mistake. I will never again doubt these little fuckers. And their tidiness while eating is just plain respectable. But I'm definitely gonna spank that monkey later when I see him. That's not a little in-yendo. I swear. So those of you keeping score, I've had the wind and chimps break into my house. I guess the next step in this evolution of burgulars is having a lightning bolt come in and singe my eggs while I'm sleeping. I'll have to wear rubber just in case. Ugh, guys. Cmon now. Get your heads outta the gutter...
Fucking monkeys man. Those motherfucking monkeys. Today I walk into my apartment and what do i see? This.
I mean, where the fuck am I? Monkeys? Really? Fucking chimps inside of my house. They ate all of my bananas and ate half a pear. I guess they didn't really enjoy the pear that much. They ate all my bananas and half a pear and didn't touch anything else in my entire house. I'm not even mad. That's amazing. I mean, yeah they came into my house, ate and left without cleaning up, but Ingrid and Thami do that sometimes too. They really weren't that bad of house guests. I'm honestly just upset that they ate all my bananas, because now I am out and I'm actually kinda hungry. I guess they might have taken offense when I expressed in an earlier blog that a retarded chimp designed the Sani Pass road. Who's the retard now right? I always thought the whole banana and chimps thing was just bullshit. I mean, they're fucking chimps. They don't follow a strict diet. They throw shit and eat bugs off each other. But they wandered into my house and only ate bananas. Yes they split a pear, but they only ate half of it. It was probably just an honest mistake. I will never again doubt these little fuckers. And their tidiness while eating is just plain respectable. But I'm definitely gonna spank that monkey later when I see him. That's not a little in-yendo. I swear. So those of you keeping score, I've had the wind and chimps break into my house. I guess the next step in this evolution of burgulars is having a lightning bolt come in and singe my eggs while I'm sleeping. I'll have to wear rubber just in case. Ugh, guys. Cmon now. Get your heads outta the gutter...
February 10, 2009
Bride Wars Just Made Me Smile
Is that schmidts? I mean, I know it's a chick flick and all, but it really was amazing. The movie was about two brides to be, played by Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson, who also were best friends. But, hold on a second guys, they booked their dream weddings at the Plaza on the SAME DAY! Fucking crazy right? And then, they start doing all this really mean stuff to each other like (SPOILER ALERT!!!) dye each other's hair blue and spray tan the other person orange. Such characters they are. But as we watched the drama unfold (SPOILER ALERT!!!) they both realize how much they love each other and make up and dance and eat cake and touch each other (not true) at Kate Hudson's wedding. And then, it hit me, I really am schmidts. But in a good way. A healthy way. A way that makes me more of a man. A man who made the eifel tower out of brawn and steel.
I also realized that watching schmidts movies like this somehow make me unhappy. Sappy romantic comedies just break me down sometimes. Like Love Actually. Anyone who knows me knows that I am Laura Linney in that movie. The broad who can make seggs with a hot foreign gentleman but something always gets in her way like her retarded brother that prevents her from going to happy town. Definitely not a slight to either of my retarded brothers or saying that I want to sleep with a foreign gentleman. Just wanted to clear that up. And everytime I watch I smile on the outside, but shed a tear on the inside. With Broad Wars, it was the same. I walked out wondering what my wedding day will look like. A night at the Plaza? Or am I gonna pay 11 cows to my father-in-law? And when will I meet this broad? Hollywood made me believe I would find her in college. Negative. Then in Grad School. Double Negative. Then aBROAD in South Africeggs. Not yet at least.
I am like the opposite of most non-schmidts men, and not for the obvious reason of being 100% schmidts. Most guys grow up thinking that seggsy time with as many eggs as possible makes you the big winner. Not me. I want the search to be over. Enough already. Asking broads out on dates and sitting uncomfortably during movies where I leave with stomach issues, only to come back trying not to look them in the eye while I ask them what I missed for the last 20 minutes while I was "on the phone." It's really just too much.
And where are people meeting each other? Seriously. I can't speak to women. Teets are my kryptonite. And if I look back at my life and say I met my wife while she was riding a mechanical bull in her underpants I'm gonna kill myself. So meeting at a bar is out. And quiet places are too much pressure. I don't need everyone in the coffee shop listening to me give her the weightroom routine. Thank god for the internet. I think we all know which Little Rascal is my favorite. But seriously future Mrs. Rooneggs, come out come out wherever you are. I guess this is really the wrong place to post all this though to my future wife. Cause if she is reading this then there is no way that she's coming out from under that early bird special dinner table. But let me just say this. I really liked Bride Wars and if all you readers are smart...you'll put on a nice pair trousers and a v neck sweater and take your significant other to see this magical adventure down the aisle. It was even better than the Traveling Pants movie part duex. I'm schmidts.
I also realized that watching schmidts movies like this somehow make me unhappy. Sappy romantic comedies just break me down sometimes. Like Love Actually. Anyone who knows me knows that I am Laura Linney in that movie. The broad who can make seggs with a hot foreign gentleman but something always gets in her way like her retarded brother that prevents her from going to happy town. Definitely not a slight to either of my retarded brothers or saying that I want to sleep with a foreign gentleman. Just wanted to clear that up. And everytime I watch I smile on the outside, but shed a tear on the inside. With Broad Wars, it was the same. I walked out wondering what my wedding day will look like. A night at the Plaza? Or am I gonna pay 11 cows to my father-in-law? And when will I meet this broad? Hollywood made me believe I would find her in college. Negative. Then in Grad School. Double Negative. Then aBROAD in South Africeggs. Not yet at least.
I am like the opposite of most non-schmidts men, and not for the obvious reason of being 100% schmidts. Most guys grow up thinking that seggsy time with as many eggs as possible makes you the big winner. Not me. I want the search to be over. Enough already. Asking broads out on dates and sitting uncomfortably during movies where I leave with stomach issues, only to come back trying not to look them in the eye while I ask them what I missed for the last 20 minutes while I was "on the phone." It's really just too much.
