I actually never heard this story. My parents kept it real, but what If the stork really did deliver babies. That would be the end of racism. There would be a baby-making factory and you could call and order one. It'll be like calling for pizza.
"I'd like a medium. No, make that large boy, with brown hair, extra brains and a coke."
But what about mess-ups—when you order a pizza and it doesn't come how your ordered it? You could send it back. Most of the time you're tired of waiting, so you go ahead and take it. What about when the stork messes up? After all, it's only a bird. If the pizza man can mess up, so can a bird that delivers babies. You can send a pizza back, but you can't just send a baby back. Where would it go? You may order a medium girl with long legs, but get a large boy with extra fat. That means you could have a Mexican family with a white baby. And there's the end of racism. You can't hate a particular race because the stork could screw up and bring you that kind of baby. You can't just send a crying little baby back to the baby factory. Just pick off the stuff you don't like and hope it works out?
My plan isn't by any means foolproof. What about prank calls? We've all ordered a pizza to somebody else's house just to screw with them. So there you are trying to tell the pizza man you didn't order a pizza. Then somebody comes up behind you and tells you that it was them who ordered it. Everybody knows that if somebody orders pizza and you just so happen to be there when it arrives, it's your duty and responsibility to help take care of it. While they're paying, you take the pizza and dig in. Just as you get out that first slice they tell you that they lied. They didn't really order the pizza, but since it's there they'll just eat it. I've paid for a pizza that was inadvertently delivered to my house. I wasn't hungry at first, but the sight of a pizza will get your mouth watering pretty quickly. And once you touch that first slice it's yours anyway.
That's the equivalent of a misguided girl getting pregnant or claiming to be pregnant to keep her boyfriend around. You're standing there telling the stork you didn't order a baby. That's when your girlfriend comes behind you and says that it was her. You say it's not yours, but there's no need for a paternity test. You were there when it arrived, so it's your responsibility to help take care of it. Besides, you already touched it. Then she comes behind you and tells you that she lied. She didn't order a baby, but since it was there, she took it. Everybody knows that once a girl sees a little baby, she just has to have it.
As you can see, it's not completely fool proof, but it would end racism. All we have to do is genetically engineer a stork big enough to carry babies and start a baby factory.
August 27, 2008
Flava-flav word of the day
Have you heard the new Wendy’s commercial for some sandwich called The Baconator? A guy is sitting at the table and a woman asks him if he wants a bite of her salad. He says no thanks. He then explains it's because he's a "meatatarian" (sp). Huh? I'm all for being creative and making up words. People have been making up words in ads for years. There is a place for it. That place is not in this commercial. There is a word for people who only eat meat. They are said to be carnivorous, or a carnivore. You're probably thinking that carnivore is the opposite of herbivore. Thing is, vegetarian is just a cool way of saying herbivore. In a way, I guess it makes sense. They're just trying to come up with a cool way to say carnivore. For some reason, it just sounds ridiculous to me. You can't just make up your own word for one that already exists, pass it around and hope it sticks—especially if the word is stupid. At least Comcastic sounds cool. So does Farfignugin. Meatatarian does not. There's a word for people who use their brains. It’s called intelligent. I'm going to make up a word for people who don’t, and it’s going to be called meatatarians. The only person who is allowed to make up words is Flava flav. That's not a compliment, either. He only does it because his grasp of the english language is about as deep as a thimbleful of milk.
You have the right to shut the fu#k up.
I got pulled over for having a taillight out the other night. He walked over to my window and asked the question that all cops ask. The question that should be given the dumbest question of the day award, “Do you know why I’m pulling you over?” As he ran my information, I sat there wondering why they ask that. I’m sure it’s strictly rhetorical, or part of some policy, but why? Do they ask on the pure chance that somebody may incriminate themselves for something other than what they were pulled over for? Do they pull people over for nothing hoping that they’re going to tell on themselves? I wouldn't tell them even if I knew why they pulled me over on the slight chance that they will forget. I'm exercising the hell out of my right to remain silent. I mean, what is it, some sort of twisted game show. Do I get a prize if I get the question right—a get out of jail free card or something? Are you going to let me off if I play your little game? I wonder if anybody has ever incriminated themselves.
