What's The Matter With Kids Today?

File this under Utah--Things That Are Different.

When you're done watching that Big Love re-run and commenting about how many things they got wrong and giving the wives the old mattress workout, head on down to the Jazz game this Monday for Family Night.

Sure, it's just the crummy Washington Wizards.

But you can get 6 tickets and 6 hot dogs for only $84. Yup, Family Night for is 6. Where do all the jokes come from? That's the swell ad over there from Sunday's paper.

And that advert doesn't specific that it's for a hubby and wife and 4 kids. You can bring all 5 of your wives. As long as you've got an extra to babysit the kids your ditching at home.

This is the kind of stuff that makes me miss Detroit. Especially when they had Handgun and Hard Liquor night at the Palace. We called those Tuesdays.

Get Your Wieners Running

Sure my friends tease me about having two wives or not being able to sit next to drunk people on the train. But Utah does have the Trax and the crazy people and the homeless people love to sit by me whenever I ride.

Sure Utah doesn’t have a mayor who likes to sext to his Chief of Staff on his city-supplied Blackberry. And you know they made jokes during their trysts. I’m imagining something like when Annette Bening is having sex with Peter Gallagher in American Beauty, but instead Kwame Kilpatrick is having Christine Beatty say “I’m your Chief of Staff. I’m your Chief of Staff.”

And Utah lakcs a governor whose limousine has a bumper sticker that says “I’d rather be whorin" and "This limo brakes for all ho's."

Nor does it have a an-exgov-now-gay who allegedly had threesomes with someone on his staff (so to speak) and his wife. And you know they've got his laptop computer where it's got "3sum @ Friday's" on every Friday for a couple of years in his calendar.


But Utah does have the most important thing any state should have. Of course I'm talking 'bout the Wiener Nationals. Yes, before next Friday's game between the Jazz and the Spurs, there will be dauschhund dashing before the game. And the qualifiers get to be in the finals during half time. As this game in going to be televised on TNT, you may want to set your TIVO to see if you can catch the half-time festivities. Because who wants to see Sir Charles run his jib when you can see some fast wieners going head to head.

Or is that what Mrs. McGreevey said? C'mon, you didn't really think I could go an entire post about racing Wiener dogs and not make a cheap dick joke did you? Mea culpa.

So get on out to the Wiener Nationals and enjoy the majesty and grace that is wiener racing. You'll be glad you did. I just hope none of those pooches are popping the 'roids like in last years race. And remember, if a Wienerdog goes into the crowd, don't throw him back. He's yours to keep.

Let's Get Physical

(in which our hero is violated)

Hiya, kids. Long time, no blog. That's because I'm still recuperating from my last visit to the dominatrix doctor.

Because I've recently relocated to the Land of Zion, I am without health care professionals for things like medical advice, contact lenses, haircuts and the like. Luckily, I rectified (and I do mean rectified) one of those issues this week.

There comes a time in a man's life where he is subjected to more introspection and diagnosis than which he has become accustomed to. I'm typing, of course, about prostate exams.

Now I don't know who originally thought this exam up. I relate this story not as some badge of courage because I know we men will never stack up to the indignities you women suffer in boob-squashing and vajayjay spelunking. Rather, it's only to offer up the sacrifice we make to live longer. In an era in which there is a for everything including putting lead in your pencil, that we test for prostate erratica with a digit in the derriere is beyond me. But thanks to the magic that is known as co-pay, for a mere $15 (check local listings), I was able to have a strange woman touch the testes and put her finger up my ass. If only I could have gotten her to wear a corset, buy me dinner first, take her time, and talk dirty to me, it would have been a great start to the day.

Instead, I started Monday morning with my exam. I'll skip ahead to the sexy part where I am naked and bent over an examination table. Because my eyes are focused on the plain wall, I don't bother to look back in fear or anxiety. Instead, I can hear my new doctor (and let's face it, if you're getting a new doc, she should earn her money right away) apply some type of lubricant to her rubber glove. This is neither an attractive sound nor does it inspire confidence in my soul.

