No reason not to take advantage of a good flood.

Sure the area is devastated and there will be millions of dollars in damage, but for those of us whose cars are in the shop (you'll see why a couple of pictures down), it sure makes traveling a lot easier. With a snorkel and swimming trunks you can travel undetected to anywhere in the city.  If the water levels are high enough, and you can hold your breath for a long time, you might even be able to swim into a store, loot it, and swim out without anyone ever knowing you were there. The trick is getting the plasma television to work after its been underwater for days, but that's for another discussion.

If the price of gas continues to climb like it has been, the government may want to consider purposely flooding cities as an alternative option of public transportation. Just snorkel your way to work, or if you're upper class, purchase a luxury raft. Attire would be a bit of a dilemma, but we can just collectively decide to make it vogue to conduct business topless and in wet Bermudas, or a nice bikini for the ladies.

 It could happen.

Okay, this was a pretty scary day. You probably won't be surprised to know that when this photo was snapped, I was carrying in my shorts an extra three pounds of what used to be in my bowels. Tornados can give a person a new prospective of what it must be like to be a carpet beetle when the vacuum cleaner is heading straight for it. That pretty much accurately describes how I felt that moment.

Call me a pussy, but tornados scare the shit out of me (forgive the pun). I know they only do damage to a small swatch of land at any one time, but I'm no dummy. I saw Twister and I know tornados target humans. Especially that big one at the end that seemed to go only where those two people were running, almost as if they were being followed.

That's pretty messed up.

And what is the defense against a raging funnel cloud spitting 300 mph winds? They tell you to go into your bathtub and cover yourself with a mattress.

Well, that's about as useful as the "duck and cover" strategy in the event of an nuclear blast going off in the next block. If the tornado decides it wants to turn your house into matchsticks you're pretty much fucked. I guess the only good that a mattress will do is that at least you can lay comfortably as you are hurled 150 feet into the air and then rocketed back to Earth. For the record, I'd recommend flying with a memory foam mattress rather than box springs. It will make your experience that much more pleasurable, and the landing feel more like you're doing 290 mph, rather than 300. At the very least, you'll get a very unique view of the surrounding area that very few people have ever experienced without the use of a device to keep them airborne, such as a glider or a rocket pack.

Lucky for me this particular tornado was confused by the cockroach-like panic-induced scattering of humans in the area. It didn't notice me in time and decided target one of my neighbors who happened to be wearing an ipod while he was riding on that tractor you will notice floating gracefully in the background. If he hadn't been listening to Satyricon at full blast he may have heard the sounds and explosions behind him.

Wonder how the view is from up there.

In hindsight, I might have been better suited not plowing through the "DANGER AHEAD" signs and jumping that construction ramp. An even better idea might have been to remain in the vehicle and not open the door only to fall five feet straight into the concrete.

It's funny how fast you lose control of where your car will be heading once you're completely airborne. Sure it's fun, but the consequences can be dire. For example, you can get your head pummeled by a guy who just finished witnessing his car get flattened by another automobile. One minute I'm the Dukes of Hazzard, the next I'm Rodney King.

Thankfully I was able to squirm out of the assailant's chokehold with a well timed knee to his crotch. Very carefully I climbed back into my car (using his side mirror as a stepping stone - I don't think he appreciated that much). He was able to look up just in time to see me start my car and hit the gas, driving forward off his car and back on the pavement.

Hopefully he never got a clear view of my license plate.

I hate to say it, but this website has been in a slump lately. My hit count is way down from an all time record of 10 hits in a single month to an average of about 4 hits a month. Needless to say it's very distressing.

So I decided that I need to start actually advertising the site. Initially my plan was to expose fenrez.com to as many people as possible at one time by advertising during the Super Bowl. Unfortunately I discovered that it's approximately 2.6 million dollars for a 30 second commercial during the game. Seeing as I don't generate any revenue with this website, and the fact that I'm as poor as a broke dick dog, plan A was out.

Time for plan B.

Plan B was an alternative, albeit unique, way to advertise to a large audience, with the added benefit of being free of charge.  It required only a black marker, the act of shaving my chest hair, and a temporary moment of embarrassment. It was worth it, though, because the benefit would be worldwide coverage. I could already see my hit count doubling overnight!

Well, as usual, my plans didn't go as smoothly as I had imagined. I hadn't anticipated how fast the Secret Service is at snatching cameras and destroying the pictures that were taken. Before I had even made it to the other side of the chamber where, for the third time in my life,  I was tackled by secret service agents, they were already busy confiscating anything that recorded the event.

To make matters worse, one of them recognized me from the day I was arrested  for urinating on the White House lawn. Not hard to believe really because that day when he told me to freeze mid stream, I put my hands up, turned in his direction and, unawares to me, started pissing on his leg.

Apparently he was still a bit annoyed about that.

A half naked big girl sitting on my chest must be some kind of bizarre sexual fetish. Maybe I'm acting out some strange fantasy about being a bicycle seat.

Get your mind out of the gutter folks!

What I'm actually attempting to do is raise awareness for dangers of coronary artery disease by simulating the symptoms of crushing chest pain suggestive of a massive heart attack.

My plan is to set up booths in malls around the country so men aged 40 and above can experience exactly what a heart attack feels like. That way, should he feel similar symptoms at a time, say, when he happens to not have a 270 pound half naked female grinding his thorax, then he will know that it is time to call 911. 

My ultimate plan is to patent the idea and sell it to the American Heart Association so that they can implement it into their guidelines as part of their risk reduction package. Maybe one day a middle aged man will go to his doctor and not only get his blood pressure and cholesterol checked, but also spend time in the  "heart attack simulator" room.

You can have your choice, too. Want to feel mild angina? Call in the 110 pound stripper (well, she doesn't have to be a stripper, but it'll be more fun that way). Have a guy who is at higher risk? Might want to let him know what a mild heart attack feels like. Bring in the 180 pound woman in sexy black lace lingerie, with matching 6-inch high heels (again, more fun that way). And if you need to know what it's like to feel the whopping bid daddy of all heart attacks, the transmural ST-elevated heart attack, you call in the mother of all chest-crushers. Big Bertha.

After 10 seconds of that, you can be rest assured he'll never touch another greasy cheeseburger again.