April Fools has passed and was just thinking that people often spend so much time trying to plan these grand practical jokes that never seem to pan out. I thought I would help some men come up with a simple practical joke that you can pull off in no time.
First, eat plenty of dairy and anything else that causes havoc on your digestive system. Maybe eat a bowl of chili sprinkled with plenty of cheese and chase that with a bowl of ice cream.
Next, invite some friends over to the house a few hours later.
Let the gas perculate in your lower intestine until you can't take it anymore. Let the loudest fart out that you can possibly imagine. Then rub your crotch to create the illusion that it came from your crotch and not your ass. Then say, "Wow, does it smell like raw tuna in here?"
They will think you queefed, and the look on their face will be priceless. Then yell, "APRIL FOOLS!"
You will laugh and laugh and laugh some more.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Anal Maintenance
So it's opening day, and I noticed that my friend's father Kaz Matsui is out with anal fissures. It sounded painful so I looked it up and found that it is a tear in the anal lining. It's literally tearing a new asshole. It has me thinking of a topic that is very near and dear to my heart.
Anal maintenance.
I remember as a kid when my dad would go off to the bathroom at the ass crack of dawn(no pun intended). My mom would pack him a lunch, and my father would give me a speach telling me that I was the man of the house while he was gone. Then night would come and the door would swing open and my dad would emerge with five o'clock shadow and toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
My roommate in college took it to an entirely new level. He actually would spend his mornings highlighting his material that he would later read in the toilet. Then he would prepare the bathroom by positioning the fan that it would blow on him at just the right angle and laying his reading material consisting of everything from world news to porn in front of him.
Then he would change into his "shitting" clothes. Most people have gym clothes but he had mesh shorts and a green Rolling Rock t-shirt that he changed into just to go to the bathroom. He then would come out and tell us about all the great things he had read and about the consistency and texture of his bowel movements. He was always elated when he had "floaters" as he said they were a sign of good diet and good luck.
It was then I learned about grown men using baby wipes. He claims to be "dingleberry free since '93". This is a man who can talk anal maintenance at depth at dinner parties. It got me thinking. Anal maintenance is really overlooked.
People with outhouses actually use a leaf. I can only imagine waking up one morning and seeing a sunflower growing out my ass. People in India actually shake hands using their left hand as it is said the right is used for wiping. I can't even imagine.
One ply is just like taking a high grain sandpaper to your ass. Do you really want to risk anal fissures or worse? My old roommate says that toilet paper is for peasants. I have to say that I do concur.
I think my father and my roommate had it right though. Take your time and enjoy. Pushing too hard can cause hemorhoids. Take some time to smell the roses....or smell anything other than your fecal matter.
You should also learn some common courtesy. Take a match and always do a courtesy flush.
So to sum it up:
1. Get reading material. Maybe join a book club.
2. Make it a joyous event and take your time
3. Get some baby wipes
4. Courtesy flush always
5. Light a match
Take care of your ass. You were only born with one.
Anal maintenance.
I remember as a kid when my dad would go off to the bathroom at the ass crack of dawn(no pun intended). My mom would pack him a lunch, and my father would give me a speach telling me that I was the man of the house while he was gone. Then night would come and the door would swing open and my dad would emerge with five o'clock shadow and toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
My roommate in college took it to an entirely new level. He actually would spend his mornings highlighting his material that he would later read in the toilet. Then he would prepare the bathroom by positioning the fan that it would blow on him at just the right angle and laying his reading material consisting of everything from world news to porn in front of him.
Then he would change into his "shitting" clothes. Most people have gym clothes but he had mesh shorts and a green Rolling Rock t-shirt that he changed into just to go to the bathroom. He then would come out and tell us about all the great things he had read and about the consistency and texture of his bowel movements. He was always elated when he had "floaters" as he said they were a sign of good diet and good luck.
It was then I learned about grown men using baby wipes. He claims to be "dingleberry free since '93". This is a man who can talk anal maintenance at depth at dinner parties. It got me thinking. Anal maintenance is really overlooked.
People with outhouses actually use a leaf. I can only imagine waking up one morning and seeing a sunflower growing out my ass. People in India actually shake hands using their left hand as it is said the right is used for wiping. I can't even imagine.
One ply is just like taking a high grain sandpaper to your ass. Do you really want to risk anal fissures or worse? My old roommate says that toilet paper is for peasants. I have to say that I do concur.
I think my father and my roommate had it right though. Take your time and enjoy. Pushing too hard can cause hemorhoids. Take some time to smell the roses....or smell anything other than your fecal matter.
You should also learn some common courtesy. Take a match and always do a courtesy flush.
So to sum it up:
1. Get reading material. Maybe join a book club.
2. Make it a joyous event and take your time
3. Get some baby wipes
4. Courtesy flush always
5. Light a match
Take care of your ass. You were only born with one.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
NHL Refs
Did you ever wonder what those orange things were around the arms of the NHL refs? I was always under the impression that they were swimmies that would inflate just in case the ice melted.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Hangovers Are Not A Hoot
I know that I haven't posted in a while, but it has been because of a combination of St. Patrick's day and March Madness. I had a few bad hangovers. Hangovers are an odd phenomenon. Some nights you can go out and drink the liquor cabinet sampler and wake up ready to run a marathon. Other nights you can drink a few beers and wake up contemplating suicide.
Any night you go out you seem to be playing Russian roulette. Will tomorrow do me in?
I have my share of war stories, and I am sure a picture of my withered liver is due to many fun nights I had that I vaguely remember. I thought it would be good now if I could give back and let you know of some ways to help avoid that morning hangover or at least lessen the severity.
1. Buy Chaser pills at your drug store. This was recommended to me by a Doctor who said they hypothetically would work. They have done a great job for me so far. Sure it might be a placebo effect but who the hell cares. Warning: It will make your toilet the day after look like an abandoned hibachi grill at a tailgate.
2. Sneak in a glass of water here and there through the night. Some of your friends might make fun of you, but you can tell them that it's straight vodka. They probably won't even remember making fun of you the next day anyway. It will help you stay hydrated.
3. Keep some Pedialite in your fridge. Drink some before you go to bed if you can remember. This will keep you from getting dehydrated.
4. Eat eggs. The same doctor who recommended the Chaser pills also told me to do this. There is some kind of enzyme in eggs that helps prevent hangovers or something. I am not talking about eggs that women ovulate, I am talking about the kinds from chickens. There are plenty of all night diners.
5. Buy some vitamin-B complex and aspirin. The aspirin will help with the headache and the vitamin B actually speeds up the metabolism of alcohol in your system. This will hopefully shorten the length of the hangover while also giving you some much needed energy.
6. Throw up and steam. If you are feeling nauseous then just get it over with. You will feel better after. Try to have a hot steamy shower so you can sweat the booze out of your pores. I personally smell like a cheap brewery the next day. I can shower five times and still smell of it. You can only sweat it out.
7. Just keep drinking. I worked with a guy one summer that said he never got a hangover because he just wouldn't sober up. Have a hair of the dog. He used to carry around mouthwash and just drink it. It did the trick for him, and I am sure it did wonders for his dental hygiene.
8. Drink clear booze. The clearer the booze, the less the impurities in it. I am just telling you what I heard.
Or maybe you just shouldn't drink. That never seems to happen though. Think about it though. Everyone is so drunk and slow while you are working at full capabilities. It's like you would be in the matrix. It works in theory anyway.
Happy drinking!!!
Any night you go out you seem to be playing Russian roulette. Will tomorrow do me in?
I have my share of war stories, and I am sure a picture of my withered liver is due to many fun nights I had that I vaguely remember. I thought it would be good now if I could give back and let you know of some ways to help avoid that morning hangover or at least lessen the severity.
1. Buy Chaser pills at your drug store. This was recommended to me by a Doctor who said they hypothetically would work. They have done a great job for me so far. Sure it might be a placebo effect but who the hell cares. Warning: It will make your toilet the day after look like an abandoned hibachi grill at a tailgate.
2. Sneak in a glass of water here and there through the night. Some of your friends might make fun of you, but you can tell them that it's straight vodka. They probably won't even remember making fun of you the next day anyway. It will help you stay hydrated.
3. Keep some Pedialite in your fridge. Drink some before you go to bed if you can remember. This will keep you from getting dehydrated.
4. Eat eggs. The same doctor who recommended the Chaser pills also told me to do this. There is some kind of enzyme in eggs that helps prevent hangovers or something. I am not talking about eggs that women ovulate, I am talking about the kinds from chickens. There are plenty of all night diners.
5. Buy some vitamin-B complex and aspirin. The aspirin will help with the headache and the vitamin B actually speeds up the metabolism of alcohol in your system. This will hopefully shorten the length of the hangover while also giving you some much needed energy.
6. Throw up and steam. If you are feeling nauseous then just get it over with. You will feel better after. Try to have a hot steamy shower so you can sweat the booze out of your pores. I personally smell like a cheap brewery the next day. I can shower five times and still smell of it. You can only sweat it out.
7. Just keep drinking. I worked with a guy one summer that said he never got a hangover because he just wouldn't sober up. Have a hair of the dog. He used to carry around mouthwash and just drink it. It did the trick for him, and I am sure it did wonders for his dental hygiene.
8. Drink clear booze. The clearer the booze, the less the impurities in it. I am just telling you what I heard.
Or maybe you just shouldn't drink. That never seems to happen though. Think about it though. Everyone is so drunk and slow while you are working at full capabilities. It's like you would be in the matrix. It works in theory anyway.
Happy drinking!!!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
March Madness
I got the fever. This is by far my favorite time of year. The weather starts to get better. There are tons of St. Patty's day celebrations to rationalize heavy consumption of alcohol. Not only is being heavily inebriated expected but it's rewarded.
I kind of laugh when I see people of all nationalities all dressed up in green for St. Patrick's day. It's funny too that everyone over here thinks that corned beef and cabbage is the main dish in Ireland but most never even heard of it. My Irish cousins are tired of stupid American tourists coming over asking about corned beef and cabbage and quoting John Wayne from "The Quiet Man".
I always used to take a personal day the first day of the big dance. I used to feel kind of dishonest but figured there would be no work done anyway. I wasn't up to keeping up with the charade. It definitely calls for a mental health day.
Brackets are fun to do, but I hate when I can't root for an upset just because it will ruin my bracket. I also refuse to do one when WVU is in the tournament because it feels weird having them down for a loss. Not that I think they will win but consider it bad luck rooting against your alma mater.
Let us not forget the tournament ending with the song "One Magic Moment". It's so incredibly cheesy yet I look forward to it culminating March Madness every single year. It ends up being stuck in my head for weeks after.
I also like March because I know the ladies will soon be coming out in their sun dresses and other assorted eye friendly garb.
My posts will probably be a little more sporadic this month but will find times in my short periods of sobriety. I have already had two marathon drinking sessions the last two weeks....one due to a St. Pat's celebration and the other for a WVU basketball game at the Garden.
I got floor seats behind the St. Johns bench. St. Johns started to make a run, and I felt something hit me in the back. Just then I saw that someone threw a St. John's t-shirt at me. I turn around only to see Sweet Lou tossed it at me. The man is 83 but can talk some smack.
I kind of laugh when I see people of all nationalities all dressed up in green for St. Patrick's day. It's funny too that everyone over here thinks that corned beef and cabbage is the main dish in Ireland but most never even heard of it. My Irish cousins are tired of stupid American tourists coming over asking about corned beef and cabbage and quoting John Wayne from "The Quiet Man".
I always used to take a personal day the first day of the big dance. I used to feel kind of dishonest but figured there would be no work done anyway. I wasn't up to keeping up with the charade. It definitely calls for a mental health day.
