McDonald Exposed!

We grew up knowing Ronald McDonald as this happy go – lucky successful clown. Always happy, chillin with Mayor McCheese and the Hamburgler. How times have changed! Recently a “new” ad has come out with a more health conscious Ronald. But it is not the same clown. It is an imposter!

What is this world coming to when you have to replace “Ronald McDonald”? Well we have the story. It seems the real Ronald after years of cheeseburgers and fries along with the strip clubs and booze could no longer deliver that happy go – lucky clown image. In fact, it is rumored that Ronald has a crack addiction. Our investigation has revealed that Ronald has several health problems along with many STD’s. Friends close to Ronald say that he has recently been dealing with genital warts. Can Ronald turn his life around? Was the Jareed pitch too much for him to swallow? We recently caught up with Ronald, but he declined to comment.

Truth or Dare

It was a pretty fun game we used to play on the old site. Here is an example of a lovely young lady that played along..

 

Lawn Jocky

October, 2005

“Can I ask a favor” she said? I have been interested in this girl for sometime but I kept getting the “lets be friends” signal. So today when she asked if I could go help out her grandmother with her yard I jumped at the opportunity to score some brownie points and maybe do a little showing off while I was at it.

I took off early and met her there. Granny was cool and I caught a glance of her giving Monica a “wink”. This was a good sign I thought as I headed out to tackle the leaves then mow the lawn. The leaves were all collected up as Monica and Granny watched from the patio. I went to the garage to get the mower, which was one of those ride on kind. How much easier could it get? I mount the thing (I said mount) and checked out all of the contraptions. For the record, I have never in my life operated one of these ride on mowers, but hey, I am a guy it should be a breeze.

It had a steering wheel and pedals; any moron could understand what was going on. I quickly read the starting instructions and turned the key. The engine roared to life (as much as a lawn engine can roar) and I idled out onto the lawn and into view of my audience. Concentrating on the performance rather than the lawn I decided to take off my shirt. I did it in my best Patrick Swayze and felt the eyes staring.

DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME

I put the thing in gear, and assuming it was like a push mower I punch the accelerator to full throttle. If you have never ridden one of these they go pretty fast. The thing takes off like a bat out of hell. I am holding on for dear life. I panic and decide to steer it like a car as I am racing along the yard. Me taking the wheel sent it teetering all about. I believe that I was shrieking at this point as it picked up speed. I notice out of the corner of my eye that neighbors are gathering and now pointing. I look down and see it, a brake pedal. Maybe there was still time to save face.

I pull my leg around and STOMP on the brake pedal. What I did not realize at the time was that it was actually the emergency stop. Stop it did, instantly. Off the seat I went, up and over the hood of this thing. As if I were in slow motion I saw the ground coming. I hit, bounced and plowed face first into Granny’s lawn.

Dazed, I gather myself up. I felt road rash, or rather grass rash along the side of my face. My chest was all green as if I slide into an imaginary grassy home plate. My pants were torn over my right knee and my head now throbbed. Up onto all fours, then straight up, I look around at what seemed liked a hundred people looking at me trying their best not to laugh. As I stood there dumbfounded and embarrassed, Monica and Granny walk towards me. Granny, with disgust on her face mounts the lawn monster, cranks it up and proceeds to tend to the lawn. I look towards Monica for some sign of understanding. “Thanks a lot” she says and walks past me. At that moment the crowd that had gathered all began to clap in unison.

I learned a valuable lesson today.

But as I sit here sipping a cocktail bruised, battered and feeling sorry for myself, I could not tell you what that lesson was.

Back from the ER

Nov, 2005

For those of you that know me, or have read this blog you know that I like to share with you my bowels and the movement of said bowels. You will also know that I do not like “Away Games”, meaning I like to crap exclusively on my own toilet unless it is absolutely an emergency. Well this was and turned out to be a bigger emergency than I had planned for.
{Disclaimer – I know that I some times tend to take the liberty of stretching the facts in some of my posts. For the record, this is 100% an accurate account of such events}

I left work and headed over to a friend’s house. We were to go out and catch a movie and a bite to eat. We both arrived at said friend’s house from work about the same time. Said friend wanted to take a shower and change before we headed out. No problem. While said friend was showering, I had the urge, the one that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can not ignore. The eye watering, gut wrenching, gas bubble of a shit in the works. I knew we were on the road, but this game would have to be played. Luckily, said friend had a guest bathroom. I figured that I could get in and out without being noticed. I get into the guest bathroom, undo the belt, release the button, and drop trou. Before my ass can hit the seat the rush of release came. As uncommon as it is for me to be in this position, the relief I felt was beyond words. It was an almost orgasmic feeling as I purged the poisons within my bowels. Once the quivering subsided and I knew the mission had been accomplished, I was proud that this time I was victorious at the away game. In my haste however, I hadn’t the time to do the usual 10 point inspection of the surroundings insuring that it was safe to unload.

