Sex? In my Dreams!

As pathetic as it is, I have always had problems getting laid in my dreams.

Unlike when I am awake, the trouble is not the whole tricking a girl into agreeing to let me mount her. The problem has always been the complete randomness of the unconscious world I reside in during the night. Many a time I have been in dream land lustily groping a young lady with skill and dexterity I could only hope for in real life, when suddenly members of my family will enter onto the scene, abruptly ending my march toward a perfectly enjoyable wet dream. Upon turning my attentions back to the young lady, it is too late. She has turned into my 4th grade teacher, Mr. Schulman, or a giant pair of chopsticks.

You know I can never recall having an actual wet dream. I may have had one, but I pissed the bed until I was 23 so maybe I missed it.

There was an instance where I actually achieved dream penetration. The dream sex was like a bowl of hot clam chowder. Steamy. Bubbling. Exploding with flavor. And full of the finest ingredients New England has to offer. What the? As I lay on my back and she used me like a hippity-hop, I felt the final moment approaching. Eruption was imminent.

Just as the celebration was about to start, she placed her hands on my stomach and proceeded to lift herself into a full handstand. She held herself there for a good five seconds and then violently brought herself down, driving her knees directly into my balls. This was kind of a precognitive dream as it turned out to be a good metaphor for the relationship I wound up having with her.

I do not have these kinds of dream problems currently. Something new and horrible has arisen from the darkest parts of my brain.

Last night I had a dream that start off with me in the audience for some kind of debate. The situation quickly changed into an odd scene where two semi-nude and fully-hot chicks began getting all up in my business and drawing me into a threesome. What a fantastic dream!! I was so aroused that I couldn't help myself and had to say something to spice things up! I opened my dream face and said...

"I have a girlfriend"

Wait. That can't be right. let me try that again.

"I can't do this. I have a girlfriend"

No! NO!! Stop it mouth!

"No really I have to go. I have a girlfriend."

AARAGGHH!!! This is wrong! But as I attempted to take the controls and guide myself back into the situation I saw it was too late. I was in a cafeteria with all new people who were discussing pudding.

This has happened 3 times in the past week! I think my brain hates me.

Bourne Right

Today I just want to share a quote related to yesterdays Jurassic Rant.

During a recent interview, international super secret agent Jason Bourne was asked about Sarah Palin. He said of her

"I need to know if she really think that dinosaurs were here 4000 years ago. I want to know that, I really do. Because she's gonna have the nuclear codes."

A-fucking-men Matt Damon.

Here are some dinosaur pictures for your enjoyment.

The Line Has Been Crossed

It may come as a surprise due to my recent eruptions, but I have a high tolerance and a very long fuse. I will listen to all kinds of nonsense and not say a word. I will put up with unseemly amounts of ignorance from a person, yet still think they could be an OK guy. As long as I can zone out and manage to spit out "uh huh" and "I know, right?" a few times, I remain in a place of serenity.

There is one subject however, where I see zero room for any freedom of opinion. It is not up for debate. Any deviation from what I believe is an indictment of one's character and a sign of complete and total worthlessness. The subject?

Dinosaurs.

More specifically, the reality of, and facts regarding, the existence of dinosaurs. As incomprehensible as it is, there are people who will debate these things.


I was recently sent this here tidbit by Girlfriend which describes how, widely recognized genius, Sarah Palin believes that dinosaurs existed 6 thousand years ago.


Now, if you go on TV and make an ass of yourself trying to speak on subjects you clearly know nothing about, I may sympathize with you. I will laugh and send the YouTube link to everyone I know, but there will be some sympathy in the air. If you want to proclaim yourself knowledgeable on a subject due to your geographical proximity to it, I may lose some confidence in your intelligence. But as soon as vomit up insane bullshit about dinosaurs and people running around together you go on the list of people I want to violently pelt with a metric ton of wet paper towels.


Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?How can anybody with enough brain power to dress themselves believe something as ridiculous as this? Has she seen what a fucking Tyrannosaurus Rex looks like? Obviously not. Look at this motherfucker.

He is 7 tons and 40 ft long. He has teeth that can reach up to 12 inches in length and an estimated bite force of 230,000 newtons! You know how many newtons it takes to puncture a human skull? 12 newtons! Don't bother to look it up. I didn't. The point is, if people were running around in loincloths with zero machine guns, we would be wiped out. No civilization. No technology. No Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers. Nothing!


Shockingly there are people out there who are even more despicable and useless. My closest encounter with one of these walking pile sof refuse was when Girlfriend informed me that a "friend" of hers does not believe in dinosaurs. It is difficult for me to put into words the amount of fiery visceral rage this causes me to know such a person exists, so I will just say this...

jklilsnsfeuopsfe8psen JDNLLUIN:EONEjn;nuen983pn3;3s8938pj9

I normally do not care whatever nonsense people choose to believe, but if you think that all of these bones that have been dug up over the years are some part of a massive scientific conspiracy then you need to be flat out eliminated. Anyone who can maintain this powerful a dellusion can not be of any use in the progression of mankind. When your religious beliefs cause you to ignore reality to this extent, it is time to lay off the sacremental wine for a while.

