Updates at the Ass End of the Two Thousand Eights

Well, I haven't blogged here in a while. Writing, directing, and producing this play is consuming my life, and it may have something to do with the fact that I've never really done all three of those things. We just posted our second webcast video, and I think you'll get a bang out of it. I also just posted another journal on the site about Jack Frost trying to f' up my shit, and that should go live any minute. It's been a lot of work, but it's really exciting. I hope to have at least 2 of my 7 readers make it. You know why I have no readers these days? I don't comment on other people's blogs anymore. I'm so sorry about that. I will try to make the rounds while I'm off of my real job for the next two weeks.

In other news, Gancey Girlfriend is in another state with her family for Christmas. We thought it would be a good idea to do a Separate Ways (yes, like the Journey song) Christmas, since traveling to both would be an impossibility. Well, as it turns out, being totally alone for Christmas was depressing, but having someone and not being able to see them is way, way worse. We'll have to muddle through somehow . . .

What are my Seven Readers doing for NYE? I'm spending it at a small gathering at a couple's house in a remote suburb where I spent this Halloween and this NYE back when said couple lived in Chicago proper. In years past I would have rather drank 25 vodka red bulls at some crowded bar with a bunch of young idiots. This year an intimate gathering sounds good, especially since I'll be with Gancey Girlfriend, my Heterosexual Life Partner (who I just did a blog about on the Liars Club Blog), and a good friend who moved away, an experience I wrote about here. He actually inspired the whole gancing phenomenon for those of you who know what that is.

Well, happy holidays to all of you. I'm going to pass out, get up early, buy a bunch of crap at Toys R' Us for my nephews, drink too much wine with my old man, drive out to my sister's, wake up the next day, and see what Santa brought my nephews. Jeez, I bet the oldest one doesn't even believe anymore. I hope he's one of those cool big brothers who keeps the younger ones believing. I know I'm that type of guy . . .

Around the time that the Sex in the City movie came out, I saw that a lot of women were taking online quizzes to figure out which character their personalities were most inline with. I'm sure lots of women learned about themselves from filling out those questionnaires, but the results don't concern me because I'm a child of the 1980's; therefor, I want to know which Golden Girl best represents my readers (male and female).

Those four silver foxes could solve all the world's problems in their robes while eating cheese cake until the break of dawn, but each had to play their part.

Which one are you?

Are you . . .

Blanche Devereaux: She's a bit of a slut, but she expects men to wine and dine her, given her southern belle upbringing. If you're a Blanch, you have dated a lot of men over the years, and you may continue to date within your retirement community. You've slept enough men to win the war in Iraq, but if anyone points that out, you're appalled at the characterization.


Rose Nylund: She's a sweet, sweet woman, but she's not too bright. If you're a Rose, you're a simple woman, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes the world needs uncomplicated, nice, harmless people.

Sophia Petrillo: She's a wise-cracking chick who tells a great story. If you're a Sophia, you're often holding the floor at a party with a great story or perhaps stealing the show with well-timed one-liners.


Dorothy Zbornak: She's smart but cynical. If you're a Dorothy, you're very insightful and funny, but a bit of a glass empty gal.

If you must know, I had a Blanch period a few years back, I have dumb moments like Rose, I can be a little too Dorothy for my own good, but I think overall I'm a Sophia.

How about you, seven readers?

Also, check out the Facebook group for the play I'm writing/producing (The Loitering Hole). There's a video of me to watch, which, for many of you, may be the first time you will see Dr. Ken live and in color.

Also, check out the review I did of the new Guns N' Roses record where I compare it to a can of Dr. Pepper.

Gancey Up Yourself

I just found a great way to cheer myself up, and I hope it works for you.

Go to dictionary.com, key in funny/gross words, and make your computer pronounce them out loud. There are girl and boy readers, and they both have a knack for making funny words funnier. Try these:

Scrotum
Dick
Pussy
Penis
Smegma
Fart
Shit
Poop
Tits
Nuts
Masturbation

The holidays can be depressing. Maybe some dirty words with a deadpan delivery will help. It has to help a little. I mean, just listen!

I am NOT Thankful for Blanket Text Messages

Have you had this happen? You're sitting down to your Thanksgiving meal, and you get this text:

"Happy thx giving to you and yours"

You think to yourself, "That was so nice of Jim to reach out like that, but I haven't talked to him in like a year. Wait, did he send that to just me or to everyone on his phone list?"

That's right. This person cared enough about you to scroll through his/her phone contacts and click YES when it came to your name. You should be honored!

I remember last Christmas I got like 9 blanket texts. They're annoying. I'm sitting down to dinner with my family, and my phone keeps buzzing. I'd turn it off, but would if someone I really care to talk to, like my Aunt in Colorado, calls? So, I have to leave it on and keep checking the darned blankets.

Well, this Thanksgiving I decided to respond to each and every one, and here's what happened.

Blanket Texter One:
Unknown: Happy Thanksgiving. This is the day to be with your family and be thankful for what you have.
My Response: I wish you the same, but to whom am I wishing this towards? I dropped my phone in a urinal a while back.
My Thoughts: I got a new phone contact when he responded! What's bad is that I think we had the same exchange last Christmas after another phone got ran over by a cab.

Blanket Text Two:
Neighbor: Happy Thanksgiving!
Me: Same to you. I know this is a blanket text, but I'm sorry we kept you up the other night.
My Thoughts: I felt a need to explain that I didn't think she was wishing just me a happy holiday, and yes, we did keep up all our neighbors the other night.

Blanket Text Three:
Friend: Happy Thanksgiving!
Me: Same to you! I'm replying to all blanket texters this year. See you at your party
Friend: Hahaha! See you there.
My Thoughts: This person gets it. : )

What are your thoughts, seven readers? Do you agree with blanket texting? Do you do it? Does anyone see themselves responding to a bunch some time, maybe Christmas time? If you do, tell 'um Gancey sent ya.

Playing (Badly) With the Boys

As I was on my way to work this morning, "Playing With the Boys" by Kenny Loggins came on, and I immediately thought about the volleyball scene in Top Gun. When I was a kid, those pilots were locked in a heated grudge match, showing that their rivalry in the sky continued while on the ground. As an adult who knows his way around a volleyball net, all I can think is, "Man, those guys are in good shape, but they suck at volleyball." All four of them: Ice-Man, Slider, Goose, Maverick. They all suck.



You would think that someone on the set, maybe a grip, would know how to hit a ball properly to at least get them looking anything less than a special education gym class. Also, why does Slider flex for the other guys? I mean, it's just a bunch of dudes playing volleyball. It's not like the movie has homosexual undertones or anything. Oh . . . Wait. I mean, "Playing With the Boys" does sound kind of gay.