And where are people meeting each other? Seriously. I can't speak to women. Teets are my kryptonite. And if I look back at my life and say I met my wife while she was riding a mechanical bull in her underpants I'm gonna kill myself. So meeting at a bar is out. And quiet places are too much pressure. I don't need everyone in the coffee shop listening to me give her the weightroom routine. Thank god for the internet. I think we all know which Little Rascal is my favorite. But seriously future Mrs. Rooneggs, come out come out wherever you are. I guess this is really the wrong place to post all this though to my future wife. Cause if she is reading this then there is no way that she's coming out from under that early bird special dinner table. But let me just say this. I really liked Bride Wars and if all you readers are smart...you'll put on a nice pair trousers and a v neck sweater and take your significant other to see this magical adventure down the aisle. It was even better than the Traveling Pants movie part duex. I'm schmidts.
Is it true if you don't use it you lose it?
Is that a serious question? No.
Previously on Schmidt’s Anatomy…
Rooney escaped the pressures and chaos of city life with Ingrid and went to Sani Pass for the weekend. He took a jeep up to the highest pub in Africa and ate bread warmed by the flaming poo of a horse named Ed and drank beer made in the local latrine. Rooney also realized that he was really schmidts and danced a jig on the top of the mountain to celebrate his revelation. One can only imagine what type of shananigans he will get into on the next episode of Schmidt’s Anatomy…
I first want to say that this morning I woke up to find a video online of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus doing a duet of Swift’s song Fifteen. Now I have a few comments before I begin Part II:
1. Contrary to Bradley’s opinion, Swift is a seggsy 19 year old broad with a voice that could make your eggs crack in half.
2. Cyrus has one of the most annoyingly amazing voices of her generation and should win an Oscar for her performance as the voice of Bolt in Bolt 3D. I cannot comment on her seggsyness due to her age, but we all know that I am more of a Jane Seymour kinda guy anyways.
3. Their duet was like an ear orgasm and watching Carrie Underwood dance was painfully beautiful in its own special way.
4. A Rod is a cheater and takes needles in his butt. Hey-OOO!
5. If you don’t shower for 2 days and do not apply deodorant your body will begin to smell like a used Cracker Jack box filled with fart.
6. I am guaranteeing that at least one reader of this blog has begun to use the word “schmidts” in their everyday vocabulary, and they have probably realized that they are in fact schmidts themselves.
7. If you ever find yourself using an African toilet, make sure you go into the can with at least two good smelling things plugged into your nostrils. If you only have one, your gag reflex will kick in, ruining your nice pair of slacks. I’d also suggest Tucks wipes due to the leafy thin toilet paper that is provided. Hard Prep H would also be good.
And we’re off. Part II has come. I know you all have been urinating all day due to the excitement you hope that Part II will bring to your lives. I left Part I having arrived up at Sani Pass and checking into our wonderful little hotel best known for having the highest pub in Africa. After we checked into our room and I removed the massive wedgey from my tush from the car ride up, we had lunch overlooking the amazing Sani Pass. They call it the roof of Africa. It is just miles and miles of green mountains and silence. It honestly felt like we had arrived in heaven, but I second guessed that because as we all know, God sends the schmidts people to the really hot place down south. At least that’s what it said in the brochure I got from the hospital last week. (Sorry, get your mirror out to read that one.)
Ingrid and I met some really interesting people in the hotel lobby, one of which was an American tourist who hitched a ride up to the top of Sani Pass, instead of walking the 24 km as she had planned to do that morning. She said the following, “I was gonna walk up, but instead I just hitched a ride instead. It’s only 24 kms, which I could do no problem, but someone offered a ride so I just took it instead of walking.” Oh really? 24 kms is easy for ya? Piece of cake eh? But someone offered you a ride so you just decided to take that instead of walk uphill 24 kms in the blazing sun. But you definitely could do it with ease, just that someone offered a ride and you didn’t want to be rude, right? Oh wait, stop traffic, I was gonna walk to South Africa from Chicago. Easy as pie. But then I read on this thing called the internet that you could take this giant tin bird that flies directly there so I decided to just do that instead of walk. I definitely coulda walked there though, but the tin bird insisted. Is she fucking kidding me? I was gonna also try this thing called “jogging” and run home from Lesotho. Or it might be pronounced “yogging”, it might be a soft “J”. It’s only about 200 kms away. That’s easy as wrangling cougars on a Friday night in Austin. But I decided to take a car instead. But I definitely coulda done it. No question. I don’t mean to pick on her, but her comment made my brain freeze with anger. Huge liar. God created cars for a reason, so don’t try and sound all high and mighty because you can walk Bernie Kerman.
Speaking of walking American tourists…We ran into 8 American students studying in Pietermaritzburg for the semester who decided that they too would walk up Sani Pass having brought no food or water with them for the trip up. Ah, the future of our country at it’s best. I mean, cmon guys. Let’s use some common sense. Walking up a mountain with no food or water or sunscreen with you is just plain bananas. You gotta have a plan. I mean, I got drunk last night and I still got here. How could you not have a plan? And why didn’t anyone say to themselves, “Hey, you know, 24 kms uphill is pretty far. And the sun is melting my eggs off. Maybe we should rethink this little plan of ours.” The most ridiculous part of the whole thing was after one of the kids passed out when he got to the top and the others were burned from head to toe, all of them said they didn’t regret their decision. We wonder why the rest of the world thinks America is arrogant. This is why. The entire world takes a 4x4 up this mountain road and these American schmidts cobbler muffins decide to walk, have a stroke, and look like lobsters and then turn to the world and say, “Hey 4x4’s, go fuck yourselves.”
