A friendly face

We’ve told you about our gym friend before — you know the one. If you don’t, here’s a reminder.

In comes this guy we’d seen around the Y before. Older dude…maybe late 50s, but he coulda passed for 125. He was Nicole Richie-thin, had wispy, graying hair and an unkept beard. Man, this beard was fucking awesome. If there were birds living in there, we’d be the least surprised. He probably hasn’t shaved since ’72.

Anyway, this guy starts doing some stretches and shit. We usually mind our business at the gym, try to keep our head down, avoid eye contact. But as this hombre was stretching, we couldn’t help but stare.

It sure looked like this older man was trying to suck his own dick. Like actually. He was really going after it. He even had the facial expression showing his hunger. Of course, he would’ve said he was just stretching or doing some yoga or pilates or whatever the fuck it is that older people do at the gym. But he was hands down trying to suck on his own cock. He would’ve done it too if we weren’t there. He was craving it. We were the only thing in his way.

We saw this man again last week, but in much different circumstances: he was flossing.

But he was doing it with the same ferocity and passion that he displays when trying to suck his own cock. This guy is a fucking awesome flosser. Bent over the sink, chin turned up, he nearly had his entire fist in his fucking mouth, trying to get all those tough-to-reach spots. And you better believe he got them. He’s that good.

We’re not sure if a dentist would be proud or appalled — like this guy was breaking all conventional rules of flossing but he was doing it with a passion that prevents a dentist from committing suicide. (Dentists, ya know, have one of the highest rates of suicide by profession).

We’ve gotten to the point that we think we could make an honest pitch to make a successful reality show out of following this guy around. If he goes after the cock and flosses with such intensity and passion, imagine him doing the other daily rituals that we take for granted.

Look for the show soon. We’d probably call it something like “Man really likes to suck his own cock and floss” or “Daily Life.”

But probably “Man really likes to suck his own cock and floss.”

MTV will eat it right up.

Think that copy editor had one thing on his mind?

Wouldn’t “returns home” have sufficed? Way to go CBS 13!

Because I’m a total jackass

So last night I got all spiffed up to go out to some swanky bar. Having “what-to-drink-indecision” I thought I would try to win over the bartender with my charm.

I went up to the bar, and in my sexiest voice said, “Disaronno…on the rocks.” The bartender looked at me like I was fucking mental. Embarrassed, I looked away. Then I made love to an ice cube in the bathroom.

——————–

A while back, I had another fun bar moment that didn’t involve going home with a cross-dressing hooker. I was out with some buddies…let’s call them Superman, Batman and Spider-Man. Batman brought along a buddy who the rest of us didn’t know…let’s call him Robin.

So we go out to some trendy bar where every guy is over 6-3 and every girl looks the same in that “I’d fuck her, but probably not tell other people about it” kind of way.

We go up and order drinks. I go with a Disaronno vodka tonic, Superman gets a scotch and water, Spider-Man goes with a Jack and Coke and Batman gets a Hef on tap.

Robin, not sure what to get, asks for some advice. I say, “You want something sweet?” He’s like, “Yeah. Sweet sounds good.” So I say, “Might as well go with a rum and coke. Hard to fuck that up.”

So Robin walks up the bartender (who I might add is a chick you would fuck and definitely tell people about), puffs out his chest, flashes a smile and asks for a Cuba Libre.

I nearly spat out my drink. You fucking scum fuck. A Cuba Libre?!

What’s a Cuba Libre? A rum and coke with a lime wedge. He ordered a Cuba Libre instead of ordering a rum and coke and asking for a lime wedge.

Robin hasn’t been out with us since.

——————–

This seems like an appropriate time to quote a passage from a post written a while back, because I don’t think I can re-tell this story any better than I already did.

Once I was at a trendy Irish bar that sucked my cock. I fucking hate this bar, yet often end up there. I ordered a shitty bottle of beer and it was like $4.50. Even though all the bartender did was twist off the cap, I still tipped him, even though it fucking grinded my gears. I respect etiquette, even when it assrapes me.

But I gave him a five, he gave me back 50 cents and I left the two quarters on the counter. He looked at me, gave me fuck-you eyes, and then splashed the coins back in my direction.

That really fucking grinded my gears. Asshole was expecting a buck for twisting off a cap. That’s bullshit. Work for your tip. I’m gonna fucking end that guy. He was a total cock-weasel who has an inverted penis.

——————–

The comments would be a good place to leave your best bar stories. Go to town.

