fat camp

CelebriTuesdays: Mueller Said Knock You Out! Forget the Russians – He needs to shift his focus to LL Cool J & investigate why this Dude doesn’t age!

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mueller said knock you out

 

Everyone’s jabbering on about Cambridge Analytica, Russian election interference and Jeff Daniels’ sister Stormy – but we need to focus and find out what’s going on with the most important cover-up of our time that’s happening right under our noses: Why the eff doesn’t LL Cool J age! I know everyone is up in arms over whether the Russians are rigging our elections, but I’m more concerned with the fact the LL Cool J doesn’t look a day older now than when he was in high school! Ironically enough, Babyface hasn’t looked babyish in fifteen years, yet this guy looks the same as he did when he got his Lerner’s Permit! Mueller needs to prioritize and start investigating what the eff is going on right now! I mean, he’s like a real-life God Damn Benjamin Button! This man is defying logic and nature and we need to open an immediate congressional inquiry to uncover whatever the fuck is going on here!

 

16 year difference

Look at this – if you look at me now compared to sixteen years ago it looks like I’ve swallowed that poor little guy…

 

They’re still looking for Hillary’s mystery emails but I want to see LL’s mystery toiletries. What is in that man’s medicine cabinet? I’m not saying he needs to go to jail or the Russians are interfering with his nutrition like with their Olympic athletes, I’m saying we need to find out EXACTLY what he’s doing or taking so that I can also take whatever the hell he’s on! Nutrition and fitness my eye – he’s like a Russian bot sent here to destroy the self-esteem of every short, fat, and bald guy walking the streets of NYC and I say enough is enough! I’ll have what he’s having and by Thanksgiving – I’m gonna be ready for the runway!

 

LL walking

 

On a daily basis, I’m reminded by both my mirror and my crazy sister that I’m not getting any younger or skinnier, but I kinda roll with it. I make it work like a pimp with a limp, but just when I start feeling good about myself – along comes LL Cool J to mess it all up.

 

Spock you out

 

I’m actually quite a big fan of his and have been known to bring the karaoke house down as “Mama Said Knock You Out” is my #2 go to jam! No disrespect to LL, but my #1 karaoke pick is obviously Eric Carmen’s All By Myself because I rock that mother like a sheer force of nature; I mean, I don’t wanna brag but after hearing my spin on it, DJ’s have been known to retire the song and vow never to play it again!

 

Me and LL 1

 

I was excited to meet him and as he walked over, I just couldn’t help but notice that LL Cool J and I have the same exact physique and I realized that, in the right lighting, we’d be mistaken for twins. It’s downright eerie how similar we are – I mean, if I stood on a chair to be eye level with him, I could probably be his body double. Somebody should probably get CBS casting on the phone and let them know about this in case NCIS: Los Angeles needs me – I can’t be the only one that noticed this, can I? It can’t be just all in my head, can it?

 

It’s funny how when you meet someone you admire, normal people think to themselves Holy Shit…I’m meeting LL Cool J…this is awesome, yet once I saw him in person, my first thought was wow, he could literally kick the shit out of me and not even break a sweat! He’s 6’ 2 and jacked up and I can’t help but look so little and slight next to him and I’m neither a little nor slight person! If that wasn’t bad enough, my sister took one glance at the picture and asked why on earth I was trying to suck it in and puff up my chest to look better. I tried to tell her that when you look like this, you gotten do something when you’re standing next to LL, but she was afraid that if one of my shirt buttons gave out from the pressure, it would take out an eye! I can always count on her to call out my ridiculousness but I guess can’t really be mad at her though, since I do constantly write about when she shit on a cat on a pretty regular basis (too bad she wasn’t pretty regular that day…)

 

 

normal.jpg

On my own, I look normal size – next to him I’m shrunken even further…

 

 

I guess trying to suck in and puff myself up was pretty ridiculous, and he might as well have been seven feet tall standing next to me! I mean come on – even his hands are gigantic! Each palm is the size of my head for God’s sake! I was like “Hey can I get a picture” and I’m sure he was thinking “Dude, you need more than a picture – how about a gym membership? You know I wrote a fitness book right? You read that shit yet Bro?” Ok, so maybe it’s all in my head and he wasn’t really thinking any of that – but until LL tells me differently, I’m going with it!

 

hands

I mean look at the size of his hands! Even they’re jacked up!

 

One summer during Fat Camp, I went to the mall with my crazy cousin. As we were riding up the escalator, I pointed at her and for no particular reason shouted out “Oh my God, is that LL Cool J?” I thought it was hilarious because, full disclosure, my cousin is a fat white girl – obvi not LL, not Cool and certainly not J! If she had one, her Celebrity name would be LL Chubb K, but who am I to throw stones? Needless to say, the ladies riding the escalator opposite us when I screamed weren’t fooled before they scowled at me and said “Is he an asshole or what?” and I’m not actually sure if they were asking me or my cousin, but I’ll concede that it was a fair question…

 

ncis

 

Look, LL Cool J seems like a really awesome guy, but in real life, I could never actually be friends with him. I’d feel like I constantly needed to try and suck in my stomach or stand up taller and I couldn’t dare eat anything in front of him. You think he’s eating mounds of white rice every day like me? I don’t believe that man has eaten a carb since the Clinton Administration! That’s a lot of pressure and this fat body just can’t take that kind of stress or hard work so we’ll keep it just like it is.

 

 

CelebriTuesdays:Vivica A Fox gave my heart some shocks!!!

