Newsflash: I still hate birds!!!

August 27, 2017August 27, 2017 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 3 Comments

This is when that nasty bird was starting to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Notice how calm and polite my brother’s bird is…He’s like Doctor Doolittle over there!

In case you didn’t know, I really freaking hate birds. If you’re a disciple of my Imodium Abusing cult, this isn’t news to you. If it is new, take a look at these examples of how the bird world has been systematically banding together in a worldwide avian conspiracy to torment me. This might sound paranoid if only one or two birds had come after me and tormented me, but it’s gotten to the point where I’m not even safe leaving the house.

We go to Ocean City every Summer and while we were riding a surrey on the boardwalk, lo and behold – I’m under siege! I apparently can’t go a day without a filthy seagull dive bombing to try to make out with me or grab my pretzel; either way, no means no! Fast forward to my brother walking by what he thought were pretty birds and guess who wants to take a picture with them?

Notice how supportive my brother is…

He thought it would make a great keepsake to have a photo with these allegedly “nice” birds as opposed to a surfboard key chain or hermit crab like all the other tourists were getting. I was against it for obvious reasons, but was forced to relent to peer pressure from my kids. I didn’t want them to realize just how ridiculous I really am yet, and I tried to be a big sport figuring it would be over fast. I stepped up with caution and wished I could fast forward through it, but of course, I got the twenty-two year old cranky bird while my brother (AKA Doctor Doolittle) got the two-year old friendly bird.

From behind, it looks like Bernie Sanders found a new hobby taking photos with real birds instead of dealing with the crazy birds in DC!

The wrangler placed that gigantic bird on my arm and it proceeded to wrap his sharp talons around my wrist like a handcuff and then moved his head and beak so he could look me right in the eye; showing me who was boss. I was like “No fucking way Dude, get him off me” and almost threw that heavy bastard, so the wrangler thought it a better idea to mount him on my shoulder for everyone’s comfort. That would have been fine had the bird not immediately tried to bite off the tip of my tasty little ear like Mike Tyson. He was fresh and the wrangler was actually flicking his beak to get him to behave as if that wouldn’t piss him off more. He was like Chatty Cathy talking to the bird to get him to cooperate and I was like “Let’s take the God Damn picture and get it off me Dude.”

Of course my brother had the perfect bird that was like a statue – the guy should have just zoomed in and snapped it of them. This is the final shot – the only “good one” he could salvage out of all the shots he took. He actually got a kick out of my torment while my brother laughed hysterical and had my wife show him the pictures she took to laugh at.

This is the final version the wrangler took – A) Look at that bird’s grip on my shoulder – he’s not messing around! Those are clenched claws! I also was clenching in this photo, just not my claws…B) Look at my bug-eyes. I look like Joe Gatto from Impractical Jokers C) Why is his bird so calm and mine’s a lunatic?

While we were in a gift shop the next day, my kids saw some bird stuffed animals and said look – this looks like the one that tried to bite your face off and laughed hysterically as if it wasn’t a traumatic experience for me. hen they put the bird on their shoulder to do a play-by-play and reenact the whole thing and then made me do it. If my brother ever gets any more bird-brained ideas like this, I’m just gonna walk away next time before the kids can sway me. Never again folks, never again.

My kids made me relive my trauma – anything for the kids!

If you haven’t read about the bird attacks I’ve been lucky enough to make my way out of, it’s worth the read. Out of the posts I’ve put up here, the bird attacks rank pretty high in terms of searches. Random right? People search for bird attacks and find me as much as they search for mywifesmom.com, watching dirty movies with my wifes mom and rugby bulges. These crazy people are for the birds, but you gotta start somewhere…

BARBEC – YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

June 23, 2015June 23, 2015 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 4 Comments

Just released: The newest George Foreman Grill!

I know this is going to sound crazy, but what’s the deal with guys and their barbecues? I get it that it’s summer and people like to eat off the grill but come on…I’m all for food on the grill once in a while, but some people think summer means grilling every single day. Good lord people – moderation. I hate the summer heat as it is so the absolute last thing I wanna do when I’m that hot is to be near an open flame. Hello – that makes no sense at all.