After my anger subsided Ingrid and I took a stroll around the mountain, which was the first time my eggs felt the frigid chilly African air coarse over them since I had been here. It was extremely cold up there, and with the fog rolling in, it was literally like we were walking through a cloud. We were half expecting vampires and elves to come out from the distance due to the fairytaleish quality the mountain had. After walking way farther than I expected us to, we ran back due to Ingrid’s fear of mythological creatures and hit the hay. The Americans hitched their stars to 2 white South Africans and decided to cap their day off with about 10 or so drinks each, so it was fun to hear them vomiting from our room most of the evening. I actually overheard that one of their names was actually Schmidt. Shocking.
Part III Preview:
Rooney talks about his walk through heaven, his eggs getting sunburned and almost hatching due to the altitude, and his chicken teets being grilled by an old white man in the trailer park. Also, Rooney will discuss his driving lesson that almost ended his life and the life of the 1965 Nissan, and how a man thought he should be riding in the short yellow school bus due to his gooneybird dance moves in the car.
Until then…stay smooth as eggs everyone, and please write any questions you have to rooney11@gmail.com. I will be answering everything from the mailbox on Saturday’s edition of “Inbox full of Schmidts” on Schmidt’s Anatomy. And, Bradley, I'm a virgin. I always have been.
Previously on Schmidt’s Anatomy…
Rooney escaped the pressures and chaos of city life with Ingrid and went to Sani Pass for the weekend. He took a jeep up to the highest pub in Africa and ate bread warmed by the flaming poo of a horse named Ed and drank beer made in the local latrine. Rooney also realized that he was really schmidts and danced a jig on the top of the mountain to celebrate his revelation. One can only imagine what type of shananigans he will get into on the next episode of Schmidt’s Anatomy…
I first want to say that this morning I woke up to find a video online of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus doing a duet of Swift’s song Fifteen. Now I have a few comments before I begin Part II:
1. Contrary to Bradley’s opinion, Swift is a seggsy 19 year old broad with a voice that could make your eggs crack in half.
2. Cyrus has one of the most annoyingly amazing voices of her generation and should win an Oscar for her performance as the voice of Bolt in Bolt 3D. I cannot comment on her seggsyness due to her age, but we all know that I am more of a Jane Seymour kinda guy anyways.
3. Their duet was like an ear orgasm and watching Carrie Underwood dance was painfully beautiful in its own special way.
4. A Rod is a cheater and takes needles in his butt. Hey-OOO!
5. If you don’t shower for 2 days and do not apply deodorant your body will begin to smell like a used Cracker Jack box filled with fart.
6. I am guaranteeing that at least one reader of this blog has begun to use the word “schmidts” in their everyday vocabulary, and they have probably realized that they are in fact schmidts themselves.
7. If you ever find yourself using an African toilet, make sure you go into the can with at least two good smelling things plugged into your nostrils. If you only have one, your gag reflex will kick in, ruining your nice pair of slacks. I’d also suggest Tucks wipes due to the leafy thin toilet paper that is provided. Hard Prep H would also be good.
And we’re off. Part II has come. I know you all have been urinating all day due to the excitement you hope that Part II will bring to your lives. I left Part I having arrived up at Sani Pass and checking into our wonderful little hotel best known for having the highest pub in Africa. After we checked into our room and I removed the massive wedgey from my tush from the car ride up, we had lunch overlooking the amazing Sani Pass. They call it the roof of Africa. It is just miles and miles of green mountains and silence. It honestly felt like we had arrived in heaven, but I second guessed that because as we all know, God sends the schmidts people to the really hot place down south. At least that’s what it said in the brochure I got from the hospital last week. (Sorry, get your mirror out to read that one.)
Ingrid and I met some really interesting people in the hotel lobby, one of which was an American tourist who hitched a ride up to the top of Sani Pass, instead of walking the 24 km as she had planned to do that morning. She said the following, “I was gonna walk up, but instead I just hitched a ride instead. It’s only 24 kms, which I could do no problem, but someone offered a ride so I just took it instead of walking.” Oh really? 24 kms is easy for ya? Piece of cake eh? But someone offered you a ride so you just decided to take that instead of walk uphill 24 kms in the blazing sun. But you definitely could do it with ease, just that someone offered a ride and you didn’t want to be rude, right? Oh wait, stop traffic, I was gonna walk to South Africa from Chicago. Easy as pie. But then I read on this thing called the internet that you could take this giant tin bird that flies directly there so I decided to just do that instead of walk. I definitely coulda walked there though, but the tin bird insisted. Is she fucking kidding me? I was gonna also try this thing called “jogging” and run home from Lesotho. Or it might be pronounced “yogging”, it might be a soft “J”. It’s only about 200 kms away. That’s easy as wrangling cougars on a Friday night in Austin. But I decided to take a car instead. But I definitely coulda done it. No question. I don’t mean to pick on her, but her comment made my brain freeze with anger. Huge liar. God created cars for a reason, so don’t try and sound all high and mighty because you can walk Bernie Kerman.
Speaking of walking American tourists…We ran into 8 American students studying in Pietermaritzburg for the semester who decided that they too would walk up Sani Pass having brought no food or water with them for the trip up. Ah, the future of our country at it’s best. I mean, cmon guys. Let’s use some common sense. Walking up a mountain with no food or water or sunscreen with you is just plain bananas. You gotta have a plan. I mean, I got drunk last night and I still got here. How could you not have a plan? And why didn’t anyone say to themselves, “Hey, you know, 24 kms uphill is pretty far. And the sun is melting my eggs off. Maybe we should rethink this little plan of ours.” The most ridiculous part of the whole thing was after one of the kids passed out when he got to the top and the others were burned from head to toe, all of them said they didn’t regret their decision. We wonder why the rest of the world thinks America is arrogant. This is why. The entire world takes a 4x4 up this mountain road and these American schmidts cobbler muffins decide to walk, have a stroke, and look like lobsters and then turn to the world and say, “Hey 4x4’s, go fuck yourselves.”
