Too crazy to classify

Wanna hear something ironic? Imodium AD actually tried to stage an intervention with me!!!

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 161 Comments

Forget about the Government Debt Ceiling Bill or MTV turning 30; I have an update on a dangerous epidemic sweeping the nation that’s going shamefully under-reported by the media: The Imodium Ad shortage of 2011.

 

I first shared my concerns here in June and my wife joked that maybe my mass Imodium consumption had caused a shortage of some sorts and it appears that might be the case. After striking out in my local stores, I branched out.  Three different CVS managers and a Wal-Mart employee plus an employee from a Pennsylvania supermarket have told me that there was a recall on Imodium AD, but I can’t find anything about a recall online, in the farmer’s almanac or with Ask Asa. I doubted them because I figured that of all people, I would know if there was a recall, it’s not like they wouldn’t publicize it or spread the word. Have you ever heard of a secret recall? No – they spread the word like Officer Bird and tell people everywhere if something is wrong! That’s how things get recalled – they let people know.  And don’t tell me to get the store brand – it’s not the same! After scouring three states to no avail, I got strategic and went on the website for Imodium AD and called the Consumer Care Center at the number listed.

Before you even ask – No, I am not a crazy person nor am I a junkie looking for a fix…I’m just a concerned citizen looking for answers. OK, maybe I am a junkie looking for a fix – but this is getting suspicious and don’t judge me!  I can tell you with absolute certainty that I now know what they meant in May with all that Rapture and the world ending talk. If I’m lying in my bed, covered in sweat while trembling in fear and this is only a nightmare – PLEASE WAKE ME UP!!!

Let me just start by saying that the Imodium customer service agent was the absolute coolest and nicest lady ever! She assured me it wasn’t a recall and that it was a shortage of supply to fill the demand. Take that in and let me repeat it – it’s a shortage of supply. She was reassuring me that everything would be OK and we were on the way to becoming besties, when the call suddenly took a wrong turn and veered downhill.

Agent: “Sir, can I get your contact info and we can put you on our mailing list for coupons and then contact you when Imodium AD is available back in your area again?”

 

I proceeded to give her my phone number, address, and then told her my email address.

Agent: “Sir, can you repeat your email address for me?”

Me: “immodiumabuser (at) yahoo.com”

Agent: “Sir, Stop it right now, I don’t believe that. Is that really your email address?”

Me: “Of course it is, why would I ask you to contact me and give you the wrong email address? What kind of person does that? Email me while we’re on the phone and I’ll email you back.”

Agent: “Sir, are you kidding with me?”

Me: “I’m being serious, why would I waste my time to call you if I wasn’t looking for help here? I’m not a lunatic – I just want to know when and where I can get my Imodium.”

 

I then filled her in on how I can’t go anywhere without my Imodium, take it 24/7 if I need to leave the house, how this site is a love letter to Imodium AD, and basically how it saved my life and made me a productive citizen. Needless to say, her end of the line got a lot quieter.

Agent: “Sir, how much Imodium do you take? How many have you taken today?”

Me: “5 pills”

Agent: “Sir – its 11 AM! Why have you already taken 5 pills?”

Me: “Maam, I work almost an hour from home…”

Agent: “Sir, Please don’t take any more today…”

Me: “Maam, I won’t be able to eat lunch if I don’t take anymore.”

Agent: “Sir, How many days have you been taking that many?”

Me: “Days, it’s been since 1994. I never would have been able to go to Woodstock in 1994, or college for that matter…”

Agent: “Sir, that is not OK. We do not recommend that many pills to be taken for that period of time and we don’t test on that dosage. We test on the dosage listed on the back of the box. You can be causing internal damage to your organs and…”

Me: “Maam, I’m sure I don’t even have internal organs anymore between all the Imodium, the alcohol and everything else – I’m convinced that if you were to X-Ray my body, it would go straight from Esophagus to Anus with nothing in between…”

Agent: “Sir, have you taken anything else today?”

Me: “Just some Tylenol, why…”

Agent: “How many of those have you taken and which kind?”

Me: “I took three Tylenol Extra Strength because I had a headache when I woke up.”

Agent: “Sir, Legally I now have to give you the number for Poison Control because you have exceeded the recommended dosage on those products. We also make Tylenol – do you have a pen? 1-800-222-1222. Please repeat it back to me so I know that you wrote it down.”

Me: (laughing) “1-800-222-1222 (which really is the number for the American Association of Poison Control Centers) I got it but I don’t need that number. I don’t care if you tell me that there’s gasoline or pesticide in Imodium and that it’ll kill me by New Year’s Eve – it works and I’m gonna take it either way! I didn’t call to get you nervous and I’m not looking to sue you guys or anything – I just need the Imodium to be available again!”

Agent: “Sir, this is not OK and I am really concerned. Obviously I cannot tell you not to take Imodium AD, but I must caution you that we do not test it in the quantity that you take it in.”

