The Sport of Kings

I love Ultimate. The only thing is, as with all sports, it can get a little routine sometimes. While discussing the finer points of the issue one night, Raoul and I decided to win the lottery and use the money to create a new breed of Ultimate. Inspiration for the new game is drawn from America’s hero: Arnold Schwarzenegger (specifically in The Running Man). The rules are simple: Two teams, Team WidowMaker (comprised of Raoul, Xander, Terrell Owens, Troy Polamalu, Macho Man “Randy Savage,” Mike Tyson, and myself) and Team Daffodil (comprised of death row inmates), compete on a 70 yard field with two 25-yard long endzones. Points are scored by completing a pass to any of your teammates in the correct endzone. If the disc is intercepted or hits the ground at any time, players yell “TURN,” a member of Team Daffodil is exploded, and possession immediately switches hands. Also, the field itself will be surrounded by 80 ft. high walls made of constantly flowing lava. At random intervals, simulated earthquakes will rock the stadium, incapacitating the players who don’t have jetpacks (read: Team Daffodil) and invariably knocking a number of spectators onto the field. Any spectator who lands on the field is required to join Team Daffodil. And there will be polar bears wandering throughout the stadium. And they will be genetically engineered to be GIGANTIC. Yeah, that’s the stuff!

I figure it’ll only take a little bit of start-up capital to get the sport, hereby dubbed SlaughterBall, off the ground. Once things get going we’ll make plenty of money selling merch in the SlaughterMall and food in the Slaughteria, all of which (merch AND food) will be emblazoned with the league’s official logo:



As part of the league’s community outreach, we will host an annual SlaughterBall Youth Physical Education and Leadership Training Camp (SYPHELETC) that trains the youth of America to be SlaughterBallers.

As the co-founders of the sport, Raoul and I would be original members of Team WidowMaker. As such, we would need personas and awe-inspiring names like “Nitro” or “Sloth.” For his name, Raoul chose Shadowhawk Ninjakiller which is so unbelievably bad-ass, I can’t even begin to explain it. Now, let me explain how bad-ass it is. First, he’s a shadow, so not only are you incapable of physically touching him, but he follows you EVERYWHERE. Second, he’s a hawk, which means he can see things from a mile away and he can fly. And finally, the motherfucker kills ninjas so much, they made it his nickname. Are you kidding me?

Xander gets to be an honorary co-founder because the creators of SlaughterBall are nothing if not benevolent. The only stipulation for his entry is that Raoul got to pick his name. After careful deliberation, Raoul settled on the terrifyingly intimidating Jebediah Waffleskin. Need to change your diaper yet?

As my show name, I chose Fuckemall McGillicutty, mostly because it’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. On a side note, my birthday is this weekend and as you could probably figure from this blog, I’ll be turning 12. I hope I never win the lottery.

Idi-Yums: The Second: Revelations Revealed

***SPOILER ALERT*** Answers to my last post are given here. Check the previous post before reading these answers.

Sorry for the heinous delay...I went to SXSW last week and drank a few days of my life away. Well I'm back now and I'm happy to report that this time, if the world’s fate rested on everyone’s ability to guess some pictograms, Earth would be MUCH better off. In case there were some you missed, here are the answers:

The first one is bury the hatchet. Props to EK for getting it. Side note: That’s one of my favorite childhood books ever.

The second one is bull in a china closet/shop. Pretty much everybody got this one once they figured out who the fat guy holding the cue stick was. When I made the picture, I got sidetracked watching Jordan highlights on YouTube. That man was so motherfucking good at basketball.

The third one is shot in the dark. A couple of people guessed "blue moon," which don’t make no sense seeing as how the moon is practically the only thing in the whole picture that isn’t blue.

The picture of the horse, wait, I think that’s a rhino, is supposed to be tickle the ivories. After I made it, Raoul pointed out that elephants are the animals that have ivory. I did a Google search and the results were inconclusive. I know rhino horns are the same material that make up hair and fingernails, but the BBC calls their horns “rhino ivory” and I’m inclined to believe anyone with a British accent.

The fourth one is shoot the bull. Raoul got this one. A couple of people guessed “holy cow,” which is, well, wrong.

The fifth one is get over the hump. The only alteration I did to that picture was add the hurdler, honest.

The answer to the sixth one is a few tricks up my sleeve. Props again to EK for getting this one.

The last one is don’t blow it. Sorry, Pennywise.

Well played, everyone. I'm getting to the point where I'm going to have to start making up my own idioms to keep doing this, but I realize how ridiculously hard that would be. I mean, making a picture of "don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight" would be easy, but there's no way anyone would guess it. Until next time, this is Darrell Woolery saying: Don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight.

