June 40th

Wait, it’s almost the 4^th of July already? Wasn’t it just like Memorial Day? Why does the time between Memorial Day and the 4^th seem to fly by? Even if you’re sober. It’s just not fair, it’s just not right. We need more summer. We need more beach, pool, coolers, Frisbee, hiking, hammocks, suntan lotion. . We need more time here, we need a longer summer. So I have come up with an idea-June 40^st. Who doesn’t want a longer summer? More time for pool parties and BBQs. More time for college girls to take bikini pics on Insta. And I am pretty sure this will benefit the farmers as well. Someone track down Willie Nelson and Neil Young, and I believe they will agree with me. I think they’re currently splitting the Chairman of Agriculture position.

You DO know what this is the source picture for, right?

We all know summer gets the short shrift anyway. Doubt me? Go into any store like Target or Bed Bath & Beyond. Up until July 4^th, everything in the front of the store is all about summer; BBQ supplies, patio stuff, American flags, etc. I assure you, come July 5^th, all that shit is GONE. Even worse, it’s replaced by the dreaded Back To School BS. Look, I want all those little rugrats out of my way whenever I venture out into the general public, but even a miser like me says this is too much. Give the kids a summer fer chrissakes!

Yup, so I am proposing we add 10 (ten) days onto June. It makes perfect sense, as most of my whacked out ideas do. Who doesn’t want an extra ten days of summer? It’s win win!

Kevin, you just can’t arbitrarily add ten days to the calendar, it doesn’t work that way. You have to take the 10 days from somewhere else.

Whoa, who dafuq let you into the bathroom? I’m taking a dook, writing this shit out (like, literally). And you want an explanation? Ok, fine. We’ll get rid of the week between the Pro Bowl and the Super Bowl. Nothing gets done that week, anyway. Unless you live in Philadelphia, Cleveland or Buffalo.

That date always changes. You can’t take a week that always moves.

Really? You’re splitting hairs, here. OK. We’ll take the week from February. That’s the shortest month anyway. No one will notice. Hell, if I can even work it to get rid of Valentine’s Day, even better.

Ugh. Brilliance is always met with resistance. Go with me here, folks.

This still doesn’t make any sense. Plus you’re talking about adding ten days, but only replacing a week. There’s still three other days to deal with. 

UUGGHHHH. Can’t we just add ten days to the calendar? Who said the Greeks got it right, anyway? The 4^th of July is when- the 4^th of July? In the old June, that’s 4 days after the last day of June-the 30^th. So, new June will now absorb that date, and the 4^th of July will be celebrated on June 34^th. You pinko commies want to fight me on that one? Happy June 34^th America!

Now every year is 374 days.

OK, hotshot, what about Leap Years?

What am I, am mathematician here? Look, we’ll have three years to figure that shit out. I’ll have top men working on it. Top men.

Kev's Warehouse of Whacked Out Ideas

We can’t NOT afford to do this. Here’s what not having the extra 10 days of summer looks like.

Pretty bleak, huh?

Now here’s what those 10 extra days of summer looks like.

Frolicking like a boss.

"I would like to have your hot buns as well." 

Something smells fishy here.

OK, fine a little eye candy for my 2 female readers as well.

I swore I'd never put selfies of me on my blog, but here we are.

Gettin' my swole on. (And what's the deal with the hair on the guy in the bottom right?)

Very nice,

You're welcome, ladies.

Still, you can’t just add 10 extra ten days. You have to be, like the President or something.

President? Look, I’m just a dopey white guy with bad hair and no prior experience. But “president’ you say….hmm….

.

#VoteForKev2020

The Real War in America's Public Bathrooms; The Air Dryers

I am growing tired of our freedoms being taken away. Everywhere we go, we get less choice. It’s GD Unamerican, I tell you. Well, I for one, am making a stand and demand we get our choices back. My first step in this war is the men’s room. (I assume the ladies feel the same way, but my visit time in the ladies’ room has been severely limited as of late. So you broads need to stick up for yourselves here.)

Can we please just get rid of the hand dryers? In more and more places, the good old paper towel is being replaced by these inefficient blowdryers.

