Tom Oatmeal

“Oh no! Pleeeeeease don’t take the Miller High Life...

Fri, 25 May 2012 15:18:09 -0700

“Oh no! Pleeeeeease don’t take the Miller High Life out of here. Whatever will we do? Oh, and pleeeeeease don’t grab those bags of garbage and that rotting deer carcass on your way out.”

For some people, the great American pastime is baseball. For...

Fri, 25 May 2012 11:17:53 -0700

For some people, the great American pastime is baseball. For others, it’s putting a piece of notebook paper in the toilet and then singing the Ghostbusters theme song as they try to urinate a hole through it.

On the outside of the box, there is a question mark and it says...

Sun, 20 May 2012 19:21:00 -0700

On the outside of the box, there is a question mark and it says that the image on the puzzle is a mystery, but it’s a good mystery and so you should buy it anyways. You should give it a try.

And so you do.

You put the puzzle together and not until that last, gigantic piece do you realize that the image of the puzzle is a photograph of you doing that exact same puzzle. You’re even wearing the same clothes. It’s clear that the picture was taken from right behind you and so you turn around, slowly. Terrified.

“Um…hello?”

“Hi,” I say. ”Hi there. Hi. Hello. Hi.”

And around my neck is a special kind of camera that can take pictures and immediately make them appear on puzzles.

Whenever I see someone trip because the sole of his shoe caught...

Fri, 18 May 2012 12:23:00 -0700

Whenever I see someone trip because the sole of his shoe caught against the concrete, it makes me want to go up to him and say, “Hey. Looks like the traction on those shoes is a little too good, am I right?” Then I hand him a business card and tell him that I am a scientist who has invented a liquid that can break down shoe traction.

Later, at my house, my mom screams up to my room: “Hey! You have a phone call!”

But by then, I’m all depressed.

“Tell him to go away!” I scream. “There is no goddamned shoe traction liquid! There’s nothing! NOTHING!”

It was another long day in the studio and I could see through...

Wed, 02 May 2012 09:24:17 -0700

It was another long day in the studio and I could see through the glass that tensions were running high among the rapping guys. When they finally broke for lunch, I decided to approach them with a little morale booster.

“While I was waiting, I wrote down some superlatives,” I said, unfolding the list. ”Little awards for each rapping guy. I thought it would be fun to -

“Don’t,” said the Two Pack Rapper.

“Okay,” I said. ”I was just kidding around, anyway. Totally joking.”

Back in the privacy of my office, I mulled over the situation for a long time before ultimately deciding that placing the list in any trashcan presented too high a risk of one of the rapping guys finding it later. I was going to have to eat it.

With tears streaming down my face, I chewed the piece of paper until my jaws ached.

“Stop crying, you stupid baby!” I thought angrily. ”You did this to yourself! That’s right -chew it up good! Eat it like the worthless idiot you know you are!”

When we bumped into each other again, it was clear that the rapping guys had absolutely no knowledge of my earlier meltdown. The towel around my neck had done well to catch the mixture of ink and tears that rolled off my face. It wasn’t the first time I had been forced to eat an incriminating document and without some help, it wouldn’t be the last.

THE END.

What the letter said was that I found her very attractive and...

Fri, 20 Apr 2012 11:11:00 -0700

What the letter said was that I found her very attractive and that I’d seen her walking her dog a lot and so I just wanted to say hello. It also said that I’d watched her several times through a window, but not like HER window or anything. I meant through my car window when I was driving. And that “watching,” sounds so creepy. It was more like I just happened to glance over and see her.

That was the gist of it. And I didn’t have any paper so I wrote it on an old traffic ticket envelope and put it under her windshield wiper blade.

“Hey!” she screamed.

I started to respond, but she marched right by me and up to the parking enforcement officer who I guess was standing behind me.

“I was parked just fine!” she screamed. “What is this, some sort of bullshit quota you have to fill?!”

He didn’t like the accusations and so he fired right back.

“I didn’t give you a ticket!”

“Liar!”

“Man oh man,” I thought.

And I guess she was having one of those days because she pulled a gun out of her purse and shot the parking officer three times in the chest. Then, she put the gun barrel in her own mouth and pulled the trigger. It was a huge mess.

“Well, I guess that’s a no,” I said, in a real sitcom-y voice.

“WAY-TO-MAKE-IT-ALL-ABOUT-YOU,” boomed the helmet fastened to my dog’s head that converted his barks to English.

I poured the remainder of my expensive latte on the dog’s helmet, which caused it to crackle and malfunction.

The right girl was out there somewhere. And I would find her.

Next to me, the dog’s helmet made a crackling noise. A sarcastic crackling noise.

A good children’s book for at-risk kids would be about a...

