More Dancing With The Losers

What the hell! Lil Kim was eliminated from Dancing with the Stars. That's messed up.

Dancing With The Losers

So I've started watching Dancing With The Has-Beens again. I always tell myself I'm not going to watch that crap anymore because I know what's going to happen. I'm going to get all sucked into it and do I really need to get sucked into another stupid reality show. And what the fuck is up with Lil' Kim's face. Same with Belinda Carlisle. They look like they went to the same doctor as Priscilla Presley. Lil Kim's too young to be messing with her face. She used to look good, now she looks like one of those porcelain dolls, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Some men like that look. I guess. I don't though. Her damn face is frozen in time. But I guess that's the point. Freeze your face so it never gets old.

So I really despise, loathe getting all sucked into DWTS. These shows are time-stealers, brain-wasters. They rob you of your life; parts of your life that you will never get back; parts of your life that you could be doing something productive (like taking some damn dancing lessons instead of sitting on the damn couch and watching for chrissakes-although sometimes I will imitate some of the DWTS dance moves while I watch). Despite all this I continue to watch DWTS. To my credit though, DWTS is really the only reality based progam I watch. Oh, sometimes I watch What Not To Wear with Clinton and Stacy. And if The Surreal Life came out with new episodes I would watch that again too. And Room Raiders, and Wild Boyz and Jackass. And sometimes I will watch those crazy Duggars with all those 18 plus kids of theirs. Now that is one nutty family.

Someone must put a stop to all these reality shows. They're like crack and heroin and meth. You know they're bad for you, but you try them once and you're hooked.

The reason I wanted to watch DWTS this season is because Jewel was going to be on. I'm not a Jewel fan but there was a time when she first came out that I was mildly interested in her music. But then Snaggletooth got injured and that gave me good reason not to watch. But then I remembered insecure Denise Richards and America's sweetheart Shawn Johnson were going to be dancers and I was hooked...again. But best of all was the girl who got dumped on The Bachelor, Melissa. Now, I never watch The Bachelor, but we happened to watch what was probably the best and worst episode of The Bachelor ever. At least that is what I've been told. Misty and I were flipping channels one night looking for something to watch and we came upon The Bachelor when Melissa got dumped. And then a few nights later we see Melissa on DWTS. I got so excited I almost peed my pants. She's the one I'm rootin' for.

Frosty the Blogger

Just like Frosty the Snowman, I'll be back again someday, but it will be before Christmas. I plan to get back in the blogging routine soon. Very soon, maybe this week, maybe next week. I want to blog and write all about nasty shit and read all about your nasty shit, even if it is not nasty shit you are writing about it I still want to read about it. Ms. Jackson if you're nasty.

My Balls

I'm still exercising, running and working out on weights. When I run my balls chafe.

Got Lent?

I wanted my New Year’s Resolution to be about blogging more. It’s a wise decision I didn’t commit to this undertaking because as you can see I am off to a damn fine start. Still, I would like to find the time to be a better blogger in terms of output. Ideally, my goal is to blog at least every other day and if at all possible every day. But that would require a lot of work, a lot of work I am not willing to commit to. Not yet anyway. So in the meantime 2-4 blogs a month will have to do.

What would be really cool is if I spent so much time blogging that come the season of Lent I gave up some of my blogging for Lent. But that won’t happen because I don’t give up anything for Lent anymore because I don’t Lent anymore. I haven’t observed Lent since I don’t know when-probably the last time was when I gave up Lent for Lent. For all you non-Catholics, Lent is this weird, wacky time of year when you are expected to give up something that you really like to do. Like berating others or doing the nasty or sucking helium or masturbating or flossing or eating waffles. Lent ends on Easter Sunday when you can finally go back to all your many vices and evil ways. Sinner.

Lent is all about sacrifice. At least that is how I remember it. It starts on Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is (you guessed it!) on Wednesday. This is the day you go to church and have the priest smudge ashes on your forehead in the style of a cross. Symbolism. Subtlety. And then you walk around the rest of the day with ashes on your forehead in the shape of a cross and people stare at your forehead when they talk to you and then you get home and look at yourself in the mirror and think, “Damn, not only am I cool, but I’m also Catholic.” And then you have unprotected sex because Catholics don’t believe in condoms or birth control. Lube is probably okay though. I'll check in the Catholic's Handbook and get back to you.