 

MISTAKE NUMBER ONE. In my haste to complete the deposit and get outta there before said friend realized I was taking a huge dump in their guest bathroom, I failed to notice that there was no clean up material. Not even an empty roll. I quickly went through the cabinets searching for something that I could use. Nothing! There I sat unclothed in the most undignified position with out anything to wipe my ass with.
THAT IS WHEN I SAW IT

 

MISTAKE NUMBER TWO. I picked up the container and was relieved. Said friend had seemed to move into the modern age and instead of the old boring ass wipeage, said friend had the latest and greatest tool for ass wiping. “Clean up Wipes” the container said. “Lemon scented and quilted”. It sounded very refreshing!
On our way to the movie, I got a burning sensation that words can not describe. My ass was literally on fire. Over what seemed like seconds, it spread to my whole crotch area, too include the twins. Said friend asked what was wrong. I barely could catch my breath to explain the events in my nether regions. I explained to said friend that I must be having an allergic reaction to the toilet wipes. I quickly explained the away game to said friend in which, said friend began laughing hysterically. Said friend suggested that we make our way to the closest ER. Said friend explained that the “Clean up wipes” that I had used on my ass and nether region were actually bathroom cleaning supplies.
I write to you, back from the ER, humiliated as each and every person there tried unsuccessfully not to bust out laughing. My anus is swollen to the size of a tennis ball (probably more like the size of a golf ball, but it feels much worse) and I have a chemical burn across my ass and other “Important” areas.
Just thought that I would share that.

Have I fallen for the “Geek Squad” Girl

July, 2006

After several attempts and much frustration, it had gotten the better of me. I am not a patient person by nature, and it is a wonder that the thing isn’t in a million little pieces, but after the fifth attempt of reloading and yet crashing once again, I knew that this would call for an expert if I were to rid the demons from my Dell. I am convinced at this point that Microslop and Dell are in cahoots together to provide shady products they no longer make mega profits on so that they can rake in the cash from service items and repairs. I needed an expert. I was not going to call “Sangie” again in India for him to tell me to “reboot”. I have rebooted the fucker hundreds of times. I needed a plan. I took the advice of the blog world and as much as it killed me, I called the “Geek Squad”. The same little fuckers that I once tormented, harassed and cheated from in school, I would now call upon and rely on to fix my problem, to make things right. What irony.

I perused the yellow pages and found the number. I dialed the number, hoping that they would not recognize my voice (you never know). “Walter” answered the phone and I explained my problem. I inquired about pricing and that set him off on a geek tangent. He began talking hard drives, ram, gigs, boards and cards. My head was spinning. He continued on with trojans, exe files, worms and BLAH, fucking BLAH. I stopped Walter mid sentence with “How much to just check the thing out”. There was a pause. I heard the flipping of pages and finally Walter tells me the price for them to come to my house to check it verses the price of me taking it in. FYI, Mike is a cheap bastard and I told Walter that I would be in.

I carried the Dell into the “Geek Squad” location and up to the “Geek Squad” counter. I was greeted by an odd sort of girl. Her hair was dyed pitch black and although she sported the “Geek Squad” buttoned down shirt, the rest of her get up was comprised of a plaid skirt with black stockings and big ass chunky shoes. The ones with the 8 inch slab of rubber for a heel. Although she was odd looking and defiantly a “Geek Squader” I found her rather pleasant to look at. I explained my situation and frustration and how my exorcism had failed. We carried the Dell into the operating room and she opened it up. She stared loading discs and crap into it and connected it to the life support unit and went to work. I watched her work and noticed that this “Geek” had quite the rack on her, “The Guns of The Navarone”. She hid it well under the “Goth”, “pippylongstocking” look, but they were there. I was my usual self, cracking jokes and such and over the half hour I was there with her, we connected. She said that my mother thingie was something or another and a card was needed and so on. She said it would take about a week to get all of the parts and warranty stuff in, but would be no problem. I asked her jokingly if she could deliver it back to me in one of the “Geek Bugs”. Our eyes locked for what seemed an eternity and she smiled and said “Sure”. What day and time should I come by? Floored, with both feet in my mouth, never expecting that reaction, I stammered and stuttered and told her any time the following week. I gave her my number and told her to give me at least a 24 hour notice. As I handed the sheet over to her our skin grazed and again, time stopped as we stared at one another.

