Mailbag Pt. II

And so it continues...

Mark S, Chicago IL

I've been thinking about a possible connection between one's father's mood/temperament around the time he produced impregnating sperm and the personality development of the offspring. Do you think sperms have moods that affect the person they become?

You may be onto something there Marky. I don't think that a father's temperament at the time of conception is the single deciding factor into the developmental growth of the child, but to say that they are completely unrelated would just be ignorant. I find it hard to believe that the bedroom air was full of a tender type of love while Mike Tyson's parents were playing "hide the penis" wherever that crack den happened to be. Then again I cant just say that every time a man wants to throw a serious sexual bashing at his wife, that the subsequent child will definitely become a world renowned heavyweight boxing champ/convicted rapist, just like not every child (but most) who is conceived out of slow, gentle, Sunday morning love-making ends up as the kind of guy who says "Ciao" or memorizes the soundtrack to Rent. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there are exceptions to every rule, but I do think you may have stumbled onto something that may perplex geneticists for decades to come. Personally I'd like to think that a much better future personality indicator is what a baby experiences and perceives in its first few moments of life. For instance, my overall "take no prisoners" attitude can most likely be attributed to the fact that when the delivery room doctor pulled me out of my mom's butt on November 23rd 1986, I screamed "Whatchu lookin' at!" right before I karate chopped that mother fucking doctor in half. Needless to say, good question Mark.

Jesse F, Racine WI

My problem concerns my genitals...In plain English, I have severely large testicles. Accordingly, I would consider the size of my penis to be quite average. My concern is that the proverbial big potatoes are making the steak look small, which may or may not be fair. In all honesty, the "steak" isn't the largest to begin with, but I can't help but worry that the size of my aforementioned testicles are bringing upon shame to said average-sized penis. What do I do? Am I a monster?

Well folks, Jesse isn't kidding around on this one. I'm pretty convinced that you must have grown up under high tension power lines as a child, because there is no other plausible explanation as to why your nuts are of that size. I see how this may weigh heavy on your mind, understanding that just by sheer proportion your dingy is being slighted, but to be honest if I were you I wouldn't put too much thought into it. Don't fret about what a woman may think about the whole size of the potatoes vs. the steak conundrum, because if she's in a position to actually see the potatoes up close then she's already made up here mind; she won't be running away at that point, huge potatoes and average size steak or not, she's there to eat. Here's another thing you should think about that may give your confidence a boost; if she can't see the whole collection of goods then she won't be able to negatively judge your unique proportions. What's my solution? Do it in the dark, that way you can guarantee your wiener the fair shake it deserves. The whole darkness thing shouldn't prove to be much of an issue considering the fact that if I remember correctly, your exposed testicles are big enough to block out the fucking sun.

Mark S, Chicago IL

Which "Throw Some D's" is better: Rich Boy's original or Kanye's remix?

Mark, you just won't quit, however I appreciate the question because it brings me back to Sophomore year when we would run around the hallway in nothing but spandex shorts blasting both of these songs. As much as I loved Rich Boy's original, I simply could not relate to the material. I know what you're probably thinking, "Joe you're a white kid from River Forest who never leaves home in anything but khaki's, isn't hip hop culture like a 2nd language to you?", and I can't disagree. I've never had a car with a set of rims on it, however I have had a few beautiful sets breasticular D's, so I feel as if I'm almost forced to side with Kanye's remix on this one. 

Now all my friends say "Implants are a selfish gift" , that all depends

She aint pregnant but about to have twins - Kanye West

Jesse F, Racine WI

Hypothetical situation: Poop comes out of my nose. Don't ask how or why.

Hypothetical question: What do I use to clean it??? Tissue or Kleenex???  (it IS in fact coming from my nose, and the softness can be quite smooth and cleansing upon the face)??? Or toilet paper (you ARE dealing with poop after all, and toilet papers purpose is to deal with poop, on butts and elsewhere).

