Tuesday, July 31, 2007

I Hear Banjoes; the Carnival Must Be in Town (Part II)

I always loved the bumper cars when I was a kid and was excited to drive one with my son. I took the red car, he took the green, and there were about four other cars of various colors that were also populated. I noticed an obese kid who appeared to be a teenager trying to wedge himself into the blue car; the proverbial ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. He got a leg and a single ass-cheek into the car when he appeared to get stuck. He let out a high pitched agonized yell suggesting his ballsack had to be in the mix. Eye Patch Tom Petty moseyed over to his car and said “Yer nuts crunched” I couldn’t figure out if this was as much a question or a definitive statement of fact. Either way, he struggled and pulled the fat kid from the car. The kid grimaced as he clutched his balls. Eye Patch smiled a toothless grin and said “I got a special car for yer fat-ass”, and led him over toward this hideous double wide multi-colored car alone in the corner. The fit was a snug one.

I banged into car after car, reliving my childhood days and all the fun of riding the bumper cars. My son seemed to enjoy almost as much as I did. I noticed the fat kid’s car was stuck in the middle and not moving. Then I saw my son heading right toward fat boy’s parked cruiser. This was a crash that wouldn’t end well for my son. He hit the car head on; fat boy’s car didn’t budge. My son flew out of his car and into the air two feet over the fat kid’s car and onto the floor. I rushed over, his face covered with blood. He was conscious but groggy. Fat boy; who was stilled in his car glanced back toward us and offered a conciliatory “my bad”, while working over a funnel cake. In a panic I yelled over to Eye Patch asking him for medical assistance. He appeared to be passed out on his chair with no regard for the current riders or the kids waiting in line. Given my experience thus far, I decided against asking any carnival personal for help. My son seemed to be fully alert after a minute or so.

They offered to cart the three of us out to the parking lot. I decided the ride was tempting given my son’s condition and the pet store my daughter was toting around. The golf cart was a replica of the General Lee from ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’, confederate flag and all. “Ya'll can call me Dale Jr. ya know like Dale Earnhardt Jr.” said the driver. “Okay I get it, but I prefer you to drive how Dale Sr would now.” I said. “You know, like hardly moving at all”. “YER AN ASSHOLE” he shouted. Obviously I hit a nerve. To think, I would find a NASCAR fan at the traveling carnival. What are the odds? About 101% I should have guessed. “Look, I need you to drive slowly because my son is injured and we have a lot of stuff here” I countered. “Watch yer ass boy, the Earnhardt’s is like kin to me, so just watch yer ass” he huffed.

Still pissed; he sped away, almost giving my son his second launch for a moving vehicle within twenty minutes. I grabbed my son tight and pulled him close to me. My daughter was clutching the sea-life with all her might. After two hair pin turns and a disregarded speed bump we were back in the parking lot. He sped away leaving us to search for one another in a cloud of dust.

I was proud of my daughter for being able to hold onto all her stuff considering the ride. I asked her if she wanted my to hold it until we found the car, since looked so tired. She said okay, and added a “please be careful” for emphasis. We couldn’t find the car since the lot was poorly lit, and maybe more importantly because I forgot where we parked. I tripped over a rock a dropped the fish tank. It shattered in a million pieces and I couldn’t find the goldfish. My daughter said she will never talk to me again. When I went back in and spent another $42 for the same stuff, minus the hillbilly in the picture, she and I were cool once again.

It turns my son suffered a concussion. After an investigation it was determined the bumper car had a faulty seat belt that Eye Patch either failed to notice or simply ignored. I could have sued Eye Patch for damages, but really what would I do with a ’77 Chevy El Camino with body rust and an eight-track player?

