Monday, December 10

Por Que?

I just finished shaving at the office. This is the first time I have ever done it. I am really lazy with shaving because it irritates me and I'm lazy about everything in general. There is a big lunch event today and I was told I am to participate in it in a greater capacity than walking in every 10 minutes to take free food, so I had to make myself look presentable.

My question is, Why didn't anyone tell me it was Take a Dump at Work Day today? I swear right before I go in there no less than 3 people commit what I can only describe as a crime against nature in the bathroom, leaving me woozy from the fumes as I try not to butcher myself. Iran should be recruiting from my office. I failed to get out of there unscathed of course. I did a Sweeney Todd number on myself and am currently three-quarters of the way to mummification with all thepaper on my face holding back what little blood I have left.

Just thought I'd update everyone.

Friday, December 7

What the?

During my hiatus from this dump a few noteworthy happenings and doings transpired. I mean to go over them in great detail at some point for your viewing pleasure, but for now I will discuss something that affected me deeply. It was a life altering event and I won't ever be the same person again after experiencing it.

On an unseasonably warm day back in the month many people refer to as October, I exited my abode and set out for the local delicatessan to procure myself a pound of roast beef crammed between two pieces of Italian bread.

I squinted as the bright sun smothered my face, and I thought about how much I was enjoying Jocktober. I was calling it Jocktober because I decided that every day I would wake up and listen to a different Jock Jams CD. Seeing as how I had Volumes 1 through 7, I put myself on a weekly rotation. My theory was that this music would get me pumped up and energized, making myself a happier and more productive person who would be a beast on the raquetball courts.

Anyway, as Gary glittered in my head, the most amazing/bizarre thing ever came into view.

You are not seeing things, and I did not do this in photoshop. That is a giant Merman on the hood of someone's car. I know it looks like a topless Mermaid, but trust me, those are just very shapely pecs. It is very sparkly, very big and probably the gayest thing I have ever seen.

I apologize for the less than stellar photo, but my mind was reelign from the sheer wonder of this discovery and alsothe fear that the owner of the car would catch me taking pictures and beat me sensless with a bag of pixie dust. They'd have to be mental. And gay, and probably a keebler elf. Part of me wishes I staked out the area to see who would show up to drive off in this masterpiece because you don't often get a chance to see a unicorn drive.

I manage to slowly begin to walk away from the hood. There was a leopard print line running along the side doors of the car to the back.

The back didn't disappoint either.

Not only is that an american flag on the trunk, it is an American flag made entirely out of painted seashells glued on to the car!!! Fucking staggering.

I'm just now realizing I can see the license plate number in this picture. My uncle is a cop. I'm going to have him run the plates on this bastard and find out who owns it. I am worried they might arrest the guy and charge him with several counts of Criminal Bad Taste or Indecent Exposure of an Androgenous Mystical Creature. An IEAMC can get you 7 years.

Wednesday, December 5


Yesterday my dear friend THE HOR, was kind enough to propose another travel destination for me and invited me to join her in the ghetto.

She paints a picture of a magical realm populated by colorful little folk (Mexicans) where danger lurks behind one corner and adventure peeks out from the next. While the idea of calling myself Frodo Trash Baggins and gathering a fellowship of diverse and gangsta friends to venture off with discover our destinies sounds beyond appealing, I am going to have to pass due to a strong allergic reaction I have to being knifed in the gut. Also, if I got mugged i would start to get homesick.

Can I take a rain check?

OK, story time.

The other day I mentioned having taken in a Japanese exchange student while in 8th grade. His name was Yuji Yabushita and he spoke maybe 3 words of English. Hungry, tired and bathroom. They are probably the three best words to know when you are in a foreign land, but it didn't exactly lead to us having a rich exchange of culture. It was difficult to get a sense of his personality because of the language barrier. However I did get a glimpse into the mind of Yuji during math class one day.

For 8th Grade math I had a teacher named Mrs. P. Her husband, Mr. P also taught math at the same school. They were one of those couples who weren't what you'd call attractive in any way, but they were cute together. Now before you go off wondering what nationality a last name like P is, I will tell you it was short for a long name I can't be bothered to remember.

Yuji was sitting at a desk with me to my right as Mrs. P was teaching us the wonders of algebra. I noticed he was jumping around in his Japanese to English dictionary with a sense of purpose. He would briskly flip forward or backwards through the pages and then jot something down on the top of his paper. He did this a few times it seemed. I wasn't paying all that much attention to it.

When he was apparently done, he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the top of his loose leaf paper with this weird grin on his face. I figured he wanted to know if he could leave to go to the bathroom or if he had to pee in a bucket under the desk, you know, like they do all the time in Japan. Look it up. Wikipedia Japan. It's in the first 2 paragraphs I'm sure. So, I look over at what he wrote down and it said

"This teacher look like a gorilla."

Well I completely lost it. It had never occurred to me before that Mrs P looked like an ape, but she totally did. This revelation by Yuji, along with the little gorilla face he drew next to it, made me wish I was in japan because I laughed so hard I needed a piss bucket under the desk. I'm telling you it's true. Ask any Japanese person.

I'll wait.

Monday, December 3

My Nipples are Hard Already

I got nothin' today, but I need to make this a habit again. I'd like to mention that someone in my office brought in cookies his wife made and they are so good that I want to have an affair with her now.

If you read my previous post, then you know that I was looking for an exotic locale to bounce off to now that I have a passport. Over the weekend I researched some of my ideas and came up with a whole mess of bad news.

Italy is not an option for me due to an incident involving some inappropriate letters I may or may not have sent to Food Network personality Giada DeLaurentis. Had I known she possessed the power to ban me from Italy, I would have aimed my lust at Paula Dean.

I am choosing not to go to South Africa because I remembered that 20 years ago I said I ain't gonna play Sun City and I meant it.

Unfortunately I have to avoid Japan due to having a small but rabid cult following in the land of the rising sun as a result of a video of a 3rd grade play I starred in becoming a cultural phenomenon there. It was Peter Pan and I was Indian # 4. When it came time for me to speak my lines, I started to weep and then unfortunately urinated all over myself. In Japan this clip is used in a variety of commercials, including one for Joy Joy brand Seaweed cakes. "Yellow Boy pants cries when he doesn't have Joy Joy Seaweed cakes. Don't be like Yellow Boy Pants! JOY JOY!"

I thought I could handle the Galapagos, but even after over a decade of therapy I can't get past being viciously assaulted by a Giant Tortoise while at the Staten Island Zoo. The nightmares never end.

Most of the places with funny names don't have airports. I'd have to fly in to a neighboring country, then ride over the border on some kind of pack animal. My supple buttocks can not handle the rigors of a long journey on the back of an alpaca.

So there you have it. All these things combined with the fact that my vacation time starts in 9 days leaves me with really only one unfortunate option...

Oh Canada.

I know. I know. I like maple syrup though, and ummm maybe I'll get to see Rick Moranis. He was in Ghostbusters you know, and that was a great movie.

One time my aunt met Bill Murray on the street and he gave her noogies.


Friday, November 30

You went to Bulwhereia?

Today, after much production, I will finally be in possession of a U.S. Passport. I know have my ticket to the world, and also a reason to use amazing words like traverse, circumnavigate and gallivant.

Now I just have to figure out where I will sail off to. I have a few places in mind. Let's discuss, shall we?

Italy - This is a pretty obvious choice, but a good one none the less. I love all that history crap and would stand in the Colosseum and pantomime a life and death, bare handed battle with a christian hungry lion. Also, my excessive body hair wouldn't be completely appalling to the local women. I also imagine Italy has to have one of the highest levels of cleavage per capita. They are definitely top 3 in GNC (Gross National Cleavage).

South Africa - Among the numerous other childhood traits I have managed to hold on to with a death grip lies a love for animals. In my head, venturing to South Africa would be like watching a National Geographic special except with the possibility that my TV could take my arm off. I'm pretty sure they have big wildlife reserves one could tool around in with a jeep and a guide. I can't be bothered to look it up right now. The highlight though would be going to see those Great White sharks that jump out of the water when they attack seals. The idea that a monster shark has decided it wasn't satisfied with scaring the crap out of everything in the water, and now wants to try his hand in the atmosphere is both awesome and terrifying. It's like a machine gun that can not only wound you with it's bullets, but also a cruel and biting remark about how your one true love left you for a man with a nicer lawn. SO yeah. That would rock.

