Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Katrina, Knock It Off, You Bitch!

What the hell just happened? I thought this was going to be another one of those lookout-it’s-coming-oh-it-wasn’t-that-bad kind of storms we’ve been seeing of late. It usually starts with FOX coming up with some exciting graphics and music and ends with CNN pushing Anderson Cooper outside in the rain so he can stand there telling us “It doesn’t look that bad, but it’s really windy…”

I think everyone got complacent. I think everyone in Jesus-Land felt that 1) everyone has cried wolf so many times that it doesn’t matter, and 2) that Jesus would never let anything happen to them (they did vote for Dubya… doesn’t that count?)

Have we learned our lesson? When they say to get out you should GET THE F**K OUT! God will protect you... if you follow the warning. Duh.

However, I think we have been looking at this wrong. We see the Atlantic’s fury being unleashed on an innocent and unsuspecting land mass who has done nothing to provoke these temper tantrums.

The problem isn’t the ocean or the storms; the problem is Florida. I always used to think of Florida as “America’s Wang” innocently dangling off the bible-belt buckle that is Georgia. Let’s face it: it looks like an “average” uncut dick (as geographic formations go). Now, Norway and Sweden are significantly better hung… but then they ARE European.

Also, note that Norway and Sweden look like they are glad to be in Europe, pleased to be well endowed (and double-headed to boot), but don’t go around shouting about it. Florida looks like it just blew spunk on Cuba… no wonder Castro hates us. The alternate theory is that Florida is just getting started and looks like it wants to “invade” (if you know what I mean) Cuba. Either way, Florida’s a dick.

Lately, I’ve come to notice Florida in a new light: it’s not a dick hanging off of Georgia like some 60 year-old nudist that no one has any interest in looking at… no. It’s a finger! A giant, angry finger! It’s America’s giant angry finger giving the bird to the lower mid Atlantic and the Caribbean. America is constantly flipping off the waters and they are pissed off. It’s so simple:

Florida: Hey, Caribbean… fuck you!
Caribbean: Wha…?
Florida: You heard me.
Caribbean: What’s up wit you, mon? We’re just hanging like a big calm ocean… relax.
Florida: I got your big hangin’ right here! Sit on this and spin, pussy!
Caribbean: You don’t want to make me mad. You won’t like me when I’m mad…
Florida: What are you gonna do about it.
Gulf Coast: Nuttin’! He can’t do nuth’n.
Caribbean: Who are you?
Gulf Coast: I’m that Gulf Coast, y’all. I’ma showin’ y’all my big ole pucker hole that you can get down on your knees and kiss.
Caribbean: Do you understand geography? I’m an ocean, mon. I don’t have knees!
Gulf Coast: Oh, so you’re a big ‘stand up ocean’, eh? Too big for us? You ain’t nuth’n. You’re just poor blue trash a-want’n to be like your cousin the Pacific… but always coming up short…
Caribbean: Oh… dat tears it! I’m bringin’ a world a’hurt onto you bitches.
Florida: What, you gonna smoke some weed and hope we get a contact high?
Caribbean: Katrina?! Girl, they done called you a ho!
Hurricane Katrina: Oh no they di’in’t! Jose, bring mama her shoes!

See? It really is Florida’s fault. Now if we cut a thirty mile gap between Florida and the mainland, they’ll just look like a turd floating in the ocean. Let’s face it, that’s a pretty apt description of Florida.

On a serious note: the amazing amount of destruction caused a huge amount of human loss and suffering. I encourage everyone to donate to The American Red Cross Hurricane Disaster Relief Fund. So many people lost everything, let’s help them get back on their feet.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

“Never have a hysterectomy!”

The above quote is an actual quote given to me by a female friend. I can safely say that I will follow her advice and NEVER have a hysterectomy. Being a male, it’s impossible (however, I have been known to suffer from PMS, so I should be cautious and never say never… but, I’m feeling a bit smarmy today, so I’ll stand firm on my new policy of never having a hysterectomy). I’m hoping it will catch on with all my friends and we’ll be a big group of non-hysterectomites.

So, Dr. Cutie McCutie* called with all my other test results and everything is excellent. No HIV, no STD’s: nutt’n. Apparently, even my urine “looked good.” Oh, doctor… how you tease!

The pills have taken Pauly the Parasite to task and I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Poor Pauly, I hardly knew ye… but you helped me lose ten pounds, so I can’t fault you too much. Well, you did keep me stuck in a bathroom for about 10 hours a day for three weeks, so you did put a cramp in my social life.**

I received a number of comments, personally and in my blog, stating that no one wants to hear any more scatological references or how my bowels are moving/not moving/reacting or in any way “communicating” to the outside world. I’ve heard you loud and clear: no more shit comments.

