Raunchy Comedy

(Warning! Much Raunchiness below)

I just completed two seasons of Louie on Netflix. Enjoyed it very much.  I just now noticed that the show is “Louie” but he spells his name “Louis.” Okay, then. Here is some comedy inspired by Louis C.K. Just imagine me on stage …

I am leaving the bathroom earlier and I didn’t wash my hands. That’s right. I admit it. I don’t always wash my hands. We all do it. We all sometimes don’t wash our hands. So get over it, already. I am walking out and some bathroom Nazi calls me out for not washing my hands. He says to me, “Didn’t your mom teach you to wash your hands after going to bathroom?” I say, ” My mom taught me not to piss on my hands.”

So let me get this straight. I am sitting on the toilet taking a shit … taking a shit. I am not taking a shit. I am leaving a shit. Why don’t we say leaving a shit? I understand why we don’t say give a shit because giving a shit means you care. Certainly we all “care” about shitting and pissing, we care that it is not out in the open for all to see. But when I take a shit I don’t give a shit, I leave a shit.

Anyway. I am taking a shit. I wipe my ass. The idea behind washing ones hands is that wiping your ass after taking a shit is dirty business, and so you want to make sure your hands are clean. Cleaner than your ass, anyway. For the sake of argument let’s say I got some fecal matter on my hands. It happens, right? So, I want to wash my hands. But first I have to pull up my pants. Tuck in my shirt.  Zip and button my pants. Fasten my belt. And THEN I wash my hands!?!? I doubt I have any more shit on my hands because I have left it behind on my pants, shirt, and belt!

What we need to do is wash our hands before we reassemble our cloths. So what I do, because I really am into cleanliness, I wash my hands first! I stand up and flush the toilet, but I don’t touch any of my clothes. My pants and underwear are around my knees. They are NOT around my ankles. If they are around my ankles then they are on the floor. And bathroom floors, especially in men’s room, are hazardous biological waste zones. There can’t be many things more dirty than the floor of public men’s restroom. Nasty places.

So, my pants and underwear are not touching the floor, they are around my knees. But I ain’t touching them until my hands are clean! I have my feet spread and my knees splayed, holding up my pants and underwear without touching them. I waddle out of the bathroom stall. I am basically naked. Bare ass. My dick and balls are hanging out for anyone to see. I waddle over to the sink and wash my hands. Then I have to waddle over to dry my hands, waddling with my dick and balls shaking and shimmying, swaying back and forth. My old man balls slapping against each thigh. I dry my hands, and NOW I can pull up pants.

Have you ever thought about the mathematics used to create toilets? Someone, somewhere, did some serious number crunching to determine the water level in toilets. Because no matter what toilet I use they all seem to be perfectly designed so that when a turd leaves my asshole and plops into the water the resulting splash is just enough to wet my ass. Just think about the math here. Toilet bowl width and depth. The mass of my turd. Splash. Right on my ass. Course, I already pissed in that water, because the first thing you do when you sit down to take a shit is you take a piss. And maybe I already dropped one turd, or shit with some other composition, so that splash of water ain’t just water! And then for that first wipe you have to use extra toilet paper and fold it so it is extra wide so you can dry a wider area. The splash zone. Gotta cover the entire splash zone.

Speaking of water on the ass, I don’t get bidets. Maybe because I didn’t grow up with a bidet, but I just don’t get it. Okay, so I get a little splash of water on my asshole. Clean water, and not the turd splash from earlier. Now what? It isn’t clean! All I have is wet shit around my anus. How can that water fountain of a splash of bidet water actually clean the shit off my ass? It doesn’t! It just wets it. What I need is a power wash. Sppprrrish!! I need someone down there with goggles and rubber gloves, put that power washer on max and spray me clean. Sppprrisshhh!! That would clean up that shit.

