Spring Pilgrimage 2006 Highlights

Felatio wins the Tardster's Invitational golf event

Irish wins the Stones championship

SRU Tards 4, Geniuses 2 in Softball Championship (Felatio and HMO Blue, Tard Co-MVPs)Geniuses 4, SRU Tards 2 in exhibition game (Esteban, Genius MVP)

Meersky and Ace win the horseshoes title

Poppinfresh wins Texas Hold'em tournament

Francois wins Magic showdown besting Cupcake and General Jeffy

T-dog wins "song of the year" and performs an impressive acoustical set

Este chokes down a Bluey burger...and survives!

McMex (HMO Blue) actually does some work (Ma, look!...a white buffalo!)

Bluey would bang Jessica Alba, but by T-dog's logic, would take an extra 2 minutes to come

The Iron Beav (aka The Gas Nazi) gives the lowdown on being a cold hearted beyatch

Pilgrimage Jeopardy winners: Erie&Poppinfresh, Bluey&Poppinfresh, and Meersky&Francois

Felatio patents the overhand throw in horseshoes

Sparrow barely avoids ear cancer but avoids re-injury as he sits out softball

Ace and Gary go the BJ's for some jacket licking but come back empty handed

Choder gains solids points for 2 stellar pitching performances only to have them be pissed away during unfortunate "Under the Tuscan Sun" disclosure, moving Bluey's "Prince of Tides" to the back pages

Warren officially issued a Congressional Medal of Honor in absentia for his valor in saving pilgrimagers from Cupcake's nearly disastrous fire while HMO Blue's role has been officially downgraded to barely helpful due to consistent laziness

Careful With That Axe-Wound, Eugene!

Tonight officially kicked off the pilgrimage as Este, Tracer, Ace, Gary, Poppinfresh and Erie came up to the shores of Lake Erie to get things started.

One of the first conversations concerned the various euphemisms for the vagina and why the word cunt brings such a visceral response from females whereas pussy or twat don't seem to even touch a tenth of the nerve that is reserved for the dreaded "c" word.

Tracer tried to elaborate why cunt is the nastier word but I remained unconvinced that her explanations truly hit the point. Aren't all the words supposed to mean the same thing? Why do similar meaning words have such varying connotations? I have to imagine at one point historically, the word must have been used in some derogatory slander of women to give it such disdain such as "nigger" gets it's power from it's tie to rascism.

Alas, I guess I won't find out tonight but I am still inquisitive. When used as noun not referring to the vagina, pussy means wimp, pansy, fag or has some sort of effeminate descriptive (usually tagged to a man). Twat used as a noun seems to indicate someone who is stupid, annoying or insignificant. But, you hurl the word cunt at a woman and watch out!

Tracer said that there is no other word that you can call a woman that is worse than cunt. It's a big no-no.

"Then I guess if I called you an axe-wound, that would be okay?"(punch in the arm)

I guess not. It seems that calling a woman an axe-wound is synonomous to calling her a cunt.

Isn't research great?Have a safe trip everybody. See you soon.

Bebis Rocks!

My daughter, Bebis wrapped up her basketball season with a 16-12 win.

She had 4 baskets, including the game winner with 50 seconds left in the game, as she stole the ball at midcourt and drove to the right side and drained a 15 foot jumper.

I don't think there is a girl out there with her speed. If she ever grows to my eldest daughter, Loni's height, WNBA watch out!

Spring 2006 Pilgrimage Odds!

"Sparrow" Flowboy walks into another glass sliding door: 3:1

Odds that Sparrow re-injures his knee doing something completely retarded: 2:1.***submitted by Sparrow

Este & Tracer going to Cleveland to see a "free" movie 5 minutes after showing up at the cottage: 2:1 (very likely)

Real cost of the free movie (@$2.97 per gal gas prices + snacks and drinks): +/- $40 (what a bargain!)

The opportunity to give Este as much shit as possible for it: priceless!

Gary (of Ace and Gary fame or aka FNG) getting tagged in the pumpkin by a dodgeball: 12:1

Gary sharing glamour shots of his Mom with rest of group: 4M:1

Poppinfresh & Erie showing off their savage tans from the Keys by wearing thongs all weekend:Poppinfresh: 45,000:1Erie: 2:1 (yeah, baby! throwing it out there like a frisbee!)

Poppinfresh wins the Sugar Hill Classic (with Sparrow on the shelf) 3:2, Felatio 3-1,Bluey wins 5-1, Rest of the field 12-1

Bluey monopolizing over 40% of the pilgrimage weekend conversation: 1:1 (even money, baby!)

Bluey bleeding out after the New Jersey Devils trounce his beloved Rangers: 30:1

Odds that Bluey will tell his worn-out "I almost bled out on my bathroom floor" story: 1:1***submitted by Choder

Forrandez reinjuring his big toe diving to his left at the SS position and turning a doubleplay singlehandedly displaying his mad skilz 1:1

Irish getting drunk on Absolute Cintron 1:1 andblowing Highmark Blue 15:1
Highmark Blue blowing him 15:1
The two of them killing each other 8:1
performing all three in a span of 12 minutes 10:1

Irish in his drunken stupor get obnoxious 1B:1 (trick question, he was obnoxious to begin with)and then goes for a drunken walk on the beach and isn't seen for 2 hours 3:1

number of people who miss him when he's gone +/- 2 (and go looking for him)
number of apologies Irish makes the following day +/- 86

Number of hours until Meersky insults Tracer for the first time +/- 2
insult involves the terms, Iron Beaver 6-1, sucking his crank 8-1, Bulldyke 4-1, hit the wall 21-1.

Number of times Meersky calls Yaugs "cupcake": +/- 10 (cooincidental for number of Zebra cakes in a box?)

Number of times Meersky utters the line "you cheatin' fuck": +/-3

VBP Softball Championship at Chavez Retard: Geniuses favored over SRU Tards by 3 runs.

