Home comming Dance

I put my key into the lock and paused. Something was not right. Sure, I was tired from the flight, but my instincts have never let me down before. I placed my ear to the door and stood still. I could hear noise coming from within my apartment. I have been gone for a few days and know that there should be no reason to hear anything coming from beyond this door. My heart beat fast as several images and thoughts ran through my head. I knew that as soon as I turned the key and entered I would be faced with someone inside, someone that did not belong, and someone unknown.
I quietly turned the key in the lock and twisted the door knob. The door opened as it always had. I slowly pushed the door open, trying to be as quiet as I could. My instincts proved correct. I entered my home and the main light was on. Someone was here, but who? I shut and locked the door just as slowly and quietly as I had opened it. Whomever it was that was here was not getting out. I prepared myself for the worse as my eyes scanned the room. Nothing. I saw Miss Pattie sleeping peacefully on the couch. “Some Watch Cat” I thought as I stepped softly awaiting to encounter my intruder. I could hear that the source of the sound that I vaguely heard through the door was the television in my bed room. I retrieved my 45 and proceeded. I knew it was loaded and had a round in the chamber. My pulse was racing and my eyes surveyed the room. There beyond the entrance which lead to my room was an unwelcome guest. I knew I had to be prepared. I knew I had only one shot.
I carefully entered the room expecting all hell to break loose. Instead I saw a body lying there covered and still in my bed. I lowered the weapon and approached. “Could it be” I thought? The figure under the covers looked familiar. The fact that it lied on the opposite side of where I slept convinced me. It was all making sense now. There was only one person that had access to me, only one person had a key. That person had to be the one sleeping in my bed.
Still stepping carefully and quietly I approached the person in stealth mode. Even before I drew the comforter back I knew. I knew who this person was. That familiar scent, that familiar feeling in my gut told me. I slowly pulled back the cover and she opened her eyes. It was “K”. My “K”. The Katie that I let go. The one that I still felt in my heart, but let leave so many weeks ago. She opened her eyes and locked them on me. Even now, lying here in my bed she was so beautiful. She smiled and said “I knew that you’d come home sooner or later”. I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my fingers through her hair. “What are you doing here” I asked her. She sat upright and we kissed. How I missed her. I wondered how I could so quickly get her out of my head. But here she was and our lips danced that familiar dance we had, not so long ago. “I needed to get away, and I needed to be with you” she said. I placed the pistol upon the nightstand, undressed and made love to the woman I had let go.
It is said “If you love something, let it go, if it does not come back to you it was never yours to begin with”.

7 Dwarfs

1.Weepy…Usually the first Dwarf to rear its ugly head especially if there is a “touching” moment during things like TV commercials that you ordinarily would not look at twice. This is a sure sign that the rest of the gang can’t be too far behind.

2 Piggy… Piggy has quite an appetite for sweet and salty foods. Piggy can usually be found trying to calm down Weepy and make her smile. Piggy is Weepy’s best friend but will go overboard in trying to help. If Piggy doesn’t watch out then Bloaty is sure to visit.


3 Bloaty… Bloaty comes to town to bitch slap Piggy for chowing down one too many chips. Bloaty takes her job seriously and once she comes to the party she is one of the last to leave. Unfortunately Bloaty wakes the evilest dwarf of them all…Bitchy

4 Bitchy…This bad boy is sometimes referred to as THE Terminator. Don’t mess with this character for she is prone to hissy fits. Bitchy takes no prisoners and usually makes no apologies. This evil-doer is likely to have Weepy watching her back and backing her up at any moment so beware. Just when you think you know what Bitchy is bitching about, Weeping will come on the scene and confuse you. Then there is a possibility that you will be the one saying “I’m Sorry”.

5 Horny…This one has quite the appetite of a different kind. This creature has been known to have horny hormone levels that rival many 18 year old boys. Bitchy tries her hardest to keep Horny hidden from view. Weepy can sometimes keep Bitchy at bay long enough for Horny to make her move and be satisfied. Men, you need to know that she exists and loves to come out to play.


6 Crampy…Never a welcome addition. But Crampy is usually a clear sign that Red-Tide will be here soon. Crampy can really get Bitchy going even worse than Bloaty. One of the best ways to soothe Crampy’s attacks is to let Horny do her thing. Sometimes it might be best to sleep through Crampy’s visits.

7 Red-Tide… While this character can sometimes be out of control and a messy trouble maker she is always an inevitable and sometimes welcome guest. But once she makes her appearance the end is always in sight. And unfortunately once she makes it onto the scene the others make an extra effort to be noticed and primary.

HNT-not Gone fishing

Wow, news spreads fast here in the Blog World. I write to you from an airport terminal. I have been tasked to “Take Care” of some company issues and may be living out of a suitcase here for sometime. We’ll see. I have been sent on missions like this before and well it is like rolling the dice. You never know. Once I know where I’ll end up and what kind of telecommunications facilities are available I will update you. In the mean time, I may ask some of you to help out and keep the site interesting. As of now I am scheduled to return home on Wednesday of next week, but that could change at a moment’s notice.
I said that I was done with the HNT postings and instead will enjoy watching from the sidelines, yet many of you are trying to convince me other wise. My problem is I can’t abide by the “HALF” part of it. So, I give you this. I tried hard to create a picture worthy. And in an attempt to produce more than a limp dick (I was not pleased with my last posts) I tried to actually pose and get the timer thingy down. This took much effort, and as I said before, well, I am lazy!
While I am away, please take some time and visit all of the cool people to the left!
Enjoy!