Strangely, I am not allowed to meet this acquaintice of Girlfriend because she feels I may immediately start a fight. She is correct, and it is probably for the best because I would feel terrible if a dinosaur-hating harpy beat me up. I'd be remiss if I also didn't mention that this lunatic will refuse the existence of dinosaurs because of her religion, but routinely participates in group sex, wife swapping and has tried to get my girlfriend to have a threesome with her and her greasy husband. Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ.

I'f you've made it to the end of this monster, I would like to leave you with one last thought.

A Vote for Obama is a Vote for Dinosaurs.

Spread the word.

I hate you because of your face

Hate is not a word I throw around very often when it comes to people. Hate is an extreme feeling that should be reserved for those who have committed heinous acts against you or those close to you. If I hate someone, merely thinking of them will fill me with anger and venom to the point where I feel the need to take a shit. A glowing. Red. Shit.

Since I am what some might call "a complete sap," I find it difficult to harbour such vile feelings for people I have actually come in contact with. This leaves a vast pool of individuals who I will most likely never meet. They will never get a chance to tell me how three times a week they go to a school in an impoverished neighborhood and read to kindergartners with learning disabilities.My loathing will never waiver because they adopted a dog who lost a leg saving people in a flood. Never will I hear them describe how difficult it was to overcome the crippling fear of capybaras to become one of the top zookeepers in all of South America. They can not grab my heartstrings!


Now, if I had to pick a person I hate the most, it would be Julia Roberts. The reasons for this are numerous, and I will not go into them now. For today we will discuss people who fill me with hate just because of their face.


You may say, "Hey man. That's shallow." Maybe it is, but I don't always hate them because they are ugly. Many are not. It is simply a reflex reaction I have whenever I see these people. Their faces infuriate me. I will do my best to explain why for those I share with you today.


Hal Holbrook - Maybe it's the eyebrows. Maybe it's because I get the feeling he has worn a bolo tie more than once. Maybe it's because he looks like he should be sitting in a balcony with a friend making fun of Fozzy Bear. Whatever it is, I can not stand looking at him for more than 5 seconds without getting up and throwing phantom kicks. I will admit that I am somewhat jealous that he gets to bone one of the Designing Women.


The Red Headed Guy on ER - I haven't watched ER in nearly a decade. I don't know who this guy is. I've only seen him in commercials while I am watching The Office. I know nothing about him. But I fucking hate him. He just looks like he would be a prick. Every time his freckled mug pops up in a promo I am overcome with the need to grab him by his fucking lab coat and toss him into a large bookcase filled with an inordinate amount of bulky reference books. Writing this is becoming increasingly difficult with his picture there, as I have become so irate that I am typing with my fists.


Sophie Monk - You may be confused now and thinking, "Hey what the hell? She is pretty." Wrong. She is not pretty. To me she looks like an alien race's attempt to create a hot chick. They used all kinds of advanced technology and research data, but something still was not quite right, ultimately leading to the failure of their plans for world domination. The fact that I actually know who this person is also contributes to my hate. How can someone have a career based on nothing but looks, when they look like Miss Piggy on Jenny Craig.

I have Muppets on the brain today. Anyway, I left of the one person whose face infuriates me the most, but my webcam is malfunctioning



Whose face do you hate?

Top Beau Bridges Movies

After seeing him in an episode of My Name is Earl last night, I felt Beau Bridges needed some attention. I'm not saying he deserves it, but he was pretty funny on TV Thursday night, as I never expected to hear the words "I'll take a box of your largest condoms" spew out of his mouth.

I would classify Beau as the 4th most heralded of the famous Bridges clan, narrowly surrendering 3rd place to youngest brother and  adult film star, Stone Bridges.

There were some difficulties in making this list. After writing for a good three hours I discovered I had to remove 75 percent of the films once I realized that they starred a more recent and beefier Jeff Bridges, and not in fact beau.

So here we go.

The Wizard - This was honestly the first movie I thought of when I was trying to remember beau Bridges flicks. It told the story of Fred Savage and his little brother who had some kind of bland mental problem that made it so he didn't talk, but was awesome at Nintendo. I don't remember his name, so I am calling him Ben. Beau Bridges played their dad. I'm pretty sure their mom was dead. Anyway Fred and Ben wound up travelling across the country by themselves with some chick,  in order to get Ben to some giant Nintendo competition.  The bad guy was this blond kid with a mullet who for some reason I remember wearing a leather vest. I hate this fucking kid. At one point he pulls out a Power Glove and starts playing Rad Racer with it. It looked amazing. It was a cyborg like thing you stuck over your hand and forearm, and just by acting like you were driving, you could drive in a game or throw punches and beat up  King Hippo.