Me: “Listen Maam, I love Imodium AD more than anyone out there and I can guarantee that you will never find anyone more loyal to it than me. It has changed my life and I want to be the spokesperson for you. How can I get my face on the box – can you help me with that?” (we both laughed at this) “My wife wouldn’t let me send in my testimonial. Seriously, I just need it back on the shelves.”

None of these are available? What's going on?

I reassured her that I was fine and just wanted to find the Imodium and she was able to help me find 5 different locations (ShopRite, A & P, Food Emporium and 2 K-Marts) with Imodium AD in stock. Forget the Amber Alert – she had a listing of stores within 30 miles of my house along with their phone numbers so I could confirm before I went. She could tell if they had 6 packs, 12 packs, or 24 packs – unfortunately no one had the 72 packs in stock, but who was I to complain? I don’t know why the White House didn’t have these guys looking for Bin Laden, because with their pin point accuracy and precision – they could have bagged that fool years ago!
She really was a very nice lady and told me that she would go and check out this site when she got home from work that night. I’m sure she probably thought that I was a lunatic, but later that night I did see a small spike in hits… I’m sure they record those calls and will probably play my call at their holiday party so everyone can have a good laugh at my expense.

The best part was that my boss walked into my office while I was on the phone and asked who I was on the phone with and didn’t believe me when I said Imodium. He shook his head and then he looked at me like I was crazy. As he sat down to listen to me, he realized that I really was on the phone with them. He also didn’t expect (and neither did I – to be honest) that I would be on the phone for over forty minutes with them either.  

As if that wasn’t enough, I got a letter and authorization form in the mail a couple of days after the call requesting my medical records. How crazy is that? I just want my Imodium on the shelves and they want to talk with my doctors. They haven’t requested my photo for the box yet, but I’m sure that letter should come any day now. When it does and my picture on the box makes me the international face of Diarrhea – I’ll remember each and every one of you!

Imodium Letter 1

Imodium Letter 2

More Ah-Shit Moments: The Pretty Kitty got all Shitty!!!

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 32 Comments

 

 

Last week, I gave you some insight into my twisted brain and a little background into some really embarrassing things that have helped to shaped me. In getting some feedback from that post, I couldn’t help but think of a close friend’s experience. If you’ll indulge me that courtesy, I thought that I might share someone else’s Ah-Shit moment too!

Let me just say that talking about shitting is risky territory to enter. I purposely waited to talk about it because I wanted to ease into the shitting stories – sort of like a slow seduction…If that doesn’t paint a nasty picture in your mind – nothing will, so on with it. When you tell people about your shitting experiences their reactions tend to be one of two types: A) the mock offended who pretend that their shit “literally” doesn’t stink, and that they have never discussed shitting before and will not start now or B) the empathizer who knows exactly how you feel because they may not have shit their pants recently, but the look on their face tells me that they’ve come close. I’m not asking you to tell me which type you are below in the comments section, but in honor of spastic colons everywhere – here we go.

One important note -In keeping with my tradition of only humiliating myself here, I will not give away this person’s identity and will refer to them from here on out as Carlotta. What I can tell you is that Carlotta is a woman and that Carlotta is not a cat lover (That might seem insignificant right now, but read on.)

and there I was just minding my own business...

 

When Carlotta was on her way to court for an accident she got in, her stomach started in with that all too familiar gurgling. That’s never a welcome feeling, but more so when you’re driving – one wrong sneeze and you’ll never be able to carpool again. As she was driving, she came to the realization that she wasn’t going to make it there in one piece, so she veered off the highway and headed toward her friend Cher’s house. 

As she was pulling into the driveway, she could tell that the situation had reached Defcon Three. She threw the car into park, sprinted through the yard towards the front door and blasted in the screen door. When you enter Cher’s house, you walk through the living room and straight ahead about fifteen feet to the bathroom door. On a normal day this is no big deal, but on this particular afternoon it was like the long walk to the electric chair. Carlotta ran for all she was worth and screamed something similar to “get out of the way” to Cher upon entry into the house, but it was so fast and jumbled she couldn’t really be sure.

She made it into the bathroom, shut the door, dropped her pants and was about to park it on the porcelain when all of a sudden, there was a commotion. Cher’s cat Pretty spent most of its time in a litter box next to the toilet and had been sitting on the toilet when Carlotta burst into the room. She shooed the cat off the toilet and tried to sit down when the cat got territorial and leapt back onto the toilet. The loud screech of the cat had an unexpected effect that no one saw coming: It literally scared the shit out of Carlotta and she screamed “Pretty, NOOOO!!!

INCOMING!!!

Hearing the commotion outside the door, Cher got concerned: (although it’s unclear if she was concerned about the cat or Carlotta)

Cher: (knocking on the door) “Are you OK?”

Carlotta:  “I need you to get me a pair of sweat pants, some paper towels, and whatever it is that you use to clean Pretty with!”

