In the news today...

Scientists have discovered that the part of the brain that inhibits risky behavior does not fully develop until the age of 25.

In an unrelated study, scientists discovered that the organ of the body which causes risky behavior develops around the age of 12.

Gross is gross.

I was ailing with a cold a couple of weeks ago. My throat bore the brunt of it. I ate so many cough drops that I was farting eucalyptus clouds like gangbusters. It was bad. I considered converting my bathroom to a day spa. But then I recovered from the cold and my cough drop diet came to a hault.

I didn't know what to tell the group of koala bears who showed up at my door. Poor little fellas flew in all the way from Australia. Sorry, little guys. The magic's over.


Weekend tidings

Pour a drink. Relax. Contemplate the weekend. And enjoy these random musings:

  • I wish alcohol came in pill form.
  • If I were a military general during the Iron Age, I wouldn't bring swords and crossbows. I'd just bring a big ole, horse-drawn magnet and drag it across the battle field. That would suck up the whole lot of human tin cans. Just imagine if Gandolf would have conjured up a big magnet. The Lord of the Rings trilogy would have taken a mere 20 minutes.
  • Call me a sick bastard, but when I get delayed in traffic due to an accident, I want to see a torso in the ditch.
  • There's no hope for a species that invented the iron maiden.
  • You know that cartoon dog, McGruff, who implores you to take a bite out of crime? I don't think Mike Tyson or Marv Albert should watch that cartoon.
  • The ancient Egyptians enslaved thousands of people who spent their entire existence building stone pyramids for a single monarch to live in -- after he dies. Now there's a country that needs a "separation of church and state" clause in the hieroglyphics!
  • Failed invention: the boomerang-shaped bullet.
  • Do you think Microsoft was trying to make a statement on modern society when they named their font "New Times Roman?"
  • We just spent 6 billion dollars to look at the surface of Mars. I could have told you exactly what it looked like: rocks and dust. In fact, that's what EVERY planet looks like. Are you listening, NASA! Why do they put cameras on those landers anyway? I think Star Trek gave the false impressions that all those female aliens are hotties.
  • Gays in the military? No way. I have nothing against gays. I think they're wonderful people. But gays in the military is impractical. These guys fret when their shoes don't match their belts. We're supposed to believe they'll don camouflage?
  • It helps to smoke a fattie before reading this last one. I'll wait. You're back? O.k. A noun is a person, place or thing. A verb is a thing. Therefore, a verb is a noun. Whoa.

LBB's Job Search Translator

Those of you perusing the want-ads will encounter the usual employment jargon. I've compiled a cross-reference to help you decipher the ads quickly and accurately. Feel free to print this list and keep it handy during your job search. Good luck and enjoy.

LBB's Job Search Translator:

"challenging" = aggravating

"fast-paced" = chaotic

"busy" = outrageously busy, no lunch break -- ever

"great attitude" = selfless whipping mule

"computer tech" = phone operator at a help desk

"customer service" = verbal punching bag

"great benefits" = lousy pay

"exciting atmosphere" = lousier pay

"opportunity for advancement" = for the boss's nephew while you bust ass

"must have college degree" = but willing to accept high school diploma wages

"entry-level" = minimum wage

"salary+commission" = mostly commission

"temp-to-hire" = you'll do until we find somebody we like

"fast-growing company" = on the verge of bankruptcy

"looking for key people" = looking for a pulse; sales job

"will train right person" = must have pulse; sales job

"some college preferred" = drop-outs welcome

"Equal-Opportunity Employer" = we've been sued in the past

"Must pass drug-test" = must stop smoking pot for 2 weeks prior to start date

"fax resume" = we filled the position internally 2 weeks ago but we have to post job for legal reasons.

"some weekends" = most weekends

"some overtime" = A lot of overtime -- and this position is salary-exempt


Bill Cosby? BILL COSBY?

You've probably read that investigators have concluded sexual contact did indeed take place between Bill Cosby and his accuser, leaving the question of consent.

When asked how they established sexual contact and fondling as facts, investigators responded that they found traces of Jello Pudding on the breasts and buttocks of the accuser.


In the news today, a woman was arrested for D.U.I after rear-ending another vehicle. Police discovered a bottle of Listerine mouthwash in the passenger seat. Exceeding the legal limit for intoxication, the woman confessed to drinking 3 cups of mouthwash. The police report mentioned that the suspect was "the most pleasant-smelling drunk ever."

