God Hates Gays and Shrimp, But Jesus Loves Them

Prop 8 was recently declared unconstitutional in California. This is a big passionate debate. I live in a very…conservative…community. I won’t call it out by name (Temecula, California). I remember when Prop 8 was on the ballot seeing people lining the streets with Yes on 8 signs, protect our families, etc.

I voted no on 8, BTW, after a lot of thought. I don’t have a problem with homosexuality and totally support gay rights. Initially, as far as rights given to married individuals, I thought sexual preference shouldn’t come into play. I subscribed to the “marriage is between a man and woman” camp.

Then I realized I was wrong. Why not? What’s the issue? Why shouldn’t gay couples be happy and get rights as married couples, and be able to say they are married?

Homosexuality isn’t a choice, but homophobia is.

It’s all about fear, and fear is about misunderstanding.

I used to think every gay guy wanted to sleep with every guy. Not true, just like straight guys don't want to sleep with every girl.

Gays being able to legally marry is not going to lead to mobs of queers running up and down the streets trying to corrupt and bugger your teenage sons. Those guys will go into the Catholic priesthood. It’s not going to lead to NAMBLA members vying for the right to marry underage children, or men in love with pigs wanting equal representation. It’s not going to lead to sex ed in kindergarten.

It MAY lead to those two guys living down the street who always look so stylish in that very nice house getting to be a little happier in their relationship.

It's not a sex thing, it's a basic rights issue. How does two guys living down the street being able to say they are married affect the straight couple up the street that don't like it, because they don't agree, or because the Bible says it's wrong?

What about dogs and cats living together? Now THAT'S unnatural, no matter how you spell it.

The Bible says "Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you." (Colossians 3:13)

...And, shellfish is an abomination.

I might be taking that out of context though.

Thall shalt not covet another man's wife, or his ass.

But seriously folks, is all comes down to fear, fear of things that are different.

So, the argument that the Bible says homosexuality is a sin…

"You shall not lie with a male as with a woman. It is an abomination." (Leviticus 18:22)

and . . .

"If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them." (Leviticus 20:13)

Hey, I'm fine for people living by the Bible, but you must do it all the way...

Don't forget...

Slaves are OK!

"Your male and female slaves are to come from the nations around you; from them you may buy slaves. You may also buy some of the temporary residents living among you and members of their clans born in your country, and they will become your property." (Leviticus 25:44-45)

Stop grooming!

"Do not cut the hair at the sides of your head or clip off the edges of your beard." (Leviticus 19:27)

Hate lobster and shrimp (and shrimpers, they're toe suckers)

"But all in the seas or in the rivers that do not have fins and scales, all that move in the water or any living thing which is in the water, they are an abomination to you." (Leviticus 11:10)

Bacon sucks!

"...and the swine, though it divides the hoof, having cloven hooves, yet does not chew the cud, is unclean to you." (Leviticus 11:7)

Someone who will remain anonymous, and who is better versed in The Bible, pointed out to me “The old testament stuff (Leviticus) you're taking out of context. Jesus coming cancelled out a lot of 'rules' of the Old Testament. We don't have to, say, sacrifice animals to cleanse us of our sins-Christ's blood spilled was the ultimate ultimate sacrifice."

I’m taking these quotes out of context? The ones from the same book calling homosexuality an abomination?

Aren’t the right-wingers doing the same?

God may hate fags, but I guess Jesus loves them.

And, I think it's awesome that Jesus actually does like lobster and shrimp.

Special thanks to Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church (http://www.godhatesamerica.com/), and http://www.godhatesshrimp.com/.

And honorable mention to…

GodHatesFags.com
The main web site of the most controversial church in the world – Westboro Baptist Church!

SignMovies.com
Brief, fascinating videos that offer Bible-based expositions of the message of WBC.

JewsKilledJesus.com
What the Bible teaches about the final fate of the nation of Israel for murdering the Messiah.

BeastObama.com
A scriptural look at the rising beast and how he is going to usher in the destruction of the world.

PriestsRapeBoys.com
The Catholic Church: the largest, most well-funded and organized pedophile machine in history.

blogs.SpareNot.com
Chronicles the worldwide street preaching ministry of Westboro Baptist Church!

AmericaIsDoomed.com
Builds the airtight case that america is not only cursed of God, but that this curse is irreversible.

Barack Obama Is a Muslim Anti-Christ Socialist Without a Real Birth Certificate

Barack Obama Is a Muslim Anti-Christ, Without a Real Birth Certificate. There, I said it. Phew. I don’t believe a word of it, but I said it. I’ve been stewing over this since the election.

Last night, my wife and I went out to have a lovely anniversary dinner. Thank you, thank you, it’s been seven years. We went to our little favorite Italian restaurant and were seated next to a family there for a mom’s birthday.

I don’t like to be seated close to people in restaurants because you can overhear conversations. I like to listen, but I don’t like to be heard.

So anyway, we’re talking, they’re talking, and I hear a reference to the Red Faction terrorist group that perks my ears up “nice obscure terrorist group reference,” I think. Then the table’s conversation shifts to politics in general, I’m listening with one ear.

The birthday Mom: “Well, you know he’s the anti-Christ.”

An older lady at the table, her mom or maybe even grandmother, “Oh, don’t say that, he’s our President.”

Birthday Mom: “You’ll see, we’ll ALL see. He’s the anti-Christ. We’ll all see soon enough.”

I nearly spit my pasta out.

Then the older lady said something like, “Well, I always say don’t talk about politics or religion, it always gets you in trouble…”

The conversation toned down and they left soon after.

I voted for President Obama, and was proud to do so. He’s had a tough time, and I haven’t agreed with everything he’s done. He said it wasn’t going to be easy, and he’d stumble along the way, and he has.

I respect that birthday mom has an opinion, and she can have that opinion in our free society, but she doesn’t need to be blasting it across the restaurant. And it’s not just because I disagree with her, but she should keep her ignorance to herself. Save it to corrupt her poor toddler son who was running around the table. Of course, we do live in Temecula California where “No On Prop 8” demonstrators lined the streets.

What makes President Obama the anti-Christ? Really, what is it? Is it because he’s a Democrat? Is it because he’s part African American? Is it because he’s a different kind of politician? Is it because he wanted to try and change things? Is it the horns, forked tail and pitchfork? The constant quoting of Revelations and the “Left Behind” series and his aversion to all things Kirk Cameron?

To loosely quote one of my favorite politicians, Sarah Palin, “How’s that hope and changey stuff workin’ out for ya?” Just fine so far Sarah, but it’s going to take some time. How’s that governor job working out for ya? Oh ya, that’s right, you QUIT. How are those ETHICS probes workin’ out for ya? Oh ya, ONGOING.

Obama was my first Democratic vote. I’m no Republican either my friends. I’ve been an Independent for years.

Obama is hardly the anti-Christ, we all know that’s Bill Gates. Or Sarah Palin. Or Paris Hilton. Or Will Smith. C’mon, think about it, no one is that lucky. Tom Cruise is out of the running; he’s had a rough few years.

Obama’s also not some Muslim terrorist, who is going to open the gates and let Al Qaeda in. We won’t be wearing turbans and burkhas. Don’t worry. His father was a Muslim, and young Barack briefly went to a Muslim school. I went to schools in Germany. I’m not a German. Plus, what if he WAS a Muslim. It’s a RELIGION. It’s radical Muslims we should be worried about. Funny how no one seems to be worried about the RADICAL CHRISTIANS how have taken over the agenda of the Republican party.

And then there’s the birth certificate thing. Obama doesn’t have a real birth certificate so he can’t legally be President. Do the Teabaggers really think someone didn’t check this out? Do you really think this was overlooked?

“Age, check! Money, check! Application to be President, check!…OK, you’re good to go!”

It’s easy to find plenty of proof that a valid birth certificate from Hawaii has been supplied and verified. Oh, but it MUST be fake! The anti-Christ wouldn’t have a birth certificate from Hawaii; he comes from the deepest bowels of HELL!

Is Pres Obama a closet Socialist? A Marxist? Is he waiting to open the floodgates of Communism!? Most folks if they read actual communist/socialist theory under a different name probably wouldn’t think it was so bad, BTW. Unfortunately, we’ve never really seen it in wide practice, and it either gets perverted (Marxist-Leninism, Maoism), or just doesn’t WORK (the Soviet Union). I know, what about China? Well, what ABOUT China? Cheap toys, bikes and Kung Pao chicken, I say!

I’ve never seen any backlash towards a President in the years I’ve been following politics. Not even when President Bush Jr. supposedly rigged and stole two elections.

What we really need to fear is the swing towards right wing extremism and unreality. Things like saying ANY President is the “anti-Christ” or a “Muslim,” or that after legitimately winning an election, he’s unqualified because his birth certificate is fake.

Is it so shocking that Barack Obama wanted to be President to try and bring hope and change, and a different type of leadership? He became part of a system so stagnated, corrupt and archaic, and hit “stumbling blocks.” Is it so shocking to think that he’s a patriotic American trying to do what he can? Part of his style is communication and compromise, something new to our politics and international agenda as a whole. It IS different and necessary.

Is it so shocking to believe no President has been Evil with some Evil agenda? Perhaps President Bush jr was sincere in thinking that two wars were necessary…plus Saddam Hussein tried to kill his Daddy.

WAIT, Barack Obama’s middle name is Hussein!

Maybe Bill Clinton wanted to bring some change, and get some sweet BJs along the way from the weakest zebra in the herd interns.

OK, I’ll give you Richard Nixon as Evil President with an agenda. That’s why he’s perhaps my favorite President!

