Bearded Women

I never thought I would see a "man" more ill-suited to sport facial hair than Michael Jackson. However, Clay Aiken gives him a run for his money.

I loved it when Larry King asked Clay (paraphrased) Why is it you think all these rumours get started about you being gay?

Larry you better check the prescription on your fuckin' coke bottles if you dont know the answer to that question. If Shaggy, from Scooby Doo, had a vagina he'd look exactly like Clay Aiken.

Yesterday on The View I think I saw Rosie O'Donnel hit on Selma Hayek. That was pretty disturbing. I didn't know whether to crank it or to puke... so I did both.

Conversations From the StairMaster - part 69

Me and Sterg at GoodLife Gym. 6am. Surrounded by geriatrics. On the StairMaster.

Hootch: Hey, did you hear? There is going to be a sex club openning near your pharmacy.

Sterg: What's a sex club?

Hootch: I dunno. I guess like a swingers joint or something.

Sterg: Yeah?

Hootch: Yeah. On the news they were interviewing several female members of sex clubs from other cities in North America and all the chicks were, like, fucking retarded looking.

Sterg: Of course, dude. Why would a good looking chick join a sex club?! Good looking chicks can get laid whenever they want without the benefit of any club or membership.

Hootch: You should've seen this one chick from a Swinger's Club in Montreal. She was missing all her front teeth. It looked like she could give head without even opening her mouth. So, you doing anything tonight?

Sterg: I may see that movie with Leonardo Dicaprio.

Hootch: Is that out already?

Sterg: I think so.

Hootch: Is Dicaprio still going out with that Giselle Bundchen chick.

Sterg: No I dont think so. He's got this other supermodel that he's banging now. Man, that guy knows how to cash in on his celebrity status.

Hootch: What do you mean?

Sterg: Well, you know how you see countless other Hollywood stars, or guys with money, hooking up with super-busted chicks? Not Leo though. He knows how to do it right. He only goes out with supermodels. I mean, think about it. If you've got money why would you go out with anyone other than a supermodel?

Hootch: If I was a celebrity, I'd go out with porn stars.

Sterg: I know, me too. Porno stars and supermodels.

Hootch: Not even supermodels for me, man. Strictly porn stars, thats it.

Sterg: I admire your discipline and restraint my friend.

Hootch: I've always wondered why more major pop culture icons dont hook up with porn stars.

Sterg: There's Tommy Lee.

Hootch: ACK!! Tommy Lee is a fag. I was thinking of guys more the ilk of Justin Timberlake. Why isn't he hopping from porno chick to porno chick? I mean, Cameron was alright in her day but come on... Can you imagine going from Sylvia Saint to Shyla Stylez to Avena Lee?

Sterg: Maybe their management thinks it'll be bad publicity.

Hootch: I think it'd be kinda cool to be known as the celebrity who can bridge the gap between the mainstream and porno. That'd be wild seeing Sylvia Saint attend high-profile public events with, like, Steven Speilberg or someone. The television camera would cut to a live picture of Steven Speilberg and the caption underneath would read "Directed Shindler's List". Then the cameras would cut to a picture of his date, Sylvia Saint, and the caption would say "sucks cock".

Sterg: You remember my cousin Mike, the porno king?

Hootch: Yeah. Your cousin Mike, the porno king, once sent me a picture of a chick blowing a horse to my work e-mail.

Sterg: Your work email?!?!

Hootch: Yeah, but still, even if he sent it to my home email address that shit is still fucked up. I mean, there arn't enough pictures of chicks blowing regular guy dick on the internet that Mike has to resort to downloading pictures of horse penis?!?!

Sterg: You are right. That shit is fucked up.

Hootch: Sorry I interrupted. What did you want to tell me about your cousin Mike, the porno king?

Sterg: Oh right...ah fuck it. I cant remember. It'll come to me later.

5 Minute Thoughts of Marianne, stripper extraordinaire

Memories of Marianne - part I

ahhh, marianne. You are by far and away the most beautiful girl to ever walk the face of the earth... its a shame you have to be so fuckin retarded.

We had some good times though, didn't we?

Like the time I brought over Goonies for us to watch at your house but you didn't like it. You said the plot was too complicated. You were sitting at the corner of the couch. I was beside you trying to explain the complexities of the Goonies when you effortlessly lifted your leg in the air at a 45 degree angle. You wrapped your calf around the back of my neck and started bending your knee drawing my head closer and closer toward your snapper. That was a pretty hot move. I never told you this before but in the 10 seconds it took me to go from watching the Goonies to be buried in your cooter I must have obliterated my underwear with ejaculate.

