100 Wing Failure

Two of my friends and I recently went to Buffalo Wild Wings and ordered 100 wings. This isn't the first time we've done this, and I'm sure it won't be the last. But what made this time particularly interesting, and disappointing, was that this was the first time we weren't able to finish all of the wings.

Factors That Led to Failure:
1. We normally order 100 wings with 10 different sauces (from "Medium" to light-your-asshole-on-fire "Blazin'". All the wings are brought out and once and we are able to sample the sauces however we want. The downside is that with 100 wings, towards the end they start to get cold. This time we asked for 50 first, and then 50 later. Well, the first 50 were all the milder sauces. The second 50 were all the hot sauces. Instead of being able to move from hot to mild and vice versa, we had to eat all of the hot wings at one time. Seeing as the really hot sauces will make you pee fire, this was a difficult task to undertake.

2. Usually it is is me and my two brother in law. This time is was my brother in law and one of my other friends (who said he was up for the challenge, but then cursed us straight to hell for the torture we were putting him through).

3. I had already eaten shortly before we went. That was a stupid and amateur mistake on my part.

Despite our server bringing us milk, I just couldn't finish. The hotness of the wings wasn't the problem, I was too full. I thought about giving binging and purging a try, but just couldn't go through with it. I let my friends down. But most importantly, I let myself down.

Finally, I'd like to thank the hot girl that bought me a glass of milk. Your kindness in my time of downfall was greatly appreciated. (Who would have a thought that joking around and rubbing milk on my face because I couldn't feel my lips would be a turn on. Oh, well.)

Beating Up a Swarm of 5 Year Olds

I found this website (How Many Five Year Olds Could You Take in a Fight?), which tries answer the age old question of how many children you could beat up before being overtaken.

The rules are as follows:

You are in an enclosed area roughly the size of a basketball court.
There are no weapons or foreign objects.
Everyone is wearing a cup (so no kicks to the groin).
The children are merciless and will show no fear.
If a child is knocked unconscious, he is "out." The same goes for you.

My magic number: 31

It's good to know that if I ever get swarmed by 5 year olds, I will be able to gouge, bite, kick, and mercilessly pummel through 31 of those little bastards before I get taken down. It would be a bloodly, but epic, battle.

Be-yah!!!

1,666 Words a Day

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is fast approaching and starts on November 1. For the two people that read this stupid blog and might not know, NaNoWriMo is a competition held every November where you have to write a novel of 50,000 words in one month. That comes out to roughly 1,666 words a day.

Over the next two days I'm going to try and think of a concept for my novel and stick with it...but I'm sure it will eventually revert back to what I know best:

not getting laid enough;
cock and boob jokes;
smelly foreigners on the train; and
more dick jokes

I'll post some excepts along the way and a final version when I'm done. So if you like to read x-rated zombie clown porn sprinkled with recipes for dishes ranging from polish sausage and saurkraut to tuna and bean salad to snicker doodles, then you are in for a treat.

Don't forget to wash the sweet spots!

J

Invading My Space

I work in the city and my wife works in the suburbs. Yesterday morning my wife had a job interview in the city, about 3-4 blocks from where I currently work. We rode the train together.

My Wife: "Wouldn't it be great if I worked downtown. We could ride the train together everyday and we could meet up for lunch all the time. It would be so much fun!"

My Mouth: "Yeah, that would be fantastic."

My Brain: "Oh God, oh God, oh God! Why have you forsaken me? My wife is cronically late. She'll mess up my whole morning routine. She also talks a lot, and loudly. I won't be able to take my morning nap on the train. And my wife will be 'that really loud woman who can't shut up.' How will I be able to take my evening winding-down nap on the train ride home? Jeez, don't we spend enough time together? Somebody save me!"

My Mouth: "Good luck with that interview. You know, I've been thinking of switching jobs as well."

My Brain: "Maybe something in the suburbs, closer to home."

Someone To Do My Stuff

I found one of the coolest websites today--DoMyStuff.com

Basically, you post a chore, job, or other task you need done and people bid on those tasks. The lowest bid wins and gets to do said task.

