REVOLUTION POLLUTION

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS....

2007-12-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

FRIDAY’S DRUNKEN RANT IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY… SANTA CLAUS: BREAKING INTO YOUR HOUSES AND LEAVING HIS TRASH FOR OVER 200 YEARS, Y’ALL!

Now, I know this is the time of the year to be festive, at least that’s what I’ve been told. And on a side note, why is it only this time of year to be festive? Really says a lot about Valentine’s Day in February, huh? Well, back to the point. Each year, the Christmas season comes a little earlier. Hell, this year on November 1, I saw stores with Christmas decorations and other Christmas assorted nonsense out for sale. I mean, what ever happened to the decency of waiting before trying to con us into buying useless crap for Christmas and then wrapping it up with a complete waste of material called wrapping paper? I mean, what the hell!!!!

Well, this year had to be the worst. Now, it wasn’t the stores and the constant bombardment of “sale” items marked up for the holidays, it was the actual shoppers themselves. I thought this year I would try to get into the spirit of Christmas more by actually going to stores and shopping, not doing it all on-line like I usually do. So instead of spending my money exclusively at www.fruitcakesfruitcakesfruitcakes.com, I went to the mall. It was here I learned this is not the time of year to be festive.

Just trying to find a parking space at my local mall was hell. I had people actually curse at me when I would park saying that was their spot. I mean, one lady actually got out of her car, got in her walker and tried to walk me down. I mean, what does she think? Does she think those handicapped spots really apply during this busy time? I mean, how inconsiderate of her. The next problem was once I got in the stores, the crowds and the lines and the mess. I was so startled by it, I actually farted. It wasn’t on purpose. I usually fart when I get scared. So, on another side note, never go to a haunted house with me.

First off, the crowds were huge. They were people everywhere. It was like everyone brought their whole extended family to watch them shop. I could have sworn two families were having their damn family reunions in the “female needs” aisle. What jack-holes would have a freakin’ family reunion at Big Lots? The second problem was the lines. They were longer than the lines at Disneyland for “It’s a Small World So There’s Nowhere For You To Hide, You Asshole” ride. They actually had signs up saying your wait from this point is 30 minutes. Unfortunately for them they had these signs on dry erase boards. So I took it upon myself to change those signs to “You Must Be At Least This Honky To Shop Here.” Man, were some people pissed off. The third problem was the mess. Everything was disorganized, nothing was where it was supposed to be and there was a plethora of trash around. I mean, literally, I’ve seen cleaner prostitutes at www.discountprostitutesandtoiletpaper.com. I mean, what the hell!!!

And on top of all this, it seemed like every kid in these stores was either screaming, crying or pissing themselves. The only good fun I had was trying to figure out what kid belonged to whom. Most of the parents in there looked really young. Seeing some couples together was frightening. I mean, the couples either looked hideous or related in a brotherly/sister fashion. Trying to figure out which demonic offspring was theirs was the most fun I’ve ever had shopping. It was like putting a puzzle together and then having that puzzle scare the living hell out of you. Seriously, when I did realize what some of these inbreds produced, it scared me so much I farted. See earlier comment for relation to this.

All in all, I couldn’t take it. I had to leave the mall and venture back home to my land of Cheetos, Budweiser, and dial-up Internet. So, instead of people getting what they really wanted this holiday season, they got either a fruitcake, a prostitute or toilet paper. Festive my ass!!!!

Top Five Tuesdays (In Conjunction With Valentine's Day) Presents: Five Reasons I Hated My Ex-Girlfriend

2006-02-14T22:26:00.000-08:00

1. She would fart all the time in my presence.
I have a basic rule that is if I don’t fart in front of you, you don’t fart in front of me. Seems fair enough. But not this one. She was foul. She would fart while we were eating, while we were watching TV, while she was sitting on my lap and while having sex. I actually came to believe she breathed through her nose, exhaled through her ass. When we finally broke up, her final words to me were, “Farting is such sweet sorrow.” Like I said, foul!!!

2. She talked in her sleep.
I’m sure this doesn’t sound too bad to you, but believe me, it was. It wasn’t just the fact that she spoke in her sleep, it was what she said. She must have always been dreaming she was a man because in her sleep she would say things like, “That’s it, honey. Touch my balls,” and “Here comes big papa with his big walking stick. Time to make you a woman.” After a while I was afraid that freak was going to jail rape me in her sleep.

3. Her libido fired up at an inappropriate time.
Mind you, sex at most any time is usually great, but not with this one. She used to always want to have sex right before she had to take a dump. The first time we had sex like this, she failed to tell me her little deal. So the whole time during sex she is literally sending me smoke signals. It felt like someone shot canisters of tear gas into the room. When she finally told me about this, I was appalled. I asked her why the hell she would want to do this. She told me it heightens the orgasm. I told her the only thing it heightened was the chance of her crapping on me one day. I suppose that now that we’re no longer together, right now she’s probably wolfing down a chili cheeseburger while hanging around a port-o-potty with her new boyfriend. Inappropriate!!! Creepy thing, though, is I kind of miss that sloppy bastard.

4. She thought she was Tom Cruise.
I’m not saying she thought she was Tom Cruise, literally. She thought she was Tom Cruise from Top Gun, which is possibly worse. At first she would quote lines from the movie. And I admit, at first I thought it was cute. But then she would do this for the whole day and she would only be quoting Tom Cruise’s lines. I mean, try having some bastard you’re dating walking around in the mall with you calling you Goose all day and turning around to you and screaming, “I feel the need—the need for speed,” and then turn around and want to high-five you! And if we were home and she turned into “Maverick,” she would constantly blare that damn song, “Take My Breath Away” from the movie. I mean, if you’re going to act like Tom Cruise from a movie, at least have the decency and taste to act like him from the movie Losin’ It. That was the shit.

5. She used to sucker punch me.
On our first date, she asked me if I was into spankings and what have you. I told her I would be willing to explore the area. Now, I thought two things here: that I would be the spanker and that this would be foreplay. I was wrong on both accounts. I would be simply walking to the kitchen to get something to eat and she would be hiding around the corner, and then when I approached, jump out and sucker punch me. The first time she did this, I gasped. Fortunately, she didn’t hit me that hard and it was only in the arm. But each time from then on she would sucker punch me with deadly force and at random places on my body. One time she actually closed-fisted me in the nuts. After she did this, I actually screamed real high like. Another time you know where she hit me? She actually popped into the bathroom while I was taking a shower and punched me in the asshole. No, not the butt cheek, but the actual butt hole. Not only did I scream here, I pissed all over the shower and parts of the bathroom. I told myself I would never raise a fist at a woman. It was here that I accepted the fact that this girl wasn’t a woman. She was a Nazi robot with a nice ass, and I could take a swing at a Nazi robot with a nice ass. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to exact my revenge with a punch to her asshole before we broke up and now I live with regret. Well, I live with regret and a butt hole that seizures up every now and again.

WEDNESDAY'S WORD OF THE DAY - BROUGHT TO YOU BY DINGLEBERRIES, THE BREAKFAST CEREAL THAT TASTES AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS

2006-01-29T18:30:00.000-08:00

MANDATE

Pronunciation: With a little gusto
Function: For sexual purposes
Etymology: Derived from the Latin word andate-mei
Date: 1969, or just ’69 if you so desire.

1. A command from a superior to a lowlife subordinate.
2. What Heath Ledger issued to Jake Gyllenhaal on Brokeback Mountain.
3. The order my Uncle Thomas always tried to issue me when I was younger and he was intent on exposing himself to me. Though I suppose this might be more Man-boy-date.

MONDAY'S MOVIE REVIEW ON SATURDAY

2006-01-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

What a year it was, my friends. David Letterman moved over to CBS and Conan O’Brien took over Letterman’s old show on NBC, Schindler’s List won for the Oscar for Best Picture, Frank Zappa died, and showing at the movies were such comedies as a The Fugitive, The Piano, and Sleepless in Seattle. What a fine year it was. Where were you in 1993? You know where I was? I was becoming enthralled with one of the best movies ever—Untamed Heart.

Now, I’m not your average moviegoer. It takes quite a lot to get me to see a movie, least of all a movie with the word “Heart” in the title, but in this case I was glad I did. If you have not seen this movie, you’ve got to wonder what you have against the classics. And if you did see this movie and disliked it, you’ve got to accept the fact that you may be some sort of sick pervert devoid of any feelings whatsoever. I’m sorry, but somebody had to say it, you bastard.

The movie stars Marisa Tomei as Caroline, a young waitress working in a diner in Minneapolis. Marisa is fresh off her Oscar-winning role from My Cousin Vinny and showed no signs of slowing down here. The part of Caroline required someone soft and yet tough at the same time, and damn it if she didn’t deliver the performance of a lifetime a year after winning the Oscar.

Marisa’s supporting cast was sturdy and annoying, all at the same time. She was supported by Rosie Perez playing the role of her friend and fellow coworker. Rosie is slightly more annoying here than she was in It Could Happen To You, but fortunately she wasn’t the focus of the movie. Marisa’s male lead was none other than Christian Slater, fresh off his blockbuster movie Kuffs. (You might want to rent Kuffs and see where the term “action hero” came from.)

Caroline’s problem in the movie is she is just unlucky in love. Throughout the story, we learn how she has been dumped by her past loves and that they have all in turn broken her heart. She now seems to have resigned herself to the fact that she may never find love. And then guess who we are introduced to? No, not Richard Grieco, damn it! Christian “Young Guns II” Slater, playing the part of Adam. I mean, it was at this point I was thinking, “Maybe he’s just making a cameo and will go away.” I know, wishful thinking, but can’t a little man dream sometimes?

Well, one night our Caroline is walking home on a very snowy, freezing December night from work. It is supposed to be about 2:30 a.m. Two very inebriated hicks who were at the diner earlier drive up to her and start making suggestions to her about going drinking with them. She politely turns them down and continues on her walk. At first, I thought, “What a stupid scene! What’s the fucking point of that?” And then a minute later they confront her on a bridge and make it known they are looking for… sex. It was here I felt a little stupid. You see, I didn’t just think that statement, I blurted it out loud in the theater.

Anyway, now I am totally confused here. I thought these two guys were sweet homosexual lovers. I just thought it was some cool gay subplot thrown in to attract a wider audience, especially in the Bible Belt. But alas, I was mistaken. These were just Minnesota hicks with dicks looking for chicks. So anyway, Caroline gets wind of it and begins to make a run for it, but these two drunken bastards were too quick for her. They eventually catch her and one of them starts to tear off her clothes. (I really don’t know why he tore off her clothes. I mean, any male knows if you whip out your Grieco in freezing weather, it will go from an “outie” to an “innie.”) Well, right before the PG-13 penetration can take place, in walks Adam, otherwise known as Slatanator to you and me.

Let’s just say Adam gives these two possibly homosexual rapists a thrashing, picks up Caroline, who by the way has been knocked out, and carries her all the way home. The next morning Caroline wakes up on her porch and jumps up like she is ready to fight. To her amazement, she is on her porch and Adam is there on the steps. Neither of them says a word and Adam eventually walks off into the snowy morning.

Days later Caroline confronts Adam at the diner and about 45 minutes into the movie, Adam finally speaks. Well, one thing leads to another and they become an item. But it is through this courtship that Caroline comes across a large scar in the middle of Adam’s chest just below the “Moustache Rides” tattoo. She turns to him and says, “What the fuck’s with that scar, bitch?” He just calmly turns to her and tells her he has a baboon heart. See, apparently he grew up in an orphanage and at some point had to have heart surgery and some nun who worked at the orphanage told him he was given a baboon’s heart. What kind of fucked-up shit is that? I mean, I had some mean nuns in grade school, but none that would sink to this level. Sure, I had one nun tell me once I smelled like a baboon, but she was trying to get the class to believe that my odor was causing the smell permeating the classroom, not her noxious farts. She was something special, let me tell you.

So now that we know Adam “supposedly” has a baboon heart, the title of the movie is beginning to make sense. Well, not really, but screw it because I was enthralled. As in all movies, the love of Caroline and Adam cannot exist without obstacles. The main obstacle to their love becomes the return of the rapists. They attack Adam and he dies. Well, not really in that order, but Adam does die in the end. Caroline is mildly distraught. At the funeral she admits to Rosie Perez she was great at loving Adam and that she really was in love. And the movie ends with Rosie saying to her, “Well, honey, at least now he has a tamed heart.” Fade to black. Bring up the credits. Bring up the sad instrumental song.

Normally, I wouldn’t like a movie like this, but damn it, I was fucking crying at the end. Damn you, Slater, for making me cry because you died. Damn you, Tomei, for making me fall in love with you here. Damn you, Rosie Perez, for talking so damn much. I don’t know, maybe it was the fact that I went to see this movie on its opening weekend which happened to be Valentine’s Day weekend. My girlfriend at the time hated it and we broke up shortly thereafter. I mean, how could I continue to date someone who is possibly a sick pervert?

So next time you’re thinking about renting a movie to see if you are a sick pervert or not, I suggest putting down the Asian porn you’ve got in your hand and going with this title. I suggest you get yourself a box of tissue and a thank you card, because you will want to thank me for bringing this movie back into your life. But for now, let me just say it was my “untamed” pleasure.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS

2005-12-09T19:50:00.000-08:00

Ah, the sweet pleasures of booze. The pleasant taste of it as it gently caresses my throat just before it presents its all-out assault on my brain cells. There is just something magical about it. Tonight’s drink of choice is Peppermint Schnapps, to keep in with the Christmas spirit. Tonight’s topic is on people and their damn Christmas decorations in front of their house.

First off, I don’t mind some decorations and lights on a house. It gives me that warm feeling inside, kind of like the feeling booze gives me right before it decides to expel itself out of my mouth and onto the unfortunate person next to me, but that is neither here nor there. I like walking down the street (usually on my way to the bar) and check out the Christmas lights on the houses, but what really pisses me off is when someone has crossed the line from decorating their home to making it into a Vegas-style whorehouse with inflatable dildos on the damn lawn!

Okay, maybe I didn’t see any dildos, but they might as well have been. I mean, I am constantly seeing shit on people’s lawns and rooftops that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with any holiday I ever heard of. There was one damn house with an inflatable Mickey Mouse on the front lawn surrounded by red lights. What in the fuck does this have to do with the holidays? What moron did this thinking this has anything to do with anything? Mickey Mouse, you asshole? I could maybe understand the Grinch, but this is just absurd! I knew I had to do something. So, I wrote “eat me” on Mickey. At least now it means something.

Another house I saw had two big inflatable brown bears on their lawn with an inflatable Santa on the roof. The Santa thing I get, but the bears? And I wouldn’t have even known they were bears if I didn’t stop and do a little inspecting. I mean, when I first drove by, I thought it was Santa being attacked by two huge shits. And what added to this is that these people’s house did kind of have a “we’ve been eating too much chilli and pork rinds” kind of smell going on. I didn’t do anything to these decorations because I want people to see the two huge shits attacking Santa and realize their neighbors are morons.

But what really got me was this one house. It was the granddaddy of them all. They had so many damn lights all over their house and yard that you would swear it was a Las Vegas casino filled with whores and crack addicts and hustlers and pimps and an arcade for the kids. But the lights were just the beginning for these a-holes. It was their display on their front lawn that was the topper. On their lawn, they had a manger with the Baby Jesus in the middle. Now, there is nothing wrong with this. Many people have something like this. But did these people have Mary and Joseph and the three wise men surrounding Jesus? Oh, no, that wasn’t for them. You know who was surrounding Jesus? Snow White and the seven fucking Dwarfs and that damn donkey from Shrek! I remember seeing this and making a mental note—these people have completely lost it and will one day begin eating their young and then their neighbors. What in the hell does Snow White and the rest of the crew have to do with Jesus or Christmas or any holiday? I mean, why not just surround Jesus with the two huge shit bears from up the street, you tasteless bastards! Hell, why not replace Jesus in your manger set with Gary Coleman, you psychotic nimrods!

Now I can’t even look at people’s decorations when I drunkenly stumble down the street on my way to church. I just keep my eyes forward. But if you ever wanna join me, just go straight down PCH, make a left at the house with Three Stooges statues dressed in Santa outfits, go about a mile until you see a house with two huge roosters on the lawn standing under the banner that reads “Merry Christmas – Peace On Earth.” Go down about a block and make another right at the house with the two huge shits attacking Santa and my house is two houses down on the left. Happy holidays.

"WEDNESDAY'S WORD OF THE DAY" Brought to you by The Colon Plunger: Giving people a reason to stick something up their rectum for 30 years

2005-09-21T18:58:00.000-07:00

Steroids:

Pronunciation: go ask your mother.
Function: oh, many functions.
Etymology: Balconian
Date: 1492 when Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

1. a liquid, gas, or pill that one consumes to increase
the size of their muscular capacity and shrink their
penis down to the size of a belly button.
2. a professional sports players best friend,
besides hand cream.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: WELCOME TO SUMMER, DONNA

2005-06-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

Ah, finally the summer has arrived and hopefully I will not see any of that damn rain for a while. I am not one of those people who want to go dancing in the street and hanging off light poles when I see a bunch of rain. No way in hell. When it’s raining, something snaps in my already deranged brain and makes me want to start chasing old ladies around. Why, you ask. I really don’t know. Maybe it’s because every cartoon I ever saw that had Mother Nature in it, she was portrayed as an old lady. So I blame all old ladies for the damn rain. Hence, the chasing.

