Drunk Girl Car Alarm

Recently, my sister inherited a white '95 Pontiac Bonneville. It is in very nice condition, low milage, power everything, and an up-to-date service record from the dealership (No, I am not trying to sell you, my adoring readers, a car). It even has keyless entry and a car alarm, a car alarm so sensitive that it goes off if someone even looks at the car.

Don't know why, but I haven't known anyone with a car alarm in a while. Maybe everyone who really cares about their car has LoJack or Onstar now. Maybe The Club really is effective even when you just leave it sitting on your floor board 90% of the time. Or, maybe I haven't been around a car with a car alarm in a while because they are completely useless and ineffective.

When was the last time you heard a car alarm going off and even thought about going to investigate. Most people hate car alarms, and if you are someone who doesn't hate car alarms and think they are stupid, then you are either deaf or are some sort of electro-taint club DJ always looking for a new beat, a new sound... a new sound man... bro.

Guess what. Guess.

That's right, I have an idea for a more effective car alarm. I call it the Drunk Girl Car Alarm, and you probably already see where this is going. This car alarm would play a recording of two drunk girls giggling and yelling at each other.

"I AM SOOOOO DRUNK!"

"Becky Sue! Put your TOP back on...yur notgunna get laid tonight! Hahaha! What'r'you'doin? Hahaha!"

"Can you see my thong? Can you? Hahaha... I shouldn't have had all those Jello shots! Damn! I wish Beau was here... Where's Smitty and that black Mustang of his? Hu!"

"Hahaha! I can't waito getoutof these clothes...TAMMY! You want'm'to grab yur boob? FINE! Hahaha!"


If there are any guys within a half mile when these phrases are shouted with a slurred Southern accent, they will come to investigate. It's primordial instinct. This "Siren" call will be much more effective than any beeping, blaring, blubbering horn you could ever orchestrate. Plus, the kind of guys that are really going to flock to this... well...

You can make this a reality. You can make millions of dollars. And, if you are a good person, you can send me some of that money to say thanks.

You could find dozens of research papers and psychology books to support and explain the validity of this idea, but here are some sales points to bring up when you are trying to get start up money from venture capitalist angle investors (AKA your Mom and Dad).

1. You catch more flies with honey.

2. Women are told to yell "FIRE" instead of rape.

Make this happen!

P.S. I am still writing this blog, so you should still be subscribing to it... if you like me and aren't mean.

P.P.S. If you want to read my father's obituary it is here. It is hard to boil a life down into a couple of paragraphs. Try it sometime.

Cute Cure For Cancer

We need to find a cure for cancer.

Duh! Right?

The problem with cancer is that everyone forgets about it, like that rat inside your walls that doesn't bother you during the day, but at night it comes out and bugs the hell out of you, scratching and clawing around, scurrying furiously through the bowels of your home causing havoc and forcing you to imagine its little claws grubbing over the inside of your thighs. You want to get up and smash a hole in the wall, but you are in your boxers and just want to get some sleep. Then, when you wake up the next morning, you are tired, but you have forgotten about the rat until the next night.

Maybe you are sitting there muttering something about you not being that kind of person. Fine. You are the kind of person who would kill that rat right away, or have taken certain measures to prevent the rat from getting inside your walls.

Guess what.

It doesn't matter how many miles you swim or how many acia berries you gnaw on, if you live long enough, you are going to get cancer. You are going to get cancer. I am going to get cancer. Everyone gets cancer. It's just a matter of time, for me approximately 35 years from now... no... now. No. Okay, okay, start counting... now!

How do I know?

Well, my father, Charles McCarthy Jr. and uncle, Joseph McCarthy just died one week apart from each other from a hodgepodge of cancers. My uncle was 64 and my father was 71. My dad had been fighting cancer for about 5 years. He started with breast cancer, yes breast cancer.

Yep, I have 35 years, so all of you oncologists, 5k runners, and magnetic pink ribbon salesmen need to get to work, because we need to find a cure for cancer, if not for all of humanity, then just for me. You now have a deadline, 2044. This should help some of you procrastinators get involved, since I know you can't get any work done until the night before it is due.

I am not a doctor, and I haven't ever even played one on TV, but I do have an idea about how to fight cancer.

What is it?

Bunnies... cancer bunnies.

Simple explanation: Everyone loves bunnies. I bet cancer does too.

Scientific explanation: The path of least resistance is one of the fundamental principles of science and our understanding of the universe. Basically, everything in the universe behaves like your lazy stoner friend who cheated off of you in shop class and is, at this moment, crashing on your couch. Ironically, he is also probably the guy that will find a cure for cancer the night before the deadline I have given you.

Cancer is not an invasion of the body by some outside fighting force like the Russians and Cubans invading the United States in Red Dawn. Cancer is a rebellion, a rebel army, your cells turning against the rest of your body, like Patrick Swayze and the rest of the Wolverines in Red Dawn. Of course, cancer isn't as cute as Swayze, who is, himself battling cancer, just like he battled the Russians and Cubans in Red Dawn.

There are four basic ways a rebellion can end. One, the rebel forces win over the hearts and minds of the people, and a bloody tide of change washes over the land, such as in the French Revolution. Two, the rebel forces are all killed, ALL killed. Three, the peace is bartered through negations. Four, the rebels are offered an out, a way to leave the country that they are in without a fight. The Pilgrims got this option, and they took it because going somewhere else was easier than fighting the British army.

If we think about cancer in these terms, option one means death, options two and three are being attempted, but the fourth option hasn't been explored.

I believe that if the cancer was offered another, more hospitable place to move to, outside of the human body, it would go there instead of fighting, mutating, or moving to another part of the human body. Genetically engineered bunny rabbits would be my choice connected to the patient with some sort of umbilical cord that would allow the transfer of biological materials from the patient to the bunny. The patient would be treated for cancer, making their body an inhospitable environment for cancer, while the bunny would beckon to them like the most beautiful and alluring geisha in Japan.

The cancer would follow the path of least resistance, metastasizing and migrating into the bunny.

Cancer cured.

The bunny could then be given to patients with other terminal illnesses or people that don't want to have to take care of a grown up rabbit.

P.S. I am still writing this blog, so you should subscribe.

P.P.S. Here is the first hit single from my old band the Attractive Eighties Women, Mama, Get A Mamogram. I left the band to follow my dreams of not being in a succesful band just like David Lee Roth or the fifth Beatle. They are still going strong. Visit AttractiveEightiesWomen.com to learn what AEWsomecore is all about.

P.P.P.S. Here is a link to the obituary I wrote for my uncle Joseph McCarthy. I have to work on my father's right now.