After my anger subsided Ingrid and I took a stroll around the mountain, which was the first time my eggs felt the frigid chilly African air coarse over them since I had been here. It was extremely cold up there, and with the fog rolling in, it was literally like we were walking through a cloud. We were half expecting vampires and elves to come out from the distance due to the fairytaleish quality the mountain had. After walking way farther than I expected us to, we ran back due to Ingrid’s fear of mythological creatures and hit the hay. The Americans hitched their stars to 2 white South Africans and decided to cap their day off with about 10 or so drinks each, so it was fun to hear them vomiting from our room most of the evening. I actually overheard that one of their names was actually Schmidt. Shocking.
Part III Preview:
Rooney talks about his walk through heaven, his eggs getting sunburned and almost hatching due to the altitude, and his chicken teets being grilled by an old white man in the trailer park. Also, Rooney will discuss his driving lesson that almost ended his life and the life of the 1965 Nissan, and how a man thought he should be riding in the short yellow school bus due to his gooneybird dance moves in the car.
Until then…stay smooth as eggs everyone, and please write any questions you have to rooney11@gmail.com. I will be answering everything from the mailbox on Saturday’s edition of “Inbox full of Schmidts” on Schmidt’s Anatomy. And, Bradley, I'm a virgin. I always have been.
February 8, 2009
I Touched a Guy's Balls at Hebrew School Once
Part I
Not true, just my favorite line from 40 Year Old Virgin, but now that I’ve got your attention…
So I’ve noticed that I start many of my blogs with “so”. I was taught in grammar school that you aren’t supposed to start a sentence with “so”, but she’s also the teacher who told me that I shouldn’t use swear words so I really don’t give a fuck. Ah yes, a swear word! I know all of you were going through withdrawal from swear words due to Ingrid’s previous post, so I figured I’d scratch that itch early into the post. But I would also like to thank her for the guest blog. My creative juices were dried up like an 80 year olds set of eggs, so the help was needed and appreciated. The response has been great so I am sure she will be back to represent the many different colors of South Africa. And a side note, the title of her blog made me laugh because I asked her if she knew that the rainbow nation in the U.S. was the 100% totally and truly schmidts population and she said no, which made it so much better. Look at her. She’s a star blogger.
Ok, so I have decided that I will be breaking up this weekends post into a few different ones. So this will be part I…
It’s rare to be in a city like Durban and be able to sit in your living room and hear absolutely nothing. I usually lay on my couch and hear the usual sounds of car alarms going off and wind breaking into my house, so Ingrid and I decided we would trade the city noise for some good old fashioned wilderness peace. We headed inland to the Drakensberg Mountains & Lesotho (neighboring country for you non-geography majors) early Friday morning, enjoying the new radio we had installed the previous evening. I made CDs for the trip, each having “schmidts” in the title of it. Clarkson, Swift, MJ, and oh so much more schmidts were included on the mixes, so the 2 hour drive to the mountains was quick, schmidts, and easy. Our plan was to hit up the Sani Pass, which is a dirt road that leads into the Lesotho mountains and stay the night in the Sani Top Chalet, better known as The Highest Pub in Africa, and then get a ride down the next day to see some other mountains in the area. So we got a ride up the pass by a 4x4 tour company and the experience was worth a blog entry of its own. But for your reading pleasure, I’ll keep it concise.
The road up the Sani Pass is not properly named, because no human on earth would consider that it’s actually a road. It’s more like a long string of dirt decorated with rocks and potholes. It’s sorta like South Africa got together and hired a retarded chimp to design the road up to Lesotho. The drive is 24 kms in a zig zag motion to the top of the mountain. 24 ks (or 14.912 miles for you metrically challenged folks) should really take no time at all to drive, however it took us about 2 hours in total to get to the top of the mountain. It was like being in a laundry machine. The locals call it an African Massage. You literally get tossed around the car for 2 hours, scrambling your eggs all the way to the top. I felt like I lost 4 layers of my o-ring on the way up, but it was all worth it in the end. We finally got through border control in Lesotho and visited a local village, where we got to meet a local mother who sold homemade bread and beer. The bread was made in a pot that was heated by burning horse shit, which amazingly has no scent. It gave new meaning to the phrase, "pinching a loaf". Every loaf of bread has a guarantee of being made with horse shit on it. If you want me to take a dump in a box and mark it guaranteed I will, I got spare time. But in all fairness the bread was amazing and the beer only half tasted like urine. And after 2 hours of being tossed around like I was in Cook County prison for the evening, beer urine and hot dung bread really hit the spot.
And as long as we are on the subject of beverages, everyone here thinks that I drink too much Coke. They think I should drink more water, which is what I have heard throughout my entire lifetime. Doctors at the hospital say that you should drink 56 glasses a week, and if you can’t, at the end of the week you should take a garden hose and shove it up your ass. It's science.
So this is the end of the part that is one
But stay tuned and listen cause the story’s not done
I’m sunburnt all over from my tose to my tits
If you’re reading this blog then you’re definitely schmidts
Part II preview:
Rooney talks about his hike surrounding the Sani Pass, his encounter with 100% schmidts American tourists, and the first time his eggs shiver in the mountain air. Also, Rooney will discuss the do’s and don’ts of using an African style toilet. Until then…say it loud, I’m schmidts and I’m proud.