Idi-yums: The Second

Maybe it's because in the past month I've watched The Dark Knight, Hellboy 2, and The Karate Kid: Part 2, but I've been in a sequel kind of mood lately. Devoted readers and those not too lazy to scroll down will notice that a couple weeks ago I revisited my bucket list blog. Well, this week that funny feeling in your head is probably more deja vu...or I guess it could be the side effect of my telepathically robbing you of your memories. Shhhhhh, it's all gonna be alright...Anyway, the idioms blog was one of my favorites to make, so I thought it'd be fun to do it again. It was. So now, with just a little bit more ado, back by popular request (read: one person), here are some more pictogram type idiom puzzle things. I tried to make them a little easier this time. Answers in a bit (after I hear Raoul's ridiculous answers).

This one should be pretty easy, especially if your last name is Belcher (sorry, inside joke):



This one also shouldn't be too difficult, assuming you know who it is:



This one's a bit more clever. (Hint: In this one, it doesn't matter who it is)



My lady friend's first reaction to this picture was "Is that a rhino???" Apparently she's never seen an animal cracker. By the way, of course it's a goddamn rhino.



I love how this one turned out for some reason:



I don't even care if anyone gets this one...the end product was totally worth the effort:



Love me some Freedom cuffs:



This one probably should have been first, as a pep talk:

Bucket List: Reloaded

The other night I was looking back at some of my older posts and I stumbled upon one of my earliest entries, the bucket list. As you’ll recall (the 2 of you who have read my blog since the beginning), Raoul and I were inspired by Driving Miss Daisy to start a bucket list before Morgan Freeman murdered us on our death beds…or something to that effect. Now that I think about it, it probably had to do with actually accomplishing something before we reached old age. That being said, I hope to never really see old age as I’ve decided that when I hit 65, I’m committing suicide, or “euthanasia,” as it were (or will be). And I’m not just talking about you’re average, run-of-the-mill shotgun to the face here. No, when I reach 65, I’m going to parachute out of a plane. Instead of a parachute, however, I’ll have explosives strapped to my back. After I jump, I’ll count to 10, pull the rip cord (which will be more like a grenade pin (and me the grenade)), and KABLOOEY! Ablakabits will rain from the heavens like manna. Enough about my own demise though. Despite several court orders and the prayers of many, Raoul and I put our heads together again and came up with more things to do before we die. This time, I’m even and Raoul is odd (you can say that again).

1. Get a Royal Flush, preferably in a game of strip poker.
   
2. Hit a hole-in-one (putt-putt will be fine).
   
3. Rig the 2010 World Cup so Xander has to eat his own face.
   
4. Figure out who stole the goddamn cookies from the cookie jar.
   
5. Find the stork nest and kidnap all the babies for ransom.
   
6. Shoot the moon.
   
7. Become a shipping magnate.
   
8. Yell “PLAY BALL!!!” at a baseball game way before the National Anthem is finished.
   
9. Genocide (start or stop).
   
10. Create a unit of measurement.
    
11. Be granted sainthood.
    
12. Throw my hands in the air and wave ‘em like I just don’t care.
    
13. Have sex with a little person.
    
14. Sleep it off.
    
15. Have sex with a famous person who is 20 years my senior (or junior).
    
16. Drown my sorrows in alcohol.
    
17. Desecrate a holy site.
    
18. Give a high-five (to anyone) during sex.
    
19. Make it onto a top 10 list (e.g. FBI’s Most Wanted, Top Ten People Most Likely To Sleep With Your Wife, etc.)
    
20. Quell an uprising.
    
21. Make an ear necklace.
    
22. Misquote an idiom in a serious situation (For example: “I’m surprised that Mr. Thompson sucked the bucket at such a young age…he seemed so healthy!”)
    
