Monday, December 14, 2009

Santa won't be pooping in my Christmas tree!



Its Christmas time~! I want to share my wish list with everyone just in case you want to purchase something for me! I’m not greedy or vain but I know how much each of you loves me and wants to purchase high end electronics for me during this time of giving.

1. A 52” 1080p Plasma HI Def TV
2. Two attractive female Asian twins over the age of 21 as concubines.
3. The playboy mansion all bills paid.
4. A ping pong ball
5. Scuba flippers.
6. Rights to the Sam Addams brewery.
7. New Socks
8. $45,000,000 tax free
9. A better sense of humor to come up with something funny to write.

Just kidding, I actually was thinking about the holidays and this time of year and realized how much it fucking sucks! Seriously, I am out buying really cool stuff that I won’t ever get to use. I’ve bought in the past everything from Artwork to fine wine. But typically what I get in return for giving these super awesome gnarly gifts is only a sadden knowledge that they will most likely never enjoy that gift as much as I would have. But I have to remind myself that this is not the season to think about me but to think about others and those less fortunate than myself. Like people who live where there is no Starbucks. One thing I do enjoy though is that every year I participate in the Angel Tree Gifts for Kids program sponsored by the Salvation Army. As a child my family grew up with meager means but usually had a pretty fun Christmas, my parents did their best with what they had to ensure we had a few gifts under the tree each year. This was a tough thing at times because there were five of us greedy little bastards running around. One year though for reasons I can’t remember my siblings and I received charity much like that of the Angel tree. If it was the Angel Tree program I don’t recall but I remember opening gifts that were not wrapped with the wrapping paper dad had stashed in the back of the demon closet. Yes we had a demon closet at least that was what I was convinced lived in the back of my parents walk in closet. This closet had the ability to never fill no matter how much stuff you shoved in it. The closet always smelled strange like burning wire, oh and you could dig through clothes and shoes for hours and never find the carpet. Actually when my mother moved out of that house it took my brother and myself a few days to dig everything out of that closet. It was a portal from the “other side” to transport junk from the 70’s. I’m not sure but my brother at one point seemed to be grabbed by something and had to fight it off and in the end we had to clean ectoplasm off the walls. Ok, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, but still it was a rather troubling experience.
Back to my point that as a child I experienced the charity of others and it has inspired me in my early adult life to give back to children in need. Every year I invest in this program and so I was out looking for that specially cool gift that I wouldn’t get to play with to give to a child in need I was forced into venturing into the chasm of shit that is Wal-Mart. We have had the talk about how much I hate this place and that I really hope Sam Walton is in some sort of hell for the demonic thing he created. So upon entering the parking lot I start to dodge the traffic and decide it best to park at the mini strip mall at the end of the parking lot and walk to the beast swallowing people and spitting others out it’s shit colored doors. As I get close I hear the familiar ring of the most annoying bell ever created in the world. You know the one I’m talking about, it is the one that has the people standing next to a hanging bucket shaking a bell designed by mad scientist to induce a maddening psychosis that causes you to go to extremes to make them stop ringing. Most give money without asking for anything, they are dumb. I put a dollar in the bucket and like any transaction I expect a product for the money I spend so I ask for the bell. Do you know that some of them will actually give it to you? It’s amazing when it works, it is better than winning the lottery! Then some sick part of you wants to ring the damn thing as well. I think it has a curse built into the bell that demands it’s wielder to ring it. When I asked for the bell I was told no, so I entered the store slightly saddened that I didn’t get to take the damn bell and save the world from a sound that will cause mass murder and rage inside the store over who gets the last box of Honey Combs. Inside it is a typical situation, one might refer to it as a “mad house” but I don’t think of it as that as all. I look at it as a explosives factory ready to blow up because that fucking bell already lit the fuse. I make it through the store with little trouble and exit to the sound of that son of a bitch ringing that bell as fast as he can. It was like he was attempting to find out how many rings it takes to get Santa to actually show up.
What strikes me funny is the two sidedness of the season. There is the side that says it's about the spirit and yet it is also the backbone of the American shopping season. A major portion of sales for retailers happen during this time of year so to compete with each other and to do this they all toss up commercials and adds that depict Christmas attire and special holiday savings. I fell prey to this ideology during “Black Friday”. No, I did not fight the crowds for door buster savings, I instead logged onto the internet and started surfing as fast as my fingers and internet connection would let me. I found something out about myself when it comes to shopping for cool things I know I’ll never get to play with. Those gifts I mentioned earlier that I know will not be enjoyed by those who receive them as much as I would have. I am a cheap son of a bitch! I had multiple screens running comparing prices and getting the best deals on the web, I bought for most of the 15 plus people on my life and didn’t break $100.00. I’m awesome I know! ! ! Anyway I often find that I am offended like many people that the holidays seem to be about commercialism and not about the true spirit of caring for your friends and family along with giving to those less fortunate. So I started to think about how I felt about this situation and I’ve come up with a simple solution for me and I’ve slept really good now that I’ve settled this for myself. My solution was that I don’t give a fuck. I decided that I will give to those I want to give to and this year I would buy myself Christmas gifts! Yep I am my own Santa this year! I’ve already bought myself gifts, wrapped them then unwrapped them and rewrapped them again! It’s been fun almost surprising myself with something special. I figure that I will only have a few years of my adult life where I will not be obligated to a child or a family that I will want to give stuff too and so this year it’s all about me. I say its time we all play Santa to ourselves! So what is you want this year? Is it a hooker that will say yes to everything? If so be sure you said yes to those condom commercials you’ve been seeing on TV. If your idea of a gift for yourself is a pair of scuba flipper and a snorkel, condoms, smokes and a microwave dinner then I say go for it you sick fuck. I don’t want to know what the snorkel is for, though I have an idea what the flippers are for and I have to say I like your style.

