Making Whoopi (Goldberg)

So I am at work and notice a two top table just going at it. Me and two other servers stood in comedic disbelief as they licked and pawed each other like a couple of wounded badgers. I don't want to see that. It's nauseating. As I struggle to keep down the polenta I had eaten 5 minutes prior the boyfriend starts stroking her hair as she feeds him. Who the fuck does this? I couldn't help but imagine how lame their sex must be, all gentle and soft. Those two don't have sex, they don't fuck, knock boots or bump uglies. They make love. Love making basically translates to two stiffs gently carassing until someone puts something into someone's Suzanne Somers. I find that term as offensive as most people find the word moist or intrauterine. Let's be honest here, there is nothing lovey about it. You aren't making love, you're making a mess. So the next time I make whoopi I'll make sure to WARSH the love out of my sheets or off the couch.

Where The Wild Pee Roams

The following was a possible dialogue between a few people at an anger management seminar concerning angry peeing. Enjoy.

Piss Mediator Jenkins: Tammy, I want you to answer this question as if it were Rufus answering and I'll be you, mmkay?

Rufus: This ought to be good.

Piss Mediator Jenkins: Rufus, can I get you anything to eat?

Tammy: Yea, a sandwich! It better be the best damn sandwich I ever had or else I's a gonna piss all over you.

Piss Mediator Jenkins: Now Tammy, how does that make you feel?

Tammy: Well, it makes me feel one of two things. One, I feel I better make the best damn sandwich ever but alls we usually got is bologna.

Rufus: Mmhmm,

Piss Mediator Jenkins: And the second?

Tammy: I'm tired of feelin' pee on my wig.

Southern Living

Overheard at the Roller Derby last month:

My husband said that this is a nice combo of NASCAR and Hooters.

The bitch said it very matter of factly too. Only in the South.

Bird Brained

I went to Andrew Bird the other night at Music Farm, a former railroad storage depot downtown. Wowie wow wow wow. The opener was a group by the name of St. Vincent and they were incredible. Never did it feel so good to listen to Andrew Bird than it was that night. It was almost as good as the first time I heard him, in the Rail District of Tempe, on that beautiful night in late Spring 2008. Andrew told the crowd that he had caught ill in New Orleans but there was no indication of any such afflcition. He looked so thin you couldn't even hit him with a handful of corn!

The stage was simple. The only adornment being three phonographs, two large and one double-coned that spun in circles. When the music is that good there is no need for elaborate what-have-yous. As I sipped my club soda, I caught the tiniest peek through the crowd to his feet as he performed Imitosis and couldn't help but think why the hell were his feet so damn pink. If it was because he was sick, shouldn't he put shoes on? I love your music but don't give me Hog Pox! So throughout the remainder of the show, I found myself trying to stare at his feet. Without thinking on was on my tippy toes trying to look only to have people shuffle and ruin my chances of seeing. There I was, in what would have been the equivalent of the 6th row, left of Andrew Bird's center, essentially in front of the men's bathroom with two jovial tone-deaf girls in my ear. That's what I get for waiting too long to bum rush towards the stage.

Craigslist and Loving It!

So the following was a Craigslist ad that I responded under the name Arnie McGillicuddy. I hope to make this a reoccurring feature. This guy really had it going on:

Stick it Through - 56 (North SR51)

Everything is dark outside and inside. Stick your cock through and I will take care of it for you. Quick cummers a plus, married a plus, discreet. The lights on the pics are the flash.
This is perfect for a married str8 guy who wants to get off discreetly, fast. Stick it out, in and cum. Just be MUSCULAR and get hard on anonymous sex. NO recip wanted. Its about you. No drugs bugs or tobacco.
Please send ht wt age for response.
Location: North SR51it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Was he for reals? I'm sure he got a lot of responses. What candor that one! So, here is my response:

Dear Stick it Through,
I want to say that I can't wait to stick it through. Once my gymnastics coach told me to stick it through and I did and I won 4th runner-up at the tri-valley fair. The plaque is on my mantel. You can see it when you visit me for grown man's time. I'm sure we will talk about our exes but that's part of the fourplay right? Tears are sexy! I like that you don't show a "traditional" glory hole in your picture, that's refreshing. I think sheer curtains over one half of sliding glass doors adds to the mystique. I know you profess MUSCULAR but I do ask that you take into account that I had a big late dinner. That endless salad and breadsticks at Olive Garden proves too tempting for some. All I need is your address, some alker seltzer and I ride home so we can do this thing right and discreet. 29 5' 11'' 155 30w. The 29 means I'm aged that way. The 5'11'' actually means I'm 5'9 1/2" and the 155 means how much my student loan payments are and the 30w means I wear that size pants. Well-known for my tumbling and expect you to know how to tumble so we's can rumble. Only looking for semi-casual serious.
-Arnie

I think I made it quite clear what my intentions were. Much to my surprise, Stick It Through was a funny one and responded with this:

Dear -Arnie,

I think you must have read my ad and looked at my pic and I say Marvelous. I am sorry about the lateness of my response due to my bleeding forehead . It was such an exhausting evening doing so many glorious penuses (penii?) I fell asleep blowing the last 3 or so and fell knocked my head repeatedly against the wood above the hole, but the str8 men don't seem to care, as long as the mouth is set at open. Although, I'm not quite sure if 4th runner-up qualifies you into my door at this point I'll give you a what for and see if you can get it up because you claim to have a plaque. I won't see your plaque since I won't be visiting or driving you home and am not sure why you are expecting tears and sexiness since waht I am proposing is cut and dry, in and out. Or do you cry when you orgasm? That might explain a little more. I've switched up the pic of my glory hole to the actual one but am happy to see you at least referenced my sheers but the hole is truly a hole in a board. You have perfect stats if they relate directly to age ht and wt. The age reference seems to imply you are aged beef at 29 years but you might be a different age altogether, so I'm not sure about that one. Nor am I sure about 1.5 inches lopped off your height unless it's because of an on line advantage. If you're 5'9 1/2 " you can still reach through the hole. I am delighted to not read of your penus length. So many straight men love to talk about their length. When it comes down on me or down to it or whatever you like, it should fit partially in my mouth and squirt at some point. Just what are you looking thru? Is this your chit chat because it's more than anyone can bear.
Yours
Stick it thru

Wow. Sex ads really do bring people together!

Kudos from Khina

So I was driving down Society trying to find a parking spot for the gym when I found a sweet little gem that required some parallel parking. I have dramatically improved my PP skills since living in Charleston so I thought, "Piece o' cake!" As I'm parking I look to my left and sitting across a large segment of curb and sidewalk were a slew of Asians. I mean, what are seven Asians doing sitting on their Chairman Maos at this time of the afternoon? Was someone filming something that required so many slanty sams? I didn't see a tour bus anywhere. But at that moment, I couldn't help but feel as if they were my audience as I performed open-park surgery. I pictured them being very pleased with my park job, seeing that Asians can't drive. As I got out of the car I imagined them all standing in cheer and disbelief. One even grabbing the arm of another saying, "Hey, howa he do thata tlick?" The reality of it all is that they all continued to sit there as I parked. No fanfare. No one gave me a fortune cookie that said something asinine like GRAND RICHES AWAIT YOU or THIS IS HOW YOU SAY SEX GAG IN CHINESE. None of that. So this is being 25?

Letting Freedom Ring

I don't want to get hung up on the whole poo thing but I did need to touch on this.  We all know that holidays are times when you get a ton of mass texts from friends and well wishers.  They are never clever.  Just the same old crap you hear every year like HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYONE XOXO or MERRY NATIONAL CHEER UP THE LONELY DAY (July 11).  So the other day, America's birfday, I decided to send one out that showed how truly free we all are.  So to a few people I sent the message I'M POOPING. WHAT BETTER WAY TO CELEBRATE FREEDOM.  It's not too surprising that I received few responses but one response that I did get was pure gold!  My dear friend Shelley replied with two simple words:  EMANCIPATION CONSTIPATION.  God bless this country and the funny people that inhabit it.

