Bones Schmones

The Mustache Prophecies

2010-02-24T15:53:00.000-08:00

Hello Boners! I have a few things that I need to say to the world and here it is:

My name is Noah Sterba and I do love my bones, but just to warn you this post is not directly about bones. It does have to do with bones, considering I wouldn't be doing any of this without the help of bones. But it is not precicely about bones, its more indirectly about bones. So, first off, I'd like to thank my bones...thank you bones. Next onto my story.

I was sitting in my living room the other day, a bit under the weather and a bit unshaven. My skin was feeling quite odd, like some divine presence was trying to tell me something. I sat and jiggled my skin around for about half an hour, thinking I could shake the queer feeling out of my epidermis, but it did not go away, and still to this day has not. Then the other night, I had a dream, a revelation, a calling. It was no ordinary dream but one of epic proportions sent from the heavens above. In this dream I, in my full 21 year and 4 month old stature, was strapped to my father in the front like this:

The only thing was we were walking through the children's haunted house at the pumpkin patch. It was pretty scary. But anyway, when I woke up from the dream, it was obvious. Everything was all so clear, I realized who I actually was for the first time in my life. I realized that I was the second coming of christ. But I knew being Christ was not all wine and nails. There was work that had to be done. The first thing I knew had to do was make a prophecy. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, right at myself, right in the eyes and it made me feel kinda wierd at first, but then when I looked at the bigger picture, I realized I needed to shave. But in this cold weather my upper lip gets a bit chilly for I do not have a full headed woolen stocking cap or an upper lip warmer, so I decided to leave the small mustache hair I had. From this pondering over the cold weather affecting my lower nose hairs, I have made my first prophecy:

I will grow my mustache, and beginning yesterday as my mustache grows more plentiful and gorgeous, so will the weather in this little town of Omaha, Nebraska. (Which I have renamed Jeuomahalem.)

So, I have spoken, as the mustache grows, say good bye to the snows!

PS I need some cash so if any underagers need alcohol just bring over a jug of water and 15 bucks.

Whoa, time flys when your'e gettin' boned.

2010-01-28T20:49:00.000-08:00

Here's the deal... In a lapse of judgement, we haven't posted in over a month. Hey, our bad.

Here's a list of new things in our life.

1. little dog guys

2. little wrist bone guy

3. 4 bone's days under our belt since our last post

First, YES, we each got some lil' pups in house. The first is a larger than life basset hound mix thang named Carl Sagan. He's a dog that likes his astronomy.

And the second friend, is mah lil' Joose (full name Joosey). A lil' pug. Her favorite movie is Grease 2. She's been on a diet this week and all she's lost is her sense of humor. Just to give you an idea of the personalities we're dealing with.

Next up, we braved one of our biggest fears...PAIN. Pain kinda hurts. We are now reppin' bones real hard on our left wrists. Yeah, we know we got bones under that skin, but now we're wearin bones on the outside. True bones schmones fashion.

Hey I'm naked, and I enjoy a good swivel chair.

Our tat artist, was a real gem. Full of jokes. Just how we like em. First off, this guy thought we were dating. We joked along with the idea saying "we better not break up or else we'd have to get our bones removed". "We're just going to have to get married," we said. Tat guy responded with, "why would you go ruin a great relationship with that?!?" Thanks for your life views, pal, just give us our tats and we'll be on our way.

Mr. McBones went to the chair first, getting his bone out of the way, then Ms. McBones "got boned" according to Mr. Tat Artist. Real funny joke, bud.

SO in conclusion..

Christ it's Christmas.

2009-12-24T09:21:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas Eve here in Omaha, Nebraska. As it seems however, not only will this be a white Christmas, but it will be an absolutely white world. We are supposed to be getting 12+ inches of snow, and reportably historic numbers of snowfall. Now, this causes many inconveniences: people flying to be with their family will have trouble, roads will be awful, and people get stuck and eventually go stir crazy. Me and Mikey Bonestown have come up with an easy solution however.

