Tuesday, December 16, 2014

I had only two topics that I wanted to write about saved in my phone after all this time, and here they are:

1. Man Shed: I have always been fond of the notion of a man cave to house all things too tacky to be displayed for anyone but select guests.  As a matter of fact, the tackiness of my basement would be such that even my closest friends and family wouldn't want to go down there.  I like things like those white Christmas trees.  Not because I like them, just because they suck so, so hard.

Anyone else dreaming of a white tacky-ass Christmas?
And I would have that anamotronic band from Showbiz Pizza down there like the guy in this clip and program them to perform all my favorite heavy metal songs.

"South of Heaven live from South of the untacky part of the house!

Of course there would be lots of sports memorabilia and a bar because I am fond of sports and drinking. The problem is that I will never be able to afford a mystery cave that opens up when you twist a statue like in Bruce Wayne's mansion.  Truth be told, I wouldn't even have the money or space to waste a perfectly good basement on my rebelling against what society says is good taste.  Sadly, that's a fight I would fight out in my backyard, freezing my ass off in my poorly constructed man shed with its walls covered in nudey posters and a roof letting in freezing rain, huddled in the fetal position drinking a can of beer with one hand and with the other trying to adjust the rabbit ears on my black and white television to faintly see the Cubs losing 11 to zip in the fourth.

2. Nursing Home Orgy: Someone was just telling me that there is an increase in STD's in nursing homes now due to the following factors -  (1) An old age meat market up in there due to all the baby boomers getting to that age (2) Older people in better health these days which makes them stay sexually active later in life (3) Old people not giving a good god damn about using condoms in their 70's.  And who can blame them?  I hated them in my 20's.

I looked it up, and it's true that STD's are spreading like wild fire in those joints!  I just don't like the idea of getting a call from the retirement home to hear about my grandpa coming down with a case of drip dick.  Good heavens, Grandpa!  And how much lube must they be going through nowadays around there?  Do they get their morning pills every day and their daily bucket of Astroglide?

Out of the blog-o-sphere all this time, and this is what I come up with?  My pathetic man shed dream and old people doing the nasty?  The really nasty as the case may be.  What's up with all of you?  I'm going to run down the blog roll and see . . .

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Recognize this stinky bastard?

If you said Stinkor from "He-Man: Masters of the Universe," you would be correct!  In case you can't recall, he looked like a skunk and his power was that he smelled really, really bad.  One of my closest friends just directed an episode of "Law and Order SVU."  They liked how it came out and asked him to do another.  It hasn't all gone to his head yet because he is still sending me pictures like this.  So he sends me this pic of what appears to be Stinkor sunbathing, and I laughed my ass off.  Why would he care about tanning if his odor offends anyone he comes near?  Actually, the toy itself smells, and if you leave him in a contained small space, the smell intensifies.  And it still works despite the fact that it's from like 1985!  Director friend was going to donate him to somewhere, but I jumped at the chance to take him off his hands.  Stinkor is being shipped from L.A. to Chicago as we speak.  I told Mrs. Noisewater that when he arrives he will go right into his new home: a mason jar sealed up with a lid.  Mrs. Noisewater is not liking the idea of intentionally brining an item in our house that smells and displaying it on our bookshelf, but she will learn to love our stinky new friend soon enough.  
One reason I haven't been posting in a while is that my ankle looks like this:
I'm no doctor, but that doesn't look good.

It is a real drag when I'm injured because I like to be active, I was just getting in the habit of going to the gym every day, and my job involves a lot of walking around and going up and down stairs.  I just have to do a lot of rehab on it.  Jesus, just look at it.  Does it look like the foot of a zombie?  You can be honest.  

Also, what do you think is going on in this pic:

I would be surprised if anyone guesses, but this would be 30 men with sleeveless basketball jerseys competing on three Super Nintendo versions of "NBA Jam"in an all day tournament complete with press conferences and awards.  Yours truly one the trophy for the best team name for "The Fundamentally Sound Behind the Back Inbounds Pass."
That trophy is prominently displayed on my shelf.

Which will soon be right next to Stinkor.

Good day.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

How Not To Relieve Midterms Stress

Sometimes when you don't have a blog topic you find yourself leafing through news stories: LeBron scores 40 for a Cleveland win, Kim Kardashian is naked in a magazine and her butt is still alarmingly big, European astronauts collected samples from a comet, and blah, blah, blah.  Then suddenly a news item is sent down from the bestiality gods: Fresno State student has sex with a sheep.

The student drank a lot of booze and was stressed about his computer engineering midterms, and ended up getting busted screwing a sheep and going to jail.  Big tests coming up when you are unprepared can be stressful, but a more productive means of reducing stress would be to study more.  I got pretty desperate in college, both for passing classes and having sex, but in neither case did sleeping with farm animals ever occur to me.  Furthermore, drinking too much isn't a good defense for banging a sheep because at no point in any stage of drunkenness have I known anyone to consider sheep sex.  Dropping standards a little, sure, but not switching species.  Now you're just a crazy person.