There's a New Post . . .

. . . at The Liar's Club

The next post here at The Gancer is the 200th. For the historic post, I'm going to ask everyone who comes by to tell me his/her favorite post of mine of all time (the last few years). If you haven't read that many or can't think of any good ones, just skim through like three at random and tell me the least crappy one.

Cast your votes in the comment section of this post, and I'll give the results on the 200th.

I Have a Bad, Bad Feeling . . .

. . . that some idiot is going to shoot Barack Obama.

Every time someone with any kind of potential to be moving, exciting, or revolutionary comes along, some asshole, in turn, comes along and shoots him. That's why we haven't seen someone like him in so long; after Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, John and Robert Kennedy, and even the Pope, for Christ's sake, got shot, nobody wants to make an impact, lest they get lit up by some hate monger with a rifle, a scope, and a bolt loose.

On election night, Barack plans to celebrate here in Chicago. When I heard that, I immediately thought that he would get shot that night. I didn't just think it, like, would if. I thought, "Oh no! Someone will shoot him," like it was clear to me that it is going down.

If he does get shot, I'm leaving the country. I'll let you guys decide if it's going to be Mexico or Canada because I can't go any farther on my budget. I'm just packing everything I own into my car and driving north or south. Which will it be, seven readers?

Friday night I decided to stay in and work on the play (The Loitering Hole). I'd just like to say that it's the second consecutive Friday doing this, and all the bars in Chicago have been contacting me wondering if I'm all right. This really shows my dedication, I think.

Anyway, one of my roommates comes home and is all excited about his new iphone. He shows me a couple features, a moustache maker, a harmonica, etc., and sits down in a chair two feet past the door. I went back to writing for two hours and came back into the kitchen to find him in that very chair still playing with it. This time he showed me a map feature that can zoom in with the satellites to find exactly where you are. It really says something about me that the first thing out of my mouth was, "Oh, that's great because if you have a blacked out drunk, road show, one-night-stand you could find out exactly where you are the next day.

Technology is an amazing thing.

Happy Ending for the Ladies?

Gancer Girlfriend got a text from a coworker last night that read, "Girl, I just went for a massage, and the guy used a vibrator on me. I came 5 times."

HUH?

This conversation then went down:

Gancer: Wow. I didn't know they did that.

Gancer Girlfriend: I don't think they really used it on her vagina. I don't think they do that.

Gancer: Well, I would assume that is what she meant.

Gancer Girlfriend: No. She's not the type of woman to get that kind of service.

Gancer: Well, she's kind of that type of gal. Doesn't she have a stud stable of boyfriends, one of which she gave a time frame of when he could come by and break her off, another she told didn't f' well or go down on her well. Her notion was that most men do one or the other well, and . . .

Gancer Girlfriend: Okay, okay. How do you remember all of that?

Gancer: You know me. I remember all things like that.

Gancer Girlfriend: Okay, I need to call her real quick and get to the bottom of this.

So, she calls her up, and sure as shit, the masseuse, without asking if it was all right or not, took out a vibrating device and hummed away at her naughty bits long enough for her to cum five times and juice all over herself like she peed herself. One other yucky detail: As he was doing this, his less-than-impressive penis was brushed up against her hand.

Has anyone heard of this sort of service?

Shouldn't he have asked first?

Do you think that service was on the list of services on the package, so to speak, she had agreed to, and she just didn't notice it?

This whole thing came as a shocker to me, and I just want to get my readers' input on the matter . . .

Trish the Crack Whore

You're hearing everywhere of the importance of blogging in the political arena, but all I ever talk about are farts and stuff. So, coming up on my 200th post, I figure I'd better make The Gancer just as relevant as the other boring blogs you're not reading by saying something about the man everyone is talking about, Joe the Plumber.

I tuned in late to the debate tonight so I don't really know what he's all about, but he sounds real fun, like a professional wrestler. My guess is that he represents the common man, or the middle class, but when will the low class be talked about more? When will the debates discuss Trish the Crack Whore? Stan the Bookie? Eli the Underground Abortionist? Sharon the Borough of Queens Cockfighting Ring Card Girl? Sheila the Gal Taking a Crap on the Train*?

Surely all of these folks have problems and day-to-day lives far worse than Joe, and you just know their stories are more interesting.

Maybe it's best that I stick to farts.

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*At first I called this person Bill, but then it dawned on me that I had pigeonholed women to roles of crack whores and ring card girls. Hey, a woman can take a crap on a train as well as any guy. I'm such a feminist, man!

Doing Stuff

1. I wrote a piece about the most notable guest appearances in Friday the 13th films over at Starpulse.

2. At The Liar's Club, I posted something about those court ordered breathalizer things that people have to use to start their cars.



3. Any minute now, I hope, my review of Mercury Rev's new record should go live over at Staythirstymedia.com.

4. Yesterday my partner and I booked our play and will perform it at The Gorilla Tango Theater here in Chicago on January 9th and 10th.

5. Last night I brought the house down with a killer karaoke version of Cold as Ice* by Foreigner.

6. I've been a busy boy, for sure, but I'm most proud of point number 5.

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*The play we are writing has a karaoke theme, so we were intent on singing a song to celebrate booking the theater today. It wasn't looking good as the closing hour was approaching. Then, I got bumped up the list for picking up and gathering up the contents of the MC's tip jar, which she didn't know fell and contained numerous twenties. We nailed that song. The best part was when a buddy of mine was rocking the guitar solo and I was doing the break down with my back against his. That's an oldy but a goody rock maneuver if I ever saw one.

I'm Writing a Play . . .

. . . And I want all my blog buddies to attend.

It's going to be a one act, forty minute or so performance with only four principal characters. We're booking the theater this Saturday for two shows in January. I'm co-writing it, and I may have a real small part in it. Hopefully I'll just be co-writing because if I have to act in front of people I'll probably get the nervous shits.

If you've been reading for a while, you can probably guess that this thing is going to be a combination of funny, gross, and heart warming.

I'd seriously love it if my first meeting with one of my long-time blog buddies was shaking his/her hand and having a drink with him/her after a performance.

More details to come.

In the mean time, here are a couple quick updates.

1. I'm going to see The Godfather on the big screen with my lady this Friday night.

2. The Cubs broke my heart. In my Michael Corleone voice: "I know it was you, you God awful Cubbies. You broke my heart"

3. I have tickets to see Louie C.K. this month and Mercury Rev in December.

4. What should I do for my upcoming 200th post?

Italian American Defamation at Ridgemont High

My boss at a record store I worked at years ago, my best job ever, once said that Fast Times at Ridgemont High portrayed Italian Americans in a bad light, since Jeff Spicoli and Mike Damone were such shits. I thought at the time that it was just another one of his stupid theories, we all had them, that we would throw out there on a slow Sunday afternoon, but after watching it again last night, it was the Lovely Gancer Girlfriend's first time around, I think he was really onto something.

