I was looking over my posts, and I'm pretty sure that this one never went live - it was still a draft. So, here's my 101st post of the month. Enjoy!
I like to work out with my ipod and the television on with the sound off, usually to a mixed martial arts fight because all the guys are in incredible shape and inspire me. However, often times before and after fights on that same channel, there is a show called "1,000 Ways To Die" on in which they show dramatizations of all kinds of bizarre ways in which people have died, complete with doctors and visual aids showing just why the various events would kill you.
The thing is, it's kind of sick for a show to make light of these people who have died because the narrator makes jokes and they go for laughs with the stupid dramatizations. These were real people who died, after all. Also, the women are always super hot, which is nice to look at, but I highly doubt the woman who died from masturbating with a carrot was anywhere above a rating of 2.
Anyway, even though the show is decidedly sick and wrong in most every respect, I still let out a hearty "oh hell naw!" while working out when there is something particularly gruesome, kind of like Black folks in the movie theater during a horror film.
This made me think of a sad, sad time in my life when I was piss-broke in graduate school, selling my platelets for some cash, and while all of us were lined up on our beds (I think I was the lone white guy), the clinic was airing Final Destination, the movie where, oddly enough, people die in all kinds of bizarre ways. All the slightly drained patients were providing their commentary of the movie, and I was laughing my ass off, forgetting for at least a moment how broke and miserable I was.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
I was in the grocery store late at night tonight with Gancey Girlfriend to pick up some stuff, and she was walking through the store wondering what else it was she really needed in there. It was at that time that she blurted out, loudly, "Oh yeah, tampons!" I was all, "Hey, everyone! This gal in aisle 19 needs some tamps! Give a bitch a price check!" Never a dull moment.
So, when we're in the car, she said that it was a good thing she remembered to buy those, or she wasn't sure what she would have done. To which I said, and I'm sorry that it's stupid, but it's a slow news day here:
"Yeah, you might have had to been like The Professor on "Gilligan's Island," jerry ringing a tampon out of some bamboo or something. Do you think that's what he did when Ginger was on the rag or when Mary Ann's Aunt Flo paid a visit to The Island? I don't think Mrs. Howell would have needed any bamboo; not for that, anyway. That bloody ship had sailed long, long before that "three hour tour," I'm afraid.
To which Gancey Girlfriend said, "Huh?", half listening, still thinking about the amazingly mind F'ing movie we had just seen (Inception), which was energy better spent than paying any attention to my most recent idiotic tangent.
"Never mind," I said. "Pay me no mind. This one will have to up on the blog.
After getting done playing football at recess one day when I was around 9 or 10, one of the more popular kids in the class came up to me and said, "I can't believe you said "I'm widical!" I guess what he meant is that I thought I was wide open for a pass, and I thought I'd combine the phrases "wide open" with one of the word de jur words of the 1980's, radical. Come on, I was a dork, but I wasn't that lame. I denied it vehemently.
Another day at recess, it could have been the next day, but I can't say for sure, we're playing football again, I ran a slant, post, or a fly pattern, I can't be sure which, and I was completely open for a catch and an almost certain touchdown! I found myself blurting out, "I'm widical!"
I thought to myself, "Holy shit. I must have really said that the other day. Jesus I'm lame. I might as well have said I'm widular" (wide open + tubular).
How about you, Seven Readers? Have you ever found yourself saying something really dumb? Again?
. . . that after drinking from the circular community drinking fountain thingy with the four fountains, I kept mine running for the next girl like I was at a keg party or something.
. . . If you played with a Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) when you were a kid, it was preparing you to get a woman off when you were older.
Think about it, you rubbed the game cassette down with two fingers, you blew into it, and everyone had their own little tricks to get it "going," if you know what I mean. It's a lot like foreplay, with the main act being getting to play the game, Castlevania, or whatever.
There were even some industry standard things you could pick up to enhance the experience, such as in Contra: up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, a, b,b,a,b,a, start (select start for two players). Try those directions with your tongue next time you're down there. Tell her it was Doctor's orders from your old pal, Dr. Ken: a guy who knows his way around an NES, among other things.
Who in the shit is putting their kid in a jail every night, and what crazy ass adult is getting one of those? Ladies, if you went back to a guy's apartment, what would you say if he opened the bedroom door and said, "Step inside the Pain Cage?"
How about this one? Was this a hit outside of the Chicago area? What a nasty thing for a girl to do, to pork some girl's boyfriend and brag about it in her face, but one wonders if it was really Jared Leto she was singing about as this youtube video would suggest.