Monday, July 30, 2007

I Hear Banjoes; the Carnival Must Be in Town (Part I)

When the carnival ride operator arrives to work riding a mule that is also used to pull the ticket booth and is also part of the Merry-Go-Round stable this can’t be good. I was mesmerized as I stood and watched a rollercoaster that was more unstable than Phil Spector under cross-examination. I exhaled a sigh of relief when the operator finally came to his senses and yelled “We gotta shut her down” only to realize he wasn’t talking about the rollercoaster at all but Tons-o-Fun; who was operating the Round-Up. “If she eats another corndog she gonna bust a gut, we gotta shut her down” he chuckled. She retaliated by finishing the corndog in a single bite, lifting the tent that was her dress, and treating us all to a life-altering view of her cellulite laden dumper. To my horror my ten-year old son said “I would definitely hit THAT!!” Before I could get my heart out of my throat, I was relieved to see him staring at the batting cages oblivious to what just happened.

When the traveling summer carnival hits your town, be afraid, be very afraid

Don’t get me wrong, the traveling carnival can be fun. I mean who doesn’t want to plunk $20 in quarters for a chance to win a Molly Hatchet Beatin’ the Odds velvet poster over at the roulette wheel? With the redneck carnival workers and the unsafe rides it sort of like an off Broadway, off road production of Deliverance. “Boy, if that Tilt-a-Whirl with the jagged safety bar don’t make you squeal, I will”

My son and daughter said they were hungry and wanted to eat before we hit the rides. I scanned the appetizing menu… Corn dogs, cotton candy, candy apple, cheese fries, waffles and ice cream, and funnel cake were the nutritious items. No need to wonder why the carnival workers were either fat or toothless or fat and toothless. It’s not their fault, the cafeteria food isn’t real healthy over at Carnival High, and every female employee looks like the cafeteria lady.

I told my kids there was no way we were going to eat any of that carnival junk food. They would just have to wait until we left and were able to hit a McDonald's for a proper meal.

Thankfully, my daughter isn’t much for rides. But like her mother she can find a million other ways to spend cash. The hillbilly with the goldfish stand caught her eye. “Daddy, please can I get one, please!!” she pleaded. “I think the pretty little miss would like a goldfish” chimed the hillbilly. “They are real fun for the kiddies” he added. I don’t know how much fun a fish can be unless it’s on the end of your fishing rod while you’re twenty miles off the coast of the Atlantic on a sunny midsummer afternoon and the Tuna you’ve just reeled in secured the $500 dollar tournament win for you. But a goldfish? I don’t think so. She asked again and of course I said yes. The sign read two dollars per fish, which seemed cheap enough for a dopey little goldfish. Before I knew what hit me, my daughter not only had a goldfish, but a fish bowl, sea-like decorations to put in the fish bowl, organic fish food, fish bowl tools, a picture of the goldfish, my daughter, and the hillbilly in a commemorative oak carved frame. $2 dollars became $42 in the blink of an eye. “Thanks Daddy, you’re the best” said my little expensive angel. “You’re welcomed pumpkin” I painfully grunted back.

I took my son over to the bumper cars figuring it would be safe since inbreeds are good with cars. I handed our tickets to the operator who looked like Tom Petty but with tattoos and an eye patch. He just stared at me for a few seconds with the functional eye and said “Y’all nado mo tickles” “Excuse me?” I questioned. “Ey shred y’all nado mo tickles” he said. “Okay” I answered as I hopelessly glanced at my son somehow hoping they taught Inbreed to English in his school, and if so he aced that class. “Dad, I think he wants you to tickle him?” he said. I made a mental note to attend more school board meetings and offer curriculum suggestions. Eye patch Tom Petty heard this and smiled. I haven’t seen that much gum since I spent that summer working for the streets department painting the bottoms of park benches. I surmised what we heard as “tickles” was actually “tickets” and I didn’t give him enough. There wasn’t a sign telling how many tickets were needed so I ended up handing him about ten, without asking. I decided to ride the bumper cars with my son “Ain’t ya red da sign? he asked. “Y’all need fo tickles a person” as he held up three fingers. I told him there was no sign and to consider the extra two tickets a tip for his excellent service. I then went on to explain what a tip was then he flipped me the bird using the correct number of fingers...

