Remember, remember the 7th of NoVember.

This November 7th marks a historic day in the history of all things historical. I’m not speaking in regard to it being the day AFTER our nation chooses just who is going to take this broken horse of a country out behind the stable and finally put it out of it’s misery. My excitement towards the 7th day of this month lies in the fact that it will be the 25th anniversary (silver for those of you wanting to buy a gift in observation of this momentous day) of me losing my virginity.

That’s right people, I’ve been exchanging bodily fluids, lies, excuses, regrets, currency and communicable diseases with girlfriends, pseudo friends, internet dates, strippers and total strangers for…a quarter of a century and still going strong. I’d even go so far as to boast that my proficiency rivals that of any modern day assembly line with a 90% approval rating…because I don’t pay attention to those who criticize and just don’t care about the other 10% of the people I’ve been with because I was intoxicated for days or months at a time.

“But, Chris, what humble beginnings did you come from?“ Is a question no one’s bothered to ask because no one gives a shit about the answer. Well friends, I’ll go ahead and tell you about the day that changed my life forever anyway. Besides, what else is there to do right now with your mobile device while you’re on the toilet, Jon Dove? Or working out at the gym, T.J. Likes? Or still hanging out in your closet, Mike Delfs? Or planning an all out armed Christian revolution if Romney losses, James Johnston? Or watching your husband plan said armed revolution Angie Johnston? Or trying to remember where your keys & I.D. are Stacey Lynn? The answer is; Nothing. So, enjoy…

It was 1987 and Def Leppard’s Hysteria album was dominating the airwaves just as Tawny Kitaen laying spread eagle on a Jaguar for Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” video was dominating MTV. I had just turned 14, my parents were newly divorcees and I‘d been stuck in the same catholic school for the past 8 years.

Top that off with gorging myself on a steady cultural diet of hair metal music and Cinemax After Dark movies (Emmanuel were a fave) and the sexcapades both those entities espoused and any 5th grader could predict that I was well on my way to becoming a teenage sex statistic with either an unplanned pregnancy or STD.

Two months prior to 11/7/87 a girl by the name of Stephanie Meyer had started at our school. She was a new face and had a long history of changing schools as often has her meth smoking, bartending mom changed boyfriends and addresses. I’m fairly certain that one can already surmise just what type of home life she had and why it would make perfect sense that she became the Yin for my Yang as well as the yin to a dozen other’s yangs also.

Steph (as she hated to be called) and I had been “going together” for quite some time because she liked Mexican guys, or as her white trash vernacular dictated; Beaners. During our tenure we’d made out, wrote letters and gave ourselves the same theme song Tawny Kitaen used for attempting to have intercourse with a motor vehicle on MTV. We also had one minor break-up which was quickly remedied by me wearing a fedora to school the next day and winning her back on my wardrobe alone because even then girls were stupid when it came to douche bag swag.

The 7th fell on a Saturday and Stephanie had called me that morning to tell me her mom was out of town and we should hang out. I quickly concocted a story to my mom about how I wanted to meet some friends at a local recreation center to play basketball and video games that just happened to be down the street from Stephanie’s place. My mom, acting against her better judgment (which would become a recurring thing in all matters Chris related for the next 4 years) agreed to drop me off at the Rec center and told me she’d be back in 4 hours.

This gave me a two hundred and forty minute window of opportunity to eradicate my virginity once and for all. Most if not all teenage boys view the losing of their virginity the same way a cancer patient views remission. This may sound a bit dramatic to the laymen (females the world over) but if you ask any puberty stricken guy if he’s stoked about the prospect of being a virgin for the rest of his life and the consequential  social backlash attached to it, his answer is a deafening “FUCK NO!“ To us virginity is a curse. It’s The Original Sin we’re born with and our job is to exorcise, vanquish or cure it A-S-A fucking P.

I’d spent countless years wondering how I was going overcome the congenital condition I suffered from and now, on this day, it seemed as if a solution was in sight. Some might even call it providence.

Stephanie met me at the Rec center and we immediately did what most kids do without money, a car or the moxie to suggest having sex; we walked around aimlessly. Finally after two hours and many miles later, she suggested we go back to her place. I’d like to say that I remember it beat for beat but it’s been twenty five years with lots of drugs, alcohol and grey hairs filling in that time. I can remember that her room looked just like a room from an after school movie about kids who have sex and something terrible happens.

Posters on the wall, a bunk bed she shared with her older sister who I can only guess was busy doing the same thing at some other boy’s place. Clothes strewn about and a personalized license plate one of her mom’s boyfriends had stolen off a car that said “CUDDLES” on it.

I remember everything was so…easy. There weren’t any awkward moments, everything seemed to transition the way I’d watched thousands of times in movies. I had no idea how to move so I just faked it and figured slower was better. Which seemed to work because this shit went on for almost an hour.