Cher: “What? Pretty’s a cat – she washes herself…”

Carlotta: “Not today Cher, not today…”

 In case I haven’t made it very clear – Carlotta shit all over the cat!!! Pretty was covered, although she did tell me that it did come off of her fur very easily…(Carlotta told me that, not Pretty) She came out of the bathroom and called the court to see if she could reschedule and the lady on the phone asked what happened.

Carlotta: “I had an accident.”

Lady on the Phone: “You had an accident? Aren’t you coming here because you had an accident? Did you have another…”

Carlotta: “Not that kind of accident.”

Lady on the Phone: (realizing what she meant) “Oh my God, hold on…

They did feel bad for her and let her come back the next day. I usually don’t do this, but I actually called Carlotta to make sure that I was remembering the story correctly, not just to find out about the poop’s trajectory…When I called Cher’s husband to ask the cat’s name because I couldn’t recall it, he couldn’t remember it either. Really? How do you forget the name of your pet cat or your pet cat that someone shit on? The cat’s name was Pretty! She shit on Pretty cat but I’m pretty sure he was more like scaredy cat after that.  

A more immature person might tell you that isn’t how you treat a pussy (cat), but I’m above that. I don’t need to stoop to such levels. What I will tell you is that for this very reason, my dog has never been left unattended whenever Carlotta is around and that this isn’t the first time that Carlotta has had airborne poop. Granted, the last time it landed on a wall and not a living pet (she did that two different times, believe it or not) but it was still airborne. She was sick and mistakenly chose the wrong door when she gave the vomit priority in the toilet at the expense of her explosive posterior and the white wallpaper. Talk about a houseguest and a visit you’ll never forget. The other time she shit on a wall was at was at a softball game when she was younger, but it still seems like a pattern is developing…Thoughts?

She's coming back over???

 

Shoe better believe she had these on!!!

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 2 Comments
 

So I was at work being the little Yenta that I am and  just minding my business, when all of a sudden one of my coworkers walked in. I immediately hung up with the client that I was talking to so I could check and make sure she was OK because with just one look at her shoes I could tell that she must have been the victim of a hit and run assault.  It looked like someone had stolen her shoes and left her standing in her socks. It’s either that or there was a half off sale at the she store because they literally took half off the shoes! Take a look:

 

Shoe better not wear these n the rain or your feet will get soaked!

 

I’m all for individuality and creating your own style, but even The Others on Lost had more ankular support than this! What if you get chased by someone and have to run? I guess they would be cooler for the summer than a full shoe would, but with a heel that high you’re definitely risking a broken ankle. And what about if you have kankles? Do you just loosen the straps a little. I’ll just stick with my orthopedic oxfords thank you very much! I actually have an American Flag thong that offers more coverage than these shoes do!!!

Let me know what you think of these shoes or if you have a pair of your own.

David Sedaris named my baby! Now we’re pregnant again – What’ll it be???

/ www.immodiumabuser.com

The Man, The Myth, The Legend: David Sedaris

 

First off, this isn’t an April Fool’s Day joke – this is a true story.  My wife was pregnant with our first baby and we went to see David Sedaris. We didn’t go because she was pregnant and she didn’t get pregnant at the show as far as I know, we just happened to see his show while she was pregnant.  (Some people get confused easily, so I wanted to clear that up right away.) He was reading material from one of his books and just generally showing why he is one of the most hysterical men alive and we waited around for the book signing after the show. He always stays around after he’s done and chit chats with everyone and autographs books, cd’s, small turtles…basically whatever you bring with you for him to sign.

We’ve seen him multiple times, but even I am not narcissistic enough to believe that I’ll stand out among the many tons of people that he meets. We’ve actually trouped all over the Tri-State area and are thinking of forming a support group for other David Sedaris Groupies like us. My wife wasn’t always able to attend with me in the past and so I went with her mother. Don’t get nervous, this isn’t turning into another story about me watching dirty movies with my wife’s mom. She’s a blast and loves Sedaris as much as we always have a great time.

In fact, her mother and I (mother-in-law sounds so old and impersonal which is not her at all so I just call her “Boo”) went to see him in New Jersey once and while waiting on line to meet him after the show, an old lady came up and tried to cut the twenty-something girl in back of me. The old lady tried to casually merge into the line but the girl caught on immediately and called her out on it. She wouldn’t let her cut in front of her and that old lady got so annoyed at the young girl that she actually spit on her. She actually spit on her! I was shocked, but mostly just grossed out and really selfishly thankful that she didn’t spit on me. Had that lady spit on me, that would have been all she wrote because I would have knocked that old bitch out; but the girl was a really good sport about it. No offense to David Sedaris, but you would have thought we were waiting to meet Springsteen or The Rolling Stones by the way that old lady was acting. I haven’t seen spitting like that since the Long Island Game Farm Field Trip in Elementary School when a little boy in my class got a loogie right in the chops was he walked up little too close to the llama cage…

Anyway, the three of us (me, my wife, and Boo) went to see his show and afterwards we went to get our books signed. As we were chit chatting about my wife being pregnant, he asked if we knew what we were having and we said we weren’t finding out. He looked at my wife’s stomach and said “The middle name has to be Danger! It has to be!” and he wrote it in our book. Of course, I never thought she’d go for it, but two months later we welcomed little Danger onto the scene! My favorite part of it was when the priest asked “You want me to say Danger in the church during the Christening?”

