Honey, the car needs gas - I'm going in for lyposuction!

So the title might strike you as a bit odd. But let's be honest here - that's the point, right? So I am sitting in my office (at home, mind you) on Christmas Eve day. I have read all the hockey news there is, and I have checked email about 47 times in the last 12 minutes. The only thing left to do is surf the web and blog, right? Right.

So I came across this story today. The basic premise is that there is a doctor in LA somewhere. He is one of those cosmetic guys, specializing in the removal of those unsightly love handles and chubby bellies (his words, I swear). No big deal so far. But guess what he does with the leftover uh, waste. No way you are going to guess this, so I will spoil it for you.

He uses the fat he sucks out of these bodies and converts it to biodiesel for his Ford SUV and his girlfriend's Lincoln Navigator. Yeah, you read that right. This guy is being driven by Beverly Hills fatties. Every Big Mac, KFC bucket, and mayonnaise-slathered french fry is helping save the earth in a sick and twisted kind of way.

You can read the whole story here - Fill 'Er Up With Human Fat.

If this catches on, I think you might see a new definition of the popular term Fat Farm. Just picture a bunch of people tied up to troughs of burgers and ice cream. Hey, what's good for the planet is good for me.

Have you met my sister Stalin?

So for those of you who don't me very well, you probably just assume that my last name is and always has been Bushong. But you would be wrong. As it turns out, I was actually adopted by my dad and took on his last name when I was 6 years old. Thank God!
But no, my real last name is not Bushong. I was actually born with a different name. Are you ready? Wait for it... wait for it...

I was born as Michael Butts. Yeah, that's right. Up through kindergarten, I was little Mikey Butts. My dad came along and adopted me (birth mom, adopted dad - you figure it out), and that saved me from a life of torment and torture. I might have ended up as the butt of all those kid jokes. Although, I should point out that it might have made me a big badass. I look at guys like the former Chargers running back Marion Butts (a girl's first name and an awful last name) or the Sharks fighting enforcer Jody Shelley (2 girls names - really? are we really doing that to kids?), and I wonder if having a bad name makes you tougher.

So anyway, I used to think my name was bad, but that was until today. Today I came across what could be the worst name in the history of names. Yes, this name is worse than the kid I went to high school with (Ichi Wang - oh yeah, you can't make that kind of name up). I read an article today about a kid named Adolph Hitler Campbell. Apparently, little Adolph's parents wanted to get him a cake with his name on it, but the good people at the local supermarket refused to put his name on it. They thought it was offensive. Don't believe me? Check out the story entitled "Child named after Hitler is refused cake request."

And in case you thought that was bad, his sister is named "JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell". And no, I am not making that up.

And in other news...

I frequently troll the web during breaks at work... strike that. I frequently work during breaks at trolling the web. Better.

Anyway, I was reading one of my news outlets today, when I came across the following headline: US anti-kidnapping expert kidnapped. Interesting. What do you think that will do to business?

Burger-monster!

Let me be clear up front - Stacy and I are still mourning the loss of our beloved Chloe. While every day gets a little bit easier, has a few more smiles, we still wake up a bit empty-hearted to a quiet house without the sounds of doggie nails clicking on bamboo floors.

But we have made the decision to move forward and look at new potential doggy children. And it is this point that takes up this blog.

So Stacy and I have long debated the type of dog we would bring into our family next. I have always wanted to get a Samoyed. They are so cute and fluffy. I just love their mischievous little grins.

But Stacy says she doesn't want to clean up hairballs all over the house. Can you imagine? "Oh, I don't want a bunch of fur all over the place in summer when this winter dog is too hot and is shedding like a bald man in a radioactive fallout area," she whines. Yeesh. Ok, I get it.

So we had to look elsewhere. We took a quiz that matches our wants to a breed. Our wants? We wanted a big dog. I don't want some little rat dog that can fit in my man-purse. We wanted a dog that doesn't shed (see above). We wanted a dog that would be good with the kids we will one day birth, and with the other animals we will one day house. After filling in more details, we got a list of about 100 potential breeds. When we clicked through them, we picked....

Wait for it a little more...

We settled on a dog called a Bergamasco. I like to call it Burger-monster. It also goes by the name rasta-dawg, Dog Marley and the Whalers, or the more straightforward Pothead. It has dreads, mon. Burger-monsters are protective but not aggressive, good with kids and other animals, loving, playful, and, surprisingly enough, they do not shed. You can read about them on bergamascos.net.

So what does a Burger-monster look like? Have a peek:

You can view more pictures of this lovely dog on bergamascos.net. Click on Ugo and Niso to see the dad and mom of our puppy-to-be. We will pick up our dog in March. We are quite excited.

We do need to think of a name. Right now, we are leaning towards Wookie (or maybe Wooka for a girl?). Or maybe Whoopi? Or should we go with Mopsy? Do you see any resemblance? We are torn on which is closer. Maybe you have some other ideas though.

Freakin' Gooch

Well, most people who know me probably know that I am mildly superstitious, particularly when it comes to sports. When I used to play baseball, I went through the exact same ritual before every game, plate appearance, and pitch. In my more recent sporting past, I was playing goalie. I had lucky underwear that I would wash after every game, so long as we won. If we lost? Change it out to a new pair. I would put on my pads in the same order. Stretch the same number of times. And always three sips of water before hitting the ice.


Did any of this help? Well, I wasn't the best goalie, so you can draw your own conclusions. Although, I should point out that maybe I would have been worse had it been four or even five sips of water. Who's to say?

But back to the point. It was Saturday night, and I had a couple of extra tickets to the Sharks game. The Sharks, for those of you not in the know, are doing fantastically this year. They are in first place and setting records en route to a very memorable season. So anyway, I used the extra tickets to take Stacy and a co-worker from Juniper. I don't want to incriminate him, so I will just say that his name rhymes with Bel Latzis.

It was a pretty decent game - the Sharks were dominating play but not the scoreboard. Still, it felt like they had control of the game. As we neared the end of the game, though, Mel asks, "Haven't the Sharks not lost at home all season?" After I shushed him, he kept on. Suffice it to say that a couple of minutes later, the Sharks lost.

Coincidence? Maybe. But do you really want to tempt fate like that?

For the record, the Sharks lost the game in overtime. In fact, it was their second OT loss this season. But it still counts as a gooch in my book.

Coming Soon - Naming Rights for Toilet Paper!

One of my lifelong dreams has always been to be a teacher. Have you seen the movie Mr. Holland's Opus? I always wanted to be that teacher. I know what you are thinking - "Mike, how is that possible when you are so at ease with prostituting your skills out to the high tech industry?" And I answer, "Teachers don't get paid diddly, so I am making do right now. Give it time, sweets. Give it time."

Well, no sooner was I thinking forward to the day when I could give up the salary for a teaching job when I came across further proof that our teachers don't make enough. You know it is bad when teachers have to sell naming rights to their tests and quizzes. Don't believe me? Check out a teacher from my own alma mater. My very own Rancho Bernardo High School (Go Broncos!) made CNN today. Read about a cash-strapped teacher at RBHS.

I don't know how bad the economy will get, but I am already trying to find someone I can sell the naming rights to my toilet paper to. I am thinking one of the auto makers might make sense. Their stock and the toilet paper I would put their names on are worth about the same. Zing!

R.I.P. Chloe

In loving memory

Chloe Bushong

(Jan 1995 - November 30, 2008)