My Thesis on Tylenol PM

I want all of you to know that I consider you competition. That being said, I have no problem stealing your material, ideas or whatever I read on your blogs, just so long as I get credit for it. But let’s not look on it as stealing; let’s view it as borrowing. Since I am borrowing that implies it will be returned, and yes, I will return it. With love and squalor.

Over at Swirly Girl, she’s all meshugenah you know, and what the hell is meshugenah anyway, and can a woman be meshugenah? But over at her site, in one of her recent posts she was talking about being sick and wondering if you can become addicted to Tylenol PM. In her comments section I said yes, I do believe you can become addicted to Tylenol PM. Here is my reasoning; it is by no means scientific but it belongs to me and therefore it must be trusted.

Every damn time I see the Tylenol PM in the medicine cabinet I want to take one of those pretty, white and blue Geltabs. It’s only a flicker of a thought, faster than the whip of a dick, but the thought is always there, tempting me. The Tylenol PM, not the dick. I see that little Tylenol PM bottle and I want to drop one down my throat. The Tylenol PM, not the dick. But, alas, I do not. In fact, it is rare I take those things. I have to be really, really, really, really sick to put one of those little fuckers in my mouth, and then I don’t even get the chance to enjoy it because I’m all sick and shit. And that my friends is why I believe that Tylenol PM should be free to anyone and everyone who wants one. They should be given out like candy.

Also, currently, I am getting over a cold and I think the damn fool thing is finally in it's death throes. I have been throwing at it mass quantities of over-the-counter meds. You know the kind, the kind that help sniffling, sneezing, anything so you can breath medicine. BUT! I have shied away from the drowsy, sleepy kind, the kind I really like, and instead have opted for the daytime version of these drugs. The boring kind, because I know myself. Once I have a shot of Nyquil I’ll want another, and then another, and then another. You know, it has 25% alcohol in it. Woo-hoo! So, once again, I have to be in a fairly dire condition to take the stuff.

The Jowls of Life

The jowls are the secret to it all. They hold the key to my fitness woes. I mean goals, not woes, but goals. If I can rid myself of these damn jowls then everything will be just fine. Is that even possible, to rid oneself of jowls, or is it that once you get them you have them forever? Sort of like herpes or syphilis. My hope is that jowls are more like a foot fungus or boob cheese, something that can be gotten rid of? I want to know these things. I need to know these things. If jowls are like herpes and syphilis and there is no way of getting rid of them, then perhaps I should say screw it to my current fitness routine, that I have grown to love, and return to the days of Boston Baked Beans, Peter Piper Pizza, Coke Slurpees and Entenmanns for the rest of my jowlful life. Woe is me.

Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. Within the past year or so I have noticed some slight drooping in the face. I am starting to develop jowls. Or sure, right now they’re little, they’re small, they’re cute and cuddly. But give them an inch and they’ll droop a mile. If I don’t nip them in the bud now one day I might look like this guy.

Remember him? Remember how he used to look in his prime? I used to look that way too. Well, not exactly, but in my own way I was fab.

I am not at the point where I can snip the little bastards off with a pair of gardening shears or a one of those really sharp Japanese knifes used to slice blowfish. No, I’m not there yet, but I can see that day coming. One day I’ll perform my own brand of plastic surgery and I won’t need no stinkin’ anesthesia. I’ll just carve them off and flush them down the toilet so when I get to the ER there will be zero chance of having them reattached. HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!

Years ago a friend of mine showed me this ridiculous book she had by Morgan Fairchild. It was a book on beauty routines. The book gave tips on how to keep your face expressionless at all times in order to avoid wrinkles and aging. Smiles should be creaseless. Never raise your eyebrows and don’t squint. No lines, no seams, no creases equals no wrinkles. At the time I laughed at the book. I called it utter nonsense. I wish I had that book now. Morgan Fairchild was a genius and I was too dumb to know it.

It’s the time of year to make a resolution, a resolution of change. Mine is to rid myself of these dastardly jowls. And I’ll do it, by God I’ll do it. As God as my witness I’ll never have jowls again! It may require slicing and dicing the bloody things off while screaming bloody murder; my preferred choice is through diet and exercise. Come 2010, I plan to be jowless. Because I’d rather be jowless than joyless.

And now, I officially proclaim all photos taken of me from here on out must only be shot from the lower lip up.

Obviously, the person taking this picture knew what the hell he was doing. In actuality, my baby jowls only show up when I‘m not smiling. So, 2009 is going to be the year of smiles. Smiles everyone smiles; because while I may be miserable on the inside, I’ll be jowl-less on the outside.

