Rubber Chickens + Slime = Lawsuit?

First of all, I would like to appologize for the large gaps between my recent posts. Apparently, I am finally busy at work everyday. Even worse, I am out of the office four days a week walking around New York City gathering GPS data. It's not that bad I guess. I get a nice farmers tan since I can't walk around without my shirt on. It was actually pretty exciting last week because we almost got arrested for taking pictures of the Whitestone Bridge. It was awesome. Good thing I wasn't carrying my company issued machete. Anyway, since it is Sunday and I should be doing plenty of things other than write blog posts I will make this one short and sweet.

I was lying on the couch this afternoon (because it's raining outside for a change, damn northeast weather) flipping through the channels on the old idiot box and came across an old favorite: Double Dare. That Mark Summers really used that show as a launching pad for his career. In case you didn't know he now has a show on Food Network where he reviews all of the unhealthy food that makes America great...and obese.

Anyway, after watching the two families duke it out in the question part of the show (my favorite part by the way) the idiots couldn't answer the easy question and had to resort to the physical challenge. Interesting how the physical challenges actually were really hard most of the time. As the dad tried to catapault rubber chickens into the bucket strapped to the daughter's head while the tank of slime dripped out all over the floor I noticed something that I hadn't thought about in probably ten years (the last time I watched Double Dare). How come the floor was so damn slippery? Did you ever notice that even before the physical challenge started people were sliding all over the place. Did Nickelodeon want a lawsuit? Was this an evil ploy by Mark Summers to slip, fall, hurt his back, and get out of his contract before his career totally went down the drain? I guess we will never know...

867-5309/Jenny

Another crazy weekend for your loyal blog writer: me. As usual, I am always on the lookout for blog-worthy (I invented that word) content for my posts. If you couldn't tell by some of my previous posts that the social scene in Connecticut is...how do I put this...subpar, then you are an idiot and I would like you to stop reading. Who am I kidding? I need all of the readers I can get. Why? I don't know. Anyway...

My buddy Tom and I have decided to head down to NYC every weekend. Not only is the social scene...how do I put this...the best in the world but the girls are much hotter. We stumbled across a great rooftop bar in the shadow of the Empire State Building. It was awesome. The girls weren't pretentious. The music wasn't loud. The guys weren't guidos. The drinks were still $12 a piece but you can't have everything, right?

After a night of telling jokes to girls we headed downstairs to get a cab back to our car. By the way, I thought girls are supposed to love a guy with a sense of humor. Apparently these girls didn't understand my brand of humor, which I have been told is quite amusing. But it's like the old adage says: There are plenty of fish in the sea. If I keep throwing the bait out there, then one of those fish will bite. Of course, by fish I mean hot, smart girl but I'm sure you already knew that.

So you are probably wondering what the Tommy Tutone song has to do with this post. Well, as we were getting in the cab I noticed that the cab company's phone number was 777-7777. How cool is that? Why are cab company's the only ones to get phone numbers where all of the digits are the same? This doesn't seem fair to me. If I call the phone company and tell them that I am a new cab company, then can I get a cool phone number too? Wouldn't 111-1111 be awesome? This needs to be explored more.

P.S. My friend Ryan has the phone number (808) 256-9562. Also known as (808) blowjob. Awesome.

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

What a weekend. My mother always told me that "they" would be knocking down my door. This always meant women would want to go out with me because I am really, really, ridiculously good looking like Derek Zoolander, minus the black lung. Well apparently "they" meant women and men.

My buddy Tom and I spent a lovely afternoon at the Barclays Golf Tournament at the beautiful Westchester Country Club. While we weren't listening to pathetic middle-aged men in the gallery (wearing golf shoes to watch a golf tournament) oogling at Vigay Singh, I was busy picking up the hot Australian XM Satellite Radio girl who was trying to sell me some crappy radio. I mean come on. If I am going to buy a satellite radio, then it certainly isn't going to be an XM. It's going to be a Sirius since not only does it carry Howard Stern but I own Sirius stock.

So what does this have to do with today's post you may ask? Well the night before I was in New York City. I've learned that you have to look good when you go out in New York City but I've also learned that there are two types of women out there. Those that like Sex and The City and those that don't. I prefer the later. Those that like that show are busy gossiping about expensive shoes and sunglasses all while drinking cosmopolitans at the latest chic bar or club. These are the same girls who usually have nothing interesting to say because they are too busy thinking about themselves and think they are better than everyone (See past blog post).

The later group are much more interesting. They have probably read books other than "The Devil Wears Prada" and "The Da Vinci Code". They have probably seen different parts of the world, met different people, and experienced different cultures. They have probably developed their own sense of fashion and strive to be different. Basically they don't need some cheesy supermarket magazine to tell them what clothes to wear. So why am I writing about this? Because in my attempt to meet more interesting, erudite, unpretentious people I have gone back to my roots (see past blog post): the laid-back, alternative, who gives a fuck look.

So anyway, to make a long story short, I was wearing jeans from Gap, my new navy blue Chuck Taylor's (see past blog post), and a sweater from Guess. It was 70% off. As I walking to get in a cab for our long trip back to Connecticut, a guy approaches me and asks me where I got my sweater. "Guess," I reply. He proceeds to grab my shoulder and inform me that it has the most perfect raglan sleeves and that it fits me perfectly. I have no idea what raglan sleeves are but it must be good if a gay guy is telling me. I say thank you and he gets in a cab with his friend/partner. As they are leaving his friend/partner says, "You look perfect, a guaranteed booty call."

Now hear is my dilemma. Should I be totally repulsed that a flaming homosexual grabbed my shoulder and told me how good I look? Or should I be totally flattered that a flaming homosexual grabbed my shoulder and told me how well I dress? I go with the later. I mean he was gay...not that there's there anything wrong with that.

Is Three Better Than Two?

Quick observation. Heard on the news recently that a baby was born with three arms. Boy that kids' parents will have their hands full. Anyway, got me thinking about all the weird birth stories we hear everyday on the news; most notably multiple births. Twins, Triplets, Quadruplets, etc. The list goes on and on. My question is as follows: if a mother gives birth to a set of triplets, then are two of those triplets considered twins? Could that mother also say she gave birth to three sets of twins? Could one of the kids say they have two twin brothers or two twin sisters, or a twin brother and sister? This is a deep fundamental question that only someone like W could answer.

Speaking of W. If two hermaphrodites want to get married, then is that considered same-sex marriage or traditional marriage? It sure isn't traditional to me but I couldn't care less, I have more important things to worry about. Actually, I really don't so I will think about it and get back to you.

Have a Happy Tuesday!

You Try To Do Something Nice...

Quick story. I was in New York yesterday for work. Of course, I was swimming in raw sewage but that's another story. Anyway, it was pretty hot. Making bucks, getting exercise, working outside. Fuckin' A. To combat the heat I started drinking my Aquafina. Personally, I prefer tap water to bottled water but people think that is weird so I won't go into it any further. Anyway, I finish the bottle and proceed to toss it in the nearest trash can. Upon my arrival I notice a homeless woman digging through the trash looking for emtpy bottles and cans to recycle. Being the nice person that I am, I decide to hand the bottle to the woman instead of throwing in the trash can right in front of her face. I politely offer her the bottle and what is her response? She takes it and without even looking at me just tosses it right in the trash can. Think about it, she pulled a total 180 on me. Instead of me throwing it away right in front of her face, she throws it away right in front of my face. Unbelievable. That's the last (and first) time I do anything nice for a homeless person.