A Notion as Innovative as It Is Ambitious

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ultimate Fighter Expresses His Artistic Side While Donning a Speedo

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dark Ages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fun and Near Death Experiences at an Urban Picnic

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

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

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

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

Enter the (Komodo) Dragon

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

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

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

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

Recently my 4-year-old nephew walked in on my sister (his mom) while she was going to the bathroom. Then the following exchange occurred:

A: You pee out your butt?
Mom: No.
A: Your weiner?
Mom: No, mommies don’t have wieners.
A: (Pause) Whachyou got then?
Mom: (Longer pause) A vagina.
A: ‘Gina? I don’t know no ‘gina.

Hey, I'm sorry if I'm adding yet another cutesy kid story to the heap of others in the blogosphere, but I'll be damned if that conversation and the little wheels turning in his little head didn't bring a smile to my face, and I hope your's.


*"A" is the sleeping kid on the right wearing the incredibles jammies.

Non-porno Movies That Make a Guy Reach for the Tissues

My roomy and I were watching Remember the Titans the other day, and he said it’s on a short list of movies he can admit to crying during. This led me to assemble a list of the All Time Greatest Male Tear Jerker Films in no particular order.

1. Old Yeller (1957): Everyone has lost a dog at some point in his/her life. Sure, not all of us have shot our frothing at the mouth dog in our backyard, but I think you get the idea.

2. Hoosiers (1986): That scene at the end when Gene Hackman is giving his speech and they are zooming in on the picture . . . I’m dripping tears onto my flipping keyboard just thinking about it. Let’s just move on.

3. Field of Dream (1989): “Dad, do you want to have a catch?” That’s all I have to say, ladies and gents.

4. Brian’s Song (1971): I love when Billie D. says, with a tear in his eye, “I love Brian Piccalo.” Come on?! The heterosexual, man-love flowing between Lando Calrissian and Sonny Corleon (just look at him presenting in this photo) is so THICK in that movie, and it teeters at the brink of gayness. I’m surprised Billie D. didn’t slip him some Colt 45, take advantage of him, and say, “works every time.”

5. Rudy (1993): Didn’t we all want him to finally get in a game? And then when he gets that meaningless sack on the quarterback we are as happy for him as a fat Jon Favreau.

6. Electric Horseman (1979): This one gets me every time when Robert Redford talks about his reasoning for setting the horse free, and there is a likeness between the aging rodeo star and the aging racehorse. Okay, this one wouldn’t make anyone else’s list, but I can’t discount a movie that gets the waterworks going every, damn time.

So, what are the commonalities of the male tear jerkers? It appears as if a guy needs an animal or sports to justify crying, which means Ed (1996) and Gus (1976) are the ULTIMATE male tear jerkers. If only Both films had taken a page from Old Yeller, and culminated with both animals being 'put down' by means of shotgun.

DOES ANYONE WANT TO WEIGH IN HERE? WHICH FILMS HAVE I MISSED.

Robot Breast Missiles

Classyandfancy, a friend of mine and one hell of a blogger, uses this picture for her blog profile. She picked it because she likes pandas, but I pointed out to her that the wings look like Tranzor Z’s. She, of course, had no idea what the hell I was talking about, and to her credit few do. However, as it turns out, the picture IS Tranzor Z related in that the character is called Panda Z, or something like that, and he is based on the robot character made famous, or somewhat famous anyway, from the cartoon and toy from my youth.

This led me to hark back to the Tranzor Z toy and the lucky friends of mine who had him. He stood about three feet tall, and he shot missiles from his fingers. Then I started to think about the girl robot in the cartoon who shot missiles from her boobies. I did a little research, and found these pictures, since I had to see for myself that my twisted little brain didn’t conjure up this unique form of attack. Sure enough, her name was Aphrodite, and as the picture below will prove, she DID in fact shoot titty missiles. Aphrodite the goddess was a all about love and beauty, but this robot was all about blowing shit up with her tits.

Then I discovered that there is a top-secret plan, so don’t tell anyone, to resolve all conflicts in the Middle East. At this very moment, our fine and wise president, Mr. George W. Bush, has his finger on a button that will unleash a giant Aphrodite robot upon Iraq and all the surrounding countries. She will then discharge a bevy of mammary missiles that will nuke the whole region of the globe back to the Stone Age. Most of these nations will not only hate that they are getting attacked by a giant robot, but the fact that she is scantily clad will be a form of cultural genocide. I mean, never mind the fact that her breasts are weapons, but she is showing her ANKLES! With just the right titty trajectory, spraying her fun bags of fury will in one fell swoop not only resolve all conflicts in the Middle East, but it will lower gas prices, balance the budget, find Nicole Brown Simpson’s “real” killer, and Christopher Reeves will come back from the dead and walk again. Now those are some magic titties.

