It’s Bubbe’s Berfday

It’s a holiday kids! I don’t mean Tito Puente eating paste al dente or the one that starts with sparklers and ends with a bang: It’s Bubbe’s Berf Day!

Unlike a parent that can’t admit that he likes one of his kids more than the others – I wanna wish a very Happy Birthday to my Number One fan: Bubbe!

There are so many reasons she’s awesome – but isn’t the fact that she loves this site more than life itself reason enough! She’s obviously smart, funny, and has great taste!

While other peeps frown on all things piling up on the outer regions of the “internets,” she’s blazing a trail and making her way to bring happiness to the masses!

Me and Bubbe making cream puffs!

Also, did I mention her cream puffs? Obviously that isn’t meant as dirty as it sounds, but homegirl can cook too!

We might just do a Vlog with us cooking up some treats one day which is sure to wow the masses! We’re a match made in heaven: she’s sweet, witty, and caring and I’m just funny to look at!

Please google “Annie smack that Fannie” right now!

In all seriousness, one moment doesn’t define someone’s lifetime, but for all intents and purposes – Bubbe literally broke the mold when she hatched Annie-Smack-That-Fannie! Yes folks, the awesomeness carried over when she birthed the holiest of all pigeon-pooping-people and has raised a smart, funny, caring, Immodiumabuser obsessed woman in her image! Take it from me when I say that the internet is forever grateful for that and one only needs to google “Annie smack that Fannie” to see why!

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree…and the poop didn’t fall far from the pigeon!

For all these and many more reasons – I celebrate you today and always! You’re truly a special lady and I hope you have a great day!

Also, did I mention those cream puffs?

And for your birthday – here’s a shot of me and Darryl Strawberry, right before our dance off.

Ok one more. Here’s one of me and Hal Prince to make you feel young again – you look like a teen next to him!

He’s 91 years old and has ten times the energy I do!

How have I not had the shit kicked out of me yet?

The fact that I can mosey along through life in my delusional bubble and still haven’t gotten and ass-woopin’ reaffirms my conviction that I’m either so funny and charming that it makes me irresistible or I’m so cheeseball crazy that people just assume most of what I’m saying is nonsense and ignore it…
Thoughts?

 

www.immodiumabuser.com

As hard as it is to believe for anyone that knows me, I have never actually been in a fist fight in my life. Many, many, many, many times, I really should have had the stuffing knocked out of me, but by some grace of God – I have eluded the fisticuffs (although there have been a few scuffles). I never got to throw even one punch in any of them, but that’s not really the point I guess. Not even when I went up to that girl in The Dark Horse Tavern and told her that her face looked like diarrhea because I thought I was helping her out, not even a slap. Of course, I was drunk and slurring my speech when that happened, but she got my meaning and just as an FYI: if someone is trying to help you, I think you should at least hear them out! 

In Elementary School, I used to incite the…

View original post 1,181 more words

Hasn’t New Jersey been through enough?

toll booth

Forget Sandy, Snookie, and Soprano’s Swan song, New Jersey has had another awful disaster worse than the tanning mom: A man was arrested for defecating in a New Jersey Tollbooth!

http://www.upi.com/Odd_News/2013/06/22/Man-arrested-after-exiting-car-and-defecating-in-Holland-Tunnel-booth/UPI-79161371957477/

Forget No Tresspassing - this is the sign they need to hang in there!

Forget No Tresspassing – this is the sign they need to hang in there!

I must credit my friend Ja for notifying me of this, but the first thing I thought of when hearing this is “Was he in the EZ Pass Lane?” That doesn’t sound very EZ to me? And why on earth don’t they lock those toll booths? Can anyone just enter and have your way with the booth? Who stops to go in them, but even if you live out in the boonies, you lock your doors. Not to be gross, but did this clown leave his special package on a chair or on the floor or on the desk; how big is this booth? More importantly, who has to go to work the next day and use that booth? They might clean it up and spray a little Febreeze in there, but I don’t even let people use my desk phone without cleaning it off, so there is absolutely no way that I would ever go back to work and step back into that booth. My favorite part is that he was arrested for trespassing. If someone takes a dump in the tollbooth – that’s a lot more than trespassing!

febreeze-commercials1

This of course reminded me of a story about my friend “Al”. Not many people will cop to as many embarrassing stories about themselves as I will, so he is a good sport for sharing this one. He was about eighteen at the time and was driving on the Expressway in his friend’s station wagon when his stomach started acting up. The Expressway always has traffic and can back up in a heartbeat and since Al was having the exact opposite of a backup, he made them pull that station wagon over.

He got out to squat in between the guardrails separating the two lanes and since it was summer, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just khaki shorts and sneakers. As he was squatting and holding onto the guardrail for some semblance of support, he was crouching and doing his business while his shorts and tighty-whiteys were around his ankles. This is not an agile man by any means, nonetheless on the side of the road in a well-trafficked area and thus – his business ended up landing with a thud right into his pulled down tightie whiteys and his shorts. Now, if that wasn’t clear I cannot draw you a picture or explain it any further, so just go with me here. The way it landed, he might as well have never gotten out of the car in the first place because his clothing was ruined.

If you don't know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I'm not sure we can continue to be friends...