Wed, 18 Apr 2012 15:48:43 -0700

A good children’s book for at-risk kids would be about a vibrator that accidentally gets flipped on and then bounces around town to meet all of the city workers and learn about what they do.

The Search for Eric Continues…

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 13:49:35 -0700

The Search for Eric Continues…

Well, I think what happened is when he realized he was trapped...

Sat, 14 Apr 2012 12:46:16 -0700

Well, I think what happened is when he realized he was trapped and likely to die in that industrial dryer, he decided to put on as many layers of the clothing as he could so we’d have a laugh when we found him. Like, “Hey! I’m a big puffy, pillow guy! Do you happen to know where the, uh, whatever is?”

You know? That, or maybe it’s exactly what it looks like: The brute strength of the dryer caused the clothes to wrap around his limp, battered body. Actually, you know what? I think that’s what it was. Yeah. Because look: He didn’t even bother putting his arms through the sleeves.

And if Pop could manage to steal a scarecrow, well then that was...

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 08:20:18 -0700

And if Pop could manage to steal a scarecrow, well then that was good news for my brother and I. It meant two outfits: The denim overalls and then whatever garment Ma could make by sewing the scarecrow’s straw body together.

“And I got the straw,” I said to the tourists. “It’s a cape.”

“We’re kind of in a hurry,” said the mom. “Can you please just take the picture? I’m sorry. I know you’re doing us a favor, here.”

“Don’t mention it, Ma’am,” I said with a smile as golden as my straw cape.

The mother and her two sons huddled together and posed as I lifted the camera to my face, backwards.

“Wait,” the young boy started to say, but I took the picture. It was bright. The mom stepped forward and retrieved her camera.

“It’s fine,” she told her young son. “We’ll do another one later.”

For the rest of their lives, the mother and son only thought of me twice after that. Once when they got the film developed and then about a week later on the news.

The report said that the crane had been lifting the gigantic telescope lens into the museum when some guy covered in straw had accidentally walked under it.

“He just burst into flames,” said a witness.

“But he was also kind of melty,” added the young son of the witness, whose learning disability made him prone to tactless observations.

“Yes,” said the man. He reached down and tousled the boy’s hair, a gentle plea for silence that was successful in both its intent as well as summoning the man’s guilty conscience. Every book he’d read had lauded encouragement in these instances; One even going so far as to describe it in a tangible sense: Seeds from which miracles grow.

In his heart he thought it was probably all bullshit, but what the hell? Encouragement was free.

“Yes,” said the man, once again. “He was melty like a candy bar.”

THE END.

The pancake is so hot that when it hits the guy’s face, it...

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 15:54:00 -0700

The pancake is so hot that when it hits the guy’s face, it just sticks. The family receives word and they race to the hospital, but the main doctor is like, “Sorry folks, the pancake was too hot. The best we could do was carve out little eye holes and then a mouth hole.”

It sure is sad at first, but when they peek in, they see that the doctor had the restaurant send over a second pancake that he fashioned into a tiny hat - no charge.

I love how over on the right, it’s like, “Oh and...

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 14:39:02 -0700

I love how over on the right, it’s like, “Oh and speaking of baseball, why not play fantasy baseball?”

Next time I hear about someone being run over by a car, I’m going to be like, “That’s so funny! I actually rode in a car earlier today!”

ericisanidiot: tomoatmeal: Baseball Talk with Gom Well I...

Sat, 31 Mar 2012 10:24:27 -0700

ericisanidiot:

tomoatmeal:

Baseball Talk with Gom

Well I think I speak for every terrible garage band and amateur magician when I say that I sure do miss Myspace. It was such a great way to communicate about sports like base bulb and the one with the bouncy thing. Oh well! The Basebulb season is about to start. Get ready for lots of pitching, foul balls and fair balls. Also, strikes and outs. There has never been a pitch thrown where the pitcher puts the ball into his mouth and then spits it at the batter. Will this be the year for that? Maybe. I’m not a fortune teller.

Checking In

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 00:27:00 -0700

How's California?

Good.

Good. Well it's cold here.

Sorry to hear that.

Did you get that bag of ice I mailed you?

You mean the empty plastic bag? Yeah. You shouldn't have.

What do you mean, "Empty?"

Come on...

(The images I saw in my head were vivid: A mailman, using a key to tear a small hole into the box and then, after that, another small hole in the bag of ice. And maybe he didn't even intend to steal any more than just a few cubes, enough to cool down his glass of iced tea, but that's the thing with ice, isn't it?)

Son of a bitch!

The red light brought us to a dead halt on the sidewalk and when...

