on a similar note

so, in the same vein as my last post, and semi inspired by the question posed by my Aussie heart throb Steph, i have a confession to make. This past week, I have become a complacent whacker. Every day this week I have had the urge to snap one off, but at the same time, just didn't feel like it. I have had to talk myself into jerking off only to suddenly have to urinate, or some other form of something or other that would make me lose the urge. I have never wanted to jerk off so bad, and yet not want to, in the same thought so bad in my life. Why does the thought of having so much fun with myself make me so... ... bored? Any ladies out there in blog land want to make a fat man happy for a night? dear god this is sad...

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and some links

Ahh, if only they'd have seen the inherent evil in pee wee. (trailer mash up)

chuck woolery loves your gay last name and he WILL call you out on it.

spank bank.

Sometimes I wonder what my exes/former lovers/hook ups would think if they knew that in times of need, when I dig into the spank bank, I think of them. earlier this week, I dug far into the spank bank I had to actually pat myself on the back when I successfully remembered everything in detail. I have to thank my genes for being blessed with a photographic memory. not the kind you see in movies, however, the real kind. the kind where your mind makes snapshots of every moment and you can examine every detail ad infinitum/ad nauseam. the curve of every girls ass, the slope of every girls breast, the angle of their jaw, their scent. all these things, are things I rely on lately. my porn has become stale, and i've found that a couple happy thoughts about bygone women can have an amazing effect. and this is what started me to thinking, "what if they knew I was slappin ham to their memory". I like to think that if they dated/liked/did me, they'd expect nothing less. thoughts?

I'm baaaaaack!

So I’ve been on hiatus for a while. It’s not my fault. I’ve had a lot of drinking and a lot of drinking to do. But this blog post hits close to home for me. I used to frequent a certain bar. And when I say frequent, I mean from the time I turned 21 in 2000, till sometime this past fall/late summer. This bar was my “home” bar when I was in Michigan. I loved the bar, and the employees and other patrons loved me. I stopped going for a couple of reasons; the main one being I had a DUI in November ’04 and most of my friends moved away so it was difficult to find a ride up to the bar which was out of the way for most people. The second reason being, there was too much drama being brought into the bar. I like my bars drama free. Which is why I love my new “home” bar, which has always been a “home” bar to me, I just didn’t go there as often. The drama is not there, unless you ask for it.

Anyhow, enough of the crap, I went back into the first bar tonight for the first time since Rev’s birthday, and I cannot figure out how we ever had so much fun in that place. On Rev’s birthday we all hated the place and swore it to damnation. The service was shit, the drinks were shit, the ambiance was shit. Tonight we went there for the simple fact my bar was closed. I have never, ever, in my life of bar hopping seen the atmosphere of a bar change so drastically in so short a time. It used to be a hole in the wall bar. Nice place, no real regulars except the flies at the bar. Then came us: Rev, Navy and I. We had a lot of fun, drank a lot, whatever. There was a lot of karaoke, A LOT OF KARAOKE. Used to be a solid mix of people in there too, not too much of one trash or another. Now, all trash, all country. There was some asshole hosting karaoke tonight that was trying to so hard to be Larry the Cable guy he actually had a SFX box with Larry drops on it. He was part Mexican which meant he got to tell recirculated Carlos Mencia hack lines all night. See, if charisma and personality were a fruit bearing tree, this guy would have been the low hanging loose stemmed fruit that blew off in a mild mid may gust and thus left to rot on the ground amongst the worms and shrews. He actually cleared most of the bar out, aside from his friends by 12:30. Which actually brings me to my next point: apparently you can no longer enjoy yourself there unless you’re in a clique with someone who works there. Otherwise you’re just a peon, not worthy of the shitty service and inattentiveness of the bar maids. Basically, I’m just done with the place. I wanted to go back to make sure my time in December was just a fluke, but I was assured, it was not. Besides, the girls at my new bar are much nicer, much younger, much hotter, and much more fat drunk guy friendly. So I really shouldn’t be mad, but I guess the old saying is right; you can never go home again. Fuck em. Here’s to me.

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and now, a link:

15 of the greatest "oh shit!" moments on film. while there are far more than 15, I do like this list.

Grease and a pointy stick

So last night was fun times. I recently joined a Tuesday night dart league simply for something to do on tuesday nights. Much like my bowling league, this is really just a drinking league. You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think drinking while doing either is a wise decision. You can do a lot of damage with a bowling ball and three darts. I'm not talking about these silly "soft tip" darts, I'm talking heavy as shit, sharpened before each game steel tips. I mean, really, someone get's drunk and angry in either "sport" and shit can go bad quick. Anyhow, on a side note, my dart league is a travelling league. This is actually kinda rad cuz we get to schlep around to other bars I wouldn't necessarily go to for no other reason than I didn't know they were there. Last night were in Royal Oak. This matters not, it was the trip out to the Oak that made me happy. As many of you know, I love pirates. Tis true matey. But the only thing I love as much as pirates are spies. On the way out I saw a spy shop. This made me very happy. Just as I was announcing my happiness... ANOTHER SPY STORE! I was like a kid in a titty bar. I was too excited to speak and had too many ideas to be coherent. I had decided that we needed to go to the spy stores, get all the equipment we need (including rope) and break into a consulate just because we could. I had but one mandate, I was to be the one to crawl through the ventilation ducts no matter how better suited the other three were for the job. let's just say I was with three very skinny people ranging in height from 5'2"-6'. It was then pointed out that the only way I'm making it through the vents is with about 30lbs of grease and being poked with a sharp stick. Bastards, using logic and spacial relations and physics and shit. It was then suggested we break into the spy shop, which I shot down since, well you need the spy gear to circumvent the spy shop's spy shit. Of course I stated my desire to be a pirate spy, or spy pirate, whichever sounded better. I was told this is not a viable career. I explained the only reason they thought so was because no one has ever heard of it, because in order to be a pirate spy, you have to be the best at both. And one had never been caught. But they exist my friends. They exist.

Anyhow, the moral of this whole story (Chud, there is no way to derive a moral from this) is that when you return to your home bar and have a "few" more beers, and some shots with the owner and win a couple of games people start to do stupid shit. For example, throwing darts at people's feet. While this is generally accepted practice during a dart game you are usually aiming away from the foot. She was aiming AT feet. No big deal. Then... it happened. In my defense, I had 9 darts and the previous 8 were beautifully grouped and just close enough to make you make you wince. then, I threw the 9th dart.



Woops. Guess I should've stopped at 8.

Call the FDA, and the Nobel committee, I've discovered a miracle.

Well, not really. My shit ass shoulder has been hurting like a mofo all day and I've been thinking about cutting it off. However I have managed to get it from being a serious distraction type of pain, to a dull, almost forgettable yet irksome ache. How have I achieved such success you ask? simple: 4 motrin (safer on a heavy drinker's liver), a 40 and 1/2 of Labatt Blue, and some Ben Gay. Yeah, you too could something something. Sorry, not really in the mindset to blog right now. I think the Motrin and the Blue are mixing with the Ben Gay smell to fuck with my head. I kinda like it. So, now you get some links. both, are EXTREMELY worth watching.
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Mr. Belding, Tony Romo, an 80's cover band, and Journey's "don't stop believin'" for the record, Tony Romo can carry a tune better than I. Think about THAT next time I suggest Karaoke.

French Military + Shoulder fired anti tank missile + Murphy = I think it might behoove you to surrender.

Unhealthy?

Is it bad that I have a seriously unhealthy obsession with Marlee Matlin? I don't know what it is. It could be the deaf slur, her serious hotness, or the ability to swear at her at her in anger with my back turned to her and have her be none the wiser... I just don't know. All I do know is that when I hear her name I look, and watch. In fact I actually watched an episode of Extreme Makeover Home Edition just because she was on it. I can't stand the show. the show is tripe, drivel, and feelgood crap based on some intangible that allows someone to be given a leg up over someone else as deserving though neither is willing to work for it. ANYHOW, back to Marlee. I actually took ASL for a semester in college just in case I got the chance to pick Marlee up at the bar. You know, I could sign her my name and "where is the bathroom" and she'd swoon. I. Need. Help. 

Attention everyone!

I have solved all the world's problems. no need to continue to argue or debate. apparently all you need is nuclear power, wave power technology, a re-education of global politics to the proletariat, the dissolution of the UAW and a predominantly libertarian viewpoint. also, jack bauer has to be allowed to act with complete autonomy. cuz, let's face it. in the clutch when he's yelling "WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME" you get that warm blanket feeling.

anyhow, the other night for superbowl sunday i ended up at a friend's house. she was having a couple friends over and one of these wonderful friends felt that she owed it to me to shake hands with my penis. let me tell you that in no uncertain terms, i enjoyed this greatly. so, since i have nothing else to add to this, you get pictures of shit we wrote on the local bar while it is undergoing renovations.


awww, amanda hearts me, and i heart her.


what's this? i heart julie? whatever will amanda think? shhh... don't tell either.


yeah, i was too drunk to write that, so thanks to erika for doing so.


hehehehehe, yeah, i kinda do.


kinda out of focus, but it says "rob d has a huge p". while this is fiction, i will accept it as fact.

 
originally i had written "Rob & Pussy" in a heart. Jen decided that my well spaced writing deserved some fucking with, so a "t" was added before the "y" and she turned the P into an R, yeah...