Softball MVP odds, Francois 3:1, Meersky 7:1, Felatio 8:1, Pimp-N-Playa 4:1, T-dog (quality!) 9-1, rest of field 10:1 except light hitting 15 year old Mexican kid, Forrandez, who carries a Mendoza line batting average and is only known for his defensive prowess 99:1

Age of Forrandez +/- 14 years of age

VBP Dodgeball Tournament at Tardington Courts: SRU Tards favored by 1 game (best of 15)

Who gets plunked in the head this year? Bluey/Gary repeat 10:1, Francois 100:1, Choder 80:1, Rest of field 15:1

Pimp-N-Playa gets shut out by another diner waitress 1:3 (very likely)

Plus/Minus for Total Amount of Yards Pimp-N-Playa assesses for various jizzmopping penalties: +/- 1,000 yards

Pimp-N-Playa utters his 100th incantation of the word "fuck" (in any form), +/- Friday, 9pm (remember, he's coming Thursday)

Sparrow plays possum and announces he is fit to golf and wins: 25:1
If above event comes to fruition, how many hours after the match until he is kneecapped by a fellow Genius +/-2

Trimpdog and Yaugs repeat as horseshoe champs at the Tardbeach Pits: 12:1 (T-dog does have to show up to win)

Chances of another Meersky-Bluey pairing: 6-1

Number of ounces of piss that would start flowing in Irish's pants if that would to occur +/-12

Number of 18 year old, Rock girls that will miss T-Dog's manhood while he's at the pilgrimage +/- 8 (you stud!)

Number of times Irish says "Ohkaaaayyy!" and "What" in his Lil' Jon voice and "I'm Rick James....bitch" +/- 80

Where Choder hides the beloved BOG this time:the freezer 19:1, the crisper 15:1, in his own ass 10:1. (Would that be considered gay?)

Odds Choder would bitch about having odds for putting the book in the freezer, 1:1***submitted by Highmark Blue

Number of trains that Felatio will miss out on photographing during the pilgrimage +/- 16

Number of trains that the guys plan on running on Felatio after he falls asleep for missing recent pilgrimages +/- 16

Felatio - Horseshoe - Tree +/- 35ft in the air

Number of times that Ace gravitates to the seawall for comfort during the weekend +/- 12

Ace and Gary perform a repeat performance of the infamous coed jacket licking incident of 2005 20:1

Ace refusing to partake in any of the games or sporting events protesting the fact that no "medals" are awarded 1:1

Yaugs aka "Cupcake" burns down the cottage 11:1 (which incidentally is his shoe size)

Este burns down cottage after insensitive fucks make fun of the Ricky Martin retrospective selections on his Ipod. 16:1 (Livin' the Vida Loca!) Bet on Choder to be the kindling!

Number of Zebra Cakes consumed by Yaugs +/- 20

General Jeffy gets dillrock payback 15 years later, 20:1 (represent, yo, motherfuckers!)

General Jeffy utters "war is hell" 1,000:1

Francois cancels due to a report due 100:1

A "whipped" Francois brings his new girlfriend to the pilgrimage 15:1

Francois chokes on a hotdog a la the Lord Stanley's Orphans choke job to Pimp-N-Playa's Seed 8:1 (numbers seem familiar, huh?)

Things that Irish claims are "ruining the pilgrimage"
Halo 400:1, golf 12:1, breakfast at the diner 10:1, women 18:1, italians 2:1.

Handjob grows a sac and a set of cajones and tells the wife once and for all that he wears the pants +/- 1 sundress

Erik the Anal Viking announces that the wife is history and promptly whips out the chickenheart for Tracer and Erie 1M:1

Blue decides that the pilgrimage is for him and comes up for the festivities 500:1

Bluey ends up singing and playing "Dust in the Wind" at his funeral on Monday 2:1 (assuming he comes)

Gavo misses the pilgrimage due to an Auschwitz re-enactment 55:1

Habib drops out of school and goes to pilgrimage then goes on a Jack Daniels induced rampage after getting so much shit for missing pilgrimages that leaves 16 people dead and 4 wishing they were: 4M:1

Officer Mehoff gets arrested for building a shed that violates Kittanning building codes and is sodomized in jail when Bubba and Leroy play Texas Hold'em for who gets Mehoff's anal virginity: 250:1 (that's what you get for missing pilgrimages!)

Grommie realizes that instead of emailing porn, he could use the time spent to actually hang with the "cool" kids 3000:1

Hamdog realizes that there is a Poison concert at the Rochester Future Farmers of America Fair and promptly misses the pilgrimage to attend (cooincidentally, Duran Duran and Winger are the opening acts).

Hamdog finally comes out of the closet after a positive movie review of Brokeback Mountain 14:1

Hello...OnStar!

I suffer from chronic road rage but nothing gets my blood boiling in my car more than the OnStar commercials. This is the service you can get with your car where you are GPS tracked everywhere you go and immediately put in touch with a representative if you wreck, so they can call the police or paramedics. Of course they sell the service by selling Fear to morons.

The commercial that drives me up the wall is the one where the woman gets into a fender bender and the OnStar rep asks if she's been hurt.

"I dont know (crying)...I'm bleeding from my head (hysterical)....help (crying profusely)".

I don't know why but every time I hear that commercial, the lady reminds me of Johnny Sac's (from the Sopranos) wife Ginny. She drops her Snickers bar on the floor and in an attempt to retrieve it between her massive legs, she plows into a phone pole and hits her head off the dashboard. The commercial then, in my mind, proceeds from there.

The reason why this commercial makes me want to strangle somebody, is that first of all, the woman is the whiniest bitch in the world. How do you get to middle age being such a big fucking baby? Suck it up already. Of course, this would be OnStar's target audience. People that are afraid of leaving their house alone because god forbid what'll happen to them if they didn't have 24 hour access to help.

If I smashed my car up, I'd be mad (either at my own stupidity or that of another) and I wouldn't be crying to an OnStar rep. How fucking embarrassing. At least drop dead with dignity if that's going to be the case. I think what this generation needs is a little dose of helping yourself in a life/death situation. Why do we feel the need to be tracked by GPS everywhere we go? Most people these days carry a cell phone. Call 911 yourself. If you can't identify to the operator where you are, then you deserve to die.

The other OnStar commercial goes something like this:

Caller (in a southern drawl): Hello, OnStar...

OnStar rep: What can I do for you sir?

Caller: I just locked my 14 children in my vehicle. Can you help me?

OnStar rep: Sure sir, what is your ID number?

