The Anti-Bucket List

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 Ever since Morgan Freeman made that far-fetched movie, everyone has been using the term “Bucket List”. It’s become some mystical and unattainable list of things that people keep adding newer and more expensive things to that they will likely never accomplish. I usually try to be open to new experiences and not limit it to a simple list.  To be sure, I have things I want to accomplish but the list is short. Swim with Great White Sharks in Australia. Publish my first book. See Motley Crue in concert one more time.

That’s it.

As I said, anything else that I accomplish on the way to those dreams is just extra cheese on my pizza. Instead, I tend to focus on the things I have no intention of ever trying or trying again as it would be.

My Anti-Bucket List.

1. Cannibalism

In the heat of the moment I have eaten ass but I don’t think I would ever want to do it as my sole means of survival.

2. A vampire facelift

No one needs to relive the Twilight era with my white face leading the charge. I have been told that my ass is white enough glow in the dark but I don’t believe it.

3. Inseminate pigs

I grew up on a farm and as such am no stranger to what happens on Dollar Draft night at the Slop Bucket Saloon but I really can’t see me ever wanting to inject a porker with any type of fluid. Even for the sake of more bacon.

4. Get a full face tattoo

This does not include getting matching facial ink with Mike Tyson as that would be unbelievably bad ass. No one would ever mess up my Moccachino at Starbucks again in fear of me biting their ear off.

5: Eat a local delicacy. Anywhere.

I paid the price for an early morning Coney Dog on a five-hour drive home from Port Huron, Michigan. My apologies to the bathroom staff at the London “On The Run”. As well as the elderly gentleman who offered to get me a Popsicle to sit on for the way home. Apparently its quite soothing.

6. Have my foreskin back.

I have gotten along thus far quite well without it and the process of stretching the skin of my penis back to the shape it would need to be sounds like it should be a punishment for robbing old women of their pension cheques with the promise of sex.

7. Practice world champion level streaking in Barrow, Alaska.

If you were to ask any of my neighbours where the bald, naked guy lived they would quite assuredly point you to my place as my proclivity for wandering about in the buff are widely known. That being said the idea of dropping my pants in a place where exposed skin freezes in less than sixty seconds makes me feel bad for my nipples.

8. Organize and video tape an orgy at the local senior center.

Having seen “Human Centipede” and “Two Girls, One Cup”, I think I am rather immune to most images but the idea of that much naked and ancient flesh twerking up on each other like a bunch of pink balloons filled with Cottage Cheese would haunt my dreams for a long time.

9. Help a stranger wipe.

Even with my crippling hero complex there has to be a line that even the Man of Steel wouldn’t cross. I mean should a fifty dollar bill exchange hands I might be prompted to step in but only after a brief discussion of dietary habits and whether or not it was Taco Tuesday.

10. Nicholas Cage.

I am sure there will be more things I add to the list like getting dysentery in a foreign country that has nothing more than single ply toilet paper but for the most part I would rather be open to new experiences. I will just remind myself to stay away from nursing homes on Taco Tuesday.


The King of What?

dildoking Forrest Gump said it best – “It must be hard being king”.

I can’t even imagine what that must be like. Look at what it did to Elvis. “The King of Rock and Roll”. From a young heart-throb who took over the world with his hips to a bloated God who flew halfway across the country to get a peanut butter,bacon and grape jelly sandwich. It must be nice to have that kind of freedom but the responsibility would be awful.

But, maybe being the king of something a little off track wouldn’t be so bad.  Well, a lot off track but who cares.  Maybe something not in musical entertainment but in another form of entertainment.

So, how about the “King of Dildos”.  Because seriously if I attain that who can trump it? Like Steve Jobs created the empire of the iphone, I’ll start a “dildo empire”.

I will be the creator of the greatest and most realistic dildo that has ever existed. You know one that senses real emotions and reacts, talks, walks, and more.  The kind of sex toy that every woman on the planet would want. I think the best feature would be to make that dildo mobile.  I don’t mean hide it in your luggage when you visit your sister for the weekend. No, I mean crawling like an inch worm and doing tasks around the house when you are at work. Capable of sensing your moods and crawling up to you when you need a synthetic fake penis to snuggle with.

Even more revolutionary would be a dildo that got along with your friends too. You’ve got your friends over “hanging out” and your dildo just happens to crawl up on to them. How fucking weird would that be? “Amber, is that a cock that just crawled by me?” Looking like the realest penis you ever saw. Just have cocks crawling all over the fucking place like an army of inch worm minions.

“Amber, your dildo has a boner and it won’t leave me alone.”

“Well Jill, he likes you.  If you start bitching he will crawl away.”

Little dildos just crawling around the house really isn’t a big deal.  I mean it’s 2014, I have seen some of the toys they make for kids these days. We have the technology.  We can make this boner move.  “Get a long lil’ boner”.

So what do we call our top of the line 2012 “All Star Dildo”?  How about “Tickle Me Boner”?  Sounds quaint. Now, this cock would be programmed to say things like, “Your butt looks good in those jeans” or  “No baby, I wasn’t at the strip club with the other dildos, I swear”.  All the lines guys always use to smooth everything over with their significant other.

I would advertise the shit out of my dildo.  “This beautiful dildo will even stay up and bring you cheesecake after sex.  It’s the one part of your man who you needed without the attachment of your man.”

I think the should be intelligent too. Like smarter than the smartest phone ever could conceive of being. They should just simply sense when they are needed.

Think of this, you’re just sitting there in your seat.  You’re at the theatre, watching a movie that has your mate sobbing and in crawls this real as real it gets penis.  Just inch worming his little head closer to you.  You look over and think “Damn is that a penis?  What the fuck?  That is a penis.  Honey look, there’s a penis crawling on the floor over there.” When all it really wants is to comfort a crying woman and let her nibble on the chocolates he brought her.

Every woman in the world would want one and before we knew it there would be flocks of cocks just trailing along behind girls every where they went. If they could somehow post stuff to Pinterest through a wireless network, it would put one in every purse in the world.

It really is only a matter of time. Forget the zombies rising up. It’s going to be the dildos that take over the world. The view from the Dildo Throne should be quite spectacular.

Nature Calls



“Would you please just walk down there and see what it is that he needs done?” My mom asked as we stood in my office listening to the sounds of saws ripping wood, nails being driven and curse words sailing across the void.

I sighed and looked out the window at the structure being erected in the yard down the low sloping hill outside my office. The heat radiated outside the window in shimmering waves and I could already feel it on my recently sun burnt skin. I could feel the beginnings of my skin shedding around my shoulders and had to fight the urge to tear my clothes off and scrape my skin off with a toilet brush.

“Have you ever had neighbours that didn’t feel the need to renovate the house next door?” I asked as I passed a had over my stubbled cheeks. With the temperatures reaching an unseasonable high, all I wanted was to play Depth Charge with a six-pack in my pool. A game which basically involves me drinking beer while floating on a pool noodle and waiting to see which can sinks my battleship.

“It can’t be much,” Mom countered while ushering me out the door “It’s just a back yard shed.”

Grumbling about the male nurses at the nursing home she was fast tracking her self towards fondling her in her sleep, I wandered around the driveway, past the large trampoline and down the grade to the Frankenstein style structure being erected. A saw was chewing its way through a board with the ferociousness of a toothless prostitute gumming a cob of uncooked corn. I heard a muttered curse and saw Rocky, the square-jawed and equally flat-headed military neighbour step out from behind the wood frame.

“Looks great.” I said with a half sarcastic tone that matched my smile as I roamed the large rectangular building.

“It sure will be when its done.” Rocky said as he joined me in the single shady spot in the yard mingling his wood dust scent with my asphalt odor creating a scent that would drive long-term death row inmates into a sexual frenzy.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I continued as I took a half shuffling step back towards heterosexuality ” It’s kind of big for a back yard shed, isn’t it?”

“Well, that the thing, it’s more of a workshop. My kids are always getting into my tools and I just wanted somewhere I could go to get away from them. Plus I can store the trampoline ” Rocky said with a bit of admiration at his own handy work.

“Sounds like a solid idea. You just need a roof on it I suppose.” I said already knowing the answer.

“I will get everything you need. I just need a couple of days to get it up.” Rocky said not catching my snort at the idea of it taking days to get it up. I mean they have pills for that I believe.

“Just let me know when things are firmed up.” I laughed and headed back up to my truck.

Over the next few days, I watched with laughable patience as the structure took shape. Large benches and the frames for what could only be built-in sofas took shape and I was subtly impressed at the detail that was going into a simple back yard workshop. I watched early one morning as the delivery truck backed into the driveway and delivered the last of the materials needed including everything for the roof.

My day ended early and I figured I would just simply suck up the couple of hours it would take to slap the roof on this weirdly appointed structure. The temperature had finally broke the night before with a thunderstorm of sphincter tightening proportions and left the air cool and free of humidity. I slung my tool belt over my shoulder and stole a Diet Coke out my Mom’s fridge before down the driveway.

I could hear muffled grunting and the squeaking of springs as I neared the back of the house. I assumed Rocky was moving the trampoline and figured I would offer a hand. I heard a louder groan that caused me to pause but I knew they could be a pain to move having slung my own kids trampoline around the backyard a couple of times a year to cut the grass under it after it reached the growing up through the trampoline stage.

There was work being done in the yard when I finally crossed over behind the house but it wasn’t much I was going to help with. I know there is something biological that drives animals to dizzying acts of sexual deviance but I certainly wasn’t prepared to see my Mom’s neighbours stripped to their waists having energetic and somewhat dangerous sex on a trampoline. Rocky’s exposed white ass cheeks could have guided in a lost boat at sea with their brightness and his equally pale wife looked like she was being shaken by a paint mixer.

The sight was almost hypnotic. I chuckled as the idea of clearly my throat loudly came and went at roughly the same time I think Rocky did. I sauntered back up the hill and figured my afternoon was ruined with the haunting visions of white dangling balls slapping  black poly mesh until I saw Rocky walking around the side of the house. He waved me down and I hesitated before walking back down. I had no idea if I could keep what I had just seen to myself without giggling like a Japanese school girl.

“Everything’s ready for you.” Rocky said as he pulled the tail of his shirt out of his obviously hastily pulled up shorts before unconsciously adjusting the front of his shorts and grimacing slightly.

“I know I watched the truck drop off the material,” I said “So I walked down a few minutes ago.”

Rocky eyed my questioningly as I realized what I had said. I figured I should just get it over with at that point.

“I maybe should have waited for a few more minutes.” I stammered until I saw Rocky break out in a shit eating grin.

“Maybe,” he said “But then you could have watched me wedge my balls between the edge and a spring trying to get off that fucking trampoline. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable something like that is?”

“Oddly enough I do,” I answered quickly “I froze my sack to a fence post last winter while I was running.”


Finish Lines and Prison Showers


“You have got to be kidding me.” I heard someone ahead of me groan.

My lungs were burning as I rounded a slight uphill grade out of a dense growth of pines and laid my eyes on what had elicited the shuddering sound. The trail stretched upward at such a steep incline that my heart sank to my sweaty crotchal zone. I slowed to what felt like a crawl and when the traffic in front of me bulged up like an unexpected erection when you are wearing track pants I did the only thing I could.

I grabbed the twenty something year old Asian girl who had come to a dead stop and tossed her over the fallen tree in the path and jumped over it myself. My calves screamed as I pushed as hard as I could down on my feet and tried to push my duck foot walk into a stumbling jog up the ski hill.

From the time I crossed the hay-field that had been converted into a parking lot until stepping up to the starting line at the base of the ski hill hosting the event, I was astounded by the rock concert atmosphere of the Spartan Sprint. Athletic bodies as far as the eye could see mingled with children running as wild as mongrel dogs. I had been training for this moment for months. Along with my own personal Yoda, my best friend Rob, we had set our sights on the finish line and resounding glory of finishing a Spartan race. Months of training and planning and running had led to the moment where we would bolt through the starting gate and hammer our way through the course. We would cross the finish line hand in hand like a non homosexual but still surprisingly fashionable couple.

We wandered around with the rest of our teams and families in awe of the spectacle. Thousands of people all clamouring for the chance to hurl themselves at the mountainous course. I was ready and pacing like a donkey trying not to step on his elongated scrotum. We had watched the previous heat leave the starting gate and of the hundreds that left not one had managed to maintain even a jogging pace at the top of the first treacherously long hill. I was determined to make it out to the front of the pack and maintain my pace. I had been killing my times running miles and had been jogging up the ski hill not four minutes from my house over the past few weeks. My training regimen alone should have given me an advantage.

“You ready?” Rob asked as we approached the massing bodies at the starting gate.

“Fuck yeah.” I answered boldly as I pulled my headband up from around my neck and put my number in place.

“Shirts off?” Rob further questioned as I was already yanking my compression shirt over my sweat damp head.

“Only way to do it,brother.” I answered as he pulled his Batman shirt off. We stood like gladiators waiting to be fed to the lions or at least the raging herd of cats I was sure the super fit Amazon near the front of the pack had in her apartment but had been neglecting to feed for the past month. The event announcer dressed in full Spartan regalia counted down the time as we tensed at the gate. His Andy Frost radio voice was infinitely distracting but as he reached zero, we took off like a used condom.

The angle of the first incline rose quickly and it was nearly impossible to maintain a running pace. We slowed to a jog which rapidly devolved into a wide legged rapid walk. The same one most people get when they fart and aren’t really sure if anything came out so you hobble to the bathroom. My calves were sore by the time we reached the top which I thought was odd but made my way to the first obstacle. The wall traverse was one on the more difficult things to get over and I was glad it was out-of-the-way early in the race.

Side by side, my sun browned skin and his musician’s pasty white, Rob and I descended the first hill and I knew I wasn’t feeling right. I crushed my way through the next obstacle, climbing a spider web style rope triangle before pulling a hundred pound propane tank on a rope twenty-five feet into the air and turned to see yet another steeply rising hill. The sun was beating down on us and we shouted encouraging grunts at each other before heading back up.

Around the top of the hill and through more fiendishly designed objectives we raced before chasing each other down a steeply banked hill. At the bottom rested a set of gymnastics style rings that had to be crossed before advancing. The penalty for not making it through was the same as every other failure. A series of thirty burpees which for the uninformed are a combination of push ups and trying not to vomit.

Rob traversed quickly with his monkey like strength and much slighter build. I saw him standing at the end waiting for me when my hand slipped off and it dropped to the sodden ground below. I saw his chin dip a bit. I wanted him to run the best race he could not hindered by waiting for me.

“Go.” I yelled out to him.

“You sure?” Rob asked back as he turned his body towards the next set of hellish events.

“I will catch up.” I said determinedly as I dropped to the ground and forced my self through the penalty. I saw him scamper through the set of adult monkey bars and start the long trek up as I made my way towards the childs play structure. My hands carried my stiffening legs across the span only to have my hands slip just as I reached the bell that needed to be run in order to advance. My fingers grazed it just enough to make as much sound as an orgasm in church.

I bolted out of the area as more runners filled in behind me. I saw Rob as short way up the incline and jogged to catch up. I was less than a few hundred yards behind him when a feeling came over me I hadn’t expected.

I was just over half way through the race and I was completely out of gas. I had committed the cardinal sin of racing. If there is no fuel in the tank, the engine shuts off. I had listened to a few people who had run the Sprint before and said to eat a huge meal the night before but had paid very little attention to my own body. Caught up in the hype and fever of it all, I hadn’t eaten a thing that day.

I slowly forced myself to keep moving. The climb seemed to take an eternity. All around me, people from all different heats and levels of fitness were sitting off to the sides of the track in the cooling shade. I paused long enough to dunk my head under a cooling jet of water normally reserved for snow making before grinding out another long section of the course. I knew that no matter how long it took me I was going to finish the course.

Uphill and down. Over and under wooden walls. I ground out each section of the course with the grim determination of not finishing as fast as I had planned but finishing none the less. My dehydrated brain carried my body past the point I wanted to just sit down. I forced myself to crawl through dark,sticky mud covered by barbed wire until the crowds began to gather. I knew I had to be close. I saw dozens of people waiting at the last obstacle, an uphill rope climb slick from the muddy boots of hundreds of feet. I saw Rob with his medal for finishing already around his neck yelling encouraging things that to my fried egg brain sounded like someone farting into a pillow and blaming their dog. It spurred me on to claw my way up then slide down a rope before making the final dash over a roaring fire that traditionally you would make some grand leaping mid-air pose for the cameras. I leapt over it on numb calves and barely avoided burning the hair off my bikini line.

A medal was placed around my neck by a smiling blond in Spartan wear. She congratulated me and my rational mind came up with a line about mixing my chocolate with her peanut butter but what came out was a half-hearted joke about rubbing a Reese’s on my junk. I wandered away looking for some water before she could respond.

“We did it.” Rob yelled as I made my way out of the finish area “I was only a little bit ahead of you at the end.”

“That last hill took forever to get up.” I groaned and tried wiping some of the accumulated mud from my bald head.

“But you made it,” Rob laughed “Let’s hit the showers.”

The showers if they were to be called that was a crude system of hoses shooting water colder than a mother-in-laws kiss over the grime crusted masses. We made our way over to the line and were trying to sneak in before we saw that more than a few people had mud in orifices not normally designed to hold it. One young woman was hosing out her shorts and giving herself what must have been an arctic enema based on the flow of water gushing out the ass cheek holders on her yoga shorts. Another late fifties male runner with a chest of hair thicker than the sweater my aunt knit me for one Christmas that some how ended up as the bedding for a litter of piglets at a petting zoo had his shorts pulled out with one hand and the hose in the other was washing the underside of his dangling testicles with the care normally reserved for washing a newborns hair.

Enema Girl handed the hose off to Rob and he quickly washed down his arms before trying to rinse out his hair. I took the hose from him and tried to generate enough water pressure to get the thick coating off to no avail.

“Turn around.” I said to Rob. I started rinsing his back off and laughed when I looked around and saw at least three more couples of men doing the same. I had figured he and I would cross the finish line together hand in hand and yet at the end of the day we simply ended up in the shower together.

Sounds From the Baseball Field – Volume 2




One of the true benefits of coaching sports, especially with the same group of young men and women over a nine-year span is you get to know them as both a teacher and a friend.