In a related story, a 47 year-old man was hospitalized for severe constipation after consuming 4 tubes of Colgate toothpaste.

A little bit of irony... well ,not THAT little.

Today I woke up to a TV commercial advertising a pill for erectile dysfunction. And here I lay with a raging morning stiffy. The humanitarian in me wanted to somehow donate the thing to charity.


Hidden talents and wide-open functions

Lot's of guys can burp the alphabet. I can urinate the Pledge of Allegiance.

We put too much pride into bodily functions. Why is that? Who was the first guy to brag about the fart he discharged? Doesn't the Hot Pocket he ate 20 minutes prior get any of the credit?

I've never celebrated my bodily functions. In fact, I do my best to conceal them from passers-by. It's the neighborly thing to do. But I find myself in the minority. I suspect some of the guys I know will someday bottle their own flatulence for safe keeping in the unlikely event they exhaust their gas supply.

Even women are getting in on the act. I know girls who fart... proudly. What is this, ladies? A case of if-you-can't-beat'em, join'em? Ten years ago, women who drank beer and watched football were revelations. They were all the rage. You were lucky indeed to find one of them, like a Tickle-Me-Elmo doll. Now girls are burping and farting boastfully. I half-expect to find a Tickle-Me-and-I-Rip-One doll in the future. And she'll be female. Right next to Bodily Function Barbie with Potpouri-sented Flatulence.


Dr. Seymour McCrack, Politically Incorrect Gynocologist

Dear readers, I'm pleased to introduce a very special friend of mine to the blogosphere. He'll be visiting from time to time, imparting my blog with his wit and wisdom. I hope you find him as entertaining and informative as I do.

Here are actual, unedited quotes from the office of Dr. Seymour McCrack, the Politically Incorrect Gynocologist:

"Alright, darling. Kick those gunboats into the stirrups. I've got an eleven o'clock tee time."

"Well, we're all done. My nurse says I'm missing a couple of instruments. So tell the boyfriend to venture in slowly next time."

"I was examining this one broad. I won't say her name because it's confidential. Let's just say...open wider, darling; we're not in church... where was I? Oh yeah. Let's just say Kurt Cobain spent a lot of time in the same place I was working. Anyway, this dingy broad had so much crank in her system that my next patient experienced a contact high from my speculum."

There he is, ladies and gentlemen. Dr. Seymour McCrack, the Politically Incorrect Gynocologist. And yes, he accepts Blue Cross/Blue Shield.

Come back next week when Dr. McCrack expounds on his favorite hobby: spelunking.


Caller I.D.

I'm tired of this whole caller I.D., private caller stuff. Particularly these people who you call and their phone won't let your call through until you dial *86, or #873, or 888-pain-in-the-ass, name, rank and serial number or whatever you have to press to penetrate the person's phone. I need a Ph.D. in number theory to call my mother since she waged war against tele-marketers by activating the no-private-caller feature. Look, I'm not a private caller. If I were protecting my privacy, I woulndn't be calling you. I'd be playing checkers in a suburban fortress in an undiscloesd location with J.D. Salinger and Dick Cheney.

Here's the thing. I know only about 4 people on the whole planet who are worth pressing even seven numbers to talk to. Nobody is worth 10 digits. I don't think I'd call the President if I had to memorize and dial 10 numbers. Maybe I'll just send him an email detailing my ideas on foreign policy. My limit is 7 numbers. Some of you may be asking, "well then, how do you make long distance calls?" I don't. Fuck'em. Let them move back into town if they want to hear from me.

Besides, I have enough numbers committed to memory. I've got PIN numbers, account numbers, social security, my lock combination to my secret stash of Hustler, the PG-13 version. I don't have any more room for de-activation codes.


Warning: Don't pop these pills if you're a drunkard

I like the warning label on pain-relievers that read, "If you drink more than 3 alcoholic beverages every day, consult a physician before using this product." After I'm done counting all the ways this message is dumb, I'll comment on it.

O.K. First of all, 3 or more drinks a day? Who are these pills for, David Crosby? Because he's got something stronger than OTC. I assure you.

Personally, I already lied to my physician about my drinking when I filled out that new-patient paperwork and it asked me about how much I drink. I'm not coming clean with him just to pop a couple of Advil.