I know, I know, when I tell others about it, they, as am I, are surprised that my maiden voyage out into the seas of sexuality lasted so long without any cataclysmic mishaps. I can't explain it either but the funny thing is, I never came. I'm guessing for all the low-grade education I’d gotten on sex from music and movies, no one bothered to mention the bonus part at the end, or better put, the bonus part that signifies the end. And truth be told up til then I’d never masturbated because again, it wasn’t in any of my reference materials and I think any of my guy friends that were doing it at the time sure as hell weren't going to talk about it with any other guy at the risk of being called a homo. Simply put, I had no idea my little fella could do that.  But I was informed on everything I needed to know from someone I never wanted to hear it from soon enough.

We finished and got dressed, I walked down the street and sat up against a tree outside the Rec center as I waited for my mom to pick me up. The sun was setting and the leaves had already turned and covered the ground yet it was still mild out. I fell asleep while waiting and that’s when I experienced the next best thing about sex, the after sex nap. Angels and dead people couldn’t sleep this peaceful.

The sound of my mom’s car horn put an end to my very first post-coitus slumber and on the ride home she could tell something was different about me and that’s when she figured it was time to get her own hands dirty.

You know, Chris, masturbation isn’t a sin. It’s the act of touching your private parts to give yourself pleasure. God doesn’t frown upon that, contrary to popular belief.

Wha-

He does however frown upon sex before marriage.

I-

When you have sex with a girl and ejaculate inside her, she can get pregnant. That can cause problems, just ask your 16 year old cousin Sarah. Ejaculation is the act of spewing seamen. It’s a white discharge that comes from your penis. It makes babies…

But-

…except in the case of your father. He told me his seamen couldn’t do that. That’s why you and your other brother are adopted and why we were all surprised when I got pregnant with your youngest brother. Your dad blamed me for having an affair. As if.

Mom, I-

Heavy petting is also an infraction upon God. Better to just keep your hands to yourself and on yourself. But don’t let your brothers catch you doing it, I don’t think they’re old enough to get anything out of it and they’ll  probably end up hurting themselves.

This is all-

A talk your Dad was supposed to have with you but guess who gets stuck doing it. Did I ever tell you I was going to become a nun before I met your father?

Several times.

Then you know what I’m saying about God’s likes and dislikes are legitimate, yes?

In the end my own mother filled me in on some of the more embarrassing things pop culture had left out about sex as well as giving me a thumbs up, or open palm salute, to jerk off. Stephanie and I went on dating through out the year with a lot of fights, tears and break ups and I think it’s safe to say she had sex with most of my friends and a lot of strangers as well. Surprise, surprise.

It was a very realistic introduction to just how confusing and vicious sex can be for a kid wrestling with the emotional burdens of adolescence. I sometimes wonder since she was my first impression on relationships that somewhere I came to mistake dysfunction as being normal. Then again, maybe I just like crazy women because they make me feel sane.

I lost touch with Stephanie after my 8th grade year but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out she had a myriad of children, addictions, diseases, stage names or any combination of the four. Then again, maybe she’s picked herself up by her stripper heel straps, overcome adversity and started writing books about vampires and werewolves being in love. But I seriously doubt she’s THAT Stephanie Meyer. Mainly because I’ve checked already

Re-CRUE-tited

“Ow go the liez, in gooooez mah kniiiiife”

Did you understand that first line, Chris?

No how could I? You sound like you’re trying to scream with rocks in your mouth.


It was the summer of 1984, my friend Trevor and I were both 10. We were sitting at his kitchen table and in between bites of his spaghetti-o’s he was excitedly trying to emulate a song he’d heard the day before at an older neighbor kid’s house.

Ok, see if  you can figure out this next verse, I’ll sing it louder, maybe that’ll help.

“Pulled owwwwt hiz liEEEF, consider that baaaazterd dead!”

Trevor, for the love of all things holy, quit trying to sing, you’re awful at it.

Sorry, Mom. Well?

Nothing.

Fine, I’ll say it then. “Pulled out his life, consider that bastard dead.”

Did you say… “bastard”?

Yeah! That’s the name of the song. Can you believe it? How cool is it that a band has a song named Bastard?

Trevor, are you cursing again?

Not that I know of, mom. What do you think, Chris?

Scary.

Scary?  How?

 I don’t know, just the name, and the words to the song. Using a knife to pull out someone’s life. Sounds violent and dangerous. Both those things usually scare me.

Well not me, man. I’m way hip to it . You should be too.

Who sings this song? I’m certain it’s not on the radio.

It’s this band named Motley Crue. They also sing songs about shouting at the devil.

I’d never heard of this band before, but the mere mention of their name, Motley Crue, conjured up images of some very ruthless, demonic human beings that probably looked like something out of a Stephen King movie. Only a week earlier I had painstakingly listened to Eye of The Tiger a million times over so I could write out the lyrics for Trevor so he could sing it the right way. Now he wants to sing about killing bastards and yelling at the devil?  What kind of evil spell was this musical group casting upon the masses? What the fuck was happening to my best friend?

Trevor, what’s happening to you?

I’m just becoming totally awesome. Why?

Why? Because we’re into stuff like Michael Jackson and break dancing, remember?  We listened to an interview with Boy George on the radio a couple months ago, we wear bandannas and parachute pants.

