Thursday, February 25, 2010

Modern Manvels

The Lady Friend and the Friends of the Lady Friend have decided it is "cute" to refer to me as the "Modern Man".

She points out the fact that I grew up farming, like to swear, have no fashion sense and still sometimes get really quiet when there are big boobies on the TV... offset by the fact that I own an espresso pot, have gotten in actual arguments with her over accent colors and have been found watching What Not To Wear under a blanket with a bowl full of ice cream on occasion.

But it was manly ice cream. Rocky Road, bitch.

So what are some of the less..."testicular" activities that you / your Guy Friend / Some Guy You Know That You Sometimes Do Things That You Don't Tell Your Friends About (sorry to put a title on it, I know you didn't want to get serious) - what are some girly things your guy does?

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


So I hadn't looked at my Google Analytics lately (which is odd because no one enjoys a quick tugjob on the ego like me) but boy am I glad I did.

I know this is a fairly common post in the blogosphere, but some of these are too good not to share.

So without further adieu, search results that brought people to The 'Neck -

Licking my own nipples

90's dragon shirts

Angry drunk best friend straight gay video game

Bob Golic has turned into a republican asshole

Fire captain sweat pants

Supercollider? i hardly know her! dont get it

Vegetarians and witches

Aw crap

Whooping, hollering and holding back tears

A shirt that combined nerdiness, puns, and redneck culture

Awkward fucking pterodactyl


So which is your favorite?

Mine, personally, is "Awkward fucking pterodactyl". It just raises so many questions.

Why were they searching for an awkward pterodactyl?

Were they asking for one that was fucking or were they using that to ensure the level of awkward?

How does someone who knows how to spell "pterodactyl" want to search for this?

And did they find what they were looking for?

I can only hope.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Move

So as mentioned earlier, I am now an engaged man. Which is weird. Now, walking into a bar is like walking into a giant department store with only one thing for sale.

But along with the engagement has come cohabitation. Without stealing too much from my good friend Allison over at Confessions of a Cohabitant, things be different.

Cons -

With her being a vegetarian - a lot more of my meals are just a bunch of side dishes that are all green and not bacon.

Pros -

My dinners are no longer cooked by Chef Boyardee or come out of a box.

Cons -

My bathroom has 1,000 beauty products in it.

Pros -


Cons -

She does my laundry so I never know where my clothes are.

Pros -

I don't have to do the "smell test" on dirty boxers.

Cons -

Less beer drinking.

Pros -

More wine drinking.

Cons -

Forced cleaning on weekends.

Pros -

No ants in the doughnut box.

Cons -

She uses the Tivo to record her shows.

Pros -

Endless supply of What Not To Wear.

I think I could get used to this.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Take a Biathle

Once you get past the oodles of Cool Runnings jokes, the Winter Olympics...well...kind of suck.

Curling is sweet - but I have no idea how to keep score. I feel like a 15 yr old the first time he sees a naked girl. Do I touch them?

And hockey is, of course, awesome - but we already have hockey. You can't make me wait four years for something that I pretty much ignore every year already. That's what politics are for.

All the other events are people turning themselves into human missiles and then getting on ice. That is a good idea. They need to just call these events the "Downhill 400 meter Death Wish". I'm not impressed with your stupidity! Where is your mother? Did she sign you up for ski lessons because child services should have a conversation with her.

But, then it happened. I was watching some stupid cross-country skiing event thinking about how running is boring enough, now you strapped skis to these guys' feet to make them look even dumber and then BAM.


They picked up a fucking rifle and went to town on some targets.

Skiing and shooting? That is an event? You RACE and then stop to shoot a gun?

Did I miss something? This has to be an American sport. NASCAR totally needs to adopt this.

And who in their right mind would hand a long-distance athlete a gun? I can't run a half-mile without wanting to kill myself and everyone around me. These guys are going like 18 miles.

Man, if they use this for the sequel, Cool Runnings 2 is going to RULE.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana?

Show and Tell Week continues here at The 'Neck (PLEASE let that catch on).

I've shown you the Greatest T-Shirt Ever Made, Ever and the Gumby Witness - but today I want to share with you the horrible end to everyone's favorite Exploding Bear -

If you think that's bad, you should see what the banana is doing to Gumby right now.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Make It Shirt So Good

Hello, dear Readers, I want to introduce you to someone special. But first, a story...

In college I worked for a t-shirt screening shop, so every now and then we would make funny t-shirts for ourselves before we went home.

Wait, crap, that story sucked. Ummm...and then I found $5! There we go.

Where was I?

Oh, right - the greatest t-shirt ever invented.

I know what you are asking - did this sexy t-shirt (and facial expression) ever lure a young lady into the love den?


I blame the recession.

The closest it ever came to tasting success (wow, worded that wrong) was the time a friend of mine wore the shirt and some girl told him she had $10. Then he pointed to me and said, "There he is."

Her response?

"Oh. Nevermind."

Joke is on her - I didn't have change for a $20 anyways.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010


If you live under a rock, or are not a sports fan (in which case, you might as well live under a rock), then you may not know about LeBron James' routine of throwing powder up in the air before games. It looks something like this -

Well Gumby, not to be outdone by the exploding bear in the world of awkward things on my desk, has something he wants to share with LeBron -

We are all witnesses.

Thursday, February 11, 2010


What on earf could possibly make a man go from growing a beautiful, lush, cozy beard like this -

To a clean-cut, wussy face like this?

A girl.

Sometimes an occasion comes that is so important it supersedes EVEN beards.

Or as Beyonce would say -

I liked it so I went and put a ring on it.

(And if you were wondering - I am TOTALLY going to make that face in my wedding pictures.)

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Avatard Part 2

Lady Friend - "This 3D is incredible! Everything is more awesome in 3D."