I need sun. I function much better in warmer weather. Rain is for people who seek out depression. The reason these people love rain is because they get to stay in their place all day and wallow in their depression. These are the people who later on become flashers or peeping Toms. Trust me on this one. I apologize if you are one of these people, but you know who you are and how you are. Oh, and by the way, how’s the peeping going, you filthy flasher?

I know that the majority of people feel like me. Just look around when it is raining and you’ll see what I mean. When it rains, people are pissed off. They’re crashing their cars in anger, their cursing about getting soaked, they’re chasing old ladies and other random acts of violence. When it is sunny and warm, people are so happy their smiling, waving, handing out money and helping old ladies across the street. So what could be better than the arrival of summer, especially this year. So I say welcome to summer, Donna. And to all you old ladies, rest up and enjoy this summer, because the chasing will commence at the first drop of rain come this fall.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS(BROUGHT TO YOU ON FRIDAY): WORST TOASTS EVER

2005-06-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

1. HERE’S TO MY BRAIN, HERE’S TO MY DICK, PICK ONE AND TAKE A LICK.
You gotta just love people like this. They don’t toast to world peace or to a great human being—they toast to their crotch! Now, maybe this toast could have been humorous, except for the fact that my moron friend Sam made it at our friend’s wedding, and Sam was the best man. You see, Sam is what you might call a little inappropriate. Of course, I was the only one laughing during the dead silence after he made this speech. Sam and I were asked to leave shortly after this toast.

2. "HERE’S TO HUEY LEWIS, IF HE ONLY KNEW US. "
"AH, HE’D PROBABLY JUST SCREW US."
Fuckin’ Huey Lewis is the shit, baby. At least that’s what my friend Lucy thinks. She was probably the biggest fan of Huey Lewis and the News that I have ever heard about, and if there is a bigger fan, I do not want to know about it. Her obsession with H.A.T.N. kind of scares the shit out of me. And Lucy didn’t make this whole toast. I added in the “screw” part. She was none too pleased about that. But how could I let her get away with this? I let her make this toast, next thing she’ll do is make a toast to Hall & Oates or Asia or Toto. Just so you know, never take a road trip with Lucy and forget to bring your own music.

3. RAISE YOUR GLASSES HIGH, AND LET THE GOOD TIMES FLY.
This toast was quite nice. In fact, I have heard it before, but what makes this one special is that there was more to this toast than just this. My friend Adrian got cut off making this toast. After he said “let the good times fly,” boy, did he ever let them fly. This cannonball stopped in mid-sentence and just projectile vomited all over the damn bar and a few ladies from the next party over. It was like the Exorcist, only with unchewed pieces of steak flying by mixed with Pepto-Bismol and bile. There were no good times after this. Just the soothing sounds of girlish screams.

4. HERE’S TO MY PENIS, MAY IT NEVER COME BETWEEN US.
This has got to be one of the best toasts I ever heard, not because of its clever rhyme, but because my friend Sal made it. You see, Sal is a transvestite. Now, there was some guy trying to pick him up at the time who I am positive thought Sal (Sally) was a woman. If you saw Sally, you would have thought she was a woman. Well, Sally made this toast and deepened his voice at the same time. Ah, the look on that guy’s face who was trying to pick up Sally was great. Let’s just say that was the last time I peed my pants from laughing so hard.

5. TO ALL MY BITCHES WHO GAVE ME THE ITCHES.
Some toasts were not meant to be out loud. This one would be the prime example. You see, my friend Perry should have kept this one to himself. He made this toast in front of a few of us and his new girlfriend. After he said this, I turned to her and said, “Thank God you didn’t sleep with this crabby bastard yet.” She just turned to Perry and was giving him the dirtiest look I have ever seen. She broke up with Perry that night and spread it around about Perry’s condition. To say it stopped Perry’s social schedule would be an understatement. Let me put it to you this way. Perry is now dating his hand.

6. HERE’S TO THAT FILTHY EX-WIFE SLUT OF MINE WHO WAS SCREWING MY BEST FRIEND BEHIND MY BACK WHILE I WAS AT WORK.
I love being single and spending Valentine’s Day with my single bitter friends. It just makes my being alone so much nicer. Well, my recently divorced friend Stuart made this toast and brought the sad tone of the night to a new depth. You see, Stuart said this at the exact same time his ex-wife walked in the bar we were at with a few of her single female friends. She heard every word and started screaming at Stuart who started screaming back. After about a minute, they stopped and his ex-wife and her single friends left. Nice, Stuart, real nice. Way to be a bummer and a cock-blocker all in one. Her friends were cute!

7. THIS TOAST IS FOR MY BALLS, THEY’RE BIG AND PINK
WITH THEIR BOILS AND ALL.
Some people you just can’t take out in public. My friend George would be one of those people. The nicer the occasion, the more inappropriate George will get. And so on this night, I should have expected nothing less. We were at our friend’s Mom’s 70th birthday party. We were all given a chance to say something nice about our friend’s mom before everybody, and there were a lot of “older” distinguished people there. I got up and said something quite nice about our friend’s mom. And then came George. After he delivered this toast, all I heard was choking, coughing and gasps aplenty from the crowd. Shit, I swear one older lady even crapped her pants, because there was an unpleasant odor permeating throughout the room shortly after George’s jackass toast.

8. RAISE ‘EM HIGH AND HARD FOR KISS, THEY ROCK LOUD AND WILD LIKE NOBODY’S BUSINESS.
There’s nothing more displeasing than a Kiss fan, unless of course it is a Huey Lewis and the News fan. Once my friend, Sarah, made this toast, my body did something weird. It wanted to throw up and spit at the same time, mainly in her general direction. If you haven’t guessed it by now, Sarah is what you might call a Nascar-watchin’, Coors-Light swillin’, pickup-drivin’ cracker. She is a big Kiss fan. You cannot have a conversation with her without having her bring up Kiss. We were almost through the night without one mention of it, and then she busts out with this little toast. And unfortunately, she was dead serious when she said this. I just told her Kiss rocks about as hard Bon Jovi. I meant this sarcastically. She agreed with me anyway. I told you—a cracker!

9. HERE’S TO OUR FRIEND JIM KNASS FOR TAKING ONE IN THE ASS.
Our friend Jim Knass was a good guy who for a short time got into some money trouble. So when Jim’s was hauled off to jail for numerous unpaid parking tickets, we were all a little sad. When Jim got out of jail a short time later, we had a welcome home party for him. Jim seemed to have lost his easy-going way. He seemed bothered. And then at his party, our friend William made this toast. Obviously, it was a joke about prison rape. But the way Jim started crying made us feel that maybe there was some truth to this toast. Ah, poor Jim. I just hope he didn’t have to toss any salads too.

10. HERE’S TO GOOD FRIENDS. TONIGHT IS KIND OF SPECIAL.
My friend Jack made this toast and it actually got him laid. It was a good night out. We had good odds. It was just Jack and I ten girls. We are all at this big table, and then Jack stands up, raise his glasses, and breaks out with this toast. All the women loved it. One of them actually sighed. I quickly told them Jack didn’t just make that up. It’s from a beer commercial. Did they believe me? No! I couldn’t let Jack get away with this. He just smiled at me. All of the women said how sweet and great Jack was. I just kept screaming, “He stole that toast from a damn beer commercial! It’s from a Lowenbrau commercial! Doesn’t anyone remember that?” Jack eventually slept with one of those women later that night. I didn’t end up with anybody because of the toast I made. Let’s just say never use the words diarrhea and gonorrhea in a toast. Turns the ladies off.

FRIDAYS DRUNKEN RANT (ON SUNDAY) PRESENTS: STAR WARS BORES

2005-06-12T14:28:00.000-07:00

Why do people insist on seeing movies the second they open? I mean, I just don’t get it. Why would someone feel they have to see the movie immediately? I suppose I could understand if it was a special engagement and the movie was only going to play for one week. Then I get it. But why deal with the crowds and the crap just to be the first one to see the movie? Why, damn it?

What really brought this to the forefront again was the release of the new, and thank God, last Star Wars movie. Someone told me they went to see the new Star Wars movie at the very first screening. They were actually beaming about this. I mean, I think they actually wanted me to shake their hand or throw them a damn parade! For what? Listen, numbnuts, no one cares you were the first one to see the Stars Wars movie, and actually, now most people will be kind of creeped out by you. They may not say it outright, but they will be thinking, “I wonder how the hell this jackhole stuffed himself into his Yoda costume?” I hate to break it you, but you’re a second-rate Trekkie.

I can understand seeing a movie more than once. Sometimes we just enjoy a movie so much and it just stirs something nice in us making us want to relive that moment. But to do this you do not need to see the movie the second it comes out. And to take this one step further, you do not need to wait in line for weeks waiting for a movie to come out so you can say you were the first to see it. I hate to be the one to break it you, Seymour Knuts, but there was probably a hundred other people in the theater at the same time as you, so you weren’t the first. You were only one of the many. I mean, what is it you want? To tell your other creepy friends that you were the first one to buy a ticket and you were the first one in the theater dressed as Princess Leia? Whoop-dee-doo!!! I bet once you shared this information with a coworker, they probably wanted to know what the hell is wrong with you. Which begs the question—What the hell is wrong with you?

THE SUNDAY NIGHT STORY PRESENTS: THE NUN GOES TO COURT

2005-06-11T18:47:00.000-07:00

THE IS THE FINAL PART OF THIS STORY. THE FIRST TWO PARTS ARE DIRECTLY BELOW THIS. IT WOULD BE BEST IF YOU READ THEM FIRST, IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THEM ALREADY.

Today I would find redemption in court. Today I would finally right a wrong. Today I would triumph over evil and put balance back into my universe. Today this nun was going to get her salvation, so to speak. Everything was going beautifully. Sabrina spent the night last night and we had made sweet love for hours. We were finally getting back together. I mean, she was more into me now than ever before. She kept saying things like, “We need to always stick together. We belong together. Promise me we’ll stand by each other through good times and bad. Promise me our love will endure.” What could I say? She said this during our sexual romp. I totally promised her. I was so elated I even got up and put on our song on the CD player—“Against All Odds” by Phil Collins. That Phil Collins is a fucking genius!

We eventually got up and rounded up Eddie and we all piled in my car and headed off to the courthouse. Eddie still seemed apprehensive about helping me and he just seemed a little uncomfortable the whole ride over there, but as long as he did what he was supposed to do, all would be fine. We stopped so I could use the ATM and get some cash. When I came back to the car, Eddie was sitting in the driver’s seat and he and Sabrina were having a heated argument. I strolled up, opened the driver’s side door and said, “So, what the hell’s going on? And what are you doing in my seat?” There was a bit of a pause and Eddie just said, “Hey, bro, let me drive. You just sit back and relax.” I was skeptical about his motives, but I relented. I deserved to relax. Today was my day.

Well, Eddie, the asshole, took the extremely long way to get to the courthouse. In fact, he took so long we were almost late. We pulled into the parking lot and there were no spaces to be found. So now because of Eddie, we have to find street parking, and fast. But before he could pull out of the lot, I said, “Just drop Sabrina and I off and you go park the car and meet us inside.” Sabrina and I got out and Eddie tore off in my car with reckless abandonment. What an asshole.

We ran to the courtroom where I was supposed to be, I signed in, and five seconds later they called my name. Thank God, just in the nick of time. I took my seat up front, and then the judge came out. The bailiff called out my case and away we went. The judge right away asked me why I was fighting the ticket because the photo doesn’t lie. I replied with, “Au contraire, Your Honor, but it does.” He just gave me a stern look. All of the sudden, he looked really familiar. God, I hope he isn’t one of my parents’ friends or something. He then allowed me to explain myself. And, boy, did I ever.

I explained to him that earlier in the day I went to a costume party with my roommate and we ran into my ex-girlfriend there. My roommate, Eddie, was dressed up as me. Eddie and my now girlfriend regrettably ended up kissing and I got upset and drank too much to drown my sorrows. I was too drunk to drive, so Eddie drove me home in my car and that is Eddie in the picture, not me. So, the ticket rightfully belongs to Eddie. I was so proud of myself for explaining this that when I stopped I thought everybody in the room was going to start applauding. But there was no applause. Just dead silence.

About 15 seconds went by and then the judge spoke. He said, “That is you, not your roommate over there in this picture driving.” I said, “No, Your Honor, it’s Eddie. He was dressed up as me for the costume party.” The judge replied with, “The date on this is the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. Who has a costume party in May?” I said, “Your Honor, my friends Channing and Bridget throw weird parties like this because they don’t subscribe to the standard holidays. They think they’re too commercialized.” The judge just gave me a perplexed stare. I then added, “Oh, they’re white.” He just nodded and said, “Ah, say no more.”

The judge then had Sabrina come up and back up my story. Sabrina basically said the same thing I said. She also added that her and I were back together and that I am an upstanding member of the community. And then it was Eddie’s turn to back up my story. And at first, Eddie was basically saying the same things I had said, only for his version the judge started asking him questions. He didn’t do this for Sabrina. Why was he doing it for Eddie?

He was asking Eddie what happened between him and Sabrina? I was like, what in the hell does that have to do with the ticket? Eddie started saying that they were talking for a while at the party. He said he and Sabrina both agreed they had been attracted to each other for a while. And then they eventually just made out. Then the judge asked Eddie if he really drove home and Eddie said that he did. The judge still had a confused look on his face. He looked at the picture a little closer, looked up and said, “Well, where is your friend in this picture? He didn’t say where he was.” Eddie just went, “Oh, he was passed out.” The judge said, “So he was in the backseat?” Eddie said, “No, he was passed out in the front seat.” The judge asked Eddie how he could drive with someone’s feet across his lap. And that’s when Eddie said, “No, Your Honor, his feet weren’t across my lap, his face was.”

I just put my head in my hands. Sabrina just gasped. The judge just started choking. He quickly drank some water, paused, and asked Eddie if he knew that receiving oral pleasure while driving was a violation called reckless driving. Eddie quickly said, “Oh, no, Your Honor, I’m not gay. He may be, but I’m not. You see, he couldn’t pass out in the backseat because the silly bastard threw up all over his backseat.” All of sudden, the judge’s eyes lit up and he said, “Wait. Was he dressed up as a nun?” Eddie said, “Yeah, he was. How did you know that?” Then the judge sternly replied with, “My wife and I were the couple in the next lane watching him throw up and fart. We were both sickened by this display.”

The judge then turned to me and said, “Do you think it’s funny to dress up as a nun and act like a schmuck in public?” And before I could answer, the judge turned back to Eddie and said, “Now, did you have any drinks at the party?” Eddie responded with, “No, sir, I am the responsible one. I was the designated driver that night.” And then he paused about ten seconds and said, “Besides, I was taking medication that night so I couldn’t drink.” The judge asked, “Medication for what?” Eddie just calmly said, “Oh, sir, for the clap. You know. The judge just shook his head and said, “Well, what happened next?” And what does Eddie do. He doesn’t tell the judge about him running the red light. He tells him how later that night he drove back to the party, took Sabrina to her place and ended up having sex with her. The judge then said, “Son, I meant what happened next, meaning did you drive through that red light?”

I immediately turned to Sabrina and said, “Is this true? Is it!” And she said, “I am so sorry, but you promised me we would endure no matter what, remember?” I said, “You tricked me into saying that while we were having sex! I shouldn’t be held accountable for anything I said while I having sex. I’m not thinking with my right head, damn it!” And then all of the sudden the judge jumps into this conversation and says, “Wait. Miss, did you have unprotected sex with both of these guys?” I’m like, “What the hell does this have to do with my ticket?” The judge just goes, “Shut up in my courtroom, you schmuck. Miss, did you?” Sabrina turned to me, turned to Eddie and then turned to the judge and said, “Yes.” And what does the judge do. He just blurts out, “Holy shit, son, you got a ticket and the clap!” And then he just starts laughing really, really hard.

The judge laughs hysterically for about a minute before he finally composes himself. And then he just turns to me and says, “Son, I’m sorry, but I don’t buy your story. I mean, a costume party in May? I don’t believe any of your story, except for the part where the lady had unprotected sex with both of you guys and ended up giving you the clap. No one could make something like that up. I hereby order you to pay for this ticket. Son, I guess this’ll teach you not to go around dressed up as a nun just for kicks. Case dismissed.” Great. Just great. I was so proud of myself for my explanation and argument about that night. I was so damn proud I expected applause, but in the end all I got was the clap. Fuck!

We all walked in silence back to the car, right after I paid my ticket. Eddie didn’t have any money on him and he just happened to leave his wallet at home. And when we get to the car, what should I find. I find a fucking parking ticket on the window. Eddie parked my car in the red zone! I just crumpled up the ticket and threw it into my car. Eddie got back into the driver’s seat and we pulled away. On the drive, there is complete silence except for a classic rock station playing. We are all sitting there just staring straight forward when all of a sudden “Against All Odds” by Phil Collins comes on. So as we’re cruising towards the free clinic, all I hear is Phil Collins singing:

I wish I could just make you turn around
Turn around and see me cry
There’s so much I need to say to you
So many reasons why
You’re the only one who really knew me at all
So take a look at me now
Well there’s just an empty space
And there’s nothing left here to remind me
Just the memory of your face
Now take a look at me now
'Cause there’s just an empty space

Just an “empty space,” Phil? I beg to differ. All that’s left to remind me is the clap where the empty space used to be. That Phil Collins is a fucking idiot!!!

