It doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you think you are.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Evolution of My Halloween Costume; Complete
Well, this is what I was originally going for:
The "Heat Miser" from that Christmas cartoon, which dates me. But procrastination, which I'm REALLY good at, made things turn out a little differently.
It’s Halloween and the evolution of my costume should be complete. But I’m afraid that it’s not. The evolution with an end result will never be an actuality with me. Like my spirit and my “self”, my costume will be an ever-evolving/changing entity. Changing with my moods and the times. Ever evolving with more knowledge and experience as I grow, as I believe all life does. So many wigs, so little time.
With all of this existential mumbo-jumbo being said, I obviously had to settle on something to wear. There were other costumes that would have been more fun, showing more skin, or “fur”, accentuating my boobs, sporting more hair and higher heels. But for me to be honest in trying to envelope just who I am at the moment into my Halloween costume, well...that in an elementary form would be a giant jackass who would like to save the world. So, that would be me taking on the form of:
A bird? No. A plane? No.
WHY IT’S SUPER FLAME!!!!
At first I thought that “Super Flame” would be the “DEFENDER OF ALL FLAMES...ABOUT TO BE EXTINGUISHED!” But, I don’t want to be just the defender of all “flames”. I know what it’s like to be on the outside, to be left behind, to be a 4th class citizen. I know what it’s like to be marginalized, mocked, relentlessly poked fun at and even ridiculed as dirty and disgusting and some sick deviant of nature. I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to the point that I wanted to commit suicide countless times. And I never, NEVER, NEVER want ANYONE to ever feel that. I NEVER want anyone to ever feel left out. Ever.
I couldn’t stand it in 4th grade when Penny Plasterfield had the cooties and couldn’t catch anyone. I’d let her catch me because I couldn’t stand to watch her be ridiculed and watch how she’d run in her home-made clothes and her cheap, torn canvas shoes trying to tag someone and couldn’t. I could never bear to watch her running haphazardly and stumbling while everyone made fun of her. I’d let her catch me, but not so she knew that I let her. Oh, maybe on some level she knew...but I’d take the cooties from Penny. I couldn’t bear to watch the cruelty then and I can’t bear to watch it now. And certainly not in silence.
So, this Halloween, I am PROUDLY – a combination of a ludicrous idealism; “SUPER FLAME!!! DEFENDER OF ALL LIGHT ABOUT TO BE EXTINGUISHED EVERYWHERE...” Super Flame will stand up and fight whenever, wherever and with whoever is necessary to defend the defenseless, be the shelter for the meek and be the rock for the downtrodden. Super Flame will be there to re-ignite the light of a weary soul and will fan the fire against injustice everywhere. Super Flame WILL save the world, or at least he’ll die trying. Because he believes in all for one and one for all. And so do I.
And let’s face it, I still got to wear bright red tights, a leotard and a cape...and the red cowboy boots. Those aren’t too shabby. Oh...and some fantastic little blue panties.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN! UP! UP! AND AAAWWWWAAAAAYYYYYY!!!
There’s a list of people, or job descriptions that make up an un-spoken (or otherwise) group that you just shouldn’t mess with. The repercussions can be rather unfortunate and even tragic. Among these is the cook, the person who takes care of your paychecks or your money, your hair stylist or barber, if you have someone who cleans your home – then, your cleaning help, ANYONE who prepares a beverage for you (i.e. bartender, barrista, cocktail waitress), your mechanic, your landlord, your attorney, your nurse, your surgeon and...your anesthesiologist.
Just don’t do it. Don’t mess with the people that fill these roles in your life. If you chose to, please only proceed after they have completed their function. Most of this really goes without saying, doesn’t it? One would think so.
When I was in the military, we KNEW not to mess with the cooks or the yeomen (who took care of our paychecks). If you did, you could bet on something really nasty ending up in your chow. And your paycheck may show up at a remote station in Turkey.
There was a cook in my port security unit who was just a whack-job. I really estimated one day he’d end up in a clock tower naked, with a semi-automatic, a jar of Vaseline and his teddy bear – picking off innocent civilians below, showing teddy who he was going to shoot next, rubbing the petroleum jelly on his penis and ass, then shooting more people. If you think that I’m over-reacting, you didn’t know him, you weren’t there. You’re just going to have to take my word for it. I’m afraid that we’re going to read about him yet.
One time I referred to him as a "character", which doesn’t mean anything particularly bad, right? I said, "Oh Timmy (his name was ‘Timmy’), you’re such a character..." I thought that it was the best way for me to get out of not calling him a complete psycho and not lying by calling him a cool dude...because in actuality, he was psycho. Well, he saw right through me and knew that I thought he was completely crazy. He started crying. Right there. Literally bawling. A grown man in uniform crying in the mess hall; appropriately named – because he was a mess.
I started apologizing profusely, because you know, I thought he was going to grab Teddy, the petroleum jelly and his semi-automatic and I was going to have to start dancing. I continued my apology and said that I didn’t mean anything bad by it (lying through my dingy yellows – it was before the tooth whitening craze) and he quieted down. I watched what I said around him from there on out, not ever trying to say anything that even remotely may be taken as something negative.
Well, this one day, I was with my best buds in the unit and we were making up some verse for cadence. Of course, it was all naughty. One of the verses that we composed was; "Timmy rubs his penis raw! Then he makes the fucking slaw! Sound off! One-two! Sound off! Three-four! Break it on down...One, two, three, four, THREE, FOUR!"
When we arrived back at the mess hall for lunch, Timmy was actually walking around with a tub of coleslaw dishing it out. We were SHOCKED and nauseated. He was confused when none of us wanted any. In fact, we kind of lost our appetite...Because we ALL knew that something horrible was in that coleslaw.
Poor Timmy...If he's not hiding out in a clock tower somewhere, then he's in a random corn field getting ready to urinate on people or throw poo at them as they pass by.
Well, huh...what a coincidence. Maybe this is him? HI TIMMY! YOU FUCKING WEIRDO!
Anyway, on to who else we shouldn't mess with.
My Dad is a sweet guy, usually. Sometimes he gets his panties in a bunch, but then again, don’t we all? Dad is a retired naval aviator. On one assignment, he, my Mom and my siblings lived in Rio de Janeiro for 3 years. He had flown over to Chile for some mission and they were at a restaurant in Santiago. Well, Dad had ordered lamb and when his dinner came, it was under-cooked. So, he sent it back to the kitchen. Dad said that then he saw the chef come out and glare at him, FLARING his nostrils and BARING his teeth at him, no doubt cursing him for sending his dinner back.
A little dramatic for sending his lamb back, don't you think? And I'm certain that my Dad had no idea that this high-strung Chilean chef was really pissed off about their new frozen dinner line and was just displacing it onto my father.
So, over the past year, my Dad had a couple of surgeries. He’s doing well, thank goodness. But he’s had quite a year nonetheless. As you may, or may not know, he is a proud Greek man (I know, proud and Greek is redundant), which can easily translate to confrontational and cantankerous.
Well, he informed me that with his last surgery, his anesthesiologist was Iraqi. And I thought, ‘Oh no...what did he do…’ But it wasn’t even that, which bothered him. It was that he thought that present day Iraq was populated by yesterday’s Persians. So, he says to her just as she’s getting ready to put him under, “You know...you and I are historically mortal enemies.” And she said, “Why is that?” Probably thinking, ‘You fucker, what are you trying to do?’
So he says, “Well, you’re Persian (as though it’s a disease) and I’m GREEK (meant as complete superiority).”
And she replied, “No...actually, it’s the present day Iranians that were the Persians.”
***insert picture and sound of deflating balloon here***
And he said, “Oh...really?”
And she said, “Yes.”
It sounded as though she handled the conversation and attempted confrontation quite gracefully. She said how she immigrated to the States back in the 80’s and is thankful that she did. She said that she certainly would not have done well in the shadow of Saddam’s reign and then with the devastation of today’s situation as well.
Dad sounded humbled and impressed after trying to pick a fight with her. However, I think that he was still somewhat proud that he tried to mess with her.
All I had to say to Will was, “Dad’s anesthesiologist was Iraqi.”
And Will said, “Oh no...what happened? Did he try and fight her?”
I can’t believe that he tried to fuck with his anesthesiologist BEFORE she was putting him under.
DON’T MESS WITH YOUR ANESTHESIOLOGIST BEFORE SHE PUTS YOU UNDER!!! Unless you don’t want to wake up. Then if that’s the case, we have other issues to talk about.
"Oh yeah...you like that? Huh? Do you? Your skin...it's so smooth...it's like...it's like a hard plastic. Right on, baby. And your ass? It's so firm and...rather unmovable. I mean, yeah, it's great that I can put your arms and legs in all kinds of different positions, even though they won't bend. But you seem kind of distant. Sssshhhh...It's okay, you don't need to say anything. Your tits though...Wow...they're like...plastic watermelons. THEY'RE AWESOME! Were you born with those? And your puss is so...bare. You like the Brazilian, huh? I'm cool with that. I'm sorry about all that glass shattering everywhere. I needed to get you out of there! I hope I didn't cut you. It's kind of crazy, you aren't even bleeding! I'm glad that you didn't forget your purse."
Man with mannequin fetish arrested again A Detroit man with a history of smashing store windows to grab female mannequins has been accused of indulging his fetish again.
Our correspondent; Dickie in D.C. has been hard at work again finding us these outrageous stories, thankfully. Another fantastic contribution, Dickie gives great link, doesn't he? THANKS DICKIE! I think that Ronald may have an aversion to commitment and probably isn't very good at communication. I may be wrong though.
This contribution comes to us from our correspondent; Dickie in D.C. Dickie writes: "I DON’T KNOW IF THIS IS BLOG WORTHY BUT DON’T SCIENTISTS HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO THAN PUT SHRIMP ON A TREADMILL??? THEN, AS AN EXTRA BURDEN THEY MADE LITTLE BACKPACKS FOR THEM OUT OF DUCTTAPE??? IT’S JUST STUPID...WHO CARES AND WHO WOULD COVER THIS STORY ANYWAY?"
I completely concur, Dickie. I think that fundamentalist Christians are completely responsible for this and Jesus made them do it.