How would you feel if you spent your hard earned money to send your son off to college, and he never calls.  Hurts a little, right?  Then you finally get a call from Fresno, but it's the Fresno Police Department.  And they tell you that your son was just caught having sexual intercourse with a sheep.  That's a hard one to swallow.  Sure, we all experimented sexually in college. . . But not with animals!  Better get that engineering degree, son.  And change your name.  And get some therapy.  And move to the city so you're far away from any farm-related temptations.  And wash your wiener.  Gross.  

What do you make of all this sheep sex, readers?  Or anyone else have a wild (but not sick and wrong) weekend planned?  Anyone have a crazy story from their carefree college days that they want to share?

Sunday, November 09, 2014

Last night when I was at a Lakeview neighborhood bar there were two giant groups of people and us.  In other words, If it weren't for these big groups, the bar would only have a handful of people in it.  First, there were participants in a sweatsuit pub crawl.  I talked to the founding father who informed me that he hosts this annual event right around the time of his birthday each year, and because it falls in November, the sweat suits are the perfect attire for the weather.  His only rule is that the sweat suits must be monochromatic (the tops must match the bottoms).  Birthday boy had a red, white, and blue one on with a U.S.A. embroidered on there, and it cost him $100.  This seems like a lot of money, but it looked really damn comfortable.  Plus we were saying that after wearing it again for the Olympics and World Cup, he will have recouped the losses.  

This is the sexiest sweats outfit I could find on Google Images.

The other group were members of Jewish fraternity having a reunion of one time.  It was the solitary Black member of the frat that said something during one of those quiet moments where an odd statement goes right into you head and stays with you all night: "Sorry, I couldn't hear you - my dick's too big."  I googled this quote and couldn't find it anywhere, so I guess I'll never know just what in the hell he meant by that.  It's funny, even if it makes no sense.  Actually, it's funny because it makes no sense.

I then got a text from an old friend saying he was headed to The Liars Club, which if you have been around this blog for a while you know this to be the best bar in Chicago.  This friend of mine recently split up with his wife who was cheating on him, and he has been dating lots of women.  This is the best way to get over events like this, I have found.  The guy is on a role too because he is in great shape and it seems like many of my friends over the years have had wives and girlfriends say how good looking he is.  He had one of his Tinder ladies out with him last night, so I was sort of third wheeling it.  We had fun for a while talking about some of their commonalities, such as both of them having giant tall dads.  His is 6'6" and hers is 6'8"!  I said that even if they don't work out in the long run, they should just go ahead and breed anyways to make a star volleyball or basketball player.  Then on a trip back from the men's room I saw the two of them talking very closely and intimately and Tinder Girl was grabbing at his schlong.  They were getting down with that notion of breeding in the very near future, so I saw this as a good time to leave . . . 

Now I am hungover as hell and have accomplished almost nothing today, but what little I have accomplished, I have these two friends to thank for it.  

Monday, November 03, 2014

Updates. More Damn Updates.

1. Published Buddy:

 Here's a picture of me reading a long time blog buddy of mine, Mr. Shife's, book.  He asked that his people take pictures like this, but then he said he was doing too much promoting and felt weird about it.  Well, I will promote for him so that he gets the massive influx of my 7 readers over to his site.  It's the least I could do.  We have never met in person, but through blogging all these years, it's like we're close friends.  I couldn't be more happy to say that he is a published author.  

I thought the glasses on the end of the nose would make me look smarter.  Just made look older and nerdier.
2. Ancient Farts

And here is a picture that has been on my laptop for months now.  I forget where I found it, but it is from ancient China or Japan or somewhere, and it illustrates that try as you might, you have to admit that farts are funny in any time period or any distant land.  

3. Type O Is the Awesome Type

It has been so long since I have been really passionate about a band.  I guess the last time would be when I got way into Kyuss around 5 years ago or so.  I just recently started listening to Type O Negative on a daily basis.  I listen to them at the gym, in the car, and late at night when I come home drunk.  That last listening session scenario isn't too popular with Mrs. Noisewater.  Type O struck that perfect balance of being heavy, funny, emotional, evocative, and just brilliant.  And the more you read about the late Peter Steele, the more you love him.  

I read one story where he overdosed,  and when the doctors asked him what he was addicted to, he said "Cocaine, heroin, and redheads."  The doctors then asked his band mates what type of drugs redheads were, and his good friends and fellow band members just laughed.  Some of you may have noticed that the top 10 nude scenes podcasts I published on this blog a few weeks back all had Type O Negative music in the background.  This was for no reason, really.  They're just a great band.  

4. Coach Noisewater's Breakthrough Game:

The girls volleyball team I coach this season seemed to always show up to games and clam up, play all tight, and not give it their all.  All season it has been frustrating because practicing with them, I know what they're capable of.  I take this hard because I'm kicking myself wondering what I'm doing wrong.  What could I have done to get these girls more mentally prepared?  Well, tonight they pulled it all together and played their tails off like I knew they always could.  Tomorrow at practice it's all about letting them know that playing like that is how they need to play from now on.  Always.  Approach the game like that and do everything like that.  Work your butt off and control your own destiny.  That's what it's all about, friends.  