“It’s because I’m transporting heroin from the Mexican border isn’t it? No? You know I pour beer into my dogs water bowl? No? You saw me run that red light? Yeah? I was joking about that heroin thing. Funny right?"
The thing is, the real answer to the question is because they're a cop. It's their job to pull people over. If some stranger in an unmarked Volkswagen Pasat with no lights tried to pull you over, would you do it? No, because they're not a cop.
That gives me an idea for a new game show. I'm going to call it, You Have the Right To Shut the Fuck Up. It's kind of like a mix between Cops and Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Police will pull people over for what seems to be a traffic stop. They will then proceed to ask the person why they pulled them over. The only difference is they will actually wait for a response. They have to keep guessing why they officer pulled them over until they get it right. For each answer they get wrong they'll rack up a couple days in jail for being a dumbass. If you get it right, they'll let you go. Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but people watch The Hills and America's Got Talent, don't they. It'll be a hit.
“It’s because I’m transporting heroin from the Mexican border isn’t it? No? You know I pour beer into my dogs water bowl? No? You saw me run that red light? Yeah? I was joking about that heroin thing. Funny right?"
The thing is, the real answer to the question is because they're a cop. It's their job to pull people over. If some stranger in an unmarked Volkswagen Pasat with no lights tried to pull you over, would you do it? No, because they're not a cop.
That gives me an idea for a new game show. I'm going to call it, You Have the Right To Shut the Fuck Up. It's kind of like a mix between Cops and Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Police will pull people over for what seems to be a traffic stop. They will then proceed to ask the person why they pulled them over. The only difference is they will actually wait for a response. They have to keep guessing why they officer pulled them over until they get it right. For each answer they get wrong they'll rack up a couple days in jail for being a dumbass. If you get it right, they'll let you go. Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but people watch The Hills and America's Got Talent, don't they. It'll be a hit.
August 23, 2008
The Michael Jordan of secondary sports
Now here's an event for you. An event that is ironic if only by name. That event is race walking. What? A race, by definition, is a contest of speed. Walking, however, is something done at a leisurely pace—sometimes even for fun. Most sports have a history—somebody to credit for it's invention. James Naismith and basketball. Abner Doubleday and baseball. Who is the inventor of race walking? Probably a grandmother somewhere.
"What are you doing today?"
"I don't know. I may go for a walk."
And then somebody said the faithful words that changed the walking world as we know it. I'll race you. It's not just an event thrown into the Olympics so Estonia can win a medal, either. It's one of the most governed sports in the Olympics. You are penalized, or carded, for each misstep in your form. Yes, walking has a proper form. Who knew? The basics are,
1. Race walking is a progression of steps so taken that the walker makes contact with the ground so that no visible (to the human eye) loss of contact occurs.
2. The advancing leg must be straightened (i.e., not bent at the knee) from the moment of first contact with the ground until in the vertical upright position.
Any violation of the rules of form results in a card. Three cards and you're disqualified. That means there will be no strolling, sauntering, swaggering, bebopping, slow-bobbing, limping or pimping in the event. Notice there were no brothers. Why? Every brother walks with a bit of a limp. We'd be disqualified as soon as the gun sounds.
There are favorites in every event—even race walking. I was sitting there thinking to myself, how does that happen. Is there a Michael Jordan of race walking in Russia? Do kids grow up wanting to be like him—wanting to be race walkers? I don't know, but I imagine that the kid who wants to race walk probably doesn't have many friends.
"You wanna come out and play?"
"Naw, I gotta go practice walking." Seriously? I mean you can pretty much practice wherever you go. But who wants to hang out with the guy who's walking like he has a broken hip all the time?
And then I was watching another interesting event. Competitive trampolineing. People jump up and down on a trampoline and do flips. The event was held in some Chinese housewife's backyard. I'm serious. Who knew that when I was eight on my next-door-neighbors trampoline that I could've gone to the Olympics? Such wasted talent.