No, no, no, Chris, I wear parachute pants. Those things that you wear and call parachute pants are some sort of imitation things you found in the girls section at JC Penny’s.

I’m short, normal pants won’t fit me so my mom had to buy me a girls pair. What’s this have to do with anything?

I’m moving on, no more boring stuff like break dancing, parachute pants and bandannas. I’m all about Motley Crue and having looks that kill.

Looks that-

It’s another one of their songs, you should get into them too, we could even start a band just like them!

No bands, Trevor, you can’t sing. Find something else to do.

You’re not being supportive, mom.

I refuse to support tragedies, son.

A week later I was standing in the tape cassette section of Kmart. In the past I’d perused this isle in search of Joan Jett, Rick Springfield and a very played out copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks :Chipmunk Rock. Now, I held in my hand the dastardly, sinister Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil. Absent on the cover was the androgynous but safe look of Joan Jett. Or the PG rated picture of Rick Springfield and his cool guitar or the drawing of Alvin, Simon & Theodore’s faces etched into Mt. Rushmore.

This tape’s cover had four men and or women on it looking as if they were in hell and so close to the devil that shouting wasn’t required to be heard. All of the members looked like they could kill, maim, destroy and apply make-up better than any woman I’d come across in my decade long existence on this earth.  

As I stood there holding the tape I knew I was in possession of something dark, unpredictable and vicious. It’s contents and ideals would eventually expose me to a seedy world of sex, violence, rebellion and the pursuit of great looking long hair.

What I didn’t know at the time was that which I held in my hand would be a major influence on me well into my adult years. This was my gateway moment but I had no idea it was happening because truth be told, the four people on the cover of this album were scaring the absolute shit out of me. Yet I was strangely magnetized to it. It was such a polar opposite of everything in my life that I couldn’t put it down.

It was calling to me, beckoning me, recruiting me.

I quickly turned it over and scanned the song list;  In the Beginning, Shout at the Devil, Looks that Kill, and there it was, Bastard. Trevor hadn’t been lying. Other song names were Red Hot, Helter Skelter and one aptly titled; Danger.

I checked the price; $7.95. Then I pulled out my Velcro wallet and checked my funds;10 bucks. I grasped the tape, took a deep breath and went to find my mom so we could proceed to the checkout line. While waiting in line with her, she inquired about the little souvenir from hell I was about to purchase.

What music are you buying?

Now even though I hadn’t heard one single note from these guys, I knew they’d be instant contraband in my home.  When I was in kindergarten I loved KISS, my mom bought me their records, a lunch box, bubblegum cards and even made me a wig out of yarn that I could wear around to try to look like Ace Frehley.

Then she heard from one of our loud mouth neighbors that KISS was an acronym for Kings In Satan’s Society. The next day my mother, my primary enabler, collected all my beloved KISS paraphernalia and did a good old fashioned effigy burning to cleanse our house of the evil. To make clear, she preformed a ritual that hearkened back to the days of the dark ages and set fire to anything that had to do with the music of the damned. Not even my yarn wig was spared.

Needless to say, I knew that if she became privy to the contents of  this particular tape I was attempting to purchase that she’d instantaneously set it ablaze as it made it’s way to the cashier via the conveyor belt. I had to be sneaky.

Uh this tape? It’s like a Halloween kinda thing.

It’s July, why are they selling Halloween stuff now?

No idea. Trevor was telling me about it though. It’s supposed to be pretty scary.

Scary? Chris, you have problems sleeping at night as it is.

Well this shouldn’t be THAT bad…

And your little brother hates it when you crawl into bed with him because you’re too scared to sleep alone.

Mom!

Plus, you play with his ears while you’re in his bed uninvited. He hates you for that as well.

I-

And you’re not sleeping with your father and I…

Fine! I promise I won’t let myself get that scared.

Nor playing with OUR ears…

Ok, I get it already!

Good. Are those girls or boys on the cover?

I can't tell.

As in you're not going to tell me?

As in I don't know.

Why does it have the word ‘devil’ on it? IS IT LIKE KISS?! Will I have to burn it later?

No! It says shout at the devil. They’re probably mad at him.

So is it Christian music?

Sure, Christian Halloween music.

Trevor told you it was good?

Yeah.

Didn’t he also tell you he was half black?

He did.

That kid is whiter than the snow. Eccentric, just like his mother. Really smart. I guess really smart means you’re also really weird.

Then I’ll make sure to keep myself just dumb enough to stay normal. Any chance you want to buy this for me?

No. The last time I bought you music you threw a fit and made me return it. Never again.

You bought me Olivia Newton John…for a Valentine’s day gift. It felt very weird.

What? You liked her in Grease.

I thought she was hot in Grease, at the end of the movie when she changed into all black clothes and did her hair up.

Such a disappointment. She was so cute and proper through that whole movie then changed to a bad girl just to impress a boy.

It impressed this boy.

I fear the type of women you’ll grow up and be attracted to.

TJ Trippin' - Numero Dos

Inside Strip Club… 

Wow dude you weren’t full of shit, these girls are beautiful.

Told you. And I’ve already found who I want.

So soon?

It’s the Viagra. At this point in time, my dick is making all the decisions.

