On Internet Dating

#8 On Internet Dating

Someone asked me what I thought about internet dating.

First, I think it’s a misnomer. It’s the interweb, but it’s not dating. It’s typing. There’s a big difference between typing and dating. Though both could give you carpal tunnel syndrome if it's not ergonomically correct. There's a big difference between a pen pal and a partner.

I’ve never actually dated anyone I met over the interweb. I was lucky enough to meet my wife in the Dark Ages when you actually had to talk to people and get them drunk to trick them into liking you. Now you can e-stalk people and think about what you want to say to your prospective mate (or page) via email (or IM). I’m of the opinion that people are a lot bolder in print than they are in real life. And you’re less likely to get slapped or a drink thrown in your face over the web.

Second, I completely understand and advocate the use of the interweb to meet the right person. The trouble is the people. Because I embrace (and love) technology, using a database to find someone with common interests makes perfect sense to me.

When I was in college, I had a major crush on a girl whom I only knew from afar. Then we had a “Screw Your Roommate” dinner on our dorm floor. Luckily Screw Your Roommate is not literal since I roomed with an Air Farce ROTC candidate. Instead, you set each other up with blind dates for dinner. Surprisingly, it’s very easy to find a blind date for someone else. You’re not so picky when you’re not going out with someone. But paybacks are hell. Anyway, my roomie set me up with my crush. She turned out to chew gum while we drank wine (classy), be a Socialist, and not be very bright. Now had I known these three swell attributes about whom I longer for from afar, I’d have probably told my roomie to zag. If I'd have had the interweb, I could have opted for someone who liked their gum after their wine not at the same time.

So when when you fill out (and read) those swell profiles on interweb dating sites, you’re probably going to err a bit in your favor. I don’t know anyone who would volunteer that they were dim. They might tell you that they like Ernest movies and Hee Haw. You’ll have to read between the lines and deduce that they’re not too bright.

So you have to be able to know what people really mean when they use adjectives to describe themselves. Here’s the universal translator for men's profiles:

• Weight proportionate to height = fat
• Husky = really fat
• Slim = bulimic
• Slender = skinnier than you
• Skinny = crack addict
• Fun loving = likes to drink
• Spontaneous = like to drink a lot
• Entrepreneur = drop out
• Educated = still paying off student loans 15 years later
• Striking good looks = ugly
• Handsome = egomaniac
• Nurturing = Still lives with Mom
• In touch with his feelings = cries during sex
• Knows How to Treat a Lady = Gay
• Athletic = Likes to watch football all weekend
• Into S&M = Sports & Music (seriously that's what that stands for)

Despite that very helpful list, you need to actually meet someone if you’re ever going to know if you can get along. Before you have an interview with the threat of sex, it's just typing and you're just pen pals.

Pulling an All-Nighter

If there had been more scientific studies like his one, I'd have studied a lot harder:

Educated women have more orgasms

Now I don't know much about keeping kids in school (other than using bigger fences), but it seems like publicizing the results of this study might work.

This was an Australian survey so I don't know if there's been any statistical adjustment for being down under (so to speak). And they used a phone survey with researchers from Sussex University (home of the Crumpet Wagglers) in England and the Universities of Sydney (Foster's Chuggers) and Melbourne (Fightin' Platypi) in Australia.

Now aside from the ancillary benefit of letting researchers ring up unsuspecting folks and subject them to the questions contained in the "Sexual Practices at Last Heterosexual Encounter and Occurrence of Orgasm in a National Survey" survey, there were some interesting findings:

• Men experienced an orgasm during their last sexual encounter 98.4% of the time (that seems low)
• Women experienced an orgasm during their last sexual encounter 68.9% of the time (why didn't they just round up to 69% and have a good snicker)
• 14.2% of respondents experienced an orgasm during the actual survey

Okay, I made that last one up.

It is expected, however, that as a result of the survey, all three schools will have a swelling in their graduate degree programs.

The study also found women were more likely to reach orgasm if they used sex toys or had sex more than twice a week. Well, duh. If you have sex twice a week, you've increased your chance to have an orgasm 100% more than if you had sex just once a week. Despite what you read in Penthouse, there's not a lot of accidental orgasming going on amongst women. That's the fact, Jack regardless of how educated you are. I'm not even going to touch the sex toys, because I don't know where they've been.

I always knew there was a reason I liked smart girls. Now get out there and start studying, ladies.

Lest I Forget

There was a guy wearing a real conductor's hat on the train. But only 33% of the observed workers on the train wore official train wear. The other two (older, more experienced, perhaps wiser and smarter) gentlemen declined to partake in the fabulous hatwear.

For a while, until we had to get on the bus. Then he continued to wear it even though we were on a bus. Isn't there some sort of Conductor Code that prevents you from wearing a hat like that if you're not really on a train.

And a lady asked Conductor Petey (my guess at his name) how late we would be now that we were having to take a bus and drive to all the goofy, out of the way stops that required a bus to drive on windy, single lane roads that a straight train track could have normally reached in half the time.

The Lady said, "When will we get in? I've got a connection at the airport."

His answer, "That depends on when we get to the station."

Slow down, Petey. You're losing me. I guess there's probably a reason you're wearing that hat and punching tickets on the bus.

Godspeed, Petey.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can

Didn't get to post much last week as I was travelling on bidness and was too lame to fight with the 'puter whilst on the road.

Now despite my many travels and travails, I have never taken a train to a destination. Unless you're counting the monorail to the Epcot Center. So I decided I'd save Virtucon the $900 to fly for a two day trip and take a 4 hour train ride instead. I could have driven, but because I wanted a bit of adventure and didn't want to hassle with downtown parking, the Great Train Experiment was launched.

As I had never Amtracked, I was pleasantly surprised. Getting on the train was surprising easy. You grab your bags (and don't even need to show a ticket to get onboard), get your seat and go to it. The seats were surprisingly large--much, much bigger than a plane. And because the typical train traveller isn't that plentiful, everyone who wanted their own row had one. Most folks were sprawled out sleeping for the 7:30 am departure. There were also electrical outlets so you could plug in and do some work or some iPodding and GameBoying.

I had just settled in and was enjoying the new experience when the Great Adventure came to a halt. There had been a derailment up ahead so we had to take a bus the rest of the way. Woo hoo. Yup, you should have driven, dummy.

Now because there were several cars on the train, I had somehow missed the guy who I got seated next to on the bus. And I'm not sure how I missed him in the station because he was definitely someone who was hard to overlook. His attire consisted of:

• black and white zebra-striped Chuck Taylor hi tops (these had to be homemade)
• grey thermal long johns
• brown leather shorts
• black and white plaid flannel shirt
• black hooded sweatshirt
• black leather jacket with silver studs on the shoulders
• black fingerless gloves (which obscured just enough of the tops of his knuckles so I couldn't read his tattoo of letter on each finger
• spiked hair (black naturally)
• back of neck tattoo which looked kind of like barbed wire but was supposed to be some sort of symbol
• a wispy hanging beard (not a van dyke but more of a Shaggy on just the chin)
• an even wispier moustache

And he rocked back and forth and bobbed his head. This began before he started listening to his CD player. It continued for the remainder of the trip.

I was a little disappointed that Spike (I so named him) never talked to me. Sure I wasn't dressed like Sid Vicious, but I'm a rebel at heart. It's not like I was wearing a suit and tie. And I know that he'd have somehow worked "Rock and Roll" into something he said. And I would have responded with "Smooth Jazz." Bless you, Greg Warren.

The train ride home was uneventful. Thank you sweet baby jebus for taking pity on me after two days of business meetings and my having to pretend to be responsible, normal and not evil.

Except for that time I freaked the couple on the elevator out. They were staying on the 14th floor and I told them it was really the 13th floor but they just skipped a number to trick people. That was just evil light.

I will now return to my appointed toil and try not to focus on either the Tigers quest for the World Series, the Lions first win or the Spartans descent into hellishness.

Happy Monday.

On Fearlessness

# 7 On Being Fearless (or at least confident)

Dating is just an interview with the threat of sex. You’re both on your best behavior. You may have a discrepancy or two on the old resume. While there’s a fine line between outright prevarication and slight exaggeration, do try to work that casual reference to the Nobel Committee into conversation. You didn’t actually say you won the prize, you just mentioned the Committee. See the distinction?