23. See if I can touch your kidneys.
    
24. Make it all the way to the toilet, for once.
    
25. Challenge an infant to a cagefight.
    
26. Give 110% at a time when that much effort is completely unnecessary.
    
27. Get my hands on my CIA dossier.
    
28. Don’t stop til I get enough.
    
29. Have a statue of me erected.
    
30. Refer to someone as “tough guy” just before whipping their ass.
    
31. Discover a new species, name it after myself, then eradicate it.
    
32. Guess someone’s card.
    
33. Be knighted (in America).
    
34. Kick someone where the sun don’t shine.
    
35. One-handed pushup.
    
36. Steal someone’s identity and improve upon it.
    
37. Take the slow train to Peanutopolis.
    
38. Demonstrate yet again the evil nature of Morgan Freeman. (This is a bonus for the long-timers)
    

Tasty Face

The other day, one of my best friends made a shocking proclamation to me via text. Before I reveal what it was, I should tell you that it was such an astounding utterance that I instantly thought "I've got to get this in writing." I know what you're thinking, "isn't a text in writing? I mean, you write using text, so..." Well, my phone (coincidentally generously given to me by the very same friend) is prone to failure (the phone is of great quality, so I attribute this entirely to my dropping the shit out of it all the time) and has a wickedly tiny amount of memory reserved for text messages. Plus, you can't put a signature on a text. No, I needed something more permanent. So I ran just as fast as I could to the nearest computer and drafted up a contract, which I present to you now. (NOTE: The version that appears here is slightly modified from the actual version. That matters little, as my friend has already signed the original. Oh, it's on.)

REQUIRED ACTION AGREEMENT

On this 15th day of February, 2009, XANDER and BLAKA do hereby enter into the following irrevocable agreement (“AGREEMENT”):

If the United States of America Men’s National Soccer Team wins the 2010 World Cup soccer tournament, XANDER will eat, get this, his own face (an event which shall hereafter be referred to as “EVENT”).

FACE shall be defined as the area contained within the parameters created by XANDER’S neck, hairline, and the left and right ears. A more specific definition of FACE shall be defined and mutually agreed upon at the time of EVENT. If the two parties are unable to mutually agree on a more specific definition of FACE, RAOUL (hereafter known as “MUJICIAN”) shall estimate the average of each party’s definition and rule in the interest of MUJICIAN’S best judgment. If MUJICIAN is unable to provide fair and unbiased judgment, the dispute shall be settled by tossing a 2-sided coin, the denomination of which doesn’t fucking matter. XANDER shall have the privilege of calling it in the air because, after all, he is about to eat his own goddamn face. The flipping of the coin shall be completed in 3 consecutive repetitions, the results of which shall be recorded by each participant, so’s nobody cheats, ya dig? Whosoever wins the better part of 3 coin-tosses shall be allowed to use their definition of FACE, which shall not vary one half-inch (roughly 14 meters/second or so in metric) more or less than the aforementioned general description of FACE.

MUJICIAN’s ability to judge fairly shall be determined by XANDER and BLAKA during the moments just prior to EVENT. Declaring MUJICIAN incompetent on grounds of drunkenness is invalid. In truth, all participants in EVENT shall be intoxicated at the time of EVENT, unless any medical conditions, promises of sobriety, or obligations to drive or fuck successfully after EVENT demand otherwise. (NOTE: XANDER will most likely be relieved of his fucking duties for life because...who wants to bang a cheeseless pizza?)

XANDER shall be permitted as much time as necessary to consume entire FACE in one sitting, however the allotted time shall be not longer than 24 hours. XANDER shall be allowed to request whatever utensil(s) he desires to assist in eating FACE, unless otherwise denied by BLAKA, whose ruling shall be ultimately confirmed or denied by MUJICIAN.

Failure on XANDER’S part to eat FACE will result in the forcible feeding of FACE to XANDER at the hands of BLAKA.

Any party’s failure to attend EVENT at the prescribed time and location (both to be determined and mutually agreed upon by XANDER and BLAKA) merely delays the inevitable.

XANDER, BLAKA, and MUJICIAN are of sound mind (possibly slightly stoned and/or drunk, but that’s alright) at the time of signing AGREEMENT and give their signatures below entirely voluntarily and under no form or amount of duress. In truth, the idea for EVENT, created the evening of February 12, 2009 via text message between XANDER and BLAKA was originally XANDER’S idea. I know. I can’t believe it either. The AGREEMENT having already been made in the manner just now described, this document is basically a formality, though it is absolutely legally binding, so XANDER can forget about trying to get out of it. And the church said, “Amen.”

Go Snug Yourself

I paid $15 for a Snuggie the other day. And no, “Snuggie” isn’t some code word for a dirty sex act or else I would have said “The other day I paid $15 bucks for some hooker to give me a Snuggie. After she finished I beat her up and got my money back. Then her pimp tried to kick my ass, but I got the best of him and Snuggied all over his face to teach him a lesson.” Snuggies (or the even dirtier sounding alternative, Slankets) are blankets with sleeves. “Sleeved blankets?” you might say. “That’s fucking stupid,” you might continue. Well a few days ago, I’d totally be with you. The first time I saw a commercial for Snuggies, all I could think was “Who the hell would buy that?”

Then I bought one.