This would be great for all the chores I hate doing: mowing the lawn, picking up dog shit, emptying the dishwasher, vacuuming the house, picking up dog shit, wiping my ass.

It would even be great for stuff my wife hates to do: put away any of her crap, have sex with me. Ummm...those seem to be the only things she doesn't like to do.

And while this service is geared for those individuals who don't have the time, knowledge, or ability to complete these tasks, I'd post tasks just because I'd rather pay someone else to clean up dog shit while I watch TV.

Random Thoughts

• I hate it when I'm sleeping on the train to work and fart...cause I'm awake enough to feel it coming, but asleep enough that I can't stop it. Then I make a noise to cover it up, like a loud cough or grunt...but it's already to late...everyone is staring at me.



• I used to make fun of my friends by saying the only way they could get laid was by making a hole in their mattress and filling it with jello. After being married for a year...I'd hit that!



• My dogs really like to lick each others' wieners.



• I drew a moustache on a bottle of vinegar just so I could call it a douchestache.



• I imagine getting punched in the boob is a lot like getting kicked in the nuts...there are a lot of women I'd like to punch in the tit.

That's all for now.

Baby Makers Union -- Local 647

My wife and I have been trying to make a baby for a few months. When we finally both agreed that it would be a good idea for me to have little JTs running around, I thought it would be sex all the time. And in the beginning, it was...for about a month. Then, when my wife found out that she wasn't pregnant, she started to do a little in-depth research on ovulation. Apparently there are only a few days out of the month when it's prime time for making babies.

That's when I started to feel like a union worker.

"Hey, we got job for you. It's only for about 3 or 4 days. Then you'll be laid off again."
"Well, do I have a chance at any extended work?"
"No, don't expect any more work until next month. And don't you dare call us asking around for a little hand out. We'll call you when you are needed."

Gym Etiquette

I go to the gym a lot. I see a bunch of weird stuff that goes on at the gym, and hear even more from a few of my workout buddies. I'm pretty easy going and can tolerate a lot, but some things I have to draw the line at.

Here are three rules of etiquette that should be followed to make your workout, as well as other patrons, more enjoyable.

1. Don't stand in front of the mirror with your shirt pulled up rubbing and checking out your stomach. You know who you are middle aged, Mediterranean-looking guy. You're not sexy. You don't have washboard abs. You have the gut of an eight months pregnant hairy gorilla.

2. Wear deodorant. You're at the gym, you're going to sweat and probably smell a little bit. But there's a big difference between a little workout stink and the smell of rotting meat boiling in baby diarrhea.

3. Steam rooms and saunas in the men's locker room are for steaming and sauna-ing, not giving each other blowjobs. I've never actually seen this, but my friend did. However, I did see a guy start jerking it while in the steam room. That was the last day I ever felt like a steam and the first day I started changing in the handicapped toilet stall like an insecure junior high kid who didn't have his pubes yet. Remember, the gym in the middle of the day isn't the time to act out your favorite porn scene from Sauna Suck-offs 4.

The Pork Shop

Hello loyal readers (I think there are only two of you). I've only been doing a post a month, but I'm going to try and increase that to at least one a week.

I just back from vacationing in Arizona at my sister's house. While I was there we found the most magical place on earth just down the street from her house. We went to a party on July 4th, and for the party this woman made some of the most delicious pulled pork I have ever tasted. I complimented her on her pork-pulling capabilities and she said, "Thanks. But I didn't make it. I bought it just like this from the Pork Shop."

Me: "The pork what?"

Her: "The Pork Shop. It's a little store just down the road that sells all kinds of pork products."

It was like a thousand bazookas went off in my face, a light beamed down from the heavens, and angels started singing "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Just for some background: I LOVE PORK PRODUCTS!!! It's my favorite animal to eat of all time.

Immediately after hearing about The Pork Shop, I turned to my wife and sister and told them we have to go there first thing in the morning.

I woke up salivating the next morning and almost didn't put pants on to save time getting out the door and into the car.