The Art Department at K Theory is just phoning it in these days

Yea, yea, the argument has been “hand dryers create less waste.” All over, we see stickers proclaiming that hand dryers are saving the rainforest, keeping the earth green and hated Batman Vs Superman. It’s time to really examine all these fantastic claims.

Now I like being kind to Mother Earth. I recycle all my empties. I try to be moderate with my utility use. I actively skip shower day and wash my hair less frequently. I’ll wear the same things around the house for weeks. I only flush number twos. I don’t have offspring that will only create generations more drain on the planet’s limited resources.

Just a lil' eye opener before work...

Is the “rain forest” even a great rallying point anymore? Remember when the urgency was that the ”rain forests will disappear in five years” like twenty years ago? Well, we barely hear about the rain forests anymore, and to the best of my simple understanding, they’re still around and breeding venomous spiders. So, all this “saving” has gotten us what? I’m seriously starting to doubt this whole recycling idea. With all the recycling this country does, shouldn’t things like paper and aluminum be getting cheaper? All I know is the price of my high octane, rot-gut cans of beer keeps going up. Why am I doing this again?

In fact, I am sure valid research will soon prove hand dryers are actually much worse for the environment; much like oil in the ocean and Pitbull on the radio. So let this be the genesis of the argument.

Point one; they just don’t work. This fact is evidenced by the thousands of public restrooms I’ve urinated in and the hundreds of times I’ve washed my hands. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a machine with a powerful enough ‘blow’ (for lack of a better term) to sufficiently dry my hands. It’s been my experience that most machines are the equivalent of having a child blow; which is something Jared Fogle can identify with.

"Anyone want to get in my pants? Anyone? Plenty of room."

I will further bolster point one by pointing out the resulting behavior that only serves to confirm the fact even more. Fellas, we see/do this all the time. (And I’m pretty sure you girls do it too, you’re always sneaky.) We wash our hands, then rub them under the dryer. After a few seconds, it’s painfully clear that if we want our hands to actually be dry, we’d be better off waving them up and down like we’re landing a plane. Eventually, we give up, and wipe our hands on our pants. Yup, ladies, we do that all the time. Hell, you probably do, too, you’re just more sneaky about it.

Point two; they are not more “sanitary” than paper towels. This makes no sense to me. How is it more sanitary when the dryers just blow the germs all over the place? Yea, what did you think, the germs just magically disappear like greenhouse gasses? When you use the dryer, you’re essentially using a machine to sneeze all your disgusting germs all over the place. How is that more sanitary? I am pretty sure there is no more bacteria encrusted spot than the area immediately beneath the dryer in any public restroom.

Chloe was never much good at blow jobs...
(Alternate caption: I am sure this is Rule 34 for some of you sickos.)

All those germs build colonies in the dark recesses of the restroom. Beneath the sink. In between the grout. On the top ledge of the mirror. It’s a miracle we’re not all sicker, really. Common sense tells you you would want to capture the bacteria in one place and be done with it. Not splatter it throughout the Burger King restroom, you hag.

You don't wanna know what I'm doing with my other hand.

Don’t believe Dr. Theory? Fine, here is proof that jet hand dryers are actually worse than using paper towels.

With paper towels, you can physically wipe the icky stuff off onto the paper, and throw the whole germ circus out. The germs die a pleasant death in the trash. End of story. The Plague is thwarted. We all get to watch the next season of Daredevil.

Point three; those dryers use energy. Nowadays, some decent places have a magical paper towel dispenser where all you have to do is Jedi your hand in front and you receive the paper towels you are looking for. Because electric hand dryers are so inefficient, it takes far more energy to get your fingers just ‘mildly damp.’ Hell, those things would go on all day if you just kept your hands under the nozzle. Sure, some of the more uppity restrooms will provide you with a sign and a few statistics about how much energy the dryers save, but that is just about as effective as the “all employees must wash hands” sign. Go do the math you see, it simply doesn’t add up.

Even if you actually have to touch a bar or lever to manually progress the paper towels out, it wastes no energy and you can still wipe off any remaining germs or bacteria. So, if you use the blower, you hate the Earth no matter how many goddmaned Priuses you drive.

