So, we’re sitting in Lamaze last night and the instructor says, “Now, you’re not pushing this baby out of your bottom, you’re pushing it out of your vagina. So, when you push, it’s like pushing out a tampon.”
I couldn’t stop vomiting.
Do you really have to push a tampon out? Here’s a question: Does that string ever break off? I guess you have to go fishing for it. Lord, that’s a mess.
Since we’re on a gross out track, I heard two stories concerning anal sex recently that were totally repugnant and hilarious at the same time, so I thought I would pass them along to the other deviants.
First story: This guy had a really hot girlfriend that he had been dating for a bit. One night they take the plunge to the back door action. They’re doing their thing and when the guy eventually pulls out there is a little brown nugget on the tip of his dick. He had to flick it off.
Let that image sink in for a moment.
Can you even imagine such a thing happening? Even though it is no fault of the girlfriend, I’m not sure I would be able to look at her the same way. Why? I’m an asshole [sweet, a bad unintentional pun]. But I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and think of her and not think of a little turd on the tip of my light switch. I wouldn’t be able to get past it.
Second story: and I know this is going to read like an urban legend, but it’s true. A guy and his lady friend are out on a dinner date. They’re eating some really spicy foods. The next morning, they’re feeling frisky. One thing leads to another, and bingo: the guy somehow manages to get himself some ass. I’m not exactly sure of the physiological workings here, but apparently a chili flake from the Mexican dinner of the night before somehow managed to work it’s way up the dude’s pecker where it found a happy home. Apparently, a penis doesn’t take too fondly to a chili flake lodged in it. The guy’s dick swelled up like a fucking balloon. The pain was beyond belief. He could hardly walk. He couldn’t pee. He thought his girlfriend gave him some kind of venereal disease. A big fight ensues and they end up breaking up over it. The guy goes to a doctor and they don’t know what the fuck the deal is. After some tests and some head scratching they eventually take some sort of pipe cleaner to his junk and out pops the chili flake.
I’m not really down with the ass that much, but there are times when you’re super sexed up and in the heat of the moment and virtually everything sounds good at the time. It’s only in the light of a post-orgasm that you’re like, “I can’t believe I just fucking did that.”
Let’s get back on track, shall we?
I’m reading where some NBA players are getting together to play a game for the victims of Katrina. It’s a nice gesture and all, but I’d to point out that these millionaire pituitary freaks are not really doing anything. I’ve seen MTV’s Cribs. I’ve seen these asshole’s houses. We all know the kind of money they make. What is there response to this tragedy? Are they giving up some of their own scratch? No. They’re going to play a game whereby others will purchase tickets and they will be the ones giving to charity. Nice. Way to pitch in, cocks.
While we’re at it, has anyone caught Richard Simmons on Entertainment Tonight as their special hurricane correspondent? It’s classic. He’s dressed up in his normal gear with the spandex shorts and sequenced tank top, and he’s blubbering like a braying jack ass about the destruction and the devastation and how he’s worried about his brother and parents, who lived in New Orleans. Here’s the catch: It turns out his brother was choppered away before the hurricane even hit, so he only watched the thing from a television set, and Richard Simmons parents have been dead for years. So, what’s he crying about? This is the case of a celebrity trying to latched themselves onto a disaster to get some publicity, is it? Is that too cynical? Surely, the kind and generous and open hearted Richard Simmons wouldn’t do that, right? If you’ve just survived this catastrophe, do you really want to see this fifty year old queen on television?
It’s coming out now that the Red Cross was ready with food, water, and medical supplies and waiting to swoop down into the Super Dome and give those people the relief they were needing. It was the Louisiana government that DID NOT ALLOW them into the Dome to help out. Why? Because if they would have allowed the Red Cross in to help, the thousands there would have been more prone to want to stay in New Orleans, and the Louisiana government wanted to get the people the fuck out of there. Now it’s a no brainer to understand why there was a drastic need to get those people out of that area, but to not get the much needed help to these people, help that was there waiting to be distributed, is criminal negligence. Does this absolve the response of the federal government, more specifically FEMA? Of course not. Could have more been done? Yes, I think that’s pretty obvious. Still, do you think the dipshits screaming racism at the top of there lungs are going to start shutting the fuck up about that kind of nonsense? No answer is needed or expected.
I’m flipping through the channels last night and I come across the US Open. It was Agassi against James Blake. Both Americans. Agassi lost the first two sets, battled back to win the next two, and they were in the middle of the fifth set when I started watching. What you have to remember is that I couldn’t give less of a fuck about tennis. I’ve played the game from time to time, but it’s not a sport I follow or care about in the slightest. I got so hooked into this match that I couldn’t turn the channel and I was yelling at the television, cheering like a world class douche bag, and getting really caught up in the thing. It was fucking awesome to watch. Agassi battling back, winning impossible points, creating these amazing shots, and somehow pulling out a win. It was terrific drama.