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Just Another Day at the Swim Club

My wife asked if “I was 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.

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 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 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 now 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?”

As I walked over to the edge of the pool to check on my two kids , I noticed they’ve made a new friend. I couldn’t make out his age, but he was as tall as he was wide. He wasn’t so much talking to my kids as he was launching half eaten Doritos into the pool with words that followed. The kid mumbled something to me and walked away. I couldn’t make out what he said as I was too busy ducking nacho cheese covered shrapnel. The pool now had an orange covered surface as Doritos boy disappeared from sight.

At that point, the soon to be on duty female butch lifeguard walked behind me and barked “Hey kids NO eating in the pool!!”. I turned around and saw this 6’5” behemoth with multiple piercings and red, white, and blue Mohawk haircut. As I glanced down I noticed she wasn’t particularly well groomed. Okay, that’s a real understatement. It looked like she had Justin Guarini in a leg lock.

I said “MY KIDS weren’t eating in the pool” She replied “Do I look STUPID?”
I answered “Was that a trick question?”

I got my kids out of the pool and we made our back the bitching wives. As we approach I could see they were all smiling at Lars; the musclehead Swede swimming instructor in the banana hammock Speedo. His hands were at his hips as the wives guffawed over every lame broken bit of English he spoke. “Lars, you are too funny”, “Your accent is just too cute”. They were all gushing like a bunch of sixteen year olds with a high school crush. As he turned to walk away they let out a collective lustful sigh and a “Bye Lars”.

I could hear my wife say to Michelle amazed “Did you see how long it was?” Michelle replied “Oh my god and how wide too!” Feeling a rush of jealous insecurity I blurted out “He’s no bigger than most guys!!” “He probably wraps it up in Saran wrap two or three times before he puts the damned Speedo on!”.

My startled wife said “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about?” “But we are talking about Lars new tattoo of the Swedish flag he got because he is so homesick.” “It covers the left side of his chest.”

I said “Oh, ya I know. He supposed to keep that thing covered until the ink properly sets, some people use Saran wrap for a cover that’s all I was saying”

“Hey Kids do you want go back to the pool?”

What followed couldn’t have come at a better time for me. A woman alternated between a scream and a cry: “Douglas, Douglas, please has ANYONE seen my Douglas”

None of the other mothers showed any concern for this panic stricken woman. I was later told the search for Douglas happens on average once a week.

It turns out little Douglas is quite the prankster. He managed to follow his psycho mother around step for step around the park for roughly twenty minutes during her frenzied search without her knowing. It wasn’t until Douglas noticed another kid with his swimming goggles with the attached snorkel that he was found out.

Douglas hunched his shoulders and sprinted full out toward the unsuspecting snorkel stealer driving him head first in into the lawn; a takedown that would make Jeremiah Trotter proud.

The clueless mother ran over to her son gave him a squeeze and cried “Douglas, I thought I would never see you again.” Meanwhile, the other kid was had a mouth full of turf impaled by his braces.

My wife yelled over to the pool “Hey guys, it’s time for lunch” As we made our way to the picnic tables I noticed loudmouthed Kim picking out a wedgy from her cavernous dumper only to have it wedge again seconds later. The scene reminded me of the documentary I once saw as a kid about the Beluga whale and how she devours bluefish.

Just then my wife said “I made you a tuna fish sandwich with extra mayo.”

Having no appetite and about to puke I said “Not real hungry right now, anything to drink?”

“I brought Yoo-hoo for the kids, I have an extra one” she said

About ready to projectile hurl I answered “I’m good over here.”

After lunch it was more of the same; bitching, then swimming, and fighting with lifeguards. My work days seem faster than this fun filled day at the pool with the wife and kids.

When we got home my wife asked “Honey, did you fun today at the swim club?” I said I’d rather take a kick to the ballsack than ever go back again.”