I did my part and got us this far; Sedaris - Work your magic!!!

Fast Forward almost two years later: Tonight is his show, my wife is pregnant with our second child (We’re not finding out the sex of the baby again), and David – We need a name! I feel like I might sound a little bit crazier than I normally do, but let me try and convey the importance of this moment to you. This is a person that we revere, and I just fear that he might say a name like Nicaragua (If you’re a fan, then you know exactly how he pronounces it!) or Shortcake (Sedaris pronunciation: short-a-cock-a).

I will revisit this topic after the baby is born and do some explaining about the back-story if we end up with a baby named Boolie Von Coolie!!!!

Say it ain’t so! You don’t know UFO Joe?

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 14 Comments

Throughout my life, I have been very fortunate to have come into contact with a ton of really crazy people. I don’t mean crazy like Wow, she has two different socks on, I mean crazy like Oh my God, she just took off her prosthetic leg and is screaming at me to help find her cigarettes!!! Some might call it a curse, but I have always considered it a gift and I am more than willing to share it with you. I have talked about life at the Fat Camp before here and here, but the absolute best part of living there year-round was that there was always an assorted bunch of lunatics running around to keep me entertained. I will give in and admit that I wasn’t sober for more than eighty percent of the time that I lived there, but still – there were some really crazy peeps out there in the woods.

The whole family went out for my aunt’s birthday dinner and it wasn’t long at all before she actually threw me out of the restaurant. We hadn’t even gotten our appetizers served before the Camp Chef, Joe, started to describe his very first alien abduction. I was obviously caught off-guard by this and immediately started hysterical laughing because it was the first time I was hearing any of this. You would think someone would have prepared me for it because they had already heard these stories multiple times. Naturally I thought he was kidding or, more likely, mentally ill. After a menacing glance, my aunt told me that in case I didn’t know it, it’s very rude to laugh in someone’s face and then she kicked me under the table. That kick really hurt which was misleading because she’s a short and stubby little one but those hooker clogs she was wearing really did a number on my ankle.

I tried to stop laughing, but he kept going on…And on…And on. I know that I’m immature, but come on I thought for one split-second that I might have actually been the one abducted and was sitting with the alien pods because they were hanging on his every word. It was right at that moment when the nickname “UFO Joe” was born and solidified. Maybe it was the alcohol or my natural smart-ass nature that made me do it, but when he was done I proceeded (as serious as I could) to tell him about how my friend Fallon was also abducted by aliens (and not the illegal kind by the way) when she was living in Los Angeles. I was explaining how hard it was for her because her husband Jeff and her father Blake didn’t believe her…when my Aunt hauled off and kicked me under the table again. That bitch could really work a clog if you know what I mean.

The Colby’s

Apparently, she could tell that I was talking about Season Two of the underrated classic The Colby’s but UFO Joe was empathizing and saying how hard it must have been for Fallon…Then (catching on) UFO Joe looked at me like I was the crazy one and said “You don’t believe me? You want to see proof?” Before I could even answer like Whitney Houston and say “Hell to the No”, he unbuttoned his shirt and thrust it open to reveal a huge bloody gash where he had ripped open his skin and dug through it with a paper clip. Right there at the table! Waitress, please cancel the Nachos!

As I was trying not to throw up from the site of it, he was going on about how he was positive that they left a tracing probe implanted in his chest and he wasn’t going to stop looking until he found it and removed it. That gash was so deep and disgusting and gooey that it actually looked like there was a vegetable lasagna platter sitting on his chest; it was obviously infected but he was convinced that the aliens had planted the infection as well. I innocently asked if he thought that using a dirty paper clip to bore through layers of human skin while searching for a tracing probe could possibly cause an unrelated infection to the original alien infection that was placed there – but I got the evil eye. My Aunt threw me out before I could get an answer from him, but at least it wasn’t another kick under the table!

Come on Joe, button your shirt back up!

I am not the type to suffer fools gladly and I am also not a mature person in the presence of crazy people. I couldn’t help but laugh as I sat alone on a stool at the bar next door. I did make a few new friends at the bar and then sang karaoke, but it kind of loses a little something when you’re throwing out an Eric Carmen remix with no one there to see it. All by Myself was my signature song, but it was never truer than that night at the bar. This was the first time that I got a dose of UFO Joe and his insanity, but not the last time.

