Monday, February 13, 2012

I'm the jerk

You know that guy that comes up to you at the gas station and says ‘hey, I was hoping you could help me out our car broke down’? The story continues something about kids and needing a few dollars to get back home. Well ‘that guy’ found me in CVS, too bad for him I was in a shit mood.
Man – Hey man can you help me out? My wife is in the car and our tire blew out.
Me – Oh no that’s horrible, aren’t tires the worst!? I would love to help, what is your wife’s name?
Man – uh, Sara.
Me – I’ll tell you what, let me check out so I can get some cash back so I can help you guys. I am actually about to get a drink too, so I will grab you a couple of sodas and maybe a snack for your drive home. So just go wait outside and I will be there in a second.
Man – Screw you jerk.
Me – Ain’t that the truth.
Now I know you are thinking there is a chance that their car was actually broken down, but have no fear I saw them drive off in a brand new Honda Civic not moments later. I waved. He gave me the bird.

Friday, December 30, 2011

Practically a Joke...

I think someone is playing a joke on me and I have to admit I am finding it quite entertaining. For the sake of this exercise I will call it ‘The Idiot vs The Cashier’. It is a very complex practical joke so I will assume that Ashton will not be jumping out from behind the counter anytime soon, and based on the fact that it hasn’t involved a fart joke I will assume my college buddies are not involved. The premise is really straightforward, show up to a store that I am at and make sure that the cashier is helping someone that is a little imbalanced in front of me.
Case in point: the extremely Latina cashier trying to have a conversation with the Dragon-Con groupie about Power Bars vs. Cliff bars. While it may seem like she might be the expert on the benefits of whole grains in relationship to the volume of protein in said items I think something was lost in translation. No doubt the case of Diet Mountain Dew will offset any nutritional deficiencies in the final decision, it was a debate for the ages. I call this one; Hoop Earrings vs. Orthopedic shoes.
Case number two: Cat lady vs Cat dude. For the jokester this was an obvious meeting of the minds, but none the less effective. Any interaction with a Petsmart employee is bound to be filled with awkward moments and glassy eyed responses to my quick witted humor. Add in a sale on cat treats and accessories and painstakingly obviously hilarity was bound to ensue. The conversation was centered on what treat/ leash combo was most appropriate to train a cat to walk on a leash like a dog. You can’t make this shit up.
I have some errands to run tomorrow so I am sure my tormentors are furiously at work to find the socially inept to coordinate their New Year’s eve social calendars with my own. Locations that would be best to spring their next trap include the liquor store (Indian cashier vs drunk bum, “will Steel Reserve get me fucked up enough?”), the cheese counter at Whole Foods (hipster vs Lincoln park know it all mom on what cheese goes best with a rosé wine), or Party City (Highschool manager vs mom trying to buy 500 Justin Bieber balloons). Cant wait to see where the next trap is sprung!

Monday, December 19, 2011

I am a sexy man.

I am a sexy son of a bitch. With my smoky blue eyes, thick dirty blonde hair and six pack abs, my sex appeal is undeniable. The proof? Have you seen my wife? She is smoking hot, so there is no way a lady like that marries a turd. We don’t even have to discuss my dazzling personality, expertise in the bedroom (or wherever my wife chooses to indulge in my goose bump inspiring touch) or startling ability to combine intelligence with humor. Sexy stare, subtle bounce of the eyebrows and a pouting of the lips, you are helpless.
Now that we have established my desirability I want to tell you what I have recently discovered that could potentially bring all of this to a screeching halt. Men don’t look sexy in the same outfits that women look sexy wearing. I am not talking about cross dressing here, even though that too is the case, but rather the potentially innocent outfit that bridges the gap from shower to fully dressed or transitioning from work to casual attire. Let’s call them accidental outfits. In order to preserve my delusions of erotica I have removed the following outfits from my wardrobe while simultaneously requesting these be worn by my wife at least once a week.
1. Dress shirt and no pants or underwear. Seeing flashes of my manhood bounce in and out of the shirt tails is not hot.
2. Black dress socks and white underwear. Need I explain?
3. Hoodie sweater shirt and underwear. It makes me look like a perverted Unabomber.
4. Just socks. Heads up fellas, put your boxers on first out of the shower.
5. An open robe. Now you see me now you don’t and peek a boo are equally disgusting phrases used to enhance this attire.
6. Naked.
7. Shoes without pants on, specifically dress shoes.
I will attempt to keep the transitional content in the house to a minimum specifically cut out the “Risky Business” move making the transition from clothed to naked as hidden as possible and I suggest you do the same.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Meat Between the Buns; A Story About Pure Ecstasy

