Friday, November 30
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
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.
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
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.