“So to answer your question…NO”

Thursday, July 19, 2007

2007 Las Vegas Conventions and Uninvited Celebrities

Nevada Gay Rodeo Association…Isaiah Washington
27th Annual Breast Imaging Conference...Bill Clinton
Weight Watchers Franchise Association…Nicole Ritchie
American Association of Gynecologic Laparoscopists …Neil Patrick Harris
National Association of Tax Professionals…Wesley Snipes
American Medical Association…Michael Moore
Women for Chastity until Marriage…Paris Hilton
Aqua Show…. Ted Kennedy
International Yoga Federation….Michael J. Fox
Western Beauty Rep Association….Star Jones
International Association for Child Safety….Michael Jackson
MENSA International…..George Bush
Las Vegas Tall Club…Verne Troyer
Communications Workers of America…Ozzy Osbourne
Las Vegas Open 2007 Taekwondo Championship….Steven Hawking
Couples For Christ…Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Seinfeld
Affordable Housing Management Association….Donald Trump
Friends of Israel….Mel Gibson
Society for Non-Violence… Chuck Liddell
Drug Enforcement Administration…Robert Downey Jr.
National Nutritional Foods Association …. Rosie O’Donnell
National Urban Fellows….Brooks and Dunn
Mid-Atlantic Council on Literacy….Mike Tyson
World Tea Expo…Keith Richards
Shooting, Hunting & Outdoor Trade Show….Dick Cheney
Jones Family Reunion….The Smith Family
Mr. Olympia….Kevin Bacon
National Community Pharmacists Association….Rush Limbaugh
World of Highland Dancing….George Will

Saturday, July 14, 2007

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 utility bill, 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 was more distressed to learn about Kate’s Ladies Home Journal habit, there goes my three-way fantasy right out the window.

Or maybe not…

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 year-old?

My wife said she knew something seemed off with Kate. Each time my wife invited 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 may also attend your party.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

In The News...

World's tallest man marries, sweeps bride off feet
Bao Xishun, 56, a 2.36-metre (7-ft, 9-inch) herdsman from China's vast Inner Mongolia region and the world's tallest man married a woman two-thirds his size and almost half his age. Upon arrival at the honeymoon resort, the foreplay started immediately as Bao placed his beanbag on the blushing bride’s head.

17 People ill after Chicago food fest
Seventeen people who ate from the same booth at the Taste of Chicago food festival became ill, at least five of them with salmonella poisoning and three were actually hospitalized the health department said. The tainted goodies were complements of the Chicago Department of Sewage located underneath Division Street.

Fake firm gets nuclear license in US Government sting
Undercover investigators working for a fake firm obtained a license to buy enough radioactivity to build a Dirty Bomb. After realizing this, officials at the Dept. of Homeland Security are seeing Level Red.

Study: Women Are in Charge at Home
A study which was just released, finds that wives have more power than their husbands in making decisions and dominating discussions at home. That’s just BULLSHIT!! “What’s that honey? I need to get off the computer and help you fold the laundry. I’ll be right there muffin right after I make the bed”

California projects 60 million people by 2050
The nation's most populous state will have 59.5 million residents when it reaches the mid-century mark — nearly 22 million more than today, the state Department of Finance predicted Monday and nearly one sixth or 10 million will actually be legal.

Pope: Other Christians not true churches
Pope Benedict XVI reasserted the primacy of the Roman Catholic Church, approving a document released Tuesday that says other Christian communities are either defective or not true churches and Catholicism provides the only true path to salvation. When told about this the Reverend Jim-Bob Lee Simmons from the United Church of Trailer Parks, Gun Racks, and Spiritual Salvation in Tuscaloosa, Alabama said; “Them words show more ignorance than Cousin Skeeter during the lightning round on Jeopardy

Money found in toilets across Japan
Envelopes containing 10,000 yen ($82) bills and well-wishing notes have been discovered in municipal toilets across Japan. You see, a diet consisting mostly of fish is not only healthy it will increase your net worth.

