Friday, December 21, 2007

Tis The Season

Today marks the first day of Holiday gift giving. This year, I've adopted a new gift giving technique. I decided to go online to various companies and restaurants and purchase gift cards. Everyone I know that gets gifts from me received a genuine gift card to one of their favorites. They ranged in value from $25 to $50. My secretary/assistant got one for $25. My parents got one for $50. Unfortunately for me, I didn't do my research early to determine what people's favorite restaurants were. Also, I ran into trouble when I figured out that you have to go website to website to buy these gift cards. Unfortuntely, Amazon doesn't sell these on their site. So, I got tired of going to multiple sites after about 10 minutes. Therefore, everyone I know in the world will receive, or has already received, a gift card ranging in value from $25 to $50 for either Red Lobster, Olive Garden, or Outback Steakhouse.

My total gift buying time - 45 minutes
Total amount spent - $750
Amount of my love given to my friends and family, as expressed in my thoughtful gift - infinite.

For those of you wondering, I didn't just get my girlfriend some crummy gift card. She got both a gift card and a coupon for one night of Garrett-lovin'. She is so lucky. One night next week, we'll be dining on a Bloomin' Onion, baby. Merry Christmas.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

I Know Just How to Whisper, and I Know Just How to Cry.

Go check out this article about hot monkey lovin' and then come back here as soon as possible. Try not to get turned on by all the talk of nasty monkey sex.

Study Reveals Why Monkeys Shout During Sex.

I feel sorry for these poor monkeys. All their lives they are super monkey sexual dynamos. They are rocking numerous lady monkeys' worlds a week. Then one day a team of scientists show up and inform them that they are not, in fact, bringing their little monkey lovers to the point of ecstasy on a nightly basis. In reality, these monkey's have very much in common with their Garrett human counterpart. Like I, they have female partners that want the experience to be over as quickly as possible and will do anything to speed the process along. I suppose what this means is that girl monkeys and girl girls are not that different. Both will make a lot of noise, shout your name, tell you are the best they have ever had, just to get you worked up and decrease the number of pelvic thrusts.

These scientists actually watched these monkeys engage in the coitus. They actually counted the male monkey pelvic thrusts. Then they wondered why the poor monkeys were not able to get the job done, so to speak. If I had some chick in glasses, a white lab coat, and clipboard staring at my ass while I thrust away, I might have a little trouble finishing up too.

I'm totally kidding, of course. If you want watch my pelvic thrusting call me. Especially if you want to do it while wearing a lab coat and glasses. That is so hot.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Voices inside my head. Echoes of things that you said...

Norm MacDonald used to do this old stand-up routine about playing a joke on your friend by dressing up as Satan and telling him to chop up his family into little bits. It ends something like this - So your friend is standing there and he says, "Oh Great Master of the Underworld. I have done as you have commanded. I have taken my family and chopped them up in to little bits, and I have them here in these trash bags. What do you command now, Oh Great Satan?" Then you take off your Satan mask, and say "Bob, it's me - Garrett. I was just fooling about. I'm not Satan." Then Bob will say, "Gee Garrett. Boy am I embarrassed. I mean, I've got my family here in trash bags. You really got me on that one"

The other day I was thinking about that comedy bit and two thoughts crossed my mind. The first was: Norm MacDonald's voice is kind of annoying. I mean, it's okay for a stand up routine, or for Weekend Update or something. But can you imagine taking a road trip with that guy and having to listen to his voice for eight hours in the car?

The second thought I had was: When crazy people hear voices in their head, what do they sound like? My thoughts sound pretty much like me talking. Like, I am thinking about this sentence right now, and reading it aloud to myself in my head, and my inside-my-head voice sounds just like my regular voice. Although when I think about the next sentence I am going to type I don't say "uh" as much, I just think it. Anyway, my point is - when a guy thinks The Devil is talking to him and telling him to do things, what does The Devil's voice sound like? Then I thought: If I think Norm's voice is annoying, what would I do if I had to listen to some demon talk in a raspy, deep, demon-like voice all day and night. You know though, it is probably only a vicious stereotype that demons speak in a raspy, deep, demon-like voice. I bet they sound just like you or I, and I bet they get mad as fucking hell when those raspy voiced demons start talking to regular folks because it gives them a bad image.

You know, you always hear about people hearing voices that told them to do terrible things. How come you never hear a crazy person talking about how his voices told him to do good things. We need more of those good voices around - not all of these Satan voices. I would not mind being crazy at all if the voices gave me good advice from time to time.

For example I'd be okay with a voice that said, "Yo Garrett, it's March 1 yo. Start on your taxes now or you will be up shit creek just like last year and doing them at 9:00 pm the day before they are due. Let's get with it, sucka."

Or maybe: "Garrett. Bro. That shirt does not look cool. Not matter what you might think you look like, you are not 22. You can not wear that fucking shirt to the bar. I'm just trying to keep it real, yo."

Possibly: "Garrett. I am voice inside your head. I am here to give you stock and investing tips."

Most Useful: "Garrett, I am a voice from beyond your dimension and know things that surpass all human understanding. Let me give you this tip on how to last more than two minutes during the sex. . ."

I'm thinking I could really use a voice inside my head someday. Another 20 or so years, and I am going to get pretty tired of only hearing my own voice all the time. Some company for my voice would be nice. Oh! What if the voice inside my head was a sexy girl-voice. Then my regular voice and the girl voice could talk dirty to each other and make out and stuff. Damn, that would be hot. Of course if the voice inside my head is anything like me, it won't be very good at the dirty talk and will say things like, "Um, well yeah, I would kind of like to fuck you hard, now that you mention it."

Is This Thing On?

Does this blog still work? What the hell is going on here?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Apparently, I am an asshole.

That's right. I know. I can't believe it either. I am as shocked as you are. But this is what a friend of mine told me on Sunday. In fact, her exact words were: "You know, you're a real asshole, and I'm not the only one who thinks so." So what could I possibly have done to cause such hatred from a good friend of mine? Well, I don't think it deserves conferring asshole status on me so much as it warrants, "thoughtless and insensitive" status.

I'll try and keep this short because - well, I know you don't care very much. That and I am a very busy person doing very important things.

Saturday night I had a party at my house. You know, on a side note - at what age do you stop having regular parties where everyone comes over and drinks and you start having dinner parties, or those kind of house parties where there is a bartender and caterers? All of my parties are the same. 20 friends come over, drink shit tons of alcohol and smoke on my back porch, until someone suggests we play a drinking game. Then 10 of us play stupid games around my kitchen table while the other 6 keep drinking while watching football on TV. Two people will probably have sex in one room of my house. Two people will leave early because they have kids, and having kids turns you into a gigantic pussy who can't stay out past 10:00.

Well this party ended when everyone was too drunk to see the playing cards, and with me checking my home owner's policy to see if it would cover a drunk driving accident. I thought it would, so everyone got to be on their merry little ways. And I got to feel secure in the knowledge that some insurance company would have to pay for the inevitable accident rather than me.

When everyone left, the girlfriend says to me, "hey - someone left a cell phone."

I excitedly checked it out. The cell phone belonged to my friend, Crystal. Plans immediately began being made for how to most appropriately use the lost cell phone to have some fun. On a side note here, having a girlfriend is trouble for me in these situations. Especially given just how awesome I really am. If she had not been there, I would have seen the cell phone, put it on the table and thought about all of the funny stuff to do. Then I would have fallen asleep after furiously masturbating to that picture I downloaded last week of that chick from that high school musical show. Since she is there I have an audience, and I also don't have a reason to masturbate (P.S. I'm sorry girl from high school musical that I have neglected masturbating to you since I downloaded you last week. I promise to get around to it. It's not you, it's me. I've been really busy. I've been getting some non-solo sex. I'm sorry. I'll do better next week I promise).

