Yes. This Is the Best I Got

The Fart Muzzle: When someone clasps a hand over his/her butt to lessen the noise, as to get away with a fart, not unlike the concept of a trumpet mute.

I have been uninspired and busy with other things, and when I checked my phone for memos for ideas, this was the only one I had. And it was weeks ago.

Little Help . . .

I still need someone to "tag" as an "accomplice" to write a short story about a murder. There are no length requirements or any other guidelines, just hopefully you know someone else to tag.

Email me (thegancer@yahoo.com) or contact the folks directly (anonymousboard@gmail.com) and just mention my name.

Just think of all the people you hate who you can envision killing. How fun is that?

Click here to see the site. Mine is the one two stories ago entitled, "Arnold the Awful Roommate."

Please consider helping out because I feel bad that such a cool idea for a website is crapping out because of me . . .

Deflated Pumpkins, Deflated Egos

Did you know, and why would you, that if you leave a pumpkin out on a Chicago porch for a few months of awful Chicago weather, it deflates? Well it does,

it's sitting on my front porch, and it looks just like this.

Now, if this were some kind of science experiment I were doing with my son, I would say, "Good for you, Dr. Ken!" However, when this is just typical of the sort of thing I let happen around this place with my five roommates, well, then I say, "Not so good, Doc."

Yes, I finally have a move out/grow up date, and that is July First of this year, immediately following the roast on June 3rd. Yes, we're having a roast with all the people who have lived in this 5 bedroom house over the years, and there have been some characters over the years. The idea of this party is to tell embarrassing stories about one another, and then the significant others and

spouses can show up afterwards for a party open to the general public.

I just hope I don't end up the butt of everyone's jokes like Courtney Love, but I have a feeling I will.

Usually Jim Was Drunk, But Sometimes He Was Right

With these earth quakes

typhoons

radiation scares causing Japanese zombies and the creation of a for-real Godzilla

(I have no proof of this. Yet)

The Bachelor picking women to marry like the NCAA Tournament

Ultimate Fighting fighters kneeing each other in the face spraying blood everywhere and dudes have to mop up the blood between fights

Mike Tyson has a show about pigeons on the Animal Planet

Steve Bartman

Snow in 49 of the 50 states at the same time

Charlie Sheen's tiger blood

Youtube idiots becoming famous for being complete morons

A Bieber Fever outbreak

Zumba

and a new Moutain Dew flavor and a new form of taco from Taco Bell every few weeks . . . it all makes me think that maybe the whole shit house is going up in flames.

What other signs of the Apocalypse have you seen, Seven Readers, that make you want to bring a bunch jars into your bomb shelter to pee in for the next 20 years or so?

Well, What DId We Learn This St. Patrick's Day Weekend?

1. It's way better to hear a 90's cover band than hear a bunch of shitty Irish music. Nobody actually likes to hear that crap, do they? Everyone would rather hear Greenday, Nirvana, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and Smashing Pumpkins than listen to "Danny Boy."

2. If you're nice to your cabbie, he'll pull into a gas station so you can get a diet Pepsi and some chips.

3. If you get off the sauce for a bit and have a diet Pepsi and some chips, you can stay out a little longer.

4. Sing-a-longs at a party are great fun when you have talented people playing guitar and piano and an astrophysicist on harmonica.

5. If a guy is trying to close the deal with a chick, and she grabs your nuts on the way to the bathroom, that's a pretty good sign that your buddy will score. However, she might not be girlfriend material.

Lee's Rant

Baseball season is around the corner, and I thought it a good time to play for you one of the finest meltdowns in sports history, Cubs coach Lee Elia's swearing masterpiece from 1983. I spliced in some music in the background, and while there is a lot of hiss from the original Lee recording, I think if you have the patience to listen when the music gets more intense, you will hear it build up to a sweet cursing crescendo. If you want, count the times he uses the fuck word and post your answer in the comments. How fun! I mean, how fucking fun!!



Remember, hit pause on the music player on this page on the right before you play the song, or click where it says "MP3" to download it to your iTunes so you can road rage it in the car with old Lee.

I Bring You: Caption Contest Number Around 6 Or So

I seriously don't know what's going on here, but it doesn't look like my kind of party. Anymore. What do you think is going on and/or what are they saying, Seven Readers?