UFO Joe lived at the local bar that we used to go to every day. There was a barn on the side of the bar and he lived in an apartment above it. He had a small porch and a view of cows in a field that always smelled like shit – but he wouldn’t change it for the world. That is until he moved into the house right next to ours at the camp. The camp had almost 250 acres of open space but where do they put the craziest person in three states: fifty feet from where I sleep naturally.


He was crazy, but harmless for the most part. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. It took them a while, but they finally did convince me that it wasn’t weird to see UFO Joe barbecuing chicken on his outdoor grill while wearing ONLY an apron. I was obviously disgusted by the sight of it, but actually more concerned that there might be a sudden fireball from the barbecue. (Don’t laugh – It actually happened to me; why do you think I won’t barbecue anymore? There was a huge WHOOSH followed by a big ball of flames shooting upwards from the grill, up my body and face, and then up the side of the townhouse and my wife went inside and shut the sliding glass door! Granted I was screaming like a nine year old girl and my arms were flailing around, but I was lit up like a roman candle and not even an “Are you ok?)

It was truly disgusting, but my real concern was that if UFO Joe’s back hair were to spontaneously ignite, he might spread into a literal wildfire and burn the entire camp down. As unbelievable as that thought was, when I told my aunt she said I was crazy. If that doesn’t give you a clear picture of my aunt’s oddball mindset – nothing will. There’s a naked, middle-aged, alien abducted man grilling chicken clad only in a red and white checkered apron steps away from us and I’m the crazy one.

As if UFO Joe being shishka-bare while cooking wasn’t enough, he’d blast his music as loud as his speakers would go and play opera or 70’s Classic Rock all night long. You did kind of get used to the noise after a while and I could never get him to admit it, but after a while, I actually started to think that maybe he was implanted and that through the the music was sending signals back to the mother ship…That’s when I knew that it was time to get out of the woods and leave the Fat Camp for good.

E.T. Phone Joe?

Needless to say, the Fat Camp was a fun place to be if you needed a good laugh and there were always plenty of crazy people around to break up even the darkest days. At least it was never boring…

Watching Dirty Movies with my Wife’s Mom

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 11 Comments

My little Black Swan Natalie Portman was waking up and feeling a little bit frisky so she decided to follow that old yellow book slogan and let her fingers do the walking. It was dark in her bedroom and she went to work as the camera panned down slowly, but I couldn’t appreciate it. Don’t get me wrong – she’s a “Hit That” hottie, she was down to her skivvies, and the mood was right. All that was missing was some red wine and scented candles, but nothing. 

Looks like Padme has gone over to The Dark Side

Don’t get nervous, you’re not reading the start of my testimonial for a performance enhancer. And no, I have not traded up my Imodium for Viagra. I am all for independent women showing that they don’t need a partner for everything, but I’m not sure why this keeps happening. Black Swan was the THIRD time that I was at a movie where a woman on screen proved that she wasn’t the Queen of the Castle – while I was sitting next to my Wife’s Mother!!!

Three times! I know this might sound like the intro to an episode of The Maury Povich show, but it’s not like we’re going to a peep show to see these films. For God Sakes, it was an AMC Theatre!    

Mila munching makes many malapropos moments ...

Looking back on the first time that it happened, it almost seems like it was her fault and I’m not usually a finger pointer unless there’s a fart involved. Me, my wife, and her mother were at the movie theatre heading in to see Dinner Rush (a great movie with Danny Aiello that you should put at the top of your Netflix Que if you haven’t seen it yet.) It got great reviews but her mother heard that it was violent and doesn’t like those types of movies, so we got tickets instead for Innocence  and we headed in…

Seems innocent enough, but looks can be deceiving

None of us knew anything about the movie, but it was about a couple reuniting after many years apart, so we went for it. Who knew it would turn out to be geriatric porn? All of a sudden, the 70-something year old actress in the movie got naked on her couch after a phone call with her former lover and then gave herself a “touch up.” DID I MENTION THAT SHE WAS NAKED! AND IN HER MID 70’S!!! When I tell you that the old lady on that couch wasn’t the only one violated that day, I mean it. I squeezed my equally as repulsed wife’s hand and whispered in her ear “Oh my God, why did your mother choose this movie?” She had no idea that would happen, but I also couldn’t get that horrible sight out of my mind. I wasn’t so much embarrassed that I saw that in front of my mother-in-law but that I saw that at all. There are certain things that one should never be subjected to and trust me when I say that there is nothing more disturbing than the sight of a saggy, old, AARP tittie wiggling around while an old lady works it on her sofa…

If the first time was her fault, the second time was definitely mine. I have a well documented obsession with Nicole Kidman and Margot at the Wedding had just opened so my wife and I were on the way to see it. Her mother called and she was leaving lunch with her grandmother near where we were seeing it, so we invited them to go to the movie with us.