Well at least the more alert one of you two is making the decisions. What could possibly go wrong?

 I’ll see you in a half hour.

Now YOU’RE leaving me too?

Drink some beers, they’re only 2 bucks, just relax and enjoy the show.

Do they offer donkey shows here? Because I’d hate to be forced to see something so bizarre on such a large scale, quite literally.

No, no such thing exists.

Really? I thought it was a Mexican past time or sport or at least something depicted on their currency.

I’ve tried to find them. As mythical as the Loch Ness Monster. See you in 30.

20 minutes later…

You’re back 10 minutes early.

I know, the little bell boy bastard came knocking on the door saying the time was up. Totally jewed me out of my Mexican experience.

Why would a brothel-

Hotel.

Sure. Why does a hotel have a bell boy knocking on the doors…at any given time?

It’s a sham to get the girls out of the room quicker so they can get back to the club and get another customer and so on and so fourth. Total blue baller to my nuts and my wallet. And on top of that, I still had to tip him.

For what?

Giving me a towel.

You don’t look like you took a shower.

It’s for the girl, to clean herself afterwards.

Then why are you tipping him for her cleanliness?

Fuck if I know, man. It’s just the way things are. I told you this place was backwards.

I thought the prostitution industry was one of the few honest trades down here.

It is, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exploit the consumer.

So wouldn’t you say it’s all cyclical?

Why would a bike have anything to do with this?

Cyclical. As in it all comes around full circle. The Americans come down to exploit the girls and the bell boys come out and exploit the Americans.

Okay, first off, I’m not exploiting anyone. I’m merely doing my part to contribute to this country’s fledgling economy, help some girl pay her rent and make her feel validated. As far as I’m concerned, the fucking bell boy is infringing on all the good that I’m trying to do humanitarian, fiscally, socially and emotionally wise. You try to help people and all they want to do is fuck you.

While you’re fucking them, until you’re time is up.

See any girl that you like?

I like ‘em all.

Are you going to pick one?

I like my integrity more. And that’s not to diss you in anyway. I totally understand your mindset, I just don’t share it.

Yet. Have a few more drinks, things will start to make sense.

How’s that?

Just wait and see.

Hey guys.

Dale, how was the orgy?

Eh.

Eh?

There were only a few girls, had to kinda wait around in between blow jobs and fucking them...with a bunch of other dudes.

Yeah I would suppose those things don’t  run as smoothly as seen on TV. Dicks flopping everywhere, girl pulling pubic hair out of her mouth mid oral copulation. Sounds more like an infuriating 20 cock pile up on the freeway of sexuality as opposed to some type of mind blowing sexual liberation in the fast lane, or carpool lane in your case.

You guys get laid yet?

I did. This guy on the other hand…

What’s your issue?

I’m just not feelin’ it. It all seems so…impersonal.

Impersonal? What’s more personal then getting naked and having sex with someone?

Sharing my hopes and fears with them post coital bliss. How can I do that when they don’t speak English?

Dude, there’s men’s clubs down here too.

I thought this was a men’s club.

I’m talking to go get men to have sex with.

I’m not gay.

Well ya sure fucking sound like it. BUT, I’ve got something else planned for us, might make you feel a little more…relaxed. Let’s go.

Where?

Yeah, Dale, where?

Hotel.

There’s one next door-

No not one to fuck in, to get for the night.

We’re staying here, like, until tomorrow?

Yeah. I told you I had our whole trip planned.

But-

Hotel…for sleeping, not sex.

Wow, only $40 for a room that I can’t use sink water to brush my teeth with on the account that I could get some kind of blood borne bacteria. Why don’t they just put that in their welcome brochure?

Alright, fellas, let’s get curbside.

For what?

Our ride.

Ride?

I called an actual house brothel, more low key place where we can drink some beers and hang out with some hot girls and get naked for $70.

Wow, the price for house hookers is a bit more.

Housebroken fee perhaps?

Curbside…

So do we need to hail a cab?

Hail, no.  Heh, get it?

Oh we get it, Dale.

How are we getting to said house brothel?

They’re sending a driver.

Whoa, whoa, whoa…are you saying this flop house has shuttle service?

Indeed.

And we’re going to utilize it?

Sure, why not?

Yeah, man, relax, it’s gonna be fine.

Oh is this the part where you use the business model of Dominoes Pizza delivery guys now? But instead of them bringing the pizza to us, they’re taking us to the pizza? Are you two fucking profoundly retarded? You’re just going to trust some stranger, in Tijuana, to take us somewhere? What if we get kidnapped?

Well then I guess we’re about to find out.

How’s that?

Because he just pulled up.

Where?

Across the street in the black SUV.

Oh, awesome, those are the unofficial death cars of Mexico. Every pic you see of a cartel shoot-out has at least one mandatory black SUV…riddled with bullets, blood and bodies.

Let’s go, sissy.

Can I at least bring my beer so as to get drunk enough to warrant this bad decision?

Sure.











 

TJ Trippin'

Wanna go to Tijuana this weekend?

No, it’s dangerous.

No it isn’t.