"What are you doing today?"
"I don't know. I may go for a walk."
And then somebody said the faithful words that changed the walking world as we know it. I'll race you. It's not just an event thrown into the Olympics so Estonia can win a medal, either. It's one of the most governed sports in the Olympics. You are penalized, or carded, for each misstep in your form. Yes, walking has a proper form. Who knew? The basics are,
1. Race walking is a progression of steps so taken that the walker makes contact with the ground so that no visible (to the human eye) loss of contact occurs.
2. The advancing leg must be straightened (i.e., not bent at the knee) from the moment of first contact with the ground until in the vertical upright position.
Any violation of the rules of form results in a card. Three cards and you're disqualified. That means there will be no strolling, sauntering, swaggering, bebopping, slow-bobbing, limping or pimping in the event. Notice there were no brothers. Why? Every brother walks with a bit of a limp. We'd be disqualified as soon as the gun sounds.
There are favorites in every event—even race walking. I was sitting there thinking to myself, how does that happen. Is there a Michael Jordan of race walking in Russia? Do kids grow up wanting to be like him—wanting to be race walkers? I don't know, but I imagine that the kid who wants to race walk probably doesn't have many friends.
"You wanna come out and play?"
"Naw, I gotta go practice walking." Seriously? I mean you can pretty much practice wherever you go. But who wants to hang out with the guy who's walking like he has a broken hip all the time?
And then I was watching another interesting event. Competitive trampolineing. People jump up and down on a trampoline and do flips. The event was held in some Chinese housewife's backyard. I'm serious. Who knew that when I was eight on my next-door-neighbors trampoline that I could've gone to the Olympics? Such wasted talent.
If you leave me I'll cut all my toes off
You know what else I'm tired of in music. I'm sure you're not, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I'm tired of ridiculous analogies--especially in love songs. If you leave me my head will blow up. If you leave me I'll lose my sight. You know what I'm talking about. The worst are the analogies about being able to breathe. I'm sure Toni Braxton didn't start these analogies (they've been floating around forever), but she has the first one that I really remember.
If I never feel you in my arms again
If I never feel your tender kiss again
If I never hear I love you now and then
Will I never make love to you once again
Please understand if love ends
Then I promise you, I promise you
That, that I shall never breathe again
Is she serious? If so, he must give one hell of a hug. If you're that guy, what do you say to that? You can't really break up with a girl who's going to die if you leave her. What a guilt trip. Who wants to have that on their shoulders? That's a lot of pressure. She even promised, so she must be telling the truth. We all know how women feel about breaking promises.
And what about this one by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown called No Air?
But How,
Do you expect me,
To live alone with just me?
'Cause my world revolves around you,
It's so hard for me to breathe.
(Chorus)
Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air.
Can't live, can't breathe with no air.
That's how I feel when I know you ain't there.
There's No Air No Air.
Got me out here in the water so deep.
Tell me how you gon' be without me.
If you ain't here, I just can't breathe.
It's No Air No Air.
I'll tell you how you're supposed to breathe with no air--gills. And unless you're some kind of fish-man, I'm going to guess you don't have a pair. I've been in love before. I've even been broken up with before. I don't know what it feels like to suffocate, but I'll tell you this, that's not how I felt. You know what I felt like? I felt like I did before I met her, but just a little bit more sad. I never once felt like I was going to die. They're equating each other with air, but can you leave something that's always around?
Then there's this one by J. Holliday called Suffocate.
Chorus
Cause I can't breathe when you talk to me,
can't breathe when your touching me.
Suffocate when you're away from me.
So much love you take from me
I'm going out of my mind
He doesn't sound like a guy that should be in love. He sounds like a guy who should be scared. He can't breathe when she talks to him. He can't breathe when she's touching him. She doesn't sound like a good girlfriend. She sounds like the grim reaper. I'd be going out of my mind if death was sleeping in my bed too.
