"I Got Something for Your Ass in the Parking Lot."
Ok my pretties, in recognition of closing ceremonies of the most recent Olympiad and the fact our American snowboarding men and women took home more than one quarter of Team "U"SA's medals, I will now be referring to all men and women as dudes and dudettes for the remainder of the winter.
OK, before getting on to the real business of today's blogging effort, I thought some of you may or may not like to hear about recent developments in my budding career within the adult entertainment industry. You see, much has happened in the previous fortnight.
I have twice in the last two weeks sold dildoes measuring more than two feet in length. That would be 24 inches for those less than quick with their conversion tables and...really big for you metric fuckers. And these weren't any slender, tickle-your-tonsils type dildoes either.
By the way, should the plural of dildo read dildoes or dildos? My spell-checker claims neither is correct. This just can't be. Surely someone over at the Webster's considered the possibility one rubber penis just isn't enough for some people. Penises? Penii?
Anyway, it's worth noting each of the ladies purchasing these monsters ran on the petite side. Many thoughts ran through my head during the transactions, but the predominant firing of the synapses created a repetition of Tobin Bell's voice as he spoke "Oh, yes. There will be blood."
You'll be pleased to hear one can also purchase a do-it-yourself vibrator kit. That's right gents, you can now give your special lady a vibrating model of your penis. The box describes the process as being fairly simple. Unless, of course, you have a 2-foot horse cock. Then you'll need to buy at least two packages of the molding material.
Favorite movie titles? There were two titles to come across the desk (literally, but not dirty literally) that stuck out, Sierra Has a Negro Problem and...you're gonna love this...Hungry? Eat Cum.
My favorite quote came from a woman I presumed to be a bachelorette. She and her friends wandered into the store and one of the other ladies suggested to said bachelorette the purchase of a sexy thong "for her man." Now the bachelorette, who is now one of my best friends despite our never officially "meeting", is apparently a very literal person. Her response to the suggestion was "his nuts will never fit in that." Oh my....life is too damn good to make up.
Hey, remember me telling you about the new apartment and the cable television included therein? Well, the other night I'm flippin' channels and I encounter a movie starring both Glenn Close and Meryl Streep. I was, of course, taken aback by this development as I had long operated under the assumption the two ladies were in fact the same person, acting under two different names.
You know, it might be worth mentioning this blog is going to be of some length. And by some length, I mean it will be long. You see kids, unlike the late, great Barney Fife I have more than one bullet to fire. That said, should you stick with me on this one, I can absolutely, almost positively give you my reasonably firm belief this might be of some value to some number of you.
So you may not have heard, but last week/last weekend/today there is this holiday going on. Actually, holiday may be too strong a term, but Mardi Gras is upon us once again and here in these "United" States we will use any and every foreign culture as an excuse to drink excessively. In fact, the literal translation of Mardi Gras is "we may be gun droppers, but you American swine are pant droppers." Something to that effect anyway. Which, upon reflection doesn't really have anything to do with drinking. You know the French though...cherchez la femme. It's all about the bang, bang, bang.
Oh, speaking of pacifism. Guess who I met last night. Noam Chomsky! Yup, he stayed in the hotel. Nice man. I wanted to discuss the I's movement with him, but was sadly not afforded the opportunity.
So you may or may not be aware, but St. Louis claims to have the 2nd largest Mardi Gras celebration in the country. Of course that would be like Neville claiming to be the second best Chamberlain when it comes to shagging the ladies. I mean come on St. Louis! New Orleans got blown off the map because the w. hates black people and you still couldn't sack up and give the Big Easy another smack down.
[Editor's Note: The author, in the paragraph prior, stated an opinion as if it were fact....New Orleans wasn't actually blown off the map.]
So the lovely Brook and I were in St. Louis over the weekend, but not to take part in the Mardi Gras celebration. We were in town for the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club concert at Mississippi Nights on the landing.