And HERE is the link if you'd like to watch the video of the shrimp running his crustacean ass off.
I told Will the other day how much I miss living in a real urban setting for many reasons; hearing “FUCK YOU!” screamed out in the middle of the night, stepping in dog shit, loud horns honking, the smell of urine, cigarettes and stale booze and plenty of eclectic-eccentric individuals...and all this is just what took place in my bedroom.
I used to live in an old neighborhood; Ohio City, west of West 25th Street in Cleveland, Ohio. Bridge Avenue to be more precise, just around the corner from two favorite restaurants; Johnny Mango’s and The Fulton Bar & Grill. I completely shit my pants one evening while having dinner with a friend at Johnny Mango’s, but that’s another story for another time (WARNING: Don't mix a carrot/apple juice blend with Jamaican Jerk Chicken).
Well, living there, I managed to find some real treasures (antique leather bound books, old wood carved furniture, etc.) out on the curb awaiting the garbage truck. To my benefit, people didn’t realize what they were throwing out.
When Will and I were reminiscing recently, Will said, “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was living in San Francisco and I had a friend who found a great antique couch out on the curb? Well, he brought it into my apartment and was sleeping on it because he needed a place to stay. A few days later he had crabs and realized that the couch was infested with them. So, we dragged it back out onto the curb for the garbage truck.”
And he continued.
“Well, someone else grabbed it before trash pick-up and brought it into their place. And then, a couple of days later it ended up on the curb again. Then, another neighbor saw it, must have loved it and took it into their home. And…a few days later, it found its way back to the curb again. This went on for a little while, until no doubt the whole neighborhood had crabs.”
So I asked, “Why didn’t you guys put a sign on it saying that it had crabs?”
Will responded, “I don’t know...people figured it out though.”
Me; "What? So did you hear people freaking out, scratching the living daylights out of their danger zones, screaming damnation at that blasted couch?"
"AAAHHHHH!!!! I’M GONNA SCRATCH MY PENIS (or puss) RIGHT OFF!!! AAAAHHHHH!!! THAT FUCKING COUCH!!! BURN IT! BURN IT!!"
Will; “No...but it was pretty funny. Don’t you think?”
Unfortunately, yes…I do.
Apparently, Darth Vader lived in the same neighborhood. Having an "itch" underneath that hot little number can NOT be fun.
Look at this jackass. What a piece of work. In the article that I'm pasting below, he mentions possibly fighting women in the ring. So, I suppose this would be the first time that he was being paid for it...to beat women, that is. Or would it be something more like this?
Either way, he'll always remind me of this:
Although, maybe I'm insulting babies here. He's just a fucking idiot. Nothing like being extremely violent, encouraging violence by mere example, encouraging violence towards women by example, then announcing the proposition of setting a PROFESSIONAL precedent of fighting a woman. WHAT-A-PIECE-OF-SHIT.
***** TYSON NEARS RETURN TO RING; THINKS ABOUT FIGHTING WOMEN
By CONNIE MABIN, Associated Press Writer October 16, 2006
STRONGSVILLE, Ohio (AP) -- Mike Tyson said fans should not expect much of a fight when he steps back into the ring.
But the 40-year-old former heavyweight champ promised an entertaining show Friday night when he launches the "Mike Tyson's World Tour" in Youngstown.
At a news conference at an Italian restaurant, Tyson said he would likely go just four rounds and that future stops on the tour might include bouts with women, possibly professional boxer Ann Wolfe.
Wolfe, from Waco, Texas, is 21-1 with 15 knockouts.
"She's such a prominent, dominant woman in the boxing field," Tyson said.
When asked if he was joking about fighting women, Tyson said, "I'm very serious."
Russ Young, a promoter for Wolfe, said such a bout will never happen.
"That's the first we've heard of it," Young said. "No state would sanction that. She would be outweighed by 60 to 70 pounds. Ann would never entertain the idea."
Tyson said the tour was meant to be fun and raise money for charity.
"It's all fun. I'm not Mike Tyson," he said, referring to the fierce boxer whose career was upended by a prison term. "I'm not 20 years old. I'm not going to smash anybody. I'm not going to talk about smashing anybody's brains. You're not going to see that guy no more."
At the press conference, Tyson posed for photos with fans, signed autographs and campaigned for Maryland U.S. Senate candidate Michael Steele.
Tyson, wearing a white and blue Steele for U.S. Senate T-shirt, said he used to believe black Republicans were "sellouts." But Tyson said he changed his mind after researching the Maryland lieutenant governor.
"We have to open our eyes more," Tyson said, as he pointed to his T-shirt.
His recent years have been marked by embarrassing fights -- inside and out of the ring -- and staggering debt. Tyson last fought in June 2005, losing to the unheralded Kevin McBride.
He will return to the ring Friday at the 6,000-seat Chevrolet Centre in Youngstown for a pay-per-view event against former sparring partner Corey "T-Rex" Sanders.
Tyson had said he was finished with boxing after his bout with McBride, which he quit after six rounds.
The man who vowed to eat Lennox Lewis' children and bit off a piece of Evander Holyfield's ear has said he's in no mood for a comeback.