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Vivica & me 1USE

Yes, Vivica’s blowing a kiss to me. No, that is not the Psychic I go to across the street!

 

Vivica A Fox is one foxy mama! She looks good in pictures, she looks great in person, the camera loves her plus she’s confident, sweet, and funny – case closed!  I was so excited to see her last week while she was promoting her new movie True to the Game on The Today Show and I’ve tried to practice my selfie face, but I’m not there yet; I’ve been told that I have the face for email and it shows more and more with the pictures I take. I should just let the pics speak for themselves, but here are a few more fascinating things about Vivica: she’s killing it while stealing Taraji’s spotlight as Crazy Candace on Empire, she was Maya on Generations way back in the day, and she also happens to smell like a little spritz of sage, confidence, & sunshine all blended together!

 

 

 

On a rare serious note, Politicians can certainly mean a great deal to us and significantly influence our lives. As so many before her, a strong woman that’s devoted her life to public service has inspired Ms. Fox and just like her favorite politician Selena Meyer does – Vivica’s got a bag man!!! (If you don’t watch Emmy Award winner Veep and don’t know what I’m talking about – immediately binge it now). I think I found my dream job and I’ve already got it up on my vision board – I’ll be clutching that bag for her by New Year’s Day!

 

You in the baseball cap – step away from the bag!

 

As you can imagine, her and I have a lot in common, but in case you didn’t know about our most important link: she had a movie out in July called Fat Camp and my exploits working at a fat camp are legendary. We’re practically besties now! What a small world!

 

 

fat camp poster

We’re all bonded over Fat Camp…

 

 

I’m trying not to let it go to my head, but I was in a photo in The Daily Mail with Vivica last week. Ok, so only one of my pant legs and my messenger bag were actually shown with her, but it’s certainly a start…You gotta start somewhere!

 

 

Daily mail photo 2

Recognize me over to the left? That’s me and my bag!!! Way to go Daily Mail! I hope the notoriety doesn’t go to my head…

 

 

 

vivica on the today show

Vivica A Fox on The Today Show

 

 

 

My days in Grease Part Two: WOW, THAT TEEN ANGEL JUST DROPPED IT LIKE IT WAS HOT!!!

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Earlier, I told you about my antics in a college production of Grease and now I’m back with another helping. After getting slimed by Crista like I was on Double Dare, I wasn’t sure it was safe (or sanitary) for me to ever have a part in Grease again. Despite that, I ended up stepping in to direct the official Fat Camp version of Grease with my friend Rhea after the original director hired had an emergency and couldn’t come to camp.

As we were discussing the play over many drinks at lunch, Rhea convinced a more intoxicated version of my regular self that I should be the Teen Angel. Figuring it would be a blast, I forgot for a second that I can’t sing and immediately agreed to it. Who doesn’t love a Beauty School Dropout and, really, does it matter if it sounds good?

After a few rehearsals, the show started coming together nicely but we felt like my entrance was a bit boring and should have a wow factor (or about as wow as you can get at Fat Camp)…We discussed it and were throwing out ideas about how to spice it up, when her face lit up and she said “Oh My God, the Teen Angel appears to Frencie to offer advice and look out for her, so how funny would it be if he was dressed like a Fairy Godmother in a big frilly dress? Sarcastically, I replied “Why don’t you just hang me from the ceiling like Peter Pan while you’re at it” and as soon as it was out loud, we both knew how funny it could be. I had said it more as a joke, but the more we discussed it, the cooler it sounded to lower me from the back balcony over the audience while I entered singing.

Imagine the looks I got as we went from one woman’s store to the next so I could try on dresses and find the “perfect” one. Tell me which part you think is more embarrassing: A) That I was guy in all these women’s stores trying on dresses or B) That when questioned about what we were doing, Rhea said “What’s so weird about it? It’s for Fat Camp” as if that answer provided any sort of clarity.

It’s always so hard to find the right fit…

Back at camp, we spoke to the maintenance guys and they thought it was hysterical and got to work on creating a swing for my entrance. My vision was of a chariot being lowered from the rafters by professional machinery; their vision was a piece of wood with a rope tied to it. Guess what we got? The latter vision. Obvious red flags should have went up – but I was sober very little that summer and you know how I commit to a role!

On the night of the show, I got into costume and went up in the balcony to wait for my sound cue. As I sat there hunched over, so that no one would see me or realize that I was up there, I couldn’t help but have second thoughts about this whole stupid idea and the scenario that was playing out. I had a bad feeling about my entrance and then became horribly aware of just how awful I looked. Sure, I was a guy in a woman’s dress and floppy wig, but it wasn’t even funny-ugly – it was just an ugly sight. I had frills everywhere and realized a little too late that maybe pink wasn’t my color after all. With my albino white skin and that light pink dress, I looked like a deformed porcelain doll…I was in good shape back then with a full head of hair mind you, but dressed as a woman, I looked like Lady Gaga without the ya ya’s. Who lets a guy with a flat chest wear a dress and forgets about the knockers?

I looked like Lady Gaga without the ya ya’s!

As we were coming up on my cue, the guys holding the ropes couldn’t even look at me without laughing. I was seated on the swing waiting for Frenchie to say “If only I had a guardian angel tell me what to do” and I then I would say “You got your wish sister!” and launch into Beauty School Dropout. That’s what’s was supposed to happen – but as I said “You got your wish sister!” everyone in the audience turned and looked up at me and the music started to play. The guys that were supposed to lower me on the swing over the lip of the balcony and then down to the ground pushed my backside instead of pushing the swing, causing me to fall out of it.

