The Airplane Joke

My dad had this friend growing up named Jay.  When they were kids, Jay would often come over and stay for long periods of time to the point where my grandmother would say, "Jay, aren't your parents expecting you home?"  He would say, "Nah, they're fine.  They don't mind."  And then he would stay for dinner, dessert, coffee, and beyond.  Jay was a well-meaning guy, perhaps just misunderstood by his peers.  As a matter of fact, most of his friends were much older, and this is where he would learn all his jokes.

Jay had a knack for remembering and telling jokes, and he had one for just about every topic.  My dad would hear many of them through out their high school years and in their freshman year of college because Jay signed up to be roommates with my dad without asking him first.  Jay flunked out after his freshman year, but he was quickly a legend on campus, as you can well imagine.  Later on he would survive the Vietnam war as a well-decorated helicopter pilot.

Jay may have kept his buddies alive by keeping them laughing.

Every now and again I will be with my dad, and he will say "that reminds me of one of Jay's jokes . . ."  Now, when I was a kid, my father would just say that across the table to my mom who would likely groan but sometimes the two of them would laugh their heads off.  My sister and I didn't get to hear the jokes because 95% of the jokes were dirty.  This was frustrating.  I needed to hear the jokes.  I remember one called "The Airplane Joke" that even after I began to hear most of the jokes, that is one where my dad would laugh and say "No, it's too disgusting and pointless."  Naturally, that's the one I needed to hear the most.

So, since I'm pretty sure most of my readers are of age and not easily offended, I give you . . . "The Airplane Joke!"

A disenchanted salesman settled into his seat for his long flight to Newark for a boring business trip when he sees the most beautiful woman he has ever seen coming down the aisle.  He begins to get excited to see that she is slowing down and checking the seat numbers more carefully, and there was a good possibility she would be sitting next to him.  Sure enough, she was, and up close she was even more sexy and gorgeous than he could have possibly imagined.  

He knew he had to say something to her because opportunities such as this just don't come up very often.  "Off to Newark?" he asked.  

"Yup," she responded, without paying him much attention.

"Not a lot to do there, but I have been a number of times and can let you know the more tolerable hot spots."

"Thanks," she said, again without much enthusiasm and perhaps slightly annoyed.

He knew he didn't have a shot with her at this point, but he was growing infatuated with her.  Her sheer beauty was mind-blowing to him, and as hours passed, he found himself growing unable to contain himself.  He was becoming aroused and dying to touch her, but he knew that was wrong.  He had never had this type of arousal before where all common sense and any rational thought was out the window; all he could think about was her incredible hotness and a need to relieve the tension in his pants.  

Before he knew it he was touching himself discreetly, and soon that gave way to more obvious fondling of his crotch area.  Before he knew it he had unzipped his pants and was masturbating in front of all to see on the airplane!  It wasn't long at all before he finished up, screaming in ecstasy and spraying his load on the back of the seat with a lout splat. 

Tucking his thing back into his fly and learning his seat back, he lit up a cigarette (you could smoke on planes back then), blew out a big puff of smoke, and a big, satisfied grin came over his face.  

Suddenly it occurs to him that he may have made a mistake!  He turns to her and says, "Oh, forgive me, you don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

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Hope you enjoyed the joke, readers.  And Jay, if you're out there, I hope I did your joke justice.  I took a lot of artistic liberties and really had some fun with it because all I really knew was the basic concept and the punch line.  Thank you for your service.  And thanks for the jokes.  

Smoke 'em if you got 'em, everyone!  

One More Quick Wedding Story . . .

It was a really great day, while I can't tell you the best moment, I can tell you the moment I laughed the hardest.

One of Mrs. Noisewater's good friends from back in the Bay Area is a fun-loving guy like me.  We spent the Thursday before the wedding with a big group of people at the Oakland A's game.  It was less than 1/3 full in there and quiet.  This guy and myself were easily the loudest people in the whole place.  I distinctly remember looking around to find that my sister and all of my nephews had been gone for the remainder of the game.  I asked my sister the next time I saw her if I was swearing or being offensive.  She said, "No, you were being nice.  You were just really loud."  And so it was with this wedding guest and myself for most of that ballgame . . .