The Book Store

Stephen wasn't sure what made him stop into the "book store" on Randolph Street on his way to the train after work. Lord knows the kind of "books" they sell there aren't the type he usually reads, and certainly they were unlike the book under his arm that evening, "The Thurber Carnival." It was his second time through that collection of stories, and he was quite sure there were no acts contained within those tales like the ones depicted in the literature behind that door - If there were, Mr. Thurber certainly didn't describe them quite as explicitly. Stephen wasn't feeling particularly frisky that evening, more exhausted from a long work week, but he just wanted something to break the monotony of his work week; throw a new element in that pattern of get up, go to work, go home, work out, cook dinner, go to bed. Whether it was a good idea or not, going to a porno shop was certainly a change in that pattern.

The gal behind the counter was about what you would expect, 5'2", great body, short pink hair, covered in tattoos and piercings and reading an actual book, but she had a trusting vibe about her when she said, "Hello there, sir" as Stephen stepped through the door. He felt immediately unsure and worried that he would look like some kind of pervert, especially if someone he knew was in there. It wasn't easy for Stephen to decide what to look for because he wasn't really looking for anything, and everything he looked at made him uncomfortable. He decided that the lubes were a safe place to look, since they didn't have nearly as many naked people on the packages.

"Looking for some lube there, buddy?" She said in a thick Chicago accent, that was still somehow sexy - something he wasn't sure was possible until then. "Uh, no. Not really. I'm not even sure why I came in here" he found himself saying. "Oh . . ." she said, "Well, I wasn't sure why I came in this joint either, but before I knew it I was working here, shamelessly selling pulsating vaginas to weirdos day-after-day. I'm Angelista," she said, giving him a warm smile and extending a delicate hand with black nail polish in his direction.

"Oh. Pleased to meet you. Listen, like I said, I don't know why I came in. I'm going to leave now and let you get back to what it is you have to do."

"Did I look I was extraordinarily busy to you?"

"Uh, no, but I'm sure you have inventory and things because there's a lot of . . . stuff around here, and um, you know, I'm sure just like any other place there are things . . ."

"What are you reading there?"

"Oh, it's a collection of short stories by James Thurber. He wrote for the New Yorker a long time ago. I saw you reading on my way in. Anything good?"

"Yeah! Really good. It's by Tulliver, the leading expert in the field of reflexology. Did you know that I could access every part of your body, including all your erogenous zones, through your feet?"

"No. But I believe you. I should go."

"Sure, but first, give me that hand again."

Stephen indulged her, giving his hand over to her, somewhat embarrassed, but a little bit curious, letting a sheepish smile come out despite attempts not to.

"You have beautiful hands. I bet you have terrific feet too."

"Yeah, they're not bad I guess. I mean, they don't smell or anything."

"Now, if I apply pressure right . . . here, I bet you will feel worlds better in your back. You keep a lot of your stress there, don't you?"

The truth is, he did suddenly feel better. Maybe there was truth to the writings of Tulliver and his hands and feet magic, or maybe it was just that he felt incredibly calm and comfortable around Angelista, who he barely knew, but already he was sure she was a far better person than the sharks and schemers he had to deal with every day at his firm.

"Wow . . . I actually do feel a little better. I should get on my train."

"Sure thing, big dog. Sorry if I weirded you out with all this mumbo jumbo."

"No, that's not it. It's just that I have to run. Pleasure meeting you, Angelista. So long."

"So long," she returned in a business man type tone and face that wasn't as much mocking as it was endearing.

Stephen stepped outside, stretched out his loosened spine and walked towards his L train, feeling a renewed sense of self, and he knew that he would see her again soon because five minutes with Angelista every few days could very well be the thing he would need to get out of bed and onto that urine soaked train every awful morning of his life.

We Need a More Manly Term For Cuddling

It really is impossible to sound cool when you're a guy saying that word: Cuddlng. Can you really see yourself saying to a buddy, "Sunday was amazing. My girl and I just stayed in bed all day and cuddled like crazy!" Not too cool sounding, right? But, most guys secretly like to engage in that act, at least that's what I have found through my informal poling. Now, while it is true that some fellas just like to nuzzle up in there because it sometimes leads to sex, more likely the man cuddles out of instinct (not unlike the cats pictured) and the sex is just something that pops up, so to speak.