It even crosses music genres. Take, How Do I Breathe? Two songs with different lyrics and different artists--one country and one R&B. One by a teenage caucasian girl, and the other by a teenage african-american guy. Apparently suffocating has no race or gender biases.
I know that these are just analogies and aren't to be taken literally. I'm just saying that the whole breathing analogy is getting a little trite. I think I'm going to come out with an album with less used, but honest lyrics. The album will include tracks with titles like, "When you left, it sucked but I'll live", "We broke up, but my new girlfriend is hotter" and "Finally I'm rid of you".
If I never feel you in my arms again
If I never feel your tender kiss again
If I never hear I love you now and then
Will I never make love to you once again
Please understand if love ends
Then I promise you, I promise you
That, that I shall never breathe again
Is she serious? If so, he must give one hell of a hug. If you're that guy, what do you say to that? You can't really break up with a girl who's going to die if you leave her. What a guilt trip. Who wants to have that on their shoulders? That's a lot of pressure. She even promised, so she must be telling the truth. We all know how women feel about breaking promises.
And what about this one by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown called No Air?
But How,
Do you expect me,
To live alone with just me?
'Cause my world revolves around you,
It's so hard for me to breathe.
(Chorus)
Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air.
Can't live, can't breathe with no air.
That's how I feel when I know you ain't there.
There's No Air No Air.
Got me out here in the water so deep.
Tell me how you gon' be without me.
If you ain't here, I just can't breathe.
It's No Air No Air.
I'll tell you how you're supposed to breathe with no air--gills. And unless you're some kind of fish-man, I'm going to guess you don't have a pair. I've been in love before. I've even been broken up with before. I don't know what it feels like to suffocate, but I'll tell you this, that's not how I felt. You know what I felt like? I felt like I did before I met her, but just a little bit more sad. I never once felt like I was going to die. They're equating each other with air, but can you leave something that's always around?
Then there's this one by J. Holliday called Suffocate.
Chorus
Cause I can't breathe when you talk to me,
can't breathe when your touching me.
Suffocate when you're away from me.
So much love you take from me
I'm going out of my mind
He doesn't sound like a guy that should be in love. He sounds like a guy who should be scared. He can't breathe when she talks to him. He can't breathe when she's touching him. She doesn't sound like a good girlfriend. She sounds like the grim reaper. I'd be going out of my mind if death was sleeping in my bed too.
It even crosses music genres. Take, How Do I Breathe? Two songs with different lyrics and different artists--one country and one R&B. One by a teenage caucasian girl, and the other by a teenage african-american guy. Apparently suffocating has no race or gender biases.
I know that these are just analogies and aren't to be taken literally. I'm just saying that the whole breathing analogy is getting a little trite. I think I'm going to come out with an album with less used, but honest lyrics. The album will include tracks with titles like, "When you left, it sucked but I'll live", "We broke up, but my new girlfriend is hotter" and "Finally I'm rid of you".
bust your ass disclaimer
As I sat for what seemed like hours behind this truck, I noticed the sign on the back. I just thought it was funny. If the vehicle and the company that owns that vehicle are not responsible for objects coming from the road, then who is? Is that an imaginary truck? What they're really trying to say is, "hey asshole, there is a whole bunch of rocks in here. Some of them may fly out, so if you want to keep your windshield intact, stay a good distance back. If you don't, and your junker gets hit, don't come crying to us because we're not gonna get out the checkbook. We're just going to say we told you so." That's more appropriate and makes a whole lot more sense. I can deal with that, but don't insult my intelligence by saying you're not responsible. Liable is the word they're looking for.
I don't have a picture of this one, but in the apartment complex there's a sign on the gate arm that says, "complex is not responsible for damage to car from gate arm." I get it. People try to sneak in behind other cars and they're not going to pay for damage just because you didn't want to wait five minutes. The problem arises when the gate malfunctions and hits your car anyway, like it did with mine. I just have to accept it because your little disclaimer covers your butt. That gate arm could come down on top of my car, do an Irish jig on the hood, the macarena on the roof and it wouldn't matter.