If you don’t know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I’m not sure we can continue to be friends…

Realizing he was in a bad state, Al stepped gingerly out of his underwear and shorts so as to avoid any and all contact, and then he crouched down in between the guardrails for coverage as he thought about what to do next. It was after about ten seconds that he did what anyone might have done in that position: he shot up like a rocket, jumped over the guardrail, and ran for all he was worth. Well, he then found out that his running was worth about ninety cents because his friends had been watching the whole time and once they saw him shoot up naked and start running towards them, they gunned it and sped away as he gave chase.

He was literally running on the side of the road chasing them wearing just a pair of sneakers and a gold chain around his neck with one hand giving his friends the finger and the other holding his junk. They’d slow down just til he got just close enough to almost reach the door handle and then gun it – laughing hysterically as they watched the show out the back window of that station wagon. Even if he ran like Usain Bolt, there was no way he could have caught them!

usain-bolt

About a mile down the road they finally let him in the car and agreed to take him home. Guess who didn’t think it was funny while they laughed their asses off? If you think that was the worst part of his day, then you should have seen the look on his face as they pulled off on his exit about forty minutes later. He almost lost control of himself again when he realized that his abandoned shat-on-shorts were still housing his wallet containing his fake ID and house keys in the pocket.

He made them drive him back to the scene of the earlier crime, but with traffic getting back there and actually finding the exact spot again, about two hours had passed by in that oppressive August heat. He was afraid of a repeat incident with them pulling away again (although now they had given him a towel to wrap around himself for modesty or to protect the seat from a bare ass in summer) so he took the car keys with him as he left to retrieve his wallet.

Who could predict the massive swarm of flies that would have been surrounding that awful pile of clothing laying there in the mid-day heat, but he needed his fake ID out of that wallet so he dug through and got it. He sprinted back to the car but not before throwing up on the side of the road. This was way before the days of Purell, so I’m sure he stunk to high heaven…

purell_handsoap

The moral of this story isn’t “be careful who you hang out with because friends can screw with you and this can happen to you.” The moral of the story is “Take Imodium AD and this CAN’T happen to you!
For all parties involved, thank God this was way before camera phones as no one should bear witness to that.

In all seriousness, this is the exact reason I am addicted to Imodium AD. I take toll roads, I commute on a train, I travel highways…I wouldn’t be able to leave the house because every misstep spreads like the wildfire through the internet that I’d be a viral sensation the next time I have something other than white rice for lunch.

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

I was chatting with a friend about how much I hate cats and it made me think back to the “incident” described here so I thought I’d share it again. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the scratch post!

www.immodiumabuser.com

 

 

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…

View original post 875 more words

A little game called “Hey Hooka – How Much?”

hey hooker

 

Sometimes once you do something a few times it kind of loses its luster and tends not to be fun anymore – let me tell you about a little game that never happens with: Hey Hooka – how much? This isn’t Cranium people – you don’t just play it with anyone. It’s strategic and well-timed – like crop-dusting in the workplace. As is the case with most amazing inventions like Imodium AD and the shoe horn, this game popped into my head and I hit it out of the park one oppressively hot July day a few years back.

 

The first car I had with Air Conditioning

The first car I had with Air Conditioning

I was on the way to work and had the air conditioning cranked as far as it would go like Scotty giving it all she’s got with the Starship Enterprise. When I drive in hot weather (anything over 68 degrees) I have every vent in the car positioned towards my face with that delicious cold air blowing as hard as it can. On longer car rides, my face actually starts to get numb from the extended cold air rushing against it; my own personal form of botox. That’s also the reason that I have such soft cheeks that are as supple as a newborn’s buttocks. I know what you’re thinking and I don’t care; I will literally get gas every day if it rund out because of the constant ac usage and I don’t care if it goes to eight dollars a gallon. I will not ride in the car April through October without my air conditioning. Anyway, stop distracting me so that I can finish.

 

sweating

 

I had already sweat through one undershirt and dress shirt while walking the dog that morning and I was schvitzing like cottage cheese left outside at a picnic again. I was speeding as usual and cursing the hot weather when something caught my eye on the passenger side of the road…

 

I immediately threw that car into the far right lane and slowed to an ever-so-slight crawl as I rolled up on the crowded bus stop…I knew it was a huge risk to my health rolling down that passenger window in such extreme heat as it was close to a hundred degrees outside, but I chanced it once I saw her: one of my coworkers named Shalan. She was leaning against the bus stop pole in all her nine months pregnant glory; sweating like a Whore in church. If I had a sonogram machine in the car at that very moment, do you know what it would have showed? I’d have seen that tiny fetus wiping sweat off its little brow too as it was that hot!

 

This Hooker didn't take Shat from anyone!

This Hooker didn’t take Shat from anyone!

If there was absolutely one person in town more miserable than me at that moment, it was her. Like divine intervention the game took shape in my mind and before I knew it, I was shouting out the window: “Hey Hooka – How Much?” I was laughing hysterically as I rolled by like a snail looking at all the people looking around at who I could be yelling to. She was waving her arms and yelling something to me as I rolled up that window and waved back. As I sped away down the street giggling, I couldn’t help but pat myself on the back a little for creating such a great little game back there.