Brackets are fun to do, but I hate when I can't root for an upset just because it will ruin my bracket. I also refuse to do one when WVU is in the tournament because it feels weird having them down for a loss. Not that I think they will win but consider it bad luck rooting against your alma mater.
Let us not forget the tournament ending with the song "One Magic Moment". It's so incredibly cheesy yet I look forward to it culminating March Madness every single year. It ends up being stuck in my head for weeks after.
I also like March because I know the ladies will soon be coming out in their sun dresses and other assorted eye friendly garb.
My posts will probably be a little more sporadic this month but will find times in my short periods of sobriety. I have already had two marathon drinking sessions the last two weeks....one due to a St. Pat's celebration and the other for a WVU basketball game at the Garden.
I got floor seats behind the St. Johns bench. St. Johns started to make a run, and I felt something hit me in the back. Just then I saw that someone threw a St. John's t-shirt at me. I turn around only to see Sweet Lou tossed it at me. The man is 83 but can talk some smack.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
"This Commercial Sucks!"
You often hear your friends complain about some commercial on TV. A fun way to respond is to pretend as if you never heard them say anything and then say, "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you saying something? I was just admiring this great commercial on television and didn't hear what you were saying. I will be shocked if that ad doesn't win a Cleo."
They will be furious and irriatated, but it's a hoot.
They will be furious and irriatated, but it's a hoot.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
"Damn Beanos Do Nothing But Drink Ginger Ale And Eat Cheese!"
I know you're asking yourself what a Beano is. A Beano is actually a derogatory term that we came up with for Albanians. You see I grew up in a town where everyone's parents are off the boat from some country. I am actually Irish, and I had a Korean and an Albanian friend growing up in the notoriously rough neighborhood of the 'Skill.
One of our favorite pastimes in our hood was sitting on the stoops of the mean streets of Cresskill and pointing out our differences and ridiculing them until there was permanent emotional scarring. I am Irish so was often told that I was an alcoholic boozer with small genitalia that would fight at the drop of a hat. I would often tell my Asian friend to go prove a theorem. It was a hoot.
Just last week I found out that my new neighbors were letting their dog defecate in my backyard. I asked my Asian friend if I could get a life sized cutout of him wearing an apron to act like a scarecrow so the dogs would stay out of my yard. He then told me he wished my fair skin got exposed to too many UV rays and that I got melanoma and died.
Anyway, our Albanian friend often felt left out because we had no stereotypes to unfairly categorize him with. We felt really guilty that we couldn't ignorantly degrade him and his heritage.
We noticed that every time we went to his house that there was a cheese dish of some kind so we figured we can say that all Albanians love cheese. We also realized that he had ginger ale at his house. So all Albanians love cheese and ginger ale. Brilliant!
Now we needed a horrible racial epithet to scream at him. We did some kind of a word jumble and then came up with "Beano". We weren't finished though so we thought we needed to come up with some ethnic jokes about them too so he would really fit in so here are some that we came up with:
"Hey, did you hear about the Albanian that was scared to go into the fridge? Yeah, he heard there was Muenster(cheese) in there."
"How do you keep a group of Albanians from mugging a guy? Throw them a two liter bottle of Ginger Ale."
"Did you hear about them stopping the Beanos from entering Canada? Yeah, they tried to drink Canada Dry." I know it makes no sense but it deals with Albanians and ginger ale.
Anyway, we started to unfairly stereotype him and his family on a daily basis to his delight. It wasn't until a few years ago that I found out that thousands of Albanians were being ethnically cleansed. Who would have known that all I had to do was find a pen pal over there who would have had more than their fair share of stereotypes for me?
I hate to admit though that one of my favorite cuisines of the world is actually Albanian. I love their signature dish of grilled cheese and ginger ale.
One of our favorite pastimes in our hood was sitting on the stoops of the mean streets of Cresskill and pointing out our differences and ridiculing them until there was permanent emotional scarring. I am Irish so was often told that I was an alcoholic boozer with small genitalia that would fight at the drop of a hat. I would often tell my Asian friend to go prove a theorem. It was a hoot.
Just last week I found out that my new neighbors were letting their dog defecate in my backyard. I asked my Asian friend if I could get a life sized cutout of him wearing an apron to act like a scarecrow so the dogs would stay out of my yard. He then told me he wished my fair skin got exposed to too many UV rays and that I got melanoma and died.
Anyway, our Albanian friend often felt left out because we had no stereotypes to unfairly categorize him with. We felt really guilty that we couldn't ignorantly degrade him and his heritage.
We noticed that every time we went to his house that there was a cheese dish of some kind so we figured we can say that all Albanians love cheese. We also realized that he had ginger ale at his house. So all Albanians love cheese and ginger ale. Brilliant!
Now we needed a horrible racial epithet to scream at him. We did some kind of a word jumble and then came up with "Beano". We weren't finished though so we thought we needed to come up with some ethnic jokes about them too so he would really fit in so here are some that we came up with:
"Hey, did you hear about the Albanian that was scared to go into the fridge? Yeah, he heard there was Muenster(cheese) in there."
"How do you keep a group of Albanians from mugging a guy? Throw them a two liter bottle of Ginger Ale."
"Did you hear about them stopping the Beanos from entering Canada? Yeah, they tried to drink Canada Dry." I know it makes no sense but it deals with Albanians and ginger ale.
Anyway, we started to unfairly stereotype him and his family on a daily basis to his delight. It wasn't until a few years ago that I found out that thousands of Albanians were being ethnically cleansed. Who would have known that all I had to do was find a pen pal over there who would have had more than their fair share of stereotypes for me?
I hate to admit though that one of my favorite cuisines of the world is actually Albanian. I love their signature dish of grilled cheese and ginger ale.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Birthdays Are So 20th Century!
I had a revelation this weekend. I realized that everyone celebrates birthdays. It is so unoriginal and played out to have a "birthday". How boring is that?
What are you really celebrating on a birthday? It's the anniversary of the day that you flew out of your mom's ill nana covered in God only knows what. You got slapped and cried, your mom was screaming in pain and your dad was left wondering how he is going to provide for another mouth to feed. Happy birthday? I think not.
Then it hit me. Why not celebrate the day you were conceived instead?
It's the anniversary of a day when both your parents were in a much better mood and it's the day when you became a zygote! I mean your parents were probably drunk and listening to Barry White on 8 track. And you know the odds of fertilizing that egg? It's like winning the lotto. You could have ended up a stain on the couch but are reading this blog now instead.
That sounds like a much better day than your "birthday" to me. And I mean everyone celebrates their birthday. Talk about played out. Why don't you be an original and start celebrating your Conception Day instead?
Conception Day is the new birthday. All the cool kids are doing it.
What are you really celebrating on a birthday? It's the anniversary of the day that you flew out of your mom's ill nana covered in God only knows what. You got slapped and cried, your mom was screaming in pain and your dad was left wondering how he is going to provide for another mouth to feed. Happy birthday? I think not.
Then it hit me. Why not celebrate the day you were conceived instead?
It's the anniversary of a day when both your parents were in a much better mood and it's the day when you became a zygote! I mean your parents were probably drunk and listening to Barry White on 8 track. And you know the odds of fertilizing that egg? It's like winning the lotto. You could have ended up a stain on the couch but are reading this blog now instead.
That sounds like a much better day than your "birthday" to me. And I mean everyone celebrates their birthday. Talk about played out. Why don't you be an original and start celebrating your Conception Day instead?
Conception Day is the new birthday. All the cool kids are doing it.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
My Dad Loves Queefs
It was the summer of 1996, and I was listening to an ex convict telling my dad an off color joke about a woman of ill repute and a man of the cloth. I remember tensing up as I braced myself for the tongue lashing my father was about to give this man for his lack of moral fiber. To my dismay my father belted out a healthy guffaw.
I was shocked! My father had a sense of humor.
So we were headed out to a job, and I was tired of listening to 1010WINS. I turned the channel to Howard Stern and heard them hyping up a world record about to be broken. I turned it up only to hear that this talented athlete was about to break the world record for squeezing gas out of her vagina. I learned that the technical term in the sport is "queefing".
Years before my father would have turned the radio off and dropped me off at confession. He feigned disinterest but his smirk told me that he was full of glee as we were about to witness "queefing" history.
I felt the chills run up my spine as the first queef squeaked out and each succeeding queef after sent me into a frenzy. I couldn't contain my euphoria as she squeezed out the record breaking vaginal emission. I pumped my fist in celebration.
I looked over and saw my dad's face full of a joy. It was the first bonding experience we had as grown men. I have spoke to guys that talk about having their first beer with their dad, but my dad doesn't drink. We bonded as men listening to world queefing history being made.
A few days ago my sister's lapdog was having some digestive problems and broke wind in my face. My eyes filled up with tears, and it wasn't because of the gaseous fecal matter sprayed in my face. It sounded like the record breaking queef that I heard that day bonding with my father.
Hey, call me an old softy but the sound of weak flatulent emissions of any kind gets me nostalgic.
I was shocked! My father had a sense of humor.
So we were headed out to a job, and I was tired of listening to 1010WINS. I turned the channel to Howard Stern and heard them hyping up a world record about to be broken. I turned it up only to hear that this talented athlete was about to break the world record for squeezing gas out of her vagina. I learned that the technical term in the sport is "queefing".
Years before my father would have turned the radio off and dropped me off at confession. He feigned disinterest but his smirk told me that he was full of glee as we were about to witness "queefing" history.
I felt the chills run up my spine as the first queef squeaked out and each succeeding queef after sent me into a frenzy. I couldn't contain my euphoria as she squeezed out the record breaking vaginal emission. I pumped my fist in celebration.
I looked over and saw my dad's face full of a joy. It was the first bonding experience we had as grown men. I have spoke to guys that talk about having their first beer with their dad, but my dad doesn't drink. We bonded as men listening to world queefing history being made.
A few days ago my sister's lapdog was having some digestive problems and broke wind in my face. My eyes filled up with tears, and it wasn't because of the gaseous fecal matter sprayed in my face. It sounded like the record breaking queef that I heard that day bonding with my father.
Hey, call me an old softy but the sound of weak flatulent emissions of any kind gets me nostalgic.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
"Your face is a _____________"
A few years ago my friend had a verbal altercation that changed our lives forever. It seemed like your garden variety ranking session but the ultimate comeback was born. Let me show you a reenactment:
Friend 1: "I think Joan River's daughter Melissa is smoking hot."
Friend 2: "Are you on crack? Melissa Rivers is busted. You have no taste in women."
Friend 1: "You have no taste in women."
Friend 2: "That is a lame comeback."
Friend 1: "Your face is a lame comeback."
Friend 2: "Ummmm......ummmmm.....what?!"
See the brilliance in the "your face" comment? It is so incredibly dull and unfunny that it's absolutely devastating. You have such a short window of opportunity to comeback with something, and you're sitting there dumbfounded by how apparently bad the comeback is that it's actually brilliant. You actually flip the script on them by coming back with what apparently seems to be the worst comeback ever.
My friends told me about the conversation, and I instantly knew what Benjamin Franklin must have felt like when that kite with the key singed the hair off his balls.
I instantly waited for my opportunity to put it to the test.
Friend: "You look gay in that pink shirt."
Declan: "Oh, do I? I think I look rather fetching?"
Friend: "No, you looking like a flaming homosexual."(I knew this was my shot)
Declan: "Your face is a flaming homosexual!"
The dude looked like Chuck Norris kicked him square in the temple. His brain was on sensory overload. It was insanely clever in its simplicity.
Friend: "Umm....uhhh...what? My face is a homosexual? That might be the worst comeback I ever heard!"
Declan: "Your face is a worst."
Friend: "THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!"
Declan: "Your face is a sense."
