Halloween Was Good, Except for THE MAN Trying to Keep the GREEN Man Down

Last night a guy at the door of this SHITTY bar in Chicago called Mix was giving me a hard time about my ID, like it's not me or like I'm not 21. I was dressed as Frankenstein with a green cap with scars and black hair, and my face was painted green. I suppose I looked a little different than I did in the picture, considering I WAS DRESSED AS FUCKING FRANKENSTEIN, but this guy was a real cock about it. I'm 29, so maybe green paint hides my age. Shit, why is it not socially acceptable to walk around in green paint? I'd mix it up, like The Hulk on Tuesdays, the Jolly Green Giant on Thursday's, Gazoo on Fridays . . . Anyway, this guy was like a frustrated cop, shining his big, stupid flash light in my face. I'm all, "Ask me anything you want about my ID. I'm me. I've been me all my life." Of all questions, he asks me, "Where did you get your driver's license." Now, I've gotten many a license at many a location, so I'm like, "I don't know. Is it in Naperville or does it say Chicago?" He's all, "It ain't Naperville." So I'm all, "Well, does it say the specific location in Chicago? I guess I'll say on Elston?" Thankfully, or maybe not thankfully, since the bar sucks, he got busy with something else and just let me in. So, I paid my 10 dollar cover to get into a shitty bar, and yes, this bar is shitty, and I got harassed by flipping T.J. Hooker with an attitude.

I'm going in there another night covered in green paint and with every aspect of my ID MEMORIZED, right down to the quality of lamination. Just when I pass his battery of questions, I'm going to say, "Fuck you and your bar!" Then I'll say a few phrases from the green man I will be dressed as on the evening in question. Let's see if you can guess which one:

"Yo ho ho! My green dick wouldn't fuck the skanky yo ho ho's in this joint for all the frozen peas in Jewel!"

Are You a Good Son or Daughter?

I'm going to go to my parents' place after work today. I have to make a scheduled time to do it, or I will get lazy and go home, so I booked a Wednesday. It's not a bad deal, because they cook me the meal of my choice, and my dad is an awesome cook. He usually loads me up with other leftovers, so I have free meals for a while, and my roomies are loving that too, especially when there are cookies.

It's always good to see them, and to see the dog, but it's just in a suburb the opposite opposite way home on the interstate, away from Chicago. After work I'm just so drained. Like today for instance, staying late with the most defiant, manipulating, work-avoiding student of all time. I'm basically staying here until he's done, and he's pulling every trick in the book on me. So, I'll have 5 days like these, then I say I'll go on the weekends, but then I work Saturdays, and Sundays I wake up late, turn on the Bears game, and before I know it, it's too late.

Give me some input here, seven readers. I'm just trying to figure out if I'm a lousy son or not.

How often do you all see your parents?
Do they live near by?
How often do you call? Do you call when you have something specific to tell or ask them, or do you ever call just to chat?
Do you have a specific activity, like weekly, that you always do with them?
How about this kicker: Do you exchange, "I love you's" at the end of the conversation?

Thanks in advance for the input. Hey, it doesn't always have to be funny. We can delve into a little introspection and learn a little about ourselves too . . .

-The Gancer

Nude Field Goal Kicking???!?!?!

I didn't think my night could get any better after, to quote a friend, "the best worst game ever or worst best game ever," but then I heard God speak to me on the radio. First the game. The Chicago Bears turned the ball over 6 times, we were down 20 at half, and we scored ZERO offensive touchdowns. I am taking full credit for this victory, because I tried everything to shake up this Bear offense. I changed chairs, changed lighting, and put on a head band for the 2nd half. You know what did it though? I turned the television off. After the 6th turnover, down 13, and with hardly any time left on the clock, I was disgusted and went off to bed. I won the game with that move, and frankly I'm really pissed that Brian Urlacher didn't thank me in his press conference.

Now back to the subject at hand. As I'm brushing my teeth I hear an advertisement on the radio for The Admiral Theatre, a local Chicago strip joint, and I could have sworn I heard Nude Field Goal Kicking. But I couldn't have heard that because that is simply too funny and brilliant. If something that awesome existed then we wouldn't have any problems with Korea and nuclear weapons. George and that guy with the big glasses would have a beer, watch a few greased up nude girls fall down trying to kick a ball, have a few laughs, and then immediately both disarm.

So, I did a little google search to see if I heard what I thought I heard. I found nothing on The Admiral website mentioning any football related nakedness, but I didn't give up there. I actually called them up and spoke to a representative. Here was the conversation.