So we finally voted and decided the best plan was to send random text messages to mutual friends. Here are the text messages in order:

To her roommate (who was out of town): I can't wait for you to get back. I've been thinking a lot about "us" and I think we should take it to the next level.

To Amy (another single girl also at the party): Great time tonight! You looked hot by the way. Maybe just the two of us could go out some time and get to know each other better. I hope you know what I mean by that.

To Chuck (a guy that was not at the party - and who is married) Missed a great party at G.R.'s house. Too bad you and [wife] couldn't make it because I can't stop thinking about that tight dress she wore when I saw her last.

To Denise (her best friend): I think I am having feelings for Garrett! What should I do? I can't stop thinking about him and touching myself!

At this point, I got bored. It takes a long time to text all of that. We decided one final message would be appropriate. But I couldn't decide on what to do. Maybe I was too drunk to think clearly. Maybe I wanted to get the texting over with so some inappropriate and fairly degrading (to me) sexual activity could take place. I don't know, but I decided the final message should be sent to everyone in her contact list. That's right. Everyone.

It read: "To Everyone: I'm drunk and looking for a hook up! Call me!!!!" Then I turned off her phone and left it at that.

Cue the furious phone call the next morning. She was okay with the messages I sent to her roommate (the roommate alerted her to my joke with a phone call at 7:00 am). She was okay with the messages I sent to Amy and Chuck. She thought the one to Denise was hilarious. What she was not okay with was me telling everyone in her contact list that she was drunk and looking for a piece of ass. What I wasn't thinking about was the fact that her mother, her grandmother, her boss, her father (who is in Thailand or something), her childhood friends, and several people from her church were on that list. Oops.

Okay, I admit. This is one of the worst things I have done. I screwed up. I'm probably an asshole. However, in my defense I didn't do it to be an asshole. I just didn't think. I think she is going to forgive me. I told her I was sorry, and that I would bring her the phone. She said she didn't want it back. She told everyone who called her that the phone was stolen. She is getting a new one this week. But really, she shouldn't leave her phone just laying around!

Okay, let me have it. I'm an asshole.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Why Didn't Al Gore Invent This Thing in 1988?

This week some lucky f-ing eleven year olds got to see some porn action.

The story is here: Fifth-Graders Mistakenly Shown Part of Porn Movie

I hate to sound old and bitter here (maybe I am though), but kids today do not realize how lucky they have it. When I was a kid there were only two sources of porn:

1) The rack of dirty magazines behind the counter at your local 7-11, totally inacessible to a 12 year old, porn craving kid who is eager to learn about his changing body.

2) The collection of late 1970's porn videos belonging to your friend's dad that he kept in the top of his closet. At first this would seem like a good option for porn watching, until you consider the prospect of your friend's parents coming home early from work to find you and another 12 year old boy sitting on the couch watching two overly-pubed people sweating and moaning into the camera in an abandoned warehouse (or some such thing - these are just examples people). Also included in this category are the friend's dad's collection of Playboys stashed in a box in the attic. However, looking at Playboy magazines from 1962 with a flashlight in a 135 degree attic is not as fun as it sounds.

A third option that only receives an honorable mention is the glimpse of porn you get when you tune the sattelite receiver in between two dirty stations and you get static-filled, black and white, no sound images of some sort of body movement, possibly involving intercourse.

Kids today have shit tons of porn available at a moment's notice. If you google "pussy" you get 55.7 million hits. 55 million! It's just not fair. Do you know how badly I wished to see vaginas when I was a kid? Hell, I bet half of all high schooler's iPods are filled to the brim with porn videos today. Not Fair. Now, according to Fox News, they are even getting porn on school computers during class. The teacher thought it was a Star Wars video. My Ass. That is because he labeled all of his porn collection with movie names so his wife wouldn't find them.

Damn those lucky little bastard kids and their prolific porn watching.

Of course, for the rest of their lives those kids will have a whole new meaning for "Use the Force, Luke."

Or maybe it is, "Show Me Your Force, Luke!"

(or possibly, "Your Force is So Big, Luke!")

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


Being in a relationship can be fun. As some of you know - I've been dating a girl. (By the way, her name is Susan - she would "prefer it" if I didn't talk about her on here. I told her, "don't be silly. If I mention you on the blog, it's not about you. It's always about me.") I'm learning all kinds of super fantastic things.

For example: Apparently, the best answer to the question of "you know what we should try this weekend?" is not "anal sex?"

You learn something every day, I suppose. (It turns out she was thinking more along the lines of trying a new Indian restaurant.)

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Always Sunny

I can't tell you how excited I am for the third season of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia coming in September. There is an 88% chance that it is the funniest show on TV (and I know because I am expert on funny things). I believe the first episode, "The Gang Finds a Dumpster Baby" airs September 13.

What am I - a fucking commercial? I need something to happen to me so I can write about it. However, when your days are spent having constant sex, drinking excessively and Rhymin' & Stealin' there is not a lot to write about.

Oh, here is a promo for that show that is pretty f-ing hilarious. However, only watch it if you are okay with getting immediately fired, escorted from your building and your phones being tapped by the FBI. Just kind of kidding. It's not really that bad - there is no nudity, but they do use the "f word" (that would be "fuck") and say "blowjob" about 20 times. And it has Fred Savage in the Clip (not on the show). Enjoy!

UPDATE: (P.S. I've been getting hundreds of e-mails telling me the video is not working. It works for me, so screw you. For real though, I suck at these things so I don't know how to fix it. It took me a half hour just to get it the right size. For those of you that can't get the video to work, Here is the Link.)

Danny DeVito & The Contract

Monday, August 27, 2007


Monday morning is here. The hangover is just now starting to clear (but it's not gone yet). I was drunk from Wednesday night until Sunday morning. What a life I lead.

One story I forgot to share was about my hangover from Friday morning. A bunch of people went out to dinner Friday night. Actually, we went out for drinks at a restaurant it seems. It was me and 6 rich bastards. They were buying. We started at a hotel bar before dinner and I had 3 vodka tonics. (I don't know about you, but I have always heard the acceptable recipe for vodka tonic is 1 part vodka, two parts tonic. This bartender apparently liked to reverse that mixture). We were only there for a half hour. Then we went to the restaurant were I ate grilled shark with 2 more vodka tonics. By the time dinner was over I couldn't focus my eyes very well across the table. Dinner lasted two hours and everyone was shit faced. (I saw one guy leave a $200 tip on a $400 bill). We went to a another bar near the restaurant, where I decided I had already had too much to drink (so I switched to beer). 3 draft beers later and I could feel myself slumping in my chair.

When I got home, no big deal. I actually felt pretty good. I drunkenly played some guitar. I played with my doggy. (That is not a euphemism - I actually played with my dog), and then I sat down to watch some TV. That is when I realized things were bad. It was a TV spinning, nauseated, must close eyes before I fall out of my chair, kind of feeling. As I sat in my char in a shirt and tie with my eyes closed, I fell fast asleep (read: I passed out in my clothes in front of the TV). I woke up Friday morning at 5:00 a.m. with a pain in my back from sleeping in a straight up position. I sat there for 10 minutes trying to figure out what the hell happened.

Cue the vomit scene. That's right my friends, I threw up. Big time. Everything came up. (At one point I swear I saw a part of a fin). I did this two more times while getting ready for work. After the third vomit scene I started to feel better and drove in. I had a 9:00 meeting which I was required to attend. At 9:15 I politely excused myself from the meeting and walked calmly to the restroom where I vomited again. I wiped the tears from the eyes (I don't hurl pretty), popped a mint in my mouth, straightened the tie and returned to the meeting. My God, I am trooper. Eight hours later I was on my second beer and discussing which waitress at the bar had the best breasts.