But you’ve got an opening to fill. Depending upon how you’ve advertised your position, you may have lots of applicants. Or you may have a more specialized niche which needs a highly qualified candidate. Some women just want a man. Others was a post-graduate degreed, Italian-speaking, non-sports watching man who likes to give foot massages. Obviously, these are two very different types of applicants. You should be working your network of contacts. Nothing is better than a great referral. This is why people pay good money for headhunters. They help weed out a lot of unqualified applicants.

Now think about the last time you interviewed someone. Yes, your last interview, not your last date. We all remember how that went. If you didn’t get to do the interviewing, think about the interviewer. That’s the mindset we want. The interviewer wasn’t nervous at all was she? That’s because she’s in charge, Marge. Have you ever seen a nervous interviewer? Doesn’t happen. That’s because it can’t happen. You're in charge. Be fearless. You've got to go from being that shy nun to that super-efficient governess to whip those kids into shape.

That’s the same attitude you’ve got to have in dating. You’ve got to separate the good candidates from the bad ones. You’re the owner, operator and CEO of this little company we call MeDate Industries, LLC. You’ve got a fiduciary responsibility to your heart to get the best man to put on this job. There are lots of people who want this opening. It’s your job to sort them out. You can’t be shy or hesitant. Don't know what to say? Start with "Hi." It's that easy with us men. We don't care about what you said, we're just happy you're talking to us at all.

Look them in the eye, size them up. Are they shifty or nervous? That’s a possible felon. Sketchy about their background? Possible jail time. Long gaps in memory? Drug use or blackout drinker. This is the time to go digging for some dirt while you can still get the straight scoop. Once they’re hired, they’re much tougher to fire.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? What’s your biggest flaw? How do you deal with a conflict? What do you bring to this organization that’s different from all the other candidates? All those bullshit questions that everyone better have a prepared answer for. Why are you looking to date someone right now? There better be a good answer there.

Unfortunately, you can’t just go down your checklist, make your notes and then say, "Okay, we’ll get back to you if we’re interested. This process takes a couple of weeks." You’ve got to be sly about it and ask questions in passing instead of making it look like an interrogation.

You’re the one making this decision. You’ve got to project an air of confidence. If they think the company is going down the pipes, they may not want to sign on for this task. And unfortunately, you’re never going to get the really candid answers you want to your questions.

You’re going to have to do a lot of behavioral observation here. There’s a great scene in The Rachel Papers where Dexter Fletcher finally gets to see what Ione Skye is really like. And everyone is like that. Everyone’s got some annoying habit that may drive you up the wall. It may be tunelessly singing or dropping makeup removal cotton balls on the floor instead of the garbage can which is RIGHT THERE DAMMIT or pathological lying. The trouble is no one will volunteer this information. You’re going to have to divine it. You don’t have time for anything less than being confident if you're going to figure this all out.

Trust me, you’re in control. Take careful mental notes. Watch what they do, not what they say. Thank him for his time and tell him you'll let him know in a few weeks if you're interested. There are lots of candidates out there. Start sorting them out. You're in charge so you'd better act like it.

(Editor's note: Sorry about the lack of images. Blogger is being cranky with my graphical enhancements today.)

On Rebounding

#6 On Rebounding

Chances are if you’ve ever dated for a while, you’ve also not dated for a while. And this break in the action (so to speak) may be the result of someone telling you they don’t want to date you anymore. If you’re one of the lucky ones who have never been on the receiving end of this emotional roundhouse kick to the kidneys, count yourself blessed. If, on the other hand, you’re like the majority of the population and have received your walking papers and been placed on the love market, you know how painful it can be.

You’ve got to put it behind you and say screw them. If he can’t see what a catch I am, it’s his loss. There are plenty of fish in the sea and I deserve better than a minnow anyway.

Some people choose to look at involuntary free agency as a bad thing. This is not our approach. We are going to look at your new single status as freeing and uplifting. Now is the time you get to do whatever you want. You’re out of committee. You don’t have to negotiate with anyone prior to taking action. This is only a phase so don’t go nuts. You’re free, not a hermit. Your newfound freedom will eventually pass, but do what you want for now. It’s time to be a little selfish for you.

First take your ex’s number out of your cell. You don’t want to be tempted into a drink and dial situation. And you’re definitely going to be doing some drinking.

You should also be prepared to do any and all of the following:

• Order what you want on your pizza (and do not get what you always used to get aka the compromise pizza)


• Watch all those Gilmour Girls episodes that are on your TIVO


• Go see the chick flick (instead of Jackass 2 that he would have dragged you to)


• Enjoy seeing the toilet seat down all the time


• Sleep in the middle of the bed


• Sit in the good chair


• Eat the last dim sum


• Get a massage (with any luck from a hot guy and not that bulky, scary German lady)


• Talk about your feelings whenever you want


• Finally have a threesome and make sure he knows he wasn’t in it


• Watch any made for tv movie on Lifetime or Oxygen (extra points for anything with Meredith Baxter Birney)


• Find someone who looks just like him and have a little hate hump. Don’t ever call that doppleganger back.


• Go out with his boss. Or brother. Or best friend. Depending upon your level of spite perhaps all three maybe even at the same time. Then dump them. It’s not fair, but it’s effective.

The first guy you meet after this time will be like the Fortinbras to your past Hamlet. Do not fall into this trap. You’re rebounding. You’re just happy to be back in the game. This man won’t be your density, McFly. But it will be the chance to get your sea legs, realize you’re still a hot property on the Monopoly Love Market, pass go and collect $200.

Now you’re ready for further punishment. Get out there and start dating again.

Editor's Note: This is a reprise (okay, rerun) of something I did long ago. This new version would have been better, but my publicist thought I took an overdose of sleeping pills.

Have a Great Summer

If you were lucky enough to go to Wayne High School (home of the Warriors) in Huber Heights, Ohio, I hope you finally got your yearbook.

That's because Jeanne Sterling, the Teacher Advisor for the yearbook, did a little grading of her own. Isn't the Yearbook Advisor always one of the cool teachers?

Unfortunately for the administration, Jeanne was retiring after 35 years of service. And she wasn't pulling any punches when she took the opportunity to give some not so swell grades.

Students in general got a "C" grade for students because of their unwillingness to pay attention and lack of effort. D students everywhere celebrated by skipping school that day.

Huber Heights School Superintendent Bill Kirby and his ability to run a school district got the Big F. I guess we'll be seeing you during the summer, Mr. Kirby. Stay out of trouble this summer, you slacker. The Warriors are watching you.

Now I'm not one of those obsessed people who still bear a grudge against everyone who ever slighted them in high school. In fact, I'm one of the "whereabouts unknown" at my old school according to the one person I still talk to now and then.

But how cool would it have been to put all the nasty stuff you'd ever been thinking about in the yearbook instead of "You're too cool 4 school. Call me. See you at the Carousel of Miami Valley Beauty College in the Fall." (Seriously, that's the closest institution of higher learning in Huber Heights).

What would you have put in your year book if you thought you could get away with it?

I might have gone with: Later, losers. I'm blowing this pop stand, travelling the world and expanding my mind beyond the realm of the small minded and ill informed. Enjoy getting pregnant too soon, married too young, and divorced too late.

Anyone have a good sign off for high school?

I'll Be The Judge of That

In Helsinki, Finland Judge Hesse Hakki ruled that charging someone $25,500 euros (that's about $32,000) to fondle breasts was excessive. In the Judge's defense, the fondler was a demented 74 year old man. But it did occur upon 10 separate ocassions. That's only about $1600 a breast then.

Now I find this amazing. First, apparently it's okay to charge people to fondle your breasts in Finland. Having never been to Finland, I don't know what goes on there. But it would seem that the Finland Tourism Council is missing a real opportunity to market here. This really ought to help their tourism.

Second, I love that the Judge ruled "Based on general life experience alone, it is indisputably clear that a 25,500 euro charge is disproportionate to the compensation in question."

How does Judge Hakki know that being charged $3200 to fondle someone's breasts is excessive unless he's gotten a better deal in the past? "Indisputably clear" means you can't even argue with that ruling. Unfortunately the Hackmaster doesn't tell us what he thinks is fair to pay to fondle some breasts. I've never paid to fondle breasts, but what does dinner and a movie count as?

Maybe fondling an outstanding pair of breasts is worth more than $3200? Would someone pay more to fondle Scarlett Johansson's breasts than Betty White's? I think we'd all agree that there's some qualitative qualifications here. There's nothing in the ruling to indicate whether the fondlee was of some exceptional quality as to be worth more compensation or not. That the woman has her man pimping her out for fondling sessions seems to indicate not.