He recently trained in a makeshift ring at a Las Vegas hotel.
Tyson shot to fame by knocking out Trevor Berbick in 1986 to become the youngest heavyweight champion in history at age 20. He was knocked out by James "Buster" Douglas in 1990 and lost his world heavyweight title. He later served prison time for rape, returned to fighting and infamously bit Holyfield's ear in a 1997 fight.
*****
Dude...go sell some cookware or a grill or something.
Will and I really hate wasting food. We find it disrespectful. It’s not that we actually think that we can send it to the less fortunate. It’s just out of a graceful respect for those who don’t have enough, for where the food came from, what gave its life for us to be nourished from it, who grew it and took care of it and transported it to market and who sold it. The revere of food and cooking in our home is like a meditation. Not all of the time, mind you...but we try. I feel as though we’re paying homage to the earth by paying honor to our food.
Of course, this is nothing new. It’s called “Saying Grace” before a meal – same thing.
Well recently, Will said to me, “Do you remember that really sweet greyhound that I used to have, the one that I rescued from the shelter when I was living in the city? Well, did I ever tell you about the time that I had a full plate of refried beans that I didn’t want to throw out, so I fed it all to the dog and then I went out for the evening?”
***Clarification to the ending of the story*** When Will arrived home later that night, there was more than just explosive farts all over the house...
Okay, now you don't have to like Madonna. And I know that she's done crazy things with her pussy. And with her tongue. And with her hair. And with her fingers. And with her bustiers. And with her eye make-up. And her boobs. And she's never been quiet about anything...except her farts. She usually doesn't say very much about those. They speak for themselves. However...
Malawi has at least 900,000 orphans, many of whom are infected with HIV. 900,000!!! Truly...try to grasp that number for a moment...and that's just Malawi. Madonna would like to adopt one. And would also like to give $3 million to help these children. I'm sure that $3 million isn't a lot to her, but it is to them. And 59 human rights groups are up in arms trying to stop her, because Malawi only adopts to residents of Malawi and it looks as though Madonna may get special treatment. I'm sorry, regardless of what you think of her, she IS TRYING TO HELP and sometimes... people really need to look at the MUCH BIGGER PICTURE. 900,000. Nine Hundred Thousand. That's larger than the population of San Francisco.
"Homosexuality has been observed for more than 1,500 animal species, and is well documented for 500 of them."
My wish is for ignorant, uneducated, simple-minded people to feel inspired enough to think for themselves, to make an attempt at deductive reasoning, to contemplate that maybe, just maybe the Universe, or Creation, or Nature (whatever you'd like to call it) knows something that they don't. And that it's okay to not know exactly WHY. We don't know a lot of "WHY'S".
But then again...now that I think about it in a more logical sense, I bet that Satan organized and sponsored this story. You know what??? THAT'S IT!!! Lucifer is a total homo, loves a good dance party, works out WAY too much and wants ALLLL the booty for himself! And now, he's like these two and wants a bunch of cool gay creatures for his big open house party...or big open fiery pit party. I can't believe that I didn't realize this sooner! What a slut.
I'd better go start packing water...and some "hot" pants.
Another FANTASTIC contribution from our correspondent in New Jersey, Susan The Stupendous! It must be VIDEO FRIDAY!!! WWOOO-HHHHOOOOO!!! I had tears rolling and I was doubled up in laughter and my face still hurts from laughing so, SO HARD. Thank you, thank you, Susan. Whew.
And for those of you at work, you don't need sound, but it does add a little something extra. Drum roll please...
This classic contribution comes to us from another one of our correspondents on the east coast; our sexy and strong, yet sophisticated and compassionate Susan, in New Jersey. Thanks Susan! I'll never look at all of my favorite Disney characters in quite the same way.
And for those of you viewing this while at work. You don't need sound for this craziness.
This contribution comes to us from our hot and spicy, yet suave and debonair correspondent, Rick SuperStud in Manhattan. Love it, Rick! And as you'd say; "I LOVE IT. I LOVE IT! I LO-LO-LO-LO-LOVE-LOVE-LOVE IT!!!"
Okay, Blogger can completely suck my balls! This has been ridiculous trying to get all of the below images uploaded. I was certainly determined, but was on the verge of going downstairs from my office and removing all of the hair from the receptionist's head. She has a lot, so maybe she'd welcome the change. She may have gotten confused as to why I was attacking her, but I could've explained later.
In any case, Hooray!!! I finally got these fuckers posted. Now, just for the record, I LOVE kids (and not in the Catholic priest-Mark Foley-sick-fucker kind of way). And Will and I will probably be adopting within the next couple of years if we're not put into a concentration camp first. I have saved everything my nephews and nieces have ever given to me, with the exception of boogers. I haven't saved any of those. I have every drawing, every letter, card, gift, everything. I adore them and am very proud of all of them. My siblings and their spouses have done (and continue to) an outstanding job raising wonderful, engaging, polite, intelligent and funny people.