Wrong!!! I spent 80 god damn dollars on this power glove. It turns out that in order to drive a car in a game, you had to more or less flap your arms around like a flamingo. And if you wanted to ace Mike Tyson's punch out, you had to perform movements akin to sipping tea. 

So Fred and Ben make it to the Nintendo competition where it is shockingly revealed that the final battle will take place on the never before seen Super Mario Brothers 3. That was pretty cool.

Fabulous Baker Boys - I honestly don't remember anything about this movie other than Michelle Pfieffer looking hot. Also, in what I imagine was not the first time this happened, Jeff Bridges was the one who banged her.

The Wild Pair - This little gem from the 80s did not garner as much attention as it should have. Beau both directed the movie and starred in it as an all business FBI agent who has to team up with a cop, played  the legendary and multi-talented Bubba Smith. I don't remember the plot really, but I what I do recall is a lot of jokes about how big Bubba Smith is, Bubba Smith beat up a lot of people because he is too big for normal humans to battle, people being scared of Bubba Smith because he is so big, and Creed from the Office was in it. It was basically Lethal Weapon if Mel Gibson wasn't crazy, and Danny Glover was a giant.

Sidekicks - Probably the most popular of all Beau Bridges movies, Sidekicks was the story of Jonathan Brandis being a skinny wimp who got beat up a lot at school.  He winds up meeting a wise old Asian man who teaches him the deadly ways of Karate. After much hard work and dedication, the young man overcomes all odds and defeats the boy bullying him, much to the chagrin of the bully's evil teacher.

Now before you go and say, "Hey man, that sounds exactly like Karate Kid," I will shut you down with the following information. 

In Sidekicks the main character, Barry, has the handicap of asthma. In Karate Kid the main character, Daniel, has the handicap of being from New Jersey. 

In Karate Kid, Daniel's only parent is his mother who embarrasses him and wears outfits with large shoulders. In Sidekicks, Barry's only parent is his father, played by Beau Bridges, who scores with a super hot Asian woman with an ass you could use to draw a perfect circle.

In Karate Kid Daniel gets repeatedly assaulted and embarrassed by bullies, he is run off the road down a giant hill and his bike is nearly destroyed. In Sidekicks Barry gets kicked once, and the bully calls him "Barry Warry." 

In Karate Kid, Daniel gains revenge, respect and acceptance by battling his way through numerous opponents in a full contact Karate Tournament. In Sidekicks, Barry gains revenge, respect and acceptance by breaking more bricks than his bully can.

Fuck it! I can't even joke about this any more. For Christ's sake the evil sensei was played by Joe Fucking Piscopo. At the end of the movie ChuckNorris  shows up and kicks the seven shades of shit out of Piscopo. Lame. I don't care what the internet says, Chuck Norris is the garbages.  I hope he convinces Mike Huckabee to grow a beard and move out into the woods with him, never to be heard from again. Mike Huckabee with a beard is really hard to picture.

At this point I am sure everyone has long stopped reading. If you had continued, you may have noticed the same thing I have. In my recollection of all of these "Beau Bridges movies," I barely remembered anything about Beau Bridges.

What a waste of time. I'm disgusted with myself. He is being  moved down the list of top Bridges family member from 4th to 5th, slipping past cousin Todd.

Poll Season, Am I a Dick?

In a vote  full of misinformation, lies, flat out meanness and other McCain Campaign Strategies, it seems that it has been decided that I do not have a messenger bag, but a much more feminine man bag. In fact,  many claimed that it is actually a damn purse. I am not quite sure how to handle this aside from inventing a man bag cover with an extremely verile image on it. Something like Ricardo Montalban working on a transmission. I don't know. The voting will remain open in a desperate attempt to retain some testosterone, so feel free to weigh in.

Since voting seems to be the in thing right now, we are going to have ourselves another one.

Over the weekend I attended the wedding of my cousin. It was a lavish affair where assloads of fun was had.  Many amazing and hilarious things happened including one of my cousins riding up and down in the hotel elevator at 3 AM cleaning the floor with a vacuum he found in a closet. But, these are tales for another time because today we vote on what level of a dick I am.

As you may have realized, I am clueless about everything. My brother isn't much better. Since I am aware of our mental deficiencies, I often consult my parents just to be sure I am not being a complete moron. So before the wedding I had asked, with my brother present, how much money would be an appropriate gift. Their answer was around what I had figured.

Now shortly before leaving for the festivities, I began to think that, due to a recent influx of cash, I should give more because this was a very big event for my cousin and the entire family. Additional money was placed into the card. I told no one of this.

It only just occured to me yesterday that this generous increase in my gift may have caused a problem. In my haze of sentimentality and benevolence I failed to realize that I may have just pulled an incredible dick move on my brother (I hope that sentence doesn't show up in a keyowrd search). 

Here are some painful facts to consider before you vote. My brother and I make approximately the same amount of money. I don't really have a closer relationship with my cousin than he does, but I have had more recent contact with him. What I gave as a gift was 50% more than my brother did. A full $37.50.