It goes both ways though…there’s the extreme Left as well. Like the 9/11 conspirators. This one gets me going almost as much as Barack Obama is the anti-Christ. I mean really? REALLY? Even Willie Nelson is a 9/11 conspirator. How much pot have you been SMOKING Snoopy Nelson?

I find it impossible to believe that the US government would crash two planes into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and then try to get another to crash into the Capital or White House. Of course the conspirators would say I’m being naïve. They would say, “have you seen the videos?” The Internet videos of the supposed FAKE planes crashed into the WTC? The video of the MISSILE shooting into the Pentagon.

Yes, I’ve SEEN the videos, the planes look pretty real to me as they did over and over when the whole thing happened, Sept 11, 2001. The missile video didn’t look too real though.

I’ve SEEN the videos. I also saw the giant hole in the side of the Pentagon. You could see it from my father’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery when he was buried. I’ve also been to Ground Zero. I was in New York City 3 weeks after 9/11/01. So I’ve been there, all looked pretty real to me. Plus, I know people who knew and lost people in the Towers and on the planes.

From what I know, the conspiracy goes that the Bush Jr administration planned the whole 9/11 attack for an excuse to go to war with Afghanistan, and then with Iraq. Supposedly the heat from a jet explosion wouldn’t be enough to melt the tower girders and make them collapse in on themselves the way they did. Hmmm…I’m no demolition expert, but I’d think two jumbo jets could cause some damage to a couple of decades old skyscrapers. Especially after King Kong hung on them in “King Kong 77,” weakening the structures.

I don’t think President Bush Jr came up with this plan as justification to go to war with Afghanistan and Iraq. I think Al Qaeda came up with a plan to crash planes into the WTC, Pentagon and the capitol or White House hoping to cripple the United States’ political, financial and military infrastructures. The plan didn’t work. I think Pres Bush Jr went to war with Afghanistan as the Taliban had harbored Al Qaeda.

I also think the whole WMD in Iraq and Iraqi ties to Al Qaeda were trumped up so the US could go to war with Iraq. This doesn’t even take into account we’re now fighting groups and governments we used to support and give money and weapons to. We supported Iraq in their war against Iran, and Bin Laden, and Afghani factions in what would eventually become parts of Al Qaeda and the Taliban in the 80’s war against the then Soviet Union. Oh, the Cold War was so much easier with the clearly defined enemies!

But, once again, I don’t believe the US government is responsible for 9/11 as an excuse to go to war. That’s as unbelievable as the events of 9/11 themselves. Before 9/11 if someone came up with that idea for a movie, it wouldn’t pass muster. Too unbelievable, they’d just remake an 80’s movie like Die Hard. Or maybe that WOULD be Die Hard IV. The truth is stranger than fiction, but not as strange as conspiracy theorists would like us to believe.

Call me naïve, but I think President Obama truly wanted to try and change the way things are done in politics and the world. He’s not a traditional baby boomer politician. He’s not from the WWII or Vietnam era politicians. Those guys, like John McCain, are getting old and crusty. It’s a new generation leading. Our leaders are not going to be all war veterans. We can’t blow up whom we want anymore. The enemies are not black and white. Love it or leave it, we’re reaping some of what we’ve sown. The political stage domestically and internationally has changed. Things are different.

Will I vote for Obama in 2012? I don’t know yet, depends on who else is running. I WILL vote AGAINST Sarah Palin. You bet’cha!

I don’t think Pres Bush Jr was Evil either. Dick Cheney, maybe. Apparently that black heart keeps conking out on him. I think Bush wasn’t the sharpest tool in the White House and was taken advantage of by guys like Carl Rove, who have been taking advantage of Republicans for years. You can be smart, have jowls, and still be evil. Whose REALLY running the show? Conspiracy theory!

Anyway, what do I know?

Like the lady at dinner said “don’t talk about politics or religion, it always gets you in trouble…”

Of course, if Barack turns out to be a Muslim Anti-Christ Socialist Without a Real Birth Certificate, never mind.

Thoughts On Lindsay Lohan and other Celebrity Convicts

Lindsay was released from the cooler this morning. Straight to rehab, what a shame. The bighouse where she had it so rough she couldn’t have her hair extensions, makeup, or smokes.

She got her meds and Twizzlers though.

Of course, Lindsay was in jail for less than two weeks, at the sheriff’s discretion and could be released early due to overcrowding, just like Paris Hilton. So Lindsay and Paris get released early because the jails are overcrowded, but how many “non celebrity” inmates get the same privilege? I’m sure the Kardashians got bounced early too.

Obviously, our celebrity obsessed culture has convinced these people they are important and above the law, and the rules of society. They can do what they want, roll deep and crash their cars on coke, things like that.

Paris’ house is filled with photos of…Paris, according to a recent piece in Esquire. She’s had multiple reality shows. She gripes about how much she “works.” Paris is famous for being rich and famous. Her “work” is being a celebrity, traveling, and partying. And making herself look like an idiot. It’s not her fault she was born into such privilege, but it’s her fault the way she takes advantage of it. I gripe about it, but I read the article. “Hey, a Paris Hilton article!” She always looks so nice and clean.

The Kardashians are the same. Famous for being famous. Initially for being FOPs, Friends of Paris. They jetset, pose for the paparazzi, have reality shows, and go to jail. More taking advantage of privilege. Their Dad was one of O.J.s attorneys. I also at one time dated one of their distant cousins. She was distant enough NOT to be rich, BTW.

Same with Lindsey. At least she’s got a few movies under her belt, but she’s most known for being a screw up and a party girl. And on again off again lesbian. When it’s convenient. A lesbian of convenience. A convenian.

Sure, Lindsay needs help, they all do. They need a real dose of reality, not one from a show, or a two-week stint in the jail in isolation. Put ‘em in a cell with some crazy crack bitch, or gang banger. See who’s wearing the extensions at the end of the night, and eating the Twizzlers.

At any level, money doesn’t get you class, or make you have class. Money lets people do what they want. People will let you get away with it because you can pay for whatever you want, and they want to live vicariously through you. It’s about how you’re raised, what you’re taught. If you’re taught you’re different and better than everyone else, you’ll believe it.

Real class is treating people with dignity and respect, whoever it is. Whether you agree with their lifestyle choices or not.

We’ve always been obsessed with celebrity and glamour. It just seems in the new century the “reality” boom has bred this new breed of celeb that is famous for being famous. TV is rife with reality and gossip shows. The Internet is rife with Perez Hiltons, and celebs twittering.

Perez Hilton is another one…he’s famous and rich for spreading gossip. Ah, the American Dream at work. The Internet connects us all together, but lets us all be a little bit of a pseudo celeb on our Facebook, Twitter or blog.

Then there’s the paparazzi. Rags will pay so much for an exclusive photo; these photogs will go to unbelievable lengths to shoot something exclusive.

Hey, they got me, I read, listen, and watch. It’s the train wreck principle. We can’t look away as we drive by the accident. I gripe about it, but I still listen, read and watch. Maybe I’m just jealous. I want the money and to be able to do what I want and get away with it. Go to jail, and get out in a couple of weeks. I’d like to think I would take advantage of privilege, but if I hadn’t, I’d be a different person, and just might become convinced I’m better than everyone else.

My Seed Could Find No Purchase In the Rocky Soil Of Her Loins

When my wife and I decided to have a second kid, it took a while. I was willing to keep trying, but even I was starting to get concerned. If we were teenagers in the backseat of a car, it would have taken one time. If you’re a relatively responsible married couple, it can take a while. We were a little older than average, but we became concerned there was an issue.

OK, My wife was convinced there was an issue with my “seed.”

She did her part; she went to her GYN to see if there were any issues on her end. Her GYN looks JUST LIKE Dr. Juliet from LOST, you know, the fertility doctor on the island. Creepy. Not as creepy as asking her why all the babies die on the island in a waiting room full of expectant mothers.

SO, Dr. Lost asks my wife how often we’re…“trying.” My wife told her “3 to 5 times a week.” I think even her doctor laughed. We didn’t “try” that much on our honeymoon. I didn’t masturbate 3 to 5 times a week when I was 15…all right maybe it’s accurate in that case, but c’mon. I could tell you the last date, time, and day of the week and what we had for dinner the last time we “tried.” My wife couldn’t tell you if we did it this afternoon, but probably thinks we did.

Ultimately, Dr. Lost told her to relax and keep trying, everything was normal. And that maybe her husband or partner or lover should get checked.

My wife suggested I go get my sperm counted. That sounded OK to me, I’d seen it in the movies. You go into a swanky office, all the nurses are super hot and cool, and offer to “help with anything you need,” porno mags and videos, high fives all around. Cigars, beer, barbeque, lounging around in comfy robes after you submit your “sample.” Some place you think you’d want to hang out on a regular basis. Like a Gentleman’s Club.

Of course then there’s reality.

Jerking off into a plastic cup in the shower, while your wife laughs at you and refuses to “help.” An unrealistic timeline for delivery, an irritated nurse, and an old bitter doctor who tells you your count is “OK” but the sample had “low volume.” I told him it was low because we’d had sex “3 to 5 times” that week. I’d like to see his “volume” after jerking off into a cup in the shower.

But back to delivering the sample…

After “collection” there was a 30-minute window to get the sample to the lab. Now, you’re in the shower so you have to finish that, dry off, and get dressed. We lived a good 15 minutes from the lab. If I hit traffic or couldn’t find parking it might mess up the sample, and I could be…screwed…and have to relive the whole process again. Then someone could say, “He can’t even get masturbation right.”

I thought about “collecting the sample” in the office parking lot or restroom, but that’s not something you want to go to jail for, and have the other boys find out.

So, I get there barely in time, and run into the office of the lab. There’s a line of grandmas getting their regular tests and drug addicts probably getting their regular tests. I get to the window and the receptionist asks me what I’m there for.