Okay. So I got the water fountain stream from the bidet onto my dirty asshole. Now I have to clean it, right? Not with toilet paper! Toilet paper can handle the turd splash cleanup, but it would just crumple apart if I use it for the bidet splash. Then I would get bits of wet toilet paper clinging to my anus and near-anus. Clumps of wet toilet paper clinging to the hair. That’s right. I have hair down there. I don’t do porn, so I got hair around my asshole. I hear that sometimes a towel is available for using after spraying your ass with a bidet. A towel? Then don’t I need two towels? One that I can use to remove the shit, and another to dry? In fact, I am gonna bidet my asshole twice. Rinse, wipe clean, rinse again, wipe dry. Two different towels.

But what I really want is that power wash. Spppprrishh!! Get that shit clean. After the dude … wait, let’s make that a woman. A chick. Hey, this is my fantasy bathroom so I want a chick power spaying shit off my asshole, not some dude. After that chick with the goggles and rubber gloves power washes me clean – Sppprrrishhh!! – then I leave may pants and underwear around my knees, and waddle over to one of them air dryers. Get my ass up there and get everything nice and dry. Now I don’t even have to wash my hands! Perfect.

Okay. I’m done. Thank you very much. Thank you. Good night.

Nothing to See Here. Move Along.

Let’s be clear about one thing. I am not at all sad about my life.

I suppose there are plenty of luckless souls who could say they lead a more boring life then me, but I wouldn’t believe it until I see pudding with the proof. That’s right, I am saying I lead the most boring of lives, at least by the standard of some. I am, of course, applying an external judgment, since I am rarely bored. However, I am measuring myself against our culture’s idea of what comprises a complete, fulfilling life … yeah, something like that.

So. Here is what I do.

I would categorize my days in two ways: weekday or weekend, and with kids or no kids. Which, I guess, is really four ways: weekday with kids, weekday no kids, weekend with kids, weekend no kids.

Weekday With Kids

I work a regular, full-time job, so I suppose one could say my weekdays begin when I get home from work. I could talk about work, but, you know, work is work. It is not who I am. I never see or visit with work acquaintances outside of work. Let’s just skip it.

Weekdays begin when I get home from work, which is 6PM. Half the time I go to yoga. The other half I head directly home. We might eat out, or eat in. We do dine out often. Whatever. If the kids are in school then it is usually homework time. If I’m not mixing with the kids I might read, or play a computer game, or watch TV/Netflix. Kids go to bed. I stay up later where I might read, or play a computer game, or watch TV/Netflix. If the kids are not in school then we are more likely to watch a movie/TV together.

 

Weekday No Kids

Pretty much same as with kids. I might eat out at a restaurant/bar and drink some beer. More likely to go to yoga after work if the kids aren’t at home. Otherwise I might read, or play a computer game, or watch TV/Netflix.

Weekend With Kids

When the kids were younger we used to engage in more activities on weekends. Like, the zoo, museum, etc. Now they are teenagers and are more apt to just do their own thing. We’ll go to the movie theater sometimes, and the odd activity here and there. I almost always go to yoga on both Saturday and Sunday. Otherwise I might read, or play a computer game, or watch TV/Netflix.

Weekend No Kids

Pretty much same as with kids. I might eat out at a restaurant/bar and drink some beer. For sure do yoga both days. Otherwise I might read, or play a computer, or watch TV/Netflix.

My Sum is Greater than my Parts

As you can see, it is just me; sometimes accompanied by kids; there are work acquaintances and small talk with those at the restaurants/bars. Otherwise I might read, or play a computer, or watch TV/Netflix.

Nothing to see here; move along.

Long Live Vegas

(Originally written March 2010)

Arrived in Vegas mid-afternoon on a Sunday. We stayed at Circus Circus, which I do not recommend. I selected Circus Circus based on kid activities. It has a 5 acre amusement park, circus acts, and a midway (arcade and state fair-like games). But Circus Circus is old. It feels old. It looks old. And it is a bit removed from the main action - the Treasure Island to MGM Grand strip of The Strip. The casino at Circus Circus is very drab and unimpressive, and has no "hotness" factor. When you are in a casino at night, you want to see beautiful people, dressing beautiful, and acting beautiful; it's part of the show! So, stop on by Circus Circus, if you are with kids in Vegas, but stay somewhere else.

On that Sunday afternoon we took in Circus Circus. Mapped out the path through the casino and shops to our elevators. Did a few midway games. Then hit the strip and headed south. Walked past about a mile of construction, and some shopping. Then Treasure Island and The Mirage. We then entered the Forum Shops at Caesar's Palace. Toured it a bit then settled in for dinner at Trevi Italian Restaurant, the best meal we had in Vegas.

When we entered the Forum Shops is was still light. When we left it was dark. I told my kids that Vegas would change while we were inside and that we would see a new world when we made it back to the strip. And so it was. Neon, lights, and video billboards! We moved down to the Bellagio, and it's botanical garden, which is completely different at night than in the daylight. They had this Honey I Shrunk the Kids thing working that glows and lights up at night, with giant insects and plants, to go with all of the flowers. Then we headed outside and took in a fountain show. We headed back to Treasure Island to see the Siren show out front. Totally lame, except perhaps for the scantily clad women, but I was too far away to enjoy that.

Before we left for Vegas, I told Kate and Zach how there are all these people on the strip who pass out nearly naked lady cards and flyers advertising the seamier side of Vegas. How they attempt to catch your attention and hand you a card. Normally, you simply ignore them, or, I said jokingly, we can collect them all!! Like baseball cards (the girl's names are written on the cards). The first night I did collect a few cards, with encouragement from Zach. And there is the Hot Babes Who Want to Meet You travelling truck billboard that we saw the whole time, day and night, which was the source of many jokes.

That Sunday night we continued south, all the way to New York New York. Then across to MGM Grand and caught a cab back to Circus Circus.

Monday morning I purchased two day tickets with the open-top bus sightseeing tour. 100 bucks for the three of us. Not sure I can recommend this. It was great when heading south, but really slow, with too many stops, when heading north. A cab ride along The Strip was around 10 to 15 dollars per trip, so let's say 8 cab rides for 100 bucks. In two days? Not worth it.

Monday morning we checked out the Palazzo and The Venetian. Did a gondola boat ride. Then kept heading south. Lunch at the food court in New York New York. Then checked out Excalibur, Luxor, and Mandalay Bay. Kinda liked the vast, open interior of Luxor. At Mandalay Bay we took in the Shark Reef, an aquarium. Then walked down to the Fabulous Las Vegas sign.

The open-top bus stopped here, so we hopped on for the the long ride north.  At the MGM stop, which was long as it is the "hub", we moved downstairs for a bit to get out of the sun. Aside from the three of us, there was 1 other person sitting downstairs. We were sitting among these seats that face each other, for more leg room. Then, Miss Short Pudgy Riding Up Her Butt Too Tight Spandex Short Shorts boards the bus with her 10 year old son. Kate and Zach were sitting on the left in the seats facing each other row, and I was on the right. Miss Short Pudgy Riding Up Her Butt Too Tight Spandex Short Shorts looks over the multitude of empty seats and asks if they can sit on my row. Sure, I say, and move across the aisle to sit with Kate and Zach. Miss Short Pudgy Riding Up Her Butt Too Tight Spandex Short Shorts says I didn't have to move (oh, yes I did), and her son patted the seat next to him, saying I could sit there (oh, no I am not). After awhile we moved back upstairs.