And if Scarlett Johansson was in a Cleavacious? Forget about it. Those girls would have to be in the locked and upright position at all times. With Scarlett Johansson in a Cleavacious, I'll bet we could conquer Fundamentalist Islamic Hatemongering in our lifetime. Before anyone would be allowed on a plane they'd have to look at Ms. Johansson in a Cleavacious. That would sort things out. And we'd be able to keep our contact lens solution in our carry on bag too.

But I digress...

How much is fair to pay to fondle breasts? Heck in N'awlins you get a free look just for cheap plastic beads. Maybe we could do like a breasticle Ebay where people could bid on how much they'd pay for fondling privileges. We could call it eBoob. This would make John Maynard Keynes proud. It would be the free market at work. You'd finally know what people would pay to fondle. And you didn't really think I'd go with a pix of Keynes when I could work in Scarlett Johansson did you?

It's really an age old question. So how much should people pay for fondling?

Finally a Knockout Movie

German film director Uwe Boll finally got in a few punches of his own. You may know Boll as the director of movies typically adapted from video games. He's done classics such as House of Dead, Alone in the Dark and Bloodrayne. Yeah, they were all stinkers and critically planned. Hard to believe. I'll confess to having seen none of those movies and don't remember the video games either.

Well Raging Boll (yes I stole that but it was just too good) challenged his critics. He fought four of them in Vancouver. And Uwe kicked their collective asses. Uwe beat up Richard Kyanka, Jeff Sneider, Chris Alexander and Nelson Chance Mintner. Yes, there is video of this over at Youtube. What did we do before the interweb? I have not watched any of these so don't know if it's too gross or what.

Now I don't know any movie critics other than Richard Roeper, Gene Shalit and Roger Ebert. And none of these gentlemen seem to me likely to excel at the sweet science. So whether or not Uwe knew anything about fisticuffs, his adversaries didn't seem likely to be stout warriors in the ring.

Quote of the story from critic Sneider:

"Then he started beating the crap out of my head," he said. "I think he's a jerk. This might be PR but I don't want to keep getting punched in the head."

This whole challenge misses the point. The critics shouldn't have been the ones fighting Uwe. It should have been anyone in the audience unfortunate enough to see any of his movies. Beating up the critics is like picking on the little brother of the girl who won't date you. I'm sure there is a large gentleman who likes the horror genre who was disappointed in Uwe's zombie movie. And I'd like to give this gentleman the opportunity to show his displeasure with the director.

If we do go this route and allow artists to engage in fisticuffs with their detractors, you know Clint Eastwood is never going to get a bad review. I don't care if he is 76, no one will want to mess with him.

And you know once we're allowed to punch directors, actors will be next. You'd better watch your back, Steve Guttenberg for a little something I call Police Academy Hell.

Any directors or actors you'd like to punch?

Lack of Commitment

#5 On Lack of Commitment

Someone asked, "What if it's been 10 months and he won't commit?"

That depends upon what you want him to commit to. Going steady? Exclusive dating? Monogamy? Marriage? Living together? Being institutionalized? Getting those matching tattoos? Remember how well that worked out for Roseanne and Tom.

But seriously folks, 10 months is probably long enough to figure out where a relationship is going. I'm saying probably because it depends upon your particular circumstances. I know a girl who lived with a guy and she wouldn't ever go the bathroom when he was around. Seriously, she had to wait until he left early for work so she could finally bust a grumpy. If you're in this kind of relationship CandyLand where bodily functions do not exist and everyone is still on their best behavior, 10 months may not be enough.

More than likely it is though. After 10 months you ought to have some idea if this is the person you want to drive crazy the rest of your life. I'm speaking from experience here. I was on the clock before I asked Wife to marry me. There was a timetable which I didn't know about. Luckily I got in my proposal before the clock ran out. Yet another example of my complete cluelessness where it comes to women. To this day she hasn't told me how much longer I had to pop the question. I'm pretty sure it wasn't another 10 months though.

I'm always amazed when I hear stories about people who have dated for 6 years. What the hell? How can you not have some idea whether you can co-exist by this time? It's also part of the reason that people should be forced to live together before they get married. Think of it as a Learner's Permit for Love. If you've never had to share a 1000 square foot house in the dead of winter, it may sound romantic. If you're with the wrong person, it'll be The Shining.

That wonderful person you admire so may be the one. Or it may be the person who can't fold laundry correctly, pees on the floor, is unable to see the garbage is full and farts in bed. You're only going to get to discover these lovable little "quirks" under extended behavioral observation. You're Jane Goodall with her own personal ape. Don't be ashamed to use a clip board and take extensive notes for your research. Remember that Bobby and Whitney got along at one point too.

If it's been 10 months, you probably have an idea where this relationship should be going. What's his idea? Ask him. And don't ask it in a confrontational way like it's Relationship SVU and you're going to sweat a confession out of him. Ask him after a session of red hot monkey love and you should get a straight answer. Or you could pump a couple of drinks into him and let the interrogation begin. Don't forget your bright light and a rubber hose.

I hope that helps, 10 month questioner.

I'm Not Going to Try It, You Try It

I've seen something new in my recent trips to the wonderful beverage store just down the road from Virtucon. Location, location, location, kids.

I'll admit that my marketing skills are a bit rusty, but this name caught my eye as something that might not have been tested too well.

I'm going to officially go on record that I will never put anything called Hard Creamer in my mouth. I'm sure it's a refreshing malt beverage just like the press release claims, but I'm not trying it.

Maybe it's just for the ladies and gay men? I could never be gay. I don't even like that gum that squirts in your mouth.

I wish I could have found a better image, but I got some really odd returns when I searched for Hard Creamer online.

Anyone tried a Hard Creamer lately? Please feel free to insert your naughty response in the comments.

Monkey Shines

Now I loves me the animal shows. I could watch Animal Planet all day long. Much longer than I could handle actually going out into nature and trying to interact with all the stuff that can hurt you. Or pee on you. Or eat you. And many a time I've actually said out loud (in my best Veruca Salt voice), "I want a monkey." Extra points are awarded for having hands on hips and stomping a foot at the same time as the declaration.

But I don't love animals so much that I'd actually try to bring a monkey back into the country so I could hug it and squeeze it and love it forever. That's just what happened when Robert Cusack came back into the country from Thailand.

Going out on a limb here, these smugglers probably weren't rocket scientists. Because they actually had rare birds in a suitcase and then opened the suitcase. That's like something from out of a bad sitcom. Way to go, Han Solo. You're quite the smuggler.

But being able to confess that you've got monkeys in your pants has to score you some points with the Customs Agents. Especially with the female officers. "Excuse me, is that a monkey in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

I've also got to think that's there's more valuable merchandise you can bring back into the country than live animals. Especially when you wind up just giving the animal to an ex-girlfriend. That's a real money making scheme, criminal genius.

And if we're reading about these guys, just imagine how many other people get away with having wild monkeys in their pants. Think about that next time you're tossing your too large bottle of contact lens solution while you wait to board your plane. Even worse, it could be snakes on that plane. Nah, that's a crappy idea.

Where's My Mama-San?

Apparently in Japan they are out of news. Because this made the papers (or the online version anyway).

Japanese women look to younger men for romance

In Japan it's such chaos and free love that women are actually marrying men 6 years their junior! Stop the presses.

One talking head speculated that the "the feminine aversion to marriage reflects a gap between women's rising status at work and the deep-rooted notion that they should be subservient in relationships with men." Now my Japanese is very rusty, but my tranlsation of the original text was "Look out, Papa-san. Mama has figured out you're a load and she doesn't need you anymore. Nor your small penis." That's a loose translation of course.

Where were these nurturing, caring women when I was a poor, struggling, love-starved college student? I could have used a Sugar Momma when I was surviving on Minute Rice and Ramen Noodles. At least my diet would have probably improved.

While this may be a big deal over there, they've got a lot of work to do to catch up to us. Don't they, Ms. Moore and Ms. Sarandon?

Luckily men can still get away with marrying women 20 years or more younger than them without generating news in Japan. God Bless America. Jerry Lee and Roman, you leave those girls alone!

I don't think I've ever dated anyone that older than me. Although there was this one time with my girlfriend's Stacey's Mom. And that time with Mrs. Robinson. And my teacher in Florida. I guess this does happen all the time.

Is the age difference between partners really that big a deal in this day and age? I think an older partner might be nice. They'd tire easily and like naps so you've got your "me time" covered.

Overlooked by the Academy

In Gallatin, TN, the Honorable Don Wright is in a bit of hot water. Seems he let the makers of a local movie use the his office for a bit of filming. The movie? Thong Girl 3: Revenge of the Dark Widow of course.

