Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Just another Day at the Swim Club (part I)

It’s been one the hottest summers I can remember on the east coast. It's been the kind of summer you wished you owned a house at the beach. But I don’t own a house at the beach; in fact I’m another missed mortgage payment from not owning a house inland either. The next best thing to the beach is the pool. I don’t have a pool and you’ve probably surmised since I can barely afford the house, I sure as shiite can’t afford a pool. If so, props on the stellar detective work there, Sherlock. However, thanks to massive Home Depot discounting I can afford a garden hose; which like mopeds and fat chicks are real fun until busted while partaking by friends or neighbors.

For the last three summers we’ve belong to the community pool. In that time, it’s dawned on me that the concept of the community pool is to join then just occasionally show up. You never want to be seen at the pool too often. You want to make it seem like joining was just an afterthought, “if we get there, we get there” type deal. To be seen too often implies that you never get invited to weekend barbeques and have no friends with beach houses to feel sorry for you. Of course, the people making such judgments must not have friends either since they are at pool the same amount of time as you.

My wife asked “Are you going to drop the kids off at the pool today?”. Puzzled, I replied “I’m pretty regular so I’ll probably take a dump today, same as yesterday” “Why the sudden concern over my daily output?”

“I meant the swim club, you dick” she countered.

I told her I think all of us should go, since I’m home anyway.

The swim club is an interesting gathering of both people who you’d like to see with less clothing, balanced out by the searing visual impression of people who you’d wish would wear more.

It’s also a place where wives freely bitch about their “useless” husbands to other women with equally useless husbands. They all sit together around a collection of picnic tables all day to do nothing more than bitch and eat from noon to late afternoon. The pool and lifeguards function as the daycare. I happened to be the only useless husband there with his wife on a sunny and warm mid-July Wednesday afternoon. To the other wives that didn’t really matter. I was just collateral damage as they trashed their spouses equally without taking many breaths between rants. The only thing stopping my wife from filibustering in the penis hating session was my presence.

After ball bashing, the girls started trashing the women who were lucky enough not to be there that day. “Jill is fat and lazy”, “Barbara, that skinny bitch is anorexic” “Lisa pops Vicodin like Aspirin” “Marianne’s husband Bob, is banging his secretary”, “That’s because she’s doing the lawn guy, and don’t forget the exterminator”. “Jesus Christ”, I thought to myself. “Did the UPS guy happen to join in on the gangbang over at Marianne and Bob’s place?”

That’s when Michelle, the youngest and the hottest wife (next to mine, of course- she just bought a new laptop with wireless internet) stood up three-quarters facing the other way in her yellow two-piece in full stretch. I don’t think her bikini bottom was supposed to be a thong. But it twas’. The top was slightly undone, so I conveniently dropped one of my son’s toys to the right for a fast lecherous gander. Real or fake? Who cares?

WOW. I was stiffer than George Will at a Ludicrous concert.

Michelle then nonchalantly declares to the foul mouthed Brownie troop “I’m getting my tragi pierced”. Equally stunned and concerned I offer “Do you have to see the gynecologist for that?”

Kim, the big mouth with the big ass to match shoots daggers toward me and barks “It’s the cartilage in the ear, you asshole!!”

I feebly shot back “I take it that’s a no then?”........

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Stare

My wife’s grandmother will stare at you when you say something that she thinks is inappropriate. She doesn’t say a word, but the stare speaks volumes. It is like standing in front of the firing squad. You get less radiation from an MRI than you get from the stare.

She is really old, so she sometimes gives you the stare you didn’t deserve for something she thought you said. We were over my wife’s cousin house and said to her “nice rack” is it new, or did you have it fixed.

The last time I was here it was hanging lower (I get the stare). I was talking about her new wine rack, last time I was there the wine was kept in the cabinets near the floor.I said Honey “I’ll be right back I have to drain the lizard before we leave” (I get the stare)I was talking about my son’s toy lizard that that was full of water, I wanted to dump it out we wouldn’t wet the car seats.

I had third degree burns from the stare by the end of the visit.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Who Said It: Hillary or Paris?

Don't confuse having a career with having a life-Hillary
The world’s problems are our problems- Paris

If I want to knock a story off the front page, I just change my hairstyle- Hillary
I don't think there's ever been anyone like me that's lasted. And I'm going to keep lasting-Paris

I vote and so should you- Paris
I did what people do when they do the wrong thing-Hillary

New York in the summertime is really hot!- Hillary
The government is really the voice of us all- Paris

No matter what a woman looks like, if she's confident, she's sexy- Paris
I amuse myself by constantly changing my hair- Hillary

Out of sight, out of mind - Hillary
Thank you officer, we love our police- Paris

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Moldey Bagel

I'm at the local coffee house the other morning, I get my regular, medium regular with cream and sugar and a sesame-seed bagel. I look down and notice the bagel’s got blue spots on it.

