The Showath

Wow, it has been a long time. I know no one reads this, so it doesn’t really matter. But, I’ve decided to stave off the brain-mushing effects of being out of school for 2 years I had better write something. I tried writing traffic tickets, but it was pointed out to me that awesome as the power of Action Steve is, I still have no “authority” over lesser men.

Except in the area of the Showath. I am king of the showath. I am also king of pants and no-pants. To understand that you must ask Action-wife.

What is a Showath I hear you ask from atop my gilded throne? I am glad for your curiosity, for it is truly the greatest of all morning routines, and (confidentially) the secret to all my power.

Let us first examine the word. Showath from the Latin, shwatis, meaning to eviscerate small animals. The jury is sill out on this one (much like science). However, most scholars agree that the sheer man-pleasure an ancient roman legionnaire received from performing an act of shwatis on say, lesser empires, is roughly equivalent to the joy a modern man receives form a truly wonderful showath.

(As a curious side note, Showath in French means to flee from pursuers while peeing oneself. But, as that is their national sport, it only stands to reason that many French words do in fact have meaning based on some variation of this phrase. The entire French language was invented to more properly describe how to run from pursuers. You know how Eskimos have like 30 words for snow? Same thing with the French. Only with, you know, running. And fleeing.)

The modern derivation of the word Showath comes from the combination of two words. Shower, and Bath.

But how does one implement such a feat of pure awesome and manliness?

The following is for informational purposes only. In no way does Action Steve inc. recommend actually performing a Showath. Doing so will cause blindness and almost immediate death.

Step 1: Turn on the shower. The proper way to do this, as all men are born knowing, is to take the water to a temperature that will scald and boil the skin from your bones and then take it back a skoosh.

Step 2: Aim the water to the back wall of the tub to warm the uncomfortably cold tub and tile/ceramic/gilded wall.

Step 3: Position water in such a way as to hit you in the chest in the unlikely situation you were to be found sitting in the back of the tub.

Step 4: Sit in the back of the tub.

Step 5: Enjoy the pure awesome and manliness of it all.

This practice was passed on to me from the sage I found in the cold frozen tundra of the north, after passing almost insurmountable obstacles with Chuck Norris as my only companion.

I offer it to you free of charge, with only the modest request that once you enjoy the pure awesome etc…(see above) you make me your liege lord. (I’ve been having rebellions as of late and need to replenish my stock of vassals)

You will find this a fair price.

~Action Steve

Assassination Attempt 107...

The Chinese, or one of my other many enemies, are stepping up their plans. As I sat in comfortable safety in my office, a window nearby shattered. An exterior window. There is no visible projectile on the ground, leading to one of two possible conclusions. 1) They have developed vanishing bullets and the bullet proof glass I had installed has foiled them, or more frighteningly, 2) They have bred and trained a genetically advanced race of super sized, indestructible kamikaze birds.

Each is equally likely.

Birds are now, regrettably, on my &$*# list. That’s right friends; our once-time fine-feathered-friends have been twisted and corrupted into avian assassins, the likes of which have not been known since the days of Omar, the crazed pigeon trainer. I have already “dealt” with Omar, so this is a mystery.

Vanishing bullets have been on my &$*# list for some time.

Button pushing, and the downfall of civilization...

A nefarious and insidious plague is sweeping the world! Button pushing has become an epidemic of biblical proportions that must be dealt with immediately! What is button pushing you ask from your throne of sweet naive ignorance?

Every morning, mild-mannered secretary Stephen comes into work to see the shining lobby of his office, a beacon of the progress and economical innovation that the Western World has striven to achieve these many centuries. That effort, we will see, was for naught. For along with the glory of individually packaged crème-filled cakes, Sprite, and $.50 Mondays at the dollar theater, it also begot the most heinous of all evils…Button Pushers!

Across the lobby of the beautiful office building lies the elevator, hereafter known as the Box Of Selfishness And Doom (BOSAD). The BOSAD will turn even the most normal and well adjusted individual into a button pusher. All it requires to work its twisted blend of magic and evil is a little time lost. The few extra minutes it took the formerly well adjusted individual to pet the dog can be enough. The time lost to expressing love for ones wife and children. The extra-long column in the newspaper that morning, any of these things, any one of these things is all it takes.

As mild-mannered secretary Stephen approaches the BOSAD each morning, he will look up from his customary moment of reverence and see glistening in the eyes of the BOSAD’s lone occupant that memory of time lost, and opportunity squandered. Then the evil begins. The occupant, who not moments ago was well-adjusted, will look Stephen in the eye, then reach to press the button for his desired floor. He will look at Stephen once more from across the expanse. He will then reach down with his finger and press the close door button, never taking his gaze from the secretary. The glisten in his eye has turned to cold and unfettered hatred towards all who would make him accountable for his own lack of foresight earlier that morning.