With that being said, our devastatingly handsome correspondent Ken Michael, in Cleveland has found a small treasure. The source of the below posts (drawings with commentaries) is unknown. However, in good make-fun-of-everything-wicked-humor, I was crying with laughter over this contribution. If by chance, any of the drawings below belong to any of my readers' children, I apologize in advance. Please know, I did NOT write any of these commentaries...Although, I wish that I had.
***Please note that the commentaries and drawings consist of the 11 posts below.***
***DISCLAIMER*** In the event that you skipped over the above post, or skimmed over it and don't realize, the below text and below pics with commentaries are not my own. The source is unknown. And funny as hell.
I AM BETTER THAN YOUR KIDS If you work in an office with lots of people, chances are that you work with a person who hangs pictures up that their kids have drawn. The pictures are always of some stupid flower or a tree with wheels. These pictures suck; I could draw pictures much better. In fact, I can spell, do math and run faster than your kids. So being that my skills are obviously superior to those of children, I've taken the liberty to judge art work done by other kids on the internet. I'll be assigning a grade A through F for each piece:
This one would receive an A if the assignment was to throw as much random shit onto a paper as poorly as you can. I've pissed patterns on snow that look more coherent than this. F
Ding Ding!! Here comes the shitmobile. I've never seen a fire truck that needed to be shaved. I would rather be burned to death than be saved by this hairy piece of shit. F
1. The color was kept inside the lines 2. You picked a new perspective 3. Used non-abrasive colors and 4. Asked someone with talent to paint it for you
On one hand I want to give an A for effort but...F
That's interesting, everyone in this picture is white. Even the rainbow is white. Perhaps in an ideal world, everyone would be WHITE isn't that right, Rachel? Or should I call you RACIST?? Nice try, Hitler. F
This was a Christmas gift from Kelly to her parents. Good job, Kelly. Now pack up your shit and find a foster home. If my kids tried to pass this off as a gift, they'd come home from school and find all their shit outside in a box. What a lousy gift, seriously. You give them video games and toys and they give you some half-assed drawing with a crooked tree. I wonder how much a gift like this would set someone back. Five, maybe ten minutes? F
I am severely late with this post. Work has been getting the better of me, as has Blogger, which incidentally can bite me and unfortunately is...and not in a good way. I've been trying to post something for two days now, that one of our correspondents sent in that I think you'll REALLY enjoy and... well...it's just not going so great. I think that I may go outside and punch the gardner in the face and push him in the bushes just to make myself feel better. But, before I do that...
It was for this post. To say that I am flattered is an understatement. And if you haven't been reading her glorious work, then you should be. You really, really should be. However, be forewarned, it's only for those who are brave and have a sense of humor. And if you aren't and you don't? Well...I doubt that there's anyone here that this pertains to. Am I right?
It was another wonderful morning as I was walking the dogs on the beach. There was the usual morning fog that was rolling all over the place, being thrown off of the Pacific. The waves were crashing upon the shore, while squadrons of pelicans were flying in formation overhead. The sandpipers scurried here and there and all around.
It’s heaven for me to be there. I feel as though I’m communing with a consciousness that is far greater than I, something that I long to understand, yet something that is gentle with me, never intentionally reminding me of my small physical reality, but embracing my essence as a limb on its enormity. It’s a feeling like I’m home. Maybe it’s god. Maybe it’s just the genetic memory of cells that make up my physical being recalling their journey out of the primordial stew that makes it feel so familiar to me. Maybe it’s both. I don’t know. All I know is how serene and holy the beach is to me.
So, the dogs and I were walking and I was communing with heaven. The dogs per usual, were attempting to eat every piece of shit and garbage possible. And if they weren’t consuming it, they were trying to roll in it. Suddenly, I looked up from my revere and there was an older guy standing off to the side by some bushes, but still clearly visible and he was naked. He was caressing his own chest and tweaking his own nipples and slowly gyrating his hips. And bobbing up and down in front of his crotch was someone who appeared to be... Santa.
I know, I know...it probably wasn’t Santa; maybe it was his bad-boy brother. The one whom would have a beer named after him if anyone knew of him. Well, if the paparazzi is reading this and looking for any shit on Santa and his family, Santa or his wild brother is hanging out on a Santa Barbara beach giving out blowjobs and making pedestrians passing by nauseous.
There was no mistletoe anywhere that I could see, unless an old gray out-of-control pubic bush was serving as a disgusting thicket of mistletoe and Santa’s brother was going crazy on this guy’s candy cane and chestnuts. And...neither of them cared that I was walking by. Actually, I’m sure that against my wishes, I became an unwilling participant in their public display...or pubic display. They probably enjoyed that they had a spectator, although, they were also probably disappointed because when I realized what was going “down”, so to speak, I grimaced my face, no longer looked and kept walking.
I wanted to start throwing rocks at them, but I kept calling the dogs as I was briskly walking by, so that they wouldn’t witness such filth – my poor babies, their poor little virgin eyes. It’s a good thing that I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, because I would’ve tossed it. Maybe I should’ve referred them over to Oscar. And he could've given them some "coffee".