So, here at The Gancer, I'm going to try out some new terms, and I need you, my Seven Readers, to tell me which one is the best.

Smush: Someone told me that is what the kids on "The Jersey Shore" call it, but when I looked it up, it's a term they use for coitus. So, that won't work, and it's no more manly a term than cuddling anyway.

Fusion: I think this could really work. Let's see: "We got it on for like an hour, and then we just lied in bed fusing until the sun came up." Hey, you know, that's not too bad!!

Snuggle: Nope. That's even dorkier sounding than cuddling.

So, that's it. If you can think of a better one, let me know in the comments. Otherwise, we're going with fusion. And here's your mission, Seven Readers: See if you can sneak this new term into a blog post or a conversation and come by and let me know if you've managed to do so. Extra credit coming your way if you get a hold of a special someone and give him or her a fuse for old Dr. Ken.

Some Kid In My Hood School Asked Me . . .

. . . "Did you ever play a part on "Dawson's Creek?"

I said, "Are

you calling me James Van Der Beek? Okay, that's pretty funny. Now get

back to work."

It was funny. I mean, sometimes they call me

Larry Bird, Dirk

Nowitzki, or white boy (I went off on that kid and he got suspended), but James Van Der Beek is kind of a deep cut.

These Are the People At My Gym. The People That I Meet Each Day

1. There is a swishy guy who spends hours and hours at the gym and is there most every time I'm there. How do I know he's there really long? He never leaves before I do. What is swishy? It's a toned down way of saying the more offensive "fruity." I think I got swishy from my mom. Or maybe it was my dad . . .

Anyway, this fella prances around with his arms all limp, kind of like a T-rex, and he admires himself in every mirror he can get his eyes on. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he will take around 15 minutes between sets checking himself out and just swishing around aimlessly, maybe looking for more mirrors.

2. It turns out my gym is a bit of a cop gym. I didn't know this when I started there, but after someone told me, it dawned on me that, yeah, all these guys look like cops. So, there aren't a lot of attractive women who go there, which is fine by me. I don't need that pressure. I just like to get in and out of there as fast as possible so I can get home and enjoy those last couple of hours before sleep, work, and working out have swallowed up my whole day. But, there is one new gal I saw the other day who is fine as wine. She's got long, flowing, cascading hair like Farrah Fawcett. I don't plan on hitting on her because chicks hate that - it's just nice to look at every now and again, breaking up the monotony of all the cop-looking dudes.

3. There's this huge doucher who gets all into the heavy metal music on his headphones, air drumming as he runs around the track. What's worse, he always asks for low calorie gatorades even though they haven't stocked them in weeks. Ooooh, you watching your sugar intake, dork? Also, he's always stopping to watch everyone, like he's criticizing and/or perving on them. I hear he writes a shitty blog, or something . . .

Things Brits Say

I just finished all the seasons of Peep Show on Hulu, and I kind of miss those Brits. I miss the goofy stuff they say. Here are some of the most fun words I can think of right now:

Snog: To kiss

Fancy: When you like something, you fancy it.

Blimey!: This is what you say when you're surprised about something. Apparently, it derives from when people in the 1800's would say "God, blind me."

Chips: Fries

Crisps: Chips (isn't that werid?)

Bollocks: Balls, as in a pair of balls or like an exclamation, "Balls!"

Have a wank: Masturbate

Pull myself off: An even funnier way to say masturbate.

If you still don't think you want to watch this program, give this clip a try, and "step away from the bum (that means butt)."

Wine Tasting Smart Asses

Well, a while back I posted a project I did where a friend and I drank piss poor winter beers, and now I bring you a wine tasting with mostly similar results, this time with a girl I'm sort of seeing who we will call, Law School Dropout.

First off, from the "silky" category, we had a sip of Heinz Eifel Riesling Spatlese

From: Mosei, Germany

Price: $13.99

Their Description: Full-bodied, flavors of peach, cit

rus, and apricot. Good with sushi and spicy cu

isine.

Dr. Ken's Impression: "This would go good with a sour apple Jolly Rancher."

Law School Dropout's Impression: "Eh, not my style."