“Dropping of sperm sample,” I whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“Dropping of sperm sample,” I whisper again.

“Dropping of what?

“Sperm sample!” I say louder as the needle rips off the record, the music stops, no one is talking, and I sound like I’m screaming. All the grandmas knew I’d rubbed one out in the last half hour. Even the drug addicts were shaking their heads. Security was called, babies started crying.

Of course, we did get pregnant again, after we decided to relax.

We had a son. Already had a daughter, had our bookends.

After number two was born, we decided we were done. Or I was done. A friend of my wife’s said she shouldn’t get her tubes tied, in case it “doesn’t work out” with me, and she still wants to have kids.

So it was decided I would get the tubes snipped.

It’s odd to lie on a table in a very non-operating looking room office, get local anesthesia needled into your penis, and then have a man tugging and cutting into your testicles while he tries to have an everyday conversation with you. I assure you he was a legitimate doctor, not “vasectomies to go,” but it WAS coupon day. PennySaver.

After the lovely burning smell of my tubes getting cauterized, he told me to “wait a week before ejaculating.” He didn’t say, “before having sex,” he said, “before ejaculating.” I said, “we either know each other, or you know I’m married.”

He said in 4 weeks, or 20 ejaculations, whichever comes first, to go get a fertility test. He actually said, “so in a week have sex, or just masturbate a bunch.” Now THAT’S a prescription I’ll TAKE refills on please.

So of course, I got to 10,000 miles before the scheduled tune-up. One way or another. It was tough to wait that first week. I wanted to make sure everything was still working, besides the ability to impregnate. Everything seemed to work ok.

So, of course I had to do another fertility test. Or I guess an infertility test. This one was a little more important. Instead of checking to SEE if you’re shooting blanks, it’s to CONFIRM you’re shooting blanks so it’s OK to shoot your gun off in non-combat situations.

I’d done this before, I was an old pro. Plus I’d just had a couple of weeks of “collection” practice. I do my collection, race to the lab, and the receptionist it flirting it up with some Dad who’d just dropped off HIS sample. I wonder if she helped him COLLECT it. I wonder how his volume was.

They must have noticed me jumping up and down or heard me clearing my throat. They finished up and I approached. She distractedly told me to put mine in the bin “with all the others” and that she’d “get to it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I reluctantly left my sample in the bin and waited for the go/nogo call.

In a few days I got the call from the doctor’s office, and the nurse told me I “was good to go.” I was back in the game, coach.

Turns out in the end it was all OK, I WAS good to go and shooting blanks, 3 to 5 times a week, just like my wife suspected all along.

Why I Laugh At Boobies

I was exposed to horror movies at a very young age, and it’s had a lasting effect. Seeing the Jaws 2 at 6, Jaws soon after, the Exorcist at 10, and Psycho at 11 changed my life.

I cannot go in the ocean today and not think about Jaws.

I cannot get in the shower and not think about being attacked by a nut job dressed as his mother, with a knife.

My parents took me to see Jaws 2 while we were on summer vacation at the Jersey Shore. This was before Snookie and the Situation were even BORN. In all their wisdom, they thought it would be a fun movie for a little kid to see, in the theater, while staying at the beach. “Have fun in the water tomorrow son!”

Soon after, at my aunt’s house, on something new called “HBO” I saw Jaws. I was warned it was going to be scary and asked if I could handle it. What was I going to say? I was good until fisherman Ben’s head pops out of the bottom of the boat with the eye protruding. Scared the Hell out of me. I was then decided I couldn’t handle the rest of the movie so I was sent to bed. Alone. Show a kid a movie, scare the Hell out of him, and then punish him.

Exorcist was actually part of a movie marathon. One of those all day/all night BBQs where the parents eat and drink and the kids hang out. Our neighbors had this new thing called a VCR. Played movies on tapes. We started with The Howling, then Alien, then King Kong 77. That’s a lot of movies. Then the moms showed up and wanted to know what we were watching. Then suggested we all watch Exorcist. Told us it was scary, asked if we could handle it. What were we going to say? Still the scariest movie ever. That night after we went home was probably the longest night of my life. Everything was the devil or that possessed chick coming to take me away.

The 80s horror movie explosion coupled with movie channels on cable TV was a boon for the corruption of my innocence and my desensitization to sex and violence. Halloween movies, Friday the 13th movies, Nightmare on Elm Street movies, as well as any number of formulaic knock-offs with a killer and teen sex.

My mom held the VCR remote, and controlled the universe. Whenever there was a particularly gory killing, she’d utilize the remote to relive, reexamine, and review. As VCRs and remote functions improved, so did our examination of the slasher killings. Mom was the queen of the remote, and could capture details with pause, rewind, and slow mo, that the best CSI labs couldn’t get.

We would watch every killing in gruesome detail, over and over. However, when the inevitable sex scene or boob shot came along, my mother would frown and make me cover my eyes. Funny thing was, I was cool with the scenes, and it was my Mom with the issues.

My Dad hated horror movies. On movie nights when we were going to watch one, he’d get up, mumble something like “enjoy your crap” and wonder off to bed. Of course, it could be 5 minutes, or 50 minutes later, and he sex or nudity could only last for 5 seconds. That was the time he’d come stumbling out for a glass of water, or to the bathroom. He’d stare at the TV and groan “what the Hell are you watching!?”

To this day when I watch a movie with my Mom, she still tells me to cover my eyes if there’s nudity or sex. I tell her I’ve actually seen real boobies up close. Of course now, I might be more uncomfortable seeing this stuff with my Mom than when I was a kid. I was watching a horror movie with my father-in-law a couple of years ago, and a fairly graphic sex scene came on. I told him “sorry, I had no idea…” He said, “It’s OK, I like boobies!”

So I suppose in some way, all this has desensitized me to violence on TV and in movies. Nothing really fazes me, not even the news. Now that I have kids and dogs, sometimes violence towards kids and animals bothers me. Even if the kids or animals are evil.

I can’t watch breaking bones or dislocating limbs, real or fake. That DOES bother me. I’ve never seen the Joe Theisman broken leg clip all the way through. Probably because I’ve dislocated my knees so many times, so I can empathize a little more.

Nevertheless, I still giggle when I see onscreen boobies. Plus, I still call them “boobies.”

Ike Turner Will Beat You With a Shoe

Some time back, I had multiple Ike Turner experiences within a one-year span. The Ike Turner of Tina Turner, Rocket 88, of the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, and of “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

Ike Turner experience one was at a sushi buffet place in the local mall. One of those buffets where you pay $20 for all you can eat. Sure, the sushi’s not that great, but you’re getting sushi for pretty cheap. Come to think of it, there are good sushi places that charge $20. Ok, so infamous music legends apparently eat here too.

I am sitting there with my at the time girlfriend, who is now my wife. There was this guy a table over who looked very familiar to me, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. At first I thought I was Laurence Fishburne, but it wasn’t.

So this guy is talking loudly and looking around like he wants to be seen and heard, and recognized. Basically, stealing my moves. Then he comes out with “So I said to myself, I said to myself, IKE! Don’t you want to get on that bus!?”

I leaned over the table and said to my girlfriend, “That’s Ike Turner over there.” I knew he looked familiar.

My girlfriend didn’t believe me. I informed her he looked familiar, had just called himself, “Ike,” and that I knew Ike Turner lived in the area. Plus I knew he was broke, so the sushi buffet wouldn’t be a stretch.

I knew Ike lived in the area because a guy I worked with rented a house to him. This guys whips it out in conversation one day, “I rent a house to Ike Turner.” And of course I asked him if he beat Ike with a shoe if the rent was late. He didn’t get the joke. Must not have seen the movie.

The Second Ike Turner experience was at the local Albertson’s. It was a couple of months later; I’m shopping along, trying to find stuff. There’s Ike Turner at the meat counter, waving his arms around like Tina Turner doing “Proud Mary.” Once again, he’s talking loudly, seeking that validation. “Don’t you know who I am!? I’m Ike Turner!” I don’t think the butcher knew who he was, but cut his meat thin anyway, “just for you Mr. Turner.”

Ike’s landlord told me Ike carried a bunch of signed photos in the trunk of his car, in hopes of giving them out if a fan recognizes him. Or if anyone recognizes him.

My girlfriend has firsthand knowledge of this. She was sitting at a stoplight near the aforementioned Albertson’s. She got home and said “some brother dressed like a pimp banged on my window at a stoplight and tried to get me to roll down the window.” She told him no, and he tried to slip a signed photo in the small open part of her window. She refused it and shooed him off. I would’ve taken it. When she got home and told me the story, the first thing I asked was if it was Ike. She said, “That’s why he looked familiar!”

Ike had this kind of aura about him, something that a lot of celebrities or musicians have. It’s a kind of confidence in many of them, and “I know you know who I am” kind of thing. With Ike, it was slightly different. More needy, like “I HOPE you know who I am.”

Ike denied Tina’s abuse claims till his death, of a heart attack in that house he rented from the guy I used to work with. He was always planning some kind of comeback, but those allegations, and Tina’s success always dogged him. Despite, he remained at lease a relatively respected musician, in the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame, co-wrote “Rocket 88” which some attribute the first rock n roll song, and of course, helped launch the career of Tina Turner.

Sarah Palin Is Scary

I don't HATE Sarah, I don't think she's qualified to lead the country. I like that she reminds me of Tina Fey, because I love Tina Fey, and even have a dog named Tinafey. Her first name actually was Sarahpalin, but it made people uncomfortable.

She’s kind of hot in that hot librarian kind of way. And how can you not love someone who hunts and kills bears for fun?

I think people discuss her because she seems to be a viable candidate to the Republican Party. I think leadership in that party has declined, and they are scrambling for viable candidates. All the old school guys are getting too old or dying off, or learning the shoe codes for gay sex in restrooms.