That's about it. I'm not feeling very confident. Remember I was doing it for good reasons! I'm just very dumb.

Vote On

Messenger Bag or Man Bag?

This is the question I am putting forth to you.

During the summer, the girlfriend and I went on a minor trip. During this trip some shopping took place. During this shopping experience she found this bag she thought was nice looking, and showed it to me. I agreed that the bag looked nice and proceeded to fully model it in a mirror, complete with pouty lips and disinterested looks. I grabbed various other items around and put them in the bag to see how it would look on me when filled with belongings. A security guard approached me, and after 10 minutes, decided I wasn't trying to shoplift using a bag I did not own.

I had been considering purchasing a messenger bag for a while now because it is handy during my long commute where I often enjoy reading book and, and the girlfriend pointed out, it is very useful for concealing my frequent subway boners. For those reasons I handed over my money and legally took possession of the bag.

Now at the time, I had zero doubt in my mind that this was anything other than a messenger bag. The kind of bag that all the manliest men carry their masculine things in, like after shave lotion and a deer carcass. Recently however, this belief has been wavering due to my paranoia, teasing and insistence of others that this is not a messenger bag, but in fact a "man bag."

And now the facts.

Pro Messenger Bag

1. It has a classic messenger bag flap.

2. It has a long carrying strap which can only be comfortably placed over the shoulder on the opposite side the main carrying zone is on in a classic messenger bag style.

3. Most of it is made out of what I can only assume is some form of canvas that is rough and manly enough to prevent me from using the bag whilst in the naked.

Pro Man Bag

1. My girlfriend liked it.

2. It was purchased in Montreal.

3. Sometimes with the flap down, it looks like the bag is taller than it is wide. This is a warning sign of a man bag.

And finally the bag itself.

What say you?

Semi?

My cousin is getting married on Saturday. I am looking forward to it because large family gatherings are often great fun on that side of the family. It's a bit of a party family. You mix my Irish side with some alcoholic beverages, throw in some fun time party music and enough room for my aunts and uncles to do dances that were last seen on American Bandstand, and we'll be like the Flinstones. Having a gay ol' time.


Last Friday there was sort of a post Vegas Bachelor Party man dinner at a very nice steakhouse in Manhattan. Being that I, unfortunately, was not able to attend the festivities out west, this was my first opportunity to meet some of the bride's family. They are an extremely friendly and welcoming bunch of fellas. One of them seemed to conveniently start talking about blow jobs anytime the waitress showed up, but that is considered charming in some cultures (e.g. New Jersey).


Prior to dinner, our group was sitting in the bar zone having beverages and conversing. One of the bride's uncles, who shall be known now as Uncle Professor, had the ears of myself and my brother. Uncle Professor is a man in his mid to late 60s, short in stature but big in talking and experience. According to him, he has been all over the world and seen all kinds of things. Uncle Professor was in mid-lecture regarding a neighborhood on Long Island and how it fell from being a cultural center, to kind of a dump when he hit us with a puzzling, but promising question.

"You don't mind if I am semi-vulgar, do you?"

No of course not Uncle Professor! Please do go on!

"Are you familiar with Judaism?"

This question confuses me after his previous one and makes me worry some, but I tell him that I am mildly familiar with the tenets of Judaism. The following is as verbatim as I can remember.

"Now as you may know, the Hacsdic Jews are not as bad as the Orthodox in regards to the amount and strictness of rules they must follow. The Orthodox Jews are only allowed to have sex with their wives for the purpose of procreation, unlike us catholics who, once married, are allowed to engage in sex with our spouse whenever we feel like it."

Where the hell is this going Uncle Professor, and why do I feel like I need a flak jacket for when we get there?

"Now, back in the day, if you went to any whorehouse, or cathouse as they used to say then, if you were to go to a cathouse, you would see a number of Hasidic men in line waiting to be tended to. All of them would be carrying with them a brown paper bag. The Hasidic men would only want to be with the black prostitutes. The black prostitutes would refuse to sleep with the Hasidic men because they smelled bad due to poor hygiene, so the men had to take showers and wash first."

"Once the Hasidic men washed, the women had no problem and would bring them into their bed. Now, after eating the black pussy, the men would take out of the bag the kosher wine and proceed to drink it"

I apologize because I don't really remember the entire kosher ritual Uncle Professor went on to describe here for my head had fucking exploded when he blurted out "after eating the black pussy" ever so nonchalantly. There was no chalant in his voice at all. Zero chalant!

If that was "semi-vulgar" I would hate to hear what full on obscene is to him. I'm sure it has to involve 3 tubs of chicken grease and a shaved lemur.

I can not wait for the wedding reception.

Conshirto in D minor

On the way home from work one day my brother and I had a humorous experience.

I met him on the Manhattan side of the Staten Island Ferry terminal and purchased some Starburst(original flavor, of course) for the ride back to our island paradise.