Just Sayin'

So I decided to take a nice bike ride across the east side of the peninsula tonight and very much to my delight I witnessed something truly spectacular. This time of year is a time when friends and family are out in their yards having barbeques and whatnot. I turned down Stuart and there he was, all three feet of him. This little chocolate drop was carrying a watermelon that was just as big as he was. I am unable to say that I have such ability. If I were to tell people that I carried a melon about the size of my body they would be amazed. They could call me melon man. I had to stop and witness what was about to take place. Unlike me, the little boy's mother was not one bit happy with him. With a Newport in hand she screamed at him from her porch BOY YOU BETTER BRING ME MA GODDAMN WATERMELON OR YOU FINNA GIT IT! Naturally, at this moment that little boy dropped the melon. He then did something else that made me laugh as I peddled. Instead of picking up the pieces, he looked at the shit storm that awaited him on that porch and that little son of a bitch ran like he was Jesse Owens.

TCU: Tent City University

I can sadly say that I am an alumni of Tent City. The tuition is a bitch and the student to faculty ratio is appalling. That's the price you pay when you drink and drive in Maricopa County back in Arizona. With today marking the one year anniversary of my release from home detention, I thought I would reflect on some of the brighter points of my stay at Tent City.

the dorms of Tent City University.

So I was driving down Camelback Road after leaving a gay cowboy bar in a rental car, Ford Taurus (file under gross), because my car Karl was in the shop. Like an idiot I hadn't turned my lights on and hadn't noticed that they weren't even on due to the bright lights of the car dealerships on that stretch of road. Needless to say my admissions letter ,which, was my breathalyzer results and blood-alcohol content, were accepted and I was admitted to TCU. Months of legal proceedings and technical jargon later, not to mention a public defender who hadn't quite yet mastered Spanks, I was finally ready for my first day on campus!

We all know it's hard being the freshman on campus. So much to learn. So little to do. Will they like me? Should I bring a roll of quarters for the vending machine? Will that shower thing really happen? So on and so forth. I did learn right away not to ask the detention officers a.k.a. "I wasn't smart or thin enough to be a real cop so I'm going to treat you like shit officers" any legitimate questions because I found myself slammed up against a chain link fence for asking where I needed to report for bed assignment. I mustn't forget to give a shout out to my angry lesbian detention officers. You could always count on them to be there to emasculate a man at a drop of a turkey baster. Oh them!

my dorm mate, mexican jerry stiller.

Everyone in my tent was superb including the guy who threatened to kick my ass for turning the fan off that was blasting me in the face. I know deep down that he was a sweet guy. He even took the time to write me a note while I was out for the day on work release. It read HEY NEWBIE, YOU CAN'T JUST ROLL UP IN HERE ACTIN LIKE YOU OWN SHIT. YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF OR ELSE YOULL GET YOUR ASS ROLLED UP. SIGNED EVERYONE IN THIS TENT THAT CAN'T STAND YOUR ASS. It was cute because he almost spelled everything right. Not everyone was there for the ol' drunk driving. There were people there for embezzlement and for being deadbeat dads. It was a real who's who of the lower rung of society and I was swimming in it.

tent with a view

Like most university experiences the food can be a bit frightening but not at TCU, no sir. Every morning an angry mexican woman yelled CHOW GENTLEMAN, GET YOUR CHOW. IF YOU DON'T GET IN LINE NOW NO CHOW. Some people call Sandra Bullock and Julia Roberts America's Sweetheart but I want to say that officer L. Ruiz is. The food came effeciently packed in a plastic bag that one basically had to rip into like a rat through a trashbag. Inside, were the following items: a) one bag of slimy meat, either ham or something that resembled a brain cut into sections b) a small loaf of stale bread or five slices of enriched flour bread c) 3-4 mustard packets d) an orange e) a packet of cookies. Yum yum gimme some.