Caller: 6729086555

OnStar rep: How did you fit 14 kids in a Chevy Cavalier, sir?

Caller: It wasn't easy.

OnStar rep: 14 kids??? How old are they? Aren't they unable to unlock the door by themselves?

Caller: They range in age from 2 months to 14 years of age.

OnStar rep: Can't the 14 year old unlock the door?

Caller: She would, if she was conscious.

OnStar rep: Say again sir?

Caller: You see, me and my wife flew to Mobile, Alabama to visit relatives and we left the kids in the car in the airport's long term parking lot for two weeks. I told them not to leave the car or I'd whup them. I guess we didn't leave enough food and water. And wouldn'ja know it, I left my keys at the bar last night.

OnStar rep: Ok, sir. You're car should be unlocked now.

Caller: Thanks....ooooweeeeee, my god what a smell. I think a few of them are still alive honey.

OnStar rep: Your welcome sir, Thanks for using Onstar! We're here when you need us!

Put OnStar on the list with the $20 lottery ticket as a stupid waste of money aimed at stupid people.

The 1986 Miracle Mets: An Old-School Perspective!

Everybody remembers the 10th inning of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series when Mets CF Mookie Wilson hits a groundball through Bill Buckner's legs to win the game for the Amazin's.

Thanks to one guy with way too much time on his hands. The bottom of the 10th inning has been re-created using classic video game, RBI Baseball with the real game call by Vin Scully overlayed.

Mad props to my buddy Benzene for finding this tasty nugget. I couldn't help but laugh my ass off. Whether you're a Mets fan or a fan of old school video games, give this link a whirl and revisit the magic!

http://www.sandiegoserenade.com/2006/04/1986_world_series_game_6_reena.html

The People That You Meet When Using The Restroom - Volume 2

If you remember awhile back, I told a story about the adult daycare facility that resides in my place of work and the nutty characters I run into on a daily basis. The last installment was for the character named The Cheerleader. Today, I give you one of the more depraved characters.

Picture this: You walk into a bathroom that has a row of toilet stalls on the right hand wall and a row of urinals against the front wall directly adjacent to the stalls. The last toilet stall faces the bank of urinals. As you walk in to empty your bladder, you notice a pair of feet in the last stall.

Pretty normal and typical, right?

Well, not exactly because the feet are not pointing at you, they are pointing towards the entrance door with their heels against the wall and you shake your head and do your business because you don't even want to know what the guy is doing in there.

After seeing this several times, I give him a name, Sideways Stander, because by now, I know that he's just standing in the stall sideways apparently not doing anything. I try my best to ignore him but my buddy and fellow co-worker Blue, has a different name for him which sheds light on his stall activity. Blue calls him The Peeper, because it's apparent to him that what the guy is doing in there is standing with his back against the right side wall of the stall and peeping through the small sliver of space in the door that overlooks the urinals. Blue surmises that he sideways stands in there and watches men urinate for as much time as he can until the daycare starts to miss him.

Normally, I don't try to pay much attention to other guys in the bathroom but Blue has hit the nail on the head. If you look at the stall while urinating, you can see his eye studying your every move. He stays in there as long as he possibly can and moves once he thinks he's been suspected. Then, sometimes, he goes to visit the other floor's bathrooms to repeat the process.

It's pretty erie. I actually busted him one day and said "What the Hell, again?" and flushed him out of his porcelain roost. He came suddenly out of the stall with his disheveled hair and crazy look. He didn't wash his hands (big surprise, huh?) and muttered as he evacuated as quick as he could. I caught him in the upstairs bathroom later that day as well.

While he's still lurking around, he seems to pick his spots now. He doesn't loiter in the restroom stall for a half hour at a time anymore.

I really think that the government should pass legislation that adult daycare centers have to be equipped with their own restrooms. The last thing I need is some nut staring at my package when I'm trying to relieve myself.

Some of the characters are amusing, like The Banker and The Cowboy, but others are just as disgusting like The Bleeder. But those will be left for another day.

Don Felatio's Eating Problem

I have a buddy named Felatio who has an eating problem.

It's not that he over eats. It's that he usually misses his mouth when he attempts eating. I had the guys over my place one night for poker and we ordered pizza. I walked into the kitchen just in time to observe the following event:

Mr Felatio is talking to a buddy, he folds his slice of pizza and proceeds to miss his entire mouth with the slice. The sauce streaks his cheek and a big chunk of pizza cheese and sauce falls to the kitchen floor. He is totally oblivious to it.

I yell at him and he says, "What???"

"Holy Christ, Felatio, did you get any of that pizza in your mouth?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look at the floor dude"

Don Felatio sees the pizza and sauce at his feet on the floor.

"I didn't do that!"

"The hell you didn't. I watched the whole thing. You missed your whole mouth and the pizza ended up on the floor!"

You're probably saying to yourself, Bluey's exagerating like he usually does. I'm not, I'm dead serious. How a person can a) miss his open mouth with food and b) be totally unaware that his teeth are chewing emptiness is beyond me.

Don Felatio is one special person indeed in that aspect.

On another occasion, I had the guys over for a Halo night. This time Felatio was eating a bowl of popcorn that I made for him. I'd watch him occasionally since we were in the living room. Apart from the fact that 3 out of every five popcorn pieces missed his mouth, I said to myself, "How big a mess can he make eating popcorn?".

An hour later I found out when we turned the lights on. When he got up off the floor, there was a halo of popcorn around him like a crime scene dead body chalk line. If you looked closely enough, you could make out his body image in the fallen popcorn similar to the shadows of human beings created when the volcano at Pompeii erupted.

I looked at him and said "What the hell are you going to do when you get married? No woman is going to put up with this. Don't you have any nerve endings in your mouth area that tell you that you are missing your piehole?"

Well, Don Felatio is married now and all I can say is thank god I bought him a silver plated eating funnel for his wedding gift. I just may have well saved his marriage!

A Special Two-fer: Bluey's Sports Legend and Separated At Birth Candidate: John Davidson, G- NY Rangers 1975-83

JD is probably the most influencial sports figure that I ever saw play.