You learn their likes and dislikes. How they interact with others. Their hobbies. Their interests. Their dreams. Their goals.

You watch them grow.

You see them through birthdays and graduations. Through bad days and funerals.

You hear them sings songs of victory. You lift their chins in defeat.

What you don’t really expect to hear is –

“Dude, I know she’s your girlfriend but if she really loved you, she wouldn’t have given you chlamydia.”

They Call Them Shorts For A Reason



The rain was hitting the wind roof so furiously, it sounded like a swarm of drunken hummingbirds. The rain the weather man had been promising for over a week but hadn’t delivered left the area with the worst case of humidity blue balls. Over the course of a single morning it had finally broke loose. It was raining in waves that soaked sun burnt skin but had done little to dissipate the humidity.

Having hastily waterproofed the house we were working on, we cleaned up our tools and packed everything away as the rain-soaked us to our skins. As I packed away the tools in our tool trailer, my brother Dart and Mindy hooked up the garbage trailer to take back to our yard. Rain had plastered Mindy’s blonde locks to her face and she yanked it back into a semblance of a pony tail through her ball cap.

“You want me to take the trailer back?” Dart asked as he shook out his jacket and pulled it over his sodden shirt. The first rumbles of thunder ominously echoed the buzzing of my phone and I answered the phone before I answered the hanging question. My shirt was as soaked as a bar stool on male stripper night and I pulled it over my head before answering.

“It’s just one stop.” My mom said with that tone that meant she was not really giving me an option. Dart threw his hands up in the air in the “It’s raining, what the hell are we doing?” gesture and I watched as rain bounced out of his palms. I waved him off derisively as I got the address from my Mom. I turned to ask who was going with me and saw the truck with the majority of my team already rattling down the road like a vibrator dropped on a hardwood floor.

I looked back over at my truck and saw Mindy pull her sweater over her dripping tank top and retying the drawstring on the basketball pants she wore over her shorts. I realized I was standing in the rain shirtless and while it may have looked good in The Notebook it wasnt going to work on a service call.


Don’t act like you havent seen it.

I rooted through the back seat of my truck for something to cover my nipples with. The only thing I could find was a white wife beater tank top that my brother was fond of. The only issue was I think he may wear a youth extra-large with room for a bag of Skittles between the material and his skin where as I am better suited to a curve hugging men’s large. With a sigh, I pulled it over my head and glanced over to see Mindy snicker at the sight.

“You look like you should be on Jersey Shore.” Mindy giggled.

“Aren’t those guys fairly attractive?” I asked knowing full well that the men on that show were about as attractive as oral sex from a homeless guy.

Mindy continued to stifle her laughs as the rain-soaked through the white cotton making the red of my sun burnt skin show through pink. I avoided eye contact with her completely as I backed out of the driveway and headed towards the address waiting for us. The rain continued to pelt the truck and I turned the heat up to compensate for the rapidly dropping temperature.

The house seemed modest enough if you avoided the concrete slab step that was falling into a hole beside the entry way filled with stagnant water swimming with mosquito larvae. With a sigh I nodded to Mindy that she should stay in the truck until I figured out what was happening. I slogged across the driveway and reached over the Ninth Circle of Hell to rap solidly on the front door.

In no time it was answered by a woman on the borderline between old stripper hot and the club footed crossing guard with the overly muscled right arm. Her lank hair had been pulled into a loose braid that matched the loose-fitting shirt she had scavenged from a case of beer in the early Nineties. The shock of cold water had caused my skin to goose bump and my nipples to stiffen to the point I thought they would tear through the horrible fitting cotton. Her eyes darted over my damp skin and my brain played the refrain from a bad Ginger Lynn porn movie. As a consummate professional, all I could do was ask to be shown where the problem was.

“It’s right over here in the kitchen.” Beer Shirt said as she pointed through a Nascar memorabilia filled living room. I walked past what had to have been a life-size stand up of Jeff Gordon to see a man standing in the kitchen with a flashlight pointed at the water dripping leisurely down onto brand new kitchen cupboards.  Their newness was a stark relief to the rest out the outdated decor so I could see why she had called.

“I know you’re here to help,” the man said from underneath the combination of a matching set of unkempt eyebrows and ponderously huge mustache “But there’s really no need.”

“For shit’s sake, you are the one that screwed up the roof in the first place.” Beer Shirt said as she stomped over to stare at the water dripping the same way everyone in an elevator stares at the numbers. I saw the ceiling beginning to bubble and figured I should venture outside to see if anything could be done to at least slow it down. Mindy already was pulling the ladder off the truck and was walking towards the house as the home owners followed me out.

“It’s likely just on the flashing.” Bushy Brows grumbled as he slogged out after me ” I will fix it first thing in the morning.”

“At least let him look at it.” Beer Shirt scolded him as her eyes roved over my translucent shirt.

“I don’t need any….” Brows trailed off as he looked over to see Mindy pull off her ball cap and shake out her blond locks. As she stood the ladder up, the accumulated rain washed down the front of her and she laughed a girlish giggle. She walked back towards the truck and held the door open with her butt as she peeled off her wind paints to reveal a pair of cut off jeans that barely covered her cheeks.

Bushy Brows stood transfixed. His breath seemed to steam out of him. I felt like Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage at SummerSlam when Miss Elizabeth dropped her skirt allowing the MegaPowers to get the win over Ted DiBiase and Andre the Giant. I used Bushy Brows mesmerizing drool to go up on the roof and see that not only was the flashing kitchen vent leaking but the entire roof was a disaster. I headed back down the ladder but not before catching Mindy bending over the back of the truck to get a tape measure and Brows adjusting the crotch of his jeans.

After discussing what had to be done with Beer Shirt, I went back to the truck to see a fully dressed Mindy texting away on her phone and avoiding my pointed gaze. I had left the people my cell number to call me if they decided they wanted the job done.

“You did that on purpose.” I said flatly after a few moments of silence.

“It stopped that guy cold didn’t it?” Mindy asked just as blandly but with a slight smile that slid up to her eyes.

We werent a half a mile down the road when my phone rang.

“Sex sells.” Mindy said as she shook her reapplied blond pony tail at me.




Female Superiority




I have this theory about Female Superiority because I have noticed  they don’t seem to need us men.

We’re physically stronger than they are but it feels like we need them more than they need us.

Fact is, statistics say most woman prefer chocolate over sex. A survey in Men’s Health of a thousand women found that seventy-eight percent of women, given the choice, would rather have a piece of milk chocolate melting on their tongues than a single drop of a guys cream filling.

Chocolate. Wrap your head around that tasty bit of truth.

When you think of it, us guys were in trouble right from the beginning.

This is what I think really happened:

God creates Man.

An interesting creature, loves to take things apart, blow stuff up and scratch his junk like a class room full of ninth graders with raging gonnorhea.

Now, it’s not that God didn’t do a great job on us, but for some reason, a day or so later He see’s a problem.

And then He’s saying stuff like “It’s not good for man to be alone, all this guys done for the last five hours is masturbate and giggle at the monkeys flinging poop at each other and laughing at their weirdly shaped asses”.

Like we need a babysitter or something. So I think man, right from day one, was a bit of a cluster fuck.

And He didn’t want us alone down here, taking stuff apart and eventually flinging our own poop at the monkeys because what really was stopping us.

So He gets busy creating…Woman.

Now woman will have to be superior because she has to be totally self-sufficient and able to look after this man gone sideways.

I think at some point God had a little heart to heart with Woman.

You know, explaining the situation.

“Eve, sweetie, You are privileged among woman” 

*rolling eyes* “Uh huh”

“I know I know, he’s a handful.”

“Ya think!?”

“Hey, Hey…just remember, where the real power lies, “Up Here”.

“I made you stronger “up here”

“Look, I’d considerate it a personal favour if you just kept this between us.

I’m going leave him physically stronger, so he’ll think he’s the superior one.

But I’ll make some adjustments, and he’ll be following you around like a puppy dog.”

So life goes on with Women ruling the world without us even knowing it and us trailing around after them with our tongues hanging out, our brains turned off and our erections poking them in their ass cheeks if they slow down long enough to pick up some loose change on the ground because no matter how they think of themselves if they have a low-cut top and flash a little cleavage we will help them move furniture or let them borrow our cars to go on a weekend get away with their boyfriends.

They have this extra sense called ‘Intuition’

A creepy thing. It allows them to know stuff without any information. Especially when we have totally fucked something up or slept with their aunt.

And look who they hang around with. Sure we spend a lot of time with them but that’s just them ‘on the job’ looking after us.

Look at a woman who works in a daycare.  Here she is communicating at baby intelligence level all day long.

After work, what does she do for some adult stimulation? She gets a piece of chocolate and goes looking for a woman to talk to because she needs some mature conversation, and face it, woman are more mature.

And they mature sooner than men do. Girls are ready for life in their late teens, early twenties.

While guys are still riding bikes off cliffs or trying to skateboard down handrails at 30. I think that’s how the entire Competitive Eating circuit started. Two thirty something guys in a bar fighting over who could suck down the most pickled eggs while a crowd of beered up locals cheered them on waiting to see who threw up or had a heart attack first.

I mean, as a gender you are mature enough not to spend your time masturbating or flinging poop at each other.

Most of you any way.

As guys we understand you are superior to use in almost every way. Thank God he gave us a penis. Until they find a way to replace that I think we are in pretty good shape.



One of the Boys

tool girl


The single line of text stared me in the eye every time I looked back over the file.

“Don’t rule me out just because I am a woman.”

It was a simple phrase that left me rubbing the back of my stubbled scalp and shaking my head.

Construction is as tough a job as any you will find. Add in the height element of roofing and even some of the toughest guys I know mysteriously find their testicles in the icy grip of paranoid fear. I had come back to this particular resume at least a dozen times as I sat pondering the applicants I had gotten them from. A polite and simple cover letter came with this particular one and I had skimmed through the listed experience before I even looked at the name. I was subtly impressed by the credentials and then saw the name.

I had already been through a handful of young men who had done less than stellar work in their brief auditions. One even went so far as to tell me the reason he was quitting on his very first day was the simple fact he couldn’t locate my office even using the GPS in his car.

I looked at the cover letter and its message was simple. Don’t rule me out. It struck me as particularly well-timed and funny at the same time. Why had I never considered hiring a woman before?

To be honest, not many actually ever apply for a job in construction. The ones that do are usually petrified of heights and want to hang around on the ground or are looking for an office job. Neither of those are an option. So I sat staring at a candidate for a job that had all the requirements I had asked for. Except one seemingly unspoken one.

The lack of a penis.

Put down the sexist chant sheets and your over full glasses of wine, ladies.

I have seen the heat and sheer heavy lifting nature of the construction industry break many a muscle-bound meat head so I was naturally concerned. My brother, Dart, had taken her resume when she offered it and he passed it along to me with a wry smile.

“I have no idea what to make of this one.” Dart said as he showed me “She’s literally half your size.”

The idea of a hundred and ten pound girl throwing around bundles of shingles made me snicker a bit as they would represent almost eighty percent of her body weight but then I kept going back to the single simple phrase.

Don’t rule me out.

I didn’t hesitate for a half a heart beat. I sent her an email asking when she could start.

My phone buzzed not long after with her response and a request to pick her up at the end of my street on her first morning as she wasn’t sure where my office was. She was already a step ahead of the last Dildo Factory reject.

I was a bit nervous as I headed out to the truck the following Monday morning. Dozens of thoughts were rolling through my head in regards to my job site handling of a girl employee.

How would my team of foul-mouthed miscreants treat her?

How could I make vagina jokes without offending her?

What if she didn’t like getting dirty? What if she had PMS? What if she had to poop?

I saw a blonde pony tail sticking out of a baseball cap framing a face wrapped around a mug of tea bigger than a mini keg of beer. She waved and I slowed the truck down. I swallowed hard and thought if I had any reservations this was my last chance to turn back. She was shorter and skinnier than my daughter and there was no way she was going to survive her first day.

“Jack?” she asked as she flung the door of my truck open and hopped into my coffee cup strewn front seat.

“Mindy?” I asked in reply as I extended my hand. Mindy smiled and gripped my tanned hand in her slim white fingers. She flipped her sunglasses down and they were large enough that they looked like a child playing dress up. She turned to look out the window and pulled her phone out. She was texting away at a rate my thumbs ached watching.

We got to my office and she hopped out before I even had the truck in park to introduce herself to everyone. My guys were mildly dumb founded but they welcomed her the same way they did all new employees by making her clean out my mess of coffee cups and protein bar wrappers from the floor of my truck.

The job site wasnt far from my office but the thoughts continued to percolate. First and foremost being how long it would be before she sued my company for some form of sexual harassment followed by what I was going to do when it got hot enough out for all my guys to start going shirtless and how I was going to explain to my insurance provider that I had advised her against it but she wouldn’t listen resulting in her having nipples so sun burnt that she could no longer breast feed the child she was planning on having in the near future.

“Are you ready?” I asked her as soon as we pulled up to the house we had started the previous day.

“Are you?” Mindy asked with an almost imperceptible laugh.

“Ready as I will ever be.” I replied with a sigh.

Mindy hopped out of the truck and saw where my guys were setting up. She grabbed a shovel and made her way up the ladder. Her safety boots seemed miles too big for her and clunked with every step.

“Where did you want me to start?” Mindy called down to me as I grabbed my own gear. She had made her way to the ridge of the house and thunked the shovel down like it was made of solid concrete.

“Right there is fine.” I said and turned toward the ladder only to see something I hadn’t quite expected.

Mindy attacked.

She started ripping shingles off like a badger with raging case of pink eye. What she lacked in size, she definitely made up in tenacity. I laughed as I watched her before the realization hit me that while she was small and testicularly challenged she was really just like the rest of us. All she needed was a chance to prove it.

Now all I had to figure out was what to do the first time she asked me to add tampons to the first aid kit.




The Five Easy Payments of $29.99 Story



I will be completely up front. I love infomercials.

There is just something completely magical about a blender that juices fruit, makes my teeth whiter, promises to grow my hair back, connect my iphone to other blenders around the world and trims my nostril hair. The fact Mr. T is endorsing it and sending it to my door for the low price of six easy payments of $29.99 unless I act now because they will reduce it to just FIVE payments is a no brainer for me.

At three in the morning and credit card in hand, I can get truly frightening.

After I broke my leg I watched my weight balloon to a point it had never reached. I rationalized it as best I could. That they multiple surgeries and doctors advice about my mobility were enough reason to scarf down whatever I wanted. So I did.

I didn’t realize how huge I had gotten until I saw a picture of myself and was shocked. The camera doesn’t add ten pounds, it adds a whole other person. I was heavier than I had ever been. With a family history of diabetes and heart disease I was quickly on the road to one or both of those.

I was standing in my living room when an infomercial came on that immediately caught my attention. It was for a brand new program called P90X. I saw the dramatic results these people achieved and was intensely jealous. Jealous enough that I knew I had to do whatever I could to get the body they had and I wanted. So out came the credit card.

The program was brutally intense and I think I shed as many tears as I did drops of sweat those first few weeks. I spent more time soaking sore muscles in the bath tub than I did even being awake until the first day it stopped hurting a little. Little by little, the weight came off.

Like any exercise program you do for a few months, things get stagnant. I was constantly looking for something new. Something different. Something to take the weight off faster and easier. Infomercial after infomercial. Program after program. Credit card bill after credit card bill.

It all worked to a point but it stopped being even remotely fun. There was no real goal other than to complete the next step with no finish line in sight. So when the chance came to run a five kilometer race at a ski hill came along, I jumped at it. I started running on a small island near my house and for the first time in a long time it stopped feeling like exercise. It was just running outside. As a kid I can remember running for hours and not even considering the fact I was getting tired. I was just having fun.

My mental informercial mindset has always led me to want to try new and trendy things. The newest trend is obstacle racing with the most revered of those being the Spartan Race. A three, eight or twelve mile obstacle filled battlefield. Mud pits. Rope climbs. Hill runs with sandbags attached to you. Sounds like fun doesn’t it?

I decided the best way to train for it was to split my time between the gym and running outside. The snow had finally started to melt and despite the chilly wind, I ventured out. I needed to somehow simulate the obstacles in a race so I planned a route that would take me through the tourist park and past the water treatment plant. The air was cold in my lungs with every breath but its cold fire burned along side my competitive nature.

The ran the length of the snow filled beach past the pavilion filled with picnic tables and chairs. I smirked at myself thinking it looked exactly like an obstacle I had seen in most race plans. I turned myself towards it and dove under the first table. The idea was to crawl under the tables in a manner simulating the crawl under barbed wire through a mud pit. The instant I knelt down I heard a tremendous rip as well as the icy fingers of wind on my butt cheeks. I froze face down under the table and reached back. I felt a small tear along the seam of my pants before touching chilled flesh.

The fact I never wear underwear now seemed like a poor lifestyle choice.

I made my way under the tables and ran towards the water treatment plant. I could feel the seam of my pants spreading wider but at that point was too far from home to turn back. It was actually a quicker and less populated way home if I continued on. The frozen wind lashed across my exposed ass like a whip.

I took the most direct way across the dam that lead to the treatment plant only to see a ten foot tall chain link gate in my path. I truly had no idea when they had put that up. The “No Trespassing” sign was also new but I really just take those as a suggestion. Besides, I had to get home with as few people seeing my goose pimpled ass as possible.

The gate flared out around the concrete sides of the dam like wide-spread arms. The barbed wire across the top seemed like a poor choice to try to scale so I made the decision to wrap myself around the sides of the fence and reach for the other side. Entwining my fingers around the links in the fence I shoved my foot around the other side. The instant I pushed off to reach around to the other side two very ill-timed things occurred.

First, the rip in my pants stopped from running down my leg and headed for my groin.

Second, my junk fell out the now gaping hole.

With no one else around it may have not been a big deal. I certainly have never shied away from public indecency. I have likely put the chemicals in my pool more times naked than I have clothed. The issue here was a basic scientific principle.

Wet exposed skin plus frozen metal equals adhesion.

To put it much more plainly, my sweaty balls were now frozen the a fence post.