If you're downing 3 or more drinks every day, you're quite done woring about what your physician has to say, anyway. And with all that daily drinking, you've got bigger problems than a headache. It's obvious you're not taking the pills for a headache, as you have to actually sober up to develop a hangover -- and the accompanying headache. That's a good remedy for a hangover: don't stop drinking. I digress.

Anyway, the waring label should read, "If you drink more than 3 drinks everyday, pop all the pills you want of this or any other medication. It's too late to worry about a little liver damage anyway. Just don't go for a drive. Hallucinations may or may not be a side-effect of this medication, depending on how many margaritas you pounded before taking this product."

Interview with the Vampire, aka, the Boss

I think that if employeers can ask applicants for references and then call the places you've worked, then we applicants should get a list of the people who previously held the job we're accepting and call them. I know that would have helped me dodge a few employment landmines in my past. With some of these job, I didn't know what I was getting into. I've come to learn that previous employees spent time in psych wards after resigning.

I say employers and applicants should both have dirt on each other. It sure would make salary negotiations more interesting:

Applicant: "I'd love to work for your organization. But a previous employee informs me you beat him severly with a 9-iron for missing a deadline. In light of this, I'll have to insist on a company car and free dental. Oh, and I'll need a yearly bonus structure to compenstate me for the rest of the pricks on the 6th floor I heard about."

Hiring Manager: "I understand your concern. However, our HR department has learned that you issued two bomb threats against your previous employer and murdered a mid-level manager who accused you of insubordination. We'll throw in free dental, but you won't be eligible for bonuses until the following quarter. Our salary offer is firm."


An Apple a day...

Computer users smoke more weed than the general population. But Apple users smoke more than anybody. You show me a Mac user and I'll show you a guy with a dimebag and a novelty bong stashed under the bed. Here's proof: Remember back in '99 when Apple released the I-Mac? The TV ads swirled a bunch of colored monitors against a White background while playing Rolling Stones music. If you let your mind go while watching, you'd swear you were at Woodstock with Timothy Leary. Stanley Kubric watched that commercial and said, "it's too psychodelic, man. I'm gonna have a flashback." In case I haven't made my point clear enough: Mac users smoke the ganja. They love weed more than they hate Microsoft. They love weed more than their I-Pods and their one-button mouse put together. I mean, Mackies smoke serious quantities of weed. They make Snoop-Dogg look like Nancy Reagan. You catch my drift?

The tragedy, of course, is that we Windows users are the ones who need to toke just to stay calm for 5 minutes. I've never needed a bong hit so badly as when my "program is not responding."

Contemplating hot flashes

I've got to tell you that I'm fascinated with womens' hot flashes. I wish I could have them, but only for scientific purposes. I'd wait for a hot flash and test its heating power by jumping into a swimming pool -- in the winter, just to see if I'd survive. I think hot flashes would be fun during the winter. You could walk down the street in January in Buffalo wearing bicycle shorts and a jog bra. That would freak people out. Hey, when you have a hot flash outside in the winter, do you emit steam?

You know what else I'd do with a hot flash? I'd step into a meat locker and let my body and the cooler duke it out in a battle royale. Or else I'd jam a chub of frozen meat in my armpit to see if I could defrost it. Dinner's served.

Here's what I wonder. What if you're already doing something that makes you hot when your hot flash strikes? What if you're exercising, landscaping or staring at a picture of Ricardo Montalban? What if you're eating an Atomic Fireball? How hot do you get then? Hot enough to combust? What if you're wearing a jog suit? That would be a real pressure cooker, I'll bet. You could probably explode.

When my wife hits menopause, I'm gonna have a great human-electric blanket in bed. It'll be like sleeping with a radiator -- only with boobs, and an optional hotdog warmer.


After you, my dear sir

I'll tell you who bothers me: These guys who don't accept the right of way at a 4-way stop. You know the ones. They clearly come to a complete stop FIRST, but after you stop, they give you the wave, that condescending wave to proceed. You know, like YOU'RE the idiot. First you wait for him to move his ass as taffic statutes mandate. Then you look in the car and see some jerkoff who looks like he's swatting mosquitos or having a seizure.

They need to go FIRST. Put it in gear, dipshit. Show some initiative. Make like there's a titty bar or perhaps a WalMart on the other side of the road, or whatever attracts people with your I.Q. Did you go down on your driver's ed teacher to get your license? You know the rules. You stopped first; you go first. Always insist on the right of way. That's my motto.

And at night, they give you the flashing bright-lights. What is that whole thing? I think it's Morse Code for "I'd rather play with myself than accept the right of way. Go ahead."