This was the longest car ride for Brook and I to date, and we escaped unscathed. Actually, the lovely Brook slept for a goodly portion of the car trip, but we would have gotten along famously even if she were awake all the while. Sysco T. Dogg made the road trip as well, and I am pleasantly surprised to say he behaved quite well.
We went to the concert with baby brother Josey. See the tickets were a birthday present for him. His birthday was back in January though. Brook's birthday was just a few days prior so it became this concert/birthday thing with a little bit of Mardi Gras thrown in for seasoning.
So parking was a bitch. It took quite literally, forever to find a space. [Editor's Note: About 35 minutes.] To find a spot I had to convince Josey to sack up and be the bad guy. Oooh, we were also able to violate a one-way sign.
There was one fun little bit to what I like to call the parking odyssey. One of the cars in front of us, encountering its own parking dilemma, had been decorated for the quasi holiday. Painted on the back windshield were the following words...and like I said before, life is too good to make up:
"It's Marti Gras. Shom Me Your Tities."
My God! That's just seven words dudes and dudettes, and three....three!...are spelled incorrectly. Now, I might give him a pass on Marti, figuring he might just be a fan of the Cuban writer/orator/activist Jose Marti, but Shom? Tities? Spell checker would have caught those. Maybe not titties, but still....
[Editor's Note: He gets no pass on Marti either, as the chances of his having heard of Jose Marti and slim and actually none.]
Standing in line was interesting. Two frat guys had apparently taken time off from quarters and date-raping to take in the show. They actually had a prolonged argument over whether one of them had shot a 58 in golf. I'm guessing whomever was arguing on the "no" side was more likely to be correct as I'm thinking, and I could be wrong here, no player on the PGA has ever posted a 58 over 18 holes. These guys probably couldn't even spell PGA. Now a 58 in video games, with really low difficulty settings, maybe. Oh, you know they might have been talking about miniature golf. But then a 58, while good, is nothing to fight over. Maybe if your club was a 2-foot dildo, but honestly who would play with one of those? Mini golf I mean, who would play mini golf with one of those?
Concert was pretty good. If you haven't listened to BRMC you should start today. Their first two albums were all loud, fuzzy guitars and feedback. They remind you of the Jesus and Mary Chain or even....the Velvet Underground. Their most recent album, "Howl" made a complete 180 and went the way of blues, country and even....gospel. I swear half the new songs talk about god and/or the devil, you'd think Jonathan Edwards did their songwriting.
Don't know who Jonathan Edwards was? Why he was the Greek god of why-don't-you-read-a-fucking-book-sometime.
That said, the album is great, and the concert had a nice blend of the two sounds. Good times were had by most. One guy slept through most of the show. Not sure what that was about. I'm sad to say Mississippi Nights didn't adhere to the strict patting down policy I remembered from my youth. In other words....no early Christmas goose this year.
Oooh, the opening act was called Elefant. We only caught a couple of tunes, but they reminded me of Psychedelic Furs crossed with Joy Division. I bought a cd, so I'll give you a review once I've digested it.
Oh, and speaking of Joy Division, Anton Corbijn is directing the bio-pic of late frontman Ian Curtis. Now Corbijn has promised the soundtrack will be of the double-disc variety. One disc will be all Joy Division originals. The other will be all covers. Now Corbijn goes way back with my beloved Depeche Mode, so I am giddy at the prospect of a DM take on "Dead Souls" or "Transmission" or maybe even "Isolation."
The lovely Brook and I introduced baby brother Josey to Boulevard Unfiltered Wheat. Now Boulevard can call themselves the second largest brewery in Missouri and not sound foolish. I actually find said descriptive kind of funny.
Getting out of the parking area was a mess. Some good samaritan in from Christian County allowed one person in and that one person morphed into a line of cars that reminded of the last scene on Field of Dreams. So I did what any impatient passenger might do. I left the vehicle I was in and stood in the middle of traffic so as to run interference for me and mine. I am now both hero and villain to a litany of people I'll never have occasion to meet.