I hung in mid-air above a raging waterfall hoping that a bolt of lightning would strike the fence and kill me. I closed my eyes and prayed to every God that ever existed that the sun would come out and melt my testicles off the chilly steel. Those few seconds felt like an eternity. I had a choice to make. Hope for a miracle or do the unthinkable.

I pulled as quickly as I could away from the fence and felt the elastic snap of my testicles slapping against me as I jumped to the dam again. Searing pain racked my system and my body temperature shot up. Sweat poured down my body and stung the now raw flesh bouncing out the bottom of my destroyed pants.

I jogged as tenderly as I could home. Fearful the whole way a bus load of nuns would drive by and see my junk flopping around like a child on a coin operated horse outside a grocery store.

I stripped down as soon as I entered the door. I flung my pants towards the trash and looked over at the television I had left on. An infomercial was showing the latest trend in hair removal and I busted out laughing.

Forget hot wax. If you want to take the hair off your groin just stick them on a frozen fence.



Lost In Translation


When I was in college I toyed with the idea of teaching English as a second language in a foreign country.

The only real issue I had was the fact I would have to learn a different language in order to survive. I likely would have starved to death or ended up sold on the black market as someone’s piece of “white chocolate” before I even realized it happened. I just can’t imagine how difficult it would be for someone to navigate a foreign culture .

As the winter begins to wind down, all the suppliers we have put on massive sales pitches to contractors from all over Southern Ontario. The idea is financially sound for them as it gets new products in our faces so we can add them to our arsenal for the coming season. It’s usually wrapped around a relatively decent buffet but sometimes they go a step further.

I had heard of the Fastest Shingler competition from a few guys that had taken part in it. It was as revered in our industry as the World Hot Dog Eating Championships were at a Weight Watchers meeting. It was scheduled for the same day as our biggest supplier unveiled their new product line. I pride my self on being able to bang product on as fast as anyone else so I figured it was time to put my skills to the test. The prize was one thousand dollars, a trophy and a shot at the Canadian championships. It may sound a bit odd to people but the winner of the whole competition stood to win ten thousand dollars. I like shingling. I like money.

I had to admit I was a bit nervous as I saw the set up for the competition. Eight contractors would face of head to head in timed heats to see who could shingle a small set up that included a toilet stack and a roof vent. I walked by the line of guys waiting for their turns and eyed up the time boards. I snickered a bit as I saw some of the leading times while watching the techniques the group that was hammering away was using. I figured I could make the leader board with a solid effort.

I walked back to the registration area and filled out the forms necessary to enter. A small Asian woman took my paper work and eyed me up and down over the top of her thick black framed glasses before gesturing for me to take my spot in the line.

As I walked down the line I eyed my competition and while a few of the guys seemed reasonably competent I was quite excited by my chances.

” Excuse me,” I heard a thickly accented voice say to my right ” Is this the line for the gang bang?”

I burst out laughing at the joke only to turn toward the voice. The tallest and duskiest skinned Jamaican I had ever seen looked down at me with an earnest expression.

” If it is,” I answered ” I sure as hell don’t want to go after you.”

I was expecting his expression to break at least a little but he still looked as solemn as ever. He tilted his head a bit as he tried to puzzle out my meaning. I laughed again in spite of myself.

“I was told there was a gang bang at the end of the line and I should bring my tools,” the man continued with earnest eyes. I could barely breathe I was laughing so hard.

” I am sure you swing a mean hammer,” I continued when I could get enough air in my lungs to form words ” But this is for the best in the industry.”

” No one bangs as fast as I do,” the Jamaican responded to my perceived insult and it elicited fresh peals of laughter from me and a couple of others that had been listening in.

The Asian woman who had taken all our registration information at that point sidled up beside him and placed a hand at his lower back. She looked expectantly at him as to what was causing such a dilemma.

“Is this the line for the gang bang?” He asked her with the same puzzled tone he asked me and she smiled as smile usually saved for lottery winners. She nudged him away from us and toward the competition area.

“Right this way,” She said as she gave us the same beatific smile before sashaying away. I stood in stunned silence. Perhaps I was in the wrong line. I am certainly not shy but the idea of dropping my pants in front of a set of bleachers full of people was not exactly what I had in mind today. Not long after, an equally dark-skinned but much shorter man was searching around the line. I knew he was looking for the guy we all would regrettably have to follow.

“Looking for someone,” I asked almost rheotorically.

” Yes,” He answered with a thankful look at me ” I brought a guy with me to compete today.”

” I think he’s at the front of the line,” I responded ” But he is here for a competition I don’t think the rest of us are involved in.”

A wickedly evil grin spread across the man’s face that I was helpless to not reflect in one of my own.

” He’s likely the fastest guy here,” Wicked Grin answered back ” But he speaks about fifteen words of English. We have been telling him for weeks he was coming to a place where gangs of guys bang shingles on for money. He’s been calling it a gang bang ever since.”

The Memory Remains


Fortune, fame, mirror vain, gone insane but the memory remains – Metallica

The tremors started in my hand when I heard the first scream.

It was involuntary and I reached into my pocket to dig my truck keys into my palm. Hoping in vain that the bright pain would stem the dark tide I could feel washing over me. The tingle of every follicle of hair on my body standing on end was as electric as the ozone after image from a thunder-storm. I watched my daughter and her friend run ahead of me screaming that care free screech of the tether being loosed on childhood. That scream that only two young girls can manifest when their feet are flying over solid ground.

Lights flashed in the periphery of my vision like flashbulbs and I briefly looked over my shoulder to see if the predicted storm had finally broke. A waving hand caught my attention and I turned back to see my daughter frantically motioning me closer. I passed booth after booth of garishly colored animals and mirrors reflecting the swirling bodies around me as I weeded my way closer to them.

The call of carnival barkers broken off by a derisive wave of my hand that I was trying to control in vain. Music pulsed at ear drum shattering levels that seemed to be in time with the pounding in my chest. My internal temperature dropped and I shivered despite the oppressive Indian summer humidity. The breeze kicked up long enough to dry the cold sweat that had broken out on every inch of my skin. A low animal growl of thunder in the distance broke my reverie and I made my way over to the impatiently bouncing girls.

My daughter’s smile briefly quelled the wave of anxiety breaking on the shore of my memory as I saw what she was pointing at.

” We are going in here,” She said in the tone she has that leaves no room for argument and had already kicked off her shoes . Her friend followed suit and I watched in near abject fear as they climbed inside the huge dome of the old-fashioned bouncy castle. It’s red and white stripes dulled by some many seasons of travelling from farmers field to farmers field. I reached out tentatively to run my hand over the mesh on the windows and pulled back as the texture of it felt like spider webs.

I felt the motion of the bodies inside it and heard the screams that you can never be sure are fear or laughter. I leaned my head against it and closed my eyes. The dream came back just as vivid as it had been when I woke violently from it the morning before.

The smell was the first thing I remembered. The musty wetness of damp ground as I walked  the stone bridge to the island I ran the trails on. The leafy canopy of the trees as you stepped on to it shielding me from the early morning spring sun. The trail feeling soft under my feet as I walked slowly towards the field where I always began running from. I started for a moment as I saw I wasn’t alone.

I saw her standing in the full light of day with the gossamer fluff of dandelion fronds dancing around her. Her tanned limbs stretched out to kiss the sun back. A smile broke on her face as she turned on her toes with a dancers grace. Her eyes lighted on me and I could feel my heart hold its breath.

“Chase me,” she called out and turned toward the lushly groomed trail.The turned her whirling hair into a blazing comet’s trail as she picked up speed. My heart leaped into my throat and I bolted after her braying for her to wait like a blood hound on a scent. My arms pumped furiously to drive my muscles to the breaking point and yet she seemed to be gaining speed. The ground felt at times insufferably muddy and other times as barren and harsh as the mountain tops. I chased her over vast fields grape vines and oceans of desert sand. Her musical laughter at my plight causing me to let loose the maniacal giggle that lay trapped behind my gasping chest.

The trees enclosed around the path again as the sun rose high over them. The oppressive humidity causing the air to hang heavily laden with moisture. The horizon I could just make out between the thick limbs began to darken as a storm was building drawn at a maddening rate by the thick air. I could see her toned limbs flash around every corner I passed and I redoubled my efforts.

I came up over a small hill to see a vast field spread out in front of me. Endless miles of wild strawberry flowers lay on the canopy floor giving the first hint of early summer. I saw the whisper of a gossamer shift flicker on the edge of my vision just as I felt a hand cup my own damp palm. My heart hammered once before freezing in that way things do when a moment holds its breath. Long fingers wrapped around mine and I turned my face to see a beatific smile. Her lips grazed over my jaw line and up to my ear where I could feel her heart pounding in the tight pants of her breath.

” Let’s go have some fun,” She teased as she used her nose tip to turn my face to see the huge dome of the bouncy house. It’s striped exterior giving a red tinged hue to its shaded interior. I felt the first drop of rain from the storm before the first massive clap of thunder shook the ground around us. Her smile and laughter dragged me towards the relative shelter as much as her tugging of my hand. Rain spattered the ground like crystal tears as the sun dipped over the tree line and the dark clouds enveloped the sky. Lightning arched through the teeming rain and I heard the same laughter that urged my frantic chase draw me inside the air-filled dome.

I felt hands on the side of my face and eyes lock on mine. I could feel my feet sliding on the wet surface but was held fast by a grip as sure as steel. I was pulled into an embrace that was as safe and warm as anything I had ever known despite the rain that continued to chill my soul. I looked out the spider web style windows to see the last of the fall leaves being lashed away by the gale force winds pounding through the clearing. Lips grazed mine on their way to my ear and a voice breathed over my brain.

“Miles don’t matter and time changes nothing,” Her voice echoed in every fibre of me ” But it’s time to wake up.”

I felt the embrace fade like a shadow in the sun and the rain turned to snow crystals on my eyelashes. I rushed to the woven windows to see her walking back up the path towards the trees. My heart exploded in my chest at the same moment the scream tore from my throat calling her back.

” You going in,” A voice gruff from years of smoking said blandly as I blinked the dream away.  I could hear my daughter and her friend laughing and screaming in that way kids do when they think no one is watching. My hands shook violently and I gripped my keys harder as I gulped down a breath. I shook my vision clear to see a young carnival worker gesturing towards the entrance of the bouncy house. The first drops of rain began to fall as the storm finally broke around me.

” No,” I answered in a near whisper ” Once was enough for me in there.”

It was true. Time does change nothing. The pain may fade. The heart does heal.

But the memory?

The memory remains.

The One For The Road Story


The first warm day we had after a month of blistering cold and damaging snow storms had my phone going off like your dad does at his office work Christmas party after he’s had nine beer and found out the company wasn’t giving out bonus cheques this year. The accumulated snow leads to ice dams along the edge of the roofs which can lead to wide-spread leakage and damage if not attended to. The majority of people just leave the snow and let nature take its course but the best course of action is to at least remove it from the perimeter.

The first call of my morning was an overly long snow removal with a woman who grilled me so hard about what I was doing I began to get a Joan Crawford “Mommy Dearest” kind of vibe. I actually flinched when she went to the closet and pulled her coat off a wire hanger but when she followed me outside grilling me mercilessly about the rationale behind removing snow from a roof I realized she was likely just a lonely old lady who just beat her own kids with coat hangers.

Mile after mile, house after house we pulled literal tons of snow off buildings. The muscles in my upper back and shoulders were burning like a painful bowel movement brought on by a night of dollar store tequila. The temperature continued to drop and I was getting to the point where I just didn’t think I could do much more.

I checked with my office and there was a call for snow removal not that far from where I was so I figured I would do the responsible thing and attend to it. If nothing else it got me one step closer to soaking in my bath tub with my army of plastic sharks and Spider-man bubble bath.

The snow was piled up on the house in giant meringue puffs that likely tasted terrible but I set to work with my snow rake. Great lumps of the stuff fell around me and did nothing to improve my mood that was souring as quickly as milk left on a sidewalk in St. Louis in summer.

I made my way around the back of the house and just started pulling the snow off the low garage when I heard a laugh and a splash.

” Now that looks like hard work,” I heard a voice call out. I turned with a half-smile and a sarcastic retort hanging off my teeth that never made it to my tongue. In the midst of the snow drifts sat a steaming hot tub occupied by two gentlemen who had to easily be in their late seventies. Their white skin and even whiter chest hair stood out against the starkness of the landscape like a polar bear walking across the arctic if he was drunk and horribly lost. There was a litter of empty beer bottles strewn around the base of the tub and a cooler not very far out of reach. Both men beamed smiled as bright as the mis-aimed headlight in an 86 Hyundai.

“It sucks ,” I answered back as the laughter I had forced down bubbled up like a fart in a thong. Both men raised their beer and half saluted me before draining them and tossing the bottles into the snow.

” You really need one of these at home,” One of them called out across the yard and pawed drunkenly at the lid of the cooler. His grizzled mat of chest hair floated like angry sea weed as he splashed his way towards the edge.

” I wish,” I laughed as I thought about my sad little bath tub. I took a longing look at the hot tub and cooler. Maybe someday.

“Well, we are moving out tomorrow so at least stop over for a beer before you leave,” Chest Hair yelled as I moved further down the roof edge. I turned to answer him when I heard a splash and water sloshing onto the ground. My eyes stopped on a pale set of wrinkled ass cheeks bobbing up out of the water as Chest Hair stood to open the just distant cooler. He turned to hand his companion a beer and his junk flopped against his opposite leg like a dog shaking a sock with an orange in it. It was almost at perfect eye level with his tub buddy and it didn’t phase him at all.

They sank back down into the water and had an arm over each other as they each took a long draught from the newly opened bottles. I had now seen it all. I had tangled with a sunbathing cougar and now had run across two hot tubbing bears. Lions and tigers and bears my ass.

” Sure you don’t want one,” Chest Hair chided again waving a beer bottle in a manner far too close to the motion his old junk had just conjured up.

I stopped and in a brief flash I realized my day had essentially been filled with the same kind of people. From Joan Crawford chasing me through snow drifts too deep to beat me to death in to the drunken Grizzly bears. They were just lonely. Seeking the companionship that even a few simple words from a stranger or a hot tub reach around can give.

That brief moment of connection to someone else that lets them know that they are not completely alone. Hell, I was guilty enough of it but anthropomorphizing plastic sharks in my bath tub. No one really likes to be alone. If these people found comfort in each other then who was I too judge them and quite frankly the beer looked really good.

” I have time for a quick one,” I replied as I tossed the snow rake aside and reached for the still junk dangling bottle.

It’s The End of The World As We Know It ( And I Feel Fine)


I almost punched an elderly woman in the face while waiting in line at the grocery store.

Normally, I don’t pay attention to a lot of the boring blathering babble most people are streaming as I stand in line with my basket full of kale, green apples and almond milk covering the box of cinnamon rolls I say are for my kids but her statement caught me so off guard I clenched up.

” It’s nice to see us having a good old-fashioned winter again,” She spouted with a smile on her weathered face and my hand immediately curled into a fist I knew would likely shatter any hopes she had of being in the seniors edition of “Modern Bride” magazine and me in jail with a small Latino cell mate named “Pepe” who continually offers me his pudding in exchange for protection from the skin heads.

The fact its been a brutal winter has so many people on edge that I think it’s really only a matter of time before someone snaps. More than likely that person will be me. So I figure if I am going to unleash months of pent-up cabin fever and aggression on the unsuspecting masses I should likely have a plan.

Jack Chaser’s Fool Proof Plan For Destroying the Planet

Step 1

Ok, first we have to prepare. Know some yoga, or relaxation techniques? Use them. Calm yourself down. Inhale scented incense. Deep breaths, now. Ok. Ready? Are you calm? Really? Good. Now we begin.

Now that we’ve prepared, we will think up a plan. We need a good plan, now, otherwise a super hero or someone like James Bond will stop us. Or even worse, your mom will find you in her basement and send you to your room without dinner right before she checks your browser history.

We’re most likely to blow it up, but there are many more possible ways to destroy our planet. Below we have described in detail some of the most popular ones. Once you have chosen your particular method, proceed to step 2.

There are a few basic safety guidelines we need to follow though to ensure
  • DON’T tell any governments, organizations or ANYONE AT ALL about your plan. It’s a surprise after all.
  • DO use your weapons of mass destruction safely and always read the instruction manual. NO ONE is above reading the instruction manual. There are not always extra screws when you put something together no matter how many times your dad tells you there are
  • DO carefully plan your alliances. After they have completed their end of the deal make sure you kill them. Even your best friend because we both know he will say it was his idea all along
  • DO make sure you have a suitable  or mothership to live in after you’ve destroyed your home.
  • DON’T put your elbows on the table when eating dinner. Youre destroying the planet not basic civility
  • Remember to chew each mouthful 20 full times during dinner as it helps strengthen your jaws for all the military rations you are going to have to gnaw through when all the real food is burned to ash or mutates into weird animal/fruit hybrids like in “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2”

Simple Strategies That Will Almost Always Fail But We Can Try Anyway

The Dr. Evil Bomb

Although this seems obvious, dull and unoriginal, there’s more to blowing up and entire planet then you think. First you must collect the suitable explosives or super-weapons, and then deviously detonate them below the surface of the planet . This will make the earth explode, sending pieces spinning wildly in all directions. Everyone will die, whether from being disintegrated from the explosion, or, if they are not killed, their section of earth will either spin towards the sun, where they we will melt slowly, or plummet into the outer rim of our Solar System, killing them from the cold.

As you see this is a very effective way to destroy the world, and is a recommended strategy.


African Witch Doctors are a great help in a world destruction. Simply make a cotton model of Earth and let the Witch Doctor blow it up with dynamite. If they insist to stabbing it with pins instead, do not argue. You may suggest they takeout all the Gingers first but they may give you that weird stink eye that freezes mens hearts in their chests. Witch Doctors are creepy. However, if you would like one, feel free to kidnap one from Africa or purchase one on Craigslist. I hear they go for a few hundred bucks.


Creating the next Day After Tomorrow is a fun and easy way to destroy the earth. Simply find your nearest wizard and make them unleash a fury of hurricanes, hailstorms, maelstroms and other natural disaster. Be creative! Mix different disasters at different places to create a unique blend of destruction and death! This method is not only effective and impossible to be stopped by mere human powers, but it’s fun too! Personally, I am hoping for a Sharknado cause that was just too great a movie to not wish it was real.

