The Cheerleader: Epilogue?

One more interesting tidbit to accompany the story of the Cheerleader.

It concerns Poppinfresh walking by the bathroom one day and being stopped by the building maintenance guy, Chaz.

He says to Poppinfresh, "Come on in here, you've got to see this.". Poppinfresh obliges and he is directed to a toilet where seemingly the world's largest turd resides.

Chaz wonders out loud, "That should have come with it's own trail of blood!"

Coincidence???

The People That You Meet While Using The Restroom - Volume 1

Going to the restroom during working hours used to be a rather mundane activity. You're in, you're out and back to the grind. Not for me, Blue and Poppinfresh.

You see, we share a restroom with an adult daycare facility. Now, going to the bathroom is an adventure. You never know who you're going to meet in there and what crazy antics these folks will be up to.

It all started one day (before Blue was hired, incidentally), about a year ago when I walked into the facilities and stood in front of the urinal. From the stalls I heard someone chanting:

"Yeah...oh..ok...yeah....hmmmhh...good...ok.....yeahh...ohhhhhhhh....yeah....."

I was startled. What the hell is that? I turned around towards the stalls...

"Ooohhh....ok.....I just......gotta.......oh.......yeahh.......ok.........gooood....."

Thus was born character number one: The Cheerleader

I kind of feel sorry for The Cheerleader. The poor guy either suffers from such an exagerated self esteem or he has the tightest sphincter muscle known to man. I've had more than my share of run-ins with him. At first I am standing there and I'm thinking to myself, "What is that guy doing in there? Spanking off?"

He sounds like he is doing something worth cheering about. He seemingly is praising himself for some sort of process that he is in the middle of. But, he doesn't sound exactly overjoyed, he actually sounds kinda pained.

You see, this guy just can't experience a quick and total full bowel release. It seems like he's paying the sacrifices for a strict diet of oatmeal, bran muffins and metamucil. He sounds like he's trying to push four pounds of chopmeat through a crazy straw and is just giving himself the verbal props and accolades for accomplishing the task.

He doesn't seem to be put off in the least by the presence of other people in the bathroom during his rectal exercise. In some ways, as vocal as he is, he seems awfully proud of himself, this being his way to show the world that "He's the man!"

The first time I experienced his cheerleading, I didn't think anyone would believe my story. That's partially true. I am known for my ability to embellish a story but in this case, I'm not the only one to experience The Cheerleader's moves. The scary thing is that The Cheerleader is so passe now. So many other characters have eclipsed his shananigans that when I run across him, I don't even think twice about it.

In the coming months, I will highlight more of the characters and add new ones as I encounter them. They are an odd lot.

Have You Checked The Children?

Now I think I've seen it all. Has the movie industry gotten so lame that we need to remake mediocre 1970's horror movies?

A remake of "When a Stranger Calls"(1979)? Are you fucking kidding me?
I think Hollywood needs to get it's head examined to dip back into this well.

I saw the original when I was a kid and was never impressed enough to rewatch this movie again and I was a horror movie junkie. This is a one trick pony, gimmick movie, nothing more. If you think that knowing what was going to happen for 2 hours is suspensful, then this movie is right up your alley. Plus in this age of cellphones, is it really a surprise when you find out that the creepy calls are coming from inside the house?

I guess I should have seen the writing on the wall when Peter Jackson took an amazingly mediocre movie "King Kong" (1933,1976) and made it 3 hours long. As if the story wasn't insufferable and unbelievable enough. There's a reason why the movie took 43 years to be remade in 1976. We weren't due for more King Kong schlock until 2019. I was really hoping that I would be dead by then, thereby escaping it.

Now, we get a 2nd rate horror movie like "Stranger" remade.

If the kids want to see this movie, do yourself a favor and pick up the original in a cutout bin and watch it at home, where it would probably be that much scarier.