I received an email the other day that went something like this, “Listen, fuck face. When I go to a movie, I just go to be entertained. I’m not looking for the solution to world problems. I’m not looking to be reminded of how shitty life is. I’m not looking for some arty farty kind of crap. I just want to go into an air conditioned theater, zone the fuck out, and loose myself in a story. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with Billy Madison and Michael Bay movies? I’m not looking for anything heavy. And Mystic Pizza was the bomb, bitch!”
I thought I should respond to my mother-in-law and explain myself a little bit.
I go to a movie to be entertained as well. Who doesn’t? It just so happens that my idea of entertainment differs from others. I want more than anything in the world to loose myself in a story. That is what I cherish about movies, it’s want I long for, and it’s sadly what disappoints more than it delivers. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. I'm not looking for art in my movies. I think they are more a craft than an art anyway. And I absolutely do not want a movie to tell me the solution to any fucking problems or teach me how to live either. I'm with you on this.
There are a couple of things I would like to point out. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you are aware of it or not, all movies are political. They will either attack or reinforce the status quo. Movies show us how we communicate with one another, or the biting lack of communication we have. They shed light on our relationships and how we deal with one another. They demonstrate the role of women and men in our society. They illustrated different political ideas. They show us where we are. They show us where we need to be. Of course, this might not be explicit in the text of a particular movie, but it is there if one is willing to look for it. It’s idiotic and terribly naïve to imagine that movies are merely entertainments and nothing else. Even Billy Madison offers a glimpse into who we are. What we are experiencing now is an industry that provides stories that recycle the same tired clichés over and over again and people eat this shit as if there are being provided something of value. Of course, this has been more or less true since Lumiere filmed a train coming into a station, but now there seems to be a oligarchy where the more radical agendas, in terms of both style, content, form, and just really filmmaking itself have squeezed out other voices. The so-called independents are just the minor league of Hollywood, and they are filled with those who dream of playing in the show. It’s said that the internet and technology is the wave of the future and that it will change what is done in Hollywood. Time will tell if this is correct or not. In the meantime, we’re left with tired and hackneyed movies that offer clichéd way to push our emotions. The downturn in profits are a positive sign, and there is the hope that the audience is turning away these cinematic abortions. Maybe they are starting to realize that they are being treated like zombies, like fucking rats in a box, and the time has come to assert control in that great Howard Beale way, to rip the fucking screens from the walls, to call a piece of shit for what it is.
Then again, maybe not. We’ll have to see. And hope.
I couldn’t stop vomiting.
Do you really have to push a tampon out? Here’s a question: Does that string ever break off? I guess you have to go fishing for it. Lord, that’s a mess.
Since we’re on a gross out track, I heard two stories concerning anal sex recently that were totally repugnant and hilarious at the same time, so I thought I would pass them along to the other deviants.
First story: This guy had a really hot girlfriend that he had been dating for a bit. One night they take the plunge to the back door action. They’re doing their thing and when the guy eventually pulls out there is a little brown nugget on the tip of his dick. He had to flick it off.
Let that image sink in for a moment.
Can you even imagine such a thing happening? Even though it is no fault of the girlfriend, I’m not sure I would be able to look at her the same way. Why? I’m an asshole [sweet, a bad unintentional pun]. But I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and think of her and not think of a little turd on the tip of my light switch. I wouldn’t be able to get past it.
Second story: and I know this is going to read like an urban legend, but it’s true. A guy and his lady friend are out on a dinner date. They’re eating some really spicy foods. The next morning, they’re feeling frisky. One thing leads to another, and bingo: the guy somehow manages to get himself some ass. I’m not exactly sure of the physiological workings here, but apparently a chili flake from the Mexican dinner of the night before somehow managed to work it’s way up the dude’s pecker where it found a happy home. Apparently, a penis doesn’t take too fondly to a chili flake lodged in it. The guy’s dick swelled up like a fucking balloon. The pain was beyond belief. He could hardly walk. He couldn’t pee. He thought his girlfriend gave him some kind of venereal disease. A big fight ensues and they end up breaking up over it. The guy goes to a doctor and they don’t know what the fuck the deal is. After some tests and some head scratching they eventually take some sort of pipe cleaner to his junk and out pops the chili flake.
I’m not really down with the ass that much, but there are times when you’re super sexed up and in the heat of the moment and virtually everything sounds good at the time. It’s only in the light of a post-orgasm that you’re like, “I can’t believe I just fucking did that.”
Let’s get back on track, shall we?
I’m reading where some NBA players are getting together to play a game for the victims of Katrina. It’s a nice gesture and all, but I’d to point out that these millionaire pituitary freaks are not really doing anything. I’ve seen MTV’s Cribs. I’ve seen these asshole’s houses. We all know the kind of money they make. What is there response to this tragedy? Are they giving up some of their own scratch? No. They’re going to play a game whereby others will purchase tickets and they will be the ones giving to charity. Nice. Way to pitch in, cocks.