No one screamed louder than me because it almost scared the shit out of me as I was pushed off the swing and grabbed at the ropes to hold on. As I fell, one of the guys holding the rope grabbed my hand and I was dangling there like Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger. Needless to say, trying to sing the song through the screams (mostly mine) and hysterical laughter (everyone else’s) was to no avail. The music played on and at first, I still tried to keep singing the song as they were trying to pull me back up into the balcony.

As I was dangling there like a pendulum, I couldn’t help but think a) good thing I wore underwear and b) good thing the pair of underwear I chose wasn’t my festive American Flag G-string and then c) fucking let me go already!

I checked afterwards to make sure, but it’s not actually written in the stage directions on the script to scream “Asshole, let me go” at the crew members during the show but sometimes you have to improvise. I also never learned the old tuck and roll trick either because when I got my wish – and they released me – I dropped the rest of the way down and hit the ground like a rock to even louder laughter and clapping. I wasn’t really mad that not even one person in that audience tried to catch me or tried help me before, during, or even after the fall, and I also wasn’t mad at the piano player who didn’t think to stop playing the song at all during it either. I know what you’re thinking “It could have been worse” but that’s not the end of it.

I didn’t get hurt in the fall unless you count my pride – cause that bitch was a-hurtin’ fo Sure! I also didn’t get hurt by the dangling swing that I fell out of repeatedly smacking me in the face and noggin as I dangled there. All of that might not have been so bad or embarrassing if at the exact moment that I was shifted out of the swing and started to plummet, my dress hadn’t gotten caught on the balcony ledge and started to ceremoniously rip off me layer by layer. After they finally let me go and I fell to my descent, the remaining tattered material just gave way around me. Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark let me tell you something: you are not innovative – I was falling out of the rafters during a show years before you!!!

I did my best to try and keep some parcel of my dignity intact as I did what I could with the performance but imagine how difficult it was to try to get up off the ground and make your way to the stage in boxers and a few strands of taffeta around your neck and chest. God only knows when and where I lost the wig, but I was a mess. I held my head up high, tried to keep from laughing and sing the rest of the song and exited stage right.

After bearing witness to one of the best spectacles she said she has ever seen, my sister Marlene came backstage with her arms overflowing with the multiple pieces of material she had recovered from the wall, floor, and along my trail through the auditorium. With tears in her eyes and trying to hold in her laughter, she said (handing me the pile of material) “I think you forgot this out there…Words cannot even describe…Was it supposed to happen like that?…I thought you might have really gotten hurt there for a second there but…” and then we just burst out laughing. We didn’t even wait until the end of the show, we literally left right then and went to the bar. Not the best tactic if you’re the director of said show, but I had enough and needed alcohol immediately.

I must have been out of my mind to think that it would work in the first place – me and coordination go together like asparagus and a golden shower…Even though it didn’t go as smoothly as I had planned – I was more like Frank the Tank than Frankie Avalon – it was really funny and everyone loved it. You know the old saying: It may not be Broadway, but even at Fat Camp – the show must go on!

I was more like Frank the Tank than Frankie Avalon!

 

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

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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…

Dog Day Afternoon

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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.

Eye believe that you really need a mint Sir!!!

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I want to send a message out there to everyone who is a hard-working service provider day in and day out – Hygiene is not optional so please BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH PEOPLE!

I went to get an eye exam in order to renew my license this afternoon and I expected to possibly wait a little while if there were other people ahead of me. What I didn’t expect was to get nauseous and vomit in the parking lot. I am not one to complain or be dramatic (OK, who am I kidding – Of course I am!) but come on. 

As I was walking into the exam room, the doctor greeted me and he was seriously ancient. If he was less than 80 years old I am a monkey’s uncle. I’m not usually one to discriminate against a person because of age, but seriously when you’re hunched over and shimmying across an eight by eight room using baby steps and it takes you three minutes to get to the credenza – it might be time to hang up that lab coat.

(Don’t even get me started about that ancient old man who ran over my brother Angelo twice in the gas station parking lot! Yes, you read that correctly, I said he ran him over twice! He hit him then drove right over his body and then upon realizing that he hit something, he put the car in reverse and then proceeded to back over Angelo. The driver had suffered a stroke a few months before but never stopped driving. He actually had his name and address written down on a piece of paper in his glove compartment because he couldn’t remember who he was. It has been years since that happened, and my brother is finally just starting to think that it is as funny as we do. Who gets hit twice by the same car? He really got hurt, but that’s not the point. Seriously – twice?)

Apparently, when you’re licensed as an eye doctor in Connecticut, you’re appointed to the position for life sort of like a Supreme Court Justice. That doctor was panting and breathing so heavily like Darth Vader and I immediately started getting concerned in case something happened to him while I was in that chair. Truth be told, I wasn’t especially concerned for his well-being, I was just terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get my eye exam done today if something happened to him. Selfish maybe, but I needed that eye exam done today.