Jesse, regardless whether poop is coming out of your nose or your doodie hole, it is in fact poop. Regardless of orifice, poop goes in the toilet, and thus you should probably use toilet paper. I wouldn't worry too much about the lack of softness compared to a regular Kleenex tissue, because if you're shitting out of your nose you have bigger problems than just a little redness on your nose from wiping too much. (Plus, I think if you used a Kleenex you would just end up smearing poop all over your face, which in addition to being really fucking off-putting, would probably end up getting you the nickname "Crap Face".) Thanks for the though provoking questions Crap Face.

Mark S, Chicago IL

Is it ok to want to kiss a male celebrity because you're just "that big of a fan?"

Sure, why not? This is America after all, and I remember a really wise Mexican guy named Jesús from the Bible once said "Judge not, lest Ye be judged". If you want to kiss Ryan Seacrest, that's your prerogative. In fact I think this could be a great way to prove how much of a fan you truly are. There's something to be said for the fact that you might just go a little gay for someone, so you don't need to feel ashamed. (I mean, if you held a gun to my head I might kiss Robin Thicke, but then I would push him away and call him a homo. After that I would probably apologize when my friends weren't looking and tell him I am deeply envious of his amazing haircut).

Megan W, River Forest IL

A friend of mine has a problem. Her boyfriend used to live in a house with 6 other roommates. They were together for a pretty long time. One of the roommates, however, repeatedly sexually harassed her, and even exposed themself to her multiple times. The problem is...she kind of liked it. What should I, I mean my friend, do?

At first glance this would appear to just be another cut and dry instance of the Stockholm Syndrome taking effect, where over a period of captivity a hostage seems to sympathize and even have positive feelings towards their captors, but for some reason I just don't buy that. I can't honestly see what the problem is, sounds like the real issue here is that the sexually exposing seems to be a part of  the past and now that its so far gone you (I'm sorry, your friend) are starting to feel an intense longing for it once more. Maybe you just told yourself it was harassment because you didn't know how to truly express the awe you must have felt. Of course your friend liked it, everybody does. What should you do about it? That's easy; make more friends with guys who don''t have any hang-ups about pulling out their glow worm in public. If the whole "Exposing himself seems to be out of his system because he's a grown-up and isn't in college anymore" is the situation you find yourself in then treat it like a band-aid; rip that mother fucker off quickly and forcibly so as to have it taken care of before you have time to think about it some more.

P.S. I hope it was everything you ever dreamed of...

Here's a video of a guy getting bird poop in his mouth

Mailbag Pt. I

So here it is, you have called and I have answered. I truly appreciate the outpouring of responses that SBB has received in the last two days, and Counselor Swantek must have liked his new nickname because his amount questions can only be described as superfluous. You've done your part and now its my turn, so listen here you beautiful bitches because I'm about to fuck you up with some truth.

Part I. is as follows...

James R, Elmhurst IL
As the winter olympics unfold, and I am helplessly exposed to the "Men's" figure skating, I have noticed that the Asian figure skater's just don't look as gay as the white "dudes." I think this is because all Asians look a little gay to me. Am I racist, or is this something you have noticed too?

This is a very astute observation James, and I have also noticed that the Asian figure skaters aren't looking as gay as most of their opponents in this year's Olympic games. Therefore I must answer your question with a resounding Yes; but noticing that Asian men just seem a little more gay doesn't make you a racist, it means that you have eyes. However, there is a reason why these skaters aren't looking as gay as their counterparts; now I don't have anything that can be considered "evidence" but then again I'm not working for CSI either, so just roll with me on this one. I think that this may be just like in the 2008 Summer Games when China fielded a bunch of underage gymnasts to try and lock in the gold. My theory is that they're at it again, putting women in the place of men in the men's skating events to better their chances of winning. The women in disguise are trying their best to appear like men, and if that means shedding a little traditional gayness to maintain secrecy and win a medal I wouldn't put it past them.I don't know if the International Olympic Committee checks for bulges (albeit little ones, they are asian after all) but they should give the athletes a pat-down under their bedazzled lycra. Like I said before you were also right in that all Asian men just seem to appear a little gay; Asians are in into fads, and when the are able to leave places like China that still harbor many of the Maoist cultural and political inflexibilities and where there's 1.3 billion people that happen to look identical, they seem to love finding anything and everything to make them stand out. In places like the US where you can be gay without getting your hands cut off by the government, they kinda go crazy with it, crazy with the gayness. Just ask yourself one thing; what would Brian Girltano do?