On days when I just don't want to deal with life I'm going to wear a shirt with a disclaimer that says, "C. J. is not responsible if he busts you in the eye". That way, if I get mad I can't get sued. When they're lying on the ground staring at me with that why'd-you-hit-me look, I'm just going to point at the shirt.
Getting a girl shot on a date is not romantic.
I heard the dumbest song I've ever heard in my entire life. It's by Sean Kingston, the pseudo-Jamaican, pre-pubescent rapper/singer who was featured in the Natasha Bedingfield song. Here is a sample of the lyrics.
We can go to the tropics
Sip pina coladas
Shorty I could take you there
Or we can go to the slums
Where killas get hung
Shorty I could take you there
Baby girl I know it's rough but come with me
We can take a trip to the hood
It's no problem girl it's my city
I could take you there
Little kid wit guns only 15
Roam in the streets up to no good
When gun shots just watch us, run quickly
I could show you where
As long you're with me
Baby you'll be alright
I'm known in the ghetto
Girl just stay by my side
Or we can leave the slums go to paradise
Baby it's up to you,
It's whatever you like
I'm not the most romantic guy in the world, but what the hell kind of date is that? Is he trying to convince her to go out with him, or scare her away? Where do you pick up a girl who would enjoy going on a date to the ghetto? He's probably scouring the female pen looking for girls up for parole. There's no visit like a conjugal visit.
It's also funny because the date starts off at a resort or something. They're sipping pina colladas, laughing, giggling and having a good time. Next thing you know, they're dodging bullets. The girl signed up for a date, not a section 8 aerobics class taught by 15 year-olds with automatic weapons. When I'm on a date, I don't want to run from anything but the rain. I'm not trying to get all hot and sweaty and forever be dubbed the sweaty-date guy.
The most ridiculous part of the song is that he poses the whole scenario as a question. He's asking her if she wants to go to a resort and drink umbrella drinks, or to the hood and get shot at. What the hell kind of question is that? It's not like asking if she wants Olive Garden or Chilli's. It's not like proposing the movies or the arcade. It's more like choosing between living or dying. Isn't that question a little too deep for a first date? Would you rather spend the day jumping in the pool, or jumping fences? Wait, before you answer, keep this in mind; if we really get lucky we might end up in the hospital, or maybe even a jail cell. Baby it's up to you. It's whatever you like.
Retarded.
The sad part is, people write songs because of things that go on in their lives. The question that's begging to be asked here is if he's actually proposed this scenario to a girl. What's even more depressing is somebody is in their car right now bobbing their head to this song. There is somebody out there who says, "ooh, this is my jam" when it comes on in the club.
We can go to the tropics
Sip pina coladas
Shorty I could take you there
Or we can go to the slums
Where killas get hung
Shorty I could take you there
Baby girl I know it's rough but come with me
We can take a trip to the hood
It's no problem girl it's my city
I could take you there
Little kid wit guns only 15
Roam in the streets up to no good
When gun shots just watch us, run quickly
I could show you where
As long you're with me
Baby you'll be alright
I'm known in the ghetto
Girl just stay by my side
Or we can leave the slums go to paradise
Baby it's up to you,
It's whatever you like
I'm not the most romantic guy in the world, but what the hell kind of date is that? Is he trying to convince her to go out with him, or scare her away? Where do you pick up a girl who would enjoy going on a date to the ghetto? He's probably scouring the female pen looking for girls up for parole. There's no visit like a conjugal visit.
It's also funny because the date starts off at a resort or something. They're sipping pina colladas, laughing, giggling and having a good time. Next thing you know, they're dodging bullets. The girl signed up for a date, not a section 8 aerobics class taught by 15 year-olds with automatic weapons. When I'm on a date, I don't want to run from anything but the rain. I'm not trying to get all hot and sweaty and forever be dubbed the sweaty-date guy.