Frequent flyer- you know who you are

You were so, so nice. I’m not taking that away from you. You asked me about my book and where I was going, and I replied though I am ashamed to say I could not look you in the eye because I was so FUCKING PISSED.

A typical plane seat in economy class is approximately 17 inches. Breaking down my 9.2-hour roundtrip journey, I paid approximately $127 for those 17 inches. By my most modest calculations, you owe me $27.70 for the four inches of comfort and privacy you robbed me of. Let’s round that figure up to $30 for that spot where your massive thigh was rubbing against me the whole 2.5-hour flight. Add another $5 (again modest) for our shared armrest having to be up because you could not fit in the seat when it was down. If I wanted to put my seat back, I had to pretend like it wasn’t embarrassing for you (yes, I was concerned about your feelings, too) for me to ask you to lean forward so I could pull out the armrest a little and push in my button. Good thing I didn’t want to see the in-flight movie. (I won’t even go into you eyeing my bag of pretzels).

I by no means hate fat people. I believe in the freedom to do or eat anything you want (I won’t even go into you eyeing my bag of pretzels) so long as it does not infringe on my freedom. This is purely a matter of financial injustice.
I’m just saying that if you need two seats, pay for two seats. Don’t hate on the skinny guy who paid just as much, if not more, for those precious 17 inches of limited plane space.
If you’re out there, please mail $34.63 before May 8th or $34.61 after (I’ll pay for the stamp—it’s only fair).

7 day itch

Ah yes another Monday. I regret to inform you that today I have nothing. It is sad. I sit before you and stare, yet nothing funny, freaky or the least bit creative is flowing. Instead I will bore you with current events.

This weekend Mike decided that he would take advantage of the recent nice weather and head out into the forest for some alone time and set up camp some where in the great state of Michigan. Now Mike is not the guy who takes a lot when he camps, nor does he utilize the posted, public campgrounds. No Mike likes to venture. To go beyond the paved road and put his four wheel drive skills to use and head out where no man has been. At least this is the theory. So away he went and did find that spot in the great state of Michigan where the road ended but the adventure in him did not. Mike set up camp, built his fire and enjoyed that which is nature. Mike being the woodsman he is however managed to find himself with a case of poison ivy or poison oak, not sure, but it itches all the same. It is not so much that he was exposed to it, but where (Note to self, always pack TP).
Mike also for the first time in his life “Trusted” the local weather dude and found himself in a major “Thunder and Lightning” storm at and around eleven thirty at night. Not the typical one where you count the seconds after hearing the Thunder to determine how far away the Lightning would strike. The kind where you actually saw the Lightning hit before the Thunder ever sounded. Then there was the rain. Mike’s trusty “Water Proof” tent turned out to be not so water proof. Needless to say Mike scrambled for the vehicle and spent an uncomfortable night trying to sleep.

Sunday I did head to the Pharmacy to get the lotion recommended to me and tested by “Pooter” (The hot little belly to the left) and I was lucky enough to have a friend come over (A gorgeous female “friend”, but that is another story) and apply the said lotion to the itch. She also took me to dinner. So it didn’t turn out all bad.
And last but not least, today I went home for lunch and noticed that I have new neighbors. Two women were moving into the apartment next door. I only saw the one, but let’s just say I hope that they run out of sugar and come over to borrow some, soon!
Peace Out Homies

Comming out- a fathers love

I saw this post and it upset me.Beyond the fact it is intentionally cruel, it reminds me of something that my Father could have written. I don’t know if it was written as a joke, nor do I know the author, but if indeed it is a real letter to a real person going through real struggles and real prejudice then I must sit back and wonder. Wonder how this person could read such a letter. How a person could write such a thing, let alone to their own offspring. It is one thing to have your own thoughts, options, and moral self. A love for you own child however is unconditional or it is suppose to be. I as many of you will never truly know what this person or others that “Come out” must go through, but I will now always remember this (real or not) at a glimpse of that reality.
In other news, thank you all for your words or wisdom. Many of you have strong opinions and all of the serious ones I had heard and will keep in mind going forwad.


Dear Son,
I cannot believe that what I am reading is that the poop chutes of men excite you. It disturbs me that you would seriously consider deep throating a man sausage or licking the balls of a man. I would only be less disgusted if I learned that you were in to sex with animals. I guess the same argument could almost be made.

I cannot tell your mother about this news. She will never stop crying.You were supposed to go off in the world and meet and marry a human female. Your mother and I- we hoped for grandchildren.

Should I rent the Bird Cage with Nathan Lang? Are you yourself dressing up? Your mother has been missing some of her slips and skirts of late. You’re not….. Are you??I want you to get in to therapy. I will pay for it. Perhaps they offer a pussy immersion course. What has the pussy done to you that you must run from it? You must tell me. We must make this right. A woman’s vagina is a good thing, son. It is what should bring you comfort on night’s like this.

Instead, you are no doubt fingering your hairy bunghole while fantasizing about that damn Hulk Hogan. Was it him and his wrestle mania that started all of this? All that wrestle mania stuff that went on. I knew that was too much touching. I thought I saw wood more than once when you got off of your brother.

I will help you through this dark path of deviancy, dear son. Do one thing for me. Stop going on public forums and suggesting that such deviant behavior is at all normal. And it’s me, your father here- please don’t suggest you could kick anyone’s ass- least of all with a hand ties behind your back. You never were good at fighting son and I don’t want you to enrage a big heterosexual. Some of those heterosexuals have no tolerance for your kind.