Galapagos Islands - I would choose to go here because it is very remote, exotic, historically significant, and if I chickened out of South Africa and wanted to see amazing wildlife that wouldn't wind up with my femur lodged between their teeth..

Japan - The cultural difference between Japan and the U.S. would be a big reason for me to circumnavigate the earth and wind up there. It's something I would love to get waist deep in. I would go to a sumo match, attend a zany Japanese game show that involves any of the following: infliction of bodily harm for prizes, a hedgehog, or Bob Sapp. I had a Japanese exchange student at my house when I was in 8th grade, so maybe I would look him up. I'm comin for you Yuji! I would try to bone up on my Japanese beforehand so I could tell jokes to their tiny women and get them to put their hand over their mouth and giggle.

Lichtenstein - So I could have people say "Huh?" when they asked where I was going. This also applies to Azerbaijan, Chad, The Faroe Islands, Swaziland and of course, Djibouti.

I'm not married to any of these, so feel free to select an international destination I should be gallivanting off to. No loser places like Canada please.

Wednesday, November 28

She Fell Down the Stairs

During a recent excavation of my living quarters I unearthed a magnificent treasure. This priceless item is what kick started me to post here again, because I had to share it with as many people as I could. So that will be about 12 or so I guess.

What I found was this folded piece of yellowed paper. Was it a lost copy of the Declaration of Independence?! Was I about to cash in? Yeah right. If it had been I wouldn't be here talking to you chumps.

I opened it and discovered it was a letter I wrote while in 2nd Grade. That's Grade 2 for you Canadians out there. I was first completely elated by this find because this letter is famous in my family for reasons you shall soon see. Then a mild wave of depression hit me when I realized something I wrote could possibly be mistaken for a historical document. I'm old.

So, please join me in a jaunt in my time machine as we crank it up to 88 mph (that's 141.62 kph for you Canadians out there) as we blast back to a magical time known as 1986. It was a simpler time, a more innocent time. A time when the President couldn't be bothered to acknowledge or even mention that silly blip on the radar known as AIDS. A time when nobody thought Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer wanted to make out in their flight suits. A time when Eddie Murphy told the world that his girl can't stop attending celebrations. And we will never forget 1986 as the greatest year ever for the Amazin' Mets triumph in the World Series against the, then, loser Red Sox. God I miss you, Darryl Strawberry.

As phenomenal as the year was, there was some tragedy that took place early on. On January 28th the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after takeoff. As many will remember, on board the shuttle was the woman who was going to be the first teacher in space, Christa McAullife.

Flash over to Staten Island, NY. In a second grade classroom is P.S. 54 an assignment is given out. Each student must write a letter to a member of Christa McAuliffe's family expressing our sympathies. A young boy who looked particularly dashing because he didn't have glasses that yea chose her son Scott to write his letter to. This is exactly what was written.

Dear Scott,

I'm very sorry for what happened to your mother. Did you hear they found the capsil with bones in it? These dumb people on the news were taking pieces of the space shuttle and N.A.S.A. told them not to. One time my mother and father were fighting and my father threw a plate at my mother and I thought she was going to die.


You can see that even back that, empathy was one of my greatest qualities.

I only spelled capsule wrong, so I am proud of that. You can laugh all you want, but the bottom line is I got a mark of "Very Good" on it.

It did lead to a very awkward and embarrassing Parent Teacher Conference shortly after though.

Monday, November 26

Second Coming

I know. I know. I still love you though. That hasn't changed one bit.

So what better way to try and jump back on that blog swing than with a tale of me being completely clueless and lost, stumbling around in the strange land known as The Ladies.

Picture it, Sicily, 1941. I had performed a minor miracle. Not only did I manage to meet a smokin' hot female (a real one) without accidentally insulting her or referring to her as some kind of cut of meat, but I somehow charmed her with my spaceman looks and involuntary Christopher Walken impression.

Oh she was quite the fetching lass. A stone cold fox, if you will. An intoxicating mix of slender beauty and coquettish charm.Oh yeah and a sweet set of tits. I mean that cleavage was speaking to me. It was saying "Hey Ryan. What's goin' on? Oh yeah? No I didn't know you sky dive and hunt Elk. At the same time? Wow that's amazing. You should put your nose in me."

At some point we wound up on a bed, making the fuck out. Clothes started to be discarded. Hands started to roam, and as I didn't notice any wincing or gagging at the sight of my lush body hair, my confidence rose along with my wang. It was even more rad than it sounds.

Now in a situation like this my hands always gravitate towards the buttocks. Asses are the best. You all know this. A brilliant man once said,

"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name.'"

And grab that arse I did, voraciously and with great aplomb.

During my grabbings though I felt something. On one of her excellent buttocks I felt some kind of plastic. I believe it was in a squarish shape. What on earth? Oh dear. This poor girl had bought some new clothing obviously and one of the stickers from it unknowingly attached itself to her cheek. I better tell her so she doesn't get too embarrassed.

Me - "You have a sticker on your ass."
Her - "What?"
Me - "There's a sticker on your butt."
Her - "Um, that's my birth control, genius."

I probably should have realized that no clothes really have small stickers on them really, and even if they did, it would take quite an amazing journey by the sticker to wind up planted on someones ass cheek. Whatever. There was a naked girl touching me. I can't be expected to think or use reason at a time like that.

So there it is. I'm glad I can still stretch out a 15 second story into a long and meandering blog post. I know I have one more in me for this week.

Monday, October 22

Kenny Rogers is Hot

Now before I get started, I'd like to preface this by saying that I do not refer to present day Kenny Rogers, or "Hollywood" as I like to call him. He completely sold out and feminined it up with his bizarre facial surgery. I won't even post a picture of the monstrosity.This is not my Kenny. This just a disfigured and depressing husk of sadness that has been twisted by science. When will we finally wise up and burn these scientists!

Now this is the Kenny Rogers we all have a vision of in our minds, the man's man with both the flowing mane and steely gaze of an African lion stalking a wildebeest. I dare any of you lady person's reading this right now to deny the fact that if this rugged bastard looked at you like this and laid a "Howdy Ma'am" on you that your knees would shake like an electric toothbrush. You wouldn't get butterflies in your stomach, you'd get dragons! Huge ones flapping around in excitement over the presence of this legend. Just one glance you and you'd know that this man will know when to hold you and when to fold you...over a rustic dining room table.

As if being that physically arousing wasn't enough, this Western Beef can simultaneously melt your heart and set your loins ablaze with his sensitive and soulful voice and songs. Just take a gander at this gem known as "Lady"

"Lady, I'm your knight in shining armor and I love you
You have made me what I am and I am yours
My love, there's so many ways I want to say I love you
Let me hold you in my arms forever more"

Oh man I just swooned so hard I may have pulled my hammy.

You also have to realize he has what is probably the coolest and most bad ass nickname ever. THE GAMBLER. I would kill for a nickname that cool. Any nickname I have had isn't anywhere even in the same multiverse as The Gambler. The closest one I had was probably "Hamsteak." If you met this mountain of man and asked what his name was and he looked at you and said, "Me? They call me, The Gambler" You would forsake whatever bastard religion you follow and starting pinching your nipples and saying things so dirty and foul that 17 baby rabbits would explode.

And I know I can't be the only one who stays up late at night sweating profusely and softly humming "Islands in the Stream" into my pillow while thinking about what it must have been like when Kenny and Dolly Parton first made sweet country love. His scratchy, snow white beards rubbing against her neck as her hands race back and forth across his wide farm work muscled back. Oh how she must have moaned with delight knowing that only he, Kenny Rogers, had hands strong enough and skilled enough to handle her heavy, corn-fed bossoms.

Fuck I need a smoke.

Wednesday, September 5

Arf Wiedersehen

I am so disgusted at the awful pun that is the title to this post.

So this Labor Day weekend wasn't exactly the festive end of summer party good time fun fest that it is supposed to be, but for once it wasn't because I'm a loser who does nothing. Okay, maybe that was still part of it. However there was a much bigger reason for the complete and total suckage of the past few days. My dog had to be put to sleep.

Fifteen and a half years ago my family went to a pet store out in Point Pleasant, New Jersey and wound up coming home with a tiny grey ball of fur. We named him Max because we always liked the obscure names in our family. At the time he was so small and so cute that we could never have imagined that we were ushering in a decade and a half of terror and urine.