Jeff Spicoli, portrayed by Sean Penn

The Deadbeat Facts:

1. He never held a job, choosing instead to consistently smoke pot all day, often with guys who looked an awful lot like Eric Stoltz and Anthony Edwards, and sometimes to the point where he couldn't feel his own skull.

2. He was a lousy student. He showed up late to class, once wearing a flannel with no shirt underneath and a bagel tucked into the front of his pants. On at least one other instance he ordered a pizza to his classroom, without his teacher's permission, to learn about Cuba and have some food. Yet another time he went along on a field trip when he wasn't even in the class to see cadavers because he thought dead bodies were "gnarly."

3. He borrowed a friend's older brother's sports car, smoked reefers and drank beers behind the wheel, and crashed it into a pile of cinder blocks, totaling it. After failing to fix it with his father's, who was a television repair man, ultimate set of tools, he resorted to making off like a rival football team trashed his car. This led the car's owner, an already unstable defensive lineman, to have an enraged, frothing at the mouth performance against that team, leading to numerous injured players, one of which was twitching and having convulsions. These events were all set into action at the hands of the devious Italian American, Jeff Spicoli.

4. In the epilogue we learn that after high school he would save Brooke Shields from drowning, which is good, but he would later blow the reward money on the costs to get Van Halen to play his birthday party, which is not too good.

Mike Damone, portrayed by Robert Romanus, a man whose illustrious list of TV guest star appearances include Weird Science the television show and CHiPS.

The Deadbeat Facts:

1. He was a high school grifter of the worst order, scalping rock concert tickets at school and at the mall with a keyboard scarf slung around his greasy, Italian neck*, sometimes trying to talk impressionable girls into going to Cheap Trick concerts when they didn't even like the band. He also was a bookie, a very stereotypical Italian American profession, and tricked his clients who didn't understand the unfair odds he was laying against them, and offhandedly told them about a spread only after the bet had been made.

2. He helped his friend gain the confidence to ask out a girl he was pining for using the Mike Damone 5 Point Plan, only to sneak around and nail her behind his friend's back with a twelve second bump, squirt, and a giggle in a pool cabana. Later, when she told him she was pregnant, he responded with a "you wanted it more than I did!" He agreed to pay half the cost and give her a ride, but ended up standing her up and giving her none of the agreed amount. When she called to see where he was, he had his mother tell her that he was helping his father in the garage.

3. In the epilogue we learn that Mike Damone would end up pumping slushies at a 7/11, unlike the non-Italian Hamilton who foiled a robbery and made assistant manager.

One can even look at the cameo roles in the film. Nicholas Cage has no speaking roles, but he can be seen both in high school and burger joint shots. Who is Nicholas Cage's uncle? Francis Ford Coppola, another Italian Amerian who made The Godfather, perhaps the film with the biggest legacy of Italian American Defamation. Think about it, man . . .

Your turn, seven readers: Tell me something you've seen in the media that portrays a group of people in a bad light that few people point out, or just tell me a scene from Fast Times that you like, not counting the part where Judge Reinhold is whacking it to Phoebe Cates because that is everyone's favorite part.

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*There was no need for that greasy comment, but I couldn't resist turning it up a notch for effect.

Come On Down . . .

. . . and check out this thing I wrote about the Price Is Right. I'd love it if you commented on there too.

If you'd like to comment here instead, then you have to say something about some of the observations I have made after watching four episodes of The Hills. This is proof positive that I can sit through any piece of crap and find something I find interesting or funny. Whether anyone else finds it funny or interesting, well, that's what I'm about to find out . . .

1. I always heard that Heidi is the biggest bitch, but Lauren is way worse. Heidi just looks like a bigger bitch. Lauren's a sneaky, manipulative, hooch with every girl around her, much like a popular girl in middle school. Why nobody wants to hang out with Heidi has less to do with her being a bitch, and more to do with Lauren turning people against her and Heidi's boyfriend being so incredibly deuchey.


2. I know the show is semi-scripted, but is it possible Spencer is that big of a beat-off? I mean, really. I've met some tool sheds in my day, but come on!

3. Why does Audrina seem so sedated all the time? It's like someone shoots her up with horse tranquilizers. That's more of a question I'm asking all of you. Also, why in the hell does she want to be friends with Lauren after being manipulated so many times? Why would she continues to let a friend have that much control over her at her age? Is it the horse tranquilizers that make her so vulnerable?

4. In the last episode, while the chick who usually wears the Pocohantas braids was going on a date with one of her supposed friend's recent exes, the recent ex says, only a few moments into the dinner date mind you, "So, what are you doing after this?" Isn't that overplaying your hand a litte there, sir? Isn't that a little bit like, "do you think maybe we should play hot dogs and donuts after dinner?" I mean, you just sat down, sir!

I could go on like this, really, I could, but why don't you just head over to the Price Is Right thing . . .

More Straight-Up Random Crap

I don't have big concept blogs lately because I've been working harder at my job and all writing efforts have been going towards a play I'm writing. Actually, if anyone has any ideas where I should perform this thing in Chicago or any other input, hit me with an email. I'm being sincere, for once, when I say that although I've never met most of you, your opinion matters to me a great deal.

Random Topic #1:
Pop Quiz: Who's music is in the grocery store, the drug store, and the waiting rooms of doctor's offices more than any mofo on God's green earth?
Answer: Sir Elton John. I know I read somewhere that he sold a bunch of his music to things like that, but I couldn't find any evidence of that for you right now. I'm in a hurry, so you'll just have to trust me or look it up on your own. Anyway, keep an eye out for his stuff playing the next time you're stopping in a Wallgreans to buy some Flaming Hot Frito's*, salted cashews, and a Gatorade. Well, that's what I was buying because it was late after playing a volleyball game and I wanted to get some "nourishment" before passing out. As I'm reaching for my Arctic Butt Slammer, or whatever, Gatorade, I was singing along to Sir Elton, only substituting gross words, which I often do, much like my fun Gatorade title. I was singing, "Daniel's beating off tonight on a plane . . ."

Random Topic #2:
The Booze sample Lady got me again today at the grocery store. She's a retired teacher, so we always get talking about teaching, since we have that in common, and then we get talking about booze, since we really have that interest in common. She gave me a great tip, and that is this: You can skimp on a Shiraz, even some $5.99's will do, but you never on a sauvignon blanc because a shitty one will be bitter. She's actually right because I know I got one once that was undrinkable. If something has booze in it and it's undrinkable for me, that is saying something. So, for that tip and for being a cool lady, I felt obliged to buy a quality sauvignon blanc. You see, bet you didn't think you'd get a good wine tip on this here rag, did you?

