I don’t care if you own a dog. I don’t care if you’ve owned 10 dogs. I don’t care if you used to be in a dog and pony show that featured nothing but the same breed of dog as the one that I am walking, and your daily job was to teach the dogs impossible tricks, like balancing the federal budget. DO NOT JUST WALK UP TO MY DOG. Don’t ask me if its friendly. Don’t make kissing noises at it, and do not start talking to it in a baby voice.

No more than I would despise you doing this to my child would I despise you doing this to my dog. I appreciate that you feel all pets should be the fru-fru frilly pants companions to the human race, but I’m trying to produce a protector and potentially trained killer here. People get dogs for one of two reasons: companionship and protection. If you don’t at least assume its the second one, well, not only is it your face on the line, but YOU AM DUMB.

We do live in a capitalist society right? That makes money and the access to money one of the more vital service areas we need to have available to us. With this as the case, what is the deal with banker’s hours? Doesn’t the majority of the population work until 5 every week night and have weekends free (or mostly free). Why is it then, that most banks are only open during the same hours the majority of the population is working? Does this make sense to anyone? Lunch is an hour at most workplaces. I’m supposed to give up 20-30 minutes of that so I can stand in line behind some 80 year old biddie who for some reason decided that today was the day she was going to put 15 different deposits into 12 accounts, check the balance’s on two CD’s and open an account for her granddaughter? What are you doing with 12 accounts woman? You wear Lee Press-On Nails and I know the hairspray you’re using is from the 99 Cent Store because I’m there so often, and that smell kind of permeates the store.

Credit Unions are the worst. They’re basically like, “Fuck your time. Our shit isn’t online, our shit isn’t open on the weekends, and we won’t even let you in unless you have 3 ID’s.” I’m part of the 99% and you guys are making it real hard to get to the 1% since I can’t get my money either in or out of you bastards. Even with regular banks – have you ever had someone transfer a decent amount of money into your account? It takes days to get the money out. And they wonder why I travel everywhere with money strapped to my abs like Mark Wahlberg in Contraband. If you’re a bank that uses banker’s hours, You Am Dumb.

As you all know (or as some of you know, or none of you), I travel pretty regularly. I have obtained a multiple of pet peeves about said traveling as it you can’t walk to your local (insert your local shopperie here) without encountering at least 3-5 idiots. Today though, I’m talking about the airport. More specifically, baggage claim.

I don’t even try and travel with big enough bags to need to check one, but occasionally on long trips, you have no choice but to subjugate yourself to the colon probe of a bag check. On Southwest it’s cool, but regardless of the airplane, the result when you want to get your bag is the same: some geezer/douche/foreigner decides that where you’re standing waiting for your bag is the exact place they need to jump in front of to grab their bag that’s been on the carousel for 2 minutes.

Look handsy, it’s great that you feel the desire to not loose your neon plaid, duck-taped satchel with various white oval country stickers plastered all over, but if you haven’t noticed – the carousel MOVES. So should you…out of my face. I don’t need an “excuse me”. I don’t need you dropping the shoulder like Warren Sapp trying to get skinny to sack the quarterback. I need you to move your one-too-many-Hostess-cupcakes ass on down the line. You’re not rescuing Moses here and if you miss grabbing your bag this go ’round there are two potential outcomes.

One, why would you want to retrieve your bag if it carries the same wardrobe I see on your gum-flapping body anyway? Let that shit go and re-up on clothes in town. B, I promise you if your ride is as dumb as you are, they haven’t pulled up to the curb yet. Let your bag make a full rotation and hopefully either  a bomb sniffing dog finds it or someone with more pity than me decides to set it on fire. Either way, we’re all better off.

Frankly, if you can’t wait your impatient ass a few more seconds to grab your bag without barge past me like a homeless guy chasing a quarter rolling down the street, YOU AM DUMB.

It’s good to be back…

I was going to avoid a sports-related post for my first returning stab at the heart of dumb, but considering that my DOTW includes sports, celebrity, acting, and texting, it had to happen. I feel like the coolest thing Tiger Woods could do is come out and say that he wants to mentor other athletes into how to properly obtain and keep side pieces. Despite what anyone thinks of him, El Tigre ran through 100+ randoms for years before finally being hauled down for a text. He’s like the Al Capone of infidelity. The guy he should have trained is our DOTW – Tony Parker.

Dude. I know you’re French but are you going to tell me you haven’t been following the tribulations of both Woods and Favre? Both those guys are WAY more high-profile than you and look at the bullshit they’re dealing with. You’re a point guard who is historically known for not necessarily even being liked by your own coach – and you guys have won championships together! Your wife is of Mexican descent – do you not realize she will likely cut you at some point? She’s not just Mexican, she’s from that part of Texas where the Mexican drug dealers just slaughter people…and you play in San Antonio! That’s a same-day assassination trip for one of those guys. On top of everything else, you’re stepping out on her with a former teammate’s (now soon-to-be ex) wife – who happens to be WHITE?! Look, I’m not trying to be racial but facts are facts – you’re a French Black guy living in Texas cheating on your Mexican wife with a White guy’s White wife. If you get hung any less than four times for this by some backwoods redneck crew of mouth breathers you should probably count yourself lucky. Tony, you’re a second tier point guard, but a first tier Dummy. You, are our Dummy Of The Week.

