Little known facts about Chuck Norris

My pal Harrison populated a similar list a few months back, and it pleased me greatly. Since then, and update to the list has become available, and I thought it would be just plain selfish to keep it to myself, so my little chickens, read, and learn:

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris, you may be only seconds away from death. 

Crop circles are Chuck Norris' way of telling the world that sometimes corn needs to lie the fuck down. 

In the Bible, Jesus turned water into wine. But then Chuck Norris turned that wine into beer. 

Chuck Norris drives an ice cream truck covered in human skulls. 

Chuck Norris doesn't shower, he only takes blood baths. 

When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes, ever. 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is based on a true story: Chuck Norris once swallowed a turtle whole, and when he crapped it out, the turtle was six feet tall and had learned karate. 

Chuck Norris once challenged Lance Armstrong in a "Who has more testicles?" contest. Chuck Norris won by 5. 

There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live.

In the beginning there was nothing...then Chuck Norris Roundhouse kicked that nothing in the face and said "Get a job". That is the story of the universe.

What was going through the minds of all of Chuck Norris' victims
before they died? His shoe. 

Chuck Norris grinds his coffee with his teeth and boils the water with his own rage. 

A Handicapped parking sign does not signify that this spot is for handicapped people. It is actually in fact a warning, that the spot belongs to Chuck Norris and that you will be handicapped if you park there.

Chuck Norris ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one. 

Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door. 

There is no such thing as global warming. Chuck Norris was cold, so he turned the sun up. 

A high tide means Chuck Norris is flying over your coast. The tide is caused by God pissing his pants. 

Behind every successful man, there is a woman. Behind every dead man, there is Chuck Norris. 

Someone once videotaped Chuck Norris getting pissed off. It was called Walker: Texas Chain Saw Massacre. 

When Bruce Banner gets mad, he turns into the Hulk. When the Hulk gets mad, he turns into Chuck Norris. 

Chuck Norris invented the internet… just so he had a place to store his porn. 

The show Survivor had the original premise of putting people on an island with Chuck Norris. There were no survivors, and nobody is brave enough to go to the island to retrieve the footage.

Chuck Norris has two speeds: Walk and Kill. 

Chuck Norris’ sperm is so badass, he had sex with Nicole Kidman, and 7 months later she prematurely gave birth to a Ford Excursion. 

Chuck Norris doesn't say "who's your daddy", because he knows the answer. 

Human cloning is outlawed because if Chuck Norris were cloned, then it would be possible for a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to meet another chuck Norris roundhouse kick. Physicists theorize that this contact would end the universe. 

The Route of the Damned

My pal Wilksey has this alternate route to Target, or so she says. Every time we try to go to the Target on Route 1, she tries to take us on this "better" route, which she swears is really fast...and guess what? We never, ever get to the Target as intended. Most of the time, we end up going to another Target on Hwy 50. And it takes her a minute to figure out that she's on 50, not on 1, so she curses and stuff for a bit, which is funny. Personally, I like that store on 50, so it's no skin off my back. But I am sick and tired of her wanting to go to the store on 1 and fucking up this "shorter, better" route! We were going to go to the infamous Route 1 Target on Weds. after work, and foolishly, Wilksey tries her route. I begged her, repeatedly, to just go the way we both know works, but she swears she has it under control. I reminded her that we have never had success with this route, but she would hear nothing of it. And guess what? WE DIDN'T GO THE RIGHT WAY, and we ended up downtown by the Washington Monument. Ain't no damn Target near the monuments...no sir, none at all. And I can't get mad at her, cause it really is funny when she does it, I just wish we could have one uneventful trip to that damn Target on Route 1.

I love spellcheck

Spell check is aces in my book. Not only is it highly functional, it's also an unexpected source of good times and humor. I love it when I get to add words to spell check's word bank. For instance, today I added "smellin' ". I've also added "bitchin' ", and "douche bag". I also like it when spell check tries to change a proper noun (usually someone's name) into some other, completely unrelated word. That's always fun. It tries to change my name "Bogda" into "Bogotá" all the time, which makes me feel very international and mysterious. It's also quite fun to have a word so crazy that spell check doesn't even have a suggestion for you. It's like spell check is throwing it's hands up in the air and saying "well...fuck if I know" to your word. Really long last names are good for this, like Ramakrishnan or Sweterlitsch. Good ole spell check, always good for a laugh.

You know what I hate? Tuna.