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN WORST MEN FOUND IN A MEN'S ROOM

2005-05-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

1. THE COUGHER
This guy is fooling no one. He derives his name from the fact of what he does. I’m sure you’ve all heard him before. Some guy will be sitting in the toilet seat trying to blast out some rotten trash he got from his late-night Taco Bell run. And you will be there minding your own business as you pee to your heart’s content and then you will hear it—the worst and loudest fart you have ever heard before coming from the stall he’s in. And then what happens next? He tries to cover up the fart by coughing. What the hell is this all about? No one is going to believe that was a cough. Unless you want people to believe you have shit-smelling breath, you idiot. I do not want to hear a cough after this putrid expulsion. I want to hear the sound of air freshener blasting away, you jackass!

2. THE WHISTLER
Another joy to behold. This is the guy who has to stand next to you at the next urinal and start whistling while he pees. It’s like he can’t pee without whistling. I mean, what the hell did this guy’s mom tell him as a kid? “Remember, Junior, whistle while you pee or your penis will be taken over by the Satan himself.” And the worst part, this whistler is usually whistling the crappiest song you can imagine. Why, the last guy was whistling “Achy-Breaky Heart.” And so I have to try not to throw up while pissing because of this nimrod. And to make matters worse, I usually get the crappy song stuck in my head for the rest of the day!

3. THE SPRAYER
This one is just disgusting. If you are eating right now, put down your Big Mac and just read. Trust me on this one. This one’s name comes from his actions in the toilet stall. You’ll be there at the urinal innocently peeing when this guy strikes. All of a sudden out of the toilet stall you hear one loud continuous fart and an unleashing of liquid spraying the toilet bowl. It’s safe to say there is no fiber in that person’s diet. This spray is usually followed by a groan and then a sigh from the sprayer. But the worst part about this for me is this usually happens right when I’m in the middle of a piss and I can’t stop it or it will hurt. Because from this spray comes a smell that washes over the whole bathroom in a matter of 1.25 seconds. Couldn’t this sprayer just go find some open field away from all living matter? The jackass!

4. THE CHATTERBOX
This guy is usually at the urinal next to you. Just when you whip out your big business to start letting the urine fly, this guy feels he must start a conversation. It always starts off with, “Hey, how you doing? Peeing, huh? Me too.” From here it only gets worse. There’s an unwritten rule in the bathroom that if you don’t know the other person at the next stall (unless you’re drunk, then it’s okay) you don’t start lipping it up. I mean, these chatterboxes usually won’t shut up. And they always tell you they’re peeing in the stupidest way. For example, “I’m just here to let the snake do some spitting.” I’m like, what the fuck! But the worst is when they say something about your cock or balls. “Hey, nice shapely balls you got there.” These fuckers!

5. THE PEAKER
This is another person at the urinal, only unlike the chatterbox, they remain completely silent. Now, you would think this is good, until halfway through your pee you get a creepy feeling washing over you. That is when you realize this guy is sneaking peaks over at your dick. If you look over, they quickly look away. But they are usually a dead give-away because you never hear them peeing. They are just there to gaze at you and your man stick. One guy was so intent on looking he could have described my penis to a police sketch artist and been right on. I actually think he may have fallen in love with it.

6. THE FIREMAN
I call this one the fireman because of their actions at the urinal. This guy is freak. There you are minding your own business as your peeing away when this guy starts peeing at the next urinal. And when he pees, you want to get the hell away from him. He starts swaying a lot while he is peeing and then you realize he’s got two hands on his device and he seems like he’s trying to control it like it’s a wild fire hose. The problem here is inevitably you get urine splashed all over the place, and that means you get this buttplug’s urine on your shoe. All I can think is maybe they got the tip of their penis cut off so instead of a nice stream, they get a jet-stream of caustic fluid flying all over the place. Why don’t these guys do the decent thing and just pee in an alley?

7. THE BLOODHOUND
This guy just makes me sick. The way some people get their jollies amazes me sometimes. The bloodhound gets his name for his constant enjoyment of someone else’s flatulation. This sick bastard is the guy you constantly hear sniffing in a horrible-smelling bathroom. I mean, maybe I could understand one sniff. Hell, we all have to gauge how bad it is, but to constantly sniff around like you’re one of those drug-sniffing dogs at the airport is downright foul. I can only imagine if this guy was having sex with a woman and she farted in the middle of it, he’d be in heaven.

8. THE HANDYMAN
Once again, there are unwritten rules in the men’s room that you follow and adhere to. The handyman ignores rule number one—No touching of other men while in the men’s room. This guy will put his hand on your shoulder while you are pissing away and ask you a question. And even after you answer his stupid question, he continues to touch you and talk. Hey, buddy, when I have the lower area out and exposed, you keep your flesh-seeking hands off me, you freaking jerkoff! The worst ones of these handymen are the ones who give you a pat on the butt on their way out.

9. THE OUTHOUSERS
These are a rare breed, but they are out there, so be wary. These guys are the guys you hear in the toilets just exploding. I mean, the second after they are done exploding, the temperature in the men’s room rises about 25 degrees. And right off the bat you are waiting for the courtesy flush. You know, the flush to at least swallow up some of the smell. But do they courtesy flush? No! They just continue on. But their name, the outhousers, comes from what they do next. They just get up and walk out of the toilet stall… without ever flushing! It’s like they’ve been dumping in outhouses all their life, so they don’t have to flush. I mean, why else would someone leave such greenish-brown waste like that for the next person to find? At least animals have the decency to bury their shit, you miserable skag!

10) 95 PERCENTERS
Ladies, it’s time I let you in on a little secret. Do you know why there is a group in this list called the 95 percenters? It is because 95 percent of guys who use the restroom do not wash their hands after pissing or crapping. Yes, yes, it’s true. Why, I’ve heard numerous guys come in and “spray” the bowl, and then get up and calmly walk out without ever washing their filthy paws. That’s why the handyman is even worse after he goes to the bathroom and then touches you in the men’s room. And this number goes up 98 percent when alcohol is involved. I have been at a bar, heard a guy go into the toilet stall, explode liquid out, get up and stroll on out. And a minute later I saw him holding this girl’s face while kissing her. I believe I even saw one of his fingers slip into her mouth. And you know these guys are also butt-pickers. Just a little food for thought to end this with.

AND ONE MORE TO BOOT…

11. THE NEW DADS
I’m sure you’ve all seen these guys at one time or another. They are the new dads who come in with their babies and try to change their diapers. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this… in a normal circumstance, but these dads are the worst. It is like they have never changed a baby’s diaper before and they are trying to learn in a PUBLIC MEN’S RESTROOM!!!! You can only feel sorry for the baby that is having to go through this nightmare. These new dads take forever to get the damn diaper off, and when they finally do they manage to get crap all over everything, and I mean everything. And then they start fumbling around for God knows what in the biggest bag one has ever seen. After everything is said and done and they’ve put the diaper on in the worst possible way, they leave the scene of the crime. And what’s left at the scene? A bunch of baby crap and so much baby powder that you would think that Scarface was in there doing coke. And one more thing—they also are part of the 95 Percenters.

SUNDAY NIGHT STORY RE-PRESENTS: THE NUN WHO DRANK TOO MUCH

2005-05-01T20:37:00.000-07:00

THIS IS A REBROADCAST SO YOU MAY REREAD THE FIRST PART BEFORE MOVING DIRECTLY ON TO PART TWO OF OUR STORY. PART TWO IS DIRECTLY AFTER THIS STORY. JUST SCROLL DOWN.

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.

LOOK DOWN - THERE'S PART TWO!!!

SUNDAY NIGHT STORY PRESENTS: THE NUN WHO DRANK TOO MUCH - PART II

2005-05-01T20:32:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I was a drunken mess and probably a little irrational, but I was still completely in the right here. Eddie violated every friend rule this night in one fell swoop. He knew I wanted to get back with Sabrina and he knew how much she meant to me. But did he care? No! There’s no way he could have cared while lodging his tongue towards the back of her throat. I often thought about Sabrina and I getting back together again and that first kiss. I just didn’t think I would be dressed as a nun watching “me” give her mouth a tongue bath!

Eddie and I got in the car and drove away. I immediately started screaming at him. “How could you? I thought we were friends! You are a schmuck!” I knew I was drunk when I starting using words like “schmuck.” Eddie did give me a weird look when I called him a schmuck. He just started laughing. Well, his laughter threw me into a fury and I started whacking him again with my yardstick! I was really going off!

And all the time I’m beating Eddie, I am screaming obscenities as loud as I can. Well, all the obscenities were adjectives preceding the word schmuck for some reason. I was yelling things like, “You fucking pie-faced schmuck! You fucking fetus-faced schmuck! You shit-asshole schmuck!” Man, there’s nothing worse than being a drunken nun who can’t get one word out his head while ranting. And all the while we’re driving, there’s a car right next to us. I finally look over to see who the hell it is. Well, it happened to be that old couple with the “Jesus Saves” bumper sticker on their damn car! They are looking at me like I I’m the devil. Great. Just great.

Eddie is roaring now when he sees these people glaring at me. He is laughing so much he almost doesn’t realize the light’s red ahead. He has to slam on his brakes. This sudden stop does me absolutely no good. In fact, my stomach just started turning and turning. And then out of nowhere I started throwing up. I quickly turned my head and expelled onto the back seat. And I threw up a lot. The whole time I am throwing up I hear the old lady in the next car screaming while Eddie is yelling as loud as he can, “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!” So while I am throwing up I somehow manage to retrieve my yardstick and I started whacking Eddie again quite savagely. Eddie just starts laughing really hard. I mean, he is laughing so hard he actually causes himself to fart, and fart really loudly. Then I hear the old lady scream to her husband, “Now that nun is farting! Let’s get out of here, Clifford!” And as their car speeds away, I get a whiff of Eddie’s air pocket. It is horrible. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but for some reason, people with the “clap” have the worst smelling farts. So once I get a whiff of this I started throwing up even more. And Eddie just starts laughing even harder, and then farts again.

Five minutes later, I finally got it all out. And then I started laughing. Eddie just looked over at me and said, “What the hell are you laughing at?” I simply turned to him and said, “I just threw up in your car.” Eddie just smiled and said, “I hate to twist your titties, but I’m driving your car, Sister.” I couldn’t believe I was so drunk I had forgotten. I became so flabbergasted I just screamed, “How could you, you fucking schmuck?” And what did he do? He just turned around to look at the back seat, turned to me and said, “You don’t chew your food very good.” After this moment, I drew a blank about the rest of the drive home.

About a month had passed and Eddie and I had finally mended our friendship. Sabrina had called me and actually apologized for making out with Eddie. She said she was a little drunk too and regrets it. She even said she missed me and wanted to get back together. I was on cloud nine these days. I was so happy I was whistling while I was opening my mail for the day. Everything was going my way. And then it happened. I got a ticket in the mail for running a red light. It was one of these stoplights that take your picture. I couldn’t believe it. It was a picture of me in my car running the light. It was $285. This sucked! And then I noticed the date. It was that Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. The time the offense was committed was 1:00 a.m. I kept trying to recollect what I was doing that night, but I couldn’t figure it out. And then I looked closer at the picture of me driving. All of the sudden I started coughing. That wasn’t me driving. It was Eddie dressed up as me driving!

When Eddie got home I started screaming at him. “How could you run a red light in my car!” I showed him the ticket and took a long hard look at it. He looked up at me and then took another long hard look at it. I finally asked him what the hell was he studying it for. He said, “Damn, I really looked like you.” I just said, “Jackass, they’re going to think it was me running the red light.” But wait a minute. I should be in the picture dressed as a nun. I looked at the picture again but I was nowhere to be found. I asked him, “Where the hell was I when this was going on?” A smiled just crossed his face and I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. Eddie said, “You’re not in the picture because you ended up passing out with your head on my lap.” And then Eddie just smiled and sighed. I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.

I immediately told Eddie I was going to fight this ticket. And did he offer to help me? No way! He said if he did that he would have to pay the $285. What a friend. I told him I was going to fight this with or without him, and I would just get Sabrina to testify that he was the one driving. Eddie all of the sudden said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, all right, I’ll help you. Just leave Sabrina out of it.” I said, “Good. You’ve finally come to your senses. I knew you’d do the right thing eventua—Wait! Why the hell do you want me to leave Sabrina out of it?” Eddie just looked at me and smiled and sighed. I started screaming at him, “What else happened between you and her?” He just looked at me and didn’t say a word. He just smiled and sighed. I said, “Fine. Don’t tell me. But it’s going to have to come out sooner or later. But either way, you’re telling the judge that that’s you driving.” I then called and got a court date to fight this ticket one week from today. I was going to have my day in court if it killed me. And believe me, it almost did.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK (I PROMISE THIS TIME)

WELCOME BACK, KOTTER

2005-04-24T19:55:00.000-07:00

I am back. My absence was unavoidable. But you can read all about it in the two-part segment entitled "Boston Or Bust - 26.2 Miles To Go". Thank you for your patience and your threats. Now we can once again resume our abusive relationship, but remember, no spooning until you say you love me.

BOSTON OR BUST - 26.2 MILES TO GO (PART I)

2005-04-24T19:50:00.000-07:00

On April 18 at noon, I started off on a goal that took me 19 years to achieve. That goal was running in the Boston Marathon. Sometime back in high school, a friend and I joked about how our goal was to run the Boston Marathon. This was absurd because we weren’t distance runners, we were 3-milers at best. We just kind of thought that maybe one day it would be nice. And now we jump ahead 15 years.
After a 15-year break from running, I decided I needed to start running again. I was 25 pounds overweight and an overeating, drunken slob (for more in-depth coverage of this time of my life, refer back into the archives for the story entitled “Endurance Junkie”). Well, I started running…and running and running. Then I started running marathons. All of the sudden, I thought that maybe that goal I had joked about in high school could now be achieved. I was not at the Boston Marathon caliber of running yet, but I could be if I worked harder.
You see, to run the Boston Marathon, you have to qualify by running a designated fast time for your age group, say 35-39 years of age. My qualifying time would need to be 3 hours, 15 minutes, or 3:15. My first marathon back was done in a 3:57. Not bad, but I had a ways to go. Eventually, I got a little better and better. My progression of times were as follows: 3:45, 3:41, 3:35, and then 3:25. I was getting much closer to my goal of 3:15. And then I had two troublesome marathons of 3:51 and 3:48. I was going in the wrong direction and thought that maybe I couldn’t do it.
But a simple three months after these two troublesome marathons, I was at the starting line for the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon. This marathon had worn me down once before, so I knew I had my work cut out for me. When I got to the halfway point of this marathon, 13.1 miles in, I was right on pace to finish in 3:15, but I still had another 13.1 miles to go. I knew soon I would start wearing down and would have to run through some pain and some cramps.
With one mile to go, I looked at my watch and realized I was still right on pace, but I was beginning to fade. I thought to myself this was the do-or-die moment, and it could all fall apart here. I just put my head down and pushed my legs as hard as they could go after running 25 miles already. I actually started passing people in my jaunt to the finish line. If I don’t slow down, I might be able to make it, but I knew it would be close. Then I turned a corner and saw the finish line 200 yards ahead. I told myself to just hang on for another 200 yards and you’ve got it. I chugged and chugged and finally crossed the finish line. I stopped my watch and looked down at my time. I saw it and I couldn’t believe it. I had to take another look.
After all that hard work, after all those miles of running during my training for this race, after all those years that just wasted away, I could not believe that my watch was correct. I needed a 3:15…and my watch said 3:14:56. I had done it, with four seconds to spare! All of the sudden, the pain I was feeling went away. My exhaustion had suddenly turned into overwhelming energy. I felt like I could run forever.
I went back to my hotel room after the race and I just couldn’t stop smiling. It was a weird feeling to achieve a goal that seemed so unattainable. And to achieve that goal a mere 19 years later somehow made it all the more sweet. I just remember looking in the mirror before I left and asked myself a question I had asked myself before when I was a drunken overweight slob (see “Endurance Junkie” story in my archives)—“Where are you going to go from here?” And this time my answer was, “Boston”.