Now, I’ve only worn it once because I actually bought it for my wife and she hasn’t taken the damn thing off since I brought it home, but let me tell you that I’ve never been so comfortable in my entire life as when I’m wearing a Snuggie. On the surface, Snuggies look like backwards robes without hoods or that waist-tie thing (you know, the thing that for some reason unbeknownst to me actually prevents people from seeing your balls), but somehow they don’t make me feel like nearly as much of a douchebag as if I was wearing a robe. I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably because Snuggies make you look like a motherfuckin' warlock. And I know that everyone has their own personal stand-up routine about how ridiculous infomercials are, but the people who can truly appreciate the Snuggie are the same people who have actually experienced the terror and panic of being trapped in a blanket when all you want to do is change the damn channel. Aside from increased mobility, you can text, flip someone off, and make shadow puppets all while still being completely covered by a blanket. Taking all these things into account, it’s easy to see what the Snuggie represents: Freedom. So basically it’s unpatriotic not to own one. Before you go running to your nearest Snuggie merchant though, I must warn that you will probably have mixed feelings about wearing it in public because one of two things can happen. Either people will think you are a fucking idiot OR they will fear your magical powers. If you do wear it in public, I recommend you walk around with some kind of small animal (a newt or a rabbit perhaps). That way you can tell people that it actually used to be a human, but you turned them into a creature because they mocked your Cloak of Snugness. Yeah...that'll shut em up good! In all seriousness, don’t wear this thing out of the house. It’s awesome, but it looks totally rigoddamndiculous. Snug on, my friends. For America’s sake.

Celebrelations

Now I care mildly about pop culture as much as the next non-gender specific being, but one thing I have little patience for is the shortening of celebrity couple names to a concoction of each person’s name. I think I get it. You want to refer to your celebrity couples in the shortest “word” possible so that you have more time to jack-off to People’s 2008 Best Dressed list. What I don’t understand about the whole thing though is how to decide which celebrity couples are worthy of a couplename. Some of the existing ones (Bennifer and Brangelina for example) are a little obvious and fairly boring. Why not include last names too and give them to couples who have cooler names to begin with? I know they’re not a couple anymore (see, I’m hip), but Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro would be Electravarro. Now THAT’s one hell of a celebrity couple name. Not only does it sound like a Spanish superhero, but it’s also fun to say. Surely there are more like that one. Wait a second, I think I REALLY get it now... it’s actually fun to think these things up! However, since I still don’t understand who gets a couplename, I’m going to do what I always do when I don’t quite understand the rules to something: I’m making up my own rules.

Rule #1 – You can use last names
Rule #2 – Couples’ names must form something silly or immature
Rule #3 – Couples are completely hypothetical (so just like with sex, dead people are fair game)

Well, that about does it for the rulebook. Now it's time to make with the funny:

Matt Dillon & Bridget Bardot = DillDo.
John Wayne & Miley Cyrus = WaynUs.
Peta Wilson & Peter Gabriel = PePe.Any of the Hanson sisters & Steve Jobs = HanJobs.Marcia Gay-Hardin & Gerard Butler = Gay-HardinBut.











Sorry I didn’t do pictures for all of them, there just really aren’t funny pictures of some people (thanks for screwing the pooch, Marcia Gay-Hardin). Let me know if you think of any good couplenames.

MLKin' It

Hey, reader, have you ever seen one of those lists that compare some weird coincidences between JFK and Abraham Lincoln? You know, like:

Abraham Lincoln never shaved his face.
JFK never shaved his balls.

Well, I felt it necessary, given the upcoming holiday, to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. and another outstanding American citizen, so I’ve decided to reveal some of the similarities between MLK and myself. What say we just jump right in?

MLK was born in Atlanta, GA.
I was born in Atlanta, GA.

MLK was killed on April 4.
I was born on April 4.

MLK married Coretta Scott in her parents’ yard.
I married my wife in her parents’ yard (my wife’s parents', not Coretta Scott King’s parents’).

MLK was an ordained minister.
I am an ordained minister.

Some of MLK’s demonstrations resulted in people being sprayed with a firehose.
I have a cousin who is a fireman.

MLK was supposedly killed by James Earl Ray.
I know like, two or three guys named James.

James Earl Ray was captured at London Heathrow Airport.
I’ve been to that airport.

MLK gave his “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963.
I frequently have dreams…sometimes several in one night.

MLK vehemently disagreed with the Vietnam War.
My stomach vehemently disagrees with Vietnamese food.

MLK was wiretapped by the FBI.
I can’t say anything for sure, but I have my suspicions…

MLK attended Booker T Washington high school in Atlanta.
Booker T was one of my favorite WWF wrestlers when I was in high school.

MLK has received many posthumous awards and honors.
Unfortunately, I cannot yet reveal the details of what a post-ablakalyptic world will look like.

MLK had an older sister named “Willie.”
I think “Willie” is a terrible name for a woman.

MLK had a son named Dexter.
Dexter on Showtime is one of my favorite shows.

MLK did an interview with Playboy in 1965.
I read Playboy entirely for the interviews.

MLK was a Baptist.
I’ve been baptized…twice. That’s right. Dubtized, I call it.

Well, there you have it. I reckon we have some sort of cosmic bond. Actually, the impact I'll make on this earth next to MLK is meaningless, but who's counting? God?? BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Enjoy your day off.

Oh, and if you want some dessert, I made a couple of pictures for this week's blog that my conscience (read: wife) wouldn't let me post. If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.

It's All Good, Man

Awhile back, my friend Marco said “I wish John Goodman would die of a heart attack.” I’m sorry for sending you into a tailspin of emotions right off the bat like that, but I wanted you to feel the same shock and horror that I felt when I heard it. Did I mention that Marco is not my friend anymore? Well, he might be now, but that’s only because he somewhat recanted after I forced him to watch The Big Lebowski. I would have made him watch Goodman’s most acclaimed work of art, King Ralph, but the DVD has been sold out at every single store I’ve been to. Anyway, I can't tell if I'm mad at Marco because that's such a terrible thing to say or if I'm mad at John Goodman because he probably WILL die of a heart attack if he doesn't slim down a bit. Whatever the case, I've decided to take my anger out on Marco. Aside from telling everyone I know that if they see Marco in public, they should kick him in the ass (that reminds me, if any of you see Marco in public, kick him in the ass), there really is only one proper way to combat Marco’s unjustified hatred of everyone’s favorite actor. I now present to you my pictorial tribute to a man who gives the gift of laughter to his fans, Indian leg-wrestling defeats to George Wendt, and pregnancy to women everywhere. Shomer fucking Shabbos.



















I totally would, too. Long live the King!

Idi-yums: Revelations

***SPOILER ALERT*** Answers to my last post are given here. Check the previous post before reading these answers.

As most of you were aware, solving my pictograms was the only way to spare mankind from my wrath. Well, not really, but if that were the case, Earth would be fucked because out of everyone that I talked to about these, only two people got any correct. Granted, most of these were pretty tricky and, as with all my pictures, could probably have been better illustrated. Anyway, enough with the bullshit...it's time for some answers!

The first one is "flipping a bird." The best guess I heard on this one was Raoul's "cardinal attacking a thumb," which is a little too literal and very much unlike any idiom I've ever heard.

The second one is "holy roller." Marco guessed "holy crap," which is good for only partial credit since the actual game is "crapS." If the game were called "crap," it'd probably be way less popular. Oh, and apparently the Pope throws dice like a 6 year old.

The third one is "raising cain." I know "raze" and "raise" have very different meanings, but you have no excuse because Xander nailed this one pretty quickly, despite (or perhaps because of) being all kinds of fucked up.

The fourth one is "pass the buck." This was my least favorite one based solely on the fact I had to sift through scads of hunting pictures before I found an image of a buck that didn't have blood coming out of its mouth or some jackass in camo holding it in a headlock.

The answer to the fifth one is "come hell or high water." Sorry to anyone who read this blog at work. I know there have been more porn pictures than usual recently, so I'll try to tone it down a bit. Plus, I don't like that my Google auto-complete now suggests "cumshot" whenever I type a "c."

The sixth one is "hit the hay." I also gave partial credit to Raoul's "haymaker," since the man in the background is throwing a doozy of a punch.

And finally, the bonus image comes from my bucket list blog. Get it yet? The answer is "gilding the lily." One more down.

I'll probably do these again some time because I enjoyed making them and hearing people's guesses. If you liked them, stay tuned. If you didn't, well, the last time I checked, the world didn't revolve around you (feel free to stay tuned also, though).

Idi-yums

No, this isn’t a blog about delicious Ugandan dictators (sorry to burst your bubble). This week I’ve decided to put you to the test. Below are several images that represent various idioms, clichés, compound words, etc. What can I say, I like word games. You could call me a nerd, but my only weaknesses are sticks and stones so the next time you come at me, you better be packin’ (sticks and stones, that is). Anyway, some of these are pretty easy and some are intentionally tricky. I’ll get around to giving the answers eventually…maybe.