Talk to you again soon, blog buddies young and old . . .

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Within the span of one day, I learned just how poorly educated some inner city children are through these two situations:

1. The kids were reading Ray Bradbury's "All Summer In a Day," a story in which there are children living on the planet Venus, where it rains every day and the sun never comes out.  One girl, Margaret is fascinated by the sun and spends all her time thinking about it, but the other asshole kids thought it would be funny to lock her in the closet.  And while in the closet she misses that one time the sun actually made an appearance.  Moral of the story: Kids are fricking mean.  Even on other planets.

So back to Chicago, one girl in the class asks, "So are there really schools on Venus?"

The girl that asked this is in the 7th grade, so roughly 13-years-old.  I had to just answer the question and let her no that there isn't any life on Venus or on any other planet other than Earth in our solar system.  But you know, it's good she asked because now she knows.  It's totally not her fault that her parents somehow raised her thinking there are schools on the planet Venus.

2. Some 5th graders (around 10-years-old) were talking about the movie "Friday."  I said to them that it's wild that a movie from 1995 is still popular with them.  One girl said, "No, it's not from 1995.  Then why is it in color?"

Wow.  She actually thinks all movies made before roughly 2000 were black and white.

Again, the only way to handle this is to just clear that up for her without making anyone feel stupid.  They're just kids, after all.  Both pretty great kids that just need more people around them being better examples, making them read, and having conversations with them about things other than reality television.

There's still hope, people.  Maybe we just need to be more progressive like those schools on Venus . . .

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Book Club For Men

I went on a music trivia bar crawl yesterday where your team answered questions at various bars, and then you got the location for the next location through yet another question.  The format was fun because they had word searches, puzzles, and one thing where you had to mingle with everyone there to guess which rock band/artist they were based on a clue.  Meeting all the people was one of the best aspects of the day, and it is how I found my new book club.

Two guys were dressed as ZZ Top, but as I pointed out to them, they looked a little more like Hasidic Jews.  They said they feared the same thing as they put their outfits together.  Somehow they got talking about their book club that has been an excuse to get a night out away from their wives and rest of family to drink beer with their buddies.  They have discovered that no wife will get mad about them going out for a book club.  Pretty ingenious, actually.

Apparently one night a woman came over to their table and asked what they were up to.  They said it was a book club, and she asked if she could join.  One guy said "No way.  This is guys only."  She asked if she showed them her boobs, might that change their policy.  They talked it over and decided that this could be the one and only way they could allow a female into the group.  So she flashed her boobs, and they asked her to go ahead have a seat.  Turns out she cuts herself intentionally (self-mutilates), and at the following book club she ended up making out with an Asian woman a the bar.  She didn't show up to a third session.

I told them that the group sounds awesome, and they invited me to join (without having to show my boobs).  They just had two questions: Do I like to eat meat?  Do I drink booze?  Yes and yes!  I'm in!  I thought it was really cool that they took such a liking to me and accepted me in.  I reassured them that I won't be nearly as crazy as their and only female member.  I seriously am giddy with anticipation for the first group.  The guys seem really funny and intelligent, many are in a similar line of work as me, and I like a good excuse to get together with folks and have good conversations over a few pops.

How about you, readers?  Got any groups of friends that you meet up with through any kind of regularly scheduled club or activity?  And do you think I should try to track down the crazy boob-flasher to reinstate her membership?  

Friday, October 10, 2014

Stop! Twerking Thief!

If you go back a post or two, you'll see that a crack head went poo in a bucket in my backyard and tried to kick my landlord's door in.  And there is video of it.  A really gross video with zero wiping involved.

Mrs. Noisewater and I were just visiting her brother in Brooklyn, and it turns out he too had criminals caught on tape outside his building trying to steal and performing bodily functions - that is if tweaking is in fact a bodily function.

Apparently this duo sat outside the building robbing packages that arrived, and all the while the female thief shook her rump.  And you'll notice she is a tireless twerker.  As one resident noted:

"I'm not exaggerating when I say she did this for an hour...For an entire hour. Rest breaks were had, but she got right back up and dropped it like it was hot, often times on the lap of the man."

Now that's a good team member right there.  Thievery can be quite an ordeal, especially when you're waiting long stretches for the UPS guy.  That's when a quality crime buddy steps up and gives you a lap dance to help pass the time and keep your spirits up.  Hats off to her.

Of course, neither one of us is telling our parents because we don't want them thinking there are insane people everywhere pooing, robbing, and twerking everything they can get their hands and butts on.  But moms and dads, if you're reading, the hoodlums in both scenarios have all been caught.  And I hope the judge orders that their surveillance videos be aired on the hour in the mess hall.  

Thursday, October 09, 2014

Top 10 Nudey Scenes of All Time Is Complete!

At long last, Crom and myself are ready to present to you the Top 10 Nudey Scenes of All Time list.

First off, Crom and myself each brought to the table our own lists.  We each discussed what we liked about the scenes and our memories of them.