Me: I just heard an advertisement on the radio, and did they say nude field goal kicking?
Nudey Bar Receptionist: Yes. Every Monday night after the game.
Me: So, we're talking 3 nude girls? One snapping, one holding, and one kicking a field goal?
NBR: Yeah, I guess. Every Monday.
Me: I will see you on Monday.

A week from today The Gancer may be engaging in some investigative reporting, and I just might walk on as a long snapper . . .*

*For my Austrailian readers, a long snapper is the guy who hikes the football between his legs a long distance. Typically, that is all he does, unlike the center, who hikes the ball and blocks every other down. The long snapper hikes the ball and gets mauled over by marauding opponents who are trying to block punts.

"I'm EXPRESSING with my full capabilities"

I recently noticed that I use a lot of expressions that I've gathered up over the years. I've been told I talk like an old man sometimes, which to me is a compliment. I like to think I'm an old soul.

So, without further delay, here are my top ten favorite expressions:

1. The next time someone is eating the shit out of something in mass quantities say "You're eating like you have 16 assholes!" - The implication is that to poo out that much food one would need numerous out holes.

2. "That chick is crazier than a shit-house rat!" - A guy in Stand By Me says that about the Corey Feldman character's dad. If any of you watched The Surreal Life you
will know that Corey himself is bat shit crazy. <---- That's another good one.

3. When you see someone shivering like crazy in the cold say, "you are shaking like a dog shitting peach pits." This one I got from my mom, of all people. Picturing a German Shepherd working out a peach pit cracks my shit up.

4. "I swear that guy is dumber than a bag of hammers." Love that one. It's just so wonderfully random.

5. If you find yourself at a house party and someone hands you a warm, crappy beer, tell them, "this beer tastes like a tub of warm piss that somebody farted in!"

6. When someone is being indecisive or when someone is screwing around say, "Would you quit fuck-assin' around!" I got that from a fiend of mine from Indiana, and with his accent it's really damn funny.

7. If you are lucky enough to see a young lady with big hooters in your new future, say "The last time I saw jugs like that a couple of hill-billies were blowin' in 'um."

8. "It's colder than a well digger's ass in here!" I've also heard hotter than a well digger's ass, so the temperature is undetermined, but we know it's extreme in which ever direction it may be.

9. "I'm outy like a fat girl in dodge ball." That one is kind of mean, but you gotta believe 9 out of 10 chubby, female students are likely to be sitting on the side within a few seconds of that first whistle.

10. The next time you let out a particularly loud and retched burp, say "Pardon me. I meant to puke."

I feel I should include one of my least favorite expressions: "I want to fuck the shit out of her!" That is a really sleazy phrase and really disgusting when you think about it literally. For some reason I just always picture going to town on some girl and doody squirting out of everywhere, even her ears.

Alright, seven readers, let's hear some of your favorite/least favorite expressions!

Vicar in a Tutu

So I'm having pizza at Pizzeria Due in Chicago, unbelievably good pizza by the way, and my eight-year-old nephew turns to me and says, "Uncle Gancer, you dressed like a girl when you were little." WOW! Where in the hell did that come from? Well, I'll tell you.

I have just one sibling, my older sister. There were days when I was really young, before I had started school and met many friends, and I was attention starved. Just to give you an idea, here's another funny incident before my foray into cross-dressing started. My sister had a friend over, and my dad demanded that they play with me. So he comes back an hour or so later and I'm in my room and my sister and her friend are in her room. My dad is all pissed and says to her, "I thought I said you had to play with him!" She responds, "We are. We're playing house and he's the next-door-neighbor." I guess I was just chilling in my "house," praying to God my neighbors needed to borrow some sugar at some point, or maybe I was playing the part of Larry and would later try to convince them to go to the Regal Beagle. This sad tale shows you a few things.

1. I would do just about anything if it meant my sister was paying attention to me
2. I was easily tricked

So, one day she convinces me to play dress-up with her. The next thing I know I have make-up on, my hair done up, a tutu around my waist, and I'm spinning around like the gayest, little boy ever to dive into Swan Lake.

Well, my sadistic parents must have seen this as a good opportunity to take photos, probably for future black mailing purposes, and those very photos must have been the ones my nephew saw. It's kind of a sad day when your eight-year-old nephew is busting on you . . .

Former Roomy Wow's Me With Hook-Up

It had been a couple of months since I had been to the Liar's Club (my favorite Chicago bar), and the minute I set foot in the joint I felt like my chi was centered and my cholesterol was somehow lowered.

