May 2004 Archives

My friends and I recently grabbed lunch at The Arclight Cinema in Hollywood-- home of the famous Cinerama Dome. We didn't see a movie, we just stopped there to eat because located in this impressive theater is an actual restaurant with actual decent food.

We were all having a nice time, but shortly after my lunch arrived I was overcome by a strong sense of foreboding. I could just tell something was about to go wrong. Was it a premonition? A weird hunch? Was I experiencing some sort of extra-sensory perception?

No. It was the scary movie score they were playing in the background while I was trying to eat my fucking salad.

I appreciate the idea of movie soundtracks in a setting like this, but do they really have to play a tune better suited to Hannibal Lechter slurping down some dude's pancreas when I'm gnawing on my crouton?

The dark music reached its crescendo, and I was convinced the waiter was about to sneak up and stab me in the back of the head with a shrimp fork. Luckily the movie score then shifted to something relaxed and happy, so I knew everything was going to be okay.

Lunch was still good, but it was the most ominous salad I've ever had.

(On a side note, at one point the waiter happened to say the phrase "Caramel Corn." I think he jumped back about two feet when Steve and Eric immediately shouted at him, "Wait! What kind of corn did you say?!" For the record, he pronounced it: KARA-mel.)

I've been thinking about the word "caramel."

There's more than one way to say it,
and I've overthought it to the point where
I'm not even sure how I say it anymore.

You can say it like:

KAR-mul
(which is a little weird to just go
and ignore that 2nd "a" in there.
It's been suggested this could also be spelled KAR-ml.)

or you can say it like...

KARA-MEL
(which rhymes with Farrah-Mel, which would look like this...)

+

Or
you could combine A & B and get C...

KARA-mul.

Would you fine people shed some light on this? How do YOU say it? Also, please include what part of the country (or world) you grew up in. I'm curious to see if it's a regional thing.

I'm not saying this word again until we have a consensus. The comment board is now closed due to spam. Oh well. Thanks guys!

Yet another quickie blast of love straight from Dr. Michael (originally seen in Stet)

(All questions were sent in by readers, all answers were transcribed verbatim from 8-year-old Michael, and all hilarity ensued.)

Dear Dr. Michael,

--From Oops

Dear Oops,

You could always go to a pow wow and get a book for old Indian remedies. I don't really know exactly because I'm not an Indian.

But if the shirt is plain, cover it up with an old Indian type of dirt that you put in water. It's kind of like mud, but it cleans. I'm just sort of making this up so don't be prepared to do it, but it sounds like something Indians would do. Mud doesn't stain.

Whatever you do, stop eating spaghetti with a white shirt. That's what I'm advising you. Use a big napkin that covers the whole shirt.

--Dr. Michael

Spending quality time with your children is important. About a year ago my son literally discovered his nuts one night while pawing at himself, and I'm thankful I happened to be there for that ridiculous moment in his life.

He had been well aware of his little pecker for quite some time, but somehow the wonder twins below had managed to elude him. Then one night, I was putting on his pajamas and he made his miraculous finding. He couldn't believe it. In pure amazement he shouted out, "DADDY! THERE ARE BALLS IN MY BUM!" He then went on to squeeze the shit out of them for the next five minutes.

To this day he will occasionally still refer to them as his "Bum-balls." I would correct him, but it amuses me. SO I SHAN'T!

While we're on the topic of anatomy, despite the fact that my friends and I are grown men, we still find ourselves talking about how a woman's sexual apparatus, (clinically known as "the hooey") is a lot lower than you'd think it is. For any guy about to score for the very first time, it's a wake-up call when you find out just how far down there that thing actually is. Nobody warns you about that.

I think women who are about to be with a virgin should consider foregoing that Brazillian they were thinking about, and get a wax job in the shape of an arrow leading the way. It would also be really cool if it could blink.