I'll bet these are the same dipshit who ride your ass even though you're going 10 mph over the limit. But when he reaches a 4-way stop, all of the sudden he turns into Citizen-Fuckin'-Kane with his good manners and waving. "After you, good sir."

This isn't Maybury M.F.D, motherfucker. I hope somebody T-bones your ass when you finally do make it into the intersection. Grow some balls, jerk.

I try to stay positive, though. Driving angry isn't a good idea.


Random musings

  • When you hear someone say "with all do respect..." they're about to say something disrespectful.
  • We could disarm 90% of the world's dictators more effectively with Rogaine, Viagra and elevator shoes than with military action. You have to get to the root causes of violence. I've seen these guys on CNN. I can tell you it's becaues they're short, bald and flaccid.
  • The only time I want to feel invisible is in the eyes of a government agency.
  • Have you tried counting to 10 when you get angry? It doesn't work. The only thing that helps me is counting the number of bullets in the magazine.
  • Do you think the Smashing Pumpkins sell more albums during Halloween?
  • I swear to God I'm an atheist. Jesus! Do I hate religious people.
  • Do you think the guy who invented the french kiss and the guy who invented "tea-bagging" knew each other?
  • I think rap artists should have to use "the N-word" like the rest of us.
  • With every task comes the opportunity to discover how incompetent you are.
  • Why does a cement truck only need 6 wheels, but a semi full of party favors needs 18?
  • I keep forgetting to thank my mom and dad for that circumcision they arranged for me back in 1971. Thanks guys!
  • Last week I checked into a Days Inn hotel. At night I had to sleep in the street.
  • The human body has a lot of useless parts (spleen, gall bladder, appendix, etc.). You don't need them, and when they go on the fritz, you have big problems. In that sense, our bodies are like a Kia sedan with the racing package.



If I hear one more rock star tell ME not to drive drunk, I'm going to start listening to country music. It'll hurt me, but it will hurt them, too.

These rock stars have balls. Don't they? They drink more booze than anybody else on the planet. The only reason they don't drive drunk is because they pass out before they can find their keys. And of course, until they blow their fortunes on cocaine, they can afford chauffeurs.

I don't want to sound crass, but when a demographic of people prone to choking on their own vomit tells me not to drive drunk, it comes off a bit insincere. Before you remind me that they're not DRIVING while their choking on booze vomit, I'll remind you that they find these guys in their cars -- or their airplanes.

Rock stars do everything while drunk: drive, perform, fly, fuck, operate heavy machinery, clean their firearms (shoutout to Phil Spector; congrats, brah!). Hell, half of them are probably shitfaced while recording those RADD commercials. I heard Joe cocker on the radio today reminding me not to drive drunk and from the way he talked, I'll bet he would have blown a 2.0. Joe Cocker! You can get drunk just breathing the same air as he does. Balls!

And later today, I heard Paul McCartney warn not to drive drunk. This from a guy who smuggled ganja through an airport in his kid's diapers. Sure. You shouldn't drive drunk. But there's no problem blazing up a fatty and cruising all the way to Strawberry Fields.

What's next? How about the Girl Scouts of America lecturing me on the risks of too many cookies in one's diet? Post Office workers giving anger management seminars? The girls from Sex and the City preaching abstinence?

I need a drink. And a nice, long drive to clear my head.

Be on the lookout...

Those of you who follow fashion have no doubt read that German designer Rudolph Moshammer was found murdered. According to the German press he was "known for his extravagant hairstyle and flamboyant dress."

Extravagant hairstyle and flamboyant dress? I'm glad they've narrowed it down to 16,000,000 Germans, a million Bay area residents and the entire country of France!

I know at least 40 potential suspects just at Salsa Night at my neighborhood bar.


My 6-step self-help guide

I was saving these pearls for a paperback book. But knowledge like this is too important to keep a secret. That's why I'm posting my 6-step method to self-improvement right here on my blog. So here they are. Advice on your career, your social life, finances, goals, social responsibility and physical fitness, respectively. Enjoy!

