Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Your Tuesday Hood Revelation: Are You a Big Homie or a Little Homie?

I hear my "clients" on the West Side say "Big Homie" and other times "Lil' Homie," and I was dying to know the distinction. One guy called me each one on separate occasions, so beyond him calling a teacher any type of homie, the fact that he wavered between the two really threw me.

There isn't a lot on "dem internets" on this subject, but I did find some valuable information from a fellow blogger, TopMackNiggga, and he states the following:

Big Homies are tha OG Niggas and tha Little Homies are tha Up and coming Niggas. Big Homies are always fighting to hold on to the respect the've earned through tha years, little homies are trying to earn initial respect. Both must continuously work around tha clock to maintain respect and status within tha Hood.

Thanks, TopMackNigga! I think I now have a better understanding on this issue, and the next time someone calls me one or the other, I'll correct them. I think that at the bars, for instance, I'm a Big Homie. I've been around these blocks for years, and if these Lil' Homies would let me bend their ear for a moment, they may just find themselves laid because there's a lot of knowledge I could drop on these young bucks.

How about you, Seven Readers? What type of homie are you?

Monday, May 30, 2011

Ball Lift

I was talking with my special lady-friend (LSD), and we were wondering if there is a cosmetic surgery for old guys with old, saggy balls. I mean, you could lift and tuck just about anything else, so why not an unsightly, wrinkly scrotal sack?

Does such a thing exist? To the internet! . . .

Well, I found some of the grossest pictures of all time. If they're really trying to sell these surgeries, couldn't they find some better looking penises? Holy crap fart! If you want to get a look, and you don't, here's a link. One surgery is to correct penoscrotal webbing, or turkeynecking. Yuck!

I'm having a hard time finding this, and I can't stand to read any more things about knives in and around male genitals. I know it has to exist because you figure dudes like Hugh Hefner have corrected their grandpa nuts, right?

Hey, Seven Readers, sorry about this post. I'll try to have something less gross when I post again tomorrow or the next day . . .

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Lice Check Day

Law School Dropout (LSD) was giving me a sweet head scratch yesterday, and I was telling her how I kind of liked Lice Check Day when I was a kid, with those mommies ever so gently poking around my head in search of cooties. I then told her that it was a great day unless you actually had lice, in which case they threw a bag over your head, sent your ass home, and everyone for the rest of their lives remembered that you were a nasty fucker with parasites.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

4 Granparents. One Chocolate Factory

At the bar tonight, somehow we got talking about Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), and of course we talked about the oompa loompas, the everlasting gobstopper, and how they killed kids off like whacking goons on "The Sopranos." However, the new information that was revealed by my good friend, Douglas Morrison, was that all FOUR of Charlie's grandparents slept in the same bed.

This begs some questions . . .

1. How did this come about? Who really owned the house, and how are you going to let both sets of in laws live there?

2. Was anyone fuckin', and how much lube were they using? Did Charlie have to come in there once a week with a fresh bucket of Astro Glide? We need to know these things!

3. Does anyone remember this, as I can find no facts about this on the internet. Well, I probably could, but I'm all full and drunk on Belgian beer and ready for bed. With my grandparents.

4. Huh?

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I Wanted To Tell You Some Things That Happened on the West Side Today . . .

. . . but I'm so damn mad about The Bulls losing that all I can remember are these things.

1. We were talking about "First 48," and this coworker of mine, Big Ron, said that he'd like to watch, but he can't stop watching that show where they "wrastle" alligators. That one dude on there, who is "country as hell" by Big Ron's estimation, looked in the fridge, saw there was nothing to eat, and decided he had better step out to shoot a squirrel, coon, or possum. Would you all eat a possum? I don't know - anything with a tail like a rat . . .

2. Big Ron was then talking about Oprah, and he makes a point that a lot of people have done a great deal of charity - they just don't have a public forum every day to showcase it. According to Ron, Bill Cosby put loads of kids in the south through college and Michael Jackson walked into a hospital somewhere and paid for a bunch of surgeries - he just didn't have a talk show to let everyone know that he got his awesomeness on that day. Good point. Big Ron also thought he should have been on the Oprah show because he was a "battered man" due to the fact that his sisters "beat the shit" out of him all the time.