Whilst I feel her begin to probe in an area that is nowhere near where she needs to be, I'm a bit concerned. She is very high on the target. I'm trying to put this delicately, but her tee shot is pretty far over the green and not near the hole. I immediately think, "How long has it been since she took Anatomy 101?" As I feel her work her way southward, I can tell that despite the noise, she hasn't used enough lube.

Now I've had this exam done one time before. And I always mark it on my calendar in Big Red Letters so I have something to look forward to every Winter. And the last time this was performed my Doc used enough lube for me to be in a gay porn movie. This was not that time.

As I tried to relax, I heard my new doc say, "Your prostate is really high." This is code for, "I'm up to my elbow and I got nothing." While I resisted the urge to ask her if I can keep the watch, she finally checked my lonely walnut and withdrew. She threw me a towel and said, "Clean yourself up, bitch." I'm not sure if that's exactly what she said as I couldn't make out her words over the crying.

Luckily, my ass seems to be in impeccable health. And while I may have suffered degradation that few outside of prison or the movie Deliverance, it could have been worse. I could have been giving that exam. How would you like to start your Monday morning that way?

All I know is that the next time I'm feeling unsexy, I'm going to spend another $15 and make my poor doc check out my naughty bits again. I'll bring the carry out this time.

Shot Through the Heart

I finally figured out why silencers are so popular here in the Mild, Mild West.

It's because if you're going to sit on the deck of your house and shoot at deer, you don't want to annoy the neighbors.


Now I'm not a hunter by trade (and I don't even play one on tv), so I don't get all fired up to get my Bambi-slaying on. I can go straight to telling lies and enjoying adult beverages without getting lost in the woods first or having an encounter with the crew from Deliverance.


But yes, those are actual deer across the street from my house. I apologize for the lovely blue tint from the Crap Cam 2000, but that's what you get when you try to carry a pop in your slippers while shooting action photography.

Maybe I need to get one of those swell photography books, and learn me how to take some real National Geographic type action photos. Forget it, anything important to see will eventually be on Youtube.


I can't wait until Guinness the Wonder Dog finally figures out there is a herd of deer in the back yard. Maybe we'll have venison for Easter....

Time Is Not on My Side

I started a new job this week. Is it too soon to hate a job after less than 5 days? Okay, hate is a strong word, but I'm already over having to do the commuting thing for an hour each way. It wouldn't be that bad if traffic didn't suck during the Winter and driving in the absolute teeth of rush hour doesn't help either. And getting up at 5:00 am each day to be able to do this isn't on my short list of fun stuff either. So Initech better appreciate me showing up (on time) with a bright shining face each morn. This certainly can't last long. So it seems like I have no time right now. Thus the paucity of snarky blog posts.


We'll fix at least a little of that right now.


Reason # 327 why I love Utah. Yup, take a peek at this actual coupon from the sports section of the local paper.

Damn, I wish I could have found that swell coupon (even though it's not a Bluefly coupon) before Valentine's Day.

Because love means never having to say your gun is too loud.

Luckily you can head down there at 9:00 am and get your silencer on. So that early morning shooting spree won't disturb the neighbors. Especially when you let their dog have it for pooping in your yard.

Cuts Like a Knife

Every now and then I'll try to think about what makes the Midwest unique. Is it the awful weather? Is it the numerous foreclosures in the crummy real estate market? Is it the crazies who live there? I'm going with the latter.

In Adrian, Michigan, Frank Kozumplik was arrested for driving his lawnmower while drunk. And this may come as a shock, but Frank had taken his lawnmower to the liquor store. There he bought 4 bottles of wine. When police pulled Fugitive Frank over, he was down to two bottles. So you know he was having a good time. Frank might have to do the old lawn by hand next Spring as the cops also impounded his mower.

I wonder if they knew he'd been drinking because the mower cuts on the lawns weren't in perfectly straight lines? And when they tried to pull him over I'll bet he acted like he couldn't hear them over the mower engine. That never gets old when you don't want to talk to your neighbor.

Now I've never driven a lawnmower while intoxicated, so I'm not sure what the perfect auto accessories for a mower are. I always figured you'd just need a cooler. But Frank was going with the vino for his jaunt. I'm guessing there wasn't a cork involved in this kind of wine. Because there's no way you can steer a lawnmower and operate a corkscrew at the same time. Yes, this is probably good old screwtop wine. I also think a boxed wine might be the way to go here. That way if the mower vibrated too much and your wine fell off the mower, it wouldn't break.