Dr. Ken had a pretty good post about meeting Jared Leto at Lollapalooza that he posted way back when if anyone's interested and few were interested then . . .
Sorry I haven't updated in so long, but I was in Las Vegas for a bachelor party. Here's what I learned:
1. A lot of families take their kids to Vegas, and while I know there are lot of things for kids to do these days, there are still people handing out pictures of naked women touching their vaginas every couple of steps you take out there. Also, some families are still milling around with their kids at 2:00AM. My guess is the trip is more for mom's and dad's that really like to go there.
2. Contrary to popular belief, you can actually find a lot of cheap adult beverages out there ($1.00 or $1.50 beers) on the strip (albeit at crappy cheesy Casinos, which are fun for me), or if you're a gambler, there are casinos that bring you free cocktails while you're playing. Actually, one day we were just reclining in the chairs at a really nice sports book watching the Chicago Cubs ruin our afternoon, and the lady was bringing us freebies, despite the fact that we had no bets down. We didn't get up early enough to lay money down, and it was probably best that we didn't. But, if you go most anywhere else it's 7 bucks for a beer and like 10 for a mixed drink.
3. Money goes fast out there. The ATM's, we call them "cash machines" in Chicago, and I just figured out that people out there don't know what the hell that is, spit out 100 dollar bills. They don't even bother with twenties. Very scary.
4. If a random aging barfly says she will give you the ugliest men's powder blue jacket with an ugly pattern and an even uglier pattern in the lining for the price of buying her one bottle of MGD, she will make good on her promise one out of one times (100%) in my limited research. Also, when you're packing in a hurry in the hotel room and you have a newly acquired Mr. Furley jacket, there is no reason to pack the thing for the trip home as I did.
I was watching "Real Sports" with Bryant Gumbel today, and they had a segment on Welsh Rugby player, Gareth Thomas, the only openly gay professional athlete on a sports team to come out during his career. Isn't that a sad fact that of all the professional sports teams all across the world, players are getting the same feeling, that the climate is such that coming out does not feel safe.
Jackie Robinson, the first Black Major League Baseball player, was hand chosen because they thought he had the right kind of character to respond to the bigotry and threats. This is what I think we need in all of our sports, a pioneer. After all, it isn't surprising that such a manly endeavor as sporting events has had a long history of intolerance of homosexuals, but I have found that even the least tolerant people can change their tune quickly when they are thrown into a situation where they have to become close to a homosexual - and find them to be just like anyone else.
On this same show, I was surprised to learn how widespread racism is in soccer, where Black players have bananas thrown at them at games, they are spit on, and people make monkey noises every time they get near the ball. They even showed entire sections of Nazi party people who hold up offensive signs.
Anyway, back to the homosexual thing, I think that guys really think that they can't have a gay man in the locker room because he won't be able to contain himself around all those naked men. Really? Get over yourself, guys. Your penis isn't all that great. Especially after all those steroids.
Do you guys remember this song? I'm trying to figure out if it was only a hit in the Chicago area. I remember I was in Junior year Spanish class in high school, and a buddy and I used to memorize the Spanish word for scarf, bufanda. "Oh oh. Yeah yeah. Oooh wee, bufanda."
The song had no music video, which says to me that it wasn't a nation wide hit, but this homemade video is . . . interesting.
The thing is they are saying "oh oh yeah yeah ooh wee, Yolanda," and that's pretty stupid. But if the Beatles wrote the same line it would be genius, right? Or if a Spanish band wrote the same thing only with Bufanda . . . Now that would be something.
I let people in a lot when I drive, but there are a lot of people who don't. Why would they, right? If you truly believe that whether you do the nice thing or the not-so-nice thing, that they're out of your life five seconds later either way, then of course you're going to keep going, avoiding eye contact (I hate that move).
So, how do we increase Letter Inners and decrease Selfish Buttholes?
I propose a game show like Cash Cab, where you could randomly let in another motorist, and sirens, lights, and a bullhorn would start going off on a car, telling you to pull over, and they would hand you a big wad of cash. I think if we knew there was a car like that out there, we might drive a little less selfishly.
What do you think?
Oh, one more idea. How about the cash car would let other people in and would give money out to people who gave a thank you wave?
I went for a run today, and things were going well for the first half. Then, with about a sixth of the way to go, I felt something. A feeling that can best be summed up by saying:
"When you're sittin' in your Chevy, and you feel something heavy - Diarrhea cha cha cha. Diarrhea cha cha cha."
I immediately started walking because I feared that if I kept running I might . . .
"When you're slidin' into first, and you feel something burst - Diarrhea cha cha cha. Diarrhea cha cha cha."