I’m thinking to myself I didn’t order the blueberry what the hell is this, it turns out to be mold.

So, I say to the heavily pierced and inked kid behind the counter, "Hey this bagels’ got mold all over it!!" He says “That's just nasty, dude can you check and see how many other bagels got mold on them?”

I think when exactly did I get hired by the FDA, I missed the email on that one. “After I’m done the bagel inspection, "You need anything else?" "Maybe I can whip up a pot of decaf or sweep the floor while I at it”. The kid’s like “Seriously, you think you can open for me tomorrow? I got a Disturbed concert tonight and there is a better than excellent chance I will be wasted tonight and in nooo mood to be here early tomorrow”

Friday, August 18, 2006

Allow Me to Rant About the Play-Date Epidemic

When the hell did the “play-date” become an acceptable idea? When I was a kid you went out and played with friends after they “knocked” for you. And if they didn’t knock, you just went to the playground, basketball court, or the baseball field and found kids to play with. There was no formal agreement between parents. They were just glad to get you out of the house for awhile so they could screw like a couple of saggy-assed jackrabbits.

As kids we went out to “play”. As teenagers we went out on “dates”. We never mashed the two together to form a new thing.

Not the case today with “play-dates”. First, little Sammy’s mother’s people have to get in contact with my wife’s people or vice-versa. Then Palm Pilot’s are checked and synchronized, waivers drafted, signed in the presence of a notary public, and then security clearances are granted. A five-digit confirmation number is then text-messaged to all involved parties.

The planning and red tape takes longer than the actual event.

Sammy’s mother actually had the stones to break out a checklist in front of my wife to be sure our household was “suitable” for her fat little bastard.

The questions read like something asked of a Supreme Court nominee during a congressional hearing:

Have either of you ever been convicted of a felony?
Do you have piercings or tattoos that could possibly upset a child?
Are there guns in the house?
Are there pornographic materials in the house?

Answers: NO, NO, YES, and YES but I wish I had more, in that order. And the first NO can be easily converted to a YES if you ask one more stupid question!

“…and Sammy prefers two-ply Charmin when he makes”.

When she used the word “makes” I hoped to hell she meant it in the context of “he makes an F-14 fighter out of two-ply toilet paper” because of some obscure paper airplane FAA safety standard or something to that effect. But, if she used the word “makes” as a substitute for “takes a dump” her not so little Sammy might as well start the weekly shrink sessions ASAP.

Such preparation and aggravation just so Sammy can come to my Bobby’s house and sit in his room while playing Rampage: Total Destruction on his Play Station 2.

If you tell the kids to go outside to throw the football they look at you like you’re growing another head. My son told me he’s tired of “throwing the football” after three hours of Madden NFL 2006.

I don’t know where this is going to lead when these kids become teenagers?

Am I going to have to call the high school hotties’ mom and say “On October 23 is Pamela available for a play-date with Bobby?” “She is that’s great!” “Okay let’s synchronize here… “At around 9:00 PM right after the movie Bobby’s going to make a move, they will start with some tongue kissing… then ya know maybe a hand under the shirt, if that works out okay he will most likely slide his digits down south. “What kind of shrubbery will Bobby be dealing with? What brand of condom is agreeable? Any lubricant allergies we should be made aware of? Okay, make some calls and get back to me...”

Let’s please stop all these play-dates before it’s too late.

I’ll be outside with my bat, my ball, and my glove if anyone is interested in a father-son pickup baseball game, no appointment necessary.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Las Vegas Conventions and Uninvited Celebrities

Las Vegas Open 2006 Taekwondo Championship….Steven Hawking
International Association for Child Safety….Michael Jackson
MENSA International…..George Bush
Las Vegas Tall Club…Verne Troyer
Affordable Housing Management Association….Donald Trump
Friends of Israel….Mel Gibson
Communications Workers of America…Ozzy Osbourne
Home Sewing Association…Chuck Norris
American Dental Association 147th Annual Session…Leon Spinks
Drug Enforcement Administration…Robert Downey Jr.
Ford Motor Company… Dr Z (Nazi with gay mustache from Chrysler commercials)
Couples For Christ…Mr. and Mrs. Larry David
National Association of Tax Professionals…Jeffrey Skilling
National Nutritional Foods Association …. Rosie O’Donnell
Mid-Atlantic Council on Literacy….Mike Tyson
National Urban Fellows….Brooks and Dunn
Nevada Gay Rodeo Association…Clint Eastwood
26th Annual Breast Imaging Conference...Bill Clinton
Weight Watchers Franchise Association…Nicole Ritchie
Aqua Show…. Ted Kennedy
International Yoga Federation….Michael J. Fox
Western Beauty Rep Association….Star Jones
American Association of Gynecologic Laparoscopists …Lance Bass
National Community Pharmacists Association….Rush Limbaugh
World of Highland Dancing….George Will