  1. Forget college -- unless you enjoy paying student loans by titty-dancing at the Jug Shack. You don't have to look far to find a college graduate slaving for chump change. Disillusionment is the fate of every idealistic college kid (and perhaps a case of the clap). Think of how much sleep you'll get while everybody else is learning useless crap in their 08:10 Social Science class.
  2. You ARE the center of the universe -- but nobody else cares. So you might as well stop acting like you are the center of the universe anyway. I know MTV Real World actors get a soapbox for a television season, but in the REAL Real World, nobody gives a shit. You could drop dead tomorrow and everybody would mistake you for a new speedbump.
  3. Forget 401-k's -- I used to max out mine. But that was back in the day when 30% annual returns were a disappointment. Then I woke up in 2001 and I had a 201-k. Nowadays, most people's 401-ks, when redeemed, will finance the cable bill for about 3 months. Maybe get you an I-Pod. Both are good investments. Remember, odds are you'll be to old, sick and miserable to enjoy a wealthy retirement anyway.
  4. Decide what you want out of life -- but be prepared to negotiate, by which I mean lower your standards. A lot. If you're holding out for a Porsche, start thinking, "Yugo" quickly, beofre you're disappointed. Also, you can attract a spouse TODAY if you're willing to entertain a less-attactive person.
  5. Forget voting, but don't forget to complain -- It's more satisfying to criticize the state of affairs than participate in a political system that'll screw you no matter who you vote for, anyway. If you vote, you have to blame yourself. If you don't, it's everybody elses fault. Forget giving to charities, too. Remember, you're as big a charity case as anybody. Might as well cut out the middle man.
  6. Exercise brings no guarantees -- but sloth pays off every time you try it. The same thing goes for mind-altering substances. Abstaining may get you a few more days on earth. Maybe it won't. But start adding up all the pleasant buzzes you'll miss. Have a drink.


If you would do good, go away.

Have you noticed we always have some activist group who justify being a pain in the ass by reminding us they're just trying to help? These do-gooders come in many forms. Those with the same cause-celebre flock together. Do-gooders change with the social tides and political climate. Once upon a time it was the temperance movement, then the labor unions and anti-nuclear movement. Next came the minority rights activists: gay, women, blacks, Indians, Neil Diamond fans. A few years ago we watched the anti-tobacco lawyers loot Big Tabacco with their class(less)-action shakedowns. And now we have a group of jerkoffs trying to wrest the Big Mac from my hand because some 10 year-old kid in Mississippi weighs 245 pounds and eats at McDonald's.

The do-gooders may have different agendas. But they're all the same species: selfrighteousicus-busybodicus.

Sensible people, like those who read this blog, have triumphed over past armies of do-gooders like those above. But we have a strategic problem: We win the battles, but not the war. These damn do-gooders never die. They're like those aliens in science fiction movies: when you cut them in half, the two halves come to life as half-pint aliens, which become full-size as they feed on human flesh. Some of them can get as big as Michael Moore. Incidentally, I'm developing a theory in which Michael Moore isn't an individual do-gooder. Rather, he's a conglomerate of 5 do-gooders who've rolled themselves into a ball -- much like that Transformer Robot that's actually 5 different robots hooked together. Ralph Nader and that guy who wrote "Supersize Me" form either buttocks, and Jane Fonda composes most of the abdomen with her gash as the navel. But I digress.

Attention, Do-Gooder: The bumper sticker reads, "If you're against abortion, don't have one."

Well, if you're against Big-Macs, don't eat one. If you're against cigarettes, don't smoke one. If you're against SUVs, don't drive one. If you're against rich people, don't be one. And if you and I are in an elevator together, don't rip one.


Crumbs from the cookie jar of my conscience

  • The world has enough perfectionists, so I've become a mediocrotist.
  • Good news. My wife is considering massage therapy school. I told her that with a little hard work, she can be the next Amber Frey.
  • If you think about it, fog is just Mother Nature's flatulence.
  • Here's a good insult if you need it: "Did your parents have sex near a nuclear power plant?"
  • Some people tell me, "You can't do anything about it, so there's no point in worrying." Really? You mean I'm completely powerless to prevent the thing from happening? I feel better already. Thanks. You're a regular Tony Fuckin' Robbins.
  • The day you master Life's Lessons is the day life presents you with Life's Exceptions. Incidentally, that's why you're "never too old to learn." No matter how old you are, you don't know shit.
  • Sushi is gross. And the people who advise me to "start with California Rolls" should know that I don't like California and I'm merely indifferent to rolls.