Now I am not drinking again for two years. (or this Friday, whichever comes first). I have pain all over my body and my eyes are continuously bloodshot. That isn't going away for some reason. It is probably unrelated to the drinking. I bet I have eye cancer.

I need a drink.

Saturday, August 25, 2007


What lucky, lucky little people you all are. You are all witnesses to my first ever drunk blog posting. For those of you who can't tell, this is me drunk. What? No, assholes. This ISN'T what I am always like. Drunk posting isn't good enough for you? Well - okay. I'll also share this little secret with you. I'm naked too. How's that for excitement? Drunk and naked and sitting at my computer.

I've been entertaining important people yesterday and today. For the most part this involves shit tons of drinking, listening to old, married men talk about picking up some "bitches," listening to 25 jokes that begin with, "did you hear about the jewish guy who. . . " and getting drunk under the table by 10, 60 year old men. (drunk under the table doesn't sound right. . . Is that right?)

All night tonight I thought of fantastic stories that I was going to tell. Now that I am home and drunk, I can't remember any of them. Oh, I remember one thing I was going to say. You know what happiness is? Sitting in a business meeting and seeing a conservative 28 year old business girl wearing a business girl suit stretch across a conference table to reveal a pink dental floss thong under her business girl suit. Nice. Very nice.

Well fuck me. Now I don't have anything else to say. Fuck it.

Why didn't I get that business girl's number today? I couldn't think of a good line at the end of the meeting. How many times do have to go out with someone before it is no longer okay to ask out a pink thong wearing business girl? Hmm. Maybe I was just kidding a few lines ago when I said something about asking that girl out. Yeah, that was a joke. Totally kidding about that.

You know what? I wish I could be drunk all of the time. Being drunk is fucking awesome. I don't know if you knew that or not. But it is. It rules, actually.

Okay, I sound stupid now so I'm hitting "publish post" and calling it a night.

Word to your collective mothers and such. (Jesus God, you would think being drunk would make me sound cooler and at least a little funnier).

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Three Things Happened Today

The time is now 11:00 and I just got home from work. God I love my job. Don't these people know that it is hard to keep a blog going when I spend 15 hours a day sitting in the exact same spot staring at the exact same computer?

Three things happened today:

1) I ate some amazing chicken fried steak. It was awesome. It moved me. That's all I have to say about that.

2) While on the way back from eating said chicken fried steak, I passed a couple who were wearing matching pink polo shirts. I bet they were both under 21. She was wearing jean shorts and he was wearing jeans. His hair was spiked straight up. Man, what has your life come to when you wake up in the morning, you see two pink polos hanging in the closet, and you roll over to your girlfriend and give her a look as if to say,"let's do this." I really hope these people were on vacation or something because otherwise he might have run in to someone he knows. What the hell would he do then? How can you look any buddy in the face while you are wearing the same pink polo shirt as your girlfriend. At least they didn't both have popped collars.

3) I thought about using the restroom to masturbate at about 9:15. I decided against it when I thought about how much work it would be to have to walk all the way to the bathroom, think about sex-like things, keep erection for minutes a time, etc. Way too much work.

A fourth thing happened just right now - I had a realization that I used to have funny things to write approximately 15% of the time. This number has now dropped to less than 5%. God I suck. No masturbation energy and a crap blog. Life is grand. I need a drink.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Burt Reynolds' Mustache


That's right. I'm over there again. Can you believe I am up so early on a Sunday and writing some story for a blog involving the upper lip hair of a 1980s film star? Me either. You know what it means though? That's right. It's that good. Go take a look.

Friday, August 17, 2007

A Date.

Shhh. Don't tell anyone about this. I had a girl over last night. It was what some people call "a date." It wasn't a first date, but rather a come-over-and-watch-a-movie-or-something-kind-of-date. We made some popcorn, we rented a movie. We made out, yada, yada, yada - it was fun. What can I say? I am a romantic, big spender. I bought the microwave popcorn ahead of time. I paid for the Blockbuster rental. I provided the electricity for the TV - I really went all out for this date.

Anyway, there was a small problem - the movie choice. We ended up not watching the movie we rented, and instead watched a movie that I had TIVOd for myself. She found it while scrolling through my recorded list. The movie was The Greatest Game Ever Played. I don't know if you know this movie, but I had not heard of it before I recorded it. It stars the Shia LaBeouf as golfer Francis Ouimet. It is set in 1913 and centers around the U.S. Open Championship.

Before I get into this let me ruin the movie for you. If you don't want to know then stop reading now. Anyway, Francis Ouimet is 20 years old or something and gives up the game of golf at the demand of his father. His father works in a coal mine and believes that golf is for the upper class, etc. (Of course, at that time it was for professionals and the upper class). There is a bunch of dialogue about how he should "know his place" and so on. Well young Francis gets in invitation to play in the U.S. Open and goes against his father's wishes to play in the tournament against the world's greatest golfers. Before the tournament there is a confrontation, and Francis' father demands that he quit. Francis says he can't do that, and the father tells him that he has to find someplace else to live.

So the tournament goes on, and at the end of Round three, Francis is closing in on the professionals (against all odds by the way). On the 18th hole of the final round, Francis has a chance to tie the lead and send the tournament into a three-way playoff. Just before his final putt, the mother throws down her laundry she was hanging out to dry, and runs to the course to witness the final putt. She cheers wildly with the crowd as he makes it. The whole country goes crazy for young Francis, who is an international phenomenon. Even the President comes to watch him play, but his father still won't acknowledge him or his accomplishment. During the final round playoff, it comes down to a four foot putt (or so). If he makes it, he wins the U.S. Open as the first Amateur to ever win the tournament, and only the second American to win. Of course, he sinks it and the crowd goes crazy. They lift him onto their shoulders and carry him around the course. People are throwing money at him, and he shouts, "I can't take it. I can't take it." (Because he is an amateur). He yells to the crowd to pass the hat for his caddy to have the money. He taking money on the shoulders of the crowd for his caddy, and he reaches down to take someone's $1 dollar bill. When he does, he looks into the eyes of who is handing it to him. It is his father - still dirty from the coal mine - waiving a coal dust-covered $1 bill at him. His father looks up at him with a proud smile and they hug each other as the mother looks on from outside the crowd, with tears in her eyes that her husband and son have reconnected, and the father demonstrated his love and pride for his son.

The End.

The problem? I challenge any man in the world to watch that movie and not get a little teary-eyed at the ending. It cannot be done. The father showing how proud he is of the son. The against-all-odds sports story. The super-dramatic climax of the movie with the crowd cheering and the mother crying with pride and love for her family. Jesus God. I am getting a little misty right now just thinking about it.

So we are sitting on my couch watching that, and I am biting my tongue to cause enough pain so that I don't tear up. The credits roll, and she looks over at me, with tears in her eyes, and says, "That was a really good movie." I hop up quickly and say, "yeah, it was okay." But my voice cracked a little. Damn me and my flawed emotions. She didn't say anything, but I think she knew.

Tomorrow night we are watching 300. I can't risk that whole scene again.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Threesome Talks

How is everyone today? I'm busy. Thank you for asking, that is so nice of you. I just reviewed my "to-do list" and it has reached two pages, single spaced, 10 point font. Being the model of organized efficiency that I am, my to-do list is prioritized by immediacy. So the top-priority items are things that need to be completed today, and if all else fails, they must be done tomorrow. I have 13 items in the top-priority category. I may be in trouble. I can't be sure, but I may actually have to consider doing some work at this place where they pay me shit-tons of money and give me a desk and at least four different color pens (and both green and yellow highlighters to work with).