FUCK RUSSTY! russty:pussy as mapplethorpe:straight

damn you russty!!!

you need a fact checker.

I was trying to fall asleep about 15 minutes ago and I had Fox News on in the background. Neil Cavuto was chatting with some Evangelical minister guy who was trying to "take back" the word "evangelical" so it doesn't have the whackadoo connotation it has now. Whatever, have fun, knock yourself out, everyone's got to have something to believe in, good luck to ya. Then it happened. Minister guy, in response to a statement about too many religious people in politics, went on to say that separation of church and state was not in the constitution or in the bill of rights and that it was merely a letter that Jefferson once wrote. Let's take a look at the First Amendment to U.S. Constitution shall we?

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Huh... not in the constitution eh? So, because in one letter from Jefferson to Madison he used the phrase "...thus building a wall of separation between Church and State." This somehow invalidates the separation? How about this: Madison was HUGE into keeping the two separate. Hey, guess what Madison was the primary drafter of? THE BILL OF RIGHTS. Let's see what he has to say about the issue shall we? "Strongly guarded . . . is the separation between religion and government in the Constitution of the United States... practical distinction between Religion and Civil Government as essential to the purity of both, and as guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States" (1811 letter to Baptist Churches). So, because the exact phrase isn't in the constitution this means you can try to permeate the government? I think the founding fathers would wag their finger at you. For shame. For shame!

Ha! I got you good fucker!

The last words I said to my brother as I left were, "Don't lock me out, I don't have any keys". To which the reply was, "I'll be here all night, don't worry". Famous last words. get off work at 2:50am and walk up to the door only to find it locked. No bigs yo, he just forgot and now I’ll knock. Hmm... knocking didn't work, I'll call his cell. No dice there, I'll call the house phone. Odd, he's not answering that either. Walk around the back of the house see if the doorwall is unlocked, maybe he's just fuckin with me. Nope, locked, but hey! What is that I see sleeping on the couch? My passed out drunk brother. So I begin the door banging. And by banging, I mean, BANGING. It sounded like world war 3 with my fists and the metal door. I was pounding on the window above his head, I was pounding on the doorwall, I was pounding on the door for 30 seconds straight that I actually woke a neighbor. So I start calling anyone with a key, and no one answered. Damn them, damn them to hell. So, sitting in the balmy 16*F heat, I decided to start a frantic search for any lost keys that I may or may not have forgot about. In a fit of cold, I kicked our recycling bin (don't knock it, it's fun) which in turn slammed into our bottle return bin which jumped over about a foot, and there, all rusty and gooey from slush and garage bullshit was a set of spare keys I had lost about 3 or so years ago. I was semi relieved, yet, skeptical at the same time since we'd had the house re-keyed in the last 5 years and I'm not sure of the timeline from when the house was re-keyed and when I last used that set. I wiped them off, grabbed a wire brush and scrubbed them off, and stuck it in the lock. The fucker worked. I walked up to El Passo Outo Drunko and smacked him. Nothing, not even a blink. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... I felt he needed shamed







This is what happens when you fight a stranger in the Alps!

******UPDATE!!******
4:45am
He just woke up, got some juice, went into the bathroom with big mirrors, and noticed nothing. I love my life.

Note to self:

Don't ever try to explain to two drunk off duty cops the difference between "suspicion" and "probable cause". apparently, they're too retarded and too brainwashed to understand the intricacies of civil liberties. ha! the greatest is when they try to say, "we do this every day... yada yada yada..." and you fire back, "yeah, and how many of those bogus stops actually stick?" oddly shady cops get silent after that. oh, and when they tell you constantly to shut up and let them finish, and you laugh at them and tell them they should have finished 20 sentences ago when they actually had a point, they don't like that either. fuck them. just like unions, being a cop rots your brain. i will not mourn you, dirty cop.

in case you couldn't tell, i am drunk, and Detroit PD can kiss my ass. i'd much rather hang with Detroit FD. those mofo's can drink and never give you shit. plus, if you're on fire, they'll not only put you out, they'll run into a flaming building to put you out. cops? yeah, they'll write you a 5 over ticket when you're late. gee, wonder which i like more.