Let me do a Google search. Tijuana / Safety

Jesus.

It says here that 8 bodies were found roped up and hanging from a bridge in Tijuana last week. Although the ropes weren’t tied around their necks since they were all missing their heads.

That’s an isolated incident fueled by media sensationalism.

It goes on to say that this type of brutality is the norm. Two months ago, 30 bodies were found with their skin boiled off. Tell me why going there is a good idea and putting me in the equation makes sense to you.

Listen, those people…

Victims.

Whatever. They’re all involved in the cartel wars. As long as you aren’t involved with their drugs, you’re fine.

Why do you want to go down there?

Drugs.

How stupid are you?

Hear me out. First off, the drugs I want are pharmaceutical. They have tons of pharmacies down there. I’m not buying cocaine or smack. Just painkillers and Viagra.

Why do you need Viagra?

For the hookers I’m gonna fuck.

Hookers are on the menu as well?

Of course, they’re beautiful. Way hotter than the stuck up American girls we have to deal with in the states.

I’ll give you that American girls have an undeserving sense of monetary entitlement but risking your safety for a prostitute expecting monetary reimbursement seems a little…

They only cost 60 bucks.

It’s never crossed my mind to pay for sex until now. But I don’t think it’s something I’m into.

No one’s saying you have to, but once you see these girls, you might change your mind.

I’ll accompany you as a conscientious observer.

Sure, whatever the fuck that is. Be at my place tomorrow, we’re leaving at 2pm.

2 pm Tomorrow...

Glad you came.

I’m still not sure about all this.

I figured you wouldn’t be, that’s why I invited my friend Dale. Thought maybe you’d feel safer in a group.

The old safety in numbers thing. Something with the acronym SIN is supposed to make me feel better huh?

You’ll be fine. You’ll see. Besides, he’s a pro at this.

Sex with hookers?

Oh yeah,  sex in general, a total maniac. He was even on a live broadcast gangbang one time.

You don’t say. What would I type in a search engine to view said gangbang?

Live gangbang / Darth Vader.

Why Darth Vader?

Because he’s the one wearing a Darth Vader mask.

While he’s fucking?

YEAH!

I…

Sweet, he just pulled up. Lets jump in with him and roll.

Inching (not rolling as first proposed) down the 405...

So, Dale, you’ve been to Tijuana a lot huh?

Plenty of times, I even wrote the TJ Manifesto.

Is this manifesto published as is the communist one?

Online.

You have an online publication?

No, I just put the shit up online.

Where?

Tijuana chat rooms.

There’s such a thing?

Of course, that’s where you find out which places to go to when you want to fuck hookers or where to get a good street dog.

So its like a directory or food menu?

Not like. Is. I’ve planned our whole itinerary tonight based on chat room info.

And you trust what these people say?

Why wouldn’t I?

Maybe they just want to lure Americans into Tijuana to kidnap them, hold them for ransom.

You do too many Google searches.

Seriously, a friend of mine had a friend…

That knew a girl that was kidnapped and murdered while she was there with her college friends. Her friends couldn’t find her until they just happened to see her whiz by in the backseat of a van full of Mexicans that it was later revealed were en route to the U.S. border. When the guards searched the van they discovered the girl was dead, her insides had been carved out and replaced with bricks of cocaine in an attempt to smuggle drugs into America.

Wow, that’s exactly the story. Was she your friend too?

Fuck no. That’s just a very well known Tijuana myth that everyone likes to tell, makes ’em feel worldly, or in the know or cool. Really, just makes ‘em look dumb for believing and repeating such a farce.

Makes me feel scared…and dumb.

McDonalds in San Diego…


You go to the bathroom and come out with your hair dripping wet, what the fuck?

I wanted to clean up, look good for the girls.

So you took a whore bath in the sink?

Don’t judge me. You’d better order something while you’re here, I’m not sharing my chicken nuggets with you when we get back on the road.

Back on the road. Pass sign “Last U.S. Exit.” Pass another sign “Illegal to Have Firearms in Mexico.”

Hmm, you think that sign helps curb the violence in Mexico?

It’s truly not as bad as it’s made out to be.

Why do you believe that, Dale?

As it stands, the two main warring cartels have a fragile peace accord throughout TJ because they want Americans to come and spend their dollars in Mexico because they’re intertwined with a lot of the businesses. They want TJ to be thought of as a Las Vegas type destination.

Well it’s reassuring to know that tourism dollars are on their mind. Do the cartels own the clubs we’re going to for your hookers?

Probably not. The money from those clubs would be a pittance to them.

Why do  you say that?

Because I wanted to use the word “pittance” in a sentence.

Walking across U.S. / Mexico border...

If the violence “isn’t as bad as its made out to be” then did the Mexican boarder guards not get the memo?
Is that why they’re holding heavy duty machine guns…and staring at us?

Relax, it’s just a show of the zero tolerance for violence.

With the blatant threat of violence. Lesson learned. It smells fantastic here, is that shit or piss or a nice combination of  the two with a scent of street garbage?

It’s 3rd world charm. I’ll meet up with you guys at the club in two hours.