I'll confess to having missed Thong Girl 1 & 2. But I've got a feeling with a title like Thong Girl (WARNING, that's a noisy link but totally worth it), picking up the series mid-stream probably isn't that difficult. I'll doubt the plot is as complex as Memento or Adaptation.

You can even watch the trailer for Thong Girl 2 online. And if you do, don't say I didn't warn you. With great acting and plot like that, you can see why something this good would have to be a trilogy. Too bad Peter Jackson was busy. The film reportedly has " no nudity, no cussing and no sex" according to its maker. That just leaves crappy special effects and bad acting then.

I'm sure you're well acquainted with Thong Girl's alter ego, Lana Layonme, who went shopping at a lingerie store one day and put on a pair of red thong underwear, which gave her magical powers. Please note that I have not made any of this up. In the latest adventure, she's trying to thwart a plot to destroy country music. Wait a minute, I'm not certain who I'm supposed to be rooting for now.

But if you're looking for a cheap and creative Halloween costume, you probably can't go wrong with Thong Girl. Especially if you're a fat, hairy guy.

On Reading the Signs

#4 Reading the Signs

Because you’re no longer in junior high school, you’ve advanced beyond asking “Does he like me or does he like me, like me?” And getting your best friend to ask him if he likes you (but don’t tell him you asked her to ask him) is a no go. Sending a note with boxes to check (yes, no, maybe) is also a bit out of bounds at this stage in your life.

You’re old enough and mature enough to get beyond these childish (but in their defense sure fire) tricks. You need to be able to tell if a man is attracted to you. If you can’t tell if one is on the line, you can’t tell when to start reeling him in. Enough with the lame fishing analogies you’re saying.

So how can you tell if a man likes you?

He looks at you.
Note that honking, wolf-whistling and yelling “Pull Up Your Shirt” (and you know that’s not what he really would yell) also indicate attraction but are most likely less desirable in a potential mate. Even if you’re from Texas. Possibly.

He listens to you.
Women use on average 20,000 words a day. Men use about 7,000. And most of these are probably monosyllabic or actually just grunting. Small wonder then that men find themselves the recipient of 13,000 extra words a day. Because of this disparity in words, men have the rare ability to go to autopilot and turn up the music that’s in their heads. A good way to check to see if a man is really listening or only autopilot listening is to slip in a term like “zone defense,” “free beer” or “Are my nipples too erect?” and see if you get a reaction.

He talks to you.
This is a tough one. Because men are so often out of words by the end of the day (as discussed more fully above), it can be a bit like dating Harpo Marx. Men aren’t rendered uncomfortable by short periods of silence. And while your story about “finding the best shoes ever at DSW but only because they had the exact same pair at Nordstrom’s but not in the right size and for $45 more but only after you had to go to Payless and try on about 15 pairs because Shoebilee never has the right size anyway” is probably very fascinating to some of your other friends, you may want to save that one for later in the courtship.

One trick to get a man to talk to you is to ask who he thinks will win the game and why. Which game isn’t important. Beware as you may receive an answer that sounds suspiciously like your shoe story. Note that the verb is talk. It’s not “open up” to you for a reason. He’s a man with no feelings. Just hope he’s not English or it’s like dating a Vulcan.

He calls you back.
Despite the genius that is Swingers, we don’t obsess about when to call. It’s a myth. Get over it. We just call when we want to do something with you. Yes, especially have sex.

He doesn’t try to hit on your friends.
This also applies to hitting on family members. Yes, especially your Mom.

He touches you.
Not your heart. Physically touches you. Puts a hand on the small of your back while you walk. Brushes hair out of your face. Holds your hand in the movie. Kisses the back of your neck when he comes back to the table.

He opens doors and/or holds chairs for you.
This one can be tricky. He may just be Southern and had these manners beaten into him by his Momma. You know, the same Momma who thinks you’re bit forward because you gave your number to her ‘lil baby son after you made out with him in public. Generally, as the younger generation of men is so ill-behaved, if you’ve got him doing this for you, you’re probably in.

He makes you laugh.
This is a tricky one too because you may be dating Harpo Marx who despite the absence of conversation is still hilarious. But if he says funny things just to you (instead of a crowd), that’s probably a good thing. Women always say they want a man with a sense of humor. Yet when I say Ocean’s 11 and they show Brad Pitt and George Clooney riding up the escalator, I heard every woman in the theater sigh. Oh yeah, it’s all about the sense of humor.

Check for actions falling into these categories. If he's doing the right things, you're probably so money and you don't even know it.

You Drive Me Crazy

If you haven't heard about this, you must not be in the metro Detroit area. Because it's what all the cool kids are talking about. Yes, the defensive line coach for the Lions, Joe Cullen, was suspended after being stopped for nude driving and later drunken driving. Yes, those are two separate incidents.

On the 24th of August, Joe Cullen made a run to a Wendy's drive through at 11:15 pm. The man responsible for serving the naked coach, Jethro Lett, summed it up best, "He don't have to say anything, he's butt naked!" Umm, I think that supposed to be Buck Naked, Jethro.

Then a week later da Coach was picked up again. This time for drunk driving when he blew a .12 for his blood alcohol level. Michigan is a .08 by the way.

My favorite part is the ticket he was issued for the first offense. The cop wrote up the offense as "driving on public street without any clothes on. (NUDE)." Thanks for adding (NUDE) in their Officer Friendly. It's that level of governmental efficiency that prevents me from believing in any type of conspiracy theory. The ticket also fails to note if he was properly driving with his hands at 10 and 2. Or was it more like 10 and 6?

What I really appreciate from the team is that he wasn't suspended for driving naked. It was only after the second offense that the team took action. Hey, we don't care if you're clothed if you can stop the run. When you're 0-2, you're not going to let a little something like driving au naturale get in the way of a win.

Now of course I have some questions. And as Coach Joe isn't talking (other than his flacktastic statement the team released and he's very, very sorry....he got caught) to reporters.

But I need to know a few things about naked driving. Do you go to the car naked? Where are your keys then? Or do you get in the car and suddenly decide, "You know what this little trip to the drive through needs? NO PANTS!" In which case then you've got to go fishing for your dough once you get to that window where they cough up your food.

Or was it a case of "I'd like to take a nice drive and get some fresh air. So much fresh air, in fact, that I'm going to take off my clothes." Then you go past a Wendy's and suddenly decide you need a Combo Meal #1 and have completely forgotten that you've removed your apparel during the expedition.

And why Wendy's? If you're driving naked, wouldn't you go to Burger King so you could make a couple of Whopper jokes? Even at McD's you could go with a cheap Quarter Pounder gag. Or an "I got your Big Mac right here."

Now I'll confess to never having driven naked. Although there was that pressed ham incident in college. If anyone has ever done any nude driving, I'd appreciate any insight they could share.

The Most Wonderful Day of the Year

I warned you last week so you'd best be prepared, me buckos.

In something that's sure to make you laugh out loud at first and then become decreasingly funny as the day goes on, it's National Talk Like a Pirate Day. By 5:00 pm, you'll actually want to use a cutlass on any co-worker who makes that damn annoying ARRRRR voice again.

Unless you go to Brown University, then you can't get enough of it.

And yes, I do stay up late on National Talk Like a Pirate Day's Eve and get to open just one cask of rum early. Right after we're done hanging our peg legs by the fireplace.

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What is Richard Harris' greatest hit? Mac Arrrrrthur Parrrrk

What are a pirate's favorite kind of sock? Arrrrgyle

What is a pirate's favorite restaurant? Arrrrrby's

Why do pirates love "A Christmas Carol?" Jacob Marrrrley

Why do pirates like sea chanties so much? They get to arrrrdition for the part.

What religion do pirates practice? Rastafarrrrrianism with Bob Marrrrley

Where do pirates vacation? Key West

Did you hear about the new pirate movie? It's rated arrrrrrr.

What is a pirate's favorite college football team? Arrrrrrmy (you'd think it would be Navy)

Why don't pirates own dogs? All the barrrrking

Why do pirates love Riverdance? It's Iiiiiiiiirish.

Why do pirate love Frank Lloyd Wright? He was an arrrrchitect.

How do the scalawags stay so thin? They do Pi-rat-es.

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Okay, I'll shut up now. Now get your name and post it for all to flee in terror.