I sat in that chair as he got closer and closer to my face until he was all up in my grill and then it hit me like a brick. Apparently, that doctor had a shit sandwich for lunch because his breath was absolutely disgusting. I have a weak stomach and am not good in situations like this. I had taken my contact lenses out for the exam, but as he edged in closer to talk to me, I almost died. That musty breath was just the appetizer because even with my contacts out and everything blurry, I could see a small topiary shrub growing out of each one of his nostrils. Thank God my contacts were out, because those hedges needed to be clipped and I couldn’t even see them that clearly. He has the bushiest nose hair that I have ever seen in my life. Picture broccoli sprouts strategically places inside each nostril branch side hanging out. He actually had more hair in each nostril than all of the hair that I have on my head and my back combined. How does he not have family members forcing clippers on that nose hair? For that matter, where is the Board of Health? There must be some code against that. As he turned to get his light off the table, I couldn’t help but notice that he was also wearing white earmuffs which I thought was really strange since its August. Then I realized that they weren’t earmuffs at all, it was his ear hair. That fuzzy white ear scarf started in the center of his ear and then wrapped around running all the way up and around the lobe on a trail to nowhere. He was a nice old man, but it almost looked like he was a cave man with prehistoric grooming rituals. Needless to say that when he pushed his face right up close to mine and said “Is it clear now” – I almost died. That was the absolute worst thing that has ever been that close to my face. I would rather have a sweaty camper from my aunt’s Fat Camp place his ass gingerly on my forehead after eating nachos and bean dip than be that close to that dentist’s face again.  

As I tried to rush my way out of there, he just kept getting closer and closer and asking if it was getting clearer. I now know what a hostage situation is like and exactly what it feels like to be tortured. I thought for sure Ashton Kutcher was gonna jump out and punk me, but I wasn’t that lucky.  I kept trying to hold my breath, but I’m not Shelly Winters in The Poseidon Adventure and I just couldn’t hold my breath for longer than fifteen seconds.

After it was finally over, I headed out to the reception area to find a set of glasses, but then thought better of it. They were trying to find me a pair of glasses and offering up what frames they thought would look nice on my face, but I wasn’t having any more of it. I told them that I changed my mind about getting glasses and bolted for the door.

I thanked him and rushed out the door so fast that they had to call me back in because I left without getting my credit card back from her after paying for the exam. I was dry heaving in the parking lot and looking for something to drink but the piss warm Diet Pepsi only made me spit up a little. I lightly vomited and felt much better, but couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth. It was like I had been gang raped by gorillas. It was almost like he burned that stench onto me and no amount of gum or binaca could make it better. Needless to say I skipped lunch after that! 

A little back-story about the leadings up to today’s ordeal and why I didn’t have the time to go somewhere else: My Driver’s License is about to expire and since I wear contact lenses, I needed to get an eye exam or they wouldn’t renew it. I have a New York State Driver’s license even though I have lived and worked in Connecticut for the past five years. I refuse to switch it because the Connecticut DMV won’t let me use the picture from the New York Driver’s License – where I look amazing!  That photo was taken over ten years ago when I was still in college – when I had a full head of hair and two chins fewer than my current state, so it is a great shot. It’s a really good picture and I intend on using that for my AARP membership card many years from now. For some sadistic reason, Connecticut wants to scare people and put what my current-day self looks like on a license so I refuse to allow them. I actually look like I have swallowed the person in the picture on my current license, but I don’t care. I have been a victim of driver’s license photo hit-and-runs before, so I am holding on to this one for as long as I can. When I first got my license all those years ago, no one told me that pimpstache’s weren’t “in” anymore. My hair was rumpled from being under my hat and paired with that pimpstache creeping above my lip it could have easily been mistaken for a mug shot. I think back to that pimpstache and wonder not only why my friends didn’t tell me that it looked ridiculous but also, more importantly, “Why the hell were all those girls having sex with me?” Back then, I was the poster boy for the old phrase “it’s what’s on the inside that counts” because my face was working overtime against anything my personality was putting out there!

I actually got into it with a representative from Bank of America about my license recently because our car loan is through them and they were questioning why my wife had a Connecticut License, why our residence and my work are in Connecticut, but my license was in New York. I thought long and hard before answering her and then proceeded to make up a convoluted story about my wife and I having problems and that was forced to stay at my Mother-in-law’s house and that’s why I have my license registered there. I actually vote with an absentee ballot too so everything works out fine for me. My wife of course thinks that I’m a complete Ass for telling a random stranger that I’m having marital problems instead of admitting that I’m an idiot, I’m shallow, and that I’m trying desperately to hold onto the past – but I say as long as I get to keep that photo who cares!  

So here we are. I’ve sent the paperwork in to renew my NY License and even though I was violently abused to get it – it definitely is worth it. I stand by that picture and will go through great lengths to keep it! People, the point and the takeaway of this is “Consider Oral Hygiene to be a requirement, not just a hobby!”

Rugby Bulges lead you here???Now I’ve heard everything

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So,

In the statistics feature on this site, I can see what people searched for on the internet to find my site. Some people see the link on Facebook and Twitter or get referred by Yahoo and Hotmail but yesterday, and I am not kidding, someone found my little immodiumabuser.com post while searching for “Rugby Bulges!!!”

I’m glad to know that my posts about Weezie have reached a broader audience but who knew it would have such widespread appeal!!! Also, is it weird if my first thought after seeing that was, “great, more people are reading my stuff” and the second thought was “I wonder if they liked it” and then I thought about what to have for lunch and then ate lunch and then complained because it wasn’t really what I wanted and now I didn’t feel well because I have a bad stomach and the choices of what I can eat are very bland and limiting and then like an hour later finally I wondered: Why is someone searching for “Rugby Bulges.” And they capitalized each word like it was the formal version. I wonder if I would show up in the lower case version of the search.  Seriously, what do they do with that info when they find it? It can’t possibly be informational or educational? Can it? I guess if you’re a Rugby Coach or that crazy girl who has the sex toy parties where she sells her wares, but there’s just no sense to it otherwise. Who would find that arousing? Our African housekeeper Happy who stormed into the kitchen while I was frying eggs one morning and demanded that I take off her Neon Yellow Leather Mumu immediately!  It was laying on the couch and I only put it on because the air conditioning was so high and I was cold.  I was only wearing underwear but she insisted so I took it off and continued cooking my eggs as she sat there watching me. I didn’t mind too much because that leather Mumu was starting to stick to the back of my thighs and God only knows how she must have sweat in that Mumu all summer. In all seriousness, is a leather Mumu ever a practical fashion choice? And neon yellow – what does that even match? Do you need to dry clean it? You can’t possibly put that in the washing machine – what cycle do you use for that?…That’s really not the point, but you see where I’m going with this.  

Incidentally (or coincidentally?) I also got a random comment yesterday from someone I don’t know who likes this site – maybe it was the same person?…Either way – Thanks for reading and keep checking back. Who knows, maybe the next time you search for “American Terrier banging Roommate on Coffee Table” or “Fat Camp and Sex on Snoopy’s Doghouse” it’ll lead you to this site!

Pretzel Boy sent back to the minors

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It was the middle of July, and it was hot as balls. Of course, Fat Camp was in full swing and to illustrate just how hot it actually was, I’m borrowing a Facebook Post from earlier today from my Rabbi Kodi – “Fock its hot! At the rate my balls are sweating I’m going to wake up in the morning dehydrated!” Needless to say, I needed the Air Conditioning as desperately as I need oxygen to breathe or alcohol to make it through the day, so it was off to only peaceful oasis that I knew of in the area: the mall.

I was actually pretty well-known in that mall, but not for very good reasons. I used to go there frequently with my cousin Leaky and her boyfriend, Dim, but nothing good ever came of it. Security was usually involved, sobriety was never involved, and immaturity was always involved. I loved her, but Leaky was always, always, always in a bad mood and being the absolute biggest bitch possible. I would try to embarrass her or make her laugh to get her out of those moods, but it didn’t always work.

That day she was especially bitchy and I couldn’t even ditch her because she had driven us and wouldn’t let me hold the keys to the car. As we were walking on the second level, I noticed that there was a guy giving out pretzel bites samples on the level below. I stopped and leaned over the railing, looked down at him and then started yelling: “Pretzel Boy!…Hey!…Pretzel Boy!” He tried his best to ignore me, so I repeated myself. “Pretzel Boy…I know you can hear me!…Throw me one!” He looked up at me (more annoyed than he should have been) and shook his head while saying softly – “No…You’ll get me in trouble…Get out of here”

  

 

Not getting the point, I got much, much louder and started screaming “PRETZEL BOY!…PRETZEL BOY!…I SAID I WANT A PRETZEL!…THROW ME ONE…NOW!…DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!” to which he responded by picking a sample off the platter that he was serving from and proceeded to throw it at me. At this point, not only were my cousin and her boyfriend watching, but there were about ten other randoms watching as well. Pretzel Boy had obviously never played professional  baseball before because it was an awful throw. It went high and to the left and all of a sudden Leaky reached out her hand and caught that out of control pretzel bite. 

I thought for sure it might fly through the front entrance of Claire’s and land in the pile of headbands by the cash register but, I just couldn’t believe she caught it. She was far off from being an athlete and even further off from being coordinated – it was a shock to see her moving so deftly. And if you know her, you know it’s a shock to see her moving at all unless you have a box of Entemann’s cookies in your hands. (Funny enough she once ate a whole box of Entemann’s chocolate chip cookies in one sitting while we were talking and then looked down at the empty box and back at me and then down at the empty box again and then spat at me defensively “I didn’t eat all those cookies!” and then stormed off when I started to laugh and called her out on it. Listen, I say if you’re gonna eat a full box of Entemann’s chocolate chip cookies yourself – and who hasn’t? – then you have to own it Honey!)

Anyway, she tried to hand that pretzel bite to me after she caught it but, of course now that whoever made it and put it on the tray, Pretzel Boy, and Leaky had all touched it with their sweaty bare hands – there was absolutely no way that was I going to put that pretzel bite anywhere near my mouth. Pretzel Boy’s boss came out to talk with him (about what I couldn’t exactly hear, but I had a pretty good idea) so I yelled down at them “Throw me some cheese to dip it in!” Neither of them thought it was as funny as I did and they went back into the store. It was like the baseball coach coming out of the dugout to pull the pitcher from the mound after he just let another batter hit one into the stands…

I didn’t get a pretzel bite that day, but I did get that bitch out of her bad mood. Still a win in my book and then we were able to get down to business and get drinks in the sports bar that we always went to in the mall. I promptly forgot about the heat and quickly moved onto something else to complain about…

If you don’t expect that much from me, I might not let you down

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In case you haven’t guessed it yet from these ramblings, I wasn’t always a very responsible person. I never really minded it though, because no one relied on me and no one ever asked me to do anything because they knew that I would find some way to screw it up. It was actually really liberating because there was never any expectations or pressure and Fat Camp was no exception.

There was a guy that worked there that looked just like the Boar’s Head Pig on the label of the cold cuts. I know that might possibly come across as mean or insulting, but I’m not even kidding. I’m not ready to walk down any runways and no one would put this face on a magazine cover either, but he really does look just like that. He’s also six-foot four and extremely overweight, which didn’t help his image in any way. I guess there are worse things you can look like…O.K. there really aren’t that many things that you can look like that are worse than the Boar’s Head Pig, but that’s really not the point. Anyway, he was considered more responsible than me, so they sent him and I to get bread because the Chef’s delivery got delayed and the kitchen needed it for lunch and they didn’t trust me to go by myself. It was a twenty-minute drive that should have taken us no longer than an hour to get there and back, but they were about to find out that I wasn’t the only irresponsible one.  