My good friend, HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) had spent the entire day at a Cubs game with his friend's girlfriend and her friend. He had made the mistake of mentioning that he thought the friend was cute once, and ever since this couple has been forcing this girl on him like they are desperately trying to breed a couple Siberian Huskies for the Iditarod. I'm sure you know a couple yourself who seems to think all is not right with the world until everyone is paired off like them, so that they have lots of couples to get together with and play Pictionary, or do whatever it is sets of couples do these days. Although he's not into her too much, Friend of Girlfriend is very into HLP, so she was coming onto him all day. This will play a factor later . . .

So I'm watching HLP hitting it off with a random girl at the bar, but there were two major road blocks.

1) She had a friend with her. No problem right? He is with a great friend (The Gancer) who could run interference for him. However, she was a HEAVY friend. I have jumped on many grenades for buddies, but tonight was my first night in Liar's Club in two months, so running interfence on this gal would have prevented me from fully enjoying the experience. His prayers were answered when I noticed Heavy Friend was leaving! So he's good right? Wrong. Enter road block 2.

2) Just then Friend of Girlfriend made a final play to win Roomy's heart. She was knowingly, outright, full-on C-blocking, but I guess she figured she had to go for broke.

Long story short, Friend of Girlfriend finally threw in the towel, he made out with the random, and got her number. I got a call from him this morning and he asked me if I caught her name. Problem. I came up with a solution to this dilmea, which I happen to think is brilliant. What he has to do is call her on a work day at a time that she is almost certainly working, like at 10:00 AM. That's his best chance to catch the voice mail, where she will almost certainly give her name. If she picks up, well, then I guess he just says, "Hey, you!" or "Hey, pretty." or "Hey, homegirl." or "Hey, Mulva . . ."

A Notion as Innovative as It Is Ambitious

Today during a lunch break at work, some coworkers were talking about a big, fat woman who I thankfully have never had to work with. Not that I have nothing against overweight people, but what sounds downright brutal about this chick is that she talks about her infections (of the urinary AND yeast variety, the leather teddies her husband buys for her, and all sorts of other gross details you wouldn't want to hear from ANYONE, let alone a great, big fat lady. One coworker, who is always getting off awesome one-liners, leaned in and delivered a sound bite that made me damn near shoot root beer out my nose clear across the room, and then he immediately left to 'keep 'um wanting more.' The line was as follows:

"If you wanted to begin to figure out how to lay a woman like that you'd have to throw flour all over her and look for the wet spot."

'Nudey Bucks': They're As Good As Money.

I have to tell you all about one the craziest pairs of dates, hell, one of the craziest pairs of nights I’ve ever experienced. I met this girl out for “a drink.” I’m not sure why we say “a drink,” because for me that usually turns into ten, and it seems like the girls I meet have no problem with that. She had a final exam she hadn’t studied for the following day, so she couldn’t stay out long. It seems she was a 26-year-old undergraduate student taking only one class over the summer, which her father was paying for, and she wasn’t working, so her schedule was WIDE open for dates.

I noticed that another table had a “table tapper,” which is a meter high cylinder of the equivalent of seven beers in it with a tapper attached. This contraption rests on your table and points toward the heavens. I expressed an interest in it, and SHE basically talked me into getting one. Final exam, schminal exam. We finished one of those bad boys full of Blue Moon, and that was on top of the few we had before that. During our consumption of a meter’s worth of libations, I heard ALL about this gal’s life, and while I will say it was interesting, a lot of the information is not stuff you would want to share on a first date. I think being a therapist of sorts makes me a natural candidate for people to share their life story. The thing is, I’m a good listener, and I enjoy learning new things about new people. Because I like this sort of thing, and because I like to drink, I hang around on a date way longer than I should. She told me about a crazy ex that she had. I know, everyone has had a crazy ex, but this guy was straight up bonkers! Top 3 craziest things he did:

3) As a form of stress relief, he liked to laminate things. She would come home to find he had laminated a bunch of papers and put them on little rings.

2) He tried to please her by “leap frogging” two cars to her work so she could have one and he could drive one home. He’d drive one car a ways, park it, run back to the other car, and drive to where he had left the other car. What a great concept! It’s like Indian Running . . .

3) He called her to tell her to meet him in the parking lot of her work, and when she did she found him trying to hang himself in his Mini Cooper with a necktie slung around the coat hook.