Getting some free time back on the internet has meant a lot of catching up with new installations, new downloads, and new videos.  In other words, wasting inordinate amounts of time.  There seems to be a constant with all this new crap, and although I’ve noticed it for years, I feel someone has to say something:  what’s with the constant attempts to get me to download a GD toolbar?  Web pages are already big enough that I have to scroll down to read whatever is on them.  I already have a toolbar or two at the top and at the bottom.  Why would I want yet another toolbar?  I’m going to be honest:  I don’t have that many tools, and of the tools I have that need bars, I don’t get to all of them anyway.  In fact, I could probably use less bars of tools than I currently have.  To top it off, I find it easier to type “www.google.com” into a url and search the big ol’ toolbar right on Google, instead of fitting what I’m looking for into some obscure corner of the screen.

If I added every single toolbar, my screen would look like a wall in Tim Allen’s garage.  That’s right, I just dropped a Tool Time from “Home Improvement” reference.  Suck on that, Yahoo toolbar that wants to add itself with every Apple or Adobe update I get.  Look, either I trust your site and will go there for my searching, or I won’t.  Having you ominously situated in the corner of my screen will only piss me off and make me wary of trusting you.  If you’re a program to be downloaded and you include an automatic toolbar installation, YOU AM DUMB.

I’ve never paid for it (directly) and don’t have plans of ever doing so, but fellas, take a note from Charlie Sheen here.  No, not the one that says I’m going to stab you with a kitchen knife, the one that says, BUY A HOOKER.  They’re cheaper than lawyers or hitmen, and they live on repeat business, so they’re likely to keep their hog-swallowing mouth shut.  When you’re a multi-million dollar earning professional quarterback, what you want is discretion and nothing to get in the way of you earning dollars in the league.  The average football career is something like 3 years, give or take a Favre.  You’re pressing your luck and Georgia seems to be full of Whammy’s Ben.  Party in Vegas, buy a bevy of escorts, and stop trying to poke money hungry innocent Southern girls in the butt.  Be lucky you’re white buddy, cuz if you were Jason Campbell you would have gotten lynched before you got out of the state and the league would be looking to ship you to Saskatchewan.  It’s pretty simple here, Ben: YOU AM DUMB.

I love my daughter but I wouldn’t let her sit on my lap while I drive either.  I know it’s simply idiotic to go into the reasons, but I’ll tell you anyway.  In no particular order:  focus, airbags, escape, windshield.  With your dog on your lap, constantly resettling, shifting and trying to stick it’s tongue-wagging head out of the window, how the hell are you focusing on the road?  How do you even see to the left when you’ve got Fluffy’s hindquarters in your cornea?  Of course as all dogs are wont to do, every stop is an opportunity to possibly take a leap out of the car to explore the neighborhood.  How does your mutt know that the red light on Wilshire isn’t the final stop?  With the fact that motorcycles are allowed to split lanes, how wonderful is it to think that your dog could jump out of the front window right as Evil Knievel is whizzing by on his moped.  There’s a pretty thought.  So you can’t focus and the dog might jump, which could lead to what, boys and girls?  If you said “accident” pick up your gold star.  When you ram that back end of that Mercedes in front of you, which you certainly will, the dog has two particularly unfun options for death:  either the crushing explosion of an airbag all over it’s furry self, or a nice projection into and likely through your windshield.  What a dog lover you are.

No, you don’t love dogs, have less respect for other drivers and are essentially looking to make either YouTube or the news and in today’s world, probably both.  Put the dog in the back seat, or if it’s that small, in one of those ventilated dog bags, let it whimper until it learns some discipline, and pay attention to the road.  If you drive with your dog in your lap, YOU AM DUMB.

Regardless, this weeks Dummy Of The Week award goes to Tiki Barber, formerly of the “New York Football Giants” and now a commentator for NBC (although we’ll see how long that lasts after this).  Tiki and his wonderful wife Ginny have two young sons and Ginny is 8 months preggers with twins.  Earlier this week, Tiki made this announcement:

“After 11 years of marriage, Ginny and I have decided to separate,” Barber said. “This decision was a painful one, but we are moving forward amicably and will continue to work together to raise our children with the love and dedication they have always known.” — The New York Post

Why are Tiki and Ginny splitting?  Because of this woman – Traci Lynn Johnson, a 23 year old former NBC intern, whom Tiki has had a long affair with.  Can you say “Dummy”?  Ginny and and Tiki have been together since college, Tiki’s long career in the NFL, 2 children, 2 more on the way and in the midst of all that, Tiki leaves her for a 23-year old.  That’s not just dumb, that’s a super-douche move.  What’s even more idiotic is that a few years ago, Tiki, in a statement about his father, who abandoned both Tiki and his twin brother Ronde (I’d abandon those kids on name alone), said that he’d have a hard time forgiving that.