He played on some of the most overmatched NY Ranger teams ever and stood on his head to win. He is singlehandedly responsible for the Rangers improbable defeat of the NY Islanders in 1979, propelling the Rangers to the Stanley Cup Finals, while the Islanders went on to win the next four Cups.

Davidson denied the hated NY Islanders that first Cup chance. The Isles were something like 51-15-14 that year and were clearly the front runners. Had they passed the Davidson brick wall, I think they would have drubbed the Montreal Canadiens, who were good but were an old team. Davidson never quit, no matter how badly the team played in front of him. Although he is more known for the red, white and blue mask, my personal favorite was his lone ranger mask, since on most nights he alone carried the team.

Unfortunately, back injuries shortened his wonderful career. His overall stats were not hugely impressive but considering that he played on two pathetic teams, the St. Louis Blues and the NY Rangers, his stats don't reflect his greatness. I believe that in addition to belonging in the Hall of Fame, I believe him to be the best goaltender to ever play the game.

In 1979, he brought the Rangers past the Islanders and to the Cup Finals on sheer will.

He is undoubtably my all time favorite sports figure and he is also a "Separated At Birth" contest winner.

Does he look familiar to anybody you know?

Bluey On Bluey

Did anybody catch the whining and bitching Barry Bonds did about how hard his Dad, Bobby, was on him and that he only succeeded to spite his father? Anybody out there shedding tears for him? It must be nice to dump on the guy once he's dead and try to stir up sympathy from the fans for himself.

Well, while we're on the topic of fathers, shed some for me. My head is not as fat as Barry's and I'd like to think I'm slightly more likeable.

When I was a kid, my Dad was a tyrant. Aside from the random beatings with his belt, he used to come to my baseball games and dish out an even harsher verbal beating. He was the sort of father that when I brought home a 99 on a test, he'd ask why I didn't get a 100. He was a perfectionist and demanded the same from me. When I wasn't feeling well and wanted to take a night off from my part time job, he would berate me and push my ass out the door. Right or wrong, he drove me to always give my best effort. This didn't change on the baseball diamond either. He was ultra competitive and he didn't accept anything less from me. Win at all costs. That was the lesson and what he expected from me at all times.

I was a hell of a baseball player when I was a kid. My Dad spent a fair amount of time teaching me how to play the game and always made time to come to my games. For the most part, I proudly look back at those days because I know he loved watching me kick ass. But every once in a while when I was not at the top of my game, he rode me pretty hard from the stands. He could be unmerciful.

As I walked to the plate, the other kids parents would chant my name and offer encouragement. My Dad would glare in at me and I usually tried to avoid his eye contact.

First pitch: swing and a miss at a low pitch in the dirt.

"What the hell are you swinging at?" comes a yell from the crowd

Second pitch: Called strike 2

"Get the goddamn bat off your shoulders! What are you looking at?" comes another yell.

Third pitch: swing and a miss at a pitch above the letters

"How are you supposed to hit the ball when it's up in your eyes?", comes another rant.

As I walk back to the dugout, he gets off his seat in the stands and follows me back to the fence behind the first base coach. I walk up to him as I have customarily done after strikeouts (fortunately, I rarely struck out).

"What the hell was that?"

Bluey looks down at his spikes. "I don't know Dad"

"Well, let me tell you what I know. I didn't come all the way down here to watch you strike out. Get your head in the game for Christ's sake!"

"Ok, sorry Dad"

"You call that baseball? If you're going to hit like that, your coach should take you right out of the game and sit your ass down on the bench. You have another at bat like that and I'm going to ask him to take you out. Your sisters hit the ball better than that!"

"Then do it goddamn it! I don't even want to play anymore!" (Bluey, now starting to tear up)

"What are you going to do now? Start crying like a big baby? Get your ass back in the dugout and play!"

Of course it wasn't always that bad, but he was not above heckling me a few times each game. The incident above happened when I was 11 years old. I had made the all star team for the first time that year and hit cleanup for my team. I never missed making an all star team again until I stopped playing at 17 years of age. As I got older, I realized that I was destined to be a fastball hitter. I had a big problem with the duece, the uncle charlie or the good old american curveball. That's when I realized that no matter how hard Dad would push, I wasn't going to be drawing paychecks on the merits of my baseball skills. I wish I could tell you that I had Barry Bonds success and started sticking syringes in my ass while collecting 15M a year, but such was not my fate.

I like to think that Dad helped me get where I am today by always riding my ass. Of course I could have done without all the theatrics (and the beatings). But he was who he was. Battling his own demons and doing the best he knew how to do. He's a lot different now. He actually ended up as an awesome human being and a very loving father. It really is a miracle.

That's the happy ending. Of course we still have a good laugh or two about what an ass he was when we get together. When you come full circle and can call your Dad an ass for what he put you through and he finally understands, life is good.

Love ya Dad!

Basic Instinct 2: I Tawt I Taw Her Ovaries! I Did, I Did!

I just heard on the news today that they made a sequel to Basic Instinct, "starring" Sharon Stone again and it only made about 3 million dollars in it's opening weekend. Is anybody really surprised by this? Oh, I'm sure my buddy Hamdog, the movie reviewer, will give it his customary 7 stars out of ten (I'm still waiting for him to really trash on some movie), but honestly, what idiot thought that America was thirsting for more Sharon Stone tripe?

First of all, she hit the wall, even by my standards, which is pretty relaxed compared to my buddy Meersky.

Second of all, the first movie wasn't exactly a gem.

If they really wanted to make a sequel that would have done box office, they should have done something like this:

Scene 1 (inside a London flat)Girl (naked, preferably Stone about a year later, not 15!) tosses and turns in her dream.

cut scene to the dream

(In a Police Station under bright lights with Newman (you know who I mean) and Michael Douglas looking on).

Girl uncrosses and crosses her legs (sans panties) but this time in super slo mo, taking about an hour and forty minutes to accomplish, instead of the split second in Basic Instinct 1. The "Blue Danube" plays in the background.

Then, girl wakes up, looks around and then falls back to sleep.

Credits roll. Poetry, pure poetry. It probably would represent the best acting Sharon Stone has ever done. Face it, that 2 second scene is the ONLY reason why anyone went to see the first movie.

