The Slingshot...er...The Swingshot at Kennywood

Yesterday, I went to Kennywood with my girlfriend, Tay, and our girls. Poppinfresh and Erie joined us at the park.

Kennywood has a new ride that resembles a slingshot that is called The Swingshot. Unfortunately, the new ride was being worked on all day by maintenance staff and was not opened until we were in the parking lot ready to leave.

My eldest daughter turned to me at some point during the day and asked me, "Dad, why isn't The Swingshot open?"

I looked at her and with a straight face told her, "They have it closed because it keeps launching kids to the other side of the park. They're trying to fix that. Kids keep getting thrown clear across the park into the water below the SkyCoaster."

She looks at me and gives me a frown because she's heard some semblance of this type of story a thousand times.

"Dad!"

Of course we all got a laugh out of it and every time someone asks about the new ride at Kennywood they all get the same story from all of us now.

The Swingshot launches people! It launches people!

Carousel

Anybody remember the sci-fi B movie Logan's Run? You know, the one where once you reach the age of 30, they dressed you in a robe and levitated you in a circle (hence "carousel") while laser beams shot all the 30 year old "shrivs" out of the sky.

Carousel was supposed to be the future's answer to rampant overpopulation which was it's author's future vision. Carousel was what was supposed to preserve the earth's waning natural resources for the next generations to survive.

Now, in 2 days, I turn 40 and I'm not necessarily going to advocate Carousel. Oh, who am I kidding. That's exactly what I'm going to advocate.

You see, we have a hell of a lot of baby boomers. Way more than Generation X and Y can support. They soon will be sucking up all of our country's resources. Hell, yesterday, I was out on the road and it took me an hour and ten minutes to drive 15 miles because every baby booming shriv in the world had their Sunday car out on the road and refused to do more than 15 miles per hour. I say it's time to implement the Carousel for real.

Now, the tricky part. What age do we set as the cut-off for Carousel?

Hmmmm, since I'm turning 40 and the baby boomers are an anomaly that will only require Carousel for a short period of time. Surely it will be repealed before I hit Carousel age.

Let's say 62 and we can repeal Carousel in 20 years, when I reach the tender age of 60. That should cure my road rage and make sure that Social Security and all the maximum benefits are around when I'm a shriv.

So, let's fire up the Carousel and pass me one of those Swift's Irish Baby Roasters, so I can chow down and watch the festivities while also solving the "Irish Problem" all in one fell swoop!

Our First Fight

After 6 months of dating without an altercation, Tay and I were feeling pretty good and I was officially proclaiming myself to be "Mr. Perfect".

That all came tumbling down on Friday with, surprisingly, an insensitive remark from me.

We we're in a store and I was looking at the hair coloring products. I point to the auburn red hair and say, "Hey, look at this color!".

Tay replies, "I dyed my hair that color once, it looked real nice".

Then without skipping a beat, I point to the platinum blonde hair and say...(are you ready for this one???)...

"You can dye your hair blonde and I can fantasize about being with Mothra (my ex-wife)!"

Silence..........and it would remain that way until about 5 minutes later.

God only knows what this woman sees in me. I can be a real jackass.

Can Someone Please Whack This Woman!

Carmela Soprano is starting to give me ass cancer.

It's bad enought that this season of HBO's "Sopranos", should have been called "Brokeback Dago", but the Carmela face time for this season is reaching epic proportion. Last night's 50 minute episode had seemingly 20 minutes of Carmela playing tourist in chesse-eating surrender monkey land (props to groundskeeper Willy) last night. This begs to question, "Who really gives a fuck about Carmela in this show?"

Seasons 1 and 2 of the "Sopranos" are some of the best TV you'll find around, assuming you have a stomach for the violence. The show was edgy, humorous and gripping. Starting in season 3, it seemed that HBO wasn't happy enough with its' 18-45 year old male demographic coupled with lackluster female ratings and made a decision to have the plot revolve more around its' female characters. This was a big mistake in my eyes. I could give two shits about the women characters in this show and feel that the only female characters that matter in the series are Dr. Melfi, whoever Tony is screwing at the time and the Bada Bing girls. All the other female characters should be window dressing at best.

For the past 4 years, we have to suffer through Carmela, Janice, fucking Ginny Sac, and the movie club group of Yentas and their problems living as mob wives.

Who the fuck gives a shit. They know who they married. They don't mind spending the blood money on extravagant shit or eating in fancy restaurants. This isn't "Sex in the City" or "Desperate Housewives". So I ask you, why are they in this show at all? I can't stand any of them and pray they all die and are chopped up at Satriale's almost every episode. As hot as she was, even Adrianna became annoying and I was glad that she was capped even though now she seems to be haunting me from the grave.