Me - "I know!"

Lady Friend - "It makes me wish real life was in 3D!"

Me - "..."

Lady Friend - "You are going to blog about this, aren't you?"

Monday, February 8, 2010

Give Me A Breakfast

I have set a world record.


Every morning I sit at my desk and think to myself, "DAMN how much longer until I get to eat lunch." Then I get up and look at my packed lunch to see if there is any way I can just get a nibble - like a lion picking off a baby wildebeest as an appetizer.

This used to happen around 11.

Then 10:45

It continued to move up until I was famished at 10:15.

But now?

It is 9:22 and I am starving. That cold meat sub sitting on my book shelf is about to be chewed into submission before taking a pummeling from my stomach. I won't even tell you where it goes from there (poop).

I am fairly certain I am a fat kid trapped in a skinny-kids body. Which can't be very comfortable for the fat kid. I imagine it feels a lot like wearing whitey-tighties - you need a shoe horn to get everything crammed in there.

So now I am left to scour the office for leftover niblets of breakfasts' past.

Maybe I can scrap the wrapper of a muffin.

Or steal the last few bites of an apple core.

Say, are you going to eat the rest of that wildebeest?

Thursday, February 4, 2010


I went and saw Avatar this past weekend - or as it should be called, "Alien Pocahontas". But I could hardly concentrate, and not just because I was strangely aroused by the blue alien girl.

No, there was a guy sitting next to me who had to comment on every scene.

"Oh, there is NO WAY that would happen! That is so unrealistic!"



You are watching a movie about humans traveling to a far off planet and creating some cloned alien body they control with virtual reality and then they go live with an alien colony and do the sex.

After ALL that - the fact that he just jumped out of a TREE is the part that you find unbelievable?

Because the part I find unbelievable is that I didn't murder your face dead with the back end of my 3-D glasses.

Pandora, my ass - you're fucking with Narmnia now.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Roommating Rituals

My roommate of 3.5 years moved out this past weekend.

You may remember him from such debates as "Would you do Queen Latifah?" and "Serena Williams is hot".

But he is most famous in these parts for Curious George.

For those of you who are too lazy to click that link - I feel you. I barely had the energy to put it up there. But I don't want you to be lost so here is a synopsis.

The roommate and I somehow became owners of a small Curious George doll about 2.5 years ago. We took it upon ourselves to start hiding it in various places throughout our apartment trying to surprise the other one. One day it would be hanging from the shower head, the next it would be stuffed inside a guitar and, one of my personal favorites, strategically hung inside the toilet bowl with some sort of wire contraption (his work, not mine).

The height of Curious George's reign came when he committed suicide at the apartment.

But, like any super creepy doll, he made his comeback - this time at my new house when he was placed inside a lamp. Fortunately this reign was ended when I failed to notice George placed inside of said lamp and his ass melted to the lamp. The entire upstairs smelled like monkey ass and melted plastic for a week. Made me rethink getting my own monkey as a pet.

So as the roommate came over to get his last few things left at the house last night, he told me a little surprise. Curious George is back - somewhere in my house - waiting to be found.

The tradition continues.

But I still wouldn't do Queen Latifah.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Aw, Crap

There are several (hundred) things that annoy me about owning a home, but perhaps none more than people shitting in my yard.

Ok, so maybe it is their dog shitting in my yard, but does that change the fact that there is shit in my yard?

Who decided it was ok to drop a grumpy in my lawn as long as it belonged to an animal? IT IS STILL POOP. Stumpy's shit doesn't smell like roses, no matter what kind of stupid sweater you put on him.

So now when I mow my lawn, I either A) step in dog shit which I will undoubtedly track through the house or B) hit it with the mower and "make it rain" on my yard with Spot's dung.

How is this not against the law? You are literally leaving shit in my yard as you walk by. Real poop. It is perfectly legal to poop in my lawn. My lawn is your dog's bathroom. For poop. It is vandalism to break someone's stupid lawn gnome, but POOPING IN THEIR LAWN is legal.

If I am beginning to sound redundant I apologize, but people are shitting in my lawn.

If you aren't a big enough grown up to pick up after your dog, not only do you not deserve to be a pet owner, but you should also be shot. And then I should get to poop on you.

I'd love to follow these people home and then drop my trousers and release the beast, but I have stage fright. And collecting my own poop at home is one notch TOO crazy. Even for me.

I think my only defense is to get my OWN dog and then let him shit all over these peoples' lawn. Is there a breed that produces more crap than other breeds? I want my dog to more or less be a poop factory - like a baby but with fur.

What's this?

A Shitzu?

Sounds perfect.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Who's Bad?

I had my Saturday all planned.

House crap all day, a dinner at Poo and then? And then! And then -

Who's Bad - the World's Greatest Michael Jackson Tribute Band.

I've seen them twice. I know their moves. I even know their set list. I am...kind of creepy after rereading this line.

But I was ready.

I had an extra hop in my step as I cleaned and hammered and fixed things all over the house. I chewed my dinner to the beat of "The Way You Make Me Feel". I watched every weird YouTube version of "Man In The Mirror" that some pervert uploaded and dedicated to someone in their lives.

I had that damn crotch grab perfected.

The Lady Friend and I left Poo to head home and prep ourselves for the faKing of Pop - I sat down on the couch to watch TV for a few minutes and...

...woke up right as the show started. But the show was 25 minutes away and I still had residue of Orange Chicken stuck in my beard.

It was over. No Moonwalk. No sparkly glove. I tried to justify throwing on some clothes and speeding downtown for the last few songs (Man In The Mirror IS the encore, after all) but the answer was Black and White.

I missed it.

After all that excitement I had no one to blame but myself.

Who's Bad?

My bad.