Queen storms out of photo shoot
Noted celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz told the Queen: "I think it will look better without the crown because the Garter robe is so ..." Before she can finish saying "extraordinary," the queen gave her an icy stare and replied: "Take the picture with my crown on you bitch, before I jam that bloody camera straight up your arse wide angle lens and all”. Cameras follow the queen as she stormed off, an official lifting the large train of her blue velvet cape off the floor.

Internet blamed for Shanghai teen pregnancies
Zhang Zhengrong, a doctor who oversees the city's first-aid hotline for pregnant teens, said 46 percent of the more than 20,000 teenage girls who called the hotline over the past two years said they had had sex with boys they met on the Internet. Most of the pregnancies can be traced back to one horny internet surfer; a Shanghai University graduate student named Bang Yeung-Tang.

Dinner guest finds host's wife, son in freezer
A Belgian man appeared in court on Friday after a woman at his dinner party found the bodies of his wife and stepson in the freezer as she put away the leftovers, prosecutors said. The man appeared relieved after realizing the guest didn’t finish the last of his Haagen-Dazs Vanilla and Cookies ice cream.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Things to Keep Away from Cars

Broken Window Ball – Baseball, football, soccer ball, I even saw a bowling ball once. My favorite sport is drinking; you don’t see me with a vodka bottle stuck in my window.

Rest In Peace Memorials – I’m sorry that your friend or relative died, but to memorialize him on the back window of a ’78 Olds Cutlass with missing hubcaps, body rust, and a hanging muffler is not really a tribute now is it?

Much Too Heavy Objects on Roof – A leather sectional should never be perched atop the roof of a Kia Sorrento….ever

Cell Phone Talkers – That conversation about last night’s Grey’s Anatomy doesn’t need to happen in the express lane as you drive 50mph. It can wait until you get home, or better yet just send an email.

My Child is an Honor Student – That’s great! Maybe young Einstein can teach you how to signal when changing lanes.

Wanted Dead or Alive: Bin Laden- News flash here..you are not going to hunt him down at the Wendy’s on Exit 11 of the New Jersey Turnpike. Get your fat ass over to Afghanistan and start scouring some caves.

Putting on makeup – Unless your name is Estee Lauder or Maybelline herself, you are going to look like a Circus clown and disfigure the rest of us when the pile-up happens

Caution: Show Dogs Inside – I didn’t notice your car before reading this, now I’m speeding up to see what kind of dogs you have and the chances of an accident have increased substantially. Besides, if those dogs were that special you’d have them in seatbelts.

Friday, July 06, 2007

I’ll have the Chicken with the Poison Mushroom Seasoning Please (part II)

I was able to go the self-medication route for about two days but I wasn’t getting any better. I don’t know if this was just a weird coincidence or not; but my wife asked me if I mailed the life insurance quarterly payment. I didn’t have the strength to check if the bill was actually due or not. I never got sick eating her chicken and mushrooms before we had life insurance? It was at this point I felt as though I should seek professional medical attention and stay out the family medical cabinet.

Since my wife could no longer be trusted I wanted my brother Chuck to drive me to the hospital. So, I called over there: “Food poisoning??? You’re a goddamned pussy aren’t you?” “Mom, could you please just put Chuck on the phone? I really need to get to an emergency room; I think I’m going to die! “He’s at the store getting me smokes, hemorrhoid cream, and a stool softener. I don’t feel so hot either ya know” mom added. “Just tell him to get here FAST!” I pleaded. With the disturbing visual of mom applying hemorrhoid cream, or even worse Chuck applying it for her, I dropped the phone and charged to the bathroom to puke yet again.

The doctor looked like he was about eighteen years old; “Wow, you have a very high fever, you must really feel like crap!” he said. “That’s why I’m here” I mumbled. I was much too weak to produce a better sarcastic follow-up.