This is a guy who has railed about being honorable and righteous is whole adult life.  Dude, you are making any and all statements made by men worthless and invalid.  Men, there is no vagina that is so worthy that you have to hide the fact that you are nothing more than a philanderer.  Just say it up front, “I need the double-v in my life: vagina variety.”  In today’s age, there are plenty of women that are on the same boat.  Tiki, you’re an idiot.  It’s okay to split from your wife.  It’s okay to split with your wife when you have children.  You just got your wife pregnant with twins 8 months ago, during which time you carried on an affair with a 23-year old, which is still almost escapable…if you don’t leave said wife for the younger woman.  Tiger admitted his screw-up, got treatment, is still working on saving the marriage, and is shooting below par in the Masters.  Jesse James, despite the douchiness, still is attempting to save his marriage after multiple dalliances.  Tiki is just outta there.  Without a doubt, Tiki Barber – YOU AM DUMB.

This is the retarded world we live in (and yes, I’m using retarded in the correct context here).  Follow this path:  Kate Gosselin marries a butterball named Jon and proceeds to plop out twins followed by a six-pack of midgets.  Somehow they end up filming a couple years of their life and airing it on a cable channel.  The couple breaks up, and Kate is somehow on covers of magazines and is now a “star”.  She has no discernible talent other than having a womb of considerable depth and width.  She’s on Dancing With The Stars, but by the count of seasons on television, her partner is more of a star and shown far more talent than she has…

How about this one:  A former playboy model (who you never heard of, because you’ve never heard of any of them) has 3 daughters who are just old enough to be whores.  E! (which either stands for entertainment or the drug the producers are on) decides to give them a show so you can literally watch how 3 girls teetering on the edge of hooking get into the profession.  One is already up on burglary charges and another one is nekkid all over Playboy already.  Not that I’m against of-age women taking pictures sans-clothes, but this doesn’t make you a star.  Gilbert Arenas brought a gun to the arena he plays basketball in and got suspended for a year.  One of these girls robbed real celebrities and gets to make money on a TV show.

Here’s the one that put me over the top:  A woman is literally eating her way to 1,000 pounds for fame and money.  I wouldn’t know about this except for the fact that every major “entertainment” show carried the story.  People pay money online to watch her eat and there’s talk of her landing a reality show about her attempt.

There is no chicken and the egg scenario here, people.  Stop publicizing dumb shit.  What kills me about “stardom” of people like Kate Gosselin, is that you dupes buy into it.  How do I know?  Dancing With The “Stars” losers are voted off by the public.  Here is the people’s chance to make a statement.  Weeks into it, Gosselin and Bachelor Jake are still on the show.  That means you’re picking them over watching Buzz Aldrin potentially break a hip.  The man walked on the moon, dummies.  I totally understand that you get drawn to reality shows, but to follow the next piece of shit that someone from that show does is ridiculous.  The 15 minutes of fame ends when the show is off the air.  Stop watching, the “entertainment” shows will stop following them and maybe we can return to finding out about real celebrities.  Until then, if you feed into the reality show = star/celebrity hysteria, YOU AM DUMB.

I’ve never seen an opportunity to charge every citizen of a certain status level (and not a terribly high one at that – I’m talking to you, ’89 Hyundai driver from this morning) such an alarming cost, to simply set their equipment somewhere for a little while.  It is perhaps, one of the most ridiculous catch-22′s since the whole unprotected sex-disease/pregnancy debacle.  Municipalities want tourism to come in – they ply us with restaurants and performances and scantily clad, uh dogs (hi Mom).  Then when we get there, the only way to park is to either pay some exorbitant amount for the right to park in a garage that it will take until next week to get out of, or have so many quarters you can beat down any man who tries to take your spot.  Oh wait, now they’ve made it “easier” for you to park by offering up meter boxes where you can pay by credit card!  Yippee, another location I can share my most vital and personal information with.  Now the city can record exactly where you were at any time by checking your credit card records.  Isn’t that sweet?  Or, if you live in Chicago, it’s not a city that’s getting that information, but a monolith 3rd party, since Chicago sold(!) it’s parking meters to a private company, that now enforces a 24 hour a day rule on meters.

I’m telling you now, the revolution won’t be a class war, or a racial war, it will be a rebellion of drivers against those that would charge us to park.  No one is opposed to a city bringing in some revenue for itself.  That’s reasonable.  However, charging more than a gallon of gasoline to park somewhere for an hour, having to put quarters into meters until 2 in the morning (or later) and giving people tickets before they even have the time to put money in the meter (like this situation HERE) are just insane.  Easiest way to avoid paying a parking meter?  Simply drive your car right through the one on the curb of the spot you intend to park in.  Seems just as rationale as paying more to park to see a movie than the cost of the actual (and overpriced) movie itself.  To the parking meters, and the fools who run them or accept jobs ticketing for them, YOU AM DUMB.