What's next?... "Prom Night" (1980, holy shit...it looks like it was remade in 2005!) and "Sleepaway Camp"(1983)? What tripe. If this movie grosses more than 25M, it will prove that we are a bunch of retarded lemmings headed for the cliff.

Now, a "Don't Look In The Basement" (1973) remake....I'd be up for that! ("You bad....you killed Dr, Stevens and broke my boat...you bad...). A true classic. I'm going to use a future post to document my favorite lines from that one! Hell, why stop there, let's remake "Dementia 13" (1963) and "Barbed Wire Dolls" (1975), while were at it.

Yummy, nothing beats movies about caged women.

Fire Cowher...And Ladies, Please Support Your Steelers!

All year I had to deal with insufferable Steeler fans calling for the brass to fire Cowher, who has not provided the Steelers fans with a title.

(1980!...1980!...1980!...)

Now I have come around to that point of view. With any other coach they would have been able to beat the #1,2 and 3 AFC seeds by much larger margins.

I say string the bastard up right next to the NFL refs at the Superbowl halftime show! Let Chuck Noll coach the team on Superbowl Sunday and return the glory back to the Burgh!

Any chance we can get Bradshaw back to QB. Ben seemed a little nervy today.

Listen, I love them dearly but Steeler fans are absolute whackjobs. You'd think 25 years of losing would temper their lunacy. It's only gotten worse.

Bluey wants to see a Steeler victory, if only to pacify the crazy mob although I hesitate to be out and about on that day. It just may not be safe...regardless of the outcome!

If Cowher manages to win the game, I am predicting that he will be the Steeler coach for at least the next thirty years.

Lastly, interesting statistical tidbit from the Elias Sports Bureau. No team who's 18-35 year old female fans flashed their breasts most in the time leading up to the superbowl has ever lost the NFL title game. So, girls, get to work supporting those Steelers.

Paint one black and the other gold! Go Steelers!!!!!!

Favorite Quotes - Part 3

"...because I'm the man and you're my property. It says so in the Bible...(and then making quotations gesture with both hands)...PROP...PURR...TEEE!!!"

It really is truly amazing that I was married for as many years as I was. Whenever I wanted a sure fire way to hit my ex-wife's button, I would use the above quote to explain why I was right in an argument that we were having. Nothing set her off quite like it. It would usually cause her to vault at me in attempt to choke me to death.

"Suck it like you're trying to find the cure!"

This quote is predominantly uttered by Irish although I'm not exactly sure of it's origin. It's meaning is self explanatory.

"Hung like a bull hamster"

Compliments of HMO Blue, explaining a man's (sometimes his own) natural endowments. This always makes me chuckle. Alternative saying "Hung like an infant". Funny stuff.

"Just tell Blue to run a back end query"

This is just about my favorite saying at work and comes courtesy of Poppinfresh. Whenever we have some sort of programming issue, Poppinfresh asks Blue (our senior Boys Club member with cantankerous tendencies) to "run a back end query" to fix the problem. The back end query has become synonomous with waving a magic wand as being a cure all for every problem. Whenever anything is wrong, regardless of what it is, I always ask Blue for a back end query.

The Inner Beast

um...er...I don't think that the world is ready for that one quite yet.

Let's do a take two, because in order to appreciate "The Inner Beast", you need to have a little background. So, Take Two!

My Son, Pimp-n-Playa

Many of you who have been reading this blog, know that I have three young daughters. But what you don't know is that I have a deep dark secret in my past. Dim the lights, turn on the strobe and cue KC and the Sunshine Band's "Get Down Tonight" (do a little dance, make a little love...). But in order to tell this story I need to take you into the wayback machine to Studio 54, New York City, circa 1981 when a young guido named Riccardo Suave was tearing up the dancefloor dressed in snake skin pants, a white dress shirt unbuttoned to his navel and enough gold chains to burn out retinas. This God's gift to women scans the floor looking for some fresh talent, having exhausted the city gals and the jersey babes.