 

As I got to work, I immediately went to tell my friend Tsunami about how funny I am. Once I stopped laughing enough to repeat what happened, she wasn’t laughing and looked at me like I was crazy and said “You didn’t stop the car and offer her a ride? It’s a hundred degrees out and she’s waiting at a bus stop nine months pregnant!”

 

I thought for a moment “You know, it didn’t even occur to me to ask her – it all happened so fast…”

 

“You had time to slow the car down, pull over, roll down the window and then yell Hey Hooka – how much? Yet there wasn’t time to ask if she wanted a ride? Were you running late and couldn’t stop – What’s wrong with you?”

dunkin

 

“No, I wasn’t late at all. I actually went to Dunkin Donuts after it happened and almost told the guy at the drive thru about it because I was still laughing to myself about it.”

 

Guess who arrived about forty minutes later and didn’t think it was funny either? Some people are just sensitive I guess. She was telling everyone like I was the bad guy here. It’s not like she was in labor and I passed her…then I can see her being mad.

 

I did make it up to her a few months later when I saw her on a different street corner and slammed on the brakes to offer her a ride. How was I to know that she was standing in front of her house that time, but it was the thought that counts…I am going to reserve judgement and glaze over the fact that every time I saw her outside of work she was, literally, on a street corner. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

out window

A

nyway – I broke that game out again this past weekend. It had been far too long since playing it and like the groundhog, this is a game that knows when to poke its head up out of its hole. I was dropping my wife off for her mommy’s night out dinner with friends when we saw our crazy friend Ann walking downtown. Immediately, I went into stealth mode and the game started. I was beeping the horn repeatedly while I opened the window and shouted: “Hey Hooka – How much?” Shockingly, there was no response from her at all. Like Glen Close in Fatal Attraction “I won’t be ignored” so I turned that car around and sped back towards her.

 

I pulled the car right in back of where she was walking and screamed again. “Hey Hooka – How much?” while beeping the horn twice as much this time on the off chance that she’s hard of hearing and I had just never noticed it before? All of a sudden she whipped her head around to call me an asshole and laughed hysterically when she realized who it was.  She then got into the car and said that the first time she didn’t respond because she couldn’t tell who was being yelled at so she ignored it thinking that it was just some asshole. She also said that it sounded like a Hispanic guy yelling to her which I found to be the funniest part. My voice is pretty distinctive as you may have heard so to be mistaken for any accent at all is ridiculous – nonetheless Hispanic. Needless to say we laughed hysterically as we dropped them off to talk about what an imbecile my wife is married to over dinner.

 

Please feel free to start playing this game and share it with your friends. Consider it my gift to the world and use it wisely. And to our crazy friend Ann – you are a great sport and officially post-worthy!

 

 

 

 

Three Quick Things

1 – This shirt is Awesome!

dyslexia

2 – Have you liked my Facebook page yet? What are you waiting for? Get over there and do it right now before people think there’s something really wrong with you…

like my page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3. Tis the season for those beret wearing cookie pushers to start peddling their wares again so HERE’S a little deep cookie action for all the Girl Scout Cookie fans out there…

 

girl+scout+cookies-500x290

For all my homies to get to know mes

hearye hearye

 

I posted this a few months ago for all the newbies – and it appears the time is ripe for it again. I’ve gotten a ton of new followers since then and I want to make them feel right at home and steer them down the right path. With so many posts on here, it’s hard to know where to start and unless you’re dedicated like Crazy-Annie-Smack-that-Fannie, you might not go back and start at the beginning to read them all…

Click here to start the ride and get caught up!

A Stain by any other name…

buck rogers

As I heard about this crazy story and it randomly made me think of my college friend Weezie and her “guy.” Nothing as tragic, but you’ll see the connection…But first – let me tell you that this is the exact reason I will not commute without my Imodium AD!!!

I know that in college that it’s a different world and you live by crazier standards than you do in real life, but banging someone named “ShitStain” is sort of like watching the Wendy Williams Show sober – it’s never a good idea! He was a great guy and all, but it didn’t matter – his name was “Shit Stain.”

Wendy Williams is a Wonder allright!

Wendy Williams is a Wonder allright!

If you were to ask Weezie, she’d tell you he looked like Brad Pitt, but I think he looked more like Nat from The Peach Pit. I’m not trying to be mean here, but they weren’t even officially dating so it is hard to know what to call them; I’ll just say they were “friends” and leave it at that. I liked him, he was a cool guy. My question was never about him or his looks or anything – it was his name. Hear me out: I am not one to normally pry about anyone’s nighttime fun – but I couldn’t help but ask: What did she say during the sex? Seriously, what do you yell out when you’re having sex with someone named ShitStain?

“Give it to me ShitStain”

Me love you long time ShitStain”

“If this stain’s a rockin, don’t come a knockin”

You get the picture and you can understand my curiosity – something just ain’t right about that…

watson

I’m sorry to report that there was no happy ending for the two of them and the relationship didn’t progress to the point of registering for linens monogrammed with ShitStains, but I did I see him once after Graduation. I was up at the Fat Camp when I randomly saw him walking with his mother in the mall.

