Monday, July 29, 2013

“Prison…the Final Frontier”

I don’t break the law, and no it’s not because I’m some kind of “goody two-shoes”, well okay maybe it is, but it is also because I’m afraid of being sent to prison. I’m not a tough guy by any means, I’m about as hard as Charmin, so if I was ever to be in the joint I have no doubt I would be somebody’s bitch in no time flat.

Now I wouldn't mind going to prison if it was like that all female Showtime after dark kind of prison, that I would be okay with, but if it's like Oz from HBO then I'm screwed...both literally and figuratively. Well let’s be honest here, I would probably still get my donkey kicked in the all-female prison too, it would just be with a little more sensitivity.

I'm not even going to try and front, I'm a complete wuss, I know my shirt would be tied up in the front and I would be wearing lipstick shortly after the cell door slammed shut. I'll be sold for a pack of cigarettes back-and-forth between inmates, holding onto someone’s belt loop while calling them big daddy and handing over my commissary like as if I was being bullied for my lunch money…so sad.

I would be face down ass up my first night there, those scary inmates would be treating my booty like a target with their meat sticks being the darts. My hole would be violated in so many different ways it pains me to even think about it…I wouldn’t even be able to sit down the whole time I was there without feeling as if I was sitting on a cactus.

Every night I would cry myself to sleep, using my orange overalls to wipe my tears away and to muffle my desperate pleas for freedom…or death, whatever would be the quickest. I wouldn’t want to wake my celly because with my luck he would have morning wood and feel like getting freaky with my anus again, and I just couldn’t take any more ass pounding.

I also wouldn’t get lucky enough to have a celly like Gene Wilder did in Stir Crazy, there would be no Richard Pryor, I would be stuck with someone more like Deebo from the movie Friday. My celly would be some muscle bound roid head that makes license plates with his teeth.

I would try to tunnel my way out like Andy Dufresne did in The Shawshank Redemption, or maybe even try to sneak out with the laundry, and if I wasn’t able to escape then I would consider making a shank out of my toenails and stab myself to death just to put me out of my misery.

I wonder, do they have something similar to the “teacher’s pet” in prison? If I sucked up to the warden could I be his pet, could I possibly save myself from years of torment and butt abuse? Would I be able to keep my manhood intact and save myself from many nights of crying myself to sleep?

Oh who am I kidding, my warden would be like some crazed drill instructor that got his rocks off by putting little piss-ants like myself through the ringer, making me more of a man…boy would he have his work cut out for him, because this girlie man is more girlie than man.

So needless to say, if I found myself in a predicament where the outcome would be prison, I would be sucking on the barrel of a 12 gauge like a baby on a breast and saying goodnight nurse.

Inmate # 326390 aka MJM
My thanks...
I would like to thank God for this opportunity, my mom and all my dads, my record company and of course all my incredible fans all over the world…
Oh wait a minute, that's the wrong thank you list, that one is for when I win a Grammy.
Here’s the “write” one…
I want to thank all my lovely co-hosts, who are all amazing writers, extremely funny and the best thing since sliced bread. So do yourself a solid and check them out…you won’t be sorry.
Now remember, this is a blog hop (for all you blogging noobs out there click here to find out what that is), so be like a horny bunny rabbit and go hop around and show some sweet lovin’ to all my fellow bloggers.

Friday, July 26, 2013

“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”

They used to be firm and perky, but now they are droopy like the cartoon dog by the same name.

They look like two bungee jumpers who went down but never came back up. They look like two limp bodies hanging from a noose. They look like the knuckles of a gorilla as he walks erect. God did the yo-yo trick “walking the dog” with them, but never called them back home. Basically they are sagging like a full diaper. 

The dreaded sag and I’m not talking about boobs or pants here people! I’m talking about balls, and I don’t mean the kind you bounce (ouch).  Sorry for being so crass but there’s no nice way to put it, my boys are swinging low like the pendulum on a clock. Go to take your underwear off and get your nut sack twisted up in them. Don't act like I'm the only one. The "downside" to getting “up” there in age.

As a result of this said “saggage” I almost did the unthinkable. I just about slammed my balls in the toilet seat when I was going to sit down to handle my business! Thankfully, I noticed before it was too late and was able to stop myself. I was sitting there in mid-squat, clutching onto the walls and sweating like I just ran a marathon. The whole time I was praying not to slip. I kind of looked like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix dodging bullets.

Thankfully I was able to pull myself up and avoid what would have been a really painful experience, to put it nicely it would have been my rendition of the Nutcracker but with no music and applause, just tears and screams.