Frank had to have really wanted it. Because you know riding around a mower in the Winter in Michigan has got to be a bit brisk. How could you even get it started in your mittens? I had trouble getting the dang thing started in the Summer.

Lent It Be

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Just the Same Old Song

People keep asking me what is Utah really like? Is it a provincial town where religion is the dominant political force and separation of church and state is a joke or is it a high-tech mecca where all cultures are welcome and everyone just really wants to ski when they're not speculating in commercial real estate? The answer is both but to really explore that dichotomy I need more time and reflection and beer. Of course, because the Sundance Film Festival is going on right now and my Aquaman buds are keeping me out till all hours of the night (past 9:30!) snowboarding with James Cameron, the mystery that is Utah hasn't really sunk in.

How is it different? Well I don't ever remember anyone at the gym complaining that the videos they show were too racy. Seriously, they're showing porn at the gym? I'd be in much better shape had I known this was going on. But on the downside, make sure you really, really wipe off the machines before you get on one. College kids complaining about racy music videos? My head may 'splode. I gotta call the cable company though and see if I can get the Gold's Gym Channel on my tv. It's probably right between the NFL channel and the Big Ten channel.

How is it the same? Luckily teenagers are still around to give us homemade porn via their cell phones. I'm sure nothing could go wrong with sending a few semi-innocent pictures of your naughty bits to your buds.

Well kids, gotta run. I've got a meeting with some producers about the film version of Parrot Trooper. I don't actually have a movie, but I've got a swell trailer and I figure that's all you really need. Hey, if the Simpsons could get away with it why not me? I just want the nexus of film, art and techology that is Bob the Talking Parrot to change the world, inspire people, end social injustice, eradicate poverty and make me a shiatload of money.

The End Is Nigh

If you're headed to Sin City to bet all your money on the Stupor Bowl, be on the lookout for renegade dancers.

Yup, police are reporting: 11:51 a.m. - A caller from the 300 block of Broad Street reported an individual dancing like a robot in a parking lot. Police were unable to locate the dancer.

If someone is doing the robot dance in a parking lot, you'd better call the cops. Over at Sony, it's a crime rampage.

When the robot dance is outlawed, only outlaws will be robot dancing. Maybe whomever called the cops was Baptist?

You can have my robot dance when you pry it from my cold, animatronic android hand.

Teutonic Temper Tantrum

A lot of people don't know that Hitler was a Cowboys fan.




And don't bother inviting him to your Super Bowl party. You don't want to hang out with Hitler. He's a mean drunk.

Windmill Jousting

In addition to getting all those personalized domain names set up, I've been fighting with my wireless network for about a week now. While I'm not a complete geek, I do know about 'puters and I've set a home network up about 3 or 4 times.

Right now, however, I've got a notwork set up. That's a home network that is extremely secure from outside intrustion because it won't do shit. Everytime I hook up my router to my cable modem, it loses the interwebs connection. It doesn't matter what order I try rebooting, I'm stumped.

I wish I could get one of them there swell free hub. Unfortunately, I need one of those real geeks to fly over here on Virgin Atlantic and hook the bad boy up for me. It's really frustrating.

I'm not even sweating the speedtest. I know it'll work like a charm, but for some reason it's doing zip. I may need to get a crowbar if this keeps up all weekend.

Anyone else have something that just simply won't work no matter what you do? Besides your brother-in-law on the couch I mean.

Master of My Domain

Today I'm actually writing about something I know something about. While this is against my general principles, consider this an experiment. It may be a success or it may be like that 10th grade chemistry class where I tricked my friend into holding magnesium. In his hand. Ouch.

Anyhoo, there's a real art to domain name registration. You need one that's not too long because peeps can't type it in correctly. While shorter is better (just like speeches and visits from family), it still has to be memorable and accurately describe what you're pimping. There's always other people to help you pick domains, but I figured these folks could use a little help.