Now he was irate, but his mind tried to fight fire with fire.
Friend: "Your face is a sense."
Declan: "Your face is a face."
His eyes got misty. I never felt so powerful in my life. This was some Jedi mind sh*t. He looked like Glass Joe getting hit by Mike Tyson punches.
For years we used the "your face" comeback and there was simply no retort. We tried focus groups and think tanks of some brilliant minds but there was no comeback.
Then one day we were talking to a young intern when he told us about a poor young adolescent who was having his sexuality questioned in a public forum of his peers. He raised up as rehearsed many times in his bedroom when someone called him gay and said, "You're gay in your pants."
EUREKA!!!
A comeback to rival the "your face" comeback! Jonas Salk cures polio and this girly guy comes up with "your ______ in your pants". Quite frankly, I don't think Jonas Salk has anything on this girly guy. That is simply brilliant. Just look at it in action:
Friend: "You're gay."
Declan: "Your face is a gay."
Friend: "Your gay in your pants!"
Normally I would be pushing over the other guy with a feather and collecting high fives after the "your face", but that was completely neutralized now with the "your gay in your pants" comeback.
The interesting thing is that it doesn't have to be "your gay in your pants". It is completely interchangeable. The one catch though is that it doesn't bridge the gender gap. It pretty much only works on other guys. It just doesn't have the same feel when referring to women unless it's a trans-gender.
The search goes on to bridge this gap. I will put in the hours until I find the solution.
The fact is the "your mother" comeback is just overplayed and not very creative. Plus, you're going to feel like an ass if you find someone who is motherless. Everyone has a face though, and you take a swing at their vanity. It's brilliant in it's simplicity.
The comeback has been mostly predominant in the northern NJ/NYC area, but has made its way to Ireland and Texas most recently. My eyes well up with pride when I think of the day when I turn on the nightly world news and see Arabs telling a Jew that his face is a Zionist and the Arab yelling back that he is Zionist in his pants.
I will know that I have made my impact in the world.
Friend 1: "I think Joan River's daughter Melissa is smoking hot."
Friend 2: "Are you on crack? Melissa Rivers is busted. You have no taste in women."
Friend 1: "You have no taste in women."
Friend 2: "That is a lame comeback."
Friend 1: "Your face is a lame comeback."
Friend 2: "Ummmm......ummmmm.....what?!"
See the brilliance in the "your face" comment? It is so incredibly dull and unfunny that it's absolutely devastating. You have such a short window of opportunity to comeback with something, and you're sitting there dumbfounded by how apparently bad the comeback is that it's actually brilliant. You actually flip the script on them by coming back with what apparently seems to be the worst comeback ever.
My friends told me about the conversation, and I instantly knew what Benjamin Franklin must have felt like when that kite with the key singed the hair off his balls.
I instantly waited for my opportunity to put it to the test.
Friend: "You look gay in that pink shirt."
Declan: "Oh, do I? I think I look rather fetching?"
Friend: "No, you looking like a flaming homosexual."(I knew this was my shot)
Declan: "Your face is a flaming homosexual!"
The dude looked like Chuck Norris kicked him square in the temple. His brain was on sensory overload. It was insanely clever in its simplicity.
Friend: "Umm....uhhh...what? My face is a homosexual? That might be the worst comeback I ever heard!"
Declan: "Your face is a worst."
Friend: "THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!"
Declan: "Your face is a sense."
Now he was irate, but his mind tried to fight fire with fire.
Friend: "Your face is a sense."
Declan: "Your face is a face."
His eyes got misty. I never felt so powerful in my life. This was some Jedi mind sh*t. He looked like Glass Joe getting hit by Mike Tyson punches.
For years we used the "your face" comeback and there was simply no retort. We tried focus groups and think tanks of some brilliant minds but there was no comeback.
Then one day we were talking to a young intern when he told us about a poor young adolescent who was having his sexuality questioned in a public forum of his peers. He raised up as rehearsed many times in his bedroom when someone called him gay and said, "You're gay in your pants."
EUREKA!!!
A comeback to rival the "your face" comeback! Jonas Salk cures polio and this girly guy comes up with "your ______ in your pants". Quite frankly, I don't think Jonas Salk has anything on this girly guy. That is simply brilliant. Just look at it in action:
Friend: "You're gay."
Declan: "Your face is a gay."
Friend: "Your gay in your pants!"
Normally I would be pushing over the other guy with a feather and collecting high fives after the "your face", but that was completely neutralized now with the "your gay in your pants" comeback.
The interesting thing is that it doesn't have to be "your gay in your pants". It is completely interchangeable. The one catch though is that it doesn't bridge the gender gap. It pretty much only works on other guys. It just doesn't have the same feel when referring to women unless it's a trans-gender.
The search goes on to bridge this gap. I will put in the hours until I find the solution.
The fact is the "your mother" comeback is just overplayed and not very creative. Plus, you're going to feel like an ass if you find someone who is motherless. Everyone has a face though, and you take a swing at their vanity. It's brilliant in it's simplicity.
The comeback has been mostly predominant in the northern NJ/NYC area, but has made its way to Ireland and Texas most recently. My eyes well up with pride when I think of the day when I turn on the nightly world news and see Arabs telling a Jew that his face is a Zionist and the Arab yelling back that he is Zionist in his pants.
I will know that I have made my impact in the world.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Dew Point
One of my biggest pet peeves is when the weatherman gives the complete weather forecast and neglects to tell me the dew point. It makes me so mad that I have a hole in my wall because of it.
You couldn't find two seconds to tell me at what temperature that the beads of condensation will be forming on my soft drink so I can set my thermostat accordingly? Hey Willard Scott, why don't you forget about these wrinkled old wastes of space for one minute and tell me what the damn dew point is! I mean is that asking too much?
I am so blind with rage right now thinking about all the times that these narcissistic pretty boys chose to banter with the anchorman rather than give me the damn dew point. I need to go self medicate. All of this could have been avoided if you just told me the damn dew point.
You couldn't find two seconds to tell me at what temperature that the beads of condensation will be forming on my soft drink so I can set my thermostat accordingly? Hey Willard Scott, why don't you forget about these wrinkled old wastes of space for one minute and tell me what the damn dew point is! I mean is that asking too much?
I am so blind with rage right now thinking about all the times that these narcissistic pretty boys chose to banter with the anchorman rather than give me the damn dew point. I need to go self medicate. All of this could have been avoided if you just told me the damn dew point.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Boob Honk Saved My Life
It's almost 4 years to the day that a simple quick grab and release of an acquaintance's mammary gland while mimicking a car horn saved my life. Let me set the stage for you.
It was a cold February day as I went to my local watering hole to wet my whistle until my friend's were going to meet me there to celebrate my friend's birthday. I figured I would moderately sip on some suds while I waited for the party to arrive. However, the bartenders were experimenting concoctions of alcohol and decided to use me as the guinea pig, not in the Richard Gere gay way, but in the experimental way.
I had already reenacted my 21st birthday by the time the rest of the party arrived and was feeling rather merry. I then drank enough shots with the rest of the party goers that would have taken me into my golden years. The bar portion of the evening was rather splotchy to say the least but recall slurring grunts at a young lady that caught my eye.
I once heard of a theory that if you gave a bunch of monkeys a typewriter that in time one of them was bound to type a work of Shakespeare. Well my incoherent babbling must have rivaled that because the exact combination of slurred grunts helped make me a new lady friend.
The festivities came to an end as we went outside to hail a cab. My friends were shocked to see me behind them as they thought I was a sure thing to escort this young lady home. We disagreed strongly as to the possibility of that happening to the point that they were physically pushing me back towards the bar. A cab pulled up as my friends jumped in.
A size 16 shoe kicked me in the sternum as I tried to get in. The door closed, and I jumped on the back of the cab and banged on the back window begging them to let me in. I later found out that my friends told the cab driver that I was some crazy street urchin and didn't know who I was. I found it ironic that the very friends who begged me not to procreate were now practicing tough love so I could fornicate with a young lady.
As I dusted myself off, I noticed that my new lady friend had followed me out of the bar and was now watching me. She looked rather confused and said, "Do you want to get something to eat?" Sounded like a great idea to me.
I guess the sight of me eating a reuben grill kicked her libido into overdrive. She reached over to wipe the thousand island dressing off my chin and soon we were making out like a bunch of drunken freshmen at a frat party. She suggested we take a cab back to her place, and that sounded better than my suggestion of splitting some pecan pie.
She pealed my face off of the taxi window when we arrived at her block which appeared to be in the middle of downtown Baghdad. I had some more reservations when we got to the door of her apartment which was guarded by an extra metal gate and numerous locks.
Things picked up in her living room. I was rather inebriated and stumbled out of the batters box, turned my ankle rounding first base but was heading into second when I got the stop sign. "Do you know my name?"
I'm guessing at some time during the night she had told me her name, but I had no idea for the life of me as to what it was. Her eyes soon began to fill with rage with each passing second as I stared blankly at her. My first reaction was to laugh and lunge in thinking she might forget about it as soon as she tasted my Thousand Island drenched tongue in her mouth again.
I judged wrong. She was irate. My next plan of action was to guess her name by what she looks like. She looked like a Deborah to me but soon found out I was mistaken.
Now this Deborah-looking girl lived up to the Shakespeare saying that hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. I knew that if I didn't act fast that I would be sent half drunk and dazed onto the streets of what appeared to be Baghdad.
I had to act fast.
I instantly grabbed her boob and squeezed as I said, "HONK!"
She glared at me with death in her eyes as she said, "Did you just fu*king honk my boob?"
"Yes," I said. "Get it? Like it's a car horn? Isn't that hilarious?"
"Are you mentally challenged or something?" she said.
"Come on," I said. "That is hilarious." I then grabbed it again and said, "Honk."
By now she was irate. However, she was so stunned that I honked her boob that she had completely forgotten about the fact that I forgot her name. I then yawned as she was still dazed and suggested we go to bed.
There would be no fornication for me that night, but it saved me from walking through downtown Baghdad in a heavily inebriated state. I am sure I wouldn't have been typing this now if it were not for my quick thinking and boob honking.
I then waited until she was out for the count and searched her house for any clues as to her moniker. I found a diploma on the wall of her room and found out that her name was Michelle, and she was none the wiser. I slept like a baby that night.
The next morning, she woke up and asked me if I had really forgot her name. I said, "Michelle, do you honestly think for a minute that I forgot your name?" She then even felt a little guilty for accusing me and then made me eggs.
Moral of the story: the next time a woman is mad at you, honk her boob. She will completely forget what she was mad about or at least buy you some time.
It was a cold February day as I went to my local watering hole to wet my whistle until my friend's were going to meet me there to celebrate my friend's birthday. I figured I would moderately sip on some suds while I waited for the party to arrive. However, the bartenders were experimenting concoctions of alcohol and decided to use me as the guinea pig, not in the Richard Gere gay way, but in the experimental way.
I had already reenacted my 21st birthday by the time the rest of the party arrived and was feeling rather merry. I then drank enough shots with the rest of the party goers that would have taken me into my golden years. The bar portion of the evening was rather splotchy to say the least but recall slurring grunts at a young lady that caught my eye.
I once heard of a theory that if you gave a bunch of monkeys a typewriter that in time one of them was bound to type a work of Shakespeare. Well my incoherent babbling must have rivaled that because the exact combination of slurred grunts helped make me a new lady friend.
The festivities came to an end as we went outside to hail a cab. My friends were shocked to see me behind them as they thought I was a sure thing to escort this young lady home. We disagreed strongly as to the possibility of that happening to the point that they were physically pushing me back towards the bar. A cab pulled up as my friends jumped in.