Hey Sharon, your 10 minutes are up! Boy am I dissing on actresses lately or what? Any chance of us getting a movie starring Sandra Bullock, Nicole Kidman, Elizabeth Hurley and Evangeline Lilly as four girlfriends who bond by watching NY Ranger games, while playing Twister in jello with nothing on but Ranger jerseys?

Thank you to America for digging a hole for Sharon Stone.

What Is It About Rosie Perez That Makes Me Want To Smash Her Head In With A Baseball Bat?

Obviously, I'm being facetious. Thankfully, I don't see her too much in movies or on television because she brings out the very worst in me. Maybe it's because she seems the get the most annoying and bitchiest character roles. Maybe it's her grating voice that makes you want to drill holes in your own eardrums.

It's not that I have an issue with latina women. God knows my ex was jealous over my infatuation with Gloria Estefan years back. I don't know exactly what it is, and Rosie may be one of the nicest people in the world, but I can't fucking stand her.

Her character portrayals of spoiled, mouthy bitches coupled with that voice that could peel paint has not exactly endeared me to her. Even when she did a voice over for the female lead in the cartoon movie The Road To El Dorado (2000), my blood pressure rose about 40 points. I think I beat my children immediately after that picture let out, to relieve some tension. And forget about me ever watching It Could Happen To You (1994). I think I would stroke out if I had to sit through her portrayal as that miserable bitch again.

Just about every role I've seen her play gives me ass cancer.

You would think that I'd like her. She's from Brooklyn, NY, just a stones throw away from where I grew up. Nope, I still hate her. Maybe part of me thinks that Rosie isn't playing a role but merely playing herself and I can't separate fact from fiction. Possible.

But it just doesn't matter. I never said it was logical or was a correct assessment. I can't believe she makes a living playing such stereotypical bitches. Maybe that's what it is. Is playing an incredibly annoying bitch that much of a stretch for any woman, let alone an actress? My ex was pretty good at it but I never remenber cashing any royalty or residuals checks.

That's it! Rosie, you are typecast forever in my mind as that person. Congratulations.

Is it too late or did Gloria Stefan hit the wall already?

The Inner Beast

After a Spring Pilgrimage a few years ago, my son, Pimp-n-Playa and I were driving back home along I-90. We were passing the time in customary fashion, bullshitting and checking out the pretty girls in the other cars. That's when we spotted a strawberry blond haired woman, probably about 25-28 years old or so, in the passenger seat of an adjacent vehicle.

Sitting next to her was a prototypical yuppie guy wearing a red polo shirt and you could almost hear the perfect crease in what was probably a wrinkle free tan pair of khaki pants, even though you couldn't see them. I turned to Pimp and we began to craft the following story.

"Look at that smoking hot chick in that car", I said.

"I wouldn't mind banging the fucking bottom out of her", Pimp retorted.

"Look at that guy she's with"

"Why is it all of these fucking hot chicks end up with such fucking nerds?"

"C'mon, son, he seems like a nice guy. In fact he's probably a rocket scientist and the model boyfriend/husband. He probably does anything she asks and gives her anything she asks for. He probably does the dishes and the laundry."

"You're probably fucking right"

"But you know what. Take a closer look at her, son. Look at her eyes"

"Whatyuns mean Dad?"

"Look at her. She's bored to death. Look at her eyes. She's off in space. She may be sitting beside him, but she's not all there. In her mind, she's someplace else."

"What are you fucking talking about?"

"Bear with me on this one. I know that look. Picture a typical day at their house. He probably races home from his job, cooks her dinner and has lit candles on the dining room table, waiting for her to come home. She comes home and is greeted by her nice guy and is pleasantly surprised by his efforts. They enjoy dinner, then he clears the plates and loads the dishwasher, they sit on the porch and talk about what she's interested in for a few hours before retiring for the night. They turn off the lights and quietly make love before falling asleep"

"I don't get it. That actually sounds kind of fucking nice"

"Sure it's nice. That's the problem"

"What the fuck?"

"Look at her. She's fucking bored. What she wants and needs is for him to grab her when she walks in the door, rip open her blouse and start kissing and sucking on her breasts. Then turning her around and bending her over the kitchen island, grabbing the back of her panties and ripping them in half right out of the back of her skirt. Grabbing her by the hair, he mounts her doggy style, gnaws on her neck and starts jackhammering her right in the middle of the kitchen, with her skirt hiked up on her hips. By this time she's so hot and excited that she soaks the kitchen island and is breathless as she comes multiple times. Then he pulls out of her and shoots his load all over her back and then leaves without another word. This is what she's been longing for but too timid to ask her perfect man for. He's satisfied her inner beast"

"Her inner beast?"

"Every woman has an inner beast. Call it her primal, inner slut. If a man doesn't bring out a woman's inner beast, he is doomed to lose her sooner or later. Look at that guy she's with. When he goes down on her for a minute or two before sex, he probably licks a little around the outside before he mounts her missionary style and does his business. He's afraid to stick his head in there and get messy. She needs someone who's going to go in there and go to war with her clit. Doing whatever is necessary to get her off. She needs someone who's going to be a slave to her pussy and love it. I'm sorry, but he's just not that guy"

"Holy shit (laughing his ass off)!"

"She wants someone to take charge, bring out the bad girl's inner beast and leave her totally used, exhausted and wanting more but too sore to even think about it. She wants someone who's willing to spank her ass as he's getting ready to bring it home."

"You are one fucking sick dude (laughing)"

"I'm not saying that she wants that every night or even that frequently at all. But, look into her eyes. She wants the possibility of that kind of passion. Even if it only happens once in a blue moon. She wants to pull herself off that kitchen island, grab her torn shirt and split panties off the floor and use them to rub the redness she feels on her ass and the wetness she's never experienced before between her legs. And as she mindlessly wanders towards the bathroom, she feels like a used little slut. And then she smiles. Because the inner beast has been out for a spin and she didn't have to go somewhere else or to someone else to release it. And it's there in every woman, just waiting to be released. Women may claim to want the sensitive guy, and maybe that's true. But they fantasize at night about the Marlboro man, make no mistake. And this guy sitting next to her just doesn't have it in him. I can tell. And I feel sorry for her."

"That's fucking sad"

"Tell me about it. But eventually she'll find someone to release her inner beast. It's just a matter of time. They all do."