Okay, enough of my whining. I do have a short little story. On Saturday I went out drinking with a medium-sized group of friends. That would be 6. As every conversation I have ever been a part of tends to do, the topic eventually turned to The Sex. I don't know when that phenomenon began exactly, but as I sit here now I cannot recall any conversation I have ever had outside the presence of work or family that didn't turn to sex. I thought about this intriguing factoid a few months ago and reached one conclusion on why this occurs. Men turn the conversation to sex because they want tips and pointers from me. Who wouldn't? Women turn the conversation to sex because they want to bed me. Who wouldn't?

So someone mentions threesomes.

Girl 1 says, "no way am I ever having a threesome!"

Girl 2: "I don't know - I don't think I would. Wait, would it be two guys or two girls?"

Girl 1: "Could be either. Which would you prefer?"

Girl 2: "It would definitely have to be two guys. I want all of the attention on me. I would feel pretty stupid laying there with nothing to do while the guy does stuff to the other girl. What would I do? Just watch?"

Girl 1: "I don't know. You wouldn't want to just sit around. You have to DO stuff."

Girl 2: "If it were two guys I might feel weird with the other guy just sitting there during the lulls in action."

Garrett: (Hoping to keep this conversation going for as long as possible) "You wouldn't let them both do stuff at the same time. If you know what I mean."

Girl 2: Like what?

Garrett: Like double penetration. . .

Girl 2: No fucking way!

Garrett: What about one guy downtown and one guy getting oral? (I don't know why we were using these stupid euphemisms - but we just were. I guess I didn't want to be so vulgar as to talk about double penetration using real names for body parts and what not)

Girl 2: I don't think I could concentrate on the oral.

Girl 3: I've had a threesome.

Everyone turns and stares at Kim who has not been participating much in the sex talks. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about Kim. She seem normal enough. She comes out occasionally with her friend, who is a part of the regular group. She is good looking. She drinks moderately. She dances when appropriate, and laughs at my jokes. She is totally normal in every respect. Like I said, I don't know her that well.

Girl 1: Was it two guys or two girls?

Kim: Two guys. One was my boyfriend. The other guy was his best friend. This was about 6 years ago.

Girl 1: How did it happen. Did you seduce the friend?

Kim: We were all drinking one night, and we all got really, really drunk. My boyfriend and I started making out and his friend kissed me too. Things just went from there.

Girl 2: So how did it work. What did the friend do while you were getting nailed by your boyfriend?

Kim: Well I didn't offer to give him oral. They took turns.

Girl 2: Right, but what did the other guy do when he wasn't doing the nailing?

Kim: You know, he used his hands, talked dirty - that sort of thing.

Girl 2: What do you mean "used his hands?"

Kim: Just rubbed on us.

Girl 2: Us?

Kim: (looking a little red) On my breasts - on him - just rubbed I guess.

Girl 2: He rubbed on him? Where?

Kim: On his ass and stuff.

Girl 2: . . .

Girl 1: . . .

Everyone else: . . .

I took a long drink of my beer, cleared my throat, and began: Your boyfriend's best friend rubbed your boyfriend's ass while he was doing you?

Kim: I guess [She began to look a little nervous what with everyone staring at her]

Garrett: Your boyfriend, thrusting in and out [I make a little hip movement in my seat to emphasize my point here] and at the same time, his best friend's hand is caressing his naked ass?

Kim: Okay, I don't want to talk about this if you guys are going to just make fun of me.

Garrett: Was there any man spanking involved?

Kim: Garrett, stop, okay?

Garrett: Maybe your boyfriend had hip problems, and his friend was just spotting him to help with the thrusting.


Garrett: He didn't slip in a finger in, well you know where, did he?

Kim: Okay, I'm leaving.

Garrett: Okay, in all seriousness. Kim, I am going to tell you this as seriously as I can. You got seduced by two clearly bisexual men.

Kim: Shut up. They were just in the moment.

Garrett: No, I have to disagree. Never, not even in the moment, do 100% straight men stroke other naked man asses. They have probably been getting naked with each other since high school and try to seduce each others' girlfriends every chance they get. I'd say there is a better than average chance they liquored you up and used you as a gay sex scene prop.

Kim looked at her beer for a few seconds, then shook her head looked up at us and said, "I fucking hate you guys."

What can I say? I am all about ruining the fond threesome memories of others. However, I can say that I have now firmly made up my mind that if I have a threesome possibility I will only accept on the grounds that it is two women and not another guy with a girl. What if I am mid-thrust and I get an ass-rub? I have to think it would throw off my rhythm at the very least.

Then again, who couldn't use a good ass rub and some dirty talk during mid-deed?

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Comment Responding 2d

If the last post was the worst post ever (according to some), this will be the second worst ever. So just prepare yourself now. What will follow are very poor attempts at witty banter. If you are easily shocked - please do not read on. (I can't lie - there is nothing shocking in this post - I just wanted to get you to read the whole thing)

From I'm Exhausted:
At August 02, 2007 6:55 AM, TK said...

What the FUCK? Man, your bathroom is like a war zone - shit in the trash can, vomit everywhere... how do you ever go back? And how do you ever have company over again?

Who can you trust, Garrett?

GR Response: I know. As I was cleaning up vomit, I was thinking to myself, "I am 31 years old and I am cleaning a friend's vomit after a night of drinking - what has become of my life." My bathroom has seen some hard times. It seems obvious that I am going to have to install security cameras in the bathrooms of my house. Come on over ladies!
At August 02, 2007 8:39 AM, onthevirg said...

Man walking into a room that's been stewing in puke all day. That's the opposite of good times right there. I think your friend deserves a dickpunch with no warning whatsoever the next time you two meet.

At the very least you need to get shit faced on several types of alcohol (thereby insuring vomiting) at his house warming party. Then proceed to puke at random around his house. Or him. Take your pick.

GR Response: It was very much the opposite of good times. He made a half-assed attempt at cleaning it up - but you could tell it was just kind of smeared around. Fucking ass. I am still pissed about it. Most of the "chunks" were gone, but not all. There were still some in the not-in-plain-site places like behind the toilet and on the wall behind the trashcan. Fucker. I am plotting revenge. A dickpunch - although satisfying - is not nearly harsh enough revenge. Puke would be fitting, but I am not a good vommiter. I tend to, you know, burst blood vessels in my eyes and shit when I hurl - so that is out. I'll think of something good.
At August 02, 2007 8:50 AM, New Texan said...

Well, if your friend did find a house in the area, I would suggest you take your revenge there... nothing says "new home smell" like a turd cooked on a skillet all day while he was at work. The great part of this is that you don't really destroy anything (other than the skillet) and the smell will take hours to go away. Best to do this when it is too cold outside (tough around here) to open a bunch of windows.

GR Response: That actually made me a little sick to my stomach to think of a turd cooking in a skillet. I don't know if I have the stomach to sauté a piece of shit. Maybe a crock pot full of shit? A crap piece baking in the oven? I feel ill now.
At August 02, 2007 11:15 AM, Erica AP said...

What about using the word, "Shlong" instead of "Wang"? Just and idea. It's pretty fun to
say out loud too.

GR Response: Shlong just might work. I just googled shlong to see if that was the correct spelling (apparently both shlong and schlong are accepted). Welcome to me getting fired any day now.
At August 02, 2007 11:29 AM, Jason said...

Just think - if the evening had evolved into a gay scene(which is cool, btw), you would've gotten off AND avoided the mass cleaning.

GR Response: Jason, I am not sure how it could evolve into a gay scene. How do those things work? Who decides each party's respective roles? I mean, in Brokeback - one cowboy turned the other over, spit, and went to town. In real life, wouldn't there have to be more conversation than that? What if cowboy number 2 had said, "Whoa there [cowboy reference], I don't want to be on bottom. You be on bottom." Then they would have had to stop and discuss the whole thing - and it would have just ended very, very awkwardly. Obviously, I don't understand these things very well.
At August 02, 2007 1:46 PM, mindy said...

