FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: LEAVE IT TO BEAVERS

Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by rum punch because it’s never too early to start drinking like it’s summer.

I often wonder what TV shows as a kid corrupted me by my constant viewing of them. I mean, sure, some were harmless, but others were full of sexual innuendos and hidden messages just intended to corrupt the youth of our society. One such show for me was “Leave It To Beaver.”

Of course, the title is a dead giveaway, but there was so much more. First off, Beaver went through friends like a chronic masturbator goes through skin cream. I mean, at first it was Larry Mondello, a large portly child who was always on the make for food. I could see why Beaver got rid of him. Larry was shiftless and always getting Beaver into trouble. And there’s nothing worse than a spoiled fat kid.

In the later years Beaver got new friends, like Gilbert, Larry and, of course, Whitey. First off, these three friends were more what you would call assholes. All they would do is conjure up ways to get their Beaver into some trouble. I mean, was this town just chock full of shitheads? Was this the kind of thing I was supposed to think—that most people are no-good pricks? That secretly people really are out to get you? That paranoia is justified?

But a real doozy fo this show was the fact that in the ‘50s in an all-cracker show they would have a boy named “Whitey”. I’m fucking surprised they didn’t make him the mayor of this town. And come to think of it, I believe his given name was Whitey. Hell, he must have been royalty in this quaint little town. Why didn’t they just come out and call him Grand Wizard? So obviously here I learned if they call you “whitey,” chances are you can do anything you damn well please.

Then there is Beaver’s brother, Wally. Wally is your all-around sports guy and big man on campus. Wally’s whole problem is his friends, Eddie Hascal and Lumpy Rutherford. Now we all know Eddie. He’s a kiss-ass and a devious prick—it just depends on what “whitey” he is dealing with and how much power they command. But Lumpy, now here’s a masked marauder. Lumpy is what you might call light in the loafers. They never came right out and said it, but even when I was five, I was saying, “Hey, Mom, what’s the deal with this guy? He’s creeping me out.” My mom was quite straightforward with me. She just answered back, “Oh, he’s just a nice clean boy who, for some reason, likes to get humped real, real hard by other guys in his ass.” My mom didn’t see the point in mincing words.

Now, lastly, it was the dialogue on this show that sent hidden messages to children. Even to this day it makes me cringe when I think of what my sweet virgin ears were being bombarded with. The problem was with their use of the word “beaver” in a sentence. One was Mrs. Cleaver saying to Mr. Cleaver, “Ward, I think you were little hard on the Beaver last night.” I’m sure we’ve all heard that one. Another one was Lumpy turning to his dad and saying, “Oh, no, Dad. Here comes that filthy little Beaver.” Did they have to use the word “filthy”? Don’t they have any respect? Another one was Mrs. Cleaver saying to Wally, “Something stinks in your room. Will you go up there and smell the Beaver?” Even at five I was like, “Holy shit! Now we’re talking!” But the big one for me was when Mr. Cleaver turned to Mrs. Cleaver and said, “June, I just don’t know what gets into that Beaver sometimes.” Now this just sucked. I almost spit out my Cap’n Crunch and Tang. I remember just saying to my mom, “What the hell else is getting in the beaver?” I’ll spare you from what she said, but let me just say, it doesn’t allow me to look at Mrs. Cleaver the same anymore.

So there you have it. My corruption started early. My eyes were opened too soon to these kind of messages and pornographic talk. One day I am a sweet little boy in my Buster Brown shoes and salt and pepper pants, and the next day I’m wondering what gets into white people’s beavers. Damn those TV censors!

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN WAYS I'VE BEEN DUMPED

1. This actually happened at a concert of all places—a Frankie Goes to Hollywood concert. She was all excited about going and she bugged me for months about getting tickets. So I ended up buying tickets and we went. Now, sure I think a girl really liking this band is weird to begin with, but I was in this relationship for the free sex. Well, we’re at the show and the band is playing their big hit, “Relax,” and that’s when she springs it on me. She tells me, “I don’t think we’re right for each other. I’m in love with Holly Johnson.” Holly Johnson was the lead singer of FGTH. Well, this was quite humiliating to say the least. A girl who was wearing a fucking “Frankie Says Relax” T-shirt was dumping me for a gay guy. Little did she know Holly Johnson was gay, but was I going to tell her? No way. The one problem is that now I have to admit that I at one time in my life bought tickets to a Frankie Goes to Hollywood show. Why couldn’t she just have given me “the clap” instead like a decent girl?