The most ridiculous part of the song is that he poses the whole scenario as a question. He's asking her if she wants to go to a resort and drink umbrella drinks, or to the hood and get shot at. What the hell kind of question is that? It's not like asking if she wants Olive Garden or Chilli's. It's not like proposing the movies or the arcade. It's more like choosing between living or dying. Isn't that question a little too deep for a first date? Would you rather spend the day jumping in the pool, or jumping fences? Wait, before you answer, keep this in mind; if we really get lucky we might end up in the hospital, or maybe even a jail cell. Baby it's up to you. It's whatever you like.
Retarded.
The sad part is, people write songs because of things that go on in their lives. The question that's begging to be asked here is if he's actually proposed this scenario to a girl. What's even more depressing is somebody is in their car right now bobbing their head to this song. There is somebody out there who says, "ooh, this is my jam" when it comes on in the club.
Hey Sam, lemme get a shot of Jack with that booty clap.
I drive by this strip club everyday and I wanted to put these pictures up. Sorry if they look bad. I took them in a hurry from my car because the valet guy kept looking at me. The fact that I was sitting creepily in a strip club parking lot with a digital camera probably had something to do with it. I could've been anybody from a disgruntled husband/boyfriend to a private detective, or just a stalker. Sidebar.
What exactly does this mean? Are they telling me that Sam Malone, "Woody" Boyd, Norm Peterson, Cliff Clavin and Frasier Crane are in there? If so, they're a long way from home. I was a little younger when Cheers was out, but even in my adolescence I was thinking, damn, this show is good, but it's missing something. Now I finally know what it was. It was scattered ass--thongs, naked girls, lap dances and dolla, dolla bills y'all. It was right there in front of my face the whole time and I never realized it. Cliff should've been making it rain like Pacman Jones.
Maybe they mean it's an inviting environment (what strip club isn't). Everybody knows that sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name. Is that a good thing? There's only a couple reasons why somebody would know your name in a strip club: you're in there too much, you spend too much money, or you got a little too touchy-feely one time and got thrown out like Jazz on the Fresh Prince. Those all involve the word too much, and too much is never good. I don't want everybody to know my name in a strip joint. I want to be nameless and faceless.
Yes, I know making your way in the world today takes everything you got. And takin' a break from all your worries sure would help alot. Yeah, I would like to get away. I can think of a thousand places to get away that won't leave me smelling like cigarettes and baby oil. Yeah, the lunch and dinner menu may not be as good, but at least I won't leave covered in glitter. Bottom line, if I ever saw Rhea Pearlman stripping, I would probably gouge my eyes out. Lilith was pretty hot, though.
August 20, 2008
Bountiful booty...of condoms at the Olympics
I was watching the Olympic 100m dash finals the other day. Usain Bolt, a sprinter from Jamaica, won in world-record time of 9.69. What's unbelievable isn't that he broke the world record, or that he beat the field by .20. What's unbelievable is that he did all that after shutting it down about 20 meters before the finish line. Word on the street and in the track world is that he could've run a 9.56 or so had he not been show-boating. That's absolutely ridiculous. As many of you know, the person who wins the 100 meter dash is considered the "worlds fastest man". And that brings me to my point.
100,000 condoms were passed out at the Olympic Village in China. The original number was supposed to be 250,000—apparently they ran out in Syndey—but protesters caused that number to be scaled down. Makes sense, though. Can you imagine putting your life on hold for four years while you prepare for they Olympics? The only thing I've ever done for four years is college. And I gave up nothing to do it. In fact, I picked up some vices. When you're training for the Olympics, there's no pizza, no chips, no beer, no freetime, and most of all, no girlfriend or boyfriend. You're putting the best athletes in the world in a fish bowl armed with nothing but their highly tuned bodies and four years of penned up sexual tension. I'm surprised there aren't more reports of injury. Regular people could be hurt, but these are Olympians. Imagine what they can do with those tuned bodies after they decide business is over and it's playtime. If your event is finished earlier in the week, you have a week and a half to "have fun". Most of these people are between the ages of 20 and 30, I'm guessing, and unmarried. It's party time—like a freshman dorm on steroids, no pun intended. With all that going on, can you imagine going up to a girl and saying, "Hi, I'm Usain Bolt, the worlds fastest man. I was wondering if you'd like to—nevermind, we just did. Or what if you're Phelps? "Hi, I'm the greatest Olympian of all time." Phelps should probably get a dozen condoms for every gold medal.