bathroom on a clean day

One must always remember that good hygiene is a must. Just because you're locked up most of your day behind a chain link fence under the sweltering Arizona sun doesn't mean you can be a total slob. The bathroom was enough to make you want to never eat or drink so you would have no reason to go in there. The bathroom was usually littered with bright orange razors that cut the hell out of your face. Nothing feels better on your sweaty neck and face than razor cuts. After a week I had to smuggle in my own razor to alleviate this problem. I also smuggled in a cellphone, hence the photos. Besides the steamy bathroom, mattresses and sheets that give you scabies and the giant disclaimer to stay away from pigeons, it was easy for guy to stay nice and clean. I hadn't realized that pigeons were disease carriers on the same level as a prostitute that goes au naturale. But that's why their prices are so high.

Graduating from TCU isn't anything you go and send announcements for. It wasn't like I wanted to call up my mom and dad and say GUESS WHO'S PART OF REGULAR SOCIETY AGAIN? So you can understand my amazement when my family did find out. I couldn't figure it out for the life of me until I remembered that the city of Phoenix goes ahead and announces it in the Arizona Republic. So my dad's coworker sees his name in the paper and my dad realizes that it is in fact me. So much for the print media being dead.

Don't Forget To Scrape The Barnacles Off Your Dinghy!

So recently Charleston concluded it's Harborfest. Being from Arizona I'm not used to using the word harbor on a regular basis except for sentences like "Excuse me broken english cab driver, to Sky Harbor International Airport please" or "I like to harbor my feelings until I explode" etc., etc. Anywho, the big draw of this event was the Tall Ships Atlantic Challenge which featured Bea Arthur scaled ships. That's good and all but it leaves me asking, what about the short ships, the Estelle Gettys' of the maritime world if you will. I haven't forgotten you. Just saying that mounting a tall ship would be more fun. I want to come a board the poop deck of the USS Dorothy Zbornak!


Tall Ship, left.

Short Ship, above.

Hiding Poop, Like a Cat Does!

Picture it, Coolidge, Arizona 1990. A sprightly young lad wearing his favorite Spuds McKenzie t-shirt, not unlike most kindergartners who enjoy an animal spokesperson for his beer, finds himself walking with the rest of West Elementary to the auditorium for some sort of performance.



It was a warm day not unlike today, with blue skies and what not. Not a care in the world, until, I felt that rumble in my tumble that let me know that this little tamale needed to hit up the boys' bathroom, stat. My blatantly lesbian teacher Ms. Herrera wasn't available to take us so we had the school's resident crone, Mrs. Reed, accompany the class. Once they herded all the kinder into the auditorium I made my move towards that old crone and asked if I could go to the bathroom but much to my chagrin, I was rejected, cold school style! She looked at me as if I had just asked her if I could use her lap as a litter box. I now wish I would have, right down to throwing kitty litter in her boobs and using her face as a scratching post.

Rejected and despondent, I returned to my seat. To my left sat Juan, a quiet boy that was not unlike a moth. To my right sat LaWill, who, was really proud of his mother's gold teeth. He wanted me to be jealous but I refused. Who doesn't want gold? Not I, especially if it meant looking like a crack addict but I digress. I disliked both boys for separate reasons. So I guess I didn't feel as bad as I should have when it happened. Like many a pregnant woman and those sentenced to death by electric chair, I lost control of my bowels right in the middle of that damn auditorium.

To think, the same year that Nelson Mandela was released from prison is the same year I released myself onto that upholstered seat. I panicked. How does one escape such a precarious situation unscathed and undetected? Light bulb! I would just ask Juan to switch me seats and that would remedy everything. As if, us switching seats meant that suddenly my Batman underpants were poo-free. Let me tell you, it didn't. Sitting there, in the next seat over, I squirmed and wiggled as if I were auditioning for a Preparation H commercial. I probably would have gotten the part.