10. Dr. Ken: Hale Barry in “Monsters Ball”
      Crom: Accidental Call Girl in “Demolition Man.”

9. Dr. Ken: Jane Fonda in “Barbarella”
    Crom: Cindy Morgan in “Caddyshack.”

8. Dr. Ken: Joyce Hyser in “Just One of the Guys”
    Crom: Brooke Shields in “Blue Lagoon”

7. Dr. Ken: Shower Woman and Rodney Dangerfield in "Back To School"
    Crom: 3 Boob Woman in “Total Recall”

6. Dr. Ken: Rosie Perez in “White Men Can’t Jump.”  
    Crom: Linda Kolazowski in “Crocodile Dundee"

5. Dr. Ken: Phoebe Cates in "Fast Times."  
    Crom: Duck Boobs in “Howard the Duck.”

4. Dr. Ken: 'We Have Bush!' from "Revenge of the Nerds"
    Crom: A bunch of ladies in “Porky’s” 

3. Dr. Ken: Rosario Dawson in  “Alexander” 
    Crom: Cartoon Boobies in "Heavy Metal"

2. Dr. Ken: "The Godfather" Michael's first time with Sicily wife.
    Crom: Topless Random Woman in “Airplane.”

1. Dr. Ken: Heather Graham as Roller Girl in "Boogie Nights"
    Crom: Phoebe Cates in "Fast Times At Ridgemont High."

You can watch and listen to us discuss each of our personal top tens here and here.  

We then compiled our master list by discussing which we collectively thought were the best.  There were also some late arrivals that weren't in either of our lists.  

And now, behold, the Best Nudey Scenes of All Time!  Hats off to Crom for putting the graphics and pictures together right on cue.  

Or if you don't have the patience for pretty awesome podcasts, here's final list:


10. "The Godfather" Michael's first time with Sicily wife.

9. Cindy Morgan in “Caddyshack.”

8. Cartoon Boobies in "Heavy Metal"

7. Jane Fonda in “Barbarella”

6. A bunch of ladies in “Porky’s” 

5. Topless Random Woman in “Airplane.”

4. Mud Wrestlers and John Candy in "Stripes."

3. We Have Bush!' from "Revenge of the Nerds"

2. Phoebe Cates in "Fast Times."

1. Heather Graham as Roller Girl in "Boogie Nights"

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Below is a video of a crack head going poo in a bucket in my backyard and trying to break into my landlord's house.

(Notice the lack of wiping? Maybe all he was going to take if he broke in was some toilet paper . . .)

Mrs. Noisewater found the video on some guy's blog (not mine).  My landlord is a part time cop and has cameras everywhere, so he posted this video up on a crime watch site.  It quickly went viral.  Suddenly the Chicago Police Department wanted to find this guy.  Turns out he lives in Elgin, Illinois, and although CPD couldn't locate him, my landlord made a few calls and he was brought in.  Turns out that because of his now famous "shitty" break in attempt video, he was identified by someone else a few blocks down who chased him out of his apartment that poopy-pants broke into weeks earlier.  Evidently this guy comes out to the city for concerts, gets horribly drunk and full of crack, and starts breaking into apartments.

You want to know what's really weird?  We had a big BBQ in the very courtyard pictured in that video.  I remember that white bucket next to me while I was manning the grill.  When I left for work this morning, I noticed the bucket was gone.  No sense in washing that one out once someone has taken a crack-dump in it, right?

Because I'm such a clever pain in the ass, I wrote a little joke in the memo section.  My landlord is a good dude, so I think he will appreciate it.  It read:


Saturday, September 27, 2014

I like Pretty Woman.  I'm ready to admit it.  If you have been with me for a long, long time then you know that I also like "Flashdance."  I guess that both are 80's, or 80's'ish, films about working class gals getting with rich, good-looking dudes.  They are both far-fetched for sure.  One is a smoking-hot steel worker who is looking for her shot as a dancer.  The other is a street-walking hooker who lands a business mogul for a few weeks.

These are both stupid movies.

But I can't turn them off.

The women are both unbelievably hot and both have long curly hair.  I like that.  And both movies kind of suck in terms of dialogue, plot, and most everything that makes a movie good.

Yet, somehow both movies are good.

So, do you like either of these movies or both, Seven Readers?

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Okay, boys and girls.  I got a few topics in the memo thingy on my phone to talk to you all about.  Should be funny.  Here goes.

1. I used to get my haircuts at a place in Roscoe Village in Chicago that had a punk rock vibe, and I think you had to have at least a half dozen tattoos to work there.  When the gal working on me asked what I was doing I told her that I was helping a friend with dry wall in his condo.  She got excited about this and asked if I could help her out at her place.  Evidently her baby-daddy got pissed at her and punched a hole in the wall.  She seemed a little crazy, and by the sound of it, baby daddy was equally crazy and twice as violent.  Going over to her place sounded like sure fire way for Doctor Ken to a hole punched in his head, so I made an excuse to decline the offer.  I actually damn near leapt out of the chair with my hair half cut.
Dry Wall Punch: Makes You Feel Better.
2. I met up with my buddy's uncle last night.  I call him my uncle too.  He was nine or ten Schlitz deep as he was telling me that his work is trying to eliminate his position and trying to find a way to let him go.  Which might not be hard because apparently he called his boss an idiot.  Actually, it was his boss's boss, which sounds worse to me.  They sent him to the human resources guy who had his hair parted and draping high off of his head, spritzed down with aqua net, and when he talked his hair bounced around merily.  The HR guy said that it seemed as if Not-Uncle had a hard time looking him in the eye, and he inquired if maybe he had a hard time looking other coworkers in the eye, and he had to fight telling him that it was due to Not-Uncle being unable to take his eye off of HR guy's horrible parted hair bouncing around.  Had he knocked back one or two of those Schlitz at work, I'm quite sure he would have told him as much.  Not-Uncle is one of the funniest humans on planet earth.