This was the first time that I’ve seen any gay display of public sex. I’ve seen 3 different straight couples going at it over the last few years on different beaches and hiking trails here. They literally didn’t even break their momentum as they continued their public fornicating as I walked by. I should’ve ran up and started whooping and hollering, clapping my hands together and exclaiming how much acne one of them had on their bared ass. Or maybe I could’ve started giving them a play-by-play account from my angle; yelling out my suggestions and motivational support; "YOU'RE DOING GREAT! NOW, JUST KEEP DOING THAT AND LEAN TO THE LEFT A LITTLE AND SMACK THAT ASS A BIT MORE! THERE YA GO! NOW, TRY SCREAMING SOMETHING LIKE, "OH GOD! OH YEAH! DO IT, DADDY! YOU'RE MY DADDY! PLAY ME LIKE IT AIN'T NO THANG!!!" AND TRY NOT MAKING THAT FACE LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO SNEEZE AT ANY MOMENT... 'CAUSE IT LOOKS KIND OF STUPID...THERE YOU GO, MUCH BETTER. OPPS, ONE OF YOU JUST FARTED, THAT WASN'T COOL. TRY HOLDING IT NEXT TIME, OKAY?" Alas, I did no such thing. I’m always caught off-guard and am usually in shock.
But tell me, how much fun would it be to run up to such idiots and while they’re boinking the hell out of one another, start cheering: “U – G – L – Y, YOU AIN’T GOT NO ALLIBI, YOU UGLY!!! HEY!!! M – A – M – A, HOW YOU THINK YOU GOT THAT WAY? YOUR MAMA, YO-YO-YOUR MAMA, WWOOOO!!!”
Or maybe I should’ve ran up to Santa while he was getting busy on that dork’s dork and started cheering: “GO SANTA! GO SANTA! GO-GO, GO SANTA!!” Yeah...maybe I should’ve done that.
No matter what I would’ve done, I still would be disgusted. Couldn’t they have just kept it indoors, or at least behind some bushes? I feel as if my holy morning communion was a bit tainted by Santa and his friend’s public display. Now granted, if I take full responsibility for how people affect me, then yes, I’ve allowed them to taint it. However, I would’ve preferred Santa to keep his gifts in the sac...as opposed to all over the sac. Yuk.
I was asked to be on a Public Announcement about HIV/AIDS awareness about a year and half ago. I was trying to volunteer more often and had worked at a food bank on occasion, but really felt like I should be doing more. So, when I was asked, I was more than happy to oblige. I had some unexpected feelings arise and you can read about them here.
Well, for a year and a half, I had never seen the PA. Friends, family and neighbors would tell me that they saw it on this channel or that channel. I’d ask if it looked professional and they always said yes. No one was going to say; “Hey! I saw you on TV last night and you looked like crap! Dude…why’d you look so bad?” Or “Oh my god…I saw you on TV the other day and well…don’t quit your day job.” Of course, everyone was complimentary.
The PA has been airing a lot lately because the AIDS Walk is coming up this weekend here in Santa Barbara. So again, more friends, family and neighbors are telling me that they’ve seen it and it looks “great”.
Well, a couple of nights ago, Will and I were watching a little bit of TV and low and behold, there it is. In all its glory, there it was; dramatic, somber and informative. Will began proclaiming, “THERE YOU ARE, BUBBA! THERE YOU ARE!” And yes, there I was…and I looked like an elf. I fucking looked like AN ELF!
I watched helplessly in horror as my ears looked as though they merged into illuminated points. I didn’t hear a thing that my image was saying as I got up from the couch in disgust, I ignored myself on the television screen. I actually walked out on myself. And as I was saying on the TV, “most of this population in Santa Barbara County are not aware of their HIV/AIDS status” I stormed into the kitchen and said, “I look like an elf.”
And Will said with affection; “THERE YOU ARE, BUBBA!!”
And I repeated, “I look like an elf.”
And Will continued very sweetly, “I just saw my Bubba on TV!”
And I lamented, “I look like an elf.”
And Will said, “Ohhh…I just saw my Bubba on TV.”
And I said again, “I look like a fucking elf and you aren’t telling me otherwise.”
And Will said, “Oh, Bubba…”
And I said, “SEE? You aren’t debating the issue. I LOOK LIKE AN ELF!”
Well, yesterday, a friend emailed to say that she saw the PA and loved it. I replied that we had seen it too and that I looked like an elf. SHE DIDN’T NEGATE IT EITHER! She replied, “No, well...you’re a cute elf. Maybe Santa is looking for help.” Thanks a whole fucking lot. Did I mention that she is no longer my friend?
THEN, I saw a neighbor who yelled over to me that she saw the PA numerous times. I hollered back, “Yeah, we saw it too and I looked like an elf!” And she yelled, “WHAT???”
And I hollered louder, “WE SAW IT TOO AND I LOOKED LIKE AN ELF!!”
And she yelled back, “NO! WELL...YOU’RE A CUTE ELF! AND CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!!”
SHE DIDN’T NEGATE IT EITHER!!! In fact, she said exactly what my other friend said. And each of them, in their own way added their encouragement that the Christmas season was approaching, so maybe I could find work??
So, Will and I were having dinner last night and I told him what the friend and neighbor both said. He laughed, as did I. But then I said, “Will, you never said that I DIDN’T look like an elf.”