As I walked over, I yelled out “Hey ShitStain, What’s going on?” to painful looks of confusion on his mother’s face as if she didn’t know who I was talking to. She was looking around side to side as if there might be two ShitStains in the mall at the same time. It was then that I realized that I didn’t actually know his real name and she apparently didn’t know his stage name. OK, so it was his Fraternity name and not a stage name, but does it really matter? His mother was like:

“What did you just call him? That’s not his name!”  

Blank stare back from me – I couldn’t even guess at a real name…

“Do you not know his name” she asked me…“It’s John.”

“Really? I don’t picture you as a John…”          

She turned to ShitStain “Why did he just call you that? How do you know him?”

“What?” I said “Everyone calls him ShitStain…” It’s not as if I would walk up to strangers calling them ShitStain for no reason…

“Who calls you that John? Why do they call you ShitStain?” she questioned as they walked away…Not really much of a question if you ask me…I never actually asked him why, but I always had a pretty good idea of how he got that name…

open mouth

Once again, open mouth and insert foot! I can only imagine that car ride home…

“John, I’m telling your father that people call you ShitStain…”

Don’t you miss college sometimes???

Rats All Folks!

Any day that I can slip in a photo of Jimmy McMillan is a good day in my book!

Any day that I can slip in a photo of Jimmy McMillan is a good day in my book!

Marlene and I just saw a crazy guy in Times Square with three rats on his body taking pictures with tourists. One rat sat on each shoulder and one on his hat. As if that wasn’t novelty enough, they were all dyed neon colors…I was disgusted and as I walked away wondered exactly how one goes down that career path; he had a line of people waiting for him like he was the famous political genius Jimmy McMillan…  Anyway, it skeeved me out and reminded me of another instance when I was traumatized…

When I was in High School there were two sisters that I was friendly with that were so ugly it was a sin. I’m not an attractive person in any way, so this isn’t coming from a place of arrogance – it is coming from a place of consideration. I’m not exaggerating, those poor girls were butt ugly. I have seen malnourished, third-world refugees that have a better shot of getting laid at the local pub on a Saturday night. I’m telling you this from the standpoint of a compadre because if I wasn’t funny, there would be nothing going for me and I’d still be single!

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum

Anyway, the sisters were into Theatre too, so we were always in the school plays together and we became pretty friendly. One day after rehearsal was over, we were heading out the doors and it was raining cats and dogs. Their mother pulled up and as they got into their station wagon, she asked if I wanted a ride home and I gratefully accepted.

As we were heading out of the parking lot, I got a good look and couldn’t help but realize that their mother was actually a decent looking woman. She wasn’t a MILF or anything but, truthfully, I might have hit that on a drunk night in college given the chance or the right amounts of alcohol. She introduced herself and invited me over for dinner which I accepted. I couldn’t help but think that she absolutely couldn’t be more pleasant and I wondered where the attitude on these two sisters came from; It must be their father, I thought. As we drove to their house, I looked sister to sister, and then back to mom, and then sister to sister again and then back to mom and I just truly, truly hoped for both of their sakes, that this was only an awkward phase that they were going through.

MILF

Rats all Folks…

When we got to their house, I met their father, his mother who lived with them, and their younger brother. Amazingly enough, all of them were just as appealing as the sisters. You could see the resemblance to their father immediately, and that is not a compliment or something any girl should ever have to go through. We were making small talk and I took a seat on the couch next to their sweet little grandmother. As we were talking, their mother was looking over my shoulder shaking her head no, but I wasn’t paying attention to her because I was captivated by their grandmother. She was telling me about how both of her granddaughters were so funny and so beautiful. She repeated it three times and I laughed along with her thinking she must be kidding around because neither of those two qualities could be used to describe either sister on their best day – but she was serious. I was questioning to myself whether dementia had settled in with her…when at that moment everyone got quiet.

I thought I heard something jostling around behind me and turned my head to see a rat racing across the top of their couch towards me! A FUCKING RAT! As it crawled across the couch and up to my sleeve, I nearly dropped dead right there! I thought that I must be hallucinating looking right at this gray little rat shooting across the couch like a rocket – dragging the biggest set of balls I have ever seen in my life. Yes, when I say balls I mean balls. Seriously, I haven’t seen balls that big on adult men in gym locker rooms, but here was this little fucker charging across the couch at me – proud as can be! My first reaction was absolute shock and terror at being this close to a rat. My second reaction was about the sheer size of that rat’s balls because they were probably ten percent of his body weight. It was just Shocking!

I was overcome with paralyzing fear and lost control of myself and did what any self-respecting man in my position would do: I started screaming hysterically like a little baby girl. “CALL 911 – THERE’S A FUCKING RAT ON THE COUCH! WHAT THE FUCK!!! GET THAT FUCKING RAT OUT OF HERE!!! (at this point they were hysterical laughing and said it was their pet – one of four rats they kept in the house.) As the rat was advancing up my arm now, getting closer to my face I lost it: “HELLO, WHAT THE FUCK!!!YOU UGLY FUCK, GET THAT FUCKING RAT AWAY FROM ME!…WHAT DID I JUST SAY???…THE FUCKING RAT IS ON ME…YOU UGLY BITCH…THAT…FUCKING…RAT…IS…ON…MY…ARM!!! GET THAT FUCKING THING OUT OF HERE NOW YOU UGLY FUCK!!!”

