In Honor of Black History Month....

I don't have an exact age of when this happened but I'm thinking somewhere around the age of 3 or 4. It happened one hot day just outside of the Headstart building with my mom and a large passerby. As we walked towards the entrance I was compelled by my shock and amazement to stop my mom dead in her tracks for what was in front of us. I pulled her arm and proclaimed, "Oh my god mom! Look at the big fat chocolate lady!" To my knowledge that was my first memory of differentiating black from white. Here I found myself in yet another situation where I wasn't sure if my mom was going to strangle me or laugh her ass off. Looking back, it's nice to think that I was once able to only recognize people for being fat and thin and not the color of their skin.

YOU BUY!

Growing up, there were two Asian families in Coolidge, AZ worth mentioning, the Dongs and the Ongs. Hand to God no shit, the Dongs and the Ongs

The Ongs owned a Chinese buffet. I mean how cliche. They might as well have opened a nail parlor or some other sort of Asiany thing like a Filipino Prison Dance Camp. see below

Unlike most rural Chinese restaurant owners, the Ongs played a small role in my childhood development. Sure, their daughter Rita taught me how to stuff hamburger meat into wonton wrappers during Mrs. Frasier's comprehensive lesson plan of China but it was only a matter of time before I mastered wontonery on my own. My most memorable moment involving the Ong Clan came when Gregory Reese a.k.a "Fat Man" approached Rita with some legitimate requests outside of her father's restaurant. First he asked her to "speak some Spanish to me" and when she made it quite clear that she didn't any he threw potato chips at her. Her dad ran him off with a broom. I don't know why I was there but I was. Oh, to be in 5th grade again. I never knew what became of "Fat Man" but then again I don't read the Wall Street Journal as frequently as I should.

The Dongs owned Coolidge Market which of course was on Coolidge Avenue. They lived one street over in a green two-story mini mansion that sat on a larger than average parcel of land on Lincoln Avenue. When I was younger we seemed to go their store much more often than in my teen years. It must have been their everyday low prices on various Mexican foods and what-have-yous that kept us coming. I really did hate going into that place. It just reminded me of being poor and I surely didn't need that kind of reality check as a little kid. That dose of reality would come much later when I realized I shouldn't own a credit card or let alone an Abercrombie & Fitch card with a $500 balance.

Anywho, back to being poor. I really wanted some strawberry wafers and like most chubby children, I decided not to take "No" for an answer when it came to food. Momma Mary wasn't going to let me have them. So then I had this genius idea of putting them up my shirt. I witnessed my first successful shoplifting only a week prior when my little brother stuffed a World Wrestling Federation magazine up his shirt at Safeway. No one would ever think to look up there. Well, normally they wouldn't unless you were wearing a skin tight t-shirt with a noticeable brick planted underneath. Plus, the oldest Dong daughter saw me do it through the cleverly placed high tech convex security mirrors. You better believe I was thrown out of that place so fast the wafers hadn't even hit the ground. see wafer ears
My mom didn't spank me; however i was sure that something would ensue. It never happened. I just remember her marveling in my stupidity and my downright lack of cunning and her deriding glare as if to say what the hell was that kid thinking? when she ultimately just laughed it off. I didn't step foot in that place again until I was 16 and ready to buy cheap beer and liquor from those crafty Chinamen. Little did they know, that the little boy, who, only ten years prior, had attempted to swipe strawberry wafers was now illegally buying a few bottles of strawberry Cisco. The sad thing is that I am more ashamed of drinking Cisco than I am of shoplifting strawberry wafers and getting caught. What does that tell you of my value system?

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!