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 10:08:00 -0700

The red light brought us to a dead halt on the sidewalk and when it looked like enough of us had piled up, the guy from the Everything Ten Dollars store took it as his cue to saunter up with news of a desperate, late afternoon sale.

“For the next two hours, everything’s five ninety-nine!” he screamed. “Everything in the store!”

I rolled my eyes and in my most sarcastic tone, replied, “Five ninety-nine?! I wasn’t interested when the stuff was TEN dollars!”

Almost as soon as I said it, I realized I had it backwards: The higher price of ten dollars was actually LESS enticing to a consumer than a lower price. My comment was both inaccurate and stupid.

“Come on traffic light! Change already! These greedy idiots have had enough time to drive! Give the other side a chance!”

On the bus ride home I realized that I knew from the start that I had the insult backwards, but I had gone on and said it anyway.

“Probably just some kind of semi-conscious effort at self-sabotage,” I said to the baby resting in the little carrying case thingy. “Love and hate are like two inverse and ever-turning radio dials that control a single signal resting on a single plane.”

I started to tell the baby about a homeless man I saw leaning against a newspaper stand and tuning a plastic, toy ukulele and how at first I felt relieved that nothing that I had done that day was that stupid.

“But if I replace “stupid” with “futile,” I said to the baby. I sighed, not yet ready to bring the second half of that nightmare to life with words.

“She’s sleeping,” said the baby’s mom.

I smiled. The verdict was in: I was officially at war with myself and though it was beyond me to predict the outcome, I did know with certainty that the winner, whoever he was, would be rewarded with a jar of applesauce that I had stolen from that careless baby.

THE END.

This is me at the hotel minibar every time.

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 15:16:56 -0700

This is me at the hotel minibar every time.

March Madness is fucking awesome.

Fri, 16 Mar 2012 18:35:28 -0700

thegreg:

LET’S GO LEHIGH!

I wonder how many sportswriters are just waiting to write the headline, “MIZZ-ERY LOVES COMPANY” at the end of this game.

Ugh. I can’t believe my Tigers were unable to make the basketybulb generate more points. I’ll save a seat at the bar for you, Duke fans.

OFFICER: We chased him all the way over to this golf course, but...

Wed, 14 Mar 2012 15:07:31 -0700

OFFICER: We chased him all the way over to this golf course, but then he just disappeared on us.

THE MAIN SPY: He’s here. Hiding.

OFFICER: Well what are we supposed to do? Scour every inch of this golf course? That’ll take forever!

THE MAIN SPY: I have a better idea.

In his daydream, the Main Spy pictures himself on a riding lawnmower, chasing the grass-haired villain. It becomes so vivid that he doesn’t even realize he’s making lawnmower sounds.

THE MAIN SPY: Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

OFFICER: Are you imagining killing him with a lawnmower?

THE MAIN SPY: No.

OFFICER: Because I think it would make more sense just to shoot him.

THE MAIN SPY: I know. That’s what my plan was going to be.

The Commissioner walks up. He’s a large, jovial man in a cowboy hat and bolo tie.

COMMISSIONER: Hope you dummies weren’t talkin’ bout killin’ him with no goddamned riding lawn mower.

OFFICER: We weren’t.

But the case of the grass-haired bandit has been a long, vicious affair and the Main Spy drifts back into thoughts about mowing.

THE MAIN SPY: Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

On the next episode of, “Big, Dumb, Loud Motherfuckers Who...

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 16:46:33 -0800

On the next episode of, “Big, Dumb, Loud Motherfuckers Who I Guess Are Working on Something in the Woods or Something.”

“Hey! I’m dumb and loud! Let’s fucking fight!”

“Fuck you! I’m dumber and louder! I’m going to win the fight!”

“Hey fuck both of you fat, loud dummies! I’m the dad character so I’m the biggest fucker and I’ll fight both of you!”

They fight and then it rains. A scientist explains to the group of dumb, loud, motherfuckers that in this case, the rain was a result of nature literally expressing regret at the chain of events that resulted in both the dumb, loud, motherfuckers themselves and the assholes that decided to broadcast their antics on television.

The entire group of big, dumb, motherfuckers begin working collectively on a rational thought that might serve as a response to the scientist’s words, but the exercise proves too daunting and they settle for making fun of his glasses.

When are you going to reveal your true identity so that I can find you and force you into marrying me?

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 00:57:53 -0800

I’m sure you’ve seen me before. I’m just a regular guy who walks around town with a tote bag with business inside.

Anyways, let’s get married. I got some tickets in the mail for this motivational speaking event at the LA convention center. We can do that for our honeymoon. I figure I should tie the knot while I have this rare opportunity to really wine and dine you. Suze Orman will be there along with the original private investigator from “Matlock.” It’s a $40 value so let me know soon.