Peter S, LaGrange Park IL
Who is the hood-est player in the NBA/NCAA right now?

Well Petey, I like this question a lot because in my opinion the blog doesn't get to touch on sports topics nearly enough, and in addition, being a kid from River Forest Trillinois I naturally love to talk about things that are straight hood. I figure that if you're trying to decide who the most hood NBA player is you need to go straight to the most hood team in the league, which without a doubt is the Denver Nuggets. That starting lineup has more tattoos than tribal islanders of the South Pacific, and criminal records that would make the Crips cross the street. The most hood player on the team and subsequently the league has to be J.R. Smith. His driving record alone has led to NBA suspensions, jail time, and the death of another human being, all before the age of 24. What besides the inability to operate a motor vehicle makes him hood? He has an extremely wet jump shot that he squirts in the eyes of anyone guarding him, has an enormous Young Money tat across his Adam's apple (see pic) and became good enough friends with Lil Wayne is his New Orleans days that he was able to make an appearance in the Young Money "Bedrock" Video. J.R. Smith is hood as fuck.

As for the NCAA, its a little harder to find one specific player because of the obvious restrictions that college athletes face by the powers that be, but that just means you have to look for the person that shines in a room full of honkeys. The Marquette fan within me makes me really want to say that Dwight Buycks, because he looks like a nappy version of Omarion and continues to wear cornrows into 2010, but that would just be biased. Now you may not agree with my judgment of the truly most hood NCAA player this year, because he doesn't get into legal trouble, hasn't brought any allegations of recruiting violations to his school, and doesn't run around like a retarded gang-banger. John Wall  of the Kentucky Wildcats is not only the best basketball player in the country at the ripe old age of 18, but he is in fact hood as fuck. You may be asking yourself how I came to this conclusion, and all I have to do is direct your attention to the dance that is sweeping the nation. John Wall patented a dance before even setting foot on a collegiate basketball court, and now he has everyone from his coaches, teammates, opponents, endless fans, toddlers, television stars, and yes, even Drake doing his signature dance move. Behold the John Wall Dance...



Paul G, River Forest IL
What do you think is a more powerful indicator of the rebel attitude and lifestyle... Rockin a flowing, waterfall-esque mullet (and I'm not talking about your Barry Melrose hockey mullet. I'm talking about your hardcore, "I would love some extra mayonnaise", Mississippi Mudflap/Tennessee Top hat type mullet.) or displaying a full, thick, healthy mane of chest hair at all times?

Great question from a great citizen, however this one is pretty easy. Being the incredible American that I am it isn't hard to see that having a wonderfully flowing mullet is certainly more indicative of a real man than just a thick collection of chest pubies. It doesn't take a modern day Paul Bunyan to grown some chest hair; shit, if those white pants wearing Mediterranean sissy-boys can do it I bet my 11 year old cousin can too. Nothing says, "I love Budweiser out of a can" or "she hit me first" like a beautifully feathered mullet. However, mullets have received a pretty negative stigma over the last decade and now, men with the courage and true patriotism to rock one are true champions. and don't ever forget Paul, that champions, face to face with their darkest hour, will do whatever it takes to rise above. A man fights, and fights, and then fights some more. Because surrender is death, and death is for pussies.

Deakon, Memphis TN
Johnny "Mox" Moxon, back-up quarterback for the West Canaan High School football team, finally goes up against and takes complete control of the team from his coach and local legend Bud Kilmer during halftime of what will inevitably be Coach Kilmer's 23rd district championship. Totally bogus move or impressive conclusion to an on-going season long power struggle?

When I think about this question I get a feeling in my gut that burns with the fire of 1000 suns. Why? Its because if I was in that locker room I would've had to side with the kid from Dawson's Creek. The legend of Bud Kilmer and his 23 district championships will forever echo in through the hallways at West Canaan High, but Mox brought that reign to a thundering end. The tension was clear from the start; Coach Kilmer wanted his players to think that their football careers were the end-all-be-all of their lives, but Mox wasn't having any of that small town malarkey. Their bad blood was made quite evident in "Moxon, your daddy was a no-talent pussy but at least he listened". It was in a way, just a warped version of Footloose, where the controlling members of small town society simply could not shackle the youth who have aspirations beyond High School and sex with drunk toothless locals. Dancing-football, tomayto-tomahto. Bud Kilmer's days had to come to an end, and Johnny Moxon was the guy that was going to spearhead that operation. It was a bold move by Mox, but someone had to do it. In the end Mox and the rest of the senior captain coach the team to a 23rd district championship, and Kilmer's statue was torn down just like Sadaam's statue in Baghdad. Get Some Mox

Mark S, Chicago IL
Why won't outrageously hot women have sex with me?

Mark, I think you are approaching the situation with the wrong frame of mind. Extremely hot women are used to having men swoon over them, ready to wait on them at a moment's notice. What makes you stand out from the crowd? Some women just want you to be the alpha male and take what you want. So this isn't really a matter of them not having sex with you, because they are waiting for you to grab them by the arm and make animalistic love to them. Trust me, there will be a lot more relations with top notch women if you just become a go-getter. Another word of advice, if you are going to grab sexy women and forcibly have sex with them on the assumption that she is waiting for you to take her, be sure to yell SURPRISE when you're done, that way if she was planning to say you raped her, you cant tell her you it was just surprise sex, and you two can share a hearty chuckle over it.

Mark S, Chicago IL
Why am I constantly itchy in places other than my groin, such as my eyes, nose, head, and butt?

I'm going to have to chalk this one up to sweating problem that I have noticed over the last 4+ years of knowing you. This is only exasperated by your erratic bathing habits.






Don't fret my little babies, the rest of Marky Mrk's, Megan's, and Jesse's inquiries are soon to follow.

Part II coming up tommorow

I'm an Open Book

So lately I have been posting to SBB roughly 1-2 times per week, albeit a little less than I had been back in the infancy stages of the blog, but now that its old enough to have its own big hairy set of nuts I'm giving it the room to grow creatively (That and now that I have another job I can't exactly spend all day in my underwear watching music videos and ejaculating my wisdom on you anymore). I hope you can forgive me my beautiful little babies but circumstances have forced me to take shorts stints in between being fucking unbelievable.

At the current moment I am working on a few different post ideas that you will all undoubtedly make you feel the shock and awe that can only be comparable to the first time you touched a boob, but they are works in progress for now; therefore in order to keep things fresh I have another idea for the time being. I've noticed that often times when I'm sitting at work one of my friends has a question that they feel only I can answer. Occasionally I even have questions for them but that's not usually anything of substance, more often than not I'm just inquiring about "what exactly the menstrual cycle is" or "why can't dogs vote?" and various other things of that nature. I'll have you know that my future legal counsel Mark "The Domination of Litigation" Swantek and I are already working on a grassroots campaign for household pet suffrage that will one day extend voting rights to the dogs and cats of America, however I digress. Like I was saying before, I get asked a lot of questions throughout my day by both SBB lovers and haters alike (let's be honest, nobody hates the blog, but some people are just generally haters, so the distinction had to be made), and I figured I should spend some time addressing them outside of a normal gchat IM, understanding that when someone asks a question there are usually 3 other people out there wondering the same thing. That being said, perhaps my thousands upon thousands of readers will remember that back a few months ago I opened up the blog to a Q&A session and I found it to be a great success, and since its been a while since I dropped some serious knowledge on you bitches, and at the urging of a friend named Griffin, I am about to do it again.

So this is it; I am inviting you to pick my brain. If you can muster up the courage this will be another priceless opportunity to ask me whatever you feel like asking. You'll be able to look back on this opportunity and in a few years when you bring up my name in a conversation you will undoubtedly be interrupted by someone saying "Joe Caminiti, that guy was a goddamn visionary", and you will have to nod in agreement. I will answer any question within reason, all you have to do is post your question in the comment field. Simple enough? I hope so.