There are many things I could talk about regarding Max right now, his love of tomato sauce, how he would get completely shocked any time he farted and stare at his ass for 20 seconds, his growth from a puppy into a child hating territorial maniac, how he once bit a hole through the bridge of my father's nose,or even how at his advanced age he would still get a creepy dog erection anytime he rolled around on his back. But I think I will choose to discuss one of the many scuffles my dog got himself into.

Max, for some reason, became extremely protective of his home turf. At the first hint of someone passing by our property, he would bolt across the yard and hurl himself towards the fence barking like a crazy person and often scaring the crap out of whoever happened to be walking by. This is if we were lucky enough to have remembered to close the gate and repair any holes in the fence.

One day my father, who always insisted he had more control over the dog than he actually did, had Max running in the yard. As the two of them were frolicking about in the green green grass, one of my neighbors was walking her dog by our house.

Her name is Mrs. McKee. I'm not sure why it was a Mrs. because I never saw a man around nor could I ever imagine anyone wanting to marry that little salty waddling sour faced tubby demon. Can you tell I still hold a grudge from her accusing me of running around, trampling her flowers "like some kind of crazed monkey child." Anyway! She had this big gross Chow dog she would waddle with around the block without a leash. I will tell you right now, that dog was a dirty jackass.

As soon as Max noticed the two beasts were walking by, he took off towards the fence. My dad didn't react really because he didn't notice the board missing at the bottom. Whoops.

The noises that came next were pretty disturbing. It was something like, "BARK BARK SNARL AAAAAAHHH AIEEEE SNARL GRRRR YIPE YIPE YIPE SOMEONE HELP"

Max had darted through the hole in the fence, knocked over Mrs McKee and started attacking her fat ass Chow. I seem to have forgotten to mention this, but Max was a miniature schnauzer, not exactly the most foreboding of all the beasts int he animal kingdom. However, despite his lack of girth, he was able to send the Chow yelping down the block back to his house while staying in hot pursuit.

My father ran out of the yard and helped up the old bat who unfortunately had not broken her hip. He then passed a number of confused neighbors on his way to find the dogs. When he turned the corner he found the Chow cowering in it's driveway against the garage as Max darted back and forth in front of him growling and being a general bad ass. Dad managed to grab hold of the terror and haul him back home.

I don't remember us punishing him. If anything I would have cooked him a steak for knocking over that wrinkled pig midget.

So yeah. This was therapeutic. Also I had no idea that was how you spell therapeutic. I'm sure later I will start sobbing quietly under my desk as I think about this and other things like how he would sleep under my covers and I would get paranoid about rolling over on Max in my sleep and then him biting my nuts off.

Tuesday, August 28

Cha Ching

I got nothing today so let's see where this goes

I know everyone has been waiting with baited breath to hear what happened with my flower delivery situation. After 5 phone calls to them, 3 of which involved me losing my cool and cursing at the poor women on the line, and one of which involved me accusing them of being part of an elaborate plot involving the gardening industry, The Atlanta Braves, the frozen head of Vladimir Lenin, and 6 former members of the Mickey Mouse Club to deliberately try to make me look like an asshole in the eyes of my special lady person. When all was said and done she finally received her living flowers only 8 days after her birthday. Now that's some fine quality service for ya.

There is a large Mega Millions drawing tonight. I believe the prize money is up to 250 million dollars. Since I have already convinced myself that I have won, I have been thinking about what I would do with all that money once it is stuffed under my mattress.

Travel - I would be jumpin and jivin all over the planet with that kind of cash. Places I would visit include Italy, Japan, Ireland and Nature Valley because I just can't get enough of their Oat and Honey granola bars. I'd also like to go on an African safari and see how much money it would take to train a bunch of Zebras to hunt lions.

Charity - I would open up a Shelter/Modeling Agency for runaway teen girls. All proceeds will go towards improving living conditions and personal trainers. Also, Once a year I would visit a poverty stricken town and lecture it's residents on the value of hard work and eating healthy as I ride through the streets on a Galapagos Tortoise wearing a heavily jeweled crown and enough rings to make Tom Brady jealous.

Business - Having vast amounts of cash would enable me to finally invest in ideas that have been sitting in my brain for a while. My first move would be to bring the duffle bag back into prominence. Not enough people even say the word "duffle bag" any more which is a shame because it's fun to say and is hilarious as a euphamisn for a woman's private parts. Our slogan would be "Dont Muffle My Duffle".
My next move would be to start a professional Manhunt league. Manhunt, in case you don't know, is the cool name for hide and go seek with teams. All major cities would be represented and the matched would take place in various neighborhoods throughout these places without any kind of consent or permission from residents or government officials. The championship game would take place in an unknown and neutral location so as to even the playing field. To start off, only Hispanic males will be allowed to play. This way the league gets major press coverage for it's bigotry and then again once the color and gender barriers are broken. Our slogan would be "Christ. Where the hell is that guy?"
Other ventures would include a chain of Pizzerias where all the pies were shaped like Cameron Diaz' face and self cooking biscuits.

Purchases - A money bin like Scrooge McDuck had, A Zoo, an aquarium, Ted Danson's wig, a pool to be filled with the kool-aid of my choice, Michigan, 2 packs of Juicy Fruit, the bones of Liberace, the services of someone who can build a moped out of the bones of Liberace so I could call it a HoMoped, Will Ferrel, some nice letterhead, a chinplant, stirrups for my couch, a lemur, Swaziland, Lesotho, a decent cell phone plan, Jessica Biel's bathing suit, dignity, a presidential cabinet appointment, abs, a keyboard that doesn't have dried milk in it, a time machine for Teri Hatcher, the Neverending Story on DVD, the world's largest ice cream scoop, a small town police department, a degree, a list of things that are actually funny, bionic eyes, cyborg arms and a blanket fort large enough for me to live comfortably in.

Well that was weird.

Thursday, August 23


1-800-FLOWERS can suck my hand grip shaped dick.

That was gross.

So I go to their website to order a fine bouquet of flowers that I wish to have sent to a lovely young lass whose birthday was approaching. I pick out what I think is a pretty dandy looking arrangement of orchids in a stylish trumpet vase. All is cool. I fork over my credit card numbers no realizing that I was paying them to make me look like an asshole.

She gets the "flowers" on her birthday. First off there aren't even any damn flowers. It looks like a bunch of sticks with buds on them. I thought that it would probably just take a few days before they bloomed, but after three days of nothing and a vase full of kindling, I call them up.

The venus fly twat on the other end tells me that the "flowers" are sent like this so they stay fresh and should bloom in four to five days. Ok cool. Thanks for the info, dandelion douchebag.

Skip ahead two days to a half hour ago. I get a phone call form the birthday girl who tells me some of the flowers that did bloom were just green, and that some of the buds had turned yellow and fallen off. She also said that she had been following the instructions on what to do so she didn't know why this happened.

Instructions?! All of a sudden I'm not sending her flowers. She's getting a fucking botany project.
I'm glad these dog cunts don't have a 1-800-JEWELRY number because they'd probably be sending out pick axes and mining hats. And one armed South African 8 year olds.

Now I get to sit here fuming until work is over and I can call these dog cunts and tell them how I wanted to send a woman a symbol of my feelings, and someone there basically shat into a vase and dropped it off on her doorstep.

Happy Birthday! Enjoy The Mulch! Love, Ryan.

I'd have been better off sending her a strange and exotic plant I bought from Seymour Krellbourn. So what if it eats her arm, at least it would bloom!


Wednesday, August 22

Scary Poppins

Tis been an unpleasant few days here. Both the weather and my mood have taken a turn towards the twin cities of cold and dreary.

Have you ever had to run while holding an umbrella up? I did yesterday and it weirded me out, and it has nothing to do with my umbrella probably being the only completely white umbrella on the entire eastern seaboard.

It makes me nervous. I'm worried that me charging head on at amazing speeds into the wind will lead to the most embarrassing of umbrella mishaps. The dreaded inversion, where the umbrella is transformed into a rain gatherer and you feebly struggle to correct it's shape as people are staring at you and the rain is soaking you and you get nervous and agitated and wind up breaking at least 2 of the flimsy umbrella sticks that are made of tin foil and you have to walk around for the rest of the day with your limp umbrella shame dangling right in your face then you spin the umbrella around so you don't have to face your impotence anymore, but when you get to your destination you realize your ass is soaked because you didn't have full coverage and you've been doing a lot of lunges lately so your ass kind of sticks out now.