(We also enjoyed a sparsely populated tailgate in the parking lot.  This isn't us.  These are less cool randoms off of Google Images)

So at the wedding, later in the evening after all of the speeches and dances were done and people were just cutting loose, our favorite guest (picture a curly haired short Italian man, like a young Joe Pesci) stops me as I'm walking across the room and says the following:

"Hey, Ken.  Great party.  I want to give you your gift right now (he hands me a folded up 100 dollar bill).  This is what I always do at weddings.  No, I didn't get you a card.  You don't need a card, right?   You'll get a ton of them!  And I certainly didn't get you anything on your stupid registry.  I don't even know where you're registered.  Fuck your registry!  You don't need any of that shit!  Here's a hundred bucks.  Do whatever you want with it.  Spend it all tonight at the bar, put it up your nose (I think he meant like cocaine).  I don't care!  Anyway, like I said.  Great party.  Thanks for having me.  See you around"

"Great party!"

It's when he said "put it up your nose" that I really started dying laughing.  Come to think of it, there were a few moments where I was laughing my ass off, like during my best man's (Heterosexual Life Partner's) speech.  Maybe I'll post about that next.

Anyway, have a good day, friends.  And don't go putting your money up your nose.

I have a few more weeks of vacation to enjoy, and I'm spending a little time right now at a place called Heritage Bikes in Chicago where you can get coffee and get your bicycle fixed.  At least I think they'll work on your bike because there are bikes everywhere in this joint.  Anyway, I thought it would be a good day sit outside enjoying the weather with a cup of coffee and catch up on blogging.

A few things . . .

1. So, I got married on August 1st.  When I started this blog back in 2005, I was fresh off a divorce that left me pretty scared and confused.  I thank any and all readers who have been along for any part of me documenting my misadventures in dating and other things.  It has all led me to the right lady, and I'm very happy.

We got married in San Francisco.  Mrs. Noisewater's grandfather volunteers on a ship on Fisherman's Wharf, the very boat he served on during the Normandy Invasion in World War II.  They fired off the cannons when we were pronounced man and wife, it was all pretty awesome, and everyone had a great time.  

I'll never forget waiting in my tuxedo for the "first look" photo, which in case you don't know (because I didn't until a couple weeks ago) is the photo session of the bride and groom right when they see each other for the first time before the actual wedding.  I was standing on a pier facing the bay with my back turned to my bride coming towards me (it all reminds me of some ancient Greek mythology), when this cool black man walks by and says to me "Damn, you look debonair as fuck!"  I have had a lot of compliments in my day, but I doubt I will get one with such a perfect blend of robust vocabulary, profanity, and a perfect delivery.

That's an actual picture from the big day.

2.  The honeymoon was relaxing, beautiful, and a downright love fest in Maui.  I hadn't ever been to Hawaii, and if it weren't for the fact that it's really expensive, I would probably go every year.  We signed up for a tour where a van picks you up from your hotel at 2AM and drives you up a volcano.  They give you jackets and gloves and things because it's freezing way up there, and then you watch the sun come over the horizon right at eye level.  It was pretty incredible.  You are then given bicycles and a helmets and you coast on your bike down the volcano!  We got dropped off back at the hotel at 12PM, and it was like, "What do we do now?  We've already biked down a volcano before noon!"

Here's a volcano crater sunrise pic from the internet that is better than the ones I took on my crummy phone.

 3. The other night my bride and I cooked a nice meal together and opened up a good bottle of wine.  We were looking for something to watch and she says, "Why don't we watch this beach volleyball match that you taped?"  I got the right lady.  She's awesome.  Awesome "as fuck," as a matter of fact.

This isn't us.  But this is how I felt after her DVR choice.