Spray that part down and just watch it bounce!
3. I was at the doctor today because work has been stressful and making me break out with cole sores lately.  I guess it's herpes but not dick-herpes, thankfully.  But I don't want to give Mrs. Noisewater the gift that keeps on giving down in her nether regions the next time I decide to pay a visit to her . . .  Anyway, figured it's a good idea to get some good medication.  So the doctor is describing how people get it, and she says "You know, you might get it as a kid when an uncle kisses you and . . ."  I laughed my ass off and said, "What in the hell?!"  What crazy disease infested uncle is kissing his nephews on the lips?  I think she might want to rethink the vignettes she uses to illustrate these types of ailments.
"Come here and give your Uncle Rico a kiss."
4. Then when I'm walking home from the doctor, still mulling over the doctor's pervert uncle stories, I see a guy fighting with his girlfriend with his hands on his head and looking like he would rather be anywhere but on that corner right then.  More like she was fighting and he was just staring helplessly off in space.  A block later I saw another couple in the same scenario.  So I started singing "Run To the Hills" by Iron Maiden, as if to say run for the hills, young man!  I think this is a good idea to help out my fellow man.  Try this out some time, readers.

Enjoy your day and thanks for reading.

Saturday, September 13, 2014


I had a boner dream the other night.  It wasn't a full on wet dream because I'm too old for those.  I would wager those rear their messy heads somewhere between once every four or five years these days.  A boner dream falls short of those.  It's one where you're on the verge of eruption when you wake up.  Hell, those only seem to cum (come) around once a year or so now that I think about it.

My morning was 10% as sexy as this.
Now, I don't really have a problem with a stiff wake up call on a Thursday morning, but what I do take issue with is that what was happening in the dream was simply me having a wank in my apartment.  Is that the best my brain's run down dream factory could come up with?  Dreams can do anything they want - they can fly me to Jupiter - but what am I doing?  Pulling myself off with my pants around my ankles in my dusty Chicago apartment.  The foreman at my dream factory needs to be fired.

A dream factory within a perfect mind could have had me at a fashion show where the supermodels would walk down the catwalk, backstage to me on a bearskin rug where I'm naked and smoking a pipe, she does the nasty with Doctor Ken, puts on a new outfit and parades back to the catwalk, just in time for a new one come to come backstage, and so forth.  And that's just off the top of my head!

"Take a quick bow and hurry back to the bearskin rug."

As a matter of fact, my boner dream could have taken me to a mythical land of insatiable creatures.  Dr. Ken could have been lying happily in a forest with ferries fluttering around his face, landing gently on his face, when a mermaid comes by.  Or a unicorn.  Hell, make it a winged mermaid princes with a big glowing horn jutting out of her head like a unicorn.  Somehow she rocks that horn; She owns it and makes it sexy.  She saunters over to me horny as hell, tells all the little ferries to piss off, mounts me, grinds away, and her wings are flapping in ecstasy.  Soon she is getting worked up enough to make her horn glow bright red and offers to do crazy horn penetration with me, but I politely tell her I'm not quite ready to take that plunge with her.  But maybe when I get to know her better.

This was the afternoon the woman of my dreams was conceived.
After hours and hours she finally has a powerful mergasm (which everyone knows is a mermaid orgasm) which blasts fairy dust in a 100 yard radius, knocking back the trees within the first few feet of her and making anything in its vicinity hornier than hell.  Which happens to be a centaur named Bill who trots over and pulls "the cable guy" in a porno movie on me, asking if he can join the party.  Mer-Pegasus-Unicorn lady is totally into it, but I'm not a three way dude.  Even if I were, two guys and a girl is not for me, so me and a centaur is totally out of the question - and to be honest a little intimidating.  So I excuse myself and step away to sulk under a tree, pouting about my slutty mythical beast woman who has left me for a giant horse-man.

How can I be expected to compete with this guy?
When they finish up, I thought I had gotten far enough away to get out of the range of her mergasm blast, but Bill made her fire out fairy dust twice as far.  That damn dust works its magic on me, and even though I hate myself by this point, I can't help masturbating.  And there I am tugging away with the stupid little fairies buzzing around laughing at me, and I'm whipping rocks at them, crying, and yelling at them to go away.  And that's where my boner dream would pick up, skipping all that awesome stuff you read about a minute ago . . .

Friday, September 05, 2014

Betting On Cow Poop. Because Why Not? That's Why.