Not true, just my favorite line from 40 Year Old Virgin, but now that I’ve got your attention…
So I’ve noticed that I start many of my blogs with “so”. I was taught in grammar school that you aren’t supposed to start a sentence with “so”, but she’s also the teacher who told me that I shouldn’t use swear words so I really don’t give a fuck. Ah yes, a swear word! I know all of you were going through withdrawal from swear words due to Ingrid’s previous post, so I figured I’d scratch that itch early into the post. But I would also like to thank her for the guest blog. My creative juices were dried up like an 80 year olds set of eggs, so the help was needed and appreciated. The response has been great so I am sure she will be back to represent the many different colors of South Africa. And a side note, the title of her blog made me laugh because I asked her if she knew that the rainbow nation in the U.S. was the 100% totally and truly schmidts population and she said no, which made it so much better. Look at her. She’s a star blogger.
Ok, so I have decided that I will be breaking up this weekends post into a few different ones. So this will be part I…
It’s rare to be in a city like Durban and be able to sit in your living room and hear absolutely nothing. I usually lay on my couch and hear the usual sounds of car alarms going off and wind breaking into my house, so Ingrid and I decided we would trade the city noise for some good old fashioned wilderness peace. We headed inland to the Drakensberg Mountains & Lesotho (neighboring country for you non-geography majors) early Friday morning, enjoying the new radio we had installed the previous evening. I made CDs for the trip, each having “schmidts” in the title of it. Clarkson, Swift, MJ, and oh so much more schmidts were included on the mixes, so the 2 hour drive to the mountains was quick, schmidts, and easy. Our plan was to hit up the Sani Pass, which is a dirt road that leads into the Lesotho mountains and stay the night in the Sani Top Chalet, better known as The Highest Pub in Africa, and then get a ride down the next day to see some other mountains in the area. So we got a ride up the pass by a 4x4 tour company and the experience was worth a blog entry of its own. But for your reading pleasure, I’ll keep it concise.
The road up the Sani Pass is not properly named, because no human on earth would consider that it’s actually a road. It’s more like a long string of dirt decorated with rocks and potholes. It’s sorta like South Africa got together and hired a retarded chimp to design the road up to Lesotho. The drive is 24 kms in a zig zag motion to the top of the mountain. 24 ks (or 14.912 miles for you metrically challenged folks) should really take no time at all to drive, however it took us about 2 hours in total to get to the top of the mountain. It was like being in a laundry machine. The locals call it an African Massage. You literally get tossed around the car for 2 hours, scrambling your eggs all the way to the top. I felt like I lost 4 layers of my o-ring on the way up, but it was all worth it in the end. We finally got through border control in Lesotho and visited a local village, where we got to meet a local mother who sold homemade bread and beer. The bread was made in a pot that was heated by burning horse shit, which amazingly has no scent. It gave new meaning to the phrase, "pinching a loaf". Every loaf of bread has a guarantee of being made with horse shit on it. If you want me to take a dump in a box and mark it guaranteed I will, I got spare time. But in all fairness the bread was amazing and the beer only half tasted like urine. And after 2 hours of being tossed around like I was in Cook County prison for the evening, beer urine and hot dung bread really hit the spot.
And as long as we are on the subject of beverages, everyone here thinks that I drink too much Coke. They think I should drink more water, which is what I have heard throughout my entire lifetime. Doctors at the hospital say that you should drink 56 glasses a week, and if you can’t, at the end of the week you should take a garden hose and shove it up your ass. It's science.
So this is the end of the part that is one
But stay tuned and listen cause the story’s not done
I’m sunburnt all over from my tose to my tits
If you’re reading this blog then you’re definitely schmidts
Part II preview:
Rooney talks about his hike surrounding the Sani Pass, his encounter with 100% schmidts American tourists, and the first time his eggs shiver in the mountain air. Also, Rooney will discuss the do’s and don’ts of using an African style toilet. Until then…say it loud, I’m schmidts and I’m proud.
February 4, 2009
Some other colors from the Rainbow nation
By guest author: Ingrid S Osthus
Rooney thinks he can't write a blog post unless it involves some scary crime scenes or deadly animals so he can make fun of how scared he is, but South Africa - and even Mr.Eggs' experience of it - is so much more, so I therefore decided to write this blog entry for him. He is not as schmidts as he likes to give impression of, he is quite a good guy actually, and he is more like Patch Adams than he admits. (Excuse my poor English if I make any mistakes, but I'm sure my English is better than your Norwegian so I write with confidence, and at least you will not find any swear word in this blog post. I'm not linguistically crippled unlike certain others who can't express himself without at least one swear word in each sentence...)
One of the boys from the street project I'm involved in has been building his own small house this weekend, and today we went to have a look at it. This is the same boy and house that Rooney wrote about earlier, when we went to find wood and he thought someone had urinated on it. He is quite a standup guy though, coz even though he thought it had pee all over it he actually helped the boy carry the wood. I am very impressed. He is definitely not a wuss.
Here is the house:
Quite nice, right? Much better than the traffic island with stop lights where the boy used to stay...
I like his windows. He found a part of a cupboard and creatively remade them:
And a fancy lamp inside:
This boy, his name is Lindani, can make something useful out of anything. He was once given a stereo that didn't work. The first day I visited him, he had fixed the tape player, the second day the radio and the third day the CD player. He is just amazing. And it is sunshine stories like his that make life worth living and work worth doing down here. There is so much poverty and heart wrecking problems and pain beyond description, but there are some astonishing people with creative minds, beautiful hearts and powerful hands, and as a visitor - to this country and to these people's lives - I can only be humbled and stand in awe for their ability to survive and live and thrive under these circumstances.