I've heard rumors and horror stories about people doing this but I never thought it was true. I always just thought it was an urban legend or one of those disturbing sex fantasies like the people who like to be choked, but now I know it’s real…damn real. I'm scared to sit on the toilet anymore. I do my best to always inspect the area carefully before hand, even going as far as to tape the boys up or just throw them over my shoulder to avoid any dangling obstacles in my path to the potty. There will be no casualties on my watch!

This experience has made me more aware of where things are, and now I do my best to make sure all appendages are inside the car at all times while it is moving. I don’t leave anything up to chance and/or luck anymore. I don’t need to learn things the hard way to make the changes necessary to make my life a lot less painful and heartbreaking. 

This is why I now only wear tighty whities (the male version of the push-up bra), because with boxer shorts you run the risk of things hanging out the leg hole and banging into other body parts, potentially racking one's self. On the rare occasion when I have no other choice but to wear boxer shorts, like when all my other draws are full of bacon bits, I make sure my junk is rolled up nice and tight like a toothpaste tube that is almost out of paste.

My girlfriend thinks I should get surgery to fix the problem, something like a breast lift but for balls, but just the thought of any sharp pointy objects by that area leave me all queasy and lightheaded, so that’s a no go. It’s hard being a man; you women have it easy and have no idea of the pain we men have to endure as a result of things sagging as we get older. Forget the prostate; keep an eye on those balls people. In the famous words of the great poet Jay Z, ”It’s a hard sack life”…of course I’m paraphrasing.


Wednesday, July 24, 2013

“Wings, Breasts and Thighs”

No I’m not ordering a value meal from KCF, but this story does have something to do with chicken…and chicks for that matter, but not the baby chicken kind, but rather the kind you would see in a Motley Crue video.

My girlfriend and I were discussing where to eat dinner, and with me being a carnivore I wanted to get wings, so I suggested Hooters. My girlfriend wasn’t too pleased with my suggestion, thinking I only wanted to go there to get my rocks off…to quench my lust, not my appetite.

I told her it’s wasn’t my fault that the majority of places known for their wings are also known for their ensemble of bevy beauties wearing next to nothing serving them, and I told her that fact had nothing to do with my desire for breasts…ooops I mean wings.

Speaking of Hooters girls…I always kind of thought of a Hooters girl as the first step in the evolutionary process of a chick becoming a porn star, of course with the stripper in-between…is that bad? One day serving wings, the next day swinging on the pole and then finally baring all and getting their freak on in front of the cameras for all the world to see.

Anyway, my girlfriend and I weren’t seeing eye to eye on the matter, she wasn’t buying the fact that I only wanted to go to Hooters to eat their wings and not to look at their breasts and thighs.

She just couldn’t believe that their food was actually worth eating, she thinks people (meaning of course men and on occasion lesbians) only go to Hooters for the waitresses. I assured her that wasn’t the case, but to be honest I personally didn’t view it as a bad thing that the waitresses were dressed like Daisy Duke in lycra and nylon, after all I am a red-blooded male.

Needless to say she didn’t really care much for my honesty, and I could see it in her eyes that she wanted to slap the taste out of my mouth. So I quickly improvised and said, “you mean to tell me that if there was a place that served Bon Bons and the waiters just happen to look like the Chippendale dancers that you wouldn’t want to go”?

Well if that was the epitome of adding fuel to the fire I don’t know what is, chalk another one up to male stupidity...…I guess it’s true, stupid is as stupid does.

Now not only did she look like she wanted to slap me silly, but she also wanted to punch me square in my grill with the hopes of breaking my jaw so I could no longer say anything stupid…or eat wings.

To get back on her good side I suggested we just get something to bring home, since I would rather spend my evening with her and only her. So she ended up eating a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and we watched Magic Mike on Blu-ray…in 3D.

So men…heed my words, Hooters is cool for an outing with the guys but not with your woman. I’m still having nightmares of being chased by schlongs that smell like mint chocolate chip ice cream.


Monday, July 15, 2013

“Food Critic”

I love food, and I know what you’re thinking, “who doesn’t” but unlike everybody else I also love to read food and restaurant reviews. I know to the average person that doesn’t really seem all that fun, but to a fat man like myself, a good food/restaurant review is like reading a good book.

I always dreamt about writing one, sharing my views and tastes with the world, but unfortunately I am what you people with money would call flat busted,like a five year old chick.  So I never really had the opportunity…or so I thought.

Now I know I can’t review, or even step into for that matter, one of those fancy five star restaurants so I figured I would do the next best thing, which is to review an establishment that I am able to eat at. Now with that said, I would like to share my review of McDonald’s with you.

Before I get to my review I want to take a second to say it truly saddens me that all the great characters we grew up with are no longer there. I don’t know, maybe they’re worried the same stupid people who blamed Joe Camel for kids smoking would blame the Hamburglar for kids eating hamburgers, who knows.