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Picking up the Neighbor’s Sex Mail

Our neighbors were away on vacation last week so they asked my wife to pick-up their mail everyday. She told them “no problem” she would be happy to do it. Before my wife’s new job with the US Postal Service, I would have said the couple next door is just your average normal American couple, two kids, two cars, well kept house, you get the idea.

Monday’s mail delivery yielded your average junk mail, a Ladies Home Journal, a bill from the electric company, and an issue of Playboy. My wife came back to our house with a confused look on her face “Did you know Bob reads Playboy?” she asked. Half listening to her and Jerry’s closing thought on Springer, I shot back “I doubt he reads it”. She said “I’m really disappointed in Bob, he seems like such as nice guy, I didn’t know he was into that stuff”. She was beginning to sound more like the poor guy’s mother than the next door neighbor. “You didn’t know he was into what stuff?” “Do you think he’s gay or something?” I asked. “I’m more distressed to learn about Kate’s Ladies Home Journal habit, there goes my three-way fantasy right out the window.” She then preceded to throw something hard at my head, I don't remember what it was, but boy did it leave a nice welt!

The rest of the week produced a dizzying array of XXX deliveries, enough to make Hef want to reach for a smoke. Tuesday- Penthouse and a pamphlet of the Kama Sutra. Wednesday- Swinger’s Magazine and a foreclosure notice. To me, the foreclosure notice makes perfect sense. Bob and Kate got strangers to bang!! Who can blame them for missing a mortgage payment or ten. Thursday.- Magazine featuring both sex toys and lubricants, I still have that one. Friday- UPS delivery, which my wife had to sign for, the company name on the box also appears in the magazine from Thursday’s delivery…


No sex mail on Saturday. Good thing. That poor mail carrier probably didn’t have the stamina to rub another one out. She did notice a traffic court summons delivered with Bob’s name on it. Can you blame him? I’d be speeding too if I was headed to the same kinds of parties.. Maybe he got busted doing 69 in a 25?

My wife said she knew something was off with Kate. Each time my wife invites her to a Home Interior, Avon, or Tupperware party she never makes it. I told her Kate needs her rest, because her parties are just a little more physically demanding than yours. Forget the Avon parties!. I said why don’t you host a Cyberskin vibrator party? She will definitely come then, and she even may attend your party too.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Pet Peeve Number 51: Movies with Subtitles

If some foreign Director wants his piece of crap movie to be shown here in the good ole’ US of A. let him spend the few extra Francs, Deutschmarks, Rubles, or Yuan to hire a few B-movie English speaking actors to read his sorry-ass script in English.

That way when my wife drags me down to the impossible to find - art house/ lesbian bookstore/ poet’s corner/yoga hut/ movie theater to watch this slop, I don’t have to strain my eyes in an attempt to make like I’m following along. There is nothing worse than having to watch and read some hairy armpit European skank profess her love for a dead ringer for Jean Claude Van Damme minus the acting ability.

Better yet Magnus, forget shooting the movie in the first place. Just release your thoughts in a book, this way I will be left out of the whole mess. The wife can read your story whenever she wants and I’m not forced to sit through three plus hours of cinematic hell.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Some Rejected Hallmark Greeting Cards

Front: Hope you get well soon so and make a speedy recovery.
Inside: We warned you about using a doctor who makes you undress for an eye-exam.

Front: Happy anniversary to my darling and beloved wife .
Inside: If you went down half as much as my mutual funds, I’d be a happy man.”

Front: Sweetheart …For our anniversary this year I want to introduce my weapon of mass destruction.
Inside: To your bush administration.

Front: You look as good today as the first time I saw you naked.
Inside: Maybe its good we only met last week.

Front: Congratulations on you’re promotion!
Inside: Now take your lips off the boss’s ass so I can buy you a drink!

Front: Thinking off you and wishing you were here
Inside: with your best friend Veronica topless in thongs and making out.