And he replied, “It’s not your fault.”
And I said, “WHAT? WHAT’S NOT MY FAULT???”
And he continued, “It was the lighting, it was bad lighting…it made the tips of your ears glow.”
SEE??? I wait a year and a half to see this Public Announcement; Santa Barbara County has already been watching it for the last 18 months. And I look like an elf. No one has said otherwise, in fact, they’ve confirmed it. An elf just informed the public about HIV/AIDS and I was that elf. I guess it’s better than looking like a troll or a warlock informing the public about scabies.
This comes to us compliments of our devastatingly handsome correspondent; Ken Michael in Cleveland. So, Kenneth, I ask you, fine sir, why can't they make commercials like this anymore? Why do we have to be subjected to watching some disgusting animated fungus crawl under an imaginary toe nail and wreak havoc??? Why, I ask you, WHY???
Give me Ann Miller any day. GIVE ME ANN MILLER OR GIVE ME DEATH!!! GIVE ME ANN MILLER OR GIVE ME DEATH!!! Okay... "DEATH" might be pushing it a little...How about...GIVE ME ANN MILLER OR GIVE ME...A BEER!!! OR A FEW BEERS!!! And maybe some weed.
Please sing the following lyrics to the tune of The Merry Ole Land Of Oz
"Snip-snip-snip, Opps-opps-opps, We threw your balls away..."
This fine piece of video art comes to us compliments of the extraordinary Pendullum
*** Reporter's career goes down the drain. It's a video of a Dutch interviewer who is interviewing a man on a LIVE TV ( Dutch version of 60 Minutes )on "surgeries gone wrong". This man had a surgical team inadvertently remove his testicles. I think the interviewer could have handled the facts but it was the man's voice that appears to have set him off. Watch a veteran reporter's career go down the drain in about 60 seconds. It doesn't need to be in English to understand what is happening.... ***
This is truly classic. The deadpan looks are savoringly fantastic.
From our friend Jane: “I can’t believe that Jennifer Tilly gave me the stink eye throughout the entire evening! She was such a bitch.”
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A frantic phone message I received from our friend Giselle: “KEVIN! I’M TRYING TO PICK OUT SOME LINGERIE AND A NEW VIBRATOR! I NEED YOUR ADVICE! WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I NEED YOU??? DAMN IT!!”
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From our friend Jen: “Oh yeah! She BREAST FED her youngest until he was 4 ½! Now he’s 6 and he still sleeps with them! And trust me, her reasons for doing this are NOT healthy. She’s a total whack job.”
My response: “Oh man…her boobs are probably so stretched out, she can probably breast feed kids around the corner. She can probably breast feed people in ANOTHER ROOM!”
Jen: “YEAH!”
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Me: “Will, it was so disturbing…she kept rubbing her vagina on the fence and poor Sam was just standing there not knowing what to do. He looked scared.”
Will: “I know. She sniffed my balls this morning, then turned around and her vagina began winking at me. It was awful.”
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A stranger asks me: “What’s that you’re taking?”
Me: “It’s my birth control pill.”
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Me: “Will, there was literally a white FLAG that had ‘Suck Cock' scrolled in big black letters along with a picture drawn of a penis and balls on it...Will...it was actually fluttering in the breeze, like it was an advertisement.”
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Our friend Molly recollecting a college friend: “She broke her vibrator after 3 months!! 3 months!! I asked her if she checked the batteries and she said, yes. She was certain that she broke it.”
The response from our friend ‘The Baron’ – Molly’s fiancé: “I’m glad that I dated you and not her.”
Well, I’ve managed to do it again. I’ve hurt another neighbor’s feelings and I do feel slightly badly about it. I said “slightly”, so not too much. I’m not lamenting the interaction, just wishing that I had been nicer. If you hadn’t noticed, many of these neighbors provide me with enough material for your reading pleasure and for my future therapy bills.
There’s an older gentleman that lives a few buildings over named Oscar. He’s very nice. He’s VERY NICE…TOO NICE. When he first saw me with the dogs last year, he made a beeline right over to talk with me. Again, my Howdy Doody face welcomed him, while my flaring nostrils warned him to keep his distance. He didn’t take heed of my ominous nostrils, but chose rather to take his chances. Wednesday was all ready to remove whatever hair and limbs I instructed her to.
He came over and asked me if I was new in the complex. I said no, that I had lived there for sometime, but we must have never seen each other. His eyes got real big and his brow raised up towards his hairline and he said, “Ooooohhhh…what are your doggies’ names? I love doggies. I just love ‘em. What are their names? Gosh, I love doggies.” Meanwhile, he never even looked at the dogs. He kept looking at me. He looked me up and down a few times. Then he said, “I have a nice view of the mountains from my condo. I have a great view, it’s really nice. It’s really a nice, great view.”
Jesus man…and I’m being completely serious in how he repeated everything too – it was fucking ridiculous. I thought, what are you, the Rainman? I said, “Oh, that’s good.” (pretending to not get the hint) Then his eyes got even bigger as he stepped even closer to me (completely invading my personal space) and he said, “I have a GREAT view”.
And I said, “Yeah, you told me.”