Next, from the "bold" category, we tried out Ello Grasso Nebbiolo

From: Langhe, Italy

Price: $25.99

Their Description: Stop sign red with medium intensity and a nose of Maraschino cherries, red licorice and mineral notes. Tart, good acidity, leading to a long, lingering finish.

Dr. Ken's Impression: "He said it has tastes of tar and leather. Is that good?"

Law School Dropout's Impression: "It's real smoove."

And then we had, also from the "bold" category, had a snort of Qupe Syrah

From: Central Coast, California

Their Description: Beautifully balanced, delivering a balance of fruit, spice and tannins (whatever that is).

Dr. Ken's Impression: "That one dries you right out."

Law School Dropout's Impression: "I want some mashed potatoes with that."

Lastly, from the "nectar" category, they poured us Heinz Eifel Eiswein.

From: Germany

Their Description: Rich and flavorful, only the nectar of the juices getting extracted and fermented into the wine.

Dr. Ken: Trying to sound smart, "Is it pears, or something?"

Law School Dropout: "I'm struggling with this."

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

I warned the gal I brought that I would likely be silly in there, not over-the-top like Jim Carrey, more like an understated smart apple like Bill Murray. For instance, I asked if the Heinz one was from the same people who brought us the ketchup. Also, when another gal asked us if we were familiar with the menage a trois in wine, I said, "Not in the wine realm, no." That one was really awkward because it was the gal's first day, and I think she thought we were propositioning her.

So, if any of my Seven Readers are headed to Napa Valley, bring the good doctor along because he doesn't know dick about wine, but he's good for a laugh . . .

Hey. Here's a Letter I Wrote To Oprah This One Time

I'm personally not very interesting, noteworthy, or even that great a person, to be honest, but my sister is the most incredible woman I know. I'm writing you in the hopes that you give her the opportunity to see a taping of the show, and maybe you can stuff some cool free stuff under her seat like I've seen you folks do. She that, and to be fair, she deserves a lot more, but for now, maybe her seeing her favorite show and getting some free crap would make me feel like life is at least a little fair.

She's a single mother, raising three boys, and she works as a full time lawyer. Now, there's loads of folks who are doing similar things, but this wasn't her plan. Her idiot husband started banging strippers left-and-right (it's a wonder I got through the whole thing without punching him), they got a divorce, and she had to go back to work. It's not something she necessarily wanted to do because she loved being a stay-at-home mom, but she had to do it.

She excels at her job and as a mother. Sometimes when I have a long day and come home for a workout or even a nap, I think to myself that she doesn't have the option to just "chill." She has to raise these three boys, and she does a terrific job without much help from her ex, who is a grown man-chilld.

She's a hero. No, she's not running with puppies out of burning buildings, but she's the kind of hero who does heroic stuff all day long, every day, and nobody seems to give a damn. She handles her business, and I can tell you right now, even if I'm a little biased, that her boys are three of the smartest, most well-mannered, funniest little guys of all time.

If you can find a seat for her, I think she would find that amazing, and if there's no free stuff lying around the studio, just seeing the show would be cool for her. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and have yourself a good day.

Regards,

Dr. Kenneth Noisewater

Let's Play . . .

. . . Sober or Not Sober! Leave your guess in the comments section, and I will announce whether or not my buddy in this clip was drunk off his rocker or just really angry. As always, pause the music player to the right if you want to give it a careful listen.

Weekend Update

On Friday, my friend Gung Ho and I went out, and at one point, we found ourselves on a dance floor with a group of straight-up weirdos who just had to be drug addicts. One guy looked like a combination of equal parts Frank Zappa and Rob Zombie, and he was tall enough to fiddle with the disco ball. This guy was fascinated by the thing, probably due to the drugs, and I was just sure that he was going to accidentally knock it down to the floor, shattering it.

+

(PLUS)

While that didn't happen, what did happen is someone letting loose with the worst smelling fart of all time, permeating through the whole bar and having the duration of a good five minute's time. Because these folks all looked like artsy druggies, Gung Ho deduced that it must have been a heroin fart. Neither of us have been around that drug enough to truly know what that might smell like, but it's a good theory.