"Y'know, Zap, once I thought you were a big pompous buffoon. Then I realized that inside you were just a pitiful child. But now I realize that outside that child is just a big pompous buffoon." -Leela

"And which one rocked your world?" - The "Zapster", Zap Brannigan

Love's Labour Lost In Space, Futurama - Season 1, Episode 4.

Bluey's Sports Heros

Dave Kingman, 1B-OF - New York Mets et al. deserves to join the ranks in the hallowed halls of MLB's Hall of Fame.

You can take Barry Bonds' swollen fat head, Sammy Sosa's gay corked bat, Mark McGwire's shriveled integrity, Jose Canseco's ass syringes and Raffy Palmeiro's fucking perjury and do the right thing.

Elect Mr. David Arthur Kingman to the Hall of Fame. His mammoth blasts and legendary pop-ups (hit the Astrodome roof for a ground rule double and the Metrodome roof for a foul ball) were absolutely stunning. His at bats were a pure joy to watch. You never knew when you were going to see a 550 foot HR or something you've never seen before. Kingman was rail thin his whole career and his massive uppercut swing either provided fireworks or a trip back to the bench after a strikeout. It was impossible to breathe whenever Kingman swung the bat.

His HR to at bat ratio still rivals Babe Ruth's and his 442 career HR's were accomplished without chemical enhancements or poor post expansion pitching. Kingman was a true character of the game and his gift of a dead rat to a female sportswriter was classic. He was a quiet and gentle giant (6'6") who never asked for the spotlight and he was unceremoniously ushered out of baseball due to baseball owners collusion after a 36 HR season with the A's. He could have easily reached 500 HRs and it's a shame that his career was cut short while he was still productive.

Sure Kingman struck out alot, but not any more than Reggie Jackson, who is universally revered for one 3 HR game and had the benefit of playing on perennial winning teams in Oakland and New York.

I am a Dave Kingman disciple. He is my favorite all time player and I will not rest singing his praises until MLB puts him into the Hall of Fame. With all these steroid junkies passing Kingman on the all time HR list, it's time we make things right, make a statement and put "Kong" into the HOF!

If you never heard Tommy Lasorda's obscenity laced tirade after a 4 HR performance by Kingman against the LA Dodgers, google it and take a listen. It is priceless. I'm not saying that Dave Kingman was one of the best to play the game, but he is certainly as deserving as some who are currently in the Hall of Fame. Baseball should hold precious it's beloved characters. Kingman was a player for the ages. No player before him or since could match his pure power without steroids. In my mind, that makes him a legend.

My sister, Kreeshka's boyfriend got me an autographed Kingman bat this Christmas. It stirred all these feelings up again and I'm invigorated to carry the Kingman torch again. I used to have a saying back in the 80's that summed up my feelings.

"Kingman is God!"

Halo 2 Personalities: Part II

(submitted by Irish, embellished and spell-checked by Bluey)

Irish Vehicle Whore:
Battle clad in a gay green shamrock, this kind of player doesn't really try to go for the weapons or the kills, over grabbing the keys to the warthog and driving everyone around from place to place. Typical passenger includes Migrant Mexican blueberry pickers. He's like an Irish Cab driver who can't lay off the vehicles, despite another player having an obvious missile lock and spare rocket for his ass. Usual post game stats read something like this: Kills :1, Assists: 50, Medals: 16*, Life Span: 15 Minutes. If you want to get rid of this player, load coagulation without any vehicles and *poof*, he's gone! This strategy has been used by the Rocket Whore.* In case SeaWall (Spawn Camping Fuck) is wondering, these are "run over" kills medals.

Alaskan Beer Drinkers (AKA The McKenzie Brothers of the Great White North):
I don't know if these guys are Irish, but they sure seem drunk all the time when they play Halo 2. One thing the clan noticed is that you have to turn down your headset volume when the one called Badow screams in his slurred speech. The one called Grip admittedly isn't as bad as his brother, but Badow is known to do some really stupid shit from time to time. (ex run to the wrong base with the flag, or tries to plant the bomb in the wrong place.) Master Chief needs to join the AA at some point to fix this drinking problem. Team play with these two can sometimes be a real experience after they've had a few beers.

Whiskey Playa:
This game type lives in a place called Champagne, Illinois, which shows he also has a serious love for alcohol. This gamer is a perpetual student nicknamed Beeb and has been known to make a mint juleps or two prior to hitting the power button, although a dry martini is not out of line if the juleps is sparse. The drunker he gets, the funnier he is to play with, as he begins to say damn near anything to his teammates, complains about art school, or the crazy bullshit his professors make him do on a weekly basis. The only problem with this type of player is he doesn't play enough, but then again, he's got lots of homework to do. Beebs especially likes forty-something southern broads that live in trailers, especially the Family Gal.

Green-Horn:
This is the person that signed up for X-box live, and maybe uses it 2-3 times per year. They don't play Halo 2 with us much because it intimidates them, or they die all the time. When asked why they don't play much they reply: "All I do is die, and I can't kill anyone. I just suck!" Meanwhile, we all know that this is not so much the result as it is the cause of their suckdom. The reason they suck is because they never play, which causes them to suck, which causes them not to play, which causes them to suck, which causes them not to play..., well, you get the point. I won't mention any names like François, Cupcake, Choder, Specter Zero, etc.

Tank Whore:
This player type lives to hop into the tank and roll over the skulls of those who would dare try to take the tank off of him. He can be found on Coagulation firing the tank gun on innocent spawn victims who happen to pop up around the base. Of course he waits until they are two feet from the base before killing them. He considers this tactic, "giving them half a chance" and thereby relieving himself of the "spawn camping fuck" tag in his own mind. When someone else gets in the tank, he makes it a personal vendetta to recover the tank from the invader. If a person blows up the tank, this player type often seeks revenge. Many boards don't allow for Tanks, which sadden this individual, however he's a capable fighter despite these conditions. His secret wish is for a Tanks on Midship game type.

The Family Gal (submitted by Bluey, no need to get Irish in trouble):
Enjoys watching hermaphroditic porn with her 5-year old son. Claims that her special bond allows them to fully enjoy the medium without it being "inappropriate" as some uneducated cads claim it to be. May or may not live in a trailer depending on who you ask. Henrietta Pussycat makes her wet. The Family Gal can usually be found teaming up with the donkey punched Svetlana in a desperate effort to prove that women can play with the big boys. Unfortunately, she usually ends up as a "snak-pak" and her body pudding can be found littering the game boards. She has a southern drawl and may or may not have a set of balls for a chin.

Perfect Albums: Radiohead - The Bends

Let's face it, there are plenty of great albums out there, but every few years, an artist comes out with the perfect record. I would say that there have been probably less than fifty of them ever made in the history of rock.

Radiohead, The Bends is unequivocally one of them. I was listening to this record the other day and forgot why I stopped listening to it every day. Radiohead used to be one of my favorite bands. This record is so good, it actually caused me to be less of a fan. With every follow-up album Radiohead has made since The Bends was released in 1995, I've become increasingly disenchanted with the band. I never really fully understood why until the other day. It's not they're not making great music, it's just in my mind The Bends was a perfect album, creating a huge measuring stick in the process.

There really isn't a bad track on the album. Fake Plastic Trees, (Nice Dream), Just, My Iron Lung and Bullet Proof (...I wish I was) are my personal favorites but I have to admit that I never skip a song on the entire album. That is what classifies a perfect album in my mind.
I still dig on Radiohead, but I try not to place such high expectations on Thom Yorke and the boys.

I encourage you to take a listen to one of Bluey's "Perfect Albums". Enjoy.

Halo 2 Personalities: Part I

If you've ever jumped on X-box Live to play Halo 2, you realize that the X-box live community is filled with a whole host of unsavory characters that can make your gaming experience an exquisite torture.

The Halosphere is filled with individuals with little to no social grace and have no place in civilized society. Being called a "motherfucking homo nigger" on a regular basis is commonplace. The safety of anonymity lets the retards of society fully express their Id without any threat of repurcussions. Of course, I am always a total gentleman when I play online. I'm the consummate team player and like to think that I make those around me, better human beings. Unfortunately, I can't say as much for others.

I've been playing on X-Box Live on and off sporadically for a year now. Here are a couple of personality types that I've run into during my experiences:

The Balldropper:
The Balldropper is the 8-15 year old kid whose testicles haven't dropped yet. He can be identified by his girlish high screetch as he says things like "I got dibs on the Needler!" and "You took my sniper rifle...give it back!". This is one of the most annoying characters in the game. These little kids curse like sailors and need to be bitchslapped by their retarded parents, who in turn need to be bitchslapped for not being spayed or neutered in the first place.

The Blueberry-Picking Mexican:
The BPM is a real trophy. Because he lives in a warm climate and can't afford air conditioning, he blows a fan directly into his face as he plays. The result, is an insane amount of noise through his mic when he talks. He will consistently call others gay. The peculiar thing is that he often is known to ask other players to suck his dick. He loves riding in Halo vehicles because his blueberry-picking job doesn't afford him the luxury of driving vehicles in real life. He usually can be found driving the warthog or flying the Banshee because he fears the inevitable bitchslapping in hand to hand combat. He's a nice guy but be glad you don't actually have to smell his dirty greasy Mexican ass in person. That is unless he teabags you. It's his signature move. Be glad that the Guardians patrol the US-Mexican border.

The SeaWall (or Spawncamping Fuck-SCF):
The SCF also is not a big fan of hand to hand combat. He is perfectly happy standing 4 miles away from a spawn area with a sniper rifle and waiting an entire 30 minute game to register his 6 kills per game. He is more interested in accumulating medals than actually winning the game. He most looks forward to the game stats at the end so that he can rub the number of medals he got in everyone's face. He spooges over killing defenseless people that have just spawned into the game. The Sea Wall on Zanzibar is soiled beyond cleaning from the amount of time he spends there. No, it's not bird shit, it's SCF jism. The SCF will never admit to his spawn camping and can usually be found in the most obscure place on the board. If he could snipe from space on Headlong, he'd do it.

The Rocket Whore:
This person probably wasn't breast fed enough as an infant and relies on the Rocket Launcher as his pacifier. If you never see the rocket launcher in a thirty minute game, it's because he has the timing down pat to get it every time as soon as it spawns. He wishes that he had the mad skilz of, say...a Bluey, but in the end, he lives by the mantra...One shot, one kill. Psychologists may theorize that he is making up for a deficiency in some area but I'll leave that to the experts. When the rocket whore is not rocket whoring, he's usually sniping (again, one shot...). The rocket whore also knows all kinds of cheat codes to dodge rockets in the slim chance that another player gets to use the weapon. He is known to use the infamous (star,dot, circle, double diamond, left trigger finger) cheat code to have rockets pass right through him.

Henrietta Pussycat:
This fucking weirdo gets off killing people and then in Mr. Roger's Land of Make Believe, Henrietta Pussycat voice says, "meow, meow, killed you meow stupid meowthafucker, meow, meow". Obviously a tortured soul who is probably missing a ballsack due to an unfavourable divorce settlement. Henrietta is a man trapped in a female puppet's body. He probably wears women's panties and rubs his nipples after every kill. Henrietta cannot operate vehicles and has been known to fall out of the Banshee.

The Donkey Punched Svetlana:
This is a Russian chick who thinks she's Ivan Drago and that she can mop the floor with good wholesome American boys. You can find her getting owned on...ASCENSION...as well as countless other boards. What people don't know about her is that it is suspected that she usually hands the controller over to her husband to play while she plays secretary and operates the switchboard. She is extremely susceptible to the donkey punch to the back of the head and prefers you to complete the sodomy after she's dead. She thinks she's a real bad ass but we know better. She's fun to have around and sounds dead sexy with that accent. It's only because the rest of us are beating off to her voice, that she has some stellar games. I can't help thinking about "From Russia With Love", when I'm playing with her.

The Johnny Cash Impersonator:
This guy runs around the board, singing about "his burning ring of fire", while legislating due to his insane rage from grapefruit size hemmorhoids. He's known to pal around with the Rocket whore and it's no wonder "it burns, burns, burns...this ring of fire!". Rumor has it that the two have been seen in a Cleveland hotel together doing the nasty. Mr. I've Been Everywhere also has a soft spot for gay Xbox games such as Championship Poker and more notably, Project Gaythem, where he can be found tooling around circles looking for a boy toy. Mr Cash's singing has been known to make ears bleed and he uses this as a weapon. He also has a strange and sick twisted fetish for claymation and has been known to run a "wererabbit" up the ol' flag pole, if you know what I mean.

To be continued...

The Paula Jones Incident

Back in 1998, during my eighth year of marriage to Mothra, there was an occurence so surreal that a story just won't do it justice. I love telling this story but only one other friend witnessed it live besides my ex and I. That was my buddy, Beukey, who sure got a good laugh over it. God, I wish I had that night on videotape. It was frigging priceless!

After the birth of my third daughter, Kitty, my ex was looking for some fulfillment outside of raising three daughters and needed to blow off a litlle steam and get some adult time. I suggested that she pursue her music interests and she quickly joined a band called "Dream Kitchen". The band was a rock and blues band and was awesome. Most of the time when Mothra played gigs, I stayed home with the girls. Every once in a while I would go to her shows but it could be difficult at times watching strange guys hitting on her between sets. Being a very passionate Italian, I kept my distance and tried to let Mothra do the thing that she thoroughly enjoyed while I used the time to connect with my girls. I loved to watch Mothra play but did not enjoy the meat market bar scene.

One night, I talked Beukey into joining me to watch Dream Kitchen play at a bar about a quarter mile away from where I lived. The bar was packed with the usual locals looking for a night out and a chance to get laid. The band was awesome that night and played a lot of upbeat tunes. Beukey and I grabbed a table and started watching the band. It didn't take long before I noticed that we were being watched by some chick and her girlfriend from an adjacent table. The chick in question was a dead ringer for Paula Jones and I mean she looked exactly like her, right down to the large flattened nose. Hell, for all I know, it may very well have been her. Of course that notion was complete nonsense. We were in the middle of bum fuck Egypt and "Paula" was obviously one of the locals. But if Paula had a long lost twin, here she was.

The crowd was so into the band that the patrons started dancing on the 12x12 foot patch of open area in front of the band.

I said to Jeff, "That woman at the next table is looking over here again. Christ, she looks exactly like Paula Jones!".

Beukey laughed in agreement. Paula had a blonde friend with her and after about five minutes came over to our table.

"You want to dance with me?", Paula asked.

"Uh....I don't really dance....sorry", said Bluey

Paula went back to her table and after the set ended, Mothra walked up to our table."What did that girl want?", Mothra inquired.

"She wanted someone to dance with", Bluey replied.

"Why didn't you dance with her? I don't mind. Loosen up and enjoy yourself. I don't care if you dance with her", said Mothra.

"Ok", agreed Bluey.

I kissed my wife and told her how great they were tonight and she went back to her band and began singing the band's second set. I didn't think about Paula any further because I would have thought that it was obvious to Paula at this point that the lead singer of the band was my wife, or at the very least my girlfriend. Sure enough, like clockwork, back came Paula and her blonde girlfriend to sit with us. We listened to the music and made some small talk.

"I really want to dance! Please dance with me.", exclaimed Paula.

"Sure", replied Bluey.

As we approached the dance floor, Martha gave me a wink and Paula and I started to dance together. I think the band was playing a Stevie Ray Vaughn tune. Maybe "If the House Is A-Rockin (don't bother knocking)". Anyway, we were dancing for a minute or so about 4 feet in front of my wife and then Paula decides to do this dance move where she bends her knees mimicking going down on me and brushed her long hair side to side into my groin. I am horrified because I am looking right into my wife's eyes (she's still singing) while Paula is doing this. I was so close, I could have reached out with my arms and touched Mothra. I shrug a gesture that says "this is all your fault". Paula finishes the move by turning around, reaching behind her back and grabbing my ass and was grinding in front of me doggy style. I was in complete and utter shock.

I never admitted it before today but.......it moved...

While she had a firm grasp of my ass, she bent over in front of me, grinding me like she was giving me a lap dance, again I looked up at Mothra.

Mothra was seething. For a split second I thought Mothra was going to brain Paula with her mic stand. By this time, the whole band was aware of what was going on and the guys were laughing their asses off.

When Paula turned around, I took her by the hands and for the next two minutes I did my best to fight her off. After the song I explained to her that I was a married man (god, I was wearing a ring!) and couldn't be dancing with her like that. She said that it was a real shame and that she would have loved to take me home that night. I thanked her for the dance and sent her on her merry way. I sat down at the table with Beukey and he was also in a state of disbelief. We laughed about it but I was still wondering what Mothra's reaction would be. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay through the end of the second set because I had to get back and relieve the babysitter.

"I wanted to kill that fucking bitch!", Mothra said later that night in bed. "If I wasn't in the middle of a song, I would have!"

"You made me dance with her", Bluey chided, "I thought I was getting a threesome out of it!"(Punch in the arm)

"What the hell was I thinking?", Mothra exclaimed.

"You know who she looked like?", asked Bluey.

"Fricking Paula Jones!", shouted Mothra. "I just couldn't get it out of my head. Me and the guys kept calling her Paula all night. I saw her leave with some guy after the second set. He seemed like a real loser. It's a good thing she left before the set ended"

"That could've been me (snaps fingers)...damn!", says Bluey. "Why is it that I always seem to attract all of the crazy chicks?"

"What does that say about me?"

"Ummmmm.....You want to fuck or what?"

That is a true story without any embellishments.

Separated At Birth!

Why is it that every time I watch Con Air and see the madman Cyrus the Virus, played by John Malkovich, do I think I've seen his evil twin running around somewhere?

Kinda makes me wonder.

...You Shut Your Mouth!

On New Year's eve, my buddy, Spectre Zero, drew this picture of the biggest and baddest mamajama of Ranger fans. Everytime I look at it, I start humming the opening to "Shaft".

I just scanned it onto my computer (which for those who know me, know, is no small feat!) and thought I'd share it with the rest of you guys and gals.

Maybe I can get my own cartoon show on The Cartoon Network's Adult Swim.

Now, I better get back to the gym and work on those puny legs! God knows how they don't snap like toothpicks under my massive upper body!

Thanks Spectre, you the man!