Doogie Houser pronounced; “I think you need antihistamine”. Don’t you mean antibiotics? I countered. “That too if it will make you feel better”. Okay, now I know why they call it “practicing medicine” Did this kid get his medical license inside a box of Cocoa Puffs? I am about to die and I’m probably stuck with the doctor who graduated dead last in his class from the worst medical school in the country. That is, if he even went to medical school!!

He prescribed to me something called Celecobix and said it should help me immediately. Well, it turns out Celecobix is more commonly known as Celebrex which is an anti-inflammatory NOT an antibiotic. Why didn't I know this before I took it? It’s used to treat the following ailments: arthritis pain, menstrual cramps, and colon polyps. I don’t have arthritis, the Midol didn’t help with the cramps, and the last time I did a thorough self-exam I didn’t notice any colon polyps.

To add insult to injury, I’m deathly allergic to Celebrex!! Shortly after the first dose I began having violent convulsions in the driveway of my house. Apparently, my seizures were mistaken for old school break dancing as some of the neighborhood teenagers gathered around my driveway blaring a boom box and chanting: “Go Willy, it’s your birthday, it’s your birthday”.

It wasn’t until I lay motionless for over a minute that someone got the bright idea to hide the weed and dial 911. They rushed me back to the hospital where I got my stomach pumped and was hooked up to an IV to replenish my fluids.

I was greeted by still clueless Doogie Houser who asked “You look really familiar, have we ever met before?” “Yes, WE MET IN HELL ” I grunted back. I stayed in the hospital for another three days before being given a clean bill of health, and then I was released.

So the bottom line is this…If you have the misfortune of ever getting food poisoning make sure you don’t try to cure it yourself and don’t go to a incompetent doctor. Of course, you probably won’t know the doctor is horrible until he actually treats you. So, just stay away from foods that might give you food poisoning. Of course, you probably won’t know which foods cause food poisoning until you actually get food poisoning from that food.

So, you’re really screwed no matter what!

I’ll have the Chicken with the Poison Mushroom Seasoning Please (part I)

I can’t die now, I’m too young, I have too many places I need to see, too many things I need to do.

It felt like someone punched a hole through my stomach wall, then unclench his fist, only to re-clench it even tighter around all my internal organs. The only momentary relief came during the unpredictable bouts of diarrhea. The intense vomiting, on the other hand, only enhanced that organ squeezing feeling.

This illness was unlike anything other I’ve ever experienced. For starters, it came out of nowhere. Not that one ever expects an illness to send an e-mail reading: “Hey, what’s up? I just wanted to let you know I might be around on the weekend of the 21st and if so, let’s hang out. BTW-. I’m really going to fuck you up sooo bad, you’re going to wish you were dead!! Okay Gotta run :-)” But, at least with the flu, you might start with a runny nose, a few sneezes, the throbbing headache, etc. You know it’s coming so you get prepared by taking medications before it really gets a hold of you.

Unfortunately, this is NOT the case with FOOD POISONING. Food poisoning is akin to hearing running water hitting your front door on a sunny day, you then open the door only to be surprised by your schizophrenic drunken cousin Eddie; who you thought wasn’t eligible for parole until at least ’09 and who just happened to be in the neighborhood. He has to piss so bad he forgets his manners and doesn't ring the doorbell. He is trying to steady himself against the house with the left hand; while the right hand is firmly gripped around his junk. Your door was functioning well as his urinal, until you opened it, that is. Now your brand new $200 Asics Kayano running shoes are getting an undeserved golden shower. His Harley is on your lawn and divots of your lawn are on his Harley, surrounded by a case of Old Milwaukee tallboy empties and a fat tattooed topless passed out biker ho.