 The entire way home I had visions of “Geek Squad Sex”. Hundreds of scenarios played out in my head. By the time that I got home I had convinced myself that I had made more of it than what had really happened. I got home and noticed I had a voice message. It was her “Geekiness”. She confirmed the delivery of the parts and called and left me a day and time she would be over. She ended it with “Looking forward to seeing you again”. Can it be

Going up……………

Sept. 2005

Why me, why me I ask. Today I had to go see a client in his downtown location. No big deal, it gets me out of the office for the day. The meeting will actually only take less than a few hours, so the rest of the day is screw off time for me. Yes, it was a beautiful day indeed. I was anxious to get this over with. Just nod and tell the fat bastard what he wants to hear and I’ll be outta there quicker than a “Ho-ho” at a weight watchers convention.
I arrive at the building and realize that I am going to have to deal with the whole parking situation and “Ali” the proprietor of the over priced parking slab. Again, no problem. The price one must pay for a day of screwing off. “Dank you berry much,” Ali says as I slip him extra to keep a good eye on my ride. In this city, cars disappear in minutes. As I cross the intersection with all of the “go getters” hurrying to get their noses up someone’s ass I notice an older lady hobbling. I notice that one of her heels has snapped off, probably a “Buy on get on free” deal from Payless or somewhere. She was carrying a bag along with some files and I thought that she might fall, so I offered her a hand. She turned and looked at me with a scowl that reminded me “Witchy Poo” from H.R. Puff N Stuff, and told me to “Fuck off”. Oh, life in the big city. I continued heading for the building imaging her getting hit by a bus. I enter the building and look at the information board to see what floor my guy is on. The 11th floor was my destination.

I enter the elevator with 4 other people. A rather large black lady who could pass for a younger version of Aretha Franklin, an older guy wearing polyester high waters, who had a hearing aid, a guy wearing one of those funny Jewish caps and braids, and this really smoking looking red head. I announce my floor and “Free Willy” Aretha labors to push it for me. “Thanks” I say, wondering how many calories she burnt doing that. No one says a word as we start to ascend. Somewhere between the 4th and 5th floors, my day took a turn for the worse.
The elevator slams to a stop and the lights flicker. Now picture this, Aretha starts some “oh, Lord Jesus help us chant”, the old guy begins to sweat profusely and the guy with the funny beanie is eye balling all of us like we were all in on this. I glance over to the hot chick. She calmly smiles and I am thinking, “I wish it were just her and I in this predicament”. Within seconds, the walls feel like they are closing in. I coax Aunt Jimima away from the elevator panel to see if the is a phone or a call button. There is. I pick up the receiver and wait. The other side comes alive, “Yello”. “Yeah we’re like stuck in the elevator somewhere in between the 4th and 5th floors,” I say into the handset. “I’m jest the Janitor,” the voice says. “Well, can you let someone know” I ask. “Si Senior, jest wait,” he tells me as if I were going anywhere. Minutes now seem like hours as we all pretend that we are not in the situation that we are. The lights once again flicker, go out, and come back on.

You know how your mind starts wandering and thinking all sorts of things in panic mode. That is where I am folks!

I start wondering if we would survive the fall. I think about my funeral and headstone. I wonder if my family would honor my wishes of being buried naked. I wonder what we will do if the old guy has a heart attack and dies. There is no way I am giving him CPR. I wonder if the Jewish dude is circumcised and then begin to wonder why I would wonder that, questioning my sexuality. I think it is their religion or something. I wonder what will happen when Shanaynay gets hungry. Who will she eat first? Right about now, we have to all be looking like some chicken wings to her. I wonder if the hot chick is single. I wonder if she swallows, I wonder if it is appropriate to sport wood while stuck in an elevator. I wonder if anyone has to fart and technically, since we are stuck, if it is an instance where it would not be perceived as rude? 45 minutes later, we begin to descend and the doors open. Again, “Baby’s got back” starts with the “Thank you Jesus” chanting, the old man looks as if his diaper needs changing, the Jewish guy still looks weird with the beanie and the braids and the hot red head approaches, smiles and hands me her number saying “call me sometime”.

