Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Bastiaan was from the Netherlands. I was trying to be friendly and accommodating and European and whatever, so when he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek I kissed him back. The next thing I know, his tongue is in my mouth and he's got one of his paws on my junk. I punched him in the neck, and his brother accused me of trying to start an international incident. Not to put to fine a point on it, but don't trust the Dutch.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
That's Rudy. He and I were drinking and screwing around at his parents 35th wedding annaversary and I accidentally gave his mom a karate chop in the eye. I was doing that old Furley-Fu bit from Three's Company and I got a little out of control. His dad saw the whole thing and came barreling across the gym to give me a shove, but he plants his feet right where his wife had just spilled her drink and ends up ass-over-tea kettle on the drum riser. Three months later they take me to court trying to blame his mother's newly diagnosed macular pucker on me, but it didn't take. She'd been complaining about her left eye being blurry for years.
PS. the picture next to him is of he and his wife at their wedding. I totally nailed her first. Snap!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Roger wrote this book about colon health. It's full of photos of people's poo, and he made a bunch of money off it. (He once told me that the freaky dude who played the Green Goblin in the first Spiderman wanted to option it for a movie. Whatever.) He took his first big check and had a sauna built in his bathroom. The Christmas after the book came out, he and his wife had a little dinner party where I got hugely drunk. Somebody put on the Cars first album and I was screaming along to "Just What I Needed" when I started to puke. I ran into the bathroom, took a wrong turn, and ended up in the sauna. Fortunately it wasn't on, unfortunately I couldn't hold on any longer and ending up puking all over the walls. I promptly passed out. When I came to and realized what I had done, I tried to clean up the mess with a wadded up handful of toilet paper. This went on for hours as I kept passing out and waking up again. At around four in the morning his wife Judy walks in and sees me and the puke and the toilet paper everywhere and starts kicking me and screaming. The only words I could make out between the shrieks were, "Cedar is an aromatic wood, FUCKING ASSHOLE!" The photo of Roger is one I took four years later. He wouldn't even look me in the eye. Can't you just feel his colon seething?
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I tried internet dating back when it first started appearing in Penthouse Letters. Almost instantly this girl Annette contacted me. We chatted online for about a week before she told me she was in the mood for a "serious ass punching." I told her we should meet that night and gave her my phone number. She called and asked me to meet her at this coffee shop down the street from my apartment. I got there and didn't see anyone that looked like the picture she sent me, so I figured she must be late. Two seconds after I sat down, this dude sits down across from me and tells me he's Andy. He then tells me about how he's the one I've been talking to on line, and that the photo he sent was of his sister. I asked who I had been talking to on the phone and he said that that was his sister also, but that he had been telling her what to say. I stood up to leave and he started yelling that I shouldn't turn my back on love, and that it was his words I had fallen in love with so our love was still real, and a bunch of other crazy shit. He also told me I was shallow for not wanting to give him a chance. I stood up and walked away. He caught up with me about a half a block later and asked if he could just give me a blow job and told me that he didn't expect me to reciprocate. I'll admit I was tempted, but I figured that was probably a lie too.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
So I met Rebekah at this bar called "Bob and Betty's 160 club." It's dark and kind of country-style, but it has shuffleboard so I can't complain. I used this line on her that had something to do with cooking her breakfast, something too well thought out to actually be witty, but this girl flips for it when I start talking omelettes. Dawn breaks and she starts bugging me about this omelette. I tell her that I can't really cook and that it was just a line. She freaks, throws her clothes on, and then starts throwing books at me. She screams something about how her not having an orgasm is bad enough, but lying about an omelette is totally unacceptable. I have to admit, it kind of turned me on that she was so crazy about breakfast.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Kristin was one of my sister’s friends. She spent the weekend at our house on fourth of July because she didn’t want to go with her family to Lake Tahoe. I made some serious attempts to get with her but she was uninterested. She told me that she just wasn’t into ugly guys. I thought that was a real bitchy thing to say so I told her that she was going to regret it, because I’m hard like that when dealing with girls a couple years younger than me. After she drove away I called the cops and told them that she had tried to sell me dope. They pulled her over before she got home and as luck would have it she had an ounce of pot, several dozen pair of stolen “panties,” and a dead squirrel, in her trunk. Whoops.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Kathy and I dated for a while. Long enough for me to talk her into making some videos. Long enough for my ex-friend Stewart to find them on my computer and upload them to youtube. Long enough for her to find out that over 45,000 people had watched her do those things on video, and that hundreds of them had left comments about her technique, her body, her lisp, even the horribly outdated Stevie Ray Vaughn poster on her wall. Also long enough for me to end up in the emergency room getting sixteen stitches right above my hairline from this tacky blown glass and driftwood lamp that was also seen in the video. I blame myself, that lamp should have clued me into the fact that this girl was the crazy-throwin’-shit-type.