So life here in South Africa has many colors and many shades. It is called the Rainbow nation because of the relatively peaceful coexistence of many race and language groups after 1994 and Nelson Mandela, but the name also suits the many colors of happiness, pain, hope and sorrow that characterize this country. As you all know, Rooney has to hide behind his clown mask and can only write about something if he can make a joke about it. He tried hard in 'Why so serious' and I was very impressed up until the last paragraph. What a coward. But thats why I have stepped up as the brave one. Sorry to all his comedy fans, but I'm sure he will be back soon and make you fall off your chairs because you laugh so hard. And maybe I will be back again too, to paint some of the other colors for you guys. You will loose out on too much of the real thing without it. In this province maybe 70% are HIV positive. In my country being HIV positive is not that much of a crisis because we have a good health system and you will not die as long as there is something that can be done to help you (which there is in the case of HIV). But here, it sadly means that many of these people will die. The other side of the coin though, is all the children that are being left orphaned but who are being cared for by extended family members and the communities. Imagine all the love and care that is being invested in this province by local volunteers who do home-based care or take care of children. This is really a place of powerful people with powerful life stories.
Look at me. You're neat.
Shalom.
Rooney thinks he can't write a blog post unless it involves some scary crime scenes or deadly animals so he can make fun of how scared he is, but South Africa - and even Mr.Eggs' experience of it - is so much more, so I therefore decided to write this blog entry for him. He is not as schmidts as he likes to give impression of, he is quite a good guy actually, and he is more like Patch Adams than he admits. (Excuse my poor English if I make any mistakes, but I'm sure my English is better than your Norwegian so I write with confidence, and at least you will not find any swear word in this blog post. I'm not linguistically crippled unlike certain others who can't express himself without at least one swear word in each sentence...)
One of the boys from the street project I'm involved in has been building his own small house this weekend, and today we went to have a look at it. This is the same boy and house that Rooney wrote about earlier, when we went to find wood and he thought someone had urinated on it. He is quite a standup guy though, coz even though he thought it had pee all over it he actually helped the boy carry the wood. I am very impressed. He is definitely not a wuss.
Here is the house:
Quite nice, right? Much better than the traffic island with stop lights where the boy used to stay...
I like his windows. He found a part of a cupboard and creatively remade them:
And a fancy lamp inside:
This boy, his name is Lindani, can make something useful out of anything. He was once given a stereo that didn't work. The first day I visited him, he had fixed the tape player, the second day the radio and the third day the CD player. He is just amazing. And it is sunshine stories like his that make life worth living and work worth doing down here. There is so much poverty and heart wrecking problems and pain beyond description, but there are some astonishing people with creative minds, beautiful hearts and powerful hands, and as a visitor - to this country and to these people's lives - I can only be humbled and stand in awe for their ability to survive and live and thrive under these circumstances.
So life here in South Africa has many colors and many shades. It is called the Rainbow nation because of the relatively peaceful coexistence of many race and language groups after 1994 and Nelson Mandela, but the name also suits the many colors of happiness, pain, hope and sorrow that characterize this country. As you all know, Rooney has to hide behind his clown mask and can only write about something if he can make a joke about it. He tried hard in 'Why so serious' and I was very impressed up until the last paragraph. What a coward. But thats why I have stepped up as the brave one. Sorry to all his comedy fans, but I'm sure he will be back soon and make you fall off your chairs because you laugh so hard. And maybe I will be back again too, to paint some of the other colors for you guys. You will loose out on too much of the real thing without it. In this province maybe 70% are HIV positive. In my country being HIV positive is not that much of a crisis because we have a good health system and you will not die as long as there is something that can be done to help you (which there is in the case of HIV). But here, it sadly means that many of these people will die. The other side of the coin though, is all the children that are being left orphaned but who are being cared for by extended family members and the communities. Imagine all the love and care that is being invested in this province by local volunteers who do home-based care or take care of children. This is really a place of powerful people with powerful life stories.
Look at me. You're neat.
Shalom.
February 2, 2009
Blog About Nothing
I’m really out of ‘A’ material. I shouldn’t have shot my wad on the first month of entries. That pig blog…I don’t know what came over me. Hey, I can’t see real well is that Bill Shakespeare over there? All downhill from here I guess. I just feel bad for the people reading this blog. But who really is reading this? I know my parents are, cause they write me page long emails responding to them. Don’t they see the “comment” section? I gotta make that thing bigger. No one really comments. Maybe I'm writing to no one. I guess that might be good cause it would mean no one knows I have a crush on Martha Stewart. I know Chad reads it. Oh yeah, that reminds me...
I wanna start off this blog with a huge shout out to my 3rd brother Mr. Senator Chad Goldberg and congratulate him on getting engaged this past weekend. You’re all grows up kid. Love it. Yeah, great job you prick. Now my mom wants grandkids soon. Way to ruin it all for us. The pressure’s on Shark and Bradley. I’m the youngest. My parents still think I’m probably a virgin. I got years to waste hitting up cougar bars and singing “Sweet Caroline” at karaoke Thursdays at Ravinia BBQ. Phew. Yeah, Chad, that is awesome man. Very big congrats and best of luck to you and your broad in the future. I’m here to write a speech if you need me.