Love,

Jolly Mon

Get My Drink On At the Crack of Dawn

Because we've fixed everything else in our great State of Michigan, we're working on the Sports Fans Bill of Rights. Sure we may not know what to do about the Ford Motor Company, striking Northwest Airlines Flight attendants and just settled our Detroit Public School Teachers' Stike, but we take our football seriously.

State Representative Leon Drolet (R-Macomb Township) has a couple of ideas to make the Lions games at Ford Field more exciting. First, allow alcohol sales to start at 7:00 am instead of noon on Sundays. Second, fans should be allowed to wave signs that criticize the management of the Lions. And by "the management" he means Matt Millen.

If you got to see any of the Lions' games (a 9-6 loss to the Seahawks and a Chicago Bear blowout), you'll easily understand why fans should be able to start drinking early and often. It's chemically impossible to be in a state of alcohol induced numbness sufficient to watch the Lions in only an hour.

I especially liked Roy Williams celebrating a catch yesterday against da Bears. He made a grab then got up and did the first down handmotion. Too bad they were down by 24 points by then. And that's after Roy had guaranteed a win against the Bears earlier in the week. Way to rile up the best defense in football, Roy.

And Matt Millen sucks donkey balls. Since taking the helm of the Lions five years ago, they have the worst record in the entire NFL. There are even websites devoted just to getting him fired. Rep. Drolet argues that since public money was used to fund the stadium, we should not be curtailing free speech there.

Whatever, college boy. As long as we can get into the sauce a little bit earlier, we might actually be able to stomach another 6-10 team this year. Next week the 0-2 Packers are on the schedule. Something has to give....

Always Be Closing

#3 On Closing the Transaction

This one isn’t rocket science either. Love is all around. Don’t waste it. When you’ve got a chance, take it. Wait, that may be from the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Pick up your beret already and let’s move on.

The point is, when you’ve got a chance to score a date, go for it. This is the new millennium. Women are now allowed to bear the fear of rejection just like men have been doing for years (with the exception of Sadie Hawkin’s Dances). Then we're really flattered and as giggly as can be when two women fight over us. That's happened exactly once in the recorded history of Earth.

Yes, women are now allowed to ask men:

• to dance
• to go out to eat
• to hang out
• to neck
• to go to a movie
• to get a cocktail

There are no rules anymore. It’s chaos. Cats and dogs are living together. Get your head around it, baby. Chicks, you’re our equals now. Yes, we’re just as confused as you are. No, we don’t have any answers either.

Troubles arise between men and women when communication is vague or unclear. She hears, “I’ll call you.” He heard himself say, “Maybe I’ll call. Some day. Perhaps at half time.” Don’t settle for that weak shit. You’re so money and you don’t even know it. You need to firm up those plans. Get a real yes, dammit. ABC. Always Be Closing.

And that’s part of the closing --make definite plans. Non-committal answers are a polite no. If he’s not willing to be pinned down, move on. If he can’t see your genius, good looks and great personality, it’s his loss. Going out with his best friend or brother is always a nice response, but don’t compromise your standards just to make a point.

The perfect non-confrontation close involves lunch. Lunch is nothing. Who doesn’t do lunch? You meet somewhere, have a meal in public and then return to your appointed toil. It’s a great excuse for a quick getaway. If things aren’t working out, you've got a meeting at 1:00. You ought to be able to score a lunch date in your sleep by now. Lunch is where you’ll be able to work your magic. As long as you don’t get spinach stuck in your teeth. Again.

And getting the lunch date is just part of the fun. You’ve still got those background checks, sexual partner referrals, Google searches, credit reports and felony conviction records to go through. So get cracking.

Stealing Second Base

Thomas Vogel deserves a big hand. On a tv show in Cologne, Germany, Mr. Vogel unhooked 56 bras in 60 seconds using just one hand. Sure it's impressive, but I probably wouldn't put it on my resume. I won't ask what the other hand was doing.

Yes, he was using real live girls to demonstrate. Here's some swell vid from the fine You Tube user community. It's not the record setting demonstration, but it's got to be close.

This actually sounds like a pretty good scam. "Would you help me try to set a world record? Great, take your shirt off and turn around."

No word on whether the removed bras were Cleavacious in nature. Not having ever removed (or put on for that matter) a Cleavacious, I'm not sure if instituting Cleavaciousness takes longer time than a regular bra.

Argh, It's Just Round the Corner

Are you ready? Have you been practicing on the plank? Do you have your rapier-wit and a big gold earring? Or you can just drink a lot and kind of stumble around like Johnny Depp.

That's right. It's already been another year. It's National Talk Like a Pirate Day on September 19th. This year there's even a song.

And on the 18th, the Talk Like a Pirate family (yeah, that wouldn't get old) is going to be on Wench Wife Swap on ABC at 9:00 pm EDT (check local listings).

Remember, nothing makes a wench look wenchier and display her corsetted buxomness than a Karey Weyenberg designed Cleavacious bra.

Enjoy the day, ye lubbers.

Love,

t2ed aka "Jolly Mon"

Best Headline Ever

Thanks to CNN for posting this little gem:

Angered Hussein: 'We will crush your heads'

No, Saddam. I'm crushing your head. Pinch, pinch, pinch, pinch.

If you've never seen the Headcrusher on Kids in the Hall, it's even crazier than it sounds.

And yes, I have unobtrusively crushed a head or two during staff meetings at Virtucon.

Bless you, Mr. Tyzik.

Horsing Around

I'm not making any of this up. And ewww, just ew.

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The headline: Sheriff's Deputies Make Bizarre Arrest

The Story:

Santa Barbara County sheriff's deputies come across a bizarre encounter at La Purisima Mission in Lompoc.

Around midnight they found a 69-year-old Huntington beach man naked and covered in oats.
Deputies say the man had covered himself in olive oil, rolled around in oats and allowed the horses at the mission to lick him clean.

He apparently told deputies this has always been a fantasy of his and drove up from the Los Angeles area to play it out.

Alfred Thomas Steven was cited and released for trespassing, animal cruelty and sexually assaulting an animal.

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I can't believe this guy isn't from Ohio. Good thing the cops were able to corral this pervert. How would you like to be the Public Defender saddled with this case? Any jury is going to want to horsewhip this defendant. And you know this isn't the first time he's rolled around in oats. Yup, he's a serial offender.

But is it really animal cruelty? They're getting a free breakfast after all. Hope they're not too fond of carrots. I thought you were always supposed to keep your hand flat while feeding horses.

I wonder if the judge who gets this case will be named Ed? Okay, I can't drag out these bad puns any longer so we're headed for the home stretch. If I keep this up I'll get barned from Blogger. We'll bur back tomorrow kids.

On Going To Market

#2 Going to Market

Okay, you should have at least some semblance of strategy about your main product--you. It should be written down, but if it's only in your head that's better than nothing. If your homework is incomplete, do not pass go, do not collect your date and go back and do a little thinking before venturing out into the man-filled wilderness.

The key to implementing the strategic marketing plan is positioning yourself into circumstances or events in which you have the ability to interact with single men. "Well, duh," you might be saying. It seems obvious, but it’s often overlooked. Go where the boys are. No, not the crappy George Hamilton movie. I can’t tell you the number of times someone says to me, “I went to Curves, the shoe store and the fabric store and I didn’t run into a single man anywhere.” Hello, McFly. You need to go to the places the men (and the buffalo) roam.

Your target market should naturally congregate at the following locations or event types:

• Golf Courses
• Sporting Events
• Monster Truck Shows
• Barber Shops
• Hardware Stores
• Stores specializing in meat products
• Gun and/or knife shows
• Book stores (but avoid the self help and human sexuality sections -- that smells of desperation)

You should also attempt to minimize any time spent at the following event types or locations which research has shown to be target market poor:

• Craft Shows
• Events involving children or Girl Scouts
• Cross Stitch stores
• Places with frilly things

Now you may be saying to yourself, “But I don’t like the type of men who go to The Jerky Hut.” That doesn’t matter. This isn’t just about meeting someone you want to date, it’s about making contacts who may know someone you want to date. Your girlfriends are dead to you. If they could have fixed you up already, it would have happened by now.

And don’t travel in packs of women. You're an attractive woman not a wolf for sweet baby jebus sake. Bringing the competition along with you will only make it harder to close the deal.

I know some folks swear by grocery stores. That never worked for me when I was single. Maybe it's because I was always in the snacks and beer aisle instead of produce fondling the suggestively-shaped squashes.

Some people swear by church. If that floats your boat, fine. But when there's tension in the pews, that can't be good. You don't want to get smote because you're casting lingering looks across the aisle when you ought to be paying attention to the preacher going on and on and on about fornication.