Not now - her Grandmother is watching!

Everything was going along swimmingly until Nicole got in bed and then started getting restless under the covers. Once again, I couldn’t fully enjoy the situation. I got a knot in my stomach and looked over at my wife, who looked over at her mother, who looked over at her grandmother, but Gran apparently had no idea what was going on. Thank God – she just thought Nicole Kidman was having trouble falling asleep. We all left the theatre quietly after the movie and all I could mutter was “I didn’t know…I didn’t know.” As weird as it was with my Mother-in-Law – it felt ten times stranger with her mother there too…   

Needless to say,  it doesn’t matter if me or my mother-in-law are both over 17 – I don’t need the MPAA ratings to tell me that it isn’t OK to see Blue Valentine with her – it’s off the list. Tangled, here we come! 

Blue Valentine - Absolutely Not!

Dog Day Afternoon

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / Leave a comment

I will share something here that I bore witness to that shocked even me – and I’m not one that’s easily shocked – so, as Sophia Petrillo said “Picture it: Fat Camp – Winter Season.

Besides the Fat Camp, my aunt also owned a diner and the Manager she had working there was this bumbling Frenchman George (Think Inspector Clouseau in a nicer suit) that made even my mostly good-intentioned, but half-retarded cousin, Lon, seem like a scientist. George and his wife, Maddie, used to come to the Fat Camp to torture (or visit, depending on who you ask) with us. I’m not sure how or why this was started, but it didn’t take long to realize that it wasn’t a good idea.

One day as we were hard at work (sitting by the pool drinking of course) they arrived. We had started out with intentions of painting the fence, but that quickly turned south when I brought out the alcohol. Truth be told, I never had any intentions of painting that fence and was drinking by the pool when they came up to paint it. One drink led to another and another and then they realized the fence could wait. As George and Maddie pulled into the driveway along with my aunt, they opened the car door and their two mini-Dobermans got out and followed my aunt and Maddie over to the pool while George went into the house.

As a pet owner, I’m always interested to see how other dogs act with their owners. My Shih-Tzu Smokey likes to be held on your lap and to have you pet him while driving in the car, but once you arrive wherever you’re going he can’t wait to see who else is around to play with and get away from me. One night when I was in college and Smokey was still a puppy, I got all up in his grill when we came back from the bar and was raising him into the air like Simba in The Lion King and then bring him face to face and I would slur “SSSS SSSS Smokey, SSSS SSSS Smokey, SSSS SSSS Smokey” until he finally had enough of my nonsense and bit down on the tip of my nose in retaliation. It might not have been so bad if he had just nipped and released to prove his point, but his pincers got caught in my nostrils. Every time I screamed out in pain he got scared and bit down harder and clamped onto my nose like it was a rawhide. I was running around screaming with this five pound dog biting down harder as he was glued to my face and it looked like he was T-bagging my nostril, but not one person helped me. Everyone just laughed their asses off. He could have bitten the tip of my nose off and swallowed it for all they cared. Smokey finally released but he left indentations in my nose on both sides where he chomped down – talk about a conversation starter, “When Shih-Tzu’s Attack!” (Not like the time when my father actually did get attacked by Marlene’s killer Shih-Tzu (Brutus) and had to get stitches in his face – at least I can blame my bite on drunken stupidity; He was sober. My father I mean – not Brutus).

So, as we made small talk with Maddie and offered them a drink, those two dogs fought for affection on her lap. As we were talking and I was just starting to really enjoy my Vodka, those dogs started pushing each other to try and get better placement. They’re very cute dogs, but it was odd because they never left Maddie’s side. Literally never. (Foreshadowing alert)

Next thing I know, here comes George strutting out of the house like a peacock in a bright blue Speedo. A fucking, bright blue Speedo. He was calling out in his little French accent “Allo, Allo” to everyone and then came over and full-body hugged my cousin, and then full-body hugged her boyfriend, and then came right at me arms outstretched. It was like slow motion and Thank God I have reflexes like a cat. I almost jumped over the fence as he tried to hug me and everyone looked at me like I was the crazy one when I put the bottle of Vodka as a buffer between us and offered him a drink. I jammed a cup into his open hand – anything to avoid contact with him and the little blue teacup he was wearing. He looked at me for a second, confused, and then proceeded to make his way around the table shaking everyone else’s hands. My aunt gave me a quizzical look that said “What’s wrong with you?”as if she couldn’t tell or didn’t see anything odd here. Right, I’m the crazy one – George just bump and grinded his bright blue Speedo against my teen-age cousin and then against her boyfriend and I’m the bad guy because I refuse to let him dry hump me next.

That situation wouldn’t have been OK even if George was in shape, if George wasn’t over fifty, or if George wasn’t wearing his knee length black dress socks and slip on black loafers with that Speedo, but for God sakes none of us were even swimming or wearing bathing suits. Who walks up to a group of fully clothed people wearing a bathing suit smaller than a do-rag and starts hugging them? It was a Fat Camp, not a swingers colony!