I don’t know if it was the chicken or the mushrooms, or both, but I won’t eat either ever again. I hate doctors, so I tried to self-medicate in hopes I could cure myself. I took everything my wife had in the medicine cabinet. Don’t ever believe those women in the commercials during General Hospital, Midol does nothing for cramps, although some of the bloating did go down…

Thursday, July 05, 2007

It’s a Dog Eat Dog, Man Eat Dog World

It is only fitting that the best hotdog eater in the world should have a last name that is a food. Joey Chestnut won the Mustard Belt prize for the most hotdogs ever eaten. Has anyone every eaten a chestnut? I know they roast on an open fire because I've heard in that Christmas song, but I’ve never heard anyone proclaim the tasty goodness of the chestnut, unlike say honey roasted nuts. I could eat them all day and night.

Chestnut, the dude not the food nobody eats, chowed down on sixty-six hotdogs in twelve minutes to win the July 4th Coney Island, NY competition. Having no prior knowledge of the event or Joey Chestnut, I turned on the last few minutes of ESPN Sports Center thinking Lance Armstrong had come out of the closet.

Let me explain….Chestnut bears a striking resemblance to Armstrong. He was giving his victory speech “I just love Nathan’s hotdog” is the only part I heard. I thought Lance rebounded from Cheryl “I use one square to wipe” Crowe with some cat named Nathan. For Lance’s sake I hope Nathan keeps the back door cleaner than Cheryl. If he uses two squares he is theoretically twice as hygienic.

It turns out I was mistaken, which happens a lot. Nathan’s hotdogs are the sponsor of the event. I don’t think Lance or Chestnut like dudes, but they still look a like.

Chestnut; who is twenty-three defeated defending champ Takeru Kobayashi, a twenty-eight -year-old from Japan, who entered the competition with a jaw injury but still managed to eat sixty-three hotdogs. Jaw injury? Maybe Kobayshi is gay?

Neither of these guys are fat. Chestnut is about 215lbs. and Kobayshi can’t be more than 150lbs. I fully expected the world champion hotdog eater to look like Michael Moore.

Is it possible to be TOO FAT to be a serious competitive eater? I’ve heard of boxers being over trained and losing in big bouts. Can you imagine this happening with a competitive eater; “Look at that fat bastard how dare he come in that kind of shape for this contest, you know he doesn’t take his over eating seriously enough to let himself get so out of shape before a match. He’s much too FAT to be considered a world class eater. He needs to go back to the buffet and start training again!!”

Kobayashi and Chestnut were in a virtual dead heat until Kobayshi resembled me after the 12th shot of Jagermeister at my bachelor party and puked all over the table.

Critics of competitive eating call the competition a “vulgar display” that should not be treated as a real sport. I vehemently disagree with this opinion. I fully endorse competitive eating and I’d like to see competitive drinking as well.

There are plenty of “vulgar displays” that should not be treated as real sports; Synchronized swimming, Greco Roman wrestling, and men’s figure skating are just a few that leap to mind. But competitive eating is not one…until they puke of course.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Almost 4th of July Firework Mishap (part II)

Dad said yes we are interested and asked Ned Beatty’s worst nightmare what he had for sale. “Hell, I got shit that would take down a small nation” replied mutton chops to the delight of the second trucker who resembled Don Knotts if he wore a cowboy hat and had both arms covered with bad black ink tattoos. He guffawed loudly through the open real estate in his face where teeth once resided.

As the door lifted we got a full view of this arsenal on eighteen wheels. “I got ½ sticks. ¼ sticks of dynamite, I got M-80, M-100, M-200, I got Roman candles and Greek candles, I got cherry bombs and apple bombs, I got enough firecrackers to line a trail from here to Savannah and back again!!.

Our once comfortable station wagon was now cramped with enough explosive material to bring down The Vet while it was it still in its prime. My brother and I had stacks of both M80s and ¼ sticks under our legs in the back seat. Dad looked back at us and smiled with the newly lit Lucky Strike dangling from lips. “You ladies gotta use the bathroom to change your pads or anything” he laughingly asked us. I didn’t know about my brother but I didn’t need to take a pit stop because I already practically shit my pants having WWIII between my knees. My brother was sweaty, ashen faced, motionless, and apparently unable to reply, but mom wanted to stretch her legs, so we pulled over.