My Personal Cum Story

Holy shit! I just drove by this gas station and gas is like $1.49. That is so freaking cool! Especially when you drive a gas guzzling SUV from 1995 like I do. I'm cumming in my pants, that's so cool.

Wait. Stop. Before you cease reading this because I used the word "cum," let's step back a take a closer look at this vilified word.

Wait. Stop again. As I write this, I'm contemplating not posting this because it's about a word that causes such a visceral reaction in people. I'm considering not posting it because I'm afraid to post it. But whenever I'm afraid to post something because of its outrageousness factor that tells me I should post it.

I think most of us immediately react when we hear this word. We don't stop and think first. It's a reactionary word. And this is what I want everyone to remember. This is not about cum, it's about the WORD "cum" and the LETTERS that comprise the word, um, "cum." It's just a WORD with LETTERS.

It's sort of gross for me to see "cum" in quotes. "Cum." Yuck. What's grosser? Cum without quotes, or "cum" in quotes? I think "cumming" in quotes is grosser. I "came" in your quotes.

I know this girl who uses the phrase "cum buckets" to describe that place on men that is below their waist but above their crotch. She describes it as the place that only really fit guys have. It's like an indented V that starts at the waist and goes down to the crotch area. Or maybe she calls it "cum troughs." I was shocked and disgusted when I first heard it; then I wanted to know how she came up with the phrase. Then I was even more disgusted. But I won’t go into that part. Cum buckets. Yick.

This brings me back to taking a closer look at the word "cum." It conjures up all sorts of images and meanings. But it's just a WORD. Take it apart and what do you have: C, U, and M. Gimme a C! Gimme a U! Gimme an M! What've you got!

Separate the letters and they mean nothing. C means nothing. U means nothing. M means nothing. I feel nothing. But how come when we put them all together it affects us and suddenly I feel something? In my pants.

Why have we placed this word on a pedestal? A "cum" pedestal. It's the meaning behind the word that means something to us. The meaning that we have given this word is where it gets its power. I am trying to be analytical here in an attempt to take away some of the meaning of the word.

When I used to live in Phoenix there was this convenience store called "Kum-n-Go." I kid you not. What Einstein came up with that bright idea? "Hey, let's name our store Kum-n-Go." This should not be the name of a convenient store; this should be the name of an adult book store. Not that I know about such things. Anyway, the name was eventually changed to "Come-n-Go." Not great, but better.

I am still contemplating not posting this since it is about the word "cum" and I know that will repel some of you. You may have stopped reading already. I keep telling myself it's just a word. It's just a word and I am afraid to post this word. This tells me I should post it because I am afraid to post it. When I wake up the next day regretful and feeling foolish over what I posted, then I know it was the right thing to do. It's like when you're drunk and you say a bunch of stupid things and you wake up the next day and think to yourself, "I can't believe I said and did those things." Except, that I'm not drunk; I'm completely sober. It's just a word. It's just a word.

Okay, Mr. Smartey Pants, if it's just a word then why are you so freaked out about posting this?! Huh? Answer me that, Mr. Big Shot. Mr. Cum In Your Pants.

By now, you must be thinking I will post about anything if it gets a laugh. If it gets a laugh, then it's worth it, right? You're right. Comedy knows no bounds, after all. But I'm really trying to make a point here about the word "cum." But just remember this, it's not the sound of the word that's sticky, I mean icky, it's the meaning behind it, and WE give the word power by giving it meaning.

So, for me, give the word zero power. Take away the power of the word. Render it completely and totally immobile so that I can say cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?

Some of you may find nothing wrong with the word "cum." Obviously, you weren't raised Catholic. And if you weren't raised Catholic then you surely aren't aware that sex is a sin. And if you aren't aware that sex is a sin then you most definitely don't know that condoms and any form of birth control are sinful. And if you don't know those things you then you haven't been paying attention.

'Tis the season to be sinful, fa la la la la la la la la.

This post was brought to you by the letters C, U, and M, and the numbers 6 and 9.

I Am Delicious

Since discovering the delightful world of blogging I’ve come to know many of you through your blogs. I’ve come to know your ups and downs, your highs and lows. I’ve come to know your families, your likes, your dislikes and all your many facets. I’ve come to know your private parts. The private parts of your life, that is. What the hell did you think I was talking about? Damn Perverts.