My gas is gluten free and my playlist is full of bands that never even got together.

Anyway, aren’t Kindles and Google books drastically reducing the need for sheets of paper? Why can’t we trade of that loss with paper towels so everyone doesn’t get sick?

Now that I have finished this common sense piece for the betterment of America, I'm gonna go drain the dragon and wash my hands with soap for 20 full seconds and use a GD towel like a GD American.

As always, thanks for reading.

Especially you, Stuart.

DVD Bonus Content-Extra Commentary

Truth be told, this post had been sitting in my computer since last August. It was originally meant for a writing gig I had at the time, but I never finished it. Now with all this controversy over transgender bathroom use, I thought it would be a good time to dust it off, update some of the pop culture references (there was actually an Ashley Madison reference, since this was written right around the time of their data breach.) and finally share it with the world. And now I think the world is a better place for it.

So This Week I Am Pissing in Front of Elisha Cuthbert

My, my, my things are certainly picking up around the Theory offices. Last week I regaled you with tales of pissing in front of Mandy Moore. (Which is only like a post or 2 down, so feel free to read it and you won’t feel left out.) Well, there’s been a serious upgrade being made in terms of starlets I urinate in front of. This week, one of my favorites has magically appeared. Yes, 24 cutie and Girl Next Door Elisha Cuthbert. Rowwwrrrr!

While it’s not up to me to question how these things appear and disappear; I do not ask. I am only happy when it does. I now suspect it is the water company behind these new shenanigans. For example, last week I was mildly amused with pissing in front of Mandy Moore. It just wasn’t that big of a thrill. But now that Elisha has materialized, I find myself drinking approximately twice my body weight in ounces of water, just so I can relief myself in all of Elisha’s blonde cuteness. Not to even mention how many times I now flush the hopper.

Elisha first came to prominence in 24; a show we all know I am addicted to. On the show we (and by we, I mean horny guys everywhere) watched her play Jack Bauer’s daughter Kim. We watched her grow from ungrateful kid to barely serviceable CTU agent. Maybe it is just coincidence that the seasons the show blew donkey chunks were the years she was hardly on. This year was a home run, surely due in part to the return of Kim-even if we find out she is now in the MILF category (the character, not the person, thank God). So let’s just say I am very familiar with Cuthbert.

There’s a lot to like about her. She’s not one of those trouble/party babes. And she dates hockey players! I play hockey! Sure, it’s street hockey, and I play poorly, but, hey, I can dream. (And yes, she was the “sloppy seconds” that Sean Avery referred to.) Every time when I’ve used the john the last few days, I have had this splendor to look at:

But, wait, there’s more! Turns out there is another Elisha cover on the back of the magazine. 2 Elisha’s for the price of one! O lucky day! I actually prefer the back cover shot. With her sly smile, hand playfully poised behind her head. Take a gander for yo’ self:

It’s almost like she’s saying, “O, Kevin! You’re back again? I missed you so much. I really like spending time with you here. This bathroom gets so lonely for a girl like me.” Ever since she graced the top of the bowl, I have all but stopped whizzing outside. Almost, some habits are hard to break, eh? I don’t know how long Elisha will be gracing my commode. I know sooner or later, she will probably disappear; they always seem to just disappear. (She will probably disappear real quick if someone read s this Klog.) I can only appreciate here time in my bathroom.

If you will excuse me, I have drunk 5 glasses of water in the time it took me to write this up, and I must go pee like a madman.

Still, a part of me wonders, who will be next?

Mandy Moore Watches Me Pee

Really. That’s all I got. I just really like that title. Mandy Moore watches me pee, and she loves it.

Yes, I feel like a bad blogger lately. It’s been awhile since I put something new here. No excuse, just life, weekends, holidays, mind numbing amounts of booze, etc. Actually, I’ve been on a bit more of a roll lately as far as this whole writing thing goes. I’ve gotten some pretty decent sounding leads lately. I mean, there really aren’t any scams on Craigslist anymore, right? I’ve found some cool sounding places to send my work to. And besides being the best damn blog on the internet, KevTheory also works as a nice resume. Nice of course meaning “pieces written about dogs and game shows”. So with this flurry of activity, I guess I should put some new shit on here. Shit, of course meaning “pieces written about toilets and magazines”.