So folks enjoy this time of year, it only comes around once every twelve months. Buy yourself something nice, kinky, stupid or just fun. But remember that this time of year is about joy so I don’t want to hear any of this crap about how the holidays get you down. Don’t let it, find something to bring a smile to your face. Believe it or not the thing that brings the most joy for me is giving back to the Angel Tree. I know that is a hard thing to imagine about me since I did just buy myself gifts from Santa, but really it is something I truly love doing. Find what brings joy to your life and let that be what Christmas is about. Don’t let it be about a religion or a store or an ideology, but simply let it be.

P.S. Each of you should watch The Muppets Christmas Carol, if you don't Santa will come poop in your Christmas Tree.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Not even four boobs could make me want to tip her.


Many of you have realized by now that I have had a few adventures and a couple encounters with the opposite sex. I find that I fair decently at attracting attention and maintaining said attention until I decide it’s time for it to end. Saturday night a couple of good friends were at my home for a visit, which turned into a few drinks, which turned into a trip to the local strip bar. As a man I have the primal urge to spend all of my paycheck to see girls get naked…. Oh wait no I don’t.

It started out as a simple conversation with Brandon and a good friend that went horribly wrong about two beers in. Our friend Seth announces that we are all going to the “titty bar”. Now the local den of sin is one of glitz and glamour… by glitz I mean sagging worn out boobs and by glamour I mean cheap watered down beer. Most strip bars you visit too be entertained by surgically enhanced girls with low self-esteem and major daddy issues. But this establishment specializes in finding the rejected women of a local meth house. These are the girls that allows you to see just how far the American dollar can get you, and it’s never pretty.

I walk into the dimly lit bar which I can only assume is dimly lit because the girls currently working were their A Team, the best looking ones they have. You see when the B Team is there the lights don’t really work at all. With the lights on I knew that at least I wouldn’t fall and stab myself with who knows what on the floor thus contracting some horrible disease that would require weekly treatments and a special commercial that I would be invited to participate in. One of those commercials where the good looking guy hooking his boat to the truck says “I have herpes, and I use herpaxil” or whatever the brand of drug they are promoting that week is on TBS. We order drinks immediately and start to medicate our eyesight. But before I could even finish my first beer a stripper who had no tits and a sagging stomach saunters over and says “wanna tip me for my dance?” I am an honest person and I sometimes realize that honesty isn’t the best policy. Well this wasn’t one of those times. I gave her a once over look and say “I haven’t drank enough to tip you.” Of course she was offended and says something to the effect of “what do you need to see four tits before you tip?” and without thought or hesitation I say “If you had four tits I might actually tip just to see how fucked up that would be. Plus it’s always better when I’m drunk enough to not know if you actually have four or not. Come back later.” She of course leaves rather agitated at my brutal honesty, I couldn’t care less. Brandon saw that had happened and was leaning back in his chair laughing at my tactical handling of the situation. Seth was slightly distracted as another young lady decided that he needed to tip her, now Seth not being the raging asshole that I am tipped the girl. Why he tipped her I am unsure, she had nothing worth paying for. Seth had more tit than this girl, and not to mention the fact that one of the first things out of this lady of the nights mouth was “I have three angels at home, I’m so proud of my cesarean scar.” I now needed more to drink and found only more watered down domestic beer. Being a bit of a beer snob I left the table to seek out a better brew only to be met by a bartender that could have passed as a midget but didn’t have any of the endearing features that I find so charmingly creepy about the little people. I ask for a Sam Addams? They don’t have it. (I am annoyed by now) Guinness? No. (I really want a dark beer and I am feeling the urge to beat the bar tender to death with the pour handle of Bud Light) Amber Bach? Not available. (I hate my life) “Dark beer? Yeah right! I’ve been asking the bosses to get any dark beer in here for over a year and they just keep bringing bud light” anger is the only thing I could feel at that moment. I was surrounded by half naked ugly girls that I would pay to for them put their clothes back on and I couldn’t even get a decent beer to distract me from fact that I was in possibly the shittiest strip club in America.

