Thursday, April 30, 2009

Pillow Fight

Pillows to me are like girlfriends; there are always two of them on my bed and one of them is a lumpy bitch. This analogy didn't work out as planned.

Why am I stuck in a vicious cycle of shitty pillows?

Why can't I ever just have two matching, comfortable, cool-on-the-other-side pillows?

No, instead I have an all-star, citizen of the year pillow and it's dead-beat brother who can't support himself.

This imbalance in pillow-power results in a constant struggle between the Lady Friend and I. There is trickery, there is force and sometimes there is crying - but only when I REALLY get upset.

If one of us gets up to use the restroom - you know damn well you are coming back to a shitty pillow. The other option is, of course, to just pee the bed - but with a predetermined nickname of "Senator Pee Pants" (you down with SPP?) - that option is almost nonexistent.

Sometimes I do some kind of Indiana Jones Ninja move where I try to balance her head and sneak the pillow out while simultaneously sneaking in the runt pillow. It is a difficult maneuver and if I don't get the balances just right a giant boulder comes rolling down the steps at me - luckily I wear a cool hat and a whip to bed. Don't judge - sometimes we like to pretend I'm Indiana Jones and she is a small Asian boy...I mean hot female singer.

(To protect the innocent I should tell you that the above paragraph is not 100% accurate. I don't have steps in my apt.)

Now the obvious answer would be just to go BUY another comfy pillow - but pillows don't grow on trees people. Besides - that would be admitting defeat. I'm a man - I can claim that pillow as my territory. In fact, I think I should just go get a new Lady Friend!

But she owns the whip and it looks REALLY cool with the hat.

So I guess I'm stuck with the lumpy bitch.

The pillow.

Not the Lady Friend.

She's as cool as the other side of the pillow.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Lincoln Logs

I don't listen to the radio much (that's why God invented the iPod) so the other day when I was in a friend's car and they were listening to a rap station I became incredibly jealous.

Why didn't someone tell me that you could become famous for not being talented in any way? I could make a FORTUNE being not good at things - I've been not good at things my whole LIFE. I've been looking for my ticket to the top and here, this whole time, rap was the answer.

Remember when rap music was amazing? When Snoop and Pac and Biggie and LL and Ice Cube and even my Grandma were putting out better songs than what you hear now?

You can't tell me that Grandmama couldn't sell a million records compared to what is out there now.

Now every song is a ridiculous sexual innuendo or something that is supposed to be a ridiculous sexual innuendo. Laffy Taffy is a bit of a stretch if you ask me. I mean a GET IT - but c'mon - girls parts don't have hilarious jokes written on them (note to girls - I think I just came up with a GREAT IDEA.)

If not sex - then every song is about money - which may be a problem for my rap career. It's not that I'm broke, per se, it's that I'm REALLY broke. I'll be "makin' it rain" with rolls of pennies...


I'm going to combine sexual innuendos and money references for my first single as rapper Iron-E

"My Penny Roll (Makin' It Rain)"

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Only You

Hey Smokey why don't you tell me who can prevent the fires that seem to be in my work email every morning when I get here?


Who can do that?

Who the fuck can prevent office fires, Smokey?

You cocky bastard.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Et tu, Bacon?

I once told a friend that I would buy a Nickelback album the day that pigs flew. This morning I woke up to hear about the new swine flu - does that count?

Anyways I am coming off of a 3-day flu bug and having watched the first 5 rounds of the NFL draft. My brain works about as well as Vista right now. Throw in the fact that the Lady Friend convinced me to watch the last 40 minutes of Love Actually last night and I'm fried. There are less characters in a Where's Waldo book than that movie.

What I'm trying to say is that I'll be back to complaining about random things tomorrow - today I'm too tired to do anything but complain about how tired I am.

Damn swine flu.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

They Grow Up So Fast

A few weeks ago, Momina Nomina told me she was learning how to text. I didn't really think much of it as she also threatened...I mean...tried to learn Facebook but never followed up.

A week after that conversation I get a text from Mom - "At bar. Learning how to text."

I called her the next day and she asked what else she needed to know.

Let's see. She can text - and she can text drunk - I think we can skip the chapter on texting ex's or sending messages to the wrong people so she pretty much has it mastered.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

WyW - Bad Actors Edition




Memorize your lines and forget your morals - it's time for another exciting edition of - Would Ya Wednesday - Bad Actors Edition!

Where the only thing stiffer than the acting is in your pants.

This week we are focusing on two celebrities who have beaten the odds; overcoming their lack of acting ability AND only moderate looks to become huge stars.