We didn’t even make it out the front gate before we lit up. Although in my defense, you had to be stoned in order to drive that van. It was a huge, fifteen passenger, white monstrosity and when behind the wheel in there, it always felt like you were driving a big rig. It took every bump and pothole like a gunshot and that thing rocked back and forth while driving. Granted, it was soothing if you just smoked up and were a passenger in the back of it, but while piloting it felt like you were playing a video game and the windshield was the screen.

So we get down to the corner and just as I’m daydreaming about what goodies I’ll get at the supermarket to snack on, Boar’s Head announces that we aren’t going to the supermarket – we’re going to the Hostess Outlet instead. Now I’m certainly not one to argue with logic like that and the very thought of all those Twinkies brought a huge smile to my face instantly.  

We got to the Hostess Outlet and I was like a kid on Christmas morning. I literally got out of the van and started running into the store like I was on The Amazing Race. We got two shopping carts and starting putting as much in our mouth as we were putting into each of the carts. It was a fat kid’s wet dream: There were Twinkies and Suzy-Q‘s and what seemed like hundreds of flavors of Fruit Pies (which I don’t even like, but I started opening and eating them anyway) and Snoballs and Ding Dongs and everything. All the people we passed in the store were staring at us sort of like we were celebrities that they just couldn’t quite recognize. It seemed to make the most sense to me at the time that it was because of his obvious, spitting-image, resemblance to the Boar’s Head Pig logo – but then I quickly realized it wasn’t looks of curiosity – they were actually looks of disgust! The site of me and Boar’s Head strolling up and down each of those aisles with overflowing carts (they were overflowing with just our snacks that we were eating – we hadn’t even started to get what we actually came for) was apparently repulsive to some people. Each of our faces and shirts were covered in chocolate and crumbs and a little bit of the soda that I spilled from the liter bottle of Diet Pepsi that I had brought in with me; We were not doing anything to dispel the stereotype against fat people in a Hostess Outlet by any means – but those were the best Suzy-Q’s I have ever tasted before or since.

We literally filled that enormous, fifteen passenger, empty van with bread, rolls, buns, all of our Suzy-Q’s, Fruit Pies and assorted junk foods and I carved out a nice little spot between the fresh italian breads stacked neatly on the second to last seat for a tiny little nap. I awoke to Boar’s Head slamming on the brakes forcing the breads and me to go flying off the seat. Cupcakes were everywhere and ended up getting smushed when I landed on them. I made my way up to the passenger seat to find Boar’s Head chugging a half-gallon of skim milk (he actually told me later with a straight face and he was dead serious, that skim milk has fewer calories in it which I took to mean that he thought it evened out the four thousand and counting Hostess calories he had just consumed…) and asking if I wanted a sip. “No, thanks! Where did you even get that?” He apparently stopped off for gas and got it at the Mobil Mart. “Where are we?” I asked looking around at the houses on this random street in who knows where.

 “Timmy’s house” as if I should have known what that meant.

“Timmy who?”

“I Can’t tell you his last name – come on and Don’t say anything!”

What happened next was like something out of a bad 70’s Cheech and Chong movie. A normal person that wasn’t coming down off the drugs and sugar high would have stayed put, but I was getting a little nauseous from all that chocolate and needed to get out of that van. We walked around the corner and down the block because apparently, we weren’t allowed to park in front of Timmy’s house.

We went around the block and came up to a random house and walked up to a side door and Boar’s Head knocked softly. Timmy, late thirties, long hair, very dirty looking opens the door and looks around searching the area and whispering about who I am before he’ll let us in. “He’s with me; He talks a lot, but he’s O.K.” Boar’s Head said. It wasn’t really wrong, certainly it was a rude comment, but not wrong – so I didn’t say anything. Besides, I had no idea why everyone was whispering. We entered a normal looking house with his mother in the kitchen – an older lady almost sixty cooking something. We passed through the Living Room and went down the hallway toward the back of the house. This Bedroom – or what I thought was a bedroom – had a huge padlock on it. Who put’s a padlock on a door inside their house when they live with their mother? Was she a klepto?

When he opened the door, it was far from a bedroom – it was more like an Arboretum in there. This huge room and walk-in closet had been converted into a greenhouse and there were tons of lights hanging from the ceiling over lots of plants, what looked like a bathroom exhaust fan on the ceiling, and there were tables of plants and scales everywhere with small clear plastic bags strewn about. It didn’t smell offensive, just overpowering. Some people would have gotten it right away because it should have been obvious, but I was like “What’s with all the plants – do you like gardening or something?” before it clicked in my head that Timmy was obviously a drug dealer. That’s who puts a padlock on the inside door of a house he lives in with his mother! Boar’s Head made a fist at me and told me to shut the fuck up so I didn’t piss Timmy off. Of course my curiosity got the best of me and as they were “conducting business” – I couldn’t help but touch the scales and walk around to check everything out, I had gotten drugs before, but never actually seen the operation like this.