This is the sexiest post I've ever read. Thank you.

GR Response: All of my posts are sexy. I exude sexiness, and it just comes out in the writing. I can't help it. It just does. It is my gift to you, Mindy. I give you the gift of sexiness. Take it and enjoy it.
At August 02, 2007 2:17 PM, A Lover and a Fighter said...

garrett- your friends may suck. i suggest getting new ones.

on another note, i will never piss off new texan. he's a vicious fothermucker.

GR Response: I am thinking about getting new friends. Where did these friends come from? Maybe I should just stop inviting people over to my house because everyone that comes over seems to have weird bathroom habits that I don't want to deal with. (and I am now scared of New Texan a bit)
At August 02, 2007 2:55 PM, Scottsdale Girl said...

I should send this post to the boyfriend, he was RILLY angry at me earlier because I left the dogs IN. They apparently shit all over the house.

But, you win.

GR Response: I have a very big dog, and she has, in the past, shit in the house. I will gladly scrub dog shit out of individual rug fibers any day over cleaning vomit.
At August 02, 2007 3:01 PM, kelsi said...

this is why blogging is awesome. because now? we know everything.
thank you so much for sharing... everything.

GR Response: I'm glad you like to hear it all, but to be honest it is not just people that read the blog that get to hear about my love for Drew Barrymore in Playboy, circa 1995 - or my love of masturbation - or my love of Barrymore-related masturbation. I tell everyone. I'm a sharer.
At August 02, 2007 3:43 PM, blythe said...

two words: upper deck.

do it. for revenge. not for fun at home alone.

GR Response: How you know the term "upper deck" has me very worried. Have you done this before? How does it work? Do you hover above the tank? What if you miss? Do you sit on the tank? What if the tank breaks from sitting on it and you get a porcelain shard to the rectum? Please report back on these things.
At August 02, 2007 4:02 PM, Mortarbored said...

One time I had to clean up my girlfriend's puke after she projectile vomited in a stranger's bathroom. I wiped with tissue, and we just walked out and left. Classy shit.

GR Response: If it was a stranger's bathroom - that is the only possible course of action. Cover and run. Get the hell out of there. What a trooper for cleaning up a girlfriend's puke though. She must have done something good for you to wipe the contents of her stomach with a tissue. I think I would have just grabbed the girl, locked the door behind me, told the host, "hey your bathroom is locked and there is no one in there" and then fled the scene.
At August 02, 2007 4:21 PM, Snow White said...

Okay, I read through the steps twice looking for the prefix "ex" before the word friend. Did this friend at least have an excuse when you called? Oh, and could staying up late and drinking have anything to do with why the meetings have been so hard to sit through?

No matter, I'm glad you're back posting!

GR Response: His excuse was, "Dude, I cleaned it up! What's your problem?" I'll still be his friend because I am certain that I will, one day, do something to him that is just as bad. You know - fuck is girlfriend - get him fired - accidentally stab him - something along those lines.
At August 02, 2007 10:24 PM, carrie said...

You are funny!!! you rule!! :)

GR Response: Thank you Carrie. You receive the Number One Commenter of the Day Award. You other people could learn from Carrie. (I promise I am not "carrie" leaving comments for myself).
At August 03, 2007 4:53 AM, HAR said...

I don't know which is funnier, your post or the comments.

"I think your friend deserves a dickpunch with no warning whatsoever the next time you two meet."

The mental image made me lmao.

GR Response: HAR - The post is most definitely funnier. Although I guess the comments do have some humor to them. A dickpunch is only funny if you are the dickpuncher and not the dickpunchee.
At August 03, 2007 11:18 AM, DanjerusKurves said...

When your friend gets a new place, try prying up random corners of the carpet and placing anchovies or raw shrimp underneath ... ;)

GR Response: That is a suggestion I just actually might be able to pull off. Except for - how do I smuggle raw shrimp into his house? Friend - "Dude, you smell a little like fish." GR - "What? Fish? I don't smell fish." Friend - "I definitely smell a fish-like odor" GR - "Tell you girlfriend to clean that shit out every once in a while then!" (Okay - maybe that was over the line)
At August 03, 2007 11:46 AM, So@24 said...

ahhh, the ol' cleaning up your friends' stomach contents. i love the nights when you dont even know which of your friends to call a "cunt"... it could have been any of them.

GR Response: Friends suck - but I will happily call all of them a cunt - I don't mind - I don't have to pick just one.
At August 03, 2007 6:31 PM, blythe said...

hey there,

since saturday night's alright for fighting, i would imagine that friday's fantastic for upper decking. let me know how it goes?


GR Response: Blythe: Did you just quote an Elton John song on my blog? I love the xoxo at the bottom of your comment about upper decking. And the sign off of -b. I feel like we are BFF now. Except for your obsession with upper decking. I am going to need some time to get past that.
At August 04, 2007 10:32 PM, dmbmeg said...

my exact comment til I read yours: two words: top shelf

I can only imagine we meant the same thing.

you and your friends sound like a bunch of alcoholics. I suggest getting help.

GR Response: DmbMeg: How could I possibly have guessed that you would most relate to Blythe's comment. You two are like degenerate kindred spirits. My friends ARE alcoholics. Not me though. I can quit any time I want. I just don't want to. Instead, I think I'll just get rid of my friends. Getting drunk alone in my darkened house while playing "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" on my 6-string sounds better anyway.
At August 05, 2007 2:05 PM, Winter said...

I disagree with Dmbmeg, I suggest you drink more and then post pictures.

GR Response: Pictures of what? Not the vomit I hope. If I posted pictures while drunk, they would just all end up being pictures of my penis. No one wants that. Trust me.
At August 05, 2007 7:02 PM, Irish and Jew said...

Hmmm revenge... I really hope u come up with something good. May I suggest filling all the bottles of booze at yr place with water. Very very cruel.


PS: I used to teach waterskiing :)

GR Response: You used to teach waterskiing? I am now officially fascinated by you. Next summer is the summer of learning to barefoot. I will either die from it - or become irresistible to women. I can't wait.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Comment Responding

I have been so bad about responding to comments lately. For that, I apologize. To make up for it, I am making sure I respond to every past comment (Disclaimer: I am only starting with the post before last, and I am not necessarily promising that I will respond to comments in this post). The best way to do this is for me to just do a full post with your comments in it. This makes it easier for you to read because you don't have to go back and read the old posts and comments to see the hilarious things I wrote and will write. It also makes is harder for me because I have to cut and paste and format and shit.

If you are reading this site semi-regularly (meaning you stumble back in here every other month when you are drunk) and don't read the comments you are missing out because 1) there are people writing shit in the comments that is much funnier than anything I throw together, 2) the comments section is how you find the hot girl-bloggers, and 3) Occasionally I post a link in the comments section to a photo of my naked ass. Okay, I don't actually do that, but If you want to see my naked ass I will happily photograph it and send you a copy. (P.S. - Before responding, check yourself to make sure you are okay with light to moderate ass-hair).

From The Return Of Lisa:

CJ said...

dmbmeg- I've been locked out of my dorm room many times, but I was in the opposite situation... the sexin' wasn't happening inside the dorm room as much as it was on the outside of it.

Yeah, those were good drunkin' times.

Fun fact about the University of Oregon dorm rooms: the same guy who designed them, also designed the majority of prisons up and down the west coast...

GR Response: Why is it that DmbMeg gets more comments here than I do? Do you mean you got locked out of your dorm room and decided to go ahead and have the sex in the hall? If so, very cool. I have never done that, but I did once break up a fight between two drunk girls who had ripped each other's shirts and were semi-topless. I accidentally touched a breast during the melee. Damn, the good times I used to have. Crazy good times.