(Stay Tuned For Part II)

BOSTON OR BUST - 26.2 MILES TO GO (PART II)

2005-04-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

At noon on April 18, 2005, the gun went off and the Boston Marathon had officially begun for me. There were 20,000 people lined up at the start, and all at once, we were all on our way. It took me four minutes to finally get to the starting line since there were 5,000 people ahead of me, but once I did, I achieved the first part of a goal I had set 19 years prior. Now I was off on part two of that goal—to finish the Boston Marathon.
Many things can go wrong during a marathon that could prevent you from finishing the race. An injury could thwart your hope of finishing the race within the first hundred feet. So I was well aware my goal of finishing this marathon was not some guaranteed thing. I knew it was going to take a lot of hard work, but I felt like I had it in me.
The starting line was 26.2 miles outside of Boston in a town called Hopkinton. The map I saw of the course said it was supposed to be downhillish for the first 12 miles, but within the first mile we came upon a hill. I was like, “What the hell is this?” For the next ten miles, we ran across a lot more hills than the course map led you to believe there were. This was going to make it harder because the big hills lied ahead at mile 16 through 18, which is called “Hell’s Alley”, and at mile 19 to mile 20.5, which is the granddaddy of all hills called “Heartbreak Hill”.
The really great thing about this marathon was that there were crowds everywhere cheering all us runners along. You see, in Boston, the marathon is always held on a day the city calls Patriot’s Day. To demonstrate how big a holiday this is to the people of Boston, a bartender told me he would work Christmas, Easter, St. Patrick’s Day, and his birthday just to get this day off. He says this is the best day of the year for Bostonians. And from the look on the peoples’ faces as we ran by them, I’d have to say he was completely right in his assessment.
Well, around mile 12 we entered a town called Wellesley and all of a sudden I could hear faint screaming. I noticed we were getting closer to an Ivy League all-girls college, and the closer we got, the louder the screaming seemed to get. And it was here I saw a sight I couldn’t believe. As we entered the college, there were girls on each side of the narrow road screaming as loud as they could. Apparently, this college has been doing this now for over a hundred years. This part of the course is known as “Scream Alley”. How great was this? I high-fived a number of girls and actually got kissed on the cheek by one of the girls. I’d have to say running in this marathon was already well worth it.
Unfortunately, to achieve my goal of finishing this marathon, I had to leave this college and continue on. So I did. Around mile 15 my legs were now starting to weaken from the rolling hills earlier in the race and I still hadn’t reached the serious hills. And then at mile 16 I saw my girlfriend on the side with my two friends who had flown out to cheer me on. She handed me a bottle of water. This was the perfect boost for me right before I started tackling the hills ahead. With that feeling, I went straight into the hills.
Miles 16 through 19 were tough but they did not break me. And then I reached Heartbreak Hill. This was a hill divided into two parts, with the second part being the steeper of the climbs. My legs were really tired at this point and I knew I was beginning to fade, but I could not let myself be broken here. I just motored through the hills, and when I came to the summit, a smile came across my face.
That smile quickly went away, though, because I still had another 6 miles to go and it was going to be a hard six miles. I had to slow my pace down and I was getting a little lightheaded. My thought here was unless I pass out, I will achieve my goal of finishing this race. So I just listened to the crowds cheering and tried to ignore the pain.
Once we reached Boston’s city limits, the crowds grew much larger and much louder. I was really trying not to stop because I knew if I did, I might actually never start up again. The problem I was having was my lightheadedness turned a lot worse. I was finally coming up on mile 25 and I got a great surprise—my girlfriend and my friends were there cheering me on again. I was so glad to see them. It gave me such a boost I actually started to run like it was the first mile of the race again. Immediately after seeing them, I passed the sign that said “one mile to go” and I was now flying again. The sides of the road were lined with crowds screaming so loud I couldn’t hear what a runner next to me was saying. We made a right on one corner and ran to the next block and made a left. This put us onto a street called Boylston that put us into an area called Copley Square. It was here I could see the finish line up ahead.
This area is, as one writer put it, “the runners’ holy grail,” and I couldn’t agree more. The feeling that came over me was overwhelming. I couldn’t believe that I somehow, after 19 years, made it to this point. The last 500 yards or so were just filled with me looking into the crowds, looking up to the sky and smiling. And then I crossed the finish line. Part two of my goal had been achieved. It was at this precise moment that with a smile on my face a tear came out of my eye, and not a thing in life could ever take this moment away from me.

SPRING BREAKIN' 2 - ELECTRIC SNOOZE-ALOO

2005-04-01T16:39:00.001-08:00

Sorry for my absence. All stories will return a week from now. Thank you for your patience, and for some of you, thank you for your hate. In the meantime, may I suggest jailbabes.com in the meantime. Tell 'em Cruzbomb sent ya.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: LEAVE IT TO BEAVERS

2005-03-25T22:05:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-23T00:06:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-20T22:11:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-18T23:29:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-15T21:21:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-08T21:59:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

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?

2005-03-04T21:45:00.000-08:00

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

2005-03-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

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.

THE SUNDAY NIGHT STORY PRESENTS: THE GREAT DISAPPEARING ACT

2005-02-27T19:41:00.000-08:00

Friendship can be a grand thing. It can fill your days and nights with peace of mind in knowing that there are others out there like you. And having a best friend can be even more heartwarming and comforting. This is the friend you feel that you would stand behind no matter what the circumstances, and they would do the same for you. Well, sometimes the bounds of friendship can be pushed. And I do mean pushed. And my best friend doesn’t just push them, she shoves the living hell out of them each time she disappears.

Now, when I say “disappear,” I don’t mean it like, “Hey, that boil on my ass disappeared.” I mean, Suzy, my friend, will slip out of sight when we are out somewhere, and what happens after that is pure mayhem and madness. Suzy likes to have fun when we are out somewhere, and if wherever we are at starts to become dull or tiresome, she feels it is her job to correct the situation, and correct it fast. How does she do this, you ask? She does this by slipping out to her car and putting on a costume, and then returning to whatever we are doing.

I suppose I should go back to the first time it happened. Suzy and I were supposed to go to our friend’s thirtieth birthday party. Well, Suzy picked me up, and we headed off to the party. Now, at the party, everybody there was having a great time. We were all chatting and drinking and eating and carousing and puking—you know, your typical party. Eventually, though, the party started to slow down to a crawl for some reason. It was here that I noticed that Suzy had disappeared. I walked around and looked for her. I asked people if they had seen her, but no one had seen her for a bit. All of a sudden, I heard a scream coming from the direction of the front door. I quickly ran over to see what was the matter. It was here that I found Suzy, and she was dressed up as Gumby.

I couldn’t believe it. She was in a full-on Gumby costume. At first I chuckled, like most everybody else. But then she started walking around talking like Mr. T., saying stuff like “I pity the fool who don’t wanna party with Gumby.” I thought people were going to ask us to leave, but everybody seemed to enjoy this disturbance actually. I couldn’t believe it, but the party started to pick up. I guess I never realized that everybody loves Gumby. Next thing I knew, Gumby was in the kitchen pouring shots and cursing up a storm. Suzy was actually insulting people, and they were loving it. She actually saved this party. Later on when we were driving home, I asked Suzy where the hell she got a Gumby costume and what possessed her to put it on. She just looked at me and winked. What kind of answer was that?

The funny thing about this event was Suzy and I never discussed it again. I figured it was a one-time deal for our friend’s birthday party. I mean, really, I didn’t wanna think I was best friends with a person whose alter-ego was Gumby. That would not be good at all, because eventually people would start referring to me as Pokey. And Pokey was nothing more than a glorified jackass, and I don’t see how I could live with being called a jackass, especially since I just happened to be a victim of circumstance. This would really be pushing the boundaries of our best friendship.

A few months down the road one of our friends was having a coed baby shower. Both Suzy and I were invited. To be honest, I really didn’t want to go. I hate these things. It’s usually so corny and everybody is just uncomfortable being there. And then we have to play stupid games like “baby bingo.” But Suzy told me we could go together and we will only stay for a very short time. So I agreed.

On the day of the baby shower, Suzy came by and picked me up. I made her promise we would only stay a short while. She agreed we would leave before too long. When we got to the house where the shower was taking place, it was already full of our friends’ relatives and coworkers. There was actually hardly anybody there either one of us knew. I thought, great, we’ll be in and out before things get too hokey.

We immediately dropped off the present for our friends’ baby and said our congratulations. Then we decided we would eat and adjourn to the living room where they would be opening gifts. A short while passed and they had almost finished opening all the presents. Suzy and I were on the couch surrounded by people we didn’t know for what seemed like forever. Well, the last present was opened and I was happy. I knew we would soon be leaving. I mean, this party was getting more and more boring with each passing second. I turned to Suzy to get her to leave, and that’s when I noticed she had disappeared.

At first I thought maybe she was in the bathroom. But then about five minutes passed and I started to wonder. Then all of a sudden I heard my friend’s mother gasp and I knew something was amiss. And before I knew it, Suzy reappeared at the shower…dressed as Gumby. I was like, what the hell? And just like before, she started talking like Mr. T., saying crap like, “I pity the fool who don’t wanna play baby bingo.” I was like, don’t bring up that game! Our friends were noticeably uncomfortable as Gumby strode through their party like some big green Nazi. And then Gumby decides to start holding one of the babies at the party. And then, to make matters worse, Suzy starts singing to the kid. She starts singing the Gumby theme song. Well, the baby starts bawling, my friend’s mother takes the baby away, and I’m positive we’re about to be escorted out. Then my friends ask Gumby if she would help hand out the baby bingo cards. I was like, you gotta be kidding me. We’re never going to leave! In fact, we were the last ones to leave!

By the time we did leave, I am pissed! We are driving home and I turn to Suzy and say, “I thought you promised me we would be in and out of there. We were the last damn ones to leave!” She just said that it would have been inappropriate to leave early. Inappropriate? I said, “How could it be any more inappropriate than dressing up like Gumby at a baby shower and making all the babies cry? Answer me that, Gumby!” And do you know what she did? She just looked at me and winked. What kind of fucking answer is that?

Well, time marched on and the event was forgotten. Then something happened that I suppose eventually was going to happen-- Suzy and I started dating. We just had so much in common and did almost everything together, why not start having sex together? So we did. Now we went to occasions as a couple. This was quite nice. And the next occasion we would be attending was the wedding of my friends Jim and Laura. I had known them since I was a kid but hadn’t seen them in such a long time. Actually, Suzy had never met them. All were excited to finally meet one another.

The day of the wedding came and Suzy picked me up in her new car. She looked absolutely radiant in a beautiful green dress. I was so happy we were now fornicating. I am a lucky guy. Well, we get to the wedding and notice the future in-laws outside the church arguing with each other. I ask Jim what is going on. He then tells me that his parents don’t like Laura and Laura’s parents don’t like him. I thought this is going to make for one hell of a time at the reception.

Fortunately, the wedding went off without a hitch, and it was on to the reception. I figured the reception would be a good time for Suzy and Jim and Laura to finally meet. Upon arriving at the reception, Suzy and I took our seats and chatted with the other people at our table. Eventually dinner was served and we all got our plates filled and began to eat. I was thinking that maybe soon Suzy and I would be getting married. I don’t know. There was just a nice feeling in the air.

That nice feeling went away rather quickly. All of a sudden Jim’s parents got into it with Laura’s parents and all hell broke loose. Things were getting really heated. Other guests were trying to calm them down. Then Laura’s dad made his way over to Jim and started calling him a “loser” and a “drunk.” Well, Jim took exception to this and told Laura’s dad to leave immediately. Then Laura got into the act. She got up and yelled at Jim for telling her dad to leave. Then Jim started yelling at Laura. Well, Laura’s dad didn’t like someone yelling at his daughter, so he promptly took a swing at Jim. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I turned to Suzy to tell her, “Can you believe what is happening?” when I realized she wasn’t there. Suzy had disappeared.

My first thought was, “Oh, fuck.” But then I thought she probably went to the restroom. I mean, she doesn’t even know these people. And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of green whiz by the windows heading towards this reception area. Then suddenly a door opened and Gumby appeared. Laura’s mom actually screamed. Everyone then looked to the direction she was screaming at to see what was going on. And then Suzy, in her best Mr. T. voice shouted, “I pity the fool who fucks up a reception!” Then Laura’s mom screamed at her, “Get out of here, you psycho! Get out!” Suzy seemed to take exception to this. And before I knew it, she started chasing Laura’s mom who was now screaming for her life.

So there they are running all around the reception area. I don’t know why Laura’s mom kept screaming, but she did. Laura’s dad started screaming at Jim again like he was a part of this. Jim’s parents started screaming at Laura saying this was one of her stupid pranks. And then I noticed that Laura’s mom was actually crying and screaming as Gumby chased her. So Laura, in her full white wedding gown, started chasing Suzy yelling at her to stop. Laura’s dad started in on the chase too, with Jim chasing Laura’s dad for hitting him earlier. What a freaking mess!

Gumby was very close to grabbing Laura’s mom, when suddenly Laura’s mom lost her footing and slammed right into the wedding cake, all the while still screaming. And what does Suzy do? She jumps right on her, and this causes Laura’s mom to let out the loudest blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. Finally, they drag Gumby off Laura’s mom. I have finally made my way over there and I help Suzy up. I ask her, “Why? Why did you do this?” Well, Jim hears this and immediately turns to me with a shocked look on his face and says, “You know this person?” I just said, “Jim, Laura, this is Suzy, my girlfriend.” Well, Laura starts screaming at me that it’s just a miracle her mom didn’t have a heart attack. I said, “Why was your mom freaking out so much?” It is here that she informs me that her mom has a deathly fear of Gumby. She has had nightmares about him for over 30 years. The second she finishes screaming this at me, I notice security come charging in the room. Everyone is pointing to Gumby and I. I immediately started panicking. I thought maybe we should make a run for it. I was really worried. We could go to jail for this!

Well, security calmed everyone down and listened to their complaints. Then they immediately rounded Suzy and I up and took us to their car to wait for the police to arrive. I now had my fill of Suzy and decided she should take the heat for this whole thing. When the police arrived, I explained to them that I didn’t do anything. But security told them I had masterminded the whole reception sabotage plan. So the police took us both Suzy and I to the car. I said to them, “I didn’t know she was going to do this! She acted on her own! You’ve got to believe me!” And the officer in charge just turned around towards me and in the snidest tone he could muster, he said, “Pipe down, Pokey.” I knew it! I damn well knew this would happen.

So we’re in the police car and they are transporting us to the station. I had never been arrested before. I had never even gotten a ticket. I was pissed, scared, nervous and morbidly afraid of being anally raped in the holding cell by some over-sexed repeat offender. I turned to Suzy, who was still dressed as Gumby, and noticed she was smiling! I just screamed at her, “How can you be smiling at a time like this? Do you find this funny? I am going to jail because of you! Damn it, I can’t go anywhere with you! Why would you do this?” She just kept looking forward with that stupid smile on her face like she was having a grand time. So I screamed, “Well, Gumby, what do you have to say for yourself?” Finally, she slowly turned towards me. Finally, at least I’ll get some explanation and the cops will hear it and know that I am innocent. And what does she do? She just looks at me and smiles and winks. I fucking hate you, Gumby. I wish you would disappear!

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE ON BESIDES THE OSCARS, HONEY?

2005-02-25T23:26:00.000-08:00

Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by Red Bull and vodka ‘cause nothing says complete liver damage like these two drinks mixed together.

The Oscars? Where has my excitement gone for these award shows? I’ll tell you where it’s gone—straight to hell, like my virginity! Oh, the Catholic guilt. Maybe it’s the hype that these media outlets are giving them. Maybe it’s just me. Yeah, right. It’s all the talk about something that eventually doesn’t live up to the hype, and that is the Oscars. (But if you ask my girlfriend, this could also apply to my sexual prowess)

First off, I can’t stand hearing about the damn Oscars every time I turn on the damn TV or radio. I’m not entirely psychotic. Tell me twice about it and I’m bound to remember the topic. I don’t need to be bombarded with news that the Oscars are coming up. And when I do sit through some kiss-ass on the radio talking about the Oscars, I end up wondering if it just wouldn’t have been more fun to give myself a skin disease on the ass rather than listen to this. I mean, usually it’s some ultra-hip wannabe actor/waiter who rambles on and on about the Oscars and what he feels is going to win “the big prizes.” Like I need to listen to some guy who thinks he’s in with these celebrities to lecture us about his insightful jargon about Leonardo or Jamie Foxx or whatever. Hey, buddy, go have another enema and Oil of Olay bath and schmooze up to a grip who might know somebody who might see your head shot! Oh, yeah, and if you could play “Shadow Dancing” by Andy Gibb before you go, that would be wonderful.

Another reason I get serious period cramps from the Oscars is because of the pre-Oscar show and all the talk about what “they” are all wearing. Do I care what designer dress some actress is wearing? No! I’d rather know how much coke they did before they got out of the limo or how much they beat their kids before they left them with the nanny. Now that’s entertainment. But what really used to get me was…Joan Rivers and her genetically incorrect daughter. Oh, those two actually give me nightmares, only in my nightmare they’re both circus clowns driving around in those little tiny cars… and they’re naked. See, I told you it was a nightmare. Nothing’s worse than seeing these two go back and forth from talking to people walking up the red carpet. Going back and forth between them is like going back and forth from crapping and puking when you have food poisoning. You know, the more it happens the more it starts to burn coming out both ends. Well, that is what these two Cro-Mags do to me. (I apologize to any Cro-Mags who might be reading this)

Finally, the Oscars themselves are usually a letdown, like going to see a Bette Midler film and not finding any full-frontal nudity-- that kind of letdown. I mean, usually the awards go to something or someone that makes me think, “What jackasses voted for that?” And then when somebody wins, I know eventually for their next movie I will have to listen to some guy for the trailer saying, “Also starring, Academy-Award winner…” Tacking that on to someone’s name is like when parents put that sticker on their car, “My Child Is A High Achiever At St. Holy Crap Elementary School.” You see, what that sticker doesn’t tell you is that their kid still craps his pants once a day and is ashamed of his fat-ass, hillbilly, Thunderbird-swilling dad and his trick-turning, hygienically unsound mother. That’s what the Academy-Award winner crap is telling you.

I wish I could get over this hostility and find my way back to loving the Oscars, but I just don’t see it happening, at least not without some strong pain pills and an anal-relaxing cream. I should care if Scorcese wins or not, but it has gone past caring. Does he deserve to win? Who cares! He seems to retain a stronger sense of dignity without winning an Oscar. I mean, imagine if he wins, do you think he’s going to go, “Yes! Now finally I’m in a class with Ron Howard”? I don’t think so. I say forget watching the Oscars and come over here and we’ll make sweet love as we watch Nascar.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN WORST FIRST DATES I HAVE EVER BEEN ON

2005-02-23T00:12:00.000-08:00

1. Now, this date seemed to be going along great. We were getting along well at dinner. We even shared our order with each other (we had two different pasta dishes). We had some drinks to go along with dinner. Damn, we even ordered a piece of chocolate cake with raspberry dressing on it. We were hitting it off. We ventured on after the dinner to a classy bar for a martini. Then afterwards we went to my car. Well, we got in the car to leave and before I started the car, she leaned over and started kissing me. This was going great! We were making out for about a minute, and then all hell broke loose. All of a sudden, she leaned back and started puking all over my car. And this wasn’t some itty-bitty puke. She was spraying puke out like a geyser. By the time she was done, the car and I were covered in everything that she had consumed that day. By the looks of it, she had an abundance of corn earlier. And then to make matters worse, she leans over to try to start making out again. That’s when I knew this girl was a sick bastard!

