Nothing irritates me more than when women's nipples are airbrushed out of photographs. Most major men's magazines (that are not porn) are guilty of this offense (an offense, in my opinion, that should be punishable by death. Preferably a death where fire ants eat a person alive from the inside out.) America country is sexually repressed. Women have tits and I want to see them poking through a tight sweater, a spandex body suit and/or a tiny bikini top. Even Angelina Jolie agrees with me on this one.

Labels: boobs, chicks, pop culture

"When you are using a paint gun, be sure to wear safety goggles. You do not want to get paint in your eyes."

Labels: dad, diy, the fairways

Saddam Hussein's sons are dead. Uday apparently thought he was Tony Montana and Caligula rolled into one.

Labels: death, politics, war

My Dad is not a phone person. Our conversations usually consist of idle chit-chat related to sports and television shows, long periods of silence and concluding with or a paraphrase of the line, "Here is your Mother." Last night we had a conversation that went something like this:

Dad: What are you doing?
Me: Watching TV.
Dad: What are you watching?
Me: Nothing. I am just flipping through the channels.
Dad: I am watching TV, too. There is nothing on.

...30 seconds of silence...

Dad: Total Recall is on.
Me: Nice. What channel?
Dad: The Spanish channel.
Me: Are you going to watch it? (Dad does not speak a word of Spanish).
Dad: Yeah, I guess. There is nothing else on ...pauses... I will have your mom call you when she gets home.

Labels: dad, pop culture

I have a deep hatred for PETA. It is shit like this that fuels the fire. Lettuce Ladies. Are you kidding me? Even more ridiculous is the list of the famous Lettuce Ladies. When I think about a spokesmodel, I think about a strong, intelligent woman with opinions I value. I remember how smart Elizabeth Berkley looked in a thong sliding down a greased pole in Showgirls. Or how Traci Bingham's social conscience has dazzled me ever since her work on Baywatch. I have always treasured health tips from Pam Anderson, especially those on how to avoid contracting Hepatitis from a rock drummer.

Labels: health, pop culture

Monica: I am sure I will be fine. I will just be drunk for four days. How else do you do a wedding in Cheyenne, Wyoming?
Me: Maybe you should get some pills. Preferably some 'ludes. Or a sack of goofballs. Or some Black Beauties...
Monica: Yeah, I have not decided which drug to risk the Interstate Commerce With Intent to Sell ticket for. Oxycontin?
Me: Sprinkle in some morphine. Because nothing says Wyoming like painkillers.
Monica: When livestock outnumber people 10-1 do as the locals do.
Me: Load up on mind-numbing medication and wait it out?
Monica: Right.

Labels: drugs, im convos, mons

Friday. Work late to complete a corporate Flash presentation that nobody will pay attention to. After work, I play in a coed softball game where my team wins 26-4 and the opposing team's third baseman catches a ground ball with her face and breaks her nose. Immediately following the game a torrential downpour ensues and I sprint to my car leaving my glove on the field. I roll to Tyler's house and play College Football with the Slushy Gutter Crew. At one point in the evening Tyler pours me either a glass of bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. I drink it and proceed to kick his ass with Virginia Tech 30-14. On the way home I realize that I left my mitt on the softball field.

Saturday. I attend my company picnic and run the corporate Flash presentation I put in long hours over. Surprisingly, people pay attention, laugh and tell me good job. After the presentation the picnic continues at a nearby park with a luau theme and a pig roasting. I eat heaping platefuls of swine and mingle with coworkers. Jake, Gay Joe and I make fun of some pasty kid trying to play football. We call him "Mary" and giggle like the dickheads we are. Joe tells us about his homosexual encounters the previous evening. Hula dancers many years past their prime shake their asses for our amusement. I volunteer to dance with them, throwing my inhibitions into the wind like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I perform a dance with pom-poms and hip gyrations. I win the grand prize in the company raffle (a $200 gift certificate to the Flagstaff House). After the picnic, I attend a lesbian wedding with Monica, Kaye, Aaron, Nels and Kerry. We quickly become the obnoxious drunk table at the reception. A plant is passed around and the recipient of said plant gives a toast. A diverse blend of people wishes the couple well including a militant lesbian with an attitude problem and a sexual predator with disheveled hair holding a kid that liked to hit people in the face. I share my toast with the happy couple, lifting my glass and saying, "Here's to eating pussy." They laugh hysterically. I love the lesbians and wish them the best. We roll to Monica's crib for a nightcap. I discover Kaye does not like playing drinking games with me. Monica informs me she picked up my softball glove up after our game. This makes me happy.

