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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

irony is everywhere

Everybody knows the charges R. Kelly was facing and eventually acquitted. The jury may rethink their verdict after hearing this song. It's the remix to a song called "Customer". In the song the artist eloquently and creatively likens his sexual abilities to a fast-food restaurant. Don't know why you want your sex to be like, or as quick as McDonald's, but maybe that's just me. The chorus starts like this:

Let me serve you up
Lemme lemme serve you up
See you can have it your way
You're the costumer
If you want me supersized with some loving on the side
Just ask for what you want cause your the costumer

This very tasteful verse is the part that conjures up images of R. Kelly in his infamous tape:

Girl you'll be contagious and calling me Ronald.
Serve you up drive-thru style like McDonalds.
Yaaaa, you'll be screaming yaaaa,
The service so good it, it feels like you wanna cryyyy...
Thirsty? I got some good, good lemonade, 12-play, 4th Quarters, gonna make you wanna scrape your plate.

I don't think he's talking about Country Time when he says he has good lemonade. Once again, maybe that's just me.