2. This next one was a doozy. This girl and I go to this nice restaurant for dinner. She actually picks me up for the date. Well, we get to the restaurant we approach the host desk. Well, the host says hi to my date like he knows her, and then gives me a dirty look. Whatever. We get our table and the second we sit down she starts looking around for something. A second later her eyes light up as she sees this waiter. Then instantly she starts sobbing. I mean, loudly. The waiter sees her, comes straight over to her and starts yelling at her, “What are you doing here? How could you bring a date here? I can’t believe you’re already dating! We’ve only been broken up 2 days!” Then she starts blubbering, “I want you to give me another chance! I’ll change. I will!” I’m just sitting there, quietly resigning myself to the fact that this date will not end up in sex.

3. The movies are always a good choice for a first date. Or at least I thought. My date and I decided to go see “American Psycho.” Well, in this movie, before he slaughters some people, he gives a lengthy speech on how great Huey Lewis and the News, Phil Collins and Whitney Houston are. Well, each time he does this I am dying laughing. My date, though, does not see the humor in this. Finally, the movie ends and we’re in her car and I proceed to tell her how hilarious I thought his speeches were. I said what moron would like Huey Lewis and the News? As I finish saying this I begin to notice a few Huey Lewis and the News Cds lying on her dashboard. She then tells me quite sternly that Huey Lewis and the News is the greatest band ever and that I don’t know what great music is. I just calmly looked over at her and said, “Contrary to what you may have heard, it isn’t hip to be square.” I pretty much walked home from there.

4. I still don’t know what this next girl was thinking. I know there’s some uneasiness on a first date, but to bring someone with you on a first date is unacceptable. Well, this girl did. She brought a guy along with her. And no he wasn’t her chaperone. He wasn’t even an ex-boyfriend. He was just her gay male friend. So, all three of us are at dinner, and they are both ordering very expensive meals. I just let this go without comment. He is talking the whole time. And then I see her look at me kind of funny and then start rubbing my leg from under the table. I thought, weird, but okay, as long as it leads to sex, I’ll let it go. Then she gets up from the table to use the restroom and the damn rubbing of my leg is still going on! That damn guy was doing it the whole time. That was it! I claimed that I had to use the restroom too. But I walked over to our waiter and paid for my portion of the meal and left without ever saying good-bye. I immediately went home and showered my leg.

5. The notion of this first date sounded good, This girl invited me over to her place. She gave me directions to her house. She said she was going to cook me dinner. I thought, good deal. The chance of sex would be higher on her home court. But when I got to her “home court,” I rang the bell and some old couple answered the door. I thought, damn, she’s got some old roommates. Then my date comes to the door and says, “I would like you to meet my parents.” I just smiled and thought to myself, “Fuck!” I walk in and there’s her whole big-ass family at this long dinner table waiting for me to sit down. So I give a half-ass smile and sit down at the table at the seat with my name card. For the next half hour I am grilled about my intentions with their little daughter. What a great date. I got Granny Goose on one side of me, Father Time on the other, and my date’s brothers and sisters all dressed up like they were going to church. I did get the hell out of there early by claiming I had a curfew because I still lived with my parents. For some reason, they seemed to find this admirable. Needless to say, I didn’t get the sex I was looking for. I don’t think Granny Goose would have found this acceptable.

6. This date was just sickening. I invited this girl over for dinner. Yes, I was going to cook for this date. Well, she arrived and we chatted while I finished up the cooking. We both had a beer and chatted some more and then she excused herself to use the restroom. Well, after she came out of the restroom, dinner was ready and I started serving it. Well, we were eating and laughing and having a grand old time, and then I had to excuse myself to use the restroom. As I walked to the restroom, visions of sex danced through my head. Well, all that came to a screeching halt when I arrived in the bathroom and lifted the toilet lid to pee. It was there that I saw the hugest dump of my life. I started dry heaving. The funny thing is I don’t ever remember hearing the toilet flush. Well, I immediately flushed it, while continuing to dry heave. I was so sickened I couldn’t even pee. I went back out to my date and sat down. And what does she do? She starts getting on my case about flushing the toilet and wasting water. It was then that I realized that she purposely left that sick crap in the toilet. It was here that I walked her to the door and said good night. I told her even animals bury crap like that.

7. This next date was in the same fashion as the number six girl. I too invited this girl over so I could cook her dinner. Well, she arrived in timely fashion and we sat down and chatted. She told me she wasn’t really hungry, but she might nibble. Okay, as long as she’s here, that’s the most important thing. Well, she excuses herself to use the restroom. Now, this would be a recurring sequence for the next hour. She must have used the restroom like 10 ten times. Finally, on the tenth time I couldn’t take it. I pretended like I had to use the restroom after her and I actually went in there and started sniffing around to see if she’s crapping her brains out. There was no smell. I just thought, damn, she pees so much she must be part horse. All of a sudden my friend pops by and sees my date. He then asks to speak to me in the kitchen. I oblige and go in there and ask him what he wants. He tells me that my date, who is now back in the bathroom, is a coke head. My reaction is one of relief. I was worried she was fouling up my bathroom. He then informs me cokeheads have the worst-smelling craps ever! Just then she moseys on out of the bathroom and the smell that followed her was ghastly. So I led her and her rotting insides to the door and my friend and I finished the meal I made.

8. So, I arrived to take this girl out for dinner. Now, this was a blind date. I was a little nervous to say the least. I had never been on a blind date before. But my friends assured me this girl had a great personality and was real cute. I mean, this all sounded good, right? Wrong. I got to her door and rang the bell. Then this cute girl answers the door—a real cute 6’5” girl. She was tall as hell. I mean, I felt like a midget next to her. I had the feeling she was going to be quite unimpressed with my normal size penis. Whatever. Well, we drive to the movie theaters after the restaurant where we had dinner. While walking up to the theater, she starts holding my hand. Now, this should have been a nice feeling, but she was so tall I felt like a little kid holding his mother’s hand. Then to make matters worse we run into a 6’8” guy, and she knows him. But of course. She doesn’t only know him, she used to date him. Now they start talking while I am actually in the middle of them and she is still holding my hand. I think all of the people who were walking by probably thought they were my parents and I was their little boy. And then to make matters worse in the theater, it was so crowded, we couldn’t sit together. So where does she sit? Directly in front of me. I couldn’t see a damn thing! To this day I still wonder why she wore heels on this date too.

9. Another date and another restaurant. Only this isn’t as pleasant as the rest of the stories. No, my date and I were out at a nice chain restaurant and we started ordering. No, wait a minute, I started ordering, she started just reading off the menu. I mean, she was ordering almost the whole menu. I thought at first she was joking, but when the waiter left I knew my date was a hog. And when the waiter (make that waiters) did return, they had some interesting combinations for her. She was eating like lasagna and sushi together, chili and orange chicken, a crepe with turkey pot pie. And she consumed every last one of these. Then she washed it all down with about eight cups of coffee and a root beer float. She even had the nerve to eat off my plate. I’m surprised she didn’t start eating one of the other patrons after she was through. I mean, she ate so much they took her damn picture and put it on the wall. And the weird thing about this scene was she was a small girl who probably only weighed about 130. The only thing I could think was she must take huge dumps. Dinner ended and I took her home. I told her maybe tomorrow I’ll pick her up and we can go to an all-you-can eat. She seemed to like this idea. I bet you would, you hog!

10. I remember being in a rush for this last date and I didn’t want to be late picking her up. We were going to a party. I rushed out the door and drove off to get her. Well, I got her in the car and we sped off to the party. All of the sudden I smelled a faint body odor. I must have forgotten to put on deodorant. Great. Well, the smell kept getting worse and worse until I knew she must have smelt it, so I had to apologize. I told her I was in such a rush I forgot to put on deodorant. She replied with, “That’s all right. I just got back from a run and I didn’t have time to shower or change.” I thought, “What the fuck?” That smell ain’t coming from me. It’s her putrid smell! Well, we still had another 15-minute drive and I swear, every minute her smell became more and more atrocious. It got so bad I considered trying to fart to at least freshen up the smell. By the time we got to the party I could swear she was rotting. Before I could get out of the car, she leaned over and tried to start getting busy with me. I mean, she got on my lap and started rubbing on me. But she was still rotting! She kept this up for about five minutes. I damn near passed out from the fumes. And I still couldn’t fart! Then finally she got off my lap and proceeded to get out of the car. Well, I also got out and then realized my clothes now smelled of her-- her filthy, urine-smelling ass. And do you know what she was doing? She started smelling her pits! I started throwing up here. I took the garbage queen immediately home and burnt my clothes later.

THE SUNDAY NIGHT STORY PRESENTS: MY PORNOGRAPHIC DOG

2005-02-20T21:55:00.000-08:00

They call him man’s best friend, but not when he does something this deliberate. I mean, to ruin a man’s good time like that, it’s just uncalled for. But maybe I’m jumping a little ahead of myself here. I suppose this story would make a lot more sense if told it from the beginning, but I just didn’t want to rehash the day that my dog became man’s worst enemy.

I had been having some very stressful days at work as of late, what with my new promotion to waiter from host. It used to be I just had to write down someone’s name and then sit back and watch them squirm for an hour waiting for a table. Sure, sometimes the diners-to-be would start getting a little irate and start ranting at me, but that would just cause me to bump back their time a little more. Well, whatever. The point is I was stressed out now and I needed to unwind after work.

Some people have a glass of wine to unwind, some put on classical music, some smoke pot, some exercise. I watch pornography. Smut to the layperson. Hey, it’s just what I do. It relaxes me, it soothes me, it releases me. The one problem with watching porno where I live is that I have roommates. More to the point, nosy roommates. Oh, and did I mention that my girlfriend lives with me? Yeah, well, it’s a full boat at my home. So having enough privacy to even watch porno usually takes some stealthy doing.

So on this fateful day, I arrive home to a crowded house and a dog eager for his before-dinner walk. No time for unwinding for this guy. Not one damn second. So I get the dog’s leash, strap it onto him and we both head for the not-so-great outdoors. Now, mind you, I have had a most stressful day today. Working with that lunch crowd really takes a lot out of a waiter, even though we are only open for two hours for lunch, then close down to get ready for the dinner crowd. Still, this boy is wound too tight today for this dog-walking business. I should have gotten a cat.

Now, of course, on this walk this dog wants to sniff everything, including his own ass, but what he does not want to do is listen. So on today’s walk, he is walking me. If only for one day he would just be content with lying his ass on the floor, I’d be one happy pilgrim. Sometimes on these walks, people who happen to be out for their early evening constitution love to just pet the little pooch. But today, it seems like everyone and their bratty kids are out and about, and they all want to pet this damn dog. And, oh, boy, is he loving it. It basically got to the point where I had to tell these people to get their filthy grubby hands off my dog. Damn, I needed to unwind, and I can’t do it with every jackass on the street acting like they’ve never seen a damn dog before!

After much delay with our local village idiots, I finally arrive home. I rush into the kitchen with the hound and start getting his food ready for his dinner. So even after that walk, after all the time I just spent escorting his ass all over the neighborhood, what does he do now? He takes a big crap in the kitchen right in front of our kitchen door. I’m standing there digging out his food when a horrible smell washes over the kitchen. I turn around to find him wrapping up a horse-type dump. Then he kicks his back legs like he’s trying to cover it up or something. Yeah, like that linoleum is really gonna work there, Lassie.

My first reaction, I believe, to this situation is a normal one. I scream, which then immediately turns to gagging. And then on top of that, my gagging turns to full-out hurling. It’s finally happened. Man’s best friend has sickened me to the point of oral expulsion. So what happens next, you ask? Imagine, if you will, the absurd, and there you have it. The dog saunters over to his dog dish. I am in disbelief that he is even thinking of eating after all that, but he does eat. He stops at his dish, looks back up at me, and then leans to his right and starts eating my puke.

I just remember at this point screaming the word “no.” It was also at this same time that I heard my roommates coming towards the kitchen. I’m thinking to myself, good, some help at this point will be nice. I stopped thinking this the second they opened the kitchen door. See, we have a swinging kitchen door, and upon entering the kitchen, you usually swing the door open. Well, they did just that, and in so doing, dragged the stinking pile of feces that was festering in front of the door all across the floor. So now we have the worst smelling dog dump in the world spread far and wide in the kitchen, two people staring at me like I did this and a dog munching down on fresh human bile. It better be one hell of a porno for me to unwind from this. I should have gotten a cat.

Once I restored order in the household and assured my roommates I did not intentionally make any of the proceedings happen, I retreated to my room and locked the door. Finally, I was alone and the unwinding was soon to begin. I had to first retrieve my pornography from my secret hiding place. See, the thing is, my girlfriend does not really appreciate those types of movies or magazines. You may call her a feminist or a moralist. I call her a prude. Anyway, she is the reason for the hiding place. To access my hiding space, I have to move my desk away from the corner. On the backside of the desk I have a briefcase screwed to the desk. It fits into a groove I cut out from the desk. And the briefcase can only be accessed with a key that is hidden in my sock drawer in my thick wool socks that no one will ever wear. I am a freakin’ genius.

After opening said briefcase, I locate the appropriate porno for the occasion, Whale Riders – Skinny Guys and Fat Chicks. I gently caress it into the VCR, and now the unwinding can begin. Now, just as things get going and I am beginning to relax a little, my damn dog starts whining at my door because he wants me to let him in. I choose to ignore him at first, but then he steps up his efforts. He now starts scratching at the door and barking. I am at this point forced to let the fleabag in or else my roommates will start to come over and ruin my chances of watching my movie with the sound on. Damn dog!

Well, I let the asshole in, and he promptly comes right in the room and stands in front of the TV. At first I sit down on the floor and resume playback, but realize my view is obstructed. I yell at him to move and he does. Yeah, he moves, but he comes directly over to me and starts trying to sniff my area. Now, I have to use my free hand to push him away, but he does something even more repulsive. He starts licking my freakin’ face. Now all I can smell is puke. I smell like my own sick. But what can I do? I’m not going to get up and wash my face at this point. I have to unwind completely first. I have to!

I finally get the four-legged prick to move his vomit-eating ass and again I’m off to the races. Now everything is going smoothly for a couple of minutes. I begin to think this may actually happen with no more hang-ups. I even turn the sound up a little. On the screen, you know what we have—two people who love each other very much who are moaning quite passionately. Their moans are really intensifying. I am loving it. I am about to unwind fully when all of a sudden my dam dog starts howling.

Needless to say, this scares the crap out of me. At first I thought someone else came into the room. I become so flustered I pause the movie. He then stops his howling, thank God. I look at him for about 30 seconds, and then resume my voracious viewing. Once the movie starts, five seconds later that damn dog starts howling again, and this time it is even louder. I immediately hit pause and immediately he stops. I push play and he starts howling again. I push pause he stops. What the fuck is going on?

At this point I am getting ready to throw him out when both my roommates knock at my door and ask if everything is all right. I realize at this point the unwinding is not gonna happen. I assure them everything is okay. I tell them the dog is howling at some yodeler on the TV. They seem skeptical, but they go back to their rooms. I turn off the movie and give the dog a glaring look. What an asshole. Now I am more stressed than ever and I smell like puke. It is about here when I realize what time it is. I am supposed to pick up my girlfriend from work in about ten minutes. She told me not to be late again today, but I think that is now out of my control. I quickly put on my pants, throw the damn dog outside and jet off to pick her up.

I eventually pick my girlfriend up, though I am about 15 minutes late. She is none too pleased. I think you could go as so far to say she was livid. The whole ride home she lectured me about how I just don’t know how to manage my time and that I am unreliable. Basically, just a whole bunch of female nonsense. I finally did calm her down by explaining to her about the dog. I did have to make up a story about how the dog stepped on a thorn and was howling until I took the time to remove it from his paw. She suddenly forgot all about me being a tiny bit late and said that was so sweet of me to do. It wasn’t really a lie. I mean, there was a thorn—it was the dog and it was actually in my side!

Upon arriving home, we both adjourn to our bedroom only to find the two roommates and the damn dog in there! They are inspecting the dog as if they are some kind of damn vets. I ask them what the hell they are doing. This is when they begin to tell my girlfriend the story of how the dog would start howling really loudly and then stop all of a sudden, and then resume howling about 10 seconds later. She of course told them of how I rescued the dog from sheer agony by removing a thorn from his paw. They all think this so great. They’re all agreeing how that is one of the nicest things they have heard of someone doing. It is here when my girlfriend comes over to me and gives me a great big hug. But in the midst of this hug, she starts sniffing. I ask her what the hell she is doing. She says I smell a little like puke. My roommates come over and start sniffing me too. This has to be the most embarrassing and awkward moment of my life.

