March 2012 Archives

the dark night

Continuing from here

Monday came, and with it, my Laura-less life. She gave me a wide berth at work, and eventually I gagged out a congratulatory email about her engagement. Saturday, we assembled at my house for the final decorations party. And sometime that night, I adopted a new ethic:

Twenty, schmenty.

The sparks flew between Kristi and me, and everyone saw it. Especially Laura. By the time Kristi and I'd planned a date, Laura was all but juggling and riding a unicycle to get my attention. She draped herself on me. When that failed, she burst into tears and crumpled on my floor, wailing about what a bad mother she was. At some point, she and Kristi wrestled me to the ground to give me the good spanking I so richly deserved.

Is this heaven? No, it's Redmond.

• • •

I will resent my father until my last breath for not telling me to pit one hot chick against the other. I had to discover this for myself? At 30! Irredeemable fucker.

• • •

A third admin asked her husband, the only other man present, to run to the store and get some ice. He was despondent. "Please don't make me leave. There's gonna be nudity soon..." he whimpered. To the store he went.

Laura stood atop my coffee table and danced. And then, in front of her co-workers, her subordinate, my neighbors, and her five year old son, she stripped. When she was done, she threw me her thong.

It should have been more enjoyable than it was, but the whole...son...thing mitigated any carnal pleasure. Laura flipped the switch back to waterworks, seeking assurances again that she was not a horrible mother. The crowd found those assurances harder to come by this time.

The husband came back with ice. He was inconsolable. "I never get to see stuff like that anymore," he sighed.

I put Laura and her son in my bed, telling her to sleep it off and warding off her sloppy advances. And then I went out in the living room, where Kristi awaited.


On Sunday, neither one of them would leave. There was no discussion about it. They just. Didn't. Leave. They sat on my couch under blankets, asking for more food and movies, please, until about 11pm, at which point they seemed to telepathically decide to go to their respective homes.

On Monday morning, I had a horrible flu and called in sick. Sometime around noon, drugged out of my mind, I answered a knock at my door. There was Laura and about six inches of cleavage, barely constrained in what appeared to be a teddy, blazer and miniskirt. They were collectively holding a soup pot.

Next installment: Batshit Returns

batshit begins

A while back, I was pursuing Laura, an admin assistant at Microsoft. I was not alone. From the first lunch, she made it clear there was another guy. "But it's not like we're getting married or anything," she said, supposing incorrectly that that would be the slightest impediment to me.

Laura was interesting and attractive, and remarkably, she found me interesting and attractive, so I was smitten. When she asked if our building's admins could use my house to assemble lobby decorations for Halloween, I said yes. Soon my house was filled with hot, drunk young women, and I was congratulating myself over my best decision ever.

One of the hot young women was Kristi, Laura's assistant. "Thank you Jeebus!" I thought as I surveyed my living room. But I was focused on Laura. Between decoration parties, we continued to go out. One Saturday, we were going to build decorations by day and go to the ballet that night.

We sat at my table for lunch, and I served them whatever it was I'd prepared. Laura sat up, clapped her hands excitedly, and chirped, "Okay, everyone! I have an announcement!" She held her left hand out for inspection. "I'm engaged!"

Well. This was a new one.

As stunned by the means as I was by the message, I listed my way through lunch. Sensing something was bothering me, Laura came up to me afterward. "So are we still on for tonight?"

"No, we are not still on for tonight."

"But why?"

I stared at her impassively. She finally went away. I was disappointed, yes, and offended. But I was also at the height of my powers, and I determined that I would salvage the day yet. I would go out with Kristi, the hot assistant.

Kristi was smoking on my back deck. I cut a cigar and joined her for what became several hours of conversation. She was and remains the sexiest, most charming girl I've ever known. Emphasis, sadly, on "girl."

I asked her if she wanted to go grab drinks. This flustered her. I could feel the rejection coming.

"Oh. Um. I mean. Sure, I'd like to. But you know I'm 20, right?"

No. No, 30 year-old me did not know this. Nor suspect it.

This was officially an unrecoverable position, a datus terribilis. I called Dorkass and told her I was coming over. When I arrived, bless 'er, she had shots lined up on her counter.

Reportedly, I was soon lying on her couch and declaring "You're all one bitch. One bitch with many faces."

Next installment: things get insane. And aggressively naked.

hunger games: the review

Kids killing kids = good

They could have been younger, though.

victims of the week: the hunger games racists

Rewarding achievements in claiming victimization

The Hunger Games book has these characters Rue and Thresh, described thusly:

"And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that's she's very like Prim in size and demeanor.

The boy tribute from District 11, Thresh, has the same dark skin as Rue, but the resemblance stops there."

Naturally, when black actors were cast as these black characters, outrage ensued.

"Why does Rue have to be black not gonna lie kinda ruined the movie," wrote Nobel Laureate Maggie McDonell on Twitter.

"Awkward moment when Rue is some black girl and not the little innocent blonde girl you picture," another 'tard commented

"Call me racist but when I found out Rue was black her death wasn't as sad," wrote Jasper Paras.

Good idea. You're racist, Jasper. And astonishingly without self-awareness and even remedial reading comprehension.

This is just garden-variety idiocy, though. What makes these folks transcendent is that some of them are now complaining that in being called racist, they're being cyberbullied.

Yes. That's the lesson here. You're the victims.


Two people sent me this cartoon. When I confided this fact to Allie, she admitted that she almost sent it to me, too. It's little things like this that make ya go hmm.


tea leaves

The visiting Allie exited my bathroom. "I left your toilet paper the way you like it," she snapped. I went in and looked. The toilet paper roll was resting vertically on the spindle. God bless her, she remembered.

toilet paper john.jpg

punching your weight, part ii

My alarming capacity for delusion continues unabated.

"Look at her," I thought of a cute brunette. "Just the perfect level of prettiness. Attractive, but not unattainably so."

It was Kate Middleton.

allergist math

"I'm just going to prick your skin five times," said the allergist. That didn't sound so bad. And then she came at me with an apparatus that looked kind of like spiked brass knuckles, with six clusters of nine tiny needles. And just like that, her "five pricks" became 270.

Dissatisfied with the results, she asked if she could do a more accurate test, this time inserting a traditional hypodermic needle and injecting the allergen. "I only want to test for two things," she said. Why, that didn't sound so bad. She then proceeded to bring in 14 vials of allergens to inject: 8 molds and 6 plants. Somewhere around the 13th injection, I asked her how she lives with herself.

"It's not lying, mostly," she said.


Today's post is dedicated to Mrs. Poaches, who really couldn't have been more wrong.

Here's my trophy shot, slices of New York and Chicago on the same plate.


On the left we have Rocco's, the only NYC pie I could find that ships overnight. They only ship cheese pies, so that's my green pepper and Boar's Head pepperoni. On the right we have Giordano's "Chicago special" stuffed pizza, with mushrooms, green
peppers, onions and pepperoni.

Rocco's was good, not great, and only a fair representative of random pizza in NYC. It certainly has the consistency and proportions down; the slices were foldable and red grease dribbled down my wrist. Heaven. My only knock was with the blandness and general dryness of the crust. This was probably due to half-assed packing. The pie arrives mildly chilled, not frozen, stuffed into a ziplock bag and tossed into an envelope with a cube of dry ice.

Giordano's by contrast, is a slick operation. Their 22 pounds of pies arrived frozen solid, packed in custom styrofoam coolers lined with dry ice. I think it makes a difference. Their flakey, pie-like crusts were pretty much exactly like in Chicago. Why Giordano's thinks 20 minutes at 425 will thaw the center of the pie, I do not know, but an additional 20 minutes with foil covering the crust did the trick.

As for the pies themselves, it was really no contest, but not in the way I expected. I generally prefer NYC thin crust. Chicago stuffed is like an Italian casserole baked in a flaky pie crust, which is like the best idea ever but it's not what I think of as pizza. That said, I can't imagine ordering Rocco's again. If I came upon them in NYC, I would just keep walking and take my chances with the next establishment. Perhaps I'm being unfair; perhaps that goofy ziplock bag sabotaged their crust. But you know what? At $110 for four 12" cheese pizzas, that's hardly my fault.

So, Giordano's is the winner by TKO. C'mon, New York. Get your shit together and ship me a contender.


Every once in a while, there's a combination of news stories that just makes you stop and go "Huh."

old math

Bonnie says:
i'm going to take the rest of the day off, if that's okay, on account of IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!

John says:
hey, happy birthday! how old are you? 24? 23?

Bonnie says:
thanks! i still can't believe it, but i'm 47...

John says:
so the answer to my question is "both."

On Friday, a childhood dream will be fulfilled. A bucket list will get one notch shorter. An artery will clog.

On Friday, I will sign for overnight deliveries from Chicago and New York. And then I will eat New York and Chicago pizzas side by side. Why? Because I thought of it.

If part of you doesn't want to be me on Friday, there's something broken within you. Get professional help.

• • •

During some elementary school attempt to get us to like intrinsically unlikable foods, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Poaches, showed us flash cards with nutritional information on them. I remember that liver was chock full of nutrients, and that nothing I enjoyed eating had a vitamin even accidentally. "SHOW US PIZZA!" we squealed in unison. And then we all affirmed our mutual love of pizza. Why, we could eat pizza every single day.

"I know you think you could," winced Mrs. Poaches. "But believe me, someday that won't sound so good."

I'm still waiting for someday.

• • •

Fun Fact I've had three ex-girlfriends say this exact sentence: "I haven't ordered a pizza since we broke up."

results: worst dance song

I think Stank troll David beats me with his suggestion of Lou Reed's Walk on the Wild Side. Truly undanceable, in a violates-the-Geneva-Convention sort of way. What pushes it over the top is that unlike my selection, it was actually a hit.

Here's mine: Fruteland Jackson's Blues 2.0. I defy you to look good dancing to that song. God knows my dogs don't.

PITA Stank troll Marta suggested Tom Jones' cover of "Kiss," which is a truly wretched song, yes, but it hasn't completely eradicated Prince's inherent dancability. But Marta, if ever there were a list of Songs It's Impossible to Have Sex To, this would be in my top 5.

worst dance song

Some friends met on a dance floor at a college party. "It was Cisco Kid by War," she observes. "Have you ever tried to dance to that freaking song? It's a seriously awkward way to meet your future husband." She then pantomimed walking across ice while having a seizure after six Valium.

This got me thinkin.'

What's the worst dance song ever? I know my nominee, but I'll see if you all can beat it.

good stuff

Longtime Stank troll Tommy sends in this web comment about Peyton Manning's release:

"I haven't been this surprised that a quarterback got released since the cops let Ben Roethlisberger go."

This link greeted me on CNN this weekend. I stared at it for what felt like an hour, contemplating what its existence means for our civilization.


sheryl crow quote

That photo of Danica spreading her legs (exactly like Blake Griffin!) always makes me think of something Sheryl Crow said back in the late 90s, about then-teen-ho sensations Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. She felt sorry for them, for their futures. "When you're rubbing your crotch on the camera lens at 18, where do you have to go from there?"

Prophetic, no?

moron taxonomy
stupid church signs
super bowl xl officiating
percy chronicles

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