I have finally settled in back to my normal routine after engorging my sexual deviance over two weeks ago with a little something I like to call the ‘meat between the buns’. If you are faint at heart or thought, like me, that the movie was actually called Puss in Boobs and locked your doors when you heard a million children saw it opening night you might want to turn off your computer, this is about to get nasty. Please note that the names of many involved have been changed to protect the innocent and deter the sexually inexperienced.
When I informed a close friend of mine, we will call her Limberly, of my intentions there were some immediate and unpleasant reactions. Our relationship had been through a lot, but it seemed what I was suggesting we do was simply more than we could handle. Take into account the number of absolute strangers that needed to be involved and the risk of catching something weighed heavy on both of us. What I needed was someway of showing Limberly that what I wanted to do was not only safe, but something that millions of Americans enjoyed at isolated times during the year and we were quickly coming upon the ‘season’. I reached for my computer and to the internet and based on what we found her fears were not unwarranted. The videos we graphic. What if I couldn’t go back to the way it was ‘before the meat’? What if I had a bad reaction and needed to spend hours on the toilet? What if I became addicted? As much as I love Limberly I was willing to take many of these risks in hopes of obtaining that moment of pure bliss. Sure I pictured my addicted body cowering in an alley with everything lost, all alone covered in sweat longing for one last hit. I had to be strong.
So on that fateful day Limberly gently let me slide to the dark side giving me a personal moment to enjoy the journey that lay ahead. It was everything I could have expected and more. A sweet aroma punctured the air driving out the surrounding noise as a succulent and salty taste danced across my tongue. It was ecstasy.
Today, days later the moment is as fresh in my mind as the day my lips embraced the sinful delight that can only be know to two people that have experienced this much together. Would I do it again? In a heart beat. What would I change? I say the more the merrier. Do I feel like a gallant warrior returning from the battlefield soaked in victory? No doubt. Would I recommend this to my friends? I think the simplest response…Try the McRibb for yourself and tell me you don’t feel the same way.

Friday, November 4, 2011

One Line, Two Registers

My McRibb orgasm will have to take a back seat as I relay my encounter just minutes before I even ordered the famed sandwich. At the crux of this divergence is the system commonly known as ‘one line, two registers’.
The system is complex, one that has undoubtedly caused strife throughout human history. As archeologist still struggle to translate ancient texts and hieroglyphs one thing is clear, even the Egyptians understand the importance of order and lines. Important enough to dedicate the burial walls of their most famed figures with stories of men standing front to back patiently waiting for their turn. My, how we have regressed.

It was clear from the moment I entered McDonalds the ordering and receiving process was in pure chaos. The gentlemen in front of me made the right call and opted to apply the ‘one line, two register’ system which was quickly executed by myself and the man behind me. Moments later a large woman appeared and quickly rebuked our orderly system jumping right behind a family near the register and right in front of me. I tapped her on the shoulder and informed her ‘ma’am we are all waiting in line here for the next register’. Big mistake. She turned quickly (well quick for someone her size) swinging her big bear arm in my direction screaming, ‘no you idiots are in that line, I am in this line’. Oh it’s on. ‘I know this may be hard for your pea brain to understand but we are all waiting patiently for the next register. Clearly you skipped a couple of grades, 4 through 12, and have a better system than me or this Doctor behind me (he was in scrubs), but I can tell from the sight of you, you need this a lot more than we do so please go ahead.’ This did not go over well…with her. She was irate. I smiled and the doctor behind was laughing hysterically as the employees watched in blissful terror. Bitch just got Hamburglared.
She ordered, got her food and left before I got up to the next register to an amused manager. The doctor behind me offered to let me take the next register but I thought it better to keep my distance from the banshee and quipped it was probably safer for fear of losing a finger if they are out of icecream”. His response ‘you made my day’.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Dear Friends

This is a very big week for the Miller family and me as we are embarking into uncharted waters both emotionally and physically. Not to be taken lightly Kimberly, Emerson and I have spent hours discussing our options, weighing the financial investment, and engaging in legal council to avoid any longer term consequences.
Some of you may find our decisions gut wrenchingly painful while others will be curious on why we waited so long, no doubt we lose some friends along the way. The manor in which we are making this announcement was debatable as many of you find this blog too humorous to be taken seriously, but the longevity of this posting will last much longer than any tweet or facebook posting.
My drop dead date has been set for 12:30pm on Thursday November 3rd for any of you that would care to join us in witnessing this historic moment. Some of you have learned about this in advance and already voiced your objections and removed us from the standard social media and phone contacts lists and for that we are truly sorry. For the rest of you, thank you for your support.
Without further delay I am ready to announce that on Thursday November 3rd at 12:30pm at 3620 N Clark I will be pairing the likes of French inspired fried potatoes, the liquid potion of a one Mr. Dr. Pepper with the culinary treat known as the McRibb. Your support is both welcome and appreciated. We will see you on the other side. My love to my wife, child and the rest of my wonderful family.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Happy Crap

I was at Whole foods grabbing a bite to eat when I noticed a very attractive women walk by and go into the bathroom. Nothing of note besides her attractiveness. Now before you get all worked up let me just state this for the record, I love my wife. Just because I made a promise to her to love and care and blah blah blah for her doesn’t mean that suddenly other women cease to be attractive. I certainly would expect my wife to see a shirtless washboard abs flexing Brad Pitt and think ‘icky, he looks nothing like my husband’. Hell I just got a little excited thinking about him, the man is hot.
Back to my slice of pizza. At this point I had pretty much finished the second slice and realized I never saw little hottie come back by, someone must be doing some work. It wasn’t exactly the picture I wanted in my head of Suzie sweet cheeks, but no big deal. Finally after a few more minutes she emerged from the bathroom and boy was she happy. With pep in her step a smile on her face and a fresh dab of lipstick and she was ready to take on the world. Now I was disgusted. I mean I have taken some satisfying craps before but this must have been orgasmic. Her joy churned my stomach. Then came the trailing waft of perfume that followed her from the bathroom. Never have rose petals smelled so horrible.