It’d sure suck to have diabeetus, but thankfully, Wilford Brimley is here to help

This is hands down the best commercial on TV.

Brimley, whose mispronunciation of the word “diabetes” is far more priceless and comical than it probably should be, has been mocked plenty. We were going to do a funny bit about it, but realized Family Guy beat us to the punch and did it far better than we ever could.

The next great televison show


This was an email thread from a group of friends. If you aren’t entirely sold, there’s something wrong with you.

So I have this new idea for a pilot. I can’t take full credit for it because there is a brilliant, brilliant mind here at the TV station. But here goes:

The show is called “Donkey Lighthouse.”

A boat of donkeys being transported by a crew of men has crashed on a deserted island. The only thing on this island is a lighthouse. The crew is killed in the crash but the donkeys survive — they will be the main characters.

The goal of the donkeys is to get rescued from this island. Big problem: the light in the lighthouse has burned out! No boats know the island exists, thus the donkeys can’t get saved.

But in Episode Three there is a big breakthrough — they discover a closet full of new bulbs. They can be rescued! But — and we’re banking that the audience has some familiarity with donkeys — our characters don’t have an opposable thumb. The light bulb can’t be screwed in! They can’t be rescued!

Romances are sure to develop, but this is really the story of survival and the fleeting hope of being rescued. How far will their determination take them? Can obstacles be overcome? Will they be saved?

TV execs or agents reading can direct offers here.

The time I took an hour-long shit

Being a shitter (n. A person who takes shits) is a lot like being a baseball player.

Sometimes you’re in the zone and then you get in a slump. For one reason or another, a major leaguer, paid millions for his services, cannot for the life of him hit the ball well. Same goes for a shitter. You can be in a month-long zone where every shit you take is a well-packed turd and becomes a one-wiper. But then you fall into a slump.

I, friends, am in a slump.

Saturday night I got home around 1 a.m. and had been gassy as hell the last few hours. Probably the tacos at Jack in the Box. It would’ve been in my best interest to pump out a crap like an hour before I left where I was, but it was the wrong time, wrong place.

So I waited. Bad move.

Rule No. 1 about taking a good dump: When you first feel it, go for it. If you wait, it just makes a mess and takes a chunk out of your day.

But I broke the cardinal about taking a good dump and it cost me. Severely.

I sat down around 1:05 and everything was working fine. I settled down with a three-week-old issue of SI, read about the increasingly-popular dribble-drive-motion offense being run at many high schools and colleges, the race in the NBA Western Conference and Miguel Tejada’s hero status in the DR.

That took about 25 minutes. And I still hadn’t gotten to wiping.

Now our pal Lozo says that no crap should take longer than five minutes. Au contraire, Mr. Lozo. Au contraire. After 25 minutes, I was just getting started.

I’d prefer to not be graphic, but after about a half an hour, I still felt the pressure of some excrement, but it just couldn’t work its way out.

This is where things got dicey.

My legs were asleep, my ass was asleep and I was out of reading material. I knew I wasn’t done, but I needed aid in working the shit out of my body.

I walked around.

Pants around ankles, I walked into my living room, watched some SportsCenter and waited. It worked, too, as when I sat back down, I was able to work a bit out. But I still wasn’t done.

So I walked around some more. I thought about doing some jumping jacks, but still covered in my own feces, feared a potential spray on the white carpet.

Around 2 a.m., I was fed up. I was trying to get to bed at a reasonable time and was sick of sitting around covered in my movements.

I wiped, pulled my pants up, and walked away, pretending nothing happened.

But something clearly had. I may never be the same…

Sarah Silverman bleeped Matt Damon

This video has made the rounds and it has nothing to do with sports except Matt Damon is from Boston (right?) and probably is mildly aware that his football team just lot an important game.

But still, pretty funny stuff.

And if you don’t know why Silverman is joking about this, here’s People magazine to conveniently summarize:

Comedian Sarah Silverman had a special surprise for boyfriend Jimmy Kimmel on Thursday night’s 5th anniversary of his ABC late-night show — and it involved getting naughty with Matt Damon.

Damon (a Kimmel pal and frequent joker on the late-night show) gets in on the fun, too, asking Kimmel, “How do you like them apples?”

Damon and Silverman, Kimmel’s girlfriend of over five years, even show off their dance moves in a hip-hop interlude.

Ugh, so, ya know, would you bleep Sarah Silverman? (We had to ask).