I really wish I had more to say now. I haven’t had any life altering experiences lately. I see Michael Jackson is still dead. I know you all come here for a weekly dose of some sad sack unemployed hack whining about how unfair life is and everyone else is stupid. But that only goes so far.

So what was I talking about? O yea, Mandy Moore watching me urinate. I am sure you have many questions. “Kev, what is Mandy Moore doing in your bathroom?” “What is she chained to?” Isn’t Christina jealous?” What else do you do in front of Mandy Moore?” “Does she think your farts stink or does she cup them up to her nose?”

For the last few days, I have done both #1 and #2 in front of Ms. Moore. I’ve showered, shaved, brushed my teeth in front of lil ol’ Mandy. And just how do I pull this off? Well, it seems my wife has taken to leaving her magazines on top of the toilet. Yes, guys leave SI and Maxim on top of the crapper; chicks leave workout magazines. And for the past few days I’ve been whipping it out and doing the helicopter right in front of Mandy fricking Moore. It’s actually kinda liberating.

And MM just stays there like a good little girl. She doesn’t bitch, nor complain. She doesn’t criticize. She just lays there, a sly smile as I foul the bathroom. I never really liked MM. Nothing going on musically, never really found her ‘hot’ or attractive. But she had that whole Christian thing going on, and who wouldn’t want to defecate in front of that?

I ‘fess to sometimes flipping through her magazines. I never knew who Olivia Wilde was until she was on the cover-guess I gotta start watching House now. I don’t keep any of my few magazines in the john. (I think I only get 1 now anyways.) But it’s funny how workout magazines are still generally the same, even if they are marketed differently to men and women. Almost of the girl workout magazines I flip through whilst deuce-cutting all say the same basic thing on the cover. It’s always how to get tight abs, the hot, new food to eat that will shed the pounds (since when did blueberry count as being new?). There’s a hot new routine that will make you all Megan Fox in just 4 mere weeks. During the summer, there is almost always some quick workout that will get you ready for your bikini in just 3 weeks. Yea, I call shenanigans.

Men’s workout magazines are no different. There is usually something about abs on the cover, too. Whereas most women are looking to slim down, most guys are looking to add muscle. Sure enough, there’s almost always some 4 week program sure to have you ripping your shirts at even the thought of flexing your guns. I used to get a bunch of the workout magazines. Some of the writing was downright funny, in a sad way. Like there was some over-supplemented jock trainer calling you “bra” and yelling such power words as torch, max and pump. Really, after reading the hyperbole in some of these rags, it felt like I was reading WEA’s old hype pages for their shitty releases.

Anyway, back to Mandy. Did you know she’s married to Ryan Adams? How the hell did that happen? How did a credentialed rock star meet and marry a Mandy Moore type. Somewhere, Martika is crying because she’s married to a landscaper.

So that’s all I got. I have to go say hi to Mandy for like the 3rd time today; damn buffalo chicken chili pizza.

Working With Real Men

Originally written August 07
I know what you’re thinking. “Finally, another anti-music biz rant that is full of venom and honesty.” And you would be kinda wrong. Sure, I’ll take my shots if they’re there, but this isn’t about the biz; though I promise those posts are coming. I could go on about how the company that laid off most of their ground troops sent me a letter last week, enabling me to increase my life insurance. But that can wait. I would ask that you read the vacation posts first to get the true culture shock we were in for.

We’re doing over the bathroom. And by “we’re” I mean mostly my father in law and his friend, a former plumber and roofer. They’re both about twice my age. They probably have as many tools as I do CDs. Trust me I know, because my downstairs living room is full of them. While we were away, they started redoing our bathroom. And no job like this is ever easy. They ended up hitting a few problems; wiring wrong, pipes wrong direction, etc. Now add that that we’re coming home 2 days early. We came home to our house looking like it was slowly throwing up a bathroom. In the dining room were the bathroom door, vanity & mirror. Our downstairs room was uninhabitable, covered with tools upon tool upon tools. I hadn’t seen that many tools since the Journey concert. Outside was our old tub and door. Poor Bauer was pretty much confined to 2 rooms while we were gone. We come back to a totally empty room. Studs showing, new insulation going in. Egads, this is gonna be a while.

