I'm a cypher, wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce. Also, my name is Kev and I own this here website.
Alright, I'm just a guy (though an admittedly awesome one at that -- oh, and humble) who likes to blog. Sarcasm, quick wit and gorilla dust are my tools of the trade. Feel free to browse my blog and
follow me. It's okay. I won't call the cops.
Click here if you'd like to write a guest blog for SKOS.
The following is a guest post from my brother, Tim. You might remember him from his co-starring roles in Twins Reunited by Awesome Dude and Awesome Dude’s Brother and The Greatest E-mail Exchange in the History of the World. Or you might remember him for any of the numerous great posts he’s submitted in the past. Check those out here after you’ve read and enjoyed his latest!
Are you job hunting? Perhaps, despite the fact you submitted a resume consisting of, “yo, fool, hire me!” written in crayon, you got that interview with the big Fortune 500 company. And now you are worried your social ineptness will hinder your chances of landing that job. Well, you’re in luck my friend. Even with your sub-par computer skills, you happened upon the one internet article written by the one guy who can help.
“What makes me qualified,” you might ask?
I just am, okay?
First, always start the interview with a joke about midgets. Everybody loves laughing at/about midgets, and this will surely endear you to the hiring manager at the beginning and possibly distract him from noticing any obvious character flaws because he is still amused by why the midget crossed the road.
If your interviewer happens to be a midget, you’re in luck. Pick him up, hold him like a baby, and make a bunch of baby talk about how he is a poop machine and you are going to change his diapy – he will think it is hilarious.
Also, don’t think any past experience is irrelevant. Remember, big companies want people with diverse backgrounds. Just try to shed light about how your past jobs built skill sets that are applicable to the job you are interviewing for. For example, your last job clubbing baby seals taught you time management.
Confidence is key. Even if you walk into the interview with your zipper down and toilet paper stuck to your shoe, be sure to act like you meant to do it and make fun of everybody else for being conformist pigs. The interviewer will respect your confidence and think to himself, “now this is a guy who will lead.”
While everybody else interviewing for the job will be talking themselves up, you can stand out and seem less pretentious by putting on a skit about your stronger points. Remember a picture is worth a thousands words, so sitting next to a cardboard box with a contemplating look will far better drive home the message that you can think outside the box than just stating so.
Lastly, just be yourself. That is, of course, unless not being yourself will give you a better chance at getting the job. If that is the case, then be anything but yourself.
Now, go. And land that job of your dreams.
It occurred to me late one night while I was honing my skills in the fine art of underwater basket weaving that KFC had good chicken. I thought of going to the local KFC and partaking of the delicious fried goodness, but the thought came to me that the local KFC only has imitated fried chicken. In order to taste the natural purity, I must go to the source and that means going to the original KFC in Kentucky. I reasoned that fried chicken had to taste better in its home state just as an athletic team plays better in its home field.
Other analogies concurred with this theory. When you make a copy of a piece of paper, the quality of the copy is not as good as the original, and the more copies you make, the greater in quality deficiency. I figured the local KFC in GA is a copy of the original KFC in Kentucky; therefore, the quality of the GA fried chicken cannot be as good as the original. At this point it became apparent to me what I had to do: I must trek to Kentucky and eat the best fried chicken ever made.
After recruiting another guy to come along, I started the 6 hour drive to Corbin, Kentucky (Home of the original KFC) the next day. On the way, my friend asked if I thought anybody had ever driven all the way to Kentucky just to eat fried chicken. I thought my logic that Kentucky had the best fried chicken was obvious, so many people must have thought of it before me. However, when we reached the original KFC, the employees where stupefied that somebody would drive that long just for fried chicken, so I guess I was the first person to ever think of the KFC pilgrimage.
The initially stupefied reaction of the KFC employees eventually turned into amazement, and they embraced me as weary traveler and provided me with all the delicious fried chicken I could eat. They gave me a tee-shirt to commemorate my journey (for $10) and made me a honorary fry cook (at my request). The t-shirt was a must, so I could say, “Been there, done that, and bought the t-shirt.”
Upon my return, most people asked me if the fried chicken was indeed better in its home state. I answered, “Yes, it was indeed more delicious, but like any good pilgrim, I fasted during my 6 hour journey, so I was starving by the time I got there. They could have fed me a shoe, and I would have eaten it and enjoyed it.”
The trip lasted 13 hours: 6 hours to get there, 6 hours to get back, and about an hour to eat and bask in the glory of my achievement. Now, whenever anybody says, “Who would be stupid enough to drive to Kentucky just for
fried chicken,” I can simply reply, “Me.”
The people over at Humor-blogs prefer the other white meat.