In the first corner is Vin Diesel - who proves that even muscle-heads have a brain and a heart - and that I would like to rip both of them out with my bare hands and then send them overnight to Canada.

And in the other corner, Lindsay Lohan. I think I would rather lick the floor of the guy's bathroom at my gym than touch her gens. Ok, that is a lie. I don't go to the gym.

Lindsay is skinny, redheaded and has ginormous chesticles - yet I imagine if I tried to do the intercourse Jack Bauer would bust into the room and tackle me away from her saying her gens were actually a chemical weapon. Thanks, Jack Bauer! I should really get him a card.

If you've never played Would Ya Wednesday before, you may want to get tested after you leave here. I am a chlamydia away from a VD Bingo! YAY I got a cover-all!

The rules are simple - I cast two celebrities and you tell me if you would let them play with your Oscars or not. If not - give me a reason why not, like, say, you would be safer to have sex with the pole at a Mexican strip club than with Lindsay Lohan. I don't know, up to you.

ACTION! Wait, cut - someone get that shiny object out of here, you've distracted Vin -

Vin Diesel

Lindsay Lohan

Monday, April 20, 2009

I'm Beggin' Ya

Welp, it's warm out.

I know, I know - yippee! Oh joy! Huzzah!

Get over it.

While you are out doing normal warm weather things that I assume are smiling and not worrying about what kind of design your back sweat is making (a giraffe for those of you keeping score at home) I am running the homeless gauntlet every time I step outside my door.

Warm weather brings out the crazies.

And I don't just mean the homeless guy that covers himself in stuffed animals or the homeless guy who pretends he is retarded until you turn him down and then tells you to, "Go fuck yourself!" No, all of the crazies - the slow street crossers, the awkwardly loud bad rappers, the guy that wants to talk about Jesus - all of them.

Do homeless people migrate south for winter like geese? Do they travel in a large V and poop on everything in their path?

This is why I could never live in California - there is no offseason for the homeless.

The other day I was parallel parking (laaaaadies) and some guy told me how much room I had - then asked for $5 when I got out of the car. He could have picked my car up and SET it in that parking spot and I still wouldn't give him $5.

Another guy came up and asked me for money and I looked at him from head to toe and he was dressed BETTER than I was. If you are wearing a polo shirt and dress shoes you probably don't need to beg. Or I need to dress better.

These things make me feel like I would be WAY better at begging than these guys. I would be the Michael Jordan at asking for change. You can't just wait for greatness to happen to you - you have to go out there and work for it.

I would be ROLLING in quarters if I was homeless. My shopping cart would have four wheels that worked and I would dominate the empty beer can scene. I have the beard for it - now I just need the dirty camo coat to match.

Now if only I could do something about this back sweat.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Stripped Down

Why are we wasting all of our cloning technology on someone other than Marissa Miller?

Explain to me why we would waste all that money cloning Strip Club Announcer Guy and not super hot girls with loose morals?

I've been to a few (read as: a shit-ton) strip clubs in my day. Mostly to tell all the guys there that they should respect women and to tell the dancers that they don't need to use their bodies to get ahead - they can do it with their brains. I do this by giving them $20 and letting them rub their gens on me. Girl power!

But at every single strip club is the exact same guy with the exact same voice and exact same inflection.

"Alright guys, put your hands together for DESTINY!!!"

Exact same guy, in every strip club. Even Canadian strip clubs. This shit is international!

Maybe it is something in the air. Maybe the mix of hairspray, cheap perfume and daddy issues has some chemical reaction on the vocal chords and transforms that guy into an Asshole. Like a really shitty mutant. (I won't take the obvious XXX-Men joke here.)

Or maybe there is a school I don't know about. Can I get a 2-year degree in being a DJ for gentleman's clubs? I think I could pass that final -

Which of these is NOT a stripper name?

A - Jasmine
B - Crystal
C - Cubic Zirconia
D - Destiny

Eh - I bet Cubic Zirconia has fake boobs.

Friday, April 17, 2009


I don't normally participate in getting tagged and things of that bloggy sort - but Sarah over at SillyGrrl challenged me to put up a picture of my sweatpants (and I had a few other requests as well...perverts). Here they all their glory.

Have a great weekend.

Burger King - Have It Your Way

Apparently you are out of verbs as well.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

WyW on Thursday - Mario Edition

Bowser chick-a-wah-wah!

Loosen up your overalls and tighten up that offensive Italian impression - and if you are having trouble getting big, we have a mushroom for that.

That's right - it's time for everyone's favorite game - Would Ya Wednesday on Thursday - Mario Edition.