So I missed my appointment and called the guy and explained. Laughing, he tells me that we were the talk of the building. He continues telling me he was booked until 3:30, but if I stuck around, he would see me. So my day of screwing off turned into a day from hell. But I called the hot red head’s number and we are meeting for lunch this Thursday! So all wasn’t lost.

FARTING ETIQUETTE

WOW, 2012. Today I have stumbled across what could be a blessing or a curse. I was an avid Blogger way back in the day. I have tried to get back into it, but it just wasn’t in me to start from scratch. We’ll it seems that someone saved a huge chunk of what I had posted over the years, so I have decided to repost some of the rants from over those years. Just always remember, “I’m Not Touching You!” Enjoy!

I now take you back to Saturday, September 17th, 2005 – This one caused a lot of chatter (note, I am not re-editing at all so you still get all of the grammar errors)

Why is it wrong or rude to fart?
I was in a meeting this week. In this meeting there were about eight or nine others that looked about as interested in this meeting as I was. Who calls a fucking meeting at 7:00 AM? I am tired of hearing “Well it is 7:00 PM in China”. That is who was on the phone in this meeting. As my mind pondered as to this early hour and why the hell are we doing business inChina it started! That undeniable pressure beginning to build deep in the bowels. It makes perfect sense to me as normally I would be on the shitter taking my morning dump at this hour, but instead I am here listening to concerns and issues about getting product fromAsia and the cost of doing so. “It’s a cost savings,” I say to myself. Then again the pressure, a bubble just churned inside me. I need to release it. Can I sneak it out? Will it stink? Will they know it is me?

I hate situations like this. Why must we have to hold in and endure the pain of what is natural. Why is it that my fart would be offensive? We have come so far in today’s world. When are we going to say it is OK to fart? I know that you all agree with me. Why must people look at you like a maggot because you farted? It is not like one can control his or her bodily functions.

I look at my watch, 7:45. Through watery eyes, I look over at Anthony. Does he have to fart, I wonder. I listen to Chung Chang on the phone. He could fart if he needed to and we would never know. Is farting OK inChinaI wonder? My cheeks are clenched as I hold back the massive pressure within my crack. I begin to sweat. Elisabeth looks across at me. I must be white or something. I wonder if she knows I need to fart. Maybe she is holding back a wet one as well. 8:00 am. My mouth is bone dry. I have chills. I now can hear the fart churning in my bowels. I wonder if they know. Maybe they think it is my stomach.

Why must we as a nation suffer like this? I would love to be in the isle at the grocery store and just rip one. If it were acceptable, you’d have people say, “Good one”. Instead, if we fart in public we embarrassedly say, “Excuse me” as if we committed a crime. Imagine how liberating it would be to squeeze one out on a bus, or in an elevator.

8:30. I had my chance. Too late. This once harmless fart is now a raging shit I can no longer deny. With my bung puckered, my only concern now is weather or not I can hold out and not shit my pants. That would be offensive! But if I could have just farted when I needed to all of this could have been avoided. I get up. Everyone in the room is now looking at me. Of course, the door is across the room. I make my way toward it, excusing myself as I bump into people and their chairs. Martha looks at me as if to say, “I knew you wouldn’t make it”. I free myself from the anti farting session and make my way down the hallway. I see the place, my freedom. It looks to be miles away. Do I run and risk premature bowel release? No, act like everything is OK. I get to the bathroom. I head for the stall, drop trou, and before I hit the seat, a stream of liquid shit explodes from my anal canal.

I say that we petition to make farting acceptable in this great land. I am sure that the president can fart anytime he wishes and no one says a word. Just once, I would like to be able to fart in a public setting and hold my head high, be proud that I released my butt demons and was not ashamed. Think of a world where farting was the norm. A whole new world of topics and conversations would evolve.

There I sit. Spent, tired and weary. The stench of what started as a harmless fart has ended as a wet soupy mix in the bowl beneath me. I wonder what they are saying in the meeting. I wonder if they are relaying what has occurred to Chung Chang on the phone. I clean up with the pitiful excuse of toilet paper the company provides to wipe my ass with savings, and compose myself for the re-entry into the meeting. I exit the stall and notice the look on the other users faces in the room. A look as if I have somehow violated company policy by shitting such as I did. I go wash my hands and notice how they quickly pee and get out of there. As I wash my hands and look in the mirror amongst the stench that was once a harmless fart, I feel proud. I rise up and push my shoulders back as if I just scored. Yeah, that was me, I think to myself as I strut back up the hallway to my 7:00AM meeting.

Colorado Springs

It has been 21 years since I have seen the place!!!! WOW, what a change!

Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign