Wordless Wednesdays – Basic Equations

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Judging by the Max Headroom head shot and the Gunstar from The Last Starfighter being clearly visible in this picture, I would have to say that this genius level math equation was solved sometime in the late eighties.

Makes that shit Matt Damon solved on the chalk board in Good Will Hunting look like my dogs figuring out that if they pee on there feet in the winter time it will freeze them to the deck.

This kid should have won the Nobel prize.

Funny Blog Friday – Halloween Edition

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Welcome to the first Funny Blog Friday.

In keeping with the fact that it is October 31st, it seems fitting to talk about the true spirit of Halloween. Not the celebration of trying to scare the shit out of each other or soaping the car windows of that guy stiffed me on that repair I did in a thunderstorm. Halloween is about one thing and one thing only.

Candy.

Candy was my whole life when I was a kid. At least the first ten years of my life,until I found my first issue of Playboy crusting away behind the drain pipe to the sink in the bathroom. That began an entirely different life long obsession with hair teased to the moon and girls whose carpet didn’t match their drapes.  I think the only clear thought I had those first formative years was: “GET CANDY!”

That was it. Family, friends, school, they were just obstacles in they way of the candy. Thats the reason you have to teach kids not to take candy from a stranger. Their brains simply can’t process any other thoughts. If I had been playing at the playground and a guy in a white panel van pulls up with “Free Candy” spray painted on the side I would have run after him like a PMSing teen girl runs after the ice cream truck.

Without a second thought, I would have looked back over my shoulder and yelled  “This man has candy, I’m going with him. Goodbye. Whatever happens to me, just tell my family I died happy.”
My friends would have yelled “Don’t go! He already has the rope his is going to kidnap you with in his hand and that bulge in his pants likely isn’t a Bomb Pop.”
“It doesn’t matter, he has a ‘Snickers Peanut Butter’. I have to take that chance.”

So the first time you hear the concept of Halloween when you’re a kid your brain can’t even process the information. It’s like someone took Christmas and wrapped it in a cheap plastic costume.

I imagine I would have been simply amazed and asking “What did you say? What did you say about giving out candy? Who’s giving out candy? Everyone that we know is just giving out candy? Are you kidding me? When is this happening? Where? Why? Take me with you!
I gotta be a part of this. I’ll do anything that they want. I can wear that. I’ll wear anything I have to wear. Wear Dad’s week old stinking work clothes? Hell yes, I will.”

So, the first couple of years most parents made their kids costumes which of course sucked : the ghost, the hobo, the hockey player out of a jersey that was fifteen sizes too big and you tripped while running from house to house smashing your face into the gravel driveway but simply adding a new level of authenticity to the look.

After a while the home-made costume isn’t going to cut it so with hours of begging and pleading you finally convince your parents to buy you that super hero costume. Superman for me of course. That cheap plastic poncho style from the seventies before parents cared that the plastic cape was a bigger hazard than the razor blades the old guy at the end of the street was kind enough to hide in an apple. At least you could use the razor blade to cut yourself free of that three dollar sweat box. The best part of the entire costume had to be the plastic mask with the eye holes way to small to see oncoming traffic.

Remember the rubber band on the back of that mask? That was a quality item there, wasn’t it? That was good about 10 seconds before it snapped out of that cheap little staple they put it in there with. You go to your first house: “Trick or…” Snap!” So you stand there trying to tie a knot in the elastic while scoping out the candy bowl to see if its even worth the effort to stop.

Mean while your older sibling has already taken of to the next house with you screaming and crying for them to “Wait up!”

Even in the Superman costume already on a sugar buzz from the popcorn ball the old lady on the corner made with eleven pounds of white sugar, you were never fast enough to catch them and still get to the house they had already finished. Simply because you couldn’t move at all. When you did it was an arms out shuffle like the Jawas running across the sands of Tattooine. Let’s be honest, no one tried those costumes on before the night they wore them. No one checked the labels. I do remember that costume distinctly and it did come with a warning label –

“Do not attempt to fly!”

They printed that as a warning because kids would put it on and climb up on rooftops figuring that millimeter thick red plastic cape would at least make an excellent parachute. I love the idea of the kid who’s stupid enough to think he actually is Superman but smart enough to check that warning label before he goes off the roof.

“Let me see if it says anything about me being Superman..Oh, wait a second here, this does say exact replica of Superman’s…”

Not that it mattered anyway because your Mom always bought it in a size big enough to fit over your winter coat. I don’t really recall Superman ever wearing a jacket under his outfit but it certainly did make you look like you had the muscles to fill it out properly. So there you are with a plastic mask whose rubber band keeps breaking and snapping you in the face, so you tie it in a knot that keeps making the mask tighter to the point the plastic starts cutting into your eye while you try to breathe through a keyhole and all you keep swallowing is your own sweat.

All in pursuit of candy.

Finally you just give up and fire the mask in the next driveway you wander up so now its just you looking like a Superman sausage with your hair plastered to the side of your face. Ringing the door bell, the neighbours immediately know its you but you are past the point of caring. You have a pillow case that needs filling.

Bing-bong! “Yeah, it’s me, give me the candy. Yeah, I’m Superman, look at the pants legs, see this fuckin’ plastic cape ? What do you care ?”

Despite the sweat and the blood running down your face from the staple in the plastic mask, it made it all worth it when you found that one house. Not one of the ones giving out handmade bags of those orange plastic bananas that no one ever ate and left to collect in the bottom of the candy bowl. No, the best house to find was the one giving out cans of soda. It didn’t matter that it was knock off brand soda. Or even if it was the most dreaded of all flavors, Root Beer. No, all that mattered was it gave you just enough energy to trudge the long walk home with a pillow case full of candy you knew your Dad was going to pick the best stuff out of.

So this year, do something nice for those kids you see in the plastic costumes. Buy brand name candy for God’s sake.

What would a blog hop be without something to give away. As I really don’t have any sponsors other than myself I can make the rules as to what I am offering and how you can win it. Up for grabs is one of my charcoal pieces of art found here as well as the added bonus of a sneak peek at the bonus story in my soon to be released into the wild first book.

In the comment section below, I want you to tell me about the dirtiest trick you ever pulled on someone be it Halloween or other. It seems to me that the dirtiest trick will get the sweetest treat.

After you are done telling me your sordid tale, spend some time getting to know my fellow Funny Bloggers. Not only are they giving away some seriously killer prizes but they are fantastic writers as well.

You can find them here –

Victoria of Angst Anarchy

Alanna of White Girls Be Like…

Jamie of Fits of Wit

H.E. Ellis of H.E. Ellis 

Jessie of Jessie Reyna

Alice of Alice at Wonderland

Ben of Ben’s Bitter Blog

Jenn of Properly Ridiculous

Lisa of Buddhaful Britt

JC of JCS Bloggery

Sarah of No Cry Babies

Elke of The Pretty Platform

Chicks A & E of Too Funny Chicks

Charly of Crazy Life

Kevin of Trailer Trash Deluxe

Karilin of That Nameless Color

Art of Pouring my Art Out

Be sure you drop by their sites and tell them how awesome I am for sending you their way. They are all great writers and have some seriously cool stuff you can treat yourself with this Halloween.

 

Funny Blog Friday

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There are a lot of days where I consider myself the Clown Prince of the Blogosphere but even I have to admit there are a ton of great writers around that I laugh my back hair off at. Starting Friday, October 31st, I will be joining forces with some of these fantastic people to form the Justice League of Humor.

The Funny Blog Friday blog hop features comedy and prizes from such recockulously hilarious writers as –

Victoria of  AngstAnarchy

H.E. Ellis of H.E. Ellis

Alanna of White Girls Be Like…

Jamie of Fits of Wit

Jessie of Jessie Reyna

Alice of Alice at Wonderland

Ben of Ben’s Bitter Blog

Jenn of Properly Ridiculous

As part of this hop, I will be offering a sneak peek at the artwork for my book and a super secret, never before released story only appearing in the soon to be released book –

The Dildo Factory – Episode 6 – The Return of the Vibrator!!!

Check back Friday for an all new story and a chance to win an exclusive look under my hood.

My Eyes Are Up Here….

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Men are obsessed with breasts. We are. Accept it.

Part of me thinks it’s a power thing. Breasts hold sway over us. We know they dominate us, and that therefore entices and as frustrates us. Women are the dominant gender for several reasons, and two of them are staring at our chest while our eyes try to steer upwards.

Another part of me thinks this is a dignity issue. Ever notice that when a woman’s naked it’s considered sexy, but male nudity is funny?

You know why? Boobs.

Without them, we just look like deformed Ken dolls.

I think women’s breasts have the attention of most men. Don’t you?

It’s one of those things you really can’t not look at.

Like a sunrise or a newborn baby or a teenage Asian girl on a skateboard wiping out and smacking into a parking meter.

I’ve researched the phenomenon exhaustively and believe that it’s just natural for men to be looking at breasts.

I am forever catching myself glancing at women’s breasts.

It doesn’t matter who they are, my sister, my best friend’s grandmother….

I’ll just be in a conversation about the price of gas and all of a sudden realize ……

“Wow, I just saw boobs.”

 It’s like breasts are trying to get my attention or something.

They just seem to scream “Hey you! Yeah down here! Look at us!”

I think the reason is simple; breasts are sticking out on the body

I mean imagine if men were built with permanent erections.

We’d look at men differently. Our clothes would be different too. Probably a whole lot baggier with some pleated crotch areas.

Some more pleated than others I imagine.

I’m sure most women would try to be discrete but at some point their gazes would drop.

Just cause, well, he’s sticking straight out there.

It’s true though. Parts of the body that stick out get more attention.

We all notice:  breasts, noses, bulging groins and big bums.

And women notice this more than men do.

It’s true, why else would they constantly be asking their husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends…

“Hey, does my butt look big in this?”

So with all these parts sticking out, it’s no surprise people are looking.

The trick for us guys is keeping it to a glance, stay alert, and avoid staring.

Recovering from a stare is tricky. In the same way getting your junk caught in your zipper is tricky.

I find pretending you’re in some deep thought, justifies staring off into space.

Then I come back with some random piece of trivia about comic books or action movies so you think I am a complete nerd.

Anyway I think that’s just the way we’re built.

Even the Bible says  “let her breasts please you always”.

If God made the elbow or knees with that kind of “bodaciousness” and “bouncability”, we’d be staring at them instead.

And men aren’t alone in this. Women have their issues too.

We’re not the only ones looking down when a woman walks into the room. Lots of you women will be looking down with us.

Checking out her shoes. You can’t get your eyes off them.

Now nobody’s saying all you women have some kind of foot fetish.

So you see ladies, we’re not so different.

We’re just admiring the 36C’s while you girls are gawking at the beautiful pair of size 8’s.

You do it to us guys too. Judging us from our beat up work boots all the way up our super tight ripped jeans to our bulging junk sticking straight out.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

My eyes are up here.

 

Thanks to comedian and comedy club owner Don MacDonald for his help and comedy writing tips.