I'm sure some athletes are more focused than others, but the best swimmer or basketball player in Uzbekistan is like being on your JV team in high school. You may get to travel with the big boys, but you're not going to play. You're around just so the Varsity can beat up on you at practice. Why do you do it? The ring. The 12th man on the Celtics got a championship ring. Well, when you're not going to win a medal the ring is being there. They take their beating, get a pat on the back and go have a good time. It's like vacation. I can't believe that the basketball team from Turkey expected to win a medal. They went to represent their country and enjoy being at the Olympics. After the game their first stop was probably the line at the student union or wherever they pass out your bounty of condoms. Their next stop was the cookie jar, fish bowl or sock drawer—wherever they keep them. Next thing you know they were eating pizzas and drinking beers.
I don't want to throw LeBron under the bus,
but look at him checking out Alicia Sacramone's butt like he's been trapped on a deserted island for a while and her booty looks like a burger. And he's probably pretty focused on winning the gold (I think he's married too). Imagine what the guy on the Turkish basketball team is doing. His focus is on that booty.
100,000 condoms were passed out at the Olympic Village in China. The original number was supposed to be 250,000—apparently they ran out in Syndey—but protesters caused that number to be scaled down. Makes sense, though. Can you imagine putting your life on hold for four years while you prepare for they Olympics? The only thing I've ever done for four years is college. And I gave up nothing to do it. In fact, I picked up some vices. When you're training for the Olympics, there's no pizza, no chips, no beer, no freetime, and most of all, no girlfriend or boyfriend. You're putting the best athletes in the world in a fish bowl armed with nothing but their highly tuned bodies and four years of penned up sexual tension. I'm surprised there aren't more reports of injury. Regular people could be hurt, but these are Olympians. Imagine what they can do with those tuned bodies after they decide business is over and it's playtime. If your event is finished earlier in the week, you have a week and a half to "have fun". Most of these people are between the ages of 20 and 30, I'm guessing, and unmarried. It's party time—like a freshman dorm on steroids, no pun intended. With all that going on, can you imagine going up to a girl and saying, "Hi, I'm Usain Bolt, the worlds fastest man. I was wondering if you'd like to—nevermind, we just did. Or what if you're Phelps? "Hi, I'm the greatest Olympian of all time." Phelps should probably get a dozen condoms for every gold medal.
I'm sure some athletes are more focused than others, but the best swimmer or basketball player in Uzbekistan is like being on your JV team in high school. You may get to travel with the big boys, but you're not going to play. You're around just so the Varsity can beat up on you at practice. Why do you do it? The ring. The 12th man on the Celtics got a championship ring. Well, when you're not going to win a medal the ring is being there. They take their beating, get a pat on the back and go have a good time. It's like vacation. I can't believe that the basketball team from Turkey expected to win a medal. They went to represent their country and enjoy being at the Olympics. After the game their first stop was probably the line at the student union or wherever they pass out your bounty of condoms. Their next stop was the cookie jar, fish bowl or sock drawer—wherever they keep them. Next thing you know they were eating pizzas and drinking beers.
I don't want to throw LeBron under the bus,
but look at him checking out Alicia Sacramone's butt like he's been trapped on a deserted island for a while and her booty looks like a burger. And he's probably pretty focused on winning the gold (I think he's married too). Imagine what the guy on the Turkish basketball team is doing. His focus is on that booty.
August 16, 2008
Parental advisory: explicit piercing
I went out last weekend because my boy had a friend visiting and we wanted to show him a good time. Where do guys take their friends when the want to "show them a good time"? The strip club. So we went. I'm sitting there looking down at the floor because I get nervous around naked girls, and my friend taps me on the shoulder. I look up and he says to me, "That girl has her grundle pierced." I couldn't believe my eyes. I had never heard of anything like that before, much less seen it. How do you go into the piercing place and ask for that? What do you say?