2. There’s nothing like waking up on Christmas and opening presents and…getting dumped. Yep, I got dumped on Christmas. I woke up all excited about exchanging gifts. Well, my girlfriend and I exchanged gifts, only each gift I got from her was crappier and crappier. They started off being socks that were way too big for me. Then she got me underwear that was way too big for me. Then she got me a book on how to be your own best friend. Then the last gift she got me was a huge box. And in this box was all my stuff I had left at her place. And then she sprung it on me. I really would have been devastated by being dumped like this except for the fact that she smelled like a moose and I was happy to be rid of her and her stench. Mean? Sure, but I wanted my sense of smell back. But I can’t think of Christmas now without remembering her and her awful stench. ‘Tis the season to have hygiene.

3. Now this may sound worse than it is, but I was once dumped while having sex. Now as devastating as this sounds, it wasn’t that bad. It was some pretty good sex too. Well, at least it was for me. Things were going hot and heavy. I could tell by that “I’ve got other things on my mind” look in her eyes that I was once again amazing. And then it happened. The clock struck 15 seconds and I reached my peak. I guess this was enough for this girl because as I laid back onto the pillow with a feeling of sleepiness coming over me, she just turned to me and said, “I’ve had it. We’re breaking up.” I think that’s what she said. I don’t know. I fell asleep, and when I woke up she was gone. See, this dumping was pretty good as dumpings go.

4. You gotta hand it to this girl. She was as lazy as they come. This girl was the kind of girl who would drive her car next door or wouldn’t get up to change the channel on the TV if the remote broke and she was laying on the couch. Yeah, she was a real winner, but boy could she belch. And at the time this was probably what I was looking for. Well, we were out eating at a nice chain restaurant. The place was packed because it was a Friday night. Now just as soon as we finished our meal, she just leaned back and said she was leaving me because we were just too different. Then she punctuated this sentence with a foghorn type belch. I mean, this thing was so loud and powerful, I could swear I could smell what she had for breakfast. The place suddenly went quiet after that. She just smiled and said she had to go take a dump and she’d be right back. I was astounded. I quickly gathered myself after she left and decided I needed a free meal, so I promptly got up and stuck her with the bill. Too different? Yes, we were, thank God. But every time I hear the phrase “take a dump,” I harken back to the thought of this pig.

5. This could have been the weirdest one. I got dumped on a first date. At least I think it was me who got dumped. We had the typical dinner and a movie. Then afterwards we were walking on the docks—you know, real romantic stuff. Then all of a sudden she starts making out with me. I was thinking this is the best first date I’ve ever had, not counting that hooker from Tijuana. She was really kissing me passionately. She was really grabbing my ass hard too. I mean real hard. And then out of nowhere she stops kissing me and pushes me away. And then she starts sobbing and says, “Oh, we can’t keep doing this to each other. It didn’t work the first time.” It is here I start wondering why she did bring me to the docks. I’m getting really nervous, like she’s going to slice off my sweet spot and bludgeon me with it. Then she starts screaming, “Why do you do this to me? Why?” She kept yelling after this too, but I will never know what it was because I ran like hell away from there. I’m pretty sure I crapped my pants too that night, but that memory is a little hazy.

6. What made this next one a really bad dumping was the fact that I was actually paying for it when it happened. I got dumped while my girlfriend and I were at a counseling session she wanted us to go too. See, I had to pay for this session, but it was all a setup. Once she got me there, she started telling the counselor how much of a perv I was and that I was always walking around with a boner, especially after watching reruns of “Gomer Pyle.” I got pissed. I told the counselor that was just a one-time occurrence, but she didn’t believe me. She just moved her chair away from me. And then it happened—my girlfriend turned to me and said she was leaving me. Unfortunately, my heart started racing and for some reason I got a huge boner. Both my ex and the counselor got the worst looks on their faces when they saw what I erected. I didn’t try to do this. Whatever. I just took what little pride I had and my huge boner and just sashayed out of the office. It was okay. “Gomer Pyle” was coming on in half an hour and if I hurried, I could get home in time to catch it.

7. Nothing is as sweet as getting dumped at your girlfriend’s parents’ house. This was just a weird experience that I can still remember like it was yesterday. I was invited to this big dinner with all my girlfriend’s family there. I arrived and I was immediately seated at this big table in between her mother and father. This would have been okay, except for the fact that both her parents smelled like a combination of Ben Gay and feet. So much for me eating. And then my girlfriend came in the room and sat directly across from me. And then it got real quiet and my girlfriend stood up. She then said, “My family and I have decided it is time for us to break up.” I wish I would have thought of what to say before blurting out the first thing that came to my mind, but I didn’t. I just got up, smiled and said, “You and your family made this decision, huh? Well, how come you didn’t consult with them when you were playing with my taint?” Her mother screamed, her dad tried to hit me, but I was quickly away and out the door with my taint still intact.