Following the show the lovely Brook and I met up with our old pal Andrew Hicks. Mr. Hicks has invited me to become a guest reviewer at his eMpTyV blog, dedicated to the critique of music videos. You can find the blog at the following link:
http://videoreviews.blogspot.com/
I'll be sure to let you know when I send my own little bit of wonderfulness to said site.
We had drinks at the Ameristar Casino in St. Charles. Brook and I sampled something called a Scooby Snack. I like it, but sadly was not influenced to fight crime on behalf of those meddlesome kids...and that dog.
Good times were again had by most, if not all. Brook and I were required to catch a cab back to the hotel as we had been dropped by the Josey and were too far away for any member of Mr. Hicks' posse to take us back. Now I'd had some drinks at this point, but I think the cab fare was $40, which is, of course, slightly to quite ridiculous. I could have bought the cab for that much. That said it was more cost efficient than a D.W.I. Thanks Mr. Cabdriver!
The plan for the next morning was for Brook and I to get up early to meet my parents for breakfast before heading back to Columbia so that Brook might meet her parents by 1 p.m.
Let me tell you something about Brook and I. We are incapable, and I mean in a physiological sense, of getting up early unless we absolutely must. So by the time we got to the restaurant, located in the aforementioned Ameristar Casino for the champagne brunch buffet, we already knew we weren't making the 1 p.m. thing. Once we saw the late 70's gas lines-esque queue, we knew we weren't gonna make the 1 pooh deadline by a goodly margin.
Brunch was damned good though. I had eggs benedict, crab and asparagus soup, Mongolian noodles and even curried mussels, which allowed me the double pleasure of good food and grossing out my table companions.
So we finally rolled into Columbia about a quarter after 2. Brook's folks were less than pleased. I've been assured by Brook, however, they mellowed on the way home.
So it was a successful weekend all around. Good tunes, good friends and good times...ain't we lucky we got 'em. "Dy-no-mite!"
Until next time I urge you all to rock out with your cock out. Except for the women of course...who have no cocks. But if you're looking to buy one.....
JeffRey
OK, before getting on to the real business of today's blogging effort, I thought some of you may or may not like to hear about recent developments in my budding career within the adult entertainment industry. You see, much has happened in the previous fortnight.
I have twice in the last two weeks sold dildoes measuring more than two feet in length. That would be 24 inches for those less than quick with their conversion tables and...really big for you metric fuckers. And these weren't any slender, tickle-your-tonsils type dildoes either.
By the way, should the plural of dildo read dildoes or dildos? My spell-checker claims neither is correct. This just can't be. Surely someone over at the Webster's considered the possibility one rubber penis just isn't enough for some people. Penises? Penii?
Anyway, it's worth noting each of the ladies purchasing these monsters ran on the petite side. Many thoughts ran through my head during the transactions, but the predominant firing of the synapses created a repetition of Tobin Bell's voice as he spoke "Oh, yes. There will be blood."
You'll be pleased to hear one can also purchase a do-it-yourself vibrator kit. That's right gents, you can now give your special lady a vibrating model of your penis. The box describes the process as being fairly simple. Unless, of course, you have a 2-foot horse cock. Then you'll need to buy at least two packages of the molding material.
Favorite movie titles? There were two titles to come across the desk (literally, but not dirty literally) that stuck out, Sierra Has a Negro Problem and...you're gonna love this...Hungry? Eat Cum.
My favorite quote came from a woman I presumed to be a bachelorette. She and her friends wandered into the store and one of the other ladies suggested to said bachelorette the purchase of a sexy thong "for her man." Now the bachelorette, who is now one of my best friends despite our never officially "meeting", is apparently a very literal person. Her response to the suggestion was "his nuts will never fit in that." Oh my....life is too damn good to make up.