I thought it was unprofessional and disrespectful to wink three times in a vice presidential debate.

I do have an issue with her not being able to name any magazines or newspapers she reads to keep up on current events, in a big national interview, when you are a VP candidate.

She's got no foreign policy experience, but she used to almost be able to see Russia from her house.

Now she's a correspondent for Fox news, noted for getting their facts wrong. No news agency or publication is without bias.

I have a problem with someone if they have to write their three main points on their hand when speaking in front of a major influential group, cross out one and still flub it. Maybe it said “milk, bread, and condoms.” No, she doesn’t believe in condoms.

She has little political experience. The town she was mayor of has been financially ruined, she was Alaskan gov for 2 years, and QUIT. She let the people that elected her down. Further, it's been documented and investigated that she abused her power in that short time she was gov, before she quit.

She preaches abstinence, no birth control, and has a teenage daughter that got knocked up. Wonder why?

She wants "scientific creationism" taught in schools.

Sarah Palin scares people because they can relate to her more than Lil Kim, Osama, and Ack-min-a-jad.

Barack Obama may have a poor resume, but he's President. Hope and change. I know, "how's that hope and change working out for you?" OK so far, because it's hope and change. President Obama said it would take time, wouldn't be easy. He's admitted it is tougher than he thought it would be. It's a new era; the WWII guys are dying off. Time for new directions and leadership, the old ways don't work anymore. Strong-arming, threatening, or ignoring issues doesn't work.

And Yes, I voted for Obama, and would again. I am not a Republican or Democrat, I've been an independent for years.

Unfortunately, Obama’s a terrible speaker, has no experience, can’t produce his birth certificate, and is the anti-christ. And a radical muslim sent to overthrow the US from the inside.

You don't have to be smart to be VP. Look at Quayle. That's more the nature of the job. Statistically you won't become president during your VP term. Biden will never be president. Neither will Palin. Neither will I.

I don't think I'm sexist towards Palin, because "what's wrong with being sexy?" See early librarian thing, Tina Fey, etc.

Palin is the anti-Hilary Clinton. Hilary’s a tough broad, thick ankled, not that attractive, known to be a bit bitchy, experienced. Palin is attractive, cutesy in her manner and speak, quirky, and…a rogue. Someone is spinning her to save the GOP, she can’t do it herself. Somewhere there’s an eviler Carl Rove walled away somewhere.

I do have a religious prejudice though. I don't agree with her religious beliefs or stances.

I am fine with attractive women being leaders, and I understand the uphill battle women still fight. But you have to be competent and capable. I don't think she is. Other people can, but she'll never get my vote for anything. Maybe for “hottest VP candidate ever.”

I do want to read her book though. After I read Twilight, and the Left Behind series.

I do have solutions for Bin Laden, Kim, and Ah-ma-jinad. For Bin Laden, we ask the Pakistanis if they like their mountains. If they say "yes" we say "good, you have two weeks to bring us Bin Laden, or we make your mountain ranges go away with many bombs."

For Kim, we can send him tainted porn and booze, or just invade his country and force democracy on his people. That's worked in the past.

For Ah-ma-jinad, we can send him tainted porn and booze, and holocaust documentaries to bum him out, or just invade his country and force democracy on his people. That's worked in the past.

What’s the Deal With Braille?

So, what’s the deal with Braille at ATM machines? Not only regular ATMs mind you but DRIVE UP ATMs as well. Do blind guys drive around and suddenly have this feeling “there’s an ATM--I need some money” hit them?

Why the hell do you need Braille at a drive up ATM? How many blind guys do you see driving cars? How many blind guys see themselves driving cars?

Maybe those of us gifted with sight drive our cars backwards through the ATM so our blind as a bat friends can get some beer money for the night.

Maybe they do this not for blind people but for one blind person. Maybe it’s all for Stevie Wonder. Stevie might need $20 every once and a while, just like you and me. I heard Stevie drives himself around all the time. Yeah, right. He drives himself around and hits a tree while looking for an ATM.

What’s that Braille anyway? How the Hell are you supposed to read that stuff? It all feels like little bumps to me. I’ve even tried closing my eyes to try and relate to it. It don’t work.

There’s also Braille on elevator doors. How many blind people are wondering around the hall themselves looking for a way up or down? If they can even FIND the elevator without being able to see, I don’t think they need a way to tell them it’s there.

Same deal with hotel room signs. Is it in case that same blind guy wandering the halls looking for the elevator needs to get back to his room? He found his way up or down, let’s help him get back to his room.

I think this guy wandering the hall is going to have someone with him, especially in a hospital. There’s Braille on hospital signs too.

OK let’s says the guy needs the signs to navigate the building. Point is, he had to GET there somehow. Chances are someone drove him. I think that person should be helping out, like an assistant.

I hope I don’t often any blind people, especially Stevie. I’m just asking some valid questions. I haven’t heard of Braille computers yet. But they do have Braille at ATMs now, ya know!

The Hoochieness of the Disney Princess

My wife recently said to me, “I think you’re a little obsessed with the princesses.”

The Disney princesses that it is.

On a daily basis, I am literally surrounded by Disney. And nowadays Disney means princesses.

We have two young kids, and kids love Disney. Movies, TV shows, toys.

We have the passes since we live in Southern California, and go to Disneyland a few times a year, especially for each of their birthdays. My son love Cars, my daughter loves all the princesses.

I’m no animephile, but some of those princesses are HOT. Cinderella is so pretty and clean, a diamond in the rough. Snow White is self admittedly pure as the driven snow. How hot is THAT!? Sleeping Beauty spends most of her time on her back. Mulan is for the Asian persuasion, Pocahontas for the natural lovers. Ariel, the Little Mermaid wears not much more than a fishtail and a shell bra.

My daughter has all the princess dolls and costumes.

One of the princess dolls definitely stands out as the hoochiest. Jasmine from Alladdin. She’s olive skinned. She’s got a crop top and genie pants. She’s got abs and obliques and a belly button. She’s the only princess doll wearing a thong. She has to though because her genie pants are see through. Too bad the slave girl outfit from the movie wasn’t an accessory. Who can blame Aladdin and Jaffar for wanting to ride that carpet? I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes?

Oddly enough, the Jasmine doll always winds up laying nude next to the Prince Eric doll from Little Mermaid. He’s always nude too. Pisses the other princesses off, especially Ariel. All poor Eric has is a little bulge. I guess Jasmine is getting whatever she can. When she can.

Every time we go to Disney, I wonder what the poor girls who play the princess characters have to put up with? How many pictures do they have to take with creepy Dads? Do their boyfriends make them sneak the costumes home now and again?

I’ve seen ads for “Princess Characters” to come to your party. They’re not the Disney princesses, but close enough. They just can’t infringe the Disney trademarks. I wonder how many bachelor parties try to get them, or how many birthday parties they go to like “Bobby’s” where Bobby is the only one there, he’s 40 and live in his Mom’s basement.

Where are the moms of these princesses? Think about it. Disney doesn’t like moms. Not just the princess movies, but also all the Disney movies. The moms are usually dead, die, are weak, or go crazy. That doesn’t even mention the bad step moms, like Cinderella and Snow White’s.

The moms that are around are weak. Lion King’s mom shacked up with her husband’s brother after he died. Dumbo’s mom went apeshit and got locked up. Sleeping Beauty’s mom gave her away.

If a mom is there and isn’t crazy, you know she’s going to get whacked. Sometimes we get attached and she gets take down like Bambi’s mom. Sometimes we think we’ll get attached and she’s ripped away, like Nemo’s mom. She seemed cool, but…

I’m telling you, Disney hates moms, but loves hoochie princesses.

Ode to Jennifer Love Hewitt

This is an old one, written after Jennie Love Hewitt moved on from Party of Five, long before Medium and Jamie Kennedy. For some reason, she's always bugged me...

I remember the first time I saw Party of Five. There's this psychological theory that says if we go through some traumatic event, we try to make the best of it so we can deal with it and hopefully make it through.

I tried to drool over the girls. Neve Campbell was pretty cute till she opened her mouth. I remember seeing Jennifer Love Hewitt and thinking "hey that scrawny could be hot if she only had boobs." Lacy Chrebet was too young to note, but who knew the hotness she would blossom into?

Sometimes I don't realize my own power. My words came back to haunt me. Be careful what you wish for.

It was a slow night, not much at the movie store. I picked up I Know What You Did Last Summer, Jennifer Love Hewitt's (JLOHEWs) first foray into the film world, I think. The cover of the video features JLOHEW in the foreground with these suddenly giant bazooms. On the cover, all revolved around her boobs, it's like they were the twin suns of Tatooine.

Her boobs were like costars in the film, they should have had their own double billing. Thank God they survived. Not ALL of her friends for killed in the movie.

After viewing the film, I knew what JLOHEW did last summer. She got some boobs. Hewitt had become code for "huge tits." Problem is, she's got these porno knockers on this twig of a body. They're bigger than her head. I'm hunched over when SHE walks and MY back hurts. Her bra straps cut into MY shoulders.

JLOHEW broke on of my rules. Two word: PRO PORTION. The rule of proportion. Boobs have to be proportionate to the body. Subtlety is an art, even if it looks good in a sweater. Maybe they WANTED to distract people from the plot.

If Party of Five did a reunion, it would have to be Party of Seven because of JLOHEWs boobs.

Now we know why Neve did the steamy makeout scene with Denise Richards in Wild Things. She had to do something to counter JLOHEWs boob job.

JLOHEW used to push Noxema. Maybe if she rubbed it on her boobs, they'd shrink down a bit, into proportion.