Weekly Butt Whippings In a Padded Room Are Good For the Doctor

Once a week a friend of mine is showing me some basic Ju Jitsu moves and technique.  I have been a fan of mixed martial arts for a long time, and it kind of makes sense to actually learn what I am watching these people do.  Also, I am reaching an age where I know I will regret not having tried certain things.

I go to my friend Choo Choo's house once a week where we walk into a little room with padded floors and walls and tie on our gi's.  His wife must be the most understanding woman ever.  She has to tell guests, "and that's our padded room."  After warming up a bit, we go over six or seven basic moves a day that are written on the wall.  It turns out that I am terrible at learning new things.  I know this about myself, but I'm determined to not let that be who I am.  What I don't want to do is stagnate.  I have to force my brain to learn the steps of these moves, and it's something really difficult for me.  But I know it's good for the brain to make it work hard.  

Yesterday he was showing me how when you have someone mounted, that you want to look up high because when you look down at the person you end up leaning down and leaving yourself vulnerable. Just for the hell of it, I asked him all the crazy stuff he could do to me if I leaned in.  He then nearly choked me to death in like five different ways.  I think it was a good learning experience to get dominated by someone half my size.  Very humbling.



Choo Choo is around the same size as the guy in this video, and I'm in the neighborhood of 6'2 and 205 pounds.

How about you, readers?  Trying any new things lately?  
  

New Beer Vendor Hated By Wrigley's 500 Level Seats

I took my good friend, Beatnik, to a Chicago Cubs baseball game last night in my season ticket seats.  My Cubbies are on a roll, by the way, having won 11 of their last 12 games including last nights defeat of the Milwaukee Brewers.  But you can look statistics like that up elsewhere.  What you come here for is the minutia of meaningless and hopefully funny observations of everyday life of your good friend, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater.

Myself and the three other buddies in our season tickets package have a beer vendor in our section that we dislike and don't buy from anymore as a result.  He made one off-handed comment in response to a simple clarification question we had about what inning/time they stopped selling beer that was something to the effect of "What is this your first game?"  We didn't take kindly to it, and over the years we have built up an irrational hatred and talk about things we would like to do to the man we call Walt Disney (due to a slight resemblance), such as curb stomp him like in "American History X."  Would we ever do such a thing?  Of course not.  It's just our sense of humor to grossly exaggerate and crack each other up when we're texting each other when one of us can't be at the game live.

("That's right, Bambi!  Bite that prick's shoulder off!")

Now, not buying from Walt is really something silly we like to maintain as tradition and superstition. Our hatred for a new beer vendor in our section is quite genuine and shared by our entire section.  This new guy is an overweight older gentleman who refuses to walk up the few steps into the 500 level sections.  He will, however, walk downwards a few steps into the more expensive 400 level seats, which to me goes beyond laziness and into some sort of class debate, showing preferential treatment to those more fortunate.  It could very well turn into a working class rebellion by the time the playoffs arrive, but only time will tell.

I am not saying he won't sell to us, but he will only do so by passing beers and exchanging money right up the seats.  I have never seen this done.  You see, a beer vendor can go up or down and aisle and pass things down a row.  That is fine, and that is how it has always been done.  This lazy son of a gun doesn't use any rows or aisles.  What he does, in effect, is instead of just disrupting one row of people, he makes up to ten rows stop what they're doing to pass a beer upwards, awkwardly reaching behind and passing over shoulders.  Lots of beer can be spilled that way, and that's perhaps the biggest tragedy of this guy's horrible technique.  It's really ticking off not only other customers but other beer vendors have shot me looks in agreement when I show frustration as if to say, "You believe this guy?"

(Even in Japan they pass down the aisles, not up the seats.  And check out that Samurai cup scabbard!)

Beyond just not buying his beer, where do I go from here?  I was thinking I could take to Twitter and start lambasting the guy on there to raise awareness.  Any other thoughts on how to get this guy fired or at the very least demoted to hot dog vending?