I was out with a buddy the other night who says that at the small college he attended in California they apparently bet on cow poop.  My understanding is they send a cow out onto a field, and people bet money on which square foot of land the cow will choose to shit on.  So, it's kind of like craps.  No, it's more like roulette in format, but it does involve crap.

But hold on.  I got lots of questions.

     1. Could you bet on two to four squares that the cow could crap on at once, seeing as cow pies can be quite big.

     2. Do you think all the people hollering at the cow could make her clam up and tighten up her sphincter, thus messing up the game?

     3. Would if the cow releases all of its payload before it is sent out into the betting field?

     4. What is this game called?

     5. Do you think they put a little visor on the cow like a roulette dealer?  Because that would be adorable.

Unfortunately I haven't had any of these questions answered due to my buddy's only vague recollections of this practice and there seemingly being nothing about it on the internet.  Please let me know in the comments section if you know anything about this.

Also, below is the second installment of the best naked scenes in movie history podcast list that myself and Crom compiled.  We really upped the video production for this one, since we learned more what the hell we're doing.

So, poop and boobs today.  In that order.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Best Nude Scenes Ever #10 through 7

In this first installment, Crom and myself discuss our personal top ten lists, numbers 10 through 7.  Stay tuned to when we finish out lists and come up with a master nudie list.  This is important stuff, people . . .

A couple quick things . . .

1. There was a time where I really did think I would be a published writer of some kind.  As I get older, the creative juices don't flow like they used to.  I wish I could bottle up whatever manic crazy energy I had back then and use it for a couple hours a day.  Just a couple.  Not all day long because I might have been out of my mind back then.  

2. Want to know what I'm doing these days?  Still podcasts that hardly anyone listens to.  And the topic of the latest one?  The best nude scenes in film history.  Yeah, still stuff like that.  But who cares.  As long as I stay busy.  Tonight my good friend, Crom, is coming by to edit the podcast and fix up some snags we have hit along the way.  Look for an installment to come out really soon.  

3. Oh, here's a funny story.  I'm lying down on my stomach the other day (editing the boobie podcast), and Mrs. Noisewater says, "Ooh, I think that's a spider vein on your leg.  Does anyone in your family get those?"  I sullenly reported that my dad gets them, along with varicose veins, and hemorrhoids.  To cheer myself up I said, "But can we call them spidey veins?  It's cuter."  That got a laugh.  That's all I need are laughs from friends, loved ones, and you fine folks . . .

Thursday, August 21, 2014

On Ice Buckets

Like most of us, I'm really tired of people dumping ice on themselves to raise money for ALS research. Curing diseases is a good thing.  Yes.  But when your Facebok feed is full of people dumping ice water on themselves, it just gets a little old after a while.  Also, I had been in saying that this trend praying on people's addiction to filming selfies and obsessing over social media.  It is kind of genius, actually.  But I had made up my mind that if I got "challenged," I would just give the money and not make it all about myself with me on my porch being an idiot with some cold water.  Also, I'm really cynical, and I can't help but think that with all the insane amounts of money being raised, someone is going to get greedy and pocket some of it.  I have seen too many famous charity events that turned out to be later the victims of someone having sticky fingers.  So, I decided I'm out if anyone asks me to do this crap.

Then I got asked by a good friend who I play volleyball with all the time.  He is a terrific dude.  I remember when ladies would ask if I had any single friends, he was just about the only guy I could say was a friend who is single and a decent human being.  That being said, he does have a fatal flaw: he is always late.  Having 24 hours to complete the challenge, he waited until the last hour possible.  He didn't bother to check the framing of the shot, so his head is cut out of it.  Also, It was dark outside, and I guess he didn't have the means to light up his back porch enough, so he dumps the water on himself just outside his screen door, getting water all over the carpet.  It cracked me up, and it made me love the guy even more.

I think it would have been easy to say no to a lot of friends, but with him I was put in a bind.  However, Mrs. Noisewater's parents were coming in town, and I had to hang out with them through out the whole next day while Mrs. Noisewater was at work.  They're great people, and I really couldn't see myself saying, okay, you guys hang tight for a moment while I buy some ice to dump some cold water all over myself because someone dared me to do it.  Or even worse, "Why don't you guys help me film myself dumping water on myself while you visit your daughter and her idiot boyfriend in Chicago."  Believe it or not, I worked out all the details and found a way to get it all done on my own, under the deadline, but ultimately I just decided to give the money away and skip the ice bucket challenge.

How about you, readers?  Answer one or a few of these questions:
Have you been challenged, and have you completed it?  Or have you even heard of this thing?  Do you think social media fundraising challenges will be a trend, given the success of this movement, and what do you think about that?  

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Doctor Kenny-o Euro Gigalo

Mrs Noisewater and I are headed to Dublin, Oslo, Bergen, and Stockholm in that order. I'm typing this blog post on my phone and just learned that the auto correct for Noisewater is nauseated. That is merely a sidebar.

I likely won't be updating until I return on the 11th. Who knows, I may be ambitious and keep my travel log on the ol' blog, but if you have been following me at all, then you know that I will do more boozing than writing.