Your text message today (the txt message: sorry I was such a bitch. Please for give me) brought back many memories. Like the time I had to convince you that unicorns dont actually exist. Fun times for sure.

Anyway, its time for me to go to work. Take care. Stay well. And dont call me again.

Conversations at work with NewCootch

I started this on Thursday, I think. The below conversation took place the day before at work. My department is pretty small so its a pretty safe assumption that most of the people I work with heard the following:

NewCootch: Do you want to hear my new ringtone?

Hootch: No.

NewCootch: Why not? Its Sean Paul.

Hootch: I fucking hate Sean Paul.

NewCootch: I thought you liked him.

Hootch: He's alright, I guess. Listen I have a lot of work I gotta do before I go home tonight, alright.

NewCootch: I have Gimme The Light or Give It Up To Me. Which one do you want to hear?

Hootch: Neither.

NewCootch: Oh my god, like, why are you being so rude?

Hootch: Remember Sterg?

NewCootch: The guy who runs the pharmacy?

Hootch: Yeah. Well I gotta break the fuck outta work as soon as I can because he's hooking me up with some serious discount on a lot of shit I need. Vitamins, protein powder, some cologne, you know? And I got to get to his store before he leaves, but first I gotta finish my work.

NewCootch: Can he hook me up too?

Hootch: Sure. With what?

NewCootch: Do you know what I need a lot of from a pharmacy?

Hootch: Trojans?

NewCootch: Wha?! I cant believe you said that. Besides, I dont think they make Trojans in extra small, if they're for you.

5 minutes thoughts from a retard regarding Montreal

Yesterday afternoon some douchebag went on a gun crazy rampage in a Montreal College. Today, according to news reports, the authorities are trying to find a motive for the gunman's actions.

Now, I'm not a police officer or a professional investigator but how about this for a motive - the guy was a fuckin loser.

I'm genuinely sorry the guy felt disenfranchised and he wasn't happy with his life. But get some perspective, asshole. You were 25 years old. A young fuck with his entire life ahead of him. If you didn't like your life with some hard work you could change it. What were you expecting to accomplish by shooting up a joint full of kids younger than you? Was that gonna solve anything or make your life better? Do you think this was an adaquate form of revenge? Trying to kill a school full of kids who have yet to make their mark in the world.

If you wanted to strike back and rage against the world that you hated you could have picked so many other ways to have been the thorn in the side of "the man". But instead you punked out and accomplished nothing.

You're my boy, Ace... You're my boy

There is this Chinese guy at my work named Ace. He cant really speak english too well but he's a nice guy and a hard worker. At first I thought he was unflappable as no matter what workplace dilemma we encountered he would always respond with a kind of mindless confidence "eeeerrrr, should be okay".

Hootch: Ace, a shareholder is kicking up a shit storm cuz today is payable day and he hasn't received his multi-million dollar dividend cheque!!!

Ace: Eeeerrrr, should be okay.

or

Hootch: Ace, the office is on fire and your dick is dipped in gasoline!!

Ace: Eeeerrr, should be okay.

Now, I'm not so sure if it was that he's unflappable or that he just couldn't understand what was actually going on in the office. But really... who cares? Ace brought the intangibles. He was always in a good mood; he was always willing to stay after hours so no one else had to; he made chinese food and coffee runs during the lunch hour for anyone who asked; and on occasion he even provided comic relief - like the time he fell asleep at his desk and we flicked elastics at him from across the office.

Anyway, last week Ace got canned. It was complete bullshit. I had and still have a sneaking suspicion the floor manager is looking to downsize our department. My team leader is the greatest and I think she would go to bat for anyone in our department, but once the floor manager got it in her head to reduce staff there was little my team leader could do.

The floor manager, who we will call TakeAFuckinValliumLady, is this completely insane woman who is covering the maternity leave of the real floor manager. TakeAFuckinValliumLady is trying to impress the higher-ups by "trimming the fat" in our department. Of course she'll never admit this. She says "Ace is no longer with the company because of certain performance issues".

Bull-fuckin-shit. Listen, lady, you're the fuckin boss, alright. If you say this person has to get fired - then I guess that person has to get fired. But dont piss in my mouth and tell me its fucking apple juice, alright. I know what the score is. Last month when you walked around our department asking everyone "how long does it take you to perform your work responsibilities for each client we have on a daily basis"? I fucking knew then you were doing the calculations to determine how many people you can fire while still maintaining relatively the same department service quality by increasing everyone else's work. You think we're fucking idiots? Why do you think I told you 30 minutes per client when in actuality its more like 10.

