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Rent is For Chumps!

Here is one for paranoid schizophrenics and frightened children everywhere.

Japanese Man Finds Woman Living in Closet

A Japanese guy apparently noticed some food missing from his apartment, so thinking some thing fishy has been going on, set up hidden surveillance cameras in his home.  He noticed a woman walking around his apartment eating his food.

He calls the police, they search the apartment, and find a woman living in a crawl space in his closet.

Holy Shit!  How many times, for you parents, has your kid stated a fear of something being in the closet?  How many times, for you schizos, have you KNOWN that somebody is in the closet?  Well it might just be true. 

Those damn Japanese can live in the smallest places.

So, you hear some scuttling in the walls and assume you have mice...Yuck!  You have an exterminator come to your house to spray and set “humane” traps, only to have him report, “Well, you don’t have mice.” You sigh a deep breath of relief until, “But, you do seem to have a small Japanese infestation.  I caught two in a humane trap...one committed Hara-Kiri, and the other I am going to release back into the wild.  Probably near that Benihana, downtown.” You ask if that was the last of them, but he shakes his head, “They breed pretty efficiently, but if you see two, there are probably more.”

The lesson here is:  If your soy sauce seems to be running out faster than it should...you should probably double check the closets before dancing in front of the mirror naked to “foot loose”.  You might not be alone, and those guys LOVE some bad eighties karaoke. 

Indianapolis is Indianatastic!

Ok, I am probably too drunk to be posting, and I am not normally a drunk blogger...I am usually a drunk eater, a drunk sleeper and often a drunk farter, just ask Liz for verification.  But, I am currently in Indianapolis for MORE corporate, fun training time and it is a pretty cool town. 

I don’t mean that because they have the Colts, or a few “minor” car races here occasionally, but this is a cool downtown area to drink and eat. 

As someone who is prone to finding breweries, they seem to have some good ones all in a two block radius, and a wicked steak joint, St. Elmo’s, which we were first intrigued by due to the classic eighties flick or the same moniker, I really appreciate this joint.

Also it doesn’t hurt to come into a town with low expectations. 

I understand it is really difficult to comprehend that someone from Mississippi is thinking of any town as boring, but I have never really known anyone from this area, and I have lived, at least for small stretches, in some of the biggest and best cities in America.  Indianapolis ranks pretty well with most. 

Now, keep in mind that I haven’t been here for more than 24 hours yet, and I have been drunk for around one third of that time.  BUT, so far so good! 

Stay tuned for my next post, which will probably be titled..."Indianapolis:  If I was going to be anally raped in prison, this might as well be the place.”

How to Eat Coochie

Alternate titles: 

Pandering to the Google Crowd

Sunshine for Othurme

Blogistan appears to be in a creative recession.  At least here in the respectable, lower middle class section of Blogistan that I frequent. 

When I started blogging, several years ago, there were very few blogs I read, and very few people that read this one.  Mostly I would read what Liz posted at her blog, and she and my Mother, would read mine.  When Liz became lazy, and tried to quit, I convinced her to join me here in an attempt to retain my primary reader, at least the one not related to me. 

Somehow a fellow by the name of Othurme wandered in one day and poked about long enough to become a nuisance.  When I followed him back to his blog, it was quite enjoyable.  From there we would find many other bloggers and eventually find out that there was more to Blogistan than hyperactive tweener bloggers living in Singapore and random Mommy bloggers touting pictures of ugly kids. 

One of my all time favorite aspects of Othurme’s blog, http://immunopressed.com, was his feat of becoming the number one google hit for “How to eat coochie”.  It showed that through hard work and diligence, one man can master the universe. 

I checked recently and it was no longer held by him.  Those feats were easier when we both had blogspot listings.  The evil Google empire appears to give much leverage to it’s own sites, although they claim to be neutral.  (I’m sorry google...I did not really mean that...don’t move me down the list, please)

Lately Othurme has been taking a hiatus from blogging and I figured this was my chance to step in and steal his limelight.  I have always wanted that star listing, but figured that if I tried to make my move, Othurme would pounce back into the race. 

So here is my official instructions on How To Eat Coochie:

How to Eat Coochie

The key to coochie eating is coochie selection.  If you choose a coochie that is past is prime, then no matter what recipe you follow, it just won’t taste right.  Also important to remember, if you choose a coochie that has not fully ripened.  It will be bitter, disappointing, and can lead to imprisonment. 

Back in the seventies it was easy to tell a coochie that was ready for eating.  It had hair.  Now, the trend has moved towards making all coochie look like it belongs on a eight year old, so more elaborate tests need to be used.

I have heard some say you should thump the coochie like a cantaloupe in order to determine it’s ripeness, but in today’s litigious society that test can lead to lawsuits, loss of job, or both.  I personally prefer the more sure fire method of asking to see some form of government issued identification.  You can never be too cautious when choosing the ripeness of the coochie.  If you decide to forgo this step and jump straight into the first coochie that is presented you, you run a serious risk of incarceration.  If that should happen you might be more interested in my next installment in the “How To” series, “How to Toss a Salad”.

Once you have ascertained the proper ripeness of the coochie you can finally proceed to the next step, Preparing the coochie.