All right, two topics will have to do it for now because I'm taking the lovely Gancer Girlfriend and this here bottle of wine to a BYOB sushi joint. Tomorrow I'll be at Wrigley Field, hopefully where I'll be watching my beloved Cubbies clinch a playoff spot. I don't have any tips for how to buy a non-bitter Old Style beer at the ball park; they're supposed to be bitter, and they're perfect that way.

*I love these because I never got to enjoy Flaming Hot Cheetos without discomfort due to my lactose intolerance (my roommate calls me a "lactard"), so the launch of these babies was like something sent down from on high from the empty calorie gods.

Yet Another Crap Update Post

1. The Chicago Cubs are falling apart, but I'm hoping that they will catch fire for the playoffs, if they make them. Who's got some wood I can knock on or a goat I can slaughter?


2. There's a new post at The Liar's Club, our Chicago based blog. Once there, if you scroll down, you'll see that the last five posts have been from me (not counting quick ones to say "I'm retiring" and "What the hell happened to this blog?"). When I'm the hardest working blogger, we got big problems. We need more consistent posts, and we're taking applicants. Email me if you live in Chicago, and would like to be a Liar. Of course, your "hiring" would require approval by the other two remaining Liars (Niner just retired to make babies. That's the only way out of this gang.)


3. I went to the annual carnival in my home town over the weekend. The first part of the day was fun with my mom, my sister, and my nephews. The first grader and I rode the Gravitron (which is the one where they spin you around and take the floor out from under you) with a bunch of obnoxious middle school kids. It would have been a great time to have used my nausea to have an amusement park related "accident" upon one of said annoying teenager's Hollister shirts.

Later that night, I met up with some friends at the beer tent where a friend of mine was stationed. He is a member of one of those organizations where a bunch of old men do volunteer work of various kinds, but a lot of the time, I suspect, is spent telling dirty jokes and participating in farting contests. Everyone in that tent was 20 years his senior, but he seems to be real happy. The problem is, we couldn't spend those beer tickets. We'd try to hand them to him, and he'd hand them right back with a bunch of beers.

When he gets done with his beer pouring shift, he dumps off a mess more of free brews, and tells us to go to his dad for the remainder of the night. Dad looks exactly like Brian Dennehey, and he was just as resistant to taking our money/tickets. There was one point where I remember looking down in the circle we had formed, and there were like ten full cups between us in the grass that we were trying to conceal to avoid unveiling the corruption leading to our intoxication. It's a good thing I didn't go for a late night Gravitron ride because it would have been like mixing up a vomit smoothy up in that piece, and nobody wants to order one of those these days.


4. I don't know what made me think of this, but I was trying to hash out the differences between two third graders who were not getting along on a playground. I asked them their names and they were Ben and Jerry. I said, "Boys. Boys. I'll tell you what. I know a couple guys named Ben and Jerry who get along real well, and now they've made millions of dollars together selling a shit* load of ice cream." Well, I don't think that my example hit home with these youngsters, but after Jerry managed to stop his crying fit, I got them to agree to get along. They could very well be on opposite ends of a see-saw getting along famously at this very moment. Then again, they could be loading up each other's mail boxes with pipe bomb recipes they found on the internet. That's the crazy thing about kids: You just don't know what they're going to do next.

5. I just discovered this song, and it cracks me up. They have pinned down the exact moment where you know you're in love: When you go on a picnic together, and you don't even bring any beer. That's when you know it's on.

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*Kids who are in the cool crowd are always trying to say stuff to act cool and more adult-like, but the funny thing is that the adults of the world think the really nerdy kids are behaving more like adults. Any way you slice it, being trapped on a Gravitron with a bunch of punk kids, with your organs stretched in a knot, all the while trying to keep your nephew from hearing swear words is not a good time.

**I didn't really say shit.

Diamond in the Rough

A friend of mine just hooked up with a gal he had been chasing for quite some time. She's one of those nerdy girls who is cute, but you only notice it after spending a lot of time with her. It took him a while to make any successful moves on her, despite the fact that he heard from one of her friends that she liked him a whole lot, because she just doesn't have a flirtatious nature about her. After finally reaching first and rounding second*, he discovered that she has a sneaky great body. Allow me to recap:

He's got himself a girl who:

1. Is cute, but not at first glance to draw a lot of attention from scum bag dudes.
2. Isn't flirty.
3. Has a hot body behind closed doors, which is tough to notice on a day-to-day basis.

What he has is a "diamond in the rough."

Today I get this text message from him:

Gancer's Buddy: Holy shit. I finally got to see Blah-blah-blah's** "diamond in the rough" package full on last night. Amazing . . . She has the body of a woman in 1970's porn, if you know what I mean.

Gancer: (I was playing center in a softball game at the time, so I just sent a quick one) Big bush?

Gancer's Buddy: LOL. I was talking more about the nice hips and good size to everything. Not like typical girls now a days filled with chicken steroids.***

Gancer: (Still playing softball) Oh. That’s good too. Hahahaha****

I’m sorry if this blog was gross, but everybody talks about that stuff, right?

It’s your turn, seven readers: Tell me in the comment section who you think talks about details in their sex life more, men or women? What about gay men and women? Anyone want to weigh in there?

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*Sorry about the baseball references, but the Cubs are in one of the best teams in baseball. It’s on my mind more than S-E-X. Well, almost as much. For those of you who need a refresher on what each base means, second base is feeling boobies.

**I left her name out, and in its place I used the Biz Markie method of anonymity.

***Can anyone find some hard facts about how the steroids in chicken effect breast growth in women or anything else?

****I can’t stand when people say LOL, so I always use the “hahhahaha,” which is only slightly less lame. Any edge I can get on eventual lameness . . .

Gay Froggy?

I just had a dream where I learned that Froggy from Our Gang was a homosexual, and that's why felt a need to hide* it from the rest of the gang with that manly, raspy voice.

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*Not that froggy, any other member of Our Gang, or even one of the Three Stooges, for that matter, should feel like they have to keep their sexual orientation under wraps. Here at The Gancer, we believe all characters from black and white short films can sleep with whoever they like. I can't believe that the disclaimer footnote was longer than the post. I just don't want anyone to think I'm a Gay Froggy Basher because nothing can be further from the truth. Seriously, how could anyone hate on that little fella?

Random Topics Chosen From Those Lottery Balls

Seriously. That's how I arrived at these topics. I have one of those machines with the air blowing around, my lovely assistant picks them out at times like this, and it's great fun. Round and round they go . . .