3. Later, Big Ron asked everyone what they were doing for Memorial Day Weekend because he was looking to BBQ. One gal said she was having a party on the South Side, so he said, "Cool. Do you want me to bring the charcoal or lighter fluid?" She said, "Shoot, you could bring some steaks or something," To which the quite brilliant Big Ron responded, "That's a little out of my price range. I gave you the two items I'm willing to bring, and without them, you got no fire."

I can learn a lot from Big Ron, and I hope you can too, Seven Readers.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

You Know When You Think of Something In Your Head and Laugh, Making Someone Around You Think You're Nuts? . . .

. . . Well, I have done that a couple times with the girl I'm seeing who you may know by the name of Law School Dropout.

The first instance came when we were lying in bed and I started cracking up laughing a little. Then the more I tried to stop it, I just totally lost it, which made her laugh. Don't think I'm an asshole, please, but I was laughing thinking about having seen a goofy kid trying to do push-ups earlier that day. My friend, Gung Ho, was scoring how many they could do, and by the time it was this kid's turn, this second grader had watched at least twenty youngsters perform the act. Yet, for some reason, he arched his butt way up in the air, crouched up like a frog, and slowly attempted to make love to the ground. First the other students started to laugh. I tried not to laugh myself, but when Gung Ho through his head back in the air and laughed uncontrollably, I lost it too. I guess you just had to be there . . .

The second time I laughed to myself like a dumb-ass, I was, again, lying in bed with Law School Dropout (LSD?). Earlier that day, I had been at a meeting with the scuzziest man of all time who was fillbustering the hell out of all of us with random dumb crap, disagreeing with everyone and being rude. I say scuzzy because he wears dirty clothes, smells like cigarettes, has the longest dirtiest nails ever, and his laptop had missing keys, stains, and his gum stuck on it - saved for post meeting chewing, perhaps? As he's pointing his fingers to the group, with his dirty and long gross fingernails quite close to my face, he was saying, "I'd like to propose blah, blah blah," and all I could think is, "I have something to propose. I propose this gross sonuvabitch cut those nails and perhaps even clean them!" I guess I laughed out loud thinking about that because I was picturing myself actually saying that and the people's reaction to it. Actually, I damn near blurted it out, to be honest.

Any of you ever do that? Anyone have a name for it?

This post is probably full of typos and things, but I had to do it quickly before falling asleep. Maybe I'll giggle to myself in a minute, and if so, you'll read all about it tomorrow . . .

Monday, May 16, 2011

Which Beatle Are You?

I think I may have asked my readers which "Golden Girl" they were at one point, but this one is also interesting. For example, if you're the quiet one, then maybe you're George. If you're the pretty boy, perhaps you're Paul.

As for me? I am kind of the darker, cynical, funny one, so put me down for John. Also, I like Asians.

So, what are you, seven readers? Even the "lurkers," come on out and let me know because I want to get a good discussion going here. And extra points for creativity!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

The Second Drunken Voicemail Post!

As always, be sure to pause the music player on the right so that you can make an informed decision.

Monday, May 09, 2011

The Lads

I had been meaning to get together with my buddy Skittles for some time now, as he just moved to Chicago from Ireland a few weeks ago. I met Skittles during a summer working at Navy Pier together taking pictures of tourists. I thought, it being a Wednesday, that I would just have a beer or two, catch up on old times, and then leave shortly after the Bulls game. Instead, when I stepped into the bar, I saw around 5 familiar Irish faces from that summer, one of whom was having a bachelor party. That's right: A bunch of drunken Irishmen who I know and love had come out to Chicago for a stag party, and I had unknowingly stepped into it.

I could have stuck to my guns with my self-imposed curfew, but come on, these lads are great fun and I hadn't seen them in years. Here are some highlights in no particular order:

1. There was a little Black girl in the first bar (there would be a few) who we were calling Rooty Huxtable (hope that's not racist), and one lad, Plastico, said, "Huxtable. That's a magnificent surname."

2. When we were reminiscing about that summer a few years back, they were all saying how a picture of a rapist on the loose at the time had his sketch on the door of every bar and club on the north side of Chicago, and the guy looked just like one of the lads, Dunigan. I don't remember this, but it has to be true because even Dunigan, a guy too nice to do anything remotely as heinous as rape, had to admit it to be true.