Total recalls

  • I read that Ford issued a saftey recall. Apparently they accidentally filled the driver-side air bag with thumb tacks.
  • Trojan Condoms recalled its Extra-Large 12 packs when it discovered 98.4% of the time they slip off and lodge themselves into the vagina.
  • Pro-form Fitness has recalled its latest models of treadmills and health riders after discovering the handlebars don't support folded laundry.
  • The beef industry has recalled 17,000 lbs. of hamburger meat after learning "Mad Cow Disease" wasn't just slang for a Michael Moore political rally.
  • Sales of the anti-impotence drug Viagra have haulted due to an accidental contamination of stool softener.
  • Anti-skid bathroom mats manufactured by Dow Chemical have been recalled after learning they mistakenly added a Teflon coating to 10,000 units.
  • Stanley Tool is recalling its 12-foot step ladder upon learning the 11th step is made of Silly Puddy.


Poetry fans?

If you liked the haikus, you love my limericks. If you have the stomach for it.

There once was a gal from Belize
Whom most men regarded a sleaze
Her crotch was so rank
When she spread'em she stank
But much worse than the smell were the fleas.

There once was a man from St. Croix
Who insisted he wasn't a boy
He tucked his big dick
Around back then he'd stick
What had reached in his ass to enjoy.

There once was a lady from Turkey
Whose double-d breasts were so perky
Their milk was so sweet
But if you like meat
Try her pussy. It tastes like beef jerky

There once was a man from Des Moines
For whom currency tickled his loins
He wrapped dollar bills
'Round his johnson for thrills
And he filled up his rectum with coins

There once was a girl from St. Paul
Whose pussy was three times too small
The men found it tight
And pushed with their might
To bury their dicks to the balls

There once was a man from Beijing
Who from time to time fondled his thing
He thought "What the hell?
I'll fasten a bell
'Round my balls. When I'm horny I'll ring

There once was a gal from Iran
Much too prudish to tempt a young man
She drank a few beers
Placed her feet behind ears
Now the fellas come fast as they can

There once was a man from Kentucky
Who picked up a fox. He'd been lucky
But oh my, what a mess
When he lifted her dress
He found out she's a cowboy named Bucky

There once was a man from New York
Who enjoyed anal sex with a cork
It was quite a good fuck
And when it got stuck
He would pry the thing out with a fork

There once was a gal from Iraq
Who wore hip-huggers showing her crack
Men followed along
Catching peeps of her thong
And blew their loads onto her back

Once a man hailing from Dallas
Liked to beat off his cock with great malice
The technique that he used
Left his testicles bruised
And the shaft of his johnson all callous

Michael Moore-gasms

Michael Moore-Donuts gets more credit that he deserves. How can a guy be a "visionary" when he can't see his own pecker?

I mean, this guy is fat. Has anybody checked his ass-crack for the weapons of mass destruction?

I know, I know. Cheap shot. But this guy's making a career of cheap shots. If he wants to comment on the excesses of American Culture, maybe he should hit a few less all-you-can-eat buffets.

Comes off a bit insincere.

Michael Moore-Donuts makes my thankful for coronary artery disease.


My Dirty Haiku

My personal contribution to the collective works of haiku. Enjoy!

See her body move
The boobs and buttocks gyrate
Five dollar lap dance.

The buttocks orate
Is it a word that's spoken?
No, it's just a fart.

My bean bag itches
Adjust my balls discretly
Scratch the fuzzy sack.

My hemorrhoid pulsates
As flames engulf my rectum

She presents herself
Dressed in trashy lingere
She is not a whore.

My wife won't fuck me
Not even on my birthday
Why did I marry?

Two gay guys kissing
As they frolic on the beach
Onlookers vomit.

We kiss at sunset
My hand moves up her dress
I find no panties.

I pursue my love
She thwarts all my advances
Restraining order.

She gives a blowjob
She says she will not swallow
Bust one on her face.

We start making love
I have no prophylactic
I pull out early.

Cut off in traffic
My road rage flares inside me
Honey, where's my gun?

Sexing in the car
The cops come and arrest me
But she looked eighteen.

Why do I love her
Her laugh, her Strength, her Beauty
And her perfect ass.

Ugly barfly flirts
Drink a dozen longneck beers
She is pretty now.

She gives oral sex.
Now she seeks the same from me
Time for me to go.

My date won't put out
I feel I have sex coming
I bought surf and turf.

I rise at daybreak
A morning stiffy plagues me
I can't take a leak.

She's smart and pretty
But I heard she won't put out
So why waste my time?

Three-ways are the best
One chick sits upon my face
Her friend rides my cock.

Floating through the air
Having lept from her window
Husband's home early.

Elements of love
A kiss, a touch, a whisper
Perchance a handjob.

Finger-bang the chick
Tactically position thumb
so it taps her clit.

I'm about to come
Should I await her climax
Oops! Maybe next time.

Measuring my dick
Round up to the nearest inch
Then I add two more.

My dick has frostbite
Pissing in the winter air
Shitter's on the fritz.

Pain, wincing, red-faced
Anguish with each movement
Dick caught in zipper.

Delight bring the winds
As they lift a lady's dress
Ah, thong underwear.

The first -- smart, pretty
The second, promiscuous
I'll take number 2.

Darling, I love you
Why can't you have a body
More like your sister?

Thrust, recover, thrust
And then withdrawl completely
Coat her abs with come.

My airbrushed porn queen
Thank you for redefining
My ideal woman.


Play it again, Damn!

Certain songs, even though they're good, need to disappear from the radio forever. We've heard them too many times.

Take it Easy, The Eagles -- Guys, it's hard to take it easy with this song on the radio every 17 minutes. Why don't you guys Take it Elsewhere?

Take the Money and Run, The Steve Miller Band -- Steve took the money and ran alright, and left us to listen to this freakin' song 9 times a day. They play this song so much I'm actually looking forward to the comeback of his annoying hit, Abracadabra!

You're in My Soul, Rod Stewart -- The problem is, Rod, you're in my ears with this fucker way too often.

Get off my Cloud and No Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones -- The only satisfaction I'll get is when we torture the classic rock DJs who play these songs every hour.

Margaritaville, Jimmy Buffet -- The first few notes of this overplayed hit make me want to drink a DIOXINita and drift off into a premature death. What's with Jimmy Buffet's populairty, anyway? I haven't seen so many annoying people rally around a drunk since Robert Downey Jr. joined the cast of Ally McBeal.

Some unfortunate names

Although these are fine names, you just don't want them in the year 2005:

1) Chris P. Kareem
2) Scott Peterson
3) Al Kyta
4) Richard Little
5) Jim Shoe
6) Mr. Bates Well
7) Dusty Dick
8) Mike Hootch


Ye shall ponder

  • If a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, is a train only as strong as its weakest car? What about a chain gang? I guess it's only as strong as its weakest con. A chain smoker? The weakest butt. I'll move on now...
  • There's a new, 0ver-the-counter pregnancy test with a digital display that reads "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant." The commercial says, "things couldn't be clearer." No? How about showing the name of the biological father? That might clear some things up!
  • It's too bad dinosaurs went extinct. Think of how much hamburger meat you could get off of one of them.
  • We all now know what a "Tsunami" is, and how deadly they can be. But we ought to rename them. Something that dangerous shouldn't sound like a deli meat.
  • The only time I enjoy wearing a cowboy hat is in a movie theater.
  • Adam Sandler made three songs -- and a bunch of money -- identifying Jewish people. I'm going to write a song like that -- only with Catholics. So far I've got the Pope and Mel Gibson.
  • If planes' wings lift them up, how do they fly upside-down?


A'hunting we will show

If you're like me, you've become frustrated with hunting shows on television.

Why? Not enough action. I don't want to spend an hour watching two camouflaged guys oil their guns and wax poetic on the crispness of the air and the changing of the leaves. I tune in for the kill. If I'm looking for a show on nature, I'll click over to The Playboy Channel.

I want to see an animal die via the proficient use of a deadly weapon -- and I don't want to wait for it. What good is a show where you wait all day for some poor buck to wander into the crosshair sighting? Even then, you only see one or two killings. So here's my idea. Put a camera in a slaughterhouse. We've got millions of animal killings every day going to waste. There's good, clean broadcast fodder in those slaughterhouses: jugular sticks, severed heads, leathal injection, etc. You could create a brand new cable network: The Slaughterhouse Channel. Say goodbye, Bossy. In 5 minutes, Cletus will be wrapping your innards in butcher paper.

One hour of programming on The Slaughterhouse Channel would feature more killing than all the hunting shows ever produced. And think of the sponsors: McDonalds, the Outback, Texas T-Bone, Osmand's Leather Goods. This is a million-dollar idea, folks.

New military policy

In the news today is an announcement from the Pentagon regarding a new policy on sexual assault.

The new policy: Don't ask. Don't tell.

It's been a remarkable success with gays in the military. Why not give it a shot with sex criminals?