The Best Thing To Say When You're Giving a Cat Treats in the Morning

When I leave for work every morning, part of my routine was feeding the cat. Lately, Gancey Girlfriend has started doing it sometimes, so on those days, I just don't know what to tell Punk Ass (that's one of the cat's names) when she runs into the kitchen and jumps onto the counter looking at me all cute like I'm going to open up a can of wet food and plop it into a bowl for her. Instead, I've opted for hooking her up with some treats, which I sprinkle onto the granite for her. Yesterday morning, I had more sleep than I'm used to, was feeling a little giddy as a result, so I poured them out all gangster like I was at a titty bar (kitty bar?), saying "make it rain!"

Boys Don't Cry

I busted out crying out of nowhere in a diner late Friday night. It was a combination of a scary doctor experience, a really sad thing going on at work, and far, far too many cheap Mexican beers. It was in front of Gancey Girlfriend, and I was a little embarrassed, it being the first time I ever broke down in front of her. But then it occurred to me that I haven't cried at all in the two years I've been with her, not even alone. Is that unusual?

I found a statistic online that said men cry, on average, 1.4 times per month. I don't think that's right. I mean, a lot of men well up with tears when they watch their favorite male tear jerker like Brian's Song, but as far as full-on weeping? It's pretty rare, I think.


How often do you cry? If you're a female, how often does a male close to you cry? Is okay for men to cry, and can you put a number to it, or does it have more to do with the intensity of the bawling?

For the record, Gancey Girlfriend was extremely supportive and understanding, which is awesome, cause if I saw a guy who looked like me blubbering into his eggs at a diner, I'd have flung hash browns at him.

Billy Blanks in a Questionable Move

I was watching a Billy Blanks kickboxing aerobics video, not participating, just watching, and I saw him put his hand on a female participant's hind quarters and say, "Look at that ass! That ass is rock hard!"

What do you think? Is that sexual harrassment? Can you think of a time where one can totally get away with perving/harrassing?

Thoughts That Went Through My Head as an Asian Indian Guy Was Feeling My Nuts

My doctor found a lump in my ball sack today, and it's probably just a harmless cyst or something - but it scared the living shit out of me. Here's what ran through my head . . .

"I haven't accomplished anything in this life. I've been putting off writing my next play for way too long, and it will never get done. If we continue to put things off, our goals, our dreams, then we are wasting the precious life that we are granted. Shit, all I've done is try to stay out of debt and get drunk on the weekends. That's it. I don't see my family nearly enough, I don't tell them how much I love them nearly enough, and I don't don't do nice things for them out of the blue nearly enough.

Where is Gancey Girfriend when I need her? Would if my screwed up balls kill me or make me sterile? Her and I will never get to make those tall good lookin' babies we're always talking about. Gosh, I love her. I need to be better to her. I just want to hug her, and she'll tell me everything is okay. She'll rub my head and say, 'It's okay, Dr. Ken. Your nuts are just fine. You're not going to die cause I won't let you because you're the sexiest man alive, lumpy nuts or not.' I really do need her, and I need that hug. I wonder if this doctor would let me hug him right quick. You know, I really trust this guy. He's the awesomest doctor ever. When I had that horrible, horrible diahrea where I thought I was going to die, where even water was getting rerouted to my butt somehow, he told me to just drink a ton of Gatorade, and voila! It came out my dick hole like it should! This guy's smart. He'll take care of my nuts."

PS- There's a far less serious post below this one. Try to comment on both if you're in the commenting mood because I'm doing 2 a day still when I publish to get caught back up to 365 in 365. XOXO - Dr. Ken.

Top 5 Songs To Play as You Drive Into a Terrible, Terrible Neighborhood in the West Side of Chicago to Work Every Monday and Alternating Tuesdays*

5. "Let Me Ride" by Dr. Dre: Dre was rollin' in his 6-4, I'm rollin' in a piece of shit Camry, but either way, when I hear this one in the hood, I feel like I have 16 switches, sounds for the bitches, and hollow points for the snitches. I have no idea what I would do with all those switches . . .


4. "Real Muthaphuckkin G's" by Eazy E: I love that this record came out claiming that another guy (Dr. Dre) was fronting as a gangster and he was a real gangster. Only in the 90's . . .


3. "Now I Feel Ya" by Scarface: Scarface became a really smooth, intelligent rapper after some of his more manic, insane, hateful stuff he did with the Geto Boys, but that hateful stuff has merit too.


2. "The Message" by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five Featuring DJ Melle Mel and Duke Bootee: I hear this one, and I just wonder who those people are "pissin' on the stairs." I mean, come on, maybe you don't have a pot to piss in, but do your business somewhere that isn't a safety hazard!


1. "In the Ghetto" by Elvis Presley: This one makes me laugh my ass off when I drive by the same dudes every morning with their burning trash can, mini grill, and tents. I want to play hookey one day, and join them with this playlist on repeat. Wonder what they cook? . . .

What Critter Would You Shtupp?

I was at a bar not too long ago, and somehow, I'm never sure exactly how, we got talking about what animal we would fornicate. We're talking you have to do it, like your family is in danger if you don't run over there and hump that rhino, your whole family is offed execution style. I'll now give you the results, protecting their anonymity, as no one wants to be known as a monkey fucker, or whatever the case may be.