A size 16 shoe kicked me in the sternum as I tried to get in. The door closed, and I jumped on the back of the cab and banged on the back window begging them to let me in. I later found out that my friends told the cab driver that I was some crazy street urchin and didn't know who I was. I found it ironic that the very friends who begged me not to procreate were now practicing tough love so I could fornicate with a young lady.
As I dusted myself off, I noticed that my new lady friend had followed me out of the bar and was now watching me. She looked rather confused and said, "Do you want to get something to eat?" Sounded like a great idea to me.
I guess the sight of me eating a reuben grill kicked her libido into overdrive. She reached over to wipe the thousand island dressing off my chin and soon we were making out like a bunch of drunken freshmen at a frat party. She suggested we take a cab back to her place, and that sounded better than my suggestion of splitting some pecan pie.
She pealed my face off of the taxi window when we arrived at her block which appeared to be in the middle of downtown Baghdad. I had some more reservations when we got to the door of her apartment which was guarded by an extra metal gate and numerous locks.
Things picked up in her living room. I was rather inebriated and stumbled out of the batters box, turned my ankle rounding first base but was heading into second when I got the stop sign. "Do you know my name?"
I'm guessing at some time during the night she had told me her name, but I had no idea for the life of me as to what it was. Her eyes soon began to fill with rage with each passing second as I stared blankly at her. My first reaction was to laugh and lunge in thinking she might forget about it as soon as she tasted my Thousand Island drenched tongue in her mouth again.
I judged wrong. She was irate. My next plan of action was to guess her name by what she looks like. She looked like a Deborah to me but soon found out I was mistaken.
Now this Deborah-looking girl lived up to the Shakespeare saying that hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. I knew that if I didn't act fast that I would be sent half drunk and dazed onto the streets of what appeared to be Baghdad.
I had to act fast.
I instantly grabbed her boob and squeezed as I said, "HONK!"
She glared at me with death in her eyes as she said, "Did you just fu*king honk my boob?"
"Yes," I said. "Get it? Like it's a car horn? Isn't that hilarious?"
"Are you mentally challenged or something?" she said.
"Come on," I said. "That is hilarious." I then grabbed it again and said, "Honk."
By now she was irate. However, she was so stunned that I honked her boob that she had completely forgotten about the fact that I forgot her name. I then yawned as she was still dazed and suggested we go to bed.
There would be no fornication for me that night, but it saved me from walking through downtown Baghdad in a heavily inebriated state. I am sure I wouldn't have been typing this now if it were not for my quick thinking and boob honking.
I then waited until she was out for the count and searched her house for any clues as to her moniker. I found a diploma on the wall of her room and found out that her name was Michelle, and she was none the wiser. I slept like a baby that night.
The next morning, she woke up and asked me if I had really forgot her name. I said, "Michelle, do you honestly think for a minute that I forgot your name?" She then even felt a little guilty for accusing me and then made me eggs.
Moral of the story: the next time a woman is mad at you, honk her boob. She will completely forget what she was mad about or at least buy you some time.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Cat Calls Are a Hoot!
Back in my college days I worked summers humping furniture(both figuratively and literally) with a moving company. My dad got me the job, but every other guy there got the job through their parole officer. They often sat around and told old prison stories, and my stories of office detention for tardiness didn't quite measure up to their stories of anal rape and shankings. I had no street cred.
Then one day I found a way I could bond with them. I noticed that they like to shout lewd comments to women that passed by. I guess years of being locked in prison makes your standards drop significantly because it appeared that their only criteria was that they couldn't have a Y chromosome.
I observed a morbidly obese woman pass by as a co-worker by the name of Crackhead Daryl told her that he would manipulate the folds of her cellulite so that he could perform a sexual act on it. He then slapped me five and told me he wants to impregnate her. Crackhead Daryl's cousin suddenly took a liking to a senior citizen passing by on a scooter and painted quite a colorful picture as to what he would do to this lady and had rather creative ways of incorporating an adult diaper, colostomy bag and surgical tubing. I just hope that her miracle ear wasn't working
I was very careful to point out that their close rate didn't seem to be too high, and they told me that it was a numbers game and one was bound to eventually say yes. I then asked them how many they have closed in this manner. They instantly got mad and said that I would be sold as someone's bitch for 2 packs of cigarettes in the pen. I think I blew up their spot but felt it was a compliment in a weird way that they thought I was handsome enough to be somebody's bitch. Was I growing on them?
It was coffee break, and I was drinking some Mountain Dew and munching on my coffee cake when I saw a middle aged woman with varicose veins and a cleft pallet roll by. It was my time to show my co-workers that I was what they called "hood". I strolled out there and yelled to her, "I WANT TO DATE YOU EXCLUSIVELY!"
I thought I could be direct without being so vulgar, but the middle aged woman was less than impressed and laughed at me. My co-workers laughed at me and called me Opie Cunningham. I never did fit in that summer.
I am 0 for 34 so far with that line, but Crackhead Daryl said that it's all a numbers game. I know that it is due.
Then one day I found a way I could bond with them. I noticed that they like to shout lewd comments to women that passed by. I guess years of being locked in prison makes your standards drop significantly because it appeared that their only criteria was that they couldn't have a Y chromosome.
I observed a morbidly obese woman pass by as a co-worker by the name of Crackhead Daryl told her that he would manipulate the folds of her cellulite so that he could perform a sexual act on it. He then slapped me five and told me he wants to impregnate her. Crackhead Daryl's cousin suddenly took a liking to a senior citizen passing by on a scooter and painted quite a colorful picture as to what he would do to this lady and had rather creative ways of incorporating an adult diaper, colostomy bag and surgical tubing. I just hope that her miracle ear wasn't working
I was very careful to point out that their close rate didn't seem to be too high, and they told me that it was a numbers game and one was bound to eventually say yes. I then asked them how many they have closed in this manner. They instantly got mad and said that I would be sold as someone's bitch for 2 packs of cigarettes in the pen. I think I blew up their spot but felt it was a compliment in a weird way that they thought I was handsome enough to be somebody's bitch. Was I growing on them?
It was coffee break, and I was drinking some Mountain Dew and munching on my coffee cake when I saw a middle aged woman with varicose veins and a cleft pallet roll by. It was my time to show my co-workers that I was what they called "hood". I strolled out there and yelled to her, "I WANT TO DATE YOU EXCLUSIVELY!"
I thought I could be direct without being so vulgar, but the middle aged woman was less than impressed and laughed at me. My co-workers laughed at me and called me Opie Cunningham. I never did fit in that summer.
I am 0 for 34 so far with that line, but Crackhead Daryl said that it's all a numbers game. I know that it is due.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Brown Cable Box
One of the monumental moments of my life was when I was in the 6th grade, and my parents finally caved in and got cable. I ran home from school and saw that beautiful brown box with push buttons attached by a brown wire to the TV. I no longer had to get off of my couch to change the station or adjust the rabbit ears. I was finally living the good life.
I grabbed some pop rocks and fired up the TV to see a gorgeous woman by the name of Adam Curry on MTV announcing UB40 singing "Red Red Wine" in what they called a music video. I clicked for hours, and I swore I would never watch network TV again.
I had heard a rumor going around school that if you pressed 9 and 3 down at the same time then you would get the Playboy channel. I remember sitting there in my Vision skateboarding t-shirt and stonewashed jeans waiting for my parents to go to bed.
Then it happened!
The instant I pushed the buttons together I saw a split second of a nipple. It was the most glorious split second of my life. It was gone in a flash as it got scrambled. You could hear the commentary of what was going on, and every so often you would get a good 1-3 seconds of full frontal nudity. I would sit there for hours and probably see 20 seconds of nudity, but it was all worthwhile.
Soon the 9 and the 3 buttons were more worn than the other buttons, and I remember my embarrassment as I went to the parish priest for confession and said, "I lied to my parents. I lied to my teachers, and I am having impure thoughts about blurry women." I got three Hail Marys and all was good.
A few years later we would get a de-scrambler that let us get all the channels for free. By this time there was a channel called Spice which took things a lot further than Playboy.
I always remember the de-scrambler getting hot within five minutes, and have no idea how it didn't melt the TV. It was great for keeping my elios pizza warm though.
Every so often I like to get blind drunk at strip clubs. The girls get really blurry looking, and I get nostalgic for the days when the scrambled Playboy girls used to make me feel funny in my stonewashed jeans.
It would have been cool to see Adam Curry on Playboy. She was super hot. She was much hotter than Downtown Julie Brown.
I grabbed some pop rocks and fired up the TV to see a gorgeous woman by the name of Adam Curry on MTV announcing UB40 singing "Red Red Wine" in what they called a music video. I clicked for hours, and I swore I would never watch network TV again.
I had heard a rumor going around school that if you pressed 9 and 3 down at the same time then you would get the Playboy channel. I remember sitting there in my Vision skateboarding t-shirt and stonewashed jeans waiting for my parents to go to bed.
Then it happened!
The instant I pushed the buttons together I saw a split second of a nipple. It was the most glorious split second of my life. It was gone in a flash as it got scrambled. You could hear the commentary of what was going on, and every so often you would get a good 1-3 seconds of full frontal nudity. I would sit there for hours and probably see 20 seconds of nudity, but it was all worthwhile.
Soon the 9 and the 3 buttons were more worn than the other buttons, and I remember my embarrassment as I went to the parish priest for confession and said, "I lied to my parents. I lied to my teachers, and I am having impure thoughts about blurry women." I got three Hail Marys and all was good.
A few years later we would get a de-scrambler that let us get all the channels for free. By this time there was a channel called Spice which took things a lot further than Playboy.
I always remember the de-scrambler getting hot within five minutes, and have no idea how it didn't melt the TV. It was great for keeping my elios pizza warm though.
Every so often I like to get blind drunk at strip clubs. The girls get really blurry looking, and I get nostalgic for the days when the scrambled Playboy girls used to make me feel funny in my stonewashed jeans.
It would have been cool to see Adam Curry on Playboy. She was super hot. She was much hotter than Downtown Julie Brown.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Valentine's Day Panty Remover
It's Valentine's Day, and I'm a hopeless romantic. It's the day where men all over the country will be sending their very special ladies flowers, lingerie, candy and jewelry........yawn. Why would you do the old status quo when you can separate yourself from every other guy out there and have her feeling special. I'm going to show you how you can instantly become the love of her life.
February is one of the coldest months of the winter. Why not show your lady that you care for her well being. Buy her a pair of long johns and add some romantic flare by getting some with a floral design. Imagine all of her friends talking about getting lingerie and she comes in saying she got long underwear with a floral design. They will say, "Oh wow, he really cares about her well being and flowers are sexy. She is so lucky."
Chocolate has been done to death and only makes women feel guilty when they eat it. What is tasty and also makes your woman healthier? That's right, bran muffins. They are very high in fiber and will help keep her colon clean. It shows you care for her health, and she will have romantic thoughts about you every single time she has a bowel movement.
Diamond bracelets and bling are done to death. Copper bracelet screams practical and romantic. All arthritic old ladies wear these to help their swelled joints by increasing circulation. Imagine her excitement when she goes into work showing off her copper bracelet to all of the girls who got boring old gold and diamonds. And she will have an extra hop in her step with the increased circulation in her joints. That is another win-win.
Here is the cherry on top. Bring a copy of "The Mexican" to her house. Why? Because it has the two top components of every woman's fantasy--Brad Pitt and donkeys. The combo of both will get your special lady feeling rather randy.
Now splash on some Michael Jordan cologne and head over with floral long johns, bran muffins, copper bracelet and "The Mexican." Then let nature take its course.
Prepare to feel your ears getting warm the next morning because you will be the talk of her office. Keep your phone handy too. You can surely expect a romantic text from the toilet when the bran muffins kicks in.