So here am I about to explain why I smell like puke when all of a sudden my roommate darts out of the room and says he has got something to show us and for us to stay right where we are. He reappears in 30 seconds with a videotape. He said my mom came by and left it. She said it is of me when I was five dressed up like a pumpkin for Halloween. Okay, now I am about to have a new most embarrassing moment. My girlfriend tells my roommate to put the tape in. Then she rushes over to me and starts using words like “darling” and “precious.” She is just gushing over me while my two roommates turn on the TV and get the tape ready to play. One of them mumbles something to me about “checking something else out,” or it may have been “getting something out.” I have no idea. Suddenly a tape starts playing, but it’s not me dressed as a pumpkin. It is the damn porno I left in the VCR. My roommates start laughing and my girlfriend actually gasps. The couple on the screen are moaning like there’s no tomorrow. They all turn around to look at me. They all had perplexed stares on their faces, like I had done something wrong. And then the damn dog starts howling along with the people moaning. They all turn to the dog and then turn back to look at me with their jaws almost hitting the floor, or so it seemed. I hate that dog! I really, really hate him! I should have gotten a cat.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANTS PRESENTS: ROCKY III vs. RAGING BULL

2005-02-18T23:28:00.000-08:00

Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by tequila and Squirt. Just a frothy margarita to make me all sweet-a.

I was at a bar tonight and got into an argument with my friend over movies. Well, two movies. This fool had the ignorance to say that “Raging Bull” was the best boxing movie ever. Obviously, my friend had too much to drink and probably would regret all this in the morning. I quickly corrected him by yelling out those three polite words that let people know I would now like to enter the conversation-- “Why, you asshole!!!”

Why did I yell this at him? Because “Raging Bull” is an okay movie, but when it stands up against the greatest boxing movie ever (and one of the best movies, period) it ends up looking like a student film—a third grade student film. The greatest boxing movie ever is “Rocky III.” There is really no comparison. The tagline for “Rocky III” is “A fighter, a lover, a legend.” Damn straight.

“Raging Bull” was shot in that horrible black and white while “Rocky III” is shot in beautiful Technicolor. Why, its colors are so vibrant they almost jump right off the screen and onto your crotch. And look at both of the stars from the movie. Robert De Niro in certain parts of “Raging Bull” chunked himself up. That is just disgusting. In “Rocky III,” our star, Sylvester Stallone, looks as ripped as any guy I’ve ever seen changing in any locker room.

“Rocky III” just had it all going for it. While “Raging Bull” is so depressing, “Rocky III” is a get-out-of-your-seat-and-cheer kind of movie. Movies should only have happy endings. I mean, really, what could my soberly challenged friend have been thinking? He wasn’t! No sane human would even think like him, unless they were on crack.

And talk about the acting. De Niro comes off like he is reading off cue cards. He didn’t even seem like he prepared for this role while Stallone, I heard, dug deep into his Shakespearean background to deliver the performance of a lifetime. How Stallone did not get a nomination for Best Actor is a crime. How De Niro got one just smells like some dirty Italian tactics in the Oscar pool. It just goes to show you that if you give a few hand jobs at a Hollywood party, you’ll get an Oscar.

I mean, how can you deny the swirling soundtrack music from “Rocky III” and how it is still sweeping a nation? When someone tapped the legendary rock group Survivor to pen the tune “Eye of the Tiger,” they must have known greatness would soon be ringing in their ears. “Raging Bull” is no match when in the eye of the tiger. After the movie came out, “Eye of the Tiger” spent, I believe, a staggering 40 weeks at number one in Billboard’s Top 100 singles.

The characters in “Rocky III” were actors who were all trained on Broadway and were just venturing into the movie business while their plays were on hiatus. You had Hulk Hogan, fresh off of “Death of a Salesman,” starring as Thunderlips, the Norwegian/Chinese wrestler who dares attempt to battle our hero, Rocky. Then we have Mr. T., who had just finished playing Hamlet on Broadway for a record five years in a row, as the dreaded, yet always sexy, Clubber Lang.

Of course, we had Burgess Meredith, father of Meredith Baxter Byrney, who had portrayed one of the most well known villains ever, Topol, in “Fiddler on the Roof.” To hear him sing that classic song from there, “If I Were a Jewish Man” was always a treat. I just will never understand why Adam West was picked to play his viciously hairy wife. Once again, hand jobs, probably.

You also have Talia Shire as Rocky’s hourglass-shaped wife. I mean, her jiggly nature in those tight tops was just the right combination of taste and filth to please an overwhelmingly female audience. Carl Weathers, Rocky’s new squishy companion, plays Apollo Creed. Mr. Weathers was coming immediately off the German stage where he was portraying Colonel Von Trapp in “The Sound of Music.” I’m sure the hills were alive in Germany when Carl took the stage. And portraying her brother, Paulie, was… some fat guy. I think he was the caterer who got lucky with the job. But nothing is worse than a caterer giving hand jobs to get a part when he is supposed to be handling the food.

And as our star, Rocky Balboa, the one, the only, Sly. He is your classic hero from literature in the likes of Holden Caulfield, Hamlet, and Schneider from “One Day at a Time.” Sly was fresh off the British stage where he had just been portraying Macbeth. I heard for his last performance the audience was so thrilled they were throwing change on the stage as hard as they could. That’s what you call love and admiration.

Sly had to overcome fantastic, and I do mean fantastic, odds to triumph at the end. (I’m sorry if I’m spoiling the movie for anyone who has not seen it. I just didn’t think there was a person alive who hadn’t already enjoyed this feature.) I mean, he starts off as the world heavyweight champ, and then loses the title to Clubber Lang. But then help arrives in the manly shape of Apollo Creed. And together they train and train until Rocky is ready for the ultimate point of no return—the rematch against Clubber Lang. The best part of the training sequences is when Rocky finally out-sprints Apollo on the beach. Both men are so excited they immediately run in the water, wearing the shortest shorts ever worn by grown men on the silver screen, and start laughing and hugging each other. This scene reminded me of the scene at the end of “Casablanca” where Bogart says to Bacall, “We’ll always have Paris.” Fucking beautiful.

Well, Rocky eventually wins back his title and all is right again in his world. By having Rocky win this rematch the audience is provided with much needed closure in an upbeat kind of way. The message you get from seeing this movie is one of positive morality. This is just good Christian fun, with a message for the children: The white man always wins in the end while getting the black man to train him. And that is why “Raging Bull” will always be an okay movie, but never one of this caliber.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN GUYS FOR LADIES TO AVOID

2005-02-15T22:52:00.000-08:00

Tonight's list is for the ladies. Here's a simple guideline to help you out in that post-Valentine dating field.

1. Captain Stubbing
You should be able to see this guy coming for miles. It’s real hard to miss. He loves to wear all white clothes. He loves wearing shorts that are so short that if a gentle breeze blows, you could see his sickening stump. And to boot, this kind of guy likes to wear knee-high white socks with white shoes. Also, he seems to be going through some perpetual Captain phase. You know, the Captain from Captain and Tenelle. Only you don’t wanna be around when this captain takes part in his “muskrat” love. Someone should have this guy arrested.

2. Batman
This guy is great if you’re looking for a platonic relationship, but if you want more, you may be out of luck. This guy secretly likes to wear tights and big gaudy belts. He’d much rather hang out with his friend who wears tights like him down in their “cave” if you catch my meaning. Better to steer clear of any romantic involvement with this one, unless you’re a glutton for punishment.

3. Knight Rider
Well, this guy may sound cool and mysterious, but he’s a jackass. While you may desire his affection, he will not be around to give it because he will be in his car talking to the car. This guy loves his car so much that he actually names his car. He might look like a swinging hipster, but a guy who spends most of his day in his car even though the car is not running is not one for you. I can only imagine what he is probably doing with the gearshift.

4. Chachi Arcola
What we have here is a boy who may have a cooler, older cousin, but he’s a dork. You can quickly identify this jerk-off by the bandana tied around the leg. Trust me on this one, ladies, this boy thinks he’s suave and dapper, but he’s only going to get worse from here. And if you’re looking for a good future, this kind of guy is destined to become a male nanny for some white family. Just avoid the guys with stupid nicknames that actually allow themselves to be called this. Imagine if you have a kid with this guy, what he will want to call it—Potsie or something idiotic like that.

5. Reggie Jackson
Now, ladies, this guy will be hot at the start of the relationship, but as time wears on you’ll come to realize all this guy shoots for is sex. Eight months down the road when you want to just cuddle or hold his hand, he’ll be trying to hit a homerun with you, each and every time. It doesn’t matter where you are. You could be at your parents’ house, in church, taking a dump and this guy will inappropriately maul you while swinging for the fences. Now, if you like having sex while evacuating lunch, then maybe this is the guy for you.

6. The Incredible Hulk
You may swoon at his bulging muscles, but that’s all he is—muscles. The brain took leave of this guy long ago. You can clearly see this guy coming because you will be overtaken by the smell of steroids and flatulence. Unknown to most, when a guy gets this huge, he cannot control the muscular, yet pungent, air being fired out of his overdeveloped asshole. And whatever you do, do not get this guy pissed off. He will get so angry, he will actually start bursting out of his clothes because his muscles are expanding to great lengths. That is all his muscles except for, oh, the muscle in his pants. For some odd reason, that remains as tiny as ever. Life’s cruel joke.

7. Popeye the Sailor Man
If you like a healthy eater, this is your guy. But unfortunately, he only eats spinach. Well, I don’t mean he eats it. I mean, he chugs it down like a toilets chugs down your filthy disgusting mess. And as we all know, anyone who only eats spinach is not a pleasant person to follow into the restroom. Another thing with this guy is his forearms. They’re huge! But no other part of him is this way at all, which leads one to wonder if this guy is really combing his hair in the bathroom as long as he says he is. Best to avoid the sailor.

8. Maxwell Klinger
If you are comfortable with sharing your clothes with your boyfriend, then this is the guy for you. He loves to wear women’s clothing all the freakin’ time. Now, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, but all these guys tend to be gorilla-like hairy. How hairy? Well, when they’re all wet, they end up weighing about 50 pounds more. To give them a bikini wax, you’d have to start at the feet. After they get out of the shower, it looks like someone carpeted the bathtub. You can never tell when they are naked. That hairy. Also, these kind of guys will give you any excuse to get out of whatever you want them to do. They will present letters from their mother excusing them from going anywhere with you. Unless you like making out and then hacking up a hairball, best to not bed down with these guys.

9. David Lee Roth
First off, avoid any guy that goes by three names. More than likely, they are serial killers or fancy themselves a serial killer. This kind of guy is easy to spot. He won’t stop fucking talking about himself and constantly lives in the past. And they don’t really talk—they scat. That will get annoying within seconds. Also, when they get older, they will end up looking a lot like some distant aunt of yours. You know the aunt, the one nobody is sure if she had a sex change operation or not.

10. Gilligan
This fool will take you about a week to tire of, if that. This kind of guy wears the same clothes day in and day out. And not cool clothes, either. He dresses like a blind sailor, so much so he even wears a sailor cap. And while you may want to get affectionate with this one, he will not reciprocate your feelings. He will be more interested in some old fat man who is 40 years his senior. This one is just sick, unless you’re into that sort of thing. But at least have the common decency to wear gloves when handling the old fat man.

IT'S STRICTLY A LOVE AFFAIR - HAYLEY MILLS AND I

2005-02-13T20:34:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary, I have fallen in love with the girls from the movie “The Parent Trap” and there is not a damn thing you can do about it. Yes, this is the story of how I fell in love with “The Parent Trap,” and in turn its star, Hayley Mills.

I was a young robust child with nothing to do on a Sunday evening, and so I tuned into the “Wonderful World of Disney” on ABC at 7:00 p.m. to watch whatever the hell they were showing. Well, what they were showing changed my life… forever. They were showing “The Parent Trap.” This movie starred Hayley Mills and… Hayley Mills. Confused? Well, I sure was.

You see, the movie is about two girls who are sent to a summer camp. I guess they used to do this sort of thing—ship the kids off in the summer to some summer-long camp deal. Whatever. Well, these two girls have come from different parts of the US and have never met before, or so they think. Sharon McKendrick comes from a divorced society family in Boston. Her mother, Maureen O’Hara, is currently raising her. Susan Evers comes from a divorced family too, but only she lives in Carmel with her father, Brian Keith. Confused? Well, I sure was.

Now, these two girls end up running into each other at the camp and it’s there that they realize they look exactly alike. At first, they are stupefied by their resemblance. But do they sit and talk about it, or do any of their friends encourage them to speak? No! Their friends actually start pushing for our lovely identical twins to fight. One even says, “Why, the nerve of her coming here with your face.” What a jackass! One of these girls is Larue from the “Gidget” TV show. I didn’t like her there and I don’t like her here.

Well, the girls eventually get their wish. Our twins, Sharon and Susan, get into a most beautiful chick fight. It all happens at some coed dance with the boys’ camp from across the lake. It’s a classic chick fight too. They start pulling each other’s hair and wrestling on the ground. It was here exactly that my eyes were as wide as a crack addict’s after a big toke. I instantly fell in love with these two twins. They wrestled and rolled around on the floor until they eventually knocked over the record player that provided this dance with the swinging music. Then the movie faded to a commercial. I almost cursed the TV, but the only curse words I knew at this time were “Jiminy Cricket” and that didn’t really seem to have any effect on anything. Damn that Disney!!!

As you can guess, Sharon and Susan are severely punished. And what is there punishment? They are made to stay in a cabin together and are forced to do everything together for the rest of their time at camp. The only time they even get to talk to their other friends is for the hot shower scene. Seriously, they show Susan and her friends in the shower discussing her plight. Chick fighting and all-girl shower scenes, I couldn’t believe it. I was on edge the whole time waiting for my mom to barge in and turn the TV off while savagely beating me. But she never came in the room. Thank you, Lord.

As you might have guessed, one thing leads to another and our twins discover they were separated when they were one-year-old. That’s right, they discover they’re sisters. From then on they love each other. Sappy, yes, but I was loving it, so shut up. Then they hatch the plan to begin the… parent trap. They agree to switch places, with Sharon going to Carmel to Brian Keith and Susan going to Boston to Maureen O’Hara. Sharon and Susan knew eventually their parents would have to switch them back, and that means they would have to see each other again.

Of course, nothing would be this easy. Once Sharon gets to Carmel, Brian Keith lets her know he’s engaged to a woman named Vicky Robinson. Vicky is your typical evil Disney female figure, with the likes of Cruella Da Vil and the Wicked Queen from “Sleeping Beauty.” Disney must have hated women. Well, she wants to marry Brian Keith for his million bucks. Now, Vicky is not really what would you call “easy on the eye.” She constantly has a look on her face like she just bit into something sour and just smelled shit at the same time. A real winner this one was.

Sharon and Susan now have to reveal their secret and break up this engagement and get their parents back together. So Maureen O’Hara comes out to Carmel with Susan and disrupts the whole wedding planning of Vicky’s. Now, Maureen and Brian don’t immediately get on. In fact, they argue and argue, and Maureen evens throws a punch at Mr. Keith. Sharon and Susan have their work cut out for each other, but I would not get to see how they handle this until after the 29th commercial interruption!!!

A classic scene in this movie is when the twins arrange for a private dinner with their divorced parents and perform a song. This song is entitled “Let’s Get Together.” This has to be the most catchy and heart-warming song ever. How it did not win the Oscar that year for best original song is beyond me. Well, the parents almost get caught up in the moment and kiss, but Vicky the horse shows up and blows the whole deal. Now, as great as this scene was, I thought maybe a good chick fight here would have been even better. One surely wasn’t enough.

The twins eventually get rid of Vicky and get their parents to fall back in love and get remarried. Yes, folks, the parent trap worked, and the movie ends with the divorced parents getting married and Sharon and Susan smiling at each other. Now, I sat there and waited for the credits to roll so I could find out who the twins really were. Only the credits never rolled. The damn movie just faded to black and that was it. I was like, “What in the Jiminy Cricket’s up with that?”

Fortunately, my mom had seen the movie before and she knew who the twins were, and told me—Hayley Mills and Hayley Mills. I was amazed and pissed all at once. I mean, this is where I first learned about movie magic, but in this instance, movie magic made a complete fool of me. How could Disney set out to make fools out of kids? I thought he hated women. That bastard.

I had spread my love around too far. Now I could scale it back to just one girl—Hayley Mills. She was all I really wanted anymore, except for scooter pies and Fresca. I later got to see Hayley’s first movie for the Disney studios, “Pollyanna,” and one she did in 1965 called “That Darn Cat.” She was simply wonderful in both these classics, but “The Parent Trap” was my favorite movie. There was no hope for other movies to ever knock this movie off the top of my list.

Throughout the years, my love for Hayley has only grown stronger. I had to learn everything I could about her. And so I did. I learned that she fucking got married! Calm down, calm down. Okay, I’m calm. Oh, yeah, she got married, to a half-ass director who was 33 years her senior. What was she thinking? Wasn’t she getting my letters? Okay, I might have been way too young for her at the time, and if we had been together back then it might have been frowned on by most societies, but 33 years her senior! This guy must have impressed her with lines like, “Hey, when I got my first gray hair, you were 1.” Why, Hayley, why? Calm down, calm down.

Nevertheless, I eventually got over this and remained in love with Hayley Mills. But maybe it was time for me to realize that I was in love with the Hayley Mills in “The Parent Trap” just because there was two of her to go around. They did make three “Parent Trap” sequels, but I refused to see them after I saw part of the first sequel. This is where I learned that I hate sequels and the assholes that make them. How could Disney try to make another quick buck off this kid with these sequels? I thought he hated women.

Hayley Mills did star in a TV show in 1987 called “Good Morning, Miss Bliss.” This show eventually came to be known as “Saved By the Bell: the Junior High Years.” Still, it just wasn’t doing it for me. I believe the last thing she was in was last year and it was called “2BPerfectly Honest.” Now, on the spelling alone of this title I refuse to see it. “2B,” what brilliance!