This week we are focusing on everyone's favorite Nintendo game - Super Mario Brothers. Ladies, this is your lucky day - we have both 8-bit and 16-bit versions (for extended play). Guys - Princess Toadstool comes in 3-D and 3-DOUBLE D...HEY-OH!

Mario is every woman's fantasy: he is a plumber so he is handy around the house, he is willing to get in a fight to protect your honor no matter how big or fire-breathing the other guy is AND he has a mustache.

Which name is dirtier - Princess Toadstool or Princess Peach? I struggle NOT to make a sexual innuendo out of either one. And since it changed I am assuming there was a divorce in there somewhere. That could get messy. "Mario, you forgot to take out the trash again." "Goddamnit Princess Peach I spent 43 hours going through nine levels of walking mushrooms, flying turtles and a goddamn fire breathing lizard thing with spikes and you can't even put a warm dinner on the table?"

There is a history of abuse here, but this is a family show so lets move on.

For those of you who are new to the game - let go of your joystick long enough to play along. I'll load two pictures and you tell me if you would slide a goomba down their pipe or let them hit your coin box.

And maybe even let Luigi watch...


Princess Peach

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


When I get home from work I look like the Tasmanian Devil with a day job. I make sure to enter every room in my apartment at least three times, open the fridge a minimum of four times and have at least two separate conversations with the roommate involving sports - neither of which do I say anything intelligent because I am about as good at sports as I am at being unattractive.

For the first twenty minutes there is no sitting, there is no committing to one room for over four minutes and no decisions made about what I am having for dinner - no matter how many times I open the fridge. I am like a chicken with it's head cut off and hopped up on No Doz and SportsCenter.

Then I put on sweatpants.

Sweatpants are like a written agreement that you will not be doing anything productive for the rest of the night. The apartment could be burning down and a young mother with a child stuck in their burning room could run up and be like, "MY CHILD IS STILL IN THE ROOM!!! YOU HAVE TO HELP...oh you are already in sweatpants. I'll find someone else."

When I put sweatpants on I am no longer in charge. The sweatpants walk me to the couch, the sweatpants turn on crappy TV and the sweatpants drop Doritos crumbs all over my lap and then take a nap. When I wake up covered in cheese crumbs and regret, the sweatpants surf the internet for videos of monkeys sticking their finger in the butt and sniffing it.

I think my work should institute a sweatpants rule. I know you are thinking it would be unproductive - but I would NEVER want to stand up. The sweatpants would refuse movement, as they do so frequently, and I would be stuck at my desk with nothing to do but actual work.

In fact, I think I am going to write a letter to the CEO right now...riiiight after I watch a few videos.


An interesting thing is happening to me -

I'm in shape.

Not in fitness terms. I'm not ripped, I can't run more than a mile without seeing a light and hearing the voice of God and I sure as hell am not athletic (unless Wii Bowling counts as athletic. I'm the Pete Weber of Wii Bowling.)

I'm in shapes.

Last time I turned into a fatty I got fat everywhere. My face was fat, my belly was fat - I was just an overall tub of lard.

Not this time. This time it went straight for my belly. It looks like someone stuffed a sandbag under my skin while I was sleeping. I would think that I would feel that, as it would be painful and the plastic bag would be cold when it hit my organs. Then again, when I drink gin you could drop a nuclear warhead on my face and I would probably sleep through it. I could be spooning with Chad Kroeger and probably not even wake up. Though I assume the mere force of my hatred would seep from my pores and kill him.

I look pregnant. That's what I am trying to say. But unlike pregnant chicks, I don't get to eat whatever I want - which is a crock. Pregnant chicks just eat and eat and eat and then their sandbag just falls out and all is forgotten. Mine just grows more hair.

This post is getting gross.

Does my concentrated fat growth make me an old guy? Is this the first sign? When you can say things like, "I can't eat that donut! I know where THAT will end up." and then pat my belly a few times.

Am I destined to tell horrible jokes and ask people if it's "hot enough for ya?" Are all of my cool shoes and ankle high socks turning into bright white New Balance and mid-calf socks? Is my truck turning into a mini-van? Can I suddenly golf?

Man, I hope I am just pregnant.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Shiver Me Timbers

"The crew of a U.S. freighter has regained control from pirates, but its captain is held hostage, the second officer says."

That was a headline on CNN last week. I think we all had the exact same reaction when we read this:


Are you kidding me? These guys got hijacked by pirates and then "regained control". I've seen movies less exciting than CNN headlines this weekend. I just grabbed a bag of popcorn and hit refresh 400 times.