On our second date, I know what you’re thinking, but she was hot, she was telling me how she loved the female body. She was not a lesbian or anything, but she enjoyed looking at nudey magazines and going to nudey bars. I stayed with this topic since, as Roger Dodger would say, it was fertile ground. Eventually we decided it would be a good idea for us to go back to her apartment to get her “nudey coupons,” which are as good as money in a particular nudey bar, and then go off to that very nudey bar. I thought this was just a means to get back to the apartment without saying the words, you know, like do you want to see my tarot cards, but sure enough, she had me wait downstairs while she fetched the coupons.

So, we’re at the nudey bar spending “nudey coupons” or “titty bucks,” which ever your prefer, and as it turns out it’s amateur night. This is a huge plus for us, since we could have a ball critiquing the physicality and technique of these young ladies. Our votes didn’t count, but I have to say that we were shrewd and informed judges. When the professionals started doing their thing, we weren’t too impressed with any of them either, that is until Bambi took the stage. Bambi was a petite, African American woman who could do ALL the tricks with the pole. She really could have been a gymnast given the athleticism it took to pull off some of those maneuvers. Well, we each got a lap dance from Bambi, and not long after, our nudey bucks ran out, and immediately after that we left. Then some stuff happened, then all my roommates woke up, then we tried dating for a while, then she went to Hawaii and sent me dirty text message pics, then she got back, then it didn't work out.

We never recaptured the carefree fun of spending ‘titty bucks’ at a nudey bar. That really is setting the bar awful high.

I was just looking in the mirror while I was brushing me teeth, and why do we do that, incidentally? There really is no need to, and we always make the most stupid looking faces while brushing, so why in the world do we insist on staring at ourselves?

Okay, I have a point to this post, and I'm going to stick to it. No more tangents, I promise.

So, while I was marveling at my stupid brushing faces I noticed that the legions of grey hairs on the right side of my head are growing in numbers. Only a careful eye, because of my blond hair, notices them, but tonight I felt like I should just settle in for the evening with some metamucil and a good episode of Matlock. There is a chance I'll look cool with Gray hair, like MacGyver, but I'm worried I'll just look like Leslie Nielsen. Gray hair? "Surely you can't be serious . . . "

So I grabbed some scissors and began cutting. The end result is I’m a little less gray over there, but I now have maybe the dumbest looking sideburns of all time. I thought about trying to even out the other end, but I figured if I started doing that I'd keep over compensating on each side until I was completely bald by the end of the night. I could just see adding that little disaster into my wealth of misadventures.

I turn 30 in January. I'm terrified. If this is how I react to a few stray grays I may be in deep shit.

Ultimate Fighter Expresses His Artistic Side While Donning a Speedo

I never thought I'd find myself watching an Ultimate Fighting reality show, but I happen to be hooked on one right now. I believe I've only missed one episode so far. It doesn't sound up your alley? Maybe you'd change your mind after you heard the incredibly simple but effective concept:

Two teams of pugilists all live under one roof together with no booze, no women, and no television, and then two of them fight at the end of each week. That's it.

There is one guy from Chicago who wears a speedo around the house, brings his pimp hat and pimp chalice wherever he goes, and decorates the house with his half-assed, found items, modern art sculptures. He also intended on making a raft out of hundreds of empty water bottles, but only got as far as throwing them all into the swimming pool. The other guys took all the bottles out and bitched him out about messing up the pool, so he threw all the bottles back in and never made the raft. He is totally annoying, but he's from Chicago, so he's my boy.

No booze, no women, no TV, and an annoying wanna-be-pimp-daddy makes a fighter go something, something . . . *

What show do you secretly love? Don't be ashamed. You're among friends.

* If you don't know what this line is in reference to then I may have to retract the line about you being among friends.

The Dark Ages

Sorry I've been out for so long. I had no internet at home or at work, which, as it turns out, is extremely frustrating. I had no idea what a slave I am to the internet. I have never wanted to check my email so badly in all my life. I even missed the penis enlarger emails.

I also missed downloading music. Last night was the first night I had internet access, so I was downloading everything I could get my dirty, little hands on, which turned out to be way too much Bobby Brown. I now have everything he ever wrote, including Roni, a a slang term for girlfriend, which is a little ditty NO sane person needs in his/her collection.

Most of all I missed you, seven readers. I'm back with a vengeance now, and I'm fixing to comment on every one of your flipping pages, because that's my prerogative.

I Guess I Didn't Know (And I Never Will)

There is a show called Cirque De Shanghai in town at Navy Pier. While I’m working, running photos up and down the stairs, I go by the stage, and it SOUNDS like one hell of a show. But I never get to see it for myself . . .