I gathered my friends and headed out to the local bar for the rest of the afternoon to try and burn that image out of my memory forever, and my aunt said to make sure I was back for our “Family Dinner” and then gave me a dirty looked when I asked her if there was going to be a dress code. George never did go swimming – he just hung out (literally) all day by the pool.  (As a side note, whenever questioned about George and Maddie saying or doing something weird, my aunt would always shrug and say “He’s French” or “She’s French, that’s what they do” as if that explained it.)

There were so many lunatics that I will tell you about at another time, but in the center of the assorted arsenal of players that worked at that camp was UFO Joe. We called him that because, obviously, his name was Joe. What wasn’t as obvious about him at first glance was that he had been abducted more than once. I’m not talking Liam Neeson’s daughter in Taken kind of abduction, I’m talking full-blown, alien poking, possibly impregnating, but definitely fucking-with abduction! (Please re-read that last sentence again and really see what I have had to overcome in my life. I am a neurotic putz with a host of my very own issues which I heartily admit, but I am constantly faced with fucking crazy people that make me seem like the normal one.) There is not enough room on the internet to capture all of UFO Joe’s exploits, but I promise to revisit them another time.

Dinner went without incident and while her two dogs sat on Maddie’s lap the whole time – my dog, Smokey, and my aunt’s two Yorkies were suspiciously avoiding her like the plague. I thought it odd that they weren’t begging, but didn’t think too much about it because at that moment, our maid Happy (The African/Crazy/slothlike/sexy in a certain leather yellow moomoo-wearing kind of way) hit me with her breast as she leaned over me and started to clear the table. George went to smoke cigars with the “Men” so I went to smoke a fattie with the “Real Men” and try to burn the thought of Happy’s middle-aged, bra-less breast swinging against me (like a pendulum on a grandfather clock) out of my mind.

As I headed back to the Dining Room for cake to satisfy my munchies, my aunt and Happy were in the kitchen getting the coffee and dessert together. As I walked back into the Dining Room, only UFO Joe and Maddie (and of course the two dogs) were sitting at the table as everyone hadn’t come back in yet. I walked in on their conversation and sat down as I opened a fresh beer:

Maddie (in her French accent): It must be beautiful here in zee fall when Zee trees drop Zee leaves…

UFO Joe: It is – Do you think you’ll come back when the weather changes?

Maddie (in her French accent):  It depends on Zese babies and what Zhey want to do…(she directed this comment at Zee dogs as she started nuzzling their noses against hers)

UFO Joe: Maddie, I meant to mention earlier that I can’t help but notice that you keep masturbating the dogs…

It was like slow motion as I started to choke and spit my beer out all over the table covering everything while they looked at me as if I were the crazy one. After I picked my jaw up off the floor I looked at him, speechless, waiting for her to either slap his face or, God forbid, answer him…

Maddie (in her French accent): Oh, Zhat. (Like it was nothing!!!)  It’s all about ZEE pleasure Joe…I love Zee dogs and I want them to be happy…Zhey like it…

UFO Joe: I would too…

With that, I jumped up and ran out of the room like the mature adult that I am…I was first off looking for Smokey to keep him off her lap and the hell away from her (now I understood why he and my aunt’s two dogs were staying away from Maddie the Masturbator) and then I burst into the kitchen to find my aunt.

“Oh my God – Maddie is masturbating the dogs! Hello, she’s fucking masturbating the dogs!”

To which Happy responded (in her heavy African accent) – “At the table?”

My aunt put the stack of dessert plates she was carrying down on the counter and slowly turned glaring at me and growled at me: “You know what? You’re a very sick person – something is really very wrong with you? Why would a sixty year old woman masturbate her dogs?

“Because she’s French? Remember, that’s what they do” I replied with the only answer that would possibly make sense. I thought it was a very clever comeback as it was her goto line about anything odd they did, but she found it as humorous as her last pap smear.

 

Before she could slap me or worse, UFO Joe entered the kitchen with some dirty plates and as he passed by, he matter-of-factly said “I knew she was jerking those dogs off. These eyes don’t lie. Lucky dogs, huh” he said as he bumped my shoulder and then headed back into the Dining Room. I then proceeded to help my aunt lift her jaw off the kitchen floor as Happy walked out of the room shaking her head and muttering to herself (in her heavy African accent) “At the table? I don’t understand.” A woman right off the boat from Africa understands what masturbating means, understands what masturbating dogs means, but the part that she found disturbing about that whole situation is that Maddie did it at the table? At the table! There must be some crazy shit going on in Africa!