After sufficiently ruining Juan's seat, I decided that my old seat didn't seem so bad after all. So, we switched back. Always one to be restless, I asked LaWill to give me the old switcheroo too. Sadly, he complied to my ghastly request. Unbeknownst to him, he would not only have to change seat but his pants too upon someone recognizing that a fecal felony had taken place. I must have been very convincing to get kids I disliked to sit in my poo seat. Talent apparent, age 5.


The performance had ended and to this day I couldn't tell you what I had been watching only that I was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, a little left of center. Somehow, we managed to be the last row out of the auditorium which meant I had to make myself the end of the line. Bringing up the rear as some would say, only leaving some behind in the process. So a little white lie about tying my shoe to hold me up from the others was concocted. The thing was, at that point in life, I didn't even know how to tie my shoes but my reputation at West Elementary was on the line. Not that I had one but if I did that would've been the dumps!


To this day I will never understand how I was able to pull that one off without being detected. The shear smell alone would have been an indicator. Did everyone have clogged noses that day? Why wasn't I sick with this mystery nostril affliction? Did everyone go to a party that I wasn't invited to and contracted this problem? Was there cake there? I wonder why I pooped my pants that day? The past always has a funny way of making you ask questions of yourself, no matter how sad (pants pooping) or delicious (the cake question). Most would have the shit scared out of them in that situation but then again I wasn't most kids and I had already lost some during this journey.

Rejoicing in Religious Familiarity

"Are you Seventh Day Adventist?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were!"

"Yeah."

Dear Abby....

Dear Abby,

Hi. I hope you don't mind being called Abs. Give it a chance before you go bad mouth across the "web", which, Al Gore invented. Joseph Constantine Carpue, (1764 - 1846), invented rhinoplastic surgery, in case you wondered.

I write this to you while eating mixed nuts alone. One doesn't tell you that's how your life will end up when you are voted Most Likely To Succeed in high school but then again what does a fledgling cotton town in the middle of the desert really know about success. Well, they did add a traffic light at that intersection on the way out to the reservation (Sacaton, Blackwater, et al) so even that bit of information should be considered in determining the town's ability to make valid choices.

Anyways, about the nuts, you guessed it; They're Planters. Oddly enough the peanut [mr. Peanut] on the canister looks rather successful. I dare not say I know a person so successful as to warrant a TOP hat & cane let alone that bourgeois monocle he totes around. Gall, not gumption. Why do Designing Women marathons, rape punch [patron tequila & red bull] & eating mixed nuts usually end with me feeling less than to some sort of marketing cartoon. In this case, a hoity toity legume. To borrow a phrase from 90s television staple Stephanie Tanner: How rude. Legume is derived from the french word légumineuse, whose meaning I'm not familiar, which could account for this nut's brazen attitude & disdain for me, an ameriCAN ne'er–do–well whose gait is borderline sass-say.

I think what I'm trying to say is that I want to be on a canister full of something someday. It doesn't have to be classy like mixed nuts. May it be wadded beef or something to that effect, I have to work out the kinks. First I must address the fact that I devoured a great bulk of the canister & now must worry about the added weight & imminent leg gout I'm sure to incur.

Abs, my parting words will be HOOP SKORT.
-Roddy

Puffy with Pleats Seeks Same

Here is another image that I got from civilwarphotos.net. First thought after seeing this Confederate soldier was how great that jacket would work for multiple friends, females of course. Thinking of the Confederacy, being someone not from the South, I have an image of overalls (denim, for sure), a shotgun and some sort of ridiculous beard. He definitely has the beard down but you have to admit that men were pretty gay when they got suited up to kill.

Civil War Photo Surprisingly Contemporary

Recently, the government lifted a media ban on the photographing the fallen that Bush41 and put in place and it inspired me to look
to the past before the initial ban of World War I. I came across this photo when I was looking at Civil War casualties. Despite him being a prisoner for conspiracy, he looks as if he could have just been in a photo shoot in modern day NYC. I really don't know why I love the collar so much but I do. As a friend pointed out, he looks like a sexy Christopher Reeves.