It is my hope that you still might consider having sex with women. If you are or do, please do not tell them about this foray into full on gayness. And please double protect her from any fluids you may have picked up in your mad, gay bunghole explorations. Use two condoms. Every time.Maybe a manly woman would help you out?I don’t know. I am saddened by this news.
But it is important that you know that I will always love you.
Dad

Grey Matter

The gray, waxy thing that my pizza is sitting on sucks. It’s a lie. “They” tell us that it will make our food crispy when we microwave food on it. You know what I’m talking about. You’re supposed to put your pizza or your hot pocket or whatever on it and it’s supposed to make your food as crispy as if you baked it. You don’t bake it because you don’t have 30 min to wait to stuff your face because you are a lazy fuck or a fat fuck (I hope I am the former but soon, after eating all these microwave pizzas, I will become the latter) and you want your food NOW so you nuke it in the microwave instead. Yeah. It doesn’t work. It never works. It’s not a crispy-maker; it’s a sadness-maker. It raises your hopes only to dash them. It’s like the dead beat dad that never went to your soccer games. It’s like the loser boyfriend who never keeps his promises but you stay with him because he’s cool and he plays a little guitar and drinks Snapple. It’s like the presidential election where you vote hoping that Bush will lose. It sucks. The pizza comes out just as soggy except this time; it comes with the added suspicion that you have just increased your chances for getting cancer because you nuked it on the gray thing. It’s bullshit. In fact, I don’t even know what it’s made of but I hate it. If ever an inanimate object could mock someone, it would be this thing. I hate you, you gray-colored, waxy, sorta-shiny-yet-dull, plastic, paper thingy that comes with my microwave pizza.

here it is another Thursday. After many weeks of participating and posting in the spirit of HNT, I have decided to now sit back and enjoy from the sidelines. Why you ask? Frankly, I have run out of body parts, poses and pics to post and my creativity level is lacking, not to mention that I am lazy. True be told, I think that you all have seen pretty much everything and every part of me, so there isn’t much left to offer. I will still continue to promote and support all that is HNT as I feel it is a great tool for all of us to stay connected to one another and meet new, interesting people like us, and see hot Half Nekkid peeps.

A Blogger hook up

I have heard many analogies concerning love. In reality, love is like that elusive clover we have all heard about in the miles of clover one might search in hopes to find it. I personally have been close to love. I have picked through that field on several occasions only to come up with something close. Thus far I have not settled and from time to time have continued the search in hopes that one day the promise of love will be fulfilled and realized as truth.

I wonder if since the onslaught of Blogging, ever there has been two bloggers that have “Hooked up”. I do not mean this in the sexual way, but rather have there been two people that have met through Blogging and developed a relationship?

As many of you know, I often travel for work. As many of you also know through email correspondence I always tell you that if I am ever in your area that it would be nice to hook up for a cocktail or a coffee and meet in person. Recently I had the opportunity to do just that. Earlier this week my travels took me to Minneapolis and I took a fellow Blogger up on the offer. I was staying at the Crown Plaza Hotel on Second Avenue South and I called the number. It was Jenna, a nice girl I have been communicating with and recently teamed up with for SOTF. I have always heard horror stories of why you should never meet someone that you met online and all of the warnings and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I figured why not take the chance? I was here for the night and what else did I have to do?

I called Jenna, and she answered as she was expecting my call. I gave her my location and we met in the hotel lounge. She arrived about 40 minutes later and I must say that she was real. I mean, a lot of the stuff we read and write about on the web and in our Blogs is, well, you never know. But there before me stood the person that I had been communicating with for a while. Same face, same smile, same wit. She did not look old enough to even be in the bar. She assured me that she was old enough. Barely. Jenna is 21. A far cry from 30 something, but we were just out to meet and have fun. We headed out, had dinner, went to a comedy club and ended up back in the hotel lounge. The evening had been much more than expected. I mean, I had one of the best nights of my life and it was still early. We sat at the bar and talked. Now, I have met a lot of women in my life, and there was no doubt about it, we had a connection. Not the “Can’t wait to get you naked” sort of connection, although that thought did cross my mind a few time as she was incredible, but the real, honest human being kind. The one where that little voice starts speaking to you telling you not to screw up!

The evening was winding down and we made our way to the dance floor and chose to dance to Eric Clapton’s “You look wonderful tonight”. As we danced I noticed that she smelled wonderful. At first it was a “I don’t know you slow dance”, but by the chorus we were in close and I went for it. I placed a small kiss upon her lips. Not the open mouth tongue action type, but a simple “I have had a great night” type of kiss. Jenna wrapped her arms around my neck and we kissed some more. These were not the aforementioned type of kisses. The song was over and the bar was setting up to close for the evening. Jenna needed to get home, and I had an 8:00 meeting. I so wanted to ask her to come to my room, but honestly, what ever it was I thought was or was not going on between us, how would I or could I ask this wonderful person to my room? We are Bloggers. We just met and even though we kissed throughout our dance, I would look like a complete ass if I were to insinuate such a move. We said our good byes and kissed one last time. A deep sensual kiss and I watched as she walked away.

So here is my dilemma. Since our meeting I have noticed and been told by others of how good of a mood I have been in. I mean I am literally walking the halls, humming and shit. How could this be? This can not be happening. But it is. I have never had such a connection with someone or felt as I do. Well, except for my dear Katie, but my feelings for Jenna are ten fold over what I felt with K. Jenna and I have talked on a daily basis since. I think that she feels the same as I do. I have already found myself finding reasons why this can not work, or be real. The age difference is a huge issue. Yet, I found Jenna to be more mature if not more than most women I meet. The distance? The whole “meeting on the internet”. I have tried everything and the reality is clear. I dig her, she digs me so why not? Can she be the one in my field of clovers?