So since there’s still a few weeks left in the summer (and no one wants to help me build my “hose shower” out in the yard)me and Tara are going to help. You must understand that she is wwaayyyy into this stuff. She watches all those Trading Spaces and house flipping shows. You know, all the ones that say your house now sucks, and you have to fix up every room right now. Me, on the other hand, can’t stand it. I have no tool/reconstruction inclination at all. I have no skill for it. My thumb automatically throbs when I just pick up a hammer. She can spend all day at Home Depot. I’m more about destruction than construction. I just don’t have the patience.

Now what you gotta know about Pops, and his friend Hops, is that they’ve done this all their lives. They’ve been long retired, but still must enjoy it on some level. God bless them, ‘cause I don’t know what we’d ever do without them. They’re old school, true old school. They’re almost too proud to have us help with anything. They’re out cutting drywall, then carrying it up 2 flights of stairs. They’re lifting things, and bending in places that men their age shouldn’t able to, let alone do it of their own free will. We want to help, to at least learn about how to do some of this stuff. But it’s the Hops & Pops show. They’re very entertaining to work with. I swear sometimes they just do this so they can bust on each other. The way these 2 talk, you would think they hate each other, but it’s all in good fun. Old school slurs, lotsa yelling. I kinda realize at this point that if Warner wanted to keep their kickest ass rep, I would have been screwed. Aside from the obvious no shower, there’s no way I could take calls or work at home with 2 old guys loudly calling each other asshole. So I guess that’s a slight silver lining.

So I guess about Tues or Weds, we have to cut cement board for around the shower. However, it’s raining outside, so we have to do it in the garage. This is where more tools and supplies come into the downstairs room. And of course by saying “we cut”, I really mean Hop. So we drag everything that’s in the garage into the room and get to cutting. Lemme tell ya, there are huge clouds of dust when you cut these mofos. It’s so thick, at times you can’t see through it. The dust starts to get everywhere. I get a fan to help blow it out. But there’s white residue all over the place. There’s more white residue at my house than Lindsay Lohan’s place. And it clings to you, too, so it gets in the house. Not fun. Hops is old school, no mask, just holds his breath as he gets this shit all over him. This is a man.

I will go to the gym in the morning, then get back right about when they get here. Since I had been out of the gym for a week, I’m aggressive when I go back. So there’s a bit of a hurting on me when I start. I am sure it’s nothing considering what these guys have to feel like. And through out the course of the day, these guys wear me out. Wear me out physically, and sometimes mentally as well. These guys have tools far older than me, and probably more useful than me, too. Squaring things. Leveling things. Marking the wall. I feel like such a dolt when they ask me to get them a tool, and I have to say “is that that plier-y looking thingie?” I am sure there eyes roll.

Lunch is a sandwich, maybe 2. Some chips, and they’re good. There’s no salad or fruit. Just some slabs of lunch meat, 2 pieces of bread, some mayo and they’re cool. I think they’re so old school-or just plain hungry-that they don’t even wash their hands. I guess they must like a coating of drywall with their roast beef and cheese. And, bam, they’re right back to work. There’s no coffee breaks, no smoke breaks, no checking of emails or phones. Hell, I swear they don’t even go to the bathroom. That’s hard core.

I try to learn and do what I can, but these guys’ drive is to do it all themselves. Or maybe I suck. They’ll give me shit things to do. Say drill in drywall. I’ll do it. It might take me a bit longer to get it done, but they have instilled in me to get it done right. So I might work on that, and think its fine, only to have Hop do everything over. So now I just wasted my time. I think sometimes they just give me shit things to get me out of their way. One day I thought I was doing something good. I was all motivated and like “OK guys, what can I do next?” “Uh..why don’t you go down and make us lunch.” Ouch.