How big of a badass do you have to be to fight off pirates? Every story I told for the rest of my life would begin with, "That reminds me of the time I fought off those pirates..."

Who can top that?

You could make a movie starring Vin Diesel, Sly Stallone, Steaven Segal and Marissa Miller and it would be less exciting. (Marissa Miller is there because when doing something as badass as fighting off pirates I assume there are bikini clad women around as well. It is the only way this makes sense in my head. Fighting off pirates is apparently a lot like heaven.)

I didn't even know there WERE still pirates. I thought they were extinct. If you told me you fought off pirates I would believe just about as much as if you told me you fought off a pack of dinosaurs. Except fighting off dinosaurs is actually LESS impressive than fighting off pirates. Dinosaurs don't have guns.

Although I can't blame the pirates for attacking Americans. I would still be pretty upset about Pirates of the Caribbean 3 too.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

WyW on Thursday - Run for The Hills

Some of you think this is easy. That I just sit on my couch shirtless with a bag of Doritos on my lap and a pile of empty Busch Lights cans to my left and snatch two celebrities out of thin air. That with so many celebrities out there this is just a throw-away post to get me through the week. You think that WyW is for ME.

You think I enjoy this.

Well, let me tell you, there is NOTHING I enjoy about putting these next two celebrities on White-Collar Redneck. This is a place of distinction. Of reputation. This is a place of class and dignity. A place I have slowly built up to what it is now - one fart joke at a time.

And now.


But even the most repulsive and annoying wastes of human flesh have boobies. And for that, we must do them.

Yes, it is time for Would Ya Wednesday on Thursday - Run for The Hills edition.

Today's theme is from The Hills. Or Laguna Beach - or whatever. Leave me alone.

This week is somewhat of a twist - because I am putting up two extremely attractive people. In fact, when I put up the picture of LC I looked down and my fly was undone and my boy parts were trying to make a break for it. It was like an episode of Prison Break but in this version the little bald guy doesn't have any overly dramatic lines.

The catch is that these are two of the most annoying human beings on earf. Their mere existance brings the entire planet down a few notches. I heard that Obama is in negotiations with God to delay the Great Flood as long as we wipe out all traces of The Hills and Laguna Beach.

I'm kidding - I realize that God and Obama are the same person.

Anyways for those of you new to Would Ya Wednesday here are the rules - I put up pictures of two people, NOT actors (wink wink), and then you tell me, UNSCRIPTED (wink wink), if you would play with their Hills and make them your (Laguna) Beach.

Let's see what happens when your privates stop being polite - and start being real.

Lauren Conrad

Brody Jenner

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

It's The End of the World

My body is in such bad shape I throw my back out trying to rub my shoulder after throwing my arm out. My knees have about as much strength as Roseanne in a buffet line and when my stomach disagrees with me like we are part of the British Parliament.

I'm far-sighted and nearly overweight; left handed but not right in the head. I have had braces and cavities and pallet expansion OH MY! An extra vertebrae, missing wisdom teeth, hay-fever, migraines and a chiropractor on speed dial.

I'm a lemon.

I'm 25 years old and have MAYBE 3-4 good years left in me. After that I am retiring and heading off to the nursing home - where I am going to fucking dominate your grandpa in Wii bowling.

Yes, my time on this earf is almost over. It's been a good run. Had some ups. Had some downs. Touched a boob once in the 90's (it was soft) and have seen every episode of Saved by the Bell (including the Malibu Sands episodes - but not the college years - I'm not a freak.)

When I look back I have very little to regret.

But now I need to figure out how to kick the bucket.

Do I ride off into the sunset?

Dramatic sacrificial death like Leo in Titantic or Bruce in Armageddon?

I haven't worked out the details yet, but I think I want to be at the bar and tell an absolutely HILARIOUS joke and then just BAM! Spontaneously combust. Like a magician - a puff of smoke and all that is left is a pair of shoes and some smoke.

Everyone will be amazed and still wiping the tears from their eyes because they were laughing at my joke so hard.

Except your grandpa - he'll still be salty about the Wii thing.

Random Notes - 4/7

- I managed to finish second in my March Madness pool even though the team I picked to win it all (Louisville) lost in the Elite Eight and I only had two Final Four teams. Instead of "2nd Place Winner" I should be called, "2nd Least Amount of Suckitude". I feel like I was in a boxing match and won because the other guy tripped over his own feet and knocked himself out.