I hope I helped make your Valentine's Day that much more special.
February is one of the coldest months of the winter. Why not show your lady that you care for her well being. Buy her a pair of long johns and add some romantic flare by getting some with a floral design. Imagine all of her friends talking about getting lingerie and she comes in saying she got long underwear with a floral design. They will say, "Oh wow, he really cares about her well being and flowers are sexy. She is so lucky."
Chocolate has been done to death and only makes women feel guilty when they eat it. What is tasty and also makes your woman healthier? That's right, bran muffins. They are very high in fiber and will help keep her colon clean. It shows you care for her health, and she will have romantic thoughts about you every single time she has a bowel movement.
Diamond bracelets and bling are done to death. Copper bracelet screams practical and romantic. All arthritic old ladies wear these to help their swelled joints by increasing circulation. Imagine her excitement when she goes into work showing off her copper bracelet to all of the girls who got boring old gold and diamonds. And she will have an extra hop in her step with the increased circulation in her joints. That is another win-win.
Here is the cherry on top. Bring a copy of "The Mexican" to her house. Why? Because it has the two top components of every woman's fantasy--Brad Pitt and donkeys. The combo of both will get your special lady feeling rather randy.
Now splash on some Michael Jordan cologne and head over with floral long johns, bran muffins, copper bracelet and "The Mexican." Then let nature take its course.
Prepare to feel your ears getting warm the next morning because you will be the talk of her office. Keep your phone handy too. You can surely expect a romantic text from the toilet when the bran muffins kicks in.
I hope I helped make your Valentine's Day that much more special.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Divine Intervention
April Fool's day is just around the corner, and you can pull the ultimate prank if you start today. What is more funny than convincing your loved ones that you have come under the influence of a radical religious cult? I know, the thought of your families being stressed thinking you have been brainwashed makes you laugh so hard that you do the peepee dance. Here is how it's done:
What you will need: an email address, bible quotes, bible jokes and a friend to help you, 6 foot hero and a few 30 packs
Phase 1: It's important to keep the status quo at first. Send some mass emails with some clean jokes or whatever. Start slowly and throw in "God Bless" before you type your name.
It isn't something worth mentioning but catches them off guard just slightly. This is what I call planting the seed. Now add water and give plenty of sunshine.
Phase 2: Tell your friends that you "met some cool people with some interesting ideas" that got you really thinking. This will get their minds churning.
Pick up the spirituality a little bit more in your emails i.e. add a bible verse to the sig file of your email. Ask your friend's if they watched any of the 700 Club or any other shows on the PAX network. Maybe mention that you think Pat Robertson is growing on you.
Your friends will now start talking amongst themselves asking if they notice anything different about you.
Phase 3: Email your friends and tell them that you gave up going out and prefer to stay home and read the bible with your new friends. Now it's time to pick it up a notch.
Get your friend that lives by you to start emailing your friends telling them that they see you hanging out with weird bible people and that you never shut up about Jesus and the day of reckoning. Then have him/her say that you asked them if they have "repented their sins and accepted the Jesus Christ as their savior".
Phase 4: Email your friends some bible jokes as if they are the funniest things you have ever heard. Here is a great example:
TOP 10 SIGNS YOU MAY NOT BE READING YOUR BIBLE ENOUGH
--10 The Preacher announces the sermon is from Galatians ... and you check the table of contents.
--9 You think Abraham, Isaac and Jacob may have had a few hit songs during the 60's.
--8 You open to the Gospel of Luke and a WWII Savings Bond falls out.
--7 Your favorite Old Testament patriarch is Hercules.
--6 A small family of woodchucks has taken up residence in Psalms.
--5 You become frustrated because Charlton Heston isn't listed in either the concordance or the table of contents.
--4 Catching the kids reading the Song of Solomon, you demand: "Who gave you this stuff?"
--3 You think the minor prophets worked in the quarries.
--2 You keep falling for it every time when pastor tells you to turn to First Condominiums.
And the No. 1 sign you may not be reading your Bible enough:
1) The kids keep asking too many questions about your usual bedtime story: "Jonah the Shepherd Boy and His Ark of Many Colors."
Wait a day or two for this to sink in and now email all your friends a religious e-card for no occasion whatsoever and ask them if they have repented their sins or any other creepy sayings. Have fun with this.
By now, your friends will all be talking about an intervention to deprogram you. Have your friend that is in on the joke take the lead.
Phase 5: Have your friend arrange the intervention. Get a 6 foot hero and a few 30 packs. Have them wait there and then come into the room in a black suit and bible in hand. Don't be alarmed that a few people are crying. Those frowns will soon be turned upside down.
Jump in the middle of the room and point your finger and say, "SUCKERS!"
They will soon catch on, and they will surely think it's a hoot. Slice up the hero and crack some beers. Have everyone tell their stories about sleepless nights and ulcers they developed when they thought you were brainwashed and lost forever. I'm sure they will laugh and laugh and laugh.
Nothing brings family and friends together like weddings, funerals and interventions preventing a loved one from devoting their life to a dangerous radical cult.
What you will need: an email address, bible quotes, bible jokes and a friend to help you, 6 foot hero and a few 30 packs
Phase 1: It's important to keep the status quo at first. Send some mass emails with some clean jokes or whatever. Start slowly and throw in "God Bless" before you type your name.
It isn't something worth mentioning but catches them off guard just slightly. This is what I call planting the seed. Now add water and give plenty of sunshine.
Phase 2: Tell your friends that you "met some cool people with some interesting ideas" that got you really thinking. This will get their minds churning.
Pick up the spirituality a little bit more in your emails i.e. add a bible verse to the sig file of your email. Ask your friend's if they watched any of the 700 Club or any other shows on the PAX network. Maybe mention that you think Pat Robertson is growing on you.
Your friends will now start talking amongst themselves asking if they notice anything different about you.
Phase 3: Email your friends and tell them that you gave up going out and prefer to stay home and read the bible with your new friends. Now it's time to pick it up a notch.
Get your friend that lives by you to start emailing your friends telling them that they see you hanging out with weird bible people and that you never shut up about Jesus and the day of reckoning. Then have him/her say that you asked them if they have "repented their sins and accepted the Jesus Christ as their savior".
Phase 4: Email your friends some bible jokes as if they are the funniest things you have ever heard. Here is a great example:
TOP 10 SIGNS YOU MAY NOT BE READING YOUR BIBLE ENOUGH
--10 The Preacher announces the sermon is from Galatians ... and you check the table of contents.
--9 You think Abraham, Isaac and Jacob may have had a few hit songs during the 60's.
--8 You open to the Gospel of Luke and a WWII Savings Bond falls out.
--7 Your favorite Old Testament patriarch is Hercules.
--6 A small family of woodchucks has taken up residence in Psalms.
--5 You become frustrated because Charlton Heston isn't listed in either the concordance or the table of contents.
--4 Catching the kids reading the Song of Solomon, you demand: "Who gave you this stuff?"
--3 You think the minor prophets worked in the quarries.
--2 You keep falling for it every time when pastor tells you to turn to First Condominiums.
And the No. 1 sign you may not be reading your Bible enough:
1) The kids keep asking too many questions about your usual bedtime story: "Jonah the Shepherd Boy and His Ark of Many Colors."
Wait a day or two for this to sink in and now email all your friends a religious e-card for no occasion whatsoever and ask them if they have repented their sins or any other creepy sayings. Have fun with this.
By now, your friends will all be talking about an intervention to deprogram you. Have your friend that is in on the joke take the lead.
Phase 5: Have your friend arrange the intervention. Get a 6 foot hero and a few 30 packs. Have them wait there and then come into the room in a black suit and bible in hand. Don't be alarmed that a few people are crying. Those frowns will soon be turned upside down.
Jump in the middle of the room and point your finger and say, "SUCKERS!"
They will soon catch on, and they will surely think it's a hoot. Slice up the hero and crack some beers. Have everyone tell their stories about sleepless nights and ulcers they developed when they thought you were brainwashed and lost forever. I'm sure they will laugh and laugh and laugh.
Nothing brings family and friends together like weddings, funerals and interventions preventing a loved one from devoting their life to a dangerous radical cult.
Monday, February 11, 2008
By Any Means Necessary
I had a roommate in college that seemed to be drawn to a certain young lady like a drunken sailor to the sirens of yore. There was no stopping him. The funny thing is that he despised her very existence when sober.
When the alcohol wore off then so did the spell. He told me to not let him go home with her no matter what the circumstances. However, when he had a few beam and gingers in him then he was lured to her again. I politely stepped in to get him away but his eyes were locked in, and he told me everything was okay. Off into the night again he was under her spell.
The next morning he came in looking at me like he was a morbidly obese boy, and I was the bastard that just replaced his McDonald's milkshake with a slimfast. He berated me for letting me go home with her. He then told me to not let him go home with her again and to use "any means necessary".
A week later we were at our local watering hole when she came in. I saw his eyes light up, and he almost floated on air over to her kind of like how you would see cartoons being drawn in by the aroma of a fresh baked pie. He had that comatose zombie look on his face and knew that reasoning would be about as useful as putting preperaion-h on a canker sore.
What was I to do?
I noticed him standing by a pillar, and I knew I had to act fast. I was off like a shot and hit a dead sprint. I finally rammed my shoulder into his sternum and heard his back smacking against the brick pillar. We both plummeted to the ground, and soon after I looked over to see him chuckling.
The hit broke his spell. I looked up and saw her rather puzzled as she saw two grown men laughing in pain on the floor. She looked dazed as she walked off, but the spell was never more.
Wow. I think I just wrote my first children's book.
When the alcohol wore off then so did the spell. He told me to not let him go home with her no matter what the circumstances. However, when he had a few beam and gingers in him then he was lured to her again. I politely stepped in to get him away but his eyes were locked in, and he told me everything was okay. Off into the night again he was under her spell.
The next morning he came in looking at me like he was a morbidly obese boy, and I was the bastard that just replaced his McDonald's milkshake with a slimfast. He berated me for letting me go home with her. He then told me to not let him go home with her again and to use "any means necessary".
A week later we were at our local watering hole when she came in. I saw his eyes light up, and he almost floated on air over to her kind of like how you would see cartoons being drawn in by the aroma of a fresh baked pie. He had that comatose zombie look on his face and knew that reasoning would be about as useful as putting preperaion-h on a canker sore.
What was I to do?
I noticed him standing by a pillar, and I knew I had to act fast. I was off like a shot and hit a dead sprint. I finally rammed my shoulder into his sternum and heard his back smacking against the brick pillar. We both plummeted to the ground, and soon after I looked over to see him chuckling.
The hit broke his spell. I looked up and saw her rather puzzled as she saw two grown men laughing in pain on the floor. She looked dazed as she walked off, but the spell was never more.
Wow. I think I just wrote my first children's book.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Are You On Steroids?
I've been working out hard the last few weeks trying to get into shape. I have a pretty tough regimen, and my leotards and leg warmers are usually drenched with sweat after I'm done. I even overheard some family members describing me as "a little light in the loafers." I wasn't wearing loafers but think they were referring to the new leaner and meaner version of me.
Anyway, a few weeks ago I was on a date, and things started to escalate as we prepared to make sexy time in the bedroom.
We strip down and finally she says, "Wow! You must be on steroids."
So, I'm flattered thinking my Denise Austin DVD is starting to pay dividends.
Flexing I say, "Why? Because my physique is so ripped?"
"No," she says. "Because you have no balls, a shriveled penis and back acne."
Anyway, a few weeks ago I was on a date, and things started to escalate as we prepared to make sexy time in the bedroom.
We strip down and finally she says, "Wow! You must be on steroids."
So, I'm flattered thinking my Denise Austin DVD is starting to pay dividends.