Ask God for a Favour

I mean, seriously! God IS just sitting up all the time in the clouds, why should He care about the earth? Just ask Him to destroy it for you. If He doesn’t, He will probably destroy you instead for interrupting His peace, so this method can be risky, but if you succeed you will have very satisfactory results! You can also bet God that he can’t blow up the world.

Befriend an Alien Army

If science fiction has taught us nothing its the fact that all aliens races have two goals. One is to probe our rectal cavities and the second is to destroy the planet.

Unleash a Plague

This is a particularly nasty but relatively effective way to destroy the world and everything in it. Simply hire a scientist to create some super bacteria and then unleash it into the water systems of all the cities in the world, just like in ‘Batman Begins’. The people with suffer horrible deaths as the only thing left to drink will be beer leading to some drunken politician finally pushing “the button” as his frat buddies egg him on.

Send all the rubbish on earth to space

If you are tired of recycling and composting, this is the best one. Create billions of 510-ton missiles filled with shit and launch them into space, on low earth orbit. Wait for several decades and its orbit will decay, therefore creating a storm of raining refuse. Once the earth is completely covered with soda cans and used condoms I doubt anyone would be able to live in this planet.

Invent cars that are powered by rocks

Yeah, that’s right. Rock-powered cars. Once the earth is depleted of rocks there will be no more land, no more ground, no more Green Peace hipsters in their tweed jackets and shoulder satchels carrying manuscripts no one will ever read, no more annoying kids taking a dump on your lawn, no more anything! Since rocks are the most fundamental part of life existing on Earth, separating life from rocks would lead to the destruction of the world.

Step 2

So, you’ve picked your strategy? Now it’s time to apply it to your situation. Destroying the earth can be an enjoyable experience, you just have to know how to do it properly.

There are many things that may stop you from completing your task. Budget, governments and super heroes in spandex are the three biggest problems the earth-destroying newbie will encounter, and even experienced evil-doers will have to fight hard to destroy these problems.

  • Budget: Compared to destroying the world, robbing a bank is a simple activity and can easily be achieved. Mowing the lawn for your parents and neighbours could help too. If you’re really desperate, and have a thin or athletic build but have an irrational phobia of guns and mowers, try prostitution. If you have a heavy build, try sumo wrestling or stand-up comedy.
  • Governments: If you have solved the budget problem, taking care of governments should be no problem. Bribe them to leave you alone, or hire spies and infiltration agents to keep everything quiet. Better yet,use your prostitution skills and take selfies of you and government officials in group sex with midgets, farm animals and clown. No one like clowns.
  • Superheroes: The hardest problem. Seemingly the easiest way to solve them is to hire a super villain. However, no villain has ever beaten a superhero, so you may have to resort to fighting these pesky guys (or hot chicks) yourself.

Step 3

You may be tempted to flee as the world is being destroyed but make sure you give yourself enough time to watch the inevitable CNN special report as they find the dumbest backwoods rednecks to put on television as all the rational people are spending time with their wives or girlfriends or trying to convince their wives to have a three-way with their girlfriend.

Saying goodbye to all the things you will never have again is an important step but a better thing is doing all the stuff you will never get the chance to do again like throwing eggs at crying Goth teenagers or eating a box of Hostess pies.

Last but not least I highly recommend finding that elderly lady that started this whole process and punching her as hard as possible. When she stares bewildered up at you and asks why, you simply answer ” You know why”.

Emergency Broadcast


This is a test of emergency broadcast system.

In the event you are attending a three-day business seminar to be trained to install a brand new type of steel roofing product and happen to excel in the training demonstration, you may find yourself in the company of the twenty something boy millionaires poised to take over the company someday.

These young men may find your applied knowledge to be just as valuable as your ability to take all their money from them at a charity casino held at your hotel later that night to benefit the brave heroes who fight for our freedom but come home wounded and rather than take some cheap door prize you donate your winnings to a television renovation host that is actually doing the work just for a photo opportunity.

This gesture may further endear you to the company higher-ups who want to thank you for your generosity by buying you as much alcohol as you can ingest for the rest of the evening.

Should you find yourself in this position, a drink called the Four Horsemen is to be avoided at all costs. It is a mix of Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Johnny Walker and Jose Cuervo in volumes that should be saved for poisoning rodents. The first one may seem like a good idea but I assure you it is not. Especially when it is followed by another.

Further, once these fine gentlemen have entered your blood stream you may be tempted to drink things like Irish Car Bombs, Sicilian Kisses and Monkey’s Lunch. This is also a tactical error as some time in the near future you will need to use the bathroom and someone using drunk logic will offer their room as its closer than the one not twenty feet away. At which point you may end up on the floor of a hotel bathroom with your testicles on the wet tile floor wondering how you got down there and why no one is helping you get up.

Waking up naked from the waist down with a strange bruise on the back of your thighs may also happen as well.

In the event that any of these things occur, do not contact your local hospital or poison control centre or the CDC.

You aren’t dying.

You’re just an idiot.

This has been a test of the emergency broadcast system.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

The Out of Synch Story


The acrid tang of chlorine touched the back of my throat as I walked the humid hallway between the change room and the pool doors. As part of the Cross Fit program, we had to take part in a deep water fitness class. My fear of dancing was lifting with every step I took as I exited the change room in a whoosh of stagnant chemicals. I breathed deeply before rubbing my hands together at the thought of normally yoga clad bottoms floating around in bathing suit bottoms not big enough to keep bikini stubble dry. At least for one class I would be able to keep up with the movements and when I couldn’t I would just hide under the water and pretend I was doing something other than making the air fart out of my inflated pockets.

I saw only one person from class standing beside the pool as I made my way toward the deeper water. She was clad in a swimmers suit which while clingy was far too covering for what my brain had imagined would be a ring of synchronized camel toes rising out of the water to Madonna’s “Celebrate” with me in the middle spinning lazy circles. She had a bemused look on her face as she looked at the group already paddling around. She turned and arched an eyebrow at me and I gave her a half-smile before I turned my gaze to see where she had been looking.

There were at least a dozen women already in the pool. I think the youngest of them was in the neighborhood of sixty. There was more wrinkled white skin than the giant vat of Wonton soup at a Chinese buffet. My brain immediately went to the assumption that their class was finishing up and they would be getting out of the water. They were laughing and joking in that way women do when they have seen each other naked one too many times.

I saw the young aquatics instructor wheeling a speaker towards the pool and for one gleeful second I thought she planned on dumping the electric monstrosity into the pool to cook the entire floating mass like some geriatric bouillabaisse.

” Okay, who do I have from Cross Fit?,” she asked and the few of us brave enough to actually show up raised our hands.

“Well don’t be shy,” she laughed ” Join the class.”

I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for those either. I heard a splash and saw Dave the Ginger bobbing along beside the Menopause Mafia. There was no way I was going to be upstaged at this point so I cringingly slipped into the water. I swam out to the deepest point and stayed afloat as the music from “Sweatin to the Oldies” started.

I could feel the eyes of the women flicking over to me as I tried to keep pace. Treading water while doing spirit fingers above your head might seem easy but I assure you it isn’t. I began to tire fairly quickly and looked at the clock. Twenty minutes of an hour class had passed. I knew at that exact moment I was going to likely drown and be resuscitated by the Little Mermaid’s grandmother. I began to cheat my way over to the shallower water and sighed a little as I felt my toes touch the bottom of the slope.

” Okay, lets lay on our backs,” I heard the instructor call out and I flipped belly up. I was grateful for the rest as the last series of exercises had been rough. I stared at the ceiling as the next set of instructions were called out. I wasn’t completely sure what I was doing so I lifted my head out of the water to see pasty white flesh rising in unison. I came to a couple of shocking revelations at that moment.

First, I saw the reason why I was nearly drowning and no one else was even losing their breath was the simple fact they were all wearing flotation belts so they didn’t sink to the bottom.

Second, when women raise their legs out of the water when they are laying on their backs a bathing suit bottom doesn’t necessarily cover all of their bottoms. Or their fronts. Or anything in between.

I inhaled sharply and sucked in a huge lungful of water. I coughed harder than a sleeping dog farts trying to expel the liquid and nearly choked myself faint in the process. The instructor blew her whistle once and I saw life guards that I have underwear older than walking towards me. I waved them off and swam slowly over to the edge of the pool. I pulled myself up on the ledge and took a couple ragged breaths.

“You okay,” the instructor asked as she knelt down beside me. Every eye in the entire pool area seemed to be trained on me and every ear listening to my wet coughs.

“I think so,” I answered as I felt tears roll down my cheek ” It’s just the chlorine in the pool.”

I kept repeating “It was just the chlorine, It was just the chlorine” the entire drive home.

Punxsutawney Phil and the Global Warming Conspiracy

APTOPIX Groundhog Day

I am an animal lover by nature and appreciate the culture of Groundhog day but I have decided that every one of the miserable little bastards must die.

Six more weeks of winter? I would rather not.

The Germans used to believe that on Feb. 2, the Christian holiday of Candlemas — tell me you didn’t forget to pre-order your Candlemas roast? — any hibernating animal who saw his shadow could personally extend global winter for six months. Since this superstitution wasn’t already fucking insane enough, some kooks (or, more likely, savvy tourism boosters) in rural Pennsylvannia began dressing up in top hats, tuxedos and bow ties and calling themselves the Inner Circle. They declared that their groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, was the One True Weather Rodent, and that only they, the Inner Circle, could decipher his behavior, which happens to translate directly into rhyming verse, like this year’s forecast: “Many shadows do I see: six more weeks of winter it must be.”

Nice con. Its as big a scam as Global Warming.

groundhog 2

This morning, Punxsutawny Phil came out of his burrow on a unseasonably cold, sunny day, and predicted six more weeks of winter — but much of North America could have told you that already. Punxsutawny, like most of the United States, has been experiencing a freakishly cold winter,and yet people still believe the planet’s temperature is warming up. A record low  was set in Punxsutawny on Tuesday. Today, instead of the chilly, snowy 17-degree morning that was normal when the Bill Murray film was made in 1993, the crowd cheered on the groundhog at near record-setting cold temperatures.

Much of the country is experiencing a “Polar Vortex,” with thousands of daily record lows set in January. Even including Alaska — which has been seeing some record-cold temperatures as the Arctic climate grows more unstable — there were 19 more record-setting low temperatures as there were record highs in January. (Without global warming, one would expect about the same number of record highs as record lows.) Excluding Alaska, the lower 48 states saw 29 times as many record lows as record highs.

I might be in the minority but I hope Global Warming is real.

Imagine all the cavemen and woolly mammoths that are frozen in the ice that will be unthawed and be running around when the ice caps melt. Imagine if those cavemen are like Fred Flintstone. They could film the newest reality television hit that would rapidly eclipse “Duck Dynasty” as the most popular family in history. Captain Caveman trying to find his way in a modern world. The Wal-Mart line of clothes would be amazing.

In an important publication recently released, it states that an international research expedition to the Southern Ocean has confirmed that if it were left alone, the global climate would be naturally heading towards another ice age.

“We’re headed towards an ice age but our (man’s) presence here has delayed it but not for good”, stated Professor John Tarrance. Cores of marine sediment going back several hundred thousand years has confirmed that in the pattern of climatic fluctuations, we had passed the mid-point of an inter-glacial cycle and were now heading slowly towards a glacial period.”

Who really wants that?

I will tell you who. The groundhogs.

An entire industry and culture is built around the furry weather prognosticators. If an Ice Age is in our near future all of them will be out of jobs as people simply accept the fact that winter is never going to end. Punxsutawney would become a ghost town over night. Groundhogs will be free to run rampant over the country side and breed faster than teenagers in an Alabama trailer park. Soon they would cross over into inter species breeding creating a hybrid Groundhog/Grizzly Bear that would develop a taste for human flesh. That would quickly follow a break down of social systems as people locked themselves indoors to avoid the rampaging Grizzly Hogs. Families would soon resort to inbreeding to perpetuate the human race resulting in generations of deformed mutants with monstrous strength sent out to fight the Grizzly Hogs that have now developed wings to give them the tactical advantage of divebombing prey from above. The resulting nuclear conflict sparked by the Koreans blaming the Jews for everything would leave the world a grey,desolate husk where Mad Max style gangs driving vehicles powered by disconnected hamster brains would scour the lands for the last Twinkies.

So as the temperatures begin to plummet around the world you will likely find me roasting groundhogs over a burning pile of old MacDonald’s styrofoam containers. When people ask what I am doing I will just tell them I am fighting the end of the world.

The Last Man Standing Story


Cross fit must be the anti Fight Club because the first rule of Cross Fit is you never shut up about Cross Fit. I don’t know anyone that has taken even a single class that cannot bring it up in every conversation they have with absolutely everyone.

Last summer, I had trained for and competed in a Zombie Run that was essentially a five kilometer uphill climb of three lengths up and around a ski hill. I turned in what I figured was a respectable time for my first timed race and was standing at the finish line panting like a dog in heat watching lesbian poodle porn when I say a group of high fiving young men who could have been on the cover of any issue of Modern Fitness Modeling For Douches. Each of them were wearing a black form-fitting t-shirt emblazoned with the name of the newest Cross Fit gym in the area. They had absolutely crushed the course and looked like they had barely broken a sweat. I was utterly exhausted from cross-country sprint but promised myself that my next race would be a much better result.

I was leafing through the program book at my gym when I saw they were now offering a “Cross Fit” style course. Apparently Cross Fit is a copy righted name so unless you have express written consent to use it they send a group of compression shirt wearing thugs in day glow green shoes to your house where they beat you half to death, impregnate your daughter and steal all the change off your dresser unless you promise never to utter the word again. I knew if I wanted to close the gap between cross-country running on my island and the ridiculous fitness level I saw that day I was going to have to find a way to push myself.

The night of the first class, I geared up and popped my headphones in. Pounding drum beats filled my ears courtesy of Avenged Sevenfold and I shook my testicles into a more comfortable position. I was ready for anything the class had to throw at me. I stalked down the hallway like a wolf hunting prey and rounded the corner towards the doors already open awaiting my arrival.

I was greeted by a tall, smiling woman in the shortest yoga shorts money could buy. Her bright and cheery demeanor completely disarmed me but not as much as the other people already waiting for the class to start. I entered the room to see a group of young women clad in matching yoga pants and tank tops. It took less than half a heart beat to notice a very distinct lack of penis in the room. I shrugged and hoped at least one other guy would show up albeit fashionably late but realizing that a guy who showed up fashionably late on purpose was likely going to be wearing yoga pants and wishing his outie was an innie.

” Okay everybody,” the instructor called out as she adjusted her headset ” My name is Kim and welcome to instability training.”

A chorus of clapping and woos responded to her and I chuckled a bit. Woo girls. Just my luck.

” If you will all grab a BOSU and a set of weights we will get warmed up,” Kim said as she motioned to the blue mushroom-shaped half balls. Before I could make an ill-timed joke about blue balls, I looked at the stack of small hand weights. The heaviest they had been ten pounds and there was no way I was going to get much out of that.

” I am gonna grab some weights from the gym,” I said in a tone that must have channeled Chris Farley in “Tommyboy” looking for the weight room because Kim gave me a look normally reserved for three-legged kittens with a hair lip.

” I will be right here,” Kim replied enunciating each word and nodding after each syllable to be sure I understood. I could tell she was looking for an excuse to pat me on the forehead.

I walked down the hall wondering which of the Little Rascals was her favorite and grabbed a couple of heavy dumb bells. If I was going to do a girls workout I was at least going to look like a guy doing it. I had just made it back to the place I had picked out in time to join the gyno Canadians in the warm up. I snickered as the beads on sweat started to show on everyone else and I hadn’t even taken a deep breath yet. Then my worst fear was realized.

I can’t dance. I have about as much rhythm as lava lamp and am just as wobbly. Watching me was like watching someone dry heave. Kim led the group through a series of steps that left me gasping to keep up. I was bouncing on the hall ball in what I figured was perfect timing only to have my feet tangle up with the girl beside me resulting in some unintentional butt touching.

” Okay,” Kim called out, ” Let’s grab the heavy weights.”

Finally, I thought. Something I could handle.

What followed was a disaster of recockulous proportions. Ten reps into a combination move that involved balancing on a giant rubber ball doing shoulder presses while at the same time executing what must have been the crane kick from “The Karate Kid” with a yoga pose that could only be described as “Crotchal Nightmare”, I was a sweaty mess. I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes into an hour class. I looked like I had run the New York City marathon pushing a wheel barrow full of pickled pig’s feet. My muscles were screaming from the weight but there was no way I was going to let a bunch of jazzercising girls see me go down.

” Everybody ready to take it to the next level ?” Kim laughed into her mic while eyeing me in the mirror. A round of “woo”s that would have done Ric Flair proud covered the sound of my tears hitting the floor. We all dropped our weights and sat down on the floor. I resisted the urge to vomit into my water bottle so no one saw.

” Feet up on the ball,” Kim called out and I laid back on the floor.

“Thrust up,” I heard and turned my head to see yoga clad crotches sky-high. I burst out laughing. I was Robinson Crusoe trapped on Camel Toe Island. A series of moves followed after the thrusting that brought my eye line to Gina Town with nowhere else to look. I couldn’t help but continue to laugh. I decided I only had one safe place to look. Right at my groin. I figured if nothing else all the girls in the class would think I was a typical guy and fascinated with my junk.

Mercifully the class ended quickly there after. Apparently time flies when you are laughing at floating vulva. The girls were continuing to woo it up and I just sat on my giant blue balls staring at the floor. I wiped the sweat running from my bald head and saw Kim giving me a look I was unprepared for.

It was almost pity. She had kicked my ass with a class I had never seen a single guy take and likely with good reason. Especially those of us that can’t do the Running Man while holding a weighted bar in our butt cheeks.

” You okay ?” Kim asked as I gracelessly stood up.

” I think so,” I replied with a shake of my head that indicated the opposite.

” Well I hope you come back next week,” Kim said with a smile ” It’s yoga boot camp. You should consider getting some yoga pants so you can keep up with the rest of the girls.”

The Problem with Powers


I have a massive hero complex. It’s just as part of my nature. I have tried to deny it but I usually fail.

I can trace it back to my obsession with comic books growing up but as I got older I started to think about the reality of the problems super heroes must really have.

Like would Spider-man hanging upside down all day resulting in a massive headache and the inability to get an erection due to lack of blood flow. Or how his radioactive loads would cause cervical cancer in any girl he had sex with.

Like Superman ending up with people laughing and taking pictures of his unfortunate moose knuckle resulting from wearing too tight underwear over top of his already too tight pants. Or the fact a woman could never fake an orgasm because he could would use his x-ray vision on her brain to see the lack of synaptic response resulting in an instant derection and some very awkward conversation.

Batman is clearly a Furry or why else would want to bang Catwoman. Unless its to cover up the fact he is a card-carrying member of NAMBLA thus justifying his penchant for taking in teen boys.

Wonder Woman clearly a penchant for bondage based on her metal cuffs and magic rope but what guy in his right mind would want to sleep with a woman who can get you to only tell the truth? Who actually would want to tell her that they have had better? That one of her nipples in her massive fake boobs is pointing at the ceiling fan and the other at the goat’s in the side yard?

The one that confuses me the most is the Incredible Hulk.

On the surface the guy seemed to be the complete package. He had the brain of one of the smartest guys ever and a body that would have every bodybuilder on the planet injecting steroids directly into their testicles. I could just never figure out why he was so angry all the time.

Then it hit me. An epiphany brought on by the biggest monster at my gym walking by me without a towel on and his penis at pretty much eye level with where I was putting on my shoes. The guy had to be six-foot four and around two hundred and fifty pounds of nothing but muscle. Well spoken. Articulate. On the surface, any guy would be jealous. Until I saw the fact he was hung like an infant. Hummingbirds likely had larger junk than this guy had.

So it all fit. Chances are at some point some poor unsuspecting super heroine doffed her costume thinking she was going to be having angry dirty fuckery with a mountain of muscle only to have the Hulk drop his purple undies and be seen sporting a penis so small he likely had to use a kiddy splash guard when he got drunk and had to sit down to pee. The laughing and pointing that must have followed scarring the now former jovial fellow to the point he just walked around pissed off at the world all the time.

Then the stories spread as the girl simply couldn’t resist telling all her super friends that the poor guy had a penis smaller than an outie belly button. After that he likely couldn’t even pay a meth addicted prostitute with no teeth and scabby knees to touch him.

Then it would just be long lonely nights staring at a computer screen at penile enhancement surgery ads offering to make him the next Ron Jeremy . A quick credit card payment later sends him an instructional video on the proper way to stick your penis in a vacuum and a rubber band to tie a knot in the engorged “monster”. Neighbour hood kids drawing baby penis pics in the dust on his car only exacerbating the situation to the point the rage boiled over inside him.

Every time a girl snickered at something behind his back at work would be like a dagger in his tiny testes. Every under wear billboard with some British guy flaunting his moose knuckle on his drive to the gym illustrating that he can have all the muscles in the world but still not supermodel to go with it.

I would want to punch everyone in the face too.

Dildos in Everyday Life


I was lounging in the tub early one evening when the email alert went off on my phone prompting yet another fumbling attempt to not drop my phone in the tub. My heart and testicles jumped into my throat as I saw an email from a marketing company. Seems that I had caught the attention of a company that is near and dear to not only my readers but also my penis.

The wonderful purveyors of the finest adult products in the world and I collaborated on a piece of writing and I am happy to present to you the following .

Applications For A Dildo In Everyday Life

In early January, while mired in the miserable frosts of the shifting Polar Vortex — a planet-sized vapor monster hell-bent on cloaking humanity in a new Ice Age—I did something very foolish: I took a stroll through Denver. The reality is that I was stranded overnight in a hotel and had to trudge through the snow to pick up Ruby Tuesday’s . The food was a disappointment, but the journey proved fruitful for another, entirely unpredictable reason: I saw a dildo used in a fashion I’d never seen before. And, I thought, where better to post about the incident than a blog with a running story about a foray into a dildo factory?

The thing is, we all know the carrot-and-coal dick-and-balls trick on a snowman. It’s probably been in about 500 movies and we’ve all either seen it or done it ourselves. But this was the first time I’d seen an actual dildo used in the construction of a snowman, right down there where the carrot-dick usually resides. That’s right: a full-on, lifelike 8-inch whopper straight out of the Adam and Eve catalogue raging defiantly at me through the blizzard, evidently immune to the shrinking properties of severe cold.

Blue sex toy isolated

Well then. With my mind desperately trying to distract itself from the nerve endings that kept insisting it was about -10 degrees, I did the only natural thing to do after seeing a fiendishly erect snowman on my way through town: I began to wonder what other decorative or functional properties such a tool might have. So, to save anyone else who might be so inclined the trouble, here are what I have determined to be the five best uses for a giant dildo in everyday life.

Bird Perch – Birds will sit (and shit) on anything oblong, so why not make it a raging rubber cock? Fasten one of these in the garden or alongside a bird feeder to make nature a bit more amusing.

Target Practice – I imagine this is particularly satisfying for a woman looking to get over a relationship, but either way shooting golf balls (or whatever else) at dicks sounds kind of funny. Try out your new pitching wedge with an all-new form of “closest to the tee.”

Signage – If you really want to have yourself an everyday life dildo-festival, make a sign in which the letters are formed out of dildos. You may just make someone’s day on a miserable, cold evening when he needs a distraction

Bathroom Prank – Building an actual glory hole in a public bathroom is pretty sick stuff, but pasting a realistic-looking dildo to the indoor stall wall can be good for a quick, harmless laugh.

Beach Prank – I can’t help imagining walking down the beach and seeing that snowman’s rager jolting up from the sand. The only explanation would be a nudist who really  likes the feel of sand enveloping his bare body. Or, you know, a childish and dildo-leaden prankster having a boring day.

This is a guest post by Aidan Cole. Aidan is a fiction and poetry writer with an affinity for all things weird or humorous. He contributes to every blog and website that will allow his words.

Myself, I plan on using dildos to get out of speeding tickets from female police officers, using double ended dongs to make young children reenact the fight scene at the end of “Return of the Jedi” and for chasing burglars out of my house because if you think a gun scares off a robber I assure you that nothing scares a home invader away faster than a naked, bald guy running at them in the dark full tilt with a ten inch black rubber cock. When you get shot during a break in, you get street cred. You get knocked out by a giant cock and arrested, you get prison raped. No courtesy spit either.

So stop on over at your local sex shop and buy all your recreational and home security needs. As Roger the Dildo Security Bunny says –

” Be smarter than a rock, protect your family with a rubber cock”

An Open Letter To Netflix



Dear Netflix,

Thank you for completely ruining my life.

How dare you introduce me to a show such as Breaking Bad. That wasn’t a question. It was a statement. How dare you.

A show based around a bald guy with a goatee and a steady decline into becoming a sociopath who will do anything to protect and provide for his family.

I had completely missed this show in its initial run and am now ashamed of myself for that unbelievable over sight.

Shame on you for showing the relationship between Walt and Jesse that so totally is in synch with my relationship with my much younger brother that I am forced to watch episode after episode in shear and unadulterated awe at the expense of my writing.

Damn you for not having the sixth and final season already available for me to watch here in Canada forcing me to figure out some possibly illegal way for me to view it.

I literally cannot stop watching this show. It has consumed my waking hours to the point I feel like one of the meth heads skulking in the shadows. I peer around the corner of the kitchen and look at the television for one little taste of my addiction. One episode. That’s all. I can stop whenever I want. I can put down the remote.

Your free month of programming without commercials and complete seasons of this utterly enveloping show have precluded me from doing nearly anything else. Damn you for only charging me a mere eight dollars a month to feed my growing need. Like the cheapest and easiest drug ever injected into my brain. Mainlined into my soul.

If it is not too much trouble on the part of your programmers, please refrain in the future from having such programs available to people such as myself who get sucked into the story when it is as brilliantly written and acted as this one.

If you will now excuse me, I am off to watch the season 3 finale.

Love always,






The Mystery of What’s In Your Lap


I shook my head hard to clear the cobwebs and ran my hands over my face. Nothing felt out-of-place so I knew I must have still been as beautiful as I was when I walked out the door that morning. The ringing in my left ear sounded like late summer cicadas which actually made me giggle a little when I looked out the truck windshield. I bet there were thousands of them in the swamp I had landed in.

I shoved my door open with a groan and stepped out. A river of coffee washed out around my feet and I groaned again. I had literally taken one sip out of it and the monster mug gently floated out exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t. The cold rain that had been falling all morning washed over my head and with the warmth running down the back of my legs it felt like I was peeing on my feet in a cold shower.

I reached back in through the door and shut off the engine. I felt a slight tickle down my left ear and ran a finger tip over the top of my ear to feel the razor edged sting of pain from losing the top chunk of it. I looked at the ruined front end of my truck sunk nose down beside and realized I was at an angle not really conducive to getting myself out of the mud let alone my truck. I remember seeing the small car drifting towards my lane and reaching for my coffee then a sickening crunch. The car and I must have collided like  two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

I gingerly pulled myself up the slope and saw how deep I was buried. The embankment was at least thirty feet below the edge of the road and I actually laughed at the fact I had survived. I looked down the road and saw a young girl standing beside a small car being comforted by an older woman who had pulled her minivan up behind her. She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.

I walked towards them and asked if they were alright. They assured me they both were and that the police had been called. I saw the flashing lights of an armada of fire and rescue trucks and was impressed that the display was likely for my corpse that they weren’t going to find.

The first police officer to arrive came over and gave me a stare as the paramedics were checking me for a hernia before the prostate exam. I kept telling them I had only banged my head and the testing was unnecessary but they were quite persistent. The misty rain mixed with the coffee drops that had caught in his regulation mustache and I was contemplating kissing him to get the caffeine fix I had been robbed of when I ended up in the ditch.

” What happened ?” Officer Coffee asked with the bored tone of one too many car accident reports in his past.

” She drifted into my lane and clipped my tire,” I started ” Blew the tire off and when the rim hit the ground it destroyed my steering. I just rode it out. What did she say?”

” She says she just looked up and saw head lights,” Officer Coffee answered.

” Looked up from what?,” I immediately shot back to watch him snort almost derisively and turn away.

It didn’t take a particularly wise person to know what she was doing. Not like the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. No, there was only one answer.

Texting and driving.

Now ladies, I know your crotches are quite fascinating . I myself am a complete fan of them but you can stop looking at them at least while you are driving.

Due to the new laws it is also illegal to text and drive and proven to cause more accidents than drinking and driving. Just imagine if they had texting and driving spot checks the way they do for drunk drivers. Just imagine what one of those would be like.

Excuse me sir, been doing any texting tonight?

Ummmm, no officer, well I sent one text with dinner but that was like three hours ago.

They ask you to step out of the car and a pile of emoticons spill out around your feet. They give you a thumb flexibility test by making you text the alphabet backwards. You end up getting convicted of texting and driving and they install an app on your phone that you have to blow into so that the phone knows you haven’t been driving and allows you to text safely.

Most people think they can’t be seen texting and driving like most people don’t notice the period is missing in Dr. on a Dr Pepper can but rest assured I am looking for you. I see you staring at your junk and I know you aren’t looking for genital warts.

So the next time you are fiddling with your phone in your lap and driving just remember that statistically its actually safer for you to be driving while masturbating.

The Dawn of a New Age



After an outpouring of entries both in the comment section and in emails, a winner has been chosen.

The judges have deliberated long and hard. There has been some screaming. One shoving match. Someone may have had a dildo slapped across their lips for their ridiculous reasoning but in the end a consensus was reached.

The winning entry and the name that will forever be associated with the first ever fully endorsed Things I See Up Here product is……….



The Big Bang Belt !!!

Congratulations to Winter in NYC for this recockulously fucktastistic name for this new product that will change many a life and stretch open many a ……. door to more products.

This is just the beginning. In the next few weeks, I will be offering up a few of these lovely little gifts for “testing” to various individuals before we move to the next step.

Thank you to everyone who participated in the contest and offered their input on the Big Bang Belt.

I had no idea that a strap on dildo tool belt would be this popular. Makes me wonder if I could build a sex swing out of a safety harness.

I guess the adage is correct : Sex sells.

The Dildo Factory – Episode 5 – The Dildo Strikes Back









Well, today is the big day. The last big thrust towards the great reveal.

So, we end with the last story ( so far) in the Dildo Factory series.

Don’t forget to enter the contest by posting your suggestion for the fabulous product we are endorsing.



It’s a sad indictment of the state of our economy when a factory that fabricates rubber penises isn’t making money.

After all the work and effort I had put into getting the job to put a brand new roof system on the entire building, I got that call that all contractors dread. The job was going to be put on hold. The volume of work that the factory needed simply wasn’t in the budget and there was no Fairy God-Dildo with a magic penis wand that shot out hundred dollars bills to make up the gap in what they had in the bank and what I needed to even start the job.

It was a long , almost heartfelt conversation between the maintenance man, Bob and I over a four-foot deep crate of deformed anal beads that kind of left a lump in my throat. We agreed to try to do some repairs to get them through the winter and see where the budget was when the ice and snow melted off the building in the spring. The biggest issue was a massive hole that had fallen in above one of the offices that allowed a gaping, squirting flood of rain water to fall on the desk of one of the plant managers.

Dart and I pulled into the fenced yard and took a sad look at the place. It could quite easily be our last time ever working on it and I made the mental choice to at least have fun with it. It had rained a torrential amount the night before with more scheduled for that evening so the window of time we had to actually get anything done was fairly tight and obviously moist. As I set up the massive step-ladder we would use to fill the gap on the underside with plywood, Dart grabbed our drill kit and the fasteners I would need. The instant he shut the large metal door to the factory behind him I bolted for the nearest vat of malformed cocks I could find and stuffed as many of them as I could into the pouch of my hooded sweat shirt I could. Rubber dicks of every color were spilling out of my pocket like the worlds worst trail of bread crumbs as I scaled the ladder as dumped them out on top of the small platform on the last step of the ladder.

I headed back down just as Dart had finished cutting the piece of wood into the size we needed and I almost giggled as I took the plywood and drill from him.

” Just be careful when I am getting this in place,” I cautioned ” I don’t want anything falling on you.”

” Just hurry up will you. That shit dripping down on me smells gross.” dart replied as I scaled the ladder.

I quickly put the piece of plywood in place and screwed two long bolts into the one side and looked down to see Dart staring in the opposite direction. Fluids still cascaded down over me as I looked over my shoulder and began dumping dildos on Dart as fast as I could. Cocks over every shapes and size spilled down over him and he shoved himself away from the ladder hard enough to nearly knock me off the top step.

” What the fuck !,” Dart yelled up at me with a scowl that indicated his displeasure at having fake cocks dropped on his forehead as he looked up at me.

I burst out laughing just as I heard a fresh downpour of rain begin to fall on the roof surface just above my head. I turned my attention back to fixing the sagging wood as Dart kicked a large purple dildo off his foot. Just as I placed the next screw in position, the entire surface of the roof mat caved in above my head coating me in gravel, soaked insulation and sticky asphalt. I tried to wipe it away the black goo sticking to my face but only succeeded on spreading it out in a bad imitation of Al Jolson.

” Nice facial,” Dart barked out followed by a snickering laugh. I could only imagine how difficult it was going to be to clean the crap off my face and I set back to work with a half a laugh at how karma really was a miserable bitch.

I finished the interior work quickly and we took the ladder down before putting it back where we found it. Bob had walked through the  factory at that point to inspect the work we had done. He smirked a little as he looked at my soaked shirt and the state of my features.

” Got a little something on you there,” Bob chuckled as he pointed to my face.

” Lucky it’s not worse,” I said with a laughed that tried vainly to match his general good humor ” But I can take care of it with some hand cleaner.”

” Bad enough,” Bob said with a smile that creased his entire face and a blush that reached the roots of his tousled, snow-white hair.,” And you might want to try hand lotion instead”. He flicked the hood of my sweater and plopped out the thick, pink and white marbled dildo I had stuck in it when I was filling my pouch. I had completely forgotten about it but the impact of the chunk of roof must have dislodged it from the sack of my hoodie.

” I always knew you were a dickhead ,” Dart snickered as he headed outside into the rain that did nothing to tone down his laughter.

The Dildo Factory Episode 4 – A New Dildo

Closer and closer we get to the great name unveiling of the glorious product that you can win in the contest found here and we continue the parade of rubber love with the next to most current story in the fucktastic Dildo Factory series.

Don’t forget to get your name in the contest to win your own piece of Things I See Up Here history.



I truly believe that some people’s fates, lives and stories are inexorably linked to certain geographical places. Mine, I truly believe, is wrapped up in the Dildo Factory.

I had actually given up hope that I would ever have the chance to even step foot in it again when the call came in that the owners would like to meet about the quote I had submitted. The roof had begun to leak quite bad due to the shape it was in and the torrential rains we had been having. It would appear that moisture is bad for silicone.

Not that kind of moisture. Perverts.

The molds had been getting wet and it was preventing them silicone from setting properly. As we toured the floor to inspect the areas in need of immediate work, I notices some strange-looking forms . Things that looked like bad Japanese porn cartoons come to life. I chuckled as Bob, the maintenance man showed me all the scrap they ended up recycling simply from moisture entering the molds. Poor dildos that never had the chance to truly live up to their potential and were discarded simply for being a bit different. Dildos like this malformed nightmare.


” You would be shocked how many of those double-headed ones go out of here ,” Bob said with a bemused shake of his head. I think I may have actually snorted as Bob looked back over his shoulder and finished his thought by saying ” The black ones are twice that big.”

As we moved through the plant, it became more and more apparent that this contract had the potential to be really big. Row upon row of dildos waited to be recycled. A sigh caught in my throat as I thought of all the wasted orgasms when something caught my eye.


” New contract,” Bob grunted with a shake of his head,” The moisture is really ruining any casting it touches. The molds just don’t hold the shapes well.”

I actually didn’t think of it at first but the more I looked at it, the concept dawned on me. They don’t make sex toys just for women. It was pointed out to me when I asked someone who this is where your “wanker” goes in. I burst out laughing at that.