Thankfully, Vito, ate a pool cue rectally and put an end to the "Brokeback" plotline. After getting a huge belly laugh seeing him dressed up in leather at the gay bar for the first time, I've actually resorted to changing the channel every time him and "Johnny Cakes" started getting intimate. If that makes me a homophobe, so fucking be it.

Back to Carmela. Other than spitting out the smoking hot Meadow, what exactly does she add to the show except to remind men why they shouldn't ever get married in the first place. All she does is worry, bitch and moan about household issues. I don't watch the "Sopranos" to be reminded what a pain in the ass a wife can be. I have an ex that fills that role.

To the producers of the show, give me the storyline of the gangsters and forget about the wives. Seeing Carmela walk through Paris for 20 minutes last night made me feel like killing someone.

20 fucking minutes????? Are you kidding me?????

If she isn't murdered in the season finale, I'm going to have to go for a colonoscopy.

By the way, if Carmela climbed up on top of me, I think my balls would ascend and turn into ovaries and I would never come again.

Orange Girl

In a small card shop close to where I work, there is this very attractive gal who works at the counter. Every day on my walk to lunch I look forward to seeing her for strictly eye candy purposes.

She's much too young for me. She's a bleached blonde but she carries it off okay (I'm not much of a fan of blondes, since I've always preferred brunettes, and the fact that my ex is a blonde, doesn't exactly help matters).

Being that I used to work on a college campus, one of my favorite past-times after I was separated, was girlwatching. Nothing perverted or dirty, just enjoying the scenery, you know. My new workplace location doesn't allow that hobby much. It's kind of like birdwatching under water. Every once in a while a bird comes out of nowhere for a dive. So, obviously I enjoy whatever comes my way, including Orangegirl.

The problem with this girl is that her skin is a Chernobyl shade of orange. She looks like she was caught in a radioactive blast zone or dipped in a pool of Iodine. It's pretty obvious that she must be addicted to tanning salons because she really is an unnatural shade of orange. It's a shame, because, other than her un-natural skin color, she is smoking hot.

After all my years, I do not pretend to be an expert on women (far from it) but could someone explain to me why one of this girl's friends wouldn't just tell her how ridiculous she looks in her orange hue? She looks pretty damn close to the color of the Oompa Loompas, and I'm am not exagerating...that much.

Every time I walk by and look into the display window, I'm expecting her to break out into dance and start singing:

"Oompa loompa, doopidy doo,
I've got another message for you
Oompa loompa, doopidy dum,
Do you know where melanoma comes from?"

I guess I was born so dark, I don't know how horrible it must be to be fair skinned. But orange skin??? I don't understand how that's an improvement unless you are auditioning to be a highway traffic cone. Maybe she's a nudist/NRA member and the tanning gives her the required square inches required by state mandates for hunter safety.

Or maybe her parents are Oompa Loompas. I think that her orange glow would delay male orgasm by 13.4 seconds if my research is correct.

Maybe that's why she does it.

Separated At Birth

Does this picture remind anyone of an infamous pilgrimager whose exploits to burn down the cottage is documented in a previous post?

Maybe, if he was wearing his helmet a few years back, he wouldn't have gotten slammed upside his head with a softball bat from one of his special friends and which prompted one of the funniest fictional lines.

"Is he dead???"

After a few minutes out cold, this thick skulled "gymnosperm" lived to tell the tale (although he might have been better off, if he kept it to himself). Well, I for one, salute my all time favorite and funniest pilgrimage members!

Stay gold!

YYYAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!!

Bill the Wondermutt!

I had a dog named Shakespeare (nicknamed just plain ol' Bill) that I found on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, during a blizzard when I was a junior in college. I almost hit him with my car, as my roomate Beukey and I were driving off campus with kidnapped sorority pledges.

Bill was just a pup, with no tags, that seemingly someone had dropped off and he had serious respiratory problems. I lived in a frathouse, so I back-tracked back to the house and let our frat's pledges clean him up while we were away.

Bill was pretty sick, so I took him to a vet the next day, where he got antibiotics, and I decided to keep him. Bill was the best mutt in the world and loved people. He also didn't seem to have a care in the world and wasn't terribly bright. My frat brothers would do things like putting him up in the cupboard with the dishes where he would just set up camp without a worry about trying to get out. Usually, I would find him sleeping up there an hour later when one of my frat brothers would finally shake their head and realize he wasn't going to cry or even attempt to get free, and would let me know where he was.

Bill was a super cool pet and everybody couldn't help but become attached to him. He had a load of personality.