If ever I have needed your opinions it is now. For the first time in my life I am questioning if I could, should settle down with someone. This is foreign to me. Really. Never before have I ever been in this situation and these feeling are all new to me. I am counting on you to lead me, point me in some direction.

Have a great evening.

Rejection hot line

Rejection line: If you are a woman/man and are constantly approached by unattractive or undesirable women/men asking for your phone number, give them this number:

Atlanta: 770-908-7383
Baltimore: 410-347-1488
Boston: 617-658-7083
Charlotte: 704-559-4169
Chicago: 773-509-5096
Cleveland: 216-556-0051
Dallas: 972-504-6270
Denver: 303-575-1696
Houston: 713-866-6249
Los Angeles: 310-217-7638
Miami: 305-460-3285
New York City: 212-479-7990
San Diego: 858-492-8002
San Francisco: 415-356-9833
Seattle: 206-781-3928
Las Vegas: 702-387-2619
Washington, DC: 202-452-7468

When the person calls this number they get a friendly message saying that they were rejected. Call the phone number. It’s hilarious

Airport Security

Our encounter was purely happenstance but certainly unforgettable. Not unforgettable in the way a guy never forgets unclasping a bra for the first time and inhaling the sweet aroma of exposed breasts…but unforgettable in the sense that our encounter continues to haunt me weeks later and I am only now able to gather the strength to post and discuss this incident in the amalgamous vacuum of Blogland.

On my incoming flight from New York to Chicago, my body managed to consume, process, and contain two delicious, refreshing, and complimentary cans of cran-apple during the 2.5 hour flight on top of the 16 ounces of Aquafina I guzzled prior to boarding. As the captain turned on the fasten seat-belt sign indicating our final descent I ignored the polite reminders from my bladder that it was time to pee. As the captain taxied from Arlington Heights to gate K5, I battled through the pee-pee dance as I sat wedged in 26B. As I stood waiting for the herd of cattle seated in front of me to shuffle out of the plane, I fought the juvenile urge to cross my legs and shove both hands over my crotch. As I exited the plane, I politely thanked the attractive young flight attendant whose cran-apple generosity had gotten me into this mess and trampled the small group of octogenarians that dared to slow my ascent up the jet bridge and into the concourse.

Located at the end of O’Hare’s concourse K, I spotted my target and ignited the afterburners. Turning the doorless privacy corner inherent to all airport bathrooms, my roller board skidded and pitched to one side. In a flash of bag-control skills that would bring a smile to the Dukes of Hazard, I deftly returned the roller board to its natural and stable two-wheeled position and forged into the fog of post-flight feces. Eyeing the urinals, I went through the subconscious urinal selection process that every male initiates when using a public restroom. [Although I’m sure females must go through a somewhat similar process in selecting a stall, the nature of urinals dictates that males not only select based on general geographical position, but also on a flash physical and social read of the other restroom patrons. The last thing most guys want to deal with while peeing is making friends with the person at the urinal next to you…but every guy knows that those “urinpals” are out there and should be avoided at the expense of selecting geographically undesirable urinals. Worse yet are the guys that pull up to the urinal and experience stage fright, exposing the two of you to an awkward moment of silence where both of you want nothing more then for him to start peeing.] But I digress…

Although the decision may have appeared instantaneous to onlookers, my mind raced through the customary checklist before deciding on the second urinal from the left (or fourth urinal from the door, depending on how you look at it). Due to heavy traffic, my only other option was the midget urinal located closest to the door and within mere inches of the first sink. My decision to pass on the midget urinal had less to do with the fear that a vertically challenged power lifter would kick my ass for using the little people’s toilet, and more to do with the fear that the tremendous backpressure created by my swollen bladder combined with the additional stream-travel-distance would certainly leave splatter marks on the knee caps of my light colored pants.

It was this innocent decision that opened the proverbial door to our first, and hopefully final, encounter. There you were, peeing into the third urinal from the left (or third urinal from the door, depending on how you look at it). “An interesting choice, selecting the middle urinal in a pack of 5 tightly packed urinals without privacy dividers,” I thought to myself. Based on the overflowing traffic in and out of the bathroom, I assumed that you did not have a choice in the matter. Unphased, I quickly unzipped my pants and took aim as my angry bladder indicated that I no longer had a choice as to when these Aquafina-diluted cran-apples were exiting.

Had there been a shelf or a handle two feet above the toilet, I certainly would have ripped it out of the tiles. This was the type of penis release that is best done with one hand gripping the wall…urine had somehow permeated throughout my body and into my fingertips and could only be expunged via gravity. The porcelain’s drowning screams for mercy were partially muted by my kidney’s grunts of relief as my basketball sized bladder retreated to its normal confines within my inner cavity. As the minutes passed and my blackout feeling of utter liberation slowly subsided, I regained my peripheral vision and noticed that every piss jockey at this particular trough had been replaced (some a couple times over) except for me at urinal #2 and you at urinal #3.