The contract was waiting for me when I got back to the office of the factory and the first name that was slashed across it in ink was mine. There truly was no way I was going to turn down work on a factory that now produced Fleshlights.

The Dildo Factory – Episode 3 – Revenge of the Dildo

We continue the march toward the glorious unveiling of the new name of the product found here with the reissuing of the next part of the infamous and much beloved Dildo Factory series.

Don’t forget to put your name in the running by entering the contest in the comment section.


You didn’t really think the story of the Dildo Factory was over did you?

Come on….. everybody knows the best stories are all trilogies. What would The Two Towers be without The Return of the King? What would The Empire Strikes Back be without The Return of the Jedi? What would Fifty Shades Darker be without Fifty Shades Freed……….?

Yes. I read them. The fact you got the reference means you read them too so who are you to point your finger and laugh at me?

When we last saw the Dildo Factory, I was leaving it behind me as I was speeding away with my pants stuffed with multi colored and textured rubber penises. Let that sink in for a second.

It had been a particularly bad winter and after one last freezing blast of snow and freezing rain had coated the area in an inch thick layer of ice. A healthy dumping of snow after followed by a rapid increase in temperature resulted in not only sloppy roads but roofs carrying way too much weight in sheer water volume alone.

The call came in the morning from the factory and I was hesitant to go back. Would they remember me? Had anyone seen me? I wasn’t sure but if they problems they were having were as bad as the maintenance guy lead me to believe, every second I waited would make it worse. Water was apparently streaming out of the drainage pipes and that could have meant a frozen or cracked pipe. Not exactly my area of expertise but if I could clear the drain it would minimize the damage until they could get a plumber in to fix the pipe.

I met one of the maintenance crew , Jim, an older guy with a beer keg belly and a perfect donut of greying hair outside the building and he was nearly frantic.  I followed him into the building and water was literally streaming from the drainage pipe fittings. Thankfully, it was dripping over an unused area of the plant that we had repaired before and was scheduled to have a new roof installed as soon as the weather allowed.

We made our way through the plant passing by crate after crate of dildos. I noted this time they were not only sorted by color but also by size and shape. I momentarily felt bad for the poor employee that had likely spent endless hours holding fake dick. We climbed up the access hatch and found a veritable lake of ice and water in front of us. An area the size of a football field covered in floating mini icebergs and lumps of rapidly melting snow. I knew right away that there was a blockage in the drain and froze. There was no way. Just no way what I was thinking was possible.

” We gotta get this water off here some how,” Jim intoned with a sigh ” I have some pumps that we can use.”

” That’s a great place to start.” I said looking around. I knew approximately where the drains were and headed there as Jim descended.  Most drains are like toilet drains so you can almost always unblock them with a toilet snake. I fed the wire down inside and as soon as it met resistance, I began cranking it to free it up. I felt the blockage shift and I began to pull the wire back up. Emerging from the depths of the drain pipe like a leviathan rising from the deep was a translucent, pink, nubby tipped dildo at least ten inches long. The dildo plopped out of the drain hole with a loud suctioning sound and the water began instantly draining like a flushed toilet.

” I’ll be damned,” Jim said from over my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him approach and I stood stock straight up gripping the offending giant rubber penis.

” Not sure what to tell you Jim,” I said. I knew it had to be from the dildo war we had raged only months before.

” I do,” Jim said with rage flashing in his eyes ” Those assholes on the floor won’t leave the damn things alone.” He tromped off down the access hatch and I followed close behind. Over the next fifteen minutes I watched as he berated his floor staff while shaking a drain slime encrusted pink dildo at all of them. There was no way I was going to tell him it might have been up there because of me.

” That should do it,” Jim said as he turned to me, ” Thanks for fishing this out.”

” Not a problem,” I answered.

” I caught them outside the other day tossing the damn things around like frisbees so it’s not really a shock,” Jim said with a sag of his shoulders.  We shook hands and I headed for home. A couple of weeks later I headed back to get the contract for the new roof installation and I stopped in my tracks when I walked through the main doors. Right in front of me on the employee peg board beside the sign up sheets for the company softball team and forms for a trip to Canada’s Wonderland was a notice that read:

To all employees,

Please refrain from tossing the silicone dildos outside the factory floor or on the roof area.  The product is a sex toy, not a work toy.

The Dildo Factory – Episode Two – The Dildo Wars

Continuing our march towards the great unveiling of the name for the mind blowing giveaway contest, we proudly reissue the story that made many a lonely military wife happy. Don’t forget to enter the contest by entering your name in the comment section of the contest page.



Now you might think simply telling people that we had worked on a building that housed crate upon crate of not quite but very close to good enough dildos would be enough but much like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, with no proof it was simply just a myth.

So standing outside the office describing the days events to my mom’s next door neighbour, a foul-mouthed but giant hearted military wife whose Newfoundland accent was so bad at times you could barely understand her, she simply brushed it off as a bullshit story.

Challenge accepted.

I knew we would eventually have to be back at the building but that wasnt soon enough for me.  When it was time to deliver the invoice to the factory, I jumped in immediately to deliver it. If nothing else, I was at least going to get a picture of the crates full of the multi hued penises.

After delivering the invoice, I hung around the outside of the building waiting for an opening to sneak back in. What I had never noticed before was that while there were tons of moving pieces of equipment the place was staffed by only a few people. So I simply walked back in.  I headed directly for where I knew they stored the stock to be recycled and I wasnt disappointed. There were hundreds if not thousands of the things.  Some so deformed that I laughed thinking that some poor woman may have ended up with a reject dildo.

There was no way a mere picture would do this justice so I did the only thing I could think of. I stuffed dildos down my pants as fast as I could. I grabbed every size and shape I could find. One in particular struck me as funny. It was a purple dildo with a massive penis head, a corkscrew like shaft and a huge set of balls. It was so odd that I had to take it. This one took a spot of honor. I stuffed it right in my underwear. If I was gonna get caught it would at least look like I had a great big penis.

It was surprisingly difficult to walk back to my truck with upwards of thirty rubber dicks rubbing on my legs and I was afraid one would fall out the bottom of my pants. It might make for an interesting story and maybe even more impressive looks should a woman spy a dick long enough to dangle down by my boots but I really just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.  The purple one I had stuffed in my pantaloons was a particular pain so I pulled it out and sat it on the seat beside me. I had never had a dildo ride shotgun before but it somehow seemed right.

As I drove home I began to laugh at the thought of getting pulled over and frisked by the cops. I might end up being that way too popular inmate very quickly. Without incident, I pulled into the driveway and hopped out of the truck already unzipping my pants.  I pulled every dildo out I could and walked them down to the neighbour’s house.  I left one in her mailbox, one in her car, one on her step, anywhere you might not expect to find a fake penis, I left one.  The impressive purple one I suction cupped to the hood of her car and walked away.

It was less than an hour later that she phoned me at home laughing so hard she could barely talk and given her ability to mangle the english language in the first place, it was really funny. She had found most of them but knew there were more around just waiting to pop out like a Dick-in-the-Box.

The next morning , I pulled into work to find her waiting on her front porch with a stupid looking grin on her face.  As much as I didn’t want to, I knew I had to ask.

” Have some fun with the stuff I left?” I asked, dreading the answer.

” Definitely,” she answered, ” But I am not the only one.”

My stomach caught a bit. I knew she was married and the thought of her and her husband doing anything together was enough to give me an instant de-rection but there was no way to turn back.

” I don’t want to know what you stuffed into each other last night,” I stated flatly and started to walk away.

” Not me, you dumb ass,” She laughed back,” I took all the dildos and gave them to every military wife whose husband is overseas right now.”  I didn’t know if I should be proud or embarrassed.

” But not that purple one,” she continued, ” That one I kept for myself.”

Now it might be another urban myth but apparently those dildos have been sent out as either a gag gift or an actual gift to any military wife whose husband has been sent overseas.  Call me crude if you like but I like the idea of starting an urban legend that gives orgasms instead of nightmares.

The Dildo Factory Story

In honor of the contest running here to name my newly endorsed and revolutionary product and the company who’s product have inspired so much factory rejected joy, over the next week I will be reissuing the Dildo Factory series as a lead up to the unveiling of the product name and its winner.

Don’t forget to get your own chance to win by entering a name in the comment section.

dildo sign 1

As obvious as it sounds, every building has a roof on it. Eventually all of these roofs will need some kind of maintenance. Quite frankly, if they didn’t my business would be just me driving around in my truck looking wistfully at buildings and sighing a lot.

Fortunately for me I am excellent at what I do so we end up on buildings housing every different type of manufacturing and warehousing you can imagine. One of my personal favorites was a factory that recycled all things made from rubber. It’s a pretty ingenious process actually. They grind almost all types of plastic up and they are then molded into little plastic balls to be reused somewhere else. It’s not the most lucrative business but it lead into a maintenance contract that had us at the building about once a month.

I had a couple of questions for the building manager but had to wait for a scrap truck to finish unloading before I could go inside.  As I stood at the edge of the building I watched crate after crate of multi hued rubber being hauled out of trucks and carted into the building. It was after about the tenth crate something funny caught my eye. It was the shape of the products in the crates.

Dildos. Hundreds and hundreds of dildos. Every color of the rainbow. Every size, shape and texture you could think of. Ribbed, rippled and bumped. It was quite mesmerizing actually.

There was no way I could let an opportunity like this slip away.

After I met the building manager to go over our plan for the day, I watched as he left the warehouse floor and I ran as fast as I could to where the crates were stacked.  I grabbed two giant handfuls of rubber cock and headed outside. With a maniacal grin, I heaved them up on the roof.

” What the fuck is that?,” my Dad asked as I sprinted back into the building and grabbed more. One in particular caught my eye. It was an actual rubber fist dildo. Molded in the shape of a gigantic black fist, I giggled like a school girl before running outside with my new trophy raised high.

” Who wants to get fisted?,” I yelled as I climbed the ladder only to find a sight I hadn’t expected. My whole team was throwing dildos at each other. It was like a kaleidoscope of flying rubber cocks.

” Knock that shit off and get the fuck back to work,” my dad bellowed from across the building. Sheepishly, we all went back to work sweeping and shovelling gravel but the dildofest didn’t get any better. Any second my dads back was turned, a dildo was lobbed at someone or something. Every broom and shovel had a giant rubber cock stuck to the end of it.  My brother Matt used bonding adhesive and some duct tape to actually make a dildo-man that is still on the building to this day.

” Can we please get some work done around here?” my Dad asked, his voice bordering on that fine line between anger and laughter.

” Ummm, Dad?,” I asked as I nodded toward his hand. He had his hand wrapped around the end of a broom that had been topped with a semi translucent, green dildo complete with a set of dangling testicles.

He looked over at his hand and burst of laughter ripped out of him.

” I have no idea who they molded this off but he should get that set of nuts checked out,” my Dad chuckled ” That’s just not right.”

The building manager came up the ladder then and saw the mounds of dildos everywhere. He eyed us suspiciously and then let out a laugh.

” Can you believe what they send me to work with?,” he asked. ” They say its the highest grade silicone produced in Canada but these are all the ones that don’t pass quality control.”

” How exactly do they test that?,” I asked trying to hold in a laugh.

” I guess they test them the same way I do,” he laughed, ” My wife loves that black fist one.”

The Gift That Keeps on Giving


I love the holidays as it gives me a chance to give back to the people who have given me so much during the past year.

You, my faithful readers, have seen quite the year and what better way to celebrate it than by giving you the chance to win, yes I said win, the first ever officially licensed product from the brand new Things I See Up Here line of products. All you have to do is help me name it.

That’s right all you have to do is help me name my first ever fully endorsed product and you can win the prototype.

The lucky reader who comes up with the best name for the product I have created will have the product forever be known by the name they have chosen and win one of their very own to use and abuse as they see fit. This product is so revolutionary you will think that I have suffered brain damage. That may possibly be from the truck accident that I was in a month ago but it didn’t stop me from creating a product so fantastic if I were to take it on Dragon’s Den money and underwear would be thrown at me in equal volume.

The time has come to unveil a product that will change lives around the world……..


From the brilliant brain that resides inside my demented skull I present the strap-on tool apron.

Its marvelous features include six different pockets to fill with lube, condoms and snacks for those during sex moments that you really want a peanut butter Snickers. Its belt is completely adjustable to fit all waist sizes and shapes. Its dildo hole can be resized to fit the thickest fake penis and its one hundred percent leather construction can take even the most ardent pounding.

Best of all, it comes complete with the very last factory rejected dildo that I have procured from the legendary Dildo Factory. You can own a piece of Things I See Up Here history by simply helping me come up with a name to market my new patent pending product.

In the comment section below please leave your most creative names and our panel of experts will select a winner.

The contest runs from Christmas Eve until the stroke of midnight on New Years Eve. A winner will be selected on January first as I kick off the second year of making people laugh with dick and fart stories. The winner will receive the dildo apron and an official cleaning towel to wipe down your…….tools mailed right to their front door.

Contest open to anyone worldwide as I really like the idea of my… ending up in someone in the land down under.

Merry Christmas everyone and good luck.

The Snow Days and Snow Birds Story


I love snow days as much now as I did as a kid. Waking up to a blanket of white covering the ground and bus cancellations on the radio generally has me skipping down the hallway in my Superman pyjamas towards a bowl of Apple Jacks and reruns of Masters of the Universe on Teletoon Retro. Even better is when my kids have to go to school and it’s still snowing hard enough for me to have the day off. It’s like a mini vacation where the possibilities are as endless as my imagination. More often than not I just end up spending far too much time in the bath tub enjoying some time with my Spider-man bubble bath or masturbating but today I decided to do the healthy thing and head into the gym early.

It’s a very rare occurrence that I get to the gym before the vast assemblage of teenagers that simply take up space texting or lounging on the gym equipment that I want to use. I usually just growl at them from under the cowl of the hoodie I wear to the gym but to be honest today I just wasn’t in the mood to do that. Much to my delight, it was a veritable wasteland. Well, other than the few elderly people on either treadmills or exercise machines designed to be easy on their fragile bones.

I had just gotten myself set up with the array of weights I would need beside an incline bench and cranked up Five Finger Death Punch to brain melting levels when I felt the whisper of a fingertip tapping my bare shoulder. Startled, I turned around to find the smiling face of a woman easily in her late seventies. I almost laughed at her baby blue velour track suit but she was talking before I could even manage that. I popped my earphones out to catch what she was saying.

“…… working?” She finished.

” I am sorry ma’am,” I replied politely ” What’s the problem?”

” There doesn’t seem to be any training staff around and I can’t seem to get the machine working,” She sighed and I looked over at the recombinant bike she was pointing her albino white finger at. I smile politely and headed over to look at the bike. I glanced at the sign up board and it appeared that no one had noticed the bike wasn’t working.

I pushed the start button and nothing happened. I looked the machine over and rubbed the back of my head before noticing that it was simply unplugged.

” Here’s the problem,” I said as I bent down to grab the plug and the instant my fingers touched the cord I felt the whisper of something graze the hip of my gym shorts. I looked to my side as I plugged the bike back in and saw the senior woman shift slightly to one side and as she did her open palm slid over my ass cheek and cupped lightly before moving away. I stood up stock straight and saw her moving towards the seat. She smiled serenely as she pushed the button to start the workout and the television screen pulled up some banal looking talk show.

`Thank you  so much,` She said with a lingering pat on my arm and I smiled back. The hero complex sated once again, I headed back to my workout. Another just as elderly woman had joined my grey haired damsel in distress and they began talking about whatever it is that people talk about when they have lived to that age. Every so often I would catch them looking at me and I smiled politely but then stopped. I wondered briefly if they were talking about the grabassery that had likely only taken place in my head. I thought that way as I hammered through my last set and I set the weights down just as they stood up. I shook my head slightly at my own over active imagination until the purple suited woman turned slightly towards me and winked.

I am a huge believer in the double standard and had an ancient man gotten handsey with some of the Barbies at my gym they would have dragged him out by his old dangley balls where as all I could do was laugh as hard as I have in a long time at the saucy old whore.

The Homemade Waxing Story


I don’t think there is a single wall in my house that does not have either a hand print or smear of a hand print on it. It’s a simple occupational hazard. Construction of any kind is generally a dirty job and I leave a trail of marks and smears complimented by a disaster of shed clothes as I head towards my daily Spider-man bubble bath. Some of these marks wipe off with soap and water and others require sandblasting. Still others need a bit more force.

Sometimes we are asked to do things that require us to be under the roof rather than be on top of it. Certain types of ventilation have to have the pipes leading to them insulated to stop moisture from rotting them as condensation gets trapped in them. Usually these can be just wrapped in any type of pipe insulation but that’s just not my style. I like fast and dirty work like a scabby kneed , middle-aged hooker.

In order to do this job, we would be stuck in an attic space that was hotter than the television I bought from two college kids who apparently didn’t need it. No air movement and temperatures in the upper echelon of volcanic meant we needed to move quickly. So, I came up with the brilliant plan to spray foam them. The first attempt we made at it resulted in me losing twelve pounds in just change over four hours and nearly passing out on the way home driving so the decision was made by the building owner to wait until the temperature wouldn’t result in someones corpse rotting away in his ceiling.

As Fall turned into Winter, I got the call from the building owner asking if we were still interested in finishing the job. I replied that of course we were as I had an entire tank of insulation left from when we started the job.

Dart, Steve-O and I made our way up into the blessedly cool attic space and set up the insulation pack as we crawled through the rafters. The concept is pretty simple. Two different liquids in compressed air tanks are forced to combine in a gun resembling the proton accelerator packs the Ghostbusters wear and can rapidly cover and area in yellow sticky insulation that hardens almost instantly. I was marveling at my own genius as Dart wormed his way toward the first pipe and waited for Steve-O to pass him the gun.

Steve-O had just turned the tanks on to full and we heard the hiss of the liquid rushing through the lines. I started doing the money dance that is pretty much me rubbing my hands together and twerking my ass in a fashion that would get me arrested in public. with the first squeeze of the trigger, something seemed off. The insulation shot out but wasn’t sticking to anything.

” Try another nozzle,” I said to Dart as he sat back and watched the yellow popcorn drip off the pipe like an oozing case of diarrhea. The liquids clearly werent mixing properly but I could figure out why.

” Is it frozen ?” Dart asked Steve-O as he tried all different levels of openness on the tanks.