Hey, remember me telling you about the new apartment and the cable television included therein? Well, the other night I'm flippin' channels and I encounter a movie starring both Glenn Close and Meryl Streep. I was, of course, taken aback by this development as I had long operated under the assumption the two ladies were in fact the same person, acting under two different names.
You know, it might be worth mentioning this blog is going to be of some length. And by some length, I mean it will be long. You see kids, unlike the late, great Barney Fife I have more than one bullet to fire. That said, should you stick with me on this one, I can absolutely, almost positively give you my reasonably firm belief this might be of some value to some number of you.
So you may not have heard, but last week/last weekend/today there is this holiday going on. Actually, holiday may be too strong a term, but Mardi Gras is upon us once again and here in these "United" States we will use any and every foreign culture as an excuse to drink excessively. In fact, the literal translation of Mardi Gras is "we may be gun droppers, but you American swine are pant droppers." Something to that effect anyway. Which, upon reflection doesn't really have anything to do with drinking. You know the French though...cherchez la femme. It's all about the bang, bang, bang.
Oh, speaking of pacifism. Guess who I met last night. Noam Chomsky! Yup, he stayed in the hotel. Nice man. I wanted to discuss the I's movement with him, but was sadly not afforded the opportunity.
So you may or may not be aware, but St. Louis claims to have the 2nd largest Mardi Gras celebration in the country. Of course that would be like Neville claiming to be the second best Chamberlain when it comes to shagging the ladies. I mean come on St. Louis! New Orleans got blown off the map because the w. hates black people and you still couldn't sack up and give the Big Easy another smack down.
[Editor's Note: The author, in the paragraph prior, stated an opinion as if it were fact....New Orleans wasn't actually blown off the map.]
So the lovely Brook and I were in St. Louis over the weekend, but not to take part in the Mardi Gras celebration. We were in town for the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club concert at Mississippi Nights on the landing.
This was the longest car ride for Brook and I to date, and we escaped unscathed. Actually, the lovely Brook slept for a goodly portion of the car trip, but we would have gotten along famously even if she were awake all the while. Sysco T. Dogg made the road trip as well, and I am pleasantly surprised to say he behaved quite well.
We went to the concert with baby brother Josey. See the tickets were a birthday present for him. His birthday was back in January though. Brook's birthday was just a few days prior so it became this concert/birthday thing with a little bit of Mardi Gras thrown in for seasoning.
So parking was a bitch. It took quite literally, forever to find a space. [Editor's Note: About 35 minutes.] To find a spot I had to convince Josey to sack up and be the bad guy. Oooh, we were also able to violate a one-way sign.
There was one fun little bit to what I like to call the parking odyssey. One of the cars in front of us, encountering its own parking dilemma, had been decorated for the quasi holiday. Painted on the back windshield were the following words...and like I said before, life is too good to make up:
"It's Marti Gras. Shom Me Your Tities."
My God! That's just seven words dudes and dudettes, and three....three!...are spelled incorrectly. Now, I might give him a pass on Marti, figuring he might just be a fan of the Cuban writer/orator/activist Jose Marti, but Shom? Tities? Spell checker would have caught those. Maybe not titties, but still....
[Editor's Note: He gets no pass on Marti either, as the chances of his having heard of Jose Marti and slim and actually none.]
Standing in line was interesting. Two frat guys had apparently taken time off from quarters and date-raping to take in the show. They actually had a prolonged argument over whether one of them had shot a 58 in golf. I'm guessing whomever was arguing on the "no" side was more likely to be correct as I'm thinking, and I could be wrong here, no player on the PGA has ever posted a 58 over 18 holes. These guys probably couldn't even spell PGA. Now a 58 in video games, with really low difficulty settings, maybe. Oh, you know they might have been talking about miniature golf. But then a 58, while good, is nothing to fight over. Maybe if your club was a 2-foot dildo, but honestly who would play with one of those? Mini golf I mean, who would play mini golf with one of those?