I walked, quickly, trying to focus on getting home in a timely fashion and keeping the beast in the cage. You ever have to talk yourself down and concentrate like that? It's quite the challenge, especially when Flip Wilson is right at that back door.* Everything had to be controlled down to a science at that point, even what song I was listening to, as some songs would aggravate my anus, somehow. At one point I got the shivers, like the cold sweats. That's when you're know that you're in some deep shit, so to speak. Believe it or not, there was a point where I considered ducking into an alley and having a poo, not unlike Smokey in Friday.
As I was walking through the final alley, the magic alley where a warehouse always throws away good stuff, I saw a pair of perfectly good bar stools, and I need some for an upcoming party. Despite having a stool problem of my own, I grabbed those two bar stools and continued on that home stretch. Then I had the phenomenon where your butt says, "Oh, sweet, we're close to home, so I can open the flood gates and start the process," and then your brain has to say, "No, you idiot! We're not there yet! Are you crazy? We're going to shit ourselves if we do that!"
Slamming the bar stools on my porch, I opened the door and left it open** - no time to be closing things, as that's not a step that brings me any closer to that bowl. You know when you have to crap so bad that you know exactly what that poo is going to be like?*** I could just tell that this one was going to be hot and splattery, and it was going to make my butt burn because I drank too much coffee, a protein shake, and a quiche. Quiche! What was I thinking? I'm lactose intolerant, and plus it had goat cheese in it. Oh, and I had somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand beers the night before.
Well, I was exactly right about it being a bad, bad scene on the pot. For the all important shower, I had to do that maneuver where I turn the water temperature down to a moderately cold setting and cool off the old "culo." I even had that rare instance where your body is so screwed up from the squirts that your balls pull way up into a tight little undercarriage.
I mark down what workouts I do on my calendar, and I think on this day I'll have to document "5/6 of my nine mile run due to a Code Brown." __________________________ *I know that's a bit of a racist phrase, but it's just too funny. For some reason, saying "taking the Cosby Kids to the pool" is more racist to me because it's just overused. Flip Wilson is so damn random and funny, that's it's somehow okay for me to say it, despite the fact that I'm insanely liberal. **Oh shit. I think it's still open. ***You don't have to actually answer any of these questions.
. . . just published a good interview with one of his favorite bands. You can read/listen to it here.
. . . just published the second interview in a two part series with UFC fighter, Matt "The Immortal" Brown, and you can read/listen to that here. I have gotten to know this guy pretty well, and I'm worried that if he loses tomorrow, he'll be booted out of the UFC, so cheer him on for me!
. . . is going out tonight with Gancey Girlfriend to our favorite Italian place. Where was I before BYOB? Why drop fifty bucks on alcohol on your bill when you can bring 10 to 20 bucks in wine with unlimited selection from any store you want? A bottle of wine bought at a restaurant is at least double the cost. What a racket!
. . . is having his second annual Redneck Party at his apartment next weekend. This year's moonshine is apple flavored with cinnamon sticks soaking at the bottom. Mmmmm. Makes you go blind.
. . . sometimes does abdominal routines on his On Demand cable, and his roommates come home and see him panting, sweating, and prancing around like Sissy-Boy Roy.
. . . is midway through "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo." Hooray for Swedish authors/artists, but it's very sad that the guy died before he could enjoy all the success of this great series of novels.
. . . has to fix his hair and splash on some "pew" (that's what my grandpa called cologne) and pick up his lady. Have a happy fourth, everyone, if I don't talk to you!
I like to work out with my ipod and the television on with the sound off, usually to a mixed martial arts fight because all the guys are in incredible shape and inspire me. However, often times before and after fights on that same channel, there is a show called "1,000 Ways To Die" on in which they show dramatizations of all kinds of bizarre ways in which people have died, complete with doctors and visual aids showing just why the various events would kill you. 
The thing is, it's kind of sick for a show to make light of these people who have died because the narrator makes jokes and they go for laughs with the stupid dramatizations. These were real people who died, after all. Also, the women are always super hot, which is nice to look at, but I highly doubt the woman who died from masturbating with a carrot was anywhere above a rating of 2. 
This made me think of a sad, sad time in my life when I was piss-broke in graduate school, selling my platelets for some cash, and while all of us were lined up on our beds (I think I was the lone white guy), the clinic was airing Final Destination, the movie where, oddly enough, people die in all kinds of bizarre ways. All the slightly drained patients were providing their commentary of the movie, and I was laughing my ass off, forgetting for at least a moment how broke and miserable I was.