Wait! Why are we splitting up? Why is Dale meeting us and not coming with us? Remember our little SIN brotherhood?

Calm down, he has a reservation.

At where, Red Lobster?  Do they have those down here?

A house orgy.

Seriously?

Yeah its in the middle of nowhere.

So he’s just going to jump in a cab…like he’s doing right now and drive to the boondocks to get naked with a bunch of strangers and possibly taste another man’s genitals by proxy?

I told you he was a maniac.

When he picked us up I thought for sure he’d change out of those board shorts and Crocs but no. He’s actually attending an orgy in Crocs. His dick ever fetch him a disease engaging in all this behavior?

Just cirrhosis, but that’s genetic not communicable. Let’s hit this pharmacy.

After hitting the pharmacy...

Sweet, so this Viagra should kick in an about 30 minutes. Let’s take a taxi to a club.

Do we have to?

Fine, we’ll walk but we’ve gotta make it quick. It’s nearly impossible to walk with a boner.

Walking (pre-boner)…

Why are all those cop cars driving around like retards in that empty river ravine?

Some training exercise, who knows? This place is backwards. Try not to think about it.

How’s your dick?

We’ve gotta cab it the rest of the way. No whining.

Cabin’ it the rest of the way with no whining…

Hola amigos, where to?

Wow, authentic.

Norte Rojo, por favor.

You know Spanish?

Just important stuff and places.

Norte Rojo, an important place…

Ok, so the way it works is simple, this place is a strip club  but also a market. When you see a girl that you like, you just go up and ask her.

Ask her what?

To fuck, to get naked, for sexy time. However you wanna coin your phrase.

You make it seem so matter of fact.

It’s as easy as the chicken nuggets I ordered at Mcdonalds.

Yeah but they fucked up your dipping sauce, aren’t you worried about the dipping sauce the hooker is offering?

Look, prostitution is legal down here just like drinking in the states is if you're 21. It’s one of the few safe & enjoyable perks in this otherwise corrupt society. In order for the girls to be working they have to get tested weekly and be licensed by the city’s health department. It does the clubs or brothels no good to have a product that makes your customers sick. Just like Mcdonalds.

Wow man, you were able combine prostitution and Mcdonalds within the same business model. So after you ask the girl you like to play with your nuggets, then what?

You take her to this motel next door, rent a room for 30 min. and viola. Now lets go in...

Rumor has it...you're lame.

For the past 4 weeks I’ve been subjected to the music of Adele. And within that time frame I’ve made some striking discoveries which led me to a lot of hypothesis & theories which finally led me to a conclusive fact with supporting evidence which is this:

Adele is a horrible role model for women.

When I first heard Adele I just chalked her up to the world’s low-rent compensation for Amy Winehouse‘s passing. Kinda like when Taco Bell screws up your order of Nachos Bellgrande so their way of saying sorry is giving you a coupon for a fucking taco.

Anyway, upon first exposure to Adele I didn’t pay much attention, but as time wore on I quickly noticed one common factor in all of her songs; whining. Insistent, relentless, shameless, unadulterated, unabridged, self-serving, constant steady whining. I don’t know about you, but when I hear something whine (man, woman, child) my first instinct is to shoot it. Put it out of it’s misery as well as my own.

The next thing I noticed is that she’s fucking obsessed with her ex-boyfriend. I’m talking to the degree of stalker status. Take this line from her popular song Someone Like You: I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.

You’re free to interpret that line however you want. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that if I showed up at my ex’s front door spouting that line of perfectly rhymed bullshit, I’d be leaving with a few unwanted stab wounds to my face neck and chest area.

You’d also think that according to Adele she has nothing but affection for her ex boyfriend regardless of how things turned out. She even says so right here: I wish nothing but the best for you too. but that's not the case at all.

She's admitted that if it weren’t for her ex and what had happened between them that she wouldn’t be on the successful road she’s traveling on today. Well there’s a certain word for people who help us get to where we wanna be. That word is Life Coach. Tony Robins and his big white teeth get paid MILLIONS to do it. This guy did it for next to nothing and all he’s asking for is his fair shake and she’s being stingy and unappreciative.

But I guess if Adele wants to add those two things atop stalker and whiner then it’s her party and she can cry if she wants to. And God knows she's going to, in fact, she’ll wail. Or in direct correlation to her body size, whale.

Which leads me to my next point. Adele is way (or weigh, the puns are endless) overweight. Now I know fat girls like to hide behind such words as “full figure” or “voluptuous” but those titles fit on her as about as well as a size 9 pair of pants would. I think the only thing “full” about Adele is probably her appetite. Everything else can be described as “obese” morbid if you’re nasty. Yet still as she carts around that deuce and a half on her heels, she takes to being offended when an executive of the record label that gave her the steel reinforced platform to cry upon suggests that she lose weight.

Listen sweetness, being in shape is good for your body, your heart and your career. Whether you want to believe it or not is of little importance. But the truth is, sexy sells. In fact, if sexy had stock options, I’d put my life’s savings into it. But still you graze on stating that you’re happy with your body the way it is which is the mantra for lazy people the world over.