On Saturday night, I had a guy's night out with my married buddies, and we had a blast. We were at one bar with the punching machine thing where it registers how hard you punch, and I decided to throw a high kick at the thing. I fanned on my first one, luckily not falling down, but my second attempt was a direct hit! It felt amazing, and I'm glad it didn't get me thrown out because I was having a ball in there.

I learned two new moves on this night:

1. If you want to sit down with a table of girls, it can be done without looking like an intruding asshole if you do it right. First off, you have to smile and establish eye contact with all three. Next, right off the bat, announce that you are going to intrude and annoy them for five minutes and five minutes only. That way, they laugh, and they can be relieved that you won't take up all their time. I pulled this off, talking to these young ladies who turned out to be college students. I felt more like a dad, asking them what they were studying in school and things, but still, I consider it to be a successful learning experience.

2. When you're on a dance floor, if you ever see a pair of girls, and one is dancing with a guy, if the other one seems to be looking around for something to do, that's the bomb time to swoop in there. This is a point where they are actually hoping someone will do that because otherwise they're dancing alone and feeling awkward. Of course, you can't go in there grinding away; instead, you must go with a non threatening maneuver, like the standard taking her hand and twirling her around and things. They love that. Well, some do. Luckily for Dr. Ken, the ones twirled last night were responding well to it.

Okay, that's all I got. Have fun out there, Seven Readers, and be sure to stay clear of heroin farts.

One more thing, I centered all of the text in this blog to make it look like a poem. I think that it tricks people into thinking that the crap I write is somehow important, right?

I was on a date with this girl, second date, and I'm going to keep this brief because I'm sleepy and it's a school night, and before she got there I was waiting to get a drink at the bar where this annoying guy was holding court with his poor unsuspecting friend, who was feeling the onslaught of horribleness. Sadly, I came in right at the start of an anecdote where he was saying that Faulkner was holding a lecture in his late seventies, and some guy asked where he gets inspired to write. According to this yahoo, Faulkner gave him some entirely sarcastic response about getting inspired every day around 1PM like clock work, at which time he has a shot of Bourbon and yada, yada, yada.

The whole while the guy with him is throwing in the occasional "yeah," "wow," and "okay," and then without missing a beat or giving the other guy a chance to change the subject, brutal guy says, "Faulkner was saying that he just worked harder than the other guys, he just wrote. It's like if you want to be the best guitar player ever, if you're like (some guy I've never heard of, and that's saying something because I know almost everyone worth a damn), you have to play like all the time. Now, let's say, with you, you want to be the best mixed martial artist . . . "

Now wait just a God damn minute. This guy is an MMA fighter? No wonder he's so damn bored with your Faulkner stories. Holy hell! This guy sucked butt.

However, the date went well. She's super funny and cool and smart. We'll see how it goes, but that guy . . . Yikes. What a doucher.

Good night.

Big Suze

I have been watching a hilarious show from England called Peep Show, you can watch it on Hulu, and lately I'm finding myself madly in love with Big Suze. I'm not sure if they ever say why she's called that because she's quite fit. Isn't she lovely in this shot?

Here she is in a pretty yellow dress. I like how she's brushing her hair back. You know, it kind of looks like maybe she's not so sure of herself. Maybe she's that rare find of a woman who's hotter than all get out, but still has a crap self concept . . .

And here she is doing some stage acting. With terrific boobs. I love terrific boobs. You know, I really think, at the risk of getting a restraining order against me, that we were meant to be together. Sure, she's all the way across the Atlantic, far too good looking for me, and would likely have zero interest in me, but still . . .

Son of a bitch! Who is this asshole! Oh come on! He's got that half his undershirt hanging out look that makes me want to puke. Wait, where's her other hand. Is she touching his narrow ass?! Oh . . . Oh, do I ever hate this limey.

She's married to this doucher? Bloody hell!! Turns out he's a prince. That must be Prince Doucher's castle. Castle Douche Skull. What's this guy have that I don't? Sure, he's a prince and everything and has loads more money than me and probably charmed her in person, going a few steps further than merely ogling her on Hulu and cursing her funny looking husband, but other than all that . . . Come on!

What do you think, Seven Readers? What does Dr. Ken need to do to make Big Suze his new special ladyfriend?