Well, the years have rolled on and many things have changed, but “The Parent Trap” remains a constant in my life. Why, many a holidays when my family gathers at my parents’ house, I bring this movie over and make everyone watch it while I recite the lines along with the characters. Needless to say, my family hates me. But they cannot deny the greatness of “The Parent Trap.” It is where my love begins and goes on and on. The tagline of this movie was “It’s strictly a laugh affair.” To me, it became much more. Hayley Mills set out to trap her parents and eventually trapped me.

Hayley Mills, wherever you are, this Valentine’s for you.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS: VALENTINE'S DAY.

2005-02-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

Welcome to another round of drunken ramblings, vulgarities, disturbing thoughts and sheer bitterness, not all in that order. Tonight’s drunken rant is brought to you by mai tai’s. Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. Wake up.
Tonight’s topic is on Valentine’s Day. Now, do you know the damn history of this day and how it all came into being? Well, pull up a beanbag, get out the lava lamp and I’ll tell you all about it. It all started back in 1835 by a man named James “Tippy Toes” Miller. Now, ol’ Tippy Toes was basically your run-of-the-mill jackass. You know, the kind of person you usually accuse of stepping in dog crap when you smell something bad. That kind of person.
Well, Tippy Toes had a gal he was sweet on, and she was mighty tolerant of him. Ah, sweet affection. Well, one day, back in February of 1835, Jimmy got himself into a bit of a pickle with his sweetheart lady— he got caught with a lady of the evening. Now, Tippy Toes wasn’t doing anything. In fact, he told his cupcake he was only giving the lady a ride home on his donkey. His pookie bear, being a proper Southern woman, took her leave of Tippy Toes, but not before kicking him in the sweet spot.
Needless, to say, his baby doll was quite pissed. I mean, how far did Tippy Toes think her tolerance stretched? Well, he tried and tried to talk to his buttercup, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with his jackass self, so he had to resort to drastic measures. He needed to really start kissing some ass, 1800 style.
Before Tippy Toes could put his plan into action, the whole town found about his good-natured “ride” with the pungent hooker. He knew he needed to act fast. Once the single gentlemen callers hear about his sugar britches being free, they’ll come sniffing around like dogs who have just finished licking themselves. So, old Tippy Toes gathered up all the flowers he could. I mean, he even picked some poison ivy and got quite a rash. Now, he really looked guilty. I mean, the sudden appearance of a rash. I told you this guy was a jackass.
Somehow, he convinced the mayor of this one-horse town to gather up all the inbred townsfolk onto the main street. He then covered the street with all these fuckin’ flowers he picked. Then he convinced his sugar pie to meet him on the main street. When she arrived and saw the whole ugly town, she was giddy with ignorant Southern glee. She thought they were all there to lynch Tippy Toes. I mean, he had been almost lynched once, but that was for committing the offense of Swaigurism-- copying someone’s else’s stupid hick walk. Like I said, a jackass in a one-horse town.
Now Tippy Toes got her in front of the whole miserable town and the slightly-perverted mayor (he had a fetish for his own feet), and he had the mayor make his announcement. The mayor announced that on this day, February 14, 1835, and forever on would be formally known as his honey bottom’s day—Bertha “Battle-Ax” Valentine’s Day. Then to really save face, Tippy Toes got down on one knee and asked Bertha to be his wife-- his horrible, disgusting, freakin’ wife. She was so overcome with emotion, she said “Maybe.” Then the whole town cheered, and then got wasted on moonshine and butter.
So this is why Valentine’s Day came into being. This day can be either really sweet for you or a very lonely day, pending on your personal situation. Now, I’ve had some very nice Valentine’s Day and some really bad ones. One really bad one was when my soon-to-be ex-wife filed for divorce on Valentine’s Day and made me go with her on Valentine’s Day. But that was then, and this is now.
And now I am thankful for all the bad things that have happened to me in relationships, no matter what it was. I am thankful for getting dumped really bad twice. I am thankful for the awful things that were said to hurt me by anyone I was dating. I am thankful for being left alone on Valentine’s Day and for the tears I cried then. And do you know why I am thankful for these bad times? Because it is not just the good times, but also the bad times that have shaped me into what I am today and where I am. My ex-wife is now my really good friend. I have great friends, a passion for life, people who seem to really love me, a supportive and loving family and a special someone. Maybe certain things could be better, or maybe not. But come this Valentine’s Day, I’ll just remember there is love, and that is all that really matters. Have a happy Valentine’s Day.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN REASONS MY GIRLFRIEND THINKS I'M GAY BECAUSE I DIDN'T WATCH THE SUPER BOWL

2005-02-08T22:45:00.000-08:00

1. First off, I went running in the morning. I ran 18 miles. So sometimes my toenails rub against my shoe when I run for that long and need to be cut or reshaped. Well, I asked her, “Where can a guy get a good pedicure?” The look she gave me was one of disgust, sadness and then pure hatred. I guess I shouldn’t have asked her what color would look good on my big toe. Well, needless to say I didn’t get any sex that night, unless you count masturbation.

2. Now this one is just a misunderstanding. I am never invited to Super Bowl parties anymore, so I didn’t have anywhere to go. It seems that at previous Super Bowl parties, I tend to get a little too excited for everyone’s comfort level. That’s just crap. All right, sometimes at previous Super Bowl parties, I liked to show up dressed as a cheerleader of one of the teams. Now, it seems the real problem is that I choose not to wear underwear with my cheerleader skirt. My undies are too bulky and just bunch up my skirt. And I guess no one appreciates my cartwheels. So now I have nowhere to go.

3. I really meant to watch the game at home, but I started channel surfing around noon, and that’s when my destiny for the rest of the day changed for good. I found out that the Lifetime Channel was showing a Bette Midler marathon. I mean, was there really a choice after this? So I got a thing for Bette. I mean, how can any guy not get good and hard after watching her in Stella. How? She looks like she might smell like patchouli and baby powder, and these are a few of my favorite things.

4. I do not see how my girlfriend doesn’t even think this is just sweet. Instead of watching the game, I decided to go to the mall with her and go bra shopping. Well, she went to the mall and I surprised her there. What better day to do this than on this day? But was she excited to see me? No! As a matter of fact, she seemed kind of creeped out by me being there. Oh, and that I used the words “periwinkle” and “mauve” to describe a few bra colors didn’t sit well with her. She actually called me “Mr. Fancypants.” I guess because I had my Jordache’s on.

5. Now this is a common problem the world over. I still don’t see what she got so bent out of shape for. I was going to go next door to watch the game with my neighbor, and since my girlfriend hid my cheerleader outfit, I was left with the dilemma of trying to find something to wear. Well, I didn’t end up going next door because I couldn’t find the right outfit to wear, no matter what combinations I tried on. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted to wear my new pink fedora with the little feather number. It just didn’t look right with any of my dolphin shorts. My girlfriend also came in the room and caught me looking at my ass in the mirror and tightening the muscles. Nothing wrong with that in my eyes. Needless to say, my girlfriend didn’t have sex with me that night.

6. I had been real gassy all week for some reason. I didn’t change my diet or anything— a sloppy joe breakfast followed by a tantalizing cup of Ovaltine. Well, I was reading the local paper and I saw an ad that said “Super Bowl Flush” for $50. Well, I rushed down to Jimmy’s Discount High Colonic and Fudge Factory for a complete flushing so I could plug up this slow leak I had. After Jimmy removed the garden hose from my tender derriere, I was so excited, and full of that not so unfresh feeling, that I rushed home to tell my girlfriend how I got a colonic, and for her I got some fudge. She was a few things when I told her—saddened, pissed, and actually started dry heaving. She didn’t even eat her damn fudge. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night.

7. I really couldn’t watch the game because I kind of burned my eyelids with a--- oh, what is that thing called—oh, yeah—a curling iron. My eyebrows can get quite bushy and lengthy if I don’t trim them when I trim other certain skimpy areas. Well, they were lengthy, so I thought curling them might be either cute or stupid, but either way, it would be something new. In the process of doing this, my girlfriend barged into the room without even knocking and scared the living crap out of me (not in the same way Jimmy at Discount Colonic got the living crap out of me). After I let out a high-pitched scream, the curling iron landed on my eyelids and scorched ‘em. I then dropped the curling iron. The real problem was that I was naked at the time, so the curling iron didn’t really make it straight to the floor. Let’s just say it hit a softly erect “diving board” and then bounced hard off it. I may have to agree with my girlfriend on this one about being kind of gay.

8. I have an activity that brings me such joy I love doing it whenever the urge arises. I also love to sing while doing it because it makes the action feel that much better. I love jumping rope. Oh, you should see me get going. I can go for hours. First, I like to lather up with a lot of hand cream. It just makes everything smoother for grabbing a firm hold onto that huge rope. Then I just get that rope going and going, and once I got a good rhythm, and get my heavy panting under control, I start singing. My usual song of choice here is “Hopelessly Devoted To You” from Grease. It just seems like an appropriate song for the occasion. And usually, I let that rope swing and swing until I get full satisfaction from it. Sometimes I get interrupted and then for some reason, my session is ruined. I also receive a pain for a while if I don’t finish jumping rope correctly. Well, I did this instead of watching part of the game. Now, how could this be gay? It’s not like everyone doesn’t jump rope. They do. They just don’t admit it.

9. I did end up going to a party on Super Bowl Sunday actually. It was super fun, only it wasn’t a party to watch the game. It was a fondue party. I simply love a good fondue party. Sure, there were other guys there. In fact, come to think of it, there were only guys there. Whatever. I even called my girlfriend from the party and asked her if she wanted me to bring her home some fondue. She just said, “What the fuck?” and hung up on me. She didn’t know what she was missing. And the absolute best part—the smell of fondue. It smells like old sweaty socks, bad chili and Bette Midler. Ooh, I just love it, love it, love it!

10. The last reason I didn’t watch the game was because of their damn halftime show. I mean, how can you have a halftime show without the freakin’ Village People? How, Lord, how? I mean that construction worker is tuff, baby. And I had me a craving for the Indian. Don’t ask me why. Well, I complained about this to my girlfriend and I told her I was boycotting watching the game because of the Village Peoples’ absence. She just left the room, came back with a tampon and handed it to me. I just don’t understand women. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night, but I did jump a lot of rope.

FRIDAY'S DRUNKEN RANT PRESENTS... THE SOUND OF MUSIC

2005-02-04T23:46:00.000-08:00

Welcome to another edition of "Friday's drunken rants." I'll try to tone down the cussing because some people found it hard to take. Well, here's your disclaimer: I'm drunk! So on with the show. Curtains, please.
This rant is all about my experience with "The Sound of Music." I hate it when these whoremongers like to claim they've never seen this movie. That falls into the horseshit category. (Horseshit isn't a curse word!) At some time or another, everyone has seen this movie, or at least enough of it to claim to have seen it. I was forced to watch it at a young, tender, impressionable age. And at first, I thought, "What a bunch of crap." You have to understand, I was forced to see a double bill of this and "Boys From Brazil." Real nice! Only in Orange County would they try to pull something like this off, you filthy Nazis.
A funny thing happened, though, when I hit puberty (age 23)-- I started to really love this movie. And why? Because I had the hots for the nun in training. Let's just call her NIT for now. I mean, it was here that my overactive hormones took over and forced me to like this movie. Forget about those Austrian daughters, I had it for the NIT. Imagine the Colonel Von Trapp, this horny little bastard. He was probably trolling around the convent looking for women. I mean, how desperate was he for a virgin? What a perv. And did you get a load of all the kids he had and how young he still was. Holy shit. No wonder he was a widower. He must have been knocking his wife up the second the umbilical cord was cut. I mean, at least let the lady get a glass of water first, you fucker.
Maybe it was because of the forbidden love. Loving a nun. Oh, dare to dream. And remember that song, "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria"? Well, the Colonel Von Trapp knew how to solve this problem. Have sex with her!!! I mean, look at this asshole. First off, he's got a daughter hot for an up-and-coming Nazi delivery boy, so much so she's singing shit like "I Am 16 Going On 17" to the little prick. That's right, I called him a little prick. I mean, she's basically out there singing, "Free pussy, pizza delivery boy! Come and get it!" And where's the Colonel? Up in his room trying to figure out how to get the NIT to kick the habit, literally. Can you believe this honky?
In the Colonel's defense, though, she was a little biscuit, wasn't she? I mean, when she was doing that puppet show with the kids and singing "yodelay-hee, yodelay-hee-hoo," I was discovering what it meant to be a perv. And all this happened during one viewing. The damn music for me, though, was just a distraction. I mean, this was a movie about action-- Nazi delivery boys sniffing around for virgins, Colonels sniffing around for experimental nuns, and a family singing group so awesome that only the Patridge Family would ever rival. This movie suddenly had it all.
But getting back to the Colonel, he was the precursor to many pop culture ideas that would spawn from his very loins. Maybe loins isn't the right word. First off, he banned music and singing in the Von Trapp house. Later on, this would inspire a young writer to pen the screenplay "Footloose." I think I saw in the original screenplay there were nuns who weren't allowed to dance or fornicate so they started calling themselves the Pink Ladies and would only date T-Birds. And then one of them got a hicky from Canicky. And then-- Oh, fuck it. I don't know, it was something like that. Next, just the sheer magnitude of the name Von Trapp inspired one jerk-off teenager to change his name from Edward Bowelreegard to Eddie Van Halen. And the rest is history-- real bad history, but still history.
But what really did it for me in this movie was when the Colonel takes the NIT to that gazebo, or whatever the hell it was, and they start singing that "I Must Have Done Something Good" song. Well, for you, Colonel, if you think that poking nuns is good, then knock yourself out, buttplug. But it is this scene where they are about to kiss. The music softens, about as much as this damn music can soften, and they lean into the kiss. Cue up the movie to this point. Don't give me that crap about "I don't own it. Why would I own it?" I know you own it, jackass! It is right at this point that the Colonel transforms into an ape. I swear it. All of a sudden, the NIT is making out with a full-grown ape! This is the best twist any movie has ever had, ever! It goes from "fun with the nun" straight into hot monkey love. Suddenly, I could hear the Sound of Music, and it was beautiful.
I loved this movie so much that I when I went to Austria I went on the "Sound of Music" tour. It was beautiful. It came with our own little Nazi tour guide, a few of the exterior house shots, but best of all, a bus ride out of town where we were all raped. Wait. That was another trip. No, a ride out of town to the church where the convent chaser and the ape kisser got married. I believe I cried when we got to the church. It all seemed so real. I believe I even got aroused. Is that wrong?
Well, there you have it. Tonight's rant was brought to you by Widmer Heifenwizen. Ask for it all your local bar.

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS -- TOP TEN WAYS I HAVE HUMILIATED MYSELF

2005-02-01T21:12:00.000-08:00

1. When I was about six, it was the summer and I was at my friend’s house and we were running through the sprinklers. I didn’t have any shorts to wear, so I borrowed a pair of his. We were running through the sprinklers, enjoying ourselves as we cooled off. Then my friend went inside to take dispose of some old food (crap). All of a sudden I realized I was supposed to be home a while ago. I couldn’t wait for my friend any longer. I did what I had to do—I took off the trunks and ran home… naked, I only lived down the street, and it didn’t seem wrong for some reason, but when I was about four houses from being home, I began to notice the shocked looks on my neighbors’ faces as they watered their lawns or sat on their porches. It was then that it hit me. And nothing is worse than feeling like a jackass while being completely naked in public.

2. Once when I was out on a six-mile jog, I was three miles from making it home and all of sudden something in my stomach dropped with a vengeance. At first I fought through it and made it for about two miles. Then with one mile to go I couldn’t go on and I was only around houses of people I didn’t know. On a side note, there was one bathroom on this route, but it was never open. I was screwed. I was like Mt. St. Helens, only from the ass. Then for the next five minutes as I struggled to walk home, I saw friends and family drive by. I was yelling and waving at me. You know what they did? They honked their horns and waved, like I was saying “hi” to them. No one stopped, and I was on my own. Even if they did stop, I couldn’t blame the smell on just pure sweat anyway, now that I think about it. Needless to say, I don’t run on courses without bathrooms all around.

3. Now this one wasn’t so bad for me as it could have been. I was in the seventh grade and we had just eaten our lunch. We were back in class. I sat second from the back in the corner. There was a boy named Charles behind me. Well, our teacher had done something to make us all laugh really hard (she was probably hitting somebody), and I did something so natural, there was no way it could be wrong—I farted really, really loud. All of the sudden everyone turned towards my direction and I knew our teacher was going to be pissed. Fortunately, I reacted with them and I immediately turned around to Charles sitting behind me. He was laughing too hard to tell anybody he didn’t do it soon enough, and I was in the clear, so to speak. Not really humiliating to me, but it was a close enough call to make this list.

4. Like any growing boy, I excelled at one sport—masturbation. I was so good at it that I was sure sponsors would come knocking at my door asking me to represent their product—you know, hand cream, gloves, cheese graters. Well, one day I was just too irresistible, I couldn’t keep my hands off myself, so I partook of this activity several times. Well, by doing so, I gave myself a severe groin injury. I had to walk around the next day all awkward and gingerly. I just told friends and family I had been out riding horses the day before, even though there were no horses anywhere I could get to. They all did look at me weird, but may or may not have been none the wiser.