I’d like to pause and set the record straight here before we go any further: I don’t have unnatural fears and phobias that are made up. These things come from something that has happened to you; PTSD if you will for OCD peeps like me. For example, I check the oven to make sure it’s been turned off multiple times during the day. I don’t do this because I’m crazy and irrational, I do this because my wife has left the oven on so many times and I don’t want the house to explode. When I see her mom leave the burner on the stovetop turned on after she uses it – that confirms that good looks aren’t the only thing that run in that family…Another example, I don’t eat outside or with my hands because I’m not a squirrel…Practical reasons people, such as why I won’t get close to the barbecue anymore. This is the reason I won’t barbecue anymore.

It was a few weeks after my oldest son was born and my wife was holding him while I went onto the deck to throw some burgers on the grill. I turned on the propane and pressed the ignition switch but nothing happened. I could smell the gas so I knew that the propane tank was open, but there was no flame in the barbecue. I looked at her with a mixed expression of half annoyance and half just-plain-dumb as to what to do. She told me to light a match and the ignition would catch. My spidey senses should have been tingling at this point, but the new-baby euphoria/tiredness had me all out of whack. I went in to the kitchen to find the matches and light this mother up cause we were hungry.

Neither one of us smokes, so we never have matches. It took me about five minutes to find some matches that we had been given as a favor from a wedding and I finally went back out to get this party started.

Is this a barbecue or a foosball table?

When I got back to the grill, my wife was talking to me through the screen while holding our son and I lit the match to start the barbecue. As the match ignited, all of a sudden a huge fireball erupted and flew from the match, across the barbecue, up my crotch, up my shirt and then up the hedges and up the side of the house. Once I heard the WHOOSH of the fireball, I did what every brave, manly-man does and proceeded to scream like a little girl with a lost puppy and turned to my wife for assistance of any kind and what did she do? She slammed the sliding glass doors leading into the house. At this point I was facing the glass of the sliders shouting every curseword I know when I happened to hear the laughing crowd of people behind me. All of the people outside on their decks were hysterical at how I was screaming and carrying on over the fireball. Not one of them asked if I was OK, but in case they were wondering some leg hair got singed, my eyebrows got an unexpected trim, my nose hair was all but gone and my Imodium was certainly put to the test, but no serious burns. Unless you count the humiliating pain from their laughter as I tried to turn the propane off.

When my wife finally unlocked the sliders, I went inside to get a beer, change my underwear, and to ask why she’d close the door when I was almost shish-kabobbed on the deck. I was one second away from throwing myself over the railing and into the hedges to stop, drop, and roll before she finally let me in. Full disclosure, my only experience in this area is what I’ve learned watching Chicago Fire, but normally people offer assistance in some form of another or they call 911; they usually don’t lock the burn victim outside. Her thinking was to protect the baby, but my thinking was that once the door was shut the locking part doesn’t offer any additional protection to the person not getting hit with a fireball…

To be continued next time as this has just reminded me of another fire-safety themed episode/cautionary tale of two different occasions when I slept through a fire! Actually, maybe it should be an investigation of my wife because who’s around this many fires when I’m ALWAYS inside directly in harm’s way while she’s awake and safely in the street waiting for the authorities? No one would blame her but she’s either very lucky, got a severe firemen fetish, or is actually an arsonist…hmmmm…

HELP!!! I’m sweating my Lupita Nyong’os off!!!

July 31, 2014 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 2 Comments

http://runwithtfk.org/Profile/PublicPage/17718

I really hate this time of year, but the summer isn’t the only reason I’m sweating: I’m fundraising for the NYC Marathon in November and need your help with it. I know what you’re thinking – Oh great, he’s asking for money let me stop reading now, but wait…

Are you gonna tell these three cute little guys that you won’t help their Daddy!

As some of you may recall, I ran the marathon last year and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Running has changed my life in so many ways and I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years. Just knowing that I can actually run 26.2 miles is actually pretty cool. Seeing and hearing and feeling the support and the cheers and for a very brief little period of time – all those people were out there for me. Cheering me on, supporting me, screaming my name; that’s an amazing feeling.

So let’s close this mother down shall we? Am I going to set a speed record and head from here to the Olympics – No. Am I going to be celebrated on the cover of Sports Illustrated like Meb Keflezighi? Probably not… Am I going to help with a great cause and have a ton of fun along the way – YES!!! YES!!! YES!!!