I don't have any parting words for you. Goodbye my loves
SBB

Getting Weird

So it has been almost nine months since I graduated from college and in that time I had made a few observations. One of the first things I noticed after I graduated was that probably nobody in my amorphous group of friends from Marquette will be marrying another member of the group. My parents met each other in college along with a pretty substantial number of the my friends' parents, so naturally I thought it was a bit odd that I can't imagine any two of my friends actually getting married (except for NikaGoogs, since that one is already pretty much locked up). This led me to start to reminisce for a little bit and it began to make much more sense to me. My guy friends will never end up dating and eventually marrying one of my female friends for the exact same reason that I will never be able to run for public office; every girl from college played witness to what they must assume to be my absolute worst, and most of the time it was captured on camera. Personally, I believe that these specific instances that will undoubtedly shame my family into hiding are in fact my moments of greatness, but I won't force you to agree with me on this one.

I was trying to think of a way in which I could frame these scenarios that would do them justice they truly deserve and not make me look like a complete retard, but that might be a bit difficult. To put it simply, sometimes shit got weird.

We did weird shit partly because we are actually weird, but mostly because adding an unconventional and unexpected element to any kind of planned situation just makes things more fun. This morning I was glad to read that the girls a year younger than I are making it a point to get as weird as possible in the months leading up to their graduation (http://can-i-borrow-that.blogspot.com/ ). After a few months out of my college sphere I realized that acting like a chimp on PCP isn't admired in the real world, and it is in fact greatly frowned upon. Rude awakening to say the least. Nine months ago manginas were just gold ol' wholesome fun, but if I tried to get away with doing that now it wouldn't be a laughing matter because I would find myself getting my butt turned into a hat by someone named Lucious in a local Chicago holding pen. None of the girls that saw me or my friends in our truest of forms would ever marry me for the simple reason that they don't want to explain to their future children that she once saw their father naked in his living room with his package tucked between his legs clucking like a chicken. Like I said, sometimes shit just got weird. It wasn't out of the ordinary for things like that to happen with me and my friends, and what made the last few years so funny was that things like that were actually a commonplace. Its not a new fad for college to make silly decisions from time to time like getting high on a Saturday afternoon, driving to the local flea market and buying an exotic pet, but its not normal to watch your room mate hold open another friend's butt cheeks as he spews streams of liquid poop off of your balcony. Its moments like this that will inevitably define the last few years of my life.

Like I said before, the concept of me ever having a successful political campaign is simply out of the question, because there's just way too much evidence out there of shit getting weird. You could probably make an entire scrapbook of mangina pictures, or various nude renditions of guitar hero. I guess its not that bad, after all some people go to college and pick up a coke problem or smoke crystal meth out of light bulbs, but having someone (cough cough Bridget Comeau cough cough) rip off your underwear at a party and force you to take a picture of your penis in a hot dog bun isn't the kind of behavior that attracts someone whom society
would consider "wife material".

Since I can almost indubitably rule out any Marquette girl from my matrimonial plans it would seem that I need to find a wife in another arena, but therein lies another problem; how could I possibly convince a woman that never witnessed me act like a giant drunk 5 year old that my antics were just somewhat normal given the situation? Its a rare occasion that a girl hears about a few of us getting weird and thinks "Damn that's hot". I'm going to have to somehow play my weird ass days filled with manginas and urban outdoor pooping as some sort of phase, kinda like how some girls dabble in lesbinaism or have sex with the entire basketball team because they hate their fathers. That kind of phase.

Knowing this, has the last 4 years of getting weird as fuck damned me to point where I will inevitably have to die alone? I imagine myslef old and drunk, thinking that if I had just kept my pants on at a few of those bars instead of running around screaming "Look at me, I'm Ellen DeGeneres" I may have been able to live a happy life beyond 25. As of right now I'm holding out for something better; there has to be a woman out there that will appreciate a good mangina, a pair of testicles hanging from a high cut pair of homemade jorts, or a practical joke involving poop, right? I think there is, and when I meet her I'm going to find out if she has a sister for my friend Paul Coogan.

