And In Other News...

According to a news story out of Wisconsin, the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile (giggle) crashed into a house. The woman driving drove down a dead-end street, got stuck and as she tried her 86 point turn to maneuver the Wienermobile (giggling again) out of the cul-de-sac/dead-end, she thought she was hitting the brakes, but instead hit the gas causing her to crash into this house.

Since I've already firmly secured my place in hell, I'm just going to say it. I'm pretty sure that you could start any sentence with, "The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile crashed into...." and people would laugh.

Breaking news. The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile just crashed into a school in Southeast Portland. No children were hurt and they are trying to extract the Wiener now. We'll bring you live coverage as the story develops.

This just in. The famous Oscar Mayer Wienermobile crashed into a convent, injuring one nun by accidentally causing her to break her oath with God. Again, they are trying to extract the Wiener.

Seriously if the words, "The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile" don't make you giggle just a little bit all by themselves you need to get out more.

Wiener, wiener, wiener!!!

WTF Is A Dueling Piano Bar?

Holy Hell (shout out Sybs) did I find out the answer to that question this weekend. Went to Tacoma to see my best friend from grade school, that I haven't seen in 20 years or so. She hasn't changed, I haven't changed and that poor piano bar will never be the same.



M had big plans for the weekend. Friday her and I went out, using her sister as the designated driver. Went dancing, got pretty liquored up, had a really good time. The next day M was having a hard time deciding exactly what we should do and/or where we should be doing it. Drive to Seattle? Go down to the Waterfront? The Piano Bar? Her husband was the driver that night and that poor man got stuck driving five drunk women first to a place called Johnny's (I think it was called Johnny's, I was buzzed before we left the house) for dinner and more drinks, and then to an establishment called Longhorn's. Longhorn's strangely enough was the creature being referred to as the piano bar. Kind of like when American Cowgirls Bar and Grill played rap music, but whatever. Apparently a dueling piano bar is a place where two pianos are played simultaneously, you make (and sometimes pay lots of money for) requests for your favorite songs to be played. They then play the songs, often change the lyrics to things that are completely pornographic, leaving your drunk ass totally confused as you try to sing along.



Once again I did my very best to make an excellent first impression on people I had never met before. (M invited two of her other friends along, her sister came again and don't forget her husband. That man deserves a Medal of Honor for dealing with me.) Although I did get him into the bar for free by asking for a "buy five get one cover charge free" kind of thing. I told the bouncers they should feel sorry for him for getting stuck driving us around and they totally fell for it. Silly bouncers. M (his wife/my friend) is hot. I don't do too badly in the looks department, both her friends were gorgeous and her sister is a 22 year-old hottie that has this strange ability to make boys drool by just walking by them. Tough duty he had that night, him and his harem :)



Anyway, the real story. Of course I request the song "Crazy Bitch" by Buckcherry. As all (or most) of you know already, that would be one of my favorite songs to pole dance to. There was something close to a pole for me to play on, I figured all was well. Just in case, I even asked if I could use said apparatus to dance on and was granted permission by the afore mentioned bouncers. Participation from the audience was encouraged, even begged for by the piano players. Silly me, I should have known better. Here is a picture of my "pole".



The song starts playing, the lyrics got much naughtier than originally composed (which I really didn't think was possible) and I jumped on my "pole". As you can tell from the picture I couldn't actually use my normal climbing method to get into my pole sit due to the 5x5" square table leg portion at the bottom, so I had to grab the platform you see at the very top of the picture (already secretly load tested to insure my safety of course) and lifted myself up there. There I am, sitting on my new toy and I swear both pianos skipped a beat or two. The bouncer sees me and from 20 feet away, gives me the evil eye, points to the floor and says, "Get DOWN." I smiled at him and promptly complied with his request...by flipping off the pole backwards into a cross-ankle release, sliding down to the ground in an upside down position until my hands touched the ground and perfoming my normal dismount. I will admit that I was a little less than graceful towards the end, due to the fact that I was trying not to kick a piano, fall off the six inch riser referred to as a stage or re-injure the torn ligaments in my ankle. And the corners on the square portion of that thing almost killed me. All of this took place in less than 30 seconds. The bouncer walks over to me and says, "I told you to get off of there." Umm, OK genius, my feet are on the floor. I am down. Then he tries to give me a lecture about how I wasn't supposed to be up there at all. I pointed out to him that I had asked for and been granted permission to pole dance. He tried to tell me that I was given permission because they weren't aware of exactly what I was planning on doing. OK Mr. Rocket Scientist..."that's not my problem" was my response. That seemed to confuse him so he went back to his "post" at the door. After about 5 minutes of letting him pout, I went over and made nice so we wouldn't get kicked out. He admitted to me that what I did was really cool and, "Definitely a first, never had anybody do anything like that before." Then he told me he'd worked there for 5 years. I told him if that little pole trick was the coolest thing he's seen in 5 years, he needs a new job.

I want to go back....it was really fun but I'm not sure if they'll let me in again. Like I said before, never underestimate the power of a good first impression.

NOTICE TO ALL WOMEN!!! Never Date A Guy Who Spends This Much Money On His Vehicle

Saw this thing driving down the road yesterday. The rearview window at the bottom of the picture is mine, and I drive a Honda Accord. I'm a midget, so my rearview mirror is aproximately waist high for me. This truck was FUCKING HUGE. Like I said, I'm a midget (5'3") and I don't think the top of my head would have reached the bottom of the door jam. How in the hell do you get into that thing? Hovercraft comes out of the bed? Rope swing? Extendable ladder? My bet was a tiny escalator that pops out when you open the door. But wait...how do you get the fucking doors open? The handles were at least 7 feet off the ground. Maybe eight. Hard to judge as I was trying to drive, gauge heights and take pictures. (But I always use my hands free device when I talk on the phone while driving, I swear, for safety's sake.)