8. Weddings are a beautiful place to witness true love…and get dumped. At least that’s what this one girlfriend of mine thought. Our friends were finally getting married and my girlfriend and I were so excited for them. Well, we were at the wedding and our friends had just gotten to the point when they say the “I dos”. It was here my girlfriend leaned over and said, “I don’t—I don’t wanna be with you anymore.” I just looked over at her and said, “You’re right. We’re not right for each other. I should date someone who is more human. It’s too hard to date a jackass!” Unfortunately, I yelled this last line and everyone gasped. The bride started screaming at the groom, “How can you let him say that about me?” Then they got into a big fight on the altar. Maybe I should have used my quiet voice.

9. This was the dumping from hell. This happened on a flight from Los Angeles to New York—a five-hour flight. The second the plane is in the air, my girlfriend turns to me and says she has been having an affair with one of my friends and that she wants to break up. I am just devastated. I quickly turned away because I started crying. She just told me to stop overreacting. I was so hurt. Well, about two hours later, my ex’s McDonald’s breakfast was kicking at her ass to come out, so she said, “Cry baby, I’m going to use the bathroom.” She went to the bathroom, and I immediately got up and got right in line after her. I tried to talk to her, but she ignored me. She then went into the bathroom and stayed in there for 10 minutes. When she came out, I went straight into the bathroom and got a great idea for revenge. I came out of the bathroom after about a second coughing and dry heaving. I pretended her crap was so bad it was killing me. Everyone turned to her and gave my ex a dirty look. They then closed the bathroom for the rest of the flight. My ex was so embarrassed she started turning red. At least this way I let everyone know she can dump in other ways too.

10. This one had to be the topper. I got dumped at work. And to make matters worse, it happened at the beginning of the day and I had to finish out my shift. I walked into my work place with a smile on my face. You see, I was dating my coworker. It was all so great. And then it happened. She dumped me at work right when she came in. She said something or other about how I was going nowhere and I had no ambition. I was like, “Hey, don’t we both have the same job, numb nuts?” She just responded with, “I want to go places. I can’t go places with you.” I said, “Go? Go where? Is there somebody else? Is that what this is?” Her eyes widened immediately and I knew where this was going. She said, “Yes. I’m sorry but there is someone else. It’s Jim.” You see, Jim was our boss. I just stood there silent for about 30 seconds, and then I said, “Well, I guess if you call Jim’s crotch going places, then you’re absolutely right. I’m not going places.” I then turned around, went to my desk and started working. Later when Jim came in, he came to me and said, “I hope we can work together, you, her and I.” I just said, “I am not interested in a three-way, you fucking pervert.” I then finished out my shift and went home and started looking for another girl to date. I never learn my lesson, do I?

SUNDAY NIGHT'S STORY PRESENTS: THE NUN WHO DRANK TOO MUCH

Costume parties are usually a fun and joyous time for me and have been since I was a young strapping boy. Well, maybe except for that time my mom made me dress up like a nun. That sucked. She even made me shave my legs. She said it would have been sacrilege to have unshaven legs as a nun. And having me dress up as one wasn’t? Anyway, that’s beside the point. I used to look forward to costume parties. But that all changed when I went to my friends’ Memorial weekend costume party.

First off, who has a costume party in May? Well, I’ll tell you--my slightly unhinged friends, Channing and Bridget. Ever since these two got married, they have felt it is necessary to celebrate holidays on days other than the nationally recognized day. For instance, they don’t celebrate Christmas on December 25, they don’t celebrate the Fourth of July on July 4, and they don’t celebrate Halloween on October 31. They think it is too commercialized on those days and just conformist to celebrate on those days. In other words, Channing and Bridget are uptight and white.

So my roommate and I get their invitation and see the date. Of course, I’m the first one to say, “Not again.” But what am I to do? I love costume parties. So right away I decide my costume will be a nun. Go figure. My roommate, Eddie, starts laughing his ass off and tells me he knows exactly what he’s going to be. But does he tell me? No! He says, “You’ll see my costume on the day of the party, but I gotta warn you, it’s pretty hideous.” I just go, “Cool. Can’t wait. Pass me the nachos.”

The day of the party arrives and I get into my costume. I must say I look ravishing as a nun, if a nun can look ravishing. Eddie is in his room hemming and hawing about coming out. I finally persuade him to come out and show me his costume, and he does. I couldn’t believe it. That fucker is dressed as me. I immediately started saying, “There is no way in hell you are going dressed as me! Go change!” He just started laughing and said he wasn’t. He had on the same glasses as me, my same hairstyle, everything was just like me, except for Eddies’ lack of the family jewels, but, hey, some guys got it and some guys don’t.