But, as I said, Bill was no rocket scientist. Hell, sometimes I wondered if his head housed a brain at all. Due to sheer stupidity, he was hit by cars twice with the second coming after he actually ran into the side of a moving car, knocking himself out cold while I watched in utter disbelief. It was after this that Bill acquired his magical powers.

Thats right, I said magical powers.

You see, after Bill bumped his noggin on the side of that car, he acquired the power to teleport himself from place to place. No, I'm not joking.

For example, one day, my roommate, Beukey and I were studying for finals. The door to our room was closed and Bill was fast asleep on my bed. Usually he would sleep on my bed and every once in a while climb up on Beukey's bed. In our room, my mattress was on the floor and surrounded by two walls on two sides, a couch and a dresser on a third side and the only open side was at the foot of the bed. That's where our reclining chair was where I was studying. The recliner basically cut off half of the foot of the bed area and when I was sitting in it with my feet up on the couch (as I customarily sat), nothing could squeeze through without climbing over the top of my legs.Well, anyway, we're in there studying and Beukey asks what Bill was doing. I tell him that he's asleep on my bed but when I turn to look, he's gone!

"He was just there a second ago".

"What are you talking about?" Beukey inquired.

"He's gone. Bill's gone."

"Quit fucking around"

"I'm not. He is not on my bed anymore"

"Yeah, right"

"I'm absolutely serious, dude, he disappeared!"

Beuckey gets up off his bed to look and lo and behold he confirms, Bill has vanished.

"That's not possible", Beukey says.

"Tell me about it, I'm all fucking spooked now"

"The door is closed and we would have seen him leave"

"Christ, Beukey, he would have had to climb over the top of me and grow a quick opposible thumb to turn the doorknob to get out. He must have teleported out, like they do on Star Trek. Hell, maybe when he got hit by that car last week, he acquired magical powers"

We sat there in silence mulling the possibilities when we heard a sniffing sound outside the door. I got up and sure enough, it was Bill "The Amazing Teleporting Canine".

To this day, Beukey and I would swear on a stack of bibles and I would swear on my children that Bill teleported out of the room that day.

They say that humans only use less than 5% of their brains. I'm sure that Bill used less than 1% of his little pea brain. But they say that the mysteries held in the unused portion of our brains offer limitless potential for future development and usage such as telekinesis, etc...I think that accident tapped an area in Bill's brain that allowed him the power to teleport. Sure enough, whenever I wanted to scold him, he would be nowhere to be found.

Coincidence????

Stevie Ray Vaughan: A Blues Legend

I was put onto this clip of SRV doing "Texas Flood" earlier today.

When I was in college, I was a huge SRV fan. Unfortunately, SRV was killed in a helicopter accident while in the midst of a comeback tour in 1990. It has been awhile since I have listened to his albums (Step By Step, being my personal favorite).

I have no idea why I have gone so long since listening to this master of the blues. Please sit back, relax, put your feet up and let the ghost of SRV take you away for awhile.

This is one soulful nugget of the true spirit of Stevie Ray. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=490OveFwa_A&search=texas%20flood

An Extra Two Minutes (To Come)

This past pilgrimage, a bunch of us guys were watching some non-sensical show on E or some other channel about the sexiest people.

As we held court for a half hour over who was hot, who hit the wall etc...etc..., my buddy T-Dog offered an interesting opinion.

He claimed that if he didn't respect the job that a woman did, that he would find her less sexy. I was pretty perplexed by this because this type of opinion is usually reserved for women, who will find a man more attractive based on his success, charisma or confidence.

Us dumb mammals (men) don't usually put too much stock in what a woman does. If she's hot, she's hot regardless of what she does. I can't say I put any thought into the success of her job, when considering whether I find her attractive or whether I'd sleep with her.

So, being thus perplexed, I asked T-Dog to explain."If I don't consider an actress good at her profession, I wouldn't find her as sexy", T-dog explained.

"What???"

"If she's a poor actress, I would find her less attractive", T-dog further elaborated.

"What the hell does that mean? She's either hot or she isn't. We're talking about actresses here that could easily be supermodels."

"I'm just saying that I'd find them less attractive"

"So, let me get this straight. I think Jessica Alba is hot but I think that she is a terrible actress (which I do, by the way). The fact that I find her less sexy means what, exactly? That if I was sleeping with her that it would take me an extra two minutes to come?"

T-Dog rolls his eyes at me. I think I made my point. Of course, throughout the rest of the show, I beat my point to death as I estimate the extra amount of time needed to come for the remaining women on the list.

I can be a real ass at times.

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.