That night we saw Blue Man Group, which I have always wanted to see, and thoroughly enjoyed. We had great seats. 6 rows up, stage right. But in that section the two rows in front of us had been removed (looked to be for wheelchair seating), so the 3rd row was 12 feet away, plenty of leg room.  As I said, really liked it. The music, lots of drums and percussions, and the antics, and they have a message with their show, basically about the trappings of technology. They moved into the audience, climbing around seats, then discovered a power breaker along the wall, not too far from us. One of the Blue Men flipped the switch, and in the darkness two of them had some fun with flashlights and then found the third Blue Man sitting in a corner eating a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. One Blue Man took the bowl away and then walked straight over and handed me the bowl, and both foot long, heavy flashlights. I leaned over and ate some Cap'n Crunch for an audience laugh, and the Blue Men moved two rows back and selected a woman to go on stage for a bit involving more food.

After the show we walked the Strip a little, and then had some indecision on where to eat. We settled on Le Burger Brasserie at Paris. A decent, if unremarkable burger, served by waitresses in red satin and black lace. Then back to Circus Circus.

Tuesday morning we started with breakfast at the world's most technologically advanced McDonald's adjacent to Circus Circus. Then we headed south, again. On this day we took in the Bellagio botanical garden in the day light, the dolphins and white tigers at The Mirage, and the courtyard at the Tropicana. Lunch at California Pizza Kitchen in The Mirage. That night we saw KA (Cirque du Soleil) at the MGM Grand. A great show. Action, a coherent story, rocking music, and wonderful use of that amazing stage which can spin, tilt, turn, and go vertical. Both Kate and Zach liked KA the most out of the three shows we saw. Dinner at Olives, in the Bellagio. Very nice.

Wednesday we stuck to Circus Circus. Lunch at the buffet - meh. Spent a few hours at the pool. Played midway games (Kate delights in winning stuffed animals - 6 in total, with a few smaller trade-ins for larger ones), a few arcade games, and spectated circus acts. That night we saw Mystere (Cirque du Soleil). An enjoyable show with plenty of comedy, very circus-like. Dinner that night at Khotan in Treasure Island. Basically Chinese food, or "pan Asian", but tasty, very tasty. Second best meal we had.

On Thursday our flight did not leave until late. We went up to Fremont Street, but then only wished we had headed up there at night to see the lights and get the most out of the "Fremont street experience". Lunch at Las Vegas Rocks Cafe. A "Vegas" theme, founded by Tony Sacca. This is where I began to think we stayed one day too long, as we were running out of things to do (really, sparse activity on Wednesday and Thursday). Spent some time at the Circus Circus midway, then to the airport early.

Interrogation Dating

I am reading "In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler’s Berlin" by Erik Larson. It is the story of the U.S. Ambassador to Germany, and his family, in 1933-34 Berlin. The daughter, Martha Dodd, gets lots of page time. She is way into the social scene, and a bit of a hussy, who turns into a spy! But I digress … At one point she is courted by a Russian diplomat and during their first date the conversation devolves into interrogation-style questions, and this is seen as uncommon and unexpected for a first date.

I thought, “HA! That is exactly what first dates are in today’s world. They are interrogations!” And I immediately marked the page.

Not just first dates, but really, internet dating is nothing but an interrogation. Some would say first dates/internet dating is an audition, which means you are selling yourself. True. But that is not the point. The real purpose of first/internet dates is to figure out who the other person really is. The assumption is the other person is hiding behind a mask of manipulated photos or appearance, and packaged information; a lure for reeling in a fish, from the sea, so to speak.

How sad and boring our culture has become.

We no longer just get to know someone, instead we constantly evaluate others, judging their attributes against our scorecard. Big money! Big money! No whammies!! That is, anyone we might consider in our dating pool.

On a work-related trip I recently spent several hours in a car with others, both men and women, and for various reasons none of us are in the other’s dating pool, not the least of which because some are no longer swimming! We engaged in a lively, dynamic conversation that naturally flowed across different topics. This is how it should always be, even in dating situations. Actually, dating situations should be ignored until you get to know someone first!

That’s right. I said it. We should court. Our immediate-gratification drive-through home-delivery superficial culture has turned dating into an interrogation. We are simply window shopping, and window dressing. Pretty soon you will be able to tag parts of singles profiles on Pinterest. Gimmie a little of this and a little of that; put my dream person together Frankenstein style.