Let's start off with an easy one:



Now a little harder:



Ohhhhh, yeah, a little harder:



Yeah, just like that...now go deep:



Here's a two-parter:




This one's in the details:



And finally, a bonus one for my long-time readers:

Hepatitis, Mascara, and Lasers, Oh My!

At my last job I was tasked with reviewing resumes for open positions. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at anyone’s resume besides your own, but you wouldn’t believe the shit people put on theirs. Now, I’m not talking about the typical errors. Everyone’s bound to have typos or spend way too long talking about everything. There are even a surprising amount of people who list things like “spelling” and “filing alphabetically and numerically” as SKILLS, but there are some screw-ups much worse than that. Here they are, in all their glory…the stupidest fucking things I’ve ever seen on resumes.

Our first guy listed “Chinese Kung-Fu” as one of his interests. Listen, kung-fu is already Chinese. You don’t need to specify. That’s like saying you enjoy eating American freedom fries and trapping your girlfriend in a Dutch Dutch oven. Also, who gives a shit? I didn’t post our classified ads, but I can guarantee none of them said “Seeking strong, humble martial arts master to whoop some serious ass. Ability to be kind of a douchebag preferred.”

Another guy listed “Chemical Warfare” under EDUCATION. I would have hired him based on that, but he didn’t specify offensive or defensive. Furthermore, who gives a shit? Think of the number of times in your life where knowledge of chemical warfare would have come in handy. Multiply that by a bazillion and what do you get? Zero.

The third guy on my team of superheroes (who I think will be called "The Ablakolytes") wrote “Certified in lasers.” Certified in fucking lasers. I should take a moment to say that I believe everyone on their resumes…except this asshole. That just sounds way too vague and childish to not be made up. He must have had his kid around when he was typing his resume. “Hey son,” he would have asked, “I need to show that I have some kind of special certification. Got any ideas?”

“What about lasers!!”

“Awesome.”

Another fellow wrote “Current Hepatitis A” as one of his PROFESSIONAL SKILLS. Note the curious lack of the word “vaccine.” I only have one question for this jerk. How is a disease a skill? (You could argue, technically, that macular degeneration gives you the ability to not see out of the center of your eye, but then you’d be a goddamned idiot, wouldn’t you?). I would have been more impressed if he listed how he got the disease. If he got it from his ex-girlfriend after talking her into a 2-girls-1-cup-style threesome with his born again Christian wife…THAT would be a skill. There’s also the issue of who gives a shit? Unless a job posting specifically mentions sex, blood-letting, vampirism, or coprophagia (again, I didn’t post the ads, so I dunno…), then, assuming he meant to say “vaccine,” who cares what diseases you can’t get?

Under EDUCATION, one woman wrote “08/96 – still attending.” I know plenty of people who didn’t finish college. No big deal. I know just as many people who left school, went back years later, and finished. Hell, I took more than 4 years to graduate after being figuratively boned by transferring schools and changing majors during my Junior year. But spending more than a decade of your life in college? If they made a movie about this lady, they’d have enough “lazy-fuckers in college and all of their wild antics” flicks to justify an entirely new genre. Shit or get off the pot, already (let’s be realistic, I think getting off the pot is the best option here).

And finally, we have Typhoid Mary. This lady had 5 previous jobs. Next to 4 of them she wrote “out of business” as her reason for leaving. Who gives a shit? ME. The only thing I gathered from this resume was that hiring her would give us a 20% chance of making it through the year. And seriously, why list that? You have to know that’s going to leave a bad taste in someone’s mouth. The only way she would have had a chance at the job is if she had let me leave a bad taste in her mouth, if you catch my meaning.
After I told Raoul about these, he came to the conclusion that God selected me to assemble a team of superheroes…and I’m inclined to believe him. Because I talk to God. And He told me so. Now go brush up your resume so you don’t look like one of these sheisskopfs.

Gobble Bloggle

Ahh, Thanksgiving...a time when even the most distant of families go out of their way to gather together and share wonderful food, humorous stories, and obligated love. Or, if your wife just had plastic surgery, you eat leftovers for lunch and go grocery shopping since the store is practically empty. That's what I did. Because my wife just had plastic surgery. I'm not going to hold your hand through this whole thing.

Speaking of hands, remember when you were in elementary school and you traced your hand on a sheet of paper and then added feathers and such until your tracing looked like a turkey? Well, in the spirit of the holiday, I decided to try it out again after all these years. However, since only neanderthals use paper and crayons anymore, I held my hand up to the monitor and traced around it with the paintbrush in Photoshop...but I didn't stop there. You see, years ago I swore to always push the envelope when it came to kindergarten level artwork. So now I present to you my original turkey drawing, accompanied by a few of the other things that popped into my head when I saw a terribly outlined hand on my computer screen.