1. 23-year-old Female: Horse. Ouch! Later she said that she meant she would "F" the horse, but no, there are no use of strap-ons. That doesn't count! I never got another answer.


2. 24-year-old Female: Octopus. She liked the idea of tentacles all over various parts of her a body; she likes a multitasker.





3. 35-year-old Male: Hippo. "Big, wide ass" he said, demonstrating the width of the hippo's hands with his massive hands.

4. 32-year-old Male: Dolphin. "They're always smiling, they're the only known animal to have sex for pleasure, and nailing a dolphin would be somehow . . . beautiful."

5. 27-year-old Male: Human. "A human being is an animal." Booooooo! That was cheap!

6. 25-year-old Male: Dolphin. He then sited the same random statistic the other guy said about the dolphin having sex for pleasure, despite not being there for that conversation. This excited the previous subject who then drunkenly blurted out, "We're breaking into Sea World and fucking dolphins!"

7. 23-year-old Male: Monkey. "They're the closest to humans." Is that really better? I think I'd rather have something furthest removed once I'm out of the realm of humans, as I've been with some at the brink of exiting that realm.


8. 26-year-old Female and Bartender: Cat. She did not have time to elaborate, but I guess she's a cat person. We elaborated for her, speculating that it may be good to have your cat declawed before attempting this, unless that element of danger gets you going.

What is the point of this exercise you may ask? Well, ask yourself, is there not a difference between a girl who wants to be titillated by the various extensions of the delicate octopus and the one who wants to be railed by a big, hulking horse? I'd say so.

How about you, Seven Readers? Which animal would you make love to, and why?

And remember, there's a blog below posted moments ago, so try to get by and comment on that one too (still posting two a day to get caught up). Thanks!

It's Almost Painless!

I was waiting to get my haircut in an extremely crabby state due to being three days deep going cold turkey off of caffeine, and I was listening to an annoying young lady talking to who I think was her mother. Much to my dismay, with my inability to tune her out, she said this:

"Yes, I'm going to the W Hotel on Lakeshore Drive. They are supposed to have the most painless Brazilian in Chicago."

K. Good to know.

The NBA Finals Finally Needs a Name

The Super Bowl!

The World Series!

These are really important sounding names, right? And then, the NBA Finals. How boring, right? They deserve a better name, especially since it's arguably the finale in which the best team truly wins, in that in baseball the team that happens to get hot at the end of the season usually pulls it out, and in football any team can win on any given Sunday (they need to play a best of three or something). And in hockey . . . who the F cares?

So, Seven Readers, what should they call it?

PS: There's another blog below where I need your input. I'm blogging two a day to get caught up to still make that 365 blogs in 365 days thing. Thanks!

November First

While at the bar watching the Bears win a meaningless game over the Browns, one of my buddies said that he loves the day after Halloween because it's the best day of the year for walk of shames. He saw a disheveled girl at ten in the morning trying to hail a cab dressed as a sexy, female Harry Potter. Priceless!

This is where you come in, Seven Readers: What should we call this day of walk of shames?

It's Moving, Amazing, But God Damn Disheartening . . .

. . . to watch Angels in America, written for the stage by Tony Kushner and adapted to the screen in an HBO miniseries a number of years back. I watched all but the final episode when it aired, and now that it's On Demand, I rewatched the whole thing, only this time I was watching more from the perspective of a writer, hence the disheartening. It's just so damn good. I wanted to find a quote from where Pryor was discretely trying to tell Meryl Streep's character how his erections could tip him off of an upcoming visit from the angel, but I couldn't find it. Instead, I'll paste you a section from the only time my two favorite characters meet. Pryor, the one dying of AIDS who believes he is a prophet, and Harper, the pill popping wife of a closeted gay mormon husband. The two meet in a joint hallucination though they have never met . . .

Harper Pitt: I don't understand this. If I didn't ever see you before, and I don't think I did, then I don't think you should be here in this hallucination because in my experience the mind which is where hallucinations come from shouldn't be able to make anything up that wasn't there to start with that didn't enter it from experience from the real world. Imagination can't create anything new can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions. Am I making sense right now?

Prior Walter: Given the circumstances, yes.

Harper Pitt: So when we think we've escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives it's really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable.

Don't OVERDO the Dew

Caron Butler, an all-star NBA Basketball player for the Washington Wizards just gave up drinking Mountain Dew. He was up to six cans a day, and he lost eleven pounds after quitting. The man had to have one right before bed! When he finally quit, he was having withdrawal symptoms and said those first two weeks without the disgusting soda in his system were the roughest two weeks of his life. You don't believe me? Read this.


He was even knocking back two before games and some more at halftime. How could he shoot free throws like that? Wouldn't he be all jittery? And how did his teeth not rot out of his head with all that sugar?

Well, at least it's not real gangsta shit like coke and hookers. Nope. Just sodie-pop. : )

What's one of your stupid addictions, readers?

When I Told My Mom I Wanted To Be a Writer . . .

. . . she said, "Well, you've always had a unique way of looking at the world, even when you were a little kid." It's true. For example: When I was around two-years-old, my mom was telling me that the zipper in the front of my pants is called a fly, and I, thinking I had a new pet fly to follow me around, asked, "What's his name?"

I also could entertain myself for hours alone with my toys. I didn't just point my G.I. Joe's together and say, "bang-bang!" I didn't merely smack my King Kong Bundy and Ricky "the Dragon" Steamboat wrestling figures' bodies together until it got boring. No! My guys had elaborate story lines that would take them from one end of the house to the other, each room being a whole new scene, one a dessert, one a mansion, the dog an AT-AT Walker from Star Wars cause who the fuck could afford the toy? My hero would hijack numerous vehicles, wear an array of disguises, and would stop at nothing to save the world from eminent destruction, unless one of my buddies called and wanted to hang out, at which point our hero would pick up right where he left off the next day.


I'm also not sure most little kids spent as much time in their own heads as me. I used to climb the tree in the front yard with no better plan than hanging out. I remember the best time to do this would be when my folks would say it was almost time for dinner, so there really wasn't a whole lot of time to start anything. I mean, Christ, that would hardly be enough time to get through one murderous scene in my never-ending epic toy story line. So, I'd just sit in the tree for a while and think about stuff. Sometimes it would be twenty to thirty minutes, sometimes just five, but five minutes when you were a kid was enough time to think about just about everything because for one, there wasn't much to think about, and secondly, time moved by so very slowly when you were young.

I liked daydreaming back then. I still do it, but now I get mad at myself for it because now I worry about that time being wasted - that's time spent thinking about weird scenarios that will never happen, like would if I became a famous rock star despite having no musical talent, or what it would be like to just smack someone in the face out of nowhere, and not necessarily someone I don't like. And I don't just think about the immediate shock the person might have, I think about minutes, hours later, how I would justify to this person doing such a thing. That's the sort of weird places my mind will go if left to it's own devices.

Perhaps I should allow myself time to daydream about dumb shit completely guilt free, if only for just ten minutes a day. I only wish Chicago had bigger trees around here.

Titties

That is what the title of the last UFC piece I did would be called if it had a title. Check it out here.

A cheap, crappy post as far as this site goes, and that's why I'm giving you another one right now, just to make it to that 365 posts in as many days goal.

Have You Ever Wondered About Small Wonder?

1. Have you ever wondered why no one asked why Vicki talked like a robot? Did people just assume she was Autistic?


2. Have you ever wondered if that kid Jamie was/is gay? Apparently there have been rumors of his death, but he is still alive and looks like the picture below. Yikes.









3. Have you ever wondered how everyone resisted kicking Harriet, the annoying neighbor, right in the baby slit?


4. Have you ever wondered how that crap stayed on the air for three years?

White Meat and Beheadings

1. I was talking to a Black friend of mine (I only mention that he's black because it pertains to the story), and he was telling me some great stories, as he often does. One story today involved a guy he knew back in his old neighborhood who was as big as a house, but he talked like a girl, like Michael Jackson, or as this buddy of mine described him, "like he had ten pounds of sugar up his ass." But, if anyone said anything at all about him talking funny, he'd beat them into next week, or as my boy said, specifically, "he'd beat you down to the white meat." I was rolling at that line.

2. The other thing I want to discuss, and this is going to make it into next week's open mic performance, is King Henry VIII and all those beheadings. Can you imagine that? He would have the last word in every argument, and that would be pretty cool because women wouldn't dare push him too far, right? "Oooh, you sure you want to go there? You know, I'm going to have my boys get out the guillotine to chop some cloves of garlic. You know, just to make sure it's still nice and sharp." Something tells me that would get her to change her tune. But, I was wondering if he ever got Beheaders Remorse, like he'd be thinking, "oh yeah, her, she was really cool. I wonder what she's doing these days? I should look her up, uh, no, wait, I cut that bitch's head off years ago." Is any of that funny? I'll flush it out for some funny shit . . .

"These Puppies Are on the Loose!"

That's what a 2-year-old, chubby Asian Indian kid was wearing today, and it had arrows pointing to his arms. His parents had no idea what the phrase meant, but Dr. Ken got it, so he walked up to him flexing, which made the kid cry.

Probably better that I didn't know what it meant . . .

The First Anual Gancies

Today, I have decided to give out awards called Gancies*. Please don't feel hurt if you were not included because there is always next year.

The Gancey for the Charlie Hustle Blogger goes to . . .
: Steph over at Much Ado About Sumthin'!
She and I have been commenting on one another's sites for a long, long time, and she always impresses me with getting over 80 comments with each post, responding to all her comments, and she gets around to other people's sites. She didn't blog for around a year, suddenly posted, and immediately had around 60 comments. She tells good stories, and she has a good sense of humor.

The Gancey for the Gancey Guru goes to . . .
Zen Wizard over at Zen Wizard
He has also been a blog buddy for quite some time, and he always break down the minutia of dumb ass shit that I bring up in a way that astounds me, and he'll even come back for multiple comments if he digs a topic, expounding on what he wrote before and what others have brought up. There have been times when I've come back to see that he and Chud have gone back and forth with some amazingly funny discussions. He is one of the smartest guys I kind of know.

The Gancey Drinking Buddy award goes to . . .
Drunkin' Chud over at Chud's World
This guy posts very rarely these days, but he still comes by to comment even when his own blog is inactive. He just seems like that guy who seems like a beer-swilling goof ball, but he can actually pick you apart in an argument, political discussion, or a jukebox sabotage. We've been trying to have a drink together for around three or four years now, have exchanged some texts, and I even drunk dialed him once. Chudly, if you're out there, what in the hell did we talk about?