3. We were trying to think of what bar had a good special on Wednesday nights, as when they were here last, all the Irish kids working on the Pier knew the schedule of the best specials so that each and every night they could find a place to drink extremely cheaply. What's funny is that when you went into one of those places, you would learn that the word had spread to Irish kids all over the city, and you would see it packed full of sun burnt Irishmen, happily drinking away their wages.

4. I don't remember why, but I was asking them what the expression is in Ireland for being horny or having a boner, and as it turns out, it's "on the horn" or a you're like a "bag of horns." Try to work that in a conversation sometime soon, Seven Readers.

5. The lads had plans to go to nudey bar, something I wasn't game for on a Wednesday, and Skittles was saying that the last time he was at one was when he was last in Chicago, when he and Pony (a lad who couldn't make it out for the stag but was missed dearly) went to such a place with a raging cokehead they met that night by the name of Phillip Kuntz. Old Kuntzy took a liking to the boys and bought them their drinks and titty bucks all night, but when he started to have an intense freak out/meltdown in the cab, the lads made a "quick exit."

6. I guess there's something called Chess Boxing where guys alternate rounds of boxing and a few minutes of speed chess for a total of 12 minutes of chess, and you can win by either checkmate or knockout. Yes, something that stupid exists, we talked about it, and you can see it here:

7. While at the titty bar**, I learned that, like Christmas, it's better to give than to receive. I'll explain: Remember when you were a little kid and all you cared about what was present you got rather than what you got other people, but then as you got older, you really wanted to know that people liked what you picked out for them? Well, I'm finding titty bars to be kinda like that because I had so much fun picking out the perfect stripper for the bachelor, Buttons, to spend my money on him, and I ultimately decided upon a beautiful Russian one (or at least she faked a good accent) by the name of Kassandra who was sitting all alone. I asked her what she was doing sitting there all by her lonesome, and she said she was waiting for me. Of course she was! They're such sweet talkers (read bullshitters) in those place. In any case, Buttons was quite pleased with the Russian's work.

8. Kassandra was the best looking and arguably the most "talented***," but the funniest one by far was one by the name of Heidi the Mountain Girl, who dressed not unlike the famous literature hero of the Swiss Alps. After she sat on my lap, I asked her why she went by the mountain girl, and she said because of her mountains, motioning towards her giant fake boobs. Duh! Then she said she wanted to do the splits on my face. I asked in which direction, and after thinking about it for a moment, she said the outwards way. I guess I really didn't have a preference as this was Buttons' night, and as such, I bought him a dance from the Mountain Girl as well.

9. A nudey bar on a Wednesday night is ordinarily a horrible idea, but it was so good to see all these gents. They're such great guys that if they asked really nice, I think I'd do the splits on their faces in any direction they saw fit.

*Phillip, if you googled yourself and found this blog, I hope you're not offended, and I hope you've cleaned up. God's speed, Kuntzy.
**Never mind what I said in number 5 about limitations on school nights. It was just too much fun to see these guys.
***Another of the lads, Tonto, agreed, so that's two Irishmen giving Kassandra a nod for a Lappy, which is a lap dance award I just made up.

Tuesday, May 03, 2011

For Those of You Who Don't Have Me On Facebook, Behold Me Commenting on My Own Stupid Update . . .

And here's the fun part: I'm so stupid that I don't know how to change the color of the font for just this post, so highlight everything and scroll so you can read it against the background. It's like a secret decoding mission! Yeah, I'm just trying to make it sound fun because I don't know what the hell I'm doing . . .

Dr. Kenneth's Profile, Dr. Kenneth's Wall

Monday, May 02, 2011

Beluga Whales Are My Personal Trainers

Here's the new bike. Isn't it bitchin'?

I love my new bike, but I might like riding too much. The thing is, when I run or bike I often get it in my head that I have to go to a certain long route I decide upon, and then anything less and I'm a big puss. So, I head down to the lake, take it north until the path ends, go all the way back south to the Shed Aquarium to peek in on the beluga whales through the glass (today was feeding time!), and then head back home, leaving my legs completely cashed out and I'm ready to sleep at 9:30PM. Sure, it's too much, but if I don't make it all the way, it's like I'm letting the Belugas down.

Here's a picture I took with the aquarium on the left and the skyline (this city is beautiful . . . When it's warm out).

I didn't take this picture, but how cute is that big, white sonuvabitch?

I just think it's interesting that an animal so full of blubber is motivating me to stay skinny.