Even when I hear you belt out the words don’t forget me, I beg the only thing I envision is you on your plumpy tummy, one hand wrapped around your ex boyfriend’s ankle, the other tightly grasping a sandwich…which you take bites of in between your bouts of crying and pleading.

But hey, we’ll just throw out of shape and lazy to the list of stingy, unappreciative, stalker and whiner. These are all attributes that most people would not consider “positive”. But I’ll be fair, those characteristics are found in people that are on T.V. Albeit those people are the ones getting arrested on COPS.

But all that aside, the number one reason that Adele is a horrible role model for women as well as just being bad for womankind in general is that she’s made millions off of singing about her broken fucking heart. How many times have you suffered the emotional, spiritual and physical distress of a break up and the only thing you got from it was “a lesson learned”?

Yet this woman is making stupid bank. Even worse, she’s making your boyfriends rethink the way they should treat you. The new mindset will be treating you like shit by cheating on you. Seriously, all a guy needs is a half ass excuse of why he should be a permanent resident of Fuck City. In the “Adele Case” it’s because it will be for YOUR own good. Trust me on this.

Adele has inadvertently set the standard for how bad someone can be treated so your boyfriend will be inclined to go above and beyond because in the end, it’s all for you. So expect him to bang his co-worker, neighbor, Filipino housekeeper or grocery store clerk. The plus side to all this is that you can write songs about it all and become a millionaire and get that car, house, and time share in Aspen you’ve been badgering him about.

Do you want that? I think not. So stand with me won’t you? Boycott Adele. Better yet, inform the Japanese of her whereabouts and they’ll put an end to this shit pronto.

My Friends are funnier than Me.

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Kansas Convos

In March I took a 3 week trip back to Kansas. And while there’s a treasure trove of stories to tell, I figured it’d be more fun to share certain conversations that took place…

On the way to a bar at 11am.

“Where are we headed to?”
“Cousins, you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“I need to meet some people there.”
“Are we going on a drug deal?”
“Yes we are.”
“What are you getting?”
“Cocaine.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m on so many anti-depressants that when I drink I black out and do stupid things so the blow helps me maintain.”
“Makes sense.”
“Last week I didn’t have any coke and got drunk, took off all my clothes at a party and played the piano they had there…with my ass.”
“Sounds sexy.”
“I wouldn’t know because I blacked out.”
“Is there anyone in Topeka that is still holding a grudge towards me that I should know about so I can watch my back?”
“If there is someone that stupid enough they’ll have a gang of people to get through first.”
“Thanks, that means a lot. And thanks for being here for me.”
“Of course, you were a good boyfriend to me, hope you’re not mad that I fucked all your friends after we broke up though.”
“It’s no biggie.”
“I’m sorry you’re going through what you’re going through.”
“So am I.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Sad.”
“Do you want me to buy you some hookers?”
“God no. I’m not pushing what little might be salvageable of our relationship over the edge into dysfunction just to have meaningless sex with some stupid girl.”
“Jesus, you really do love her.”
“That’s why it hurts.”
“Well if you change your mind, let me know.”
“Thanks?”


5pm at a bar…

“Thanks for the drinks.”
“No problem dude, how long you here for?”
“3weeks.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I needed to get out of L.A. for a bit.”
“Aren’t you getting married soon?”
“Not now.”
“Why?”
“She changed her mind, isn’t sure if she even wants to be with me.”
“That’s awful.”
“Agreed.”
“You want a shot?”
“Patron.”
“Hey, you know, if you want, I’ve got some vagina for you and it’d actually be doing me a favor.”
“Thanks but no, I don’t want anyone else.”
“Cool. I’m here for you if you need me, but I can’t stay out too late tonight, I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow.”
“For what?”
“The Topeka St. Patrick’s Day parade.”
“You’re getting up early to go to it?”
“No, I’m in it.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I’m the pig on the Famous Dave’s float.”
“You’ve gotta wear a pig costume?”
“Yeah, they talked me into it when I was drunk.”
“Congrats.”
“Then Pigskins found out about it and demanded I do it for them too.”
“You’re working a double float shift as a pig?”
“Looks that way. I shouldn’t make decisions when I’m drunk, want another shot?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Hey, do you guys have Tuaca?”
“No, just Jager”
“I hate Jager. Are you sure there’s no Tuaca?”
“Positively sure.”
“Well then give me a shot of Jager.”

In a car going down Mass St…

“Hey dude, that girl looks like that monkey you used to fuck.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, that really does look like her, should we turn around and get a closer look?”
“No, I don’t have any bananas on me and chances are she’ll start throwing shit at us and picking her nose. That’d totally ruin my buzz.”

3 am in a hotel room…

RING.

“hello?”
“Yes, this is the front desk, we’ve had noise complaints about your room.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“Well we’re not doing anything but having anal sex so I don’t see how THAT would be cause for a complaint.”
“Are you really?”
“No. But it sounds like fun doesn’t it?”
“I guess that would depend if you’re giving or receiving.”
“When we checked in we got a free bottle of champagne.”
“Yes, that’s customary.”
“Can you bring us up another bottle right now?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I think the more important question is why wouldn’t you do that, mainly because it address MY wants and desires.”
“Do you really want a bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Listen dude, there’s two girls up here and when you give them champagne they give you anal.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m not for sure, but don’t you think it’s worth a try?”
“Hold on.”