I say kill all that noise and bring back the McDonald’s crew, keeping only Ronald is like the show Seinfeld getting rid of Kramer, George and Elaine and allowing Jerry to run things by himself, it just wouldn’t be the same and/or just as good. We need the Fry Guys, Grimace and of course Mayor McCheese back in the house.    

Okay, now back to my review of McDonald’s…

For the most part the restaurant was clean, the flies were to a minimal and only a few of the garbage cans were overflowing. I must say that the ambiance was perfect, at least when it came to the kind of food they served, because what better way to distract you from what you’re putting in your mouth than with a bunch of screaming kids and people complaining about their order/service.

The food, well I had the chicken McNuggets with a hair of the cook garnish, some overly greasy and salty fries and topped it all off with a diet Coke (that way I wouldn’t feel guilty for eating the nuggets and fries…smart right). After finding a table that wasn’t as sticky as flypaper, and of course after exchanging my McNuggets for a fresh set, I sat down to eat.

You have to eat the fries first; because once they’re cold they’re no good and not even worth the potato they were cut from, that is if they are really even from potatoes in the first place. You never really know when it comes to McDonald’s food, if it really is what they say it is.

When you bite into them there is an explosion of salt and grease, kind of like a high cholesterol firecracker exploding right in front of your face, so in a way it’s like getting dinner and a show. However, if McDonald’s wants to avoid lawsuits they should probably serve them with a pair of safety goggles, or at lease put a warning on the label.

Now for the main course, I had the chicken McNuggets (now garnish free) with a nice honey mustard sauce cooked well done, and just because I was playing the role of a critic on this particular visit I ate them with a knife and fork, granted they were plastic but they still did the trick.

Now after the first bite I decided to look directly into the nugget to see what was hidden underneath that golden brown crust and I must say I do not recommend this to anyone, you won’t like what you see. You know the way one is not to look directly into an eclipse; well the same is true for the McNugget.

Honestly I wasn’t really sure what I saw; it looked like meat but moved like pudding, it kind of grossed me out. I was about to abandon ship and toss the remainder of my food up in the air and make it rain chicken* (the board is still out if it is indeed chicken) nuggets but being the dedicated critic I am, and also now being broke since I spent the last of my money on this crap, I went ahead with the mission and finished off my ten piece.

I finally was done with my meal and went to throw away my trash. I couldn’t find a trash receptacle that wasn’t overflowing at this point, so I had to delicately place my garbage on the very top of the heap all with the hopes of not toppling it over, because we all know whoever topples it has to clean it and it was bad enough I was eating garbage, I didn’t want to clean it too.

My review, even though I could feel my arteries hardening as I ate my meal and was burping up grease for the rest of the day, I would have to say when it comes to fast-food McDonald’s gets a three out of five heart attacks…not really lovin' it. Now if they were to bring back the old McDonald’s crew that we all know and love I might go as high as four out of five, but until then they’re only getting a three.


Monday, July 8, 2013

“Not All Advancements in Technology are a Good Thing”

I'm not one to drop the kids off at a public pool, if you know what I mean; I prefer to use my own private pool where I know just whose cheeks were on the seat. However, this past weekend we were out and I had to go really bad, to put it bluntly I was prairie dogging it.

I felt as if I was going to have a Beverly Hillbillies moment…up through my buttocks was about to come a bubblin' crude…it was not a good thing. So unfortunately I had no choice but to hop on the porcelain throne with a quickness, I knew I wouldn’t even have time to sterilize the crime scene.
So I clinched my cheeks firmly together and wobbled into the restroom making sure not to have any leakage along the way and proceeded to drop off my cargo. Shortly after the first drop, plop and splash I realized I was stinking up the joint, so I turned around and reached for the handle to do a courtesy flush.

To my dismay I realized it was one of those automatic flushing toilets and I was poop out of luck (pardon the pun), well unless I wanted to hop off the seat with my full moon hanging out in all its glory to make the toilet believe I was done.

Needless to say I decided against it, because with my luck I would have ended up tripping on my pants when I stood up, falling face first on that nasty ass floor, leaving me unconscious and my bare bottom up in the air for all to see…and claim if they so choose to. 

I tried to quickly finish up so I could get out of there before anyone else came in, which thankfully I managed to do. So in my opinion this is one time where technology did us wrong, they should have left well enough alone.

Now I know this advancement was supposedly to make things more hygienic…and of course so that it would flush when one of those flushless bastards did their business, but come on man this is just crazy.

I later found out that some of these automatic flushing toilets do indeed have buttons on them for flushing, and I must say after finding that out I felt kind of stupid. Here I was trying to move side to side like a running back trying to avoid being tackled hoping to trick the toilet into flushing and all I had to do was hit the button…so not cool.

