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!

Burning Down The House!

Two years ago while my buddies and I were on our biannual pilgrimage up at Lake Erie, we all had a near death experience.

Some of my friends are schoolteachers. All of them graduated from Slippery Rock University. The SRU alumni began the biannual pilgrimages in the early 1990's and through the course of time added about an equal amount of us non-SRU alums. Us non-SRU pilgrimage members think that our SRU compadres can be a little scary at times. Let's just say that they are not the brightest bulbs in the batch and leave it at that. Us non-SRU alums refer to ourselves as the Geniuses as a running joke to their questionable education at the Rock.

Cupcake, our resident gym teacher, is also our scariest SRU alum. He is the sweetest guy in the world and for all we know, he very well may have a tested IQ of 150. But Cupcake does things at times that really makes you wonder.

One night, as fourteen of us were bedded down for the night in Irish's cottage, Cupcake decided to load the fireplace full of logs and partially close the flue. Well, he fully closed the flue. As we slept, the cottage filled with smoke and it is only by the grace of God that the local rag, The Evening Disturber, didn't run a headline that read "14 Killed By Sheer Stupidity!".

We all dodged a bullet that night thanks to two of our friends, Geniuses by the way, Highmark and Pimp-N-Playa, waking up and alerting the rest of us. I don't know whether there was a real chance of all 14 of us dying of asphyxiation, but we never did find out.

Cupcake's explanation was that he was looking to slow burn the logs all night, but we quietly suspect him of just being "a plain ol' Tard". Maybe he was trying to win the Pilgrimage deathpool and had one of the guys on the 2nd floor. Another explanation is that maybe Cupcake was still suffering the after effects of a concussion from an incident where he was umpiring a softball game for his Special Education girls. While Cupcake's attention was elsewhere, one of the gals swung the bat and knocked poor Cupcake out cold. Cupcake awoke with the girls standing around him wondering if he was dead.

Whatever the reason, God smiled on us that night and we were spared. The incident is forever recorded in Pilgrimage Lore and we try to monitor Cupcake when he goes near the fire or the Kerosene heaters.

When asked about the incident, Cupcake, in thoughtful reply, retorts, "Blah..blah...blah...zebracakes...blah...blah..."

Story Addendum:

Pilgrimage officials have now officially downgraded Highmark's role in the incident to "barely helpful". Full credit for saving all 14 pilgrimagers goes to my son, Pimp-n-Playa, who bravely fought through the smoke to rescue us while Highmark (possibly of Mexican descent), rolled over and saw it was not time to leave the cottage before the morning work commenced, and went back to sleep, according to eyewitnesses.

Devil's Playground, PA: Brother Marty Bowl Result!

Geniuses 6*, SRU Tards 3.




One of the biggest upsets occurred on Saturday, February 25th at 12 noon.

After 3 years of futile efforts on the football field, the Geniuses upset the heavily favored Tards in front of a packed 7th circle full of tortured souls.



On Satan's homefield, the Geniuses not only won the contest but dominated play entirely, forcing 5 Meersky turnovers while The Kraut and Pimp-N-Player both threw halfback option passes for touchdowns, Satan threw for three and rushed for the last score of the day. "Babyhands" Poppinfresh made a key interception and knocked down passes all day long and newbies, Patriot and T-Len were the recipients of many passes including 3 touchdowns between them. Patriot and Pimp also provided key interceptions and the Genius defense was stellar in stopping the vaunted Tard recievers, Cupcake the Cottage burner, Irish, Choder, Francois and the usually illustrious Hamdog. Pimp and Poppinfresh played the role of shutdown corners as they refused to give the Tards the downfield pass. This turned out to be the key to the game and the downfall of the Tards one-dimensional offense.



Hurricane gale winds swarmed the ballfield as many of the Tard passes were swallowed by their force. The winds miraculously died down everytime the Geniuses, especially Beelzebub himself, touched the ball. After three years of consecutive drubbings at the hands of the Tards (2003 Tards 7, Geniuses 4, 2004 Tards 7, Geniuses 1, 2005 Tards 7, Geniuses 4), the Geniuses finally achieved the holy grail, even if the game was held outside the traditional pilgrimage venue.