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Open the door to find a male staff member holding a bottle of (wait for it) champagne.
“Hey dude thanks, come on in.”
“These are my female friends.”
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“So let me get this straight, you’re going to get anal from giving them this bottle of champagne?”
“Sort of. I’m not with either of these women. One’s married and the other is in a committed relationship in the fact that the guy she’s banging is married.”
“So what do you need the bottle for?”
“I’ve had a rough couple of weeks so I figured once we finished this bottle, one of them could shove it up my ass for metaphorical reasons so it’d be a visual reference for how I’m feeling emotionally.”
“Wow dude, you’re crazy.”
“Are you going to stay and help?”
“I’m sorry but I can’t, I’ve gotta get back down to the front desk, call if you need anything else.”
“Fine.”

Commotion comes from out in the hall, I go to investigate with my new bottle of champagne. It’s a gang of girls acting like morons by the elevator.

“Hi!”
“Ladies.”
“What’s in your hand?”
“Champagne.”
“From where?”
“The front desk.”
“How did you get them to give it to you?”
“I asked.”
“Really?”
“Truly. I also got a free cab ride tonight by telling the cab driver the girls I was with were prostitutes and they were going to stick things inside me. All in all it’s been a thrifty evening.”
“Will you come down to the front desk and get a bottle of champagne for us?”
“Oh I don’t care.”

Elevator door opens, we get in.

“You look like a rockstar.”
“I used to be.”
“What band?”
“Puddle of Mudd.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Ah, the bitchy girl of the group, nice to meet you.”
“If you were really in that band, what’s one of their songs?”
“Blurry.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit. I was in his car listening to the rough tracks of it months before it came out.”
“How does it go?”
“If you don’t know how it goes, then how can you even accuse me of lying?”
“Sing a part of it.”
“You could be my some one, you could be my scene…”
“That’s not a Puddle of Mudd song.”
“The fuck it’s not, in fact, it was the most played song in 2003, or some shit like that.”
“Whatever.”
“Finally.”

Door opens into the lobby.

“You again?”
“Yeah, these idiots want a bottle of champagne, can you give them one?”
“Fuck man, I suppose.”
“Thanks, good night.”


In a strip club…

“Hi.”
“Go away, I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”
“Jesus, you don’t have to be a dick about it. You look familiar.”
“Yeah, people tell me I look like Chris Stuke.”
“You do look like him. What’s your name?”
“Chris Stuke.”
“Do you wanna know my name?”
“Um let me guess, I bet your stage name is something ridiculous like Joey.”
“That IS my stage name! How did you know?”
“I tried to be as stupid as possible, looks like you’re way ahead of me in that race.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“So.”
“Hey, didn’t you used to fuck one of my friends?”
“That’s a good possibility.”
“My name’s Megan, my real name.”
“Oh yeah, now I remember you. Then I’m positively certain I fucked one of your friends.”
“That’s right, you used to fuck Sarah.”
“Indeed I did.”
“Don’t you live in L.A.?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Drinking.”
“Then why don’t you buy me a shot or a drink?”
“If you want a shot I suggest you go to the veterinarian. If you want a drink I’d advise you go to your water bowl.”
“God you’re an asshole.”
“And I’m not even trying.”
“What are you going to do when you go back to L.A.?”
“Go to school to do hair.”
“That sounds fucking gay.”
“Maybe, but I think I’d be good at it…hair, not being gay.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I can tell you right now, with not having spent a second in a cosmetology classroom, that your extensions look like fucking shit. You should be ashamed of having that mop on your head while getting naked for dollar bills.”
“I’m leaving.”
“What, no free lap dance for that consultation?”

In a bar with my brother…

“Okay, so that way it goes is that you have a vertical line numbered 1-10 and then a horizontal line numbered 1-10.”

He draws this diagram for me on a napkin.

“Now, what this does is measure a girls hot to crazy ratio. I’m a fair guy so I always do a straight 45 degree angle.”

Again, he illustrates this on the napkin.

“So, when I met her I thought she was an 8 on the hot scale and a 6 on the crazy scale. So if you look at where that falls on the chart, she’s above the line. Clearly her hottness outweighed her craziness. But now…”

He reconfigures the chart due to new data he‘s gathered.

“…her hottness is still at an 8, but her craziness is at like a 20, which is not only off the chart, but brings her WAY BELOW the line of acceptability in hot to crazy ratio.”

“Jesus, this seems pretty scientific, can I keep this chart?”
“It’s all yours.”

A conversation over lunch with a very sophisticated lady...

“What took you so long, Chris?”
“I had to poo.”
“Gotcha. That’s one thing about poop. It’s got a mind of it’s own, and an ugly fucking face.”
“That it does.”

She takes a drink of her beer. Burps.

“Now, where’s the shitter? I’ve gotta drop a load myself.”