And through it all I’ve come to regard many of you as part of my extended family. Yes, I consider many of you family—just one big, happy family; just one big, happy, dysfunctional, delusional, in need of some cheap therapy and meds family. But family, all the same.

So it should come as no surprise to you, my big, messed-up, sloppy family, when I tell you that I have been exercising…again. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, “Why do you need to exercise when you have such a delicious body to begin with?” I keep this body delicious BECAUSE I exercise—not all the time, only when I’ve had it with being nasty tasting and no longer delicious. So, when I start to reek on the inside, it’s time to transform the geek on the outside, and thus begins the exercise regimen…again.

Currently, on alternate days, I am lifting weights and running. Getting started is the hardest part, but now that I have been underway for over a month I find that I am becoming addicted to exercise…again. This is good because I have an addictive personality. One of the joys of having an addictive personality is that when I’m addicted to something good, like exercise, then that’s a good thing. On the flip side, when you’re addicted to something bad, like pot or alcohol or pills or hallucinogens, or nitrous, or Boston Baked Beans, or Coke Slurpees, or Chocolate Chip Cookies or Brownies or Entenmanns, then that’s a bad thing.

Oh sure, there was a time when I indulged here and there in the booze and the pills and the grass and the hallucinogens and the nitrous, but those days are behind me now. That was a long time ago, before I met the wife, pre-1996. Now, I am a good boy and I lead a pure, clean life. Except for the sometimes Boston Baked Beans, Coke Slurpees, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Brownies and an entire box of Entenmanns all in one day.

These days I have a good wife and we have a good life. Oh sure, we've had our rough spots, like the time I drew her a warm bath sprinkled, not with rose petals, but with banana peels. Or the time I said the phrase “poop chute” over and over again for 24 hours straight. Or the time she went fishing, came home, saw that I did not clean the house and proceeded to beat my bare-naked buttocks with a giant flounder until I used our safety phrase, “NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO, YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER!!!” Later that night she made the best flounder with just a hint of ass.

So yes, my new extended family! I've been exercising again to keep my delicious body and delicious mind...delicious.

Pubic Seeds in the Back of My Throat

Fuck it. Despite the fact that we are now a laptop only household I am going to give it a go and start using this damn laptop. The only reason I don't like using laptops is because I am not accustomed to them, but, like everything else in life, once I start using it on a day to day basis I know it will become as common as scratching my balls. Which reminds me, you won’t find me using a laptop on my lap anytime soon because I read somewhere about the heat from a laptop doing some sort of damage to a man’s johnson and his accessories? So the laptop rests on a desk for now until they start making laptops that won't damage my "man bizness." I also try to keep my cell phone out of my pocket for long periods of time because I heard a similar story about cell phones wrecking havoc on a man's spermies and junk. But if I do have a cell phone in my pants it’s always on vibrate. Perverts in the House Say “Yeah!”

Today for lunch I made this turkey sandwich with a poppy seed roll. I like poppy seeds. Well, ya know how poppy seeds are. The little buggers get all over the place. They're like bb's being loaded into a bb gun. They go all over. After I made my mesquite turkey, havarti cheese, mayo, poppy seed sandwich I also made a peanut butter and honey sandwich for a snack later in the day. I made the peanut butter and honey sandwich on the same plate I made the poppy sandwich and as I was cleaning up I got a little peanut butter and poppy seed mixed together on my fingers. Two great tastes in one candy bar. No big deal, I just licked them off my fingers. Well, on the way to work I felt something in the back of my throat, like a tickle that you can't reach or a pubic hair that gets caught in the back of your throat. (Oral Sex Aficionados in the House Say, “Yeah!”). No matter how hard I tried with my tongue I couldn't reach that pubic hair in the back of my throat. Except that it wasn't a pubic hair. It was poppy seeds. I figured that the peanut butter acted as some sort of epoxy-agent and stuck those damn poppy seeds to the back of my throat. For the rest of the day I kept using my tongue to unhinge those damn poppies. I stuck my fingers down my throat, a straw, an extra long pubic hair, anything to get those poppy seeds unstuck. It wasn’t until the next morning that I finally felt some relief.

And speaking of my balls…here’s a recent picture of me wearing what I like to call a badass mother f*****ng(shut your mouth) outfit.

For the record, this picture was not taken at our place of residence. But you have to ask yourself, why in the background of this photo is there a jar of vaseline sitting on top of a jar of peanut butter, next to some spices.