However, did you see Oprah yesterday? Apparently, she farts 14 times a day. I’d discuss it more, but the public has spoken…***


I got a jury summons for October in the mail. October? Now? Don’t they know I will spend the next month devising the best way to get out of my civic duty? It’s a “jury of my peers.” I can tell you this, my peers would not be on trial for something. They would have their parents use their significant influence to get them out of a jury trial—or daddy would do something to make it all go away. If I’m on a jury trial, it had better be for reading too many blogs at work or sleeping too late on the weekends, because otherwise, we are not peers.

Of course, if it’s for something that I want to do, then by all means sign me up! Knock down the slow lady in front of you at Starbucks that can’t figure out how to order a goddamn mocha? Not guilty! Run someone off the freeway for changing lanes without signaling because there are on their cell phone? Not guilty—and the US Medal of Freedom ****.


I went to Macy’s today to buy a baby gift for a friend and wandered over to Macy’s Gift Wrap. What a lovely area that is. You know how bad it looks during Christmas/Hanukah (Hanukkah? Chanukah? Whichever). Well, it looks just the same now… only with less people to distract you from the prison-like atmosphere.

I rang the bell and this woman walks out who clearly wanted to be somewhere (anywhere) else.

“Uh-huh?” She says to no one in particular, because she’s not staring at me, but at the counter.

“Yes, I’d like to get this gift wrapped,” I smile, pulling out the cutest baby outfit you’ve ever seen.

“Eight twenny-nine.” Seriously: twenny. Apparently, she escaped the back woods of Louisiana and Katrina’s wake and headed straight to Macy’s Gift Wrap at the Stanford Shopping Center.

She looked at the outfit. No reaction. Nothing. Not a “cute.” No “awwwww!” Heck, not even an “ewww.” Nothing. I hated her.

As I wondered to myself, why the fine people of Macy’s would keep her disgruntled ass around, a woman walks up. Happy looks up and says, “What do you want?”

Oooh, girlfriend, there is gonna be a catfight, because the woman that walked up clearly had fifty (or would that be fiddy?) pounds on her and both looked like they’ve been in fights before—and lost as many as they’d won, based on the total teeth count between the two would not be enough for one.

“I’m returning these…” Girlfriend said as she hoisted up a large box containing 500 small boxes (I know this because on the side of the box it clearly read, Contents: 500 small boxes).

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Can’t she read the box? Duh.

“What do I want those for?” (Actually, it sounded like “whadoohI wan dose foh?” Seriously. Henry Higgins would shit in his pants if he were there…*****)

Girlfriend started to walk away, she returned them and she wasn’t taking them back, that much even I knew. “This is where I got ‘em… this is where I take ‘em back to.”

And she was gone.

“Angie!” Happy cries out, staring at the box. “Angie!” I’m thinking she’s talking to the box, so I lean over the counter to get a better look (hey, if the box is gonna talk, I want to see it happen).

“What?” Angie said. For a nano-second, I thought it was the box. Angie appeared from out of the back.

“Look what Lanquisha brung back.” Happy said, measuring the ribbon.

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Seriously, am I the only one that can read the box?

Thankfully, Angie asked the one question I wanted answered: “Why?”

Happy shrugged as she finished tying up the ribbon, “I dunno. She nicked ‘em, so now she brung ‘em back.”

Angie was prepping to wrap a gift, so she started speaking to the wall, “What’re we s’posed to do with them?”

The wall didn’t answer, but Happy did: “dunno.”

My gift was done. Let me say, that Happy did the most incredible job. It wasn’t complex, but she took amazing care putting it all together and it looked wonderful.

With tax and a little note card it was an even Ten. Now that made Happy smile! No pesky change to figure out! Hurrah! She gave me a big “Thank you and have a nice day!” (well, she smiled a bit and said, “thanks,” but close enough in my book). As I walked away with my beautiful package, my ten spot, sans pesky change jingling in my pocket, I thought to myself, I like her!

*Not his real name… but you knew that already, didn’t you? Of course you did…
**In actuality, I have no social life to speak of, but if I did, Pauly put a cramp in it.
***You are SO wishing I’d say more now, aren’t you?
**** If you have not already guessed, I believe in the death penalty for anyone using a cell phone while driving
*****Thankfully, he wasn’t. (Sorry about the “shit in his pants” remark. I said I wouldn’t mention that anymore… Obviously, I lied).

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Getting Better

Well, I finally went to the doctor this week. I was blowing stuff out my ass like you've never seen before. Sorry to be crude, but when one is going to the bathroom every 20 minutes or so, one has a tendancy to lose one's propriety.

Anyhow... back to the ass flow:

Oh... I'll save you the details (email me if you want to know, I love talking about it... it's just that no one wants to hear about it).