My hunger soon replaced my fear as I thought about the Arby’s Double R Bar burger I was about to scarf down on our brief stop. With the combination of a grumbling stomach and the thought of being a castrated 9 year old I couldn’t exit the shitwagaon fast enough. As I hopped out I noticed my chain smoking father light another Lucky Strike from the depleted one he just finished.

My brother not only sprang to life, but sprinted like Carl Lewis toward the Arby’s bathroom. Dad was quickly dismissing mom’s concerns about the safety of traveling with munitions. “Only idiots who don’t know what they are doing get hurt” he said. “It’s the morons you read about every year who lose body parts, I’m no moron and I ain’t about to lose any body parts”. Mom in all her gullibility seemed satisfied with Dad’s idiotic justification and put her head on my dad’s shoulder as they laughed their way toward the restaurant.

With full bellies my brother and I talked about how cool we’d look to the kids in the neighborhood with our new 4th of July toys. Just think about the fire power we are going to display in just two short days? It was just then we heard the loudest explosion ever, followed by the second loudest ever, then the third loudest ever..


The passenger door flew in the air like a tossed crushed aluminum can, windows shattered with quick and violent pop after pop. Stream after stream of multiple colors took to the sky followed by louder popping. My Mickey Mouse ears were on fire, luggage burned like logs in a fireplace. After what seemed like forever with the explosions and popping sound, a black smoldering mountain was all that was left our car.

After questioning and interrogation by multiple law enforcement agencies it was determined that hell at the rest stop was caused by I’m no moron’s still lit cigarette. He of course quickly tried to blame mom who hadn’t had a cigarette in six months, then asked if me or my brother (9 and 11 at the time) were smokers.

After the arrest and the fines, we were driven to the airport by the South Carolina State Police and told in so many words to “never to show our Yankee asses in my state again’. The flight home was not too bad with not having any luggage to check in and all. To add irony to insult, the movie on the flight home was called “Fire” starring Ernest Borgnine and Patty Duke. When dad saw the opening credits he asked the flight attendant to keep the Scotch on the rocks coming fast.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Almost 4th of July Firework Mishap (part I)

I was just an excited kid on the car ride home from my families first and last Disney vacation when my older brother asked dad to stop and buy fireworks for the upcoming 4th of July holiday. Fully expecting my father’s backhand to catch me first before connecting to my brother’s empty melon, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to hear my father say “That’s a great idea!”. Looking to ride coattails I chimed in with “I want fireworks too!!”. I was quickly rebuffed by Dad with “If I wanted any shit out of you I would have squeezed your head!!” At least he didn’t say no.

We traveled north on I-95 through South Carolina and saw big billboards advertising the sale of fireworks. So Dad pulled the shitwagon off the interstate and stopped at a place called “South of the Border”; a Mexican styled campground and theme park. I thought it was strange because I didn’t notice any Mexicans working there at all. Maybe they pay too well for Americans not to work there?

We followed the signs to the gift shop where they apparently sold fireworks. The guy working the counter said “Weeze plum out of most of the good stuff.” The only thing he had left were something we called sparklers. There were two reasons for this, the first being you could buy sparklers any where in the northeast, and the second no kid wanted to caught dead with a sparkler in his neighborhood on the 4th of July. The little sparkles may last a minute or two, but the verbal abuse could possibly continue until you go away to college.

My dad, brother, and I looked like three dejected kids who just lost their puppy. Mom, on the other hand was smiling and looking toward the sky while saying “Thank you, thank you.” It was just at that point when we were confronted by two good ole boy truckers who just exited the convoy and nearly avoided Smokey. The one who spoke first wore a Civil War type cap and had long mutton chop sideburns. His hairy belly protruded from the multi-stained unintentional half-shirt he was wearing. “Y’all in need of fireworks” is what I made out before being distracted by the stream of Skoal chewing tobacco that shot from his lips and landed on the pointy tip of his right cowboy boot..