 

Needless to say I was not allowed to go back to the Dining Room table for dessert because the general consensus was that I wouldn’t be able to control myself (probably a good guess.) Forget about how I was gonna act – I was afraid to walk back into that room and see UFO Joe jump up on Maddie’s lap next!”  I went and locked Smokey in the back bedroom – at that point it was every dog for himself!!! Suspiciously enough, they never visited us again and I, for one, didn’t miss them. UFO Joe on the other hand was constantly hoping that they’d drop by again as that was the only party he’s ever attended when he wasn’t the craziest person on the guest list.

 

As a postscript, I am really disturbed. That statement could obviously describe my mental state most times, but it’s so odd.  That is the second instance where a person has admitted to me that they had masturbated their pet. Also, they both offered it up to me without provocation or instigation. I don’t know why they’re doing it or what it is about me that invokes feelings in these lunatics to share it with me, but if one more person tells me they’re getting their pets off – I’m making a citizen’s arrest right there! I see myself as a fun-loving guy with all sorts of crazy shit going on but people are getting a little too comfortable around me for my liking. This shit’s gotta stop.

The “No Means Nose” Hair Movement!

/ www.immodiumabuser.com / 3 Comments

Cameron, thank you for letting me know that you agree with me on the nose hair issue – I know that there is a quiet majority building out there that thinks it’s as disgusting as I do and that it’s about time we stood up and banded together. To that end, forget the Tea Party – I’m starting the “No Means Nose” Hair Movement and I might actually approach Jimmy McMillan, the “Rent is Too Damn High” guy, to be the face of our movement because if there is one man we should all be listening to about facial hair – it’s him! I don’t think he’s crazy at all – I wish I could get away with wearing gloves 24/7 and never touch anything with my bare hands. He’s the aftershock of a BP Sized Rogaine Spill, but I took one look at him, with that spectacular goatee sculpted like two giant fuzzy white testicles and those black OJ Simpson ready to do some damage gloves on his hands and it made me realize that him and I could be really good friends. I’m serious, he’s a little crazy so we might not become Besties, but we’re definitely gonna hang out!  And you’ll notice that there is an immense amount of hair all over his face – but none coming out of his nose! Way to go Jimmy!

The very next time I see a person that has a nose hair “Boa” swinging in the wind – I‘m going to stop what I’m doing and start chanting: “Hell no, don’t let it grow!” Forget the economy or unemployment – this is the issue the politicians should be covering! I’m going to start a revolution and run for local office on the nose hair platform alone.

Truth be told about my toiletries – the cosmetic companies are more important to me than doctors. Forget getting better; the people that make you look better are the important ones. No oath needed – just make me look good and cover this up as much as possible. The toiletries listed in the post are only the products that I use daily. I didn’t include the products that I use intermittently such as facial masks, scrubs, toners and don’t even get me started about the products I use when I shave.  I start with a Body Shop for Men Maca Root Shave Oil to restore my skin’s natural moisture barrier. Then I take my birch shaving brush (you didn’t think I was gonna put that cream on my fingers did you?) and slather on the Neutrogena Men Sensitive Skin Shave Cream. The wooden brush keeps my hands clean and enhances the foamy lather. Then I shave and get a good rubdown of the Neutrogena Sensitive Skin After Shave Balm. At this point, I get out my cotton pads (Cotton balls just fall apart and leave a cotton residue on my skin – and then I finish it off with Tendskin to prevent skin irritation. That product is actually for women’s ingrown hairs that they get when shaving their cooch, but it works better than anything else I’ve tried. Before you even ask, no, I am not embarrassed to admit that!   

Imagine how hard it is for me to travel? Besides the ton of clothes I bring, I like options – I have to bring all these toiletries (even if it’s just overnight) or I just will not be able to sleep. If I forget even one thing, I’ll be worked up all night. I forgot my blinders one night and I was tossing and turning the whole night – I am a creature of habit and I need my things. If I didn’t have my toiletries, I would look like a creature of the night, not a creature of habit.

We just moved and when unloading the boxes and trying to find where everything should go – we had more boxes for the bathroom than we did for any other room. I have a tendency to buy a few at a time when I get my toiletries. I like to line the products up in the cabinets in a row all facing front so I can see the four or five replacements behind the currently used on – sort of like a row of Storm Troopers on the Death Star; they’re all there for the sole purpose of fighting for and protecting my skin at all costs.  One might be thinking (and my wife will swear to it) that I am on the path to being featured on Hoarders, but one would be wrong. I buy some of these products online because you just cannot get them in certain stores and I am always afraid I will run out. I can concede that if I was living in a studio apartment or didn’t have enough space to put this stuff, that I might be going overboard a little, but who is getting hurt? Are the shelves in the bathroom closets complaining about me behind my back again? Did the hand towel rat me out to the pot holder when they were tumbling in the dryer and now everyone in the house knows about me? Who cares – I say let me have my toiletries and worry about your own nose hair! And Elect Jimmy McMillan! Forget Snookie or Yo Gabba Gabba – the hottest Halloween costume of the year is just a fuzzy white Afro Mullet away!