The Pork Shop sits just off the side of a dusty desert road. As we pull into the small dirt and gravel parking lot, the dust clears to reveal a small beige box with big letters stating "THE PORK SHOP" (nothing too impressive so far). A quick glace down and that's when I see the various murals of pigs on the windows and I realize that this a place of dreams, a pig Disneyland if you will.

We step through the door and are greeted by the succulent smell of all of the most spectacular pork products I could ever imagine, and a youngish-looking man with a very large and impressive handlebar moustache. I knew, at that very instant, I had found one of the most special places on the planet.

I now know that anytime I visit my sister, the first thing I want to do when I get off of the plane is go straight to The Pork Shop.

Unfortunately, we forgot our camera on the trip, but I found some pictures of The Pork Shop on the eGullet Forums if you want to take a look at a slice of heaven.

Still Alive!

To the one or two people that read this crapfest. I'm still here, just really busy. I'll try and get some new posts up soon. Before I go, I want to leave you with this tidbit.

I went to the Indy 500 a couple of weekends ago. It was a blast. Because of the rain delay, there was nothing to do except stand around for three hours and drink...and look at floppy, lop-sided Indiana tits. Well, technically they were from Kentucky, but that doesnt' really matter now does it? If you went to the 500, I'd like to know how it went.

The comments are open. Give me some feedback. Tell me you hate me and want to smack me a around a bit. At least I'll know you're out there.

I Rule the Pelvis!

I was bored today and decided to look up my zodiac sign. Being born in November, I am a Scorpio. According to this site, "Scorpio governs the pelvis." This explains a lot, as I have been known to do most of my thinking with my little head instead of my big one. Also, I have been known to make girls orgasm just by thinking about it.

"Right. Whatever. What a douche!" That's what your thinking right now; but remember, I govern the pelvis. So before you start getting angry and jealous because you're, to quote my friend Craig, hung like a tuna can, Scorpios are also more susceptible to pelvic ailments, including priapism. What's priapism?

Well, priapism is the medical term for a painful, chronic boner. It's not soothing to read that at anytime I could pop a 4 hour or more stiffy. Most guys would probably think this would be awesome. But unless your job is a porn star, think how uncomfortable it would be to do anything outside of sex with a raging semi.

But I guess that's the price you have to pay when you rule the pelvis.

Sneaky Peeper

I was over at my brother-in-law's house for a "party" awhile back. It was actually me, my wife's two brothers, and their cousin. We were hanging out, playing video games, and watching TV when eventually some girls showed up. My wife's brother, Bryan, and the three girls sat at the kitchen table talking while the rest of us watched TV. After about an hour, Bryan took one of the girls upstairs. After about another 45 minutes, I started to get upset that Bryan was being a bad host because the other girls were left downstairs and looked bored (since I'm married I couldn't help them out with their boredom the way I wanted, and my famous penis shadow puppet show was out due to inadequate lighting)...so I decided to cock block Bryan.

I got a ladder from the garage and decided to peep through Bryan's bedroom window. [NOTE: Do not peep on brother-in-law when he's making out with a hairy ape. It was cornea searing.]

Regardless of the condition of my eyes...mission accomplished. When they found out I was watching (after some banging on the window), ape tits left the building.

Next time Bryan, let me know your taking a girl to your room so I have time to hide in the closet. That's what a good host does.

Amazing Aerial Acrobatics...or, How My Friend Was Run Over Walking to Work

It's funny how people will tell you something and you ask how it happened, thinking its going to be an awesome story, and it turns out to be really lame. For instance, my friend Carrie calls me and says, "I got hit by a car today!" I'm immediately thinking, "Holy shit...that's awesome." But of course what I say isn't necessarily what I'm thinking. So I say, "Oh my god! Are you OK? How did it happen?"

[At this point I'm hyping myself up for the best story ever. How many times do you get hit by a car walking down the street?]

Carrie: "I'm fine. Just a little sore and I banged my knee."
Me: "Well, at least you're OK. So...so...how did it happen?"
Carrie: "I was crossing the street and this guy turned the corner, didn't see me, and ran into me. I put my hand on his hood and said 'whoa buddy' and kind of rolled off the side of the hood and onto the ground."
Me: "What!?! That's it? ... That was lame. I'll call you later."