So, I finally went to the doctor (or more acurately, found out my doctor is no longer on my plan, so I changed doctors) and Doctor Cutie McCutie, gave me a bunch of tests (none of them pretty) and today he called to say I have a parasite in me. Well, I've always wanted a new friend.

And like all friendships, this one is coming to an end real soon. Tonight, I pick up my prescription and in 3-5 days, Pauly the Parasite should be gone.

And, hopefully, I'll get back to writing again. Seriously, I started 7 different things and then I'd run off to the bathroom and come back with no desire to finish the article.

Seriously, I'll write... if I feel like it. Thanks for all your cards and letters... oh, that's right, I didn't get any. Thanks for your total lack of concern. 'preciate it...

Thursday, August 11, 2005

The Story of My Life...

I took the The Director Who Films Your Life Test and found out that if my life were made into a movie, it would be directed by Kevin Smith. You can take the test yourself HERE.

My results:
"Your film will be 50% romantic, 49% comedy, 33% complex plot, and a $ 33 million budget.
Kevin will take your slacker life and turn it into the cult classic it deserves to be --- like Mallrats (just kidding). If you can handle the menacing presence of Jay and Silent Bob all throughout your film, then Kevin is willing to oblige. Basically, he can take the lives of people who don't have much of a life and make it entertaining, so you're in good hands."

Does this mean the Catholic Church will protest my movie? Do I get a cut of the gross profits? Most importantly, who will play me... Brad Pitt or Matt Damon? (I'm sure they want to think of themselves as "the next DeNiro," so let 'em pack on the pounds and see if they can do it).

Monday, August 08, 2005

I'm Sick...

As I was over the toilet, heaving up my guts, my thoughts turned to Seinfeld and how when he hadn't thrown up since January 31, 1985 (or some such date). I couldn't remember the date, but I immediately thought how I have not ralphed since I was in my 20's. Is this some sort of insanity, or was my brain trying to protect me from the horror of the moment? Most likely, it's that I watch too much TV...

On a side note, let's hope it's as least as long until I buick again.

However, I was able to get up from my "bed of pain"* to peruse the internet and see this:

It made me smile... and that was really needed.

*George C. Scott once said that to a friend of mine when he was called in to do more voice work for a Disney animated flick. Her memories of him are not fond... not fond at all.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Five Questions

I’m not sure where this started, but I saw it on the Diaspora South blog (written by the too fabulous Ari Graf von Rothberg. The rules are below.

Question 1: What is your favorite film of all time, and why?
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967). While, it is a great movie (poorly “remade” this year) and the subject stirred a national debate and changed a lot of minds, it’s the interaction of Hepburn/Tracy that is magical. In Tracy’s final speech, I don’t believe he’s talking about “his wife, Christina” but about his relationship with Hepburn. The fact that he died three weeks after filming only cements the film in my heart.

Question 2: When did you first know that you were gay?
I’ve always known I was “different.” I just didn’t think like the other boys. However, it wasn’t until junior high that it all started clicking. The locker room was torture for me, because I knew I couldn’t stare at the other boys—but, Lord, how I wanted to…

Question 3: First name of the first person you ever crushed on, and a random memory about that person.
Mike Hamm, fourth grade. He was just so ‘together.’ He was cute, smart, and extremely funny. We went through all six years of elementary school together, but we went to different junior high schools. In the 8th grade, I was walking on campus when he rode by on his bike—he ‘recognized me,’ but didn’t know who I was. I was crushed.

Question 4: What are 5 things you would never be caught doing and why?
1. Voting republican (because they are small-minded and evil)
2. Using a trough urinal (I need a reason?)
3. Saying, “I can think of a number of wonderful things George Bush did for America…” (because he’s Satan)
4. Walking up to a cute guy in a bar and saying, “can I buy you a drink?” (too shy and too insecure)
5. Robbing a bank (I’m not saying I’m not going to do it… I’m saying I’m not going to get caught doing it… for I am a criminal mastermind. Well, I’d like to be anyway, but that’s for another interview).

Question 5: Shag, Marry, Push Off a Cliff. Please put each of the following people into the aforementioned categories: Chris Evans, Oscar Wilde, Ryan Seacrest.
Shag: Chris Evans. Lordy, how I love that boy’s bod!
Marry: Oscar Wilde: Lot’s of fun conversations—plus, with him as my husband, I’m guaranteed tons of cool party invites.
Push off a Cliff: Ryan Seacrest… I need a reason?

Want to play?

The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

PETA... The Game

Okay, so it's not PETA approved (I'm sure a number of cyber-animals were hurt in the creation of this game). Scotty Mo sent me this. It's pretty easy, but can quickly become an obsession if you don't have a life... not that I would know anything about that.