In case this is the last you hear from me until my return, go ahead and leave a comment on another recent post and I will comment on them all when I get back.

Okay, blog buddies. Talk to you soon!

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Top Secret Coaches For the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights

The fantasy football league that I'm in is 10% so that I can get excited about meaningless plays by random players in insignificant games and 90% to stay in touch with high school friends who all have kids and live in the suburbs.  I rarely hear from some of them, if at all, outside of the emails and message board from the league.  So that's why I do it.

Sometimes people get mad when I won't join their leagues, and I have to explain to them that I hate running the one team, so why on earth would I want to run another?  If this were a bunch of guys from the office and not my good buddies from high school, I would have bowed out a long time ago.

But today I had a stroke of genius: I will make my nephews run my team this season!  This makes perfect sense because . . .

A) During football season it's all I hear these two guys talk about, so they obviously enjoy it more than me.

B) It's a good way to text my nephews and stay in touch with them because sometimes two months or more will go by without me hearing from them.  If we win the whole thing, I'll split the money with them.  And win or lose I'll take them out to some cool arcade place out by where they live that they have been asking me to take them to.  

C) I'm 100% sure they will do a better job at it than me.

(It's finally the year for the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights!)
I told the two of them that they have to switch off weeks managing the team, so when Monday comes around the new manager steps in, and the previous manager can't say anything about any moves being made while he is out - he just has to wait to the following week to see what kind of team he has left after trades and add/drops have been made.  I decided this would be better than a simultaneous managing deal because that would undoubtably lead to the two of them calling each other idiots, getting each other in headlocks, and holding each other down and farting on one another.  And if I'm causing more headaches for my sister who is already working full time as a lawyer, raising three boys, and dealing with a shit-heal ex-husband, then the whole project will be a disaster in my eyes.

Another rule is they can't read the message boards with my friends in the league saying disgusting things.  Okay, so they will end up reading once I've told them not to because they will know some profane stuff will be on there, but they can't under any circumstances tell their mother about any of the jokes they've read.

Keeping it a secret is another trick all together.  There is only one person I can think of who might still check in on this blog on occasion who might come in contact with people in the league, so James Douglas Morrison (JDM), if you're reading this, please keep my Boy Genius plot top secret.

I contacted the two boys this afternoon via text, and the 16-year-old said yes right away.  The seventh grader sent a text back saying, "Sure.  Sounds fun."  Then another text moments later saying "Wait, who is this?"  It's all the more encouraging that he likes this fantasy crap so much that he agreed to do it without even knowing who it is!

This is going to be a fantastic season.  While I'm drinking a cold one on a Sunday game day, I'll be able to text the boys about our players that are kicking butt - and never sending negative stuff because as the prudent team owner, I know that would be bad for my coaches' morale.

Also, for no good tricking reason, here's a picture of Alien playing Predator in a friendly game of pool.
(Pretty sure Alien is drunk because he is drooling.  And the drool is probably acid.  Which will burn its way into the apartment below the bar.)

Saturday, July 26, 2014

B-4 and After the Lesbian Proposition

I went to a Cubs game the other night with my buddy, Dangerous, and he and I went to a great little cozy bar called the Burwood Tap for a few night caps.  It was Bingo night, which sounds stupid and an activity meant for folks 40 years our senior, but in reality it was great fun.  For some reason Dangerous knew all the corny jokes to yell out.  For instance, if B-4 is called, you just have to say "and after!" And when it's time for B-9, you gotta say "or malignant!"  So stupid, but funny as hell when you're as drunk as we were.
Me thinks their sign needs a comma, but I love them nonetheless. 
But here's where things get interesting.

After Bingo, an attractive woman I hadn't said one word to walks right up to me, hands me a piece of paper with her name and her number written on it and says "I can't talk to you right now because I'm kind of on a date, but call me."  Then she walks away back to her table, and her date comes out of the bathroom.  And her date is another woman.  I watched the two of them leave shortly after that, and through the window I saw them across the street both stretching their hamstrings.  What sort of insane lesbian sex acts did they have in store for the night that required stretching out their leg muscles?  And did one of them want me to be a part of said acts?
"That's it!  Breathe on my back!  And don't ever talk to a Bingo dork again!"
I'm in a committed relationship with the greatest gal I've ever known, so I discarded her number.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  I tried to get it out of my pocket as proof to some guys at the bar that it actually happened (or prove to myself that I hadn't imagined it), but I had already lost it.  I'm the least organized person I know.

When I woke up the next day with a clear head, I had decided that it couldn't be that she was totally taken with my rugged good looks and my command of the Bingo stamper.  What was going on was one of these three scenarios:

A) She was on a date with a woman who exposed all women to be what she was growing tired of, and she decided right then and there that she needed to mix things up with a fella.  And I was nothing special but the nearest halfway decent looking man with a functional wang.

B) Her date was her girlfriend and she wanted to start a fight with her by coming on to someone that would piss her off the most: a man.  Had I taken that bait, I would be in store for an epic cat fight with me in the middle and being crushed to death between their super-strong stretched out thighs.

C) She wanted me to be part of a an epic three-way sex romp that would go all night and I would have to ice my genitals all the next day.

I have actually ruled out choice C.

Then Dangerous is taking pictures of some people he happened to know in the bar, and he says "hold on, that great big tall girl was right in the way of that shot."  And the girl got all sad about it.  Then he spent the better part of an hour consoling tall girl and trying to convince her that she is pretty.  She went on-and-on about how she has a low self concept.  I had no idea what they were talking about, so I walked over there and said "Wow, you're tall!  Do you play volleyball?  Stand up for a second and put your arms up.  You would be terrific at the middle-block position!"  I think that set Dangerous back an extra twenty minutes on his quest to make her less self conscious about her height.

We're going to need a bigger lens to make this shot work.  That or shorter trees.
So that's it.  Anyone have any thoughts about the lesbian proposition or the poor tall gal with low self-esteem?  

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Remembering Tiamat

I was tired at work the other day and said to myself "Man, I am draggin' like Tiamat." Tiamat is the only dragon I could think of at the time, although Smaug is one more people would know given the popularity of "Lord of the Rings."  Still, I like to let my inner nerd shine by referencing the Dungeons & Dragons mythical beast and one of the stars of the 1980's Saturday morning cartoon series.

Also, Tiamat represents a dark day in my past when I was around 8-years-old and snuck down to the Christmas tree before my parents woke up to find that I had the toy Tiamat, the five-headed dragon!  I yelled "Tiamat!" and my sister, my partner in crime that morning, told me to keep my voice down.  All that hard work my parents went through assembling those toys and laying them out, and they didn't get to see my genuine reaction.  When we got back out of bed to open gifts as a family, I had to fake the surprise of seeing Ms. Tiamat under the tree and scream her name a second time and fain the same level of enthusiasm.  All five heads appeared to be shaking their heads in their disapproval of my treachery and disappointment in my lackluster acting performance to conceal it.

I damn near just ordered this shirt. 
I played fricking Dungeons & Dragons as a kid.  I'll admit it.  It's cool to like knights and dragons again, I suppose, with the popularity of Game of Thrones now, but all you have to do there is flip on the television and talk about it at work on Monday.  D & D was a big commitment.  But I didn't mind rolling dice, reading all the rules, getting out the graph paper, and creating a character with all his/her attributes.  I'll admit it.  And I still remember all five heads that Tiamat had, the color of dragons, their breath weapons, and the order of how strong they were from strongest to weakest.  Observe:

1. Red: Fire.
2. Blue: Lightning.
3. Green: Poison Gas.
4. Black: Acid.
5. White: Ice Blast.

Shit.  I think I mixed up a few.  My nerd powers are waning over the years.

I always wonder what the stomachs were like for those green and black dragons to be able to belch up acid and poison gas.  What must their farts smell like?  Actually, in the case of Tiamat, all five heads shared the same body, as well as the same dragon butthole.  Do you think she could turn around and blast out all five breath weapons at once out of her butt?  How many hit points of damage would that do?

(Notice he tucks in his legs to avoid injury?  This isn't his first rocket blast fart joy ride.)
And this free association random-ass blog post has led us to . . . dragon farts.  Why not?

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The other night I was at the bar and got talking to one of those guys with a curly-cue mustache.  The Rollie Fingers mustache, if you will.

"Top 10?  More like Top 1."
I asked him how long it takes him to do that in the morning, and it sounds like quite an ordeal, styling it and spraying it down and all.  And if he doesn't do anything, then it looks like a Fu Manchu.

"I may not have the curls, but can you guess where this pinky thingy goes?"
He went on to tell me that he won 2nd place in his category in a facial hair contest.  My first question was what the name of that category was (because it really should be the Rollie Fingers Category).  He said it was "Freestyle Mustache."  Oh.  I then asked how many were in his category, and he said there were only three.  I let him know that he also placed 2nd-to-last.  I was buzzed a little and speaking freely . . .

But also I just hate hipsters with stupid facial hair, piercings, and just dumb stuff like that in general.  You're not a turn of the century boxer.  You work for Whole Food, or whatever, and when you're late for work and don't have time to style your 'stache, your coworkers call you Fu Manchu Fuck Face.  And when you're primped up beautifully, they call you Old Boxing Photograph Fuck Face.

Fight?  I thought we agreed to a Mustache Contest?

Not all styles are coming back en vogue or are somehow ironically cool.  When does it stop?  Do you want to throw on a powdered wig and be all 1700's?  Probably if a true hipster saw people wearing the wigs, he would get really pissed and go back to a look from 50,000 years ago and just throw on a loin cloth and go to the bar and sip his Pabst Blue Ribbon.
So I guess the conversation with the weirdo from the bar was still in my head because yesterday I'm driving in the car, I'm a little lost and crabby, a hipster with a terrible old-timey mustache is crossing the street and I find myself yelling "Fuck that guy!"  He wasn't doing anything wrong - just crossing the street like everyone else.  I just couldn't take it any more.  I actually caught myself off guard with my sudden outburst.

Am I out of line here, or has the hipster thing worn thin with anyone else?