So now what do I write about? Fucking Toaster Man week 2? Really Rooney? I totally peaked in my second week. I’m like the Fukudome of blogging. Ok, rally cap Rooney. Write about your weekend. People wanna know what you’re up to. No they fucking don’t. It’s amazing how arrogant I am. I write this bullshit and I really expect people to care? I always make fun of people having blogs like Britney Spears or Taylor Swift. Well, the Swift one I read religiously, but you know what I mean. Like, who fucking cares what these idiots have to say? And then I go off and write one and expect people to care? Wow I am schmidts. And I post all those pictures. Why? To make people jealous? Yeah right Rooney you ignorant slut. People really get jealous of looking at 10 of the same set up shot of you on a rock in different colors that you thought was cool using your Mac. Really smooth. I'm sure everyone has been urinating all day in anticipation of you telling the story about you on the rock with all the magical colors. Dr. Schmidt. Paging Dr. Schmidt. Ok, the weekend…
So now that the congrats are out of the way, I guess I’ll let you all know what I did this weekend. I actually spent my first full weekend in Durban and it turned out to be nice weather so I got a little color. My chest could blind someone, but my arms look quite tasty. Ingrid had a bunch of work to do with her street children, so Thami and I helped out and went down into town with her. I somewhat explained town a few blogs ago, but that was at night. This time it was BROAD daylight and my impressions were a bit different. The name of the area they live in is called “Point,” which is almost exactly like Season 4 of The Wire where they set up a “legal drug selling zone” in the city. I was half expecting for someone to shout out “WMD’s” (shout out to Lance) while I was there. Ok Rooney, be careful here. Don’t wanna freak your parents out too much. It’s really amazing I didn’t get shot while I was there. That place is fuckin scary. Uh oh. You have derailed. Quick, make it seem like it isn’t that bad. Yeah, I mean, it has a bad reputation, and for good reason. I give up. I watched an Indian fella get mugged in front of everyone and not one person spoke up. It was interesting to watch actually. On TV you always see people getting robbed but trying to talk to the guy and calm them down or try to resist or whatever. I never understood that. If I ever got robbed I would empty my pockets faster than you could say “schmidts cobbler”. “Here ya go buddy. Let me help you with that stuff. Yeah I got an ATM card too if you wanna just go there real quick. Mazel Tov. Good things.” We had the pleasure of helping one of the kids load up wood for his newly built home into Thami's car. The wood was from the garbage and had the wonderfully erotic smell of urine on it, and I just can't thank Ingrid enough for letting me be involved with that project. Cholera here I come!
God this isn’t even ‘D’ material. This is almost hard to type it’s so boring. No one cares how big of a pussy you are. And way to go with that scaring your parents’ bullshit earlier. Are you an idiot? Seriously? We gotta move on. I know we can come up with something funny. GO TIME! Yeah, so that was my day at Point on Saturday. Not too exciting, but interesting non-the less.
Ok, what else happened to me this weekend? God my life is so boring. Part of writing a blog, Rooney, is that you have to have things to say. I know you asshole, but I really have nothing to say. Literally nothing. There is one moment in my life that could sum up myself perfectly. When I met Marnie Stern in Austin and all I could do is bob my head and smile at her while she waited for me to say something. After the longest minute in both of our lives she walked away. That is me in a nutshell. I have nothing to say. I should just stop typing. Maybe it’s because you’re hungry. You fucking burned soup tonight. Who does that? Seriously. Did you ever eat paint chips as a kid? Man I wish I could still use Toaster Man. Oh wait, the casino! Yeah that was kinda cool. People love to hear about other people losing money. Talk about that…
So moving on, Saturday Thami, Ingrid and I hit up the local casino on the beach and had dinner. I had wanted to see it since I arrived so they took me. Ingrid took my wallet and ATM card so nothing too bad could happen, like that time Vin and I went for the Coldplay concert in Vegas (You know how I know I’m gay?). Oh shit. Rooney. TMI. TMI. And you’ve used the gay line in the other blog. Now you’re reusing material? God this is really pathetic. I don’t know if I can be apart of this anymore. Maybe you should take the next couple plays off. Get your mind right. Yeah, so I lost 50 bucks and then we ate dinner on the beach. It was pretty solid actually. Fun place to go. Yeah, great place. Great place to go after you hang out with people who don’t have any money and then go and flush money down the toilet like a grade A prick. Great social worker you are. You can’t blog and you’re a prick. This entry is really gonna be the tits let me tell ya.
After the beach I ended up reading Twilight and passed out. Yeah, tell everyone about the schmidts vampire fairy tale book you’re reading. Really great for your sex appeal. “Hey everyone, I read children’s books like Harry Potter and Twilight and still sleep with my blanky.” Real Beckham of you. Yeah, so that was kinda my weekend. I didn’t watch the Super Bowl due to time difference, but read about it and heard it was glorious. Jesus and Kurt Warner lost, which made everyone at the hospital sad. I also heard that The Office was fantastic, and obviously because Cloris Leachman was on it. That saucy minx. Man if she was 15 years younger I’d be on that like eggs in a basket. She’s such a talented woman isn’t she? I think we can all agree on that one.
Well, I guess that’s all I got for now. All you got? Fuck, we’re in trouble. I’m heading to the Drankesnburg Mountains this weekend with Ingrid, so I’m sure I’ll have more interesting things to report after that. It’s on the border of Lesotho and South Africa, so I’ll get another stamp in the passport. Hey-OOO! Whatever you do Rooney, don’t mention Ethiopia. Gotta wait to spring that one on Coach at the right time. It's all about timing when you ask your parents for money. Like when the Cubs lose to the fucking Dodgers 3 straight you don't ask your parents for money to go to Truluck's. All about the timing. Yeah, and then in April I think I’m gonna go to Ethiopia and kick it with my fellow black Jews for a few days. Get in touch with my roots. God, you’re such a fucking schmuck. You’re really off the reservation. Well, it's certainly been a pleasure writing, and I hope it's been fun reading. This was painful. No wonder you don’t get laid. Nilalilalilalilalilaligache (goodnight) everyone.
I wanna start off this blog with a huge shout out to my 3rd brother Mr. Senator Chad Goldberg and congratulate him on getting engaged this past weekend. You’re all grows up kid. Love it. Yeah, great job you prick. Now my mom wants grandkids soon. Way to ruin it all for us. The pressure’s on Shark and Bradley. I’m the youngest. My parents still think I’m probably a virgin. I got years to waste hitting up cougar bars and singing “Sweet Caroline” at karaoke Thursdays at Ravinia BBQ. Phew. Yeah, Chad, that is awesome man. Very big congrats and best of luck to you and your broad in the future. I’m here to write a speech if you need me.