The Geniuses wore a daisy patch of their uniforms to honor one of their fallen teammates, SloppyRob, who earlier this month blew out his knee.Yesterday was a day of true heroes and flags are flying at half mast at Slippery Rock University!



Long overdue congratulations to the Genius football squad who played like true champions on this day.



*An asterisk has been placed on the final score due to Meersky's contention that the game be played to 7 in order to be considered an official game. Many observers and reporters have noted that this game could have been played to 20 and the final score would have been Geniuses 20, Tards 6.



It was that big a whitewash.

My Own Private Idaho

I've been divorced for almost six years and swore that I would never get married again. After dealing with the pain and loss of a divorce, I thought that I was too badly broken to ever take that leap again. I have been dating a woman casually for the past three months and I really like her company. We have hit it off very well and I could see a nice relationship forming. I can see this relationship fitting into a future marriage.

The marriage I'm speaking about though involves one of my best friends, Meersky. Meersky is a man's man but just enough of a bitch to make our marriage work. You see, one night we were talking about the benefits of same-sex marriage and we came up with a grand plan. Our lives compliment each other pretty well and we seem to be able to stand large doses of each other. We do just as much together now than most married couples do. This day and age with same sex marriages on the rise and becoming acceptable, why not just get hitched, share a house, a healthplan, chores, etc...

Neither one of us is homosexual, so this would be a chaste marriage but would involve no jealousy if either of us has involvement with a woman. Not exactly Brokeback Mountain but we could take advantage of the benefits of being married without all the hassle that usually accompanies it. We could sit in the living room watching TV and ignore each other without the random "Honey, what are you thinking?", coming into play. Our telephone conversations are legendary. We average about 14 seconds per call. We are both pretty handy around the house and are anal about keeping it clean. Consider it "Roommates with benefits".

Irish and many of our other friends might be a little put off that they'd be forced to buy us wedding gifts but we'd still be able to provide a central location for guys night out.

We can basically do whatever we want, whenever we want while enjoying the benefits of being married. I may ask him from time to time if I look fat in my "choo choo pajamas" but I think he can handle it. So, the way we figure it. It's a no lose situation. It's not like we have to actually prove that we are gay to get married. Hell, I would argue that we'd have just a little less sex than heterosexual couples after 10 years of marriage. With the divorce rates surging, I figure that marriages these days don't last much longer than the amount of years you stay with a roommate anyway. And Meersky is just dead sexy when he's all mad about losing or being cheated in sports. Ok, maybe there will be some sex involved.

Lastly, it'll give me a chance to have my son, Pimp-n-Playa move in with us and we can be a real family. I guess I'll have to go out and buy Pimp a copy of "Daddy's Roommate" to help him adjust.

Favorite Quotes: Part IV

"She's a Cancer..........like her mother!"
One of my favorite new quotes when people ask me when my youngest daughter, Kitty's, birthday is. I give the date and then her astrological sign followed by the epitaph about my ex. Coincidentally, her mother is a Cancer, so the quote is not necessarily derogatory.

"I don't believe in pre-marital sex.......I do, however, believe in post-marital sex."
I just came up with that one yesterday, when grilled by friends regarding my sexual relations with my girlfriend. A young Irish lass, Erie, was digging for clues and was disappointed when I uttered the first half of the line, and then started laughing when I finished the thought. Much to her chagrin, I'm not a big believer in the kiss and tell. Somehow, my newest quote will probably not dissuade her from future digging.

"I really couldn't give that information over the phone".
This line is meant to be used when standing directly in front of someone, when you really don't want to give an answer. It is guaranteed to cause a few seconds of confusion while you race ahead to change the subject. I've been using this line since I was about 15. It's usually good for a dumbfounded look or two.

So, there you go. A three-fer of Bluey originals.