Hey. Hi. I blacked out for a minute. Anyway.

There was one thing that weirded me out more than running with the umbrella though. As I was sprinting towards my destination I came to a large puddle at the curb. "No puddle can stop me! No matter how large it is, my mighty legs shall guide me over it to safety," I thought. As I approached this small sea, something else entered my head. I began to think that if I jumped at this blistering speed while holding my umbrella, there is a chance I could catch a gust of wind and go airborne.

You may think this is ridiculous, but I know this guy who told me that his cousin's friend Bertram once got caught in an updraft while holding an umbrella and no one knew what happened to the kid until one day they got a call from him and he was in Costa Rica. So, yeah. Think about it.

By the time I stopped thinking about going on a fantastic voyage I was already waist deep in this Lake Huron of a puddle. I contemplated going limp and letting the current carry me off into the sewer where I could live in peace and become lord of the alligators, but I don't think there is anyone to steal wireless from down there.

Yikes. Obviously I only wrote this nonsense because I needed to get something up here this week. At least I made it through without making some stupid Rihanna reference.

Friday, August 17

Trash Pile

I'm glad my deflowering story went over pretty well with you folks. Perhaps I shall share some more embarrassing sexual adventures with you again soon. However I will have to spread them out so as not to run out of them too soon. You see I may not get a chance to have too many others ever again. For I have been informed of a disturbing truth about myself.

I have a light bulb head.

Yes that is correct. While having dinner with my friend last night, she stared across the booth as I downed my milkshake and mozzarella sticks and said, "You got a light bulb head."

It's ok that she said this because I am very secure about the way I look and definitely won't obsess about this for 3 months staring at the mirror for hours on end seeing if I can push the sides of my head in and growing wolverine facial hair to make the bottom of my face look bigger. Nope! Not me! Who cares if I look like my neck has a really great idea all the time!

So now I am full of despair. How will I be able to get any woman to answer when I knock on the door of her vagina with a head that was invented by Thomas Edison.


The poll I started last week has closed. The winner of this round of the Wonderdome is a Leopard with a Peg leg. He narrowly defeated my zombie grandfather by way of his supreme quickness and a very well aimed head shattering peg thrust. Stevie Wonder with a gun made a decent showing by winging the other combatants along with 17 members of the crowd. The Stapler Ninja failed to do any damage whatsoever in the arena due to an untimely staple jam that left him immobile allowing my zombie grandfather to bite his face off. More battles to come.

I just received a large pizza at the door and the delivery guy called me sir. I hate being a sir now. I much preferred "kid" and even the demeaning "boy." The only thing worse than being a sir is being a ma'am. I don't know how you ladies deal with it.

Wednesday, August 15

Setting a Standard

The first time I engaged in the beautifully awkward act known as fornication was a pretty bizarre experience. And I don't say that just because it's strange for a woman to take her clothes off around me when she knows I am in the room. The actual act of losing my virginity didn't take very long. I admit it. I was not the impressive 7 minute man I am today. The length of the act was debated later on but I'm going to go ahead and hit the middle zone and say it was around the 1:15 mark.

The poor girl who is involved in this story was very cute with luscious bosoms and a surprisingly strong ass. We had wound up in her bedroom making out whilst sitting on the bed. Naturally gravity became far too powerful and we both went horizontal. I clumsily groped and prodded her as we began to dry hump. At first that was wonderful until I started to get worried about possible chaffing from the intensity at which it was happening. Shirts started to fly to the other side of the room. Breast-induced vertigo began to set in. I think i recall her saying something about them. I'm not sure what it was but I got a mouthful...

Things progressed as they do in such heated and passionate situations, and I wound up almost completely naked (My socks were on) on top of a naked lady. My head was spinning from the wonderful bounty which God had brought before me and the fact she hadn't recoiled in horror upon seeing my genitalia. Neither of us had expected to be in this situation so we started setting boundaries on the fly. You know what I mean. It was one of those "We can just rub them against each other for a while that's all" situations that ended up leading to the always ridiculous "OK just put it in a little bit" that led to unprotected intercourse as it always does. I was inexperienced at the time and had no idea that "Just the Tip" was much like telling an Ethiopian to put a piece of steak in his mouth, but don't swallow!

I fumbled and misthrusted a few times before I hit my target, fully intending on just having sex with her a little bit. However once Tab A began to enter Slot B everything went white and a choir of angels descended from the heavens and started singing, "VAAAAGIIIIINAAAAAA vagina vagina vagina vagina omgitfeelsogoodcauseits VAAAAGIIIIINAAAA!"

So obviously now I'm on another planet. A planet where there is no war or poverty, where I for once don't think anything bad and I am just enjoying life as it is as dinosaurs dive around in their flying cars. The feeling of sex was so unlike anything that I have ever been involved with before. It was way better than embarrassment and totally killed rejection! It also was nothing like having my penis in my fist or between my couch cushions. I thrust away and enjoyed the good feelings.

Oh man this is great! The more I thrust the better it feels! Wow it's really starting to feel good now! I'm going to go faster! WOW THIS IS GR-Whoa! Wait! NO! HEY NOW! STOP!

Ohhhhh shit.

My vigorous movements had ceased. She looked at me puzzled as I was perched above her in a haze of confusion and sex and failing to have vacated the premises in time.

"Why'd you stop"
I think I'm done
"What do you mean you think you're done?!"
I think I'm done
"You think?! Did you finish?!"
Uhhh. yeah.
"Oh my god"
Uhhhh yeah.

After being shoved off of her I made the genius move of suggesting we better go to the doctor in the morning to get one of them oh so convenient erasers known as the morning after pill. Because if there is one thing a woman wants to hear after she takes your virginity it's certainly something romantic like that. This obviously led to a naked fight. And by fight I mean me getting yelled at.

After about 20 minutes of crying and fully nude verbal abuse she finally yelled, "Why didn't you pull out?!" Pausing for a moment to come up with an excuse I responded with the most sensible answer I could think of.

"It got stuck"

Her eyes widened and she looked at me in disbelief. "It got stuck?!" She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. In my head I was screaming at her "ITS NOT MY FAULT! YOU MUST HAVE QUICKSAND IN THAT THING!" Luckily it stayed in my skull until now.

Then came the laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. Thinking back I remember her looking down towards my nether region, then back up at my face and laughing even harder. That could just be something I imagined though. But probably not.

My bonehead answer did end the fight though. She calmed down, I stopped shaking in terror and we went on to have many many more instances of me disappointing her sexually. A Happy ending indeed.

It's so weird thinking back on it now because it seems like it was only yesterday it happened, and not at all like the 3 and a half months ago it was.

Tuesday, August 14

The 5th Stage of Grief

I case you haven't noticed over there on the right, I have been honored with a very prestigious award. It was bestowed upon me, along with 4 other deserving artists, by my man at blog Portland for excellence in blogging or best blog performance by a mutant. I forget. Anyway I wanted to do a proper acceptance speech, so here goes.

Um. Wow. I totally wasn't expecting this. I wish i had worn something more appropriate than these sensible brown slacks and IZOD shirt. Phew. wow. Ok so first I have to thank Mister McFatty for this amazing honor. I had always figured the only people to ever recognize my work would be mental health professionals.

I want to also thank my mother. Without her insanely over-protective nature and constant worrying, I wouldn't be the complete social cripple that I am today. And of course I have to mention my father for allowing my mom to stunt my mental and emotional growth with very little protest.

I'd like to thank the FCC for restricting free speech on Television and radio. Due to their tireless and pointless efforts, my sexual vocabulary consists of mostly medical terminology which leads to odd looks and awkward situations, such as the time I told a woman in the heat of passion, "I enjoy feeling my testicles collide with your buttocks."

None of his would have been possible either without the Wrangler Jeans company. Thanks to their low quality denim products, and my idiocy, a defining tale was crafted that I will never be able to shake.

Women with low standards, those who encouraged me to post more, Zangief, the Cast of Oz, Eddie Money, the homeless, the homeful and of course Tom Selleck and Ted Danson. Thank you All.