Hillary Clinton: www.monicasexboyfriendswife.com
John Edwards: www.prettywoman.com
John McCain: www.oldfart.com
Rudy Guiliani: www.notmobbedup.com
Barack Obama: www.itcouldhavebeenworseitcouldhavebeenhitler.com
Fred Thompson: www.onlyactinglikeacandidate.biz
Mitt Romney: www.mittisnotagayname.info
George Bush: www.duh.net
Paris Hilton: www.stilldumb.org
Any Winehouse: www.karma.com
Tom Brady: www.borninamanger.net
Britney Spears: www.cangetalotcrazier.com
David Hasselhoff: www.notalent.com
Pacman Jones: www.thug.org
Angelina Jolie: www.gotkidz.com
Harrison Ford: www.toooldforthiskindofshit.com
Shia LeBouf: www.evenidontknowwhyimfamous.net
The Chicago Cubs: www.cursed.com

Feel free to play along from home, kids.

Money, That's What I Want

If you haven't heard, there's some kind of football game coming up this weekend. I'm not certain about it as I've not heard anything about Tom Brady in the last 12 minutes or so. If only someone would give us some information about these kind of things.

Now while I don't believe in gambling, you should be prepared to go get one of them there payday loans and bet everything against the Patriots. Don't pay the mortgage, go give plasma, take back all those aluminum cans, sell the kids and empty the sofa cushions of all the change.

Seriously, the spread for the game is anywhere between 12 and 14 1/2 points. And even though the Patriots are undefeated, they never cover in Super Bowls. They've been in 3 in recent memory and all three were decided by three points: 2002 - Patriots 20 St. Louis Rams 17; 2004 - Patriots 32 Carolina Panthers 29; 2005 - Patriots 24 Philadlphia Eagles 21. See they never cover the spread. That's not even counting the '86 game when the Chicago Bears blew them out by 36 points.

Seriously, don't follow anyone's advice on crap like this. Just enjoy the commercials and eat as many Dorito's Blazin' Buffalo and Ranch chips as you can hold. No one wins at gambling except the casinos.

Don't be kicking yourself Sunday night after the game. Bet everything you own on the Giants.

A Vote for Me Is a Vote For Me

I didn't think it was fair that only peeps in Florida got to vote today. So have at it kids.

	Who will fall off the celebrity wagon first?
	Brittney Spears
	Lindsay Lohan
	Amy Winehouse
	David Hasselhoff
	Paris Hilton
surveys

If you want your own surveys, go to the fine folks at easy-poll. It's aptly named. Now that questions is something that will generate a lot of gambling action. Not like that lame Stupor Bowl coming up on Sunday.

My Ship Has Finally Come In

I get lots of spam. I don't know why this one mad me laugh so much.

--------------------


From Dr Neff John


Dear Friend,


This Message Might Meet You In Utmost Surprise. However, It's Just My Urgent Need For Foreign Partner That Made Me To Contact You For This Transaction. I Am A Banker By Profession From Burkina Faso In West Africa And Currently Holding The Post Of bill and exchange manager In Our Bank.


I Have The Opportunity Of Transferring The Left Over Funds ($15.5Million) Of One Of My Bank Client Late Mr. Morris Thompson ,an American who unfortunately lost his life in the plane crash of Alaska Airlines Flight 261, which crashed on January 31 2000.


You may read more about the crash on visiting this C.N.N News internetwebsite:http://archives.cnn.com/2000/US/02/01/alaska.airlines.list/


Hence, I am Inviting You For A Business Deal Where This Money Can Be Shared Between Us In The Ratio Of 50/40 / 10% For Any income expenses that will come During the transfer, If You Agree To My Business Proposal,Further Details Of The Transfer Will Be Forwarded To You As Soon As I Receive Your Response.


Therefore, to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as next of kin of the deceased. Send me your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location wherein the money will be remitted.


1.YOUR FULL NAME...................
2. AGE.................
3. OCCUPATION................
4. FAX...............
5. TELEPHONE.................
6. SEX................
7. COUNTRY..............


Upon the receipt of your reply, I will send to you by email the text of the application to fill and send to the bank, Have A Great Day.


reply me whit this email id Neff_john7@yahoo.com,

thanks

Your's Faithfully,

Dr Neff John

--------------------------------
Nothing says trustworthiness with your personal financial information like someone Who Uses A Capital Letter Many Many Times In A Sentence For No Reason. I Just Wish I Could Go To Burkina Faso Directly And Just Help Out.


