Month: May 2012

I went to Magic Mountain – not exactly an amusement park, but I don’t have kids so I lump all that shit together.  Me and the lady had to use a groupon, so we both must have been sniffing gasoline because we went on Saturday at 8 pm.  That’s like being fashionably late to a gangbang – horrible idea.

It was OK, except the other people that decided to show up and ruin everything.  We were behind a couple ladies who were wearing “girls night out” slut dresses and heels.  They didn’t see the five stroke limit, which I deduced as they averaged about 9 putts per hole.  Oh well, on to the go karts.  After a short wait of 57 minutes (who’s counting?) in which some idiot lost all their game tokens in the go kart, then couldn’t bend over and get them due to morbid obesity and skin tight jeans.  That accounted for four of the 57 minutes – how about this rule, if you have to lift up skin flaps to properly wash, you don’t wear skinny jeans.  I want to commend whatever southeast Asian child sewed those jeans, you young lad/lady, are a master tailor.

The go karts were nice, until some middle aged trashy lady decided to bump draft me.  Her kart was about 10% faster than mine, so that meant it was necessary to ram me and shoot me dirty looks as I questioned in which scenarios I could legally punch a woman.  Shame on me for watching the guy in the Tony Stewart hat instead.  He was too busy balancing his spitter to run me off the track.  I took a quick restroom break and realized the children either each drank 47 sodas or they were kickboxing as they pissed.  I nearly peed in sink, but instead decided to leave my shoes in the parking lot so as not to taint my car on the way home.

We finished up with my favorite, Laser Tag.  Some guy complained that his gun didn’t work, so I stalked him all night, racking up free kills all the way to a second place finish.  When he started crying foul, I then targeted some teenage girl that stupidly thought turning her back would slow my carnival of death.  Not so, future Teen Mom!  Now if only I can fool some kid into trading his game tokens to me for pennies, this night will be complete…

Yesterday was our annual tribute to mothers.  This being a comedy blog, I thought I would share some funny from Mom.  I hate when people ask who I got my sense of humor from, but Mom definitely has her shining moments.  I had the greatest Christmas ever in fourth grade, when I got a small color TV and a Nintendo w/ the Power Pad.  I had a pal over named Nick.  Apparently, at some point, he went to go number one and got more on the toilet than in.  My Mom assessed the situation afterwards and asked me, “Was Nick on the Power Pad while he was peeing?  Nick, Nick, hold that dick!”  That is some good stuff in the fourth grade (and now).

Another time my dog Meg (the Keg) ate a stuffed animal and left a lovely deuce in the back yard.  My Mom was shoveling crap and started laughing uncontrollably.  In the turd was the glowing eye of the stuffed animal.  “I can’t pick it up, it’s staring at me!”  Her convulsive laughter was very infectious.

Long story short, if you ever like any poop or pee jokes I do, you can thank my mother…or stare at her angrily.  Now excuse, I have to let my dog out and I always pick up his poop.  If someone is looking.

I went to Cabo one winter with some buddies, but it was very last minute and I didn’t have a lot of funds.  I bought a tub of jerky and a couple boxes of granola bars and budgeted to drink in the room.  We went to the beach, hit bars every night and in general had a good time, other than the fact I was eating like a homeless person.  Then one of the crew decided we should go deep sea fishing.

I hate fishing.  It’s boring as hell, but they gave us a sack lunch and some beers.  Of course, we were all hungover and the sea was choppy, so it sucked more than normal fishing.  I was about to jump overboard and chance the swim when we finally got a bite three hours in.  One of the guys wouldn’t give up the pole, but we thought we would catch seventeen fish, so we let it pass.  This fight went on and on and on and my thin patience was gone.  I looked around the boat and saw a wooden billy club in the corner.  “What’s that for?”  “Senor, that is in case the fish needs subdued.”  Sweet!  I grabbed the club just in case.

After another 15 minutes of boredom, they pulled a 65 lb. blue marlin onboard.  It was flopping all about, which is normal, but I got a little too excited and sprung into action.  I began raining blows down upon this kraken of the deep with my weapon, fighting the unholy beast.  The Mexican seaman began screaming, “NO SENOR!  NO!”  They pulled me off the fish after a struggle and explained in broken English the marlin was to be thrown back.  It got caught on a boat hook and died instantly, so we got to keep it and eat it for two fantastic meals, but the sailors were so disturbed they refused to change the bait anymore and the boringness resumed.

In summation, fishing sucks, but beating a fish is quite fun.  It is however, frowned upon in most cultures and I am pretty sure a couple of sailors have nightmares about my savagery.  Oh well, back to the bar.

Ah, the warmer weather means only one thing – adult no talent softball is back.  At least I assumed it was warmer.  I stepped outside and realized it was low 50’s and I had nothing but a tee and mesh shorts.  Good start to the season.  I casually told a teammate this was good groin pullin’ weather.

We got run-ruled game one, 21-6, which was OK, because that means game two would start earlier, which is my motivating factor.  My stellar team made about 12 errors (yes, I helped with that stat) and two guys struck out, which is impressive for slow pitch softball.  Game two we really pulled it together/got lucky and won 19-3.  Mostly luck.  I got another hit, but karma and irony struck as I literally, you guessed it! – I pulled my groin.  I would like to say my team rallied around my injury to win, but everyone just called me grandpa and a shit stain, plus we were up by ten runs, so no Rudy moment here.  I now run about seven miles per hour, down from my usual 12 mph.  Why did I sign up for this again?

Luckily, we were done way early, so that means bar time, the most important part of this antiquated ritual.  Unluckily, some assclown decided to play five techno songs in a row.  Nothing against gay people, but nothing says gay sex to me like a bunch of dudes listening to techno music in a dive bar on a Wednesday.  Boo techno music.  I think next year, I’ll sign up for something I’m good at, like trivia night or a sport that relies on surliness and sarcasm over actual running and moving.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people don’t help, but lob criticisms from the sidelines.  I volunteer for my fraternity’s alumni board.  It’s an unpaid position, there is virtually no benefit other than massaging a loyalty gene, and the fine college I graduated from has kicked out or put on probation every club but ours, so that’s probably coming.  Yet, since 2005, I have had two guys call me or email me saying they “heard” things weren’t going well at the school and I needed to step down (neither offered to join or volunteer, by the way).  One, a guy who was in our fraternity for less than a year, then transferred schools, “heard” I stole thousands of dollars from the fraternity and blew it boozing.  This guy sent an email accussing me of this and threw in – “I consider myself a good alumni, since I stay in touch with one or two guys I went to school with.”  Wow, you really stepped it up, exalted brother.  You know what, “brother”?  I would consider myself a good human if I pissed on you while you were on fire, but I wouldn’t waste the piss.  After all, I stole thousands of fake dollars when I was making it rain in college, what with my Beast Ice 12-packs and my in your face rich boy cigarette choice of “Slim Price Lights.”  Go die.

Recently, I have been organizing our 15 year high school reunion.  I made the announcement and a classmate posted something along the lines of, “It’s about time we had one, good Lord!”  Hmm, that was a not very subtle dig.  Then when I created the event online, Skippy posted “Maybe” for attending.  “Maybe” I won’t spit on your food if you make it, but I probably will.  Another fun one is the one who keeps messaging me, like “Where is this place?”  Well, it’s 1. On the event invitation, 2. You’ve lived in the town your whole life, you may want to drive around a bit and 3. If you have Facebook, that means you have Google!  Look it up!

This reinforces a lesson I should have learned years ago – Never volunteer for anything.  Ever.  I could imagine the first person who showed everyone how to use fire had rocks thrown at him by the other Cro-Magnons as they grunted and defecated on the ground they lived on.  Thus, my new strategy.  “Your free volunteer work isn’t up to my standards.”  You’re right, Neanderthal.  Guess what, in my last act as director, I name you in charge!  Oh, you don’t want to be in charge?  Then speak another word and I’ll hold you down and fart in your mouth.  Nothing?  Excellent!  Good day to all!

The sports world is abuzz right now with concussions.  Player suicides, careers cut short, dementia, etc. = bad publicity for your league.  I think they’ve come a long way…then I saw Art Schlichter’s lawyer claim he ripped off a bunch of people’s life savings because of the 15 concussions he suffered in his football career.  Ah, leave it to the lawyers to ruin whatever sympathy I was starting to have.

Concussions suck.  I have had five – falling off monkey bars (don’t land on your face), baseball to the face (that one knocked me out for three hours), helmet to helmet collison (I went to wrong team’s huddle), rugby hit (from my own teammate, thanks for tackling with your head down, stupid) and of course, drunken wrestling in college.  The doctor told me no more contact sports and for once, I listened.  As fun as it is to lay people out, I’d rather not be soiling myself at 55, assuming I live that long in the first place.  That’s not a real side effect of concussions, but either way I’d rather not be soiling myself at 55.

The only thing that annoys me to no end is that some pussy or group of angry mommies is going to someday try to ban football.  Guess what do-gooders?  People get hurt.  Cars are pretty safe now, but every once in a while there are accidents.  Should we all get horses?  People died on those too.  Let’s focus on the real problem at hand – middle school girl’s basketball.  I had to keep the clock for two years’ worth of games and I nearly died of boredom.  I actually let the clock run on timeouts to end the suffering earlier.  Someone step up and end this menace!