There are moments in ones life when a man is forced to take lemons and make… well, someone scream in pain by squeezing the juice into someone else’s eyes! I chose to make this one of those moments. I returned to my table to find Seth and Brandon were joined by a man named George. George is a guy that you would expect to find at a strip bar, drinking his 7 and seven thinking it makes him more attractive and intelligent. To me though he was just another bumbling idiot that reminded me why there should be an application for people to breed. George happens to be seated next to me at this table and takes the opportunity to make things as uncomfortable as possible by asking a simple question. “Do I have good arms for a man my age? Go ahead feel them!” He says as he is trying to flex his rather thin arms. As I stare in the face of this balding middle aged man who has a wondering eye flexing his arm trying to match his masculinity against my own I say. “George, I don’t swing that way. But thanks” I then hear the laugh that will haunt my nightmares for decades to come. It was something that he had to have practiced for years. This laugh was half chuckle and half cartoon demon laughing; I still can’t decide which it really is. Seth was kind enough to take George’s mind off of me before I said something rude, which was fine with me because this freed me up to notice all the disgusting things going on for a dollar.

Strippers have no shame when you pull out a one dollar bill. They will shove their boobs in your face, shake their butt and do just about anything you ask short of fucking you. Seth had attracted the attention of one of the titless girls who decided that she should dedicate her time to trying to siphon off our cash by sitting as close to Seth as possible. Seth having plenty of experience in strip bars doesn’t hesitate in capitalizing on this by pulling out a dollar. The look that crossed the strippers face was one of a child on Christmas morning eager to be allowed to posses their present. “I want you to shove your tits in Brandon’s face” Seth stated flatly to the girl who pulled her top down and proceeded to rub her chest on Brandon’s face. I say chest because when I say this girl had no boobs I mean literally she had nipples and a flat chest and nothing more. She finishes and like a puppy who just learned to pee outside she looks at Seth who presents her with her treat in the form of a greenback. This carried on for a couple of hours until the girl that I had told to come back when she had four boobs decided that I should be drunk enough to see four boobs. The problem was that I am used to drinking beer that is more beer and less water, so I was less than drunk by this point in time. I hear that raking voice “want to tip me yet?” I look at the girl who had more tit to offer than the one currently nestled next to Seth but hardly and say “sweet heart, either the beer isn’t working or you aren’t.” Again she was angered by my statement but to make her feel better I pulled a lone dollar bill out and her mood changed from outrage to “come fuck me” and I was now her favorite client. I give her the dollar and say “bye now” and turn to talk to Brandon who is currently laughing at the emotional roller coaster I had sent this poor girl on. So to be fair to the girl I decide I should explain why I dismissed her so quickly. “Listen honey, I don’t come here for you girls to get naked. I come here so you can put your clothes back on, now if you would please?” Then I ignore her again to the sound of rolling laughter both from my friends and the stripper now attempting to wiggle her way into Seth’s lap. It was close to closing time by now and the girl who called herself Willow decided that Seth should have her number and she his. Willow then produced her cell phone from somewhere hidden in a G string, my guess is she keeps it in her……uh “portable pocket” and asks Seth to input his number into her phone. So without hesitation Seth punches in a number and hands it to her and I realize that the look on his face meant that he had put in not his number but Brandon’s. Willow looks down at the glowing screen and announces that she is going to text Seth and that the name in the text will be her real name. He says ok but with a worried look on his face, to which I take the opportunity to try to communicate non-verbally to Brandon what was going on. Brandon is a bright fellow most of the time, but this night he was not. I look at him then down to his phone as Willow is saying she is going to text Seth and then I look at Seth, back to Brandon’s phone then mouth the words “be cool”. Brandon says out loud “what?” I can’t help him now I realize and say “never mind, sometimes you’re an idiot.” I love the guy to death but he doesn’t catch on when he needs too. Luckily Willow was called away to the stage at which time the three of us take the chance to leave before Willow could return and only then did I realize that George had disappeared. I look about to see George sitting at the edge of the stage with a dollar bill between his teeth shaking his head for a stripper to come take the dollar from him, and to my great delight it was the three hundred pound stripper that decided to take him up on that offer and amazingly George was thrilled it would seem.

I don’t know if Brandon ever got a text message or not, but I do know that I left that night knowing that I had gained nothing more than an appreciation for most of the girls I’ve dated in the past and a slight loathing for them too. They were never happy with just a dollar…. Maybe I should date a stripper and keep a stack of dollar bills lying around for when I take her outside.