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.

1-800-FUCKERS

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!

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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.

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.

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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.
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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.

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"
Uhhh
"What?"
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.

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.

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?

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.

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!

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 crabbyjay@yahoo.com.

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.

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.

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...