Welcome to my Library.

Everyone reading this right now probably has a pile of magazines and catalogs in the bathroom. All questionable hygienics of this practice aside, I noticed an interesting pattern going on in our downstairs crapper.

From the reading material in someone's bathroom, you can tell a lot about them. For instance, here's the contents of our reading bucket:

Cabalas Fall 2006 - This one comes to the house addressed to my wife. What can you tell about her from this? You can tell that she is in the market for a tree stand, some new camo clothing and a bitchin' turkey call. I think she had her eye on that jumbo bottle of deer piss, too -- but the page wasn't folded over so I don't know for sure.

Victoria's Secret - This one comes to the house addressed to me. There are usually three or four different VS catalogs in there. From this you can tell I am in the market for a tall, insanely built, extremely hot model with her own personal wind tunnel who will walk around my house in nothing but her underwear, 24x7. Either that, or I'm in the market for a boy short that won't show any panty-lines through my jeans. Also, if I am ever in need a bra that will completely erase my nipples, they've got me covered.

Women's Health - One of my wife's contributions to the bucket. One thousand ways to use a giant blow-up ball to exercise. How to eat right. How to examine your boobs. How to cook a 5-course meal in under 30 seconds. How to do it while examining your boobs. How to get a tight, round ass in 3 minutes a day. I am amazed by the stuff I learn in my own bathroom. My ass is not yet round and tight, however, so I take what I read with a grain of salt.

Sportsman's Guide - Everything you need to shoot stuff. Actually, everything you need, period. Military surplus, sporting goods overstocks, stained-glass windows, housewares, beer-making kits, you name it. It's the strangest combination of miscellaneous crap you've ever witnessed, and one of my absolute favorites. I've purchased and sent back more shoddy merchandise from this place than from any other. About 3 out of ten times, I get a great deal on something, and it keeps me coming back. I can't resist it. Where else can you get a bull-scrotum candy dish, a pair of full-arm pull-on tattoo sleeves, an electric generator, an inflatable canoe and a complete set of deer antler silverware -- all on the same invoice?

Eating Well Magazine - Not sure about this one. In truth, I've never actually opened it. I'm not saying I don't intend to someday, but come on -- there are three Victoria's Secret catalogs just sitting there.

National Geographic - I don't even know where this one came from. Probably slipped in there by some shady house guest trying to give me some culture on the sly. But...Victoria's Secret.

Writer's Digest - This one is all mine. I will get published one of these days. I realize that I probably need to submit something somewhere for that to happen, however that realization hasn't really helped my writing career in the slightest, because I am nothing if not lazy.

The pattern I noticed? All the catalogs I purchase my wife's gifts from come addressed to me, and vice versa. Perfectly logical, if you think about it.

It still looks like I have a women's underwear fetish, though.


Truth in Advertising

Sometimes, the Dish Network program guide gets screwed up and shows the wrong information.

Sometimes, my wife watches the Food Network.

Sometimes, I think there are no coincidences in life.



Kellogg's makes a "Fruit-Flavored Snack" that ties into the hype for the newest Superman movie. A package of these were given to me recently by the 3 year old son of a friend of ours. They are along the lines of gummy bears, and there are a few different shapes. While most of them are the standard amorphous blobs you are used to seeing, Lex Luthor looks like this: I am all for realism in my candy, but holy crap. This thing would scare the living shit out of a small child. I half expected to hear crunching bone when I bit into it. It's the first candy I ever had that seemed actively pissed off that I was eating it. The whole time I was chewing, I felt like he was just waiting for a chance to get lodged in my throat and kill me. How did it taste? I think it was supposed to be grape, but it was kinda bitter and almost devoid of any grape-like flavor, natural or otherwise. My advice to you -- avoid Lex Luthor's head if at all possible.


Man, we have shitty clowns.

I've always hated clowns. My mother used to have a velvet painting of a big, sad-faced clown in our house, and every time I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I would see it staring at me from the other end of the hallway, half-hidden in shadow, its sad eyes no longer sad but instead evil and calculating.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that clown wanted to eat me alive.

Why do I mention this? Well, a while back I was looking in the phone book for coal dealers, and it just so happens that there isn't much stuff between "co" and "cl" in our phone book. As a result, I found myself face to face with a page full of clowns.

Seriously, this area must have the shittiest clowns on the face of the earth. The names alone made me hang my head in shame.

I got thinking about what some of these misfits must look like.

No, I don't know why. And no, I also don't know why I spent two hours of my life scanning pictures and mucking around in Photoshop. Hell, I don't even know why I have a blog, other than it's a place to write down the weird things I notice.

Be that as it may, I mocked up a little picture to go with each yellow-page ad. It's what I imagine these clowns must look like -- based solely on their self-appointed clown names.

Without further ado, I present: Twinkles

Twinkles has EVERYTHING to make your event special, as long as your event involves lots of penis, and you consider irreparable damage to your child's psyche special. Also, you do not want to see Twinkles turn around because his thong really leaves nothing to the imagination, including his apparent lifestyle choices.

Next in line: Bon Bon

Bon Bon got her name from, coincidentally enough, her favorite snack. Bon Bon likes corporate events and picnics. Especially picnics. Really, anything with food is good. If you hire her, watch her closely because there are some unsubstantiated reports of small children and dogs going missing at her gigs.

Next on the countdown, a long-distance dedication to: Wizzie. I shit you not.

This is Wizzie.

Wizzie also does gorilla-grams. He would have worn his Gorilla costume for this picture, but unfortunately it was soaked with pee. Wizzie puts on a good show, but make sure you have him do his act outside, since he's not really carpet-friendly.

And where, exactly, do you go to become a certified master balloon artist? I was not aware of that advanced program, and would like to find out more about it. I've been trying to get that CM designation for a long time, although I hear they're not as valuable as they used to be. Lots of paper CMs out there with no real-world balloon experience.

And of course, what self-respecting grange-hall hoedown in Hicksville, USA would be complete without: Skeeter

According to his ad, Skeeter has an "amazing" balancing act. I think this means he can balance a plate of potato salad on one knee and an ashtray on the other. I love the fact that he misuses the quotes.

Skeeter also does magic shows. I am willing to bet that any clown named Skeeter is probably pretty good at making beers disappear.

Almost last, and certainly not least: Yaa-Yaa

I don't know where he got his name, but I think it's probably from the YAAAAAAAAAA! YAAAAAAAAA! screaming noise children make when he "pretends" to bite the head off of Marshmellow. Face paintings are his specialty -- as long as you're ok with the paint looking suspiciously like rabbit blood. I like the misspelling of the rabbit's name. It makes me think the rabbit is stoned all the time, which he would have to be to deal with the stress of working with someone named Yaa-Yaa who he suspects is planning to kill him. I also like how he points out in his ad that the rabbit is "Live" and it gets almost equal billing. It's like sometime in the past he tried pulling a dead, stiff rabbit carcass out of his hat and it didn't go over as well as he thought it would.

Lastly, there are the clowns who can't afford a real advertisement, and just have a listing. Like these two guys:

My guess is these two used to work together and had some sort of falling out involving pies and squirting flowers. Now they're on their own, and neither one is making any serious money.

Keep your eyes peeled. I've heard rumors that there may be a reunion tour in the works. Once they figure out who gets top billing. Mr. Twisty & Nifty Gilifty or Nifty Gilifty & Mr. Twisty. It's a tough call.


Fire frogs

I've heard that amphibians, and frogs in particular, are a good litmus test if things are going awry in the environment. If a particular place is becoming polluted, the frog population will generally plummet before other animals are affected. From what I've read, I guess it's because they absorb most of their moisture through their skin, and it stands to reason that if the water in the area is polluted, they'll absorb the pollutants directly.

With that little backgrounder, I'm here to say that the frog populations in the Adirondacks seem to be doing just fine -- they were all over the place. Tree frogs, bull frogs, leopard frogs, you name it. They were active and healthy and -- I would be remiss if I didn't mention this -- completely out of their little froggy minds.

After we got to the lake and paddled around for a few hours to find a good site, we unloaded the canoe. Since it had been a lengthy canoe ride, I had a definite need to take a leak, and while my wife was unpacking the gear, I wandered away from the campsite to find a grassy knoll. I was just getting ready to water this hapless plant when something from the grass launched directly at me, hitting me in the crotchal area. I almost screamed like a little girl, because if there is an exact moment in time a guy is at his most vulnerable, it's when his weenie is exposed to cool forest air.

I took a hasty step backwards, and any thought of peeing instantly evaporated. I saw this thing hit the ground, and my mind registered "frog" just before it catapulted itself at me again. This time it hit me a little lower, slightly above the left knee, and stuck. It was a light-brown tree frog, a little over 2 inches in length. (I know this because it was exactly half the length of my...compass. Yeah, that's it. My compass.) I plucked it off of my pants, and dropped it in the grass.

Anyway, that was my first experience of weekend crazy frog. That night, after we ate, we started a campfire and commenced with the sacred Opening of the Unbreakable Bottle of Yukon Jack. After about a half hour, my wife heard something rustling next to the fire. She played her flashlight on this rock next to the fire, expecting a mouse or something, but instead there was a big leopard frog just sitting there looking at the fire.

I joked around and told her that frogs were cold-blooded and he was probably just sitting by the fire to warm up. My wife said, "Hurry! Get the camera and take a shot of this." So I got up, went to my backpack and grabbed the camera. I was about half-way back to the fire when my wife yelled, "OH MY GOD, he just JUMPED INTO THE FIRE!"

I thought she was crazy. Frogs, as far as I know, do not voluntarily jump directly into flames.

"He jumped right in, I'm telling you, I heard sizzling," my wife said as I prodded the logs with a stick and sniffed the fire for any hint of chicken. I dismissed her vision as a side effect of the Yukon, and sat back down.

Later on, when the fire wasn't doing so hot, I added some new wood and started fanning the flames trying to get it to catch more quickly. I was hunkered down, fanning for all I was worth, and the fire was blazing along pretty good when something jumped out from under my legs, and leapt directly into the flames. I saw this:

I have no idea what the hell was going on, but fried frog legs were definitely on the menu. Oh yeah, and about a half hour after that, a woodland jumping mouse rebounded off my back, hopped around the campsite for a few seconds and then bolted into the woods.

Later that night, after we climbed into the tent, I kept waking up because I heard something banging around out near the canoe, which we had dragged onto the grass next to the tent. It sounded like acorns dropping on it from a tree or something. In the morning when I crawled out of the tent and turned the canoe over, about a half dozen frogs jumped out. They had been inside all night, apparently repeatedly jumping noggin-first into the sides.

I have no idea what's in the water up there, but I wouldn't drink it. Hell, I wouldn't even recommend swimming in it. It's a beautiful place though.

Here's a couple pics:

This morning, at about 6:30.

Looking left from our campsite


No Chinese Food for Germy.

I was packing up my stuff to leave the office today, when my cellphone buzzed. I had a text message. I never get text messages, and I never send them -- mostly because I have a number pad on my phone and not a keyboard, which means I have to hit a key three or four times for a single letter, and frankly, it's not worth it.

So needless to say, I was intrigued. I read the message, and it was obviously a wrong number.

It said:

Hey, it's Mel. Want to reclaim the room tonight and order chinese and watch a movie? Mad bitches are going out and I don't want to be in the room alone with Germy.

So I immediately wrote back.

Germy sounds pretty hot. Chinese sounds great! None for Germy though.

A few minutes later, Mel replied with:

Awesome! When do you want to meet back there?

I replied: Six or so? What should I wear?

Mel wrote back: Something sexy.

So I wrote: Cool. I have a brand new leather banana hammock I've been dying to try out.

At this point, I still wasn't sure if Mel was a man or a woman. I figured that last reply would sort it out pretty quickly.

A few minutes later, I got a reply that said: Well in that case, I'll be in my birthday suit.


So I replied with: What will we do about Germy?

Mel wrote back: If we're lucky, she'll be sleeping/feeling better/not there. Have you been back yet?

So I knew Germy was a female, at least. I replied with: No, not since the whole "Drunk-on-Jack-Daniels-naked-tabledance-thing."

Mel wrote back: I don't even know what you're saying. Just be in the room at 6 ready for chinese and chillin out/maxin' relaxin' all cool.

Right now it's ten after seven, and I'm pretty sure I had the General Tso's chicken.*

I love it when my blog entry for the day falls right into my lap. Or calls me on the phone. Whichever.

*Since I'm a nice guy, I didn't actually leave her hanging. I sent a final message that said "OK, time to come clean before I ruin your night. You text messaged a wrong number and I've been messing with you." She wrote back "Awesome! At least I provided some amusement for your day. Sorry about that!" I told her to enjoy the chinese.


A little something for the tree

I saw these in a magazine the other day, and I'm thinking of picking some up to give as gifts this year.

Since I don't have a small child (or even a small child's severed hand in a jar) I'm going to have to think of something else to imprint on it. The possibilities seem pretty endless, although my first idea would probably get me arrested.

Plus nobody would hang it, except for maybe Sarah.

You have to admit it would make an awesome Secret Santa gift at the office.


Summer searchin,' had me a blast

The googlers have been letting me down lately, and I've been getting a ton of the same scrotum-related searches. I did get a few amusing ones this month, and now I share them with you.

On behalf of 15 Minute Lunch and its subsidiaries, I am pleased to present:

Fantastic Google Searches That Somehow Led People To My Site

what are some ways I can lose fat from my thighs but still keep my big butt - First, I am not sure why you would want to keep your big butt, but that being said, what you want is not going to happen without liposuction. In fact, even that will be temporary. Think of it this way - Big thighs are like a life support system for a big butt. Unfortunately for you, spot reduction is a myth. If you exercise and eat right, that will make you lose fat from your thighs. This will also remove fat from your big butt. I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you this.

How does a male person felt when he had to wear a pair of female panties and a female dress on him when he except a new career in a female clothing department store and when he arrived for his first day they would surprised - Wow. Just...wow. And why did you click on my blog?

mountain dew causes testicle problems - This is true, actually. Drinking Mountain Dew can cause you to do things like slide down a steel railing on a skateboard, or surf 30 foot waves or even jump out of a plane while strapped to a snowboard. Any of these activities have a higher than normal possibility of testicular injury. My advice is this: Do not slam the Dew. Drink the Dew gingerly, and with caution. Your testicles will thank you.

can a stun gun take out a car's electrical system? - This would be tricky, because generally stun guns and car electrical systems run in completely different circles. I mean, you've all seen the movies about this type of thing and sometimes it's tough to make it work. Remember: Nobody puts stungun in a corner.

when would i expect to get results from Enzyte? - Um, let me break this to you gently. Bwhahahahahahahahahahahaha!

ask jeeves what causes numbness in toes and feet - Here's a little tip for you: Don't EVER tell Google to ask Jeeves. It's insulting. It's like telling Stephen Hawking to ask Brent Spiner a science question.

scrotum bleaching - I was afraid to google this. I'm assuming it's something only white porn stars do, but I could be wrong. For all I know, my co-worker Special Dark has a gleaming white, highly reflective scrotum. I've seen my wife do blonde highlights before, and it involves wearing a rubber cap and pulling just the hair you want bleached through tiny holes in the cap. I have to say that if this scrotum bleaching procedure involves putting on a pair of rubber pants and then pulling the testicles through a little hole then I'm not interested.

how to suck a penis and survive a gorilla attack - This search confused me. I couldn't figure out if it was two separate searches, or if they were related somehow. Based on the number of twisted people out there surfing the net, I am going to assume that they are related. Given that, here is my advice to you. Stop trying to suck gorilla penis and you'll solve most, if not all of your problems.

what can my poop tell me? - I'm really not sure, but when you find out let us know. Especially if your poop knows how to become independently wealthy with little or no work.

labia sew cut screamed gagged clamp scalpel - Get away from my blog and get help now. You disgust me.

Barbara Streisand sex tape - Get away from my blog and get help now. You disgust me.

rosie o'donnell camel toe - In addition to the same advice I gave the previous two searchers, give up your search because as a general rule, it is difficult to have both camel toe - and a penis.

how did bambi's mother die? - Actually, she died peacefully in her sleep - of old age. Go rent the movie, you'll love it.

how to make my butt bigger and rounder instantly - this would probably work.


Vacation, all I ever wanted...

I'm on vacation this week, and I'm "doing stuff around the house." Sanding and painting the front porch, and doing other winter prep activities that revolve around trying to burn coal this winter instead of wood.

I can't believe it's even time to think about that yet. Today is the first decent day since I got back from Arizona, and I hate having to spend it on chores. On the other hand, blogging opportunities arise wherever you recognize them, and today is no exception.

One of the guys who installed the new stove came back today today to install a heat shield. He was a nice enough guy, but he smelled like cat pee, cigarettes and B.O., which is a veritable cornecopia of olfactory foulness.

He was wearing a tie dye tee-shirt and had a pony tail and one of those whispy beards that are only on the very end of your chin. While I won't go as far as to say that he smokes crack, I will go so far as to say he likes to share his crack, as evidenced by my hastily snapped cell phone photo:

Seriously, at one point his pants were so low I am pretty sure I inadvertently saw the back of his marble bag.

Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you, the camera resolution isn't high enough to show you all the gory details. I only wish there was a way to make that picture scratch n' sniff, so you all could join me in my pain.


More things that shouldn't need to be said, but apparently do. (The airplane version)

If you weigh upwards of 200 pounds, you should choose a profession that doesn't require that you repeatedly waddle your giant ass up and down a two-foot wide aisle to serve peanuts and drinks. All I'm saying is that I didn't particularly enjoy the repeated stretch-polyester caresses to the face that my aisle seat so generously provided.

If your breath smells like dead animals, try not to sleep with your open mouth pointed directly at my wife.

If you have a cough that sounds like you are expelling pink, wet chunks from your chest cavity, at least cover your pie hole when you cough. And after you cough, please wipe the saliva off your mustache. Better yet, shave that shit off. I realize you're a stocky, 60-something italian woman, but razors are cheap. Just sayin'.

If you are obese, and sitting next to me, don't just assume it's ok with me to raise the armrest between us. I will slam that shit down hard, because it's the only thing keeping you from spilling over into a seat that I paid good money for. Also, it's not my fault that it requires five minutes of strenuous activity for you to un-wedge yourself from your seat to allow me to go to the bathroom, so don't act all exasperated. Here's an idea -- skip the in-flight meal once in a while.
And keep your sausage fingers off my reading light and air control.

Under no circumstances should you "make yourself comfortable" by taking off your leather loafers immediately after the jet leaves the runway. Especially if you are sitting directly behind me and have been walking around in Arizona all day wearing no socks. Next time, please realize that your feet smell like a rancid combination of parmesan cheese, garbage juice and unwashed ass, and refrain from jamming them so far under my seat that the smell comes up in front of me.

And lastly: Walk to the left. Stand to the right.



It's good to be back.

Even though it's raining, I'm digging the "everything's green" vibe back here in NY.

Arizona in August will suck the moisture out of your body and leave your dried husk to blow away into the desert, so obviously it's the perfect weather for outside shopping.

My wife and her friend were browsing a few stores in old Scottsdale, and I was a little bored, since shopping isn't my thing. I was sitting outside on a bench, thumbing through a free local music and arts magazine that every town seems to have, and I noticed an ad for a local strip club that claimed to have "Simply the hottest women in Scottsdale."

I will let you be the judge:

Maybe it's just me, but if that's an example of one of the hottest women in Scottsdale, I am thinking they might have a serious issue in that town. I'm all for a set of sexy lips, but when you look like a lamprey eel that just kissed a hot iron, that's not a huge turn on for me.

I've never actually had a lapdance, but I can easily imagine that getting one from this girl would be the last thing I ever did. Well, the last thing I ever did before she transformed me into a bloodsucking creature of the night, I mean.