Death By Snu-Snu (A Valentine Wish)

In one of my favorite "Futurama" episodes (Amazon Women In The Mood), Fry, Brannigan and Kif are sentenced to "death by snu-snu", where they are expected to sleep with all of the Amazon women until they suffer crushed pelvises and die. If life could only be so good.

I don't know a man alive that wouldn't welcome that fate.

Alas, we end up going to the grave with our pelvises intact. What a rip. Death by sex seems like such a prefered method as opposed to death by much too infrequent sex, nagging and guilt trips which seemingly are the cornerstones of marriage.

Men are built to go anytime, anywhere 24/7. Women are very different. There seems to be a whole biorhythm thing at play where the stars have to line up just right for them to feel the same way a man does. One time I asked my ex if she ever got an overwhelming feeling to have sex right there and then. She said that once she woke up at 3am and was really horny but didn't want to wake me.

"Didn't want to wake me!!! Are you crazy!!", I told her. "Wake me right the fuck up!! I don't care when, where, how or why, just wake me right the fuck up"

.I guess it's just nature's cruel joke that we're built so differently.

Death by Snu-Snu. That is my Valentine's wish.

Epilogue: My favorite Zap Brannigan pickup line: "I think the most sensuous part of a woman's body................is the boobies"

The Massachusettes Prune Exchange

One of the most enjoyable jobs I had when I was younger was working the graveyard shift at my local supermarket during the summers when I came home from college.

I worked the midnight to 8:30am shift in the non-foods department packing the shelves with toiletries mainly. I had a buddy, Jefe, that used to work in the aisle next to me and we would spend the better part of the night tag teaming the grocery department crew with a flurry of insults that would last the entire night. Even though the store was open 24/7, we would get on the intercom from time to time and harass the grocery boys who thought our jobs were a piece of cake compared to theirs. We'd do nothing to dissuade them from that opinion and made loud snoring sounds from our aisles to further get their goats.

The other thing Jefe and I loved to do was to make up and sing fictional jingles from the various products we would stock. One of my personal favorites was my "Flush with Fleets (enema)" jingle and I never gave up an opportunity to give a full rendition to the store. The grocery boys thought the two of us were nuts but did enjoy the entertainment (usually, until they ended up as subjects with impacted colons in the twisted jingles). One of my other favorites was "Get the Wax Out (with Debrox)".

One night, I was in the middle of my favorite jingle when I heard this voice of displeasure coming from Jefe's aisle. It wasn't Jefe's voice but that of a woman who yelled over the aisle for me to stop my "caterwallin". Of course, this only provoked the two of us to a rousing rendition of the Fleets song. Then the woman and two guys in tow walked down my aisle. They were not amused.

She was a fat goth chick with blue hair and all kinds of ugly, crammed into black leather and fishnet stockings, and her two boy toys were equally goth and pasty white and reminded me of Jack Sprat and his brother John. When we were done singing, she said that our singing was atrocious and that she should know good singing because she was the lead singer of the Massachusetts Prune Exchange!

"The Massachussetts Prune Exchange?", I bellowed out loud. "Holy shit! Can I have your autograph?".

She went on to describe to us how her band was on the cutting edge of punk and that we were nothing but a couple of working stiff jackasses who would never amount to anything. She was a star and should not have to suffer through our singing.

Jefe and I were crushed. She was right. We never amounted to anything musically although we did record a demo tape produced in Jefe's garage that included our version of "Louie, Louie", an improvisational 18 minute version of the PC Richards jingle and a various assortment of other silly and worthless nuggets.

The MPE diva was right.

We were a bunch of no talent hacks, but we didn't exactly let her leave without tormenting her until she left spewing a fountain of obscenity our way. I guess we were just a bunch of stupid kids in the presence of real talent.

By the way, If anybody knows where I can get my hands on some Massachusetts Prune Exchange LP's, please let me know. I guess the demand was so great, they just couldn't keep the stores stocked fast enough. I've never seen one.

Congratulations To The Steelers!

God knows it wasn't a super effort by either team and the officiating stunk (again) but the difference was that the Steelers made the few big plays necessary to win the game.