While this is going on, we obviously don’t have a shower (but thankfully we have another toilet). For a few days there was a bit of a novelty. We would go to my parents house since they are the closest. It was good to get a shower. But after a day or 2, I realized, Goddamn, this shower is small. It’s so small I have to leave just to change my mind (rimshot). They have a bar that comes out from the right so no one falls. But it sticks out so far, that I literally can’t fit. If I have my elbows touching my sides, I still touch the wall and the shower curtain. I feel like Andre the fricking Giant. It’s kind of icky, constantly pushing the shower curtain off of you, while you’re trying to get clean. It’s more of a struggle than I sometimes feel up to.

I don’t mind the work. Sometimes it is fantastically numbing to me. But Pop and Hop can be really fun to work with. And I do develop a small amount of pride when I even just did the tiniest thing right. But sweating it up in the gym, then sweating it up here, and not being able to fucking shower here really, really, really grates on me. For those of you who have never met me I’m about 6”1 or so, 215 pounds of twisted steel and raw sex appeal. So once I get moving I sweat and get dirty. So to put in a good, long day of work, and not be able to hop right in the shower fatigues me. It’s now an extra struggle to just do a simple thing; get clean. I have to get a bag together, then go somewhere. Ugh, just imagine this routine for weeks on end. I wised up with my parents, and would at least get over there around dinner time to score a free meal.

I love my parents dearly, and we’ve gotten closer over the years, but sometimes I just want to shower and leave. I’ve gone to the gym. I’ve put in a real day of work. Not pretty boy work like putting up displays, and sitting on the phone and computer. I’ve done real man work. Real labor. Real ‘now that our day is done and we’re skuzzy, let’s go to the corner bar to drink it off and be manly’ kind of work. Except, I still have this little thing of trying to find a job to worry about. The namby-pamby comes out in me, when it seems I just get more tired and worked up to go somewhere to get a shower, only to come back and have the everyday stuff here to take care of. It might not be 7-8 o’clock by the time I am back, stink-free and have time to do stuff. And some nights, it’s a stretch. The dog needs to be walked. Bills need to be paid, wash done, lawn cut, etc. I know Pops and Hops go home and cut their own lawns, or put a new addition on, or some such manly shit that my tank is empty for. Me? I’m a wuss, and want to watch tv.

We’ve showered at my parents. We’ve showered at Tara’s parents. We’ve showered at John and April’s. I feel like we’re carpet baggers. I feel like we’re putting nice people out. J&A had a barbecue, and we showered when we got there. A few of the people were like ‘what’s up with that?’ April had to explain we had no shower. Kinda like we live in the woods or something. A slight bit embarrassing. Maybe I let it get to me too much.

Progress is being made. The shower is almost completely tiled and grouted. You can take a bath, which is what Tara did last night. But real men don’t take baths. There’s no way I can look Hops & Pops in the face in the morning and say “O man, guys, last night I had the sweetest bath.” So I’m still kinda screwed. It’s tempting to take a “whore shower”. I’ve done that once or twice so far, just to carry me over. But I’m afraid I would stink worse than WEA’s fall release schedule (ZING!) Just a few more days I keep telling myself. I’ve been saying that for almost a month now. Sure, there’s still much to do, but just being able to get a shower here will be sweet. It’s really starting to come together, and it’s exciting to see, but sometime’s it like what my mother in law said, “It’s such a small room, why is it taking so long?”

Thankfully, we do have another toilet, which is of course down 2 flights of stairs. I don’t know about you guys, but once I hit my mid 30’s, I have to pee in the middle of the night now. And it sucks to get up, wander around in the dark, wake the dog up, and go up & down stairs just to pee. Then try going back to sleep after that? I can’t do it. I swear, one night I’m just gonna pee off our deck. And now all of our regular bathroom sink stuff is around our kitchen sink. But at least it’s good to kill a beer and brush your teeth at the same place now. The kitchen space is a bit tight now, but it’s a minor problem.

So it could be worse. I know I could never do what these real men do. Just give them Diet Coke, and let them go. I am grateful to have them do this, and at least help me understand why I just can’t drag the hose up through the window to wash all the grout off the tile. For me appreciate your job today. Take a nice, long, hot shower for me to. Some of you can send me pics of that, and you know who you are. Ggrrrrrrrrr.

Stinkfully yours