Through the rushing sounds of my ammonia laden stream splashing the 3” diameter aqua target at the center of my urinal, I ran some numbers and estimated that I had been flowing for 2 minutes and 28 seconds. “This is incredible,” I thought, “here I am about to set the all-time record for world’s longest piss; and this goober next to me is trying to outlast me and claim what is rightfully mine.” Jogging my mental notes, I also realized that since he had arrived at his urinal prior to my Evil Kinevil bathroom entrance, I was totally unaware aware of how many seconds (or minutes, for that matter) I had to last beyond his final drip.

In an effort to catch a glimpse of the nameless man who was about to top my gold medal golden shower, I strained my peripheral vision. My years of playing competitive sports and surfing the internet at work had given me an almost superhuman vision field which allowed me to take a mental picture of you as you laughed in the face of my best efforts. It was through this peripheral strain that I noticed your hand was involved in some extracurricular motions which indicated to me that you were shaking out the last few drops. “Victory!!” I cried as my pee flowed without signs of hesitation.

Whether it was my victory cry, subdued fist pumping or superhuman urinary tract that set you off kilter, I’ll never know. But it was precisely at this point, amidst my record-breaking celebration and final sprint through the home stretch, that I noticed you twisting your head in my direction and fidgeting uncontrollably. While I anticipated that my urinary performance would draw some attention, I didn’t anticipate that it would draw so much attention from you that you would break all urinal etiquette and drop your eyes below shoulder level. Besides, how many times did you really have to shake your penis? Every grown man knows that you could shake it once, or shake it 20 times, and you’re still going to get that one drop that plans its untimely exit as your little king returns to his boxer kingdom.

Suddenly, as I approached the record-setting 3 minute mark, I began to piece your filthy little puzzle together. You planted yourself at the middle urinal in a heavy traffic restroom without privacy barriers between the urinals…you had been in the restroom longer than I had, and here I was setting an untouchable record…you had been shaking the final drips out of your wang for God know how long…you keep looking at me and at my thing…”WAIT! YOU LEWD PIECE OF SHIT; YOU’RE MASTURBATING!!” my mind screamed.

If I wasn’t frozen with utter disgust, fear, anger, and nauseousness I would have kicked your ass! I’m sure you remember the death look that I gave you…because I distinctly remember looking into your beady little eyes and seeing the fear of death staring back at me. Had we not been in a public place and had I not been afraid you would try to swing your boner at me, I would have dropped you. Had I not been completely caught off guard, I would have yelled a warning cry to all airport patrons within 200 yards that you were an absolute sicko. I would have catalyzed a mob that would have certainly ripped your little prick off to prevent you from ever reproducing miniature perverts.

Lucky for you I was too paralyzed to do anything but retreat in utter mortification. Some three weeks later, I am still healing my emotional wounds. I have difficulties urinating in public. I can only pee alone behind closed doors or in empty bathrooms. I no longer look down on fellow restroomers suffering from urinary stage fright…for they may have stage fright for good reason after being exposed to a sick piece of shit like you.

My therapist said that writing this down will help me cope with the tragedy…but unbeknownst to my therapist, this message also serves two other purposes. This message serves as a warning to other patrons of the O’Hare International Airport’s Mens rooms, as well as public restrooms throughout the world, that there are some sick fucks walking amongst us. And, this message is my fair warning that next time I see you, your beady little eyes, or your shriveled old dick I’m going to make one smartass remark, just to remind you of who I am, like “you know, if you shake it more than once it’s called playing with yourself”

…then I’m going to kick your face in.

Masterbation can be dangerous

Let’s just say, ‘hypothetically’, that I decided to flogg my dolphin last night just before retiring for the evening.

And let’s just say that when I went to pee in the morning, some dried manchowder might have dried up around the opening to my prick, blocking the flow of urine.

And let’s just say that that blockage, might have caused urine to back up inside my rod for a second or two, creating an unusually fierce spray of piss pressure once said blockage was busted.

And let’s just say that this high-velocity piss-stream shot off at a 45-degree angle to the left because of said blockage.

Let’s just imagine that this 45-degree angle cause me to hit the ear of the cat who was perched not too far away, causing said cat to ‘flip out,’ screech, and perform a 4-legged leap with a half-twist and quarter roll (diffuculty of 6.8).

Let’s just say there may have been an empty glass resting on the back of the toilet, which may or may not have been tossed off the back of the toilet by said cat in the aforementioned jump. That glass, we might say, falls really close to my foot, lodging a small shard of glass into my left foot. This lodging of glass shard may have caused me to immediately grab said left foot, creating a situation of hopping on one leg (while still relieving myself, mind you) on a tile surface which is becoming increasingly wetter by the second.

Let’s just say that it only takes a few hops on one foot on a slippery surface to end a physical event of such fashion.

AND LET’S JUST SAY that once my foot was taken out from underneath me, that I crashed into the shower door, knocking it off its tracks and causing me to fall in the shower and somehow ending in a back down, face up position, legs elevated, with blood running down my leg, pee streaming down my body to my neck, and a new head-welt with massive headache to boot.

Let this be a lesson to you, next time you feel like rubbing your pole.

Rules For Living In The Apartment Above Me

Thanks to the “Bonus Gravity” provided by my landlords, whoever moves in above me will weigh approximately nine times their normal weight. To remind me that you got the “Bonus Gravity” deal, please make sure to stomp your huge, ham-filled feet every step you take. If I cannot track your current location to within a centimeter, you aren’t doing your job.

When not watching television, you should take it off the TV stand and face it, screen down, at the floor. Make sure to turn the volume up as loud as possible. If I cannot hear what lesson Kimmy Gibbler learned today on “Full House”, I will petition for your eviction.

The best time for your idiot friends to come over is between 2:00 and 8:00 am or whenever I’m sleeping. Once you see my lights turn off, make sure your crazy pal Eddie is on his way over with that DVD of “The World’s Largest Explosions – Caught on Film!”

All of your phones must have their ringer hooked up to a bass guitar amplifier. This way, when your phone rings for the 10,000th consecutive time without you picking it up, I will realize you must’ve accidentally tripped over and broke your 1500-pound skull on the coffee table and I should probably alert the proper authorities.

When shutting doors, pretend the Grim Reaper himself is chasing you throughout your house. Slam them as hard as possible to prevent him from sneaking into your place causing the hundreds of filthy plants you own to die.

Taking a shower at 3:00 am is perfectly acceptable. Since my apartment is lined with hundreds of different pipes which carry water to approximately 17 different countries, make sure to urge your friends to take showers at the same time.

Every day at 8:00 pm, you should drop something large and heavy such as:
-A refrigerator
-A wheelbarrow full of lead and concrete
-A month’s collection of all the Slim Jims and yahoo you consume
-The entire world

If you don’t have access to any of those items, then just trip and fall over. Try to at least be holding some cinder blocks while doing so.

When speaking to a friend who has come over to visit and toss bowling balls around your apartment, make sure to use a megaphone whenever laughing at something he says.

This way I’ll know your friend is a very funny and witty man (who cannot catch bowling balls).

The “bass” knob on your stereo stands for “Better Acoustic Sounding Songs” and should be cranked up as loud as possible to reflect quality. Try to listen only to rap, techno, and anything which features a kick drum the size of a delivery van. If the song has lyrics, you should turn the bass up so high that it sounds like the singer is repeatedly chanting, “mwog bbblrrgm gwaf.”

Don’t ever leave your apartment, ever. Ohio air is known for its trace amounts of cyanide floating around in it, so it’s safer for you to simply hibernate in there for the next nine years.
Much like in exciting video games, hitting surrounding objects with a hammer may reveal magic prizes hidden inside. Smack everything you can find with a hammer or large wooden board.

Then smack the wooden board with a hammer because, who knows, it might be a trick.
When the power in the entire block goes out at 10:00 PM and you notice everybody else’s lights are off, be sure to shout, “DID THE POWER GO OFF?!?” out your window. There could be a family a few miles away that still has power, in which case you could go over to their house and borrow a cup of electricity so you may operate the jackhammer you’ve got going in your kitchen.

Nice day for a white wedding-HNT Early

The appointment was at noon. I skipped lunch and headed over there. We all were to get fitted for our tuxedos in preparation for the wedding or the “Wake” as I refer to it. I mean I was happy for him. He is a great guy in the nerdy, never been laid kind of way. He deserves a great woman, but not this woman. We have hung out a few times since he moved back to the area and I have been real good at avoiding the subject of “Her” and even better at avoiding the invitations to go over their house for a meal. It would break his heart if he knew what a whore she is, or was. Maybe she has changed, but in any case I wanted no part of it. I mean this is the chick that I fantasize about to this day. She did everything in the book and even made up a few as we went. He doesn’t need to know that. To him she is “Wholesome”, or so he has said repeatedly. Who am I to judge? Who am I to shatter that?
As we were getting ready to leave, who should happen to walk into the store? Yes. I spotted her as soon as she hit the door. Remember, he has no idea that her and I have met, let alone know each other and god forbid had hot sweaty piglet sex only hours of meeting. She has no idea who this “friend” is that he has been talking about and that has agreed to be his best man. The preverbal shit, was about to hit the fan. He was about to introduce me to his wife to be. I saw it in her eyes. This was going to get ugly. Before he could get a word out of his mouth she was “Oh my god”ing and heading towards me with outstretched arms. As I hugged her, for a moment we back there. That place were she was a bad girl. The place we lie naked and sweaty hour upon hour. The place all inhabitations were lost. I saw the look on his face as she held me. As if we were long lost siblings. I fought back the chubster. “You two know each other” he asked as his voice crackled. Again, before I could react, say anything, she replies with “Oh my god yes. We used to date”. Date? We fucked once. Sure it lasted over 24 hours, but I would hardly call that dating. Hell, I never even called you back, I thought to myself. There next to me stood the guy that used to live vicariously through me. The guy that always wanted to know the details, the guy that looked up to me. I could see that he was not happy with this, not one bit.
I awkwardly stood there and made small talk, reminisced if you will. She had that look in her eye. The look that told me that she had not changed at all. I cut it short and said that I needed t get back to work. My eyes shot back and forth from his, to hers. She insisted that we (her and I) should get together and catch up. OK. Yeah sure. She boldly grabs my phone and punches in her number and says to call her. This is not happening. I said good bye and got the hell outta there. Leaving behind a guy, a friend, whose world has suddenly and abruptly changed.
He has left 3 voice messages and has emailed me. What do I say? What can I say? On the other hand, I have her number there in my phone. It tempts me. I hear it calling out my name. I feel like the guy with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Is it too late to pull out of the wedding? If I did, would that make things worse? He is going to ask. What do I tell him? Do I call her in hopes of? Of what? She’s getting married? OK peeps, let’s hear it! Don’t hold back

2006 business op

Finally Located the place. Investors welcome!
Sorry, I got nothing today. Well, I do have gas, but I am sure that none of you care about that.

Duck Duck Goose!