In our high-tech world with its myriad of connections via so called “social” networks we are not very social, and disconnected from ourselves and others.

Living the dream is the same as living the lie. Get out there and be who you are without regards to the packaging, and if you say the packaging is who you are then you have swallowed the rancid bait of our marketing drenched culture; hook, line, and sinker.

Alone Time

Humans are social animals, but let’s face it, most people suck. You can, of course, choose to tolerate or simply ignore those things you do not like about people. Just about everyone does this. Or, at least, we accept them because in return we are getting something we want. In fact, tolerating and ignoring is what allows humans to be social animals. Right up until we snap and become other things that humans are: selfish, cruel, and violent animals. Actually, we are selfish and cruel without snapping, we just hide them well.

The point is, what’s the point? Is it really necessary to settle? Must you choose to get along with others? Can you not seek out those with whom you naturally get along? They are out there, you know. There are people whose company you can enjoy without working so hard at it. The question is, what do you do in the meantime?

Most choose to settle in the meantime. While they are holding out for something better they choose to tolerate and ignore, especially when getting something they want. The problem here is that settling can make you less available for finding and recognizing naturally compatible companions. Settling in the meantime easily translates into settling for life. This is really the big choice. Do you risk being alone in hopes of establishing a more rewarding relationships? Or do get what you need from whomever is at hand?

If you make the tough choice to hold out this means you are alone in the meantime. How to be alone.

Let’s frame this according to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Honestly, what else are we to do with knowledge gleaned from PSYCH 101? Here are the details, and interestingly many of the items listed do not require another person in your life! 

·         Physiological: breathing, food, water, sex, sleep, homeostasis, excretion

By definition physiological needs are achieved alone; no companionship required. Sex might seem the exception, but in this case sex is expressed as the need for physical release, as opposed to intimacy (which is under Love/Belonging). All you need for physiological sex is your own helping hand. Food and water might be more easily procured with the aid of others, but certainly not required. Homeostasis and breathing you do on your own; unless someone is smothering you, which usually happens when you settle! Bodily excretion is something most prefer to do in private, but if this is your fetish, well then, it would fall in Love/Belonging under sexual intimacy. ;-)

·         Safety: security of body, employment, resources, morality, family, health, property

Safety (and health) in numbers, they say, so it might be safe to not be alone. However, nothing is more safe (and no communicable diseases) then being completely alone! You could apply the same argument to employment, but if you are alone then you still need some personal interaction and you would get that from work acquaintances. Of course, being self-employed means you are more alone. Resources? Whatever. Prospect alone. We don’t need no stinking badges! Morality is only meaningful with regards to other people. If you are alone, then what use is morality? You already have a family (mom, dad, etc), do you really need more?

·         Love/belonging: friendship, family, sexual intimacy.

You could go the 100% hermit route and never interact with another living soul, but we are talking about those loners who still contribute to society. Sure you can have friends, but they should be work acquaintances and service staff (bartenders, waiters, etc). Even the most skilled loners will sometimes go out to dinner (alone, of course) just for the personal interaction with other humans. Family again? You mean I have to actually get along with my family? Sex in this category is for emotional and intellectual satisfaction. This can be a tough one for loners, but if while achieving physical satisfaction via self-service you were to imagine situations in which you achieved emotional and intellectual satisfaction, then you are certainly a highly skilled loner!

·         Esteem: self-esteem, confidence, achievement, respect of others, respect by others.

Esteem is simply about setting goals and achieving those goals. You can get that through work and personal habits. That is it. Throwing in “others,” which I would describe as acknowledgement by others, actually makes you dependent on others; a key failing in those who cannot be alone. Since people are always trying to tear you down it is best not to care what others think. That is the source of true confidence!

·         Self-actualization: morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem solving, lack of prejudice, acceptance of facts.

Self-actualization is to look inside yourself and be the best person possible. Why would you want others in your life gumming up the works? They would want you to be the best possible person for them, not for yourself. Screw them!