If you need a subtle reason to donate, consider that the funds donated here will support Team for Kids, which is a team of volunteers who raise funds for critical services provided by New York Road Runners Youth Programs. These programs combat childhood obesity and empower youth development via running and character-building programs in low-income schools and community centers in New York City, throughout the country, and in Africa.

If you need a not so subtle reason to donate: you be the one to tell this adorably handsome little guy that you’re not going to help his Daddy 😦 Go ahead, break his heart!

I’m not asking for something significant from you or looking to break your wallet open. I don’t want anyone to put themselves out, just give a little bit if you can. A lot of little bits add up to a great big bit of good. I was thinking that of the thousands of people that follow this blog, if 1 out of every 4 of you could donate $1.00 I’d reach my goal and that money could make a huge difference. A dollar? Did I mention it’s tax-deductible? Obviously please donate more if you’re able…

Here’s the link if you’re so inclined – please help if you’re able – every little bit will help…I appreciate the support – whether financial, by lining the streets with the other millions of people who will all be out screaming my name and cheering me on or by sending positive thoughts that my clumbsy ass doesn’t trip and get trampled…

http://runwithtfk.org/Profile/PublicPage/17718

Please don’t think I‘m asking for something without giving you anything in return either: consider this my penny serenade. If the thought of my sore and sweat-soaked body bobbing up to the finish line in Central Park like your fat uncle doing the worm at a Bar Mitzvah doesn’t make you feel like you got your money’s worth, then here’s a little rant on a very important topic for you. I’m like a little baby monkey making you laugh until you throw coins – Dance Monkey Dance.

SCHUCK YOU OYSTERS! I NEED MY TOOTSIE LOVIN!

Why is it that when they talk about foods that are aphrodisiacs – no one mentions tootsie rolls? People say oysters, but come on – nothing about slurping them is enticing and I don’t eat any seafood except for Swedish Fish anyway.

The only seafood I eat!

I wouldn’t dip one of my little bitty piggies in the ocean; nonetheless eat something that came out of it. And don’t say you clean the fish before you eat it either – it’s soaked through with the filth that’s floating in that water – you can’t wash that off! And don’t even bring up lobster either – It’s not a high end luxury meal. Who wants to go to dinner and have to have a workout to even open and get the meat out of the shell? If hookers don’t work that hard to get the meat – you shouldn’t have to either!

This doesn’t seem safe…

I want my food cooked and served and on the plate nicely – ready to enter my mouth. I’m not gonna break a sweat and manhandle this beast just to grab a piece of meat and end up covered – Am I a savage? Am I an animal? No, I’m just a regular guy that wants to be able to eat my dinner without bits of said dinner flying all over the place. I’m all for wearing a bib in general to keep you clean, but keep the food on my plate and in my mouth at dinner folks.

Speaking of doing all the work at dinner, don’t even get me started on fondue either. I’m not fond of fondue and I really don’t understand how people like it. Why should I have to work and cook the food at a restaurant? You go to a restaurant for a fondue dinner – but you have to cook it yourself? Why would I want to cook it – aren’t we going out to a restaurant so I don’t have to cook? And how long does it take to wait for a small piece of chicken to cook anyway? I’m so afraid of the boch so I need to leave it in extra-long and then I’m waiting and waiting and waiting and just starving. What’s next – I have to pour the wine and wash the dishes too?

Why am I even tipping a waitress when I did the god damn work? Tips in fondue places should be outlawed because they’re reserved for hard working people – not sloths that make you cook your own food. We’re in a restaurant not camping in the woods. And that hot oil, cheese and vat of chocolate is just asking for all sorts of trouble. No good can come from this! The smoke coming out of it, it spits and stains your clothes, the obvious stomach issues…Not for me man, not for me!!

HERE’S THE LINK AGAIN!!!

http://runwithtfk.org/Profile/PublicPage/17718

Hasn’t New Jersey been through enough?

July 8, 2013July 8, 2013 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 8 Comments

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!

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!

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…

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!

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…

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.

Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

Like this:

Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

Like this:

Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

Like this:

Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

Like this: