Tuesday, February 27, 2007

LICENSE NOT TO DRIVE

"My name is Barney Stinson and I don't know how to drive."

God that feels good to say. For years, I've been ashamed and embarrassed—handcuffed by this terrible secret from a society that demands we strap ourselves into mobile deathtraps one by one, the auto equivalent of a marriage contract. But recently, a near-death experience opened my eyes. No longer am I to be humiliated and disgraced. I am to be celebrated. My lack of vehicular knowledge shall be worn as a badge of honor—one that proudly screams, "I am Barney Stinson and I need a ride!"

Don't believe me? Well as usual, sit back and relax as I school you in the ways of the non-mobile. Below is a comparison of a typical day in my life vs. a typical day in the life of a driver—Frank. (Please note: Frank's kids were a result of a tryst in the backseat of what? His car.)

8:00 AM — I wake up, bid adieu to last night's conquest, and slip on my Dolce & Gabbana double—breasted. I step outside—the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, but I'm still a little sleepy. Lucky for me, all I have to do is hop in the backseat and enjoy not having to drive. Frank's been up for hours— the kids are crying, his wife's corn-laden feet need massaging. He throws on his overalls and heads toward his sedan. It's pouring rain and he left the car window open.
10:00 AM — Having been stimulated by a delightful conversation with my morning chauffeur, Ranjit, I've spent the last hour making more money than I could possibly spend in my fantastic, happy, awesome life.Frank just got to work— traffic was a nightmare. Plus, he had to stop and get gas and an oil change. Total cost $2500. He would like to ask his boss for a raise, but that's ludicrous—he just showed up to work over an hour late.
12:30 PM — I call it a day at work and grab a delightful lunch at a nearby café. The meal takes a bit too long, so in the middle of eating, I go feed the parking mete—oh, that's right, I don't have a parking meter to feed. Instead, I save the money and put it toward an afternoon indulging myself in a game of laser tag. I've earned it. Frank sure is hungry—but no time for lunch. He's off to pick up a "friend" at the airport. On the way, he scarfs down a burger and ketchup spills all over him. When he looks down to clean it up, he runs a red light. He's pulled over. Total cost of the ticket: $650.
4:00 PM — Fired up from my unprecedented streak of laser tag wins, I leisurely stroll down the streets of Manhattan. I decide to take a nap. After all, my active lifestyle would leave any mortal man tired.Frank just got to work. On the way back from the airport, his car broke down. When he gets to a garage, the mechanic gives him the diagnosis: His rotary belt got disconnected from the carburetor, the windshield wiper and gas pedal are malfunctioning and the headlights short-circuited the electrical system, cutting horsepower by tenfold. Total cost: $23,018.
9:00 PM — All eyes are on me as I hit MacLaren's. I look good; the fresh air I got strolling around New York was rejuvenating. Tonight is going to be another sweet night. I order a few rounds and enjoy… Why not, right? I'm not driving.Frank stays late to catch up on all the work he missed. However, he parked his car in the wrong spot and it is towed. Having to miss more work, his boss fires him. On the way home, Frank drives over a nail and gets a flat tire. He pulls over to change it when a pack of wild dogs eat him.


So take that Lisa from 11th grade who wouldn't go out with me because I didn't have a license. Owning and operating your very own motor vehicle is rarely worth the time and effort.

I prefer to follow in the footsteps of some other famous non-drivers—Jesus Christ, George Washington and Miss Daisy—and enjoy life from the backseat.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

THE BARNEY STINSON THEATRE EXPERIENCE

As many of you know, I'm an art enthusiast, a patron if you will. Personally, I've sponsored many a dancer and it's been so stimulating to watch them achieve such new and flexible heights.

Recently, I turned my creative energy toward proving that playwriting is a cinch: in fact, with the lights off, anything can be a great performance. So may I humbly present to you excerpted selections from the Barney Stinson Theatre Experience (Copyright, 2007).

Love always,
The Bardney

CURTAIN UP:
A handsome gentleman saunters onto the stage.

ME
Moist. Moist. Moist. Moist. Moist. Moist. Moist.


Repeat for forty minutes.

COSTUME CHANGE: ROBOT

ME (CONT'D)
Car factory. Lay off. Lost and alone. Oil change!
WD-40?


Robot walks stage right (or left). In a robot manner, pick up watering can. Pour some water in flower pot.

SPECIAL EFFECTS: Flowers sprout. Robot surprised! Robot smells the flower. More surprise. Improvise dance for 15 to 20 minutes.

ME (CONT'D)
Feelings. Inside. Oh no!


COSTUME CHANGE: NUDE

ME (CONT'D)
Insurance. Anatomy. Pharmaceutical sales.
Sculpture. The locksmith. The David.


Jumping jacks - 10 to 15, depending on the moment.

MUSIC CUE: Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes."

COSTUME CHANGE: JUDGE'S ROBES

ME (CONT'D)
I object! Sustained. Overruled. Counselor, where are you going with this? I'll allow it. I rule in favor of the plaintiff. You must give the defendant... one hug... of a bear variety!


COSTUME CHANGE: KING OF ENGLAND

ME (CONT'D)
Hear ye, hear ye! From this day forward, I do hereby declare, that the third Monday of every month shall be...


The King drops dead. LIGHT CUE: Shut off. CUE: Applause/adulation.

If you are interested in staging your own production of the BSTE, go ahead. Just send me the link to your video at barneystinson@yahoo.com. Theater is a living being and should be free to all.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

UNCLE BARNEY’S MAIL SACK

Dear Uncle Barney,

In the fall, I was cut from JV football. In the winter, I was cut from JV basketball. And now, in the spring, I’ll probably be cut from JV baseball. How will I ever get chicks if I’m not awesome at sports?

-Brian Kaufmann, Maryland


Dear Brian,

Have I failed you? Have I not made the path to awesomeness clear? Scoring a chick using athletic ability is like Michelangelo using a sledgehammer to carve the David. Sure, it can be done, but there are other tools that do the job better. (Yeah, you know what tool I mean.) But, since your mind is in the right place, I will reveal the secret to athletic success. Ready?

You just do them.

Sports are easy. I recently ran the New York City Marathon without even a day of training. Why? Because training the body is a waste of time. Why do something over and over when it only counts once? That’s like going on more than one date with someone.

Once you realize that so-called “athletic talent” is all in your mind, it becomes a simple matter of selecting the sport that maximizes your Chick Attractiveness Potential, or CAP. You think Johnny Third-String on the football team is going to get more chicks than Johnny World Champion Javeler? Javelier? Javelinist? One who throws a javelin. Individual sports are where it’s at.* Women are simple creatures: Too much movement makes it difficult for them to focus. Lend them a hand. Select a sport where the target is clear: You.

*notable exception: Laser Tag

Included below is a selection from my forthcoming self-help book, “I’m Gonna Teach You How to Live.” Good luck, Brian.

-The Barnacle

BARNEY’S GUIDE TO ATHLETICS

Running: Start running. Don’t stop.

Bowling: Roll heavy ball into pins. Wear funny shoes.

Long Jump: Jump. Long.

High Jump: Jump. High.

Bull Riding: Hold on. After 8 seconds, let go. Run. (See Above)

Jai Alai: Jai. Alai.

Speed Skating: Skate fast. Turn left.

Horse Racing: Sit on horse.

Rock Climbing: Find a rock. Climb it. Don’t fall.

Diving: Jump into water.

Monday, February 5, 2007

THE STINSON SUPER BOWL PARTY SPORTSBOOK

For a gambling man, Super Bowl Sunday is just like Christmas, but with cheerleaders. Traditionally, one can bet on anything from the coin toss to the final score. But for the seasoned gambler, betting on mere sports is an insult to the glory and splendor of Super Bowl Sunday - the real challenge is betting on Super Bowl parties.

So like the Santa Claus of the Super Bowl, I'm sliding down your chimneys and into your La-Z- Boy recliners with my own Super Bowl Miracle: The Stinson Super Bowl Party Sportsbook. Included here are ten examples of bets you can make that will really liven up your own Super Bowl parties.

10 Things to Bet On At Your Own Super Bowl Party

  1. Total number of trips to the bathroom
    (monitored by toilet-flush count)

  2. Number of Janet Jackson jokes attempted during halftime show

  3. Number of economy-sized chip bags consumed
    (side bet: Barbecue vs. Salt & Vinegar)

  4. Total weight gain from kickoff to finish

  5. Carpet spills

  6. Number of John Mellencamp songs featured in commercials

  7. Guest to seat ratio
    (NOTE: The floor does not count as a seat)

  8. In which quarter will you run out of cups?

  9. Total number of "shhh's" during commercial breaks

  10. Total beers consumed
    (bottle count)