Okay, so far we know why someone would date you and we know where to go to find someone who might date you. Next week, actually getting that date.

Feel free to submit your questions, whining, rants or all of the above in the interim, kids.

Labeled for Life

I can't tell you how proud I am to be the first result in this search.

bottomless butlers hen parties

Man, you write one post about naked men serving food and you're branded a maverick and a trouble maker. Good thing I didn't shag a sheep.

I still don't think bottomless butlers can be very hygienic no matter how cheeky it is. (Yes, I actually did that. Mea maxima culpa). If they make you wear a paper hat or a hair net at McDonald's, how does the health inspector let them get away pantsless?

Bet they don't serve beef kebabs or Vienna sausages at those parties.

Butt It's Not Adjustable

The fine people at Cleavacious need to apply their technology to this problem. I wanted to copy their picture and use it but they've got some kind of interweb magic to keep me from doing it. Curses.

The Evil Empire that is Wonderbra have invented new underwears with pads to make you look like baby's got back. Basically, you put some inserts in your trunk so it makes you look like you've got heart-shaped junk.

Are asses really supposed to be heart-shaped? I thought that was for mouths. Don't people always go on and on about having a heart-shaped, pouty lips? Man there's so much I don't get about how people are supposed to tell us how we need to look and feel anymore. Glad I've given up.

Wonderbra has clearly missed the boat here. There are no straps so you can't wear your ass down during the day and pull it up for night action. Because if you're wearing your ass up at work, that's just going to invite harassment. You know some lawyer is going to go nuts on that during the court case. It was consensual. It was a misunderstanding. She was wearing her ass up.

But that's the genius that is the Clevacious. It's the unique adjustable bra. Maybe Karey Weyenberg can get into the lab and work on a prototype. Padding? Pffft. Straps are where it's at, baby!

Are You Sure It's Not Monday?

How come on Labor Day everyone skips work?

Man it sure feels like a Monday around here. Kids are back to school, everyone is walking around with a logy look on their face and it's still pretty quiet. Why is this post so random? I blame the four day weekend.

Crikey, it's sad about Steve Irwin. At least he was doing what he loved--stalking an animal with a camera crew in tow for a great show. I've held a stingray before. They're really gentle creatures. It was just a freak accident, but Steve will be missed.

It was good to watch college football again last weekend. Hope the right teams won the games you were watching. It's such a shame Miami had to lose that great game to Florida State. Wait, no it's not. I hate the Hurricanes and their ruffians. I also love when Chief Osceola comes riding out on his horse and throws the spear into the field. As much as I love Sparty, throwing the flaming war spear into the field falls just short of actually throwing feces at the other team. It's that awesome.

The Man Market

#1 Marketing to Men

So you want to meet a man? Well get over the whole mystery thing. You're not going to gaze across a crowded room (or even bar), lock eyes, hear violins (or Dream Weaver), rush into each others arms (or loins), lock lips and then start picking out China patterns. You aren't Princess Dianna, you don't want someone with ears that big and that didn't end will anyway.

Women, you need a plan. This may sound unromantic, but it works. Dates are just interviews with the threat of sex. You are your own little cottage industry in the global market of dating. You've got to get out there and network, evaluate the competition, know your market strengths (and weaknesses) and always be closing.

One of my older friends had her husband go gay on her. Not surprisingly, she wound up divorced, lonely, and needed some assistance in finding men. Toward that end, the following marketing plan was designed for her. I'm trusting you can also use it for your needs.

Your Key Messages:

I am single
I am fun to date.
If you can’t date me, you must know someone who can.

Obviously, I don't know you well enough to tell you what your other key messaging points should be. That would require an interview, voice of the customer analysis and more work than we have time for. As the Oracle said, "Know Thyself."

Why would a man want to spend time with you? Okay you gutterminds, why would a man want to spend more than 45 minutes with you?

Are you funny? Are you smart? Are you fun? Are you emotionally needy? Do you need three hours before you're ready to go anywhere? The answers to all these questions should not be yes. Why have men complimented you in the past? This should not be limited to physical attributes. Many men are simply looking for a good woman who appreciates a well run two-minute drill.

You should be able to articulate in two sentences or less what you bring to any possible relationship. This is known as the elevator speech and has to be short and to the point. Some examples include:

• I have season tickets to [insert local sporting team here].
• I love [insert ethnicity here] food too.
• I clean my house naked.
• I like going to comedy clubs.
• Yes, these are real and they're quite spectacular.
• Check out this tattoo and/or piercing.

Yours may be very different or you may steal leverage from the list above. I do not suggest going out and getting a piercing just because none of the others apply to you.

Publics/Stakeholders:

· Single Men (anywhere, but preferably within driving distance)

This is the key market. There is, however, some dispute about the best type of man. Some believe in Type A: smart, suave, verbally-gifted, funny in the mold of Cary Grant. Others argue that the opposite type of man is the best. Type B is the strong, silent type (perhaps with limited intellect) which can be manipulated (or trained) to meet expectations. While flannel is optional for the Type B man, an archetype is typically known as the “big-strapping mountain man.” As all men are merely bears with pants, there may be no actual difference between Type A man and Type B for the purpose of this strategy.

· Married Men

This is not an appropriate target market. Instead, married men should be relied upon only for possible referrals to the target market or for advance market information of possible new opportunities occurring either through divorce, death of a spouse or release from incarceration.

· Women

Like married men discussed more fully above, women are solely a source of possible referrals. You're desperate, but not desperate enough to actually switch sides. Despite that experimental phase at summer camp. Because of possible competition, however, other single women should not be relied upon as the sole supplier of possible referrals.

Key Messages by Audience:

Men – Single: Hi, it’s okay for you to ask me out.
Men – Married: Hi, don’t you have any single friends that I can date?
Women - Married: Hi, don’t you have any single friends that I can date?
Women – Single: Hi, do you have any ex-boyfriends who aren’t losers who I can date? Why aren’t you dating him anymore?

Please feel free to submit your questions if you'd like to try to steer this conversation toward something approaching usefulness. More useless advice to follow soon.

My Experimental Phase

On of my swell efriends has told me that I need to write stuff like this on my own blog.

In my defense, I don't really give advice. One, it's all I can do drag myself to work and home on a given day. If I have to go to the dry cleaners and the bank on the same day, it's like I've run a marathon. I'd have made a shitty pioneer.

Two, I don't really know anything about anything. Oh, I'm a wealth of useless information like bauxite was the major export of Jamaica and is used in the production of aluminum and Willie Hernandez won both the Cy Young and MVP Award in 1984 and the only song Elvis ever wrote was Viva Las Vegas. But for practical, fix my problem kind of advice, I'm pretty worthless.

Third, I don't consider myself wise. Sure, every now and then I have a flash of insight. But it never has any application. Stuff like: If fat and slim are opposites, why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing? Mildly amusing, yes. Insightful, no. Yes, I kind of understand how men think because I'm one of them. And I'm smart enough to know that there are certain things about women I'll never understand. But while I don't understand the fascination with shoes and sparkly jewelry, I do know how to use it to my advantage.

So when I read that someone was drunk enough to used eHarmony to wind up feeling rejected, it's time for an intervention. Just like friends don't let friends drink white zinfandel, I'm going to be part of the solution.

So it begins.....tomorrow bitches.

You Know You Want One

Please, come in. Sit down. Relax. Take a couple of deep breaths. Have a sip of a nice, cool, refreshing beverage.

Please try to remain calm. Don't panic. Because you're absolutely, positively going to go nuts over what you're about to see. No shoving, no yelling, no rude behavior in your rush to acquire one.

Yes, that's a Sock Monkey Dress.

Can you imagine anything nicer than a Cleavacious and a Sock Monkey Dress? I didn't think so.

You'll be the hit of the Holiday Party scene. Act now.

And the ultimate accessory? Banana Purse.

If Monkey Woman had this costume for her crime fighting, she'd still be on the show.

When you see Bjork at the next Grammy's wearing one of these, remember you saw it here first.

Have It Deloused First

In addition to, like, listening to her new album, Paris is also auctioning off her bed (including the mattress) and some other furniture. While it doesn't say so, my guess is that the bed has just finally given out. Those box springs can only take so much repetitive motion. And that's if you flip it every six months. What a shock to find out that Paris' bed is scuffed up.

I always thought if you wanted to get into Paris Hilton's bed you just needed to buy a bottle of vodka not the whole bed. So with a tip of the cap to Dave, here are the Top Ten Questions to Ask Before Buying Paris Hilton's bed.

10. Will it make my wife more whorey?
9. Is it really made out of space-age polymers developed by NASA?
8. Does it come with penicillin?
7. Is the "Please Take a Number" machine included?
6. Which famous slut's bed does Consumer Reports recommend buying?
5. Can it comfortably sleep five?
4. Does sleeping on this bed qualify me to be a Greek shipping heir?
3. Do I need the undercoating?
2. Can I just pay her to break in my current bed?
1. Why is T2ed carved in the headboard?

Oh, Paris. We kid because we care. Oh, that's right. We don't care about you. Nevermind.

Jesus Hates Techno Music

I have returned from Up North and lived to tell the tale. Luckily, I was able to get in all my golf rounds without getting a soaker. The line of the weekend was from one of the starters at a course stating, "It's a lovely October day." Too bad it was August. Thus, there was much driving around, eating well, and driving around some more.

We did manage to randomly drive through the Sausage Capital in Cedar, Michigan. Now that's a sign that makes the ladies sit up and take notice. At least the one riding with me sure did.

The Christians and their techno music did not fare so well. They were smote on two days with hard, driving rain. When I drove past the Open Space, there was no one there. Thus, I wasn't able to get any sweet Christian PJ's.

And in other works of Satan, does anyone else wonder if Mel Gibson paid that crank to confess to the Joan Benet murder? I'm just saying, look at what pushed Mad Mel off the front page. Is it crazy or is it genius crazy?

And congratulations, Ari. It's about time.

You consistently manage to steal the show every week. And in your own words, "I'm the only straight man to bring his mother two years in a row."

Now if only Turtle could be that funny.

With Apologies to Joyce Kilmer

As I sat in a worthless meeting yesterday (3.5 hours, no decisions made), I thought about the inventors of the best product ever. They've had the wisdom to link to me and can tell that my adoration is real. Thus, I am officially declaring myself the Poet Laureate of the Clevacious Adjustable Bra. I'm the Couplet Creator, the Prime Timer Rhymer, the Worse Verse of Reverse, the Prince Charming of No Harming , the King of Swing and All That Thing.

But I have a confession to make. I don't actually know anyone who wears a Cleavacious. Maybe I do and just don't know it. Or maybe they're just not wearing it in the "locked and upright position." So I'll have to confess that my experience with the Cleavacious is in that swell demo on their site. But that limited experience can best be summed up with the phrase "fantabulous."
So it is with that adoration in heart (if not in hand) that I offer the following:

I think that I shall never see
A thing as lovely as a B

Which swells and grows to a C

Or with luck impressive D

And appears quite ostentatious
When enhanced by a Cleavacious.

If worn down, look professional
If up and out, bypass the confessional

Decolletage will enhance
A lady's chance at romance

During the day, keep the girls in
But once the prowls of night begin

For all the men will no doubt shout
"Release them, let the girls come out."

Karey Weyenberg is the inventor
No other bra can make you contentor

So if you want to seem bodacious
And make the men become salacious

Let your bosom appear quite spacious
And get yourself a new Clevacious.

Feel free to submit your own ditties, limericks, couplets and declamations. Bonus points for bongo drum accompaniment.

Now I'm headed Up North for some hijinx and the Christian Electric Music Festival. Gotta get my Jesus Rock On, Party with the People, Dance with the Disciples and Proselytize with the Playas.

Everyone Get Right With the Lord

I don't want to say the end of days is upon us, but you explain this.

Paris Hilton says of her album, "I, like, cry, when I listen to it, it's so good."

If that's not the beginning of the end, I don't know what is.

Paris, like, so good doesn't begin to describe it. I cry when I hear your album too. But it's not just tears. It's stomach cramping, a feeling like knitting needles are being shoved in my ears, my hands tingle like they've gone to sleep and my testes shrink up into my body like I'm in the Polar Bear Club.

I can't, like, wait for Nicky Hilton's album.

Has She Been Bad?

I don't know why, but this lil hunk of goofiness is the first search result for this on Google.

I NEED PROFESSIONAL SPANKER FOR MY WIFE IN CARDIFF

Sorry, searcher. I'm strictly amateur. I don't want to lose my status for the Spanking Olympics. That's how they screwed Jim Thorpe.

I know the interweb it great for everything: maps, news, stupid stuff happening in Ohio. I did not put "obtaining professional spanking services" into the category of things improved by the interweb. Obviously, I stand corrected.

Please return to your appointed toil. By the way, does anyone have a hairbrush?

Splitsville

If Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson can't make it work, what chance do any of us have?

After six years of marriage and the release of one son, Hudson's publicist, Brad Cafarelli.
confirmed that Kate and Chris are separated.

While it's great to make your publicist take the heat when you make your announcement, Bad Brad really didn't offer any details for the split.

So I've got to make them up here. Feel free to play along at home kids.
Kate really is hard to handle now

• Chris' self-indulgent guitar solos
• Kate's steadfast refusal to shake her moneymaker
• Chris' insistence on spelling Crowes with the superfluous "e"
• Rich Robinson would not move out of basement
• Kate did not, in fact, talk to angels
• Chris saw Me, You & Dupree

No word on whether Kate and her new co-star Matthew McConaughey in the upcoming movie Fool's Gold are re-uniting in more ways that one. If so, I'll bet Chris will be jealous again.

When you strike comedy gold by pairing Kate and Matt in the critically acclaimed How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, it's easty to understand they'd go back to the well on that one.

It's Still All About the Girls or A School in Texas Did What?

Kids, I want to talk at you about an assault on our liberties as Americans. The Fascists are at our doorstep. Nay, they are already within our scholastic system. This is unbearable. As a citizen from the great country that gave you the Cleavacious, I won't stand for it. Brace yourselves.

The Arlington, Texas school district has banned cleavage. Okay, because they're dumb journalists they've got it wrong. The school district isn't actually banning cleavage. Rather, they are banning the display of cleavage. Girls can still have their cleavage, they just can't strap it up the girls with the Cleavacious to display to full advantage.

Pacifically, the new school's dress code states: “The display of cleavage is unacceptable. Low cut blouses, tops, sweaters, etc. with plunging necklines are not allowed."

Imprimus, the display of cleavage is not only acceptable, it's recommended, advocated and probably should be mandated.

Secondus, just because a neckline is low cut doesn't mean the cleavage is still not fully on display. Doesn't anyone remember the tight sweaters of the the 50's? Did everyone forget Mamie Van Doren for crying out loud? Did we learn nothing from Footloose?

Third, does this edict cover toe cleavage as well?

Fourth, didn't Texas also bring us the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders? And now a school has the gall to try to ban cleavage. One could argue, Texas brought cleavage to the masses. And because the Dallas Cowboys were once America's Team, one could argue that cleavage is as American as hot dogs, football and apple pie. Well, I for one, am not going to sit here and let Arlington Superintendent Mac Bernd bad mouth the United States of America.

Fifth, who is going to be on Cleavage Patrol to enforce this policy? I'm sure the male teachers (and maybe some of the female gym teachers) will be falling all over themselves to conduct inspections.

I call upon all of us cleavage embracing Americans to stand up for our rights and write a sternly worded email directly to Mr. Bernd. His email address is mbernd@aisd.net. Ain't the interweb grand, kids?

As further evidence of the silliness of this ban on cleavage, I submit the following. Arlington District Spokesperson Veronica Sopher (vsopher@aisd.net) claims encouraging messages have come from as far away as Utah in support of the ban. Anything that someone from Utah is in support of is definitely a bad idea. Utah isn't that far from Texas, Sophie. Check the map, you flack.

I'll be sure to post my stern letter to Mr. Bernd. Make sure you do the same, kids.

I regret that I have no cleavage to give for my country. I have not yet begun to ridicule. When cleavage is outlawed, only outlaws will have cleavage. God bless cleavage and America.

Go See This Guy

I forgot to mention that last week Wife and I went to see a show.

This guy has it going on. And his band Silvertone (who he's been with for 20 years) does too.

Now I'm not crazy about the slow stuff. I like good old rock and roll. You know, the kind none of the bands play anymore: hammerin' surf guitars, a bit of wah wah organ and straight-ahead drumming. But Chris does more than a little rock and rollin'.

He did a cover of "I Want You to Want Me" that had me thinking I was at Budokan. And he did Roy Orbison's Only the Lonely." Unlike most singers, Chris actually has the range to pull it off.

He also absolutely rocked on "Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing." This included an introductory story about the bass player that confirmed Rollie is a bad, bad man.

The entire show was fun, witty, engaging and rockin'. He's a star who doesn't know he's a star.

Oh, and he brought girls up on stage to dance. And when they couldn't dance, he mocked them.
Yes, he is my hero.

But I don't know Anson wasn't playing keyboard...

Up, Up and a Gay

I have a guilty little secret. I can't contain it anymore. Writing about it here will make me a better bear in pants.

I love, absolutely love the new show Who Wants to Be a Superhero? That's their name for it. I call it Who Wants to Look Like An Ass on Basic Cable. I may actually have to recap this show. It's that good/bad.

I've only seen one episode. But due to the power of TIVO and the gaping void that is original programming, I'm going to see them all.

I'm not going to belabor you with characterizations or plot or analysis. That would be actual good writing. And we all know that doesn't happen here.

So I'm just going to give you a swell link to the show and list the names of the morons characters and let you make your own decision: Ty'Veculus, Lemuria, Cell Phone Girl, Nitro G, Feedback, Levity, Monkey Woman, The Iron Enforcer, Major Victory, Creature, Fat Momma.

Yes, they are dressed up as superhero types. There is spandex. There are capes. No, they are not people who should be in these types of outfits and accessories.

Now in the first show, they took the cast and had them in their street or non-superhero clothing. They were supposed to change into their outfits, then run across a plaza. Folks were told they were being timed so they had to go fast. No mention of whether use of super speed was allowed.

But the best part of this whole silly exercise is that the show put a crying little girl in the middle of the plaza. She was supposed to be lost and was crying for her mother. You can imagine how tremendous this little girl was. She was no Dakota Fanning but was really laying it on. And it was great to see most of the "heroes" zip right past her.

Major Victory did not. He is a former male dancer (although he now claims to be a disc jockey) and actually did some dance moves en route to his rescue. At least there was no pelvic thrusting. But you know it's only a matter of time. In an hilarious moment, he actually picked the little girl up in his arms and carried her to the Security Office. Now that's someone who's read a few comic books.

I think they had 11 contestants and 6 just ignored her. Awesomely bad. And they eventually kick someone off. Don't ask who it was. I was laughing too much to pay attention.

Line of the Show: "Don't worry, Big Momma is here."
-- Big Momma to the "lost" little girl.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hey, kids! Guess what time it is? That's right! It's time for the Ohio State Fair! This isn't some crummy little country fair. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Medina. What of it?

Not only can you wander around Columbus in the godawful heat and stupidity, but you can also demonstrate America's vast superiority to the rest of the world in Food on a Stick Technology.

But the real reason everyone goes to the fair is simple. It's not the shows like Masters of the Chainsaw (Aug. 4th @ 7:oo pm). It's not the rides like the Tilt-a-Hurl or the Giant Slide. It's not the swell concerts like Rick Springfield (Aug. 5th), REO Speedwagon (Aug. 6th), Kenny Rogers and the Oak Ridge Boys (Aug. 8th) or Bo Bice (Aug. 12th). How can any reasonable person be expected to choose between the musical stylings of The Gambler and the magic that is the power balled "I Can't Fight This Feeling."

No, that's not why people go to the Ohio State fair. It's for the sculptures made of butter.

Admit it. You've never seen butter artistry like that before. Look at the lifelike veins on that cow's udder. You know you want to put one of those rich buttery teats in your mouth and let the goodness melt away. Even better if you brought lobster.

But I have a secret for you. I hope it doesn't spoil your appreciation for the butter medium.

That butter isn't even from Ohio!

Now I'm sure you love rich creamy art as much as I do. So of course you know that true butter art is only done with salt free butter. The only butter producer in Ohio is Land o' Lakes in Kent. And they don't make salf free butter in Ohio! I'll type that again for you. They don't make unsalted butter.

Yup, they're tricking the rubes with imported butter. That's a big, fat, 2000 pound steaming pile of buttery lies.

No wonder the Ohioans are crazy. When you can't even trust your butter sculpture, who can you trust?

They're probably serving Soylent Green on the midway too. On a stick of course.

Random Musings

As I'm recovering from my sojourn to the South, I still am unable to focus my thoughts. Images buzz through my brain, but I'm having trouble carving out coherency.

Thus, I can only offer up these meager musings of half completed ideas for posts. Mea maxima culpa.

• Did they call the Pam Anderson Kid Rock wedding which took place on a boat "The Hepatitis Sea Cruise?
• I'll bet Mel Gibson is very, very sorry...that he got caught.
• Castro really isn't sick. He's on vacation in Disneyworld. He's going to be pissed when he finds out there's no Cuba at Epcot. He will enjoy the fireworks though.
• It's so hot, Star Jones called Barbara Walters just to get a cold shoulder. Yes, I completely stole that one from Dave.
• If it's not Halloween, it's probably not a good idea to dress up as a pirate.
• I know JK Rowling will miss Harry, but I'll bet she'll miss the checks even more.
• If Heath Ledger is playing the Joker, don't let Robin go camping with him.

That's it. I got nothing.

The Horror, The Horror

Due to the capricious nature of the interweb and Blogger, I won't be posting my swell pre-story from last Friday about me going to Ohio. Instead, you only get this lame recap. Probably with some swell photo goodness after I finally find my digital cam in the luggage. If you do manage to find a stray post from me somewhere, please send him home. No difficult questions about why there were no calls and who was he with and why couldn't I meet these new friends will be asked.

But yes, I headed down the delta into the crazy that is Ohio. I willingly ventured (alone I might add) into Crazy Land to meet up with the rest of my exploratory golfing expedition.

Obviously, since I'm posting this now, I survived. But while my body may be intact, the madness has descended upon me. No man enters the Heart of Darkness and walks away unchanged by the experience.

I think I know part of the reason they are crazy. It's the weather. In the Great Grey North, we don't have the kind of heat and stupidity they tolerate in Ohio. Sure, we can get in the 90's but it'll be for a day or two. We just cope by staying inside. In Ohio, they embrace it. They'll willingly go out in the 90 degree and 90% humidity.

As soon as I exited the air conditioned goodness of my fly hoopdie, I could feel the sweat and despair and moisture embrace me like an dead lover. My shirt was immediately plastered to my body and I could feel a line of sweat break out on my back and begin to run down into my shorts. This gave me an immediate case of swamp ass. A big hunk of sugar like me just melts in weather like that.

My only defense was to try to play golf as early as possible and get off the course by 10:00 am. A normal round of golf will take 4 hours. I made it a forced march to escape the weather in just under three hours. Then I'd sit in the swelter of my Aunt's apartment. Because she's a million years old, she likes it hotbox hot. I felt like I'd gotten my dirt in Boss's yard. After about 12 minutes of the indoor heat (coupled with discussions of old people I didn't know), I ran screaming from the hellishness. I went back to my hotel pool, left an oil slick and slinked around the edges like some crazed, demonic, albino alligator. I'd raise my head just enough to have a sip of a cool refreshing beverage then slowly slide back into the cool embrace of the water. At night, I emerged to feed. Yes, just a few short hours in Ohio and I have reverted to my most primal instincts: water and food.

My favorite example of the contrariness that is Ohio came on the course, of course. The establishment we played at would only sell 3 beers at a time. Thus, if you wanted to procure enough refreshments to last for 9 holes for a foursome, you had to bring reinforcements and thus, slow down play.

Luckily, directly across the street you could visit the drive through liquor store. Don't even get out of your car to purchase as much beer as you want. Hmmm, what type of behavior might this encourage? No one seemed to resent my elegantly logical solution of taking a golf cart through the drive through.

After two days, I feared for my sanity. I'd eaten dinner at 5:00. Pretended to care about the scarves my cousin was knitting. I could feel the madness clutching at my mind. I itched all over.

Under cover of darkness, I sped away into the farmland of Ohio and made my escape. The meandering road meant nothing as I raced through each town that was a mirror image of each other. Lodi, Greenwhich, Willard, Norwalk, Bellevue, Monroeville, Clyde, Fremont, Woodville, and finally, at long last, Toledo and escape to the North.

I rocked back and forth in a fetal position later that night, repeating over and over, "Fourty, Fourty-One, Fourty, Fourty-One, Fourty, Fourty-One." Yes, I did battle with the only weapons at hand--my diminished wits and my trusty clubs. At least I played well. Like some idiot savant who grasped to the liferaft of sanity that is golf, I could still play amongst the madness that is Ohio.

And I didn't even get a Swenson's dammit. Maybe next year.