Snow White said...

Hmmm... I think some guys shave "down there" 'cause they think they're more likely to get,um, a little mouth action? Sorry, I guess I don't have your way with tact. *grin*

GR Response: Are you telling me that If I went bald "down there," there would be girls who might otherwise refuse oral action that would now gladly "go down town?" I have never had a girl refuse a blow job by saying, "I'm sorry I would like to, but you just have too much damn pubic hair." Normally, the response is, "I'm sorry, but if you want a blow job you need 10 more dollars."

Winter said...

I like the idea of it being pink and in the shape of a heart.

GR Response: If you ever find a guy that will shave it in the shape of heart, and color it pink, you have got a hold on to that guy because you will never ever meet another guy more pussy-whipped than that.

HAR said...

"I never fight with the ladies because 1) I am not a douche, and 2) The hot girls don't really "go out with me" per se." High five.

GR Response: Hive five right back at you. Was the high five for not being a douche or because I don't get any action?

TK said...

You're psychotic. Who on Earth asks that question? Awesome, man. I'd never do it, but I sure as hell am glad that I know someone who would.

GR Response: TK, I can honestly say without bullshit that I didn't think the question was THAT bad. I have since polled my friends in real life, and on this blog, and have learned that no one, anywhere, can believe I asked that. I mean, I knew it was somewhat inappropriate. I knew it was a little harsh, insensitive and possibly offensive, but I didn't think it was really, really offensive or anything. Turns out, I may be a heartless prick. Who knew? You saying, "you're psychotic" is one of the tamer responses I have received. Most people have called me a fucking asshole, homophobe, tactless fucking prick, or (my favorite) a miserable heartless son of a bitch. You live, you learn I guess.

onthevirg said...

That has to be a 985 out of 10 on inappropriate break room banter scale. I applaud your fine work sir. On the plus side, though she may never speak to you again, at least she didn't straight kick you in the nuts.

GR Response: You're right, of course. I guess I am lucky I didn't a kick to the ball baggage. However, she is speaking to me. She didn't seem that mad about it the next day. I don't think they are back together, but I'm afraid to ask. Shit - I wonder if she will tell him my question if they get back together?

Mortarbored said...

I just found this by reading the blogrolls of people on my blogroll while at work.

I can't believe you actually asked that. Was it one of those immediate regrets where you start wincing right as you start the last word of the question?

GR Response: I knew it sounded bad when I asked it - and that I should have set it up better maybe. But I didn't really expect her anger. I did wince a little as it was coming out. Maybe that is why she reacted the way she did. I've heard that women can sense weakness. They are exactly like wild animals.

kelsi said...

i was going to comment on the post, but then i realized that there's a club here that i'm not part of. :(

nonetheless - i'm totally into breaking into conversations and making everyone all awkward, so - she's clearly waaaaaay too uptight to be dealt with like a human being, if she couldn't shrug off the suggestion that she's been married to a gay guy for the last couple of years.

just sayin'.

GR Response: There's no club to be a part of. Most of these people just showed up here one day and started making fun of me. Like my birthday parties, only with more anonymity. Now if only I could get my uncle to comment by telling sexually explicit jokes to my friends it would be just like home.

Thanks for being on my side. I keep telling people who tell me what an ass I am that she needs to lighten up. My personal belief is that she reacted so strongly because she feels, deep down, that I may be right.

Okay - that is all I've got. The cutting and pasting is killing me. Maybe I'll get to the next post later. Word to your mothers and what not.

Monday, August 06, 2007

I've Been Away

As I alluded to in my previous post, I was out last week in some meetings. I was totally gone Thursday and Friday (on assignment, as I like to say), and I avoided computer contact most of the weekend. What did this blogging semi-hiatus make me realize? I read way too many blogs.

Total number of non-spam, work related e-mails in my inbox Monday morning: 7

Total number of blog posts unread, according to Google Reader: 100+

How many is 100+ exactly? I don't really know, but I know that I deleted 20 Overheard in the Office posts and it didn't drop below 100+.

Either I read way too much crap other people have to write, or you other bloggers write way too damn much. So, today I am catching up on reading blogs, responding to comments and posting. After, you know, I read those seven e-mails and check my one voice mail.

On a side note: I passed a car this weekend with a bumper sticker pimping Texas Christian University - The Horned Frogs. The Horned Frog is also known as the Horny Toad. Which led me to the divine revelation that is the TCU Horny Toad's Football Team's new slogan:

"TCU Horny Toads - we have just enough pent-up energy to KICK YOUR ASS!"

Get it? They are both horny AND Christian. Get it? These ideas are gold people.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

I'm Exhausted

I'm exhausted. I know when I begin with a sentence as dramatic as that you expect a fantastically great story probably involving hours (minutes?) of sexual adventure. Normally, if there is one thing I am known for it is sexual adventure. Sexual adventure and waterskiing - those are two things I do well. In reality, I am not known for either of those things. I would like to be though. I would also like to be known for having a large wang. (Although I might actually have to have a large wang to be known for such a feature - but I was not so gifted - it can still be a fantasy though). Come to think of it I would also like to be known for vehemently opposing use of the word 'wang' or writing about 'wangs' in blogs posts.

Anyway - I am exhausted. My days this week have been spent in meetings. I am not talking about those pussy meetings where you sit in a conference room for 30 minutes to discuss your projects and action items and planning your agenda for your next 30 minute meeting. I am talking about all day, ass numbing, want to slit your wrists using your ball point pin, meetings. The kind where you listen to one guy drone on for 6 hours while staring at a giant projection screen on the wall and day dreaming about whether his next slide will be purple or pink.

My nights this week have involved nothing but gin, porn and guitar. I had a friend staying with me this week while he was looking at houses around the area. He did his thing during the day - and we met up each night for heavy drinking. This always devolved into watching porn. When we got bored with that we drank some more. To make it interesting, when I got super drunk each night this week I pulled out my guitar and clumsily played 1990s alt rock songs. I rule by the way.

[After re-reading that paragraph it all sounds pretty gay what with the porn and guitar playing. I promise it wasn't. It was cool. I rule. Just trust me. I rule.]

Last night was my friend's last night here. We drank until 3. I went to work at 8. He left sometime while I was at work. When I got home tonight my plan was to watch Entourage and go to bed (probably masturbate first, but I didn't think I needed to share everything - I might have thought about Drew Barrymore in Playboy, circa 1995 while masturbating - there now you know everything).

Instead, I am came home to a bathroom covered in vomit. Apparently my friendly house guest decided to throw up at some point last night or this morning. He apparently decided to miss the toilet and throw up all over the floor, walls, toilet and door to the bathroom. He also apparently decided to drunkenly try and clean the bathroom using hand towels and Formula 409.

So instead of a lovely night with just me and Drew, I spent the evening scooping chunks of vomit from under my baseboards.

Five steps to cleaning your friend's vomit from your bathroom:

1) Curse like a motherfucking sailor. Use the word 'cunt' no less than four times.

2) Call friend, use the word 'cunt' at least 3 times.

3) Don surgical gloves, acquire spray bottle full of bleach. Curse some more.

4) Use no less than two rolls of paper towels and one toothbrush - scooping, cleansing and brushing.

5) Plot revenge.

So that was my night. Now I don't have time for a good post because I have been knuckle deep in matter that was previously in my friends stomach.

I hope you had a good night, though.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The Return of Lisa

This morning I had a talk with Lisa. You remember Lisa don't you? She with the bare-balled fireman husband. I heard from a co-worker the other day that he heard that Lisa and her husband had separated. (Separated seems to be married-code for "taking a break") I kind of knew this was coming because, like I said before, Lisa and her husband seemed to fight a lot. I always suspected it was because Lisa was hot and her husband was a douche. Hot girls and douches always fight a lot - it is a law of nature. I never fight with the ladies because 1) I am not a douche, and 2) The hot girls don't really "go out with me" per se.

After my last talk with Lisa, I began to wonder if they didn't fight all of the time because her husband was secretly gay and/or a porn star (what with the pube shaving and all). There has to something more to his story than a regular douchey guy who likes to shave the hair from his balls and ball-area to look like he is a 10 year old boy scout. I still don't have the answer to what his deal was, but I learned in the comments to the previous post that some women would be just fine with a shorn pubic region, and at least one preferred it. Most, however, seemed to think it was odd and would prefer a just a trim. I wonder if there are any women out there who request it? What would that conversation be like? What would I do if a girl I was seeing asked me to shave everything off? Hell, I guess if a girl was willing to have the sex with me, I'd dye the pubes pink and shave them in the shape of a heart.

This morning, curiosity got the best of me and I waited for Lisa to head for the breakroom. I followed her in, and thankfully, we were the only people in there. I immediately turned on the charming Garrett you all know and love dearly. I said, "Sorry to hear about you and your husband - yeah Mike told me."

She clearly did not want to talk about this with me over a donut and coffee. She replied only, "thanks," and gave a little smile to convey "thanks for bringing it up asshole - I don't want to talk about it." However, I pressed on. I asked her if she was doing okay. Yes, she was. I asked if she needed anything - help moving, etc. No, she didn't. I asked if the split was fairly amicable. Not really she said.

Then I asked what happened. She told me that they fought a lot, and over the dumbest things (no surprise there - damn those hot girls and douches). She said that one day they got into a big fight about where to go to dinner, and they were yelling at each other, and he said he was moving out. He hasn't been back. He sent a friend to get some of his things.

Then, with clearly no sense of the appropriate lead in to this question, I asked, "Do you think he left because he is gay?" As soon as I asked it, I realized there was no appropriate way to ever ask that question. I realized that it was a pretty offensive thing to ask. I realized I looked like a deranged person. She stared at me - with long, slow blinks of her giant eyes. She pursed her lips together and squinted her eyes a bit. As dumb as my question was to her, I could not tell what her immediate reaction meant. Was it anger at me for asking such an inappropriate question, or anger because she actually thought he might be gay?

She looked at me for a couple of seconds, and then I had my answer. "Do you, Garrett, think he is gay? You don't know him - so I would like to know why you think he is gay? Is there some reason, Garrett, that you think I married a gay man, and couldn't tell for these last two years? Why would you ask me that question?"

I immediately retreated. No reason, I said. I was just shocked by it all. Dumb question to ask. I am stupid, and so on. Then I left.

So I tried to get an answer. I was really hoping he left because he came out of the closet to her. Maybe, I thought - she had had him followed after their split to a gay bar where his hairless body was witnessed dancing the night away to the sounds of The Village People. Perhaps she discovered him on the cover of some gay porn in the days following his departure. Why would she be watching gay porn? Why don't women watch gay porn the way men watch girl-on-girl porn? Anyway. . .

I really wish I had the answer to the question of this guy's pubic hairs.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Top 2 Drunken Moments Experienced Not By Me, But By Someone In The Vicinity of Me

Happy Tuesday everyone. I hope you are, like me, enjoying life by being slightly intoxicated at work (don't tell anyone) and contemplating your chances of scoring with the newest executive assistant hired in the office.

I thought we should celebrate this Tuesday with me telling you of the Top 2 Drunken Moments Experienced Not By Me, But By Someone In The Vicinity of Me.

I know that you have a very strong desire for me to tell you stories that involve stupid things I have done, but I'm not really up for that today. I don't want to tell you about the time I broke into the student union in college and got myself locked in. I am not going to tell you about the time I threw up 12 red, girl drinks on a tour bus at 3:00 am in Colorado. I don't even feel the need to tell you about the time I slept in the bushes outside of my dorm room because I couldn't find my keys (they were in my pocket).

No, today I want to tell you about the misfortune of others. I am what you might call a "caring friend." If there is someone in need, I will be there for them. Of course by that I mean I will be there to laugh, point, call others to laugh and point, and then run when the cops show up. I'm a nice guy like that. Think about it like this: If you are my friend and you get so drunk that you do something stupendously stupid - you most likely are not going to remember it the next day. If you want to know how you ended up with a transvestite hooker in your bed - then I will be there to remind you of the details the next day. Otherwise, how would you ever know what really happened. Plus, no one likes it when others intervene in their drunken escapades. It is best to let the drunkenness flow naturally.

In reverse order - Top 2 Drunk Moments Experienced Not By Me, But By Someone In The Vicinity of Me:

Number 2 - In college, my roommates and I were pre-gaming at our house. This began at 4 p.m. when the last of us got out of class and we went for Taco Bell and beer. At 10:30 (6 and a half hours of drinking later) we decided to go a party of a friend. Only, we remembered from the last time we went to a party of this girl's house that it was impossible to get inside because of how many people showed up, so it basically consisted of a shit ton of people standing around a front yard and drinking. We didn't know if there were going to be kegs there so we decided it was best if we brought a lot of beer. This is when my friend Danny came up with a genius idea: we would go to Wal-Mart and buy an ice chest.

You see, we started talking about what kind of beer we were going to buy, and then started thinking about holding this beer on someone's front lawn like a bunch of idiots. Danny's idea was best summed up by him when he said, "Dudes, if we get an ice chest we'll have some place for our beer, but also a place to sit if we get tired of standing." We were deeply concerned with looking like idiots while holding beer in the middle of a yard, so we decided the remedy of three guys sitting on an ice chest in the middle of a yard would be so much better. Anyway, the fucking ice chest doesn't have anything to do with the story - so quit fixating on it.

So we get to the Wal-Mart. Danny decides we need a cart (for the beer) so he grabs the first one he sees, and yells to my other roommate Joey, "Get in. I'll push." Joey, being the smart guy that he is, jumps in. Danny begins running through the parking lot screaming like an idiot and pushing Joey. After his second lap he gives Joey a final push - which goes straight into the side of a maroon Ford Taurus. Joey flies over the hood on to the pavement in a heap. Danny and I both, being the concerned friends that we are, run directly to the side of the car, where we begin examining the side of the Taurus (which has a huge fucking scratch in it). Joey gets up holding his forearm, which he immediately declares is broken. We tell him to "quit being a pussy" and "to rub some dirt on it and take out his tampon" and other similarly supportive things.

Joey suggests we take him to the ER. Danny tells him we can't do that. He has been drinking, and he'll get arrested - Danny tells Joey. Joey, being the smart guy that he is says, "holy shit, you're right." So we head in to Wal-Mart, buy thirty beers or so, and head on to our party. Of course, Joey can't move his arm and has some pretty bad swelling in it - so he takes off his shirt, makes a sling out of it, and ties it around his shoulder. So there we are, three guys - sitting on an ice chest - one not wearing a shirt because it is wrapped around him in a make-shift sling. The next day, an x-ray revealed Joey's arm was broken in two places. What a trooper. Not one of us got laid that night.

Number 1 - My senior year of college I met a girl. Her name was Natalie. Here is what you need to know about Natalie. She was hot. When you walk into a room full of people there is always the hottest girl in the room. Universally, men can spot the hottest girl in the room within 4 seconds, and 98% of the time it will be the same girl picked by all men. For example, if you took two guys and faced them in the direction of 40 girls standing in a room, one guy could say, "damn - do you see that girl," and the other guy would immediately say, "fuckin' A - she is hot" (That is, of course, if he were the type of guy who says things like "Fuckin' A"). Anyway, Natalie was that girl.

Natalie and I had the sexual intercourse. I tell you this at the front of this paragraph because I am just so fucking proud of it. We did it. We had the sex. Anyway, we had been drinking all night at a karaoke bar. Things progressed and it soon became clear that I would be going to Natalie's apartment. The only problem - Natalie was drinking way too much. I knew that if I didn't have the sex soon, we would be past the point of sexability. Luckily, Natalie held up like the hot girl I knew she was. We both closed the bar with tequila shots. I won't get into the details of the sexual relations, but lets just say - I was amazing. Have you ever been in the middle of the sexing when you think to yourself, "Goddamn I wish I had looked at a clock before I started because this has to be a new record!" Well that was me. I was like Charles Bronson in the 'Great Escape' - I was digging tunnels.

So things in that department came to a end (so to speak). She was blissfully happy (as are most women that encounter me). We decide I am sleeping there because I am way to drunk to make it home. We both fall asleep in her bed. At 4 am - I wake up to her climbing and clawing over the top of me like an insane person. She is yelling, "I'm gonna be sick - move, move!" She makes it over me and runs for the bathroom door. Only she misses the door by 4 feet and runs smack into the wall at full force. I guess impending vomit is way more important than pain and humiliation, so she bounces off of the wall, adjusts course and sprints to the bathroom. Thereafter I was treated to a half hour of vomit-sounds.

Before you berate me and my coldheartedness - I tried to go in and help her, but she locked the door behind her. I don't know why. I knocked and asked if she was okay - she said she was fine - she was sorry - etc. What else could I do? I went back to sleep.

Thirty minutes later, I wake up not knowing where I am or what has happened, but someone is knocking on a door. I get up and go to the front door of the apartment - there is no one there. I return to the bedroom and hear the knocking again - it is coming from the bathroom. Natalie is inside and she is crying.

"Natalie, what's wrong?" I say as I try the knob - still locked.

"My door is broken!" She cries through the door.

"Natalie, its locked - you have to unlock it."

"I CAN'T GET OUT!" She screams at me through the door.

"Okay calm down - do you see the doorknob. . ." It was then that I realize there is no light under the door - the lights were totally out. Then I realize she is not jiggling the door knob like she is tyring to open it. "Natalie - do you have the doorknob?" I hear her scratching at the door, and then -

"I can't find the knob - it's not on the door"

"Natalie - the knob is on the other side - try your left side"

The door knob turns, the door opens and a teary eyed Natalie looks at me and says, "the doorknob was broken." Totally naked and smelling faintly of vomit she slid back into bed. Let me tell you, my lovely little people. She was still hot.

There you have it. The top 2 funniest drunk things (in my opinion) to have ever occurred in my presence. A close third (which I may tell some other time) was my friend getting drunk - pulling out his penis, and telling everyone how big it was. "You can tell how big it is when it is in your mouth" he said.

Have a great Tuesday, and remember that those times when you see only one set of footprints, it was those times when I carried you.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Light Weekend Reading

Well I heard there was some new book on the market this weekend. I don't know much about it, but from what I can tell it has something to do with the homoerotic tales of a prepubescent wizard and his "partner."

While the rest of the world was reading about a young magical boy and his broomstick, I also engaged in a little light reading myself. I know these are nothing compared to Harry Potter and the Hendersons (or whatever the name of the book is), but I liked them. I only had time for four:

The Basic Works of Aristotle, edited by Richard McKeon (A little Metaphysics baby)

Homer's The Odyssey. (Although that Odysseus can be a bit of bitch)

A little Hegel. There's nothing funny about Hegel.

And my favorite of the weekend. Beyond Good & Evil by Friedrich Fucking Nietzsche.

Don't worry - I won't ruin the endings for you.

I hope you all had a fantastic weekend, because I love you and want you to be happy.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Bicycling and Sexism

Three years ago this month, on a street near my house, I witnessed first hand two people peddling a two-person bicycle (a lot of numbers in that sentence). At the time, I remember thinking, "how lovely - a nice couple out enjoying some exercise together." Then they got a little closer and I thought, "Damn that woman really needs to peddle harder - look at that ass - her seat is screaming 'Oh Jesus, put me out of my misery'." My third thought as I passed them was, "I bet that guy doesn't want to enjoy nature with his wife, I bet he suggested this just so he could get his wife's ass out of the 'Look Out It's Gonna Blow!' category." Then I wondered how hard that guy was really peddling. Was he faking it just to give his wife extra exercise?

Over the next three years, I would see several more of these bicycles around town. I later learned they are called Tandem Bicycles. Every single time I saw one of these, it was always ridden by a man and a woman. I guess this is what counts as a fun afternoon for a middle aged couple in the suburbs. Since these sightings began, I have become obsessed with placement of the riders on the bike. Without exception, 100 percent of the time, the man is in the front and the woman in the rear. Let me tell you folks, I find this sexist as hell.

Examples from a basic Google Search:

Look how much fun these people are having. They are riding along, and the rear rider (ha!) is oblivious to the message being sent to the world by her partner. That message, "I'm a fucking Man. Shit, goddamn, I'm a Man. I make more money than my wife and I make her look me in the eyes when she gives me blowjobs."

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What a lovely couple this is. She likes gigantic afro hair. He like tie dye t-shirts and black shoes. He might as well have "If you can read this, the bitch fell off!" printed on the back of that shirt.

This next couple looks like they are having a good time on vacation. They rented a nice tandem bike for a little tour of the city. When they get home, they'll pour a nice cup of coffee and reminisce about the vacation. His mug will have printed on the side: "Women are for making babies," and when they are done talking he'll say, "Bitch! Go make me a sandwich!"

The image “” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.

What the holy shit is this:

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The point to all of this is that I am declaring an end to sexist bicycling ways. No more should women have to stay in the subservient rear position. No longer should they be forced to endure the directional whims of their counterparts. No longer should they be forced to stare at their partners' ass crack for the entirety of a 5 mile ride. We can end this now. We have to band together and form a coalition. Just say no to sexism in cycling.

On a related note, how does a gay couple decide the positioning on a tandem bike? Is it a Top/Bottom thing? Do they flip a coin? I don't know. I don't have the answers to these questions.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Burt Reynolds' Mustache


Today I am posting over at Burt Reynolds' Mustache. Please, for the love of God, go read it and leave a comment. I'm begging you here.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Frito Chili Pie

We here at This Blog is Not Funny, LLC, a subsidiary of Not Funny Blogs, International, wholly owned and operated by Global Chemical Industries, Inc. Worldwide, would like to formally endorse the consumption of Frito Chili Pie for lunch on a weekly or semi-monthly basis. As part of its endorsement, This Blog is Not Funny, LLC, a subsidiary of Not Funny Blogs, International, wholly owned and operated by Global Chemical Industries, Inc. Worldwide, suggests consumers of Frito Chili Pie take the following measures while consuming:

1) Choose a quality chili from a well-known, respected and trusted restaurant or vendor of chilis.

2) Add shredded cheese to the top of the heaping mound of chili.

3) Onions are preferred as a topping by This Blog is Not Funny, LLC, a subsidiary of Not Funny Blogs, International, wholly owned and operated by Global Chemical Industries, Inc. Worldwide.

4) Avoid the Jalapeño if offered. It will only take away from the natural goodness that is the Frito base, and dilute the natural taste that the combination of crunchy diced onions, over hot chili, creates.

5) If possible, request the Frito Chili Pie light on the Fritos. Then buy a second bag of Fritos. As you consume the Frito Chili Pie, add fresh Fritos to the mixture so as to prolong the sensation of fresh crunchy Fritos throughout the course of your dining experience.

If you live in a location that does not serve a Frito Chili Pie, your locale may be Godless and uncivilized. I suggest you move, and may God have mercy on your soul.