You can make a case that Seattle outplayed the Steelers, but Seattle could not finish drives (regardless of a few iffy calls by refs). Having a field goal kicker that can't split the uprights doesn't help. Oh, and don't forget what a horrible job Holmgren did at the end of both halves managing the clock. The Steelers played a solid defensive game and that helped carry the offense until the Steelers were able to get a few big plays (Parker's 74 yd run and Randel El's pass to Ward). This game reminded me of old school low scoring superbowls before all the glitz and hype.

And Thank the Lord I won't have to hear that fucking "Here We Go" song much longer. That has to be one of the most annoying songs in the world. Not only do I want to slit my wrists when I hear it, I'd like to have about 60 pounds of plastique strapped to my body to take out those stores that insisted on playing it 24/7 in a continuous loop (Walmart, Dick's etc...).

Maybe I'd get 100 slightly used MILFs in heaven if I did the deed for Allah.

Whoever thought that this song should be a fight song needs to be executed. I literally walked out of stores this weekend to escape it.

So Congratulations Steeler Nation and please retire that stupid song before I kill someone.

Oh, and my favorite commercial. The friendly football game in which some guy legislates some chick with a blatant late hit after she catches a touchdown pass. I laughed my ass off.

What does that say about me?

Pittsburgh Steelers 109, Minnesota Vikings 18?

Yep, I had a Superbowl dream last night in which the Steelers totally dominated.

The only problem was that they had just handed the Minnesota Vikings their 5th Superbowl defeat. There were no Seahawks to be found in my dream.

I'm not even a Steelers fan, so God only knows what the hell that dream is supposed to mean.

Jeffrey Forester Is Dead!

When I was younger and in college, I was pure evil. My best friend, Beukey, wasn't much better. We spent the better part of four years tormenting those around us at our small liberal arts college. Our pranks were legendary and admired even by the resident preists on campus.

Beukey's roomie, Applebutter, was a Laurel Valley, Pa. yokel, who was a good guy, and was an avid Three Stooges fan. When the college sponsored a Three Stooges retrospective (hosted by "noted Stooge expert", Jeffrey Forrester), Applebutter was beside himself with joy and got his tickets early. He was real big into the Stooges. Beukey told me about his obsession but I never let on to Applebutter that I knew about it. Neither Beukey or I could give a fig about the Stooges, so we devised an evil plan.

We employed our resident dorm priest (who was one of our biggest fans) to set the trap. The night before the big event, Applebutter came into the dorm and Father Joju played his role perfectly. He went to the bulletin board and wrote CANCELLED on the flyer advertising the event. Applebutter, seeing this, asked the priest what was going on. The priest told him that he wasn't exactly sure why the event was cancelled.

When Applebutter came into his and Beukey's room, he seemed out of sorts. I asked Beukey if he had seen that there was a small craft accident at the local airport. Beukey feined ignorance and I proceeded to tell him that some Joe Forrest guy was killed who was supposed to visit the school. Applebutter's ears pricked up and asked me to elaborate on what I heard. I proceeded to concoct a tale of a small plane crash that had happened about ten miles away at the local airport. All three occupants were killed and one was supposed to be visiting the school but I pretended not to know what for. I told Applebutter that I had seen it on the local news and that the guy's name was Forest-something. Applebutter was beside himself and proceeded to explain to us who he thought it was.

Applebutter was in tears and went back to Father Joju and said to him, "Father.... Jeffrey... Jeffrey Forester is dead!"

How the priest kept a straight face is still a mystery to me. Having felt bad employing a preist to my evil plan, we broke the news about the prank to Applebutter. I think he wanted to kill us both but was a good sport about it in the end.

God knows that was only one of many, many pranks we pulled on him with the most infamous being "The Light Bill".

That story, however, will have to be reserved for another day...

Oh and a shout out to my daughter, Loni. Happy 12th birthday sweetie! We just returned from the Pens-Senators hockey game tonight. 7-2 Sens :(

The Cheerleader: Epilogue?

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

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

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

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

Coincidence???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus was born character number one: The Cheerleader

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

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

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

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

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

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