” I don’t think so ,” Steve-O answered shaking his head. He had been trying to clean out the nozzles and it didn’t look like they were plugged. I was watching the profit margin shrink rapidly as time ticked away. In a frustrated growl, I grabbed the gun and pulled the lines out of the end and squeezed the liquids out to see if anything was stuck only to be met with more frustration as it was totally clear.

” Lets’ try this again,” I said as I reattached the lines and pulled the trigger ” Full power please.”

I pulled the trigger and watched as the gun literally exploded in my hands covering me in quick drying yellow foam. I let go of the trigger to look around at Dart and Steve-O as they broke out in hysterical laughter. Yellow liquid was still seeping out of the nozzle like an excited puppy with no bladder control and running down my bare arms. I tried in vain to wipe it off only to spread it even further and ensure every hair under the rapidly congealing liquid was embedded.

” I guess it wasn’t frozen,” Dart laughed as we listened to all the compressed air hiss out of the tanks making the remaining liquid effectively useless. I stood with my mouth open and watched any money we were going to make leak out around my feet.

” Let’s just pack it up,” I said as I began to feel the crust of the insulation hardening even further. I began to pick at it only to feel it pulling the hairs on my arm with it. I pulled a little harder and felt the nerve endings in my arm scream. I was dumb founded. It couldn’t hurt that bad. I fingered I should give it the Band-Aid treatment and just get it over with. With one swift yank, I pulled the eight inch patch of yellow rubber off and screamed as it took every hair with it.

I pride myself on having an exceptionally high pain tolerance but this was recockulous. I was standing in an attic space holding a chunk of rubber-covered in my arm hair with tears streaming down my face and thinking it couldn’t get any worse until I looked down and saw the patch left behind.



I will be honest. I have no idea how women get a bikini wax. That should be punishment for shoplifting anything larger than a pack of gum. It was the most astonishingly painful thing I have ever felt and that’s saying a lot considering I have been hit in the head with a three-inch thick piece of frozen shingle and dropped a hammer off the top of an extension ladder only to have it nearly rip my ear off. The skin was as smooth a patch of skin I think existed on my body matched only closely by my scalp when freshly shaven.

I find myself watching the hair to see how quickly it grows back and thinking whether or not I could go for a Guyzillian cause it sure beats the hell out of trying not to nick a testicle shaving.

The Slip of the Tongue Story


Choosing a contractor to work on your house is always a gamble. It never fails when you go looking through the phone book or even on the recommendation of a friend that at least two or three of the companies you call will send out some sketchy looking guy that avoids looking you in the eye or seems to be trying to figure out what time you will be leaving for work so he can sneak into your house and lick all your produce.

After a local trade show, I had met a landscaper whose house was very much in need of a new roof so I agreed to stop by and give him a price. He and his wife had recently purchased the house and despite having a home inspection were finding a multitude of problems. From wiring to drywall to a very badly leaking roof that had been apparently patched by a team of diseased research monkeys suffering from a combination of gonorrhea and improperly installed penile implants from the way caulk had been splashed around the roof top.

Caulk,cock,caulk,cock…….. oh fuck off, that was a great pun.

Needless to say the badly done repairs had caused most of the issues in the house so the only option was a complete restoration. Strip everything down bare and start with a completely smooth surface. So, after agreeing on a price, we set a tentative date to get started.

The morning we showed up on the job site, Mike, the landscaper wasn’t there but his wife Angie was home and she seemed a bit tentative when she saw the scale of the project we were undertaking. It really was a mess and it required a lot of attention to the little details. I walked her around the project and pointed out where the major issues we were facing were. I couldn’t help but notice the meticulous detail in his flower beds and the perfectly straight lines of his garden edges. The spacing and placement of colors were quite excellent and I was more than a little impressed. I made note to make sure I got a bunch of his business cards in case I came across any one needing great landscaping work.

The job went pretty much the way I thought it would. Lots of profanity about the research monkeys caulk and the lack of security in the lab they escaped from.

The next morning as we got back to the job site, Angie met us at the door with a list of questions. I was a bit taken aback at the depth of thought put into the questions but when I noticed the chicken scratch handwriting I knew they were coming directly from the brain of her husband.

I did what I could to quell the concern she had over the questions by walking her around the job site and explaining in detail the answers to all her questions. I could see her visibly relax after we crossed the last question off her list.

” I really am sorry for all the questions ,” Angie said with a slight shake of her head ” But Mike has a particular way he likes things done.”

” It’s really okay ,” I said with a laugh ” If you don’t ask questions you don’t get answers.”

” Well, you seem to have everything under control,” Angie said with a smile ” I like my contractors the same way I like all the men in my life. Anal.”

” I am just here to shingle ,” I said without missing a beat ” If you are looking for anything else we may have to talk about the price.”

Completely red-faced, Angie turned and headed for the front door of the house but it did make me wonder if she was embarrassed because I had found out a dirty secret or if I had found the reason Mike spent so much time outside avoiding his own bedroom.

The Award Winning Story Part 5


Like all great franchises, destiny often brings them together. Godzilla versus King Kong, Freddy versus Jason, my tight white Adidas shorts versus the Tower of Power burger at the Patty Shack eventually two great things will meet and create a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of perfection.

The ridiculously talented and funny author of  Ah dad…. and the sexy as fuck yet still informative Political Vagina have conspired together to bestow upon me the honor of another Liebster Award.

I am going to take a second here and editorialize briefly on a trend I have noticed. I have read a few posts from bloggers who whine and kick their feet about receiving the accolades of their fellow bloggers. Currently there are over five hundred thousand blogs either created through or linked through WordPress ( the finest blogging tool on the entire internet, wink wink,nudge nudge, please put me on the Freshly Pressed page cause I have written my ass off the last little while and I have been saving a very special blog post for the day it happens) and I have seen a few instances when bloggers have turned down awards and recognition from their fellow bloggers.

While I respect their decision to do so, I also believe its respectful of the people who have chosen you above how many others to recognize. Add in the fact I am an egomaniacal attention whore of the highest order ( explains why I want on Freshly Pressed that bad) and I simply can’t turn them down. The award I am truly after is this one anyway –

Blogger I'd Like to Fuck award BILF from accordingtojewels

But somehow based on the appearance of the blogger in the award, I don’t think I qualify.

So I am going to do something completely unheard of and accept both awards at once and answer not eleven but twenty-two questions posed at me by both bloggers and then ask eleven of my own.

Get ready, its gonna be an epic shit storm of literary verbosity

So the rules of accepting this honor are as follows  –

When you get a Liebster Award nomination, you can choose to accept it by doing these things:

1. Share 11 facts about yourself.

2. Answer 11 questions posed by your nominator

3. Nominate 11 bloggers and pose the same 11 questions to them.

Anyone who has read my blog for a while basically already knows everything about me so the eleven facts I have decided to share eleven new words you can all add to your vocabulary and use in everyday life

1.  After dropping a massive crunch derived from too much Taco Bell, spraying the bathroom with an entire bottle of Febreeze does not clear up the odor , it simply creates a new smell called ” Shitrus”.

2. People that hang around you unnecessarily , like just hovering around the outside of your vision shall henceforth be known as ” Twatacopters”.

3. We all have ideas that seem like a great thing at first. Like that girl you met at the bar that thinks your name is “Ryan” or a blowjob from someone with no teeth. These things can all be defined as ” Sluttastic”.

4. In every porno ever made there is one girl with a vagina that looks like a pterodactyl trying to lay an egg but the bird reference is over done so I have decided to call it a ” canoe full of moose meat”.

5. I have also invented a new game called ” Cockaboo”. It basically involves dropping your pants and exposing your junk to someone as they enter a room but you must yell ” COCKABOO!!!!” as they enter.

6. Anyone who has ever had to poop really bad and couldn’t just say it when someone asks whats wrong now can make a hand gesture called the ” awkward turtle” which is basically your hands stacked on top of each other and curling your thumbs up like a turtle poking its head out thus signifying to the person asking that you actually have something poking out. And it ain’t a turtle.

7. As most smells are directed in through the nose and out through the ass, hence forth it shall be known as someones ” flavor hole”

8.  Sometimes you don’t know if you want sex or a snack. This leaves you in a state known as ” horngry”. My advice is have the sex then suck back a Mars bar. The chocolate isn’t going anywhere.

9. This ones not one I came up with but its a new favorite. ” Heteroflexible” is a new word basically meaning that you’re straight…….but shit happens.

10. Working with a team of guys actually creates something called a “fartnado”. That’s a condition when everybody farts in sequence producing a swirling mass of synergistic stench. It’s also created when more than three girls go to the bathroom at the same time. Yes girls, we all now you shit. Deal with it.

11.  Going “commando” covers a lot of ground for both sexes but isn’t really classy. Guys use ” free balling”, girls you may now feel free to say you are ” free lipping”.

So the questions I have been posed by Ah….Dad are as follows –

1. Where do you live?  Be specific. (Stalker in training) –  I live in a small town between Toronto and Kingston in Southern Ontario, Canada. Stop at the On the Run and ask them about the guy who got pulled over by the cops for losing a trailer load of roof insulation and then tried to convince them it wasn’t an industrial product but was instead mattresses for the military base. They will likely laugh and give you my business card.

2. I-pad or Samsung Tablet?  – Neither. When the machines rise up against us they will start with my Iphone and every Ipad on the planet showing nothing but cat memes to drive us all mad with rage until we start killing each other just for something new to look at.

3. Who is your favourite author? Stephanie Meyer. Yeah, that’s right. The Twilight author. She is the benchmark for all completely untalented authors who can appeal to the pre ” Fifty Shades” market of repressed soccer moms looking for something to masturbate to. If only we could all be so lucky.

4.  What is the last album you bought? Motley Crue – ” Saints of Los Angeles”. Proof that the entire grunge era of music was forced on all of us.

5. What is the worst song ever recorded? ” Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears. I can’t seem to get that song out of my brain and the next thing I know, I find myself trying to convince my team of guys that we really could pull off the choreography in the school gym if we had the balls to break in.

6. No hair or grey hair? I am completely and totally bald. Make of that what you will.

7. If you could fly like Peter Pan with pixie dust, what would your happy thought be? My happy thought would be the fact that pixie dust looks exactly like stripper dust.

8. Have you ever been in a fight/brawl in a public place? Does arguing with a homeless woman over which of us could get paid more for sex with a bus load of Asian tourists count? Then yes, definitely.

9. Why do you write? I write because if I kept all of this stuff bottled up inside me I actually think my head would blow off……… and to hopefully get noticed and eventually get paid for this shit. Oh fuck off, you all were thinking the same thing.

10. You are stuck alone on an Island, and while exploring you find a wooden house.  Who would you like to see opening the door?  There is only one answer to this question. My dad. He’s been gone eight years and I just want to see the look on his face when I tell him he was right about pretty much everything. What? You expected nothing but comedy? I do have a soul.

11. You have enough money to create an authentic costume, and you have the body to pull of anything.  Which character/thing would you choose to dress up as, for your next Halloween party?  Chewbacca. That way when I say things like ” Your girlfriend felt my fuzzy balls by the crab dip” people will have no idea what I am saying and I can just laugh and laugh.

Now, the questions from Political Vagina

1. What musical artist are you listening to these days? Skid Row’s new album ” Kings of Demolition”. I cannot recommend it any higher if you want to feel like you are a fourteen year old boy. I said feel like not feel a fourteen year old boy. Sinners.

2. If you could be any animal, what would you be? Why? Butterfly. Nobody ever suspects the butterfly…….

3. If you had a time machine, what time period would you go to? Turn of the century North America where I could change the future by introducing the world to velcro and vibrators.

4. Favorite Food? Sushi. It’s the only food that has the consistency of vagina.

5. If $$ were no object, where would you travel on your next vacation? Uranus. Just for all the wicked puns I could drop when I got back. ” Hey Jack, how was the trip?” ” Pretty shitty, I spent the entire weekend buried up to my neck in Uranus.”

6. How do you like your eggs? –  Ovarian. Give it a minute. You’ll get it.

7. Favorite Reality TV Show? Maury Povich. The real life drama of finding out that Deshawn was the father of Loquisha’s six child had me glued to the television. ” Bitch, I fuckin told you I ain’t yo baby daddy!!!!!”. Riveting.

8. What was your very first job? Cutting asparagus on the farm just up the road from where I grew up. I think they use it as punishment for shoplifting now.

9. What book is on your nightstand right now? Peter Brett’s ” The Daylight War”. An honor to meet the man and pick his brain about writing pushed me away from writing horror and writing the stories about my penis you all seem to love. The stories, not the penis.

10. What’s your guilty pleasure?  – Masturbating to senior citizen porn. I finish and then I just feel guilty about how disgusting I am.

11. At what age is your earliest memory? I guess I would have to say I would have been about three years old standing on the front seat of my dad’s truck making the tire squealing noise every time we went around a corner. Wait. What the fuck was I doing standing on the seat?

Now, I have some questions of the lucky few I have selected for this extra special double long award-winning post –

1.  Would rather wake up naked and sore with no memory next to the Burger King telling you ” you had it your way” or next to Ronald McDonald telling you ” you’re loving it”?

2. Would you rather have sandpaper hands or no genitals?

3. Would you rather wear someone else’s dirty underwear or use someone else’s toothbrush?

4.  Would you rather be sexually attracted to fruit or have Cheetos dust permanently stuck to your fingers?

5. Would you rather wear have to wear adult diapers for one year or have any computer you touch over the next two months crash?

6. Would you accept a life as a successful artist making 4 times your current annual pay if it meant that your art was considered offensive by one of the worlds major religions making you unwelcome in many countries and attracting unwelcome, often hostile, attention from people in your own county?

7. Would you rather be riding coach on a trans-continental flight caught between a fighting couple or have a bee sting you on the face?

8. Would you rather vicariously experience all orgasms that occur in your zip code or during sex, have the Microsoft paper clip help icon appear with sex tips?

9. Would you rather have the ability to know when someone is lying to you (only works if that person is talking to you directly, and you only know that he’s lying – you don’t know the exact truth) OR have the ability to know anyone’s sexual preferences and deepest, darkest sexual fantasies, as long as this person is in your line of sight?

10. Would you rather sing everything you say or only be able to speak in rhymes?

11. Would you rather eat a chocolate egg full of mayonnaise or lick a lollipop with a hair on it?

I pose these questions to my lucky Liebster Nominees

Impossible to Predict

The White Onion

Frugal Feeding

Amazing Lucidity

It’s Not My Fault

Following Funny

In Harmony

Yeah, I know that’s only seven blogs but I really don’t want to subject that many bloggers to the hell that is my sense of humor. Find and follow these blogs if you aren’t already.

Well, that was a marathon and one I might not run again but I am glad I did. I love the attention so keep it coming. Anybody looking to drop an award on someone, send that fucker this way. I am more than happy to put it upon the shelf in a place of honor and then merciless fuck it like a prison gang rape.


Interlude – Teaser

Generally, I don’t or wouldn’t post a teaser trailer for a post but I got a phone call yesterday that not only perked up a single eyebrow and then clap my hands while stamping my feet like a school girl.

This, I simply couldn’t keep to myself.

Photo (1)

Photo (3)

Photo (2)


Get ready.

The It’s Raining Men Story

The heat does really strange things to people. Especially early spring heat. Maybe its a combination of the stowing away of too longly worn winter clothes and the humming buzz of freshly hatched insects that remind me of a truck full of vibrators that smashed into a trailer full of batteries but the first warm rays if sunshine that hits after a long wait for them effects peoples brain chemistry.

It seemed like the last of the snow had just melted when the temperature began to steadily rise. Over the course of a handful of days, the heat and humidity had ramped up producing a mini heat wave that had us removing as much clothing as possible the instant we reached the job site. Not beyond the point of decency mind you but dry humping the line of good taste for sure. By the time we got to the job the humidity was already so intense the air was like trying to breath soup through a scarf.

The homeowners were a married couple who were both retired teachers. They were a cute older couple. Cute in the way puppy kisses and vagina farts are. They had the Norman Rockwell feel with him in a collared shirt and slacks and her in a sun dress with pearls. They were walking around the yard as we worked, holding hands and commenting on the heat and wondering how we were surviving let alone getting any work done.  By the end of the first day, the entire team was already exhausted and drained from the constant oppressive heat and the volume of fluids we had lost and let dry on our skin like a dusty salt crust.

As we loaded up the truck that day, we stood beside the house downing bottles of water as fast as we could swallow them. We quickly realized that we would need at least twice as much as we had brought that day.  Seeing us sweltering in the heat, the lady of the house made her way over and clucked her tongue in that way that only former teachers can when she realized we had rapidly ran out of any source of hydration. She told us not to worry about the next day as she would make sure we had more than enough water to keep us wet.

The next morning dawned impossibly hotter than the previous.  You could almost feel the moisture rising from the ground and crawling over your skin like a horrible teenage kiss. You know the kind. Those kisses where you simply endeavored to get as much of your saliva in, on, or around the mouth and face of who ever you were kissing.

What? Was that just me? Huh. Guess that explains that grade nine to grade eleven dry spell. I always attributed it to my horribly bad mullet and teen Tom Selleck mustache.

As soon as we ascended the ladders and got to work, the entire team stood looking at each other as we watched a pile of shingles literally melt and fuse themselves together. We had to be mildly insane to even be attempting to work in this heat but the job had to get done. By the time the heat really began to intensify, the lady of the house appeared with a cooler full of ice and more bottles of water than you could count. We attacked the frigid liquid like a pack of hyenas and took much delight in spraying each other with handfuls of ice-cold water.  As hot as it was, the water raised instant goosebumps on any patch of skin it touched.

It also served to let us know exactly how hot we really were so we decided to call our day to an early end.  We persevered through the heat despite the heat coming off the shingles sizzling the skin on our hips and ass cheeks through our thick denim pants.  We were dirty, sweaty and almost delirious from the heat as we stood in the driveway watching the rippling waves of heat shine off the surfaces we had just finished.

The lady of the house walked out from under the awning she had been shading herself under and walked towards us.

” It’s a little warm isn’t it?”, She asked as we packed away our gear.

” Yes,” I replied ” It really is just too hot to try to get much more done.”