One final anatomical note: When it comes to making the sweet love, I don't like my nipples being messed with. I'm sure there are guys out there who don't mind it, and some who totally dig it, but I'm really fine with them being left out of the mix. Mine are purely there for decoration. (But by all means, feel free to check in with the bum-balls.)

We all have stuff. Some of our stuff is sentimental, like photo albums. Other stuff is important like tax documents or maybe a lint brush. But I think everybody has at least one item of stuff that is inexplicable. The type of thing that makes you question why it even exists at all. That brings us to the mystical Fonzie Bath Mat. (Click on it for a better view.)

Regular readers of The Sneeze know that The Fonz is no stranger around here. You might remember my angry childhood letter to the White House, or the sad story of the Fonzie postcard. But the other day I was going through a box of stuff, and came across this curious mix of plush and 70's TV cheese.

I don't really remember how I got it, but I've had it since I was a kid. And I've never actually used it, which is good because I don't think it would have stood up to too many bouts with wet feet (no matter how tough The Fonz is.) Besides, was I really supposed to stand wet and naked over Mr. Fonzarelli, so he could stare up smiling at my wiener with a reassuring thumb of approval? (On second thought, that does sound kinda nice.)

Either way, you cannot deny that its ridiculousness is pure and I'm very pleased to be its keeper.

Do you have a bizarre item in your possession? Something that makes you wonder why the hell it was even made in the first place? Something stranger than Rob's erotic pipe cleaner discovery? The comment board is now closed.

The Olsen Twins movie "New York Minute" opened this past weekend, and along with it grows the hype that they are about to turn 18.

It's pretty comical just how much of a big deal guys are making about that. I've even seen countdowns on some websites ticking off the days until they are "legal." I think it's sad how quickly people can't wait to officially objectify and sexualize them.

As usual, The Sneeze chooses to take the high road and instead, offers this humble review of the girls' toothpaste...

Olsen Twins toothpaste is made by Aqua-fresh, comes in a convient pump, and is available in "Cool Bubble" flavor. Giving in to my growing desire, I tore at the plastic that covered the tube. As I ran my hands over the body of the Olsen Twins' container, it felt smooth and firm beneath my fingertips.

I gently tugged at the pump, slowly at first, but then with increasing speed. I could sense the toothpaste tremble within. It was as if the tube didn't want me to stop. With only a few more deliberate pumps, the Olsen Twins toothpaste exploded all over my toothbrush.

It was now time to brush, and my mouth ached with desire. The Olsen Twins toothpaste tingled as it met the tip of my tongue. It tasted sweet. Seconds drifted into minutes. I lost track of time as I thought about the plaque I was removing while I brushed in rhythmic motion. The Olsen Twins toothpaste and I had formed a union, and we were now as one.

My pulse raced, and the bathroom began to spin. When I thought I couldn't take one second more my entire body shuddered, and I finally spit. I had never spit so hard in my life.

I stood in the dim light of the bathroom and held the tube of Olsen Twins toothpaste tenderly. In all my years of brushing, the Olsen Twins toothpaste was the best I've ever had.

Olsen Twins "Bubble Cool" toothpaste is available wherever fine oral products are sold.

Final Grade: A+

Reviews You Can Use #1: MY MOM

I've known my mom my whole life. I don't remember a whole lot before age three, but considering that time includes messing around with her boobies, I'm probably better off.

She is an incredibly nice lady and has always been there for me, even during all the days when I acted like a little asshole. Lucky for me, I grew up during a time when many parenting experts came out against hitting chldren. And I'm sure she would have heeded that advice, had she not been busy beating my ass with a wooden spoon at the time. (Don't be alarmed, it was well-deserved.)

She did put up with a ton of crap from me, the least of which included begging her to sit through Bad News Bears: Breaking Training in the theater... TWO DAYS IN A ROW. My poor, poor mom.

Pros:
- Very sweet
- Puts other people first
- Patient

Cons:
- Gets cranky when she doesn't eat
- Too many allergies
- Not the best cook

Bottom Line: You only get one mom, and I love mine.

Final Grade: A-