- I changed my Garmin's settings to have an Australian accent but I've seen enough Crocodile Dundee movies to know it isn't even close. It sounds more like a deaf girl trying to give me directions. While not ideal, it is still better than directions from a blind girl.

- It is snowing again in Cleveland which wouldn't be that big of a deal but now I have to listen to everyone talk about the fact that it is snowing. Can we put a tax on talking about the weather? Unless you are a meteorologist because that wouldn't be fair. Hot weather girls should be above the law, anyways.

- It took me three innings to remember just how boring it is to watch baseball. All-star baseball players get a hit 1/3 of the time. Imagine if I only did my job right 1/3 of the time - I'd be doing 50% better than I am now!

- If the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new - what should you do when told to "get over yourself"?

Monday, April 6, 2009

Jokes on Me

Know what ruins a good conversation?


Not observational, witty, spur of the moment jokes. Those are great. I will cut you if you can't make those jokes.

But asking me if I want to hear a joke is like asking me if I want to talk about Jesus.

Asking if I want to hear a joke is like telling me to fake laugh in 2 minutes. Can I go do something else and then come back and pretend it was funny? I have some other stuff I need to get done that doesn't suck so it would be helpful if you could start the joke now and then text me when you get close to the punchline so I can fake laugh. Or maybe just text back LOL. That way you can't see the sadness in my eyes.

Not ONLY do I have to fake laugh at jokes, but the person telling them feels the need to tell the joke like an old sailor reliving a horrible storm. Why can't people tell jokes in their normal voice? Just because you are wasting my time doesn't mean you also need to work on your Casey Kasem voice.

When the joke is over - how much fake laughing should take place? Do I feign tears? Slap a knee? Slap a knee twice? Is there some sort of chart that can spell out the exact level of fake laughing necessary?

Two guys walk into a bar... - Worth three tears and a knee slap

A priest, a rabbi and a... - Worth feigned shock and two giggles

Rectum? Damn near KILLED em!... - Worth every second.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Pants on Fire

Cleveland is home to an underground sex trade.

These strange parties drug poor lost souls and then put them on a stage to be poked and prodded - examined and torn down in front of a huge room of people. They are then sold to the highest bidder to be taken away to be used in unthinkable sexual ways.

Yes - that's right - I mistakenly attended a Fireman's Auction last night.

Before you start to judge me - it was completely unintentional. As is tradition, I went to meet Taawd at Rock Bottom Brewery for a few Thursday night mistakes. The place is quiet, the beer is good and we know the staff so it is normally a relatively calm evening.

Well, everyone else is calm. Me screaming obscenities at the shuffle board table helps break up the monotony.

But I entered the door last night and was immediately hit with a wave of dance music and desperation.

I began up the steps, weaving and ducking through a sea of cleavage and menopause.

It was frightening. I don't want to say I am a hero for making it all the way to the bar - but I don't want to protect you from the horror.

Tight jeans. Tube tops. COUGARS.


I retreated to an upstairs bar that was free from the auction - but I'd be lying if I said I didn't sneak back down to take a peak.

I mean, I didn't take out that $300 cash to NOT get a fireman.

(Disclaimer: No cougars were harmed in writing of this post. I love cougars and they love me. If this were a 'Sexy Librarian' auction I would have taken out my life savings. I am also not making fun of fireman - just this particular situation. And the one in the green thong that mooned the crowd. And the one that fell off stage and ripped down the curtain. And myself for staying for 3 beers.)

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Captain Clear Beard

Unfortunately in a hungover, exhausted mistake I shaved off The Beard.

I have more regret today than that time I drank too much rum and woke up next to a midget.

A dude midget.

That's a lie, I don't regret it THAT much, Pablo and I ended up the best of friends.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

WyW - Blockbuster Edition

We haven't had significant snow here in Cleveland for at least 15 minutes which means it is officially summer. Or spring. Or hell. I'm not sure, I'm not a mathematician (have I used this joke before?)

And you know what comes with summer!

No, not back sweat. Gross.

No, not ice cream - think big-time, Fatty.

NO! Not fat chicks in tank tops! What is your deal?

Blockbuster movies! Jeez. I can't do everything for you, Reader. Summer brings blockbuster movies with explosions! Back-stabbing! Passion! Regret!

Apparently blockbuster movies are a lot like my prom but without crying in the fetal position.

I've digressed - let's roll out the red carpet, get the limos gassed up and pick up Ryan Seacrest from the Keebler Elf Tree - it is time for -


If you haven't seen the previews, Would Ya Wednesday is the game where I project two celebrities and you tell me if you would make it rated PG or R.


Will Smith

Kate Winslet