Concert was pretty good. If you haven't listened to BRMC you should start today. Their first two albums were all loud, fuzzy guitars and feedback. They remind you of the Jesus and Mary Chain or even....the Velvet Underground. Their most recent album, "Howl" made a complete 180 and went the way of blues, country and even....gospel. I swear half the new songs talk about god and/or the devil, you'd think Jonathan Edwards did their songwriting.
Don't know who Jonathan Edwards was? Why he was the Greek god of why-don't-you-read-a-fucking-book-sometime.
That said, the album is great, and the concert had a nice blend of the two sounds. Good times were had by most. One guy slept through most of the show. Not sure what that was about. I'm sad to say Mississippi Nights didn't adhere to the strict patting down policy I remembered from my youth. In other words....no early Christmas goose this year.
Oooh, the opening act was called Elefant. We only caught a couple of tunes, but they reminded me of Psychedelic Furs crossed with Joy Division. I bought a cd, so I'll give you a review once I've digested it.
Oh, and speaking of Joy Division, Anton Corbijn is directing the bio-pic of late frontman Ian Curtis. Now Corbijn has promised the soundtrack will be of the double-disc variety. One disc will be all Joy Division originals. The other will be all covers. Now Corbijn goes way back with my beloved Depeche Mode, so I am giddy at the prospect of a DM take on "Dead Souls" or "Transmission" or maybe even "Isolation."
The lovely Brook and I introduced baby brother Josey to Boulevard Unfiltered Wheat. Now Boulevard can call themselves the second largest brewery in Missouri and not sound foolish. I actually find said descriptive kind of funny.
Getting out of the parking area was a mess. Some good samaritan in from Christian County allowed one person in and that one person morphed into a line of cars that reminded of the last scene on Field of Dreams. So I did what any impatient passenger might do. I left the vehicle I was in and stood in the middle of traffic so as to run interference for me and mine. I am now both hero and villain to a litany of people I'll never have occasion to meet.
Following the show the lovely Brook and I met up with our old pal Andrew Hicks. Mr. Hicks has invited me to become a guest reviewer at his eMpTyV blog, dedicated to the critique of music videos. You can find the blog at the following link:
http://videoreviews.blogspot.com/
I'll be sure to let you know when I send my own little bit of wonderfulness to said site.
We had drinks at the Ameristar Casino in St. Charles. Brook and I sampled something called a Scooby Snack. I like it, but sadly was not influenced to fight crime on behalf of those meddlesome kids...and that dog.
Good times were again had by most, if not all. Brook and I were required to catch a cab back to the hotel as we had been dropped by the Josey and were too far away for any member of Mr. Hicks' posse to take us back. Now I'd had some drinks at this point, but I think the cab fare was $40, which is, of course, slightly to quite ridiculous. I could have bought the cab for that much. That said it was more cost efficient than a D.W.I. Thanks Mr. Cabdriver!
The plan for the next morning was for Brook and I to get up early to meet my parents for breakfast before heading back to Columbia so that Brook might meet her parents by 1 p.m.
Let me tell you something about Brook and I. We are incapable, and I mean in a physiological sense, of getting up early unless we absolutely must. So by the time we got to the restaurant, located in the aforementioned Ameristar Casino for the champagne brunch buffet, we already knew we weren't making the 1 p.m. thing. Once we saw the late 70's gas lines-esque queue, we knew we weren't gonna make the 1 pooh deadline by a goodly margin.
Brunch was damned good though. I had eggs benedict, crab and asparagus soup, Mongolian noodles and even curried mussels, which allowed me the double pleasure of good food and grossing out my table companions.
So we finally rolled into Columbia about a quarter after 2. Brook's folks were less than pleased. I've been assured by Brook, however, they mellowed on the way home.
So it was a successful weekend all around. Good tunes, good friends and good times...ain't we lucky we got 'em. "Dy-no-mite!"
Until next time I urge you all to rock out with your cock out. Except for the women of course...who have no cocks. But if you're looking to buy one.....
JeffRey
posted by The Crazy Leftist at 9:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home