I hope you never fall for this kind of stuff kids. One of Michigan's County Treasurers wasn't this bright. Maybe if he's lucky he'll get to a Phase I environmental post after he's out of the joint. I think that makes him a garbage guy. But at least he'll only have to work one day a week. Now make sure you check out that internetwebsite. It's all one word just like Racearoundtheworld.

Murphy's Law Redux

I'm really, really ashamed I overlooked the illustrious singing career of Eddie Murphy when I was making fun of writing about his recent divorce to his faux Bora Bora marriage.

So take this:




And yes, that is Rick James pretending to work. Girl, I don't understand why you want to hurt me. Rox, you do indeed Rock.

My only defense is that I had my special Bruce Willis, Don Johnson, Mandy Moore, and David Hasslehoff and William Shatner mix tape cranked up really loud and it disrupted my concentration. But I did spare the Murphster any grief for I Spy, Holy Man, Harlem Nights or The Distinguished Gentleman. Until now. Lucky for Ed, the list was only 10 items long.

Murphy's Law

I haven't had the opportunity to give Eddie Murphy and his soon to be ex wife, Tracey Edmonds grief for deciding to go their separate ways after almost 2 weeks of non-legally binding Bora Bora faux marriage. Way to stick it out there, kids. I guess anything that can go wrong with a two week old marriage will.

Luckily, the two issued a joint statement (nothing says true love like publicists collaborating on diction) saying:

“After much consideration and discussion, we have jointly decided that we will forego having a legal ceremony as it is not necessary to define our relationship further. While the recent symbolic union in Bora Bora was representative of our deep love, friendship and respect that we have for one another on a spiritual level, we have decided to remain friends. And by "friends" we mean not speaking to each other, arguing over the albums and bad-mouthing the other to mutual acquaintances."

Okay, I made that last part up.

But my well-placed sources in Hollyweird (where insanity meets the sea) tell this reporter (I just love that) the top ten reasons the two split up.

10) She saw Daddy Day Care
9) In bed, he wanted her to call him "Donkey"
8) His annoying laugh
7) Romantic weekend in Las Vegas hotel ruined by Eddie repeatedly watching Spice World
6) She objects to his Transsexual Hooker Car Pool
5) She saw Pluto Nash
4) He's always singing Wannabe in the shower
3) She saw Best Defense
2) His insistence that Big Momma's House is genius
1) She saw Norbit

Bend It Like Bowser

The response to my post about Utah was so enthusiastic, I just had to write some more about my newly adopted state. Did I adopt it or did it adopt me? Whatever. Nevermind.

Anyhoo, Salt Lake has a real live soccer team called Real Salt Lake. There's no mascot. Like the Real Salt Lake Gaysters (hey, check out the uniform over there on the right and tell me that doesn't fit) or the Snoozers (for all the exciting scoring in soccer) or the Hired Guns from Some South American Soccer-Loving Nation Because Our Dang Kids Would Rather Be Playing Xbox.

I can't help it. I've never cared for soccer. And this isn't just some dumb American, there's not enough scoring like real football response. I actually used to play soccer. For one year. That was plenty. We were the crummiest team in the league and used to routinely get abused by other teams especially that team from the Catholic private school that had the kids who were already shaving at 10 years of age. I was one of only two kids all year who scored a goal. We lost every game but one in which we tied the other crummiest team in the other division. It was like a battle of the spazzes. So I hate soccer for a good reason.

But to get the G-man ready for life out here, I'm teaching him to play soccer. Yes, that's his soccer ball. And yes, that is an actual real live tumbleweed right behind him. Remember this is the Wild Wild West, pardner.

So far he isn't much good at heading, but he is good at dribbling. Well, drooling to be more specific. But if the object of soccer were to put the ball entirely in your mouth and play keep away, Guinness would be an all star. No, he still wouldn't wear that queer jersey.

Sext Me Up

Oh, how I wish again that I were in Michigan. Not really, but I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with Horny Mayor.