‘Timmy, does your Mom live with you? That’s nice to have company, isn’t it?” I innocently asked to which he replied “It’s obviously her house – why the fuck else would she be in the kitchen cooking?” I replied  “Why do you live with your mother?” to which he replied to Boar’s Head “What’s with him  – my mother gets lonely when she’s by herself and it helps me save money on rent.” I had never heard a drug dealer cry poverty before, I guess I just always thought they were rolling in it like in the movies and could afford any type of place they wanted – shows me how wrong it is to assume. From the looks of his clothes and this dump,  they weren’t making anything. There really wasn’t much in the way of conversation after that…we stayed for about an hour or two (I started to lose track of the time again) and tested out all his bongs and I gotta tell you – that was some good shit! Timmy’s not much for friendly conversation, but he has a real green thumb.

As we stumbled back to the van for more Hostess delights – Boar’s Head proceeded to rip me a new asshole about asking Timmy if he liked gardening…”Are you a fucking moron, you wanna get your ass kicked?” “By who, Timmy’s hot mother?” I maturely replied which set us both into hysterics…Needless to say, Timmy told Boar’s Head never to bring me back to his house again. After a trip to McDonald’s and Burger King (because we couldn’t stop arguing over which of them had better french fries) and another tiny nap with the smushed cupcakes for me, we headed back to the camp.

We pulled into the entrance about 6:30 PM (Keep in mind that we left at 10:00 AM that morning and that we were only supposed to be gone for an hour) and headed over to the kitchen. The Chef came running out from serving dinner and started screaming (which I didn’t appreciate at all) that he needed that bread for the lunch AT NOON and we come back hours later and didn’t even get the bread he wanted – just a truck full of shit! Also, why did we bring all that junk food back to a WEIGHT LOSS CAMP? Talk about an ungrateful person; Two people do you a favor and go to the store for you, and that’s how you respond? You think that he didn’t get it, imagine how the bookkeeper felt when we gave her the receipt for almost six hundred dollars worth of junk food and stuff that couldn’t even be used. Some people just don’t understand the munchies.

Needless to say, in addition to them not trusting me already, they never sent him on an errand again after that and Boar’s Head never did let me go back to Timmy’s house.  Timmy actually told Boar’s Head that if he ever found out that I was talking about his “set-up” and where it was (as if I had any idea where the hell we were) he would find me and beat the shit out of me; so if you ever run into a dirty looking guy in jeans and a sweatshirt with really good shit, and his mother’s in the kitchen cooking – don’t mention me.

Fat Camp

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It’s funny, because when I used to talk about my aunt owning a fat camp (a weight loss summer camp for kids) and having worked there, people never believed it. It sounded crazy and I was constantly accused of making it up until I actually brought people there. I was in good shape and used to go to the gym every day, so I guess it was a stretch.  But now, whenever I talk about the camp, people believe every word because they look at me (I have probably doubled in size since those days) and nod with that look that says “Of course you were at a fat camp and by the way, you really need to go back. There are many many many Fat Camp stories, most are entirely inappropriate for anyone’s gentle ears – but let’s start with this one:

My friend Weezie (Now talk about a Hooka with a capital “H” and I say that as a very high compliment) used to come to the camp with me all the time (and she actually worked there with me one summer – to almost criminal results) because I lived there and for her it was the half-way point while driving home from college. Our routine was simple, stop and drop our bags, get the crew together, go to Cronin’s, tear it up and stay there until we closed the place and were about to pass out, beg someone to take us to the only place open late night out there in the middle of nowhere, the famous Quickway Diner, engorged ourselves, and then she’d drive home the next day.

My brother Angelo thought it would be a great idea to have a family reunion one weekend and get the whole family together at the Fat Camp but I could smell something brewing from the onset. He was so worried about who would fight with each other that it was only a matter of time before trouble dropped by. With my family coming en masse, I needed reinforcements and invited Weezie and a couple of her sorority sisters to come and visit me. Of course, I “forgot” to tell them there was a reunion going on until they got there but they were real troopers.

My brother Anthony arrived late and the gates were closed and locked. The gates were closed and locked because when I say he arrived late, I mean hours and hours and hours late. Now upon coming up to a locked gate, a normal person would have just left his pickup truck (which was oddly reminiscent of the one Lamont used to drive on Sanford and Son) outside the gate until morning since the camp is located on a side street right in the middle of absolutely nowhere. I mean, there was no worry of vandalism – unless a local deer wanted his stereo or Metallica cassettes – but no, he had to get in that gate. The gate in question is a ten-foot high wooden stockade fence around the whole camp (over 200 acres) with the only openings in it being one small part by the main entrance he was trying to enter through.

So instead of driving up the road a little bit to go into the entrance by the house we lived in where there is no gate, Anthony did the logical thing and proceeded to try and drive around the main gate through the little opening to get in. His truck was about ten feet wide and the path he was trying to drive on to get around the fence was about three feet wide, so of course his truck ended up going front first down the incline and into the ravine on the side of the gate. Not a steep ravine, but there is a small stream flowing gently there.

Now, Anthony was not one to believe that this could, in any way, be his fault, so he proceeded to start screaming and cursing and went to find the person he held responsible for this – whoever locked the gate. Needless to say that when the female police officer showed up and told Anthony that he had five minutes to move the truck after he called her sir (once again, not his fault) my Uncle Raymond immediately took charge and instructed all of the overweight female cousins with a “little back” to them to get into the bed of the pickup truck to weigh it down and then they could put it into reverse…needless to say, he’s not one to take no for an answer so he pulled out the big guns (and by big guns I mean my cousins) and those girls got the truck out of the ravine. Who needs AAA or a tow truck? Also, just a word of advice; if you ever have a big stash of weed in the glove compartment of your truck that you just drove into a ravine and a female police officer shows up – Don’t call her sir!