Hope you had as much fun as I did this Thanksgiving! (I doubt you did...I played a shitload of video games.)

Making Whoopie

Get a load of this conversation:

Raoul: If I have a kid, I’m going to train him to be an MMA fighter.

Me: Wait, I thought Tito Ortiz was your son.

Raoul: It’s quite possible. Man, I feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins.

Me: That’s why you feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins?



Raoul: You ever had someone with complete knowledge of the full nelson thrust themselves through your crotch? It ain’t pretty.

Me: Have you ever thought about writing erotic stories? You’ve got a gift.

From this conversation I gathered 3 things:
1. Raoul has either been crotch-pounded by an MMA fighter OR
2. At the very least, he’s witnessed it happening to someone else (context clues suggest Jenna Jameson).
3. Why the F am I not writing erotic stories for supplemental income/sexual healing?

Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. How hard could it possibly be (note: save that line for an erotic story)? Easy, I figure. So easy, in fact, that I've already made the cover art for my first three erotic novels (don't worry, Downtown Darrell Woolery is just my pseudonym).







Now you might want to dim the lights and tune your radio to "sex," because you're about to ride the rollercoaster of sexual tension that is my very first erotic story:

Sex, With Words
by Downtown Darrell Woolery

CHAPTER 1
“He’s doing it again,” Jane thought to herself. This was the 4th time she had caught the same man sneaking peeks at her from his place in line. The 5th time, their eyes fixated on each other. Jane turned a particularly sexual shade of red. As the line crept forward, Jane made sure to know sexactly where the man was. When the mystery man’s turn came up, Jane lustily removed the “CLOSED” placard from her desk and sensually moaned aloud, “I can help you, sir.” Everyone stared at her awkwardly while she licked her lips, also sensually and lustily.

The man walked sexually to the counter. As he stared straight into Jane’s eyes he said in a deep voice, “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Is that so, big boy? And just where would you like to make this…deposit?” Jane replied as she gave the man a clear view of all the erotic cleavage she could muster, which was a considerable amount, all things considered (consider this: Jane has considerably small breasts).

“My checking account, please.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a bank.”

“Oh. Sorry…then in that case I’d like to withdraw from this conversation!” the man said sexually embarrassingly.

Jane responded quickly. “No that’s okay…honest mistake. I’m Jane.”

“I’m Dick.”

Jane gulped. Dick extended his thick, veiny arm for a handshake. As soon as their hands locked, Dick turned his middle finger inward and began quickly stroking her palm with it (this move, famously known as the Crane-Henderson Suggestive Palm Tickle, is a killer with the ladies).

When they broke their handshake, Jane scribbled something on a piece of paper and walked hornily around the counter. She stopped right next to Dick, reached out, and slid the piece of paper into his pocket. After removing her hand from his trousers, she went about her business.

Dick pulled it out and read: “413 Main Street. 7:00 p.m. tonight.” He looked at Jane and stated matter-of-factly, “I think I’m going to come.”

CHAPTER 2
Dick rang the doorbell. He had condoms in his wallet, sex on his mind, and a little bit of ketchup on his shirt.

Jane hurried to the door wearing an oversized trenchcoat. She paused just before opening it (the door, that is) and took a deep breath to help gather herself. As she struck her sexiest pose, she sensually shouted innocently, “Who is it?”

Dick yelled excitedly, “IT’S DICK!”

Jane attempted to answer, but her throat was so dry that she could only whisper back, “I bet it is…come on in, handsome.”

“WHAT?” shouted Dick.

Jane ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“HELLO???....................... JANE?????” Dick yelled. Jane chugged the water and ran back to the door.

Dick called out again, “JANE, ARE YOU OK?”

“IT’S OPEN,” she breastily responded.

As Dick handled the knob, Jane’s phone rang. She wrapped her hand around it.

“Hello?” Jane said in much the same style as a phone-sex operator.

“Jane?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, mother,” Jane replied, still talking like a phone-sex operator.

“Why are you talking like that?” Jane’s mom asked.

“Oh, *ahem* sorry, what is it?” Jane answered as her voice returned to normal.

Dick came inside her apartment and sat on the couch, listening erotically to Jane’s side of the conversation. After a few minutes, Jane hanged up the phone and turned towards Dick. She stared, whore-like, into his eyes and said “I’m sorry, I have to go. My sister is having a baby.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Talk about titillating! I didn’t know I had it in me (Note: Save that line for an erotic story).

Things That, as a Man, I'm Supposed to Find Sexy, but I Don’t.