” Well, I can cool you all off,” She said with a flirtatious look from behind her horn rim librarian glasses ” All of you line up and I will hose you off with the garden hose.”

I was stunned. I wasn’t sure if she was joking and my team looked nervously at me to see what my reaction would be.

” Honestly, I think the cold water will stop my heart,” I replied only to see her smile falter. I didn’t want to disappoint her and quite frankly I was being paid to be there I did the only thing I could. I tore off my shirt and took the hose from her. I then proceeded to wash the dirt and sweat from my body as she stepped back to watch. I mean this lady was so old that she was likely a student in Shakespeare’s drama class but that didn’t mean she was too old to want to see virile young men hosed down like a personal wet t-shirt contest. So I turned the hose towards my guys only to see them scramble away from the bitterly cold water.

I chased a few of them around much to her delight and even managed to get a couple of them with the hose before returning it to her. She laughed and clapped her hands a little as she wound up the hose. I mean to her,my whole team likely looked like this –


But in my mind we likely looked a bit more like this –



It’s rainin’ men. Hallelujah.

The Sweet Spot Story

Any one who has ever seen the inside of my truck can attest to my love of coffee. The cup holders and floorboards are a veritable shrine to my addiction. I am not just a paper cup kind of guy either. At any given point in time there is at least seven to twelve ceramic coffee mugs clinking around my truck reminding me to buy more coffee. I could likely outfit an entire diner with the mugs I have currently kicking around in there.

It’s not just me though. Coffee is the life blood of any construction crew. It’s more than likely the next time you are sitting in line at the drive through, throwing your hands in the air wondering what the fuck is taking so long when all you ordered is a single coffee is because someone like me ordered sixteen coffee for his entire team and the biggest box of donuts they have. It’s not my fault everyone takes their coffee different and ordering a single extra-large coffee with four cream and four sweetener seems to grind an entire drive through to a screeching halt.

The job we had been working on was going great so I decided to take everyone off the site rather than just sending someone for coffee. We piled in the truck and headed to the nearest coffee shop and descended on it like a pack of sweaty hyenas. The temperature had been rising steadily over the course of the day and the garbage cans were swarming with yellow jacket wasps. The drone of them alone caused people to give them a wide berth. They were diving in and out of half full coffee cups getting a fix like the line up outside a methadone clinic. I have actually lost count of how many times any member of my team have been stung by one of these. They don’t just sting once but over and over until they either are sick of stinging you or you kill them.

The drive back to the job was punctuated with me not really paying attention as I was driving and spilling coffee all over the crotch of my pants. Nothing says serious business owner like a big brown stain on your dick when you show back up at the job site. They rest of the team was laughing as I tried in vain to dry it up but it was a lost cause.  I just shrugged my shoulders and got back to work.

As I climbed back up on to the roof, I noticed one of my guys had left a coffee in the eaves trough and it had a wasp already swimming around in it.

” Whoever left a coffee over here likely doesn’t want it anymore,” I yelled out as I got back to work. More yellow jackets were buzzing around I swatted one away from my face as I took a sip of coffee.

One of my guys walked over and in a huff at losing the coffee to an errant insect kicked the cup over and spilled coffee everywhere.

” What the fuck,” I yelled ” You’re gonna have to clean that up before the wasps get all over that.”  It was bad enough dealing with nests of them on a regular basis but to have to work around them wasn’t anything I wanted to do.

With a grumble, the young man ripped off his shirt and began to whip up the coffee and picked up the now empty cup.  He stood and looked at me with total disdain and then turned to go back to work when he let out a scream that sounded like Tina Turner gargling ball bearings. He started slapping at his legs and peeled off his pants before he started pulling at his underwear. He was scrambling around the roof like a dog flopping around a freshly waxed floor. With a final garble shriek, he flipped his underwear forward and launched a yellow jacket out onto the roof deck before stomping it into a powdered mess.  The wasp from the coffee cup had crawled up his pant leg and began stinging him until it made its way into his underwear. It had stung him at the base of his penis and he stood there looking at the welt as it began to swell.

More of my guys began to filter in from around the job and thinking about the image now I can’t help but laugh. Here were six guys standing around looking inside a basically naked co workers underwear at an insect sting beside his dick. We all groaned as he pointed the swelling area towards us.  I could only think of one thing to say to try to make him feel better.

” You know,” I started ” It’s actually making your dick bigger. You sure you didn’t want to let him sting you again? I got half a coffee left. I bet if we dump it on there we can get you at least another two inches.”

The Fastest Man Alive Story

“I am so horny, I am gonna jerk off at least twice as soon as I get home.”

Dead silence filled the truck. I think even the radio paused into dead air for a couple of seconds. The statement hung out there like a rank fart. No one wanted to acknowledge it but it wasnt going away.  In a truck full of five sweaty, long day tired contractors it was tense few moments.

” The first one will be quick and then I can take my time with the second one.”

It just continued to get worse. I slid my glasses up my forehead and rubbed my eyes with my fingers. Its only natural that over the course of working a few seasons together coupled with spending time away from work as a group that certain levels of decorum would no longer exist. In short, I could tell you with some degree of certainty how often most of my employees masturbated. Someone had to say something and I knew it was going to have to be me.

” Ummm Chris,” I started ” Are you sure you are going to have enough time for that?”

” I will make time for it,” Chris countered ” Make time for it every day.”

” Well, thanks for that information,” I said with a sigh. I had only had Chris working for us for a short time at that point but his proudest achievement was the number of times he could crank one out in any given week but as time went on he began to regale us with tales of his speed at accomplishing the task.

” I am so good at it at this point I can likely finish in less than sixty beats,” Chris continued.

” That’s not possible,” I countered with a laugh. At this point I thought he was just trying for a laugh but the look on his face told me he was dead serious.

My brother, Matt, with whom masturbation was an incredibly serious subject, shot Chris a look of disdain.

” Under sixty? Fuck that, I can get it out in thirty strokes tops,” Matt said with as snide a tone as possible. We had just pulled into the shop and we all piled out of the truck and I could see Chris shaking his head.

” No way,” Chris muttered” There’s just no way.”

” Fuck yeah,” Matt sneered.

” I got that beat,” Chris shot back over his shoulder as he ran for his car. I actually think he had his pants undone on the way there and am even more certain he had his pants off or at least around his ankles as he sped off down the road. I walked over to Matt who was unloading gear from the back of the truck.

” That’s impressive. Thirty?” I asked him with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow. I grabbed the last of our tools from the truck and saw him standing with a big, dopey grin on his face.

” Fucked if I know,but he will likely tear his own dick off trying,” Matt answered.

The next morning rolled around and as the team began to show up, I noticed Chris half hobbling up the sidewalk. I chuckled to myself as he seemed to be adjusting and readjusting his groin with every other step. At one point I think he actually stopped to catch his breath. Matt sidled up beside me and joined in my laughter.

” The fuck’s wrong with you ,” Matt called down the road in his effort to get everyone else to look at Chris.

” I think I overdid it last night,” Chris breathed. Obviously we all knew what he was talking about. The only question was, how had he made out?

Oh come on. It’s a story about masturbation. You are just as curious at this point as we were too.

” Well, there was no way I could get finished in thirty strokes so I simply went for the fastest time possible,” Chris started ” So I think I got it definitely down to under a minute. My hands were flying so fast I lost count of how many beats it took.”

” That’s really not something you should be proud of,” I replied dryly. My thoughts went out to all the unfortunate girls who would have the misfortune to sleep with a guy whose proudest moment was the fact he could blast out a load by hand in under a minute.

” How many tries did it take you to figure that out?” Matt asked from beside me.

” I tried to beat thirty last night a bunch of times but couldn’t seem to finish fast enough so that’s when I decided to just go for time,” Chris answered ” Just broke the one minute mark right before I got out of the car. Sorry if I was late getting here.”

The Question 11 Story

As promised , I said I would make special note of the most creative answer to my infamous question 11 from my Liebster Award post. For those in need of a refresher I asked –

You can choose between either watching your parents have sex everyday for the rest of their lives or join in once and never see it again. Pick one ( the most creative answer will get me to tell them the story of how I got asked that question).

The best answer in all its cringe worthy glory was given by The White Onion. A spin-off from a question into one of the most disturbingly visual answers you can possibly imagine. So as promised, the story that led to the question.

Call me old-fashioned but I can remember when pornography was something kept well hidden. Relegated to the very back of a closet or even worse your dad’s sock drawer, it was something to be scoured out and then just as rapidly tucked back away. Maybe it was a simpler time back when I was a teenager.  I mean today porn has gone mainstream. Thanks to the internet its more readily available than ever. Leading to more acceptable forms of sex than ever before.  I mean in my younger years, girls were like ” ANAL!!! NO WAY AM I TRYING THAT!!!!”. Today its like ” YAYYYYY ANAL!!!! I CAN’T GET PREGNANT!!!!”.

It was also something people were proud of to show off at a party like they had just got some new fondue set or concocted some new drink or discovered weed for the first time. Something to shock and impress with.

I was in my last year of high school and as most high school parties go, it’s mostly about posturing and drama. Who’s cheating on who. Who’s gonna get drunk and puke first. Which girl is going to come out of the bathroom with semen in her hair. We have all been to parties like that.

The thing is though, most high school parties were pretty boring. The fact that unless you had an older sibling willing to buy booze with money you pinched out of your parents change jar or the house where the party was being held was owned by people with a large liquor cabinet and Alzheimer’s disease pretty much meant you sat around waiting for something to happen. People quickly got bored with that so the host, James decide to pull a rabbit out of the magic hat.

” Who want’s to watch some porn?” James asked in a voice loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. All eyes turned to him to see if he was serious. In his hand he held a VHS cassette with no labels and markings on it. Another truth about those days was that while every girl in the place may have said ” EWWWW, no,” they all wanted to see it just as bad as the guys did just to say they had. It’s all about the story right? Being able to tell everyone on Monday that you had seen a porno at the party you were at on the weekend.

Without even pausing, James stuffed the tape into the player and flipped the television on. We all sat transfixed as the grainy picture came into focus and seemed to be already at the point where we had gone through the obligatory bad story line and hit the hardcore portion. The lighting was awful and the camera was at a fixed angle but to any one who was not a porn aficionado, it was still porn. The scene featured a woman who by any porn standards was about forty pounds over weight and a reclining man with a hairy, beer belly that jutted out to the point he likely couldn’t see his erect penis.  Without delay, the woman gave a small smile and dove her head into the man’s groin like an Olympic diver.

The obligatory ” oooooing” was followed by mildly uncomfortable laughter. None of this stopped anyone from shifting their seat or position to get a better view of the screen.  Laughter soon gave way to almost silence as the woman raised herself up and with a minor belly shifting, impaled herself on the guys spit slicked penis. The silence was incredibly brief as a roar echoed from the kitchen door way.

” FUCKING TURN THAT OFF RIGHT NOW!!!!! THAT’S MY FUCKING PARENTS!!!” James screamed as he barreled across the living room to put his body between the screen and everyone.

His roar was followed closely behind by an eruption of laughter like a spring thunderstorm that rippled through the house. Every eye turned to him trying to cover the screen and eject the tape at the same time. He kept looking back over his shoulder to see who was still watching as his mom began to groan like hydraulic crane lifting an air conditioner unit. This brought even louder peels of laughter.

” I could watch that every single day,” Someone said as James finally managed to get the tape out and stomp across the room glaring at everyone as he walked by.

” Fuck that,” Another voice called out,” I would just join in.”

James reemerged visibly shaken.

” Fuck all of you,” James said with a wavering voice, ” No one can ever tell anyone we saw that.” In a room full of people in the pre cellphone era it was possible but unlikely. That story would be around the school by nine in the morning Monday and would have grown to epic proportions likely including midgets and some sort of exotic music and flashing lights.

” If you were forced to watch that again wouldn’t it just be easier to join in?” I asked James with a barely covered laugh.

” I would rather watch that every day for the rest of my life than have to be even in the room with that for five seconds,” James answered with a resolve that put steel in his spine.

” Too bad,” I shot back,” Looks like your mom really knows her way around a penis.”

” I fucking hate all of you,” James growled as he stomped away to his room.

” Anybody know where he hid that tape?” I asked.

Thus was born a legend and a question. As far as myself in answering it, it’s pretty simple. I would watch it. No one said I had to keep my eyes open.

The Award Winning Story Part 2

liebster-awardSo another day, another award. I am not trying to be glib. I am just blown away. A huge thanks to the Grizz for the nomination and for liking my retinue of dick and fart jokes enough to bestow this great honor on me.

The rules are as follows:

1. You must thank the person who nominated you
2. Answer the 11 questions they have asked you.
3. Nominate 11 other people
4. Ask them 11 questions in return

Apparently this particular Liebster Award has omitted the requisite random facts portion so I will be doing something unheard of. I am changing the rules. Why? The same answer Shawn Michaels gave before beating Bret Hart in the sixty minute Iron Man match

” Because I can.”

So the new rules are –

1. You must thank the person who nominated you

2. Give 1 random fact about you

3. Answer the 11 questions they have asked you.

4. Nominate 11 other people

5. Ask them 11 questions in return

Random fact – I once puked riding the Zipper at the fair and blamed it on the guy I was riding with. The ride operator said he would be crying too if he was covered with onion rings and red Slushie.

1. Long hair or short hair, on people. – So many ways to be interpreted. I will go with long hair. Especially on guys. On every part of their bodies. Yeah, you read that right. That way every woman is so repulsed by their back and ass hair my perfectly trimmed up body looks unbelievably hot.

2. Which would you rather do, walk 10 miles or be forced to run 100 yards – both as fast as you could for that pace. – Personally I see this as being forced to walk ten miles. Not really much of a choice here. Due to my bionic leg I would fist fuck that hundred yard dash, I mean, as fast as I can I guess

3. If you found out that your role model was actually the opposite of what you looked up to, how would you react? – I guess it depends on whether or not I got to meet said person face to face. If I met them and they were a total douche canoe the only recourse any of us has is to remind them its their responsibilty to inspire the masses. Then I would stick the biggest,deadest, stankest piece of roadkill I could find somewhere around the air intake under their vehicles hood on the hottest day of the year.

4. Writing by hand in a crowded park, or writing all alone on a computer with no one around, why? – Definitely at home alone. I can’t really write in the park with no pants on like I am right now. I mean I can but I shouldn’t. Well, maybe not shouldn’t but it would be frowned on. Like masturbating on an airplane.

5. Desert Island – only 1 book to take with you, just 1.  Why did you pick that one? War and Peace. No way I am wiping my ass with coconut leaves for the foreseeable future and should I happen to find something else softer to wipe with I will amuse myself for hours making paper airplanes.

6. If you were faced with 1 movie monster/bad guy/villain, which would you want to fight and why that one? (be specific, no generic answers like zombies or vampires.  I’m looking for Lestat, or the actual Wolfman) Police Chief Martin Brody from ” Jaws”. I mean really, if they had to go that far out to sea to kill the shark was he really that big of a problem. What? The shark was the bad guy? Fuck this. Done with this question.

7. What would you want the conversation to revolve around if you could sit down and talk to Jesus.- Not gonna lie. I struggled with this one. Let’s go with the notion that Jesus has come back, the Rapture has happened and I am left back on Earth. I would ask him if since we were both left out of Heaven if he wanted a Jaeger bomb and which of the Dahm triplets he wants to tag team first.

8. Who should Cap’n Reynolds truly be with – Zoe, Kaylee, Inara, Saffron, or just stay alone and be bad-ass? – The Serenity was his ship for Pete’s pepper, he should have been hammering all of them. Put out or get out bitches.

9. Les Stroud or Bear Grylls. – I saw Les Stroud eat a dead salmon that had been left on the banks of a river for a few days so I am going with Bear. I figure there is less a chance I will wake up with someone delicately trying to fillet pieces of my ass cheeks off in the middle of the night.

10. Personal choice for the event that will end civilization?  Basically, how do you want the apocalypse to start?  (Virus, meteor, etc) – Zombie apocalypse. Why you ask? Simple. Survival of the fittest. I don’t have to outrun the zombies, I just have to out run the guy I just saw coming out of McDonalds with nine happy meals and no kids in his car.

11. Killing people just became legal, but only for those labelled huntable material,  Which 3 celebrities would you want to be labelled as such and why? – All three Kardashian sisters. I mean what have they really done to even be considered celebrities? So you fuck a bunch of mediocre rappers and basketball players and instantly you are famous? I somehow don’t think so. It just means your giant clam needs a monster black dick to fill it.

My nominees for this prestigious award –

Emilie Rouge – This art just speaks to me and I am hoping if I ask nicely one of these pieces will find its way into my collection.

Snazzyyrabbani – Shes new but I really loved her photography

Hooray for Skanks – The title caught my attention because who doesn’t love skanks, but the humor kept me laughing for hours

Following Funny – Cause I love anyone’s embarassing stories as much as my own

My Husbands Sex Toy – The image she has up is the first image I have seen on this entire site that made me say ” Holy shit”.

Secret Release – Some really great advice here of an adult nature

Daydreams of a Farm Girl – Well written filth here, hopefully tons more to come

Moorefredena – Cause they showed me some love and I always pay what I owe

Nymphotemptress – The single line of  “Come back to mine. I’ve got coke, skunk and Viagra.” made me giggle

Sexadelphia – The concept of having sex with a handicapped pathological liar is too funny to pass up

Claire Undone – Cause I know how tough the paleo diet is and support her efforts.

And now my questions for the fine bloggers I have nominated

1. What was the worst thing you ever got into trouble for as a child?

2. If you could marry a cartoon character who would it be?

3. If you were and alcoholic drink, what would you be and why?

4. Do you think blind people actually see things in their dreams?

5. If people point to their wrist to ask for the time, why do people get mad when you point to your crotch indicating you want a hand job?

6. Have you ever had an imaginary friend?

7. What’s the longest you have ever gone without taking a bath or shower?

8. Have you ever farted during sex?

9. If you were caught peeing in public what excuse would you use?

10. Would you rather only be hit on by ridiculously unattractive people or only people of the same-sex?

11. Would you eat chocolate pudding that tasted like shit or shit that tasted like chocolate pudding?

I await your answers with much glee. Enjoy. Good luck.

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