Ah Yes. Spring has arrived and love is in the air, at least in the animal kingdom. All the birds are bustling to and fro, preparing their nests. The rabbits are hopping about searching for a mate. Hell, I think even the squirrels are getting some these days. There is one species however that must have started early this year, or be on another cycle.
I was out on one of my breaks. I stepped outside the building, out back to get some fresh air. It is finally warm enough. Our building houses many employees and out back there is a rather large patio area. There is also a man made lake or pond. All I know there is a large hole with water in it. Since the warm up I have noticed all sorts of critters about over there by the water. Once in a while one will get brave and venture up to our patio area as one did today. I was not sure what in the hell it was, but it was round and fuzzy looking, some sort of duck or bird. It waddled up as if heading straight towards me sitting there on the bench. When it was in reach I bent down and snatched the little guy (or girl) up. It was cute as hell. It squawked about loudly, but pretty much didn’t resist me holding it and petting it. It was a soft little creature. I sat there and pondered how a bird could be fuzzy like this.
As I stood to take the little guy (or gal) back down towards the pond area, with it still squawking up a storm, I learned a valuable lesson!
Like stealth ninjas, I had three very angry geese upon my ready to take me out. “Oh Shit” I said out loud as I plopped the little foul down and calmly (C’mon, their geese) backed away. Obviously this was not enough. The geese cackled and were in full on pursuit of me and now I am thinking I best get the hell outta there. I mean one I could handle, but three? These things were big ass birds and apparently mean as hell. I waited a tad too long as the leader was already nipping away at my calf, and it hurt. I grabbed the thing by the neck (which looks flimsy but is surprisingly strong) again, bad move. The other two geese were on me. I went to bolt, dropping the one goose and now I had three of these fuckers taking their turn nipping me. One even nipped me in the ass. That is when I knew I was in trouble.
I did make it back to the building. Apparently it was a great show for the people watching from inside. I have geese bruises all upon the back of my legs and ass. I may need to seek therapy for this. Lesson for the day? You might be able to kill two birds with one stone, but if there is three you’re fucked! I know, lame.
Happy Monday!

"uni-WHAT"

Maybe it is just me but the “World of Blogs” seems a bit dead lately. Maybe it is the arrival of spring. Maybe it is a universal shift in the planetary momentum of the gravitational pull upon us. I don’t know. But I am suffering from it too. I feel uninspired and nothing really exciting is happening.
Oh, wait. Something rather odd and out of the norm happened on Friday night. I took one of the executives from our office out. He is from another country and knows no one here so I figured why not. After several attempts at some really dull bars, we landed in this pub of sorts where one of those “Free thinking Hippie Type” bands were playing. It was a good crowd and a nice atmosphere. He seemed to enjoy it and although we were totally out of place coming straight from work in our business duds, no one seemed to care. We drank, smoked and danced with some very lovely young and free spirited ladies, most which had more hair under their arms than I. After several pints of Amber Bock and a few Crown and Cokes, nature was calling and my eyes were floating. I asked the gorgeous, built bar chick where the potty was. She pointed and I was off. When I got there, something was off. I felt it, yet due to the alcohol and the urge to piss, I ignored whatever “it” was. The bathroom was large and square, very open. No stalls, just and urinal and a traditional shitter. I pulled up to the urinal and released the boys for some air and to relieve myself. It was one of those “I have been drinking” long ass pisses. Half way through, the door opens (and I can see all of the bar outside and they can see me) and this rather hot chick enters, says “Hello”, drops trou and sits on the toilet behind me and starts pissing. I begin to wonder if I entered the wrong bathroom, “but there is a urinal” I rationalize. Not only is there a hot chick pissing behind me, she starts asking me how I like the band, what a great place and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I am done and give Jimmy my man a good shake and zip up. I turn to wash the hands and she is sitting there fully exposed pissing and just talking away. I nod my head like I am listening or that I care. I dry my hands while she wipes the ginny, pulls up her pants and takes my place at the sink area. I tell her that it was nice meeting her (I have never pissed with a chick before) and awkwardly open the door to leave. I see the sign on the door says “Unisex”. Never the less, it was a very odd experience and still I am not sure how I feel about the whole ordeal.
Hopefully the world we know as blogs will catch their second wind and be back strong these next few days. If not, well, there is always “Myspace”.

Take 2 HNT

Leave it to me! Yesterday when I “prematurely” made my HNT post, I was under the assumption that it was Wednesday evening. The day and time that I usually post my weekly tribute to all that is “Half Nekkid Thursday” as I can’t actually post Thursday’s until late in the evening. Well, as many of you so kindly informed me, I was a day off. This happens a lot, especially when I travel. My apologies. Since I kinda “Blew my wad” yesterday, I had to dig into the achieves and present this very old, and much edited picture for HNT. In the original photo, I was being provided a service that I deemed inappropriate for viewers and the spirit of HNT.

