Yes. This Is the Best I Got

The Fart Muzzle: When someone clasps a hand over his/her butt to lessen the noise, as to get away with a fart, not unlike the concept of a trumpet mute.

I have been uninspired and busy with other things, and when I checked my phone for memos for ideas, this was the only one I had. And it was weeks ago.

Little Help . . .

I still need someone to "tag" as an "accomplice" to write a short story about a murder. There are no length requirements or any other guidelines, just hopefully you know someone else to tag.

Email me (thegancer@yahoo.com) or contact the folks directly (anonymousboard@gmail.com) and just mention my name.

Just think of all the people you hate who you can envision killing. How fun is that?

Click here to see the site. Mine is the one two stories ago entitled, "Arnold the Awful Roommate."

Please consider helping out because I feel bad that such a cool idea for a website is crapping out because of me . . .

Deflated Pumpkins, Deflated Egos

Did you know, and why would you, that if you leave a pumpkin out on a Chicago porch for a few months of awful Chicago weather, it deflates? Well it does,

it's sitting on my front porch, and it looks just like this.

Now, if this were some kind of science experiment I were doing with my son, I would say, "Good for you, Dr. Ken!" However, when this is just typical of the sort of thing I let happen around this place with my five roommates, well, then I say, "Not so good, Doc."

Yes, I finally have a move out/grow up date, and that is July First of this year, immediately following the roast on June 3rd. Yes, we're having a roast with all the people who have lived in this 5 bedroom house over the years, and there have been some characters over the years. The idea of this party is to tell embarrassing stories about one another, and then the significant others and

spouses can show up afterwards for a party open to the general public.

I just hope I don't end up the butt of everyone's jokes like Courtney Love, but I have a feeling I will.

Usually Jim Was Drunk, But Sometimes He Was Right

With these earth quakes

typhoons

radiation scares causing Japanese zombies and the creation of a for-real Godzilla

(I have no proof of this. Yet)

The Bachelor picking women to marry like the NCAA Tournament

Ultimate Fighting fighters kneeing each other in the face spraying blood everywhere and dudes have to mop up the blood between fights

Mike Tyson has a show about pigeons on the Animal Planet

Steve Bartman

Snow in 49 of the 50 states at the same time

Charlie Sheen's tiger blood

Youtube idiots becoming famous for being complete morons

A Bieber Fever outbreak

Zumba

and a new Moutain Dew flavor and a new form of taco from Taco Bell every few weeks . . . it all makes me think that maybe the whole shit house is going up in flames.

What other signs of the Apocalypse have you seen, Seven Readers, that make you want to bring a bunch jars into your bomb shelter to pee in for the next 20 years or so?

Well, What DId We Learn This St. Patrick's Day Weekend?

1. It's way better to hear a 90's cover band than hear a bunch of shitty Irish music. Nobody actually likes to hear that crap, do they? Everyone would rather hear Greenday, Nirvana, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and Smashing Pumpkins than listen to "Danny Boy."

2. If you're nice to your cabbie, he'll pull into a gas station so you can get a diet Pepsi and some chips.

3. If you get off the sauce for a bit and have a diet Pepsi and some chips, you can stay out a little longer.

4. Sing-a-longs at a party are great fun when you have talented people playing guitar and piano and an astrophysicist on harmonica.

5. If a guy is trying to close the deal with a chick, and she grabs your nuts on the way to the bathroom, that's a pretty good sign that your buddy will score. However, she might not be girlfriend material.

Lee's Rant

Baseball season is around the corner, and I thought it a good time to play for you one of the finest meltdowns in sports history, Cubs coach Lee Elia's swearing masterpiece from 1983. I spliced in some music in the background, and while there is a lot of hiss from the original Lee recording, I think if you have the patience to listen when the music gets more intense, you will hear it build up to a sweet cursing crescendo. If you want, count the times he uses the fuck word and post your answer in the comments. How fun! I mean, how fucking fun!!



Remember, hit pause on the music player on this page on the right before you play the song, or click where it says "MP3" to download it to your iTunes so you can road rage it in the car with old Lee.

I Bring You: Caption Contest Number Around 6 Or So

I seriously don't know what's going on here, but it doesn't look like my kind of party. Anymore. What do you think is going on and/or what are they saying, Seven Readers?

The Book Store

Stephen wasn't sure what made him stop into the "book store" on Randolph Street on his way to the train after work. Lord knows the kind of "books" they sell there aren't the type he usually reads, and certainly they were unlike the book under his arm that evening, "The Thurber Carnival." It was his second time through that collection of stories, and he was quite sure there were no acts contained within those tales like the ones depicted in the literature behind that door - If there were, Mr. Thurber certainly didn't describe them quite as explicitly. Stephen wasn't feeling particularly frisky that evening, more exhausted from a long work week, but he just wanted something to break the monotony of his work week; throw a new element in that pattern of get up, go to work, go home, work out, cook dinner, go to bed. Whether it was a good idea or not, going to a porno shop was certainly a change in that pattern.

The gal behind the counter was about what you would expect, 5'2", great body, short pink hair, covered in tattoos and piercings and reading an actual book, but she had a trusting vibe about her when she said, "Hello there, sir" as Stephen stepped through the door. He felt immediately unsure and worried that he would look like some kind of pervert, especially if someone he knew was in there. It wasn't easy for Stephen to decide what to look for because he wasn't really looking for anything, and everything he looked at made him uncomfortable. He decided that the lubes were a safe place to look, since they didn't have nearly as many naked people on the packages.