And some jerk is eating some near my cube...I can smell it. Well, honestly, I'm sure I'll be smelling it all week, cause the insensitive prick who's eating it is probably the kind of insensitive prick that would leave that tuna mess in his/her wastebasket instead of taking it to the kitchen trash. Which means, since no one ever changes the liner in the wastebaskets, that I'll be smellin' that cat's wet dream until I finally get used to it and stop noticing it...which may never come. So, tuna-eater, whoever you are: you need to be fucked...in the ass...by many people...with violence! I hate you, tuna-eater, I hope you get a rash.

Wicked Sweet Nickname

Here's the thing, I can nickname like a champion. I have penned such greats as Pedophile Steve, Uncool Mike, The Senator, The Smuggler, Geezer McGee, The Breather, Stinky (a.k.a. Smelly) and many, many others. But in all my years, no one has returned the favor. I mean, I get called Bogda all the time, but that doesn't count cause it's my last name, all this accomplishes is that I feel like I'm in gym class all the time. Long have I yearned for a sweet nickname, and finally, my dreams came true. My pal Panarelli nicknamed me A-Bomb yesterday, and I freakin' dig it. It makes me sound like an Ultimate Fighting Champion! If I ever start a band, I think it should be called A-Bomb and the Magnificent Seven. And we would rock you so hard, you'd lose control of your bowels. That's hardcore rock.

The Fat Man

So, I'm taking a bath last night, reading my book, minding my own beeswax, and I feel these eyes on me. Because I''ve been peeped at once before (when I was 13 or 14 years old, the yard guy peeped at me while I was in the tub; it was a weird combination of feeling really gross and feeling flattered), and becasue I believe in ghosts, I looked up to see what was what. There, sitting on my hallway rug, is my cat. Now, unless you've met my cat, you may not understand what magnificant sight he is. The Fat Man, also known as Flea, Big Stuff, Fatty and El Gato Guapo Hombre, is a gray and white housecat that weighs in at an impressive 20 pounds. Some of that mass is fattness, but he's also just a huge creature. He's not just a cat, he is a force. He also has really unusual green eyes that always look big and round like dinner plates. Back to the story. So, I'm in the tub, minding my own beeswax, and I feel this stare. The Fat Man is laying on the rug, giving me this stare that says ""what the fuck are you looking at?" It was then that I realized that my cat was cooler than me, and he knew it. This cat allows me to hang out with him, but almost in a condescending way, but I'm cool with that. I mean, it makes me cooler by association, right?

Giant pants

All of the closet doors in my place are now off their tracks. I have the uncanny ability to make this happen everywhere I live. If I could figure out how to get the dang things off the track and remove the doors entirely, that would be aces, but I can only managed to get the doors hopelessly stuck. Consequently, I have little to no access to any of my crap that lives in closets. And tons of shit lives in closets in my house. Alright, so the stage is set: location, my place, time of day, 11:30 in the PM. Bogda enters bedroom and curses the doors. She has to get pants from the closet to wear tomorrow, so she has to reach in the dark and grab whatever she can reach, because closet access has been denied. She crosses her fingers, dives in and grabs a pair of khakis that she thinks are her trusty pants from the Gap. Because it's late, and Bogda isn't paying attention, she can't really confirm that these are indeed the pants she intended to grab. She stuffs said pants in a backpack, along with a saucy orange sweater and a brown t-shirt, then goes to sleep. Next day: Bogda wakes up, puts on gym clothes, then heads out. The gym is across the street from Bogda's office, so a quick bus ride is involved. The workout goes smoothly, as does the shower afterward (except that Bogda secretly thinks no one who showers at the gym is actually getting clean, because the women just dash in and dash out...there's no way they have washed all their bits and pieces...which grosses Bogda out a bit). Makeup goes on, hair gets brushed and Bogda reaches for the pants. Shit Fuck Hell Damn! These are not the right pants. Bogda grabbed the biggest pants in the closet that also happen to have the shortest legs, and threw them into the backpack instead of grabbing the aforementioned trusty Gap khakis. Bogda thinks "oh, this won't be too bad, there only 2 sizes to big, I'll be cool." But no, the super big waist coupled with the super short legs proves to be just plain ridiculous looking. If Bogda walks fast, the pants fall down. If Bogda sits, the pant cuffs hit mid-shin. Good news is, she packed a belt. Bad news is, even with the belt, she looks like a jackass. Bogda hates her closet doors.