"So, I was wondering. Do you do grundal piercings?"
"Excuse me."
"You know, grundle piercings. The taint."
Inevitably, the loud music stops playing in the background so the guy can hear you and the word grundle pierces through the room just before the tattooed guy at the counter gives you a look of disgust and kindly asks you to leave. You know it's bad if the tattooed guy behind the counter asks you to leave. It was funny too because she had everything pierced. Two up top, one in the belly button, one in the happy place, and, finally, the grundle. That's a lot of hardware. There must be some sort of stripper special at that pericing place. I'll have a number 2 with a large fry. Maybe they had a two for one or an all you can pierce special that day. I don't know.
"So, I was wondering. Do you do grundal piercings?"
"Excuse me."
"You know, grundle piercings. The taint."
Inevitably, the loud music stops playing in the background so the guy can hear you and the word grundle pierces through the room just before the tattooed guy at the counter gives you a look of disgust and kindly asks you to leave. You know it's bad if the tattooed guy behind the counter asks you to leave. It was funny too because she had everything pierced. Two up top, one in the belly button, one in the happy place, and, finally, the grundle. That's a lot of hardware. There must be some sort of stripper special at that pericing place. I'll have a number 2 with a large fry. Maybe they had a two for one or an all you can pierce special that day. I don't know.
Gold Medal logic
As I'm sure many of you have, I've been watching the Olympics. To be honest, I'm not that big a fan. Call me un-American or whatever you want, but I'd rather watch the Eagles vs. the Cowboys or the Dodgers vs. the Diamondbacks than watch Uruguay vs. Pakistan in team handball. I've been watching track and field, gymnastics (men and women so no I'm not a perv), basketball, and obviously swimming because of what Michael Phelps is doing. You'd think there were no other events and no other athletes with the way NBC is covering it.
The whole Phelps thing has made me realize one thing: goofy looking + famous = hot. Why do I say that? There are girls everywhere swooning over Michael Phelps. I've seen numerous away messages touting how "bagable" Phelps is. Seriously? Is it his very large forehead that somehow casts a shadow over his beak-like nose? Could it be his ears reminiscent of the movie Dumbo? Or maybe it's his inbred jaw line. He also talks like he has a retainer in his mouth. Everytime he talks you can see the saliva marinating in his mouth. A mouth that always appears to be open. I guess because he's trying to dry it up in there. I'm not gay, but I can admit when a guy is good looking. Michael Phelps is not. What he's doing athletically is wonderful, but does that make him good looking? Absolutely not. He looks like the guy who used to get his ass kicked in middle school for his lunch money. Maybe I'm jealous. I don't know, but one thing I do know is this: Phelps' best breaststroke is done underwater, and mine is done under the sheets. That means C.J. 1, Michael Phelps 8 gold medals. I'm finished now.
The whole Phelps thing has made me realize one thing: goofy looking + famous = hot. Why do I say that? There are girls everywhere swooning over Michael Phelps. I've seen numerous away messages touting how "bagable" Phelps is. Seriously? Is it his very large forehead that somehow casts a shadow over his beak-like nose? Could it be his ears reminiscent of the movie Dumbo? Or maybe it's his inbred jaw line. He also talks like he has a retainer in his mouth. Everytime he talks you can see the saliva marinating in his mouth. A mouth that always appears to be open. I guess because he's trying to dry it up in there. I'm not gay, but I can admit when a guy is good looking. Michael Phelps is not. What he's doing athletically is wonderful, but does that make him good looking? Absolutely not. He looks like the guy who used to get his ass kicked in middle school for his lunch money. Maybe I'm jealous. I don't know, but one thing I do know is this: Phelps' best breaststroke is done underwater, and mine is done under the sheets. That means C.J. 1, Michael Phelps 8 gold medals. I'm finished now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