I know my head is also on the chopping block. And I know there is the possibility you read my blog. But this had to be said.

Okay... well I guess me admitting my work takes me 10 minutes didn't actually have to be said but you get the drift.

This one was for you Ace. I feel bad cuz you got the shaft. The only thing you really did wrong at work was take too long to get me my chicken fried rice. Later, buddy.

My Own Private Idaho

Last weekend I went to another wedding.

The reception took place in a barn.

I'm not shitting you. The reception actually took place in a barn. Well, truth be told I guess it wasn't really a barn, because a barn would imply the structure actually had walls instead of plastic tarps rolled down from the roof and held down to the ground with rocks and wood.

Parking was available on the muddy outskirts of a cornfield, about a 10 minute walk from the barn. I skipped the church service but arrived with NewCootch for the reception.

NewCootch: Ho. Lee. Fuck. Did you know the reception was going to take place in the middle of fucking Idaho.

Hootch: What do you know about Idaho?

NewCootch: Actually, I know nothing about Idaho... and thats the way I was hoping to keep it.

Hootch: Hey.

NewCootch: Hey, what?

Hootch: No. "Hay". You have a couple of straws of hay sticking out from in between your toes.

I watched and laughed as NewCootch traversed the muddy terrain in her 4 inch open toed high heel shoes. Bits of straw and mud were beginning to collect near the front and bottom of her shoes.

NewCootch: I cant believe I bought a new dress for this. Did you know we were coming to a farm for the reception?

Hootch: No. On the invitation card they just gave an address for this place. I assumed it was a banquet hall or a restaurant or something.

NewCootch: It looks like some people knew. Look at that guy. He's wearing jeans and a lumberjack jacket.

Hootch: I know. I saw him before.

NewCootch: And look at that guy over there.

Hootch: What guy?

NewCootch: The guy wearing white high top running shoes with the huge tongue pulled out over his dress pants...who the fuck does he think he is - Chamillionare?

After a bit of walk we arrived at the entrance of the barn. There was a large table set up with a seating chart displaying all the guests' names and where they sat... all the guests' names but mine.

NewCootch: Do you see your name anywhere?

Hootch: Naw.

NewCootch: What are we gonna do?

Hootch: I think here comes the bride's aunt. I'll ask her... Excuse me. Hi. I cant seem to find my name on the seating plan.

Aunt: Oh my. Well, we cant have that now can we? What is your name?

Hootch: Hootch.

Aunt: I arranged all the guests' names in alphabetical order so we shouldn't have any trouble finding your name. Here are all the H's....but... I cant seem to find your name anywhere on this list.

I wanted to say "I know motherfucker. Thats what I just told you".

Aunt: Is there the possibility of you sending in your reply card with another name on it perhaps?

Inside my mind - "Okay, are you mentally fuckin retarded lady. This is your most logical explanation!! Why would I send in my reply card with another name on it. How 'bout the possibility that you just done fucked up and left my name off the list".

Hootch: What do you mean, like Geraldo or something? No. I'm pretty sure on my card I just put down my name.

Aunt: Well, I cant seem to find Hank anywhere on the list. I dont know how that could have happened.

Hootch: Well, I guess thats tough bones for Hank, but I'm Hootch.

Aunt: Well Hank, the good news is all the seats on the tables have name cards also. So what you can do is walk around the building and search the tables for your name card. I'm sure you'll find your seat.

We walked up and down the barn 3 times looking over everyone's shoulder as they were already seated at their respective tables. No luck.

Hootch: Yeah. Hi. I'm Hootch. Sorry I didn't mean to be looking over your shoulder. No, I wasn't staring at your wife... yes, I know a picture lasts longer... I was just looking to see if my name card was on this table.... oh, so there is a master seating list at the entrance of the barn? I must have missed it as I entered through this porthole to hell.

The beginning as well as the rest of the night was hilarious. I'll tell you some more stories later, but for now I'll leave you with one final observation. As me and NewCootch were walking up and down the barn, looking for our table, I overheard one woman say "Later on in the evening I am going to change into my casuals". At the time of this statement this woman was already wearing trackpants.