I finally give in and decide to let him go as me. My other friends at the party will probably think Eddie is a dick for dressing up as me. I agree to drive there if Eddie drives back. That way I can get my drink on. Eddie agrees since he is taking medication for “the clap” and cannot drink while on it. At least this way I can unwind at the party and not have to deal with Eddie’s crap there. So, we were off.

Since I’m driving there, Eddie decides he’s in charge of the CD player and starts playing “Can’t Touch This by MC Hammer…really loud. Then the asshole rolls down his window so everyone we pass can hear what the hell we’re listening to. And then what does he do? He starts ducking down so people think it just me listening to it. So there I am dressed as a nun in May blasting out “Can’t Touch This.” Some old couple in the next car at one light just gave me a very dirty look. I kept wondering why they were so offended until I noticed a big bumper sticker on their car that said “Jesus Saves.”

I had enough of this music. I started yelling at Eddie, “Come on, you prick, turn this crap off!” Of course he doesn’t listen to me. And then as I continue driving, he is still distracting me by continuing to restart the song every time it ends. I mean, he is pissing me off so much at this point that I almost run a red light. And the unfortunate thing with the city I live in is they have those damn cameras on some of the lights. You know, those lights that take a picture of you and your car if you run the light. Then about a month later you get a ticket in the mail for $285. Well, I was very close to being in the intersection when the light turned red. I didn’t notice if it took my picture. I started yelling at Eddie that if I get a ticket in the mail, he is paying for it.

We finally arrive at the party and go in. And wouldn’t you know it. Everyone loves Eddie’s damn costume. He is the hit of the party. And do they like my nun costume? No, they think it is creepy, especially since I didn’t shave my legs. What the hell is with these people? Every time someone sees Eddie, they actually started laughing and clapping. I mean, I really don’t think this is so damn funny. I eventually just try to ignore it by drowning myself in booze. And that’s where my other troubles start.

I guess I ended up having way too much booze because I ended up getting into a fight, which is something I rarely ever do. But it really wasn’t my fault. The problem was Eddie. Eddie was getting picked up by all these girls…while he is dressed as me. And then who should walk in the party and start flirting with Eddie—my ex, Sabrina. This was really pushing things too far. Eddie and her end up talking with each other for about an hour, alone! Then I notice they are holding hands. All the while this is going on, I am drinking cocktail after cocktail. And then it finally happens—they kiss. That was it.

I immediately charge off towards them and shout, “Just what in God’s name do you think you two are doing?” They both just look up at me, and then they start laughing. This just pisses me off even more. I mean, Eddie’s supposed to be my friend. You don’t kiss your friend’s ex—it’s a rule of guys! But Eddie just tells me to calm down and leave them alone, but he tells me this by imitating my voice. That was the last straw. I started whacking Eddie with what I had in my hand as part of my costume—a yardstick. And I started letting him have it good. I was wailing on him. And while this is going on I got a horrible flashback to when I was in the fourth grade and Sister Mary Christmas let loose on me with her yardstick, and all because I dropped my pencil on purpose so I could bend over to look up her dress. I had to really, though. I had to see if her legs were hairy or not.

While I am hitting Eddie, I hear laughter coming from the rest of the people at the party. For some odd reason, they think this is the funniest fucking thing they’ve ever seen. That is, everybody except Sabrina. She actually jumps in front of Eddie to stop me from hitting him. So there is my ex trying to protect “me” from hitting me. I couldn’t believe it. By then, everyone had gathered around us, and Channing had to pull me back away from Sabrina and “me”. Then he and Bridget suggested that Eddie take the drunken nun back to her convent. So I got escorted out, but not before watching “me” give Sabrina a deep good-night kiss. I got so disgusted by this sight I ended up throwing up on a guy dressed up as the pope. I hate costume parties. I just wanted to get home. Eddie and I could have it out on the drive home. But what I didn’t know was the drive home was going to be worse than the party in the end.


TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK…

FRIDAYS DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: MY FIELD TRIP TO THE MET

Howdy, everybody! I am back and as drunk as ever. Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by green beer, unfortunately left over from St. Patrick’s Day.

I just got back from New York and I had finally made it to the Met. No, not the baseball team, you sports-minded jerkoffs—the damn museum. Well, they were having a display of this lady’s photos. It was a retrospective of her career. The photos were all displayed on the wall in frames. They were great. But there were a few problems I had to endure and each one made me as sick as a person who had just eaten an extra-crispy bucket of chicken at KFC and realized that it’s extra-crispy going out too.

The first problem was that people felt the need to stand about three inches from each photo display. Their heads are just jammed right up to the pictures so no one else can see anything but their lice-ridden head and their serial killer profile. In fact, some people were so close I could have sworn they were French kissing the damn things. Now, how can I go and look at a picture when it’s got drool and pieces of food all over it. So instead of seeing some great photos, I got to see the back side of jackasses!

The second problem was when I did find a photo to gaze at that didn’t have some horny prick trying to dry hump it, I got the person who felt they needed to educate me on their vast knowledge of photography, and then their life. Why do I always find these loose-lipped molesters when I do happen to go to a museum? First they start off by telling me how “exquisite” the picture is. Then they go straight into telling me how they are a photographer themselves. Then they go on to tell me why they came to the museum that day. Hey, chuckles, isn’t there a toilet in the bathroom you can start regurgitating this crap into? I mean, these “sophisticated” snot-mongers are the kind who’ll keep yammering on all day. I finally had to tell one motor mouth, “Sorry, sir. I didn’t bring enough money with me today to be able to purchase your bullshit. I only brought enough for some cotton candy.”

The last problem was a doozy. I finally get away from the dry humpers and the oral assholes and just find normal people who just want to look at the pictures in silence. Yeah, all is going good—that is until I breathe in and realize one of these nimrods has farted. Doesn’t anyone have any shame, or at least sphincter control? I quickly move to another picture and find that someone has done the same thing over there too! At first I get all paranoid like some loose-asshole freak is following me around trailing his stench around. And what makes this worse is that this museum was packed, so it was quite hot, and nothing is worse than a sweaty-filled room that smells like human waste and cottage cheese.

So I know from now on when I hear people talk about the Met in New York City, instead of thinking about all the beautiful art and culture flowing through the walls, all I will think about is getting violently sick at what is really contained within those walls—dry-humping, air-slippin’ jack-holes!

SORRY, SORRY, SORRY

Sorry I haven’t been posting lately. I have been out of town and just got back. I promise all will be good later this week. Look for new weekly topics to come soon.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN WORST THINGS I'VE EVER SAID TO RUIN A SEXUAL MOMENT

1. “You smell like my brother.”

Now, this sounds worse than it really is. Let me explain. There I am making sweet love with this girl. It was our first time together like this so we were quite passionate. Now earlier in the day I had been playing basketball with my brother and some friends and I had to guard my brother the whole time. Well, he had this smell of sweat, pickles and Old Spice. Not bad, really. Now for some odd reason this girl smelled exactly like that. My mistake was uttering this sentence, though. She immediately stopped and gave me such of look of disgust. I think it was safe to say she was quite repulsed. We didn’t resume the sex, which is probably for the best. I was getting real tired of that pickle smell anyway.

2. “Okay, it’s official. You are making me sick.”

What could I do? She was making me sick, and I couldn’t take it anymore. The problem was that this girl was a total heavy metal rocker, and to make matters worse, she was blasting one of those heavy metal power ballad CDs while we’re going at it. Now, what made this even worse was that she was singing along with the damn crappy music. At first it was amusing, but then “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” came on by Bon Jovi and that was it! She started singing along really loudly. Then she actually started crying and singing. That’s when I said what I said. She immediately got pissed. So touchy. I should have known she had no taste when she put on that crappy music. Of course, sleeping with me didn’t bode well for her taste either.

3. “How much is this going to cost me?”

I said this as a joke. But you would have said it too. I mean, this girl was doing all kinds of stretches and tricks even before we hit the bed. We both were making out, and then started to undress. I got onto the bed, but she didn’t follow. She started doing these crazy stretches on the ground. She even started doing handstands. I started to get scared, like she was going to hurt me. Then she started doing these karate kicks and screaming, “Hai-ya!” That was it! I couldn’t take it anymore. She looked like a puncher. So I said the first thing that came to my mind and this was it. She, of course, stopped everything she was doing and started screaming at me that was she was not a hooker. I said, “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t. I just meant would you happen to know how late the circus concession stand is open?” It was here that I learned that she was a puncher.

4. “These sheets smell like feet.”

There would have been nothing wrong with saying this, except for the fact that we were at her place and these were her sheets. Well, she got real defensive and started telling me how she just washed these sheets a day ago. I responded with, “Well, what did you wash them in, Tinactin?” From the look on her face after I said this I could tell right away that the sex was off. Actually, though, I was glad. She still had not taken her socks off yet and I was fearful that when her socks came off, I was going to get blasted with a smell of vinegar and rotten cheese. I sure didn’t want to throw up on her nice filthy sheets.

5. “Would you stop all the panting, Rover!”

This wasn’t my fault at all. Have you ever been with a talker? You know, someone who insists on talking during sex. Well, this was one of those times. The problem here was that during our blissful sexual encounter, she kept panting like this Scottish terrier I used to have. It was really creeping me out. I was afraid she might be a biter. Also, to make matters worse, she had really hot breath that kept making my face burn. She then stopped panting for a few seconds and I was so relieved. Then she said, “Talk to me. Come on. Talk to me.” So, unfortunately I said the exact thing I was thinking. To say this ruined the sex is an understatement. Her panting turned to screaming. Funny, after five minutes of her yelling, I kind of missed the panting.

6. “Why in the hell did you fart?”

I know, I know. What was I thinking? I guess I wasn’t thinking, but damn it, somebody farted and it clearly wasn’t me! This sucked too because everything was going perfectly. I mean, this was more than just sex—this was hot sex. You know, the kind your mother warned you about. I couldn’t have possibly been more aroused. But that all went away when the smell of raw sewage took over the room. And do you know what she did? She denied it. There was only us in the room and there were no pets or anything. The window was closed so it couldn’t have been coming from outside. I shouldn’t have asked her if she farted, but this really didn’t ruin the mood. Her anal-air slippage ruined the mood, and probably the sheets too.

7. “Can I get you an Altoid maybe?”

I really wanted to kiss this girl during our romp in sexland, but once she breathed on me, I ended this desire. Her breath smelled like a combination of tequila and old curdled milk. What a diet she must have been on. I could have dealt with this and said nothing, but she kept trying to kiss me. I kept pretending like my head was bobbing from all the movement so she was forced to miss a few times. Unfortunately, there were a couple of times she hit my lips dead-on and I had to control my gag reflex. The last kiss she laid on me lasted about 15 seconds. I was trying to hold my breath. I damn near passed out and knew I had to save myself. So I said what I said. Needless to say, the sex was over. That was all right, though. I got a thing about people who suck on a pair of their old socks instead of brushing their teeth.

8. “Why do you have a tattoo of Captain Stubbing on your chest?”

This was a legitimate question. It was just unfortunate that I asked it during a sexual encounter. This girl had a few tattoos that I could see when her clothes were on. But when her shirt came off she seemingly had some artwork of a “Love Boat” character on her right breast. It was really creeping me out because I thought Captain Stubbing’s eyes kept sizing up my lower region. So I finally asked her what was up with that tattoo. She kind of gave me a dirty look and told me it was a tattoo of her dad. I had seen her dad and he didn’t look like that at all. I thought she was lying for some reason. So I just responded with, “So, do you have a tattoo of your Uncle Gopher too?” Let’s just say my ride on this Love Boat was over. She got up and started getting dressed. At least this way Captain Stubbing’s eyes would stop staring at my johnson.

9. “You know, you look like Larry Fine of the Three Stooges from the back.”

I agree. This was a really stupid thing to say. I mean, from this statement you can figure out the position we might or might not have been in. It was here that I noticed her hair was really frazzled out on the sides and flat on the top. It must have been from that baseball cap she was wearing before. At first when I noticed it, I thought I was freaking out, like maybe I was having a Three Stooges episode flashback. I couldn’t get past the fact that she looked like Larry Fine, so I said my observation. The worst part was that she responded with, “Oh, yeah. Talk dirty to me.” I can be as kinky as the next person, but this was just sick.

10. “Get your fucking finger away from my ass!”

I mean, the nerve of some people. How could someone ignore my explicit instructions? Well, this girl was letting her fingers do the walking—yeah, walking straight to my a-hole. The first time I felt her finger graze the surrounding area, I said, “Uh-uh.” She stopped… for about five seconds. And then she was back at it. Now I was getting pissed and I said this line to her. You know what she did? She just chuckled. And then she fired one more shot, only this time she used a lot more force. I yelped and immediately got up. I don’t remember too much of what happened next, but I remember coming to in a corner of the room curled up naked, shaking. Now technically, I really didn’t ruin the moment, but I like to dream when I said this statement it ruined it and nothing happened afterwards. In the end, I never pursued a relationship with this butt-picker. I did see her again once. I ran into her at the store. She offered her hand for me to shake. I declined to shake her hand. God knows where it’s been.

SUNDAY NIGHT STORY CANCELLED TONIGHT DUE TO FOUL MOOD

Alas, I have no story for you tonight. An endurance junkie gets quite depressed when an injury sets in and they cannot run. Well, yesterday after my workout, I came home and my lower back started to tighten up. As each hour progressed, the muscles got tighter and tighter until I couldn’t walk without squealing like a 50-year-old woman at a Phil Collins concert. Nothing I did after this seemed to help the muscles. But damn it, I was still hopeful.

I had my alarm set for 5:00 a.m. this morning, and when the alarm went off, I got my ass right up and walked around my home to determine if my condition had improved-- my strained muscles, not my impotence condition. I took about two steps and knew I wasn’t going to be able to go for my long run this morning. I was actually limping. I did kid myself for about five minutes thinking all would correct itself once my muscles warmed up, but whom was I kidding? I was, what a hooker once told me, “perfectly screwed”.

Now, you may be thinking, “What’s the big deal with missing one run?” Well, my slightly abusive friend, the problem was that this run was the LA Marathon. I haven’t missed this race in a while, so naturally depression set in. I did wake up this morning to watch the TV coverage of the marathon, but it just wasn’t the same. It turned out to be a nice day and I was advised by all not to do a damn thing but rest. So here I sit and type and think about next year for the LA Marathon. The only thing that consoles me right now is the fact that the Boston Marathon is next month, and that I will definitely run, injured or not. Hey, some things an idiot just has to do.

FRIDAY NIGHT'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: OH, OSCARS, OSCARS, CAN YOU FEEL I'M BURNING, BURNING?

Tonight's drunken rant is brought to you by Pina Coladas, because I got caught in the rain.

Why do I rant and rave and piss and moan and bitch and cry about the damn Oscars and then go ahead and watch them anyway? Well, there are two possible answers here. One is because to be a critic of something I must subject myself through it so as I may be well informed. Or the other possible answer is because I’m just a mild-mannered moron masquerading as a jackass.

Anyway, I watched the Oscars actually hoping that I would be proven wrong and there would be something to this one. I mean, Chris Rock was hosting and this had the potential to be really great. At least it wasn’t that Billy Christmas guy from “When Harry Met Sally’s Ass.” So what did I end up with at the end—a good time? No! I got shafted, just like Sally’s Ass!

First off, the idiotic changes they decided to implement this year. You know, like presenting some of the awards way in the back of the audience. They only did this so they could give these lesser-nominated people worse seats than ever before. Hell, next year they may even present their awards in the alley behind the damn place with the recipients still in their limos. Just think of it—“And the Oscar for best Musical Score goes to… car number 47HHGT. Please drive through and get your award and a Shamrock shake, courtesy of McDonald’s.”

The other Emmy-winning idea they came up with this year was for the other lesser-nominated people—bring all their asses on stage when reading off their category. Maybe they did this so they wouldn’t have to waste time with the winners who after their name was called would take five minutes to get to the stage because they were seated by the churro machines. Or they could have designed this change so as to tell these nominated people, “Well, now you’ve been on the stage for the Oscars. You probably won’t ever be back, so take one quick look and get the fuck out.” The only good thing about this change was at least Morgan Spurlock (“Super-size Me”) got him and his child-molester moustache on stage.

Now usually I don’t give a rat’s ass about camera direction, but this was just too noticeable. I mean, was there an open casting call for directors and assistant directors of the Oscars and I just missed it because I was too busy writing about masturbation on this blog? Most of the time before they went to commercial, they had some sweeping overhead shot that showed the crowd and… a shitload of empty seats. Was something wrong with the churros at the snack bar and that is why most people were always in the crapper? Did this thing not sell out and these directors wanted you to know it? Even better was when someone was giving a speech or talking on the stage and they would cut to someone who wasn’t even paying attention or had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Was there some rule that certain people, and not your high-profile actors, had to get a certain amount of face time with the camera? They were cutting away so damn much that it was like a person with A.D.D. who just had a gram of coke was working the camera. You know, your basic Michael Bay kind of direction. (Sorry to fans of Michael Bay—sorry that your fans of his.)

But I do have a theory on why this Oscars was made to be so piss-poor. It was because they didn’t want Chris Rock to succeed as host. And why? Because he is a black man! Oh, yeah, whitey (or should this be alabaster cracker) didn’t want him to return. They set out to undermine Chris Rock from the very beginning. Just having him on the stage so much made whitey nervous enough as it is. It is not so much they had to deal with Chris Rock, they were also worried about their womenfolk. They decided right from the start they were going to run this new black sheriff right out of town. Ah, but Chris Rock got his revenge later with whitey’s women at the number six dance.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: WORST TERMS FOR MASTURBATION I HAVE EVER HEARD

1. Choking the Chicken
Now this one I can maybe figure out. Maybe “chicken” came from “cock”. That I can possibly see. But just imagine how this one must have originated. There were some hicks on a farm watching one of their friends trying to kill a chicken. Well, Cletus probably had his shit-stained hands around some chicken and was squeezing the life out of it while his buddies were noticing how this action seemed to remind them of their favorite pastime, which probably explained the reason they were a little erect too. Now they had a name for what they did behind their barn 12 times a day. Horny-ass hicks.