1. Scandinavian Olympic Ineptitude: I go for underdogs in all sporting events. I'm a lifelong Cub fan, I pulled for the Jamaican Bobsled Team in and out of the movie, I was stoked when Eli and the New York Giants beat the cheating Patriots, and I probably would have been the only guy thinking a little naked guy with a rock stood a chance against Goliath. That being said, I'm not big on rooting for America, especially in basketball, where they're dunking all over these other countries like it's a Nerf hoop.

It's times like this where I start pulling for Sweden and Norway, my Nordic brethren. So far, it’s clear that I’d be better served to just wait until the winter games, where my homies from the snowy mountains excel a little more. I’ve heard Norway has a decent rowing team, and why wouldn’t they? They’re Vikings. Sweden had a Greco-Roman wrestler take a bronze, but then he had a Greco-Roman tantrum, throwing his medal on the ground, and was later stripped of it by the Olympic Committee. I may follow suit with a hissey fit of my own if these blond boys don’t start sacking up.


2. He Had “The Glow.” Julius Carray, who played Sho’nuff, The Shogun of Harlem, in 1985's Berry Gordy’s the Last Dragon recently died. I got the news of his demise from a buddy of mine who felt a need to text me about his demise from pancreatic cancer. Apparently, this buddy's father went to school with him, and used to kick his ass all the time, which may have inadvertently inspired Sho'nuff to study the martial arts. In case you haven’t seen Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon, it’s essentially a remake of Bruce Lee’s The Last Dragon set in Harlem with mostly Black people. The tall, lanky Sho’nuff stole the show with great lines like “Kiss my converse,” “Nigga’ please,” and “Ain’t I the prettiest mo-fo ‘round town?”

He spent the rest of his career primarily as a steady actor on lot TV with roles on shows like The A-Team and Murder She Wrote. It would have been great if he had told Angela Lansbury to kiss his converse, or even better, and downright confusing, if he had told her, “nigger, please.”


3. Ungrateful Cat Massage: Have you seen cats knead someone? My girlfriend's cat rubs her down with her paws like she's kneading dough. Apparently, it's what they do to stimulate milk production, but it's also a sign that they are comfortable and happy with their owner. I had only had one rub down, on my ass, until this morning when I got an awesome one on my left pectoral "muscle." It felt like a million bucks, but I wanted her to do it to the other one. You know, even it out. Little help, cat? She's trying to let me know she's comfortable, and I just want her to even out my breast massage. I'm so selfish.

4. Cubs game with vision: Saturday I'm going to my first Chicago Cubs, who are in first place, game since getting my contacts. Not being able to see the score board at my last Cubs game is what inspired my visit to the eye doctor. You'd think it would have been not being able to read street signs, but if you think that, you don't know me very well.


5. New Goliath Groupers from Cuba Are 6 Feet Long, Over 1000 lbs, and May Be a Whole New Species: I'm sure this is an exciting find for oceanographers, marine biologists, and whoever else digs on fish, but all I could think about was my buddy who is six feet even and around 400 lbs. How is it that this fish weighs 600 lbs more than him? My next thought was that the fish must be really dense, but I don't see something getting a whole lot more dense than my boy. Curious . . .

Dio Decision '08

My sister called me the other night, and she wanted to settle an argument about who sang Rainbow in the Dark. Being a bit of a savant in the area of rock knowledge, I often find myself in an argument settler positions. You'd think this would annoy me, but quite the contrary; I love putting this otherwise useless knowledge to good use. I was quick to tell her that it was none other than Dio, fronted by Ronnie James Dio, who performed that lovely slice of 80's metal. I then tried to tell her some more fun facts like he's really, really short, so the video was shot up at him to create an illusion of tallness, and that Ronny brought the hand devil sign (throwing metal) into the culture of heavy metal. She then tried to act like she had more pressing matter to attend to, so that I'd stop throwing out rock fun facts at her. In her defense, I could have went on all night about RJD.

This got me thinking about a blog I meant to do a long time ago, but it got shelved. There are literally hundreds of these shelved topics, and it takes an event like my sister's phone call to make them a reality because there are no "shelves" outside of the recesses of my loony little brain. The topic is this: What is the better Ronny James Dio Song - Rainbow in the Dark or Holy Diver.

My roommate and I got in a heated debate about it. I won't say who is on which side, so that I don't sway the votes in either direction. I will say that one of us drunkenly blew his voice out in a casino trying to belt out one of these numbers with his tragically non RJD-like voice.

Below you will find the two youtube videos. Please watch both for as long as you can stomach, and even if you think that heavy metal music is all rubbish, and even if you think rock n' roll is noise polution, please pick one song or the other. Try not to be too heavily influenced by the piss poor production of the videos because it is the song that we're trying to assess here. I know, picking between these two for some of you will be like picking between root canal or a prostate exam, but you must pick one.

Holy Diver. Ronny sure knows how to brandish a big ass sword, and how about that twitching, dying guy at around 3:40. Now that's metal!

Rainbow in the Dark. Concept: Dio and his bandmates are coming with a little too much metal for this square to handle.


Perhaps this one should have remained shelved, but we've come this far, so cast your votes in the comments, seven readers. Let's settle this age old (one year) debate between countless (two idiots) people.

There's a new post . . .

. . . at The Liar's Club.

Jumping the Love Gun

I have a friend who is in love with his relatively new girlfriend. He hadn't dropped the L Bomb (said "I love you") in a long, long time, so while he was very apprehensive about releasing the love hounds, he also was real ecstatic about going for it.

He had thought of all kinds of times to do it, like a dance floor of a wedding reception, during a nice dinner on her birthday, etc., but one thing he was sure of was that he knew he wanted it to be perfect.

Then, during a night of heavy boozing, seemingly out of nowhere, she says it first. She said it first! How dare she!

What do you think about this, seven readers?

1) Is the man supposed to say it first, and is it all right for the woman to be the first to do so?

2) Is it on par with a woman purposing marriage, and while we're at it, is that okay too?

3) Should he just not give a damn, be happy to have someone he loves who loves him back, and stop sweating the small stuff all the time like this?

The A Team

At my summer job, there's nothing worse than biking all the way out there to find that I will be working a shift with coworkers who are lazy, dumb, uninteresting, and dangerous combinations of all three. The other day I was thrilled to see that all the kids I would be working with were not only good at what they do, but all funny and a good time. Whoever makes the schedule will never allow for that much awesomeness in one shift ever again, but for those eight hours we were a crack team of vigilantes. We were . . . The A Team.


Sgt. Bosco "Bad Attitude" B.A. Baracus: The part of Mr. T's famouse character would be played by our only African American working that day, and although she's a girl, she has the bad attitude, Mr. Baracus' namesake, in spades. Her 'tude isn't mean spirited, but she most certainly doesn't take any crap. She's someone I can count on to handle her BIZZ-NAZZ. Perhaps I should ask her if she's willing to try a new hairstyle (Mohawk) and wear a little more jewelry (just 50 pounds worth or so).