With that, the room fell dead silent and their brother scooped up the rat. All eyes were on me and no one was saying a word as I tried to nonchalantly check and make sure that I hadn’t just shit my pants on their couch. My heart was racing a mile a minute and I was looking around the room, not to see if they were all staring at me which they were, but to make sure there were no other rats out…The sister that had put the rat onto the couch was closest to me and she gave me the full stink eye and said in a very nasty tone “He’s harmless and you’re being such a little baby. And by the way, my mother thinks I’m beautiful!” As I tried to calm myself and catch my breath, I offered “Who keeps rats in their house? Get that fucking thing out of here. You don’t put that on people! What’s wrong with you? That’s disgusting! Hello, it’s a fucking rat! And also, your mother is a fucking liar!” That last bit came out a lot harsher than the way I actually meant it, but I was just attacked by a rat so my emotional state was shaky at best and I shouldn’t have been held responsible for anything that I was saying.

Great, now my hair is gonna frizz up...

Great, now my hair is gonna frizz up…

Their mother turned from cute to crazy in an instant and lashed into me something fierce. She really let me have it. I don’t know what happened to that pleasant, sweet-as-can-be woman from the earlier car ride, but this crazy bitch went off. She tried to make it like there was something wrong with me (if you can believe that) and that I had been the one out of line – as if it’s normal to put a rat on someone – and she actually wanted me to apologize. I couldn’t tell if she meant for me to apologize to the rat or one of the sisters… With that, my invitation for dinner was rudely revoked as was my ride home and they told me to get out immediately. Not only did I have to walk in the pouring rain, but they lived even further away from my house than the school was, so it took me twice as long to get home. Needless to say, I never went back to that house again – nor did I ever receive another invitation for a ride – but that’s not the point. Who puts a rat on someone? What is wrong with people?

The lesson we learned; Even though she might be a cute mother – there’s probably something wrong under that cover…

How did I spoil it? He shouldn’t have been on the toilet!

No flashy intro necessary; I literally overheard the absolute strangest parent-teacher Conference ever yesterday afternoon. This is what I walked into:

Is there anything we can do for her grades? Can’t she stay after school with you for extra help? What can we do?”

Then there was a pause as the person on the other end of the call said something.

But she’s a good girl…I know she can try harder…there must be something we can do?”

I won’t bore you the rest of the conversation because what was said isn’t the weird part. The weird part was that I was heading into the employee locker room to go to the bathroom after lunch and walked in on that conversation. I immediately looked around to see where the voice was coming from and low and behold I looked over at the stall to see a pair of white uniform pants the kitchen guys wear around the ankles and two black loafers… I recognized his voice and already knew who it was and he’s a really nice guy in spite of the vest of back hair that he wears under his shirt.

 

Realizing he was on a parent teacher conference call that was obviously personal, I wondered why he would even have that conversation in a bathroom stall because the echo alone would be disruptive, when someone in the stall next to his farted. Really Loud! Gallagher smashing a watermelon with a mallet loud! That was immediately followed by an abrupt flushing of the toilet, I guess to distract, but the damage was already done. As I have always said, and will continue to say until the day I slip into my final Imodium induced coma, farts are funny. Apparently, what wasn’t funny was that me, being the absolute picture of maturity and professionalism at work, immediately burst out laughing uncontrollably like a Tickle me Elmo on steroids. I couldn’t help it, the laughter just burst out of me with the same sheer force and velocity that the fart flew out of the stall next door with.

Even though I had originally gone in there to use the bathroom, I sprinted out the door and down the hall. I was laughing like an insane person with tears rolling down my face as I heard him ask the teacher to hold on a minute while he stomped his foot and mumbled something about being on an important call with his daughter’s teacher…  Maybe I’m not mature, but I love how the fart didn’t merit a mention, the flush didn’t get a notice, but I burst out laughing and it gets him annoyed.

To any teachers out there, please tell me the weirdest parent teacher conference you’ve had. To anyone else, please don’t tell me about your shitting and phone usage. I would think having your cell phone go off repeatedly with a Sanford & Son theme song as your ringtone (DUNT DUNT DUNNIT… DUNT DUNT DUNNIT DUNNIT DUN DUNT DUNT DUNNIT….DUNT DUNT DUNNIT DINIT DUNNN DUNT DUNT …DINT DUNT DANT DANT DANT DERRT DERRRT DERRRNT DERRRNT DEERNT DERRRRRR) while you were in an Easter Sunday mass led by the Pope would be more appropriate than having this conversation while on the throne.

I’ll use absolutely any any excuse to bring up this classic…

Let’s not even mention the impracticality of the noise or the strangeness of having to explain a rogue fart or two…That is just a filthy undertaking! Even in the cleanest bathroom – poop is poop and shouldn’t ever be involved in a conversation, whether it’s your kid’s teacher or not. Are you dialing and pressing keys with those same hands you’re using to conduct your business in there? Did you just dial with those germ infested fingers and then put that phone up to your face? Are you going wash your hands before you prepare the lunch for the employee cafeteria? Am I ever likely to eat in that cafeteria again?