5. This is one I’m sure we’ve all had to deal with at one time or another. I was at a bar and I was trying to impress this girl. At one point we both went to use the restroom. There were two restrooms and they both had one toilet each. Well, while she was in hers, some guy comes out of mine sweating profusely, And the smell that followed him was horrendous. I mean, I actually started crying it was that bad. There was no one else in line behind me, but I couldn’t wait anymore. I took three deep breaths and ran in to pee. Well, when I came out I was now sweating from the freakin’ heat from the previous man’s destruction, and there was a line and this girl waiting for me. The smell from this restroom stormed out into their faces and they all gasped. I tried to explain I didn’t do it, but no one believed me. Maybe this was karma for letting Charles take the fall for my flatulence.

6. This next one occurs at a mall by my house. My mother took me shopping for clothes. She dressed me, so why not buy the clothes too. Well, I got separated from her and I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t see her anymore. I started crying because I thought she left me. I was scared as hell. Fortunately, someone from the store took me to their PA system and made an announcement for my mom to come find me. This employee tried to console me—well, sort of—but I just kept on crying. Finally, my mom came and got me. She didn’t look relieved as she did pissed off. Maybe it was because I was 16 at the time. Maybe this one should actually go on my mom’s humiliating list.

7. This all started because of the booze. Sometimes booze isn’t my friend. Well, one night I had way too much to drink and passed out. At least I thought I passed out. Apparently, I went to my friend’s room to pass out. I must have thought I was alone in the room because I took off all my clothes and walked to the bathroom. Then I came back and climbed on her bed. I guess I started singing along with the music that was playing. The unfortunate thing was that Abba was playing, or so I’ve been told. When I woke up the next morning, I was naked in my friend’s bed with my friend. At first I thought this is kind of good and kind of bad. Only later when she told me all of what I did that humiliation set it in. And somewhere to this day there is a picture of me naked in a room full of people singing Abba as loud as I could,

8. This one was all because of the damn Internet! I was writing this heartfelt e-mail to this girl. I mean, I was really pouring my heart out to her. I had actually written her a poem. It was tender and sweet and really made it clear how I felt about her. Well, it took me about a minute to get up the courage to send it to her. I went to my address book and clicked on her name and hit “send.” Now there’s nothing wrong with this, except I accidentally picked someone else’s name from that damn address book. I sent this tender and heart-exposing e-mail to the wrong person. And that jerk forwarded to all our mutual friends who then forwarded it to that girl. The other problem was I didn’t realize I did this till I was bombarded with e-mails. And then humiliation set in.

9. I’ll never forget this one. I brought this girl to stay overnight with me at my house when I lived alone. Now, this sounds good so far, doesn’t it? I mean, I brought her back to my house for—oh, how shall I explain this so you can understand it—sex!!! Well, we were fooling around and had a bit to drink and passed out. Then I woke up to a viciously skin-ripping smell. I thought, “Oh, my God! I’ve been farting.” I just hoped she wouldn’t wake up. Then about a minute passed and then I heard a fart, only it wasn’t coming from me. She was farting. She proceeded to blast a series of farts for the next 15 minutes, each one worse than the previous one. Then she farted so hard on the last one, she woke herself up. She immediately took one whiff and gagged. Then she started yelling at me about how disgusting I was. She was blaming me for her animal-killing flatulence. I told her it was her that was doing it and not me. This made her even madder. Finally, she calmed down and we both went back to sleep. The worst part of all this is that we didn’t even have sex!!! And she is probably somewhere in this world right now telling someone how I was farting!

10. This last one is an easy thing to explain. A big humiliating thing that happened to me was sharing this list with everybody. Of course, this humiliation will hit me tomorrow.

The Ramones Meet The Runner

2005-01-30T17:44:00.000-08:00

To start, I must clear something up about a previous posting, "Endurance Junkie." I did not invent the title. My friend did. Actually, it is copywritten, and I used it with kind permission, so don't get any funny ideas. Well, enough of that. Now, back to our regularly-scheduled program.
To most, running a marathon (26.2 miles) may seem like an insane task, and they are right. It is not something I take lightly. There is never any guarantee I will finish it. So the morning of the marathon I need to get myself into a mind-set that will help me turn off that sensible voice in my head that's screaming, "Cruzbomb, go back to sleep, you jerk-off! What are you thinking?" And I do this by listening to the Ramones at a loud volume.
While most other runners are trying to relax on their drive or walk to the starting line, I am blasting the Ramones' blissful and raucous music to my ears. And why, you ask? For two reasons-- one is that it helps stir something up in my sweet little tummy. You know what I'm talking about. I have to unload before the race. I can't just start a marathon with a full stomach. It would be rude, especially to the runners behind me. I mean, I have to maintain some class.
The second reason I listen to the Ramones is that it pumps me up. It makes me believe that I can do anything. And the reason is because the Ramones started out at a time when rock had become a big business full of long, drawn-out songs that were more or less meaningless to me and made me think rock was not for your average person. It was for virtuosos that had no place in rock. They made me think I had to go to some music school to play in a band. Then the Ramones came along with their three chords and leather jackets and adrenaline and just let loose. Their simplicity was a thing of beauty, and it made me, and a million others, feel we could start a band if we learn a few chords. It wasn't about creating an opera. It was about creating rock-- in this case punk rock.
So all that runs through my mind while I'm spiking up my hair and throwing on my sunglasses and getting ready to test my endurance levels. If I can believe I can do it, then there is no reason I can't do it, unless I crap myself because I skipped the above-mentioned ritual. So every morning of a marathon, the Ramones meet this runner and together we get ready to kick ass-- either the race or my own. But damn it, somebody's ass is getting kicked!!!

Fucked-Up Friday/Drunken Rants #1

2005-01-28T23:01:00.000-08:00

Maybe this will be a weekly session, and maybe it won't, but this is drunken ramblings from a person who may or may not be drunk! So let's go.

Tonight's topic is on the fucking Brady Bunch and how they were the cruelest TV family ever. I mean, they all tried to claim they were a happy and tightknit "bunch" and all that, but there were divisions that they themselves instilled. And who was the victim of their evil empire? Alice B. Nelson, the maid. Yes, the maid. They always claimed that she was one of the family, but they didn't really mean it. Alice to them was a means to an end!
Now first off, they made Alice wear a fucking uniform! What the hell was that all about? I'll tell you. To define her role and let her know and everyone else that at the end of the day, she was nothing more than the person who cleaned up their shit, literally. Even when they went to the store, Alice could not change into her civvies. Oh, no. Then someone might mistake her for an equal to one of the Bradys. Sure, when they went on one of their family vacations (Hawaii, Grand Canyon, and that amusement park-- you know, the one where where Mike's plans got mixed up with the poster of Yogi Bear-- good times) Alice was allowed to go and didn't have to wear the uniform, but she was still on the clock and not allowed to go off on her own. Oh, no, the Bradys might need someone to carry all their shit. A fucking uniform!
Secondly, the Bradys lived in quite a large two-story house (with an even bigger attic-- Greg's future bedroom) with a number of rooms and huge walk-in closets. I mean, it seems they had rooms aplenty, but where did they put Alice? They made her sleep in the laundry room. That's right, the fucking laundry room! How could they, those bastards! I guess their thinking was let's put her there so she's close to the washer and the kitchen in case we need something washed or cooked in the middle of the night. I bet you there were even times when they probably threw in a load of laundry while Alice was trying to sleep. Those bastards would do that too. I bet they even had a coin toss to see who would get the laundry room-- Tiger or Alice. Lucky for Alice she won that coin toss.
Now don't get me wrong. There were times when they were nice to Alice, but they did this because they wanted something. Case in point was they were always encouraging her to go for Sam-- Sam the butcher. And do you know why? So that the Bradys could get a discount on their fucking chuck steaks! What a bunch of horseshit! Alice was encouraged in this instance to take one for the "team." I could see Mr. and Mrs. Brady up in their room plotting this out.

Mike Brady: Carol, the price of meat is getting outrageous.
Carol Brady: I know, Mike. What can we do?
Mike: Well, we're Bradys, and as Bradys, we'll put our heads together and come up
a solution like us Bradys always do.
Carol: Oh, Mike. How?
Mike: We need to get our meat at a discount from someone.
Carol: Oh, Mike, who?
Mike: We need to talk to Alice.
Carol: Oh, Mike, when?
Mike: Tomorrow. If we get her to start "accepting" Sam the butcher's
deliveries, we could start getting our meat at wholesale.
Carol: Oh, Mike, what?
Mike: You know what! Now let's get it on before that brat Cindy tries to come in
here yammering on about some story about her fucking missing doll!
Carol: Oh, Mike.

So there you have it. I cannot write any more because I'm just getting too pissed off thinking about this. Alice B. Nelson was undeserving of this kind of treatment, especially from the likes of this Aryan "bunch." Sorry about all the currse words, but that's what you get on "Fucked-Up Fridays." Why are those margaritas so damn tasty?

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS...

2005-01-25T22:22:00.000-08:00

TOP TEN REASONS WHY I'M HAVING A WEEKLY TOP TEN TUESDAY

1. So I won't have to watch "American Idol" on this night.
2. Because Top Ten Tuesday equals three "T's", and that is nothing but nice.
3. One can't masturbate all the time (or can one?).
4. My girlfriend told me to stop bugging her during her viewing of "American Idol." She says I can be a pill sometimes. (Substitute "asshole" for "pill" here)
5. Tuesday is caffeine day, and damn it if I haven't had too much right now. I mean, there is caffeine in crack, isn't there?
6. Because whoever heard of a top six list? Now, top sex list, that is something worth exploring. Care to join me? Okay, all the men can ignore that question.
7. For some odd reason, I love making lists after repeated viewings of "Beaches" and "Ruthless People." Midler, you will rue the day for cursing me with this affliction.
8. We all need goals, and not in that European/Latin American/soccer mom kind of "go-o-o-o-o-o-o-al" way.
9. My desire that some soccer mom will eventually read these top tens and want to make sweet love with me in their family passenger minivan. What? Like you haven't had the same damn desire! And that goes for you women too!
10. Well, I can't do it on the Sabbath. That is the day I rest. I mean from writing and manual labor, minus one activity. (See number 3 for more details)

STAY TUNED NEXT WEEK FOR TOP TEN TUESDAY, TAKE TWO.
(directly followed by fucked-up Friday-- don't ask)

ENDURANCE JUNKIE

2005-01-22T18:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary, today I am depressed. I have injured my damn leg and I cannot run on it without breaking into tears like a boy without his bubble (cheap Travolta reference). And that is where I realized I am a junkie. I am a troubled, no-good, shiftless junkie, only my drug is endurance, not crack (but there is still time).
How does one become an endurance junkie? What am I really getting out of running and swimming and cycling to train for an event that may or may not take me on a 26.2-mile journey? What the hell am I running from? How did I go from running around the block to running around cities? Well, like all things in my life, it started out of misery and fatness and laziness. Yes, Cruzbomb was not always a mildly in-shape runner. He was once a 25-pounds-overweight, binge-drinking, three-times-a-day-fast-food-consuming, no-water-drinkin’, couch-potato-in-front-of-the-TV-sittin’ chaotic “loser.” Do you think “loser” might be stretching a little bit? Loser may be an understatement. Even as I kept letting out my pants to accommodate my ever-increasing waist size, and the occasional gas expulsion (farting to the layperson), I didn’t try to change one thing. And then it all happened.
Within a matter of a month, my life was turned upside-down. I broke up with a girl who I had been seeing for about three years, I was in a band that was also breaking up, I think I had a nervous breakdown, to name a few things. Then to top it all off I had what some have described as a catharsis. I suddenly started to feel everything that I had never dealt with before along with my newfound “losses” and developed a nice little case of insomnia, and possibly a rash, but that may have come from a dirty toilet at work, but we’ll skip that. I remember looking in the mirror in the bathroom, while crying mind you, and asking myself, “Which way are you gonna go from here?” I believe I had only two choices—to either drown myself in more of the same or reinvent myself, and fast. I chose the latter. Well, I chose the latter the next day. I finished up my 12-pack that night. Waste not, want not.
The next day I got some of my old running shoes out and decided to go for a run. I’m sure the shoes I used were past their prime. Why, if they had been a carton of milk, they would be cottage cheese now with a disturbing sense to the nostril area. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t put off reinventing myself one second more. I only ran around the block, but it felt horrible. After I did it, I laid down for a minute and then ran again. Then something amazing happened. The hangover that was also running in full force suddenly dissipated. I felt like maybe I was doing something right. Something else happened on that run too. I forgot about all the things that were making me depressed as hell. Sure, as soon as I stopped running and my adrenaline backed off, I remembered all those wretched troubles and started crying again. But I knew I had at least started to fight back.
Funny, it is, picking a fight with yourself. How do you declare a winner? It’s not like you can challenge yourself to a “loser-leave-town” kind of match. But I could make no mistake about it. I was in a fight with the Cruzbomb I had become. Later that day I made a list of things I had to change in my life. I figured the only way I could overcome the “loser” that I had become was to make drastic changes and now! I decided to give up eating red meat, not because I thought it was bad for me, but to keep myself from eating at fast-food joints. I loved me fast food burgers. Also, I was going to have to stop sleeping at least 10 hours a day, and sleeping in till 9:00 or 10:00 every day. I decided to start waking up at 6:00 and either going for a morning run or going to the gym. And finally, I decided I needed to cook for myself. By the next day, all these new changes were in place.
It wasn’t easy to implement any of these changes. There were some rough spots in trying to get up that early every morning. The way I did it was once my alarm went off I hopped right out of bed, or else I would never get up. And slowly along the way, I would falter and sleep in, but I would never let one day turn into two or three. The running came along slowly, and the getting to three miles on one run took forever, but once I did it, something miraculous happened. I was able to go from three to four to six to ten to 12 quite rapidly. Something in my body decided to accept what was going on and adapted to it instead of fighting me. I knew at this point I was winning the fight against myself. In fact, I was kicking my ass!
Fortunately for me, my goals were achieved quite rapidly once I put my mind to it. I lost 25 pounds within about three months, my body toned up quite nicely from the weight training at the gym, a new relationship with another woman was on the horizon and I still hadn’t eaten at a fast-food joint. Things were going good, and then my friend called. He said he wanted us to train to run the Chicago Marathon.
My friend was like me—new to distance running and trying to slim down. I thought this would be the ultimate goal. I mean, a few months ago, this was not even remotely possible. In fact, it may have been suicidal. Now it seemed possible. My friend and I went on the Internet and downloaded an 18-week training program. It required us to run a really long run (anywhere from 12 miles to 18) once a week along with other runs during the week. At first we had our doubts, but we stuck to this schedule and did not waver once. We were determined to believe.
After 18 weeks, we were on a flight to Chicago to attempt what we still thought was crazy. I mean, we were both very nervous. I mean, there was the possibility that we could not finish the marathon. I know it is just an achievement to attempt it, but there was a pressure we put on ourselves to complete our goal. Three days before the race, I came down with a fever. I was almost in tears. I knew how hard it was to feel normal again after being sick, and this was going to be the longest run of all. I kept putting an ice-cold towel on my head at night and took in as much medicine as I could. The day before the race came and we had to go to the race expo to pick up our race numbers, and I was still feeling a little feverish. It was here I contemplated not running with my friend. What could I really do?
The next morning our wake-up call rang for us at 5:00 a.m. I woke up and hopped out of bed. The second my feet hit the ground I knew it—I was no longer sick. In fact, I actually felt great! That was it. I was going to run this marathon. We got dressed, had a light breakfast, took our morning constitutionals (crapping to the layperson) and set off for the starting line. Once we arrived at the starting line, with the other 25,000 runners, we were more nervous than expected. We both dashed off to find some port-a-potties (crappers to the layperson). After that, we took our places at the starting line and waited for the gun.
I won’t kid you. The race wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t believe how good I felt for having a fever the day before. There were tons of people on the sides of the road cheering us on every step of the way. When we reached mile 20, the miles got a little harder, but not hard enough to stop us. We carried on, and when we reached mile 25 we knew we were going to finish. Then we saw the finish line in the distance. It approached rapidly. The last 200 yards were run with crowds on both sides screaming and cheering. Then suddenly, all the pain in my legs seemed to disappear as we hit the finish line. I looked at my watch and realized we had run just under four hours. We were both elated! We now felt like we were both legitimate endurance runners.
These days I run about four marathons a year along with numerous shorter races. I average running about five days a week. And last year I recently ran a sub 3:15:00 marathon to qualify for the Boston Marathon, which is the granddaddy of all the marathons. I also have started to venture into the triathlon field. I think ultimately I would like to attempt a full Ironman Triathlon, but we shall see.
It has not been the easiest road to get where I am and it has not been without its bumps and roadblocks. But I am not going to fall back into my old habits or my old self. To go out and test myself with endurance events through running actually gives me peace and happiness. When I am injured and cannot run, I am depressed and hard to live with, so says my girlfriend of five years, but you’re not going to take her word for it, are you? Of course there are those summer days when I am running and I can smell people barbecuing burgers when that craving for a fast-food burger rears its ugly head. Nowadays, though, I just enjoy the smell and then continue on with my endurance test of the day.

The Starting Line (About Damn Time)

2005-01-17T20:24:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,
Today I started a blog on the Internet. I also got a haircut. What a day it's been! I was going to call my blog "clowns on parade," but since I have a fear of both clowns and parades, I decided that might be a bad idea. But usually I'm chock full of bad ideas, so this was really nothing new. I mean, remember the time when I decided to walk home naked from my friend's house? Now that turned out to be a bad idea. Sure, it looked good on paper, but-- Why the hell am I telling you this? Well, Diary, it's getting late, so I'm going to slip into my Captain America Underoos and let nature take its course. So, until next time...