The bathroom I was in also had those motion activated sinks; and trying to use them was just as much fun as the toilet. I spent more time trying to get all this crap to work then I did…well crap.

I felt like the Karate Kid just trying to wash my hands…water on, water off. I hate those gosh darn things (sorry for the harsh language I'm just PO'ed). I looked like a retarded DJ scratching on turntables trying to get the water out of the faucet; people were looking at me like I was mentally handicapped.

I love the advancements in technology when it comes to my video games and such, but please for gosh darn sakes, leave my bathroom alone! Say goodbye to the courtesy flush people, it's a thing of the past thanks to all these eggheads.


Saturday, July 6, 2013

“Dinner with the Family”

As a kid there were things that I learned to expect when it came to certain family members of mine, for example my Uncle Jim would always be brought home by the cops after a night of drinking like a fish and pulling the old “chew and screw” scam without fail.

Now for you dysfunctionally challenged people out there in cyberspace, the chew and screw is when you go to a restaurant and order and bunch of food and drink, living it up as if you were large like Trump when in all reality you are tiny like Tim, then when the bill comes making a mad dash to the door with the hopes of not getting caught.

There was this one time in Philadelphia when my uncle came home just as shitfaced as ever and ready to go. Knowing he didn’t have any money but wanting to get his grub on anyways he decided he was going to dine at one of the local restaurants in our area…one that served alcohol of course.

This time however, he invited me and my siblings to go along for the ride and with me being a little older than the others I knew what was going to transpire, but being hungry and up for some excitement I decided to tagalong.

As we approached the door I started feeling a little uneasy but I knew it was too late to back out so I just had to suck it up and not say a word, and as we walked through the restaurant towards our table I felt as if every eye in the place was on us.

The waitress came over to introduce herself and to hand us our menus, she was as pleasant as could be and so friendly that she felt like part of the family…a family that screws each other over but still a family nevertheless. My uncle, still drunk off his ass, told the waitress to call him “Sheamus” because all his friends did.

As I looked over the menu it felt as if I was in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart”…only I didn’t hear the heartbeat of my victim under the floor boards, it was the screaming of the waitress as she brought the check only to find out she wasn’t getting paid.

I finally relaxed a little and realized if I was going to get in trouble I might as well make it worth it, so I made sure we had appetizers and of course the most expensive food and drink on the menu. If I was going to go out…I was going to go out with a bang.

The food came and we were all having a gay old time, laughing and carrying on like nobody’s business. Then out of nowhere my uncle started making the strange noises, which kind of sounded like flatulence, so me being the mature person I was I said, “look he’s farting” then started laughing like Beavis and Butt-head.

After realizing that he was in fact not farting, but choking on a piece of filet mignon, my sister who was sitting next to him in the booth jumped up and grabbed him out of his seat and started doing her version of the Heimlich maneuver on him…which looked like some crazy wrestling move with him flailing all over the place and his arms swinging about like as if he was trying to fly.

Thankfully there was someone there who actually knew how to do the Heimlich and stepped up and saved the day and after all the commotion died down the waitress brought another drink…of course one of the alcoholic kind…to my uncle and said, “here you go Sheamus…this ones on the house”…little did she know so were the rest of them and all the food too.

Now us being the type of family we were, we could find humor in just about anything even if the rest of society couldn’t. So we’re all sitting there laughing like a pack of hyenas because of all that transpired, well all of us except my uncle who was still trying to catch his breath that is. All the other patrons started looking at us like as if we had two heads, and to make matters worse my sister was laughing so hard that she wet herself.

We were sitting in a booth…one with wooden benches…so all you heard was the sound of water going over the edge like as if it was a waterfall and splashing onto the floor. My uncle was oblivious and didn’t move a muscle, my other brother who was sitting next to her against the wall realized what happened and jumped up on the seat while screaming to be let out of the booth. 

So when all the choking was done and laughter ended the waitress came over and asked Sheamus if he wanted the kids to leave since happy hour was about to start. Seeing my opportunity to escape I quickly shouted over my uncle that I agreed, and that I would be more than happy to take the kids home while he stayed and enjoyed happy hour.

I know I took the coward’s way out…I should have gone down with the sinking ship and been a man…but I’m too soft to go to jail and didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of a hot beef injection (my dirt road is an exit only, no oncoming traffic) so I took off like a jack rabbit.

Without fail later the night the cops came knocking on our door with my uncle in cuffs asking if he did indeed lived there and if anyone could pay his tab, otherwise he would be going to the joint. The moral of the story is this, make sure when you do something wrong you have a guaranteed out…even if it means throwing a family member to the wolves.