Please don’t ask me what ever happened to his daughter and if she’s now working at the car wash because she had to drop out  of school –  it’s not like I’m ever going to bring that up with him and find out. It’s also not likely that I’m ever going to shake his hand again. It’s amazing that I can get past the mountain of back hair covering his back like a mohair Schmatta, yet not the parent/teacher throne conversation…What do you do if you’re that teacher and what do you do when that kid brings brownies into your class on her birthday and says her dad made them? Teachers have it hard enough people, let them be…not working summers isn’t worth that!

Doesn’t mean he’s not a nice person…

If you’re laughing at this, my wife probably isn’t – Part One

I know that it might seem hard to believe given some of the foolishness I have taken part in, but whenever I start to second-guess my mental stability I’m reminded of a very comforting thought: I may be off the wall, but my wife willingly chose this. Who’s really the nutty one, you might ask? She’s calm, cool, collected and most importantly, not crazy. While I’m way out there, she’s at the normal end of the spectrum and it gives us a nice balance.

My wife’s a High School Guidance Counselor and understands the inner workings of fragile minds – thus the attraction to me…At first thought, one would think that I was an independent study or possibly an internship for her Master’s Program. Hell, I’m so wacked out – she should have enough credits for her doctorate by now.

My OCD Rituals, superstitions, neurosis, positive energy crystal worshipping, endless supply of toiletries and taking handfuls of Imodium at every turn might come off as amusing to some people, but not if that was your life 24/7. Every time someone meets my wife and says “He’s so funny” I can see the look on her face and hear it before she even opens her mouth and says the inevitable “you don’t live with him.” I don’t want to make it like she’s a saint here, because Homegirl has gotten a little Cray Cray at times too – but compared to me, she can’t help but come across as the normal one.

As I go through my days, I constantly try and find ways to make her laugh, because there is nothing more infectious than her laughter…usually I can get her to smile and a snicker here and there, but I’ll tell you a few things that she most certainly DID NOT find funny:

When she was pregnant with our first son and I took her to the midwife’s office for a check-up. While she was half undressed because she was changing into the gown for her examination, I shot past her and hopped up onto the exam table. I forced her to take a picture of me in the stirrups so I could text it to my brother-in-law while she looked at me in amazement/disgust. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best timing for my photo shoot; it should have been all about her and the baby (and it really was) but I just couldn’t resist. Like a dog dry humping a still leg, I just couldn’t help myself. Her rolling eyes reminded me that it was blackmail evidence and I maybe should have used my phone instead of hers for the picture. Also, it’s probably best not to push a pregnant woman out of the way while racing to see who can get up in the stirrups first…but lesson learned.

“Smile and Say Cheese…”

I don’t fully understand why, but guess who was annoyed when I Skype-recorded a fart so I could play it back and listen to myself…No further explanation necessary: farts are funny and come on, don’t try and pretend that you haven’t done it too. Isn’t that what Steve jobs had in mind for the Ipad all along? You can get a fart scented candle, but you shouldn’t record your own? Something is wrong with that kind of thinking. Is it OK to wire tap someone else farting? I know you can’t record other conversations, but where is the line on the recording of farts? These are the real questions people should be looking for clarity from our public officials this Election Day.


Do I even need to bring up the Rosie O’Donnell incident
again?  Now that was something she certainly didn’t find amusing then and she still doesn’t now…

Tune in next time as I go over some more of my shenanigans at my wife’s family weddings and holidays…Nothing brings out the full-on crazy like a wedding or holiday celebration. The hits just keep coming and every great once in a while, I can get her to laugh along at the craziness too…

Can I get a side of whoop ass with that toast Jan?

There’s really not anyplace to eat near the fat camp, especially late at night. After closing down the local bar, we were always hungry and looking for someone to take us to the diner. It was the only place to get something to eat 24 hours a day and I could never drive because I was always completely drunk. The food was unbearable if you were sober but, like I said, it was the only thing open late-night and thankfully, we were never sober in there. We went there so much that Jan the waitress became quite fond of me. When I say that she became quite fond of me, I mean that she would put up with my nonsense because I was always drunk and obnoxious…

Jan was very patient with the drunks and she made really good toast. She had a tendency to screw up my order, but I usually attributed that to my pickiness and slurring drunken speech – not her waitressing skills. Jan was in her mid-fifties, had big hair like Flo from Mel’s Diner, had extremely long nails, and had a deep raspy voice from many years of chain smoking. I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re right; she was hot!

Jan, Is that you?

One night I was out with my cousin Leaky and her friend Diana. She was a nice enough girl, but she was extremely intimidating and she didn’t take shit from anyone. She didn’t appreciate my sarcasm – which she let me know often – and was actually more like a bodyguard than a friend. Let me try to paint a picture and tell you about Diana – she was built just like a FedEx drop-off box, had both her eyebrows, her lips, and ears pierced with all manner of metallic symbols and objects, a razor-thin moustache over that constant frown, and she had really short curly red hair like a certain little orphan whose name rhymes with Fannie. Picture a female Mr. T without the jewelry and you’re not far off. I used to like to refer to her as “the Enforcer” but obviously not to her face since I was afraid of her. I really do say it about a lot of people, but she truly was crazy.

Put a curly wig on top and it’s not that far off from what she actually looks like.