Dump Truck

I had a rather odd house guest come by last weekend. One of my female roommates, we'll call her Schilling, and I decided to have friends over for her 30th birthday.  So, a few guests arrive, and then at one point she lets in a portly Black fellow who she assumed was on of my guests. He gave her a hug that was a little too tender and long, wished her a happy birthday, walked in with his bottle of tequila, and made himself at home. A good hour elapsed before she heard him introduce himself as Dump Truck, and her heart sunk at the realization that she in fact knew this man as an idiot she met at a bar a while back who Facebook stalked her and her friend. As it turns out, Schilling was wise enough to decline the "friendship," but her friend failed to have a working stalker gage, and friended "The Truck." Because he had access to her page, he was able to see the event for our gathering and just fricking showed up!! Who does that?! The Dump Truck; that's who.

His actual name was not Dump Truck, but it was something very similar, and he claims that that is his DJ name and he hosts the midnight shift on a local radio station.

Anyway, for another uncomfortable half hour or so, she was unable to get me alone to tell me that there was a big stalker weirdo in our living room watching the fights with us, and chiming in with surprisingly insightful comments for a guy who was undoubtedly a social pariah and perhaps a menace to society. Finally, she was able to catch me when I got up to go to the kitchen for a beer, and I must say that I was shocked at this news. Shocked, yes, but mostly I just thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. Instead of doing what a solid roommate and friend would do, kicking the nut out of the house before she got brutally raped and murdered, I first thought I should pull at least three of my friends into the kitchen one-by-one to tell them about the Dump Truck situation. Naturally, they all found it as hilarious as I did; Not surprisingly, I have sick friends.

I may not have thought it was so funny at the time had I known that he was creeping out the guests with scary pervert comments:

Creepy comment number one: Grabbing Schilling's arm and looking her dead in the face, he said to her, "Did you get your birthday spanking?"

Creepy comment number two: He said to the gal who played the female lead in the play I wrote, someone I hadn't seen in at least a year, and I may never see again now that she thinks I let nuts like this into my home, "Do you like this violence? Does it make you moist."

Yikes.

Instead of simply asking this wacko to get the hell out of my house, I thought it better to just see if I could get everyone out to the bars because I hate conflict and thought he might stab me if I offended him. I made repeated attempts to get people motivated for the bar scene, but it was tough because only half the people in the room knew that this cat was not a friend of anyone and was here for the sole purpose of stalking the shit out of my roommate. Just when I was ready to burst with frustration, I saw him grab his tequila bottle and head out the door. It turns out Schilling strapped on the pair that I should have and just told the guy that she was uncomfortable and it would be good if he left, and he did, with his tail between his legs, feeling shocked and jilted. This was great news for us because now we could all talk about him and have a laugh at his expense!

And laugh we did, all through the night at the karaoke bar, and I wore the ugly powder blue sport coat that I got from a barfly woman for buying her an MGD. Surprisingly, the hideous coat was money. Everyone was coming up to talk to me all night, and I got a number from a girl after she spanked me at Galaga and met her out the following Thursday for a drink.

Thank you Dump Truck for giving me this story to tell, and please now that you know where we live, don't hide in the bushes and try to rape my roommate. Or me.

Also thanks to the powder blue Mr. Furley sport coat for reminding me that you don't have to dress like everyone else if you do it with some confidence and style, just like Mr. Furley and just like Dump Truck.

I was at my sister's place today because she was helping me with my taxes, and at one point I was looking at my 3rd grade nephew's class picture (his name isn't really Colin).

Uncle Ken: This is a good pic of you, bud. And this is your teacher?

Colin: No, the blond one's my teacher. That's my principal.

Uncle Ken: She's your principal?! She's so young, and I don't want to weird you out, but she's kinda fine.

Colin: Okay . . .

Uncle Ken: Maybe you can get her number for me, yeah?

Colin: I don't think . . .

Uncle Ken: Here's what you do: first thing in the morning tomorrow, get in trouble, something bad enough to get sent to the principal. Then you tell her that you're sorry, but your uncle is a counselor, and he's been helping you with your behavior - and that's when you give her my number.

Colin: Okay, I'll get in trouble right away. I'll walk over to the teacher's desk and rub my butt on it (now squatting) and fart and say, "suck on that!"

Mom: Hey, stop saying that!

Colin and Uncle Ken: Sorry . . .