Flexing I say, "Why? Because my physique is so ripped?"
"No," she says. "Because you have no balls, a shriveled penis and back acne."
Friday, February 8, 2008
Members Only Jacket
Has there ever been an article of clothing that has had more of an aphrodisiac quality than the Members Only jacket? I'm inclined to believe the theory that the Reagan administration slowly tried to take the circulation of Members Only jackets to a minimum to keep the population down. There is just something about that jacket that gets the ladies feeling randy.
My theory is that the shoulder straps resemble fallopian tubes and the rest of the jacket resembles a uterus leading women to think of reproduction. It also doesn't hurt that they look damn cool. They are even more seductive when worn with a Tom Selleck mustache, a perm and/or blue blocker sunglasses.
Whatever the reason, your chances of fornicating with a hot young vixen grows quite high when you adorn this masculine garment with mysterious seductive qualities. I have seen the graphs, and your chances are exponentially higher when wearing one.
Does anyone know where I can find one? Thanks to Reagan, I probably have a better chance of getting my hands on some Cuban cigars than I do on finding a Members Only jacket. I want to give the look some modern flare by maybe adding some stunner shades. I put on a dash of Michael Jordan cologne and the dames will be on my like white on rice.
I dream one day of painting the town red in my Members Only jacket. I will of course need to get it scotch guarded to protect it from the bodily fluids that will inevitably be flying around. Bottom line: chicks want to have sexual intercourse with men in Members Only jackets.
My theory is that the shoulder straps resemble fallopian tubes and the rest of the jacket resembles a uterus leading women to think of reproduction. It also doesn't hurt that they look damn cool. They are even more seductive when worn with a Tom Selleck mustache, a perm and/or blue blocker sunglasses.
Whatever the reason, your chances of fornicating with a hot young vixen grows quite high when you adorn this masculine garment with mysterious seductive qualities. I have seen the graphs, and your chances are exponentially higher when wearing one.
Does anyone know where I can find one? Thanks to Reagan, I probably have a better chance of getting my hands on some Cuban cigars than I do on finding a Members Only jacket. I want to give the look some modern flare by maybe adding some stunner shades. I put on a dash of Michael Jordan cologne and the dames will be on my like white on rice.
I dream one day of painting the town red in my Members Only jacket. I will of course need to get it scotch guarded to protect it from the bodily fluids that will inevitably be flying around. Bottom line: chicks want to have sexual intercourse with men in Members Only jackets.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
James Taylor Is A Douche Bag
To many this prolific singer-songwriter is a national treasure, but to me he is a douche bag who I often daydream about punching in the breadbasket. Many people see him sitting on a stool and singing "Fire and Rain" as he strokes his acoustic guitar and are instantly put at ease. Not me, I want to take his acoustic guitar and break it over his head. Sometimes when I have a hard time opening a jar I just imagine that it's James Taylor's head and it twists right off.
Is my hatred of James Taylor irrational? Of course it is. I am sure he is a very nice man, but I can't help wanting to deliver a roundhouse kick to his forehead as he sings "Carolina On My Mind".
It took me some reflection as I sat on the can one day when I had an "aha" moment that I have heard Oprah talks about. I am an avid armchair psychotherapist.
My father was a huge fan of capital punishment growing up. One time I inadvertently "broke wind" while at Mass. The acoustics of the church made the sound carry and the pew shook so hard that it could have been measured on the Richter scale. My dad kept a solemn face on even though the smell was putrid. I knew I would get it when I got home, and all I remember is my mother and he arguing about my diet and saying we were lucky for not being excommunicated.
I do remember the singapore-esque caning to be accompanied by the soundtrack of one James Taylor playing in the background. Therefore, I anchor my feelings of injustice, pain and poor digestion to James Taylor. Take that Freud!
I know my feelings towards James Taylor aren't warranted, but the man fills me with rage. I am sure you're a nice man Mr. Taylor but stay out of my way. I will pummel you if you cross my path
Is my hatred of James Taylor irrational? Of course it is. I am sure he is a very nice man, but I can't help wanting to deliver a roundhouse kick to his forehead as he sings "Carolina On My Mind".
It took me some reflection as I sat on the can one day when I had an "aha" moment that I have heard Oprah talks about. I am an avid armchair psychotherapist.
My father was a huge fan of capital punishment growing up. One time I inadvertently "broke wind" while at Mass. The acoustics of the church made the sound carry and the pew shook so hard that it could have been measured on the Richter scale. My dad kept a solemn face on even though the smell was putrid. I knew I would get it when I got home, and all I remember is my mother and he arguing about my diet and saying we were lucky for not being excommunicated.
I do remember the singapore-esque caning to be accompanied by the soundtrack of one James Taylor playing in the background. Therefore, I anchor my feelings of injustice, pain and poor digestion to James Taylor. Take that Freud!
I know my feelings towards James Taylor aren't warranted, but the man fills me with rage. I am sure you're a nice man Mr. Taylor but stay out of my way. I will pummel you if you cross my path
"What's The Score?"
This question comes up often. You can be at a sports bar or at a friend's house when someone walks in and asks that. Here is a fun way to respond:
Person: "Hey, what's the score?"
Then I look at them as if it is the dumbest question ever and say, "That's the second and last album by The Fugees. Go google these stupid questions because I am trying to watch the game."
It's a hoot! Most times they will be mad, but I find it humorous when I fill people with rage.
Person: "Hey, what's the score?"
Then I look at them as if it is the dumbest question ever and say, "That's the second and last album by The Fugees. Go google these stupid questions because I am trying to watch the game."
It's a hoot! Most times they will be mad, but I find it humorous when I fill people with rage.
Monday, February 4, 2008
CPR Dummy Made Me a Man
I was watching the scene where Rabbit in 8 Mile is getting ready to go on stage and had memories of my High School sex education class rushing back to me. My stomach was full of butterflies and palms sweaty as my turn was next to simulate sex with the CPR dummy for the final exam. Remember how nerve racking it was when you had to do it?
My friend Skippy had his heads buried in his hands next to me as he got an Incomplete because the pressure got to him and couldn't hoist the main sail. I was watching my friend Marty as he gyrated his hips from side to side instead of the traditional up and down humping motion. Coach Robinson instantly diagnosed Marty as being dyslexic and sent him down to the "Rainbow Room".
The week before we had what Coach called a dry run. There weren't enough girls to go around so some guys had to pair up. I unfortunately got paired up with Ming Lu, a Chinese exchange student with a very deep voice, and had to wear a yellow vest symbolizing that I would be the girl in the relationship. Ming's dry humping was rather disturbing, and his jeans made my inner thighs chafe.
Coach blew his whistle and called my name. It went bad from the start as the cuff in my jeans got caught on the edge of the desk. I shook like a leaf the whole time until Coach blew his whistle. Coach's criticism was constructive, and he told me to not use my teeth in the real world when trying to get her bra off and to think about baseball. It is Coach that made me the world class lover I am today.
To this day, just a glimpse of a CPR dummy gives me the tingles as I think back to the day where that CPR dummy took a pale uncoordinated boy as she set him on the journey of becoming the masterful lover who has been documented to last up to 7 minutes.
I was surprised when I recently found out that the after school tutoring sessions by the custodian weren't sanctioned by the school. I guess Jack was one of those kind old men that liked to see young boys through difficult times. He took time out from his schedule to teach me, and it brings a tear to my eye to think that there are selfless and caring old men like that out there. He even offered to replace the Coed Naked t-shirt that he stained.
Well I am sure we all have some funny stories from simulating intercourse with the CPR dummy in High School health class. Those were the days right?
My friend Skippy had his heads buried in his hands next to me as he got an Incomplete because the pressure got to him and couldn't hoist the main sail. I was watching my friend Marty as he gyrated his hips from side to side instead of the traditional up and down humping motion. Coach Robinson instantly diagnosed Marty as being dyslexic and sent him down to the "Rainbow Room".
The week before we had what Coach called a dry run. There weren't enough girls to go around so some guys had to pair up. I unfortunately got paired up with Ming Lu, a Chinese exchange student with a very deep voice, and had to wear a yellow vest symbolizing that I would be the girl in the relationship. Ming's dry humping was rather disturbing, and his jeans made my inner thighs chafe.
Coach blew his whistle and called my name. It went bad from the start as the cuff in my jeans got caught on the edge of the desk. I shook like a leaf the whole time until Coach blew his whistle. Coach's criticism was constructive, and he told me to not use my teeth in the real world when trying to get her bra off and to think about baseball. It is Coach that made me the world class lover I am today.
To this day, just a glimpse of a CPR dummy gives me the tingles as I think back to the day where that CPR dummy took a pale uncoordinated boy as she set him on the journey of becoming the masterful lover who has been documented to last up to 7 minutes.
I was surprised when I recently found out that the after school tutoring sessions by the custodian weren't sanctioned by the school. I guess Jack was one of those kind old men that liked to see young boys through difficult times. He took time out from his schedule to teach me, and it brings a tear to my eye to think that there are selfless and caring old men like that out there. He even offered to replace the Coed Naked t-shirt that he stained.
Well I am sure we all have some funny stories from simulating intercourse with the CPR dummy in High School health class. Those were the days right?
Sunday, February 3, 2008
When Did The Super Bowl Become Metrosexual?
What the hell happened to the Super Bowl? I was flipping around to see what was on and saw that the pre game started at 2pm so thought I would enjoy some great analytical pre game and sports talk. I thought my cable box was broken when I saw Ryan Seacrest standing on a red carpet. Is this E? Hell no, it was the pre game.
"What the frick?" as my Mormon coworkers used to say.
Ryan Seacrest should never be associated with anything football related and the only red carpet at the super bowl should be soaked in blood. I felt the testosterone in my body depleting more and more with every minute that I watched.
I started watching at 2 PM as a virile red blooded American that enjoys the company of women. An hour passed and found myself checking out my fingernails thinking I could use a manicure. 4:30 comes around and I want to exfoliate my skin, shape my eyebrows and and talk about my feelings. I am watching football and am slowly becoming gay!
I have a friend that went to an Oscar party last year and told him he was pretty gay for doing so. I have no room to speak anymore after watching the Super Bowl pre game. A few hours have passed since the game ended, but I still have the urge now to watch The Hills.
I have nothing against gays or metrosexuals. To each their own. Please leave me the super bowl though.
Other random thoughts from the game:
I hate both teams but love football, and that was one of the best games I have seen in a while.
Tiki Barber is a whiny self-absorbed bitch, and it makes me happy that he sat at home with his thumb up his ass as this team achieved everything he said they couldn't.
I took part in a super bowl box but didn't want to know what numbers I had until after the game. I had a feeling it would be a great game and it was. It can get kind of annoying in the middle of an epic game and people are rooting for a safety at the end of the half.
Alicia Keys is hot and snapped me out of my momentary homosexuality caused by the pre game nancy boy antics.
Eli reinvented himself in the last 2 months. He went from zero to hero.
I want to incorporate hot sauce and blue cheese dressing into my love life. I don't want to hear her crying about potential urinary tract infections or .......
Oh snap!
My heterosexuality is 100% back now. I just had a mental image of Erin Andrews smothered in blue cheese and hot sauce with the gentle melodic espn theme music playing in the background.
Wow, that makes me feel randy.
Take care all!
"What the frick?" as my Mormon coworkers used to say.
Ryan Seacrest should never be associated with anything football related and the only red carpet at the super bowl should be soaked in blood. I felt the testosterone in my body depleting more and more with every minute that I watched.
I started watching at 2 PM as a virile red blooded American that enjoys the company of women. An hour passed and found myself checking out my fingernails thinking I could use a manicure. 4:30 comes around and I want to exfoliate my skin, shape my eyebrows and and talk about my feelings. I am watching football and am slowly becoming gay!
I have a friend that went to an Oscar party last year and told him he was pretty gay for doing so. I have no room to speak anymore after watching the Super Bowl pre game. A few hours have passed since the game ended, but I still have the urge now to watch The Hills.
I have nothing against gays or metrosexuals. To each their own. Please leave me the super bowl though.
Other random thoughts from the game:
I hate both teams but love football, and that was one of the best games I have seen in a while.
Tiki Barber is a whiny self-absorbed bitch, and it makes me happy that he sat at home with his thumb up his ass as this team achieved everything he said they couldn't.
I took part in a super bowl box but didn't want to know what numbers I had until after the game. I had a feeling it would be a great game and it was. It can get kind of annoying in the middle of an epic game and people are rooting for a safety at the end of the half.
Alicia Keys is hot and snapped me out of my momentary homosexuality caused by the pre game nancy boy antics.
Eli reinvented himself in the last 2 months. He went from zero to hero.
I want to incorporate hot sauce and blue cheese dressing into my love life. I don't want to hear her crying about potential urinary tract infections or .......
Oh snap!
My heterosexuality is 100% back now. I just had a mental image of Erin Andrews smothered in blue cheese and hot sauce with the gentle melodic espn theme music playing in the background.
Wow, that makes me feel randy.
Take care all!
Friday, February 1, 2008
C*ck Blocking is a Hoot!
I am not quite sure when it started, but my friends and I have made a game out of preventing each other from having sexual relations. It's a really fun game except for the fact that it usually results in not having sex. Looking back, I am amazed at how the game has developed through the years. Here is how it went on in the early years:
Myself: "Hey, do you like Donkeys?"
Female: "Oh my god, I LOOOOVE Donkeys. You know what I love most about donkeys? blah blah blan"
Myself: "Yes, they are fascinating and amazing creatures..."
Just as I start to capitalize on the moment I feel a sudden kick to my glutes with the force of an Ivan Drago punch as documented in Rocky 4. I turn around to see my Asian friend has just completed a Chuck Norris style roundhouse kick to my tailbone. What is a man to do?
Instant retaliation of course. I drop the girl in a heartbeat and proceed to chase the culprit and completely ignore my potential soulmate.
Roundhouse kick to the ass seemed to be our favorite move for a while. You can get a lot of torgue and the pain is instantaneous. Ironically, a punch to the balls isn't nearly as fun because you have that 30 seconds before the pain sets in so your friend can save face in front of the girl and walk away. What is the fun in that?
Most mornings I would wake up with a hangover, bruised tailbone and blue balls. The game evolved though.
The roundhouse kick soon became passe. I wanted a signature move so I took to actually climbing bar stools and leaping towards my friend ala Jimmy Super Fly Snooka and would take out my friend with a flying forearm shiver. You should have seen the look on the girls faces as they saw a caucasian leaping from the sky and knocking down their gentleman caller(my track coach told me I had natural leaping ability).
Next came the dry hump. This is timeless and still one of my favorites. Wait until your friend has built rapport and move in. Just as numbers are about to be exhanged, sneak over to your friend and dry hump him like you're a dog with a throbbing red rocket. The look on their faces will be priceless. There is no way to talk your way out of this one.
We then started the advanced cock block, and this is brilliant fun. Let your friend get comfortable to the point where he goes on a date or two with a girl. Your friend finds a girl he actually likes and does everything right. He acts aloof and his pimp hand is strong. There definitely seems to be mutual interest and long term potential, but it is still at a highly volatile stage. Here are some of my favorites lines to say which you should try this weekend:
"Hey, all my friend does is talk about you all the time. His nickname for you is 'The One'. He told me to prepare my best man's speech."
"Oh my God. He never shuts up about you. It's always (insert name here) this or (insert name here) that. (insert name here) is the coolest and hottest girl ever."
"I am so glad he is giving women a shot again. He has done more than his share of experimenting in college and beyond. Maybe now he can throw out those leather chaps."
"So are you going to be the next girl calling him a hundred times asking him why it burns when you pee now?"
I mean the possibilities are endless, and feel free to mix and match or add some. I want to talk to an MIT grad to maybe develop a C*ck block rating comparable to the QB rating that they use in the NFL. Maybe use the scale of the girl from 1-10 with style points for degree of difficulty.
Sometimes when I am sitting there not having sexual relations, I think back to all the times that my friends ruined my chances of fornicating with hot women and laugh and laugh and laugh. To this day I still tense up any time that I speak to a beautiful woman. No, it's not the fear of rejection. It's mostly my body tensing up to protect myself from an imminent blow to the body. I guess it's kind of like Pavlov's dog.
So have a great weekend and enjoy denying your friends of sexual pleasure. It will be a hoot.
Myself: "Hey, do you like Donkeys?"
Female: "Oh my god, I LOOOOVE Donkeys. You know what I love most about donkeys? blah blah blan"
Myself: "Yes, they are fascinating and amazing creatures..."
Just as I start to capitalize on the moment I feel a sudden kick to my glutes with the force of an Ivan Drago punch as documented in Rocky 4. I turn around to see my Asian friend has just completed a Chuck Norris style roundhouse kick to my tailbone. What is a man to do?
Instant retaliation of course. I drop the girl in a heartbeat and proceed to chase the culprit and completely ignore my potential soulmate.
Roundhouse kick to the ass seemed to be our favorite move for a while. You can get a lot of torgue and the pain is instantaneous. Ironically, a punch to the balls isn't nearly as fun because you have that 30 seconds before the pain sets in so your friend can save face in front of the girl and walk away. What is the fun in that?
Most mornings I would wake up with a hangover, bruised tailbone and blue balls. The game evolved though.
The roundhouse kick soon became passe. I wanted a signature move so I took to actually climbing bar stools and leaping towards my friend ala Jimmy Super Fly Snooka and would take out my friend with a flying forearm shiver. You should have seen the look on the girls faces as they saw a caucasian leaping from the sky and knocking down their gentleman caller(my track coach told me I had natural leaping ability).
Next came the dry hump. This is timeless and still one of my favorites. Wait until your friend has built rapport and move in. Just as numbers are about to be exhanged, sneak over to your friend and dry hump him like you're a dog with a throbbing red rocket. The look on their faces will be priceless. There is no way to talk your way out of this one.
We then started the advanced cock block, and this is brilliant fun. Let your friend get comfortable to the point where he goes on a date or two with a girl. Your friend finds a girl he actually likes and does everything right. He acts aloof and his pimp hand is strong. There definitely seems to be mutual interest and long term potential, but it is still at a highly volatile stage. Here are some of my favorites lines to say which you should try this weekend:
"Hey, all my friend does is talk about you all the time. His nickname for you is 'The One'. He told me to prepare my best man's speech."
"Oh my God. He never shuts up about you. It's always (insert name here) this or (insert name here) that. (insert name here) is the coolest and hottest girl ever."
"I am so glad he is giving women a shot again. He has done more than his share of experimenting in college and beyond. Maybe now he can throw out those leather chaps."
"So are you going to be the next girl calling him a hundred times asking him why it burns when you pee now?"
I mean the possibilities are endless, and feel free to mix and match or add some. I want to talk to an MIT grad to maybe develop a C*ck block rating comparable to the QB rating that they use in the NFL. Maybe use the scale of the girl from 1-10 with style points for degree of difficulty.
Sometimes when I am sitting there not having sexual relations, I think back to all the times that my friends ruined my chances of fornicating with hot women and laugh and laugh and laugh. To this day I still tense up any time that I speak to a beautiful woman. No, it's not the fear of rejection. It's mostly my body tensing up to protect myself from an imminent blow to the body. I guess it's kind of like Pavlov's dog.
So have a great weekend and enjoy denying your friends of sexual pleasure. It will be a hoot.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Speed Dating and Little People Tossing
So I am watching a TV show right now about a 2'6" woman who had a baby. The thing that caught my eye is that her boyfriend is a good 5'10". You would just think that birds of a feather flock together, but I actually heard a lot of men really have a thing for little women.
I guess I can see the benefits of dating little women. Their small apendages will make certain things look bigger on a man's body which can only lead to confidence. I also have another friend that points out that little women usually have onion booties. I had a college roommate who once copulated with a little person in public. I thought maybe she was just knealing but then saw her waddle away. He couldn't have been more thrilled and high fives all around. It's not my cup of tea but to each their own.
Earlier today I got an email about a speed dating evening that looked rather intriguing. I would no doubt be swarmed in ladies like moths to a flame after I use the Donkey ice breaker technique which I mentioned in an earlier post. It got me thinking though.
Where do all the little people go to find the average sized people that would love them? Why not put something like this together for them so they can all meet up with each other? I once read where people that go through strenuous physical activities actually form an everlasting bond. What about speed dating/little people tossing? A love connection followed up by an accelerated courtship.
I guess I am an old softy but the thought of an average sized man tossing his newfound lil' soulmate into a padded wall kind of gets me misty. Is there a more romantic image?
I guess I can see the benefits of dating little women. Their small apendages will make certain things look bigger on a man's body which can only lead to confidence. I also have another friend that points out that little women usually have onion booties. I had a college roommate who once copulated with a little person in public. I thought maybe she was just knealing but then saw her waddle away. He couldn't have been more thrilled and high fives all around. It's not my cup of tea but to each their own.
Earlier today I got an email about a speed dating evening that looked rather intriguing. I would no doubt be swarmed in ladies like moths to a flame after I use the Donkey ice breaker technique which I mentioned in an earlier post. It got me thinking though.
Where do all the little people go to find the average sized people that would love them? Why not put something like this together for them so they can all meet up with each other? I once read where people that go through strenuous physical activities actually form an everlasting bond. What about speed dating/little people tossing? A love connection followed up by an accelerated courtship.
I guess I am an old softy but the thought of an average sized man tossing his newfound lil' soulmate into a padded wall kind of gets me misty. Is there a more romantic image?
Ink
So I was just watching this show LA Ink on TV, and it really got me thinking about getting a tattoo again. What would I get?
People tend to get tattoos that mean a lot to them....shocker. It's usually a portrait of someone they know or some art that is symbolic to them. I think you should definitely stay away from any tribal bands or a tattoo with the name of your significant other(that always seems to be a jinx).
So what is symbolic of me? I really like jalapeno poppers but that would just make me constantly hungry. I really like black panthers ever since I saw Skeletor riding one on Heman but then I would just look like an albino black fundamentalist.
Then it hit me!
Why not get a tattoo that will impress someone in my life that I don't even know yet. I want my future lady to feel special so how could I do that?
Easy. I am going to get a tattoo on my pelvic bone that says "Out of Order". Maybe make it look like a yellow post-it you see on a broken vending machine. Then when we get intimate and it works then she will feel really special. You can say, "Hey, look what you did. It never works. Wow, you got the magic touch." Plus, if I drank too much Malibu and couldn't rise to the occasion then she won't be too upset because she would have read it on the post-it. Talk about covering your bets.
If she is Catholic maybe you can tell her it was a miracle that she pulled off and then write a letter to the pope documenting the miracle and telling him she should be the patron saint of erectile dysfunction. Then you can have a copy of the letter laminated and give it to her as a romantic gift. Can you imagine the pride she will feel as she brags to all her friends how she raised the dead?! She will be a hit of the Tupperware party.
I once wanted to get a tattoo on my "special purpose" that says "Oklahoma City, Oklahoma" so I would have the ultimate punchline at cocktail parties(no pun intended). The tattoo artist said he didn't have the instruments fine enough to complete the job but told me about a guy he saw on Ripley's Believe It or Not that writes poems on a grain of rice.