Starbucks is the 7-11 of the 00's

Starbucks is the 7-11 of the 00's. There's one on nearly every corner, some across the street from one another.

I never thought I'd like Starbucks when the first started popping up. I didn't used to like coffee until I started...dating...a girl who loved to hang out in coffee shops. I started with tea, then mochas, then made the jump. Now I love a little latte.

Actually the coffee jump is due to another girl I was...dating. I'd never drank it much, but did in the mornings at her place. Then of course working graveyard shifts as a janitor helped me acquire a taste for bad coffee.

As usual, I digress.

I don't know when I discovered Starbucks. Probably in some mall somewhere for convenience.

In San Diego, there's this fabulous record star called Lou's Records. Used to be you go into Lou's and if your choice wasn't cool enough, you got attitude from the staff, like you weren't as cool and well listened as they were. Starbucks is the Lou's Records of coffee shops.

Tall, grande, venti. No big, medium, small. No super size. Certainly no dollar menu. At Starbucks, tall is small, grande is big, and venti is large. It's like the place where you order a small soda, but they don't have a small soda.

In the real world, the smallest is small, the mediumest is medium, and the largest is large.

Tall things are big. Like Big and Tall.

Grande is Spanish for big. Or large.

So you've got two larges.

What's venti? It sounds whimpy. Venti should mean "small."

Somebody told me once Starbucks was trying to be "European" with the names of the drink sizes. We all know how cool the Europeans are, and that they can't win a war without us. In Starbucks in Europe do THEY get small, medium and large and try to be "American?"

I don't like places where it's a hassle to order. In N Out is awesome, because they have like 3 things. You're in and out, literally. Carl's Jr God love 'em. Sometimes the soda jerk running the window gets thrown off if you order a burger. They're all "stars" or some shit.

Ordering at Starbucks always stresses me out. It's like grande latte non-fat, sugar free vanilla. I'd like them to simply call that by my name. "The Doug." I forget what the Hell the codeword is for extra hot, so it burns your mouth when you sip it. Like the "secret menu" at In N Out. For the cool people.

My worst Starbucks experience was a run from work. I asked a co-worker what she wanted. She said "mocha latte." OK, fine with me, mocha latte. Sounds good. So I go down to the Starbucks and order the mocha latte. You would have thought I said to the girl "let's go out tonight, I'll pick you up in my panel van. I'll take you to a warehouse and torture you, then wear your skin as a dress."

She rolled her eyes and said "a mocha and a latte are two different drinks, SIR."

Then the barrista (the paramilitary coffee guy) leans over to her and says, "he means a latte." Then they snicker like I'm an idiot. Now I see the European connection. SILLY AMERICAN.

SO now I get nervous. I don't know, maybe my friend likes a mocha and latte mix like Laverne likes Pepsi and milk. I mean why can't you squeeze some chocolate in some frothy cappucino and call it a day?

Strippers Are Just Workin’ Girls Like You and Me

The stripper world fascinates me. The stripper as a species is amazing. Turn it on and turn it off. As long as you’ve got money, it’s on. They’re your best friend, you think they might want you. But once that cash runs out, they’re out of there like a 7 year old when church is over.

There are strippers of all shapes and sizes. Everybody’s into something different. High end strip clubs where every girl is the hottest girl you’ve seen, and low end clubs, where strippers go to die.

There are strippers with bodies you can bounce a quarter off of. There are strippers who have been bouncing back too many quarter pounders over the years.

Living in San Diego, we are less than an hour flight to Vegas. I know for a fact there are a lot of girls that make the trip out to strip and pay their monthly bills for a weekend’s work. If you get on the Vegas flight on a Fri night, these girls stick out like a stripper on a flight to Vegas. Sunglasses, hot bod, fake boobs, usually little luggage. Who needs clothes when you’re gonna be naked most of the weekend? They just need to leave some room for all the dollar bills they’re bringing home from pretending to like guys the whole trip.

On one Vegas trip, my friend and I decided to go check out Glitter Culch downtown. It’s the place with the big screen outside, across from the Golden Nugget. We used to like to stay at the Nugget. Made us feel like old school high rollers.

The greeter outside tells you to check it out as there’s never a cover. Of course there’s a two drink minimum. You’re gonna pay $6-$10. Order a bottled beer. Everything else is gonna be watered down. So we get in there and order two Coronas each. Probably cost us $32 alltogether. And the waitress wanted a tip.

So we both pull out our money wads to pay for the drinks. I used to use a money clip with the big bills on top, the little ones inside. I probably had a couple hundred in 20s, my friend probably twice that much. I’m not a big gambler. In Vegas at least.

We might of well have tossed a bloody seal into a great white shark tank.

Two strippers instantly appeared by us like magic. Like magical tag teaming twins. We exchanged pleasantries, then the girls got down to business. My friend doesn’t accept lapdances, I used to. One of the girls asked me if I was interested in a dance. I was.

Now, in the real world a lapdance is a glancing rub type of thing, a little more friendly than a floordance. Vegas in so many ways is not the “real world.” There are fewer rules. Most lapdances are topless, and used to cost $20 a pop. Not sure what it is now, with inflation. The word “dance” is open to interpretation depending on the girl, the club, and the bouncers.

Some clubs have very strict rules, and very strict bouncers. I’ve heard there are some clubs where anything goes for the right amount.

As far as the Vegas lapdance, some girls dance, some grind, some just dry hump. It’s a crapshoot.

Either way, it’s fun having a superhot chick topless in your lap.

So the girl was pretty hot, I had some cash, so I thought I’d go take a walk. She grabbed my hand, and one of my beers and took a big swig. She took me over to this couch area and asked me if I knew how things worked there.

“How do things work here?” I asked.

She told me “It’s 3 songs for $100, and I’m worth it.”

She might have been worth it, but I just wanted a taste. Like a sample.

“That’s too much. What else you got?” I asked her.

This really pissed her off. Her demeanor instantly changed. We all like our strippers detached, but not bitter and angry. “Well we could go back to your table and I could give you a table dance, but that’s boring…”

At this point if I agreed to the table dance, she was going to MAKE it boring. That’s like getting a burger and telling the guy at the window “take this back and get me another one ASSHOLE!” He’s gonna spit on your meat. She was going to spit on my meat, and not in a good way.

So I told her “no thanks” and she stormed off to get her twin. At least she left my beer.

Back at the table, my friend was doing no better. After flashing his wad around, he told the other girl he had no money…to “spend on strippers.” She asked him if he had money to gamble, and he said that was what he was going to spend his money on.

About this time this really foreign sounding girl sidles up and sits by me, the easy mark. She starts whispering sweet nothings in my ear. She talked for a few minutes but all I remember is “if you go in the back with me, I’ll let you suck my nipples.”

Well, we all know there’s no sex in the champagne room.

So this girl was trying to lure me back to the VIP room with the lure of sucking on her nipples. Obviously this had worked for her before. I mean you gotta have a pitch I guess.

First thought was “I am NOT going to suck on nipples that have been sucked by God knows how many guys today.” For me to do that, we’d have to tape off the block, bring in a hazmat team, and do some industrial nipple cleaning. I mean I was concerned about the seats, not to mention the nipples. We might be able to save some time by having a sandblaster come in and work on those nips, but it just wouldn’t be a good use of time. I had to be back to work on Monday.

So I passed.

All in all, bless their hearts, a lot of these girls are in some serious shape. They have to be. Their body is their business. A gym membership is a business investment for them. It’s not like me who pays monthly for the gym but probably couldn’t tell you how to get there.

I mean you see some of these girls and you think, “what do they EAT!?” “What’s their workout regime!?” I want a body like a high class stripper. I met some pretty amazingly hot strippers back in my strip club days. Like I said, the cream of the crop is in Vegas. I was told by many of them that the Stairmaster was the preffered workout machine. Good for tummies, thighs, legs, and buns. All good for a stripper.

So over the last decade or so, there’s been this “stripper aerobics” trend. This is basically a workout using stipper moves and poles, sometimes taught by strippers or ex strippers, or tied together in one package called Carmen Electra.

I actually don’t know how the whole stripper aerobic classes work, but I would HOPE they only let hot girls in the class. Big girls, go take spin.

I wonder if you have to pick a stripper name when you register. Maybe there’s a big whiteboard at the gym with the names available and taken. The list contains the names of seasons, spices, or characters from Disney movie, or a few adjectives like Chastity, Happiness, or Coco.

“OH, I’m sorry…Autumn and Cinnamon are taken, but Jasmine and Thumper are still available…”

I would imagine a lapdance from a stripper named Chastity is probably liked getting tattooed by a guy with no tattoos.

Then I bet you get your stripper aerobic mat. You can put your mat wherever you want, but it’s extra if you want to be up front and close to the teacher. There’s also a two water minimum every class, charged at the door. You get your two waters at the same time, when you choose you put your mat down.

The first few classes are probably the basic moves, the Britney Spears floor crawl, the scissor sisters leg spilt, the pelvic pushups, and so on. Then there’s pole work. The basic swing, she slide, the roll, the grease.

Then I wonder if there’s a class where the girls go out into the gym and hit up the other people working out for dollar bills. “Hi…so did you see me in the dance room?” You wind up giving them a dollar just to go away.

It must be tough giving a lapdance on a stationary bike or treadmill.

Restroom Etiquette and the Anatomy of a Fart

There’s a code of conduct when it comes to men and restrooms. Every guy should know it. If they don’t, they’re questionable. Most of it is gained from experience, some passed on from your Dad.

Guys aren’t like chicks. The restroom is not some gathering, gossiping, or meeting place. We’ve got business, we get in and get out. We need to talk to another guy, we’ll do it at the bar or the pool table.

We go one at a time. A guy’s colostomy bag could be leaking down his leg, and he’ll wait for the other guy at the table to come back.