Judging by all the gasping in wonder that I’m hearing in there, I’m just assuming that there are one hundred little Asian acrobats doing back-flips onto a one hundred man human pyramid, or better yet, a human sculpture of Godzilla, complete with fire breath.

The musical accompaniment is traditional Asian music, as expected, but at one point that “I guess I didn’t know” song by Crystal Method kicks in. “Get busy time!!” I suppose that truly is the get busy time portion of the show, because it SOUNDS really awesome in there at that point. I was thinking of weaseling my way into the show, or even paying for ticket, but I think I’m just going to assume, like I always have, that they’re swallowing fire, while juggling atomic warheads, and carrying anvils with their scrotal sacks.

Fun and Near Death Experiences at an Urban Picnic

Classyandfancy was nice enough to invite me to a work related picnic the other day. She actually only knew a few people there, since it was a company on the periphery of her’s, but we were all about going because there was mention of a corn holing (bean bags) tournament. If you don't know what bean bags or conrnholing are all about, read my Cornholing and Dilly Shops post. The picnic turned out to be essentially people drinking beer and eating brats on folding chairs, on pavement, behind a warehouse, which was a-okay by me!

We thought it not fair that classy and I play together, since the awesomeness could possibly make the universe implode, so we split off onto separate teams. She played with a girl she knew from college, who organized the event, and I played with some strange guy named Paul. Paul had never played bags before, but he had an innate corn holing ability like nothing I’ve ever seen. He was a strange cat, but MAN could he bag! He kept sinking them and I kept screaming, “Big Paul!” I hope I wasn’t annoying, especially since nobody knew me, but it became clear through my conversations with people that nobody knew who the hell Paul was either.

After people started leaving, our plan was to drink a bottle of quality tequila on the roof of the warehouse. I was trying to get people to invite Paul, my unbelievable bags partner, but some thought it strange that he wandered in off the street, and he was a little strange to begin with. So, Classy, her college friend, a guy named Vanna White (who earned that name due to his scorekeeping ability during corn holing) and myself grabbed the keg and the tequila and headed for the freight elevator. When the elevator reached the top floor the door wouldn’t open. No big deal, we decided to go back down to the first floor and open the door, but it wouldn’t open there either! We were probably farting around in that hot ass elevator for over a half hour. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to die on this elevator with Classy and Vanna, but at least we have a keg.’

Long story short, with some help, we got the door open, enjoyed some fine tequila on the roof of a warehouse, and then I ate the shit out of a Mexican skillet at some diner.

Enter the (Komodo) Dragon

I went to the Shed Aquarium the other day with my sister and my nephews. I’m trying to do a bunch of fun, little activities during the week before I have to go back to my real job. They have a lizard exhibit in town, which includes the infamous Komodo dragon. The komodo in Chicago did not move a muscle while we there, despite the ENORMOUS area he had to run around in. However, the video above him showed two of them wrestling on their hind legs. They are fricking huge, and they do, in fact, look like f’ing dragons. The video also informed me that they can hunt and kill a DEER, and then proceed to eat the mothafucka HOOVES and all. They showed a feeding frenzy with like 10 of them going to town on some sort of carcass, and I couldn’t help but think that even Chuck Norris himself would be in trouble if he found himself in the middle of THAT.

If you ever find yourself on the island of Komodo, my advice to you is say a little prayer like Dionne Warwick. You’re not safe on the ground, cause they’re fast. Trees are out cause they can climb those. The water is out too, cause they’re really good swimmers. I’m starting to see why Billy Bob Thornton is deathly afraid of them:

Bizarre actor Billy Bob Thornton wants the world population of the endangered komodo dragon to be killed off. Thornton is petrified of the reptiles, one of which crushed the foot of Sharon Stone's husband Phil Bronstein last year. Billy Bob says, "More than anything on this earth, more than any being that exists, they are the creature that represents evil. If it were up to me, I'd just go to that island and kill them all. I would just shoot those sons of bitches." The actor says he once had a dream the creatures infested his house and woke up his wife Angelina Jolie, insisting they go to a hotel because his dream was so real.*

Well, this is coming from the same guy who has a fear of antique furniture, but they are damn scary. Billy, if you’re reading, pack your bags. We’re off to Komodo to “shoot those sons of bitches.” YEEEEEEH HAAW! Hey, America, I mean 7 readers, what animal do you fear, or better still, think should be eliminated from God’s green earth?