To further show my gratitude I will be posting a story tomorrow that I have previously avoided sharing with the public. The epic tale of the loss of my virginity.

Friday, August 10

What The?

I didn't plan on posting this morning but as I got off the subway at Times Square this morning I saw this old dude in front of me who had one of his ears completely covered in scotch tape.

At first I thought maybe it wasn't scotch tape, and it was some kind of medical adhesive that looked similar. So I yelled out, "Hey Scotch Tape Ear!" and he started looking around to see who had said it. Therefore it must be scotch tape! That's what we call science.

Help me figure this out. Why did he have his left ear encased in scotch tape?

Thursday, August 9

The Wonderdome

I obviously have opted to go the route of quantity over quality this week, so I'm going to continue the trend with a new poll.

I often times spend large chunks of my days imagining who would win in fights. Today i wondered who would come out on top in a battle of these ferocious combatants.

My Grandfather as a Zombie - He has been dead for over 20 years, but if a VooDoo priest were to cast a spell to raise him from the dead he could do some damage. During his life my grandfather fought in WWII and also was a New York City Police officer. My father often tells me he remembers "Papa" having huge strong hands that he would swing at his head if he complained while my grandfather was driving drunk home from a family party. Being a zombie would make him tougher and stronger, but he would be slowed down a lot.

A Ninja with staplers instead of feet - This is pretty self explanatory. Due to a freak accident at an office supply store, this master of the dark martial arts now has working staplers at the bottom of his legs. He can use them as weapons for they are made of cold hard steel and they will fire off if he kicks someone or some stack of papers. The downside is he can no longer sneak up on his opponents due to all the noise they make. He will have no weapons for this fight
aside from his hands and stapler feet.

Stevie Wonder with a handgun - Again it pretty much says it all. He will have 40 rounds of ammo available for use during the fight. He obviously has very fast fingers and will be able to get off multiple shots before the other combatants make their moves. Obviously his blindness will hinder his ability to find a target, but his other senses have to be pretty heightened at this point.

A Leopard with a Peg Leg - A leopard lost his right front paw while working with heavy machinery. In it's place is your standard wooden limb replacement peg commonly found on pirates. This would cut his swatting capability in half and would cut down his speed and pouncing skills. However the peg is in bad need of sanding and can give out some serious splinters.

Give it some thought. This is a serious question that deserves time to contemplate all the possibilities. Then make your vote.

Wednesday, August 8

Rain Delay

Holy Crap. This morning I was awoken by the booming sounds of my neighborhood being napalmed. At least that's what it sounded like. Even though many of my neighbors do deserve to be wiped out in an air strike, this was just a very severe thunderstorm. I've never heard such thunder before. It was the kind that starts out slow and then explodes like krkckrckrckaKRACKATHOOMrumblerumblrumblerumblethoom.

Along with the rain came heavy downpours of what appeared to be water falling from the sky. Will wonders never cease? It was enough water to completely screw up several of the subways including the 1 train which I take to the office. Normally the 1 train is as reliable as a scatterbrained meth addict, so you can imagine what 27 gallons of water in 2 hours did to it.

As a result of this I followed the mob over to another station. About twice the normal capacity of the train shoved it's way into the doors. We were crammed in tighter than Ron Jeremy ass fucking a Keebler elf. I was pressed up against a poll and several people when I began to think how funny it would be if I began to start rhythmically flexing my butt cheeks since they were pressed up against several people. This thought ended when I was groped by what I hope was at least close to a woman.

Anyway, I wanted to say I was pleasantly surprised that a few brave and bored souls actually emailed me. I am continuing to respond to them. So far some highlights include one fellow blogger being allowed to watch 90210 when they were 9 years old and another one finding pubic lice eternally hilarious. No one has yet had the stones to IM me, but that's cool. I understand baby. We gon take this nice and slow and do it right. Yeah.

One more thing I wanted to mention was even that the only thing I have enjoyed about that inflated sack of hormones and shit known as Barry Bonds breaking Aaron's record is that the guy who caught the 756th ball is a Mets fan from Queens and was in Met's attire at the time. Eat that everybody else in the country!

Tuesday, August 7

You are so interesting!

Yes you! At least I'm willing to bet you are. I feel like it's time to move our relationship up a level. All you gotta do is email me at

Ask me a question. Tell me about your dreams and why they mean I should send you money. Insult my back tits. Send me pictures of your dog before and after grooming. Use it as an opening to stalk me. I will tell you embarassing stories I can't even post on this blog. I don't care!

If you're feeling extra ballsy you can send me a message on Yahoo messenger under the name "crabbyjay" or on AIM with "ienjoypork". However I can't promise any conversation won't end up posted on here at some point.

I want to get a deeper and fuller understanding of who you are because you mean so much to me...

OK so I'm bored as shit and want someone to help make the day go faster. Like you have anything better to do.

Monday, August 6

The Freakin Weekend

I'm feeling unpleasant. I'm phone bitch for another god damn week and everyone here still thinks it's hilarious to walk by and call me by the receptionists name and tell me I need a shave. I apologize for whining, but fuck you. Anyway, I will describe my weekend to all 7 of you, so you can see how cool I am.

Friday night I was very bored after eating dinner. So bored in fact that I found myself on Yahoo Messenger looking for people to say stupid things to in the hopes it would be funny enough for me to paste onto this blog for a cheap and easy post. I became involved in several IMs immediately as a result of the screen name I was using, "the_sensual_midget."

I almost had something good going. I had told this haggard woman from England that I was a 47 year old widower who was having intercourse with the best friend of his 17 year old daughter. She didn't have the reaction of shock and disgust I was hoping for even when I told her that my wife died falling off the roof when I made her clean the gutters. Instead she began to try and top me with her tale of woe. She was desperately in love with some writer she had met one time six years ago. She was still holding out hope that he remembered her, and one day would happen to stroll into the chat room she frequented and they would live happily ever after. I wanted to tell her that if this guy did remember her he would wince hard enough to pull a muscle, but her story was so sad and depressing I just told her I was masturbating so she'd get grossed out and leave me alone. The rest of the evening consisted of me declining an invitation to eat greasy food with a Native American, and watching boxing until I passed out.

Saturday I roamed around grazing like a water buffalo until about 5 PM when I had to head to work at my second job as a professional pointer. The commute into Manhattan on the weekends is quite annoying because of the inconsistency of the subway schedule and mainly due to the huge masses of annoying European tourists Ich bin ein jackoffing around the city.

The job is about as easy as it gets, and the guys who work there are an entertaining bunch of lads. This night was exceptional because not only did I encounter a midget and a completely wasted giant, but I also got to stare at famous celebrity Jerry Stiller. At first I thought someone had just brought along a very surly lawn gnome, but it was in fact Frank Costanza himself. Needless to say, this is the new highlight of my life. After work I went home and passed out while watching boxing.

Sunday I received a lovely and timely wake up call at about 11:30. I rolled out of bed to the bus stop and headed back to work again. It was uneventful this day and I soon found myself back home. I had enjoyed a pork dinner until I was informed afterwards that all pork has maggots in it and soon I would have worms coming out of my anus. After this bit of comforting news I spent the rest of the day trying to kill time. The night ended with me having a fist fight against my brain and Jesus.

I definitely need to start drinking.

Thursday, August 2

Filthy Dancing

After about 2 weeks of being confined to the front desk in the exciting role of phone bitch, I was at last able to resume my normal work activities. This meant I was back out there, out in the hustle, knee deep in urban goodness, keepin it real out in the gangsta's paradise.

I stepped out of the building and shielded my eyes as they adjusted to the bright lights of the scorching August sun. I shuffled on over to a local eatery where I purchased a Nature Valley granola bar, Oat & Honey style. My patrol was rather uneventful aside from observing all the lovely lovelies who I luckily decided not to yell anything weird at this time. You know, something like, " Mmm Girl you know I like my peanut butter chunky!"

As I approached the corner of 36th and 8th, I saw this homeless woman. A fe-vagrant. A Wobum. Anyway, she was about 5'3, but her hair made her 5'9. Her grey t-shirt had a variety of stains from unidentifiable liquids. Her jeans were more shredded than the slopes after I'm done snowboarding. She kind of looked like a darker and better dressed Macy Gray.