While we’re at it, has anyone caught Richard Simmons on Entertainment Tonight as their special hurricane correspondent? It’s classic. He’s dressed up in his normal gear with the spandex shorts and sequenced tank top, and he’s blubbering like a braying jack ass about the destruction and the devastation and how he’s worried about his brother and parents, who lived in New Orleans. Here’s the catch: It turns out his brother was choppered away before the hurricane even hit, so he only watched the thing from a television set, and Richard Simmons parents have been dead for years. So, what’s he crying about? This is the case of a celebrity trying to latched themselves onto a disaster to get some publicity, is it? Is that too cynical? Surely, the kind and generous and open hearted Richard Simmons wouldn’t do that, right? If you’ve just survived this catastrophe, do you really want to see this fifty year old queen on television?
It’s coming out now that the Red Cross was ready with food, water, and medical supplies and waiting to swoop down into the Super Dome and give those people the relief they were needing. It was the Louisiana government that DID NOT ALLOW them into the Dome to help out. Why? Because if they would have allowed the Red Cross in to help, the thousands there would have been more prone to want to stay in New Orleans, and the Louisiana government wanted to get the people the fuck out of there. Now it’s a no brainer to understand why there was a drastic need to get those people out of that area, but to not get the much needed help to these people, help that was there waiting to be distributed, is criminal negligence. Does this absolve the response of the federal government, more specifically FEMA? Of course not. Could have more been done? Yes, I think that’s pretty obvious. Still, do you think the dipshits screaming racism at the top of there lungs are going to start shutting the fuck up about that kind of nonsense? No answer is needed or expected.
I’m flipping through the channels last night and I come across the US Open. It was Agassi against James Blake. Both Americans. Agassi lost the first two sets, battled back to win the next two, and they were in the middle of the fifth set when I started watching. What you have to remember is that I couldn’t give less of a fuck about tennis. I’ve played the game from time to time, but it’s not a sport I follow or care about in the slightest. I got so hooked into this match that I couldn’t turn the channel and I was yelling at the television, cheering like a world class douche bag, and getting really caught up in the thing. It was fucking awesome to watch. Agassi battling back, winning impossible points, creating these amazing shots, and somehow pulling out a win. It was terrific drama.
I received an email the other day that went something like this, “Listen, fuck face. When I go to a movie, I just go to be entertained. I’m not looking for the solution to world problems. I’m not looking to be reminded of how shitty life is. I’m not looking for some arty farty kind of crap. I just want to go into an air conditioned theater, zone the fuck out, and loose myself in a story. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with Billy Madison and Michael Bay movies? I’m not looking for anything heavy. And Mystic Pizza was the bomb, bitch!”
I thought I should respond to my mother-in-law and explain myself a little bit.
I go to a movie to be entertained as well. Who doesn’t? It just so happens that my idea of entertainment differs from others. I want more than anything in the world to loose myself in a story. That is what I cherish about movies, it’s want I long for, and it’s sadly what disappoints more than it delivers. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. I'm not looking for art in my movies. I think they are more a craft than an art anyway. And I absolutely do not want a movie to tell me the solution to any fucking problems or teach me how to live either. I'm with you on this.
There are a couple of things I would like to point out. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you are aware of it or not, all movies are political. They will either attack or reinforce the status quo. Movies show us how we communicate with one another, or the biting lack of communication we have. They shed light on our relationships and how we deal with one another. They demonstrate the role of women and men in our society. They illustrated different political ideas. They show us where we are. They show us where we need to be. Of course, this might not be explicit in the text of a particular movie, but it is there if one is willing to look for it. It’s idiotic and terribly naïve to imagine that movies are merely entertainments and nothing else. Even Billy Madison offers a glimpse into who we are. What we are experiencing now is an industry that provides stories that recycle the same tired clichés over and over again and people eat this shit as if there are being provided something of value. Of course, this has been more or less true since Lumiere filmed a train coming into a station, but now there seems to be a oligarchy where the more radical agendas, in terms of both style, content, form, and just really filmmaking itself have squeezed out other voices. The so-called independents are just the minor league of Hollywood, and they are filled with those who dream of playing in the show. It’s said that the internet and technology is the wave of the future and that it will change what is done in Hollywood. Time will tell if this is correct or not. In the meantime, we’re left with tired and hackneyed movies that offer clichéd way to push our emotions. The downturn in profits are a positive sign, and there is the hope that the audience is turning away these cinematic abortions. Maybe they are starting to realize that they are being treated like zombies, like fucking rats in a box, and the time has come to assert control in that great Howard Beale way, to rip the fucking screens from the walls, to call a piece of shit for what it is.
Then again, maybe not. We’ll have to see. And hope.