To illustrate her insanity, we were in her car after picking up another friend, when she saw a guy randomly walking down the street. She threw on the brights and gassed it to the floor! The guy saw her veering towards him and bolted off while she was screaming out the window “Why are you running? Why are you hiding behind that car” as she was holding the horn down and swerving at him. Did I mention it was after midnight on a weeknight on a random side street? I was like; “Hello crazy, of course he’s running away like Carl Johnson – You’re chasing him down a dark street”…Needless to say the guy went running scared through someone’s yard towards the next block over to get away from this lunatic.

So back to the diner – Diana agreed to take us because she hadn’t been drinking and I was starving and whining non-stop about going. As we walked in the diner, I could see the look of grave concern on Jan’s face and I just assumed that she was as puzzled about Diana’s hair and clothing choices as we were. Apparently, I was much worse than usual in my level of drunkedness. I thought I was acting all subtle and smooth like jazz but, in hindsight, there was nothing subtle about me stumbling in the door and screaming: “Jan, I will fuck you on this counter RIGHT NOW if you bring me some rye bread toast immediately.” I’m not saying for sure whether she wanted it or not, but that was the quickest toast I have ever gotten in any diner, anywhere before or since.

Everyone in the diner thought it was funny and was laughing: everyone except for Jan. Jan proceeded to scold me and threaten to throw me out…”You can’t act like that in here. You better behave or you’re out again” to which I started giggling uncontrollably. Then she got mad and screamed “Out! You’re not doing this tonight” and had her hand strategically positioned on her hip while the other hand waived me towards the door like an air traffic controller with a flare. I begged her to let me stay since I was starving and anyway I didn’t have the keys to the car – I should have taken her advice and left then- little did I know.

Not one of my shining moments…

I really needed to pee so I took a bite of some of that delicious toast and stumbled off to the bathroom urinal to relieve myself. The next thing I remember was someone grabbing my arm and I went all Wu-Tang. I was swinging like Marky Mark in The Fighter because you do not mess with a guy at a urinal in the Men’s Room. That’s how I remember things going down.

What ACTUALLY happened was that I was peeing at the urinal and leaned against the wall for balance and apparently blacked out/fell asleep in the process. Sensing something was wrong since I obviously don’t shit in public with all this Imodium AD flowing through my veins, my cousin thought I needed someone to check on me. I think you can see where this is leading…

She senses something might be off, yet sends Diana in to see if I’m OK. She came in, saw me passed out and grabbed my arm so as not to startle me when I came to. Needless to say, when she grabbed me it startled me and I immediately went all funky bunch and tried to throw a cuff or two. A normal person in that situation would be a little more understanding when a drunken person with absolutely no coordination is throwing punches – not Diana.

Once I went all Iron Mike, Diana responded like Jackie Chan. She threw an elbow, somehow kicked me in the face as I was falling and then threw me onto the floor. She threw me onto the filthy public bathroom floor! As if that wasn’t enough – she dropped on top of me with the sharpest elbow on the East Coast and started punching the drunk out of me. Homegirl got all out crazy and was giving me a full throttle beat-down right there at the urinal. She seemed heavy before – but with the sheer might and gravity of her torso pummeling me, I really thought that deuce and a half of Diana might literally break me. Remember what Bane did to Batman in The Dark Knight Rises – well He’s got nothing on Diana!

Bane or Diana?

I’d like to tell you that I connected with a few good shots in on her as she was picking up her next title fight belt, but the truth is I didn’t connect with anything but the bathroom floor. She was doing a real number on me, but in my defense, I was mostly just trying to get my pants buttoned up and put my junk away. Not the best visual, but imagine my fear about having my privates hit that very public and filthy bathroom floor! No amount of penicillin is gonna make that go away.

Usually in circumstances like this, there is a savior – someone who sees the wrong in this situation and does what they can to assist because it is the right thing to do – not that night! You know who my savior was? Not my cousin, who was laughing at my screams while she finished eating my toast back at our table. No, my savior was Jan who heard the commotion and screaming (mine) and came running in. She kicked the bathroom door open (almost hitting me in the face with it, by the way), grabbed me by my ear and proceeded to drag me out the bathroom towards the front door like I was a rolling suitcase. Turns out she wasn’t saving me at all – she was throwing me out! I thought she was coming to my rescue and was like “Thank God, she’s kicking the shit out of me! What took you so long?  Wait, why are you throwing me out – she attacked me!!! Hey that hurts – let go of my ear! Can I at least take the toast to go?” Needless to say, the view from my perch on the front steps where she deposited me was not pretty.

As I sat on the front steps beaten and defeated, I tried trying to compose what was left of my tattered pride and shake it off. I had just been the victim of a drive by ass kicking, and there they were eating and having a good laugh at my expense. I’m sure it would have bothered me more if I hadn’t passed out again while I sat there on the steps leaning against the glass door.

Rye Bread Toast, how I love thee…

Jan actually did bring me some toast out on the steps a little while later – which made me laugh because it confirmed what I already knew to be true: she wanted me….she’s lucky the bully beat down took every drop of energy I had in me or I might have tried to make a move on her…Granted, she didn’t apologize for dragging me out by my poor little delicate ear, but the toast was all I needed to know everything would be all right…

This has absolutely nothing to do with this post – I just thought it was funny.