So, Bonequeesha here was heading right towards me. However she was not walking as everyone else was. She was dancing. It was a pretty jazzy bebop strut she had goin to whatever music was playing in her head. Judging by the rhythm she had I can only guess it was either Rumpshaker or In The Mood. Not wanting to get in the way of a crazy person's dance party, I angled myself away from her path. Imagine my surprise when she adjusted her trajectory to once again be right in front of me...

Shit! She is looking for a dance partner and has locked on to me. She must have noticed my natural rhythm and hips that can match any Latino when it comes to lusty gyrations. I had to shake this nutjob free before I wound up being fondled by a crackhead....again.

I jumped to the right. She quickly bounced right in front of me again. Crud! I had to get serious. With a move that hasn't been seen since Barry Sanders retired, I faked left. She bit! Then POW! I shifted my weight right and juked that crazy broad. (Tiny Margarita gave me that one)

Yeah! Take that you smelly layabout! I beat you in street moves and in living under a roof!

As I sailed on by, I saw she began to start pumping her arms and thrusting her hips forward in what I can only assume was an attempt to zoom a zoom zoom in my boom boom.

At the time I was terrified. Having had time to reflect on it though, I do miss her. Cause I, had... the time of my liiife. No I never felt that way before...

Tuesday, July 31


Recently on this very blog, I confessed to participating in the cesspool of ego and local bands known as MySpace in the hopes of meeting a nice gal or at least one I could lightly fondle in public. Having decided this wasn't the best idea, I tried to figure out something else to do on that infernal place of virtual connections.

As I browsed other users profiles I noticed something besides how obscenely everyone edits their profiles. You could enter in information about what school you attended and then find people who you attended that school with. Wahey! This could be fun! I could see who got really fat, and maybe find that hot girl who I totally blew it with which still hurts me deep to this day and yell out to her, "FUCK STEVE AND FUCK TENNIS! LET'S DO THIS!".(You can read about the dumbest thing I have ever done HERE).

So I excitedly type in my High School and graduation year. I quickly brushed off the depression that came along with realizing 1996 was eons go as the results loaded. A list of about 25 people came up. I quickly scrolled through them while saying stuff like, "Holy Crap," "Who the hell is that," and "I can't believe he is still wearing that kilt." I perused several of the profiles of the people I remembered well and found out interesting things like Steve is now a member of the NYPD and doesn't feel at all weird about having a Kylie Minogue song play on his page.

At this point I began to question what I was doing. Why do I care about seeing these people and talking to them now when neither I nor them thought it was worth staying in contact with each other?

Okay I'm lying. What I really thought was, "Oh jesus. How the hell am I going to message these people who have done something with their lives when I all I have managed to do over the last decade is attain minor celebrity status in various Rate My Picture and BBW chat rooms."

A plan was formulated. I would start off my messaging guys I were pretty close with who were bound to still find me funny and charming in a man-crush sort of way. I selected Kevin who I had actually seen a couple years after High School ended. He now works as a morning radio host in upstate New York. This was going to work out well!

And then my brain happened. It began to tell me that a standard message of "Heylongtimenoseehowseverythingbeensorrywelosttouch" wouldn't cut it. I had to be hilarious and wacky. No no. Zany. yes! Totally Zany!

Hey Man! I dunno if you remember me, but we went to high school together. My name was Ryan. A couple years after School ended I changed it to Princess Starshine, but after a buttload of therapy I changed it back to Ryan. Anyway, wow man you have a radio show now. That's soooo crazy! You know what's weird? One night it was like 3 AM and I was listening to WFAN and I heard the guy on mention his producer Kevin and then the producer Kevin spoke and it was totally you! I was going to call up and give you a Shout Out but I was naked and making fajitas so it really wasn't appropriate. So yeah man cool. We should hang out. Get some mexican. Catch up. Lets Go Mets!"

Shockingly I received no response. There's more, but again this is too effin long. Deal with it.

Friday, July 27

Missle Anius

I sit here once again in the phone bitch seat at work. The smell of pancakes and eggs are wafting from a nearby office. I know some of you people probably think my place of business must be a joke already considering how I am posting long rambling blogs from here, and the fact that a co-worker is doubling as a short order cook here most mornings can't do much to improve that opinion. There are also 3 small children running around in the conference room throwing a beach ball at each other. Sorry, we aren't hiring.

Yeah, Fridays are always slow during the summer. Somehow the weekend has extended into Thursday for many people and businesses. I don't mind really, but things get very dull here and I am forced to find ways to kill time. I hate being in this situation because when there is nothing to do I am left with my thoughts. My brain has a grudge against me. Some times my thoughts are cool, like when I think about how I would kill a polar bear if I had to. Most of the time my thoughts are bad though, like when I think about how a polar bear would kill me if it had to. So usually I resort to IMing people on AIM under my pseudonym ienjoypork.

I'm taking that poll down about Quien Es Mas Macho. The results were entirely inconclusive. Counting one slightly late vote, there was a three way tie for mas macho hombre. The one thing we can be sure of after that vote is that if Ricardo Montalban, Ray Jackson and myself were ever within 5 miles of each other, an entire zip code of women would become instantly impregnated and later give birth to babies with chest hair and fingerless gloves.

*UPDATE* I'm eating pancakes. God, these are good.

Wednesday, July 25

Box Office Gold

You may remember recently I shared with you guys my idea for a blockbuster action movie called Bear Hands: Enter the Ranger. As a result of the terrific response it's been getting at test screenings and desperate need to occupy my mind at the moment, I have decided to come up with some more films that are sure to entertain millions and turn me into a Hollywood mogul.

Today I will share my idea for an urban based comedy (That means the main stars are black people.)

Can You Dig?
The world of paleontology is one of patience, ancient wonders, and uptight old white dudes. That is, until Tyrell Brown showed up. *cue bumpin soundtrack*

Tyrell Brown always liked to dig. Flashback to him as a child in his small yard, standing in a huge hole. He yells for his dad mom to come out side where she sees him holding up a skull he unearthed. His mother's eyes roll back in her heard and she passes out.

Fast forward to current day Montana. A group of paleontologists are at a dig site painstakingly trying to bring up what looks to be a huge find. The group's leader, Edwin VanDerpol, rudely instructs the team on what they should be doing. He seems to be exceptionally tough on the beautiful light-skinned black woman, Jaclyn Monroe. Edwin becomes increasingly agitated at the group's work to the point where he yells, "We are finding history here people! This is serious! This is not some kind of party!!"

Right as that last sentence ends a loud and hilarious car horn is heard. All the paleontologists turn to see Tyrell Brown approaching in his personal custom bulldozer. He parks near by, jumps out of it and says, "What's up y'all! Where the Dinosaurs at!" This is when the world of paleontology gets flipped turned upside down on it's dusty old head.

Tyrell gets under Edwin's skin immediately by calling him Eddie repeatedly. He is immediately attracted to Jaclyn who at first turns back all his advances even though she finds them funny and somewhat charming. Tyrell also becomes friends with another member of the group named Charles Duggan, who seems to have never seen a black person before, but is ready to adopt his mannerisms.

Tyrell will antagonize Edwin through a series of comical events, such as attempting to dig up an Iguanadon skull with his bulldozer, which leads to Edwin plotting to get rid of Tyrell by planting trilobite fossils in his jacket pocket and accusing him of stealing them. As this goes on, Tyrell continues to woo the lady Jaclyn with his sparkling personality and amazing lines such as:

Tyrell - "They used to call me Triceratops back in my hood"
Jaclyn -"really? Why is that?"
Tyrell - "Cause me so horny, girl"

Obviously she, like any woman would, eventually succumbs to his charms. Also throughout the movie Charles will start to try and talk like Tyrell in a hilarious "lame white guy trying to talk like he is black" manner. Eventually he will insist on being called C-Dog and helps Tyrell clear his name and dump a huge pile of dirt on Edwin at the end of the movie. Tyrell will then lean over to Edwin and say, "Hey Eddie! Can ya dig?"


I'm open to casting suggestions on this, but I am pretty sure Jaclyn will be played by the lovely Garcelle Beauvais because I love her and her name is fun to say.

I do worry thatthis movie may just reinforce negative stereotypes in the minds of the audience, but after watching a bunch of these kinds of movies that seems to be the main purpose of them.

Monday, July 23

That's not the ticket

Last week it was made very clear to me that lying is wrong. I always knew it wasn't the nicest thing, but the evil of it is now etched into the folds of my mind.