Anyway, my original point of this post was ladies, NEVER DATE THIS MAN. All he has time and money for is this magnificent vehicle. (His words, not mine.) A "date" will entail driving around all night so everyone can see how cool his truck/car is. You will pay for everything because he just had to put a new (insert vehicle modification here) on the truck. And if you are not content for every date to either be driving around in said vehicle, or home on the couch watching rented DVD's then he will kick you to the curb faster than you can say, "Nitrous Oxide." And I would also like to take the time to point out that he was driving around alone. He didn't even have a dog and a jar of peanut butter to ride shotgun.

I still want to know how you get into the damn thing though.

MJ Rest In Peace...or Hell depending on your thoughts

I've pretty much stayed away from this topic, but when I found out that LA County was asking for "donations" to cover the cost of MJ's memorial I pretty much lost it. They have actually set up a Pay Pal account to help offset the costs of the police motorcades, crowd control, ticket printing costs and whatever else the "star-studded memorial" cost them.

First of all, did it ever occur to anybody that LA County did not have to put on this fucking production in the first place? Second, did it occur to anyone that LA County has paid plenty for "productions" related to Mr. Jackson? I believe they could have been referred to as Trials Number One and Two. To think that the citizens of Los Angeles are now being gouged for the third time to "honor" the King of Pop is bullshit.

I'm not saying that I wasn't a fan of MJ back in the day. I liked and still do like some of his older stuff. You know, when he was still a black male entertainer. He lost his appeal when he started sleeping with little boys. To those of you that say he wasn't convicted I say, "FUCK YOU." Nobody makes a $20 million payout to "avoid the embarassment of a trial." Somebody accuses you of something like that and you fight until the bitter end to prove your innocence. Never mind that it happened twice. To quote a friend of mine, "No 10 year old kid comes up with the term 'Jesus Juice' on his own." And if I remember correctly, during the second trial the victim identified a picture of MJ's "member". And by "member" I mean dick. Penis. Cock. Whatever term you prefer. And the kid wasn't shown just one picture, he was shown several...like a police line-up, for lack of a better term. As traumatic as that sounds, I'm sure it wasn't any more traumatic than being fed wine and fondled by an adult man.

Honor him for what he used to be if you want. But also remember him for what he became. A pedophile. A pedophile who got away with what he did because he was an "icon". Apparently Icon Court is different than the court system the rest of us regular people have to use.

Our Countrys Birthday

Went to a Fourth of July party last night. It was out in Canby at some friends of my brothers. (Those of you that know me know I don't have a brother, but he used to be married to my sister, he's my nephew's dad....long story short I just call him my brother to make things easier...at least I think it's easier.)

Anyway the host, Lamont, has his backyard set up like a baseball diamond. Homerun fence, foul poles, actual bases....the whole nine yards. Or I guess you could say the whole 90 feet. Anyway, it's a smaller "park" and it's mainly used for friendly whiffle ball games. It was awesome. Played on my sprained ankle, got a hit but was out at first because the house rules include cross outs. Those blow ass. First time I've played ball in 25 years and I'm out on a stupid cross out. I would have made it too, sprained ankle and all. Screw this I'm going to go drink beer.

That would be putting it mildly. I'm fairly confident that I polished off a half rack of Becks by myself. I challenged my nephews friend Jon to a wrestling match. He only outweighs me by 20 pounds....oh, did I forget to mention he's a national champion that has been invited to the Olympic Trials. I lost. In like 10 seconds. I think I may have even still had my beer in my hand. And I have the grass burn on my face and bruise on my eye to prove it.

Then for my next trick I decided I was hot and was going to go for a float in the kiddy pool. With my clothes on. Still with my beer. At some point the boys decided that it was time for a game of ring toss and I was it. You would think that by now I would have learned not to drink with teenagers. My brother called this morning to check that I made it home OK. (I had a designated driver, I had to set a good example for the kids.) He proceeded to tell me just how hammered I had been and that I was hysterical to a large group of people that had never met me before. Never underestimate the power of a good first impression, I say. I told him I figured that I was probably not invited back for next year and I was sorry if I embarrassed him. He told me that I was invited back, but they needed my RSVP early because they were planning on selling tickets to the show. Nice.

I need a nap.

The New "Smart" Mercedes

I'm sure by now you have seen it advertised on TV. The "smart" car. The intelligent, mighty Mercedes. You know, the one that has a sensor to know if you are starting to go to sleep (pass out) at the wheel and sounds an alarm to wake you up. The car that has a sensor that can tell if you start to wander out of your lane of traffic, in their words if you become "distracted". (Distracted to me translates to beating your children while driving, but whatever.)

I think this is all code for: You CAN beat a DUII rap if you buy this car. That should actually be their advertising slogan. Think about it. Wakes you up when you start to pass out. Keeps you in your own lane when you start to wander, even after you've closed one eye and you're still seeing 3 extra lanes on the highway. I'll bet it even senses your body temperature, sees your red face in the rearview mirror and rolls the windows down for you.

Drunk fucks everywhere will be staggering to Mercedes dealerships to buy this car. Shit, if I wasn't so close to paying off my car now I'd go buy one.