And he continued, “I have coffee. Do you like coffee? I like coffee. I have coffee and a nice view. Do you like coffee? Because I have it and I LIKE IT.” (His eyes continued to grow, looking as if they’d burst from their lids at any moment.)
And I thought, is coffee code for blowjob? So I said, “That’s great. We have coffee too.”
And he continued in his trance; “I have martinis. Do you like martinis? It could be martinis instead of coffee.”
Okay, what is martinis code for? 69’s? Or his version of a colonoscopy? Or…yuk, I can’t really think about elaborating anymore of what he was REALLY talking about. I had no doubt that given the chance, he would completely slip me a roofie in my beverage and I would awake in leather restraints hanging naked from the ceiling, probably complete with spectators.
So, I stepped back saying that we had coffee as well and then he would take a step towards me and say what a great view he has. The whole scene seemed very surreal. I really began to wonder if this was a sick practical joke. But, to my chagrin, it wasn’t.
Now, a year later, nothing can make me turn around with the dogs quicker than the sight of him. When he does catch me off-guard, his eyes will get real big and he’ll come waddling over and say, “Hi kids!” I then try to make something up really quickly of why we all of a sudden have to turn around and take off running. “Oh! I just remembered, I left a candle burning near a tank of gasoline in the living room! We gotta go! See ya!” or “OH! I just remembered, I’m late for my gyno appointment!” or “Oh my gosh! I just remembered, the dogs are getting a bikini wax today! I completely forgot! Hooray, they’re gonna love that, huh? Gotta run! SORRY, freak boy!”
He then turns around and literally droops his head and walks back to his “great view” and “coffee/martini” bar. I feel badly for about 2 seconds, then I get nauseous. I really do enjoy people, these stories make it sound as if I don’t, but why do so many have to have an ulterior motive? Why do these people have to try and mount their fur-burger on me, or slip me the Guatemalan burrito, or tongue me while they’re telling me about the fricking view that they have? Why, man why?
***So now, the most recent encounter.***
Well, as you may know, I’ve been studying Buddhist philosophy and meditating, trying to apply it to my daily life and situations. I actually try (rarely successfully) and look at difficult encounters with people as opportunities for spiritual growth (when I really want to pepper spray them and kick their crotches and then maybe pull their hair – and not in a fun kind of way, because he’d probably enjoy it). So, I saw him again the other day. I was walking the dogs and prepared myself when I saw him. I took deep breaths and tried to steel myself to his glares and googled eyes. When I saw him I said, “Hi Oscar. How are you?” And his severe bed-head perked up and he said, “Hi kids!” And shuffled his psycho-self right over in his slippers.
I contemplated saying that I had to run off and wash the neighbor’s cats, but I didn’t. I decided to stay and tough it out, although I would’ve preferred to wash cats. He asked how the dogs were, seeing how they each had chosen one of his legs to gnaw on, I said that they seemed fine. We talked some more and he said how he loved “doggies” and used to have one. He said that he was retired and liked to drink coffee or martinis and look out at his GREAT view of the mountains (as he stared at my chest – I was wearing this;
so I must have been asking for it, right? Maybe had I been wearing this;
he wouldn't have been so interested.). I was trying to stay calm and not get disgusted. Inner-dialogue to myself began; “Kevin, remember, opportunity for growth, remain patient and kind, resist all urges to punch him in his lecherous face, resist punching him in the throat, and resist instructing the dogs to actually gnaw on his legs.”
I began talking of the virtues of rescuing dogs from shelters; both of our dogs are rescues and are awesome. I really believe that the dogs somehow know that you’ve saved them and are extremely grateful and loyal. Plus, you’re RESCUING them, saving them from an unnecessary death, it’s a GREAT thing and I wish that more people did it. I said that now that he’s retired why not go to the shelter and rescue a couple of dogs to share his home with? Then, out of the blue, with a far-off look in his eyes and almost salivating, he said, “Have you ever played Texas Hold ‘Em?”
And the dialogue with myself began again, “Don’t get disgusted, Kevin. Don’t get angry.” (I didn’t know that Texas Hold ‘Em was poker. I thought it was some kind of big gay cowboy tie-‘em up game that he enjoyed playing, where I really would end up hanging from the ceiling in leather restraints.) So, as puke began rising up in my throat, I said, “What’s that?” – fearful of the pending answer. And he said, “Poker, silly.” Yeah, more like Poke’him. I felt some relief (although the “silly” thrown in his response made me want to punch him in his windpipe) and went back to talking about how he should go rescue some dogs from getting gassed. Then I began wondering what would be worse for the dogs; him? Or getting gassed? I’m not so sure now. I know what I’d pick.
He then looked me up and down twice and said, “I’d rather have someone pretty.” I haven’t been “pretty” since I was 13. I definitely felt puke in my mouth this time and kind of wished that I had hurled projectile vomit at him, but I just looked at him with my best Texas Hold Yer Vomit face and said, “Dogs are better…trust me, dogs are better.”
I should’ve walked away when I had the chance. Or maybe I should’ve ran. Next time, I'll run, because unfortunately, I'm sure that there's going to be a next time.
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