I have always been pretty free with the lying. Whether it be tiny white lies like, "Yes those are Bugle Boy Jeans I'm wearing" or big ones like, "No I have definitely been going to all my classes Dad" they have always been quick to come out of my mouth.

Now that I have been shown the error of my ways, I feel a great amount of guilt. I must rid myself of this burden by confessing things here which I have lied about and swear to never do it again. And away we go!

"About seven and a half"
Just getting the obvious out of the way quickly.

"Yeah John, I saw Moonraker, but it was a while ago."
I didn't really see Moonraker at all. I said it was a while ago to cover up my total lack of knowledge about what it was about.I don't even know why I lied about this.

"Oh hey. I just got back from the gym."
No I didn't. I was in my house all day eating leftover birthday cake.

"I'm sorry! It was that earthquake. It threw me off! I know where it's supposed to go!"
There was no earthquake. It was bad aim. And I really wasn't sorry.

"I have no idea where that Bryan Adams Greatest Hits CD came from"
It came from f.y.e. where I bought it, and when the feeling's right I'm gonna run all night. I'm gonna run to you.

"The last book I read was On the Road by Jack Kerouac"
The last book I read was Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel.

"Sorry I'm late. The bus broke down on the way to the ferry."
The bus didn't break down. I'm late because as I was on the ferry I realized I didn't have any underwear on, and went home to get some because I was paranoid this would be the day someone decided to run up and pants me.

"I got rid of all my jean shorts."
I hate myself

This is going to be tougher than I thought.

Thursday, July 19

Pork Fried Idiot

Recently, during one of the numerous little comas I slip into during the day, I remembered a story I wanted to post here on this very blog page. Brace yourself, for the shame will scissor kick me in the face with the very first sentence.

So I met this girl on myspace, right. jqne9os3h9sr02bnr9rhr2

Ok so there I was on MySpace, delving into the world of social networking. As you all know the process of social networking involves searching for people who live near you that you think will look as good in real life as they do in their bizarrely angled photos. My strategy was to find a young lass who appeared to be attractive enough that I would want to make out with her, but at the same time not attractive enough that she would instantly know she was too good for me. I prefer women find that out after we make intercourse.

I wind up exchanging private messages with a girl named Debbie who was about a year older than me. I was worried she wouldn't respond at first because my first message contained the sentence, "I didn't know anyone under 45 was named Debbie these days." However, she found me quite amusing and after about a week or so of messaging each other, we decided we should meet up for some dinner and perhaps some hanging out. My first mistake was agreeing to go for Chinese food. I am a picky bitch when it comes to eating and there aren't many things I like at a chinese food place, but it was within walking distance of where I was so I took the lazy way out.

As I think back I get terrible douche chills because there is a distinct possibility I wore jean shorts for this date as well. The memory is hazy so I will assume I had jean longs on this time. I stand outside waiting for her at the restaurant feeling strangely calm. Usually I would be a walking nerve trembling in the neon glow of the Chang's Dynasty sign. Debbie popped up out of nowhere. I failed to see her walking towards me because I was too busy staring down wondering if the shirt I had on made my A-cups look noticeable. She didn't projectile vomit immediately, so we exchanged our salutations and got a table inside.

Chang's was mostly empty at this point of the night. I immediately scoured the menu for something that I would find edible so I wouldn't embarrass myself by telling the waiter, "Yeah I'll have the beef with broccoli, but can you hold the broccoli?" The conversation was borderline sparkling and I felt a pretty decent vibe going on. The waiter showed up and Debbie said, "I'm not that hungry I'll just have a small Tung Po Wok." Okay i don't remember what the hell she ordered. The point is, she wasn't having a real dinner, so now I could order some side dishes or appetizers that I actually liked!

"Yeah i think I'll just get some pork fried rice and some spare ribs," came out of my mouth with much glee.

Only about fifteen minutes or so of breezy conversation passed before the waiter returned with our food. He put down her Bun Chi Pai Man first, and then my plateof spare ribs. What followed however was a bit of a surprise. In the middle of the table the waiter placed this large serving bowl thing with a cover. When he removed said cover my face dropped at the sight of about 7 pounds of pork fried rice!

What the hell?! Did he think I wanted to eat this much rice? Oh God, did she think I wanted to eat this much rice? Shit it has scrambled eggs in it! I don't like eggs!

My coolness is completely shot now. I nervously spend the rest of the dinner eating from the giant rice pile whose presence in our country could only mean several small villages in China were starving that week. I begin to wonder if she thinks I'm weird for avoiding all the eggs. I also begin to realize how difficult it is to eat ribs while trying to look attractive and appealing to your date.

Eventually the eon that was dinner came to an end. The waiter came to take our plates and asked me if I wanted him to wrap up the bucket of rice that was still left there. "yeah sure," I blurted out without any thought. Whoops. Now I'm worrying she thinks I am some crazed rice fiend who sits at home watching movies while eating hand fulls of rice instead of popcorn. Ugh!

After dinner she suggests we go to get coffee. I don't drink coffee, but I agree. We sat around this coffee shop chatting away about nothing too interesting. It was alright.

We pulled up in front of my house in her car. I had a glimmer of hope Debbie might want to hang again. You never know. I tell her we should do this again some time and she says sure. As I get out of the car she reminds me that I have a garbage sack filled with rice in the car. I cringed and couldn't even bring myself to turn all the way around to fuck myself over with, "Oh nah you take it! it's the least I can do." And then I ran into my house.


After a couple of days Debbie informed me via MySpace private message that she didn't think going out again would be a good idea. That's fine I understood. However I thought it was a bit much when she posted a blog on her myspace page titled "Why Do I Always Attract Weirdos."

Wednesday, July 18

So Fucking What? (Again)

This morning someone at the office called me immature because they farted and I couldn't stop laughing and saying, "Hey Toots! Where's the Maytals?"

So fucking what?

I mean sure I do some things that may not be acting my age, but just because I spent an hour at work yesterday daydreaming about candy, doesn't mean I'm some kind of big man baby.

You think you're better than me because I don't call my friends to ask them if they want to hang out? I just show up at their house and ring the doorbell. You're not better than me asshole. I prefer face to face contact is all, pal.

And big effin deal if I couldn't stop laughing while my best friend drew me a drawing of a vagina once so I'd know what I was doing for a change. That's not that childish. And if that didn't happen I would have never known that women actually have a separate pee hole, for peeing. You can't say you haven't been in that situation before.

So I guess now I'm some kind of giant mutant toddler stumbling around in Osh Kosh B'Gosh because my favorite food is a McNugget, and I plan my sleeping schedule around cartoons.

And don't try to pretend like you haven't also fantasized obsessively about one day owning your very own ball pit. They are fucking cool and fun to play in. You can't deny that.

I'm a grown ass man y'all.

I gotta stop now and go back to seeing if anyone wants to get a game of manhunt going this weekend.

Monday, July 16

The time I tried to mug someone

Twas not so long ago that I found myself in a bit of a financial jam. I was young and naive, as opposed to now when I am just naive. I won't get into too much detail, but through a series of bad business decisions, such as thinking my miniature schnauzer had a career in dogfighting, I found myself owing more money than I could afford to this guy everyone in my neighborhood knew as "Possum Tony."

Possum Tony was a very large dude. He was so large that, if you saw him from about 50 yards away, you'd say, "Weird, that brick wall looks like it's scratching it's ass." Now I'm sure you're wondering how the hell he got a nickname like Possum Tony. Well, oddly enough this guy had pet Opossums, which was weird because he normally didn't like Irish people. Ugh. Anyway, when his possums gave birth he got the idea that he could carry the babies around in his chest hair. It was probably the stupidest idea anyone had ever heard of, but no one had the balls to tell him that because we were all very attached to having our testicles in their normal spot and not slung over a telephone wire like a pair of mystery sneakers.

So there I was, dangerously close to having my fingers snapped off and fed to chest hair rodents. I had no way to scrounge up enough money in time because I was lazy and didn't feel like getting a job. Being the master of brilliant ideas that I am, I decided the only way to get the money I needed was by stealing it. A bank heist would have been ideal, but I don't have a gun or any kind of cool Halloween mask to wear during it. "Hey! Mugging someone is easy. If I do that a couple times I could probably get enough money to save my hide," was the thought that my fantastic brain then gave birth to.