When my sister Marlene used to work at the fat camp, she used to date this guy Dan that lived around the corner from the camp. He and I were good friends and when he heard that Marlene was coming to the reunion he, of course,  thought she might be coming to see him. I explained that she was dating a new guy(who was a muscle head with no neck and was about as smart as a can of turpentine, but I digress) and bringing him to the reunion, but he came over anyway in case she wanted to see him.

So, to give you a visual about the layout of the camp, it’s set on over 200 acres with a huge lake in the center of the property, and there are golf carts to get you everywhere because of how spread out everything is. The swimming pool is up by the house we lived in, the lake is in the center of the camp, and the main buildings and bunks are down by the main entrance.

So, as the day went on, I was drinking at the pool with Dan, Weezie and her two sorority sisters, and Anthony – my pickup driving brother. The more Dan drank, the more convinced he was that my sister was actually attending the reunion to see him. I say that he was convinced because Anthony was convincing him. In his infinite widsom, my brother thought the best thing to do in this situation was to give Dan a joint to settle him down and keep him drinking. This probably would have worked if my brother didn’t start peppering him with his take on the “situation” and keep offering up his advice. Keep in mind that  this is the same man who drove his truck into a ravine less than 24 hours earlier and now he is giving love advice to Dan about how messed up it was that my sister was here on his “turf” with a new guy and that it wasn’t right. He thought Dan should go down to the bunks where everybody was and speak with my sister to settle this. I thought that he should go home before he got himself killed by No-neck, and with that we (me, Weezie, and her sorority sisters) went down to the bunks because I thought I should let Marlene know that Dan was there and already drunk.

During the camp season, the golf carts didn’t go any faster than a senior citizen at Ponderosa, but the maintenance guy rigged them up so we could really move in them during the off-season so we drove down by where everyone else was in a flash.

So picture this: I’m standing in a circle next to the golf cart that we just drove down there with my sister, Weezie and the two girls, and my cousin Beverly talking about Dan and around us there are about forty-five people milling about. Some were playing cards, some were sitting at picnic tables talking, some were playing lawn darts, but all in all everyone was just hanging out. All of a sudden up by the infirmary hill we see my brother and Dan (who at this point was absolutely wasted) and Dan is staggering towards us blowing kisses to No-neck, my sister’s new boyfriend.

In a literal flash: Dan is blowing kisses at No-neck, No-neck goes running and screaming up the infirmary hill after Dan, Dan goes running toward the back fence leading to the cemetary next door to the camp, Everyone abandons what they’re doing to watch this new drama unfold, my brother Anthony lights another joint as he’s watching the show from the infirmary hill, and then all of a sudden my sister jumps into my golf cart and takes off up the hill to stop No-Neck from killing Dan.

I tried to get into the golf cart too, but I was in flip-flops and she was just too damn fast. I fell because I was trying to enter the golf cart as she was speeding away and I lost my footing. I thought for sure that since I was her brother and we were close and SHE JUST SAW ME FALL, that perhaps she would stop the golf cart to let me get on – but I was wrong. As I lost my balance and fell, I grabbed onto the sideboard of the golf cart to avoid hitting my face and getting my head ran over by the tire and then she took off like a tornado. She just didn’t stop. In a split-second, I went from trying to be a good person and avoid a situation, to literally being dragged up a steep hill by an out of control golf cart piloted by a madwoman.

She flew through dirt, grass, mud and didn’t miss one bump. She was leaving a cloud of dust and I was a mess. I was screaming for bloody murder and begging for some help and I was afraid to let go because I knew that she would most certainly run my body over. I mean she had no problem dragging me up a hill so running me over wouldn’t stop her either. I finally lost my grip and was thrown after about two hundred feet up the hill because she slowed down for a split second when my dislodged flip-flop was thrown from my mangled foot and flew over her head and distracted her. That crazy bitch didn’t flutter or even turn around to see if I was still in one piece as she took off up the hill leaving me a mangled heap in the dirt.

As I tried to stand up and regain my composure (for I knew the dignity was lost fifty feet ago) I turned to face my family and, of course, my three friends from college. As I stumbled back over to them, my cousin Beverly goes “Oh God, she’s so upset, I just can’t believe it – I hope she’s O.K.” to which I responded – “Fuck her – that crazy bitch just dragged me up a fucking hill and almost killed me – literally…almost killed me! What about me?” It was like when Alexis shot her rifle to spook Krystle’s horse and it took off dragging her across the field and caused her to lose her baby in Season Two of Dynasty. (Of course, a Dynasty reference to help those of you who weren’t raised right – Yes I’m talking to you Bemish!)

For a quick second, I thought Weezie was crying but then I realized it was laughter (they were all laughing hysterically) and she helped me find my other flip-flop and when she regained her composure she said “I want you to know that every time you tell me one of your crazy stories I always thought – come on, who do these things happen to? After seeing that just now, I can picture every single one of them – that was unbelievable. I will never doubt you again and I am going to tell this story to everyone we know.”

As for Dan, because he lived around the corner and knew the area, he made it over the cemetery fence and safely home, eluding No-neck. As for my sister, her official “story” (which to this day I still don’t believe a word of) about the golf cart is that she didn’t hear me screaming bloody murder or see me until the flip-flop flew into her frame of view. As for me, it took three showers to feel clean again and then we went straight to Cronin’s where I drank until I couldn’t taste that dirt in my mouth anymore.

Moral of the story and the lesson I learned – Family reunions are not for me! Interestingly enough, that happened in 1999 and we haven’t actually had another reunion since! Or if they are having them- they’re just not inviting us which I truly cannot blame them for…