To play, click HERE and save a monkey!

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

As Time Goes By…

So much has changed in the last 30-some years… I’m much older, maybe a little wiser, and I most certainly have better taste in clothes (check out the collar on that shirt, it looks like I'm about to take flight!).

However, Mrs. Clarke, my third grade teacher certainly had me figured out. Not much has changed in that respect… not much at all.

(click on the pic to get a better view of her comments.)

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Ho! Superquiz!

I found a cool poll link on the web and decided to have a weekly poll. I came up with this week's quiz in a flash, so it's not very original--however, it is a subject near and dear to my heart...

Possible upcoming quiz ideas: "Balls!" (shaved or un-shaved), "Unkindest Cut" (circumcised or not)... man, I have got to get my mind out of the gutter...

Anyway, enjoy the quiz (it's off to the right...)
Fun With War
I don't know who wrote this... I only know it's genius: World War II as if online game.
"Anyone Wanna Buy a Monkey?"

Have you ever wanted to make a sock puppet? Me neither, but this person did... only she wanted one that was really big! Meet Buttons, the giant sock puppet.

Creationism vs. Evolution

In a commentary on NPR today, the speaker stated that currently, everyone's opinion matters equally, regardless of your knowledge on a topic. So, scientists, who study a subject, are no more of an authority than someone who, without anything other than their beliefs, deems the scientists are wrong.

Take Evolution vs. Creationism. Now there is proof that man evolved. Creationism is based on faith. Now, I am one of the faithful, but I'm not an idiot. Do I believe that God created the heavens and earth in 7 days? Sure, why not? But 7 days to you and me is nothing to God. Billions of years pass and maybe-maybe-that's a day to God.

I find it odd that people take certain phrases from the bible literally, and will allow others to be interpreted: "God didn't mean to literally stone a woman for wearing a red dress... the dress signifies..." yada, yada, yada. However, mention "man should not lay with another man" and it's suddenly Crystal clear.

[If you want a good example of "wacko" laws in the bible, check out Leviticus... it's amazing how many "rules" are stated there which we don't follow... (except for the gay stuff). However, when God decided to send down 10 commandments, those can be left up to interpretation? Where are these people when preachers are adulterous? I don't think it could be any clearer than the 10 Commandments--the actual commandments, mind you, not the movie, which was too long for my tastes. I did, however, enjoy The Prince of Egypt, because they sang a lot.]

God gave us brains. We should use them and not turn away from them with the idea we are being "faithful." Personally, I think evolution just might win out in the end... and if this comic is true, it will happen sooner than you think.

You know, I'm just rambling right now... I think I'll go look at the giant sock puppet for a while...

Monday, August 01, 2005

The Dry Spell is (kind of, like) Over…

Okay, so I got laid again this weekend… sort of.

The pattern seems to be, they get off and I’m left just sort of… well, waiting.

Is it rude to say, “Hello, see Mr. Angry poking at your side? He needs some assistance!” Instead, I usually say, “Wow, that was great,” while I’m actually thinking, “Wow, that was just short of okay…”

I will say that the caliber of men I’ve been with lately are surprisingly hot (for me—I usually don’t get a choice; I get what I can get. I don't think I get guys looking for a “type” as much as they are looking for a fetish...) However, to quote Nokomus: “It’s all good.” I really don’t care what he looks like as long as it gets me laid. So, I guess I can’t complain too much. Mind you, that’s not going to stop me from complaining—because, gawd knows, I love to complain—but I really don’t have too much room to grumble. What was I talking about, again?

Let’s recap: I’m getting sex, but I’m not getting off.

Odd, that when I was getting off all the time, I was alone. Now that I’ve actually got an actual true-live-non-inflatable-partner, I’m left even more frustrated.

I think I’ll just stick with my vast collection of porn and my jar of Stroke 29*, at least I can nap afterwards…

So... was that too much information? Probably. I don't really care--I'm frustrated people. FRUSTRATED! Would it kill any of you to buy me a male prostitute for my birthday? (Okay, that would be really expensive and if you got the wrong guy, he could kill me... so strike that terrible idea). How about you hook me up with someone... anyone! I'm not picky: "He's a man; he's alive; what's not to like?" I can cook... and I can cook! (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) I'm funny (sometimes), I have a decent job (with health/dental/retirement and partner benefits!). I'm not asking for much... as much as I love Chris Evans and What's-his-name, I'm not looking for that (well, I am, I'm just not expecting it). So find me someone, because it's pretty obvious I can't do it myself... and you'll never have to read posts about me and masturbation again!**

*Stroke 29 is the best stuff... ever! I can't say enough wonderful things about it... unlike any of the guys I've slept with recently.

**That's a lie, you will... you so will, but I'll warn you--or something--first...