Sunday. I wake up at noon with a screaming hangover. I pour a glass of water and take ibuprofen. I watch Panic Room on digital cable. I drink a glass of water. I make a trip to Home Depot to buy some sandpaper and steel wool. I drink a glass of water. I strip paint for four hours. I drink three glasses of water. My Mom calls and invites me to dinner. I drink a glass of water. I drive to my parents house and eat spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. We discuss home improvement. I go home to play a game of College Football. Colorado State beats Wyoming 21-3. Nels picks me up for our hockey game. I tally a hat trick and an assist. I drink seven glasses of water. Mark throws a shoe at Nels's face. I come home and take a shower. I go to sleep. If anyone asks me what I did this weekend, I will say, "Nothing."

Labels: /mark, chili dog, colorado, data slaughterhouse, diy, drinking, gay joe, geekery, hockey, jake, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, mons, nels, sg crew, sports, tyler, wedding, weekend that was

The summer of home improvement has officially begun. I spent some serious coin on paint stripper, paint and tile at the Home Depot. I currently have discolored linoleum in my bathroom and kitchen and white paint in every inch of the town house. I started last night by stripping paint off three windowsills. It took me five hours. At two this morning, after sanding and sweating like I gave your fat mother a piggy back ride, I decided that the summer of home improvement is going to suck assholes.

Labels: diy, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

I imagine that waking up from a coma has to be a liberating and spiritual experience. At least until you find out your wife had three babies with another man and your oldest daughter is a stripper.

Labels: crazy, health

I have participated in the sport of Paintball twice in my life (I use the term "sport" loosely). The activity is essentially a microcosm of the short story The Most Dangerous Game. The most enjoyable aspect of Paintball was eliminating the high intensity assholes with semi-automatic guns and Kevlar body suits that thought they were fighting a real war. I am sure my opinion would be different if I were shooting at naked women.

Labels: chicks, geekery, sports, tomfoolery

A tongue piercing becomes a lightning conductor. Still, I guess it is cool to jam a metal rod in your mouth that makes you drool when you talk and is otherwise only noticeable when said tongue piercing is licking on my balls.

Labels: science, sex, stupidity

My Fourth of July holiday was spent drinking Mexican beer, smoking Puerto Rican vanilla-soaked cigars, watching fireworks that were made in China explode in the night sky and eating the German barbecue treat bratwurst. God bless America.

Labels: drinking, summer, weekend that was

A woman loses her leg in an escalator mishap at Coors Field. Jake brought up a great point regarding escalator safety. Whenever you step onto a moving walkway, you need to be prepared like a boy scout in case some shit goes down. Some may just jump over the handrails to avoid amputation. Me? I plan on using a fat lady as a human surfboard.

Labels: injury, jake, tomfoolery

Sorry about the previous post. After reading it over again, I now realize how depressing it is. It is indicative of what a late hockey game, two Newcastles and an ex-girlfriend's rambling, feeling-laden telephone tirade can do to a man at two o'clock in the morning. Even more depressing is the fact that I cannot alleviate the pain of our breakup by tossing a toaster into her bubble bath. Fucking government and their mandated circuit-breakers.

Labels: death, drinking, feelings, hockey, she who

I am tired but I cannot sleep. I had a tough hockey game tonight and battled a large Indian that liked to slash the white man. I tallied a hat trick and dropped Tonto like a sack of dirt in the final seconds of the game and we won 6-5.

This was the highlight of my evening.

Earlier tonight, my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named and I engaged in the timeless post-relationship shit exchange. On her way home from work, She Who Will Not Be Named stopped by to return a set of house keys, a DMX CD and two shirts. I gave her back her some hair scrunchies and a fucked-up new age book about spirit guides she wanted me to read that I never did.

As she left, we hugged and she cried (apparently I am dead inside as the scenario moved me very little). I reflected on the happy memories of us watching shows about serial killers, playing video games and getting lap dances at strip clubs. I also recalled how difficult it was to argue with her, how emotionally demanding she was and how she infuriated me when she shut down and let the relationship crumble. Still, I wish her the best.

That being said, if there are any hot women that are down for some drunken, non-committal sex, I am your man.

Labels: feelings, hockey, pop culture, she who