After extensive planning and preparation that included cutting eye holes in a ski hat because I didn't have a ski mask, I went out with the goal of making my first foray into a life of crime. I picked out this excellent bush to hide behind and waited for a ripe target to get off the bus and start walking home. I passed on the first 3 people who walked by because two of them were large and the other one was my dad. "I better wait for a woman or some kind of midget to come by," I thought to myself.

Forty-five minutes later a short middle aged man came ambling down the sidewalk. This was my golden chance. I could definitely take this dude, and his suit was pretty snazzy so he had to have lots of cash on him. I pounced out right in front of him like a deadly puma and yelled...

Gimme some money man!
Him: "No Way! Get lost you bum!"
Me: "What? I'm not a bum I'm stealing your wallet!"
Him: "I'm not giving you shit mother fucker!"
Me: "C'mon man just give it to me!"
Him: "No!Get out of my way!"
Right here he shoved me to the side and began walking briskly away from me.
Me: "C'mon! I need it! PLEASE?"

He turned the corner and thus ended my career as a professional thief. Things didn't go so well as you can see which is weird because in Warcraft I'm like a lvl 50 rogue and I rule peoples faces all the live long day. If I had to do things over again I would have probably been much more forceful and physical with the guy. Threatening him would have helped. Also, I don't think muggers usually say please. And lastly I would have remember to cut a mouth hole into my hat.

I will finish the Possum Tony stuff another time if anyone cares. Strangely enough it ends in an amazingly similar way to the Battle of Gondor in The Lord of the Rings.

Friday, July 13

Poll White Trash

I wanted to test out this fancy new feature i saw advertised on the blogger page. If you will turn your attention to the right side of the page you will see a poll. In order to help you make an informed choice on this issue that is currently dividing our country, I will provide some data.

Ricardo Montalban - He gains big macho points for being both an intergalactic pectoral warrior and the undisputed dictator of Fantasy Island. Ricardo went head to head with both Captain Kirk and Lt. Frank Drebin, although he came up just short both times. Being of spanish descent raises him several machismo levels automatically.

Ray Jackson - Ray, pictured here wishing he wasn't standing next to nancy boy gymnast Van Damme, has numerous manly qualities that puts him high on the list of mas macho. He has a beard. He is from Texas. He wears Harley Davidson shirts. Ray participated in the Kumite in the dangerous underbelly of Hong Kong where he had managed to do some damage to the previous champion, Chon Li but unfortunately suffered heavy wounds because he stopped fighting to shout "TEXAS" at the crowd. Also remember he was the muscle of the Alpha Beta fraternity back in his college days.

Me - I am covered in the manliest of hairs. I have a chest wig that would make Chuck Norris feel insecure and womanly. One time I hip-thrust my erection through a small, but sturdy, brick wall. I've watched Billy Jack 37 times, and I go to work dressed like Clint Eastwood in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Also I don't speak French well at all. This is a picture of me after I found out someone broke my power saw.

Choose wisely.

Thursday, July 12

Summer Blockbuster

It's a bad sign I am posting a blog so early. Unfortunately due to everyone but me having 97 vacation days, I have been relegated to front desk bitch because I'm the only one here who knows how to transfer a phone call. Already after 10 minutes I am out of things to do, so here we are. Since right now I hate my job more than usual, I have been thinking of how I can make money with very little effort. Since my co-worker just explained to me the problems that would be involved in making unicorn skin boots, I will move on to thinking about ideas for movies. I have several scripts shucking and jiving around in my brain. This is one such idea.

Bear Hands: Enter the Ranger
Steve Montross is a mild mannered park ranger with a loving wife and two children. He is a peaceful man who enjoys spending his days educating others about the wonders of nature. Then one fateful day, everything changes.

A group of evil campers show up at the park. They play their music too loud, litter like maniacs, and tear up the ground with their large trucks. When Ranger Montross confronts the campers they just laugh and throw beer cans at his head. Undaunted by this, Steve attempts to instruct them on the proper way to set controlled fires. The ringleader of the campers, the evil dark lord Bobby Ray yells, "Conserve this!!" as he grabs a squirrel and tosses it into the fire while ! Ranger Montross rushes towards the blaze and thrusts his hands in to try and recover the squirrel. He manages to yank the little creature out of the fire and runs to the river to put out the flames and passes out on the shore with his hands and forearms charred to the bone.

When Ranger Montross comes to he finds himself in a hospital bed with his wife standing over him crying. When he reaches out to comfort her she screams, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" As she turns around and runs out of the room, Steve reaches out to tell her to comeback but stops when he notices his hands, or that is what used to be his hands!!! (DUN DUN DUN) All he sees are two huge fur covered paws. When the doctors come in they tell him that his hands were burned beyond recognition when he tried to save the squirrel, and the doctors had no choice but to replace them with the hands of a grizzly bear.

Now Steve Montross returns to his job as Park Ranger. However he is no longer the same man he used to be. He is a man who can no longer hold his children as he once did. A man who can no longer touch his wife in a husbandly way. A man who can no longer hold a pencil. A man twisted by fate into a force of nature. He now uses his new found powers to protect the one thing he has left, his park. For he is BEAR HANDS.

Ok so there you have it. Don't worry I didn't give away anything cool. However I will tell you there is a scene where Steve tries to masturbate that will tug at your heart strings. I'm hoping for a big Summer 2009 release. As far as casting goes I picture Ryan Gosling as Ranger Montross, Sir Anthony Hopkins as Bobby Ray and Sam Elliot and K-Non, the mysterious park hermit and mentor to Ranger Steve.

Oh and for the one scumbag out there who I know reads this blog every day( I wont mention any names but it starts with an S and ends with a teven Spielberg), if you steal another one of my movie ideas I will send you the most hurtful letter ever.

Monday, July 9

Does this smell funny to you?

It is hot. Damn hot. So hot that Kool and the Gang would have to change their name to Motherfucking Sweltering and the Gang. Hotter than the underside of James Gandolfini's tits while he vacations in El Salvador. Ok I'm done. If it wasn't for all the tall margaritas running around, I would never leave the house on a day such as this.

I dread coming into work on days like today because a large chunk of my day is spent outside, and I have to always wear work type clothes. If only jean shorts and Bart Simpson t-shirts were considered professional wear. I would be literally and figuratively chill. But NOOOOOOOO! When will humanity learn the error of it's prejudice ways? *Ryan shakes his head in disgust*

So there I am sitting on the Ferry to Manhattan when a startling and horrifying thought creeps into my head.

"Did I remember to put deodorant on this morning?"

Oh fuck! It's already a sweltering 86 degrees out and the humidity makes it feel like you are walking through a wet paper towel. In normal situations I sweat at almost Patrick Ewing levels, so if I allowed myself to slip into a B.O. panic attack, I would wind up wetter than Rosie O'Donnell at a Hawaiian Tropic clambake. What the fuck? I still had to finish the boat ride and venture into the oven known as the South Ferry Subway station. Without chalky protection in my stink divots, by the time I got to work I would be a walking biological weapon.

There was still a glimmer of hope that I had simply forgot I had applied my Old Spice. I needed to do a sniff test to find out. So I casually acted like I was scratching my shoulder and plunged my proboscis into the danger zone. *sniff sniff* My normal body odor is very similar to the smell one would find in an unkempt butcher shop, but that was not present. It didn't mean I was safe. The stink just be moving slowly while penetration the hair force field of my underarms. I had to be certain.

If I could just get my finger in there I would be able to find out if any deodorant was present on the scene. Because I am a rebel and poo poo that silly thing known as common sense, it didn't occur to me that I could go to the bathroom to complete this maneuver. Instead I unbuttoned the top button of my button down shirt and very slowly stuck my hand inside towards my armpit. Once I hit pay dirt I swabbed around for a split second and yanked my hand back out. I quickly began smelling my finger to find out what my situation was. A smile crept across my face as I recognized that sweet sweet smell of soap and old time mariners. YES! I RULE!

Twas at this point in our tale where I began to notice no less than four fellow commuters staring at me in disgust. At first I was shamed, then I became angry and full of pride, and I wanted to give them the finger. The Old Spice finger! Then I remembered that I am a vagina and returned to my normal thoughts of giving erotic massages to my favorite female basketball players. Mmm...T-Spoon.