I ate a steak last night with béarnaise sauce, and I'm now of the age where doing something like that has definitive and brutal consequences. Oh yes. I'm talking about meat sweats. You know the kind. You wake up at 4AM sweating beefy juices. Your heart feels like a fucking 90-ton weight. You feel like you've been marinating in pure beef tallow. Last night I suffered a full-on meatover. I swear I thought I was gonna die from overmeating. Maybe the extra pat of herb butter was bad idea. Avoid the meat sweats, people.
I assume every guy in a long-term committed relationship does this, but I've never really discussed it with anyone to confirm. It's a game I play out in my head whenever I meet a new couple (friends of friends, co-worker and significant other, new neighbors, etc.) assuming we all get along well and the girl isn't repulsive.
In my head, my wife and I are swingers, and the new couple is as well. I try to determine: a) Who is most likely to not go for the swap and kill the whole thing (usually my wife... right) b) and who is the biggest winner of the group, i.e. luckiest to be sleeping with their swappee. The winner is almost always me or the other dude. The times I've determined the other girl to be the winner (maybe twice ever), I'm always very proud of myself. My confidence skyrockets. When it's my wife, I get kinda pissed. Also, if I determine that the other girl is most likely to "kill the deal", I try to woo her with my charm and self-deprecating wit, so that in my head, I can pull it off.
I've gone on couple dates and done the couple dinner parties and shit, and the whole swinger element is always a dark factor lurking in the back of your head. Because you never really know ANY couple that well, you know what I mean? Bob and Judy seem nice. But are they really? What do they do when they go home? Do they have a tickle dungeon? Do they team up to abuse the au pair? Do they bite each other? Are they actually sexual deviants who want to lure my wife and me into a web of lust and intrigue that eventually ends in MURRRRDER? I always go to these dinners and flash back to the key party scene in The Ice Storm where Joan Allen and that guy go out to the car to fuck and he shoots his load prematurely and it's just fucking awkward and horrible. Then I get up to take a leak and go to the bathroom and cry.
I read about Fritz Peterson and wife swapping in the '70s. It's creepy as shit. There's no way an arrangement like that happens without the aid of narcotics. How else would you broach the subject? How would you even begin to work up the nerve to try and get four people to agree to such a thing? You'd need barrels of cocaine. Wife swapping makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Have you ever torn your asshole? It happened to me about 2 months ago and it has been excruciating. I have IBS w/ constipation so I get backed up quite a bit, which makes this a very tricky situation. I have been on the fiber, drinking tons of water, etc. but I can't simply shut down the digestive tract for a week to let this damn thing heal. My only consolation is that it has not gotten infected, for which I am amazed. How does an open sore on your asshole not get infected with 2-3 rounds of shit a day rubbing up against it? Anyways, I am open to suggestions from the readers in the medical field. I really don't want to go to my Dr. with a torn asshole.
The medical term for what you have is called an anal fissure, which makes it sound like a poopy atomic reaction (and it is). Howard Stern had one. I had one. I went to the doctor and told him about it. He told me to pull my pants down and bend over. I found this to be unnecessary. The asshole was already torn. I didn't see how a probing finger would relieve the problem. If anything, that could exacerbate it. But he wasn't going to be deterred. So I dropped trou and he dug around.
ME: This sucks.
DOCTOR: What, you think I enjoy this?
Those were his exact words to me. Screw you, doc. I had to wait 45 minutes and give your grumpy receptionist a ten-dollar co-pay. As far as you're concerned, my asshole smells like wild cherries and can heal the deaf.
Anyway, I was told my fissure was caused by straining too hard on the toilet, which means I was shitting too aggressively. I didn't know this was possible. I didn't know that, if you put your mind to it, you could shit so hard you could detonate your own poop chute. BUT YOU CAN. So you youngsters out there pay heed: Take it easy when you know you've got a big growler churning up in there. Otherwise, you could break the rim.
The doctor I went to made me buy a stool softener. This softener was rectal suppository. Of course it was. It also cost a fucking LOT, which made me upset. It struck me as grossly unfair to have a torn asshole, and the only cure was a suppository that cost ten bucks. I opened the package and it was basically a missile of solidified lotion. And when you put that up your butt, it releases the lotion into your digestive tract. Then, and this is the fun part, when you poop after that, your poop is streaked with the lotiony goodness. Looks like a marble brownie. Very cool.
Anyway, see a doctor.
(As an aside: When you have a kid, the kid will inevitably become constipated at some point. To get the kid to shit, many pediatricians will recommend you take off the child's diaper and PRESS on the kid's butthole to get the poop to come out. You haven't lived until you've borne a child and found yourself jamming on his starfish like it's a Game Boy button.)
When you're pulling nose hairs: fingers or tweezers?
Fingers. This is stupid, because fingers are much more likely to slip off the hair, resulting in multiple pull attempts. No matter. I get in the car, and I love grabbing a big bouquet of nose hairs and yanking those fuckers out. God DAMN, it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. BUT I CAN'T STOP DOING IT. It also makes me sneeze when I pull out a nose hair. And not just a regular sneeze. I'm talking a full-on, violent epileptic sneeze. It's so violent, I practically dislocate a rib.
There are perfectly adequate scissors sitting up in my bathroom. I've used them to trim my nose shrubbery on multiple occasions. It's neat and tidy and pain-free. And yet I still feel compelled on a daily basis to rip tufts of nose hairs out of my nostril for reasons that escape me. I like ripping out the hair and staring at the root. Sometimes, it changes color at the bottom, and you can see a little bulb where the hair started. THAT'S SO COOL. THAT WAS IN MY NOSE. That's good pain.
Ever get a booger that has nose hair embedded inside? AGONY.
What is the minimum amount of money you would accept in pennies? Not rolled or bagged pennies either, just pennies dropped on your floor. The higher the number the greater the inconvenience, but the lower the number the less it is worth your time to walk to a coinstar machine and cash in pennies.
Twenty bucks. Twenty bucks justifies the man-hours and gas needed to go to the store and cash in that shit. Plus, there's a deep satisfaction to pouring all those pennies into the machine and seeing a crisp twenty pop out, as if the pennies themselves were melted down and formed into the bill. That's alchemy!
Why is nearly every SNL musical performance terrible? How is it possible that they haven't figured out how to put on a decent show in 35 fucking years?
Well, first of all, not every SNL musical performance is bad. MOST are bad. But not all of them. Paul Simon did "The Boxer" after 9/11, and it was devastating. And then there's this. I'd say that's pretty good.
Most live performances on SNL suck for a host of reasons. First of all, the crowd isn't there to see the band. The crowd is there to watch the show. Watching a band play for a passive crowd that's still in their seats (and at good remove from the stage) pretty much ruins it. There needs to be a standing crowd that's 100% there specifically to see THAT band, and that doesn't happen on SNL or Leno or at some horrible award show. The audience is fractured. They aren't invested, and that makes it shitty. American Idol is even worse, because that crowd is FAKING it, and it's so obvious.
Also, pretty much all live performances on TV suck because you aren't there in the room with the performer. If you're watching the show on TV, you're going to be compelled to compare what you're hearing with the studio version of the song you're familiar with, and it's almost impossible for the live performance to live up to that. The performer will miss a note. The production won't be as clean. It just won't sound as good. You wouldn't give a shit about any of this if you were AT the performance. You'd be drunk and singing along and barely able to make out the words anyway and you'd be like HOLY FUCK THERE'S JOSH HOMME IN PERSON FUCKING SWEET SWEET SWEET!!!! But at home? It's not the same. It's always a letdown.
I remember seeing Faith No More play on SNL when I was a kid. I was so jazzed to see them play, and they came on and did "Epic," and Mike Patton sounded fucking awful. Just brutally bad. Didn't mean they put on a bad show. Didn't mean they were frauds when playing live. It just meant that the fact that I was watching a live performance beamed in from hundreds of miles away drained all the immediacy and energy out of the performance.
Live music on TV blows.
You know what I love? Getting stopped by a crosswalk red light while jogging. Real runners, assholes who run mini-marathons and such, will sprint to make that light when they see 5 seconds left to cross. However, I'm a fake runner. Fake runners have a one mile max endurance and we just go out as to not look like a complete fat ass compared to our gym-going, protein-chugging jerks of roommates. If there is less than 10 seconds left, I'm easing into that corner as slow as possible. Stopping at the crosswalk light is perfect. I can extend a 10-minute run to 18 with enough waiting on the street corner (plenty of leaning-on-the-lamp-post calf-stretching going on there).
Do you do the gay little run-in-place half jog at the light? I always do that. Look at me! I'm such a determined runner, I don't even stop running when I've stopped running!
I actually disliked coming to a red light or stopping to tie my shoes when running because I felt my momentum break. It's such a tease to stop running when you aren't actually done running. When I stop running, I want to stop running FOREVER. I don't want to start back up. Starting back up blows.
I cut down a tree with a fucking axe today. Ever try this? It was immensely more satisfying than any other cutting or sawing experience of my life.
I CUT DOWN TREES
I SKIP AND JUMP
I LIKE TO PRESS WILD FLOWERS
I PUT ON WOMEN'S CLOTHING
AND HANG AROUND IN BARS
I have not cut down a tree with an axe. I've watched enough ESPN Woodsman Championships while stoned at 2AM to know how it's done (downward swing, then upward swing, then back down, then back up again). But I've never had the satisfaction, which is just as well, given that I'd almost certainly plant the axe in my thigh if I tried.
But I have picked up an axe and held it. Man, does that feel good. No man has ever picked up an axe and said EW! AN AXE! ICKY! No, no. You pick up that axe and you are absolutely ready to go cut up a dead body with it. It's a great feeling. When I'm rich, I'm gonna get drunk and walk around my property with an axe or sledgehammer on me at all times. Holding a sledgehammer makes me feel way strong.
Did you know baby-carrots have a core? I love to bite down on baby carrots so they crack around their 'core'. I'll then try to eat the outside ONLY, leaving the core to be eaten separately. I'm sure doing this makes a ton of noise and my cubicle neighbors probably want to murder me. Thankfully I am a giant with a booming voice and scare most people/children.
Actually, you won't believe this, but ALL carrots have a core. The baby carrot does not jettison the core once it reaches adolescence. No, no. That core grows with the adult carrot, to become a mighty inner rod! IT'S TRUE!
I've eaten carrots of all ages in a similar manner. The outside of the carrot breaks off so cleanly from the core, you can't help it. Plus the core is usually translucent with watery goodness. It's quite refreshing.
Ben's letter made me think about crudités platters. In a perfect world, of course, there would be no crudités platters. There would be nothing but meat and fried cheese. But sometimes you go to a funeral and you have to take a few swipes at the crudités to justify eating 50,000 Cheez-Its. What's the first thing you grab on that platter? Is it the carrot? Is it the red pepper? Is it the sugar snap pea? Those sugar snap peas have to rank pretty high up on the desirability scale for those platters. I think I usually grab the snap peas first, then I get a pea string stuck my mouth, then I go to the red pepper. Then I hit the carrot. That's my Top 3. I stay the fuck away from the raw broccoli. Raw broccoli tastes like poison.
I can't be the only person who gets overly excited when it's time to bust out the attachments during a spirited bout of vacuuming. I like to pretend I'm the world's deadliest assassin, assembling my sniper rifle on some rooftop with robotic precision- kinda like the Scorpio Killer in "Dirty Harry". I'm kind of OCD to begin with, so imagining that my house is so damned clean afterwards that a ballistics expert would be needed to "find the vacuum cleaner that did this" is extremely gratifying.
I made a deal with my wife long ago that absolved me from vacuuming (I cook and do the dishes, she does the rest). This is because I fucking hate our vacuum and have documented that hatred online. It hurts my back, and the sound of it makes me blind with rage. I understand GG's love of attachments, but I don't share it. I fucking hate having to stoop down and change the attachment just to get the vacuum to work on carpet. WHY ARE YOU SO HIGH MAINTENANCE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT?!
In fact, I hate the sound of virtually any vacuum cleaner. I worked in an office once, and once in a while the cleaning lady would come by my desk and asks me to pick up my legs so she could vacuum under my feet. Now, I should have been grateful I had a decent job where the floors are vacuumed and all that. But no, I always fucking RAGED at having to stop surfing the web and hear that goddamn vacuum under my feet. There's no rationale for it. I have an instinctive hatred of vacuum cleaner noise. I fucking hate it. When I'm working at my desk at home and the wife comes by with the vacuum, my blood pressure goes through the roof. I may have been molested by a vacuum cleaner when I was a child. That can be the only explanation.
Every time SportsCenter has some lame montage, it features some of the lamest "rock" music ever. As a former ad douche, please explain why they choose such generic shit.
What you're listening to is stock music, such as this. Stock music is preproduced by studios and then licensed out to advertisers and places like ESPN to use for background music. It's much, much cheaper than having someone write original music and then bringing musicians into a studio. So that's why you're hearing that terrible music. Because ESPN is cheap.
What's weird is that, not too long ago, ESPN didn't put ANY music underneath SportsCenter highlights. There was always music underneath highlights on NFL Primetime and Baseball Tonight (I think), but SportsCenter used to just show the game clips with their natural crowd noise. It was AWESOME. I have no idea why they switched to music. It's not like it adds anything. It's not like you want music playing while you're watching an actual game. I don't watch a football game and say to myself GODDAMN I WISH THIS THIRD AND LONG HAD SOME SERIOUS GUITAR SHREDDING UNDER IT! I don't fucking get it. It's another one of those bells and whistles ESPN added until the whole goddamn broadcast become bells and whistles. If ESPN got rid of music under game clips and went back to full screen box scores, I'd watch it again in a heartbeat.
I also hate the SportsCenter voiceover. HATE him. He's fucking terrible. He sounds like he's been gargling cat sperm over the break. "SportsCenterrrrrr. Brought to you by… PENNZOIL!" There are millions of voices out there, and that's the one they picked? And they've kept the same asshole for years. They haven't even switched it up, just to keep things fresh. It makes no sense. He sucks, and the opening titles music is still shitty compared the mid-90's version.
Now THAT's good music!
/old and grumpy
I like to take a big wad of Skittles, stuff them into my mouth until they're falling out and chew them up a little so they mesh into one big ball of skittles and then stick it to one cheek so it looks like I have a big hung of chew busting out of my cheek. That ball will take a good half hour to break down.
I believe you, given that Skittles are made of an alien radioactive element that has yet to be listed on the Periodic Table. I used to enjoy chewing on Skittles for ages until all that was left in my mouth was this kind of sugary paste. You'd think a Skittle couldn't get more sugary than in its original form. But it CAN. That pasty sugar center is none more sugary.
I also have a habit of taking foods like that and making a phony chaw out of it. This makes no sense, given that I find chewing tobacco gross and have spent a good deal of time making fun of douchebags who dip. No matter. I like the idea of having a big wad of imaginary Red Man sticking out of my cheek. IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE A MAN.
I also pretend smoke pretzel rods and pens all the time. I don't smoke actual cigarettes, for all the obvious reasons people don't smoke cigarettes. And yet, I still think it looks really fucking cool to smoke. I'm 33. I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't be this much of an impressionable moron. But I am. I watch "Mad Men" and they're all smoking and it looks so… fucking… COOL. I swear, if smoking didn't rot your lungs and make your clothes smell and turn your teeth poop brown, I'd be on that shit in a HEARTBEAT. People look awesome when they smoke. I have no idea why, but they do and they always will.
Have you ever run out of gas when you're driving? I mean just have the car completely die on you because the gas tank is in fact 100% empty? I never thought this would happen to me because I consider myself a pretty responsible tank filler. I start to panic when my needle gets anywhere near the notch above the E, but for whatever reason this one week last year I just let it go. I thought my car would at least give me some kind of hint that it is about to die, like a light or at least a goddamn buzzer but I got nothing.
I've never run out of gas while driving. As an adult, I almost always fill the tank when it gets to 1/4 full. I think that's pretty much the standard for a mature adult who owns and operates a motor vehicle. Any more in the tank than that, and you're a pussy.
When I was younger and infinitely more retarded, I'd always push the limits of the gas tank. This was almost always because I was lazy. I hated stopping and going through the whole getting gas process. I still kind of hate it, which makes me the most ungrateful human being on Earth. I'm so lazy, I can't even be bothered to stop my gas-powered car, which can take me from place to place at an incredible speed relative to past forms of transport, and get out to insert a card in a slot and pump gas, gas which has been brought TO ME at this station by a tanker truck from an oil well somewhere far away that has presumably taken thousands of man hours to erect and maintain, and has polluted the Earth to irreversible effect. I find my part in this process to be a bit too much of a strain.
Anyway, every car I've had has given me a warning light about the tank about to go empty. Ming's car is a dick for not doing likewise. That warning light always freaks me the fuck out. Oh, God. When will the gas run out? Will it be NOW? Or maybe… NOW? What about… NOW? OH GOD I'M GONNA BE DESERTED ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND FORCED TO BLOW TRUCKERS FOR SPARE ETHANOL. I've also found that, when the warning light comes on, there will not be a functioning gas station for the next ninety miles. Even if you see a gas station the pump will be busted. God is a dick like that.
(As an aside, I went to go fill up yesterday. I got out of my car, swiped my card, and the card reader asked me to swipe the card again. I did. It told me to se the attendant. Nothing in this world makes me fucking angrier than that SEE ATTENDANT graphic. Like I did something wrong at the pump and now I have to go see the fucking principal for it. I SWIPED THE CARD CORRECTLY. THE PUMP IS FUCKED. FIX YOU FUCKING PUMP SO I DON'T HAVE TO BACK UP TO ANOTHER ONE, YOU FUCKS. If someone had been operating a vacuum nearby, I have gone on a shooting spree.)
And now, a GREAT MOMENT IN LOOGIE CODDLING.
I had strep throat for a few days and my throat looked (and felt) like I had been skull fucked by Satan himself. Anyhow, the first morning I woke up and took a hot shower, I hacked up a loogie that was the size of a walnut. Not only was its girth impressive, but it was essentially a solid ball – comparable to an intact piece of bird shit or a wet owl pellet. Also, it was made entirely of tree-bark brown mucus and curdled blood. I spit that funk ball onto the floor of the shower, but it was too massive and grotesque to let go immediately, so I grabbed it and examined it for a few minutes in my hands. Would you have done the same? I was equal parts impressed and disgusted with myself.
As am I.