Yes, one of my favorite things about Michigan is coming back around again. This time its the corruption of the city mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. In the fine tradition of Coleman Young, who himself was the subject of rumors of scandal and won his elections by a larger margin while under FBI investigation for alleged kickbacks, Kwame is feeling the heat.

Kwame's posse used to include most of his high school buddies from Cass Tech High. In fact, his former bodyguards used to be friends of his from the football team. I'm sure their past high school heroics fully qualified them to be bodyguards. But they're not bodyguards anymore after they sued the city when they were disciplined. Okay, this is more complicated than picking out the right Grohe faucets for the new bathroom. Hang on tight, kids.

After Kwame got elected, he held a big party in the Mayor's Mansion. Allegedly it was a really, really great party. Until the Honorable Kwame's wife showed up and bitch slapped the stripper. That was probably the end of the festivities. The mayors bodyguards took off in a cop car and because they had been drinking, had a bit of an accident. Things got really complicated when they told city maintenance folks to fix the car, bill the city and keep their pieholes shut.

Understandably, this resulted in a misconduct investigation. Because the mayor wasn't exactly squeaky clean himself, he didn't exactly want these cats to shoot their mouths off. They were quietly disciplined but it must have been too much for them because they filed a whistleblower suit against the city of Detroit (who is in no financial difficulties whatsoever) and won a 6.5 million dollar judgment. Thanks to interest that's now over 8 million that the City has agreed to pay.

It's also good to note that Kwame has been re-elected while this was all going on. There were also allegations that Kwame ran up very expensive restaurant and club bills while out of town on business (while he was also paying these same bodyguards overtime) and that he liked to stay out very late on "business" while in some cities. Because he was secretly arranging liasons while he was out of town, you can understand why he likes to travel. During the election, Special K painted himself as a strong family man and made sure to have his stripper-slapping wife by his side for all the photo ops.

Unfortunately, during the testimony, K testified that he and his Chief of Staff, Christine Beatty, were not having an illicit affair and that the bodyguards were not being disciplined because they knew anything about it. Ooops. Good thing they don't play baseball. Can't recall the exact word for it, but I think it's a no no. Oh, perjury, that's what it's called.

Turns out the K-man and his Staff Polisher have traded over 14,000 text messages. Some of the highlights: "I'm madly in love with you," thumbed Kwame. "I hope you feel that way for a long time," Beatty replied to the mayor. "In case you haven't noticed, I am madly in love with you, too!"

Sounds like strictly business to me. After all it is a city-issued pager he's using. You can get all the gory details here. Great job by the Detroit News for getting the texts after their own legal battle with the city to get the records. Read their timeline, they do a much better job of this than I do.

There is some good news for the hopefully soon to be ex-mayor, married couples who fight live longer. Kwame and his Wife should be together a long, long time. Or maybe it's just going to seem that way for him.

The Brit Hits the Fan

Dearest Brit:

I'm sorry I wasn't able to return any of your calls or texts. You said you wanted to go cold turkey on our relationship. The exact words you used were, "It's not me, it's you." Besides I was Kum'n & Going in the middle of the prairie and probably couldn't get a cell signal anyway.

[In a complete tangent, Republican Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney visited Kum and Go. Funny, if anyone was going to Kum and Go, I figured it would be Bill Clinton. Thank you, I'm here all week. We now return you to our pretend Brittney letter.]

But seriously, kid. The stuff I've been hearing sounds crazy even for you. Shopping in your wedding dress? Walking around naked in a clothing store? Getting advice from Dr. Phil? That's the bald leading the bald, honey. Stay away from that quack. I'm surprised he was able to get his nose out of Oprah long enough to come talk to you anyway.

And now apparently you've been appearing in bustiers and affecting a British accent. I think you may be suffering from Madonnarhea. It's a joke. I kid because I pretend to care.

Bless you and your knocked up sister though. If it weren't for you two, we'd be stuck with two weeks of Stupor Bowl Hype and endless political news. Keep up the good work and please plan your next major breakdown/pub stunt for a Wednesday. You'll get the A talent on the networks instead of those weekend hacks.

Love,

t2ed

P.S. Dating a paparazzi? Please, your publicist can do better than that.