So now what do I write about? Fucking Toaster Man week 2? Really Rooney? I totally peaked in my second week. I’m like the Fukudome of blogging. Ok, rally cap Rooney. Write about your weekend. People wanna know what you’re up to. No they fucking don’t. It’s amazing how arrogant I am. I write this bullshit and I really expect people to care? I always make fun of people having blogs like Britney Spears or Taylor Swift. Well, the Swift one I read religiously, but you know what I mean. Like, who fucking cares what these idiots have to say? And then I go off and write one and expect people to care? Wow I am schmidts. And I post all those pictures. Why? To make people jealous? Yeah right Rooney you ignorant slut. People really get jealous of looking at 10 of the same set up shot of you on a rock in different colors that you thought was cool using your Mac. Really smooth. I'm sure everyone has been urinating all day in anticipation of you telling the story about you on the rock with all the magical colors. Dr. Schmidt. Paging Dr. Schmidt. Ok, the weekend…
So now that the congrats are out of the way, I guess I’ll let you all know what I did this weekend. I actually spent my first full weekend in Durban and it turned out to be nice weather so I got a little color. My chest could blind someone, but my arms look quite tasty. Ingrid had a bunch of work to do with her street children, so Thami and I helped out and went down into town with her. I somewhat explained town a few blogs ago, but that was at night. This time it was BROAD daylight and my impressions were a bit different. The name of the area they live in is called “Point,” which is almost exactly like Season 4 of The Wire where they set up a “legal drug selling zone” in the city. I was half expecting for someone to shout out “WMD’s” (shout out to Lance) while I was there. Ok Rooney, be careful here. Don’t wanna freak your parents out too much. It’s really amazing I didn’t get shot while I was there. That place is fuckin scary. Uh oh. You have derailed. Quick, make it seem like it isn’t that bad. Yeah, I mean, it has a bad reputation, and for good reason. I give up. I watched an Indian fella get mugged in front of everyone and not one person spoke up. It was interesting to watch actually. On TV you always see people getting robbed but trying to talk to the guy and calm them down or try to resist or whatever. I never understood that. If I ever got robbed I would empty my pockets faster than you could say “schmidts cobbler”. “Here ya go buddy. Let me help you with that stuff. Yeah I got an ATM card too if you wanna just go there real quick. Mazel Tov. Good things.” We had the pleasure of helping one of the kids load up wood for his newly built home into Thami's car. The wood was from the garbage and had the wonderfully erotic smell of urine on it, and I just can't thank Ingrid enough for letting me be involved with that project. Cholera here I come!
God this isn’t even ‘D’ material. This is almost hard to type it’s so boring. No one cares how big of a pussy you are. And way to go with that scaring your parents’ bullshit earlier. Are you an idiot? Seriously? We gotta move on. I know we can come up with something funny. GO TIME! Yeah, so that was my day at Point on Saturday. Not too exciting, but interesting non-the less.
Ok, what else happened to me this weekend? God my life is so boring. Part of writing a blog, Rooney, is that you have to have things to say. I know you asshole, but I really have nothing to say. Literally nothing. There is one moment in my life that could sum up myself perfectly. When I met Marnie Stern in Austin and all I could do is bob my head and smile at her while she waited for me to say something. After the longest minute in both of our lives she walked away. That is me in a nutshell. I have nothing to say. I should just stop typing. Maybe it’s because you’re hungry. You fucking burned soup tonight. Who does that? Seriously. Did you ever eat paint chips as a kid? Man I wish I could still use Toaster Man. Oh wait, the casino! Yeah that was kinda cool. People love to hear about other people losing money. Talk about that…
So moving on, Saturday Thami, Ingrid and I hit up the local casino on the beach and had dinner. I had wanted to see it since I arrived so they took me. Ingrid took my wallet and ATM card so nothing too bad could happen, like that time Vin and I went for the Coldplay concert in Vegas (You know how I know I’m gay?). Oh shit. Rooney. TMI. TMI. And you’ve used the gay line in the other blog. Now you’re reusing material? God this is really pathetic. I don’t know if I can be apart of this anymore. Maybe you should take the next couple plays off. Get your mind right. Yeah, so I lost 50 bucks and then we ate dinner on the beach. It was pretty solid actually. Fun place to go. Yeah, great place. Great place to go after you hang out with people who don’t have any money and then go and flush money down the toilet like a grade A prick. Great social worker you are. You can’t blog and you’re a prick. This entry is really gonna be the tits let me tell ya.
After the beach I ended up reading Twilight and passed out. Yeah, tell everyone about the schmidts vampire fairy tale book you’re reading. Really great for your sex appeal. “Hey everyone, I read children’s books like Harry Potter and Twilight and still sleep with my blanky.” Real Beckham of you. Yeah, so that was kinda my weekend. I didn’t watch the Super Bowl due to time difference, but read about it and heard it was glorious. Jesus and Kurt Warner lost, which made everyone at the hospital sad. I also heard that The Office was fantastic, and obviously because Cloris Leachman was on it. That saucy minx. Man if she was 15 years younger I’d be on that like eggs in a basket. She’s such a talented woman isn’t she? I think we can all agree on that one.
Well, I guess that’s all I got for now. All you got? Fuck, we’re in trouble. I’m heading to the Drankesnburg Mountains this weekend with Ingrid, so I’m sure I’ll have more interesting things to report after that. It’s on the border of Lesotho and South Africa, so I’ll get another stamp in the passport. Hey-OOO! Whatever you do Rooney, don’t mention Ethiopia. Gotta wait to spring that one on Coach at the right time. It's all about timing when you ask your parents for money. Like when the Cubs lose to the fucking Dodgers 3 straight you don't ask your parents for money to go to Truluck's. All about the timing. Yeah, and then in April I think I’m gonna go to Ethiopia and kick it with my fellow black Jews for a few days. Get in touch with my roots. God, you’re such a fucking schmuck. You’re really off the reservation. Well, it's certainly been a pleasure writing, and I hope it's been fun reading. This was painful. No wonder you don’t get laid. Nilalilalilalilalilaligache (goodnight) everyone.
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