What a disappointment. Here's how I would have told the story, regardless of how it happened.

"This guy was weaving through traffic as I started to cross the street. I was few steps from the curb when the car decides to turn and is now headed right at me going eleventy billion miles an hour. I had just enough time to take off my shoe and throw it at his windshield, but it didn't work; he was still barrelling right at me. I had to think fast. From years of being in the high school pom squad I developed almost superhuman leg strength. Just as the car was about to turn me into a spot on the pavement I launched myself into a double toe touch. The car came screeching to a halt right under me. I landed on the hood of the car in a perfect tuck position...but when I tried to climb down, I got my shoe caught on the windshield wiper, tripped, and fell off the car and banged my knee on the pavement. It was so clumsy and I was soooo embarrassed. I went to the hospital to get my knee checked out, had sex with the doctor and ER nurse, and my boss gave me the rest of the day off."

Yes, much better.

My Bad Wife

My best friend Ryan had emailed by wife last week and my wife never emailed him back. He sent her a reminder today and she emailed him back apologizing and saying she was a bad wife. I asked, "Why does that make you a bad wife? Shouldn't it just make you a bad person?" In her infinite wisdom, my wife replies, "Well, he's your friend and it was about you. And if I'm a bad wife, then I'm only bad to one person. But if I'm a bad person, then I'm bad to everyone. So I'd much rather be a bad wife then a bad person."

'Til death do us part...dammit!

The Jugs at Jolly Harbor

If you're ever in Antigua, go to the beach at Jolly Harbor (absolutely beautiful). And if you were there on the afternoon of September 20, 2006, you saw my wife's titties. It happened like this:

After performing aerials the likes no one has ever seen...on a wave runner...through jelly fish infested waters (I shit you not!), my wife and I headed back to the beach. I went for a swim and my wife went shell hunting. About 10 minutes after I got in the water, the waves started to increase in size and frequency, crashing with quite a bit of force against the shell cover beach. My wife, too engrossed in the hunt, failed to see a wave that had been hunting her Midwest pastiness. It crashed into her legs, buckled her knees, and took her down to the ground. She got up after being hit by two subsequent waves and calming herself from laughing.

Now, you'd think my wife would have learned her lesson from the first crippling blow...but that's not my wife. After a few minutes a mammoth wave, one of the biggest of the day, came rouring past me, clearly with its sights on my unsuspecting wife. I gave a quick shout of warning...but it was too late. She turned and faced the wave head on, ready for battle. The wave hit my wife with all its might, but she dug her feet in the sand and held her ground...except...she forgot to hold her top and the wave ripped it down, flashing her boobies to everyone on the beach, including a 12-year-old kid (who at that moment had the best family vacation ever). Congradulations sweetheart--you've made it into an adolescent boys spank bank.

Yogurt Love

Over the past year or so I've developed an intense love of yogurt. It may stem from me becoming somewhat of a health nut and because yogurt is sweet and creamy and tastes like it should be a naughty, slap-some-fat-on-my-ass dessert, but it's nutritious and good for you. My favorite is by far Yoplait's Mixed Berry...very scrumptious indeed.

However, I've been having a problem with my Yogurt for some time, a problem very much akin to the most feared male deficiency...premature ejaculation. Or, in my case, what I like to call an "opening yogasm." Every time I shake my yogurt up and peel back the top, a little spurt of yogurt shoots out. It gets all over my hands and sometimes on my clothes. I finally learned to open it facing away from me, but it still gets all over my desk.

Maybe I'm too excited when I know I'm going to get my yogurt and I shake it up too much beforehand. Then, when I know it's time to stick my spoon in, all the longing and built up pressure bursts out at once and I end up with sticky stuff all over my hands and a sense of disappointment that I wasted such good yogurt.

I don't know...maybe I should stop shaking it beforehand and just stick my spoon in and stir it around for awhile.

But sometimes I just can't wait that long.