Big helicoptors will come and cover the entirity of the storms location in clear tarp. These tarps must be tied tight to large posts so as to prevent sagging. Once the snow is done a' comin' the helicoptors come back and pick up the tarp full of snow and dump it in the ocean. This in turn will help put water back in our depleting oceans. I know what you are thinking, "Mcbones, there is one problem, how will the sun get through?" Well I'll tell you, the tarp is heated and immedietly turns the snow to water, allowing the passage of the sun.

It's just another perfect idea from the Bones Team.

I missed Thanksgiving, and got drunk instead.

2009-12-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

It's true. I didn't follow any of my rules. I ate a moose, I forgot Ol' Ambrose, and I certainly did not use any straws. I'm a joke. Instead of buttering up my bones, I simply soaked them in hard alcohol, namely whiskey. I got so drunk I forgot to post for readers, and I feel awful. So for your reading pleasure I would like to write to you about this night of malarkey and bad choices.

First.
We sat anxiously around the table, believing the night was to be just post turkey depression and the feeling of anticipation that seemed to loom but we were never quite able to grasp, until the whisky greased our slimy fingers, allowing the fun to slide easily into our lives.

Second.
"We have whiskey and fun times" We slowly began to feel the affects as the alcohol drowned our brains. Fellow Bones Schmones writer, who would normally shy away from de-masculizing himself, enthusiactically obliged to having make-up put on his face.

Third.
Pardyin' continues. The weight of the good times found themselves falling through our coffee table. And the wooden peices of the broken table are the only visible remnant that exists from the balderdash night.

Fourth.
We over-obeyed one rule, and one rule only. Down, down, down, was played over 14 times.

Fifth.
This Christmas I hope to find myself in a similar state.

Jizz' the season!

Baby are you down, down, down, down, down.

2009-11-24T16:16:00.001-08:00

Greetings to your bones!

As you all know we here at Bones Schmones love to celebrate a good holiday, so, in order to prepare you and your marrow for the holiday season we would like to give you a few helpful tips on how to keep those old skeletons a' grovin' even though the turkey is a' gurglin'.

1. Don't eat moose, espcially not this moose. It's no good fo dem bones. Look at him, he's just a friend. If you are offered a slice of moose, reply politely, "I'm not a moose guy."

2. Pray for Joseph Ambrose. Look, just cuz your bones are nimble doesn't mean you get to forget about ol' brittle bones Ambrose.

3. Butter up them bones. Look, obviously Thanksgiving is a tough time because there is so much food and it just goes right through your bones. So why not slip a little butter right on the source? Them bones will soak it right up!

4. Use a straw. Just use a straw.

5. Lastly, listen to Jay Sean's new hit single-Down. Sure to bring the whole family together.

See you back here on Thanksgiving Day for a report on the festivities!

A Debut of Sorts: Straws

2009-11-10T08:49:00.000-08:00

Submitted for the approval of the Bones Schmones Society, I call this story "The Tale of Straws"...

The first know straws were made of long, hollowed out pieces of grass by the Sumerians for drinking beer. Straws that you and I are used to nowadays were patented in 1888 by a jolly fellow named Marvin C. Stone. There are many different types of straws. Bendy straws, crazy straws, spoon straws, candy straws, mini straws (for juice boxes), cereal straws, etc. One thing I love about straws is how great they make everything taste. What is with these things? No matter what you are drinking, if it comes through a straw, it is going to be a whole new beverage. I hope you all enjoy straws as much as I do.

your new friend,

Mike

p.s. I want to note that this week is full of holidays...

Today: Bones Schmones founder, Kate Humphreys' Birthday!
Wednesday: Veteran's Day! Celebrate with our pal Joseph Ambrose
Thursday: BONES DAY!

celebrate!!

Veterans Day

2009-11-07T21:36:00.000-08:00

Celebrate your Bones with this guy, Joseph Ambrose aged 88. Whether they be old or new bones, Veteran's day is a reason to shake those bones about.

Saint Margaret Mary

2009-10-27T20:06:00.001-07:00

So when I was younger, I used to be a member of the Saint Margaret Mary Parish. I went to CCD every Wednesday, and I had Holy Communian there. So if any of you know anything about Communian, you have to go to confession. From my recollection, I only remember being told to come to church, instead of CCD that Wednesday, but without my knowledge they were planning on this being a confession session.

So I come into church and no one from my CCD class was there. Being only a second grader, I didn't assume class was cancelled or that they were meeting someplace else first, I just got really scared. So, I waited for about five minutes trying to get the play by play of what was going on in church at this time of night (around 7:00). I saw people going into those little wooden rooms and I knew that meant confession. For some irrational reason, I was terrified of confession. I was mean to my brother sometimes, I lied to my Mom, and I'm sure me and my 2nd grade girl friends said bad words under our breath to each other, so I had plenty to confess.

At this point I was alone, and now doubly afriad so all I could think of to do was run home. At this time in my life Saint Margaret Mary seemed terribly far away from my house, but in reality it's about a mile away.

So, frightened to death, I made the walk of death back to my house. It was late fall and the chill in the air wasn't helping my state. I began bawling, and didn't stop crying until I was picked up by my Dad and bro, who happened to be passing by.

Needless to say, I haven't really been back to church and
soon after my parents took me out of CCD, I think because they were beginning to discuss abortion to 2nd graders.

I don't know. Not that funny. Just scary.

Maybe I Am Gay...

2009-10-20T20:49:00.000-07:00

Well, here's the deal, most of my guy friends have noted something I find interesting, most of their parents think that they are/were/are amazed that they aren't.... gay.

This interests me mostly because all of the guys I hang out, to me, seem obviously straight. However, what they share in common is that they usually aren't terribly interested in playing sports, they don't wear clothes that have typical mall clothing stores imprinted across their chest, and they have an interest in music that isn't found on am or fm.

It seems crazy that straight male is defined by sports, steak, and infidelity. If a guy is more interested in keeping a girl's feelings in mind than throwing her out the morning after, clearly he's a flamer.

Who established this? How did this happen? Once men in tights who wrote romantic poetry were incredibly masculine. Like most things influencing people these days, it's probably the media. The idea we have today of an "alpha male" has only come about recently. Once the thought of Humphrey Bogart and Gene Kelly made woman swoon, now we look back and wonder whether those dancing shoes weren't a little light.

Who knows, maybe it's football players, maybe it's Vin Deisel, but I know one thing, I hope it doesn't escalate to that every guy that that doesn't call a girl "his bitch" is a pussy faggot. That'd be the worst.

I searched "gay" in google and the image at the top is what I found.

SAME CLOTHES!

2009-10-15T23:35:00.000-07:00

Ringo Starva wears the same thing everyday.
Nate Johnson wears the same thing everyday.
The guy outside is playing extreme riffs.
Trippin' out with the bros,
mostly I like nachos.
Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones.
STD, I like to play ABC's.
Stream of consciousness, where'd you go.
Jim Beam, Canadian Springs, Where did all the children go?

Let's put ourselves together, and get together. You got to admit it's getting better, it's getting better all the time, since you've been mine. Getting so much better all the time.

This is fake.

Bones Day.

2009-10-15T18:07:00.000-07:00

It was a Sunday, a Sunday not unlike many Sundays before it, lethargic, meaningless, and generally unappealing. Me and two of my friends were sitting around the table rather uneventfully. We would start having conversation for a moment or two, and slowly it would drift off into the undetectable realm that all lifeless Sunday interactions eventually find themselves in. As I sat there, wondering what topic would fill the monotonous air next, I looked down at my wrist bone. As we all know, the wrist bone slightly juts and outs and curves into the hand. I followed this curve with my eyes, and then it came to me, an epiphany of utmost proportions, that would turn this sulking Sunday, into a day of celebration. Not wanting to seem over-excited, for I had no idea what my company's reaction would be to such a startling idea, I quietly said, without looking up, "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were just our bones, one day a week?"
To my deilght, my companians were thrilled! They took my single sentence, and saved our dreary Sunday! We began to discuss the stipulations of "Bones Day", How do you tell each other apart? What if you get hit by a car? When do you put your skin back on? Eventually we decided that every Thursday, respectively, would be said, "Bones Day." It's now the absolute center of my week. I can't eat, sleep, or interact without the constant thought of how my next "Bones Day" is going to elapse.

I leave you with this: Out of a one to ten, my "Bones Day" is always a skeleten.