This is when he spots a smoking hot blonde, naive western Pennsylvania gal who is in town for a little big city fun and totally unaware that tonight is the night that her life changes for good. Rico makes eye contact and swoops in for the kill. The girl is like a deer in the gold chain glitter and can't take her eyes off Rico's manly chest turf. He whispers in her ear and they go upstairs into the bowels of 54. Her friends protest briefly but let her go. Isn't that why they came to the big city? For a little fun?

Fast forward to a 54 broom closet. With the strobe light and the music still pulsing, Rico bends her over and grabs her by the hair. He relieves her of her pants and they go at it like animals in heat. Rico is gently spanking her bottom as the Clash's "Magnificent Seven" replaces "Get Down Tonight". As the two lovers sweat and explode in passion, the world around them dissolves. They finish and come to their senses and begin to dress. Rico tucks his magnificent seven back into his pants and gives the girl his phone number, kisses her neck and sends her back to her friends, who surely are worried by now.

The girl tries to find Rico in the crowd later but he has evaporated into the scene. The girl returns to Western Pennsylvania the next day and tries to phone Rico. She dials the number and is greeted with "Madison Square Garden, can I help you?". The girl is devastated but is not too disappointed. For she had the best New York City had to offer and this would keep her warm on cold winter nights in her old age. Nine months later she would give birth to a son and name him Pimp-n-Playa.

Pimp would go through 18 years of his life until he meets his real father at a pick-up hockey session in Kittanning , Pa. No longer going by Rico, I chose to reveal my secret a year later while Pimp and I were teammates on the Cosmic Debris team in an Adult Ice Hockey League. It turned out, that Pimp had inherited his mad skills from his old man and led the team in goals while his yet to be revealed dear old Dad was manning the Debris defense.

It was the last game of the season and the Debris was a dismal 0-9 although Pimp had racked up most of the team's goals. He went on a pregame tirade chastising the team, calling them a "fuckity bunch of motherfucking fucking fuckers". He goes to leave the locker room and starts to flick the lights in a strobe light fashion.

"This is to remind yuns older fuckers what it was like to be young!".

It was at this moment I chose to unburden myself of the truth. I said, "Pimp, I am your father. Many years ago I met your Mom in Studio 54 and we had a brief moment."

I started to flicker the light in the locker room and explained how I briefly bent her over and spanked her while I gave her Rico's passion. I even sang the song by which the tender Pimp was procreated. I told him that I always held his Mom to be special but had no intention of moving to Deliverance country to raise a son.

Pimp was speechless and shook his head. He walked out of that locker with his life changed for good.

For he was the son of a man commonly referred to by his friends as Satan. And now Pimp would have to go through his life as my son, Satan's Seed.

Some of the names and events have been changed to protect the innocent, but the story above is loosely based on a true story.

This post is dedicated to my son, Pimp-n-Playa. Hopefully, the next twenty years will make up for the first twenty that we missed out on.

Super Bowl Halftime Public Lynchings

I propose that this year as a halftime spectacular, that the NFL build a 12 person gallows on the fifty yard line and have a mass hanging of their referees at the Superbowl.

Never in my 30 years of watching pro football have I watched such shoddy officiating that has threatened the outcome of the games. I have no rooting interest in any of the teams in the playoffs but these guys were god awful this weekend. You would think that instant replay would help the refs make the proper calls. Instead, they continue to butcher the calls even with the benefit of slow motion replay.

Now, I'm sick of my friends whining and complaining about the refs each week but after watching that debacle of a game that was Pittsburgh-Indianapolis, I am convinced that the refs should be executed for doing everything in their power to insure the Colts victory. There was a clear pass interference by Indy on Randle El that they turned their backs on, a scrimmage infraction that turned out to be a phantom call and two interceptions by the Steelers that were ruled incomplete. On the second, which ocurred as the Steelers apparently iced the game on a wonderful play by Polamalau, the play was challenged by Indy. It was so obvious an interception, I have no idea but to assume that the ref was bribed to throw the game. And I really can't give a fig who won. The refs basically became the most important aspect of the game and were so inept it made me sick. Even with a clear replay of the interception, he overturned the call on the field. That ref should be fired tonight!

But I'll go one step further because the Patriots-Broncos was also an officiating nightmare. I think that at the halftime at the Superbowl, we should hang all the guilty refs for their calls/non-calls. Let's execute these shrivs and get some refs in who have a clue. My interest in football has waned in the last few years and now I think I know why. Let's watch those bitches swing while the music plays and lets get some refs in there that are younger than 50 years old and many years away from cataract surgery.

NFL, what a fucking disaster. If there isn't a full inquiry into the refs at Indy this weekend for bribery charges, then the league is a goddamn joke. There is no other explanation except that they were bribed.

Let the fucksticks swing I say! (fucksticks, a new word brought to you by B., my girlfriend's cousin)

The Wonder Years

I had dinner with my old roomate, Pablo Honey tonight. I lived with Pablo for about 4 years after I moved in with him, Buchie and Teddy Ballgame after my separation in 1998. We were reminiscing about the good old days in the old apartment together and I was reminded of a funny story.

Pablo has a cousin, Kevina, that he is close to. There was always some sort of drama happenning between the two of them back then since they were so close. They were like an old married couple and we used to compare them to Paul and Kevin on the "Wonder Years". One night, when "Kevin and Paul" went to a Steeler game, Buchie and I put a Wonder Years narrative message on our outgoing answering machine. If you remember the ending of just about every Wonder Years episode, you'll get a kick out of this.

Each episode of the show ended in some sappy narrative about how the events of the show had "changed their lives forever". I only wish I had a copy of the tape or the numerous out-takes that me and Buchie busted out laughing while leaving the message. Of course I don't remember the exact message but this is a "tribute" to the greatest message in the world. I wish you could've been there.

"And as we walked back to our car
after the game under a moonlit night,neither of us spoke.
For we knew that the events of the night
would forever change the way we looked at each other.
No longer would we be carelessly flipping baseball cards
or riding our bikes without thought of tomorrow.
For tonight the world has changed and
we could never go back to a simpler time
of youthful indiscretion.
Our lives had been touched
and our relationship would be redefined
by our experiences on this winter evening.
Time marches forward and carries us into adulthood
regardless of our wishes, hopes and dreams unfulfilled.
But one thing remains constant...
my friend Paul...(cue "With a Little Help From My Friends" music)"

God only knows how many takes it took us to place that message on the answering machine but I know that after me and Buchie left that message, I knew that our lives would be forever changed.....lol

11 Years Old

Today, I have two 11 year old daughters. Bebis turned 11 today. She's a set of Irish twins with Loni, who turns 12 in 4 weeks. And if you've been reading this blog, you can probably guess what I got Bebis for her birthday. Yup, you guessed it...an Ipod Shuffle. I guess I better get out into the backyard and start digging a second hole.

I don't remember too much of my eleventh year. I remember Star Wars coming out that year, my brother Frunkel was born and my maternal grandmother dying at the year's end.

My most lucid memory of that year (1977) is the NYC blackout in July, when the lights were out for over 24 hours. That was the year the hated Yankees were vying for yet another World Series title (while my beloved Mets seemed to be just as hapless as always), the Son of Sam killer was lurking in the shadows, killing young girls (my older sister wasn't allowed to go anywhere unattended) and it was hot as hell that day, much like the rest of that summer. I remember my Mom getting us ready for bed when the lights went out, so it must have been around 9 or 10 PM.

After the lights went out, it seemed like pandemonium hit throughout the city. I lived in an Italian neighborhood and everyone was on their porches the second the lights went out. I guess a few people had radios that reported that there was already incidents of looting occurring all over the city especially in Brooklyn, the Bronx and Manhattan. All of us kids were told not to go anywhere alone that summer for fear of the "Son of Sam". At first there seemed to be a general panic in the neighborhood. We had no idea what to expect and even the adults seemed very insecure about safety. As the adults congregated in the streets, us kids were told to stay indoors.

And then something wonderful happened. The adults got together and decided that it would be best to stay awake, patrol the nieghborhood and have a big sort of block party. Adults were dispatched to either side of the block with baseball bats and an assortment of weapons to make sure no undesireables wandered onto our street. Cars were parked across the entrance and exit of our street to block off any road traffic. Grills were fired up and the street was lit up with the lights from candles, trashbin fires and flashlights. It didn't sound like the power was going to be on anytime soon, so people started emptying their fridges and cooking on their grills. No one went to bed that night. Us kids got to play in the street all night. I never remember being happier as we played, ate great food and helped the adults patrol the neighborhood. We played until we passed out probably sometime around daybreak. Us kids all secretly hoped that the blackout would last another night but the electricity did end up coming on late the following evening.

I know that the 1977 blackout was different for many other people in NYC but I will always remember it fondly as one of the best parties I remember. Our Italian community really came together and made a nice memory out of a potentially disastrous one for us kids.

NHL Lingerie

Really. Is there anything sexier than a woman in a hockey jersey and nothing else?

Victoria Secret can keep their frilly, skimpy lingerie. I would rather see a woman in a hockey jersey. That's a bigger turn on to me. It doesn't even necessarily have to be a NY Rangers jersey although, say a Philadelphia Flyer jersey, may just elicit some angrier sex. The scary thing is that some lingerie costs as much as a hockey jersey. Hell, the jersey doesn't necessarily have to be an NHL jersey. It could just as easily be an AHL, ECHL or just a simple practice jersey.

Maybe I'm nuts. But that's just the way I'm wired. Maybe playing ice hockey for most of my life has knocked a screw loose or maybe I've taken one too many pucks to the head.

Now if I can just convince Tori Amos to wear a NY Rangers jersey on the cover of her next album. Maybe I should just send her one with a note. Hell, she breast fed a piglet on the Boys for Pele album, so my request would seem rather tame compared to that, you'd think.

I'm just trying to figure out if she'd look better in the home white or the Statue of Liberty third jersey. Or maybe the crested old school home white. So many choices...

Bluey's Angels: The Apples Don't Fall Far...

I like to play Halo 2 online from time to time with my friends. Sometimes we get together at my place and connect multiple Xboxes and shoot the images on the walls with projectors.

There's only one problem. Apart from not being particularly good at the game, I am not exactly a team player. My style of plays tends to be mindless and vengeful, bent on random and wanton destruction. I can't seem to focus long enough to be part of a strategy. Of course, it drives my friends absolutely nuts. Because I am such a pain in the ass, I generally make no attempt to change my style of play. I don't know why Griffin, Irish and the multitude of online friends put up with me and allow me to play with them. I am sometimes just about likely to kill my teammate as I am the enemy. For some reason I just can't help myself. I always wondered if it was some sort of character flaw that maybe I should do something about. Griffin had thrown his hands up long ago with me. Sometimes I swear, I can hear his teeth grinding over his headset.

But, on Christmas, I was redeemed! I can't be held responsible!

You see, on Christmas, my three daughters received Shrek 2 from Santa and the game has the capacity for 4 player mode. I took Shrek, Loni took Princess Fiona, Bebis took Gingy and Kitty took Donkey. What followed was a lab experiment that I will never forget and was extremely enlightening.

Loni kept slowing down time, preventing us from proceeding while beating the rest of us up, Bebis had Gingy whacking us with a candy cane and throwing cookies at us and Kitty kept donkey blasting the rest of us every chance she got. It was a team effort thrust into total pandemonium.

As I watched the events develop, I cracked a smile. It was total chaos!

Any thoughts of these kids being the milkman's faded. I started drop kicking and belly flopping on everything that was within a foot of me, enemy and ally alike.

All was right with the world. I can't be held accountable for my style of play.I'm the product of my genetics.

Sweet vindication!