Recently, in said terminal, there have been different musical performers each day, helping to make the wait between boats a bit more enjoyable and artsy. On this particular day there was a man playing the violin very well. When he played my mind drifted to a far off land where I flew amongst the clouds in a basket strapped to a giant seagull.

I was brought back to Earth by the announcement that the boat was now loading through door number 2. As we passed by the violinist, my brother noticed that he was wearing a shirt that can best be described as "completely ridiculous." It looked like the kind of shirt a 12 year old would wear to a Junior High dance in 1977. Being the solid brother that he is, he quickly turned to me and said "Ry. Check out that guy's shirt. It is the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

Now my brother has spent many many hours with an mp3 player plugged into his head at high volume, so this comment was not said with as much stealth as he thought. He quickly realized this when the violinist stopped in the middle of a song and yelled toward us

"VIVALDI WORE THIS SHIRT!"

This bizarre retort stunned the two of us long enough to delay our fleeing onto the ferry at high speeds for a good 5 seconds.

Being the dolt I am, I Google image searched Vivaldi when I got home and in no portrait did I ever see him wearing anything resembling a leftover from the wardrobe of Eight is Enough.

And just because I am obsessed, here are some recent keyword searches that led to this location.
"ted danson...you make me feel like..."
"movie machines brimley"
"what does it feel like to mug someone"
"why does my pussy smell"

How Can She Slap?

I saw the following video recently. It's been getting big apparently. It is form some Indian reality/game show where contestants are supposed to be reliving their first year at college by getting insulted. I don't get it either. You really need to see only the first minute.



So this poor bastard yelling "How can She slap? How can she slap me?" over and over got me thinking. The slap from the woman was not supposed to happen. She apparently had gotten angry at their lack of reaction which resulted in the initial slap. That being said, the return bitch slap was his immediate reflex response to being hit. You can tell his brain wasn't in control because of the "Oooohh shit" look on his face after he smacks her.

This got me thinking. Are there any times where I would hit a woman?

Now we're going to push aside the obvious here. Situations where a woman is putting my life or my dick in mortal danger are not included here. My penis is to Me what Israel is to an Israeli. What I have may not be impressive compared to others, but it means a lot to me and if anyone messes with it I will come at them with deadly force.

These are the situations I came up with, where feel I would hit a woman and be ok with it.

1. Lady Cat Burglar - I imagine that if some woman in a skin tight cat suit came climbing through a window of my home, and I just happened to wake up and find her, things would get violent. First I imagine a tussle would ensue. Lamps would break. Books would fall off the shelves as we wrestled each other. Eventually when I over powered her and pinned her down she would try to seduce me. This is a very smart move by her because all Lady Cat Burglars are super hot. I think it somehow lends to their stealth. So I would fall for her trick at first, but as soon as I saw she was holding a candlestick behind her back to whack me in the noggin with, I would give her the ol' 1-2 combination, and make a citizens arrest without feeling very bad about it.

2. Lady Ninja - This is very similar to Lady Cat Burglar except there would be a longer, more karate filled fight. Also lady ninja would be equally hot, but more exotic and probably have some kind of crazy scar on her face from her ninja work. After a long display of skill I would eventually defeat her with a deadly palm strike followed by a spinning wheel kick. I would feel pretty OK about it too.

3.The Buttonhole - Sometimes during the course of...intercourse, a woman may get an idea. She may think it is a good idea, and that her man will be glad she had it. She will think, "I've read on the Internet that guys love this and have incredible orgasms." This is the kind of thinking that may lead to a fist fight. I do not wish to feel like I am being probed. I do not care how many of your friends have told you that guys love it. I have told my girlfriend as much. I think what I said was, "If I feel a finger wandering into a neighborhood where he doesn't belong, I will stand up and slug you in the gut." I would probably feel bad about this afterward, but still justified.

That's all I can think of. What's even more ridiculous about this whole post, is that if I was ever in any situation where a woman started hitting me, I would probably curl up into a defensive ball and try to roll towards a downward slope so I could escape.

I feel like this post may come back to haunt me one day.

What the hell kind of place is this?

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He Tells It Like It Is

There aren't many of these guys out there, but most of us know one. Sometimes known as "Straight Shooters," these are people who will always "tell it like it is."

If, for some unthinkable reason, you wanted an actual honest opinion, this would be the person you'd go to because you know they won't try to soften the blow if your new haircut makes you look like a poorly groomed pubis. This guy will tell you to your face that you should not be wearing a bikini that small when, from the neck down, you could be confused with Al Sharpton. And this no nonsense kind of person would tell you, even if he shares your political party, that you made a "we're OK without a condom this one time" kind of error in judgement s with your Vice Presidential candidate selection.

I hate these bastards. I try to keep myself in as much of a delusional state as possible in regards to how ridiculous I look, dress, dance, and eat in public. I don't need some jerk ruining the house of cards that is my self-esteem by telling me, "You know if I can see the outline of your bellybutton, the shirt is too small for you." I actually have a friend who is like this, and lord knows I need one. It is useful at times for someone as clueless as myself, but any appreciation for it goes out the window when I am told things like, "Yeah things have changed a lot for us in the past few years. You're definitely balder now." Thanks. Thanks a lot.

The other reason I hate these truth tellers is that I am completely jealous. It seems much easier and kind of fun, but I can never be one. Unless you're already one of these people, you can't be one either. It's impossible to make the switch from normal, polite guy, to no censors between brain and mouth guy. If you've been wise enough to have started being brutally honest with people early on in your life, they will expect it and even thank you for it. But if today I started being completely honest with people they would just think I turned into a huge asshole.

I've considered conducting an experiment where I attempt to become "that guy" but I've decided it's pointless. This is how the results would differ.

Control Group - Len has always told it like it is.
Friends: So what did you think of our band?
Len: You need to practice for a few more years.
Friends: Ha Ha. You're probably right Len. Thanks for telling it like it is as usual.

Experimental Group - Ryan has been telling it like it is for a week
Friends: So what did you think of our band?
Ryan: I don't know if the world is ready for an O-Town tribute band right now.
Friends: You know, you've been acting like a total jerkoff lately

You know as I write this I am realizing that I also could never be that guy because I am scared shitless that someone would throw a truth counter punch back in my direction. I can't handle such a constant threat of having to face reality. The possible comments on this blog alone is enough to scare me away from even considering this again.

So I am stuck. Stuck never hearing, "Relax man. Ryan isn't trying to be mean, he just tells it like it is." Stuck being nice. A nice liar. At least I am good at it.

*Note - Even stright shooters do not tell it like it is when it comes to their girlfriend/wife.

And she cooks, too.

My girlfriend's roommate moved out a week and a half ago. She recently returned to help clean up the not so thin layer of filth she left there. This conversation occurred soon after.


Girlfriend: She took the fucking dish rack. I have to run to get another.
Me: She is a bastard woman.
Girlfriend: I know. I am so over her, so I stole all her tampons.

I Have Diabetes

So I'm not dead. That's good?

Those of you that read my post from yesterday that I made before going to the doctor will know that I began suffering from a bout with dizziness since late Monday afternoon. In response to this post, my internet friend Jay of Genius...Pending made a very astute guess as to what was causing my dizziness. He suggest it could be a sign of Diabetes.

Immediately this clicked in my head as a correct diagnosis for two reasons. The first, as Jay mentioned, is my atrocious diet. My diet consists mainly of meat, bread and candy. Many times all at once. The only vegetables I will eat are corn and potatoes, and every time I tell this to someone who is preparing to verbally bludgeon me for my eating habits, I am told that these two don't even really count as vegetables. I can only imagine this is because they taste good. Shortly before I felt the first woozy feeling on Monday, I had partaken in a bag of Gummi Bears. They really are silent killers.

The second, and bigger, reason I have diabetes is my unrelenting verbal hammering of Wilford Brimley. And yes, I added in the word "verbal" after rereading that sentence. For about 3 or 4 years now I have used the actor turned spokesman to garner countless laughs from friends and strangers alike. I have done dead on impressions of him saying foul and ungodly things in the voice mails of friends. I have tapped the Brimley well here on this blog ages ago (2005? Holy Crap). So now after all this, Karma has reared it's ugly head and bit me right in the... organ that produces insulin... I bet that low life oatmeal pusher is laughing his soup strainer off right now.

So it was a rough visit to the doctor yesterday. As if the bad news wasn't enough the guy was kind of an asshole. Whenever I would ask him about what steps I need to take to change my life to live with my disease he would look at me in a very condescending manner and tell me that I don't have diabetes, and my dizziness is being caused by fluid in my head. Telling me that I am just congested.

Obviously this made me quite upset. Not only was he ignoring everything I was telling him about MY body, but "fluid in my head?" As in Water on the brain? As in the guy was calling me mentally challenged? I won't stand for this kind of treatment, so I squatted down and ambled out of there proclaiming, "I HAVE DIABETES BUT I AM STILL A HUMAN BEING!"

Discriminating against a person because they have a disease is sick and wrong. Don't do it people.

By the time you read this, I might be dead.

It's true. Here's why.

As anyone who has known me for more then 5 seconds knows, I fall under the classification of "Worrier." I worry about any and every thing you could imagine, such as the fact that my fingers are the size of a 12 year-old's or that the shirt I am wearing makes it look like I have A-Cups.

Strangely enough, the things I never really work myself up over are medical related issues. I have to feel seriously out of or be in a great deal of pain for me to give up the "It will be better after I sleep a while" treatment plan I subscribe to.

Now it isn't one of those situations where I don't want to go to the doctor because I am afraid I will find out I have something horrible. I would be upset if this happened, but I'm sick and think I would enjoy the free sympathy and excuse to not work and be a complete bum.

But yeah, I usually try to tough it out and trust my immune system to repair any damage I have done by eating a donut I dropped on the floor of the Port Authority Bus Terminal, or lifting heavy objects whilst trying to build myself a fort.

There is something that is threatening to ruin my toughness in the medical zone though. Something evil and very powerful that is snaking it's way into my brain. Something called... WebMD.

As I am sure most of you know, if you feel like crap and go to www.webmd.com, you can enter in your symptoms and in seconds you will find out that you could have one of possibly hundreds of horrible diseases and conditions.

So today I decided to visit WebMD because since 5PM yesterday I have had this really strange dizzy feeling that I can't seem to shake. Usually standing up and physically shaking until I feel better works, but it only exacerbates my current problem.

I entered in my symptoms and found out that I could possibly be suffering from some of the following conditions:

Brain Tumor
Leukemia
Pulmonary Adema
Cerebral Thrombosis
Acute Aural Hydroplosion
Swimmer's Ear
Posterior Cerebral Tightness
A Sprained Skull
Jeff's Syndrome
Prolonged Transformation into Robot

With millions of people using this website to self diagnose themselves, it's no fucking wonder I can't get a god damn doctor's appointment today. There are probably legions of people flocking to doctor's offices every day because they saw on the Internet that their tummy hurts because their body is rejecting a liver transplant they never had.

I won't even get into the fact that every time I call a doctor's office they won't give me an appointment today because I am a new patient, and then before they tell me when I can be seen, they have to find out what my insurance is. It's enough to make Canada look attractive (The buckets of free sex they give out up there doesn't hurt either).

So yeah. I'm dizzy and slowly dying of a variety of horrible things. How are you doing?

Help?

I normally wouldn't post so soon after a previous one, but I just sneezed very hard and a muscle over my ribs spazzed the fuck out on me.

Now it's cramping up! How the hell do I walk off a rib muscle cramp? Are there even such things as rib muscles?

I'm obviously in tip top shape.

Could it beee.....

I have no recollection of mentioning this little tidbit in the past, but occasionally when I am in the need of a little extra cash and have free time after work or on the weekends, I have another job. I know you are all very funny and thinking , "Ha Ha. Probably a gay hooker." Well I am flattered that you think my buttocks look durable enough for such a demanding occupation, but this is an incorrect guess.


The job of which I speak is that of professional usher at a Broadway theater(re). At this job my responsibilities include handing out Playbills, escorting or sometimes merely pointing people to their seats, and also wanting to make love in dis club.


I have been doing this pretty irregularly for about a year and a half now, but about a month ago while trying not to fall asleep during the show, I opened my eyes long enough to notice something strange on the carpet. You tell me what you see.



That's right. You see a Carpet Satan, or at the very least a carpet demon. If you can't quite feel my Rorschach here, I will help you out.




See what I mean now, non-believers? Notice the Lucifery face and horn region. Also take note of the classic oddly bending devil goat legs and hooves. He is well defined abs like all standard depictions of Beelzebub do. A crown is affixed atop his dome to signify he is the King of Hell/Prince of Darkness. I'm not so sure about the wings though. I'm sure the devil could have wings if he wanted, but they make me think this could also be a tribute to Sardo Numspa.

If you can make out anything different, please share it with us. or you know, just tell me I am right and devote your eternal soul to Satan.


I hope to be posting more often. I'll do it until I run out of things to say.

The kind with the feet?

Recently I have learned that at a very young age I was quite advanced with regards to my knowledge of topics in the sexual realm. This discovery was made as a result of three related tales my mother told me.

Before I get into them, I will introduce you to the cast of characters.

Young Ryan - a precocious little youth who fought and clawed his way into the world approximately 6 or 7 years before these stories took place. Over 20 years later he still has no idea what precocious means.

Young Steven - A 6 or 7 year old boy who lives directly across the street from Young Ryan, and many times left his childhood compatriot to journey off to day camp alone due to getting nervous and having to take a shit every time the bus arrived to pick them up. An avid Billy Joel fan.

Young Bernadette - younger sister of Young Steven at the age of 5 or 6. Umm...she was a girl. Listen, all I can remember about her is that at the age of 16, 8 years after their family had moved out, she scratched the hell out of my friend Johnny's back while swimming in his pool during a visit to their old neighborhood. The main thing to remember here is that she is a girl.

Mother Fran - Giver of life to Young Ryan.

Mother Eileen - Giver of life to Young Steven.

OK here goes.

PART 1 - The Home of Young Ryan- Interior - Living Room
Young Ryan and Young Steven are sitting on the floor watching the 1986 film classic "Little Shop of Horrors". During one scene, Steve Martin, playing the sadist Dentist, turns to his girlfriend Audrey, played by Ellen Greene, and says, "You got the handcuffs?"

Young Ryan - What do they need handcuffs for?
Young Steven - People use them when they have sex.

Upon hearing this, Mother Fran runs to the kitchen while trying to stifle a laugh and quickly calls across the street. Mother Eileen picks up the phone on the other end.

Mother Fran - (while losing control of her stifled laughter) - What the hell goes on at your house?

aaaaaaand SCENE!

PART 2 - Exterior - Day Camp -an open field on a sunny day.
Young Ryan and Young Steven sit in the brilliantly green grass and talk about something I can't remember. Probably Transformers or dinosaurs or Macho man Randy Savage. I can't remember. Creepy Weird Girl Who I Don't Remember approaches the dynamic duo.

CWGWIDR - Do you guys know what a Blow Job is?
Young Ryan - It's when a girl sucks on a boy's penis. Duh!

Cut to later in the day, as Young Steven returns home from camp and immediately tells his mother that he now knows what a blow job is, and who he learned it from. Mother Eileen darts to the phone and dials the number for the home across the street. Mother Fran answers on the other end.

Mother Eileen - What the hell is going on at YOUR house?

aaaaaand SCENE!!

Do you guys need an intermission? I can wait. Go get yourself a cool beverage. Perhaps a tall cool glass of Orange Drink before we go on. It's damn refreshing.

PART 3 -Interior - The home of Young Ryan- Front Porch

Young Ryan, Young Steven and Young Bernadette sit in various places on the porch. I have no clue what was going on, or what started this brief, albeit legendary, conversation, so lets just say a giant comet had just narrowly missed crashing into the earth, and Ronald Reagan had just agreed to a Greco-roman wrestling match with the Ayatollah Khomeni. An eerie calm had set in across the Earth.

Young Ryan - I have a penis.
Young Bernadette - I have a vagina.
Young Steven - I have pajamas.

aaaand SCENE.

There could be no word more perfect in that sentence than pajamas.

I hope you've learned three things from these three brief tales. The first is that while I was very well educated in sex at a young age, my knowledge over the years has barely increased. In fact, I still don't quite understand the whole handcuffs deal. I dated a girl a few years ago who said she wanted me to use handcuffs on her, so I put her hands behind her back, slapped the cuffs onto her wrists, threw her down face first on the hood of a car and recited her Miranda Rights. You see my point.

The second thing is that I will use every opportunity I can to include a picture of "Macho Man" Ranch Savage in a post.

The third thing you should have learned is that I am really bored today.

*EDIT* I've learned a fourth thing. Blogger still sucks motherfucking ass whenever I add pictures.

Heinz

A great number of things have occurred this year. All of which I failed to write about despite their importance, gravity, and extremely high levels of "Oh that's fascinating."

My goal today is to pick one of these events and share it with the two people who will randomly check my blog, the three I will force to read it through incessant badgering, and the guy who goes to Google and searches for " saucy underpants wench. "

I could share with you stories of my new girlfriend, and how we came to be joined together as one, as frequently and with and much grunting as possible. Another option is to discuss how there has been a great upheaval at my place of work, and how I will both benefit and be hurt as a result. I have travelled to foreign lands with new and bustling cities I have never before seen. Maybe I could get all cerebral on your ass and discuss the numerous books I have devoured since deciding I need to read more again (I of course am using devoured metaphorically, except in one case where I ate 2 whole stories from a David Sedaris book while stuck on the subway in a power outage).

The choice is difficult, but I shall choose this:

Over the past few years, 2007 especially, I have been prone to severe and unexpected bouts of exercise. It always manifests itself initially in the form of running. It is also called jogging, but I have not heard this term used for quite a while. In many cases, the exercise will stay at this point until it fades off after or month or so. Other times it continues to spread, taking the form of push ups, sit ups and crunches, and in a worst case scenario causes me to pay money so I can visit a place full of bulky men who scream while wearing fruity tank tops.

So last night I decided I need to go for a run because I had just returned from a week long vacation where my diet consisted mainly of ice cream and various Italian cheeses. I prepared myself by putting on my sneakers and running socks, and finding a crappy t-shirt I wouldn't wear anymore unless I am moving quickly in the dark. I have a surprising number of these shirts despite never having bought one for this specific purpose.

When I slipped on my black mesh pair of shorts I noticed they felt a little tight in the area known as the caboose. This caused me to continue to think like a 13 year old girl and get upset about how fat I am and quickly run out the door and hit the streets.

The run was brief and slightly uncomfortable due to my apparent new girth, but not bad considering I hadn't had one for 2 weeks. No more than 8 seconds after stopping I look down towards the ground, for my neck gets very limp during cardiac arrest, and notice the pockets on my shorts were weird, and also the front of my shorts were embarrassingly loose and baggy. As I stood there panting heavily and staring at my lack of frontal bulge and feeling the mesh holes expanding around the curve of my buttocks, it hit me.

I put my shorts on backwards.

I felt incredibly stupid yet relieved my penis wasn't being sucked into my body, forcing my ass to expand. I also didn't feel completely moronic because a few weeks ago while I was at work I went to the bathroom to urinate and discovered I had put my boxers on backwards. At that moment I felt exceedingly dumb because I had actually felt a hole, which was the fly, on the part covering my ass, but figured it was just a rip and if anything would be convenient for a visit to the toilet.

I Better Consult a Physician

Because I have had this erection for way more than 4 hours!!!!