National Masturbation Month

May is National Masturbation Month. Were you aware of this? Or were you too busy self-servicing to hear the good news? BTW, who says May is National Masturbation Month? Good Vibrations (purveyor of sex toys and stroking-it devices) does, that’s who. Since 1995 even!

A brief history: In 1994, then surgeon general Joycelyn Elders, when queried about rubbing one out, said it was natural and perhaps should be part of sex education. Then, basically, she got fired. So, in part, as a response to those against jerking off and I am sure in support of their business of selling self-love gear, National Masturbation Month was born.

I never heard of it until this year … never heard of National Masturbation Month, that is. I am familiar enough with beating the meat, being a man of the male persuasion and all. I am sure they have a marketing problem since many mainstream media this-and-that are not gonna be much interested in promoting the choking of chickens. But Twitter is good for something I guess, because Twitter is where I discovered this celebration of solo pleasuring.

Like any national month for anything, the whole point is you don’t do it for just that month, but it raises your awareness of said subject so you do it year round! The best thing about the promotion of spanking the monkey is it doesn’t have to cost anything! Most national this or that months involve buying some product, or spending money in some way. No need to spend money to polish the knob. Although, some clean-up may be necessary, depending upon your chosen method of whacking off. But you were already going to do laundry anyway, right?!

Of course, you are welcome to include toys and props in your quest for joy by your own hand. So spend away if needed. The choice is yours!

Apparently there are many benefits to taking care of yourself (wink wink nudge nudge), but I leave it to you to google “benefits of masturbation” for a plethora of reading material.

Now, get busy and give yourself an orgasm tonight. And tomorrow night. And the day after tomorrow. Etc., etc., etc.

Stain Your Fence

“You must stain your fence.” Oh, really? The only stains around here are on bed sheets and under the rim of the toilet. I might normally say carpet stains, but I steam cleaned my carpet recently. Actually, under the rim of the toilet is calcium or some such water stain, and looks like it might require a hammer and chisel to dislodge. And the sheets, well, I wash them regular.  :-)

I recall receiving mail from my home owner’s association (yeah, I know). It talked about how if you got a new fence then you must use this type of stain, and if you repaired your fence then that kinda stain. Since I had done neither I simply filed it away under Stains, Non-biological. Now I get this certified letter in the mail. FINAL NOTICE, it says. Stain your fence, it says. Then continues to mention the whole new/repair thing.

Clearly, my HOA wants me to stain my fence. Why they can’t just straight-up tell me to stain my fence, I do not know. Why must they mask it behind “new” and “repair?” Is my fence in need of repair? Do I need a new fence? I guess I should not overestimate the communicative ability of my HOA. They may very well be telling me to repair or get a new fence, and are embedding the message behind two layers of confusion: stain and if this or that.

I went out back and looked at my fence. Being a townhouse fence, it isn’t much to look at. There is my one runt of tree, planted by the builders, that I saved from certain death my first few months in the house. The runt of a tree holds bastion over a patch of grass as dwindling as patches of pubic hair in our current culture. Being tall and all I can peer down the row of backyards and no one else’s fence appears to be stained. Did they receive letters? I will not ask. I only know one neighbor (another sign of our current culture?), a retired couple, and last time I knocked on their door it took them 20 seconds to remember I was the guy from next door.

“Stain your fence because it looks weathered.” Why couldn’t they just say that? I chemical peal my face when it looks weathered. I stain my teeth white when they look weathered. I un-stain my sheets whey they look weathered. Here is a concept I can understand. “The rain and sprinklers have marred the look of your fence. Please stain your fence, so the townhouse backyards are homogenous and regimented, like rows of recently shorn vaginas, nondescript in their alikeness.” Why couldn’t they just say that?

So. This weekend I will be staining my fence; it’s current personality and visual texture will be glossed over, air-brushed out. Someone, somewhere, will be pleased.