Lollapalooza: 3 Days of Music and Short People

Okay, at long last, I’m going to sit down with my hot chips and my liter of Diet Pepsi, and I’m going to bang out a blog. I’m very bent about the promotion for free ring tones being over on the cap of this Diet Pepsi. Alas, I had to pay for Everything She Wants by Wham! to chime in when someone buzzes me. Don’t ask me why I picked that song. So, on to the topic at hand . . .

Lollapalooza, holy crap, that didn’t come up on spell check, was in town over the weekend. Have you seen the line-up? Despite the fact that almost all of my favorite bands were at this thing, for a myriad of reasons, I still couldn’t bring myself to buy tickets.

While working at Navy Pier I could hear the show faintly. I distinctly heard The Violent Femmes as well as Gnarles Barkley. After work I pedaled over to the show and watched what I could see of The Flaming Lips through the back entrance. They were the perfect band for peeping in on because I could see the fuzzy, animal suit people jumping around and the enormous inflatable Santa bouncing to the music. As I was rocking to the set on my bike, a girl handed me an Adidas sweatband, which I promptly put on my head. Where I was positioned turned out to be ideal for people watching. These guys on all terrain golf carts were driving V.I.P.’s around the enclosed area from one end of the stage to the other. I saw the singer from Gnarles Barkley and Matt Pinfield from MTV get rides, and they are both tiny, little, gnomes. I would never want to live in L.A. because I think it would be disheartening to spot all these famous people and see that they are no taller than Emanuel Lewis from Webster. Two different professional photographers took photos of me; I guess to document that there was a weirdo with a headband, sitting on his bike, trying to get something for free.

On Sunday my friend Brendan called me up and offered me two, free V.I.P. passes, which, for a very high fee, allow you to eat and drink all you like, all day. I got off work at 6 and Queens of the Stone Age went on at 6:30, so I had to run my ass around the lake, and over the river to the entrance, which turned out to be the wrong entrance, since my buddy with the passes was at the OTHER entrance. So I RAN my ass all the way around the stadium in my Chuck Taylor’s, and I have to go on record now and say those shoes, while they are very stylish, offer ZERO support. When we got into the stadium, my buddy went off to see Wilco, and me and my swollen feat made our way to the other stage to see Queens. I got myself a fruity, frozen drink for free and settled in for some rock. A beer is a far more manly libation to enjoy when you’re ‘raising the goblet of rock,’ but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a refreshing cocktail on a balmy, Chicago night. The band was great, but I was hating on the moshing and crowd surfing. The latter ends with an idiot surfing to the stage, getting escorted around the side, then this asshole thinks he can barrel his way past me back to his friends. Mosh pits I don’t like because I can’t watch the band while keeping my eyes peeled for stray elbows. One idiot did fall down and hit me in the shin, which I was not happy about. I think my disdain for the pit was evident, and they eventually stayed clear of me.

My cohort and I opted to meet up, stay in the V.I.P. lounge, and drink our way through the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It was pretty far away from the stage, but the free booze was too tempting. The other option was watching staple surgery poster boy John Popper and Blues Traveler, but I’ll hold out for next summer when they split a Ribfest bill with Eddy Money.

On our way into the V.I.P. lounge entrance, we saw a guy dressed in all white with black eye makeup trying to reason with the staff to let him in. It was bazaar because he looked at me like he knew me, and I looked back at him since I was pretty sure I knew him. I thought maybe I went to high school with him, but then it occurred to me that it was Jared Leto, who I WATCHED go to high school on My So Called Life. As it happens, his shitty band played a no doubt shitty set at Lollapalooza. Ladies, I’m sorry to break this to you, but while he does have captivating eyes, he too is a gnome, hobbit, or some other form of hafling. I remember thinking, “Hey Jared, you keep trying to argue with these folks. I’m going to go inside and have myself a couple of girly drinks, because I’m a V.I.P. and you’re not. And, oh yeah, your acting career is floundering, your band is getting horrible reviews, and you’re short.”