The Congrats Gancey award goes to . . .
Redacted, formerly known as The Belligerent Intellectual
This guy has been blogging longer than me, and I admire him because he seems to have shifted into a full time writer as a career. He is a really engaging writer - one of those guys with really long posts that you don't mind reading. I wish this guy would comment on his comments more and come by my site every once in a while, but whatever. Congrats, brother!

#1 Fan Gancey Award goes to . . .
JerseyJov over at A Bit Unaware
She has been coming by to comment consistently over the past year or so even when I was down to one or two comments a post, as I am now, it seems. She is really bright and a solid writer, especially since she is only in college. Her tales of drunken hookups are always a good time.

Don't Call It a Comeback Gancey Award goes to . . .
Jenni over at Unapologetic Nonsense, formerly known as Swank or Skank
First off, when I went over to get the address just now, she had "Alone" by Heart jamming on her shit, and I had to leave that on. She always seems to disappear for long stretches at a time, and I have a nack for popping by there and getting her out of retirement. She's funny and now she wants to take a stab at real writing, so be sure to get by there and keep her motivated!

Miss Congeniality Gancey goes to . . .
Shife over at Shife's World over at Confessions of a Dumb White Guy
This guy, from the Land of Potatoes, has been along with me for a long, long time, he's consistantly funny, and you just get the sense that he is helluva nice guy. Go by and check out his adorable baby boy and his Random Acts of Shifeness pieces that never disappoint.

Dirty Bird Gancey goes to . . .
Ms. Smack over at To Smack or Not To SmackSome of this gal's posts well-written, dirty, really descriptive tales of naughty stuff that are not safe for work. She also had her readers send in their boobs and posted pictures of them!

Best Blog I've Ever Read Gancy goes to . . .
Hilary the Guy over at Pistols at Dawn
This asshole was so damn funny and smart, he posted so regularly, and he was so consistnat that it just pissed me off. He recently disappeared without a trace . . .

Gancey Buddy goes to . . .
Giant Butters, formerly known as The Cherry Ride over at Giant Butters.This is a blogger who helped us form the now practically defunct Liars Club blog, and he actually became a good friend who I plan jumping half-naked into a freezing Lake Michigan with on this New Years Eve (it's a long story). He's a really entertaining writer and a great friend.

That's all I got for now. If I left you out, please don't be offended because I only did a few before I had to get ready to leave the house. It's just a matter of not having the time with this posting every day thing. Who's blog do you like, people? Let me know in the comments.
____________________________________________
*A gancey has no actual value, and is, in reality, just a virtual pat on the back. However, feel free to boast winning a 2009 Gancey on your blog if you were named.

Two Things That Happened in Tha Hood and One in My Hood

1. Today, while working in an all Black classroom, a bunch of kids were coughing, and I told everyone that whenever that happens, I instinctually look around the room for some hand sanitizer. Another teacher, also Black, said, "The day I get that paranoid, my fat butt is just staying home." I'm sure she would have said ass if there weren't a bunch of second and third graders writing numbers backwards in the room at the time. For the record, I am that paranoid; my skinny white butt hates being sick.


2. In the same school, a teacher was asking her students what problem the Three Bears had in the story of Goldiocks and the Seven Bears, and one delightful young man said, "Goldilocks busted in they* house and started taking all their stuff . . ." So true, and you know what I was thinking? How is there no lesson to be learned in that story? She gets away with taking whatever she wants in someone's home not her own, they bust her, but she just runs out of the house, getting away with it! Can someone tell me the point? Shouldn't the Bears make her their slave or something?


3. As I was running today, I was thinking about Ugg boots and how they look foxy on chicks. Then I was thinking how I also like big boobs. So, why has there been no Uggs and Juggs campaign? I just googled it: nothing.** I should contact the Uggs people and tell them I could shoot the calendar with my limited camera experience free of charge. I get the best ideas when I run . . .

As for comments today, how about telling me where you do your best thinking? I know mine is jogging for sure, some would say on the can, but how about you?

__________________________________________
*This grammatical error is actually how he said it, and it's one of my favorites.

**Evidently someone did think of it, as this looks to be some kind of theme party or something that I found on Myspace when I was looking for pictures. Damn it!

Stuff That Kind of Sucks in the Mind of a Gancer

1. I don't dig on sorting socks. I'll fold laundry with no problem. As a matter of fact, I really, really like folding a shirt just right on the kitchen counter with some good indie rock on the stereo, but socks; fuck 'em. I just dump them all in the drawer and reach for them in the morning. Folding them would actually save me time each morning due to the fact that I have twenty-one variations of white socks and due to my colorblindness, it takes me quite a while to tell black from navy. Either way, I'm frantically pairing them up in the morning.

2. To hell with eating processes that take too long. I'm not talking about the cooking part because there is a certain satisfaction in that. No, what I'm talking about are things like fondue where you have things soaking in hot oil, and while you're talking and drinking, you lose track of what you're doing and overcook everything. Even when you get it right, it's like one little bite at a time, and I'm very rarely full by the end of the whole ordeal. Also, who wants their clothes to smell like hot oil the rest of the night?

I got thinking about my dislike for lengthy eating procedures last night when Gancey Girlfriend and I went out for crab. Getting meat from those legs is the most arduous process in the history of eating stuff. Granted, the meat is damn good, but you have to prick your hands on the legs and root it out of there with a tiny fork . . . The staff can't do that for us?

However, Gancey Girlfriend likes this sort of thing, so she was in charge. I did some of the brute force breaks, but she did the shit I'm way too impatient for, like all that rooting, and separating the contents into bowls; one for the meat and one for the refuse. The beauty of it is that we were then able to just pour the butter sauce over the meat and eat it with a fork all at once like a bomb-ass stew. Had it not been for her, I would have been eating a tiny, shitty bite at a time, cutting open my hands and cursing to the point where I would either get thrown out or committed for cursing out dead crabs.

This night was also a demonstration on how Gancey Girlfriend and I so perfectly compliment one another . . .

How about you, readers? What's something that really isn't that big a deal, but you just hate doing it? And/Or, tell us about a way that you and a significant other past or present compliment each other.

Writing About Elbows to the Face

I fell behind a day blogging. Again.

So, first off, here's a link to an article I wrote about the latest episode of The Ultimate Fighter. Right now, it's on the Myspace page of Wes Sims, who is a contestant on the show and a friend of a friend, but I will soon be writing for a new mixed martial arts web page.

There are a lot of comments already, and there are more every day. A lot more than I get on this page these days. : (

Check it out here, y'all.

This way I'll still make it to 365 posts in as many days. Stay tuned!

I Needed a Topic Today . . .

. . . so I looked through old memos I have made to myself in my phone. Months-
and-months ago I entered in the following message: "Son and heir of a mongrel bitch." It took me a while to think of what the hell that meant, but when I entered that, while waiting for the doctor's office to call my name, I was reading a magazine article on the author's favorite swear, his being son of a bitch. Apparently, the phrase is thought to derive from a line in King Lear where some guy named Kent evidently doesn't think too highly of some guy named Oswald, saying to him the following:

A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I
will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
the least syllable of thy addition.

So, I urge you to Gancy Up Yourself and say the mongrel line or perhaps another one from this passage to the next a-hole who ticks you off. I rather like "one whom I will beat into a clamorous whining" and "eater of crooked meats." It's very Gancey indeed to threaten insult mo'fo's with Shakespearean quotes.

Already Blew It

No post yesterday. I'm so sorry!

To make it up to you, here's a link to an article I did on the Top 10 Hair Metal Songs of All Time, AND I'm going to post later today so I still make it to 365 posts in as many days.

Godzilla Gorilla Pimp

A coworker of mine claims that she met an occupational therapist who works with a student in our fine city named . . . Well, named the title of this post. Yes. You're reading that right: Godzilla Gorilla Pimp.

I looked into the system, and as far as I can tell, there is a not a student with any variation of that name enrolled anywhere in our public schools, which is why I don't have reservations about protecting Godzilla's (Mr. Pimp's?) anonymity.


































GODZILLA GORILLA PIMP!



However, I did a google query, and it yielded two results with that exact word combination in the exact order.*

1. A Twitter update from someone read: "Godzilla Gorilla Pimp. Not even playin'." This tweet (I flipping hate that word) did not tell us for sure that it was even a name, and the person forgot the apostrophe in playin', so this doesn't tell us a whole lot and does not seem to be a reliable source.

2. A forum on a site called baby-gaga.com was discussing funny names, and someone said the following:
Quoting Christina714:“ I read about a mentally ill woman who named her child "godzilla gorilla pimp" but she was in a mental institution of some sort, atleast she had an exuse!”

Now, this, however being, again, hearsay in nature, does site an instance of someone being named that, but this person also thinks "at least" is one word and she spelled excuse wrong.** But, would there not be some institution stopping a woman giving birth in a mental institution from naming a kid whatever the heck her crazy ass wanted to? After all, when Dweezil Zappa was born, the hospital would not allow him to be named such a thing.***

If it is true, I hope that Godzilla Gorilla Pimp rises up from all the odds stacked against him, that extend far beyond his whacked-out name, which is enough, and he proves all the doubters wrong, becoming a CEO, local school board president, or dare I say, if the Queen of England has any kind of sense of humor, Sir Godzilla Gorilla Pimp . . .
__________________________________________________
*That equasion took me FOREVER because I'm a computer dumb-dumb, and I still could not get that next line, "however..." to stop being indented.
**I need to stop with this grammar police stuff before someone rips me to shreds.
***Here's the full story from wikipedia if you are interested:
"Dweezil's registered birth name was Ian Donald Calvin Euclid Zappa,[4] although this occurred only because the hospital at which he was born refused to register him under the name Dweezil. The name was a nickname coined by Frank for an oddly-curled pinky-toe of Gail's. He was always called "Dweezil" by his family and was unaware that this was not the name on his birth certificate. Upon this discovery at the age of five, he insisted on having his nickname become his legal name. Gail and Frank hired an attorney and soon the name Dweezil was official."

Dirty Talk

I have my second stand-up open mic gig in only a few hours, and I feel a little weird getting up in front of people and talking about gag reflexes, incest, veiney curved wieners, and dirty talk. Sure, on this blog, I've talked about things like queefs and that thing where your pee splits in two streams, but in front of people is a whole other matter.

I swear that I have no intention of being a shock jock like Andrew Dice Clay* or something. Hell, I don't even have aspirations of being famous at all. My sole intention is to conquer the stage fright so I feel justified telling actors what to say and how to say it front of people - can't do that without having the nuts to get up there myself. This particular routine just kind of snowballed, and yes, it's a little gross - but funny (I hope). The trick is, can I be as funny as I am in the bathroom mirror with the microwave timer set in the kitchen for 5 minutes as I can be in front of the crowd.

Wish me luck . . .
________________________________________
*Searching for "Dice" pictures was a little depressing in that four out of five were the good-looking version from the 1980's, and then every fifth one was the current bald and fat version, one of which seemed to be a candid of him eating not one but two slice of pizza and a regular coke. Ah, hell. Here it is:

The Lost Art of Buying a Disc

Today I arrived for my haircut appointment early, so I killed some time by going to one of Chicago's most famous record stores where way too many surly employees congregate around the counter eating organic crap and talking about Yo La Tengo records. To be honest, there was a surplus of workers, they were milling around not working, and one guy was eating some apple wedges, but they were really friendly. Perhaps in this economy, they figured they couldn't afford the crummy customer service. It is true, however, that back in the day one could ask for something commercial like U2, and the punks would actually laugh at you! Laughing!

In any event, I really needed the new Built To Spill and the new Muse records because I've been having trouble illegally downloading decent copies of both. Yes, I was actually forced to go to the record store, to pry myself off my computer chair, unearth my arm out of the bag of Bugles, and actually take my sorry ass into the record shop, and I'm so glad I did! Not only did they have both those discs, but I got two of the three James Gang records on vinyl that I wanted for $2.99 and $1.99 respectively!

Now, I've already done a blog about working at a record shop and how it was the best job I've ever had, but I really did get nostalgic for the good old days. I remember every Christmas we used to drink Baileys and coffee (alcohol and caffeine being my two favorite drugs and ingested simultaneously is even better) and we would exchange gifts, which were almost always box sets of albums. Not only did I long for the days when I worked in a record shop, but I really got off on the experience of buying a disc.

Seeing that your illegal download has finished compressing or whatever the fuck and hitting play just doesn't compare to the anticipation involved in unwrapping the album on the way to the car, popping it in the player, and driving home while leafing through the paperwork. That is all part of the experience, and technology is compromising so many of life's little pleasures. It won't be long before the joy of your trip to the edge of the driveway in your robe to fetch the paper, pulling off the plastic tube, smelling that newspaper smell, and hearing the ruffling as you fan it out while sipping on your coffee will all be things of the past. Pretty soon you'll just click your fricking yahoo news, or whatever, and call it a day - and call it news.*

ANYWAY, I asked the woman helping me at the well-known Chicago record shop if they were hiring to earn a little extra scratch, and yes, to relive some glory days, and she said, "We're not hiring right now, but I could give you an application?" I smiled and said to the kind and pleasant looking, Rubenesque gal on the opposite end of the counter, "That's exactly what we told people when they were looking for work when I was working at a record shop in the mid to late 1990's!" She smiled as if to say, "whatever," but not in a mean way.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.
_________________________________________________
*Does it kind of look like this woman is trying to stop this guy from reading so they could engage in a little mid-morning delight, and does this cat not look like what Rick Springfield looks like these days when his mug pops up on VH1 talking about his one major hit?

Daily Updates!

After taking a month off, it has dawned on me that I need to keep this blog going because it's what got me started writing, and writing every day is just good for me. So, for an entire year, starting now, I'm going to post daily. If Prince can write a song every day he is funky on this earth and Bob Pollard can write three songs on the crapper ("and three of them would be good"), the least I can do is find time in my day to whip up a quick blog entry.

Today's topic is the origin of the word schtupp. This wonderful word for the no-pants-bed-dance derives from a Yiddish word meaning to shove or push. Other spellings commonly seen are shtup and shtupp.

1974's Blazing Saddles gave us the sexy Western singing sensation with a German accent and a speech impediment: Lili Von Schtupp. Her name is far funnier now that I know it's a Yiddish word for coitus (I didn't know that the first 5 times I saw the film).

I urge you all to sneak this word into a conversation, even if it's in the original push or shove way:

"I can't seem to schtupp all these damn Chicago parking tickets into my glove box."

I've also heard it used to pay off someone:

"I schtupped the doorman a $50 to ignore other tennants' complaints about my Halloween party."

Come on back and let me know how you used this marvelous word . . .

Holy Crap! He's Posting!

I don't think I've ever gone a month without a post, and I damn near did just now, with only a day to spare. Wait, September only has 30 days, so yeah, we'll just say that was a month. Damn it!

Here's what's keeping me busy:

Work: Duh. Who cares. Everyone works and nobody wants to read about it.

Open Mic: I've been doing these stand-up open mic sets every other week, and I really thought I'd be awesome right out of the gate. As it turns out, it's really hard, and I have more respect than ever for people who do it just like I wish I could, namely Dave Chappelle. Well, my next set is going to be full of disgusting jokes. I didn't plan it that way, but before I knew it I had a routine that starts with, "Have you ever spit on your own penis?"

Freelance: I did an article on the Top 5 Zombie Films of All Time that I kind of rushed, as you can tell by the fact that I didn't even go for the full ten.

The Next Play: To be honest, I've barely written a damn thing for my next play, and the trick is just booking the fucker for August to force me to get it done, which worked last time.

What I'm Listening To: New and newish albums by Muse, The Mars Volta, and Built To Spill, and MGMT.

Jogging: I frigging love running, and I think it's the only time I feel normal, where I can focus. I get some great thinking done while I'm out there, but then when I'm done I've forgotten everything. Perhaps I need a little tape recorder when I'm out there. I thought about doing a blog that was a running monologue of all the crap that runs through my head during a jog, one that goes in and out of what I'm observing live and the tangents the mind goes through and status updates of all my aches and pains such as chafing thighs. Great reading there, right?

How about you, seven readers? Where does blogging rank in all the things you have to do, and what works for you to get you to post regularly?

More Gancey Lyric Analysis

Remember "Hey Jealousy" by The Gin Blossoms? I was thinking what the ex girlfriend on the other end of the conversation would be saying, like I did on this post.

Gin Blossoms Guy: Tell me do you think it'd be all right if I just crashed here tonight?
Ex: Oh, come on!
GBG: You can see I'm in no shape for driving, and I got no place to go.
Ex: Seriously? There's no where else you could go? You sure you're not just trying to weasel your way back into my pants?
GBG: And you know it might not be half bad. You were the best I ever had. If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago, I might not be alone.
Ex: I KNEW it! So, wait, I was the best you ever had, and it was only "not half bad" in your estimation? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
GBG: Tomorrow we can drive around this town
And let the cops chase us around
The past is gone but something might be found
To take its place...hey jealousy
Ex: Okay, fine, you can crash here on the couch, but we're not doing it. Also, if you think I'm driving around town getting chased by the po-po's like when we were 18, you got another thing coming, mister. I have a life now, and some priors, so in the morning, just pack up your shit, and don't pull this shit ever again, shit-head.

That was an overuse of the word shit right there, probably a writing no-no of some kind, but then again, I'm a shitty writer, so it kind of works for me.

Okay, here is another unheard end of the conversation, this time from Lil' Jon's "Get Low."

Lil' Jon: Three, six, nine, damn your fine
Move it till you sock it to me one more time
Get low, get low (Get Low) get low (Get low) get low (Get low)
To the window to the wall (To the wall)
Till the sweat drop down my balls (My Balls!)
Stripper: Okay, that's really gross. Don't tell me about your testicle perspiration anymore, and let's just get this dance over with.
Lil' Jon: All these bitches crawl (Crawl)
Y'all skeet skeet motherfuckers (Motherfuckers)
Y'all skeet skeet god damn (God Damn!!!)
Y'all skeet skeet motherfuckers (Motherfuckers)
Y'all skeet skeet god damn (God Damn!!!)
Stripper: Okay, don't call women bitches, don't skeet in here cause you're cleaning it up, and don't you DARE use the Lord's name in vain in MY titty bar.
Lil' Jon: Shortie crunk so fresh so clean
Can she pump that?
Question been harassing me in the mind This bitch is fine
I done came to the club about 50 11 times
Now can I play with yo panty line
Stripper: Hell to the no!
The club owner said I need to calm down
Stripper: Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.
Lil' Jon: security guard go to sweating
Me now nigga drunk then a motherfucker threaten me now
Stripper: Yes, he is sweatin' you, and don't talk about the ball sweat anymore, remember?
Lil' Jon She getting crunk in the club I mine she work
Then I like to see the female twerking taking the clothes off, ooh she naked!
Stripper: First off, I'm not sure how to "twerk," and I can't believe you've been here 50 eleven times, and you still say "ooh she naked" every time we do this.
Lil' Jon:Let me see you get low you scared you, scared you
Drop dat ass to the floor you scared you, scared you
Let me see you get low you scared you, scared you
Drop dat ass to the floor you scared you, scared you
Drop dat ass ya shake it fast ya
Pop dat ass to the left and the right ya
Stripper: Wait, do what now?
Lil' Jon: Drop dat ass ya shake it fast ya
Pop dat ass to the left and the right ya
Stripper: Slow down! These are a lot of instructions!
Lil' Jon: Now back,back,back it up
a back,back,back it up
a back,back,back it up
a back,back,back it up
Now stop then wiggle wit ya
Stripper: Yes. Stopping and wiggling, sir.
Lil Jon: Now stop then wiggle wit ya
Stripper: K.
Lil' Jon: Now stop then wiggle wit ya
Stripper: All right, already!
Lil' Jon: Now stop then wiggle wit ya
Stripper: You know, you're an awful pushy nudey bar patron . . .

Okay, that's all I got.

Another Redirection

I finally made some headway on my second play that I'm writing. It's a scene I'm rather pleased with, and I can't wait to hear it read. I was late for work one day because I just got a rush of inspiration, but I didn't dare stop writing because who knows how long it would be until my next push. I hadn't looked at what I had written in a while, but it's better than I remember and made better by all the stuff I added to it tonight. I'm writing for women a lot better than I used to as well, perhaps because I'm beginning to understand them a little better than I used to.

There's also another new post over at The Liars Club blog that I'd like you to check out because I think it's going to take off again like the hey-day with some new writers out-and-about reporting on wacky shit in Chicago.

Feel free to leave a comment over there, but as for this rag's comment thread, tell me, who, what, where, when, and why you get inspired?

Check It Out . . .

I just published a Top 10 Acting Performances By Athletes list over a Starpulse.com.

Here's the link.

AND . . .

Get a look at the first update of the Liars Club blog in like a year. I'm the only contributer these days with the other three retired just about. Hey, again, if anyone is from Chicago and would like to join up, let me know if you like what you see . . .

link

'Hang 'Em Up!' and Coat Hangers

61-year-old Steven Tyler recently fell off a stage in South Dakota, suffering head and neck injuries.