Stay Black,
SBB

Just another WTF moment from Lady Gaga

When I began writing SBB I never really intended to write solely on any particular subject, pop culture included. Instead I began this blog with the intention of imparting a few tidbits of wisdom and providing a commentary on observations and things that cross my mind, for instance, does the inside of a nose have a smell, and what does squirrel poop look like? I say that I try not to blog too much about pop culture because there's already far too many out there that will be talking about the same things, and every idea just ends up being recycled and distributed in different packaging. Regardless, I felt compelled to give my two cents on the spectacle that was last night's Grammy's, and by that I mean Lady Gaga.

First of all, it became quite clear that word of SBB has reached the ears of Hollywood, because every time the camera shot to my aforementioned dream girl Katy Perry, her doucher-of-the-month fiance Russell Brand had his arm wrapped so tight around her I was getting scared her magnificent dual chest cannons were going to pop. At least Russell knows what he's dealing with now, but let me remind you that my style is impetuous and I'm gunning for you.

Like I said before, I can't exactly write a blog about this year's Grammys without giving at least some attention to the glitter filled buttfuck that is Lady Gaga. The first 15 minutes of the awards ceremony left me extremely confused and yet strangely intrigued, and not necessarily in a good way. I understand her desperate need for attention now that she's famous, because it has become fairly evident that until about 12 months ago she was just another girl who was unfortunately born with a face that looks strangely similar to a German Shepard's shaved asshole. The performance itself looked like an odd attempt to mix Moulin Rouge and The Bride of Frankenstein, and eventually proved that the only way to make Elton John appear less gay is to put him just feet away from Lady Gaga's donut sprinkle covered face. She was pumping an egregious amount of vagina flesh for network television, especially to an event where a majority of the people in attendance are wearing tuxedos. Afterwards the camera showed her in her post performance outfit, which is essentially what I imagine a modern day Judy Jetson would look like after one too many hits of acid. In addition, Lady Gaga must have wanted people to think she won the final challenge on Nickelodeon's Guts, because I'm pretty sure she had a glowing piece of the Agro-Crag adorned atop her head. When it was all over I really only had one thought going through my head; I now know what it must feel like to have a unicorn blow its load all over my face.

Now I don't want everyone to think that I hate Lady Gaga, I'm just extremely confused by her. I guess what I really don't understand is why she feels compelled to be so incredibly outlandish all the time. I get it, shes an entertainer, but her medium is music, and I doubt her music would sound any different if she occasionally woke up in the morning and decided to put on a pair of pants instead of treating every day like its her own crystal meth-induced Halloween party.

I also understand that she's now a individual who's incredibly famous, and in order to maintain that status nowadays its easier to just get yourself talked about instead of actually creating something of substance. If you can't get yourself recognized your fame will inevitably disappear into the night with the inconspicuous silence of a kitten fart. That's fine I guess, do your thing and try your best to squeeze some cash out of your fame while you have it. What really irks me isn't the fact that Gaga runs around looking like something straight out of my nightmares, its the people that shower her with praise for her originality. If what shes doing today inspires every teenage girl start dressing like a hooker from the year 2059 then I'll give credit where credit is due, but as for right now just wearing bejewled panties and singing about how you're bluffin' with your muffin falls a little bit short. There's no denying the fact that she has some talent as an entertainer, but people make her out to be the second coming of David Bowie, and what these uberfans don't realize is that they're really just bastardizing the idea of originality. In reality, the deliberate quest to stand out and be original is the probably the most overdone and inherently unoriginal thing can someone can do.

Allow me to put this in a scope that you may be able to associate with a little bit better; its a little like in High School; the ugly kids without any friends decide to start wearing thick black eyeliner and studded belts and told people they were trying to be "different". Being different from everyone else just for the sake of being different doesn't make you original, for the most part it just makes you a fucking weirdo. That's what Lady Gaga is right now: a big fucking weirdo.

No slight to Gaga, she's reached super stardom and shes probably wiping her dirty ass with hundred dollar bills, and good for her. She's made millions by being so strange that it confuses people, and that's kinda cool in my book. Either way, this is where I'm going end this diatribe. Hoped you liked it, and if you didn't then I hope a giant bird shits in your hair later.

Loves Ya Bye Bye