Anyhow, after a lot of googling I tracked down the rice writer and emailed him a picture of the "empty canvas" he would hopefully be working on. He wrote me back and told me to never talk to him again. Oh well, we all know how eccentric those artists can be.
I am open to any suggestions.
People tend to get tattoos that mean a lot to them....shocker. It's usually a portrait of someone they know or some art that is symbolic to them. I think you should definitely stay away from any tribal bands or a tattoo with the name of your significant other(that always seems to be a jinx).
So what is symbolic of me? I really like jalapeno poppers but that would just make me constantly hungry. I really like black panthers ever since I saw Skeletor riding one on Heman but then I would just look like an albino black fundamentalist.
Then it hit me!
Why not get a tattoo that will impress someone in my life that I don't even know yet. I want my future lady to feel special so how could I do that?
Easy. I am going to get a tattoo on my pelvic bone that says "Out of Order". Maybe make it look like a yellow post-it you see on a broken vending machine. Then when we get intimate and it works then she will feel really special. You can say, "Hey, look what you did. It never works. Wow, you got the magic touch." Plus, if I drank too much Malibu and couldn't rise to the occasion then she won't be too upset because she would have read it on the post-it. Talk about covering your bets.
If she is Catholic maybe you can tell her it was a miracle that she pulled off and then write a letter to the pope documenting the miracle and telling him she should be the patron saint of erectile dysfunction. Then you can have a copy of the letter laminated and give it to her as a romantic gift. Can you imagine the pride she will feel as she brags to all her friends how she raised the dead?! She will be a hit of the Tupperware party.
I once wanted to get a tattoo on my "special purpose" that says "Oklahoma City, Oklahoma" so I would have the ultimate punchline at cocktail parties(no pun intended). The tattoo artist said he didn't have the instruments fine enough to complete the job but told me about a guy he saw on Ripley's Believe It or Not that writes poems on a grain of rice.
Anyhow, after a lot of googling I tracked down the rice writer and emailed him a picture of the "empty canvas" he would hopefully be working on. He wrote me back and told me to never talk to him again. Oh well, we all know how eccentric those artists can be.
I am open to any suggestions.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Ladies Love Athletes
I am not sure why the ladies fall for athletes. I am sure it has to do something about survival of the fittest or some other crazy Darwin theory. I just accept it as a fact and see how I can utilize this.
The problem is that I don't look much like an athlete of any sort. My dad is built like Groundskeeper Willie, but I think that gene might be recessive. I am more on the doughy side. I had to get creative to work around this.
It was the fall of 1996 at West Virginia University at one of the colorful drinking establishments that turned a blind eye to the fact that I was just barely old enough to buy porn. My hormones were racing as two young gymnasts crossed my path. Every red blooded American man dreams of being with a gymnast, and I was no different. The mere sight of a pommel horse gives me the tingles. What is a "doughy" boy to do?
I chugged some Natural Light and grabbed an acquaintance I met earlier in the night to be my wing man as we approached the very bendy young women. "Haven't I seen you ladies around athletic study hall?" The two ingenues looked rather confused as I explained to them that me and my new found friend were actually scholarship badminton players that we were ranked third nationally(I didn't want to get carried away with number one). I figured I could only pass as a badminton player. It wasn't too far fetched.
The night went on as I mesmerized the ladies with stories of my athletic prowess, cat like reflexes and Olympic ambitions. Not to mention they were amazed when I told them that I could make a "shuttlecock" do things they never imagined? See the double meaning there? Yeah, got right to their subconscious and got them thinking. I wasn't a strong finisher and went home blue balled as usual in those days but that acquaintance later became a good friend and future roommate. He also inspired the name of this blog.
Anyway, I had a Eureka moment. I have since gone out under the guise of various lesser known athletes. I am going to start going out as Gerald Phelan. He is the Boston College wide receiver that caught the Hail Mary pass from Doug Flutie. He is several years older than I, but what do they know?
I have a friend who tells women that he's the brother of current Colorado Rockie second baseman Kaz Matsui, or he tells women that his mother was "road meat" and he is actually his love child. The ladies are so enamored that they don't even see that Kaz is the same age as my friend. He even has me in his cell phone as Kaz so he can call me when he is in the company of a young lady so I can pick up and say "Mushi Mushi" which is the common greeting of the Japanese. Matsui's photo also pops up when I call.
The point is...chicks love athletes. If you are in a cold streak then check out espn and find a moderate athlete that you most resemble and hit the town. Give the ladies the thrill of being out with an athlete. Tell her your real identity after she falls in love and she will be so flattered that you went to such lengths to impress her. You guys can then have a nice romantic moment whenever he comes up on espn. Talk about a great story for the grand kids!
Happy hunting everyone!
The problem is that I don't look much like an athlete of any sort. My dad is built like Groundskeeper Willie, but I think that gene might be recessive. I am more on the doughy side. I had to get creative to work around this.
It was the fall of 1996 at West Virginia University at one of the colorful drinking establishments that turned a blind eye to the fact that I was just barely old enough to buy porn. My hormones were racing as two young gymnasts crossed my path. Every red blooded American man dreams of being with a gymnast, and I was no different. The mere sight of a pommel horse gives me the tingles. What is a "doughy" boy to do?
I chugged some Natural Light and grabbed an acquaintance I met earlier in the night to be my wing man as we approached the very bendy young women. "Haven't I seen you ladies around athletic study hall?" The two ingenues looked rather confused as I explained to them that me and my new found friend were actually scholarship badminton players that we were ranked third nationally(I didn't want to get carried away with number one). I figured I could only pass as a badminton player. It wasn't too far fetched.
The night went on as I mesmerized the ladies with stories of my athletic prowess, cat like reflexes and Olympic ambitions. Not to mention they were amazed when I told them that I could make a "shuttlecock" do things they never imagined? See the double meaning there? Yeah, got right to their subconscious and got them thinking. I wasn't a strong finisher and went home blue balled as usual in those days but that acquaintance later became a good friend and future roommate. He also inspired the name of this blog.
Anyway, I had a Eureka moment. I have since gone out under the guise of various lesser known athletes. I am going to start going out as Gerald Phelan. He is the Boston College wide receiver that caught the Hail Mary pass from Doug Flutie. He is several years older than I, but what do they know?
I have a friend who tells women that he's the brother of current Colorado Rockie second baseman Kaz Matsui, or he tells women that his mother was "road meat" and he is actually his love child. The ladies are so enamored that they don't even see that Kaz is the same age as my friend. He even has me in his cell phone as Kaz so he can call me when he is in the company of a young lady so I can pick up and say "Mushi Mushi" which is the common greeting of the Japanese. Matsui's photo also pops up when I call.
The point is...chicks love athletes. If you are in a cold streak then check out espn and find a moderate athlete that you most resemble and hit the town. Give the ladies the thrill of being out with an athlete. Tell her your real identity after she falls in love and she will be so flattered that you went to such lengths to impress her. You guys can then have a nice romantic moment whenever he comes up on espn. Talk about a great story for the grand kids!
Happy hunting everyone!
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Ultimate Ice Breaker with the Ladies!
"Hey there, so do you like Donkeys?"
Right there is the ultimate ice breaker of all time. Why? It's the common denominator for all women. Everyone knows that ALL women love donkeys.
Remember as kids when girls would have posters of puppies and kittens? We all know that is because they were always low on posters of baby donkeys frolicking in the fields. And of course you remember girls playing with My Little Pony. We all know that My Little Pony were the cheap knock off version of My Little Donkey. It was like what the Gobots were to Transformers.
What is a synonym or Donkey? That's right....ASS. It subconsciously gets girls thinking of ass so when you walk away put a little swivel in your hips and the ladies will be leaving a trail on the bar stool like a snail. A stimulating conversation about donkeys will do nothing but have her conjuring up happy nostalgic memories while thinking about your ass. That is what you call a win-win.
Let us also not forget how this can be used as a screening process. If a woman doesn't like donkeys do we really want anything to do with her? Any woman who can't see the beauty in a donkey definitely has some deep seeded issues. You should suggest a good psychiatrist to see and then run until you can't run no more. Drink some Gatorade and stretch and run and run and run until you can't run any more.
I am actually shocked how many ladies in NYC don't love donkeys, and I find it rather disturbing.
ADDED BONUS....When she ultimately starts to get turned on from all of the donkey talk, whisper in her ear "Hee Haw." It will send her over the top. I hope you have a pocket full of condoms and a dental dam.
Enjoy this weekend and let me know how the donkey talk works out.
Right there is the ultimate ice breaker of all time. Why? It's the common denominator for all women. Everyone knows that ALL women love donkeys.
Remember as kids when girls would have posters of puppies and kittens? We all know that is because they were always low on posters of baby donkeys frolicking in the fields. And of course you remember girls playing with My Little Pony. We all know that My Little Pony were the cheap knock off version of My Little Donkey. It was like what the Gobots were to Transformers.
What is a synonym or Donkey? That's right....ASS. It subconsciously gets girls thinking of ass so when you walk away put a little swivel in your hips and the ladies will be leaving a trail on the bar stool like a snail. A stimulating conversation about donkeys will do nothing but have her conjuring up happy nostalgic memories while thinking about your ass. That is what you call a win-win.
Let us also not forget how this can be used as a screening process. If a woman doesn't like donkeys do we really want anything to do with her? Any woman who can't see the beauty in a donkey definitely has some deep seeded issues. You should suggest a good psychiatrist to see and then run until you can't run no more. Drink some Gatorade and stretch and run and run and run until you can't run any more.
I am actually shocked how many ladies in NYC don't love donkeys, and I find it rather disturbing.
ADDED BONUS....When she ultimately starts to get turned on from all of the donkey talk, whisper in her ear "Hee Haw." It will send her over the top. I hope you have a pocket full of condoms and a dental dam.
Enjoy this weekend and let me know how the donkey talk works out.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Enter my domain!
SERENITY NOW!!!
I often would yell that in times of high stress. One day it bubbled over to the point where I was so full of rage that I blacked out and was last seen taunting a short yellow bus on a class trip. All I recall is a lazy eyed boy with a cow lick pummeling me with his size 8 orthopedic shoes. It was just then I realized my form of therapy wasn't necessarily the most effective.
I had an epiphany that I should find a forum where I can pour out all of my thoughts that I kept bottled up. Instead of taking out my angst on the slow witted people of America, I thought I would vent to those on the world wide web. That being said, I came up with this blog.
I came up with the name of The Athletic Knee because the term means a lot to me. Our football coach invited us to take an athletic knee as he reminded us of our many shortcomings as humans. My old college roommate also put a fun spin on the athletic knee as well. So here I am! I will explore many topics such as my inept attempts to copulate with women, my views on sports and current events and other random observations that I have shared in the past that have landed me with the school psychiatrist and a petition being passed around to have me sterilized for the good of society.
I often would yell that in times of high stress. One day it bubbled over to the point where I was so full of rage that I blacked out and was last seen taunting a short yellow bus on a class trip. All I recall is a lazy eyed boy with a cow lick pummeling me with his size 8 orthopedic shoes. It was just then I realized my form of therapy wasn't necessarily the most effective.
I had an epiphany that I should find a forum where I can pour out all of my thoughts that I kept bottled up. Instead of taking out my angst on the slow witted people of America, I thought I would vent to those on the world wide web. That being said, I came up with this blog.
I came up with the name of The Athletic Knee because the term means a lot to me. Our football coach invited us to take an athletic knee as he reminded us of our many shortcomings as humans. My old college roommate also put a fun spin on the athletic knee as well. So here I am! I will explore many topics such as my inept attempts to copulate with women, my views on sports and current events and other random observations that I have shared in the past that have landed me with the school psychiatrist and a petition being passed around to have me sterilized for the good of society.
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