The following is an actual eBay auction description I used for a couple copies of “Guitar Hero” I bought at my local Target after I heard there was a shortage of them in some parts of the world. Ever the honest soul, I thought I’d lay a little truth and wisdom on the prospective buyers to be. Enjoy.
Waited until the last minute? Your kid is dying to get the hottest game this Christmas, but all the store shelves are empty? Is your child one of those kids that insistently whines when he doesn’t get what he wants?
Do you want to have stress free Christmas just once? Well, this might be your last chance to shut that spoiled brat up. Better yet, you need to show that kid who is boss. If I were you, I would buy this silly game for myself, and make the kid sit there and watch me play it until I got bored, and just throw it in the trash. That will teach that young punk.
I don’t think you can put a price on that type of satisfaction, so feel free to bid this item up.
Lately, I’ve been kind of trying to get back into my old healthy habits like drinking more water and eating 6 smaller meals spread across the day. Well, with drinking almost a gallon of water a day you have to expel that much more fluid, so I’m spending a lot more time in the bathroom, and it would appear to the uninformed observer that I have the bladder control of a pregnant lady or of an 80 year old man.
Anyways, it got busy at work and I went longer than normal without going to the bathroom, so I really had to go. I broke away from work, and made a bee line for the closest bathroom. There were a few guys in there, but I didn’t make eye contact with any of them, because I didn’t want to tempt them into breaking the first rule: no speaking in the bathroom.
I made it to the urinal just in time – I mean I was about to burst, and then I would have to break the first rule myself in order to apologize to all the guys in the bathroom, because it would probably just be good manners to apologize to somebody you accidentally got urine on.
Anyways, I was at the urinal practically in ecstasy from the relief of pressure that had built up from all the water I had drank, when I heard it. At first, I was frightened. It sounded like the roar of a horrible beast come to devour me. I stood befuddled for a moment looking around and actually caught the eyes of some of the other guys in the bathroom, who had the same look of confusion.
Then, breaking the bewildered silence, the horrible beast made another horrible roar, but this time it sounded like it was in pain – almost like it had gotten hit in the junk with a sledgehammer. However, with the second iteration of the sound, it became a little more familiar to my ears, and I recognized the source. It was not the rumblings of a horrible beast that had initially frightened me so, but it was the unpleasant serenade of a bathroom stall. However, it sounded a little muffled than usually, and I believe that was what initially threw us all off from a prompt identification the first time.
Then, the reason for the muffled tone became apparent. The men’s bathroom shares a wall with the woman’s bathroom. I came out of the men’s bathroom just in time to see the stream of women fleeing theirs – gasping for a breath of fresh air. It was truly the fart heard round the world (TFHRTW). Like how the intensity of thunder is an indication of the power behind the lightning that made it, I can only imagine the sheer concentrated evil in the form of a bowel movement that created TFHRTW, but I ran far, far away from that place – for I did not want to know.
If I had a size 25 shoe, would I be pigeon-holed into a job as a clown? That doesn’t seem fair. What if I wanted to be a dancer?
If you ask a little boy what he wants to be when he grows up, he will more than likely give you the cliché answer of a fireman, a policeman, a cowboy, or an astronaut. When I was a child, I had ambition and did not want to limit myself. So I decided I wanted to be a space cowboy that roamed the galaxy fighting crime with a fireman’s axe – the opportunities are endless.
I have been giving it a lot of thought and, for various reasons, I have decided that racial profiling is a good thing. I think it has revolutionized the way we hunt and capture terrorists, before they strike. I think it is such an effective tool that we should incorporate profiling to other classes of people.
For example, I believe we should start profiling midgets. This will revolutionize the way we hunt and capture leprechauns. It is only being mildly observant to notice that all leprechauns are of a certain stature. I, for one, will assume a midget is a leprechaun until proven otherwise. If some “little guy” is walking by me singing about the “lolly-pop guild,” I’m going to punch him in the nose, and tell him to take me to his pot of gold. In this manner, I may uncover many Keebler elves, goblins, and underwear gnomes, but I only need to be right once to be one pot of gold richer.
In this plan, we will not only stimulate the economy with a surplus of gold, but we will, perhaps, stifle any uprising the leprechauns, or any small person, may be planning.
If I could pick any song to be the theme song of my life, I would pick 80’s hit “Walk Like an Egyptian” by the Bangles. I think that song fully encapsulates my life’s desire of walking like an Egyptian.
If people were made out of gingerbread, would cannibalism be more socially acceptable?
I am looking for a woman with a pouch like a kangaroo, so she can store my car keys and other nic-nacs. If I can’t find such a woman, I guess one with a purse will work, but I won’t be happy about it.
