Bring Your Screaming Kid To Work Day

I was extremely hungover from cheap draft beer while on my lunch break at my part time job, and it seemed as if it was Bring Your Screaming Kid to Work Day.  They were all playing off each other like the most perfectly awful orchestra of all time.  The worst culprit, of course, was seated (more like standing in his booth) directly next to me.  This young man looked to be around four years old and was just yelling away, and not in the way of an angry fit because he was smiling.  No, this rapscallion was bellowing to his heart's content just to get his jollies, and what really bugged me is that the parents didn't say anything as he did this over-and-over.

You have to understand, after dealing with the public for all those hours, I just wanted those 15 minutes to be somewhat quiet.  I realize parenting is difficult, but if you don't say anything to the kid screaming for no reason, the kid gets the message that he can do whatever he wants.  Why don't you just let him drive home if that's how it's going to be?*

After the seventh or eighth howl, I let out one of my own.  If he did another, I did another.  If he banged the table, I banged the damn table.  As this continued, I started to get odd looks from the surrounding patrons, and some moved away from me, but I could get no reaction from the family I was trying to annoy.  At long last, the kid's mother said to me, "Could you please stop doing that?"  I said to her, "Gee.  That's something I thought you might want to say to your kid, since he has been carrying on like that for my whole damn lunch break, but you feel it easier to ask a perfect strange to stop doing it, even if in my case it was just to make a point?"

Zing!  I had this awful parent right where I wanted.  Nope.  This is when she told me that her son has Autism and can't help doing that.  "Oh," I said.  "That's a rough one.  God bless you."  Then I got the hell out of there and some tables booed me, some threw fries, and I narrowly missed getting dowsed in a Jamba Juice.

----------------------------------------
*The events in this story stop being true after this point.

Okay, I Got One More . . .

. . . to add to the previous post's list of crappy things in my apartment.  I hate using ice cube trays.  They suck.  I'm always squeezing them to get the cubes to pop out, but then sometimes I miss them and they fall on the floor.

I really hope no third world bloggers read this page.  They might not empathize with me.

Hey, remember in "The Stoned Age" when they pee in the ice tray?  If not, skip to 29 minutes . . .

These Are the Shitty Things About My Apartment . . .

1. No garbage disposal.  That really grosses me out.  I've never lived somewhere without one.  It means all food items go into the garbage and make it stink faster.

2. Oh yeah.  That's another thing.  The landlord doesn't provide a recycling thingy in the alley, which is not legal in my city of residence if you have more than 6 tenants (he has way more of that).  So, my girlfriend (LSD) is living in sin with me for the summer, and we're killing the environment.  Baby Jesus and Mother Nature are conspiring on how they will rape us in hell. 

3. The landlord also didn't provide any hardware to open the glass kitchen cabinets, so LSD and I had to go to home depot and buy handle-jobbers and super glue them on there.  We didn't notice until we got them on that they look like flaccid syphilitic wangs, but at least we can open the cabinets without getting finger prints on the glass.

4. The good news is that there are laundry machines in the basement.  The bad news is that they are not in the building I live in, so I have to walk through the alley to another one.  I can't wait for those trips when it's below zero! 

5. No central air.  I have a window unit for the bedroom, but the rest of the place is a sweat-house this summer.  This means that I spend a lot of time either in the bedroom or leaving to . . . see number six.

6. It's very close to tons of bars.  This could also be a good thing, but usually it's very bad for me.

it's summer and it's hot. jump in the pool!

Guys Who Own Boats

My buddy was talking about a friend of his with a big ass whatever-foot boat with a plasma-whatever TV.  It got me thinking, what is it about girls and boats?  They pretend to be friends with dudes who have boats, and then there is there this is this weird dynamic where girls have to come with more friends and their bikinis to get on board.  Invites have nothing to do with personalities, and if you are a dude, you had better bring like eleven chicks.  It's so sad.  These guys with the boats are like the little boys who had a swimming pool as a kid - nobody likes him, but you used him to swim in that pool.  They still try to wield that power, not bothering cultivating a decent personality to get friends, just using that boat.  No thanks, buddy.  An afternoon with you on a boat means me trapped with you in a small space and your awful personality with nowhere to hide but overboard.

Deer Neighbor,

So, you heard "Goodbye Horses" by Q Lazarus coming out of my apartment and you immediately call the police?  It can't just be because I think it's a cool song?  You right away assume that I have a plus-size woman in a pit in my basement, and I'm lowering her lotion with a bucket while I dance around in the mirror with my wang tucked between my legs while I seductively dab on lipstick?  I just . . . I just like the song.  You can trust me.

So I get a phone call this morning from downtown saying that there has been a change in my assignment and there was going to be a change in my schedule.  Then this woman, in a very matter of fact way, informed me that I would no longer be at the same office.  I told her this was not good news for me, and then she tried to explain that a lot of people like the hours I would have.  I let her know that it's not the schedule that bothers me, it's the fact that place has been like my home, like a family.  She apologized but told me that there is nothing they can do with so many retirees this past year, them not hiring anyone else because of the budget, and assignments going to people with more seniority.

After I was done talking to her, as I thought more about missing all these people I have come to know and love, I started to cry.  I only cry about once every two or three years, so that's kind of a big deal.  Then as I'm pumping my iPod full of aggressive heavy metal music to go on an angry therapeutic run, the same woman calls me back to tell me that because I seemed upset about that decision, she was able to move some things around and keep me at the same place.  They will let me know for sure by the end of the week.

So all that crying for nothing?  Not really because I think this happened to make me appreciate what a great job I have, somewhere I love going every morning, and how that could all change any day.

Tonight Crom and I got together to go over future creative projects, but mostly we just drank beers and caught up.  We decided to cut a podcast while we were at it with the topic being the top 3 Jason kills from "Friday the 13th" movies, since it is Friday the 13th today.  Turns out Jason killed people in lots of fun and creative ways.

Then we went across the street for dollar bottles and live band karaoke.  Let me tell you right now, you cannot find anything near that good of a deal in Lincoln Park in Chicago.  He and I threw down the first two songs of the nght.  He did "Crazy Train" and I did "White Wedding."  Suffice it to say, if you have ever done live band karaoke with a kick ass band behind you, making you fee like a rock god, you will never go back to the little monitor with the bouncy ball, making you feel like a drunk Korean business man.

We then went to visit my girlfriend, L.S.D., at the bar she works at, where Crom told me that he has purchased a wedding ring.  I'm really happy for him.  He's a really good dude and will be a terrific family man.

So then I had to get a late night bite to eat back in Lincoln Park, so I got a chorizo burrito at a local burrito joint.  Why do people order anything but chorizo?  Maybe it's the funny colored grease turning them off because it is without a doubt the most bomb-ass option.  In the booth next to me sat a coked out Asian Indian man with long hair, a beer belly, and a shark tooth necklace, and he was ordering up a coke deal.  I've never been into that scene, but I guess I always assumed there was code for things like that.  Nope.  This guy was just loudly bellowing into his phone while housing a pair of tacos: "I need money tonight.  I went in on this 8 ball and then everyone flaked.  These girls are expecting to have it.  What phone is this?  Call me in 5 minutes.  Meet me on the corner of (Dr. Ken's Street0 and (Dr. Ken's Cross Street)."

Unfortunately when I got to the coordinates of my home, there was no awesome drug deal going on, so I just came inside and wrote this shitty blog.

Heart Breaking Love Making

Get a look at this news story: boom!

An Atlanta cop died of a heart attack while having 3-way sex with another man and some lucky lady.  But, his estate was awarded 3 million dollars because a doctor, who knew of his condition, did not warn him not to engage in strenuous activities, such as joining in with a buddy to fill out some non-your-wife woman like an application. 

I would like to know that the police officers out there keeping me safe are able to run after criminals on foot, engage in high stress car chases, and 3-way some woman with a buddy.  If he can't do all of those, if he's just okay cardiovascular-wise to 2-way, then maybe he should be behind a desk somewhere while the real 3-way cops are out there busting their asses to keep our streets safe and our women double penetrated.

This post is brought to you by the commenter on the last blog who said "You are a fucking idiot."  Whenever someone says something like that, I'm only going to get more offensive.  If you've been here long enough to make a rude judgement like the one you made, you should know this by now.

felcher

i work my summer job with this one boisterous and hyper guy, a lot like me, and he is also very off color with his jokes, like me.  so the other day someone is being a total doucher, and so gross guy says that the perfect term for someone like that is a felcher.  i had never heard of this, and i was informed, probably within earshot of customers, that this is a term for someone who sucks the semen, sometimes with a straw, out of another guy's anus after anal sex.

i did some research and found this quote from someone who wrote a comic on felching:

OK, since we didn’t get in any trouble with Snatch and Jiz, and a couple of these other comics, I was partying one night with Crumb, Wilson and these other guys. And Wilson mentioned to me, he says, "I was talking to Ken Weaver and he had this real interesting word." I said what, "What is it?" "A word called 'felch.'" I said, "What does that mean?" He said, "It is a real old term and it means orally withdrawing semen from someone’s lower digestive tract after having anal sex." I said, "There’s a word for something like that?" That’s incredible that not only is there a word like that, but it has a provenance. Hell yeah, we’re going to do a felch comic. So I talked to Crumb, "Yeah, we’re going to do a felch comic."

 that must be good reading!  and think of the illustrations!

big shitty

there is an after hours bar in chicago called big city tap, but everyone calls it big shitty.  when i say everyone calls it that, i mean everyone, to the point where i have actually never heard it called by its actual name.  you really don't go there unless you close out a 2 a.m. last call bar within walking distance.  you certainly wouldn't get in a cab to go there.

if i owned that joint, i would make some changes to the place so that people wouldn't think it was so damn shitty; either that or change the name.  the only other option would be to really embrace the name, maybe even use big city nights by the scorpions in a commercial, with city changed to shitty, of course.

dave

some guy at work was joking around with me and asked, "what about your balls?"  to which i responded, "they're smooth as eggs."  he asked me what that is from because he knew it from somewhere - it was from a chappelle stand-up bit.  i got thinking about dave and how damn funny he is.  l.s.d. thinks i'm nuts because i will watch youtubes all day of anything with him in it.  just the other night, when i thought i had seen everything, i found some clips of him on the daily show, and i was thrilled.  i think pound-for-pound, he is the funniest man alive, and i just wish he would work again.  

think about how many times you come across someone quoting something of his.  can you get through a day or two without that happening?  not a chance.  people quote stuff from seinfeld and simpsons all the time, but those shows have over 10 seasons; amazingly, chappelle's show was only 2 seasons.

i miss him like i miss friends i haven't seen in a while.  yup.  that sounds creepy for sure.  just seeing it typed, yeah . . . but i must admit that part of why i laugh so much is because he is so damn likeable.  when he starts laughing, you join in.

i know he loves getting out of the spotlight and raising his family, but you just know a creative genius type like that has loads of terrific ideas swimming around in that brain of his, just dying to get out and see the light of day.  until then, i guess i'll just keep watching old clips of him on conan, and oprah, and behind the actors studio, and . . .  

do you ever talk yourself into hitting the snooze button one last time with really stupid reasons?  this morning i exhausted all possible snoozes and told myself that i had to get up on the next ring, but when the sound came, this is what i said to myself:

"yeah, but i didnt know i would be driving around in cool hummer trucks in my dream."

the cast period

this post and a a bunch to follow will be in all lower case with minimum characters (shift buttons are not easy for me these days) and with a lot of typos because this cast on my hand is messing up my blog functioning.  it's cool though because this will be known as the 'cast period' when i'm studied in blogging courses at universities some day, or more likely in case profiling for nut-jobs. 

i think i mentioned in a previous post that this is a kickball injury.  yes, the game we played in recess as a kid.  yes, the ball is big and mushy, so there is no logical answer for how i could manage to hurt myself other than i'm a fragile wuss of a man.

knowing that i would have to get surgery on the finger monday morning, screwing up most physical activity for just about the whole summer, i decided to soak up as much beach volleyball time as possible sunday afternoon by lake michigan in chicago.  volleyball on sundays in the summertime for me is like church to people who go to that sort of thing - people with beliefs and a moral compass.  volleyball is one of the first things i think about when i think of chicago summers, and my whole week is out of whack if i don't get out there.  that being said, i was geeked to get onto the beach, and only an hour or so in, a giant storm comes out of nowhere.  it got suddenly dark with insane winds, all the seagulls were getting the f' out of there in a hurry, and a voice comes over the p.a. telling us to do the same.

oats and i sought refuge by his place for a while and put on the cubs home game to watch for when they pulled the tarp to play ball as a means of gauging when the storm was going to blow over, which it eventually did in a couple of hours.  so i'm hauling balls on my bike back to the beach on the lakeshore drive bike path, and when i'm almost to our courts, this middle aged man i'm about to pass suddenly decides that he needs to do a u-turn right into oncoming traffic without looking.  i actually reasoned in my head that i had zero time to avoid this and just braced for impact, t-boning him, knocking us both off our bikes.  he kept asking if i was okay, and i told him i was - but only to get away from him without swearing at him.  then he asked if my bike was all right, and i saw the chain hanging off and the front tire knocked flat.  still, i said i was fine and locked the thing up to get a few games in before fixing it at the boathouse up the road.

because the back tire still had air, i just flipped it upright and literally ran to the bike shop barefoot.  on my way i heard a squak and felt a shot to the back of my head and immediately knew it was that asshole bird who dive-bombs the back of people's heads.  i wrote a post about him years ago, but i'm too lazy to provide you with a link.  the point is that this was just not a good day for me.  then the bike guy tells me that the wheel is all screwed up and it cost me around 70 bucks.  guess i should have taken the idiot who hit me straight to the shop instead of jumping right into a few rounds of v-ball, but i was sort of in shock and very pissed.

when i got into the shower that night i found some very gnarly bruises and then found a few more scrubbing up before surgery this morning.  i had to tell the doctors where all t he damage was so no one could think or claim that  some whacky stuff went down during the operation. 

this stupid injury is very annoying to me because i'm an extremely active person, and there are very few types of exercise i can do.  also, at my summer job i need to handle things quickly and efficiently (like dealing with each customer for around 12 seconds), which i love, but it's going to be a pisser with this thing on me.  however, the way i see it, there are people in the world with afflictions far worse than this, and many of them had much more critical surgeries down the hall from me this very morning.  as for work, i remember a girl i worked with years ago doing the same job with very little use of one hand, and that was permanent.

it has just been a bad couple of days so i wanted to get it down onto the page, even if i have it more in perspective now.  thanks for listening if you have made it this far into this whopper-long post.  and here's a pic of edward .44 magnum hand, and yeah, i have eyes.  that's just my trademark here at the the gancer:

have gun, will travel - and write corny captions.

out for a while

i'm having surgery tomorrow to repair my screwed up finger from a kickball injury.  yeah.  kickball. 

i'll be back soon to tell you all about my wacky adventures.

if i knew how to do stuff, i would post a pic of this ugly deformed finger.

So, You've Decided To Go To the Gym Drunk . . .

Here are some things to keep in mind . . .

1. Don't attempt as much weight as you ordinarily would, as you'll find your equillibrium will be slightly off, or really off, depending on how many "pops" you have had.  I damn near tipped over tonight attempting some decline dumbbell presses.  I am a bit of a dumbbell.  Drunkbell, as it were.

2. Keep your small talk with staff and other patrons to a minimum.  I didn't have my gym card on me, so he had to pull me up in the system with my driver's license.  He pointed out that it says I was born in 1901 in their system, to which I said, "Yeah, that Civil War was a bitch."  He pointed out that I would have been born after that, so I said, "Right, World War 2.  Would have been too young for the first one."  Good recovery!  Did I ever tell you that I majored in history in undergrad?

3. Now, I know you're lubed up, but really try hard not to start singing along to your iPod.  Even if you let a little eek out, it will quickly turn to belting it out like Whitney Houston at the Super Bowl if you're not careful.

That's all I can think of tonight.  It's been a long night of drinking and lifting stuff, trying not to drop weight on my nuts.  Can you think of any more tips, readers?

The Lobster Man

The last two summers I rode a rickshaw bike/cab as a summer job, but the 4 or 5 summers before that, I was at Navy Pier, taking pictures of tourists.  I'm back on the pier for this summer, and I had my first day back yesterday.  I really like it there.  I have limited responsibility since I'm starting back at entry level, and it's not a job where I have to use my brain a lot - like my real job.  What I do a lot of is getting sun, cracking jokes with customers and coworkers, and just enjoying myself.

Because of all of this, I was in a terrific mood when I saw The Lobster Man walk by.  He is a man who appears to be in his 40's or 50's, has long blond professional wrestling hair and build, always shirtless, always tanned/leathery, and he's always drinking beer outdoors on the pier.  He looks almost exactly like Dog the Bounty Hunter if that helps.  Someone I knew who tended bar out there got to know him a little, and evidently he claims to have had a high profile government job for many years that he couldn't talk about much, which affords him the lifestyle to drink 7 or 8 beers at $7 a pop every other day or so during the summer.  I know another guy who has heard about him and is pretty sure he is the same guy he sees shirtless driving around in a Ferrari. 

So, as I said, I'm already in a great mood when I see the The Lobster Man walking past me on the way to hang the hog (go pee), so I said, "Hey, good to see you, man!" as if I know him personally, which I don't.  He either recognized me, or more likely just played along when he said it that was likewise good to see me.  Strange that I was so stoked to be back on the pier that I just blurted out how happy I was to see The Lobster Man.  It's going to be a good summer.  I'll be having a $7 draft with him out of a small plastic glass with him really soon, and as the beer instantly gets warm from the heat, the two of us will talk about all the men he has killed for this great nation.  

Get Your Dinghy Twanged

Last night I went to Chellie's birthday party at a bar down the street, and because LSD and I were so busy with home improvement tasks, when we looked at the clock, it was already 11:30PM.  Needless to say, everyone was rather ham-boned when we got there, and we were stone sober.  My homie, Oats, was no exception.

There was a karaoke DJ booked solely for the party, and when I came through the door, Oats reached out to tenderly grab hold of my face and beckoned me to join him for a song later.  It was awesomely gay.  Later he was telling LSD the story of when we were eating beef sandwiches and watching netflix over by his place after a long night at the bars, and he got a booty call at around 2:30AM.  He said he had to take her up on it, and I was too tired to go home, so I just crashed there.  When he came home the next morning, he found me sleeping in his bed.  Sort of a dick move on my part, but when your host leaves you at his house for some ass, the guest is entitled to upgrade his sleeping situation, no?

The point of this post is to bring you a new colloquialism for coitus that Oats invented on the fly while telling this story:

Oats: So I take off to go get my dinghy twanged, whatever that means.  

(We all start laughing at this point, and he joined in, wondering how in the hell he blurted out such a fun and silly phrase, and then he jumps back into his story.)

Oats: So, yeah, I go off to go get my dinghy twanged.

(He uses the phrase again!  Right away!  Let's see if it catches on, all you dinghy-twangers out there . . .)

Patterns

This phone call may or may not have happened the other day.

Susan from Visa: Is this Dr. Kenneth Noisewater?

Dr. Ken: You bet your ass.

Susan: Uh.  Okay.  I'm calling to check if there has been some fraud or theft involved with your account.

Dr. Ken: Oh snap!  I hope not.

Susan: Let me just review some purchases with you.  Did you spend $500 at Bill's Furniture Emporium today?

Dr. Ken: Yes.  That one was me. 

Susan: How about another one in the amount of $145.56 at Sears.

Dr. Ken:  Yup.  Me again.  Bought me a new air conditioner.

Susan: Okay, good.  Lastly, how about $125.70 at Target?

Dr. Ken: All me.  Had to get a bunch of stuff for the new apartment, toasters and the like. 

Susan: Well, good to know.  Just wanted to be sure because it didn't match your usual patterns.

Dr. Ken: My patterns?

Susan: Yes.  Our system finds things that are not in line with how you usually spend.  You see, Dr. Noisewater, you usually only spend over $100 at places that appear to be bars, usually on Friday and Saturday nights.

Dr. Ken: Yeah.  I'm working on that, Susan.  I have a lot of demons, you see.

Susan: Sorry to hear that, Dr. Noisewater.  Seems like your demons get the best of you in a similar patter, often times Duffy's for $100 and then another $100 at The Liars Club in the same night.

Dr. Ken: Okay, Susan!  I said I'm working on it.

Susan: Very good.  Well, anything else I can help you with?

Dr. Ken: No, I'm okay.  You seem nice.  You want to get a drink sometime?

Susan: That's against our policy over here at Visa.

Dr. Ken: I understand.  Well, if you're ever in Chicago, you know how to find me.  You know my "patterns," after all.

click

The Coruscant Heat

It seems like everyone in America is tuning into the NBA finals hoping for the Heat lose, but I wonder what a galaxy far, far away might make of this match up?  This got me thinking which star wars baddies would best represent a team that is such a "wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Darth Vader.  "That's game, bitches!"

LeBron James

             Equals . . . 








Explanation: I like this choice because no one hated LeBron when he was with Cleveland (The Rebellion) but then nobody could stand him when he sold out and signed with the Heat (The Empire).

                                         

Dywayne Wade

 Equals . . . 

Grand Moff Tarkin

                              
  









Explanation: Wade just seems like the kind of guy who would blow up your whole planet just to test out his new Death Star, just to show you what's up.  

Pat Riley.  "Kiss the rings, bitches!"

The Emperor

 Equals . . .










Explanation: Pat and the Emperor are both evil old duded running things from behind the scenes.  I bet you didn't know that under that robe, the Emperor's hair is slicked back.

"Sniff these ringless fingers!"

Selacious Crumb

Equals . . .








Explanation: Erik Spoelstra is that little weasel that no one listens to.  When you see him trying to draw up a play for his guys while they just talk amongst themselves, you just can't help but think he might as well be Selacious Crumb outlining a pick and roll.

Chris "The Ostrich" Bosh

Jar Jar Binks

      
                  Equals . . .

Explanation: There is nothing deeper here than 'dude just looks like Jar Jar Binks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And there you have it, people.  What do you think?  Anyone I missed or anything you would change?  Leave me a comment.                                                                                                                    

Richard Dawson, Long Time Host of the "Family Feud" Recently Died . . .

. . . and does anyone else remember how he was always kissing contestants on the mouth?  That seemed odd to me even as a little kid.  In this clip, he meets a very horny family of women who all seem to want to get in his pants when he kisses them.  He then admits that he got "aroused."  Well, Richard, you were a very funny man and had a great career, but your best accomplishment will always be laying these four sisters backstage.   

twitter line

i finally have the little tagline for my twitter account.  it came to me when i was biking a gzillion miles today:

work out like an animal, drink like a fish, fuck like a beast.

what do you think?

the bike lock story

I was biking home from the gym today, holding my bike lock in my had, when I saw what I thought might be some sort of domestic dispute between a young couple.  As it turns out, they were just play fighting but for a moment there I thought I might have had to go upside this dude's head with a u-lock. 

Here is the little scene in my stupid head that I wrote in that fleeting moment:

Dr. Ken: Hey, buddy.  Why don't you leave the little lady alone
(little lady is kind of demeaning and sexist, but that's just how old fashioned chivalrous types talk)

Man: Just stay out of this, Lance Armstrong.  This doesn't concern you.  Or your one nut.

Dr. Ken: It certainly doesn't involve Lance's testicle, so yeah, we'll leave that out, but it does concern me now because there is no way I'm leaving without . . . doing something.  Are you okay, miss?

Woman: No.  I'm not.  He's an asshole and he's drunk and mean. 

Man: You shut your stupid mouth, woman!  And let me and Armstrong finish our conversation.
(This is kind of how stereotypical wife beating types talk, I think)

Dr. Ken: Listen, why don't we just put you two in a cab and call it a night.

Man: Sure.  We could do that.  Or I could whip the ever-loving tar out of your stupid hipster ass.

the man begins to roll up his sleeves and walk towards Dr. Ken in a threatening manner

Dr. Ken: (stepping off his bike and wielding his bike lock) Think this through.  I don't want to clock you with this bike lock, and you don't want to get hit with one. 

------------------------------------------------------------

The truth of the matter is that I would probably just pull around the corner and call the police.  If I did opt for the U-Lock beating, I would likely miss with a piss-poor flailing attempt and get beat up.  Probably the girl would even get a few licks in, and they would resolve their differences by agreeing that I'm a giant pussy.

Natural Endings

Sometimes I go to this hole in the wall bar for Boston fans in Chicago because my buddies Oats and Southie like to go, and it's grown on me.  You're guaranteed that the bartender gal with giant boobs will get three quarters drunk midway through her shift and then way beyond drunk once she punches out and gets on the other side of the bar.  You can just tell she was smoking hot around 7 years ago, but the hard living has taken its tole on that face of hers.

One time a cop with giant mutton chops came in to deal with a regular who was stumbling all over the place, and I realized the cop was a regular too when the big chested bartender said, "I got an 8 ball over here, so you better frisk me!"  The cop just hung out talking to folks for a bit and then took the stumbler home in his squad car.

Last week I was in there watching the Celtics, back when they were still in the playoffs, and for whatever reason some lady in there was going off about Asian massage parlors and damning any man who ever set foot it one.  She was greatly outnumbered by men defending this practice, one of which was quoted as saying that "a happy ending is really just a natural ending."  I Googled this phrase, and it does not appear as if it has been used in this sense, at least not in the first page of Google.  So, I'm giving this fella full credit and dropping this phrase for all 7 of my readers to see.  Thanks, buddy, and thanks, shit-hole bar.

I saw Roger Waters from Pink Floyd play "The Wall" the Other Night . . .

. . . and here are some thoughts.

1. Roger aged very well into that big face of his, and believe it or not, he is a better looking 65-year-old man than a 25-year-old.

Here he is from the other night

And here he is in the Nineteen Seventies

There were ladies there saying that he looked like Richard Gere.  Yes.  Heart throb and American gigalo Richard Gere.  And these were young and attractive girls saying this.  Girls who would have no idea that back in the day he looked like Georges Muresan.  Of course they didn't know this because few really knew what rockers looked like back then, before the MTV days.  No band will ever make as many amazing records as Pink Floyd for a myriad of reasons, but one is that Roger could just be ugly and make art without people caring what he looked like, what brands he was wearing, or who his date was to the Grammies. 

(This guy didn't put out "Animals in 1977, but he is 7'7" and uglier than just about any animal.)

2. The show was at Wrigley Field, which is where the Cubs play and my favorite place on planet earth, so how could I miss the guy from my favorite band in my favorite place?  One thing you may know about me is that I love a good urinal trough.  What I noticed is that a lot of the people there were not the usual ballgame crowd, so they were shy and waiting for the stalls.  No way all those fellas had to go poop - they just didn't want to join in the trough fun.

Gross, yes.  But more efficient.  

3. During ''Young Lust," the one about him figuring out his wife was cheating on him so he decided to bang every groupie he could get his hands on, they showed very hot and naked women on a giant screen.  As a man in a long-distance relationship, it was all I could do to stop myself from flying in my girlfriend that very night.  Earlier in the show a bunch of little kids sang the chorus for "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2," and my partner in crime that night, James Douglass Morison, said, "I hope those kids aren't still here.  They're all going to get their first wood tonight."


(She's naked right about 2:35)

4. When "Run Like Hell" was playing it reminded me of when I ran my first race as an adult.  I believe it was only 5 miles, but that was really hard for me back then because I was a long haired doughy guy who rarely worked out.  While running the race, my long stupid hair flopping around in a stupid pony tail, they played "Run Like Hell" over the loud speaker, and I just remember clapping along and feeling really good.  So, among all the other reasons I have to thank Roger and the remaining, surviving members of Pink Floyd, I can thank them for getting me into running, the thing that keeps me sane, where I can think straight, and put my universe back in order.  Thanks for everything, Floyd.

Unusual Playlist Titles

I have one of those iPod shuffles with no buttons on it where you hold down a button on the headphones for a voice to tell you the names of the song or playlist.  It's a robotic white guy voice, but every once in a while it's a woman robot.  And for some reason all my stuff by Tool is read by a German speaking robot.

I like to get a workout in around 5 days a week, so I do anything to motivate myself, including naming playlists funny things to make the white guy robot say funny things.  Here are the names of the playlists currently on the little green foul-mouthed shuffle:

1. "A Gym Triathlon.  Put It In My Pooper."  One day I thought I would make up goals for three different exercise machines (treadmill, upright bike, sitting down bike) for a little triathlon I could do with no rest in between.  I'm a weirdo.  Put it in my pooper was just for laughs - not part of the triathlon. 


2. "A Shed Aquarium, Muthafucka!"  You will notice I put the letter "A" to get the new list at the beginning of the queue so I don't have to cycle all the way through.  Shed Aquarium is the place to see all kinds of aquatic animals in Chicago, and it was a milestone for building up miles for my latest marathon.  Muthafucka was just funny because Mr. Robot is just so very white.  He says it nothing like Samuel L. Jackson.

3. "Arm Day for Pussies." This was an attempt to employ some tough love on myself to get me to work harder on my scrawny girl arms.  I wish Mr. Robot had yelled it at me like an asshole high school football coach, but he did a pretty good job all things considered.


4. "Beach Workout Bonanza."  I'm not crazy about this title.  I just needed some Megadeth and the like to get me through a bunch of workout stations in the park near the beach.  Should have threw a damn swear into that title.  Damn it. 

5. "Chest Rockwell."  Those of you who are fans of "Boogie Nights," my favorite film of all time, know that this name is the character John C. Riley invents to be the crime fighting sidekick to Dirk Diggler's Brock Landers.  Inspiration for this one came on a day when I was trying to engorge my concave, awful excuse for chest muscles.

6.  "McCormick Place, My Niggas."  McCormick place is the giant convention center in Chicago and the spot I run to and from to know I'm ready for a marathon - do believe it's around an 18 mile trip.  "My Niggas" was just to, again, make a white robot say goofy ass hoodrat stuff.  Wait, "Goofy Ass Hoodrat Stuff" is not an all together bad playlist title . . .

7. "Oh Yeah!  Time To Run Around This Big Ass God Damn Lake."  This was the perfect title for running around Lake Geneva.  You got a better name for it?


8. "Pull Over 'Dat Ass Too Fat.  Woot Woot!"  On the way back from Wisconsin, Dr. Ken and his lady were singing this one all through out the cheese castle, so when I got home I just had to hear White Robot sing it for me too. 

9. "Quadzilla Day"  I figured this was a good title for when you're lifting weights with your legs, which is an incredibly boring muscle group with which to lift things. 

Okay, that's all I got.  My muscles are still weak, but I had a few good laughs.

I'm sorry I've been out of the blogosphere for so long, but I have been busy getting moved into my new place and just now got Internet in this joint.  Believe it or not, at 35 years of age, this is the first time I have ever lived alone.  So far, I love it.  At least I think I do.  Allow me to weigh the pro's and con's . . .

Con: I have no dishwasher, laundry machines, or garbage disposal.  I see this as a good experience for me to make me really appreciate a place down the rode that has a bunch of nice amenities - it's humbling.

Con: It's a really small place, but at the same time, I kind of like that.  There is less space for stuff to pile up, and it's easier to keep things neat and tidy.  Also, I'm constantly spinning records, so I'm never to far away to give a record a flip like a flap jack.  

Con: It can get lonely, but actually, being alone helps you figure yourself out more.  I forgot about that.  The longer you spend with yourself, the more you become yourself.  I'm that guy who when I'm out in a crowd I need to keep everyone laughing and feel a need to be fun.  Alone, I can sulk, wallow, sing like an idiot, dance like a buffoon, and walk around in my undies.  In a related matter, I can also use the bathroom to shower or do other things in compromising positions with the door open to hear my records with no fear at all of anyone walking in on me.  

Never mind, there are no cons, as it turns out.  I should have done this a long time ago.  Expect a lot more writing in this year to follow.  And not just blogs: more stories, podcasts, and all kinds of fun projects.  A solo Dr. Ken is a happy and productive Dr. Ken.  

When the Ring Card Girl Starts Kicking, Who Holds the Cards?

The very hot ring card girl for the UFC, Arianny Celeste, was arrested for domestic violence after kicking her boyfriend in the face with her high heeled shoe.  Apparently, while in a limousine, the two got into a fight over some text messages her boyfriend, Praveen Chandra, had sent to other women, prompting the face kick.  The argument continued back at their hotel room where Celeste contends he choked her and Chandra says she threw two vases at him.

What I don't get about couples like this is how after a night like this they could ever want to work things out.  Once I have been kicked directly in the face by a girl in a high heeled shoe, even if she looks like Arianny Celeste, we're done.  There is no rational explanation for that, and if I choke you, I should be dumped too - and arrested.

Arianny, leave the kicking to the professionals - you just carry the cards and keep looking good in your undies, and if this guy wants to choke women, maybe get one of your fighter friends to perform a proper choke on him. 

Binge Drinking Recap #325

So yesterday I met HLP, his wife, and their baby out at a very hot and humid Chicago street festival nearby.  I'm really happy for him because I can tell he is totally content.  You know why?  He walks around a festival with tons of hot chicks around with a burp cloth on his shoulder, and when I point it out, he just leaves it there.  He had to go home, but luckily I bumped into some other friends, and Oats came out. 

We ended up at a random Lincoln Park bar because we thought they did karaoke.  Turns out they didn't, but everyone was smiling and we had a good vibe, so we just stuck around.  I like those bars where everyone talks to each other.  It didn't have those huge wolf packs of girls that only want to talk to each other.  One woman was there in a toga.  I mean, it was a really fancy toga, but still a toga.  Her friend said she picked her up and was like, "Okay.  A toga."  She was really nutty, so she kind of pulled it off.  She was nice too, but that didn't stop me from calling her the Iron Sheik and quoting Julius Caesar with an over exaggerated Charlton Heston voice. 

I then achieved a level of drunkenness where the Michael Jackson jokes just started flowing out of me.  That's a good level.  For me at least. 

Nailed It!

There is a School of Rock right by my apartment in Chicago where young kids learn to play in rock bands.  As I was walking by, some kids were standing in a circle, still very much amped up from their jam session, and one pimply kid said, "We totally nailed breaking the law." 

I just love that there is a resurgence in classic music these days through stuff like this and "Guitar Hero."  When you talk to kids these days, they know all kinds of Sabbath and Zeppelin songs because they shred the solos on "Guitar Hero." 

I'm just glad those kids totally nailed it, that's all.

Kickball for Grownups

My friend, Oates, asked me to sub on his kickball team.  I told him no, but he said that if I didn't, they'd have to forfeit.  So I told Oates that if they couldn't find anyone, I would do it.  Well, he couldn't get anyone and I had to fill in.

I was telling my roommates as I was suiting up that I was pissed about having to go.  I really wanted to just go to the gym and go to sleep, but here I am spending a beautiful summer evening in Chicago playing a stupid recess game.

How dumb that there is a league for that game, right?  While you're at it, why not have a league for the game of Tag?  Better still, Freeze Tag?  Or how about a Red Light/Green Light, Mother May I, or Simon Says?  Kick the Can, anyone?  If you really wanted the GOAT kiddie game, put together a Ghost in the Graveyard tournament!

Then I get there and go 4 for 5 with a home run, zero errors, and we won.  Suddenly I'm a fan.

As it turns out, I think my hate for the game was more out of a fear of sucking at it.  That must be that borderline personality* of mine kicking in.

Hey, readers, anyone heard of any of the aforementioned leagues or played in anything goofy, like a Wiffle Ball league?

--------------------------------------------------------------
*See the angry comments I received in this post if you care for an explanation of this diagnosis. 

Sex and the City Part 2, Part 2

In part two of the video commentary over the movie, Crom, Dr. Ken, and Southie really start to get funny, to us anyway.  I think it was the perfect level of a little buzz from a coupla' beers and we hadn't yet gone fully nuts from a long and boring chick-flick. 

Highlights:

1. Southie evidently wanks off at the office sometimes

2. The option of dropping the women of Sex and the City into Afganastan is deemed "an act of war" by Crom.  

3. The boys decide which Ninja Turtle. Golden Girl, A Team, and member of Wu Tang best fits their respective personalities.

4. Due to a rapid change in the appearance of Sarah Jessica Parker, the boys explore the notion of her playing a female Joker in an upcoming "Batman" sequel. 

Check out the Link, let me know what you think in the comments, and stay tuned for the final 2 installments!

LINK!

I'm Not Rob Anymore!

I have been putting off a lot of things because I'm moving in a couple weeks.  I'm not buying a lot of groceries and I'm not ordering anything to this apartment, which means I haven't ordered a new book to read.  A friend was over and gave me back my copy of "High Fidelity" by Nick Honrny, and while I am not even sure it is, in fact, my copy, I decided to give it another read. 

It's still a very funny and insightful book, but I can't fully relate to Rob, the protagonist, anymore.  There was a time, not long after I read it, where I was him, and most people who knew me would agree.  I was way too interested in rock music to a snobbish degree, I actually worked in a record store for a long time, and I got miserable over failed relationships and played sad songs until I cried.

I'm not that guy anymore.  I'm not Rob!

Even the last relationship I got out of, I was really hurt (even if it was painfully obvious to everyone around me that it was the wrong woman for me), but I bounced back beautifully.  I took all the right steps: Never called her again, cut off all mutual friends, work out like an animal, and got right back into the game with other women to feel good again as quickly as possible.

What I did 5 years prior was more like what Rob would have done: Wallow in self pitty spinning Smiths records, keep trying to figure out what went wrong, feel inadequate about myself in every way imaginable, and let it affect my personal and professional life to a marked degree.

Now look at me.  I'm getting my own place with the woman I love, leaving this frat house with the four roommates behind, I love my job and it's going great, I'm staying in shape - and at 35-years-old (the same age as Rob in the book), I'm finally an adult.  I should have been this guy when I was 27, but I have no regrets.  I grew up one way or another and I've had this blog full of goofy tales to mark my progress, albeit a slow process.  Thanks for reading those of you who have been along for the ride, and expect more grown-up style writing to come and some goofy stuff too  . . . I still gotta be me!

Sex and the City Part 2, Part 1

At long last, the video podcast of myself, Southie, and Crom doing a commentary over "Sex and the City 2."

Forgive us for some off color jokes, but there was beer flowing, it was long and terrible, and this led to some cabin fever insanity. 147 minute running time!  Why?!

So this is just part one, broken up into around 30 minute clips, available for download or just for watching.  Hope you all enjoy!

Special thanks to Crom for all his hard work on the editing process, and an apology for Southie for his crimes against humanity with his awesomely sick brand of humor.

LINK!

Greetings

When I was a kid, my dad started getting these mysterious dirty greeting cards delivered in the mail.  Because they were unsigned and there was no return address, there was no way to tell who was sending them or why.  We could tell it was a male's handwriting on the envelope, but that was about it.  I don't remember how, but my dad figured out it was a good friend of his who would pick up a dirty greeting card in whatever town he was traveling to for work and send us these hilarious cards.

Even after we knew it was him, he continued to send them every now and again, still with no signature, and I would be the first to rip open the envelope to see the dirty jokes and naked people, even if they were usually cartoons - they were still naked.

It was really sad to hear that this friend died a few years back.  I wish I could have known him more as an adult because he seemed like my brand of people.  

Sometimes You Gotta Slap a Foo'

The first time I saw this clip of Will Smith shoving and slapping a Ukrainian reporter I was pissed because it looked to me like Will leans in there to have the sides of his face kissed and then gets pissed when he gets the expected result.  However, after further review, he says that the guy tried to kiss him on the mouth, which does appear to be the case.  Now I'm kind of in favor of the slap.  If you let reporters kiss you on the mouth, you'll let them do anything to you.  Then the next red carpet event rolls around and the Ukrainian reporter is putting a finger in your ass.  I've seen it countless times at these things . . .

Eating Marijuana

I saw this article where some guys opened up a shop where you can go in and have some Marijuana cheesecake, for example.  In Oregon, medicinal marijuana is legal, so you have to have a card saying you can be "treated," and once in the door, everything is free and everyone shares pot to smoke or eat. 

There is a Ganja Gormet in Denver that opened in 2009, and this doesn't surprise me because Denver is a pretty laid back and progressive city like that. 

One customer said of a "medicated" beef and broccoli, "You can't even taste it that much."  So it may taste a little dopey, but it's much better for your lungs than smoking it.

What do we think about this, Seven Readers?  It doesn't bother me one bit, unless it's filled mostly with people with bogus reasons for the cards.  Actually, that doesn't really bother me either.  Who cares, right?  Smoke your brains out and eat the shit out of that cheesecake for all I care . . .

I Learned Something When "Vacationing" in Wisconsin . . .

. . . they have commercials for gun stores.  Something was very unsettling about it, especially when they had a sale on a big ass assault rifle for $1,500.  Is that a good deal?  More importantly, should anyone be buying one of those for personal use?

They don't have those ads in Chicago.  Have you ever seen one?  Just curious . . .

Here's the only one I could find on Youtube that looked legit, but it's not as funny as the Wisconsin one.  I do like that there's a lady's night.

Sissy Boy Syndrome

Can you believe that is what a psychologist called the "disorder" that he "treated" through a government funded program in the 1970's?  It sounds more like something we would accuse your friends of being afflicted with when they are the first ones to leave the bar.

He believed he could cure young boys of gayness.  He instructed the boy's family featured in this video to ignore him every time he did anything deemed effeminate.  Well, he isn't gay anymore.  He's dead.  A lot of people call this treatment child abuse, and I tend to agree. 

What a messed up concept it is thinking you can turn people straight.  I believe you're just born one way or another.  I say this because I have met plenty of obviously gay 1st graders over the years.  And they were all great kids just the way they are: nothing needs "fixing."

Get a look at this video if you have a second. 

And try not to accuse your buddies of having Sissy Boy Syndrome because that's just rude and offensive.  Funny, yes, but out of line . . .

I'll be out of town this weekend, this time running 22 miles around Lake Geneva in Wisconsin.  Sounds a lot more hilly and "challenging" than I thought. 

So I may be writing more when I get back because guys who can't walk have a lot of time for blogging.

In the meantime, how's about the 10 most painful shots to the nuts?

Are You an Animal Lover?

Anyone ever see this couple?  I don't want to ruin it for you, but they do it with a horse.  No, they don't show it (thank God, plus that would probably be illegal to post anywhere), but they do talk about it in detail: The horse does it with the wife, and the husband lets the horse do him in the can.  

Sorry you're offended by this.  If so, click away now.  But if you want to delve deeper into these weirdos, by all means . . . 

1. "One thing led to another" and you were blowing a horse for the first time?  That sounds like a couple having consensual sex on a one night stand at a bar, and this is nothing like that; This is forcing sex upon a horse.

2. So he sees her getting it on with a horse, and he is turned on and wants to marry her?  This could be a possible angle for the long awaited season finale of "How I Met Your Mother."  You know, if I had to pick out of a lineup a dude who had sex with animals, I think without having seen this clip I could probably guess this guy would be into something along those lines.

3. The husband says that the true pleasure he gets is not from getting it in the wazoo from the horse but knowing that he is making the horse happy.  What a guy.  What an unselfish lover.  More importantly, what a whack-job deviant scumbag!

4. Hold on a minute . . . The horse blows in his ear and he thinks that is something it does for his benefit?  It's a horse!  And she says that the horse is "courting" her?  These people fail to understand that a horse will put its horse wang into anything handy.  They make like the horse is a suave natural born lover like Richard Gere in "American Gigalo."  No.  It.  Is.  A.  HORSE! 

5. This fella lets a horse bite him while he gets it in the butt from a horse?  And he is on television talking about it?  His mom must be proud.  Wonder if he brings the horse by mom's for Christmas.

Get a look at this clip.  Anything else I missed?  Leave your thoughts in the comments section.  And sorry if you're a little grossed out.  I'm a little uneasy myself.  I need to wash my brain of this couple.

Bruce Wayne's Batcave Shitter

Don't you just when you have to go number two in your single stall, unisex bathroom at work, and just as you're sitting down, someone knocks on the damn door?  Then you have to do the "just a minute" where everyone knows your voice because it's so damn deep, sultry, and let's face it, sexy?  Now, what this interrupter should do is go use the identical bathroom one floor upstairs or just come back in a minute, but what she's going to do is a straight up stakeout and wait outside where I can see her feet pacing.  Who do you think you are, Richard Dreyfuss?  Now I feel like I have to go fast, knowing full well this not one of those fast ones.  So she's going to know that I take terribly long dumps, and because she'll be going in just as I'm headed out, she's going to know that this one was rancid and God awful like a sick person poop.  And thanks to her stakeout, she can now put a face to that awful smell.

What I would like to have is a Bruce Wayne Batcave Shitter.  You just know that at Bruce's place of business he had a similar problem, and being a forward thinking type of guy, he would get the guys who built his batcave at home to make a secret shitter batcave at his work.  All he does is rotate a statue of Rodin's "The Thinker" counter clockwise, and voila!  A bookshelf opens up to a passageway where he sits down in a shuttle that whisks him off to the cleanest most spacious shit house in all of America.  What's more, there is a television in there where he can catch an inning of the Cubs game too, or whatever baseball club plays in Gotham City.  Then he probably takes a picture of his turd and texts it to The Joker just for a laugh.

Yeah, this is what I think about at work.  I fantasize about the best work bathroom in the world.

2012 Cubs Game Damn Shame Game Two

Who Went: The Uncle, Southie, and LaFontaine.  This turned out to be quite a solid crew of funny men.  I like to be challenged by dudes as funny as me, and this day didn't disappoint.   

What I Drank: Let's see here . . . A crappy blue moon variation, a skunky rolling rock, a bunch of microbrews, and a host of watery domestics.

Who Won: My Cubbies won on a walk-off walk in 11th inning.

Today's Revelation: The four of us all agreed that there is no comedy sequel that is better than the original.  The only ones that come even close are the second "Austin Powers," the second "Naked Gun," and perhaps the best is "Christmas Vacation" due to its staying power in that a lot of people watch it every year.

Miscellaneous: We met over at Yankee's place because it's right in between all of our places, and it was already raining.  Then while we were there, a thunderstorm started, delaying the game.  Looking at the radar, it was not looking like there would be any baseball.  So, while we were holed up in there, we drank beers, watched the NBA Playoffs, and spun records (most notably a couple great Clash ones).  We then made it over to LaFontaine's local bar, and when we looked up at the television, the game was on after hours of delays!  We decided to walk up to the park, but Southie had to bow out because he wanted to get home by 5 (something that certainly would have happened had it started on time).

The remaining three walked into the park for one inning, and we were able to get a couple rows back because hardly anyone had waited out the long delay.  We then went to two more bars to watch the finish. 

We also decided that there's nothing wrong with Kate Upton dancing in her underpants.

Long Live "Rowdy" Roddy Piper

A good friend of mine called me up last night close to midnight when I was intent on staying in, but I hadn't seen her in a while so I met her out for a couple.  I was glad I did because the 1980's science fiction classic "They Live" was on starring none other than Rowdy Roddy.  In case you have never seen it, Roddy's character is a homeless man working odd jobs in construction when he discovers an underground rebellion fighting back against aliens who walk among us; You can't see them until you put on some special sunglasses.

Well, it seems Roddy didn't have a friend in the world, so he tried to convince the only guy he really did know, character actor Keith David, to put on these glasses to see for himself all the subliminal messages on billboards and scary alien faces behind the fake flesh.  Unfortunately, Keith wasn't convinced and thought The Rowdy One was nuts, as anyone might, so he wouldn't agree to put on the sunglasses.  This results in a six minute epic fist fight complete with body slams, swinging two-by-fours, and repeated hard knees to the groin.  I just love that director John Carpenter decided that there was no other way to demonstrate the reluctance someone might feel to believe an alien conspiracy then to let loose with an awesome drawn out fist fight!



You all should check it out.

It's also worth having a look at some of the classic 80's episodes of Rody's talk show during WWF broadcasts, "Piper's Pit," in which he would invariably end up beating up his guest.  "Saturday Night Live" really should have mailed him a check because it's the exact same concept as "The Joe Pesci Show."  Get a look at this one where he gives a jobber (wrestler who makes a career out of losing) from Columbus, Ohio a chance to be on the show but then ends up getting frustrated at his lack of success and whips his ass for no good reason. 

I'm Tired of Wicked-Fat People

I'm sorry if I'm alienating readers, but when I'm averaging like 1.2 comments a post, what do I really have to lose at this point?

When I watch the "Biggest Loser" and see these enormously fat people, I think what all of you think, "How in the hell did you let yourself get so mammoth?"  Now, I'm not talking about people 20 or 30 pounds overweight because that happens.  I'm talking about the big ass 300 + pounders.

There are a ton of excuses that wicked-fat people have been using for decades now, and none of them are valid, as you can see:

"It's genetic."  Could be.  Or maybe your parents eat like shit so you didn't know any better.  Now you're an adult so stop eating like crap.

"I'm big boned."  Yes, sometimes people have bigger frames, so there are those people who will never be a size 2 or have that 30 inch waist through healthy and safe means, but when you're 350, the bones have nothing to do with it.

"I eat because I'm depressed."  Maybe so, but try eating right and exercising for just one week and tell me if you're feeling nearly as bad as when you were killing that entire bag of hot chips when you promised yourself you'd only have a few.

"I just don't have time to work out."  I don't care what your job is or what your family obligations may be, you cannot tell me you can't find an hour somewhere in your day 5 days a week for the sake of your own health and lifespan.  Get up an hour early and work out in the morning or go for a run on your lunch hour, but do something.  Sometimes fat people feel embarrassed when they work out, but you know what I say when I see a fat person jogging by the lake?  "Way to go, buddy!  Keep that shit up!" 

"My significant other likes me the way I am."  I guarantee that when she said she likes a man with a little meat on his bones, she did not have three hundy' in mind.

People, we only get one life, and we only get one body.  Do you really want to spend your one life looking like the Michelin Man?  You don't need to go on the "Biggest Loser" and lose 150 pounds in 6 months because that's just not healthy.  You don't need to have unnecessary surgery in the form of stapling your stomach so small that it can only handle so much - it's called just not putting so much damn food into it (try some self-control!)  



Start small.

How about just switching to diet soda?  You don't like the taste?  No?  How do you like your dickie-do?

How about cutting out fast food.  Do you really need that processed crud?  You want grade D meat simply because you don't want to leave the comfort of your own car to feed yourself?

How about cutting out fried foods?  My doctor told me one of my cholesterol levels was slightly high, and that was all I had to hear.  Any time I can get something besides fries, I do it.  Yeah a side salad is not nearly as awesome as some seasoned fries from Bennigans, but my arteries don't get clogged from vinaigrette, and I don't feet like I need an immediate carb nap the way I do after a big-ass plate of fries. 

It's a simple formula: Just don't take in twice as many calories as you burn.  You can manage that.  Yes, you can start small, but it's important that you start today.  Throw out all your bad foods, go for a run, make some promises to yourself, and keep those promises.  Or live your life as the Michelin Man, but I doubt that's what you really want.  

The Word of the Day for 5.2.2012 Is . . .

Caressive

It came up as a suggestion on a spell check I did at work, and I instantly loved the look of it.  It is at first glance just an adjective form of the verb caress, but it's more than that.  It seems like a combination of corrosive (which is not good) and caress (which is sweet and cuddly) so there is a nice dichotomy going on there.

Also, it reminds me of "Last Caress" by Misfits, which doesn't hurt in the least.

When looking up that word just now, I found this one:

Ninnyhammer

That means a "simpleton" or a "silly person."  I'm without a doubt calling my nephews that the next time they are running around giggling and carrying on like a bunch of damn . . .  ninnyhammers.

Hell Hath No Fury LIke a Pollack Scorned

A man in Poland dumped his girlfriend and kept his cleaning appointment with her at the dentist.  Not a good idea.  She put him under, and while he was gassed out, her anger took over, and she just couldn't resist removing every last one of his teeth. 

Now, a few things come to mind here:

1. Why wouldn't he just go to a different dentist?  No one expects someone to do something that twisted, but that's some balls asking her to go through with the cleaning after shit-canning her.  Because it was free, maybe?  What a cheap ass.

2. I heard she can do up to three years in prison for this offense.  Just 3?  I'd say a year for each tooth for a total of 32 would be fair.  Maybe that's a little harsh.  Let's meet halfway and say 16.

3. I also heard that his new girlfriend dumped him when she saw that he no longer had teeth.  Rough week for this fella . . .

4. Another report said that she bandaged him up so that he couldn't see his mouth and told him to take it off when he got home, saying there were some "complications."  With a cleaning?  Who goes unconscious for a cleaning?  The only thing I can think of is that maybe she said it was just laughing gas but slipped on the one that knocked his ass out.  I would never say no to laughing gas.  Wish I had a tank next to me right now, as a matter of fact.  That shit's a blast.

5. If we have learned anything from all of this it is that if you break up with a lady, don't hit her up for free stuff right away and don't be in the same room with her while unconscious while she has pliers in the room.  That should be obvious, right?  Now I know why there are so many Polish jokes . . . .

You can read the article here if you don't believe me.

And now I'm going to post a hot and sexy Polish newscaster with giant boobs in a shameless attempt to get more readership through google searches.  Enjoy.