First and Foremost:  You have to make sure the coochie WANTS to be eaten.  It’s not an inanimate object like a taco, well it’s sort of like a taco; you can’t just pounce and eat...you have to consider the coochie’s feelings in all this.  Woman’s lib really ruined the ease of coochie eating.  Long gone are the days of coochie buffets, now you have to consider HER needs.  What has the world come to.

After you have received the go ahead for coochie eating make sure you understand that you are not Literally “eating coochie”, don’t go chomping and chewing.  You have to love the coochie, you have to caress the coochie. 

So, you have caressed the coochie and now you want to wrap things up so you can get your return in investment.  I mean lets be honest, you weren’t eating that coochie for coochie’s sake, it was in hopes that she would return the favor.  You don’t want to waste the entire night down there. 

I know it seems like there should be more to these steps, but I usually have trouble getting past the first two steps.  To be honest, I was going to shoot an instructional video using a full scale model I built out of a couple slices of bologna and a sweet gerkin pickle (serving as the fabled clitoris).  Although it didn’t look good on film, it was surprisingly tasty on toasted wheat. 

In truth I am hoping this motivates Othurme to get out of his funk and return to Blogistan in order to fight for what was once rightfully his. 

Could My Mom Be A Cougar?

Our culture loves the fad terminology.  The latest horrific concept to grasp us all by the short and curlies:  Cougar.

I kept hearing this term and thought maybe it had some cute, clever meaning, like MILF.  I knew what it was describing, but I kept trying to think what the letters could stand for.  Finally I went to the site for all things cool and hip, urbandictionary.com.  It apparently doesn’t stand for anything, but refers to “older women” who go to clubs to pick up young dudes for some lovin’. 

Apparently it is better to have five, 2.5 minute, episodes of sex in a night, instead of one, four hour, episode, in which half the time is spent getting it up.  It must really suck to be a woman.  It’s either pre-mature ejaculation or impotence. 

I kept researching this concept, and was picturing saggy sixty year old women, with too much plastic surgery, all gussied up in a mini skirt and fur coat hitting the discos.  Then I found the age criteria.  Apparently a cougar is any chick over thirty five who is searching for a younger man to use for sexual pleasures. 

It hit me, most females I hang out with are over thirty five.  Maybe they are Cougars.  One in particular you might be familiar with...Her name begins with an L and rhymes with Jiz.

Another thought occurred to me, “I’m thirty five!  That means women my age are now seeking younger men.” But, if older men are looking for younger women, and older women are looking for younger men, what the hell does that mean for me?  Do I start trying to bang fifty year old chicks, or do I focus on eighteen year olds?  I know which way I WANT to steer, but I need to play the odds here. 

I’m soooo damn confused right now. 

Maybe I should start trying to dress younger, so I can bag a girl my own age. 

Answer some questions I have...Do any of you gals out there relish the term Cougar?  Does anyone refer to themselves as that?  Do women find a catholic school BOY outfit hot?

Back In The Saddle

I have been out of the blogging loop for so long, I have almost forgotten what I am supposed to blog about. 

I think it has something to do with my balls, but that doesn’t seem right.  Why would anyone want to read that?  Has the World Wide Webs numbed us all to such disturbing levels that people would actively seek out and support such tomfoolery? 

I hope not.  There is a world of cute kitten posters you could be googling right now.  I really mean that...after writing that last sentence I spent about thirty minutes on google looking for cute motivational kitten posters.  I had one in mind.  This one.

image

I could not believe the overwhelming amount of kitten propaganda on the information super highway.  It seems dangerous to have all those kittens on a highway.

I then remembered, not to long ago, the Onion had a funny kitten related headline.

image

I started to wonder if, in a thinly veiled attempt to increase web traffic, maybe we should be MORE kitten oriented here.  We have the one cursory kitten at the top of the page.  I don’t recall working him into the design for ulterior motives, but maybe my kitten scheme has been subconscious for some time. 

Maybe if I replace Liz with a cute, cuddly kitten, I could get more than two posts while I am out of town.  But, where could I drink, win at poker, and then pass out in an overly pillowed bed?  I think some kittens might have a few of those qualities, but not in great enough quantity.

I then started to wonder, “what would it be like if my balls were actually cute, cuddly kittens?”

Would women be more, or less, likely to want to pet them?  I mean, who doesn’t see kittens, and then instantly want to reach out and rub and hold them?  I can’t tell you how many times I have witnessed women pick up strange, unfamiliar kittens and rub them against their face, cooing and making soft, sexy noises. 

If my balls were kittens, I would enjoy that treatment.  That rarely happens now, at least not for free.

But, then I realized it might be disconcerting to many people if there is an abnormal amount of frantic movement from the groin region of my pants.  Not to mention the constant soft, high pitched mewling.  That would get annoying after a very short period.  Also, if my balls scratched and bit on occasion only a select few women would still go along with that...and I don’t really go for that scene.

No, I think I will keep my balls as they are.  They have served me well up to this point.  But if you run across a kitten with a quaint little house, full of campy, yet tasteful, decorations, and a willingness to drink frequently, scoop it up and give me a call.  If they can also produce a humorous blog entry more than once a week, Liz might get replaced, but that kitten better be house broken...it took me forever to get Liz that way.

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Recent Comments

  • Retractable Banner Stands said

    I think the moniker implies intent and I did not go looking for them.  In fact, I’d prefer a nice man, my age, who has a good head on his shoulders and between his legs.  And now you may know a whole lot more about me than you wanted
    Retractable Banner Stands

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