First thing is Fucking Last - The second fight

A few months after calling it quits with Marianne, ripper extraordinaire, I decided to start dating again. This was not an easy decision to make but I knew I had to do something to thwart my rapidly onsetting case of blueballs. I was in imminent danger of experiencing full scale blueball dementia . It had been so long since I enjoyed any meaningful female company that I, unknowingly, had began drastically lowering my standards of beauty. No longer was I dreaming about Sylvia Saint or Shyla Stylez. Now a scantily clad Condaleeza Rice was invading my dreams with her desert dry repulican cootch. Something had to be done.

A few weeks ago I had a wedding to go to so I asked Newcootch to come along. She said yes and we went together. The wedding was a little unusual as the groom had this inner ear thing that caused him great pain whenever he heard any loud or sharp noises. The Best Man had previously informed the guests, out of respect for the Groom, the volume of music would be kept to a minimum, there would be no clinging and clanging of the cutlery on dishes and applause would be kept to respectable levels. Everybody seemed to understand and was sympathetic towards the Groom's condition. Everybody except one fucktard.

This one fucktard, seated two tables over from us, was applauding, hooting and hollering, and clanging the dishes at every opportunity. During the bride's speech though is when the shit really hit the fan.

Bride: I know its a little unusual, so I'd like to thank everyone for respecting our wishes and not applauding too loudly or hitting their dishes with their forks...

Fucktard: (screaming as loud as he can) Yeeeaaahhh! Lets hear it for keeping volumes at a minimum!! Woooooo!!

Two guys approached the fucktard and discretely told him to keep his voice down.

Bride: So with that I hope everyone has a great time and enjoys the party.

Fucktard: WOOOOOOOO!!! PARTY HEARTY EVERYBODY!!!!

A third guy approaches the fucktard. Before he even has a chance to tell him to keep it quiet the fucktard stands up and pushes the third guy as hard as he can. The third guy goes flying and stumbles over a food tray. Six or Seven dishes of salad that were previously on the tray are now all over the floor. Three or four other guys immediately stand up and rush the fucktard. The fucktard's friends stand up and confront the oncomers.

Now, just as an aside, in 99% of confrontations a full out fist fight will never ensue. What happens is normally a few guys push and swear at each other before they realize "hey wait a second!! I cant fight to save my life... I barely even know how to throw a punch...what made me think all of a sudden that I'm Tito fuckin Ortiz... Elton John could probalby kick my punk ass. I'm gonna get my ass kicked in front of all my friends!!!" Its at this point that all the idle threats are made:

"I'll fuckin kill you, guy!!!

What'd you say motherfucker?! I'll fucking kill you, guy!!"

This type of exchange is pretty common as the two parties walk away and try to create as much separation from each other as possible while still keeping up the tough guy routine.

However on this occaision, just as the two parties were facing off against each other in an apparent stale mate (the oncomers and fucktard's friends), a wave of 15 or 20 other guys came in and jumped in the ruckus. It was the spark that set off the explosion. It was absolute chaos. No one knew who was on who's side. It was essentially every man for himself.

The group of 30 or so guys started spinning more and more out of control. Punches where being thrown, hair was being pulled, tables were being knocked over, old ladies where being sucked into this vortex of testosterone and being spit out the other side all disheveled and retarded looking and with their dentures broken.

More guys jumped into the fray. The fight resembling a hurricane was spinning closer and closer to my table. "Quick Hootch", I thought, "what are you going to do. Go with your natural instinct and look for the most injured participant and beat down on him like you're Ivan Drago in and he's Apollo Creed in Rocky or do the reasonable thing and take NewCootch and walk away". Just as I was finishing this thought I caught a punch on the side of the head. I had no choice. I had to go in. I had to make sure no harm came to NewCootch's magnificent, gravity defying breasts. In my efforts to steer the swirling mass of guys away from my table I was on the receiving end of numberous punches and kicks to my body and head. Then the unexpected. Within a couple of seconds I found myself in the heart of the stom face to face with fucktard. He grabbed my face with his fingers and nails and was squeezing them over my eye. I bent my arm with my fist at my chest and swung my elbow with all the might I could muster aiming for the fucktard's head. >CLACK< I heard as I caught him square on his chin and his jaw slammed shut against the rest of his mouth.

Afterward, when I told Newcootch about the fucktard trying to blind me she said:

NewCootch: Ha! Just like Jean-Claude.

Hootch: What?

NewCootch: In bloodsport. When Bolo Yeung blinded Jean-claude in the kumitee, but Jean-Claude still knocked him the fuck out, remember?

As pretty good looking as Newcootch is, the above conversation had just increased her fuckability factor by about a million.