Room with a view-HNT

After a long day I finally arrived at my hotel, no thanks to the damn Yahoo driving directions. I had no agenda, I was on my own. I walked up to the desk to check in and the hyper desk chick went on about a mistake with my room, an upgrade and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I thanked her and wheeled my gear to the elevator.
I entered the room and it indeed was an upgrade. It was a huge suite. “Thank You”, I said out loud. I dropped my things undressed and headed for the shower. I was impressed. It was one of those huge walk in marble looking showers with jets above and below and they were adjustable. I stood under the hot water washing away the day. I soaped up and washed, shampooed, then rinsed myself off.
Once I dried off I entered the sleeping quarters still in the buff. I think of hotels as an extension of my own place and therefore the “Clothing Optional” clause comes into play. In most hotels I wouldn’t be caught dead in the nude, hell there are some I won’t even take my socks off. The room was large and elegant. Centered was an oversized king bed made up for royalty. I went to the T.V. and flipped it on. I originally had hoped to relax and watch some news, but I immediately saw that the hotel had the “On Command” service also known as and referred to by Mike as “SPANKERVISION”. “Why not” I thought as I stood there naked in this room fit for a king. I went to the bed and threw the comforter to the floor. It is a known fact that hotels rarely wash these and I know for a fact what I have done lying upon a hotel comforter. I propped the many pillows up where I could comfortably sit upright. I grabbed the remote and started flipping through the “Adult” selections. I chose one that had something to do with co-eds, hell, let’s be honest, the chicks looked hot and they were going to go “Lesbo”. I confirmed my $12.99 purchase and sat back and watched.
A few minutes into the poorly acted college setting, Holly was munching Allison’s rug and nature was taking its course. My man was standing at attention and staring at me as if to say “You gonna do something about this”. I slowly eased my way into it but before I knew it I was stroking Jimmy as if we had just met. I was really getting into watching the girls find new uses for a wireless mouse, when something, someone caught my eye. I looked to the door and there stood an older woman, a housekeeper by the looks of her uniform. She stared at me and I stared at her the whole time my dick was still in my hand. “Teur Dun”, she said in a heavy Slavic accent. OK, now I am thinking “Is she propositioning me”? I mean she was older and, but who would know, and Jimmy wasn’t complaining. Just as I was about to walk to her and have her knell and, well, she held out some chocolates, pointed to the bed and once again asked, “Teur Dun”. It hit me like a brick. The maid lady didn’t want nothing to do with my sinful thoughts, she was just trying to do her job and TURN DOWN the bed for me. Now embarrassed and humiliated, I stood and took the candy from her and said “Thanks, it is OK, no turn down”. She must have understood. She gave me the chocolates and started to head to the door to leave. As she reached the door, she turned around and looking directly at my, um, thing, she smiled and said “BRAVO”. Then she left. I tried to return to my movie. Hell, I paid $12.99 for it might as well get “Happy Ending”. But I felt dirty and embarrassed and frankly my man wasn’t cooperating.This morning as I exited my room and walked down the hallway to the elevator, I saw several cleaning ladies pop their head’s out from the rooms they were attending to. Some clapped, some whistled. I got into the elevator.

pork Chops & Apple Sauce

Work these days has been busier than normal. I am not sure what it is, but I am finding myself putting in more and more and getting less done. I sat there thinking about this in the building’s cafeteria or so it is called. Really it is a restaurant. How many company buildings have a full on “Cafeteria” with not one but two full time “five star chefs”? Then there is the gym. A full scale workout facility right here in the building, which by the way, the employees have 24 hours access to. I see their plan I thought. Next they’ll put in little sleeping rooms to keep us here permanently.
I sat eating and watching the big screen television on the wall which was airing the local news, and I heard her voice. “Can we join you” she said. I didn’t have to turn to look, I knew the voice. It was Kacey, the self proclaimed leader of the “Lunch Table Girls”. Talk about a gluten for punishment. I nodded my head as if I were too engulfed into the news program to answer. They all gathered around and began to sit with their trays of salads and weight watcher chick crap, while I had spread out in front of me 2 fat pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy and a big ol’ hunk of chocolate cake. I went on eating as if I were not the least bit interested in their presence or their perceived status. Glancing around the table I did notice that the LTG had grown, not only in numbers, but in size. “Just be cordial and eat your food and politely excuse yourself, don’t say a word” I thought. This group took pleasure in engaging me, lifting me up, sparking my interests only to deflate and leave me feeling low, embarrassed and ashamed. Not this time, not today.
They talked and I ate as fast as I could without looking like I wanted outta there. They were discussing AVON or something of that nature and how BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. Their conversation switched to these “Sex Toy Parties” and I could feel the hook in my mouth. Apparently several of them had recently attended this “Female” only ritual where the host presents several adult items for pleasure, ease and comfort and gags. The premise is that they all gather and discuss and I assume try out all of these items in which they purchase their favorite to take home to spice up their miserable relationships (I know that sounds harsh, but I know these chicks and their men were probably thrilled just to get them out of the house for an evening). They giggled and talked in low voices about some “Dolphin” thing and another mentioned that her man really likes the BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I was just about finished and ready to leave. I took the last drink of my milk and
That is when it happened
One of the newcomers to the group, a heavy portly beast of a woman (imagine Elvis in his final days) commented on how much her husband adored the “Edible Undies” that she purchased. She even felt the need to inform the table that they were “strawberry” flavored. My head spun as images flooded in. The thought of this woman’s crotch wrapped in a “Fruit Roll Up”, all that heat and sweat turning the berry panties into jelly, all the while her husband pretending to enjoy, wishing he were dead. I could not control myself. These burning thoughts swimming around and around. I lost it. Milk shot forth through my nasal passage spraying the table and the LTG. I fought to keep down the pork, the potatoes and the cake. Seconds (which felt like minutes) passed and my dry heaving, coughing gagging spell subsided. I looked up and saw the eyes upon me. Little droplets of milk and other substances freckled the faces of the women at the table. I wiped my face off with my napkin and excused myself.
I left the LTG there. I assume that will be the last time they associate themselves with me. “I gotta get out of this building more” I thought.
In other news, I am traveling this week in a city near you. Should be back in time for HNT. If not maybe Kiss My Mike will present his own HNT.