There’s little conversation in the men’s restroom, unless you’re that drunk guy.

Using the urinal, a guy should leave as much room between the other guys as possible. Ideally, two urinals between each guy. I personally don’t like my own pee backsplash, much less someone I don’t know. Under no circumstances should a guy go to a urinal next to another guy if there’s other urinals open.

If you’re at the urinal and someone does say something to you, they’re either your friend, drunk, or foreign. Ignore them, grunt, or answer with a one word response. Don’t look over! You might accidentally see his penis. He might think you’re TRYING to look at it.

Of course, the old number 2 is a much more complicated process. You can set a watch to my bowel movements. Also, there’s three places I can poop: my house, my Mom’s house, and hotels. Other places are no go. I can wait till I get home, to mom’s or to the hotel. I used to be able to go at work, but now I work from home so it’s moot.

I appreciate a clean bathroom area. If it looks clean, it is clean. Some of the restrooms in casinos are lovely and spacious, but a bit too busy for me.

When I get ready to settle in to poop, everything has to be perfect. I like a nice comfy nest. I don’t like toilets with motion sensors. You set your nest and turn to sit, and it flushes, ruining your lovely nest.

A lot for times a guy will fart when he’s in the restroom, peeing or pooping. It’s almost like you’re announcing your presence, like an elephant trumpeting across the Serengeti during mating season.

Myself, I usually have to test the waters. If someone else is in there, I can’t just let go. I like to be like a poop submarine, poop silent, poop deep. If I’m alone, I am fine to let out a little Dizzy Gillespie trumpet solo, but I’ll have some respect if someone else is in there.

In so many ways, cats are like women, dogs are like men. There’s no difference in the fart world. Cats let out those silent killers that can clear a room, just like a woman. Ninja farts. Cats and women will pass through a room and let one fly just to mess with you. If it’s loud, stinky, or staining, they act shocked.

Dogs and mean will fart happily away in their sleep. If we do let one go while awake, we’re often proud, and enjoy the smell of our farts. Dogs will often act surprised, smell their own asses and look at anyone else in the room trying to pin the blame on them for the stinkiness.

Basically, men and dogs are loyal, we’ll follow you anywhere if we love you. We like to eat, sleep, and play. If we CAN lick ourselves we will, because we’ve already tried.

Why the Babysitter Got to Be So Hot, Dad?

I think one the biggest problems for me in life was that I was exposed to sexual things at a very young age. This happens when you hang out as a young kid with teenage boys. For all the fun that was, it was in it’s own way a learning experience, good or bad.

I also recall digging thru a friends Dad’s Playboys back as a very young kid. I still call the 70’s “the jungle years” because of those Playboy spreads.

My parents, or maybe my Dad, would inevitably get the hottest teen girl in the neighborhood to be my babysitter. For years they would go out to dinner on Friday nights, and I would be stuck with a hottie for a few hours. From the jiffy pop years, almost to the beginning of the microwave popcorn years. My sister is 10 years younger, and I don’t think I was trusted to babysit.

Well, I had crushes on all of my hot babysitters. I was like a 15 year old in a 7 year old’s body. Now I am a 15 year old in a 40 year old’s body. What’s different? I had these fantasies that each one of them would make me a man, if you know what I mean. Actually that still doesn’t sound half bad!

I would try the same scam with every babysitter. They would fall for MOST of it every time, until the clincher. I had this kid’s magic kit for years. I’d pull out the kit, start with a little sleight of hand, impress the girl. Then I’d step it up with maybe some magic rope, or disappearing water tricks. Then, once I had them in the palm of my mini-Houdini hand, I would offer to use my powers to hypnotize them.

I would hypnotize them, and to ensure that they were under, I’d make them do things like bark like a dog, crawl around, you know, demeaning hypnotized stuff. Then, I would move in on the piece de resistance, the ultimate hypnotrick. “Take your clothes off.” ALL OF THOSE GIRLS WERE FAKING BEING HYPNOTIZED. At that point the hypnotherapy would stop and they would chase me or call me some sort of sick something. I was no Houdini, apparently. Back to Stratego or Connect Four.

I had this friend Joey, about the same time, the “Star Wars” years of the 70s. We used to ride bikes, play baseball and stuff. One day, Joey decided to kiss me. Joey went home with a black eye. I don’t know if he’s still kissing boys, but he never tried to kiss me again. Funny how he was never as interested in the neighborhood girls as I was at that age, not that that was good for the neighborhood girls, but hmmm.

I think I became desensititized to sex AND violence at a very young age. My Mom would let me watch all these horror movies in the 80s. All these slasher flicks with violence and gore. Whenever there was sex or nudity, I’d have to cover my eyes, and there was a lot of sex and nudity in 80’s slasher movies. Chopped off heads, chainsaw severings, and hatchet chops were OK. In fact, they were encouraged, rewound and reviewed. It was a happy day in our house when we got the VCR with the slow motion feature. To this day if I watch a movie with my Mom, and there’s nudity, she yells at me to cover my eyes. Unfortunately I still need a hockey mask and kitchen knife for foreplay. And a Kevin Bacon cameo.

Besides having to cover my eyes for the occasional booby in a Jason, Freddie or Michael Myers movie, my parents did little censoring of the material I was exposed to. I pretty much watched, read, and listened to what I wanted. There’s a lot of sex in Duran Duran videos and Conan books. I’m still turned on by fur loinc cloths, broadswords and Antony Price silk suits.

My Mom DID ban MTV in the house when she walked in and saw The Romantic’s “Walking in Your Sleep” video. Bunch of girls sleep walking in lingerie. She should have seen my tape of Duran Duran videos, banned by MTV!

In my late teens I started working at a video store. This gave me repeated and constant access to mass quantities of porn movies, and that’s just in dealing with rentals and inventory. I guess I had to learn about proper sexual etiquette SOME HOW. Thank you Christy Canyon, Gena Lynn, Erica Boyer, Bunny Bleu. The stars of the 80s. You taught me so much.

I actually met porn legend Christy Canyon once. A friend and I…happened to be in the neighborhood…and saw a sign at a sex shop saying “Christy Canyon Signing Tonight.” We were literally the last two in line and the deal was you had to buy a video to meet her and get the video signed. It was a one porno minimum that night. But, how could I pass by meeting a woman so formative in my sexual flowering, or even deflowering?

So you’ve got a middle aged 80’s porn star either at the end of her career or trying to revive it. You’re in a sleazy sex shop, and you’ve been dealing with geeks all night who rarely leave the house, and make Christy Canyon t-shirts for themselves at home. They’re all her “biggest fan.” Then two more bozos show up.

She was actually still quite hot, and a brilliant conversationalist.

It went something like this:

Me: “Hi Christy.”

Christy: “Are you in my fan club?”

Me: “Nope.”

Christy: “What’s your name sweetie?”

Me: “John.”

Then she wrote on the cover of the “Where the Boys Aren’t VII” Video: “John- Join up! Love, Christy Canyon.”

Brilliant.

On the way into the shop, we bumped into these two "ladies of the night." I gave them the old "what's up ladies?"

One of them says "Why you goin' in there? I can be your date tonight."

I say, "Oh thank you, we're OK, have a good night though."

Like an overheating racecar, she goes from zero to ten, "WHY YOU ASKIN' ME WHAT'S UP THEN!?"

I was just bein' friendly, DAMN.

I think as a society, we’ve become much more sexualized. It’s just more pervasive on TV, movies, music and the Internet. It’s so easy to find for anyone. Kids are more aware, and more exposed. There’s sexual tension on Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel! I remember my jaw literally dropping the first time I saw Britney Spears’ first video.

Plus, it’s hormones in the chicken and milk. I read about it in Time magazine! Now you’ve got 13 year olds that look like 18 year olds. Used to be you’d hit puberty and get a training bra, now you hit puberty and get 44 double d’s! I actually knew a girl who’s Mom got her a boob job for a graduation present. She wound up working as a stripper.

Who’da thunk all those times she hung out at our pool as a teenager in that string bikini?

Stewardess Sex

For us boys out there, I think a stewardess (or a steward for you other boys out there) would be interesting to have sex with.

The foreplay would be particularly interesting.

Before you began, you’d have to please pay attention to the safe sex lecture, all reinforced by two pointed fingers.

“Prior to entry, please notice the breasts (pointing to breast), as well as the nipples (pointing and rotating fingers near nipples).”

“In the event of an erection, a condom will be available in the drawer in the nightstand by the bed.” (If you’re at her house, maybe it will fall from the ceiling as pressure rises).

“Open the condom like this, and slip the condom onto the penis, like this.”

“In the unlikely event of condom breakage, please withdraw the penis as soon as possible, leaving all belongings behind.”

“When finished, please exit carefully and quietly.”

Long Lost Wedding Observations

The Lord of the Rings

Also remember that cubic zarconias almost look like diamonds, and diamoniques are replaceable for life.
Think about it though…do you want the representation and symbol of your love and devotion to be tantamount to costume jewlery? Who not get a lollipop ring then. Kill two birds with one stone, engagement ring and delicious snack. It’s a big diamond shaped thing isn’t it? You probably forgot to tell her about your time in prison too.

If you love her, buy her a diamond. The come in all shapes and sizes, in all price ranges. I’ve seen engagement rings that are $200 and engagement rings that are $50,000. You buy it, don’t make her buy it even if you pay her back. She’ll tell her Mom and her friends.

I’m going to tell you this: shopping for a diamond ring is like shopping for a car. If you’re just looking, they’re going to do everything they can to get you in that diamond today.