"Looking for some lube there, buddy?" She said in a thick Chicago accent, that was still somehow sexy - something he wasn't sure was possible until then. "Uh, no. Not really. I'm not even sure why I came in here" he found himself saying. "Oh . . ." she said, "Well, I wasn't sure why I came in this joint either, but before I knew it I was working here, shamelessly selling pulsating vaginas to weirdos day-after-day. I'm Angelista," she said, giving him a warm smile and extending a delicate hand with black nail polish in his direction.

"Oh. Pleased to meet you. Listen, like I said, I don't know why I came in. I'm going to leave now and let you get back to what it is you have to do."

"Did I look I was extraordinarily busy to you?"

"Uh, no, but I'm sure you have inventory and things because there's a lot of . . . stuff around here, and um, you know, I'm sure just like any other place there are things . . ."

"What are you reading there?"

"Oh, it's a collection of short stories by James Thurber. He wrote for the New Yorker a long time ago. I saw you reading on my way in. Anything good?"

"Yeah! Really good. It's by Tulliver, the leading expert in the field of reflexology. Did you know that I could access every part of your body, including all your erogenous zones, through your feet?"

"No. But I believe you. I should go."

"Sure, but first, give me that hand again."

Stephen indulged her, giving his hand over to her, somewhat embarrassed, but a little bit curious, letting a sheepish smile come out despite attempts not to.

"You have beautiful hands. I bet you have terrific feet too."

"Yeah, they're not bad I guess. I mean, they don't smell or anything."

"Now, if I apply pressure right . . . here, I bet you will feel worlds better in your back. You keep a lot of your stress there, don't you?"

The truth is, he did suddenly feel better. Maybe there was truth to the writings of Tulliver and his hands and feet magic, or maybe it was just that he felt incredibly calm and comfortable around Angelista, who he barely knew, but already he was sure she was a far better person than the sharks and schemers he had to deal with every day at his firm.

"Wow . . . I actually do feel a little better. I should get on my train."

"Sure thing, big dog. Sorry if I weirded you out with all this mumbo jumbo."

"No, that's not it. It's just that I have to run. Pleasure meeting you, Angelista. So long."

"So long," she returned in a business man type tone and face that wasn't as much mocking as it was endearing.

Stephen stepped outside, stretched out his loosened spine and walked towards his L train, feeling a renewed sense of self, and he knew that he would see her again soon because five minutes with Angelista every few days could very well be the thing he would need to get out of bed and onto that urine soaked train every awful morning of his life.

We Need a More Manly Term For Cuddling

It really is impossible to sound cool when you're a guy saying that word: Cuddlng. Can you really see yourself saying to a buddy, "Sunday was amazing. My girl and I just stayed in bed all day and cuddled like crazy!" Not too cool sounding, right? But, most guys secretly like to engage in that act, at least that's what I have found through my informal poling. Now, while it is true that some fellas just like to nuzzle up in there because it sometimes leads to sex, more likely the man cuddles out of instinct (not unlike the cats pictured) and the sex is just something that pops up, so to speak.

So, here at The Gancer, I'm going to try out some new terms, and I need you, my Seven Readers, to tell me which one is the best.

Smush: Someone told me that is what the kids on "The Jersey Shore" call it, but when I looked it up, it's a term they use for coitus. So, that won't work, and it's no more manly a term than cuddling anyway.

Fusion: I think this could really work. Let's see: "We got it on for like an hour, and then we just lied in bed fusing until the sun came up." Hey, you know, that's not too bad!!

Snuggle: Nope. That's even dorkier sounding than cuddling.

So, that's it. If you can think of a better one, let me know in the comments. Otherwise, we're going with fusion. And here's your mission, Seven Readers: See if you can sneak this new term into a blog post or a conversation and come by and let me know if you've managed to do so. Extra credit coming your way if you get a hold of a special someone and give him or her a fuse for old Dr. Ken.

Some Kid In My Hood School Asked Me . . .

. . . "Did you ever play a part on "Dawson's Creek?"

I said, "Are

you calling me James Van Der Beek? Okay, that's pretty funny. Now get

back to work."

It was funny. I mean, sometimes they call me

Larry Bird, Dirk

Nowitzki, or white boy (I went off on that kid and he got suspended), but James Van Der Beek is kind of a deep cut.

These Are the People At My Gym. The People That I Meet Each Day

1. There is a swishy guy who spends hours and hours at the gym and is there most every time I'm there. How do I know he's there really long? He never leaves before I do. What is swishy? It's a toned down way of saying the more offensive "fruity." I think I got swishy from my mom. Or maybe it was my dad . . .

Anyway, this fella prances around with his arms all limp, kind of like a T-rex, and he admires himself in every mirror he can get his eyes on. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he will take around 15 minutes between sets checking himself out and just swishing around aimlessly, maybe looking for more mirrors.

2. It turns out my gym is a bit of a cop gym. I didn't know this when I started there, but after someone told me, it dawned on me that, yeah, all these guys look like cops. So, there aren't a lot of attractive women who go there, which is fine by me. I don't need that pressure. I just like to get in and out of there as fast as possible so I can get home and enjoy those last couple of hours before sleep, work, and working out have swallowed up my whole day. But, there is one new gal I saw the other day who is fine as wine. She's got long, flowing, cascading hair like Farrah Fawcett. I don't plan on hitting on her because chicks hate that - it's just nice to look at every now and again, breaking up the monotony of all the cop-looking dudes.

3. There's this huge doucher who gets all into the heavy metal music on his headphones, air drumming as he runs around the track. What's worse, he always asks for low calorie gatorades even though they haven't stocked them in weeks. Ooooh, you watching your sugar intake, dork? Also, he's always stopping to watch everyone, like he's criticizing and/or perving on them. I hear he writes a shitty blog, or something . . .