2. Snake Charming
Can you believe someone actually uses this term for masturbating? Well, they do. Now, maybe I can see why they came up with this one, but come on. Unless you are truly blessed in length down there, you should have to use the term “worm charming” or “midget dead slug charming.” And there really is nothing charming about the action anyway. I’ve never heard someone say, “Oh, you should see Jimmy’s perfectly charming hobby. He’s got it down to a science now.”

3. Apprehending the Suspect
This one might be more common with employees of the law enforcement sector, but I have seen your basic buttplugs use this term. As heroic as this term may seem, it is not pretty. “Apprehending” just conjures images of having to wrestle down something and put a firm choke-hold on it till it accepts what is happening. I suppose for a very violent masturbator, they could segue right into “Beating the Suspect.” You’ll know these people. They are always walking funny, claiming their leg hurts or they accidentally tripped. Yeah, right, you freakin’ horny bastard!

4. Shining the Stick
At least with this one, “stick” is probably more realistic than say “snake” when dealing with said subject matter. Now, about the “shining” part, I can’t imagine some successful self-lover ever looked down afterwards, surveyed the complete mess he made and noticed how his two-inch stick was suddenly glimmering under the bathroom lights at his place of employment. If anything, there were probably bruises, considering this was probably his tenth time already that day. This guy would probably be a funny walker too.

5. Chasing Charlie
I just don’t get this one. Who the fuck is Charlie and why the hell would you be chasing him? When I first heard someone say this, I thought they had an intruder in their house and they had to chase them. Yeah, I thought that until he said that he loved to chase Charlie while watching “Edward Penishands.” Once I got what he was talking about, I asked where in the hell he got that term from. He goes, “Oh, you know Charlie from “Willy Wonka.” I immediately stopped him right there. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

6. Five Against One
Did you ever notice how a lot of these terms are based on some kind of violent act? I mean, take this one. This sounds like a fight. Obviously, it is the hand doing battle with the war-torn stump. Now, you would think something else though if someone started yelling, “Hey, there’s gonna be a fight—five against one. You gotta come see this!” You would think there was going to be a big fight and you would naturally follow the person who said this and you would naturally wonder when this person was going to take you to see this fight instead of undressing in front of you and then grabbing their “area” with one violent swing and start “charming.” Yeah, well, I’m a little slow. So what!

7. Packaging the Sausage
At least this one doesn’t conjure up some ruthless violent act. In fact, in sounds quite sanitary. That is until you think that what if the person who coined this phrase worked at like Farmer John on the packaging line and came up with it after he packaged a sausage that was not on the menu. Then you would begin to wonder what sort of pieces of flesh may have touched your Farmer John wieners before they reached your buns. Okay, I have actually made this sound worse than it is. Let’s just pretend like this one never happened.

8. Shooting Off the Old Rocket
With the word “old” in there, I wonder if this term may be used more with the senior citizen crowd. But I do know some people who “shoot off the rocket” so much that their “rocket” could possibly be withered now. But getting back to this term, at least it makes you think of a fireworks show, like on the Fourth of July. You know, when those skyrockets go off in the sky and everyone is going “oooh” and “ahhh,” just think that someone at the same time is doing something inappropriate in a perfectly good sock.

9. Shucking the Corn
Now this one just makes me sick. I love corn, especially corn on the cob, and once I heard the semen-stained jackass who used this term, I was forever tainted. I don’t even understand how someone came up with this, but I can tell you, it weren’t no city folk who did. I wonder if the same chicken chokers got tired of their old term and decided to come up with a new one. Just picture three in-breds who should be picking corn off the cob, but instead get all amorous in the cornfield. Now I’m afraid to eat popcorn for fear one of these hicks was humping the stock they got it from. Those assholes!

10. Punching the Clown
Ah, back to the violent behavior. Masturbation as it should be—just freakin’ angry and violent. I guess some carny came up with this term. You know those carneys, they look like chronic masturbators. You just think about that next time you’re letting one make you cotton candy or a snow cone. Still, though, I don’t get this one. Why a clown, and do you really punch it? I mean, is it possible there are some guys out there who go to the trouble of dressing up their crotch stick to resemble a clown? I mean, do they tape bright orange hair on the sides of the helmet part of the “stick” and use actual clown makeup for the face? And where the hell do they attach the two big floppy feet? I mean, you would need two things to attach them to and—Oh, God. I think I just made myself sick.
Yes, I did.


Please leave any strange terms you may have heard for this in the “comments” section. I’m just fascinated some of these. Toodles.