That’s why you’re there right? What’s the hesitation? Are you sure you really want to marry this girl? See what I’m saying? It’s the mind games man! You gotta be ready. Your best bet is to do some research beforehand. Reputable jewelers will have information on the Websites to help you with the four C’s. Cut, clarity, carats, color. They often leave out the fith C: cost. That’s up to you too.

Diamonds have different colors, the clearer and whiter the diamond, the better the quality, and the more the expense. Diamonds also have different cuts. Trust me she has a favorite. You better find out which one.

Clarity is how clear the diamond is, the clearer the better. Carat is the weight of the diamond, and the measurement of how much you love your fiancee. Just kidding. Sort of.

It’s important for her to show of to her friends though.

She’ll also have a preference of gold, silver, platinum, etc. Platinum is popular and expensive, but sctraches easily. If you can, go for white gold, much more practical. If she likes gold, it’s not an issue. Just try and remember whether she like gold or silver.

They’re going to try and make it a relaxing easy decision for you. Always remember this will be one of the biggest purchase you’ll make, both expense and importance.

I think the plan goes like this: it’s mostly guys that shop for engagement rings and throw down a couple of grand, or throw down nothing and strectch payments of a FEW grand over a FEW years.. The stores hire attractive girls to dress nice and flirt with the guys buying the rings. It’s the whole stripper/female working in male clothing store for commission mentality. They get a cut so don’t care who the Hell you are, just what you spend and what their commission is!

The holy grail of rings for a girl is the Tiffany’s ring. You’ll pay at least twice as much, and you’re probably paying for that signature light blue box. If you can afford It and want to go this way go for it. Seeing that box will give your fiancee a bigger orgasm than you will ever be able to. You could probably even get away with a cubic zarconia or diamonique in a Tiffany’s box.

The thing I will say about Tiffany’s is that the staff is helpful. You might want to go in and do some of your research there. Put on your outfit and pretend like you dress like that all the time. Ask for the free video on picking a diamond, for when you “come back to Tiffany’s, ready to buy.”

A lot comes down to the ring. I’m not sure if it’s more for your fiancee or for her to show off, but that’s all part of the game. Remember if her friends squeel like a warthog in an outback snare, you’ve done a good job.

Your girl is special and the ring should be special. Yes, you can get an engagement ring for a couple hundred bucks. If you’re considering this route however, you might be too broke or too young to make the commitment. If you’re shopping in the mall by the back gat of the military base and your budget is $100 maybe you should wait. You’d probably rather spend that with your buddies on a few lap dances down at the strip club. Don’t marry the stripper though. Just “date” her for a while.

You can always buy it on credit like I did!



Engagement Pictures

I understand engagement pictures are important. I’m sure we look different since we decided to get hitched, and that out friends and realatives forgot what we look like. I understand that some of her friends and relatives don’t know me and want to see the happy couple. Let’s send everyone a photo they’ll magent to the fridge a month or two and then throw away when they get sick of the “happy couple.”

I understand the tradition of the engagement picture. I want to preserve our happiness too.

What I have a problem with is the timing of engagement pictures.

You see, there’s this sport called football. There are 17 weeks in the regular season of the National Football League, or NFL. Each team plays 16 games, and gets one week off. These games are usually on Sundays, in the mornings or afternoons, sometimes in the evening.

The last thing I want to be is a fair weather fan. You have to be loyal to your team, thick and thin. All I ask is three or four hours on 16 Sundays in the Fall and Winter.

This one Sunday comes along, and my team is tied for first place with two division rivals. Big game day.

I was informed the night before that I “might have to tape the game.” We were doing engagement pictures the next day. Watching a taped game is just not the same expereince. It doesn’t feel “live.”

With two days in a weekend, why do we have to do engagement pictures on Gameday?

I don’t schedule anything during “Survivor” or Lifetime movies.

Sex and the Minibar Scam

If you’re planning a wedding, chances are you’ll have guests from out of town. They’ll need somehwere to stay and you don’t want them stinking up your house. You’ll want to scout out some hotels for them and give them some options.

This can be a lovely day trip for you and you blushing bride. Make a day of it. A nice drive, see some hotels, plan a nice dinner.

Don’t forget the free action.

You should go to the hotels to check them out. You’re going to want to recommend some quality establishments. How can you make recommendation if you haven’t tried it out your self. What I’m tellin’ you is this is an opportunity for free sleaz sex.

The Bridal Shower

The bridal shower is that crowning event of womanhood where your bride-to-be gets together with her girlfriends and gay male friends. They carouse, drink, remineesce, talk about the groom, talk about men. Most importantly, gifts are given.

The shower, as opposed the the drunken fest that is the Bacheloreet Party, is the more somber event. The sentimental event where your fiancee’s sweet old aunts, your mother and her mother-in-law will be. I say, why can’t they BOTH be drunken fests. I should have known that with my girl, they would be.

Men generally don’t know what goes on behind closed doors at the bridal shower. This event is often off limits to the manfolk. We think it’s prim and proper because the moms are there. Little do we know they’ve actually ordered up a “fireman” to “come out a fire out” with his “hose.” Only thing is, he’s no fireman, there’s no fire, and he’s got quite a hose. Don’t worry, he’s probably gay, he’s in too good of shape to not be.

You know how these all women parties go. The booze starts flowin,’ the party starts, and the toys come out. The girls switch into skimpy lingerie to “get a little more comfortable.” Then, there’s the requiste pillow fight.

The moms and aunts are off with the gay fireman helping him wind up his hose. Your fiancee and her hot friends are experimenting with each other. It’s sweet, innocent and beautiful. This behavior should be encouraged.

The evening ends with a mass shower where the girls all wash each other. Thus, the term “Bridal Shower.”

Allright, that’s a bit dramatized.

The Bridal Shower is where your fiancee and her friends and realtives get together to reminesce. Gifts are given. If you’re lucky you’ll even get to go. I did.

The Father of the Bride and the Sex Issue


It makes me nervous to realize that my future father in law must be thinking about the things I will be doing, or have done already to his Princess.

My mother in law’s eagerness for grandkids doesn’t help the case. WE all know how grandkids get made. When a Mommy and Daddy love each other a whole lot, they get naked and the Daddy spanks the Mom and pulls her hair.

You don’t want her Dad pointing at you at the reception during his speech after he’s had a few. “You! I know what you plan on doing to my little girl!”

What it all comes down to is that at the reception everyone knows what will be going on later…most likely much later. More likely another day or night. Her Dad probably wants to kill you, your buddies want to high five you, and her Mom just wants grandkids. She doesn’t care how they get there.

What’s interesting is that if her parents knew you had messed around with their daughter before marriage, they’d hate you, try to kill you and tell her she could never see you again. Once your married though, it’s all cool baby, at least with Mom. She’ll bring it up at dinner, suggest technicques and positions, and track your ovulation and laminate it for you with a wallet sixed version of the chart.

It’s sort of like the old “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free” theory. Supposedly you’ll buy the cow (nice reference to your bride to be), if you’re now getting the milk. I’m cool with that. I’ll buy the cow to get the milk. Only thing is that I have to tast the milk before I buy it.

How I lost My Virginity to My Wife’s Best Friend

Not every guy can say he married his dreamgirl. I can. I think a lot of guys fall in love with a girl, with being with a girl, or having good sex with a girl. I fell in love with my girl 14 years ago. Ok, maybe it was lust at first sight, but lust is a start.

What’s a “dream girl?” A working definition may be useful. A dream girl is a girl, that particular type of girl, who is beautiful, fun, smart, intelligent, and sexy. Someone you can’t be without, someone you can’t live without. Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, build a future with, and have a family with. Someone you put above all others, love above all others.

My wife is my dream girl. Always has been and always will. She is not only the best thing that ever happened to me but the best thing in my life. She also drives me crazy. More on that later.

We met in college. Junior college, but an ambitious student has to start somewhere. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. She had just been elected to Student Government, and we were working summer registration together. She sat sidesaddle in a chair, shorts, Oingo Boigo t-shirt, ponytail and bangs I still love. Looking positively damn cute. That’s what I remember the most. How damn cute she was. She reeked cuteness.

I wanted her, bad. I couldn’t talk to girls in general, but had to talk to her. I grasped for something in common to break the ice. Sort of like how I broke the ice with the high school mascot in history class one day by telling her she had a “big chest.” You know subtlety. It’s an art, even if it looks good in a tight sweater. And it did.

I introduced myself, and asked her about her shirt and Oingo Boingo. I find comfort in talking about music; it’s one of the few things I know well. So I guess it was Oingo Boingo that ultimately brought us together. Thank God it wasn’t a New Kids on the Block shirt. We might have never spoken.

I made it no secret that I was interested in her, or so I thought. Apparently, this was all a mystery to the object of my affection for almost 13 years. Everybody else knew…she’s always been stubborn though. Most people thought we were a couple. I should have known she’d never date a guy that wore Wrangler jeans, and had think Run-DMC glasses. What I’m sayin’ here is that I had no style, can’t ya see?

Our first big hangout night was right before Halloween. I was working at a video store. Allright, watching pornos between customers is hardly work, but I was paid for it. She and her best friend came down to the video store and picked me up. We had hung out some at school but this was my first real time out with them.

I hadn’t done much socializing of the usual type in high school. Never went to many dances, parties or football games. Never really hung out or cruised. This was a new experience to me. This was quite a social event for me, my coming out, so to speak. I did what any new young social climber does with young friends—I interpretive danced. I did the PeeWee Herman in the backseat of a VW Rabbit to “Tequila.” Danced, not tossed off.

I didn’t get out much.

Our friendships progressed from there, and being the shy type and not knowing how to express my feelings, I slept with her best friend. That’s the way to a girl’s heart! I was still a virgin, and I think they thought in some strange way they were doing me a favor. I’ve always gone about things in a roundabout way.