Capt. H.M. "Howling Mad" Murdock: The all important, wise cracking craziness of Murdock was handled masterfully by a witty, young photographer from Indiana. He's always saying something off the wall and most of the time he's funny as shit. He was telling me the other day that his father works at a prison, teaching inmates valuable skills, and he (his dad) loves pussy. To me, that sounded like his old man was chasing women and cheating on his mother, so I said, "You mean he loves all pussy, like he cheats, or he's faithful and just loves your mom's pussy." He replied, "Just my mom's pussy I suppose," and as he said it I could hear the crack in his voice having just been tricked into talking about his father's love for his mother's pussy.


Lt. Templeton "Faceman" Peck: The heartbreaking love machine Face was portrayed by none other than perhaps the finest Irishman I've ever known. He worked with us a couple of summers ago, and now he's back for another go. He's a sweet kid, a real gentleman, but like most every summer help Irish kid I've known over the years, he aims to land as much American tail as humanly possible, making him perfect for the role.

Col. John "Hannibal" Smith: This is where I come in. Although I don't smoke cigars, I am the oldest, I have been working there the longest, and like George Peppard, I too love it when a plan comes together. I was a happy man that day because plans were coming together like a muthafucka.

How's about you, seven readers? What role(s) of any movie or TV Show do you or any of your coworkers fill?

Also, if you have a moment, swing by starpulse to see a piece I did that just went live today: The Top 10 Least Intimidating Professional Wrestlers of All Time.

Wanna Go Camping?

I was going to do a post about things that I wish I'd accomplished by this point of the summer, but I got hung up on one thing I've yet to take care of this seson; I'm yet to make it out for a camping trip. I love camping, but maybe my idea of camping doesn't jive with yours. Here are some bullet points to illustrate what I like about getting at one with the great outdoors.

- I like to drink loads of bad/old man beer like Old Style or Miller High Life. If there's some pot involved, great, but it's not necessary.

- I like to sit around a fire and bullshit about life, love, the universe, God, baseball, rock music, or whatever else. There's something about a fire in between a small group of people that makes a discussion become suddenly more important and enlightening. That's a fact, and it has been that way for thousands of years; we've just lost sight of that, somehow.*

- If you're a city dweller like me, stars a big selling point to camping, since all of the city's lights drown out the celestial bodies in urban areas. It's especially nice when you have a campsite encircled by trees, perfectly framing the stars.**

- I like zipping myself into a tent for some drunken tent sex, preferably not by myself.

- I like foraging and exploring for random things, be it sticks to throw into the fire, sticks to roast marshmallows, or even just a walking stick. All right, fine, I guess I just dig on sticks.

- I like to cook things in the fire, from hot dogs on sticks, to tin foil packages full of beans, to English muffin pizzas. No grills are allowed when you camp with Gancey, and things eaten without use of the fire are to be used sparingly.

- I like little adventures when I camp, like stealing a farmer's corn, running my car into a ditch, barfing on a fuse box, drinking Pick N' Save vodka during a monsoon, swallowing a bee with my Old Style, and asking someone coming out of a titty bar how to get onto the highway.**

- I like not showering for the duration of the trip. I typically am only gone for a weekend, so it's not too foul, just long enough for my blond hair to get dirty, sticky blond.

- I like peeing out a campfire, but only on rare occasions because it really, really stinks.

So, how does all that sound? Does this sound like your idea of a good camping trip? What did I leave out?

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*I don't, however, want to camp with these trendy, computerized lame-o's.

**Bonus points to you if California Stars by Chicago's own Wilco is playing on my blog's music player as you're reading this, since that would be a one in seventy chance.

***All of these things happened to myself and others during my camping trip experiences.

"Late December Back in '63 (93)"

I saw The Jersey Boys the other night. For those of you who don't know, it's a musical about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and it was incredible.

Here's something I didn't know until I saw this thing: "December, 1963 (Oh What a Night)" is about the songwriter getting laid for the first time. I was suddently reminded that the song was our prom theme in high school. Now, getting laid and proms were not "themes" for Dr. Kenneth in high school, but I'm sure it was for some. What I don't get is how the adults approving this, having grown up closer to the time of the song coming out, let this devirginizing* song to get through.

How about you guys? What was the theme to your prom? Did you go? How awesome is that song, with or without the knowledge of its lyrical content? Anyone remember a song associated with their devirginization?**

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*Not a word

**Still not a word

Gancey Life Lessons to Make Your Life a Little Gancier

Here's some things I learned over the past couple of weeks:

1. I've been taking pictures of tourists for 9 straight days, and I learned this: Asian Indian men love them some striped shirts. It's really an incredible phenomenon, but I can't believe it took me this long to notice it, given that my workplace is saturated with Asian Indian fellas donning the darned things.

2. I went to a shit-hole karaoke bar the other night, and I learned some things there too.
A) My buddy does a VERY funny version of Strokin' by Clarence Carter.

B) When the staff member manning the karaoke machine is piss drunk, it leads to some karaoke catastrophes.
C) When a guy wants to sing "Africa" by Toto and "Manic Monday" by the Bangles comes on instead (see point B), it is not nice to say, "Sing it anyway, pussy!"*
D) It's always good to have your cell around to take down a memo when something you think is real funny is going down, like a drunken Hispanic guy making an ass of himself. Here's what my phone memo said, and I'll break down what I meant by each thing, since it took me a while to piece together just what in the hell I meant:

"Honey bunny for hard for the money" - This is roughly what he was singing after taking the microphone away from whoever was supposed to be singing "She Works Hard for the Money" by Donna Summer. It was his own little breakdown during an instrumental part, and it kicked ass if you ask me.

"On mic, clear he didn't speak English." - He did have a thick accent, and based on his "honey bunny" line, I really don't think he spoke a lick of English.

"Kak shorts, sneakers, and striped polo." - That is what he was wearing, the shorts were real short, and the socks and sneakers made it look real nerdy.

"Hiked up shorts and did Flashdance." He did jack up his shorts and do the Jennifer Beals/Chris Farley, Maniac run in place.

D) Guys like that are what karaoke is all about. People who sing fairly well and take themselves seriously are actually a bigger embarrassment than the Mexican Michael Sambello.

3) Here's something I learned about women: When you want to say something romantic to your girlfriend, even if the two of you watched Wonderland the night before, don't text her this:
"I love you more than John Holmes loved tooting up countless rails of cocaine and beating a guy to death with a led pipe."

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*I yelled it, I didn't even know the guy, and I wasn't even drunk. Not yet, anyway.

I went to the suburbs yesterday to visit my parents because my dad wasn't feeling well. While my mom took him to the doctor, the dog and I jumped in the car and made a Dairy Queen run so they would have a nice treat waiting for them upon their return. It was a very suburban moment but loads of fun, and I remember that Tender by Blur* was providing the perfect accompaniment. While waiting for my blizzards and trying to tune out the obnoxious kids (one was saying the Cubs suck and the other said "so does your mom"), I was thinking about who I might run into. The sad thing is that the only people I'd likely see would be a friend's parents, since most of my friends had long since moved away. As I further waited for my bits of Oreo to properly grind up, it occurred to me that lots of the families had moved away too. I didn't know squat about this town! I'm surprised the DQ was still where I left it.


My dad did bump into one buddy's mom who still lives on the same street - our street. It's weird cause he lived on the same street as me, had the same first name, the same initials, was always tall with blond hair like me, and our poor teachers were always mixing us up. Then, as my dad is talking with his mom, she reveals that his first son has the exact same name as my nephew (which may or may not be Brendan Kenneth), who's middle name is named after me.

Kind of bazaar, but it wasn't that little coincidence that was on my mind that afternoon. I got to thinking about hanging out at his house when we were kids. His mom was a real sweet lady with one of those soft soothing voices, and she used to come into our school to sing folk songs with her guitar. The only song I can remember was "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands," because I used to picture some mammoth guy clutching the earth like a Wilson basketball. I know now that the song is likely talking about God having the world at his disposal, but being raised atheist, it didn't occur to me that the song meant anything deeper than some enormous dude spinning the world on his finger like a Globetrotter.

Dad seemed like a great guy when you were a kid. I remember my buddy and I would draw these robots with upside-down triangle bodies**, and dad would eat onions raw like apples and fart. One probably enhanced the other, I suppose. I can even remember two key phrases he'd say when ripping ass:

1.
The Dad: Did you see that lightning?
Son: No, there's no lightning.
Dad: Are you sure, cause I think I hear some thunder (that's when he'd start in with the onion farts)


2.
He'd sing, "Lights out. Uh-huh. Blast, blast, blast**" (And he'd fart on all three blasts. That still impresses me.)

As a kid he seemed like a great guy. He likes farts, and so did I! He was also unreal at Space Invaders on Atari. I always just tried to stay alive, blasting those critters as the crept closer and closer to my canon, as they moved faster and faster, especially those guys a few rows up who did progressively more intense jumping jacks. Friend's Dad would remain calm, handling his business with the aliens, and never missing a chance to blast that mother ship that would float by at the top of the screen, racking up Boo Koo points.

Now I realize that raw onion consumption, flatulence, and alien blasting does not make for a good father. My dad was one of those guys who figured out an unbeatable pattern on Pac-Man, but he still managed to be a great dad. He still is, and he's perhaps an even better grandfather. It turns out this guy's dad drank quite a bit and left the family, probably for another woman. I think he was living in Michigan for a while. I remember my buddy saying he went to visit him, and he nearly killed he and his sister in a car because he was so lit.

I guess my point to this goofy post is that I wish I could see things through a kid's eyes, and just enjoy people without my preconceived judgment, cynicism, and skepticism. It just seems like even the couples who seem happy eventually break up. Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora calling it quits was a crushing blow to my sense of hope.

Okay, Seven Readers, somebody break me of this lack of faith. Tell me about a happy marriage you know of - one that's so happy that just being around them for five minutes is enough to make you sick to your stomach.

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*The only thing that makes the song not perfect for that day was that he's singing about the night, but listening to it now, I realize that it's actually the perfect song for this post. Either way, you'll have to pause my music player on the right before playing the videos.

**Where is Mysterygirl when I need someone to draw one of these robots for me?

***The fact that this video says 1990 on it really threw me off, but then I found that it's actually from 1984. Yes, I'm old. Does anyone remember this song? Anyone else fart to it?

****There is no fourth set of asterisks, so don't look for it, especially you, Chud, but I just wanted to take this time to say that I'm going to work on sectioning off all in depth music stuff into the asterisks. That way my posts won't get too music-ish. If people want overly music-ish stuff, then they can read the asterisks part. I'll try, but I know there's no avoiding letting music seep into the meat of my blogs.

Holey Underwear, Batman! OR For Sale: Secondhand Underwear, So-So Condition, Only One Previous Owner

Do you ever get real lazy about doing your laundry and start dipping into the deep, deep reserves of scrub underwear? I'm talking scrubs off the nether regions of the bench that never get any playing time, not unlike mid 1990's Chicago Bull Ed Nealy*, affectionately known as "The Lunch Box." That's right, Ed. I'm likening you to my crappiest of undergarments.

This week I had already used up all the gym shorts I go to for makeshift boxers, and I was down to the . . . final . . . pair. They are a pair of white boxer briefs, bordering on tighty-whities, with so many holes that it looks as if someone dropped an M80 firecracker into them, which I hope never happens to anyone, especially if they are in said undies at the time. There is one especially gaping hole in the undercarriage, allowing my, well, undercarriage, to dip right out of those bad boys. That's right. Zero support, not at all functional, but so very, very lucky. I'd never want to get lucky in them. That's a task for my designer drawers, the Scottie Pippens of the world. Then again, you always get laid when you least suspect it, so odds are I would get some the night I'm wearing my Ed Nealy's.

During an uncomfortable train ride in my holiest of drawers, I was reminded that somewhere along the line I picked up the notion that the holey undies are one's lucky undies. Why? Is it possible that this concept was born out of the Great Depression as a means to make people feel better about not being able to afford proper under garments, kind of like when you tell a bride it's good luck to have rain on your wedding day, just to keep her from having a conniption and punching a maitre d'? Probably not, but when I say "born out of the great depression" I feel like I'm putting my history degree to good use, which helps me sleep at night.

How about you, seven readers? Do you have lucky underwear or underwear of any significance? I guess what I'm saying is, "All right, people I hardly know. Tell me something special about your undies!"

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*I couldn't find anything on the internet to verify that he ever had that nick name, but trust me, it was his nick name, at least on my block. I did, however, see that on the night Jordan scored 69 points, he called his mom to tell her that he and Mike combined for 72 points that night (2.7 was his average, so he kind of went off that night. Must have had his lucky undies on). Also, I could only find one picture of him on the web, and it was protected. I'm just trying to give the man his props, compare him to my whitey-tighties, and post it on the web. Where's the harm in that?

Openings and Mammary Glands

I had a friend in college who honest to God thought that Dr. Dre (yes, two Dre posts in a row) was not saying "Bitches ain't shit but ho's and tricks," but "bitches ain't shit but holes and tits."

Funny, yes, but the lyric almost works better, because his intent was putting down women; So why not break them down to the body parts he finds useful? I mean, I don't support that logic, but if you're a mysogonistic gangsta rapper, it makes perfect sense.

Have you ever heard Ben Folds sing that song? He really sings it with conviction!


There's also a new post of mine at The LC, if you want to swing by there.

Dr. Dre's "Keep Their Heads Ringing" came "buck buck buck buck booyaka shan"'ing onto my ipod yesterday while I was riding my Nishiki* to work, and I thought about how my mind can get on tangents from just about any lyric. I'd like to share with you this Pop-Up Video (TM) from the recesses of my mind with my thoughts in italics. The lyrics were cut and pasted without permission from songlyrics.com, and other research was done at various places on the internet, again, no permission at all.

Spoken intro:
Yeah, whattup, this is Dr. Dre
The party's goin on

Thank God it's Friday

The doctor is not only suggesting that Friday is as good as any to get a party "goin' on," but the day also refers to the film Friday, for which this song appeared on the soundtrack. I recall seeing this film at the University of Illinois, where my good friend was going to school. He insisted that it was really funny, and I was torn between trusting his opinion, which I often did, and thinking that he was smoking a bit too much of devil's cabbage. Turns out it was funny, and it remains highly quotable to this day, with or without the aid of the cheeba.

["Buck buck buck buck booyaka shan!" - KRS One" rpt 4X]

The fact that it was ex Boogie Down Productions MC, KRS One lending his voice here was news to me. I wish I could tell you just what in the hell "booyaka shan" means, but I'm sure it's pretty cool, solely based on how excited Mr. One sounds about it.

Chorus:

Keep their headz ringin (ding ding dong, ring-gading ding ding dong)
repeat 2X

Onomatopoeia is when a word that when pronounced sounds like a noise something makes, like "bow wow" or "woof woof." I remember in my high school Spanish text book the dogs said "guau guau" I'll have to keep that in mind next time I fuck around and try to speak Spanish to a dog.

Hey you, sittin over there
Say what?
You better get up out of your chair
That's right
And work your body down
Yeahhh...
No time to funk around, cause we gon....
Funk, you, right on up
So get up, get a move on, and get your groove on
It's the D-R-E the spectacular
In a party I go for your neck so call me Blackula

This is in reference to the film Blacula, the 1972 Blaxploitation cult classic. Do you think Blacula was pissed that he got called Blacula, since being an immortal, blood sucking vampire should have been more significant than the color of his skin? Before he sucked a white guy's blood, I bet the nerdy white guy was like, "Hey, a Black vampire! Say something funky-fresh before you bite me!" I should have stopped at the last comment. Oh well. We forge ahead . . .

As I drain a nigga's jugular vein
and maintain to leave blood stains so don't complain
Just chill, listen to the beats I spill
Keepin it real, enables me to make another meal
Still, niggaz run up and try to kill at will
But get popped like a pimple, so call me Clearasil

That was a little free advertising for the zit cream Clearasil. However, Dr. Dre is a doctor, so he could probably get his hands on some of that serious shit you see on the infomercials late at night. Don't some of those before shots look a little beyond acne, like maybe rickets, leperse, or whatever Seal has/had?

I wipe niggaz off the face of the Earth since birth
I been a bad nigga, now let me tell you what I'm worth
More than a Stealth bomber, I cause drama

A stealth bomber costed $1.157 billion in 1998, according to aerospaceweb.org, or something like that.

The enforcer, music flows like a flying saucer
Or a 747 jet, never forget
I'm that nigga that keeps the hoes' panties wet
The mic gets smoked, once you hear the beat kick
With grooves so funky, they come with a Speed Stick

Did you know that it takes me roughly a half hour to pick out deodorant these days? I have to take off the caps to make sure it's not the white flaky kind that gets stuck in my pit hair or the one that squirts up little sections of gel, because that crap runs out too fast. Then, I have to choose between arctic blast, winter storm, sport traction, double d., and triple unleaded sonic pit-fucker. Then, I have to find which one fits these qualifications and is two for five bucks. It's not easy. If only I were worth as much as a stealth bomber like Dr. Dre, and then I could pay some schmo to worry about my pits.

So check the flavor that I'm bringin
The motherfuckin D-R-E, will keep their
motherfuckin headz ringin

Chorus

One-two for the crew, three-fo' for the dough
Five for the hoe, six-seven-eight for Death Row
Mad niggaz about to feel the full effect of intellect
So I can collect respect, plus a check
Now I fin' to, get into to, my mental will take care of this business I need
to attend to cuz my rent's due
And this rap shit's my meal ticket
So you goddamn right I'm gonna kick it, or get evicted

Wait, I thought he was worth more than a jet? Shit, I never bought the "Friday" soundtrack. If I got Dr. Dre evicted, I'll never forgive myself . . .

I bring terror like Stephen King
A black Casanova, runnin niggaz over like Christine

For those of you who don't know, that's a great, and by great I mean great if you watch it with a 12-pack, 1980's movie about a crazy car that has a mind of its own and runs over teenagers.

When I rock the spot with the flavor I got
I kick plenty of ass, so call me an astronaut
As I blast past another nigga's ass that thought he was strong
But I smoke him like grass, just like Cheech and Chong
When I flow, niggaz know, it's time to take a hike
Cause I grab the mic and flip my tongue like a dyke

By that statement, the doctor is likening the tongue action of his rapping to a "dyke's" ability to yodel in the gulley, since they all have the same equipment, thus making them more vagina savvy.

I got rhymes to keep you enchanted
Produce a smokescreen with the funky green to keep your eyes slanted
So check the flavor that I'm bringin
The motherfuckin D-R-E, will keep their motherfuckin headz ringin

Chorus

Debonair with flair, I scare wear and tear
without a care, runnin shit as if I was a mayor
But I ain't no politician, no competition
Sendin all opposition to see a mortician
I'm up front, never in the back drop
Step on stage and get faded just like a flat top
Your rhyme sounds like you bought em at Stop N Go
Dre came to wax you so, just call me Mop N Glow
Many tried to, but just can't rock with
I'm 6-1, 225, a pure chocolate

At the time, the doctor was an inch shorter than me, 35 pounds heavier, and far chocolatier.

Your chances of jackin me are slim, G
Cause I rock from summer til Santa comes down the chimney
Ho ho ho, and so, as I continue to flow
Cause yo, I'm just a fly negro
So, check the flavor that I'm bringin'
The motherfuckin D-R-E will keep their motherfuckin headz ringin.

Chorus

Okay, that will do it. That was exhausting! That's probably what you're saying if you're still reading. Sorry . . .

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*Nishiki is the brand of my second-hand, piece-of-shit bicycle, but I bet you thought it was a crotch rocket.