Guest Blogger: gettin' Jiggy With The End Of The World

Today SBB welcomes its first guest blogger, and I assure you this privelage does not come by easy. Jesse Ford has requested an opportunity to drop knowledge on you mofos. Today's topic; musings on the Mayan Apocalypse and the man who may just save your life. mark your calendars, just two more years until the Day of Reckoning bitches.










12/21/2010

First and foremost, I would like to express my gratitude to Snoop Bloggy Blog for allowing me to drop knowledge on all of you unsuspecting, apathetic, and poorly prepared readers.

As I’m sure is common practice for many others in our society, I prefer to fall asleep while watching television at night. I have become very adept at using the sleep timer, and find it easier to relax my mind and fall into my nightly dreams with the television’s presence. In trying to sleep, I purposely do not watch any programming that I find overly interesting or captivating that may keep me awake, such as SVU re-runs or MTV reality shows. Instead, I choose to turn on shows on CNN and/or the Discovery and History channels. While watching such programming can often times be mentally stimulating, I rarely fail to fall asleep after an extended period of time. With one notable exception.

One evening as I was retiring to my bed, I flipped past a special on one of the aforementioned channels and was unable to sleep for hours that night, and unable to sleep comfortably for weeks after the fact.

**Side note: who cares what channel it really was and what the name of the program was. People don’t really enjoy shows on the Discovery Channel; they like the idea of watching that Discovery Channel so they can attempt to show others how intellectual they are (notable exception: Cash Cab. It doesn’t hold a proverbial candle to Jeopardy, but an enjoyable show). “Yeah, I don’t even watch TV. Those reality shows on MTV are stupid. I pretty much only watch the educational stuff on the Discovery Channel because it’s interesting.” Go F*** yourself, ‘Discovery Channel guy.’ If you can honestly tell me that you would rather watch some douche bag roll around in animal shit on Dirty Jobs than see Snookie get punched in the face by some drunk guy on Jersey Shore, then you are a moron and lead an extremely boring and uninteresting life.**

Anyway, I got caught into a special about all of the “myths” and “rumored phenomenon” about the potential end of the world as we know it on December 21st, 2012. I will spare you with all of the details about what can/will happen in two years from now, because that is what Wikipedia is for. Just know that we are going down. There are too many coincidences and theories out there from proven sources (newsflash: the Mayans and Nostradamus haven’t ever really been wrong about anything. Ever).With this, I thought I should mentally prepare the readers of SBB and allow them to prepare accordingly for the end of civilization.

First and foremost, I highly recommend that people prepare their personal bucket lists of things they want to do before the world ends (my personal top 5 you ask? 5.) Live in South America 4.) Buy something really nice for my parents to show my everlasting gratitude 3.) Punch Jay Cutler in the dick 2.) Appear in a rap music video 1.) Make out with Annie Griffin). Get your bucket list made as quickly as possible and do all you can do accomplish the goals you get out for yourself soon; you only have two years.

(Allow SBB to interject for a moment: There will be not dick-punching of All-The-Way Jay)

After making and planning to execute your bucket list, it is never too early to begin planning for the chaos that will ensue two years from now. While there are many theories out there on just how chaotic things will get, none of which can be trusted significantly more than the other, it is vital that people are aware that anything is possible when discussing the end of the world. Because of this, I have made plans that will coincide with the adaptation that may prove to be necessary.

(Uhhh, Jesse, maybe you should've asked John Cusack what the deal was, he made a documentary about this after all...)

After saying goodbye to my family and closest friends in early December of 2012 (who will probably going about their normal lives like the naïve people that they are), I will make my way to California, and as the date of destruction nears, I will do as best as I possibly can to be in the direct vicinity of an individual that has been trained and actively participated in adverse situations and dealt with many (if not all) of the potential problems that one can expect on 2012. That person is known as Willard Christopher Smith.


Will Smith can and will cover a lot of bases concerning the potential looming disasters. Throughout his career, he has successfully dealt with the following scenarios that I have considered possible two years down the road.

If the human species goes completely extinct, I would trust Will (I Am Legend). If there were to be an alien take over, I would trust Will (Independence Day, Men in Black I and II). If there was a Robot takeover and anarchy, I would trust Will (I, Robot). If there were to be issues with drug dealers (Bad Boys I and II) and/or Western Outlaws (Wild Wild West), I would trust Will. If I needed organs (Seven Pounds), I would trust Will. If I faced extreme poverty (The Pursuit of Happiness) or could not attain the affection of the girl I am madly in love with (Annie Griffin…. I mean Hitch), I would trust Will.

All of the above scenarios could come into play in 2012, and all in all there is no other individual I would prefer to guide and accompany me upon the disaster that will go down. If Jeff Goldblum, Eva Mendes, or his dog from I Am Legend (oh wait, he got killed by aliens) are around as well, I’m not mad about it.

(I'll take Carleton over these schoolboy bitches any day...)



Note that I only discussed his movie career above. I did not even begin to mention his role in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air or the musical genius he created known as Big Willie Style (EVERYONE’s first album owned in elementary school. That, or the Spacejam soundtrack) or Willenium. I also felt no need to mention his accomplishments as a husband and father. If Will Smith is in fact, God, is Jaden Smith in turn Jesus Christ, the Messiah? I’m not sure, but if I were to see him walk on water I cannot say that I would be surprised.

(Blasphemy!)

Will Smith is one of the very few people who have the capability to save me from the impending end of the world in two short years, and I could not be happier with the fact that I already have the insight to recognize this and plan ahead for my survival. Willard Christopher Smith has been and will continue to be one of the most accomplished individuals in the world, and I could not be more comfortable in putting my fate in his hands upon civilization’s potential destruction.

You now have two full years to come up with your own plan. Since I have already called “dibbs” on Will Smith, I wish the rest of you the best of luck. To the best of my knowledge, Tom Cruise is still available for all of your salvation needs.

Regards,

Jesse A. Ford

Musings on the Blind, Deaf, and Busty, with Masturbatorial Undertones

Mailbag: Episode 3 coming in the next edition of SBB, so take an active role in your blog experience and post a question, and don't just send me a picture of your nuts (I'm talking you you Jesse)

Maybe you have noticed but I haven't been attacking the blog-sphere as often as I used to. I'd like to blame this on the fact that my new(ish) job requires a considerable amount of focus. Not that my new job is excruciatingly hard, but considering that I could have trained a dolphin to do my old accounting job, its certainly a step up in the responsibility department. The downside; I don't get to blow off entire afternoons to devote to ejaculating 2000+ words of genius into your eyes. My lack of free time at work has led to a deficiency in inspiring material, alas I do not have many long blowhard-y gripes to offer you. But what I have been lacking in a serious muse I have found in some odd observations as of late that I have found really puzzling. I think you all know this by now so it goes without saying that there are some truly unspeakable things that drift through my mind because I'm strangely perverted wildly imaginative. Oh well, let's go exploring into my observations.

Living and working in a metropolis like Chicago, not a day goes by where you don't see something totally fucking odd. Over the last few weeks I haven't been able to help but notice that there are a ton of blind people just strolling the streets of Chicago. I'm not joking, I see like 5 blind people every day, They're fucking everywhere. What could these people possibly be doing? I know they don't exactly get sent to a farm for the blind, but I just see what kind of plans these guys could have possibly made for that day. "Hey guys, what are you guys doing today? Oh that sounds like fun, but does it involve your eyes? Oh it does, shit. I guess I'll just catch you guys later, being that I'm blind an all". To be walking around the Loop at 7:30 am suggests to me that they have jobs, which I find both remarkable and baffling at the same time. What was that job interview like? "Well sir, what are your strengths?"..."Uh well I'd say my resiliency, considering I made it to this interview on time and my fucking eyes don't work". Obviously a lifetime of being blind has forced them to find other ways to get acclimated to the world around them, but I almost get hit by a bus or a cab every afternoon and I have eyes like a god damn hawk, so the fact that blind guys aren't getting smashed in the middle of the street daily is miraculous to me. Perhaps the one thing that has definitely dawned on me now that I have begun to notice these mobs of blind people, is that being blind must totally fucking suck, suck way more than being deaf.

Speaking of deaf people, why do they all talk like Charlie Brown's teacher with a mouth full of Novocaine? I get it, you can't hear yourself, but someone needs to sign to you that you're talking like a dumbass. Seriously, spit it out mush-mouth. The other day at work some lady started talking to me and at first I had no idea what she was saying. I was immediately thinking to myself, "Holy shit, either this lady has the worst sinus infection of all time or shes legitimately fucking deaf". In her defense, it is cold season, but I was so confused that I'm pretty sure I made a face at her that suggested that my mother huffed chemicals from under the kitchen sink while she was pregnant with me. I didn't know if I was supposed to speak really slowly and obnoxiously mouth my words like I have to with my 89 year old grandpa or just nod like a putz. What if I did that and she wasn't deaf? I was going to look like the world's biggest retard. I totally panicked, and ended up saying "okey dokey" giving her a thumbs up, and walking back to my desk feeling like an idiot. So yeah, fuck you too, deaf people.

I started writing this post during the Victoria's Secret fashion show, and I'm going to assume you all were watching as well, because... uhh... why the fuck wouldn't you be? What are you in Al-Qaeda or something? I'd be willing to bet that even the blind people I was making fun of earlier were whacking it. Either way, if you missed it go ahead and do your genitals a solid and watch it online. Honestly, I know we all have busy schedules but if you can read my misogynistic and racist blog then I find it hard to believe you make time in your day to watch arguably the ten most physically perfect women on the planet walk around in their underwear and high heels. I'm sure even the gays love this thing for all the foofy-poofy outfits and makeup, and whatever gay guys like besides bulges. See, there is fun to be had by all!



As if I needed any more reason to watch the Victoria's Secret fashion show, it featured multiple performances by my favorite set of singing tits, Katy Perry. As you probably already know, this blog is loosely dedicated to my perverted obsession with KP, but honestly this might be the greatest thing since sliced bread, and loaves of bread before that. I went to private school so I know I'm smart enough to tell the difference between reality and Hollywood fiction, but as of right now I'm convinced that CBS is run by Leo DiCaprio and that turd from 3rd Rock From the Sun, because after putting Katy Perry's chesticles and Victoria's Secret angels on one stage I feel like someone just Inception-ed my wet dreams.

Just a few observations I made while watching and concurrently trying not to paint my shorts a dull shade of white (c'mon I was drinking skim milk I swear!) seeing KP and the Victoria's Secret angles on stage. First of all, the CBS cameraman was getting rather gratuitous with the closeups on Katy's boobs, helping to make me believe that I was somehow controlling the camera's focus with my mind and/or penis. Secondly, all these girls are gorgeous, but who invited the asian chick? This is going to sound racist no matter how I put it so I'm just going to go for it; I understand that this was done to appeal to a wider audience, but let's be honest, my boner has no understanding of political correctness. Not that she wasn't attractive, but **spoiler alert: irrational comparison** its just like when our grade school math books would have a picture on the cover of a paraplegic kid in a wheelchair standing around with her friends as their about to play double-dutch jump rope. Its like Forrest Gump's mother used to say; "Sometimes...people do things that just don't make no sense".

As I'm watching this amazing display of all the things I picture when I'm home alone with my Jergen's, I can't help but feel conflicted. I'd like to think that I have had my fair share of delightful sexual encounters in my day, but as I'm marveled at how absolutely gorgeous these women are, I can't help but feel like I have truly achieved nothing thus far. And the fact that some guitar playing sleazes and French guys who wear scarves during August gets to make some old fashioned penis-and-vagina action with these women legitimately hurts my feelings. I feel like Will Hunting's math teacher when he realizes that even though he teaches at MIT, he will likely never achieve what some dirty, ungrateful, schlub can do in his sleep. Alas, woe is me.

I'm not even sure what I would do if I got to the chance to touch one of these women naked though. I'd cut off my own thumb to get KP to let me try to put a baby in her belly, and then subsequently do some pretty sick, yet imaginative sexual acts with my severed thumb, but what would I be like afterward? Part of me thinks that I would force myself to lie down in traffic because no other experience in life could ever hold a candle to that; life would be a constant rainy day. But on the other hand, maybe my life post-coitus with KP would somehow take on some new cosmic importance. Maybe burying myself in her mammary abundance would somehow open my eyes to all the previously unseen beauty in this world. I don't know, I'll let you know when it happens.

In the meantime I want you loyal followers to know that SBB has a new obsession candidate (spots currently or previously filled by Katy Perry, Olivia Wilde, and Kathy Bates). Her name is Erin Heatherton, she's a Victoria's secret angel, and she makes my bathing suit area feel funny.

She is currently giving Iron Mike Tyson a run for his money in SBB's favorite boxer category. She's nice, I want to touch her.

As I Stated before, I'm inviting you take participate in your blogging experience and taking questions for Mailbag Pt. 3, so feel free to ask away, but don't think I'm going to answer any questions about those dick pics I "allegedly" texted many of you. Screw you, you don't have any proof.

SBB out

Not Impressed Part Deux: Chilean Miners

So last Friday I started what would evolve into a two part diatribe about things these days that get a shit-ton of attention, yet do not impress me in the least. You may think that this just the incessant griping of a narrow minded ass who refuses to give credit where credit is due. However I will have you know that I prefer the term "rational skeptic". Either way, the focus today will be everybody's favorite feel-good story of the fall, the Chilean Miners.

First of all, let's just establish the fact that being a miner probably sucks a whole lot of ass. I say "probably" because even though I have never been actually been a miner, I do remember after one particular episode of my adolescence where I was most certainly acting like a piece of shit, my father told me that if I didn't feel like pulling my weight at school that I could go work in a *swear word abbreviated with M-F*-ing mine and see how much I like it. The message didn't really resonate, because as fate would have it I grew up to be that same piece of shit but with more consistent facial hair, however the message I loosely gathered from my father's expletive laced lecture was that I actually wouldn't want to be a miner, because being a miner fucking sucks. Being a miner sucks for a number of reasons; your job is to get shipped into caves and deep holes to dig up expensive shit that you don't get to keep. Its dark, presumably stinky, and particularly dangerous. On top of the backbreaking work for little pay, it also sucks to be a miner because most of them have unreasonable curfews, you need parental consent for just about everything fun, you can't buy ciggarettes, and adults naturally never really take you seriously. It really sucks being a miner! (homophone joke, check)

Now that we've established that it sucks to have to be a miner, let's break down what makes the story so unimpressive to me. These 33 copper miners spent 69 days trapped almost a half mile underground. This particular mine was a safety inspector's wet dream, and 8 workers have died on site since 1998. What I find odd about the whole story is that everyone forgets to mention that these 33 idiots got their dumb asses stuck in a fucking hole for more than two months. I've done a lot of stupid shit in my short existence, for example once I dropped the family cat down our laundry chute just to scare my poor mother (success), but I never got myself stuck 2000+ feet below the surface of the earth. Going one half mile into the ground and using giant tools to violently shake the earth above you when every safety inspector and their mother has deemed the mine completely unsafe, is, actually a really stupid thing to do. You may think that it wasn't really up to them to decide because it was an essential function of their job, but I think that claim could be easily refuted by pointing out that they maybe they should have chose not to work in a fucking mine. "Well Chile has an enormous mining industry that represents about 1/3 of their national income, and thus employs a significant amount of Chilean natives". Hmmm, well then maybe those guys should have had the foresight not to be born in Chile. How's that for logic? Eat your fucking heart out Socrates.

No matter how you choose to look at it, these guys, adults mind you, spent 69 straight days dicking around in a hole. You know what happens if an American kid spent a prolonged amount of time sitting in a hole? The kid's parents get a call from his school counselor telling them that their son is going to start getting picked up in a considerably shorter bus in the morning.

We were constantly being informed as to the developments of the rescue efforts, and how the 33 men trapped beneath a half mile of earth were doing. What we forget to mention is they got to spend 69 straight days presumably not working. 69 days in a row with no work? Under any other circumstances that's called taking the summer off. Not half bad if you ask me, especially when you think about the fact that they probably haven't had a day off in a long time, being that their Chilean and whatnot. Also, its not as if these guys were trapped on a mountaintop and forced to eat the weak and wounded, they were pretty much just hanging out. While they were down there they were able to watch DVD's and Chilean soccer games on a 50 inch projection screen all day. Literally, that's not even a joke. Where I come from that's called Saturday. And, amongst many other things that were sent down to them from the surface was a set of speakers and iPods so they could listen to and enjoy their Ricky Martin or whatever. (But Joe, these guys are from Chile, Ricky Martin is from Puerto Rico! Chilean, Puerto Rican, its all just semantics. You say buh-ree-toe, I say buh-rih-toe). 69 days in a mine, where the daily routine consisted of A.) not having to mine shit, which we have already established tends to suck, and B.) spending said days off listening to music and watching DVD's and soccer games. Sounds like a vacation to me. Now a lot of people would say that being stuck in a copper mine away from your loved ones and in constant darkness isn't exactly an ideal vacation, but for fuck's sake these 33 guys aren't exactly the Kennedy's either. Its not like they're used to hopping a jet to Acapulco for a week of fun in the sun and swimming with dolphins, they work in a fucking mine in Chile. Its really easy to see being stuck 2,000+ feet below the earth as a terrible thing, but let's nto forget that there are some perks, few but substatial, to living in subterreanean mine. First of all, they didn't need to worry about getting melanoma, which is comforting because it happens to cause more than 3/4ths of skin cancer related deaths. What a relief. In addition, these Chilean miners didn't have to worry about catching bed bugs (yucky) or getting mugged along the roads by masked banditos.

I think the reason why I am so frustrated with these dickheads is because it has become pretty clear that they're all going to get fucking rich from this. Before they were even on the surface peolpe were already sending them ridiculous amounts of free shit. Steve Jobs sent them all iPads, because that's totally practical and all. So far over 15 professional sports teams have asked them to be their guests at games. I can only assume that Ernesto or Osvaldo is a big Philadelphia 76ers fan (I made that up). Its only a matter of time until someone gets a book deal, and people pretend to be captivated by their survival story again so they can justify buying that Kindle they barely ever use. You'll never catch me reading it, and ya know why? Because it will probably be in Spanish, that's why, duh. To be honest this whole thing reeks of Sully Sullenberger, the US Airways pilot deemed a hero in 2008 for landing a commercial airliner in the Hudson River after the engines were damaged by a flock of birds. He reached hero status, promptly retired from the airline, appeared as a guest at sporting events, wrote a book, and now makes a ton of cash as a motivational speaker. Essentially, this guy got paid for having a select few moment s of clear-headed resolve. What he should have done was not hit a fucking flock of birds, a pretty essential and fundemental task if you want to be a commercial airline pilot. People were so astonished that he was able to get his shit together for a minute and land the plane in the Hudson, which may I remind you is 4,700 feet wide. Taking out the space occupied by the plane, landing in the Hudson River gave him a margin of error wider than 86% of a mile. Phew!

All I'm saying is that I'm not exactly blown away by your resilience when you got your own dumb asses stuck in a fucking hole deep beneth the surface of the Earth. I'm even less impressed by your resilience and will to survive when you got to fiddledick around for 69 straight days, listening to iPods and watching soccer games on a 50 inch projection screen. Plus,, I'm glad you couldn't mine any more copper, because copper makes pennies, and pennies are annoying and make your hands smell gross. So guess what Chilean Miners, not that impressed.

Not That Impressed Part 1: Marathon Runners

Are you there internet? It's me, Joe.

I started this post last week but I had to edit it for the sake of brevity, and because before I finished it I saw something else equally as unimpressive getting ass-tons of attention. Thus, I decided to shorten them and turn them into one solitary post. You're going to come out as as the winner on this because I know how you kiddies eat up my ignorant griping like Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Now I must warn you, this post might just make you think I'm a pretentious asshole, but hey, the egg's on your face because I am. I'm joking, but seriously.

Like I stated before last week I bore witness to two groups of people receiving outpourings of affection from the masses, and I couldn't help but say to myself, "eh, not that impressed". And since I'm a part time blogger and full time dickhead, I decided to write a little bit about it. I don't expect to you to side with me 100%, because society says that would make you a total shitbag, but I find it hard to believe that you can totally dissagree with my following sentiments.

Last Monday I found myself feeling the more unimpressed than I have in a long time. The day before, thousands of people came together for the annual running of the Chicago Marathon. Why was it that I saw an almost uncountable amount of people walking around the city in the t-shirt they got from participating in the race. Dude we get it, you ran the marathon, but now its time you got over yourself. I can't help but think that the people walking around with their free marathon shirt the very next day afterward happen to be the very same people that shoved the fact down everyone's throat in the months leading up to it. My biggest gripe with marathon runners is that they would like you to think that by completing marathon they are either a superior person to you, or a superior athlete. To which I reply, "No Col. Sanders, you're wrong!".

Now don't get me wrong, running 26.2 miles no matter your time is a feat that I can respect, but what I don't respect is the smug, self-involved attitude that so often comes with it. "Hey guys, did you hear I'm running the marathon this year?". Yeah I think I remember some of the hundred times you casually dropped that tidbit into conversation. It was also kinda hard to miss all the obnoxious Facebook status updates you posted like, "Ugghhh, terrible day at work and now I have to run 15 miles :( ". Which reminds me, if you chose to train and run a marathon you probably should keep the complaints to a minimum.

I had plenty of friends that ran and hats off to all of them because, as I said before its a comendable physical challenge, but let's not get ahead of ourselves and call it significant. You know what would make it significant? If you won the marathon, that would get a great congratulations from me. However, seeing as though you are not some Kenyan guy, you're just Frankie Fuckface who just decided to run because he thought it would be cool, you're going to get very little out of me. I get it, you pushed yourself to your physical limit, but so did 41,000 other people, and that was just on a Sunday. A lot of people would say that I'm missing the point, and that its about pushing themselves to their personal best, But if that was the case then why are the same people constantly talking about it. If it was just about pushing yourself then why is it necessary for everyone and their mother to know ou ran the fucking marathon? I don't even really want to get started on the amount of time you dedicted to this whole thing; the fact that most, if not all of you spent such an exorbitant amount of time training for this race baffles me. I simply cannot justify spending that much time every day just running, and anyone who can has been eating retard-burgers. I dont know exactly what I did with all the time I was not training for the marathon, but I guarantee it was way more productive, even if all I was doing was playing with sock puppets in my apartment and making up songs about my penis. Don't snicker, that right is afforded to my as an American.

 Another aspect of the marathon runner buttfuck-a-palooza are the people that guilt you into supporting them because they are running for a cause. I just don't feel as though I should have to give you money just because you don't have any discernable hobbies. "Hey did you hear I'm running the marathon for Lupus research?". Yeah I heard you the other 1000 times you mentioned it, and I still don't care enough to even google what lupus is. If I cared at all about either you or the cause I would just ask you where I can donate money, but you wouldn't want that, because then you wouldn't be able to put all the focus on yourself. Listen dude, you aren't Forrest Gump, don't tell me you were all of a sudden overcome with the urge to just go run, and (insert charity here) was that reason. Don't get me wrong, I'm in no way saying you shouldn't support a charitable cause, but don't make it my burden just because you decided you wanted to run the marathon, because that's selfish and I learned in preschool that being selfish gets a free admission to the time out chair. It's not that they're running for a charity, its that they have the whole idea backwards; the concept of running to support anything, is that you're participation in the event is supposed to draw people's attention to the cause, but from what I have gathered, an overwhelming amount of said people run for a charity so that a larger group of friends and colleagues with commend them for running in a hard race. Essentially, if you decided to use the veil of a charity to draw attention to the fact that you voluntarily elected to run the marathon then you my friend, are a supreme piece of shit.

I have always found it strange that people think they need to go do something extreme to get obligate others to give money or attention to something, and I think this is especially true when it comes to marathons. Since I was in kindergarten I have participated in sports, and over that period of time I have realized that for the most part, running fucking sucks. Running is what coaches made kids like me do for dicking around at practice, fucking up, and just acting like a shithead in general. I always wondered why people would just run as their athletic activity, but then it dawned on me; running is a great sport for people who conveniently suck at sports. Now I'm not saying you aren't an athlete if all you do is run, no far from it, being a runner and an athlete are certianly not mutually exclusive. All I'm saying is that my sister ran Track and Cross Country in High School and she is possibly the slowest and least athletic person I know. Whatever, that's beside the point. Running a marathon is great and all, but don't for a minute think that it makes you better than me at anything. I even saw people wearing their marathon medals to work. You know what that say to me? "hey everyone look at me, I'm really good at running for long periods of time without stopping!" Well ya know what else that makes you good at? Being a fucking dork. Marathon runner? Not impressed.

You know what's impressive? That mofo Karl malone


Ridiculous 1980's music Video of the day


Not Impressed Part Deux coming soon
SSB

Someone Needs To Go Back To Rhet/Comp

 This picture has nothing to do with my post, but for some reason when I look at it my pants fit a little more snug and I suddenly feel like I really have to pee. Who knows?

Bathroom Breakdown

For those of you who have had the pleasure of knowing me you may vaguely remember, and in fact would be hard pressed to forget the fact that fart jokes and potty humor seemingly consume my attention. I know, shocking right? This coming from the guy who once described in vivd detail, watching one of his best friends expell liquid poo from his ass off of a 2nd story balcony. Never in a million years!

Poop, feces, doodoo, shit, farts, sharts, diarrhea, crap sandwiches. You're either picturing it in your head or making the noise right now. I don't care what anyone else says because if you deny it you're a liar. It really doesn't matter how ma-tuuure you think you are, poop related activity produces a chuckle at the least (Except when stepped in or found in your food, and in which case poop is similar to plane crashes or herpes; its still funny to everyone except the involved party). Now coming towards the end of my 24th year of existence I can safely say with the utmost confidence in my mastery of mathematics that poop=laughs. No pun intended but certainly applicable, "That shit is funny".

However I think sometimes I forget one of the main aspects of bathroom humor, and that is the bathroom itself. I have so many memories of goofs-a-plenty happening in various bathrooms in my past. I'm not talking about a women's bathroom, because for all I know there could be a German discoteca in those things. I do think that before continuing I must make a very important distinction; public vs. private bathrooms.

For men at least, private bathrooms serve a number of purposes; its really our library, command center, and place of contemplation and relaxation all wrapped into one. Its our special place...our special place that we poop in. Public bathrooms are a completely different bird. As I have pointed out in numerous posts as well as overall life experiences, the word "public", especially when placed in front of a noun, usually can be substitued for "fucking gross". Ergo, public bathrooms typically follow suit. Although having to bear the brunt of what naturally goes along with the public moniker, there is an upside to a bathroom shared with the masses; a lot more funny things happen in a public bathroom.

Just to start, I'm going to go off on a little anecdotal tangent. I know you're probably thinking to yourself, "A tangent sounds great considering the fact he's clearly dedicated this entire post to poop". Well, in May of '08 I was flying back to Milwaukee but I had a changeover in Minneapolis MN. It was really early in the morning and the airport Minneapolis airport was a relative ghost town, and I found myself incredibly bored waiting for my plane. I decided that I should buy a magazine and flip through a few articles while I drop a deuce. I find the closest bathroom to my gate and go inside. After a short period of time I start to notice an amount of traffic that didn't really go with the relative few people I had previously seen in the terminal. Maybe you remember, maybe you live in a cave but a year prior Idaho Senator Larry Craig had been arrested for soliciting gay sex from an undercover cop in a men's room at an airport. In fact I distintcly remember various news reports referring to the particular bathroom he was caught in as, and I kid you not, "A hotbed of homosexual activity". Let's be honest, that's a PC way of saying "There's a lot of dudes blowing a lot of other dudes in this bathroom". As I'm remembering this I start to get just a little nervous, and I type a text to my a friend that said "Hey, what airport did that Senator get caught trying to get a bj from some guy in a bathroom". All the while the words "hotbed of homosexual activity" keep slamming into my brain. Not 30 seconds later I get a response that says one word, "Minneapolis". In an instant I am wiped, zipped, and out the fucking door. Now, I understand that there's probably hundreds of bathrooms in that airport, and only one of them was deemed High Noon at the BJ Corral, so I was proably being way over-cautious. For the most part I consider myslef a betting man, but you'll never catch me wagering my cornhole, that's a god damned fact. One of many specific instance where my opinion of something "public" is 100% correct.

Anywhoo, let's leave the Minneapolis Mouth Party behind and get back to the esteemed topic of poop and bathrooms. One thing I've noticed in the last few years is the very unique concept of the workplace bathroom. Its a unique hybrid type of public bathroom where only a select few people are allowed to use it, yet its still much different from your private shitter. I have a hard time characterizing it; its not a sanctuary and its not a petri dish, its just...different.

Recently I took a new job and I can't halp but think every day about how odd the bathroom situation is. One particular situation happened the other day; I was sitting in a stall and a co-worker sat down as if to do a No. 2, but all he did was fart and then proceed to take the longest pee I have ever heard. It rivaled Jimmy Dugan's record piss in "A League of Their Own", all while sitting down. I simply could not get over how weird the whole thing was. In this new position I work for a group of fund managers that all make very large scale investment decisions, and tend to make a lot of money doing so. On the other hand I am at the bottom of the food chain and do not make very much money, however once through those bathroom doors, we are equals.

The funny part is, I'm sitting in my stall while the rich men who control this serious atmosphere, all the while these guys are all audibly evacuating their bowels. Enormous morning craps, boisterous farts, and all sorts of other rumblings are going on, and for some reason I feel complelled to hold back. I've already established that poop and farts are hysterical and always will be, but yet I don't dare let out a laugh. I'm dying in the stall holding in laughter that is ripping at my sides. I ask myself every day why I can't get past my feeling that I need to silence my giddy childlike glee as I listen to guys these guys uncork a symphony of ass. But then one day it hit me; its not like anyone in the company is deaf, and when there are 4 guys in the bathroom that means everyone must hear every single grunt, splash, squirt, and sweet sigh of relief. This can really only mean one thing, everybody in there is holding back from bursting out laughing just like I am.

I think that may even make the whole thing even funnier imagining 4 grown men all holding in schoolboy laughter while the listen to their respected colleagues take nasty shits. Maybe knowing that we're not supposed to laugh is what makes the whole thing so fucking hysterical. In a way its sort of like how everything is exponentially funnier when you're with your classmates in church; knowing your friend next to you might burst out before you do is half the fun.

So next time you're in a work bathroom go ahead and feel free to throw caution to the wind and blast that toilet with all your might, because, let's be honest, "That shit is funny".



See Ya Internet,
SBB

Miss Me Much?

I've gotten a few text and emails asking why I haven't posted anything recently. I that after almost a year now you're all accustomed to having me blast you knowledge all over you like some kind of horny wizard, but honestly this one isn't my fault. I haven't been able to keep up the frequency of my posts lately due to my serious lack of a functioning computer. Why is that you ask? Well maybe my deeply rooted need for barely legal foreign smut has finally given my laptop a death virus? Maybe I sold my computer to some weird african guy from my neighborhood for $100? The reason why is beside the point, but soon I will be coming back like John McLean in the third installment of the Die Hard series; with a g-d vengance.

Trust me, I've seen some whacky shit in the last month and I'm more than excited to tell all you little bitches about it soon. You'll probably be so happy from all the ROFL-ing and LOL-ing that you'll be begging to S my D ASAP.


To entertain you for the time being I have included some of my favorite recent videos, both of which revolve around the most wonderful dance of all time... The Dougie


and a dougie Amateur gets what he deserves...


Dougie Out
SBB

People Watching

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Booty Pop and the Art of Being Lawyered

Are you there internet? It's me, Joe. I'll admit that for the last few weeks I have been rather sporadic with my posting so far this summer. Only to highlight my lack of posting, I was forced to delete one of my longer narrative tales, some of my best work if I do say so myself. I decided it was best to take it down because of the amount of people contacting me trying to find out who the mystery girl was. Assuming that it would probably eventually get back to her, and knowing that females as a gender are irrational beings, she might just freak out. Personally the whole thing was meant as a compliment, but whatever, no skin off my ass, wait errrrrr....that sounded gay.


Now, if you are the kind of person whose initial reaction to hearing anything potentially negative about females is to call someone a male-chauvinist then just hear me out. Also, I'm wondering why you are even reading this right now because you probably think I'm a rapist (is it weird that I'm mobile-blogging from my van?)


Anywhoo, as for my lack of posting recently all I can say is that I'm sorry, but this summer I've been feeling a little uninspired. That is until today.


I was watching True Life today and I heard a mother tell her daughter that women have sex with their heart while men have sex with their peepees (exact words). Well I'm 23 and I can tell you that in the half-dozen or so times I've had sex, never once has my penis touched a wet  tight heart. Never went down and ate a woman's heart. Am I doing it wrong? Judging by the amount of porn I've seen in my day I just don't think so.


I have had an ongoing discussion with a friend of mine over the last few months and we have come to the conclusion that women like to tell themselves that they are fundamentally different from men when it comes to the concept of sex. You may be wondering what the hell I am talking about, well let me indulge you...


It happens all the time, just about every guy and every girl has been a part of this very scenario; a guy walks up to a girl in a bar and his intentions are pretty clear but it uaually ends with... "Whatever, nice try weirdo but nobody here is interested". The the girl turns back to her friends and vents over her crantini about how every time they go out they get hit on by some random guy, and how there are no good relationship quality men around for her or her friends. Yeah, you're all just a bunch of victims. As a guy I can attest to the fact that the male half of the human species will pretty much have sex with anything. As a matter of fact there are a few women on this earth that as long as they let me I wouldn't have much of a problem poking my peener into flesh wound somewhere on their body, but do with that what you will.


That being said, what my friend and I don't seem to understand is why so many women constantly go through life pretending as if men's advances are so unwanted; deep down her and I both know she came to this bar for the exact same reason I did. You came out because you were hoping that you might find someone in the same situation, someone that might just want to have sex with you. Yeah huh, it sure is so just admit it to yourself. If I just wanted to get drunk with some friends we wouldn't each be spending $100 and elbowing every asshole in town to get the bartender's attention. Nope we'd be at someone's apartment drinking two cases, but like I said before we're all here for the same reason. If you don't agree with me yet just ask yourself this, why did you spend 2 hours getting ready? Why did you get so dressed up? Why are you wearing shoes that make you look like a Chinese foot binder? Why on God's green earth would you ever get a wax? If you say you do these things to look and feel good that's a bold faced lie and you know it because if that was the case you would dress like that by yourself at home. Yeah and I came here and started talking to you because I desperately need another friend in my life that vehemently refuses to have sex with me. You did all those things so that when you came here, whether you realize it or not, because you want some of that ass.


Sure there are plenty of differences between men and women, but the fact that we came here to get busy isn't one of them. If that's the case (and it is) then why do so many women convince themselves that they are fundamentally different? How can women and men possibly not see perfectly eye-to-eye on this? How could we actually be that different? After all we are both over 99% genetically identical as chimps, and chimps may I remind you, throw feces at each other. 


There's a point, I swear.


Since we're both here at this bar for a reason, I find it so puzzling that women have convinced themselves they're so above the situation while complaining to their friends over a riesling about nobody in the bar is relationship worthy. "If another guy comes up to me trying to fuck me I'm going to flip. What a creep!". You know what, that's fine because you shouldn't have to feel the brunt of every horny guy but the fact that it happens to you doesn't for a minute give you the right to act like you're any better. What I think women don't want men to know is that the only thing really holding up their transparent claim that they're out dolled up at the bar and not looking to bump is their ability to easily take the high road. They can shut you down because they can make you think (and make themselves think the same) that they are here for a completely different reason. That is until we found out about these...I give you the mother fucking booty pop. 


Are you fucking serious? A Booty Pop. Intentions have ever been more clear. Don't even try the "I just want my clothes to fit better" defense. Yeah, that's why I stuff socks down the crotch of my khakis, to make them fit better. You bought them, just like you have push-up bras because you don't think guys will be interested in you unless you have bigger tits or a fat ass. You're not here for sex in some way shape or form? Ah Hah! Fact. Kaboom. You've been lawyered.  If I ever went home with someone and found out they were wearing a booty pop I would (assuming my penis doesn't wilt while making a the same noise a baloon makes while deflating) I would make her keep them on, cut a whole in the back and fuck her straight up her booty-pop ass. Oh yeah, and I would tell every single person I know.


Amirite? Amirite? Honestly SBB would like to hear what the fairer sex has to say on the matter, so post it as a comment and just try not to be too much of a bitch about it. Ok, great!


Obnoxiously 80's video of the day, from Icehouse

Yo homes, smell ya lata
SBB

Merking of the Year

As this summer has rolled into full swing here in July I have realized that SBB has been up for over 8 months. Since this blog is my proverbial baby I can't help at the juncture but to make the analogy that my little baby is crowning. (I can see it now, its little head poking out...its...its...a blog! A blog with a gigantic weiner!) See what I did there?

Low brow pregnancy joke, check.

Lately I've been thinking to myself, in between sending chain emails laced with bizarre smut and stealing neighborhood children's pets, that something may be missing from my blog baby SBB. Then it came to me; with the amount of senseless awards that are handed out seemingly every day, why shouldn't I give an annual award? Well Joe, how can you give out awards when you don't really know anyone. Who would you give them to? You have 3 friends, two of which are imaginary and the last one being a goldfish. Silence yourself you silly little pixie living behind my ear! Where did you come from anyway? You never used to criticize me when I was still boning the chubby pharmacist technician at CVS for continuous refills of my special special pills. 

Low brow paranoid schizophrenia and substance abuse joke, check.

Since my blog seems to serve as the voice of my ridiculous opinions and my observations of life from atop my high horse, I think that it would only be fitting if my awards followed suit. To decide what the award should be given for I had to go back and think of some of the things I have seen happen this calendar year. After countless hours of mulling it over mastur de-bating it in my head I came to a decision...

Low brow whackin it joke, check.

I think the one thing that has pervaded the entire span of 2010 has been the incredible amount of large scale merkings that have happened. For those of you who aren't hip enough to be familiar with my suburban prep school hybrid version of ebonics that so many of us white breads like to speak, a merking is when someone or something receives an ass-smashing of epic and embarrassing proportions. Not to be confused with a merkin, but we'll get into that at another date. To better illustrate the interpretation of someone or something getting merked I have provided some examples...


Tommy Zbikowski handing out a merking in the ring...

II Kings 2:23-24: The Biblical merking

²³ From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" ²⁴ He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.

Get the idea? 42 children being mauled by bears; straight merking. Well, then without further adieu I give you, the nominees thus far for Merking of the Year 2010.

1.) Haiti. We got the year started off with one whopper of a merking. In January a giant earthquake destroyed the capital city of Port -au-Prince and an estimated 200,000 people died. All over the place people were raising money for aid for the survivors of the ginormous merking they were handed. I guess it takes a natural disaster to guilt humanity into recognizing that everything about Haiti sucks. It was a giant pile of stinky poverty before the earthquake, and now the homeless survivors have to clean up an entire city of ruins and 200,000 dead bodies. Haiti was so merked that George Clooney pooled all of his self-important buddies for a Save Haiti telethon; pretty selfish to ask normal citizens for their hard earned dollars when we all saw you and your buddies steal hundreds of millions of dollars from all those casinos. Haiti, seriously merked.


2.) Lindsay Lohan. I never would've thought that the girl the unstoppable set of redhead boobs from Mean Girls could fall so far. What can I say that hasn't already been said; she fell from "I'm a pseudo-lesbian coke whore" tree and hit every branch coming down. Studios won't hire her, androgynous DJ's wont date her, and as of last week after 2 DUIs and 9 probation violations she is being sent to the bootyhouse. What I never understood was why law enforcement never looked into her British identical twin for some of these crimes, and to imagine Lindsay took the rap for all of them. Its that kind of loyalty that's going to make her a great asset to any one of the many prison gangs she's going to encounter. Lohan: ginger merked.


3.) The Gulf Coast. For 75+ days and counting the deepwater horizon offshore oil drilling site has been spewing oil into the Gulf of Mexico as if if were Kirstie Alley's toilet after an entire afternoon at White Castle. What is so incredible is the fact that this is a merking that just won't stop. It seems like for the last 2.5 months the have sat around shrugging their shoulders and saying "Welp, sorry we merked ya Gulf of Mexico...Fix it? Haha, I mean we'll try, but let's be honest here, we don't have any fucking clue what to do". In a way, watching this thing unfold makes me think of a little kid tapping on a fish tank with his finger and having the whole tank shatter and everything inside pour onto the floor and die, except its not really a fish tank but the Shedd  Aqaurium. Whoopsiedaisy Gulf, sorry for the merking.


And finally...
4.) Anyone within earshot of Mel Gibson. We all thought that this was over when he got pulled over blind drunk in 2006 and unleashed a whirlwind of remarks about his hatred of Jews. Boy were we wrong. In the last 2 weeks we have found out (thanks to his snitchin' ass ex-girlfriend) that Mad Max has a real bad potty mouth, and as it turns out its not just Jews he hates. In his terrible yet incredibly hilarious taped phone conversations he goes on to hand out merk burgers to just about anyone except for exceptional white Catholics like myself. Jews: merked, Mexicans: merked, Blacks: merked, gays: merked, estranged ex-girlfriend's faces and teeth: merked, Mel's career: merked?


So there are the nominees for merking of the year 2010, SBB would love to hear your votes, and none of that liberal hippie "the devastation in Haiti and LiLo's downward spiral shouldn't even be put in the same category" mumbo jumbo because in my world it can. Just view it through my scope, none of these merkings happened to me or have any real direct impact on my life and therefore are funny. Vote on, little bitches.


Ridiculously 80's music video of the day, brought to you by the rocker/space captain Rick Springfield

Merking the interwebs one blog post at a time. 
SBB

World Cup Shmerld Cup

So on Saturday the USA soccer team was eliminated from the World Cup by Ghana by a dramatic extra time goal. Strangely enough, seconds later millions of Americans immediately remembered that soccer is gay.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm a full-blown patriot through and through and I love the concept of international competition, but as an American I can just never bring myself to appreciate the World Cup. As Americans we have dominated the world of international sports for over 100 years, but I refuse to submit to the powers of soccer simply because of its worldwide appeal, for more than enough reasons. But before I get into why soccer sucks, let me just preface it by saying this...

This is America (pronounced 'Merica) and for 200 years we have served as the leaders of industry, business, scientific exploration, progressive thought, and yes even sports. The thing is, here in undeniably the greatest country in the world, soccer is a sport for 6 year-olds and overzealous, clueless mothers who have nothing better to do than pull their jeans up to their nipples. There is no arguing the fact that in the US, the athletic Mecca, soccer has been relegated to the basement of sport. I'm not saying that World Cup caliber soccer isn't a sport and that soccer players are all gay. No, not at all, because generalizations like that aren't true, like when I say that all Asians turn into Gremlins if you feed them after midnight when deep down I know that probably only half of them are actually Gremlins, but I digress. What I'm saying is, if America doesn't give a shit about soccer right here in our own backyards and local athletic fields, then why are people still getting strong-armed into believing that we're supposed to care about the World Cup?

Let's be honest, we're not any fucking good at soccer, and there's an obvious reason for that. Here in America we focus on sports that aren't lame like basketball, baseball, golf, and football. We'll never be in the upper echelon of soccer because our athletes are out smashing the world's fuckbox in every other sport known to man. But why is it that soccer gets left in the dust? This is the country where every opportunity imaginable is available to you as long as you work hard and have a little bit of skill, the kind of opportunities that aren't available anywhere else in the world. That being said, if you can't make it here, then you've got a problem. There's no easy way of saying this to you soccer, but we're gonna have to let you go.

Being that soccer was cut from the proverbial Freshman B Team here in the great US of A, any place that soccer can thrive is a little suspect for me. In the land of freedom and opportunity soccer has failed but yet it still reigns supreme for entire countries and continents. So the question is, what has been ignored that has allowed the sport of soccer to climb to the top. maybe we should take a look...

South and Central America, a place where beautiful women walk along the beaches in thongs 'aint half bad. It also happens to be a place where it is widely accepted that the drug cartels and criminal organizations have much stronger and more intact infrastructures than their national government's. Children are kidnapped at alarming rates while civilians and tourist are trapped in busses and burned alive for their wallets and purses, but heck, their soccer teams roll on mother fuckers.

Spain & Portugal are playing each other as I type this, a match-up of soccer titans. My first question, one that I assume a lot of other people are asking is, who the fuck is footing their bill? These two nations' flat out refusal to pay their fucking taxes has caused a debt crisis that has essentially tied an Acme anvil to the ankle of other European countries and capital markets. But that Christiano Ronaldo sure is dreamy.

Africa, I saw Blood Diamond and that place seems like it really sucks. Its a place where even I am struggling to find something tongue and cheek to say about it. At the forefront of the AIDS epidemic and where hundreds if not thousands of people starve to death every single day. Hosting arguably the largest spectator even in the world in Africa seems to me at first glance like having an impromptu dance party in the recreational yard of jail. Don't sound to fun to me, especially because the only hot dance beats are coming from one of those stupid fucking vuvuzelas. If soccer is all they've got, then maybe that's a testament to how dire things really are. Ghana, seriously? Jesus, let them have a win or two, it looks like they need it.

All I'm saying is we need to take a breather on this whole World Cup Shmerld Cup thing, because as of right now its a collection of countries that kinda suck playing a sport that an overwhelming amount of people here don't care about. Let's not forget, when we hosted the Cup games back in 1994 all the spectators, more appropriately named "dirty ass foreigners" literally urinated everywhere. The Blue Line tunnels still reek like piss. Thanks World Cup, smell ya later.

Now that the US has been eliminated, if I actually cared about soccer I'd be riding Team Germany, because Germans don't take shit from anyone and that's pretty American of them, plus they have a badass dude named Schweinsteiger who does some serious smashing. Smash on, Schweinsteiger.

"Sure I've been called a Xenophobe, but the truth is I'm not. I honestly feel that America is the best country and all other countries aren't as good. That used to be called patriotism."

Ridiculous 1980's music video of the day; Tarzan Boy by Baltimora

I have no words

Honestly I don't even know what to say. My girl KP and her mammary masterpieces have gone and done it again, finally proving to me that it really is OK for grown men to cry. I am not ashamed in any way to admit that "California Gurls" has already been my summer jam for weeks, and I have patiently been waiting for the moment that I can fist pump to it out of the passenger side (no scrubs) window of Pat McHugh's Jeep. I can't tell whether to be completely awed by the video or to be incredibly frightened by it. It obviously encapsulates everything in life that I hold dear, that being KP, her immaculate chest, a fully interactive version of Hasbro's Candyland board game, and my homie Snoop who SBB is both inspired by and dedicated to. But I am also a wee bit scared because the either the video director Matthew Cullen has been able to build some Hot Tub Space Shuttle Machine and fly to an amazing Utopian world where Katy Perry frolicks amongst cotton candy clouds and sprays whipped cream out of her jugs, OR he has figured out how to access my wet dreams while I sleep. I guess neither one really bothers me that much, and on second thought, this man may be a complete genius.

However, maybe he doesn't deserve all the credit, because deep down I'm pretty sure I somehow created this music video with my brain. After all, it is moi who closes his eyes and wishes for a world where this scenario can exist every time I feel scared or lonely.

2 more elements of proof that I may have wished this video into existence with my brain.

       1.) At the 2:12 mark in the vid she steals my favorite go-to Spring Break dance move

       2.) The 3:24 mark is an almost exact depiction of what happened in my pants while I watched this video

Thank you Matthew Cullen,
Thank you perverted childlike brain of mine that seemingly willed this video into existence,
...and most of all...
Thank you Jesus, for it was you who died on a cross so that I may have eternal life & have KP melt my popsicle with her sun kissed skin

Amen
SBB

Post Script: Some gayrod at YouTube won't let me post the embedded video straight to the blog, so I can only provide the link right now, mea culpa

Let this bring you to tears and suddenly crave cotton candy

Furniture Fuckfest 2010

Recently I moved into an apartment of my own a couple of miles up town to the north. The one problem that I was facing now that I am an uptown girl living in my white bread world was that I really didn't own any of my own shit. For the last 3+ years I have always lived with a pretty large group of roommates, which essentially much allowed me to get by with a very minimalistic existence. However, those days are over and this uptown girl needs some furniture, so what do I do? I go to IKEA, a very unique experience to say the least. Whereas a trip to a place like Wall-Mart is very much like going to a carnival where all the fun an childlike wonderment is replaced by vomit, generations of selective intra-family breeding, and demon children, going to IKEA is kinda like a grade school field trip. Everything feels clean and sterile, while the wives/girlfriends walk around like teachers and chaperones while guys walk slowly ten to fifteen feet behind dragging their shoes and pretending to be somewhere else. One of the first things I noticed upon entering the store was that there was an inordinate amount of Eastern Europeans judging by the amount of black roots on top of dirty blonde hair, pointy faces, graphic tees, women that look like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and the overwhelming cologne shower aroma. Just an observation, that's all I'm saying.

A few years ago before the world realized that Dane Cook is a douche-wrap supreme I had a copy of his stand up album, and in one of his bits he goes on to explain how whenever he goes into a Walgreens he is overcome with the feeling that he needs to steal. Even though he's an emotive gayrod I think he hit the nail on the head with this one. No, I don't actually feel like stealing from Walgreens, mostly because I don't need free tampons and because the only things I really want to steal are behind the pharmacist's counter. PILLS!!! PILLS!!! I NEED MY PILLS OR I GET REALLLLYYYY NERVOUSSSS!!!! No, I don't feel like stealing when I walk in Walgreens, but I have my own personal version of the Dane Cook sentiment; when the doors open up at IKEA and I venture inside, all I can think of is how I need to have sex on every one of the thousands of pieces of furniture in the building. Every. Single. One.

I don't really know what it is, but something about the awkward shape of the individual furniture pieces and the names that nobody outside of Stockholm can pronounce make me feel a strange sense of exotic eroticism. "Wow the Flugtasten sofabed and ottoman combo would go great in our living room. I wonder what you would look like bent over it".  Am I wrong? Am I wrong? "Oooohh the Hastveda kitchen table is just so cute that its making me all tingly in my penis area, let's fuck on top of it until one of the legs breaks off"... and so it goes while looking at every single piece in the superstore.

There is another observation that I can't help but make while shopping at IKEA; there are a lot of pieces of furniture in here that could look good in a house or apartment, however I don't think it would look so great once a guy not unlike myself blasts the first of numerous yet inevitable cum stains on the new fabric. Honestly, all it takes is a single spur of the moment sexual encounter (talk to your doctor about whether Cialis is right for you) that gets reckless for 2 seconds and you completely ruin that neat little chaise lounge you bought. Oh who are we kidding, I was you were whackin' it on the sofa to Taxicab Confessions again...

The reason the Dane Cook bit was funny was because it was pretty true, you do actually feel like stealing when you walk into a Walgreens. That's why I am pretty confident in saying that you probably get the same feelings I do when you are perusing the aisles of IKEA; you just feel like you need to go to pound town when you're surrounded by so much furniture. If you don't, I guess I don't have much to say to you except suck it. I know there's at least a couple of people that feel the same way I do. This particular couple, let's call them Shmerin Shmreg and Shmo Shmoboda will pretty much have sex anywhere and on anything, including but not limited to certain people's beds when they are nice enough to let them sneak into their unoccupied apartment to use the potty. Don't ever bring these two "defilers of the domicile" to IKEA, because knowing what they have been known to do on regular furniture that doesn't belong to them, I can only imagine what would happen if they walked into the Swedish superstore. Furniture Fuckfest  2K10.

There you go Shmerin, you wanted a shout out and you got it.
As the wise fabler Aesop once said, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it, especially if you have sex on someone else's bed"

Over and out Ghostrider,
SBB