Our Computer Bit the Dust

Okay, so I haven't blogged or read any blogs for a while. It's been difficult as our main computer crashed and hard, and now all we have is a laptop. I know, so pathetic to say all we have is a laptop. It's like telling someone, yeah, we have cable TV, but only 300 channels, not 500. I should be grateful at least we have a laptop. Since all we have is a laptop I rarely go onto to it because I don't like using it. But today, I decided to just to write something. We have just started the early shopping phase for a new computer. Once the economy is officially considered in a deflationary period then I think that will be the time to buy. I could blog at work, but that is not something I really should be doing as I work in HR and it is my job to enforce things like don't blog at work or read blogs at work. And besides, once I start blogging at work I know I'll never stop and I'll get nothing done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pick my toenails.

Get on, get on, get on, get on the Groovy Train!

So, you must be wondering where the hell have I been and what took me so long to blog again, right? Or maybe you weren't wondering that at all. Were you? Wondering that? You probably just went about with your lives, entertaining yourself, doing things, going on your 'ventures, drinking your Chablis, sucking your lover’s toes, spooning, taking baths in Epson salts. You didn't think of me at all while I was gone. Did you? Not one of you called to see how I was doing or stopped by the house and checked on me. Bastards. All of you. I could've been stuck in a ditch, or had a really bad case of lactose intoler-de-laurentis. What is that, you ask? Lactose intoler-de-laurentis is something you get for watching too much Giada on the food network. Actually I could never watch too much Giada; however, I can handle only so much Rachel Ray. Oh my God, will that woman never stop yapping. Yap, yap, yap. Shut up already and make a damn pie or something. Bake a cake, make a chicken, carve a roast, cook an egg, slice a carrot, mash some beets, but shut the hell up. Now Giada, there is a women with class.

And speaking of class, my man Barack won last night! Oh yeah!!! Is it just me or does Michelle Obama have a nice badonkadonk? I’m just sayin. I have one question for our lovely First Lady: "What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?" The next four years are gonna be F-I-N-E. You know what I’m talking about. It’s about time we had a First Lady with a nice backside. That’s the real reason I voted Obama.

I kid the President Elect and his First Lady. I wish them only good will. I got very little sleep last night and yet today I felt incredibly refreshed and optimistic. I cannot help but feel Obama’s win is a great thing for America because now, it is my hope, that the rest of the world will view us through a different lens. It is my hope that our standing with the world will improve. For a while now I have felt like America was on the decline, and yet now I am beginning to see the first signs that we can transform ourselves. We can begin again. We can live up to our true potential where we are the country that leads by example and not by force. Compared to the other countries of the world Americans are an incredibly optimistic and hopeful people, sometimes to the point of annoyance. This occasional blind optimism is maybe due to our age. We are a very young country. I can’t remember the last time I felt hope and optimism about America. But last night I did and today too. I have been very moved by this election. I’ve grown so tired of being told by my Government to be afraid and that I need to be fearful. Last night I finally started to feel the fear melt away. And it feels good. I am lucky and proud to have been part of and contributed to this historic election. We are living through history and it is exciting!!!

Get Out The Drunk Vote

Hey Mother Fuckers and Daddy Rapers! How the fuck y'all doing? Make sure you vote on November 4. And if you have already voted well good for you then. We voted by mail and it made me feel so empowered. We voted HELL NO on all the propositions because I didn't understand any of them and also because Arizona is such a backwards state. I'm not going to tell you who we voted for President but I'll give you a hint: His name rhymes with "Go Sock Yo Mama." That sounds like the name of some Asian dude, except it would be spelled Gosock Yomama. Hmm, it still looks the same. I must be doing something wrong. So, I hope Gosock Yomama wins. If you voted for the guy whose names rhymes with Juan McShame, then I hope your guy loses. Sorry, that's just how I feel. I really shouldn't be getting all political and shit because then I might disenfranchise some of my readers and I certainly don't want to do that. So, I take it all back. I didn't vote and I don't plan to vote and if you are planning to vote for Juan McShame then I encourage you not to vote too. Just stay home all day and eat Doritos and get orange fingers.

Oh, and remember, no selling alcohol on erection day. But that's okay, because I don't drink. But I do get erections. Boing-oing-oing-oing-oing!

Blog Again

I will blog again soon, I think, I hope, I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps. Probably. Fuck. Shit. Balls.