Depending on whom you talk to, I won or lost a bet. I was getting paid (or laid) for B-52s tickets. I was the only one of the group with room on the credit card Citibank had deemed a necessary part of the collegiate experience. They were her favorite band. The initial plan was for us to put our three tickets on my credit card. It was a New Year’s Eve show, the plan was that we would all go and have a great time.

My Mother put the nix on that action. New Year’s was too dangerous. I might be killed. True there are many drunk drivers on the road on your typical New Year’s Eve, and a car is not a toy. It’s not like I was going to be walking down the freeway or riding there and back on a big wheels. I would have been careful. Really. Anyway, I was “too young.” I also had an 11:30 PM curfew until I was 20, but that’s a different story. Their roof their rules.

I gave the tickets to the girls. We had no money (thus the credit cards), so the girls decided they would barter with what they had available. That’s right…sweet lovin’. The most precious of commerce. It was decided that her best friend would sleep with me in exchange for the tickets. Not sure if they drew straws, or if the friend was taking one for the team, or they felt sorry for me being a virgin at 19. I suspect they felt sorry for me being a virgin at 19.

The flower of my virginity was precious, my most precious possession. I wouldn’t just give it up for anything; it had to be a special occasion.

Either way, it was decided that my future wife’s best friend would de-virginize me. It was touching and beautiful. It was over in a few minutes, and I think she burned me with a cigarette while we were doing it. It was probably my fault for not balancing the ashtray properly on my back.

Her instructions were helpful though.

“No, that’s not it…right there. Are you done?”

It took about that long for the flowerpot of my virginity to break open. Maybe two minutes.

So it sort of broke down like this: three B52 tickets, $100. A t-shirt for the guy whose Mom wouldn’t let him go: $25 (which they bought with money from the 3rd ticket they sold before they show). Your future wife holding a glass to the wall hearing you lose your virginity to her best friend: priceless.

Sex Is Like Pizza

Over the years, and relationships, I’ve learned not to put sex first. This has allowed me to appreciate other things, beyond pure sex. I’ve learned that sex should enhance, not dominate a relationship. Plus, there’s always masturbation. I like to call it “training for battle.” When they get the call, my boys will be ready. Some of them might not make it back, but they’ll put up a good fight.

Tears me up to think about it.

Someday there might be a knock on my testicles, there will be bad news. His fellow sperms will know he put up a good fight though. God knows I’ve killed enough of them already one way…or another.

I gotta tell ya though, women are like rocks. My wife is like a camel in the desert, doesn’t bother her at all. Sure, a woman will rip off your clothes, tell you to spank them and pull their hair, but it’s like “Clap on, clap off” for them. No pun intended. When a woman is in the mood for love it’s a beautiful thing, but if the wind changes direction, all bets could be off. You’re looking at an often narrow window of opportunity. It’s like the Millenium Falcon jumping into hyperspace. Everything has to be perfect for Han and Chewbacca. It’s the same for women and sex.

Guys are different. I could be on a two wheeled cart dragging bloody stumps behind me where my legs used to be, bleeding from a massive headwound, barely conscious. I’ll still want to get laid. It’s my duty to spread my seed, procreate and pollute the Earth with my offspring. My duty to bust that booty!

Getting aroused for a woman is like planning a multi-national invasion or a space shuttle launch. Everything must be perfect, all the planets must be aligned. One wrong move and you’re cutting the blue wire instead of the red on a ticking time bomb, there may be no chance to make it out alive. You could take out the whole block, or the city itself.

Guys are much easier by nature to arouse. Your sleeping next to your girl and she moves in her sleep and you’re ready. She moans in her sleep, you think she’s saying “take me now big boy.” A sigh and a butt wiggle will set us off. We’re like special forces, ready to go in anytime, anywhere, at a moment’s notice. If only we could sometimes perform our mission without detection like special forces.

To me, sex is like pizza. Pizza is always good. There are all different kinds of pizza and a million pizza places, but it’s all good.

It’s pizza for Godsakes.

Some pizza is frozen, some is fresh. Some pizza you drive an hour for, other pizza gets delivered to your house. Sometimes you just want a slice, sometimes you eat a whole extra large pie yourself. That’s right, I said “pie.” That’s what we call it where I’m from, New York.

Somebody’s always gotta try and top your pizza. Everybody knows where the best pizza is. I say, find a pizza you like and stick with it. When you’re younger, you’re going to want to try a bunch of different pizza places, and you probably will. I encourage you to find your pizza and stick with it. Loyalty is good.

Anyway, it’s a good thing that men and women are wired differently, and have different sex drive levels. You don’t need 30 kids running around the house, unless you’re trying to get yourself some reality show. Second, you’ve got stuff to do. If your wife wanted sweet lovin’ as often as a guy, nothing would ever get done.

Now don’t get all offended, but being gay would be hard for me, besides the gay bashing and anal sex part, and my ass rule. Listen, I like to shop and dress nice and drink wine and hang out with the boys. When it comes to my ass however, nothing goes on, in, near or around my ass. I don’t even like to touch it, much less have someone else touch it. Pooping is fun though.

Gay men are men first and foremost. They’re going to want sex all the time. It’s like the law of the jungle, and the gay bar is wild kingdom. Don’t be the gay zebra straggling along at the back of the herd, because I guarantee there’s a gay cheetah waiting to pounce on you and take you down, or at least into a stall in the men’s room.

Try having sex when you get a dog. If you plan to have kids, you’ll probably get a dog first. It’s like the tester kid. Your wife or girlfriend is testing you. The dog sex thing might become an issue. When you’re fellin’ all lovey you can’t kick the dog out, it’ll scratch to get in anyway. They’ll either already be in there asleep at their master’s feet, or you’ll have to let them in.

Don’t look over at the dog during sex, it will disturb you. It’ll be looking at you trust me, wondering what the Hell you’re doing to Mom. Some dogs just stare, others growl, some do that head twist thing like they don’t understand. Just hope you don’t have an attacker. That’s the last thing you need. Not only because it can be painful, but if you get used to a pit bull locking jaws on your ass while you’re doin’ it…it’s just sick and probably illegal. Probably legal in California though.

Don’t have the friendly dog in the room either. You could be goin’ at it and suddenly feel a tickling down at your balls. Sure, you’ll probably think, “damn, baby’s gettiin’ FREAKY, she’s been readin’ the COSMO. How’s the DOIN’ that, I can see both of her hands!” You don’t want to come to the chilling realization that it’s the friendly dog teabagging you. The worst part is going to be deciding whether or not to let him FINISH or to shoo him away. You can give him a red rocket later for payback.

After you’re finished, the dog may be traumatized. Put yourself in his paws, he just saw and heard some strange shit. He probably won’t make eye contact for a while, and may run and hide when you walk up behind him and put a hand on either shoulder for a few days. The best approach is to soothe your animal, talk assuringly and tell him something like “I wasn’t hurting Mommy, she liked it.” If that doesn’t work you could always try doggie style, wear his collar during sex or use references like “giving the dog a bone” when talking about sex.

The old biological clock can put pressure on you to settle down. In some cases it’s a biological timebomb ticking away. She’ll say her eggs are rotting. That doesn’t make up for all the wasted sperm in all those kleenexes over the years now does it? If they could extract donations from old kleenex down at the sperm bank, there would be many rich men. Talk about a get rich quick scheme!

I suggested to my wife that we could harvest her eggs with a turkey baster and freeze them. Be careful though, you don’t want to accidentally down the precious cargo when stumbling around the freezer for an Eggo. Egg whites, ONLY please. Donated, human eggs can fetch up to $20,000. That’s a high price for you mistaking little Donny’s future for a frozen oyster shooter.

The human female only produces a set number of eggs in her lifetime. I don’t know if it’s a dozen pack, but if it was, not as many guys would be settling down.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for test driving a car before you buy it. You have to take the car out of the lot, and around the block a few times. See how the ride is, see how the cushions feel, how much pounding the shocks can handle. I’m not saying to put a 100,000 miles on it before you buy it, just get some idea of how she handles.

I’m sure our parents were the same way. I bet your Dad still washes and waxes the old ride every once in a while. Sure, the colors faded and the fenders are a little dinged. The headlights may be dimmer, but the old ride will still get you there. It’s all about reliability.

That rides going to be in your garage for a long time once you buy it. That’s a one car garage, by the way.

Stubs

I’ve been to a lot of shows and seen a lot of bands. There’s nothing like a good live show. There are those moments that are transcendent and take you into an alternate reality. That’s why I love music and a good live show. Music should change your life and a good live show can change your life.

My first concert was Duran Duran in 1987 on the Strange Behavior tour, for the Notorious album with Erasure opening. That show helped set the bar for my live show expectations from then on.

I’ve run the gamut from the giant arena shows, to the sweaty stinky club shows where you can reach out and touch the band. I’ve seen arena shows where you can hardly see the band, and I’ve seen stadium shows where the artist makes you feel like you’re seeing him in a club (Eric Clapton at Dodger Stadium, if you’re wondering).

I’ve seen shows I’ll never forget, and some I’m sure I don’t even remember.

I was privy to a local music scene that almost exploded after a casual reference in Spin magazine to San Diego as “the next Seattle” following the emergence of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and so on.

I’ve even played a few live shows myself.

I still have that Duran Duran ticket stub. After that show, I made a goal that I would keep all the stubs from all the shows I went to. I think I do have most of the stubs from nearly 20 years of going to live shows. There are some stubs I misplaced, some shows without tickets, and some where the careless ticket taker tore them sloppily.

I started keeping them in a drawer, then in a cigar box. Eventually I moved them into a small photo album. When I moved into my new house, I found my ticket album in a box. I wish I had kept some sort of journal and wrote about each show as it happened, but I didn’t. I just have my stubs and my memories.