This caused the band to have to postpone their next show, but that's not the extent of ailments afflicting this aging band:

"On June 28, Tyler hurt his leg at a concert in Uncasville, Conn., and the band had to postpone seven shows in July. Tyler also battled pneumonia before the tour began in June, while guitarist Joe Perry fought a knee infection," says yahoo news.

Jeez! We'll pay you guys to stop touring! You, you just take care of those knees and play with your grandkids!

I mean, if he fell off a stage in 1973 during a coked up frenzy, I'd pay to see that, but this is just plain sad and embarrassing. This guy is as old as my dad, and I just wouldn't be comfortable with people paying to watch my dad dance around in various cities at his age. My father, a man who jogged 7 miles a day, every day, for most of his adult life, recently tripped over a common coat hanger and scraped the hell out of himself, and I was really worried about him. Where is Liv Tyler while her dad is plummeting onto concert-goers? It seems bad for his health. If my dad were riding around in a tour bus, stopping in various places to run around a stage full of coat hangers, you better believe I'd get him in a half-nelson, take him back to his suburban home, and watch the Cubs break our hearts (our favorite father-son activity) until he came to his senses.

What do you think, readers? Do you say:

A) If they still want to make music and tour, and it's what they enjoy, let them do it for as long as they like.

OR

B) Would you like to say to them, "Stop sucking album-after-album, night-after-night because you haven't been any good in literally over twenty years, and that's debatable. You haven't been great in over thirty years, equally debatable, and the more you hang around sucking, the harder it is to like your good stuff."

Hey. Did I ever tell you about the time . . .

. . .that Dr.Kenneth Noisewater (The Gancer) wrote "rock out with your cock out" in a wedding guest book?

A Top Five You Won't Find Anywhere Else

Believe it or not, there was a time when a certain word so funny to us now was not that funny and said regularly on television commercials all through the 1980's and into the 1990's. This word now is synonymous with someone who's kind of a loser, but back then, it was simply a noun or verb, depending on . . . Oh hell, I'll stop beating around the bush, so to speak. I now bring you The Top Five Douche Commercials of All Time (Don't forget to turn off the music player to the right before viewing the ads):

6 - Even After a Shower! (Sorry, we have to go with 6. They're all just too damn funny.)

Sitting in the window sill of their suburban home, Mom says to daughter, while consoling her with an arm around her shoulder, "Hey, I used to change your diapers. Talk." Daughter says, "Sometimes I just don't feel fresh, even after a shower." Mom says, "I think it's time for Massengill." She's a good mom because a somewhat less supportive mom might have said, "You mean a shower isn't enough for that cooch of yours?


4. - Not-So-Fresh:

Daughter and mom are coasting along in a sailboat, when out of nowhere daughter turns to mom and says, "Do you ever feel, you know, not so fresh?" You have to love how mom, despite her daughter's vague description, knows exactly what she's talking about and says, "Of course. That's why I douche." This ad earns extra points for featuring a somewhat famous actor from Third Watch, Soprano's, and Hulk, Cara Buono.


4. Holding Out on Your Mother?!

"Holding out on your mother?" mom says to daughter, pulling a box of Massengill out of her closet, where it was not concealed in the least bit. Daughter seems caught off guard like mom caught her with something illegal, but when she learns that mom is just ticked off that her daughter never told her that Massengill now has Effectal, daughter just laughs, not at all embarrassed, somehow, and says, "I just bought it!" Mom then comments how she's always loved Massengill's slanted design, and the slanted bottle looks supsiciously like dad's slanted . . .


3. - The Test:

Believe it or not, this one is from 1994. It features some women putting on make-up in a bathroom, and one accuses the other of having an antique douche. Then, one informs another of massengill's new bomb-ass cleansing design douche that even kept her fresh through her period, and "that's the test," evidently. Good lord! Are these women complete strangers in a ladies room exchanging this personal information? Hey, don't go calling some random lady's douche an antique unless you're ready to throw down.


2. - Do You Douche?

Mom and daughter are walking along the beach when daughter turns to mom and says, "Do you douche?" You can't beat that. Wait you can: with her response of, "I sure do." It's a classic commercial for the ages. I also like how creepy mom sounds when she says, "You'll see how clean and fresh Massengill makes you feel." It kind of sounds like mom can't wait to get home and douche her daughter.


1. - Guess the Douche Game!

Excited, with her hands behind her back, daughter asks mom which hand is holding the newest idea in douching. The answer, both hands! Extra Mild and Extra Cleansing are both new! How tricky of her! Extra Cleansing has something called puriclean while Extra Mild has no additives. Mom says, "I choose Extra Mild," subtext being: not that stinky of a beaver. Daughter says, "I choose extra cleansing," subtext being: a really, really smelly vagina, which is why she is so excited about this new technology. I also like that in this ad Massengill brags about rocking the douche game for 70 plus years. Way to hold it down, Massengill!


What do you think, Seven Readers? I have a few questions for you:
1. Do you think the order of this list should be changed at all?
2. Do you have a nomination? If so, please provide a link.
3. Do you ever feel, you know, not-so-fresh?

Stay Tuned . . .

So sorry for the lack of posts lately. I pitched a Top Five list to the editers over at Starpulse.com, and they turned it down. So, stay tuned for that list here at The Gancer, where anything goes. Owwwww! I'm a writing rockstar, and you fucking know this!