It’s happened to everyone. “Dude, check this out!!!!” someone says to you, most often with a beer in one hand, a camera phone in the other, and a colossal grin on their face. You turn around, thinking “well this HAS to be cool if someone’s that excited about it.” You act surprised, even interested. Maybe you give a “Shit yeah!” and throw in a fist-pound for extra believability, but inside you’re thinking “Who is that guy and did he really just interrupt my drinking to show me…”

Sex with Twins
Maybe it’s because I went to high school with 2 sets of twins, but I’ve never understood the fascination with the idea. Once the novelty of Twin A (the one you meet first) and Bizarro Twin (the one that will always look weird because you met Twin A first, and so Twin A is now your standard for what everyone who looks like Twin A should really look like) wears off, what’s so sexy about two of the pretty-much-exact same thing? (Note: this argument does not apply to body parts that typically come in pairs…legs, breasts, tails, etc.) The only situation I can think of where it wouldn’t be strange to have sex with twins is if everyone was fucking wasted, in which case the guy probably wouldn’t even realize he was having a threesome. If you don’t know it’s happening, what’s the point?

Oh, also, THEY’RE RELATED. Might as well call it twincest.


P.O.V. Porn
I get the idea. P.O.V. (that’s “point-of-view,” for those of you with absolutely no deductive reasoning skills whatsoever) porn is supposed to make you feel like you’re actually there, totally nailing that freakishly proportioned lady (or two, or ten). The only problem is, you’re not there. On top of that, you’re constantly reminded that you’re not there by the fact that having bareback anal sex with three different girls covered in baby oil hardly feels like masturbating (I’m just guessing here…I’ve never masturbated). Also, any time I see P.O.V. porn all I can think to myself is “wait a second…my dick isn’t the size of a school bus!!” Which raises yet another issue: who wants to watch a porno where the screen is 1/3 dong? Not i, said the j.


Catfights
Correct me if I’m wrong, but catfights are allegedly appealing because the two women could ultimately rip each others' clothes off, forget why they’re fighting, and decide that the best way to make up is to 69 in front of a crowd. First, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and propose that Violence ≠ Sex. I may have lost a few of you there, but try to let it sink in. Second, instead of praying for the ludicrous to happen, shouldn’t someone be thinking “Wait, one of these women could get seriously injured if we don’t stop this?” The answer is “yes,” but I’d be willing to bet that an alarming majority of men who’ve seen a catfight couldn’t help but think, “Maybe if I get close enough, they’ll pull me in too when they start fucking!!!”


Women putting phallic objects in their mouth
Here’s how cavemen think: “Thing in woman mouth look like ding-dong!” *orgasm*

One of the more common objects used in this lame version of foreplay (more like BOREplay, am I right?!) is probably a banana. I loathe bananas. I can’t stand the smell, the look, or the taste of bananas. If a girl was about to go down on me, I’d almost rather her mouth have just been around some other guy’s dick than a banana. Does that make me gay?


Now quit slobbering on somebody’s perfectly good produce and make yourself useful.

Erection

I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but there’s a presidential election going on RIGHT NOW. Believe it, sister. But seriously, with less than a week to go I’m finding it increasingly difficult to have patience for all the hoopla. Let’s get the damn thing over with already. Yesterday, CNN.com had a poll that asked: “Have you decided whom you support for president?” Yesterday. Fucking yesterday. The election is in less than a week! Hell, most of the people I work with have already voted. I’ll admit, I was on the fence about a year ago, but watching approximately 1/5 of one debate shoved me in the right or left direction. Technically we’ve had at least 2 years to figure it out, so if you haven’t decided by this point, with these two slightly opposite candidates, you’re just slowing the country down. Wake me up when you pull your head out of your ass. I’m dying to know how you got it in there in the first place. (On second thought, it’s probably best that I don’t know how you did it).

Now, I don’t want this blog to turn into a platform for me to force my beliefs on others (see: all other posts), so I’m staying as neutral as the color gray (or maybe something just a little nicer like taupe or even ivory) on the election until my guy loses/wins. Then I’ll either drink myself to death or eat until I barf (which one do you think is for if my guy wins? Guess again!)

Aside from all the friggin campaigning, I’m also tired of people claiming everything has a political slant. The other night my friend said he heard that the movie Wall-E was “politically charged.” I wanted to politically charge my fist right into his goddamn mouth.

So, in the spirit of neutrality I've created a few bumper stickers for the politically Swiss regarding typically divisive issues. If you like them, you can buy them from me for $500 apiece. Hey, this blog isn’t free to maintain (yes it is).