For all my Homies to get to know mes


Of all the questions that people ask me about this site, nine times out of ten there is some variation of “Your poor wife, how does she do it?” as the very first question. The second question is which is the best post to read if you’re new to this site and haven’t had a chance to catch up on all the older stuff posted here. If you fall into the latter category than today is your lucky day!

I’ve created a list of what I think are the essential posts you MUST read in order to get to know this site. Others are really funny as well, but this is where you should start. These are in no particular order, just a random collective to get you up to speed. I must advocate caution while ingesting these posts, as some of them are really funny. In the lab, some of the test subjects were known to lose control of themselves while reading – so avoid liquids while consuming them at all costs!

As an added treat, I will be reposting some of the oldies in between new posts here on the site….if you’ve already read them, it’ll be a refresher. If you’re an Imodium virgin and this is your first time getting a piece – Enjoy it! If your favorite isn’t listed here, let me know in the comments which one you’d have picked…

 

When I was mistaken for a retarded person TWICE in less than a half hour!!!

Assaulting Tom Cruise-Part 1: Hit and run

Assaulting Tom Cruise-Part 2: Great, now Rosie O’Donnell thinks I’m a scumbag

Just for the Holiday Season: My Famous Baby Jesus Story

One of my many Ah-Shit Moments (Literally!)

Who does this shit happen to?

Like I’ve heard so many times before “Wow, That’s a long one!”

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

Our Honeymoon Part One: Ain’t no joke, our bed broke (Twice!!!) and I had to call a bloke who was sippin’ on a coke; All because I gave her a poke!

Our Honeymoon Part Two: Forget finger lickin’- my masseuse was testicle flickin!!!

Drop a note below and let me know which one is your favorite.

True Confession – I made a senior citizen shit her pants!

It’s not something I’m extremely proud of, but I once made my 75 year old Aunt Margie shit her pants! Shortly after eating lunch, there was a rumble in the jungle going on in my stomach and like Madonna said – I needed to Express Myself. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one straddled with a quick-hitter after lunch, because while my sphincter was rocking, my Aunt Margie came A-knocking. She was at the bathroom door asking me if I was almost done and her voice was kind of shaky – but at 75 it was always shaky and she never came back so I didn’t give it a second thought. Big mistake on her part.  

This is not a Knock Knock joke

She unfortunately found out that a senior citizen shitting her pants in the hallway and then trying to quietly change out of those soiled undies with the five other people in your small two bedroom apartment not finding out is next to impossible. Of course, as is the case with anything potentially embarrassing or delicate – no one told me what had happened. I came out and didn’t pay it any mind when she rushed past me into the bathroom.

 

I was sitting on the porch with my mother, sister, and grandmother when Aunt Margie finished in there. As a point of reference, my grandmother was not one you would ever describe as a “sugar coater,” so it really was only a matter of time before I found out. We were about to head off to the mall when she suggested that Aunt Margie come along with us and she passed.

 

“Why aren’t you going? You said you had a few things you needed?” my grandmother asked her.

 

No response from my Aunt Margie, but my grandmother was not one to let that be it.

 

My grandmother (nudging her on) “Why don’t you go with them? It’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a while.”

 

Poor Aunt Margie never could catch a break with my grandmother and grunted back “You know that I can’t go out of the house since I had my accident – I can’t go to the store right now!” that shut her right up and dead silence took over because everyone knew what she was talking about except for me.

 

A normal person would have let it go – but this is me we’re talking about. I said “What are you talking about, what happened? What accident? Come with us…” With that, my sister gave me that knowing glance that speaks volumes without the need to utter a sound. As if it was a telepathic message between us, I understood: Aunt Margie shit her pants. The problem was that I was immature and once I realized the context of her “accident”, I burst into an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter. When you see something like that in the movies, everyone in the crowd usually joins in on the laughter and the moment passes by…Not that day. Not a word, not a sound – just me laughing as my poor Aunt Margie crept back into the house. My mother actually made me go sit in the car by myself while she followed in to apologize for my behavior (an act she was quite used to, by the way).

 

My Aunt didn’t appreciate my inappropriate laughter that day as much as she didn’t appreciate it the day that she was telling me about her ill-advised lunch trip to McDonald’s. She went with my cousin Tina and proceeded to down a nine piece when she suddenly choked on a nugget, forcing Tina to perform the Heimlich on her. It wouldn’t have been as bad if she hadn’t projectile vomited in the middle of that McDonald’s or brought the rest of the McNuggets home and offered them to me as she told me what had happened. I’m not one to preach – but let’s send a safety message to seniors everywhere: if you have no teeth and insist on getting McNuggets – either cut them or gnaw them with your gums before you try swallowing it whole!          

 

Aunt Margie didn’t hold a grudge about the spilled fudge and we moved past it, but I did feel really bad despite my case of the inappropriate giggles. In my defense, A) I’m immature and someone shitting their pants is funny and B) I was always taught that if it’s an emergency and you gotta go – You keep banging on that door or sit on their lap if they won’t move because when the fuse is lit and it’s gonna go off – Every second counts!  You cannot leave things like that to chance or depend on the kindness of a dipstick seventeen year old ADD moron reading People magazine!

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

 

 

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???