It is with this imagined wrong that he is comfortable looking the secretary in the eye as he brings his hand down and presses the button with all the self-satisfied arrogance of one who has, after years of plotting, finally destroyed all those who oppose him.

Stephen will stand there, his head hung in shame at what the world has become. He will weep a tear or two for the horrifying reality that is humanity, then board his own elevator. For him, he tells himself, it will never be a BOSAD, but merely an elevator. He looks up and offers a sad but sincere smile to the occupant that joins him on his upward journey.

The one whom he imagines will be his new friend reaches over and presses the button for his required floor. His hand hovers. He looks out the doors at the throngs approaching the elevator and, with the same glisten in his eye, he presses the close door button.

The trouble with no Sprite...

So my wife fainted. Passed-out. Gone. I heard the thump, but didn’t see the fall, so I suppose it’s possible she hurled a bowling ball and then laid down on the ground, in a bizarre attempt to fool me into thinking she had passed out. But it doesn’t seem really likely. Action Wife is prone to bouts of practical jokes, but this, as you’ll come to see, would have been carrying it way too far if for no other reason than the sheer volume of laundry I had to do.

I was trying to open the front door, and wife was in the bathroom. I was halfway out of the door, when I heard the aforementioned thump. As mentioned before, my vast intellect had come up with several possibilities for the source of the sound, and come to the most likely conclusion. The bowling ball scenario presented itself but was rapidly dismissed due to the fact that we do not own said bowling ball. The next most likely scenario revolved around the Chinese (all of them) and the manufacturers of aluminum foil (they’re out to get me) whose particulars are so complex as to persuade me not to trouble you with them. And finally, I determined that wife had fallen for an indeterminate reason. My intellect (without consulting me) had selected the Chinese/foil scenario and was reaching for my cyanide capsule when I turned and saw wife prone on the floor.

Presented with this new evidence I scooped up wife using my incredible man-strength and promptly dropped her again. And again outside the house. And once more next to the car. (The man strength is less vast than the intellect due in large part to muscle atrophy caused by my supply of muscle building sprite being cut off by said wife, oh my goodness the irony.)

After placing wife in the Action Mobile, I calmly (read: panic-stricken) drove wife to the nearest Emergency Health center. Doctors there began by allowing wife to fall again prone on their floor and twiddling their thumbs while I calmly pointed out that this is what she looked like before and inquiring whether the position of her arms and legs while unconscious had any significance to her condition. Doctors then patted my head in a reassuring manner and got me a Lolly.

Action Steve is not above accepting a charity Lolly. I viewed it as a prize for my heroic efforts thus far.

Wife by this time had regained consciousness and her incredible mind control over me. She (in her very pragmatic manner) instructed me to wait in the cafeteria while the “big-people” talked things over. When I was allowed to return I was informed that wife was not dying, suffering from parasitic human growth in the womb, malignant growth in the same, or a dastardly and unruly appendix. We were given fun painkillers and sent back to the Action lair.

So we see that no situation is outside the realm of my direct control. Everything went exactly as planned. The Chinese/foil syndicate is still a cause for some concern, but I expect to take care of them armed with wife’s fun new painkillers and some life giving Sprite.

Completely True Story

Went down to the second floor to visit the boss, getting some work to do, what have you. At any rate, I had finished my visit and was on my way back to the stairwell door so I could return to the third floor, where I live, when I opened the door, walked in, looked around, became confused, and said aloud "This is a bathroom." As this declarative statement was escaping my mouth, several things were running through my head. 1) The walls in this place look awfully clean, 2) The toilets and other facilities are on the opposite side of the wall than is usual, and 3) There don't appear to be any urinals. Because of the vast deductive power of my brain, by the time I had finished the sentence "This is a bathroom," I had arrived at the unenviable, yet inescapable conclusion that this was, in fact, not just a bathroom, it was a women's bathroom. I did a complete 360 and backed out of the room, glanced at the placard on the door to confirm that my worst fear was true, and turned to face several men who were scrutinizing me with the sort of look that can only mean, "so you're a pervert then, interesting." I repeated my earlier astute phrase to them that "This is a bathroom," then ran away up the stairs to my little cubicle where I pondered the meaning of "look before you leap."

Action Steve strikes again.

The begining

The tales of the exploits and adventures of Action Steve have been spread far and wide. These shards of half-truth mixed with myth have circulated long enough. From the valiant battles with poison bearing uber-insects, to the life long quest to find the ultimate bacon cheeseburger, here is where you can view the true madness...and despair.